#west so i need to turn around somewhere and ill be in the right direction at least and that should get me on the right track

[bunnyb34r]

Goddamb man I am fucking TIRED

Was so clenched up driving on the highway (fucking merge lanes/multiple routes converging) that my shoulders are KILLING me 😭 I need $200, 6 advil, a massage ASAP sgdgdgdg

[ssplague]

Chapter 15

Masterlist

‼️Trigger warnings‼️

Sex, manipulation, toxic relationships, yandere, romanticized abuse, verbal abuse, degradation, Narcissistic family, mental illness/instability, delusional thinking, drug use leading to inevitable abuse, hallucinations, gas lighting, hostage situation, fractured psyche, co-dependency, enabling

✨A/N: I’m sorry for such a long wait you guys, truly I am 😣 I got over half of this chapter written and then I just kept hating the various continuations I’d add in. Things get a little hysterical at the end, but remember this is a YANDERE story and it’s honestly been extremely tame thus far. I meant it when I said things were going to start becoming unhinged 😵‍💫 I redid the banner animation again, I think I finally got it right this time 🤗

📑 HONORABLE MENTIONS📭

@angie-1306 @marifujioka @im1nobody @atmyhet @elaineplayz @rainstorm22 @bi-polar-pandas @itadakimasu @cr-33-d @winchescumberholland @po3ticb3auty @maggiecc @lordmypantsaresocool @shoslutt @venussakura @comfycozy @lilmad13 @lunamoonbby @youdoyou-andiwilldome @bookandstar @coffeeginie @bubblebombxbitch @presidentmonica @villanessnoblegirl @ss-aki @girlwithnokatsuki @lizethecookie01

The formatting is all kinds of fucked up AGAIN 🫥 Please excuse it

🏦 💥 💰 ❄️ 🕳

This is Latashia Jackson coming to you live from just a block west of the metropolitan bank in downtown Mustafu, a hijacking’s currently in place and we’ve just received word that the villains have at least twelve individuals held hostage inside. The police department has the entire street blocked off and are working together with the heroes on scene to resolve this incident as quickly and safetly as possibles

You frown as you stare up at the huge building infront of you, glancing down at your phone screen again and again as you circle it. Finally coming to a stop once you find what you were looking for. “You figure something out?” Shotou’s voice comes from behind you, making you jump. “I pulled up the blue prints of the structure online, the building has tunnels running beneath it that lead into the sewer system, if the hostages are being held where we believe they are, then this tunnel will give us direct access to them” you finish your explanation and finally take a breath, your stoic classmate nods his head as the side of his mouth quirks upwards in a lopsided grin, “I take it you weren’t planning on sharing this information with the others?”.

“We don’t need a large group for this cramped type of infiltration, and you already know they are going to have to pull up the blue prints and outline them before even making an attempt at entering” you gesture to what looks like a man hole beside the building “If the two of us go in, we can each take a group of 6 down the parallel running paths in the sewer and emerge on opposite sides of the street, leading to a low risk, simple evacuation”.

The smooth reply Todoroki is known for has you smiling as the two of you lock eyes” Then by all means, lead the way”.

Ground Zero was growing increasingly more frustrated as each minute he spent stationary grates on his nerves.

For the past few hours at least he’d had his princess nearby, her presence and subtle touches were just enough to keep his ire from exploding outwards.

He’d literally turned his back for a second and when he turned back around she was gone. He couldn’t go around yelling for her, so instead he’d taken to standing off to the side of the crowd, just close enough to over hear what was happening.

“Ah um..Kaachan have you seen Todoroki around? I guess I lost track of him, but I’ve walked back and forth-“

“What did you say?!” Katsuki explodes forward to grab ahold of the now startled Izuku “How longs it been since you last saw him?!”.

“I’d say about twenty minutes ago?” Deku offers nervously, only to realize his mistake instantly.

“She took off somewhere with him! Where the fuck are they?! I’ll skin that bastard alive!” The blonde was so angry he was snarling like a rabid dog at this point. “Please calm down Kaachan before anyone notices or hears what you’re saying, I know you’re upset but remember where we are right now” the green haired boy pleads with his furious rival. “I know that you damn nerd, don’t need your pathetic ass telling me shit” comes Katsuki’s gruff reply, slipping back on the look of cold indifference that would soon bring many a fan girl to their knees. Although, he would care for none of them, in this moment as well as in the rest of his life, Katsuki would always have only one female in his heart and in any time of her absence, constantly on his mind.

“We should be below the vault in another half mile” you whisper to Shoto as the two of you trek through the sewer. Sure enough you come to a halt once you reach an old metal latter leading up to a steel trap door. You climb it and immediately put your ear to the door; You hear quiet sobbing and some shuffling, taking a chance you quietly whisper “Can anyone hear me?”. You hear an abrupt gasp from above and something sliding across the trap door “I’m a hero, I’ve come to save you…Is anyone standing guard over you guys?”. A few whispers filled the air above and finally a soft female voice responds “They come to check on us once every ten minutes, Mike how long has it been since the guy last came to check on us?” A male voice now replies “It’s been two minutes and thirty five seconds since the last check”. You turn towards Shoto and he gives an affirmative nod, “I’m going to open the trap door and all of you are going to calmly hurry down the latter so we can lead you to safety”.

The hostages are surprisingly cooperative as they ensure to remain quiet and move quickly down into the sewer with you and Shoto. When the last one comes down you get back up and silently latch the trap door.

“How much time until the next check?”

“One minute and fifteen seconds”

“Come this way, Quickly” you start a brisk walk down the path you’d came.

“The door blended in with the tiles, surely that should buy us some time?” A woman behind you asks. “Not really, once they watch the surveillance footage they’ll know exactly where we went” replies a man behind her.

Once you reach the separate paths you take six people and Todoroki takes six people, carefully helping an elderly woman onto his back, he looks at you and you smile “See you on the surface”.

“Right” he nods and you guys head after your individual groups. Your group reaches the evacuation point within five minutes, and now you stand guard watching the second person start up the latter leading towards safety, then the third, and once the fourth starts, you hear it.

“Someone’s coming, please hurry you guys, I’ll hold them back as long as I’m able!” You whispered urgently, a young woman grabs your arm “No please come with us! We can’t leave you!”.

You shake your head “It’s my job to ensure your safety miss, when my comrade gets up there let him know where I went and send him back down here, okay? Can you promise to do that for me?” She nods and let’s go of you. You get your game face on and head back out of the escape alcove; Remember, you are walking into this with no prior knowledge of what’s coming at you, be ready. It’s not long before Something whizzes past your ear before lodging itself into the concrete behind you. Followed by a loud cackling and a shrieked “Found you little rat!”.

When Todoroki emerged from the manhole with the elderly woman on his back he immediately looked around for you. A crowd of people had gathered around the now freed hostages who had managed to locate one another and now stand in a huddle. He’d carried the old woman to where the other’s were and once he set her down she thanked him profusely. Before he could respond, the booming voice of his father sounded in his ear “SHOTOU!” just as Endeavor began trying to question him, one of the women from the group reached out and grabbed hold of him “Your friend! Please! She’s still down there! They were coming after us and she went back to hold them off! Please you have to go down there and help her!” She was absolutely hysterical as she begged him to save you. Thanking the young woman and ensuring her he was going to rescue you, he’s quick to push past his father, “I don’t have time to explain right now! Y/N is still down there and needs help!” The hot and cold hero begins to hurry back towards the hole he’d crawled out of but was pushed out of the way by none other than Bakugou, who literally jumped down the hole. “I’ll go after him!” Mirko says, patting Shoto on the back, “She’s my student after all, take a break kid, you earned it”. With that she swiftly hopped down the man hole as well. Shoto clenched his fists in frustration; He wanted to fight by your side, he wanted to be the one that protected you, this was a major accomplishment for both of you and now he couldn’t even see it through to the end beside you.

🕳

“Shit” you growled as your arm was grazed by what felt like at least ten needles. They struck the wall behind you in a neat line, some had taken your flesh with them. The villan that came after you goes by the name “Seamstress” and her quirk is called “Needle point”; She can transform her split ends into sewing needles. The worst type of opponent for someone that is better suited to fighting close range. Your suit was torn and your skin had puncture wounds pouring blood everywhere. Surely that lady had told Todoroki to come help you by now, where was he? You were backed into a corner now dammit, should have paid closer attention to where you were running. Just as you were sure you would be skewered alive, the familar heat of an explosion warmed your face. Squinting your eyes against the bright light you see a familiar pair of bunny ears “Katsuki! Mirko!”.

Both of them relieved and happy to see you alive, expressing it in their own way;

“Hey there! Looks like you could use a hand! Or better yet a fist”

“You dumbass! What were you thinking?!?”

A shower of needles is easily reduced to ashes by your irate boyfriend and the brief but bright flash of light served as a good cover for your mentor to land a couple well aimed kicks to the psycho seamstress’s head, knocking her out cold. “Thank you for coming to get me you guys, she’d have turned me into a pin cushion if you were even a second later” you say this while trying to stand on shaking legs. Mirko really takes a good look at you after cuffing the unconscious woman, “Hey lover boy, how about you carry your lady out of here before she drops, I’ll take the dead weight here” after addressing Bakugou she carelessly slings the villan over her shoulder. Katsuki is silent as he knelt down for you to hop onto his back, you almost want to say no, but you think better of it.

The atmosphere is tense; You can sense the swirling emotions simmering beneath the surface, like magma slowly rising inside a volcano. You didn’t know what to say, your injuries were extensive to say the least, but nothing too bad. Though you could still feel where some of the needles had stuck into your skin and pierced muscle. Once you reached the surface you began to feel disoriented; All of the lights made your eyes sting and suddenly everything was just a blur of colors and chaotic energy, the sounds were like a blaring siren in your ears.

This was all too much…

You buried your face into the familiar warmth that you knew belonged to Katsuki, you were safe.

With that thought, you allowed yourself to embrace the silent and black void behind your eyelids.

When you open your eyes again, the dark and unfamiliar surroundings are initially frightening. As your blurred vision begins to right itself, you realize that you are in the school’s infirmary.

How long was I out for?

Your head ache comes back with a vengeance, lifting your arms you immediately notice the many bandages wrapped around them, as well as your legs. The butterfly bandaid on your hand makes you think you’d been hooked up to an IV at some point.

What the hell happened to me? Surely a bunch of pokes couldn’t have put you in that bad of shape.

Uneasiness engulfs you, the pain in your head is god awful, it’s as if trying to make any sort of recollections increases the pain somehow.

Why am I in here all alone?

A change of clothes lays at the foot of your bed and that’s when you finally noticed you only have your underwear on. Snatching up the sweater and yoga pants, you easily slipped the top over your head. Once you started trying to get out of bed to put on your pants, voices began to stir just outside the door.

“You really have some Fuckin’ balls to show up here knowing you aren’t wanted, tch, can’t say I’m suprised”Katsuki’s angry voice Is still loud, even when he’s attempting to be quiet.

“I’m just checking up on my classmate, should have known she’d have an attack dog guarding the door, why aren’t you inside with her?” Todoroki’s icy tone has a fiery edge to it as he addressed Bakugou. “I’m sitting out here because I knew you’d drag your sorry ass up here eventually, and I’m not letting you anywhere near her”.

So he had been with you this whole time! Even though he was angry with you when you’d blacked out. Listening to their conversation takes priority over getting your pants put on.

The hostility beyond the infirmary doorway is daunting; If you could see the air in the surrounding hallway it would surely be crackling with electricity. Or maybe the crackling was coming from hands that were undoubtedly beginning to spark. Though unsure if he was in a particularly talkative mood, or if Bakugou’s words had struck a nerve, Todoroki was quick to respond.

“Who are you to tell me what to do? Or to tell her who she can and can’t interact with?”

“Since her life and well being became my responsibility”

“Did she agree to that?”

“Of course she did!”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but In the past wasn’t the main issue between you two, that you were too controlling? Well that and a few other incidents were why she eventually ended things with you completely, no?”

Your heart skips a beat.

“We moved past that, and our relationship is stronger than it was then, she’s part of my family now, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand anything about that”

You can’t see it but both young men are glaring at one another as Katsuki’s words hang in the staticky air between them. It would have been impossible to not sense the anger in Shotou’s clipped reply, “I’ll talk to her another time then”.

“Don’t waste your time, go find someone else you icy hot bastard, because she’s not ever going to leave me for a pathetic loser like you”

You hear footsteps retreating down the hallway and then a heavy sigh from behind the door. A second later it opens and you quickly try to pull your pants on, but end up slipping and falling backwards on the bed.

“The hell are you doing?! You can’t be over exerting yourself!” The loud shout made you flinch and scoot backwards to avoid his touch, “Y/n come here I need to make sure your wounds haven’t reopened and that the bandages don’t need to be changed”.

“I can do it myself” you whimper, clutching your aching head.

It had to be something akin to primal instinct that was making you wary of Katsuki now that he was infront of your face. A feeling of dread grew in your gut each time he tried to grab for you.

The issue between you guys before…

What was it?

Closing your eyes to combat the painful spike in your headache, an image was projected of you staring in a mirror. You looked terrible; What had to of been Yesterdays make up, made you look like a raccoon, love bites and bruises covered your neck and chest. Swollen lips quiver as you cried quietly staring back at yourself.

The issue that lead to “the incident”

What was the incident? An accident of some kind?

The pain in your head was worsening as you tried to recall the memories. If it was causing you this much agony than it might just be better to stop attempting to trudge it back up at all.

“Y/n…” the gentle voice calling for you was not one you would attribute to the normally loud and brash individual before you. Katsuki sounded unsure, almost fearful as his hand reaches out towards you, the pain in his crimson eyes makes your heart ache.

“I would never hurt you, you love me remember? Please just…come here princess…that’s it, that’s my good girl, easy now” he was practically begging for you to come to him, and despite the initial distrust, you slowly crawled back towards him.

Once you were close enough Katsuki gave up on being timid; His arms wrapped around you quickly and pulled you against his chest. You allowed him to rock you gently as he coddled you, kissing, nuzzling your face all the while. You tried to close your eyes and relax, but every single time you just continued seeing your reflection in that mirror, the face of a broken woman. It was too much for you to process right now, so you kept your eyes open and used Katsuki’s hushed voice to ground yourself. The world around you was still slightly distorted; You’d emerged from that manhole into this dystopian reality, and sleep had apparently provided no escape.

“That psycho bitch you were fighting, she soaked her hair in some sort of neurotoxin before the heist..Luckily one of the on site medics used their quirk to synthesize some sort of antidote, you’re going to feel off for a few days” he pauses and you look up at him, he seems to be having some sort of internal struggle. You pepper kisses along his jaw line, nuzzling his neck afterwards and that encouraged him to continue; “They wanted to take you somewhere and keep you under observation, said you could wake up and be out of your mind, that you could lash out violently, but luckily I had recovery girl and Mr.Aizawa on my side when I told them that would be a terrible idea, of course you were going to freak out when you woke up alone, strapped to a table somewhere…So as long as your wounds haven’t reopened, we’re allowed to go back to my room, and I’ll watch over you for the next 48 hours”. An almost blissful sounding sigh escapes him as he gives you a tight squeeze before looking over your bandages, “Ready to head back sweetness?”. Katsuki carried you into his dorm room and kicked the door closed. At some point during the walk over, tremors had started throughout your body, and as he gently laid you down on his bed he saw you now fighting back convulsions. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he promised to be right back and if he was being honest with himself; It bothers him that you didn’t began crying or pleading for him to stay, but he needed to piss and have a moment inside his own head. What had happened today could never happen again…The last thing Katsuki wanted to do was tell his mother about what happened, but she would have a better idea as to how he could keep you safe. That and the fact that he would be better off explaining the situation himself rather than her seeing it on the news. With a defeated sigh he shuts off the bathroom light and heads back into the bedroom.

At some point in his absence you must have gotten undressed because your naked, and the moon light is once again casting an ethereal glow upon your body. “I got too hot” your voice is shaky, just like the hand reaching out towards him is “Please lay down with me Suki, I need you right now”. You were confused and needed his comfort, but leave it to Katsuki to interpret your words to fit his desires. Ditching his shorts and shirt beside the bed before he climbed in beside you, you immediately snuggled into his side.

“Kiss me” he demanded and you do, using the feel of his lips slotted with your’s in an attempt to ground yourself.

When you both separate you’re quick to explain; “I’m not sure what’s real and what’s just inside my head…I’m afraid”.

That’s right, the toxin was probably making you delusional…The silence only increased your anxiety and you started rambling, unaware he wasn’t paying attention until you started audibly panicking, “-Heard you and Todoroki talking earlier when I woke up and I know what it looked like this afternoon, but I didn’t ask him to follow me and I know you were upset but I really didn’t mean to-“

“That’s enough”.

Why did you have to bring that up now of all times? Why did you have to say that assholes name?

When he’d seen that bastard come around the corner earlier, Katsuki had to stop himself from lunging at him. Todoroki seemed to enjoy getting his explosive classmate angry; It was like some kind of game to him. Katsuki had always humored his bullshit to a certain extent, but not this time.

“I dont want you interacting with that fucking bastard, whatever you had going on with him in the past is over, you are back with me now, and no one is going to get between us and our happiness”

Especially not that Fuckin’ half and half bastard and his stupid crush on you. That’s all it will ever be, just a pathetic school boy crush, something that could never compare to what Katsuki himself has with you; Love, loyalty, undying devotion, whatever you wanna call it.

“I wont go near him, and if he approaches me I’ll find an excuse to leave” something in his voice had you instinctively forming and reciting a response he would want. It worked, evident in the way that he rubs noses with you before trailing kisses down your neck and chest. The sight makes you feel ill, or maybe it’s the toxin working it’s way out of your battered body. Either way the nausea is enough to make you clamp your eyes shut, but it’s a brief reprieve as Katsuki chides you from between your legs;

“You aren’t allowed to look away princess, I want you entirely focused on me and what I’m making you feel, no putting me Fuckin’ second again today”.

How could you have made him feel so low? Shame on you y/n!

“Never again, I promise”

The pleased growl that comes from him tickles your pussy and makes it hard to keep your eyes open and locked with his. You were a good girl though, so you fought your heavy eyelids to obey his order.

“Taste so good angel”

The show he makes of licking the sticky sweet remnants of your orgasm off his lips makes your cheeks burn hot. “K-kat-s-suki” you stutter, reaching out and flexing your shaking hands. He moves up towards you, letting your shaky hands rest on his biceps, “Shhh it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay, I’m here, I’m never going to leave your side”. He kisses your trembling lips, the soft moan you emit serving as encouragement for him to deepen it. Your enjoying the feeling of his tongue caressing your own when he slips his cock inside you.

Your squeezing his shaft so tightly it’s making it difficult for him to maintain a steady rythm. “You okay? Am I hurting you baby?” the tone of concern is back in his voice as he pauses to focus properly on your face. “N-No do-don’t stop” you whine, blinking back tears as you look up at him through dialated eyes. Seeing you pleading and looking so fucked out does things to him, an overwhelming rush of emotions has Katsuki spilling his heart out to you; “You’re everything to me, you know that right y/n?” He breathes as his forehead rests against your own “You never get to leave or runaway from me, even if you hate me, I’ll always drag you back into my arms and make you love me again, I’m the only one that deserves to be by your side, forever”.

You aren’t in your right mind whatsoever; The weight of his words doesn’t sink into your toxin and lust addled brain. Somehow you know that he needs reassurance right now, reassurance that you love him, that you are always going to be here when he needs you, so you give it.

Over and over again you stutter out “I love you”, “I promise to always be here with you”, and his absolute favorite “You complete me”.

That’s how your night drags on into the wee hours of the morning; Over emotional, manic, hysterical love making until your both too spent to continue. Certainly not what the doctor ordered but oh well. Somehow such an insane and euphoric rush gave way into the much needed, most peaceful sleep of your life.

Apparently the trauma you experienced during the bank heist today, all turned out to be for the best.

[cherrywoes]

crimson king. (diavolo x fem!reader.)

prologue.

“Stricken among a field of poppies,

With hair as red as molten flame,

The Crimson King brought low the thane,

And thus usurped his father’s throne,

For there would be a day the world would end,

And he would not see it until his own life’s end.”

— the records of Paimon, King of the West.

masterlist | i. cruor.

♕

“LADIES, GATHER ‘ROUND.” The Matriarch of House Gascoigne clapped her silk gloved hands sharply. The sound echoed throughout the dance room, cracking through the air with the force of a whip. “We have news from the capital!”

An excited murmur rose amongst the girls. It had been months since the royal family had last issued news on any events regarding the palace, or the King and Queen themselves; ever since their children, the prince and princess, had fallen ill with some unknown illness, not a mere scant of word was allowed outside the palace doors, much less from the mouths of maids and butlers. It had left much of House Gascoigne (their female occupants, at least) with little to do besides practice their waltz, needlework, and plan on wooing the finest bachelors in the kingdom. To have this little bit of gossip to break their melancholy was welcoming—even if it was bad news, for a time.

“News from the capital!” One girl gasped, reaching for the letter in delight. The Matriarch held it high above her head, swatting the girl’s grasping fingers with the paper and striking a deep cut in her hand. She hissed and pressed the well of blood to her mouth, scowling at the older woman.

“Yes, news.” The Matriarch’s stony gray gaze flickered over the throng of girls, counting each head—seven in all, her daughters—and found herself just one shy. She counted once more, just to be sure, and yet again, she was lacking a duckling with particular [color] hair and [color] eyes. “Where’s [Name]?”

“[Name]?” Another of the sisters rolled her eyes and stamped her heel. The hem of her dress caught in the stiletto and she was forced to listen to the slight tear of the seam as it punctured through the expensive fabric. “Please! It’s not like she cares for idle gossip; open the letter, mother!”

“Last I heard she went out hunting with father,” one crowed slyly, waving a lace fan in front of her face coquettishly. Her eyes, sharp and blue, darted over to the matriarch, whose face was unmoving. “Not much of a change, is it, sisters?”

“Girls!” The matriarch’s sharp tone cut through the speculating chatter like a knife. The sisters dropped their gazes to the floor momentarily, then back up to their mother, properly chastised. “I am ashamed of you—all of you. Speaking of your sister as if she is scum of the earth; why, your father would be disappointed in all of you. I do not believe any of you deserve to hear this news today.”

“No, mother! We promise not to speak of her as such again!” Similar sentiment rose, each girl pleading with their mother individually with different promises and different oaths. “Please, the letter!”

The matriarch looked upon her daughters with a narrowed gaze. They returned her stare with ones of silent pleading. She sighed and closed her eyes. “Very well then. Let’s see what it says, shall we?”

She cracked the wax seal upon it and with a cough to clear her throat, began to read.

“Marriage?” You parroted back at your father with gawkish eyes. Your mare came to a still beneath you, snuffling at a patch of vibrant green grass, a product of the new spring. You could feel the stays of your corset protest at the deep inhale of disbelief you took, squeezing hard shards of whale bone against your ribs. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“It’s time, [Name].” Your father sighed, much in the same way your mother would do when she was exasperated with something you or one of your sisters had said. He adjusted the reins of his horse’s bridle, nervous, and stared off in the distance somewhere away from you. “You know I would never force you into an arranged marriage, but…”

“But I need to start looking,” you mocked in a high, posh voice. You snorted through your nose and fixed him with a dark glower. “How many times have I heard that before? Ten? Twelve?”

“I know… I know your mother pressures you,” he amended,”but this time I’m afraid I’m the one asking you to begin searching. You’re twenty years old, [Name], far past the age of marriage already; I just want to see you well off and comfortable, if not happy.”

“And my happiness doesn’t matter as long as I’m well off and comfortable.”

This wasn’t how you expected your day out with your father to go. You had expected to hunt dove, at most, maybe a few squirrels or two; your quiver had been packed to handle it. Instead, you had gotten barely a foot or so into the forest, your mare eager to head into the lush grass, before he was bringing up the subject of your marriage—again. This wasn’t the first time you had heard it, but it was the first time it had come from him, and you were starting to wonder if they were just concerned or wanted you gone.

“Sometimes you can have one thing and forsake the other.” He shrugged helplessly. “I would rather you have money and comfort. But if you can somehow gain happiness as well, then…”

Which was highly unlikely, he was saying, as your marriage would likely be out of convenience, as the majority of your older sisters’ were. Your family was rich and everyone wanted part of the Gascoigne fortune—if not in gold, then in their daughters. Each of your sisters had a dowry large enough to buy off a country or two and every dirty old man wanted a piece of it, whether you were willing or not. Luckily, your parents were not so old fashioned as to arrange your marriage with a far older man, or push you in that direction, but they directly encouraged you to get married soon, and quickly. It didn’t help that a lot of the men repeated the foul saying “Gascoigne pussies are as good as gold”, meaning that if they were lucky enough to get any of your sisters or yourself with child, they might as well be set for life.

You didn’t want that. Not if you could help it.

With narrowed eyes, you looked at your father once more. He was fidgeting in his saddle, avoiding looking at you entirely, and by the look on his face, you had to wonder if he was just nervous or debating asking you to attend a debut ball knowing full well that you would be five years older than any other girl there—at least, that was your assumption. You had missed your first and subsequent balls after a particular rough bout of sickness that kept you bedridden; you had only recently been able to function normally again, albeit with some lightheadedness if you were too active in a short period of time.

“Right.” You reached up and held a hand over your head to deflect an oncoming branch. “Well, I guess I have no choice in the matter, do I?”

He sighed once more. “You know if I had any other choice, I would give you all the time in the world, [Name]. But the older you get the more you risk turning out an old crone with no marriage ties. I don’t want that for you—your mother doesn’t want that for you.”

You huffed and turned your head. Your mother’s sole goal was to marry off all of her daughters to eligible bachelors to get them off her hands; at least the ones who didn’t cater to her every whim, like yourself and a few other of your sisters. She was not a cruel mother by any means, but she was a thorn in your side at times, especially with her insistence on perfection. Your waltz and embroidery were as perfect as they were going to get, and you most certainly weren’t going to shrink your waist down to her tastes either. You would be surprised if she didn’t have something else to harp on you about when you returned home.

“I suppose.” A glance at the sky revealed it was already lunch time. You had already skipped tea with your mother and sisters; skipping another meal was a bad idea, even if you were out hunting. A very unladylike sport, she would probably hiss. “We should probably get back for lunch if we don’t want mother getting angry at us again.”

Your father almost seemed surprised, looking up at the sky himself. “It is, isn’t it? I heard we’re having pigeon pie today.”

“Pigeon pie?” You repeated slowly. “Father, that was yesterday. We’re having potato soup today.”

“Oh. Are we?”

You didn’t answer, watching him turn his horse around and begin the ride back home. You followed at a distance behind him, watching as he regarded the trail as if it was entirely new to him and familiar in some spots. You had been wondering if his illness had gotten worse and your proof was right in front of you. His father before him had been afflicted with the same memory loss, a product of a few lines of inbreeding centuries before, you had heard, but only in the paternal line. It had started with him mixing up names and stuttering them into the proper ones; then he slowly began to fall out of his routine, eyeing his paperwork in slight confusion; and just now, forgetting days and time.

Before you could call out to him and ask what day he thought it was, you heard an ungodly screech coming from the manor. It sounded faintly like one of your sisters, but it was loud enough that the birds in the trees startled and took to the sky. You urged your horse into a canter, your father following suite, and the closer you got, the more you could make out actual voices instead of mindless screeching.

“—this is ridiculous! How does she get to go to the palace and I’m stuck here?! Mother, it makes no sense! She’s twenty years old, she has no chance—”

“—oh, please, Violetta, like you could do any better at nineteen—”

“—says you two, I could sweep him off his feet without even a—”

“—I wouldn’t even need a dance, just five minutes alone in a—”

“—Adrielle, shut your mouth! I ought to send you to a convent!”

“There she is!” A finger went flying to point to you as your mare pushed through the treeline, hooves clopping on firm stone. “Mother, tell her to turn down the offer!”

All of your sisters, including even the youngest ones, just shy of fourteen, were gathered around the cut in the pathway in a tight cluster. All of them had some range of fury or irritation on their faces as they looked at you, clutching their lace fans or skirts tightly in their fists. You had only faintly heard your mother’s threat to send Adrielle to a convent and raised an eyebrow at the little crowd they made, pulling your horse to a halt with her reins. You wouldn’t dare risk dismounting in a dress, so you stared down at them all from your mount in confusion.

“[Name],” your mother approached your horse with some hesitation, eyeing the mare’s ears in any hint of her mood. “Here. This arrived for you in the mail today.”

You didn’t miss the sour tone in her voice. You accepted the opened letter from her with a raised eyebrow, the broken seal on the back stamped with the royal crest. Your sisters watched you like a hawk, searching for any hint that you weren’t happy with whatever the letter said.

While the envelope wasn’t addressed to you, the letter inside was: it was written in the elegant hand of the Queen herself, even down to a personalized address from her as well.

‘Dear [Name] of House Gascoigne,

It is my pleasure to notify you that you have been selected to participate in the Bride Hunt for Prince Diavolo of the Devildom. As you filled all the requirements to participate, you, along with three other girls in your bracket, will be escorted to the palace to participate in a selection of games picked by the prince himself. As this is a show of goodwill between our kingdom and that of the Devildom, we encourage you to be on your best behavior with your fellow competitors and play to win.

As a more personal note, I do hope you participate, [Name]. I believe you have a true chance at winning, my dear.

Queen Cordelia.’

In the corner of the letter was her personal seal, stamped in shining red wax. Unbroken, you could make out the sigil of the phoenix, a half of the official crest. You looked up at your mother’s expectant face and then at your father’s hopeful one, having likely guessed what it was.

You sighed.

“I suppose I’m going to the palace after all, then.”

Your sisters groaned in disappointment. Some of them even clicked their tongues at you and turned to head inside, your mother turning on her heel and chiding them on their childish behavior.

Your father caught your eye as you moved your horse to head to the stables. His smile was one of pride and hope, as if this had made all of his dreams come true.

You only hoped you wouldn’t disappoint him when it all was over.

taglist (open): @crashica (just let me know if you want to be added!)

[robert-de-niro-only-fans]

Just Friends

The Deer Hunter!Robert De Niro x Reader

I’m so sorry this took so long. Hope you like pining!

TW: age gap, mention of illness, idk high word count?

Word Count: 8.8k

"Why don't you let (Y/N) come with me? It would be a great opportunity for her to see what's it's like to film in some open locations instead of the sets here in New York. Plus she'll get to meet a great cast of actors, you know how hard we had to push to get John Cazale in the movie. She could learn so much from him." "I don't know, Robert. All the arrangements have been made for the crew's travel and lodging; I wouldn't want to make production any more difficult just so my daughter can watch you guys make a movie." "Ah, it shouldn't be a big deal. It's not too hard to buy an extra plane ticket, and she can just crash with me. Plus we could probably use the extra hands on set at some point." You can't help but feel completely giddy as you overhear Robert urging your father to let you go with him as he films his next movie. You're the daughter of a New York-based movie producer, who had gotten somewhat popular and had enough connections to know some really great actors and actresses. Your dad met Robert De Niro when he was acting in Brian De Palma's early films, and they had been planning on working together for a long time. However, Robert and your dad both stayed busy, and now Robert is a pretty big star since Taxi Driver released just last year. You got to know Robert when you were just a teenager. He would come over to your home for small get-togethers your dad liked to throw. You always liked being around him, so it was lucky for you that your dad and him became good friends. Robert is good about visiting when he has the chance to, but his visits have been less frequent lately as his career is really taking off. And that's what he was doing here today: a quick visit with you and your dad before he has to run off and make another film. The conversation turned, however, when you started discussing how you were becoming interested in working on films, particularly acting. Although most actors started younger than you, and being in your early twenties is already considered old for an actress, you decided it wasn't too late to start. Robert had a soft spot for learning and teaching acting, although his teaching came as little tidbits of advice. That's why you are shocked to hear Robert ask about you going with him for filming, while you're in the kitchen fixing everyone drinks. You walk in, carrying three glasses on a small tray and set them down on the table, then handing each of the men a glass. They both thank you as you take your seat across from them. "Sooo..." you raise your eyebrows and give your dad a hopeful smile. "Yes, (Y/N)?" "Can I go with Robert? I overheard what you two were saying." Your dad sits back and exhales a little loudly. He was trying to be stern but you could tell he was hiding a smile. He could never be an actor; he couldn't hide his real feelings very well. He turns to Robert asking, "Are you sure it's okay if she goes with you?" "Of course. I'll take good care of her," he says sweetly. You always thought he was very sweet. "Okay, sweetheart, you can go, not that I could stop you anyway, but I appreciate that you ask," your father says as a smile spreads across his face. "Dad!! Thank you so much!" He was right; you were an adult, but you had always lived with him, so you felt you needed to ask before going across the country. You jump up and give your dad a big hug. "You better start packing," Robert says with a chuckle, "we leave for Ohio tomorrow." "What kind of clothes should I bring?" you ask Robert. "What you would normally wear. Bring a few nice outfits for dinners. And we'll stop back in New York before going to Washington, because it'll be pretty cold and we'll all need warmer clothes." The smile on his face tells you he's excited about you going with him. You ask sit and talk a little longer, with Robert telling you and your dad about the general schedule about how you'll spend a several weeks in Ohio where most of the film takes place, a few days here and there in Pennsylvania and West Virginia, take a break for a few weeks, then go to Washington State for all of the hunting scenes. After that, a smaller portion of the cast and crew will go to Thailand to film the war scenes. This is also when you find out that the beard he is sporting is for the movie and not just some new fashion choice. You quite like the beard as well as his haircut, it suits him unexpectedly well. As it starts getting late, you make the move to go up to your room to pack. So you say goodnight to Robert and your dad, giving them both big hugs as a thank you for letting you go for filming, and you head upstairs to squeeze all of your clothes and toiletries into a suitcase. Downstairs, Robert stays to talk with your dad a little while longer before heading home. "Now, Robert, you said (Y/N) would be staying with you, right?" "Yes. Is that okay?" "Well..." your dad starts but he certainly doesn't want to offend Robert, "you won't, umm, do anything... with her, will you?" "Hmm? Oh. Oh! Um, no, I won't do anything like that with her. I hadn't even thought about it. I just uuhh- I just thought it would be better if she stayed with me instead sticking her in a random hotel room away from the rest of us... Most of the hotel rooms have two beds anyways." Robert tries desperately to get rid of the blush that came to his cheeks as he stumbles through what he's saying. He had never thought of you that way before, and it caught him off guard and kind of gave him butterflies in his stomach. "Yeah, you're probably right about her staying with you. She's probably safer with you than taking her chances somewhere else," your dad says with look of relief. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry I brought up the idea so last minute, but she'll be okay with me." "No, it's okay. It's a good opportunity for her. I think you guys will have a great time! Now, how do you think Michael is gonna film this thing?" Your dad and Robert discuss the production and direction of the movie for a short while before Robert really has to leave to go home and sleep. When you hear that he's about to leave, you quickly make your way down the stairs to tell him goodnight and thank him again for taking you with him. He pulls you into a gentle hug, placing one of his hands on the back of your head. "You're very welcome, (Y/N). Now, I'll be here at 7 in the morning to pick you up; I wanna take you to breakfast before we head to the airport. That'll also give us some time for someone to get on the phone and get you a plane ticket!" You had no doubt Robert would be able to get you on the plane. And with that, he left, and you went upstairs to pack the last few things you would need before trying to get some sleep, although that didn't come so easy due to the excitement you're feeling. • • • The next day goes just the way Robert said it would: he picks you up right at 7, loads your bags in the car, and takes you to breakfast at his favorite place. It's an upscale place but in a subdued way. You enjoy each other's company over biscuits, eggs, pancakes, coffee, bacon, whatever your heart desires as Robert put it. On the way to the airport, he admits that he got your plane ticket sorted out before he arrived for breakfast, and there was a seat in first class with the rest of the cast. Right next to him. But it's really no issue. He swears he didn't have to buy someone out of their seat. After checking your bags and boarding the plane, Robert introduces everyone to you: Christopher Walken, Meryl Streep, her husband John Cazale, George Dzundza, and John Savage, who everyone opted to call Savage. Meryl and John immediately took a liking to you, which you were honored. The flight was pretty packed, so the cast was all split up across first class, so everyone agreed that you should have dinner tonight to celebrate the beginning of filming. During takeoff you feel Robert put his hand on top of yours, and you quickly turn your head to face him. "You comfortable?" He asks softly. "Oh... Yeah, are you?" "Yep." You look down at his hand on yours. He strokes his thumb over your hand for a moment before pulling it away and looking out the window. You'd be lying if you said that didn't make you feel something. • • • The rest of your flight is uneventful, aside from a few people asking for autographs from the cast as you're leaving the airport. Outside, you are all met with a giant black van, and the director of the movie, Michael Cimino hops out to greet everyone and help put bags in the undercarriage. Everyone climbs inside the van, you sticking close to Robert, simply because you don't know anyone else yet. It's very comfortable and spacious inside, certainly the nicest van you'd ever seen. You and Robert end up all the way in the back, with everyone else doubling up on the seats in front of you. You've got a little bit of a drive to your hotel. Only a few minutes into your trip, everyone is chatting away, and you're finally getting to meet everyone properly, although you're getting to know Meryl and John the best because they're on the seat right in front of you. You instantly notice that John has a fantastic sense of humor; it's no wonder Meryl is so in love with him. Robert has his arm around your shoulders, but you can't tell if it's because he just wants to stretch out across the seat or if it's something else. Either way, he's only there like that for a few moments before he goes to the front of the van to talk to the director. "Guess I got stranded back here," you say with a chuckle to Meryl and John. "Oh, yeah, he's been so involved with Michael in getting this film made," Meryl throws over her shoulder to you. She turns on her seat to face you a little better, "Can I ask you a rather personal question?" "Oh, um, sure." You were certainly nervous to hear what she had to say. "Are you and Robert dating one another?" A breath of relief leaves you in the form of a small laugh, "Oh God, no! He's a friend of my dad's, so we've known each other a long time. He wanted to bring me along so I could learn more about filmmaking." "Oh, that's sweet of him. I apologize for assuming. I guess it's just, uh--oh nevermind," she gives a small smile and looks down at her lap. "No, it's okay! What is it?" "You two are just close, which I suppose that makes sense if you've been friends for so long! I just misinterpreted your relationship." A big smile stretches across her face as John chimes in. "Well if she didn't ask, I was going to, so it's probably good we cleared the air now, right?" "Right!" you respond. "Besides, I'm sure the other guys will all badger him about you, whether it's about him being a cradle robber or them trying to get with you." The three of you laugh, knowing that what John said is probably going to be true. "What are y'all laughing about back there?" Savage pipes up, breaking his attention away from the conversation going on between him, Chris, and George. "My receding hairline." John deadpans to the group in front of them. There's a long pause before everyone busts out in laughter, which then catches the attention of Michael and Robert at the front of the van. They both turn around to see what's going on, and Robert gives you a smile, scrunching his nose cutely. They decide not to get involved, and go back to their conversation. The rest of you talk in a big group the rest of the way to the hotel. • • • At the hotel, production rented out a whole floor for all of the cast and crew to stay on, with the cast kind of grouped near each other on one end. As for this first hotel you'll be at, and it is the main hotel you'll stay at while in Ohio, there are two beds in each room. A lot of the film crew picked partners and doubled up, but of course the director, executive producers, and main cast get their own rooms, with the exception of Meryl and John, and now Robert because he offered to have you with him. When you get in the hotel room, you drop your bags at the door and run to one of the beds, flopping on it and sinking into the comfort. Robert chuckles at you as you grab a pillow to cuddle up with. He drops your bags at the foot of the bed before asking, "I'm assuming you want this bed?" You look up at him lazily, "I don't really care. Do you have a preference?" "Not really; I'll take the other bed," he laughs at you again as he drops his bags near the other bed. "What are you laughing at?" You squint your eyes, questioning him playfully, still hugging your pillow. "You. And your pillow." "Mmmm... I think you're just jealous." "Jealous?! My bed has pillows too. See?" He picks up a pillow and hugs it just like you. "No no no. You're jealous of the pillow. You wish I was squeezing you like this!" "Oh you think so, huh?" He throws his pillow at you. You block it with your arms and it hits the ground. "I'm keeping that," you say sassily. "Fine with me," he says, too calmly. That's quickly broken when he charges towards you, ripping the pillow out of your arms as you burst into laughter. He picks you up around your waist, spins you around a few times and slams you both down on his bed, his arms still firmly around you. "Now I don't have to be jealous," he jokes. You wrap your arms around his head and neck, hugging him into your chest, just like you had done with the pillow. "No, you don't have to be jealous anymore." He gives you one final squeeze and then stands up. "We have a little while before we have to get ready for dinner. Any idea what you wanna do?" You groan a little, "Sleep." You smile up at him. "Well then you better get in your bed instead of hogging mine." "Excuse me! You put me here, so you'll have to move me back!" "Needy," he grumbles jokingly, picking you up and tossing you down on your bed. "You ever heard of letting someone down easy, Robert? Cuz you keep throwing me." He chuckles lowly, moving towards his luggage, "Go to sleep." You grab the extra pillow from the floor and get comfy. One pillow under your head, cuddled up to a second one, a third under one of your legs, and the duvet pulled up to your head. Pure bliss. "You look like a little princess with all those pillows," Robert's voice echoes across the hotel room. "Good. Then let me get me beauty sleep." While he's unpacking some of his clothes and stuff, he finds himself thinking about how you really don't need sleep to look any more beautiful than you already are. • • • That night at dinner, it didn't take long for John's predictions to come true. Just a few minutes after ordering food, Chris caught everyone's attention when he asked, "Bobby, you and this gorgeous young lady... What's going on with you two?" "Whaddaya mean, what's going on with us?" Robert repeats with a laugh. "Well, she's your girlfriend isn't she? I gotta say I'm a little jealous Bobby gets to bring his girlfriend, but I don't get to bring my lovely wife." "Chris, we're not dating. She's just a friend; I've known her dad for a long time." Savage butts in, practically yelling, "Of course she wouldn't date him! He's old enough to be her dad! Unless you're into that kinda stuff, baby." You turn to John and you both start laughing about how Savage managed, not only to joke about Robert being significantly older than you, but also use it to hit on you. "This again? What's so funny?!" John yells. "You had to be there," you cut back to Savage, trying not to smile, but failing. Robert cuts in, "Ya know, I just wanna say: I'm not old enough to be her dad." It kind of surprised you that he would even bother defending himself; it was clearly just a joke, but everyone laughed nonetheless. "You're only, like, 15 years older than her right?" George jokes. A little bit of a blush creeps up Robert's neck, and he bites his lip, "...yeah." This only makes everyone laugh more. Under the table, you place your hand on top of Robert's and you both give each other a small look while laughing. It's a short moment, broken by Michael walking up to the table. Everyone knew he would be late, but you still invited him anyway. Michael slides in next to Robert and asks, "What's so funny?" "Eh, you don't wanna know," Robert shoots back. You and John are trying very hard not to have another laughing fit. Luckily things are fairly calm while everyone is eating, but it doesn't last long after everyone is done. You catch John whispering in Meryl's ear before he turns to the table and says, "Alright, let Meryl and I slide out, my lady wants to dance." Pretty much everyone stands up to let them out of the booth, and Chris, noticing that Robert is once again deep in conversation with Michael, invites you to dance to "keep those other dogs off of you." George and Savage sneak off to find some nice Ohio locals to dance with. Robert and Michael slide back into the booth, chatting like they do. Meryl and John are being beyond cute dancing with one another and nuzzling noses. Chris is a real gentleman while dancing with you. He holds you close, and you maintain some casual conversation getting to know each other better. George finds sweet girl to try and romance, but Savage is having some trouble, so he simply steals you away from Chris, asking if he could dance with you instead. Chris thanks you for your time and returns to the table joining in the talk with Michael and Robert. Dancing with Savage is a little bit intense, as he lays it on thick hitting on you. At one point, he leans his head down and starts placing kisses on your cheek and even a few on your neck. This is when you catch Robert basically staring a hole in you. He stands up and makes his way over to you and Savage. Robert places a hand on Savage's shoulder, lowly speaking, "You mind if I borrow your dance partner?" "Mm... But we were having fun," Savage whines sarcastically, but gives in and leaves you with Robert. "What, you didn't like him kissing on me? I knew you were the jealous type," you snark at him. "Nooo. I told your dad I would take care of you, and a guy like him is no good for a girl your age." He wraps an arm around you, figuring that he should probably dance with you. "My knight in shining armor!" Another joke. "Oh shut up," he chuckles. • • • The next day, you all wake up bright and early to head to the tailors on location so that everyone can get their makeup done and costumes on. You had to admit Robert looked pretty funny in his flannel, puffy vest, and trucker cap. It was nothing like what he would normally wear. The first few scenes that are gonna be filmed during this first week are the first few scenes of the film, where all of the characters are seen at the steel mill and they prepare for the wedding and being drafted. The dynamic of the cast actually worked pretty well for these scenes. Everyone got along quite well, so it wasn't hard for them to act like they had been friends their whole lives. You noticed that filming goes a bit slower when it's shot on location like this, and it was made even slower by Michael Cimino. Michael was very particular about the way he wanted things, and there were lots of noises to work around as they filmed at an actual steel mill. You also spent more time in the makeup trailor than you had expected to; you found it fascinating how they made the men look like they weren't wearing any makeup at all. You and Meryl also spent a good amount of time together when she wasn't in a scene. She said that it was nice having another girl around on a predominantly male set. Of course, you weren't the only girl, but you were one of few. There isn't really a scene that Robert isn't in, so unfortunately, you don't see him much unless everyone is taking a break, or if you hang out with him while he's in makeup. But you make the most of it by getting to know everyone else. • • •

On nights after filming, the cast hangs out really often, normally in someone's hotel room, usually Meryl and John's. Sometimes you would go to a bar or a restaurant, as drinking and dancing became some of the groups' favorite activities. Hanging out in Meryl and John's hotel room usually includes wine, snacks, playing cards, and Robert's arm casually around your waist whenever you get near him. Savage still shoots his shot with you every once in a while, but if he isn't shut down by you, he will be shut down by Robert. He's just watching out for you like he promised your dad; really, it's flattering how protective he can be. • • • The second week of filming is dedicated to filming the wedding scenes. Everyone looks great in their tuxedos and dresses, and the church you'll be filming in is a beautiful Russian Orthodox Church here in Cleveland. "How do I look?" Robert asks you while he's getting his hair gelled and combed into place. "Very handsome. I really like you in that tuxedo." "Maybe he can borrow it when you two finally get married," Michael says coming into the makeup trailor. You and Robert both look at him a little shocked; Michael's never made jokes about you two before. "Oh, c'mon, I'm not allowed to make jokes too?" You both laugh a little awkwardly trying to cut any tension in the room. "I'm gonna go outside and help with all the extras," you say, swiftly leaving the makeup trailor. Outside, there are like a hundred people who showed up to be extras in the wedding scene, and you're sure Michael will probably use most of them. The people are all dressed up in their finest wedding attire, some of them getting a little makeup done or getting some items from costume to make the scene fit Michael's vision. They were told to bring empty presents as well, so that the table full of wedding presents would look realistic; however, many of them actually brought real presents for the cast and crew to keep. Filming the wedding scene was really chaotic to say the least. It felt like a party that went on for way too long, and most everyone was pretty exhausted by the end of filming with the extras that day. But you had to say, Meryl and Robert really stole the show. Their on-screen chemistry was astounding; you would've thought they were really in love or something! You loved watching the way Robert's character pined for Meryl's; his eyes always said so much. And of course, filming wouldn't have felt complete without John adding in his funny little quirks in various scenes, such as tapping his foot while waiting for the bride to walk down the aisle, and carrying Robert across the room for the group photo. Althought most of the filming with the extras had to be done in one day, the other scenes filmed that week included a couple of the bar scenes of the guys playing pool and drinking, and the scene where Robert streaks through town, which certainly had you blushing. Thank God you were filming at night. • • • Your last two weeks of filming in Ohio are spent filming anything that wasn't a hunting scene or a war scene. Production had to make a point of scheduling all of John's scenes early in the filming process, because it is no secret how sick he is. One night after filming, you all decide it would be fun to go out to one of the bars, as everyone had been pretty busy, and there hadn't been much time to. Everyone wants to go dancing again! You've had a hard time getting Robert to dance with you since your first night in Ohio. He really doesn't like to since he's so shy, even though he's very good at slow dances. That night, you dance with Chris again, and Meryl dances with Savage, while Robert hangs back at the table with John. John really isn't feeling well; it's one of his bad days, but he never lets it ruin the mood. Savage and Meryl makes their way over to you on the dance floor, and Savage asks, "Hey, can I cut in? I'd love to have a dance partner that pretty!" "Uh, sure, man," Chris answers. Savage practically shoves himself between you and Chris, quickly taking Chris by the hand and putting an arm around him before spinning him around. "Beautiful!" Savage yells, dipping Chris back, getting a round of laughs and even some applause from everyone around. You and Meryl take this as a chance to slip over to the bar, to get a break from your heels. You sit with your backs leaning up against the bar so you can keep an eye on all your friends. "Have you had fun filming with us all this time?" Meryl asks kindly, as she always does. "Oh yeah, it's been really great, and I've been learning so much about the filming process, and you're all wonderful actors to look up to!" "That's so sweet of you. The guys here have all done a wonderful job with their parts so far. Especially Robert. He's been in nearly every scene, and he's so involved with Michael and production. I don't know where he gets his energy!" "Yeah, he stays busy. I sleep in the same room as him and sometimes it seems like I don't even see him," you giggle. "Oh, but when he does get to be around you, it certainly seems you have his attention," Meryl points out, "I know you've said you two are just close, but I really think he likes you." "You think he likes me? Why do you think he likes me?" "Well, he's quite watchful of you, making sure you never get into trouble, especially around Savage. He always has an arm around you when we're hanging out at the hotel. And the way he looks at you. He looks at you... Well, he looks at you the way he looks at me when we're filming." You both look over at Robert and John. John smiles at Meryl and gives her a funny little wink. Robert turns to look when he realizes John isn't looking at him anymore, raising his eyebrows when he sees you and Meryl staring back at him. Him and John turn back to their conversation, shaking off whatever trouble you and Meryl are getting into. "You know the tension between you two is almost unbearable, right?" John says in a casual tone, knowing that this question is anything but casual. "I'm sorry, what?" Robert sputters. "You and (Y/N). It's so obvious to everyone that you have feelings for one another. Well, obvious to everyone but you and her, apparently." He gives Robert a side eye and raised eyebrows. "I mean... I care about (Y/N), but I- I don't have feelings for her. Her dad would kill me." "You don't have feelings for her, or you feel like you shouldn't have feelings for her?" There's a long silence between them. Robert looks up at John in a way that lets John know he's right. "Take it from me, Bobby. Life's too short." With that, Robert stands up, and walks over to you and Meryl, still at the bar. "Excuse me," he starts, always a gentleman, "Meryl, would you mind if I borrowed (Y/N) from you?" "Oh! No, go ahead," she says with a small laugh. "(Y/N)," there's a bit of a nervous tone in his voice, "would you like to dance with me? I know I've been avoiding it for weeks now." "I'd love to," you smile at him. He puts his hands on your hips, lifting you off of the tall bar stool and helping you to the ground. On the dancefloor, he pulls you into his chest with an arm around your waist and a hand tangled in the back of your hair. Your hands rest on his hips, and you slowly sway back and forth together, even when the song playing wasn't slow. It wasn't really proper slow dancing, but you weren't going to complain; you both enjoyed the closeness. That night at the hotel, you decide to watch a movie together before going to bed; you didn't have to be up super early for once. So you both hop into your pajamas, and Robert finds something on the TV and pats the spot on the bed next to him. "I have my own bed, you know?" you joke. "I know, but it's no fun watching a movie that far apart. Would you sit on a different couch if we were in a living room?" "I guess you have a point." You climb onto his bed, and he puts his arm around your shoulders, watching the movie which was already started, but it is close enough to the beginning. Part of the way through the movie, Robert's eyes linger down to your hand resting on your lap, although you don't notice this. In fact, you're quite sleepy. You feel his fingers gently grace over the back of your hand, and you react by turning your hand over for him. He softly traces little shapes into the palm of your hand, and he teases at your finger tips like he wants to lace his fingers with yours. You decide to bite the bullet and go for it. The next time his fingertips grace yours, you slide your fingers in between his, holding his hand. You're both way to nervous to look at each other, so you both just go back to watching the movie while he strokes his thumb over yours. • • • The next morning, you wake up surrounded by the Robert's scent, which is always very nice, but no Robert nearby. You quickly realize that you're still in his bed; you must have fallen asleep during the movie last night. You sit up looking around for your roommate, and you find him in your bed, looking up at you as if he was waiting for you to find him. The sun spilling in through the window and across his face accentuated his dimples and the smile lines around his eyes. He, too, looked like a sunbeam as he grinned up at you. "Good morning, sleepy head. You fell asleep during our movie, and I didn't have the heart to move you, so I figured we could just trade beds for the night," he says lightly laughing. It seemed like he was in a very good mood this morning. "Oh, well thank you for giving me your bed all to myself. It probably would've been way too hot if you stayed over here." "Mmm, I knew you thought I was hot," he has a smug look on his face. "No! I meant like body temperature. You're probably like a human heater when you sleep!" you argue with him. "Well, wouldn't you like to know?" he jokes, getting up out of bed to get ready to go to set. "I don't ever wanna know!" you yell as he closes the bathroom door. Just a little while later, as everyone is heading out of the hotel to get in the big black van and go to the filming location, John looks at you and asks, "So what is it that you don't wanna know?" "Huh?" you reply to John. "We heard you yell at Robert 'I don't ever wanna know!' through the walls a little while ago." You had no idea the walls were that thin, and you wonder what else they had heard. Robert butts in, "Oh, that was just (Y/N) trying to deny that she thinks I'm hot and wants to sleep with me," with a devilish look on his face. "ROBERT!" you yell, hitting him on the shoulder. "That is totally taken out of context, and you know it!" Everyone is roaring with laughter, while you blush a deep shade of pink. Robert puts all of the jokes to rest by telling everyone what really happened, but conveniently leaving out the part about you two holding hands for a while last night. • • • The next few days are pretty normal, although bittersweet, as it is the last few days of filming in Ohio. The cast spends a lot of time hanging out in Meryl and John's hotel room, and everyone goes out to the bar to celebrate on the last night on location. You go back to New York with Robert and most of the cast the day after filming wraps in Ohio. You would have a break for a few weeks before flying out to Washington for filming the hunting scenes. Everyone says their goodbyes at the airport, with John throwing in one final joke, "Invite us to the wedding if you two decide to elope before Washington!" You and Robert were used to it at that point; it was an every day thing that someone made a joke about you two getting together, but it really didn't bother either of you too much. Hell, even you made jokes about yourselves sometimes. Of course, Robert makes sure to take you home himself, or have his driver take you both to your house. You were so excited to see your dad again! You had called him several times while you were gone, but that doesn't mean you didn't miss him. You and your dad share a long embrace as he invites Robert in for a drink before he goes home. Robert kindly accepts coming in to relax for a while. Immediately, your dad notices how much closer you and Robert are, but he figures that spending a month together will probably do that to any two people. He's just glad you've made some important connections in the film industry. The two men listened intently as you spoke cheerfully of all of your experiences and the things you learned during the first leg of filming, Robert adding in some bits here or there. You both decided to leave out the jokes everyone made about you two getting together, assuming it would be an awkward conversation to have. Robert doesn't stay as long as he normally would've, because he has to be up early in the morning to go meet with other producers and directors. He stays so busy; you know you won't see him again until it's time to film. When he goes to leave, Robert pulls you up into a big hug telling you how fun it's been having you around, and that he can't wait to take you to Washington. • • • A couple of weeks go by, and everything is as it was at home with your dad. Except now you miss Robert a lot of the time, because you had been so close. You missed all of the cast; you had all become such good friends. Either way, you tried to keep busy by going to work with your dad a lot and looking into new roles to audition for, although you found yourself more interested in other aspects of film production since going to Ohio. One night, your dad calls you downstairs, because there's a call for you on the home phone. Your dad tells you that it's Robert, and he's asking to talk to you. You weren't expecting to hear from him at all, so you can't help but worry that something is wrong, especially with John being sick. "Hello?" you say into the phone. "Hey, there," Robert's tone is unreadable. "You rang?" "Yeah, I did. Um... I know this is last minute, but I wanted to know if you would come over for dinner tomorrow? My schedule opened up tomorrow night, and I gotta admit I miss you more than I thought I would." "Oh..." you silently thank God your dad had walked off, "just you and me?" "Yeah, I was thinking I could order room service for dinner, and we could watch a movie like we did at the hotel. Plus I think everyone else is probably busy, unless you want me to invite your other boyfriend," he giggles. He was referring to Savage and how he relentlessly tried to hit on you. "Oh, no. I don't think I could deal with both of you," you reply with a laugh. "That's what I thought. So, I'll see you tomorrow at seven?" "Yep. See you then!" The next night arrives quickly, and now the dilemma you're facing is that you have no idea what to where. Is this casual? Does he want you to dress up? You aren't sure, and it's too late to call him; he's probably almost here. You decide to go casual, but not sweatpants casual. Why would Robert want you to dress up to go to his apartment? Seems like Robert went for the same kind of attire, you see when he shows up. You throw a quick goodbye and a kiss on the cheek to your dad before Robert leads you out to the car with a hand on the small of your back. It's not too long of a car ride to his place, because you both live in the city; however, somewhere in the middle of the trip, Robert abruptly asks his driver to stop at a bakery up ahead. You give the man next to you a confused look, and he smiles saying, "Look, I have to start doing some pretty intense training for another movie, so this might be one of the last times I get to eat cake for a while! I was thinking we could pick something up to have after dinner." There's a brief pause between you two, then Robert quickly adds on, "You can pick out whatever you want! I'll buy it!" You can't help but laugh at his excitement, and you take his hand as he basically rips you out of the car and into the bakery. The smell in the air was incredible; it makes you want to buy everything in the shop. So you and Robert go crazy picking out anything and everything that looks good, all the while giggling like school girls with one another! You arrive at Robert's apartment with bags of desserts in tow, and almost immediately, you're placing an order with room service for dinner. Stopping by the bakery had made you both very hungry. The desserts were left in the kitchen as the two of you make your way to the couch, in an effort to avoid eating all the sweets that smelled so heavenly. Robert quickly found something on the TV, although he didn't turn it up very loud; you both knew you'd be talking anyway. He leans back into the couch, putting an arm comfortably around you. At this point, it wasn't a big deal for you two to be hanging all over one another. "I didn't think I would miss you this much," Robert blurts out, "uhh, I mean, we just spent so much time together, more than I would normally spend with anyone from set." "Yeah? You miss spending the night with me?" you joke. Robert rolls his eyes. You continue, "Miss waking up to my beautiful face every day? Or waiting for me to get out the shower?" "Oh, stop! You know it wasn't like that," Robert said with a grin, but his face quickly drops into a serious look. He reaches up and gently pushes your hair behind your ear. His eyes looked over your whole face, appreciating all of your features, before locking eyes with you. He tangles his fingers in your hair at the nape of your neck and pulls you close, placing his forehead against yours. You weren't completely sure what he was doing, but you weren't mad about it. Almost instinctively, you close your eyes and begin nuzzling your nose against his. At first just bumping the end of your nose against his, and then you feel his nose next to yours as he moves closer to you. Everything feels like it's happening in slow motion. His hand still firmly grasping your hair, a tiny giggle leaves your lips for whatever reason. You feel the hair from his beard tickle your chin, and the butterflies in your stomach go crazy as you realize he's about to kiss you. His bottom lip barely graces yours, and the doorbell rings. Room service with the dinner you ordered. Your eyes fly open, seeing Robert pull back from you and take a deep breath, washing the intense expression off of his face. "I'm sorry," he says standing up and straightening out his shirt, "I don't know what I was thinking." Before you could say anything, he was opening the door, and dinner was brought in by one of the apartment staff. You took a moment to get it together and put whatever just happened behind you. You assume Robert decided to do the same, because the rest of the evening goes by relatively normal. You both enjoy dinner and of course all the desserts you picked up earlier! Not without lots of laughs anyway, as Robert keep poking fun at you for how you lit up like a child at the bakery. "Oh, like you didn't pick out just as many, if not MORE things than me!" You shout at him, which earns you a laugh from the man next to you. "In fact, it was YOUR idea to go in, Mr. I-have-to-get-in-shape-for-a-new-movie!" He cuts his eyes at you as if to say something, but instead shoves a pastry in your mouth, smearing icing across your lips and chin. You both double over in a fit of laughter, reaching for napkins to clean your face with. Thank goodness that was the highlight of the evening, so you had something other than "oh yeah, Robert almost kissed me" to tell your dad when you got home. • • •

As you would've guessed, you didn't see Robert again until you were headed to Washington. You sit with him on the plane again, but this time, a lot of the cast had different flights, traveling in from other parts of the world. The flight takes most of your day, as it's definitely the evening by the time you are picked up at the airport. Up in the mountains, it is freezing, first of all. Luckily you're from New York, and Washington isn't much further North, so you know how to handle the cold. Second, they have the whole cast and crew staying in cabins that are scattered along the mountain side. It is already pretty dark, but from what you could see, it's beautiful up on the mountain range. You don't have much to do that night, and all of the cast is arriving at different times, and production setup is running behind (the norm with Michael Cimino), so the cast all agrees to have lunch together the next day before shooting kicks off this week. Robert takes you into the visitor's center that presides over the cabins to pick up keys, and the staff even gives you some warm bowls of soup to take up to the cabin with you. Up in the cabin, you quickly cut the heater on, shivering while you wait on the room to warm up a bit. Robert sets down his bags and the soup, and walks up behind you, putting his hands on your arms and rubbing them vigorously. It warms you up pretty well, especially when he puts his warm hands on your neck. "Mm, thank you," you let out in a moan. "It's no problem, honey," Robert says lowly, almost in a whisper. "You okay?" you ask him. "Mhmm... Just sleepy and thinking about that soup," he says wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into your neck, "Feel any warmer?" "Well, I stopped shaking," you sink back into him, and place your cold hands on his warm ones. He moves to put your hands under his, stroking the back of your hands with his thumbs. You stay like that for a few minutes before you break the silence, "You wanna eat that soup? Seemed like you were hungry." "Hmm, yeah." He pulls away from you, rubbing your arms a little like he did before, and walks into the little kitchen to get his soup. The room is a few degrees warmer, but this cabin must have horrible insulation or something, because it's still freezing even with the heater on. By the time you head over to the kitchen, Robert is bringing your soup over to the table. You both quickly dig in; Robert because he was hungry, and you because you're so cold. The soup warmed you up pretty well. The rest of the evening, there wasn't too much to do. Robert watched some TV, you went through your clothes making sure you had enough warm stuff before changing into pajamas and climbing into bed. You figured you should go ahead and try to warm your bed up sooner rather than later. A while later, you're still sitting in bed shivering a bit; Robert stands up and chuckles at you before heading out of the room to change clothes. He comes back in sweatpants and a t-shirt and climbs into his bed. "How are you wearing that to bed?" you ask him bewildered. "Um, just like this," he pulls the blankets up over his shoulders. "It's literally freezing in here. You're not cold?" "Nope, are you?" he has that devilish look on his face, knowing the answer to that question. You shoot him a deadpan look and turn over, ignoring him and trying to get warm. "Goodnight, then," Robert laughs. "Goodnight." You both lie there in silence for a while. Robert watches you tossing and turning, bunching the covers up on top of yourself, and still shivering the whole time. "(Y/N)." "What?" You turn to look at him under your huge pile of blankets. "Come here." "What do you mean, come here?" "Come get in bed with me," he says sternly. "Ooooh, no! You're not gonna get to joke about me sleeping with you all week." "(Y/N), you're freezing, and you're not gonna get any sleep like that. Just... Let me keep you warm." The look on his face was one of concern and sincerity. "You won't make fun of me?" you ask sheepishly. "I won't make fun of you." There was a small pause. "You promise?" "Oh my gosh, yes! I promise," he says with a big smile and an eye roll, "Will you get your ass over here already?" You stand up, and he holds the blankets up for you. You sit down and scoot in close to him. Robert drops the blankets on you, before grabbing you and pulling you into his chest. You make a move to protest, until you realize how warm he is. You resign to stay cuddled up to him and tangle your legs with his. You start to drift off to sleep feeling his breath gently on your forehead and his fingers tracing shapes in your back. "I knew it. You are like a human heater," you joke quietly. Without opening his eyes, Robert groans then whispers, "I knew you thought I was hot." • • • The next morning, you both wake up to the sound of the alarm clock. Robert quickly rolls you onto your back and reaches across you to turn off the alarm. You look up at him as he lingers above you for a moment. He gives you a sweet smile before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. It catches you completely off guard, and it's over before you even realize what he has done. He looks into your eyes, and you place a hand on his cheek. It was like a dam broke. You both smash your lips into one another's kissing passionately, hands exploring each other. Robert catches your hand in his, lacing his fingers with yours and pushing your hand up above your head on the pillow. His other hand finds your hair as he continues to move his lips against yours. Your free hand roams his back, while your feet gently rub against his legs underneath the sheets. He pulls away from you slightly, breaking your kiss, both of you breathing heavily. He flashes a toothy smile at you, knowing he looks good, and breathes out, "Good morning!" You giggle and tell him, "Good morning," too. "Hmmm," Robert hums, nuzzling into the crook of your neck leaving little kisses there, "it *is* a good morning..." "I guess everyone was right about us, huh?" you point out. "Oh, who cares what they think?" "I think you do, cradle robber." You both try to look at each other seriously, but that always ends in laughter. Luckily it was a slow morning so you could spend some time together, kissing and figuring out whether or not you wanted to tell everyone at lunch. Just before time to leave, Michael came by to check on both of you and tell you that the van was ready. "Alright, we'll be out in a few minutes," Robert told Michael. "See you at the van!" Michael called out as he closed the door to your cabin. Robert turned to you and snuck his hands up the sides of your jacket, just enough for his fingertips to make contact with your skin. You placed one hand on the back of his neck and the other in his hair, while he leaned into you for one last little makeout session before heading out. You felt your back hit the wall lightly, as the door bursts open and John yells, "What's up, lovebirds--OH!" You and Robert turn to see Meryl and John at the front of your cabin giggling, the rest of the group rushing up to see why John shouted so loudly. You quickly push Robert off of you and blush a deep shade of red. Everyone starts laughing, and John looks at the two of you with a huge grin on his face, and says, "Oooh, you two are never gonna hear the end of this."

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.III

[previous] [next] [Ao3]

A third chapter for my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang with the wonderful @gen-syz-art as my artist ✨

____________________________

It’s almost a month later that Geralt sees them and, despite himself, immediately thinks of Julian. 

He’s making his way through a crowded market early in the morning, trying to get to a tavern where he should be able to find the author of a contract he’d taken off the notice board, when his eyes catch upon a counter selling leather.   

Among the sheths and gloves, there is also riding tack and dog collars.

Geralt’s mind drifts to Asra and Lucio and he can’t help but think that the dyed purple leather of the wide collars would be a beautiful contrast to their winter-white fur. He knows that hunting dogs need special types of collars not to damage their necks, and the ones in front of him seem perfect.

It would be a nice way to thank him for the hospitality, Geralt thinks, Those dogs follow him everywhere.

And at the same time, somewhere deep in his mind, he knows that it’s an excuse to see Julian again, talk to him again. 

Which is, Geralt has to remind himself for what seems like the hundredth time in the last month, not something that he can indulge in.

Julian was simply a good host, it doesn’t mean that he wants to see the witcher again, even if he did talk to him like it didn’t matter who - what - Geralt is.

"I'm a hunter."

"A hunter with two swords behind his back and a silver medallion?"

"A monster hunter." 

"A monster hunter."

After so many years on the Path, Geralt has grown as immune to the hate as he was for illnesses but sometimes, when he would stumble across someone who would see at least a little past the witcher part of him, it was always harder to forget than the sneers and averted eyes, fear and disgust mixed in even proportions in them.

No, Geralt tells himself, almost aloud, No.

With an effort, he makes himself pass the stall without stopping. 

But in the evening, when the market is already closing and he has to pass through it again because he’s not familiar enough with the town to take a different route, the merchant is still there. He's getting ready to turn in for the day but the riding tack and the collars are still on the counter.

He must have noticed Geralt’s interest in the morning, for when the witcher passes by, he calls out to him and, before he knows it, Geralt finds himself standing in front of the stall. 

“What was it that caught your eye, Master Witcher?” the merchant asks with careful but practised curiosity of a salesman. “The dog collars?”

Reluctantly, Geralt nods.

This is a horrible idea, he tells himself.

“Ah!” the man smiles, following the witcher’s gaze and picking up one of the purple ones. “Exquisite, aren’t they? My daughter makes them. What kind of dog ya have?”

Geralt clears his throat, vaguely aware that he’s digging his own grave.

“Not mine,” he says in the end. “A-- friend’s.”

The merchant’s dark eyes light up with little sparks. 

“A present, then?” he asks.

“I suppose.”

The longer Geralt looks at the collar the merchant’s holding in his hand, the leather a beautiful, rich purple, the clearer it becomes that he’s not going to leave without it. The metal details, evenly spaced all around the middle of the collars, catch the light of the setting sun, almost hypnotising in their shine.

“It’s hunting dogs,” Geralt finally says, suppressing a sigh. “Two of them. Tall and slender, the bigger one can reach up to my chest with its nose.”

Maybe, he thinks, I can still get out of this because the collars are too small for dogs like this. He knows they're not but maybe the Gods themselves are going to preserve him from my own inability to think straight.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Master,” the merchant smiles, and Geralt’s last hope shatters. “These fit even the beast of a dog that my son has, so they will surely fit a hunting dog’s neck. Do you want them in different colours or both purple? There are some other colours under the counter, I can take them out to show you. Blue, red, maybe black?”

“Both purple,” Geralt says, accepting his defeat and reaching for his coin purse. “Identical, just like the dogs themselves.”

 ***

 “I’m going to give them to Arthur and we will be on our way,” Geralt tells Roach when they leave the town and turn towards Roggeven, where it will be easier to find their way to the mansion. “All I want is to thank him for his kindness, that is everything.”

Roach snorts at him, unimpressed by what they both know is a lie. 

“Well, it’s not going to be him that will come to open the gates, will it?” Geralt asks mockingly. “I will just give the collars to his majordomo and we will leave like we were never there. It’s a token of gratitude. Vesemir taught me that much.”

The mare just flicks an ear at him, uninterested and there is nothing Geralt can do but sigh and urge her into a faster gait with a whistle. 

Over the past weeks, he’d found himself thinking back on Julian a little more often than he would like to admit, even to himself. Especially to himself. 

Mostly because of a brush for Roach’s mane that he’d realised far too belatedly he’d taken from the stables in the mansion on accident. When he was packing the saddlebags before leaving, it was just there, right next to the riding tack, and he was still thinking about the stupid question he’d asked earlier to notice that it’s not his. 

When he’d finally realised, they were already three days away from the mansion. 

Well, yet another reason to return. Or so he tells himself. 

 ***

The road doesn't take long.

The mansion is only a two day ride away from Roggeven and, well, Geralt was meaning to head in that direction, anyway, the town and villages around the coast always generous with contracts this time of year. The warmer the water gets, the more monsters it seems to attract. 

But when he reaches the Duppa river, he turns east rather than west, and heads in the general direction of Gelibol, keeping close to the north bank. Soon enough, he’s in the town that had given him the nekker contract a month ago. 

The mansion is still a few hours away and the sun is starting to set, so, after a minute’s consideration, Geralt decides to stop for the night.

The town has two inns but he goes for the smaller one - the same one that he’d stayed at the last time. The quieter it is, the better. 

He can tell that he’s recognised as soon as he walks through the door but the innkeeper doesn’t say anything until later in the evening, when Geralt had already made himself somewhat comfortable in his rented room and has come downstairs for a drink. 

“Back so soon, Witcher?” the innkeeper asks, setting a tankard of ale in front of him. “Another nest of beasts somewhere?”

The inn is only now starting to fill up with guests and the dinner is just yet cooking, so it looks like the man has decided to pass time over a conversation. Strange, considering who Geralt is, but not so strange that it can be deemed alarming.

“Passing through,” the witcher says, taking a swig. The ale is just as watered-down as he remembers. “On my way to Gelibol.”

“Ah,” the man says with an understanding nod even though Geralt is sure that he had never been further than the croplands outside the town. “Not close.”

Geralt shrugs.

“Not far.”

He thinks about it for a few seconds but then decides that he’s not losing anything by asking. 

“The mansion a few hours away,” he starts, a little slow. “Who owns it?”

“Oh!” the innkeeper perks up like he’d been waiting for that question. “It’s a strange place, take my word on it, Witcher. There aren’t a lot of people from this village that go to those regions, mainly hunters and those that work on the croplands there, but some say that that mansion has been there ever since they could remember, some say that they’ve never seen it until about five or six years back.”

Geralt cocks a brow, indicating his interest and, when the innkeeper deliberately hesitates, rolls his eyes but throws another crown on the bartop. The man snatches it with a practised move and all of his attention is back on the witcher again. 

“And what about the owners?” Geralt asks, nothing in his voice to give him away. 

The innkeeper sets aside a tankard he’d been wiping and takes another one, shrugging with one shoulder. 

“I’ve only seen the mansion a couple of times with my own eyes but those who are in those regions more often say that they only see gardeners and stablemen working behind closed gates. On occasion they also see a man who they believe to be the owner,” he scoffs. “But from what I’ve heard, he’s way too young to own an estate like that, unless he’s Vizimir’s bastard son or someone. Cannot be older than twenty-five.”

An illegitimate prince? 

That would explain the size of the estate, Geralt thinks, And all the paintings, enormous beds and polished wood furniture. That would explain the giant garden and the stables with multiple horses. The way Julian dresses, those expensive silks that he wasn’t afraid of getting stained with blood when he was stitching the wounds on Geralt’s shoulder without pushing back the sleeves of his chemise. 

Suddenly, it all makes a little too much sense and Geralt is so taken aback by the thought that for a moment, he feels just as overwhelmed as he did that evening in the mansion, when Julian had invited him in. 

He could easily be Vizimir’s illegitimate son. The math is very simple. If Julian is twenty-five - and he cannot be older than that, by the looks of him - Vizimir had already been crowned king when he’d been born. 

How hard can it be for the king of Redania to send an illegitimate son away from prying eyes while still providing him with the comfort of what’s nearly a castle? Geralt had heard of monarchs that loved their illegitimate children just as much as they loved the heirs to the throne.

"Do you live here alone?"

"Depends on how you look at it. My majordomo lives here, in the mansion, and a little further into the garden, there is a house where the gardeners, the housekeepers and everyone else that works for me resides. So technically, no, I don't live here alone. But if you mean family, then yes."

Geralt shakes his head and makes himself concentrate on his ale. 

"What does an illegitimate prince want in these areas? Any major city is weeks away," he says.

The innkeeper shrugs and wipes his hands off on a dirty towel. 

"Who knows what's going on in the heads of the royalty?" he says. "It can be a summer house for all I know. But in this town, we all believe pretty much the same thing. No one has that kind of wealth unless they're close to politics."

Geralt hums, falling silent for a few seconds before asking:

“And you’ve never seen him in town?”

The innkeeper chuckles humorlessly. 

“What can someone that owns a mansion like that want from a place like this? I bet one room in that estate costs more than this entire town, twice.”

 ***

 After he leaves his place by the bar and makes his way up to his room, Geralt gets into bed as soon as he sheds his armour but finds himself unable to sleep. 

He knows he shouldn’t dwell on it, shouldn’t even really consider it an option, but the thought of Julian being a prince - legitimate or not - does not leave his mind. It doesn’t help just how much sense it makes. Geralt’s only seen interiors like that in castles, on those rare occasions that he’d set foot in them. 

But then again, all of those castles were nothing but displays of the monarch's wealth while as the mansion felt lived-in and loved. Like all the painting, all the sculptures and figures, all the velvet and silk had been hand-picked by Julian to accommodate to his own understanding of beauty. 

Geralt has never been the one to let any kinds of obsessive thoughts get the best of him but this one he just couldn’t seem to get out of his head. 

He’s not even sure he can make the rest of the way to the mansion in the morning. The idea of giving dog collars to someone who might be the son of Redania’s king suddenly sounds laughable. He’s probably got anything and everything he wants in that mansion and, surely, dog collars are included. 

But, well, Geralt’s already got them. He’s not going to carry them around in his saddlebags forever. 

The witcher curses under his breath, turning for what seems like the hundredth time of the night to try and finally settle in comfortably.

Making an effort over himself, he closes his eyes and clears his mind of any thoughts, sinking into meditation that will allow him to fall asleep peacefully. 

After all, he’s only going to give the collars to Arthur.

[madyxtothemax]

The Pit Stop - Part One with @MyArrowBends

Atticus: 

-After a few days, the roads and sights began to blur together. Each truck stop was the same. The coffee all tasted the same and the bathrooms were all equally disgusting. I had enjoyed the solitude at first, but was now beginning to get a little stir crazy, and despite having bought a thicker foam for the bed, it still wasn’t the greatest sleep I’d ever had. 

As I crossed into California, I found myself craving human interaction, and more important than that, I had decided one way or another I would be sleeping in an actual bed tonight. As I gassed up at another same looking, shitty coffee making gas station, I didn’t bother checking google for any nearby hotels, figuring I’d stop when I grew tired and see what was close at that point. 

The hours passed and the sun was inching down toward the horizon with a speed that my van couldn’t seem to match. Dusk had settled and on the horizon I could see a cluster of lights that belonged to a city. I wasn’t sure which one it was, it didn’t matter. I had stopped paying attention to the names at this point since I didn’t really have a destination in mind. I would know when I was ready to stop and until I felt that feeling, I’d keep driving west. 

As the city lights grew closer, that same feeling of from earlier in the day returned. I was ready to find a motel for the night, maybe even somewhere I could grab a drink and a greasy burger. The potential for brief human interaction had a grin pulling the corners of my lips up. 

Still, I avoided searching something out on my phone, wanting to see what I could find on my own. Exiting off the freeway, and making my way toward the city, my eyes searched the buildings as I passed them by. Disappointingly, nothing much seemed to be open...at least nothing that grabbed my attention or sparked any interest. I wanted to find something local, I wasn’t interested in any kind of franchise. Those places were not geared toward any kind of interaction, speed and efficiency was their purpose. 

Finally after a few turns bringing me deeper into the city, I spotted a neon sign. The bright OPEN flashing in the door was the only invitation I needed. Admittedly, I wasn’t paying proper attention because I was still needing to keep an eye on the road, but as I pulled my van over to the sidewalk and looked up at the sign to fully read it, I couldn’t stop my laughter as it filled the quiet around me. 

A tattoo shop. 

I was not a collector of skin art, even though I liked it, I had never really felt a desire or pull to permanently mark my body with any sort of image. But I could see people inside, and I could go in and look around. I could get that human interaction I was craving even if I had zero intentions of getting a tattoo. Yeah. I could do that. 

Twisting the key in the ignition to turn off the engine, I unbuckled my seatbelt and made my way toward the door, noting the time on the door before opening it. I paused to check the time on my phone...they weren’t too far from closing. Perfect. Just enough time to have myself a casual conversation with someone about something I’d never follow through on before finding myself some food and a bed to sleep on.-

Madyx:

<I’d woken with it, the unshakable intuition alerting me that something was on the way. Something for me to attend to. Something significant. Someone to benefit from my unique abilities. Something to shake up the doldrums of a monotonous wave of months. 

As the hours in the day had passed like any other with a few window shoppers, bookings and not much more, whatever I had been anticipating hadn’t materialized. My intuition wasn’t normally so off, in fact I momentarily wondered if I’d pissed off the wrong people and lost my privileges. But, nah, I couldn’t shake it, even as the hours ticked down to less than fifteen minutes before the neon went dark. 

Having just finished with the people who’d shown up to book a session with Jordan, I was relegated to the idea I’d served as a glorified personal assistant for the day. Hell, I hadn’t even done a single piercing, let alone expressed anything in ink. At least Jordan would be pleased with what I’d lined up for her; a lot of people looking to lose their memories and oh-so-many willing to accept whatever consequences came with those choices.

I had my back turned as the group of three left, the bell chiming their exit. Oddly, the shop didn’t feel empty; I wasn’t alone after all. 

Turning, I was unsurprised to see a guy had wandered in just as the others had left. First impression was strong: he looked road weary, like he’d been places, but he wasn’t weighted by fatigue - nope. He wore whatever travels he’d been on with an earnestness. He wasn’t unkempt, but it looked like he hadn’t had a shave in a few days, and there was nothing that could have been done to conceal that he was damn gorgeous. I’d need to see more skin to know if there was any ink hidden under the clothes, and there were no visible piercings… visible being the operative word… 

Right.

I detoured my thoughts from veering in the direction of the gutter and noted the feeling that surfaced during the day had morphed into something more tangible. 

Well then.

I walked his way, which conveniently enough, was in the direction of the sign that was about to go dark. He, whoever he was, already had an unspoken invitation to stay as long as he liked.> 

Hey man, anything I can help you with? 

Atticus: 

-As I stood at the door, hand gripping the handle while sliding my phone into my back pocket, I looked up in time to see three people headed my way. I swung the door open and held it for them, offering an easy smile as they passed and spoke with an excitement I suddenly realized I wanted to feel. Seeing it on others left me no choice but to notice that I was heavily lacking that type of emotion in my own life. Sure, I had bought my van and felt the excitement and when I hit the road, it was there. But it was surface level excitement. 

I wanted to feel the rush of doing something impactful in my life. I still wanted to have some kind of human contact, and while my opinion and lack of desire to ink my skin hadn’t changed in the thirty seconds it took for me to hold a door open and walk inside the shop, I was definitely more open to suggestions. 

The guy who was working had his back to me. That was fine, he was busy and I had all the time in the world to wait to be noticed. Rather than doing something obnoxious like clearing my throat, I turned and began to look at the flash on the walls. Each page was neatly framed and hung with obvious care. Not a single one was off kilter. It made me smile. Anyone who paid this much attention to detail truly cared about what they did. I was envious of their passion.

I didn’t even have artwork that had hung on the walls in my office back in New York. Maybe if I had, my attitude toward being stuck behind a desk all day would have improved. Likely not. 

As I scanned a page filled with anchors, ships and pinup girls, a voice was directed at me. I had been so lost in my head, I forgot my entire reason for stepping into a shop I had no business being in. Turning my attention on the guy, I paused at his question. Shit. Instant attraction. I couldn’t remember the last time that had ever happened. My dick twitched as if to say, SURPRISE I still work! I felt completely disarmed. A fraud. An imposter. I couldn’t help the laugh that was two parts guilt and one part eagerness. 

“...anything I can help you with…”

Was there anything he could help me with? ...yes there certainly was, but I really didn’t want to admit that or what my initial reaction to him had been. My eyes searched his face first and then his gaze as it remained on me. His eyes were warm and welcoming the way my beloved hoodie felt each time I put it on. 

I was taking too long to answer but he didn’t seem to mind considering I was one of those assholes who showed up 15 minutes before closing. Remembering my entire reason for coming in here, to have a conversation with someone, I lifted my hand to the frame on the wall I had been looking at and grinned lazily at him, one side slightly higher than the other as I answered his question with one of my own.- Do you know who drew these? 

Madyx:

<The closer I got, the better my last call was looking. He appeared to be admiring what he saw on the wall which was a lift to my confidence after a day of nada. I was starting to pick up on the energy he was throwing off, and it was coming through strong. He was rife with a quiet excitement, like he was flirting with epiphanies and on the edge of taking chances. I was feeling it on a vibration much higher than my norm. Instant clarity. I relaxed into myself after his arrival helped me shake that unrequited anticipation I’d battled all day.  

When his eyes flicked off the art on the wall to me, I was ill prepared. His steel-blue irises were rimmed in navy, and subtly backlit; his gaze flecked with mischief. The cut of his jaw was a visual temptation outfitted with an infuriatingly attractive amount of scruff. His laugh broke me out of my preoccupation. It was telling, but only thanks to my extra sensory skills. 

His grin though… that was what slayed me where I stood. Crooked and slow, even stretched his lips were full and fetching.  Literally, I couldn’t have hand-picked the features of my non-type type more perfectly. He was exactly what I liked in a guy, at least physically. 

The lift of his hand to indicate the frame on the wall brought up my stare. A confident grin preceded my answer.>  

That would be me. But those are some of my more generic samples. I’ve got a book you can check if you’re in the market. Unless you’ve already got something specific in mind? 

<My eyes raked shamelessly up and down his body, taking stock of the canvas, before heading home to his eyes. I didn’t have to wonder if the charge I was feeling between us was legit. I knew it. If he had come for some ink and a fuck, I’d be happy to indulge his pleasure, even if it wasn’t in store for me… there’s no way I wouldn’t enjoy it.> 

Atticus: 

-The weight of this guy’s stare left me feeling some kind of way. At first, I thought I might be getting one of those he’s into you vibes, but then he answered my question and doubt began to creep back in. Maybe he was one of those people who were far too perceptive and he could smell the scent of wannabe all over me. 

No, I didn’t have anything in mind. I wasn’t interested in getting a tattoo, which was how I felt before I opened the door. I just wanted to have a conversation. Seemed the only way for me to do that without him getting annoyed that I was wasting his time so close to the end of the day was to keep looking at his work. I could do that, wanted to, actually. 

I shook my head, answering as honestly and non-committal as possible as his gaze hit me with a pointed once over. All right. I knew that look. I had given it out a time or two myself. I felt more confident as I found my voice again.- 

No. I don’t have anything specific in mind. I’m not exactly the type to just fill my skin with ink. -I paused and considered how my words sounded then quickly added to it so as not to insult the guy who clearly had no problem filling his own skin with ink which I suddenly wanted to check out every bit of.- I mean, not without research, that is. I’d love to see your book. 

-As he guided me to where a few different books sat on top of the glass countertop, I noticed each one had a different name on the spine. The one he gave me said Madyx. I grinned at him again and flipped open the cover. There were pages of photos of tattoos done on people. Some pages had drawings, too, and I took my time looking at each one. The silence between us was comfortable and easy. When my eyes landed on a particularly colourful image that took up someone’s entire back I paused to study it.- Wow. This one must have taken quite a while. Your work is incredible, Madyx. 

-I chanced a glance his way as I said his name so he knew I wasn’t just blowing smoke up his ass, before looking back down and flipping another page. I was beginning to feel like I was leading him on knowing I wasn’t going to be in town long enough to commit any kind of time like that, even if I did want ink. Which in the three minutes since I last asked myself, still hadn’t changed. I couldn’t pull the trigger on something that permanent. Plus, a tattoo that large would have taken more than one session, I knew that much. As I shifted from foot to foot, trying to figure out how to let him know I was sorry to have wasted his time, the light caught something below the glass counter. It was a showcase of sorts filled with what I assumed was body jewelry. My stomach lurched and adrenaline surged through my veins. I’d always been interested in getting a piercing, maybe...it was far less permanent than ink and wouldn’t take even a fraction of time.- 

Do you only do tattoos? -Sliding the book to the side a little, I checked out the display of hardware with more than the curious interest I had previously given to his artwork.- 

Madyx:

<Gorgeous seemed to be stalling. I sensed a reluctance I couldn’t quite define. I was starting to think it was definitely his first time, or maybe he was just feeling out the idea. BULLSEYE. He admitted as much by answering that he wasn’t the type to fill his skin with ink, but I wasn’t offended, nope. His eyes seemed to reflexively land on my own collection of pieces, and I wanted to invite him to gawk with those blues all he wanted. 

I didn’t care if he didn’t want any work only that it might end up in him leaving sooner rather than later. I was not down with that. I almost missed when he caught his self-perceived fuck up, but was nearly punch-drunk when he took me up on the offer to check out my book. Normally I wouldn’t waste someone’s time if they weren’t actually intent on letting me scratch my artistic itch, but he didn’t seem in a hurry to leave and, duh, same page. 

I handed off the book and he seemed to be truly checking it out. There was an excitement for me, one I hadn’t quite tasted. It was a thousand flavors, custom made...meant for me. Yeah, this was hitting way below the epidermis, into the bone, and below the belt, too. When he stopped on the page he did, my gut twisted in the best way, he just so happened to land on the favorite piece I’d ever laid down in ink. It had been inspired by Klimt’s “The Kiss” per the patron’s request, but with several liberties worked into the artistic elements. Instead of an obscure male and female, it was clearly two males. It had morphed from a symbolist piece to something more sci-fi and steampunk.  There were three dimensional aspects and an inordinate amount of intricate details, like any provoking piece, it begged look after look. In total it had taken 36 hours in six sessions. I would have got lost thinking about it if something else hadn’t caught my attention - my name. The intention in his tone was unmistakable. Now we were getting somewhere.

I didn’t even care that we didn’t discuss that tatt he’d stopped on, it was logged into the distant past when his attention shifted to the display of body jewelry. I walked to the opposite side of the counter, light shining up from the backlit case, we were closer to face to face and hell-to-the-yes; I saw the change in his posture. We were REALLY getting somewhere. 

I handle the piercings, too. <clearing the space of the books for the full view> But before we get to that, we need to level the playing field. Got a name or should I just call you gorgeous? 

Atticus:

-Generally speaking, I was not always very quick to pick up the cues when someone was flirting with me. It usually took a couple of are they or aren’t they moments before I caught on and then properly joined in on the exchange of the flirting game. Tonight it only took me two of those moments. First when I caught sight of him looking me over and then again, just now when he called me gorgeous. 

My grin at Madyx was instant and interested as I answered, holding out my hand to him for a shake, as proper dudes do.- Atticus. 

-When his hand slid into mine, I gave it a solid squeeze, and chanced a light brush of my thumb over the back of his before releasing it. His hand was warm and slightly rough on the palm, not at all unpleasant, the kind of hand that knew how to do hard work and wasn’t afraid of it. Not at all like my paper-pushing, then couch lazing hands. The most work mine had been doing lately had been flicking a signal indicator for left and right. 

As I returned my attention back to the display of body jewelry, I briefly thought about the other places I might enjoy the rough grip of his hands and damn near groaned. My dick was more than on board and before I could pitch any kind of tents of embarrassment, I considered piercing the damn thing just to get it to go back down. As far as ideas one might think about to initiate a cooling down effect on their body, this one should have worked for bringing my semi back to completely flaccid. Should have. 

It didn’t. 

The more I imagined Madyx jamming a needle through my most sensitive flesh, the more my pulse quickened and the more I discovered that I liked the idea. Fuck. Guess my body had decided for me. I now only needed to man up and tell the guy what I wanted. Vocalization time. If I couldn’t ask for the damn piercing, I did not deserve to have his hands on me, and that, judging by the sinking pit my stomach had just become was not at all what I wanted. 

Given how everything else I had done since rolling into this town has been on impulse decision making, I let my mouth run without much consultation with my brain, and hoped for the best.-

I’d like to be handled. -Welp. That was a wide open innuendo of his own words that couldn’t be taken back now. Guess I wasn’t going with my usual subtle approach, then again, nothing about this encounter was close to my usual.- A piercing, maybe two? Do you have time tonight? I noticed the sign said you were closing right away. I can always come back tomorrow if you need to close up and get out of here... 

-I wouldn’t keep him if he had somewhere else to be, but I really didn’t want to wait until tomorrow, I was too afraid of losing my nerve or even worse, waking up having decided I suddenly wanted an entire back piece devoted to body piercings. I shuddered at that particular thought before shaking my head, waiting to see if he was game for some over time before I even broached the topic of where I wanted him to pierce me.-     

Madyx:

<There was the grin again, but this one drew me in like it was baited with something addictive. I wanted a taste. I also wanted to hear him say my name again, that was until he told me his. 

 Atticus. 

As if I wasn’t already in deep shit with the grin, he had to go and share a name with one of my favorite literary characters. I wanted to roll it around in my brain on a loop, then say it out loud so I could see how it would feel in the slide off my tongue.  I swallowed thickly and dropped my hand into the one he offered for a shake, setting off a chain reaction I had in no way expected. 

Our hands fit like they belonged to each other, his warmth matched mine but his skin was smoother, more pliant. My eyes hit his just as I felt the subtle stroke of his thumb on mine. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and an electrifying buzz scaled my spine, then split and radiated north, east, south and west. My heart started to race in an erratic beat against my rib cage. When heat balled in my gut and prickled along the underside of my dick, it finally registered what was going on. Pleasure had always been my gift, but I had only played delivery boy and spectator so I hadn’t immediately recognized my receptivity. And it was specifically something about him…. I could feel his desire commingling with mine, the energy and tension between us behaving like a magnet...SNAP. 

Shit. For the first time in my life I was on the other side of the glass I’d always looked through. He was human, it shouldn’t be possible, but his singular, innocent touch had been undeniably thrill inducing. My mind and body were both fully engaged. If it wasn’t for the loss of his hand and his next words, I probably would have stood there in silence like a mooning asshat…. Lost in his eyes and all that.

But, HELLO, he wanted to be handled. I crossed my arms casually over my chest and couldn’t suppress the sideways smirk that came on quick. I’d handle him all he wanted, and with curiosity layering on top of the attraction to him, I wasn’t going to be shy. 

I kept getting hit with solid signals from him, they were unlike anything I’d ever felt, and somehow I knew he was also outside of his norm, but completely natural.  My attention perked when he brought up piercings and something about coming back tomorrow. 

Time to perish that thought. 

Shaking my head, I dropped my hands in a wide sprawl on the display case, leaning towards him.> 

I’ve got the time and my place is just upstairs. So what do you want, Atticus? <The question was meant to be overt and open ended. And if I loved learning his name… saying it packed a thousand times the punch.>  And for the record, I’d love to handle you. <It was shameless and I was not at all sorry.>

Atticus:

-He lived upstairs...I laughed at the immediate thoughts that came to mind then shook my head slowly, speaking quickly before he could get any kind of insulted.- 

Seems for the moment we are neighbours, Madyx. -The hand that had just held his, because of course I would now be differentiating my hands by whether or not they had touched him, lifted and I thumbed over my shoulder to my van parked out front. As his eyes moved to where I had indicated, I stared at the way his lips curved up at the corners and my fingers twitched at my sides wanting nothing more than to touch him again. 

Since it was generally frowned upon to yank a guy I’d just met over the counter and kiss him without giving him any kind of forewarning or chance to stop me, I cleared my throat and attempted to redirect my wayward thoughts back to what we had been talking about. He’d asked me a question and the proper thing to do was answer it. What did I want? 

I knew what I wanted… HIM. But that wasn’t what he’d been asking no matter HOW suggestive his voice had sounded to my ears.

In my early twenties I had looked into piercings, researched all the types and varieties a guy could get as a means of using the knowledge to impress this one chick I had liked when I overheard her talking about how hot guys who had them were. It even worked, up to a point. Turned out, simply knowing about piercings was much different than actually having them, and when she discovered I didn’t actually have any, her interest in me wavered and she quickly moved on. At that point, I didn’t see the need to get anything done since I had started out wanting to impress her, my intentions had been shallow, and lacked the intent to follow through. But now...now, my intentions were less fueled with wanting to impress someone I was attracted to and more about self-discovery. 

Tonight, the idea of getting a piercing made me feel more alive than I had in years. It was the right reason to pull the trigger on this. The gut churning excitement was the same I felt when I had called the number on the FOR SALE sign that had been hanging on the window the day I decided to buy my van. I was immediately grateful to the chick of my early twenties for having inspired me to do all that research, even if her rejection had been a blow to my fragile, immature ego. 

Was I being impulsive now? Absolutely. But I already knew I wouldn’t regret this which was why without any uncertainty colouring my voice, my gaze found Madyx’s and I grinned confidently as I told him exactly what I wanted.-

I’d like the first two rungs of Jacob’s Ladder. 

-I knew what I was asking for, and I hoped like hell the nickname for frenum piercings hadn’t changed in the years since I had done all that research. If it had, I fully expected him to laugh in my face and tell me to get my wannabe ass the hell out. I held my breath, and counted the thuds of my pulse as they wooshed in my ears feeling less and less confident in my answer as the seconds passed by that it took him to speak.- 

Madyx:

<There were several impulsive words trying to fly off my tongue, but I was biding my time. I glanced past him when he indicated he was my neighbor, noting the tell tale silhouette of his VW bus. Currently nomadic, likely sleeping on a less than comfy mattress in the name of experience.  The mentality someone must possess to live on impulse was a turn on, and it worked in my favor. Without knowing it, he was feeding me information and arming my artillery with all kinds of weapons to extend the night…because without explanation, I just wanted more with him. More time. More touch. MORE. 

Atticus was setting off signals like flares in a moonless night, the attraction was undeniably mutual. I knew it, but did he? He would, I wasn’t letting him out of my company without shooting my shot. . My sensory grid was lighting up in a bright spectrum of greens, this was something fae only experienced in the rarest of circumstances. I knew what it meant but couldn’t delve into all that mythology on the spot. 

Fuck that. I was just going to go with it. 

And then he said it. What he wanted. 

I knew there was more by the way his eyes flicked over my lips and the unequivocal energy that told me he was using restraint. 

My brows shot up in reaction. My grin stretched a little wider. My dick bucked in my jeans clearly in support of this development. I toed the line of professionalism in my day to day operations, but this was beyond that. I couldn’t stop thinking about getting his cock out of his pants. With a casual swipe of my tongue between my lips, I opened the case, pulling out the options so we could get down to business. I knew he wasn’t going to run. I’d bet on it.>

You have piercings I can’t see? Or do I get first honors? 

<fingering a few of the barbells to draw his eyes down, even though I loved the heat of them on me> Are you thinking the same size for each? Or a descending size?  Grooved balls? <I smirked, couldn’t help it>  Smooth? 

We’ll get to gauge when I see what we’re working with, Atticus. 

<I loved his name too fucking much and still wanted to say it a thousand different ways just to know how it felt on my tongue, lips and in every incarnation. And yeah, I wanted him to know I had his dick on my mind, front and center. With every tick of the second hand, the tension was on the rise, and I was thriving in anticipation of reaching the breaking point.>

Atticus:

-Just as my lungs were beginning to burn for fresh oxygen, he spoke, and I exhaled slowly, controlling myself from letting out a sigh of relief so as not to let on how unsure of myself I had been feeling. There was no laughter or smirking from him that told me I had used an outdated slang. Excellent. I was starting to feel less and less like a poser with each follow up question he asked. He was very clearly taking my request seriously though I was not blind to the less than subtle moments of flirtation he was allowing to slip out with each exchange between us. And I was about to let him see my dick. I almost laughed. I held it in. Barely. 

It was my turn to speak. Right, he needed answers. I could give those. With a grin and a rub of my hands together I chuckled as I got the first question squared away.- No. I don’t have any other piercings. You’re my first, Mad. 

-My eyes dropped down to the tray of hardware he removed from the display case, ears working overtime to hear each of his rapid fire queries that I was delayed in noticing I had already shortened his name from Madyx to Mad. Both suited him, but if he was about to get face up in my junk without it being sexual I figured it was all right for me to shorten his name without expressed permission, that was how nicknames were supposed to happen anyway.- 

Size. I hadn’t really considered that when I went and got overzealous with my request for two piercings. -Laughing low, my eyes moved between the various sizes of barbells he was showing me before making up my mind with ease.- 

I want them to be the same. As far as accessories go, I’m a bit of a minimalist and the idea of gradually increasing seems a bit pompous if not arrogant to me. I can only imagine the size needed at the base if I went and got the great idea to complete the ladder. FUCK. -A shudder of regret for future me shot down my spine then ricocheted straight into the tip of my dick. All previous arousal swifty vacated my body and in a hurry. Decision made.- Yeah. definitely the same size. And smooth. 

I also know enough from my research ages ago to know I won’t be looking to stretch out the gauge, either. No matter how fast these particular piercings tend to heal, I don’t want my dick to become a branch of a Christmas tree, sagging under the weight of a too heavy ornament. God, can you even imagine?! -The mental images that began to fill my mind had me laughing again.- Otherwise, any other decisions needing made, I will heed to your expert opinion. 

Madyx:

<I caught his exhale and something about it felt like he was relieved, as if he’d just confessed a long held desire for the first time, and maybe I wasn’t so off the mark as he answered that I was his first. I didn’t have time for a smart ass remark about popping his cherry because of what he said right after. 

Mad. He called me Mad. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, as if a hand had ghosted upwards, calling it to attention. The sensation carried up into my scalp, and even to the tips of my ears. How was it that something so damn simple was so affecting with him? It wasn’t the first time since he walked in my shop, and the longer he stayed, the more I was convinced there was more of it in store.

I took him in as he weighed his options out loud, none of his choices surprising me. I figured he’d want something understated,  but I didn’t want to assume out loud and then have him reveal his elaborate plans for a rainbow ladder with alternating barbells down the back of his cock. That would have been a grave mistake! 

I laughed my ass off when he referenced a Christmas tree sagging under the weight of a heavy ornament from sizing up the gauges, unable to stop myself.>

If the piercings look like too heavy ornaments and your dick a limp tree after piercings, then someone doesn’t know shit about shit when it comes to proper technique. 

You’re in good hands, Atticus. I promise you that. <I flicked my eyes up to hopefully catch his, and thankfully I didn’t miss my target.> First, proper frenum piercings need to hit at the right depth to avoid that unfortunate look. Second, and counterintuitively, because of the skin, we’ll want to use a heavier gauge. With a lighter weight, during the healing process, it would push towards the surface, also resulting in the wrong appearance and a damn inconvenient dangling effect that could lead to unfortunate zipping incidents. 

<Laughing, it was a feat to drop my eyes from his as I started selecting options to suit his taste>

You’ll want to consider width dependent on your head. Sight unseen, I think this brushed steel goes with your vibe. 

You also have options when it comes to the size of the balls. <smirking, I laid a few out> You don’t have to decide standing here, we’ll bring them over to my station and you can see what looks right to you. 

You ready? Need a beer? Something stronger?  <My mouth on your cock to ease any nerves? I kept that last one on lockdown, lifting a brow, as I anxiously waited for his reply>

Atticus:

-My previously lost arousal was swiftly returning, and reaching tenting trouble territory when Madyx promised I’d be in good hands. Wouldn’t I just love to be in his hands. I stared at them while he sorted through the barbells, selecting some he thought would work. Long fingers, nimble and sure in their movements. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Now was not the time to learn I had a kink for hands, I’d never felt that way before, maybe they were just his hands I was lusting after, particularly when paired with this whole conversation that felt heavy with an undercurrent of attraction. I couldn’t deny it was flowing in both directions. He was making it pretty obvious, where I would have normally brushed it off as him being friendly in the beginning, I’d have to be blind to not see it now. I was damn sure seeing it. 

Things were about to get very awkward if I didn’t get control over my body. I was a magnet drawn to a piece of metal, desperate to move closer, to obtain that satisfying click when the connection was finally made. 

What was my life right now? 

How could, of all the places I decided to stop on a whim have this guy right here, and have this kind of mutual attraction happen so effortlessly. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt that way toward someone and have them return it. Years, for sure. Many years. My eye was not exactly particular, it checked out chicks and dudes equally, but it took a lot to make me want a second glance.  

Then he had to go and talk about ball sizing while smirking at me. I was starting to suspect he was playing with me. Cat toying with a mouse. Taunting my dick with his innuendo, coaxing it to come out of hiding and play his game. Did I want to? DUH. There was no denying how much I wanted to do just that. 

But how does one go from piercing consultation to...Hey, you give me a boner, wanna hook up? Yeah…..no. He was hot, and there was no doubt in my mind that he was hit on all the time. Likely every day. I was certain of it. I didn’t want to be just some lame customer who was looking for an after hours special with the good looking tattoo shop guy. 

Could I be any more of a cliche. I prided myself on being nothing of the sort...well I kind of was with my current on trend living in a van and travelling lifestyle. The only points working in my favour there was that I hadn’t documented a single moment of it outside of the memories in my mind. I wasn’t the next Van Guy with the Instagram worthy morning shots overlooking the ocean while holding a cup of coffee and casually displaying my abs for more likes. A thirst trap, I was not. I had higher standards than that. 

Questions were being sent my way. Was I ready? What a loaded thing to ask, I laughed and hoped it didn’t sound as choked off to him as it did to my ears.- Yes. I’m ready. I’m good on the beer, for now. I think. 

-I laughed again, this time it felt a little looser passing over my lips and I looked down at the tray of jewelry once more then looked back up at him, eyes finding his. Before I could stop myself, words tumbled out without much control over the content or how they’d be received, now was not the time to have shame or embarrassment, I needed to know if the situation in my jeans could be salvaged.- I once read that when getting dick tattoos, you had to be hard the whole time. Is the same true for piercings? 

Madyx:

<The energy smacking me around was nothing I’d ever come across. Fuck. It was inexplicably intense, like we were plugged into each other and exchanging a charge. I was still mind-blown by what he was putting out. His subconscious and deep-seated pleasures were stimulating mine, as if they were dependent on one another. When I caught moments of him looking at me, my body reacted and my heart was thumping, driven by the physical and not so physical. I shut-up the internal analysis as much as I could and focused on what was in front of me. 

Atticus was definitely anticipating, his excitement laced with nervousness inciting my extra fae receptors into overdrive. He covered pretty well, but his flustered laugh made me want to drop my jeans on the spot. I was stoked he’d declined the drink, especially since he’d slipped with the “for now.” Bingo. That was enough to confirm he wasn’t looking to bolt after I got up and personal with his cock. 

The jewelry out, I let my attention land squarely back on him while he entertained what I’d displayed. It gave me a chance to scope the strong, lithe line of his back, and the sharp cut of his scruffed jaw. Hell, with every fresh recognition of his attributes, his hotness was intensifying right along with my craving for a thorough taste. While I had this fuck-me revelation, he was quiet, probably thinking about the dual-punctures I was about to put through his cock.  I knew something was coming but the smirk that happened when he asked his question could not be helped.>

I’d like to see someone keep it hard through an entire inking. It only needs to be up for the stencil portion of the tattoo, after that there are creative ways to stretch a dick for the shading. As for you… <pursing my lips then rubbing them together> I’ll get the job done either way, as long as I can pinch the skin, I can pierce it. Generally, there’s more to work with when it’s not at attention. Chew on that and follow me.

 <My smirk widened just before I broke eye contact and grabbed the tray of jewelry.  Cocking my head in the direction of my station and the chair that would have him slightly reclined when he planted ass in it. I set the tray down and waited for him to get situated while I snapped on my gloves. When I turned around,shit, my eyes went straight south where it was hard to miss what was happening behind his zipper and before I could blow it, my eyes shot back to his. I couldn’t seem to stop doing that. I also couldn’t repress the urge to set him at ease and give him something to grab onto during this prelude to a pierce. 

Playing it cool, casual, intent on finessing my approach, I took a seat on my stool, which kept us at eye level with one another. I knew he wanted this in my bones, but I was feeling the nerves from the risk of it. I stepped over the edge and took the cliff dive, the words passing over my lips as I felt a rush from the free fall.> How about you don’t leave after we’re done with business. <It was a question, but the way it came out sounded more like a statement. Unintentional. Organic. Assured. I dropped my eyes to his cock before they raked back up his body...to his suckable throat...his full lips...and back home to his grey-blue eyes.>

Atticus: 

-“Chew on that and follow me.” Shit. He knew. He had to. There was no way he couldn’t tell I was already sporting wood. When he turned his back to me and headed to his station, I tried to chill myself the fuck out. Naturally my eyes landed on his ass and the fire that was in my veins ignited to an inferno and I knew there would be no way to get the blood to vacate my cock. This was going to be embarrassing for at least one of us in a couple of moments. 

Did it matter though? I was just passing through town, at least that had been the plan when I entered the shop. I came in here looking for a conversation with another person and now I was about to leave with some metal accessories. I shook my head as I took a seat on the chair he wanted me in and took a few deeper breaths trying to slow the thundering of my heart. 

I wasn’t shy about my body, never had been, but damn if I wasn’t worried about how he’d react when he took notice that I was more than eager to have his hands on me. Could I explain it away with a joke about being a masochist? Maybe, but it wasn’t true, not by the definition of the word. 

As I spent precious time fretting in my mind he had turned around from setting down the tray and...YEP. I watched as Mad got himself an eyeful and like the professional I already figured he was, his gaze moved right past my crotch and straight up to my face. 

He didn’t laugh. Or smile or even make a comment. The flirting that had been so natural halted. I didn’t know what to do with that. I was suddenly feeling overheated in my hoodie while worry about insulting him began to cycle through my mind, of course that was when things started to chill out for me in trouser tent town. I reconsidered the whole masochist angle again just to try and break the silence but shook my head to myself. It wouldn’t matter in a day or two or a week. I’d carry on with my drive and he’d have a story to tell his coworkers tomorrow. I was fine being a laughable story. 

Before I could find something casual to say, he sucker punched me with that line of staying after he was done and I briefly wondered if he was trying to throw me a bone because he felt sorry for me. I didn’t think so. The tension between us had been palpable from the start. I nodded at his non-question.- Yeah. I’d like that. Though we both know you already know that I would. 

-I laughed low as his eyes did another sweep and the previously cooling jets fired right back up again. Jesus. When did I become a thirteen year old boy seeing his first dirty magazine. I reached up behind my neck as I sat forward in the chair and pulled my hoodie off over my head, draping it on the arm of my chair, leaving me in my well worn white tee that was underneath. 

There was no point in trying to hide shit, the elephant in the room had been noticed, spoken about and well acknowledged, not to mention Mad was about to shake hands with the trunk. I blew out a breath, feeling all embarrassment sliding away as easily as I had taken off my hoodie, and grinned at him.- Let’s get to you shoving some needles through my family jewels so we can have that beer you mentioned.

[skylarmoon71]

Earth 2 Harrison Wells x Reader- Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don’t own the Flash

Warning: Mentions of suicide. Please be warned. 

“Barry be careful, if she gets any of that mist of you you’re a goner. The poison affects you the same.” Cisco’s voice rang in his ear. 

“Got it!” he zipped forward, coming to a complete stop when he stood before the woman who just watched him cockily. There were over ten people now unconscious in the museum. 

“Listen Flash, just let me get that gem and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“You know I can’t do that.” There was a ruby, said to have belonged to a royal family. It was a main attraction in the museum, for obvious reasons. 

“You know, they really should keep things like this more heavily guarded. “ the meta mocked walking closer to Barry. He was standing directly in front of the artifact. 

“So, how do you intend to stop me. If you try to zoom closer you’ll be done within a second. And I’m sure you realize by now touching me is just as dangerous. So what’s Central City’s greatest hero going to do?” She was taunting him. Barry gritted his teeth. He pushed forward. 

It didn’t take long or her poison to release, putting her spores into the air. The second he took a step, his body fell flat, veins surging with the green poison. Barry gasped, watching as she laughed walking over his body. She broke the glass with ease, plucking the gem and stuffing it into her pocket. 

“See you next time Flash.” With that she was off, the alarms in the museum blaring at her exit. 

Through the entire ordeal you’d been hiding behind a pillar. You peeked out when you realized the crazy meta was gone. What you did see was the Flash passed out of the floor. 

“Crap!” you ran over. When you got closer you could hear a voice coming from what looked like a com link in his ear. 

“Barry, Barry, answer me!!” a female voice screamed. You pulled out the mic, speaking into it. 

“H-Hello, I’m one of the civilians at the museum. That woman she got the gem and ran off. You need to get the ambulance here now!” the woman didn’t say anything for a second. 

“The Flash, is he breathing?” she sounded hesitant to even ask. 

“Yes, he is. He’ll be fine I’ll take care of him just get help.” she didn’t waste time, you could hear her alerting authorities from the other side of the microphone. You dropped it, eyes moving back to the male in front of you. You took a deep breath, hands hovering over his body. A green mist started to rise, slipping into your skin. You groaned, feeling the poison sink into your veins. When it all disappeared you let out a heavy breath. 

“One down.” you thought going over to the other victims. One by one you repeated the action. The more poison you sucked through your body the more sweat seemed to gather at your forehead. You’d lost count on how many you’d already healed when you heard a gasp from the side of you. Your head turned.

“Y-You’re awake?” you said softly. The speedster looked a bit disoriented. 

“What happened..” he stood slowly, hands on his knees to keep him balanced. 

You placed your hands flat on the ground, thankful he didn’t see you using your abilities. 

“That meta did a number on you. She got away with that gem thing. “ you pointed to the broken glass. He frowned, looking down a bit guilty. 

“Hey it’s fine. These people need attention now. The poison is a lot like a paralysis toxin. It’s curable, but they need help now.” the blaring of the sirens outside alerted you that help was finally on its way. You pressed your head to the floor, completely exhausted. 

“Hey! You okay?” he moved closer and you sighed. “Yeah..just in shock. With all the craziness that happens in this city you would I’d be used to it by now.” He gave a small smile, pressing a hand to your back. Someone burst through the door and you saw cops, medics and reporters filing in. 

“Flash!” one of the detectives shouted. The speedster stood up shaking his head. “She got away. I couldn’t stop her.” The older male speaking to him just gave an encouraging pat.

“Don’t worry about it. Iris was frantic, she said you were down. “ Barry nodded. “Yeah I was, I’m positive that meta  got me. Then I just woke up and this woman was..” his eyes turned and you were no longer there.

“Where did she go?” he made a full circle, trying to pick your face out into the crowd. You were nowhere to be found. 

“We can figure that out later, right now that crazy meta is our main priority.” Joe commented. Barry nodded a bit distracted. “Yeah..” 

“That was close.” you huffed, leaning on a nearby building. The green liquid that was running through your veins was disappearing slowly. When it was completely gone, you stood up straight, moving in the direction of the hospital. 

~~~~~

“Your vitals are fine, not even a spec of the spores.You’ll be fine.” Barry rolled down his sleeve, still trying to put the pieces together. Caitlin pulled off her gloves, disposing of them into the bin. “This doesn’t make sense, she got me. I should still be out. And all those other people, they woke up too, no sign of the poison. It doesn’t add up.”

“There was someone else there. Maybe she knows what happened. When I was calling for you, she said not to worry, just to call the police.” Iris butted in. 

“Do you think maybe she's a meta too?” Cisco questioned sucking a lollipop. 

“It would make sense. That’s the only explanation. If she did take in that poison, she could be somewhere suffering. That level would be too much, especially since you weren’t the only one she helped.” Caitlin informed. 

“Who is a meta?” Harry said walking in with his gun. 

“Thanks for finally joining us Harry, you know we could have used your help on this one.”

“I’m here now Ramon, who are we looking for?” He asked. 

“A woman, I think she might be in danger. I’ll go to CCPD and get a sketch so you can run it through facial recognition. “

Cisco nodded. “Good plan, in the meantime we’ll work on catching our little gem thief.” Caitlin smiled. “I’d think by now you’d have a name for her. “Cisco grumbled under his breath, shoving the sweet back in his mouth.

~~~

“And on other news, The Flash has done it again. The thief has been apprehended and the gem safely tucked back into its home at Central City’s museum. “ you smiled looking at the television braced on the wall in your patient’s room. “I knew the Flash would do it!” the girl in the bed said happily. “When I get older, I’ll be just like him.” she cheered. She had a Flash figurine clutched into her hand. “Just work on getting stronger, then you can apply to be a superhero.” you teased. She just smiled. You watched the exhaustion in her eyes. “You need to stop getting so worked up Sarah, it’s not good for you.” she just grinned at you. “I can’t help it. “ 

She was one of your regulars, a cancer patient. The disease had long taken away all her hair. You always wondered how she managed to still smile so brightly when her days were numbered. You took her hand, giving a warm smile. Taking a deep breath you closed your eyes, trying to take away as much of her illness into your body. After a few seconds you hunched forward, breathing heavily. Her eyes closed slowly, falling asleep. You pulled your hand away reluctantly. 

“It’s getting harder..” you noted. 

“Ms. (Y/N), you have visitors.” your eyes lifted to the head nurse. You nodded, trying to put yourself together as you walked out with her. You slid your patient's door close, meeting a few unfamiliar faces. One of the males was smiling and you with so much familiarity, as if he knew you. The nurse left and you guided them to your office. When you all got in you offered for them to take a seat.

“What can I do for you?” The male who was still beaming held out his hand. 

“I’m Barry Allen, I work for CCPD. This is Detective Joe West, Cisco Ramon and Dr. Caitlin Snow.”  There was another guy standing with his head bent. His dark clothing and cap made you a bit weary. Still, you greeted everyone with a smile. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure? “ Barry stepped closer. “We were investigating the crime that took place today, with the robbery at the museum.”

“Ahh, yes. I saw The Flash caught the person who did it. He’s such an inspiration, that guy. I was actually just talking about him with one of my patients.” 

“That’s what we needed to speak to you about, we have witnesses that put you at the scene. We’re just trying to fill in some blanks.” Detective West interjected. You narrowed your eyes.

“I’m not sure how I can help, I was hiding the entire time. I didn’t even get a look at the woman who attacked.”

“Let’s stop wasting time and get to the point.” the guy with the cap stormed over to you raising a watch in front of your body. You flinched when it started to go off. Red lights flaring. 

“You’re a metahuman.” he stated. You panicked, stumbling back into the wall. Your eyes darted around the room, raising your hands defensively. 

“W-Who the hell are you people, what do you want!” 

“Way to go Harry you scared her!” Cisco yelled. 

Barry moved over raising his hand. “Listen, we’re not here to hurt you believe me.” he sounded so sincere. Yet, you heard those words before. 

“I’m not going to be some experiment locked up in a prison! I haven’t hurt anyone.” Barry nodded.

“You’re right you didn’t hurt anyone, you saved them. Isn’t that right?” you just stared at him. You couldn’t remember him at the museum, so how did he know.

“H-Have we met before?” you asked. Something about him was so familiar, you couldn’t put you finger on it. 

“N-No we uhh..” he was stumbling over his words.

“Code red!!” someone yelled outside. Your eyes shifted at the commotion. 

“Patient five is convulsing. “ your eyes widened. “Sarah!!” you pushed passed the individuals, diving out the room. When you got to her room she was writhing on the bed, eyes still tightly shut. The machines were going crazy. 

“We need to stabilize her!” you instructed the other nurses to get her usual medication. They ran out, scrambling to recover what was needed. Barry and the others were now standing out there, watching with dread as the girl continued to beat against the bed. Tears were gathering in your eyes. 

If she didn’t stabilize soon there was a good chance she wouldn’t make it through the night. You glanced back at Barry, before looking at Sarah. You needed to help her, even if it meant they would find out your secret. You pressed both your hands to her head. Barry couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A golden glow was emitting from her head, into your hands. He watched the light travel all the way up to your neck. 

“S-She’s killing herself!!” Caitlin cried. Barry moved forward to stop you but you turned to him, eyes now glowing a bright yellow light

“STAY BACK!” your voice didn’t even sound like your own, it was distorted. When the light finally dissipated, you shuffled back and the heart monitors suddenly returned to normal. A bunch of doctors rushed in, checking her signs. “S-She’s stable again.” one of them stated. You nodded. “Keep track to ensure it doesn’t raise again.” the nurse present did just that. It took you a moment to regain your focus, when you did they were all looking at you in awe. 

“We have a lot to talk about. “ the man with the cap said. You gave a reluctant nod, heaving as you guided them out.

[veliseraptor]

quietly they go

oh did someone order more Maeglin-lives AU? No? well you’re getting it anyway. 1.9k of it! Hella suicidal ideation! Maeglin being an absolute mess! Heavy angst in which nothing actively improves! Me being a Maeglin apologist! everything you could want in a fic really, I assume

previous installments in this series: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4; or read on AO3 here.

---

The sea was a splendid thing.

Maeglin had tried to imagine it, but his imagination had not done it justice. The vastness of it, the motion, the way the light flickered off the waves. It was unfathomable, unknowable, endless. Maeglin thought he could fall into it and never stop falling.

He was glad, briefly, that he had remained long enough to see this. He could carve it into his mind, a last thing of beauty before he sought out his end. It was not deserved, but he would, selfishly, claim it nonetheless. This: the sun falling where the endless sea met the endless sky.

Taking a deep breath of the salt air, he turned his back and walked over to the pack he had assembled. He wasn’t bringing much. He didn’t expect to need much, and was not inclined to take much needed supplies from those who deserved them more.

Maeglin glanced back toward the west. Somewhere far away, he thought, was Valinor. His mother’s birthplace, where perhaps one day she would return; where he would never go. “I will not make you proud,” he murmured, “but at least perhaps I can cleanse some of your shame.”

His eyes stung and he blinked once, hard, controlling himself before he walked away for the last time.

**

A horse would carry him faster, but Maeglin had decided against it. He had been tempted - he could mirror the High King’s famous ride that way, though he would never get so far as the gates of Angband. But the horses, too, might be needed at the Havens, and any mount he brought with him would likely perish when he did. He did not need to condemn a horse needlessly to a death it didn’t deserve.

So he walked, as his mother’s brother had walked, into the falling night. He did not stop when it was dark, but kept moving, pace steady and even. For the first time in months, his head felt clear.

For the first time in months, since Idril’s husband had dragged him away from Gondolin against his will, he knew what he was doing.

There was a profound relief in that. A profound release. At last, at last, it could be finished.

**

Mid-morning, the day after he left the Havens, he heard the pounding of hooves behind him. His jaw tightened, but he stopped walking, bitterness welling up hot and thick in his throat.

So much for letting me go.

He didn’t bother to run, or hide. Just stopped, and turned, and waited to see who was following, not entirely sure who to expect, but not surprised when he saw who it was.

“You,” he said sourly. Tuor looked down at him from the back of his horse, expression neutral.

“Maeglin,” he said. “You did not bring a mount.”

“I did not. What do you want?”

Tuor studied him for another few moments and then dismounted. He gave the horse a slap on the rump, sending it back toward the Havens. Maeglin frowned after it.

“What are you doing?”

“Joining you.”

Maeglin blinked once and stared blankly at the man, for several moments quite sure he’d misheard, or at least misunderstood. Tuor just looked back at him, though, gaze level and steady.

He regathered himself and said, “no.”

Tuor shook his head. “I was not asking.”

“I am still refusing you. Does Idril know you are here?”

“Do you think I would leave without informing her, as you did?”

It was pointed, of course. Maeglin did not let himself flinch from it. “I assume nothing about what you would and would not do, considering you said you would not stop me from leaving and yet here you are.”

“I haven’t stopped you,” Tuor said.

Maeglin’s jaw tightened. “Go back,” he said. “I do not want you here, and you do not want to be here. I have no notion what you think you’re doing, but it is needless, and foolish.”

“No more needless and foolish than what you are.”

Maeglin held back his snarl. The calm he had so briefly possessed was rapidly evaporating, and he wanted it back. “You cannot stop me,” he said. “Nor save me. You have done so once, against my will. I will not allow it again.”

“Unless I am mistaken, you didn’t allow it the first time.” Tuor still did not move. Maeglin took a shallow breath through his nose.

“Do you not understand?” he demanded. “I am going to my death, Adan.”

“I understand that is your intent.”

“I will not be responsible for yours.”

“Then I suppose you will have to prevent it.”

Maeglin’s breathing quickened. Anger and fear and hatred tangled together, and he grasped after some semblance of self-possession. “No,” he said again. “Go back. Go home to your wife and your son.”

“You asked me to allow you some choice. Will you not permit me mine?”

He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear out his hair. He wanted to grab Tuor by the shoulders and shake him. Or hit him. He wanted him gone; he wanted him dead. “What do you want of me?” he demanded. “What is your goal, here? Do you desire confirmation of my demise? Then do it yourself, by all means. I will even provide you with the blade.”

Tuor shook his head. “I have no interest in your death, Maeglin.”

“Then why.”

Tuor’s expression hardened. “Because I intend to see that you survive.”

There was a thundering in his ears. “Have I not made clear enough-”

“You have,” Tuor said. “You have. But I will not accept it. And if I cannot stop you from going - then I will go with you. And if you do not want Idril to grieve - and I am quite certain you do not - you will not leave me alone and in peril among enemies.”

Iron bands were tightening around his lungs. “You are gambling your life on this?”

“I do not consider it a gamble.”

Maeglin clenched his jaw until his teeth ached. Hatred bled into despair bled into a numb resignation. He turned his back. “I could simply knock you unconscious. Without your horse, you could not match my speed.”

“There are wild beasts here. And you cannot be certain there are not worse.”

His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped animal. A scream built up in his throat and caught there. An overpowering anger shook him like a dog with a rat, and was just as quickly gone, draining out of him and leaving him empty.

He closed his eyes, the glimpse of freedom, of relief, slipping away. “When will you consider it punishment enough?” he asked, soft and hoarse.

“Must it be punishment?” Tuor asked. “Can it not be opportunity?”

You do not understand, Maeglin wanted to howl. I am broken. I am rotten at the core, a ruined thing. There is nothing left of me but ash.

I am so tired of lingering on.

He turned away and started walking once again without responding. Tuor caught up to him, keeping pace even as Maeglin lengthened his stride, but at least he did not try to talk.

**

He stopped at midday to eat a small meal, ignoring Tuor as completely as he could. He found himself thinking of his and his mother’s flight from Nan Elmoth. What if they had never gone? Or what if he had convinced Aredhel to go alone?

Would she still be alive now? It was him that Eöl had meant to kill. He imagined, for a moment, a world in which he had died there in Gondolin at the end of his father’s poisoned javelin, and his mother had lived.

If you could see me now, would you regret saving me?

“Why did you tell me?”

Maeglin did not look in Tuor’s direction, nor answer. His heart was a stone in his chest.

“I have wondered that. Why you confessed to me, and not to Idril, or the High King.”

I tried, Maeglin thought. More than once, I was on the point of it, of saying...but it was easier, with you, who I hated, who was my enemy, who had never borne me any love. He said nothing.

“Idril feels she should have known.”

A bitter sound burst from between Maeglin’s lips. “She knew enough to be suspicious. How much more should she have guessed?”

“Enough to ask the right questions.”

Maeglin shook his head. “I would not have answered.”

“What changed? Why did you speak then, to me?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then stood. “Does it matter?”

“Does it?”

“No,” Maeglin said. He should have done it then, on the cliff. It would have been such a small step. A small step, a long fall, and it would have been finished. Why had he thought it was worth waiting? Why had he thought it would matter if he lived? Had he truly believed there was any redemption to be found, any chance at making amends?

Ill-gotten son. Anguirel felt heavy in its sheath.

Eöl had been right, in the end.

**

Maeglin dreamed of the darkness beneath Angband. He lay trembling with his back to the wall. His eyes were closed as though it made a difference; the horrors were in his mind, not before his sight.

Maedhros had endured torments at Morgoth’s hands for years until his rescue. It was becoming clear to Maeglin that he was no Maedhros. That he was going to break, and it was only a matter of when.

He woke up weeping, curled into himself with his hands over his ears as if that could shut out the whispers. Maeglin lurched to his feet, relieved to see that Tuor was still sleeping. He stared at him there, shudders running through him.

What if I am still there, he thought dizzily. What if I never left?

He fell back into himself, head clearing. His body felt too small, the confines of his flesh a cage. It occurred to him that he did not need to wait. Did not need to seek death in sacrifice. Anguirel’s edge was sharp. It would not be clean, would not be honorable, but was there any of that left for him anyway?

Tuor stirred, and woke. The moment slipped away.

“Maeglin?” he said.

He sank back down to the earth, too empty to weep though he wished he could. There was nowhere, he was beginning to understand, that he could go. There was no escape, no end, no release. There was nothing but this, stretching out into an endless, shapeless future.

There was a hand on his shoulder. A shudder rippled through him from head to toe, jerking half away from it, but it did not move away. Fingers pressed into muscle like hooks in his flesh.

It had been so long since anyone had touched him without the intent to hurt. It had been so long since he had allowed them to.

Some piece of him that had been falling since that moment on Caragdûr when he had spoken the truth now hit the ground, and shattered.

[talldarkandroguesome]

31st of Last Seed, Morndas

Well, not exactly how I would have liked the day to go.

I knew that it would be difficult to reach Kragenmoor before Uncle. I was not wrong about that.

When we arrived I saw his Vanguard among the House Dres troops at the city’s limits.

I did not know what the best course of action was. It was clear that we had been beat to the city. I also knew that if Uncle truly wanted to stop us, our descriptions might be given out. I am far too well known among both Houses to get away with slipping into the city, so I suggested to Tel to go ahead and scout out what they could. At least they might be able to move freely among the Dres guards. We needed to see if we could do anything about the keys to lower the wards which Uncle is after. Though I warned Tel to disclose as little as possible about our House and Uncle’s intent. This is not a House we are on good terms with and they will seek reason to put us at disadvantage. We do not need the Grand Council taking actions against us now.

So I stayed behind and tried to stay out of sight of troop movements and guard patrols. It was difficult, there were so many. I actually had to move closer into the city to avoid the Vanguard troops moving between their encampment and the city.

Of course, I was dodging so often, drawing the shadows to me over and over, that I finally was unable to do so. That was when I was spotted. I tried to walk away at a calm and not suspicious pace, but I soon found myself followed by a greater and greater number. I dodged them whenever I could, but I was running out of strength to do so. They cornered me towards the west side of town. Those Dres fetchers throwing me in slave irons and forcing me into a tunnel somewhere under the Grandmaster’s Palace. They placed me in a room, modestly furnished for what it was and stripped my belongings aside from clothing from me.

I have never been a hostage for another House before. I know well of the practice, but I have not been an important enough pawn for such a situation. I suppose with Garyn gone I was the closest in the family that the Grandmaster might be able to leverage for power in the situation. I assume that Tanval has taken either Grandmaster Omin’s heir or spouse. He would not have given over control of the Dres capital to Uncle unless it was something so serious.

I waited until a meal was brought and then faked severe illness soon after. One of the guards rushed in to check on me as I laid down on the floor, gasping for air, then not moving. I kept my eyes open and still as I held my breath. The mer leaned down to listen for my breath and I used the full power of my birth gift, the Lover’s Kiss, as they call it, to paralyze the mer where was. Then I sprinted down the hallway. I did not get far, however, before I ran headfirst into the medic they had sent for me. I tried to teleport around them, but went running straight into their body, knocking us both down. I sprung to my feet and leapt over the medic as she clambered to her feet. It was shortly after that I came to a split in the passageway, I headed to the right and saw the stream of guards coming down. I tried to head back and to the left passage, but already guards were coming from that direct. I tried to turn back but was surrounded on all side.

After that they posted more guards at my door and made one of them feed me. Even going so far as to have the medic monitor me to ensure I ate and did not get sick from the meal they provided. I was also tied to the chair until the meal was completed.

After a short time, they informed me that Mother was wishing to speak with me.

I knew I was in trouble for Mother being brought into the situation. She told me she had been briefed and asked to contact Uncle but that he was not answering . She had heard of what happened to Garyn. She knew he was not going to allow anything to stop him now, but she had to go through the motions for the sake of the House’s honor.

We spoke in Chimeris to confirm what was truly going on. I explained the whole of the situation. I explained about the hostages.

Mother told me that I should consider using my soulless condition to escape. To let them have another House’s heir die while in their care to weaken their position and then reform where I would be out of their grasp, and work to stop Uncle.

I told her that she did not understand the pain and horror that dying had been when it had happened to me before.

She told me it was my duty as a member of my House and as her son to see to it that our House’s honor was not smirched by Uncle’s grief and foolishness.

I said I understood and that if I could not find a way out by midday tomorrow, I would take my life.

I cannot say how little I desire to go through with such a task. Even though the state is not permanent, I have no inclination to go through with it. I must escape. I am working on a new plan to do so now. I will succeed. I will free myself and stop Uncle. I only hope that Tel has thus far been successful in their own objectives.

[weepylucifer]

Let’s Go in the Garden - Ch. 7

Peter has a moment. David is just going to go ahead and assume the game is afoot. Thomas has calmed down a bit, but that’s not going to last.

The West End address Guleed had given me turned out to be a theatre house, and not one of the more impressive ones. Posters up front were advertising a musical that I could vaguely remember watching a movie version of once, many years ago on a slow night.

I squeezed the Jag into one of the few remaining parking spaces next to an array of squad cars from Belgravia. It didn’t seem like a good idea to take Mellenby in with me, but although we were relatively close, I still didn’t have time to drop him off back at the Folly, and my suggestion for him to wait in the car had about zero effect. He simply latched on to me as I entered the building.

We were barely past the ticket console and the first team of forensic suits when we were waylaid by Seawoll in all his glory. I wondered what about this fresh corpse necessitated DCI Seawoll being there, then it occurred to me that this was the first notable Falcon-related case that had cropped up since Lesley had shot Chorley and, for all intents and purposes, vanished. If there was even the slightest possibility of her involvement, that meant all hands on deck.

I gave him a nod, and tried to scope out the mood. “Sir.”

“Grant.” He didn’t go out of his way to give me a smile, but his scowl lessened slightly around the corners. Once upon a time, he would now have started bemoaning the necessity of my presence, but he just said, “We’ve got the body backstage, Sahra said it might be something for you. She got Thomas to come in, might already be around here somewhere.”

“Great.” If Nightingale was at the scene, it seemed like the consequences for Jag theft would be imminent and carried out embarrassingly in public. “I’ll go have a look.”

Seawoll had now spotted Mellenby behind me. “And who’s this?”

“He’s...” Nightingale’s boyfriend. “He’s a Falcon-specialist consultant affiliated with the SAU,” I said, pulling this completely out of my bum.

Seawoll looked at me and raised an eyebrow, communicating without words that he wasn’t buying this for a second. “And where did you dig him up?” he asked.

“Enchanted cave,” Mellenby said, stepping around me and insinuating himself into the conversation. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

Seawoll gave him a level glare. He had almost a whole head on Mellenby. “You know, I told Thomas about a thousand times, I don’t love you lot bringing civilians to my fucking crime scenes.”

Mellenby parried with a grin. “A civilian? No one has called me that in quite a while.” He profferred a hand for a handshake. “David Mellenby, Lieutenant First Grade.” He stared right back into Seawoll’s eyes. Next to the bulk of Seawoll, he looked like a bantam rooster. But his gaze held the weight of a world war.

Veteran, I thought again.

With a sort of grunt, Seawoll caved and shook the offered hand. “DCI Seawoll, Belgravia. You’re one of Nightingale’s, then?”

David nodded. “First and foremost.”

Seawoll rolled his eyes a bit.

“Sir, are we looking at a potential situation here with Lesley?” I asked, thinking it high time this conversation got back on track. There was a body somewhere here for me to look at, and vestigia faded awfully fast.

“Eh.” Seawoll made a vague hand gesture. “We can’t dismiss the possibility at this point. But not every weird-bollocks-related crime in London can be Lesley.”

“But it doesn’t hurt to check?”

“Precisely. Now, Sahra can take you out back.”

Like the ninja she was most likely training to become, Guleed materialized at his elbow. She gave me a grin and a nod, and glanced curiously at David.

“You’re magical,” David told her as soon as Seawoll left us to it.

“Thanks,” Guleed replied. “I have a boyfriend.”

David clapped his hands and smiled beatifically. “Such a coincidence. I have one of those too. Even around here, I’m told.” He grew serious again. He got that look in his eyes that said clipboard and that I was beginning to recognize. “I mean to say, you’re magical but not Folly. Who’s training you?”

Guleed looked from him to me. “Who’s that?”

“Nightingale’s boyfriend,” I said. This was Guleed, after all. And I didn’t miss the split-second of David flinching and then perking up and smiling brightly when he remembered it was okay now to openly be Nightingale’s boyfriend.

Guleed raised an eyebrow. “Is that so.”

“I have been with Thomas for a hundred years,” David proclaimed. And of course he would. Of course he’d count the years he’d spent in a magical coma, with Nightingale believing he was dead.

Guleed’s eyebrows threatened to disappear within her hijab.

“He really has,” I explained. “Holdover from his war... stuff.”

“And is this one also magically not growing older?”

Huh. I hadn’t had time to consider that before. “We’ll have to wait and see, I guess.”

“I definitely plan to research this phenomenon in depth,” David said eagerly. “Thomas and his reverse-aging, that is. The way that’s been neglected is a travesty. There’s been no evidence so far pointing us towards the theory that I myself might also be affected, but who knows? I won’t be able to tell until I discover the cause of this... affliction.”

It would be sad, I supposed, in a karmic way, the two of them getting this second chance, and then one of them starting to age past the other. But the world didn’t run on karma. Perhaps if David indeed found a cause and a way to explain it all... but that had to wait for now.

I nudged David’s side. “Can’t wait to get the clipboard out on your boyfriend, can you?”

He sputtered, blushing a bit, obviously not being used to being so publicly teased, but also delighted by it.

“I don’t appreciate that kind of talk,” said a voice in our backs, “nor the bandying about of the term ‘boyfriend’.”

Nightingale had arrived on stage.

Quite literally on stage, too, and this time he had even lowered himself to putting a proper forensic suit on.

In crass dissonance to his words, he reached past me for David and gave him an almost absentminded kiss on the forehead. “Hello, love.”

Guleed stared. Mellenby lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Thomas!” he breathed.

Nightingale gave him that lopsided Captain-of-the-rugby-team grin (which, I would learn later, was very different from his Captain-in-the-war-effort grin). “Welcome to the 21st century,” he said, patting David on the back. David was glowing. “Oh, don’t cream yourself.”

My jaw joined Guleed’s on the floor.

Nightingale turned to me. “You are in a world of trouble,” he announced. “Both of you.”

“What, and no kiss for me, sir?”

I had no idea where that had come from. I wanted to unsay it about as soon as it left my mouth. More than that, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole.

Nightingale, to his credit, only shook his head a little. David in my periphery looked... amused and entertained, and was maybe mentally putting me back on a list.

“We’ll talk about your absconding with my car at a later point. Right now, it seems high time we took a look at our victim.”

----

The victim had been found in a room we were told housed the theatre’s props, all cluttered shelves and musty cupboards full of... things. There were heaps of prop swords, cases stuffed with plastic jewelry, set furnishings piled up in corners. Forensics had already been through, and left their little stickers and varied evidence of their work everywhere. The victim was a white woman, I put her in her mid- to late fifties. She was a tall, slightly corpulent lady of forbidding hairstyle (it was short, wavy, stiff with spray and completely aubergine), dressed in a sort of flowing black blouse sporting a variety of frills and tassles. The cause of death seemed mundane enough: she had taken a blow to the back of the head with a blunt object.

I got to my knees and bent down to inspect her. The vestigia took a few seconds to hit, and they were flighty, scrambled impressions. I felt the sensation of something... convex, and glass, and nice to hold in your hand, and then a piercing sting of... desire, of greed, a consuming need to own something, so manifest and physical that it felt like an actual stab to my stomach.

I looked up. “Something... round. Made of glass, like a snowglobe? And there’s this... greedy feeling.”

Nightingale and David both nodded.

“Yes,” David said quietly. “I can feel them from here.”

“David’s always been good with vestigia,” Nightingale said. “Better than me.”

“Because I listen harder.” It carried the tone of an oft-repeated inside joke. But Mellenby had paled again and was looking faintly ill, trying to cast his eyes anywhere but at the body.

“Um, sir,” I muttered at Nightingale and discreetly inclined my head in David’s direction.

“Yes. Quite.” Nightingale gave me a nod - thank you for bringing this to my attention - and turned to David. “First corpse since Ettersberg, eh?”

David shuddered. The colour was draining from his face even faster now. “Please, don’t name that place!”

“Avoiding the name won’t help with anything. And you really shouldn’t be in here. Why did they let you in here in the first place? Come, let me escort you out.” Nightingale put a hand on David’s back and gently led him to the door. Looking back at me, he asked, “Will you be alright here?”

“Yep.” I nodded. Beyond the initial vestigia check, there wasn’t much I could do with this corpse, anyhow, and I assumed it would quite swiftly be turned over to the tender mercies of Dr. Walid. I had another look around the room, but there was nothing to spot that would have been missed by your regular forensic tech.

There was no trace of the object that would have been used to deal the blow.

----

Our victim’s name was Deirdre Maxwell, 54 years of age, and she had been in charge of the props department at the theatre at which she was murdered.

At the time of the murder, as was later found once Dr. Walid had determined the exact time of Ms. Maxwell’s death, as it had been late in the evening and long past rehearsal had ended, only five people had been in the house with her.

There was Howard Sheen, the theatre director. Ajinder Singh, the night porter and watchman. Darja Polunowskaja, the cleaning lady, Derrick Johnson, the janitor, and Cora Watley, an actress.

I went over their alibis as soon as we got back to the Folly and Nightingale had stopped sternly lecturing us about the Jag theft. The director had been in his office at the time of the murder, busy with bookkeeping. The actress had been in her dressing room going over her script one last time before going home, she claimed. The cleaning lady and janitor claimed to have been at their jobs in entirely different parts of the building, and the night watchman had spent most of the night in his cubby hole observing the front door. None of these alibis were good.

The front door had been under watch by the night guard and had not been entered by anyone up to the time of Ms. Maxwell’s death. None of the windows or skylights showed signs of forced entry or magical tampering. There were back and maintenance doors, each outfitted with a CCTV camera. Guess who had to sort through all the camera footage? That’s right, me, next to the metric ton of Latin homework Nightingale had seen fit to punish me with for letting David elope with the Jag.

The footage, once I was through with it, showed a great load of nothing. Nobody had entered or exited the theatre all evening until all present within the building at the time had gone home, except, of course, for Ms. Maxwell. Unless someone had gotten in in some way that we couldn’t of yet determine - a slim possibility - that narrowed our list of suspects down to the original five.

“A locked-room mystery,” David called it. He was hovering nearby as I sifted through the camera footage in the tech cave, superficially leafing through a new issue of Nat Geo he had badgered Nightingale into getting on the way home, in reality watching me. “I’m assuming you’re going to interview all five of them?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Nightingale reminded him. “Civilian.” A corner of his mouth quirked up as he said it, but still the message was clear. David had no place in the investigation.

“Don’t be like that, Thomas,” David pouted. “Who doesn’t love a good whodunnit?”

“This is a police matter, it’s not for you to play detective,” Nightingale said. “Besides which, the matter of ‘who done it’,” I could hear the scathingly sarcastic air quotes, “will most likely end up being handled by the colleagues at Belgravia. Our concern will be the whereabouts of the magical object.”

Mundane murderer, magical murder weapon, that was Nightingale’s theory. I for one thought it much too early to judge that, seeing as the murder weapon had inconveniently vanished.

But before that could even be determined, it was up to us to get the lowdown on Ms. Deirdre Maxwell.

----

We went to her flat first thing the next morning. The door was opened by a dejected-looking man in his late twenties or early thirties who turned out to be the victim’s son, and introduced himself as “Hey, I’m Logan.”

He was a white man with short, mousy brown hair, dressed in jeans and a dark-gray fleece jacket over a black t-shirt, probably random clothes he’d just thrown on this morning. He didn’t look like he’d gotten much sleep the previous night. He wasn’t looking to be the type who cried and emoted messily all over the place, I noted, but perhaps that would simply come later, once the immediate shock died down. Right now, he looked... dazed, I suppose. A common reaction in the face of sudden, jarring tragedy.

I was assuming Belgravia had already sent someone over the previous day to help him get over the worst of it, but it couldn’t hurt to play up that role. It wasn’t anything I was stellar at, but unfortunately the last several years had equipped me with some experience in the matter. Didn’t mean any of that ever got any easier.

“How are you holding up?” Nightingale inquired. I hadn’t thought he’d volunteer himself to step up for the role of supportive cop, but I was glad he did.

“Like pure shite,” Logan Maxwell stated soberly. “But thanks for asking, guv.”

“We’re going to have to take a quick look around the flat,” I said.

“Why?” Logan Maxwell wondered. “My mother’s been murdered. Shouldn’t you be out looking for the killer? Surely there’s nothing in here for you to find?”

“This is pure procedure,” Nightingale told him. “We’ll be in and out of here within a minute, I’m sure. And of course a highly capable team of investigative forces is looking into finding our perpetrator as we speak. May we step into the kitchen and just have a short talk about all this?”

Ushering Mr. Maxwell on, almost herding him really, into his mother’s kitchen, Nightingale looked round at me and, with the slightest shift of his eyes, ordered me to search the other rooms. I nodded quietly and got to it.

Apart from the kitchen, there were three more rooms branching off the tiny, cramped hallway. A small bathroom (nothing at all special), Ms. Maxwell’s bedroom, a living room and what I assumed had been Logan Maxwell’s room once, but it became fairly obvious that he didn’t permanently live here any longer. Through the thin walls, I could hear Logan ask, “Do you mind if I just...?” to which Nightingale replied, “Oh, by all means, no, let me join you. I recently started again myself.” A lighter clicked twice, and soon I could smell smoke.

The living room was gaudy, chintz and little horrible knick-knacks everywhere. Not the fussy-old-lady sort, not porcelain dolls, you understand, but dream catchers, silk shawls, supposedly healing crystals and the like. It wasn’t anything I thought I had to worry about. Many people felt the need to spruce up their lives with a touch of magic, but most ended up completely off base. A light affinity for crystals wouldn’t do to explain Ms. Maxwell’s falling victim to a magical crime. Above the small TV, there was a cluttered bookshelf mounted to the wall, filled with romance novels and mediocre fantasy and some books that might have belonged to Logan as a kid.

“What is it that you do, Mr. Maxwell?” Nightingale asked politely one room over.

“I’m in insurance, actually, um, just started,” Logan Maxwell replied. There was a strained chuckle. “May I interest you in life insurance, guv?”

I heard Nightingale make a small, understated noise of genuine amusement. “You shan’t make a good living off of me in that respect.”

It seemed a common enough story. The quirky, hippie single mom and the son who rebelled by turning out as mundane and bougie as humanly possible. Perhaps this one’s grades hadn’t been sufficiently impressive for law school. I moved on to the bedroom.

“I’m not a grief counselor, no,” I heard Nightingale say as I opened drawers and found nothing at all of interest. “Merely someone of great personal experience with loss.”

“Good,” Maxwell replied. “I don’t want to be counselled. At least... not right now. The people from the murder team offered, but... I just need to... sit down and let it really sink in.”

“I understand all too well,” Nightingale said.

I opened up the door to what I assumed led into the second bedroom.

There was a little surprise there for me.

“If I may, Mr. Maxwell. Did your mother perchance do anything... unusual, strange, lately?”

“I told the other coppers, no. Not more unusual than always, I mean... I don’t know. Nothing comes to mind, really.”

I could practically see Nightingale’s immaculate, raised eyebrow. “Is that to say your mother did unusual things regularly?”

“Eh. She has this... had this... this dumb hobby of hers. She always... I mean, it’s just this thing she’d do on the weekends. It’s nothing.”

I examined everything and made my way back into the kitchen. Maxwell was seated at the kitchen table, an overflowing ashtray in front of him. Nightingale, cigarette clenched between his teeth, was making tea.

“Um, sir?”

----

“A fortune teller,” Nightingale surmised.

We were looking at the setup in what had once been the second bedroom. Apparently, once Logan Maxwell had moved out, Deirdre Maxwell had remodeled his childhood bedroom to house her fortune-telling operation. There was a small table covered in a large, purple velvet shawl, and a deck of cards and other paraphernalia on that table. There was a ouija board mounted to a wall, another bookshelf on the opposite wall, this one filled with a different kind of literature. Tarot, spirit healing, seances, palm reading, something called ‘green witchcraft’.

She had apparently recorded herself for the benefit of online customers, seeing as there was a laptop and camera rig positioned in a strategic angle to the purple coffee table.

And something... something was missing. I had never been in this room before, but there was a thought nagging at the back of my mind that something that should be here, that I’d expect to be here, was... missing.

“Yeah,” Logan Maxwell said sheepishly, “that was her thing. The Mysterious Madame Delilah. Load of bollocks.”

“You don’t think there might’ve been something to it?” I asked. I stole a glance at Nightingale, who ever-so-lightly made a so-so hand gesture.

“Nah,” Logan Maxwell said. “She always was on about some nonsense like that. Sure, people paid her for it, but... truth be told, I was embarrassed. The Mysterious Madame Delilah,” he repeated. “I don’t think she ever made any actual magic up in here.”

I ambled through the small room, examining the shelf once more, touching a chunky rose quartz, running my fingertips over the purple cloth that covered the table. And then it struck me: the smooth feeling of something under my hand, like glass, and a stab of desire.

Same vestigia, I mouthed at Nightingale.

Now I saw his raised eyebrow in action.

----

“I never met a fortune teller who wasn’t completely bogus,” he told me later, when we were walking back to the Jag. “Besides which, she had none of the literature on actual magic at her disposal. But if the last several years have taught me anything, it’s that there are... more than enough things I don’t know.”

I shrugged. “People come by magic in all sorts of ways.”

“Perhaps so,” he granted.

He had made a cup of tea for Mr. Maxwell, I thought. He had left his card with the man, “in case there’s ever anything out of the ordinary that occurs to you regarding the circumstances of your mother’s death”. He had smoked with him and apparently gotten chummy enough to be mistaken for a grief counselor. That was new, and it had started happening fairly recently, maybe, I suspected, as recently as David’s return. He seemed different, too. Something in his face, in the way he walked. Imperceptible to someone who didn’t know him well, but he seemed... more present, somehow. More involved with the world around him. Like something was waking up, or thawing out, that had been numb and silent for at least as long as I knew him.

The men’s emotional and psychological needs, Mellenby said within my short-term memory, all fell under Thomas’s purview.

Just then, another thought clicked into place, and I knew what I’d been missing, up in the flat earlier.

“No crystal ball,” I said.

“Pardon?” Nightingale asked.

“There was no crystal ball. What fortune teller doesn’t have a crystal ball? And the object we’re looking for is likely something round, smooth, made of glass. I’m sure you can deal a bit of a blow with a thing like that.”

Nightingale gave me a slight smile. “A thought worth keeping in mind,” he said in that tone of his that really meant well done, and he gave me an appreciative sort of look, and I felt... well, I felt looked at. No one looks at you like Nightingale sometimes.

Just then, his phone rang.

He took it from his pocket and, peering at the screen, I could see it said ‘David’, and just that. If I’d been expecting heart emojis, I was cruelly let down.

“Aww,” I said, “it’s the boyfriend.”

“I told you his status is pending,” Nightingale told me sternly. “He’s not presently my boyfriend.” He accepted the call. “Hello, darling.”

If I’d had a drink just then, I would have spat it.

“Mh,” Nightingale said, in reply to something on David’s side. “Yes. You can tell Molly that I’ll definitely be home for dinner. I can make no such promises regarding Peter. Unless...?”

He gave me a questioning look, but I shook my head. I was going to have dinner at Bev’s. What with there being a new case now, things were bound to get busy for me, and I wanted to spend as much time with Bev as I could.

“Ah,” Nightingale said. “Apparently not. Well, I’ll be seeing you shortly. What? Oh. Yes, yes, I love you too, David, goodbye.”

He hung up and gave me a token annoyed look. There was no real force behind it. “Well, that was David.”

I grinned at him. “Cute,” I said. “Did you two make up?”

Nightingale shook his head. “Not in the slightest. What makes you think that?”

I gestured a bit awkwardly. “Well... just now, you said...”

“It was a statement of fact. I am angry at David - inordinately furious, really, at David - but that doesn’t mean I don’t also love him. My anger and my regard for him can coexist.”

That seemed weird to me, but also... so simple. He wasn’t having a big crisis about that part of things at the very least. Nightingale was frighteningly straightforward sometimes, and ready to accept all manner of things. And then I saw how he was trying very hard not to smile as he pocketed his phone, and how he kept looking around the place as we walked to the parking lot where we’d left the Jag with a kind of wonder, like he was seeing London with new eyes - and liking what he saw. And I thought, yeah, they’ll be alright.

And I felt... weird about that.

Not because I still felt horrified by the gay sex thing.

At least I dearly hoped so.

There was something else...

I didn’t know what.

But just then, for a split-second, I had felt almost... annoyed by David calling, because Nightingale and I had been having a moment here goddamn it, and these moments of the two of us just doing something together without there being immediate combat had grown sparse of late, what with Lesley and Chorley. And I’d thought, oh sure, it’s his boyfriend, in an acidic tone that took me aback. I’d wanted... I don’t know. To have Nightingale to myself, maybe, for a few minutes before I’d get permanently busy with Bev and... well... and all that.

“Oh god, I’m having a child,” I said out loud.

“I’m sure you’ll make a splendid parent,” Nightingale said, almost absentmindedly. His eyes were far away, probably resting on some distant, David-related memory. “Don’t forget to apply for paternal leave.”

Apparently his new emotional approachability only extended so far.

----

By the time we got back to the Folly, Guleed had sent me the initial witness testimonials, but I would have to go talk to them all again anyway to check for magic. I decided to start right there at the theatre.

Rehearsals were already in full swing again when I walked in - I found that morbid but the show must go on, I suppose. I swung by Mr. Johnson in the janitorial office first. He was rather helpful in establishing a timeline for the evening: he made a round of the building before going home at about 8 pm, during which he crossed the night watchman, Mr. Singh. Apart from that, he was either in his office or performing maintenance duties in and around the building as-needed. Ms. Maxwell had died at about seven thirty. And sure, Guleed had already asked about this stuff, and included it in her e-mail to me, but it never hurt to ask again. At least one of the people here was holding something back, and sometimes people maintaining a lie got confused.

The cleaning lady reminded me of Varvara, but that was probably just her Russianness and didn’t necessarily have to mean something. While she had all sorts of delightful opinions on the actors, technicians, director, owner of the theatre and about everyone else working here, none of it was precisely helpful. “The place is going to the dumps,” she opined. “I have been cleaning here for five years and haven’t looked at a pay raise in three.”

I expressed my sympathies and, in a lowered voice, she told me, “I hear next year they’re going to put... the Scottish play on.”

Not quite knowing what to do with that, I nodded and left her to her work.

Mr. Sheen, the director didn’t have much time for me, seeing as he was supervising the rehearsal. When I asked him to confirm the cleaning lady’s account of whether the establishment was struggling financially, he said something to the effect of, “Well, we’ve always muddled through. It’s an uncertain business, with the audience, predicting what will land is always a gamble.” When asked about Ms. Maxwell, he said it was a pity, and that she’d been a dependable employee, and not much more.

He seemed stressed, concerned. The opening night of their musical was soon. Perhaps people weren’t going to patronize an establishment where someone had been murdered, he said, like that was the most important thing here. When I went to interview the actress in her dressing room, she said “I play the character of Janet” before telling me her actual name. These people were weird, and not a type of weird I was privy to.

But let’s tell it in order. I knocked, went into the actress’s dressing room, and found none other than David Mellenby there drinking tea with her. They were seated next to the vanity that held all her stage makeup, drinking from mismatched cups, the actress thumbing through her role book as they talked, as though this was commonplace, as though David was even remotely supposed to be here.

“Hello,” he said when he saw me, his face lighting up in a genuine smile. “This is Constable Grant, he’s very capable at his job,” he introduced me to the actress, all gallantry and outdated manners and breezing blithely past the fact that I had no bloody idea why he was here and it was likely to make my day substantially more complicated.

“And what... on earth... are you doing here?” I asked him.

“I thought it interesting to return here,” David said mildly, sipping green tea from a mug that bore the classic “You Don’t Have To Be Mad To Work Here, But It Helps!” slogan.

I took a deep breath, about ready to tell him that he absolutely should not have come, that he was in no way affiliated with this investigation, and that Nightingale would blow his fuse if he heard, and... I didn’t. I snapped my mouth shut again. Discussing this in front of one of the suspects would make both of us look bad, and that wasn’t something I was prepared to deal with.

So I simply also took a seat on the last free chair. “Alright,” I said.”Great. Now, I’d like to ask a few questions, just quickly.”

“I’ve been asked many questions by many policemen already,” the actress said. She had a quiet, melodic voice. “And they kind of need me at rehearsal.”

“I’ll just be a minute,” I replied. “And then I’m sure we’ll all be out of your hair for now.”

The actress sighed. She was a thin white girl, late twenties I thought, who’d recently dyed her hair blonde, maybe for the role. Combined with her dark clothes, it had the effect of making her look a bit disfavorably pallid and drawn. “I guess go ahead.”

I got out my notebook and a ballpoint pen and tossed them at David. if he was going to hang around, he might as well take notes.

“How long have you been an actress here, Ms...?” There. Nice and general.

“I’m engaged for the year,” she replied. “I play the role of Janet. It’s the female lead.”

“Impressive,” I said, because she really seemed to want me to. “And your name was...?”

“Cora Watley, um, Cora Jane Watley.” She shifted a bit in her seat, clasping her tea cup with both hands. “But I already told PC Guleed, and then DCI Nightingale.”

This gave me pause, because I’d had no idea that Nightingale had been through here, but then David caught my eye and stealthily held up... Nightingale’s warrant card, and wiggled it at me by way of explanantion.

Un-fucking-believable.

“I... okay.” I nodded at David, trying to send him a glare that silently communicated that we’d need to address this later. “As I said, Ms. Watley, just one or two more questions for the records.”

“What kinds of questions?” the actress asked. She seemed nervous, but trying to appear unflappable, but everyone here, down to the cleaning lady, seemed high-strung, what with their opening night coming up and the murder (and, yes, very much in that order of importance). Besides which, being a suspect in a criminal investigation is bound to unnerve most people. But did her nerves look like those of a guilty person, or simply like someone hoping not to get caught in the crossfire?

“For example, how well did you know Ms. Maxwell?” I asked.

The young woman shrugged. “Not too well. We’ve talked in passing. But she seemed... nice. Not the kind of person you’d murder, I’d think.”

“But she was... not well-liked here?” I tried.

“No, I do think she was. I don’t know, I’ve only been here for a year. But what gives you that idea?”

I took another deep breath. It felt strange, and tasted strange too, like there was greasepaint coating my lips and tongue. Weird. Was that just the air in here? It smelled pervasively of stage makeup. “Well, nobody here I’ve talked to seemed very... affected by the murder. Was Ms. Maxwell unpopular, or did she keep to herself...?”

Ms. Watley laughed. “Oh, she did not keep to herself, no. I’m certain people are affected. It just needs time to settle in, and with opening night so close, the place is a madhouse anyway. Even murder becomes just one more thing.”

I exchanged a look with David, who looked quizzically back. He was tugging at his cuffs again, even harder than usual.

“Would you have noticed if Ms. Maxwell had done anything... unusual, lately?”

“Unusual how?” The actress asked. There was that feeling again, that strange taste on my tongue when I breathed. Now it was accompanied by a sensation like scratchy cloth on my skin, and a glare of too-warm light from overhead. Were these vestigia? But then what was emanating them? “She had that weird hobby, I don’t know. Something about occultism, not really my thing at all. Do you mean that?”

I put on a neutral face that I hoped looked just like the one Nightingale always did. Gosh, but that glaring light was getting annoying. “Do I mean that?”

“It’s about the most unusual thing Deirdre had going on, I guess. I mean, I don’t know. Two months ago she said she was going to make a business of it, selling... palm readings or something to people online. No idea how that’s supposed to work.”

“This might be tangentially related. Did she ever... bring that hobby of hers into work in any way?”

Cora Watley crossed her arms. “What do you mean by that?”

What did I mean by that? It probably wasn’t the most intelligent way to find out about Ms. Maxwell’s fortune telling business and if it had led to her murder. But David being here irritated me, and these sensations or vestigia that I couldn’t place irritated me, and... maybe it was time to get out of here.

I said my bit, gestured to David to follow, and left the dressing room. We stood out in the hallway leading from the dressing rooms back out to the stage, facing each other.

“Why did we leave?” David asked.

“Why do you have Nightingale’s warrant card?” I rounded on him.

“I took the liberty of removing it out of his jacket.” He didn’t look the least bit regretful of this. “I’m confident I’ll be able to replace it before he even notices it’s gone.”

“I’m... pretty sure that’s a crime,” I said.

David shrugged his shoulders. “I thank you for your discretion, then.”

“That’s not how the police works these days,” I said. “That’s not how I work. You can’t wave at me and make me go away. I’m not the help.”

David had looked like he was going to be rebellious, but now he visibly deflated. He averted his eyes, picking at his sleeve. “I am dearly sorry,” he admitted.

I sighed, willing my irritation to simmer down. “Just what are you doing?” I asked, more calmly. “Nightingale said you are to stay away from the investigation. He was very clear, and he was right. People don’t play detective and crack the code, normally.”

He lifted his chin, suddenly again defiant. “Thomas is not my Captain anymore. Where does he get off, anyway, thinking I’ll obey his every order?”

Was that what this was? Another way to passive-aggressively carry out their lovers’ spat? I already felt exhausted with this. “Look, the way I see it... Nightingale is coming around. You guys might be okay, why go on pissing him off more?”

Not really wanting to stand around waiting for his answer, I started making my way back out to the stage. David was keeping pace with me. “Ingratiating myself to Thomas is not my entire purpose, you know,” he said. “I am a scientist foremost. I can’t not investigate things. There is a conundrum here, and I must know. Knowledge is not gained by adhering to what others say, or by failing to take risks.”

I was tempted to remind him that this here was a real crime scene, not a Sherlock Holmes story with him in the titular role. What did end up coming out of my mouth was, “I heard that was the exact attitude that led you all to Ettersberg.”

As soon as I’d said it, I knew it might have been a bit too much. As I stepped out on stage where the actors and director had since ended their rehearsal and cleared out, I heard nothing but silence behind me and, then, a long, deep, guttural sigh.

“You’re right,” David said, drawing level with me - he was pressing his hands to his temples. “I’m doing all the same things that I did before. I’m slipping back into the same behaviors. Assuming I know better. How have I not learned from what happened?”

Well, what could I say to that?

“I just get so blinkered sometimes,” David continued. “I don’t know why. And Thomas...”

He sighed once more. “Thomas was always the golden boy with all the natural talent. Coasting by when others struggled. I just want to show him that I also can achieve greatly. That I can stand beside him as his equal, not always one step behind playing catch-up. But Thomas never understood my efforts, my work. My research. And then I found friends at Weimar who were genuinely appreciative of my theories, but they took my work and made... well... of course, I told myself, Thomas couldn’t understand why I felt slighted. Why I felt hurt. But he simply looked at the way things were with clearer eyes. Of course 800 human lives were more important than my hurt.”

I gave him a strained smile. “You know what, it might do a great deal in your favor if you told him what you just told me.”

I took another step onto the stage. This environment was bringing back persistent little wisps of uncomfortable memories of the Punch case. Sure, this stage was a lot smaller and less glamorous than the one at the Royal Opera House. But... still. But surely this wasn’t Punch-related, right? We hadn’t heard of him since the incident with Chorley’s bell. I’d have to ask Les-

No.

No.

What the hell, brain? Really, still? After all this time?

“These... weird vestigia in here,” David said suddenly. “Do you feel them too?”

And I did feel them. For a fleeting moment, I felt in full force the glare of the stage lights, the bead of sweat running into my neck down into the collar of my costume, the theater makeup itchy on my face, the exhilaration coupled with stage fright and before me the murmur of the audience, waiting to be entranced, or disappointed, by me.

I shook my head, and was myself again. “Yeah, it’s like... like an actor, ten seconds before their big scene, or whatever.”

“Hmm.” David tugged at his cuffs again.

“We should get out of here.”

----

“Why did we leave?” David asked again, as we were standing out in the street up front of the theatre again. Why indeed? I had felt... dazed, in there, I’d felt a need to leave the building. I was sure he had felt the same.

“I don’t know. But something was extremely strange about that crime scene.”

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with, so we’re... retreating?”

It had a militaristic air to it, ‘retreating’. He had probably intended that. “Let’s call it regrouping,” I said. “Besides, Nightingale was right. Our concern should be the magical object. Guess I’ll have to find whoever would know about a magical crystal ball around which murders happen.”

That was going to be a needle-in-a-haystack search. The exact kind of busy work everyone wishes they could delegate to someone lower on the chain of command. With the Folly’s command structure being as it was, unfortunately I was the person this type of work was delegated to.

David must have seen my displeasure with the situation, because he said, “You could let me do it.”

Really? Hadn’t we had that conversation about five minutes ago? I told him as such.

“Sure,” he said. “But I don’t have anything else to do. I’m going out of my mind with the amount of nothing I’m contributing. Please.”

So he was determined to keep on learning nothing from his experiences. Not exactly stellar practice. But was that really my problem?

“Look,” I said, “You’ll talk to Nightingale, okay?”

[lilithscry]

i love you; goodbye

pairing: arthur morgan x female!reader

word count: 5.3k

warnings: death, emotional distress, grief.

summary: somethings are better left unsaid.

notes: i listened to you’ll be in my heart from the tarzan soundtrack while writing the ending and it Shows.. i also haven’t written for a while so pls ignore if this Sucks!

Sat on the edge of the campsite, you watched the world surrounding you go by. 

Squirrels and rabbits skidded past at the speed of light while the sun slowly fell asleep and the moon dragged herself from her slumber. The earth was starting to be bathed in the blueish glow of the moon, the harsh kisses left by the sun now being soothed. You hadn’t noticed the growing bite of coldness to the air, too far in your own head to realise that goose bumps now littered your arms.

“You good?” The familiar voice that belonged to Charles rang through your ears. He sat himself beside you as you just nodded, trying your best to push down the fear and worry that sat uncomfortably at the pit of your stomach.

“Jus’ fine.” You murmured while avoiding contact with the male. It was a crock of bullcrap and you knew it. He knew it too, but you had to put on a brave face for him and the ones who need help. The Wapiti tribe. Forcibly driven from their home once more, you and Charles realised it was your duty to ensure that they were safe, healthy and happy.

But this was the opposite of what you had planned. You had set to yourself to help Arthur with the rest of the gang, to make sure that everyone else was safe before retreating so that his illness didn’t worsen. He had other plans and it wasn’t until after he had returned to the tribe with Charles and an awfully wounded Eagle Flies that he refused your pleas to go back with him. You still remember being soaked to the bone through your clothes and the sickly-tired look on his face as you argued against him.

Now you were sat in a place unknown to you with no clue or even an idea as to what was happening back down south where everyone else was.

Charles didn’t press any further as he knew that you would soon spill out everything that was weighing you down; but you could tell he was itching to speak about a pressing matter. There was something he wanted to say, and it had to be said now. The way he’d subtly glance over at you is what gave it away really since he was someone who seemed to always be approached rather than do the approaching.

Did you want to know what he wanted to say? No. Were you going to tell him to just say it? Maybe.

The silence between you both wasn’t one bit pleasant, all the while the sing-song tune of the crickets that habituated at the nearby stream of river filled the air; which somehow contrasted the heaviness between you both. You craned your neck to stare up at the clear sky and Charles watched you diligently as though he were about to walk on a pile of burning-hot coal pieces.

“You’ve something to tell me, Charles?” Looking away from the night sky and towards him instead, the expectancy of being told that you were about to move further up north steadily ate away at you. You just wanted to go home.

There was a slight hesitation to Charles’ words, his lips parting to speak before closing right away as he looked for the right words to say. You were on your last few strings of patience, something that rarely happened.

“I heard a few things while in the store earlier.” He started, eyes darkening with blatant worry as his eyebrows furrowed. “News of a shootout near Annesburg a week and a bit ago. Pinkertons were involved.”

You felt your chest tighten and a knot form in your throat. “A…Were…there any deaths?”

“From what I’ve heard, yes.” He saw you went to cut him off, so he held a hand up to stop you. “But I didn’t hear any names being thrown around.”

The air grew heavier by a tonne and your stomach did flips as anxiety made your bones rattle. Your hands shook slightly in fear of who may just be dead back down near Beaver Hollow. It’s not like the Pinkertons cared enough to dispose of the bodies, unless it was Dutch himself. Then they would’ve snatched his cold corpse away in a heartbeat, acting as though it was a trophy. A trophy to show that they took down the deadliest outlaw in the South-West.

“We have t’ go back.”

“Excuse me?”

“We have t’ go back, Charles.” You said with a strict tone while pulling yourself up to your feet. “We need t’ give whoever has died a proper burial.”

Charles followed you suit, reaching out to grab your shoulder as you walked towards the campsite. “That’s suicide, (Name), and you know that. Pinkertons might still be in the area.”

You spun around to face him properly this time. He saw the fire in your eyes and the thick-black smoke from it seething out of your pores on to the dirt below you.

“And do ya think I care? Charles, I need t’ go back there and…” You cut yourself off, too sick to even think about how Arthur may be one of the deceased, let alone say it aloud. So, you regained your posture again and continued. “I need t’ go back there, whether ya like it or not.”

His eyes downcast as you avoided to prompt the idea of Arthur being dead. He felt the same sick feeling grow on him as he started to think about it, but there was unfinished business with Rains Fall and his people. But there was also unfinished business back down south.

“I’m leavin’ tomorrow mornin’, whether ya come with me or not, that’s up to you.” Voice soft, you turned to leave the taller male be in his thoughts.

“Safe to assume I’m letting you ride all that way by yourself.” He mumbled to himself while sitting down to plan out the travel back down.

So, when morning came and you saw Charles talking with Rains Fall by the horses, you couldn’t help but smirk in triumph at the success of convincing him. You plainly left them to speak amongst themselves while you readied your saddle for the long trip back; and it wasn’t until Rains Fall was by your side, thanking you for helping his people, that you finally spoke.

It was painful to say goodbye to the good people of this tribe, but you knew life had a funny way of bringing the past back. Hence, you promised to see them again before kicking your spurs into the sides of your horse, telling her to go.

The trip back past through the Rocky Mountains and thick-luscious forests didn’t feel near as stressful as it was the first-time round, possibly since it was just you and Charles, and not with a posse that included some elderly men and children. However, with every day and moment you grew closer to New Hanover, the fear of what you would find once you reached your destination only caused you to want to retreat.

Would you find the two disgusting men that were known to be Micah’s friends be the ones half eaten by wolves, or would there be the bodies of someone you loved? Would there be a letter left by a certain Tacitus Kilgore, telling you that he had retreated to his getaway home in Mexico?

Many-a night were spent with you and Charles huddled closely to one another, storms passing by after they wreak havoc in their path, simply disappearing as though they’d done nothing wrong. You couldn’t help but allude and imagine your former leader as a storm. Dutch Van de Linde, barging his way through the country like a hurricane, only to rip apart everything and everyone surrounding him; striking lightning down on those who don’t follow him like a lost puppy. Sending whirlwinds and tornadoes to throw away those who had been devotedly loyal to him for years on end.

And as you watched the sixth storm that week wash itself over Emerald Ranch, you could only see what your life used to be like.

“We’re close now, (Name).” Charles spoke from the bonfire of the makeshift camp you both had made, keeping a close eye on the grey clouds that slowly started to hover above. “It looks like the storm’s heading this way.”

Spinning on the balls of your feet, you faced Charles before briefly looking up above you. “Should we wait it out then?”

“It doesn’t look like it’s going away any time soon.”

You nodded, catching on to the idea to stay put and moved to the tent you both were sharing. He followed short and the familiar silence between you both settled in again as it always did. You held your knees close to your chest after placing your hat behind you, and Charles sat cross-legged, cleaning his smaller guns in languid movements.

“Charles…”

“Yeah?”

The neither of you looked at each other, you too busy watching the rainfall start and him starting down at the gun in his lap. “Are ya scared of what we may find?”

That caught his attention and when he finally directed his gaze towards you, he could see the worried look painted across your face. Eyebrows furrowed, corner of lips drooped and eyes glassy with tears that may escape; a look he had never seen you adorn before.

As much as he wanted to ensure you that everything was going to be alright, he couldn’t lie for once. Charles couldn’t form the words to tell you that everything will be fine, and that Arthur is somewhere safe and sound. False hope was a fool’s game and unfortunately, you were a fiery fool that would definitely tamper with a game such as false hope.

“Aren’t we both?” He countered, and in that moment, the silence that fell over you both this time was sickly uncomfortable.

You felt your stomach drop as you looked for any kind of flittering hope, and Charles felt his shoulders weigh down more at the realisation of what was to come the next day.

That night, you didn’t sleep and neither did Charles.

With the bitter taste of burnt-black coffee at the back of your throat, you were set off again to the old gang campsite in the early hours of the morning. The woods of Roanoke Ridge always sent a shiver up your spine as it always felt that someone or something was watching you, whether it be from the canopy of lush leaves above you or the large boulders that were scattered throughout the wilderness. But you spurred and gave your horse reassuring words as the pace increased by tenfold.

However, riding past the familiar areas that you had grown accustomed to while your stay there, you dreaded getting closer and closer to Beaver Hollow. The path leading you up to the small flat-surfaced area was littered with disposed rifles and pistols, and blood was too scattered over the dirt and greenery of the bushes. It was obvious that there had been an intense battle here.

As you dismounted your horse, you noted that equipment that had belonged to the Van de Linde gang was still present, meaning no one had been past since. So, you scurried over to where you and Arthur had shared a tent, searching and searching through boxes and bags in search for anything to lead you to where Arthur may be. Yet to no avail, you found nothing. No note, not even a small clue as to where even his whereabouts might be.

“(Name).” Charles called out, gathering your attention right away and allowing a least a tiny bit of hope to bloom in your chest. You hadn’t even looked at what he was standing over as your body started moving on its own.

“Did ya find a—” All hope had been drained from you as what he had seen finally caught your attention. Your blood ran cold as you stared at the lifeless body of Grimshaw, a large hole sat right in the middle of her stomach which was crawling with bugs that had no right to be using her as their feast.

Turning away, you held your hand to your stomach and choked back a sob. “How…could they just leave her?” You spat in disgust, aforementioned hand balling into a fist. “Leave her here to rot?!”

A sigh left Charles as he too turned away, rubbing his face.

“C’mon, we need to see if anyone else is here and then I’ll go and bury her.”

You nodded and let Charles lead you around the old running grounds. No letter was seen to be anywhere both inside and outside of the cave, serving as a ground for your anxiety to rise. After coming to a mutual agreement that there was nothing else in this general area, you gathered any lasting supplies that remained while Charles took Grimshaw’s body to bury it. By the time he returned, covered in mud and a dreadful look on his face, you then set off to search the general area for anyone else.

It was hard, but eventually traced of a shootout near the border of Roanoke Ridge and the Heartlands were found by Charles. Rifles and pistols once again were scattered here and there, and as well as the wolf-scavenged corpses of two horses. They smelt bad and rotten, something you noted while walking past after hitching your horse to the closest tree.

“They sure got far whoever rode out this way.” You observed and walked up to Charles who looked up at the small mountain before him. “Either that or we’re ‘bout to find the corpse of some other wanted man.”

“These horses have been dead for a while now. Not a recently killing at all.” He responded, motioning for you to follow him up the small mountain before you

The tread up to the mountain was tiring, both physically and emotionally as you felt you were about to be at your wits end. No proper sign of where Arthur was, you started to doubt whether it was a good idea to come back down south. You hadn’t need to come back this way until all the information on what exactly happened was official, but alas you listened to your heart rather than your brain. And here you were, hiking on a mountain with a man who you forced to leave the duty of protecting people so that you could see what happened, as well as also growing rapidly tired and cold within minutes of being on this trek. Charles caught on to it at your quietness, throwing a glance over his shoulder towards you to see how you were. Your eyes were heavy with dark circles surrounding them and you were chattering, pulling your coat closer to your body.

Maybe I should’ve made extra coffee for the trip…

He stopped walking and you bumped into him, too busy in your own head to realise that he had halted completely. Looking up at him, you frowned ever-so slightly and pouted. “Why’re we stoppin’?”

“Because you’re tired.”

“I’m…fine.” Shaking your head, you let out a weak smile. “Let’s just continue looking.”

Charles blinked, staring at you for a few moments before directing his attention to his left, seeing a small flat surface that was large enough to rest. He pointed towards it. “Go rest up there for now. If I haven’t found something soon, I’ll come back and we can set up camp there, okay?”

You paused, the urge to fight back being appealing but with the lacking energy, you rolled your eyes at him. “Fine.”

Parting ways, you trudged up to the area Charles told you to go rest by while rubbing the tiredness from your eyes. Hope on finding Arthur was starting to wither away as new intruding thoughts came to mind. Maybe the Pinkertons grabbed hold of him after all, and this search from him was starting to become an impossible mission. Maybe in the next few days, you’ll see an article in the newspaper about the hanging of Van de Linde gang member Arthur Morgan.

You sat down with your back against the rocky formation and you sighed, keeping your eyes closed. The peaceful sound of birds chirping and eagles gawking in the distance helped you relax, and with a low sigh, you finally opened your eyes to see the evening sky start to set. Hues of orange, pink, purple and blue all blended together, creating a picture so perfect that for a moment you wished you could paint. The clouds stretched across the horizon looked like the bags of cotton candy you’d frequently steal for Jack after news of the new candy made its round through towns and a part of you wished you could just reach out and pluck a piece from it.

With a smile, your eyes then wandered to your close surroundings on the mountain ledge. Rocks, pebbles and stones was all you could see until a large-lumped figure sat near the cliff edge caught your attention. Obviously, a person, they were sat there unmoving and instantly at the sight of them, you felt your heart pound against your chest as though it was trying to escape. There was no movement of the chest, indicating they were no longer breathing.

In a quick-shaky movement, you jumped up to your feet while your hand hovered over your chest to feel your heartbeat. Slowly and steadily, your feet carried you to the body and at the sight of the recognisable mop of blonde hair on top of the corpse, a scream was ripped from your throat.

Albeit it was a little delayed as you stood there in shock, but it caught the attention of Charles fast. You heard him calling out your name loud and clear. You heard his footsteps against the smooth rock paths of the mountain, but you were stood there, frozen and in shock.

It wasn’t until it had really settled that the body of Arthur Morgan was in front of you that you dropped to the ground, long-overdue tears spilling out on to your cheeks. Charles was by your side within seconds of finding you, not needing to ask what was wrong as the first thing he saw was the body.

You felt your stomach twist and turn and do back flips. It made you feel sick. Choking out a loud sob, you turned to your side the best you could and let the bile that’d made its way into your throat out; and it didn’t stop. The pain in your chest burned as though someone had just set it on fire and your stomach was turning itself inside out. Every fibre in your body was in pain yet somehow numb at the same time.

Perhaps it was the cold air that numbed the pain, or maybe that was what was causing you to be in pain. You couldn’t tell, but as soon as you turned to Charles, you gripped on to his shirt and leant your head on to his chest. Tears stained his clothes and your body rattled with each sob that escaped past your lips. One of his hands rested on your shoulder while the other was on the small of your back. He enveloped you in the warmth you needed and stayed quiet, letting you grieve.

And for what felt like eternity, there were no more tears left to cry. You simply didn’t have the energy left to cry no more, and slowly, you felt yourself drift off to sleep in the arms of a man who grieved the loss of his friend in silence.

The next morning you woke up in the comfort of your sleeping bag with the warmth from the large figure sitting next to you. For a moment, you believed you were back in Horseshoe Overlook and you were about to be challenged with whatever drama Grimshaw threw at you while the other girls motioned for you to dismiss her and sneak over to them. You believed the man next to you was Arthur and that he was about to start off your day with a kiss to the forehead and some witty comment about how you put Snow White to a shame.

But reality hit hard when you saw that it was in fact Charles next to you and that you were in a tent near the mountains, not in the beautiful plains of the Heartlands. Arthur was only a few feet away, long dead and never coming back ever again.

Charles noticed you stir awake and glanced over at you, halting his arrow crafting and keeping his gaze on you to see how you were. The distraught expression that painted itself over your face caused him to look back ahead.

“I’ve covered his body.” He spoke with a soft voice, catching your attention right away as you sat up. “So…you don’t have to see…y’know.”

You hummed and mumbled a small thank you before dropping your head to stare at your hands.

Goosebumps had risen on your skin and as you shivered, Charles reached forward to grab a cup and the small percolator that was packed for your trip. Pouring the coffee into the cup, he handed it to you silently which you too accepted in the same manner.

Heavy grief weighed down on to your chest, making you feel as though someone was standing on you. It was hard to swallow and breath, and it was hard to simply even think, knowing that the body of your lover was basically next to you. It was astoundingly ironic, and all you could do was laugh.

So, you did.

A painfully-hearty chuckle rumbled in your chest and as it turned into a laugh, Charles’ attention was drawn back to you. He threw you a look of confusion, but you were too busy laughing to even bother responding to him.

You held on to your stomach before wiping the tears away from your eyes, finally catching on to the look Charles was giving you.

“What was so funny, (Name)?”

You guffawed once again, having to set down the cup of coffee this time so that you could vaguely motion to everything. “This situation we’re in right now. I wasn’t expectin’ to be buryin’ the love of my life this early.”

“I wasn’t expectin’ to be finding him on a mountain ledge, lookin’ like he had the shit beaten out of him and skin grey as fucking old dog shit.”

Your voice wavered as you spoke with every word, the wall that you were desperately trying to build already starting to crumble.

“Isn’t it kinda funny how I can’t breathe properly, and his body is right next to me?”

“(Name)…”

“It’s almost like something is tryna tell me to stop breathin’.”

“(Name).”

Laughing, you picked up the cup of coffee to take a sip out of it, but you stopped yourself and looked at it bitterly. It was then that you shuffled out the tent and got to your feet, shuffling over to the ledge. You gripped on to the cup tightly before hauling it out into the wilderness, a scream of pain leaving you again – much like the one from the night before.

Then it was quiet, aside from the sad howl of a wolf in the distance. Both you and Charles instantly recognised the cry to be one of a grieving wolf; a wolf that has lost its loved one to the hands of nature.

Charles had made it to his feet, slowly walking over to you in a cautious matter. “(Name)…”

“What is it?” You snapped back, refusing to look at him.

He paused for a brief second before letting out a puff of breath and glancing over at the covered body. “I’m burying him today. In a few hours at most, and I know a place that would be the best for him. A place where he would’ve wanted to be buried.”

“Facing the west?” Your voice grew quiet and he nodded.

“Of course.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and faced Charles, keeping your gaze glued to the ground. He stared at you while awaiting what you were going to do next. Then you looked up at him, eyes glassy with tears and your bottom lip quivering. You looked broken, oh so broken and not ready to be glued and fixed back together just yet.

“Alright, let’s get packed up then…”

As you packed the tent and bedrolls, you couldn’t gain the courage to face Charles as he carefully wrapped Arthur’s body and stowed it on the back of Taima. The small fire was put out and any signs that showed someone was present was extracted. You agreed with Charles to ride ahead this trip after he showed you where to go on the map, and he obliged. Not a single part of you was ready to look at Arthur just yet.

The ride was completely silent between you and Charles aside from you questioning whether you go left or right at some points in the ride. It gave you a moment to think to yourself. To gather your thoughts and place them out nicely before realising what the hell are you going to do next.

Unless John and the rest have fled across t’ the other side of the country, I might be able t’ track ‘em down.

You just knew that you couldn’t be here in this part of the country for a while. You needed to leave. 

Because like an artist, every little thing about this place would be painted with the memory of the downfall of your family, the storm that Dutch unleashed amongst you, and the death of your soulmate. Each paint stroke of the fields of the Heartlands or the swamps of Lemoyne would remind you of painful times, something you know that you’re not ready to face just yet.

You wiped away the tears that you hadn’t even noticed were travelling down the expanse of your cheek and called out to Charles, who directed to go left and then keep going. 

“I’ll tell you when to stop.”

As you neared Bacchus station, you saw swarms of workers about with wagons of construction items to fix the broken railway line that was the work of Arthur and John, after all. You held back a small snicker and glanced back at Charles who threw a knowing look in your direction. That was definitely a conversation needed for later.

It wasn’t long after seeing the construction workers that Charles told you to stop. This time he took the lead up to a small ledge of a much larger mountain and rode past a particular looking hill house that you noted to investigate later on. You avoided looking at the lifeless body on the back of Taima, instead occupying yourself by dismounting early and making your way to the other side to overlook New Hanover.

Not one word was said during the process of Arthur’s burial, out of respect and also to avoid any more tearful moments. You sat yourself at the edge of the flat ledge, your legs dangling off and swinging idly back and forth; something that was a habit of yours.

You remembered the first job you’d done with Arthur. It involved robbing the small-town bank of Tumbleweed in New Austin, a job that went relatively easy since you both were still considered rookies to the outlaw life.

(“Y’know,” Arthur started while flicking through the stack of bills to ensure that yours and his share was evenly split. “I must say that ya pretty darn good with a rifle.”

A gasp of false shock and offence slipped past your lips as you sat yourself on the edge of the creaking bridge you were situated at, the blue water of West Elizabeth looking utterly beautiful. “Now, Mr. Morgan, d’ya say that ‘cause I’m a woman?”

The blonde male’s eyes glanced at you as he halted counting, noticing the stability of the bridge not being too reliable.

“No, yer just clumsy which is why I must ask for ya to get off tha’ bridge, Miss (Name).”

Now you laughed, mocking his tone and repeating what he had said all the while you swung your legs, back and forth, back and forth. And it wasn’t until one of the planks of wood next to you snapped all of the sudden, that you’d gotten up quicker than Arthur could say I told you so.)

A peaceful sigh left you as the light Spring breeze filtered through the strands of your hair.

You missed him already. The way he’d roll his eyes when he was proven wrong, or how he would guffaw whenever Micah got the shit taken out of him by one of the girls. Or, how he’d hold you close at night, his arms wrapped around your waist gently yet firmly at the same time. It was almost as if he thought you would disappear in the dead of the night, leaving him and the gang.

Many fond memories flooded you and you couldn’t help but let a bittersweet smile etch itself across your face.

Then the faint sound of hooves against the rocky surface caught your attention. Spinning around slightly to see if the horses were moving, you saw that they were still in their assumed position from beforehand.

Weird.

Facing forward, they only grew louder and louder, and before you knew it the sight of a larger than normal buck approach you. It stood tall, a certain humble regal aura making it seem too human to be a wild animal. You were sat there in silence as it stared back at you before bowing its head to graze on the small patch of grass that was next to you. There was something weird about this animal and as it ate the plant life next to you, it eventually nudged the hand that laid resting next to your leg with its snout, indicating that it wanted to be pet.

So, you followed its instructions, softly petting the space between the eyes of the buck. It was then that you got a good clear look at the eyes of the animal. A piercing blue that seemed all too familiar. 

The buck let out a huff, shaking its head in irritation and lowering down so that it was resting next to you. It turned its head after having its moment, looking over at Charles digging the grave for Arthur’s body.

You blinked in confusion, your eyes darting back and force between Charles, Arthur and the buck until it clicked.

Slowly, a wide smile stretched across your face as you looked back at the “wild animal”, a laugh of disbelief bubbling in your stomach and tears welling up in your eyes.

“You stupid-sneaky bastard.” You blubbered, hands reaching out to cup the buck’s head. His ears twitched as you leant your head forward to lean on his and closed your eyes, that laugh of disbelief finally escaping. 

After a few moments of sitting there in silence, you pulled away to look at him. To look at Arthur. Stroking and petting down on the tufts of fur on him, you placed a delicate kiss in the same spot you had rested your head before nudging your nose against him.

“I love you, you big-stupid-oaf.”

Meanwhile, Charles stood from a distance, a small smiling tugging at his lips as he saw the reunion unfold.

[raywritesthings]

What Have They Lost? 4/?

My Writing Fandom: Arrow, The Flash Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Thea Queen, Barbara Gordon, Barry Allen, Wally West, Bruce Wayne, Tommy Merlyn Pairings: Barry Allen/Iris West, Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel Summary: “I can definitely tell you that there’s a way we’re going to bring [Laurel] back and she’s going to be alive and well. And Flashpoint might have a little bit to do with that.“ -Wendy Mericle AKA: The AU where that wasn’t a blatant lie, and Flashpoint has bigger repercussions for Barry’s friends and allies than he first realized. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in my bio*

After the weird encounter with a man named Barry and seeing Dinah from Birds of Prey in one night, Mia’s life had gone back to depressingly normal. How was that fair?

She’d thought about sharing the discovery she’d made about Larry online, but then who would really believe her? And pop stars had to have lawyers and stuff looking out for their image. She really couldn’t afford getting sued.

A part of her still didn’t believe it anyway. How could someone so cool like Dinah have such a schlub for a father? But then again, nobody knew her past.

Mia has always kind of assumed — or maybe hoped — that her idol was a kid from the system, like her. No parents, no roots, free to do as they pleased for good or ill. More ill in her case, as it had turned out so far.

It was another long night of pouring shots and drying glasses. The nights all seemed to blur together after a while, unless something extraordinary happened.

And then something did. “I’m gonna take my fifteen,” she called out, not really waiting for a response. Mia tossed her apron aside and walked to the door, only vaguely noticing the guy who stood from one of the two-seater booths to do so as well.

She did notice when he followed her around the corner. “Hey, buddy, this is kind of the unofficial employee-only section, so if you could—” The rest of her words died in her throat once she’d turned towards him.

Because it was Oliver Queen.

“Yeah, sorry,” he was saying, his eyes jumping all over her appearance. “I just wanted to ask you when your shift ends.”

Mia raised both eyebrows. She’d heard he was some kind of player back in the day, but seriously? “Don’t you think I’m a little young for you?”

His jaw dropped. “No! No, that’s not what I — I promise, this is not a come-on. I just...we need to talk, about something important.”

This was so weird. That Barry guy had asked her what she knew about Oliver Queen, and less than a week out he turned up looking for her?

“I’m here for another four,” she said, breaking every rule of how to interact with male customers, but this one was famous so it wasn’t like he could get away with too much.

“Okay,” he said. There was a spark in his eye, like the prospect of getting to talk to her more was something to be happy about. He was about the only one who’d ever thought so.

“Yeah, so can you let me have the last of my break?”

“Right. Yeah, I can do that.” He retreated back inside.

Mia shook her head. What was even going on anymore?

Four hours later, he was still at his booth. She sighed, throwing herself down into the empty seat across from him.

“Okay, what’s this about?”

“Did you want to talk here? We could go somewhere else.”

“I’m not going somewhere with you. Stranger danger and all that.”

“Right,” he said with a wince. “That’s good. That’s smart.” He scrubbed at his goatee. “So that’s probably where we should start. Uh, recently I learned that you and I — we’re not exactly strangers.”

“Aren’t we?”

“Well, in a way. The thing is...I’m your half-brother,” he told her.

Now it was her turn for her jaw to drop.

“On my mother’s side,” he added, like he thought that was helpful.

Thea placed her head in her hands. “Okay, really, what’s the joke? Is it the last names thing? Cause that guy was in earlier—”

“What guy? Barry?”

“Wait, you know him?”

“He’s my friend. He’s the one who told me.”

Mia sat back. “What do you mean? Why would he know?”

“That’s kind of complicated. But we can talk about that, too. I...gosh, there’s so much to talk about.” He said gosh. Who even said gosh anymore?

Her shock was starting to give way, however, and Mia found herself narrowing her eyes. “Why?”

“What?”

“Why do we have anything to talk about? For over twenty years, you couldn’t be bothered to even notice my existence. Now because some guy says we’re related, you’re suddenly interested?”

He was stunned speechless for a few moments. “Mia, I- I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Right, because our mom — your mom — didn’t tell you. Because she didn’t want me.”

“I’m not sure why she sent you to the orphanage. But she kept an eye on you, made payments—”

“Oh, because that makes everything better?” Mia said with a nasty laugh. A couple people glanced over their way, but she paid them little mind. “Trust a Queen to think that money solves all problems!”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m still trying to figure everything out, I just wanted—”

“Screw what you want, alright? I’ve survived my whole life without a family. I don’t need you swooping in to force me to be yours.” Mia stood and stormed out of the bar.

“Mia!” He called after her, but she didn’t stop and he didn’t follow.

What did he expect? That she’d move in with him and his bastard kid, they could forget everything that had come before and sing kumbaya? If what he said was true, she’d had parents, and they’d willingly given her away. Not out of some kind of necessity, not because they couldn’t afford it, but because they hadn’t wanted her. She’d long ago given up wondering what her family might have been like, but the reality was worse than anything she’d ever imagined.

Mia stopped and let herself lean against a wall, willing her eyes to just stop stinging already. She’d promised to stop feeling sorry for herself.

“Well, that wasn’t very nice of him.”

Mia stiffened at the unfamiliar voice and looked up. Standing across from her was a man with dark hair and a beard. He looked about the same age as Oliver Queen and even richer in his expensive suit. Mia sighed. She so did not want to deal with this.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help noticing what was going on back there. It was Mia, right?”

“What do you want?” She huffed. “You about to tell me you’re my secret brother, too?”

He smiled, but there was something off about it. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Funny you should mention that.”

---

Dinah looked at the street down below and gulped. “Why’d I let you guys talk me into this?”

“Hey, you’ll be fine. Think of it like stage-diving.” She was used to earpieces on stage, but it usually wasn’t Babs’ voice in her ear. It hadn’t surprised her in the least Ted had a working pair of comm links, though.

“I am not jumping from this high. Not without a wire, at least. Just...getting a feel for things. Lay of the land.” It sounded unconvincing to her own ears. Dinah scowled at herself and reached to tug on the material resting around her eyes.

“Stop picking at the mask.”

“What makes you think I’m doing that?”

“Because I can see you through the security cam mounted on the high rise across from you.”

Dinah made a face in the high rise’s direction.

“Cute.”

“I try. Look, Babs—”

“No names on the comm. We use code.”

She rolled her eyes. “Alright, Bat-ling.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Well, what do you want to be called? Lady Bat? Batgirl?”

“I’m kind of thinking of making up my own thing. You know, since this is just us.”

Dinah felt herself smile. “Alright. Just let me know once you have something.”

“Sure thing. You start thinking about one, too.”

“Yeah,” Dinah sighed. It wasn’t like she wasn’t used to rebranding. From Laurel to Dinah, after all.

She’d been hearing the name she’d gone by in childhood a lot, recently. Visits to her dad tended to do that, but she could’ve sworn that one camera guy from the Central City publication had nearly called her it the other week. Maybe she’d imagined it, or maybe it had just been a herald of the strange turn her life was about to take.

Her eyes caught shapes moving down on the street below, and she quickly went to the fire escape and slid down the railing partway.

A few young men were giving chase to another of their group, yelling epithets as they went.

“You’re a dead man!”

“You think you can walk away? You think it’s that easy, huh?”

“Maybe not a damsel in distress situation, but one less murder’s always a good thing,” Dinah muttered to herself. She continued down to the ground level, doing her best to blend in with the shadows as she tracked the men to an alley.

“There’s nowhere to run!”

“Come on, guys, I don’t want a part of this anymore! I gave you my cut!”

“We said at the start, all in. That was the deal. And you gave us barely half!”

“I had bills, man! I can get you the rest later!”

Dinah cleared her throat. She’d heard plenty to get the gist. “Boys?”

The ones cornering their former friend turned, looking her up and down in clear confusion. Aside from the mask, she supposed she didn’t look much like a vigilante; Ted was working on getting something a little more durable made for her, but for now Dinah was in her jacket, a navy tank top and a set of her workout leggings. She was working on a limited wardrobe here since she didn’t exactly want anyone recognizing her outfit. Instagram was terrible for going unnoticed.

These guys were probably also expecting a big man in green, she reflected on a moment later.

“Who the hell are you?”

Damn, she hadn’t expected to need a name already. Was she supposed to tell people her codename? How did that even work?

“A concerned citizen?”

They scoffed at her. Dinah hadn’t had anyone scoff to her face in a long time, outside of the band anyway. It was kind of refreshing.

“We’re just settling a score here, lady. Nothing to get ‘concerned’ about.”

“Settling it physically?”

“What exactly is your plan here?” Babs asked in her ear. Dinah ignored her, mostly since she didn’t feel like looking crazy talking to the air.

One of the men looked about fed up. “Yeah, physically.”

“Okay, just wanted to confirm.” They’d admitted to trying to commit a crime, right? That gave her due cause or something. She stepped forward and grabbed the arm of the man closest to her, whirling him around and throwing him towards a dumpster behind her.

“What the fuck?”

“Get her!”

She ducked a fist that came careening at her and tripped the guy it was attached to. With her planted foot, she pivoted to send a kick to his rear end.

A third man grabbed her elbow, and Dinah pushed instead of pulled, jabbing him in the chest and sending him sprawling into his back.

They weren’t exactly hardened thugs, it turned out. Dinah glanced around at the three of them groaning on the ground. Her blood was pumping and she was fully in the zone, but here they were just...lying there. “Figures. No stamina,” she grumbled under her breath.

Dinah started to leave when the young man she’d been defending called out, “Um, thank you.”

“Some free advice? Turn yourself over to the cops. They can get you protection I’m not able to provide 24/7.” Dinah turned, marching over the fallen man in her path. “What did you think?”

“Couldn’t see much,” Barbara told her. “But not bad. Want to take on something a bit more challenging?”

“Why not? Night’s still young.” And she doubted this was the only crime or almost-crime happening in the whole city. Though that caused a thought. “So where do you think Green Arrow is?”

“Who knows? Why, you want to meet him?”

“I dunno. We’re in the same neighborhood and all, he might get nervous I’m on his turf.”

“And you’re worried about that?”

Dinah smirked. “Worried? No, that’s the fun part.”

Barbara’s laughter filled her ear, and Dinah picked up her step.

---

Bruce was a very busy man. Even if he didn’t have a secret night job, he would likely be considered a busy man. A ridiculous notion; CEOs tended to delegate more than anything. Nevertheless, running Wayne Enterprises was only one in a very long list of tasks he had to complete each day to ensure his city stayed afloat. 

Which was why he didn’t appreciate when others came asking for his help in their own cities unannounced. Particularly when said others bypassed all his security measures.

Alfred tsked whenever he wore the cowl in the cave, but it was necessary for times such as these when two speedsters zipped right into being.

“Woah,” the older of the two said, looking around the cavernous space.

Bruce hit a button on the console which locked the door to the upstairs from the inside to ensure Alfred didn’t accidentally arrive in the middle of whatever this was.

The younger one nudged his mentor, who gave a start. “Oh, right! Uh, Batman.”

“Yes?”

“We wanted to ask if you could run a background check for a case we’re working?” Allen probably didn’t realize how much his easy parlance with law enforcement terminology gave away about his identity, but Bruce wasn’t going to point it out to him.

Especially when he could tell the man was hiding something. “What’s this really about?”

“What do you mean?” Flash asked, as if a desperate attempt at casual was going to smooth everything over.

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen this place or me before.”

“That’s...because I haven’t.”

Bruce worked to keep any surprise off his face. If Flash was out of step with the rest of their reality, there was only one logical explanation. “Time travel.”

The speedster gaped. “How did you—”

His sidekick, West under the mask, raised both hands. “Don’t look at me. We’ve never told him about the time travel.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “You both are capable of reaching speeds that break the sound barrier and beyond. It’s a logical assumption that should you achieve a velocity higher than the speed of light, it would allow you to transcend the normal barriers of linear time as well.” Not that he liked it, but that was a discussion for another day.

“Okay. Well, yes, there was time travel involved. It’s better for the universe if I don’t say much more.”

“Then why did you come here?”

Flash blinked. It seemed he was once again unused to Bruce’s gruffness. “Well, Kid Flash said you call yourself a detective?”

Bruce frowned. “Others do.”

“I need your help finding out information about a woman. She’s a meta, potentially dangerous or potentially not. I need to know more about her.”

“What do you already have? A name?”

“Dinah Laurel Lance, born um...1985!” Said Flash, as though he’d just recalled it.

Bruce turned to his computer and started to type. He could sense the speedsters shifting restlessly on their feet behind him as he did so but pushed that minor irritation to the back of his mind.

“Dinah Laurel Lance, as you say, born in 1985. Her father gained sole custody of her when she was about seven years old but lost it in another year due to his alcoholism making him an unfit parent. She was sent into the foster care system. No record of adoption.”

“Oh man,” West murmured. Sympathy, likely from his own history with a parent embroiled in addiction.

“Any, uh, criminal record?” Allen asked, his nerves plain even behind the mask.

Bruce narrowed his eyes but scanned through the documents.

“Some records indicate a tendency to get into fights, but nothing beyond juvenile censure. What was she doing when you came across her?”

“That’s the thing, I really don’t know. She might have been helping a woman, but then she might have been trying to hurt some guys just for the heck of it. It’s...she’s complicated. But she was definitely born here?”

“She was born in Starling City.”

Allen shook his head. “Right, never mind.”

Bruce grit his teeth. He wasn’t being told something still.

“Thanks for the help.” The speedsters were both gone in an eye blink, leaving him alone once more.

Bruce frowned as he looked over the information. He could see why Flash had needed help; her records for the most part seemed to stop several years ago. But then, if he was right…

Dinah, the singer. They were the same woman. And Barbara Gordon was involved with this woman, a member of her band after leaving Gotham. A metahuman with powers he still didn’t know what were capable of doing.

If this Dinah was dangerous like Flash was fearing, and Barbara thought this was her in to the sort of life he’d tried to shield her from for Jim’s sake…

He was going to have to keep his eyes on this one.

[darlingpetao3]

Rewrite the Stars (Harry Wells x Reader, Chapter 6 - Pretty Woman AU)

Rating: Mature

Summary: While on a business trip, Harrison “Harry” Wells has a chance meeting with the Reader on the streets of Star City. Both from two very different worlds, these two spend the week together under the form of a ‘business proposition,’ only to discover that their feelings are more than strictly professional. Based on the 1990 film Pretty Woman.

Warnings: Topic of Sex-Work, Sexual Content, Unwanted Physical Advances, Coarse Language, and Major Feels

Tag list: @thecaptainsgingersnap @seabasstiantrash @cavanaghcollins @obsessedadryana @technicallykawaiisoul @ill-breach-you-there-right-now @drwellwellwells

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5

A/N: The song for this week’s chapter is ‘Fallen’ and can be found on our playlist here.

~Him~

I was late. Of course, I’d never admit that out loud, but it was still a fact.

I marched into the Plaza’s lobby returning from my meeting while scouring the place for (Y/N). I couldn’t find her. Was she still getting ready? Or had she left?

Someone walked up next to me, and I recognized the man to be Joe West, the manager of the Plaza. He always made sure my stay was to my liking and had always been a great help.

“Doctor Wells, hello,” he greeted me, “I have a message for you.”

"I have somewhere I need to be, so if you could leave it-"

"It's from your niece," he clarified, and I looked at him for a second, wholly lost (as I was an only child), before I realized what he was getting at. (Y/N). I had brought an escort into a five-star establishment. I should have seen this coming.

"I think we both know she's not my niece," I replied, looking West in the eye.

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s the message, then?”

“She’s waiting for you in the lounge,” he said, indicating with his head in the direction I needed to go.

“Thank you.”

Before I took my leave, West remarked, “She’s an intriguing woman.” I stopped, and damn it if I didn’t smile in front of the other man as I thought about how true it was.

“I’m well aware.”

I walked across to the lounge, scanning the face of everyone I could see in order to locate her, but it seemed to be pointless. I did a full circuit of the room and then one on the spot but to no avail.

Had West been mistaken? Had my tardiness left her disheartened enough to leave?

I did another slow turn, and this time, when I looked over my shoulder, I saw her. She sat at the bar, her back to me initially, but now she'd turned around and was smiling softly at me.

In one word, she was a vision.

The dress she bought today… I didn’t even know how to express myself adequately. (Y/N) had stolen my breath with the way she looked tonight. It was a black (a woman after my own heart) cocktail dress which came down almost to her knee and had short lace sleeves. The small jewelled embellishments glittered in the light of the lounge.

I gaped as she gracefully stood from her seat, and watched as she approached me. I'm not sure I could explain the emotions currently coursing through me as my eyes roamed over every inch of her.

It was a transformation, but only in the sense of what my money had done for her. She was beautiful, I'd thought so since the moment we'd met, but only now could you see how she shone.

When she reached me, she carefully straightened my tie and then met my gaze.

"You're late," she said, attempting to sound chastising.

"You're stunning."

I immediately saw the smile begin to grace her features. "You're forgiven,” she said, giggling, and I saw the slight colour that rose in her cheeks.

“Shall we go to dinner?” I held out my arm for her, which she took, and led her to the car I had arranged to take us to the restaurant a few blocks away.

When we entered the restaurant, I saw her wringing her hands in front of her. It was the way I felt inside, though I kept an impenetrable front otherwise.

“Stop fidgeting, there’s nothing for you to worry about,” I assured her.

The hostess showed us to the table where Ramon, and his associate Allen, were already seated. They stood up when we arrived, and it was impossible to miss the look of shock on their faces as I walked up with (Y/N) beside me. Whether it be from her beauty alone or the fact that this woman was with me, I couldn’t be sure, but for the sake of things, I assumed it to be the former.

“Mr. Ramon,” I said, and shook the man’s hand even though that was the last thing I wanted to do. I turned to his associate. “Mr. Allen.”

“Doctor Wells,” the long-haired man-child acknowledged, then looked to (Y/N), “and who’s your delightful companion?”

“This is a friend of mine, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“It’s so nice to meet you both,” she said, oozing charm. I pulled her seat out for her before we all took our own. There were so many variables that could go wrong tonight, and I was afraid I hadn’t anticipated them all, but having her here with me seemed to help notably. She sent me a small sideways smile as the waiter brought over the wine menu, followed by the ones for food.

I noticed that (Y/N) looked a little overwhelmed by the choices and so I helped by pointing out a couple of good options that I’d had here before. She seemed grateful for the assistance.

“I assume you’ve come here tonight to try and convince me that letting you buy my company is my only way out of this mess?” Ramon started as he perused the menu, not looking up at me. I hoped he would choose a good wine so that I could at least enjoy something about this meal.

“If you’d agreed to drop the design for the Trans-Dimensional Telecator when I’d first brought it up, there wouldn’t be a mess for you to get out of,” I countered, linking my fingers together in front of me, over my menu.

“You’re just afraid of the competition,” he said before ordering an expensive red. At least he can get something right.

“I didn’t think it was in either of our best interests to go toe to toe on that one, and as the more experienced, I thought that it made more sense for me to take the lead,” I told him. “I appreciate that your little company is attempting to branch out-”

“Little company?” Allen spoke up for the first time, as the waiter poured the wine into the glasses. “Our company may only have been around half as long as S.T.A.R. Labs, but our profits are only a couple of hundred-thousand down on yours. This sounds as though it’s more about your ego, Doctor Wells, and how you feel threatened by Cisco’s quick success.”

“My ego?” I said, raising my voice slightly, “What about him and his-”

“Boys,” (Y/N) said, taking a delicate sip of her wine as all three of us looked to her, “perhaps we should keep our voices down?”

We all looked a little sheepish at that, and I glanced around to check that no one else in the restaurant was disturbed by our argument. But with her interjection, Ramon seemed to take more of an interest in (Y/N) than me and turned directly to face her.

“And what do you think to your… friend’s business?” he asked, glancing from her to me, and I knew he was trying to see if there was something more to our relationship than I’d let on.

“Oh, no,” she said, giving him one of those charming smiles that made me go weak at the knees. “I’m strictly here for pleasure, not business.”

I had inadvertently thrown myself into a coughing fit at her comment. She sent another knowing look my way with a little smirk, and I had to look away. Hopefully neither Ramon nor Allen had seen it, and if they had, they wouldn’t have the balls to comment. I had an image to maintain after all.

“Mr. Ramon, I assure you that this would go a lot smoother if we were on the same page,” I said, recovering and trying to get back to the matter at hand. The man looked back at me, and I could see the contempt return in his eyes.

“I can assure you, Wells, that that isn’t going to happen. Leave my company alone,” the man-bun wearing, self-proclaimed ‘tech guru’ told me as he tried to sound menacing.

“I can’t do that.”

But before we could start to get into it again, the plates of food were brought over to us and, quite frankly, I welcomed the distraction.

I watched (Y/N)’s reaction as her meal was placed in front of her. Her face scrunched up in confusion, head pulling back a tad as if to see more clearly what it was that sat on her plate. It might have been the most amusing and adorable thing I’d seen since meeting her.

“You’ll like it, I promise,” I whispered to her, smiling encouragingly at her.

“It looks like something straight out of Dagobah.”

Ramon’s head shot up and looked at me, then to (Y/N), puzzled.

“What did you say?” he asked her.

“I said it looks like it’s from Dagobah. You know, the swamp in Star Wars Episode-”

“-Five - Empire Strikes Back.”

"Try not. Do, or do not,” she started to quote.

“There is no try," Ramon finished.

I locked eyes with Allen. “What is happening?” I asked him. (Y/N) laughed and took a bite of her meal. She seemed pleasantly surprised.

As did Allen and Ramon.

~

The night may have ended smoothly, and without me chopping off Ramon’s hair, but the issue of the takeover still hung in the air. I knew I’d be waiting indefinitely for my phone to ring until I heard from either Ramon or Jack.

“You didn’t say much on the ride home,” (Y/N) said once we’d returned to the suite. “Still thinking about the meeting? I thought I handled myself pretty well back there! At first, I thought I was going to blow it!”

She followed me out to the balcony, filling the silence I’d been creating with anything that crossed her mind.

“That Cisco was actually a pretty cool guy,” she went on to admit, and perched herself on the balcony’s ledge, “I had fun chatting with him.” I made a face at Ramon’s name. “Oh, don’t even with that face,” she called me out, “See, underneath it all, I think you like Mr. Ramon. I think you think he reminds you of you.”

Part of me wanted to protest the absurdity, but I knew she was more than likely right, even if I wasn’t fully aware of it myself.

“What I’d like is for you not to be so close to the ledge, please.” I didn’t expect her to listen, but she hopped down and moved closer to me instead.

“And if that’s true,” she continued, clearly seeing my lack of response on her comment as an admission, “then, I can’t understand what you’re doing here. If you have similar ideas for something, why not see whether you can combine them? Work on it together?”

“I don’t think so,” I scoffed, but there wasn’t as much disdain behind my words as I expected. “Besides, it’s irrelevant even if I was fond of Ramon because I refuse to let myself get emotionally involved in this business.” It was always easier to not care about the people I had to deal with, and instead, think of them as pawns in a game of chess, but I kept that thought to myself.

“I can relate. Since day one, Laurie’s always saying to me, ‘don’t get emotional when you turn tricks’,” she confessed. “Hence the no kissing on the mouth rule. It’s too personal. So I took her word for it. I’m essentially robotic when it comes to the job.”

She stopped there, and her words made my heart ache. I thought I had remedied that issue long ago. I never thought I’d have to feel that torture again. This was the reason I didn’t open up anymore. How could I be so foolish to believe - to hope, even - that something real could develop between us? I was paying her to be my companion. There was nothing real about that.

“But not with-”

“-You and I are so astoundingly similar…” I said while looking at my shoes. But if that were the case then why had she been able to remain seemingly impassive in this while I was battling with feelings I’d rather repress? I felt like I was losing myself.

“Hey,” she said, trying to get me to look at her, once again instinctively knowing something was wrong with me. “Why don’t we go inside and relax? We can stay up all night and watch the movie channel? How does that sound?” (Y/N) smiled as she put an arm around me, and the small action alone was too much. I needed out. I needed to think.

“Maybe another night,” I said, getting up, “I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?”

I walked away without answering and tried my damnedest not to look back.

[tenshibeth1]

Now and Forever- Part 1

Sess-Kag Week 2k18

Canon take-off. Sequel to Written In The Stars.

(Wow this is longer than I'd meant it to be! This story had a mind of its own... 0.0 I hope you all enjoy! ^,^ )

(Edit: It is so big I have to divide it into separate posts. Sorry for the inconvenience!)

Prompt:

Day 3 - Sudden, steal, soft, breeze

Dark clouds loomed overhead, the brisk breeze warning Kagome that the storm was coming. Her white and blue traditional garb whipped around her as she struggled to pick a few more herbs that hadn't been completely roasted by the harsh summer sun. "Just a little more," Kagome pleaded with the sky as she plucked a green root from beneath the soil. She had no such luck. Lightning streaked across the sky, thunder cracking right along behind it. As if it was a signal, a sudden heavy downpour began. She was drenched before she had even gotten to her feet. "Great!" Kagome groaned as she pulled her woven basket to her chest and darted under trees. They provided minor protection from the driving rain, but it was something, at least. However...she had wandered too far away from Edo to simply sprint back to the dry comfort of her hut. Vision blurred and feet slipping along slickening mud, she decided to search for shelter elsewhere. There were caves around there somewhere...she just had to find them.

Visibility really was terrible. She stumbled into numerous trees and thickets in her search for a safe place to crash. Twigs and leaves caught in her long tresses; limbs and thorns scratched and tore into her tender skin. And she was pretty sure she pulled something in her left ankle in one of her mud slides... Gasping for breath, ribs burning, Kagome slipped and grasped for what looked like a tree...but it was a dense thicket. She fell right through. "Shhhiii-uhhnn!" The basket went flying as she fell through...onto a hard, flat, rock. The pain registered first, a burning-stinging sensation in her limbs, her knees scraped up right along with her forearms. Kagome scrambled to get on all fours, searching out the basket and some of the fallen herbs. It was about that point that she'd found four escaped herbs that it dawned on her. She crashed onto a rough, rocky surface...ergo, she was very close to a cave. Grabbing one more herb, Kagome crawled her way back to the rocks, following the trail into the mouth of the cave. Kagome was finally given reprieve from the onslaught of water...

Sliding the basket farther in, she just laid out on the dry, sandy floor for a long moment, panting and trying to tune out the burning in her body from running and the stinging of her scratches and scrapes. She expanded her reiki, searching the cave for possible youkai threats or signs of life anywhere within. It was empty, thank the gods! Kagome slowly hefted herself up into a sitting position, wincing and hissing as she did. Man she was sore! And getting chilled. The weather was cooling off rapidly. While it wasn't cold by any definition, Kagome was soaked to the bone and the whipping wind did nothing to ease the coolness from her flesh. Goosebumps raised and she cursed as she began to tremble. She had to take off her sopping wet clothes. Peering outside, she could only see hints of green and brown amid the storm. Lightning lit the sky as thunder rumbled behind it, but the visibility wasn't any better. If she couldn't see out, no one could probably see in, either. She hoped. With reluctance, Kagome untied the ties of her hakama and shimmied out of them. Her left ankle hit the rocky ground and pain flooded in.

"Oowwww...geeeeeeez," she groaned, freeing her legs from the fabric. Parting her white kimono and nagajuban, Kagome slid her hands along her smooth left leg to her very obviously swollen ankle. "Great...that's all I needed...," She sighed. But there wasn't much she could do for it. The herbs she'd managed to pick weren't anything she could use for swelling. Untying her kimono, Kagome shed both it and the nagajuban. She used the tie, still soaked and cool, to wrap around her ankle. Maybe the coolness would help reduce the swelling before she was able to get out. Spreading her clothes out on the floor to dry, she wrung out her waist-length locks before crawling around on hands and knees in the dark- carefully keeping her ankle off the ground. She felt out the floor as she went, finding a nook in the side of the cave. It wasn't very big...maybe with enough room for two people to squeeze in. But it was out of the way of the chilling wind. Kagome shuffled in and situated herself with her back to the wall, legs drawn to her chest. The storm had only just begun...and it looked like it might rage on for a while. With another sigh, she laid her head down on top of her knees and erected a small barrier that encompassed the cave. And now...the wait...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Lord Sesshoumaru...you're soaked," Sango greeted the daiyoukai at the door of her hut and ushered him in, handing him a length of cloth to dry off with all the while. He inclined his head in thanks.

"Where is the miko?" He asked instead of greeting them, merely holding the cloth in hand as the water-logged Inu stood near to the door. He was entirely uncomfortable being as wet as he was, dressed. The clothes stuck to his skin right along with his silver strands of hair. But he did nothing to convey his discomfort. Sango and Miroku's very much dry kids were playing cheerily by the fire.

"She went out hours ago to gather herbs...," Sango informed with a worried nibble to her lip. "The storm started in, and there's been no trace of her..."

"How long has it been since the storm began?" His eyes narrowed perceptibly.

"A couple of hours, maybe...Miroku went out to see if he could find her," Sango replied, her every pore dripping with worry. And she was right to be. Any human in this weather would not be well-off...not to mention the possibility of illness or incident of either the youkai sort or that of nature. Sesshoumaru was not happy. "We hoped maybe she had found-!" She was interrupted by a huff and a gasp as Miroku staggered in and fell to his knees as he panted softly. "Miroku!" Sango was at his side in the blink of an eye, hand on his shoulder. Sesshoumaru blinked at the monk. The rain was so droning that he hadn't even heard the ningen coming... All of his senses were dulled by that damned water falling from the heavens. This was exactly why he hated rain...

"I'm...alright," Miroku panted, water quickly pooling around him as he looked up at Sango with a tired but loving smile.

"You didn't find the miko," Sesshoumaru spoke with his usual stoic mask, only his tone betraying his disappointment.

"It's not...that I didn't...," Miroku shook his head, gazing up at the daiyoukai as his amber eyes narrowed just a bit more. Miroku's black hair clung to his face, water droplets streaming down like tears. His face was etched with regret. "I couldn't...reach her. She was too far out...and with the weather as it is...the paths are hazardous. Too much for humans...I know my limitations... But, she's holed up in the North-West somewhere... There's some small mountains there, and I hope...she found shelter in them... I followed the feel of her reiki for a while- that's how I found...out which direction she went. Kagome is staying stationary somewhere in that general direction...and that is all I can say for certain."

"...You did well," Sesshoumaru praised, dropping the cloth Sango had given him onto the drenched monk. Miroku looked up at him in wide-eyed shock. Sesshoumaru wasn't one to give compliments very often. Only when they were well-deserved. And this was one of the rare few times. Because the monk had useful information to go on. If Sesshoumaru had been searching for Kagome in this weather with his youki and she wasn't using her reiki...it was similar to trying to find a star behind dense clouds. Murky at best with unfavorable results. But she was using her reiki...so her light would penetrate said metaphorical clouds. He could find her. The terrain was a bother, but it wasn't as much of a problem for him as it was for humans. Without a word, Sesshoumaru turned and began walking out of the hut.

"W-wait!" Sango called after him. Sesshoumaru paused. "Where are you going?!"

"To retrieve the miko," he replied simply. Before more could be said or asked, Sesshoumaru was speeding out of the hut and into the downpour. Instead of using his other senses...which were completely useless to him at the moment, he opened up his youki and spread it out as he started North-West. At first he couldn't feel her reiki. And he was partially distracted by the rain. Going at his normal speed- which far exceeded Inuyasha's- in the driving rain and harsh winds gave him wind burn. Nasty red splotches that burned and stung his flesh enough to make his fingers curl. It would be gone within moments of stopping somewhere, but it was an unneeded annoyance nonetheless. It almost kept him from recognizing the weak pulse of Kagome's reiki. He did stop then, after about half an hour of relentless searching. The rain was an annoyance in so many ways...but he closed his eyes and focused passed the cold water to the weakening reiki. His youki poured out like a tidal wave, searching out what should have been a conflicting energy, and it washed over the reiki...an aura so pure and refreshing that it could only be the miko's. Her power was ebbing away...she was weakening. Was she being attacked? Was she wounded? Knocked unconscious? In some sort of predicament? He couldn't tell. The only thing he knew for sure, besides her far-off location, was that there were no youkai within several meters of her. Strange, but he wasn't complaining. His golden eyes opened, flaming with ambition and purpose. "I am coming....Kagome." With an urgency he felt down deep in his bones, Sesshoumaru began sprinting in her direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

End Part 1

[yogurtbattle]

Ginger Roger(s) Taylor? Chapter two

Again, any feedback is appreciated. This chapter is longer (about 3000 words).

Roger mindlessly shifted through the envelopes on his kitchen table. Bills, more bills, some boring letter from the bank… then his interest was captured by the last letter. The handwriting on the envelope was elegant and there was no company name on the envelope. He opened it and found a handwritten note inside. He flinched when he saw the name signing off the note at the end. Her. The girl he had been trying to get out of his bloody head the past week. The last person he had expected to write him a letter.

He lit a cigarette and then read through the note. It said:

“Hello Roger,

This is a small note to say I am sorry for being rude to you at the party a week ago. I have no other excuse than being intense as a person, very all or nothing. Even more when the person I am talking to is a stranger to me. I do not think ill of you as a person, I was just annoyed by you at that very moment. I hope you will accept my apology.

Hope you all the best in the future,

C.A. González Huntington”

That was a little unexpected and confusing. He had no idea what prompted her to write this note. And fuck, the worst part of it was that it made him hope. Hope that maybe he still had a chance with her. No, Rog, forget it. Forget her. She doesn’t want you, she made that more than clear. But he couldn’t forget the lively sparkle in her eyes or the chemistry that had been obviously there. She was unlike any girl he ever met before and he had met many. There was this intriguing mix of warm liveliness and regal composure surrounding her. It confused and attracted him at the same time. He had no idea why. But she was, above all, interesting, and that had captivated him.

After spending a few minutes debating with himself, he decided what the heck, life’s too short to not chase after your own happiness. It wasn’t often after all that he met a girl that left such a strong impression on him after just one meeting. Still, the thought of getting rejected again left Roger a little wary. Thinking through his options, he realised he didn’t even have any contact details of her. Nothing. A quick search on Google left him none the wiser. This was going to be even harder than he thought. Then it struck him: she hadn’t had his contact details either, so someone must have given it to her. And that someone was the person he was now going to plead with till he gave in.

“Hey mate, how’re you doing? Have you cured your hangover yet?” he heard Aaron say over the phone. “With another one. And some more,” he sighed, while running his hand through his hair, “hey, have you by any chance given my address to Camila? I received a handwritten note from her today.”. “Handwritten eh? That’s gotta mean something, mate! And yes, I did, I thought you might like it, you seemed a bit down at the party and what’s better than a gorgeous chick to cheer you up?” Roger clenched his teeth together. Down was one word to describe it. And she was the one who caused it in the first place. “Well, eh, I wanted to talk about that,” he frowned, “Do you have her phone number or something? I… want to talk to her and I don’t have it.”. “She didn’t write it on the note? Shame!” Aaron laughed, “I can’t give it to you, cuz I’m sure she’ll murder me if I do without her permission, but I can ask her to call you if you want?”.

Of course, this bloody world isn’t going to make it easy for me, Roger thought. “No, thanks,” he needed a Plan B quickly, “Do you… eh… have a public mail address of her maybe? Something I can contact her on that she wouldn’t hate you for?” not his best plan, but maybe he’ll figure something out. “Yes, I think have her work mail in my contact list somewhere. Let me see… it’s v.munincksberger@gmail.com. I’m not sure if she’ll read the mail herself though,” Roger wrote down the address on the first piece of paper he found laying around his kitchen table, which turned out to be his lyric diary. “I’ll find a way to make her read it. Thanks though. I owe you one,” his mind was already on the mail he was about to write. “That’s what friends are for, right? Get me a drink in next time and tell me all about your new date and we’re fine,” “Will do. Listen, I need to write a very important mail now so I’m hanging. See ya!” after a quick bye he put off the call.

Right. What was he going to tell her? He needed an excuse to see her again. He needed to feel if the chemistry was still there. And if she was as beautiful as he had imprinted in his mind. He couldn’t just ask her out on a date though. No matter how he would put it, she would always say no, he was sure of that. So, what was a good excuse to meet up again? That she still had something of him? No, there was no way she was going to buy that. That he needed her advice on something? No, she would just answer via mail and he would be no step further. He needed something better. He quickly lit another cigarette.

Wait. Wasn’t she a dancer or choreographer or something? She had mentioned that during their conversation. Good, at least now he had an idea in which direction he was going. He started writing:

“Dear Camila,” he hated being formal, and he was trying to woo her after all anyway, but he had to be careful not to be too slimy either. “I received your note today, thank you, it was nice to read. I must say I was surprised to see your fine handwriting lying on my kitchen table. Of course, I’ll accept your apology, although I still don’t know why you cut me off like that. I wouldn’t mind hearing you tell me face-to-face. Don’t worry, I’m not asking you out on a date. I wouldn’t dare. But I have a small problem I need your help with. You see, the girl I like is an excellent dancer and even though I have some fine moves I must admit I’m nowhere near that level. And when you’re trying to impress a gorgeous girl that won’t do. You’ve told me you’re a choreographer, so I wondered if you mind teaching me a few extra moves etc.? I’ll thank you over a drink afterwards, if you want. Thanks, Roger. PS: If your assistant is reading this, please forward it to Camila.” He felt really pleased with his own mail. It had turned out exactly how he wanted it to. Out of fear of chickening out if he read it over he clicked ‘send’. All that was left to do was hope for the best.

Several hours later he was trying to concentrate on the book he was reading, but his mind kept wandering off to his laptop. His thoughts went back to that cursed party. At first, he had only noticed the way her dress had shown off her perfect curves and how delicate and soft her features were. He had noted how well she dressed: sexy, but subtle. Then he observed the way she said her name. Ca-Mee-La, like a pretty flower. It suited her. Her eyes, oh those eyes. The way they looked at him send shivers down his spine. There was a wildness in them, a rebelliousness that he had liked immediately. Her voice dry, but soft and smooth. The way she moved was elegant, as a dancer should be. She spoke very sharply and fast, like she was always on the edge of a heated debate. But when he said something funny, she would break into a wholesome laugh that lit up the whole room. But there was something about her, a certain amused look that he couldn’t figure out. As if she was thinking a lot of thoughts she didn’t want to share with anyone. And then suddenly she was gone. It had left him feeling cold, rejected and bitterly disappointed. The only thing that was left to do was getting absolutely piss drunk and that was exactly what he did.

Suddenly, he was disrupted from his thoughts by the sound of his inbox receiving a new mail. He stirred, feeling nervous and excited at the same time, when he saw her name as the sender. He quickly opened it:

“Dear Roger,

pleased to read you liked my note and accepted my apology. I am aware of my shortcomings as a human being, so I makes me happy I did not stamp on your feet too hard. As for a face-to-face explanation, there is not much to explain apart from it being in my character. Your ‘little problem’ amused me. You must think her very special if you are willing to go out of your way to impress her.  You want me to help you? Well, as it happens, I just finished my work on a new West End musical, so I have some spare time in the next weeks to teach you. Why don’t you come to tonight’s show, so we can discuss details afterwards? I will give you backstage access if you agree. You do not need to buy me a drink afterwards, I am always willing to help someone for free.

Looking forward to seeing you in action! X, Camila.

PS: Victoria is not my assistant, but my partner-in-crime. We only use her mail address to stop men from trying to get into contact with me via my work account.”

He lit a cigarette to calm his nerves. He felt a flicker of excitement inside. So, she did want to meet him now suddenly? She continued to bewilder and fascinate him. He wondered whether it was intentional and she was playing hard to get or if she was just a little strange as a person. And was she playing along or did she really believe his explanation? He didn’t know, but he was dying to find out.

A West End musical though? He hated musicals with a passion. He would never go to one out of free will. But this was also his only chance and he had already come this far… One evening wouldn’t hurt, he guessed. Who knows, it might actually be fun… Yeah, probably not Roger, stop lying to yourself. You just have to get through this bit.

When he arrived backstage at the theatre, he tried very hard to not get in the way of the production people preparing themselves for the show. He looked around but didn’t see Camila anywhere. No-one was paying him any attention and he was looking very silly, standing awkwardly around by himself. What a bloody idiot he was. He got himself a cup of water to at least have something to do. Suddenly he heard her calm voice behind him: ‘Hey Roger. I am pleased to see you.”. He turned around and there she was, as beautiful as he remembered her. “Hey!” he sounded a bit too enthusiastic for his liking. He took a deep breath. He smiled: “How is everything going with the show?”. “Fine as far as I can tell. I don’t know, I’m not involved in that bit. I leave the boring parts to Victoria,” a slight smile crept upon her face, “I see you already got yourself a drink, but there is more than just water available if you like.”. “You’ve got something stronger as well? Beer? Wine? I guess it should be wine in a theatre, wouldn’t it?” not that he cared about etiquette, he preferred wine anyway. He could really use a proper drink now though. “Yes. Red or white? Come, let’s go somewhere else for the moment and return when the show starts,” she waved her hand to show him the way and he gladly started walking.

“Or we could just not come back at all,” he said naughtily, “And white, please.”. He wanted to see if she would take the bait. “Oh, but you would miss a wonderful show. It is good to broaden your horizon, Roger,” there was a hint of amusement in her face. “Some horizons do not need to be broadened,” he groaned. They had come into an empty office room now and Camila picked up a bottle and poured him a glass of white wine. “This should get you prepared for an evening of random songs performed to a backdrop of spontaneous synchronised choreography. And some lines in-between that everyone will have forgotten afterwards anyway,” her eyes were sparkling with amusement now. “I thought you liked musicals?” he was slightly confused.  He had yet to find a way to figure out whether she was telling the truth or not. “Oh, I do. There is much wonder hidden in the utter ridicule of it all. See, it is just a matter of perspective. You can spend your whole evening moaning about how much musicals suck, or you can spend it making jokes about the whole concept while bopping along to the songs. I know which one gives you far more pleasure in the end,” there was some truth in there somewhere, fuck. In the end he followed her back to the general backstage area to find out whether she was right or not. Or just so he could shamelessly stare at her all evening.

During the show they spent the whole time whispering to each other to avoid disturbing others. Camila’s sharp, somewhat absurd sense of humour kept him entertained throughout the show and he managed to get a few jokes in himself as well. He was pleased to the point of cockiness when he saw her laugh at them. As silently as she could, of course. When the wine started to work on him, he also dared to move close to her. She didn’t mind. After some time, he even wrapped his arm around her. She just smiled at him when he did so. Having her so near him swelled his heart. Fuck, he really liked her. He could smell her probably expensive perfume from here, which was feminine and sensuous, but also light and fresh. He still wondered why she had suddenly taking a shine to him again and he decided to ask as soon as the opportunity arises. For now he just decided to enjoy the moment.

That opportunity did arise once they settled down for an after-show drink. “So, are you still up for some dancing lessons? It is very beneficial for you, you know,” she smiled. “Like what? Getting strained muscles? I thought maybe I could take you out for a nice dinner instead,” he grinned. He had lots of ideas in facts. Dinner would only be the start. “Well, it was your idea to begin with. You are not going to chicken your way out of it now. I promise it will be fun,” she paused, then added dryly, “for me at least.”. He pouted, of course it would be. He had no intention of making a bloody fool out of himself though. So he had to come clean.

“Ah, that was just an excuse you know. To see you again,” he flinched. Camila laughed: “I know. More reason to go through with it.”. “Haven’t you already tried to torture me enough by making me watch a bloody West End musical?” he groaned. “Like I told you, there are several benefits to a few dancing lessons. Some which you will thank me for later,” there was a sincerity in her voice that Roger could not ignore. He thought: “Like what?”. “Your posture could use help. Plus, your movements could have more strength,” she showed what she meant. He laughed. “And I will be there,” she smiled a wide smile and he felt his resistance crumble away. Fuck.

“Well maybe it wouldn’t be too bad? Only once! But you must tell me first why we’re here in the first place, cause I’m a little confused right now.”. “Sometimes people change their minds, do they not? And I thought your mail was sweet. Very funny. As you saw, I can be too abrupt at times. Not my best personality trait. Now may I ask why you decided to try again? Rejection is not something one likes to encounter on a frequent basis,” she explained calmly and confidently. She thought he was funny. And sweet. She didn’t know anything. He couldn’t care less. “Well, it was too good an opportunity to ignore. It is not often I run into a special lady like yourself,” he smiled lazily.

“You say what? With your broad circle of female acquaintances it should not be too hard to find yourself a nice girlfriend,” she narrowed her eyes, thinking about something she wouldn’t tell him about. “I’m not just looking for a nice girlfriend though. In the end we all want something deeper than that, don’t we?” a soft glance fell over his face. “Real love you mean?” the amused look was back again for a second, then it got replaced by a more neutral one, “perhaps I should practise what I preach more often.”. He had no idea what she meant with that comment. “If I’m not supposed to be single by your reasoning, why are you?” he felt that perhaps they were discussing things a bit too deeply for what wasn’t even their first date yet. “I don’t consider myself relationship material. At least, every attempt I made failed miserably. And always because of me,” he appreciated her honesty, but was left guessing why. “You are warned, so to speak,” she raised one eyebrow. “It’s not like I don’t have a reputation either,” they both laughed.

After a little more time had passed Camila announced that she was going. He protested and wondered what she had to do that was more important. “Nothing,” was the only answer he got. She kissed him on the cheek and then left. He realised there was a long way to go before he would really understand her. But he felt it was worth it.

[elizadoolittlethings]

Mark Gatiss: ‘The League of Gentlemen was a premonition of Brexit’

After a turn on stage as George III, the co-founder of the League is returning to horror to recreate Dracula for TV. What he finds ‘frightening and debilitating’ now, though, is leaving the EU 

by Arifa Akbar

Mark Gatiss is recalling an early memory, rocking back and forth on the sofa as he talks. It is an “extraordinarily vivid” moment from when he lived opposite a psychiatric hospital in County Durham. The institution was central to his childhood, a “colony” in which his mother and father worked, where he went to swim, to trampoline, to see films. Except, on this occasion, he was left on one of the wards with his brother to wait for his parents. “I must have been around five. There was a boy rocking on a bed. As I remember it, he had an empty eye socket. He had his thumb in it and he was just rocking – like this.”

Gatiss takes his thumb to his eye and rocks some more. It is a baroque vision, creepy enough to make you squeal, and befitting for one of the creators of the stage show and TV series The League of Gentlemen. As Gatiss says: “You can’t get more northern gothic, can you?”

It is clear he enjoys playing up the northern gothic. His Twitter tagline reads: “Actor. Writer. Strangler.” In person, there is no hint of gloom. He is sweet and sunny, an optimist by his own admission. Still, an unprosperous northern childhood and those years of observing mental illness – and the world’s responses to it – continue to serve him at the age of 52. He is currently in Nottingham, in rehearsals to play the titular lead in Alan Bennett’s 1991 play, The Madness of George III, at the Nottingham Playhouse. The play – which was adapted for a 1994 film, The Madness of King George, starring Helen Mirren and Nigel Hawthorne – dramatises the monarch’s mental illness.

“It was very interesting [to grow up opposite the hospital]. I have a lot experience to draw on for this play. And it’s interesting to think about mental health in the 18th century … It’s a challenge to chart the king in his ‘normal’ state, as it were, and then what happens to him. You have to make sure there’s a journey into his condition, so you have somewhere to go.”

Brexit is like slitting your own throat and going to bed saying: ‘I’ll see how I am in the morning’

Since the TV version of the League – which followed the tormented outcasts and oddballs of the fictional town of Royston Vasey – landed in 1999 and earned Gatiss and his co-stars a legion of fans, he has helped to create some of the most popular shows on TV. These include the revived Doctor Who (as a writer and an actor) and Sherlock, a reimagining of Sherlock Holmes as a 21st-century detective, which he co-created with Steven Moffat and in which he stars as Holmes’s brother, Mycroft. In between, he has worked on films and written books and plays. His stint in Nottingham follows a nationwide tour ofthe League, an Oscar-tipped film (The Favourite) and The Dead Room, a yet-to-be-aired Christmas ghost story starring Simon Callow, which he wrote and directed. After The Madness of George III, he will team up with Moffat again for a BBC/Netflix adaptation of the vampire classic Dracula. “I do work hard and I think that’s a good thing,” he says. “Work hard, be kind, that’s my motto.”

Filming for Dracula will start next year, but Gatiss does not plan to act in it. He will not be drawn on who will be cast as the vampire, but says he and Moffat thought carefully before deciding to set the series in its original period, the 19th century: “We said when we started Sherlock that we briefly got custodianship of the keys to Baker Street and we felt: ‘It’s our go.’ So, we wanted to have ‘our go’ at Dracula and with that we wanted to do all the treats – a big, spooky castle and the rest of it.”

Sherlock was set in the modern day for the opposite reason: “We felt it had become so swamped with Victoriana that people had lost sight of what it was – which is essentially a flat-share story of two unlikely friends, one of whom solves crimes. That was the really exciting thing, to just go back to basics.” While the series has been a runaway success, there have been criticisms: one Guardian article lamented that his Sherlock was morphing into James Bond; it vexed Gatiss so much that he sent the Guardian a rejoinder in rhyme, outlining the differences between his hero and Ian Fleming’s.

There have been other charges of “unfaithfulness” in Gatiss’s adaptations, but he is adamant about his right to play with an original story. “I feel very strongly about not just drearily reproducing the book. You are duty-bound to think: ‘Here’s an idea, why don’t we flip this round,’ especially if people know it well. It doesn’t spoil the original. No one burns the manuscript … the Tardis would never have left the junkyard in the 1960s if it wasn’t about change.”

And what greater change than a female doctor? The new series is the first with which Gatiss has not been involved since Doctor Who relaunched in 2005. How does he feel about Jodie Whittaker’s Doctor? “First, it’s lovely that I’m enjoying watching it on a Sunday night and not knowing anything about it. I have even tried to avoid the trailer for the next time. And I have said for a very long time that there should be female Doctors. As soon as you watch it, you say: ‘Of course, why not?’ All you need, ever, is for the right person to be playing the part. Jodie is instantly likable, funny, delightfully odd.”

If that is the case, can we – should we – stop at Doctor Who or extend a gender-blind, colour-blind policy to all period dramas? It depends how literal we want to be, Gatiss says, but he balks at the prospect of a female Bond. “Doctor Who is an alien with two hearts who lives in a dimensionally transcendental phone box and can periodically change his or her appearance. James Bond is a man. There’s no way out of that. It becomes a very reductive argument. If you want to create a really kickass new heroine or hero, then do something else.”

If you were to create a female Bond, he adds, would you then follow Fleming’s blueprint of making her a sexist lothario? “What is it about James Bond you want to change? Is it just the sex or is it everything else? In which case, you’ve got a different character anyway.”

Gatiss was not long out of studying theatre arts at Bretton Hall College in West Yorkshire when he co-wrote the League with Jeremy Dyson, Steve Pemberton and Reece Shearsmith, whom he met there. It has been a long, loyal partnership, even though they went their separate ways – and thrived – before returning after 13 years to take the show back on the road. “We never fell out, we just stopped doing it,” Gatiss says. “We had been doing it virtually day in, day out for 11 years. So, we decided to do other stuff. The extraordinary thing about the tour was that it felt like no time had passed, which is what great friendships are about.”

The League began as a stage sketch show in 1994, when standup was more dominant in comedy. Gatiss and the others were enlisted to fill a slot at a fringe festival. “We did it for five nights and it went down really well. I remember a friend of mine saying: ‘You should do something with this.’” They did – and won the Perrier award at the Edinburgh fringe in 1997. “We did what made us laugh. All the things we loved ranged from proper horror to the horror of embarrassment; Alan Bennett, Victoria Wood, Mike Leigh. It was very much about our northern upbringings, too – we were identifying our own experiences of the world of the north. It was real anger and despair and oddness.”

Bennett turned out to be a huge fan of the League. “It’s how I came to meet Alan and it was just astonishing to think that he liked The League of Gentlemen. We have always said what a major influence he was for us. I remember so well the first thing I saw of his was a play called Our Winnie [from 1982]. I only watched it because Winnie was my mother’s name. It’s a half-hour drama where Elizabeth Spriggs takes her mentally disabled daughter to the crematorium on a Sunday. I just remember looking at it and thinking: ‘How does he know all this?’ It was just like my life! The way people spoke, the colloquialisms and the amazing sense of oppressive Sunday tedium.”

Two decades on, Royston Vasey’s turned-in world seems to resemble Britain more than it did when it was conceived, I suggest – the local shop for local people, the suspicion of the outsider taken to its freakish, inbred, comic extremity. “Yes, I look at it and think: ‘It’s a bit like a premonition,’” he says. “The idea that: ‘There’s nothing for you here, go away.’ That’s why we pushed it a bit in the specials last year. We were never satirical, but we found it irresistible and deliberately got [the character] Edward to say: ‘It’s time we took back control.’”

The tour took Gatiss to 47 venues around Britain. Did he sense a change, post-Brexit? “Yes. Some places are rust-belt Britain. They’ve been abandoned. I thought constantly of Disraeli and ‘two nations’ [“Two nations between whom there is no intercourse and no sympathy”]. It made me think that some people must look at the events in Westminster as if they’re taking place on the moon. That’s why, when they were finally given the chance, they kicked back. And that’s why we’re in this fucking mess.”

It is not just the rising intolerance of the “immigrant” outsider that he fears, but also the erosion of other liberal, humanist values. As a gay man – he is married to the actor Ian Hallard – he has never felt personally threatened in London, where he lives, “but you go out of London and it’s very different. You go to certain parts of the country and you think: ‘I would modify my behaviour here.’”

The regions around his birthplace were the heartland for leave voters, but Gatiss is proud to have grown up in the north and in a working-class household: his father was the chief engineer at the psychiatric hospital and his mother was a carer and secretary. “I think my background did me an awful lot of good. There’s a very good line from Doctor Who: ‘Never lose sight of your horizons.’ There’s nothing wrong with coming from one place and moving to another place, but it’s good to know that and honour it. And also to acknowledge its flaws – it doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Brexit upsets him immensely. He speaks of it in irate exclamations and bloody analogies: “Brexit, to me, is like slitting your own throat and going to bed saying: ‘I’ll see how I am in the morning.’ I’m a sickeningly optimistic person and that’s what worries me about how depressed I am about it all. The temptation is to totally disengage because it’s so frightening and debilitating, but if you do that they’ve won.”

The Madness of George III is at Nottingham Playhouse until 24 November