#also i like to imagine he's still pissed about his hat getting stolen

[characterssaythedarnestthings]

Sho Minamimoto, every time he sees a vending machine: *sweats nervously*

#he has flashbacks to that moment #also i like to imagine he's still pissed about his hat getting stolen #i was gonna think of a maths pun in his reaction but settled for sweats nervously #sho minamimoto #inspirational #minamimoto #the world ends with you #twewy #neo twewy #twewy spoilers #motivation #quotes #vending machines #twewy meme #let me know if you think of a better Sho reaction than sweats nervously preferably with a maths related pun

[lettheladylead]

Not Your Aunt

Chapter 5: Louie [ao3 link]

When she’d gotten the call a few weeks earlier, Goldie initially thought it was from Scrooge. She gave her cell phone number out to a very small number of people, after all, and Scrooge’s home line had its own customized ringtone so she always knew it was him.

Instead, it was one of his kids. Well, one of Della’s kids, she was pretty sure. He introduced himself as Louie and she did a quick search online to see what he looked like - the only run-in she’d had with the kids so far they’d all been dressed the same so even if she had been paying attention, she wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

Her first instinct had been to tell him no and to move on with her life. She was a busy woman and she had other things to do. But there was a little part of her that was mad at Scrooge for never calling her about the note she’d left in his hat. There was no way he hadn’t seen it and she left him a treasure she didn’t have to because she wanted to go on an adventure with him again. But no. He didn’t call and it’d been almost a year. So she said yes to mentoring because she knew it’d piss him off and there was no greater joy in her life.

Or she’d thought there was no greater joy. But the feeling of someone coming back for her - coming to save her life despite how she treated them - it was something else entirely. Scrooge had done it once or twice in the past, but not recently and not happily. She couldn’t even remember the last time someone had come back for her and her feelings about it were a bit overwhelming so she didn’t even give the kid another glance before bolting out the door.

It’d been a few days since that party and Goldie was enjoying being several hundred million dollars richer. It wasn’t like Sharpie needed the money - he had Scrooge’s inheritance to look forward to (though if Scrooge never planned to retire or die, maybe not? She didn’t like to think about it too much).

She was laying in bed in a familiar hotel in the outskirts of Seattle when she pulled out her wallet to stare at the photos again. The last few days, she’d spent a ridiculous amount of time just staring and thinking and not doing or saying anything. She felt pathetic.

But looking at the kid’s goofy little smile and thinking back to when he helped her effectively pull off their improvised scheme warmed her heart. She’d never felt this way about a member of Scrooge’s family before. Della and Donald had treated her like an aunt on occasion (usually just as a way to get on her nerves), but Goldie never saw either of them as a true schemer like herself. Donald didn’t have any interest in money or treasure and Della idolized her uncle too much to think for herself.

But Louie was different and Goldie could see that. Just the fact that he’d reached out to her after hearing the story of Gumption (which, from what he told her, had a lot of inaccuracies to it. Scrooge loved to exaggerate or conveniently forget details when he told stories of their past) made her want to see what he had to offer. 

Initially, her plan had been to rob the kid and take something small of Scrooge’s - small enough to carry without much effort, but big enough to piss him off - then Scrooge would angrily chase her down and they could argue and she’d tease him and it would’ve been a nice little time. Their Golden Lagoon adventure was nice but Glomgold had ruined a lot of the fun she’d planned so it’d have been nice to get back to basics.

Instead she got weird, mixed up feelings about this kid who reminded her of herself and Scrooge and Donald all combined into one tiny package. She did not want to get attached to anyone in Scrooge’s family. The only reason their relationship worked was because she kept him on edge and interested by keeping him at arm’s length. Getting close to his family was not arm’s length. It was too much. She’d have to push Sharpie away the same way she did with Donald and Della and that was that.

She glanced over at the photo she had of Scrooge in Dawson and felt her heart skip a beat. She loved this picture. She loved thinking about the time they spent together back then, even if he’d broken her heart by the end of it. It didn’t matter anymore. She’d give almost anything to be young with him again - maybe even get a fresh start.

Goldie let out a loud sigh and tossed the wallet across the room - she watched it soar and land gracefully on top of her bags. Her bags were stuffed with gold and jewels and treasures from that crazy little birthday party and she hadn’t had the chance to stop in Dawson and drop it all off at the closest thing she had to a home.

Peeking out of one of her bags was the idol she’d stolen from Sharpie’s room before their adventure began. She stared at it and wondered what kind of significance it held for him. She wasn’t going to give it back, of course, because he needed to be taught a lesson about trusting con artists. But also a little part of her thought about maybe giving it back depending on how important it was to him.

She rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. Kids made people soft. Scrooge was so different than he was just forty years earlier and sometimes she didn’t know what to make of it. If thirty-year-old Goldie knew he could be this way, maybe she would’ve approached their relationship differently. But he always spoke so harshly about children and family and she never could’ve imagined him changing his mind.

Her thoughts were cut off by a buzz and a ding! from her phone and Goldie huffed as she reached into her pocket to grab it. She hoped desperately that it wasn’t from someone work-related (though, really, who else could it be?). She wasn’t in the mood to think about hotel management. She’d rather drink wine and soak in the bathtub and think about nothing.

She glanced at her phone and saw a text message waiting for her. It was a short message from an unknown number that just said:

“Do you know how to text?”

Goldie blinked a few times at it and wondered briefly if this was a wrong number. Then she glanced at the area code and realized it was coming from Duckburg. She had a pretty good idea who it was and her heart skipped another beat.

There was an unspoken rule between her and Scrooge. He never reached out to her first (except for two very unique occasions). She was always the one to contact him. But Louie wasn’t Scrooge and Louie followed his own rules, apparently.

She took a moment to think before typing a short response. “Yes, I do.”

“Cool.”

She wondered if the conversation was over until she suddenly received an influx of emojis. Goldie raised an eyebrow at the group of ducks and dollar signs and bags of money and angry faces, not really sure what to make of it.

“What’s all this supposed to mean?”

She watched as her phone said he was typing and then not typing and then typing again.

“I’m still mad at you.”

Goldie let out a breathy laugh and rolled her eyes. He really was related to Scrooge.

“What’d you do with all the money? Put it in your very own Money Bin?”

She rolled onto her side and thought about whether or not to answer him. Though she couldn’t hide everything from Scrooge over the years, she did a good job of keeping most of her life hidden away from his wandering eyes. Though Louie was definitely great at keeping things from the adults in his life, he was still just a kid and she didn’t want anything slipping out accidentally.

“Not sure that’s any of your business.”

He started typing and then stopped again. Goldie stared at her phone for a full minute without getting a response before realizing she may have hurt his feelings a bit with that one. She groaned and dropped her phone back on the mattress. She didn’t want to care about something so trivial, but…

She sighed deeply and grabbed the phone again, quickly typing another message without giving it much thought.

“I have several places to put my earnings. A lot of different projects and business ventures. And the rest goes into savings.”

Goldie huffed at herself and put the phone down again. She’d managed to avoid this kind of thing easily with Donald or Della - keeping herself at a distance and never spending significant time with either of them without Scrooge. But just one afternoon alone with Sharpie and she felt an urge to protect his stupid little feelings and his stupid little face. There was something about seeing fear in those big ol’ eyes that made her heart beat faster.

Her phone beeped again and she hesitated for just a moment before grabbing it.

“What kind of business ventures? If you’re looking for investment opportunities, I could give you a pitch that even Scrooge McDuck hasn’t seen.”

She smiled and thought back to the posters on the wall of the boys’ bedroom; several of them were very juvenile business ideas that would never take off in the real world. But she could appreciate his sense of inventiveness.

“Even if you got Scrooge to sit for a meeting, I doubt he’d invest more than a dollar into anything.”

“You overestimate him! He wouldn’t give me more than a quarter.” Followed by several angry and sad and money bag emojis.

Goldie laughed and sat up in the hotel bed, feeling a little more like herself after having an opportunity to make fun of her...ex. Or whatever they were. It didn’t matter. She was having fun.

“Keep trying. I’m sure you’ll wear him down.”

He sent another group of emojis and Goldie decided that was the end of that. She put her phone back on the bed, screen side down, and turned to look over at the idol again. She definitely wouldn’t be giving it back.

--

Louie stared at his phone for a few minutes, wondering if he’d be getting another message. To be perfectly honest, he hadn’t expected any response at all, so the past ten minutes were giving him a lot of confusing, conflicting feelings.

He liked Goldie. She stole all his money and kind of broke his heart a little, but before that he’d started to think of her as family. It was hard to not think of her that way when she risked her life for his. But still...the money.

There was definitely no plan to contact her again when she left without even saying goodbye. Louie was frustrated and sad and annoyed and kept thinking about how he’d gotten too close. He knew when he first contacted her that this was a business decision - a con artist was not someone to befriend or trust or depend on. But in just a few short hours he felt a pull to her that he couldn’t really explain.

And he couldn’t stop thinking back to the way he’d felt when she suggested they work together again. He knew liars and thieves and knew she wasn’t an honest person, but he really felt like she meant it. And despite what happened afterwards and how angry he was for the next few days, Louie couldn’t help but wonder what that really meant for them.

She and Uncle Scrooge clearly weren’t getting back together anytime soon. And Goldie was a world traveler - always off on some new adventure somewhere far away. Even if they did work together again, it could be years away. Uncle Scrooge said sometimes he went years without hearing from her. 

Louie didn’t want to wait years. Goldie was the first person in a long time to appreciate his scheming mind without a hint of irony. It was refreshing and it made him feel better about the fact that she’d completely robbed him.

So he texted her. It was a long shot considering her age and the fact that she fumbled with her smartphone like someone who was still struggling to figure out how touch screens work, but Louie figured it was worth the attempt.

He looked at their messages again and smiled. Texting with a weird old thief lady was not exactly on his list of things he expected to be doing at the tender age of eleven, but it was kind of fun. She could tell him embarrassing stories about Uncle Scrooge or Uncle Donald or his mom. Maybe she knew other people in the family she could talk about.

With only a moment’s hesitation, Louie pressed his thumb down on her phone number and went to add a contact name. He stared at the screen for a few seconds before happily typing Aunt Goldie and hitting save.

He had to admit, it just kind of felt right.

#ducktales #louie duck #goldie o'gilt #scrooge mcduck #scheme team #fic #fics #not your aunt #this one took forever cuz im not rly happy with it but im excited to do the next one

[amarriageoftrueminds]

Re THAT Sharon scene and the parallel with Steve/Bucky: I am so blessed by that post, because now I know I am not the only one who thought she was just shitting on Bucky and Steve's relationship... having said that, NO ONE in this fucking world could begin to understand what they had and shared. You've posted and rebloged the best "theories" and comments about this show that I 1000% support.I feel like everytime they take Bucky a step fwd the suddenly yank him back by taking the piss...

(X) @favoritedarkness

I am so glad to hear I’m not the only one! Super refreshing!

So pardon me while I rant f’ra bit about why I do NOT care for Sharon.

Sharon got Bucky exactly 100% wrong by thinking he gave a shit about the stars and stripes or that Steve did either. 

Also, not a fan of her sneering piss-takey tone -- the subtext is clearly making homosexuality the butt of a joke. All that’s missing here is her muttering ‘gaaayyy’ at the end of her sentence. Hats off to Bucky for not acknowledging her.   

Sharon hasn’t been a nice person at any point, imo. 

What she did to Steve in TWS was straight up creepy (dressed up like his dead mum but she looked guilty about it later so we’re supposed to be cool? Are we going with the “befehl est befehl" defense in the same movie where Hydra and Shield are revealed as one and the same, and believing Steve would buy that crap?) 

I didn’t like how she spoke to Sam in CW, especially when contrasted with how up Steve’s ass she was in comparison. 

(Remember when they’re watching Bucky being interrogated, up on the monitor, and the framing had her and Steve standing up -- but Sam, the only black guy, sitting down, below them, almost out of frame, like in old paintings of black people serving whites? Yeah, maybe I’m being overly sensitive but it still immediately pissed me off.) 

Speaking of being up Steve’s ass, making googly eyes at him during a funeral?! Of her own aunt?!! WHILE SHE’S DELIVERING THE EULOGY??

Using her own aunt as an in to bring up her own thighs? Wow. 

And to cap it off, after she retrieves the shield that creepy CREEPY moment where she looks expectantly at a Steve who is clearly under the impression that this favour wasn’t going to come with any strings; expecting a kiss. Apple doesn’t fall far does it? 

To put that in context, here’s an exactly gender-flipped parallel in the MCU: 

In Ragnarok, Thor retrieves Valkyrie’s armour for her. 

He doesn’t have to be asked to do it, he just does it out of the goodness of his own heart, because he’s being thoughtful and knows she’s going to need it, and after handing over he immediately walks away, clearly not expecting a thank you or anything in return. 

Now, imagine, instead of doing that ^ Valkyrie had asked him to retrieve it, and as soon as he handed it over, he was like: ‘Well? Do I get a kiss as reward?’ And then stared at Valkyrie until she gave him one?

You can’t imagine it at all, can you?

Because Thor isn’t a creep. 

There’s also a lot of talk currently on twitter- (yes, I know, worst beginning to a sentence ever) -expressing irritation and bafflement that Sharon is whining about her difficult circumstances on the run when she’s living in like a mansion selling stolen art (right! because no one who’s bad has ever done that, historically!!) 

And the Avengers didn’t help her. 

Which. 

1. you’re not an Avenger Karon. 

2. you didn’t ask. 

3. they were in prison.

And as for Bucky and the stars and stripes; no one seems to get that if Current Captain America turns out to be shit, it’s not going to be long before people start shitting on Steve. He’s not going to want to be hearing people talk shit about his beloved best friend; that’s not just his friend, that’s his childhood they’re shitting on. It’s all the best parts of him! That’s why he cares -- not because of patriotism or some bullshit like that.

And on a practical note, if the public turn on Steve because of his replacement, what’s going to happen to Bucky? 

What happens to the former Winter Soldier if the only thing keeping him from prison (peoples’ good will and respect for Cap) is gone? How long is it going to be before strangers in the street turn on him? 

Bucky’s welfare and freedom are intrinsically linked to Captain America, which is something (like everything else in this poor man’s life) over which he has zero control. 

Do we really think Bucky would give a shit about keeping up with these Three Rules, and making himself look good, if it didn’t also reflect well on Steve?

#tfawts #bucky meta #favoritedarkness #bucky barnes #toAyourQ #meta #anti carters #anti sharon #agent unclefucker #the only good carter is b #idc how good the actress is at fight scenes the character's a rapey douche #let's add microaggressions of homophobia to the racism and fullblown rapey vibes yes that's what a Strong Female Character does #ooo she salty today #yet each man queues the thing he loves #dat's me #hey nonny

[how-masterful]

Remastered

Dhawan!master x reader

Chapter 3: New Earth

Summary: New earth, new adventures, but the return of a dreaded old face. You’d been acting strange all day, and despite the distracting wonder of the mysterious cures the sisters of plenitude were concocting, the Master had most definitely noticed. But when all is revealed in the hospital, things go from curious to complicated- especially when the sick break free, and the root of all the days problems decides she wants to try the masters body on for size.

Notes: At last! Another remaster! This time not a Matt but a David episode: loathed by some, but a guilty pleasure of mine! I mentioned wanting to write this fic  while ago, and i finally got around to it on the eve of Doctor Who day! I hope you all enjoy!

As usual, this fic is dedicated to my dearly beloved queen @plethora-of-imagines​. My watchalong companion, fellow soft dom lover, most trusted confident, and the most hat obsessed girl i’ve ever met. I hope it lives up to the hype!

They were surrounding you in droves. 

The sick. The diseased. The nearly dead. 

The filthy pipe covered walls of the hospital basement flying past your field of vision as you desperately raced towards salvation.

Or at least, the woman who was currently controlling your body raced.

Cassandra's presence in your head was agony- not just for the fact the woman was compressing you to death, but because she was so damn judgemental. In all of your adventures in time and space you’d never met someone so cruel, so self absorbed. And you travelled with the Master of all people, for crying out loud. You suspected the only reason you were being saved was because she was too self preserving to let herself, and by extension your body, go to waste. At least she had the common sense to keep up her speed, the Masters pace just in front of you as you bypassed the closing passageways of the intensive care unit and headed towards the room where she'd been hiding all this time.

“You’d better know where we’re going!”

The Master, for lack of a better term, was fucking pissed to say the least. The revelation that you weren't truly yourself was far more shocking than the revelation of the human farm the Sisters of Plenitude were hiding in their basement. He’d first accused the matron, who denied having any part in the ‘fuckery with your brain’, but it soon became clear who exactly had decided to hitch a ride inside your delicate human brain. The, as the Doctor's pet had once referred to her as, bitchy trampoline. You supposed he was also furious that she’d kissed him. You yourself were certainly boiling with anger at that fact. At least it was still your mouth, you reasoned.

“Keep a lid on it, handsome! This has been my terf much longer than its been yours!”

She knew the way well, the distance between yourself and the following lab grown humans strengthening as your feet lead you towards the dingy basement where your mind had been overtaken. Her assistant chip was long gone now, the boy probably dead from the swarming humans. All that was left was you, Cassandra, and the furious Master. 

The pair of you skidded around a plethora of corners, the basement of the hospital built not unlike the elaborate mazes the Master would construct within the walls of the TARDIS. You very much wished to be safe in your home instead of running from manic nuns and the almost living dead, but you knew that travelling through time and space meant a girl couldn’t be picky. If only Cassandra also shared the sentiment

"THROUGH HERE!"

You still weren't used to the ridiculously posh accent coming from your mouth, her shrill yell guiding the timelord to the small door that lead to her chambers.

The Master huffed, following your guide as you crawled through the square metal hatch. You heard the door slam and latch shut soon after, the chambers flying past as the far entrance arrived into view. With a heave the hinges opened, Cassandra letting out another scream as the diseased loomed large in the doorway. The door slammed shut as she pressed your back against the rusting metal and pulled down the lock, her eyes meeting the deadly glare of the Master in the middle of the room.

"My god, we're trapped in here! What are we going to do?!"

The Master narrowed his eyes, leering at the woman with a cast iron gaze that made you even shiver.

"Get out. I want her back. Now."

Cassandra rolled your eyes, the woman matching the Masters stance. He let out a low growl, the Master stepping forward with gritted teeth.

"I know you've met the doctor, but you've never dealt with someone like me. So let me be quite plain: I'm not going to play your stupid little human games, Cassandra. I want Y/N back, and I want her back now."

"God, you timelords are all the same, so demanding! You do know it's just a title, don't you darling?"

The Master scoffed, pure fury evident in his sneering grin. Cassandra took a step back, arms dropping from their fold as he took a step closer. His presence was intimidating to say the least.

"This plan of yours, it had potential. A psychograft- I must admit, rudimentary but creative."

It was Cassandra's turn to scoff now. The pair of them practically circling each other, the Master watching her turn her back as the last human stepped towards the ruined remains of her rusted frame. The Master stood besides the psychograft, the TCE now in his grip as he gestured with the small device squarely at the machine.

"Banned on every civilised planet, I can relate. But you know why they were banned, Cassandra? They were sloppy, completely unstable."

"Another thing you can relate to?"

"You're compressing my Y/N to death!"

Cassandra sighed, venom on her tongue as she kissed your teeth, scrunching her nose in disdain. Your fingers carefully traced over the metalwork of her frame, the jarred brain she once used now beginning to wither as the suspension fluid leaked and pooled out onto the rank basement floor. 

"And where do you suppose I go, hmm? My skin is long dead." Cassandra snapped, head whipping around to glare at the man in the purple coat. She smirked cockilly, tilting your head.

"You ought to play softer with your toys, time boy. This very sore little human of yours is my one ticket out of this shit hole"

"I'm afraid you'll have to deboard your vessel, Cassandra. You can float in the air- like dust, or a disgustingly persistent mosquito. Quite on brand, for you-"

"Very funny-"

"But your self preservation, Cassandra, is nothing but a big, fat you problem. That body you're in is precious to me and I'm not letting you get even a scratch on her."

Cassandra glowered, clenching her teeth as the Master gripped the TCE tight in his palm. She stared at him, lips quivering as she planned her next rebuttal. The Master held his nerve, unable to help the tightening of his chest as he thought of you, stuck inside your own body. He knew the feeling of being kept from your own being all too well from his little stint in utopia. Cassandra finally relented as the Master slowly raised the TCE to aim at her head.

"Give. Y/N. Back."

Cassandra carefully stood, slowly stepping towards the Master as he brandished his weapon in his hand. She teasingly began to twist the charm on the necklace around your throat, holding the pendant between her fingers. The Masters glare strengthened, eyes focused on the jewellery in her grasp. 

"You know, once you were dead and this place far behind me, I was planning on dumping the meat and pawning the bling as soon as I could. But you, Master, are too stubborn for your own good."

The Masters expression reeked of confusion, his head tilting to the side as Cassandra squared off her shoulders. The time lord took this as a threat, tightening his hold on the TCE as he watched her every move. You could see it in his eyes- Thousands of possibilities processing at once, the gears of his mind shrieking as they grinded through his manic yet methodical systems of thought.

"You want her back? You asked for it."

The tremendous pressure on your head suddenly lifted in a whirlwind of overstimulation. Every sound screamed in your ears, the basement around you caught in a surge of darkness as your hazed vision was stolen from you. A loud ringing persisted, if only for a few moments, the muted and muffled existence you'd sat within ripped from under your feet. Your knees weakly buckled, shoulders slumping as you felt the ground connect between your feet. You let out a gasp for air, eyes scrunching shut as you shook your head. The basement slowly came back into vision, your head recovering from the imprisonment with a low groan from your throat and a palm to the side of your skull.

"Ow, jesus christ, my fucking head. Where did she go?"

You focused your vision on the man in front of you. The Masters back was turned towards you, the timelord almost bent in half. He didn't respond, body oddly still as you dared to take a step forward. You had a dreadful suspicion about where she'd run off to after leaving your head.

"Master?..."

"Dear lord, I'm a bad boy now!"

No way. No fucking way.

Cassandra turned around with a flourish, hands upon the Masters chest as she let out an excitable giggle. His eyes sat wide, a half smile upon his face as she familiarised herself with her new body. She stumbled on her feet like a newborn deer, inspecting her fingers and rocking on her toes as she rubbed at her chin. The presence of a beard under her fingertips seemingly blowing the woman's mind. You didn't know whether to laugh at her antics or cry at the problem that just emerged before you.

"I've never been a bad boy before! Bad girl, for sure, but this?! Isn't he just delicious!"

His usual northern tone was long gone, a fact that hurt much more than it should. Cassandra couldn't stop giggling to herself, her hands playing over his cheeks as he hurriedly raced towards the cracked mirror placed upon the wall. She gasped loudly, rippling with excitement as her hands roamed over the Masters body: Fluffing his hair, synching his waist, popping the top button on his shirt. Seemingly doing everything she could to fill you with jealous rage.

"Are you about done?"

The Master flapped his hand in your direction, shushing you as she childishly jumped up and down on the spot. You folded your arms, biting your tongue as she preened and primped in the mirror, pushing his face within her hands and posing with narcissistic delight. You'd seen the Master do this himself, on occasion. But this was a completely different beast- especially since you didn't enjoy where her hands were seemingly wandering to

"Oh hush, darling. I'm just having a little fun with all these new… graciously extensive parts- these have definitely been well worn in, the saucy little thing. I'm quite the handsome devil now, aren't I?"

You growled, nose scrunching as she hummed to herself, smoothing down his purple tweed collar as she began to prance and strut around the room. She lept over various apparatus and rubble, spinning and watching the purple material of his coat fly like a skirt behind her. Cassandra let out a satisfied cackle, sighing with up most content. Your rage was furiously simmering within your chest.

"He's quite the riot, isn't he? He's so feisty, I love it. So edgy, so... Naughty! He has lots of filthy thoughts about you in here, oh the pictures i could paint for you."

"Get out of my- the Master now!"

Cassandra cackled, leering in towards you with a torturous grin. You'd feel rather flustered if it weren't for the fact this wasn't the Masters doing. Cassandra held her hands to his chest, stalking forward as you desperately clung to your stoicism. You wouldn't give her the satisfaction of watching you crack.

"THE Master? Or were you about to say MY Master? You forget darling- i've been inside your head. You want this samba in his chest to only beat for you."

You rolled your eyes, leaning away as the Master giggled and leant in closer towards your face. If Cassandra weren't within the Masters body you most definitely would've punched her. But your growing level of rage meant that was a fact you would possibly be able to overlook.

"It's a shame, really. If it weren't for the fact he'd kill me on the spot, I think i'd like to keep him. He seems like a seasoned professional in showing a lady a good time, after all!"

You let out a scandalised squeak as Cassandra grabbed at your hips, causing herself to dissolve into stitches of laughter as you shoved at the Masters chest. A blush of embarrassment flooded your cheeks, your fists bunching together in furious resentment. 

You sighed loudly, narrowing your eyes as you glared at the woman currently possessing your time lord. She was well and truly pushing your limits at this point and you weren't sure how much of her shenanigans you could handle.

"It's so easy to tease you, darling! You know at first, i just thought it was a personal interest of yours. But he actually calls HIMSELF the Master!-"

"Cassandra-"

"How fabulously kinky! Lucky girl, you did find an exciting bedfellow. How you kept hold of him i'll eternally have no idea."

"ENOUGH!"

The timelord paused from playing with his hair, turning to look you up and down with widened eyes. Cassandra took in your heaving chest, the tightening of your jaw as you glared daggers into her forehead. She raised his eyebrows, raising his hands in mock surrender. You could feel the sarcasm dripping from her actions, which served to infuriate you even more so than before.

"Struck a nerve, did I?"

"We're stuck in the basement of a hospital in QUARANTINE, chased by INFECTED LAB GROWN HUMANS! All of which, by the way, is ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT! And you think the best use of ALL OUR TIME is to play a game of musical bodies and piss off the only person able to help you out?!"

Cassandra pouted childishly at your words. You let out a frustrated huff, causing her to almost recoil in shock.

"We're short on time and big on problems. The last thing I need is you making this situation any worse than it already is!"

A thick silence sat between the pair of you. It was almost a dare to see who would attempt to move first, Cassandra's lips pursed and quivering as if the sarcastic retort was planning itself behind the Master's teeth and upon the timelords tongue. Your determined stoicism was completely abandoned in favour of indulging in the buttons Cassandra had been desperate to push. At this point all you wanted was the Master- not the stuck up snob currently cursing you internally in several languages.

You wanted to be out of this hospital and back in the TARDIS, to lay together and laugh at how a crazy old human who didn't know when to die decided to prance around inside the pair of you for an hour or so. But you couldn't. Because that crazy old human was ridiculously persistent. You thought her and the Master could possibly get on if it weren't for the current predicament you'd found yourselves in.

It seemed Cassandra had finally found her argument. The Master stepped towards you, hands on his hips as he sneered up and down your body. You opened your mouth to speak, ready to smack down any argument she could possibly have against common sense and decency, until a loud crash suddenly broke the pair of you from your standoff.

"Please… Help us!"

The far door to the basement slammed open, the sound of metal ricocheting against the aging stone wall. The diseased clawed and clamoured, spilling into the dingy room with a surge of newfound freedom.

The Master let out a petrified scream, hands flinging to your shoulders as he yanked you forwards to act as his human shield. Cassandra cowered behind you, peeking over your shoulder in terror. You could most definitely slap that woman, you decided. Guilt be damned. He let out a shrill yowl of panic, jutting you forward towards the oncoming hoard.

"TAKE HER, SHE'S LESS VALUABLE THAN I AM!"

Yep. Guilt be most definitely damned.

"Cassandra we have to work together!" You pleaded, turning over your shoulder to face the terrified Master cowering behind you. 

"The Master would know what to do but since you won't leave his head you have to trust I know what he'd say!"

Cassandra whined, roughly pulling you backwards as she stepped away from humans that were slowly beginning to close in.

"And what would he say?!"

You assessed your options. The sick were surrounding you from most angles, your entrance still sealed from your previous escape. However, a possibility caught your eye.

A slender black ladder. Your way out.

You turned once more to the woman, confidence finding itself back in your stride.

"UP THERE!"

The Master screamed once more, heaving you forwards with a weak shove as he scrambled up the stone steps that just emerged behind him. You yelped, gathering your footing with haste as you saw the purple of his coat flail behind him.

“Out of my way! Pretty people don’t die first!”

You followed Cassandra's path, clambering through the remaining metalwork of her skin frame and heading towards the metal ladder that sat flush against the wall. The basement supposedly lead towards all manor of places within the hospital, this upward ascent leading you towards the hollow insides of an abandoned elevator shaft. You watched the timelord hesitantly grasp hold of the flaking and rusting rungs of the ladder, disgust evident on his features as he retched at every climb. You couldn't be dealing with any more of her antics today.

“WHAT’S THE PROBLEM!?”

“THIS LADDER IS FILTHY!”

“SO!?”

“I HOPE YOUR MASTER HAS HIS TETANUS SHOT!”

You shrieked in frustration as you shoved Cassandra further up the ladder, your wafer thin patience having been tested today by that woman more times than you ever thought you could possibly muster. Your time was very much running out, and getting a disease from a ladder was of more concern to the woman than obtaining every single disease on new earth. The audacity of that woman astounded you to a completely new degree.

“IT'S EITHER THAT OR PLAGUE!”

“STOP YELLING AT ME, I CANT COPE WITH ALL THIS PRESSURE!”

“FUCKING CLIMB, CASSANDRA!”

A metallic thunk erupted from the bottom of the ladder, the blistered fist of one of the lab grown humans clinging tight to the first rung of your escape. The flustered cry of Cassandra floated further up the length of the ladder, your stomach filling with pity as you watched the pained glances and heard the pleading cries of the sick. You only hoped you could get the Master back and figure out a way to help them.

“Please… help us!”

“I’m sorry! I’ll try, I promise!” you called in return, before turning to face the panicked clambering of the Cassandra possessed Master up to safety.

You could do this. If you were lucky, you reasoned. It was possible.

If you were truly lucky you could get your Master back, lift the quarantine, save the sick, and escape this dreaded hospital. Only four things. You could do this.

But first, you had to deal with Cassandra:

And judging by the fact she was still screaming, several rungs up the ladder, you needed all the luck you could possibly get.

#dhawan!master x reader #dhawan!master #doctor who #sacha dhawan #The Master #BBC Doctor Who #doctor who season twelve #spymaster #Sacha!Master #fanfiction #fanfic #remastered #dhawan!master / reader #the master x reader #the master x you #master x reader #reader insert #x reader #reader #new earth

[rosaliestark01]

Dusk Till Dawn - Part 4

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You meet your “real dad” and end up learning more than you expect you would. 

Warning:Swearing, Angst, Angry!Reader, Angry!Avengers, Angry!Peter

A/N: Colab with @annies-marvel-imagines​. No GIFs are mine.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” you ask. Ellie, somehow knowing where he lived, had practically dragged you there. You weren’t sure if he’d be happy to see you or not. You don’t even know if he knows you exist.

“Yeah,” Ellie says, gently pushing you towards the door of his apartment. “You deserve the truth and who better than your own dad?”

“Okay...” You knock on the door and wait.

“Just a second!” A man yells on the other side. You hear the sound of something breaking and someone swearing before the door opens. “What do you want?”

“I’m-”, you begin but he interrupts you.

“Y/N,” he says softly. You see some recognition in his eyes, but not very much.

“You know who I am?” You knew that people mostly knew you for being Tony Stark’s “daughter”, but you hoped that some part of him actually knew you for you.

“Of course I know you,” He says as he invites you and Ellie inside of his messy apartment. “You look so much like your mother, Kristen.” You give him a strange look, which he tilts his head at.

“Christine,” you correct him. Your mom’s name was Christine Y/L/N. How could he have forgotten

“Right. Of course,” he says quickly. “It’s just been a while since I’ve said her name.”

After a long period of silence, you don’t know what to say. The longer the silence it the more awkward you felt. What did you expect? You show up at your dad’s cheap apartment unexpectedly with your friend from school who looked way too comfortable in a stranger’s apartment. Instead of saying anything, you looked around. There wasn’t a lot of furniture in the room. There was a couch, a recliner, and a small box TV on top of a wooden crate.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you finally say quietly.

“It’s nice to finally meet you too. After all this time, i get to finally meet my daughter.”

That took you by surprise. Had he been looking for you and for how long?

“How long have you been trying to meet me?” you ask. 

“Pretty much your whole life,”He says. He looks at you seriously before he continues. “I don’t know what Stark has told you, but he only cares about himself. He took you away from me before I even got the chance to hold you.”

“What?” You didn’t know what he was talking about but you wanted to know more. What did your dad Tony do?

“As revenge against my dad, he took you away from me,” Ezekiel says angrily. 

“That doesn’t sound like him,” you tell him. No matter how angry you are at him, you knew that Tony Stark wouldn’t do something like that. Sure, he was prideful, arrogant, and a jerk, but he wasn’t a revenge kidnapper. It just sounded crazy.

“Then I guess you don’t know him as well as you thought you did.” He said. You had never seem someone so calm yet angry. “He ruined my life. He killed my dad, murdered my wife, and stole my own daughter.”

“That really doesn’t sound like him,” you tell him. Besides, Tony told you that Obadiah’s death was his own fault. You didn’t want to believe that that was another lie, but you couldn’t trust Tony Stark no matter how much you were trying to right now.

“It makes sense, Y/N,”Ellie, who had been pretty quiet this whole time, says. “Why else would he lie to you about this?”

“I don’t know.” You look down, not wanting either of them to see the tears that were threatening to fall. The more you tried to believe Tony’s side of the story, the more you couldn’t. He had been lying to you your entire life. Whose to say that your identity was the only thing he lied about.

“I know that it’s not something you want to believe, but your dad is right,” Ellie says.“You can’t trust Tony Stark.”

By the time you made it back to the Tower, it was already light outside. School was already in session, and the entire team was waiting for you in front of the tower. You knew they were all probably pissed at you, but all you could think about was what Ezekiel had told you.

“Y/N Stark, where the hell have you been?” Tony yells at you. You couldn’t help it, but hearing him call you that made you sick to your stomach, literally.  “Do you have any idea how worried we all were? We were this close to sending a search party and- Y/N?”

You tried to hold it in, but you couldn’t. You threw up right in front of everyone. Tony quickly approached you with worry and alarm painted all over his face. The second he tried to help you inside, you snapped.

“Don’t touch me!” you yell at him, causing him to quickly back away. The next thing you knew, everything became dark.

When you opened your eyes, you were back in your room. The curtains were drawn shut, and you noticed that you weren’t alone.

“Y/N, how are you feeling?”Steve asked. He sounded worried, would make sense since you literally just passed out in front of everyone. “Everyone’s worried about you. Your dad-”

“He’s not my dad,” you snap at him. You couldn’t help it. You knew he meant well, but you were stressed and angry. 

“What’s gotten into you?” He asks seriously. “If there’s something bothering you, you can tell me.”

“Nothing is bothering me,” you lie. He gives you a look telling you hat he knows that you’re lying. You’re not planning on telling Captain America that the person who you thought was your dad wasn’t really your dad and had kidnapped you the same day you were born. Even you thought it sounded crazy, but you didn’t know what else to believe.

“Your friends are downstairs,” Steve says hesitantly. “They’re worried about you too.”

“You can tell them I’m fine,” if your friends were there, then that meant that Peter was probably there too. You weren’t in the mood for a lecture about safety from Queen’s friendly neighborhood webslinger. 

“I think that’s something you should tell them,” Steve said gently. You signed, knowing that he was probably right. You threw back the covers on your bed and stood up, unfortunately too fast. 

You made your way down to the lobby where Harry, Ned, MJ, Harley, and Peter stood waiting for you. You noticed the way Peter paced around nervously biting his nails. He stopped immediately the moment he say you and pulled you into one of the biggest hugs he’d ever given you.

“Y/N! Are you okay!” He asked frantically. “I was- we were worried sick!”

“I’m fine,” You tell him a you pull away, much to his disapproval. “There’s no need to worry.”

“Where were you?” He asked, although deep down he had a feeling he knew who you were with.

“I was just hanging out with Ellie,” you say. It was close to the truth. You were with Ellie. Luckily, his spidey-senses didn’t pick up on a lie. What it did pick up on was a feeling of looming danger whenever he heard anyone mention Eloise.

“I don’t think that hanging out with Eloise is healthy for you,” he snapped. 

“Y/N, we really were worried about you,” MJ spoke up as she seemed to sense some tension between you and Peter.

“We still are,”Ned added. “You’re one of my best friends.”

You smiled, happy that Ned saw you like that. He was one of your best friends too. You felt lucky to have friends like these (and happy that they didn’t bring Gwen with them).

“But we all know I’m her favorite,” Harry says as he pulled you in for a side hug. 

“You wish,” you joked. 

“Um, I don’t remember your name being Harley,” Harley tells him jokingly. You all laugh, except Peter who is watching you like you’re going to fall over any second.

“Maybe we should all take the day off and hang out like we used to,” Ned suggests. Your smile fades. Acting like everything is all sunshine and rainbows sounds great, but it’s not. What you really need is time for yourself to think about everything that Ezekiel told you.

“I really want to, but I’m not feeling that well,” you tell them. The excuse sounds all too familiar to Peter, but this time he actually agrees with you.

“I agree. Y/n needs to rest,” he says.

You exchange goodbyes with your friend, however Peter leaves before you could say goodbye to him. You knew he was just worried, but it didn’t stop it from hurting any less.

On your way back to your room, you run into Tony. It looked like he was waiting for you. He stands up and walks towards you with a sad look on his face.

“Y/N, I-”, he begins, but you shut the door to your room before he could say anything else.

You notice the USB that you stole from Hydra sitting on your desk. Part of you wishes that you had never stolen that file from Hydra but you’re also glad you did. You don’t want to live a lie anymore. 

An hour later, your phone dings. Picking it up, and assuming it’s Peter, you are surprised to see that the message is from Ellie, and it sounds urgent.

Ellie: Know it’s not the best time, but meet me at the bank asap!!!!

Since you know that someone is probably outside your door (most likely Tony or Steve), you climb out the window. It takes longer than usual because half way through you begin to feel a bit dizzy.

Eventually, you make it down and make your way to the bank. You don’t know what Ellie is doing there or why she wants you there as soon as possible, but she is your friend and if she is in danger, then you have to help her.

“What’s going on?” you say upon seeing her. Before she could say anything, somebody grabs you by the throat.

“You!” they yell. You instantly feel something hit you. It was a freaking lamp. Looking up, you instantly recognize the person.

“Didn’t I throw a knife at you?” you ask. 

“As you can see, I’m alive now.” Now? What was that supposed to mean?

“Obviously,” you say back at him. He looks at you angrily as you move yourself to stand in front of him. Despite your killer headache, you are smart enough to know that there is no good reason why he’s here.

“Why don’t you get out of my way?” he say. Unfortunately, it looks like he has an upgraded version of that weird space gun. 

After you got shot on that mission, you had planned on upgrading your suit to make it more bullet proof, but not only did you forget, but you didn’t even bring it with you.

“You know what?” He asked, when you stood your ground. “Since we’re both here, I might as well repay you for what you did to me.”

“I think I’m good,” you say. To be truthful, you were starting to feel nervous. You were feeling severely underequipt compared to this dude. You didn’t have your suit and this guy had a giant space gun.

“I don’t care,” he says as he points it at you.

“I believe she said she’s good,” a voice says. You all look to see Spider-Man leaning against the door. You’re happy he’s here, but you know that now you’re in for the biggest lecture of your life.

“This doesn’t concern you,” the man says as he points the space gut at you again. 

Peter uses his webs to pull the gun before the blast hits you. Instead, it creates a burning hole in the wall behind you. Peter tries to web the guy up, but somehow he can’t. 

Feeling the need to do something, you try something that Nat was teaching you before she and everyone else became too busy to train with you. A lot of what she taught you was about balance and using your body weight. This seemed like a good time for that considering Peter’s web shooters were’t sticking to this guy.

Unfortunately for all of you, the guy got a hold of his space gun again and this time he pointed it at Peter.

“Pete!” you yell. Not thinking twice about it, you take the blast that was meant for him. It hits you in the exact same place as last time, so for that you are lucky.

“What the hell?” He yells before turning on the guy. “You-”

Peter, not caring about his strength punches the man, sending him flying. Somehow, he’s still alive. He grabs the gun, presses something on the side, as shoots at the three of you.

“Get down!” You yell, pulling Peter and Ellie down. The explosion sends part w wall flying at you guys, but Peter catches it. 

Ellie?” you ask, checking to see if she was okay.

“I’m fine,” she say as she glares at Peter.

“Y/N, what the hell were you thinking?” He yells at you. 

“She saved your life, you ungrateful-” Ellie says, stepping in and pointing a finger at him.

“You bringing her here almost got her killed!” He yells back. Although you don’t have spidey-senses, you have a feeling that their fight is about to spiral out of control. It doesn’t help that your two friends hate each others guts.

“So now it’s my fault that some crazy person tried to kill Y/N?”, she screams. She throws a punch at Peter, but he easily catches it.

“Why don’t you tell us who you really are?” He asks her. His voice is steady but seeping with hatred.

“What the hell are you talking about?” She screams back. Even you have to admit that she is starting to look a little crazed.“Y/N, I think this stupid arachnid has gone crazy.”

“Hey-”you say. Yeah, you were definitely going to be lectured by Peter and everybody else you know, but you are not going to put up with her insulting Peter like that.

“You-” She yells, probably trying to insult him further, when Peter’s head quickly turns to your left.

“That is enough everyone!” Tony yells. He, Pepper, Happy, and the rest of the Avengers are standing right outside the burning bank. 

“Stark.” Ellie say disdainfully. 

“Excuse me, but who are you?” He asks her.

“She’s my friend,” you pipe up, not wanting her to say anything that could get her in trouble.

“How come we’ve never heard of her?” Nat asks. Tony is about to say something but she stops him.

“You guys don’t need to know every detail of my life.” She looks taken aback because you have never spoken to her like that before. 

“Y/N, you haven’t been acting like yourself lately. What’s up with that?” Pepper says as she walks up to you. She seems to notice that the part of your shirt where you were shot was burnt .

“Let’s just... go home. Okay?” She asks. It was more of a suggestion that you had no choice but to agree to.

You notice Ellie fuming when Peter says something to her. Frankly, you don’t want to know.

Later that night, Pepper walks in (probably because she’s the only one you seem to be okay with).

“Y/N, I think it’s best that you don’t see Eloise for a while,” she say hesitantly. 

“Why?” Although you already know why, you couldn’t help but ask.

“It’s just until things go back to normal,” she reassures you. “From now on, you’ll be home schooled. You can still go to Homecoming with your friends and go to any after school activities you already have. Okay?”

“Okay.” You’re not entirely sure that Peter would still want to go to Homecoming with you after today, but you nod your head anyway.

A/N: Part 5 will be posted on Friday by @annies-marvel-imagines​

TAG LIST:

@eridanuswave​ @drishtisikarwar​ @spideygirl2003​ @ilovespideyyy​

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland peter parker #peter parker x reader insert #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x avenger!reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland #tony stark x daughter reader #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers reader insert #the avengers #pepper potts #steve rogers #things are finally becoming interesting

[piracytheorist]

A Kiss for Good Luck (5/15)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

A/N: Total chapter count went up cause I decided to split the last chapter into two parts. From now on updates will come every Tuesday and Friday.

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3)

Word count for this chapter: 2.1k (48k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

~

Chapter 5: Emma Swan, October 31st 2000 – October 19th 2011

Emma pulls back at the sound of a whistle next to her.

"Nice catch, Captain," a girl dressed like Cruella de Vil says to the boy, but he just shakes his head, annoyed at her.

"Ignore her," he tells Emma. "She's just pissed that there's too many adults around," he says as he gives the girl a pointed glare.

The girl just shrugs and walks away.

Emma keeps her arms around the boy's neck and they keep rocking to the rhythm of the next song. Just as she's about to ask him for his name, she sees Sarah and the owner of the two villas run to the front door.

"Excuse me," she tells the boy and lets go. "I'll be right back."

She follows the two women outside and gasps when she sees the bright, wild flames burning inside their rented villa. She tries to step forward towards Sarah, but she trips and falls, scraping her arm on a sharp rock on the ground.

She's not bleeding much; she keeps her arm hidden, feeling lucky she has her zombie makeup, as she stands awkwardly by while the villa's owner is venting out her anger over her destroyed property at Sarah. Emma is too tired and too shocked to understand whose fault it is and who will have to pay for the damages.

Everything they'd brought with them was burned in the fire, including Emma's passport. Sarah says they were lucky enough that her own wallet and papers were in her purse. Early the next morning, one Emma dressed as a way too messy zombie princess and one Sarah dressed as a very tired witch with a broken hat check into a hotel, waiting for the embassy to open so they can arrange for Emma's new travel documents.

They're flying back two days later, and after a long, seemingly endless to Emma trip, she looks at the queue at passport control as if it's the final obstacle to a good night's sleep.

Sarah lets her go first, and though the security guard takes a little more time checking her passport than Emma feels comfortable with, he eventually allows her to pass. Emma picks up her rucksack, still slightly mourning the clothes and the other stuff she lost in the fire, crosses over and turns to look at Sarah.

Sarah walks to the checkpoint. After checking her passport, the security guard picks up a walkie-talkie and says something to it while staring at Sarah.

Sarah turns to look at her, worried, and Emma feels a shiver run down her spine.

Two other guards appear and walk up to Sarah, while another one walks to Emma.

Emma freezes; she watches as the two guards lead Sarah away, while she's turning her head back to look at Emma before they urge her through a door. She seems to be calling Emma's name.

“What's happening?” Emma says, still staring at the closed door. They didn't even let her cross. “Where are you taking her?”

“Just follow me. It's a matter of security.”

“You have to tell me! What happened?!”

The guard stays silent and simply walks forward. He leads Emma into an office, offering her water and a sandwich. Emma takes a few gulps of water – her mouth feels dry as sand already – but her stomach is too tight for her to manage even one bite.

Many long, tiring hours later, a woman dressed in a suit approaches Emma. The badge on her chest has that damn seal that Emma had hoped she'd never see again.

They tell her that Sarah's real name is Ingrid, that she'd migrated illegally from Norway eighteen years ago, that she never had the right to adopt Emma, that all her belongings are now part of the state...

Emma is taken away by the social worker before she has any chance to talk to Sarah – or Ingrid, whatever her real name is.

Still processing the unbelievable secrets revealed to her, she's in such a shock when she picks up a few essentials from the place she called home that she doesn't even think to call a friend. She doesn't need her phone book to remember Lily's phone number, but for the few days she stays in a foster home on the other side of Boston, she trembles at the thought of calling her after the news of her adoptive mother being a criminal have hit the neighborhood.

And Lily had sounded so excited to hear all about Emma's first crush. She wouldn't be ready to deal with such heavy news. She wouldn't be able to understand.

It's not long before Emma runs away. Sar-Ingrid has been deported, there's no good at searching for her, and no-one will take care of Emma like she did, despite the secrets she'd kept.

Part of Emma wants to believe Ingrid had a good reason. But it still lead to this, to Emma running away, breaking into and stealing a yellow Bug to sleep in and probably escape with to... somewhere. Anywhere.

Only Emma had never imagined she'd get a partner in all of this, sneakily sleeping in the backseats, all courtesy of stealing an already stolen car.

Neal is okay. Only two years older than her, he's quickly interested in her, but when she tells him no he keeps their relationship strictly platonic – and professional. It's always easier to pickpocket and shoplift when one of them plays the role of distraction.

At first, Emma keeps remembering that boy, dressed as a pirate, who looked at her in a way she hadn't been looked at before. But when the way Neal looks at her slowly starts resembling that, she thinks that maybe there was something about the romance novels Ingrid liked so much. Maybe there's no love at first sight, but there may be love at first shoplift, first trespassing, first sharing of stolen goods...

And when he promises her a home in Tallahassee, she realizes that just a look means nothing. When his lips stay on hers, and kiss them again and again. When she pulls him to the backseat of the car and what does she know, that scene in Titanic was actually realistic. When he nuzzles closer to her after he's fallen asleep.

Tallahassee is a bit of a long way, but she dares to have hope. Maybe Ingrid wouldn't be too mad. She'd committed a crime, too, anyway.

Neal convinces her to pick up some watches he'd stolen and stored in a locker. Fencing them would give them big money. Neal wants to make fake IDs for them and run off, but after seeing Ingrid's drama, Emma simply wants to give up stealing and make their life in Tallahassee. He puts one of the watches on her wrist as a promise.

As Emma waits for Neal to come back from meeting the fence, her imagination goes wild. They'll have a home for themselves. They won't have to hide, to run, to fear anything anymore. Not that she gives one damn about the law – she's just tired of running. She spins her wrist, touching the watch and thinking of Neal's promise.

But again, it's not the first promise made to her that's broken. Though admittedly, getting sent to jail for Neal's crime was way worse than any other.

He left her the car. She holds the swan keychain with its keys in her hand, then looks at the bars outside her cell's window and wishes with all her might that she could find Neal and run him over with the car he was oh so generous to give her.

Even though she's just seventeen years old, she's already heard that prison makes one tougher. Maybe Emma's exterior does get that way after eleven months in there, but she knows that inside she's still a mess. It's not just that the Bug is the only place she's got to sleep. It's not just that she sometimes still resorts to shoplifting to eat. It's also that now the pirate boy's look becomes nothing. Ingrid's promises and comforting words become dust.

People look at her and through their harsh looks she sees anger, hate, disapproval.

So be it. It's better that way. It will discourage her from trusting anyone again.

Finding a messy, exhausting job as a janitor is the luckiest she's been since Neal gave her away to the police, putting the blame for his crime on her. It's tough, and she hates it, but it pays just enough to rent an old studio that's at least got a bathroom and a kitchen.

Tallahassee is a lost dream by now. Not that she dares to dream much anymore.

Sometimes, from far away, she spots old friends and acquaintances and she makes sure to avoid them and pretend she doesn't see them. They never call her, and she's glad. What is she going to say anyway? Those people still have their homes, their families, their sparkly clean criminal records. She's not the Emma they knew, and surely not the Emma they're ready to accept.

The years go by and she feels emptier. Her jobs get a little bit better, her studio apartments a little bit warmer, but her heart never feels lighter.

She's satisfying some needs. One-night-stands are as far as she goes, though. Sometimes she allows herself to spend the whole night with her partners, but there are times that she remembers that pirate boy and she nearly feels disgusted by her life. She's stopped wanting more, she's stopped wanting something deeper. She's stopped simply wanting.

She hates herself for still thinking about Tallahassee from time to time. Even if she decided to visit, only to prove to herself that there's nothing there for her, she can never spare enough money for a simple trip there. Something always comes up; her apartment flooding, her car breaking down and needing fixing; she gives up when in the span of one year burglars break into her apartment twice and empty it from the few items of value she has.

Even ten years after Neal's fake promise, the damn thought about Tallahassee won't go away.

She wonders if it's because it's the last promise she was given. She spent the first years of her life used to nothing being permanent and secure; then Ingrid pretty much spoiled her, gave her unrealistic expectations about the world. But Emma can't find it in herself to blame her. For all her faults – and crimes – Ingrid had given Emma her love. And it's something she'd go to jail ten times for.

Boston is a big city, but it's choke-full of negative memories for Emma, and just for once she wishes she can spend her birthday somewhere and just do something.

Her boss can only give her two days off the week before her birthday. Just her luck.

Still she's got just enough savings to visit New York City. Truly, she just wants some time away from Boston – she hasn't left since she was released ten years ago. She just wants a place where she doesn't have to avoid old acquaintances, she wants something loud, and drinks, and dance. Lots, lots of dance.

The club in New York isn't half bad. Someone's cigarette burns half a lock of her hair, she spills her drink on her dress, and her shoes are killing her – she learned long ago to not trust heels with her luck, and still her flats are uncomfortable – but she manages to have a decent time.

Or maybe it's the drink that's muddling her thoughts. Maybe she's too drunk to stay on one thought for long, if the realization that her bladder has given her its sixth warning is anything to go by.

Of course there's a queue outside the of course only bathroom. She sits down next to a guy who looks as plastered as her. And she swears it's not the drink that makes all but one person disappear from the queue. And then it will be the guy's turn, and then hers... sweet, finally.

However, when the last person comes out, the guy next to her gestures with his hand.

"Go ahead," he says slowly. His eyes are drooping closed.

"No, it's okay," she says, also slowly. "I can wait."

"Go, please. I'm not one to leave a lady waiting."

"Oh, how a gentleman... what gentleman..." Shit, she's very drunk. Shit? Is that what he... is that why he wants her to go first?

He is a gentleman. And with an accent, to boot.

"Can I kiss you?" she says.

The man just shrugs.

As he sits against the wall, she touches his cheek and kisses him deeply.

#Captain Swan #captain swan ff #cs ff #ouat ff #akfgl #captain swan movie marathon #piracytheorist writes

[rayveewrites]

So as a simultaneous end of the year/ completion of Golden Echoes/ launch of Buried Gold celebration, I thought it would be neat to go through every chapter and post my favourite line/phrase/sentence/paragraph/etc from each. Why? Is this a genuine celebration? Do I think I’m funny and laugh at my own jokes? Am I actually just procrastinating? Yes. (Very obviously spoilers for the entire fic.)

Prologue: Lost  Darkness, pierced by the faint glow of sunlight through the holes in the ceiling. The sound of dripping water, pooling in the centre of the room.

Prologue: Found It remembered a time of life and colour, when it danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off its happiness and energy and gave him their own. Would it ever experience that again?

Prologue: Name  Old, brittle bones grinded. Rusted metal sounded against the tiled floor. Colourless eyes softly glowed silver.

Returned ...whoever thought it was a good idea to create a horror attraction out of the actual murders of actual children needed to have their heads readjusted. Forcefully. With a mask full of crossbeams and wires.

Exploration ...servos and circuits, they had been at this location for an hour and Freddy was already having a terrible day. Also it was 10 AM. The location operated at night. Why.

Darkness  So young, and left without a voice. I ask you now to make your choice. Clean the tiles of blood and tears? Or let them suffer with their fears?

Void He called up a memory, of turquoise eyes and golden fur, of whispers in the night that meant nothing and everything, of a feeling of happiness, that nothing would ever change, because the world was already perfect. 

Balloons Of course this place has wonky physics.

JJ “So let me get this straight. A potentially dangerous supernatural rabbit wants me to take a cryptic message to a potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit, and then somehow convince the other potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit and his potentially dangerous animatronic friends that the first potentially dangerous animatronic rabbit is not, in fact, the definitely dangerous child-murdering serial killer who’s...somewhere else. Have I got all that?”

Rabbit Part of his mouth twitched, as if he was trying to make a facial expression, but couldn't. 

Arcade The Void was not cooperating.

Parts Things had always seemed much brighter when they were two.

Guard Whatever came to one or the other's mind, in the breaks between people coming through and Sam playing creepy sounds over the speakers because 'a couple of teenagers are smooching on cam six, do they you realize I can see you, jesus christ, why are you even snogging in a horror attraction anyway, I really don't get the appeal, I swear to god-' or something along those lines, anyway.

Adventure Peace wasn't a feeling the ghost had had for a very long time.

Notes ...it had been a handful of wild yellow daisies a little girl had found, and he’d woven them into a ‘flower crown’ (actually more of a flower bracelet- the girl had picked as many as she could hold, but children had small hands) and put it on Fredbear’s hat when his partner wasn’t looking. Fredbear had promptly worn it all that night and the next day, daisies and all. Spring hadn’t been sure if he’d noticed or not, but either way, it had been very cute.

Cupcakes If the kid wanted a dinosaur, the kid should get a dinosaur, as far as he was concerned. Clothes were clothes. Why did people kick up such a stink about it sometimes?

Tapes “Uh, hello? Hello, hello! Uh, there’s been a slight change of company policy concerning use of the suits. Um, don’t.” “Oh gee,” JJ muttered, “imagine. It’s almost as if they were giant metal deathtraps.”

Talk ...she didn’t need to understand every aspect of Springtrap's life. That was Springtrap’s job, and he was apparently terrible at it.

Performance “It smells like something crawled in there and died.” 

Gold Fredbear had been Springtrap’s heart and soul; as much as he loved the children and gave each performance his all, his real reason for living was in the bear who sang beside him. Springtrap remembered singing on stage, a guitar in his hands and love in his soul. He remembered stolen kisses in the night, waltzing on cool tiles with music nobody else could hear. He remembered stealing Fredbear’s hat dozens of times, running off wearing it and giggling like a small child himself. He remembered quiet nights, when the only sounds were his guitar and Fred’s soft humming, sometimes the same tune, sometimes not, but neither of them ever cared. He remembered curling up together, watching stars twinkle in the night sky beyond the walls of the little diner, and truly believing that the time they had together was infinite. 

Stage He was holding something. He looked down, opened his hand and saw a gleaming purple microphone, accented with gold. It had been years, decades, since he had last seen it, but he recognized it. He knew what it meant. "Even after everything, I’m still with you." 

[Note: this is also the chapter that contained Springtrap’s poem. I’m quite proud of that one, despite how much of a pain it was to write. So, honourable mention]

Notes [Note: wait, crud, there’s two chapters named Notes? I’m gonna have to change one of those later.]

Maybe she just needed to hit something.

Knife [Note: I forgot to actually title this one in AO3. Welp. Better fix that later]

It was slightly strange, a Freddy’s-related crime that was just… basic burglary. It was always the unusual crimes that happened- murder, manslaughter, OSHA violations (so many OSHA violations). But theft? That was new.

Shadows

They lapsed back into silence for a moment. “So, this place… is it real?” In a fashion. It was created from your memories of what is gone. “So… if Fredbear isn’t here…” He is unreachable. “Where?” I cannot tell you. “You don’t know, do you.” The Shadow-Bear was silent, telling Springtrap all he needed to know. 

Puppet RWQ… Yes? Stop tormenting the rabbit. You’re no fun. Puppet? She hissed at the purple bear. Stop tormenting the rabbit. “And why would I listen to you?” Because, Shadow Freddy said as the Puppet was slowly levitated up into the air, all four limbs flailing, he’s needed. And also, you are being, as Springtrap so eloquently called RWQ earlier, an asshole.

Voice Specifically, it was more a mixture of blood, rotting flesh, and whatever other bodily fluids lingered in William Afton’s partially mummified decomposing head and was accessible via Springtrap’s mouth, without opening said mouth to the point where someone would notice said partially mummified decomposing head.  [Or] Springtrap was displaying remarkable self-restraint. First, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for threatening his friend’s life. Then, he hadn’t punched the Puppet in the face for implying he had a problem with the golden bear. Now, he wasn’t squeezing the life out of JJ in a hug.

Ghosts “No. The thing is, I’ve never had a name I felt truly fit before it. I can’t be Bonnie any more; the Classic model has taken that name, and he is welcome to have it. Spring Bonnie was the name the Man Behind the Slaughter used; I never truly referred to myself with it. Some employees called me Golden Bonnie, to fit with the whispers of a Golden Freddy, but that was never truly a name either, although I suppose I could have gotten used to it eventually. But Springtrap? It lets me keep my past, and it lets me have a future. Sure, it’s a little odd, but I don’t mind. I kind of like it. It’s unique.”

Humans Oh, Spring has a key. That explains where the spare went! When did he get that? Jake’s been looking for it for ages. Not that it’s my business. He says he technically works here, so it’s not stealing. Cheeky. He’s right though.

Henry “I’m not sure whether I should be pissed about the weird way he’s been constructed, or impressed he hasn’t collapsed yet. What the hell is holding him togeth- wait what the hell is that.” Springtrap winced. He knew he should’ve warned them beforehand, but he still tended to hide the rotting corpse. It was instinctive, a sort of habit- born from the fear he would be scrapped is the workers found out, and increased by the fact he was being blamed for murder.

Sound No matter how bad Springtrap’s eyesight could get, no matter how often his joints locked up, Springtrap had always had his rabbit hearing. It had saved his life several times, back when the Classics were hunting him. He had figured out a basic method of echolocation for when his eyes were useless. He relied on his ears, and now they were letting him down for the first time in his life. It scared him.

Doors “Freddy! We have a problem!”

Attack He did. He needed a hand. God, it hurt. Where was his arm? Was that his arm? No, it couldn’t be. He was gold. Not green. Or maybe it was. It was hard to think. Thinking. What a strange concept. The Greeks had invented thinking, hadn't they? Why would they do that?

Rest There were voices. Voices. His voicebox had lungs. His lungs were in his spine. His spine was being held together by lungs. His spine attached to his legs. He had no legs. He heard voices. He couldn’t hear. The grass was nice. Cool. Soft. Green. Like his eyes. Not like his eyes. Like his fur. He had no fur. Like his plush. His plush was green. Or gold. Or red. Or brown. He couldn’t remember which. Maybe it was all of them There was a breeze. It was nice. Warm. Hot. It was sunny. The sun was a star. He liked stars.  Stars meant Fredbear. And dancing. Where were his legs? He wanted to dance with the stars. Or with Fredbear. Fredbear. His Fredbear. He missed Fredbear.

Epilogue: Box Smeared down the plaster, it started about six feet up, and grew thicker toward the ground. It looked like Springtrap, or the Purple Guy, had slid down the wall until they were sitting. The tile beneath was stained heavily, and Freddy marvelled at how much blood was in a human body.

Epilogue: Opening ... no killing. That was the new rule. It was a strange one, for Master, but he supposed Master knew what he was talking about. He had changed, too; he had scratched behind his ears a couple days ago and it had felt so good.

Epilogue: Spark He remembered a time of life and colour, when he danced and played and sang, when children flocked around him and fed off his happiness and energy and gave him their own. He would experience that again.

#Golden Echoes

[headoverhiddles]

Grotesk Burlesk - Hans Landa x Marilyn Manson [Smut]

Synopsis: Colonel Landa finds himself a fish out of water as a patron at a racy club in Berlin, but his affections are stolen by a tall, dark and mysterious performer who is more than meets the eye. This fic is also available on ao3!

Notes: Special thanks to @ninavantastisch​ for saving me with the German translation! 

This is the song performed in this fic, and this is the style in which it is performed. Give it a watch/listen before you read. Also, warning for mild period-typical homophobia and accidental misgendering! 

Tagging: @blueinkblot​ @daughterofdesire​ @wingsy-keeper-of-songs​ (and @skin-slave​ you might like this!) 

Everything had been getting on Landa's nerves. The job, his subordinates making even the slightest mistake. He was on edge, moody, and short-- this is how he came to visit Das Haus des Gold during his time off, a nightclub not typically frequented by those of his social standing.  

"Schöner Laden," (Lovely place) Lt. Schmidt observed, as his fellow lieutenant grinned widely at a passing waitress dressed in a black corset.

"Ein bisschen klein aber in Ordnung," (A little small, but alright) Captain Von Wolff nodded, narrowing his eyes, and turned to Hans. "Wenn es Ihnen nicht zusagt, Oberst dann können wir auch woanders hingehen." (If this does not please you, colonel, we can find another place.)

“Ich denke es ist schon in Ordnung,” (I think it is alright) Lt. Orlock said, still watching the young lady in black, and earned a quick smack to the back of the head from Von Wolff.

Hans thought about this. It was obviously not an establishment he would have picked out. It was filled with dada-esque low art, which would normally disgust him. Still. Was this such a bad thing? Art is to be appreciated in any form, and Landa knew that better than any in his company, being a man of culture himself. Furthermore, it was to be expected of every member of the army that they, in their recreation, find something on the side to amuse them, keep them in good spirits. But Hans, he could hardly bear the idea of getting too chummy with his fellow officers in a place like this. He was an authority figure to be feared, not "one of the men".

That really wasn’t any reason to turn down a nice night on the town, however. It was better than another night of interrogation of those dim-witted enough to believe they could outsmart him.

Von Wolff took Landa's silence as apprehension, and began to back them away to the door. "Ich hätte Schmidt nicht die Planung, für diesen Abend, überlassen sollen…" (I shouldn't have let Schmidt plan this night...)

"Nein," Hans put up a hand with a small smile, "Nein. Es ist ein schönes Établissement." (No, no. It is a fine establishment.)

“Aber, Colonel Landa—”

“Das klingt schrecklich nach einem Kapitän, der die Entscheidung seines Vorgesetzten in Frage stellt. Oder bin ich nur empfindlich?” (This sounds an awful lot like a captain questioning his superior's decision. Or am I just sensitive?)

“…Nein, Herr Colonel. Natürlich nicht.” (No, Colonel. Of course not.)

The three entered the nightclub, and were seated.

A young blonde lady in a small black dress came over. Landa could see her garter belt, and gave her a once over.

"Was kann ich Ihnen bringen?" (What can I get for you?)

"Nur ein schönes, kaltes Glass Milch für mich. Danke." Hans smiled warmly at her. (Just a nice cold glass of milk for me, thanks.) If she was at all confused over his order, she didn’t show it, as the rest of the men ordered tall beers. She departed to promptly to fill their orders.

"Die Damen hier sind reizend," Landa commented. (The women here are lovely.) Just then, the black curtains drew, and the lights dimmed. Two girls shimmied out onstage, bound together as Siamese twins by a stitched up straight jacket. Interesting visual display. They started to play piano, a dark, sexy melody, and a tall figure came out.

She was dressed in heels, long smooth legs running up to black pantyhose and a small black dress covering what could not be left to the imagination. She had a bowler hat down over her eyes, but her lips were luscious and deep red, contrasting against her vampirically pale skin. Strands of short black hair protruded from beneath the hat as she reached up with fingerless gloved hands to move the hat up. Long faux eyelashes were revealed, as they barely dusted the crystals that adorned her cheeks. She lifted her chin, and with a sultry little spin, began to sing.

"Well our monkeys have monkeys, we drive our death crushed diamond jaguar limousine... we're not fantastic mother-fuckers, but we play them on TV..."

Hans was lost in the sway of her hips, her deeper-than-most voice, and the provocative movements of her body. She came to the front of the stage, saluting while parting her long, slender legs. "It's a dirty word, 'Reich', say... what you like, it's a dirty word, 'Reich', say... what you like." She winked the officers' way with that line after noticing their uniforms, and launched into a chorus that was just as sexy.

"We're the low art gloominati, and we... aim to depress... the scab-aret sacrilegends, this is the golden age of grotesque..."

She got up on a platform of sorts, and began to grind her hips against the microphone stand, something that got a considerable rise out of the crowd.

"I got the jigger to make all you bigger, ladies und gentlemen... so drop your piss room bait and make sure you're not late you tramps and lunatics." She held up a finger gun to her forehead, and licked her red lips as she looked directly at Hans.

"Cause the trick... 'sgonna make you.... click."

Landa readjusted in his seat, hoping his men couldn’t see how affected by the performance he really was. This performer was absolutely beautiful. Oh, what those red lips could do around him. Where those slender fingers could touch. This was true art, no doubt in Landa's mind, not Goebbels' drivel propaganda he peddles to the Fuehrer for praise. Landa may be an officer, but he wasn’t blind. This singer could enthrall the entire country with a look alone.

"We sing la, la la la... la la la, we sing la la la la la." The dark haired beauty smirked, tipping that bowler hat back. "La, la la la... la la la, we sing la la la, la la..." She finished off her song with a little bow, and a kiss blown out to the audience. Landa toiled during her next number, a song she introduced as Doll Dagga Buzz Buzz Ziggety Zag. Watching her dance, he narrowed his eyes. There's something about that performer he couldn’t shake. Something different, something... secret. And make no mistake, there was no better man in the country at detecting secrets than Hans Landa. He sat, frozen in reverie as she went on to her third and final song, something about a mobscene.

"Sie ist unglaublich!” (She's incredible!) Schmidt whispered, “Tiefe Stimme, aber.... wunderschön.” (Low voice, but… beautiful.)

Hans wondered what it could be that he was picking up on with this singer. Usually he was better at figuring out what people are hiding. It could just be the fact that one of her eyes was white, while the other was dark… that could be throwing him off.

Interrupting his contemplation a few minutes later, the music picked up a little to a raunchy jazz number, as a curvy, radiant black haired beauty came strutting onstage in a glittery dress and top hat. She winked at the crowd as she shrugged off her feather boa to the music, and began to unzip her dress from behind.

"Was für eine Art von Club ist das hier, Schmidt?” (What kind of club is this, Schmidt?) Von Wolff demanded, though he was unable to take his eyes off the stage.

"Meine liebste Art!” (My favourite kind!) Orlock answered for him, clapping for the girl and laughing. Though this one was beautiful too, Landa simply could not get the mystery and allure of the last performer's eyes out of his mind. As the brunette began to strip, Hans excused himself from his officers, and slipped backstage. He searched around for a moment, then found who he was looking for. The captivating singer from the stage.

"Guten abend, schöne Fraulein."

"I don't speak German," the performer said, taking down one of the stockings on a long, pale leg, "My songs back there were in English, in case you didn't notice."

Hans adjusted his speech accordingly. "Your music still, is very much influenced by German culture, is it not?"

The singer began to lift up the little dress past their undergarments. "Yeah. You're right about that."

"So. An American out of his comfort zone."

And a man, so it would seem. So that's what they were hiding. Hans' gaze lingered for more than a few seconds.

"I wouldn't say I'm out of my comfort zone," the crossdresser tilted his head, "I've got you in the palm of my hand in a small dressing room, small enough for me to either suck your cock or stab you with my hairpin. If I stabbed you, I could go home a war hero." He reached down to unlace his g-string, then looked up, raising his shaved eyebrows. "Mind if I readjust my crotch?"

Hans smiled slightly at the man's blunt language, finding it refreshing. He held up a hand to show he did not mind, and steered the conversation back. "What is stopping you from using... what did you say? A hairpin, to murder me?" Hans smiled. He was rather enjoying this man already. The performer pursed his painted lips.

"I don't get involved in wars. I just do what I do best. Drink expensive absinthe, look pretty, and perform."

"You do certainly do the last two well, yes," Landa nodded, "Do you have any proof of the first point?"

Manson smirked, realizing what the man was asking. He reached behind his vanity, and pulled out a thin bottle. He took two glasses, pouring a bit in each.

“What is your name?”

“…Marilyn.”

“It’s a beautiful name. Is it your real one?”

“Nothing in this world is for real.” He pulled out some distilled water, and added that to both glasses, watching the liquid go a milky green. "Here. Sorry, no sugar spoons around."

"Oh, I prefer to drink milk, thank you."

"You went through all the effort of finding me backstage. Now you have to drink what I drink."

Landa reluctantly accepted the offer, mainly because he was a curious man by nature, but also because the man offering it to him was ridiculously good looking. "Hm. Very well. Do you mind at all if I smoke, to enjoy the drink with it?" Landa asked.

"Go ahead."

Landa lit up a German cigarette, offering one to Marilyn, who declined. Then Landa takes a sip, and marvels at how strong the drink is. Odd flavours dance across his taste buds, and he feels his head begin to swim almost immediately.

"It's different from being drunk," Marilyn commented, cutting through the haze as he took the generous sip of a seasoned drinker, "It's like you can lose your body, but not your mind."

"I see what you mean," Landa nodded, rubbing his chest, "Exquisite taste, however. I’ve never experienced anything quite like it."

Marilyn took another sip. "It's alright. You can say it tastes like herbal acid. It only tastes good when it's pretty much all you drink." He gestured to himself. Hans chuckled, set his drink aside, and carefully cleared some makeup off of a stool. "Eh, may I sit down?" The performer nodded, and stared for a second at the curiously benevolent officer.

"…You don't care that I'm a man, huh?"

Hans mulled this over. "I will not lie, it did surprise me. But then, why should I care?" he shrugged, straightening out his uniform, "You put on a beautiful performance, and you are a beautiful person. There is no reason to shy away from that fact."

"You liked the show?" Marilyn asked, not immune to a little praise.

"It was magnificent. You took my breath away." The man didn’t let the officer see his smile-- he turned away to finish taking down his other stocking.

"I only ask, cause... a lot of men like you see my show, get all hot and bothered, come back here like you did expecting a nice happy ending, then they blame me for seducing them when they find out I'm not the pretty little German woman of their dreams. Makeup only covers up so many black eyes, so I've started warning people before they, uh... bunch up my skirt."

His smile was joking, but his eyes conveyed a weariness only someone as sharp as Hans could detect.

"I'm not complaining, but… why do you continue to perform then?" the German asked softly. "Your performance is art, and so are you. You should be treated as such."

"Yeah, well contrary to popular belief, I don't perform to fuck people," Marilyn said, an undertone of sarcasm present, "I actually do enjoy the art of getting up onstage and putting on a show that'll get people talking. Make people think about how they respond to my art. Fucking attractive people is just a bonus." He undid his corset in front of the mirror.

"Here. Allow me to assist you," Landa said, and put out his cigarette before getting up. He was shorter than the performer, but their eyes still met in the mirror as Landa unlaced the contraption one whalebone hook by one, slowly, deliberately down his back. Shivers ran down Marilyn’s spine, the officer's gaze penetrating. Landa's finger grazed down Marilyn's back, down and up again to unlace the final hook.

A bubbly brunette strode in from the stage. She was the charming burlesque dancer who had gone on after Marilyn.

"You were fantastic," she said, leaning in. She was topless from her striptease—Hans admired the freedom of it all, a breath of fresh air from the stuffy officer’s life he led. It was like being in a whole different world, the exciting underbelly of the artist’s hideout. She and Marilyn shared a European kiss on both cheeks, and she tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. He smiled.

"So were you, Dita."

"Gotta run, honey. I see you're indisposed, anyway." She shot off a wink, waving playfully at Hans, and hurried off to her own dressing room, breasts bouncing with every poised step.

"She is charming," Landa commented, shaking his head. "She is American too?" Manson looked back to him, suspicious of the question. He didn't give a fuck about himself, but when it came to the people close to him... Landa smirked. "I am not in the business of turning over American burlesque dancers to the Fuhrer. I am simply curious."

For whatever reason, Manson believed him.

"Dita and I came here to Berlin from Los Angeles to perform. We brought along a couple others to support our shows. We felt like we belonged here more than we did there, with all the uptight, patriotic isolationist nonsense in America." He changed the subject. "You wanna give me your name too, or is that breaching German military code?"

"Colonel Hans Landa, of the SS."

"Colonel," Marilyn nodded, "I'm impressed." He did not seem impressed. Landa gave him a look of amusement.

"Would you rather I be a general?"

Manson sighs, sucking in his cheekbones and powdering his face with a large fluffy powder puff. "I'd rather you be pulling my hair and shouting whatever the f word is in German repeatedly, but wishful thinking gets me nowhere. Especially not with some SS colonel who had the audacity to drop into my boudoir." Landa raised his eyebrows. Watching the performer's graceful limbs and trailing his gaze down to admire the black lace contrasting against Marilyn's backside, Landa started to work the night out in his mind, examining how this could look from all angles. In order to keep his credibility (and his reputation) he'd need to think up an elaborate story that would get the both of them to a spot safe to carry out any fantasies that begged to be indulged. He had to convince Marilyn of it too—he couldn’t risk any slip ups.

"I have the authority to go anywhere I like in this country," he said, smile still on his face but quickly contorting into something ominous, "I hope you know that, my pretty American." Marilyn hesitated, picking up on the sudden shift in the mood, but thought nothing of it as he continued to undress. "I must confess, I have not been entirely truthful with you tonight," Hans went on, folding his hands in his lap. Marilyn tucked his hair behind his ears, inspecting his reflection.

"No? You gonna tell me you're a woman?"

Despite himself, Landa chuckled. "That situation would make for a good stage play, would it not?" His smile slowly ebbed away, as he replaced it with a cold gaze of sinister intent. "Do you know what they call me?"

"I can't say that I do."

"They call me the Jew Hunter."

"I'm not Jewish."

"No. But you are American. An allied country, and an enemy of the state. What you have told me here tonight, and the simple fact of you being a crossdresser by profession, gives me the authority to take you and keep you in holding until your identity has been confirmed by the embassy of the United States of America." At this, Marilyn turned around sharply, dropping his red lipstick with a clatter. "Ah," Landa put up a hand, "There's nowhere for you to go but with me, unless you wish to be shot down like a dog in the street."

Marilyn tried to escape anyway, dodging past him in an attempt to warn the others. Landa however, was too fast. He grabbed the taller by the bicep, and dragged him in with strength unbefitting of a man of his physicality.

"If you run or make any noise at all, I will have the lovely Miss Von Teese kept here as not only a prisoner of war, but a comfort girl. How would she like to strip for the Fuhrer? Hm?"

Manson ripped his arm away as he realized there was no way out of this, snarling. "Fuckin' bastard."

Landa's mouth twitched up. "If you'll be a good boy and cooperate, we can do this the easy way, without a scene." He leaned in. "Remember. What is it you said on stage? Be obscene... not heard."

Marilyn resisted the urge to growl again, and let Landa lead him out from backstage. Dita was busy in her own area, and none of the other performers took his departure on a stranger’s arm as particularly out of the ordinary. Tim Sköld, a Swedish man Marilyn had met in America who had followed his company out here, watched after him lazily, grazing the arm of one of the Siamese twins who was currently staining kisses all over his face.

“There he goes again,” Tim murmured, and took one of her fingers into his mouth.

Landa approached his men again, who were now about three drinks in and having a good old time at the table.

"Ah, Landa!" Orlock laughed, red in his puffy face from too much schnapps, "Da sind Sie ja wieder! Sie haben es verpasst-- Schmidt, der verdammte Narr, hat die Bardame zum Wetttrinken herausgefordert. Hat gesagt, wenn sie verliert, dann zeigt sie ihm ihre großen Brüste! Natürlich hat er--” (Rejoined us at long last! You missed it-- Schmidt, the damned fool, challenged the pretty barmaid to a drinking contest, said if she lost, she'd have to show her big tits! Of course he--)

"Wer ist das, Landa?” (Who is this, Landa?) Von Wolff asked, cutting in with a stern glare.

"Don't you recognize our costumed friend?" Landa asked in English. Marilyn looked up with a sneer, and the other men noticed his lipstick, his clip on earrings, and the sultry shadowed eyes all three of them were unabashedly admiring an hour ago.

"Sie war ein Mann?!” (She was a man?!) Von Wolff growled, “Schmidt, du Narr! Du hast uns in einen entarteten Club gebracht!” (Schmidt, you fool! You brought us to a degenerate club!) Schmidt looked notably sheepish, which made Landa question why he hadn’t clued into the young lieutenant’s predilections sooner; no matter now. Lt. Orlock got up, fist at the ready. Marilyn for his part, didn’t shy away.

"Yeah? You wanna fight me, you pieces of shit?" he blurted, breaking free of Landa's grasp for a moment, "Come on. Come on! Why don’t you teach me what it's like to be a man?!" Landa put a stop to Marilyn's antagonistic behavior by grabbing his arm again, tighter this time.

"And the queer is American," Von Wolff mentioned in English, giving Marilyn the dirtiest look.

“That’s me, everyone’s favorite American slut,” Marilyn sighed. Orlock threatened to punch him again, so Marilyn spat in his face. This had the same effect as waving a red flag in front of a bull.

“Ah ah,” Von Wolff growled, holding Orlock back. “He will get what he deserves behind bars, Lieutenant. He is a person of interest, especially having broken the law in such a… repulsive, lewd manner.”

“I think it’s repulsive and lewd how you’re gonna jerk off later thinking of my ass,” Marilyn mouthed off, and Landa yanked his arm roughly in warning.

"No doubt he is of interest to us," Landa nodded slightly, "I could tell instantly the moment he stepped onstage."

"Bullshit," Marilyn snapped, and that finally earned him a hard slap across the face from Landa. The colonel kept his expression hard, but cringed a little inwardly. He didn't mean to hit the younger man that hard. Marilyn though, shut his mouth, the sting of the slap sending a wave of arousal through him. Perfect. Now he had an inappropriate erection to deal with in his lacy little panties, on top of being taken to see goddamn Adolf Hitler over a little drag performance. Let's go to Germany, Dita said. It'll be fun, she said.

“Und wieder einmal,” (Once again) Von Wolff said, bowing his head, “Ihr Talent Dinge zu erkennen sucht seinesgleichen, Herr Oberst Landa. Ich werde ihnen versichern dass in weniger als fünf Minuten ein Wagen bereit steht und sich um dieses Schwein kümmert.” (Your talents of detection are unmatched, Herr Colonel Landa. I will ensure an automobile for you in less than five minutes to take care of this swine.)

Landa nodded, and escorted Marilyn outside. He kept a firm grip on the performer's arm, and prompted him to get into the car first. Landa then closed the door, keeping his expression calm. They were driven to Landa's private residence in the automobile, the place where he conducted some of his higher profile interrogations.

On his side of the car, Marilyn was mentally kicking himself over being so goddamn naïve. Years of experience, and he still hadn’t learned that not every man or woman that throws a compliment or two his way and seems like the sweetest thing to walk the earth was trustworthy. Maybe he had had too many unrequited affairs—unrequited in the end, that is. He gave affection-starved a whole new meaning… but affection wasn’t all he wanted in this case. Being this close to the Colonel was warming him up... he recalled the gaze he met in the mirror, what was behind it. It was as if the Colonel had been undressing him with his eyes. Could that really have all been an act after all to lure him in? If so, this Landa guy was very good at what he did.

“So. You believe in your cause here?”

“I thought you didn’t like to get political.”

“Well I just figured, before you kill me, I wanna know that it means something to you.”

Landa looked out the window of the car. “I am a part of this organization by uniform only. I am an opportunist. Not a fascist slave.”

“Huh. You sound more like an American than I do.”

The decoration of the old mansion was ornate, beautiful, and Marilyn tried not to get too distracted by it all. At last, Landa followed him in and shut the front door, the two protected by the privacy of his own home. "You can rest easy. I am not holding you prisoner, or murdering you."

"Then why the fuck did you kidnap me?!" Marilyn demanded, rubbing his arm where Landa had had it in a death grip.

"Don’t be so dramatic. I did not kidnap you, I merely removed you from our primary location.  Do not forget, I still have jurisdiction in this region to select anyone whom I deem to be an enemy of the state in hiding, to question them and to kill them at my bidding."

Marilyn huffed. "You really want to kill me?"

"No. I do not want to kill you."

“Nah, you wanna fuck me first.”

“Will you learn to speak with better etiquette?”

“Just because I say fuck, doesn’t mean I don’t have better etiquette than you. You’re actually the first man I’ve met in a long time I can carry on an intelligent conversation with.”

Hans considers this. “Your intellect is prominent, I will admit.”

“The only difference between you and me is a little lipstick, and the fact that I say what I mean.” Marilyn strutted in to tug Hans’ tie. “I’d like to get my lipstick all over you, though.”

Hans tugged his tie loose, swallowing. “Red was never my colour.”

“It will be tonight.”

“Scheisse…”

Marilyn looked down and inspected his nails. "Anyway. I don't know why your friends were all so shocked to see I was a man," he muttered, "You military guys might wanna check the part of town they’re spending your evenings in next time you go out and decide to have a good time kidnapping performers for the glory of the state."

“Watch your tongue.”

“You watch my tongue, it’ll be all over your body in a second.”

Hans got pinker in the face. "I've told you, this is not kidnapping, and that was all a show that was necessary to move locations," he sighed, locking his door.

"You couldn't have just fucked me there, in my dressing room?"

"Of course not, it was an open dressing room, there was no door! I will not risk my reputation for that, good god."

"Awww... I'm not worth it?" Marilyn asked, and Landa clenched his jaw.

"Do not push your luck."

"I've already done that, Herr Colonel."

Landa was affected the name, and melted into the touch as Marilyn started to undo his pants, getting between his legs. The same fantasies from earlier swirled in Landa's head, imagining the taller man’s red lips closing around his cock. This fantasy would evidently come true. Marilyn dropped to his knees, and finally got him out of his pants. His false eyelashes blinked up, and he gave the head a kitten lick, before obscenely taking the whole thing to the back of his throat.

"Oh, meine liebe, you have a talent..."

"Keep talking."

He went back down on Hans, his tongue working magic on the Colonel. Hans admired him. "Look at how beautiful you are... you are gorgeous."

"If I run my mouth about it, I gotta have the goods to back it up." Marilyn grinned and hollowed out his cheeks, moaning a little and getting off on being used. “Slap me?”

“For what?”

“I like it. Like you did earlier, slap me in the face while you’re face fucking me.” Landa bit his lip, and Marilyn looked up, fire burning in those mismatched eyes. “Did I stutter? Now!” The slap was sharp, and echoed in the large house. Marilyn went even faster on Landa’s dick, his pale cheek immediately taking on the pink imprint of Landa’s hand. “Again.”

Another slap hit him, and Marilyn licked back to Landa’s balls, grazing his perineum and making the German hiss. After a second, he started to feel Landa throb, and popped off, standing up. Marilyn put a slender hand on his arm. He then leaned in, and connected their lips in a chaste kiss, gently working a little deeper until Landa's mouth was open and gasping. Marilyn pulled back, smirking down at him. "My lipstick looks good on you after all."

Landa ran his tongue along his bottom lip, and felt his cock throb. He didn’t want to ask it...

"What's on your mind?" Marilyn asked, voice soft and smooth as the green velvet cabriole he was lowering Hans onto. "Never slept with a man?"

"No," Landa said, "I have." They continued to kiss heatedly, and Marilyn wandered his hand down between the two, pressing on Landa's erection. When he snapped his hips down in a purely instinctual thrust, Landa dropped his head back, mouth falling open.

"You want me inside you," Marilyn realized, trailing his fingers down Landa's heaving chest. "Don't you? Hm? You wanna feel my big cock pounding your ass, don't you, you dirty motherfucker?"

"Ah, scheisse," Landa muttered again, and reached down to touch his aching erection. Marilyn slapped his hand away, and replaced it with his own.    

"Nuh uh. That’s all mine." Marilyn stood, smirking. “This what you want?” Hans lay back against the couch cushions, eyes hooded as Marilyn snapped the fabric of his panties against that porcelain skin. “You want this cock, pretty boy?” He teased his thinly veiled erection in Landa’s face, rubbing himself slowly through the black lace. Landa wanted to reach out and touch it, but Marilyn danced his hips away every time he did. “Is this what you want me to do to you…?” Marilyn turned, as if giving Landa his own private strip show, and slid two fingers between his asscheeks, moaning a little as he played with his entrance for a second. “You want me to play with your hole like this, Herr Colonel? You want me to---ohhh--- touch you like this, fuck you like this?”

Landa could barely breathe. The sound of the taller man’s voice alone did things to him that no other had before. Marilyn turned back around to lightly bump his cock against the German man’s face, grinding it so close to his lips, daring him to try and touch. When the performer was good and satisfied with how well he had trained Landa, he smugly relented, crawling back between his legs.

Landa watched the man on top of him, watched his long lashes blink, his crimson lips part to make way for his tongue to swipe. He really was beautiful.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Marilyn whispered against his skin as he leaned in again, echoing Landa's unspoken sentiments, "I'm gonna wreck this body so hard." Landa let out a strangled moan, and Marilyn looked around. "Please say you have something I can lube up with. I have two morals. One, never make music that confuses strippers like me, and two, never go into a guy dry—the blood is impossible to get out of lingerie."

"The oil is over there."

"Mm." He grabbed the oil, and started to gently prepare Landa, watching him writhe. "You finger yourself often, Colonel? You get the girls you bring back here to fuck you with their fingers? Big strap-ons? Do they go running their mouths all over the place, telling everyone how Hans Landa the cockslut likes taking it up the ass?"

Landa couldn’t respond... he could only clench his jaw. Marilyn jerked his cock a few times, and used the oil to cover himself generously. He then turned Landa over onto his stomach, giving his ass a good smack before sinking into him.

"Take this dick, Landa," Marilyn growled, "You're a powerful man out there. But in here you're my little bitch, aren't you?"

"Oh," Landa moaned. He was already approaching his orgasm, golden hair matted to his forehead and lips pink and stained.

"Close already? Huh? Imagine if you were fucking me. Hm? You'd leave me hard, wouldn't you? You'd just cum in my ass right now, wouldn’t you?"

"I- I can't..."

"Useless. You're fucking pathetic, you can't even last five minutes."

Landa gasped, trying to contain his moans. He never mentioned anything about humiliation being something he was aroused by in bed, but Marilyn was right—intuition is a part of being good at this, and Marilyn was good at this.

“I’m…” Landa couldn’t finish his sentence. He stifled his next groan in his arm, breath hitching.

"Nah ah. I want you to moan like every bit of the slut you are. COME ON, let me heat it! I want all of Germany to know it.” Marilyn’s voice rose until he was practically screaming himself hoarse, tugging Landa’s hair back roughly. “I want the whole fucking world to know it, goddamnit, let me hear you!"  

"Scheisse, scheisse, bitte!" Landa cried, feeling himself tip over the edge. With his brutal pace, the performer hit his prostate, and Hans finally came in Marilyn’s fist. Marilyn waited for him to finish, then pulled out, jerking off onto him with his fist a blur. Hans felt Marilyn's cum paint his back, and bit his fist. The performer then sat back on his heels, wiping his brow.

"All you military men have great asses."

Landa, regaining his usual confidence with his breath, scoffs at this. "And how would you know this beyond your experience with me?"

Marilyn gave him a look. "Dita, Tim and I have done nothing but drink and sleep our way around Berlin for the past few months. We have enough experience.”

Landa sat up, doing his shirt buttons up to his lower chest. "I thought you said all the other officers would beat you for 'seducing' them."

"Doesn't mean I can't look at their backsides after they beat me."

Landa shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "You really are something, Marilyn... eh, what was your last name?"

"That will remain a mystery. I’m not giving you any more than you need to know after... all that."

"It was a happy ending for the both of us," Landa protested.

"Sure, after a big fucking hassle. I don't even know if it was worth it."

"Remember," Landa growled, "I can still have you arrested if I choose to."  

"Right," Marilyn whispered, sauntering over to him to help him do up the rest of his buttons, "While you’re feeling like a big man again, let's not forget who made you moan like the little whore your men think I am ten minutes ago." He kissed Landa's cheek tenderly, grazed his hand down to give the German's clothed cock a pat, and smirked as he walked off to Landa's bar in search of more absinthe.

“Well,” the Colonel sighed, smoothing his hair back to a respectable style, “What is that American expression? You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

Das Haus Des Gold would most likely be his nightclub of choice from now on... but next time, Landa would be sure to attend alone for, perhaps, a more private show.

#hans landa #marilyn manson #hans landa x marilyn manson #marilyn manson x hans landa #inglorious basterds imagine #inglourious basterds #tarantino #quentin tarantino #the golden age of grotesque #golden age of grotesque era #golden age of grotesque #the golden age of grotesque era #crossdressing #wwII #inglorious basterds #inglourious basterds fanfiction #tarantino fanfiction #marilyn manson fanfiction #mansonite #mansonites #weimar germany #brian warner #brian hugh warner #dita von teese #tim skold #tim sköld #christoph waltz

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 2)

New Girl

Settling into camp and meeting new faces! No warnings necessary for this chapter really, let me know what you think so far :) 

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

Enjoy!

-

The camp felt different in the morning. I hadn't moved from the spot I'd been put in the previous night but I could see better now, saw just how populated the place was. I heard music playing again, this time from a phonograph rather than a guitar. People were dotted around the place sipping on mugs of hot coffee, some people were still lounging where they slept. Mary-Beth had lent me one of her dresses to wear, considering the previous day's events had left me in a chemise. A feller smoking a cigar standing outside a tent not far from me kept looking over; he was dressed mighty finely, smart black vest with golden watch chains, a nice hat on his head. He didn't look like someone camping out in a tent, but he sure looked like he owned the place.

In the light of day I realised where I was, I hadn't been able to tell in the dark, but I recognised it. I planned on asking John when he came over to me with two mugs in his hands, offering one out to me. I greeted him as he asked; “how're you feeling this morning?”

“A little better. Still feel a little fuzzy but my head's not pounding no more,” my voice was all scratchy from the screaming I'd been doing. I held onto the mug of coffee he'd given me and inhaled, thanking him. It'd been a while since I'd had coffee, it smelled good.

“Good. I was worried about you last night, I don't know much about head injuries but… you know,” he was staring at me a little too intently. Well, not really me, my face and the state it was in.

“How ugly do I look?” I cut to the chase and he chuckled.

“Not half as ugly as me,” he gestured to the fresh looking scars on his own face. I could've disagreed about him being anything close to ugly now that I was seeing him in the daylight, but I kept that to myself. “You're just bruised and swollen, that'll fade.”

“I hope so. Though, 's not like I got anyone to impress anyway,” I shrugged, sipping my coffee. “Is this Horseshoe Overlook?”

“It is,” he nodded, moving to sit down beside me.

“I camped here a while ago, moved on though, felt too open with just my tent and my horse,” I told him.

“You have a horse?”

“Used to, she got stolen by a man in Valentine. Though I suppose it was my fault, I really pissed him off...”

“You know who took her?” he surmised.

I looked at him and considered for a moment how much I wanted to tell him. I decided there wasn't much harm in being open; you didn't get as good at shooting as him by living an honest life. “Not by name. I met him at a bar, thought he was drunker than he was and tried to lift his money. He got me arrested and when I got out – was barely in there ten minutes – she was gone. Feller smoking outside told me my friend took her.”

“I'd have gone after the bastard.”

“Yeah well, I hadn't slept in days and I… I was scared, if I'm honest. I kept telling myself I'd look for her the next day, and then the next day, and the next one, but I just never did. That was weeks ago now,” I sighed sadly, thinking of her and how I missed her. Guilt sat heavy in my stomach.

“I'm sorry. I spoke to Susan last night, I heard about your folks and your brother. Sounds like you ain't had an easy ride these last few years.”

“I'm alive, ain't I?” I shrugged and John offered a small, sad smile. “And partly thanks to you,” I added. John shook his head and went to speak, but was cut short.

“Strauss!” A yell had us both looking up; a gentleman was just riding into camp. He swung down off his horse without hitching it and marched into camp, looking around. He was pretty beefy, all power behind the swing of his arms as he walked, his strong brow was set low over his eyes and his stubbled jaw was tight. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit scared. “Strauss! Where is that slimy fool?”

“I’m coming, Herr Morgan, calm down,” a small, spectacled man came scurrying into view, clinging a ledger to his chest. “I trust the collection went well?” I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic.

“Why you gotta go ‘round lending to sick men?”

“Sick men are desperate, they need the money.”

“Well, that Mr. Downes you sent me to was dead before I got there.”

“His wife is still alive though, no?”

“You expect me to hassle a widow for money when her husband's still warm in his grave? Come on, Strauss. I ain't doing that.”

“You must! We need that money back, Arthur. We aren't a charity.”

“Send someone else!” Arthur, as he'd been named, turned his back on Strauss and started heading off.

“Who do you suppose I send? Tilly?” Strauss questioned, this time he was definitely being sarcastic. The girl in question looked up from where she was washing some clothes by the nearest wagon. “You're the only one who can handle it, Arthur. You must.”

Arthur turned back around, sighing in annoyance and taking a moment. He was staring at the ground, frustrated, unsure. With a final growl he muttered; “I ain't doing it now. I'll go back to Downes’ place when that poor woman's had some time.”

“We can't afford to go easy on people, not with so many new mouths to feed,” Strauss waved his book in my general direction before sweeping off, putting all of Arthur's attention on me.

His expression softened just a little, shifting to surprise. It felt odd, having him look me directly in the eye. Watching that whole thing felt almost like I wasn't really there, or like I was at the theatre, suddenly I was pulled back into the moment. I felt something when I looked at him, something in the far reaches of my mind, a nagging thought that I couldn't grasp.

His mouth opened and closed a couple of times but in the end he just walked away, shaking his head. I let out a puff of breath and looked at John. He was digging his finger in his coffee, wincing as he burned himself over and over.

“Damn bug landed in there,” he explained when he caught me staring. He didn't seem at all fazed by all the shouting.

“That Arthur; I think I recognise him.”

“Arthur? Probably. The guy's had his face plastered on that many bounty posters.”

“I ain't no bounty hunter,” I said as I sipped on my coffee again.

-

My first day staying at the camp saw me up on my feet again. I didn't seem to have any lasting difficulties resulting from my ordeal, the dizziness I'd experienced was fading enough that I could stand up and lend a hand with some chores; I felt that was the least I could do.

I'd met a few more people; Pearson, whom I found myself getting along with quite well as I helped him cut up some vegetables. Charles, a gentleman I spoke to only briefly and addressed me in a quiet, respectful manner as he welcomed me. Sadie, a lady who I learned had been initiated into the group in a fairly similar way to myself; being pulled from a bad situation with little to go back to. I'd stressed that I wasn't intending to stay to become a permanent feature, but when she questioned what I'd do instead, I drew a blank. I met Hosea, he was a kind man and offered to make me something to put on my bruises to help them fade quicker. I'd politely declined, thinking I looked enough of a mess without walking around with some mashed up herbs smeared on my face as well.

I felt achy and tired but I pushed myself to be useful. By mid afternoon I'd done a fair bit, and was in the process of brushing someone's horse for them when I was approached by the man who I had spotted earlier, in the fancy getup, John by his side.

“Good afternoon, Ms,” he waited until I filled in the blank with my surname. “Glad to finally make your acquaintance. I apologise for not doing so earlier, but I see you've had your hands full,” he gestured to the horse.

“I wanted to do my bit, just a little way of saying thank you for having me last night. I don't mean to intrude, I imagine I'll be leaving soon.”

“You're welcome to stay as long as you need to in order to get back on your feet; especially if you plan on continuing to help with those chores,” he chuckled, reaching to take my hand and give it a gentle squeeze and a shake. “Dutch Van Der Linde.”

The name hit me like a bullet, immediately flashing off images in my head, firing synapses. I took in a sharp breath, eyes widening slightly. The smile on Dutch's face fell.

“Dutch Van Der Linde,” I repeated, my lips moving for me without permission as I glanced past them into the camp, then up at John. “You're Dutch's Boys.”

The two men shared a look, and Dutch's hand moved to his hip, just above his holster. I realised my error immediately.

“Don't worry! I won't tell no one, I promise. You've all been so kind to me. I just… I read in the newspaper about you. The boat, in Blackwater. I was there not long before that happened.”

John looked between Dutch and I with a slight grimace, while Dutch's eyes were planted firmly on him, disapproval plastered all over his face.

“John,” Dutch started softly, taking his elbow in hand and pulling him away. He was still in earshot, and I could hear every word. “This is exactly what I was worried about when you brought her here last night. I told you it was a bad idea.”

“Come on Dutch, she's harmless,” they both looked at me and I panicked, turning back to the horse I'd been brushing and continuing with an unsteady hand.

I wasn't worried about being kicked out of the camp. I'd been trying very hard not to get comfortable as it was, I was accustomed to surviving on my own, getting involved with a group would no doubt chip away at the independence I'd had to build over the past year. Being kicked out of the camp would hardly be an issue. I was more concerned about them murdering me, silencing me for good before I had a chance to cash in on the bounty on the infamous Dutch Van Der Linde. Truthfully, I wasn't interested. Like I'd said to John, I was no bounty hunter; I'd have no idea of the territory I'd be stepping into, and I didn't fancy my chances against the whole lot of them.

Dutch turned his body away, urging John to do the same. I glanced at them occasionally, realising it was John doing most of the talking and Dutch was deep in thought. I could no longer hear their words but every second that passed had me feeling more and more eager to jump on the horse and go like the wind. Before I reached tipping point, they came back to me.

“Like I said, you're welcome to stay as long as you need to, my dear. That's if you don't mind living with a whole gang of outlaws, as you clearly seem to understand is the case,” Dutch said, surprising me to no end. I stared at him for a few moments.

“Well, I'm hardly innocent myself,” I shrugged my shoulders weakly. He smiled.

“Hmm, John mentioned you'd had a run in with the law,” Dutch nodded thoughtfully.

“Just the once. I don't make a habit out of robbing people… only when I have to. Sometimes it's nice to have a little extra cash to get a hotel room with, when it gets cold,” I admitted.

“That's certainly something I can sympathise with,” Dutch chuckled. “I understand you've lost all of your things, your weapons, your tent, your clothes…” he trailed off.

“That's right,” I confirmed.

“Your horse,” he added, his tone deepening. “And you have some idea of the whereabouts of the feller that took it, is that right?”

I lifted one shoulder awkwardly. “A vague idea. He mentioned Emerald Ranch, I don't know if he lives there or what, but that'd be the first place I'd look if I actually had the guts,” I admitted.

“Well then, I'd like to help you get your horse back.”

My brows jumped up in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“You've been extremely helpful today. I can see that you're a hardworking woman and we could always use an extra pair of hands to keep the camp running at its finest. If you stick around, I don't see why we can't give it a try,” he explained. John seemed about as surprised as I was.

“Well, I… how long do you want me for?” I questioned hesitantly.  

“Let's give it until those bruises of yours heal, and then see how you feel,” he flashed a smile that was both charming and intimidating before walking away. I couldn't tell whether Dutch actually liked me.

John awkwardly scratched at the back of his head, hanging around a few steps away from me.

“So am I… I'm staying with you guys, at least for now?” I murmured.

“I guess so,” he shrugged. “I told him you'd work. It was either that or…Well, I don't know what he'd do. He's been extra cautious lately.”

“Right, and by work you mean I'm just hanging around doing chores for y'all?” I quirked a brow and John chuckled.

“I'm sure Dutch'll find something else for you to do. Everyone has a job here, going off their strengths.”

“Well, I'm hardly a gunslinger,” I said almost apologetically.

“Of course not. Most of the girls generally don't get involved with anything too heavy, but they have their jobs.”

I looked over at where the ladies of the camp were sitting. Some were knitting, others were reading, the camp was winding down for the day.

“What do they do?”

“Don't worry about that for now, okay? Just keep doing what you're doing,” his vagueness worried me. My mind jumped to conclusions about the kind of work the women did if the men were all out shooting and robbing. I felt the need to address my concerns.   

“I don't mean to be rude, or presumptuous,” I dropped my volume, stepping into John's space.

“What?”

“There's certain work I'm not prepared to do, whether you'll help me get my horse or not,” I told him, hoping he'd work it out. The confusion plain as day on his face told me he didn't. “I ain't whoring myself out for nobody,” I bluntly rephrased.

Realisation washed his features but he didn't flinch at my words, he simply shook his head.

“Don't worry, that ain't gonna happen. Dutch; he ain't like that.”

I nodded firmly, relief flooding me. From the corner of my eye I saw someone staring; giving me a funny look. Abigail. I hadn't spoken much to her but I had learned enough to know that I was standing three inches away from her feller, and I immediately distanced myself.

“Well, good. Just so that's clear,” I mumbled, and walked away.

-

I'd spent the rest of the day doing menial tasks, helping out wherever I could, but by the evening time I was just getting in the way. I sat myself down around the back of a wagon, tucked out of sight near the horses, just watching them. Spending time caring for them, brushing them and making sure they had enough to eat, had made me miss Rayna, my own horse. She'd been the last living thing I'd spent any extended length of time with and when I sat down to think about it, it hurt. I hoped that we'd be able to find her whenever it was time to go looking for her.

I leaned my head back to the tree I was sat against and sighed loudly, closing my eyes. It was too early to sleep but I felt exhausted; though not much was new there. I was hungry but tried my best to ignore it, I'd felt too nervous grabbing some of the stew I'd helped prepare without a direct invitation to.

Someone close to me cleared their throat and I opened my eyes with a start. I was half expecting to see John, but instead it was Arthur. My pulse immediately quickened and I moved to stand up, feeling as though I'd been caught doing something I shouldn't, I wasn't sure why.

“Don't get up, you're alright,” he waved me down with his hand and shook his head. “So you're the new girl, huh?”

“I guess I am,” I shrugged, looking at his boots because it was easier than looking into his eyes. I just felt weird every time I did, and I couldn't wrap my head around it.

“I just wanted to say, uh, I'm sorry for the way I acted this morning. Coming in here, yellin’ like that, wasn't the best of impressions I'm sure. I know you ain't had it easy,” he took his hat off and held it with both hands behind his back, looking all proper and respectful. His tone was completely different to the one he'd used earlier, he sounded like a different person entirely. I couldn't escape the feeling that I recognised him, more than ever.

“There's no need for you to apologise, I'm the one intruding. And I'm not looking for pity, neither. I can't say I've ever really met anyone who has had it easy,”

“You're probably right about that,” he nodded and gave a quiet, humourless chuckle. “Well, I won't disturb you. There's some stew left, if you're hungry, Pearson said you hadn't eaten yet.”

“Thank you,” I said, finally getting the reassurance I needed to help myself. I stood up.

“I'm Arthur, though you already knew that.”

“I heard your name earlier,” I nodded, reaching out to shake his hand as I introduced myself. He nodded and gave me a knowing smile.

“I caught your name too,” he said, pausing a moment too long before he left.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fanfiction #john marston #dutch van der linde #ATINK #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader

[byunskjm-blog]

Changes (IV)

Genre: Angst, Fluff, CEO! AU, Idol! AU

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader x Baekhyun

Length: 6k

Changes Masterlist

The sun was rising by the time you subdued your cries. You pulled yourself together and decided to take a shower and sleep. The hot water hit your back which sent a shiver through your body. What you were doing couldn’t be considered showering, you just stood under the shower head and let the water wash over your body. For once your mind was thoughtless as you stood there under the hot water that began to create steam. You turned off the water and stepped out. 

It’s been a while since you wore your own pajamas. It was normal for you to sleep at Junmyeon’s and fall asleep in his clothes. The feeling was a bit weird at first but quickly you grew used to it and fell in bed. It may have been because you were awake for almost 24 hours or because today was hell on earth, but you found no trouble falling into a deep sleep. 

The sound of your name being yelled throughout the apartment is what made you wake up from your slumber. It only felt like you had minutes of sleep but when you looked at the time you saw it was almost 4 in the afternoon, you had been sleeping for almost 10 hours. 

Your attention was stolen when your bedroom door was opened, the person behind it was Sehun. He must’ve gotten back from Daegu, you weren’t really listening when he was talking about how long the trip would be, it was a surprise you remembered that he went to Daegu to begin with. 

“Oh wow you’re actually home. Thought you would be at Mr. Rich’s house,” his tone proved that he was actually quite surprised to see you. 

“Well get used to it because I don’t think i’ll ever be there again… at least not in this lifetime,” your voice was groggy from the obvious fact that you just woke up but your words threw Sehun for a loop. With an eyebrow raised he gave you a look that implied that you would need to fill him in, but did you want to? Even if he was your best friend did you have to recap that awful experience in your life?

You and Sehun had this weird thing where you didn’t even need to speak to communicate. That’s why when you gave him a look saying how much you didn’t want to talk about it. Sehun replied with, “Come on i’ll cook some food and you can tell me all about it.” 

You were famished so you really didn’t want to turn down an offer to eat, especially if Sehun was cooking. But you had to maintain your facade of unwillingness so you groaned and rolled your eyes, reluctantly agreeing. You had the habit of watching Sehun while he was making food, to you it was like a live cooking show. Today he was making tteokbokki which was always one of your comfort foods. Sehun always played music while he was cooking so both him and you hummed to songs you knew of and when one of your favorites came on you would dance. The food was finished and you were practically salivating at this point. 

As you guys ate you explained everything that happened yesterday. From Junmyeon getting some random girl pregnant to him showing up at 3 am. By the end of it Sehun felt like he had just experienced a drama in real life. He was pissed at Junmyeon and wanted to beat his ass for what he did but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Like best friends do he cheered you up and made you laugh. 

“In all honesty I never liked him to begin with. He always radiated small dick energy.” Although it was a joke his tone was serious. You bursted into a fit of laughter and Sehun questioned if he was wrong or not. He continued on with his bizarre, hilarious jokes that made you laugh till it physically hurt. You were begging him to stop because you couldn’t take anymore. “Are you feeling better?” The question was serious and came from a place that Sehun never really showed. 

“Much.” You were wiping away the tears that came from your non stop laughter. 

“Good. From now on I only want to see those kinds of tears. Understand?” You nodded but couldn’t help but giggle at how much of a dad Sehun sounded like. Your body tensed up as you gave him an army salute and responded with, “Yes sir”. You were both such dorks but it was something that couldn’t be helped and it was something that bonded you together.

Because Sehun was the one to cook that meant you would be the one to clean up afterwards, which you really didn’t mind. You actually liked cleaning, it cleared your mind and allowed you to be as meticulous as you wanted. It wasn’t like you had OCD or anything, you just found cleaning as a stress reliever of sorts. You put on some of your favorite songs of the month and just began scrubbing away at the dirty dishes. It felt like not only were you cleaning the dishes but your soul and mind as well. You hummed along to “Worst of You” by Maisie Peters, a song that’s been stuck in your head for days. But it was interrupted when you got a call. 

Quickly, you took off your gloves and moved to pick up your phone. You answered it right before it went to voicemail, “Hello?” You didn’t even check to see who it was before you answered. 

“Hey” That voice, it was as sweet as honey. A smile crept up on your lips without even knowing it. “Hey Baek” Why did you feel warmth in your chest when you said his name? So many questions but you didn’t have any clue as to what the answers were. 

“I got scared that you wouldn’t pick up.” It was followed by an awkward chuckle. 

“Well you explicitly told me I couldn’t ignore any of your calls or texts,” you kept a playful tone with him but while also trying to let him know you’d always answer for him. 

“Ah you remembered,” the nostalgia of last night hitting his memory. “Well I just called to ask if you perhaps wanted go get some coffee. I have some things I wanted to talk about with you.” 

It was currently 5pm, people were getting off of work and the traffic was horrible. But that wasn’t your concern, your concern was what the hell Baekhyun wanted talk to you about? Did you unintentionally do something to make him mad? He didn’t sound mad, but what did he want from you so suddenly? 

“Hello? You still there?” You were too consumed by your thoughts to remember he was on the other side of the line. You snapped back to reality and answered him, “Yeah just text me the address and I’ll meet you there.” You were braver than the US marines by accepting his request. 

As you got ready you were preparing yourself for the worst. What if he was mad at you and hated you? You were infamous for over analyzing everything and that’s what you were doing right now, over analyzing his simple offer to coffee. By the time you got ready and stopped thinking like a mad man you realized if you didn’t leave now you would show up late. “Hun! I’ll be back later,” you screamed across the apartment trying to be a decent roommate and let him know of your absence. But it was no use he was probably in his room with his blaring headphones.

You grabbed your scarf and coat and ran out the door in a rush. Hailing a cab in Seoul was not an easy task but you somehow managed to pull it off. The ride to there was fairly short, short enough to only cost you a couple bucks. It somehow managed to start snowing on your ride over which caused you to run into the cafe as soon as you arrived. It was so cold to the point where you could see your breathe in the air. A nice cup of hot chocolate sounded so amazing that your mouth was drooling unintentionally. 

When you stepped into the warmth that was the cafe, you were greeted with a wave from a man in a black peacoat, a black hat, and a facemask. You could tell from a mile away it was Baekhyun, his eyes gave it away. He was dressed like this because for one he was an idol out in public and two as said earlier it was freezing. 

On your way over to the table you undid your scarf and took of your beanie that gave warmth to your ears. Just by your presence Baekhyun’s mood lifted by a million. His eye smile was showing brightly even under that cap and mask. It only made yours show as well. 

“Mother nature never ceases to amaze me,” you said breathing warmth into your frozen hands. 

Baekhyun caught onto the fact that you were cold and motioned for a waiter to come to the table so you could order a drink. You ordered a hot chocolate to fulfill your imagination. When you heard Baekhyun order his drink you noticed he didn’t order without you which for some reason made your heart lighter. The waiter got both orders and went behind the counter to place it. 

“You are in very big trouble,” his voice got stern and your body went stiff. Your worst nightmare was becoming a reality. It wasn’t until you heard his feather-like laughter that you could finally breathe. “Relax it was a joke,” he continued to chuckle, enjoying how scared you got. You kicked his shin under the table, “Well it wasn’t funny.” No matter how much it hurt Baekhyun continued to laugh. “It was pretty funny to me.” Even though you couldn’t see his smile you knew it was being shown behind that mask. 

Their drinks came shortly after and you were ready to revel in the chocolatey goodness that came with it. You had a weird habit of putting a pinch of salt in your hot chocolate. All your friends shamed you for it and Baekhyun was no different. 

“Are you really putting SALT in your hot chocolate?!” He was shook to say the least and you just nodded your head. You have been through this talk enough times to know all the stages that would follow suit. “I like the sweet and salty effect,” you said before blowing on the hot liquid. 

“I can’t believe I like a girl who puts salt in hot chocolate,” he mumbled under his breath but you still picked up on it and that comment made you choke on the sip you took. Baekhyun’s eyes went wide from all the coughing but you waved him off saying it was ok. 

Were you hearing things? Of course he had to mean it in a friendly way right? RIGHT?! You were pulled from your thoughts when Baekhyun asked you once again if you were ok. You just nodded and said, “too hot”. You resumed sipping your drink hoping the awkwardness that just built up would die down. Being the person he was, Baekhyun broke it. 

“So you’re probably curious as to why I asked you to come on such a short notice.” Those words made you put down your drink and look up at him. If he only knew how much time you spent agonizing over it. “Well after last nights occurrences I was thinking of a way I could get you to stick around, and being the genius idol I am, I found the perfect solution.” Baekhyun was never one to be humble when it came to his wits, looks, or ability to lighten up a room. 

You crossed your arms over your chest and with a raised eyebrow, leaned back against your seat. “And what is this ‘perfect solution’ exactly?” You were genuinely curious as to what his answer would be. 

“CBX is looking for a new manager and I think you would fill that spot flawlessly,” he got right to the point and it made you want to burst out laughing but you stopped yourself from doing so. ‘This has to be a joke?’ You thought to yourself but as you looked at him longer you started to realize it wasn’t. “Wait are you serious right now?” Suddenly your tone was serious and you were leaning against the table to make sure you heard his answer clearly. 

“Of course I am. Seoksoon hyungnim put in his resignation a month ago. Him and his wife are moving to Gwangju.” Your eyes went wide at every word he spoke. You were always someone who managed yourself and others well so you felt you would excel in this. And you truly did love being around the boys, they always made you laugh and smile. But there was one thing stopping you from eagerly accepting this amazing offer. “Baekhyun this sounds absolutely amazing. But i’m not sure CEO Kim would want to see me back at SM,” your head was low as you spoke. 

When you heard Baekhyun’s incredulous laugh you lifted her head. What was funny about this? Didn’t he want you to work with them? “You really thought I would offer you this opportunity without running it by Suho?” Your eyebrows were furrowed signalizing you was utterly confused. “I talked to him before I came here and he gave the all clear.” 

That has to be the most shocking thing you heard all day. Suho really allowed you back in his company, not saying you did anything to deserve not to be there in the first place but it amazed you that he was willing to sacrifice his time to heal. 

“Well then I guess there is no reason to say no is there?” A smile lifted up on your lips when the words left them, which in return made Baekhyun’s get bigger than you thought was possible. 

After talking about how things would work and 2 more cups of hot chocolate it was time for you to say your goodbyes. Once again you successfully hailed a cab. Baekhyun made sure you got in safely and even gave you money to pay for it although you refused for a minute. He saw you off with a smile on his face and a wave goodbye. 

Another short cab ride later and you were home. When you got in you kicked off your shoes, untied your scarf, and hung up your coat with it. It looks like things were looking up for you and you wouldn’t have to worry much about seeing Junmyeon because you would never surpass the 10th floor. You softly knocked on Sehun’s door to tell him the news but when you opened the door you were greeted by his sleeping figure, passed out on the bed. “Goodnight Hunnie,” you whispered softly before gently closing the door. 

You flopped onto your bed and decided it’d be a good time to update your social media. You’ve been off the grid for a while but you posted a picture of yourself that you took a week ago with the caption ‘Only going up’. Your account was only followed by your closest friends and maybe some family if they weren’t annoying. 

Sana and Yoona were the first to comment and it hit you that you hadn’t even told them about everything that happened. For as long as you have known them you have never hid anything from them. Trying to keep that habit you sent a text in the groupchat that simply said, “tea”. That was like drawing bees to honey because as soon as it was sent they all assembled. Eunji was the first to respond obviously thirsty for drama which was normal for the whole group. The rest followed after eager to know what the tea was. You started off warning them that they’d be livid and not to worry because you had everything on lock. You told them everything, up till Baekhyun offering you to be his manager. By the end of it you assumed right and they were all pissed and threatening to skin Junmyeon alive. 

It all made you laugh until you read what Sana had sent. “Seems like Baekhyun caught feelings.” You wanted to tell her how hilarious that was and how never in a million years would Byun Baekhyun like you, but your heart felt joy in hearing that someone thought that way. 

They all bid their goodnights, you earlier than them because of the time zone difference. At least tonight you weren’t falling asleep to the sound of your sobs.

Your alarm was set to 5 am and you absolutely despised it. When you worked as an assistant for Junmyeon your were allowed to come in at 10, mainly because you’d either come in with Junmyeon himself or because he would let you sleep in to your heart’s content. But things were different now and you had to break the habit of doing things the way you used to. 

Relentlessly you rolled out of bed and fell harshly on the cold, wood floor. Waking up was never your strong suit but you had a feeling that a nice hot shower would do the trick. After you got out of the shower you got ready. Your wardrobe up until now was basically pencil skirts and blouses. You were a hundred percent sure that being a manager didn’t require this style. So you opted for black, ripped, skinny jeans and a basic white tee. 

You hadn’t dressed casually since you came here. It was always short skirts and itchy tops that looked better on a grandma than it did you. You thought this suited you way more than your previous style. Too tired to do anything fancy with your hair, you threw it up into a messy bun with a few loose strands that frame your face. As always you kept your makeup basic and simple, nothing too extreme but something subtle enough for people to know you tried. 

It was about 5:45 when you got a text from the group chat that Baekhyun put you in last night. You were reading coffee orders from each of them and you felt a little bitter because you didn’t know being a manager would also mean being a personal assistant. But you sucked it up and made your way out of the house, making sure to put on your coat, scarf, and beanie, so you wouldn’t freeze to death. You felt pretty confident in your ability to get a cab at this point. You got in and gave him directions to the coffee shop near SM. You didn’t understand why the coffee had to be from THIS specific cafe. There was a coffee shop in the lobby of the building, so why were they so persistent on this one in particular? You stopped questioning it and placed their orders including your own. It then hit you that you would be the one paying for it all. Not that it was a burden or anything but for god's sake you were just a college student and they were idols. You always saw on TV how managers practically pay for everything when they’re out and you feared for your wallet. 

It wasn’t long till your order was called and you were carrying 4 drinks in a tray and making your way to SM in this harsh weather. The snow only seemed to get worse from last night. You thanked the heavens when you entered SM and you were instantly encapsulated by warmth. The boys said they would be here and it made sense they would be here this early, they were preparing for a comeback after all. You felt bad for being so irrational earlier, you had to understand the stress an idol is under, especially around comeback season. That’s why you entered the practice room with a big smile on your face and the coffee they wanted. It was apparent how much their mood had lifted but you didn’t know if it was because of you or the coffee. 

“Wow she is already the best manager we’ve had,” Chen bragged causing a redness to show on your cheeks. They all took a sip of their drinks and as if it was a life saver, they let out a long sigh. You couldn’t hold back a giggle when they did that. 

All of you took a seat on the couch in the practice room. While you were here you had to run down to the 5th floor and get all their schedules ready and situated and make sure everything was in place and ready to go. “So to my knowledge thus far you guys are just practicing today and have 1 recording session with Chanyeol,” you said with a proud look on your face for remembering all that. 

All 3 of them nodded in unison before the eldest of the bunch spoke up, “Make sure you’re free after work. We want to take you out as a celebration for getting the job.” You wanted to refuse and insist they sleep instead but you knew them well enough to know that once they had their mind set there was no changing it. So you just nodded and agreed to their proposal. 

Soon after you left them to get back to practice and went down to floor 5 where you would get hold of their schedules. You were met with a nice lady who went by the name, Jihyo. There was no frowning when talking to her because she always kept the mood alive. You kindly asked if she could print out multiple copies of CBX’s upcoming schedule and Jihyo complied with no problem at all. As she was doing that she began conversing with you and talked about you were so lucky to be working with CBX and you made sure to let Jihyo know that you knew that as well. 

After a few more minutes everything was done and ready for you to take. You were a little sad that you had to say goodbye to the sweet girl but you did, letting her know how much you appreciate her. There was no bringing your mood down now. That was until you got into the elevator and saw none other than Kim Junmyeon leaning against the back rail. 

You were ready to turn around and bolt but you couldn’t because a horde of people shoved you in until you were right next to him. You cursed under your breath when the doors close. Couple of guys kept moving further back leaving almost no room for you to go. Just as you were about to hit the back of the elevator until you felt a hand on your lower back. Immediately you turned left to see who the hand belonged to and of course it was Junmyeon. You shivered under his touch which was a first. He leaned down and whispered in your ear, “careful”. 

Why did that one word have so much power? Your eyes were glued shut because you needed to regain your focus. Funny how just 2 days ago you would melt under his touch and crave for more of it, now you wanted nothing more than to be out of it. 

After what felt like a lifetime the elevator finally reached your floor and you were more than happy for that. But he wasn’t gonna let you leave without letting you know how good you looked today. No matter how much you didn’t want to you blushed at his compliment but you weren’t gonna thank him for it. Instead you chose to ignore and walk out like you didn’t hear it in the first place. 

A wave of oxygen entered your lungs and you could finally feel like you were breathing. It got to the point where you were doubled over trying to catch your breath and compose yourself. 

When you got a handle on it you made your way to the practice room where the boys would still be. As expected you walked into Baekhyun jumping on Minseok’s back and Jongdae just laughing his ass off in the back. Usually any other professional manager would tell them to quit the antics and get to work but you couldn’t help but laugh at the scene. The noise of your laugh had hit their ears causing them to turn with terrified expressions, fearing you would yell at them. “I’m next” that was all you said before running up and jumping on the eldest back. All of them bursted out into a fit of laughter as Minseok began spinning around with you on his back. You knew it was unethical for you to be doing this kind of stuff but you also knew idols were human too and they deserved to have fun once in a while too. 

When Minseok let you down he held his lower back like a grandpa in his last years would. “Yah what do you eat?” he was implying that you were heavy and you had no other choice but to take offence. So you slapped his arm harshly and scowled at him. 

“Please you are just old grandpa,” Baekhyun sneered at him. With that he signaled for you to hop on his back so he could show Minseok just how weak he was. You got on and Baekhyun showed no signs of struggle as he held you up. “See I told you. She is as light as a feather”. That comment made you laugh as you put your head in the crook of his neck. “I wouldn’t go that far Byun,” you stated with a wide smile on your face. 

You looked up at the clock and saw that it was time for them to go to the studio and record with Chanyeol. You hopped off his back and told them that they have to get going up to the 20th floor. Of course you would accompany them to make sure everything was running smoothly. 

A couple minutes later you were making your way to the elevator and by that time you had forgotten all about your last elevator ride. You and Baekhyun were walking together and talking about the upcoming show schedule while Minseok and Chen were behind discussing last night's episode of Come and Hug Me. 

Being the friendly giant he was, Chanyeol welcomed you guys with open arms. You had seen him on a couple of occasions and you definitely knew who he was because who the hell didn’t. 

Chen was the first one up to record his parts while you and the other two sat back on the couch and waited for him to finish. Everything was going normally until you felt someone’s head on your lap. You looked down to see it was Baekhyun. He was getting comfortable and you were absolutely too surprised to do anything about it. Then he decided to take it a step further and grab your hand to put it on his head so you could stroke it. “It helps me sleep,” he said followed by a yawn. Your head awkwardly turned to Xiumin with wide eyes and all he did was shrug his shoulders leaving you as clueless as you felt. But you didn’t push him off or let him know you were uncomfortable because truth be told you weren’t. So you let him sleep as you gently pet his hair. 

Soon after Chen was finished Xiumin was called into the booth. The plan was once Xiumin was done, him and Chen would go back to the dorms to get ready for tonight and meet you and Baekhyun at the restaurant. You thought it was a good plan because it gave them time to get ready and not go out with the stench of sweat. But what about Baekhyun? That was when Chen ratted him out and let you know that in all actuality he wasn’t practicing at all. You noted that and would make sure to bring it up to him later when he wasn’t asleep on your lap. 

20 minutes had passed by and it was a wrap for Xiumin, so as planned him and Chen headed home and it was now Baekhyun’s turn to record. You felt bad that you had to wake him up because he looked so peaceful while sleeping. 

He cleared his throat so there was no signs of the fact that he just took a nap. The moment he started singing you were pulled into a trance that you never wanted to get out of. You always knew Baekhyun’s voice was angelic but the way he sang just had your encaptured. You took a seat next to Chanyeol to hear his voice clearer, you wanted to revel in this moment for as long as humanly possible. Your eyes were glued to his as he sung his heart out and you felt your own beating rapidly. When your eyes met it was as if your heart was being opened to an endless amount of love and warmth. You had looked at him countless times but this time it was different. It felt like something you never felt in your life, not even with Suho. Your eyes remained locked as he continued singing, it wasn’t until Chanyeol stopped the music and let him know he was done that you found herself looking away but Baekhyun didn’t. His eyes were trained on you and you could feel it. 

You remembered that Baekhyun always took a shot of ginger after a recording session so his throat wouldn’t wear out. You had it prepared the moment he stepped out and gave it to him. While you were at it you complimented him on how well he did. Chanyeol just observed the whole scene and couldn’t help but comment on how much of married couple the two of you looked like. That was the second time this week you heard someone associate you in a relationship with Byun Baekhyun and much like the last you blushed and denied it unwillingly. 

You checked the time on your phone and realized it was time to go. “We better get going,” you said to Baekhyun. With a small bow both of you left the studio and made your way out of SM to the restaurant. 

In the van Baekhyun sang his heart out. He was singing along to Chen’s collab with Dynamic Duo. You were very fond of the song as well and from time to time would jump in and sing along with Baekhyun. Everytime you did, Baekhyun’s smile would only grow wider. You noticed and turned to him with an equally as wide smile. 

The ride to the restaurant was fairly brief. You got out to join Chen and Xiumin at the table. Xiumin was already grilling the meat and Chen was getting the shots of soju ready. Just like the night before, except this time around you weren’t absolutely miserable, you were happy. They toasted to your first day and you thanked them for choosing you of all people to be their manager. You miraculously made it through your monologue without crying but it was obvious how emotional you were. The rest of the night was spent laughing and telling embarrassing stories. This time around you stayed sober and didn’t drink. 

It was close to midnight when you suggested that you guys started heading out. Tomorrow they were beginning to film for the MV. The van drove you and the boys back to their dorms. You were gonna call a cab to grab you but Baekhyun suggested he drive you. 

“Baek it’s fine. You should sleep, tomorrow will be busy.” You tried to be convincing as possible but he wasn’t budging. Reluctantly you agreed to let him drive you home knowing it’s the best solution to get him to sleep faster. He pulled up to your building and you thought that was the end of it and he would go home. But as expected you were wrong. 

“Aren’t you gonna invite me up?” He asked just as you were about to leave. 

“Baekhyun…” he knew you were just gonna repeat the things you said earlier so he saved you the hassle. 

“Just for some water then I’ll be on my way. Promise.” You didn’t have it in you to say no to him, especially after all he’s done for you. 

“Then you go home straight after and sleep,” you said with the best strict tone you could muster. 

He parked the car and the pair of you got out and headed to your apartment. You weren’t surprised that it was empty, Sehun probably met a girl earlier that night. 

You invited Baekhyun in and he took a seat on your kitchen counter, unsanitary but normal coming from Baekhyun. You felt his eyes burning holes into the back of his head. There was this feeling in the pit of your stomach, a feeling you thought died when Junmyeon left, but here it was. 

Reaching into the fridge you pulled out a bottle of water and handed it over to him. Instead of grabbing the bottle he opted for your wrist instead. He pulled you toward him and you were now standing between the V of his legs with wides eyes and red cheeks. 

“You didn’t come up for water did you?” You asked the obvious. His lips were caught between his teeth as he shook his head. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know where this was bound to head. His grip on your wrist vanished and was replaced with a soft hand caressing your blushing cheeks. “Baekhyun we can’t do this,” you said trying to repress whatever feeling that was peeking through. 

“Why not I like you and you like me. It’s natural,” he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“It’s not that black and white Baekhyun. This is wrong. No matter what feelings we have we can’t act on it,” you pulled yourself away from him. 

“That’s a bullshit excuse.” To say you were shocked was an understatement. Baekhyun had never been so harsh with you, in fact he has never cussed in front of you. “You are just scared to let me in,” he continued on with his thoughts. 

“What do you know about me and what I’ve been through?” You snapped back at him. 

“I know that you and Suho had a thing going on. I know that the reason you left SM in the first place is because he hurt you. I know more than you think.” 

It scared you that he did know all that because that meant you were vulnerable and prone to being hurt. 

He hopped off from his place on the counter but his gaze never left yours. “So if you are trying to let me down gently find a better excuse.” Just like Junmyeon he was so persistent and in that moment you hated that quality. 

“I’m not trying to let you down. I’m trying to make it easier for the both of us.” You were trying your hardest to not let your emotions get the best of you but it was damn near impossible to do that when he was right there staring at you with those eyes that drooped when he frowned. 

“Isn’t it easier if we just admit what we feel and face it head on instead of beating around the bush?” He stepped closer to you and you made no indication of moving away. 

“Baekhyun I’m damaged goods... and everything is still so current. It hasn’t even been a week and this is happening. I need time to process whatever the hell it is I’m feeling.” The last thing you wanted is for Baekhyun to think that he was just some rebound. You wanted to make sure that these feelings were real. 

He nodded in an understanding way. “Take as much time as you need,” he got closer and before you knew it the space between you two was closed and his lips were on yours. Your eyes fluttered shut as his soft pillow lips worked against yours. Naturally you kissed back showing him that you wanted this as much as he did. 

As fast as it started, it stopped an you were left in a daze. His hands were on either side of your cheeks, “I’ll be here when you are ready.” He gave you no time to respond, just like in those cheesy dramas you watched, he left you alone to wonder what the hell just happened.

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[lettheladylead]

Not Your Aunt

Chapter 4: Fethry [ao3 link]

He’d been told from a very young age that he was a “curious child.” He wandered into places he wasn’t supposed to go, he would stare into space for prolonged periods of time, his mood could do a complete 180 in less than a second.

Now at the age of thirteen, Fethry had gone from a “curious child” to a “curious teenager.” But he liked being curious! He enjoyed learning new things and figuring stuff out and finding patterns and seeing the beautiful side of stuff that other people might consider ugly. That was just how he liked to look at the world, and he didn’t see a problem with it.

Uncle Scrooge saw a lot of problems with it. So did his cousin Donald, though cousins Della and Gladstone didn’t seem to have any issues. Duckworth didn’t ever comment, but Fethry had a feeling the butler was just being polite. He liked the politeness, but sometimes it just left him more confused.

Unlike with Donald, who stopped being polite when they were kids and just got annoyed with his cousin when he was being too nosey. In this particular moment, Donald had just yelled at Fethry to get out of his room because he was “distracting him and he needed to be in the zone to work on his music” which Fethry thought made a lot of sense. Della was currently out and Gladstone was temporarily living in Scotland while some complicated adoption things were being figured out so they hadn’t seen him in about two months.

So, although normally he wasn’t supposed to, Fethry decided to wander aimlessly around the mansion. Duckworth wasn’t nearby to stop him and Uncle Scrooge was who-knew-where! He wandered past the bedrooms and down the stairs - looking up at the hundreds of portraits and paintings of Uncle Scrooge and his accomplishments. There were some other people - Uncle Scrooge’s parents and other relatives, mostly, nobody Fethry really recognized. But all the men had long whiskers, so it seemed like they were probably McDucks.

He was staring at a particularly interesting portrait of Scrooge holding a pick-axe and a bag of gold when Fethry was startled by a noise coming from upstairs. It wasn’t coming from the direction of Donald’s room - in fact, it was coming from the other side of the mansion, where the adult’s bedrooms were. Maybe Duckworth dropped something while moving furniture?

Fethry made his way towards the source of the noise so he could help, just in case. As he climbed the last stair, there was another noise, though it wasn’t as loud, and he could tell it was definitely coming from Uncle Scrooge’s bedroom.

He waddled over and stopped in front of the door, knowing he shouldn’t go in without knocking first. Or at least figuring out what was going on. Fethry leaned the side of his head against the door, listening close for any clues.

He heard two voices - one was Uncle Scrooge and the other was unfamiliar but very pretty - and they sounded mad at each other. He couldn’t figure out exactly what they were saying since their voices were kind of muffled, but it was definitely an argument of some sort. Fethry wondered briefly if they were fighting and the noise had come from that. It felt weird to imagine Uncle Scrooge fighting a girl...besides Magica De Spell. Or Ma Beagle. Or, well, okay, maybe it wasn’t that weird.

Footsteps started getting closer to the door and Fethry backed away before he could get caught eavesdropping (his mom would be upset if she knew he was doing that again). And suddenly the door opened up, revealing a woman with shiny blonde hair and slightly graying roots who was currently buttoning the top button of her blouse.

Fethry tilted his head curiously and she yelped when she noticed him.

“Oh god, not another one of you,” the woman grumbled. “I’m not in the mood for this.”

“Well isn’t that a surprise?” Uncle Scrooge’s voice carried out of the room. “Goldie O’Gilt in a bad mood? Not wanting to be nice to children? Oh, I never could’ve imagined that!”

She turned back towards the room and grabbed the doorknob. “Screw you, Moneybags!” she shouted as the slammed the door shut.

When she turned around again, she found that Fethry hadn’t moved and was still staring up at her.

“What?”

“If your name is Goldie…” Fethry mumbled, remembering things his cousins had told him. “...does that mean you’re my Aunt Goldie?”

Goldie pinched the bridge of her beak between two fingers and sighed. “I’m not doing this again,” she said as she started to walk towards the stairs.

Fethry followed her, unable to stop his curiosity. “Did you and Uncle Scrooge get into a fight? Are you gonna get a divorce?”

“We’re not married.”

“Why not?” Fethry poked his beak with his pointer finger. “Wait, if you’re not married, then how are you my aunt?”

She sighed loudly. “I’m not your aunt.”

The kid frowned and thought about that for a moment as he watched her head down the stairs. He followed and quickly caught up. “If you’re not my aunt, then why does everyone call you Aunt Goldie?”

“Because you kids are annoying, is why,” Goldie grumbled, refusing to make eye contact with this child. She was still ashamed of herself for bonding too much with Donald and Della and then Gladstone, of all children to bond with. She was not going to make that mistake again. She would refuse to even learn this red hatted child’s name.

“I’m not a kid, I’m a teenager!” Fethry said with a big smile. “My name’s Fethry!”

Goldie wanted to smack her head into the wall, but chose to keep her cool and continue down the stairs instead. Why did Scrooge have so many stairs? If she wasn’t so desperate to get out of his room and away from him, she would’ve just scaled down the outside wall like usual. But she needed to steal something from the old miser to feel better about how much of a jerk he was.

“Fantastic. Now you can leave me alone.”

Fethry did no such thing and continued to follow her, especially as she turned towards the study instead of towards the front door. “Where are you going?”

“Just trying to find something worth taking that’ll piss your uncle off.”

He stopped following her for a moment, trying to understand what she’d just said. He didn’t understand how adult relationships worked, that was certain, but they seemed very different from his parents. His parents barely ever fought and also they lived together and were married, so there were a lot of immediate differences. Fethry realized suddenly that Goldie had wandered into another room and quickly followed her before she could get away.

She was looking through the china cabinet when he found her again, and made no acknowledgement that she’d noticed him coming up behind her. She grabbed a particularly expensive-looking set of glasses and stared at them in her hands.

“Are you gonna steal those?” Fethry asked suddenly and a little too loudly.

Goldie, not having noticed the kid since she was so focused on the glassware, let out a loud QUACK! and dropped the glasses. She reached out to grab them as they fell, but only managed to save one as the other smashed onto the floor and they both flinched at the loud crash and shards of glass spreading out everywhere.

She turned around and glared at Fethry, angry at him for sneaking up on her and angrier at herself for not noticing him. She thought she’d lost him and let her guard down and this is exactly the kind of thing that happened when she spent too much time around children.

“Do you need something?” Goldie seethed, picking Fethry up by his armpits and plopping him on top of the closest table.

“Nope!” Fethry said with another smile. “Sorry you dropped that glass. Is Uncle Scrooge gonna be mad at you?”

His innocence was annoying her in ways she couldn’t begin to describe. “He’ll get over it. Now look. Hey.” She snapped her fingers in front of Fethry’s face, noticing that he was staring down at the pieces of glass instead of listening to her. “Listen up. I’m going to leave now and you’re not going to follow. There’s glass all over the floor and it’ll cut up your feet if you try to follow me. Got it?”

He tilted his head again. “But what about your feet?”

Goldie lifted up one of her legs and pointed down at her sneakers. “I’ll be fine.” She started to walk away, deciding that breaking one glass and stealing another would be good enough for the moment, when Duckworth stepped into the room holding a broom and dustpan.

“Duckworth.”

“Miss O’Gilt. You don’t normally break things...did something happen?”

She pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “He startled me, not my fault.”

Duckworth responded with a raised eyebrow and Goldie pouted before turning around to see that Fethry was not on the table where she left him. She paused for a moment before looking down and she should not have been surprised to find the kid standing next to her and staring up with the same curious eyes as before.

She yelped in surprise at seeing him so close, and once again felt stupid about it. “What did I just say to you?!”

Fethry shrugged. “Yeah, but...Duckworth is here to clean up the glass, so it’s fine now!”

Duckworth shook his head and started sweeping up the glass while Goldie frowned. “Okay no, see, he hadn’t done that yet, so it’s not fine. And also, um…” She paused and looked around the room for a moment. “Oh, what’s that over there?” she asked, feigning excitement and pointing towards the back door.

Fethry turned and looked, excitement plastered all over his face. “What is it?!” he asked and took a step forward. Seeing nothing different than usual, he turned back around to ask Aunt Goldie what she’d seen, only to find that she was gone. “Huh...where’d she go?”

Duckworth finished sweeping up the glass and dumped it into the nearest trash can. “I believe she’s gone.”

“Oh. But...where?” Fethry asked as he walked towards the foyer.

The butler followed, glancing at the walls to see if Goldie had stolen anything else. “Miss O’Gilt tends to be unpredictable. It’s hard to say where she goes when she leaves the mansion.”

“Aww,” Fethry pouted, kicking at the carpet. “I like her! She was real nice!”

“...is that so?”

“Yeah!” Fethry did a little spin and fell onto his butt. “She’s nothing like my other aunts, though.”

Duckworth smirked at that comment and considered correcting the child, but before he could even think about it, Scrooge shuffled down the stairs and took over.

“That’s because she’s not your aunt!” he shouted angrily, adjusting his coat and hat as he walked. “She’s a no-good thief who just likes to interrupt my life and steal from me and piss me off and mess with you kids! You shouldn’t listen to anything she says, especially not if it’s about me or our history! All she does is lie, lie, lie!”

Fethry looked a little sad and confused at Scrooge’s rant, so Duckworth, seeing that there was unnecessary conflict about to be had, interrupted. “Either way, she’s gone now, Mr. McDuck. And you have a meeting with the board in about twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, alright,” Scrooge grumbled. “Let’s just go.”

Fethry watched them walk towards the garage and frowned more. The way Uncle Scrooge talked about Aunt Goldie was weird and kind of sad. She hadn’t said anything like that about him, though Fethry wondered if she would’ve had he asked.

A noise from outside caught Fethry’s attention and he turned towards the windows by the front door. He spotted a bit of blonde hair and smiled at the realization that Aunt Goldie was still nearby. Then he frowned as he realized that meant she’d heard all the mean things Uncle Scrooge said about her. Maybe it didn’t bother her so much. But maybe it did and she just didn’t say anything. Fethry thought she was kind of mysterious and interesting.

He watched her rush away from the house and wondered if he’d ever see her again. He leaned back on his heels for a moment before deciding to go back to Donald’s room and ask him about everything he’d just watched. Donald would probably be able to explain.

#ducktales #fethry duck #goldie o'gilt #scrooge mcduck #duckworth #donald duck #fic #fics #not your aunt

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Cassie Clare and the Canon-Sue Debate

by Dan H

Thursday, 19 February 2009 

Dan talks around the subject of Cassandra Clare's City of Ashes.

Ferretbrain readers should remember from my last review, I hated Cassandra Cla(i)re's City of Bones so much that I could barely express myself. It went around the “Bad/Funny” wheel so many times it gave me motion sickness. It also read rather a lot like Harry Potter fanfic.

So as you can imagine, I was overjoyed when our illustrious editor presented me with a copy of the second book in the trilogy (carefully informing me that since she had bought two other books on a three-for-two offer at Waterstones she had not, in fact, paid money for it).

It's still bad. It's bad in pretty much all the ways it was bad the last time.

Thanks for reading. 'Night.

Okay, there's more. Once again, this is going into disjointed subheadings, because Cassie Cla(i)re just does that to me.

Chapter Headings

Just in case you were in any doubt what kind of book this was, I thought I'd start off by giving you a full list of the chapter headings:

Prologe: Smoke and Diamonds, Part One: A Season in Hell, Valentine's Arrow, The Hunter's Moon, The Hogwarts High Inquisitor, The Cuckoo in the Nest, Sins of the Fathers (do you see, it's a biblical reference), City of Ashes, The Mortal Sword, Part Two: The Gates of Hell, The Seelie Court, And Death Shall Have No Dominion (yes, that's right “And Death Shall Have No Dominion”), A Fine and Private Place, Smoke and Steel (supposed to echo the prologue maybe?), The Hostility of Dreams (okay, seriously Cassie, you're taking the piss), A Host of Rebel Angels (because Valentine is a bit like Lucifer), Part Three: Day of Wrath, Fearless, The Serpent's Tooth, A Stone of the Heart (no, I don't know what that means either), East of Eden, Darkness Visible, Dies Irae.

I should probably add that these self-aggrandising, portentous titles pretty much exclusively come in front of chapters in which very little actually ... y'know ... happens.

Basic synopsis of City of Ashes: Valentine is back, zomg. Referring to the Ministry of Magic Guide To Resurgent Psychopaths, the Clave (the international organization of Shadowhunters in charge of stopping the world going to shit in a shoebox) decide that the most sensible thing to do is to (a) victimize his son and (b) sit around with their collective thumbs up their collective asses.

The Pesky Kids from the first book return. Cassie Claire “Clary” is slowly discovering more about her precious Mary-Sue powers, and is now dating Everygeek Simon, Draco Jace has been locked up by “The Inquisitor” because they think he's spying for his father (spying, presumably, on the Clave's secret plans to do nothing the fuck about Valentine), Alec is still being tokenistically gay and Isabel is ... not in it much actually, having been relegated to the place where girls who are hotter than the protagonist get sent in the second book. It's the pesky kids who work out that Valentine is planning on taking the Mortal Sword and performing the Ritual of Infernal Conversion to turn it into an evil sword that will allow him to summon Demons.

The Ritual of Infernal Conversion

Okay, so here's how it goes. Valentine has stolen the Mortal Sword, one of the titular (is it titular if it's the title of the trilogy, rather than the book?) Mortal Instruments. He steals this in chapter – like – six and the Clave pays no attention whatsoever because after all, it's not like the powerful psychopathic genius would have stolen the awesomely powerful mystical artefact for a reason is it?

In order to complete the Ritual of Infernal Conversion Valentine must drain the blood of a child of each of the “Downworlder” races. “Child,” by the way is defined as “anybody under the age of eighteen”. Clary objects to this definition later on on the book, on the grounds that sixteen year olds aren't children but teenagers, and somebody corrects her by pointing out that “teenagers are a modern concept” whereas of course the RoIC is deep and ancient magic.

Now ... you probably know where I'm going with this, but yes, I know that the idea of “teenagers” is a modern concept but that isn't because in ancient times you were considered a “child” until the age of twenty, it's because you were considered an adult from pretty much the moment you hit puberty. I would have been just about okay with the fact that the “children” Valentine was targeting were actually people who were all old enough to hunt demons for a living, had Cla(i)re not pulled the infuriating “aaaah do you see ... it's a modern concept” thing. If you're going to play the sub-Gaiman “ah, but in the old tales” card, at least get your old tales right. Idiot.

Anyway, Valentine attacks a couple of Downworlder kids and drains their blood (right there and then in the street, this will become important-slash-infuriating later), it comes right down to the wire and he needs only Vampire and a Werewolf.

Shockingly,

Cassie

Classie

Clary's best-friend-slash-pity-fuck Simon gets turned into a Vampire just as Valentine is looking for a Vampire Child to kill for his ritual. Not only that, but he winds up being sorta-romantically-involved with a werewolf who is also conveniently old-enough-to-be-sexy-while-falling-under-the-arbitrary-sacrificing-age.

Side note: how do you even define a Vampire “child” anyway? Is it vamp age, total age, pre-vamp age?

Anyway, Valentine captures Simon and the Werewolf who fancies him (oh, by the way, in a shockingly original twist, Vampires and werewolves in Cla(i)re's mythos don't get on with each other) and locks them up in a cage without doing anything. Because, y'know, you can't rush evil rituals. Except that he did the last two times. And now he knows the Clave are onto him. He really shouldn't be beating around the bush with the whole “army of demons” thing is what I'm saying.

So Valentine prevaricates, meaning he only has enough power to raise half an army of demons, because his sword isn't fully evillified yet (so presumably at close of play he has a terrifying sword of Neutrality ... what makes a sword turn neutral?). He drains Simon of blood (which doesn't kill him, because he's a named character) but leaves the Werewolf girl untouched (named character also). This gives our heroes the opportunity to totally brock his shit ap.

Did I say “our heroes”? I of course meant “Clary”. And Jace, a bit.

But I'm a Creep

I'm going to quote something now.

“I think the Queen meant I can draw new runes that are more powerful than ordinary runes, and maybe even create new ones.” Jace shook his head. “No one can create new runes-” “Maybe she can, Jace.” Alec sounded thoughtful. “It's true, none of us have ever seen that Mark on her arm before.”

And something else:

A soft voice spoke inside her head: Who are you, to think you can speak the language of heaven? The pencil moved. She was almost sure that she hadn't moved it but it slid across the paper, describing a single line. She felt her heart skip. She thought of her mother sitting dreamily before her canvas, creating her own vision of the world in ink and oil paint. She thought, Who am I? I am Jocelyn Fray's daughter.

And now something else:

She smiled slightly as she sat down on the stool, placing her left leg across her right and then placed the sorting hat on her head. 'This should be interesting' she thought. The whole hall was silenced in anticipation of which house she would be put in, each person wishing that it were his or her house. 'Strange’ said a voice in her head, 'there are parts of your brain I cannot get into.' 'For good reason' 'Care to tell me those reasons, and where and how you learned such control over your mind?' 'Lets just say there’s more to me than there seems and all will be revealed later.'

And finally:

Kuro chuckled 'kids are so funny now a days. Have to remember I’m supposed to be sixteen so I have to act like them. Damn.' Kuro then waved her had and a small section of table appeared between the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables at the opposite end of the hall from the head table. She waived her hand again and a black throne like chair appeared there. Kuro then turned to face Dumbledore. "Is that acceptable kocho?" "Yes it seems to work." "As you can all see I don't use a wand,” said Kuro as she turned to face her classmates. "I hope that won't be a problem. Now I bet you all wish to eat after that long train ride so I will take my seat." With a final wave of her hand Kuro transported herself to her chair.

Okay, I know it's a cheap shot to compare published novels to PotterSues featured fics but there is, in fact, a similarity of type there. In fact, having read the last section aloud to our esteemed editor, I'd go so far as to say that you'd be hard pressed to tell which was the published work of original fiction, and which was the bad HP fic if it weren't for the specific references to canon.

Cassie Claire's protagonists are some of the biggest sues I have ever encountered. Clary has what seems to be unlimited power, constrained only by the demands of the plot and the author's wishes. If she had been a character in HP fanfic who had the ability to “cast new spells that are more powerful than ordinary spells, and perhaps create new ones” she'd be laughed off of fanfiction.net. But of course it's okay here because she's the “main character” of this totally “original” work of fiction.

I'm going to go off on a sideline here, because I find this rather interesting. Fanfiction is a strange beast, with a lot of peculiar ideas and conventions attached to it. One of the most interesting and abiding rules of Fanfiction (in my limited experience) seems to be “thou shalt not attempt to upstage thy source material”. No HP villains who are more evil than Voldemort or heroes more powerful than Dumbledore. No Lord of the Rings characters who are immune to the power of the ring. No House characters who are better at diagnosing stuff than House.

The interesting thing about this rule is that actually it can be applied pretty readily to original fiction. It's a bit more fluid, because the same person who sets up the rules gets to set up the exceptions to those rules. On the other hand, a writer who breaks the rules which they explicitly and personally created is one of the most infuriating things in the world. Cheap examples of this include Harry Potter's Magic Love Powers and Wand That Acts By Itself, Tom Bombadil's immunity to the ring, Auraya's ability to keep her powers even after the gods have abandoned her (much as I love Trudy Canavan, that one went a bit too far).

Put simply, here's a piece of advice for people writing original fiction: if you couldn't get away with it in fanfic, it probably sucks hard.

I've done the “Clary” / “Claire” / “Clare” joke to death by now, but I'm going to have one more crack at it: Clary Fray, whose first name sounds suspiciously similar to Cassandra Cla(i)re's adopted surname, is a horrible, horrible sue. Leaving aside the “name that sounds a bit like your name” thing, she gets the ability to make up new runes. This is, in fact, functionally equivalent to a Harry Potter character being able to make up new spells (indeed the runes in the Mortal Instruments trilogy – hey! I've just realised that the acronym for that is “TMI” - function rather a lot like potter spells. There's the shielding one, the fast-healing one, the one that opens doors that conveniently fails to work half the time...) it just screams “speshul” at the top of its lungs.

Of course the “defence” of all this stupid speshulness is that there are totally plot reasons for it (which is the defence that people trot out after “it's my story!” and before “if you don't like it don't read it!”). Clary and Jace (who gets awesome jumping powers I shit you not) have apparently been experimented on by Voldemort Valentine, because he wanted to ... well actually we haven't been given a reason yet (it will presumably come out in the final volume City of Glass). Either way I just plain don't care. If you make your protagonist teh super speshul it doesn't matter what half-arsed justification you give for it. You made the decision to write about a character like that. You. Not your muse. Not the harsh necessities of your secondary creation. You.

“I can create new runes that are more powerful than normal runes”. For fuck's sake.

Comments:

http://miss-morland.livejournal.com/ at 16:51 on 2009-02-19Hee! Those chapter headings almost deserve their own article. At first, I was a little impressed by the literary references ('A Season in Hell' seems like an allusion to Rimbaud, for example), but then it just became too much. Also, whiel naming the first chapter of the second part 'The Gates of Hell' is sort of repetitive, it's nothing in comparison to naming one chapter 'Day of Wrath' and another 'Dies Irae', which means EXACTLY THE SAME THING. Love this site!permalink - go to topDan H at 17:07 on 2009-02-19Hiya! Literary references in this sort of book always annoy me. It always feels like a cheap attempt to legitimize your work by saying "look! I've read famous stuff! That means I must be an intelligent person with interesting things to say!" It's sort of like a chef plastering his restaurant with pictures of other people cooking him dinner...permalink - go to topViorica at 17:12 on 2009-02-19On the one hand, I like titles that allude to the classics. On the other . . . she's writing YA urban fantasy. She might as well just title each chapter "This is Deep and Meaningful and Intelligent!"permalink - go to topRami at 17:59 on 2009-02-19naming one chapter 'Day of Wrath' and another 'Dies Irae', which means EXACTLY THE SAME THING Ah, but the second one is in Latin which means it is super-speshul, because everyone knows Latin is the language of the Catholic Church All Magic Evar.permalink - go to tophttp://miss-morland.livejournal.com/ at 23:13 on 2009-02-19Yeah, I agree. She's making it more difficult for herself, too, because evoking the classics just serves to remind people that her own work isn't all that great... (Which I'm saying without even having read the book, but this is a case where I think some amount of prejudice can be justified.) Haha, yes, Latin makes everything more super-speshul. Especially when it's obvious that it's only there to impress the reader (as long as said reader doesn't know/care about what the title actually *means*, that is).permalink - go to topWardog at 12:31 on 2009-02-20(Catherine Morland was always one of my favourite Austen heroines - she is so terribly sweet) I would like to put forward a vote for "And Death Shall Have No Dominion" has the best-worst chapter title ever.permalink - go to topWardog at 12:36 on 2009-02-20At first, I was a little impressed by the literary references ... but then it just became too much. I think you're right, it's excess of desperate literariness that completely sinks this. I mean, I'm all for a few relevant chosen references but this looks like nothing so much as an indiscriminate spree in wiki-quote. Let's see ... let's play the reference spotting game... off the top of my head .. Rimbaud, as you say, The Bible, Dylan Thomas, Milton, Marvell, Steinbeck ... oh pulease, give me a break! permalink - go to tophttp://descrime.livejournal.com/ at 22:19 on 2009-02-20I'm okay with breaking world rules as long as breaking them results in at least some negative consequence for the exception. The protagonist who has powers no one has ever seen before/in centuries is a common trope in YA stories; the good stories just balance that out with something that gets taken away in exchange for that power. The second problem I see from the two sections you quoted is that Clary's new power isn't the result of hard work or persistence in studying this magic or even an innate understanding of the nature of runes or just natural brilliance. She doesn't even seem to be aware of what she's doing. In that passage, they just come to her without thought because she's someone's daughter, and that's just ridiculously cheap in my books.permalink - go to tophttp://miss-morland.livejournal.com/ at 13:23 on 2009-02-21I would like to put forward a vote for "And Death Shall Have No Dominion" has the best-worst chapter title ever. I think you're right. *g* Although now I'm sort of curious as to what chapter headings she'll invent for her next novel...permalink - go to topWardog at 14:42 on 2009-02-21I'm not sure Dan will survive her next novel...permalink - go to tophttp://rudecyrus.livejournal.com/ at 04:02 on 2009-02-22When did books for young adults and children become so damn mediocre?permalink - go to tophttp://katsullivan.insanejournal.com/ at 09:53 on 2009-02-22Isabel is ... not in it much actually, having been relegated to the place where girls who are hotter than the protagonist get sent in the second book" Ha ha! That's funny. But don't forget that according to Jace, Clary is more beeyootiful than Isabelle and Isabelle is jeluz of her. Clary's Sue-nature gets even better in Book 3 when a 3rd character - a hot dude called Sebastian - also falls in love with her. You will be interested to know that the chapter titles from the 3rd book - City of Glass are just as pretentious of the other books. This is from her Livejournal, with explanations from where she got the titles from: Chapter One: The Portal Self-explanatory, especially if you've read the first chapter. Chapter Two: The Demon Towers of Alicante “Those are the demon towers,” Jace said, in response to Simon’s unasked question. “They control the wards that protect the city. Because of them, no demon can enter Alicante.” Chapter Three: Amatis In which we meet Amatis, a character mentioned once, briefly, in Ashes. Chapter Four: Daylighter Well, what else are you going to call a vampire who can walk around during the day? Chapter Five: A Problem of Memory In which the Inquisitor would like Simon to remember something that never actually happened. Chapter Six: One of the Living “A true vampire knows he is dead. He accepts his death. But you, you think you are still one of the living," said Raphael. Chapter Seven: Bad Blood "“Everyone seemed to blanch when your name came up earlier," said Sebastian. "I gathered there was some bad blood between your brother and you.” Chapter Eight: Where Angels Fear to Tread “Fools rush in/Where angels fear to tread” — Alexander Pope Chapter Nine: This Guilty Blood “I am ashamed/of these foul deeds;/Nor with this guilty blood/Sprinkled, would I pollute the innocent.” —Euripedes, Hercules Chapter Ten: Fire and Sword “Their state The noblest-born must abdicate; The fairest, while with fire and sword Come Spoilers--horde impelling horde.” — William Wordsworth Chapter Eleven: All the Host of Hell Milton. “the hollow abyss Heard far and wide, and all the host of hell With deafening shout returned them loud acclaim." Chapter Twelve: De Profundis De profundis: In Latin, "out of the depths.” Psalm 130 is known as "De Profundis;" it begins "Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord." Chapter Thirteen: Where There is Sorrow Oscar Wilde. “Where there is sorrow, there is holy ground.” Chapter Fourteen: In the Dark Forest Reference to the beginning of Dante’s Inferno. “I found myself within a forest dark” — the narrator, Dante, wanders in a dark forest of confusion and grief. Chapter Fifteen: Things Fall Apart Yeats’s famous poem “The Second Coming” : “Things fall apart/The center cannot hold” Chapter Sixteen: Articles of Faith Articles of faith is a general expression for statements of faith-belief all across Christianity and other religions. The Nicene Creed ("Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem, factorum coeli et terrae") is an article of faith. Chapter Seventeen: The Shadowhunter's Tale This mirrors The Werewolf’s Tale in book one. Chapter Eighteen: Hail and Farewell From a poem by Catullus. Ave Atque Vale, means hail and farewell. Shadowhunters say it when someone dies in battle. Chapter Nineteen: Peniel Peniel is where Jacob wrestled the angel in the Bible. Chapter Twenty: Weighed in the Balance “Mene Mene Tekel Upharsin” : “You are weighed in the balance, and found wanting.” From the book of Daniel. Epilogue: Across the Sky in Stars TE Lawrence: “Because I loved you, I took these tides of men into my hands, and wrote my will across the sky in stars.” permalink - go to tophttp://athread.livejournal.com/ at 14:15 on 2009-02-22A group of girls in my school have become obsessed with Cassie Claire (the new Twilight? I live in hope.) and read/analyse her books over and over again. If I hear CC called "a modern genius" in French class one more time, SOMEBODY WILL DIE, seriously. I flicked through the first book in Easons a few weeks ago and could tell from the one page I read that it was crap. I'm also a bit shocked that she actually named one of the chapters A Season in Hell, since, you know, one of her most famous H/D fanfics is called that. She's not even trying to get away from the whole fandom thing.permalink - go to topViorica at 18:19 on 2009-02-22Of course she isn't. That's why she got a three-book contract; it's why she had a built-in fanbase. Moving away from it would be bad for her career. When did books for young adults and children become so damn mediocre? Since authors decided that kids and teens were too dumb to appreciate quality, so they could churn out pages of crap, an it's be eaten up by the target audience. Sadly, they aren't wrong. It irritates me, since I'm a part of the target audience, and I'm sick of getting lumped in with people who think Cassie Clare's or Anna Godberson's stuff is the height of literary genius.permalink - go to topDan H at 20:06 on 2009-02-22Yeats’s famous poem “The Second Coming” : “Things fall apart/The center cannot hold” Hooray! One of the many things I would absolutely *love* to see in a modern fantasy novel somebody quoting the *first* line of the second coming. "Turning and Turning in the Widening Gyre" or possibly "The Falcon Cannot Hear the Falconer" would make excellent pretentious chapter titles. Also, I'd like to add that I actually scrolled *up* to your post from below, so I looked at it, laughed, then read it again and went "wait, those are the *actual* chapter titles, I thought she was making this up". permalink - go to topWardog at 20:14 on 2009-02-22When did books for young adults and children become so damn mediocre To be fair, YA is *also* producing some of the most exciting authors my jaded heart has encountered for many a cold year. For every Cassie Clare, there's a Melinda Marchetta, for every Anna Godberson a Catherine Fisher.permalink - go to topSonia Mitchell at 22:05 on 2009-02-22Theresa Breslin, Stewart and Riddell, Charlotte Hatpie, Philip Reeve... there's a lot of decent stuff out there. But like other genres, when authors start imitating each other things spiral into crap. I think on the whole YA is doing better than thrillers and fantasy in that respect - it's a genre I'm more willing to take risks in because the chance of a pleasant surprise seems a lot higher. (As an aside - is YA a genre as such? Or something else? Marketing category maybe? I'm hazy on the boundaries)permalink - go to topWardog at 11:26 on 2009-02-23Oh my God, the chapters for book 3 are even worse - thank you for, err, sharing the pain =Ppermalink - go to topWardog at 16:34 on 2009-02-26Also am I the only person who finds the tagline a little bit amusing? The Shadowhunter war rages on ... shouldn't it just be "the shadowhunter war rages". The addition of the "on" makes it sound like its tediously extended. You might as well say "the shadowhunter war drags on" (and on).permalink - go to tophttp://mary-j-59.livejournal.com/ at 04:40 on 2009-02-28Hi! I can comment at last! About Cassandra Clare: I have refused to buy or read these books because I discovered she had plagiarized Pamela Dean. That was enough for me. But, Dan, I'm a huge Tolkien fan, and I actually think Tom Bombadil's power over the ring works. It works because it's made quite clear that Bombadil's powers are constrained by space - he is the ruler of a tiny kingdom - and because it's also clear that, as Gandalf says, he would be a most unsafe guardian. He cannot remember the ring exists *because* it has no hold on his mind. And if he can't remember it, he can't guard it. Which is like something descrime said above. If someone has a superpower, it should have constraints. Bombadil is constrained, and Clary apparently isn't. Just my two cents-permalink - go to tophttp://disdainful-soul.livejournal.com/ at 10:16 on 2009-03-16I'm also a bit shocked that she actually named one of the chapters A Season in Hell, since, you know, one of her most famous H/D fanfics is called that. She's not even trying to get away from the whole fandom thing. If you think that's bad, the trilogy takes its name from a Ginny/Ron incest fic. If she was trying to get away from fandom she would publish it under a name that wasn't so close to her fandom one (removing the "i" does not make the change clever, Cla(i)re) and stop putting in references to fandom and fandom people all throughout the book. Other fic authors have gone on to be published and don't ride on the coattails of fandom to get there.permalink - go to topWardog at 09:32 on 2009-03-18I think the point is that once you've made a claim to having read Rimbaud you want to make that claim as often as possible :)permalink - go to topWordless at 07:58 on 2009-11-10From a poem by Catullus. Ave Atque Vale, means hail and farewell. Shadowhunters say it when someone dies in battle. sorry but i had to know, do they do it in a funeral procession afterwards or do they do it in battle? does every one stop fighting and do the whole latin tellytubby "BYYYE bubye byee!!!!" thing. if so that totally rocks.permalink - go to topWordless at 08:03 on 2009-11-10Also I noticed that half the titles have absolutely no relevance to what happens in the chapter....is there a rule somewhere that says quoting original literature somehow makes you original??? Bah!

#Ferretbrain #The Mortal Instruments #Cassandra Clare #Fanfiction #City of Ashes #Dan H

[sending-the-message]

The Monster Under My Bed Enjoys Crochet by LordLackland

Until I was 17, a chance encounter with a dog could paralyse me in fear. Although it was one of those irrational phobias that harmed me more than it kept me safe, it held a foundation in reason, or so I told myself. When I was about 6, I was chased up a tree by an immense, black wolf. It never bit or scratched me, but ever since, I've relived the event continually.

Every evening when I close my eyes, I can see him, his red eyes (as my child-like imagination constructed) boring into my soul before I turn around and flee. As if these dreams and their coinciding insomnia weren't enough for young me, fate also decided to rent out the space below my bed to a monster-- one that's followed me from bed to bed for the past 20 years.

It’s not unusual for children to imagine monsters under their beds. Perhaps it's a way of rationalising all of the world’s evils for which their minds aren't yet equipped to understand. My monster just happened to be accompanied by the unmistakeable scent of burnt sulphur, but I never really thought that the scratching and odour under my bed were anything other than the house settling -- at least, not until I received the first chink in my armour of logic and reason.

One night when I was 16, we had a break-in. And by we, I mean I because both my parents were on vacation and my sister had left to get high with her boyfriend. I was pouring myself some Melatonin from my bedside table when the burglar entered the house. I first heard him rummaging around the living room, then I made out the desolate creaking of the stairs. When the man’s shadow swept beneath my door, I scurried out of my covers and under my bed.

That's when I saw the dog. About as immense as a calf, he lay facing me in a sphinx-like prone, his white fur immaculately clean despite the decade of dust and grime that had built up on my floor. Oddly, he had hooves and small horns like a goat, but there was no denying that he was a dog otherwise. What solidified my terror-induced freeze were his eyes. Like the ones I had seen in the woods, they were a lurid scarlet, but unlike that beast, these were not rage-filled eyes. They were wide, giving him an almost surprised expression. When the door opened, he snapped his head in its direction, and a large hoof slammed against my face in time to suppress a scream. That was when I fainted, though I'm proud to have held out for thirty seconds or so.

When I woke up, I was back in bed, the sheets tucked in sloppily around me. I slowly lowered my head past my bed frame, but there was nothing there. Not even the dust. The dust. My heart sank as I noticed the large disturbance in the usual grime, dotted with hoof prints, that would have been left by a large hound. I think I fainted again because I woke up on the floor with a massive headache around 11 am. This time, the dust had resurfaced. I inspected the house only to find that nothing had been stolen or misplaced. In fact, the living room was cleaner than it normally was.

Night arrived, and I heard the usual orchestra of scratching and creaking amidst the concentrated scent of urine before I could fully drift off. I lowered myself to the floor (feet-first this time so I couldn't hurt my head) and, to my worst fears, saw two red eyes staring back at me. I know that dogs can't smile or laugh or anything, but I could have sworn that this monster had been. Then again, I also know that dogs can't talk, yet he started to anyways. “Hello Edward,” he said, cheerfully. “Please don't faint again. I promise I don't enjoy biting.” Talking dogs? Fuck that, I thought as my vision started to fade for a third time. He ran behind me and caught my head like a pillow, causing me to jump up before I could fully escape reality.

“Why the fuck are you living under my bed, and what are you?” I managed to stammer out after a stream of expletives.

“Well,” he said, “I'm a dog with goat hooves and horns.” He gently lowered and shook his head “I have a name, but you wouldn't know it. It's not important. My job is to guide and protect travelers, so I assure you that I'm only here to help.”

“Yeah, I can see them, but why are you under MY BED?!” I had reached a point where everything around me seemed so surreal that I had begun to accept it as normal. I suppose it's a defence mechanism, maybe rationalization, but I felt entirely helpless anyways.

“Well, you've been plagued with nightmares recently. Most people define journeys as going from point A to point B, but are not dreams included in this definition? Your body may not travel, but your mind certainly does. And you are no less prone to harm while sleeping.” He had lost me at the point where a dog started to talk, but I nodded along anyways.

“What do you have to do with my dreams?” I inquired.

“You spend so much time running to that little tree that you never look back to see why the black dog hasn't caught up. After all, the tree is a fair distance away, and he certainly has the speed to make it before you.” I began racking my mind for an answer, but the dream was too frightening to relive. “Here, I'll help you out. Try to picture his tail when you were up in the tree.”

Suddenly, the dog’s grotesque figure leaped into my mind, this time from a bird's-eye view. “It's all bloodied and cut up,” I said, forcing my eyes open.

“Ding-ding-ding. That's usually what happens when one beast grabs another by his tail.” I swear he smiled again.

“Does that mean-”

“It does. I was there in the woods as well, for you were technically a traveler even if you were just wandering off from your picnic site. After all, there are many types of travels. A journey of even three feet can be made an adventure by the young, imaginative mind. If I'm remembering correctly, you were pretending to be a pirate, trying to rescue a maiden when you suddenly stumbled upon my friend Blackbeard instead. Think of me like the English Lieutenant-Colonel, Alexander Sportswood. My job is to stop and kill Blackbeard wherever he may try to wreak havoc, and I've gotten very good at it.”

“Okaywellgoodnight,” I said, slurring the words together. I know that in movies and stuff, we would have had this mind-opening conversation that leads to some big epiphany on my part, but these writers have never experienced what I faced. Not only is your entire mind overwhelmed, it fixates itself on a single aspect of what's happening to try to reduce its burden. I was fixated on the fact that a dog was talking, and everything else went over my head, or at least under my conscious.

Our rational brain simply hasn't developed to process impossibility. That's the job of the imagination, and the amount of schemas that I’d need to accommodate to rationalise this tangible beast would have driven me mad. I guess I could have dissociated, and I did for a bit, but the easiest thing to do was to sleep. Sleep and pretend like nothing out-of-the-ordinary had happened. That night, in my nightmare, the black dog was wearing a pirate’s hat and an eyepatch. I laughed, and when I woke up, I found a small, felted naval officer between my arm and body. It was the only comforting gesture capable of breaking my stubborn shell of logic and reason, if only for moment.

Since that night, I have left my monster more or less alone. I’m still afraid of dogs, but much less so than I once was. Now, my fear is limited to large, black dogs who have hooves and smell like piss. It's a fairly minute demographic. On holidays and my worst nights, he usually leaves a small present on my bed -- I suppose as a friendship gesture. I must say that his felting skills have improved tremendously, and he's even begun to pick up crochet.

From time to time, however, I feel the black dog still watching me. On deserted roads when a yellowed darkness encroaches my every sense, I can see his red eyes stalking from deserted alleyways. When I’m alone in my apartment, longing for my family, I hear the rattling of his chains behind me, and I know that he is preparing to strike, sealing the kill once and for all. During these nights, no rational thought is able to pierce the screen of evil that engulfs me, blurring the lights of the world until only fetid darkness remains.

Whenever I'm at my most vulnerable, and I know that the black dog has gained my scent once more, I spend a night talking to the monster under my bed. He always quells my fear, providing a friend in an abandoned world. For me, he's become an escape from reality -- a paradoxical collision between the two worlds of childish imagination and empirical logic.

I've been living with him for a decade since we first interacted, and my life has generally improved. After a small discussion, my bedroom (now an apartment) has even gone from smelling like burnt sulphur to smelling like urine with a hint of wet dog and Hartz Infusions Dog Shampoo. Perhaps it would be beneficial if more people opened the floodgates to the world of impossibilities every now and then. After all, indulging the ghosts of our reality can only blind us to a more universal, if occulted, presence in life -- kindness.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 5)

Light Duties

Mostly just some conversation in this chapter because damn it I love doing dialogue! I’m sorry if this seems to end abruptly, as I was writing this chapter it got really long so I split it in half. The next chapter is (hopefully) a bit more exciting :P

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

I was so embarrassed. My memories of that night had been hazy, partly because I had tried not to remember. It wasn't a good night; my brother wasn't the nicest of men but I still grieved for him, it was like Arthur had said, family was important and that night I'd lost the last of mine. But I'd acted like such a fool, a hussy, a disaster of a woman. Arthur must've wanted to run a mile when he saw me at the camp for the first time, wondering how on earth I'd decide to harass him this time. I wished I hadn't brought it up.

I stared at a rock on the ground as we stood in silence for a few moments, both of us recalling how it’d gone down. The worst part was, Arthur likely remembered more than I did. Who knows what else I'd said that had slipped my mind.

I'm such a goddamn idiot.

“I remembered you as soon as I saw you.”

“I'm surprised, it was a year ago at least,” I noted.

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement. “Normally I might've forgotten, but... I won't lie, every time I thought back I felt a little guilty, since that night.”

I looked up at him in shock. “What? Why would you feel guilty? You helped me.”

“Yeah, well, I had the opportunity to help your brother and I didn't. I was back in town the next morning and I heard what had happened. I checked at the hotel, but you'd already gone.”

“You did?” I questioned, the crease in my brow softening as he nodded. “Well, I couldn't stick around. The guy who owned the bar wanted me to pay up for damages; whoever starts a fight pays, he said. Since it was my brother, the bill fell to me.”

“I'm sorry about your brother. I saw how bad the fight was getting, I should've stepped in.”

“And got your own face caved in? Henry wouldn't've stopped for much. My pa tried to pull him off of me once, ended up looking worse than I did.”

“You mean he hit you?” Arthur's eyes flashed up at me in horror.

“Sometimes. He'd hit anyone if they bothered him, I learned to keep my mouth shut around him and it didn't happen often towards the end… of him,” I explained. “I know it's bad, but– well, he's gone now.”

“Suddenly I don't feel so guilty,” he said, his voice low. I looked at him, not really sure what to say to that, so I steered the topic a little.

“I apologise for my behaviour that night. I was a mess.”

“No apologies necessary.”

“No, it is necessary. I was not respectful of you at all, even though you were nothing but kind to me. I wouldn't've blamed you if you'd just left me there, but you didn't. You're a real gentleman and you deserve my apology,” I lifted my head and spoke clearly and concisely despite the fact my face was burning and I wanted to hide away.

“We've all been there, acted silly on the liquor. It's fine,” he shook his head, flushing too. I knew he was recalling some of the things I'd said.

“Thank you, Arthur. I'd like to pay you back for that hotel room, soon.”

“You don't have to do that, I was just doing a good deed. I don't want nothing from you, ma'am. Besides, it was a year ago, I'll waive your debt,” he smiled at me and touched my elbow; my cheeks burned hotter. He looked lovely when he smiled.

“Well then, I'll return the favour some other way,” I decided, turning and running my fingers through the horse's mane so I had something to do with my hands.

“Just keep on doing them chores, new girl, that's good enough for me,” he said, finally stepping away and heading towards his horse. “Come on, let's take these animals back to camp. Good work on those rabbits, all this’ll keep us fed for days.”

“I'm glad I could be of some help,” I told him, mounting my horse.

“You've been a real help, these last few days. Moving to a new camp ain't easy, we haven't been there long, you've helped us more than you know,” he told me, climbing onto his own horse. He started trotting back the way we came, I sidled up to him.

“I've only been doing basic chores,” I reminded him.

“Basic chores still need someone to do 'em. The girls always have their hands full with keeping things going while us fellers are out lookin’ for opportunities. I'm sure they appreciate you shouldering some of that. Like I said, we ain't been here long, and the first few weeks is always the busiest.”

“You were staying in Blackwater before, weren't you? I saw it in the newspaper. I thought Dutch was gonna… well, do something not so nice to me when I realised who you all were. Dutch's Boys, that's what they called you in the papers.”

“Yeah, I know that made him think twice,” Arthur sighed. “But don't worry. You're one of us now, at least for the meantime. You're eager to work, Dutch likes that. He told me so.”

“So that's why he spared me?”

“That and he don't take kindly to hurting ladies,” he frowned, as if remembering something. “Most of the time, anyway.”

“Well I certainly am eager to work, I like to keep busy. And Dutch said if I stick around to help he might help me out too; getting my horse back,” I said and Arthur looked at me with interest, prompting me to continue. “I mentioned that a while back my horse was stolen. I'd been planning on robbing the guy who took her, it obviously didn't go to plan; but I'd know him if I saw him and he kept mentioning Emerald Ranch.”

“So you wanna go over there and get her back?”

“At least try to,” I nodded. “I'd kept meaning to when it first happened but I was on my own and I'd already pissed the guy off enough, I didn't know what I was stepping into so I just– I was too much of a coward.”

“Well, we'll help you get her back. No promises though, don't get your hopes up.”

“I know. For all I know he could've sold her and she's long gone. But even if there's a chance, I wanna try, especially since I wouldn't be going it alone.”

“You've been completely on your own, then, since Henry passed?” He questioned and I nodded my head.

“That's right. I imagine I've been living not too differently to you, moving around, camping out, going into towns for the sake of making money. In my case, I made most of my money off'a meat and animal hides. It weren't a lot, but enough to buy everything that needed buying. Ammunition, arrows, soap and clothes, you know.”

“You ever get lonely?”

“Sometimes. Mostly after Rayna, my horse, was gone,” I shrugged, not dwelling on it. “She was like a blanket, kind of, I felt safe and warm when she was outside my tent at night. It's been rough without her, I won't lie.”

For the first time in months, I felt a lump in my throat. I coughed and turned my head, taking in the scenery to distract myself.

“I guess it explains why you're so quiet 'round camp. I barely heard a peep out'a you 'til today.”

“I ain't used to talking this much, I'll end up with a sore throat,” I chuckled, turning back to him. He smiled at me with a trace of pity in his eyes. I hardened at that. “Don't get me wrong. I enjoy being alone, too.”

“So do I,” Arthur breathed. “Sometimes I like to just take it slow getting back to camp, like we're doing now. Gives me a chance to think,” he adjusted his hat and looked forwards. We were getting close to camp.

“That's true. Though I must admit, it's been nice talking to you today. Sometimes I forget that human contact ain't always bad,” I laughed.

“Glad I could remind you,” he smiled.

When we got back into camp, Pearson came straight over to us, looking pleased. He pulled the deer off of the horse I was on as Arthur took his own. I followed them, taking the rabbits with me, towards the camp's makeshift kitchen.

“Am I glad to see all this,” Pearson said, I could hear his smile in his voice. “These look like a good pair of deer, should be able to make something nice with them.”

“You good to skin those rabbits? We'll take the deer,” Arthur said, dropping his deer down on the ground.

“Sure, you got a knife?” I asked and Pearson handed me one.

I'd had a lot of practice with skinning animals, and I'd gotten better at it over time. My pelts fetched a decent price. I cut down the underside of the first rabbit and then used the knife to gently prise the skin away from the tissues underneath. I couldn't help but notice that my technique was a little different to Pearson and Arthur's; who seemed to favour brute force and after making the initial cut pulled the pelt away mainly with their hands, using the knife sparingly. I cocked a brow but otherwise didn't comment.

“They got you skinning rabbits now? Sure ain't no work for a lady,” Karen walked by and teased me. I looked up at her after finishing up the first rabbit.

“And I killed it myself, too,” I quipped back, moving onto the next one.

“Wow,” she lilted, face wrinkling just a little in disgust. She watched as I drew my blade down the rabbits belly. “I think I'll leave you to it.”

By the time I was finished with the three rabbits, Pearson and Arthur had hung the deer from the side of the wagon, Pearson took the rabbits from me, thanking me.

“Those are some clean pelts,” Arthur said, running his hand over the rabbit fur. “If you want, we can go out now and sell 'em.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. We'll bring the deer ones too, put a little money in your pocket,” he placed them both down on the table by the rabbits.

“You'd let me keep the money?” I asked as I rolled up all of the pelts, bundling them nicely together.

“You killed almost all of 'em,” he laughed. “You've helped enough with the meat, I think you deserve the pelts.”

“It'd be nice to buy a new dress or some pants, so Mary-Beth can have her dress back before I ruin it.”

“Well then, let's go–"

“You can't go, Arthur. Aren't you supposed to be meeting Trelawny and Javier? Charles just left,” Pearson piped up, cleaning off his knife.

“Sean,” Arthur sighed, remembering. “Yeah you're right. I'm sorry,” he turned to me and I shrugged.

“It's okay, another time.”

“John ain't doing anything, why don't you ask him?” he pointed over at where he was sitting at the table nursing a bottle of beer. He looked up when he heard his name. “He's mostly on light duties anyway, on account of that little scratch on his face.”

Arthur was wearing a smirk and John sighed, slamming his bottle down a little too hard before getting up, coming over to us.

“What do you need?” He asked.

“This little lady needs taking out to sell these pelts. You can handle that, can't you Marston?” Arthur asked, hands on his hips.

“'course,” he said, eyes narrowed at Arthur, who only chuckled.

“And drop by Valentine too, she'd like some new clothes.”

“Women and their priorities,” John teased me, and once again I was quick on the defense.

“One or two outfits is fine for me, this dress ain't mine,” I explained as I followed him over to the horses.

“I know, I'm messing with you. We'll get you some clothes,” he chuckled. He climbed onto his horse then held his hand out to help me up too; this time I rode sidesaddle with the pelts on my lap. It'd save some of the awkwardness of the dress riding up as I was sitting right behind him.

“Where am I taking you?”

“I know a guy who gives me a good price. He moves around a lot but he should be over on the other side of Dakota river, near the station,” I told him, holding onto his waist.

“I think I know the guy,” he nodded. “Arthur mentioned him once after taking down this massive bear Hosea helped him find. Came in wearing the damn thing on his head,” he laughed as we set off.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, looked pretty stupid if you ask me. I told him that, he ain't worn it since," John snorted.

“Aww,” I said sadly. “You must've hurt his feelings.”

“He's a big boy, he can take it. Besides, he gives me enough crap about these wounds.”

“I noticed that. How'd you get them? Some kind of animal, I'm guessing,” I said, tilting my head so I could see the side of the face and the claw marks marring it.

“Wolves. Nasty business, thought I'd had it,” he told me with an audible breath.

“I bet. That's my worst nightmare, I think. I've had a couple of run-ins with angry bucks, but other than that I've been lucky. Though, I was bit by a snake when I was just a girl, I'd recommend that about as much as your run in with the wolves.”

“Owch. You suck the venom out?”

“My pa did,” I nodded. “Like you, I thought I was done for. Never been in so much pain in my life.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #john marston #simon pearson #fanfiction #ATINK #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader