#he has that getting away with crime swagger

[living-dead-guyy]

Khonshu after he dupped Marc and got Jake Lockley instead

[moneypriestess]

OK, se we all know ghostspeak, right? It's a language for ghosts that comes from the ghost zone, and basically only halfas and ghosts can speak it on earth, but what if it's a forgotten language on earth?

----

It existed thousands of years ago, but slowly died off until no one remembered it.....until Tim went snooping in the house of mystery and came across an ancient book written in a language he didn't recognise.

After asking cough cough blackmailing cough John for the book Tim took it home and somehow forgotten about it, for about a week.

Now, during the week the book had been sitting in his room, Tim had gotten into an argument with Bruce, then with Alfred over his sleep, or lack thereof, and forced into decaf coffee for the rest of the month. So he was pretty frustrated, annoyed, and looking for revenge.

When Tim saw the book sitting on his desk innocently, he had a brilliant idea, a magnificent wonderful show stopping idea that would get his sweet sweet revenge.

Now, remember that Tim's brain is running on decaf coffee, no sleep, and no dopamine, it would not be too far fetched for him to think that because Alfred is obviously immortal he would know this ancient language, so Tim could learn this ancient language and insult his cooking in his (maybe) mother tongue! Obviously, it's a low blow, but revenge changes a person.

Tim spent the next month studying that book, staying locked in his room like the 'good grounded boy' he was. Obviously, Bruce knew something was up, but it didn't seem like Tim was up to a mastermindfull plan that might destroy or recreate gothams crime ring, so he let mumbling studying boy be.

Tim finally shut the book with a released sigh and sat up, cracking his back of the kinks and smirking at the victory he could already practically taste on his tongue. Today was the day. He was fairly confident that he had successfully broken through the language barrier and fluently learnt the once forgotten language.

Tim swaggered (yes, I said that, don't kill me) into the dining room and took a seat next to danny, his newest kindest and most naive brother, before looking towards everyone gathered today. It was the anniversary of Danny's first adoption, and everyone was here to celebrate it, even Jason of all people, though he could understand why. Since the two met, they had a seemingly special bond, and everyone knew Jason was Danny's favroute. No matter how hard dick tried to be.

Waiting until the food had come out and danny had successfully poked and prodded his plate to his liking, a weird ritual he did "to make sure it won't attack him" danny had said the first time anyone asked, everyone began eating. Tim hid a tiny smirk behind his bowed head as he finally said the words he had been waiting for all month.

"Looks like you're losing your touch, Alfred"

A second passed, no one says anything and Tim has just a smidgen of regret, did he say it right? Did he mispronounce something and make a fool of himself?

"Sniffle"

Tim's head shoots up to Alfred's, he only wanted to shock him and insult him a little bit! He didn't want him to start crying.

Yet Alfred's eyes were dry, and instead of looking at Tim, heck, no one was looking at Tim. They were all looking to the side of Tim, where danny sa-

Oh no, danny.

Tim swivelled his head and let his jaw open in shock as he sees danny full on breaking down, tears and snot covering his face that he desperately tries to wipe away as Jason kneeled beside him and tried to comfort him, the same static noises that Tim had made just before coming from his mouth.

Yet these were different, more confident in the tone and more soft and comforting than whatever Tim had said.

"Not-kill-dare-day-dann-calm-"

Tim could barely recognise the words coming from Jason's mouth and paled as he realised what that meant. It meant that he should have spent longer learning from the book, it meant he shouldn't have tried this in front of the entire family, it meant he had said something completely different than what he meant to say, the only question now is.

'What the fuck did I say?'

[toxicanonymity]

steady as she goes.

3.5k, Clement Mansell x f!reader | spotify playlist CHARACTER BACKGROUND: He does a lot of crimes but car theft is the only thing referenced. He loves Jack White 🎶. He's sexy and has swagger. Hot clips with audio 🥵 🥵 SUMMARY: He takes you out on his idea of a date. WARNINGS: I8+, unsafe p in v (car), creampie. Praise. Mild hybristophilia (craving that criminal cock). Canon-typical destruction of property. Reader can straddle him. Jack (White) gets cucked (by Clem's vocals). ONE SHOT. A/N: Dedicated to @milla-frenchy: happy 500 followers! 🎉 well-deserved (masterlist). I'm so glad we share an interest in this man. And THANK YOU, gifmakers!! Always inspired by gifs from @boydholbrook-fan, @ilovewhiteroses, and more. Co-written with my partner, "Jordi" 🖤.

A car cruises down your street blasting music, but you don't think it's Clement. It's too early. The sun is just starting to set, and you're fresh out of the shower. It's still an hour before he’s supposed to pick you up. But sure enough, the loud rock music gets close enough to make out the White Stripes. You look out the window, and his classic car is rolling into your driveway with the top down. Shoot. You're not ready. But goddamn, he looks good. Too good to worry much about the time. 

You grab the closest item of clothing - a black slip dress – and throw a silk robe on over it. As you rush down the stairs, the car door opens outside. You wait a minute for him to ring the doorbell, but he doesn't. You stick your head outside and he's reclining with his butt against the passenger door and his arms crossed. You slip on a pair of shoes and go out to the driveway. 

********************************

This man is wild. You can tell already, and you met him just last night.

He came into your bar. You took his order and he said, “Whatever you’re drinkin’.”  You were only drinking coke with grenadine, but to your surprise, he nodded without hesitation. You made the drink and watched him take his first sip. “Man, this shit ain't bad,” he said. He had big energy, and his presence really commanded the room despite how casual and carefree he acted. He put the Raconteurs on the jukebox.

Throughout the night, you felt his eyes on you and had a few tense moments. His hand grazed your hip as you passed each other. When you came to give him a refill, he introduced himself before going to play pool. At one point, when he was leaning forward to line up his shot, you noticed a gun sticking out of the back of his pants. You discreetly warned him that the manager would kick him out if she saw it. 

“Keepin’ me outta trouble. That sure is nice of ya, sugar.”

You smile shyly. “Just hide it,” you tell him 

“Why don’tcha come on out and watch me put it away?.” 

His charm was irresistible. 

You quickly found yourself out in the parking lot, pressed up against his car with his nose dragging up your neck.  “Mmm,” he hummed into your skin. “Not every day a lady sees my gun.” You felt something against your hip, looked down, and were startled to see him holding the gun. “It's okay baby,” he reassured you, then opened the passenger door to the car. “Wanna touch it?” 

“That's okay,” you shook your head, still flustered. “It looks nice though.”

“Yeah? How ‘bout I let ya shoot it tomorrow?” he asked as he leaned over to open the glovebox.

“Really?” You asked, heart fluttering. 

He acted like he was mentally debating it, then laid his weight into you against the car again. He rested his hands loosely on your sides. “Really,” he murmured, then leaned in for a slow kiss -- no tongue, but it felt pornographic nonetheless. “Pick you up at eight.” 

Instead of going back inside, he got in his car and peeled off, blasting the White Stripes.

********************************

You take in the view of Clement leaning against his car in your driveway. He's wearing a dark, button-up shirt and a chain. His shapely arms stretch the material. 

“You're really early,” you smile, almost breaking into a laugh. “Wanna come in while I finish getting ready?” 

“I dunno about that,” he drops his hands to his sides, then stands upright and slowly steps forward. He looks you up and down and his voice becomes sultry as he gets closer. “Look ready to me.” 

You assure him it'll only take fifteen minutes. 

“I dunno if I can wait that long,” he murmurs as he comes within arm’s reach. He runs his hands down your sides, his expansive palms gliding over the silky robe. 

You suppress a giggle. “You can wait fifteen minutes.”  

“Course I can,” he murmurs, getting right up against you. He brings his mouth to your ear and lowers his pitch.  “But I ain't gonna.” He grabs your ass. “Mmm.” 

Your cheeks heat up. Has he noticed you're not wearing panties? “Look perfect,” he insists. He goes to open the passenger door. All the thoughts are gone from your brain.

You get in the car, no bra, no panties, no jacket. And somehow you feel completely comfortable. 

-

Clement rests a broad, veiny hand on your thigh as he drives. His touch is light, and he occasionally takes his hand away to make a turn. When he passes the shooting range and keeps going, you ask, “I thought we were gonna shoot.” 

“Oh we are, darlin'. You're gonna be my gorgeous gunslinger.” He smiles and turns up the music.

He drives to the outskirts of the city, pulls into an industrial area, and parks behind a big abandoned building. There's one flood light and it’s buzzing, casting a flickering white light on the gravel. 

Clement parks and turns off the car, then gets out. He pulls a six pack out of the back seat. You get out and join him at the back fender.

He opens a bottle of PBR beer and takes a swig, then offers you your own bottle from the six pack. 

“I'm good,” you decline.

“You sure?” He asks, holding the new bottle up. It's a Mexican Coke.

“Oh, wow,” your face lights up.

He opens the bottle with a wink and mentions, “didn't have cherry.” 

Your heart flutters and your ears get hot as you accept the drink.   

You sit on the back of his car talking and enjoying your drinks for a while. You shiver and he asks, “you alright?”

“Well, I'm not really dressed,” you laugh. 

“Lucky for you, this car came with a jacket.” He hops off the trunk of the car and reaches behind the driver’s seat. When he returns a few moments later, he’s wearing a vintage brown leather jacket and holding a jacket for you. 

“Looks about right, whatcha think?”  

“Yeah.” You carefully step down off the car. 

"Hold on,” he says and drapes the jacket over one arm. Then he steps in closer and nudges his fingers under your robe, hitting your bare shoulders and giving you goosebumps. He nudges the robe off, and it falls down to your elbows. You take it off. His eyes glue to your chest. You rub your arms. He holds out the jacket for you and you let him put it on. 

He looks you up and down and gives a low whistle. “Perfect,” he nods. Then he steps closer and slips his hands inside your jacket, sliding them along your silk dress, then resting warmly on your lower back. He pulls you into him for a hug. Your erect nipples are poking him through the fabric. He lets out a low growl and pulls you in tighter. A warm, mostly soft bulge presses into you and makes you throb. He noses your hair and inhales as he grabs a handful of ass. 

“Ready?” He asks in a low growl, and you've forgotten what he's referring to. 

“Hm?” You respond. 

“Ready to shoot?”

“Uh, yeah.” It doesn't seem like the safest environment, but there's something sexy about it, too. Your gut tells you he's dangerous, but you like it because he makes you feel safe at the same time. Like you’re not the one in danger. 

“One second.” He grabs something from under the driver’s seat and puts it in his pocket. It looks vaguely flask shaped but taller. It barely fits. Lastly, he gets his gun out of the glovebox and puts it in the back of his pants. 

—

Clement lights a cigarette, then you walk with him toward the floodlight. He puts his arm around you and offers you the cigarette, but you decline.

“Mmm good girl,” he murmurs with the cigarette still in his mouth. “I can tell ya ain't *too* good though.” 

“Hey. I turned down beer and cigarettes. How do you know I'm not good?”

“Just got that vibe, baby.” He squeezes your arm. “And I sure am glad.” 

There are multiple wide garage doors along the side of the building. You arrive at a door that's lifted up two or three feet.  He holds it at the bottom and slides it up another foot or so. You still have to crouch down, and you hold your dress and the jacket against your bare thighs as you do it. It's spooky inside. Way too dark, and the space is derelict. 

Once Clement's inside the building with you, he pulls a string hanging from the above. Then he drops his cigarette and the sparks bounce over a dirty concrete floor before he stops it out. Several bulbs buzz awake along the high ceiling, evenly spaced but far apart. The furthest one is against a half painted brick wall. There are crates stacked up along some of the walls and a few in the middle of the space. As you get closer, the light clearly illuminates a host of bullet holes in the back wall. There are also casings on the floor. On the wall to your right, some of the windows are busted out. 

He takes his jacket off and lays it on a crate against the wall. He removes his gun from his pants and puts his leg arm around you as he shows it to you. It’s a silver gun with two swallows engraved on the handle. The birds have their wings spread and are facing each other. 

“It was my daddy’s,” he says. “Only thing Mama saved for me.”

His face hardens and he turns and aims toward the back wall, triceps bulging under his shirt. He pulls the trigger. The gunshot is loud, but not as terrible as it could be. Debris bounces off the wall.

He hands you the gun, and. you accept it apprehensively.

“Are you sure this is okay? Here?” You have to wonder about people hearing the gunshots, and plus how you're destroying the wall.

“Don't you worry, darlin’. Place won't be around much longer anyway.” 

“Okay.”

“Ever shot a gun?”

“Yeah but I'm rusty.” 

“You'll be fine, darlin’. Go ahead.” You aim it hesitantly, half expecting the entire wall to crumble. Clement gets behind you and braces his hands on your arms. “Steady now,” he murmurs. His body is so close to yours, you get butterflies. Then he puts his arms around you. He doesn’t help you aim right away. He noses your temple and inhales your scent. “Mmm,” he hums. You relax your arms, holding the gun with your elbows bent. Then he plans a wet kiss on your neck. “Can’t help myself, sugar.” He kisses and sucks at your neck and you moan. He lightly bites you and you take your right hand off the gun to reach back for his head. You're gushing, and wonder if it's going to run down your legs at this rate.

“Mm-mm,” he shakes his head. “Wanna see ya shoot first.”

You let out a disappointed sigh, and he rests his hands on your hips. He presses his pelvis forward, and a hard shape in his pants gives you a rush of need. He murmurs, “You feel that? Oooh.” His hands on your hips pull you back on his bulge. “You can have it when you're done.” 

You compose yourself and aim the gun again. He slightly adjusts your arms and directs you toward an unblemished patch of paint straight ahead, just above the exposed brick. “Hit that, and we’re done.”

It only takes you one shot.

“Well hot damn!” He celebrates. “Look at you.” You hand the gun back to him. He slinks around you, hugs you from behind again, and murmurs “don't even need my help, do ya,” then kisses your neck again. “Let's go,” he says into your skin, then retrieves his jacket from the crate. As you're walking back toward the garage door, he turns around and starts walking backwards and whistling. You glance back and he's pulled a bottle of lighter fluid out of his pocket. He's trailing the liquid as he walks. 

Your heart jumps to your throat. “What are you doing?”

“Ohh, don't worry, darlin’. It'll burn slow at first. Plenty’a time to get outta here.” He holds the garage door up for you to duck under. He flips the lid of the lighter fluid closed and crams it back in his pocket. 

You back away as he takes out a matchbook. He lights a match and drops it into the lighter fluid. The fire races under the garage door and Clement’s eyes are beaming darkly in the glow of it. After a moment, he says, “Woo! Lets go, baby.” You're speechless, and very turned on. He takes your hand in his and charges toward the car. His stride is so long, you're nearly jogging to keep up.

“Hahaaa,” he laughs to himself as he gets in the car. He revs the engine and turns on the music. He pops a breath mint. He sings along with Blue Orchid, and his voice really isn't half bad. 

“Where are we going?” You ask.

He looks at you fondly for a moment. “Love a woman who's up for adventure.” He puts his hand behind you to reverse.

As he drives by the building, you crane your neck to see. The fire is only a flickering glow through the busted out windows so far.

He turns down the music only slightly. “Stars are out tonight,” he observes. “Know a spot with a great view,” he offers as you exit the property. 

“Ok,” you try to suppress a smile. 

“Yeah!” He yells and peels off on the main road. You look up at the stars with the wind in your hair. Soon, he turns onto another dark road, somewhat winding, uphill.

-

He parks in a dark corner of an abandoned office park. It's littered with empty bottles and faded cans. The chainlink fence has half fallen down, and there are a couple of steel drums. Clement gets out of the car.   With most of this part of town abandoned, the light pollution isn't very close. You're up on a hill now, too. 

He takes the lighter fluid out of his pocket, squirts it in the barrel, and drops the plastic container in with it. Then he lights the matchbook on fire, drops it. And a blaze quickly grows in the barrel.

Then he gets back in the car and moves the seat back. He leans over and pulls you in for a heated kiss. Then he pulls back and murmurs, “Now get over here” as he takes off his jacket. 

—-

Thankfully, the car is roomy and so are the seats. You take off your jacket and put the robe back on. The air is cool and crisp and feels fine. As you climb over to straddle Clement, he greets you with his hands on your thighs. He slides his palms all the way up the backs of your thighs and reaches your bare ass. Then he lifts your little slip dress and says “God *damn*,” at the sight of your bare cunt.  “If I knew this. . .”

“You didn't let me get ready,” you lightly punch his chest with a hint of laughter, cheeks burning. He chuckles.

“Well good. Guess I'm *never* gonna let ya get ready.” Your heart flutters at the implied future. He sticks his left hand between your legs and cups your bare cunt. “Oh, baby.” You hover above his thighs while he leans back and unbuttons his pants, then unzips and pulls them down to expose a massive bulge in his white briefs. Your breath hitches at the sight. 

He grabs your ass and pulls you forward so your crotch meets his cotton-clad bulge, and a shock of desire spreads through your body like fire. He thrusts upward and you moan at the contact of his warm, hard, package. He kisses you and uses his hands on your hips to rub you against him with your mouths connected. He breaks the kiss with a sigh and says, “Fuck, let's go.” He shoves his hand down his briefs and you allow him the space to take out his commanding cock and balls. Your mouth falls open. 

“Not as huge as it looks,” he reassures you. “Gonna love every inch of it.” You nod. It's the girth that has you wide-eyed.

“Oh you're drippin’ on me, sugar.” He lets his thick manhood rest against his lower belly and pulls you in so your clit presses against his warm, smooth shaft and you’re aching to have him inside you. “Let’s feed this hungry pussy already.” 

He holds his cock as you hover over it then begin to slowly lower yourself, getting closer to entry. You pause, and he runs his tip through your dripping folds and helps spread the slick down his shaft. Then he nestles his tip at your entrance and you twitch. 

You begin to sink down on him, with his tip spreading you wide open. “Mmm,” you whine. 

“Yeah, good girl. . . you can take it, baby.” It's every bit as big as it looks. You sink down, feeling taken apart in the best way, and he pulls you down flush. 

Speared on his engorged cock, pleasure races through your chest and thighs, out to every inch of your body. 

“You good?” He asks, chest heaving. 

You rise up then sink back down.

“Attagirl,” he murmurs. “want ya to hear somethin’.” He reaches for the tape deck and changes the cassette. He presses play and it's Ball and Biscuit by the White Stripes. 

“I know this one,” you smile. It's a sexy, languid alt blues song. 

“Just wait for the next one,” he murmurs, looking at you with a raging lust in his eyes. His cock twitches inside you. He pulls your face into his again and lifts his hips, pushing farther into you. You've never felt so full. “Oh baby,” he breaks the kiss. “You feel so good.” His face is so handsome in the flickering fire light. His blue eyes look almost black. The slice of bare flesh in his eyebrow is too sexy. You run your hands through his hair and he groans at the light rake of your fingers against his scalp.

He lifts into you to the beat of the song. You begin to roll your hips in sync with him. 

“Ohhh, yeah,” he breathes. Part of you wants him to lose control and ravish you, but this slow fuck is perfect for the intense stretch of your cunt around his cock.

You kiss and moan as your bodies move together, and the pleasure swells deep inside you, all around his cock. He nudges the silk robe off your shoulders and pulls down the straps of your dress. He groans at the sight of your breasts. He covers one with a hand and one with his mouth and his whole body is moving in time with the music. Your chest feels light. For the rest of the song, your body is wrapped around his, and his hips are slightly lifting you with each thrust.  

The same song starts over, but it's not the same singer. The voice is smoother, deeper than Jack White’s. You pull your head back to listen. Clement studies your face, and it takes you a few seconds to recognize the vocals. It’s him, Clement. 

“Holy shit,” you mutter, and his face comes to life. “Your voice is–God.” It's hard piecing sentences together impaled on him.

“You really like it,” he marvels. 

“Of course I do, it's . . . perfect.” 

His eyes soften with affection and he kisses you deeper, smoothly thrusting. He seems to take up all the space in your body. 

The passion between you intensifies until it might burst. You need all of his body. You break away from a messy kiss to undo one of his shirt buttons, then another, and he unbuttons the rest in a hurry, and leans back against the chair as you spread his shirt. His chain sparkles in the firelight. It's hanging slightly above a chest tattoo that has the same birds as the gun. His tan skin glistens in the flickering glow.

You plant your hands on his hard pecs to ride him. The movement of his hips becomes more pronounced, and soon he's taken over. He thrusts upward sharply but smoothly and starts fucking you from the bottom, grunting and sighing. He pulls you down on him each time he thrusts. You moan, feeling like you're on the brink. 

He pulls you close again and kisses you sloppily while your bodies move as one. “Clem, I'm gonna–”

“Mmm,” he cuts you off. He grunts and moans against your mouth. He's close too. 

“I'm gonna fill ya up, baby. . .You want that?” he pants. 

You nod.

“You want big Clement dribbling’ down your thighs?” 

You nod urgently.  

“That's my girl.” His massive hands move you on his cock, and you whimper as you begin to unravel. You clench around him, and he fucks you through it. Then he grunts as he thrusts upward “nngg—ohhhh, uugggh.” He pulses into you, warmth spreading in your core as you finish choking his cock. 

You collapse into his arms and twitch with aftershocks as he cradles your head. After a minute, you're still impaled on him and he says your name. You pull your head back. 

He looks back and forth between your eyes. A firetruck siren interrupts you. There are more sirens in the distance. Clement shifts his head to look past you, through the windshield, through the broken chain-link fence. His eyes illuminate warmly and he breaks into a small smile. You look behind yourself to see a building on fire in the distance. It's now half engulfed in flames. 

What a view. This man is wild, and you can't get enough of him. 

-------- -------- Thank you so much for reading!! If you want, you can subscribe to notifications on @toxicfics for all my fics. If you want to be on a Boyd Holbrook character tag list lmk but fyi I sometimes write dark. I have a dark fic rn called The Raid with Steve and Javi. Javi captures reader to make her get clean (off drugs) and she's very horny for them. Steve shows up in part 2, then he has his own PWP one shot, Javi isn't home. Series ongoing.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hi!! For the 1k follower event, could I request Skyrim Teldryn Sero PDA?

Thankyou!!

(I may or may not send more requests)

AH! Teldryn! My beloved! I love that cocky and charismatic mercenary. It’s seriously a crime that he isn’t a romance option in base game. I’d select him over my usual option (Farkas) every time if he was. Sigh. Proceeds to go look at mods.

(And you may absolutely send in more requests)

1k Follower Event Rules

Word Count: 653

ao3 // taglist // 1k follower event masterlist // main masterlist

PDA is usually defined as any sort of intimacy that revolves around hand holding, kissing, touching, etc, but I’d argue that affection is a broad term that can be applied to many areas.

For inns, taverns, or anything involving drink and a good time, Teldryn needs to be right next to you. He will keep one hand on your thigh—nowhere else. Not the knee, or an arm around your shoulder. It has to be the thigh. A hand on the thigh is a sign of ownership. It is a clear message to everyone else in the room to stay away. He might be smiling and enjoying himself, but he’s always aware of where his hand needs to be.

If there is music, and he’s had a few drinks, Teldryn is up for a bit of dancing. He likes it because he can be close to you, and for him, it’s like the two of you are in your own little bubble. Doesn’t matter if the place is packed or completely empty. It’s a different kind of intimacy you just can’t get when you’re on the road. With this, he might be more forward, more willing to place his hands in places that might be publicly deemed lewd.

Teldryn will not grab or kiss you roughly in front of others. He might do it to annoy you or tease, but not because he enjoys it. He prefers the softer touches and displays of affection. He’ll slide his arm around your waist and tuck you close. In a dark corner, he’ll lean in and whisper your name to draw your attention to him, only to greet your response with a kiss.

In times of relaxation, whether at an inn or inside a shop, if he’s not occupied with something, Teldryn will be close to you. Not on top of you or stepping on your feet, but within range in case you need anything. As he’s perusing a shelf or admiring weapons on the wall, Teldryn may reach out, seeking you, only to briefly connect before drawing away again. It could be as small as the tips of his fingers brushing against your arm or his palm on your back.

While Teldryn is cocky, he doesn’t need to flaunt anything to prove that he cares about you. He is confident, and he knows where the two of you stand. Teldryn won’t strut around like a colorful bird. He will stand tall and yet completely relaxed. There might be a swagger in his step when he walks around with you in public, but it’s subdued, more of a delighted kick in his step.

Public displays of affection that include kisses, hugs, and touching are completely on the table. Teldryn won’t say no to those if you ask, and he will ask for them in return. At an inn or tavern, and only after several drinks, he might be very handsy, even going so far as to pull you in his lap. A few drinks can break that demeanor and make him ravenous.

Teldryn prefers placing his hand on your lower back over holding hands.

Teldryn likes to hold hands only when the two of you are stationary or standing next to each other.

He prefers subtle, sweet kisses over messy ones. Teldryn saves those for when the two of you are alone.

Loves toying with your hair, and rubbing your back when he thinks no one is looking.

Is always willing to do a bit more if he believes the two of you won’t be caught.

Hand-feeding you or serving you food is mandatory and he considers it an honor. And no, you will not go to the bar to order your own drink. Teldryn will do it for you.

PDA can also mean “Public Displays of Annoyance” because Teldryn would absolutely show you public affection by teasing you until you’re completely annoyed with his presence.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth

@miaraei @coffeecaketornado @miss-mistinguett @cherryofdeath @ninman82

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

BLACK TIE OPTIONAL: PART TWO

Summary: The last time we saw Vanessa, she was swooning over Dean’s lasting impression. Now, we fast-forward a year to see what she’s up to.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x OFC Vanessa Martinelli, Sam Winchester x OFC Emma Olsen (background)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, HBO RomCom bullshit, IDK if this is angst or not, but there are feels

Author's notes: Follow-up to Plus One.

We’re skipping to the actual rehearsal because, as an ex-event professional, I tend to get bogged down by etiquette and details instead of the shenanigans that Dean and Vanessa have come to be known for and which we all love. So, we will remain in tight focus on those two and in vaseline-lensed focus on the event itself.

Thanks, as always, to @stunudo and @brrose-apothecary for pre-reading and being my friends.

PART TWO

“Dude, this food,” Sam whispers, scanning the room. “But this place is huge and heavily staffed. Remember the last time we were in Chicago?" 

Dean ignores Sam’s concern over supernatural crime families in favor of delicious, impeccably presented food.

“It’s just... tacos? But not.” Dean stares at the spread of the taco bar. “Sorcery.”

“Dean... Lassiter? Duval? Any of this ringing a bell?”

Dean shrugs. “That was, what, two years ago? Not our problem — especially if you stop saying their names out loud.”

Then his eyes go wide. “What is this?!” He scoops mango salsa onto his plate like he’s never seen a mango in his life.

Sam pulls a face, realizing that Dean has probably not ever seen a mango in his life and remembered it fondly, and chooses not to tell Dean that there’s fresh, healthy fruit in what he’s putting on his plate. He’d rather Dean be pleasantly surprised by the topping.

“Hey,” Emma pops up next to them, fidgeting and forcing a smile. “Our table’s over there whenever you guys’re ready.” 

The boys stare at her for a moment because her voice is pitched higher than it was when she was visibly more relaxed in their suite, and her smile looks painful. She motions to a table where Vanessa appears to be barely surviving the onslaught of three other women. 

“Hopefully sooner rather than later?” Emma turns back to face the boys with flushed cheeks and pleading eyes. 

Dean peeks around her. “What’s up over there?”

“Nicole’s grilling Van about you being here and asking a bunch of questions about you.” She motions to Dean and Sam respectively before reaching between them for a tortilla chip to scoop into the mango salsa before shoving it into her mouth.

“Who’s Nicole?” Sam asks, also scooping into the mango salsa.

Dean rolls his eyes and answers with his mouth full. “The bride from the last wedding, total ‘zilla.”

“God, that salsa’s good,” Emma mutters, licking her lips as she swipes the salt from her fingers. “Anyway, we need you.” 

Sam draws a breath, getting pulled into the verdant depths of Emma’s desperate gaze. He soaks in her anxious vibrations for a moment, then deftly sets the spoon aside to give her his full attention and warmest smile.

“Lead the way,” he says, stepping away from the table with his plate in one hand and the other on the small of her back.

Dean watches his brother glide through the crowd like a white knight. He considers making a joke of asking Sam if he lost his soul again somewhere between the guacamole and sour cream but opts out, realizing that his little brother is as committed to showing up for Emma as Dean is to Vanessa. He follows the couple to their table without any wisecracks. 

Sam wedges his gigantic frame between the pack of bridesmaids and a couple of chairs; one he pulls out for Emma, the other he barely squeezes himself into. One of the women scoffs and stumbles like Sam shoved her or something, which he didn’t, but he does remain a buffer between his date and the Mean Girls.

Dean is inspired.

He winks at his brother and Emma as he swaggers past the group of women. Two of them he doesn’t recognize gawk at him as Nicole glares. 

He sets his plate on the table and mirrors Sam’s actions by pulling out and patiently holding Vanessa’s chair for her. “Hungry, kitten?”

Vanessa grins and wiggles out of the circle of women.

“Hi, Dean,” Nicole says like they’re old friends or enemies. He forgot how fucking bitchy her voice and facial expressions are. He thinks she must be a miserable person and not just on her own wedding day.

He tosses her a polite nod. “Hey, Tracy.”

Vanessa tries not to cackle at his consistently intentional misnaming of her frenemy and Nicole’s subsequent sneer of derision.

“I am hungry,” she says, smoothing her skirt and pivoting to take the proffered seat, but before she can sit down, Dean leans into her with a conspiratorial smirk. 

“Missed you,” he coos, kissing her smirk.

And sparks fly.

--

They’re seated with Nicole and Katie and their respective partners, which should be uncomfortable since Nicole is doing her best to make it so, but Dean can’t be bothered to care. 

Vanessa’s skin is like a fucking beacon to his senses. He can’t keep his hands or lips to himself, and Vanessa purrs like a real kitten in response. Dean starts to feel a little high from the simple acts of a traditional couple.

“Sir? Another tequila?” 

“Uhh,” Dean blinks, pausing to look down at his half-empty rocks glass. He’s ordered two tequilas on the rocks since they’ve been downstairs, which isn’t a lot for him, but he doesn’t want it to be, either. “You know what, I’ll take a beer.”

“Yes, sir.” The server produces a small drink menu. “We have a selection of—” 

Dean waves his hand. “Just somethin’ three-point-whatever.” He leans nearer to the server but doesn’t lower his voice at all, so everyone within earshot can hear him. “Don’t wanna disappoint my girl later, know what I’m sayin’?”

He winks before settling back into his seat with his arm stretched across the back of Vanessa's chair, and the server discreetly nods and tucks the menu away. “Yes, sir.” 

“You could never disappoint me,” Vanessa reassures him like they talk this way all the time. 

Nicole and Katie give each other a look while Zach and Ryan appear to be rethinking their beverage choices.

Dean knows, though, that he could and will disappoint Vanessa. Not tonight, probably, but it will happen. Instead of saying that out loud, he focuses on showing her a good time like he planned. 

“So,” Nicole sighs as she tosses her used napkin to her plate. “Are you guys coming to Brando’s?”

Dean arches a brow and shifts his gaze to his brother with a pointed look.

“Babe?” Sam looks at Emma. “I know you’re tired, but we can probably go for one, don’t you think?”

Emma grins. “You’re right. We should show.”

Sam nods before looking back at Nicole. “I’m sorry, we’ve had dinner together and still haven’t met. I’m Sam, Emma’s boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend. What about Joshua?”

Nicole motions across the room where a group of Abercrombie rejects are measuring each other’s dicks. The guy doing most of the talking has his arm tightly wrapped around a girl who appears no older than 18 and is absolutely enthralled by the conversation. 

“Apparently, the new girl enjoys lengthy descriptions of his watch collection,” Vanessa mutters at Dean’s side.

Dean can feel his lip curl because he looks like the leader of that pack of douchebags he hustled the night Rowena tried to kill him. The first time.

Nicole turns back to face the group. “Last I heard, you were still crying your eyes out over him.”

“Hmm.” Sam furrows his brow. “That must’ve been a while ago.” 

The smirk on Sam’s face sends Dean into the stratosphere.

“Well, let’s get the bar outta the way.” Dean pushes away from the table to stand, holding out a hand from Vanessa. “We still got catchin’ up to do, kitten.”

Vanessa takes his hand, barely stifling a giggle.

“Yes, Dean, we all know what you mean by catching up.” Nicole rolls her eyes as she stands, smoothing the front of her dress. “Also, did I miss the memo on matching our dates like it’s prom?”

“C’mon, Nicki,” Zach nudges his wife.

Katie and the groomsmen have warmed up to the brothers and don’t seem to have ever shared Nicole’s animosity toward Vanessa — and, now, Emma by extension — and Nicole herself has evened out a bit, but she’s still got some snark left in her.

“What? We aren’t matching. Katie and Ryan aren’t matching. But Van and Dean look like they’re headed to a red carpet somewhere.”

“A red carpet or prom?” Emma pokes the bear.

“Shut up, Emma.”

Nobody hides their snorts and laughter as they all leave the table to head out for the bar.

Before they can get out the door, the mother of the bride stops them. She’s petite with dark red hair, dark eyes, and a bright smile.

“Oh, Van, you look so pretty.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Ricci.” Vanessa hugs the woman.

Dean watches Vanessa twirl at the woman’s request to see the back. He didn’t realize it before Nicole said something, but the flowers intertwined with black lace skulls on her bodice match his dark red pants.

“What a unique dress. You have such great taste! All you girls look so pretty!”

There’s a chorus of “thanks, Mrs. Ricci” from Katie, Emma, and Nicole.

“How long are we staying out?” Sam asks Dean, pulling his attention from Vanessa, who shines like a diamond in a coal mine. 

“Up to them, I guess,” Dean mutters, never taking his eyes off her. 

“Well, you kids have fun tonight,” Mrs. Ricci says. “But don’t stay out too late! And don’t let Toni drink too much. You know how she bloats, and we can barely get her into her dress as it is.”

Vanessa looks desperate to run from the extended conversation. He doesn’t want to insert himself unless she asks, but decides to test the waters. 

“Hey, sweetheart, you ready?”

Vanessa looks up at him with relief and gratitude, clasping her hand in his. Butterflies flap their wings in her gut, and she tries to remind herself that the look in his eyes is temporary and meant as a show.

“Well... who’s the handsome gentleman, Van?” 

Vanessa smiles, turning back to face Mrs. Ricci. “This is—” 

“Dean.” Dean extends his free hand to Mrs. Ricci, and she accepts. He turns her wrist and kisses the back of her hand. “I’m this beautiful girl’s plus one.”

Mrs. Ricci raises her eyebrows and nods, eyeing them closely. “I see... I didn’t know you had someone, Van. You make a lovely couple. How long have you been together?”

“Little over a year, ma’am,” Dean easily answers.

“Well, then, I guess you’ll be talking marriage soon as well. You better catch that bouquet tomorrow!” Mrs. Ricci teases Vanessa.

“Oh, we’re all set!” Vanessa chirps, not realizing how what she’s just said sounds.

“Really?!” Mrs. Ricci’s eyes go wide. “When’s the wedding?”

Vanessa blinks as her skin prickles. “Next fall?”

“Congratulations!”

“Yeah, congrats, Van,” Nicole deadpans with a roll of her eyes because even she knows this is all an act. “Are we going or what?”

Vanessa keeps her eyes on anyone but her date for the rest of their night out. 

--

Dean gently closes the door to their lock-off, shutting out Emma’s squeals of delight and Sam’s laughter. He watches Vanessa busy herself around the room as he unfastens the cuffs of his button-up and rolls up his sleeves. 

He isn’t well-practiced in relationships. He and Cassie always fought, and Lisa was easygoing. His relationship with Vanessa was never supposed to reach this level, so he isn’t sure how to break the tension. 

“Hey.”

Vanessa's wary gaze doesn’t quite meet his. “I’m just gonna brush my teeth.”

She motions toward the vanity and takes the last few steps barefoot to get there. Dean appears behind her in the mirror as she reaches for the toothpaste. 

“Give it a minute.” Dean touches her wrist.

Vanessa tenses. “I don't know why I reacted that way.”

Dean shakes his head. “Turn around.”

She sighs and slumps in defeat before turning toward him with her eyes on the floor.

“Look at me.”

She swallows and reluctantly drags her gaze upward. “Dean, I’m sor—”

He pulls her in, wrapping her in his arms. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She asked when we were getting married, and I said next fall.”

Her voice is muffled against his chest, but she sounds miserable, and Dean can’t help but chuckle.

He pulls back to look her in the eye. “Who’re you worried about? That old lady?”

Vanessa blinks away the onslaught of embarrassed tears from her eyes. “You, Dean. Aren’t you... freaked or mad or...”

Dean shakes his head, grabbing a tissue for her. “Why would I be mad? Or freaked.” 

She takes the tissue, and he crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against the wall. He likes being with her, but he isn’t marrying anyone any time soon — they both know that. What bothers him right now is that she regrets such a simple blunder.

Vanessa dabs at the corners of her eyes and sniffles. “I said that... so now you probably think I’m clingy. And now I’m crying.”

She throws her hands up in the air and focuses on Dean, who’s watching her with a quiet smile and, if she isn’t mistaken, amusement. 

“Why are you smiling like that?! You didn’t sign up for this!”

“Nessa.” Dean pushes away from the wall to gently grasp her shoulders. “If you had any idea what my brother and I do? You’d get how you could never turn me off short of becoming an actual fucking monster. I can’t quit you.”

Vanessa closes her eyes and sighs. “The problem is that I like you, Dean. A lot.”

She opens her eyes, and Dean’s face has shifted to an unbearably soft melancholy. He nods, holding her gaze. “Yeah. Me too.”

“But we barely know each other,” she continues, taking a step forward and smoothing a palm down the sateen placard of his black button-up. “And you have some secret and dangerous job that I’ll never understand.”

“What makes you think it’s dangerous?” Dean sits back against the edge of the bathroom counter, wrapping his hands around her lace-enveloped ribcage, and lets her wedge herself between his open knees.

Her eyes land on his mouth. He’s so beautiful. She’s told him a dozen times. But he’s also a walking, talking mountain of trauma, and Vanessa guesses that damage extends beyond physical.

“Scar tissue, for one.” She reaches for his right hand and raises it between the two of them, knuckles up. “And busted knuckles?”

“Just a bar fight, honey,” Dean mutters, and Vanessa huffs a wry laugh, rolling her eyes up at him again.

“Maybe, but I doubt it.” She doesn’t drop her gaze as she dips in to press a kiss to his healing knuckles. “I’ve never known what I wanted in the long run, but... I know I want you. Now.”

Dean eyes her quietly for a moment before dipping in to kiss her. “You got me.”

He kisses her for a long time, pushing one hand up into the back of her hair and resting the other over her clavicle and breastbone. His thumb and first two fingers dance along either side of her neck, and she moans into his mouth.

He stands and steps away from the vanity, pulling her with him toward the bed, kissing her the whole way. She works on the buttons of his shirt as he opens the zipper of her dress. Black and red lace and chiffon flutter to the floor, and she walks over it.

Once she has his shirt undone and pulled from his pants, she slides her hands over his hot skin and pushes the garment to the floor. Dean stops at the edge of the bed with his hands on her waist as she pulls his belt and oxblood pants open and off. 

“Hey.” Dean clasps her hand in his before she can reach inside his boxers. “Just listen a minute, OK?” 

Vanessa slowly brings her anxious gaze to meet his. 

“You’re, what, 26 years old?”

She drops her eyes and starts to pull away. “Twenty-seven, and I don’t need your condescension.”

“No, no, no.” Dean grasps her wrists in his hands and pulls her in again. “Not condescending, reassuring. Nessa... you don’t need to have anything figured out right now. You got your whole beautiful, perfect life ahead of you to fuck up and win.” 

Her brow furrows, and Dean grins.

“Sometimes I wish somebody’d told me that when I was 27.”

Even if someone had told him, Dean had and has a different life than hers. His path was cut out for him long ago, and all he can do is live it, get up, and kick ass. It still would have been nice to hear.

Vanessa turns into him again, resting her hands on his beautifully scarred and tattooed chest. She lightly traces a long-healed gash until she runs into his tattoo and circles it. 

“You my guru, now?” She flicks her eyes up to his.

Dean shrugs, sliding his hands up her sides along her bodysuit's soft, plain black fabric. “Can be anything you want.”

She closes her eyes and leans in to kiss his sternum. She hums and drags her lips to one of his nipples, gently pulling it between her damp lips. 

Dean groans, smoothing a hand down the back of her long, wavy tresses before briefly pulling away.

“Just—” he sighs and closes his eyes from her wide, bright gaze to compose himself. “Believe me when I say that one little slip of the tongue ain’t enough to ruin a great weekend with one of the most gorgeous, delightful women I’ve ever been with in my life.”

Vanessa tosses her head back and laughs. 

“Seriously,” Dean continues as Vanessa pushes him back to sit on the bed, giggling the whole way. 

“You smell good, you’re beautiful.��� As he lists off the things he likes about her, Vanessa climbs astride his lap. “You laugh at my terrible jokes. Your voice alone is enough to give me wood, I’m not even kidding.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

She wiggles a little, making him whimper and grip her hips, and drapes her arm over his shoulders to finger the velvety nape of his neck.

“Thank you. I like being with you, too.”

He smiles, and she pitches forward to kiss him. 

“Then why don’t you tell me about everything I missed,” he mutters around her lips.

“When?” she breathes into his mouth.

“When I wasn’t with you, and you couldn’t get off without me.” Dean holds her close as he moves back to the mountain of fluffed-up hotel pillows.

“Mmm... Which time?” She steadies herself as he gets situated, watching his skin ripple over muscle.

“Start at the beginning.” He settles in, giving her his full attention, his hands sliding up her thighs to shroud her hips. “What made you realize thinking about me— about us together’d do the trick?”

Vanessa bites her lip, her cheeks flush dark pink, and her eyelids flutter.

Dean chuckles, reaching up to pull the front of her strapless bodysuit down, freeing her breasts. “Did you think about how I held you up and drilled you ‘til you soaked the bed of that swank hotel?”

“Jesus.” Vanessa grinds over him, leaning backward on her hands, and arching her spine. “Yes...”

He cups and squeezes one breast, then hooks three fingers around the front of the thong bottom of the body suit to knuckle at her opening. 

“Did you think about me for seven days after?”

Vanessa nods, blindly grinding against his hand. “At first, it was your voice— it was when I was alone. I tried to remember... the way it rumbles your chest when you call me kitten.” 

“Uh-huh.” Dean does his best to keep his voice warm and deep. “You’re so slick and hot right now, kitten. I’m here now.” 

Vanessa lurches up and forward to brace her palms against his chest. “Keep talking.”

“You look so pretty, grindin’ against my fist. All open and juicy, so sexy. You gonna get yourself off like this?”

“God, Dean.” Vanessa grips his wrist and ruts against his knuckles hard, digging her blunt fingernails into his chest.

Dean hisses and whispers. “Do it, and I’ll fuck you just like you want. ”

“Oh, fuck!” She comes, shaking and panting, then collapses over him.

Dean slowly removes his hand from between her legs and wraps his arms around her while she catches her breath.

After a few moments, she speaks. “Then I was with this guy.” 

“Hmm. Did he make you come?” Dean rolls her to her back.

“You know he didn’t. I told you that.”

“Did you?” He peels the bodysuit the rest of the way off her before throwing it across the room.

“On the phone. That’s why we’re having this conversation, I assume.”

“Ahh, yeah, you did.”

He shoves his boxers over his hips and flings them to join their other clothes — away from their bodies and the bed — before climbing between her legs and stretching out over her. He props himself up with his forearms and brushes her hair away from her face with his hands.

“What else, then?”

She raises her knees at his sides and drags her fingertips up his spine.

“After a couple more guys, same results, I gave up. My toys and memories are better than anyone who isn’t you.”

Dean makes a sound like pity cut with need as he grinds and bucks until his dick is snug and wet between her pussy lips. Then he drops his forehead to hers.

“Tell me exactly what makes you come when I’m not there.”

Vanessa closes her eyes and shudders when he slowly forges ahead. She hooks her hands over the backs of his shoulders with a gasp.

“I’ll never forget the utility closet,” she whispers. “The way everyone outside knew exactly what you’d done to me. I can’t stop thinking about if someone had seen us— if we’d been less careful.”

Dean moans as he slides all the way inside her, tucking his face in the crux of her neck. “You an exhibitionist, kitten?” 

She shakes her head. “You’re just so sexy and so good at everything. I bet we’re hotter than any movie.”

Dean buries himself deep and settles in. He doesn’t lie to her, never has, and probably never will, but her willingness to be so fucking vulnerable with him makes his heart skip.

“You wanna watch us in the mirror? Just you and me over there?” Dean nods toward the vanity.

Vanessa peers across the room, then looks back at him and nods. “Yeah, later. Right now, I like you right where you are.”

Part Three

Series master list | Dean Winchester Masterlist | SPN Masterlist | All Fic Masterlist

[banannabethchase]

Burn Me Down - also on AO3

~

After Mania XL, Seth runs into Roman. And then into Cody.

~

Seth and Cody, this is on you for being so womantic together. Title from Smoke by PVRIS.

~

Seth is alone, limping his way back from medical, when he sees the hunched figure. It’s a shape he memorized years ago, one that still feels a little wrong without a third slouching, smiling, fidgety shape next to him.

“Roman,” he says. It’s the first time in years that name has left his lips without the taste of malice and revenge on his tongue left behind.

He stops in his tracks. Seth prepares for backlash. For rage. For anger. He’ll deserve it.

Instead, Roman looks broken. “What?” he asks. “What could you possibly want?”

“I –” Seth knows what he wants. He wants to be 10 years ago, knowing what he knows now. He wants to be the person Roman deserved back then. He stumbles, a little, ache spinning up his spine.

“You’re hurt.” There’s no concern behind the words. It’s an observation. An obvious one, if Seth can editorialize.

Seth shrugs. “Have been for a while now.”

“Not this hurt.” Roman stares him down. In the past, Seth would have said something to cover the fact that he’ll blink first, he always would. Now, he closes his eyes. “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?” Seth asks, opening his eyes to see Roman closer.

“You know what you did.” The accusation doesn’t sting like he expected. It aches, though, somewhere deep inside him, somewhere he knows may never heal.

“Say it,” Seth says. Because he doesn’t know what Roman considers the crime. There was too much in this night that could have been the catalyst for that hurt in Roman’s eyes.

“You manipulated me,” Roman says through gritted teeth. His voice is as hard as his eyes. But with the right flame, even steel can melt.

Seth shrugs, because there’s nothing more he can do. “You know who I am,” he says, and he wishes he could be louder.

“You manipulated me,” Roman snarls, “to save him. That’s not you.” He steps closer, until Seth bumps into a table. “That’s never been you.”

Seth swallows. “It is me,” he says, and he’s not sure where Roman is going with this. “I’m always looking out for my own interests. You know that.”

“That isn’t – you took a chair shot, from me – you knew…” He stops, hands clenched at his sides. Seth knows in a second it could be his throat under those fingers. Roman steps in closer, his arms closer to Seth than they’ve been since they almost choked him out. “You knew what I would do.”

Seth shrugs. He won’t balk. But he will fight back. “I did.”

“You gave yourself up, knowing what I’d do.” Roman’s face is too close for Seth to remember how to breathe. “You gave yourself up for somebody else. For him. Twice, two nights in a row.” He’s breathing heavily. Seth hopes whatever he does is at least quick.

He waits. He braces.

“You never did that for me.”

Seth looks at Roman, to see something shattered. Roman looks almost old, the grief of the night stealing years away from the edges of his eyes. “All this,” he says, and he’s crying. Roman Reigns is crying. “All this for him.”

Seth fears for a split second that this is the moment he dies. And then Roman steps away.

“I hope he gives you what you never found in me.”

Seth opens his mouth, a decade’s worth of words caught behind his teeth, but he doesn’t get the chance to say them. Roman offers him what, in other contexts, could be mistaken for a smile. But Seth knows better. Three steps, lacking the swagger that’s become his trademark, and then Roman turns around.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. He doesn’t know how much time has passed when Cody, smiling, turns the corner.

“Oh, hey!” he says. His grin fades quickly, and he hands Pharaoh’s leash to Ricky who nods. “Rick, I, uh.”

“Later, man,” Ricky says, quietly. He nods at Seth, and it feels, somehow, like approval.

Cody’s hand, bumping against his, feels hesitant. “Seth,” he whispers.

“I did it wrong.” It’s all Seth can say. He doesn’t even know what it means. He only knows that they’re the only words that will come out of his mouth. “I did it wrong.”

“Whoa,” Cody says, steadying him by the shoulders. “Seth, no. You were perfect. You did everything right.”

“Then why does it hurt?” Seth collapses, expecting to hit the hard floor, but Cody catches him, lowering them slowly in a heap. His entire body shakes with sobs, with ten years of memories and regrets wreaking havoc through his already ruined body. He feels Cody collect all of his flailing limbs and pull him into his lap. They’re rocking slowly as Cody holds him close.

Seth’s never told him, is the thing. He never told Cody why he was so willing to sacrifice everything he had to give Cody what he needed. He never told Cody why he was so hell bound to make sure he did right by him.

He never told Cody what all this meant to him.

Cody’s whispering something to him, over and over.

“You’re not bad, Seth,” he says, “I promise, you’re not bad.”

“I did it wrong,” Seth says again. “It shouldn’t hurt anymore if I did it right.”

“What hurts?” Cody asks. “Where? Did medical miss something?”

Seth shakes his head, taking a shaky breath. “Not – not medical.”

“Did the ref miss something?” Cody pulls back, steadies Seth’s face with his hands. “Is there something internal?”

Seth laughs, because technically, yeah. It is internal.

“Okay, do we need to do a concussion protocol here?”

“No,” Seth says, trying to reign in the cackle. “No, no. I –” The laughter cuts off, abruptly, before Seth can get himself under control. “I don’t need that.”

Cody’s eyes are warm but concerned. “I’m getting you back to the hotel,” he says. “Up.”

Seth obeys before he realizes he’s doing it, scrambling to his feat at Cody’s behest like it’s normal.

He would do anything for Cody, he realizes. He doesn’t know when it became true. Only that it is.

“We’ll talk there,” Cody assures Seth. He sets hands on Seth’s shoulders and steers him toward the door.

“Don’t – wait.”

Cody stops, but keeps his hands on Seth’s shoulders. “Wait?”

“You have to celebrate,” Seth says, and he can’t make himself turn to see Cody. He can’t see the relief in his eyes when Cody realizes that Seth is letting him off the hook. “With your friends.”

“Seth,” Cody says gently, his hands smoothing down Seth’s shoulders and down to his arms. “I want to be with you right now.”

Seth turns. “What?”

“If you want to,” and Cody looks so sincere it feels impossible, “I want to celebrate with you.”

Seth has enough wherewithal to check up and down the hallway before he leans in. Cody meets him halfway, pulling him in with strong arms. The belt around his waist presses against Seth’s stomach, but it’s worth it. Cody kisses sure and strong, intentional, and Seth pulls him in close enough to really feel the belt dig in.

Cody pulls back after god knows how much time.

“Hotel,” Seth says, breathless.

They separate to gather their bags, and Seth is in a whirlwind. The kiss didn’t seem to clear anything up; if anything, he’s more confused. The guilt and rejection still hurts, and the memory of Roman’s shattered eyes sticks in his vision. It hovers over him as he packs, as he walks to the hotel, as he rides the elevator to his room, as he drops his bags.

He sinks into the night’s events, feeling the sting of losing his belt, the clawing misery of watching his fair fight with Drew fall to Damian’s cash in, the slice to the heart of hearing the Shield music, the radiating pain of the Superman punch, the lightning strike of the chair to his back.

He helped Cody win.

And it all still hurts.

He’s jolted back to reality when a text buzzes from his phone.

Come by when you’re ready. They put me in the penthouse. Code 2639.

Seth swallows. He shouldn’t go. It’s not fair to Cody, to make him deal with Seth when he’s like this.

Stop freaking out.

Seth blinks at the text. And he does as Cody says.

Five minutes later, when he’s dressed in sweats and a hoodie and his hair in a bun, Seth knocks on the door to the suite. He fiddles with his phone, with his wallet. He expects others to be there, expects noise and expectation and chaos.

Instead, there’s a soft light and Cody. “You’re here,” Cody says. “Come in.”

Seth steps inside and looks around. They really do shell out the big money for that universal title – Seth’s room, though a suite, is nothing like this. “Nice place you got here.”

Cody laughs, dipping his head, and Seth thinks it’s unfair how handsome he looks in pajama pants and a tee shirt. “It’s a lot,” he sighs. He looks up, leveling Seth with piercing blue eyes. “Tonight’s been a lot.”

Seth can’t hold the gaze and looks away, only for Cody to catch his chin and turn him back, face to face. “Seth,” he murmurs. “Talk to me.”

Seth presses his lips together, fighting for words. “I did it wrong,” comes out again, and he wants to kick himself for it. That’s not what he means, it doesn’t even make sense, but he keeps saying it anyway.

“You did everything right,” Cody says, reassuring even though there’s no way he has a clue what Seth is saying. “You hear me?” Seth has no choice but to look up into Cody’s eyes again. “You went above and beyond tonight. You didn’t have to do any of it. But you did. It was incredible.”

“Then why does it hurt so much?” Seth whispers.

Cody guides him to the bed and sits him down gently, and Seth falls against his shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’s crying, exactly, but whatever it is wracks his body, tears out of him. “Why does it hurt?” he gasps, gripping at the soft, worn fabric of Cody’s old Bullet Club tee shirt. “I thought I did the right thing.”

“You did do the right thing,” Cody says. He wraps strong arms around Seths shoulders and holds him.

“Then why did Roman look so miserable?” Seth sighs. He presses his face into Cody’s shoulder, breathing in. He somehow found the time to shower and smells like sandalwood and warmth, maybe a little bit of vanilla. Seth doesn’t know how comforting he’s allowed to find it. “Why did Roman look like I broke his heart all over again?”

“Ah,” Cody says. “That’s it.”

Seth sits up, and wipes tears he hadn’t known were falling off his face. “If it was the right thing,” he says, voice almost a whisper, “why doesn’t it feel good?”

“Sometimes, you do the right thing because it’s the right thing.” He says. Seth feels him sigh. “Not because it’s easy. Not because it feels good. Not because everybody’s gonna like it.” He nudges Seth up. “You put yourself in between me and the firing squad, Seth. If nothing else, it was the kind thing.” He leans his forehead in, hands resting on Seth’s thighs. “To me, though. To me it’s everything.”

Seth fidgets, unsure where to put his hands. He settles for on the bed, outside of Cody’s arms. “I feel guilty,” Seth says. “For – for making him do that to me. For turning him into me.”

“Oh, no,” Cody says. “Not that again. Who you were isn’t who you are. And if anything,  you made up for that. Tonight.” He smiles, and Seth feels parts of his body rearranging to fit Cody inside of him. “Thank you, Seth.”

He manages a smile, eager to get anything back from Cody that feels like praise. The way Cody cups his face is more than he could have dreamed of. “It felt right,” Seth says. “Roman couldn’t keep doing that.”

Cody nods. “You really dug deep, though. Back can’t be feeling good right now.”

“It’s been worse,” Seth lies. “Really.”

Cody studies his face. “Have you gotten a chance to shower yet?”

Seth shakes his head. “No. Do I stink or something?”

Cody laughs. “No. There’s this jacuzzi tub in this suite, giant thing. Wanna take a bath?”

Seth feels flaming hot all of a sudden. He’s seen a lot of Cody tonight, given parts of himself to Cody that he never thought he had. And yet, the two of them naked together in a bath seems more intense than anything else they’ve done.

“Yes,” Seth breathes. “I like that idea.”

Cody is incredibly gentle as he pulls Seth’s clothing off. He hadn’t expected this part – Cody trails searching fingertips along Seth’s skin, like he’s checking him for injuries. Seth can’t help but jump as Cody grazes his lower back.

“Sensitive, huh,” Cody murmurs. “Maybe I can give you a little massage?”

“Sure,” Seth says, but he’s pretty sure he’d agree to anything if Cody kept touching him. Cody smiles and takes Seth’s hand, leading him toward the suite bathroom.

It’s huge. Almost as huge as Seth’s bedroom at home. A shower with a waterfall showerhead, a large jacuzzi tub with jets, a two person vanity with lights. There are two thick, cozy robes hanging on the back of the door as Cody closes it.

“Two robes, huh?” Seth asks.

Cody shrugs. “Guess I got lucky.”

Seth knows it’s not the time to say, “you might, if you keep talking like this,” but he thinks it and smiles. “Let’s get in that bathtub.”

“More like a hot tub, if you ask me.”

Cody turns on the faucet and it fills quickly, but not quickly enough to keep Seth from getting in Cody’s space.

“Oh, I see,” Cody laughs, settling his hands on Seth’s hips, “now you’re not using your words to get in my head, are you?”

Seth shrugs. “Figure I should kiss you a few more times before you get me naked in a tub with you.”

Cody leans in, and this time the kiss is more demanding. Seth gives what Cody asks for, opening his mouth, whimpering as Cody’s tongue slides into his mouth. It’s too much talent in one man, he thinks, as he almost loses his steadiness in his knees as Cody grips his hips. They’re almost exactly the same height, and he finds it to be the best angle he’s ever gotten in a kiss.

“Tub,” Cody murmurs, pulling back just far enough to speak. He presses a few more kisses to Seth’s lips, not letting him pull away.

“Can’t get in the tub if you keep kissing me,” Seth giggles. He feels light, effervescent, and he doesn’t know how it’s allowed to be this excited and happy after how much ache the night has caused him.

“Come back,” Cody commands. “Whatever you were thinking about, put it away. It doesn’t matter right now.” He reaches out and tugs the tie from Seth’s hair. “Focus on now. Right here. This.”

“Not allowed to think of how I lost my belt?” Seth asks.

“Nope,” Cody says, and he finally steps out of his boxers, the last barrier between the two of them. Seth forces himself not to look down. It feels too greedy. Cody grins at Seth as he lowers himself into the water, mouth dropping open as his eyes flutter shut. Seth looks now.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

“Come on in,” Cody says. He spreads his legs under the water. “Here.”

Seth presses his lips together and pulls his boxers off and steps the first foot into the water. He worries, briefly, if it’ll be too much, if it’ll be too much for the tub to handle, but the water level barely rises. He slowly lowers himself. When he sits, the water is at the perfect level. He leans forward and turns off the faucet.

“Come here,” Cody murmurs. “Come lean against me.”

He doesn’t know why he’s hesitating. He doesn’t know why it doesn’t feel okay.

“You don’t have to,” Cody says. He expects the words to have a hint of hurt behind them, but instead they’re reassuring, sweet.

Seth leans back.

“Hi,” Cody says, and Seth would swear he feels lips against his hair. “Better?”

“Gravity sucks,” Seth says, settling in. “I like water so much better. Should have been a swimmer.”

“You could have pulled it off,” Cody says. Seth’s mind swims as Cody wraps his arms around his waist. “You have the body for it.”

“Forward,” Seth jokes.

“You’re in my lap in my bathtub,” Cody retorts. “Not sure how much more forward I could be. Oh!” He pulls Seth back by the hips. “How’s that for forward?”

Seth’s mind sets off alarm bells. And he’s not sure what they’re saying. He feels Cody’s dick nudge up against his ass, and it takes a second before he realizes that it’s exactly what he wants right now.

“You, um,” Seth says, unsure of what he wants but sure it’s Cody’s hands on him, “you said something about a massage earlier?”

“I did,” Cody says. “Where at?”

Seth fights a smile. “Lower back, would be nice.”

He feels Cody’s hands slide from his hips to his back. “Here?” Cody murmurs in his ear.

Seth nods, dropping his head forward. “Gentle, though. Chairs fucking suck.”

“They do,” Cody says. His fingertips gently knead into Seth’s sore muscles, soft but intentional, like he’s done this dozens of times before. He probably has, Seth thinks. Hands this talented have to be used for good. And they’re really talented. Seth thinks he’s moaning more than strictly necessary for a simple massage, but it’s worth it.

“Scalp?” Seth slurs, tilting his head back as Cody’s hands travel up to the base of his skull.

“Want me to wash your hair?”

Seth nods, head lolling to the side with any guide from Cody’s hands. “Yeah. Yeah, please.”

“Do you need any special shampoo?”

Seth pauses. “Special shampoo?”

“For the blonde,” Cody explains. “I have my purple shampoo, if you want, but it’s in my bag.”

Seth shakes his head. “Normal shampoo. Don’t wanna move.”

“Comfy?” Cody asks, and his voice is addictive, almost a purr in Seth’s ear.

All Seth can do is nod.

The shampoo smells overly floral, like roses steeped in perfume, but Seth doesn’t mind. He barely notices. Cody’s fingers massage his scalp even better than his lower back, fingers in his hair and creating lather that somehow feels filthy as Cody drops his hands in the water to rinse it off. He rinses out the shampoo slowly, languidly, and it lights Seth’s body on fire.

“God,” Seth moans. “I could do this forever.”

“Yeah?” Cody says. “Don’t want anything else?”

Seth cackles. “I mean –” Cody tugs, gently, and Seth can’t stop himself before letting out what could quite possibly be a wail.

“If you’re this loud when it’s just my hands,” Cody says, directly into Seth’s ear, “I can’t wait to hear what it sounds like when you’re taking my dick.”

It is very likely a yelp, what comes out of Seth’s mouth. But it’s a good yelp. An intrigued yelp. A yelp that leads to an even more insistent boner.

“Yeah?” Cody murmurs. He presses a little harder and Seth fights back another, louder moan. “I love the sounds you make. Get loud, baby.”

Seth is not usually very good at following directions. But this is one he’s happy to follow. He babbles, moans, asks for more, and then suddenly Cody’s hands have moved around to rest on his stomach, low, and promising.

“You like my hands, yeah?” Cody murmurs. His hands slide between Seth’s legs, but they don’t go near Seth’s cock. Instead, Cody presses Seth’s legs open so his thighs spread across Cody’s legs. “There. Show me how pretty you are.”

Seth swallows. “I – yeah. How?”

“Any way you want,” Cody murmurs, and then there are lips on Seth’s neck, hot and branding. “I just wanna get in you, if you want.”

“Of course I do,” Seth scoffs. “Not everybody gets the champion on the night they won.”

“Not everybody gets you,” Cody says, and he sucks at Seth’s neck.

Seth whines. “Okay. I – okay. Soap outta my hair?”

“All rinsed out, baby.”

Seth shifts and his ass slides against Cody’s cock. “Oh, my god.”

Cody’s exhale tells Seth he’s not the only one on the edge. “No kidding.”

Seth shows off as he stands, making sure his ass is on display.

“A work of fucking art,” Cody says, reverently. “And I am going to destroy it.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, pretty boy,” Seth says, over his shoulder.

Cody’s grin is predatory, and Seth fights a shiver.

Seth reaches for the robe, but Cody’s on him before he can reach it. Seth is flattened against the door. There’s definitely some sort of retort in the back of his mind, something he wants to say in response, but Cody’s hands are on his ass, spreading his cheeks, and all words fail him.

“I was wondering when your attitude would come back,” Cody growls, and his thumbs knead into Seth’s ass. “This is more the guy who stabbed me with a kendo stick.”

“I think you’re the one doing the stabbing tonight, champ.”

Cody turns Seth around and shoves him against the door. He leans in and kisses Seth, deep and possessive and unyielding. There’s teeth involved, but even with all the aggression, Seth can tell he’s being careful of his back.

And suddenly, Seth knows. He knows why it hurt to hurt Roman for Cody. Because he was always aching for Roman to appreciate him, to know him, to care about him, even after anything. And he was willing to sacrifice that, forever, all to help Cody.

Seth turns his head to suck in air, drowning under the realization.

Cody pauses his hands. “Seth,” he says, voice soothing, “are you okay?”

“You care,” Seth says. “You care about me.”

“Of course I do,” Cody says, and it’s simple, like it’s obvious.

“I stabbed you with a kendo stick,” Seth says. “I did everything I could, recently, to hurt you.”

“And you did everything you could, even more recently, to protect me.” Cody reaches up and brushes wet hair from Seth’s face. “People change, Seth. You changed.”

“I changed,” Seth says, and he lets it wash over himself. “I changed.”

“You did,” Cody says. “You grew.”

Seth leans in again, kissing Cody softer this time. Cody knows. Cody knows he’s different now. Cody’s forgiven him.

He doesn’t have to beg Cody to accept his apology. He already has it. He doesn’t have to grovel, or hurt, or manipulate when all else fails.

“After everything,” Seth murmurs, lips pressed against Cody’s, “you want me.”

Cody smiles. “Of course I do.”

Seth feels a flame as Cody pulls him in, something cleansing and definitive. He feels the worst parts of himself, the parts that stick to him like grit and grim, burn away.

A phoenix comes to mind, but it doesn’t last as Cody’s hands smooth over him and guide him out of the bathroom. Seth leans into the feeling, to the offering up of control to someone who will do right by him.

“On the bed, baby, that’s it.”

Seth lowers himself down on the bed, smiling up at Cody without much awareness of why. It feels right.

“What do you want?” Cody asks, trailing fingertips up and down Seth’s thighs. He looks like a god, standing over Seth. He belongs in a painting, in a museum. “Talk to me, Seth.”

“Hmm?” Seth mumbles. “I – I want you.”

“I know that,” Cody says, hands sliding up higher. “I want specifics, though. I need to know what you’re looking for.”

Seth doesn’t mean to pointedly look down at Cody’s hard cock, but Cody’s chuckle tells him he does a bad job of masking it.

“Yeah?” Cody asks. “How do you want it?”

The image of Roman, the last time, looming over him, flipping him over, the memory of “So I don’t have to see that face,” said in a growl, strikes Seth.

“Like this,” Seth whispers. “I – I want you to fuck me when you can see me.”

“Good,” Cody says. “I want to see you, too.”

Seth feels tension fall away from him, like the last of Roman’s curse has been burned off of him by Cody’s touch. “Okay.”

Cody is incredibly gentle as he moves one of Seth’s legs. “I, um,” he says, and the blush is utterly charming. “I may have hoped for something like this.” He reaches into the slightly ajar bedside table and pulls out an impressively large bottle of lube. “Call it wishful thinking.”

“I think I will,” Seth says, back only slightly aching as Cody shifts back. He’s kneeling between Seth’s spread legs, looking at home there. Seth shivers, wanting to be closer. Knowing they will be closer. “You had no guarantee I’d come to your hotel suite, champ.”

“No,” Cody says, and he moves one of Seth’s legs over his shoulder. “I didn’t. But I had my hopes.” He looks at Seth. “Okay?”

Seth nods. He shuffles a little so he’s a bit more exposed, giving Cody better access. “I think this is the part where you get me all whiny with just your fingers.”

“Oh, you’re calling the shots now, huh?” Cody laughs. He pours a generous amount of lube on his fingers. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Seth doesn’t, like, whine or anything. No one could prove it.

“Tell me if anything hurts on your back or knee, okay?”

Seth nods. “I will.”

Eyes locked onto his, Cody slides his fingers between Seth’s cheeks and cautiously finds his hole. “Okay?” Cody murmurs, turning his head to press a kiss to Seth’s calf. Seth isn’t used to gentle. He hasn’t had gentle since – since his best friend had a different name, and since Roman was a different man.

He rolls his hips as Cody slowly coaxes his open, pressing for more until Cody presses in. Seth wants more, wants it fast, but Cody insists on taking his time, pumping in and out with concentrated motions that feel like riding a wave.

“More,” Seth pleads. “I want more.”

“I’ll give you more,” Cody promises. “But in a moment. I want to see you enjoy this.”

Seth whines. “I am enjoying it,” he says, huffy, “but I want more.”

“And you’ll get it,” Cody says, a little more firm this time. “But let yourself love this. Let yourself love the moment.”

So Seth does. He begs and pleads, holds on to Cody’s biceps, smiles through desperation and need. Cody laughs as Seth smiles, like it’s just as good for him to watch as it is for Seth to get it, and isn’t that something.

“Are you ready?” Cody asks, scissoring his fingers and brushing just the right spot for Seth to wail. “That sounds like a yes.”

“Yes,” Seth gasps. “Yes, now, I want you cock, Cody.” He lifts his head, ready to level him with his secret weapon. “Please, give me your cock, Champion.”

Cody groans. “You be careful with that one.”

“Don’t wanna be,” Seth says, and he meets Cody’s burning gaze. “Champ.”

Cody’s careful as he pulls his fingers out, at some point reaching three deep in Seth, and Seth feels tugged toward him as he tries to follow.

“Shh,” Cody says, adjusting himself. “I promise I’ll take care of you. I’m right here.”

And Seth believes him.

The first nudge of Cody’s cock against his rim sends Seth singing. He’s slow with it, focused, but doesn’t stop until he’s pushed flush against Seth’s ass. Seth’s mind is ringing with it. It’s happening. Cody’s inside of him, sharing his body, and he looks so blissed out as he bottoms out that Seth feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Cody asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Seth says, and his voice sounds different, wrong, not his own. “I – it matters.”

“Of course it matters,” and Cody leans in to kiss him, shifting the angle. It’s glaring, how real it feels. Cody doesn’t even put on the belt or look at it, eyes on Seth’s face or body the whole time he slowly fucks into him. It’s been a long time since Seth has felt the romance in sex. Recently, it’s been a means to an end. Most of the time, to ensure a connection. Sometimes, to close a deal.

More than he’d like to admit, an apology.

This feels like a promise.

“Cody,” he whispers. “Kiss me?”

Without words, Cody obliges, and Seth tries to pour what he’s feeling through his lips. He tangle himself around Cody, and Cody takes his hands to link their fingers. Strong arms press him to the mattress, and Seth feels like he doesn’t need any control. He’s not out of control. He has put it into careful hands.

The world melts around them, blending into the moment and into Cody’s eyes. Cody is warm and real and present, lips creating magic with words and kisses.

And Seth wishes he had found this before.

“I –” He probably doesn’t need to ask to come. He probably could right now, and Cody wouldn’t mind. But it’s habit. “Cody, can I?”

“Can you what, baby?” Cody asks. His brow, furrowed in concentration, beads with sweat. Seth untangles his fingers to reach up and brush it off.

“Can I come?” he whispers.

Cody nods. “Anything you want,” he says, and it’s as much a demand as it is a promise. “Anything.”

Seth’s heart shifts, clenches, turns into molten lava, and he looks into Cody’s eyes as he wraps a hand around his cock and strokes.

“There you go,” Cody says. “All over me, baby. I want you all over me.”

Seth does as he’s told, because he wants to, because it will make Cody happy, because it feels good, and watches as he paints the two of them with his own come.

“Can – can I?” Cody asks. “Inside you, I mean?”

“Yeah,” Seth says, and he forgets the last time it wasn’t a given. “Please. I want you to.”

Cody laughs. “God, the idea of you asking – fuck.” It’s two more stuttering thrusts before Cody is buried into Seth, spilling into him. He hopes it stays forever. Cody drops his forehead to Seth’s. “What a night.”

“No shit,” Seth mumbles, but already he feels reality coming back, along with the feeling in his toes.

“How are you – doesn’t your leg hurt?” Cody asks, moving it back down to the bed as he shifts backward and pulls out.

Seth shrugs. “Crossfit Jesus, maybe, but I’m also pretty good at keeping flexible.”

“We’ll have to test that more,” Cody says, almost off hand.

“That mean this isn’t a one time thing?” Seth asks before he can stop himself.

Cody tilts his head, and Seth immediately thinks of a German shepherd. “I sure hope not.”

“Oh,” Seth says, and tension he hadn’t realized built releases. “Me too.”

They’re quiet as Cody falls beside him, and Seth’s heart does the twist thing again as Cody snuggles in and rests his head on his chest.

“A cuddler,” Seth says, interrupting himself with a yawn. “Should have seen that coming.”

“What?” Cody asks, shifting so he can throw big blue eyes at Seth in a sneak attack. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You big sappy crybaby,” Seth says, grinning. “All your emotions all out there, huh?”

“You were crying during sex,” Cody says.

“I – only during sex!” Seth says. “Never in the ring!” He decides not to mention his tears ringside. Hopefully nobody got video of it.

“Good to know.” Cody shifts so they’re eye to eye. “Are you staying here tonight?”

“Can I?”

Cody nods. “Of course. I got the big shower and tub, and all.”

“Planning on wooing me with good bathroom appliances?”

Cody chuckles. “Among other things.”

They shuffle their way to the shower, big enough for two. By the time they’re clean, they’re both yawning impossibly wide and wrapped up in the cozy robes.

“Bet you’re little spoon, too,” Seth says, curling into the big bed.

“Yup,” Cody mumbles. “Get over here.”

Seth wraps his arms around Cody’s waist and Cody pulls him in tighter, snuggling back against him.

“Goodnight, Champ,” he whispers into Cody’s hair.

Cody squeezes his hand. “Goodnight, Seth.”

Seth sleeps.

~

Mini Playlist: Rerun - Honey Revenge Smoke - PVRIS Take My Pain Away - Anarbor Look After You - The Fray

[sophisticated-creepy]

Dessert was brought out to the diners of a rich tiramisu paired with the house version of a Goodnight Kiss cocktail (or mocktail), the specialty nightcap’s colored liqueur glinting almost sinisterly of ruby bloodstone in the tall, fluted glasses. The dining room was filled once more with conversation and laughter, as crooner’s music of days gone by lilted sweet serenades to round out the intimate atmosphere of opulence. Having been served, Lola reached for Stanley, turning off the tape recording feature, and stuffed it with her pen and notepad away back into her purse to fully enjoy the company of her friends.

“Well, no newspaper man,” she said with a slight shrug as she spooned into her dessert. “But still a good play nonetheless. For a moment there, they had me believing the chef was the one who committed the crime.”

          “That would have been a neat twist if two people attempted to plot against Fernsby in the same night,” Modesta said with a laugh.

          “What if all of them had tried to murder Fernsby?” Jack asked, the group responding in more laughter at the convoluted thought.

          “Although I am slightly disappointed none of you got to see Mr. Newspaper Man, maybe Jack got a shot of him at some point during the play,” Lola said, motioning with her spoon at the camcorder.

          “I’ll keep an eye out for him when I review the footage for editing,” Jack said, making a mental note of the idea. As the friends continued in their conversation, a woman with soft brown hair and eyes, wearing a gold nameplate secured to her black jacket lapel, approached their table.

          “Pardon me for intruding, but who among you is Mr. Glenbrook?” she asked, her smile sweet and charming.

          “I am. How may I help you?” Raphael asked.

          “My name is Annie, and I’m the Director of Hospitality. There’s no need to rush dessert, but when your party is ready, I’ll be guiding you on your stay tonight at the Manor House,” Annie said. “That includes a tour of the upper levels where you’ll be lodging.”

          “That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Annie,” Raphael said.

          “My pleasure. Whenever you all are ready, come find me at the hostess stand located where you first walked in.” Annie gave another brilliant smile to the group and then departed.

          “Ooh! My stomach just got filled with so many butterflies,” Lola announced with a shiver. “I still can’t believe we’re all staying the night. This is honestly the best thing you guys could have ever done for me. Thank you.”

          “The night’s only just getting started,” Modesta reminded.

          “Plenty of time and opportunities for you to get your spooky on,” Lazare added.

          “I can’t wait!” Lola exclaimed, nearly vibrating in her chair with excitement to explore the old Manor House and its potential spookies. The friends enjoyed the remainder of dessert relaxed in one another’s conversation and company whereupon gathering themselves, agreed it was time to meet up with the Director of Hospitality at the hostess station, eager to get the rest of their night underway. Annie greeted them with her award winning smile as the cluster of five congregated in the main foyer outside the dining room.

          “All right, is everyone ready to get started?” she asked, collecting a clipboard of papers and a packet full of specialty room keys from the hostess podium. “Did you enjoy dinner?”

          “Everything has been terrific,” Lola said. “We also really enjoyed the play. It was so much fun and so clever. Real quick, could you tell us who the director is? I’d like to tell them how much I enjoyed the show, if I could.”

          “Certainly. He’s right over there.” Annie raised her hand to flag down the play’s director who lingered somewhere behind the group of friends. Lola turned, expecting to see Mr. Newspaper Man walk in their direction, however, it was instead Detective Babcock who swaggered forward.

          “Oh! Detective Babcock is the director?” Lola asked, her jaw dropping open from surprise.

          “He is, as well as the writer of the play,” Annie replied. “Detective Babcock, these guests wished to congratulate you on tonight’s performance,” she said once the actor reached the podium.

          “Ah! That’s always nice to hear. Thank you,” Detective Babcock beamed, his eyes bright and smile cheerful as he faced the others.

          “Yes,” Lola stammered, recovering from her initial shock. “As I told Annie, it was indeed quite the clever show.”

          “I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves,” Detective Babcock said with a slight bow of appreciation.

          “I have just one quick question,” Lola began, ignoring the confused stares from eyes she felt penetrating the back of her head from her friends. “All the cast members were in the play tonight, yes?”

          “They were,” Babcock answered, a small wrinkle of question forming between his eyebrows as his head canted to the side.

          “I mean, not their characters, but the actual actors themselves? How many actors are normally in your plays?”

          “We’re a small troupe,” Babcock said. “There’s only just the five of us.”

          “So, then, who was the actor waiting in the---.”

          “Sweetie, I think you’re confusing your murder mysteries,” Raphael interrupted, placing his hands on Lola’s shoulders. “Remember? There were characters staged in the wings at the show we saw last weekend.”

          Lola looked up into her fiancé’s face, his eyes silently pleading for her to read his unspoken thoughts. “Oh…that’s right,” she drawled. “You’re right,” she said again, adding more confidence to her tone as she nodded along with Raphael. “Silly me, last week must have slipped my mind. Sorry, Detective, for getting confused.”

          “No need to apologize,” Babcock said. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show. Have a good rest of your night,” and he tipped the brim of his hat in farewell before departing.

          “Let’s get started, shall we?” Annie asked, stepping out from behind the podium. “Let me first show you to your rooms. Follow me, please.” With a beckoning wave, Annie led the group to a set of thickly carpeted stairs inside the foyer that ascended towards the upper levels, but as Lola took her place first in line, she felt her arm tugged backwards, and turned to find Modesta holding her sleeve.

          “Is there a particular reason why you felt the need to make that man uncomfortable?” Modesta asked, her voice a whisper so their tour guide didn’t overhear.

          “He wasn’t uncomfortable,” Lola said, matching her friend’s whisper. “I was trying to find out more information about newspaper man.”

          “I’m beginning to think there is no ‘newspaper man’.”

          “So am I,” Lola agreed, oblivious to the dripping sarcasm of Modesta’s comment. A gentle tug at her hand had Lola turning once more to the front of the line as Raphael led her up the stairs with him, at which point the friends gathered close on the second level landing so Annie could begin her official tour.

          “These rooms were once the dwelling spaces of the Northcott family members. Each room has been curated and furnished to personify each individual’s personality, based on what we know of their lives. Here, is young Edgar’s room, the only child of Cornelius and Lillian.” Annie stopped at a large paneled door of oak halfway down the long hallway as she rounded the banister, using one of the fancy keys from the packet at her clipboard to unlock the room, and swinging the door wide open, she gestured for everyone to enter. Edgar’s room was painted a soft, butter yellow with plush carpet covering the floor, while a full bed plumped with blue brocade and golden damask accents drew the focus as the main focal point of the splendid room. Decorating the walls were oil paintings depicting ocean scenes of large ships in calm seas. A fireplace of white painted brick boasted a sturdy mantle with vintage children’s toys resting on its top, and a toy chest with its contents spilling out of even more toys, was tucked against one side of the hearth. A bookcase displaying child-like trinkets was centered on the opposite wall of the fireplace next to a thick clothes closet and a small en suite.

          “Although Edgar followed in his father’s footsteps of the cannery business, we wanted to give his room that essence of youthful wonder, given he was the founders’ only child,” Annie explained as she watched the group “ooh” and “aw” over the space. “Now, this room will be Lazare Pyrite’s for the night,” Annie said, looking at her clipboard to find the guest’s name.

          “That’s me,” Lazare spoke, raising his hand, and Annie smiled as she passed along the room keys to him.

          “Let’s move on to the next room, shall we?” Annie said, continuing the tour. She led them next to the end of the hallway, where a cozy sitting area was furnished and staged with leather wingback chairs and a table set with items for teatime in the nook of bay windows overlooking the front of the grounds. A door was to the left and right of the setting, and Annie took them to the left, unlocking the paneled oak door with another ring of fancy keys from her clipboard packet.

          “This is Mr. Northcott’s room,” Annie declared as the door swung open on silent hinges. The chamber was a vast contrast to that of his son Edgar’s dwellings, for this room had painted walls of deep, hunter green, adorned with cherry accented furniture upholstered in vibrant tapestries. The bed was much larger as well, also dressed in deep, hunter green to match the walls, and dangling overhead was a gold, three-armed chandelier. Three pillows were propped against the sturdy headboard, as well as only three chairs placed in front of the fireplace between a large closet and en suite, and three paintings of hunting scenes decorated the walls. The room was grand, to be sure, and carried a weighty presence despite its minimalistic aesthetic.

          “Mr. Northcott was a studious, no nonsense man, especially in his business affairs, so this room reflects the dedication he had for the cannery,” Annie informed. “This will be Jack and Modesta’s room for the night.”

          “That’s us, thank you,” Jack said, taking the offered keys.

          “Perfect. That leaves Mr. and Mrs. Glenbrook’s room next. This way please,” and Annie ushered the group to the last bedroom available across from Mr. Northcott’s room. “I present to you, Lillian’s Suite,” and Annie held the door open for Lola and Raphael. Lillian Eleanor Northcott’s room was the personified breath of fresh air, with lilac painted walls decorated smartly with gilded framed paintings of delicate ladies with mischief behind their eyes, while antique lace hung from the windows in floor to ceiling curtains. The furnishings were sleek and polished, every detail executed down to the finest touch, including a vase of freshly cut roses sitting in the middle of a table between two chairs in front of the white brick fireplace. The large bed, dressed in a dusty rose duvet and mauve linen sheets, had a chandelier above it, dripping in clear cut crystal and glass beads. A massive armoire, vanity, and chest of drawers lined the walls appropriately, as well as several fully stocked bookcases, the slender tomes locked behind glass panels to preserve the brittle spines and pages. A special detail to the impressive suite, one that did not go unnoticed, was a silver tray on the davenport at the end of the bed with an ice bucket chilling a bottle of champagne, two fluted glasses, and a notecard in gold filigree which read “Happy Birthday” attached to a single long stemmed rose.

          “Lillian exemplified love and femininity, which we tried to recreate when furnishing her room. There’s also a claw footed soaker tub in the en suite, original to the home, as well as a delicacy ahead of its time,” Annie shared. “What do you think?”

          The moment Lola first walked into the room, she instantly fell in love. It was as if Lillian’s spirit still lingered in the lavish bedchamber, living her days in the routine of her life before tragedy ended too soon her existence. Lola could easily imagine the lady of the house going from one piece of furniture to the next, perhaps humming to herself while pinning her hair at the vanity, or spending countless nights reading while in front of a cozy fire. Little fragments of Lillian’s essence filled the space with warmth and life despite her being cold and dead.

          “Well, Lola?” Raphael asked, coming to stand by her side. “Is the room to your liking?”

          “It’s absolutely perfect,” Lola breathed. Her eyes continued to roam the walls and tables, unable to stay focused on one particular thing for too long before darting to the next enticing, pretty object, until eventually landing on the amused and handsome face of her beloved. “It’s perfect,” she repeated. “Thank you.”

          “Happy Birthday,” and Raphael leaned down to kiss her sweetly.

          “Now that everyone has had a chance to see the upper rooms, let’s continue on our tour,” Annie said, and the group of friends assembled in the hallway as the pleasant guide led the party towards the staircase.

          “Can you tell us what kinds of spooky things happen up here?” Lola asked. “It’s no secret this place is haunted. Surely there’s some type of paranormal activity happening up here, right?”

          “You are correct. From what I’ve learned based off the haunted guided tours, not much ‘ghostly activity’ happens specifically in the bedrooms,” Annie answered, “however, guests do tend to hear footsteps walking above them on the third floor at all ends of the night.”

          “What’s on the third floor?” Modesta asked.

          “That would be the old servants’ quarters,” Annie replied.

          “Are we able to tour the servant quarters?” Lazare asked.

          “Unfortunately, no, access to that area is closed to the public at the moment while renovations are taking place.”

          “What’s behind this door?” Lola asked, stopping at the top of the landing before following Annie down the stairs.

          “Oh, that’s Lillian’s library,” she said.

          “A library? Can we go in?” Lola grabbed for the crystal doorknob on instinct, but the knob wouldn’t budge beneath her hand.

          “I’m sorry, but the library is closed as well due to renovations, and not open to the public at this time.”

          “Come along, Lola, all that means is we have more reasons to come back at a later time,” Raphael said, his tone laced with humor while he twined their fingers together with one of his large hands to gently coax her down the stairs with the rest of the group. She gave a small pout, turning over her shoulder only to watch the door grow further out of reach, not that she was able to enter the library anyway, but thoughts of being free to investigate the door later that night chased away her frown, replacing the downturn of her lips into an upturned quirked smirk, no doubt wrought with mischief, and, consequently, trouble.

          “Have you had any personal experiences dealing with the ghosts while working here?” Jack asked.

          “I’ve heard the classic knocks and occasional banging every now and again, but I’ve grown so accustomed to it, I hardly even realize it’s happening,” Annie replied with a light laugh. “Though, one time, I believe I saw the Gray Lady.”

          “You’ve seen Lillian?” Lola all but shouted in excitement. “Where?”

          “I was in the basement getting the event space ready for a large dinner party. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and when I turned to see who it was, I saw what looked like a gray cloud move from the bottom step go into the kitchen. It was only brief, but I could distinctly make out a high-neck collared dress, with hair styled in the period of Lillian’s time, and just the briefest glimpse of her profile.”

          “That’s so wild,” Lola stated, in awe of Annie’s story.

          “What makes it even more startling, is that I was the only one in the Manor House at that time, and no one was due to the house for another three hours. So…do you folks want to see the basement?” A resounding “yes” was made by all, Annie laughing at the obvious exuberance and delight of the group, and took them to the lower level that housed the restaurant’s kitchen as well as the private event space, where a side door led partiers to the outer grounds, opening to the gazebo and carriage house as well as the sprawling landscape of the backyard edged by the Dead Forest.

          “Since you all are staying the night, let me go ahead and give you some basic rules,” Annie said, her statement gaining everyone’s attention. “This space, as well as the main level, are open for you to explore. I must insist that you please refrain from taking any bottles from the bars, and if a room is locked, that means it is unavailable to the public, so please don’t force your way into any secured space.”

          Lola felt the tingle of eyes turning to her at Annie’s last comment, but she ignored the feeling, contributing the sensation to her zealous imagination and halfway guilty conscience at plotting to revisit the off-limits library.

          “An hour after closing time, myself and the rest of the Manor House staff will depart. We will lock the front doors, but you are more than welcome to explore the grounds using this side entrance. Your room keys have an extra key that go to this lock. In the morning, simply lock the door on your way out and drop your keys in the return box against this outer wall.”

          “What time is check out?” Raphael asked.

          “The cleaning crew comes in at 8:00, so we advise guests to be gone by 7:30,” Annie said. “Are there any questions?” When none were spoken, Annie smiled. “Great! I hope you all enjoy your evening.” She looked to her watch, then back to the others. “It’s closing time now. Happy slumbers, everyone.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

It's my birthday today!!

What a better way to celebrate a birthday than by getting a new chapter? It's my birthday treat to you all! This story is unfolding in so many new layers I hadn't expected, so get ready for a wild ride!

Hopefully everyone is enjoying the story so far, even if there has been quite a bit of a lag in posting. I appreciate everyone out there reading this, so thank you from the bottom of my heart! You're the best!

Have a great day, and until next time, happy reading!

~Melissa

[internalsealpanic]

I Told You So

summary: Batman investigates a series of eccentric robberies— he’s in for quite the surprise. Or Two Face decides to terrorize Gotham with his strange shopping list. a/n: Yes, of course, I post this on Feb 2. warnings: pregnancy and stupid fluff and my usual brand of crack

"Breaking News: Two-Face is once again on the hunt... for pickles! Gothamites beware of the bisected fiend. Keep your pickle jars stashed away in your best safe!"

 Batman is, in no uncertain terms, baffled.

 Robin, on the other hand, thinks he's overthinking things.

 The thing is, in Batman's humble [read: expert] opinion, you can never be too careful with Gotham Rogues. Two-Face was released from Arkham Asylum around a year ago and basically went off the grid up until a few months ago which is when the most bizarre crime spree began.

 First, it was fairly normal. Reasonably, normal for Gotham anyway. Security equipment. Locks, security cameras, tasers, and mace— all that jazz. Even a whistle for some reason. He was honestly surprised that he didn't go on to steal some firearms.

 Then came the food. Robbing a grocery store is not unheard of but the list of items is strange. It started with pickles. An ungodly amount of pickles followed by mangoes, star apples, and then carrots. But then there was the cupcakes. The cupcakes. Sure, everyone loves a good cupcake but according to witnesses (several), Two-Face asked them to remove the icing. The staff spent minutes trying to get him to just get the muffins but he insisted on getting cupcakes with the icing removed. They complied and now the most bakeries in Gotham stock uniced cupcakes in case Two-Face was in the mood for another cupcake caper.

 But the strangest thing about all these robberies is that an hour or two later, a disgruntled Two-Face will, without fail, come back up with enough money to pay for the stolen goods. Can you even call it a robbery at that point?

 What really concerns Batman is the other rogues.

 In addition to all the robberies, Two-Face has been in communication with half the rogues in the city. It's concerning to say the least. Ever since Batman discovered these interactions, he's been having Robin monitoring the conversations and... has reported nothing concerning. It almost sounds like chitchat (Light threats sprinkled in). There's also been no crimes following each conversation which puts Bruce on edge.

 Robin insists he's being paranoid, but it's Gotham!

 There's gotta be a scheme somewhere in the works. Bruce just cannot figure out what it is.

 Jim has a theory, but before he can even start speaking, he dissolves into a gut-busting fit of laughter.

 To get to the heart of the matter, Bruce decided on a good old fashioned stake out.

 Dick decides to tag along. Bruce can see him vibrating from the 'I told you so' he thinks is going to say in a few minutes. He's still learning, so Bruce will allow it.

 On cue, Two-Face is walking down the street, swaggering down the line of shops with you hanging off his arm. It's not really strange.

 Then suddenly, fat droplets of tears well up in your eyes as you stop in front of a flower shop. Two-Face freezes, frozen stiff. He turns to you mechanically. "What now?" He snaps. He sounds a little tired and put upon.

 "The succulent looks so cute," you hiccup, pointing at the waxy plant with googly eyes, "It's so cute." You sniffle as the tears flow down your face. The rest of the people on the street stare. You, heavily pregnant, crying about googly eyes to one of the most feared rogues in Gotham in broad daylight.

 Bruce half expects Two-Face to snap at the crowd but he doesn't. Solely focused on you, Two-Face rolls his eyes and stomps into the store. "Thanks, Pal," Two-Face says to the stunned cashier, snatching one googly eyed succulent. Comes back for another for good measure.

 He stomps right back out to you and shoves the two succulents in your hand. "Happy?" The sad little sniffle you give him is answer enough, so he grumbles, goes back, and... pays for the plants.

 "Happy?"

 You sniffle happily and snuggle into his side, looking down at your new plants. Two Face melts, his face a picture of contentment, expression mirroring the one you give the plants.

 Bruce is stunned.

 Dick is grinning ear to ear.

 "I told you so." Bonus:

You burst into tears.

 Not little, tiny kitten sniffles, but full on sobbing.

 Harvey glances between you and the not particularly rousing game of Wheel of Fortune. He sighs and mutes the TV, leaning over to put a hand on your back, rubbing gentle circles on your back.

 "What's wrong, doll?"

 You've been particularly emotional since the start of your pregnancy. While it still catches him off guard, he's gotten better at dealing with it. Besides, no amount of crankiness on his part will ever smother the happy feeling he gets every time he looks at you.

 He entertains the idea that you could be sobbing because of the host's very obvious toupee.

  You breathe, still hiccuping but you breathe in deep as he instructs you. "Harvey," you sob, "I just love you so much," and another round of body wracking sobs floods you as you practically tackle him onto his side of the couch.

 Harvey chuckles, stroking your hair, kissing the crown of your head. "I love you too."

[tiodolma]

Katie Mcgrath on filming Merlin s3

KM: It’s a bit weird and it’s like a bit of going back to school and seeing all your mates again. I’m glad there is something very comforting, and very almost relaxing about a third year. I mean, People have said, very nicely you guys, that there ehmm is a sense of confidence in the show that has been recommissioned. And you got a sense of swagger in your walk and coming back to third season when it’s frankly been more successful than any of us could ever have thought. And you do have a different sort of stature and a different sort of feeling. And it’s nice to come back and see everyone again.

Q: And last time we saw Morgana she had been swept away so can you tell us how you get back here?

KM: Oh can I? Can I? Can I? I don’t want to spoil it for you guys but needless to say the third season opens and a year has passed. Morgana is found at ehmm the start of episode one and it’s discovered that she has been duped by Morgause and she’s very apologetic and sees the error of her ways and things like that. She apologizes to everyone but the question is of Merlin doesn’t completely trust her, whether what’s she’s saying is true and you don’t quite know whether which way it’s going to go. So you know it’s typical “Merlin.” It’s the legend but it’s never the way that you think it’s going to be. So prepare for suprises.

Q: I think the third series is darker.

KM: You know and I think you could see that from the second series in the way that was going. Definitely the last three episodes were much much darker. The third series follows on from that. And it’s quite a bit of, sort of, Yeah it’s dark and has more conflict but at the same time it still does those great sort of one episode funny family comedy episode like you have with the troll last year and things like that, it still continues in that vein. But There’s also a more of a sense of a feeling of a continuous storyline this time which is nice as well. So yeah we’re gonna wait and see.

Q: Will we see more of Morgana’s magical element coming out?

KM: I hope so. I’m telling you I cannot wait for the bit where you know, Merlin and Morgana having that big magical battle. But I’m not sure how soon the way that is because you see in season 2, she’s not in full control and I think that is going to be a while in coming.

KM: Obviously the main magical being in the show is Merlin. He’s the one who has the ability and the control of it. Morgana’s magic is very different, it’s far more linked to her emotions. And once she gets her emotions, and her fears and everything like that under control, I think that her magic will follow. So I think she has to become more assured of what she is before she is able to do that.

Q: What’s Morgana’s relationship with Merlin like right now, considering what happened in the last series?

KM: I think at the start of season 3 she honestly understands why he did what he did ehm and she was anxious to repair their relationship back to the way they were. Because at the end of the day Merlin was the one who understood her and who knew the truth about her and emphathised with her and I think you see in episode one, her... her trying to get back to that. So...

Q: Do you think he trusts her?

KM: I think he’s resolute to trust her because she is apologetic and he does I think want to believe her but, you know, experiences taught him to be wary. Quite like you(the interviewer) sound.

Q: What kind of creatures and enemies will we be seeing in this series?

KM: Ehmm, The first couple of episodes are actually, they’re more, the villains are more people rather than magical monsters which is actually quite nice! It’s a difference and ehmm. So with have the very lovely Milly Fox as Morgause who is coming back and she has a partner in crime being played by Tom Ellis, fantastically actually! Head-to-toe in leather which is interesting. Ehm and I think that might be a sort of a triangle that you might see more of as the season goes on. Ehm and definitely the Morgana/Morgause relationship is a very important one for Merlin and our telling of the story so hopefully she’ll be back.

KM: And then we have Mark Williams, playing a goblin, voicing a goblin in one of the episodes, which we had a readthrough. He was hilarious, I swear, in stitches... So we got some good ones, you know? You never think! Coz in the first season, it was the little show, it was this tiny little show that was filmed down in Cardiff. It was about magic and nobody really knew and it just keeps getting bigger and the caliber of people we get coming in, you know, at the start of every read through they sort of let us know, and we just hang there open-mouthed. Coz were on to, sort of I’m not gonna tell you, give you away any of them.. We’re onto about the ninth episode and the guest stars are getting better and better and shockingly so. So...

Q: What else do you think the series holds for Morgana?

KM: What else does it hold? More power, one can only hope. Fingers crossed. Thing is, We don’t actually know. When we get the scripts, it as much as a surprise to us as it is to anyone else. And the producers keep quiet, you know, quite quiet about what they have coming up more often than not coz sometimes the script works and sometimes it doesn’t so they don’t tell us what’s coming up because, you know, in case we get attached to something that doesn’t happen. And as well it gives you that element of surprise. It gets the end of filming a [block?] and you know everyone’s going “what do you think is going to happen?” so it- it keeps everything fresher for you so I have actually have no idea what’s going to happen to morgana at the end of season 3 because “Merlin” is never the way that you expect! I know I keep coming back to this but it’s always something out of left field so as much as I’m waiting I’m sure you are too.

[sporticus1234]

Not ya'll ignoring the actual criminal in the family Kasar.

Ya'll whack for that.

Hmm.

Actually, it's not a far-stretched idea that Kaspar was the murderer.

The letter that Juliana addressed to someone conveniently left out during the reading of it to the court did state the person was "charming and special". But also, Trystan carefully describes Kaspar back in Chapter 1 that he's "all impulse and swagger, which is why he always gets caught...and why he's usually forgiven." In Chapter 2, he also describes Kaspar as a "charming magpie with no impulse control."

Let's look back at Juliana's murder scene.

The robed figure who murdered her used a distinct "bird song" to make themselves know. Juliana was also very familiar with the person hiding in the robe, so it had to be someone she ran in the same circles with or had a previous relationship to them in some capacity.

What species is a magpie that Trystan described Kaspar as?-A bird

Who did the cops suggest as the person who took Amalas' diamonds?-Bird.

The same diamonds Trystan and the MC were trying to uncover were also the same diamonds Kaspar stole. Interesting link there...

Taking a small rowing boat to the yacht Juliana and Trystan were staying on does seem impulsive, and the murder itself seemingly came out of nowhere, which can also suggest impulsivity.

But then we run into the snag of the cover-up. Let's look at those elements.

Convincing the Justice Department to close the investigation early to stop uncovering potential evidence.

Convincing the guards to essentially gas-light Trystan into doubting himself to pin the crime on him.

Getting Trystan exiled out of the country by his own mother.

Getting the queen to sign the arrest warrant, act as the trial judge, and managing to pull Lydea away from her own duties to arrest Trystan herself.

Managing to bribe the defense lawyer to throw the case out so Trystan is found guilty.

Manipulating evidence to suggest Trystan was the murderer.

Conveniently having a friend of Juliana's family be the prosecutor to the case.

Convincing to turn 4 of his siblings and his own mother against Trystan.

Conveniently leaving out both Maksim and Marguerite's testimony about Trystan's character.

Unless Kaspar is a lot smarter than what the brief description of him is telling us, there has to be an accomplice to this crime. There's so many moving parts to this plan that if one essentially fails, the truth's uncovered. But who's the accomplice? Is it another Thorne sibling...perhaps one Kaspar is extremely close to? But what would be Kaspar's motive to pinning this on Trystan? What would be his gripe with Trystan to essentially resort to murder and framing his brother?

Viktoria in my mind is guilty of covering this up, whether she did so voluntarily and knowingly or being yet another pawn used by Kaspar and his accomplice is debatable. But what if Kaspar was her favorite Thorne sibling and helped him to cover up what he recklessly did?

[weirdlet]

Tuesday Game: Glory

A brief flashback/montage of when your character’s favorite sin was either first indulged, or in fact became their favorite.

I had initially said Vanity, before I really knew how wildly it was going to affect our characters, and before I’d really figured out that Glory was trans.  Now I figure, he jokes that his sin is Vanity as a cover to the fact that it’s really Wrath.

   A devil-child flaps up into the rigging, hair snarled around a comb, little fingers clinging to the spars so that even if Uncle or one of the aunties wanted to climb up after her, there’d be no pulling her from her hiding place without teasing her out like a burr.

��There’s no hiding what you are!” auntie Alys shouts- thin and sharp, a reed men like to break without knowing that her inner pith will have her standing true long after they are gone.

“An exotic around here would bring in the kind of money your mama could retire on- all of us could!”

Wicked child, devil-child, she puts out her forked tongue and hisses, then wraps her wings around herself like a dragon, tiny selfish thing.  There’s no hiding what she is.  No farmer looking for an extra pair of hands for her, no tanner’s apprenticeship or cabin-boy’s post.  Can’t waste looks like these on calluses and windburn when a gold-painted chain and fake runes make a concubus for the night- or they will when she’s a little older.

   The first man who puts a hand on her loses it.

Uncle finds him a position as cabin-boy after that- practically gives him away.

   “There’s no hiding what you are!”

Killer.

Worse, killer of someone just important enough that their body dumped in the canal got *attention* rather than just a shrug.  The guards have bitten hands and lashed faces, and that’s why he’s dumped into the Proving Ground- the one source of entertainment the people stuck on this rock, jailed and jailers alike, have.

The captain had sailed on without him the day of his arrest- no hiding what he was.  Too visible to risk sneaking him out, too known of a crime to be caught ameliorating with bribes and favors.  

Again.

The crowd roars, and his opposite grips a knife made of glass and rope.  Hell-kin that he is, his horns and nails and teeth are considered to be enough.

His wings, snapped open and taut like sails in a storm, carry him like a falcon diving despite the chain at his ankle.

Might as well give the people what they want.  No hiding what he is, after all.

   “There’s no hiding what you are,” the blessed man says, thumbing tears off his cellmate’s face.  The soft glow has faded, a king’s ransom of divine glory spent in a prison cell, by and on tattooed criminals.

The young man spits out leather, pierced through from biting during his trials, and breathes deep and easy with barely a stretch of new-healed skin.  A flat blank canvas awaits him when he looks down, his own to show off what *he* cares to display to the world.

“You’re perfect.”

He’ll get his first new scar there tomorrow.

   The lie comes easy after all this time.  Painted up in bright colors and jingling metal, swaggering up with an easy grin full of sharp teeth- people take it at face value when he says his favorite sin is Vanity.  When really, what throbs below the surface, what’s kept him alive all these years is 

Wrath.

[thebraxiatelcollection]

Can you do 45 + brax and narvin for the writing prompt ask?

writing prompts

45. “I am not angry that you assumed the worst — I am angry because despite everything I’ve done you still do not trust me enough to believe when I say I would never abandon you.”

-

"No need to push so hard." Narvin snapped as the guard shoved him and Braxiatel forward toward the cold, damp cell. He scowled and rubbed his wrists where the handcuffs dug tightly into his skin.

Unfortunately, these were not your simple handcuffs one could unlock with a bobby pin. These types of handcuffs were keyed to a person's biodata, and could only be unlocked once the sentence has been passed.

Crude, but effective way of making sure prisoners behaved.

One of the guards tapped in a code and the cell door opened, and he leaned against the wall and jerked his thumb toward the cell. "In."

"This has all been a misunderstanding. If you would just listen to our explanation-" Braxiatel protested, but before he could get another word out, the guard shoved him roughly and he fell in an undignified heap onto the floor, only just managing to break his fall and managed to avoid breaking his nose on the concrete floor.

The guards turned to look at Narvin.

"No need, I can enter myself." He lifted his chin with as much pride as he could muster, and stepped into the cell and over Braxiatel before he turned and narrowed his eyes as the cell door reactivated and locked them. The guards sneered before they turned and left.

"Another fine mess you've gotten us into Narvin." Braxiatel sat up and leaned himself against the wall, not bothering to stand. It was a small cell, with one single bed and a pile of hay in the corner.

"Excuse me?" Narvin narrowed his eyes at him. "My mess? If I remember correctly, it was you who had stolen the crown."

"It was a fake. I was trying to help the royal family by proving that someone had swapped the real thing for a fake one. Unfortunately, they assumed that I was the thief."

"You are an art collector. Technically, you are a thief."

"Touche."

Narvin sighed, and he sat down on the cold floor next to him and wrung his wrists together. The handcuffs began to ache. As though he carried the weight of all his crimes with him. He still had to ask Braxiatel one question that he had been too scared to ask until now. "Why did you abandon us?"

"Abandon you?" Braxiatel played with his handcuffs, trying to see if he could break the code. "I would never abandon my friends, Narvin."

"After you defeated your alternative brother, we thought you were dead. Now after centuries, you suddenly show up and encourage Romana to resign from her position as President and claim to be from the future. What kind of game are you playing Brax? Don't you ever get tired of playing with people's lives?" Narvin's anger swept over him, his cheeks flushed and he clenched his fists before he brought up his knees and wrapped his arms around them.

"One does grow tired," Braxiatel agreed. "But the future we are about to face...it's one I am trying to prevent."

"The Time War."

"Yes. Although we cannot stop it, I must do my part. Move people across the chess board so they are out of harm's way." He sighed and for a moment, he looked old and Narvin wondered just exactly how old Braxiatel was. Rumour had it, he was as old as the Earth's sea, perhaps even older. But he carried himself without the weight of the universe on his shoulder, but with swagger and confidence. "You always assume the worst about people, Narvin. After everything I have done to keep you, our friends, and Gallifrey safe, even locking up Pandora inside my own mind and exiling myself away from home, you still distrust me."

Their eyes locked with each other's for a brief moment, Narvin finding himself unable to break away from his hypnotic blue eyes before he shook his head. "Can you blame me for assuming the worst in people? I am angry Brax. Angry at what has happened, at you for playing with people lives-"

“I am not angry that you assumed the worst Narvin,— I am angry because despite everything I’ve done you still do not trust me enough to believe when I say I would never abandon you.”

Trust.

Time-Lords have never been good at being able to trust each other. But after spending time with Leela and Ace, and even after spending centuries with Romana, he was beginning to understand the meaning.

But could he ever truly trust Braxiatel?

He swallowed.

Perhaps he was being a bit unfair to Braxiatel.

After all, he had saved his life on numerous occasions.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Braxiatel replied and offered him a slight smile, and he twisted his handcuffs, and let them fall to the floor.

Narvin blinked and opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. "Did you-"

"I swiped the guard's security card when he wasn't looking," Braxiatel winked and he took Narvin's hand, being gentle. "Now, stop fidgeting, and let's get out of here."

[twistedtummies2]

The Devils I Know - Number 7

Welcome to “The Devils I Know!” For this spooky time of year, from now till Halloween, I’ll be counting down My Top 31 Depictions of the Devil, from movies, television, video games, and more! And SAY HELLO TO MY LITTLE FRIEND! Number 7 is…Al Pacino, from The Devil’s Advocate.

Several years before facing Peter Stormare’s Lucifer in “Constantine,” Keanu Reeves had to challenge the Prince of Darkness in the 1997 crime/horror combo “The Devil’s Advocate.” In the film, Reeves plays Kevin Lomax, an up-and-coming lawyer working in Florida. Lomax is not necessarily an evil man, but he is a highly ambitious one, and is both dedicated and skilled when it comes to his job: even when defending a client he realizes is guilty, Lomax is still able to find a way to gain an acquittal from the jury. He’s a man who refuses to lose a case, no matter what. Indeed, his incredible ability to help his clients gets him the attention of a prominent law firm in New York City. Kevin accepts their job offer and moves to New York with his wife, Mary Ann (played by future Evil Queen and Morticia, Charlize Theron), expecting big things from this change in his life…and he certainly gets them, thought not at all the way he expects. The head of the firm is Al Pacino’s character, who goes by the name of “John Milton.” (A reference to the writer of “Paradise Lost.”) At first, Lomax and Milton get on swimmingly, but over time, as Kevin’s life begins to fall apart – his wife going insane, his career taking nightmarish directions – he begins to realize more and more that Milton is not all he seems. It’s ultimately revealed that Milton is not only Kevin’s long-lost father…but, more importantly, that Milton is the Devil himself. Milton’s whole scheme is to force Kevin into a position where he will willingly become the father of the Antichrist, so that Milton can – of course – take over the world. While Pacino was always the first choice to play the Devil in this movie, the creators didn’t secure his performance right away. Apparently, Pacino initially felt the role of Milton was too one-note, and rejected earlier versions of the script no less than three times. He did recommend other actors who might be able to take the part – apparently, both Sean Connery and Robert Redford, of all people, were considered for the role, per Pacino’s suggestion – but these performers ended up being either unavailable or simply unwilling to tackle the character. Finally, on the fourth proposal - and with some changes made to the script by that point – Pacino accepted the part. Thank goodness (or badness, I guess, in this case), because it’s hard to imagine anyone but ol’ Scarface here doing such a great job with the portrayal of the Devil in the film. Pacino’s Devil is a wonderfully fun villain; he’s somehow a character who hides nothing and yet remains an eternal enigma. Much like Jack Nicholson’s Daryl Van Horne, there’s a mixture of coarseness and dignity to this take on the concept. Pacino swaggers through the role, and carries himself with…basically the exact kind of attitude you’d EXPECT Pacino as the Devil to have: he's somewhere between a gangster and a sleazy snake oil salesman. It’s Pacino at his most…Pacino-y, but he also has a strength and sense of uneasy menace to him that gives him the power and believability a part like this requires. He speaks so sensibly and makes many good and interesting points, yet at the same time he never hides the fact that…well…he is who and what he is. To me, when I think of the Devil, this is one of the first versions I think of, and it’s easily in my Top 3 of Pacino’s performances (my favorite is Michael Corleone, my second favorite is Tony Montana). All in all, an easy choice for high placement on this countdown. Also…Keanu, you should probably stop ticking off the Devil. It, uh…doesn’t seem to go well for you, whenever it happens. Plus, now you have both Michael and Dracula mad at you, so…(pauses)…oh, who am I kidding, he’s John Wick. He can take care of himself. :P Tomorrow, the countdown continues with Number 6! HINT: One…Two…Three Strikes, You’re Out!

[nebulousfishgills]

flower asks!

white carnation, jasmine, azalea, bluebell, tigerlily, aster (lol), lavender, and/or freesia

Thanks for the ask! This one's a long one so buckle up.

White Carnation - Would you ever want to get a piercing? Where?

This may sound funny, but I have zero piercings (not even my ears) and I highly doubt I'll ever get any. It's just never appealed to me, idk. My grandma never pierced hers, she always wore clip-ons.

Jasmine - Describe your dream partner or best friend. What kind of personality traits do they have?

All my friends I would consider my "dream" friends (my irls and if we're friends on Tumblr you also count). As for dream partner... I mean, I'm not sure. I guess someone who's nice. They should be supportive of me and, to quote a thing my mom sent me, "the weird little things that make my heart happy." Someone who makes me excited to wake up in the morning and who would take me to the theatre once in a while. Someone who encourages me to be the best version of myself. Also someone who can take my darker sense of humor and keep me grounded when I inevitably become a whirlwind of undiagnosed adhd or whatever the fuck I have. Also some blue eyes, same as my mom blue eyes can make me absolutely weak.

That was a tangent, but I am a writer so-

Azalea - What is the most recent song you've listened to? How do you feel about it?

Okay this is gonna sound completely fucking unhinged, especially since it's so short, but last night I had Busted from Phineas and Ferb on repeat for like, three hours as I was doing a doodle because it came across my youtube feed and I realized it's like... exactly like a major scene I have planned for a fic, just without the musical swagger.

Cut to me fifteen minutes into this loop alone in my dorm room pretending I'm [Unnamed Character A] telling off [Unnamed Character B] for [Unnamed Event].

Bluebell - Do you have any pets? If so, what are their names?

I'm currently separated from them by "educational distance" but I have two kitties at home, a Tortie named Jackie and an Orange Boy Cat named Maggie (He has a more feminine name because PetSmart told us he was a girl when we adopted him since they *said* they did a spay operation... but then he had to get a surgery where they told us he was a boy... but by then Maggie had stuck and we'd already gone through three hours of arguing on what to name him in the first place).

Tigerlily - Do you have any favorite quotes from any movies, tv shows, books, or poetry? (Or from people in real life)

Y'all, I have a million favorite quotes from a million things. For now I'll give you one of each

Movie: "Ghosts are real. This much I know. There are things that tie them to a place, very much like they do us. Some remain tethered to a patch of land, a time and date, the spilling of blood, a terrible crime. But there are others-- others that hold onto an emotion, a drive, loss, revenge... Or love. Those-- They never go away." -Edith Cushing in my all time favorite movie, "Crimson Peak."

(I'm also like, 99% sure I'm being followed by a ghost or spirit of some sort so)

TV Show: I'm pretty sure me saying Henry's fifteen minute monologue in Stranger Things is cheating since that's, like, many many quotes, but I'll say it anyways because those fifteen minutes were life changing.

Book: I wish it was easier for me to find a quote, but unfortunately all my books are packed away for move-out in a couple weeks. My memory is eluding me so just pretend like I either said something really profound or something extremely stupid.

Play: "You're still beautiful." "You don't have to lie to me." "It's not lying, it's looking at things another way." From Wicked, my favorite musical (am I basic for that, maybe). Seeing this on Broadway last summer was a religious experience and I'm gonna have another one when I see it from the seventh row next year.

(I changed it to play because, fun fact, I don't read poetry that much. Another thing from my mom, she hates poetry... bear in mind this woman has a BA in English)

Real Life: "People are like 'you're weird' and I'm like 'yes, I've been waiting sixty years to get that compliment'" -my history professor. The man's said so much wild shit this semester I have an entire discord channel devoted to recording his quotes, dude's a legend.

Aster - Do you have any fictional crushes on any movie, tv show...

...

Okay I had a collage I made of every character I've had a crush on, lemme see if I can find it so I can be concise.

(One frantic search later)

It's not fully updated, so lemme just make one rq, every character I actively have a crush on (give or take one or two):

Moving on.

Lavender - What's currently on your mind (aside from the ask game)

How much of a degenerate I am.

No, but in reality, I have two packages I'm waiting for and I keep obsessively tracking them because I'm terrified they'll not get to me before my move-out date.

Freesia - What do you want people to remember you for? Serious or not serious answers.

I can say my writing in a serious and a not serious way. Remember me for my s tier descriptions and remember me for whatever the fuck this is:

[aschlindartroom]

the OTP you've been obsessing over lately 👀

1. What's the biggest wish the members of your otp have for the other? Is it a wish that could come true? Do they actively work towards it?

4. After a bad day, what would each member of your otp do to cheer the other up?

12. Was/is it difficult for the members of your otp to realise their feelings? Were they okay with those feelings or were they in denial? 

@bloodlessheirbyjacques ✨👀

@bloodlessheirbyjacques! Thank you!

SIGH. It's HartMart. Never not HartMart. (To be fair, they are the ONLY eventual canon coupling in the Second Serpent series.)

What's the biggest wish the members of your OTP have for the other? Is it a wish that could come true? Do they actively work towards it?

Eckehart (for Martin): What do you get the man who has everything? Martin, for all his charm and power, is incredibly lonely. He has secrets that he knows, with absolute certainty, that he will take to the grave with him. He's used to keeping people, even important people, at arm's length. No one is allowed to see the real him, because anyone who sees the real Martin automatically has power over him.

I suppose that if Eckehart had one wish for Martin, it would be for Martin to trust someone enough to let his walls down around-- for Martin to see that people find him worthy of kindness and praise without all the swagger and pretense.

Martin (for Eckehart): Eckehart is a tortured idealist-- kind and uncertain and feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He is a man seeking redemption for his family's crimes, for centuries of lies and half-truths that have landed New London in a political stalemate. Eckehart will stop at nothing to end his family's hold on humanity, and he knows that at the end of the road he's started on, he will likely to imprisoned, banished, or killed. From day one as Schmidt & Foster CEO, he's been prepared to throw himself onto the pyre. He sees himself as a means to an end-- as an expendable chess piece that the world would be better off without.

Martin's biggest wish is for Eckehart for Eckehart to see himself through Martin's eyes: to see the same gentle, bleeding heart that Martin sees. Eckehart would be a fantastic leader, if only he saw his own self-worth, and admired his assets as well as his flaws.

So, I suppose their greatest wishes are for each to be more trusting, and to know their true, inherent worth. Oh. Oh god. I just made myself sad. HELP.

After a bad day, what would each member of your OTP do to cheer the other up?

Eckehart (for Martin): Martin so rarely has "bad days"-- at least, not ones that he lets onto. But, sometimes, even Martin can hide a waning mood (and he hides it less and less as their friendship goes on). Push comes to shove, Martin's love languages are gift giving and quality time.

So, on a bad day... Eckehart would bring Martin a coffee. He'd sit down face to face with him, no distractions, and crack a couple of jokes. He'd banter with him, because Martin loves that. Later, in some dating phase that the readers will never see, I can see Eckehart bringing home flowers and dinner, then asking Martin to eat with him.

Martin (for Eckehart): Eckehart is definitely a quality time/words of affirmation guy. On a bad day, Martin would remind Eckehart that he's doing his very best, and then take him somewhere to get his mind off of whatever's bothering him for a while, just to reregulate him. He'd take Eckehart for a walk, and give him some blush-inducing praise that Eckehart will tell himself he doesn't absolutely love.

Was/is it difficult for the members of your OTP to realize their feelings? Were they okay with those feelings or were they in denial?

Martin realizes his feelings early on, but I can't really explain how or why for spoiler reasons. Let's just say: He's not a man who's familiar with "love" but he does know what attraction feels like. Eckehart has all of the human compassion that Martin locked away a long time ago, so Martin assumed for a while that he just admired him. Didn't take him too long to fall head over heels... though, in many ways, he always had been.

Eckehart, on the other hand, is a single-minded, repressed loner with depression and anxiety. The man is too busy barreling forward avoiding pain to see when there's someone worth admiring in his general vicinity. It takes him a very long time to see Martin as a friend, and over halfway through the series to see him as a potential S.O. It takes almost losing Martin to realize how much he really cares about him, but that's for another time.

[casspurrjoybell-27]

Claimed by the Beast - Chapter 50

*Warning Adult Content*

Burn It Down

Instead of being held the full forty-eight hours, Knox gets released the very next morning, courtesy of the club having a powerful and competent lawyer on retainer.

The heavy metal door of the county jail clanks open and Knox strides out with his usual swagger and cocky grin.

His eyes squint against the bright sunlight, the heat a welcoming sensation now that his freedom is back but he barely makes it ten steps away from the hellhole before the detective who'd been harassing him over the last twenty-four hours calls out one final threat.

"Don't get too comfortable out there, Hansley. I'm not through with you yet."

Knox doesn't waste energy turning around.

"Hope you have a shit day, detective."

He tries to turn on his cell-phone to call Everett, desperate to hear his voice, but the screen remains black.

Further out into the parking lot, Knox spots Gavin leaning against his truck.

Having been charged with all types of shit over the years but never murder because he'd never been sloppy until now, Knox is flooded with relief upon seeing a familiar face, the nightmare is almost over.

"Welcome back."

Gavin claps him on the back and hands him a bag containing two breakfast sandwiches wrapped in foil.

"Figured you'd be starving."

"You have no idea."

Knox climbs into the passenger seat and quickly scoffs down the first sandwich.

Gavin starts the engine and pulls out of the lot, neither of them looking back.

"I still can't believe those fucks took you in without any solid evidence," Gavin says.

"I'm still debating if I should have Elizabeth look into seeing if we can sue them for defamation or whatever the fuck."

"I'm over it. Don't even waste her time," Knox chuckles.

A few more minutes into the drive, Gavin breaks the silence with an unsettling sigh.

"So, a lot happened while you were in there. I got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

With the way his luck has been going lately, Knox needs something positive to cling to.

"I could use some good news right about now."

He takes a ravenous bite from the second sandwich, the flavors doing little to distract him from the unease that's been his constant companion since those handcuffs clicked shut around his wrists.

"Well, Mason came through like he always does," Gavin says.

"He corrupted Finn and your cell-phone records. If the cops try to snoop around now, they won't find shit."

And if the cops can't tie Knox to the crime scene, then they have nothing but a cold case on their hands.

"Thank fuck."

Knox sags back in his seat, some of the tension draining from his muscles as thoughts of Everett fill his mind again.

His cheeky smile, his pretty brown eyes.

Knox needs to see him, touch him, breathe him in while they celebrate this small win.

"I'm still working on getting that pet cam footage out of evidence," Gavin continues.

"But for now at least, the pigs can't touch you or Finn."

"I appreciate the help, brother."

Knox polishes off the last bite of his sandwich, crumpling the foil and tossing it back into the bag.

"Now what's the bad news?"

At a stoplight, Gavin keeps his eyes straight and reaches into his jacket to pull out a crumpled note.

He holds it out like it's a grenade about to go off.

Knox's brow furrows at his reaction, the last bit of bread suddenly cotton in his mouth as he unfolds the note.

It reads: Even with all your darkness, I love you still. I hope one day you can forgive me.

"I, uh..."

The truck lurches forward when the light turns green and Gavin clears his throat.

"I found it in your room this morning. The kid left it on your bed."

It's Everett's handwriting no doubt.

A clear declaration of his love.

Something Knox is aware he's unworthy of.

His fragile heart stutters as he reads the sentence over again.

Love? Everett loves him?

After everything they've been through?

But how? It makes no sense.

Knox's mind races trying to piece together this impossible puzzle with hands that can't stop shaking.

It all feels too good to be true.

Then the second line fully sinks in, making his blood run cold.

Why does Everett want Knox's forgiveness?

"Gav, don't bullshit me."

Knox tucks the note into his pocket, his gaze sharp as he briefly locks eyes with his longtime friend.

"What the fuck happened while I was gone?"

Every nerve ending goes on high alert when Gavin abruptly pulls the truck over to the side of the road and shifts into park.

If they can't have this conversation while driving because of how Knox might react, then it can only mean one of two things.

Everett is missing again or he's been killed.

Gavin drags a hand down his face, looking reluctant to meet Knox's gaze.

"I need you to keep an open mind, okay? The kid is still on our side..."

"Just fucking tell me. I can handle it."

"Everett is missing." 

The world around Knox blurs within an instant.

Confusion and dread wrap its hands around his body like a straitjacket.

He shifts slowly, staring through the windshield, unseeing as his thoughts darken.

"Taken might be a better word, actually."

"The Jackals are responsible?"

"Yes but for a reason."

"Explain."

"According to Mason this morning, Everett pulled him aside last night asking for help with his cell-phone but it turned out to be just a distraction. The kid slipped something into Mason's drink and not long after he left, Mason passed out cold."

Knox blinks rapidly, struggling to process the words.

"You're seriously telling me... Everett drugged Mason? Why the fuck would he do something like that?"

"To steal back The Jackals USB for Russell."

"What? No. He wouldn't..."

"Listen, brother. After Mason came to, his bedroom was trashed and The Jackals USB was missing. When I went to confront Everett, he was nowhere to be found on the property."

"Unbelievable," Knox laughs, perplexed.

"How is it that no one can seem to keep an eye on him?"

"He's a lot smarter and crafty than I gave him credit for," Gavin says.

"Look, I searched your room for answers and all I found was that note and a half-empty bottle of sleep aid in the trash, confirming Mason's accusation." 

"So it's true? He really betrayed us?"

'He betrayed me?'

"I'm sorry, brother."

Knox's stomach churns violently and he fights the urge to be sick.

"Gavin, I swear I never thought he..."

"I'm not upset with the kid. Letting Mason hold on to the USB was my mistake. I'm convinced Everett did this because he was forced by Russell. Plus, Mason had the sense to make copies, so it's not a total loss they have the USB back but now we have absolutely no leverage to get that club footage from Russell."

Confusion. Anger. Fear.

Knox feels the walls of the truck closing in way too fast.

He pushes the door open and stumbles out, his boots hitting the dirt hard.

Each breath comes sharp and ragged, the early morning chill pricking at his skin as he tries to make sense of the situation.

Gavin's door slams shut seconds later, and he's there right beside him.

"We'll get through this."

"You haven't found him yet, have you?"

Knox doesn't want to hear the answer, but he asks anyway.

"No, we haven't found Everett yet. I'm sorry."

"So they actually have him? It's confirmed?"

Knox squeezes his eyes shut, his stomach plummeting to his toes.

"It's the only logical answer I can come up with," Gavin says.

"The reason why I'm confident Everett was forced to steal the USB is because when I stopped by his house to see if he went there to hide out, well..."

"What?"

"The brothers you had watching over his father? I found them dead in the trunk of their car about a block away."

Knox stares blankly into the distance again, a deep numbness spreading through his veins like Novocain.

"My theory is Russell somehow managed to get in contact with Everett. He had to have threatened Everett's family and in exchange for keeping them safe, Everett had to steal the USB from us. I just don't see him betraying us for any other reason than that."

"That makes sense but...his father?" Knox's voice is barely audible as fear for the gentle old man who'd become like family tightens his throat.

"Is he..."

"Safe? Yes," Gavin assures him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I saw him with my own eyes."

"But our brothers are dead?"

'My fault.'

"Yes."

"And The Jackals still took Everett?"

'My fault.'

"Yes."

"Which means Russell is one step closer to getting everything he fucking wants."

'All of it is my fault.'

"No, damn it. This war isn't over yet," Gavin says.

"Mason tracked Everett's cell-phone to a spot about five miles from Russell's cabin before he lost the signal. The place is swarming with armed guards but as soon as I realized what went down with Mason and Everett, I called in backup. They'll be here in twenty-four hours."

Twenty-four hours might as well be a Godamn lifetime.

Red hot fury explodes in Knox's gut, momentarily searing through the numbness.

Two of his brothers are dead.

Everett is now in the clutches of that sadistic fuck Russell and it's all his fault.

Everything happening now is all his fault.

'Need to kill them. Kill every last one of them. Make them suffer.'

A familiar urge scratches beneath his skin, begging him to surrender to the darkness.

Begging him to burn the whole fucking world down.

Begging him to spill the blood of his enemies until the pain in his soul has quieted.

He's only felt this urge once or twice before but right now, it's as potent as the heat beaming from the sun.

"We don't have that kind of time," Knox snaps.

"We have to act now."

"Take a breath, Knox."

Gavin doesn't flinch at the harshness in Knox's voice.

Calm as ever, he places a hand on the man's chest, stopping him from pacing.

"We can't storm Russell's place half-cocked. We're outmanned and outgunned right now. If we don't wait for backup, we risk getting all our people killed. I want to save the kid too but we gotta be smart about this."

Another violent tremor runs through Knox's body. 

The adrenaline and helplessness he feels mingles into a toxic cocktail that makes him gag.

He crouches, pressing both palms against the rough gravel while closing his eyes.

'Fuck, how did it all go so wrong?'

The ringing of Gavin's cell phone is a welcome distraction.

He quickly fishes the device from his pocket.

"Unknown number," he mutters, suspicious.

Knox immediately straightens as Gavin accepts the call and switches it to speaker.

"Who is this?"

"I believe I have something in my possession that you're probably failing to think of ways to retrieve."

"Russell."

Knox's heart slams against his ribs at the sound of the man's voice.

He steps closer, a growl rising from deep within him.

"I swear to God if you touch a single hair on his God-damn head..."

Gavin's hand shoots up, a clear signal for silence.

"The kid is innocent, Russell," he says.

"This war is between us, it's club business, so just let him go."

"See, that's always been your weakness, Gavin. Your bullshit code of honor means nothing to me," Russell laughs.

"I don't give a damn if the boy is innocent or not. Out here in the real world, in my world, I will touch who I need to touch to get what it is I want."

"And what is it you want, motherfucker?"

Gavin's response is clipped, lethal.

"Say it."

"I want the cause of all this, your man, Finn and in return, you can have the boy back."

Gavin and Knox lock eyes.

This is a topic that has already been discussed, and it will never see the light of day. 

"So you want to do a trade?"

"Yes. Hand over that bastard Finley Monroe and I swear on my dead son our war will come to an immediate end. No more lives have to be lost. You know this is the best option for us both."

"I'm gonna need some time to discuss this with my men," Gavin stalls.

"How do I get in contact with..."

"Don't worry about that. I'll be in touch from a new number in forty-eight hours."

"How is the kid..."

"He's being well taken care of but if you refuse to give me what I want or try to play me for a fool, I promise I'll have him sold to the highest bidder right after I have my men come down and finally do what I should've done to you Angels a long time ago."

And then the line goes dead.