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theinnerunderrain · 2 years ago

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Harbinger of Misery [Yan! Capitano x Saintess! Reader]

Harbinger: something that foreshadows a future event; something that gives an anticipatory sign of what is to come.

Warnings: Yandere implications, mentions of war and deaths, separation from family, abuse of power, brief description of gore, manipulation, infantilizing behaviors, mentions of wounds and blood, brief description of deceased animals, minor animal death, dark themes.

Word count: 5.8k

Repost

A melancholy autumn breeze that was a foreboding harbinger of winter fluttered high among the lodgepole pine trees.

You squinted at the treetops as you peer into the pitch-black sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of the migratory birds that would soon take flight for a new temporary home while they awaited for the winter in Snezhnaya to pass by. Perhaps Mondstadt? Although you have never been to Mondstadt, your mother has always spoken favorably about the country, offering you the impression that it is always filled with a brilliant sky and hummingbirds.

As opposed to the lingering coldness within your country.

In an effort to stay warm despite the cold weather, you swiftly wrapped your mittens over your flushed hands as the wind howled into the sky and caressed your face.

"[First Name]! It's time to come in! It's getting late."

From the sanctuary of your own dwelling, your mother's shrill voice called out to you, pleading with you to hurry back inside. You grumble and turn away from the foreboding forest, but not without pausing and throwing a brief glimpse its way, hoping to catch sight of something interesting.

Snap.

You sprout up in surprised at the quick crackle of a twig as you peer into the woods in an endeavor to comprehend the sound. Perhaps it's a wild animal? But the only thing you could see within the forest was the pitch-black expanse that was covered in tall pine trees, seemingly rather omnious more than usual. You hurried back to your cabin, feeling a little uneasy but attempting to dismiss the newfound paranoia as just being nothing.

It's plausible that you're just a little worried about the impending winter. You were born and reared in a nation where the long, cold winters were the norm, yet you never really adapted to the cold. You've tried more than once to persuade your parents to sell their business so they can relocate to a warmer nation, but all they would say was that the inn was a family-run business that had been in operation since their great-grandparents' time.

The remainder of the evening went rather smoothly; you enjoyed your family's meal and assisted your mother with the dishes. Before bed, you were able to run a nice bath, which left you feeling rather refreshed as you flop onto your mattress and get ready to retire. Yet every time you closed your eyes, the gloomy woodland resurfaced in your memory, leading you back to the earlier incidents that had occurred inside the forest.

The following morning, you woke up earlier than usual, forcing yourself to wash your face despite the obvious black circles beneath your eyes. Simply put, you experienced the worst sleep of your life. Every few minutes throughout the entire night, you would toss and turn in bed. The cozy comforter that was sheltering your body became wholly inadequate as the room suddenly turned too frigid. You were confident that you had slept for no more than three hours, and even when you finally managed to drift off, unexpected dreams would certainly occupy your slumber.

You honestly can't recall the exact action from the dream in its entirety. However, you can remember hearing faint voices crying out to you and pleading with you to join them, the image of the gloomy forest would resurface after that.

Even though it was still early in the morning, your parents' inn appeared to be more crowded than usual. There were numerous visitors gathered in the main dining room, many of them had an old-fashioned, rigid appearance. The guests consumed their coffee in solitude, too weary to eat anything else, and all they could utter were a few murmurs that seemingly evaporated into the air.

The entrance's front door was suddenly thrown open, the doorway thumping violently against the wall, and the originally mellow atmosphere abruptly ended.

A troop of the Fatuis entered the motor Inn, triggering a large number of onlookers to jump up from their seats and disperse in different locations as one Fatui soldier stepped forward. Only horrifying glances could be seen between your parents, particularly your mother, who seemed to be on the verge of tears.

A tall man dressed in dark armour enters the building suddenly, his long, black hair spilling over the collar of his white coat. Your mother hurried to the kitchen to prepare a mug of tea as your father scampered to the entrance of the inn to greet the man.

At the sight of the enormous man, the atmosphere around you suddenly became too dense. Being surrounded by so many Fatui troops in the dining area made it challenging to breathe freely.

Your only option was to idly linger by the wall's edge and watch as your father pulled out a chair for the man and they sat down at one of the tables. Your father's anxious smile was palpable as he did this.

"Sir Il Capitano, what brings you to this humble tavern on this beautiful morning in the cold weather?"

Il Capitano? There is just no way that a resident of Snezhnaya could not have heard of the notorious Fatui Harbingers, Her Majesty's most dedicated attendants. Despite your head being consistently jammed with clouds, even you recognized who he was. You simply didn't anticipate for him to be - so menacing.

But you don't understand.

Why would a high-ranking Fatui Harbinger be in such a remote location right now, conversing with your father? Your parents were very typical people; they were simply two couples trying to make ends meet and keep their business afloat. Therefore it made no sense for them to fall under the suspicion of the Tsaritsa.

"I believe you are aware of the reason why I am here."

The Captain spoke, his voice unexpectedly rich and smooth, almost taking you by surprise since you had previously assumed the man would have a voice that resembled his ominous appearance.

He had a really appealing voice, but you didn't want to admit it. Although his tone was as frigid as the Snezhnayan winter, it was nonetheless as deep as the ocean that you often visited during the summer.

You sprang back in surprise as the man suddenly turned his attention to you. Although his helmet obscured his face, you were certain he was staring at you since his unseen eyes seemed to pierce into your frame, seemingly searching for something within your soul, before he turned back to your father. While your mother placed a platter of warm tea on the tabletop, her eyes seemed to be pleading with your father, though you weren't sure what exactly she was begging for. Your father could only stutter out a response, his voice rather weak and rigid.

"A..ah, yes. But, I thought that the Tsaritsa did not need her assistance until she became twenty-one."

"Since she will turn twenty-one in less than a few months, the war's circumstances have changed, although it's not a significant difference."

As your father hoisted up the steaming pot of tea and attempted to pour it into the captain's teacup, his fingers began to tremble which almost prompted you to step out to help him but your mother's glare stopped you. However, Il Capitano made no attempt to assist him, instead choosing to only observe disinterestedly as your father eventually succeeded in pouring tea into his own cup.

"The Saintess must be brought into the nation's capital this month, as according to Her Majesty."

The Saintess? There hasn't been a Saintess presented within Snezhnaya for over the last hundreds of years.

"Sir, b... but! She lacks experience and is much too young.."

Your father objected, his eyebrows quivering and a look of desperation upon his face as he fought to find the appropriate words.

"She does not require any experience. I am capable of ensuring both her safety and her well-being."

"I..I know, but sir-"

"Why don't you let the young woman over there speak instead of giving your unwarranted opinion?"

Your father appears to stiffen as the captain makes a turn in your direction, while you gawk at him bewildered.

"W…what? Father, I don't understand…."

You spoke in a more subdued, hushed manner than usual as you heard your father struggling and stuttering to form the right words.

"...[First Name]... I was planning on telling you soon but…!"

The captain, who appeared a little agitated, interrupted your father as he tried to continue. His tone is colder than before, his words sharp.

"....Do you mean to say that your daughter is unaware of her status as the Saintess?"

Saintess?

As you considered the number twenty-one and your parents' apprehensive demeanour, suddenly the epiphany struck you, their prior talk beginning to make sense. It was you who will shortly be twenty-one. They were speaking about you.

But Saintess? That's not conceivable considering you lacked any sort of divine healing or general magical abilities.

You can't be the Saintess. They must be wrong.

But your father's tearful expression forced you to rethink your stance. He was obviously attempting to contain his eyes as they threatened to slip down his flushed cheeks as he fixed his gaze on yours. Your mother saw your frantic glance but ignored it and continued to look to the side, seeming to be ashamed.

"I would like to speak with your daughter if that is really the case. Alone."

Your parents were hustled out of the room as the other Fatui agents dispersed, leaving your parents with little to do but stare at you sympathetically. The silence in the room resurfaced as you nervously stood far apart from the Captain until he motioned for you to take a seat directly in front of him. You grudgingly yanked the chair out from under the table, the sound of the chair's leg grinding against the hardwood floor making you grimace.

You slumped into the chair, fumbling to lay your palms against your legs as you peered at the floor, wishing you were outdoors exploring the forest instead of being interrogated by some Fatui Harbinger.

"[First Name], is it?"

As he asked, you nodded while pondering how he was able to recognize your name.

"As you may have been aware, the Snezhnaya's War is currently deteriorating into a useless conflict."

The Captain took a moment to fiddle with the teacup's handle.

"Our healers are all passing away. In the past three hundred years, we have not been blessed by the appearance of a saintess."

He spoke before rising out of his chair and approaching you by gliding around the circular table. Stopping just behind you, pressing one of his gloved hands firmly against the pad of your shoulder.

"Until twenty years ago, a miracle occured."

His towering presence now overshadows your seated figure, generating a shadow and obstructing the light from above the two of you from reflecting onto you.

"That miracle being you."

The captain seems to have noticed your perplexed expression as he relaxed his solid clutch on your shoulder and walked over to the table and halted. Leaning down, he rested his palms on the wooden table while peering directly into your direction from behind his mask.

"Rest certain, nevertheless, that you will be able to do your duties as the Saintess under my guidance."

"What was the Fatui Harbinger referring to!?"

Your parents were seated in front of you, seemingly discovering their wrists to be the most fascinating thing in the entire world as you shrieked and smacked your hand onto the countertop. They could only sit there in quiet, and you fumed, your face flushed with apparent rage as you awaited their responses.

"H..honey.."

The first person to speak up was your mother, whose teary eyes made it clear that she was in agony. At the sheer sight, you nearly felt a wave of remorse wash over you but you stayed firm.

"We were going to tell you when it was the right time, we just weren't expecting for them to show up this soon-!"

"You still should have told me earlier!"

You interrupted as an intense headache began to develop on the side of your scalp.

"I know….I know, honey. It's just that it's hard for us to accept that our innocent daughter is supposed to be sent off to some wretched war."

Your mother gently caressed your father on the back as he mumbled softly, his voice wavering.

"We didn't want this fate to be forced upon you either….and tried to hide you as much as possible."

Even though you felt awful for your parents, you couldn't resist but be enraged at them for keeping such a crucial knowledge from you for such a prolonged period of time. And now you're supposed to be brought to the capital just so you can play the role of a Saintess in some horrendous dispute?

As a result of rage and disappointment, you felt tears begin to build up. When your mother tried to console you, you didn't do anything more than push her hand away and turn to leave, ignoring your parents' pleas and left for the main dining area. Just as you were about to push and open the entrance to the diner, you paused and took a long breath while trying to erase your scalding tears. Then, when you walked into the diner, you spotted the Captain who still sat in his earlier seat. The older man watched as you entered the room and waited as you approached him whilst attempting to keep your frustration from pouring onto your face.

"When am I required to leave?"

You questioned, your lips forming a narrow line as you stood a few inches in front of him. In spite of the fact that you couldn't see his face, you could feel his lips shifting into a small smile before he rose up from his chair.

"Right now."

You gape at him in confusion, taking in his words as they penetrate deep into your mind. The Captain simply tucked the material of his leather gloves under his white coat to mend them.

"There is no need to worry about bringing any personal items. We'll provide you everything you'll need."

He finally said, examining the bewildered expression on your face before gesturing to the windows. A Fatui agent barged in and stopped to salute, paying his respect to his captain.

"We're prepared to leave, sir. I've acquired all the equipment we'll require for the trip."

"Good."

The Captain then turned back to face you, stretching out his hand and beckoning you to take it. You cautiously placed your hand into his palm while being cognizant of the size discrepancies between your hands. Though you were aware that the man was significantly taller than the usual person, you hadn't anticipated that his hand would also be that big. You were certain that, if he really desired to, he could simply demolish your head with one hand.

You felt chills run down your spine at that notion.

However your parents stormed into the dining room before you had a chance to exit. They were sobbing and gripping the fabric of your dress within their hands as they pleaded for the Captain to let you stay. Although a sense of sadness crept into your heart, you and your parents were aware that there was nothing you could do to alter your fate, at least not without Her Majesty's approval.

The only thing you could do was slant your body in the direction of your parents, scoop them into your arms, and hold them there while you felt warm tears soaking into your shirt.

The Captain did nothing except watch while you had your moment, but he ultimately made the decision to tug at the sleeve of your dress and usher you out. Your parents could only watch as you casted them once last smile before stepping outside.

Outside the tavern, a magnificent black horse stood waiting, its mane bearing a luscious mane that nearly made you think of the Captain's long black hair. A saddle was placed on top of the horse, accompanied by a large bag that was secured around its hips. Suddenly you felt a pair of large hands wrapped around your waist, causing you to let out a loud shriek as you attempted to turn around.

"...I am merely trying to assist you."

You could feel Capitano's broad chest pressing into your back and his frigid breath brushing the top of your head as his deep voice could be heard. He lifted you carefully onto the horse's back and gently set you down.

Ah, how embarrassing.

A reddish tone flushing onto your face as you cough into your hand, trying to play it off.

"My apologies, I was suddenly started because of some bug."

Of course he didn't think you were genuine. Without saying a word, he climbed up onto the horse's back and positioned himself behind you, his arms reaching out to seize the bridle. Because of his proximity, you unconsciously tensed up. Despite the metallic stench that emanated from him, he actually had an alluring scent. One that reminded you of the expensive Cologne that your cousins would brag of, boasting at how much it costs him. Another scent was more eerily, it was the scent of blood. You weren't exposed to blood on a daily basis, but you have smelt it a couple times before. But you supposed it's expected from a warrior.

Together with the Fatui soldiers, you set out on your voyage through the frigid nighttime air. You were forced to tighten your grip on your coat since the air seemed significantly colder than normal. Although the majority of the Captain's body seemed abnormally cool, you were nevertheless grateful that it somehow gave you enough heat to prevent you from freezing to death. The Captain seemed relatively unfazed by the frigid air, his breathing remaining steady while everyone else was shivering.

You wondered if he was even truly a human being.

Crickets continue to chirp throughout the night, the moon casting its radiance across the land, supplying a tiny source of illumination through the world of darkness. It seems like hours have already passed, and you've been wondering how far you are from your parents' tavern, feeling a sense of rather discomfort at the thought of having to be separated from your home.

The sound of the horses galloping managed to keep you from dozing off even though your eyelids were getting heavier by each second, struggling to stay awake.

"If you feel exhausted, you can take a nap."

The unexpected tone of Capitano's low voice brushed against your ear, leading you to jump up in surprise. He couldn't see you, so you wondered how he could tell you were drifting off. Although he had to grasp onto the bridle for a prolonged period of time, he wasn't even exhausted. You don't remember him removing your arms from your form; in fact, they've been brushing up against you throughout the entire ride.

You couldn't help but close your eyes and rest against the man's chest in an attempt to fall asleep, despite the fact that you were still rather weary of him.

But a little nap won't hurt, right?

You eventually find a comfortable position after a few more minutes of shuffling. The sound of the galloping horses gradually faded from your awareness as you eventually drifted off to sleep, praying in the back of my mind that this was just a nightmare that you could wake up from.

Your attention is drawn to a faint voice that smoothly enters your ear just as you start to nod off. However, you were unable to properly understand who it was from or whether you had simply lost consciousness, and it was a fragment of your dreams.

"Rest well, my Saintess."

You do hope that you will be able to get a good night's sleep and awaken on your bed rather than in the captain's arms.

But you don't think that's even possible now.

As the days went by, you started to long for the cosiness of your own house, primarily your dear parents. The journey hasn't been that difficult, but your thighs were terribly sore and one of the Fatui members told you that since you're an inexperienced rider, your body is bound to become sore.

Only every few days did the party halt to rest, setting up a tiny camp from which everyone would scatter in search of food to bring back for later. However, you were forbidden from leaving the camp and had to stay in your tent, completely bored, with a companion at all times.

Your meal wasn't all that horrible, and it wasn't best you've ever had. It is, however, genuinely something. Unexpectedly, you received adequate care from Fatui as well. The majority of them either avoided you completely or were hesitant to strike up small talk, but once they get into the mood, they become unstoppable. You would have thought them to be rather ordinary individuals if it weren't for your unfortunate circumstance.

Contrarily, Capitano stayed by your side the majority of the day and was practically silent. He only spoke to you when he felt it was essential. Even being with another Fatui agent would have been preferable to being with a foreboding man who didn't appear to fully comprehend the notion of personal space.

At first you thought it was nothing.

However, he would stand excessively close to your side, occasionally rubbing up against you with his physique. When you tried to move away to speak with another agent, he would sometimes reach out and grab your arms to inform you that you can't leave the tent.

There were only ten members of the unit, hence no female agents were sent on the journey. Consequently, Capitano—you guessed it—was the one who assisted you with sanitary conditions. He wasn't the most considerate person, though; always forcefully handing you your new freshest wardrobe, seemingly annoyed at how he was the one forced to deliver it to you.

Another wonderful development was that, as a result of Capitano's relentless lectures, your divine ability had started to surface. Even while it was a little unusual to experience a warm sensation running through your body every time you used the power, being able to treat minor scrapes and bruises felt somewhat satisfying.

According to Capitano, you were six days into your expedition today, but it seemed like a painful six months to you. It even started to snow, covering the land with a light blanket of white ice. Capitano had left the area, saying he had some matters to attend to while entrusting another agent with you. It's an agent you haven't spoken to before. He stooped awkwardly by your side, attempting to stand up straight while holding his arms behind his back.

"You could sit down if you want."

The man appeared to stiffen beneath your voice as you spoke, his eyes obviously examining the seat as if it was alluring him at every angle.

"It's unprofessional for an agent to be sitting while performing his duties."

"Suit yourself."

You huffed and leaned back against the chair, closing your eyes in an effort to lose yourself in your thoughts. Your mind had a sudden flash of inspiration. This is the ideal time to run away. The majority of the other agents were probably in the woods at this point, and the agent who is with you appears to be still very new to the position. Swallowing your own anxiety, you turned towards the agent.

"I need to use the bathroom."

Before responding, the agent mulled over what you had said and threw you a quick glance while maintaining his lips pursed into a narrow line. You nevertheless devised a different justification because you knew that he would probably reject your demand.

"I'm on my period."

He shut his mouth fast at what you said, then scratched his temples and let out a low groan.

"Alright, but make it quick alright?"

You grinned and said, "Thanks," before dashing out into the outdoors and scanning the surroundings from both directions. Even if you felt somewhat awful about conniving the Fatui agent in that way, you had to get away right away. You weren't sure if you'll be blessed with this sort of opportunity after this.

It's safe.

Without turning around, you sprint into the woods, oblivious to the Fatui agent's cries as he pursues you. But you appeared to have a much stronger desire to flee than the new recruit, as you outran him and hurried into the woods.His cries grew quieter as you got farther away from him until going away entirely.

You pause, panting, and lay both of your hands upon your knees to catch your breath. As you slouched against the tree, your chest was heaving up and down as you attempted to calm your thumping heart.

Maybe you should exercise more.

You lingered in the area for a few more minutes before getting up swiftly since you didn't want to spend any more time, considering the Fatui were still present. Perhaps they're even searching for you as we speak now. Wandering through the woods, you honestly have no idea where you were even. You actually never travelled in your life because your parents had largely kept you on their land, paranoid that you would somehow get yourself in some sort of danger.

But you were determined to make it out alive.

Or so you assumed. You've now passed the same rock four times in a succession, if memory serves. You sat down while leaning against a rock and letting out a frustrated grumble as you felt somewhat hopeless after having been lost for more than thirty minutes.

Were you even going to make it out alive?

Given that you were still in the Fatui hunters' territory, you were genuinely astonished that no agents had found you. Even more shocked that no one had yet mistaken you for an animal and shot an arrow through you.

Your ears were suddenly filled with a gentle rumbling sound. It originated from a small distance ahead of the rock you were perched on. You curiously glance over the rock to see whether you could detect the source of the sound. A group of wolves were huddled together in a tight circle, appearing to be nibbling on some kind of dead animal. You wince as you observe the dead animal's blood gushing into the snow-covered ground, and the intestine leaking from its stomach before one of the wolves devoured it.

In an awkward attempt to escape the wolf pack, you made an effort to slip back down to the rock. But one startlingly looked up from its food and peered right at you, which caused you to experience a feeling of apprehension. Overwhelmed by fear, you didn't take notice of the black ice that covered the ground.

You took a step back, startled, staggering onto your feet at the slippery ice, producing a loud noise as you crashed against the ice. Pain gushing through your body as your head collided with the solid surface, causing you to feel heavily lightheaded for a moment. The wolves suddenly turn to face you, gnawing on their pointed canines as they approach. Similar to how a predator hunts its prey. You desperately wanted to move backward, but you were unable to do so since your hands could not hold onto anything but the slippery ice.

The wolves' snarling grew louder, and one of them positioned itself to pounce on you.

Your last ditch effort to secure your body is to close your eyes while sheltering yourself with your arms. Despite the fact that the beast would only be hampered by the flesh on your arms, nothing but ineffective.

"..."

However, the agonising pain you were anticipating never materialised; instead, the sound of something heavy collapsing into a snowbank and the agonising cries of wolves resonated in the air.

As you slowly open your eyes, you realize that the Captain's tall frame was obstructing the sunlight from reaching your skin, almost reminding you of some sort of dark angel. His gloved hands were firmly grasping a sword, his brilliant blade stained red which you would presume is blood. The wolf that attempted to attack you earlier lay wounded on the ground, whimpering softly as blood seeped from its wound.

You almost felt pity for the beast.

The other wolves merely stayed there, apparently transfixed, as they all glared at the tall man. It appeared that they were a little apprehensive to leave one of its pack behind as they made their departure, seemingly having the ability to sense the danger within the harbinger.

Silence persisted through the cold air.

The tall structure of Capitano towered over your tiny frame as you could only look up at him as he turned to face you, expecting him to scold you or maybe even murder you right then and there. Only then did he lower himself and sling his sword back around his belt. Before lifting you into the air, his hands encircled your back and knees, keeping you in a steady position against his chest.

"....Aren't you angry at me?"

You questioned as he carried you back to the camp; his steps were fairly deliberate and he paid you no mind at all. Despite the fact that he remained silent, you could still sense a small amount of fury emanating from him.

The Captain halted his progress before responding to your question. His voice was noticeably colder than usual, nearly causing you to shudder as if a gust of cold wind had caressed your face.

"I am. Escorting you back to the camp in safety, however, is my first responsibility at the moment."

With the exception of a few wolf howls and bird chirps, the remainder of the trek back to the camp was eerily quiet. You weren't sure whether it was just your imagination, but you felt Capitano's right arm was holding you more tightly than normal. Normally, he would handle you with the utmost patience, making sure to treat you like a glass statue whenever he touched you.

Within a short distance, the faces of the Fatui agents emerged. The Fatui agent who had been with you earlier was sitting by the fire outdoors with his mask lifted and a deep gash on each cheek. His clothes, which were visibly torn, were covered with blood from his wound. His hair was ruffled, showing signs of struggles and you were sure that he must have been punished for allowing you out. You attempt to make eye contact with him, but he clumsily pulls his gaze away, as if he was fearful of the man who was supporting you.

A wave of shame shoots through your body.

If given the chance, perhaps you could offer to heal him afterwards. See it as a way to repay your sins. Capitano pushes through the cloth opening and carefully places you up against the chair. You recoil like a frightened bird as his gloved hands reach out to caress your forehead.

You silently gasped as he withdrew his hands for you to see the crimson blood that stains on his glove. The muscular man grabs your fingers and presses them firmly against your gushing forehead, prompting you to stare at him in confusion.

"Heal yourself."

However, you were unsure about how to proceed. You were able to heal others, but you've never attempted to heal yourself because you assumed your abilities didn't function in that way.

"I…I don't know how to."

The hold on his fingers grew a little tighter when you muttered. You can feel the firmness within his palm, but not enough for it to injure you.

"Why not? I would have imagined that you could accomplish something as simple as this, given how determined you were to escape from this place."

His comments caused your face to flush, your hand falling back onto your lap as he grip around them loosened. You half-hoped that Capitano would tend to your wounds as he stooped to examine them. However, his hands just swung at your neck, barely grabbing it and preventing your windpipe from being crushed.

Yet, you were absolutely afraid.

You panicked and reached out to grab his wrist, trying to drag him away, Capitano merely watched you struggle. Your fingers could only helplessly dragged against his gloved hands, his arms simply not budging even if you used all your effort.

He finally releases your neck while studying your fingers grasping for it, as if he had just choked you to death while the reality was that he didn't even exert an inch of his strength.

"You are struggling for your life despite the fact that I hardly even harmed you."

You could only look up at him with your doe eyes as you continued to heave, feeling like you were choking on something.

Hardly? You had no doubt that the man was out to get you and was silently begging for your demise. And now he's revealing that he barely employed any strength into his grip?

"You are so meek and frail, like a bird. You nevertheless pursue freedom even with that weak body."

The weak person was you, right? Was the man standing in front of you simply too powerful, or what? How could a young woman who hardly leaves her house be compared to a general who has spent years fighting on the front lines? A person with bloody hands shouldn't be challenged, and you knew this.

"How admiring."

He mumbled before gently, almost affectionately, caressing your cheeks with his palm. Treating you like some sort of small animal that had just been transferred in ownership.

"How foolish."

His fingers fumbled to brush a strand of your disheveled hair behind your ears, exposing your forehead, which still bore a scar from your earlier struggles. Carefully, he brushed his fingertips across the scar, watching as you hissed out in pain.

"I hope this serves as a lesson about just how helpless a creature you really are. Even defending or mending oneself is beyond your capacity."

His lengthy fingers continued to trace the shape of your wound as you could only nod in agreement and close your eyes. You were visibly shaken by the blood that was pouring from your forehead, but you were too terrified to speak. Afraid that the man in front of you would finally lose his last streak of patience.

Yes, Il Capitano was clearly deserving of the moniker of "Harbinger." A Harbinger foreshadowed your bedridden fate, an anticipatory sign of what is to come.

A Harbinger that foreshadowed your misery.

#yandere #yandere genshin au #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact #yandere x reader #genshin imagines #yandere genshin imagines #genshin x reader #fatui #capitano #yandere capitano #yandere capitano x reader #yandere genshin #mature #dark theme #repost

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oviids · 4 years ago

Note

pls share some of your spn fic recs 🥺🥺

ok, a few things first:

followers and mutuals who do not have supernatural brainworms, kindly avert your eyes

i don’t normally rec or even read much fanfic any more but this is a CRISIS ok (cont.)

there is so. much. content for deancas out there and i have incredibly high standards, several ancient ao3 bookmarks, can speedread, and want to spare you guys the experience of wading through it all.

i also have a section for spn femslash since I was pretty into that back in the day (sadly a lot less fan content for this :/)

I don’t really like au’s or pure smut (I honestly usually just skim or skip those scenes) so if you’re mainly looking for that kind of thing this probably won’t be very helpful to you. jsyk.

i’m not great at describing stuff but i’ll do my best, i’ll also try and add tw’s when neccesary.

i wil try and keep updating this with any other decent fics i find, feel free to rec stuff too since i’m like 7 years behind.(edit 1/25/21) this is getting looooong so i’m going to start making another list on my spn blog rather than update this one

(edit 1/3/21) since this has gotten pretty long i’ve added rating/approximate word counts and marked my particular favorites with an asterisk.

Dean/Cas fic:

So Says The Sword*** - explicit/85k. FUCK its good...au/time travel where dean is not pulled out of hell by cas and says yes to becoming the michael sword. honestly could serve as an alternative to actually watching the show, if you want to get into dean/cas without actually doing that to yourself.

Fata morgana.* - teen/6k, pst s9 finale. very bela centric and i love it, she finds cas looking for dean in hell.

Redemption Road -misc/600+k. an incredibly long fic from a collaborative writing group back in the day. canon divergent from the end of s6 on, has a cool take on godstiel and the leviathans, as well as the lovecratian mythos connection. ngl when i reread it i only made it about 28% in but imo the casual reader can actually stop around there, the rest concerns a lovecraftian apocalypse that is still good (i think i don’t remember it very well) but not required to enjoy the first half. if you prefer i have an ebook version i can send you on gdrive.

Someone Who's Feeling For Me* - mature/45k, s12. they run into lisa braeden and dean thinks cas is into her while cas thinks dean still likes her. treats lisa way better than the show ever did and the miscommunication is pretty funny rather than annoying.

a turn of the earth - mature/95k. time travel fic where cas from s10 keeps showing up in deans life from a few years before s1 to right before the hellhounds take his soul. slow burn, good character study, and at one point cas punches the dad in the face and it rules.

On the Wings of War - teen/85k, canon divergent s5. dean accidentally becomes the Horseman of War. plays fun, fast and loose with biblical lore, michael has some rights.

Named - mature/95k, alternate s5. EXTREMELY blasphemous in a fun sexy way. manages to predict metatron almost to a T. there’s one major character death and its literally jesus christ, everyone is very sad about it and it sets the rest of the story rolling. an alternate interpretation of cas’ mission to raise dean from hell which had me on the floor. ngl its kind of misogynistic at points, but its from 2010 and tracks with late oughts-2010 spn (sorry anna the author did you dirty here:/).

The Girlfriend Experience - explicit/15k. uhhh i don’t normally rec or even read smutty stuff unless someone i know is specifically asking for it but this has stuff like sam trying to be a good ally and dean thinking holding hands with cas is ‘kinda gay :/’ minutes after having gay sex with him.

i crippled your heart a hundred times - explicit/19k, s8. cas confesses his feelings and dean spends a long time getting his head out of his ass about it. truly hits different after the actual confession, despite being written six years early it feels like its actually what could have gone down more or less if the writers weren’t talentless demons who hate us.

My Roots Take Flight** - mature/125k. reverse au where cas is a hunter and dean’s an angel...OR IS IT???? an alternate retelling of s4. tw for briefly being set in a psychiatric hospital/the hospital being mentioned somewhat frequently throughout the fic, plus more references to torture in hell and heaven than usual.

The One Thing You Can't Lose* - teen/4k.you know those posts about how cas is a super-strong super-tough ancient warrior but he just lets dean tug him around because he likes it? thats it thats the fic.

Hands, From Which All Things Are Built - teen/14k, post s8′s ‘goodbye stranger.’ cas is on the run with the angel tablet but keeps in touch with sam and dean by text, he and dean still manage to be terrible at Actual communication.

Autrement, Danger - or, The Account of an Exceedingly Long Day - mature/30k, post s11. a monster that takes the appearance of your soulmate leads to some wild miscommunications and dealing with years of repression, also dean gets to see cas’ true form which is always cool. tw for non-graphic mentions of underage sexual assault/sex work.

Down to Agincourt - mature/explicit/900++++k, endverse continuation. endverse!cas survives his encounter with lucifer and discovers another time-displaced dean from s7. i’ve only read the two of four parts but its really good, veeeeery slow burn, has a lot of fun oc’s and takes a rather surprising but (imo) entertaining and intriguing turn into Hellenic history and mythology. usual tw’s for endverse/endverse!cas but nothing graphic, it’s actually pretty light-hearted (relatively speaking of course).

Nothing Equals the Splendor** - explicit/8k, THEE finale fix it fic you’ve been waiting for! posits that the entire final episode was just a (very bad and lame) djinn’s vision.

like moses and batman and james dean - explicit/31k, post s8. explores dean’s trauma and internalized homophoba from his technically canon experience with sex work and its impact on his relationship with cas. the sex work itself isn’t really shown in any detail but it’s still a relatively heavy fic.

Crazy Diamonds - explicit/25k, s4/alternate s14. fresh-out-of-hell dean and dean from 10 years in the future are displaced from time and sent to each other’s present.

where the weeds take root - explicit/30k. au where the men of letters kick them out of the bunker and they accidentally move out into the country, get over their codependence and semi retire. featuring chicken coop building, sam volunteering at a dog shelter, gardening, and blissfully mundane domesticity.

No Resting Place - teen/6k. djinn dream fic, switches back and forth between cas’ dream of being married to dean and retired from hunting to the aftermath when he wakes up. tw for brief mention of suicide since, y’know, djinn dream.

any port in a storm - mature/52k. post s8 finale. cas and dean have to pose as a couple going through a rough patch for a case and actually deal with their emotional baggage, cas struggles with being human and metatron is up to stuff.

all this and heaven too* - explicit/7k. in the author’s own words ‘...a love letter to every trans person who ever projected onto Dean Winchester.’ absolutely unzipped me emotionally and theologically, its just. so good. tw for very brief mentions of internalized transphobia/dysphoria.

Because it is* - mature/6k, finale fix it. killing chuck does not bring back anyone back and the winchesters spend a very long time dealing with what they’ve lost, cas and dean SOMEHOW still manage to have signifigant communication issues even after the confession. tw for suicidal thoughts/brief attempt.

Vena Amoris and Other Old-Fashioned Bullshit* - teen/4k, s6. when cas fell for dean it automatically soulbonded/angel married them, shenanigans ensue when dean finds out during the angel’s civil war. funny and actually written back when s6 was airing so cas is still (or at least pretending to be) kind of an OP asshole which is fun.

Rinse, Repeat - teen/3k, s8. angsty character study of cas as he’s reprogrammed and trained to kill dean. not really dean/cas since its just cas’ pov of canon events but its beautifully written and ends with him snapping out of it through the power of love (also now a canon event!).

Emergence - explicit/59k, canon divergent after s11. dean meets a hunter he only recognizes as their friend claire novak’s missing father, but soon realizes he might be the answer behind the mysterious void in his memories and feelings (aka everyone’s memories of cas are completely wiped away for three years).

Cuckoo And Nest - explicit/10k, early established relationship/character study, cas tries to figure out how he fits into dean’s life and space in the bunker.

Build a Home* - teen/20k, canon divergent s12. sam and eileen are cute and turn the bunker into men of letters/hunters hq and everyone but cas moves in, mutual miscommunication issues and pining ensues.

Down in the River - teen/5k, early s8, cas prays to dean in purgatory while sam and dean try to figure out a way to get him out.

Teaching Poetry to Fish* - mature/52k, ?? BC through the entire series/canon divergent s14 and 15. retelling of crucial scenes throughout the shows timeline from cas’ pov, feat. actual fish and poetry.

the minor fall, the major lift - gen/4k, post confession/finale fixit. dean goes into the empty to save cas and runs into several old friends (and enemies).

With the Kisses of His Mouth* - teen/3k, gen later seasons. dean and cas keep kissing by accident.

Remaining Grace - explicit/109k, alternate s6. au where cas asks dean for help with raphael and dean, of course, does. tw for temporary major character death/semi-graphic depictions of alcohol withdrawal.

The face of heaven.* - teen/10k, au, dean is a regular guy and cas is a fallen star (think ‘stardust’, kinda).

Stories Are Made of Mistakes* - teen/5k. newly human cas has trouble getting used to a human body and humanity in general, but still figures out that he and dean are A Thing before dean does.

Hurry Up And Wait - mature/21k, canon divergent s12. a fairyland and quite possibly LOTR related case comes up and dean goes full fanboy, mary is introduced to the wonders of the peter jackson adaptions, many references and comparisons (including between cas and dean’s ‘friendship’ and arwen/aragon). also charle is still alive and has just been doing fairy stuff this whole time.

There Are Many Things - explicit/28k, s9. cas is extremely lonely/touch-starved and trying to figure out this whole human thing, as well as where he and dean stand after being kicked out of the bunker.

It's A Long Life to Always Be Longing - teen/40k, post s11 finale. amara helps dean by putting him in a magical coma so he can finally get some much needed rest and show him possible futures for him, sam and cas. meanwhile sam and cas go on a roadtrip (or several) to find componets for a spell to wake dean up. really good sam and cas friendship, they actually talk about their shared lucifer trauma and stuff.

Non-Photo Blue - gen/2k, s4/5/alternate s5. fifty moments from cas’ memories of dean.

Tall Grass - explicit/57k, canon divergent post series. cas becomes the ultimate plant dad. feat the wayward sisters gang, cathartic character growth, fun oc’s, domesticity, and lots of actual botanical info-dumping.

on vessels - no rating/gen/2k. established dean/cas, cas tells dean about how he used to imagine what it would be like to have him as his vessel.

search for tomorrow on every shore* - teen/11k, post-finale (extremely derogatory). some angels in jack’s new heaven act out and dean gets temporarily resurrected in 2003 and runs into his younger self.

Architecture of the Minotaur’s Heart - explicit/45k, very canon divergent post s1. dean’s new house seems to have a life and mind of its own, while in his dreams he sees glimpses of a world and apocalypse that never came to be and an angel that looks strangely like his mysterious neighbor, cas. loosely inspired by the book house of leaves (which i highly recommend for fans of weird horror).

The Distance Of The Setting Sun - explicit/17k, post s5. established dean/cas relationship, team free will finally takes advantage of cas’ abilities to go on vacation around the world.

diamond star halo - teen/5k, s11. dean lets cas use him as a temporary vessel while he recovers from rowena’s spell, sam is a long-suffering third-wheel.

Make Known** - teen/16k, s6/7. dean struggles to understand how cas could have become his enemy and whether he ever truly knew him in the first place.

blunt little instrument* - mature/1.4k, post finale. dean finally confronts his father in heaven, very cathartic.

my heart a compass*** - teen/10k, post confession. the empty forces cas to re-experience his most regretted moments while dean tries to snap him out of it and bring him home.

A Crash Course in Someone Else's History - teen/11k, s6. cas from the very start of s4 is brought forward in time by s6!cas to distract the brothers from his and crowley’s plans.

The Cuckoo Father - mature/8k, s7 au. the woman who found cas in the river post-leviathans does not marry him bc he was sent to her by god or whatever, but actually identifies him as jimmy novak and sends him back to claire and amelia.

The Dead Dean Clause* - teen/5k, post alt s5 ending. team free will celebrates surviving taking down lucifer by getting blitzed, cas lies to a cop and gets an impromptu driving lesson. title/description sound dark i know but it’s actually very funny and light.

Suck It, Judy Garland - mature/20k, s12 (after the ‘i love you...i love all of you’ episode). cas and sam have to pretend to be a couple for a case and dean is NOT happy about it.

By Daylight and In Dream - teen/16k, s5. pre-dean/cas, dean invites cas to use his dreams to hide from the other angels. tw for very brief mention of a memory/dream of alastair sexually assaulting dean.

The Five People You Meet in Heaven - mature/22k, post-canon. an actually happy (if sometimes bittersweet) heaven endgame written several years ago, though some details are rather eerily similar to the show’s ending.

heaven is a place on earth* - teen/2k. dean’s pov of some of the times cas left him behind throughout the show, and one alternate ending where he finally gets to stay.

I Cleanse The Mirror - teen/20k, alternate s6. dean’s body is stolen by an ancient elemental and his soul has to hitch a ride in cas’ vessel.

an exploration of gender; angelic*** - mature/4k. *oscar isaac voice* lets get into angel gender politics!! aka cas is trans.

Zenith - explicit/33k, s9. after 9x06 an angry witch curses cas with the ability to see supernatural beings and human souls.

La cucina. - gen/3k, alt s9. dean goes wild helping a newly-human cas find out what kinds of food he likes, or the early s9 domesticity we deserved!

Dean Winchester, Cocksucker at Rest***** - teen/7k, post-finale. john and mary finally come over for dinner and john reacts to dean/cas in a rather predictable fashion. SOOOOOOOOO good omg, its so funny and a little sad and very very cathartic. part of a series that has a few other really good short fics.

The Way You Didn't Go - teen/5k, s15. coda to 15.09, dean has nightmares about the moc!cas timeline.

On Drowning - teen/28k. dean saves cas after he nearly drowns, they both try and deal with the physical/mental fallout (aka the fic where thee iconic “you only touch me when you think I’m dead or dying” originates). tw for realistic depictions of drowning/triage/misc medical information.

The Thirty-Six Questions That Lead to Love* - mature/13k. claire has dean and cas pretend to be her gay dads for a case and they play the titular 36 question game, get mistaken for swingers, and birdwatch, among other things.

Assorted F/F stuff:

Deep Breaths* - mary/ellen, au where mary said no to azazel’s deal and let john stay dead, still becomes a milf.

Like Rebel Diamonds - krissy/claire, they become hunter gf’s on the hunt for cas to kick his ass for taking jimmy. not-so-stealth dean/cas as well.

To Ash and Bone - anna/ruby, same author as the previous fic (p much all of her stuff is good from what i recall). au where ruby is a witch and helps anna when she’s cursed.

Holy Clockwork Angels - jo/ruby, STEAMPUNK au with very cool worldbuiilding.

At Day's End - jo/anna (my fucking KINGDOM for more jo/anna content, the dean/cas parallels are allllll there), au where they are both at the camp in the endverse and gfs.

these posts - ok so not actually a fic but i’m now obsessed with this hannah/meg dynamic.

Tagelied - mary/ellen, the true story of how ellen got into hunting before angels interfered.

Hell's Bells** - meg/abaddon, alternate s8/9 where meg survives crowley’s attack with sam’s help and teams up with abaddon (who she has a sk year old crush on) to take back hell.

The Ecstasy of the Rose - anna/ruby, anna travels back in time to escape heaven and becomes a signifigant part of ruby’s old human life.

Angel Underground - anna/jo, kind of an urban fantasy au with a very intriguing premise (sadly its very short, i’d love to see more if this ‘verse).

Clover, Flame - billie/mary, billie was always the reaper that showed up to take mary after her death(s) over the years.

Drag Me To Heaven - anna/ruby, a variant on the ‘last night on earth’ thing with dean.

Come Home* - jo/anna, canon-divergent au where anna is the new waitress at the roadhouse and helps jo set up a (probably not really) haunted house for halloween.

#if you told me i'd be doing this in 2020 three weeks ago i'd have laughed in your face :/#deancas #supernatural #fic recs #spn femslash #destiel #fic #the alie tag #spn posting

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billiewena · 3 years ago

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since I never made a post for these, here are all of MY ideal endings for sam (and how I would do them) that I spite-wrote after a coworker told me about how perfect his finale was <3

HUNTER NETWORK ENDING: Sam establishes an official network for the American hunters, leading a new generation of hunters as the antithesis of John Winchester. One of the final shots is a montage of all the hunters working and saving people all across the country, proving the Winchesters are no longer alone in the world.

SAMWITCH ENDING: Sam becomes a full-fledged witch thanks to all the magic supplies he inherited from Rowena and blends hunting/witch shenanigans. He can still be powerful but now he gets to choose where that power comes from. Okay this is basically Goldenrod Revisions, leave me alone.

SEPARATE WAYS ENDING: Sam and Dean both alive but living / hunting apart, going their separate ways like a parent and child who is finally leaving the nest. Sam gets the independence he always wanted while also getting to keep his brother in his life, because this is the ultimate proof that Dean trusts him. For the first time, they can move on without the reason being the other is dead. They no longer doubt they will always be there for each other even if they’re not living under the same roof anymore. The episode ends with Sam breaking into Dean’s [insert post-finale residence of choice here] in a callback to the pilot, saying he was in the area for a hunt. The last lines are Sam asking if he wanted to reunite for the hunt for old’s time sake and Dean saying “looks we got work to do.”

PODCASTER ENDING: Sam starts a podcast about the supernatural discussing urban American legends, myths, and mysteries that also helps viewers know what to look for and maybe even teaches them to defend themselves. Some take it as fiction, some use what he tells them to save their lives. It hits the top of the paranormal/mystery charts. The Ghostfacers, whose attempt to get into podcasting failed, ARE livid.

THEY BOTH DIE AT THE END: Sam and Dean both die in a blaze of glory, sacrificing themselves to defeat Chuck and bring back the rest of the world. They both get a moment to say an emotional goodbye to Jack and to each other. The two get a massive hunter’s funeral where all the past hunters come to mourn them and talk about their impact. Jody’s speech probably makes us cry. They get to Heaven at the same time, where they are greeted by all their past friends and family at the Roadhouse. On Earth, they live on forever as urban legends and heroes.

SAM & ROWENA ENDING: Sam says #FuckHeaven and spends his afterlife in hell as the consort to Queen Rowena, drinking margaritas all day, living his best life and stopping any demon uprisings in their tracks. Anytime they give him a hard time, he reminds them that he was Azazel’s boyking and they’re just Random Demon #489. What are THEY doing with their life.

SAM & EILEEN ENDING #1 - MARRIED HUNTER LIFE EDITION: Sam and Dean both survive and continue to hunt / live together, except now Eileen and Castiel are around and live in the bunker with them too after Cas was saved in [insert Empty rescue scenario of your choice.] Sam has some deja vu to the vision he had of all four of them living together in 15x09. He realizes that this is actually real and not a vision; that they are actually together, at peace and beat Chuck. The episode ends with them going to have the movie night that they never got to have in the vision. As Eileen takes his hand to go to the movie room, you see two engagement rings on their hands. Sam realizes that his journey may have started with losing Jessica but he found love again, and that while once upon a time all he and Eileen wanted was revenge, they’ve finally both found peace.

SAFE HOUSE ENDING: Sam starts a trauma center/safe house situation for hunters and ex-monsters to recover and heal, dedicating his life to proving that no one is beyond saving and everyone can redeem themselves and defy fate like he had. Mia Vallens, the shapeshifting grief counselor, is on payroll.

SAM IS THE AUTHOR NOW ENDING: Sam narrates the finale the same way Chuck did for the original series finale "Swan Song", further proving that they are now in control in their story. We get Sam's POV as he tells us what happened to all the other hunters and side characters, as well as him and his brother, with flashbacks from all fifteen seasons and young Sam & Dean growing up together. The episode ends with the reveal that Sam actually finishing the journal entries for the Winchester family's edition of the Men of Letters Bestiary, putting the finishing touches on some monster entries and his own personal anecodotes. He treats the Bestiary like a journal, in a callback to After-School Special where Sam almost became a writer and wrote about his and his family's hunting stories.

BABY JACK ENDING: Sam raises Baby!Jack after he is de-aged and “falls” to Earth in the same fashion the angel Anna once did. Baby!Jack wears overalls that don’t say his name in giant letters because Sam is a good parent who would never do that to his child. The two have a happy life as an adopted father/son duo who defied everything Lucifer and Heaven wanted them to be.

SAM & EILEEN ENDING #2 - EUROTRIP EDITION: Sam going on a year-long vacation around the world now that he has a cool Irish girlfriend who is not afraid of planes, leading to a fun exploration of the supernatural in foreign countries. Who is Dean.

DOG SHELTER OWNER: Sam owns a dog shelter and gets to walk at least ten dogs a day. Jack helps out and Miracle is the HBIC. Life is good.

CHUCK WINS ENDING: Sam lives and Dean dies, Sam throws a funeral for him that no one attends but him and a dog, and moves to the suburbs to live a generic white picket fence life with an unidentifiable wife. As a montage of Sam’s life plays, the camera pans away what looks like a computer and Chuck’s old office. A string of quotes can be heard in the background (“we’re just hamsters running around in a cage” “what would you rather have: peace or freedom?” “I can do anything...I’m a writer” “We will never give you the ending that you want / We’ll see”). The final shot is Jack, dressed in Chuck’s clothes and glasses and using his mannerisms, typing away at a typewriter. He writes “The End” but punctuates it with a question mark instead of a period. His computer screen and our TV screen both go black.

#if you saw this in my yockeynatural uquiz already no you didn't <3 #credits to sammyblep for the dog shelter ending tho that was is a new one and not from the uquiz but he's so right for that one #anyways the moral of the story is here..both the writers and y'all could get more creative about him lol #not gonna tag this in the actual sam tag so if you see it you see it!#saileen #samwena #ntjdmakesthings #long post #these are obviously all the more canon friendly ones btw.. like if we're talking pipe dream endings than number one is magda is alive again

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rengadyke · 2 years ago

Text

Posting more of my phantom of the opera au because I feel like it

I’m picking and choosing which parts of each of the adaptations I want to use, so we’ve got “prologue is an auction taking place many years later” from the musical and “some guy wants to write a book about it” from the original novel

Content warning for mentions of the Battle of Okinawa--for anyone who doesn’t know, it was bloody and brutal and a lot of civilians died

If anything is unclear or doesn’t make sense, please let me know! It would be nice to get some feedback before posting this on AO3

Enjoy!

---

Naha, Okinawa - 1945

The old, run-down building that once housed the Paradise Theater has not been special in decades. Now it is one of the ten percent of buildings left standing on the island of Okinawa.

Just a few months earlier, it sheltered two old men and their neighbors during the battle. The old men had once worked at the theater, and decades later their hobbling legs still remembered the way through the labyrinth under the stage. There they waited, terrified and hungry, but safe from the Americans’ bombs and the Japanese army’s demands to die honorably rather than surrender. When a nice young man explained that they were not going to be tortured and killed by American soldiers, the old men and their neighbors emerged from their shelter, amazed to find that the building was still standing.

The Americans quickly took over the theater after the fighting was done, using it as a hospital—or perhaps a brothel. Or both. Now they are holding an auction to distribute the treasures found in its vaults. The attendees are mostly American servicemen. Some foreigners are dressed in civilian clothes—collectors or reporters, perhaps.

No one pays any attention to the two old men sitting far behind the crowd. Surely none of them know that they were once the managers of the Paradise Theater.

“Can you believe it’s been 50 years, Kaoru?” the larger of them says in a very old-sounding voice.

“I still don’t know why you insisted on coming here,” the other grumbles. He has the air of someone who’s been an old man his entire life. His long hair and formal kimono would have been out of fashion even in his youth.

“You don’t feel sentimental about any of this?”

Kaoru grunts. “Why should I? It’s rotten luck that this place was spared while the temples were reduced to rubble. I suppose you’re feeling sentimental, Kojiro?”

Kojiro doesn’t respond, as a mask being taken from a box and shown to the audience catches his eye. “Kaoru, look!”

“Look at what?”

“Isn’t that the mask Miya wore? When he thought he’d been turned into a demon?”

“That one got broken, remember? We had to cut it up to get it off of his face.”

“It’s got a crack! Look! I swear it’s the same one.”

Kaoru adjusts his glasses and squints. “It seems your eyesight’s gone the same way as your hair.”

“Hey now, I’d be able to see as well as you if I wore your stupid glasses!”

“It’s better that you can’t see, really. If you could see yourself in the mirror, you’d probably break it...wrinkled cabbage.”

“You’re just as old as I am, puckered goya!”

“Sold!” calls the auctioneer. Neither Kaoru nor Kojiro knows much English, but they can mostly follow what’s happening. They watch as the mask that may or may not have been Miya’s is sold off to a young blonde man in a U.S. Army uniform.

“What do you think he’s going to do with it?” Kojiro asks.

“Hang it in his house, most likely. Maybe give it to a museum someday.”

“Why couldn’t we have put it in a museum?”

“There are a thousand masks just like it all over the country.”

Kojiro sighs. Maybe there are a thousand hannya masks in Japan. This probably wasn’t even Miya’s mask. Never again will it be part of a show. Now it can have a new life. As…a decoration.

Another item goes on display: an onnagata’s wig. Kojiro doesn’t bother asking if it might have been Miya’s, or Langa’s or even Kaoru’s from his days on the stage. It doesn’t really matter anymore. No one is left to miss the Paradise Theater, with the exception of two rather old men, sitting on a makeshift bench of rubble and watching their memories being sold off piece by piece.

“Do you think there will be anything of his?” Kaoru asks.

Kojiro could snap back with something about his poor eyesight, but he decides not to. Not with something like this.

“If there is, would you like to bid on it?” Kojiro offers.

“We don’t have any money.”

“We’ll borrow some money.”

“From whom?”

“One of those nice American gents!”

“And what would we pay them back with?”

Kojiro thinks. “How about a story? ‘Have you heard the tale of kabuki no kami? A ghost story certain to chill you to the bone—’”

“It’s not a ghost story,” Kaoru says softly.

“What kind of story is it, then?” Kojiro asks.

Kaoru’s gaze is trained in front of him, perhaps watching the drama play out again in his mind. “I think it’s a tragedy.”

Kojiro hums. “I don’t think so,” he says. “Not for everyone, at least. Not for us.” He gives his companion a wrinkled smile.

Kaoru nods stoically and stares ahead. The wig that might have been Miya’s, or Langa’s, or Kaoru’s is sold to a man in a suit.

They sit in silence until the last of the Paradise Theater’s treasures have been sold off. Then they pull themselves to their feet and set out for the long walk home.

To the surprise of both men, the young American who bought the broken hannya mask approaches them, a grating eagerness in his bright blue eyes. Another man who looks to be Japanese follows him. “Excuse me, sirs—”

“Sorry, no English,” Kaoru says, turning away. His statement might be more accurately interpreted to mean, “Sorry, I have no interest in conversing with English speakers” than, “Sorry, I have no knowledge of English”—though both are true.

The American says something in English to the Japanese man, who turns to the old men and bows. “Our apologies," says the Japanese man. “Only, my friend thought he heard you mention kabuki no kami.”

“How typically American of him to listen in on our conversation,” Kaoru says to his friend in Okinawan.

Kojiro ignores him. “How do you know about kabuki no kami?” he asks in Japanese.

The American speaks excitedly to his companion, glancing at the old men every so often, before gesturing for him to translate. “He was studying anthropology before the war,” the translator explains. “While he was stationed out here, he heard all sorts of local legends, including kabuki no kami.”

Kaoru and Kojiro exchange looks.

The American continues talking and gesturing excitedly, and the Japanese man translates. “He knows all about the fire, and the half-French onnagata who was kidnapped, and the mysterious deaths of—”

“Those tragedies all happened, yes,” Kaoru snaps. “But nothing about them should be of any interest to foreigners. You should leave the past in the past where it belongs.”

The translator hesitates, glancing uncertainly at the American. “Pardon my rudeness, but he says if you really believed that…you wouldn’t be here.”

“This little brat…” Kaoru mutters in Okinawan.

“If you want to learn about the history of the theater, I’m sure there are records you can find,” Kojiro suggests.

Again, the translator hesitates. “Many of those were destroyed during the war.”

“My condolences for your loss,” Kaoru says coldly.

The American doesn’t seem to pick up on his tone, nor does the man bother translating. The American continues: “That’s why I wanted to find someone who was there and talk to them. To save these stories before they’re lost.”

“This island has plenty of legends that are in danger of being lost,” Kojiro says. “Why are you so interested in this one?”

“Because it’s fascinating! Don’t you agree?” The translator makes a halfhearted attempt at conveying the American’s glee.

“That’s not the word I would use,” Kojiro says sadly.

“And the mystery!” the translator continues, ignoring the old man as he struggles to keep up with the American’s frenzied speech. “We don’t know where the kami really came from or who he was, or what happened to the onnagata—”

Kaoru clenches his fists. “Langa. His name was Langa.”

The American says something eagerly. Apparently he understands some Japanese.

Kojiro cuts off the Japanese man before he can translate. “My apologies, it’s not something we want to talk about,” He turns away, shielding his friend with his body as he often has before.

This time the American speaks in broken Japanese. “But sirs, don’t you think the world should know—”

Kaoru turns around, pushing past Kojiro. “The world needs to know how to mind its own business!” he snaps. “If you aren’t going to leave our island, at least leave the two of us in peace. Do you understand? Leave us alone,” he says in English.

“Let’s go home, Kaoru,” Kojiro says in Okinawan. Kaoru already feels a little more fragile in his arms. At their age, strong emotions drain them more than they used to.

They leave the disappointed American and his companion behind and begin their long walk home. Neither of them mentions kabuki no kami or the Paradise Theater for the rest of the day.

---

*synth organ plays*

phantom au masterpost

#sk8 fanfic #phantom of the opera au #kabuki no kami #sk8 joe #sk8 cherry #nanjo kojiro #sakurayashiki kaoru #matchablossom #if you squint #poor miya again he is straight up not having a good time in this fic

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nordleuchten · 3 years ago

Text

La Fayette and the Battle of Brandywine

On September 11, 1777, things were not looking well for the Continental Army. They were engaged in a battle that would later be known as the Battle of Brandywine. They faced the British army under the command of General Lord Cornwallis and soon the American troops were retreating in an unorderly fashion. Enter the youngest Continental general, the Marquis de La Fayette. He had just turned 20 a few days before the battle and had virtually no experience on the battlefield. He was determined though to do something and to rally the retreating soldiers. He was shot in the leg trying to achieve this and his injury was only one of the ways he would eventually cemented his place in the heart of a whole nation. Let us have a closer look at La Fayette’s wound on this anniversary of the battle.

La Fayette wrote in his Memoirs about his wound:

(…) the confusion became extreme; and it was whilst M. de Lafayette was rallying the troops that a ball passed through his leg; -- at that moment all those remaining on the field gave way. M. de Lafayette was indebted to Gimat, his aide-de-camp, for the happiness of getting upon his horse. General Washington arrived from a distance with fresh troops; M. de Lafayette was preparing to join him, when loss of blood obliged him to stop and have his wound bandaged; he was even very near being taken. Fugitives, cannon and baggage now crowded without order into the road leading to Chester. The general employed the remaining daylight in checking the enemy: some regiments behaved extremely well, but the disorder was complete. During that time the ford of Chad was forced, the cannon taken, and the Chester road became the common retreat of the whole army. In the midst of that dreadful confusion, and during the darkness of the night, it was impossible to recover; but at Chester, twelve miles from the field of battle, they met with a bridge which it was necessary to cross; M. de Lafayette occupied himself in arresting the fugitives; some degree of order was re-established; the generals and the commander-in-chief arrived, and he had leisure to have his wound dressed. (…) M. de Lafayette having been conveyed by water to Philadelphia, was carefully attended to by the citizens, who were all interested in his situation and extreme youth. That same evening the congress determined to quit the city: a vast number of the inhabitants deserted their own hearths -- whole families, abandoning their possessions, and uncertain of the future, took refuge in the mountains. M. de Lafayette was carried to Bristol; in a boat he there saw the fugitive congress, who only assembled again on the other side of the Susquehannah; he was himself conducted to Bethlehem a Moravian establishment, where the mild religion of the brotherhood, the community of fortune, education, and interests amongst that large and simple family formed a striking contrast to scenes of blood, and the convulsions occasioned by a civil war.

A few things to add to this little excerpt. La Fayette was quite lucky, because the musket ball had hit the fleshy part of the calf without damaging nerve or bone. In the medical world of the 18th century, especially a damaged bone would have led to a certain amputation of the limp. But La Fayette was indeed quite lucky. There is a bit of a discussion about the “true” extend of La Fayette’s injury because he tended to drastically downplay serious illnesses and injuries (while he would do the exact opposite with minor illnesses and injuries). Later in life, he also mentioned that without the good care of the Moravian sisters, he would have lost his leg - thus leading some people to believe that the injury was worse than he presented it. There is however no real evidence to support this theory, neither coming from La Fayette nor from anybody else.

Another interesting side note, the founders of the Moravian settlement came from the same region that La Fayette was later imprisoned in - from the region were Olmütz was at.

The sash that was used for the initial dressing of the wound has survived and is now displayed in the Fraunces Tavern Museum. I wrote about the sash here.

On the day of the battle, George Washington send some sort of “after action report” to John Hancock, who was then the President of the Continental Congress. In his letter, Washington also mentioned La Fayette:

The Marquis La Fayette was wounded in the leg, & General Woodford in the hand. Divers other officers were wounded, & some slain; but the numbers of either cannot now be ascertained.

But Washington was not the only one who wrote letters, La Fayette wrote letters as well that detailed his wound. He wrote his wife Adrienne a day after the battle on September 12, 1777:

While I was trying to rally them, the English honored me with a musket shot, which wounded me slightly in the leg. But the wound is nothing, dear heart; the ball hit neither bone nor nerve, and all I have to do for it to heal is to lie on my back for a while-which puts me in very bad humor. I hope, dear heart, that you will not worry; on the contrary, you should be even less worried than before, because I shall now be out of action for some time. I intend to take good care of myself; you may be sure of that, dear heart. This battle will, I fear, have unpleasant consequences for America; we must try to repair the damage, if we can. You must have received many letters from me, unless the English are as hostile to my letters as to my legs. I have received only one from you so far, and I long for news.

He wrote his wife again on October 1, 1777 from Bethlehem:

To put the best face on it, I could tell you that mature reflection had induced me to remain in my bed for several weeks, sheltered from all danger. But I must admit that I was invited to stay there because of a very slight wound in the leg. I do not know how I received it; in truth, I did not expose myself to enemy fire. It was my first battle, so you see how rare battles are. It is the last of this campaign, or at least the last big battle, it appears. If any other action occurs here, you see that I could not be present. Consequently, my dear heart, I take pleasure in reassuring you that you have no need to worry. While I tell you not to worry about me, I tell myself that you love me, and this little conversation with my heart pleases it very much, for it has never loved you more tenderly.

The day after that battle, my first thought was to write to you. I told you then that the wound was nothing, and I was right. The only thing I fear is that you have not received that letter, for if, when General Howe gives his master the king some slightly inflated details about his exploits in America, he reports me wounded, he could just as well report me killed. That would cost him nothing. I hope that my friends, and you especially, my dear heart, will never believe the reports of those people who last year even dared to print a story that General Washington and all his general officers were in a boat that capsized and all of them were drowned.

But we were speaking of my wound; the ball passed through the flesh and touched neither bone nor nerve. The surgeons are astonished by the rate at which it heals; they are in ecstasy every time they dress it, and maintain that it is the most beautiful thing in the world. I myself find it very foul, very tedious, and rather painful; there is no accounting for tastes. But, finally, if a man wished to be wounded just for his own amusement, he should come and see my wound and have one just like it. There, dear heart, you have the story of what I pompously call my wound, to give myself airs and to make myself interesting.

Now, since you are the wife of an American general officer, I must give you some instructions. People will say to you: “They have been beaten.” You will reply: “That is true, but between two armies of equal size, in open country, old soldiers have the advantage over new ones; besides, the Americans had the satisfaction of killing many more of the enemy than they lost.”

This letter is just so quintessential La Fayette! The way he wrote that he did not know how he even was injured in the first place, his statement that battles are oh so rarely and that he is perfectly safe, him getting completely side-tracked in the middle of the letter and finishing with his “instructions” to Adrienne (who still went on after that). But best of all is the opening line of the letter:

I wrote to you, dear heart, on the twelfth of September; the twelfth is the day after the eleventh

Yes La Fayette, that is true - but also very obvious, but thank you for pointing that out again :-)

He wrote his wife a last time regarding his injury on November 6, 1777. By that time he had actually already returned to the army (October) and had resumed active service.

You may receive this letter, my dear heart, in five or six years, for I am writing you by an indirect route, which I don't know much about. (…) All my other dispatches have informed you of the remaining events of the campaign. The Battle of Brandywine, where I cleverly left a little bit of my leg; the occupation of Philadelphia, which is so far from having the ill consequences of which they are persuaded in Europe; an unsuccessful attack on the camp at Germantown, in which I didn't participate because I had very recently been wounded (…)

I again included the opening sentence, not because it is of any merit for the topic, but because he is simply too good to be left out.

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undertaker1827 · 4 years ago

Note

Undertaker headcanons from the late 19th century (1889) to the present day with an S / O that is also immortal. Just cute things about how they would have fun and a relationship that would really be "forever" (I'm a little obsessed with eternal romances with immortal creatures, sorry XD)

Aww that’s such a sweet idea, don’t apologise!! Here you go, hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Alright people sit down and buckle up we start in the Victorian era

Undertaker is doing just that, lowkey experimenting on the dead and the like as well but we’re ignoring that for now

You’re absolutely not working as a servant in some lord’s house, equally you probably can’t quite get up into high society given Undertaker’s occupation, likely somewhere in the middle

To be honest, you probably ended up involved in the Phantomhives’ underground network and you are more than capable of working the system so you can be accepted equally by both London’s high society and the working classes

The mortician deals with people from all walks of life and you regularly interact with them so it’s hardly surprising

During this time, the two of you would eat out as much as possible , just to experience the class divide from both ends

The funeral parlour isn’t in the best part of London, so you went to the local pub one night for dinner and a drink

The atmosphere was positively alive, the people inside loud and buzzing with warm energy despite the winter cold trying to deep in through the windows

You had a basic meal of chicken and vegetable broth, sat at a table just off the corner of the bar

The place might have smelt of alcohol but the people sat at another table playing music more than made up for it

There was a violinist, a singer and a flute player, all producing jigs, country music and the best old songs, the kind the two of you hadn’t heard in a good few years

Alternately, Undertaker took you out to the fanciest, most expensive restaurant London had to offer

You didn’t even know where he got the money from

He wore a sleek black top hat and tails, hair drawn back and hidden away for once

A crisp white shirt and a red tie, polished black loafers and you wearing your finest

You lost track of how many courses you ate, lost in the small orchestra playing exquisite music from the front

Undertaker had reserved the best table they had to offer and ultimately spared no expense

Afterwards, you decided that whilst the experiences were polar opposites, you had enjoyed both for entirely different reasons

Moving on to the early 1900’s, the industrial revolution was a scream for you both

Picture the most ridiculous, steampunk-looking ‘automated vehicle’ you can, complete with the crazy lights on the front and the carriage wheels, chugging out black smoke

Undertaker had one

It was such a wild thing to invent that he just couldn’t resist

You were the talk of his part of London, specifically how the ‘unusual’ mortician has managed to afford one was of great debate among the gossips

Of course, you two sat on the sidelines and watched it all unfold, grinning like mad people and never giving out any information

You did make the occasional comment though, only to stir the pot and confuse everyone even further

Your favourite memory of that car had to be when you chugged over Westminster bridge in it, the mortician tipping his hat while you just nodded at the pavement full of top hats who halted what they were doing to watch you go by

You laughed for ages after that one

It couldn’t last forever though, and when the First World War came, it was as hard on the two of you as any

Undertaker seemed always to be working during those four years, the list of casualties endless

You helped him wherever you could, devoting the rest of your time to helping out at the local shelter, nursing when the hospitals were being overrun

You would both pass information along the underground as well, anything to end the death and destruction

The Second World War passed in much the same way, though now there seemed to be even less time to rest

You would stand and quietly hold each other on the long nights when it all seemed endless, listening to Churchill over the radio and trying to not get too down

The next little while passed by uneventfully really - everyone was trying to recover from the after effects of the fighting and the Cold War was in full flow

When it got to the 50’s and 60’s though, things started looking up once more

You lost count of the number of dances you went to with the mortician, each of which he invited you to in a most gentlemanly manner

Eventually you invited him to a few, though he jokingly complained each time that he should be the one to ask you

Undertaker’s slow dances went unrivalled, both at events and whilst you were alone in the parlour

Those were your favourites, gazing lovingly into his phosphorescent eyes, glowing softly in the half dark as he smiled back at you

He would hold your body to his as close as possible, keeping you flush together whilst still moving to the music

He would have an arm securely around your waist, far too much contact for the dance you were doing but you had no complaints

When it got late and dark and you were still stepping around each other, you would lay your head on his shoulder and his hand would move automatically to your hair, ever so softly combing back through it and nails caressing your scalp so masterfully that it took far more effort than it should have done to stay awake

He knew that of course and would grin, wasting no time in sitting down somewhere with you in his lap, whispering sweet nothings until your eyes did finally close, albeit against your will

You would smile in the morning when you woke up in bed, but still wrapped tightly in the mortician’s embrace

Moving swiftly onto the 70’s, I just want to say if you don’t think Undertaker could disco with the best of them, you are so wrong

He’s a fabulous dancer, no matter what the era or style and there wasn’t the move he didn’t know

You would often catch him dancing away to the pop songs over the radio or on the little TV you two had purchased

When he saw you, not only would he not stop but he would grab you and get you to start dancing with him

The reaper took full advantage of the fashion for flares and all things day glow, mismatching neon socks worn proudly

And of course if this wasn’t the era of the best comedy movies

You went to the movie theatre to see all of them, got them on DVD and ultimately there wasn’t a single reference that went over your head

It was also impossible to pick your favourite

From then on, the two of you really just watched fashions and trends progress into the ones we know now

He has a black hearse of course, but not your average one

It’s all sharp angles and gleaming chrome, a skull pendent hanging off the rear view

When it’s Halloween season, he puts a skeleton in the back so others can see it through the back window

The tech side of things is definitely a bonus, phones are just convenient and there’s so much media (films, music) you can never get bored

You’ve been to festivals together, fringe all the way

Undertaker teleported you to the front when your favourite band came on; it was the best thing

He even hoisted you up on his shoulders at one point and when you waved at the lead singer, they waved back

You have a collection of memorabilia from all of them, not to mention all the concerts you’ve been to together

You have literally hundreds of photo albums, dating right back to when cameras were first invented

At the time, nobody could work out how you got a camera either

Undertaking itself hasn’t changed that much over the years of course and the mortician still lives and works in the same place as he always has

You asked him about it once

He said he’d been there so long by now that he couldn’t imagine going anywhere else, wouldn’t even know where to start

He asked you to move in not too long ago and given how much time you already spent at his place, you agreed

You spent your first night there wrapped firmly in the mortician’s arms, laying on his chest rather than a pillow and held securely under his covers

You were curled around each other with as much contact as you could muster and got all the better night’s sleep for it

#undertaker #adrian crevan #undertaker x reader #undertaker x reader fluff #adrian crevan x reader #black butler x reader #black butler #black butler undertaker x reader #undertaker black butler #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji #black butler reader inserts #kuroshitsuji undertaker x reader #kuroshitsuji undertaker

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musedblues · 4 years ago

Text

The Fire and The Flames

summary: In which two baby groupies are born, learn to navigate backstage, and catch the attention of their favorite guitar-wielding boys, on tour with the band whose music brought the girls together in the first place.

a/n: How am I just now writing for John? Jess made me do it, and I can't help but aspire to make her dreams come true. So enjoy this tale inspired and encouraged by @brianmays-hair featuring my very own projections because boy do I miss concerts. I truly poured my soul into this nbd (loosely based on the 75' anato tour)

w/c: 16k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

She won tickets on the radio. You pep talked her into dialing the station and started making dinner while she waited on hold. You'd found out the big news when she burst into the kitchen screeching like a loon, and even though a solid five minutes passed before she could properly say the words, you already knew.

You were going to see Queen.

It was the band's music that brought you and the girl together. She'd been hovering over the last of their newest record the shop had to offer. When she caught your pout upon approaching the newly emptied case, she declared that you could borrow the record, after she bought it. Then she told you her name.

"Queen... they're gonna... we're gonna-" You stammered and shrieked, trying to wrap your mind around the news. You'd missed their last show a city away, because of a flat tire. And the one before that because you were dead broke. Now money nor travel affected your ability to call a cab to take you to the show fifteen minutes away, where tickets with your names on them waited at will call.

///

"Come on!" Elizabeth tugged your sleeve all the way across stalled traffic. Her dark curls were pinned in perfect place, her most expensive jumpsuit hugged her form in all the best ways. You feared your heart would burst through your chest, leaving a giant tattered hole in your best top.

The theater was on one end of the misty street, but Elizabeth yanked you inside the doors of a record shop before the pavement ended. The show wasn't for another couple of hours. You relished the steady hammer of your heart, fawning out loud over how Queen were probably halfway through their soundcheck by now, right down the road from where you stood, waiting to see them. After milling through the country and blues section, you ended up in the back of the shop, where a small cafe served coffee and pastries.

With nothing better to do, you and Elizabeth sat at a high top table, munching on sweets to pass the time. Patrons of all kinds scurried in from the weather. While most seemed to come in to warm up, one group of girls burst in like they owned the place, jingling the bells on the door so loudly it caused your heads to turn.

Three outlandishly dressed girls waltzed passed the crates of records, glancing to the occasional title with a smirk, headed directly to the back counter. One of them threw herself toward the display case of cakes and cookies, dramatically ordering something warm from an exhausted barista.

You and Elizabeth had turned back to chattering over your coffee orders, glancing at the time on your watch with growing impatience. Then one of them sauntered over.

"I like your buttons." One of them piped up. The girl's heavy platforms dragged along the tile floor. Her hair was dusty blonde, totally unkempt, waving past a bright green top, ending at the hem of her black velvet pants. And just when you'd gotten lost in evaluating her bold fashion, Elizabeth chirped back.

"Oh, thank you! I made this one." Elizabeth brought her bag closer to her chest, pointing to the few pins proudly displayed along the strap. You'd made the other two, out of magazine clipping with Queen's name in bright blue letters- advertisement for an old show; the perfect accessory.

Another one of the girls gasped, spinning into view. Her short blonde hair fell to her shoulders, just above a big leopard print coat. Two ruby red shoes poked out of the end of her garment, and you wondered where this crew did all their shopping.

"Are you going to the show, too?" She asked with a broad grin, reaching out to bring Elizabeth's purse handle closer to her sight. And as if she was truly anxious to hear your answer, the girl scurried toward the empty seat at your side, settling in to listen while you gushed.

"Oh, yes!" You grinned, glancing at Elizabeth who was smiling just as wide. "We won tickets on the radio."

By then, the last girl had made her way to join the party. She wore a long purple dress and her thin red hair in pigtails.

"It's not for another hour, yet." She sighed, crossing her arms and glancing back to the counter where she must have been waiting for her order to appear.

Elizabeth welcomed the crew to pass the time with the two of you, even offering bits of her dessert to the new friends you made. They each seemed more than glad to settle at your table, glancing anxiously at their own watches all the same. For the while you waited, you learned their names.

Rita was the redhead with warm eyes and more questions about your lives than answers for her own.

Lilly was her younger sister, the small fiery blonde, who did most of the talking- so much she forgot to drink the coffee she'd put on a show of ordering.

And Jade was the wild-haired girl, without much to say, and a smile that held secrets you were simply dying to know. She kept her eyes traveling back to the window that pointed in the direction of the theater, but the building was still out of view. So when her eyes widened, and she stood to her feet in a flash, you wondered what she'd seen.

"It's time!" Jade announced, pushing in her seat while her friends followed her lead without question.

"Well, I think the doors won't be open for another fifteen minutes but I'm cool with waiting in line," Elizabeth spoke in a rush, tossing her trash in the bin and wrapping her coat back around her well-dressed figure.

The trio waited for you and your friend to collect yourselves, share an excited giggle, and scurry along. The air was still wet, but the rain had yet to fall. You prayed it would stay that way, as you approached the theater, noticing the line stretched for blocks full of anxious fans, eager for a night of music. It would totally suck if you had to linger during a downpour, but you decided Queen was worth the mild pending torture.

The group of girls you'd become acquainted with skipped ahead of you, turning every now and again to make sure you and your friend were keeping up.

As you approached the dreaded line of freezing faces, you sucked in a breath, prepared to find your place at the end, and stick it out till the doors opened. But as you turned to follow the line, you were yanked in the other direction.

"Follow us, trust me!" Jade dug her fingers into your coat, pulling you toward where Lilly and Rita skipped ahead. Elizabeth latched on to you, pulling herself to keep up in a confused rush.

"We'd better wait in line. What if we get back to late? We've been waiting for these tickets forever and-" Elizabeth fretted, keeping her step in time with Jade's pace who set your own. And before your friend could go on making excuses to wait in the cold, shelter came into view in a gloriously unexpected way; Lilly and Rita were slipping through the backstage door.

"Oh, no way!" You croaked, eyes going wide as Jade reached out to the door Lilly stood holding open, waving you in with a hurried hand.

The door slammed shut with a metallic thud. The sound of your shoes echoed in the dank, empty space as your new friend's giggles drifted from where they led the way.

"We should not be back here." Elizabeth worried, reaching out to clutch your arm in a panic. Jade had let you go and spun out of view. Your only hope was the sight of Lilly and Rita skipping far ahead.

"But we are." You whispered back, scanning the hall you stomped through, in a hurry to Lord knew where. Distant chatter and ruckus could be heard as you approach the end of the four-way turn. Jade popped back into view.

She walked backward with ease, wearing a broad grin and holding two gaudy orange stickers in either hand. Two backstage passes. Elizabeth glanced at you, then back at Jade, let out a loud laugh, and snatched the sticker from her hand.

"Welcome to the show, ladies." Jade grinned, handing you the last pass as Elizabeth slapped her own to her chest with glee.

"Oh, God." You chuckled, sticking the pass to your best top as Jade spun to lead the way a little faster. You had just gotten so lucky. "Oh my God, Oh my-"

And just before you rocketed into a true blue freak out, Elizabeth's nails dug into your palm, as Jade halted in place, fanning her arm out for a group to cross the hall before yours. It was them. It was Queen.

Freddie led the way in a bedazzled leotard, a coy grin painting his face as he swept his dark fringe back.

Roger followed close behind, his boldly patterned shirt unbuttoned all the way. He was laughing at something one of his bandmates said, placing a hand on Freddie's shoulder as they turned the corner.

Then came Brian. His features were sharp, and his expression was mild, almost sleepy. His long legs branched out from underneath a white pleated top, and carried him around the corner. Just before he vanished, Brian's gaze happened to sweep sideways, almost certainly landing on you and Elizabeth. And as soon as you registered his look, Brian's form was replaced by another.

John followed last, his hands shoved in his tight pockets, as if on a leisurely Sunday stroll, rather than on his way to put on a kick-ass show. His flaxen hair drifted behind his shoulders, and his eyes stayed on the ground.

When Queen disappeared around the corner, and a few workers with clipboards and headsets rushed to follow, Jade had to hurry you and Elizabeth along like an impatient older sister. Elizabeth held on to your hand like a vice, and you traded a stunned glance as you were being pushed in the right direction.

Before you knew it, you were holding your best friend's hand at the side of the stage where your favorite band settled into position. When the curtain opened, and the lights blinded you, the music came alive.

Roger sat on a throne, thrashing about, trading winks and nods between shrieking in perfect harmony.

Freddie stomped between his bandmates, singing to them, singing to the audience. Singing like his life and death and things in between depended on it. You could see beads of sweat peppered across the skin he dared to expose.

Brian drifted from glancing to the strings under his fingers, across the sea of shouting spectators and then to Freddie, with a shy smile. As if to say "look, I'm doing it! We're doing it." Every time the skinny lad leaned into the microphone, Elizabeth leaned into you as if magnetically linked to the guitarist, pulled in whatever direction he moved, even if he hadn't gone far at all. Every time Brian flew into a solo with practiced concentration, Elizabeth let little squeals escape her throat, much too taken with the sights and sounds to keep up her usually elegant demeanor.

Then there was John. You relished the times his clunky heels staggered out from the shadows, drifting clearer into your view, his head bopping, his poker face hardly changing, not even when Freddie spun to sing right at him.

You'd almost been too concentrated on finding his profile on the other side of the dim stage. When one song faded from the next, with all the precision you'd heard on your worn-out record from home, you were jerked from cloud ten. Yeah, it existed.

"We've got to make it back to the green room before the band, so I can introduce you to the girls!" Just like that, your new wild-haired friend ripped you and Elizabeth away from the greatest sight you'd ever seen, before it was even over.

Jade paraded you around a couple of corners and into an unceremonious room; where a single tattered couch, a wall-length mirror, and a table full of drinks were the only accommodations.

It was enough for a band, you supposed, but not for the mass of people in waiting. You'd come upon several unfamiliar, jarringly beautiful faces, smoking and laughing to pass the time- instead of listening to the music. How curious.

In one big hurry, Jade explained that the green room wasn't always so full and you were lucky to have come on a night that it was. That shows this close to home were always a big party.

"Those are the twins, Gretta and Violet. They're always together." Jade pointed across the way to two girls with the same long dark hair and different shades of lipstick. They turned their pleasant grins your way as Jade pushed you along.

"That's Michelle." Your new friend spoke, pointing to a girl wearing a dramatic frown. "She's moving to Idaho tomorrow. She always bought us merch from the shows we couldn't make it too. We'll have to keep the tradition alive for her when she's gone."

You were shuffled through a crowd of fresh, painted faces, trying to grasp onto every new name they were matched with. And when you made it to the back of the room, Jade let you and Elizabeth go, and disappeared.

"What do we do?" You turned to Elizabeth, swallowing your nerves. You'd been introduced to everyone but Jade failed to give your names away. You felt terribly out of place. Not to mention the fact that your favorite band of all time was due to walk through the doors of the same room you occupied, at any second. Elizabeth rose her finger, with a thought.

"Maybe we could-"

"Girls, this is Ratty. He's new here, just like you." Rita had appeared out of the blue with a tall shaggy-haired man in tow.

"I'm not new, any more babe. Two months is a long time to have to put up with these musical hellions." The fellow chuckled, revealing a cigarette from his jacket pocket. The man explained he was a roadie, hired by the band in September, to help with the technical in's and out's of putting on a show, emotional breakdowns included, apparently.

By the time Ratty finished telling his story, just before you could ask where he got a name like that, the band burst in the doorway.

"My darlings!" Freddie waltzed in, his smile glowing, his presence demanding. Almost everyone turned to greet him with cheers and whistles, except a couple of stagehands whose eyes were glued to the groupies who'd previously had nothing better to do than hold mindless chatter with them.

The band flooded in behind him, acknowledging different people in their own ways, between smiles and jokes and sleepy nods. You and Elizabeth stayed back, shooting each other looks. As much as you wanted to mingle, to matter, you couldn't be sure of your place.

So you stayed against the wall, your pleasant grin relaying secret pleas for help to your friend who answered back with her open wide-eyed apprehension.

"Hello, little wallflowers. I've never seen you around before." Freddie, in all his sweaty, charming glory twirled up to you and Elizabeth. He spun to great you like he'd been greeting everyone else. The way you'd been starstruck till now seemed to settle at the tune of the singer's gentle and well-meaning attention. But, Freddie was still the star of your favorite band, and your nervous glance landed on your friend to speak as your words got lodged in your throat.

She introduced herself boldly, stating her name with false confidence you wondered how she'd come to pick up so quickly.

"Elizabeth, like the queen herself." Freddie barked a laugh, letting his gaze travel across your friend's well-dressed form. "A queen amongst Queen." He seemed to realize.

"And you're something special too aren't you?" Freddie quirked his head to you, as you stood in stunned silences, still. "You're her little twin flame. I quite like you pair."

You and your friend let out little laughs as Freddie nodded in approval, strangers shuffling past in the background. That was when Roger emerged from the mess of folks, wearing drowsy eyes and a smile you'd seen the likes of from other boys in bars.

"Roger, this is our very own little queenie and the jewel to her crown." Freddie gestured between your friend and yourself, as you both tried to keep the same level of composure as everyone else in the laid back room. What a shame squawking like the fans you were, might have been.

As soon as the drummer seemed to evaluate the pair of you, and say hello, a perfectly manicured hand dug into his shoulder and pulled him away from view. Roger went without a fight, as Freddie rolled his eyes, turning to face you all the way once more.

"Oh please tell me you'll be joining us the rest of this tour, dears," Freddie spoke, almost flippantly, with a wave of his hand. "The bloody weather will be a drag, but you two will be much-needed company."

"Yes. We should. Shall we?" You spoke in too big of a hurry, turning to find Elizabeth already shaking her head. When you looked back to Freddie his brow was quirked, waiting for a similar decision.

"Just... give us one minute." You smiled, dragging your friend further down the wall.

"Freddie fucking Mercury just asked us to go on tour with Queen. Why are you shaking your head?" You demanded to know.

"We can't go on tour." Elizabeth said, plainly.

"You need to learn to let loose. That was your bloody new year's resolution, remember? It's coming up on the last two months to keep your word. Come on, Elizabeth. We haven't got anything better to do for the rest of the year. I'm already home for the holidays and you're between jobs. The stars have fucking aligned."

You watched your speech work magic. Your friend sucked in a breath that made her stand a little taller. And when you paused, she nodded and turned away from you to tap Freddie on the shoulder.

"Where to next, then?"

The singer's eyes sparkled, as he shot you a look that made you wonder if he knew you were the one to talk her into being so bold.

After your world subtly shifted on its axis, and plans for your near future changed on a dime, Freddie Mercury vanished as quickly as he'd appeared in front of you. The room was buzzing with folks who wanted every bit of the singer's attention, and he couldn't help but spin with a smile when his name was called out from a different corner.

You and Elizabeth shared whispered reminders to play it cool and mingling with the girls and guys who were either equally as nervous to speak to the band, or simply patient enough to wait their turn. The closest you came to making your wildest dreams come true, were the times you let your stare linger on John as he traveled back and forth from the bar to his bandmates. You couldn't be sure if he'd caught your nervous smiles in his direction, but you kept your lips upturned, just in case.

And when Jade started to leave, she motioned for you and Elizabeth to follow along.

"Don't pack too much, but bring everything you think you'll need. I'll fetch you from the station. And just remember it's not cool to be early, but never be late." The frizzy blonde listed several vague instructions to you and Elizabeth whose ears dialed in, trying to decipher the code in which she spoke. Then, Jade disappeared into the night, leaving you and your pal to race home and prepare for an unexpected ride.

///

You stood in a pale yellow hall, knocking on the door that displayed the room number you'd been given. Down the way, you heard Jade open the door of the room she must have been occupying. She'd picked you up from the train station earlier, well, led you from there to this very hotel on foot. But she did help carry some of your things. You recognized Lilly greet Jade, just before the short blonde groaned.

"They're here?" The small girl groaned in your direction. "And they're coming on the whole tour?" Lilly's complaint didn't go unnoticed by you, but Elizabeth must have missed it. Rita was already welcoming you in, when you turned back from eavesdropping.

"Hurry, we've only got fifteen minutes!" Rita pulled you into the room. "That's like, five minutes in this world." The redhead laughed, spinning toward the writing desk where her suitcase and things were spread out as if she'd be staying much longer than one night. She loaned you some fancy french perfume in your hurry to get ready, all the same.

When you stomped up the steps of the bus, you decided not to question how you'd gotten lucky enough to end up where you were. Instead, you turned to flash your best friend a smile, as everyone greeted each other with grandeur. You kept moving, past benches the other girls had claimed. Between them, were the boys that belonged to your favorite band. Whose faces you were still trying to get used to admiring in real-time, their expressions surpassing the charm they usually oozed from the news clippings you saved and called posters.

"Look who it is! I'm so glad to see your lovely faces come, sit." Freddie gushed when he glanced up to find you'd made it to where you were now. The singer excitedly waved you over to join his company, on the other side of a small booth across for your favorite bassist.

You nudged Elizabeth next to John, far too nervous to sit next to the guy you'd never officially met, but swooned over plenty before now. Your friend shot you a curious glare, probably wondering why you'd given up a seat next to the bassist she knew darn well you fancied. But still, she sat.

"John dear, next to you is our very own Queen of the Tour. And, next to me, our personal ray of sunshine." Freddie turned to you with a smile in his voice, as you eased to sit with a grin.

"Hello." The bassist nodded, glancing between you and your friend without looking either of you in the eye. He instead remained almost entirely fixated on the ring he fiddled with, on his very middle finger. You tried not to let yourself stare long, but his hands were, somehow, even nicer up close.

"These two are keepers, Deacy." Freddie nodded, in the most serious tone you'd ever heard him utter. The lilt in the singer's voice brought a cocky smile to Elizabeth's lips, as John looked up. His stormy eyes locked with yours, for a second, just one second, before he snapped back to Freddie, who was speaking again.

"So tell us about yourselves, dears."

And through a few nervous stammers and shy laughs, you and your friend took turns speaking while Freddie traded knowing looks with John. The bassist seemed indifferent at first, but his polite smile seemed to widen ever so slightly as Freddie coxed you and Elizabeth to share more stories. You wanted to stare, to snapshot a mental image of John's profile to recall later in the day when it was less embarrassing to fawn over his features. But you couldn't let your eyes linger long before a blush threatened to burn across your cheeks.

"See, Deacy? They're really something, aren't they? I'm never wrong about these things, you know!" Freddie flourished, looking to you and Elizabeth as he stood. The bus stalled outside of the venue. It was time for round two.

On the solid ground your motley crew staggered across, Freddie latched onto your best pal. He pulled Elizabeth along the pavement and all the way through empty venue halls, into the green room. The singer fawned over the girl's pleated bell bottoms, pointing out his own array of clothes he'd brought along. And for once, you were left on your own to roam between groupies, roadies and band members most interested in holding each other's attention.

"Hi... I don't believe we've met." A soft, almost timid voice came from just over your shoulder. You spun around from your mission to paste yourself to the wall, like the night before. Stalling you was a certain curly-haired guitarist, holding out a paper cup of tea your way, clutching his own to his chest.

You took the drink with a surprised grin, before telling the guy your name. Brian rose his cup to yours in a mock toast. All the nerves you'd felt meeting his band members were giving you pause now. Brian was shockingly easy to talk to.

"And who is your lovely friend?" Brian asked, letting his eyes flutter across the room, where Elizabeth and Freddie were trading bracelets and laughs.

"According to your singer, she's your band's monarch. She's called Elizabeth." You smiled, watching Brian's warm eyes linger on your friend.

"I see." He grinned, tearing his gaze away to face you again. As you monitored the guitarist's withheld smirk, and the look in his eye, you took a bold chance. You lifted a finger from around your paper cup and motioned Brian to lean a little closer.

"You're her favorite. But she'd never be the first to let you know." You spoke softly, keeping your eyes on Elizabeth across the way. Her dark curls and bright smile were easily admirable. Brian hummed, a sing-songy noise.

"And who's your favorite, then?" Brian asked, a little laugh ending his query.

It was then, when you let your smile represent your response, that you realized why some of the girls had answered your questions so vaguely, so far. Why they'd smirked instead of speaking, too. There were some things too dear to address directly. There was something about the spell that drew you here and now, that might have broken at the slightest misstep.

So you focused on the music. You and Elizabeth shared starry-eyed glances and subdued squeals when the lights dimmed, and the band plugged in. You felt your heart hammer to the time of the drum. You danced along to every riff and line together, until the end of the show when the lights stopped flashing, and the band unplugged. And as you took your sweet time back to the green room, you looked to your friend and proposed standing on the other side, tomorrow night.

///

The shadows of the stage were where you felt most alive. Better than alive, like you'd blasted through reality and ended up in one of your many daydreams. As you tried to understand where you fit into the mess when the show hit the road, you came to understand more about the others who crowded the bus.

Rita sat in the back, with a book in her hand and a look in her eye. She watched on with a grin like an exhausted, trusting mother. She hardly ever spoke up, or out, or joined in the outrageous fun. Instead, she flashed you knowing grins and followed Ratty around like a lost puppy.

You couldn't tell if the roadie noticed or not. He'd been so busy rushing around assisting the band with technical difficulties, and more often than not, the boy's silly little requests and complaints. The times he did notice Rita waiting up for him though, he smiled, and relaxed in the back of the room; just before springing up when Freddie whined for assistance once more.

Jade was the heart and soul of the tour, always coming away from stops with extra snacks for everyone, trading shoes with the girls who couldn't dance one more second on their skyscraper heels. She bounced from one person to the next and never made one feel like second best, when she poured them tea without asking, before disappearing as soon as she'd materialized.

The rides from town to town were usually fun. But hours passed and boredom kicked in, striking everyone at odd moments when all they lost their turn at board games and had nothing to do but watch the world zoom by the window.

Times like then, you'd glance to John across the way, and after several deep breaths, you'd dare to ask what might have been on his mind. He'd answer in small shrugs or silly one-liners, but never said what you were hoping to hear. When you'd all but exhausted every pathetic attempt at catching and keeping John's attention, you'd stood to find something to distract you from staring too long at the guy.

You stepped over Roger who's legs took over the small path toward the kitchenette. He pulled his feet in just in time. Lilly clung to his side, imploring you to watch your step. You weren't anywhere near disturbing her position, you knew she was only speaking in code, warning you to steer clear of her favorite blonde drummer.

Lilly was never too far from Roger's side. You couldn't tell if he minded or not. Lilly knew Roger couldn't very well see her from behind his drum kit. So she'd make vulgar promises to wait up for him elsewhere, loud enough for everyone to hear, and pretend they didn't. But those rare times the girl wasn't super-glued to Rogers' hip, he never seemed to keep his eye out for her, anyway.

You didn't question it. You just kept to yourself as well as you could on a bus full of rockstars and they're royal court.

You traded smiles with Ratty who slumped out of the kitchenette in time for you to take over, but you were only alone for a few seconds time. Brian came shuffling near, reaching for an apple and leaning against the counter so he could say something just to you.

"I figured it out." He noted, like a snide, scheming sibling.

"You're a smart guy," You laughed, reaching for the mini coffee pot. "But I've got no idea what you're on about."

"We're playing Scrabble." Brian declared, cocking his head toward the table most everyone had gathered around. "And there happens to be an empty spot next to John. He won't bite, you know, unless you ask nicely."

Thank God you hadn't taken a sip of your drink yet, or you likely would have spit it right out in a fluster. Brian might have picked up on your silly little schoolgirl crush, but he needed to realize you weren't like the other girls who shamelessly slithered hot on the boy's trails to and from the closest doors with locks. And neither was Elizabeth.

"We're here for the music, got it?" You gave Brian a stern look. "Heartbreak is not an option." You shook your head in his direction, but Brian kept his lithe grin before spinning to lead you along. Maybe you were only warning yourself.

///

At the next stop, Lilly strung along a cluster of girls who'd been camping outside the venue, and started some kind of party in the indoor pool of your latest hotel. Somehow, you'd all wound up there after dumping the band's equipment, sharing drinks and downtime in an all-new setting.

While most of the girls crowded the pool, you stuck to the mini bar in the back and kicked your feet up on Elizabeth's lap. Neither of you thought to pack swimsuits in the beginnings of winter, and neither of you were bold enough as Jade, who'd stripped down to her skivvies to dive in the deep end.

You watched on from plastic chairs, giggling to yourselves over things you'd always found funny. Roger was the first to pull up a seat at your table, handing out fresh drinks to you and Elizabeth. The guy seemed relieved to enjoy your company without having to keep up his usually debaucherous demeanor.

"You don't fancy a swim, Rog?" Elizabeth asked, popping the tab on the bottle he offered her. The shrieks and splashes of a dozen groupies echoed through the humid room.

"Are you kidding? I can risk ruining my hair hours before a big show, love." Roger grinned, rolling his eyes as he settled deeper into his seat. After you and your friend laughed, Roger kept rambling, starting in on a story about the time he'd chopped his sister's braids off when she'd talked him into playing barber, as a boy.

By the end of his tale, you and Elizabeth came down from wild laughter to find the other boys had gathered around the table. There was only another hour left to leave to chance before another show was scheduled to take off. And here you were laughing at Rogers embellished storytelling.

The girls in the water seemed none the wiser, squealing at each other and calling out the boy's names every now and again in hopes they'd join their fun. And the boys in the band let the sound of a siren beckoning their names linger in the air, unanswered. How could two separate worlds exist so cohesively? Maybe they didn't...

"Don't you all get sick of all that?" You asked, after one of the girls called out to one of the boys for the hundredth time around.

"Yes," John answered firmly, swigging the last of his beer and standing up as if the answer gave him permission to finally leave. You hadn't meant to coax him to go. You'd been trying to speak past your nerves all week, and get a little closer to the guy. But all of your polite advances had been for naught. Over dinner and on the road, you would ask John what books he was reading. You would compliment his hair, and ask if he wanted more coffee. But so would the other girls. You were just another in a line of ladies much bolder than you.

///

"Every time he does that I want to cry, it's so sexy." One of the new girls fawned over Brian. He stood across the way, favoring a hip, letting the other jet out as he hung his head, focused on tuning his guitar.

A cast of current groupie girls giggled from a few rows ahead of where you and Elizabeth sat. Lilly had marched them each to the front row for soundcheck, something she never usually stuck around for.

You could have gone to lunch, yourself. You could have roamed around the new city. But even the tunes Queen fiddled about with as they set up in each new town was music to your ears. You caught Elizabeth's withheld expression of resentment every time a new groupies eye turned to focus on the slender dark-haired guitarist, for whom they grossly expressed their love.

"They keep looking at him like a piece of dinner," Elizabeth grumbled under her breath, slumping in her seat. You glanced up from the magazine in your lap and focused on the stage.

"Yeah," You breathed. "but he keeps looking at you."

Brian turned his smile to the floor when he noticed you and Elizabeth stealing a look his way, as he'd already been focused on your friend.

Just then, one of the new girls let out an annoying squeal upon noticing Brian bite back a smile.

"Oh, would you shut the hell up!" Elizabeth barked, catching the attention of the group of girls off guard, turning their grins to sneers your way, but at least they stopped squealing.

"You know tonight is my last night, right?" Jade chuckled, shuffling through the bleachers with an announcement you hadn't seen coming.

"You're leaving?" You asked, not flinching when Roger let loose on a couple of symbols. Jade leaned on the back of the seats in front of you, crossing her arms over her impossibly long hair. Sure, some days the bus was fuller than others. Girls would hop on and off without ever trading their names. But Jade was always there. She had been long before inviting you, too.

"No one ever rides for long. You'll get motion sick, ya know?" Jade traded this information like a secret.

"Well, we can't let you leave without a party." You declared. Jade's eyes grew starry before declaring you left the planning up to her, and waved you along to get ready for another show.

///

You weren't sure how it happened. Maybe he was coming down from the rock and roll high, or maybe he was exhausted enough by the long show, that he'd forgotten how to act. When John sat next to you on the bus with a smile, you nearly shot up in a panic. Was this some kind of cruel prank?

You tried to bury your alarm, and savor his company before it was gone.

"Another good show," You nodded, stiffening in your seat as John threw his head back against the leather with a sigh.

"Barely. Ratty nearly busted me amp in the middle of Liar." John jested as the roadie walked through the bus, swatting away the comment with a grumble of his own. He looked just as worn out as the boys who'd put on the show.

You laughed at John's remark as the bus filled up, too nervous to think of what to say. You'd spent all your free time considering the right thing but the moment fate allowed, your mind went blank, damn it. You decided it was enough to be graced with his presence so delightfully near yours on the ride back to the hotel.

As the band filled up the bus and it started down the road, Freddie dreamed out loud of a long hot shower. You watched as Brian settled next to Elizabeth, including her in the argument he was having with Roger. You noticed the way he looked at her, when you weren't stealing glances at John. It was like you were making sure he was still there, not some figment of your imagination.

He never uttered another word on the ride, and when you got to the hotel, you knew the end of your shared company was near. So you offered John a measly goodnight, hoping he'd pick up on the way you hoped the statement was less of a goodbye and more of a wish to get to say so again.

When John slinked into his room without so much as a look your way, your heart ached with worry over what you'd done wrong.

"He's just shy." A voice spoke low in your ear, as you moved through the hall. You turned to find Roger at your side, offering a shrug. Was he giving you a reason for John's failure to communicate, or defending his friends decided quiet? Either way, the drummer was showing you a bit of kindness, and for that, you smiled and nodded his way.

When Roger floated to his room, and you'd nearly made it to yours, your journey was halted. Lilly stepped in front of you, blue eyes clouded with smokey anger.

"Stay the fuck away from Roger Taylor." She spoke through her teeth, sending a chill down your spine. You nodded, in a hurry to step out from under her killer gaze. You nodded because you would, because you had no plans on stealing the girl away from him in the first place.

Elizabeth asked if you were okay when you finally made it to safety. And even though Lilly's sister floated from the ensuite with a smile, you couldn't help but spill your guts to your best friend. With a great deal of caution, you told Elizabeth what the short blonde has said to you. Rita heard, but seemed to pretend she wasn't listening. And like usual, she slipped out of the room in hopes of occupying another.

This was when everyone went separate ways. This was when girls who waited long enough outside of the tour bus got lucky for just one night. When you scurried to dinner with whoever was in the mood for pizza or chips.

But tonight was off-kilter from the ones you'd become accustomed to. A fierce knock on your door revealed a giddy Jade, and a freshly showered Brian.

"Come on, then! I've found the perfect pub to celebrate my last night in." Jade informed, dancing in place. Elizabeth floated toward Brian with a wide smile that matched his own, like they planned to meet up just like this, before now.

You asked Jade for directions, saying something about freshening up before you went out for the evening, reminding her that a wasted groupie had spilled her champagne down your top before the show ended.

You'd never felt more alone while you rushed to change, in a hurry to meet up with the friends you'd been lucky enough to make. All except one, it seemed. The memory of Lilly's warning kept replaying in your head. Each time you thought back to it, the fear she'd managed to douse you in fizzled away, replaced by anger. You thought back to the night's she'd yank Roger away from signing autographs and pull him down halls when he complained about having to be someplace else. How he'd let her, as if there was no way he could outrun the girls hunt to have him all to herself. It made you sick. That was no way to treat anyone, let alone the talent of the band whose music was the only reason Lilly was lucky enough to be here. She didn't even seem to care about it, anyway.

You hurried to head out, in desperate need of fun. As you spun into the hallway, freshly dressed and ready to party, the couple you'd been in deep thought over were bickering at the end of the hall.

"You're not going with them, Roger. We're going to dinner like I planned." Lilly stamped her foot. Roger wilted, explaining how Jade had invited everyone to celebrate her last night on tour. At the mention of another girl's name Lilly rolled her eyes.

"You aren't canceling our plans, Roger I fucking swear-"

"Is it really so hard to imagine he doesn't want to be around you for once, Lilly?" You snapped, making your way closer as both parties turned their stunned attention your way.

"I'll make it easy for both of you, come on." You marched up to the pair, looped your arm through Roger's, and turned toward the elevator on your way all the same. He picked up the pace, pulling you away in a big hurry, but before you were gone, you caught the look in Lilly's eye.

On your race to the elevator, you tried to shake your fear of Lilly's death glare, and feel more prideful of your ambition to thwart her plans. When the elevator doors shut, and Roger sighed in relief, you did too.

"Thank you." He nodded his messy hair, relaxing against the wall on the ride down twenty floors. "You're a real friend."

You looked at Roger then, you could practically see his guard melting away. You'd never expected to end up here and now, not in your wildest dreams.

"Well, you know, your music has always been there for me. I suppose it's the least I can do to be there for you, too." You weren't trying to boost his ego. You didn't want anything from Roger either. It was simply the most honest response you could think of. You meant it.

"I invited her along. I promised not to leave home without her. But I never promised more than that." Roger explained, digging for a cigarette in his pocket. He explained how the two had misunderstood each other. How he'd realized he'd lead her along and felt too sorry to let her down gently. You both went on laughing about how the music led you all here and now, like some kind of spell, a curse in Lilly's case.

When you spilled out into the world on a mission to find the crew who'd geared up for a long night of fun, you were still laughing. High off of the euphoria of telling Lilly off, you were sure.

Freddie, John, and Ratty were only just leaving, as well. Roger called out to the boys, racing to catch up with his friends without a small blonde bombshell weighing him down. The boys turned with grins to find Roger racing their way, while you watched on with a smile, finally feeling like less of an outsider for once.

And while the crew joined up, John stalled and turned to watch you approach, as you stepped closer with bated breath.

"You alright?" He asked in a small way. As if he wasn't sure he should have even been asking.

You'd laughed it off with Roger. But the look on Lilly's face after what you said to her was burned in your brain. You realized you'd been biting your lip every time the thought threatened to make you queasy.

"I think I've earned myself an enemy, tonight." You shrugged, watching John join your stride, his pace matching your own. Maybe it was his closeness that was sending waves through your stomach, you thought.

"Why's that?" John wondered, ever the conversationalist. This was still further than you'd managed to get with him, most days, though.

"I’ve stolen Roger away from the girl who's been claiming him all tour long." You joked, hoping it would make you feel better about how angry you'd made her. You weren't one to step so boldly out of your shell. John went silent for a beat, glancing at Roger racing ahead, pumping his fists, getting his companions in the party spirit.

"You and Roger? You two really-" John pipped up again, his hair blowing back with the breeze.

"Wait! God, no." You barked a wild laugh. One that might have embarrassed you if John hadn't relaxed into a smile, too. When you managed to find the words, you explained yourself.

"There is no Roger and me." You made yourself clear. "I just couldn't stand to hear Lilly treat him like she does. I finally told her so."

"Well good.. then everyone wins tonight, don't they?" Even the rockstars spoke in code, huh? John kept his smile, a real genuine grin. The first one you'd noticed pointed so unabashedly in your direction. Was there something better than winning? You'd suddenly hit the jackpot.

You walked in time with the fellow around the corner to the pub Jade had scouted out. There, your friends spent the rest of the night bumping into one another in the dark and shouting curses at the jukebox when it ate their coins. As the drinks flowed, Elizabeth and Jade had taken over the dance floor. Brian cowered behind you, asking what he should do, desperate to make it clear to your friend how hard he'd fallen for her, without scaring her away. Roger bought you some shots for being so bold in his honor, and John stayed close. Not nearly as close as you might have liked, but closer than ever before, shooting drunken quips and questions your way. You were too tipsy to hide your blush. You wondered if John was too drunk to notice.

///

You didn't have far to travel, but the early morning ride seemed like the longest of all. Jade left you all with hangovers, booking it to her train station without saying goodbye.

The bus was somber, with everyone sulking in their respective spots. Freddie and Roger scribbled over notes at the table. Rita and Ratty hogged the sofa, kicking Lilly toward an empty bench of her own, where she fell asleep. You sat reading in the seat next to John. His arms were crossed and his eyes were closed, yet still, in his shutdown state, you could feel his presence like a looming storm cloud.

Brian sat strumming an acoustic nearest Elizabeth, both pretending to be focused on anything besides each other. The lanky guitarist had taken to following Elizabeth around everywhere like a lovesick puppy. You watched as he stole her away with excuses to help fix his hair- to ask her opinion on a certain hotel's free library and its selection- to sit next to him at dinner. You watched as she agreed, and smiled and leaned into his side when he gestured her closer to ask something over some loud pub speakers. You watched your friend fuss over all her best flared out pants, and boots, asking if you thought she looked alright... If you thought Brian would think so. You promised Elizabeth she had nothing to worry about with a sure nod.

It was the same gesture you gave her now, across the bus, when Brian abandoned his guitar in her lap without question, on his way to fetch a snack.

"I'm so bloody sick of this shite." Roger grumbled, swatting away Brian's offer of some fresh fruit, the only thing the bus cabinets had to offer, this afternoon. Roger stood from his spot across from Freddie, giving some passionate speech about all the things he was hungry enough to eat, how badly he wanted a proper meal.

You all laughed as he devised a plan to race to the nearest eatery the second the bus stopped. Freddie declared his grand plans for sleeping away the next fifteen hours of truly free time, wondering how half of the bus had fallen into cat naps with such ease on the ride that jostled through the winter weather. John with his eyes still closed, spoke up, startling you, saying something about how he'd never been asleep but hoped if he pretended long enough, he'd eventually find real rest.

When the next hotel beckoned from outside the foggy tour bus windows, Roger raced for the door, inviting anyone who was also famished to come to join in his afternoon plans to feast. Brian nodded to Elizabeth, who shrugged and followed along with a grin.

John lept after the small party, demanding they wait for him to join. You laughed at their desperation, how the boys were in the midst of living out their wildest dreams, yet all they wanted was some warm lunch.

When you looked up from collecting your books, bag, and coat; Brian, Roger, and Elizabeth were zooming down the steps chanting like school kids on their race to the mess hall, and John was standing at the end of your seat.

"You comin'?"

///

Roger strung you all along like the sky was falling and you only had an hour left to find nourishment before the end of times. How you all fit into the back of one cab, you weren't sure. The patient driver helped your gang locate the nearest, nicest restaurant and laughed when Roger was the first out of the ride, dancing up to the double doors of some cabin-esque eatery with their specials presented in faded chalk, in the ice-covered picture window.

You and Elizabeth sat across from the boys in the band, who dreamed of home while impatiently waiting for your orders to cook. Brian compared the fireplace in the back of the place to his families. John was delighted to find his favorite dish on the menu. And Roger acted as if he'd been admitted into high heaven, simply pleased to be sat in one place with nothing more to do than enjoy himself, and some real food.

The five of you laughed for hours, enjoying the extra-large cups of cocoa on sale during the storm you'd arrived in the middle of.

"It's so nice to have absolutely nothing to do. We could stay here all night and we wouldn't miss a thing." Brian chirped, smiling to the barista who traded his empty cup of cocoa for a new fresh one.

"I don't know how you boys do it, I surely would have lost my voice after so many shows in a row." You pipped up, always in awe of how hard they worked.

"Well, Deacy barely has a voice so-" Roger jeered.

"You leave him be!" Elizabeth crushed an empty sugar packet and flung it toward the drummer, who feigned shock. You glanced across the table, catching John's gaze. His had already been settled on you, and when you noticed, he looked down with a grin, twisting the ring on his very middle finger.

///

Love was dangerous. One taste, one blurry vision of the adoration you always dreamed of, and common sense flew out the window. You and Elizabeth were busy gushing over the picture-perfect time you'd spent with three-fourths of your very favorite band. How close your two favorites had been for the few hours you spent making Roger's simple dream come true.

Instead of getting ready for the next show in a timely manner, you and your friend chattered away about the night before, and you'd missed the bus to the venue. Rita had all the extra passes, and you absolutely panicked on your race to make it on time.

Outside the propped open backstage doors were two burly men you hadn't seen earlier in the day. They stood inside of a stone foyer, out of the snow like royal guard. Neither of them budged when you and your friend rushed up to explain what had happened, begging to slip inside the already open entry.

You had nothing to show but desperation, and the men weren't standing for your girlish desire. What else could you have done? Elizabeth took her turn at begging when just passed the propped open doorway, a familiar face floated near.

"Lilly!" Elizabeth shouted, waving past the well-built men who blocked your entry. The small blonde halted and peeked her head around one of the men's shoulders with a wicked grin.

"Oh, please tell them we know you! We don't have our passes!" Elizabeth breathed, bending her knees as she begged.

"Doesn't matter. Can't get in without a pass." The taller guard sighed. Lilly put on a frown, listening to your friend's pleas.

"Oh, here." Lilly clicked her tongue, reaching in her bag and unveiling a shiny orange sticker she'd had on standby. As the blonde reached through the security guards to hand the pass to your friend, you practically heard heavens gates creak open.

When Elizabeth moved to snatch the sticker, Lilly latched onto her wrist and pulled the girl inside, as the guards reluctantly stepped aside.

"Oops. That was the last one I had." Lilly's always evil smile had long foreshadowed this power play. She shot you a look reminiscent of the glare that haunted your dreams.

"No, come on, she's really with us!" Elizabeth turned around and reached out for you. But the guards snapped back into place, clearly on the side of the wicked witch who was already skipping deeper inside, stalling to pull Elizabeth along.

"Oh my God!" You shouted in disbelief.

"Don't move an inch, I'll be right back!" Elizabeth yelled from where she moved in a hurry inside, just before one of the big tall men slammed the door shut without blinking an eye.

You slumped in disbelief, crossing your arms to shield the cold that came along with the falling snow. The guards paid you no mind from their small shelter as you paced back and forth, trying to keep your cool, all the same. Maybe it was the weather reducing you to shivers, but Elizabeth seemed to be gone much longer than it took to find a pass to pull you back in.

"The hell are you doing?" A voice called from behind where you stood freezing, trying to hold back frustrated tears. Ratty stood with a big clunky case in hand and a cigarette between his lips. He was a sight for sore eyes.

"We were late." You greeted through the sorry explanation.

"Christ," Ratty flicked his cigarette toward the fence and reached into his coat pocket for an extra pass.

"Come on." He uttered, handing the sticker your way, nodding for you to follow him inside. The guards shot you a glare as one moved to open the door, while the other stepped aside. You unpeeled the sticker and placed it proudly on your coat, determined for that to never happen again.

"Oh, Deacy..." Ratty sang as you stepped in time with the roadie, behind the stage. John had only been around the corner, fiddling with an amp no doubt. He was dressed for the show already, a shy smile included. You tried to shake the snowflakes tangled in your hair, embarrassed by how silly you must have looked.

"I've gotten the things you need, my friend." Ratty held out the case to John, who approached as you walked his way.

"You have, haven't you?" John replied to Ratty, but kept his studying eye on you, his grin turning to a frown. "Where've you been?" John asked, seemingly concerned by how cold you must have looked.

"We were late. Lilly apparently only had one extra pass for Elizabeth, who went searching for another..." You sighed through a polite smile.

"Rita has them all. She went looking for you, Rat." John quirked a brow, taking the case from the slim man at your side. Ratty huffed and nodded toward the green room, where everyone in question would likely end up sooner or later.

The three of you shuffled that way in silence, and if you'd ever glance to John at the right moment, you'd notice he was stealing looks at you too. When the bassist reached out, placing his hand on the small of your back as the three of you entered the green room, you felt like you belonged. Like he wanted you there. The shiver his fingertips sent up your spine was different from the chill you'd felt lingering outside moments ago.

As you arrived, Freddie seemed to sigh in relief, greeting you with a sweet lilt in his voice. As Ratty met an impatient Rita near the wardrobe, and Elizabeth came running in, just in time.

"Is Rita back? Oh-" Your friend found you shedding your coat in the corner, reaching out like you'd been found from a deserted island after years away.

Lilly followed, rolling her icy eyes when she noticed you'd found your way.

"Look who made it in, no thanks to you." Elizabeth muttered in the small blonde's direction, who breezed into the room like she owned it.

"It is a triumph, considering neither of you belong here, anyway." Lilly spat, not even bothering to look in your direction. As she waltzed past where John had opened the case Ratty gifted him, the bassist slammed it shut and looked right at the girl.

"Would you get the fuck out, Lilly? You're the one who shouldn't be here. You make everyone feel like such shite, they're too afraid to tell you otherwise." John snapped, causing a stunned silence to fall over the room.

Everyone watched on as Lilly turned red hot, her fists balled up at her side, ears steaming, eyes searching for her next victim. She whipped in Roger's direction.

"Aren't you going to defend me?" She cursed, watching the blonde lean against the counter where all Freddie's eyeliner waited to be put to use.

"No." Roger spoke, plain as day, with the shake of his pretty hair.

With that, Lilly let out a string of curses as she stomped out of the room. But before you could celebrate, Rita came alive from the corner of the room.

"That was totally unnecessary." The tall redhead scolded John as she collected her coat. You watched the man hold back a chuckle at her mismarked anger.

"You finally speak up and that's what you have to say?" Ratty yelled, stepping to meet Rita on her way out the door.

"It's time!" A man with a headset burst in, waving the band to fall in line. Commotion swept through the room and out into the hall as everyone bickered and cheered each other along. You and Elizabeth were the last to leave after you'd picked your jaws up from the floor and laughed like loons over the scene you'd watched unfold.

When you finally made it to the side of another stage, something came over the two of you. You followed Elizabeth past a few snaking wires, down some stairs and into the back of the concert hall. Stragglers gathered and marveled over your orange passes that permitted you backstage where you belonged.

You danced along with fans who'd traveled through the storm to hear the music. And Queen proceeded to play the best show you'd seen the entire tour, or ever at all.

///

In an impressive hurry, the conference room of the hotel you'd rented was decked in streamers, and drink carts were set up in almost every corner. The band was greeted with cheers and toasts, all to celebrate the show they'd just performed.

For weeks you watched as they kept in tune, in time and impressed crowds all over the country. You'd gotten chills at every solo and sound. Yet tonight was better than all the best before. And since the boys had a three day weekend ahead of them, a proper party was in order.

Ratty sent everyone on a mission to set up the perfect spontaneous shindig. He took to the crowd, in charge of inviting the right kind of people to the afterparty. You stuck with Elizabeth to set up the celebration, and the hotel was more than happy to help. The lady at the front desk waved you back to the kitchen to select the best kind of sweets they had on hand, to set out for your pending guests. She even let you at a storage closet full of streamers and decor for moments such as now.

All the while, Lilly and Rita remained missing. But no one missed them much, as you downed champagne and mingled with fans who poured into the party and gushed over the music, and the boy's accomplishments.

Freddie arrived already buzzed from the ride to the party, and Roger was the perfect pseudo-host. He went around, clapping backs, sharing smiles, and passing bottles from stranger to stranger. And somehow, when you found Brian, he was already plastered, closer to crashing into sobriety than the others who were just getting started.

"Congrats Bri." You grinned, reaching out to pull the guy in for a hug. He didn't let go when you pulled away, instead clung to your shoulders for balance as he asked,

"Where's Beth? I want her to congratulate me." Brian spoke, barely keeping it together.

"Brian, oh no. Don't call her that, she hates that." But as you warned, he wasn't listening. And while he twisted in place to scan the crowd he found Elizabeth posing for a photo with Ratty, near the table of sweets.

"Oh, there I see her!"

"Don't call her-"

"Beth! Love, can you believe it? We've earned ourselves a party!"

Brian bound her way, arms outstretched like some big cuddly rag doll. And despite the nickname your friend once scolded you badly enough to remember to never call her again, she smiled. She leaned into Brian and shook her head at the way he rambled, and held his hand as he spoke right to her.

You watched on with a grin, and meandered further into the room, reveling in the knowledge that tonight would be one you'd look back on and tell your families about for ages. Then someone called your name.

"Come sit, we've got first dibs to the bar." Freddie motioned you over to some hideously cushioned wicker furniture, just on the edge of the gathering crowd.

"There are plenty of bars around tonight, Fred." You laughed, glancing at one of the mini stations set up in every corner.

"This one is nearest to the kitchen, love."

"And we've got the key." John boasted from the matching loveseat facing the throne Freddie made of his wicker chair. As you laughed, the bassist waved you over, and you'd be a fool to back away. You sat at John's side, trying not to drool over his tight-fitting suit. He was just as drunk as his counterparts, wasted enough to get up and start dancing like he did. But he didn't budge. He settled deeper into the sofa next to you.

"You." Freddie pointed behind the place you sat, barely managing to tame your heartbeat. A kid with coke bottle glasses stumbled closer, clearly stunned by Freddie's favoritism.

"Bring us back something clear and toxic." Freddie held a shinny key between his fingers, waving it toward the kitchen door. "And fetch a little something for yourself, darling."

The kid nodded, nearly bowed, snatched the key, and slipped in the back when he was sure no one was looking. John burst into a fit of giggles at your side as you and Freddie traded smug smiles. The dark-headed singer spun off into a made-up monologue about the laws he'd enforce if he were queen for a day. You joined John in laughing until it hurt, until the kid with the glasses popped out of the kitchen with vodka in hand.

You reached out for the kid to pass the drink to you, joking about how the other boys were too far off their rockers to be in charge. He even handed over a few spare cups before handing the key to Freddie with a nervous grin. You poured the kid a glass first, as thanks. He took the drink and nervously slinked off to the corner while Freddie demanded the next cup. When it came time for you to offer some to John, you felt the cushions shift. He'd leaned forward to where you worked at the coffee table.

"I'm so glad you're here," John muttered, right in your ear. All your senses shut down and reopened with a thousand nerves on end. His shoulder pressed into yours as you passed the cup of vodka his way. He smiled and said a small thank you before leaning back, leaving you to pour your own, very tall drink.

The night passed by in blurb, like the world around you had been set to super speed. But you stood still, taking the occasional sip of alcohol. Freddie fled his throne to dance. Ratty passed by to steal the vodka, arguing with John, who filled both your glasses before letting the roadie take the bottle. You thought you notice Roger kicking cans of beer from tabletops.

All the while, John never left your side. When he reached for the key Freddie entrusted him, John let his arm drape over the back of the sofa. When a certain song came on, he leaned over to tell you how much he liked it. But mostly, he chatted to fans who plopped in the seats nearby, to extend their congratulations.

When a record screeched to a halt and the crowd groaned collectively, you stood up. As another track started to play, you moved to the exit, daring to look over your shoulder to the place you'd abandoned John. A girl you didn't recognize had taken your spot, and John wasn't looking back.

You knew his closeness had been driven by the drinks he'd downed. But it still stung to realize. It still hurt to understand you were just another passing face in his world that never stopped spinning in different fast-paced directions. When you made it up to your room, the quiet was almost welcome.

It wasn't long before you slipped into your pj's and dimmed most of the light, until Elizabeth burst in.

"I'm gonna do it." She announced, out of breath like she ran all the way here to tell you so. "I'm gonna stay with Brian."

You knew this had been coming, and at long last. You encouraged your best friend to jump into her jammies and bolt out the door. And when she did, you knew everything was as it should be, even for you. Even though the quiet pierced your ears, now. You knew tonight was one you'd remember forever. But you never dreamed it would end this way.

///

You awoke to a crashing. Muted hollers echoed from the hall, while the sun beamed through the curtains you forgot to shut. Your head pounded from the party the night before, but the ruckus from the hall was enough to drive you out from under the covers in a hurry.

You opened the door, rubbing your eyes to find clothes and shoes flying out from a doorway and toward an open suitcase at the end of the hall. Then Roger staggered out, dodging a pair of heels that zoomed dangerously passed his head. Lilly emerged no sooner, throwing the rest of her things into the suitcase on the ground, yelling at the drummer the whole time. He stood, listening, taking it. So you stood, crossing your arms, watching Lilly throw her fit, delighted at the sight of her leaving, no matter how dramatic it might have been.

When she grabbed the handle of her hastily zipped bag, she cursed her way toward the elevators. When the doors closed, Roger turned, noticed you, and laughed. His excitement morphed into a grimace as he lifted a hand to his head- he'd had much more to drink than you.

You gave the blonde a small wave and chuckled as you crept back into your sickeningly bright room. You snagged some pills from Rita's opened suitcase, stole some of Elizabeth's shampoo, and prepared for the day ahead and whatever it might bring.

The hotel was eerily quiet, the commotion from the party and Lilly's fit reduced to echoes in your memory and nothing more. There wasn't even a soul to be found in the breakfast bar, each chair in place. You picked one and ordered a hot drink, wondering what other ghosts haunted the place you seemed to exist alone in.

You only got to sulk for a few minutes. Elizabeth skipped through the halls, bounding to pull a seat up next to you, a frantic mess of giggles. You grinned, taking a sip of your drink as you watched her slouch across from you, biting her lip into a smile.

"He kept calling me Beth. And I kind of liked it."

You both burst into chuckles, heads thrown back in the early morning, despite having barely caught a wink of sleep. She ordered a drink, and some breakfast when you asked why she wasn't still with Brian. She explained that his head hurt too badly to move yet, and she was famished.

So she split her breakfast with you and told you all the details she was willing to share. You laughed the whole time, fawning over each dreamy scenario, pausing only to announce how lucky she was and how happy you were for your friend. You'd known all of Brian's trustworthy motives, having spent many a long night coaxing him to sweep your best friend off her feet. A piece of your soul settled knowing they were finally together.

Roger and Freddie interrupted your giggle-fest to join in breakfast, complaining about their aches and pains they would have slept away if Lilly's screaming hadn't rattled them into consciousness. When neither of them ceased whining, you stood to go fetch some more pain killers Rita kept on hand to pass out in times like now, and out of reach during most all other occasions.

When you got to the room, nothing was much the same as when you'd left it an hour ago. The cleaning service had come and made your bed. And Rita was there, clamping her suitcase shut.

"You're leaving?"

The redhead turned to you with a heavy sigh that seemed to be her answer.

"I don't belong here anymore, babe." Rita shrugged when your twisted expression wasn't eased.

"You can't leave..." You cautioned, but for all the wrong reasons. Elizabeth had made it clear that she planned to switch roommates, and that was good news indeed. But if Rita left, you'd be alone. And you couldn't afford to rent more rooms all on your own, for the rest of the tour.

Rita didn't explain much further as she hoisted her bags toward the door. You remembered why you came up in the first place, asking her for some of the pain killers she always kept. You half encouraged the girl to stick around to keep mothering the lot of you, joking that the whole show would fall apart if she left you lot on your own. She only traded you the bottle of pills and a sorry smile before spinning toward the elevators with her bags in hand.

You'd felt alone in the space before, but you hadn't ever felt the way you did, now. Like everything was over. Not just the tour as you knew it. Not just your place on the ride. But like life had shifted into a new, dull grey territory right before your eyes.

///

"Here you are, then." You tossed the bottle of pain killers to Roger, who still managed to catch it in one hand despite his sluggish state. The rest of the band had all flocked to the breakfast table you'd claimed earlier in the day, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. And even though your throat went dry as they glanced up your way, you announced that you had something to say.

"I'm going home." You declared with wimpy confidence.

Everyone gapped at you, waiting for the penny to drop. But you'd already said what you needed to.

"No, you're not." Elizabeth laughed, standing from the spot you'd left her in a bit ago. Funny how some things never changed even when everything else did...

"Rita just left and there's no way I can cover a room all on my own for another week and a half," You explained, watching your friend shake her head. Elizabeth pulled you away from the group, and back toward the elevators.

"You're not leaving me on tour with a bunch of boys." Elizabeth declared, pushing the buttons to send you to the proper floor.

You argued with her all the way up to the room. You watched your friend collect her things, finding tubes of lipstick and shoes mixed among your collection. She combated all your excuses with her own, while she packed her bags.

"We'll figure something out, okay?" Elizabeth spoke up, toting her things into the hall. "But you're not leaving."

You could see the boys making their way back to their rooms, as your friend left you on your own. You let her, and couldn't help but smile when you watched Brian take her suitcase in his hand as they swept into his room. But before you could turn and face the inevitable, you were stopped once more.

"You can stay with me, if you'd like."

John stood in your doorway, with his hands shoved in his tight pockets. Oh, no way.

"I'm not a groupie John." You sneered. You had no interest in being a temporary roommate.

"I never said you were. In fact, I'm glad you're not." John chuckled. It made you hate how much you adored him. He really wasn't interested in you, huh?

"I just don't want-"

"I want you to stay with me." He seemed sure, he wasn't even asking. He never really did ask, did he? John looked at you as if you didn't have a choice. Reluctantly, you let yourself feel glad that you didn't have much of one. And then you hesitantly packed your bags.

When you got to the room John had been staying in for two nights in a row, he hadn't done much to celebrate the small stability. His bags were in the corner and the lights were dim. You tossed your things into an opposite corner.

That night, you barely spoke to each other, and you curled on the sofa to sleep your worries away.

///

The snow had ceased but the chill in the air cut to the bone. It was torture to walk from the bus toward the plane. It was small, much smaller than the already cramped tour bus. Maybe having less friends along for the ride had its perks after all...

The boys were dressed to impress, knowing they'd land to a dozen flashing cameras and excited fans. You and Elizabeth settled in the back, accepted some complimentary flutes of champagne, and buckled up for another long ride. The boys gathered around for some kind of meeting to discuss the last leg of the tour.

She never asked. Elizabeth just kept giving you this look, coxing you to spill any details on what your stay in John's room had been like. And when the plane reached its altitude, you'd had enough of your friends daring glares.

"I slept on the sofa." You admitted through a sigh.

Elizabeth dropped the magazine she'd pretended to be interested in, to her lap, and turned to you with wide eyes. When you met her glance, she swatted you on the shoulder with a disgruntled huff.

"One month left." She rose a manicured nail. "You have one month left of this year and I will not let you live it on sleeping on his sofa."

You snorted a laugh. She sure had come a long way since diving headfirst, last minute, into her new year's resolution. Just then, the boys broke away from business, and Elizabeth perked up.

"John, dear, this seat isn't taken!" She stood to shuffle toward Brian, but you knew her motives were mostly with you in mind.

John could have kept walking and sat next to Ratty, behind you. He could have stayed where he sat, still. But John stood up and waltzed over to where Elizabeth had fled, with a grin on his face. As he settled next to you, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes. You turned toward the window, trying to jot down every detail of the land below you, knowing it would always be there, and you could come back to it, but nothing would never be exactly as it was now, ever again.

///

After another kick-ass show, the unruly group you'd been trailing across cities and skies with seemed eager to go their separate ways.

Roger took off, into the town you'd barely learned the name of, hot on the trail of a tall brunette. Freddie invited a cast of characters back to the hotel; you watched as strangers filled up the bus before the band was even finished tearing their set down. And Elizabeth canceled your plans; one's you'd made on the ride to the show, to go to dinner just the two of you and spend the whole night catching up. Even though she'd just been down the hall for a night and a half, you decidedly missed each other already.

But Elizabeth was easily coaxed away at Brian's simple suggestion to take her on a real proper first date. And you couldn't blame her. In fact, you were the one who pushed the girl out of the green room and made her stop asking if you'd hate her for taking a rain check.

That left you, and John. He shrugged on his coat as the last of the strangers Freddie invited shuffled passed to catch the bus. And when he noticed Elizabeth turn to wave goodbye, John frowned as if she'd been letting him down, all along.

"I'm happy for her," You spoke up decidedly, stepping to trail behind the group of partiers headed for your ride. "but I may secretly never forgive her. I was pretty excited to waste the last of my cash on a five-star dining experience we probably would have spent just drinking anyway."

John laughed, a solid, made for the big screen, award-winning laugh. And when you stepped out into the bitter cold, anxious to make it to the bus before catching hypothermia, John curled his fingers around your arm and yanked you the opposite way.

"Uh, where are you abducting me to?" You weren't nervous about where you were headed, just the fact that John seemed so keen to lead you there.

"To a five-star dining experience, duh." John hailed a cab that slowed on the glistening street in perfect time. As he reached to open the door, the man stopped you from arguing all the same.

"And I'll even make sure you still have cash left to waste, don't worry." The bassist pressed his elegant fingers into your shoulder blades, ushering you into the ride.

///

"Thanks for being so hospitable miles away from home." You uttered, stabbing a fork into a salad that cost as much as your rent back home. The place you sat now was saturated in amber light, a warmth you had to swim through to reach for your glass of water across a massive marble table. John sharing his room was one thing, but a lavish meal was another.

"Home is where the heart is, right?" John shrugged, taking a sip of the beer still floating above the bottom of his bottle.

"And I happen to know yours is in the countryside, don't be coy." You teased, shoving a fancy basket of chips toward the middle of the table, gesturing for him to take a few.

Your conversation started slow, with carefully formulated quips, questions, and answers. But once you'd mentioned the few keywords, subjects that sparked to life in his brilliant grey eyes, John was an open book.

He yammered about growing up. You asked about music. He wondered about the future. You laughed about now. And maybe it was the late hour or the exhaustion of the never-ending ride setting in, but you laughed all the way home, too.

You were shaking away the hysteria on your walk toward the hotel. And by the time you reach the halls, you'd both gone silent as the day you met, keeping your smiles polite and your eyes hidden away.

He was the first to get ready for bed. You called the front desk for an extra set of blankets, propped some throw pillows in place on a new tiny sofa, and rummaged for your bedclothes beneath the mess of trousers you couldn't choose from earlier in the day.

You slipped past John when he emerged from the ensuite, almost like you were trying to avoid each other. The bathroom was full of leftover steam that fogged the mirror, quickly fading from the corners. As you took your turn cleaning up you tried not to think of how close this was to being over. How you'd miss Freddie's jokes, the ones he'd tell under his breath just to you. How you'd miss Roger's questions, and the odd times he'd settle in for a chat, even if he didn't seem to have the time. You'd miss Brian begging for your help in catching Elizabeth's attention. You would still have her at the end of this, to dreamily reminisce with while you danced around to records, like always. But you'd miss John most of all.

The lights were out when you crept back into the room. Even the moon was out of sight in the window it's dull shine outlined. On your way toward the sofa, where some blankets remained neatly folded just for you, John stopped you. From the place on the edge of the bed where he'd settled in the dark, he rose a hand to your wrist. Not grabbing on, just letting his fingers brush against your skin. Even the smallest bit of contact with the guy sent sweat to your palms.

Only when you turned to glance at John, did he let his fingers press against your arm, gently pulling you to sit at his side. The shadows of the room might have covered his face if you were any further away. But you were close enough to see the specks of color in his steel-grey eyes.

Did he know what he was doing to you? Could he hear the thud of your heart? Did John realize how much you adored him? You nearly couldn't handle being so close, closer than ever before. When you opened your mouth to warn him, no sound escaped.

John took your failed warning as an invitation to lean closer. You were suddenly glad you'd neglected to give notice to your nerves- when he closed the space left between you to press his lips against yours.

He kissed you slowly, almost timidly. Just the way most all of your other interactions with him had started out. When you kissed John in return, he stopped holding back. His gentle pecks ended when his lips parted against yours, setting the rhythm of your heart into overdrive. It was one of the kisses that there weren't words for. All of the reserved glances, every shared silence, had led up to now. Everything you'd tried to say, to make clear to John seemed to be relayed in the way you kissed each other.

You only stopped to breathe, but when the quiet grew louder, you realized there was more to say than ever. And funnily enough, John spoke up first.

"I like you, ya know?" He whispered, still dangerously close. You could practically feel the words as he formed them.

"I sure hope so." You breathed. Because now you couldn't cling to the edge for dear life, you were free-falling, and he was the only one who could catch you.

Instead of meeting in the middle to kiss you again, he replied. "What do you want?"

"I want to stay with you." You smiled, nearly mocking the way he coaxed you into sharing his room for the rest of the tour. Instead of meeting him halfway for a kiss, you said something more. "But I'll keep wanting too. So don't start something with a finish line in mind."

"I don't plan on letting this end, love." John declared with a grin, looping an arm around your middle and pulling you close. "Besides, we're just getting started."

His low purr in your ear was the nail in the coffin. You couldn't help but melt against John. He pulled you into the jumbled sheets. You tangled your fingers in his mess of sandy waves of hair. He fit against you perfectly. You stayed with him.

///

"Where's my hairbrush?" Roger whined, scouring the vanity with big worried eyes. You stole the silver comb from under Freddie's nose, tossing the thing to the drummer.

"You actually brush this mane?" You tousled his blonde fringe, that seemed to already stand on end. Roger looked pissed at first, but when he glanced at the result of your action in the mirror, he stilled.

"This is better, actually." He shrugged, and you laughed, as Freddie twirled by to steal the comb once more.

"We're just going to the museum down the street. Are you really wasting your eyeliner for a field trip?" Brian asked, tapping his foot impatiently in the doorway on the suite that combined all of your rooms together, in the new, final city.

You'd all been in comfortably close quarters for the last couple days and a half, and yet when everyone's favorite roadie suggested going out to enjoy the last free afternoon, everyone stuck together to do it. Ratty led the way as you all waltzed in pairs between a few buildings lined with piles of snow that quickly melted under the usually beaming sun. Freddie and Roger. Elizabeth and Brian. You and John.

He'd become a permanent fixture on your side, always reaching for your hand, stepping in time with you from place to place. You basked in his glow, and waved from whatever side of the stage you ended up near, not entirely unlike before.

When your gang flooded into the big quiet art gallery, Roger made you laugh, posing with marble statues and making you do the same, asking Freddie to snap your photo. Brian read plaques like stories for you all to hear while still fixated on the art he spoke for. You sat with Elizabeth and watched on with pride while a group of fans flagged the boys down. You and your best pal shared knowing looks before floating away from each other, and back toward the guitarists who'd been glad you managed to find your way on tour.

The last show was watched on by a bevy of film cameras. The boys in your favorite band played hard. You could practically envision the music notes floating away from the chords they struck in flawless synchronicity. Ratty stood, biting his nails ready to exchange instruments and wires in too big of a hurry, wishing there were more roadies to share the worry with.

"Calm down, this is going perfectly." You assured, squeezing the slim man's bicep. Ratty nodded and seemed to still. He'd come to ask you and Elizabeth's opinion, on all sorts of things, but most music. Ratty had watched you and your friend dance to the music night after night with the same unbridled excitement for the very first show. You'd become friends and confidants with the roadie, but above all things, you were still a fan. And not a performance passed without you and Elizabeth geeking out over the music.

Everything was perfect. But you knew better of course. You knew things would be different back where you started. You knew the spell you'd been caught up end might skid to a permanent stop when the tour bus wheels did. But there was no harm in losing yourself in the days that lasted, passing by too quickly.

Even as Brian made plans for your best friend to meet his family after they landed, you knew she'd only gotten lucky. Love like that only ever came once in a lifetime. But Queen seemed to have tapped into a wealth of fortune. And those boys deserved every bit of good they had coming.

///

You stood around the baggage claim carousel watching your friends rub their tired eyes. The tour was over, even though you'd known the day was coming, the realization hit you with all the subtlety of crashing into a brick wall.

That morning, you'd awoken with time to relish the way John slept soundly at your side. You watched the sunrise shine through his hair, relaxing under the weight of his arm that pulled you closer under the covers. You followed his lead, packing your things and hauling out to catch another plane, almost like usual. You were glad for the way he'd napped on your shoulder on the ride, afraid of letting him notice how scared you were for what came next.

John kept an arm around your waist all the way back where you came from, and you kept your head lulling back against his shoulder, terrified of what might happen the moment you stepped away to grab your bags. (If they'd ever show up)

Brian and Elizabeth were the first to leave. You watched the guitarist pull your best friend away from the group after a few unceremonious goodbyes. She turned to give you a final, nervous wave; a message you understand was code for her intention to phone you later.

Roger second, joking how he was sick of all of you, spinning around to take it back as Ratty raced to leave, too.

Freddie was last, but certainly not least.

"I'm off to sleep for a week!" He declared, slipping on a pair of bedazzled sunglasses. "But I'll be so glad to see you again the first of the year, darling." Freddie kissed your cheek and spun through the glass doors, headed for home. Before you had time to fret over Freddie's implied invitation, John offered up a real one.

"You'll come along to America, won't you?" He asked, tightening his hold around your middle.

"You want me to?" You asked feebly, daring to look into his cloud colored eyes.

"Of course. I don't think I can go most anywhere without you, now." John's smile reached his eyes as you bit back a grin, twirling a strand of his hair around his finger.

"Well, what about now?" You ventured to ask, holding your breath. You watched John lift a brow and search your face, the beginnings of a new sort of grin painting his own features.

"You'd come back to mine?"

"Of course."

And you did. You followed John right through the doors of his humble flat, joking how you'd already packed a bag. You shared John's space, his bed, his breakfast, his shampoo- but only once. You were quick to head to the market and by him a better brand, the best because he deserved it. John pulled you in for a dozen kisses, assuring he already had the best things life had to offer, all of them regarding you.

///

Before you knew it, it was time to hit the road once more. You'd saved almost every paycheck, except for one you blew on a dozen new outfits, and packed accordingly, and much more wisely than the time before. By now half of your things were mixed in with John's, anyhow.

"It's the start of a very happy new year! What's your resolution?" Elizabeth squeaked, as you rushed through airport terminals to greet your dearest friend. You hadn't seen much of her in the time since the last tour, but the music still led you back together, crashing into a long-awaited hug. Her dark curls were a little longer, and her style was still just as immaculate.

She escorted you onto the plane, where you'd found most of the rest of your crew.

You ruffled Roger's hair and leaned in for a photo with Ratty before he moved to curl up and sleep the flight away. John yanked you to sit at his side as Brian was the last to board, creeping toward his seat next to your dear friend like a giant trapped in a toy plane.

Freddie sat ahead of you all, leaning over the back of the seats, fawning over you and Elizabeth much like he had the day you met him.

"How glad I am to see your bright shining faces! We couldn't possibly have a proper tour without our very own queenie and you, my star." Freddie flashed a smile over the seat you sat before.

"Watch it, she's taken," John warned Freddie with a laugh, reaching to grab your hand.

"And for that you're welcome!" Freddie pointed between John and Brian, boasting about how clever he was to have invited you and your friend along, how he had been an undercover, genius matchmaker, all along. As your flight took off, Freddie blabbered on about how it was Roger's turn, saying he knew this nice french girl who'd be perfect for the blonde. Everyone laughed as Freddie yammered on. You clutched John's hand the whole ride, fiddling with the ring on his finger.

///

You left the boys to navigate their way around the first stage of the tour, while you took across town to get lunch with Elizabeth. You joked about how it was just like the first time, when you'd waited around hours before the show you won tickets too. The only difference now, was the level of fondness in which you spoke about your favorite band who were busy setting up at the venue down the road.

She caught you up on all the long-winded stories about Brian she'd been sorting away. You'd told her what you and John had been up too. And then you took your time meandering back to the concert hall, arm in arm.

The pair of you flashed your backstage passes to the doorman who let you in with a smile. The halls were full of cases and wires and new roadies and crew members who nodded as you and Elizabeth floated toward the green room. The closer you got, the more people came into view Girls and guys in denim and velvet, chomping on bubblegum and giggling over each other hairstyles.

You shouldered past a few unfamiliar love-struck groupies with their gazes set on your favorite band. Their drooly slack jaws clamped into frowns when you and Elizabeth fell into the open arms of the boys who'd brought you along.

Some of the girls lingered in the green room when the band rushed toward the stage. You were right behind them as always, stalling in the shadows, offering thumbs-up, and giving good luck kisses. Queen took their places behind their instruments, breathing in time with the buzzing amps as the lights dimmed, and the crowd roared.

Roger thrashed his drums with a smile, as Freddie sang his heart out. Brian turned his gaze to the side of the stage as he sang into the mic. And John danced out further from the shadows than ever before.

It was even better than you remembered. It was the best. You and Elizabeth won so much more than free tickets on the radio that day. The music had always been your personal soundtrack to your world, but now it was your world. And it sounded even sweeter as John plucked away at your favorite bass line, flashing his smile in your direction. He was your ticket in, tonight. And hopefully, many more nights to follow.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

taglist: @joeneslee @rogertaylorsangeleyes @imtheinvisiblequeen

#john deacon x reader #john deacon fanfiction #john deacon imagine #john deacon #queen fanfiction #queen imagine #queen x reader

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fictionturnedherbrain · 4 years ago

Text

Marguerite

Full name: Marguerite Blakeney, née St Just

Nick-names: Margot; ‘little mother’

Age: 25 (‘scarcely five-and-twenty’, in September 1792)

Born: August 1767

Place of birth: France

Education: Convent school, Paris; travelled to England to study the language

Currently lives: Blakeney Manor, Richmond, England

Height: ‘Tall above the average’, perhaps 5’ 6”; slender, regal figure

Eye colour: A very fluid blue!

Hair colour: Strawberry blonde (‘reddish-golden’, ‘ardent’)

Facial features: ‘Classic brow’, ‘sweet, almost childlike mouth’ with ‘full lips’, ‘straight chiselled nose’, ‘round chin’ and a ‘delicate throat’

Marital status: Wife of Sir Percy Blakeney, Bt. They met at Versailles, during a banquet held for the Flanders regiment on October 3, 1789. Two years later, they were married at the Church of St Roch, Paris, ‘just like that’, ‘without a soirée de contrat or diner de fiançailles’

Family: Brother, Armand St Just (eight years her senior). Parents died when Marguerite was ‘but a child’

Occupation: A gentlewoman. Formerly an actress with the Comédie Française. Also a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel, 1792-1795 (‘You are a member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. The most adored. The most revered amongst all’)

Interests: Society hostess (balls, routs, suppers, etc.); music (operas, particularly Glück’s Orpheus); reading (contemporary novels, such as Fielding’s Tom Jones); setting the trend in fashion (‘She wore the short-waisted, classical-shaped gown, which so soon was to become the approved mode in every country in Europe’); the company of her friends, Suzanne Ffoulkes, Juliette Deroulede, Yvonne Dewhurst

Passions: Time alone with her husband (‘Moments like this, when she was alone with him, were the joy of her life’); the late night drives from London to their Richmond home (‘a source of perpetual delight to Marguerite’)

Character: Once an enthusiastic republican and feted actress, courted by men such as the Scarlet Pimpernel’s arch-enemy, Citizen Chauvelin (‘one of the many satellites that revolved around brilliant Marguerite St Just’ ), Marguerite gave all up for love. Yet despite exchanging the Paris stage for London and Bath society, she still holds true to the ideals of the Republic, even after personal experience has made her detest what people will do in the name of liberty. She does not judge by wealth or class, only by individual intelligence and creativity – and how these gifts are utilised. Marguerite is also very impulsive in her actions, and is often guided by instinct, whether wisely or foolishly. She has a passionate and loving nature, dedicating herself wholly to those she cares for – her brother Armand, and her husband, Percy. Her selfless concern for others has on occasion actually imperilled those she would give her life to save, so forceful is her desire to actively protect the people she loves. Her loyalty to her husband, the Scarlet Pimpernel, has never wavered, and has been tested many times. Initially insecure that his love for her, though great, was not as devoted as her own for him (‘He loved her and went away!’), Marguerite has learned to trust in her husband’s seemingly boundless good luck and ingenuity, supporting his dangerous mercy missions instead of trying to hold him back (‘the noble-hearted woman, whose very soul was wrapped up in the idolised husband, allowed herself to ride by his side on the buoyant waves of his enthusiasm’). She has even taken an active role in the League’s adventures, preferring to face her husband’s fate rather than be left without him (“If you go, I go with you”). If she sometimes gives into the emotional strain, and pleads for Percy to put her needs first, it is only because his love has come to shape Marguerite’s life (‘ the one man who had made her so infinitely proud and happy in his love’) ; from a young girl who thought herself incapable of love, and who claimed to have married for wealth and position, she has matured into a woman who is happiest in the company of her husband, and who will suffer any hardship to be with him. Marguerite has suffered greatly since learning of her husband’s dual identity, but she has also found a soul mate and earned the love of a noble-hearted, adventurous, and intense individual - somebody a lot like herself (“Are we not one, you and I?”) She understands that Percy’s honour is bound up in the reputation of the Scarlet Pimpernel, and that the strength of his love for her is proven by his dedication to others: ‘Nay, it intensified it, made it purer and better’.

Marguerite is not unaware of her physical charm, as it has helped to advance her career and attract admirers who flatter her vanity – but how much of her confidence is natural, and how much an act? Does she believe all that people tell her, about her beauty, wit and talent, or is she hiding behind a studied role?

Actress Vs. Child Marguerite definitely has a pampered ego, and will not let her guard down in public. Her republican philosophy that ‘money and titles may be hereditary, but brains are not’ seems to stem from her own self-image, rather than any political influence: she has only equals in society, never betters. When the aristocratic Comtesse de Tournay crosses Marguerite in public, the bourgeois actress regards her with ‘hard, set eyes’. Yet when the Comtesse refuses to let Marguerite speak to daughter Suzanne, a childhood friend of Marguerite’s, a ‘wistful, almost pathetic and childlike look’ replaces the defiant glare. This is Marguerite’s core: the young Mme. St Just within the haughty, practiced Lady Blakeney, and few are allowed to penetrate her perfect facade; only when she is alone can Marguerite relax, like one ‘long oppressed with the heavy weight of constant self-control’.

Love The key to earning Marguerite’s love is to win her trust. For all her brilliance and popularity, the twenty-five year old actress-turned-lady is emotionally insecure; before meeting Sir Percy, she had already consigned herself to a life alone: ‘I naturally believed it was not in my nature to love’. Why should such a beautiful, successful and young woman have closed her heart to happiness? After her rather unexpected and unconventional marriage, it was claimed that Mademoiselle St Just was a ‘brilliant matrimonial prize’ for which ‘there had been many competitors’, and this can be believed – but how many men might have proposed, how far they got, and what happened to them, seems not to have affected Marguerite. Even when speaking of Sir Percy, in the early days of their marriage, she can only say that she would have allowed herself to be ‘worshipped’ and ‘given infinite tenderness in return’; she does not speak of her love for him, because, at that point, she is not able to recognise it in herself (‘A woman’s heart is such a complex problem’).

Marguerite’s concept of love, as with her support of the revolution, is purely idealistic: she has notions of how it should be, but her upbringing has sheltered her from gaining any experience of the realities. Her formative years were spent in a Paris convent, where she was educated alongside the wealthy children of noble families, such as Suzanne de Tournay. After her education (she and Suzanne travelled to England, at one point, to study the language), Marguerite became an actress, making her debut at the Comédie Française when she was eighteen. Yet instead of succumbing to the attentions of male admirers at the theatre and perhaps becoming somebody’s mistress, she seems to have immersed herself in the romance and morality of the plays in which she acted, waiting for a ‘perfect love’ which might not exist. Percy’s slavish devotion to her flattered her vanity, but also appealed to her romantic imagination: when she talks of the Pimpernel, unaware of the connection with her husband, Marguerite reflects that ‘there was a man she might have loved’, the ‘shadowy king of her heart’ so like a character upon the stage in his bravery, chivalry and anonymity. She admits that she was ‘vain and frivolous’, attracted by Percy’s wealth and position, and takes advantage of all the trappings of her new lifestyle when he withdraws his love. Material possessions and a grand home in which to entertain a new court of admirers, however, are only superficial distractions; as Lady Blakeney, Marguerite is ‘lonely in the midst of her grandeur’.

Though praised for her beauty, wit and talent, Marguerite has always felt secretly undeserving and mistrustful of anything more than token flattery. Her vanity can accept compliments with ‘inimitable grace’, but she is wary of having to give anything in return. Though initially attracted to Sir Percy’s ‘curious intensity of concentrated passion’, it is the fact that she perceived him as ‘slow and stupid’ – or safe and submissive – which allowed Marguerite to overcome that main obstacle and agree to marriage. A clever or busy man would soon tire of Marguerite’s charms, her looks and her witty conversation, but she believed that an unquestioning slave such as Sir Percy would always worship her as a goddess, and bend to her will – which she accepted as no more than her due.

When Percy rejects her as soon as she becomes his wife, Marguerite is lost. She is ‘grateful’ to him, for his generosity, unceasing civility and polite attentions, but cannot comprehend the change in his attitude towards her. Loneliness, fear and a bruised ego cause her to defend herself in the only safe way she knows – by hiding her feelings behind a mask, and acting the role of her own life: ‘she, too, had worn a mask in assuming a contempt for him’. To maintain her dignity in public, and to try and rouse a strong reaction from her husband in private, Marguerite takes to mocking Sir Percy, who has similarly retreated behind the guise of society fop: she tries to ‘goad him to self-assertion’; ‘even amused herself by sharpening her ready wits at his expense’. When he merely accepts her taunts, she tries to stir his jealousy by flirting with other men, but Percy leaves her alone to do as she wishes, ‘to flirt, dance, to amuse or bore herself as much as she liked’, such is his pain over her apparent deception. Marguerite, like a vindictive child, wants to hurt her husband as much as the unexplained withdrawal of his love has hurt her, and says ‘cruel, insulting things, which she vaguely hoped would wound him’, but it is only her vanity that has been insulted. She assumed, before they married, that he would accept anything she did or said. Burdened with the guilt of her rash act of revenge, Marguerite told Percy of her part in the execution of the St Cyr family, trusting that her ‘boundless power’ over him would suppress his judgement of her, and took his silence as a lack of comprehension. Blinded by his devotion, Marguerite didn’t bother to learn about her husband’s true personality, just as he idolised his own image of her; only when she confronts her husband, after a year of estrangement, does she realise that her initial hesitation in confiding in him shattered his illusion of the ‘angel’ he married. When the permanence of marriage breaks the spell of their brief courtship, they begin to find out who it is they think themselves in love with. Percy learns about Marguerite’s human failings through her denunciation of the Marquis, and Marguerite must accept the exaggerated persona of her husband’s pride as his true self.

Armand ‘Her love for her brother, Armand St Just, was deep and touching in the extreme’: Marguerite is mother, sister, friend to Armand, and because he is the only person she can trust without reserve, ‘whom she dared to love’, the bond between them becomes like a lifeline to her. Losing their parents at a young age blurred the roles of their relationship: Armand, elder by eight years, became a father figure and chaperone to his young sister, and Marguerite, when she was old enough, provided a maternal influence in her brother’s life. Having Armand ‘near her to love and protect her, to guard her from the many subtle intrigues which were raging in Paris’ has obviously been a regulating factor in Marguerite’s unconventional upbringing. It is possible to imagine that he has saved her from her own guileless and impulsive nature, steering her away from unwelcome attentions on more than one occasion. Marguerite is naïve and sensitive beneath her cool attitude and arrogant beauty – she needs the advice of others to help her actively confront difficult situations, otherwise she is content to let events happen to her. And when she does act on impulse, to avenge her brother and her own injured pride, she is blind to the consequences until it is too late. Her denouncement of the treasonous Marquis de St Cyr, an unfortunate combination of her own petty desire for revenge and gullible nature, is the event which separates Marguerite and Percy immediately after their wedding.

Armand’s pivotal role in her life, however, makes Marguerite afraid to release her brother and trust in anybody else. Before he is to return to France, she holds him with ‘sudden strong, almost motherly passion’, and pleads with him that, “I have only you to care for me”, when what she probably means is that she has only Armand to love her. Her protective over-reaction is understandable, considering that Armand’s life is constantly under threat as a citizen of revolutionary France, but neither does Marguerite want to be left ‘alone’. Her brother’s first visit since beginning her new life in England as Lady Blakeney can only have intensified Marguerite’s feelings of loneliness and estrangement as a Frenchwoman in exile; her brother is her ‘home’, a link to the life she left behind. Already convinced that she will never love another being as wholly as she does her brother, ‘the only being in the whole world who has loved me truly and constantly’, her sisterly and maternal concerns for his safety are multiplied by her own fears of losing the last member of her immediate family, and being completely abandoned in a strange country with a husband who is cold towards her. Armand tries to reassure her, understanding ‘the reserve which lurked behind her frank, open ways’, but he is not as dependent upon her as she is with him.

Marguerite reveals to Armand the truth of her marriage, and hints at how unhappy she is in her new life, but her pride will not allow her to break down completely. After only a year apart, Armand finds himself locked out of his sister’s deepest confidence, and has to form his own conclusions based on his understanding of Marguerite’s nature. He realises that she has misjudged and underestimated her husband, not recognising that he could be as proud and headstrong as her until it was too late, and that her bargaining on a ‘fool’ might have been miscalculated. Armand regrets the distance between them, but as Lady Blakeney, she will not let down her guard, even to her brother.

Fate

Until she follows her husband to Paris to save his life, attempting to redeem herself by repairing the consequences of her actions, Marguerite tends to view the choices she makes as being beyond her control: ‘Fate had decided, had made her speak, had made her do a vile and abominable thing’. Without the support of a third party to ‘shift from her young, weak shoulders this terrible burden of responsibility’, Marguerite disassociates herself from her actions, in a defensive bid to spare her conscience: ‘What had she done to have deserved all this?’ Perhaps the greatest example of this is her view of the St Cyr executions, and the extent of her role in their downfall. The Marquis was a traitor to his country, a royalist and an aristocrat seeking military intervention from Austria, and this information was known by other people before Marguerite learned of it ‘amongst her own coterie’, but this doesn’t change the fact that she then, with ‘a few thoughtless words’, denounced the Marquis to the Assembly (probably via Chauvelin). Nor was her desire for retribution motivated by patriotism or political ideals – the Marquis’ crime was personal: ‘what her brother must have suffered in his manhood and his pride must have been appalling; what she suffered through him and with him she never attempted to even analyse’. Still naïve and immature, for all her renowned salon wit, Marguerite failed to foresee the fatal consequences of her actions, although her ‘friends’ were fully aware (‘they trapped and duped me’). ‘Horrified’ at the repercussions of her ‘thoughtlessness’, Marguerite ‘strain[ed] every nerve, us[ed] every influence’ to reverse what she had set in motion and save the St Cyrs, but it was ‘too late’. Satisfied that she had done all she could, Marguerite was able to convince herself that ‘fate had merely stepped in’, and that she was actually ‘morally innocent’. Spiteful, ignorant and easily influenced, she probably didn’t think beyond humiliating the Marquis, who had punished her brother, and therefore insulted her own bourgeois background, for being socially beneath his family – but that she did so in a petty bid for revenge makes Marguerite far from blameless.

Entirely free of false humility, Marguerite is equally aware of her attractions and her failings. She complains to Chauvelin about the incongruence of living in a land of ‘fogs and virtues’, and observes to the Prince of Wales that ‘virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when it is crushed’. Marguerite’s bohemian lifestyle as an actress, earning a living in deception and courted as a republican mascot, contrasts sharply with her strict and pious childhood in the convent, and the dichotomy of the two goes a way towards explaining her liberal yet penitent attitude to life. Whereas there is no doubt that Marguerite enjoys life, as the ‘darling of a brilliant throng, adored, feted, petted, cherished’, with ‘the joy of living writ plainly’ upon her face, her generous and compassionate spirit is easily disturbed by the cruelty and suffering around her. Her cynical wisdom and sharp wit display a pensive and distrustful side to her youthful personality, as she warns her brother that ‘little sins are far less dangerous and uncomfortable’. An ardent supporter of the ‘lofty virtues’ that inspired the Revolution, Marguerite welcomed the new Republic, but when the words and visions of philosophers like Rousseau and Mirabeau were replaced by the harsher realities of violence and executions, she was horrified and quickly abandoned the bloody excesses of France for the security of England.

Class

Marguerite is trapped between social plateaus in ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’: proclaiming herself a republican with ‘an enthusiasm for liberty and equality’, she is originally from a middle-class background, elevated in her own sphere by her beauty and wit, and then removed from her queenly position in Paris to become a pretender to the aristocracy in England upon her marriage. Sir Percy is a baronet, on the next to the lowest rung of the peerage, but his wealth, good name and novelty value in the Prince of Wale’s court ensure that he is accepted amongst the higher ranks of society (at least two of the League are lords). However, this still makes rather a hypocrite of Marguerite, who, despite professing that ‘money and titles may be hereditary, but brains are not’, seems to enjoy her new status. She accepts ‘jewels and luxuries’ from Sir Percy, in place of affection and a happy marriage, and adapts to the privilege and insularity of English society within a year. At Brogard’s inn, when she and Sir Andrew travel to Calais to warn Percy that Chauvelin is on his trail, Marguerite is disgusted by her fellow ‘citizen’, thoroughly acting the part of the pampered aristocrat as she holds her handkerchief to her ‘dainty nose’ and stares ‘in horror’ at her surroundings.

She and Chauvelin are both idealists, preferring rhetoric to action; when the diplomat seeks to enlist her patriotic assistance in Dover, Marguerite asks, ‘What can I do, here in England?’ Overhearing her confrontation with the haughty Comtesse de Tournay, Chauvelin confronts Marguerite with this typical example of social injustice in the hope that her bruised pride will make her an ally, but Marguerite can defend herself. Instead of betraying the brave Pimpernel to punish the undeserving aristocrats he rescues, such as the de Tournays, Marguerite calls the Comtesse’s bluff with the aid of the Prince of Wales, ‘with a wealth of mischief in her twinkling blue eyes’. As a bourgeois actress, Marguerite has suffered the prejudice and arrogance of the aristocracy, inspiring her faith in the Republican creed of ‘liberty, equality, fraternity’, but her popular reception amongst the London ton, and the Royal protection she enjoys as a friend of the Prince of Wales, tempers her vehemence. Marguerite’s primary motivation is safeguarding the security and happiness of herself and those closest to her: to avenge a brother, she spoke out of spite, and to provide for her future, she turned on her homeland. Money and titles may not matter to Marguerite, but neither will she renounce personal advantages on principle; without ‘her rank, her dignity, her secret enthusiasms’, she is always Marguerite St Just.

#the scarlet pimpernel #marguerite st just #lady blakeney #sir percy blakeney #character study #suzanne de tournay #armand st just #merle oberon #leslie howard

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years ago

Text

The worst enemy

He throws another vase at the wall, but there’s no one there to pick the broken pieces up. It’s the middle of the night and he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Who are you?!”, he screams at nothing, approaching the mirror and hating the pale face that looks back at him, those intelligent eyes blinking quickly, as if trying to get out of a daze.

He needs to find out who their rat is. Ra’s hasn’t yet, and it’s hurting their position on this war. The enemy has eyes inside their castle, and Tim is left to fend off the plots his faceless opponent comes up with with that intel. It’s tiring, he feels strung along, and there’s little he can do about that.

Warning: There are some possibly triggering subjects being discussed. Nothing too explicit, but just to be sure, I’ll be adding the warnings deep into the tags. Those who think they might be triggered can read the tags, and those who don’t want to risk being spoiled can just avoid it.

Thanks @iphoenixrising and @the-quiet-carrotcake for giving some parts a read for me. Also tagging @animemangasoul cause you told me you wanted to read this.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Despite his careful consideration and analysis, he couldn't quite put his finger into what bothered him so much, to the point of losing focus. Homesickness, maybe? There was something in the walls, surely. Too clean, no mold or blood splatters in sight. His old home at the Wayne Castle had been cared for, but not even an army of maids could compete with hundreds of years of violent legacy.

As everytime he thought of his life before, pain throbbed behind his eyes. It was momentary, come then gone, but it was enough to make him groan a bit under his breath, the sound echoing in the open (too open, no corners to hide if an assassin came… which was kind of ironic here, he supposes) hallway. He knew there were eyes on him, though. His guard, for one, always two feet behind and one to the side. And he was sure he wasn’t the only one sent to (observe his every move) protect him.

Damn, the headache was getting worse. It was too long until tea time.

“I’ll visit my husband”, he decides out loud, for his shadow’s benefit. A kindness they would never expect from a superior, but that he was sure they appreciated.

The only response came from just behind him. A cut out sound that he couldn't identify, but must have been some sort of laugh. Either that or a pained groan.

Smiling, he twisted to look, hands behind his back as he walked in that fashion.

-What? It’s not gross that a man wishes to meet his beloved. It’s a rare day when we meet outside of dinner or council meetings. I’m not a sap; if anything I’m a paragon of patience.

The man doesn’t raise to the bait, as he rarely does, but he tilts his head a bit.

“Yer Highness, please mind your step and watch where y’er going. It’ll be my head on the chopping block if you fall and scrape your dainty white hands.”

He rolls his eyes at the jab, but heeds his warning and turns again to look up front. It’s not without truth, after all.

The part of him dying if Tim were to get hurt, of course. Not about the hands.

He looks down at them as they walk, a little confused. When did they become so though, so calloused? Sure, he must have learned some sort of self defense back when he was young, but he can barely recall it. His shouldn’t be the hands of someone used to the heat of combat, not sheltered as he had been from his birth to his marriage, and yet…

Nothing good comes from thinking that far back, anyway, he decides, shaking his head to get rid of the annoying thoughts pestering him like flies. He’d only end up giving himself a headache, and then Ra’s would send him back to bed with soup and an army of servants to observe his progress. A small smile tugs at his lips; he sure was lucky to get such a loving, protective partner. It was a wise decision, on his Father’s/

“Yer Highness”, calls the voice from behind, dragging him back from his musings rather forcefully. “We’re here.”

Any thought that’s not his husband completely vanishes from his mind. Smiling automatically, he springs into the room, straight to his husband’s open arms. The green and gold cape closes around them, and everything is okay, certain. He doesn’t feel confused, or worried, or observed. Because he’s with Ra’s right now. How could there be anything bad involved in that?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“It’s tea time, y’er Highness.”

“Ah, thanks A. I’ll be going then, my Lord. Will I see you at dinner?”

“Of course, Beloved. I just have to deal with those pesky documents and then I’m all yours.”

Tim’s laughter is like bells. It doesn’t feel actually natural, but he’s not forcing it either. It’s weird, how his voice works sometimes.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s a day like any other, when Damian comes to visit. He hasn’t seen his family in quite some time, so when a nameless ninja, covered from head to toe, detaches herself (herself? He’s sure its a her but why?) from the wall and informs him of it, he gathers his royal blue and gold kaftan in a fist so he doesn’t trip and speeds towards the throne room.

So good it’s Damian. He can barely remember Dick’s face, and the Jason from his memories is little more than a broad back, firm shoulders that would carry him all through the palace. Of his sister, he only knows she exists, and that they got along amazingly.

But that’s what loves makes to someone, he supposes. It was bound to happen, more than half a year without seeing them and devoting all his time to think about Ra’s.

But Damian… Damian, he remembers very clearly. Maybe because he can see some of Ra’s in his features, maybe because it was thanks to him that he could actually marry his beloved King…

(He thinks of ancient portraits hanging from the walls, the eyes of Kings and Consorts of old following one’s steps, as the shadows hidden in passageways behind them take note of his every action)

“Your Highness, you can’t pass”, a figure stops him just before the room where his brother and husband are probably already talking. He accepts this for only a moment, so he can catch his breath, kinda surprised by how easy it is to compose himself again; it hadn’t been a short run.

“Step aside”, he orders, back straight and looking into the man’s mask. Ra’s country wasn’t very keen on knights, not like King Clark's Aupuni La. Even Gotham, while not as honorable, had its fair share of white horseman riding to war with honor on their shoulders (although it still maintained its fair share of ninja-like warriors, their elite and probably the only thing in common with his current home). But Alqatala had only a handful (his own A among them), found more use in the shadows that kept well out of their Master’s view while still blocking anything annoying from reaching him when they could, and fiercely obeying His commands on how to defeat them when they couldn't.

It was reassuring, knowing the entirety of the Kingdom’s fighters would lay down their lives (and anyone else’s) for their King’s sake. That meant Ra’s would be always safe… even if all their subjects had to die for it…

Distractedly, he scratched at the back of his head. Maybe the new hair ornaments were irritating the skin there.

“Your Highness, I’m under strict orders to forbid anyone from/”

“Unless your orders explicitly include me, then you should already know I’m the exception to the rule. Step aside. I won’t ask again.”

This time, the man bows deep and moves. Disobeying his Master could have dire consequences; upsetting his Consort most certainly would. And if he did transgress because of His Highness’s orders, then the King might be forgiving.

Head held on high, Tim motioned for A to wait outside the room as he entered.

It was an open space, with long drapes of cloth flowing down the walls like waterfalls of red and gold. Golden torches, shining brightly with their perpetually lit fire, reflected the yellow and orange of their flames in whatever bit of wall left uncovered, making the cream colored stones look as if they were also burning down.

The ground, dark and polished, looked under the fierce light like onix. Maybe it was, Tim had never asked. The flush red carpet, going from the double doors to the steps leading to the throne, completed the feeling of entering some warm, cozy place.

A had told him once it was like setting foot into Hell. Tim liked to think differently, though he could admittedly see what his guard meant.

Looking up, his gaze landed automatically in his husband, raised above the rest of the room in his throne made of gold and rubies. The opulence suited him, and Tim loved seeing him high and mighty like this.

Agh, his head… He would need to ask A for more tea the moment this meeting was over. Maybe he could share some with Damian?

Suddenly remembering his reason to be there, he drags his eyes away from Ra’s. Jade green ones found his almost immediately, and familiar warmth takes residence in his chest.

“Brother!” he greets, happily, steps quickening until he reaches the young man. Damian has grown a lot in the past six months, as far as he remembers. Taller than Tim, shoulders twice as broad and chiseled jaw, his little sibling was now more a man than a boy, although he’d always be the latter in his eyes.

They hadn’t seen each other since the wedding; when Tim accepted Ra’s suit and became his husband, in exchange of him letting Damian return to his Father, to be Gotham’s Heir. Since he left behind his gold and ruby crown, for the onyx and sapphire one he wore now, black and blue jewels enhacing the paleness of his skin and the shine in his love-ridden eyes.

Damian completely ignores the offered hand, arms instead circling around his slimer frame and crushing him towards his chest.

“You’re okay”, he whispers. A swallow, then. Like he wanted to keep going but forced himself into silence.

A little confused, Tim returns the hug, eyes going to his husband over Damian’s shoulder.

The King watches from above, cold, calculating eyes glued to them. Dread pools in his stomach in automatic response, and he shoves his brother away as careful as possible.

“Where are my manners! Brother, you made me forget myself”, a small smile, as apology, and then Tim makes his way up the steps until he reaches his husband. “ My Lord”, he greets, bowing a bit and then quickly grabbing for his arm. Ra’s allows the touch graciously, the almost hostile look in his eyes nowhere to be seen now.

“Beloved. I’m sure we can forgive your small loss of decorum, in this circumstances. Right, Grandson?”

From beneath them, Damian stays with his back to them (in the exact same place where he hugged Tim) for a beat longer. Then, he turns to face the King and his Consort, and offers them both a bow.

“Of course, your Majesty. Your Highness. The fault lies on myself, as I couldn’t contain my joy, seeing my brother after so long”, he straightens from his courtesy, eyes finding his Grandfather’s in what could both pass as a familial gesture, or a blatant show of disrespect; Tim had to give it to him, the plausible deniability was exquisite. ”So long, in fact, our Lord Father was getting worried some ill fate had befallen him.”

Tim stills. He can’t ignore the sudden coldness in the room. Almost on instinct, he shifts a bit, so his shoulder is slightly in front of Ra’s, covering him. Unneeded, since there must be a hundred eyes on them now, their shadows ready to jump in and take any hit for their Master.

The gesture doesn't go unnoticed by his husband, though. He reaches down slightly, hand catching Tim’s. Something in him relaxes.

Damian’s eyes tracked the movement, but didn’t comment in it. Not when his last remark had yet to be answered.

“The joy of those recently joined in marriage can be blinding, Grandson. I’m sure your Oldest Brother would be able to tell you as much, with how many times he himself was wed. Timothy and myself just found it hard to part with one another for hours at a time, let alone a week long trip back to his old Kingdom.”

The mention of Dick brought color to Damian’s face; the red of rage. Tim himself felt a bit uneasy, the mention forcing his mind to come up with the face that had become quiet blurry in his memory. Richard. They had gotten along marvelously, hadn’t them? It was quiet weird they hadn’t met lately.

“I would have loved to see Dick”, he interjects, attempting to force them to look his way instead of each other. His smile is wobbly, and Ra’s hand tightens around his, but he maintains steady eye contact until Damian huffs.

“There have been some issues back home”, he informs Tim; and it’s quiet notable, the way he said the last word, as if reminding Tim that his roots laid elsewhere. Not that he cared where he was born, all that mattered to him was where he had bloomed, and that could only be at Ra’s side. “Father required his help. That’s also why I’m here.”

Something moves behind him, but by the time he turns to look at his husband, there’s nothing amiss. Ra’s seems to be deep in thought for a second, before he smiles beatifically at his grandson.

“We can talk more about this at dinner, you must be exhausted from your travels”, he decides, raising a hand. As if on cue, two shadows appear in the room. Only because he had been looking for them, Tim knows they came from under the red drapes hanging from the walls. How many more were there hidden in that place? Well, he thinks, it’s not like he cares to know either way…” Take the guest to his rooms, make sure to attend to his every need. Come now, husband”, Ra’s directs his eyes to Tim, whose insides flip automatically and smiles in thoughtless response, “we might as well spend the afternoon together.”

They descend the steps, hand in hand. Damian still hasn’t moved, head bowed in respect of the monarchs, waiting for them to leave first. The fist he has over his chest shakes a bit.

“Tea in the gardens? Should I ask for refreshments?” he asks, a little dubiously, following without complains. That’s how he usually spends the hours before dinner time…

Ra’s smile changes slightly, from gentle to hunting. He refuses to answer.

From his face alone, one would guess his husband’s motives were far from chaste; but given that his contract marriage specified Tim was to be untouched until his twenty first birthday, he wasn’t sure why Ra’s was now acting as though he’d ever forgone that particular condition.

They are passing by his brother now, and it's because of that cercany that he can see his knuckles turning white as he hunches even further into himself, a barely refrained gasp. Then he understands.

Before he can stop and ask Damian if he’s okay, reassure him that his Father's orders were being obeyed (in regards of his third son’s marriage treaty, at least), Ra’s is tugging him out of the throne room and towards his own bedchambers. Tim is helpless to his husband’s touch, so he doesn’t resist, but can’t help but turn to him, curious, just before they reach the room.

“Was Damian…?”

“Childish jealousy, I’m sure”, the King dismisses, opening the door for him and closing after they are both inside his anter-chambers. His hand goes to unclasp the brooch keeping his cape steady, removing the garment and taking seat in the low couch in front of the small tea table. “I all but stole you from your family, Beloved. Little siblings tend to yearn after their elders are wed away. I was merely teasing my grandson.”

Tim can’t help but smile in the tea cup a servant hands him, once he’s sat opposite the King. His knight, A, hadn’t followed them inside, but Tim caught flashes of him as Ra’s guided him through the halls, so he knows the man is close by. He relaxes in the knowledge, sweetening his tea a bit before his mind catches up to him.

Why, oh why would he think of A now? He’s with his husband, perfectly safe. Why is the notion of his personal guard being near reassuring him?

Damn this stupid headache. It’s hard to think, and A is not in the room to provide with the painkiller he usually takes at this hour. Unwilling to interrupt his time with his husband by calling his servant, he powers through the pain, smiling at the intense focus being bestowed upon him.

“Damian has grown a lot”, he comments, desperate to distract himself from the throbbing just behind his eyes, “but he’s still a child. Merely sixteen.”

“You are twenty, Beloved”, Ra’s points out, relaxing back into his seat, apparently satisfied with whatever he saw in Tim’s face. “Although I guess you were always the most mature of your brod. The only one worthy enough to stand by my side.”

“My Lord”, he chides softly, looking at him over his cup. Just because it’s hard to remember his family, it doesn’t mean he wishes to hear them spoken down to by his spouse.

“I speak the truth. Are you denying me?”

The question might sound brusc, almost confrontative, but he’s used to those kinds of inquiries by now. As a response, he bows his head a bit, submissive and elegant, neck in display and crown steady over his temple.

“I’d never betray my husband like that.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Dinner goes without a hitch, until the moment Damian mentions their family one too many times and Tim has to excuse himself from the table. Juggling his husband’s mood and keeping his brother from being outright aggressive to such an important monarch was a tiresome duty, one he couldn’t wait to shed. Before dessert was served, he decided to retire for the evening.

A, loyal and wonderful, had the tea set ready by the time he reached his rooms. The little brown pill carefully placed on a napkin by his cup was even more enticing than the cakes and sweets the chefs must have served Ra’s and Damian.

“How did you know I was hurting?”, he wonders, sitting down in the chair by his balcony, letting the late afternoon breeze comb his hair away from his face.

“You have that look, yer Highness”, answers the man, carefully dropping the pill inside the cup before handing it to his Master. “Is there anything else I can do for ya?”

The question sounds… charged, somehow. Tim sips his drink. What else would he need right n/?

“Oh”, he blinks, once, twice, then tilts his head up to face his guard. Meeting his eyes over the edge of his facemask, he smiles-. The afternoon feels quite lovely, I’d like to share this moment of peace with my brother. I’m sure he must have long left the dinner table by now, so go extend him my invitation to have tea together.

He can’t be sure, but somehow he just knows A smiled.

He’s careful to pace the drink as he waits. He’s not alone for long.

Damian takes the seat opposite to his, and A is careful to close the balcony doors before the room gets too chilly. The creamy green curtains, white walls and gold ornaments make the entire atmosphere bright, something Gothamites born and raised would despise for it’s unfamiliarity; a wonder that those were the colors painting the room of a noble hailing from those lands. The three of them stay in silence for a while, as the King Consort finishes his cup.

Tim smiles. Damian watches him for a second, before his own smile appears, relieved and more than a bit happy.

“I’m glad to see you doing so well, brother. You had us all worried, back home.”

A soft, almost primly, scoff, “Please. I know how to handle myself, and I’m well protected here. You know I’m never alone.”

Damian dips his head in acknowledgement, but he still doesn’t remove his eyes from him.

“Conflict is brewing”, he goes straight to the point, almost desperate; unsure of how longer will they be able to speak privately. “Father is not willing to look past his transgressions any longer.”

“It won’t reach the Castle.”

“Brother!”

Tim shushes him, letting A refill his cup. No more medicine added, though.

“Damian. Ra’s might be a little… “he doesn’t quite know what to say,” as he is, but he’s by no means dumb. He won’t allow any kind of rebellion to arise in his lands. There will be no war in Alqatala.

Damian falls silent for a minute. A places a plate of delicious looking cookies in the table, on Timothy’s side. Neither brother makes any move to touch them.

“I’ll confront Grandfather about it, tomorrow”, the tone is almost warning. Tim’s eyes narrow.

“Do remember, brother, which side I’m on.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he watches in silence as Tim takes a cookie and bits softly into it, maintaining steady eye contact with the younger Prince.

“I suppose this is goodbye, then”, he adds, letting the rest of the desert back on his plate, by his empty cup.” I hate to cut our time together so short, after such a long time apart, but I need to rest now; it’s been such a long day. We’ll see each other soon, I promise. And don’t worry about me, silly little brother”, Tim’s smile came back, a little groggy this time.

Damian left after a shallow bow, escorted by A.

In the dimness of the falling night, Tim placed a careful hand on the glass door leading to the balcony.

...The callouses in his hand were still a mystery. Maybe he should ask his husband, tomorrow. He would know.

Ra’s knew everything about Tim. He had too, after all. And if he didn’t, Tim would tell him.

That’s what made them such an harmonious pair, after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s called to his husband’s study room the following afternoon, long after Damian’s entourage parted from their Castle.

He quickly removes his sleeping camisole (he’d been bedridden all morning, stroke down by a vicious headache) and dones a green and gold Farasha, simple sandals and his crown, no other accessories needed; as the maids helping him dress often tell him, he needs no outer help to enhance his beauty.

A walks him all the way to where Ra’s is waiting, then bows and swears to wait for him in the hallway. Not exactly his usual behaviour, but Tim can’t waste any brainpower in figuring out his guard, not when he needs to be sharp to attend to Ra’s now.

“My Lord?”, he calls, once inside. The older man is waiting, back to the door, as he watches from the window his Kingdom, buzzing with activity.

“Beloved”, he greets, without turning.” There’s a letter in the desk.”

Tim walks closer, picking the indicated piece of paper curiously.

It’s from Bruce (Father… Dad).

It’s a complaint, a description of the fate that would befell him if Ra’s were to continue on his current path. A demand of retribution, for all the damage already done. A threat, if a veiled one.

The only mention of Tim on the letter, was to inform Ra’s that having his third son inside the Castle wouldn’t prevent him from seeking to burn it to the ground, would Ra’s ignore his generous warning.

Tim’s insides were cold. His mind screaming at him, ‘he wants to hurt our husband’. A small, almost meek part of him wants to ask about King Wayne’s accusations, but the bigger, devoted side squashes this voice ruthlessly; no threat to his husband would be allowed, not even a justified one.

“Are we going to war?”, he asks, tone dry, hands carefully loose on the paper as to not crass it. Confused. He had tea with Damian the day before, he should have noticed something from him, an indication of the dangers coming. And why hadn’t his brother warned him?

His head hurts.

It’s then that his husband turns to examine him. For a few minutes, he does nothing else than to look at Tim, deeply. He returns the look fiercely, protectively; nothing but desire to help shining through. Cold fire burning in icy eyes.

Ra’s smiles.

“It won’t be much of a war, not with one as you on my side, Beloved. Let’s get to planning, shall we?”

There it is, the reason Ra’s married him in the first place. His strategic abilities, his absolute dominance over any battlefield, overturning the board with a simple swipe of his hand. Winning wars without stepping a foot in any battle.

He never thought he’d be using it against his own Father. But Tim knew where his loyalties laid.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tim suggested they sent an ambush as soon as possible, before Damian could leave their lands. To kidnap him, and use as leverage to bring Bruce to heel. With his eldest son refusing the crown, the second lost as far as anyone knew and the third, himself, married away (and to an enemy, now, to boot), Damian was his last heir; he could not afford to lose him.

Ra’s also pointed out the Gotham King’s sentimentalism. Tim, tired and with his head throbbing, couldn’t say if that was truly the case, so he submitted to his husband’s intel and left the study to return to his quarters. Ra’s would assemble his own team to send post haste to retrieve the young Prince before he could cross the Alqatala border.

“Tea, yer Highness?”

“Thank you, yes.”

A few sips, before Tim tilts his head to the side.

“A? You know this young guard who switches places with you during the night, when you rest?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Do call her, please. I need her to fetch something for me.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“I have bad news, Beloved.”

That wasn’t what he expected to hear, the second he saw his husband. Weary, he sat in front of Ra’s desk, the cushioned back of the opulent chair helping soothe his uneasiness.

“What happened?”

“My Grandson has apparently grown some brains the last few months; he switched routes, and exited Alqatala by the eastern woods, instead of through the southwestern river he used to come.”

“That trip is twice as hard, why would he choose it?”, the second he spoke, he knew the answer. ”It’s harder to track someone there, than by water. You can see a ship from a long distance, but there’s multiple hiding spots between the trees.”

“That’s what I thought, as well. I sent some of my best trackers to follow, but I have no true expectations of them succeeding; Damian was raised to know those woods like the palm of his hand. Such a rich education, wasted in that boy”, Ra’s laments. Tim moves on instinct walking to stand behind his chair and placing his hands on the older man’s shoulders.

“Damian would not actually expect us to move so soon”, he rationalized, “nor would he know where our people was waiting to ambush him. His change of tracks is more than a little too well timed.

“Are you suggesting we have a rat, Beloved?”

Tim shrugs a little, helplessly ”I think I would remember Damian being wary. We had tea before he left, but I didn’t notice anything unusual. He must have not suspected us of being capable of that, back then. Someone must have alerted him to our intentions.”

Ra’s looks to be deep in thought. He turns a little to face Tim, who returns his look of seriousness with one of his own.

“I’ll weed out this traitor, My Lord. I can’t allow those kinds of pests around you.”

His husband smirks a little.

“I will be the one doing that, Beloved. You focus on forming a new strategy, and we’ll discuss it at dinner tonight. Show me I made the right choice, taking you as mine.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The vase crashed against the wall, and a waterfall of flowers and porcelain fell over the carpet. A maid rushed to clean up, but Timothy paid her no mind, despite the small thread of guilt twisting in his stomach.

The reports over his table spoke for themselves. Territory battles won by the smallest margin, spies derailed from their targets by very convenient distractions, specialized assassins caught and jailed before completing their tasks.

Someone good was working against them.

Tim knew, intellectually, that Bruce was a smart man. But not this kind of smart, not this quickly. There was a new player on the board, and it wasn’t on his side.

“A”, he called, almost growling. The man stepped out of the shadows enclosing the corners of the room, “bring me parchment and paper. I have suspicions on their next move, and I have to alert our troops against them.”

The man hesitated a bit.

“Yer Highness you… don’t look well. Should I bring you tea?”

Tim waved a hand, “After I send this missive. There’s no time to delay.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Their next strike was more successful than all their previous attempts. Ra’s had been incredibly pleased, seating Tim on his lap during dinner and feeding him carefully crafted delicacies and praising his Consort’s flawless strategy. They had managed to capture one of King Wayne’s favored warriors, General Brown. Her troops had been slim, and most of them fled at the overpowered sight of Ra’s people, so only she and few loyal soldiers had been caught. They would rott the dungeons until Ra’s needed to negotiate, or decided to execute them as an example for those who thought of going against him. Tim was pretty sure it’d be the first case, though. Brown was too valuable to just off.

The small victory tasted all the sweeter to him when no reports came from this mysterious figure trumping all his previous attempts. Hopefully, this meant they were all the more closer to winning this war without any big loses, as they’ve managed to do until now.

Later, he’s in his rooms and A brings his tea, but no food. It’s okay, Timothy is not hungry. He just drowns the entire cup before springing to his feet, gathering some documents and hiding them under his white shirt, tucked into his slim, open sided, black harem pants.

“Take me to the dungeons”, he demands, hastily throwing on a cape, “I believe it’s time I interrogate the prisoners.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ra’s is lounging in cushions and silk when Tim finds him, a few hours later. He beckons him in, a single finger crooked and a side smile.

Slowly, almost reluctant, Tim sits, his back to Ra’s, and rests his weight on the man. He can feel the strong arms going around his waist, but can’t see his face.

“Is everything alright, Beloved?”

Tim sags against him, hiding his face in the man’s shoulder. He, in turn, rests his chin above his hair, moving the crown around to make space. Tim can feel him smelling his hair and shivers a little. Ra’s hands tighten in response.

“Yeah”, he whispers. Wetting his lips a bit, he tries again, “Yes, I just came from the dungeons. General Brown… I went to see her. Try to get some information.”

The arms stiffen a bit, half a second, before the man relaxes again.

“And?”

“She seemed willing to talk, at first. I think it was the shock of seeing a familiar face”, he touches his own cheek a bit, then lets his hand fall over Ra’s wrist, carefully tracing his pulse point. “I think we were quiet close, back then.”

“Not anymore?”

A delicate shrug, “Not since I married you, My Lord. I choose my side, and so did she. As soon as she remembered we’re in different fronts on this war, she became quite tight lipped.”

Ra’s hums, hand reaching for the tray set by his side. Picking up a chocolate covered something, he offered it to the boy in his arms, smiling when he felt the soft lips closing around the food, almost kissing Ra’s palm where it laid.

“I believe she’ll start to rethink her decision, once a few more of her friends join her in the dungeons. I trust your preparations are going well?”

Timothy relaxed even further in his arms.

“Yes, My Lord. I’ve written some instructions for our people rounding on Sargeant Gordon and his daughter”, he explains, taking the mentioned papers out of his white sleeve” I’ll send the letter tomorrow after checking in some details, and by afternoon, if it all goes according to plan we’ll have two more guests joining General Brown. That means I won’t be accompanying you for lunch, My Lord.”

Ra’s reads the information carefully, and can’t help but squeeze his pretty little genius closer to his chest. Stealing him from his Father had been the wisest of his choices. Giving up his grandson in exchange was by all means a perfectly acceptable loss.

“Do tell your servant to fetch you something to eat, my dear. It won’t do to have my best strategist fall to his own ambitions and starve.”

Looking up at his husband, with the chocolate covered fruit still dancing around his closed mouth, Tim smiled.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Over the course of the next few weeks, Timothy’s life became a whirlwind of reading reports, scheming strategies and meeting his husband to inform him of any progress- or loss.

They managed to capture young General Duke Thomas, Sargent Kane and General Gordon. Sergeant Gordon, the woman’s father, had escaped unscathed though, by a well timed counter attack that Tim was still unsure how they enemies had devised.

His new sworn enemy, Wayne’s strategist, was no doubt behind any little rock in his path. Any setback, any mistake. This mysterious person seemed to be always one step ahead, and even Tim’s hard won victories sometimes seemed like they were a gift, an allowance. Ra’s didn’t seem to mind, more than happy with their slowly growing dungeons and Tim’s efforts, so he was reluctant to inform him of his fears; least the King started to regret marrying him in the first place.

He throws another vase at the wall, but there’s no one there to pick the broken pieces up. It’s the middle of the night and he feels like he’s going crazy.

“Who are you?!”, he screams at nothing, approaching the mirror and hating the pale face that looks back at him, those intelligent eyes blinking quickly, as if trying to get out of a daze.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“How are our guests faring?”

“Still haven’t as much as pipped, yer Highness.”

“I trust you’ve been exploring all your options while asking.”

“I’m...being very thorough. Maybe if yer Highness went…”

“I don’t know, A… Between the planning and these damn headaches that keep getting worse…”

“Should I bring the medicine?”

“Yes, do that…”

He scribbles orders for his men in parchment, gets so lost in the action he barely notices his servant’s return, merely accepting the cup with the sweet beverage when it’s offered to him.

“I’m not making any real progress like this… You are right, I do need to interrogate them myself. We’re going to the dungeons.”

“Yes, yer Highness.”

“And… be sure it doesn’t reach my husband’s ears. That place is so grim and dirty, and I wouldn't want to… worry him.”

“Yes, yer Highness. This way.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Ra’s orders Tim’s secondary guard to bring him to the throne room in the middle of the night, he’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Sleep has been a luxury he can’t quite gift himself with, and his plans don’t seem to be achieving anything. Maybe… Maybe his husband was cross with him. Maybe he meant to… dispose of him.

What he’s not expecting, is seeing A’s kneeling form, bruised and curling into himself, in the ground in front of Ra’s throne steps.

“What is the meaning of this? My lord? Why is my servant here?”, he worries, rushing to the man’s side. A might have been taking care of him under orders, but he had done it wonderfully, and Tim really appreciated his willingness to run back and forth fetching him medicine, tea and food when the pain got too unbearable, or just keeping him company as he raged at his mysterious strategic enemy.

“Don’t”, comes the order from above, cold and final, just when his hand is hovering over a obviously dislocated shoulder. Tim looks at his husband with hundreds of questions in his eyes, but the man answers just one. “Rats shouldn’t be blessed by the touch of the Royal Consort, Beloved.”

Tim shakes his head minutely, taking an automatic step away from A’s form. The guard, his knight, doesn’t even raise his head to look back at him. Tim wishes he did, so he could read the truth in his keppel colored eyes.

But his husband has already told him, hasn’t he? A’s testimony is of no worth, when the King himself is condemning him of treason.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s hours later, when Tim decides to go down to the dungeons once more. He picks Ra’s discarded cape from the ground by the bed and wraps it around him, gathering strength from his husband’s scent.

This... had been their first night together, and Tim laments it was under such painful circumstances. Betrayed by his closest aide, the one who had stayed by his side from the second Tim had married into the Al Ghul’s family, he had all but fallen into Ra’s arms while he watched the guards drag A away, to be questioned at a later date. Down to the dungeons, with every other enemy he had caught.

He hadn’t caught A, though. He had somehow completely missed the man sneaking information out, when said man was always a mere step away from Tim’s own shadow.

Ra’s had been perfect, in the face of his Consort’s distress. He had half escorted half carried Tim out of the room and into his own chambers. Plied him with wine (the same bottle Tim had gifted him what seemed like a lifetime away, but was just the previous night; still closed, but fresh), sharing a cup at first and then exchanging the liquid from mouth to mouth. He had gathered him into his arms, carried him to bed, and made him forget. Making him yield his body as well as his mind to his whims, dominating every inch of him; their pre nuptial contract all but forgotten in the face of such passion. Who would tell Bruce, anyway? And, even if his father knew, they were at war with the man.

Tim had sobbed, after it was all done with. His husband was obviously a gifted lover, and during their shared passion, he had made him drop any thought of his friend; but the second he went to sleep by his side, Tim’s eyes started to water by their own accord.

A had betrayed him.

This stung worse than he could have expected. He needed to see A again, before Ra’s interrogated and later executed him. He… he needed to ask why.

The hallways seemed too deserted, tonight. He could usually catch a glimpse of a shadow sneaking just by the edge of his vision, something moving too fast to properly identify, but slow enough to be sure of its presence. There was none of that. No silent footsteps, no servant hurrying along in a chore, no visiting noble straying from his room in search of a nocturnal thirst with a maid. No eyes following from the portraits on the walls.

It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes one step lightly and breath as shallowly as possible, to keep from making any noise that would disturb it, draw attention to it. The kind that made him signal his guard to walk closer to his back, so the barely noticeable warmth of her presence could sooth his already frayed nerves.

The stairs to the dungeon were barely better. The sounds of chains shaking and rats scurrying around brought a light frown to his face. He suddenly wished to be back by his husband’s side, in the comfortable bed, protected by his arm around his waist.

But he needed to power through. A was just a few cells over, and he wouldn't be able to sleep without his answers.

The man is chained down, both at his ankles and wrists, as per the costum when one of their own goes rouge. Their training too intensive, too dangerous, to leave them to roam freely, even within a cell.

He’s awake, through, despite his wounds. And he’s sitting in the middle of his ‘room’, facing the door. Facing Tim, when he came into sight.

...had he been awaiting him?

“Hey, Timmy.”

The uncharacteristic, carefree call snaps him out of it. Suddenly outraged (both at this man, so calm in his dishonored state, and at himself for being so affected by the situation; he was a King’s Consort, he needed to get it together!), he gathered himself to his full height and did his best to look down at the seated man, fists gathering Ra’s cape tighter around his shoulders, trying to pass it as some sort of royal garment, to get the extra confidence boost.

“It seems your short time in captivity has already started playing tricks on your mind, to make you believe you can address me this way. Or perhaps the certainty of your execution has made your tongue looser. It would not help your situation, but if you prove yourself useful a last time, I might consider appealing to my husband’s mercy.”

A tilted his head. Tim couldn't see his face, half hidden by the mask, half by his hair, but he knew him well enough to read the curiosity in his posture.

“Whose orders are you obeying?”

The young knight stared at him in silence for a bit, before shrugging.

“Yours, yer Highness.”

Tim couldn't help but scoff, crossing his arms and thus allowing the cape around him to part in the front.

“I certainly didn’t command you to betray my trust.”

If A had a response to that, it was halted by the sight of the King’s Consort still in his sleep camisole, hastily thrown over before heading there. The thin fabric did little to hide his neck, where the marks of tonight’s love encounter with his husband were painfully obvious, skin too pale to hide the almost purple signs of ownership.

“I’m sorry you went through that, yer Highness”, he whispered, shoulders slumping and head tilted down for the first time during their conversation.

It was cold in the dungeons, and that’s why Tim closed the cape around him again. Not to hide his marks and sudden vulnerability.

He thought, distractedly, that they must be giving an amusing show to the other captives, for them to be so quiet.

“I can assure you”, he answers dryly, ”that being loved by my husband is no hardship at all. Not like the ones you have coming for you.”

“I would disagree”, his voice sounds deeply pained, and resigned.

A throb behind his eyes made him squeeze them shut. He felt more than heard his silent shadow stepping closer, one hand supporting his arm as the other offered the small pill Ra’s had gotten for him to help his headaches, as well as a flask of something to down it with.

He held both the pill and the silver container in his hands, eyes never leaving A’s figure, suddenly a hundred times more attentive.

“You gonna take it, yer Highness?”

He hums, rolling the brownish pellet between thumb and forefinger.

“I always seem to have a muddled mind, after I do. And I think I want to remember this conversation, A. If that’s really your name.”

“’s not.”

“Are you going to tell me what it really is? Or what “A” stands for?”

“I’m a gothamite”, replied the man, who was suddenly a lot more talkative. Maybe afraid Tim would take his medicine and go sleep it off, taking with him his only chance of getting a more merciful judgement, “born and raised. But unlike all those whinny, dumb witted lords you’ve probably met, I hail from the streets. The darkest parts of the city, where only the most crooked and twisted reside. Where the monsters hide, ‘cause what’s on the street ‘s a thousand times more scary than ‘em. The slums of Arkham spit me out, half chewed and poisonous but still alive despite it all. And from there, I took my name. So I’d never forget, while I’m here, where do I came from.”

“And you still became a knight, a pawn, under the command of someone smart enough to fool even me?”, he scoffs, hand tightening and almost crushing the pain relief- They would only use you and discard you. No, not even that, since we will be the ones doing the job. If you tell me who gave you your orders I… I can give you leniency.”

“I won’t.”

“Not even if…” he hates saying this, shouldn’t be promising it without talking it out with his husband first, but if there was a chance of catching this slippery strategist… “I spare your life?”

A only shook his head. Tim felt unsteady on his feet.

Who would even care, he thinks, before letting himself fall, sitting on the other side of the bars keeping A locked. The prisoners’ opinions weren’t important, and his shadow would not tell anyone else of Tim’s momentary weakness.

(How was he so sure of her loyalty? Why was he so despairing of A’s, his traitorous Arkham Knight, betrayal?)

“You look to be in pain, yer Highness. The medicine…”

Tim threw the goddamned pill as far away as he could, fierce eyes boring into the man.

“Why do you act as though you care for my well being? You surely didn’t when you sold me out to my enemy.”

A sighed, “The only enemy here, ‘s the man whose cape ye’r using to fend off the cold.”

“That man…!”, he stops himself, gathering his composure like one might sand between their fingers, hoping it’d be enough to get a hold of himself. He tried again. “That man is my Lord and Husband.”

“Oh Lord above, I’m so sick of this”, moaned A, leaning back into his hands and looking at his cell’s ceiling. “Yer Highess… Tim. What about we make a deal?”

“With a traitor?”

“With the only viable informant you have.”

He didn’t answer. Curious, despite himself, but unwilling to give him the satisfaction of inquiry.

A didn’t seem to mind and straightened his back before crawling towards the bars, until he was pressed flush against them, chains clattering when they collided with the cold metal of his cage.

“If you can figure out who my master is from the clues you have, I’ll… help you fight your enemy.”

“If I could figure that out by myself, don’t you think I would have already?”, he frowns, but there’s no deceit in A’s eyes. Not that it would do he any favors; helpful or not, the only thing Tim had to lose here was time. Unsure, he decided to focus on this puzzle he had at hand.

“Think about yer hands. Think about your home, your true home, not this pit of snakes and lies. Think ‘bout… family. Why are you here?”

He didn’t want to. Those were the kind of questions that always brought forth the headache. But, he supposes, he is already in pain. What is a little more?

He turns the silver flask (that he almost forgot he still had) in his hands, thumbing the engravings on it as his mind wandered.

He was here because Ra’s had wanted to marry him, because he fell in love with Tim when/

...When?

No, that wasn’t right. Tim had made the choice, because… Ra’s had Damian captive. He had sent a letter offering an exchange…

No. Damian’s mother, Crown Princess Talia. She had asked Father… Bruce, for help. But… she had been the one who helped Ra’s take Damian in the first place…

Why had Tim offered marriage? There must have been multiple alternatives, more than one way to get his brother back.

He loved Ra’s, that was why. Or so he thought.

He remembers… denials. Shouts. And a calm, detached voice explaining itself. Explaining…

As a lightning striking a tree and bruning it to ashes, all came flooding back into his mind.

His hands. His home, his family.

The night before his wedding.

A cup of wine, left by Ra’s servants so he could settle his nerves before the next day’s ceremony, held tightly and steadily in his hands.

He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t in love.

A cloaked figure in the darkness of his rooms, ice blue eyes staring deeply into his.

“I’m your worst enemy”, it said, cold like the iron of his Father’s blade, and twice as sharp.

Tim recognized it then, who it was.

The bane of Ra’s existence. The mysterious strategist. A’s master.

A young man, eyes burning blue fire, standing among shadows in front of a mirror.

The fog raised from his mind, as did his hand when he took a long sip of his flask. The sweetness of the beverage brought a grin to his face, as the headache faded into oblivion. No pill needed, after all.

Still shaky but feeling finally in control, he climbed back to his feet. A, on the other side of the cell, did the same, face unsure and searching.

Cassandra, his shadow, reappeared from within them. Taking one quick look at his face, her now unmasked one brightened. She held a number of keys among her swift fingers, stolen from the no doubt unconscious guards upstairs.

“...Yer Highness?”

Tim laughed, unbridled. A devious smirk played on his lips as he watched Cass set to work.

“Formalities don’t suit you, brother.”

Jason’s eyes widened in surprise, before savage glee lightened them. He held his hands before himself, patiently waiting for their sister to open his cell and free him.

“About damn time, Timmy.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Tim had told Damian not to worry, a long time ago. No bloodshed would flood the streets where he grew up, no hard working servant or innocent peasant would see themselves tangled in the throes of war.

There’d be no war in Alqatala. Because they were going to take it from the inside.

The walk back to Ra’s rooms was done in half the time it took before. Movement all around him as all the prisoners, his people, were set free to take care of whatever of Ra’s soldiers remained in the castle after Tim sent the majority of them to fight an empty battle. He saw Stephanie’s men subduing the less strong warriors, as she and Cass took the better trained ones. Jason was carrying Barbara in his arms, probably headed to wherever Dick and his troops were waiting, somewhere just outside the castle, to act as reinforcements. Duke, Kate and their soldiers, helping the wounded and escorting the enemies to the dungeons that not too long ago housed them.

Tim didn’t focus on any of them, though. He had another matter to attend to.

When he reached the Royal chambers, he saw exactly what he expected; Ra’s, fully dressed, standing at his balcony and observing the figures dancing below. His enemy’s troops taking hold of his kingdom as peacefully as a coup could ever be.

The wine had been chosen primarily because it’s sleepy quality was one he had gotten resistant against, after months of Jason providing him with it. So that Ra’s would be affected and sleep the night away, while Tim got his memories back and could take the last step of his carefully organized plan.

The second, less pressing (but almost more rewarding) reason was spite: the first dose of the drug Ra’s has plighted him with, all those months ago, had been in the wine he was served before their wedding.

But it wouldn't keep a man like his husband, old and well versed in trickery, down for long. Tim had only hoped for enough time to free his allies.

And he had gotten it.

“Beloved. I imagined you halfway through the land, eager to be back in your people’s arms.”

“Don’t insult either of us like this. You know I need to see this done, and I don’t trust anyone else with this particular task.”

“To take me down?”

“To properly gloat, more like it.”

“Now you are the one taking us both for fools. You don’t gloat. It’s unbecoming.”

Tim shrugs, cape flowing behind him as he steps out by Ra’s side, looking down as well.

For weal or woe, those were their subjects.

“You don’t think I deserve it?”

Ra’s does the elegant, royal version of a snort.

“More than anyone, dear one. It was masterfully played, I have to admit. I could find no cracks in your acting.”

Tim turns, back to the balcony edge. The venomous green eyes meet his, then. King and Consort, truly face to face for maybe the first time in months.

They should, by all means, be fighting. But Tim is under no delusions; he knows Ra’s physical strength is greater. His aim is to entertain him long enough for reinforcements to reach them.

Why Ra’s decided to humour him, he wasn’t sure.

“There was no act, Ra’s. Not truly.”

“As much as the thought warms my heart, Beloved, I don’t think you love me. Not like the drug intended. How, pray tell, did you manage to avoid it? I’ve seen you eating food coated in it. Sometimes, by my own hand.”

Tim just raises his flask to him.

“Your only mistakes were taking Damian prisoner, and kidnapping our people to serve under your crown.”

If he was annoyed by Tim derailing his answer, he didn’t show it. Seemingly content to play along, Ra’s gave his words proper thought.

“The first brought you into my castle, taking a vital player from the enemy’s board, the latter gave me the opportunity I needed to go to war with your father. I don’t see anything to regret there.”

Tim took another sip of the tea, now cold, that Cass had filled the bottle with.

“And your greatest overview”, he continued, “what you should have suspected from the first moment, was this:”- the drink inside the flask sloshed when he raised it-” I despise tea.

“I fail to see how this all ties together. Indulge me, dear one? Our time with each other is coming to an end, after all.”

Tim was all for gaining time. And maybe a little part of himself wanted to boast a bit, too.

“When Talia came back to her senses, after the drug you used on her to make her take Damian to you wore out, she came seeking for help to set him free.”

A yell, somewhere far away. Clash of metal and fire in the distance; Ra’s troops were back from their empty mission, straight into Harper and Cullen’s awaiting forces.

“Barbara is most likely the best alchemist out there. With Lady Thompkins’ help, she made an antidote”, another sip. “It goes perfect with tea, disgusting as it is. And Jason, taken for dead and rescued by Talia all those years ago, who nursed him back to health under your own roof without you being the wiser, already had a perfect cover built here. He just needed to say he’d been on a mission to explain the time he’d spent between leaving Talia’s care and me coming here, and then volunteer to care for me. And my sister’s presence can only be noticed by those she wants to; your men had no chance to spot the two enemies among their ranks.”

Under them, the innocents in Alqatala were hanging white bed sheets and clothes out of their windows. A beg to be spared, and show of surrender. From up there, it looked like dots of victory splashed in the canvas of a won over Kingdom.

“I could never act like I was in love with you, for months, and be perfectly convincing. And the only way you’d let me even smell the ink on your important documents was if you believed me completely besotted. So I’d take your drugs each breakfast, and break out of their power with my afternoon tea. Give out orders, converge with my spies, and then eat your food again so I’d be in perfect condition for dinner. If I could help it, each moment spent in your presence had to be drugged stupid. As a side effect of taking the drug is memory loss, every proof of my treasonous acts were hidden from my stupid, submissive, deeply-in-love other self. Truly, it was perfect. Except the headaches from taking so many corrosive substances, so often. Those were a pain to deal with.”

That wasn’t, of course, the only consequence of mixing powerful drugs. His colds were harsher and more recurrent than ever, and he feared the approaching winter with genuine horror, but that was information his enemy didn’t need to have.

Ra’s threw his head back and laughed. It was a hearty laugh, from deep within his chest and charged with unexpected affection. Tim tilted his head, and was taken back when his husband stretched his hands to pull the cape closed over his chest, fastening it with an emerald and gold pin.

“I do have a question”, he forces himself to say, unwilling to blush when Ra’s hands accidentally (or maybe not so much) bumped into one of the marks still fresh in his neck.

“You’ve answered mine, Beloved, so go ahead. Marriage is a give and take, after all.”

The irony wasn’t lost.

“When things started to go wrong in this war, when attacks didn’t reach and our troops failed by a hair… you are not stupid. You must have known the enemy under your roof, the one planning your strategies, was the most likely cause. Why not kill me?”

Ra’s laughed again. Something in Tim’s stomach twitched.

He had won here. So why did it feel like Ra’s had been the one to take the treasure?

“We both agreed to this game, when you accepted my suit and we got married.”

“I was the one who suggested/”

“Shh, dear one. You could have backed out, told your family you regretted your choice, and no one would have blamed you. But you took the drugged wine that night, fully aware of the dangers it contained. You blushed during our wedding, and shed a tear when I took your hand and sat you on my throne to receive your crown. The stakes were high, higher than anything any of us could imagine, and you still decided to risk it. Had I discovered your siblings and drove them out, there’d been no one left to fed you the antidote that allowed this entire operation to begin with. Or I could have chosen to dismiss you to an abandoned wing of the palace, happy enough after taking you from your family and thus removing their most dangerous player, without the risk of giving you power.”

Tim’s throat felt dry. Ra’s thumb pressed in the mark one last time, before he drew his hands away and clasped them behind his back. His eyes as he watched Tim were warm on the surface, but there was an underlying of want under them that made him nervous. The intensity rivaled the one he had felt when they shared bed and love just hours ago.

“You played the game beautifully, played by the rules, and still won. Killing you without proof, with only my suppositions, right as they might have been, would have been like admitting defeat.”

“You still lost”, he bites out, hand unclasping the pin keeping the cape tight and letting it fall to the ground behind him, green and gold silk against dark stone.

Ra’s smile became wicked. No warmth left.

“Had I killed you when I first suspected you”, he whispers, stepping closer, and this sudden intimacy makes Tim shiver, but not from pleasure. “I would have missed the opportunity you gave me tonight. And I got a taste of the full extent of your power, Beloved.”

He closed the distance between them, hands on his shoulders to keep him still. Too shocked to even try to get away, Tim almost forgot to blink.

He had expected rage. He had expected disdain. He had expected a sword to the gut.

He hadn’t expected respect, admiration and desire, hot and piercing like a knife still red from the forge.

Ra’s breath, sweet from the wine and warm against the cold of the night, brushed his cheek as his husband bent closer.

“How marvelous it was, to witness you fight against yourself. Are you the only foe you consider worthy of your attention? Can anyone else come close to even challenge your cunning mind?”

Too late, Tim heard the footsteps approaching their location. His brothers, most likely, here to help him take care of Ra’s.

The beautiful dagger sliding into his body felt almost sensual, intimate. Like he was being touched by a lover, instead of steel. He shivered all the same, the gasp escaping his mouth making Ra’s draw a deeper breath.

His laugh, this time, was low. Private, just between them.

“Do make sure you don’t die from this. I’ll come for you one day, and I expect a proper confrontation then. No more masks between us, dear one. Next time it’ll be just you and me, your force against mine, and my price for trouncing one as enthralling as yourself will be to properly own you, from that day and all the ones that’ll follow.”

When Ra’s hands left him, Tim fell to his knees. He heard the door slamming against the wall and his brothers’ voices, their shouts and curses as they rushed to his aid.

“Until then, my Consort.”

He saw him jumping down, to a certain death if it were anyone else, but could not make a move to follow. The knife had pierced something, he could tell, and the blood soaked his white nightgown and the green cape, still on the floor under him.

It was Dick (Oh gods, Dick, how had he missed his oldest brother, how painful had it been to forget his smile, scent and fierce protection) who gathered him in his arms, his desperate calls that made him snap out of the pain. He barely caught sight of Jason and Damian running to the balcony edge and looking down, then yelling orders to the men that had followed them into the room.

Ra’s had escaped.

But he would not stay away for long, he knew. His last words were both a threat and declaration of intent. It was a new war, one where Tim wouldn’t be fighting for him and against himself. Now, he would depend only on his wits and resources. There’d be no master plan carefully laid and enveloped in deceit. It’d be an all out war, two predators hunting each other, where losing meant death for Ra’s, and for Tim...something even worse.

Ra’s was coming.

Well, Tim thought, closing his fingers around the silver hilt of the dagger, his brothers worried voices fading into nothing as consciousness began to waver, let him come.

I’ll be waiting, my husband.

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