#arthur: dressed like a bat

[dramatisperscnae]

bruce that's not how you play peekaboo

[whydon-twego]

"You have Arthur's complete trust" Merlin laughs when Gwen tells him this and asks her what she is talking about.

Gwen looks at him strangely, as if she thinks Merlin is joking but then she sees Merlin's expression and can't hide her surprise.

"Merlin, you do realise that you're the person Arthur trusts most in the world, right?" Merlin chuckles again but this time it is with a sense of guilt and annoyance that won't let him alone.

"I don't think so."

Gwen, who until then had been mending one of Morgana's dresses, puts down her needle and thread and looks at him seriously, Merlin doesn't think he has ever seen her like that.

"You two fooling around and teasing each other is fine, Merlin, but you can't really think Arthur doesn't trust you. You can come and go from his rooms as you please, whether he's there or not, you have the keys to his room, and you're the only person who has them, and the whole castle knows perfectly well that Arthur has priceless things in there. I know you shave him every morning and believe me, that is not the job of a manservant,"

"But he is the one who-"



"That's right, Merlin. He's the one who."

Gwen seems genuinely annoyed that Merlin doesn't grasp how much Arthur trusts him, and Merlin finds himself having a chasm in his chest because he doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about Arthur's trust in him, he doesn't want to think that Arthur thinks Merlin is a person worthy of his trust, because Arthur is the most noble and sincere person in the world and Merlin is hiding most of his life from him.

"I have to go, Gwen."

Merlin leaves everything where he is and does not even turn around when Gwen (probably guilt-ridden from that lecture) calls him back.

Merlin hides in the first crevice he finds and struggles to breathe.

He struggles to breathe because Arthur trusts him and he knows it, but he tries to think about it as little as possible. He tries to live life day by day and not think about tomorrow and how long it is that he is lying to him. He tries not to have a heart attack every time Arthur looks at him and smiles or pats him on the back saying "good job!" or when Arthur is the first to worry about him when they are attacked by bandits.

Merlin tries not to think about Arthur's scream when they were separated on a mission and Merlin had to drop rocks to protect him. He tries not to think about the time he had to steal the keys from Arthur's room and Arthur, finding him in the room early in the morning, didn't bat an eyelid at the excuse of the woodworms because Arthur trusts him and simply told him to leave.

Merlin is a horrible person who does not deserve this kind of trust, not when he is lying to the most important person in his life.

"Breathe."

Merlin, caught in the middle of a panic attack he didn't even realise was happening, jerks at the voice and Arthur's hand resting on his shoulder.

"Breathe, Merlin, come on, in and out, calmly, follow me" Arthur takes deep breaths and Merlin tries to keep up with him but Arthur's mere presence makes the situation worse and Merlin finds himself with tears in his eyes as Arthur looks at him more and more worried.

"Gwen!" shouts Arthur then and Gwen is at his side within moments "Go get Gaius, I can't move Merlin from here in this condition."

Gwen looks at Merlin and she's so worried and feeling so guilty that Merlin wants to say something to her but is already so much if he can breathe.

Gwen leaves and Arthur and Merlin are alone and Arthur strokes his back trying to calm him down and Merlin bursts into tears. 
Arthur lays a hand on his shoulder and settles him on top of him, not holding him too tightly for fear of Merlin's breathing getting worse.

"I was looking all over for you, you know? I thought you'd be at the tavern or having fun somewhere and instead, I find you here doing the doppol-head."

Merlin laughs between sighs and sobs and Arthur continues.

"You have a myriad of tasks to do. My armour is completely ruined, I have no idea where my sword is and you were supposed to revise my speech for this afternoon but apparently, you had better things to do."

Merlin's breathing calmed and he was finally able to concentrate better, noticing that the king was sitting on the dirt floor next to him and practically rocking him.

"Arthur…"

Arthur turns his head slightly but they still can't make eye contact.

"I have magic."

Arthur stiffens and Merlin already feels lost without his king by his side even though he is still physically there.

"Alright," Arthur murmurs and Merlin gets up to look at him because there is no way he is hearing correctly. Arthur turns to look at him and his expression isn't the happiest but Merlin can't blame him "we've been through a lot worse, haven't we?"

And etiquette be damned, what is right or not right to do at court, Merlin throws himself onto his king and holds him as if he never wants to let him go again, holds him trying to tell him everything he is unable to say right now in words.

Arthur holds him just as tightly and Merlin finally knows that everything will be all right.

And that is how Gwen and Gaius find them, embraced tightly in the middle of a corridor in Camelot.

[incorrectbatfam]

Supersons with the Justice League. How will it go?

Oliver: How are you liking it here?

Damian: We don't.

Jon: It's so boring. There's nothing to do.

Oliver: Well, don't tell Bats I told you, but he keeps some extra of his butler's cookies in the break room.

———————

Jon: Look, it's Atom!

Damian: I imagined him taller.

Ray: Superman, Batman, were you playing with my shrinking tech?

Jon, whispering to Damian: Let's play along so we don't hurt his feelings.

Jon: Whoops, I guess we were. Sorry.

Ray, internally: They're playing along! I'm gonna get a good grade in uncle, something that's normal to want and possible to achieve.

———————

Dinah: Why are you outside my dressing room?

Jon: You're a really good singer.

Damian: I can get you in contact with an agent.

Dinah: Thanks, but I already have one.

Damian, handing her a business card: Let me rephrase that. I can get you in contact with a BETTER agent.

Dinah: ...You have my attention.

———————

Jon: So can you construct anything you want?

Hal: As long as I have the willpower and imagination.

Damian: What about these?

Damian: *shows him their Cheese Viking OCs*

[five minutes later]

Jon: Eat cheddar!

Damian: You are no match against my almighty parmesan blade.

Hal: Note to self: talk to Carol about kids.

———————

Jon: Race you down the hall!

Damian: Last one there has to pay for lunch.

Barry: You're on.

Damian and Jon: *zoom off*

Barry: *walks at human speed*

———————

[at lunch]

Damian: Is this vegetarian?

Zatanna: Nairategev ti ekam.

Zatanna: It is now.

Jon: While you're at it, can you please make these nuggets dino-shaped?

———————

Damian: Thank you for the gingerbread craft supplies. We have created something for you in return.

Jon: *shows him a gingerbread Atlantis*

Arthur: *chokes up remembering his son would've been as old as them*

Arthur: I shall make sure my whole kingdom sees this.

———————

Damian: So we have Jon, Jon, and J'onn. This is why I call people by last name.

Jon Kent: We can start a club!

J'onn: That sounds a little childi—

Jon Stewart, elbowing J'onn: Sure!

Jon Stewart, whispering to J'onn: Don't you dare crush the kid's dreams.

———————

Diana: *happily ruffling their hair*

Damian: *scowling*

Jon: *smiling*

———————

Bruce: Thank you all for watching my son.

Clark: Mine too.

The Justice League:

[grymghoul]

It didn't take long for you to find out that teasing ARTHUR MORGAN was fun. Batting your lashes at him is one thing.. you take it to a whole other level. The moment there's no eyes on you two, your palm is pressed to the front of his pants. You can trace the outline of his cock and you won't stop until you can feel every vein and ridge. Until his head is neatly outlined against the inside of his right thigh. Then you scoot off to do something else, smiling in self satisfaction. Sometimes, when he's journaling or otherwise distracted, you'll sneak between his thighs. Not really sneak, he's all too aware of your presence and the almost nuisance like quality you contain. Hell, his hand even rests on the crown of your head, a subconscious tic. However, it always jolts him when he feels your hot mouth on him from outside his pants. He'll shift his hips, as if asking nicely for you to not tease him this time. It's like you're trying to suck on him from outside of his jeans. He can be a proud man, but he's not too proud to admit he's almost cum from that alone. You can be absolutely torturous to the poor man. He'll bite his bottom lip, try to go back to journaling or reading, he'll tug at your hair. None of it deters you. Especially the hair tugging, seeing him squirm and be too much of a gentleman to tell you to stop unless you plan to choke on his cock. Some of the things he can be teased with are so simple, it's nearly laughable. When you tug him by his belt, the bandana around his neck, even tugging on a singular button of his shirt gets him going. Just enough for his dick to twitch. The worst part? You always choose times where he can't just have you. He can't just pull you into bed and fuck the teasing right out of your silly brain. He can't just shove you face first into the mattress and egg you on for as long as he wants, ignoring your whimpers and sobs. Partially because he's not entirely a degenerate, the other part is that canvas tents aren't really sound proof. He makes a whole elaborate show of getting you back. A nice (as nice as it can get) dinner, something fun like dancing, and a room for the night. Complete with a bath. He's sure to space it out between your teases and his nights out with you that you remain unsuspecting. But the second he's got you well fed and pampered and entertained (so you can't cause him anymore grief), he's on you. Deep kisses and wandering hands, slowly your clothes fall off. Before you realize it, he's got you crying out into your pillow, make up all ruined (he insisted you dress nice for this outing, he really just wanted your face to stain even more hotel pillows). He thought he was so clever. That you'd never catch on. That you'd always be in the dark. He never stopped to wonder why you insisted on teasing him so much.

[sendhelporcaffeine]

My personal headcanon is that each of the members of the Hex remember in some way, subconsiously, of the previous loop whenever Alice resets it.

For Amir he just gets this fuzzy idea for a Fables and Frontiers character but he feels like he heard it from somewhere, or someone, else but just can't remember who or what told him about it.

For Aoi, when she has Alice try boba tea for the "first time", she just somehow knows how Alice likes her boba tea, which to her is weird because as far as she knew, Alice had never tried it before.

Quincy finds it odd that Alice is not only blending in fashion wise with the current year, but she's slaying it. Despite the fact he never gave her fashion pointers or even had a chance to call her out on dressing from the future.

Lettie? She finds it kind of odd that Alice just immeditaly knows all of her rats by name and they get on with her so well right off the bat.

Eleanor can sense something is "off" with Alice, but can't figure out what.

And Arthur? Whenever Alice is around him he just feels this pain in his chest. Like he knows he's missing something and it's breaking his heart, he just doesn't know what.

And maybe they find out someday. Maybe it's because Eleanor finally manages to pry into Alice's head enough to find out the truth. Or maybe Alice returns to the future and that triggers everyone's memories. And then they have to deal with that.

[39nnfq]

Writing some house party/boiler room set/rave Hex and wanted to share my ideas with the class before I upload to AO3

Read under cut :3

Aoi — happy hardcore number 1 fan. She’s the most likely to been to many raves throughout her life. Designated “rave mom” who has been around the block enough to carry fans, water, binkies, etc. You name it, she’s got it on hand. The Queen of Kandi by the way, she knows how to many anything from cuffs to masks. The light shows she gives with her new abilities would go CRAZYYYY. Probably the one to drag the Hex to parties in the first place.

Amir — you keep this boy away from any substances PLEASE or else he will start to bounce off the wall. Like a dog (haha) he will probably ingest anything anyone offers him and then after eating enough questionable things (illicit substances) he will throw up and learn his DARE lesson for the day. Will probably have a lot of fun dancing with Aoi and Eleanor but his social battery may run out relatively quickly because too many lights and people (he’s a people’s person but only to an extent). Loves light shows and the atmosphere of so many people having fun in the same place at the same time. Probably needs a toddler leash by how many times he’s simply gotten lost in the crowd chasing something that got his attention

Eleanor — guys to me.. she is a former trad and/or cyber goth. She likes industrial music and knows how to muzz and all that fun stuff. She also knows how to do makeup and will use Amir (and Arthur) as mannequins for her old trad goth makeup. Eleanor likes to bond with the others and see them happy, elbowing the sulking Arthur with a drink in his hand and motioning to the others having fun. This is the one time where she’ll break out the old dresses and thick high boots like back in the day.

Quincy — He’s not so much there for the dancing or the experience as much as he’s there to make potential connections (and “connections”). To be honest he’s rather be at the regular bar knocking back drinks and flirting with hotties, buuuut seeing everyone have fun warms his heart is something new. Will goad Lettie and Arthur into dancing too (to their annoyance). He likes to meet people and build connections as he goes, the man of many exchanges he is. HOWEVER. If you DO somehow get him on the dance floor, he would tear it to SHREDS. He knows how to jumpstyle and hakken (how did he learn that??)

Lettie — She went when she found out Arthur and Quincy were somehow talked into going. Has to play “rave mom #2” but against her will (she feels responsible for the safety of the Hex). Would probably stay in the back with her drink watching everyone else have fun, but when Amir eventually overdoes his high she trip-sits him most of the time. Brings extra narcan and water for anyone who needs it. After enough alcohol in her system she could be convinced to dance ONE TIME.

Arthur — alright alright he is undoubtedly very Anti Fun (not because of his personality but because when you’re old you get a Little Grumpy) but if you’re telling me he wasn’t also a baby bat/emo/punk kid who went to lots and lots of basement shows, you’re indubitably WRONG!! (Some of this comes from Eleanor and when she was a trad goth growing up he wanted to be Just Like Her, but always gave himself “panda eyes” with her eyeliner). He knows how to have fun, boiler rooms and raves simply aren’t his jam. Also, at his grown age he thinks he is “too old” to dance and have fun, so he prefers to “keep an eye on everyone” from a distance at the corner of the room, beer/solo cup in hand as he taps a foot to the beat. But take him back to a punk show? No one is safe in the pit. Trust.

[sparring-hyena]

gorgeous.

based on this post i made recently because i have zero chill.

OR, the one where they meet again years later and maybe hate isn’t what we think it is.

-

Poppy hates her immediately. again.

a loud laugh rips through the ball room, slides seamlessly between mingling guests and gentle music. Poppy's attention snaps away from her parents' friend's cousin's son who's droning on about rowing and his private equity firm and about how it was oh so lovely to summer in Florence this year.

Poppy sips her drink, makes an effort to not roll her eyes, and tries to focus back on what... Angus or Anthony (something with an A, she thinks) had been saying.

and then there's the laugh again--loud and alive and unapologetic. no one else seems bothered by it. no one else even bats an eye at the disruption.

Poppy cranes her head to look around the ballroom now, fully forgetting about Arthur or Andrew and everything he had been saying. and then she sees her.

her in the dark dress shimmering in the light like the goddamn inky black midnight sky. her with the toned arms and long fingers holding gently onto a flute of champagne. Poppy's eyes dip to the slit in her dress that runs dangerously high up her thigh. up, up, up and then--

Poppy sees her face.

and she thinks no, it can't be.

and the universe hums and says oh, yes, it can be.

she flips her hair over her shoulder and for one glorious second, the world around them stops, they share a quiet smile that hides years of unsaid truths, and Poppy thinks that maybe, just maybe, she'll be able to get out of this unscathed.

then the world roars back into focus, she is smirking now, and Adam or Alexander is gently touching her arm and asking if she's alright.

"sorry, what was that?" Poppy says, blinking it all away and trying not to think about her racing heart.

"i was asking if you wanted to go for a walk," he says, "my place isn't too far from here."

"oh, uh, no, thank you." Poppy tips back the rest of her drink, leaves the empty glass on the table, and ventures deeper into the ballroom, hoping that she can get lost for the next few hours.

she grabs another flute of champagne from a passing waiter, takes one long sip, and decides that it's too claustrophobic inside. she can feel a warmth in her cheeks and a tingling itchiness beneath her skin.

she steps out into a small outdoor area, where the sounds of the party are muffled by the thick stone walls. Poppy decides that she will give herself one minute. one minute to breathe and freak out and curse out whatever force of the universe thought that this would be funny. one minute to do all of that and then pack it up and go back inside with her head held high as she braces for an assault of questions from her parents about why she screwed up yet another perfect and ideal match.

god forbid she be a person and not some status symbol for her parents.

Poppy's just about to go back inside, just about to pack it all back in, when she turns around and comes face to face with her--AJ Hughes.

"i thought i saw you across the room," AJ says as she reaches out to gently push a loose piece of hair behind Poppy's ear.

Poppy flinches away from the touch.

"ouch, really?"

"what do you want?"

AJ shrugs and actually has the audacity to look shy or nervous or unsure. Poppy has never hated anything the way that she hates that.

"i just thought..." AJ starts.

"thought what? that you'd walk back into my life after six years and try make a mess of it again? i am the best i have ever been and i don't need you dragging me down to your level. so if you don't mind--" Poppy pushes past AJ and at the last possible second, AJ reaches for Poppy's hand.

there's barely any contact. AJ's fingers barely touch her hand, but it's enough to make Poppy stop and look back at her. it's enough to send a spark of energy coursing through her veins and setting her nerve endings alight.

Poppy snaps her hand back. she doesn't say anything, can't say anything because the shock of it all renders her brain to mush and has her heart beat thundering in her chest.

she makes her escape quickly after that. doesn't say anything to AJ as she leaves her alone outside. doesn't even bother to say anything to her parents--she'll take the verbal lashing tomorrow when she wakes up hours after them and they accuse her of all sorts of things.

the outside air is cool against her flushed cheeks; reminds her that summer is well and truly over and that fall is setting in.

Poppy hails a cab and deeply exhales when she falls back against the seat. she decides that tonight was a one time thing. a one time lapse in judgement where she let her guard down and AJ caught her. it doesn't even matter really, because she won't ever have to see AJ again.

another six years will fall away, and then six more after that, and again and again, until she's so far removed from the life she's living now, that the name AJ Hughes will be the echo of a memory.

it's barely six weeks before Poppy's mingling and dancing and drinking at another gala that her parents have dragged her too. this one's to raise money for sick kids so she feels less bad about being here, but still wishes her parents would leave her alone for just one night and not try to set her up with someone.

she dodges another invite home, is always firm yet polite about how she does that, because her parents would never let her hear the end of it if someone took offence to something that she said or did, and she's on thin ice as it is with them. has been for years in fact, and can't quite seem to mend what was broken.

sometimes just as she's about to fall asleep, when she can blame it all on a sleep-fogged brain, she thinks about what her life could have been like had she just done something different. had she stood up to her parents all those years ago. had she stopped pretending that any of it made her happy. had she just accepted what AJ had been so willing to give her.

that last one always comes right at the end, right as she's about to fall off into sleep. and sometimes those what ifs bleed into her dreams and leave an ache in her chest when she wakes again.

Poppy moves easily between the other guests and even plucks another flute of champagne from a passing waiter. and just as she turns back around, Poppy sees AJ across the room. again.

and after a second that stretches on for way too long, where Poppy's heart beats dangerously in her chest for something that she refuses to acknowledges even exists, AJ returns to her conversation as though her entire world hasn't been shifted. as though Poppy's the only one experiencing this.

Poppy huffs. fine. ignore her then.

ignore ignore ignore. Poppy can do that.

the nights and galas and events carry on after that, bleeding and muddling together. sometimes there are sit down dinners, and sometimes--rarely--Poppy and AJ are seated next to each other and have to both play like civil acquaintances in front of everyone else at their table.

mostly though--mostly--Poppy doesn't entertain a single thought of AJ. although sometimes she wonders if by not thinking about her at all, it actually counts as thinking of her. that just winds up frustrating herself more and she reaches for more champagne from passing waiters.

and then some time at the end of winter, when the snow is slush and the sky has a hazy grey tint, Poppy makes a mistake. she's alone with AJ. although not alone alone. they're on a packed elevator, pressed shoulder to shoulder in the back.

AJ keeps one arm folded over her chest at first, tries her best to keep some space between them, but it's all so pointless because Poppy can still feel every minute movement from AJ.

so they aren't alone, but it sure feels like they could be, because for all her efforts, all Poppy can think about is the way that their arms press together.

and then--then then then--AJ moves her arm from across her chest down beside Poppy's own arm.

Poppy doesn't move, doesn't dare breathe or look at AJ.

AJ brushes her fingers against Poppy's, and then Poppy does something regretful. she forgets where they are and what they are and-- everything. she forgets it all and holds AJ's fingers in her own. holds on so tightly and desperately wishes for the elevator to slow or stop altogether.

she feels warm all over and wonders where it all went so wrong.

and then the elevator stops, dings, and the doors slide open.

Poppy releases AJ's hand and follows everyone else off. but AJ stays with her back against the elevator for a moment, and Poppy allows herself one more moment of weakness to look back.

Poppy wonders how the doors haven't closed yet. thinks that maybe this is the universe again trying do something-- nice or cruel? she's not too sure.

"we could be happy," AJ whispers, not that she needs to, there's no one else around.

and her words stab into Poppy's heart and twist and dig and burrow in so deep she doubts she's ever be able to get them out.

everything around her slows for a moment. Poppy can see the doors beginning to close, can see that AJ's not going to get out, can see this moment slipping away. can see all the other moments from years ago and years from now playing out in a montage in her mind, all slipping away.

and she wonders why why why it all has to be so stupid and messy and complicated and-- she steps into the elevator just as the doors shut firmly behind her. and in that same breathless second, AJ bounces off the wall, meets her halfway, and drags her into a perfect kiss.

she hates herself a little for refusing this, for spending so many years unhappy. because if what she feels right now with her hands in AJ's hair, and AJ's on her waist, and their lips locked together, is any indication of what she'll feel tomorrow and next week and years from now--

"promise me," AJ says, breathing the words against Poppy's lips. "promise me that we'll try, because i can't--"

"it'll be hard work."

"i know."

"i'm stubborn and mean."

"i wouldn't want you any other way."

"i promise." Poppy kisses her and then again for good measure. "i've missed you."

"i can't do another six years without you."

"you won't have to."

[brujahinaskirt]

CLEARLY He's British, of Course has severe age problems and is thereby incredibly easy to contort into transphobic messaging, but I have to say I think it's strong evidence for, at bare minimum, an Arthur who is intimately In The Know. cause like. my prince did not bat a single fucking eyelash. he wasn't even surprised. not even one question about it. not even like "whaaaa why the hell are you dressed like that?? Margaret??? Huh?????" Sure he gets cheesed off at Margaret later (only when it's clear Margaret is made of lies) but at that first meeting? Easy. Whatever. Cool story, madame. Normal life hours. My dude stumbles upon a man in a frilly dress cursing Daddy in the wilderness and Arthur's just like sure you got it queen. No thang.

[dramatisperscnae]

Bruce Wayne, absolute gremlin Never let anyone tell you otherwise.

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Trick or Treating with the Shelby's

Grace finds out that Tommy has never gone trick or treating.

_______________________________________________________

“Oh, come on, it'll be fun. Didn’t you ever go door to door and ask for treats for Halloween Tom?” Grace smiled at him as she cut holes in one of their nice sheets. He shook his head. She wasn’t sure if it was from her defacing their property for the sake of a costume or if it was the suggested activity of tonight.

“You forget who and what I am Grace. I'm the devil of Birmingham. I remember that on this night, me, John boy and Arthur used to egg people's houses on devils night, not beg for candy.” He smirked as her jaw dropped. She’d never heard of such a thing but she could see a teenage Tommy doing such a thing to neighbors when he’d been younger. 

“We’ll I think Charlie would have fun, besides, John's kids are going trick or treating and Harry said he'd have candy at the Garrison.” Grace grinned knowing she’d win the argument and he’d give in.

“Fine, but I'm not dressing up.” He said resolutely as he dug out a cigarette and lit it. He offered her one but she shook her  head no and smiled broader. She was up to something. 

“I thought you were already the devil. What would the devil do to me? ” she quipped back, looking him up and down seductively. He knew he looked wicked now, that was an invitation for sex if he’d ever heard one. 

“I could love you like the devil if you have an extra hour Mrs. Shelby.” She giggled as he advanced on her gently knocking them down into the bed and lacing his fingers with her before devouring her in heated kisses. 

_____________________________________________________________

They made their way through the misty Birmingham streets going door to door doing more visiting than getting candy. The street lights cast a yellow haze on the misty cold streets adding to the chill and effect of the dreary ghosty night.  Tommy had complained of chilled feet and the promise of warm whiskey at the Garrison. 

They knocked on John's door hearing ghostly and monstrous noises on the other side. 

Tommy chuckled as his younger brother flung open the door releasing his little monsters out onto the streets.

Ghosts, witches and cats hooted and hollered around Charlie and his parents. Esme had outdone herself with their costumes. 

“What are you Tommy?” His brother asked amusedly, looking him up and down. John wasn’t dressed up either.

“I’m the devil, haven't you heard?” He replied dryly, causing John to erupt with laughter.

“ I think a lot of people round ere would agree with you.” John smiled and hugged Grace tightly. “Ghosts are popular this year, eh?” He said to her while making conversation. She shrugged and chased Katy around while they boo’d at each other. Charlie giggled as he “helped” chase his cousin around the street.

“I told Esme she should go as a pumpkin since she is so round right now with my fifth child.” Tommy and John both laughed at that until they heard Esme yelling and cursing up stairs.

“Shut up John, or you’ll be a proper ghost by night's end!” She yelled down the stairs. John closed the door blushing and gathered his kids around handing them pillow cases. 

“Come on you little monsters, mama wants some candy for ‘er and the babe.” John followed talking with Tommy as Grace carried little Charlie dressed as a baby bat. He was snuggled into her all tired from the long night which had barely started for the adults.

After a while they weaved their way down the lane to a familiar doorstep.

They knocked on Polly's door. She answered looking unamused but her smile broke out when she saw all the children.

“Oh, look at you a lot. The Shelby's dressed as they are. Like little devils and monsters. Come inside. Aunt Polly will watch you while your parents down their own spirits at the Garrison. Go!” She pointed to the adults sending them down the street as she took Charlie from Grace, the other children rushed past yelling already on a sugar high.

“You break something and I'll bust your parents' heads for it.” She slammed the door as Grace shook her head. The night hadn’t gone exactly as planned but she still enjoyed sharing a new tradition with Charlie and Thomas. Her perfect little family.

[incorrectbatfam]

Bruce broke his foot (again) and now someone needs to fill in as Batman. Who's donning the cowl and who's making calls to get off the planet so they don't have to do it?

Bruce: Casting calls are now live.

Duke, nervously getting onstage: Hi.

*microphone squeaks*

Duke: M-my name is Duke Thomas and I'm auditioning for the role of Batman.

Bruce: Show me what you got.

Duke: *clears his throat*

Duke, reading from a script: "Stop right there, Joker! Your days of evildoing have come to a—"

Duke: Actually, I have some notes. From a writer's standpoint, this reads less like the Dark Knight and more like a 60s sitcom.

Bruce: Next!

Selina: What better person to be Batman than the woman who has him wrapped around her finger?

Bruce: You know that's not how it works.

Selina: I've been practicing my quick change so I can be both of us in one fight. Come on, Bat. Can't bend the rules for the love of your life?

Bruce: I love you, but next!

Tim: I'm auditioning for the non-dictator Batman.

Bruce: Not taking any chances. Next!

Cassandra: *flips onstage in a series of elaborate acrobatics*

Cassandra: *beats the training dummy*

Bruce: Impressive. Now, I'll give you a scenario and you act it out as if you're Batman, okay?

Cassandra: *nods*

Bruce: A lost child walks up to you. What's the first thing you say?

Cassandra: You will make an excellent Robin.

Bruce: Yes—I mean, no. No. Next person, please.

Dick: I don't get why I have to audition. I mean, I was Batman.

Bruce: Hm, you're right. Let's give someone else a turn. Next!

Jason, in an improvised costume: I am the darkness. I am the night. I am...

Jason: *whips out guns*

*BANG BANG BANG*

Bruce: Next!

Stephanie: Can I try out?

Bruce: Sure, why not. Let's say you're negotiating a hostage situation. What do you say?

Stephanie: I'll give you Bruce Wayne's credit card if you let these people go.

Bruce: Next!

Barbara: I have programmed an advanced speaker system that will project your grunt from every gargoyle in the city.

Bruce: Grunting doesn't send people to Arkham. Next!

Damian: *walks in*

Bruce: No.

Bruce: Last one left is Kate.

Kate: Don't look at me, I'm just trying to find my keys.

Bruce, groaning: Patrol's in an hour. How am I gonna find a replacement?

Alfred: Master Bruce, perhaps I can substitute for you on the field.

Bruce: Thanks for offering, but I can't let you put yourself in danger like that.

Alfred: Then might I suggest, as Ms. Kyle said, bending one of your rules?

Bruce: Hm...

[later]

Joker: With a push of a button, I'm going to send this entire street sky high!

Clark dressed as Batman: Not if I can help it.

Joker: What is this, some sort of flying device?

Clark: Some changes were made.

Joker: Like what?

Diana, dressed as Batman: Like this.

Diana: *lassoes the Joker*

Joker: There's two of you?!?

Ollie, dressed as Batman, perched on a gargoyle: A little more than that.

Dinah, dressed as Batman: And we have some new tricks up our sleeve. Like this.

Dinah: *screams*

Arthur, dressed as Batman, bursting from the sewer: And this.

Arthur: *catches Joker in a whirlpool*

Hal, dressed as Batman, pointing his ring: And this.

Hal: *traps Joker in a ball*

J'onn, dressed as Batman: May I?

Zatanna, dressed as Batman: I want in too.

Hal: Okay, all of us on the count of three.

Everyone: *bounces Joker back to Arkham*

Barry, dressed as Batman: *runs in late*

Barry: Aw man, I missed it!

[babotaee]

You had met him long before he was Cal.

It had been another scorching July day in Los Angeles, but you knew that once the sun had set, the ocean breeze would roll in as it always does, chilling the night air.

You wanted to say home— you really did— but your girlfriends wouldn’t stop pestering you about “getting back out there” after your most recent breakup. You really knew it was just another excuse for them to see those stupid bikers that they always talked about at their favorite bar. Nevertheless, you had agreed to go with them that night, deciding that it would be good for you to get out of the house.

As you walked in through the doors, you were met with an array of wolf whistles and teasing comments. While your friends seemed to bask in all the attention from the grimy men, you, on the other hand, quickly became self conscious of your appearance. A bubblegum pink mini dress (his favorite because it reminds him of the day you two met) fit snugly around your curves, while a thin white sweater—more for looks rather than protection from the cold— draped loosely over your shoulders. a matching white headband adorned your head, pulling your hair back and away from your face. was it too much for a place like this? you thought, wrapping your sweater tighter around your waist.

When your friends decided to walk over and talk to a couple of guys by the pool table, you chose to break off from the group to find some place more secluded. Trying your best to ignore all the unwanted attention, you walked along the sticky floor of the bar and found your way over to a table in a quiet back corner of the building, giving you a perfect view of everyone inside. Sitting down and scanning the room, you watched as your girlfriends batted their eyelashes and twirled their hair like little schoolgirls talking to the rough looking men. You just could not understand what they saw in those guys. As your eyes continue to trail across the room, your gaze eventually set upon two men sitting at the bar, looking very deep in conversation.

At first, you couldn’t see the face of the tall one closest to you, his greasy blonde head facing toward the other man, But he looked the same as all of them— dirt stained 501s, clunky brown boots, and a denim vest that read: dead devils california layered over an old leather jacket. you watched intently as he turned his body towards the bar, taking a sip of his bottle of beer and simultaneously revealing his side profile to you. Despite the dimly lit room, you could tell that he was attractive— like really attractive, at least compared to this crowd. As you eyed his almost delicate features, you didn’t even notice that he had also began staring at you until your eyes finally met his soft blue ones.

Mortified for being caught staring, you frantically grabbed your lipstick and pocket mirror out of your purse. You hoped to look distracted by touching up your makeup, but you were quickly met with a view of your own reddening face staring back at you, worsening the embarrassment. by the time you looked back up from your mirror, he had disappeared from his place at the bar and was slowly pushing his way past the other drunken patrons— and over to you. You could not believe this was happening.

“I’m Arthur” his surprisingly soft voice says when finally approaches your table. “mind if I sit here?”

trying your best to be cordial, you introduce yourself and allow him to sit down across from you as you waited nervously for what he had to say next.

“I saw you sitting by yourself over here and thought I’d come introduce myself. Can I maybe buy you a drink?” he said, grabbing a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and placing it between his lips.

A sudden wave of confidence rushed over you as you watched him look down to light it, “Sure, you can buy me a beer— but I’m not looking to go home with you tonight… or anyone else here for that matter”

“No need to get salty little lady, taking ya home with me isn’t what I have in mind.” he let out a chuckle, “I honest to god jus wanna get to know you.”

“Well I ain’t looking for anything serious either.”

“then nothing serious has to happen between us.”

As the night went on, the two of you began to loosen up more and more with each sip on alcohol, chipping away at each others walls and telling the other things you’d probably regret telling a stranger the next morning. You told him about the recent breakup you went through with a boy who didn’t know how to treat you right, and how your girlfriends, despite how much you love them, weren't always there when you needed them the most. In return, he told you about his childhood in Canada, his undesirable discharge from the army for, “always being salty,” and how he ended up with the dead devils.

“If you’re here so often…” you pause, glancing up towards his face, “how come I never hear any of my girlfriends talk about you?” you ask, plucking the cigarette from between his long fingers and raising it to your lips to take a drag, never breaking your eye contact with him.

“well” he shrugs, maintaining eye contact, “I’ve never really talked with them that much to be honest. I like to keep to myself I guess.”

“but you came over and talked to me?” you said curiously, passing the cigarette back to him.

“Like I said, I jus wanna get to know you.”

You hated to admit it to yourself so soon after a breakup, but you were smitten, and you think he knew it too. You had always been slightly intimidated by all the bikers that you had been introduced to before, but here was Arthur— a bikerider— who, despite his rough exterior, also happened to be so calm and soft spoken and intuitive and beautiful— really beautiful. By the end of the night, Arthur’s taking you back to your home on the back of his motorcycle, your arms wrapped tightly around his middle. His large jean jacket hung over your shoulders, protecting you from the cold.

3 months later you married him.

[lizdonnelly]

Appearances

Pairing: Elizabeth Donnelly x f!reader, suggestions of Alex Cabot x Olivia Benson Warnings: Smut, language Summary: "We do not see people as they are, but as they appear to us." Takes place after the events of 3x21 ‘Denial'

---

Alex Cabot would admit to being many things, but a pushover was not one of them. The ADA crossed her arms and adjusted herself on the bench within the cell, adamant that back talking to Lena Petrovsky would be worth the ass chewing that would surely ensue when the news reached the Bureau Chief that her subordinate was being held in contempt. Adjusting her watch, Alex realized it was already well past six. She bit the inside of her cheek at the thought of Liz receiving the phone call during dinner. While the woman was typically volatile enough as it was, any interruptions Alex had spurred on after hours lately had inspired an especially caustic response. A few rumors were circulating around the DA's office, and to their credit, they tracked with the reputation that preceded Liz.

"Elizabeth Donnelly? They're promoting that radical feminist?" Arthur Branch had scoffed over a glass of whiskey at the annual holiday benefit when he had asked Alex who had the honor of being her new boss. "She had everyone's balls in an iron vice back in the 70's until she let a perp escape out the bathroom window. Ruined her reputation, but didn't fix that attitude."

Alex feigned a smile in acknowledgement, tracing her thumb along the edge of her champagne flute. She couldn't lie, her family ties and pedigree had certainly helped carry her through the conservative boy's club that the DA's office had been, but she liked to believe she knew enough of the script to ease through on her own accord. If it worked at Harvard, how could it be any different at Manhattan SVU?

"You know, it's always been an open secret that she bats for the other team," Arthur derided. "Explains a lot, don't you think?" Alex's blood cooled.

"Here's what I don't understand..." Ripped back to reality at sound of the harsh, staccato voice that echoed down the hall, Alex braced herself. She straightened her back out and smoothed her brow. Time to test her resolve. "Yes, ma'am. That's correct, she's just down that way. Check the second cell on the right."

--- Liz turned to you before she headed down the hallway, voice softening. "Stay here while I go give her a reality check," she said. "It shouldn't take long." You nodded, leaning against the guard's desk. You adjusted your grip on the takeout bag that you had asked the restaurant for as soon as Liz received the call. Although your shift at Mercy General's ER had been fatiguing, the idea of a cozy dinner with your girlfriend had carried you through the workday. With drama stirring up again on Liz's end, it had been about a week since you'd last been able to have a proper night out with her. Despite your understanding of the responsibility that came with her career, an all too familiar feeling had begun clawing its way through you. "You cold over there all by your lonesome, miss?"

Startled, you turned around. Two guards stood behind the desk, and one winked.

"Sweetheart?" Liz stood in the doorway of her bedroom. You paused your motions, eyes widening as you looked up at her.

"You must be cold all alone like that," she said faintly, slowly walking closer. "Run out of patience waiting for me to get back?"

It was true. Although you had only started formally dating her for a few months at the time, you both fell quicker and harder than you thought you could. You felt a wave of shame at succumbing to the ache that had gnawed at you, broke you. She had been pulled into a particularly demanding case, and hadn't been able to follow through on a date night in over two weeks. Liz had suggested you spend the night, promising she'd be home before midnight to make reparations for lost time, but you had made the mistake of watching her get dressed for her court appearance earlier that day. It was stupid, really, to get caught up in the thought of it like some hormonal teenager. A woman as put together as she was surely wouldn't take well to finding out that you could cave so easily.

But her hands were smoothing up the bare skin along your back now, pulling you off your spot straddling the pillow and flush against her suit. She pressed a kiss to your temple.

"Here, darling," came her voice in your ear. She patted her thigh. Hesitantly, you shifted up into place and began to grind against it, burying your face into the crook of her neck. Your cheeks burned.

"Come on, it's alright. You can make a mess."

The guard pulled the zipper down on his jacket.

"I've dealt with worse," you managed, not sure whether the words were really meant for him or as a reminder to yourself. You tugged at the corner of your coat and looked over at the men. Something about the way they were eyeing you now began to unnerve you. Your heartbeat quickened. You tried your best to tuck your hospital ID badge into your pocket before they could get a good look at it. "Is that so? Snow's supposed to get real bad tonight," the guard continued, swapping glances with his coworker and grinning. He stepped forward towards you. "You know what they say's the best way to keep warm?" The man waggled his eyebrows, both of them now chuckling. "With my foot up your ass," came Liz's voice as she rounded the corner. She pulled you under her arm, leading you towards the exit. She cast a look over her shoulder that you weren't able to catch, but the sound of the guards' boots squeaking out of the room said it all. ---

Running a hand through her hair, Alex made her way through the station, thankful for the dim lighting now that her eyes burned with fatigue. Lewin had succeeded in making peace with Petrovsky, although it took hours for the news to reach the ADA. Fortunately, Olivia had the patience of a saint. The detective had been more than willing to meet up with her for a late night dinner once Alex was able to drop a few things off at her desk. The thought of nursing a warm bowl of soup almost made up for the fact that her shirt was beginning to stick to her skin. Her mind wandered to the idea of sitting across from those wide, chocolate puppy dog eyes that always held such an earnest fire in them. Something began to stir within Alex, but she shook it off, digging her nails into her arms. Olivia was a talented detective. Her empathy and ability to make people feel heard was what made victims able to open up to her. It was just a skill that also happened to benefit her coworkers, nothing more.

As the ADA turned the corner, she paused.

The door to Liz's office was open. One of the lamps had been turned on inside, and a hazy glow filtered out across the darkened hallway. The Bureau Chief was standing in the doorway, hands grasping at the hips of a woman in a pair of scrubs. Everything in Alex stilled as she saw the woman lean up and run a hand through Liz's short, swept back hair. There was a warmth that radiated in her boss' eyes that she had trouble believing could exist there. The woman whispered something to Liz, and whatever had been said caused Liz to pull her forward into a bruising kiss.

Alex hid back behind the corner, unsure of how to process catching Liz Donnelly slide her tongue down another woman's throat. Waiting for the sound of the door to close, Alex pushed herself flat against the wall. Much to her dread, footsteps began to head towards her. Her adrenaline spiked.

Knowing there was no way to call the elevator in time, the ADA dipped into an open conference room nearby, hoping the clicking of her heels wouldn't give her away. Not long after, Liz rounded the corner, briefcase in hand. She furrowed her brow and looked around. Alex held her breath, knowing that she'd burn the remainder of her nine lives at the DA's office if the woman found out what she'd seen.

Fortunately, Liz slipped into the women's restroom.

Alex's phone buzzed within her pocket. "Where are you? Donnelly still giving you trouble?"

Alex paused before typing her response. "Got sidetracked, sorry. Be there soon."

--- At Liz's insistence, you settled into one of the leather chairs in her office and left the takeout bag on the table for you both to dig into once she returned. Looking around, you took in the sight of all the awards and fancy, framed pieces of paper hanging along the walls with signatures of names that meant nothing to you but surely held some sort of high regard in the legal world.

Melinda had warned you that Liz didn't have the most gracious demeanor. She said the prosecutor was about as cold as they come, aside from those that ended up on her table. However, that didn't stop her from urging you to confront your feelings for the woman in the same breath. It had been over a year of tiptoeing around the subject before you both ended up confessing feelings over drinks. Somehow, it all felt much more real getting to finally see the office that soaked up so much of her time.

Sucking in your bottom lip, you tasted her on you again.

Your eyes landed on her desk. Heat began to pool in the bottom of your stomach at the thought of her gazing over at you from behind it. Cautiously, you got up and walked over. You ran your fingers along the edge of the wood, chuckling at both how much of a statement piece it was and how impersonal Liz kept it. Apart from the heavy, gold nameplate, there wasn't much across it that would make it clear who worked there. For all the years you devoted to medical school, you certainly didn't have anything with as much pomp and circumstance with your name on it. Accidentally pushing a drawer open in the process, you came face to face with something unexpected. Tucked halfway underneath a few blank memo pads in the drawer was a newspaper clipping. In it, you smiled widely at the camera, accepting an award on behalf of the trauma unit at Mercy General. The article had been published over two years ago. "Feeling nosy, eh?"

You jumped at the sound of Liz's voice from across the room. Strangely, she had changed into a pair of suit pants. She set her briefcase to the side, and you heard her lock the door. "Where'd you get this?" "Judging by the looks of it, the newspaper, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes and giggled.

"They teach you those skills in law school?" It was her turn to laugh now.

She made her way across the dimly lit room to wrap herself around your back. You felt her press a kiss to the back of your neck. "I picked up the paper at the cafe by my home one morning, and wouldn't you know it, there was the name of the adorable woman in scrubs I kept seeing order her croissants there," she said, smiling into your skin. "It made up for all the shitty coffee I dealt with to get a chance to see her."

"That was a few months before Melinda introduced us at the gala," you said. "I don't remember ever seeing you there, and I could never forget the night we first met." She pressed up against your back. You felt the bulge in her pants and bit your lip. The impromptu outfit change suddenly made sense. "I like to keep some things to myself," she whispered. She shifted, positioning the outline of the strap to nudge the space between your legs. "Other things, not so much."

You gasped, eyes fluttering shut. "Here? Are you sure?" "Bend over, sweetheart." "What if someone-" Liz nipped at your earlobe, and the words died in your throat. "Hush," she whispered, patting her desk. Mind swimming and desire taking over, you leaned over the edge of her desk. You moaned at the feeling of her hands sliding up the back of your thighs. Suddenly, you felt her loop her fingers into your waistband, easing your pants and underwear off. You let your forehead hit the surface of the desk at the feeling of the cool air hitting your ass. "I've thought about this all too often," Liz whispered. She kept her voice low, but it only further added to your arousal. "You're even more gorgeous like this than I imagined." You gasped at the feeling of her swiping two fingers along your pussy, not sure of how long you'd be able to hold out like this. Liz chucked. "How long have you been wet like this for me?" "I told you earlier," you panted, thinking of the kiss you had shared in her doorway. "Y-you look so good tonight." Liz rewarded you by stroking her fingers around your entrance. You whined at her touch, hips bucking up towards her. She used her free hand to tug her pants open. "Oh god, Lizzie... please," you choked as she began running the toy through your folds.

At the sound of the nickname only you were allowed to call her, and only in the privacy of the heated moments you shared, she withdrew her fingers and eased the length of her strap inside you.

You gripped the edge of the desk as she began thrusting at a steady pace, her hands settling along your thighs to deepen her movements. The sound of your panting, the smacking of your ass against her, and the occasional restrained moans she fought back filled the air around you.

From along the bookshelf at the other side of the room, you caught a glimpse of yourself across the reflective surface of one of the awards she displayed, Liz mounted over you. Following your glance, the prosecutor snickered, leaning down to pull you into a kiss. "Do you like seeing me on top of you like this, darling?" she said, dragging her teeth across the soft spot exposed along your neck. You bit back a wail. "I can't...I'm going to..." you felt the waves of pleasure threatening to spread across your body. You fought to still them as much as you could, but the way she was pushing up against that spot deep inside you threatened to drive you mad. Your moans became less coherent, and you reached back to grab at her frantically. "Go ahead," she panted, her voice now strained. "Cum on my cock, sweetheart, you can do it." Your mind went fizzy, and the floodgates finally burst. Liz fucked you through your orgasm, hands soothing you up your shirt and all across your back. Not long after, you felt her grind up against you, finally collapsing. "Fuck!" she cried out, a little louder than she probably would have liked.

But what did it really matter? Who would be still around at this time of night?

--- "What did she hit you with this time?" Olivia asked, walking alongside the ADA as they both headed towards the elevators. Alex hit the button and shook her head. "That I need to stay in my own lane if I want to keep this job." Olivia rewarded her with a grin. Alex felt something in her stomach flip. "So not that bad this time. That's something," the detective said. The doors opened, and the pair walked in. Alex watched as Olivia thumbed the button for the ground floor. It was nearly two in the morning, yet the detective still had a lightness in her step. The prosecutor's eyes furtively scanned the woman as the elevator began its descent. She paused, noticing Olivia had a bit of a cowlick at the back of her pixie cut. Without thinking, Alex reached out and ran her fingers through the back of Olivia's hair, smoothing it out. Olivia hummed in response. The elevator halted. The doors opened, and Alex froze. She locked eyes with none other than Liz Donnelly, who stood behind the woman the ADA had seen her with earlier. Several strands of the short, blonde locks that Liz kept so neatly maintained were now plastered to her forehead with sweat. Her suit jacket hung around the arms of the woman she was with. Alex saw the Bureau Chief's eyes dart over to the hand the ADA still had threaded in Olivia's hair. The two lawyers met each other's gaze again. Unaware of the telepathic recognition of mutually assured destruction that was unfolding around her, the woman tugged Liz into the elevator with her. Alex removed her hand from Olivia's hair and found anything to look at but her boss. "Do you have any plans for the night?" the woman piped up, trying to make small talk with Alex and Olivia. "Staying in my lane," Alex said.

[shachaai]

[Hetalia Version] The Lindworm’s Lullaby

Chapters: 3/14 Rating: Explicit (For Gore) Main Relationships: Arthur Kirkland (England)/Gabriel Cardoso Fernandes (Portugal) Characters: Arthur Kirkland (England), Gabriel Cardoso Fernandes (Portugal), Original Child Character(s), Ludwig Beilschmidt (Germany), Julia Blumenschien (Fem Prussia), Kiku Honda (Japan), Lovino Vargas (South Italy), Assorted Others Other Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Human AU, FBI Murder Mystery/Thriller, Case Fic, Adapted from a Hannibal Fic, Baby Fic, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Gabriel Fernandes, Omega Arthur Kirkland, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Single Parent Arthur Kirkland, Violence and Gore Canon-Typical to Hannibal Levels, Cute Moments and Murder, Murder Scenes, Dead Bodies, Poisoning, Discussions about torture/infidelity/rape

The FBI is called in to investigate when a series of bodies shows up around Ohio: all of them alphas, and all of them skinned alive. With the killer’s motives a mystery, Ludwig Beilschmidt pulls Arthur Kirkland from the classroom and his vigil at the comatose Madeline Williams’ bedside once more to lend his insight to the case - with very little mind paid to the fact that the busy Arthur, omega and single mother to a six month-old daughter, might have some scheduling issues. Necessity - and pressure from Ludwig - drives Arthur into reluctantly asking Gabriel Fernandes for a favour at short notice. Gabriel is delighted to help Arthur with babysitting - once he has, of course, recovered from both the surprise of learning that Arthur Kirkland even has a baby to care for and, presented with the adorable armful that is a sleepy Lenore Kirkland, feeling a little skinned raw himself.

******

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2

*****

*****

Chapter 3: deep into that darkness peering

Ludwig’s vague ‘Ohio’ turns out to be Lucas County, Ohio, on the outskirts of the city of Toledo. An abandoned manufacturing plant for electrical goods out in the suburbs off highway 24, just one of many factories standing empty along the more desolate stretches of road.

Even in the deepening shadows of a fading sunset, it’s obvious that the plant is falling into wrack and ruin. Some of its buildings are still mostly intact but more than a few are falling in on themselves, roofs everywhere full of holes and insides open to the elements. The paint is peeling everywhere moss, mould and mildew hasn’t spread, cracks in the plaster giving way to brick dust and rubble. Weeds have pushed up between the tarmac and cement that had once been part of the paving outside, broken glass from smashed windows and abandoned beer bottles crunching underfoot with gravel.

Squatters or youths looking for a thrill have clearly been in all the buildings at some point. Old empty chip packets and smushed-up polystyrene cartons lie caught-up in loops of abandoned rusting wire and under plastic shells of white furniture that never was, aluminium cans rolling noisily in the evening breeze until they dink to a gentle stop against a wall or piece of broken building. The local wildlife has, thankfully, mostly been scared away by the greater vermin of law enforcement officials moving in, but there are probably still a few rats and stray cats about the place somewhere. Bats and birds as well.

Truly, the only thing going for the plant is that it - at least - hadn’t been too far from the airport.

The evening breeze blows by again as Ludwig’s team unload themselves from their assigned cars to the plant, sending long cool fingers up the nape of Arthur’s exposed neck and threading his hair out on the wind’s tangled loom. Arthur shivers. He hadn’t planned for an evening outdoors in damn Ohio when he’d dressed himself that morning, and he’s cold without his scarf.

The sight of the factory itself does not fill him with the warm and fuzzies. Not the building, nor the swarms of law enforcement bustling about the place like flies under their own glaring floodlights as the night grows dark around them. The Toledo and Cleveland offices have sent their agents here already, and a large truck has been set up as the HQ for the scene.

“Oh, Ludwig,” Arthur sighs as the other man crunches his way through debris to walk alongside him, clasping his heart sarcastically-sweet in the picture-perfect pose of a swooning omega. “You always take me to the nicest of places.”

Already ahead of them, call-me-Julia (on the plane) Blumenschien smothers a laugh as she negotiates her way under the crime scene tape with her bulky kit, her long silvery braid swinging with the motion. Lovino Vargas doesn’t bother hiding his smirk as he slinks along after her with the teams’ camera equipment, and even Kiku Honda, usually the most painfully polite of the group, looks to be holding back his grin as he hauls the last of their things out of the cars’ trunks.

As he often does when he’s getting his own way, Ludwig takes the magnanimous approach. Bolsters morale by accepting the dig pointed his way - and even spares Arthur a wry smile as he lifts the crime scene tape for them both to duck under. “Tell me if you feel the same way after you’ve seen the scene. We believe it might be the second one this month.”

Huh. Arthur reaches up to brush back a strand or two of his flyaway hair. “Nothing worth making a fuss about until number two?”

“Once could always be a freak incident,” Ludwig says seriously. “Twice is something we have to be concerned about.” He gestures over a jacketed agent who had been standing at the steps of the HQ truck, the woman obviously waiting for their arrival. Late 20s, maybe, Asian American and serious-looking. Not someone Arthur recognises, but clearly an agent in charge. “Special Agent Linh?”

The agent - Linh - nods, her sleek black ponytail bobbing neatly with the motion. “Sir.” She looks tired and smells faintly of coffee and something floral. An omega. A green woven ribbon omega collar is just visible under her FBI jacket and buttoned-up shirt.

Arthur could really do with a coffee right now. With the night off from looking after Lenore and no need to worry about his caffeine intake provided he ditches the milk he produces for the rest of the night, he could even have a strong one.

“Beilschmidt,” Ludwig introduces himself. Jerks his chin at Arthur. “Special Agent Arthur Kirkland. The latest report?”

“Three bodies,” says Linh, “no ID for any of them. All men, strongly suspected to be alphas. Estimated time of death was two days ago, based upon the early insect activity.”

Which means young maggots. Lovely. Arthur isn’t sure exactly why he’s smiling faintly at Linh with maggots on the table - only to belatedly realise that the other omega reminds him of Marianne. Nothing in her appearance, but that floral smell is of sweet pea. Sweet pea, with Linh, and something like lotuses and lily-of-the-valley. No white musk or roses, nor creamy beeswax blended with vanilla.

Arthur squashes the smile. “Why is there no confirmation of the victims’ dynamic?” Most alphas - even dead ones - are easy enough to identify just by their scent, but, should scent fail, it isn’t hard to pull down a pair of jeans and look for a knot.

Linh licks her lips with a quick dart of tongue - trepidatious. “Each victim has been tied to a chair and had all their skin cut off. Flayed. We’re assuming the victims are all alphas based upon the presence of mass alpha pheromones in the room and what we think are penises with knots on all three victims, but there was some glandular and genital mutilation across all of the bodies. No concrete identification could be made without disturbing the scene, so we need to wait for confirmation about the victims’ dynamics in the lab.”

“Other wounds?” asks Arthur, but Linh just gestures helplessly at him. Another question that the lab will have to answer for them once the bodies are taken to the morgue. “In your opinion, was the flaying done pre or post-mortem?”

The smell of dry, almost sour, flowers in Linh’s scent spikes a little higher, a weird stress note in it edging it into the realms of unpleasant. Her gaze going distant: she’s remembering the scene. “Based upon the amount of blood and the pain scent in the pheromones when we first entered the room where we found the victims… I’d say pre.”

Skinned alive.

The night grows darker yet, and Arthur finds himself unconsciously shifting closer to Ludwig’s body beside him. Seeking some of the warmth exuded by the alpha’s steady bulk, even as Ludwig’s expression turns grim.

Ludwig: “Who called it in?”

Linh: “A man from Toledo’s Urbex League.” Elaborating at Ludwig’s blank look - “Urban explorers.”

Ludwig, exactly as clueless as before: “‘Urban explorers.’”

“People who explore vacant, abandoned, and ruined buildings for fun.”

“It’s a hobby for thrill-seekers with an interest in photography, architecture and historical documentation,” says Arthur. Rolling his shoulders free of the stiffness of cold before stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. “Sometimes it’s all about the art. Sometimes it’s a search for inspiration. Sometimes it’s a genuine desire to, uh, to preserve constructs for the historical record that others don’t think - or aren’t allowed - to keep. It’s an acknowledgement of the lovely ache of transience with a heap of rebellion thrown in.”

“Stick it to the man,” Linh says drolly, and Arthur likes her all the more for it.

“There’s a moving kind of beauty to be found in the decay of uninhabited space,” he adds, Ludwig still looking unconvinced beside him, “the man-made slowly sliding back into the grasp of nature.”

A bit like sending the painstaking self-construction of a man that is Dr. Fernandes out on a trip to Arthur’s little refuge in Wolf Trap. Unlike many of his neighbours in the local community, Arthur had kept his home as its original build, preserving the wild on his acres of land instead of slapping a McMansion down on top of it all. Nature rules the territory around Arthur’s little white-washed house, a thriving chaos that will have no respect for Dr. Fernandes' soft charcoal and cream attire. Arthur can only hope that nothing too terrible will happen to the alpha as he takes Lenore to Arthur’s neighbour and stops in at Arthur’s house for the dogs. (A little bit of coyote shit never really hurt anyone in the long-term, but Arthur would certainly pay to see Dr. Fernandes wrinkle that big arch nose of his after getting some of the crap on his fancy shoes.)

…Dr. Fernandes should be in Wolf Trap - or just leaving the area - about now, actually. Arthur takes one hand out of his pocket to check his phone. No frantic text messages or missed calls from Dr. Fernandes, so Lenore is fine. He can breathe.

Arthur slides his phone back into his pocket. “...Could also just be ghost-hunters.”

Ludwig huffs through his nose, his scent bleeding with exasperated chillies and black pepper. “Go,” he says to Arthur. Nods meaningfully to where the greatest hubbub of sound and light is coming from on-site. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Arthur sighs as well, but obediently leaves Ludwig with Special Agent Linh to go investigate the scene. Blumenschien-Julia, Honda and Vargas had long since gone ahead of him, and Arthur isn’t surprised to see the three of them as he approaches one building less damaged than the others, its heavy industrial door pulled wide open to the night. Floodlights, conversation, and the heavy iron scent of blood drift out.

One of the original investigators - fully suited and booted - stops Arthur before he goes inside. Hands Arthur a fresh pair of nitrile gloves and overshoe covers in matching blue, the whole set reminding Arthur quite starkly of his daughter’s matching sets of mittens and booties for fall. All he’s missing is the hat.

Inside: a big cement box. This building appears to have been used as a storage warehouse in the past, old, now empty, shelves disintegrating into rust where they’ve fallen over on the floor. The few small windows around the large room seem to still be intact, set high up on the walls so that, in the past, no-one passing by would have been able to sneak a peek at the goods stored inside.

It’s a good place to kill someone. Close the door, and almost all sound and light would be trapped inside the warehouse’s four thick walls. With the plant abandoned as it is… three victims could very easily be tortured to death, and no-one but the killer would ever scent their suffering or hear their screams.

Even days after their death and with new, living people on-site the air is still smeared with the intense suffering of alphas, a pungent enough odour that Arthur rocks back onto his back foot for a moment as he steps inside the warehouse. Unable to stop the instinctive wrinkling of his nose, the immediate defensive hunching-up of his shoulders to protect his vulnerable throat. His eyes prickle, threatening to shift to gold, Arthur’s body responding to the pheromones in the air and sending the first trickles of defensive hormones out into his bloodstream. Alert to any danger.

For the scent to have built up to this degree, the victims must have been tortured for many, many hours. Death by a thousand cuts: for most, being flayed isn't a quick way to die.

Photographers and note-takers scuttle around the warehouse like beetles over a corpse. Corpses. Three bodies sit slumped in their plain wooden seats, all in a row, stripped - badly - of their skin from head to foot. Glistening wet muscle, fat and bone exposed to be buzzed over by flies. Hands tied behind their backs, ankles lashed to the feet of the chairs. Blood dried in pools on the floor.

Arthur studies the scene, takes as deep a breath as he can bear, and then lets the golden pendulum in his mind swing.

All of the other people in the room disappear. Then the flash of cameras, the crime scene markers, and the yellow tape. The blood pools on the floor recede like the tide, drain backwards, upwards, up the wet muscle that used to be three men’s legs. Maggots are unborn, retreating into their shells around crusted eyes and slashed-up ears, and flies depart from the buzzing strings of beads they had made against lipless mouths. Skin regrows across mangled limbs like lichen stretching out over the trunk of a tree - but none of the victims wake. All three men remain slumped in their bonds, naked, alive but unconscious.

Arthur circles them to examine them from behind. No signs of head trauma on their scalped skulls, nothing overtly obvious to indicate a reason for the victims’ unconsciousness prior to flaying. They’d likely been drugged.

Further back in time. The victims had been brought into the room one by one, all at the same time. Dragged - there are scuff-marks from the door to a patch of floor outside of the pools of blood the size of a man’s body. A torn-off shirt button too clean to have been here since the plant went out of business in the same area meaning that the victims had been clothed originally, stripped off in the same patch of floor before being dragged over to the chairs. Tied in place with unforgiving cable ties.

The killer waits. The killer waits until the sedating properties of the drugs begin to wear off and his three victims all wake. The victims are still weak, sluggish, unable to resist when their kidnapper approaches them with a blade -

“Any sign of the murder weapon?” Arthur asks the room.

Julia, nearest to Arthur, answers him, too busy bagging up the abandoned shirt button to look over. “Nope. We’re looking for something incredibly sharp though, a blade no longer than six inches. Slight curve.”

“A dressing knife.” The tool of a hunter. Or butcher.

Arthur sinks back into his recreation, the weight of a 6 inch dressing knife comfortable in his hand. Its grip is warm and familiar: an old friend.

The killer begins with the victim in the leftmost chair. The blood under his corpse is the oldest, and blood spatter indicates that he was conscious enough to struggle at least a little when the knife was placed to his skin. Feet first - the killer wanted the victim to last as long as possible, and watch every moment as his skin was sliced from his body. To scream. The killer wanted all three of his victims to watch, John Does #2 and #3 watching #1 tortured to death. #3 watching #2. And #3…

This is personal. I skin these men slowly, one by one, so that the others may watch. I have ordered them by their sins, so that those whose sins were greatest will wait longest for their death to arrive. Look at me. Know me. Do you remember me now? It is important to me that you see what you really are on the inside.

John Doe #1 still has a patch of skin over his right ankle bone almost the size of Arthur’s palm. Thumb-sized pieces of skin hanging loose at the back of his knees, under the curve of his ass where it meets the chair. Eyelids, and the remnants of a nose.

John Doe #2 has been flayed so badly he’s lost one of his balls, and it’s impossible to tell if the man had had a knot at one point with what little flesh remains of his genitals underneath all the blood, under the slippery pool of his own intestines where they’ve slithered forwards out of his abdomen and onto the remains of his lap. There’s a vicious gouge in his perineum: Doe #2 talked back.  

I’ve done this before. Humans are not my usual prey - I know how to handle my knife, but the shape of the animal beneath the blade is still unfamiliar to me. That my inexperience extends your suffering only brings me more pleasure, because you deserve to suffer. My cuts grow more precise as I move along the row of my victims, but now I know how to keep you alive for longer as I cut. Peeling off your skin inch by inch, dropping it in a pile in front of you on the floor. Warming to my task.

Arthur frowns, rising from his crouch near the third body. “The killer knew these people.” He’s shaking, the screams of three men still echoing in his ears. Has to clench his hands into fists to get control of himself, the scent of raw spoiled meat stuck in his nose, itching across the roof of his mouth.

“Well, I’m glad someone did,” Vargas snarks, lowering his camera after snapping a picture of the first body’s bound wrists. “We’ve got nothing to ID them with. No clothes, no wallets, and not enough left of their facial features for us to run a photograph of them through the system. If their DNA doesn’t show up in our files we’ll have to start looking at dental records.” Notoriously spotty.

“Any of the missing skin turned up?”

“Nada.” Julia again, still scouring the floor for any more pieces of clothing. For strands of fabric and the marks of feet. “Victims’ personal effects are still AWOL as well. Agents from the local field offices have already swept the plant’s buildings searching for them, and they’ve got the K9s out in the surrounding fields. Just in case any of it’s been dumped outside.”

It’s almost fully dark now outside, so the sniffer dogs should be coming in for the night.

“Just what we need,” Vargas gripes. Grumpy enough that, even though Vargas is a beta, Arthur can smell him from a few metres away, Vargas’ scent green and sharp at the edges with lemon basil over something thicker, spicier, smokier, and woodier. A church’s herb garden kitchen - lavender, something, something and frankincense? “Paw Patrol at the party hosting the world’s most fucked-up ménage à trois. The last time one of the field offices brought out the K9s near one of our crime scenes, we got dog fur contaminating the evidence.”

“You’re kvetching like you’re the one who had to get the DNA of 8 dogs to eliminate them from the suspect pool,” Julia grumbles back at him, exuding just enough of her own sour cherry and almonds alpha scent that Arthur almost misses the moment that the notes of cedar, coffee, pepper and baked bread hit the air around all of them, Ludwig Beilschmidt entering the old warehouse.

It says something about the raw meat stink of the bodies, their pheromones and their blood, that Ludwig smells appealing to Arthur’s nose. An actual beacon of stability amongst this mess, safe harbour for Arthur’s nose.

“Ménage à quatre,” Honda says softly, his eyes limned with the same instinctual gold as Arthur’s. Ducking his chin apologetically when Vargas only looks at him blankly and offers a puzzled huh? “Quatre, not trois. The killer in this scenario makes four.”

Arthur would’ve quite happily taken examining a scene after a real ménage à quatre over this. It wouldn’t have been the first time in his life he’d had to search for evidence using UV - wouldn’t even have been the first time he’d had to do so with four completely naked, thankfully still alive, civilians right beside him.

“This wasn’t an act of passion,” he says, pitching his voice a little further for Ludwig, “but one of cold and pretty methodical revenge. A slow, controlled burn.” Arthur gestures to the victims, one after the other. “One. Two. Three. He deliberately flayed them one by one, so the later victims watched the earlier victims die. They were drugged when they were first brought here, but they were all alive and conscious when the knife was applied to the first one’s skin.”

Julia whistles. “They were tortured.”

That’s exactly the word for it. “Our victims were still under the effects of whatever concoction they were drugged with. They struggled in their bonds - but not too much. Damage from the ties into the raw flesh is relatively minimal, and blood spatter hasn’t gone too far from the bodies.”

Honda pipes up again. “That suggests a high dose of sedatives, paralytics.”

“Which suggests our unsub might be someone who isn’t able to - or doesn’t think they’re able to - handle an adult alpha male without the aid of pharmaceuticals, even when the victim is tied down.”

“Handling one alpha is a great deal different to handling three,” Julia points out. “The killer could just be cautious.”

“We have no way to tell that the victims were awake when the killer started hacking at them,” Vargas complains. “We can check for stress hormones during the autopsy, but the body naturally produces those when it's attacked anyway. The whole revenge theory is entirely suppositional.”

“Suppose then,” grunts Ludwig from behind the beta, and Vargas nearly jumps out of his own skin.

Arthur waves sharply to the body in front of him again: John Doe #3. “He pissed himself pre-mortem, pre-flaying. You can smell the ammonia, and it’s diluted some of the blood that dripped down onto the floor after the urine.”

(“I have it,” says Honda, and approaches so he can snap a few more photos of the floor under victim #3’s chair. To Vargas - “Did the earlier team take swabs?” Vargas only shrugs at him irritably.

“Alright, sourpuss,” says Julia, “you get the fun job of going to find out.”)

“Skinning is an act of humiliation,” says Arthur. “Our killer had to show each of these men exactly who they were underneath the front they were putting up for the world. And make them sorry for it.”

Julia hmms in thought, idly spinning the evidence bags in her gloved hands. “A ‘beauty is only skin deep’ sort of situation?”

Ludwig looks sceptical. “You think these men were targeted for their vanity?” For all their posturing, alphas rarely have the word applied to them.

Julia, unlike many others of her dynamic, has a reasonable amount of self-awareness. (When she wishes to apply it.) She shrugs. “Every alpha gets a little vain during pre-rut. Maybe they all peacocked in front of the wrong person.”

“I’m not sure,” says Arthur, frowning again. “All I really know for certain is that these men did something that personally upset their killer.”

Ludwig looks at Arthur meaningfully. Jerks his chin towards the warehouse’s door before heading in that direction himself. Walk with me.

Arthur goes and walks with him, falling into step with Ludwig just outside the building. Night’s chilly mantle drapes itself out over Arthur’s shoulders again, the crunching of gravel and glass underfoot shockingly loud against the quiet murmuring of agents around them. Arthur has forgotten to take his booties off, and the sharp debris on the ground is slicing their thin plastic to ribbons.

In the distance, a dog barks.

“You were asking about the dogs,” says Ludwig.

“Anything?” Arthur asks, but Ludwig only shakes his head. “Likely the unsub took the victims’ skin with them then.”

“A trophy?”

Arthur shrugs, enjoying the smell of the fresh air outside the warehouse. Staring off into the night rather than at the blinding FBI floodlights, the chaos that is the HQ truck. The road directly outside the manufacturing plant is empty.  “...You said this is the second scene.”

“The first body was found three weeks ago. West of here, in an abandoned farm building off Highway 20A, just outside the village of Delta.”

There’s a half-lit billboard out there in the darkness, where the plant’s short entrance road meets the nearby highway. Tall, spectral white letters haunt the display:

WHERE ARE YOU GOING? Heaven? or Ohio? 855-FOR-TRUTH John 3:36

“How far from here?” Arthur asks. Turning his eyes away from the promise of manufactured heaven to concentrate on his balance, lifting up his feet, one after the other, to pull off the remains of the elasticated overshoes he had been given earlier. The matching gloves soon follow, and Arthur warms up his twitching fingers by rubbing them over the back of his neck.

“Around half an hour by car,” Ludwig replies. Looking about as pleased as Arthur feels hearing that answer, Ludwig’s eyes glowing red-white with light reflected from behind Arthur. That’s a lot of ground for the investigation to cover. Where are all the serial-killing homebodies these days?

“The unsub has a relatively wide working area. Must know the region pretty well.”

“It is not too far from here to Michigan,” Ludwig points out gruffly. Another negative. “We could be looking at a killer from out of state.”

“Maybe.” Arthur purses his lips, the tips of his fangs sharp against his tongue. He doesn’t want to imagine another serial killer at large across state lines right now, especially not in states so far from his home. “...What made the locals link the first body to these three? Going from one victim to three is quite a quick escalation. Sudden change in M.O. could mean this is a copycat.”

“First victim is also an alpha with her skin cut off. Still no ID.”

Arthur pauses. “‘Her’? Our victims are all men.” That’s another big difference between the two scenes. “Change in victim count, change in primary gender of victim...”

“Do we have a copycat,” asks Ludwig, a perfect echo to Arthur’s own thoughts, “or someone who knows just enough to throw us off?”

A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. “Maybe someone who’s learning. There’s a noticeable increase in the precision of the cuts going from the first victim to the last, a - uh - developing technique. The killer was getting better with practice.”

“Learning on the job.” Ludwig sighs, reaching up with one hand to rub at his temples. “Practice makes perfect, they say.”

Arthur’s sigh echoes him, Arthur using his own hands to knuckle at his tired eyes. Multicoloured stars flash and twinkle in the dark behind his eyelids. His nose is cold. “We need to see the first body.”

“We’re working on it. The locals are putting up a fuss.”

“They’re hitting us with the red tape?” Arthur frowns, a flash of frustration ripping through him. Isn’t it enough that they’ve come out to Ohio to take a look at this mess without being asked to perform tricks as well? “Do they want the FBI to handle this case or not?”

“Oh,” says Ludwig, bone-dry and mirthless, “the local bureaucracy wants rid of it. But apparently there’s some complication with two open missing persons cases and the families involved.” He snorts - “The rich families involved.”

“...They’re each wondering if the Jane Doe is their missing person.” No matter that they’d all get their answers quicker if they just cooperated with the FBI. Arthur shakes his head, muttering - “More money than sense.”

Ludwig doesn’t disagree with him, sighing a long plume of warm breath out into the increasingly cold night. “Money makes the world go round.” Not logic. Fuck it.

*****

*****

Special Agent Linh - Vietnam Julia Blumenschein - Female Prussia

Fun fact: sweet pea has always been an asshole of a scent to obtain for perfumiers. The flower, often referred to as Queen of the Annuals, produces a stress hormone when picked, which ruins its beautiful smell. It’s also a flower that’s used extensively in those fashionable teas/tisanes/cocktails that change colour as you pour them.

Thank you, still, to my friend Reid, who helped me with Ohio lore! The billboard Arthur spots here is based on a real one that google claims is in Ohio, so any mistakes there are google’s fault rather than mine. >>

NEXT CHAPTER

[crowleywowley]

HEAR YE HEAR HE, I have written more stupid ass modern au headcanons. Y’all know the drill by now.

Btw if u wanted to read any of the other silly headcanons I’ve written you can do that here , or here , or here :D and here and here you can find the ones I’ve blown up @blanche-elizabeth-devereaux ‘s inbox with!!

Anyways see you under the cut 😈

-Charles and Arthur both like old man ice cream flavors

Pistachio, butter pecan, etc.

They have to buy a special tub for when Jack or Isaac are at the house because they always complain (as they should.)

-Arthur enjoys dressing up the dogs for Halloween, or at least attempting to

Charles doesn’t care for it but he has to admit that the bat wings are pretty cute. Ok just one more picture heheheh.

-Sometimes when Arthur doesn’t necessarily like a piece of art he made, he asks for Charles’ opinion, only to be all dramatic like “YOU’RE JUST BEING NICE BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO”

-I see Charles being very particular about how his laundry is folded and god bless Arthur but he does not do it correctly

-They love a little evening stroll around the neighborhood :’)

-When Charles goes on a morning run he makes a point of being non-threatening to any women he passes

He’s like “goooood morning!!!” Just so they aren’t spooked by this big ass dude sprinting past them

-John and Abigail didn’t have a full on wedding, just a sweet little courthouse ceremony

Arthur held it together until he and John shared A Moment afterwards and they both cried :’)

-John and Arthur are both the dads who do that thing where they toss the baby in the air and catch it and the baby goes crazy for it but every single time they do it Abigail is like PLEASE STOP

-speaking of babies Good Grandpa Dutch™️ bawled like a baby at the birth of every single grandkid

He’d never say it out loud but he cried the most when unnamed Marston daughter was born

He spoils all the grandkids but something about that little girl….. the sun rises and sets on her :)

-Dutch and Hosea have a sick ass pool at their house that’s mostly for the grandkids but those old men love floatin around too!

Abigail brings those little sinking toys for the kids to play with and keep them occupied, John absolutely plays with them too and is like “babe look I got one!!!”

-John and Abi are retired emo kids, argue with the wall on this one

Jack makes them feel ANCIENT when they’re like “hey bud whatcha listening to?” And he’s like “oh just this old band, My Chemical Romance”

-Arthur, John, and Abigail (and at one point, Eliza) have been to tons of concerts together

Arthur was the cool older brother who was in college and soooooo mature (he was not), John and Abigail were seniors in high school and they would all go see shows together

It made Hosea so happy to see his boys getting along and having fun together :))

As always if anyone wants me to keep going I will. And even if u don’t want me to I probably will. I love this silly comfort universe muahahaha😼

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Ameliorate

(John Marston x Fem! Reader smut)

Warnings: none besides smut

I decided my first actual post would be John Marston related because I love him and he's my babygirl 🩷 (he is my favorite)

There was nothing pleasant about Saint Denis. At least not to John. As soon as he walked in, the city seemed to burst around him. It was the rousing hub of Lemoyne, teetering on the edge of pleasurable and wild. Stone paved streets, Victorian homes, large gated manors and estates occupied by industry magnates and crime lords putting on ornate facades. Flashy shops, extravagant theaters, lush parks, and bars in abundance. The crowds overwhelming, smells shocking; The miasma and smog of industrial factories, petrol, gas, horse dung, and somewhere in the mix was the smoky scent of restaurants.

It seemed as though Saint Denis was the only place where the wealthy and thieves alike could coincide. He could at least fit in somewhere in the equation. He would’ve never imagined himself ending up in a place like this. In fact, he preferred staying away from all this ‘civilization’, as Arthur once said. If it weren’t for the fact that the gang had been practically forced to move further east, he would’ve never come here to begin with. But alas, with more and more threats coming to the gang, John found himself here. He figured he might as well familiarize himself with the city, opting to go out on his own.

But one thing about Lemoyne, was that the heat and humidity was like being punched in the face by a sauna. John knew of the heat here, but the crowds and atmosphere only seemed to make it worse. He hadn’t even been out long and he was sweating his ass off.

John walked towards one of the many bars with the intention of cooling off, unfortunately finding himself surrounded by people of obvious higher social standing than him. He had never been one to put too much thought into his appearance, but the stark difference between his simple beige vest and dirt stained jeans to the three piece suits and sumptuous fabrics of silk lined dresses of the patrons was jarring. For a moment, he actually looked down at himself, making a subtle attempt at dusting himself off before walking further in.

He approached the expansive wooden bar and sat himself on a polished leather stool, clearing his throat awkwardly to get the bar tender’s attention. He had never felt more out of place in his life. But on the bright side, maybe he’d be able to get some sort of lead here, as risky as that was. He ordered himself a whisky, but he was surprised to discover this place also served as a restaurant.

John hadn’t even picked his whisky up, too preoccupied with the several dishes whose names he had never even heard of before on his menu; eventually deciding on lobster bisque, something he had never tried.

As he was about to hand the menu back, a sly little vixen slid onto the stool next to him.

“Make it another whisky, and a plate of beignets.”

John could barely register the add-ons to his order as he became aware of your presence next to where he sat. You had an endearing yet mischievous look in your eyes that’d made John second guess every interaction he’d have with you. You wore fashion typical of rich folk around here. Wide frilled skirt with a tightly fitted corset hugging and accentuating your figure. Your decorative accessories alone were probably worth more than anything he had in his satchel.

“Excuse me?” He finally said.

“You’re excused.” You chimed playfully, picking a beignet off the plate that was served before you. John could only wonder how entitled and stuck up this complete stranger must’ve been to order things for themselves under his tab.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not doing anything. You’re the one who’s treating me!” You batted your lashes.

John swore to himself, attempting to restrain himself in fear of causing a scene. Especially when he was already calling so much attention to himself by simply existing there.

Normally, John wouldn’t have the patience to entertain someone so upfront and entitled in such a calm manner, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t attracted to you. Your features were downright angelic, your wealth obvious not only in how you dressed but how you took care of yourself. Your strongly scented shampoo and perfume wafting to him and intoxicating him like some sort of spell.

“So what’s an angel face like you doing chatting up a complete stranger like me?” He asked, sipping his whisky. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“‘Dunno, you looked interesting. Way different from all the guys ‘round here.” You responded. John wasn’t sure whether or not to take it in a good way considering the state of his appearance. But you found the roughness of his features so attractive. You couldn’t help but find yourself chatting him up. What you intended to do, he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to see where this could go.

“Shouldn’t you be talking up some rich boy?” He asked through a mouthful of lobster. You shook your head.

“They’re so boring. I’m looking for someone more… fun.” You punctuated your sentence by rubbing your leg next to his. John swore he heard himself gulp as he watched you bite into another beignet, the powdered sugar cascading down your plump lips and onto your shirt. He didn’t falter for a moment though, wanting to return the same energy. He would do anything to not let this moment slip from his fingers; it was like whistling on a hunt for a rabbit that would run away if one didn’t go in for the kill.

“Well I don’t know what you initially saw in me but I could give you something worth your while.” He smirked. He dipped his thumb in the powdered sugar, moving to cup your cheek with the same hand. He smoothed over your cheek, feeling the supple and soft skin. As he expected, you turned your head in his hand, taking the sugar coated thumb into your mouth and sucking ever so slightly. The inside of your mouth was as soft as satin and as warm as a freshly fried beignet. John could hardly breathe as he watched you lap at the thumb lasciviously, far longer than necessary. He finally retracted his hand, watching the way you momentarily chased the touch before settling back into your seat. He felt the blood drain out of his brain and into his dick as his mind blanked on what to do.

You noticed the effect you had on him, flashing a toothy smile. He became encapsulated by your plump lips, eyes lingering on them for too long. He jerked suddenly when he felt your hand slide up his thigh, just shy of a few inches from his cock.

John could hardly remember how he got into a room upstairs with you, his mind veiled with a fog of lust so thick, it was comparable to the fog of the bayous. The two of you were all over each other the instant you made it into the room. His hand found its way to the back of your neck, yanking your forward so your lips could meet. Your lips molded together like clay as you both parted your mouths almost in unison, a beautiful display of like-minded desperation. Teeth clashed and tongues slid up against each other, and you made sure to suck on his tongue as he moved back slightly.

You both tasted the whiskey on each other’s tongues, and you made a note of the taste of cigarette smoke on his. He moved back to look at you, cupping your face again like he did before, instead this time he moved to slide two fingers past your lips. You accepted them ceremoniously, wrapping your lips around them and looking at him through your eye lashes. His dick twitched against his jeans as he watched your head bob down slightly on his fingers, the digits disappearing into your velvety mouth. He gasped softly, almost moaning, and he willed himself to slide his fingers in as far as he could into your mouth. John nearly jumped for joy when he realized you didn’t gag, no matter how far down he pushed.

He began thrusting his fingers In and out of your mouth, enjoying the slick sound coming from your throat. John swore he could get off on that alone. But how could he pass up the opportunity to take up a treat such as yourself who was practically presenting themselves on a golden platter to him.

John pulled his fingers out slowly to observe the strand of saliva that connected him to your sweet pink gullet. John’s cock was so hard he thought it might burst, and in another moment of animalistic desire, he pushed you onto the bed, crawling on top. You giggled at his assertiveness, and you thought to yourself how you found exactly what you were looking for.

The two of you sat up, clumsily undoing his belt together. Once you heard the satisfying click of his belt coming undone, your lithe hands worked his zipper open and pulled down his pants. You hooked your fingers on his drawers and pulled, the underwear hitching on his erection before slipping completely over it. You buried your face next to his cock, and at once you were enveloped in the scent of sweat, unruly black curls brushing against your cheek and nose, and the soft skin of his throbbing cock against your face. You looked up at him as you grasped his cock with one hand, slapping it against your cheek playfully before opening your mouth and repeating the same ministration on your tongue. John let out a guttural moan, intertwining his fingers through your hair.

His eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he watched you envelope his cock whole in one go. The sounds he let out were downright embarrassing. The feeling of wet muscles sliding over his cock was almost too much to bear, and you felt his fingers tighten in your hair.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart…” He gasped, a pathetic attempt at composing himself.

You pulled your head back up, slowly, making sure to see the way his face contorted as you hollowed your cheeks. After watching you repeat this same ministration a few more times, the fondness of orgasm began to lurk up behind John. His body trembled almost uncontrollably, and he found himself pushing your head down, holding you there. The tip of his cock slid deeper into your throat, which seems to contract and close around him. There was a sick enjoyment he got out of watching your nose buried in his curls as you sputtered for breath. He pulled you off before it became too much for you, allowing you a moment to breathe. Several strings of saliva connected you to him, some breaking and drooling down your chin. He pushed his cock up against your lips, using his free hand to slap you on the cheek a little.

“I never got your name sweetheart.” He said.

You had to move your face slightly to the side to answer.

“(name).” You responded.

“Well I’m John sweetheart, now let’s get you out of those clothes.”