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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 5 months ago

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Ψ M is for Maraclea: Chapter Six

M is for Maraclea: Following an accident you had over summer break, you find yourself in limbo after being legally dead for several minutes. Now an outcast at boarding school, you end up finding comfort in a strange boy named Nigel. As winter draws near and tragedy strikes, your only reprieve from madness comes from a mind much like your own.

Warnings: Murder.

To Note: Nigel Colbie x Fem!Reader, NAMED Reader for Plot Reasons, There Are A Lot of DARK Themes.

Word Count: ~2.5k

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You sit at the long wooden table, the clatter of cutlery and the low murmur of conversation blending into a constant hum that fills the dining hall. Your tray holds a bowl of oatmeal and a slice of toast, but you barely touch either. The chatter around you feels like static, distant and unimportant, as if it belongs to another world you no longer inhabit. You focus on the sensation of the cold metal spoon in your hand, letting it anchor you, its chill a small comfort that distracts you from the emptiness gnawing at your insides. The oatmeal congeals slowly, untouched, while your toast grows cold and hard, much like the emotions you keep locked away.

Whispers swirl around you like leaves caught in a windstorm. "Zombie fish girl probably did it," someone mutters, their voice tinged with cruel amusement. You don't look up; you don't need to see their faces to know they are sneering. "Who else would be weird enough to kill a bird?"

You reach into your bag and pull out a battered copy of "Wuthering Heights." The book’s spine is creased from countless readings. Flipping open to where you left off, you lose yourself in the moors of Brontë’s world. The words pull you in, offering an escape from your own thoughts and the harsh reality around you.

"Heathcliff is such a monster," someone nearby says. You glance up briefly to see a group of girls discussing the same book.

"Yeah, but I kind of get him," another replies. "It's like he's so broken that he can't help himself."

You immerse yourself deeper into your book, resonating with Heathcliff’s torment more than you'd like to admit. His rage, his despair—these emotions echo within you as if they are your own.

The whispers around you continue, ebbing and flowing like an insidious tide. Each murmur stings less than the last; they blur into a meaningless buzz. The story in your hands provides a barrier between you and them, an armor made of ink and paper.

"Mary," someone calls out suddenly. You don’t look up; instead, your eyes scan over Catherine's lamentations on love and loss.

"Hey! Mary!" The voice is closer now. A hand taps your shoulder lightly. It's one of your classmates, Emma. She was decent enough, also a victim of bullying due to her eating habits. "Are you going to finish that oatmeal? If not—"

You shake your head without meeting her eyes and push the tray toward her. Emma grabs it with a quick thanks before returning to her own group.

You return to 'Wuthering Heights' turning each page methodically. The world around fades away until it’s just you and Brontë's tortured souls on those desolate moors.

The room suddenly falls silent, an unnatural hush that draws your attention. You look up to see a nun, the headmistress, and a man in a dark suit with a stern face striding into the hall. They move with purpose, their eyes scanning the room until they lock onto you.

The headmistress stops in front of your table, her expression unreadable. "Mary," she begins, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "This is Senior Detective Martin McKenzie from the local police. Detective, this is Mary Forbes, Susan's roommate."

The detective gives you a curt nod, his eyes sharp and assessing. You straighten up, feeling the weight of everyone's gaze on you.

"Good morning," you say, your voice steady despite the sudden tension in the room. Your apathetic eyes meet those of the head mistress', "is there a problem ma'am?"

The headmistress sighs wearily continues, "Detective McKenzie would like to speak with you about Susan Mueller. Collect your things, this conversation is best continued within my office."

You walk through the corridors, your footsteps echoing in the silence. The headmistress leads the way, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Detective McKenzie follows closely behind you, his presence looming like a shadow. The walls seem to close in, the air growing colder with each step. Cold. That relaxes your shoulders.

The headmistress’s office is a somber room filled with heavy wooden furniture and religious icons. You’re guided to a chair in front of her massive desk. You sit down, your hands resting on your lap, fingers intertwined. The headmistress takes her seat behind the desk, while Detective McKenzie remains standing, his eyes never leaving you.

"Mary," the headmistress begins, her voice softer now but still authoritative, "Detective McKenzie has some questions for you regarding Susan Mueller."

You nod slightly, waiting for whatever comes next.

The detective steps forward, pulling out a small notepad and a pen. "Mary," he starts, his tone firm yet not unkind, "I need you to tell me what you were doing last night."

You blink, momentarily disoriented by the directness of the question. "I was at rehearsal for the play," you say plainly. "After that, I went back to my room to complete my math homework."

"And what time was that?" he presses.

"Around eight-thirty," you reply, your voice steady but devoid of emotion.

"Did you see Susan at all last night?" His eyes narrow slightly as he watches your reaction.

You shake your head slowly. "Not after rehearsal, she stayed behind to speak with Ethel about the bird incident. Susan didn’t come home last night." Your words are factual, devoid of concern or curiosity. "Rather unusual I might say, Susan is always prompt and on time."

Detective McKenzie raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening as it locks onto yours. "You don’t seem very concerned about your roommate," he remarks, his voice edged with suspicion. "Most people would be worried if someone they live with goes missing."

You stare back at him, unflinching. The cold detachment in your eyes speaks volumes, but you know it doesn’t answer his unspoken question. "Susan is capable of taking care of herself," you respond evenly. "She does not need me to watch her every move."

The detective's eyes narrow further. "Still, it’s odd, don’t you think? You haven’t asked where she might be or shown any sign of worry."

The headmistress clears her throat, drawing the detective's attention. Her expression softens as she looks at you before turning to the detective. "Detective McKenzie," she begins gently, "there’s something you need to understand about Mary."

You feel that longing numbness crawl up your spine, a familiar sensation that never quite leaves you.

"Mary had a very traumatic experience over the summer," the headmistress continues. "She was in a terrible accident and is still recovering mentally," the headmistress says softly. "Her emotional responses are... affected. She doesn’t process things the way most people do anymore."

You sit there quietly, letting her words wash over you like a distant echo. You know they are true; the numbness that envelops you is both a shield and a prison. But a wonderful prison to be embraced.

"She’s in a frail state," the headmistress adds, her voice full of concern and authority. "We are doing our best to support her through this difficult time."

The detective nods slowly, digesting this new information. His expression softens as he looks back at you. The harsh lines around his mouth ease slightly.

"I see," he says finally, his tone more measured now. He scribbles something in his notepad before looking up again. "Thank you for explaining that."

You meet his gaze without flinching, but the numbness remains, an unyielding constant that keeps the world at arm’s length. But not Nigel.

"She told me she was going on a date," You inform him, "after rehearsal. I expected her to return to our dorm and change. She never did. I assumed that she was caught up with something. Susan is a very sensible girl."

"Well your sensible roommate was found dead this morning," the detective says. "Who was she going on a date with?"

You sit there, the detective's words hanging in the air like a heavy fog. Susan is dead. The thought barely registers, slipping through the cracks of your numb mind. You tilt your head slightly.

"My brother."

Detective McKenzie jots down a note, his pen scratching against the paper. "And where can we find him?" he asks, his voice gentler now.

"That shouldn't be too hard," you reply blandly. "He goes to the boys academy across the pond."

The dormitory hallways are quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos that’s been your mind. The wooden floor creaks under your careful steps as you slip past sleeping rooms and darkened corridors. Each breath you take is deliberate, controlled, blending into the night’s stillness. The air is crisp and cool, an embrace you welcome. It helps numb the incessant thoughts that swirl in your head.

You push open the heavy door leading outside. The chill night air rushes to greet you, wrapping around your body like an old friend. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting silvery light over the school grounds. Shadows dance around you as you make your way to the gate, their silent movements echoing the turmoil within.

You keep your pace steady, avoiding the pools of light from the sporadic lampposts. Each step brings a strange comfort, a sense of purpose in an otherwise directionless existence. Your hands are buried deep in the pockets of your coat, fingers grazing the cool metal of a train ticket you keep there—one that Nigel had given you.

The gravel crunches beneath your shoes as you approach the train station. The old building looms ahead, its silhouette outlined against the star-studded sky. The platform is deserted, a place forgotten by time and people alike.

You find solace in its emptiness. The bench near the platform offers a seat, its wooden surface cold against your legs as you sit down. You pull your coat tighter around yourself, savoring the chill that seeps through.

A distant rumble catches your attention. The sound grows louder, accompanied by a low hum that vibrates through the air. A train approaches, its headlights piercing through the darkness like twin beacons.

You stand up as it arrives, its brakes hissing softly as it comes to a stop before you. The doors slide open with a mechanical whir, revealing an empty carriage bathed in dim light.

You step inside without hesitation, finding a seat by a window. The doors close behind you with a soft thud, sealing you inside this cocoon of metal and glass.

The train begins to move again, gliding along the tracks with a rhythmic clatter. You lean back in your seat and watch as the landscape outside blurs into shadows and streaks of light. When Nigel takes a seat next to you, you are not surprised.

He doesn’t speak immediately. The silence stretches between you, filled only with the soft rumble of the train and the occasional creak of its wheels. You close your eyes, savoring the moment of quiet before the inevitable conversation.

“I heard about Susan,” he finally says, his voice low and cautious.

You nod slightly, eyes still closed. The words are there, waiting to be spoken, but they feel heavy on your tongue. Finally, you force them out. For him. “I feel nothing.”

Nigel shifts beside you, but he says nothing, waiting for you to continue.

“I should be sad or angry,” you say slowly, each word measured and deliberate. “But there’s just... nothing.” You open your eyes and turn to look at him. His face is etched with concern, but he remains silent.

“I’m broken,” you admit. “Whatever happened over the summer... it took something from me.” You glance away, staring out at the darkened landscape once more.

Nigel reaches out and his fingers slip through yours. The warmth of his touch contrasts sharply with the coldness inside you. Only he chases away your desire for cold numbness.

“Maybe that’s why I can’t feel anything,” you say softly. “I’m just... numb.”

Nigel’s gaze never wavers. “You’re not broken,” he insists quietly. “You have transitioned into living eternity." He believes those words, knows it deep within himself. You are a living Maraclea and of holy blood. My lovely living Maraclea."

"I thought I crave the cold, but it is your warmth that I now desire," you whisper, a hint of resignation in your voice. Perhaps fear of loss.

Nigel's fingers hold your own tighter, and his other hand comes up to grasp your jaw. "Embrace it," he murmurs. "Feel the warmth within you. It’s not just mine; it’s yours too. You have it, even if you can't sense it yet."

You look into his eyes, feeling a flicker of something deep inside. "But what if I can't find it?" you ask, a trace of fear in your voice.

He bends his face to yours, warm lips hovering over your chronically cold ones. "You will," he speaks with subtle confidence before closing the gap between your lips.

The moment his mouth meets yours, the coldness that has defined your existence since the accident, that clings to your skin like morning dew to a leaf, begins to melt away. His kiss is fervent, filled with a passion that you didn’t know you craved. It consumes you, igniting a fire deep within your chest.

Your hand finds itself gripping his jacket tightly as if to anchor yourself to this moment. The sensation of his warmth spreads through you like a fever, banishing the numbness that has haunted you for so long. You lean into him, desperate for more of his heat, his touch.

Nigel’s hands move to cup your face, holding you gently but firmly. He deepens the kiss, his lips moving with a purpose that leaves you breathless. The train's rhythmic clatter fades into the background and you tighten the fingers he holds, begging him not to leave you chilled.

You pull back slightly, gasping for air. Your eyes meet his, and you see a reflection of your own longing and need. "Nigel," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion you can’t quite name.

He smiles softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "My beautiful Maraclea," he murmurs, his words like a caress against your skin. "You’re so much more than you know."

His declaration sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not the icy cold you're used to—it's something else entirely. It’s a thrill, an awakening. You are addicted. You close the distance between you once more, pressing your lips to his with renewed urgency.

Every kiss feels like a lifeline, pulling you further from the darkness and into the light of his warmth. You lose yourself in him, in the way he makes you feel alive again. Each touch is electric; each moment is a revelation.

Nigel's hands slide down your neck and to your waist, drawing you closer until there’s no space left between you. His body radiates heat, and you drink it in greedily, reveling in the sensation of being truly warm for the first time in months.

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless and flushed. He looks at you with such intensity that it takes your breath away all over again.

"You are my beautiful Maraclea," he repeats softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "And I will always keep you warm."

In that moment, wrapped in Nigel's warmth and words, something inside you shifts. You do not desire that cold numbness that brings you such desolate peace. All your mind thinks about is Nigel, Nigel and his warmth.

Date Published: 6/23/24

Last Edit: 6/23/24

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#like minds #nigel colbie x reader #nigel colbie #alex forbes

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princesscatherinemiddleton · 6 days ago

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why do you think william's comments about this year being brutal/the hardest of his life have been received differently than meghan's comments in SA when she was post-partum? i remember people losing their minds then

I don't know if this ask is in good faith or not but I'm answering it anyway.

A whole bunch of reasons:

Racism - Meghan is a woman of colour and people are less likely to take a person of colour's comments about their lives seriously than a white person's

Sexism - Meghan is a woman and women are famously viewed as more emotional (and therefore prone to exaggeration) than men

Popularity - don't shoot the messenger and I'm not a religious poll follower but William has always polled significantly higher than Meghan and people are more likely to be sympathetic to someone they like

Phrasing - William said "It's been dreadful. It's probably been the hardest year in my life" which is a statement about the year and how it's impacted him. It's almost passive. Meghan said "And, also thank you for asking, because not many people have asked if I'm OK" which, rightly or wrongly, lots of people interpreted as a dig at others

Timing - Meghan's comments came at the end of a documentary about a royal tour (their official work paid for by the tax payer) when it could be assumed the focus should be on the work and the people of Africa. Her comment also came when the press was really pushing the "Everyone hates Meghan" angle so, when it sounded like Meghan had issues with people, people jumped on it. William's comments were given in an interview, where it can reasonably be assumed someone might be asked more personal questions. They also came out the week of the US election so it's not had anywhere near the coverage Meghan's comments got

What's come before - Meghan's tour of South Africa (Harry was also there) was almost universally praised after a tricky year or so, until the Sussexes announced they were suing the Mail on Sunday during the final day of their tour. Even people who agreed with them for doing it thought it wasn't necessarily the best time to release the statement. The statement contained the phrase "The contents of a private letter were published unlawfully". Then, in a documentary about their work, Meghan spoke about her private feelings to a reporter. People were already feeling annoyed or frustrated and this was ammunition. Even when people could see that the press were treating Meghan badly, no one had seen the royals "mistreat" her so there was nothing to support her claim. William's comments came at the end of a year which has been visibly tricky. His father and wife have both been fighting cancer. Both Charles and Catherine have been out of action for most of the year. William is also fairly well-liked, especially by the average person. Whether you like William or not, everyone can agree that having two close family members fight for their lives would be "brutal".

Other - William's interview was also full of other soundbites - he spoke about his role as Prince of Wales. He spoke about his beard. He spoke about wanting to do good. The coverage I've seen was initially all about the bad year but a lot of it has now moved to Charlotte and his beard. There were a lot of light-hearted positive comments. William also didn't really talk about himself, apart from to say it had been hard. Meghan was following Harry talk about his PTSD from camera flashes and him verbally confirming a rift with William. She then spoke about real issues but through her lens, which doesn't sit as well with British viewers as I imagine it would with an American audience. She said "any woman especially when they are pregnant, you're really vulnerable and so that was made really challenging. And then when you have a newborn - you know. And especially as a woman, it's a lot" and that's all true - but it was also her recent life so I know lots of people who viewed it just as a rich person moaning.

#anon #answered #will #meghan

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stardancerluv · 1 year ago

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By the Light of the Silvery Moon

Part Six: New developments for Paul and his wife.

Notes/Warning: Sometimes one gets sent away early into their marriages. One does not refuse their queen…even her son.

18+ only please. Consensual. P in V sex.

Once again…ty so much for reading. ❤️s and reblogs are very appreciated. Along with any comments/feedback! Enjoy!

“Mother, there is no valid reason for me to go and see the Crimea.”

“You are the future king of Russia you need to visit your army.”

“I never did before.”

“Well, you are now married. The role has grown bigger.”

His fingers rolled into a fist and then relaxed before he did it again.”But my wife.”

Catherine made an exaggerated sound. “She will be fine without you.”

His mouth formed a line.

“She has her ladies and there is also the ones in court. She will be fine.”

“What if I don’t go?”

“I will make you.”

She looked up from the map that she had been hovering over. Her eyes were colder then the winter that would soon be upon them.

“When is my coach ready?” Defeat filled him. His mother won this round.

“Dawn.” She replied once again, she eyed the map.

He turned on his heal and left the room.

*******

The sun’s warmth fell over you, as you worked on a handkerchief. There was more you wished to do or to attend to, but with the possibility of Paul leaving; this distracted you. Your personal handmaiden’s words did not bring any reassurance.

The ladies of the court, had sly smiles splashed across their faces. Despite Paul, not paying them any mind. Some still hoped to garner him with their charms.

There was barely a sound, but you could tell that the huge doors near you opened. You glanced up. Relief filled you. Your heart began to pick up speed. It was Paul.

His hand cut through the air. The patter of boots and the swish of skirts filled their otherwise silent room. With a warmth only your handmaiden was possible to have, she closed the door.

Placing the needle, the cloth and thread aside and you got up. You barely took a few steps and you were in Paul’s arms. Despite your heart at quite the beat, your body relaxed.

“I have to go.” His breath felt warm on your throat.

You stiffened and felt as his hold tightened.

“I tried to refuse.”

“She’d never let you.”

He nodded. “Though I had to try.”

You pulled back enough, just enough to meet his eyes. There was hardly any of the warm brown. They had grown dark with his turbulent emotions over leaving.

“I will dispatch messengers with letters.” You promised

“They will return with my own letters.” He replied with his own, stepping aside he pulled off his waist coat, he tossed it onto a nearby chair.

“At least we have tonight. It will be a very lonely, few months.“

You knew it would be. But the knots in your stomach were still there and they hurt.

*******

As Paul moved above you, you tried to hold onto the moment. It hurt your heart to know you didn’t know when you would see your husband, your beloved again.

“I love you.” Paul, managed. His voice was tight with his pleasure.

His eyes met yours and just as your bodies were one, his lips met yours and the kisses you shared were rough, hungry.

“I love you.” You breathed, arching against him before kissing him again.

Your body tightened, your pleasure was growing sharper. Your moans grew louder.

“Sounds like you are growing close love, give yourself up to it. I want to feel you.”

“Yes, oh Paul!” You were breathless and you erupted in your pleasure. His name became a moan as you became undone.

Trembling you wrapped your arms around him. You held him close as he thrust into you chasing his own release.

Your sounds caused his own release to rip through from him. As your hearts beat hard, you melted in the afterglow of your passion.

*******

He held you close, his fingertips caressing your naked hip. “I don’t know how long I will be gone.” He finally said, resting his chin gently on the top of your head.

“I know. Alot of anguish will fill my heart till we can be together again.” You swallowed. “Is there no way you can have a coach come to retrieve me?” You glanced back at.

“No, he said softly. There have been several violent engagements along that border. I could not bare the idea of you being hurt or worse.”

You tightened your arm around his middle. Desperately, you didn’t want to let him go.

******

Be pressed a kiss to your bare knuckles as he held your hand through the open window of the carriage. Your eyes had filled with tears but you were not let them fall in front of Catherine or the court.

“I will think of you each day till we are together again.”

“And I shall as well.” You nodded.

He gave your hand a final squeeze, then glanced down. “Keep her safe boys.” He said softly to Soot and Cinder who sat proudly on either side of you. Grimacing, he tapped the roof of the coach and sat back into it. The coach man called out and you stepped back.

You waited till his coach passed the gates. Then turning with the hounds close on your heels you made quick haste back to your chambers.

******

Sitting at your vanity you finally let the tears come. With a shaky hand you pulled the pins from your hair. You would not leave your chambers today. A day for your heart was needed.

Looking down at your brush that sat on your vanity, you found a note scrawled sitting beside it. Your heart lifted. Your lips curved into a smile, making the tears pause as you read Paul’s sweet words of love.

******

A week later, when you found yourself lonely in court you had the letter tucked into your bodice and you didn’t feel so terribly alone. The other girls who vied for Paul’s affection or to catch Catherine’s eye giggled behind gloved hands and fans in one corner while you stood, occasionally glancing out the grand windows with your heart warmed by the sweet words Paul left you in that note.

*****

His lips were wrinkled in disgust as he stalked through the muddy ground. His men were in different to his presence. They barely took mind of him when he walked past them. It had been a very long week since the two of you said good bye. He was eager to return to you.

@amethyst-serenade @laura-naruto-fan1998

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn fanfic #prince paul #prince paul fanfiction #prince paul fanfic #prince paul fluff #prince paul smut #prince paul angst #prince paul x reader #prince paul x you #prince paul x y/n #catherine the great #catherine the great fanfiction #joe quinn fanfic

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thinkingaboutbetterdays · 1 year ago

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scars of the past. ( warrick brown x reader )

gif belongs to me

You were co-workers, and friends then after a particularly gruelling case that ended with Warrick taking you home, made the leap to lovers. The perks of being friends first were you had confided in each other in the last three years, seeing first-hand the emotional baggage you carried around.

Warrick knew you weren't the type to say "I love you" lightly, and when you were cuddling on the sofa in the early hours of the morning, too tired to make it to the bedroom after a long challenging case, he said those words, not expecting you to say them back. And he was fine with that. When you tensed up in his arms, he stated that he just wanted you to know how he felt.

Two weeks later you were working on an experiment and when Warrick gave you advice on how to adapt the usual method, making it a success, in an outburst of emotion you said the three words he longed to hear.

Your relationship seemed to be growing stronger until suddenly it wasn't. You were stunned when Sara suggested over breakfast with the team that you and Warrick should move in together and Warrick had looked at you across the table.

"What do you think?"

It was not how you intended the conversation to happen, and it also awakened another fear inside you. So you dodged the question, "I should get going, I could use a shower."

Warrick glared at Greg when he muttered, "Ouch."

He pursed his lips, glancing over his shoulder to find you practically fleeing the diner, and shook his head as he continued eating. Catherine knew there would be tension after that day and sure enough, in the next few days, more cracks began to appear as Warrick tried to talk to you about moving in together and you always replied that you were too busy to think about it.

Warrick grew more and more frustrated when you refused to discuss your future as a couple amidst Catherine's reminders that your last relationship hadn't ended well. Calling it a disaster wasn't enough.

You entered Grissom's office a week later, the tension between you and Warrick balanced precariously on the tipping point, ready to erupt at any moment. Catherine had tried to talk to you about your aversion to moving in with Warrick and you had brushed off her attempts, taking the blonde back with your feisty manner as you told her not to talk to you while you were working unless it had something to do with a case because she was distracting you.

You inwardly sighed when you saw Warrick sitting in front of Gil's desk and occupying the seat beside him. Warrick sat half-turned in his chair, his elbow resting on the back of the chair, glancing at you now and then as Gil assigned you both to a new case, requesting you hand over any reports for the current case you were working. Although you felt his glances, sitting rigidly in your chair as if it pained you to be near him, you never glanced in his direction.

Noticing the tension between you both Gil raised an eyebrow, looking at Warrick and then at you. "Can you work together?"

"Well, I don't have a problem." Warrick replied.

"Of course." You chimed in at the same time, finally glaring at Warrick when you realized what he said, before looking at Grissom who was sceptical, as he held out the case file.

"I want you to head out there as soon as you hand over your reports."

You nodded, reaching out to take the case file before Warrick could and headed out of the office. Gil looked at Warrick when he stood up with a sigh.

"Are you able to work together?"

"I'll talk to her."

Gil nodded, lowering his gaze to the case file he had been reviewing on his desk before he called the meeting, and Warrick left his office. Twenty minutes later you met each other at the car and Warrick opened the driver's side door, keys in hand, as he asked rhetorically, "Mind if I drive?"

You took a deep breath, muttering, "Not at all," as you climbed into the passenger side.

The drive was spent in contemplative silence. Warrick stole glances at you now and then as he pondered the best way to approach the subject that had created a rift in your relationship, while you kept your eyes on the case file Gil had given you.

There was not much to go on, but the body had been taken and identified.

"Are we just going to -"

"The body isn't there." You spoke up, and Warrick pursed his lips in annoyance. "How can we get a full view of the crime scene without seeing the body for ourselves?"

"It was a botch up. It happens from time to time. The body is the Docs job, ours is to figure out how he died, why and the sequence of events leading up to it."

Warrick parked on the street, and you both took notice of the fancy ride parked in the driveway. "You see that?"

You nodded as you searched for the license while getting out of the car. Warrick held the tape up for you to duck under as you carried your bag and tried to carry the heavy weight of your gear as you scrolled through the details of the man who owned the red Ferrari.

Warrick walked around the car and you turned to look at him when he whistled. "It's a sweet ride."

You held up your cell phone, "It's stolen." Warrick raised an eyebrow at you, and you slowly nodded. "It's a sweet ride." He smirked when you headed inside, following after you.

You took out your flashlight and shined it around the entryway where plants and the sideboard had been knocked to the floor, and the contents of the drawers spilled onto the floor. You found the living room was very much the same, and looked around while Warrick knelt down and opened his gear.

"Someone tore this place apart." You voiced as you entered the kitchen where all the cupboards and drawers had been emptied out, food covering the floor.

You re-joined Warrick in the living room, "Someone was looking for something." You stated. "There's a Ferrari parked outside in the driveway that doesn't fit in with the house. Does this place tell you that he had the kind of money to be buying fancy cars?"

"Maybe he was a drug dealer. Or a gambler." Warrick replied dryly, and you pursed your lips in annoyance, hoping that you could've set your personal issues aside for one case.

"If he's driving a Ferrari, I think he'd live in a nicer house." You set your bag down and began to gear up.

"Maybe he asked his girlfriend to move in with him and she made it look like a robbery."

You glared at Warrick who sighed, before your attention was drawn upstairs when you heard a door closing.

"I'm sorry that was -"

You waved your hand as you stood up. Warrick glanced at the doorway then at you, "What is it?"

"I thought I heard something. I'm going to take a look upstairs."

Warrick stood up and considered following you, but decided against it, believing you needed space right now. He was bagging a bullet he had dug out from the wall when he heard the sound of you calling out, and raced into the hallway, finding you at the bottom of the stairs and the front door open.

Warrick knelt beside you, holding your cheek as you rested your back against the wall, frowning when he saw the blood on your forehead.

"Go after him!" You pushed him into action and Warrick chased after the man who had pushed you down the stairs in an attempt to flee the scene. The red Ferrari was down the street when he made it to the end of the driveway and Warrick sighed as he turned to the house. He returned to help you off the ground, and you winced from the pain in your ribs as he explained that the car was gone.

"Oh, Grissom is going to love this."

Warrick shook his head, "Forget about that. You need to go to the hospital."

"I'm fine."

"You're going to a hospital," Warrick argued. "I'll call Grissom and tell him to send someone over."

You knew there was no point in arguing with him when he was so determined and lowered yourself onto the stairs, wincing in pain as Warrick took out his cell phone.

You looked up at the CSI you admired long before you got together. Your feelings for Warrick began when you were still in a relationship, and although you trusted him more than anyone else, you could never tell him the truth about your ex-boyfriend. But now you felt it was time to explain why you dodged his attempts to ask you to move in with him.

"I don't want to move in with you." You spoke up and he turned to you, shaking his head.

"We don't need to hash this out now -"

"I want to." You took a deep breath, "When my ex and I first moved in together everything changed. He wasn't always like that, but after living together for a couple of weeks he began to change. He was more aggressive, the way he looked at me - it was as if he hated me so deeply it sickened him." You blinked away the tears forming in your eyes, "I couldn't survive something like that a second time. I couldn't stand to watch you start to hate me so much that it destroys you."

Warrick knelt in front of you when you looked down at your hands that were resting on your lap. "Hey, look at me." You met his gaze when he placed a hand over your hands. "I could never hate you."

"What if you do? What if I ruin what we have and -"

Warrick held both your hands in his and gave them a squeeze, lifting his right hand to wipe away the tears that fell down your cheeks. "Your ex was a dick. And every time I think of him putting his hands on you, my blood boils, and I want to kill him. And I swear I could go through with it. Nothing he did was because of you, that was all him. You are a wonderful," a smirk formed on his lips, "sexy, smart woman. And I'd love to spend the rest of my life loving you. I want you to be the last thing I see when I fall asleep and the first thing I see when I wake up. I'd ask you to marry me if I thought I'd get a definite yes." He held your gaze as he continued, "I love you. And I'm sorry for reacting the way I did, behaving the way I have been."

You smiled softly, placing a hand on the curve of his neck. "I love you too."

Warrick heard the sounds of a car pulling up outside. He kissed your forehead before standing up to greet Catherine and Sara who entered the house.

"Are you okay?" Catherine asked, following Warrick to where you were sitting.

"I think I'll live." You sent her a smile. "I traced the license plate but the car was reported stolen three months ago."

Sara asked what the man who attacked you looked like and your brow furrowed in thought, and you grimaced as you tried to give as much detail as possible. Warrick held a hand out to you and you accepted his help to get to your feet.

"I'm going to take her to the hospital."

"Don't worry, we'll handle everything here," Catherine replied. "Let me know what happens."

Warrick nodded and you held onto his arm as he guided you to the car, opening and closing the door for you. When he was behind the wheel, he looked over at you, signs of drowsiness beginning to show from your head wound.

"Can you talk to me?" You asked softly, blinking the spots away from your eyes, your head resting on the headrest.

"What do you want to talk about?" He reached over to hold your hand and you covered your joined hands with your right hand.

"Tell me what a morning waking up with you would be like." You smiled as you looked over at the CSI whose head turned several times, eyes flickering from the road to you.

Warrick chuckled, a smile forming on his lips. "Alright,"

You listened with a smile as he began to list the many benefits of living together and you closed your eyes as you pictured the moments he described. You knew it was time to let go of the past and look into a future with the man you loved more than anyone. He was protective but not smothering, every touch was tender and every kiss was filled with passion. A cheeky wink in the hallway would make your knees feel weak and the smirk that followed, seeing the reaction, made your heart race.

"I'll have to clear out a few things." You spoke quietly as you opened your eyes to meet his surprised gaze.

"I'll take a few days off to help." He replied with a smile.

You mirrored his smile as he brought your hand to his lips, seeing the head wound was making you tired. "Don't go to sleep. We'll be there soon." He turned on the siren and the lights and you observed him as he drove, the lights flickering across his features as he determinedly made his way through the streets, cutting the time in half.

Warrick carried you inside and remained by your side throughout your examination, listening intently when the doctor explained how often you would require pain medication and limited activity until your ribs healed.

He stepped out as the doctor administered the first dose to answer a call from Grissom asking for an update on the state of your condition and when he returned minutes later he knew the pills were working from your goofy grin that made him chuckle.

Warrick guided you back to the car once you were cleared to go and you looked at the sky pensively as he opened the door.

"Limited activity...does that include sex?"

Warrick laughed as you climbed into the car, a pout on your lips. He shook his head as he helped you fasten your seatbelt. "I'm sure we can think of something."

You placed a hand on his cheek, closing the small gap between you, and pressing your lips to his. "I love you."

"I love you too."

When you returned to the lab, walking through the hallways hand in hand before briefly parting while Warrick spoke to Gil and you went to collect your things from your locker, you realized you weren't ready to part with him. Warrick entered the locker room to empty his locker and you looked up at him when he took the bag from your hands.

He held the two bags effortlessly over his shoulder, holding your hand in his left hand and you rested your head on his shoulder as you made your way out of the lab.

"Can I stay with you tonight?"

Warrick smiled down at you, seeing you yawn into your hand.

"You read my mind."

You smiled when he kissed your forehead as you headed to the car. "When we move in together, whose bed are we sleeping in?"

"Yours is much better than mine."

"And bigger." You agreed. "But I still want snuggles."

Warrick chuckled as he raised an eyebrow at your term. The next few days were going to be filled with moments like this, the pain meds lowering your guard a little. "Of course." He held the car door open for you as you got inside. "I can't resist your snuggles."

You sent him a goofy grin after buckling your seatbelt and he chuckled as he closed the door, placing the bags in the trunk of the car before getting behind the wheel.

For the next three days, you were off active duty and when he wasn't out working a case, Warrick was by your side in the lab, or finding reasons to walk by where you were working and wink at you.

Catherine witnessed such a moment when you were working on an experiment together and looked at Warrick then at you as you smiled into your microscope.

"Things seem to be going great between you two."

"I've decided to move in with him. He's coming over this weekend to help move some boxes over." You replied, lifting your head to meet her gaze with a small smile.

Catherine smiled as she touched your arm affectionately. "I'm glad you worked things out. You both deserve to be happy."

You looked out the glass to see Warrick walking with Nick and raised an eyebrow. He pointed down the hallway he had walked down moments before, silently conveying he had come this way just to see you. You shook your head with a smile and from Nick's smirk he intended to tease Warrick.

"We are."

You had finally let go of scars from the past, and Warrick had ridden himself of a few demons of his own. And without it, your relationship flourished. As she watched you leave the lab together that night Catherine swore she could hear wedding bells.

#warrick brown #warrick brown x reader #csi crime scene investigation

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tardis-stowaway · 2 months ago

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I spent the weekend at DragonCon, a convention I've been attending off and on for decades. Some notable experiences and thoughts this year include:

Jodie Whittaker was there, and her panel was an absolute delight. I lined up almost an hour in advance and ended up with a pretty good seat. She talks with her hands constantly. The other celeb panels I saw (Catherine Tate and a LOTR panel with Elijah Wood, Billy Boyd, and Dominic Monaghan) were also really fun.

One of the more notable moments of the con happened as I was failing to get into a panel. A huge line formed waiting for the Science vs. Movies panel Sunday night, and it got routed down a corridor of the Hilton that I'd never seen before. It wasn't signed as a staff-only area, but it was an intensely liminal and weird space. After passing through multiple turns, I ended up finding the end of the line in an area where half the overhead lights were out! The carpet had weird swirls and a bit of color theory. Many of the locked doors along the corridor were labeled as meeting rooms (why wasn't the con using them in its constant need for more space?), but others had signs like "Fire Control." Even through my mask it smelled faintly of mildew. The Distortion vibes were strong. I am delighted to report that someone on reddit posted a photo of what I believe is the exact area where I joined the line. Luckily the people in line near me were all good-humored and fun. When the line finally moved we did not make it into the panel, but the corridor did allow us to exit with our lives and what remained of our sanity.

I spotted a Magnus Archives/Protocol photoshoot on the schedule Friday, so I went to that to see cosplay and say hi to people in the fandom. It was held at night outside on a very noisy party patio, which impaired photography and conversation. Still, I had fun! There were some very cool costumes. A Jane Prentiss cosplayer gave me (gummy) worms.

I cosplayed one day this year. I was Carpenter from The Silt Verses, during S2 when she's carrying the homesick corpse. I'd originally conceived of trying to make a backpack into a whole cloth-wrapped corpse with limbs, but I wasn't able to get that construction to work in the time I had. Instead I just had a wrapped head sticking out of a backpack with attached speech balloon saying "Please...I have to get home." Presumably the rest of the shriveled corpse is shoved in the bag. I knew that the odds of being recognized were very low since the costume is for a podcast, and not even a podcast where fanart is super widespread or settled in distinguishing characteristics. Still, I figured that horror podcast fan overlap meant that I might find other Silt Verses fans at the Magnus event. Sure enough, I had one (1) person recognize me there. Silt Verses fan with the long colorful hair, you made my con!

The Our Flag Means Death fan panel was a good time. The love was strong in that room.

Masking, while more common at the con than in your average store or public building these days, was still way too low considering how many people were crowded in after traveling from all over. I kept my mask on indoors except when eating or drinking, and ate almost all of my meals outside. We'll see if that was enough to keep me healthy.

The Brit Track needs to do a better job at getting some new voices with more varied opinions on their Doctor Who discussion panels.

I saw lots of Fourteenth Doctors, which I expected, but I was sad not to have seen any Fifteenth Doctors cosplayers.

In general I feel like I saw slightly less really impressive cosplay than in some past DragonCons, but that may have been just my habit of avoiding some of the really crowded lobby zones when possible. Still plenty of awesome cosplay work around.

As usual it was far too crowded inside and too hot outside. I'm now tired and super achey (in a too much time on my feet way, not in a con crud/covid way for now). Nevertheless, I had an excellent time.

#dragoncon #dragoncon 2024

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elvisabutler · 1 year ago

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quiet on the set: chapter two

fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: t-ish. pairing: elvis presley x original female character word count: 4369 warnings: mild slut shaming. complicated relationships with fathers. complicated relationships with mothers. period typical misogyny. arguments between a director and their leading man. slapping. getting into personal space without permission. disagreeing. mild implications for submissive elvis. author’s note: so hi y'all welcome to the second part of quiet on the set. there's not a whole lot to be said beyond me being thankful to those of you all who have read this because i know hollywood era elvis can be a bit of a mixed bag for people/kind of gets lost in the shuffle of people preferring 70s/big daddy elvis and baby/army elvis. but i've been enamoured with this concept since it's original whisperings and have- well to put it delicately between my discord wives, christi, marina and birdy and my own selfish desires/explanations of this fic to some people ( cough, cough madi ) have had this fic take on a life of its own. which is to say i hope y'all like this and allow me to play a little bit fast and loose with some elements of hollywood history. also enjoy my brief foray into basically writing robert evans somewhat as how he was portrayed in paramount plus's the offer, he'll come up later on too. also. this can be seen as austin elvis or elvis himself, as @precious-little-scoundrel's moodboard implies but i did truly write this i feel with elvis himself in mind.

"Elvis Presley. Are you- have you gone entirely insane? Why on Earth would you want him to play Stanley? Why would you want him near this film at all? The man's only known for-" Her father starts before she cuts him off with a bit of a huff.

"For song and dance formulaic movies, yes yes, I know, father. I know that he's known for movies that are meant to be enjoyed by people who’d rather listen to someone sing and dance and prance around like a prized show dog.” Catherine tries to agree with Alfred, a fact that threatens to eat her up inside but she knows as well as her mother knows that sometimes it’s best to tempt him with honey rather than spitting pure, unfiltered vinegar. “If I remember right- that’s actually what you wish all actors could be: little show dogs you can put up and tell to do something that is easily achievable. Sit and look pretty?”

“You have seen some of them, Catherine, it’s not- You know as well as I do you’ve agreed with me on several sets. Your mother has as well.” The look he gives her would- in another time and another place- normally make her buckle just a bit but she can’t help the way she rolls her eyes at it in this moment.

“That is not the point. In fact, you are trying to move away from the point I’m trying to make. He is the one I want. He’s Southern, he has the bulk, he has the look and aura and if I’m going to make this, I truly think he’d be perfect. Absolutely phenomenal in this role.”

She hears her father scoff and purse his lips. “The talent Catherine, the talent you’ve been craving for your actors to have? Does he have that, hm? Does he leap off the screen the way you want you actors to? Or are you thinking with your-”

“My what? My brain? The thing I inherited from you and mother? Yes, yes, I do believe that’s the exact thing I’ve been thinking with. That’s the exact thing that’s watched his films and can tell there’s something underneath the songs. Wild in the Country, Follow that Dream, Flaming Star, King Creole. I just know there’s something there, there’s an actor the likes of Brando and Newman and Bogie in there, he just needs the right script and director.” Catherine’s brow furrows just slightly. “Tennessee's words are perfect for the man and I can convince him to let me do it. Convince him this is the perfect man to cast.”

“The perfect man- Catherine, the antics that follow him alone would be an embarrassment. A flurry of girls on and off of the set, making a fool and mockery of you and anyone else trying to do their jobs.” He shakes his head. “You’d throw your efforts down the drain. He wouldn’t be professional and your plan would be in shambles. I’d likely have to come pick up the pieces.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to!” Her voice rises an octave and very nearly becomes a shout at the insinuation. “You- I would be able to control the situation.”

The only response he gives her is his eyebrows raised and Catherine swears she sees red. She’s older now, thirty years old and her father still has her as this twenty year old in his mind. This twenty something he’d ask to finish up his films so her mother and him could go off to another set or another country. It would always turn out beautifully and Catherine would wait to see her name in the credits, wait to see her name in those credits like she would see her mothers and yet every time she was let down. Every single time she’d watch as names drifted on by and not a single one was hers. The only Hitchcock on the screen was Alfred, not Catherine. She squares her shoulders and uses the height her heels give her to tower just barely over her father. “Elvis Presley is my Stanley Kowalski, Alfred. I do not care what the man does on the set as long as he does his job and I will ensure he does. This will not run over budget, it will not have melodrama attached to it. It is simply going to be a motion picture where Mr. Presley can show the world that perhaps he can act and not just sing and dance. It’s going to be a motion picture that you refused to do but that I wanted to do. You can refrain from giving me permission but that will not stop me from having him on my set acting against Ms. Wood. It is not going to-”

Her father tilts his head for a moment before exhaling, shaking his head in disapproval. “If that’s what you want. If that’s what you see as your vision. I expect that you will not whine to me if something goes wrong. You will have made your bed and you would need to lay in it. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” The word is spat out before Catherine turns and leaves the room, her heels clacking against the floor.

Tap tap tap. Elvis faintly hears a set of heels tap against the floor, unaware of who their owner is- unaware that Catherine is making her way toward him- too preoccupied with the blonde in front of him, all fluttering eyelashes and rosy cheeks. She's a professional he can tell, but even the most professional of women can't help but smile and laugh at his charm. Can't help but smile and laugh at his attention because he's Elvis Presley, dreamboat, all-American male.

She clears her throat behind him and he turns around ready to give her a greeting his mama'd be proud of only to have Catherine beat him to the punch by spewing venom the likes of which he hasn't seen come off of a woman's tongue directed at him since- hell- maybe Anita?

"Mr. Presley, I believe you're distracting her from doing her job. I know it must be hard to rein in that ego and charm and sexual desire but that wasn't what I hired you for, now was it. I believe I told you I wanted an actor? Not a sex-addled man."

His eyebrows practically go up to his hairline before he shakes his head and places a hand on her shoulder. "Now, Princess, there's plenty to go 'round for everyone, I won't be causin' any problems."

"I like having eye candy around as much as the next person, Cat. But Elvis Presley. That's like asking to have Brando without the Oscar. Without the draw he still has. You're asking for him to parade about with girls, drag his little posse and that manager of his around, and for what? I'll give you that you'll have a star who knows his lines. But honey, we both know he's box office poison and a has-been in music and films. I know I can handle that, but I don't think you can." Bob's words are gentler than her father's and yet Catherine eyes still tighten at them as she takes a sip of her wine.

"Oh? I believe I can because I don't run a whole studio. I just direct. Much easier for me to survive a box office poisoning with a job intact. Besides you like me enough to have your producers want me as a director." She retorts smiling a fake smile she knows they're both incredibly familiar with.

"I don't know. When you're directing decisions include this, I might be rethinking that. Hitchcock name or not." He pauses. "With a smile like that, you are wasted behind the camera."

"Save your flattery for someone you aren't calling crazy, Evans." Catherine sighs and bites the inside of her cheek. "It's not for his looks, you know I'm not that sort of-"

He cuts her off. "Woman? Director? Normally? Of course not, moral paragon out to remind me I should do better. With a man like him? When you've been lonely for-"

It's Catherine’s turn to cut him off with a light slap to his arm. "Robert!"

Robert Evans raises his eyebrow and smirks while pointing at Catherine. “Oh you- you’ve thought about it, haven’t you?”

“A woman never tells her secrets,” she responds with a blank face before rolling her eyes as he starts to laugh harder than he already had been.

The problem, Catherine figures, is that for all Elvis and his career are on the decline, he's still a very attractive man. A man who knows how to charm a woman - if the line of girls she can say have slept with him is any indication. Sure her father and Robert had both warned her about the possibility of him having said line of girls running behind him. But it's another thing to see it right in front of her face. It's another thing to have him mock her with these women. She's heard so much about his professionalism on the job that to see this in front of her makes her think just maybe she might have made a mistake.

He was the wrong choice and she let herself get swept away in the visuals and how he sounded across the table from her when he read for her. There was something there. She's seen it in other films of his and she saw it when he sat across the table reading his lines as if his life depended on it; which if she’s being entirely honest, perhaps it somewhat did. Perhaps he knew she held his career in her hands. She’s heard whispers of the films his manager has him preparing for and she knows this is his last shot at anything truly good. The last shot at something that might stand the test of time and might turn everything around for him. The only sure bet in Hollywood might have been a Presley picture but nowadays the only sure thing when it comes to them is that they’ll do poorly. Box office poison. But Catherine thinks she can handle it. Thinks that it’s half-way what people expect from her anyway. Still, she had trusted him to be professional and keep his womanizing ways to, at the very least, a minimum on her set and yet it hasn’t even been a week of costume tests and making sure everything would be going smoothly and he’s already charming the production team. What was next? A starlet waltzing in with him as he shows her around the lot and the production while her eyes somehow still have stars in them? He’s a has-been but he’s still pretty, even with just a little more bulk than he used to have when he was younger. He can still bring them in- charm them and make them smile and giggle and say “oh Elvis” like he’s younger and actually their age.

Except that’s what she wanted isn’t it? She wanted the man you could see somehow might have charmed Stella before showing his true colors. She wanted a man you could see might be able to keep Stella and get her pregnant and- was capable of unspeakable things. Someone who could be capable of unspeakable things but had a face that might make you think he wouldn’t. Stanley has sheer, raw animal magnetism and Elvis has it hidden right underneath that exterior. She heard it in his reading of the lines, she’s seen it on camera for herself. She knows that it’s there but she needs it on the screen, she needs it to be filmed and not flaunted in front of her.

She ought to have a talk with him, she thinks. Ms. Wood is due on set today after a little scheduling mixup and she has to tell Elvis- no, Mr. Presley that ahead of time. She knows they had a dalliance once upon a time but she’s also heard how she tried to teach him how to act, a few lessons here or there. If anyone asked Catherine, she likes to think they did him a world of good in trying to harness some of his raw talent. Though she wouldn’t admit it to his face or really anyone’s face if she’s being honest. Truthfully she’s been wanting to work with Natalie for quite a while. This opportunity presented itself and felt almost serendipitous. A leading lady very enraptured with her significant other who her leading man knew once upon a time. What could go wrong?

As it turns out from the way Elvis nearly opens the door on Catherine’s face as she tries to leave her office- a lot could go wrong.

“Natalie. That’s my Blanche?” Elvis’s temper is barely being kept in check, some sense of professionalism and decorum and his mother’s way of teaching him to be a good Southern gentleman stopping him from bellowing at the top of his lungs.

Catherine feels her eye twitch just slightly at the way she can hear his anger simmering. It reminds her a bit of her own simmering beneath the surface at any given moment. He can’t blow up any more than she can in this moment, or so she hopes. “Your Blanche? Since when have you become a director? Or a producer, Mr. Presley? She’s my Blanche, yes. Is that a problem?”

“You know damn well it is!” His voice ticks up just a bit almost yelling but not quite as he shuts the door behind them, knowing it’ll be all over the tabloids if some errant person caught them arguing in the hallway. “Everyone knows we- I know her! She knows me! You had to have known that, Princess.”

“Must you call me that infernal nickname,” Catherine spits out, using the height her heels give her to try and seem as tall as Elvis is, making sure he knows he can’t intimidate her. “"Not everything revolves around you, Mr. Presley. Ms. Wood has always wanted to play Blanche and-"

He holds up a finger and she can’t help but glare at it over the rims of her glasses. "Cut the horseshit. Somehow ya get Natalie goddamn Wood and it doesn't get whispered 'round town. That’s a dirty goddamn trick"

“A trick!” Catherine can’t help the way she practically squawks out the two words. "I did it for you! Is that what you want to hear? That I figured you'd appreciate a friendly face who knows you? You are an incorrigible and ignorant little boy masquerading as a man."

"Then why did you hire me, Princess? Lil’ charity case for Hitchcock's daughter? Takin' in poor lil’ Elvis Presley?" Elvis mocks, his voice gaining the faintest hint of an airy English lilt.

“Do you truly think that- I reiterate Mr. Presley, my world- the world does not revolve around you. Your little gang may treat you as the sun and whatever girl you currently have as the moon, but I am not them! I have- This had- I only wanted to help you. You were as nervous as a little boy in your audition. I’d have thought I was talking to a 21 year old version of you. I’d have thought he was auditioning for my film, not a 32 year old! She is a friendly face in a sea of unfamiliar ones on a film set that is of far higher caliber than any of the other ones you’ve ever been on.” Catherine doesn’t realize how her chest has started to heave in sheer aggravation.

"That's the problem, Princess. I haven't- haven't talked to her since- God, West Side Story, ya know that musical she did. And you talkin' 'bout how Elia recommended her- the hell else is that supposed to make me feel?" His own chest is heaving a little in frustration, here she is in front of him looking every bit the professional he's beginning to truly realize she is and looking so put together like every starlet and every star he's ever seen despite her own chest heaving. It reminds him that's not what he's gotten to enjoy. Sure he's been a star but not like she's dealt with, not like Natalie's been since Rebel with Jimmy Dean. It sends another rush of fury and embarrassment through him. "I'll tell ya how. Like ya cast me out of your own amusement. Wanna see if those acting lessons she tried to give me meant anything."

"Are you- I knew you thought highly of yourself but are you joking with me right now? Why on God's Green Earth would I jeopardize my career over casting you to amuse myself. Why would I jeopardize ever getting to work in this town, with or without my father's assistance, ever again? Do you hear yourself?" She can't help the way she pulls herself to her full height, not reaching Elvis's but still managing to make herself as large as she can. Her hand moves to push him square in the chest. "I thought she would put you at ease. They didn't want me to cast her, said she had a better film to do than this. But Elia and Tennessee and myself all intervened. I got you Ms. Wood to help you. For heaven's sake, that's everything I've been doing."

"I didn't ask ya to! I-I can- I can do it m'self." He snarls, grabbing at her wrist. His stutter betraying him. "Don't- I don't n-need your pity."

“Get your hand off of me, Mr. Presley!” She tries to wrench her hand away from his grip before he lets go. "My pity? That's- you think this madness you are going to wreak on my set is something I'm willingly taking on because I pity you? You are the most self centered-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Hitchcock." He hisses, moving to crowd himself into her space once more.

"Oh! Oh he remembers I have a name and not a little nickname he so graciously gave me! Brava, Mr. Presley! Perhaps you could remember that I am your-"

"Director, I know. Some fuckin' one ya are. Can't tell ya actors a direction they need to take." His hand moves to his chest, marveling in just how much her shove had hurt. "Or is it jus' me ya don't wanna help."

It's that exact moment that Catherine realizes just what might be one of the complications she hadn't foreseen when working with Elvis Presley. Truthfully the idea hadn't even occurred to her in all her arguments with herself and with others. Was Elvis someone who thrived under praise? Under being told what to do by someone he saw to be in a position of power over him? Did he truly need someone to direct him? The irony of it all, the irony of a man who commanded- or controlled a group of friends and compatriots called the Memphis Mafia needing someone to tell him what to do? From what she had known- heard- he bristled under ideas from those inside his circle and yet perhaps that was the key. To be from outside and not on the inside.

"I didn't know I was speaking to a child, Mr. Presley. Do I need to tell you exactly where to stand? How to compose your face into something other than a charming little smirk? How to appear menacing for an audience who needs to forget you're Elvis Presley? Would you like me to hold your hand?" Catherine knows her tone is judgmental, knows how her accent thickens and quite honestly she thinks it has taken on what she would like to argue is that of a school matron.

Elvis’s face morphs into something that raises a flag for Catherine, makes her think of what she’s been envisioning when it comes to Stanley. This is a man she should fear and yet in this moment she knows it’s Elvis and he’s a good Southern gentleman, he wouldn’t hurt or hit her. “Listen here- I don’t need ya patronizing me, Princess. I’m a grown man who doesn’t- I don’t need any of that. I know how to do my job.”

“You know how to play Elvis Presley.” Catherine retorts, watching as he takes a step towards her as she moves back. “I don’t need Elvis Presley.”

“You’re not gonna get him.” His words are practically growled out and Catherine raises a singular eyebrow as he continues. “You’re gonna get what ya cast me for. I just want to know what ya want me to do. Want t’know I’m doin’ it correctly since ya so certain I can do it.”

Catherine manages to keep herself from saying the first words that come to her mind and instead just stares down Elvis, almost challenging him to say more. He’s not wrong with what he says, that she’s certain he can do it. She’s so certain he can act better than most of his films have allowed him to show. It’s- It’s just that she has to coax it out of him, foster his talent and then she can show the world what she can see beyond his sparkling eyes and crooked smile. At his continued silence, her lips curl up into a bit of a sneer as she tilts her head just so that she’s looking at him over the rim of her glasses.

“Mr. Presley, do I look like your mother? Only existing to praise you for breathing?”

Elvis physically recoils at the words and Catherine realizes in that exact moment that perhaps it was an unwise choice of words. An unwise response, but it can’t be undone. The words have already left her mouth and already done their damage. After a second she sees his jaw clench and flex before he eyes her up and down. “My mama’d have smacked you for that, and I oughta.”

Catherine can’t help the way her eyes drift down Elvis’s body, taking in how tense he looks minus a slight jiggle to his leg. He’s holding back and actually stopping himself. For all he’s being an uncouth cad at the moment there’s a part of him that realizes, as much as his mother might have wanted to hit her for saying that, he can’t. He won’t because of some Southern gentleman manners. It almost makes her laugh but she refrains and manages to move closer to him, mocking just that little bit more.

“You didn’t answer, Mr. Presley. Do I look like your mother? Does the woman you’ve decided to call Princess look like your mother? Should I tell you that you’re doing so well? If I had known you needed that I wouldn’t-”

“Goddammit, woman!” The shout that comes from Elvis has Catherine choking on her words in shock. The boom of his voice so close to her reminds her that she is dealing with a man who, other than acting, sings for a living. The sheer anger she feels radiating off of him should terrify her, but she’s never been one to back down unless she truly wants to. No, this has her mouth gaping open just slightly as he speaks, his anger still palpable.“Don’t fuckin’- I- Just because you’re my director ya can’t just- say things like that. There ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ wantin’ ya to just tell me if ‘m doin’ somethin’ right.”

There isn’t and yet the fact that Elvis is bringing it up in such a way has her on edge. It’s almost as if he wants to force her to do it. It makes her want to make him beg for her to give him direction. She doesn’t think she will, but perhaps it would teach him a lesson about coming onto sets and proving every one of his naysayers right. Catherine is so in her head that she doesn’t grasp how Elvis has crowded her against a wall until she realizes they’ve been walking around her office to the point where she ran out of room to walk backward. Indeed she only registers it when she feels the press of the wall against her back and looks at Elvis to see him glance at the wall and smirk. He has the audacity to smirk at putting her in this position. She sees his mouth start to open and before she realizes what she’s doing she hears what she’s done.

Smack.

Elvis immediately backs off and nearly collides into her desk. If she wasn’t feeling so angry, if the rush of aggravation and annoyance wasn’t coursing through her veins she’d have thought it was funny how it happens. It almost would have been fitting in one of Elvis’s films. No, instead she moves to stand up straight- her hands dusting imaginary lint off her clothes- and starts to walk to the door, her heels clicking against the floor. It’s only when she’s at the door, her hand poised to open it that she turns around to see a still stunned Elvis leaning against her desk.

“Prove you can do something right, Mr. Presley. Prove that this means as much as it should to you and maybe I’ll have a kind word for you. And it’s Ms. Hitchcock to you, not Princess.”

The door opening and slamming shut as her heels clicking gets farther and farther away finally yanks Elvis out of his stupor as his hand moves to rub at his stinging cheek.It shouldn’t excite him in the slightest and yet he feels a tightness in his pants that he’s choosing not to dwell on as he stands up and jiggles his leg, adjusting the fabric as he does.

“Stuck up Princess Hitchcock,” he mutters as he opens the door, checking to see if anyone sees him leaving the room. “Actin’ like she knows- She wants me to show her, fine, I-I’ll show her. Got this part for a reason and I ain’t lettin’ her ruin it.”

It’s only as he’s about to head to the actual set that he pauses and says three simple words before opening the door, a charming smile on his face. “She slapped me.”

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted, @be-my-ally, @steph-speaks, @burninlovebutler, @headfullofpresley if you don’t want to be tagged for this series, tell me, i just copied from one of my other elvis fics/took from the last tags i kind of had for the last chapter. but also if you do, give me a heads up. i'll try to get to the tags that didn't work within the next day unless y'all find it first.

#elvis presley #elvis presley x oc #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #ken doll elvis #60s elvis #60s elvis presley #hollywood elvis #quiet on the set #elvis presley fic #ally writes #i feel like i'm missing a tag but who knows at this point.

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darklydeliciousdesires · 10 months ago

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London Will Burn - Chapter Five.

Thank you for your continued interest, my darlings, and happy Friday! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four

Tag list - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 3,537

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI.

“Catherine, you are fucking mental. Put it down.”

“No, we’re playing William Tell. Put the apple on your head, Sean.”

He staggered, snorting with laughter, moving quickly around the gigantic kitchen island, lifting the bottle to his lips as he raised a middle finger at her. “Fucking put it down, young lady.”

“Nope,” she chirped, “shan’t do it! Trust me, I’m a mean shot.” Once again, the arrow was aimed.

“You’re also half pissed and squinting,” he tried to reason as he walked backwards into the corridor, holding out his hands. “Seriously, put it down.”

He might have been laughing, but a tiny piece of him was steeped in trepidation, being stalked by a slightly drunken young woman holding a bow, loaded with a very real, very sharp arrow. One miss and he’d go the same way as King Harold II at the Battle of Hastings. “Rin, stop. Look, I’m standing in front of priceless artwork. You can’t, or you’ll hit the Bellini!”

“How did you even know that was Bellini?”

“Because I attended a fucking good school and paid attention. Now seriously, put that down!”

He breathed a sigh of relief when finally, the bow was lowered, Rin placing it as well as the arrow onto the table beside her, snorting with laughter. “Your face was a fucking picture, I swear!”

What was meant to be a simple viewing of her father’s collection of antique weaponry had descended into full blown, drunken shenanigans, Sean finding himself and the bottle of vodka he grasped chased through the house, around the kitchen a couple of times, an apple thrown in his direction along with the suggestion of playing William Tell.

There was no way he’d have placed it upon his head. Not with what he’d seen her drink so far that evening. Still though, it had been an adrenaline pump, he supposed. In Sean’s world, he rarely made room for fun. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been drunk, probably at some point with his dad and brother, although goodness knows when that actually was.

He’d spent the years since his wild time at university making work his number one priority; but there within the walls of Mulford Hall, it felt good to take a weekend off from life, let off a little steam. In more ways than one.

To put it bluntly, he’d never had so much sex in such a short space of time in all of his life. He’d been there for twenty-five hours, slept for seven of them and the rest? Pretty much exclusively sexual between long bouts of talking. Very long, very detailed bouts of talking, about a life that truly, only the other really understood.

“It isn’t normal, it really fucking isn’t,” she began, sitting beside him on one of the very large, very plush outdoor sofas, fingers idly stroking his inner forearm as she reached for her vodka and grapefruit juice. Sean was drinking his over ice, after stating he’d rather eat nettles than have anything relating to grapefruit near his mouth. “I mean, people can throw out the threat of ‘I’ll fucking kill you’ if angered enough, but they don’t mean it. We say it, and we bloody mean it.”

“We do,” he agreed, resting his head back, reaching to place a hand upon her bare knee. “Truthfully, we wouldn’t even need to go that far. We can simply have somebody else do it for us.”

“No, no but really, really,” she stated emphatically, grasping his arm and shaking it with wide eyes.

He returned the gesture. “What? What?”

“Piss taker!”

He snorted softly. “Sarcastic piss taker, I’ll have you know.”

“That too!” She smiled, shaking her head, her fingers going back to touring his inner arm, tracing lines from freckle to freckle. “Oh blimey. I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.” They both began to laugh softly. “That’s your fault, you knob.”

“Guilty as charged,” he spoke, placing his drink back down.

She remained thoughtful for a few moments before her synapses fired, her eyes widening again. “Yes, I’ve remembered! It’s like, this girl in my year at sixth form threatened to beat me up because I’d made the alleged mistake of giving my number to this lad who she was after, because fancying someone equals they’re yours already in her eyes, apparently. Apart from it all being so fucking childish, I just thought to myself, “I could stab you and have your body thrown in a vat of acid, and nobody would ever know.” And I really, really could! It’s half the reason dad bought that chemical plant over by Walthamstow. If you fuck with him, that’s where you end up.”

That particular revelation sent a shiver right through Sean, a remembrance of Kevin’s favourite method of dispatch. He’d even heard that sometimes, his adversaries had still been alive when they’d taken their acid bath. Pulling his thoughts back, he focused again on her, Rin continuing.

“No one would ever know, as I say, and that’s not normal, is it? And the others around me all the way through school, they’ve never even known just how close they’ve been to the kind of danger that’s just fucking regular life for us! For us, it’s entirely normal! Sorry, I know I’m rambling on.”

His hand squeezed upon her knee, Sean crunching an ice cube between his back teeth with a loud crack. “No, no. You’re fine. I remember looking at other students in my class and thinking how they didn’t have the slightest clue either, how far removed their existences were from mine. They all led these safe, mundane little lives, and often I’d find myself wondering what mine would be like if it had matched theirs. Would it even fit, though, I sometimes pondered.”

Her nails left his arm momentarily to comb through her hair, returning after she’d pushed it away from her face. “It would be like attempting to wear shoes upon the wrong feet. Not a good fit, because they weren’t made and moulded for them.”

His eyebrows raised a fraction. “That’s a damned accurate analogy, Rin.”

“It’s how I’ve always felt at even considering walking into any other life than the one I was born into. You hear about it, don’t you, all these people saying criminals such as us have a choice, but we don’t. I wouldn’t know how to act outside of the life I’ve always lived, even though I suppose that’s somewhat of a cop out, my age considered. I can’t say though, for example, if somebody irritated me enough that I wouldn’t hurt them egregiously for it, if I did walk away from the life. That isn’t really walking away though, to take that kind of mindset along.”

He reached for her, thumb skimming her cupid’s bow. “No, because it’s the only one you know.” The wicked world they lived in, Sean got it. He knew it, breathed it, was bred for it. Just like her. The only person she’d ever been involved with in the past who’d understood was Kel, her first boyfriend, the son of a mutual associate of her father and Sean’s, their relationship lasting for just over a year before she’d moved on. Sean had been correct when he’d branded him a prick. He was.

“It’ll only become greater too, the further we both rise. One day, we shall both sit at the head of two powerful criminal families, and then life will change exponentially even more. I sometimes wonder already who the hell I am at times, and I’ll wonder even more then. Do your thoughts ever wander there?”

She watched him, seeming to coil into himself a little more, crossing one arm over his chest to rest it on his shoulder, eyes flitting uncomfortably. Being vulnerable with someone did not come easily to him. “What, how I will be moulded into an image even further removed just to survive a life that seats me upon a throne made of heavy artillery and blocks of heroin? All the time.”

He laughed quietly at the comic face of trepidation she pulled in response to his statement, leaning to rest his head on her shoulder. “I’ve never met anyone who gets it like you do.”

“Yeah,” she confirmed, turning to stroke his face. “Same.”

As they fell into kisses, his head swimming a little from the five very large drinks he’d already had (not being much of a vodka fan, but that was all Rin had) his brain began to scream at him once again. “Delete the fucking video. Find another source to wash the cash through. It doesn’t have to be that building, and it doesn’t have to be her who gets hurt.”

But if it wasn’t, his father would be enraged. He would lose the approval he felt he was finally beginning to earn from him. Before it could gnaw at him too much, he recovered himself, hardening again as he sat up. He truly couldn’t deviate, and he supposed he really should think about leaving...

Reaching for his vodka glass, the reason why he couldn’t was brought to his lips and sunk in its entirety. He was about four times over the legal limit at that point and very much stuck exactly where he was.

“It scares me too, you know.” Reaching for him, she rested her hand to his shoulder, squeezing the muscle softly. “Our father’s shadows offer the kind of safe shade we will be stripped of one day.”

He shrugged her hand away lightly. “I’m not scared of a single fucking thing.” Damn her and the accuracy of her analogies, how astute she was, how such a wise head sat upon her shoulders. She was only eighteen, and already so much more emotionally steady than he. Also, Rin seemed to accept her eventuality in life much more willingly than he did. She was ready, poised for it. Him? He still felt like he had to prove himself within the proverbial shark tank his father was dangling him over.

“Liar.”

He turned with a frown, but Rin could see it was as fake as the very statement he’d made about not being afraid. He opened his mouth, hesitating for a second, studying her. She saw right through him, saw right into him. It was unnerving. At last, though. He’d found someone who did. “You were right, you know. You are a gobby little twat.”

Merely grinning, she picked up their glasses as she stood. “Time for a refill.” Sauntering back across the patio area, she heard him follow. While slicing the pink grapefruit that accompanied her drink, she felt his arms slide around her, the sublimity of his mouth meeting her neck a second later.

“I haven’t been balls deep in your for at least three or more hours,” he began, teeth nipping at her earlobe as she refilled the glasses before her. “I feel this should be rectified.”

She was a little cock sore from the unfettered railing she’d received already that day from him, as well as what had been enjoyed the evening before, but as Rin placed the knife down on the large chopping board to her side, she could not resist the promise of having Sean inside her again.

Rather than agreeing right away, though, she kept him waiting, letting him burn while scooping up the bits of grapefruit rind and carrying them to the bin, Sean melding himself to her. She was hampered by him, giggling at his refusal to cease, but didn’t give in while wiping the counter down and moving the drinks across the island out of the way, rinsing her hands in the nearby sink as his delved into her pants.

“Don’t leave me waiting on this, darling,” he groaned, fingers sinking into her folds, his other hand emerging to grasp one of her tits. “I want to feel you around me, watch you dripping all over my dick, hear those beautiful little moans as I’m fucking you.”

His words shook her, any tentative resolve crumbling, his desire acting like quick erosion upon her as she turned, meeting his mouth with heat and need. He lifted her to the island, slotting himself between her thighs while removing the huge t shirt she’d been wearing, hands kneading her bare breasts, descending hungrily.

“Are you particularly fond of these undies?” he panted, grasping the pink lace in a tight grip.

“Not especially.” They were only a Victoria’s Secret multipack pair; if he tore them from her, they wouldn’t especially be missed. What he did, though. God. She wasn’t expecting him to pick up the knife to her side, push the blade beneath the waistband and literally cut them from her, stabbing the knife back down onto the chopping board before plunging two fingers into her slick.

White heat streaked through her, yearning for him, yanking his t shirt over his head as he kicked off his jeans. The heat of his cock radiated against her inner thigh, fingers burrowed in her deep. As usual, even mere kisses had left her soaking, Sean moaning against her tongue as he grasped his cock and stroked it through her glistening folds.

The gasp that fell from her mouth as he rucked into her hard made his skin prickle, his heart skipping on a beat as he stared at her with intense focus, his hand coming to cup her cheek. Her eyes pulled him into a vortex of emotions he didn’t truly know how to deal with, stirring, yanking him under. It would feel uncomfortable if it didn’t feel so right, but that was a notion that didn’t sit well with him either, closing his eyes and pressing his mouth to the junction of her neck.

Burying himself in the hot clutch of her cunt again and again, it was urgency unmatched, fast, hot and wild as they clutched and grasped at each other. The heat of it burned beneath her skin, the grind of his body tight against her clit making pleasure fall through her like a shooting star, holding his face in her hands and kissing him, all honey and sin, her nails then once again adding to the brandings of lust already present on his back.

He felt immense, so heavy within her tender walls, cock scraping sparks through her, spearing her hard, watching her face contort with the ecstasy from taking the storm that was his fuck inside her. His arm tightened around the narrow of her waist, lifting her from the island, her thighs squeezing around him as she held on around his neck, a shocked exclamation filling the air when he used his free hand to begin spanking her arse with hard, unrelenting slaps.

“I could bounce you on my fucking dick all day long and you’d still crave more, wouldn’t you? Mmm, yes. Such a fuck hungry, dirty girl.”

“Mmm,” she purred, running her tongue up his cheek. “Guilty as charged, and you wouldn’t have me any other way, would you?”

His hand pounded her bum again before turning, shunting her straight into the massive, brushed steel fridge door. “Absolutely fucking not. You are complete sexual perfection.”

Complete sexual perfection was exactly what he gave her, fucking her so hard every single bottle within the fridge door rattled as her body pounded against it, crying out as she felt his cock throb and swell within her. Little strikes of light illuminated her walls, fluttering around him madly as he came, her tide crashing against his shore as she came with a feral shriek.

“Oh god,” she panted, still clutching his shoulders for dear life. “You are such a fucking beast!”

“Mm.”

She frowned curiously, lifting his chin. “Are you alright?”

He smiled, laughing softly through his nose. “Cunt drunk.”

Her giggles filled the kitchen, drowning out his deep, blissed-out hum. “Well, you did say you wouldn’t settle for anything less than delirium.”

“Mm.”

Oh, how hard his orgasm had crashed through him, unable to speak, his heart still hammering strongly while he enjoyed the little slick flutters of her walls around his cock. God, she was truly incredible. He eventually regained the power of speech, his brain engaging again, placing her down onto wobbly legs.

“Steady there, darling.”

“Fuck, you’ve wrecked me,” she exclaimed, picking up her underwear off the floor with snort, placing them into the bin. “I need food and a lie down, in that order.” Forty minutes later, and with a plethora of Chinese delights laid out on trays between them, they sat in the large cinema room on the top level of the house, watching Rin’s Goodfellas, favourite film. It happened to be one of his, too.

“Would you?” she began, dunking a spring roll into a pot of sweet chili sauce while pointing at the screen.

“Would I what, grass on my associates to secure more leniency for my own punishment?” She nodded, Sean taking a few moments to consider the question while chewing through a mouthful of salt and pepper squid. “It would depend on how much I liked the associates.”

“What if you were sworn not to, like the mafioso guys?”

He shrugged, reaching for the bowl of rice. “I’m very much a fan of self-preservation, but equally I do not relish in the idea of being known as a grass. How about you?”

“Simple,” she began, licking sauce from the corner of her mouth, “I wouldn’t get caught in the first place.”

Her statement was either incredibly arrogant, or very naive, he couldn’t help but think. Before he could take it too seriously, she began to laugh softly, nudging him with a soft elbow. “In truth, I don’t think I’d know, you know, until I was in that situation. If it meant fucking over someone I was fond of, then I doubt I’d do it. I know what it means to be loyal.”

An uncomfortable sting stabbed his insides, knowing what still existed on his phone, realising that he was still on course to do that very thing. In just a day, he’d become fond of her, a girl he was ultimately going to fuck over. Or at least threaten with such.

Was this really the price he’d pay to gain the funds, as well as his father’s approval? Wielding power over those directly involved in business by nefarious means was one thing, but involving someone only on the fringes of it truly was another. She’d spoken about the absence of choice to him before, and in this instance, he did have one. He either had to hurt her or himself in whatever he chose.

After they’d finished eating, there was still plenty of the long film yet to view, Rin grabbing one of the blankets from the back of the large sofa they were sitting on, swathing herself in it. He followed suit.

“Does it always get so cold up here?” he asked, fully bundled in buttery soft fleece.

She shuddered right on cue. “It does, yeah. There’s someone coming out to look at the heating as it isn’t pushing through from the boiler properly, meaning the top floor is like a fucking fridge, even now it’s getting a little warmer.” He perished to think just what the heating bill was in winter, heating a house so vast.

He watched her continue to dither, opening the blanket he was wrapped in. “Come on. Get in.” She moved to curl against him, both warming quickly for one another’s body heat beneath the nest of blankets, continuing to watch the film.

On any other Saturday, he’d either be home with his family, or out with his father, Ed and Alex, whether socially or for business. Not sitting in one of the most exclusive restaurants in London and instead, doing something low key away from the polarised world of either his family or work, it was very different for him. Maybe, different could be good. Probably, when he thought on the reality of it, it wouldn’t be.

After the film had ended, they stayed up there talking, bundled in the blankets as they shared much about themselves. Sean found himself talking of events and opinions he didn’t even tell those closest to him, like his brother or Alex. With Rin, he felt something that so seldom happened for him. He felt heard. She understood him on a level few others did, and what’s more, did not judge him for it, or make expectations. She just listened.

It was a valuable commodity in a person.

“Ugh, I have that terrible internal juxtapose,” she spoke as they climbed down a floor at just gone midnight. “I’m both sleepy and horny.”

She tried to stifle the large yawn, Sean laughing softly. “If you want to sleep then don’t worry, I’m sure your horny shan’t be gone in the morning, and neither will I.”

After washing and brushing her teeth, Rin left the bathroom for him to use, feeling his weight dip the mattress behind her a few minutes after. He remained on the left of the bed for a while, but shortly before sleep pulled her into its embrace, so did he.

They remained entwined all night long.

#sean wallace fanfiction #gangs of london fanfiction #sean wallace smut #sean wallace fanfic #sean wallace x ofc #sean wallace fic #joe cole #gangs of london fanfic #gangs of london fic #gangs of london

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bethanydelleman · 1 year ago

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Northanger Abbey Readthrough, Ch 2

Catherine is, "cheerful and open, without conceit or affectation of any kind". This proves to be entirely true. Catherine takes everything at face value and often answers sarcasm earnestly. A truth teller herself, she doesn't seem to realize that anyone else will lie.

Mrs. Morland is just a totally down to earth woman, warning her daughter to keep herself warm and be careful with her pocket money.

But Mrs. Morland knew so little of lords and baronets, that she entertained no notion of their general mischievousness, and was wholly unsuspicious of danger to her daughter from their machinations.

(I love the word "machinations")

I think the section about Sally/Sarah here: "she neither insisted on Catherine’s writing by every post, nor exacted her promise of transmitting the character of every new acquaintance, nor a detail of every interesting conversation that Bath might produce." is a jab at epistolary novels. Epistolary novels have letters which basically recount everything verbatim, which is not very much like a real letter and more like a narrator. Jane Austen may have moved away from this style because of how unrealistic it was, though it is believed that both her first novels had original epistolary drafts.

It was such a disappointment that nothing exciting happened on the way to Bath:

Neither robbers nor tempests befriended them, nor one lucky overturn to introduce them to the hero.

This is just... such a burn. Poor Mrs. Allen. I do think she was cast perfectly in the 2007 Northanger Abbey by the way:

And then we learn about our brave heroine's chaperone:

Mrs. Allen was one of that numerous class of females, whose society can raise no other emotion than surprise at there being any men in the world who could like them well enough to marry them.

We are also informed that her husband, Mr. Allen, is a "sensible, intelligent man". He never shows any regrets about his choice of wife, which puts him head and shoulders above like half of Austen husbands in quality.

This chapter contains our first ball and it is a general failure. After making sure Catherine is very properly dressed, they set off. The Allens have no acquaintance in Bath and the ballroom is very full. It's an uncomfortable and unprofitable evening, but Catherine ends up happy because she hears two gentlemen call her, "a pretty girl". She weathers the disappointment fairly easily.

This line is very anti-love-at-first-sight or Cinderella:

She was now seen by many young men who had not been near her before. Not one, however, started with rapturous wonder on beholding her, no whisper of eager inquiry ran round the room, nor was she once called a divinity by anybody.

It is an inauspicious beginning to our heroine's journey, we must hope for better in the future!

#northanger abbey readthrough #northanger abbey #catherine morland #mrs. allen

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reasoningdaily · 2 months ago

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Pinnacle: The Lost Paradise of Rasta

Click the title link for a FREE Download

N 1932, A JAMAICAN MAN NAMED LEONARD PERCIVAL HOWELL began leading nonviolent protests in Kingston, Jamaica, against British colonial rule. While history books rightly credit Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr. with popularizing nonviolent protest strategies in later years, little is known about Leonard Howell and his vision of self-reliance―poor people working together to build a society of their own.

When Howell first started preaching on street corners in Kingston, he was immediately perceived as "seditious," and he became a target for police harassment. Howell soon founded an organization called the Ethiopian Salvation Society. His idea was to add a religious element to Marcus Garvey's message of African independence. Although Christian values were part of his belief system, he decided to make a break from the Christian interpretation of the Bible and extend the idea of divinity to a living man, Emperor Haile Selassie I, who had been crowned king of Ethiopia in 1930.

Jamaican journalists coined a name for the group: the "Ras Tafarites," or "Rastas."

Howell was arrested several times and was eventually found guilty of sedition and sentenced to prison for two years of hard labor. In 1940, Howell and his growing group of followers moved to an old estate in the parish of St. Catherine. They named their land Pinnacle, and for the next sixteen years built a self-reliant community that would ultimately give birth to the Rastafari movement.

In 1942, Leonard Howell's wife Tenneth gave birth to their second child, who they named Bill.

In Pinnacle: The Lost Paradise of Rasta, Bill "Blade" Howell offers his firsthand account of this utopian community that suffered near-constant persecution from Jamaican authorities.

Howell also dispels many misguided notions about the origins of Rastafari culture, including allegations of sexism and homophobia.

Pinnacle was built on egalitarian principles, and steered clear of all religious dogma.

Pinnacle: The Lost Paradise of Rasta provides a crucial and highly informed new perspective on the Rastafari subculture that Bob Marley would later help to spread across the globe.

The volume includes photographs and original documents related to Pinnacle. 50 B&W Photos and Scans throughout

Click the title link for a FREE Download

#Pinnacle: The Lost Paradise of Rasta #Pinnacle #Rastafarians #Rastafarianism #Gong #Tenneth #BLACK TRUEBRARY #Free Books

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lostfirefly · 9 months ago

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If you ever find yourself lost in the dark and you can't see, I'll be the light to guide you

The idea for fanfic arose completely by accident when I wrote one line in "Tell me what to want to hear...". The events take place before their first quarrel, so Catherine does not yet know the name of the red-haired man.

Description: Buggy and Catherine have been living together for about a month one and a half to two months. Catherine sees him without his clown makeup for the first time (for a completely stupid reason, because these two couldn’t have it any other way).

Warnings: Buggy is frightened and reacts inappropriately. Just the way we like it: fear, tears, insecure Buggy.

Words: 2469

Buggy x OC from my “You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me” series.

The title is taken from "Count on Me" by Bruno Mars.

English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Masterlist

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots

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Catherine was lying in bed alone, trying to sleep, when she heard a familiar heavy exhalation and felt a body plop down next to her on the bed.

“Ouch!” Said a tired voice with a note of misunderstanding.

“My silly clown, you're back!” She said quietly and softly.

“Where's my pillow, Cathie-pie?” Buggy groaned with his face buried in the mattress. He rose to his elbows and looked around the bed.

“Oh, damn! I’m sorry!” Catherine started giggling. “I went to bed. You weren't at home, I missed you and took your pillow for a hug imagining that it was you.” She pulled it out from under the blanket and gave it to him. “Here. See? It's you.”

“I see you took not only my pillow, but also my t-shirt. Again. Pillow, t-shirt. What else are you planning to take from me?” He chuckled, put down the pillow and dropped his head onto it.

"Do you really want to know the answer to this question?" She giggled and looked over her shoulder at him. Catherine reached out her hand and touched his head. "Did you hit it hard? Does it hurt?"

"Nah, I’m fine." Buggy started running his fingers along her back and moved his body a little closer to her.

“It's a pity. I thought you hit yourself hard and already wanted to kiss you just so it wouldn’t hurt so much.” She removed her hand and turned her back to him.

"What? Wait, wait, wait! No, no, no. I did. I did. It hurts a lot. Please, help me. I think I'm already losing consciousness"

“No, you missed your moment, my flashy fool. Next time use your brain first before the answer."

"Little shit." Buggy took her hand, kissed it, and without removing his hand from hers laid them on the bed next to Catherine. She moved her back closer to him and with her other hand she covered him with the blanket.

He tried to kiss her neck but met with the strict "no-o-o".

"But why-y-y?" He started whining.

"You're punished. Remember what you did yesterday?"

"Oh, believe me, I remember. That was too good to forget." Buggy chuckled stupidly.

"I hate you. Damn you and your chop chop thing." Catherine blushed and hid her head under the blanket. "How was the rehearsal?" She asked quietly.

"Better than last time." He pulled her out and kissed her shoulder. "I hope everything will be fine."

“Not fine. Everything will be amazing and incredible! Because you’re amazing and incredible. Will you get me a ticket? I’d like to see your new show.”

"Of course no, you'll be standing in the line to get the ticket just like everyone else. Baby, you'll have the best seat, trust me."

"Sorry, I can't sit on your lap during the whole show. Your female fans won’t understand me and will bite me near your green room." She laughed and lightly scratched his knuckles with her fingers. "By the way, I'm wearing new pajama pants today." Catherine said tiredly.

"Which animals are honored to be on your beautiful ass this time?" He asked barely audibly, placing his chin on the top of her head.

"Camels."

"Camels? I envy them." He hugged her tighter. “Oh, no!! Why did you say that? Now I want to see it.”

He lifted the blanket and was about to go down and look.

"Put the blanket down, asshole. You'll see my pants in the morning!" Catherine pulled his hand back.

Buggy sighed sadly and hugged her again. "Now I want to fall asleep faster so I can wake up faster. Can't wait to see your ass.”

“You're an idiot. But I love you. Do you know that?”

“This is actually the first time I've heard that!” He buried his face in her hair. “Good night, my cotton candy."

"Good night, my Buggy Bear."

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Catherine woke up early in the morning, turned over in bed and brushed her hand across the space in the bed next to her.

"Empty?" She opened one eye. "Buggy?" Catherine asked in a sleepy voice, hardly lifting her head from the pillow. “Damn, I need to pee.”

She barely got out of bed and trudged to the bathroom.

Catherine opened the door and froze.

"Buggy?!" Her eyes widened. He stood in his pajamas, looking for something in his makeup bag, his hair was disheveled and he had an absolutely clean face.

"Oh my.. Your face. You're witho..." Catherine wanted to take a step forward.

Before finishing her sentence, Buggy rushed towards her, covered her eyes with his hand and shouted angrily “out!”.

“Hey! What the fuck?” Catherine squealed.

Buggy pushed her out of the bathroom and locked the door.

"Go away!!" He yelled at her.

“First of all, I didn’t understand what just happened. Secondly, why did you throw me out of the bathroom? And thirdly, open the door!” She knocked on the wooden door with her palm.

Incomprehensible sounds, seasoned with endless “fuck, no” reached her. There was fear in his voice. Scared. He was scared? The roar suddenly came from behind the door. It seemed to Catherine that something heavy had fallen there.

"What happened? Are you okay?" She asked fearfully.

Silence.

"Buggy, open the damn door! I'm serious. This is not funny." Catherine pulled the doorknob a couple of times. “Do I have to break down the door? Believe me, I can do it even though I'm not very tall and thin. Of course it will be hard for me and take some time, but I will do it. Open it! Now!”

She heard the door lock click. Catherine stood in the doorway and didn't know what to do. The mirror in the bathroom was broken and pieces littered the floor. Buggy's right hand was covered in blood. He sat on the floor, burying his face in his knees and crying.

"What happened?" She barely managed to squeeze out a sentence. “W-what…?”

“You shouldn’t have.. Why?.. Not now..” He muttered into his lap, sniffling.

Catherine stepped over the broken mirror and knelt next to Buggy. "Hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I did not want... Not now".

"Didn't want what?" She quickly examined his head, back, arm. “Damn, your arm. Sit here, I’ll get a bandage.” She got up, ran to the kitchen and brought a first aid kit.

Catherine rummaged through the medicine bag in a slight panic. "Where.. Fuck! Oh, oh! Found it! Found it!" She quickly but gently treated his hand and bandaged it.

"Buggy, please look at me, I'm begging you. What happened?"

He shook his head for a long time, constantly sobbing.

Catherine hugged him, put her chin on the top of his head and held him close. “My Buggy Bear, what’s wrong? You constantly mumble that I shouldn’t have done something, but I don’t understand what I shouldn’t have done.” She tried to make a joke, but knew she sounded stupid.

"You weren't supposed to see me like this." He finally said, sniffling periodically.

“Like this? What are you talking about?”

“A freak. And now you’ll leave me, right? That’s basically what everyone did.”

“If I leave you, it will only be to get some tongs or a fucking jack to finally tear your head off your knees.” Catherine ran her hand along his back.

She stayed in the same spot until he calmed down a little. Catherine moved a little and sat on her knees in front of him, running her hands over his arms, his back and his hair. Finally, she gently grabbed his chin and slowly lifted his head.

"And what was that, my silly clown?" She smiled slightly and ran her hand through his hair near his forehead.

"You'll leave me now, right?" Buggy sniffed.

"If it's a strange riddle then I'm not catching up the sense, Buggy. Why should I leave you?"

“Well, because you usually see me as a flashy clown. But in reality I’m not a flashy clown. I’m just a miserable red nose freak. Scorned and apparently abandoned by you soon.”

“Dear God. What are you saying, my Buggy Bear!!” She grabbed his face in her hands. "Look at you. You are still handsome and flashy. Now of course you are all red like your lovely nose, but at the same time you still manage to remain handsome. I even envy you. I’m afraid that when I cry, I look like an amateur in beekeeping!” Catherine barely unhooked his arms and legs. She stood on her knees between his legs, wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “You're the most handsome man I've ever met. You're the flashiest clown I've ever seen. You're the funniest guy I've ever known. You know how lucky I am? I’m so happy that I have you in my life.” Catherine whispered in his ear and gave him a session of quick kisses on his cheeks.

"Shall we go to bed? We don't need to sit here on the floor…” She asked quietly, took his hands and pulled them lightly. "Get up, my little bear. Do you want to look at me? If you don't want to do this, don't do it, that's fine!"

Buggy reluctantly raised his tear-stained eyes to Catherine.

“My boy! Come to me.” She pulled him by the hand and hugged him around the waist.

Buggy looked around the floor and pointed questioningly at the shards of glass.

“I’ll clean it up later, don't worry.”

Catherine led him into the bedroom and sat him down on the bed. "Water? Beer? Whiskey? Do you want to eat or drink something? I'll bring it."

He shook his head.

“But I’ll bring it anyway in case you want it later. Okay? Don't go anywhere.” Catherine checked his hand, pecked him on his cheek and quickly ran into the kitchen. As she gathered everything, she didn't know why but felt the tears flowing from her eyes. She took three deep breaths.

“I’m coming!” Catherine returned to the bedroom with bottles and snacks.

Buggy lay on the bed, curled up and sobbing periodically. She lay down next to him, covered them both with a blanket and hugged him from behind.

"My love, why did you react like this? Why did you say that shit about yourself? I'll kill whoever put that crap into your head. Is that your stupid friend? You mentioned him several times. With red hair. I don't know what happened between you guys but if it's him, then keep him out of my sight. I'll cut off everything I can from him and throw his pieces into the sea to the first shark I come across."

"Don't remind me about him, please." He muttered.

“I’m sorry. I didn't want... He just infuriates me in absentia. No one dares to offend you. I won’t allow anyone to do this.” Catherine kissed him in the temple.

“I’m sorry you saw me like this.. without my.. you know.. A fr...” He whispered.

“Stop saying this awful word, please. First of all, you're not a freak. Second, I’m so so happy that I saw your face.” She ran one hand over his arm. “You know, I’m more than sure that girls come to your show not only because your circus shows are cool and spectacular, but because they’ve fallen for you. I’m not kidding. They also probably have a fan club of yours. They have fans meetings every week, where they exchange your photos and posters, and discuss how amazing you are. You see? I have so many competitors! So I’ll blink an eye and you’ve already been taken away by some other pretty girl. Do you know how sad I will be without you? Who's gonna cheer me up? Who will keep me warm at night? Whose cute red nose will I kiss every morning?”

"You'll find a handsome guy. Without a clown nose and who doesn't fall apart." He mumbled indifferently.

“The guy who doesn't literally fall apart? Ew, what a boring relationship would await me.” She kissed the back of his head and gently touched his hand.

"I don't want you to leave."

"Well then, we're both lucky. I don't want one either.” Catherine stroked his arms and his head. “Can I stay with you? You know. A month. A year. Or forever?”

He nodded and sobbed. "I like the last option." He chuckled slightly.

"Thank you! You're very kind!" She ran her hand over his shoulder. “You know, I understand that you and I are both new to long-term relationships and frankly speaking, this is my first time living with someone. Let's agree this way. You can walk around the house with or without makeup. As you want, okay? I love you in any way. Maybe one day I'll get the privilege of being the only girl in the world who sees Buggy The Greatest Clown without makeup. Maybe one day I will help you apply it. Of course, I’m not very good at this, but you’ll teach me, right?”

Buggy nodded barely and pressed closer to Catherine.

“Cool! Lucky me!" She said in a tone of happiness.

“I guess…”

“Can I ask, my blue-haired fool?”

"Uh-huh..." He said faintly.

“Did.. Did you get up early every morning to put on your makeup and go back to bed just because you felt insecure without it? And you thought I would stop loving you if I saw you without.. well.. you know..”

Buggy shrugged then nodded and slowly turned toward her.

“Hi!” Catherine gently ran her hand over his face.

“Hi…”

She moved closer to him, smiled and pecked him in his nose. Buggy wrapped his arms around her waist and placed his head on her chest.

“Camels…” He said quietly.

“What?”

“Camels. They look amazing on your beautiful ass. I envy them.”

“Idiot!” She giggled and lightly scratched the top of his head.

“Thank you..” He whispered and hugged her tightly.

"You're always welcome, my silly clown. Promise not to do that again. You scared me a lot.” She placed her hand on his back and started and started stroking it.

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

“I don't really know what happened in your past. But.. Just remember, please. Now you're not alone, Buggy. We'll handle all the shit together, okay? I’m here with you. I care about you. I worry about you.” Catherine continued stroking his head. “I love you so so much, my Buggy Bear."

“I don't deserve you..”

"What? I can't hear you. There's some kind of interference. I think you wanted to say something else, right?"

“Little shit.. I said, I love you too, my cotton candy.”

Buggy was silent for a couple of minutes.

“Cathie-pie…”

“I’m listening, my silly clown.”

“I'm hungry. Can you make me pancakes?”

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