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harleysarchive · 3 years

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Monegasque Kiss | Charles Leclerc

Fandom: Formula one Warning: My favorite trope, pining after each other and then confess your love. Friends to lovers. 2500 words. I enjoyed writing this a LOT. Pairing: Charles Leclerc x neutral!reader Summary: You and Charles are pining after one another and it ends up with a kiss, with some help from Pierre Gasly

A/N: Once again I’m thanking Screnwriter’s prompts, nr. 10, for sparking my inspiration to write, your prompts are the best! Gif by dams-racing. Honestly, I’m having such a blast writing for Charles and the other drivers, it really inspires me to continue writing.

There were some perks with being friends with formula one drivers. For instance you could go watch them race and kick ass on the tracks. You had known Charles and Pierre since you were younger. You had the fortune to meet them when they raced go kart and you just happened to be in Monaco on vacation with your family when their race was there. You had met them by accident and the three of you had stayed in touch ever since that day. Even though you couldn’t meet them as much as you wanted, you were happy to accompany them on their races, especially when it was in Monaco.

You were by the docks looking at the people on their boats. Music started blasting through the speakers on the boats and people talked loudly to overpower the sound. Champagne was popping, spilling onto the wooden deck and laughter was heard from tipsy people. Girls were tanning on the deck and guys shouting at the people below. But you loved this, the commotion of people and how happy everyone was.

Screams were heard behind you when you saw that the big screen was showing all the drivers and that the drivers were posing in front of said screen. The crowd cheered the loudest when Charles' face was shown and he walked in front of it. Your heart made a jump when you saw him. Ever since that day many years ago, you had had a crush on Charles. But there was no way in hell that you were going to tell him that. Your friendship were too important to destroy by a stupid crush. But something inside you hoped, wished that he felt the same towards you.

Pierre had seen you on the docks and made his way over to you, hugging you from behind. You shrieked, but soon relaxed when you realized who it was. Pierre laughed loudly at your reaction.

“Pierre, you scared the living shit out of me.” you said and smacked him on the arm. His smile just grew even wider.

“I didn’t know that you would be here so soon, (Y/N). I thought me or Charles were going to pick you up at the airport when you landed.”

“No need to, plus I didn’t want to ruin your fashion show down there.” you said and winked at him. He shoved you slightly which made you giggle. The two of you walked towards one of the cafés. The weather was amazing. You and Pierre caught up with everything while waiting for Charles to arrive. Pierre talked about the race and how he had enjoyed some time to hang out with his friends. You talked about your life and what was going on there. This was the first race that you could attend in Europe and you were happy that it was in Monaco.

“So, anyone special at home?” he asked, with a look on his face like he knew something. You looked at him suspiciously.

“No, why?”

“Well you are beautiful. I just wondered why you haven’t found someone yet.” his smirk grew.

He definitely knew.

“Thank you, Pierre. I don’t know.” you tried to sound innocent and oblivious. “Maybe I haven’t found the right one.”

“Or the right one haven’t asked you.” he mumbled into his coffee, which made you turn bright red.

Charles was on his way to your location and he had stopped by a flower shop to buy you some flowers. It had been ages since he had seen you and he wanted to give you something. He had seen you and Pierre hug on the docks, which made him feel a wave of jealousy crash inside of him. But he didn’t want to admit it to himself. The two of you were friends, nothing more, nothing less. But god did he hope for more.

He rounded the corner to see the two of you talking at the café. The sting of jealousy came back again, because it looked like the two of you were on a date. But he tried to dismiss the thought and put on the biggest smile on his face. Pierre saw him first and waved him over, which made you turn to face him. Charles stopped in his tracks when his eyes met yours. His stomach filled with butterflies and he could feel his face getting flustered.

You rose from your chair to run to him and you gave him the biggest hug.

“God how I have missed you, Charles.” you said. He hugged you back and inhaled your scent. How he had missed your hugs and your scent.

“I have missed you so much, (Y/N).”

He let go of you.

“These are for you.”

He gave you the flowers he had bought and you had the biggest smile plastered on your face.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

“Thank you so much, Charles.” you beamed and smelled the flowers.

The two of you joined Pierre by the café and continued your chat for some time. You talked about everything and nothing.

“(Y/N), you should join us tonight at the party.” Pierre said.

“There’s a party tonight?”

“Yes, it’s on one of the yacht’s by the dock. I’m sure that you can come as our plus one.” Pierre said and winked at you, which made Charles' expression sour.

“Sounds fun and I get to hang out with you guys even more.” you smiled.

“Great, there will be more formula one drivers there tonight. But just stay close to us and you’ll be fine.”

“What time is it?”

“Around seven.”

“Great, can you pick me up by my hotel before that?”

“Of course.” they both said.

You grabbed your flowers and left them to get ready for the party. Inhaling the scent one once again and felt the butterflies go nuts in your stomach.

He gave you flowers!

At the hotel you had packed some more fancy clothes, in case this happened and now you were extremely happy that you did. You were done just in time when someone knocked on your door. Outside stood Charles in a blue shirt and he looked ravishing. You opened and his face flustered by your fancy attire.

“Wow, you look amazing.” he breathed. You blushed by his comment and invited him in. He closed the door and sat down on the bed.

“You know, you could’ve stayed at my place for your time here.” Charles said. You froze by his statement and he saw your reaction and he could feel the panic grow inside him.

“I-if you wanted, that is.” he stuttered trying to save the situation. “You are always welcome, you know.”

His hand touched his neck in a nervous gesture and his face was even more flustered than before. You tried to not think too much about what he said, he wanted to be a kind friend towards you. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Thank you, Charles. I will surely take that offer next time I’m in Monaco to see you.” you said and took one last glance in the mirror before the two of you headed for the lobby. The ride towards the party was fun, the two of you cracked jokes which made you cry with laughter. Charles felt proud that he could make you laugh like this and he enjoyed that the two of you were alone.

On the yacht there were people everywhere, talking, drinking, you think you saw someone making out with someone behind the stairs. To give the lovely couple some privacy you turned around to walk over to the bar. Charles and Pierre had to do some interviews and mingle with the bosses and such, which made you stand alone for a while. But you didn’t care, because then you could watch the different people that were at the party. You saw Lewis Hamilton, Max Verstappen and Sebastian Vettel. In one corner you could see Daniel Ricciarido laugh with some people you didn’t recognize.

Sebastian had seen you alone and came up to you. Charles had introduced you when Sebastian was racing for Ferrari and you could tell that Charles looked up to Sebastian. The two of you got along well as well, which made Charles even more happy. However, Sebastian could see the looks the monegasque racer gave you when you weren’t looking. The wistful and yearning looks that only a love-sick person could give. The slight tint of pink on his cheeks whenever you gave him attention or how his attention or body was always turned towards you, no matter what.

“Hey, (Y/N).” he said and embraced you.

“Hey, Sebastian.”

“Enjoying the party?” he said and let go of you.

“It’s nicer now that I have someone to talk to.” you joked and looked over to Pierre and Charles doing some interviews with reporters. Sebastian could see the look you gave them, especially Charles. He felt bad for you that you felt alone.

“Well, I can introduce you to some people if you want?” he asked. You nodded and followed him towards the crowd of the other racers. You met Max, Sergio and Lewis.

Charles had glanced over at you to see that you were doing okay, but that wave of jealousy came crashing inside of him when he saw you talking to the other racers. And with the jealousy came the worry. You turned around to meet his piercing eyes and you smiled at him. His insides melted by your smile and some of the worry and jealousy went away. Some of it, but not all.

When the interview was over he and Pierre went over to the bar. Charles ordered two drinks, one for him and one for you.

“Some encouragement?” Pierre asked.

“For what?”

“Asking (Y/N) to be yours?”

Charles almost choked on air by Pierre’s statement.

“What are you talking about? She is a friend.”

“Yeaaah, a friend that you like… or even more than that.”

Charles just shook his head and headed over to you. You smiled at him when he reached you and someone said that we should continue the conversation on the sofas nearby. The crowd started moving towards the sofas and somehow you didn’t get a seat. Pierre came by to slightly nudge you so that you lost your balance and landed in Charles lap.

“I’m so sorry.” you said frantic, feeling yourself getting flustered, but not as flustered as Charles. You tried to get up from his lap, but he wouldn’t let you.

“I-it’s fine. You can sit here, since there is no other room for you to sit.” he stuttered and eyed Pierre. Pierre just raised his glas towards him and continued his conversation with Esteban. Trying his best to look innocent, but it was exactly the opposite. You nodded and tried your best not to blush profusely. His body was radiating so much heat and you took some deep breaths and tried to relax. But the tention between you and Charles. You could cut it with a knife and you bet that the both of you were blushing messes at the moment. Charles didn’t know where to keep his hands and you didn’t want to move around to much. Charles wanted to both kill Pierre for doing this and thank him at the same time. But now he mostly wanted to kill him. You could feel how stiff your posture was in his lap and tried your best to not lean against him too much. But you wanted too. Charles' hand found its way on your lower back, to act as a backrest. You tried to act cool, but this whole situation made your mind and body freak out. How could you focus on anything else than Charles hand on you back? His warm body and his muscular thighs which you were currently sitting on?

You tried to continue your conversations with the boys. Throughout the night Charles got more and more bold with his actions. It started with that he rested his other hand on your thigh, which made you freeze when he did it, but you soon relaxed to his touch. Then he started to pull you closer to his chest so you were resting against his chest. You could feel it rise up and down, but he hoped that you couldn’t hear his racing heart over how close you were to him. Your arms snaked around his waist and you rested your head against his shoulder. He had a hard time breathing normally with you so close to him.

Later that evening Pierre joined you, which made you break apart from your cozy situation. You and Pierre were talking about some silly things, as usual, and now there was room for you to sit on the sofa, but you didn’t want to leave Charles' lap. Somehow, you had gotten into the topic of different kissing techniques. This made Charles pull you even closer to himself, as he didn’t like the topic that you and Pierre were discussing.

“Have you ever had a french kiss (Y/N)?”

“No, I don’t think so, why?”

“Well, there are a lot of french people here, would you like to try it with a real french man?” he smirked and you burst into laughter, which made you fall of Charles lap and landed between the boys instead. This made Charles expression sour even more. You and Pierre shared a loud and long laughter by what Pierre just said, but Charles… not so much. His eyes darkened as he looked over to his best friend.

“In your dreams, Pierre.” you said and dried away some tears and shoved him away from you.

“Perhaps, but it is certainly in someone else’s dreams.” he said and patted you on the knee and left. You looked at him confused and then turned around to Charles. His eyes were still dark as he followed Pierre, but his flustered cheeks told you something else.

“Do you know what he was talking about?”

Charles’ directed his attention towards you again, trying his best to look unbothered.

“No.” he lied.

You shrugged your shoulders and rose from the sofa.

“Come on, let’s look over the city.”

You grabbed his hand, feeling more bold now that you had sat in his lap for most of the evening. You dragged him towards the railing and looked over Monte Carlo. You hadn’t let go of his hand when you looked over the city. He drew you closer to him and you let your head rest on his arm. Then his curiosity sparked from the conversation you had with Pierre before.

“You haven’t had a french kiss?”

“No, I haven’t.” you laughed but tried to hide the nerves and your embarrassment over the topic. Charles nodded and turned around to face you. You looked at him curiously, which made his stomach do flips. How gorgeous you looked in this light, or in every light for that matter. Your smile, your hair, your laughter, you personality, it was all perfection to him. A wave of confidence crashed inside of him and he saw his chance now. He wanted to be with you and he hoped that you felt the same towards him.

It’s now or never, he thought.

“Well if you haven’t had a french kiss, you probably haven’t had a monegasque kiss.” Charles said with a smirk on his face. He let his hand touch your arm slightly, drawing circles on it.

“A monegasque kiss? What is that?” you asked.

“It’s like a french kiss but better.”

“Better?”

“Yes, because it is with me... “ Charles leaned in closer to you. “And you.”

He closed the gap between the two of you. One of his hands grabbed your cheek while the other hand was on your lower back, pulling you closer to him. Sparks flew as your bodies touched and you stopped breathing for a second, which made Charles nervous. But you soon realized what was happening and you moved in sync with his lips. It felt like no time had passed but your lungs were screaming for air. You broke apart from the kiss, looking into each other’s eyes.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” Charles breathed. You just beamed over what had just happened. Charles’ hand caressed your cheek.

“So… What Pierre said about me kissing a certain someone in a certain someone’s dreams. Was that you?”

“Guilty.” He said and from the back you could hear Pierre cheering and shouting something like ‘finally you guys did it!’.

You just laughed and kissed Charles again, which would be one of many kisses to come and quite frankly, you enjoyed the monegasque kiss much more than you would ever like any other kiss in the future.

A/N: Thank you for reading! 🥰

TAGS: @ohmyolympusssy @baueoud @marvelishgirl

#charles leclerc oneshots #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 fandom #f1 imagine #f1 #imagine #imagines #charles leclerc imagines #harleysarchive

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purrincess-chat · 3 years

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Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH25

This chapter might look familiar to those of you who read the original ;) But there’s a twist!

Previous First Next AO3

Chapter 25: Attack of Panic

“Remember, class, pick a painting that inspires you. Your reports are due tomorrow, so be sure to take good notes while on your tours today.” Mme. Pierre instructed. “We’ll meet for lunch in the courtyard. Try to learn something today.”

Marinette took a deep breath as Mme. Pierre dismissed them. Eliott and Lisette grouped up, walking arm-in-arm a few paces ahead. After overcoming their shyness from Saturday’s date, they were practically inseparable. Marinette was happy for them, but it made her miss Adrien. Having a boyfriend at a different school was lonely. How did anyone manage long-distance relationships?

Macy linked their arms together, snapping Marinette out of her trance.

“Let’s walk around in a group,” she said, tugging Martin on her other side.

“Sure.” Marinette smiled.

At least she still had friends to walk with, so she wasn’t completely alone. Though she’d have to think of a way to branch off to give Martin time alone with Macy, but then who would she walk with?

Long red curls bounced up the hall ahead of them, and a smirk curled on Marinette’s lips.

“Let’s go this way first.” She suggested, tugging Macy in the direction Gabrielle had gone.

“Shouldn’t we invite Eliott and Lisette?” Martin asked.

“No way. They’re spending quality time together as a couple. They’ll meet up with us at lunch,” Macy said. “Speaking of couples, did you see Thomas’s new girlfriend? I heard he ditched little miss bankrupt as soon as he found out.” Macy pointed to Gabrielle who was jotting down notes in front of a painting.

“Macy, that’s mean.” Martin chided.

“So was she.” Macy huffed. “She used to torment you, shouldn’t you be laughing too?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think she deserves to be miserable,” he said. “She’s been a lot different lately, and I’ve forgiven her. You should too.”

“Aww, Martin.” Macy hugged his shoulders, turning the tips of his ears red. “You’re an angel, you know that?”

Marinette bit back a smile as he faltered, tuning into the museum guide’s explanation. A boy with bright red hair stood in front of her, jotting down notes around a doodle in his notebook. His drawing was pretty good, though the style reminded her of someone.

Wait. Marinette knew that tomato top. She blinked a few times to ensure she wasn’t imagining it.

Nathaniel?

Marinette spun around, frantically searching the exhibit. Kim was mimicking the pose of a statue for Max and Alix across the room. Myléne and Ivan were reading a placard, hands twined while Juleka and Rose studied a map.

“Looks like we took the same field trip.” She jumped at Adrien’s voice in her ear, and he placed a hand on the small of her back to steady her. “You okay?”

“I-”

“Marinette?” Her spine stiffened as Kim called out to her. “Guys, it’s Marinette!”

“Marinette!”

“Yo, what up?”

“I love your new hair.”

“We missed you.”

Marinette’s heart sank at Rose’s declaration, and her old classmates surrounded her with eager smiles. Her old friends. Some of them, anyway. Nathaniel hung back, refusing to meet her gaze—a reminder of how far Lila’s influence still stretched. Marinette’s stomach twisted in knots.

“I-” She bit her lip to hold back tears. “I missed you guys too.”

“Aww.” Everyone crowded in for a hug, complimenting her hair and filling her in on exciting developments since she’d left.

“Well, well, look who it is. Long time no see, Marinette.”

Marinette’s blood ran cold.

The atmosphere changed in an instant, the crowd around her parting at Lila’s voice. She wore the same smirk she always did, silently goading Marinette. To add insult, Alya stared right through her like she were any other patron in the museum. A stranger.

Marinette swallowed hard.

Nathaniel and Myléne moved to stand beside Lila and Sabrina. Nino draped an arm over Alya’s shoulders, giving a curt nod to Adrien. Lila’s green eyes glinted as their classmates claimed their sides. She didn’t seem bothered at all by those still standing beside Marinette—quite the opposite. Lila lived for the challenge, but Marinette felt like she was going to throw up. What was she plotting?

“How is your new school? Why did you transfer anyway? And without telling any of us! We were so heartbroken,” Lila cooed.

Marinette’s jaw clenched, biting back a string of insults. Now wasn’t the time to start a fight—it would make Lila look more sympathetic. Marinette needed to keep a cool head, even if Lila was a snake.

Adrien bristled, fingers curling on Marinette’s back. “Lila-”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” Marinette said. “I know I should have told all of you, but it was a sudden decision I made because I wanted to focus on my future. I hope you’re all not mad at me.”

“How could we be mad at you? You’re like, the best,” Kim said.

“Indeed. We were confused, but this development makes sense. We know how important your future as a designer is to you, and with your level of talent, moving to a new school will increase your chances of succeeding in your field by 68.9%.” Max nodded.

“I mean, you could have said goodbye,” Nathaniel said, and Alix elbowed him.

“We’re just glad to see you again. We haven’t heard from you, so we were afraid to come see you.” Rose buried her face in Marinette’s blazer. “We’re sorry for being bad friends!”

“Rose…” Marinette patted her back.

“But you’ve had some crazy cool adventures at your new school. Tell us about that Jagged Stone concert!” Alix requested, several classmates echoing their agreement.

“Hey, Marinette, we’re gonna move to the next exhibit,” Macy said, parting the crowd to reach her. “We need to take notes for our report.”

“You’re right. Sorry, I have to go.” Marinette winced, though her former classmates only smiled.

“No sweat, Marinette.”

“Hey, we’re all having lunch in the courtyard later, you should sit with us!” Rose offered.

“Uh, sure,” Marinette said. As her old classmates dispersed, she shot a glare at Lila who only smiled in return.

“Adrien, our teacher wanted us to stay together. You don’t want to get in trouble, do you?” Lila said, not bothering to mask the gloat in her tone, but she wasn’t going to get a rise out of Marinette today.

“I’ll see you later.” Adrien planted a quick kiss to Marinette’s cheek, side-eyeing Lila as he did.

Macy tugged Marinette away from them swiftly, not slowing down until they’d rounded the corner to another hall.

“Martin told me about your run-in with that girl last week, so I wanted to get you out of there,” Macy said once they were safely in another room. “You were being so brave.”

“Do you want us to be your buffer today?” Martin asked.

Marinette smiled. Her friends were always looking out for her. What would she do without them?

“Thank you, both of you, but I’m fine. Seeing everyone again has actually put my mind at ease. At least now I know they don’t hate me. Well, most of them anyway.” She hugged her arms to her chest. “My biggest challenge today will be avoiding confrontation with Lila.”

“Well, you know we’ve got your back.” Macy linked an arm through Marinette’s with a smile.

“I’m really good at avoiding people, so I can steer us away from them.” Martin added.

“You guys are the best.” Marinette pulled them in for a side-hug.

“You’ve protected us in the past, so now it’s our turn,” Martin said. “Let us be your shield today.”

Marinette tightened her grip, leaning her head against Macy’s shoulder. Her old friends might still be under Lila’s control, but Marinette was grateful for the people she’d found after leaving. They’d been there for her when her whole world was falling apart. She really was lucky to have them.

Martin’s stealth proved effective as the morning wore on. Marinette barely saw any of her old classmates. As much relief as it brought her to know they still thought of her as a friend, she wasn’t ready to dive all the way back in. After all, they were still enamored by Lila, so she needed to tread carefully.

While Macy and Martin were engrossed in a Regnault, Marinette slipped over to the painting Gabrielle was studying across the room. Her dark green eyes didn’t look up when Marinette flanked her on the left, but she’d expected as much.

“You know, most people don’t avoid popularity.” When Marinette turned, Gabrielle’s face fell into a scowl. “Don’t turn around! I don’t want people to know we’re talking.”

Marinette turned back to the painting and pretended to study it. She was used to this game by now. Just because they were friends didn’t mean Gabrielle wanted everyone to know. She said it was for Marinette’s own good since people still rubbed the whole bankrupt thing in her face, but Marinette was starting to think she was just shy.

“You said you ran away from your old friends because they ditched you, but they all seemed more than happy to see you,” she said.

“It’s complicated.” Marinette jotted down information from the placard. “They’re being manipulated.”

“By the girl from the café?”

“Yeah.” Marinette pressed her lips into a firm line.

“She is quite the show pony,” Gabrielle said. “I can see why you two butt heads.”

“Lila is very charismatic. She tells people what they want to hear, so they don’t question it. It’s how she keeps control over them,” Marinette replied.

“She’d make a great politician.” Gabrielle laughed, but when Marinette remained quiet, she added, “It would be easy to take her down, you know. Someone with your connections could prove she’s lying with two phone calls.”

Marinette paused her writing and lowered her notebook with a frown.

“I’m not getting involved. It’s not my job to save everyone,” she said with more bite than she intended.

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “You like playing the hero, not for any glory or self-elevation, but just because you like helping people. It’s your most annoying quality.”

“I do not…” Marinette said lamely.

“Is that why even though I was mean to you and your friends, you still come by my café every Tuesday, so I don’t have to walk home alone? Why you talk to me at all when everyone else abandoned me,” she shot back. “Martin was a spineless twig before he met you. Macy and Eliott were complacent cowards. Now the twig has grown a trunk, and Thing 1 and 2 won’t stop running their mouths. You can’t help yourself, Marinette. You’re a good person.”

“Do you really think exposing her is what I should do? She’ll end up hurt and alone.” Marinette lowered her gaze.

“So what? She did it to herself when she told all of those lies. Sometimes you need to lose everything in order to change. If you leave her like this, she’ll never stop.” Gabrielle let out a short laugh. “Take it from someone who knows.”

Marinette weighed those words, pressing her lips together. Did she want to help? Of course. But did she want to get involved again at the expense of her own well-being? She wasn’t sure.

Lila was slippery. Marinette wasn’t even sure she could take her down, and if she did, she’d only cement her as an enemy. She needed a different way, an indirect way to make everyone see without calling her out to her face. A way to make Lila’s lies crumble from underneath, so that she had no choice but to face the truth.

There is one person who would know what to do.

But did Marinette want to stoop that low? Chloe requested her help once before, but did she even still want it? Chloe and Adrien had tried and failed to out Lila multiple times. Not to mention, Marinette and Adrien promised each other to let it go. Things were finally working out between them, and Marinette didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.

Marinette left her old life behind for a reason. Looking back was too painful. It had been a month since she left, and Marinette thought she was finally over everything until today. Seeing her old classmates rattled her more than she thought it would, a cool draft from the door she couldn’t quite close pricking her skin. But what did she expect when she ran away from her problems instead of facing them? A broken door couldn’t keep out the cold if it was never fixed. How much longer could Marinette run before the past caught up to her? How much longer until she had to turn around and face it? She didn’t want to think about it.

“Guess who?” She jumped as a playful lilt sounded in her ear, and a hand clamped over her eyes.

“Adrien?”

He lowered his hands with a cheery smile. Gabrielle was gone, and none of her old classmates were anywhere in sight. Her shoulders relaxed as Adrien pulled her close, touching his forehead to hers.

“You doing okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m…fine.” She pushed her frantic thoughts away.

Adrien turned her around gently, hugging her from behind. “I know you’re avoiding everyone, but let’s walk around together for a bit. Just me and you.” His lips brushed her cheek, warm breath teasing her skin.

Adrien was her boyfriend now. Adrien, the boy of her dreams, was her boyfriend. Marinette still hadn’t told him her feelings, nor had he, but Adrien referred to himself as her boyfriend on Saturday. Their date hadn’t exactly gone as planned, but they were still able to spend time together. She’d tell him the next time they were alone together. No more hiding and running away.

“Okay.”

They walked hand-in-hand through several exhibits. Adrien mimicked a few poses from the paintings they passed. Marinette smiled and laughed. She leaned on his shoulder and snuggled into the crook of his neck, pushing the worries from that morning out of her mind. Lila wasn’t her problem anymore. Her old classmates still liked her—most of them anyway. Adrien was her boyfriend. Her new friends were amazing. Everything was fine.

So why didn’t she feel fine?

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay with everyone at lunch?” Adrien asked. “I know you’re putting on a brave face, but we don’t have to eat with them if you don’t want to.”

He’d gotten good at sensing her mood. Could he be any more perfect?

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted, though her grip tightened on his hand.

“I’ll be right there with you if you need me, okay? I’ve got your back.” He lifted her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

Adrien continued to keep her mind off of everything, discussing various paintings and relaying stories from recent photoshoots and fencing tournaments. He told her jokes to make her laugh, kept her smiling when she started to look sad. But lunch eventually came, and he held her hand the whole walk to the courtyard.

“Marinette!” Macy waved them over to their group, and as soon as she sat down, her old classmates flocked to her.

“So, who are your new friends?” Rose asked, settling in with Juleka.

“Uh…”

“My name’s Macy, and this is Martin, Eliott, and Lisette.” Macy cast Marinette a reassuring smile as her old classmates introduced themselves one-by-one, but it did little to calm her nerves, especially when Lila approached with her group.

Marinette’s stomach flipped as they sat down, the tension in the group escalating rapidly. Her old classmates flicked their gazes between Lila and Marinette, waiting to see who would strike first.

“Hi, I’m Macy!” She stuck her hand out to Lila with a cheery smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “What’s your name?”

“This is Lila. She has an amazing life,” Sabrina said.

“Same.” Macy smiled sweetly as if that announcement were no big deal.

Marinette’s heartbeat accelerated.

“Last summer, she saved an African village leader from choking,” Nathaniel said, beaming up at her.

“It was the least I could do after he agreed to sign my petition to teach the children how to read.” Lila waved it away.

“Oh, Eliott and I love charity trips. Our parents have an organization that ships out clean water and recycled clothing to third-world countries. We visited a few in Africa last summer to help build huts and dig wells for them.” Macy shot back.

“Those kids played a mean game of football.” Eliott nodded with a reminiscent smile.

“She also spent Christmas in Achu with Prince Ali and his family. They’re close personal friends!” Rose gushed.

“Oh, Achu is lovely at Christmas, but we usually spend it in London at the royal family’s Christmas party. It’s a blast! My dad played water polo with Prince William in college, and they’re still good friends.” Eliott chimed in. “That reminds me, Marinette, you have got to come this year.”

“You know Prince William?” Rose gasped, cupping her cheeks.

“I have his number. Sometimes I babysit when we go to visit.” Eliott shrugged as if it were no big deal.

“Ugh, don’t get him started. He’ll brag all day.” Macy rolled her eyes, but Marinette’s old classmates turned their attention over immediately.

Marinette took a bite of her sandwich, but it turned to sand in her mouth as Alya glared at her. Her expression crossed between disappointment and anger as if she couldn’t believe Marinette would stoop so low. Alya used to give those looks to Chloe when she pulled her usual stunts, but Marinette wasn’t used to being on the receiving end.

As much as she should have been happy that Lila wasn’t getting the attention she wanted, Marinette didn’t have it in her. This was only giving Lila fuel to come up with better lies and new ways to use her friends. The divide between her old classmates was obvious—a deep chasm stretching wider by the minute.

Macy and Eliott might be upstaging her now, but it was only a matter of time before Lila got her revenge. Gabrielle was right. She’d never stop.

“You okay?” Adrien leaned into her ear.

Marinette blinked down at the sandwich she was crushing.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” She set her lunch on top of her bag and scurried off as Eliott performed a scene from the Miraculous show he was in.

The faces she passed were all a blur. Her heart raced, blood roaring in her ears as she raced down the steps, past other patrons who paid no mind to the girl in a private school uniform wandering the halls. She didn’t know where she was going—away. Just away.

Her feet carried her deeper into the museum, lengthening the chasm between her and her old life. She wasn’t ready to turn and face it. The draft had grown stronger now, the cold wind beating against the door. It threatened to give out at any moment, biting Marinette’s toes with its frosty breath. She couldn’t run from it forever, but she could run today.

She collapsed on a bench, face falling into her hands. Her shoulders heaved with ragged breaths, tears wetting her palms. Gentle hands rubbed her back, weight sinking onto the bench beside her.

“Hey, I’m here, just breathe,” Adrien said.

She buried her face into his chest, shoulders shaking. Of course he’d come. Adrien was always by her side. It was one promise he kept, and Marinette needed him desperately.

Adrien held her close and whispered gentle reassurances in her ear until she calmed enough to sit up.

“Talk to me.” He tucked a loose strand of her hair back in place.

“Just… They’re all so taken with her, and she does nothing but use them and rub it in my face,” she whimpered. “And I know that I could expose her in an instant. I have Jagged Stone’s phone number. Clara Nightingale texts me! I could end her reign with a single phone call.”

“But that’s not you,” Adrien said.

She pressed the back of her hand to her quivering lip and shook her head.

“I want to stop it. I do, but I don’t want to play her game anymore. I want to get out, but I just can’t let go.” She found his gaze, hot tears clouding her vision. “I want to save everyone, but I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m tired of being everyone’s hero.”

“It’s okay.” He soothed with increasing alarm, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You’re gonna get through this. You’re the strongest person I know.”

She clenched her hands into fists. “I’m tired of always having to be strong. For once, I want to stop carrying everyone’s burdens because they’re too heavy for me.”

Adrien flicked his gaze over her shoulder briefly and met her gaze once more.

“Listen to me. Macy, Eliott, and Martin are all here for you.” He cupped her face. “I’m here for you. Don’t lose hope.”

“I can’t anymore. I can’t. I can’t-” She stopped short as dark energy washed over her, a cold feeling running through her core.

“Princess Verity, I am Hawkmoth-”

“Marinette, don’t listen to him, listen to me!” Adrien pleaded. “No one expects you to solve all of their problems.”

“Your friends are all trapped by that liar.”

“You’re stronger than him, Marinette.”

“Wouldn’t you like to set them free?”

“Fight it! Don’t give up!”

“I can give you the power to expose the truth.”

“Marinette, you’re not alone.” Marinette blinked, finding Adrien’s worried green eyes baring into hers.

The bracelet Macy gave her had gone dark, glowing with sinister energy. Marinette pressed her lips together. She was too tired to fight. Hadn’t she struggled enough? Maybe it was what Lila deserved—what they all deserved.

“Run, Adrien,” she said.

“No.” Her head snapped up, meeting his determined green eyes. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Adrien, please.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Don’t give up. You can beat him.”

“Adrien.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes, panic swelling. “Please, run. I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. Don’t you know why I call you mon ange?” He held her face in his hands, touching his nose to hers. “Because you’re my angel, and I love you with all of my heart. I’m never going to leave you. Not ever.”

“Adrien…”

She just wanted everything to go back to the way it was—the way things were before Lila. The broken door had been pried open by the storm, dragging Marinette out into its dark flood. Her head hurt, body numb and cold, and even on her tiptoes, she could barely stay above the surface. She was drowning in a sea of her own anguish and guilt, too exhausted to fight the waves.

“Make it stop,” she whispered, a single tear slicing down her cheek.

They didn’t hesitate this time. His lips found hers, warm and safe—a buoy among the waves. Marinette wrapped herself in his warm embrace, driving out the cold ache in her bones. He trailed his fingers up her jaw and into her hair, pulling her closer. Ever since she left, Adrien had always been her lifeline, no matter how rough the waves got. His arms provided stable footing when the current was spinning too fast. He hadn’t abandoned her back then, and he wasn’t abandoning her now. Even her friends were outside fighting for her.

Lila could take a lot of things from her, but not them. These were the people who would always pull her out of the water, no matter how far down she sank. Marinette just needed to hang on while they pulled her to shore.

Taking a deep breath, she undid the clasp on her bracelet with shaking hands and set it on the bench. Macy, Elliot, Martin, Lisette, Adrien, Gabrielle. She had so many people who loved her—people who had been looking out for her all day. People who were still looking out for her. She was not alone.

“Not this time, Hawkmoth. I won’t help you. This isn’t the answer to my problem,” she said calmly.

The butterfly reemerged and fluttered off, returning the bracelet to normal. Marinette watched it go, legs too heavy to give chase.

Adrien crushed her against his chest, kissing her hair. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He rubbed her back, clutching fistfuls of her shirt in shaking hands. “I’m here. It’s gonna be okay.”

“Adrien, the akuma. We have to stop it,” she said, but he didn’t budge.

“One minute, Marinette,” he murmured. “Can you think of yourself for just one minute and stay here with me?”

Marinette relented, finding his lips again. He kissed her hard, his fear and relief washing over her, the severity of the situation hitting her in the gut.

She’d almost been akumatized. Again.

If Adrien hadn’t been there, Paris would have been doomed. He was her guardian angel, and the best boyfriend in the world. The selfish part of her wanted to stay and kiss his pillowy lips forever. Maybe someone would paint a picture of them and hang it in the museum, then everyone could bask in their undying love. But Marinette couldn’t afford such luxurious daydreams. Not everyone had the support system Marinette did, and she needed to find the akuma before someone else fell victim to Hawkmoth.

“Thank you,” she said when they pulled away. “You’ve been looking out for me all day.”

“You’re not alone, mon ange. I will always be here for you.” He vowed, kissing her forehead.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “We should go after that akuma before it gets someone else.”

“We can cover more ground if we split up.” He fastened her bracelet around her wrist, giving her hand a squeeze. “Be careful, and stay safe.”

“You too.” They leaned in for one final kiss, swift and hard, before turning their backs and taking off.

“I’m very proud of you, Marinette,” Tikki said as she took cover in a closed exhibit. “And you and Adrien finally confessed your true feelings!”

“We can talk about it later. We have an akuma to catch. Transform me!”

#mdcspr #my writing

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katsukisblackteddy · 3 years

Text

You Have My Heart...

Word Count: 2.14 k Pronouns: feminine (she/her) Pairings: K. Bakugou x reader Warnings: gore, dark fic ahead, violence, cursing, death

Thanks Marie ( @dailydoseofscenarios) for letting me be part of the server event! I had a lot of fun writing this, and as you can tell, I took the prompt kinda literally...anyways....I hope you like it! Don’t forget to check out all of the other fics in this event under the server event hashtag!

The ash blonde sat in the oversized red leather arm chair that faced the large window overlooking her garden. He let out a soft sigh, readjusting his position to get more comfortable as he leaned his chin in the palm of his hand.

“What am I supposed to get her, that she doesn’t already have?” He questioned aloud, his crimson eyes shifting to the side as the large dog beside the chair let out a sigh himself moving into a laying down position, as if to say, I don’t know why you’re asking me.

“You aren’t very helpful, Khan.” Katsuki muttered, as his eyes focused back on the window, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips at the sight of his beloved wife in the garden below. Khan let out a whine in protest, as a close lipped smile grew on his owner’s face a moment later. “I’ll ask Shitty Hair.” Katsuki stood to his full height, the large black dog standing as well, prepared to follow him.

The ash blonde and his loyal dog walked down the long expanses of hallway, ornately decorated with golden accents, on the way to his private quarters. “Good day, Master Bakugou. Please give my best to the Mistress.” A few servants said as he passed them in the hallway, simply nodding in acknowledgement before he closed the heavy wooden doors to his study.

“Khan get me the ink.” Bakugou stated without looking up from where he was writing, the quill held firmly in his left hand, an almost empty ink well beside the letter he was in the process of writing to his best friend. “Good boy.” He threw the dog a treat as a reward before going back to writing, Khan settling at Bakugou’s feet once more in content silence.

“Dear Shitty Hair, Help me or else. What do I get Big Hair for Valentine’s Day? Come over and help me now. I won’t help you next time with Raccoon Eyes if you don’t help me. Signed, K. Bakugou.” The explosive man read aloud, nodding once before shoving it roughly into an envelope. He scribbled the information down before sealing the expensive stationary with golden wax, pressing the Bakugou Family Crest into the warm wax to leave an imprint.

“You!” Bakugou’s loud voice startled the butler walking past him in the hallway, the man blinking up at his employer nervously.

“Master Bakugou?”

“I don’t care how you get this to Kirishima, just do it. And get it there by this afternoon.” Bakugou told him before walking away. He didn’t have to tell anyone anything twice, and he liked that.

A number of hours later, one of the servants announced that Kirishima had arrived, while Mina went to the garden to spend time with (y/n).

“So is there a reason a winded man servant showed up at my door some time ago? You aren’t a father yet...are you?”

The ash blonde scoffed, quickly dismissing the idea with a roll of his eyes. “Fuck no.”

“Well, you aren’t getting any younger...”

“Well, I’m not getting any older either...”

“Don’t counter my point with another point.” Kirishima argued back as Bakugou rolled his eyes and flipped the redhead off with a small smirk.

“Whatever.” Bakugou stated as they both sat down in a chair. “I can’t think of anything to get (y/n) for Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s your anniversary, too right?” Bakugou nodded. “How many years?”

“183.” Bakugou said after a moment in thought. Kirishima stayed quiet as he thought.

“Do you remember how we all met each other?”

“You mean on our wedding night?” The blonde snorted as Kirishima rolled his eyes.

“Well, I guess...but you remember the first time you saw her right?”

“Well yeah, but she was just an extra then...I didn’t even know she was the woman I was going to marry.”

“What did you do? You weren’t an asshole to her, were you?” Bakugou simply glared at Kirishima. “Damn, you were.” Kirishima frowned.

“That’s a lie, Shitty Hair!”

“Whatever, just give her something super unconventional. Mina loves those types of gifts.”

“Like what?”

“Well, you remember those super exclusive auction seats that we scored a few decades back?”

“Which ones? The Body is Art ones?”

“Yeah...well, I contacted Pierre and he lined up this whole private show and he let me harvest the different pieces...anyways, Mina loved it....We ended up keeping a few things.” Kirishima shrugged.

“How did you contact Pierre? Didn’t he say he hated technology?”

“That just what he tells everyone. He owed me a favor from a while ago. Anyways, the man loves you, I’m sure he’d do it for you in a heartbeat.”

“Whatever.” Katsuki shrugged dismissing the idea, but he would definitely look into it later. “Are you staying for dinner or not?”

“Are you asking?”

“Answer the question, Shitty Hair.”

“Sure!” Kirishima smiled widely, showing off his sharp teeth before the pair of friends decided to join their partners outside in the garden.

“Hey Mina?” (Y/n) questioned, looking over at the pink skinned girl who had her back against a tree. Mina’s eyes focused on her, a kind smile on her face.

“I’ve been thinking of what to get Katsuki for Valentine’s Day...and I want your opinion on it...” (y/n) trailed off, growing slightly nervous that Mina would think the gift was weird or stupid.

“If you wanted to model lingerie for me, you could’ve just said that...though Bakugou wouldn’t care if you were in a sack or lace...have you seen the way he looks at you? How do you not have gremlins...I mean children yet?”

“Mina! Get your head out of the gutter! I’m not modeling lingerie for you...right now at least...and we’re too young for children...”

“You’re 200 years old, but keep lying to yourself.” Mina teased as (y/n) rolled her eyes at one of her best friends, her face still slightly hot from what Mina had said earlier.

“What’s the surprise then? If it isn’t you in new lingerie or a child?”

“So...I thought it would be fun to recreate the night we first met?”

“But you literally just said you weren’t giving him lingerie.”

“Mina! The actual first night we met! Not our wedding day!” (Y/n) laughed, throwing her hands up in mock exasperation.

“Oh...the hunt? Ohhhh, the hunt.” Mina’s smile grew wider the longer she thought about it.

“That’s perfect! But the lingerie thing would’ve been nice too.”

“Mina! If you wanna see me in lingerie, then you should’ve just said that.” (Y/n) giggled before further explaining her plans for Valentine’s Day.

It was the only plan she could think of for the man she had loved for almost all of her life...a man that seemed to have everything he could ever want.

ON VALENTINE’S DAY...

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t have just hired more people to help.” Mina complained while straightening a string of lights.

“It’s more fun, and besides, all of the girls are back together!” (y/n) commented, gesturing towards all of the girls that were gathered around the room, each hanging different decorations.

“How long has it been since we’ve all been in the same place?” Ururaka questioned with a wistful sigh.

“At least 30 years.” Momo chimed in. “We really do need to see each other more.”

“Then we should have more balls, like we used to.”

“This isn’t a ball, Tsu.” Mina pointed out. “It’s the hunt. You know, like we used to have way back when.”

“Wait a second...where are we getting the prey from?”

“Aren’t you vegetarian?”

“No, Iida and I gave that up like 5 years ago.” Midoriya laughed. “Iida just likes sustainably sourced and organic.”

“Oh come on, you haven’t ever just gone to a night club to pick up a few?” Mina teased as the girls, Midoriya, and Denki laughed.

“No, that’s so 1960s, Mina.”

“No, that’s date night.” Mina corrects as (y/n)’s face heats up slightly as she laughs.

“We’ve done it a few times...not recently though, we’ve been pretty busy...one of our neighbors called the cops because she thought she saw us doing something suspicious.”

“What were you doing?”

“Well we may have been hiding a body, but that’s besides the point. That old lady should’ve minded her own business. It’d be a shame if she were to suddenly...go missing.” (Y/n) mumbled with a roll of her eyes as they all laughed.

“Alright, everyone go change! We’ll be starting in three hours!” Jirou announced, ushering everyone to different parts of the large castle to change into their special outfits.

It only took everyone an hour and a half to two hours to get ready, the last hour was spent doing finishing touches and everyone calling their partners to come as a surprise.

“Oi Shitty Girl! What’s the problem? You aren’t hurt are you?” The aggressive blonde questioned quickly, his red eyes gliding over (y/n)’s body as if checking she was ok for himself.

“Then what’s the problem?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow at her as she placed a blindfold over his eyes. “Shitty Girl, what are you doing?”

“Be patient, Katsuki. You’ll like the surprise.” (y/n) said in a teasing voice as she led him into the large ballroom. The sun had just sat and the night sky was dark and littered with stars that could be seen from the windows.

“What’s all of this?” Katsuki questioned, finally removing the black blindfold as he scanned the room, surprised to see all of his friends equally surprised from where they stood with their partners.

“Surprise! I thought it would be fun to recreate the party that happened the first time we met each other. Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“We’re going on a hunt?” Denki questioned excitedly, practically bouncing up and down as Jirou just smiled lightly at his antics.

“Duh.” Jirou mumbled from beside him with a quick roll of her eyes as everyone made their way outside.

“Ok here’s the rules...and it’s the Valentine’s Day edition! So there’s 20, whichever couple can get the most hearts wins.” Midoriya announced with a large smile on his face. “(y/n) release them, and we’ll give them a minute long head start.”

(y/n) walked over to the where the 20 individuals were lined up single file, metal cuffs around their wrists and longer ones around their ankles. Each one wore a black leather collar with a number from 1 to 20 on it. “You evil bitch! Let me go!”

“Where are your manners, Thomas? You were so good up until now...I wouldn’t want to have to make an example out of you.” (y/n)’s voice was kind and soft, but the look in her eyes was anything but that.

“Why are you doing this?” Thomas questioned, his blonde hair falling into his light eyes as she stared in fear at the group around him before meeting (y/n)’s eyes once more.

“It’s fun, Thomas.” (y/n) told him, patting him on the head before releasing everyone’s cuffs. “Go ahead...you’re free now.” (y/n) urged as they all just stood there with blank stares. They continued to stand there, looking at each other. “I said go!” (y/n) repeated, her eyes practically glowing in the light of the full moon. The soft light shining against the sharp points of her canine teeth.

The group of 20 broke off into a sprint, disappearing into the tree line as Iida looked down at his watch. “Is it time yet?” Denki questioned, obviously ready to begin.

“Almost.” Iida replied shortly, a smile growing on his own face as the seconds counted down to zero. “Now!”

Everyone ran after that, disappearing into blurs with the speed they were moving. (y/n) ran with a long spear, the silver tip shining in the moonlight as she jumped forward, releasing the spear into the unsuspecting number 13.

13 fell to the ground after looking down at the sharp spear poking through his chest. No sound leaving his lips since it had all happened too quickly. “One down!” (y/n) called out, seeing the recognizable flash of blonde that belonged to her husband.

Katsuki came to a stop beside her, his hands stained red along with his lips. He smiled at her. “Two, actually.” He told her, showing her the heart in one of his hands. “Happy Valentine’s Day...I’ve already given you my heart figuratively, so now I’m giving it to you physically.”

“Aw, that was cute.” (y/n) laughed before accepting the gesture. “You can have mine too.” She added after her laughter died down, picking up the bloody organ from number 13 before holding it out to Bakugou.

Tags:

#the colosseum: sweet but psycho valentine's day #the colosseum server event #bnha x reader #vampire!bakugou #vampire!bakugo #dark bnha fic #bloody valentine #bakugou x reader #mha x reader #please don't interact if you are uncomfortable with slight gore #bakugo katuski #bakugou katsuki #twisted #katsukisblackteddy #this is my first attempt at a fairly dark topic #valentine's day

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subrosasteath · 3 years

Text

Almost a Year

This is my Stardew valley fanfic, from Gus’s point of view!!! I basically sped run this, writing through most of my boring-I-don’t-need-to-pay-attention class!

I have only gotten to like, winter 20 or something so this is totally cannon divergent, and some of the characters might be ooc, sorry :P

Spoilers for Shane’s heart events and Tw for mentions of suicide (nothing major I think, just some stuff regarding Shane and his heart events)

ALMOST A YEAR

It had been almost a full year since the farmer had come, almost a year since all the life had started being breathed back into the town. Back then, everyone had been nervous, excited, worried that their style of life would be too slow for the farmer, but she had fit in just fine right from day one.

He still remembered the first day the farmer walked into his saloon, looking kind of lost but excited all the same. He had watched as she had walked over to Shane, only to be shooed away with rough words. He had watched her look around the room, and lock eyes with Leah, and right there and then, he’d placed a bet in his head that not far from now Leah would be a farmer’s wife.

Of course, he’d been drastically wrong, everyone had been wrong.

The farmer came everyday to the saloon, and he watched and he listened and he talked as she socialized. He saw her grow closer with everyone, saw her laugh and play and offer gifts to Pam whenever she didn't feel well, and every time, every night, she’d talk to Shane. No matter how many times he told her to go away, she always came back. He couldn’t see why, that is, until one night when it was just him and the farmer, alone in the bar. Emily had gone to help Pam get home, and Shane hadn’t shown up to the bar that night, which worried him, but it seemed to worry her more.

She had been uncharacteristically silent that night, had only made small talk before perching herself on the bar stool next to where Shane normally stood, so when she started to talk, he listened.

“Shane… how well do you know him?” she asked.

“Not well. No one knows him well,” he had answered, “he doesn’t want anyone to know him well.”

She looks up at him and he can see tears in her eyes.

“He…” she gulped, “he needs help. Earlier today… in the forest... he almost jumped.” Her voice trails off to a whisper at the end, and those are the first words that strike something in him, makes him freeze and forget all the absent minded thoughts of not being able to pay rent or stock up properly.

“No one gives him a chance,” she continued, “and he won’t give it to anyone else. People look and see sunshine bouncing off the waves, he looks and sees glaring light, blinding him, blinding everyone, until the only escape is down under the water.”

“I’m glad... “ she said, “I’m glad he stopped himself, glad I was there at the right time. He’s with Harvey now.” Tears are pouring down her cheeks now, and she laughs, “I think… I think he’s going to be okay.”

Those words are almost magic in a way, and those are the second words that hit him hard, and in that moment he realized that this farmer, this newcomer from the city, had read Shane, had read them all like an open book, and had given the help where it was needed, even if it took days upon days of being dismissed and looked down on, she had persisted to help.

That had been half a year ago

Then, only a few weeks ago, right at the end of fall, he’d been talking to Peirre when he had learned something interesting.

“I sent her the letter,” Pierre had said, one hand curled around his drink, “Y’know, the one I send everyone when I think they’ve grown close enough to others, cause I mean, do you see her with Shane?” Pierre nods his head towards where Shane and the farmer were sitting, side by side, laughing about something or other as Emily brings them a beer.

“Are they dating?” this is the first he’d heard of this, and normally he would know right away since the saloon is the hotspot for gossip. Sucks that he lost his bet.

“See that’s the thing, she never came and asked about it!” Pierre said, “ I figured maybe the letter got lost and never got to her house, so the next time she came to buy something I advertised it to her and asked if she would want one, but she just gave me this polite smile and said ‘no thanks!’ and then left with her new backpack.”

“She didn’t want it?” he asked, pouring Pam a new glass when she gestured for one.

“Didn’t even look at it!”

And that’s when he knew that the betting pool the older people of the town had set up would go towards taxes instead of a specific person, that the farmer wouldn’t marry Leah or Shane or anyone at all. It came as a surprise to everyone, to have them all lose, but that’s what shakes things up, makes life exciting. Sometimes a surprise is nice.

Of course no one was really ready for the biggest surprise, when the farmer crawled out of the sewers, followed by a shy looking shadow monster. He got called outside by loud yelling and the drawing of swords. Rushing outside he can see the farmer standing protectively in front of the monster, sword drawn, facing Marlon who had pulled out his dagger.

“Put down your weapon,” the farmer growled, and it scared him to hear her voice like that, deep and growly instead of the normal happy bubbly voice that she spoke in, “you don’t want to fight me. You know how many….” she glanced at the shadow behind her, then turned back towards Marlon “You have the numbers written down. You know what I can do.”

“So tell me, dear adventurer,” Marlon said, “when you’ve slain so many monsters, what is that one doing, alive and well, hiding behind you?”

She glances back, and the shadow’s facial features bob up and down, nodding.

The farmer stands up straight and says “This is Krobus. He’s going to be my roommate.”

It was quite a shock at first, and understandably so, that a shadow monster was living in the same house as a human (“I’ve already told you Gus,” she would say “I might look like a human, but I don’t feel like one. Krobus feels more like home than anyone else has.”).

Eventually though, the town got used to it, got used to the farmer always coming back from the mines with a spare diamond in her pocket for her partner, her roommate, got used to the fact that attached to the bright wooden house was an extra room, darker and damper than the rest.

Some of the younger ones, the ones around the farmer’s age, had a harder time accepting that she wouldn’t date, wouldn’t marry, (“I’ve got a partner already!” she would say, and she would smile at Krobus and he would smile back). Emily especially, dealt with a broken heart for a few weeks before accepting that being friends instead of girlfriends maybe wasn’t so bad after all.

Shane however, got along with Krobus swimmingly, and on the rare occasion the farmer could persuade Krobus to come to the bar Shane would always buy Krobus a piece of bread, as beer apparently was not super tasty to shadow monsters.

It had been almost a year now, since the farmer had moved to Stardew Valley. Almost a year since things had gotten more exciting, almost a year since things had started to change for the better. No one would have been able to predict what the new farmer would be like, but maybe it was better that way, better if it was something new, something surprising.

Taglist: @ravs6709

Let me know if you wanna be tagged! :3

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sdvvillagers · 4 years

Note

This is probably one of the stranger asks, but how do you think the villagers would react to someone (maybe a young tourist during the fair) being way too forward and flirtatious with them. Also, if they have them, how their spouses would react to seeing that. You definitely don't need to do this if you don't want to, or it makes you uncomfortable btw.

You’re not wrong, this is definitely one of the stranger asks I’ve received! But I have no problem with it, I love quirky asks because that usually means they’re a lot of fun to think about and answer! I’ll answer anything that isn’t NSFW, so you’re good. As for the ask, I went ahead and wrote it for the middle-aged villagers (excluding the kids for obvious reasons as well as the older residents). Enjoy!

Caroline - Quite honestly, Caroline’s flattered. It’s been quite some time since anyone showed active interest in her. After 20+ years of marriage to Pierre, that spark faded a long time ago. The idea that anyone out there is showing any interest in her is strangely exhilarating. Caroline will glance in Pierre’s direction to see if he notices and WOW he sure does. She can see him seething as his fists clench. It’s at this point that Caroline has gotten everything she can out of this exchange and ends it quickly. Just seeing Pierre’s jealousy is enough satisfaction for her.

Clint - At first, Clint is relatively sure he’s being teased… someone clearly put this stranger up to this, why else would some random stranger start making advances on him? Clint becomes immediately flustered, acting nervous and awkward as he stumbles over his words. Once he’s relatively sure that this isn’t some elaborate prank, he gets even more nervous. What does this person want? Are they truly interested in him? Why? His nerves get the better of him and he becomes so flustered that he excuses himself for some fresh air. By the time he returns, the mysterious stranger is nowhere to be seen.

Demetrius - Bless Demetrius’ heart, the man is socially oblivious. It doesn’t matter how flirtatious or forward this person is becoming, in Demetrius’ mind they’re just being very friendly. Of course Demetrius will chat with them in return, smiling as they speak and feeling an odd sense of pride when they laugh at his corny dad jokes. Well of course Robin sees this from afar and NO WAY is some stranger about to show up and hit on her husband, that’s just not happening. Robin’s at Demetrius’ side in seconds flat and practically shrieks at this homewrecker to beat it. Demetrius is bewildered until Robin explains what just happened and Demetrius’ eyes go wide as realization strikes.

Gus - Gus is flattered, surely, but also incredibly confused. He’s old, he’s overweight, he doesn’t consider himself to be very interesting or attractive, and there’s a sea of eligible bachelors in town that would probably make much better options. There’s no way he’s reading this situation correctly, maybe this is just an overly friendly tourist. Gus politely engages in conversation with them but as it starts to become even more flirtatious, Gus very nicely turns them down. He’s been married before, he’s gone down that road, he’s not eager to go down it again any time soon and certainly not with someone at least half his age.

Jodi - Jodi is incredibly uncomfortable. Jodi’s a bit conservative so to receive such sudden and forward advances is incredibly unnerving, especially by someone significantly younger than herself. With a tremble in her voice, Jodi politely tells this person that she’s married, has no interest in a fling, and excuses herself from this person before she feels any further discomfort. If this occurs once Kent is home, odds are he’s very close to Jodi if not standing right by her side and in that case… would anyone actually start flirting with Jodi while she’s on the arm of a man like Kent? XD

Kent - This is the last thing Kent needs right now. He just got home from the war and reunited with his family, he’s certainly in no mood to deal with unwelcome advances from a stranger and he makes this fact abundantly clear right from the start. While Jodi’s refusal was kind and polite, Kent’s is direct. He’s married, this is making him uncomfortable, so please leave. The exchange is so brief that Jodi wasn’t even aware of it.

Marnie - Marnie has to say, she’s simultaneously shocked and flattered by this attention. She’s been single for quite some time and is very receptive to someone making advances and she flirts right back. It may be petty, but she can’t help looking around for Lewis to see if he notices… he most certainly does. Honestly, that makes it all even better. Marnie spends a decent amount of her time talking and laughing with this person, possibly even exchanging phone numbers. And yet when all is said and done, Marnie doesn’t pursue it after that day. It was fun and it made her feel alive to be flirted with like that, but the fun’s over and she’s not looking for anything more.

Pam - Very similar to Marnie, she’s just surprised and flattered that anyone even picked her out of the crowd, especially someone so young. Though unlike Marnie, Pam’s very suspicious from the start. While the advances are flattering, she can’t help but wonder what this person is playing at. Surely they have an ulterior motive, though she can’t imagine what it might be. It’s not long before Pam convinces herself that this stranger, while quite charming, is trouble and she wants nothing to do with it any longer.

Pierre - Pierre isn’t quite sure what to do about it. He was never very forward himself so to have a perfect stranger make forward advances on him is unexpected and very confusing. Right away he gets flustered and stammers about being married, glancing nervously around to find Caroline in the hopes that she can get him out of whatever’s happening right now… and she absolutely does. In moments Caroline is at his side, her left hand on his shoulder to show off her wedding ring.

Robin - This… is…. HILARIOUS to her! Much like Caroline, Robin’s very flattered by the unexpected attention she’s receiving, but she’s also incredibly entertained by it as well. It takes everything she has to not burst into a fit of giddy giggling, someone out there is actually hitting on her and she’s quite possibly old enough to be their mother. Robin never thought of herself as a milf, but hey, here she is being hit on by a young stranger. Demetrius, once again oblivious to exactly what’s going on, doesn’t see this happen at all. Once Robin’s had her fun, she dismisses the newcomer quite plainly (she does feel bad for the sudden and potentially rude dismissal, but she’d had her fun and it’s done now) and goes off to find her friends and tell them all about it.

Willy - Willy has no clue what to do with this… absolutely no clue. He didn’t want attention, he didn’t need attention, but now there’s this random person here and there’s not really a whole lot he can do about it. He politely excuses himself to find the nearest source of water to go fishing or just to stare out at the water and if for some reason this person follows him, the plan is basically to just ignore them until they walk away. (INCREDIBLY out of nowhere hc of mine is that Willy is asexual… I know, I know, I’m projecting. XD You don’t have to worry about a strange ask when I provide a strange hc in exchange.)

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girlmeetsliv3 · 5 years

Text

Killing Me Softly: I

Sugardaddy!BTS x reader

They were beloved. The very ground they walked on worshiped. It had been that way since before you were born and it would remain that way even after your choice. Decisions decisions, it would decide your future. But why choose one when you could choose them all? If you chose none, well... that wasn’t a decision you could make.

AN: This is for the person who requested an ot7 sugar daddy story where bts are yandere. Sorry, it took so long, but this ended up being a three-part story. Hope everyone enjoys it!

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, and vivid descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

Word Count: 7,115

killingmesoftlywithhislove

Dear Ms. [Y/l/n]

We regret to inform you that your application has been denied. Unfortunately, you do not have the qualities or qualifications necessary to work as a crew member under McDonalds’ incorporated Inc. We wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. Have a nice day.

Now, you weren’t conceited enough to think that it was impossible for your job application to be denied. You understood when you graduated university that finding employment would be difficult, but you also weren’t dense enough not to notice a pattern. This had been your tenth application and the same thing would always happen: you’d apply, they interview you, be ecstatic to hire you, and in under forty-eight hours you would receive a polite email where they would tell inform you that you didn’t have the ‘qualifications’ or ‘didn’t fit their image.’ You had done an internship at a top-notch telecommunications company, graduated in three years, and were in the top one percentile. How were you not qualified to flip burgers at McDonald's?! A deep sigh left your body as you pressed your forehead against the kitchen table, trying to calm yourself down. “Bad news again?” Sihyeon said exiting the bathroom, her hair perfectly styled into soft waves and a tight purple cocktail dress adorning her figure. “It just doesn’t make any sense. Why would I keep getting rejected? Is there something I’m not seeing?” You were exasperated and couldn’t help the tears that came to your eyes.

You wanted independence and to maintain yourself. Here you go…Sure you knew being an adult wasn’t easy and despite how naïve they called you, the struggle was always part of the journey. Despite this, it felt like there was something you were missing as if someone was playing a cruel joke on you. “You could always call them,” Sihyeon remarked as she put on her heels. “No. Absolutely not. I haven’t stooped that low.” Your roommate sighed and walked over to where you were sitting, leaning over the chair and giving you a back hug. “You don’t have to start again, but maybe just ask them for advice. Or at least talk to Hoseok. He always knows what to do.” Sihyeon was just trying to help, had she known everything she would have never suggested you go back. She might have even prohibited it. Her not knowing was for her own safety though and for it not to affect her relationship with her ‘clients’ as she called them. “Maybe, I don’t know. Hurry up you don’t want to be late.” There was fear in your eyes and Sihyeon noticed but being the friend, she is she merely kissed your cheek and promised to text you when she arrived and left. It didn’t matter, Sihyeon wouldn’t come home tonight but it was a matter of precaution. Being a sugar baby was a dangerous profession at times and you, unfortunately, found that out far too late.

You stared at your phone intensely, the face reflecting back being one of fear but desperation. Maybe she’s right. I just have to text one of them and ask for advice, the others won’t find out and I’ll go on merrily. It couldn’t be Hoseok though, he had been the first one you met and the one you had been the most hurt by. Seokjin was a better option: he was more rational and arguably the one you had spent the least amount of time with. Yes, Seokjin is the better option. Grabbing your phone, you opened the messaging app and pressed create a new message. When you found his contact, you hovered slightly over it, debating whether this was the right choice or not. Seokjin wasn’t fond of texting and preferred talking, saying there was far too much room for misinterpretation through text. You weren’t sure you could hold a conversation with him, but maybe leaving a voice mail might not hurt. So, you pressed the green phone icon and waited until the ringing echoed, it was funny how you knew exactly when he would pick up: always on the fifth ring. “Kim Seokjin speaking.” Fuck. “Hi, it’s [Y/n] [Y/l/n], I’m sorry to call you at such an unfortunate time. Are you busy?” You were tripping over your own words and were anxious at what his reply might be. “I’m always busy. What do you want?” Seokjin had never been the most affectionate individual, but the complete lack of human emotion in his voice let you know he no longer cared.

“You know what, never mind. Forget I called. I apologize for taking up your time.” You bit your lip and began to pace around the small apartment. This had been a mistake. Of course, he would hate your guts now, wouldn’t all of them? They felt used and abandoned. Their worst fear, materializing in the flesh. You waited for him to reply rudely or simply to hang up, but he didn’t. “[Y/n] I don’t have time to discuss this right now. Meet me tonight at St. Pierre’s around seven. I’ll be at the bar.” It was something you would end regretting later, you were sure of it. Nonetheless, you agreed to meet Seokjin there in hopes that he could help. All you could do was hope he didn’t misunderstand the purpose of your call or inform the other six. You could only pray.

St. Pierre’s was an upper-class restaurant that was a hybrid between French and Italian cuisine. It was in the heart of the city, but due to its ridiculous price and it always been booked only the elite of society got to enjoy it. You had the pleasure of being there three times in your life: when you met Hoseok, when you met the others, and now. Its elegant fifteenth-century inspired interior mixed the haunting roman architecture was a sight to behold. The bar, in itself, looked like something crafted by Rafael with it being made completely out of marble. It was something that when you had first come you had been afraid of touching, thinking that your second-class status would somehow ruin its elegance. The bar was mostly desolate except for a couple at the very corner sipping on wine. You could tell by her age and his demeanor their relationship: the younger man laughed but didn’t reach his eyes. His suit while fitted wasn’t of high fabric merely an imitation. The clothes she wore were simple, but anyone with a fine eye could tell the quality far surpassed anything bought at a department store. Before you would’ve never noticed things like this but being around them had changed the way you viewed the world. It also made it easy to spot anyone who was a sugar baby when you had been one not so long ago. Those thoughts brought a soft smile to your face as you remember how it all began…

_Thirteen Months Ago_

“Lola?”

You looked up from your phone to see a handsome man in a silk black buttoned-down and tight slacks standing in front of you. His face exactly like the profile picture, you had just been staring at. “Jung Hoseok?” You asked, standing up to greet him. To your surprise, instead of shaking your hand the man immediately went for a hug. “It’s nice to meet you. I have to admit I was a bit worried that you wouldn’t look like your picture.” There was relief in his voice and you too had worried about the same thing. “Yeah, same.” The two of you sat down with a waiter coming over and pouring water into the empty glasses before dismissing himself. Hoseok seemed to be analyzing you, taking in every detail of your face, it was a bit unnerving. As was the silence between the two of you. “Sorry, I’ve never done this before, so I don’t really know what to do…” You trailed off fiddling with the hem of your dress. “It's okay, I’m not an expert either nor do I expect you to be. Why don’t you start out by telling me about yourself? Like what about your name?” Hoseok smiled, leaning back into his chair. How did he? “How do you know Lola isn’t my name?” You questioned before it dawned on you that he didn’t, and you had just revealed it yourself. If you could facepalm at that moment you would’ve. “You don’t look like a Lola. That and I called your name like twice before.” Oh. You licked your lips before speaking, “[Y/n.]” If possible, Hoseok smiled even wider. His lips resembling a heart. “So [Y/n] why do you want to start sugaring?”

_Present_

“I thought the last time we spoke you said you never wanted to see any of us again.” Kim Seokjin looked like something out a romantic era painting, with his sharp yet delicate features. The way he was human but gave off this grandeurs aura few could give. You toyed around with the straw in your drink, it was sprite with a lime in it to make it look like alcohol. If you were intoxicated, you would make bad decisions and god knows this already was one. “Last time we spoke was today and you said to meet you here.” He hated when you play dumb, you weren’t doing it on purpose, but rather to avoid the inevitable. Best not to dwell on the past for it wouldn’t bring it back. Seokjin took a seat on the barstool next to yours, waving the bartender away when he came forward. It seems he wasn’t keen on drinking either, not that you could blame him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you? It’s not every day an ex-lover calls to chat.” His words were meant to appear light, but you could see the way his jaw was locked, and his teeth were slightly clenched. Ex-lover. There was a problem.

“I was never your lover Jin, that isn’t what we agreed on. We also never spoke of becoming lovers.” Subconsciously you reached out towards him, but the second your fingers touched his Seokjin recoiled; as if being burnt by your touch. It hurt. “Well then, why did you call me [Y/n]?” The longer you stared into his eyes, the more you knew this wasn’t going to work. There was pain, wrath, but also insanity swirling around in his pupils. Seokjin could only take so much until he cracked, and you didn’t want a repeat of that night. “I’m sorry Jin, this was a mistake. I’m sorry for wasting your time and taking up your night. I hope you have a good life.” You took out your wallet and dropped what you owed before attempting to slide off the chair. Attempt was the right word, as Seokjin immediately took hold of your forearm prohibiting you from leaving. “We aren’t done talking until you tell me why you called me.” His voice had lowered significantly, his hand applying more pressure to your arm by the second. “Seokjin, you’re hurting me. Let go.” You whimpered, trying to pull your arm away. It only served to have him pull you closer, your body taut against his.

“You hurt us, [Y/n]. You made us fall for you, only to toss us aside when we weren’t necessary. Now what you come back only to parade in front of me and then abandon me again, I don’t think so.” Tears began to spring to your eyes as a deranged look overtook Seokjin. Your arm turning white from lack of blood. It was the way he had stared at you that night. The way they all stared at you. It made you want to cry out for help, thankfully you didn’t have to. “Is everything okay?” You didn’t recognize the voice, but when you turned you saw it was the older lady with her sugar baby beside her. The woman’s elegant features wrinkled into a frown at your expression. Seokjin immediately released you and masked his face, “Everything is fine. Sorry if we scared you.” You took the opportunity to excuse yourself and head straight for the exit. Ordering an uber and getting in, before Seokjin could find you.

_Eleven Months Ago_

Hoseok and you had a lunch date scheduled with a business partner of his. The two of them trying to acquire a developing technology from an old ahjussi. You were there to entertain his wife who Hoseok had described as ‘simple-minded but nice.’ You weren’t sure if it was a compliment or not. You also weren’t sure of your role only that you were Hoseok’s date. Though the two of you had spent some time together it was usually alone, Hoseok wasn’t a fan of public outings and since learning of his position as head of a major corporation, neither were you. “You look stunning.” Hoseok had told you, when you had met him at the restaurant thirty minutes before the meeting was scheduled. Hoseok had gifted you a baby blue cap sleeve dress to wear today and you loved it. The two of you had never really agreed on your payment: sometimes it would be gifts, outings, or sometimes he would deposit five hundred dollars to into your PayPal account.

“Oh, I have a friend I would love for you to meet. His name is Kim Seokjin, we’ve known each other since high school.” From the fondness in his tone, it seemed Seokjin meant a lot to Hoseok. So, you smiled and nodded, hoping the man was as nice as Hoseok described him to be. Not even five minutes later, a black Audi pulled up to the curve and out stepped a man so beautiful, the gods might envy him. He quickly looked around and smiled the moment his eyes met Hoseok’s. That must be him. Seokjin handed the car keys to the valet and walked towards the two of you, his eyes never leaving Hoseok as the two embraced. “How have you been, Hobi? I haven’t seen you in forever.” His voice was higher pitched than you had imagined, but it suited him somehow. The two exchanged pleasantries until the focus shifted onto you. “Jin this is [Y/n]. She’s the one I’ve been telling you about.” You didn’t know why Hoseok had been speaking to his friends about you, but all those thoughts disappeared when Seokjin finally looked at you.

There was such potency and intimacy in his stare, you felt as if the world around you had faded and all that was left was him and you. Seokjin’s eyes trailed down your body as if he was drinking you in. You should’ve known he was trouble just from that. What should’ve tipped you off to how dangerous he truly was, is how he was able to return to normalcy in the blink of an eye. “Nice to meet you, [Y/n]. Hope we can be friends.” Seokjin had no intention of being friends with you and you had known it since then.

_Present_

It wasn’t until you reached your apartment and fished your phone out of your clutch that you saw all the missed messages and calls from Sihyeon. Fearing the worst, you immediately called her, “Sihyeon what’s going on?” Tonight had been stressful and things were only going to get worse. “[Y/n] you won’t believe what I just find out. I was speaking to Jeonhan about your situation and he said he would investigate it. Well, he dug around, and you’ve been blacklisted by Kim Communications. That’s why you can’t get a job.” It took all of your will power in that second not to scream, rage, or break down into a fit of tears. “Sihyeon I’ll have to call you back.” You didn’t even wait until she replied, simply hanging up. The sob that had been latched in your throat since this morning finally escaped and you broke down, falling to the floor.

If you could turn back time and never have met them, you would. If you could turn back time and never had agreed to become their sugar baby or even going on that stupid trip you would’ve. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, and you would have to live with the consequences of your actions. It would be so much easier to crawl into bed and cry yourself to sleep, but you had already gotten out of that phase weeks ago. Plus, you would be damned if you gave them the satisfaction of seeing you broken without them. You willed yourself to stop crying and opened your phone once again, going straight for the bastard’s contact. He might have blocked you, who knows, Jimin was the pettiest but Taehyung wasn’t too far behind apparently. Not only had he fucked with your feelings, but with your livelihood and that was not acceptable. Nor would you take it in stride. Despite being older it seems Taehyung couldn’t take the high road.

Y/l/n Y/n: I know what you did.

Kim Taehyung: Well if it isn’t Miss Independent.

Y/l/n Y/n: This is serious Taehyung. Why would you do something like this?

Kim Taehyung: Do what? ;)

Y/l/n Y/n: I’ll sue you for defamation of character.

Kim Taehyung: You don’t have the money to do that.

You threw your phone against the pillows and watched it bounce back onto the mattress. Taehyung had always caused your blood to boil, but instead of passion, all that you felt was pure hatred. But why? Taehyung had once offered you a job at his company, as his secretary of course. He would often joke about the rendezvous the two of you would have while the rest of the office remained oblivious. Most of the times you would shoot down his ideas, telling him you didn’t want to get a job simply because you were screwing the boss. Sometimes though you would entertain his delusions. Teasing him about this or that: anywhere from getting him coffee in the mornings to quickies during the break. Taehyung never seemed to understand that you were joking, however. It got to the point where he nearly submitted a fake application for you, the only reason it didn’t happen was because of the trip the eight of you took and the aftermath of it. Your phone’s screen lit up once again, Taehyung having sent another message.

Kim Taehyung: Meet me for lunch tomorrow and we can discuss it.

Y/l/n Y/n: You wish.

You received an email from Paypal, the subject being a new transaction. Your curiosity was piqued, so you opened the app: seven hundred dollars had just been sent to you from Taehyung’s account. If you had been upset before that action was a slap to the face. A scoff exited your lips and you went back to the previous screen, typing away as fast as you could.

Y/l/n Y/n: Go fuck yourself Kim Taehyung.

Kim Taehyung: Why when I can pay you to do it?

At that point, no words could describe how you felt. You blocked his number, refunded the money, and turned off your phone. Today had been a long day and tomorrow would be even longer. You quickly changed into your pajamas and got into bed, turning off the lights in an attempt to sleep peacefully. That wouldn’t happen. Your brain was in overdrive: recalling and analyzing every single moment shared between you and the men trying to figure out where it went wrong. Where their feelings changed or where their obsession began. Why you had agreed on going on that trip and what you could’ve avoided had you simply never met Hoseok, to begin with. Eventually, you grew so tired that sleep came to you.

You didn’t know how long you had been asleep, but it felt like four-five hours maximum. Though your eyelids were heavy something willed you to wake up, an uncomfortable feeling overtaking your body. You flipped your body around, so you were laying on your back and facing your bedroom door. Slowly you willed one eye open, though your eyesight was still blurry you managed to make out a figure standing by your door. The sun hadn’t yet risen, so a greyish hue took over your room. “Sihyeon? Did you just get back?” You croaked, still trying to focus your eyes. Sihyeon didn’t respond and you frowned but were finally able to see who was standing there: none other than Kim Namjoon. Immediately you jumped back pressing yourself against the headrest while looking over to where your phone was charging on your bedside table. It was gone. “Your friend was a little intoxicated, so I offered her a ride home. I didn’t know you had switched apartments.” There was something so smooth about the way Namjoon spoke, he reminded you of a television villain. Someone who could describe the way he was about to murder your entire family but do it in the most charismatic and charming way possible. That’s how you knew you were fucked when he spoke like that.

Namjoon was waiting for you to respond but you refused. Knowing that one wrong word would set him off and he could either pounce on you or destroy your life with a simple phone call. Taehyung had already done that, so he didn’t need to do that much. Oh my god, Sihyeon. Your eyes dragged from him over to your door, he seemed to notice for Namjoon rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Don’t worry she’s just had a bit too much to drink. I found her stumbling around her boyfriend’s hotel lobby, figured she could use some help. He’s not her boyfriend. “Jeonhan isn’t her boyfriend.” You snapped back, you could see the anger in his face by the way his jaw tightened. His eyebrow-raising, before he decided to walk around the bed, taking a seat right in front of you. You tried to push yourself up against the headboard as much as you could, but he was still only at armlengths. “Where’s my phone Namjoon?” He shrugged as if he had no idea what you were talking about. “I hear you went to meet Seokjin yesterday and that you spoke to Taehyung. Why?” Of course, he would find out the men shared everything. Even things which shouldn’t be shared. “I went to Seokjin for advice about not being able to find a job. Imagine my surprise when I found out the reason was that Taehyung had me blacklisted for no fucking reason.” The words came out without much thought, your emotions taking control.

Truthfully you were seething but it had little impact on the man in front of you, who raised his hand to gently cup your cheek. “Taehyung’s hurt and so is Seokjin. That’s why they both acted the way they did. Both called me yesterday crying over how they treated you.” You shook your head, rolling your eyes knowing how much that pissed him off; You succeeded as his palm twitched ever so slightly. “If they wanted to apologize, they should’ve done so to me.” Why is he here? Namjoon was always the peacemaker, that was something you had noticed from the start of your relationship. He always wanted everyone to get along and be friends forever, but that wasn’t going to happen; especially not with them. “Princess, the real world is hard. I warned you didn’t I that it wasn’t a place for people like you.” God was he a great manipulator. Even now as he caressed your face and leaned in towards you, there was something inside you that wanted to believe him. That wanted to give in to him and the rest of them. It had been Namjoon that convinced you to be with all seven of them at the same time, it was he who assured you nothing bad would happen, you’d be damned to repeat the same mistake. “I can’t Namjoon. I won’t. I can’t just lie around and depend on others to maintain me. I can’t live off others like a leech.” They had once commented on how they loved your independence. How refreshing it was to be with someone who could stand on their own, even if you were taking money and gifts from them. They only loved your independence as long as you depended on them for it.

“You had no problem doing it for an entire year.” On the surface, Namjoon looked remarkably calm but underneath there was fire burning and you weren’t about to get caught in it. Gently you took his hand off your cheek, placing it on top of his other hand resting on the covers. “I think you should go, Namjoon.” When Sihyeon woke up you would explain everything to her. Explain why you had switched apartments and moved in with her. Why if she ever saw the men the smartest thing to do was avoid them entirely. Namjoon stood up, adjusting his blazer and cuffs as he looked down at you. “You’re right now isn’t a good time. I’ll be sure to come by later or maybe I’ll just tell the others to stop by see if they have better luck. Maybe Hoseok might convince you.” At his name, your eyes snapped up. He wouldn’t dare. As if he could read your thoughts Namjoon smirked before leaning over you again, putting his arms on either side: trapping you in. “I would. Even if it meant letting the others know where you’ve been hiding all this time. Even if it meant having to destroy your life just so you would finally understand. Or maybe I would do something far worse…” Namjoon pressed his lips against your forehead, before finally standing back up and leaving the room.

You stayed frozen in shock until you heard the slamming of the front door. Something far worse…Your eyes widened, and you bolted out of bed running straight towards Sihyeon’s room. When you tried to open the door, it was locked and wouldn’t budge. You tried throwing all your weight onto it, kicking it down, even calling for her was useless. Finally, after what seemed like forever the door gave in and the lock came unhinged, you threw the door open hoping for a miracle.

_Nine and half months ago_

The upper floor of St. Pierre’s had a private dining room fit with a balcony that could be rented out for special occasions. The minimum the party had to spend along with the rental fee was two hundred dollars, something that was nothing but change for the men you were accompanying. The view from the balcony was splendid getting to see all of the downtown area whilst none could see you because of how high up you were. The view wasn’t why you were out here, it was because you needed to step away and think about what had just been propositioned. This wasn’t what you signed up for and sure the pay would be more than what some people make in their entire lives, but at what cost. At what cost. “How are you holding up?” You couldn’t help but be startled, turning around to see none other than Kim Namjoon walking towards you. He smiled softly, “Didn’t mean to scare you. You’ve just been out here for a while and it’s worrying the others.” Even in the dark night and with the low lighting from the two lanterns secured on the balcony, Namjoon was glowing. He looked ethereal and you wondered how you had managed to attract someone like him. How had you managed to attract all seven of them was beyond you.

“I don’t know what to do.” You spoke softly, gazing out into the city. You felt his eyes on you but refused to meet them as you were far too anxious. “Say yes.” You chuckled but there was no humor in your voice, “I don’t think I can do what you all are asking me to do. Seven people? I barely know what to do with Hobi and I-” His fingers gripped your chin and turned your face towards him. There was something in his eyes, something you hadn’t seen before, he spoke so carefully and softly as if you were a child. “So say yes. You hold the reigns in the relationship. There’s nothing we can do without your consent first. Sure, you would be ours, but we would be yours.” He stepped closer until the two of you were pressed against each other. “Haven’t you ever wanted just for a second in your life to be cared for? No worrying about rent, taxes, not having enough money for food. You can simply focus on your studies and experience things others only dream of.” There was something about his words, they were a mirage. Something that couldn’t really be achieved, but you wanted it so badly. His tongue was coated in honey and you longed to taste it. Perhaps sensing your reluctance, Namjoon spoke again. “If you ever want to stop or get to a place where you no longer need us, they’ll be no hard feelings. We’ll part ways and leave sweet memories behind.”

Those had been the words that sold you on the entire idea. They had been whispered so seductively into your ear that you had taken them as facts when they were nothing more than baseless lies. They had lied to you to get you where they wanted. Now that you were no longer theirs, they would do anything to get you back.

_Present_

The monitor beeped constantly as it tracked Sihyeon’s heart rate and respiration. “[Y/n] I’m fine. You didn’t have to bring me here.” She hadn’t been fine. When you broke into her room, Siheyon had been passed out in a pool of her own vomit. Your first instinct was to check if she was breathing and when you felt a faint pulse, you immediately called the ambulance. Now she was awake and sipping on some Gatorade to help with her alcohol poisoning. You could see the embarrassment on her face, Sihyeon wasn’t an avid drinker nor did she mix drinks. “I honestly don’t know what happened after I left Jeonhan’s room. It’s like I blacked out or something.” Truth be told, you should’ve told Sihyeon everything that had happened once she woke up, but you hadn’t. Not to protect Namjoon or anything, but because Sihyeon was clearly not in the right state of mind and she was the type to overreact: drive over to all their companies and set them ablaze whilst screaming out of a megaphone – overreact. She needed to heal and not stress over your troubles which only seemed to worsen as time went on. Jeonhan had contacted Siheyon and said he would visit when his lunch break rolled around, Sihyeon had groaned when she realized it meant he would see her without makeup.

“Sihyeon, you’re in a hospital. I’m sure he isn’t expecting you to look like a supermodel or anything.” You rationalized as you braided her hair, she had begged you to claim it ‘looks like a rat’s nest.’ Some color had finally returned to her cheeks and the doctors had said that once the alcohol level in her blood had dropped, she could return home. There had been some judgment on their faces when they noticed her appearance but had quickly changed their expression when you pulled out Jeonhan’s black credit card. There isn’t a thing money can’t buy, well except for love. Sihyeon had received top-notch care and had even been placed in a private hospital room instead of the beds down in the emergency wing. “I hope he doesn’t think this happens all the time. He knows I don’t drink a lot.” Sihyeon played with her fingers anxiously, in her line of work opinions and reputation were everything. If Jeonhan grew bored he could toss her aside and simply find a new sugar baby to satisfy his needs, Sihyeon was beautiful so it's not like she would have trouble finding someone else to maintain her but Jeonhan was her favorite thus far. “Of course, he does. Don’t stress just don’t tell him about the alcohol poisoning and say he tired you out so much you passed out. That’ll boost his ego.” He might not entirely believe her, but it wouldn’t matter. “I’ll keep the doctors out of the room, okay?” You finished up her braid and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “Thank you, [Y/n]. You’re the best.”

A knock on the door caused you to help Sihyeon adjust her gown before speaking out, “Come in.” When you had first met Jeonhan you hadn’t been too sure of him, the man looked disinterested in just about everything. All of that changed whenever he looked at Sihyeon his eyes would fill with joy as he stared at her, the same happened when he walked into the hospital room. The man headed straight for Sihyeon taking in her appearance, before placing a rather large bouquet in her hands. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Nicknames were a must, Sihyeon had once told you first names were too intimate. That’s why it always surprised her when that was all the men would call you by unless you were in trouble. “[Y/n].” A raspy voice spoke out and you turned back to the door to find Yoongi standing there. Jeonhan finally acknowledges your presence, more like nodded at you and turned back to Sihyeon. “Yoongi-hyung and I were supposed to have lunch, but I wanted to see you.” Sihyeon giggled in childish glee. A part of you finding their interaction sweet, while the other part of you knew it was all pretending.

You had been so wrapped up in the two ‘lovebirds’ sitting on the bed, you failed to notice Yoongi had approached you until he grasped your hand. “Can I speak with you?” Yoongi was never awkward and always had a mask of nonchalance present on his face, now he was the complete opposite. Yoongi seemed fidgety and uncomfortable, in his eyes you saw deep frustration and desperation. “Fine.” You excused yourself from the room, going out into the hall waiting for Yoongi to join you. Instead of stopping right beside you, he kept walking heading towards the end of the hall. You debated on whether to follow him before deciding it was best to get these things over with. It was when you passed a phlebotomist pushing a trolley filled with needles that you remembered. How long has he been clean for? Yoongi had begun rehab right before you had parted ways with them, that would explain his behavior. A pang of guilt hit you as you finally met up with him. He still looked the same though the bags under his eyes were more prominent and he seemed more on edge; either cause of the drugs or you. Maybe both.

“How have you been Yoongi?” He simply snickered at your question, his tone entirely sardonic. “How do you think I’ve been?” Despite being an addict, Yoongi always looked impeccable. Even now when he seemed to be at a breaking point, he still managed to exude power. “I’m sorry Yoongi.” You were sorry, you hadn’t been the cause of his problems, but you had contributed to them in some way. Yoongi simply stared at you intensely before he swooped down pressing his lips against yours. Your first instinct was to pull away, you couldn’t once you tasted the salty tears on your lips. Yoongi kissed you for another minute until he finally pulled back, the tears had stopped but his eyes were swollen and red. “You said you would never leave me and you did [Y/n].” It was as if someone had plunged a knife straight into his heart. “I couldn’t stay when me being near you was making you worse.” Yoongi had taken a hold of your arms and was shaking violently. “So what you use me and get to toss me aside when you don’t want me?! I won’t let you.” The melancholy in his eyes had been replaced by wrath, his hands digging into your skin too harshly you knew there would be bruises. “If you don’t come back to me, to us. I’ll make sure everyone finds out the kind of person you are and not just you, I ruin Sihyeon’s life as well. No one wants to be dating a whore and I’m sure Jeonhan will drop her the moment he finds out everything.”

Finds out what? You frowned and there was confusion evident on your face, at which Yoongi only smirked. He leaned into your ear and whispered what it is he had against Sihyeon, your eyes widening in fear. “Unless you want to drag your friend down to where you are, you do well to remember your place.” He released you and quickly walked away, leaving you to spiral in the corner of the hall. Your life was falling apart bit by bit and there was nothing you could do about it. A dry heave left you as Yoongi’s frame slowly got smaller and smaller. You glanced around until you noticed a bathroom sign only a few feet away, you practically ran to it. Closing the door behind you and locking it, you stared at the mirror. Your face was devoid of color, eyes wide and fearful, you hadn’t realized you were crying until you saw the tear streaks down your face. Hesitantly you took off your sweater only to see large hand marks on your biceps, where Yoongi had grabbed you.

_Seven Months Ago_

Yoongi was always careless with his strength leaving your body riddled with bruises and tonight would be no different. You were thankful that winter had rolled around, and that wearing scarves or turtlenecks was acceptable, as he was sure to leave a large bruise on your neck with the amount of pressure he was applying. The two of you were naked on top of his custom queen bed, the headboard crashing against the wall mimicking Yoongi’s thumping into your core. You moaned his name which only served to encourage him more, his pace becoming quicker. “Y-yoongi p-please.” The man had spent all afternoon teasing you, taking you to the edge only to never allow you the bliss of coming undone. “Fuck. Do you know what you do to me? You’re better than anything out there [Y/n].” Yoongi was beyond high, his pupils completely dilated and pulse racing. A part of you knew it couldn’t be weed that he was on, but you knew better than to question it. What Yoongi did with his life was his business, you knew your place. “Fuck [Y/n]. Where do you belong? Who do you belong to?” At this point the two of you had become completely erratic, biting and scratching at each other in the name of lust.

When you didn’t immediately reply Yoongi applied more pressure on your throat, making it difficult to breathe properly. “I belong to you Yoongi. I belong underneath you.” He wasn’t satisfied. Yoongi raised your leg placing it on his shoulder and began to grind against you from a new angle, one where he was constantly hitting your g-spot. “Who do you belong to?” A guttural groan exited his lips, as Yoongi tried his hardest not to come. Not until he was sure you knew the answer. “Yoongi, S-seokjin, Hobi, Namjoon, Jimin, Kookie, and Taehyung.” The names escaped your lips as a mantra of sorts, your abdomen beginning to tighten once again. “Yoongi.” You whined, he silenced you with a kiss. “Come with me. You can come, baby girl.”

_Present_

“Hello? Miss? Is everything alright?” The pounding on the door awakened you from your thoughts. Splashing some water on your face, you pull a smile on your face and exit the bathroom. A concerned nurse standing in front of you, you apologize and head back into Sihyeon’s room finding her alone toying with the flowers on her lap. “Where did you go to?” She asked, a smile on her face. Jeonhan made her happy, you had never seen her as happy with any other client of hers. “I spoke with Yoongi and went to the bathroom. Sorry, I took long.” You shrugged, trying to hide the uneasiness in your voice. “Nah don’t worry. I’m glad the two of you are still friends since you broke up.” You hummed in agreeance and chose to walk over to the chair left of the hospital bed. The moment you sat down all of your muscles relaxed, it felt as if you had run a marathon. Your legs as heavy as lead and your heart even heavier. “Oh, that reminds me Jeonhan said Yoongi forgot to give this to you.” Sihyeon produced your phone from under the flowers, it was exactly as you had left it the night before. “How did Yoongi even have your phone?” You struggled to get the words out, “I accidentally left it when I met Seokjin.” Sihyeon frowned, “Didn’t we talk on the phone last night?” Oh, so that you remember. “I was still with Seokjin when you called. I left in such a hurry, I must’ve forgotten it.” You smiled sheepishly. Sihyeon seemed doubtful but decided to leave it at that.

The best thing about Sihyeon was she didn’t hover. That’s why she had been the perfect roommate when you suddenly had to move apartments. She had never questioned why you did what you did or how you ended up finding out she had the same ‘profession’ as you. Sihyeon never commented on the paranoia that hung on your shoulders. All she asked is who you had been involved with and displayed recognition upon learning you were the girl who swept ‘the seven’ off their feet. You had waited until Sihyeon drifted off to sleep, to examine your phone. The device was off, so you pressed the power button and waited until your lock screen popped up being horrified when it did. A picture of you decked out in lingerie smiling back at you. Immediately you opened up the gallery only to find similar pictures and even more proactive ones; hundreds flooding the storage space. You looked back at the lock screen picture, analyzing it trying to remember when or who took them. The hardwood floor underneath something you immediately recognized, along with the fuzzy carpet you laid on. Once the phone established a connection again, a text message came in from none other than the photographer himself.

Jeon Jungkook: Let’s talk.

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norabrice1701 · 4 years

Text

An Offer Received - Part III.1

A Jaguar Villain Tom Hiddleston Character (Thomas Conrad) fanfic

Pairing: Thomas Conrad x Fem!reader

Summary: Part III.1 & III.2 - You spring Mr. Conrad’s trap and he has you. You’re his.

Rating: Part III.1 & III.2 - Explicit sexual content NSFW smut (please be ye warned and do not proceed if not your cuppa), controlling behavior, threats of violence, f-bombs, scalpel violence, Dark!Conrad

Previously: Part II - 5 Weeks

A/N: Part III is long, but hopefully worth it. So, here’s the first part with the second part up next. And please - unless you 100% consent up front to a relationship like this, this fic should not be relationship goals. Also, I went with Secretary Ross’ title from the MCU but this fic is still meant to be non-nation specific.

GIF credit to the original poster via the Tumblr search!

Part III.1 - 5 Months

It didn’t make sense. Month after month, update after update. Across all the divisions, all the departments - one eyesore project initiative sat apart from the rest. Operation ‘Blue Sea’.

You may have only had this position for five months, but you knew a hemorrhaging wound when you saw one. How could anyone with any business sense see the amount of money spent on this project without adding a single dollar to the company’s bottom line? You had to know more.

Operation ‘Blue Sea’ – a government defense contract funded as an exploratory effort to develop an advanced warfare submarine prototype, the details of which were highly classified. Even the project location had been redacted. Scanning the record of invoices, it was easy to see the last one that the government had paid...was over four years ago.

You squinted at your laptop. If the last payment from the government had been over four years ago, then who funded the project now? Who paid these additional millions of investment? You clicked on the latest invoice, scanning for the initials of the person who approved the payment. Also redacted.

It didn’t look good, but you hoped there was an explanation. Perhaps the answers hid in the redacted text. Perhaps the project was being used as an internal improvement opportunity. But what could possibly be the benefit to the company at large? And why hide it in a scrapped submarine project?

You had no choice but to take it to Conrad. Either you needed a higher security clearance for the redacted information or needed his agreement to close the project, cutting off the mystery source of money. You found an opening on his calendar and set the meeting.

The passing hours gave you time to think, to strategize. To firm up your proposed solution. Obviously, it made the most sense to shut the project down. To stop the cash flow and dig to the bottom of what those funds were really being used for. You could only hope that you hadn’t stumbled onto an embezzlement scheme. Or maybe Conrad would reward you for such a discovery. That seemed unlikely, though. Your boss kept a tight watch on his company, so it stood to reason he knew that Operation ‘Blue Sea’ was ongoing.

A paranoid part of you hoped that you hadn’t accidentally stumbled onto something worse…something that Conrad didn’t want you to know. The implications were too sickening to linger on, so you focused back on your inbox.

At the appointed meeting time, you knocked on his door. He bid you entry and you sat in the chair opposite his desk. Now that winter’s chill had settled in, he was never seen in his shirtsleeves. Absently, it made you wonder if he was cold-natured. Would his fingers be chilly to the touch? Or warmed by the steaming cup of tea that rested at his elbow?

You didn’t bother with pleasantries. You knew they didn’t matter to him. “Sir, I took a deeper look at the divisional financial updates, and specifically wanted to discuss Operation ‘Blue Sea’.” You ran through your findings on the end of official cash flow and the start of the mystery source. “This project is guzzling money without a known source, and hasn’t produced any measurable output since the government pulled out four years ago. With your permission, sir, I propose to shut it down. To find out where the funneled cash has been used – hopefully we’re not looking at an embezzlement scandal – and take the next actions appropriately.”

He sat, largely unmoving, as you laid out the details and your proposal. His eyes had barely skimmed the project file printouts that you laid before him. If anything, he looked a curious mix of proud and disappointed. Nothing about his calm reaction – or lack of reaction – set you at ease.

Suddenly, he blinked rapidly with a dismissive sigh as he reached for his tea. “I had suspected something was afoot in my company. It took you a little longer than I anticipated, but it’s of little consequence.”

What did he mean by that? Surely, he didn’t move you into this position to uncover rotten apples in the company’s barrel. This hadn’t exactly been hidden, but maybe Conrad was just too busy to be bothered by the details. But that thought didn’t sit well with you, either – he was the very definition of attention to detail.

You moistened your lips, unsure. “Forgive me, sir, but you seem–.”

“I’ll have your clearance level upgraded on Monday to begin your investigation in full.” His teacup clinked softly against the saucer. “I expect you to keep all discussions of Operation ‘Blue Sea’ confidential between us, and discuss it with no one outside the confines of this office.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.” You knew what was at stake with this investigation. Maybe he did, too, given how quickly he acquiesced to secure higher credentials for you to access redacted information. Your brain wanted to question it, but maybe, you’d just take the easy victory.

His fingers flew over the keyboard of his laptop, unbothered as you sat there in silence. You debated finding something to say. But he wasn’t a man for small talk and he obviously didn’t want to talk about the situation around Operation ‘Blue Sea’. Which also didn’t make sense to you – what CEO wouldn’t be immediately concerned with the future of his company if he found out about a potentially illegal scheme happening right under his nose?

His voice carried quietly over the tapping of keys. “You made decisions about the trajectory of my company long before you were officially empowered to do so. It shouldn’t surprise you that you’re in this position to broaden that scope of responsibility and align us for every future success.” His gaze lifted from the laptop, eyes glittering with an unnerving, mischievous intent. “Your discovery is deserving of a treat, wouldn’t you say?”

Nothing about this felt right. You shook you heard, unsure. “I - it’s the job, sir - just doing what you asked. I suppose...it’s your decision if that’s worthy of a treat.”

The corner of his mouth lifted with silent approval as his sharp mind worked behind those mesmerizing, icy eyes. “Tell me,” he spoke softly at last, “are you free this evening?”

This evening? Friday night? Your brow pinched in confusion. “Sir, tonight’s the Secretary’s holiday benefit, and you’re attend -.”

“Yes, I’m aware of my plans tonight. I asked about you.”

“Me?” Your eyes widened and you fought back a guffaw. “Me, no. No, I’m not attending.”

“Then let’s remedy that, shall we?” He reached for his phone that rested on his desktop.

“Sir, I - I couldn’t possibly. And you…,” you swallowed, unsure to continue but unwilling to back down, “your valet sent a note - you’re set to take Galinda Barrett.”

“Yes, the fashion photographer turned Pulitzer Prize winner,” he glanced up with a wry look, “I don’t think she’ll be too brokenhearted.”

Shit, what else could you say? You glanced at your LOKI smartwatch, noting the time. The gala started at 8:30 and it was past 3:30 now...how could you possibly even have a suitable dress for such a formal occasion?

He looked back to his phone, fingers flying over the smooth surface. “Take the rest of the afternoon off. Go straight to Pierre & Sons, a reliable clothier. Ask for Jean-Louis, he’ll know to expect your arrival. From there, they’ll advise your next stop.”

“Sir, that’s really...very generous of you, but there’s no need. I…,” you paused, unable to believe it, your stomach twisting, “I can’t let you stand up Galinda.”

He paused from his phone, pinning you with the full weight of his stare. “Do you remember what I told you from the very beginning?”

You wracked your brain, trying to recall. He’d imparted so many expectations, but then you remembered - that first meeting, when he first offered you a chair. You could hear his elegant voice reciting the same syllables, and you knew you were sunk. “Yes, sir,” you nodded slowly, “when you make an offer, you expect it to be received.”

He nodded, approval lurking in his piercing gaze. Approval and something darker, something possessive. “Very good. Now from glancing at your watch, you must know time is of the essence. I shall see you at 8:05 tonight.”

You recognized a dismissal when you heard it, still stunned at the turn in conversation. You wondered what would have happened if you still refused. But as you pushed through his office double doors, back out into the main area with your desk – you realized that no one ever said no to Thomas Conrad. He always had an answer and never gave anyone the opportunity.

At least this was just one night, one black-tie holiday charity function. He was officially attending on the corporation’s behalf, so at least it wasn’t a personal social engagement. But still…the sense of uneasy dread lingered in your gut as you queued up directions to Pierre & Sons.

The drive went quick. Sure, your Audi was nowhere near the same caliber as his Jag, but you still enjoyed driving it. Far more practical and within your budget. Once parked, you took the three steps up to the clean, whitewashed brick storefront. A soft bell chimed on your entrance as you were hit with the pleasant smell of cinnamon and clove. Holiday carols played in elegant string arrangements as a kind-faced man greeted you from behind the main counter. “Good afternoon, ma’am. How may I help you?”

“Good afternoon. I have an appointment, I think. Mr. Conrad said to ask for Jean-Louis. I’m –.”

Your name sounded over your shoulder and you couldn’t help but turn. A tall man, impeccably dressed in bold patterns that should have clashed but didn’t, stood in the awning of a doorway, sizing you from head to toe. “Yes, I knew it was you!” His smile grew, wide and proud. “You match Mr. Conrad’s description perfectly. Come along, vites, vites,” he motioned you into the room, “Mr. Conrad made clear that we’re on a limited schedule. And there’s so much to do!”

The hours rushed by in a whirlwind of fabric, makeup and hairspray. Admittedly, it was all rather decadent. The corset was equal parts luxurious and stiff against your torso, cinched with laces and hooked in place to curve your hips and breasts into just the right shape without suffocating you. Silken panties covered more than you expected but still left you feeling virtually naked under your dress of such a fine fabric and cut, in a color that perfectly complimented your skin tone. Where you had been concerned about makeup hiding your face, it simply enhanced your natural features. Soft highlights drew focus to your eyes, and you lips looked lush. The deceptively simple up-do showed off the slope of your neck down to the dress’ flattering neckline.

Looking in the mirror for the final time, the dress hugged the shape of the corset without revealing what lay beneath, and you couldn’t deny the obvious truth. You looked beautiful. Strangely enough and more importantly, you actually felt beautiful.

Jean-Louis smiled approvingly. “That’s why I do this job,” he said, “for that smile right there. The one that knows what it is to be beautiful.”

He reached to the clothes rack for a long, black garment. The fabric was velvet, rich and heavy as it slid against your skin, covering up your elegant gown. Of course, the long velvet coat – more of a cape with sleeves – fit you eerily just as well as the dress. He smiled in approval. “A finishing touch. Can’t have you wearing just any old coat - it’s already cold out, and he did say it was going to be windy.”

Windy?

Before you could question it further, he shooed you from the room. As you emerged into the shop front, you were startled that night had fallen. Your watch was somewhere in the garment bag that Jean-Louis had shoved your workwear into, along with your phone - you had no clue of the time.

A nondescript man in a nondescript black suit lingered near the door, inclining his head on your approach, wishing you a good evening by name.

You eyed him warily, already suspecting the creepy truth. “Good evening. I’m assuming Mr. Conrad sent you?”

“Indeed, miss. He knew you would be in need of a driver to escort you.”

“A driver? No, I have my car…I can drive.” Fortunately, the heels you wore were relatively sensible. As tall as you already were, you couldn’t stand taller than Mr. Conrad.

“We’ll be taking your car, miss.” He held out a hand in silent query.

You’d tolerated it all afternoon, but this was the last straw. There would be words with Mr. Conrad tonight. But you knew better than to shoot the messenger, so you yielded your car key.

It felt surreal to ride in the backseat of your own vehicle with a glorified chauffeur at the wheel. You watched the city streets blur by, noting that you were most certainly not heading to your apartment. Instead, the driver glided to a stop in front of a sleek, modern building that stretched high to the sky. There was no obvious sign announcing what this building was – but the lack of signage told you plenty. Only the super wealthy and powerful didn’t announce where they lived. And now…now you stood at the base of what could only be Conrad’s apartment building.

The driver ushered you forward, and the doorman opened the door. “Good evening,” again another greeting by your name, “Mr. Conrad is expecting you.”

You glared around the modern, elegant, empty lobby as frustration consumed you. Were you supposed to find him? Was he coming down to you? No one told you anything but seemed to know everything. You hated feeling at a disadvantage, and you certainly were.

You knew just what Mr. Conrad wanted you to know. And nothing more.

Nothing helped your sense of irritation, not even when he finally came around the corner. Of course, he looked killer in a bespoke tuxedo that fit his frame like a second skin. If possible, his hair looked more elegantly styled and he moved with such effortless, commanding grace. The sight of him also did nothing to ease the heat that danced along your skin ever since you first slipped into the silky undergarments.

His eyes traveled up and down the length of your body, not even trying to hide his assessment. At last those clear eyes found yours, an undercurrent of satisfied amusement lurking in their depths. “If you weren’t scowling so intently, I’d dare say you look absolutely stunning.”

“I don’t relish the compliment, Mr. Conrad.” You snapped, at the end of your rope. “You sent a driver to the clothier. I’ll have you know that I am perfectly capable of driving my own car – you can’t just -.” Your words stalled as he stepped closer, leveraging his handsome, intimidating height.

He purred, low and dangerous. “Can’t just…what?”

That horrible, distracting, intoxicating cologne surrounded you, threatening your concentration. God, why did he have to smell so good?

“Can’t just…,” you licked you lips, meeting his gaze, “can’t just control me like that.”

His lips merely curled in an answering smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “You haven’t had control since you first set foot in my office, darling. So, don’t delude yourself into thinking that you have it now. You’ve merely had the illusion that I wanted you to have - but starting tonight, all that changes.”

You took an instinctive step back but a strong, solid hand pressed to the small of your back, keeping you close to him. Every fight or flight instinct kicked into high gear as his other arm bracketed your shoulders. You were trapped in what would effectively look like a harmless lovers’ embrace.

But there was nothing harmless about the razor sharp gleam of his eyes. “You see, I need to recruit someone of your determined drive, your sharp focus. I’d rather you be a willing participant – it makes things so much easier, and in your unique case, would prove particularly pleasurable.”

“I…I don’t understand,” you glared back at him, stiffening at the tone of his voice, “recruit me? I already work for you.”

He chuckled again, another dark, sinister sound. “If only ‘twere so. Now come along, darling; we mustn’t be late.”

“I won’t go anywhere with you.” This was going nowhere good, and you struggled to break free, to pull back. But he held you fast, pivoting to guide you towards the elevator in slow, forced steps with deceptive strength. If the doormen noticed your struggles, they paid no obvious attention or took action to intervene.

Fear sank in your stomach as you realized you were powerless. If Conrad had somehow bought those men off, anticipating your reaction…then, maybe you were just fucked.

“I do wish you would calm down,” he said smoothly, unruffled by your protest, “please accept my assurance that I mean you no harm.”

“Then, won’t you just tell me what you want. And why!”

“Not here.” His tone brokered no argument as the elevator chimed low.

He led you forward into the brass and mirrored elevator interior. Reaching around you, he pushed a button simply labeled ‘T’, and the elevator started upwards, floors ticking by.

You swallowed, the heat from his hand still on your back seeping through the velvet coat to your dress. “Where are we going?”

“To the benefit, of course.”

“Then, shouldn’t we be going down?” You’d just assumed that the Jag would make another appearance, instead of ascending to…wherever you were going.

The elevator chimed your arrival and the doors slid open. Windows surrounded the elevator lobby, and you could see the shining lights of the city beyond the building’s rooftop. You could also see the glass doors leading to a set of steps up to a helipad. A helipad with a black, sleek, waiting helicopter.

You forced another hard swallow, your heart racing. Just where exactly was this benefit?

“Come along,” he guided you forward with the strength of his body, “we’ve already dallied too long.”

The cold air bit at your skin as you navigated through the glass doors and up to the helipad. The blades spun at low speed, whipping your dress and coat about your feet as you moved forward in his embrace. There would be no chance for escape once confined in the cabin with him. But, surely, with the crowded benefit, you would at least be safe until the return trip.

Right?

The cabin door slid closed behind him and the whirring rotor noise receded to a dull roar in the background. Of course, the interior was lovely - cream-colored leather, posh wood finishes, even a fringed table lamp between the two cushy seats.

Tense silence stretched as the helicopter lifted away. Your hands gripped the armrests, part never having flown in a helicopter before, part in adrenaline-fueled frustration.

A million things ran through your mind. Things you wanted to say. Things you wanted to yell. Foul names you wanted to call him. But reason stilled your tongue as the city lights flew by. This was his domain and upsetting him further, well…that certainly couldn’t bode well for you.

“Do you recall our conversation on the way to dinner some months ago?” He sounded eerily calm, pensive. “The society that rots around us?”

How could you not? “Yes." You weren’t sure what brought about the abrupt change in conversation, but you had acknowledged the idea at the time. "There was...a surprising amount of truth to it.”

“Too much truth, in fact. Too much truth to let it run unchecked any longer.”

A shudder ran down your spine and you couldn’t stop from glancing over at him with wide, concerned eyes. “Just…what do you mean by that?”

He stared out the window, eyes focused and calculating as he surveyed the world below. Like a king on high. An emperor of his domain. The thought roiled in your gut. Who…who was this man?

He turned from the window, the picture of clam, steady control. “They say the world has only known five great, influential empires in the entire history of civilization. A rather shocking fact, especially considering the ingenuity and connectivity of the modern world. Thus, the irony – at a time when the world is more connected than ever, it stands the most disjointed.”

The implication didn’t make sense as you blinked, trying to understand. “So, what…? You…you’re going to…unify everyone?”

“Not just unify.” His face hardened with a razor sharp edge. “A world where borders, race, genders are no longer definitions or limits. A world where only the capacity of one’s mind and the will to succeed determine your destiny. A truly free world.”

“But that’s insane!”

“Is it?” He chuckled, dark and chilling. “What’s insane is continuing to let the old guard run unchallenged. Perpetuating old ideologies because they’re too myopic to glimpse beyond their own so-called-grandeur to what the world could be.”

“But you couldn’t possibly….,” you scrambled to verbalize your thoughts, “to be clear, you are talking about...overthrowing the global order. World fucking domination, right? Like…like you’re a Bond villain!”

He sneered. “They lack true vision and conviction. You’re pardoned this once, but do not draw that comparison again.”

Your eyes widened in absurd disbelief. Either he was certifiably insane, or this was some elaborate hoax. It had to be. Sure, there was nothing playful about the man who was your boss, but…. The more you studied him, the more you came to the sinking realization.

He meant it. He meant every word.

You gulped hard, thinking back to his previous words. “You…you said you wanted to ‘recruit’ me.”

“That I did.”

“Recruit me in your quest for world domination?”

“If you must phrase it so dramatically.”

You nearly barked a laugh. “This makes no sense.”

He sighed, annoyance flashing in his gaze. “You’re an intelligent woman. Certainly ambitious, with a keen eye for detail. And rest assured, world domination starts with attention to detail.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to….” You trailed off, the thought playing out in your mind. He didn’t actually expect you to say yes, did he? To go along with his crazy scheme? But fear suddenly crawled down your spine at what he would do if you refused.

He hummed softly, a disconcerting sound. “Did you know the average cruising altitude of this helicopter is 2,500 feet?”

You drew a sharp inhale, pitifully reaching for the armrest of your chair as if it would save you. But of course that had to be the alternative…he couldn’t afford to let you live if you refused him. You knew far too much now.

He slid out of his seat with silent ease, dropping to a knee on the cabin floor in front of you. His scent flooded your senses, hands warm and gentle as they cupped your jaw. He raised your head until all you could see were two pools of spellbinding, icy blue. “Punishment only comes with misdeed; cruelty only with cause. Until you give me a cause, you have nothing to fear from me. It’s as true now as it was on the ground.”

Your heart threatened to burst in your chest. “How...how can you expect me to stand by and watch such...destruction?”

“What makes you think you’ll be watching?” His thumb caressed your cheek, his face cracking in a mocking, pitying smile. “My dear, you’ve already been helping.”

Your stomach dropped to your feet. How was that possible? You’d only been doing your job - you’d only been doing...exactly what he asked. The realization seized you, eyes widening. “You’re hiding it in LOKI. Whatever your plan, your scheme is...you’re running it through the company.” You instantly recalled the meeting earlier today and the last piece fell into place. “Operation 'Blue Sea'."

He leaned forward, soft lips pressing to your forehead. A blessing. A benediction. A mollification.

Your breath caught at the gentle sensation as his kiss fell to your cheek. The tip of your nose. Nothing about his touch should ignite your blood given the circumstances, but heat pooled low in your core all the same. Your heart raced, anticipating his next touch...you moistened your lips without thinking, leaning into his touch.

He pulled back ever so slightly, breath ghosting your lips. “You know, I do think something is missing. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Your brow furrowed, taken aback at the statement and his intimate presence. “Missing…?”

His hands fell away from your face and you shivered from the chill. You didn’t realize just how warm his touch was in comparison to the cabin air. He reached into his jacket, extracting a long, slim velvet case. He pulled the lid open and your eyes widened to take in the sheer amount of diamonds.

He rumbled his approval of your reaction. “When Jean-Louis notified me of your gown’s neckline, I couldn’t resist.” Balancing the case on his bent knee, he pulled the necklace free, the layers of diamonds swinging and glittering in the light.

You didn’t dare move, too stunned at the gesture, at what must be an exorbitant price tag, at what was so clearly a statement of possession as he fastened the necklace around your neck. The metal was chilly against your skin and the weight undeniable Your hand rose to caress the tiered necklace, brushing over the immaculate stones.

His eyes darkened with smoldering satisfaction, the smuggest of closed-mouthed grins on his handsome face. God, you wanted to slap him. You wanted to kiss him.

He rose, settling back into his seat, smoothing out his jacket. “I do hope you’ll enjoy yourself tonight, and put all of this conversation from your mind.” The helicopter started to descend. “This is my treat for you, after all.”

What was there for you to say? You couldn’t very well say anything to anyone at the benefit. There was absolutely no proof, and if he was hiding in plain sight in such a large corporation, then clearly...clearly you weren’t the only recruit to his crusade. You glanced over at him as the helicopter touched down gently. “Tell me one thing, though.”

He looked over, arching an elegant brow.

You swallowed hard, nodding at the sprawling mansion outside the window. “How many of the people here are also your ‘recruits’?”

His smile widened, mischievous and cold. “More than you’d think.”

Up Next: Part III.2 - 5 Months

#tom hiddleston #villain #the art of villainy #hiddlesedit #good to be bad #world domination #loki #avengers reference #fanfic #an offer received #wannabe writer #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #NOT RPF

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introvertguide · 4 years

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The French Connection (1971); AFI #93

The current movie under review is one of the biggest award winning police action dramas ever created, The French Connection (1971). The film was nominated for 8 Academy Awards and won 5 Oscars in 1972 for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor (Gene Hackman), Best Screenplay, and Best Editing. The story also includes Roy Scheider prior to his Jaws fame as a buddy sidekick. In fact, this movie was part of a string of great “buddy” movies that included In the Heat of the Night (1967), Midnight Cowboy (1969), Butch Cassidy NS the Sundance Kid (1969), The Sting (1973), and All the President’s Men (1976). The French Connection has a lot of interesting Americana connections that I want to discuss, but first let’s go over the plot. Of course that means the usual:

SPOILER ALERT!!! LEGITAMATELY!!! A LOT OF PEOPLE KNOW THE GENERAL STORY AND PROBABLY THE PLOT OUTLINE WITHOUT EVER SEEING THE FILM!!! CHECK OUT THE FILM FIRST AND THEN COME BACK TO AVOID SPOILER DETAILS!!!

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The movie starts in France where an undercover detective is following a heroine smuggler named Alain Charnier (Fernando Rey). This detective is then followed home by Charnier's hitman, Pierre Nicoli (Marcel Bozzuffi), and is assassinated. Charnier plans to smuggle $32 million worth of heroin into the United States by hiding it in the car of his unsuspecting friend, television personality Henri Devereaux, who is traveling to New York City by ship.

Flash to New York City, where we see detectives Jimmy "Popeye" Doyle (Gene Hackman) and Buddy "Cloudy" Russo are staking out a club trying to nab a perp. They get a tip that some low level mobsters are part of a deal to sell a bunch of French heroin to gangs in America. Out at the Copacabana, Popeye notices Salvatore "Sal" Boca and his young wife, Angie, entertaining mobsters involved in narcotics. They tail the couple and establish a link between the Bocas and lawyer Joel Weinstock, who is part of the narcotics underworld.

Popeye goes to a bar that seems to serve only black patrons and shakes down everybody there. He secretly has an informant in the group and learns that a massive shipment of heroin will arrive in the next two weeks. The detectives convince their supervisor to wiretap the Bocas' phones. Popeye and Cloudy are joined by federal agents Mulderig and Klein, both of whom Popeye is not a fan of.

The drug car arrives in New York City. Boca is impatient to make the purchase—reflecting Charnier's desire to return to France as soon as possible—while Weinstock, with more experience in smuggling, urges patience, knowing Boca's phone is tapped and that they are being investigated.

Charnier realizes he is being observed. He "makes" Popeye and escapes on a departing subway shuttle. To avoid being tailed, he has Boca meet him in Washington D.C., where Boca asks for a delay to avoid the police. Charnier, however, wants to conclude the deal quickly. On the flight back to New York City, Nicoli offers to kill Popeye, but Charnier objects, knowing that Popeye would be replaced by another policeman. Nicoli insists, however, saying they will be back in France before a replacement is assigned.

Soon after, Nicoli attempts to shoot Popeye but misses and hits an innocent bystander instead. Popeye chases Nicoli up on a roof and eventually onto an elevated train that Nicoli makes and Popeye does not. Popeye commandeers a car and races to the next stop while barely avoiding traffic. Realizing he is being pursued, Nicoli works his way forward through the carriages, shoots a policeman who tries to intervene, and hijacks the motorman at gunpoint, forcing him to drive straight through the next station, also shooting the train conductor. The motorman passes out and they are just about to slam into a stationary train when an emergency trackside brake engages, hurling the assassin against a glass window. Popeye arrives to see the killer descending from the platform in an attempt to escape. When the killer sees Popeye, he turns to run but is shot dead by Popeye.

Popeye and Cloudy have a lengthy stakeout of the car that connects all the mobsters and has the opportunity to impound it when some gangsters see it and attempt to strip it. He and his team take it apart searching for the drugs, but come up empty-handed. Cloudy notes that the vehicle's shipping weight is 120 pounds over its listed manufacturer's weight. They remove the rocker panels and discover the heroin concealed therein. The police restore the car to its original condition and return it to Devereaux, who delivers the Lincoln Continental to Charnier.

Charnier drives to an old factory on Wards Island to meet Weinstock and deliver the drugs. After Charnier has the rocker panels removed, Weinstock's chemist tests one of the bags and confirms its quality. Charnier removes the drugs and hides the money, concealing it beneath the rocker panels of another car purchased at an auction of junk cars, which he will take back to France. Charnier and Sal drive off in the Lincoln, but hit a roadblock with a large contingent of police led by Popeye. The police chase the Lincoln back to the factory, where Boca is killed during a shootout while most of the other criminals surrender.

Charnier escapes into the warehouse with Popeye and Cloudy in pursuit. Popeye sees a shadowy figure in the distance and opens fire a split-second after shouting a warning, killing one of the feds, Mulderig, that he had been partnered with. Undaunted, Popeye tells Cloudy that he will get Charnier. After reloading his gun, Popeye runs into another room and a single gunshot is heard.

Title cards note that Weinstock was indicted but his case dismissed for "lack of proper evidence"; Angie Boca received a suspended sentence for an unspecified misdemeanor; Lou Boca received a reduced sentence; Devereaux served four years in a federal penitentiary for conspiracy; and Charnier was never caught. Popeye and Cloudy were transferred out of the narcotics division and reassigned.

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So this film has some of the most well known scenes in cinema history and I say this because they are copied a lot. The first scene when Popeye and Cloudy are on a stakeout, Popeye is disguised as Santa and receives a knife wound in his hand. This came back years later in Hot Fuzz! when Simon Pegg, as a police officer, was stabbed through the hand by a man dressed as Santa. In the Jackie Chan film Rush Hour, Chris Tucker goes into a bar pretending to shake down the group when he actually knows the group and jokingly asks his informant questions.

Maybe one of the biggest aspects of the realism of the movie that director Friedkin insisted upon, was that the two cops that Popeye and Cloudy were based upon were in the movie. Jimmy Doyle was based on a cop named Eddie Egan and Buddy Rosso was based upon his partner Sonny Grosso. Egan and Grosso broke up the actual French Connection back in 1951. A book by Robin Moore that shares the name of the movie details the bust and this is what the movie was based on. For extra realism, the two real cops played the chief and one of the feds. Well, I say promote realism although Friedkin did not like the book and didn’t follow it as closely as he claims. There was no chase or shootout in the book. That was all there for drama.

The ending title cards were very interesting because it reminds the audience that 1) Friedkin cut his teeth with documentaries 2) the movie wasn’t going to show the whole seven month drug bust and 3) all the bad guys got away or got slaps on the wrist and the two cops were transferred out. This was a huge bust that didn’t really work out (although it stopped the trafficking) allowing the mobsters to escape and putting a stop to two careers. It is what I like most, however, because I don’t want to see a realistic movie in which the only interesting scenes are the ones that are not based on any facts.

So should this movie be on the AFI list? Yes. It was the basis for gritty TV cop shows like The Streets of San Francisco and Starsky & Hutch. It has one of the greatest car chase scenes in cinema history. It won many awards and is known by those who haven’t seen the film. It is definitely AFI material. Would I recommend it? Well...not to kids. It has a ton of overt racism that is pretty uncomfortable to watch as well as some pretty terrible police work. The two cops were on set and they were OK with this? The film claims to be based on a real bust and the only cinematic parts of interest were made up. These white cops keep going into black bars and knocking everyone around but just chase after the French guys. White men are all detectives and assassins and mob bosses while anyone of color are just props to be knocked around to move the plot along. I would watch it again as a piece of cinema history and it is a progenitor of the 70s cop dramas, but I wouldn’t show it to my students because I don’t want them to think that it is OK for the police to rough up any number of black people as long as it might bring information about a mob boss. It is a good story with a bad message that needs some maturity to recognize the faults.

#the french connection #gene hackman #william friedkin #afi movies #car chase #action film #police drama #70s #introvert #introverts #movie review #film critique

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aaeoluss · 5 years

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🌈 A Daisy Chains Excerpt 🌈

AN: It’s still Daisy Chains content day, but we’re doing something a little different today -- Daisy Chains is a Ghost Stories prequel, and this excerpt comes even before that. This excerpt stars Marc at seventeen years old, in 1939 France. Without further ado, here’s my bisexual son, happy pride month to everyone!

I’ll tag the Daisy Chains taglist, but fair warning, it’s not content straight from the main WIP, so feel free to ignore: @mvcreates @ellfewritings @confunderewrites@ghoulishlywritten @wannaseemeinabikini @fluffythewritingplant@035isms @purpleshadows1989 @aslanwrites @tsunamifire@esoteric-eclectic-eccentric @quartzess @woodhouse-jay@collegedreams @pat-writes @alexiswritessometimes @unrealistic-android @planets-and-prose @zburatorii @typewriter-jade

WC: 527

sexy CW: PG-13

There were no lights in the lounge, just candles. Romantic, yes, but they did that so nobody could recognize anyone beyond their own table. It wasn’t the sort of place anyone went to be recognized. There were, in fact, places that homosexuals could go to meet and greet, but Sirène Lounge was not it.

Marc and Pierre sat on a bench in the far corner of the lounge, pressed up close against one another. Usually, neither of them were especially interested in excessive intimacy outside of their own bedrooms, but they so rarely got the chance that it was hard to resist once they sat in a hall of dim lighting and promises of anonymity.

“Have you ever kissed another man before?” Marc whispered. There was no need to be quiet, as the room was not, but the moment certainly felt as though it was.

“Shall I count the times I’ve kissed you?” Pierre moved closer to him. Slowly, he leaned in, and he ran his lips slowly over Marc’s neck. “I’ve kissed you there. And I’ve kissed you here, too,” he said, brushing Marc’s earlobe. He planted kisses along Marc’s jawline before finally making his way to his lips. “Here, as well,” he breathed.

Marc met his lips for a long moment before pulling away. “Before me, though. Was there anyone else?”

“No. Only you. Always you.”

And because Marc was young and foolish, he believed Pierre. And perhaps he got to be too bitter when he looked back as an adult; perhaps Pierre was telling the truth. But perhaps not. Grown Marc thought it was silly that young Marc believed Pierre completely considering that young Marc himself was a serial liar.

“How about you?” Pierre asked. “Anyone else?”

Pierre’s voice was breathy and naive and desperate just like Marc’s was, which was why Marc said, “never.”

Grown Marc didn’t fault young Marc for lying. All young people were liars. As he grew even older, he realized that all people were liars.

They leaned in close again. “You’re my whole world,” Pierre murmured into Marc’s lips. “Every last centimeter of it.”

“Say the word and I’ll give you everything.” Marc brushed a strand of Pierre’s hair out of his face and met his eyes. Marc’s were a startling green, and Pierre’s were a deep, dark brown. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The thing about liars was that when they were good enough, they could trick even themselves into thinking they were telling the truth.

Or perhaps deep down, they both knew that it was all an illusion; just a rainbow built out of mist, a ripple-filled reflection of reality in the water. The moment would burn in the air as they stepped out of the lounge and into the sun, but right then, it was there, and really, it was wonderful.

Later, grown Marc would theorize that the best things were ephemeral. And yes, even later, even more grown Marc would dismiss the theory, but perhaps there was still some merit to it. And even if there wasn’t, it was one of the more beautiful lies to convince oneself of.

#writing #writeblr #oof this makes me want to write a daisy chains prequel lmao #there are just. so many stories to tell #hhhh #anyway thanks for reading!

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wckdwinchesters · 6 years

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Sweet One | (part one)?

Michael Langdon x fem reader.

Summary: you’ve survived the nuclear apocalypse and now you’re stuck in a bunker. you stumble across a book and you find out you have powers. You buried them but someone comes along and knows all about you and your secrets.

Warning: none.

Word count: 3716

A/N: This is my first time writing fanfic or however you want to call it and I know it extremely long. I really don’t know how it works that much but so please enjoy this mess and send me criticism so I could get better and tell me if I should continue it!

When I imagined the end of the world often I thought of the apocalypse or the sun swallowing the earth but mankind self-destructed itself and well I guess that says more about us.

The end of the world was unexpected to say the least, one minute you’re working at your shitty job next you’re on a private jet plane with a bunch of rich assholes flying to an unknown location while watching bombs drop on the city. Honestly, when I looked out the window I felt nothing for those poor souls down there. We were killing our planet and someone just decided to pull the plug early.

18 months

18 freaking months of eating plain food, following absurd rules, playing dress up in Victorian wear and being with the most spoiled self-entitled people left in the world. I think I probably would’ve been better off having my skin bubble off with the rest of humanity and I realize just now how entitled I was being, complaining about this when most of the world is dead or dying. I think the reason I’m so miserable is because of the company I’ve been in. I mean, a bunch of rich narcissistic people complaining every single day and I can’t connect with any of them because no one is like me.

When the alerts went out I was at my job being an assistant to Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt. I was sitting in the waiting area of the hair salon waiting for her to be finished. I went up to her and said “It’s time for your daily health post.” she blurted out “So rude, can’t you see I’m getting my hair styled? Her stylist and also her only friend named Mr. Gallant whispered to her not subtly “fire her.” I rolled my eyes and sat next to her in the empty styling chair and said “Do you want me to post an old photo of you? I really like this one you took yesterday.”

I said turning the phone for her to see when an alert almost made me drop it. I turned the phone back to me when everyone phone started going off at the same time. I looked at the screen and back to Coco and Mr. Gallant then back to screen trying to see if it was a joke then Coco’s phone rang and her father’s voice came through very rough and laced with fear. She asked her dad what was happening and midway through her sentence he interrupted her and said “Coco listen to me carefully; the alert is true and there’s a private jet waiting to take you someplace safe! Go now and take what you need. I’d meet you but unfortunately, it’s too late for us, we love you, honey.” he said and pointed his camera at their family. They had gone to Hong Kong for vacation and apparently it was too late because the nuke was already there and the camera went dark. After that she did what she was told and went to the airport and convinced me to go with her and the only reason I said yes was because I felt for some reason, I couldn’t refuse. While we were boarding Coco’s best friend/hair dresser convinced her to let him and his grandma Evie go also since she still has tickets to spare and she agreed given that her husband couldn’t make it in time and by then it was too late and we were up in the air watching nukes hit the city.

Coco surprisingly convinced Ms. Venable the person who ran the Outpost, the safe haven Coco’s dad was talking about to make me a Purple instead of a Gray. Which were the Elite and the Grays being basically the servants and I really didn’t care either way cause ever since the world ended I felt numb and it been that way for 18 months and I mostly kept to myself and distracted myself with reading or trying to learn new things like languages and I was picking them up rather fast in such a short time and it was weird cause I’ve never spoken or even seen most of these languages.

I found old books on the shelf and it seemed like dictionaries for dead languages like Aramaic, Latin or Ancient Greek and the other books were oddly weird because they had symbols and different languages in them but seemed oddly familiar, which was strange given I’ve never read or learned these languages but when I finally did learn some words I re-read the books and they said such weird things like incantations and spells. So, I’m guessing the boys school that occupied this bunker before had a dark secret and I just stumbled across one. The strange thing wasn’t the spell book in my hands, but it was the feeling of holding it that felt natural to me that was strange. I felt some part of me struggle to let loose and say the incantation but I felt another part of me trying to drown the other feeling. Turns out the part that wanted to let loose won this time and I tried saying the spell half-heartedly and nothing happened but then I tried again with more feeling into it and the room went dark and the fireplace started burning as bright as ever and I felt such a flush of pure power that I pushed a bit further and the fireplace blew out and I was knocked back by my own strength and just like that everything returned back to how it was and I was in a state of shock but also, amazement.

I felt pure energy rushing through my veins and it was the best I felt in a long time but something was still missing. I decided to not cast spells in my room anymore unless I wanted to burn down the whole Outpost and I guess that’d be the way to go but I didn’t want to be caught in my own destruction. My magic started developing on its own and growing fast that I had to hold back and restrain myself from doing something in front any of the others. It started out small like telekinesis and starting small fires anytime someone pissed me off, I had to excuse myself from the dining room and headed to my room to calm down then the strangest thing happened, I seemed to be in one place and suddenly appear in the other. I was walking down the hall and I just pictured me in bed and there I was. That’s when I started to really restrain myself to the point of pain because if someone finds out, they’d probably burn me at the stake and I survived a nuclear war and I wasn’t about to be burned alive by senseless pampered idiots. I only used my powers in my locked room but outside it felt like hell cause having to restrain myself to the point of pain everyday was torture.

It was a normal night when Mr. Gallant just snapped and said “What are you going to do? Shoot us all?!” then started to talk about the incident that happened a week ago. There had a breach in the bunker and one of the residents got contaminated with radiation or that’s what they said and well let’s just say, I wouldn’t want to get on Ms. Venable bad side. That’s when the bunker alarm started going off just as Ms. Venable and Ms. Mead went up to Mr. Gallant. Ms. Mead was like her personal security guard and both her and Ms. Venable’s face were pure confusion and a bit of fear because we’d heard rumors of the other Outposts being overrun and she probably thought somebody came to finally blow out our candle but I didn’t feel that was the case cause when she went to check on the problem she dismissed us to our rooms and it wasn’t till the next day we would find out what the breach was.

His name is Michael Langdon and is an Agent of the Cooperative. He gave off such a vibe but I couldn’t distinguish it. The others gave off vibes also and it ranged from blistering anger to utter despair and loneliness. But his was, I don’t know how to explain it but it was like he locked a cage around his emotions and didn’t let anyone see inside it. As Ms. Venable introduced him, his eyes slide around the room as if looking for something or someone then came to rest upon mine. I had to look away because I felt like he was trying to look inside me which sounds weird and was absurd to think he could do that but he felt different. As I made my way to the back of the room of the main room, he had started to talk in front of the fire pit in the middle of the room. His voice sounded rich and soothing like honey and was pleasing to listen to but I wasn’t really paying attention to what he was saying but I did catch the words sanctuary and choosing who’s going. He was graceful and bewitching to look at and made my heart danced in my chest. I was perplexed on why I felt like this about a stranger and to be honest, I really didn’t care if I went or not. It was like trading a box of rotten red apples for a box of rotten green. Most of the people who were in Outpost weren’t good, honest people who could contribute something to humanity but the ones that were rich and spoiled enough to afford it and I felt like that was a waste.

I had asked Coco what it was that he had said and apparently there’s a sanctuary with enough food for decades and the Cooperative sent Michael to choose which one of us come back with him to the safe haven now that Outpost is vulnerable to attacks and I just knew, I wouldn’t be chosen cause well I don’t have money or family name to open doors for me.

Michael had been interviewing for half a week now, interviewing both Greys and Purples alike and I was the last to be interviewed.

I had hesitated before I knocked. When I did the doors swung opened and he was dressed in black and he looked as handsome as the first day I saw him. I took him in, every detail from his long honey colored hair to the rings he wore on his hand. He hovered for a moment before motioning me to sit anywhere. I walked into the library and sat on a bench near the fireplace while Michael went to close the double doors that separated this room from the rest of the hallway. I sat there staring at him as he made his way over to sit across from me. The fire made his face and jawline appear sharper than it already was. I saw now that his eyes were like the sky after a storm beautiful and an angelic pure blue. They were alluring but dark like there was something hidden in them. I looked away because it felt the way when he first laid eyes on me. Like he was looking inside me and I didn’t know how to feel about that.

I stared at my hands on my lap for a while and I finally asked “Well, are you going to ask me something or are we going to keep being angsty and staring at each other before one of us dies of old age?” that made him grin a bit before he said “I know everything I need to know but I just want you to confirm it for me.” “And how would you know that if we’ve never spoken before? Did you look up my myspace page or something?” He laughed and said “The Cooperative does its research on its residents and I did my own digging.” I stared at him for a moment and replied with a teasing smile “You know how creepy that sounds right? I have nothing to hide anyways so ask away.”

I shifted in my long Lacey lavender dress and proceeded to stretch my legs out and waited for him to begin his questions. They started out simple. He asked my name and age and I replied “My name is (Y/N) and I’m 24.

He was talking again asking how I escaped the blast and what my old job was. His voice was soothing but firm, then he asked me something that had me taken aback and then he repeated the question like I didn’t hear it the first time. He had asked me, if I think any of these people deserved to live. I was confused not because of the question that wasn’t the thing that threw me off guard but the way he had asked it like it was the most normal question and I did nothing but stare at him not with confusion but with intrigue. He waited for my answer when I finally said “Well, it’s not up to me to decide that.” He said “Obviously, but I’d like to know your answer.” I shrugged and said “Are you trying to see if I’m loyal to these people? Cause if you are then your SOL. I’m only loyal to myself and I’m pretty sure if you ask anyone if they’d take a bullet for one another they’d probably tell you some bullshit about us being family to get you to take them to the sanctuary. This may look like a sweet place to live but you bet your ass these people would slit your throat to get something they wanted.” “And you wouldn’t do the same?”

I replied with a grin “I’d probably slit their throats just to get away from them, if I could get away with it.” I said with a chuckle to imply I was lying but I was actually being truthful. He had a smile on his face that made me think that I didn’t fool him. I wondered why he would ask a question like that and if I was the only person he asked it to. I got up to walk around the library and started tracing my finger on the bookcases and I still felt his gaze on me as I walked around the room. “I’m guessing this is where you spend most of your time.” “Better than being with those insufferable imbeciles talking about how much they miss shopping and the internet, I mean, it’s the end of the world what else could I do beside distract myself.”

I turned to look at him and he still had his eyes on me with pure curiosity but I was just wondering what he was thinking about because he looked deep in thought and he gave me a small smile. It made my heart fluttered so I gave him a small smile back and I almost didn’t notice that the fire behind him was burning brighter and I snapped out of that daze and restrained myself to the point of physical pain. He must have sensed something was wrong because I gripped one of the couches tight and he stood up to stand in front of me and I stood up straight and said I was fine and he questioned what was wrong and I replied with the same answer and he said “I can tell when people lie to me.” I gave him a small smile and said to him “It’s not a lie, it’s my truth.” I walked toward the fireplace again and I felt his gaze tracing me like a cold hand and I shivered a bit which was a bit odd being that I was standing in front of the fireplace. When I looked back over my shoulder up at him, his eyes were darkened with thought and just like that it was gone. I wondered to myself then said “Why? Why are you working for the Cooperative? Is it for survival? Why don’t you just take the sanctuary for yourself?”

He grinned at me and said “Are you suggesting I kill everyone left in the Cooperative? If you are then you are darker than I thought.” I scoffed at that and said “Dark? I’m not dark, I just rather keep to myself and not be associated with assholes.” I turned around the whole way and he was closer than before. He stood a few feet taller than me that I had to look up to see his face and he smelled like sweet roses and a light cologne.

For months before the bombs dropped I felt out of place and different like something was missing but standing this close to Michael made me felt whole but I was as confused as in why since we’ve never met but it felt amazing to be in his presence but made me vulnerable because I couldn’t read him but I felt safe with him despite that. He was all cold and collected, some may have thought he was a robot or something and there were rumors and gossip which I took with a grain of salt but I could see now that he did have emotions but he kept them closely guarded. He whispered “Do you even care if you go to sanctuary or not?” I simply replied that I didn’t know because I didn’t and I rather someone choose for me because to be honest if I went there, I wouldn’t know what to do because what would happen to me if I slip up there?

I rather stay behind and kill whoever is left and be free to do what I want. I couldn’t believe I actually thought that but it was truly how I felt. and if Michael never came I’d probably would’ve snapped and killed everyone anyways. Michael presence made that dark part of me I tried to keep buried flourish and I liked how it felt. He made every part of me tingle. He lifted his hand and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and his hand lingered near my cheek and I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch and then that’s when the fireplace and candles burned hotter and brighter and the swell of power felt strong as he touched me.

I broke the connection between me and Michael. It felt stronger than anything I’ve ever felt and I didn’t really want to let him go. I was breathing hard and rushed to the door as I opened it Michael put a hand on it to stop it from opening any further and closed it and said “It’s okay, (Y/N). there’s no need to hide anymore, not from me.” I looked up at him in surprise and said “What are you talking about? I’m not hiding anything.” “Don’t lie to me. I saw and felt your power when I first laid eyes on you, darling.”

I stumbled back almost tripping on my own feet and dress. I leaned on the couch in front of the doors and whispered “I- don’t know what’s wrong with me, I can’t control it at times. Are you like me? how do you know?” he smirked at me and answered “I know many things and I know all about you, my sweet one.” The way he said it sounded eerily familiar and then I got such a bad headache that my vision blurred then I dropped to my knees and clutched my head and he rushed towards me and yelled my name and held me as darkness gripped the edges of my vision. I felt my lips say his name in a cry and then it was pure black.

When I woke up I was in different room, not the library but not my room either. My senses were slow to come back to me, the first one was smell and it smelled like roses. Before I came to, I had flashes of Michael with short hair and him smiling and the smell of roses. Michael was sitting at his desk staring at me in worry, I started to try to sit up when he came to help. “What happened to me? It felt like someone took a drill to my head.” Michael looked unnerved and fuming at the same time but he stiffened and said “What happened when you started getting a headache? What was going through your mind at that moment?” I sat up and said “those words you said made me think back but I felt like I hit a wall and my mind went through a shredder. Why did they sound so familiar like I heard them before?”

Michael got up and started pacing the room and only looking once or twice towards me and I felt confused because he rarely displayed any emotions so I was a bit frayed. I was getting frustrated and was about to say something when he interrupts “I know what you’re going to say, ‘tell me what’s going on or else’ am I wrong?” “How did...” He finally stopped pacing and sat at the edge of the bed and said “Okay, what I’m going to tell you is going to sound insane but you have to believe me.” After a minute of silence after he told me, I was so shocked and felt so betrayed but it was like a missing piece came back and that some things finally made sense now. I don’t remember what I was doing before being employed by Coco. Not really. But what Michael just told me made me so livid that a nearby glass shattered. I put my head in my hands because I had such a flood of emotions then finally I looked up at Michael and moved close and placed my hands on his cheeks said gently “When I saw you, you made my heart throb so hard. I was scared cause I had no idea why I felt like that. Felt like there was a missing piece of me till I saw you.”

#American horror story #sweet one #sweet one part one #Americanhorrorstory #ahs apocalypse #ahs #ahs coven #ahs murder house #michael langdon #cody fern #fanfic #imagine #ahs8

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kamen-rider-zed · 6 years

Text

The Sleepover That Almost Wasn’t

Hey @blackshucksighted! (for some reason I can’t tag you) I’m you’re Secret Santa and here’s some fluffy Chloe/Alya/Marinette friendship coming your way!

Also some Season 2 spoilers so fair warning in case anyone’s not into that.

Marinette and Alya didn’t know what to think when Chloe asked them out to lunch, though it was more of a demand than a request. Normally she spent her lunch breaks with Sabrina or was otherwise attached at the hip to Nathanael. She didn’t spend much time with either of them, before or after they discovered each other’s identities. In fact, she seemed to spend less time with them after discovering her classmates were Ladybug and Rena Rouge. So imagine their surprise when Chloe not only invited them to lunch, but to an expensive cafe and offered to pay.

Once the server had brought their drinks and taken their orders, Chloe cleared her throat and announced, “Clear your schedules this weekend. As an early Christmas present, you two are coming to the hotel for a sleepover and to be among the first to experience Le Grand Paris’ newly renovated beauty salon and spa.”

Alya and Mari glanced at each other. “Doesn’t sound like you’re giving us much choice,” Alya said.

Chloe frowned down at her coffee as she stirred seven sugar cubes into it. “Stupid Pollen, stupid sweet tooth,” she muttered. She shifted her gaze from her cup to Alya and chuckled. “Of course you have a choice. You can turn me down if you wish, but why would you? I’m offering a weekend of rest and relaxation and you don’t have to pay a centeme.” Marinette opened her mouth, but stilled when Chloe held up a hand. “And before you say it, I’ve already negotiated with Chat, Carapace, and Bleu; they’ve agreed to handle patrols and Akumas for a few days.”

“Chloe!” Marinette snapped. She turned her head about, but found no one within earshot.

“Oh, simmer down, Mari,” Chloe snickered. “Thanks to Alya’s clever camera work and a few illusions, the three of us have airtight alibis.”

Marinette fidgeted in her seat. “Still better not to chance it.”

“Whatev.” Chloe waved a dismissive hand. “So, the three of us, a weekend at the hotel, doing nothing but relaxing and hanging out. What do you say?”

“Three of us?” Alya asked. “I thought you were spending Hanukkah with Nath.”

“Ended on Wednesday and as much as I adore his family, eight days is all I can take of both of his moms guilting me into eating more food. So with my schedule all clear, what do you say?”

(#)

The following Saturday, Marinette and Alya found limos rolling up to their homes just before noon, as Chloe promised. When they arrived at the hotel, Chloe’s butler, Jean Pierre, escorted them to the spa, where Chloe awaited them in a yellow satin robe.

“You’re here! So glad you could make it!” She threw her arms around each girl’s neck and planted a kiss on each of their cheeks. Marinette and Alya were a little taken aback by this sudden expression of affection, especially considering Chloe’s reaction the last time she had to kiss Marinette, but they awkwardly smiled and returned the gestures.

“Okay, we’re starting with a Swedish massage, so into the hot tub first, then Elias and his friends work their magic. After that, mani-pedis and facials, then up to my room for snacks and movies. Now, change into your swimsuits and I’ll have Jean take your bags upstairs.”

She shooed them into the locker rooms and slipped away to the jacuzzi to let them get undressed. The girls changed slowly, still not entirely sure what to make of Chloe’s abrupt change of heart.

“Think she feels guilty for bullying us for so long?” Marinette asked, slipping her arms through her pink bikini top.

“I don’t know,” Alya admitted. She hopped up and down on one foot trying to guide her other foot into her blue one piece. “I mean, she’s more than made up for it as…” She glanced around and dropped her voice. “As Queen Bee.”

“I know she has, but this almost feels like she’s bribing us for our friendship.

Alya stopped, her glasses half tucked into her bag. “Maybe she is, but maybe that’s all she knows. She doesn’t exactly have much experience with healthy friendships. I mean, look at how she treated Sabrina.”

Marinette plopped down on a bench and rested her forearms on her knees. “Yeah, you have a point. Maybe we should just see how this plays out?”

“That’s the spirit girl!” Alya nudged her with her elbow. “Besides, we haven’t had girl time in a while, and what better way to enjoy ourselves than with a full spa treatment courtesy of the mayor?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

They made their way through the spa to the hot tubs, where Jean Pierre awaited to take their bags. Chloe was beside one of the tubs in a yellow bikini, neatly folding her robe. She turned and smiled when she heard the two enter and gestured for them to slip into the tub. The girls slowly eased into the hot water and once everyone was in, Chloe gestured to Jean who pressed a button on the wall on his way out, activating the jets in the tub.

Marinette sank deeper into the tub and moaned, “Oh, this feels soooo good…”

Chloe closed her eyes and leaned back against rim of the tub. “Lavender and eucalyptus in the water to ensure we’re all thoroughly relaxed.”

Alya murmured something lost amidst the bubbles, but from her closed eyes and soft grin, it was clear she was enjoying herself. The trio sat in the tub, relaxing and chatting for about twenty minutes before Jean Pierre approached the tub with a pair of robes for Marinette and Alya. They reluctantly pulled themselves from the water and wrapped the robes around themselves.

Jean Pierre then led them to the massage tables where three men awaited. Chloe hopped up onto one of the tables, removed her bikini top and laid face-down on the table. The others, blushes on their faces, followed suit and laid on their own tables. The men started on their shoulders and neck, speaking in hushed tones to the girls and asking permission before touching them anywhere else. They progressively worked through every muscle on their bodies, the three girls finding themselves on the verge of nodding off multiple times.

“Pardon me,” came Jean Pierre’s voice from the door. “An Akuma has appeared near the hotel. We are relocating all guests to the safe rooms.” The masseuses nodded and exited the room while the girls pulled their swimsuits back on. “I shall personally escort your friends to the rooms, mademoiselle. I’m, uh, sure your father wishes to see you per-”

“It’s okay, Jean,” Chloe interrupted him with a small wave, not leaving her place on the massage table. “They know. I’ll take responsibility for their safety.”

He nodded. “Very well. In that case, I have brought extra pretzels for Mlle. Pollen if she needs them.” He left a small bag if the aforementioned snacks on the nearby table and left the room.

“Chloe,” Marinette said as she stood from her table and pulled on her robe. “How does he know your kwami’s name?”

Chloe simply shrugged and responded, “I told him I was Queen Bee about a week after getting my Miraculous.”

“You what?” Alya yelled.

“How do you think someone as high-profile as me has kept a secret identity for so long? He helps me with cover stories and alibis, same as Sabrina.”

Marinette shook her head, her eyes wide. “You told Sabrina too?”

“Never underestimate the power of a good support network.” She smiled, her eyes closed as she folded her arms beneath her head. “I wanted to tell Adrikins too, but Pollen drew the line there.”

“Tikki, Spots On!”

“Trixx, Ears Up!”

Chloe’s head snapped to her partners, freshly transformed and ready to leap out the window. “What are you doing? I told you the boys were handling Akumas this weekend!”

“I know you said that, but...I can’t just ignore people in need, Chloe,” Ladybug said. “I can’t afford to take a vacation.”

“But…”

“A half hour at most, and we’ll be back in time to finish the massage.”

Chloe glanced from her partners to her kwami floating nearby. “Ugh, fine! Pollen, Stripes On!” Yellow lights swirled around her and Queen Bee’s wings lifted her from the massage table. “Now, let’s take care of this Akuma and get back to relaxing.”

(#)

Well over an hour later, three figures slipped in through a window in Le Grand Paris’ spa. Orange light peeled Alya’s foxsuit away from her and she dropped onto a lounge chair beside one of the hot tubs. “Hawky hates us, doesn’t he?” she complained.

“Just be glad your transformation didn’t run out near the end of the fight,” Marinette said from Queen Bee’s arms, her bathrobe pulled up around her head. Bee set her down and she dropped onto the chair beside Alya. “At least I purified the akuma before my time ran out. Ugh, I feel all sweaty and gross, like I need another bath.”

Bee dropped her transformation and eyed the bubbling tub. “I think that can be arranged, Mari. A quick dip, then we can still make our appointment for mani-pedis. In the meantime, I’ll call Jean and have him send down snacks for our kwamis. Cookies for Tikki and...yogurt for Trixx, right?” Chloe smiled when the fox kwami nodded, but frowned again when saw the look Marinette gave her. She sighed and muttered, “I won’t mention your identities if you don’t want me to.”

After loosening their muscles in the hot tub, Chloe led the girls to the next stage of their relaxing weekend. In the next room, three women stood next to reclining chairs, and beside those chairs sat tables covered with various nail care tools, shades of nail polish, and small jars of a mysterious green substance. Each of them sat down, leaned back, and let their beauticians go to work. They each started with a face and scalp massage, then came the green substance, which Chloe explained was an all-natural facial mask made of avocado, yogurt, and honey.

Chloe and Marinette had just closed their eyes and settled into their chairs when they heard Alya yelp and her attendant cry out in pain. They glanced over and saw the woman cradling her nose, a thin line of blood running down her face.

“Oh my god!” Alya jumped from her chair, her hands clasped over her mouth. “I’m so sorry! I should have mentioned, you-you have to warn me before you touch my feet!”

“Since when are you sensitive about having your feet touched?” Chloe asked.

“Since I’m super-ticklish and I have two little sisters who play dirty.” Alya knelt down next to the woman nursing her bloody nose. “Again, I’m so so sorry.”

“Hey, uh guys?” Marinette said. “Um, my face feels a little tingly.”

“That’s just the facial cream cleansing your pores, mademoiselle,” one of the beauticians assured her.

“No, this doesn’t feel like cleansing.” Marinette sat up and waved her hands at her face. “In fact, it kinda itches. It itches and it burns and I’m dying and get it off! Get it off ah help ah AH!”

(#)

“So, I’m allergic to avocado. Good to know.” Marinette closed her eyes against the white light pouring from Tikki’s paws, healing the red rash spread across her face.

“At least that stuff wasn’t on your face for too long.” Alya sat beside her and rubbed her back with Trixx hovering over them, her tongue in one of the jars of facial cream, licking it clean. “Sorry this isn’t going how you hoped, Chlo.” She turned over her shoulder. “Maybe we could...Chloe?”

Chloe had her back to Marinette and Alya, her shoulders hunched and her arms wrapped around herself. Alya could tell she felt uncomfortable, probably because she felt like she accidentally poisoned her hero. With her enhanced fox hearing, she could just make out Chloe repeating to herself, “It’s okay. It’s okay. We can salvage this. We can make this work.”

“Everything okay, Chloe?” Alya called a little louder.

The blonde snapped her head around, reddened eyes on her friend. She sniffled and forced a smile onto her face. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m...Marinette’s rash is making my eyes water a little.” She held up her phone and added, “I’m just texting Jean to have our snacks delivered to my room. As soon as Tikki is done with Marinette, we can go upstairs and-” A short series of beeps from Chloe’s phone interrupted her. Upon checking the message, her face and shoulders dropped.

“What is it?” Marinette asked.

“Oh, uh,” Chloe snapped to attention and forced another smile. “Nothing! Nothing at all! Just Jean getting back to me about-”

“That was an Akuma Alert, wasn’t it?” Marinette turned her intense gaze to Chloe, whose eyes darted back and forth between her phone and her teammate.

“Uh...it’s, um…” Chloe finally caved and blurted, “Can’t we let the boys take care of this one?” Marinette sighed and passed another cookie to Tikki. “Come on, please? Paris will be fine for one battle, right?”

“Like I said, Chloe: I have a responsibility to this city. We have a responsibility. Now, let’s go. The sooner we take care of this, the sooner we can get back.”

Marinette and Alya transformed and leapt out the same window they’d entered earlier. Chloe sighed, her arms slumping in defeat. She called her own transformation, and as her wings lifted her off the ground, she muttered, “That’s what you said last time.”

(#)

Three hours. Three hours of chasing a speedster through the streets of Paris. Three hours and two lucky charms needed to capture Blur in a pool of sticky tar. Three hours the sushi tray, cheese and fruit platter, and champagne had been sitting out in Chloe’s room because she forgot to tell Jean to put them back in the cooler.

“Think we can salvage any of this?” Chloe asked.

Alya shrugged. “Put the champagne on ice and it’ll be fine in about twenty minutes. The fruit and cheese can be saved, maybe, but the sushi is gone.”

“Y-you sure?” Chloe looked desperate. “Maybe we can-”

“My mom’s a professional chef. I’ve had food safety rules drilled into my head since I knew how to walk.” Alya eyed the sushi platter and shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I’m not touching fish that’s been out of a cooler for that long.”

“And it looks like some of these rolls have avocado in them.” Marinette frowned at the dishes. “I couldn’t have eaten them even if they were-.”

Chloe drove her fist into the table, startling her companions. She ground her teeth together and squeezed her eyes shut because there was no way in hell she was crying in front of Ladybug. “I just...I just wanted one weekend. One! I just wanted one weekend to do something nice for you two!” She jerked away from the table and folded her arms over her chest. “But no. I can’t have that, can I? First an Akuma during our massage, then Alya breaks someone’s nose and I almost kill Marinette with a damn avocado. Then another stupid Akuma and I forget to tell Jean to...to…”

Alya and Marinette exchanged a worried and hurt glance. Marinette took a tentative step towards Chloe and gently rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I had no idea how much this meant to you.”

“It-it’s like you said in the changing room,” Chloe sniffed, glancing over her shoulder. “I feel horrible for treating you two like dirt for so long.”

“You heard us?” Alya asked.

Chloe nodded. “I’m not bribing you for your friendship, and I’m sorry if it feels that way. I...after learning you two were LB and Rena, I felt...I felt awful that I couldn’t be your friend on both sides of the mask. I felt like I should make things up to you, but everything’s gone completely wrong and the weekend is ruined and-”

“Whoa, whoa, it’s okay, Chloe,” Marinette soothed. “You’re rambling. And unless I’m mistaken, Alya said the food is toast, not the weekend.”

Chloe shifted her eyes between them. “What do you mean?”

Alya smiled and planted her fists on her hips. “I mean all this weekend needs to get back on its feet is a change of venue-” she shot a sideways glance at the rancid sushi “-and a change of menu.”

Marinette nodded. “Gather what snacks you can save, pack your fluffiest, comfiest pajamas, and come to my house tomorrow. We’ll show you what friends really do on a relaxing weekend.”

(#)

Chloe had never felt more uncomfortable in her life. She sat in her car outside the Dupain-Cheng bakery for what seemed like an eternity before she finally climbed out and knocked on the side door. She was completely out of her element. No wait staff. No room service. No masseuse, no beautician, no Jean. But Marinette had promised her the most fun weekend she’d ever had, and she’d never lied to her before.

The secret identity thing totally didn’t count.

Marinette answered the door wearing fuzzy slippers and satiny pajamas, both in a shade of pink Chloe would have found obnoxious if it wasn’t just so ‘Marinette’. Rather than greet her with the short kiss on the cheek Chloe had used at the hotel, Marinette threw her arms around her neck and pulled her into a tight hug. Chloe stiffened in the embrace and when she felt it, Marinette jerked away.

“I’m sorry, Chloe! I don’t want you to make you uncomfortable or anything…”

“No no, I’m...just not used to you hugging me.”

Marinette smiled. “Okay, I’ll try to keep the shows of affection a little less enthusiastic, but so you know, I can’t speak for Alya. She’s a serial snuggler.”

They ascended the stairs to Marinette’s bedroom, and Chloe marvelled at just how small and...cozy her room was. Everything was pink and tidy and cute and just as ‘Marinette’ as her pajamas. Alya, wearing red flannel pajamas that matched the shirts she commonly wore, already had several blankets and cushions strewn about the floor and a table sat nearby ladened with all sorts of snacks: not only cookies and pastries from the bakery, but chips, pretzels, and other junk food from a convenience store. Alya jumped up the moment Chloe entered the room, and true to Marinette’s warning, lifted her from the ground with a mighty hug. The moment she released Chloe, Marinette scolded her for being a little too rough with their guest and Chloe swiftly changed into her pajamas while her hosts were distracted.

Marinette smirked at the silky red and black spots adorning her friend. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Ladybug is still my favorite superhero, thank you,” Chloe said, sticking her nose up in the air.

“Yeah, I figured as…” Marinette trailed off when she saw a yellow head poking out of Chloe’s bag. “Is...that your teddy bear?”

Chloe’s face immediately reddened and she snatched the bear from her bag, clutching it to her chest defensively. “His...his name is Mr. Cuddly. He helps me sleep at night.”

Marinette smiled. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed, Chloe. I can’t sleep unless I have my huge cat pillow with me-” she glared at Alya “-which I totally had before I met Chat Noir!”

“Uh huh, yeah. Then explain the Chat Noir doll.”

“I’ll explain the Chat doll if you explain your turtle plush.”

Alya’s face turned red as she stammered, “I-I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Marinette grinned wickedly and sprinted to her friend’s bag, pulling out a well-worn stuffed turtle. “Wha-where? How did Shelly get in there?”

“I convinced Etta to sneak it into your bag while you weren’t looking.” Alya leapt across the room and attempted to snatch the doll away from Marinette. “Admit you like Carapace and I’ll give it back!”

Chloe sat with Mr. Cuddly still held close to her chest, in awe at the impromptu game of Keep Away. She knew Alya and Marinette would have enjoyed the full spa treatment if fate hadn’t decided to show its ass, but they seemed so much more at ease in this setting: something small, intimate, humble. Personal. That was the word: personal. Everything around them had been assembled with love, from the snacks, to the makeshift bed scattered on the floor, and it occurred to Chloe, after Alya had retrieved Shelly from Marinette, that maybe that’s what real friendship is: it’s small, personal, built with love. Chloe smiled, the realization lifting a weight from her shoulders she hadn’t known she’d been carrying. She finally understood. She finally understood what friendship truly meant.

“So, uh,” Chloe finally spoke up, “what’s on the itinerary for this sleepover?”

Alya chuckled. “Itinerary? Chlo, you don’t plan fun, it just happens.”

Okay, she still had a few things to learn about sleepovers, but it’s still progress.

“Yeah, whenever me and Alya hang out, we basically do whatever we want: play video games, braid each others hair, paint our nails, talk about boys-” Alya cleared her throat “-and girls.” Chloe lifted an eyebrow and Marinette whispered, “She’s bi.”

Alya nodded. “We could play Truth or Dare, watch bad movies, whatever you want to do, Chlo.”

“Why would we watch bad movies?” Chloe asked.

Alya looked at Chloe as though the answer should be obvious. “To make fun of them! And I know Queen Bee’s rapier wit could be put to use there.”

And utilize it they did. They picked out a particularly bad American film about Santa getting kidnapped by aliens and Chloe tore it apart. All three of them were kicking about the floor, laughing until they cried, their kwamis flitting about with laughter above them. Next, Marinette taught Chloe how to braid hair, and introduced her to just how luxurious Alya’s hair was.

Soon after they’d started painting each other’s toenails, Alya’s phone chimed with an Akuma Alert. Chloe looked to Marinette, tension in her heart that only increased when the girl transformed, but it vanished when Marinette contacted Chat Noir and asked him and the others to handle the villain themselves. After Chat gave his Lady his word they’d do her proud, she dropped her transformation and continued to apply a thin coat of pink to her toes. Chloe smiled. They were finally going to have their weekend.

Alya stuffed another handful of chips into her mouth and said, “Ukeh, Cloeh, Troof uh Dehr?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, fox!” Chloe scolded, her eyes focused on the brush applying peacock blue polish to her nails. “But in any case, Truth.”

Alya swallowed and asked, “Who’s cuter: Nathanael or Plume Bleu?”

Chloe blanched. “Oh, that is so not fair! Isn’t there some rule that lets me change my decision once?”

“Okay, okay. You can switch to Dare if you want.”

“Fine.”

“I dare you to answer my Truth question.”

“Oh, screw you! Why are you even asking me this?”

Alya propped her chin on her fist and grinned. “You guys give me hell for my ‘crush’ on Carapace when I’m clearly dating Nino. And I’ve seen the way you look at Bleu. I think you have a thing for redheads, Chloe.”

Chloe blushed and answered, “Nath. Bleu’s cute too, but his preening and grandstanding can get a little annoying after a while.”

“Is that the only reason you like Nath better?” Marinette teased.

“Oh not you too! Besides, it’s my turn. Truth or Dare, Alya!”

“Fine. Dare.”

Chloe grinned. “I dare you to kiss Carapace next time you see him.”

Alya paled. “No way! I’m switching too.”

“Okay.” Chloe thought for a second until her eyes landed on Shelly. “Why do you have a turtle plush if you don’t have a crush on Carapace?”

The games continued like that for the next few hours, until nighttime had claimed Paris. The three of them joked, laughed, ate, and teased Chloe when they learned she had never had a potato chip before. As their energy wound down, Marinette went down into the kitchen and came back with three mugs of hot apple cider. Alya gathered some blankets and led the trio onto the balcony, where they lounged and chatted, gazing up at the Christmas stars.

“Thank you.”

Alya and Marinette turned their heads at Chloe’s barely whispered words.

“You two have no reason to be nice to me, after all the trouble I’ve given you, so I wanted to thank you for showing me what real friendship is like.” Chloe snuggled deeper into her blanket and inhaled the spice-ladened scent of her cider. “This entire night makes me feel like we should have been friends a long time ago. Maybe if I’d gotten my head out of my ass sooner, we could have.” She smiled. “I think that’s what I wanted this weekend to be. I wanted to make up for lost time.”

“I think we’ve done a good job of that,” Alya winked. “Don’t you, Mari?”

Marinette nodded. “This has been a fun night. But we’re still not done! Tomorrow morning, we get to eat Papa’s famous Christmas crepes and open presents and-”

The call of Notre Dame cracked through the night, cutting off Marinette’s words and making all three girls jump. They exchanged glances then broke into giggling fits as the bells continued to toll the midnight hour.

“Correction: today we get to do all that.” Marinette smiled at her friends. “Merry Christmas, girls.”

Chloe returned the smile, tears burning at the corners of her eyes, because here on her best friend’s balcony in the middle of the Parisian winter, she had never felt warmer in her life. “Merry Christmas, Marinette.”

#mlsecretsanta #chloe bourgeois #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #alya cesaire #ml spoilers #zed writes

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dameahalin · 4 years

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The Blackguards of Deepwatch III

Sir Caenarfon Corwen and Dame Paynifier Ahalin strode through the stinking mud of the war camp. Settled into the hillside, the banners of several houses and the Silver Hand seem to cling together in a desperate and defiant hodge podge of lively color. In the rising ground to the southeast was Tyr’s Hand, and to the north in all directions an impossible enemy, death itself, a plague creeping ever closer. The tall, black knights marched surely towards the section of the camp hung with the matching black and orange banners of the household they represented. Their tabards and armors wore the dull grime and dirt of a patrol done.

As the dark pair made their way to the checkpoint at the perimeter of their section of the camp it was clear things were abustle with energy. Sir Caenarfon, with his own boundless energy, never abided idleness in others, but today’s chores looked to be done with a hurried purpose. Arms and armor being counted, repaired and sorted. Field rations, medical supplies, and camp tools packed. It all had the look of a force about to take its leave and march elsewhere. Caenarfon and Paynifier shared a look, eyebrows cocked questioningly to one another. Before they could even reach the checkpoint, the sentries were hailing them.

“Sir Corwen, Dame Ahalin!” The sentry called, saluting the knightly pair with energy, “A messenger came through not two glasses ago. Captain Lanshire wants to meet with you at the command tent, immediately.”

“Aye, did he say what news, Corlen?” Caenarfon’s blue eyes lit with curiosity as he queried the sentry.

“Nay, just has us preping to march, Sir.”

“Thank you, private,” was Caenarfon’s reply, an approving smile briefly flashed to the sentries before he and Paynifier wordlessly broke into a jog towards the large tent in the center of the camp, bedecked with black and orange banners depicting the setting sun over the water.

Ducking into the flap of the tent, Caenarfon and Paynifier were greeted by the grim face of Captain Guillaume Lanshire, and his squire Bastien Marchand. Captain Guillaume was a knight of some age, probably greater than Caenarfon’s own fifty years. His tan face a maze of scars and wrinkles, and squinted eyes of a hard to tell what color, which probably was hazel. The lined face was as a map of the history of war. Like Caenarfon he grew greyed sideburns and mutton chops, but his were cropped short and looked more like the properly kept hair of a warrior. His squire, Bastien, came from some household that was not fortunate enough to send their spare spare to be fostered elsewhere, no doubt.

“There’s our crusading paladins. We went looking for you two over an hour glass ago. Where in the Black Morass were you?” The greeting had familiarity with its sardonic bite. Sir Guillaume had been assigned to serve Caenarfon with the family’s troops years ago in the first conflict with the orcs in the far south. He never gave much explanation for how he’d ended up the right hand of the Baron’s most hated knight, but said he’d once taken Caenarfon’s side in an argument.

“Ho, Will, what is going on?” Caenarfon replied with his own question, his and Paynifier’s attention immediately focusing upon the young man sitting in one of the folding stools in the tent. Wrapped in a blanket, he seemed to be shaking, barely keeping a grip upon a mug of mulled wine in his hands. He was gaunt, skin with a dull grey cast, and his dull eyes bore a haunted expression.

“This messenger came through from Deepwatch. He told me much of the news. Scourge have been sighted near there.” Guillaume gestured to the young man, who set down his drink with his shaky hand, and slowly rose and offered Caenarfon an unsteady bow and sealed messenger tube.

“I’m so sorry, Milord. I came as fast as I could… I thought… I thought the others would have gotten here first.” The wavering voice of the messenger seemed on edge of breaking down.

Caenarfon accepted the scroll with a gentle expression, his out of control mustaches easily dissolving his face into that of a friendly mongrel dog instead of a dire knight. The message tube was sealed with the signet of Baron Vonthros of Deepwatch. A miserable, rocky chunk of land far off on the northwest coast of Tirisfal. He attempted to correct the youth’s address, “Sir. Just, Sir, lad. I’m a Knight of the Silver Hand.” The young man simply looked more confused and Caenarfon inquired, “Your name, lad?”

“Gilles Pierre, Milord, Sir,” was the messenger's shaky reply. He seemed to waver slightly standing before Caenarfon.

“Are you injured, Gilles?” Asked Caenarfon with concern, and pulling his hand from his gauntlet, he held it out before the youth’s clammy brow, “May I?” he asked. The young man looked at Caenarfon with wide, frightened eyes. Clearly not understanding the reason for the question, but being afraid to decline the dark knight’s request, he just nodded.

“Light’s strength and life be upon you, and heal you from your long journey,” intoned Caenarfon in a priest-like blessing. Light extended from his hand and at its touch the messenger's ashen color improved, and he stood steadier. The youth gaped, not expecting such a touch from one of the Baron’s Blackguards.

Caenarfon’s attention had already turned to the message he held, evidently confident in his healing of the lad. He made a vague wave of his hand to encourage Gilles to be seated again as he read. His bright blue eyes scanned the scroll alertly, and tall and lean Paynifier unabashedly attempted to read the letter over Caenarfon’s shoulder. While he read, he briskly inquired of the messenger, “You said there were other messengers sent from Deepwatch?”

“Aye, Milord.”

“Sir.”

“Um, aye, Milord Sir. One when the woodsman first said there was trouble. Then three of us all with copies of that you got after the tidesage got lost.”

“Seems the other messengers were to take the more direct northern routes,” Captain Guillaume remarked.

Caenarfon raised a bushy eyebrow to Gilles, who sat, looking more hale and healthy, but not any more comfortable for his situation. “Is this so, lad?” He queried for confirmation.

“Aye, I was told to go straight south, then follow the road to Southshore. Went up Chillwind pass, but folks said to avoid Andorhal. It looked real bad. So I went along the lake. Was no trouble, plenty of boats left behind. I just rowed across and got back on the road east of the river ‘till Corin’s Crossin’. That was bad, too.” Gilles’ eyes grew wider and he seemed to shrink and shiver more into his seat as he gazed at Caenarfon. “I came as fast east as I could, Milord, Sir. I really did… the others never came?” His voice wavered.

“I am sorry, lad, they did not make it. You did well to come all this way with this dire news. It was valiantly done. Go now, Squire Bastien will see that you get some warm food and a place to rest. I thank you for your service.” Caenarfon praised and dismissed Gilles with a kindly expression. The worried messenger rose, and bowed deeply, perhaps looking somewhat relieved the bad news he had carried so far was taken so well, though his eyes had the watery look of barely contained tears. The squire escorted the lad out.

Dame Paynifier looked after the messenger with pity, but as soon as he and the squire were gone from the tent, her expression turned to fury. She turned to the two elder knights and spoke with a voice that barely contained her exasperated fire, “What is the Scourge doing out there? There is nothing of value for them! For anyone in that waste of rocks and woods.”

“Indeed Sister, all action of late has seemed to point to the east here.” Caenarfon considered, a hand absently twisting his mustache.

“Nothing left out here, except trees, trolls and elves,” grumbled Guillaume.

“Don’t the elves claim that they cannot be turned by the Scourge? Something about magic and their connection to their soul?” Pondered Paynifier, a skeptical eyebrow raised.

“So they might like to think, hard to say, elves are so full of shit.” Guillaume answered with a roll of his eyes.

Caenarfon remained quiet in thought, as both Paynifier and Guillaume looked to him with interest. He then spoke, “Trees, trolls and elves; the east may be a more valuable prize with all its ancient civilizations, magics and artifacts than our humble fishing community.” He shook his head and continued on with his typical energy to his two comrades, “The point of why is moot for now, it does not matter why the Scourge is threatening Deepwatch, only that they are.” He offered the scroll with the letter to Guillaume, who read it with a terse expression.

“It is as the boy said, it was the woodsman who saw them in the forest near one of the cabins. Thought they may have gotten some drifters squatting out there.” Guillaume commented as he read.

“Zombies in a haunted wood sounds like the typical campfire nonsense the woodsfolk would come up with. Has anyone else confirmed these undead sightings? Folks could just be making up stories after hearing about Stratholme and the King.” Remarked Paynifier skeptically. After Guillaume was finished with his reading, he handed the message to her, so that she could read it properly.

“It also seems Brother Ovar, that tidesage our Lord Baron always took issue with may also have been claimed victim.” Noted Caenarfon as the scroll passed hands and the contents digested. “They got in another row about Ovar’s false weather predictions and My Lord Baron told him to ‘walk to Gilneas and take the next ship back to Stormsong.’ They sent the woodsmen to look for the tidesage after the ghouls in the woods were reported, but never found sign of him on the south road.”

“The messenger didn’t mention seeing anything of him, either.” Commented Guillaume, “Wouldn’t he have gone the same way? Regardless, as I’m sure you two have gathered, I have instructed the men to prepare to pack up and march.”

“Aye, Captain, thank you. We’ll leave as soon as…”

“Wait.” Dame Paynifier’s dark eyes narrowed and her voice was fierce, “You aren’t actually thinking of going?”

“You are not thinking of not, Sister?” Came Caenarfon’s quick reply, sounding honestly curious.

“It is hopeless, there is no way we could possibly reach Deepwatch in time, assuming the Scourge were plotting to take it when this was written. We’d have to march the men around the south way, that the messenger came, or we’d be heading our own army of ghouls before we got there.” Paynifier continued her argument to ask the two older knights, “If we did somehow make it in time to engage the Scourge, what possible good could a cohort of foot, two paladins, and a knight and his squire do against a full on Scourge attack?”

“Quite a bit of good, I’d say, if any company could make a decent dent, it would be ours. We’ve been practicing. The men can handle this.” Guillaume blustered in response with pride. He and Caenarfon had been schooling their footmen with the monster hunting tools and techniques from the islands. Bedecked with silver, wards, and explosive fire, they had proven some success against the endless tides of undead.

“All the more reason we can’t leave the Alliance and Silver Hand here. We have to stick together and hold this plague in the north. Splitting up willy nilly on our own ventures will only weaken the whole. Isn’t that right, Caen?” Paynifier looked to Caenarfon for some desperate confirmation, but instead saw only a placid frown on the mustachioed face. The dark dame’s argument then took on a bitter note, as she asserted, “Our Lord Baron sent us away. Let us stay where we are needed, instead of defending him from his follies and politics with the tidesages. Deepwatch is not unguarded. The rest of the Knights of the Blackguard are there.”

“The Alliance is dead, your precious holy knighthood is dead, our barony is all we have left, and you would leave it for dead!” Objected Guillaume with fury that outmatched the dark woman’s own. “Listen, you ungrateful bastard, some of us have families there we wish to defend.”

The stinging truth stabbed at Paynifier, and her dark glare bore into the older knight as she snapped back bitterly, “Fine, the we can all be dead in the edge of nowhere together, and let this plague continue to seep south.”

“Never struck me as a coward, Ahalin,” returned Guillaume with a sneer to his jab, apparently not done poking at the paladin.

Before anything more could be said, Caenarfon held up his hands, and broke in with a calm and firm voice, “Brother, Sister, please. There is no sense arguing, it is decided for us. Our Lord Baron Vonthros orders our return, so we shall, and so we must. Our Baron knows our company stands as the best defense against the undead he can hope for. I am sorry to leave, to abandon our comrades, work and research here, but we are now called to put theory and training to the test.”

Captain Guillaume looked smug, and Dame Paynifier fumed. In her quiet, her expression turned more pensive, though what murder was being considered behind her dark brown eyes was a mystery. Guillaume looked eager to depart from the tent as he turned to Caenarfon, “I’ll see that the preparations to break camp and march are fully underway, Sir.”

“Wait,” said Paynifier, more calmly than she had spoken before, “Caen, if we are going back to defend Deepwatch, you and I should take the north way and ride ahead.”

Caenarfon cocked his head at her with a bushy eyebrow rising, and questioned, “You think it wise now to split us from the main body, Sister?”

“No, but it is the only way anyone might possibly get there in time. Good our men may be, but distance and time guard the Scourge in this action. You and I on horse going the shortest distance and unburdened by the cohort and its train can reach Deepwatch in a fraction of the time.” Paynifier laid out her solution to the problem that plagued the entire would be defense of their barony. Sir Caenarfon stood quietly, considering Paynifier.

“That’s crazy. Two paladins ride straight through the heart of the plaguelands. Can you even?” The Captain looked from Caenarfon to Paynifier as he questioned them.

Paynifier took a deep breath, and regarded Sir Guillaume with barely concealed annoyance. It was thus far the blessing and curse the paladins of the Silver Hand had suffered. While other humans around them would fall ill to the incurable, impossible, plague of undeath, the paladins remained hale, in health, and unable to do anything to halt the horrible fate of the afflicted around them. It was hard to say, following their spat, if Guillaume’s question was an honest one, or another shot at her lack of virtue. She replied grimly to Guillaume, “I am a knight of the Silver Hand. I will endure.”

Caenarfon nodded with energy and approval, “We will indeed. We have been patrolling the plaguelands together since Stratholme.” The elder paladin chewed on his oversized mustache and then decided, “I don’t like it, splitting from the rest of the force and leaving you without paladin support, Will, but Sister Paynifier is right. The call for help may already be too late. She and I can join with the defense or if nothing else, scout the situation, and meet back up with you and the cohort.”

“Aye, I’d prefer you paladins with us, but you’ll both go faster through the north on horse than even our fastest march through the relative safety of the south. Provided no surprises.” Guillaume looked to Caenarfon and Paynifier with concern, “There are things out there bigger than two paladins.”

“We’ll be careful.” Remarked Paynifier, a bit of a cocky smirk made it through the grim expression she wore.

Caenarfon nodded, and then offered a warm expression and forged on in his priestly, enthusiastic manner, “Light grant us all a safe trip. Let’s pack it up. Sister Paynifier and I can leave ahead of you all at first light.”

“Hah, I’ll have us ready to go at dawn,'' boasted Captain Guillaume. “We’ll give you two a damned race.”

With that the group split with all haste to prepare.

#paladins #Scourge #knights #undead #plaguelands #Lordaeron

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pamphletstoinspire · 7 years

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Angry with God

My older sister Patricia died of spina bifida before I was born. My younger sister Linda died of spina bifida when I was 3. Given that I was raised in a traditional, stoic, Irish-Catholic family, my sisters and their deaths were never talked about. In fact, I didn’t even know they existed until I was 5 and found their names in our family Bible. “Who are these people?” I asked my mother.

“They are your sisters”—that was all she said.

As I grew, I thought about them a lot. Eventually, I began to ask my mother why God did this to our family. She said simply that some crosses were heavier to carry than others. Somehow that answer and the related resignation didn’t work for me. And so I began to become angry. Specifically, I began to become angry with God.

For most of my youth, I felt this anger was wrong, sinful. Yet it didn’t go away. I encountered more and more suffering that did not make sense. A friend lost both his parents by the eighth grade. A very good priest dropped dead of a heart attack. The brother of a friend died in Vietnam.

As I began my work as a psychologist, I would touch on spiritual matters with my clients. I found that I was not alone in my anger. Worse, I met people whose explanations for tragedy were heartbreaking.

One woman, for example, believed that her prayers for a dying daughter did not work because her prayers were “not worthy of God’s attention.” Even my own father, as he dealt with a series of strokes, told me they were “punishment for my sins.” As I heard such struggles, I felt more and more that, because of anger, I was bound to grow away from my faith. Then I read the Book of Job.

Job: Not Merely Silent Suffering

Given that the Catholicism of my youth did not include a great deal of biblical study, I knew very little about Job other than the phrase “the patience of Job.” When I read this marvelous book, I realized among other things that Job was hardly patient. In fact, like me, he was angry!

The story of Job begins with a bet. Satan is arguing with God, saying that faith is easy when everything is going well in one’s life, but that people tend to lose that faith when times are tough. He then brings up Job, pointing out that Job has great faith but is also very comfortable and successful. But suppose, suggests Satan, that Job falls on hard times: Will he then be so faithful? God gives Satan permission to take away everything of Job’s but not to harm him. Satan does this, but Job holds on to his faith. So Satan ups the ante by asking God to let him harm Job directly.

And so Job ends up homeless, penniless, and afflicted with horrible skin diseases. He begins to seek an explanation from God. In fact, Job demands an explanation!

Job’s friends show up and offer standard explanations for his troubles. “You must have sinned,” suggests one. “You haven’t prayed hard enough,” says another. And yet Job continues his outcry, ultimately demanding that God show up and explain himself.

And God shows up! Granted, God tends to put Job in his place and never really answers Job’s “Why?” question. But the important points are that God shows up and that he never punishes Job for his outcry.

But Why, Lord?

I think the Book of Job is there to encourage us to embrace our outcries, not suppress them; and to struggle with the “Why?” question, not dismiss it. And so, somewhat timidly, I began to allow myself that anger.

It soon became clear to me that I needed to explore my anger at several levels. The most immediate level was the “Why?” question that was a large part of my youth. As I began to read, I found out that the “Why?” question has in fact given rise to a specific area of theological study called theodicy. Specifically, theodicy examines the issue of how an all-good, all-loving God can permit evil.

As I explored my anger, I came across the book May I Hate God? by Pierre Wolff. Despite its provocative title, this is a very gentle-spirited book that reminds us that God is a loving parent; and that loving parents, upon learning that their child is angry with them, want to hear about the anger—not necessarily condone it, but hear about it. This opened up to me the awareness that, when I am angry with God, my tendency is to express that anger in the same way I do at a human level. I shut down and use the “silent treatment.”

Novelist Joseph Heller put it another way in his novel God Knows. King David is reflecting on whether he is angry with God and concludes, “I’m not angry with God. We’re just not speaking to one another.” So it was with me and the God of my understanding.

In any case, Wolff’s book helped me to accept my anger. But I still struggled with the “Why?” question. Other thinkers offered helpful insights. Viktor Frankl did not answer this question, but he observed that, while we don’t always have a choice over what happens to us, we always have a choice regarding how we face it. Similarly, Rabbi Harold Kushner, in his well-regarded When Bad Things Happen to Good People, offered what for me was a novel idea—that perhaps God wasn’t responsible for some of the bad things that happened to us.

At first, Kushner’s notion was comforting. Maybe God wasn’t behind my sisters’ illnesses or children with cancer or senseless random shootings. Maybe those things just happened. Somehow that thought made me fear God less. Yet the thought that perhaps God wasn’t behind all bad things that happened created another question articulated by Annie Dillard, who wrote in For the Time Being, “If God does not cause everything that happens, does God cause anything that happens? Is God completely out of the loop?”

My anger at God brought me to wrestle with some important issues. It challenged me to reexamine my image of God. Did I see God as punitive, misreading the Old Testament? Did I see him as loving, as in many New Testament stories? Did I see him as uninvolved, caring for the big picture and leaving the details to us, as the Oh, God! films suggest?

My anger also brought me face-to-face with my struggles about prayer. Does God answer prayers? Clearly not all prayers. It’s been said that there are many unanswered prayers at deathbeds. If God doesn’t answer all prayers, to follow Dillard, does he answer any prayers?

These struggles have been productive, prodding me toward a more mature understanding of God, as well as a more clear appreciation for prayer. But I still come face-to-face with my anger.

A Personal Encounter with God

Over the past few years, I have read the entire Bible three times. It has been a truly enlightening experience. I saw clearly that Job wasn’t the only one to argue with God. Abraham did it; Moses did it; even Jesus did it! I was in good company.

I saw, too, that David’s Psalms were at times outcries. Within the poetry, one can hear the oppressed poet yelling out to God, “Do something!”

I’ve learned from my many clients who sit and try to understand tragedies in their lives. In asking these great teachers, “Are you angry with God?” I’ve heard many instructive answers. One woman wrestling with a lifethreatening illness said, “Of course I’m angry with God! But he’s God. He can take it!” Another very spiritual young woman observed, “No, I’m not angry. But I sure would like to have a peek at his operations manual.”

Harold Kushner recently published a piece on the Book of Job titled The Book of Job: When Bad Things Happened to a Good Person. It is a literate and scholarly book that offered me a new note of comfort. Kushner suggests that Job is comforted and consoled not so much by God’s explanation but by the encounter itself. Job deeply experienced God’s presence and took comfort in that meaningful experience. I found a note of personal truth in this thought. I realized that, yes, I’ve had meaningful encounters with God in nature or in the world of great art or in the sound of my grandchildren’s laughter.

But I realized that I have also encountered God in my anger in a way that has been profound. As I voice that anger, I feel God in a manner as profound as, albeit different from, my experience of God in nature.

The story of this journey of anger has a more recent turn to it, one with which I am still dealing. I recently saw an episode of The West Wing, a program from the early 2000s starring Martin Sheen as a fictional president. Prior to this episode, the president had lost a much-loved secretary in a senseless car accident. After the funeral, he stands alone in the National Cathedral and unleashes an anger that shocked me. As an example, his character refers to God as a “vengeful thug.”

I felt I’d long validated the importance of anger in my relationship with God, yet I found myself uncomfortable with the intensity of President Bartlett’s anger. But, upon reflection, I understood it. My anger is more than annoyance or disappointment—at times it is rage. Yet, out of fear, I withhold that rage and instead, like David in Heller’s novel, stop talking to my God or at least temper my feelings. Yet, when I allow myself to approach that rage, I find God waiting for me.

And so I come face-to-face with the God of my understanding. Is that God a vengeful parent who will not tolerate my anger and will punish me for speaking up? Such was the God of my youth. Or is the God of my understanding a loving God willing to wrestle with me, willing to accept my vented rage in the name of open, ongoing dialogue and genuine encounter? And do I have the courage to fully embrace this understanding of God and remain in dialogue in the midst of my rage?

The great Jewish scholar Abraham Joshua Heschel once wrote, “God stands in a passionate relationship with Man.” Anyone who has lived in a longterm, passionate relationship learns that passion is a package deal. You can’t have the joy and ecstasy unless you also accept and embrace the anger and alienation. I’ve dealt with several couples who say they don’t fight. But they are in my office because their relationship is stagnant. Without the struggle, there is no passionate intimacy.

The Path of Relationship

I realize at this point that, for me to have a joyful, peaceful, vibrant relationship with the God of my understanding, I must also embrace the rage. Not just annoyance, but rage!

And so, as I struggle, I return to reflect on my mother’s faith in the face of tragedy. I see that her faith was not some passive, shoulder-shrugging, “Oh well, it could be worse” type of faith. Throughout her life, she believed not only in the power of prayer but also in the persistence of that prayer. Like the woman in the parable seeking justice, she would not quietly plead or go away. Rather, she would “storm heaven with prayers.” Nor did she let tragic loss engender cynicism: on her deathbed and with absolute certainty and joyful anticipation, she said, “I’m going to see my girls.”

And yet I know my path is one of wrestling and arguing. It occurs to me that perhaps within the mystical body of Christ, we both play a part. People like my mother indeed inspire me to not lose hope and to continue to believe that understanding God’s mysterious way is possible.

But perhaps people like me—the questioners, the wrestlers—help others not to lapse into passive, depressed resignation. Perhaps in encouraging others to “fight back,” we help them experience real encounters with God. Perhaps we wrestlers help others to hope that our pain and anguish do matter. And perhaps together we can link arms and sing those words of Job offered not as an answer but in hopeful expectation: “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord!”

Richard B. Patterson, Phd, is a clinical psychologist and freelance writer from El Paso, Texas.

#angry with god

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geek-patient-zero · 5 years

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Part 1, Chapter 6

Or: Phantomas of Notre Dame

Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Death Trilogy Volume 1

Paris—March 12, 1994

The official smile of Paris is the sneer. The rich sneer at the middle class. The middle class sneer at the poor. And they all sneer at the hordes of tourists who flood their city each year.

I’ve actually remembered these lines since I first read them as a kid. I don’t know why, beyond it being Baby’s First French Stereotype Joke, but I did. I forgot what book they were from though, so when I reread Blood War and found them again, it was a nice surprise.

Their mockery, according to the guidebooks, is part of the charm of Paris. The city, with it’s great restaurants, fabulous museums, superb monuments, and long history, breeds contempt for the lesser achievements surrounding it. The average Parisian citizen considers himself far superior to anyone from outside the city.

It’s only Paris being singled out here, but still, I want to apologize to any French readers. It isn’t going to get much better for you guys in this book. But hey, at least your capital city isn’t a gang warzone.

That attitude explains, at least in theory, the joy the natives get from telling tales of the Phantom of the Paris Opera.

Not only are Parisians assholes, but they bug you into reading their Phantom of the Opera fanfics.

There’s some cliffnotes about the story (written by Gaston Leroux, demented genius living under the Paris Opera, hideously scarred, etc.), then we learn the titular Phantom is the French equivalent of Australia’s drop bears: a made up monster they tell gullible American tourists about to fuck with them.

Parisians loved to elaborate on the fantasy for gullible tourists, saying how, though he had reportedly been destroyed, the body of Eric, the Phantom, had never been found. And that every year, a few unwary tourists to the Opera House disappeared without a trace.

It was typical malicious Parisian humor. Often, the story was accompanied with a breathless attempt to sell bootleg souvenirs such as an authentic map of the catacombs or a page from the score of the Phantom’s infamous lost opera.

Or those little Mickey Mouse paper dolls that supposedly dance to music but are just attached to a motor by an invisible string. My ma fell for that one.

I don’t know if Parisians in real life actually do this, but it wouldn’t surprise me. I hear the Louvre used to give The Da Vinci Code themed tours. This sounds more fun than that, and less soul-crushing.

I admit that I’ve never read The Phantom of the Opera. I saw the play on an elementary school field trip to Broadway, but I barely remember it. I know the book begins with an intro where Leroux claims it’s a true story, but I figured it’s a true story the way The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a true story. I looked it up anyway, just so I don’t look like an uncultured moron if I dismissed it and was wrong. Turns out, the story was inspired by a real incident at the Paris Opera where a chandelier counterweight (not the chandelier itself) fell down and killed someone. There was a crackpot theory at the time that the accident was actually an assassination attempt. That’s something I didn’t know. Guess I owe Weinberg one for getting me to learn something.

Back to the story. Parisians like to use the Phantom to fuck with tourists, but there are other stories they don’t tell them. Stories that poor shopkeepers tell each other behind closed doors like the superstitious European peasant stereotypes they pretend they aren’t. Stories that were handed down from generation to generation about unexplained disappearances plaguing the Île de la Cité (aka the place where the Notre Dame cathedral is).

Common to every narrative was the same name. A title that when said aloud could cause the most elegant Parisian to blanch in terror.

What, Quasimodo’s some kind of French cryptid too? I know the original book character wasn’t as nice as the Disney version, and he’d be an obvious candidate for a Nosferatu (or a Ravnos if you wanna be a dick) but he was hardly-

Phantomas.

Oh. Alright, yeah, different literary character, but I can go along with it.

Officially, the French Sûreté (cops, pigs, po-po, babylon) dismiss such rumors as the insane ramblings of demented poets living on the West Bank. No mention is made of a file, five inches thick, hidden deep in the files of police headquarters. Contained in it are hundreds of reports, dating back a hundred and fifty years to the time of Chief Inspector Vidocq, detailing the circumstances surrounding hundreds of disappearances in the vicinity of the famous cathedral of Notre Dame.

I bet at least one report blames Quasimodo.

One actual report is a six page article, never made public, by a historical commission about the hundreds of myths and legends surrounding the church, all connected by a ghostly figure seen in the Cathedral at night. I’ll give you one guess at what it actually is.

Though he is called by a dozen different names in the tales, he is always described as incredibly ugly. And a drinker of human blood.

Yep. A goddamn mage.

In turn-of-the-century France, the vampire’s name had gained such notoriety that a series of mystery thrillers featuring an arch-fiend called Fantomas became best-sellers. None of the stories explained the origin of the mastermind. Or why he preyed on the citizens of Paris. They were works of fiction, not fact.

In case old French pulp isn’t your thing, Fantomas, spelled with an F, was a character created in 1911 by Marcel Allain and Pierre Souvestre. He’s a master criminal like Arsène Lupin, except instead of a gentleman thief he was a sadistic murderer and Grade-A pure evil bastard. There’s nothing supernatural about Fantomas. He’s just a regular human who’s really good at murder, framing innocent people for said murder, and getting away with it. Apparently, thanks to the 1960′s film trilogy, he’s usually remembered in French pop culture wearing a blue mask that covers his entire head.

You can see how that guy would inspire a Nosferatu character. Also Destro from G.I. Joe.

But as just explained, in this setting it’s the other way around. And despite being portrayed as what the French call “a homicidal piece of shit”, the “real-life” Phantomas is a big fan of the stories.

The subject of these various novels, reports, and studies found them all vastly amusing. He had enjoyed the Fantomas novels immensely and had even sent the author several anonymous letters suggesting future ideas for plots. To his intense disappointment, none of his ideas had ever been used. Once or twice he had mentally debated visiting the novelist to plead his case. But Phantomas suspected his physical appearance might do his cause more harm than good.

That... is goddamn fucking adorable. He’s just been introduced and I already hope he survives the trilogy and discovers online fanfiction.

The vampire readily acknowledged his ugliness. Standing exactly five feet tall, with skin wrinkled as a prune, eyes like raisins, and a nose the size and shape of a sweet potato, he had caused more than one drunken Parisian to swear off red wine forever. A gaping mouthful of yellow teeth and bulging red eyes propelled his face out of the realm of the bizarre into the domain of the grotesque.

Eh. Someone in this fandom would still bang him.

Wait, eyes that were both “like raisins” and “bulging”? How does that work?

Phantomas is the Nosferatu on the cover of the second book of this trilogy, if you want a visual reference.

See, he’s even still got some hair. He’s not that bad looking.

Phantomas might enjoy the fiction he inspired about a murderer, but he’s not happy about being blamed for real murders of innocent people, regarding it as “cheap slander”. The centuries of recorded disappearances were the results of more natural and obvious crimes.

While he occasionally satisfied his thirst on some poor unfortunate, Phantomas rarely killed innocents if it could be avoided. A quiet, gentle soul, all he wanted was to be left alone in his underground lair, pursuing his research.

Over the years a host of villains had used his presence on the Île de la Cité as an alibi for their murders. Their victims ended, not in his hideaway, but dumped in the Seine. Most had escaped the guillotine. However, Phantomas was less forgiving. And his justice was as sharp and final as any blade.

So other than a few accidents, the only people Phantomas “disappeared” were the criminals responsible for the rest of them.

Phantomas isn’t thinking about that dark business right now. He’s feeling great because he’s on his way to a party. The Prince of Paris, one Francois Villon, holds court once a month, and today’s such a day. Villon’s both a Toreador elder and French, so obviously he holds court in the Louvre.

Dozens of Kindred, along with several hundred of the Prince’s favorite ghouls and kine, attended the festivities. This evening the Prince entertained an important Tremere wizard visiting from Vienna. Phantomas loved such events. Though never invited, he never missed one.

There goes my heart, breaking for poor old Phantomas again...

But this time the snub isn’t a case of a Toreador being a snob to a Nosferatu. Villon just doesn’t know Phantomas exists.

The Prince was under the mistaken impression that he was the oldest, most powerful vampire in the City of Lights. He was neither. Phantomas had come to the Île de la Cité with the invading legions of Julius Caesar in 53 B.C.

I should apologize to the French again. Turns out Phantomas isn’t one of you guys. He’s a nice Italian man.

From here we’re launched into Phantomas’ pre-Phantomas backstory. In life he was Varro Dominus (Strong Ruler or Master), a young noble and soldier who worked under Caesar himself, and was in charge of recording his military campaigns. Ceasar’s legions arrived in the Île de la Cité, then called Lutetia, using it as a stepping stone across the Seine. Unfortunately for Varro, living among the easily conquered native tribesmen, pretending to be a forest god, was a fifth-generation Nosferatu named Urgahalt. The invading legions fascinated Urgahalt, what with their military strength, impressive latin names, and neat centurion helmets, and he Embraced Varro so he could introduce him into Roman society.

There’s an obvious flaw in this plan, since it’s difficult for a guy to introduce you to his culture when you’ve just made him an outcast from that culture, turning him into a shriveled prune monster with a sweet potato nose. And Varro knew it too. The Romans, or at least Varro, knew more about Kindred (or lemures, as they called vampires) than Urgahalt realized, including how to kill them. Pissed that bumping into this guy cost him his life and career, Varro staked him in the heart and turned him into a bonfire.

Convincing the legions to take him back would be a hard sell now, so Varro stayed behind on the island, pretty much never leaving during the millennia as modern Paris rose up around the guy.

He was as much a part of the city as the Eiffel Tower.

Which undersells Phantomas quite a bit since the Eiffel Tower’s only been around since 1889, but you get the point.

Turning into an ugly son of a bitch also turned Phantomas into the ultimate introvert, aside from those parties he likes attending. He stays hidden from everyone, including other vampires. Even other Nosferatu.

More than two hundred Kindred inhabited Paris and its suburbs. The Toreador Clan held control of the central city, but several other bloodlines roamed the streets, including rebel bands of Brujah, Gangrel, and Malkavians. Rumors spoke of a Sabbat pack anxious to spread dissension and revolt, with headquarters in the slums. At least a half-dozen Nosferatu lived in lairs beneath major museums and churches [sic] Yet even among the Kindred Phantomas was a legend, an unseen presence with no basis in reality. He was a phantom to the living and the undead.

Good call. If Parisians are like how the opening paragraphs describe them, I wouldn’t want to talk to them either.

In order to stay hidden, Phantomas lives in a huge underground lair hundreds of feet under Notre Dame, connected by a network of tunnels that stretched across Paris. He’s also a master of Obfuscate, the discipline that allows vampires, especially Nosferatu, to go around unnoticed, commonly by turning invisible. Right now, in order to get into the party, Phantomas is using the Mask of a Thousand Faces, the third-tier Obfuscate power that disguises a vampire as a random nobody human or an unimportant vampire, depending on whose looking at him. Looks like it also lets you pretend to hold an invitation and get away with it.

Shortly after midnight, he strolled past the two Assamites guarding the glass pyramid that served as entrance to the Louvre. They nodded without interest as he displayed an imaginary invitation and walked into the main hall.

That pyramid pissed a lot of older Parisians off when it was first built. Yeah, they complain about everything, but since the artsy-fartsy Toreador control the city, you’d think they would’ve prevented its construction. Unless the pyramid’s a Toreador idea, in which case no wonder everyone hated it.

(Parisians are over hating the pyramid these days, so don’t mention it unless you want them to think you’re in their city for one of those Da Vinci Code tours.)

Phantomas muttered a word of thanks to his Roman gods that Villon considered electronic monitoring devices provincial. His psychic camouflage worked flawlessly with humans and vampires. It was useless against cameras or television monitors.

The Louvre doesn’t have any security cameras? None at all?

In Phantomas’ opinion, the Prince was a pompous dandy who wouldn’t recognize true art if it hit him in the face.

Looks like Phantomas agrees with me about Toreador tastes in art.

Master of the Louvre, the finest art collection in history, Villon ignored the treasures of the past for the ephemeral pleasures of the moment.

Alright, In Villon’s defense, I think grandpa here might have some bias.

His mercurial tastes dominated the Parisian fashion scene. He surrounded himself with the most beautiful models in Paris, blood dolls who sipped on blood and dreamed of immortality. Like too many of the Kindred, Villon had never come to terms with his undeath.

I like Phantomas and all, but it’s not Villon sneaking into one of his parties, so what right does he have being judgmental?

But I think I get what Phantomas is thinking. Villon owns one of the most famous historical art museums in the world, but he only cares about celebrity shit and making beautiful but angry-looking women wear weird shit nobody else will actually wear.

The party was being held in the glass-roofed Cour Marley, but Phantomas was in no hurry to go there. Though he had visited the Louvre many times, he never skipped the opportunity to visit the galleries housing the Greek, Roman, and Egyptian antiquities. The museum housed perhaps the finest such collection in the world and, though Phantomas had the face and body of a monster, he possessed the soul of a poet.

This is the real reason he loves these parties so much, isn’t it. Grandpa just wants an excuse to visit the museum for like the billionth time.

Ten minutes he spent staring at the Venus de Milo.

Art appreciation, or the closest he gets to seeing boobs?

He walks around admiring other things, like “Winged Victory of Samothrace”, “Winged Bull”, and the statue of Queen Nefertiti.

The bust of Agrippa drew him to the Roman section. The famous general, the hero of Actium, had served Octavius, the grandnephew of his mentor, Julius Caesar. Staring at the statue made him feel old. Two thousand years separated him from his heritage.

I feel the same way whenever I meet someone born after Spongebob Squarepants first aired.

If not for a chance encounter in Gaul, his children might have fought against Mark Anthony. Or served in the Senate with Cicero.

Not if you stared at potential mothers the way you stared at the Venus de Milo and Agrippa’s bust.

He finishes his tour and finally heads to the party. If you’ve been paying attention to the plot, you know what’s about to happen.

As he drew closer to the courtyard, he frowned. There was no music. Villon’s parties always featured a loud rock band playing the latest hits. Tonight, the corridors were strangely silent.

Nirvana was supposed to play “About a Girl” but Villon kicked them out when Cobain let his turtles wander around and shit everywhere.

A tall, young man slender [sic], with blond hair and bright blue eyes, stood in front of the door leading to the Cour Marley. Dressed in a white suit with an open-necked white shirt, he nodded in greeting as Phantomas approached. It was almost as if he had been waiting for [sic] there for him.

Weinberg’s editor must’ve quit before getting to this chapter, after reading the part about Flavia’s rock hard leather-penetrating nipples. Also, ‘sup Reuben? What’ve you been doing the past two years?

Reuben doesn’t introduce himself. He just warns Phantomas not to go in. Phantomas is shocked that a human is talking to him at all. Mask of a Thousand Faces is supposed to disguise him as someone so boring not even Kindred are interested starting a conversation with him

“The Final Death waits inside,” continued the stranger, evidently not troubled by Phantomas’ concerns. “If you enter, you may never leave.”

“I am no coward,” stated the vampire simply. “After twenty centuries, I fear very little.”

Let’s see if that lasts longer than a page.

The young man smiled. “I suspected you would say that.” He stepped to the side. “Beware the Red Death, Phantomas.”

“Who are you?” asked Phantomas, startled. “How do you know my name?”

But the stranger had vanished. It was as if he had never been there.

Good old Reuben, scaring an old man, the trolling bastard.

Successfully freaked out, Phantomas opens the courtyard doors. To no one’s surprise, everyone’s dead. Even the regular non-ghoul humans.

The smell of charred and blackened human flesh assaulted his nostrils. A horrified glance around the courtyard revealed a dozen bodies of Villon’s favorites, their beautiful features burned beyond recognition. The fashion runways of Paris would be missing a number of familiar faces tomorrow. Mixed among the dead were the remains of twice as many ghouls. Nowhere was there life.

How he’s able to tell the models and ghouls apart, I don’t know.

Villon was gone. As were all other Kindred. However, dark shadows on the ground indicated to Phantomas that more than one had departed the Louvre permanently.

Can the French art and fashion worlds finally recover from the dark and untalented reign of the Toreador?

As if in answer to Phantomas’ unasked question, a gruesome figure stepped from behind the Marly Horses. Tall and lean, he wore a rotted shroud of funeral cloth held together by strips of moldering bandage [sic]. His face was

-that of a long-dead corpse, chalk-white skin, blah blah blah it’s the Red Death.

Slowly, the monster smiled.

“The meddling record keeper,” said the Red Death. He stretched out a skeletal arm. Phantomas could feel the heat thirty feet away. “Your termination will be a fitting conclusion to the celebration.”

Confronted by this horrifying fire monster who just massacred an entire party of vampires, ghouls, and humans, what does the famous Phantomas do? Something that both proves him a hypocrite and the smartest person in this goddamn book.

He hauls ass out of there.

Hundreds of years hiding beneath the streets of Paris had taught Phantomas an important lesson. When threatened, flee. Immediately. Don’t search for alternative solutions, don’t negotiate, don’t look back. Run as fast as possible until you reach safety. It was a basic survival technique that worked in the past. It served him tonight.

Phantomas ran. He burst through the doors of the Cour Marley, raced down the halls leading to the glass pyramid, and sprinted out into the night air without turning his head once to see if he was followed. Short and misshapen, he ran astonishingly fast.

Phantomas doesn’t stop running until he’s safely hundreds of feet underground in one of his tunnels. He escaped the Red Death.

He had escaped for the moment. But Phantomas felt certain he had not seen the last of the monster.

It had named him the record keeper. Somehow it knew of his great project. And the Red Death obviously disapproved.

We’ll find out more about Phantomas’ hobby the next time we catch up with him. For now, Chapter 6 ends on that mystery.

#vampire the masquerade #vampire: the masquerade #vtm #vtmb #world of darkness #blood war

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jolienjoyswriting · 5 years

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Mortem In Contumeliam FFVI, Ch. II

Chapter 2 of "Mortem In Contumeliam Final Fantasy VI," a Final Fantasy VI fan fiction story.

This chapter introduces an original fan character of sorts! I hope you guys don't get too attached! (And, no, the character isn't based on anyone I know, or any existing character. But, the name does comes from a related game!)

Word count: 4,494 – Character count: 26,015 Originally written: July 16th, 2019

The plucky pair of soldiers find themselves on a ship. But, are they prepared for hi-jinks on the high seas?

Final Fantasy VI, Wedge, Biggs, and related characters, scenarios, and properties created by Square Soft, Inc. and © Square Enix Co, Ltd.

[ ← Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter → ]

“Man, talk about luck, huh?”

Despite his friend’s close brush with “certain death” – the unhinged General Palazzo – Wedge was all smiles as he slipped on the chest piece of some fresh soldier’s armor.

“I was pretty damn sure the commander was gonna jam that sword down our throats! But, after General Kefka showed up, he was all business! And, now? We’re goin’ straight to Doma – wherever that is!” “I suppose…” his partner, Biggs, told him as he put on some standard-issue pants. “What? You don’t think that’s lucky?” Wedge reached into a nearby storage chest and withdrew a helmet with little, sword-like horns on the sides. “We could’a been killed, or demoted, or anything!” he said as he put the skull protector over his head. “Instead? We’re gettin’ a free cruise to whatever this Doma place is, then we get to storm a castle! How cool is that?!” “War is never ‘cool,’ Wedge. But…” Biggs paused, then he smiled. “I am happy that we didn’t get demoted – if only because Pierre would never let us hear the end of it.” “Oh, man, is he gonna be steamed when he hears we got off scot-free!” The other soldier smiled a little more brightly.

“Pierre’s such a snotty little turd…” Wedge continued as he pulled on one boot and laced it up. “I wish I knew why… but, I don’t think that’d change much.” “He blames us for ‘the armor incident.’” “What?” The shorter man blinked from under his helmet. “What ‘armor incident?’” “Remember when we were stationed at the base near that sealed cave?” “Yeah?” “Remember when that powered armor malfunctioned and we tried to stop it?” “Yeeaaah…?” “And, remember how it ran through the wall of the storage building and who they found ‘piloting’ it?” “Yeeaaa–” He paused. “O-oh!” “Yeah…” Biggs said with a chuckle. “He thought he could stop it and climbed inside. After it went through the wall, our commanding officer found him semi-conscious in the cockpit. There wasn’t much anyone could have done, by that point.” “Not that I wanted to…” Wedge scowled. “Remember how that little ratfink tried to throw us under the carriage? We weren’t the ones who tried piloting a busted Magitek Armor!” “Still, you have to admit… Pierre’s demotion was unfair and mostly circumstantial.” “Yeah, yeah…” The soldier dismissively waved his hand. “We can feel bad about Pierre’s luck some other time. Right now, we’ve gotta–” “Unbelievable– unbelievable!!” Both Biggs and Wedge blinked as they heard a shrill voice screech from outside. They ran out of the barracks just in time to see Kefka stomp by, kicking crates, shoving soldiers out of his way, and just generally looking angry.

“Me?!” he raged as he walked down some stairs. “The Emperor wants me, li’l ol’ me, to go aaall the way to Figaro… just to find that stupid little girl?! Why not send Leo?! Why not send a regiment of grunts? Why should I have to go to that gods-forsaken desert wasteland and talk with that stupid, snot-nosed, spoiled-brat-of-a-king?! Life is so unfair!! I’m no diplomat! I’m a conquerer!! Why should I–”

Kefka continued to rant as he exited the area. A moment later, a brown-suit came from upstairs, looking a bit on the dizzy side. “What’s going on?” Wedge asked the soldier. “Ugh… Kefka’s taking his anger out on the men,” was the soldier’s reply. “From what I’ve heard, some idiots lost the witch-girl over in the Figaro region, so the Emperor decided to make General Palazzo go and find her, and he’s dragging a bunch of us along for the ride…” “‘Some idiots?’” Biggs curiously asked, despite knowing who said “idiots” were. “Yeah… some idiots who went to Narshe. They lost the witch, their Magitek Armor, their gear… Ah, it was a huge mess, from what I heard! I hope those guys get demoted!” “Yeah! Screw those guys!” Wedge suddenly added, surprising his partner. “How could someone screw up a mission that bad, am I right?” “You said it, brother!” the random soldier laughed. “Hey, after I get back, why don’t we hit the pub? My treat!” “It’s a date, friend!” Biggs hid his face, shaking his head as Wedge and the soldier bumped fists. A minute later, the soldier wandered off, leaving the duo at the barracks entrance.

“‘Screw those guys?’ Really?” “Oh, hush,” Wedge said with a grin. “I got a free drink out of it, so…” “You’re an idiot, Wedge.” “Yeah, but I’m your idiot, Biggs.” The other soldier smiled, then he thumped his partner’s arm. With that, the two returned to the barracks and finished getting equipped. Not long after, they rounded up as many soldiers as they could, then found themselves back on a ship and headed to a place called…

“‘Nikeah,’ huh?” That’s what a soldier with long, red hair coming out from under their helmet told them. “The commander says, yes.” They continued, “We have a stop-over in Nikeah, then we make landfall north of Doma Castle. From there, we’re to set up a base camp along the isthmus between the eastern and western regions and await further orders.” “Okay… Just one question?” “Yes?” Wedge grinned as he asked, “The hell’s an ‘isthmus?’” “An ‘isthmus’ is a narrow strip of land that has water on two parallel sides,” Biggs mentioned from behind him, “and usually connects two greater pieces of land.” “Follow-up question…” He rubbed the back of his head. “Where’s Doma, again?” “Doma Castle is located almost-directly east of Nikeah,” the red-haired soldier told him. “Third question,” Wedge continued with a sheepish grin. “Why aren’t we just boating right to the ‘is-miss?’ Or, setting up right outside of Doma?” “To maintain the element of surprise, I imagine…” was the soldier’s response.

“Alright, alright… One last question.” “Yes?” Suddenly, Wedge pressed up against the other soldier and smiled. “What’s your name, pretty momma?” And, just as suddenly… “Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow…!!” Wedge found himself face-down on the deck of the metal ship, his arm held behind his back as it was pulled up and practically out of its socket!

“My name is none of your concern, soldier!” the other brown-suit told him in a stern tone. “I suggest you stay focused on the mission! Otherwise, we may have to file a casualty report even before we storm Doma! Understand?!” “I– sonovabiii–” Wedge squealed like a stuck pig as the angry, red-haired soldier tugged his arm upward. “Y-yes, yes,” he yelled, pounding the deck with his free hand, “for the love of– aaah–!!” And, just like that… the hostile soldier let go, walking off without another word.

“Wedge?” He whimpered as he got to his feet, rolling his shoulder, making sure he still had two working limbs. Shortly after giving a little sniffle, he snapped, “I-I’m not crying…!” “It’s okay, partner…” Biggs clapped his partner on the other shoulder. “Jessie is a little… militant.” “Yeah, I noticed!” He gave a shaky grin… before his face lit up with realization. “Wait, ‘Jessie?’ Wait-wait-wait, that soldier’s name is–” “‘Jessie,’ yes,” the other soldier told him. “As you no-doubt noticed, she’s one of the few female recruits to the Gestahlian Army. As such, she… feels obligated to try a little harder, and tends to come off as–” “A bitch…?” Wedge interrupted as he waggled his sore arm. “I was going to say ‘cold,’” Biggs said with a frown. “She doesn’t… really believe in ‘downtime,’ so anytime someone tries to get ‘chummy’ with her… well…” “Eh, she probably just needs a good, hard–” “Wedge!” The shorter soldier grinned before saying, “Drink.” Despite that, Biggs just scowled. Then, he blinked from under his helmet. “Wait, where are you off to?” he asked as his partner walked away from him. “Gonna go find Jessie and apologize, of course!” The other soldier paused before telling him, “Alright. Best of luck, I guess.” “Yeah-yeah!” Wedge pumped his fist into the air, then winced and rubbed his shoulder. “See ya later, partner!”

The sun slowly swept across blue skies as the boat traveled along the calm seas. Biggs volunteered for the night watch and, come twilight, found himself at the head of the ship with a lantern and a long sword. Luckily, there wasn’t much to use the latter on, that night. Huh… I never noticed how beautiful the sky is, before. Once he’d finished a patrol, he found a seat on a crate containing some sort of machinery, took off his helmet, then stared upward at the black-and-blue sky. As expected, it was dotted with a great many spots of varying shades of white, blue, and even some purples. You never see the sky this clearly in Vector… Between the brightness of the Imperial Castle and all the smoke from the Magitek Laboratory, it’s a wonder we see any sort of sky… But, looking at the different stars and lights up there… It’s kind of relaxing.

His eyes slipped shut and he leaned back a little, one arm on his raised knee while the other arm propped him up from behind. Seeing the stars… hearing the spray of the waters brush against their ship… even the noise of the magic-powered engine quietly chugging and occasionally hissing… It was all pretty peaceful. He knew that, in a few days, he could be in for a bloody battle with the Kingdom of Doma… but, for that moment? He felt perfectly relaxed…

“Hey, partner.” He opened his eyes before casually looking to one side. Standing there, sometime after he’d zoned out, was his friend-and-partner, holding a lantern of his own. “Wedge,” he said with a nod. “Taking the night watch, as well?” “Nah… I just came up for my ‘goodnight kiss!’” As Wedge leaned down and started making a kissy face, his partner just shoved him away with a chuckle. The two then shared a quiet smile.

“It’s peaceful up here,” the shorter man said before looking out at the darkness ahead. “That’s why I like the night watch,” Biggs told him. “It gives me time to find myself…” “Heh. I find myself every night, stars-or-not!” Biggs smirked and shook his head at that, making Wedge smile. “Seriously, though. I can dig it. I mean, things haven’t been too hectic… but, ya know…” He looked back to the dark waters and paused. “This… is the calm before the storm.” At that, Biggs gave another blink. He thought about saying something, but decided to just watch and listen, feeling like his partner had more to say.

“I know I was all fired-up to go on the trip, and I was excited by the idea of storming a castle, like some big damn hero… but, to be honest? I’m… kind of scared, Biggs.” He gave a hard swallow before continuing. “We’ve been partners for a long-ass time, now – so long, I’ve kind’a lost count. We’ve been in scrapes, we’ve had close calls, and despite everything… we’ve always pulled through. But, that mission to Narshe? Something about that mission was… different… “We could’a died, Biggs,” he continued in a serious tone. “That thunder whelk could’a killed us, or the scary witch-girl… Maybe, that big bird thing. We were even stripped of everything and left-for-dead! Yeah… we could’a died… and, then what?” He slowly removed his helmet, then looked at his partner. “We would’a been replaced.

“We’re military men, you… me… everyone on this ship, practically,” he said as he looked back out to the ship’s head. “We’re all expendable… replaceable… When one soldier dies, another one steps up to take his place. That’s how the military works. So, what does it all mean…? Why did we choose this life? And, why do we keep trying to make connections… friends, lovers, all that… when we know that, eventually, we’re probably just gonna lose it all to some jerk with the right weapon or better luck than us. It’s sobering, Biggs.” He looked up at the sky, then. “The life of a single military man means so little in the grand scheme of things… We’re just cogs in the magical war machine. One breaks… you replace it. Simple as that!”

Biggs… didn’t know what to say to any of what he’d just heard. He rarely knew his partner to be so serious, much less philosophical… but, after hearing everything he’d just said, he had to wonder… “Do you have any regrets, Wedge?” “Yeah…” he heard his partner whisper. “What is it?” There was a long pause… then, Wedge looked him right in the eye and said… “I regret… you weren’t there when me ‘n Jessie made out! Oh, man, it was great!” The other soldier… was staggered. “W… what.” “She’s real passionate, partner!!” Wedge laughed as he stood back up. “Must be all that pent-up rage from bein’ serious all-the-time… She let it out all over me, and–” “You disgust me.”

Wedge blinked… then, he grinned and rubbed the back of his head. “Whaaat? It’s not like it was my idea!” he defensively explained. “Just– ah, don’t let her know I told you, alright? I’m pretty sure this was just a one-time deal, and–” “You’re a gods-damned married man, Wedge!” Biggs interrupted, looking pretty angry. “Oh, please… This ain’t my first rodeo, partner!” “And, you disgust me every time you do this! Why do you even tell me these things?! But…” He seemed a little ashamed, then, as he looked away and said… “I’m… kind of surprised. Jessie… doesn’t seem the type to just… go for a ‘fling.’” “I know, right?” Wedge laughed for a moment. “Yeah… poor girl just… She’s sooo tired of being all business all-the-time. But, it’s like you said: she feels like she has to just ‘cause she’s a girl! Kind’a dumb, if you ask me! If she’s as tough on the battlefield as she is off – and, no, that’s not an innuendo – she has nothing to worry about! Which reminds me… Thanks!” “‘Thanks?’” Biggs repeated, giving his friend a suspicious look. “What for?” “If you hadn’t told me her name,” Wedge replied with a grin, “I couldn’t’ve broken the ice like I did! Granted, I didn’t think it’d get me that far… I really just wanted to apologize for coming on too strong! Man, I’m glad I did, though! Wowie!” “You’re…” The other soldier paused… then, he smiled. “You’re a good man, Wedge. Even if you aren’t terribly loyal to your wife.” “Eh.” He shrugged and grinned. “We have an understanding.” “Heh. So do we…”

The night faded without incident and Biggs joined his companion for some well-earned shut-eye. In the afternoon that followed, they both woke up with a start! There was a commotion coming from the top deck! “Someone better’ve died…” Wedge grumbled as he dragged his lazy self out of bed.

“Help! Help!! I can’t– glrghphg– I can’t swim!!” That was the first thing either of them heard as they reached the top deck. Shortly after, the two rushed over to where a majority of the crew was… only for Wedge to gasp. “Jessie?!” Off the side of the massive ship was a figure clad in brown armor, thrashing and splashing around in the water below. They could have been anyone… if not for the bright, red hair whipping around their shoulders as they panicked.

“S-somebody, do something!!” Wedge shouted to the gathered group. “She’s drowning!” “How did she even fall in…?” Biggs asked. “What, were you asleep?!” a random cadet shouted at the two, prompting Wedge to nervously rub his helmet. “We got attacked by some ravenous, giant fish! While we were fighting, one of those beasties slammed into that soldier and threw her overboard!” Just as he said that… “Jessie!!” The girl went under the drink, vanishing from sight. “Th-that’s it!!” Wedge yelled, “I’m going in!” “No, you’re not.” He blinked. Biggs had grabbed his arm, stopping him from moving. “B-but, we can’t leave a man behind! Especially Jessie…” he added in a whisper. “We won’t. But, Wedge… You can’t swim, either.” “What?” He paused… then he looked down in embarrassment. “Oh… You’re right.” “But, I can.” “Huh? W-wait!” Before Wedge could try and stop him, Biggs grabbed the end of a coil of rope, took a run-up, and… “Maaan overboard!!” He leaped into the sea, punctuated by another soldier calling it out. “What the hell was he– w-wait!!” Wedge suddenly noticed… “Th-the rope isn’t tied to anything!! G-grab that rope!!”

Five soldiers took hold of the rope, the one on the end tying it around his waist and serving as an anchor. Not long after, Wedge looked overboard. He could see a lot of air bubbles and a bit of splashing… but, there was no sight of either his partner nor his new friend. At least, not until he saw… “B… blood…!” A cloud of red painted the murky water around the area where the air bubbles had been. “Pull… pull him up– pull him up!!” Wedge gave an order, and the other soldiers followed it.

“I– I see something! It’s Biggs!! And… and, he’s got Jessie!! Oh, gods!! Guys!!”

Minutes passed before the crew was able to fully extract the two soldiers from the tainted water. When they did… it wasn’t a pretty sight. Jessie had lost her helmet and, from the look of it, one eye. Her face was covered in stains of red and green fluid – monster blood, maybe – and her arm looked like it had been shredded! The fabric of her uniform was cut up and her armor had taken quite a few hits, as well. However, she was breathing… “Biggs…? Biggs…!!” Which was more than her savior was doing. Much like Jessie, Biggs looked like he’d been bitten, chewed on, and cut up. He didn’t seem quite as bad off and, in fact, looked like he’d come out victorious over whatever nasty creatures had plagued them. But, for some reason… he just wasn’t breathing.

“M-medic,” Wedge cried. “W– we need a medic!!” “What is going on, here?!” He gave a blink… then he looked up. Someone was cutting through the crowd, seemingly in a rush to examine the situation. As they drew closer, Wedge recognized them… “G… General Leo…!”

Standing over the two bloodied bodies was an intimidating figure with dark skin and short, golden hair cut to sharp angles. He wore a long, green jacket over a darker-green tunic, green pants made of rigid fabric, and brown boots which looked made for rugged terrain. That figure was General Leo Christophe of the Gestahlian Imperial Army, and he did not look pleased with the situation…

“G-General Leo, Sir!” Wedge called. “I can–” “Move!” It didn’t take more than that one word for the brown-suited soldier to get out of the way. The next thing he noticed was General Christophe checking his friend’s vitals… “Is… is he…?” he shakily asked as the man pressed an ear against Biggs’ chest. “He’s not breathing…” he said with a calm tone. “His airway may be blocked.” “What do we– G-General…?!” Without waiting for a response, the general leaned up… only to wrap his mouth around Biggs’. It almost looked like a kiss… but, Wedge quickly realized what he was actually doing. Not long after… “Huuuuuhhh– gack, ack’m, glapck–!!” Biggs was gurgling and hacking up a lot of water and, almost-amusingly, a small fish.

“Get these two downstairs,” Leo ordered in a stern tone, standing back up and wiping his mouth. “They need medical attention.” “Uh… y-yes, Sir!” a random cadet said. “Be gentle with them,” the general added. “We don’t know the extent of their injuries.” “Sir!” A moment later, Biggs and Jessie were being carried below deck. But, as Wedge went to follow them… “Soldier.” He found himself being directly addressed by the general.

“Y-yes, Sir?” he responded with the appropriate amount of respect. “Are those two friends of yours?” Wedge couldn’t help but feel intimidated… He’s heard stories about Leo… and, the strict tone to the general’s voice only seemed to confirm some of those. But… “Friends are a good thing to have.” He had to blink. Was General Christophe… smiling?

“Go on,” he told Wedge after a moment. “They’re waiting for you.” “Um… y-yes, Sir.” He hesitated… then, he called, “General Leo?” “Yes?” He paused… “Thank you.” “I’m just doing my job,” he replied in dismissal. “But, you’re welcome.” The general walked away then, a minute later… Wedge ran back below the deck.

“They’re unconscious and pretty beat up…” a medic told the soldier as he asked about his friends, “but, they’ll be alright. We can’t do anything about this soldier’s eye, though…” “That… sucks,” was all Wedge could think to say. “Would you like me to send someone to find you when they wake up?” “N… no. Well, maybe. Yes? I dunno… hell.” He rubbed the back of his head before finally decided on, “Y-yeah. Sure. Thank you.” The medic hesitated before suggesting, “If you’d like a moment, Sir…” “N-no, no… I’ll… I’ll come back after they’re cleaned up. Thanks, though.” “Right.” He sighed, then smiled. “We’ll keep you posted.” “Thanks, again.”

It seemed like the transition from-day-to-night took a horribly-long-time, that evening. As Wedge found himself wandering the ship with a lantern, he couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened not a few hours prior… “That damn idiot…” he muttered to himself. “He should’ve let me jump in…” “Would it have made any difference?” “Well, considering I can’t swim, I–” He jolted, then he spun around and found himself confronted by the stony face of… “G-General Leo?!” “At-ease, soldier,” Leo told him before he could even salute.

“S-Sir…? What are you doing out-and-about, and… uh… stuff?” “I wanted to talk to you,” was his simple reply. “Y… you… Me?” Wedge stammered. “Yeah.” Leo cracked a smile as he asked, “Is that so surprising?” “Well…” It took the soldier a minute… but, he was eventually able to guess why Leo was looking for him, specifically.

“L-look, if this is about Jessie going overboard or Biggs saving her…” he said as he looked away, “I don’t know much more than you do, Sir. Something about big fish attacking the ship, or something…” “How are you doing, son?” “Huh?” He gave a blink, looking up at the general. He was still smiling. “Me…? I’m… I’m alright, I guess. Just a little frazzled from seeing my best friend laid up. Idiot…” “Your friend is a good man,” General Leo told him. “Yeah, I know… I just…” Wedge nervously laughed before saying, “I just wish he’d let me leap in, instead! He’s not gonna be in any shape to storm Doma, at this rate!” “‘Storm?’” He winced. General Leo was looking at him with narrowed eyes…

“U-uh… yeah…?” he said. “Th-that’s what the plan is, right? Jessie – the red-head – said we’re gonna set up a camp near Doma, then–” “Son, this is a diplomatic mission.” “W-what?” Wedge suspiciously narrowed his eyes. “B-but, General Kefka said–” “General Palazzo,” he corrected, “isn’t here. Until he is, this is my mission, And, I say that this is a diplomatic mission, not a mission of conquest.” “Y… y-yes, Sir…?” The soldier wasn’t sure what to say to that… “There’s a saying, soldier…” General Leo cast his steely-eyed gaze out over the side of the boat. “‘You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.’” “Heh. What a stupid saying…” Wedge said without thinking. “Is that so?” When he realized what he’d said, he tensed… Leo was staring at him, again.

“I… just mean, who’d want to catch flies?” he explained. “Idioms are, oftentimes, somewhat nonsensical. For example, when is the last time you’ve ever heard of someone literally ‘flipping their wig’ when faced with adversity?” “W-well… I don’t know anyone who wears a wig, but…” “Why are ‘brass tacks’ considered the very basics of a situation?” the general continued. “Why are the last moments before something of consequence considered the ‘eleventh hour?’ Why, in this strange world full of interesting creatures, do we liken the odds of doing something unfavorable to the chance of seeing ‘pig fly?’ These sort of sayings may not make a lot of sense… but, they are sayings that most people find great meaning in.

“I have no intention of attacking Doma Castle if, instead, we can parlay and come to a mutually-beneficial agreement,” the general said, getting back on-topic. “We will still prepare for a war with their kingdom… but, I pray that it does not come to that.” “Why… are we going after this place, anyway?” Wedge suddenly asked. “Why’s this place so important?” “Doma is a powerful force,” Leo explained. “Their soldiers are renowned for their discipline and, to the Emperor’s way of thinking, they would prove to be strong allies.” “And… what do you think?” Leo’s expression soured… but, only for a moment. “I’m a loyal soldier of the Empire, son. I do what the Emperor tells me.” “You… really don’t wanna invade Doma, do you?” He stayed silent, looking back out at the dark seas and listening to the sound of the parting waters. It seemed like he didn’t want to answer that question.

“I… should get back to my patrol,” Wedge eventually told the general. “Um… I mean, if that’s all, Sir?” “Are you okay?” He gave a blink… “Sir?” “I asked you a question, son. Not as your general…” Leo turned his way, a smile returning to his face. “But, as a fellow man.” “Oh. Well…” Wedge paused to rub his helmet. “Yeah… yeah, I guess I’m fine, General. Like I said… just feel a little weird from this afternoon.” “Your friends are going to be fine,” the general reassured him. “We have some of the best medical technicians in the world.” “Honestly?” The soldier chuckled. “I figured a couple Hi-Potions’d do it. I mean, aside from Jessie’s eye… it’s just blood they’re missing. Hopefully.” “Hopefully,” Leo repeated. Again, the two stood in silence for a few moments… then, Wedge felt the need to say something.

“You know… you’re not as much of a hard-ass as I’ve heard,” he said with a grin. “Thank you,” the general said, his smile warming. “I try to be a good leader.” “I’d say you’re doin’ alright… Just, ya know… You can be pretty intimidating. Your face is kind of scary, too.” “What’s wrong with my face?” Leo leaned down, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “W… well…” Wedge started to reply… only to become distracted as the general switched which eyebrow was raised. When he started switching back-and-forth between eyebrows, the soldier just couldn’t keep a straight face and started laughing, which made the general smile, again.

“Take care of yourself,” he said as their conversation concluded. “And, take care of your friends, soldier.” “‘Wedge,’” he told Leo. “That’s my name, Sir.” “‘Wedge,’ huh? I’ll remember that name.” He gave a nod. “Goodnight, Wedge.” Leo wandered off, then, leaving Wedge to return to his patrol in much higher spirits.

#fan fiction #Final Fantasy VI #Mortem In Contumeliam #commercial characters #Imperial Soldier #Wedge #Biggs #Kefka Palazzo #Jessie #Imperial Cadet #Imperial Commander #Leo Christophe #fantasy #slice of life #drama

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