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seanfalco · 4 years ago

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The Great Death Defying Nathan Young | Nathan Young x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k Warning(s): Suggestive language, Blood, Character Death (but it’s Nathan, so he’s okay)

Summary: Becoming a Vegas magician’s personal assistant, you get more than you bargained for when you find out the hard way that the magic is actually real, and so are your feelings.

a/n: Dedicated to @midnightseance / @imagine-you for our one year friendaversary! You were the one to inspire this fic with your ideas after all lol. Thank you Mel for being such an amazing friend and writing partner. I love you to bits! (To bits, I say!)

“This your first day?” the woman with the clipboard and headset next to you asked, startling you. Tearing your eyes from the stage, you nodded.

“I’m [y/n],” you introduced, shaking the woman’s hand as she checked her clipboard.

“I’m Deb. Ah, yes, here you are,” she said, looking back up at you. “You’ll be shadowing me today,” she explained. “Apparently Mr. Young needs more than one personal assistant,” she added under her breath.

“What’s he like?” you asked as you fell into step with the woman.

“A giant pain in my ass,” she grumbled with a twist of her lips. “Everyday its something else: ‘I’m hungry, fetch me some more cornettos’, ‘get Marnie a new pair of lingerie, you know th’kind I like’, ‘I need more condoms’,” she exclaimed in a poor imitation of an Irish accent.

“Oh,” you exclaimed, your brows rising in surprise. You were starting to get a better picture of what this Nathan Young you were going to be working for was like and he seemed like a bit of a prick.

——

“Mr. Young,” Deb called through the door to his dressing room after knocking several times with no answer. “Mr. Young!” she tried again, louder this time.

“What? Jay-sus, come on in!”

Deb rolled her eyes as she opened the door and you got your first look at ‘The Great Nathan Young’. Sprawled back in a rather grandiose throne-like chair, one long leg thrown over the arm rest, he wore naught but a half open silk robe tied loosely at the waist and a long silver chair round his neck that glittered against his bare chest.

Sporting a dashing goatee and dark wavy locks that framed his face, his dark limned emerald eyes unabashedly looked you up and down, openly checking you out with a small quirk to his lips.

“And who’re you?” he asked, his lilting accent taking you by surprise. It was nothing like how Deb had impersonated.

“This is [y/n], she’s your new assistant,” Deb introduced, sounding bored as she looked disdainfully around his messy dressing room.

“New assistant? I thought I was your assistant!” the dark haired girl you’d seen on stage earlier exclaimed, her voice a rather grating whine.

“What? No, sweetheart,” Nathan soothed, pulling her into his lap. “She’s my new personal assistant, you’re my magical assistant,” he explained and the girl ‘ohhhh’d’ in understanding, letting out a high pitched giggle.

“Well, that’s a relief,” she exclaimed. “I thought you were gettin’ rid of me for a moment there.”

You noticed Deb roll her eyes again and fought the urge yourself.

“Alright, well, if you don’t need anything—” Before she could finish, Marnie spoke up, cutting her off.

“Actually, I’d like a coffee!”

“Oooh, and I’ll have a soda, and a sandwich,” Nathan added.

Ushering you out of the room before the two could asked for anything else, Deb grumbled under her breath, showing you where the food cart was and how to make Marnie’s coffee the way she like it, with extra sugar.

——

You’d only been on the job a handful of days, but you had to admit it was kind of exciting, despite Nathan’s constant demanding whims. Standing off to the side to watch that night’s rehearsal, you couldn’t help but marvel at how real it all looked.

“Marnie! Stop stop stop!” Nathan cried, frustration lacing his voice as he stopped the production to chastise his partner for about the third time.

“What now?” Marnie exclaimed with a huff, crossing her arms petulantly over her chest.

“You’re not hitting your mark!” Nathan groaned, gesturing to the taped off X on the middle of the stage. “How am I s’posed t’make yeh disappear if y’don’t hit your mark?”

“I don’t know! Does it really matter that much?”

This wasn’t the first time they’d ended up in a shouting match either. It seemed over the past few days, since you’d started, there’d been trouble in paradise, the two constantly picking at one another.

“I need a break, I’m gettin’ a fuckin’ headache,” Nathan groaned, walking off the stage and you hurried after him.

“Can I get you anything?” you asked and Nathan pulled his hand from his face to look up at you.

“An aspirin?” he asked, a pathetic note to his voice before covering his eyes again as he slumped back in his chair. Shaking your head ruefully, you went to go grab a bottled water and some aspirin, holding them out to him.

“Here y’go, drink up,” you prompted, watching him pop the pills in his mouth and down them with a swig of water.

“Thanks,” he muttered, eyeing you askance and you smiled— it was probably the first time he’d actually thanked you for anything.

“No problem,” you murmured. “Can I ask you something?” you wondered after a moment, your curiosity getting the better of you. You knew he was probably going to tell you “a magician never reveals his secrets” or some other bullshit line, but you had to ask anyway.

“Hmm?” Nathan prompted, his eyes still closed.

“How do you make it all look so real?” you asked, a hint of awe in your voice and Nathan’s eyes opened as he straightened, fixing you with a smirk.

“That’s because it is all real,” he exclaimed grandly.

Snorting, you rolled your eyes. “Alright, keep your secrets then.”

“I’m serious!” Nathan insisted. He looked like he was gunna say more until the production manager called him back to the stage and he let out a heavy sigh, pushing out of his chair. “I’d love t’stay and chat, but duty calls,” he muttered, spreading his hands apologetically.

“Oh, but first… this is for you,” he said, stopping suddenly to turn, and with a flourish he held out a single red rose to you. “I didn’t know what your favourite flower was… or really how t’make anythin’ that isn’t a rose so…” he trailed off with a shrug and you took the flower, watching him walk to the stage in awe.

Turning, you found Deb watching you, rolling her eyes at the grin you quickly wiped off your face. However, once she left, you smiled to yourself, tucking the flower behind your ear.

Busying yourself with rearranging Nathan’s wardrobe rack, you lost track of what was happening on stage until an angry shriek filled your ears and you jumped, your head snapping up. Before you knew what had happened, Marnie was pushing past you, nearly knocking you over in her haste, Nathan hot on her heels.

“No, I’m done!” she exclaimed, stomping her foot in consternation.

“But Marnie, baby, c’mon!” Nathan pleaded, rushing past to follow her to his dressing room.

“You better go after them,” Deb groaned, running her hand down her face.

Not exactly wanting to eavesdrop, it was kind of unavoidable, however, as you stood outside the open door. Marnie was throwing her clothes into a suitcase in a huff.

“I can’t do this anymore! You said it was gunna be a cakewalk, but you lied!” she cried hysterically, her already nasally voice raising an octave.

“What am I s’posed t’do without you?” Nathan countered, trying to get her to stop.

“I dunno, get another assistant! How about her?” Marnie pointed at you, having caught sight of you standing by the door. “I’ve seen you flirtin’ with her!”

Nathan grimaced as he caught your eye, the rose he’d given you still tucked in your hair and you flashed him an apologetic look. “Marnie—” he tried again, but she brushed past him, her bags in hand.

“No, Nathan, we’re through. Don’t follow me!”

“You’ll be sorry!” he yelled after her before sweeping dramatically back into his dressing room. “Well, y’comin’ in or not?” he called when you hesitated.

“What, uhm, what was all that about?” you asked, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind you. Nathan already had a bottle in his hand and when he turned to face you, plopping down in his chair your brows rose in surprise.

Instead of the long hair you’d come to recognize on him he sported a mess of dark springy curls piled atop his head, and his facial hair was nowhere to be found, making him look nearly ten years younger.

“Oh, who knows? She’s always been fickle, but who needs her, right?” Nathan replied with bravado, waving his hand as he brought the bottle back to his lips.

“You-your face… you look—” you floundered and Nathan snorted.

“Different?” he scoffed, snorting. “Yeah, well, it’s fake.”

“But you said…”

Giving you a patient look as he sat up, he seemed to find your shock amusing. “Th’magic is real, but my appearance ain’t,” he explained. “I mean, clearly, I’m gorgeous, but d’yeh think anyone would pay t’see ‘The Great Nathan Young’ if I looked like this?” he asked, gesturing to his face.

“I dunno, probably. I think y’look better this way,” you added with a shrug, your words taking him aback and he gaped at you. “So, what’re you gunna do now?” you asked, quickly changing the subject, your face starting to warm at your admission.

Groaning, Nathan deflated in his chair. “I’ll have t’find another assistant t’take Marnie’s place, and fast, opening night is tomorrow and if we have to postpone… it’ll be a disaster.”

“It can’t be that bad, can it?” you asked, trying to lift his spirits, but he merely gave you a flat stare before burying his face in his hands.

“I’ve got a lot riding on this show, if it flops... As a kid, all I ever wanted was t’be a magician and this show is my big break. I guess I could always go back t’do card tricks in casinos...” he sighed, the sadness in his voice tugging at your heart.

Trying to think of something to say, you awkwardly patted his shoulder, jumping when he suddenly sat up, his gaze lifting to you and you didn’t like the appraising way he looked at you.

“What…?” you asked hesitantly, although you could already guess what he was thinking.

“You could be my new assistant!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “You’re already familiar with the show and—”

“Oh, no no no,” you quickly protested, holding your hands up.

“Oh c’mon! You’d look stunning, and you’d be savin’ th’show,” Nathan argued. “D’you want me t’beg?” he asked, promptly dropping to his knees at your feet, only making your face flare hotter.

“That’s not—”

Before you could finish, he’d taken your hands in his as he gazed up at you entreatingly, his gorgeous green eyes getting the better of you.

“Alright, fine, but Deb’s gunna be pissed,” you groaned.

Instantly Nathan’s demeanor brightened, a grin stretching his face. “Leave that crusty old bat t’me,” he exclaimed, waving the thought away as he leapt to his feet, pressing a kiss to your cheek before you’d even realized it. “C’mon, we better get you into costume, we have a rehearsal t’finish!

——

As you’d feared, Deb was not happy about this new development, leaving her once again to Nathan’s whims as his main personal assistant, and grumbling under her breath, she led you to wardrobe.

“Let’s see how long you last!” she exclaimed as she left you to change. Holding up your costume, you eyed the scanty sequined outfit with reluctance. Sighing, you pulled the costume on and inspected yourself in the mirror. Though you weren’t usually very comfortable wearing something so revealing, you found yourself looking forward to Nathan’s reaction, touching your cheek where he’d kissed you.

“Wow!” he breathed, left stunned for a moment as his mouth fell open, his gaze taking you in. It wasn’t long, however, for his cocky demeanor to return, and he let out a low whistle before flashing you a cheeky smirk.

“See, told yeh you’d look amazin’,” he exclaimed, back in his wig and goatee, and you rolled your eyes; you really did like him better without that ridiculous get up.

Climbing up on stage with him, he walked you through each act and you were thankful you had at least some knowledge of what you were supposed to do after watching Marnie so many times. Up close and part of the action, the magic tricks seemed even more real and though you tried, you couldn’t quite figure out how he did it.

“Well, I think that went as well as can be hoped for,” the production manager exclaimed, a haggard look on his face. He, like Nathan, needed the show to go off without a hitch.

“Hey, you were great up there!” Nathan called, catching up to you as you headed back to the spare dressing room — yours, now — to change.

“Really?” you asked, kinda surprised; you’d felt like you’d just been fumbling your way through it.

“Yeah, you’re a natural,” he insisted, leaning against the wall next to your door and you rolled your eyes, fighting a pleased grin.

“So…” Nathan murmured, his gaze dropping as he leaned in closer, trailing his fingers up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Wanna come round t’mine tonight? I’ll help keep your mind off the pre-show jitters,” he offered.

For a moment you merely stared at him incredulously.

“We’ll get drunk, have a little fun—”

“I can’t believe you!” you exclaimed in disgust.

“What?” he asked, a confused frown pulling at his lips. “I’ve seen th’way you look at me when y’think on one’s watching. You want me,” he argued.

“So you think just because I took Marnie’s place that I’ll sleep with you too?”

“Yeah, why not? Y’know you want to,” Nathan countered.

Growling, you pushed past him into your dressing room. “And here I was starting to think you might not be a total prick!” You caught the surprised look on Nathan’s face before slamming the door in his face, and that at least made you feel a little better.

——

It was the night of the performance, opening night, and you felt like you were gunna be sick. You’d never done anything like this before. What if you fucked it up and ruined the show? Looking at your reflection in the mirror, you groaned, wishing you could relax when a knock at your door made you jump.

“C-come in!” he called, your voice wavering.

When Nathan’s head appeared around the door you directed him a flat stare. “What, you here to ask me for a quick shag before the show?” you sneered, trying not to think about how handsome he looked in his suit.

“No!” he exclaimed hastily, though he looked slightly guilty. “No, actually I just came t’check on you. I figured you might be a little nervous.”

“A little…” you admitted, your glare softening somewhat and Nathan offered you a smile.

“Just… don’t think about the audience. Focus on me,” he murmured. “You’re gunna do great,” he assured you before his eyes trailed downward and quickly back up. “You look stunning by the way,” he exclaimed, quickly ducking out the door before you could chuck something at him, leaving you flushed and slightly flustered.

“Prick,” you muttered under your breath, but the word held no heat.

Waiting in the wings, you felt stage fright wash over you afresh as you caught sight of how many people were in the audience. Your heart pounding in your ears, your breath sped up as your whole body felt rooted in place. How were you supposed to do this?

You have no speaking lines, you reminded yourself, taking a deep breath, then another. All you have to do is bring Nathan his props and look pretty. All you have to do is focus on him…

Suddenly the house lights dimmed and went dark, a hush going over the house.

“You ready?” Nathan’s voice in your ear sent a shiver through you, and you yelped softly as he pinched your ass. Before you could turn to smack him he disappeared with a flourish of the cloak he wore, appearing in the middle of the stage in a cloud of smoke for his grand entrance to a crescendo of music and applause.

For a moment you stared at where he’d been in surprise. You’d never been that close before when he did that, you always just assumed it was some sort of trick with a trap door, but now you weren’t so sure.

“Allow me to introduce t’you my very lovely assistant, [y/n]!”

Nathan’s lilting voice calling your name snapped you out of your thoughts and you nearly missed your cue, hurrying on stage to stand next to him, bowing low to the audience before hanging off his arm.

“Took your sweet time,” he whispered, his brows furrowing slightly. “Thought you got cold feet…”

“How’d you do that?” you hissed, still trying to wrap your head around it.

“I told you, it’s magic,” he replied with a smirk, turning back to address the audience. “For my first trick—”

After your first near miss, the rest of the show went off without a hitch and you were actually starting to enjoy yourself, thankful for the brightness of the lights overhead which kept you from really being able to see the audience that clearly.

“You ready for the big finale, sweetheart?” Nathan whispered, slipping his arm around you.

“I have a name, you know,” you reminded him, but there was no snap to your voice and he merely raised his eyebrows at you.

“Are y’ready for the big finale, [y/n]?” he amended, bringing a grin to your face though you tried to hide it.

“Yeah, I think so. Are you?” you asked. Even though you’d seen him perform this trick several times it still made you nervous.

“You know it,” he answered, a genuine smile splitting his face. “Y’know, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were enjoying yourself,” he pointed out, nudging your arm.

“I am,” you admitted, hurrying back on stage before he could react.

——

“And now for my final performance of the night, I will be recreating a feat first done by Harry Houdini himself!” Nathan exclaimed grandly to the audience, throwing his arms wide. “Let’s see if I survive!”

“Please don’t say that,” you muttered, helping him shed his cape and fitting the straitjacket on him, securing his arms in place while dramatic music played.

“What, y’worried? I can do this in my sleep,” Nathan murmured, flexing his arms, testing his restraints.

“I’m not… worried,” you argued, stepping back to gesture toward Nathan with a flourish for the audience.

“You are, you’re worried bout me,” Nathan insisted, a smug grin on his lips. “I always knew you cared.”

Scoffing quietly, you didn’t contradict him as the hook descended from above.

“Now that I’m fully restrained, my lovely assistant is going to attach me to this hook where I will be suspended upside down over the stage while I attempt to free myself from my confines!”

The audience gasped.

“Good luck,” you murmured as you helped Nathan lay down on stage, attaching the hook to a rope tied round his ankles.

“I don’t need luck, I have magic, remember,” he countered, grinning coyly at you.

“Nathan—“ you sighed.

“Can I get a kiss for luck, if y’think I need it so badly?”

Rolling your eyes skyward, you bit your lip, bending over him to press your lips to his before pulling back.

“There, now I feel better,” he teased. “When I get back down will y’give me a proper kiss?” he asked as you gave the signal for him to be lifted.

“We’ll see,” you muttered, watching him as he slowly ascended into the air til he stopped, the spotlights training on him.

Holding your breath, you watching him struggle, squirming in the straitjacket, til just like the other times he’d practiced it, he finally freed one arm and then the other, wriggling out of the straitjacket and letting it fall with a thud to the stage below as the audience gasped.

It was when he fought to free himself from the ropes tying his feet together that it happened; he was reaching for the hook to hold onto when the last of the rope fell away too quickly.

You watched in horror as Nathan fell, his name on your lips, the scene unfolding as if in slow motion.

This was not how this was supposed to happen, but the audience didn’t seem to realize it wasn’t part of the show. As soon as he hit the ground at your feet with a sickening crunch, you fell to your knees at his side, a sob catching in your throat, time snapping back to normal even as the world around you felt muted, your pulse the only thing filling your ears.

The quickly spreading pool of blood beneath him had reached your knees now, but you didn’t care, pulling his lifeless body into your arms, stroking his curls away from his forehead, the glamour having faded away.

He’d been telling you the truth this whole time— it was all real...but so was this. How was he supposed to come back from this?

“Nathan, you idiot,” you sobbed, stroking his cheek. “Why’d you have to do something so foolishly dangerous? You should’ve been wearing a wire, just in case…”

You felt your tears fall hotly down your face, blurring your vision. “What am I supposed to do now? I was just starting to like you, you ass—”

“You were?”

At Nathan’s raspy voice, your eyes snapped open and your jaw fell as you found him watching you, a small grin playing at his pink lips which just moments ago had been alarmingly pale.

“Nathan, you’re—! How?” you gasped, quickly wiping at your eyes, blinking back your tears.

“Am I in heaven? Cause you must be th’hottest angel I’ve ever seen,” he joked, his lips twitching as his grin widened.

“Nathan!” you huffed, unamused, your lips quivering. “You fucking asshole, that wasn’t funny! You scared me half t’death!”

“Were you cryin’ over me?” he asked, tilting his head as he reached up to wipe at your damp cheeks. “Don’t cry, [y/n]. I’m alright,” he assured you, his gaze softening, touched at how much you cared.

“How-how did you do that?” you asked, thoughts of anything but the young man in your arms far away.

“Well, I’m immortal, so…” he shrugged as he sat up, wincing slightly.

“That’s ridiculous,” you scoffed, met with Nathan’s raised eyebrows.

“Is it? After everything else you’ve seen me do?”

“I guess not…” you conceded. “You’re still an ass though,” you exclaimed, helping him up to face the audience who applauded and cheered deafeningly.

“Yeah, but you still like me,” Nathan pointed out cheekily.

Opening your mouth to argue, you decided against it, too relieved that he was alive, that you had more time. Yanking him toward you, your mouths collided and he reacted instantly, his arms snaking around you as he dipped you low, kissing you back with a fervor that stole your breath, leaving you panting in his arms as he righted you.

“You wanna come back t’mine after the show?” he asked, watching you expectantly.

“Do you always go to these lengths to get laid?” you teased, even though you already knew your answer.

“Nope, you’re th’first I’ve died for,” he answered with a smirk that made you grin back. “Besides, I’m hopin’ it might be a little more than that,” he admitted as the curtain fell.

Searching his face for a moment you kissed him again. “I’d like that.”

———————

Tag list: @magic-multicolored-miracle @messengeronthemoon @the-freckled-luba @firstpersonnarrator @xenteaart @gurlimtired @phoenixhits @super-unpredictable98 @nightingale-rose @salvador-daley @duck-noises @forenschik @simsiddy @a-ghoulish-tale @love-is-dirty-baby @captainsheeballs

#misfits #nathan young #nathan young x reader #vegas!nathan #vegas!au #robert sheehan character fic #my writing

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songtoyou · 4 years ago

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Tempting Fate - Part Three

Paring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Intimacy between two consenting adults.

Word Count: 2,147

Story Summary: Tommy is not a believer in fate or destiny. However, a new resident in Small Heath will question his beliefs and push his boundaries outside his comfort zone.

Chapter Summary: Tommy wakes up from a bad dream and decides to get some air. He finds himself at The Cut late at night. All of a sudden, you show up since you cannot sleep as well. The two of you sit and talk for a bit. Tommy walks you home, and you ask him to come inside for the night.

A/N: Remember, there is no Grace or Greta in this fic. They do not exist in the realm of this alternate universe.

Italics represent Tommy's dream in this chapter.

Please do not post any of my fics to other sites without my permission.

Tag List: @owenniasstars

He was digging, continuous digging. The tunnel was dark and claustrophobic. The 179 Tunneling Company were always stuck in the dark, never knowing who they were fighting. Tommy continued to dig. He was stationed at the front. He was always in the front leading the men to place the mines under enemy lines. Soon, Tommy heard a loud commotion behind him. He turned around but could not see anything. It was still too dark. Tommy dropped his shovel and put his hand out to feel for another tunneller or if the person had epaulets. If they had epaulets on the shoulder, then it meant Germans had infiltrated the 179th’s tunnel. Tommy continued to hear fighting amongst men. Some were screaming out in pain, but as Tommy moved throughout the tunnel, he never found anyone. The screams and digging sounds began to consume Tommy, that he fell to his knees, trying to block out the noise. Tommy felt himself starting to hyperventilate as he could not breathe in the confined space.

“Tommy,” spoke a muffled voice. He looked around to see where the voice was coming from inside the tunnel.

“Tommy,” the voice spoke up again. Tommy was able to distinguish the voice belonged to a female. “Over here,” the voice instructed.

“Who are you?” Tommy asked, but with no answer.

“Come find me, Tommy. Follow my voice.”

Tommy did not know why he was following an unknown voice. For all he knew, it could be a trap set up by the Germans for capture.

Making his way through the dark tunnel, Tommy was able to make out a lighted area. As it got lighter, Tommy could see that no men around. However, a woman was standing alone.

“Who are you?” Tommy asked again, reaching out to touch the woman. He wanted to see her face.

When the woman turned around, Tommy was taken aback. It was you.

Tommy breathed out your name. “What are you doing here? You have to leave, or you will get hurt. You are not supposed to be here,” rambled Tommy.

You smiled at Tommy and walked closer to him to touch his cheek. Tommy leaned into your touch. “I’m here to bring you home, Tommy. You don’t belong down in the dark. Dark tunnels, Battle of the Somme, this isn’t your life anymore. The war is over.”

Tommy shook his head in disbelief. “No. I will always be at war. I’ll never have peace,” he told you.

Tommy grabbed your hands and held them close to his chest. He needed a lifeline, and, at that moment, you were it. Tears began to sting out the corners of Tommy’s eyes.

You cupped Tommy’s face in your hands to look into his beautiful blue eyes. Leaning in, you placed a tender kiss on his forehead.

“Thomas, you have to wake up, now,” you told him. You leaned in again and kissed him on the lips.

Before Tommy could reciprocate, he woke up.

Tommy bolted upright on his bed. He looked around to see he was in his room. He was in Small Heath, not France. Sitting up, Tommy positioned himself against the headboard and took deep breaths to help control his breathing. He looked at his undershirt to see it drenched in sweat.

“Fucking ‘ell,” he said out loud. Looking at his timepiece, it read three o’clock in the morning. There was no way Tommy was going to get back to sleep now. Getting off the bed, Tommy located and laced his shoes. He put on his coat and hat, then headed out of the house. He needed some fresh air, which was not easy to come by in the smog-filled place of Small Heath.

Not many people were out, which to Tommy was pleasant. The less disturbance, the better. Tommy did not know where he was going but allowed his legs to lead the way. It was not long until Tommy reached the Cut. He looked down at the dark water and began thinking about his mother. It was a dark day for the Shelby siblings when they received the devastating news of their mother drowning in the Cut. Nothing was ever the same from then on out, especially when their father up and left.

Tommy, without hesitation, stepped up as the head of the family. None of the other siblings fought him on it as they trusted Tommy to look after them. That is why Tommy pushed so hard to provide for his family. He wanted them to have more and to be more. He did not wish to have the Shelby name only associated with gypsies, travelers, and Birmingham. Tommy Shelby wanted more out of life. He wanted to be someone of importance.

When Tommy heard footsteps approaching, he pulled out his gun and turned around to point it at the unknown assailant. However, he did not come face-to-face with a would-be attacker. Instead, it was you with your hands up.

“Whoa! Don’t shoot!” you yelled, stepping back slowly.

“Shit! What are you doing out so late?” Tommy questioned sternly and put his gun away. “I could have shot you.”

“But you didn’t pull the trigger,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

Tommy was not amused. He walked up to you and asked why you were walking around Small Heath late at night.

You let out a sigh, “I couldn’t sleep. I keep having these weird dreams. What about you? Why are you out here and not at home?”

“Same,” Tommy replied truthfully. There was no point trying to put on a tough front with you, mostly because he was tired and did not have the energy to come up with a lie.

Ever since the night Tommy walked you to the Yard to see his horse, he finally concluded that you were harmless. It was also the night that he realized he wanted you for himself.

“I couldn’t sleep and decided to get some air,” continued Tommy and pulled out a cigarette. He presented one to you, which you accepted.

You touched Tommy’s hand when he offered his match to light the cigarette. The two of you stood around the Cut, smoking in silence. You saw some boxes off to the side and took a seat, which Tommy followed suit.

“If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?” you asked Tommy out of the blue.

He turned to look at you, eyebrows raised. It was an odd question. One had not given much thought. However, the smile on your face helped brighten his sullen mood.

“I don’t know. That is not a question I have ever been asked. What about you? Where would you like to be?”

Without pause, you answered, “The Aran Islands.” When you saw Tommy quirk an eyebrow, you explained, “I remember reading ‘The Aran Islands’ by John Millington Synge. The book is a four-part collection of Synge’s journal entries where he shares his interaction with the Aran Islands people. He also talks about the culture and the language, predominantly Irish speaking, and how the community has a real connection through their stories and history. It reminded me of the traveler’s life, you know. How we use stories to tell the younger generation of our history, that is how we keep our traditions.”

“The Aran Islands, eh, that sounds like a nice place. Fuck it. I’ll take you there myself,” Tommy uttered playfully.

“Really? You would be willing to take me to the Aran Islands?”

“It would be an adventure, something new for the both of us, eh. We can spend our time learning Gaelic and taking in the ocean breeze. Our skin would get dry because of the saltwater, but at least it would a step up from Small Heath,” suggested Tommy. There was a hint of excitement in his voice that was nice to your ears.

“Deal. You better keep hold up to that promise, Tommy Shelby. I would hate to have to leave you behind.”

“Oh, we will go, I promise. I may be a lot of things, but I am a man of my word,” he replied.

After a few minutes of continued quiet, Tommy spoke up, “I better take you home.”

Tommy stood up, stubbed out his cigarette, and offered his hand to you, which you accepted.

As you walked back to your home, Tommy did not let go of your hand. You liked the feel of his large, calloused hand wrapped around yours. Tommy noticed that you began rubbing your thumb against his; it only made him tighten his grip. He was not letting you go.

When you reached the door of your home, you turned back to Tommy. You didn’t want him to leave.

“Do you want to come inside?” you shyly asked him.

“Are you sure?” Tommy questioned, leaning closer to you. “People may talk.”

“So, let them talk. We are grown-ups, are we not? We can make our own choices,” you said and leaned in to kiss Tommy on the lips. It took him by surprise that you were the one to make the first move. He liked your boldness and responded to the kiss. You pulled back to open the front door and pulled Tommy along with you inside the house.

You continued to lead him towards your bedroom. Tommy wrapped his arms around you and began pulling at the buttons on your blouse while leaving a trail of kisses along your neck. He could not remember a time where he wanted someone so bad. Tommy desperately wanted to feel your bare skin against his. He pulled off his jacket and cap and left them on the floor. You both plopped down on the bed, and it was no holds bar. Both of you were fighting to dominate.

Tommy took your wrists and pinned them above your head. The action made you stop to look up at him.

“You’re going to have to let me lead, love. I can take over from here, yeah,” Tommy ordered and traced one of his fingers along your jaw down to your breast. “Now, be a good girl for me and remove your clothes.”

Without hesitation, you took off your garments with Tommy’s help. Not long after, he removed his clothes and was on top of you once again. He ran a hand along your naked body, making sure to squeeze your breasts and tug your nipples. The action elicited a moan from your mouth. Tommy’s hand ran over your stomach and down to your lower region.

“Not quite ready for me, but I will get you ready. Just relax for me, love,” Tommy instructed and slipped a finger between your folds. You arched your back off the bed at the new sensation you were feeling. With your positive reaction, Tommy inserted another finger and began increasing his pumping. Soon, you felt the pulsing between your legs rise throughout the rest of your body. Tommy noticed you tightening around his fingers. You were close and ready, so he pulled out but then lined his cock against the opening of your cunt.

Slowly, Tommy entered inside and allowed you time to adjust to his length. You liked the way Tommy stretched you as he bottomed out. When Tommy leaned down to capture your lips to his, you lightly nudge him to begin moving.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Tommy teased and began a slow pace. He wanted to take his time with you, to appreciate every inch and feel of you writhing against him. It was a more Tommy wanted to savor and burn it to memory.

“Tommy,” you panted, clawing at his back. “I need you to go faster, please. I can take it.”

Obliging to your begging, Tommy adjusted his position, so he was on his knees. He grabbed your hips and began upping his pace. The new position allowed Tommy to hit your sweet spot.

“Oh, shit!” you yelled out at the new sensation you were feeling. It all felt so good, and it only got better when Tommy began rubbing your clit. You were almost close to the edge that you did not think you could last very long.

The bubble burst, and you arched your back and letting out a scream. Most likely, heard by the neighbors or any bystanders on the street; however, you did not care. You were feeling ecstasy at that moment. Tommy followed after you with his orgasm and plopped down on the bed next to you.

Looking over at Tommy, you saw he had his eyes closed and trying to even out his breathing. He looked peaceful and sweet. You could see the boyish charm on his face and not the cold-hearted gangster he showed to the world. You were going to cherish this moment, that you would soon find out would be few and far between.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years ago

Text

Passing Notes

A Shay Cormac x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2,795 Warnings: Explicit Language

Author’s Note: This is the first time I’ve sat down and written without deleting everything after five minutes! Enjoy! -Thorne

If there was one thing that bored her more than long meetings, it was long meetings when someone other than the grandmaster, or anyone she actually enjoyed listening to, had the floor. And at the moment, Charles Lee had the floor, which in her mind, was the equivalent to having someone slam her head between the door and the doorframe until she stopped moving. The only solace she found was the occasional note she and Shay had managed to write and pass back between the two of them, rather sneakily. She drew her eyes to Lee as she opened the note silently, then dropped them the page, reading over the scribbles across it.

S- How long is this going to last?

(Y/I)- With bootlicker talking? Probably another hour.

S- Please tell me you’re joking. We’ve got better things to do than sit around and listen to him.

(Y/I)- You’re preaching to the choir Shay. I can count the number of business deals that I’m going to have to reschedule because we’ve already gone over on time.

S- You think Haytham is annoyed that he’s talking on and on?

(Y/I)- Is he sitting with his elbow resting on the armchair and his pointer is pressed against the side of his head?

S- Yes?

(Y/I)- Then he’s absolutely annoyed.

S- It’s rather endearing that you can read his moods like that. Sometimes I look at him and I can’t even begin to wonder what he’s thinking about.

(Y/I)- He’s like an onion-he’s got layers-peel ‘em back one at a time and things will become clear.

S- You are so full of shit.

(Y/I)- No more than you are, Irish boy.

S- Man. Irishman, thank you very much.

(Y/I)- You don’t look much like a man from where I’m sitting.

After Shay had read that, he turned to her with a look of full offense on his face, and Haytham had taken the quick second to snatch their letter and read it over. The two had gone completely silent as he shifted his steely gaze to the two of them as a teacher would disruptive students. After a moment of staring at them, he clicked the quill against the inkwell and scribbled his own message before folding it quietly to pass back. When Shay unfolded it and wrote his own message, he passed it to (Y/N), who fought to keep the grin hidden as she read.

H- It is extremely unprofessional for the two of you to pass a note back and forth like children.

S- You mean like you’re doing? Right now?

(Y/I)- Pot meet the kettles. Haytham, you’re officially apart of the ‘Club of Unprofessionals’.

H- I beg to differ. I am denouncing the two of you with what you are doing. Also, ‘unprofessionals’ isn’t a word.

S- Denounce, he says. Still counts, we say.

(Y/I)- Hayth, be real, this is the most fun you’ve had in the last two hours. TWO. HOURS.

H- I do not like to be called that, you know that, and Charles does have some good points to make.

S- Oh my god, you’re encouraging him, Haytham. And she calls you Hayth?

(Y/I)- Only in private. The last time I called him that in public he got terribly upset with me.

H- I did not.

S- Did he?

(Y/I)- His face got really red and he told me if I called him that in a public setting again, he’d set me on fire.

H- I DID NOT SAY THAT. YOU ARE LYING.

S- I don’t think she’s lying.

(Y/I)- Well, he didn’t exactly ‘say’ it, but he gave me a look that told me so. Remember Shay, he’s an onion.

H- I am not an onion.

S- Can we get of here now? (Y/N) and I have a gang headquarters to overtake.

(Y/I)- That’s actually a good question. Because if I have to sit here and listen to Lee speak any longer, I might actually commit murder. Also, I really do not want to listen to Johnson or Hickey start talking either. Because I will kill them too. Only Pitcairn. He’s interesting to talk to.

H- You are not going to kill Charles, William, or Thomas.

S- Actually, if she wants to just maim them, I don’t have a problem with that. Also, why only Pitcairn?

(Y/I)- I’m seriously considering it.

H- No.

S- Hey you never answered my question.

(Y/I)- Are you sure I can’t maim them just a little Hayth? Just a teensy-weensy bit?

H- No. And she likes accents.

S- Oh? (Y/N), is this the reason you spend so much time with me? Oh, this is good ammunition.

When the note reached her once more, her eyes went wide with shock before she turned to look straight at Haytham with a look of pure hatred. He simply smiled at her in return before nodding at Charles, a silent gesture to pay attention. (Y/N) pursed her lips and nodded, writing his own secret down.

(Y/I)- How dare you, Haytham Kenway, my most beloved best friend, betray one of my deepest secrets? You know what? You want to fight dirty? I’ll fight dirty, sweetheart. Shay, did you know that Haytham can’t compliment women to save his life. Don’t get me wrong, he knows how to be polite, but you put him in a situation where he has to sweettalk a woman and he can’t do jackshit.

She tossed Haytham a smirk before passing the note to Shay, who, upon reading the note, had to clap a hand against the lower half of his face to avoid outright hysterical laugher from escaping him. She noted the subtle change in Haytham’s expression, enough to have gone from cool and collected to slightly unnerved and concerned. Shay scribbled down his own response before handing him the note, and (Y/N) watched a pure look of betrayal cross his face as he looked between her and the sheet of paper. She glanced at Shay and offered him a satisfied smile as the paper came back her way.

S- You’re joking? The great Haytham Kenway can’t smooth talk women? The man who can make others piss themselves in pure fear with one dangerous look? The man who commands authority and expects respect when he steps into a room? The man who can take down a squad of soldiers singlehandedly? That man? He can’t talk to women? Jesus Christ Haytham, it’s not that hard.

H- (Y/N) (L/N), I am docking your pay for two months. I cannot believe you just told that. I can talk to women. I talk to many women during the day.

S- Well now it seems like you’re overselling it too much. You really can’t talk to women, can you Haytham?

(Y/I)- Jokes on you, English boy, I make money outside of the templars, so kiss my ass.

H- As you wish (Y/N), you are docked for the rest of the year.

S- Ha. Looks like you’re going to be stuck with me to earn a living (Y/N). Me, my ship, and my lovely Irish accent.

(Y/I)- You’re both dickheads and I hate the two of you.

H- I guess you should have thought about this outcome before spilling secrets.

S- Aw, lass, don’t hurt my feelings. I know you love me.

(Y/I)- Up yours Kenway, you spilled first. And I do not love you.

H- I simply answered a question.

S- You spend all your time with me? Typically, when someone loves another person, they spend their time in said person’s company. Are you sure you don’t love me?

(Y/I)- I spend time with you because you’re incompetent. I’ve watched you fall off rooftops and trip over nothing. You’re like a puppy that needs to be watched so it doesn’t piss on the carpet.

H- While that is a rather descriptive analogy, Shay is not incompetent. He has taken a great deal of responsibility since moving into Fort Arsenal. But besides that, you do spend a majority of your time with him. Why is that?

S- Yeah, what Haytham said. Why do you spend so much time with me? Is it my dashing good looks? Maybe my perfect marksmanship? It’s my good looks, isn’t it? Oh, you’ve fallen in love with me. Careful Haytham, I might sweep your right-hand woman from underneath you.

(Y/I)- My god, who’s side are you on? You know what? I’m done. You’re both asses and I’m not talking to you two anymore. And Shay, I hope you fall off the pier.

She passed them back the note before crossing her arms over her chest, turning her attention to Lee with an annoyed look. The longer she stared at the man, the harder she resisted the urge to snatch the letter that was still going between the two of them. When the meeting ended, she was one of the first out the door, intent to lose Haytham and Shay to find a bar to drink in.

A Few Hours Later:

She slammed the tankard back on the bar, waving the bartender for another. He walked over and started filling the cup, but also asked, “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, miss?” (Y/N) drew her eyes up from the filling mug and glowered at him before slamming a few pounds on the bar.

“How ‘bout you keep filling and I’ll keep paying?” He arched an eyebrow, but kept silent, swiping the money from the wooden counter, before walking off to another counter. Her eyes narrowed and she chugged the whiskey back until it was empty. When it was, she placed the tankard down, then placed her forehead on the bar, muttering, “Stupid best-friend. Stupid Irish sailor. Stupid cocky grin. Stupid accent. Stupid-” A certain accented voice cut her off, quipping,

“Careful there lass, you might actually hurt my feelings.” (Y/N) pulled a face as she raised her head, watching Shay sit in the barstool next to her.

“Good. I hope you drown in them.” The grin he gave her only served to irk her more as he nodded to her empty tankard.

“Like you’re tryin’ to do with that liquor?” She grunted, but nodded and turned to the side, calling,

“Speaking of liquor…bartender! I’m out!” He frowned as the man walked back over, then placed his hand over her cup.

“I think you’ve had enough lass.” (Y/N) glared as she shoved his hand off, growling,

“Unless you wanna lose that hand, don’t touch my cup.” Shay rolled his eyes at her and looked at the bartender, handing a few coins to him.

“Last mug for her.” The man nodded and poured her last round, and Shay watched as she held the tankard to her chest. “Are you trying to nurse the mug lass?” (Y/N) took a swig then looked at him, hazy eyes still holding an edge as she bit out,

“I might be inebriated, but don’t assume I can’t and won’t kick your ass.” She went back to her tankard, drinking the rest down before she placed it back on the counter, folding her arms across the bar as she laid on them. Shay sighed, murmuring,

“You’re acting like a child (Y/N).” She frowned, burrowing the lower half of her face into her arms as she mumbled,

“No, I’m acting like a woman who was and is embarrassed. There’s a difference.” Shay huffed a laugh, setting his elbow on the bar, propping his chin on his palm.

“What are you even embarrassed about?” He let out another laugh, moving his chin to poke her with his hand. “Is it about earlier? Lass, you know Haytham and I were just teasing you?” (Y/N) glanced at him, before looking away, muttering,

“It…it didn’t feel like teasing to me. It felt serious…it felt-” His jaw went slack and one look at his face had her scoffing as she rose from the bar. “Oh Jesus Christ. I am not doing this right now.” She turned on her heel and stumbled for the door but didn’t get far when someone bumped into her. The addition of the sudden force with her already clouded mind sent her tumbling to the floor, but before she could kiss it, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her back up. Her back met a strong chest and split second, she wanted to struggle against whoever had her by the waist when the familiar scent of sea salt and gunpowder reached her nose, followed by his voice.

“Easy (Y/N)…I’ve got you.” She relaxed slightly, letting him lead her to the door, and as they stepped into the cool night, she grimaced and mumbled,

“Sorry.” She couldn’t see his face, but one of his hands curled into hers as he led her, and he smiled,

“It’s alright lass…everyone has nights like this.” (Y/N) felt the familiar warmth gather in her eyes and she shut them, shaking her head as she retorted,

“I don’t have nights like these. I don’t need them.”

“Lass, everyone needs a break. We’re all entitled to our feelings.”

“Will you stop that!” The sudden shriek made him halt and she pulled away to stare at him as he questioned,

“Stop what?” (Y/N) wildly waved her arms, yelling,

“Stop treating me like a fragile doll! I’m a grown woman and I will not be treated as anything less!” Shay pursed his lips and nodded, crossing his arms across his chest as he countered,

“Alright, you wanna be treated like a grown woman? Fine. I’ll treat you like one. You’re always the one giving the remarks that when the receiver turns around and gives you something you can’t handle, you don’t know what to do with it. When Haytham and I decided to give as good as we get, you didn’t know how to handle it besides pouting like a child. But it’s not the fact that you couldn’t handle being double teamed, because let’s be honest, I’ve seen you slap groups of people without laying a hand on ‘em.” He reached out, poking her in the chest. “It’s the fact that you had the truth written in front of you-literally-and you didn’t know how to process it.” He withdrew his hand and inquired, “Did I cover most of it?” (Y/N)’s mouth opened, but then she snapped it shut and nodded, then muttered,

“…Yeah…that’s it…” She dropped her gaze to the ground, staring at her feet as she added, “I’m going to go home now…and…probably sleep for a whole day…hopefully forget this conversation.” She turned and took a step when his arms wound around her, pulling her backwards. Before she could ask, he murmured,

“Home’s not that way, lass.” (Y/N)’s brows furrowed, and she questioned,

“What are you talking about?” Warm breath fell next to her ear and he replied,

“The Morrigan is on the other side of New York lass.” She huffed a laugh full of disbelief.

“Is this a joke?” He spun her around, staring into her eyes as he grabbed her hand, placing it against his chest.

“Does it feel like a joke?” (Y/N) frowned as she went quiet, feeling the rapid thump of his heart under his chest. He offered her a troubled smile. “I’ve heard it’s wrong to fall for your superiors, but I can’t help it.” Her eyes went wide, and she gaped at him as he added, “I’m not the greatest man ever (Y/N). I’ve got my regrets and troubles, and trouble finds me more than I solve it, but if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that I know I love you.” He curled his hand around the one at his chest, squeezing tightly, but not enough to hurt as he breathed, “If you’ll have my heart…I’ll have yours as well…” Tears welled in her eyes and she began to nod, when a crooked grin crossed his lips and he quipped, “Well, I think I already do have yours.” (Y/N) barked a laugh that almost sounded like a scoff and withdrew her hand, walking past him towards the docks.

“You absolute ass. Get all touchy-feely with me about your feelings and turn around and get cocky about it.” Shay chuckled as he spun around and hauled after her as he said,

“Well am I gonna get a response?” (Y/N) smiled as she clasped her hand around a streetlamp, twirling around it, and retorted,

“I’m heading home, am I not?” He matched her grin and caught her as she let go. Drawing her into his arms, he pressed his forehead to hers and expressed,

“With you right here…it’s all the home I need.” She giggled at his words.

“You’re a terrible flirt Shay Cormac.” He huffed a laugh, countering,

“At least I’m better at it than Haytham.” (Y/N) gave him a smile and nodded.

“That you are Shay.”

#shay cormac imagines #shay cormac imagine #shay cormac x reader #shay cormac x reader imagine #shay cormac x reader imagines #assassins creed rogue #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed imagines #shay cormac #haytham kenway

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lovinlikeloki · 3 years ago

Text

The Lone Wolf (Intermission)

Masterlist // Act I Interview

Word Count: 1.9k

ROSE HARRIS, A COMIC FAN’S DREAM COME TRUE

- “I never thought I would go from Story of Miss Oxygen to this!”

BY FAITH PRICE

Going from small independent films to one of the biggest movie franchises is a dream come true, right? Well Rose Harris could certainly tell you. She went from being someone nearly nobody knew to one of the biggest names on our screens practically overnight. Joining the Marvel Cinematic Universe as the one and only Fianna MacBhfloscaidh, Harris has become an idol for many people very quickly.

While most people know her for her part in Captain America: Civil War which hit the silver screen only a few months ago on 26 April, Harris has been in a couple of short films like Story of Miss Oxygen and even portrayed the lead character in Daughter. She also has a main character role in a new Netflix series currently being filmed named 13 Reasons Why. Needless to say, Rose Harris is a very busy girl and I was very lucky to get the chance to interview her.

FAITH: WHAT WAS IT LIKE TO JOIN SUCH A FAMOUS FRANCHISE? HOW WAS THE RESPONSE TO YOUR FIRST BIG MOVIE BEING ONE IN THE MCU?

Rose Harris: It was amazing. Joining such a big franchise with a huge cast was very daunting at first, I mean these guys are practically a family so it felt weird and almost intruding at first. But then Lizzie came over and started talking to me, uh she reminded me she was in this place only a year ago and kinda eased me into meeting everyone. As for the response, it was huge, I mean my follower count skyrocketed within like a day. I never thought I would go from Story of Miss Oxygen to this! It was really exciting.

SO I HAVE TO ASK, WHAT WERE YOUR THOUGHTS ON FIANNA’S, AND YOUR, ENTRANCE AND FIRST APPEARANCE IN THE MCU? WHAT ABOUT FAN OPINIONS?

Well, personally I loved it, I mean it was- I think it was pretty cool that, um, they made sure that she knew Wanda and like the Maximoff twins beforehand, that was always going to be a big thing. I really liked it, it was fun and very Fianna, I think. As for the fans? It’s almost a 50/50 split when it comes to their opinions, especially the fans of the original comics.

As you’ve probably seen, Fianna’s entrance has a lot of parallels to Peter Parker’s who is also introduced in this movie, which is what divided fans. For, ah, Spideywolf fans, I believe that’s what they’re called, people who pair Fianna and Peter Parker together, they were ecstatic and love to point out the similarities. But then on the other hand, Silverwolf fans, people who pair Fianna and Pietro Maximoff together, they weren’t as big of fans of this. I think it’s because in the comics they were the endgame pairing.

YOU THINK THEY DON’T LIKE THAT THEY’RE NOT ADHEREING TO THE COMICS?

Oh for sure. I mean as I said, Fianna and Pietro, they... they- in almost every comic series you read with the two, they end up together and Pietro seems to be pretty dead right now in the MCU. He- with all of those bullet holes he looks very not alive [she laughs], at the moment. And so in their eyes this is Marvel and the writers straying from the comics, as you said.

I guess they’re now left wondering how far from the comics we’re gonna go, because I mean she’s already a mercenary. Before the names Fenrir or Lupine is even uttered, she’s a mercenary, with zero Wolves Den, uh, context. So many comics are being ignored at this point, and that’s even disregarding her mutant and X-Men origins.

YOU MENTIONED THE WOLVES DEN COMIC SERIES, WHAT IS YOUR THOUGHTS ON THAT STORYLINE? IS IT SOMETHING YOU’D LIKE TO SEE IN THE FUTURE OF THE MCU?

I think that Wolves Den is probably one of my favorites, if not my favorite Fianna comic series. It’s very, I don’t know how to put this, it’s very chaotic. I mean there’s three different storylines to follow, the romantic one, the team one and then the villain one.

You’ve got the romantic one, Fianna and Peter’s storyline, I mean Fianna... she really messes Peter up in this series, emotionally. She does cheat on him, they break up and then she gets together with Harry Osborn, I mean it’s so very messy. Then there’s the subplot where she leaves the Avengers, she breaks off not only from Peter but also from Natasha Romanoff who she is extremely close to in this universe, I mean they’ve got a mother-daughter bond. Instead she becomes a mercenary where she goes by the monikers of Fenrir and Lupine, going between the two to keep the team of heroes off her back.

And while she’s doing this she’s also fighting off a villain by the name of Discord, someone from Fianna’s past, who is trying to take over and attack the minds of people in New York. She does all this at the same time, and it’s just a very chaotic, discordant series.

WHAT DO YOU THINK WAS THE MOST DIFFICULT THING FOR HER IN THIS SERIES?

Definitely the way she has to balance all of this, I mean she has so many different masks and personas and she has got everyone fooled. With Peter she’s the remorseless cheating ex-girlfriend, for Harry Osborn she’s the new rebellious girlfriend, for the Avengers and especially, as I said, Natasha she’s a traitor who abandoned them.

Then she’s also got this act of being a good guy even with the mercenaries. She really walks that tightrope between good and bad in these comics and is really morally grey and quite neutral. And she does all of this because she’s trying to protect everyone, or at least that’s her mindset. She’s leaving the Avengers, leaving Peter because she thinks it would save the heartache if something were to happen to her.

I think this is where we see how different Fianna is from the Avengers, because we see that she has the most self-preservation instincts out of all of the Avengers. She is always about protecting herself, she knows that to take care of others she needs to take care of herself first but it’s getting a little warped in her mind when it comes to how to do that.Most of the Avengers work themselves to the bone, lookat Tony Stark and Peter Parker, their mental health isn’t great at the best of times whereas Fianna doesn’t do what they do. She knows she needs to take a step back sometimes to take care of her before she can do her job.

[Rose then seemed to realise how long she spoke]

Sorry, I sort of went on a tangent, I’m sorry. I just love the storyline. Though some of it is a little too dark for the way the MCU currently is.

DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT, I’M SURE THE FANS WILL LOVE YOUR TAKE ON THE WOLVES DEN STORYLINE.

I’m sorry [she smiles bashfully]

NOW I HAVE TO ASK, WHAT WAS THE MOST DIFFICULT PART OF PLAYING FIANNA?

The most difficult part? I wanna say the stunts but actually I think it was more the dialogue, more specifically the accent and the language because it is definitely not all in English, you know, some of it was in Irish. Yeah, like learning- well no, I didn’t learn Irish for the movie because it’s... learning a language is difficult and... there’s actually a lot of grammar rules and stuff, to Irish.

I mean it’s crazy, if you’ve ever seen Irish written down and then heard it spoken you will know that it does not sound the way it look like at all. And the same combination of letters can make different sounds based on like- I think it’s the vowel changes the sound, it’s crazy. But it’s really cool, it’s such a cool language.

YOU DID AMAZING AT SPEAKING THE LANGUAGE, MANY FANS WERE IMPRESSED.

I was so lucky to have Ciarraí Quinn, she was, uh, she helped me with the accent, the dialect and the language. She was such a help with the accent because Fianna doesn’t have the accent you think of when talking of an Irish accent she has the Northern Irish accent. It’s kind of like a mix of Irish accent and maybe, some English too? I’m not sure how to describe it. It was very difficult to get down but thanks to Ciarraí I did manage to get it.

Also on the side of the language, it was really hard to not butcher it, like I said pronounciation in Irish is a little strange and I did struggle with it quite a bit. Not only did I have to learn the pronounciation but I had to make sure I had the perfect Native speaker accent from Fianna’s region.

I remember there was a line that Fianna said to Tony Stark while she was in the raft and to get not only the line, but to get the accent and the anger and pain and emotion into it, it took a long time to properly say it and to be satisfied with it. The very specific Native accent was so important because Fianna comes from an Irish speaking home, it’s her first language, and she even goes to one of the few all-Irish speaking schools. I really loved this aspect of Fianna and I really do love playing and portraying such a unique character.

THERE WAS A SCENE AT THE END OF CIVIL WAR THAT YOU HAD WITH CHRIS WHERE YOU BOTH SPOKE IN IRISH. WHAT WAS IT LIKE FILMING THAT?

Oh, yeah, a lot of fans seemed to love that scene and I did too, as did chris. It was really fun to film that scene so it was, we must have run over the lines a hundred times to make sure we’d get it right. This was something Chris and I wanted to make sure stayed in the movie, um... because it was almost cut from the script since the runtime was getting a little long but we fought to keep it in, we felt it was important.

Something a lot of people don’t know is that Captain America, Steve Rogers, he... his mother was an Irish immigrant. Based on the time she would’ve immigrated she most likely spoke the language fluently and would’ve spoke it at home with little baby Steve.

So that short scene, that little bit of dialogue meant a lot to Native speakers, Irish learners and even just second generation immigrants from anywhere. That’s why Chris and I fought so hard to keep it in the movie, the representation.

JUST BEFORE WE GO CAN YOU TELL US ANYTHING ABOUT YOUR FUTURE IN THE MCU?

Anything about my and Fianna’s future in the MCU? Let’s see, I’ve got a contract for quite a few things. Umm... there’s a couple of movies starring Fianna coming soon. She brings with her her own posse of characters and maybe a couple of others as well. Annddd I think that’s all I can say.

THAT’S ALL YOU CAN SAY?

I think that’s all I can say before someone comes in and like forcefully removes me from the room [she smiles widely, holding back a laugh] either that or you’ll end up with recording footage missing or a trained sniper will shoot me through that window [she points, laughing again] Feige will do anything to keep as much quiet as he can for as long as he can.

#peter parker x oc #peter parker x reader #spiderman x oc #spiderman x reader #peter parker #fianna machbhfloscaidh #the lone wolf #the lupine saga #jynx writes

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peace-coast-island · 3 years ago

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Diary of a Junebug

Down by the fishing hole

The guys from Airy are back for a fishing tourney and more musical fun times! Joining them are Franny and little Ellie May, both who are enjoying the camp very much. It's been forever since I've seen the two so it's been great catching up with them.

Ellie May's full of spirit, she's a lot like her dad and aunt. I'm surprised that she kinda remembered me a little from when I last visited Airy, which was maybe four or five years ago - not too long before I came to the camp so around that time period. She was probably around two as she was walking and talking by then.

Sam says that Ellie May couldn't wait to come to the camp so she's been marking down the days until the tourney on the calendar. It's no surprise that she's into the great outdoors like her parents. At home she would tag along with Sam, Buddy, and Storm on their fishing trips at Sawyer Lake right outside town. And like the guys, Ellie May has a knack for fishing.

Franny's a bit of an outlier as she's not an avid fisher, but she does like hanging out with the guys. Though it's more so she can keep an eye on them. Buddy and Storm have a way of attracting trouble while Ellie May has Sam wrapped around her finger so it's up to Franny to be a couple steps ahead when their antics drive them up a wall.

What I love about Franny is that on the outside she looks like the kind of person who's got her shit together - the sole braincell of the gang. Independent, intelligent, creative, badass - there's a reason why she's a force to be reckoned with. Though on the inside she's just as crazy and eccentric as the others - and that's why everyone looks up to her.

While fishing, we got to talking about what's been going on in Airy. Ellie May's on the soccer team at school and taking piano lessons with a neighbor. Sam and Franny's dad is semi-retiring from the Airy Gazette, which is slowly phasing out newspapers to go completely online by next year. The community choir album is progressing while In Hopes and Dreams is a hit, prompting Storm to work on recording more music. Buddy's running the gas station/auto shop as usual. Franny is filling prescriptions and keeping up with current events. Sam's balancing town council and home life as well as dabbling as a songwriter.

Airy's one of those small towns that has adapted and changed over years while still retaining its heart. People like Franny, Sam, Ellie May, and Buddy are rooted firmly to their town, their families having been there for generations. Franny and Sam's grandpa, Andy Beryl, was a well known townfolk. He was the good samaritan, the kind of guy who takes the time to help others and actively worked to make the town a better place. There's a plaque in the courthouse dedicated to him in the office where he worked - it was brand new when I last visited.

We also got to talking about Andy Beryl a bit as it's been almost ten years since his passing. Imagine if he had lived a few more years he would've gotten to know Ellie May. Sam and Franny speak highly of him, talking about fond memories of him telling stories of the shenanigans he and his friends got up to in town. Among his friends included Buddy and Storm's grandpa, who was also known for getting into sticky situations that involved Andy stepping in to save the day.

Being part of the town council, Sam and Franny feel a sense of responsibility for the town. Since taking on the role of head council, Sam has kinda followed in his grandpa's footsteps - even mirroring his life in a way. Along with being the go-to person in town, Sam, like Andy, is also a single parent who's trying their best. The Beryls hold pride in their family name but at the same time avoid putting it up on a pedestal. After all, they're regular folks just like everyone else - something that seems to get muddled over the years but the message's clear enough. They have a legacy that they're proud of and want to keep it up, to make things even better for the next generation.

Speaking of generations, what's interesting about Airy is how different things were thirty years ago. During Andy's time, the town was mostly white - English, Irish, Scottish, German - most who have been living there for generations. Now most of the people in Airy are mixed, mainly white and Asian like the present company. Sam and Franny's father, Andy's son, married his college sweetheart, a Cambodian immigrant. As a result, Sam and Franny grew up with a mix of both cultures and know how to speak Khmer. It's fun seeing them bickering in their second language, because even if you don't understand what they're saying, at least you get what's going on.

(Also I'm lowkey jealous of how well they speak Khmer. I can barely hold a basic conversation, plus my pronunciation totally butchers the language. They say theirs isn't that great either but compared to mine, it's nothing. Sorry Mom, I'm trying but Khmer is hard.)

And as for Ellie May, her mom, Ellie, was born from Mexican immigrants. Ellie's parents visit often so Ellie May's picked up Spanish from them, making her trilingual. It seems early, but her grandparents want Ellie May to have a quinceañera, though before we know it, that day will come soon! It's good to see Ellie May proud of her heritages as well as showing off her impressive language skills!

Again, I find it interesting how much the demographic? culture? of Airy has shifted so much over the past 30-40 years, which is basically Sam, Franny, Buddy, and Storm's generation. Pretty much everyone around their age is born from a longtime Airy townfolk and an immigrant. I wonder how much more Airy will change with Ellie May's generation.

In between fishing sessions, we did a bunch of fun activities. Buddy was in his element at OK Motors tinkering with engines. He's a bit unconventional when it comes to fixing cars but he's got his ways. Storm messed around with engines too while looking for songwriting inspiration. He and Sam have written a couple songs over the past few weeks so they'll be dropping by the island in the near future to record. I'm happy that Storm's getting back into writing music, especially now that things are finally working out in his favor in terms of creative control.

Franny and Ellie May enjoy hiking and foraging, they've gathered a lot of berries so we're gonna be making something with them. We're debating on whether to make a pie or a bunch of little tarts - either one sounds good. Sam brought his guitar, prompting spontaneous jam sessions throughout the camp. Like Storm, he's been getting into music too, especially since discovering his talent as a lyricist. We've heard live performances of the new songs - Out of Reach, Dandelions, and Where the Ferns Grow - all which sounded fantastic. Hopefully there's more where that came from.

Since working on In Hopes and Dreams, Sam has also been seeing a counselor. With the song being about grief and loss and now that Ellie May's become more curious about her mom, Sam finally realized that he needed help. Talking about Ellie has been difficult but he knew that he can't keep avoiding it forever, especially for Ellie May's sake. I haven't known Ellie for long but her absence is felt, which I think says a lot about her.

While the others fished, Franny collected seashells and took a bunch of pics. Sam managed to catch a lot of doubles as well as a shark during the off hours. Despite almost getting yeeted in the middle of the ocean, he managed to drag the shark to shore - with our help, of course. Ellie May drew a cute sticker for him that says "I fought a shark and won!" with a funny doodle to go with it, which he stuck on his jacket for all to see. The two have such a sweet bond, it's fun seeing Sam carry Ellie May up on his shoulders as they laugh and run around the camp.

Earlier today we took a short hike along the thornberry trail behind the camp. That probably wasn't the best idea as the path's kinda narrow and we had to watch out for thorns. Sam had to go after Ellie May, who was running around, and both ended up stuck in a bramble bush. Thankfully their injuries are nothing serious, but they looked painful. As soon as they took off, Franny knew that something like that was gonna happen as both have a tendency to be too curious while easily distracted. It doesn't matter how grown up you are, the older sibling never stops being the caretaker for the younger one.

Just for the record, Ellie May was a lot braver than Sam - and she has more scrapes and bumps than him. Though for him, it's less the pain and more that the sight of blood puts him off. There's a reason why Franny followed their mom's footsteps to study medicine and he didn't.

Aside from that little mishap, everything else has been going well. Franny, Daisy Jane and Norma made fish pies that turned out great. They're basically like seafood chowders with a puff pastry layer on top. Stu and Buddy helped Reese and Cyrus build a gazebo that's ready to paint so that's what we're gonna do tomorrow. Storm, Candi, and Tipper hung out at Sunbust Island and harvested coconuts to make smoothies. Sam and Ellie May helped me run errands while sightseeing and stocking up on supplies. Just another fun and busy day at the camp!

In between those activities, we met up at the beach for another round of fishing. The tourney fish seem to gravitate towards the area near the cliff so we called that spot the fishing hole. It's a nice area to be situated in, kind of like our own little nook in the ocean.

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years ago

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The Whole Truth - 2

(Full story available on AO3! If you want to be tagged as new chapters are posted, leave a comment “tag me” on this post!)

(Please note: Tumblr continues to make my Italics disappear. It’s very frustrating, so I apologize if the formatting makes anything confusing.)

Monday

1999

Aziraphale stared at the book on his desk. “What kind of curse?”

“Don’t know, not my department.” Gabriel smiled, excited, just a little distracted. It tugged at something in Aziraphale, made him want to prove he was worth the Archangel’s attention, too. “Michael’s soldiers seized it in a raid. Very dramatic stuff. Pity you weren’t able to make it.”

“Ah, yes, well…”

“Could have used another sword.” A nudge of the elbow, so hard Aziraphale staggered a little. “Those demons fought back hard.”

“Yes, terribly sorry. As I’d said there was this urgent business to attend to. Demonic possession. Entire family cursed. The house itself had become sentient. And. Carnivorous. I really had to deal with it all immediately.”

“Sounds frightening.”

“Oh, it was. Very frightening. And gory. And certainly not rated for general audiences.”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Aziraphale tugged on his waistcoat. The last thing he needed was for Gabriel to learn about movie night. Well. It was mid-ranked on the very long list of things Gabriel shouldn’t know. He hated lying to the Archangel, but no – things were better this way. “Regardless. You say these – these demons had this book in their possession?”

“Oh, yes. Not sure what they were planning to do with it, but it’s cursed. Very cursed.”

“Fascinating.” Aziraphale picked up a pen and used it to lift the cover, peering at the first page. He could just make out the writing. “It’s printed, not handwritten. Not Roman or Cyrillic alphabet.” He let the cover fall and started searching for a pair of gloves. “In fact, I don’t recognize the script at all. I’ll need a larger sample—”

Gabriel clapped his hands. “Good! Excellent, that’s just what I like to hear. Your obsession with material objects and human record keeping finally has a use. So glad we have an expert to consult on this.” Aziraphale hid a little smile at that. Expert. “See what you can find out by the end of the week.”

“End of the – you can’t be serious.” Aziraphale pulled his glasses off, waving them as politely as he could. “I mean, I’m sure you have your reasons, O holy Archangel, but deciphering an unknown text takes time. Not to mention identifying a curse—”

“We already have a team on that,” Gabriel interrupted, before Aziraphale could confess to knowing very little about demonic curses, apart from the sort Crowley shouted at other drivers.

“Oh. Jolly good.”

“Yes, they’ve told me the curse is so potent, any angel attempting to remove it would be immediately destroyed. Incinerated was the term they used.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale took a step away from the desk. “Well, I suppose that does change things.”

Gabriel shrugged. “As long as you don’t try to remove the curse yourself, you’re fine. Anyway, by Friday night, they’ll have worked out a proper disposal method. I proposed launching the book into the sun but apparently that would cause a, what did they call it, Superb Nova.”

“Oh dear.” Another step away. “You know, Gabriel, as…happy as I am that you wish to entrust this task to me, er, we are currently located in a major population center, and I don’t think—”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel gave him that warm look, the one he saw so rarely, the one that made him feel included. “This raid was a big deal. I don’t want to start any rumors, but…it’s possible the demons were planning something. I would consider it a huge favor if you could just, I don’t know, poke around a bit? Find out what they wanted?”

“Well…as…as a favor…” There was a shiver of happiness running up his spine at that. Gabriel never asked for favors. “Yes, I think I can…learn a few things that might help you out. As long as it’s safe?”

“It’s fine!” Gabriel picked up the book and waved it around. “Perfectly harmless to angels; obviously, don’t let any humans near it. They might set something off. Probably blow up half the city!” He laughed, tossing the book. It hit the table with a crack, falling open to a random page.

“Oh, dear.” That hardly sounded safe. “What…if a demon tried? Er, someone come looking for his lost property, perhaps?”

“It would be very bad. No one touches this but you. Understand?”

Aziraphale nodded, feeling rather ill. He should say no, there were too many things that could go wrong.

His eyes drifted to the open book, the strange writing, a drawing of some horrifying creature. One word was a little larger than the rest and for a second, it looked familiar. He bent closer, almost instinctively. “This text…I almost think I’ve seen it before. No, it’s gone now, but perhaps…” He looked up in time to catch an eager gleam in Gabriel’s eyes. “Yes, I think…I can take a look. As…as a favor.”

“Excellent! That’s exactly the attitude I like to see. Now if you’ll excuse me, lots to do, places to be. I’ll follow up with you on Friday. Say, four o’clock?”

In a twinkling of light and a pop of air pressure, Aziraphale was alone with the book.

“He just – just left you with a cursed book?” Crowley paid the ice cream vendor and handed Aziraphale his cone.

“Yes. Is that so strange? I am an expert on Earth tomes, and languages, and treatises on magic.” He puffed his chest a little. “Why shouldn’t Heaven give me such a fascinating project?”

“Because they don’t care about any of that,” Crowley snapped flatly. “Besides, languages? I’ve heard you speak French.”

“I was having a bit of an off day,” Aziraphale pouted. “I shouldn’t be judged based on a single incident – what was it, two hundred and six years ago now? For all you know, I’ve been brushing up on my French ever since.” He licked the ice cream, smiling at the thick, creamy texture of it.

“Have you though?” Crowley sauntered alongside him, hands in his pockets, red hair slicked and gelled tight against his head.

“Well, no, but only because I’ve already read everything of interest in French.”

“Is that so?” Crowley smirked as if he was so clever. “Does this mean you finally got around to reading Proust?”

“Well. No. But neither have you.” Aziraphale took a quick bite of his ice cream before it could melt down his hand.

“Yeah, but I don’t live in a bookshop,” Crowley took a few steps ahead and started walking backwards, smirk evolving into a rather large grin. “So that makes me wonder who else you haven’t read. Dickens? Twain? Dostoyevsky? Is the Principality Aziraphale, in fact, a giant sham?”

The angel pursed his lips. “Any luck getting your car to play other music?”

Crowley’s face fell. “No,” he muttered, circling back to walk beside Aziraphale again. “At this point I’m really starting to get sick of Queen. Hope it doesn’t go on too much longer.”

Aziraphale stood before his desk, book lying innocuously on the blotter. He wore the thickest gloves he could find and – just to be safe – had rolled his sleeves up past the elbow. He still approached it with extreme caution.

One finger carefully tapped the spine, pulling away instantly.

No sparks. No chills. No cloud of demonic energy.

Just a perfectly ordinary book, really.

With feather-light touch, he brushed his fingers down the cover. Leather-bound, deep red-brown. Hopefully normal leather, but you never knew with demonic books, or for that matter certain obscure human texts. Sturdy and thick, the binding worn through in a few places just enough to indicate irregular use. No title, but gold pressed into the leather formed some sort of broad-leafed plant. Nothing he recognized.

Lifting the cover, he inspected the pages inside. Thick, rough paper – the edges a bit uneven and ragged in places. When he leaned close to inspect them, he detected the distinct dusty scent of old book, with just a hint of spice.

It seemed that Gabriel was correct. Nothing suggested the book was dangerous to touch.

Aziraphale set his armchair beside the desk and settled in for some proper investigation.

The first step of his process: Aziraphale turned to a page at random. He liked to think providence was guiding him to the first clues.

It looked much as that page he’d glimpsed during Gabriel’s visit, yet also entirely different. Small, curving letters – a bit like calligraphy, half unical, he thought, perhaps English or Irish – arrayed around complex illustrations of green plants on one side, and something that might have been an insect on the other. The artwork was immensely detailed, with subtle color variations, but resembled nothing he had ever seen.

The text was also strange, the longer he looked at it. He skimmed the page looking for patterns, groups of letters that appeared together more than once. Nothing. There were distinct words, all between four and seven characters, but each was unique. And the characters each looked sharp and clear and perfectly uniform in size, but there was variation, each uniquely formed, as if handwritten.

He turned the pages, sheet after sheet, looking for anything he recognized, leaning closer as he read. Sometimes a word would look almost familiar and then – no, it was gone.--

(The horror movie Aziraphale mentions is supposed to be “The Haunting” but I got it a bit confused with other movies from the late 90s. The mysterious writing and diagrams are loosely based on several mysterious texts, most notably the Voynich Manuscript.)

#good omens prime #good omens fanfiction #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fanfic #aziraphale and crowley #aziraphale loves crowley #crowley loves aziraphale #current wip #my writing #ao3fic #ao3 link #the whole truth

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weerd1 · 5 years ago

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Star Trek DS9 Rewatch Log, Stardate 1909.19: Missions Reviewed, “Time’s Orphan,” “The Sound of Her Voice,” and “Tears of the Prophets.”

Keiko O’Brien has brought the kids back to DS9 finally, and they plan a long overdue family outing. Traveling to a small Bajoran colony world, they are having a delightful picnic when eight year old Molly finds herself inside a cave and in danger. Miles tries to save her, but she falls into a portal leftover from an extinct civilization and they realize she’s been thrown back in time. The station sends help and they manage to send a transporter beam locked on to her DNA through the portal, but when they beam her back, ten years have passed for her, and Molly is now a feral 18 year old. Back on the station, Bashir prescribes a series of methods to try to reconnect to her, but even her language skills have atrophied after a decade alone. Worf volunteers to help keep an eye on Kiarayoshi (the O’Brien’s son whom of course Kira delivered) as he wants to prove to Jadzia he can be a good father (meeting Alexander certainly has not helped with that).

Molly starts to make some progress, and asks to go home. They take her back to her quarters, but she reacts badly until she sees a picture of them on the colony planet, and they realize she wants back into nature. They take her to a holosuite, which goes well until their time expires, and Molly becomes angry, assaulting several of Quark’s patrons. Starfleet orders the girl to a treatment facility where she won’t be a danger, but O’Brien instead decides to take her and steal a Runabout, returning her to the time portal and destroying it behind her. Odo initially catches them, but lets them go.

They put older Molly back, but she arrives at the same time as her earlier self, and sends the eight-year-old version of herself back through the time portal, erasing her existence, but restoring her family. Worf meanwhile has decided he likes Yoshi despite some problems, and he and Jadzia decide he could be a father.

We waited until late in the season for our “Screw with O’Brien” episode, but indeed here it is. There are a few echoes of the fifth season “Children of Time” here (and in the next episode honestly) but overall this is an effective science fiction plot that serves as an nice analogy for families dealing with sick children, and what it takes to be a parent with the Worf story line. Worf coming at babysitting like it is a Warrior’s task is amusing, and all the more poignant very soon. I am interested in where this time portal came from, as much of it seems a little reminiscent of the Guardian of Forever, though the control interface looks rather pointedly like the TARDIS console from Doctor Who.

“The Sound of Her Voice” starts with Odo citing Quark for installing unsafe barstools and Quark deciding he has to come up with something to distract Odo so he can sell some elicit merchandise.

With Jake watching for “research” purposes, he pushes Odo to celebrate his one month “anniversary” with Kira to provide a distraction allowing him to move his goods. Meanwhile the Defiant is tracking a Starfleet distress signal to a lone survivor, Captain Lisa Cusak, of the USS Olympia (PNW, Represent!) who is on a class J planet, trying to stay alive. As they track her, the establish two way communications and to keep her company, each officer takes a turn talking to her. In their own way she begins to talk them each through problems they have experienced in their personal lives. On DS9, Odo shifts the day of his “anniversary” date, and that means Quark’s client will be there while Odo is on patrol. Without Quark and Jake knowing Odo overhears Quark lament how bad the war has been on him, and how he would like some recognition for helping bring Odo and Kira together. Odo abruptly goes back to his original plan, allowing Quark to operate. Odo tells Kira that he owes Quark one…but just one. The Defiant makes it to the planet and finds that the strange energy field that caused the Olympia to crash in the first place has acted as a time dilation effect, and Captain Cusak actually crashed three years ago, and her oxygen ran out then. Sisko brings her body back to DS9 and they throw an “Irish Wake” for her (which Worf comments seems like a very Klingon ritual) to remember the time they got to know her, and the advice she gave.

O’Brien toasts the fact that one day, it will be one of them not standing in the circle, and they should enjoy each others’ company while they can. The camera flashes to Jadzia Dax.

Holy foreshadowing, Batman. They do, they cut RIGHT to Jadzia when O’Brien laments one of them may die. Dammit, what are you people trying to do to me? Beyond that, I was struck by the similar circumstances between this episode and “Children of Time:” a planet with an strange energy field around it which displaces things in time. Being caught up with season 2 of “Star Trek: Discovery” I am struck how much the character of Captain Cusak (whom we see only as a body, three years deceased) has a personality and wit that reminds me of Tig Notaro’s character of Jett Reno. I just kept imagining her on the planet, similar actually to the situation which the Discovery crew WILL end up saving Reno from following the Klingon War in 2257 (about 117 years before this episode). I am not sure though why NO ONE tried to look up records on the Olympia, even just to see what her crew compliment was to aid in the rescue, and don’t notice the three year discrepancy in timelines. As a bit of reference, since Cusak discusses the Olympia being on an eight year mission and the ship crashed three years earlier, they Oly’s mission would have started roughly the same time the 1701D launched under Jean-Luc Picard, and she would have crashed roughly the same time the Voyager ended up in the Delta Quadrant.

“Tears of the Prophets” opens with Sisko receiving the Christopher Pike medal of valor and with Admiral Ross deciding Starfleet, Qo’Nos, and Romulus will invade Cardassian space, specifically to knock out a new type of weapon platform in the Chin’Toka system. The Romulan senator on scene is initially resistant, but becomes convinced.

Meanwhile Dax and Worf become public about deciding to have a child, and Dukat returns to the Dominion. He has recovered the Pah-Wraith Kosst Amojan (last seen possessing Jake Sisko in the apocalypse Kai Winn cancelled in “The Reckoning”) and will use it to attack the wormhole. When Sisko prepares to leave to invade Cardassia, he receives a vision from the Prophets warning him not to go, but he defaults to his Starfleet duty. While the battle is being hard fought (with the weapons platforms coming online mid-fight) Dukat infiltrates DS9 with the Pah-Wraith to deliver it into the Orb on the station.

In the sanctuary he finds Jadzia Dax, having a rare moment of religious curiosity, and blasts her with the Wraith’s power. The ancient being enters the orb, and the wormhole collapses. When the Defiant returns, Dukat is gone, and Worf arrives just in time to say goodbye to Jadzia; Bashir saved the symbiont, but could not save the host. The Celestial Temple collapsed, his friend dead, and Bajor looking to an Emissary who has suffered such major blows, Sisko decides to return to Earth for a time to clear his head. Kira assumes command of DS9, and when she enters Sisko’s office, is heartbroken to see that Sisko does not know if he will return: Benjamin has taken his baseball with him.

The death of Dax is almost arbitrary and just a senseless tragedy, which I think makes it all the more affecting. You would have expected her warrior’s death, but the almost meaningless happenstance of being in the wrong place when Dukat appears just hurts. Dramatically it is effective; the behind the scenes story about how Rick Berman treated Terry Farrell leading to this death is infuriating. I know Berman kept Trek alive a long time, but damn, am I glad he’s no longer affiliated, and Terry gets to be married to Leonard Nimoy’s son (no, seriously) and appear at conventions alongside Nicole De Boer whom we will meet next season as the new Dax host Ezri. Jadzia was an amazing character, and I will miss her as the show continues, but it is effective and visceral storytelling that brings us Ezri Dax. At least something good came out of Berman’s abuse, and Jadzia, as I rewatch, re-meet, and re-lose her 20 years later will ALWAYS be one of the best things about DS9 and Star Trek in general. And SCREW YOU Kai Winn! This Pah-Wraith being on the lose is YOUR fault. Also, I really like David Birney as the Romulan here, wish we'd seen a little more of him!

NEXT VOYAGE: A broken Sisko receives a distant mysterious vision, and an old friend with a new face appears to help find the “Image in the Sand.”

#star trek #Star Trek: Deep Space Nine #DS9 Rewatch

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awolfstudio · 4 years ago

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OKAY So this below is still a work in progress writing. This is between Rivet Knight of the Moon and Renzo Knight of Death. I haven’t figured out how those two are going to finish their conversation. But anywho-

Awareness slowly crept up on her. She wasn't sure what woke her first. The warmth of the sun warning the side of her face, the birds chirping at the window or the slow trail of fingers across her back. She growled blearily into her pillow, not wanting to face the day just yet. But the sound of quiet laughter that was distinctly male made her open an eye.

"Morning cuore mio." The voice whispered affectionately as a kiss was pressed to her back.

"Morning to you too." Rivet smiled arching her back into the kiss. The affection was desired and the closeness needed. Her nightmares still kept a hold on her mind. "How long have you been awake Ren?" Rivet asked, turning to look at the man beside her.

Renzo looked sleep rumpled, his eyes shadowed. He hasn't slept much either it seemed. "A while. I like watching you sleep." He spoke quietly, his voice lilting and rough. He hasn't slept at all from that sound.

Rivet made a small hum of understanding before laying her head back on the pillow. It wasn't quite time to get up. No call to muster, no need to rush. She watched Renzo, unabashedly realizing her affection for the Italian. He was a solid grounding presence in her life. Someone she could cling to when being a knight and proud and unshakeable became too much. She closed her eyes as he trailed his fingers over bare skin.

It was a strange feeling, that barely there pressure as his fingers skimmed over skin. Gooseflesh raised in the wake of those fingers, a shiver of not pleasure but not discomfort. She liked that she didn't know where this was going. The ambiguity of the action was the point. That was until she realized what he was doing.

Fingers trailed over a long scar across her side. There was a barely felt tremor in those fingers. Rivet was quickly reminded of the injury and why it happened. She took a shaky breath at the memory.

"How did this happen mio amore?" The question was loaded with layers of emotion. Curiosity, concern, and a touch of anger. It was a rather large scar.

"Battle axe. I was protecting a child. We were set upon by bandits and they were trying to take the children." Rivet closed her eyes for a moment before blinking them open. She saw the battle behind her eyes. "They caught us as we were escorting merchants to port. Thought we were prepared enough." Rivet added as she ground her face into her pillow.

Renzo made a noise behind her. Not exactly happy with her explanation. His fingers began to move again up her ribcage. "And these?" Three parallel lines traced by three fingers.

"Lions. One of them bit me too. They were hungry and desperate. Drought and famine will do that to animals and humans." Rivet groused. That was a hard campaign. No patron or god could do anything other than try to help people. The animals were hard to fight because nature fought hard. Fighting hungry people was worse. "I was glad when the rains finally came and brought the land back." Rivet murmured as she rolled closer to him.

"And here I thought humans were the only thing that you would have to watch out for." Renzo said as he placed a kiss over the scars as he leaned close.

Rivet laughed as she pulled him into a kiss. "So says the immortal. I should be watching out for all the things trying to get to you." She said chasing his lips when he pulled away. "Everyone wants you."

"Even you?"

"Especially me. I want you for everything, you are not just the immortality. You are too good for me mo grá." Rivet replied serious for the moment. She saw his frown, she knew what his patron gifted him. "Aren't you robbing the cradle?" She asked, trying for levity, immediately regretting bringing it up.

That brought laughter to the man. Warmth took away the shadow in his eyes. "I'll risk the punishment." Renzo smiled widely before he kissed her forehead. "Sei bello"

"That's debatable."

"No, no it isn't." Renzo murmured as he trailed kisses down her neck and shoulder. He found another scar. "You were shot." He states flatly. The scar is very near her heart.

Rivet nodded but said nothing else. That was a recent injury. Protecting royalty came at a price sometimes. Deadly prices at times. "You could have died." Renzo’s breath warmed her skin as he looked up at her from under his lashes.

"She wouldn't let that happen…" Rivet said, turning her face away from Renzo. His worry unsettled her. No one needed to worry about her like that. She was supposed to worry about them. Renzo tilted his head in confusion enough that she could see. "My patron.” Rivet raised a hand toward the sky indifferently. The Lady of the Moon was very generous in her gifts. Stubbornness and apparently a penchant for escaping injuries.

"Still...too close." Renzo murmured as he kissed the scar. His hands kept tracing over scars and asking about their origin until he found the most recent. It was a wide and flat line right above her hip. A similar scar was mirrored higher on her back. He was there when the injury happened. Rivet could see the ghost of the memory in his blue green eyes. The encounter was days ago but the scar mostly healed already. It was in the past and no longer a problem.

“Not quite as close as that though.” Rivet said, placing a hand on his face drawing his gaze up. “I told you, my job is to protect people.”

“Basta.” He said the word quietly but there was force behind it.

“No. Renzo, my job is to protect people, my life forfeit for theirs if it has to be. If it was my time then it was my time. Nothing you could do about that.” Rivet said plainly. She was at peace with dying as long as it was to protect someone else. If she could save a life at the cost of her own, it was a worthy price. She’d protected so many so far.

“I don’t think you understand cuore mio.” he shook his head as he leaned back till he was sitting. Rivet raised herself up on her elbow confused. She waited patiently knowing her first language wasn’t his. She would love for him to just speak to her in Italian but she wouldn’t know any of it. Russian, Chinese and Irish were more her forte. Not that he didn’t know them but he always went back to his original language.

“Dannezione.” He scrubbed his face,muttering swears to as many saints and gods as he knew. “You died. Rivet. Your heart stopped, you had a sword through your gut and were lying in the river. You protected people, you saved the children and families but at the cost of your life.” He said the words carefully but full of emotion. His brow furrowed as he tried to think of the right things to say. “Your time was not over and you died. You didn’t wake. Not for days.”

“What? That can’t be right. Renzo what do you mean I died? No one dies and comes back.” Rivet sat up straighter. Confusion running rampant in her brain. She thought she had just passed out. The injury was bad but her patron never stopped giving her blessing to keep going. She was sure she had only passed out to wake with Renzo and Dex sitting at her side waiting for her to wake up. They were always there waiting for her when she did something phenomonially stupid. Like running into a battle, without proper armor, because the compulsion to protect was too strong.

“I walked into death to fetch you back. I told the fates they couldn’t have you.” The quietness in his voice was new. “I told them they couldn’t have you. They let me take you back. You were cold and lifeless in my arms. My heart can’t take that again. I care too much for you.”

#rivet conri #renzo #writing #drivel

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scientifically-strange · 7 years ago

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What’s it Like?

Trying something a little new. Instead of third person it’s straight from Danny’s pov

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What’s it like?

I always find myself getting asked this, whether it be from Tucker, Dani, Sam, or hell, even Valerie sometimes. And while it doesn't upset me, the question itself is hard to answer, and is tiring to do so after having to do it so many times.

So what is it like living with the Avengers?

It’s indescribable, really. It’s fun, and annoying, and stressful, and happy, and so many other words, so I think the only way I can properly tell you is if I list them all off one by one.

Well, let me tell you.

First, I guess I should start with the host himself, Tony Stark. Though you probably know him better as Iron Man.

He’s everything people say he is, and more. He’s selfish and sarcastic, and is stupidly smart. Yeah, he’s also a playboy, and he never focuses on the important stuff for his company. Instead he pays with desk toys in important meetings.

Like all of us, Tony has a lot of baggage. We all have our demons, but Tony’s are arguably the worst. Yeah, I fought my older evil self and the ghost king, and Steve was in World War II, but compared to Tony it was a cakewalk. Because Tony’s been through a fucking blender. He’s got serious PTSD from the Incident, from the cave he was tortured in, and a few other things. He copes by drinking unhealthy amounts of coffee spiked with alcohol and monster energy drinks while building several more Iron man armors, all with their own special skills and weapons.

He also has really bad attachment issues due to his father was never really around, and the father figure he did had tried to kill him. So.

However, despite all of that, Tony is probably the most caring person on the team. And that’s including Steve. He just doesn’t know how to express it with emotions. So instead, he uses his actions. Thor mentioned one time that he needed to get more lavender (?) shampoo because he ran out, and now there’s a cabinet full of them, just for the thunder god himself.

There was another time when Clint’s hearing aids got blown up on a mission, and Tony made him everything-proof Stark hearing aids. Clint hasn’t needed a new pair since. And he made Steve and Sam’s rooms soundproof, so that when fireworks go off they can still enjoy the view, but now with less gunshot sounds.

Tony also really loves to nerd out, which brings me to my next friend, Dr. Bruce Banner. He’s pretty soft spoken, until he starts talking about science. I remember the longest conversation I’ve had with him was when we were talking about space and NASA, which somehow ended up on a conversation of the horrible structure of hot dog buns? Not really sure what happened there...

Bruce always has great advice, and is always in like, a zen sort of mood. He’s not nervous all the time like most people think. No, he’s only fidgety around stressful people, like Fury or Ultron. Which is perfectly understandable considering if he gets to angry or freaked he starts looking a little green around the gills.

That being said, Bruce also makes the best tea on the Compound. Nobody knows what he does to it, but if you’re having a rough day or something he’s got your back. And he’s always got Tony’s back, too. I There was one time when Tony had been up for almost four days and Bruce had come in and put some headphones on Tony, and he passed out immediately. I helped him get Tony to his room, and Bruce kind of took it from there.

Hulk is pretty nice to. Though, to be fair the first time I met him he was pretty pissed because he couldn’t hit me. But after he calmed down enough, I told him a couple of jokes and he kind of warmed up to me.

And I told him I could help get the glitter out of his hair.

He still doesn’t know that it sparkles sometimes when crime-fighting. Nobody else has either, but that’s only because they’re to busy kicking ass themselves.

Steve is kind of like everybody’s dream guy, even if you yourself are a straight guy. He is 240 pounds of All-American beefcake with a heart of gold. His hair is pretty soft too.

He’s caring, but I’ve recently learned that he;s a little shit.

You would expect Captain America to be the perfect man, soldier, superhero, whatever. But he isn’t. I don’t even know where anybody got that idea.

This guy has a police record that’s longer than a list of Mr. Lancer’s book-swears. And he has the worst mouth on him. He stubbed his toe the other day and was cursing up a storm. However, he was cursing in Gaelic. I asked him about it and he said it was his first language due to his parents being Irish immigrants. I hadn't known that before, so that was really nice to know. But it also explained his accent. He had a lot of Brooklyn in it, but every now and then the Gaelic would slip through with it, making for a weird verbal cocktail that never sounded quite right.

He also has the worst mind out of all of us. It’s worse than Tuckers. His mind may be the gutter, but Steve’s is the fucking sewer. He was telling me about how he thought fondue equaled sexy times, and like? Literally, where did you make that connection? How many other foreign words has he heard and thought it was something sexual?

It shouldn’t surprise me though, considering he was in the army.

I could go on and on about Steve’s mouth and reckless behavior, but he, like Tony, has serious PTSD. A lot of it is from the war. He doesn’t like fireworks or loud, sudden noises unless he’s on the battlefield. There was one time I saw him mute a movie during a scene with a train, and I was going to ask him why, but then I saw that far away look in his eyes. It wasn’t my place to pry.

There’s also something about the sound of Tony’s repulsors powering up, too. It makes Steve tense up like a cat every time he hears it.

His coping methods are a bit healthier than Tony’s. He likes to draw his thoughts and feelings out. He’s damn good at it to, and while that’s a great thing, sometimes he falls asleep with them open, halfway done, and the shit he draws is so dark and depressing. I kind of worry about him sometimes.

But Sam’s been helping him though a lot of it. He was stationed overseas for a while before coming back to the states, only to get caught up in the fight again a few years later. He didn’t really seem to mind though. In fact, he seemed happy to do so. Whether or not that was from Captain America asking him to, or because he missed flying, I had no idea.

But I’ll be damned if I ever go to the park with him again.

His name is Falcon. He has cool metal wings he uses to fly. That all makes sense, right?

So how the fuck is he talking to pigeons?

I am genuinely worried that one day Sam till take over the world with birds, and h will have them shit on people’s cars and peck out the eyes of Hydra. Or something on the lines of that. However, if he is actually going to do that I think he needs a cooler bird.

Like a Falcon.

And as weird as that was, it doesn’t match up to the awkwardness of meeting Natasha “Million Alias” Romanoff. She’s as deadly as she is beautiful, and if I was into her in any way I would probably pay her to beat me up.

It never actually occurred to me that she’s not always being a spy? I mean, yeah, she’s always looking at the ulterior motive, because anyone with her background (which we will not speak of, so don;t even ask) would do the same. But she’s also a shitposting meme generator and has a really popular vine account even though vine is dead? Then again this is Natasha we’re talking about. I don;t wanna know how she does what she does.

She also steals clothes. SO far she’s stolen one of Tony’s hoodies, a pair of Clint’s sweatpants, a scrunchie from Thor, and one of my old Dumpty Humpty shirts I got at a concert. She also cheats at Monopoly and Cards Against Humanity. I haven’t figured out how she’s done it, but I know she does. Nobody, and I mean nobody, can just fucking win seventeen times in a row. You;d have to be a mind reader to do that shit. Jesus.

She’s terrifying, and honestly, every time I see her glare the fear of Thor runs through me, but a good portion of that goes away when she’s around Clint. And honestly> I can’t blame her. Clint, out of all of the Avengers I live with, is probably the one I hang out with the most. He’s super chill, and covered head to toe in bandages and has to have an entire pot of coffee just to stay awake. Also, he’s deaf? I had no idea during the Battle of New York, but later I found out that it was because they had broken and his new ones hadn’t come in yet. He’s taught me a lot of sign language so far, and Tucker makes fun of me for practicing it when I’m back in Amity.

Clint also has a lot of nests.

He has one on top of the fridge, in the A that’s on the outside of the building, a couple of key spots in the vents, and a board room on the 27th floor under the table because nobody ever uses it and it has a nice view of the sandwich shop right across the street. I’m sure he has more, but those are just the ones that I’ve found.

Also, his dog is not cuter than Cujo, don’t listen to that asshole.

Even though Clint chooses to keep his hearing aids out half the time, he still knows when Thor has come back from Asgard. Every single time, no matter where we’re at in the building, he just knows. It’s like a sixth sense. His head perks up, and he gets a dumb grin on his face, but then it quickly falls when he remembers that he ate the rest of the thunder god’s poptarts.

Thor is really fun to be around. And while I haven’t had a lot of quality bonding time with the dude, Dani has. They sit around and braid each other’s hair all the time, talking about flowers and giant monsters and space. Really, they’re best friends. And it’s adorable.

Don’t tell Jazz I said that.

There are aspects of Thor that remind me a little bit of all of the Avengers. Like Natasha, he can be cunning when he wants to. He’s always got the munchies like Clint, and has great advice like Bruce. Similar to Tony he also struggles with his own demons. But he seems to be most like Steve.

That being said, they are both huge little shits.

See, Thor likes to prank people. Half the time he uses Mojo (I don;t know how to pronounce the hammer’s name, okay) to fuck with us. I remember he and Natasha handing different house members his hammer while Natasha video taped it. He gets a huge kick out of watching us fall over. I remember when he did it to Steve, who was to zoned out in his paper to even realize what Thor had asked him to hold. He was gobsmacked for a whole week.

He hasn’t done it to me yet, and I have no idea if that’s because he hasn’t gotten around to it or because he’s still obsessed over me technically being royalty since I beat Pariah Dark, the former king. The first time we met he got down on one knee and bowed. It was the most surreal experience of my life, and that’s including when Tucker had to wear a chicken costume to a Dumpty Humpty concert because he lost a bet to Sam.

Every time he comes back from Asgard, we shake. But we don’t shake like normal people. It’s a sort of cultural thing. Instead of shaking hands we grip each other’s forearms and squeeze. I kind of like doing that better than a handshake. It seems way cooler.

So, you ask me what it’s like to live with the Avengers?

Living with them, it feels familiar, like it;s the one thing I’ve been missing my whole life.

It’s family.

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Also, OC week submissions are open officially if you want me to write them in with a DP and marvel!

#danny phantom #avengers #crossover #drabble #fan ficiton #dp x marvel

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unofferable-fic · 5 years ago

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The Flower & The Serpent (Arthur Morgan x OFC)

Chapter 9 - Once More into the Fray...

Summary: In the early 1890s, the Van der Linde Gang were truly at their finest. Experts at stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, they’ve made a name for themselves across the West. Two of their newest recruits, a pair of rebellious Irish siblings with an unknown past, slowly find their footing and settle into their new lives as outlaws. And yet, as they grow older, threats from all sides begin to appear. A strained relationship with Colm O'Driscoll spells disaster for the gang, and no matter how far they roam across America, the world continues to change around them. If they want to survive, difficult choices must be made. No one is as they seem and the impending arrival of law and order threatens to tear the siblings, and everything they hold dear, apart. Is it too late for anyone to find a happy ending?

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Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OFC

Warnings: Language, fluff, violence.

Word Count: 6,926

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Playlist: “Minnesota, WI” — Bon Iver, “In God’s Country” — U2, “God Slap” — The Scratch, “Future Glory” — Jed Kurzel

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A/N: Also available on AO3.

“Now son, why do you got that gun pointed at me and my friend here?”

Had Maebh been expecting Dutch’s tactics for dealing with a drunken highwayman to be laughter and sympathy? Not even remotely, but it wasn’t like she had any option other than to trust him. She had seen him talk his way out of many a situation in the last three years, so had no reason not to have faith that he could do it again. She kept her mouth shut, holding and pacifying an on-edge Copper, his hackles raised in defiance.

“’Cause I want your money, mister,” the robber replied. When Dutch laughed again, his cheeks went red. “You shut your damn mouth laughin’ at me!”

Dutch’s tone revealed just how unfazed he was by the situation. “Well what has you all the way out here tryin’ to rob some good folk such as ourselves?”

“Ain’t none of your business. I’m not lookin’ to talk.”

“I very much doubt that, my friend,” Dutch replied steadily. “You look to me like a feller who could do with some talkin’. I’m Dutch, this fine young lady is Maebh, and that’s Copper.”

The larger man grumbled. “I don’t give a shit.”

“What’s your name, sir?”

“None o’your business! My only concern here is money.” Dutch chuckled again at that, prompting an aggressive response. “I told you to shut up laughin’!”

“How can I not laugh, my friend, when you insist on pretendin’ like you don’t need some help. You can’t tell me that you planned on spendin’ your life on the highway robbin’ any folks that wander by. Don’t you want some purpose?”

“How I spend my life ain’t no concern o’yours.”

“Well if you’re strugglin’ it is.” Dutch took a step towards the attacker, small enough that it wasn’t intimidating, but sure enough that he appeared confident in the move. “I have a gang, ya see — a family of misguided souls who were hard done by this country’s leaders. If I see someone I think needs help and has somethin’ to offer, I’ve no problem extendin’ a hand. Now, we got food, shelter, and booze, and you look like you can handle a gun. Why don’t you put it to better use makin’ a difference with some likeminded folks?”

The man hesitated, his rifle still aimed steadily, but his tone shifting into something more inquisitive. “And why don’t I just shoot you two down now, take your money, and be on my way?”

Dutch hummed with an amused grin. “Well, there’s two outcomes for that Mister…?”

A pause, then a gruff answer. “Bill.”

“Mister Bill, then. Either you shoot me, Maebh, and Copper there before lootin’ our corpses and wanderin’ off before you either die alone by the bullet or the bottle. Or outcome number two; I draw my pistol so quickly you can barely make a noise before I blow your brains out. Now, I would much rather it didn’t come to either of these, but it ain’t gonna end well for anyone who threatens my family.”

Maebh opted to keep quiet, knowing Dutch was far better with persuading crazy criminals than she was. She focused her attention on keeping Copper calm. Thankfully, the dog had stopped growling, but he was still very much wary of the stranger. She patted his side gently, reassuring him that he was alright and that he was, of course, a good boy.

“Tell me, Bill,” Dutch began again. “You ever heard of the Van der Linde gang?”

Bill released a huff. “Heard of ’em? They’re famous for robbin’ banks all over the damn place. Are you tellin’ me you’re Dutch Van der Linde?”

“Well I certainly ain’t talkin’ through my ass, son. Either you can join one of the most famous band of outlaws in the country, or you can go ’bout your business on your lonesome. It’s your choice, and I implore you to make the right one. It would be good to have ya onboard. You don’t gotta be alone anymore.”

There was a tense silence. If Bill was expecting Dutch to further try convince him to join, he was met with merely a stare down. The older man had already laid out his cards on the table and waited for the reveal of Bill’s hand. Maebh fixed her gaze on him, ready and willing to have Dutch’s back if it came to it. The barrel of the rifle rattled in Bill’s shaking hands before it abruptly lowered to the ground.

He quickly pulled down his bandana to reveal the rest of his pudgy face. “Suppose I would be dumb not to take it.”

Dutch smiled widely and quickly grasped his hand to shake. “Right you are, Bill. A wise choice indeed.”

At Dutch’s insistence, Maebh stepped up and accepted Bill’s handshake. “As long as you never point a rifle in Copper’s direction again, we’re good.”

He nodded, looking down at the young woman. “I ain’t gonna argue with that.”

“Just a warnin’, ’cause his owner would have no problem stranglin’ you for it.”

“You’ll meet him at another time,” Dutch began. “For now, you can come to camp and meet the rest of the gang. We can have some drinks and you can tell us about yourself. How’s that sound?”

“Good,” Bill replied, standing with his shoulders slightly more relaxed that before. “I guess.”

Even still, Maebh was wary. This wasn’t like when they had previously recruited Reverend Swanson. He had joined after saving Dutch’s life, whereas Bill had just threatened to shoot them both. Even still, she had to place faith in her leader and assume there was logic to his offer. While this newcomer certainly appeared lost and directionless, he also seemed ruthless if he was willing to rob and shoot innocent people along the highway. Perhaps that could be knocked out of him. She knew from her experience with Arthur that a hard and threatening front used to get your own way could always be just an act.

So, she listened carefully as they walked back to camp and made idle conversation. Bill was an army veteran, having been assigned to the 15th infantry that fought against Native Americans. When asked about why he left, he admitted to being dishonourably discharged for deviancy and attempted murder the year before.

Jaysus, not off to a great start, she thought to herself. Although I guess I can hardly judge…

He admitted to sleeping rough for the last year, just about surviving off robbing people along various highways while drinking to pass the time. Not exactly a pleasant life or ideal situation for anyone to be in. She could at least understand why he had been so inclined to accept Dutch’s offer when he had little else to live for.

Back at camp, her friends were surprised to see them returning with not just the ginseng.

“Everyone!” Dutch announced, standing outside his tent. “Everyone! Gather round!”

At his words, the ever loyal gang members who were present stood together before him. William found a spot beside Maebh while Karen appeared nearby too.

She gave Maebh a nudge with her elbow before nodding to the newcomer who stood awkwardly next to Dutch. “Who’s that?”

“New recruit,” Maebh whispered. “Met him when he tried to rob us on the highway.”

“Rob you?” Karen repeated in disbelief. “And he took him in?”

“Guess he figured he was another lost soul. I think he sees some potential... He looks like a big gruff bastard, but I trust Dutch on this. He did threaten him for tryin’ it on us, to be fair.”

“O’course. Trustin’ Dutch ain’t my problem, but threatenin’ to shoot and rob y’all don’t sit well with me.”

“As much as I appreciate you defendin’ me, let’s just see what happens.”

Maebh quickly finished the conversation just as Dutch began to address the group. “Now, friends, I wanted to introduce you all to a new recruit for our family. This is Mr Bill...?”

He threw a glance at Bill, who cleared his throat. “Williamson.”

Maebh heard the small snort that William let out under his breath as Dutch continued on. “... Mr Bill Williamson, and Maebh and I met him out on the highway. He’s another man lookin’ for purpose, just like all a’you. And just like all a’you, he has somethin’ to offer. So for tonight, everyone who is here is gonna sit ’round the fire and celebrate a new member on our mission to find paradise. What do you think?”

“We’re always with you for a party, Dutch!” Davey cheered, already going to grab a bottle of beer.

“Boss’s orders!” Mac agreed, following his brother’s lead.

There were unanimous cheers from the gang, during which Maebh met the eyes of a very happy looking Karen. “Right, I ain’t happy he threatened you two, but I ain’t never gonna turn down an opportunity to drink.”

As Dutch asked for Mr Pearson to grab the boxes of beer he had stashed, the group began to disperse and William turned to the two women. “Is no one gonna talk about how that fella’s name is William Williamson? Even better, William Son of William? I can’t be the only one who thinks that’s hilarious.”

Maebh linked her arm into his before replying. “As long as you wait a few months to say that to his face, it’s grand.”

“Are you three gonna catch up or keep whisperin’ to each other?” asked an already half-cut John Marston. He wobbled up to them with beers in hand, fully intending on getting them locked.

Maebh took the beverage he offered with thanks. “But we’re goin’ t’have’ta drink two whole beers before we catch up with you.”

“You sayin’ I’m a lightweight?”

“Yeah,” Karen agreed, though not unkindly. “Because ya are. We say it all the time.”

John let out a raspy wheeze. “Well at least drink with me after insultin’ me.”

Happy to oblige, the group all sat around the campfire and began to work their way through multiple beers. As Dutch had requested, it became an evening of everyone introducing themselves to Mr Williamson, and the latter sharing what he could about himself. Even though she was surrounded by her family and friends, Maebh couldn’t help but feel the loss of Arthur’s presence on such a celebratory occasion.

Just over a week later, Arthur was happy to see those familiar tents and wagons as he steered Boadicea down the little pathway that led to camp. He had enjoyed him time away even if it was only a short trip, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn't missing the gang. It was late at night again he returned, choosing to spend as much time as he could with Eliza and Isaac. The first one he met was Marston, who sat at a table on the edge of camp cleaning a repeater with a cloth. He looked up as he heard the hooves on the dirt path.

“Welcome back, Morgan!”

“Good to see you, Marston.” He carefully eased his faithful steed to a hitching post and allowed her to get her breath back as he dismounted. Offering her an oatcake, he continued talking to his brother. “How’re things?”

“Good,” the younger man replied. “We’re all ready to go tomorrow. You made it back just in time.”

“Yeah well, figured I should get the most outta my trip.”

John got to his feet, gun cleaned and ready to head off to guard duty. “How’s the boy doin’?”

“He’s doin’ good. Gettin’ big!” Arthur smiled at the memory. “He seemed happy to see me.”

“I’m sure he was. And how’s Eliza?”

“She’s good too. I brought them some supplies and money to keep their stocks up, but she said they were managin’ just fine. She took it after some insistence.”

“She sounds almost as stubborn as you.”

“Just about.”

The sound of his name being called grabbed Arthur’s attention. William offered a small wave as he made his way over to the pair. “It’s good to see you again, pal.”

“You too, kid,” Arthur replied and gave the younger man a firm handshake. “How’ve you been gettin’ on?”

“Just preparin’ for the train really,” he replied. “Dutch wants us to try keep our heads down beforehand so we don’t make too much noise. How was your trip?”

“Good,” Arthur affirmed. “It was nice to have a little break from bein’ an outlaw. What are you still doin’ up anyhow?”

“I’ve got guard duty with Marston,” William explained, gesturing to the carbine slung over his shoulder. “We make a good team, don’t we, John?”

“Sure,” John mumbled with a raised brow. “I guess so.”

“Why are you pullin’ that face when I just gave you a compliment?”

“That’s the exact reason why I’m makin’ this face, Hennigan.”

“Look,” Arthur cut in quickly. “I’m gonna get some sleep before the heist tomorrow. You two try not to shoot each other, alright?”

At his insistence, the pair swiftly left to take up their spot amongst the surrounding trees. With the rest of camp either sleeping in their tents or passed out drunk, he was relieved he could sneak off to his tent and grab some much needed shut eye before tomorrow. Now that he was away from his son, it was back to the reality of the Van der Linde gang.

“What d’you think?”

Maebh looked up from her book to see William standing over her, one hand gesturing to his face. She blinked twice upon realising that his beard had been replaced with a dark blonde moustache on his upper lip.

“Had you told me you were goin’ t’do that,” she began, shutting her book after marking the page. “I would’ve said you’re mental, but you actually pull it off.”

William smiled at her compliment and turned to look at his handy work in the small mirror beside his shaving utensils. “Cheers. I figured I should go all out if I’m to look like a fancy salesman on a trip for business.”

“You definitely look the part,” she agreed and got to her feet. “Mrs Matthews and Miss Grimshaw said they would do my make-up for it.”

“Make sure Susan doesn’t go too dark on your eye shadow.”

“I’m pretty sure she knows that’s a look only she can pull off.”

Maebh stretched slightly, looking out at the rest of camp from their tent. It was mid afternoon in Iowa, the entire gang having just finished their lunch for the day. Trelawny was still at camp, agreeing to stay up until after they rob the train, considering he was due a cut for his services. Said train was due to pass through Saint Charles that evening, with a change of guard coming at the state line. While running her eyes over each member of camp, she spotted a familiar face coming towards her.

“Hey, Arthur!” she greeted the visitor.

Arthur had returned last night while she had slept, and he had been asleep all morning. Unwilling to disturb his much needed rest, she waited patiently to welcome him back home.

“Miss Maebh,” he offered in return, tipping his hat. “Mr Hennigan. How’re y’all doin’?” At that, William turned around and Arthur saw his new look on full display. “Damn, kid. How the hell do you manage to pull that ’stache off?”

“It must be my youthful good looks,” William replied. “Who fuckin’ knows.”

Arthur chuckled before idly stroking his thick beard. “I actually gotta shave myself, now that I think of it.”

“How was your trip?” Maebh asked, recalling her previous conversation with Bessie about his privacy.

“Good, good,” he replied with a small smile. “Always nice to get away for a little while.”

“Well you’re gettin’ thrown into the thick of it again now.”

“You’re tellin’ me. By the way, who’s the big bastard I’ve seen drinkin’ with Mac and Davey?”

“Awh Jesus, let me tell ye…”

With their departure time getting ever closer, the trio only spoke for a short while before Maebh went off to see Bessie and Susan. Though Bessie’s health had still been on the up and down, she was happy to help Susan do her make-up so that that she looked the part for the heist. With her makeup resembling something simple yet elegant, they helped her get into the outfit Trelawny had brought as part of her wealthy facade. The grey shirtwaist, decorated with white floral patterns and white lace, also included long sleeves that ruffled at the shoulders and a high neckline, beneath which she had stuffed a bandana for later use. Her skirts, matching in colour, were long and reached down to her black boots. Her footwear thankfully sported a small, chunky heel so that she wouldn’t fall on her face mid-robbery. A white brimmed hat covered her hair, that Miss Grimshaw tied up into a neat bun. On top of this, she wore a matching linen suit jacket and black leather gloves to complete the look.

“You look stunnin’ and pompous,” William later noted as she emerged from the tent. “It’s perfect!”

Maebh shook her head. “Thank you. I’m just happy that Josiah picked up something I can still move in. Plus, there’s plenty of room under my skirt for a revolver.”

“It’s also a good thing that crooked clerk will be able to get us on without bein’ checked for weapons,” he added before shrugging on his own dark grey suit jacket. He seemed happy and confident in his attire — a striped waistcoat, a white dress shirt, a purple tie, dark grey pants, and black shoes. “How do I look?”

“Great,” she complimented, surprised by how much older the attire made him look. “You’re the perfect amount of pretentious. I know I was originally worried ’bout how we were gonna pass for rich people, but we actually look really good…”

“Don’t we?”

“You two ready to go?” John asked, walking up to them briskly in his worker uniform. His eyes darted between them, awkwardly flitting up and down Maebh’s ensemble. “You two look, eh… good.”

“So do you,” she offered in reply. “I have to give you credit, you do look like a convincin’ worker.”

Finishing up the group, Arthur made his entrance. Maebh couldn’t help but give him a once over, noting the well-fitted suit that seemed to create a whole new Arthur Morgan. She tried not to stare — she really did, especially considering he could be so damn self-conscious for some reason — but her eyes took him in with genuine appreciation. He carefully smoothed the front of his grey coat as he joined them. Smartly dressed and beard neatly trimmed, he was ready to go.

“Y’all ready?” he asked before making eye contact with Maebh.

The intense gaze of his blue eyes caused her to blink and look away quickly, realising that he most certainly caught her staring, a gesture she hoped hadn’t made him uncomfortable.

“I think we’re set,” William answered, straightening his tie. “Where’s Trelawny?”

“Right on time,” John announced pointing to the tree line behind them. “And he’s got a friend.”

Maebh, relieved to have a chance to tear her gaze from Arthur, turned to see a coach commandeered by two men coming down the pathway. Trelawny waved from the driver’s seat. “Afternoon, gentlemen, madame!”

The coach came to a halt by the patch of grass where their horses were grazing. Trelawny joined them while the driver waited in his seat.

“You all look wonderful,” Josiah noted before glancing back at the driver. “Don’t mind Andrew — he’s a friend. Are we ready to go?”

“Indeed we are,” Dutch called as he briskly walked to join them. “Are we all clear with the plan?

Arthur nodded firmly. “You’re gonna take John up to the station on Norwalk where he can sneak onboard, the coach will take myself and Maebh to Saint Charles where we’ll board, and Josiah will drop William on the outskirts of town so it don’t look like we’ve arrived together, before he leaves our horses at the quiet spot where we’ll start the robbery.”

“That clear with the rest of you?” With unanimous positive answers received, Dutch clapped his hands. “Then get your guns and let’s rob ourselves a train!”

They each hurried excitedly to their tents, grabbing revolvers, pistols, and sawn-off shotguns that they could sneak onboard. Once they were armed, they set out on their mission. John and Dutch were the first to leave, quickly mounting The Count before galloping out of camp. William climbed atop Dantès while Trelawny grabbed himself one of the spare mounts. Together, they gathered the horses belonging to Maebh, Arthur, and John, then quickly led the animals out on to the main road.

All that remained were Arthur and Maebh. Still feeling a bit awkward having been caught staring, she accepted the hand he offered to help her into the coach. Sitting together in the back seat, the driver carefully steered them out of camp and onwards to Saint Charles.

“Well,” she sighed, looking out at the open country. “This is a bit weird.”

“How you mean?” Arthur asked curiously.

“I’m not used to takin’ a coach to a heist, especially in such fancy clothes.”

He hummed at her admission. “I know how you feel. I don’t mind wearin’ a suit, but the coach and driver is a new one.”

“I think you look really nice in the suit,” she blurted before realising what she had said. “Eh, y’know, you pull it off really well.”

He seemed to take her compliment well, but she wasn’t quite sure if she had made him uncomfortable or not. He scratched at the hair on the back of his neck and offered a humble response. “Thank you. It’s uh, always nice to get a compliment off a good-lookin’ woman.”

Her hands clasped each other in her lap, tapping rhythmically with the movement of the coach. “You sound like you’re bein’ overly generous, Arthur.”

“Trust me, I ain’t.” He paused, gesturing a hand up and down her form. “I meant to say, you look lovely in the outfit Trelawny picked out. Not that you don’t usually look good, I just ain’t used to seein’ ya this dressed up.” He cleared his throat before mumbling something self-deprecating under his breath. “Apparently I ain’t good at givin’ compliments.”

“Thank you.” She noted the slightly awkward air, and placed a reassuring hand on his forearm, which had unexpectedly given her a small sense of ease and comfort at the touch. They could both probably do with a change of subject, and she was more than happy to oblige. “At least we know we both look the part together. Speakin’ of, I guess we should come up with some names if they ask, right?”

“I suppose it ain’t a bad idea.” He pondered it for a moment before throwing out a suggestion. “How about Mr and Mrs Barnes? It’s a common enough name.”

“Sounds believable. I think, if I’m honest, you could pull off the name Henry.”

Arthur let out a bark at that. “Henry Barnes? If that’s the case, then you’re gonna be called Margaret.”

“I know you’re jokin’, but I think it works.”

“Then that’s what we’ll go with, my dear Maggie.”

The journey was thankfully not as awkward as Maebh thought it would be. Arthur was very much happy to fill the silence with just the right amount of conversation. Most of it involved their plan for the train or the last time he was required to dress up for a heist.

Upon arriving in town, the driver left them to their own devices and they strolled into the train station arm in arm. Inside, Arthur handed their tickets to the clerk, who quickly patted them down before allowing them through the doors on to the platform. As planned, he completely ignored their weaponry. She quickly spotted William sitting alone, barely acknowledging them as they walked through the doors. Technically speaking, they didn’t know each other in their current getups, so it was better to act as though they had never met. There were another three people on the platform, presumably boarding the same train as them. Arthur kept a close eye on his pocket watch (another part of Trelawny’s costume apparently) and the familiar chugging of the train could be heard in the distance as it approached the station only fifteen minutes after their arrival.

“Right on time,” he noted as it slowly came to a screeching halt on the tracks. “You ready, Maggie?”

“Of course, my darlin’ husband,” she answered in her best southern accent and kept a firm hold on his arm. “Let’s hope Marston got on alright.”

She felt his gaze burning into her, and looked up to see his blue eyes shimmering with amusement. “Since when can you pull that off?”

“I guess I’m full’a surprises.”

“I guess so, my darlin’ wife.”

The train was, as planned, brought to a stop in Saint Charles station. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed William getting to his feet and waiting for the vehicle to stop. Once safely parked on the tracks, a steward appeared from inside to usher them on, calling out their destination to alert passengers waiting on the platform. He threw a glance at the tickets Arthur offered, before replying. “You’re to be seated in the front carriage, sir. Have a pleasant journey.”

Arthur thanked him and began to lead them through the carriage passageways to the front of the train. Inside, several couples and travellers where already taking up numerous spots. All dressed to the nines, Maebh suppressed the urge to stare and quickly sat where her partner had ushered them. Across the aisle, William took his own seat on a lone bench and focused his attention on the view out the window. Arthur completed the trio, taking the outside seat once Maebh had settled herself down.

“All good?” he asked under his breath, his low timbre a surprisingly calming sound in its own right.

Appreciating the concern and eager to keep up appearances, she patted the hand he kept rested on his thigh. “Dandy.”

He returned the gesture by flipping his hand over and interlocking their fingers in a careful hold. “Did you spot Marston?”

Right on queue, the door at the front of the carriage opened and John appeared in full worker’s attire. As he walked down the aisle and passed their seats, she made brief eye contact with him. “Well, seems he made it on. Everythin’ is goin’ well so far.”

“Let’s make sure it stays that way, alright?”

She had very little time to contemplate that her friend, Arthur Morgan, was currently holding her hand with a tenderness that was new and unfamiliar and a tad daunting. She had assured him that such contact for the sake of the heist was entirely okay, but she was surprised to feel a little nervous at his touch. The rational part of her mind was frowning at her blatant display of overthinking, but dare she say she enjoyed feeling his fingers intertwined with her own? She had seen Arthur beat men nearly twice his size into submission, seen him unload shotguns like he barely felt the power behind the gun’s blow, and seen him break in the wildest of horses along their travels. And yet it was the timidness and the gentleness he offered when carefully wrapping his rough hand over hers that sent her unexpectedly reeling.

Her gaze wandered out the window as the train began its journey along the steel tracks below them, the countryside passing slowly by as they neared the quiet strip of land where the robbery would take place. The familiar hint of anxiety was hopping around her stomach as she realised the robbery was imminent. Despite the awkwardness, and despite her own confusion around the subject, she clung to his hand and clung to the small sense of comfort it brought amidst pre-job nerves.

“You doin’ alright?” she heard him ask. Turning her eyes from the outside world to the man sitting next to her, she was met only with concern.

“Just standard jitters before we y’know, eh, do the job.”

“We’ll be alright,” he assured her. “We got a great team at work here. Ain’t nothin’ to worry ’bout. You just gotta keep her head and you’ll be fine.”

She felt her lips pulling into a smile, his firm yet soothing words seemingly always there to help her doubt her own doubts.

“Would you go over the plan again with me?” she asked in a hushed tone, aware of nearby passengers.

He leaned into her slightly, ensuring that anyone who was curious enough to nose would merely see a couple having a private conversation. “Right well, once we start approachin’ the quieter land, John will give William a nod to cause a distraction. Once that’s goin’ on, he’s gonna get himself to the driver and force him to stop the train before subduin’ him. He’s gonna hop off the train and head to the back to the baggage car. Then once we stop, you and I kick off the heist while William heads to the last carriage without givin’ anythin’ away. He robs from the back, us from the front. We then meet in the middle, get off the train, call for the horses, and bolt back to camp. Just remember, these are innocent folks, so we don’t want any of ’em gettin’ seriously hurt, or worse.”

“Got it, got it.”

With the plan clear in her mind once more, they sat calmly for another twenty minutes, knowing that the time for action was surely upon them. John made himself known in the cabin, passing through once more and giving the trio a very subtle nod to let them know that he needed the distraction now.

“What was William’s plan again?” Maebh asked Arthur under her breath, readying herself for action.

“He never said,” Arthur replied, eying her sibling curiously. “But he better do it now.”

As if hearing his queue with Arthur’s words, William let out an exaggerated gasp and spoke out in the most ridiculously posh British accent she had ever heard. “You! Worker!”

Maebh looked over at her brother in surprise, as did the rest of the passengers.

His finger was pointing squarely at John, who stood there like a deer in headlights. “Uh, yeah?”

“You got grease on my suit!”

The passengers looked to John for a response, but all he could muster was a stuttering apology. “Uh, I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t see how I could’a—”

“You don’t see how you could have?” William repeated, punctuating every word with utter distain. “Are you inept, man? You are covered in grease from head to toe and you don’t see how you could have stained my suit? You brushed past me and left an entire oil slick in your wake!”

Maebh stared between the pair, mouth agape and not even remotely faking any of her shocked reaction for the sake of their innocence. She genuinely thought this whole thing was hilarious. Her brother was full on shouting now, on his feet and making intense demands.

“Do you have any idea how much this cost me?” he screamed, voice cracking as he got more agitated. Suddenly, he addressed the crowd. “Fear not, fellow passengers! I shall see to it that the expense of cleaning my suit will be taken from this greasy raccoon’s measly wages!”

“Sir,” John began, visibly frowning. “If you could just calm down—”

“I will not calm down, you miserable wretch! I will have you removed from your post for this heresy!”

“You show him, mister,” Arthur mumbled, mostly to himself, very much getting a kick out of this interaction. “Make a big scene.”

As William’s shouting grew louder, the passengers’ mumbles grew more confused, and John grew more embarrassed, another member of staff came hurrying into the carriage. Judging by his dress, Maebh assumed he was someone of higher position than John at least.

“What seems to be the problem here, sir?” he asked, trying his best to remain civil despite the mayhem that was occurring in front of a live audience.

William whipped around with the elegance of a panther and pointed a shaking finger at John again. “This man is leaving a trail. I demand you find a new worker immediately. I came all the way from North New York and I demand better, sirs! Since when do Cornwall Kerosene and Tar employ slugs upon their trains?”

The steward looked stunned. “A trail?”

“Of grease and filth and poverty!”

Visibly confused by the altercation, he turned to John with a tired expression. “Son, did you not bathe before your shift?”

“Uh, it’s just train oil, I swear.”

“Train oil?” William screeched and threw his arms up in the air. “Train oil? Are you calling me a liar, man? I have never in my life dealt with such hypocrisy and disrespect, not in any of my journeys across the settlements in this country! I swear on my dearest mother’s grave — God rest her soul — that this man is the most petulant pustule I have ever had the displeasure of meeting! And now my suit is ruined when I have to do business in the next state over! What am I to do, sirs? What am I to do?” The steward had no time to respond before William visibly wobbled on his feet, breathing deeply with wide eyes. “My God, I think I am about to faint. All because of this greasy, husky, mongrel hick of yours! Oh my—”

As quick as a light, he was out. William went tumbling to the ground, feigning unconsciousness and rousing screams from some of the other passengers. Chaos ensued. The steward tried to shake him awake, but he remained on the ground, mumbling incoherently about ‘suing the raccoon for damages’. The steward panicked, stumped for what to do before he asked if anyone onboard was a doctor. As one man answered his call, Maebh watched John quickly slip out of the room.

“And there’s our distraction,” Maebh announced, nudging Arthur with her shoulder. “You ready?”

“After a performance like that?” Arthur laughed. “I feel like I could take on a damn army.”

“Inspirin’ as always.”

Seconds later, the train suddenly jerked, sending some of the standing passengers tumbling to the floor. Maebh clung to the seat in front of her and the train screeched in exertion as it forced to stop, the metal-on-metal ringing out and piercing her ears. The crew and passengers looked dumbfounded, some peering out the window to see where they were. With the sun setting in the distance, the world outside looked dark and empty.

“Ready?” she heard Arthur whisper as he pulled his bandana on over his face.

“Ready,” she confirmed, and quickly covered hers as well. “Let’s do this.”

With the experience that came with multiple hold ups and years of gunslinging, the pair got to work. On his feet in an instant with his hidden pistol revealed, Arthur yelled at the top of his voice. “Everybody stay calm, and nobody’s gettin’ shot!”

“This is a robbery, fellas!” Maebh added before whacking the stunned steward out cold with her sawn-off shotgun. “Everythin’ you got goes into the bag! Anythin’ worth a cent, is that clear?”

In the midst of the confusion, William was up in an instant and sprinting into the next carriage over to head to the back of the train.

The passengers cowered in their seats, visibly taken aback by the strange turn of events that sent their normal day spiralling downwards. They begged and pleaded to be left alone, that they weren’t bad people, they didn’t deserve this, but Maebh paid them no mind, walking down the aisle and shoving the bag into their laps until they threw whatever they had inside. Some hurled abuse, but it fell on deaf ears that had heard far worse. Arthur stood over her the whole time, ever the imposing figure sporting a pair of fiery eyes to scare anyone who refused into submission.

“Let’s make this quick, people,” he snarled over her shoulder and at a man whose stubbornness nearly got the better of him. “We ain’t got all day and we don’t wanna hurt none a’ya!”

With the front carriage quickly cleared, they hurried into the next one down and repeated the process over again. She waved her gun in the air, instantly having their full attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery! Everythin’ on y’all — money, valuables, that nice lookin’ necklace — into the bag, or you’ll get a bullet in the brain!”

“Do as the lady says! We ain’t here to play goddamn games!”

“The sooner you hand it over, the sooner we’re outta here!”

Their threats worked like a charm for the most part, bar one obstinate husband who received a broken noise for his unyielding attitude. Just as they finished the second carriage, William came through the door, face covered with a bandana and his own bag filled with the results of an apparent successful hold up. John appeared behind him was his own take slung over his shoulder.

“We all good to go?” William asked, voice muffled from the mask.

Maebh quickly tied the bag shut. “All done on our end.”

“We ain’t nothin’ short of efficient, fellers,” John noted, slightly out of breath. “So let’s get.”

“Thanks for your cooperation today, folks!” Arthur called over his shoulder as the four of them hopped off the train, three heavy bags of money and valuables coming with them. As they each released a loud whistle, their horses came galloping from a short distance away, safely hidden where Trelawny had left them.

“Good job today,” Arthur praised them, hurriedly climbing atop Boadicea and patting her neck. “Real good job.”

“A fine job, my husband,” Maebh chuckled happily. “Very fine.”

“You are one mighty supportive wife, Mrs Barnes!”

As she was briskly strapping her bag to Dullahan’s saddle, a bullet suddenly whizzed overhead, cutting through the air with a howl. For a split second, the air escaped her lungs in a heaving gasp. It had narrowly avoided her and her horse, causing her to yell out in surprise. “What the hell was that?”

“Is that the law already?” she heard Marston shout back.

“They don’t look like no law to me,” Arthur replied before grabbing his repeater and firing at the attackers. Maebh looked to the distant tree-line, seeing five riders coming from the brush armed to the teeth and faces covered with green scarves and hoods. Their harsh shouts and cries could be heard clearly on the wind, but they had little time to contemplate these new arrivals. Arthur downed one with ease, the bullet tearing through his chest and seemingly ending his life. “I think we just stole some other gang’s take, boys!”

“You recognise ’em?”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen these idiots before!”

William was quick to draw too and managed to shoot another rider off his horse. “These shots are goin’ t’bring a whole load’a unwanted attention!”

John quickly agreed. “Then let’s get the hell outta here!”

“We split up then meet back at camp,” Arthur decided as he let off a final shot that hit its target. “Marston, with me! Hennigans, you two stick together, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” William replied hastily. “Fágfaimid, Maebh!”

Maebh asked no questions, choosing to grasp her horse’s reigns tightly in her hand and urge her into a gallop. “Maith an cailín, let’s go back home now, alright? Fágfaimid!”

As the number of their pursuers dwindled down to two, the four outlaws didn’t hesitate to ride as fast as possible. Maebh pushed Dullahan to the limit, the animal breathing and voicing the effort as she and William tore through a tree line and out into an open field. Arthur and John had already disappeared in another direction, but she couldn’t afford to check for them with a curious glance over the shoulder now. Guns, though less so than before, were still heard going off behind them. All she could do was focus on her horse, focus on her brother, and focus on making it back home safely.

It didn’t take long for the shots to stop. Racing and winding through forest and field alike was something with which she was familiar. As the crack of bullets died away, the thundering beating of hooves on earth slowed its rhythm. The horses’ breathing slowed with relief, as did the wind whipping through her hair. They eased the animals into a trot, noting the stillness of the night around them. There were no lawmen, no gangs, no one following them. With calming words, they assured the other that they were alright.

They were safe, and they made it out with the money. The relief in her heart was a welcome feeling of which she would never tire. When these jobs went well, they were considered a great success, but while she felt pride and joy knowing they made it out, she knew they could be snuffed out with simply one well-timed bullet.

The thought made her think of Arthur and John riding back to camp.

The siblings soon found themselves tired and alone in Madison County’s endless plains, slowly making their way home, and hoping that their friends had made it too.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #john marston #red dead redemption fandom #rdr #rdr2 #fanfiction #fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #the flower and the serpent #dutch van der linde #hosea mathews #rdr fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x ofc

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villainskingdom · 7 years ago

Text

#33 (Kenny Omega)

Okay... I delayed more than I imagined but here it is, the Kenny Omega imagine requested by an anon and based on this prompt list right here.

#33 - “Bite me.”, “If you insist.”

Words: 3024 (It’s longer than I imagined it would be lol. I’d really appreciatte a feedback and, please, tell me if I should continue the story ‘cus the “end” gave me this kinda feeling of “must continue”)

Warnings: only a slight smut

Credit goes to the gif owner. Please forgive me for any mistake, english is not my birth language.

Tagging: @blondekel77 @fuentesmagix @pandapupboy @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @feeltheglow-littlemissbliss @axelwolf8109 @vipervenomisgoodforyou @50shadesofkennyomega @alafairftw @imnobodiesbitch @mrs-storm @blissfullrollins @deaddecade @omega-is-love @purplegirl20 @swamptrashwithasideofsass @brittany012364 @kingslayers-angel @lanalizzytho

{...}

"Bite me."

He was good at provoking me. Great, actually. He always knew what to do to get me in his hands and he intentionally toyed with it. I was not a saint either, forcing him to beg for a touch sometimes. My body. My will. We were perfect sinners to each other. The curls of his hair, slumped over the eyes, disheveled as always, together with the malicious smile that came over me. He brought hell and heaven, while I was the embodiment of an angel. Every time I heard him say how much my face was too angelic to hide such sordid thoughts. "Never judge a book by its cover," this phrase is the greatest of truths. Age never meant maturity, much less experience. I proved it. The difference of 13 years never bothered me and I assumed it didn’t bother him either, otherwise we would have stopped meeting. Incidentally, nobody knew about such meetings. Obviously. After all, secrecy is the guarantee of replay. He had a contradictory way that drew me close. When I first saw him, I was lost in thought, and suddenly I noticed myself exchanging glances with that complete stranger. Later, on the same day, the unknown would leave its mark by kissing my lips; with a right to a bite. Enough to not forget it. Certain friendships in common helped our approach. The days in his company always ended well, somehow. I never regretted it, maybe it was living proof of the saying "Live without regrets." He too, but in front of the others we were just simple acquaintances. We talked little. Words aren’t necessary when actions speak louder. He preferred that. Ignoring everything and everyone, we were going very well ... Until we discussed the question of age. "That's wrong," he told me the last time we met. I argued, he was resolute; we fought. Each one to its side but without forgetting the other. I missed his touch and he certainly could not take the past from his mind to see me conserve with his friends. Of something, I was sure. He would come back to me at one point or another.

{...}

“(Y/N)! Wake up!” I blinked my eyes, regaining the science of where I was. Nick and Matt were frowning at me, not understanding at all. “Sleeping up again?!”

“Me?! Of course not!” I nodded Nick, gesturing as if his assumption were the most impossible.

"Oh, of course!" Nick was ironic, rolling his eyes. “You were just dreaming!”

"Be careful not to drool next time"; Matt said, mocking me. Only then I realized that my gaze was on a young man, customer of the same coffe shop of the hotel where we were. He was cute, but not good enough to catch my attention.

"I was not staring at him!" I defended myself, before the two of them began with their complacent looks. It didn’t help much, soon a "HUUUUUM" in unison made itself present.

I rolled my eyes, lowering my head as if I could hide from their games. “Don’t sleep ‘cus soon we have an interview!” Matt complaining. That was the result of my attitude.

“And?” I grunted, not lifting my face.

"You're going to take the pictures!" Nick exclaimed, probably faking indignation.

"I don’t care"; I grumbled, making charm and turning my face as if I really wanted to sleep.

Unfortunately, I soon felt someone shake my arms, forcing me to stand up and face them both, with a clear gunshot look. Matt had a laugh outlined on his lips, not making a point of hiding, while Nick disguised himself as he fingered the cell phone.

“Idiots.” I grumbled again, running my hand through my hair. “Stop it.”

“What? We just wanna make sure you won’t sleep and lose the interview time!”

I arched an eyebrow. "The conference is two hours from now. There’s enough time...”

"Even though"; they both shrugged.

I wanted to roll my eyes one more time, but I was already doing it too much for just one day. So I just stared at them in a perfect "Seriously?" look. They must be kidding! They were never any examples of punctuality, so why were they playing responsible ones?

"Just explain, why such a rush? You said that more people were going to participate in the interview and so far I haven’t seen anyone give the air of grace!”

"He's coming"; he? I kept an arched eyebrow. Their manner was very strange; especially Matt, who kept looking sideways at the apparent search for someone. "What were you daydreaming about, by the way?"

I swallowed hard. “Nothing.” I answered quickly, trying not to show anything out of the ordinary. I was absorbed in the memories of my moments with Kenny, and the two of us knew our recent involvement had never been an option. Sometimes I even suspected Nick and Matt knew something, but I preferred to keep it a secret. I was worried what they would think of me if they found out.

I knew how to hide well. During the time we had been in this somewhat wrong relationship, I acted like he was only an acquaintance. The great Kenny Omega. While I was just an amateur photographer, trying to gain recognition with my work in coverage of events and conferences. No one would suspect. Anyway, nothing else mattered. We were finished.

It had never been serious. I swear. My worst annoyance was still missing him. I'd be lying if I said Kenny Omega was dead to me. And, well, speaking of the Devil ..

Kenny made his noticed presence easily, with the sound of the small bell attached to the door. I never understood why it was needed , but I thanked it mentally for announcing his arrival. I didn’t want surprises, especially one like that. But as soon as he came in, our eyes met.

The contact sustained itself long enough to notice her surprise at seeing me. I was no different, though the strange way the Bucks had alerted me to something. He would also participate in the interview, it was the basics to know and enough to make him wear a social outfit.

I knew how much he hated it. He had always liked simplicity, not sloppiness. His clothes often resembled a shorts or sweatpants and a t-shirt. But this time, Omega was forced to wear white social shirts and black linen pants. Uncomfortable and, unfortunately, more attractive than I imagined.

“Finally, Kenny! What a delay... "; Matt was the first to greet him, rising to give him a place in the stew. My suspicions that these brethren knew something only increased when I saw the Cleaner lodge right in front of me.

"You took so long that (Y/N) was already anxious ..."; I almost spit the little coffee I had just taken when I heard him. "What gave you both?!?!" I asked mentally, trying to shoot the youngest of the Bucks with the deepest rage. "I mean ... Impatient!"; "That's better" I thought, softening my gaze.

“Sorry, everyone. The way here has taken longer than I imagined..."; I could hear his voice without looking at him. I preferred to distract myself by stirring the spoon restlessly over the cup of coffee. He still made me want him, I didn’t need to look at him again to know that.

"No problem ... So, Kenny, remember (Y/N)?" Nick spoke again, forcing me to look up in time to see Omega nod shortly and return to the contact earlier.

Disguising myself, I gave a short, complimenting smile and turned my attention back to the coffee. That would follow the next two hours: Kenny, Matt and Nick talking, and I distracting myself with anything within my reach. In fact, that was the best option. I wouldn’t have to look directly at Kenny Omega, see how he continued the same and how his smile still invited me to sin, next to his badly buttoned shirt that left part of his abdomen on display.

I wasn’t in love, it was only desire, but such a desire prevented me from forgetting. After all, I knew that, deep down, he had the urge to take me back into his arms. He repressed it as if it were wrong... Honestly, who cares?

“Let's go soon.” Matt's voice ceased my reverie, making me look up as he stood up from the stew.

Unlike his brother, Nick looked as if he had no idea why he was suddenly leaving. That's how I saw the two of them exchanging suspicious looks. “.. Yeah... We have lots to do.” And suddenly the youngest had agreed.

"What gave these two?"; I asked myself mentally, making mention of getting up. Something that was soon blocked by Nick. “No! You stay.”

I arched an eyebrow, suspecting more and more. “Why?”

“Why?! The answer is so simple!” I kept staring at them, without a trace of belief. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Kenny wasn’t unlike me either. "You and Kenny barely know each other, you gotta talk more”

“Exactly! One of the most important keys to success is knowing the professional you work with.” Nick completed, resting his hands on Kenny's shoulders as if to advise him.

I wanted to ask where he'd gotten such bullshit, but when I found it, they'd already moved away toward the hotel hall. And from what I could see, they were laughing at us. "Idiots"; I thought, breathing deep into the air in my lungs, then releasing it, snorting with annoyance. I imagined that silence would linger between me and Kenny, tense as ever, but his voice echoed in my ears without warning. “What did you tell them?”

I blinked my eyes in surprise, forcing myself to look at him as he frowned. “... What?”

“What did you tell them?” He repeated the question impatiently.

It was enough for me to be indignant. Frowning, I stared at him as if he was an imbecile. He was, though his blue-green eyes attracted me even with a mixture of impatience and doubt emblazoned on them. "What makes you think I told them something?"

He shrugged. "I didn’t tell them anything"; his reply was short, his eyes straying from mine. He looked exhausted. "Look, (Y/N), if you-"

"No, Kenny, no.” I interrupted him. My tone made him look at me. There was more than impatience and doubt in his orbs, I just couldn’t define what. "Just because you didn’t, that doesn’t mean it's my fault. They may have figured it out somehow.”

“How?” He arched an eyebrow.

“I don’t know!” I exasperated. Our conversation had barely begun and I was tired of it, my patience had worn out in the first second. I lowered my head, pushing the coffee cup away so I could rest it on the table, and stay for as long as I needed. It was my way of ignoring the world, and especially Kenny Omega.

My attitude seemed to alert him. He knew part of my ways, enough to know what to do. Soon I felt his hand lift my face, making me look at him. “I never wanted anyone to know ... That's why ...”

"Don’t tell me that's why it's over." I interrupted him, seeing the glow in his orbs cease. He was hiding something from me. "I know when you're telling the truth, Kenny, and you're not.”

He seemed muted for a few moments to utter a word. “It was...”

“Wrong?” I asked, completing it. He nodded in agreement, running his hand over his face and then through his hair. I forced a humorless laugh, denying it. “We never did anything right.”

“That’s what made it good.” I finally allowed myself a sincere laugh, seeing the smile on his lips and the glint in his eyes as he watched me with a certain tenderness. I had never seen him like this before, I was accustomed to his complete glance of desire, but suddenly I liked more this new experience. Too bad the joy didn’t last long. “... I miss you.”

My smile faded, being drawn back to reality. "Then why did you end it all?" I was harsh, cutting off her joy in a moment.

“... Because it was the best ...”

“Best for who, Kenny?! For who?!” I exasperated, rising from the upholstery with the palms of my hands on the table. Anger and another unknown sensation corroded me, making my blood boil. Such a reaction had probably caught everyone's attention but I didn’t care. “Only if it's for you because it wasn’t for me!”

"(Y/N), I ..." He looked exhausted, massaging his temple, but I had lost my temper long ago.

"No, you listen to me now!" I shut him up. "That's your problem; Everything is always about you! Kenny Omega that, Kenny Omega that ... You're so caught up in your ego about being the Cleaner that you don’t even notice the world around you.”

My words ended as harshly as they began, leaving him dumbfounded. Without waiting for anything, I grabbed my cell phone, which had been on the table all the time, and headed toward the hotel hall. Strong steps, anger dictating decisions; I did not give myself a chance to look back until I felt someone grab my wrist. I already knew who. "(Y/N), please ... Wait."

I rolled my eyes at the sound of his voice, avoiding any contact with his orbs because I knew that in one way or another they could change my mind. “What you want?”

“Where are you going?” He didn’t answer me.

"To my room! I can’t go to the conference looking like this”" I snorted, showing off my own clothes: a white sweatshirt, little shorts, and some sneakers. I wasn’t presentable for sure.

I tried to pull away from his grip, but he held on, as if willing to change my mind. “... Wait for me, please.” His voice broke, something I had never seen. Who would say; the great Kenny Omega, The Cleaner, acting this way... And apparently for me. The discomfort was visible in his eyes. I blame him, because of that, I went back on my decision.

“... Okay.” I sighed, giving up. Even so, in the moment I got released from his grip, I followed to the elevators; without giving him the slightest glance.

The hotel where me and the Bucks stayed had its facilities. In addition to being the same where the conference would take place, there’s a small coffee shop connected to the main entrance. For me, that was the best thing; I spent most of my time there.

My intention was to go to my room, change my clothes, and then go to work. Already in the elevator, I pressed the buttons of the floor where it was and of the twentieth one, in which would occur the last interview before the next G1 Special. After all, Kenny would probably go there.

Speaking of the Cleaner, I hadn’t even asked whether he followed me or not. I entered the elevator without looking back, and was finishing to press the last button... When I felt myself being pulled by the waist and placed against the wall; One of my wrists lifted and trapped above my head.

"Kenny..." I whispered low, not understanding, seeing how the desire had blackened his eyes again. It didn’t take long for him to join our lips in a kiss; needy, savage, and which I soon permitted, giving way to his tongue.

I had no idea why, so suddenly, but I liked it. His free hand had already landed on my waist and descended to my ass, sticking more of our bodies. My fingers, in automatic response, were already strumming to unbutton his shirt. Deep down, I was now sure that he wanted me as much as before.

When the air was necessary, I pulled away enough to see the gleam in his eyes contrast with the gales of his chest. “... Why?” I asked, still breathing with some difficulty. He didn’t answer, just lifted me into his lap and led me out of the elevator, noticing that it had stopped on the floor of my room. I laughed with his attitude, entwining my legs around him, and only then I saw how my laughter seemed to sound like music to his ears.

The room was almost in front of the elevator, I warned him with a quick mention and in moments I felt my back against the wood of the door. "I told you I missed you..." I heard him whisper, next to my ear, as his mouth trailed kisses along my neck.

"You also said it was wrong..." I stammered, biting my lips to contain the sighs from his breath on the back of my neck.

He seemed to ignore my words, more motivated than ever to lower his left hand down my butt while giving him certain grips, with which I had to control myself very much not to pant. "For the last time..."; one more whisper, this time in my right ear as he fingered the strands of hair that fell on it. “Please, (Y/N)...”

Only I knew how this way of calling me, dragging the phonemes of my name in a muffled voice, made me shiver; especially when it came from him. I had already bristled enough to feel my body heat up, begging for more when his left hand chose to approach my intimacy and the kisses became light bites. "Bite me." I grunted, not holding up for so long.

Time didn’t seem to pass in the moment he stopped, watching me again. The dark eyes of desire and the face emblazoned by the most malicious smile; while I heard the sound of the door been unlocked. “If you insist...”

#kenny omega #young bucks #imagine #mine #njpw #wrestling #indywrestling #i don't know if i should continue

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adapted-batteries · 8 years ago

Text

Day 7: Free Day

Finally, here’s that fic I’ve been talking about for the past week or so.

“Dooooggg Boooiii”

Fandom: The Librarians

Rating: General audiences/sfw, a little language in one bit

Ships: Jazekiel, mention of Fleve

Word count: 5339

also posted on my Ao3

Summary: Ezekiel struggles with lingering effects after being cured of his lycanthropy, and Stone offers to help. Set after episode 2 of season 3 “And the Fangs of Death.”

_____

It’s been about a month since the whole “werewolf” ordeal. Of course there was teasing when the full moon came around a couple weeks after that mission, mostly from Stone, but it’s not like Ezekiel went full dog or anything. Maybe he had been a bit irritable, but the wolfsbane tea had cured him, like it was supposed to, well mostly anyway.

There were some impulses that lingered, like weird desires for belly rubs or ear scratches (not that he asked anyone to do that). He collected sticks that one time they were in the forest, and didn’t realize it until they got back, dumping them all out of his backpack onto the table in the Annex. Perhaps it was a bit unnecessary for him to dive into that mud puddle when they got attacked by actual ninjas in Beijing, and weirdly enough he didn’t want to shower right away. That stupid blue rubber ball Stone had became the bane of his existence; his focus would zero in on it, and he’d actually chase it if Stone threw it, though Jenkins banned him from doing that in the Annex when he broke a light.

Of course that didn’t stop Stone from taking that damn ball on missions. Thankfully he didn’t bring it out while they were working, but Stone had his fun afterwards. After the last mission, Stone brought out the rubber ball when they went to a bar, right as Ezekiel attempted to hit up a girl, keeping it low enough in his lap that she couldn’t see, but Ezekiel could. The girl probably thought he was wasted by his sudden distraction and walked away, either disgusted or suddenly uninterested.

“Dude, that was not cool,” Ezekiel hissed. Stone was clearly drunk enough that he was ignoring personal boundaries.

“It’s still there?” Stone said, mildly shocked that it worked.

“Yeah it’s still there, it’s not gone away and it’s been at least a month now,” Ezekiel snapped. “The least you could do is lay off. It’s annoying.”

Stone looked down at his drink, like a kid scolded by a parent. “S...sorry, I didn't mean...it was just a joke,” he stammered, ears going red in embarrassment.

Ezekiel hadn’t drank as much as Stone had, but he was still a little buzzed. Now all he could think about was the werewolf incident. “Do you think the wolfsbane didn’t work?” he suddenly asked Stone.

The drunk man’s head snapped up. “Well...uh...I don’t know, actually. We could go ask Jenkins?”

“Yeah, let’s go ask him,” Ezekiel decided, getting up from his barstool and dragging Stone by the arm to the exit.

Fortunately, Jenkins was still up, reading something at a desk. He merely looked up over his reading glasses when the two somewhat clumsily entered.

“Late night history or magic question?” he asked dryly. “Or maybe you didn’t want me to have one peaceful night to myself.”

“Uh actually, yes, magic question,” Ezekiel responded, ignoring the sarcasm.

Jenkins sat up, not expecting them to answer seriously. “Well then...what is it?”

“Is it possible that my werewolf-ness won’t completely go away?” Ezekiel asked. Jenkins sighed, closed the book, and stood up, walking towards the main table constantly littered with historical documents.

“For some people, the wolfsbane doesn’t eradicate the lycanthropy completely,” the immortal knight said as he thumbed through some old manuscript.

“But you said it was a cure,” Ezekiel countered.

“Well, it mostly is. It will keep you from completely turning, and you can’t infect anyone via biting either. It made your lycanthropy inert, but that doesn’t mean it’s completely gone,” Jenkins clarified. “It will take time for your body to revert back to your human self, especially where it affects your neural tissue.”

“So he’s stuck with dog brain?” Stone snorted, seemingly forgetting the bar incident until Ezekiel glared at him.

Jenkins just rolled his eyes, uninterested in the petty teasing. “In theory, you can drink more wolfsbane, with some other things, but I gave you the most your body could handle initially. If that didn’t get rid of most of the lycanthropy, there’s not too much else that will.”

At first Ezekiel thought that “time” meant a few weeks, maybe another month, but after two months, it was still there. He could control it more now, not give in to the impulses so much, but that ball still got to him. Stone didn't bring it out much anymore, which was nice, until he did again.

They were doing their various studying in the Annex for a new mission the clipping book sent them on (fair folk showing up around an Irish university, causing issues and occasionally taking people). Ezekiel lounged at one of the desks, feet up, searching through old blueprints and local geographical maps. Stone leaned over an old leather-bound book at the main table, absorbing folklore, and Flynn was upstairs doing the same thing. The girls had gone to do reconnaissance in the town nearby, and Jenkins was in his lab, working on some protection charms.

By pure luck, Ezekiel looked up the exact moment Stone pulled the ball out from under some papers, apparently a subconscious act since he still seemed totally absorbed in the reading. All thought flew to the back of Ezekiel's mind as Stone squeezed and rolled it around on the desk, not realizing the torture Ezekiel felt. No, focus, he chided himself, to no avail. He fought himself for several minutes until the worst thing happened: he whined. That finally startled Stone from the book, especially as Ezekiel shot up from his desk, hand still over his mouth, running through the double doors.

Stone looked up to the balcony; Flynn must've been somewhere against the back wall oblivious to Ezekiel’s speedy exit. He then looked around the Annex, at the desk, trying to figure out what made Ezekiel leave, a question easily answered as soon as he looked down at his right hand. “Shit,” he mumbled, stuffing it in his pocket as he stood up, chasing after Ezekiel.

Once outside the Annex, Stone saw him running up into the park across the street. Stone stayed back, giving him space, calmly walking up to the bridge pillar he had went behind. Ezekiel sat against it, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

“You alright?” Stone asked softly.

Ezekiel didn't look up. “Do I look alright to you?”

Without answering, Stone sat down next to him, waiting until Ezekiel looked up. He then took out the ball, studying it like it was a specimen. “How do you feel when you see this? Before your annoyance at your reaction, what do you first feel?”

“I feel, well, excited, focused, I forget what I’m thinking about,” Ezekiel answered, breathing uneasily as he looked at the ball. Stone then put it back in his pocket; Ezekiel slumped forward, hugging his knees. “It’s so hard to keep it all at bay. You don’t know how much I want to do “dog things” all the time, it’s unbearable.”

“I didn’t know it was still affecting you so bad still,” Stone responded. “I didn't even realize I had the ball out until you left.”

Ezekiel glanced back at him, judging how sincere Stone seemed, before looking towards some trees. “It’s not like you could do anything about it.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn't want to know. Maybe we can find something,” Stone countered.

“If Jenkins couldn’t, how could we?” Ezekiel sighed in defeat.

“Well that’s a stupid question,” Stone snorted, prompting Ezekiel to look at him.

“I...I know,” Ezekiel said, too lazy to keep the pain off his face.

“Look. If you need somewhere to cool off, I’m sure there’s something the Library can do. You don’t have to suffer alone,” Stone suggested. He looked pretty serious about helping Ezekiel.

“You sound like some counselor,” Ezekiel laughed bitterly.

“That’s apparently what you need right now,” Stone quipped, raising his eyebrows.

“No I-” Ezekiel stopped himself from shutting off again. “Well I guess I do.”

“And if you need someone to throw the ball, well, I wouldn't mind obliging,” Stone added, cracking a smile.

Ezekiel gave a small smile back “Just don't let Jenkins catch you or he'll kick you out of the Annex,” Ezekiel cautioned jokingly.

Stone chuckled, then went serious again. “What all does “dog things” entail?”

“Uh, well, the fetch thing is pretty obvious,” he started, suddenly embarrassed.

“And?” Stone prodded.

“Um, there's, uh, an annoying desire to be petted,” Ezekiel continued. Stone raised his eyebrows again, biting back a smile. “God, this is stupid. I shouldn't have said anythi-”

“No, it's not!” Stone cut him off. Ezekiel looked at him, confused. “I mean I'd…” he trailed off.

“What, you'd pet me?” Ezekiel scoffed, thinking Stone was pulling his leg for another laugh. That is, until he really saw the sincerity, and the blush, on Stone’s face. “You're...actually serious?”

“Forget it,” Stone said, flustered. He started to stand up but Ezekiel grabbed his arm.

“No, don't leave,” Ezekiel said as he pulled him back down. He didn't have to pull much, Stone seemed eager to stay. “Can I take you up on that offer?”

“You really want me to?” Stone asked, watching him.

“Well you're still here, aren't you?” Ezekiel answered. That earned a smile from Stone.

“So, um, how do you want to do this?” Stone questioned.

“Head first, no belly rubs or anything, it's too soon for that,” Ezekiel chuckled nervously. Stone laughed under his breath and nodded.

After a few seconds of silence, Stone hesitantly reached up to Ezekiel's head, watching him intently. Ezekiel tried his best not to seem so eager, but quickly found himself leaning into Stone’s hand as it ran through his hair. “Is that good?” Stone asked him.

“Mhmmm,” Ezekiel breathed, eyes fluttering closed. Stone failed at biting back a laugh. “Hey, don’t mock me, or you don’t get to do this again.”

“I’m not,” Stone paused, sighing before continuing, “it’s...you’re really cute right now.”

Ezekiel opened his eyes, mouth slightly open. “I...didn’t know you felt that way,” he muttered, suddenly looking away.

“You didn’t? Really?” Stone said in disbelief. “Didn’t notice I basically went out of my way to touch you?” He nodded to his hand still in Ezekiel's hair to emphasize his point.

“I thought that was just you,” Ezekiel countered. “And the whole teasing for months, that really threw me off.” Stone was about to say something, but Ezekiel continued. “I guess you were the first to take care of me after I got bit.”

Stone chuckled. “It's been longer than months.” He moved his hand from the back of Ezekiel's head to behind his ear.

“Oh,” was all Ezekiel could manage before a smile appeared on his face, eyes half closed.

“If I'd known earlier, I would've jumped at the chance to do this,” Stone hummed, clearly enjoying himself just as much as Ezekiel was.

“Should've asked instead of teasing me then, hm?” Ezekiel quipped, a smug look on his face.

“I'm sorry, alright?” Stone spread his hand out so he could get both behind Ezekiel’s ear and the back of his neck. “Does this make up for it?”

“Ah, yeah, mostly,” he stuttered, melting under Stone's hand, eyes closing again.

“Mostly?” Stone questioned, eyebrow arched.

“One time isn't gonna cut it,” Ezekiel responded, opening one eye to look at Stone. “Not after months of torture.”

“Fair enough,” Stone said.

“Stone?! Jones?!” a voice called from the entrance to the Annex, Flynn. “I heard footsteps leaving a bit ago. The girls are back, time to go over things.”

Ezekiel’s eyes shot open, panic on his face. “Hey, it’s fine,” Stone soothed, giving him one last scratch behind the ear. “It’s not like he knows why we left.” With a smile he stood up, offering a hand to Ezekiel.

“Don’t tell anyone, ok?” Ezekiel said, trying his best to compose himself once he was on his feet. He didn’t let go of Stone’s hand, though, and Stone didn’t drop his either.

Stone smiled, shaking his head. “I would never.” Turning around partially so his voice would carry back to Flynn, Stone responded, “We’re coming!” He then turned back to Ezekiel, biting his lip like he was thinking about something.

“We should head back,” Ezekiel said, trying to get Stone to move. Not that he didn’t want to spend the rest of the day out here with him, but Stone’s look dripped affection, and he didn’t think he could last long under it.

“Yeah, but before we go,” Stone started, a corner of his mouth curling up like he had a surprise. He looked around before locking eyes with Ezekiel again, closing the already small space between them. Ezekiel watched him with almost nervous anticipation, watching Stone’s eyes dip to his lips then back up to make eye contact, asking a silent question.

Ezekiel had already been way more vulnerable today than he preferred, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t wanted to kiss the cowboy ever since he met him, so Ezekiel answered Stone with his own lips. Sadly they didn’t get long as Flynn called for them again. “Guys?!?”

Stone pulled away, albeit reluctantly. “Probably should go now,” he said, voice lower than it had been before. He chuckled at the slightly dazed look on Ezekiel’s face. Ezekiel nodded, still not letting go of his hand, so Stone turned, pulling Ezekiel with him. When Flynn was in view, marching up the slight hill to find them, Ezekiel dropped their hands. Stone glanced at him, giving a sympathetic look, before replying to Flynn. “We were coming, alright? No need to hunt us down.”

“You were sure taking your time about it,” Flynn quipped, looking at both of them. Ezekiel tensed, thinking Flynn was going to say something, but thankfully Flynn added, “Cassandra found some runes running all throughout the town, over doors and on foundations.” He was already turned back around, walking down the hill to the Annex. “As you know, the town existed centuries before the university did, and didn’t incorporate the protection runes, leaving the campus open to the fey.”

“So we have a reverse Wexler situation?” Ezekiel asked, trying to sound casual.

Flynn turned looked behind himself at Ezekiel, brain processing the analogy. “Um, yeah, in a way,” Flynn responded, looking forward again as they crossed the empty street. “A little more complicated though, and not Lovecraftian.”

Once inside, the team devised a plan, gathered supplies, and used the backdoor early the next day. Ezekiel acted like nothing happened the day before, but he noticed Stone watched him more than usual. Thankfully the plan went relatively well, safety runes in place around the campus, and some bargains were made for people who got stuck in the fey.

When they got back to the Annex, it was only two in the afternoon. Ezekiel was tempted to call it a day and go home, but Stone’s persistent eye had made his urges even harder to control it seemed. As everyone started going their separate ways to relax, he pulled Stone to the side. “Hey, you said the Library had a room we could use,” he whispered, trying to act casual, and failing miserably.

“I said ‘probably,’ but we could go hunting for one, if ya want,” Stone responded, voice low, but not a whisper.

“Hey, Stone, Jones, wanna go get a drink?” Flynn asked. The boys look up, startled, thinking everyone had left.

“Uh,” Stone started, glancing at Ezekiel who literally gave him puppy dog eyes. Eve, however, had a much more annoyed look aimed at Flynn. “I think I’m gonna turn in early, ya know. Busy day and all.”

“Oh,” Flynn said, pausing when Eve tapped his elbow, “yeah, on second thought that’s probably a good idea. See you two tomorrow!” He then offered his arm to Eve, and the two walked out the double doors.

“Alright, let’s go hunting,” Stone smirked to Ezekiel, offering his arm to him to mimic Flynn. Ezekiel gives him a slightly confused look, but takes it anyway.

They made their way to the wall of doors, unsure of which to open. “Why don't we label these?” Ezekiel said, hand hovering over a metallic door.

“No! Don't open that one!” Stone shouted, pulling Ezekiel away by the shoulders. “That's the sunroom...the literal sunroom.”

“See?” Ezekiel commented.

Stone just smiled at him. “I'll be sure to pass it on to Jenkins.” Determined to find something useful, Stone turned right, opening a door every so often. After several minutes and not really useful rooms like “rock room” (a load of rocks on displays), “cave room” (possibly a backdoor to a cavern, but it was dark and there was squeaking so they promptly shut that door), and what looked to be a long abandoned “insect room” (based on dust and empty spots for displays, and the ominously empty habitat tanks), they came to a simple oak door with words inscribed on it.

“What one requires, I shall provide. What does that mean?” Ezekiel said.

Stone stared at the door, thinking hard, before he laughed. The laugh confused Ezekiel even more. “Of course the Library has it's own room of requirement,” Stone clarified, still chuckling to himself.

“What, like from Harry Potter?” Ezekiel asked. He wasn’t gonna get an answer out of Stone though; the cowboy was suddenly really giddy.

“Ok so what type of room do you want? Think about it, then open the door,” Stone instructed, grin on his face.

Ezekiel concentrated for a moment, looking at the door, then reached for the metal door handle. Before he touched it, he looked back to Stone. “Don’t joke, ok?”

“This was my idea...I’m not here to make you a laughing stock,” Stone replied, mildly exasperated. Ezekiel opened his mouth, but instead shook his head and grabbed the handle.

The door swung towards them with unnecessary creeking, revealing a long room with indoor running track material on the floor, walls of simple cinderblock, and lights set inside the ceiling. Against the right wall near the door was a rack with various types of balls, along with some rope and rubber toys.

Ezekiel stepped in first, with Stone close behind. “Woah.”

“So I guess you wanna play fetch?” Stone said as he looked at the rack.

“Uh, yeah,” Ezekiel responded, distracted. If he had a tail, he would’ve been wagging it so hard.

“Which one would ya like first?” Stone asked, watching Ezekiel with amusement.

Ezekiel’s eyes flicked over the whole rack several times. “I can’t pick, I dunno, you pick one.”

“Well,” Stone started, pulling out the rubber ball from his pocket, “I still got this.” Ezekiel’s eyes zeroed in on the ball, mouth slightly open again. Stone smiled, pulling his arm back, ready to throw, pausing to toy with Ezekiel.

“Oh come on, just throw it already,” Ezekiel complained, not quite a whine.

With a snort, Stone threw the ball as hard as he could, and Ezekiel went flying after it. The room actually expanded as his throw reached the far wall, tripping up Ezekiel for a moment before he continued his chase. To Stone’s amusement and mild disgust, he slid down on his knees, grabbing the ball with his teeth before sprinting back to Stone.

“Um, do you have to use your mouth?” Stone asked when he returned. He stuck his hand out anyway for Ezekiel to drop it. He barely had the ball in his teeth, jaw open as wide as he could.

Once he dropped the ball, Ezekiel stretched his jaw, massaging one side. “I couldn't help it, but I’m not gonna do that again.”

“You wanna switch to something else, or keep the ball?” Stone asked as he wiped the ball off on his jeans.

“One more with this, then I wanna try out the tennis ball,” Ezekiel answered, knees bent and ready to run. Stone obliged, throwing just as hard as last time. Ezekiel returned with the ball in hand this time, breathing quicker than before.

After going through a few of the different balls, Ezekiel jogged over to the rack, sweat dripping off his face. “I wanna do one of these rope ones,” he said, picking up a two-foot white rope with knots at either end.

“So like tug-o-war or throwing?” Stone asked, eyeing up the rope.

“Tug-o-war, but like don’t rip out my teeth please,” Ezekiel responded, biting down on one end of the rope.

“Uh, alright.” Stone hesitantly reached out, taking his end of the rope in one hand. “Don’t go at it too hard from your end either.” Ezekiel nodded, rope still in his mouth, then braced himself, pulling slightly at the rope. Stone tensed as well, giving a bit more resistance. After a few moments Ezekiel pulled harder from his end, growling slightly. “Oh, there’s more in ya,” Stone teased, pulling a bit harder. The corners of Ezekiel’s mouth curled up as he growled again and pulled harder. Stone didn’t increase his pull, but he wiggled the rope, giving in to Ezekiel’s pull a bit.

After a few rounds of tug-o-war, switching ropes each time, Ezekiel was dripping sweat. Stone was a bit sweaty as well, but nowhere near as much as Ezekiel. As Ezekiel wiped sweat off his forehead, a small table with two glasses of water appeared next to them. “I can’t believe we haven’t found this room before,” Ezekiel said as he downed the water.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t found this,” Stone replied, drinking water as well.

“I...actually never went this far, at least not after I found my side entrance,” Ezekiel answered. “And when the Library was mixing everything up, kind of halted explorations.”

Stone nodded in understanding. “So what do you want to do now?”

“Um, a shower would be nice,” Ezekiel started. The room shifted; the far wall suddenly much nearer, with two doors in it.

“Well I don’t think you need me to do that...I’m not scrubbing you with flea shampoo,” Stone snickered.

Ezekiel rolled his eyes, but his ears went redder than they were from exertion. “No, but, if you still want to-” Stone’s eyes went wide, but Ezekiel continued, “After I shower, I wouldn’t mind a...pet sesh.”

Stone relaxed a bit, but still chuckled. “Is that what we’re calling it now? ‘Pet sesh’?”

“What else would you call it?” Ezekiel retorted.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe just cuddling? I mean that’s how I’d describe having the family dog next to me or on my lap while I pet ‘em,” Stone answered.

“I’m not getting on your lap,” Ezekiel scoffed, mildly joking.

“That’s entirely up to you to choose,” Stone added, completely serious.

“I’m, uh, gonna get in the shower then,” Ezekiel stammered, backing towards the doors.

“You do that, I’ll just wait here,” Stone replied, giving him a smile. “Take your time, darlin’.”

Ezekiel’s eyes went wide at the pet name; he gave Stone a weak smile before disappearing behind the door. He didn’t have a hard time relaxing in the shower. The Library was apparently really good at doing exactly what Ezekiel imagined, which was one of those super fancy showers with six body jets, rainfall shower head, stone tiles, and even a loofa.

While Ezekiel showered, Stone sneaked out of the room, making his way to the locker room next to the combat training room. He wasn’t sure about the room of requirement, but the locker room did have magic to keep it and its contents clean. Lucky for Ezekiel, he had his sweats in there. By the time he returned to the room of requirement, Ezekiel hadn’t gotten out yet.

“You havin’ a good time in there?” he asked to the pleasant sounding water.

“I know you left,” is all Ezekiel said.

“I wasn’t tryin’ very hard,” Stone countered.

“Sure you weren’t,” Ezekiel laughed from the shower.

“Anyway, I got a change of clothes for you, so you don’t have to wear your sweaty clothes. They’re my workout sweats, clean of course,” Stone said.

The water shut off as the bottom foot foot or so of the door disappeared, revealing Ezekiel’s feet. “You can hand them under.” Once the clothes were transferred, he added a meek thanks.

A few minutes later, Ezekiel stepped out. The sweats were quite big on him, but he looked comfy. The wall behind him shifted, removing the doors and leaving Ezekiel's pile of clothes on the floor. “This room is amazing,” Ezekiel said as he stepped, barefoot, toward the center. He concentrated for a few moments, making the room shift again.

The room became much darker, lit only by a flickering fire in a stone fireplace in the left wall. A plush-looking couch materialized in front of the fireplace as the walls shifted to dark wood paneling, and the floor changed from running track material into soft, light beige carpet.

“Ok this is amazing,” Ezekiel said as he surveyed his mind's creation.

“Um, where'd you come up with this?” Stone asked looking around the room as well.

“A house I broke into a long time ago had a den like this,” Ezekiel replied as he walked over to the couch and plopped down.

“It is cozy,” Stone added, sitting down next to Ezekiel, leaving a good half of a foot in between them. “So, uh, same as last time?”

Ezekiel shifted in his seat, sitting sideways so he could face Stone. “Yeah.”

Suddenly hesitant like the day before, Stone reached out, weaving his fingers through Ezekiel’s somewhat damp hair. Ezekiel’s eyes fluttered closed, content smile appearing on his face. He looked so relaxed, content, happy, that after a few minutes Stone quit petting, leaving his hand around the side and back of Ezekiel’s neck. Ezekiel’s eyes opened at his stop, a concerned look appearing on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Stone stared at him for a moment before realizing he needed to respond. “No, nothin’,” Stone stammers, flashing a smile at Ezekiel, before leaning towards him. He paused several inches from Ezekiel’s face, expression suddenly serious. “Is this ok?”

Ezekiel furrowed his brows at him. “Why would it not be ok? I haven’t told you to stop.”

“I’d rather have an explicit ‘yes’ than just go off you not stopping me,” Stone sighed.

Ezekiel was truly touched by Stone’s care. “I’ve not had that before,” he mumbled.

Now it was Stone’s turn give a look of almost pity. “Well I’m not gonna do anythin’ without your ok, ok?” He lowered his head slightly, waiting for Ezekiel to respond.

“Ok,” Ezekiel answered, mock exasperation in his voice. “You’re more than allowed to kiss me.”

“Heh, that’s more like it,” Stone replied, closing the distance between them. Ezekiel was shocked about how caring, how gentle Stone suddenly was. It’s not that he didn’t think Stone capable of it, but Ezekiel didn’t usually have it “gentle” like this; it was a whole new thing for him.

The exhaustion of the day finally hit Ezekiel after a few minutes. He pulled away, but not far, smiling at Stone. “I’d like some more petting,” he stated as he laid out on the couch, head on Stone’s lap, watching the fire.

“Alright,” Stone chuckled, letting him get settled before resuming the petting. Ezekiel hummed, content. “Can I go past shoulders?” Stone checked in with him.

“Yeah,” Ezekiel sighed, breathing growing quite regular.

Stone let one of his hands run up and down Ezekiel’s arm slowly, massaging a little bit, knowing full well he was putting Ezekiel to sleep. He silently thanked Ezekiel’s imagination for conjuring up the comfiest couch he’d ever sat on as he felt himself being lulled by the crackling fire.

They probably would've slept the whole night if Jenkins hadn't opened the door. “What the-” the immortal said as he stepped inside. “So this is where you two went.”

Stone jumped, shaking Ezekiel awake and pushing him off his lap. “What are you doing here?” Stone demanded as he stood, trying but failing at being nonchalant.

“I happen to live here…” Jenkins deadpanned. He was wearing a plush looking robe over some pajama bottoms, and slippers.

Ezekiel became aware of the new situation as he sat up. “How come you never told us about this?” he asked, not even bothering to look embarrassed like Stone was.

“Well, this is a big reason,” Jenkins answered. “I would like to go to sleep myself, without roommates preferably.”

“There's no bedrooms in the Annex?” Stone asked, curious.

“The Library was not intended to be lived in. It's a workplace first. I just happened to adapt it to my needs,” Jenkins replied. Ezekiel didn't seem like he was going to move on his own, so Stone grabbed him by the upper arm, pushing him towards the door. “At least get his shoes,” Jenkins sighed, looking at Ezekiel's clothes still sitting in a pile on the floor.

“I would like those,” Ezekiel yawned, walking on his own to his things. He slipped the shoes on, not bothering with socks, and scooped up the rest. He then walked towards the door, Stone following behind him.

“Goodnight, boys,” Jenkins nodded, ushering them out of the room. “Don't forget to lock up behind yourselves.” As soon as they stepped back into the Library, the door creaky swung shut on its own.

“Well that was weird,” Ezekiel said as they started walking back to the Annex.

“That was the only weird thing?” Stone teased, still a little tense from Jenkins’ sudden appearance. Ezekiel only glanced at him from the corner of his eye in response.

They stayed silent the rest of the way until they were standing outside the entrance. It was night now; Ezekiel's phone said it was almost 1 am. “I can give ya a ride home, if ya want,” Stone offered as they walked to his pickup truck parked on the side of the road.

“Can I come home with you?” Ezekiel blurted, streetlights thankfully not bright enough to show his sudden blush.

“Don't ya think it's a little early for that?” Stone asked.

“Well I never thought whatever...this..is, was normal,” Ezekiel retorted, using his head to motion in between them since his arms were occupied. “And that doesn't mean we do anything, either. I just,” he paused, looking down at his clothes, “sleeping alone doesn't seem as great of an option after that.”

Stone stared at him for a moment, studying him carefully, before shrugging. “If that's what you want, then I'm more than happy to oblige,” Stone answered. “I just want to make sure you're fully on board with whatever we do.” For a split second Stone thought Ezekiel was tearing up, but he quickly forgot as Ezekiel kissed him, short but meaningful. “Alrighty then,” Stone started when Ezekiel pulled away. He smiled at him before turning around to unlock his truck door. Ezekiel stood there, unmoving. “Well, come on then, I'm more than ready to go back to sleep.”

“Sleep sounds amazing,” Ezekiel replied as he walked around to the passenger door, opening it and tossing his clothes in the middle before sliding in himself. Stone had already gotten in on the driver's side and was fiddling with the seatbelt. “You're a really good petter,” Ezekiel said as he put his own seatbelt on.

“Uh, thanks?” Stone said, a little thrown by the compliment as he started his truck. Before he shifted into drive, he looked over at Ezekiel, almost seductive but not quite. “Maybe when we get home you can have some more.”

“I hope that's a promise,” Ezekiel snorted, amused at Stone's expression.

“It can be if you want it to,” Stone returned, lowering his voice.

“Then hurry up and carry me off to bed, cowboy,” Ezekiel practically purred. Ezekiel's sudden shift in intensity made Stone flustered.

“As you wish,” Stone replied with a bow of his head, punctuated by a wink. He then shifted into drive, more than ready to get home.

#EJAW 2017 #ezekiel jones #jacob stone #jazekiel #post were!Ezekiel #Dooooggg Boooiii #jenkins #And the Fangs of death #3x02 #the librarians fic #the librarians #flynn writes

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audreycritter · 8 years ago

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overshadowed

Hullo! This is a fic exchange with @fuyunoakegata . It’s rated T for language. It’s Gen in content. overshadowed (AO3 Link) The apartment was full of blasting 1990s pop music and five minutes before, Dick Grayson had been cheerfully singing along. Or, he had been trying to with an intentionally forced cheerfulness. But now he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror just staring at himself.

For a moment, it felt like he was making sure he was still there, but that was a little ridiculous. Of course he was there. No, he was making sure he was still...himself.

It should have been an easy thing to answer.

It wasn't.

He shook it off and left the bathroom, his toothbrush still unused on the vanity counter with a glob of toothpaste that would dry and turn gummy as the day wore on. He turned off the music and left the apartment.

Hour after hour seeped by and he ran through errands on autopilot, always half distracted with the mess inside his own head. He was running on three hours of sleep but that didn't really explain why he flinched at the bang of a cash register or why the crackle of electrical work on a street corner made him break out in a cold sweat.

By afternoon, he was exhausted in a way sleep wouldn't fix. He turned the corner from numbing fear to anger around dinner at the Manor, right before encoded strategy messages started filling the secure group channel.

He edged out of conversations, made flimsy excuses, left half a plate of food unfinished when he left for his apartment. He claimed he would catch up on sleep.

He did not sleep.

When night fell and he shuttered the windows and pulled black and blue over his chest, onto his arms, flexed his fingers in the gloves and pressed the mask into place, Dick Grayson was furious and absent.

His mind was years and miles away, strapped down and full of the tang of incense and blood, while his body leaned over the edge of a roof and he tapped his comm only to say,

“The cult guys are mine. I won't need backup.”

“O on monitor. Red on standby if you change your mind.”

“I won't change my mind,” Nightwing said firmly.

“If you need backup,” Batman amended Oracle’s statement. “Robin and I are also available after Tennyson Street bust.”

“I won't need backup,” Nightwing repeated, a little irritably. He tried to lighten his voice, to not sound so much like how he felt. “It’s not that complicated. What am I, a rookie?”

He muted his comm.

He didn't need the distraction.

He was already too far away. ***

The stupid thing about city cults, from a vigilantism standpoint, was that they were full of desperate and weirdly skilled people. People with a lot of nothing to lose and fractured lifetimes behind them. Men like ex-cons and trigger-happy soldiers with PTSD, looking for a shot at redemption or silence in their battered souls.

Nightwing knew what it was like to want something like that.

Their ranks, even small, were usually full of women both timid and fierce, made hesitant by trauma or loneliness and made forceful by the instinct to protect the one thing they believed in: their leader.

Not every cult was worth systematically taking down. But other cults, even the ones not set on world domination, sometimes ended up involved in dangerous and shady stuff-- experimental drugs, suicide pacts, ritual sacrifice. And Gotham was a breeding ground for the weird.

Illegal activities mixed with fervent acolytes made for a deadly cocktail. The most recent manifestation was a congregation of forty or so people, an adherence to five hundred year old missiles of an excommunicated Irish monk that might have been forgeries, and a manic depressed fourteen year old girl offering herself for spirit-summoning bloodletting that would probably kill her.

Nightwing had been tracking their activities, including the hallucinogenic drugs they were smuggling, for a few days and tonight was his last chance to act.

The Gaelic was unfamiliar but the robes they wore heightened his sense of unease, disrupting what focus he had. And when he leapt, the monotone chanting swelled in volume and the involuntary shudder that wracked him threw off his balance midflip and he staggered through his landing, skidding onto his knees.

He heard the shots before he saw the guns and it just figured that it would be the sort of cult to have semiautomatics. It was such a Gotham thing to have.

Nightwing was already on his feet again and he disarmed three of them, fighting toward the leader who was rushing his lines and standing near the teenager with a ceremonial dagger that looked so gaudy Nightwing was pretty certain it had been picked up from a Chinese bulk manufacturer.

The next man fell under his sidekick and then Red Robin was right next to him, scowling as he relieved two more congregants of their weapons.

“Turn. On. Your. Comm,” Red hissed while spinning to take someone down with his staff.

“I’ve got this,” Nightwing answered sharply, as a woman with a heavy candlestick managed to land a blow across his back.

“The gunshots were called into GCPD,” Red shouted back, while using a shoulder of a falling man as leverage for leaping into a double kick. “We had no idea if you were okay.”

“I'm good!” Nightwing yelled over the frenzied Gaelic chanting of the leader and one disciple who held the girl’s wrists down while she was clearly having second thoughts. Nightwing saw her face, that moment where she shifted from aligned to fractured in intention and understanding.

“Nightwing!” Red yelled and the man slipped right by Nightwing’s punch and lunged forward. All Nightwing was aware of was that the man missed him, he had moved quickly enough and he could get to the girl in time.

The disciple went down hard and the girl was already scrambling away from the crude altar. The dagger sliced through the sleeve of his suit and the leader’s face took a blow and another and another and--

It might have been more, it might have been too much, but in the mere seconds it had all taken, the man Nightwing thought he had evaded made it to Red Robin instead.

Red shrieked and Nightwing threw the leader behind the altar, where he lay writhing and moaning.

He took the last guy out from behind, a stunning blow that wouldn't leave him unconscious but dazed and immobile for at least a few minutes.

“I thought you had him,” Red gasped at him, a hand to his side. He was standing, leaning on his bostaff. “Sorry. I'm good. I just thought…”

He swayed and Nightwing reached out, put a hand on his shoulder.

He turned his comm back on and swallowed hard.

“We need GCPD and some Bat clean-up here,” Nightwing said. “I'm taking Red to the Cave.”

“What happened?” Batman demanded.

“They fought back,” Nightwing said sourly, torn between defensiveness and guilt. He could have asked for help, he could have gone in prepared, he could have been better.

“It's not that bad,” Red said when Nightwing didn't clarify. “Just give the Doctor a heads up.”

“Done,” Oracle said. “He’ll be down there by the time you guys arrive. Now’s the time to be honest, boys.”

“Just a level two,” Red said. “Really.”

“Robin and I will handle cleanup,” Batman added.

Nightwing reached out once more to steady Red, but the younger man jerked away from him and began picking his way through the groaning bodies.

This was his fault. He could have prevented this: Red getting hurt, his own cut on the arm, the girl fleeing to the streets and not getting help, breaking the leader’s jaw. He was so weary, so shaken, so bitter, so lost, all at once. All things Nightwing-- Dick Grayson-- was not supposed to be.

He didn't feel like himself.

And he hated that feeling.

***

Kiran Devabhaktuni was sipping a morning cuppa that felt a rather lot like an afternoon cup of tea after an overnight shift at the hospital. Alfie was reading a newspaper and Damian Wayne was sitting between them at the small, round table.

Dev had taken advantage of both Damian’s proximity to Alfie and his own penchant for stealing and munching on straight brown sugar cubes. A simple nod while Alfie was buried in the paper had bought Damian’s complicity and lured the boy out of a sulk.

With a casual motion, Dev would snatch a sugar cube and then slip it under the table to Damian’s waiting hand. The boy was silent and had perfected sneaking as an art form and he was quietly adding each cube to Alfie’s untouched tea.

Damian sipped his own tea while this was going on and shoved back his bed-mussed hair more than once when Alfie glanced over the paper at them. Dev neglected his tea through most of this.

Finally, Alfie set the paper down, folded neatly.

They were up to fourteen cubes.

“How long did you sleep?” Alfie asked Damian, squeezing lemon into his teacup.

“Long enough,” Damian said sourly, his bitter mood returning a bit.

“I'll talk to Dick,” Dev said, guessing at the mood. Damian met his gaze with a startled lift of his brow and then nodded and looked down at the table.

“You were out much later than usual,” Alfie said calmly. “Shall I keep you home from school to sleep?”

At that offer, Damian yawned and stretched.

“I ought to go,” he said, “but if you insist on my truancy…”

“Stay home,” Alfie said with a fond smile. “The year’s almost out and I think you deserve a day off.”

Damian picked up a spoon and fumbled it out of his fingers; it fell beside Dev’s chair and Dev bent over to snatch it up.

“I'll use another,” Damian said, his hand already over another spoon when Dev sat up with the utensil. Dev shrugged and set it aside. He'd thought Alfie was just being kind but perhaps, if the boy was randomly dropping things, it was an attempt to get him to actually sleep.

With role models like Bruce and the other Waynes, it wasn't surprising he had a hard time setting aside appropriate time for rest during busy weeks. As the weather picked up, so did the criminal underbelly of Gotham.

Dev lifted his tea and sipped it and immediately recoiled. The brew was so sweet his teeth stung and he winced in reaction.

“Everything alright, Kiran?” Alfie asked in a mild tone.

Dev set the teacup down and nodded, but gave Damian an affronted look. The boy gave him a crooked grin in response. Alfie sipped his own tea, finally, and then sipped again as if nothing was the matter with it.

“I put too much sugar in this,” Dev said, standing with the tea cup.

Alfie looked up at that.

“I didn’t think you took sugar in your tea,” he said.

“I thought I’d give it a--” Dev stopped mid-excuse because Alfie was none-too-subtly exchanging an amused smirk with Damian. “Bloody hell,” Dev muttered as he took the tea to the kitchen. He dumped it out in the sink and wondered about the problem of how precisely to talk to Dick Grayson.

Ever since he’d come to the Cave with a wounded Timothy two nights before, and frankly even before that, he’d been acting oddly. Dev hadn’t seen much of him, exactly, but what little he had seen, the younger man had been brooding and reclusive in conversation and quick-tempered. It had worsened since Dev had sutured Timothy’s side and Dick’s arm in the Cave that night.

Dev knew from both Timothy and snippets of overheard conversations in the Cave that Dick had been dealing with a violent cult. When it became clear that breaking up their gathering and imprisoning some of the key members had not solved the problem but rather exacerbated Dick’s foul mood, and that it was radiating outward through Tim and Damian now, Dev spent the night before his shift at the hospital sorting through older case and medical files.

He’d found...not much. Plenty of information, to be certain, but very little about cults and several concerning gaps of long stretches of time-- most of them right before and after the date Jason Wayne’s own files had details redacted in thick, black markings that Dev now knew were about his first death.

For all his frequent failings contradicting this, Dev wasn’t exactly a stupid man.

The Waynes were not precisely the sort of family where one could wander around demanding explanations from just anyone-- after months of feeling out of the loop, he’d realized they kept their secrets from each other just as much as from him. Some of those things were none of his business and others sometimes fell in that hazy approximation of doctor-patient confidentiality they maintained. Going to the wrong person and asking for information might result in answers and might just as likely result in, “He did what?” and hours or days of upheaval.

And Alfred, who seemed to know everything and maintain a constant calm, actually hid his own sour reactions and grieving aches behind that demeanor and Dev knew after fumbling through that a few times that even if the older man had information, it wasn’t always worth the emotional cost just to avoid asking someone more directly involved.

So, if there were gaps relevant to his current state, Dick Grayson would need to answer for them himself. Dev ran the risk of Dick refusing and shutting him out for weeks or months, but at least it minimized the damage and isolated it a bit.

“We’re having a family lunch,” Alfie announced, coming into the kitchen with a tray of tea things. “Would you care for another cup of tea before I clean up?”

And Dev knew, as he accepted the offer and poured another cup of tea and drank it standing at the counter, that Alfie was arranging things on purpose. The older man had a way of putting people in the right places that sometimes made Dev feel a bit like a piece on a chessboard, but with gratitude instead of a lingering sense of manipulation.

“I’m going to go sleep,” he said, yawning and setting the cup down. “The hospital was busy last night. If there’s lunch, I’m not going to bother going to my flat and coming back.”

“Cassandra is using the ballroom,” Alfie said as he left the room. “I’ll leave you to decide on earplugs or interrupting dance.”

Dev opted for earplugs.

And seven hours later, after lunch where everyone who happened to be in town was present, Dick Grayson had been pressured by Damian and Cass into staying to swim in the just-reopened pool. And Dev, still trying to decide exactly when and how to approach him, went to at least sit outside (he didn’t care much for freezing his bollocks off in the still-frigid water) and found Dick by chance, standing in the hallway to the back door.

Dev stopped and took a step back. Dick Grayson in best form would have noticed him immediately, but Dick right now was distracted and self-absorbed in some inner turmoil. He left the hall, but once outside, took a sharp right away from the pool. Dev followed, quietly, as Dick loped around the house and then from the patio off the ballroom doors, swung himself up the face of the house and onto the flat section of roof.

“Mate,” Dev called after him, and Dick’s face reappeared at the edge, stony and dark. “I’m not nearly as skilled. I’ll be up when I find a ladder.”

He expected Dick to protest this or swing down and storm off, but Dick leaned out of view and then a moment later called, “There’s one behind the hedge in the landscaping.”

Dev found it and clambered up without looking down, glad that the flat roof was walled in by steeper sections and more like a deck without railing than a proper roof. If Dick had gone any further up, he wasn’t sure how useful he’d be in conversation.

“You’ve been out of sorts,” Dev said bluntly, sitting down next to the younger man.

Dick shrugged.

“I’m sorry about Tim,” Dick said after a moment.

Dev blinked and leaned forward to look at Dick’s face.

“What?”

“Tim,” Dick said again. He swallowed. “I know...I mean, I know you guys are close. And I sort of figured you’d come chew me out if I stuck around long enough.”

“Mate, Timothy’s plenty good at getting himself injured without help,” Dev said. “It’s not your bloody fault just because you happened to be in the same building. Nah, I’m not miffed about that. He’ll be fine. I’m worried about you.”

Dick glanced up at that and frowned.

“And Dames rather is, too, if you hadn’t noticed.”

At that, Dick sighed and put his head in his hands.

“It’s been a bad week,” he admitted. “Just...a lot of stuff I’d rather not think about.”

“But you’re thinking about it anyway,” Dev said, leaning back and resting his palms on the gritty roof. In answer, Dick just nodded, his head still in his hands. “Flashbacks are bloody awful,” Dev said gently. “I’m not going to force you to talk about it. It doesn’t always help. But the option’s there.”

“Thanks,” Dick said, lifting his head and wrapping his arms around his knees.

“There are some...gaps,” Dev said slowly. “In your medical files.”

Dick looked at him sharply.

“Research,” Dev said, not feeling guilty in the least. “The files that are there are there for a reason.”

Dick sprang to his feet and flipped up into a handstand. He stayed upside down for a bit and then bent backward and came up on his feet. He brushed his hands off and sat back down heavily.

“There was a cult, a while ago. A guy named Brother Blood. It got some media attention.”

“I very vaguely remember that,” Dev acknowledged.

“Bruce knows that we, I mean, that the Titans and I were involved. But we weren't exactly on the best of terms, Bruce and I, I mean. He didn't ask for updates and I didn't offer them.”

“I can't imagine how you ever got to that point,” Dev said, prodding at Dick with his shoe.

Dick chuckled, a little low, and then sighed again.

“Yeah,” he said. “Me either.”

“So, massive dangerous cult and smaller dangerous cult,” Dev said. Dick shuddered in response and Dev’s brow creased in concern.

“I was captured and tortured-- you probably know the usual story by now,” Dick said with a wry frown. “It was awful, but honestly that wasn't the worst part.”

Dev is quiet, waiting him out, and cursing inwardly at the fact that capture and torture are in fact too common elements of stories that get brushed under the rug.

“The worst part was the mind control,” Dick said quietly. “And it went on for months without me knowing. I…” he paused and put a hand to his forehead. “I almost, no, I sold out everyone I cared about. I mean, obviously things didn't stay that way, but I didn't know about the mind control until after.”

“Well, bloody fuck,” Dev exhaled. “Months, you said?”

Dick nodded again.

“And the horrible thing is that I remember what it felt like, to want to trust people and defend them and being completely convinced they were awful at the same time. Just how divided I felt at the end, knowing and believing two totally different things at once and not being sure which was right.”

They’re quiet in the afternoon sun, the irritated shouts of Damian and high, pealing laughter of Cass drifting across the rooftops. Dev thought of his own internal dichotomy, that he fought against even now, of you’ll never be good enough and you’re probably fine.

“That's sodding terrible,” he said. “That's a lot of time to lose.”

“It ruined a lot for me,” Dick said in a small voice. “I recovered but it didn't fix everything, you know? Some stuff was just too far gone. And chasing this cult the past week, it wasn't like I really thought I was vulnerable, but it just dragged up a lot of stuff I hadn't let myself think about for a while.” Dick rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Thanks for talking. It does help.”

Dev shrugged and didn't mention how little talking he'd actually done.

“Anytime,” he said.

Dick stood and stretched. “You're swimming, right?”

“Are you out of your bloody mind?” Dev exclaimed, standing.

“It's not that bad,” Dick argued. “Al turned the heater on last night. Anyway, I'll meet you down there.”

Without another word, Dick sprinted across the roof and sprang up to the overhang of the sloped section.

“Those bloody slates are loose!” Dev yelled after him.

“Ain't nobody got time for that!” Dick yelled back without slowing down.

Dev took a deep breath and exhaled slowly and went down the ladder and replaced it behind the hedges. He strode over to the pool just in time to see Dick take a running leap off the roof and curl into a flip on his descent toward the deep end of the pool.

His heart skipped about five beats and he swore, but the water’s surface burst into a high splash and when Dick resurfaced, laughing, Damian raised an eyebrow and said, “Six out of ten.”

“Six!” Dick exclaimed in mock outrage, tugging the younger boy into the pool with him. He shoved Damian’s head under. When the younger boy came up sputtering, he shoved himself away and treaded water.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, while Dick floated on his back.

Dev sat in one of the lounge chairs and reclined until he was almost horizontal.

“Getting better,” Dick answered. “Wanna race?”

“Slowpokes,” Cass muttered from her perch on the diving board.

“You get down here and race with us,” Dick ordered. “C’mon. Dev! Sit up! We need you as a judge.”

Dev hauled himself off the chair and went to one end of the pool and put his feet in. It wasn't as cold as he was expecting but it was still pretty icy.

“Alright, then,” he said. “Best out of three. If any of you try to drag me in, I reserve the right to exclusively use Hello Kitty plasters for a month.”

“I fail to see how that is a suitable deterrent for either of them,” Damian called from the other side of the pool.

Dev studied the matching grins on Cass and Dick’s faces and he reconsidered. There was still a faintly haunted look in Dick’s eyes but it was faded far from what it had been earlier.

“All medicines will be dispensed in liquid form with strawberry flavoring,” he amended.

“Gross,” Cass said, wrinkling her nose. “Changed my mind, Dickface.”

“You've been spending too much time with Jason,” Dick told her seriously while Damian snorted into the water. “But yeah, that's pretty convincing leverage.”

“Are we racing or are we not?” Damian demanded impatiently.

“We’re racing!” Dick said, “Places!”

Dev ended up in the water anyway.

Dick took two separate medicines that month, both with artificial strawberry flavoring.

And Dev was relieved to see that while it took a few weeks and a few long nights just hanging out at the manor, the man’s mood improved and evened out and things went back to as normal as the Wayne household usually managed.

#dick grayson #kiran devabhaktuni #ficblogging #exchange #cor et cerebrum series #batman #batfam #nightwing #red robin #the doctor #no profreading we die like mne

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ruby--wednesday · 8 years ago

Text

summer palace feelings

I've been unpacking my thoughts about The Summer Palace, and ok yeah fandom reaction, this last while and the easiest way for me to figure things out is to write it down. I'm gonna preface this by stressing that I'm not claiming any other reaction or perspective is wrong, or I am some kinda fandom expert. It's just my feelings and they're a jumbled mess a lot of the time. I'm not calling anyone out or looking to start ~discourse.

Under the cut are my thoughts on

bias

auguste's death

the talk

softness

laurent and the baths

one last thing (sex!)

Bias

Bias is normal. Every narrator has it. Every reader has it. Being biased does not make anyone unreliable. I think it's up to everyone else to realise the truth. Like, if a Australian person says Oz is the best country in the world we know that's their bias speaking. (or America, or Russia or whatever) If Damen defends slaver in book 1, that's what's happening. When Laurent thinks in KR that Auguste would not be afraid if he was captured with Govart, that's what's happening.

Reader bias exists too. We all have our kinks and our limits and our things that cause automatic sympathy. Like, if you're always uncomfortable with cheating in a story or, idk, use of certain language. I can't abide tropes of flirty waitresses because I used to be a waitress for years. I am a total pacifist but I am Irish so I can always empathise with stories where people are trying to reclaim land. It was easier for me to see why Akielos wanted Delpha back than it might be for other people. I hate war and violence, so I see everything that happened at Marlas as showing the horrors of war rather than which side was in the right. I'll root for the working class here above anyone with privelege. One of the things Laurent did that stuck with me, out of all his bad things, was when he didn't seem to make sure the stable boy got paid.

We have things that tick our boxes, too. It might be Laurent's sneakiness that works for you but that doesn't mean soft Laurent is less real. I have a thing for seeing relationships that begin in unhealthy circumstances turn out be good because the people involved are good. That's why these books mean a lot to me.

So what's my point? I don't think Damen's unrelaliable. He's a character with his own way of looking at the world. It was easy for us to see how his view on slavery was wrong, for example. We don't need to believe the text expects us to accept that he was right about killing Auguste or the circumstance. Imo, if Damen was unreliable he'd be like Humbert Humbert maintaining Laurent was into him when he clearly hated him in the baths. He'd be like Gen, withholding his identity as Damianos throughout the first book. Writers know what they're doing when they go with an unreliable. Pacat was making Damen realistically biased and the kind of person who does not think about the bad shit.

Something that always fascinates me as a reader, and when I write, is examing the ways characters remember things compared to what actually happened. I explored this in my fic Stargazers, as it feels relevant to CP canon. How winners write history and men become myths and stories get twisted. I have a hunch Pacat was touching on these themes when she had the Prince's Guard retell what Laurent did in the mountain without Damen's role, or how they say he ran his horse to death to beat Torveld to the mark. All the accounts of the war are different and murky and it's up to us as readers to realise that nothing people say can be taken as fact.

2. Auguste's Death

I didn't expect Damen and Laurent to talk about him again in The Summer Palace but I don't have a problem with what we read. As far as I can tell, there's not really anything new there. But Damen and Laurent are at a place, especially now that Kastor is dead and killed by Laurent, that they can be more detailed.

We know Kastor is a snake. But Laurent knows Damen loved his brother and he is hurt by him dying even if he was nothing like the good man Auguste was.

The brother for brother thing doesn't sit well with me since KR. (eg it was over; like a balance restored, the past put to rest.) but I get the symmetry of the circumstance. Is the same? No. But I think the text was trying to show it was the removing the final barrier between keeping Damen and Laurent unequal.

During Kastor and Laurent's swordfight, Damen relives what occurred between him and Auguste. With the added conversation in TSP, we know that this actually isn't new information.

KR : A flurry of strikes. Damen remembered that feint from Marlas, and that sidestep and that particular set of parries.....he conjured him up now, half embodying his style as Kastor embodied Damen's, a fight between ghosts.

It was a simple misjudgement in Laurent's part...He wouldn't have misjudged if he wasn't tired. The same had been true for Auguste, fighting for hours at the front.

'No,” said Damen, who had lived this too.

Because Laurent wasn't Auguste. And the stumble wasn't a mistake, it was a feint

TSP : “You've never asked about it”

“You said it was quick.”

“It was.”

“He didn't let anyone else intervene. He thought it was fair, between princes. Single combat.”

“Yes.”

“He was tired. He'd been fighting for hours. But the man he fought wasn't. It was Kastor on the front at Marlas. Damianos has tayed behind to protect the King. He rode from behind the lines.”

“Yes.”

“He was honourable, and when he drew first blood, he gave Damianos time to recover. He wouldn't let anyone else intervene. He thought --”

“-he thought it was right. He stepped back and let me pick up my sword. I didn;t know what to do. It ahd been two years since anyone had disarmed me. When we fought again, he drove me back. I don't know why he cut to far to the left. It was the only mistake he made. I took the chance it wasn't a feint and when he couldn't draw himself back into postion, I killed him. I killed him.”

I feel like this is the same information told more explicitly. We already knew Damen was fresh and Auguste had been fighting for hours. Kastor was fresh and Laurent had been on trial for hours before their battle. Battles are hard. War is awful. Someone will get the advantage one way or another.

Damen repeatedly mentioned Auguste's honour, so the allowing him to retake his sword and not letting anyone else in is the thing that must have gave that impression. I'm also pretty sure Damen cut down Auguste's guard, the other best fighters in Vere, to get to him (not mentioned above but mentioned elsewhere I can't lay my hands on.) The wound Auguste inflicted was serious enough to have real scarring years later. He allowed Damen to pick up his sword. It's not like he offered him a chance to yield there. That's not how wars work.

Also not mentioned in this discussion, that Akielos was receiving a Veretian herald to discuss the terms of surrender (? I might be off about the details here) when the Veretian army attacked. This is completely contradictory to the Akielons approach to war. I'm inferring by the Regent's Charcy challenge that it's outside the norm for Vere too. Damen being behind the lines make sense in that context. The king and heirs staying back makes sense in general. (I have another hunch that the Regent encouraged Auguste to get into the fray but that's just me.)

So what's my point? Laurent was saying how Auguste died as he knew it. He repeats the thing thing about intervention, which leads me to believe this is a report he heard and clung to like he later clings to Damen saying it was quick. Auguste died a hero. I believe the accounts of him being good. But Damen wasn't going to say, well actually, when he got inside my guard he didn't need to run me through. Damen wants to honour Laurent and his brothers memory. He also has a much more matter of fact approach to war than most modern readers do. But none of this felt like new information to me. It was Laurent wanting details, and being able to hear them from Damen now when he was never able to take them in before, and making peace with it, and continuing to accept that it was Damen here and Damen who did it (ala KR 12 it's me here with you.)

It was acknowledged all along that Damen's identity was, to Laurent, that he was the one who killed Auguste. Prince Killer. Being Damianos meant he was the worst person in the world to Laurent. We spent three books with Laurent learning to reconcile the man he knows now with the man who killed his brother. Damen never shied away from it and the fact of it was never denied. He already said 'I hurt you...” Neither characters are the type to apologise. They're the type to admit it and do better in future.

There's no point in looking for morals on a battlefield. The most you can hope for is following the rules of war and no cruelty. I feel like the second anyone willingly enters a battle that's not about saving lives they're in the wrong. I know plenty of people disagree.

3. The 'Talk’

There was some (understandable) expectation that Damen and Laurent would discuss his abuse by the Regent in TSP.

The first thing I tweeted when I read it was that I was really glad about one thing and what I meant was that they didn't discuss it.

That's not to say that I never want them to discuss. Or that Laurent shouldn't be able to discuss. Or that I don't understand why people, especially survivors of CSA like Laurent, wanted to see him be open about this huge, terrible thing that happened to him.

I also get people wanting Damen to acknowledge it, at least internally.

But I knew 30 pages wasn't enough

And from the first mention in KR, the summer palace was framed as a honeymoon vibe place

and I think damen does a really good job of not pushing laurent and being aware of his needs before he ever knew the reason for his discomfort. Damen also does a good job of not thinking about hard things so it didn't surprise me he didn't think about it

Laurent repeatedly showed he did not want to talk about it. He went to lengths to conceal it. When Damen asked in KR was someone there for him when Auguste died, when he asked in PG had he done this before, Laurent's response every time was that he didn't want to talk about this part of his past.

So I think people (readers and his fictional partner) should respect this need for privacy and not push for discussion

I also have seen some strange, borderline fetishistic, reactions of readers about Laurent's abuse. Like, dwelling on it to an uncomfortable degree. And as a fic writer, i've had some uncomfortable comments looking for details where I deliberately did not include details. So I guess I might have a slightly different perspective on this than some other readers.

We know it happened. Damen knows now it happened. The very mention of the Regent in Damen's thoughts is loaded with the fact that it happened (like Damianos was to Laurent before.) Laurent has lived with the awful fact of it for years. I think it's nice he had a chill few hours in the palace with his man. I hope they talk about it some time when Laurent is comfortable and Damen can control his temper. I hope Damen can acknowledge he missed the signs and can reframe the context of certain things Laurent said and did and also the wrongness of certain things he said and did. Like coming on to Laurent in the baths was wrong and saying Laurent wanted his uncle to be obsessed with him (or something along the lines) and that he fucked like a virgin etc

Also, Laurent was talking about it throughout the series more than he or we or Damen know. It was sad and often a conditioned mindset but he was. The things he said about Nicaise being able to manipulate adults. When he said his brother didn't have the taint that the rest of the family had. (He was led to believe he was complicit in what happened and the shame was its own form of abuse) The cruelty he flung at Aimeric. When he said they think he loves them. It has the outward semblance of love. At first. But it isn't love. It's...fetish. And the long pause before he agreed with Aimeric 'Like Aimeric.'

What's my point? I'm not surprised or disappointed. I would like to see it happen in the future and I think Pacat could do a good job with such a discussion. I also think so much of the trilogy is about Laurent overcoming abuse and not letting it define him and reclaiming his autonomy that I, personally, am not looking for an analysis. He won. He's alive and happy and able to have a healthy relationship and comfortable sex and that's more than enough for me.

4. The softness

Touched on above, but I have no complaints about the fluffiness. I loved Laurent with Damen inside his barriers. I am proud and happy he could do that. I have no doubt his edge will be present with the rest of the world and we might see it again in the next stories. But I liked the soft kings in love and the lack of need for plots and schemes and power games.

I mean, I would have been ok with one last set of hijinks but i'm cool with the fluff

Also, I think Pacat said once the further L got from Arles and the Regent the more free he became. The summer palace is about as far as you can get from arles without leaving the kingdoms. It's an indulgent break and they deserve it.

Laurent went from laced up in fancy clothes at all times to hapily walking around naked!

Basically, I'm they're feeling their looks can they live?

5. Laurent and the baths

straight up, I get it if you weren't comfortable with the references to slaves or someone being servile. If that's not your thing, i'm not trying to change your mind

but I think I read it differently to some people. Here's my thing : I see nothing humiliating about doing things by choice and looking after the person you love in one way or another.

Laurent was wearing the chiton before Damen arrived. Laurent initiated the baths and said 'let me attend you'. The follows from Laurent had known, when he hadn't known himself...

I'm thinking Laurent knew that Damen had healing to do from his enslavement and the way Laurent himself treated him. I actually kind of love that by this point Laurent knows him so well. I love how at the start of the books the reader could see Laurent better than Damen by the tidbits that were seeded in. By the end of KR, Damen knows him better than the reader. He was right about Laurent being barbed in public and in newly tender in private.

But I digress. Laurent initiated the whole bathing thing. Damen seemed to think it would happen in the traditional way with attendants and soaking together and Laurent taking on the role was a big thing

These two also tend to fall into playing roles of slave, master, pet etc to get to the root of their personal issues. They did it in PG a lot.

Because Damen doesn't dwell on his suffering, and much of it was inflicted by our fave Laurent, and being captive is a harder thing to immediately relate to than bereavement and abuse, it's natural that readers don't always grasp the impact it had on him. The baths in Ios triggered him. The memory of the atmosphere in Arles is tangled up in that. He's glad it feels different in this palace. Baths go hand in hand with suffering for Damen in his mind. They are the starting point for three major things.

Laurent asks for instruction to act as a slave would have. Damen says his name, giving him an out, and Laurent pursues it. He has fun with it when he pours the water on himself. He deliberately goes to his knees. Damen didn't ask or push.

In CP, Damen muses that kneeling for Laurent is worse humiliation than his other huge indignities. To me, that's why he says I knelt for you rather than you had me whipped or Govart would have raped me or anything else. I don't think he was pushing for Laurent to kneel. He was acknowledging their shared, awful past.

It's about internal scars as much as external ones. Damen getting the chance to talk about what happened. (remember how L said he was glad about these things that happened before. I do.) I think this is the first time the direct hurt L inflicted is really open between them, rather than Damen's somewhat indirect hurt.

Mentioning the Regent here in Damen's thoughts shows some awareness of the magnitude of this act for Laurent. He knows and we knows what kneeling for him meant.

It comes back to choice again. This is all Laurent's free will.

For a slave it is, for a slave it means everything – is the thing said to make Laurent come when he was having difficulty in KR

And when Damen says it's not something one prince would do for another, we know that's not true. Damen would and has do it for him. He did it under duress in CP, which was wrong, but continued to do it and want to do it once they were on equal footing.

This isn't Laurent's first time being servile. The ice. Toweling him down after sex. Pouring him water. It's a nice thing he does and there's a possibility, sure, that some of it is related to his own abuse but maybe not. Ever since he spoke about being frightened, I wonder if I was wrongly attributing some of his behaviour.

These are actions not words people. So softly acknowledging the scars, and the suffering, and then being sweet and romantic is so them.

It made them happy! It was cathartic and freeing and cleansing!

6. One Last Thing

no lie, I would have liked to see damen bottom in TSP but I guess there wasn't the time or words and the scene at the inn is the closest we're gonna see in canon

but the sex! Can you believe we went from CP, where Laurent was cruel and used sex as a weapon, to PG “I...find it difficult to let go of control,” to KR 'He felt the repression when it came, the hard restraint Laurent exerted over his own body, his stomach clenching, his muscle moving in his jaw. He knew what it signaled' and '”I'll get --” Laurent detached himself...with the same stiff awkwardness Laurent lay down next to him.

In The Summer Palace - “He turned Laurent so that he was belly to the wall and kissed his neck from behind..... “Damen, I--” “Really?”.....Caught up in the way that Laurent's skin responded to him, he had missed the quickening pulse, the subtle signs of a body's approach to the brink.” And “For once, Laurent did not immediately leap up to clean himself off, but stayed....

If that's not what we read these books for I don't know what is

#captive prince #the summer palace #my thoughts #not looking to start shit #please don't be mad #is this meta?#so many typos

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