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imagines4thefandoms · 3 years

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F*K idk what to name this (Leroy Jethro Gibbs x reader

Word count:4k+ um by bad

summery: Y/n come back from vaca looking different. will it change Y/n and Gibb’s relationship?

requested: no

"So how was your vacation," Ziva asked.

"Great, i saw my family and i only wanted to shoot myself once," you replied.

The elevator doors opened and y’all walked to y’all’s desk. Tony and McGee looked up from their desk and welcomed you back. You walked to your desk behind McGee and put your stuff down. You grabbed your bag of souvenirs and walked over to Tony.

"Welcome back (Y/n)," Tony said. "What did you get me.”

"Tony my nephew is more mature than you and he is five," you said throwing a tie and a baseball to him.

You walked over to Ziva and gave her a purple scarf and match hat. McGee caught the new computer game you got him.

"How this game isn't out yet," ha asked.

"My brother in law works for the company and he owed me a favor.”

"Thanks (y/n)," Tim replied.

You walked over to your desk, grabbed the coffee cup you got Gibbs and filled it at his coffee shop for him and placed it on his desk.

"Welcome back (l/n)," Gibbs said walking into the bullpen and sitting at his desk.

He threw away his empty coffee cup and looked at the one on his desk. It suddenly got a little too hot so you took of your NCIS hat letting your hair fall from under the hat. You looked around the bullpen and noticed everyone was staring at you.

"What is something on my face," you asked.

"Your hair," Tony stated.

"Oh right. My baby sister is in cosmetology school,” you explained running your hands through your now red hair. “She needed to practice for her test and I drew the short straw. It was supposed to wash out by now but she mixed up her temporary and permanent hair dyes,”

Everyone kept staring at you even Gibbs which was weird but they stopped when Gibbs’s phone rang. Tony and Ziva were looking at Gibbs while Tim and you were grabbing y’all’s bags but when you turned around Gibbs was still looking at you. He grabbed his gun and shook his head as he hung up the phone.

“Lets go. We have a dead marine in a park,” Gibbs said leaving the bull pen.

We all followed Gibbs to the elevator. There was this tension in the air once the elevator doors closed. Gibbs usually was so comfortable around you. The two of you were the closest out of the team; but now he was avoiding you. When the elevator doors opened he couldn’t wait to get out; of course he could just want to hurry up and solve the murder of the marine. Tony and Tim raced to the car to get shotgun but when they opened the door Ziva sat in the seat.

“To slow boys,” she said buckling her seat belt.

Gibbs as always drove while you were sandwiched between DiNozzo and McGee. The drive consisted of Tony playing with your hair, Tim messing with some gadget, Ziva was asking you questions about your vacation. Gibbs was silent the entire drive but he kept looking at you in the rear view mirror; but every time you locked eyes he quickly looked back on the road. Once you got to the crime scene everyone got out and you put your hair up in a pony tail.

The park contained a large grassy plain, a decent sized play ground for kids, and two acres of trees. The marine was one the bench in his civilian clothes. The marine was Sargent James Brian McMatthews. Aside from the fact that he was dead, he looked heathy. Sargent McMatthew didn’t have any obvious wounds explaining how he died. Ducky pointed out the same thing.

“Jethro I can’t tell you how this poor man died til I get him on my table. You know that,” Ducky said.

“Thanks Duck,” Gibbs said.

Before Gibbs even had to tell you, you decided to look around the area for clues. As you were looking you noticed Ducky call for you. Ducky gave you a hug once you got to him. Jimmy was bringing McMatthews into the back of the Medical Examiners van when he stopped and looked at you.

“Your hair (y/n),” Jimmy pointed out.

“My little sister did this,” you replied twirling your hair around your finger.

“It suits you my dear. I’m curious has Jethro seen your new hair do,” Ducky asked.

“Yes but he has been acting a bit weird this morning,” you informed Duck.

“Well it’s nice to have you back my dear, but I must go I have an appointment with Sargent McMatthews,” Ducky said giving you another hug.

You went back to looking around the crime scene to look for evidence. While looking around the trees your saw a foot print. You measured the show print and took pictures but before you could look around more Gibbs called you.

“Did you find anything,” he asked.

“Just a foot print about 2 klicks west of where the Sargent was found,” you informed your boss.

He gave you nod and walked away. After about twenty minutes you and everyone else collected all the evidence you could and headed back to the office. This time on the car ride you got shotgun while the three musketeers sat in the back. Tony as usual was speculating on how Sargent McMatthews was killed, while Ziva slapped him because he was insensitive.

“Hopefully since we collected a bunch of clues at the crime scene we can solve this crime fast,” you said to no one in particular.

“Clues,” Gibbs asked looking at you sideways.

“Sorry evidence. I have spent a whole week watching nothing but Scooby Doo,” you said holding your head in your hands.

“Zoinks,”Tony said laughing.

Ziva slapping Tony while Tim was hiding his laugh hoping that Ziva didn’t slap him too. Gibbs looked over at you and gave you a small smile. You could just tell that you were not going to live this Scooby Doo thing down. At the office, Ziva and I brought the evidence down to Abby while Gibbs when to see Ducky and Tony and Tim were gathering information on the victim.

“(y/n) you're back,” Abby yelled as she ran over to you. “And your hair. It’s hot.”

“I missed you too abs,” you replied hugging her.

“So besides the hair. What’s new Scooby Doo,” abby asked laughing.

“Seriously. Was it Tony or McGee.”

“I can’t reveal my source.”

“My guess is Tony,” Ziva said placing the evidence on the table in the lab.

“Just let us know when you have something Abby,” you asked as you left the lab.

“I always do,” she called.

Once the elevator doors closed Ziva asked you what Scooby Doo was. After explaining that it is a kids show about solving mysteries she let out a small laugh. You laughed along with her. Ziva and Abby have become like your sisters and no mater what happens you can’t stay mad at them.

The two of you joined DiNozzo and McGee in the bull pen. They found out that the sergeant worked at the Pentagon.

“Looks like it’s gonna be a difficult case, RUH ROH” Tony said mockingly.

Gibbs walked into the bull pen with his cup of coffee and slapped the back of Tony’s head. Gibbs told him to stop messing around. Tony then shared all the information that him and Tim found out. James B McMatthews was married with three kids and was a part of something very top secret with the Pentagon. McMatthews has no record, no affair, not even a speeding ticket.

Gibbs’ phone rang and it was ducky telling him that he had some information for him. Gibbs looked at you and motioned for you to follow him to Ducky. As y’all got into the elevator, Gibbs yell ‘Someone tell me what the hell he did for the Pentagon.’ The tension in the air formed again when the elevator doors closed. You glanced at Gibbs from the corner of your eye. You always noticed how attracted you were to your boss but when you joined his team you swore to push that thought out of your head. It helped that he had those Gibbs rules. Rule 12: Never date a co-worker. As the doors opened on the floor the morgue is on you instantly hear Ducky call Gibbs name.

“Hello again miss (y/n). How was your vacation,” Ducky asked now that the two of you were not at an active crime scene.

“Duck, the body,” Gibbs said before you could answer.

“Right. Well this young man had no visible injuries. No cuts or bruises or even a broken bone,” Ducky said walking over to the body.

“So how did he die,” Gibbs asked monotoned.

“At first glance I couldn’t find any reason for this poor man to end up dead at a park. Upon my second look over the body I noticed this little puncture along his hairline. It seems to be from a needle. Besides that, there is nothing wrong with this man. It’s like his heart just stopped.’ Ducky said covering McMatthews back up.

Before Gibbs could ask ducky if he knew what was in the needle, I got a text from abby saying, ‘I know what was in the needle 😱🎉.’ I showed the text to Gibbs. He thanked Ducky and we headed up to Abby’s lab. When the doors opened on abby’s floor, she was standing right there and grabbed both of our hands and pulled us into the lab.

“First, Gibbs don’t you think that (y/n)’s new hair makes her look hot,” abby asked.

“Abs,” was all Gibbs replied with.

“Fine, later. Well this footprint found at the scene did not belong to our poor sergeant. It’s from a side 13 shoe.”

“The indent looks weird. The pressure of the foot print is lighter at the tip of the shoe then the rest of the print. Who ever was here was wearing shoes that were way to big for them,” you pointed.

“Correct, you get a Scooby snack,” Abby said handing you a cookie.

“You bet I do,” you said taking the cookie and taking bite of it.

“Can you tell us the actual shoe size of the person who was standing in those bushes,” Gibbs asked.

“how dare you doubt me. No Scooby snack for you. It’s a size 9. Oh and after Ducky found that puncture wound and swabbed the area. The swab didn’t give me anything but I got to thinking of what could have been in that needle so I ran his blood again.”

“And you found a match.”

“Yes I did Gibbs. Batrachotoxin. From this cute little guy,” abby said making a picture of a cute yellow frog pop up on her computer screen.

Gibbs kissed Abby’s cheek thanking her and he stole a cookie before we walked out of the lab. After another slightly awkward elevator ride, we walked into the bull pen and Tony had just hung up his phone.

“Boss, I call about his file but they said they have to personally read us in.”

“Okay. Ziva you look up where a person could get their hands on Batrachotoxin while DiNozzo and I will go to the Pentagon while McGee and (l/n) will to talk to the wife,” Gibbs ordered as he grabbed his gun and jacket.

“I guess the gang is splitting up,” McGee joked.

Before Tony could make another Scooby Doo joke, Gibbs was already in the elevator and Tony had to hurry up because Gibbs wasn’t going to hold the doors for him. McGee and you left after y’all got McMatthew’s home address. When we got in the elevator, you looked at McGee and took a coin out of your pocket.

“Head you drive, Tails I drive,” You said before flipping the coin in the air.

You caught the coin and flipped it on the back of your hand. After looking at the coin it showed that Tim was gonna drive to the Vics house. Of course since Tim was driving it also meant he had control of the radio; which wasn’t awful but after having to only listen to Disney for a week you needed to hear your own music.

It took a while to get to the McMatthews’ house. There were three kids playing in a gated front yard with the front door open. Once Tim pulled up to the house the kids stopped playing and ran inside. One minute later a woman came out trying to find out why her kids ran in scared.

“Can I help you,” she asked walked towards us.

McGee and I held up our badges announcing that we were NCIS. She opened the gate and lead y'all inside her house. The kids stayed inside so Mrs. McMatthews closed her front door. She lead y’all to the liver room and when into the kitchen and brought back two cups of coffee. Before we started talking, one of McMatthews’ daughters came up to you.

“Are you Ariel,” she asked me.

I looked over at McGee and gave him look to let him know that I was gonna keep the kids occupied while he talked with Mrs. McMatthews.

“Yes I am,” I replied to the little girl.

She grabbed my hand a pulled me away. We walked out of the living room and up the stairs to a door with the name Sarah on the door. She pulled me into her room and went to her closet to grab something.

“You’re my favorite princess,” she said holding out a little mermaid costume.

“Why thank you, Sarah.”

“Where is Eric?”

“Oh um he is back at the castle working.”

She nodded her head like she totally understood and then asked you to play with her for a bit. After about fifteen minutes, McGee came into Sarah’s room looking for you. You turned to Sarah and told her that you had to leave. She walked with the two of you downstairs and before you walked out of the door she called out “tell flounder I said hi.”

McGee told you about his conversation with Mrs. McMatthews and how James and some guy named Andrew Ferguson had gotten into a fight two days ago about something at work. On the ride back to the office you and McGee were messing around and speculating what the vic could have been doing for the pentagon. McGee thought it had to do with some secret weapon while you suggested something more plausible (aliens).

“Aliens really, you spend too much time with Tony,” McGee laughed.

Back at the office, you and McGee decide to split up the work. While he looks into Ferguson’s military life, looked at his personal life and tried to figure out what they were arguing about. Gibbs and Tony returned from the pentagon as you were combing through Ferguson’s financial records.

“What did the wife say (l/n)?” Gibbs asked standing in front of the tv.

“She told McGee about a fight the vic got in with a guy names Andrew Ferguson,” you responded pulling up a picture of A. Ferguson.

“We pulled his military records but there is nothing on his record,” McGee added pulling up his military files.

“He doesn’t even have a parking ticket. But I was going though his financials when you got back,” you informed Gibbs.

You were combing though his financials when Tony and Gibbs pulled up the files they got from the pentagon. Apparently Sargent James was on a classified team of people teaming up with the NSA and CSA to monitor a major rebel group in the middle east that has ties to ISIS. Ziva came into the office and let Gibbs and the rest of the team know what she found on the toxin. The name Jonathan Whitlock was mentioned.

You were half paying attention when a weird charge appeared on his account. There were multiple weird changes from a offshore bank accounts. You sent the charges to the tv and walked over to where Gibbs was standing and took the remote from his hands.

“There are some weird charges in Ferguson’s bank account. They started about 18 months ago and if my math is correct it adds up to 150,000 dollars,” you reported clicking though the evidence.

Gibbs grabbed his coat and pointed to Ziva and they left, you guessed, to pick up Ferguson. While Gibbs was out, you went down to see Abby. As soon as you got off the elevator, abby pulled you into her lab and she sat you down in a chair.

“So, how was your vacation and why is your hair red,” abby asked sitting in a chair in front go you.

“It was fun. It was nice spending time with my family. And my little sister in in beauty school and she needed practice,” you explained to abby.

The two of you caught up, and abby told you about what happened while you were away. Which wasn’t much just normal stuff like Tony being stupid and teasing McGee and flirting with Ziva, and Gibbs started another boat. The two of you just sat in the lab eating “Scooby snacks” til you got a text from Gibbs telling you to meet him in interrogation.

You left abby and went to go meet Gibbs. Once you got to the observation room you saw that Gibbs was in there with Ferguson but they weren’t talking. Gibbs looked at the glass and you just knew that he was telling you to go in there with him. You exited the observation room and went next door. After walking into the interrogation room, you took a seat next to Gibbs.

“So why were you and Sargent McMatthews fighting two nights before he was murdered,” Gibbs asked.

“We weren’t fighting. It was just a heated argument. Coworkers do it all the time,” Ferguson defended.

“(Y/n) do you get in heated arguments at work,” Gibbs asked looking at you.

“No I mean unless my coworker does something incredibly stupid,” you replied ignoring Ferguson. “So what incredibly stupid thing did you do,” you asked looking at Ferguson

“I didn’t. I didn’t, ” he responded dragging if hand across his mouth.

Gibbs looked over at you then opened the file in front of him and pushed the file in front of Ferguson. He looked at the papers then looked up a Gibbs. He closed the file and pushed it back.

“I don’t know what that is,” he said tapping away at the table.

“You should. Its your banking records. It shows that there are multiple charges added to your account adding up to 150,000 dollars over the past 18 months,” you said opening the file back up and pointing out the charges.

“My guess is that those are payments from you selling military locations and secrets to enemies in the middle east,” Gibbs said leaning back in his chair.

“And your pal Sargent McMatthews found out. That’s why you two had a ‘heated argument’ two days ago. He found out that your were selling out fellow soldiers and threatened to report you,” you interrogated as your leaned closer to Ferguson.

Ferguson started sweating. Gibbs noticed it too.

“But you couldn’t have that happen so you went to your cousin Johnathan who so happen own a golden poison frog. You extracted the toxins from the frog then injected Sargent McMatthews so he wouldn’t tell your CO,” Gibbs informed.

“Because of you fellow marines died,” Gibbs spoke angrily almost yelled.

“No one was supposed to die. The information I gave was just supposed to help them transport drugs nothing more,” Ferguson exclaimed. “They promised that no one was going to die. James was gonna tell and if anyone found out I would be labeled a traitor. I didn’t want to kill James he is my friend…was my friend. Everything just got out of hand.”

Gibbs looked over at you and then slid a legal pad across the table. Ferguson started writing his confession. You and Gibbs got up and walked out of the room. The two of you walked back to the bullpen and Gibbs sat at his desk to work on the paperwork and you did the same.

“(Y/n) its nice to have you back,” Gibbs said not even looking up from his computer.

By the time you were done with the paperwork, Tony, Ziva, and Tim has left. You looked out the skylight and noticed that it was already dark. Gibbs got up from his desk and walked over to yours.

“It’s late (y/n) go home,” he instructed putting on his coat.

“I love my family and all but there were moments where I wanted to be here working. Plus I have paperwork I still need to finish,” you responded to him.

“It can wait til tomorrow,” he replied grabbing your coat and holding it out for you.

“I really should finish.”

“Ill buy dinner.”

“Sold,” you claimed grabbing the coat from Gibbs.

A smile grew on his face and he shook his head at your antics. He waited for you to grab your things and then the two of you went to the elevator. When the elevators closed that awkward tension filled the enclosed room again.

“Gibbs are you ok. You have been acting strange all day.”

“Your hair,” he whispered.

“Right I going to make an appointment to fix it.”

“No, I like it. It suits you,” he said standing directly in front of you.

The tension increased ten folds and the desire to kiss him was strong. You cleared your throat and took a step back from Gibbs. He walked you to your car but as you were starting it something happened and the car just stopped working. You turned off the car and just slapped the steering wheel.

“Ill drive,” Gibbs said opening your door.

You got out of your car and the two of you walked over to Gibbs’ truck. The ride to Gibbs’ house was quiet a bit awkward like the elevator but it was the nice kind of awkward quiet. Once you got to Gibbs house he got on his phone and ordered takeout from (favorite restaurant) and ordered you some (favorite meal).

“Abby said your building another mysterious boat,” you inquired as you took off your coat and placed it on the couch.

“Mysterious,” he questioned.

“Come on Gibbs you constantly build giant boats in your basement and you magically get them out. Ergo Mysterious.”

He opened the fridge and handed out a beer and headed down to his basement. You followed him down the familiar stairs. In his basement stood another damn boat. Gibbs placed his beer on his work bench and proceeded to sand down the boat.

“Ok Gibbs how many does this make 27,” you asked him jokingly.

“I think its actually 28,” he jokingly responds.

“Funny man.”

You walk over to him and just watch him sand the boat. He looks over at you and holds out the sandpaper in his hands. Switching between looking at him, the boat, and the sandpaper in his hand you shake your head.

“Oh no. I don’t want to mess up the boat.”

He grabs the beer from your hands and place it next to his. Gibbs grabs your elbow and pulls you to where he was standing. Standing behind you, he places the sandpaper in you hand and guides it along the boat.

“With the grain,” he whispers in your ear.

You were stick between a rock and a hard place or in this case wood and your boss. Being this close to him made your face turn as red as your hair. His lips stayed within centimeters of your ear as he kept whispering “with the grain”. You couldn’t help it, so you turned your head towards his and you could feel his hot breath on your face.

His lips, in this moment, just looked so kissable but you knew it couldn’t happen. Not with Rule #12. His blue eyes starred into your (e/c) eye. You unconsciously liked your lip then held your lower lip between your teeth. Seeing you biting your lip drove Gibbs crazy. In that moment he couldn’t stop himself. He closed the little space there was between the to of you and pressing his lips roughly against yours.

You could taste the beer off his lips and his scent of sawdust and bourbon filled your nose. He pressed your up against the boat to deepen the kiss while your hands found their way to his hair. This was better than your ever dreamed and you dreamed of this moment a lot. Your hands wondered from his hair down his back then to the button of his polo. He took his shirt of once he felt your cold hands on his lower stomach. After his shirt was off his lips attacked your neck sucking and biting it.

A moan escaped your lips which brought a smile to Gibbs’ face. His hands moved from the boat to the buttons on your shirt. The paste at which he was unbuttoning your shirt was agonizingly slow. But once it was done you quickly took it off. You hands went back to his hair this time you pulled him so close to you, it was like his entire weight was one you; that didn’t matter you liked feeling this close to Leroy Jethro Gibbs. His hands went down your sides to your hips and stopped on your ass. He gave it a light squeeze then grabbed your left leg and wrapped it around his hips. On instinct you did the same with your other leg, leaving the only thing from making you fall on the floor to be the force of Gibbs’s body pressing you against his unfinished boat.

Once again your hands roamed this gorgeous man’s body til it reached his belt. Your took it off and started to unbutton his pants but had to stop when his doorbell rang. He let you down and just stared at you.

“Thats the food,” he said grabbing his shirt and putting it back on.

“Im not hungry anymore,” you replied fixing your messy hair.

“You should eat anyway. Your gonna need your strength,” he said as he went up stairs leaving you gasping at the thought of what’s for dessert.

#leroy jethro gibbs imagine #gibbs imagine #gibbs x reader #ncis imagine #ncis

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stxrrywildflower · 4 years

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disbanded (1)

pairing - spencer reid x reader

summary - after emily’s death, the still grieving bau team disbands in hopes of the time off doing some emotional healing. however, for you and spencer, strauss recruits you for your own individual team almost immediately. months later, after new case details are discovered, you and spencer are forced to call in your old team for assistance

warnings - case details, angst

series masterlist

seven months.

seven months had gone by and the team had barely heard anything from you or spencer.

there were occasional texts, letters, and phone calls. the messages were always brief, never lasting more than a few sentences or minutes.

j.j. returned to the bau around three months in. she was changed, everyone noticed that. the blonde agent put on a facade, masking any signs of trauma or difference.

the only crack in her foundation was when she saw the practically empty desk. it came as a suprise to see desks normal covered in pictures and other items now almost cleared. the only reminder of your presence was both of your name plates remaining.

everyone felt a toll with what was going on. they were missing three out of eight team members. sure, they weren’t working active cases, but just having everyone around made a difference.

hotch was the leader. the alpha-male. he kept everyone in line while providing the support and care any member of his team needed at all times. though his leadership in the middle east was more then successful, they missed having the role model to look up to.

spencer was the kid. the boy genius. his intelligence was more than impressive, though he often used it as a shields. his facts, while sometimes unneeded, provided the final piece of a profile to catch the unsub. the team never knew they could miss his rambling more.

you were the glue. the one that kept the team together. though your presence was still fairly new in comparison to others, your witty remarks and overal care for everyone acted as a backbone. your relationship with spencer was almost model worthy, something everyone wanted to look up. you changed spencer in the best way possible.

they knew where hotch had gone. but for you and spencer, no one had any clue. when j.j hunted down and questioned anderson, the man had very obviously lied about not knowing before leaving to go back to work.

eventually they stopped asking.

four months later, hotch returned. his return back was less then minimal, being greeted with smiles, hugs, and even the stray comment about the beard. the reunion was short lived as hotch had requested them all to meet in the conference room.

curious and concerned gazes were thrown back and forth. no one voiced their confusion, choosing to obey the orders of their leader and take seats for the first time in seven months around the round table.

“we’ve been called in,” the unit chief started.

✦✧✦✧

across the country, you threw your head back in annoyance with the case. spencer leaned against the table, one arm crossed across his body while the other ran over his lip.

the recent case was becoming increasingly difficult. a series of robbery homicides involving a team of seven different members was terrorizing the city of los angeles.

you had successfully identified four members though the other three were a mystery. there were many facts pointing to the possibility of involvement in organized crime. one wrong move in your investigation and a lot more could go wrong.

three days and no solid leads.

usually you and spencer were wrapping up other cases by now. instead, you were sitting in one of the rooms at the los angeles police department reviewing the profile over and over. spencer, on the other hand, was going though every report you had on the unsubs, desperate to find something that could like them all together to give you a clue.

what didn’t help was the heat. the summer heat was hitting the city hard, you and spencer shedding your suit jackets as a result.

“have you checked prison records?” you asked, looking at the board in front of you.

“yes, absolutely no connections there.”

you huffed. you weren’t getting anywhere despite having a near perfect profile and organized board showing a whole crime family tree.

“we need to call in some extra help,” you finally admitted.

“y/n,” spencer started. “i don’t think we really need them. i mean we work perfectly fine on our own. we’re pretty much the new rossi and gideon.”

“look, i don’t really want to see them either. but if we don’t figure out something soon, more people are going to die. a fresh set of eyes could do us good,” you replied.

spencer fiddled with collar of his shirt, a nervous habit he had picked up a few months ago. it was a telltale of his growing concern or anxiety over a situation.

you sat down beside the genius, resting your hand on top of his. “hey, it’s one case. after this we’re back solving cases on our own. does that sound okay?”

“i’ll go make the call.”

✦✧✦✧

“why do they need us? we don’t even have a full team,” morgan was already protesting after the very minimal briefing.

“because y/n and reid requested our help,” hotch answewd.

j.j. most notability flinched at the mention of your names. “what do you mean they need out help? i haven’t really heard from them in months,” j.j. pipped in.

hotch sighed. “back when we split up, strauss inquired y/n and reid to continue doing our job, traveling and all. i was only aware of it because technically i’m still their boss. it’s a lot more intense then when we were traveling, hence their absence. but their success is incredibly high. i don’t have the exact number but it’s around sixty-three cases solved in seven months. of that, five or less have ended in having to shoot the unsub.”

rossi let our a low whistle at that. “have either of them been hurt at all?”

“a few minor injuries but none involving hospitalization

the unit chief looked around at his team, all displaying very conflicted emotions.

“we’ll leave here at five tomorrow morning. be prepared for a long case.”

the team arrived the following morning, heading up to the second floor of the police department at promptly nine am. everyone was slightly jet lagged, time zones the direct cause of that.

just seconds after they had arrived, who they presumed was the police chief headed over on their direction, already extending a hand to shake.

“i’m detective henderson. the other two agents on the case apologize for the absence and should be back soon. one of the family members requested to see him,” the police chief introduced. “but you can all set up in here.”

the team followed the chief through the office and into the usual conference room they were offered. no one failed to take note of the other room occupied, a familiar messanger bag resting on the table.

“and here we are. there’s information posted on the board but i’m sure the agents will explain it when they arrive. please feel free to come to me with any questions.”

hotch was the one to thank the chief. “alright let’s sit down and go over the files. we didn’t have a lot to go off of back at quantico but there’s a ton here.”

it couldn’t have been more than thirty minutes that they waiting, using that time to run through theories about the identified unsubs and ways to find the missing three.

the room seemed to stop, all eyes going towards the elevator.

the team stood up all at once, already suspecting who was about to walk in. their suspicions were proven to be correct as you and spencer stepped out, eyes looking straight ahead.

to put it simply, you two looked and acted different.

seemingly small things for outsiders but things that meant everything for the team had changed.

handshakes replaced hugs. nods replaced smiles. iced coffee replaced hot. even spencer’s revolver he used since the ldsk case was replaced with a glock 19.

since when did spencer drink red bull?

even your style of clothing altered. spencer’s dress pants and sweaters were swapped out for one-piece suits, tie and all. your blouse and dress pants changed into suits, having matching patterned tight pants and blazers, heels to top it off. your outfits both looked ten times more formal.

“agent hotchner,” you greeted, extending your hand.

it was obvious hotch, as well as the rest of the team, was taken back by your words and presence. the last time anyone close to hotch refer to him as ‘agent hotchner’ was when they first met him. he was always very clear about preferring the abbreviated version of his last name.

spencer was the exact same as you, his discomfort with shaking hands seemingly vanished. it pained morgan that he couldn’t reach out and hug the man he considered to be his little brother.

“i apologize for us not being here when you arrived, i know from experience that it’s a long flight. the board in your room has all the information we’ve collected. there’s a timeline, victim list, crime scene photos, and then a family tree. we also have transcripts which can be sent to your tablets. other than that, the case details are in the file folders and you’re good to go,” you explained.

“y/n,” hotch called, stopping both you and spencer from walking away.

“before you ask, i really think we need to focus on this case before discussing transfers. don’t you think so?”

☆ ☆ ☆

tags - @tinylumpiaa @rumplebutterbitch @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @the-quarantine-diaries @ah-blossom @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @aperrywilliams @kissessforharryyy @garcias-batcave @reidswords @etherealgubler @spenceneedsahug @jjandreidsgirl @zoseph @emilouu @mortallythoughtfulgurl @alexxcorona113 @swiftspaperings @gia-kerks @mggstyles

#criminal #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #penelope garcia

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thefightingbull · 4 years

Text

Meeting A New Rogue

Barry didn’t know what to do with the little boy he’d found at a crime scene. Truth be told, he was infuriated with Captain Cold and Heatwave. True, the men hadn’t broken their deal, but really? Using a pup to help them steal and then leaving him behind? He’d always know Leonard Snart was cold, but that’s not what this was.

This was cruel.

“Gotten anything out of him?” Cisco asked as he walked in, sucking down his slushy drink.

They were in Star Labs because Barry was afraid of going to the police. Not for any other reason than that he didn’t want this kid winding up in the system. Maybe the pup had been at the wrong place, at the wrong time. Maybe what Barry suspected was in fact a complete misunderstanding.

“He won’t talk,” Barry frowned.

They both looked at him. The little boy with cute black curls and lightly freckled face stared up at them both with the brightest teal eyes Barry had ever seen. He looked so precious and innocent. Barry’s alpha instincts told him that even though the kid wasn’t of his pack, it was his duty to make sure nothing terrible happened to him. Even if he did smell strongly of Heatwave and Captain Cold.

“He smells like the Rogues, Barry,” Cisco frowned. “Maybe you should just call Snart.”

The small boy looked up at the mention of Snart’s name. If that wasn’t a sign, Barry didn’t know what was.

“Do you know Leonard Snart?” Barry asked softly.

Immediately the boy nodded his head. “He’s my dad, now.”

He and Cisco traded a concerned look.

Either Captain Cold was a scumbag who’d endangered and or lied to a boy in his charge or Barry had accidentally kidnapped the pup. Maybe the pup wasn’t supposed to be at the crime scene? The more Barry though it over, the less likely it seemed that Leonard Snart would drag a child along on a job.

“I am so fucked,” Barry cursed as he placed his hands over his face.

“Dude, you gotta call him. Make sure he knows you were just trying to keep him safe and out of the police’s hands,” Cisco panicked.

He nodded. “Keep an eye on him.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Leonard Snart’s personal number. He took a deep breath before he hit send and then waited the three rings that the thief always allowed.

“Kinda busy, Scarlet,” Leonard snapped irritably.

“What’s going on?” Barry asked, pretty sure he knew what the answer would be.

“Someone seems to have lost track of one of my most valuable packmates!” Leonard hissed toward someone not on the phone. “So, while I’d love to go over this morning’s heist, I have more important things to do, Flash.”

He knew he was going to be hung up on so he blurted out the words without caution or care. “I have your pup.”

Icy silence filled the line and Barry almost cringed as it took Leonard exactly seven seconds to respond.

“You what?”

Barry released the breath he’d been holding. “While I was gathering evidence after the heist this morning I came upon a pup. Black hair, blue-green eyes, freckles? He’s wearing a bright red hoodie, jeans and black converse sneakers.”

“I know what my son is wearing, I’m the one that dressed him,” Leonard snarled. “He better be at the lab when I arrive Flash, or I promise, I’ll lose my cool.”

Barry cringed when the signal cut off abruptly. Still, it was confirmed and someone amongst the Rogues was in big trouble for losing track of their leader’s son. But that was something he was adjusting to as well. Since when did Len and Mick have a kid?

As soon as he stepped into the lab, his heart came to a sudden and painful stop. “Cisco! Where’s the kid?”

Cisco grimaced. “I swear I only turned my back for two seconds to get him my PSP! When I turned around, he was gone!”

“Cisco! You were supposed to be watching him!”

“I was! I told you, it was just for a few seconds,” Cisco said in frustration. “Besides, he couldn’t have gotten far.”

“The pup is Leonard Snart’s, Cisco. He’s on his way to get him now.” Barry frowned. “When did you notice he was missing.”

“Literally just now,” his friend promised. “He’s gotta be here somewhere!”

Barry nodded and flashed all over the place while he sought out the boy. It didn’t actually take all that long to find him. The pup was standing calmly in the center of their main emergency room thing. What was it Cisco called it? The Command Room? It was where Cisco and Caitlin helped Barry perform as the Flash.

The room was filled with large screens, the mannequin that held his Flash suit, and lots of other things that the boy didn’t really need to see or be around. It of course didn’t stop the child from looking all around him in awe.

“This must be what the bat-cave looks like,” the pup whispered.

Barry wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or himself.

“Bat-cave?” He asked as he calmly walked over to him.

He nodded. “He’s a hero, like you.”

Barry didn’t know what to say to that, but it answered a few questions about where he’d been all these years. Was he actually Leonard’s son? He smelled like Mick and Len and even Lisa, but it was a superficial smell. Meaning he wasn’t really blood and that he was new enough that their scents hadn’t really seeped in.

“Your dad’s on his way to pick you up.”

“He’s not a hero. He’s a bad guy, right?”

Again Barry was at a loss. It wasn’t his place to tell this child who his family was. It wasn’t his place to teach the kid right from wrong. That was Len’s place. Something he wasn’t pleased about, but what else could Barry do? Take the kid away?

But then, he’d have to if he suspected that Snart was using the pup for anything nefarious. Leonard always got his score and he’d use anyone he could to do it. He’d made that clear through out their history. Leonard and Mick were as selfish as most thieves and he feared that this kid was just a newly acquired tool in Leonard’s bag.

“He is,” Barry nodded.

“My other dad was, too,” the boy responded. “But my new dads, they’re much better than him.”

“You feel safe with them?” Barry asked.

“Yes,” the pup said immediately. “They don’t smack me around none, and Aunt Lisa takes me out shopping and Dad’s learning to cook. They try to take care of me. I have my own room, too!”

“Jason?”

Barry looked away from the boy at the sound of Leonard’s voice calling for the pup. He looked down and Jason was already running toward the voice. Barry moved with the kid, wanting to be sure that nothing bad happened. He knew that Leonard hated his father for the abuse, but that didn’t mean Leonard was incapable of that same violence. Often times victims became abusers.

As they rounded the corner, Captain Cold dropped to a knee and pulled the child that had run to him into his arms. The sight was almost touching as Captain Cold nuzzled Jason and held him on his hip like one would a toddler.

It was as jarring a sight as it was sweet.

“How did you get here, Jason?” Captain Cold demanded in a rushed, terrified voice.

“Flash brought me.”

“Yes, I figured that part out, Son,” Leonard sighed, paying Barry absolutely no mind. “How did you get to the museum?”

The kid ducked his head and hid his face in Leonard’s neck and whimpered.

“Nice try, Pup,” Leonard frowned as he dropped down to his knee again, pulling Jason away from him so that he could look him in the eyes. “Now, answer my question. How did you get to the museum?”

Barry almost laughed when the boy dropped his head back as if he were annoyed. He definitely had a bit of attitude and wasn’t nearly as afraid of Leonard as most kids would be. It was kind of amusing to see Leonard being a father.

“I snuck in Pied Piper’s van when he wasn’t looking,” Jason pouted.

“Teaching him young, eh Cold?” Cisco snorted as he stepped up beside Barry.

“Watch it, Cisco,” Leonard growled before redirecting his ire onto his son. “We’ll be having a chat about this when we get home, Jason.”

There was shift in Jason’s mood that Barry was sure that even Cisco picked up on. The child started to cry. “You won’t make me leave, will you?”

Barry had to reign in his own instinctive urge to calm the frightened pup.

Apparently, Leonard had no such restraint as he immediately pulled the kid into a tight embrace. “Nothing you do, Pup, nothing will ever make me, or Mick abandon you. Understand?” Len didn’t move or speak until Jason finally nodded. “Let’s get you home, Pup.”

“Is Pop mad?” Jason asked.

“Yes, but not at you,” Leonard assured him.

He got to his feet one last time, carrying Jason on his hip again. It looked uncomfortable with the heavy fur-lined blue coat, but it didn’t seem to be a bother. Barry followed him out of the building and to a blue four door sedan. Captain Cold offered him a smirk once the kid was strapped into a booster seat.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on my boy, Scarlet,” he said.

He nodded and watched as they drove away.

When Barry returned to the Command Center, he saw Cisco frantically searching for something. He tilted his head and approached his best friend.

“What’s missing?”

“I still can’t find my PSP.” His best friend looked up at him. “You don’t think…?”

Barry’s eyes widened as he laughed. “No! Cisco, of course not! Leonard looked genuinely relieved when he saw Jason and he sounded just as freaked when he thought the pup was missing.”

“Even if it wasn’t a plan, doesn’t mean the kid didn’t do it,” Cisco pointed out with a pout.

“I highly doubt Jason and Leonard planned for him to show up here and steal a handheld game system.”

“I’m gonna check inventory, make sure nothing else went missing while that shady little kid was here.” Cisco grumbled.

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

“Thank God,” Jason blushed as he was passed from Len to Mick, who was now holding on to him as if he believed Jason would just cease to exist if he let go. “Where were you, Pup?”

“Apparently he hitched a ride with Rathaway,” Leonard frowned. “And before you go setting our youngest Rogue aflame, no. Rathaway didn’t have a clue that Jason snuck aboard.”

“Bull shit,” Mick snarled. “Rathaway’s deaf. His sense of smell should be phenomenal for a beta.”

“He’s still a beta, Mick. He can’t tell the difference between our stuff and our son.”

Mick glared at him. “Don’t you do that to me or your dad again, Pup, understand?”

“Okay, Pops,” Jason nodded. “I just wanted to help.”

“You’re still too young,” Leonard insisted. “You gotta learn to walk before you start running, Son.”

Jason reached into his large pockets and pulled two access badges, three different keys and a thumb drive. “But look at what I found!”

“Nice haul,” Mick beamed and kissed Jason’s cheek.

“Anything else?” Leonard asked.

He nodded and pulled something called a PSP from his other pocket. “It was that long-haired kid’s.”

“You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, Son,” Leonard grinned and reached up to ruffle his hair.

#ojtserversunday #coldwave #omega leonard snart #alpha barry allen #beta cisco #beta hartley rathaway #alpha mick rory #heists #adoption #dc cw characters #captain cold #heatwave #the flash

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the-mic-drop · 4 years

Audio

Class 1-A Cypher by Rustage

Lyrics below the cut

Izuku Midoriya - Deku (Performed by Rustage)

Call me Deku, I’m starting out on this cypher

I was quirkless, but by working I’m deserving something higher

It’s my purpose, I’m versing my present, future, and my past

So I’m gonna rock the mic with a Detroit Smash

Taking a second, I’m breaking my limit

Hitting with everything, pain I can feel it

I’m straining my muscles, I tussle with enemies

Better be ready, I’m more than a critic

I spit it, exhibit it all night

I’m killing it, chilling with All-Might

A villain inhibited by my ability

in minutes you’re watching my school fight

Fumikage Tokoyami - Tsukuyomi (Performed by Shwabadi)

When you cross this bird, you might get to see me wield the talons

So absurd how I’m applying subverse talents

Yes I’m cursed, carry a demon, I’m full of malice

Even worse for you when striking a bitter balance

Dark claws harming the vermin that are below me

Start wars, armed with determination and Oni

Get back, I’ve been endangering those who know me

Jet Black Hero, they’re calling me Tsukuyomi

Ochaco Uraraka - Uravity (Performed by DaisyBanaisy)

I’ll make you float as I’m messing with zero gravity

Don’t mean to gloat when I’m calculating these strategies

Rapidly climbing casually, my quirk “lacks in lethality”

but actually your apathy will lead straight to your casualty

I’ll happily fight for justice, with all of my capacity

My motive’s money, thankfully that don’t define morality

Reality is I’m just helping others for my family

I’m saving all humanity, don’t you mess with Uravity!

Tenya Iida - Ingenium (Performed by Dan Bull)

I’ve got many a twitch, that’s the Tenya itch

I’m like my test scores, I got plenty of tics

Academic, educated, but I never skip leg day

Still regretful of the day that I met Stain

Enraged, by what he did to my brother Tensei

I didn’t handle it the best way, I dare say

Left my hand damaged in remembrance of fair play

I’m representing Class 1-A, they’re my best mates

Tsuyu Asui - Froppy (Performed by Sophia Dere)

Ribbit Ribbit, exhibit a hero’s spirit

I’m in it and so I’ll win it

When I’m swimming, yeah I won’t stop

This frog’s idyllic not a gimmick in a minute

I be launching in to kill it

Like a frog, I’m bringing mad hops

My tongue’s deadly, spitting and I take charge

and then I’m turning invisible with my camoflage

In the water, no villain can dare to stop me

You’re looking sloppy, now you’re facing Froppy

Hanta Sero - Cellophane (Performed by VideoGameRapBattles)

Lucky 13 of the A-1 team

Kid I spit great mixtapes, stick your team

Wraps so clean,

and I’m sealing all the matches now that Cellophane will bring the pain all wrapped up in a package

Getting shipped with tons of damage, but there’s no send backs

Shut you up with my bind attacks

Get back, ‘cause you know that I’ll be winning

in this sticky situation, so I think you better stick it.

Mezo Shoji - Tentacole (Performed by Dreaded Yasuke)

You can call me wall that have ears, door that have eyes

Meaning I’m cavalier when it comes to fighting just like a spy

In close combat, my dupli-arms is coming for the harm

and I’m laughing at you if you’re trying disarm

I’ll sacrifice for everybody exhausting my quirk

Even when I’m down for the count, I’m disguising my smirk

You can cut off all of my limbs, I’m still coming in a burst

Class 1-A will always come first

Kyoka Jiro - Earphone Jack (Performed by Savvy Hyuga)

It’s ya edgy girl, Earphone Jack

Utilizing my quirk in both stealth and combat

I guess I can see how you think I fell flat

but lemme show you how I make up for that

with punk rock attacks

When my earlobes are growing

you know they whippin and probin

an’ now they got you tip-toeing

findin the range that my tone is

It’s not your typical motion n my moves don’t need compression

It’s just another jam session featuring my form of expression

Denki Kaminari - Chargebolt (Performed by Dizzy Eight)

It’s time to put in work, I got this cypher on lock

I don’t need my quirk when this verse will leave you shocked

Like a battery, I got the juice, so they put me in a box

When my positive means negative, I’m like “so watt?”

You don’t want that static with me homie it’s fatal

I got so much energy, I’m plugged in without the cable

On the low, I’ll leave everybody on the scene disabled

I’m underrated, but in a flash, I’ll leave you endangered

Shoto Todoroki - Shoto (Performed by None Like Joshua)

It’s Todoroki, I chose to be cold and lonely

Nobody can hold me with the inferno, I’m overloading

From a broken home to known hero I’m going up slowly but surely

and be better than Endeavor whether it’s hot or it’s snowing

Even if I’m behind, I’ll be sure to make Bakugo see

I do it for All of his Might or to stop killer Stain, forget any trophy

So now that you’re immobilized and then frozen in pain, no one can approach me

Put up a wall of my ice or a wall of my flames to build your enclosing

Rikido Sato - Sugarman (Performed by GameboyJones)

Give me 10 grams of white, then I’m activated (um)

Wait, I’m talking ‘bout the sugar that I took

Got a sweet tooth for taking out these villains ‘cause they’re agitating

Plus the girlies like a guy that can cook

Call me Sato the Macho, I’m saving these streets

Yeah these nachos are not yours, I need me a treat

and this crime fighting’s hard work, it can leave me beat

but like candy and cakes, being me is real sweet

Mina Ashido - Pinky (Performed by StarGirl)

The corrosive caped crusader, Pinky here to save the day

and end up taking center stage upon these lyrics that I lay up

Easygoing, I’m passionate in battle, I’m not passive

See it flowing I don’t spit fire, I spit acid

Hypnotic fashion sense, I leave you in a trance

I’m good at fighting, my other skills are in dance

Protect my friends, we’re going in on advance

Mina Ashido, you don’t even stand a chance

Eijiro Kirishima - Red Riot (Performed by NerdOut)

Kirishima’s here, everybody stand down

I’mma activate a quirk and give your chest a hand pound

With these Red Gun Turrets yeah the target is locked

I’m a boulder with a boner, man I’m hard as a rock

I’m unbreakable, cannot penetrate this armor

and I don’t need a little blue pill to get harder

I’m full of energy, enemies looking dead tired

Blood running in the street, you can call it Red Riot

Koji Koda - Anima (Performed by Connor Rapper)

I’m the quiet type, lying with the wildlife

When I’m on, you wouldn’t even need subtitle lines

Nervous around others, I’m the last one who would yell loud

But to be a hero, then I need to break the shell now

Yo it’s Koda bringing massive noise, flowing with that Ani-Voice

That timid kid with rabbit toys no longer acting coy

Drinking honey tea, facing my fear of bugs and bees

Get a bull stampeding with the words like I’m Douglby

Yuga Aoyama - Can’t Stop Twinkling (Performed by Zach Boucher)

Never needed fame or money, I can get it later

Even though it hurts my tummy, when I use my navel laser

I have got finesse, snazzier than all the rest

I’m the best, nothing less

being honest, not a flex, I’m a threat

It’s getting harder to stomach, I’ve got the smarts and I love

I’m certainly perfect, it hurts just like the art of seduction

Heart of a Puma, get ready to lose

I’ll be spreading the truth

and y’all are stupid if you choose to fight against the Yuga

Momo Yaoyorozu - Creati (Performed by HalaCG)

I’ve got the quirk creation and patience to work it

Balancing equations, don’t even need to research it

Sequencing elements, a testament to intelligence

You’d better watch out ‘cause I’m not feeling very benevolent

If a person’s in trouble, just wait and see what I’ll do

I can literally make anything. Overpowered, who?

Overpowered, who?

I meant I’ll overpower you

It’s true, sincerely Class 1-A’s Momo Yaoyorozu

Minoru Mineta - Grape Juice (Performed by Nux Taku)

Where the ladies at? (ay)

Mineta’s here to peek at women that I’m gazing at

People thinking that I’m weak, but you know what I say to that

Leave you in a sticky situation with my grape attacks

Underestimating me? You’re lacking information

Incapacitation, when you’re facing me, frustration

Master of flirtation, pretty much the top dog

You ain’t ever coming close when I pop off

Ojiro Mashirao - Tailman (Performed by Rockit Gaming)

Ojiro, the Tailman, you get what you train for

Master martial artist, black belt on my waist though

Nobody even really understands me

Got intelligence, can’t predict any hit that I’m landing

Classmate you confide in with dignity

You can wear a costume, all I got on is a gi

Noble attitude, that’s my personality

Accept results that I earn with my own abilities

Toru Hagakure - Invisible Girl (Performed by Outcast Rae)

Take you by surprise, yeah, I can do it easy

Miss me with your eyes, yeah, you can’t even see me

No matter what you try, yeah, you can never beat me

Feels a little cheesy, like a wish from a genie

When it comes to action, my quirk is in light refraction

so it has the side effect of never being a distraction

Sneak up on my enemies, let me be the best assassin

Toru Hagakure, you can feel my passion

Katsuki Bakugo - Kacchan (Performed by DaddyPhatSnaps)

I don’t think you other heroes are even listenin’

Maybe I should focus your attention with some ‘glycerin

You don’t even get it, there’s really no competition

I’m lighting these rookies up, boi, I’m slaying on every mission

I’ll show them once and for all, little Deku won’t know what hit ‘im

I will get the recognition, exploding the opposition

I will be the greatest hero that ever took the position

So come at me little bitches, I’ll make you wish that you didn’t

20 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Girl on Fire (Ninex) - Ashley

A/N: Nina finally starts to believe she is more than just a sidekick in other people’s fairy tales. Only her dream night is cut short when she is dragged away by her drunk best friend as soon as the clock strikes one-thirty. Monet is sick of pining after her straight best friend and thinks she’s finally found someone who steals her heart away. However, she doesn’t have any idea what her name is. (10k words)

Here goes my submission for the Black Girl Magic challenge, I had so much fun writing this and hope you guys enjoy - think of it as Cinderella in 2020. It is set in the same universe as Got My Number (Branjie fic) however you do not have to have read that to read this. Would love any comments/feedback/concrit anyone has and if anyone would just like to chat my sideblog is @artificialashley. Big thanks to Meggie for betaing this like a legend <3 Hope everyone is as well and as safe as they can be in these current times xoxo

It was safe to say that Nina had been placing her friends’ needs above her own for a long time. She didn’t know when it had started; be it the time she let Brooke swap roles with her last-minute before their drama exam in school, or every time she’d acted as a false alibi for Yvie during her secret rendezvous with a private school girl from the other side of the town, but it had been happening for a while.

This wasn’t something she felt guilty about, not something she would change for the world. Only every now and again the tiniest part of her brain wondered why she couldn’t be the one to have the Disney princess storyline, why she was always stuck as the bumbling sidekick, there to push forward someone else’s narrative. That was how she usually ended off feeling on nights out.

With Brooke sloppily dancing with a boy to her right and Yvie’s mind clearly elsewhere, Nina figured she might as well accept that this night wouldn’t be spent exactly how she’d pictured and try to enjoy it nonetheless.

“I’m gonna get another drink, you want anything?”

“I’m alright.” Yvie nodded, clearly distracted. “I might head back soon, anyway.”

Looking back to Brooke and the boy, a lilt of panic rose in Nina’s body. She knew her friend was a grown girl who could look after herself. But that didn’t falsify the universally acknowledged fact that when Brooke Lynn Hytes began to toss her hair and sway her hips, no one was safe. “Wait ‘til I’m back, though?”

“Of course,” Yvie responded, adding a thumbs up for good measure.

With that Nina made her way to the bar, trying her hardest to be speedy whilst still polite, something that was almost a kamikaze mission on nights like that. Despite her taller and broader frame, she’d always struggled to worm her way to the front of the bar, scared of hurting anyone near her and trying her best to remain patient.

Her foot tapping against the floor without thought, a wave of relief washed over her when a bartender beelined her way.

“A single vodka lemonade please,” she smiled to the man, holding the exact amount of change in her hand ready.

To her surprise, she heard a laugh to her left. A deep throaty laugh, the kind that required someone’s head to fall back to escape.

That’s when she saw her.

Monet.

“Make that a double,” the girl’s voice flanked down the bartender, smooth like honey. “With Red Bull. None of that lemonade bullshit. And one for me too.”

It wasn’t a secret that Nina had had a crush on the girl for a while. Or at least not to her friends.

It had started in year 13, when their sixth form decided to make some promotions, placing posters on the front gates, on roundabouts and even on buses around the town - Monet’s bright smile and warm brown eyes adorning every single one.

“Doesn’t Bob’s sister look just like her?” Yvie pointed at the poster as they made their way out the gates, on route for their daily meal deal.

“I know right!” Brooke added. “They could be twins.”

But Nina didn’t really agree, stopping in her tracks. “Look at her eyes, they’re much bigger than Bob’s. And her cheekbones, Bob’s face is more round. Look at her lips…” She trailed off for a moment. “She’s beautiful.”

Brooke and Yvie turned their heads to face her in synchronisation, realising the same thought.

“I’m not saying Bob isn’t pretty,” Nina panicked, afraid that she had been rude about the kind and bubbly girl that everyone in her year adored. “I just meant—”

“We know what you meant.” Yvie grinned with every muscle in her face.

“Nina and Monet, sitting in a tree—” Brooke started to sing and wave her arms in the air, only to be interrupted mid-stride after being swatted with a plastic folder full of literature coursework.

“We don’t even know her!” Nina turned to them, a blush starting to seep through her pale cheeks. “You can’t fancy someone you don’t know.”

She didn’t need Brooke or Yvie to tell her that wasn’t true.

“Oh,” Nina turned to face her, lost for words being an understatement to how she felt.

“Sorry,” Monet laughed, looking her up and down in a way that made Nina’s body tremble. “I wasn’t going to let a girl stand and wait anxiously for so long to order a single vodka lemonade, not on my watch.”

Before Nina could think of how to respond, the bartender had returned with their drinks, Monet handing him over a note and taking them, sliding one in Nina’s direction.

Nina found herself in awe almost of the other girl’s confidence.

“Thank you,” she managed to muster after taking a sip, the sweet tang of the drink giving her a shock, her hand automatically raising to her mouth.

“Oh,” Monet tilted her head and pointed a finger. “You’re one of them.”

“One of who?” Nina looked around confused, paranoia racing through her veins, only dissolving once she felt Monet’s hand touch her arm. Nina wondered if maybe a flame burned inside Monet’s ribcage where her heart should have been, heat radiating from the girl’s hands and eyes, from the entirety of her curvy frame.

“One of those pretty girls who just stands with a drink and doesn’t dance. The boring ones.”

And for a moment Nina forgot about it all. She forgot about how drunk Brooke was across the dancefloor, she forgot about how distracted Yvie had been acting. She forgot about her worries, her nerves, her usual hesitation. She forgot there were other people on the planet as she watched the girl she had crushed on for the longest time light up the night around them.

“I think you’re wrong,” Nina spoke softly, finishing the rest of her drink in record time.

She didn’t know if her heart was beating fast because of the girl or the drink. But either way, it was telling her that if she didn’t let those arms hold her it would jump right out of her chest and onto the sticky floor below.

And so she did, swaying to the music in time with Monet, letting the girl’s hands wander around her waist.

“Can I touch your hair?” Nina whispered, almost too quiet for Monet to hear.

Suddenly, she remembered seeing the girl eating on the grass once when the sun was out and shining. How she’d watched as her friend attempted a cartwheel and failed, Monet throwing her head back with laughter, her curls dropping down and almost touching the grass below them.

Monet nodded in response, Nina slowly and gently running her hands through the locks, smooth against her skin.

That’s when she felt Monet’s body inch in closer to her own, Nina seeing the purple sparkle on her eyelids briefly before shutting her own and leaning forwards.

She could feel the flame inside Monet make its way into her own body too, burning the whole floor that surrounded them. One word, one name running circles around her brain. Her lips felt familiar like Nina was simply coming home from a trip away. They moved together just perfectly, an equal balance of pressure back and forth.

Nina’s eyes opened for a second as she watched Monet pull away, a big, bright, and beautiful grin plastered on her face. Before she could take it in anymore she was pulled back into the fire, immersed in its embers, the outside world fading away to ash and dust around her.

Maybe she was more than the sidekick for one night.

That was until someone called the emergency services and the fire was extinguished.

That someone being Brooke Lynn Hytes.

She didn’t process it at first, the voice that was crying out being filtered out of her thoughts to focus on anything and everything Monet. But when she heard it again, Nina couldn’t help but double-take.

“You can’t kick me out! I’ve been coming here since I was fifteen, you nonces!”

Nina’s jaw dropped in horror as she saw her best friend being carried by two bouncers who’s heads almost touched the ceiling. Silently cursing at Yvie, she looked back and Monet, the red lipstick that was previously the definition of precision now smeared around her lips like a crime scene.

“I have to go.”

“Oh. Okay.” Monet frowned at her. “Can I get you on Snap? My phone’s dead, though. I’ll add you back as soon as I’m home.”

“Yeah,” Nina grinned, her mind taken away from her mess of a best friend for a split second to bask in what was happening. Only for her joy to plummet when she reached into her bag and pulled out an assortment of eyeliners and lip glosses instead of her phone. Her mind flashed back a few hours before when Brooke was only at her happy-drunk stage and had insisted on taking some cute photos of them on Nina’s phone (having the best camera, of course), realising that her phone was, in fact, being carried out of the club in Brooke’s pocket as she spoke.

“Shit,” she looked back and forth between her bag and Monet as if it would appear by magic if she wished hard enough. Knowing she needed to hurry to her friend, she quickly grabbed Monet’s wrist and began scribbling across it with her eyeliner, giving her hand a quick squeeze before running off in the opposite direction to find Brooke.

She could have sworn her lips were still tingling by the time she’d caught up.

“Nina!” Brooke cried from her seat in the smoking area, throwing her hands in the air to hug her best friend, only for them to flop back down dead-weight at her sides when they didn’t reach.

“Please can you get her out of here?” The bouncers turned to face Nina, leaving her petrified like a school kid who’d been caught skipping lessons.

Nina’s motherly side came to fruition as she tried to convince Brooke to come home with her, secretly thinking about how long she could make fun of her for being in this state. She decided on at least until the Easter holidays were over, all the way up until Summer at a push.

Eventually, the light at the end of the tunnel began to emerge; Nina managing to convince Brooke to make her way home. The only problem was that she didn’t want to do so with Nina.

“You’re not coming with me, I want you to go in there and get yourself a shag. I know you fancy Bob’s sister. Do it for me, Nina, I’m living through you!”

Her cheeks turning a brighter red than the lipstick that was smothered around her mouth (Monet’s lipstick smothered around her mouth), Nina found herself both mortified and joyed at her friend’s words, a part of her bursting with excitement at the fact she’d finally managed to kiss the girl that always caught her eye but also embarrassed at Brooke’s choice of crude words and inability to lower the volume of her voice.

“I’m coming with you, just let me find Yvie.”

“Nooooooo.” Brooke protested as if she were being asked to go home with a criminal trying to kidnap her rather than her best friend of ten years.

That was when a gravelly voice appeared next to her, a familiar voice she had spent years trying to imitate, never fully being able to capture just how unique it was.

Oh, how she had missed spending time with Vanessa.

Nina had never been one to pick sides, always wanting to be friends with everyone as best as she could be, but it seemed that had been impossible since the infamous breakup plagued their group earlier that year. She understood why Vanessa had cut her and Yvie out of her life, knowing that they would only be a constant reminder of the past but she couldn’t help but long that their group of six was just that again. And seeing the way Vanessa was looking at Brooke gave her a sneaking suspicion that she was not alone in those thoughts.

Content that Vanessa would be able to talk sense into Brooke ten times better than she would, Nina retrieved her phone and checked the time. The club didn’t close for another thirty minutes. Her heart almost skipped a beat and she realised she had a whole thirty minutes to feel Monet’s hands around her waist, their lips pressed together with varying pressure, releasing waves of latent heat into the disco lights above.

Only in the sea of heads bopping to the music, one set of dark curls was nowhere to be seen.

***

“So tonight’s not the night then?” Monet felt Anthony speak close to her ear, his gaze cast to Monique, who they could hear giggling as she attempted to re-tie the back of Asia’s bodysuit, her drunk coordination and false nails making the tying of a bow as hard as neuroscience for her.

“No night is the night.” Monet rolled her eyes at her friend.

As much as she loved him and admired his ability to want to address issues head-on, she had to admit that he was sometimes just a pain in the arse. And a shit-stirrer. He was also a really big shit-stirrer.

“Whatever you say.” He held his hand up in defence, grabbing Monet’s wrist and dragging her over to the other half of their foursome.

Only her attempt to get lost in the music failed as soon as Monique grabbed her hands, twirling her around and playing like they usually did.

Growing up in Britain to a Caribbean family, Monet had fought hard to fight off the bad stereotypes and embrace the good ones that came her way. She had never thought the one that would plague her the most would be pining after her straight best friend, yet here she was, dreading the moment that the repetitive playlist would remix into Flo Rida’s Low and she’d have to let the stunning girl touch her as if it was no big deal at all.

She decided it might just be better after all if she went to the bar once the familiar beat began to play, figuring that alcohol would work as a good enough distraction.

Only once she arrived there, she found one that was much, much more promising.

It annoyed her at first, the incessant tapping of the girl’s shoe so loud she could hear it in the busy club. But then she looked at the legs attached to the tapping feet and the torso attached to those legs and the face attached to the torso and Monet suddenly felt much more forgiving.

She seemed the opposite of Monique, her body thick and her skin pale. Her mannerisms showed a shy, reserved girl, unlike the one that turned everything into a production, unlike the girl she had found herself longing to kiss for months on end.

Monet would have given her the world and more. But she instead settled for a drink.

The perfect distraction.

It wasn’t until they began to dance that Monet realised how different she was to her hookups of the past, finding something endearing in her nervous nature. Normally she’d find herself cringing at someone’s bad dancing, but the way the girl stomped only made Monet want to pull her in closer, seeing something in the girl’s smile that made her feel like she’d known her a lifetime. Never on a night out had she felt so invested, so unaware of her surroundings, unaware of Monique.

Usually, kisses in the club were sloppy, too much tongue and touching. This time was different, the girl asking politely if she could touch Monet’s hair (Monet wanted to tell her she could pull it as much as she liked but refrained with fear or sounding too eager). Her lips were soft and gentle; Monet may have just let a small moan escape from her mouth after they parted, unable to stop grinning once she pulled away. The usual fire of confidence that burned inside of her was dancing all over, going crazy over the dirty blonde and her blue jumpsuit, the sequins dazzling in the light of the disco.

She tasted of hope and Red Bull.

That taste still lingering once the girl had pulled away, scanning the room in a panic and turning back to Monet. She wasn’t a mind reader but she knew something was wrong.

“I have to go.”

The words pierced her skin like an arrow, shot from the closest range. Monet should have been okay, she knew it was unrealistic to think that the girl would invite her back and she’d spend the entire night in her arms. Yet all she wanted was to wake up in a big four-poster perfectly entwined with her body. Generally, Monet thought of herself as a rather chill person, not letting much get under her skin, but the thought of leaving without this girl’s Snapchat made her stomach tighten just enough.

She watched as she pulled out her eyeliner and scribbled, unable to read the scrawl properly in the darkness of the club, knowing she’d have to wait until she was home to read it properly.

Monet could still feel where the girl had squeezed her hand minutes later, standing alone for a moment to take it all in before starting a mission to find her friends.

It didn’t take long. Within thirty seconds of looking she could already see them, their own circle formed in a less busy area of the dancefloor, Asia pretending to make it rain whilst Monique and Anthony took turns in the middle, splitting and kicking to the pop track playing as though they were in a fight for their lives.

She wouldn’t change her crazy group of friends for the world.

“Hey girl,” Monet placed her hands on Asia’s shoulders, unable to keep the ‘I’ve just pulled a really fit girl’ grin off her face.

“She returns!” Monique screamed over the music, still focused on dancing and managing not to miss a beat. “You look like you’ve had fun.”

It was rare that Monet spoke to Monique about any hookups, keeping that part of her life a separate entity in their friendship, shutting her friend down whenever she asked any questions about it. In her home there was a fine line between what was discussed and what was not, Monet sometimes struggling to remove that division when she hung out with her friends, afraid that she’d only open the box and release more creatures than intended. Afraid Monique would realise how she truly felt.

Only this time it was different; maybe she was still reeling from the kiss or maybe it was the vodka, but she had no problem telling her friends about the amazing girl she had just met, or as well as she could do given that they were in the middle of a dance to the death.

“Hey, Monique, why don’t you just do a cartwheel?” Anthony shouted to her, causing an eruption of laughter on Asia’s face and a contrasting one on Monique’s that only meant trouble.

“Do not encourage her!” Monet turned to her two friends trying to keep a straight face, montages of all of Monique’s previous failed attempts flashing through her head. She pointed at her and raised her voice: “You cannot do a cartwheel.”

“But who said?”

“Jesus,” Monet shouted over the music, causing yet another eruption of Asia-laughter before the disaster struck.

It started off stronger than most of Monique’s previous attempts. Her hands touched the ground. Her legs went above them. Everyone managed to move away fast enough (this being the reason for failure for fifty perfect of said previous attempts). But it didn’t stay that way. Monet watched almost in slow motion as her arm buckled underneath her, bending in a way that arms shouldn’t bend, hearing Monique cry out in pain.

A cry of pain she could still hear hours later in their local accident and emergency, surrounded by bloody knees and gurning jaws, waiting impatiently for the imbecile she called her best friend to be released.

Normally people would wait until the next day to tell their friend’s “I told you so” in situations like this, but Monet wasn’t that humble, making sure to say it at least six times in the ambulance journey, then another seven to Asia and Anthony once they arrived in their Uber.

“But you have to admit I was winning the battle.” Anthony sat up on the waiting room chair and looked back and forth between the two girls. “She didn’t even know the words.”

Giving him a slap on the wrist, Asia’s motherly side came out, her nose scrunching in annoyance. “That is the last thing on my mind right now!”

“Monet?” He raised an eyebrow to her, avoiding Asia’s stern look.

“I don’t know, mate. I didn’t really see the entire thing, you know. Would be biased to judge from those ten seconds of failure.”

Monet immediately prepared for an ambush based on the looks on each of her friend’s faces.

And ambushed she was, the pair of them forgetting their circumstances for a moment to ask Monet one hundred and one questions about her hookup. Only looking down at her hand to see a messy smudge of eyeliner instead of a name, Monet realised she couldn’t have given them valid answers even if she wanted to.

It would be her to find a girl so intriguing, a girl who made her want to dance all night and lose her the second the clock struck one-thirty. Her only glass slipper of hope turned utterly unreadable during the heat of their panicked ambulance journey.

Sensing upset in her face, Anthony grabbed Monet’s hand tightly. “Do I need to fight someone?”

But before Monet could begin to explain that her hookup needed finding rather than fighting, they were saved by a familiar cry.

“What do we think?” Monique began to shimmy towards the girls, her arm wrapped tightly in a cast, gaining the attention of every soul in the room (or at least the ones who were fully conscious).

Monet knew she should have been concerned, her friend could have been seriously hurt, but something about Monique’s grin as she danced towards them made her beam instead.

“Tens. Tens. Tens across the board!” She yelled as her friend pranced, resulting in the filthiest look from the receptionist, letting them know it was their time to leave.

“McDonald’s?” Monique looked back and forth between her friends once they had left the front doors, clearly unbothered by their haphazard appearances and the fact she had broken a bone.

The rest of the group didn’t even have to answer her question, simply beginning to walk in that direction without discussion, laughing like they had no cares in the world.

Only as the hours tipped on towards dawn and Monique reached out to hold Monet’s hand, it burned red hot where a pretty girl’s Snapchat username has been written. A face embedded into her brain that wouldn’t disappear no matter how hard she tried, a mystery left waiting for her to solve.

***

“Rise and shine!” Nina sang to her best friend, earning only a grunt in response.

“Why are you here so early?” Brooke winced at the sunlight seeping from her window, putting her hand to her throat and grabbing a glass of what she assumed to be water from the nightstand.

Nina guessed by the look on her face after taking a swig that it certainly was not water.

“Because I didn’t want to miss breakfast!” Nina pulled a greasy brown bag from her backpack and waved it in Brooke’s face, who perked up as if by magic. “You should be grateful, I had a right hassle getting this! I nearly ran over some drunk girl with a broken arm just running through the drive-through away from her friends.”

“I’m eternally grateful.” Brooke budged along and patted a spot for Nina to lie next to her.

As much as she hated the drama of nights out and the pounding headache that stopped her productivity the next day, Nina had really missed hungover food and gossip sessions with her friends. It just wasn’t the same without them at Uni.

“So?” Nina looked at her friend, ready and eager to hear what had happened with Vanessa, taking a sip of her drink in anticipation.

“So…” Brooke trailed in response, raising an eyebrow to her friend.

“Did you and Vanjie talk?” Nina couldn’t wait any longer for Brooke to start, spitting her sentence out in one breath.

“Yes.” Brooke looked at her with a gaze Nina had never quite seen before, despite their years of early mornings and late nights of spilling secrets and stories. “But that can wait. What can’t wait is the fact that you managed to pull the girl you’ve had a crush on for ages. Let’s talk about that!”

“Oh. That was nothing.”

Nina was telling the truth. Or at least she was if nothing meant the best kiss of her life. If nothing meant that she could still smell Monet’s perfume when she was getting her breakfast that morning. If nothing meant that she went to bed grinning from ear to ear, the image of the girl pulling her closer a carousel running circles through her head. If nothing meant that every step she’d taken on her way home last night felt as if it were on air rather than the pavement. If nothing meant that she had finally felt like the protagonist of her movie, being granted a night of magic by some special force in the world.

“Nothing? Did you at least get her Snap?”

“Na.” Nina brushed her off.

It wasn’t a lie. Technically she hadn’t gotten Monet’s username - she’d given Monet hers. Yet when she woke up that morning she didn’t have any new requests. She’d be lying for real if she said her heart hadn’t plummeted. It was normal. It happened all the time. That’s what she always told Yvie whenever she was ghosted. Only Nina couldn’t stop the horrible feeling of a knife twisting into her heart that came whenever she checked her phone and saw no notification. She knew it was silly, that it was just a dumb kiss in the club, but she couldn’t help but feel stupid; like she’d been some sort of fool for believing something special had happened to her, a fool for thinking that confident girls like Monet who breathed fire would want to chat to awkward ones like herself who let themselves drown in rain.

“Well, you can just follow her on Insta then. I mean you stalk her enough anyway it’s about time.” Brooke pulled her phone to her face and started to type, a flurry of panic running up Nina’s spine.

She knew that there would be no follow back.

“It’s fine!” Nina raised her voice almost too much, her friend flinching slightly at the volume. “Honestly Brooke, I just want to forget it.”

Nina knew she couldn’t forget it if she tried. She couldn’t forget it if she paid for someone to erase her memories like they did in the films. She couldn’t forget it if she was hit on the head a dozen times.

She wondered if Monet even remembered it at all. Or had she just decided not to think about it, having probably done it many times before, something normal to her. Nina didn’t know which of these options would be worse. She guessed she would never find out.

“I’ll let it go if you give me the last bite of your bagel,” Brooke teased and Nina obliged (having lost her appetite to the wonderful diet technique known as anxiety anyways).

“Have you heard from Yvie then?” Nina asked, trying her best to change the conversation, to think of anything but Monet.

Monet and her kisses.

Monet and her voice.

Monet and her mouth.

She wasn’t very good at this.

“She texted me this morning,” Brooke responded. “Said she was sorry she left. She went for a wee and ran into Ja’mie—apparently, we were gone by the time she got back.”

“Fair enough,” Nina smiled, knowing that she too was responsible for Brooke being left alone. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Brooke thrust her phone into Nina’s hands (who didn’t want to begin to question why it was sticky). “You can repay me by helping me type a text to Vanjie. How do you say ‘Thanks for looking after me in my drunken state, let’s all go for food like old times sake then make up and have babies together someday’ without sounding too eager?”

Nina laughed at her friend and began to type into her notes, grateful that her A-Level in English Language had not gone entirely to waste.

If only she could use it to express her own feelings about a certain dark-haired beauty instead of those belonging to her best friend.

***

“Get up! You’re doing my shift tonight.” Monet’s eyes opened to the feeling of a pen smacking against her face, her older sister stood menacingly with another one in her hand, ready to be launched at any second.

“Erm, who says?” She sat up and looked at the time.

There was nothing like waking up past midday to really motivate her to work.

“I said when I picked you and your friends up from McDonald’s at eight in the morning. Or do you want me to tell Dad you spent the night in A&E?”

“Fuck,“ Monet thought to herself. Or maybe said aloud. She couldn’t really tell, too caught up in images of the night (or morning) before flashing through her brain. The memory of a still drunk Monique calling Bob and demanding she take them home from McDonald’s, running away from the rest of the group and into the busy drive-through when they tried to stop her. Sometimes it scared Monet how averse to danger her friend was, having willingly run in front of a beeping car despite her freshly broken arm just so she could beg Bob to save them a fifteen-minute walk.

“Guess I’m doing your shift.”

Monet didn’t really mind that much, she liked working in her parent’s restaurant, finding joy in being able to chat to customers, recommending food and talking all things Caribbean. A big part of her thanked the job for her social skills, making her outgoing and confident when others in her year often struggled to speak to people. Yes, she often wished she’d gone to University like some of her friends, longing to bask in that fantasy of late-night shopping trips and early morning study dates. But she knew it wasn’t really her style, figuring she’d go full time at the restaurant until she found her true calling. Everyone liked to act like there were these big time limits on when everything had to be done but Monet knew they didn’t really exist.

Besides, her job meant she always had enough money to buy vodka Red Bulls for handsome ladies in the club, one particular handsome lady coming to mind.

The smudge was still on her hand.

Some would probably tell her it was fate, that she lost it for a reason. That they wouldn’t have worked out.

But Monet didn’t believe in all of that stuff. Monet was a fighter of fate instead.

Whipping out her phone, she Facetimed her best friend, eager for help on her mission. She thought for a second that she should have called Anthony instead; after all, his eagle eyes knew the most about Monet’s love life. But a part of her just wanted Monique by her side, knowing that she’d never get over her feelings if she continued to isolate that part of her life.

“Hey, girl.” She answered on the second ring.

Normally Monet would have spent a moment or two thinking about how gorgeous her hair looked wet and slicked back or how perfect the purple of her dressing gown complimented her skin, how it hung on her body just right.

Only now her mind was overwhelmed with other thoughts.

“Do you know what page the club photos get posted on, from last night?” Monet asked her friend after a short while of broken arm-related discussion.

“Yeah, I’ll send you the link - but don’t be tagging me in any where I look a mess.”

“Thanks.” Monet flicked through the photographs, examining each one for a bundle of dirty blonde hair or sparkle of blue sequins. “I’m actually trying to find the girl I got with. Gonna see if she’s been tagged, yanno.”

“Oh.”

Monet stopped scrolling, letting the silence linger for a moment before speaking. “Oh?”

“Nothing,” Monique brushed off. “Just seems a bit extra, is all.”

“I just want to find her. Do you think I should post it on the Uni confessions page in case she goes there? Or what if I tweet it? Maybe a tweet is safer.”

“I swear you’ve never been this bothered about a pull before,” Monique laughed through the phone. A laugh Monet knew to be fake.

‘Because I normally want them to be you,’ Monet thought to herself but didn’t dare say out loud. Only not once during the kiss the night before had her mind strayed back to her best friend like it usually did. She didn’t know if that would ever find a girl to make her feel that way again, she wasn’t throwing it away.

“This one’s different, I’m confident about it.”

“Okay,” Monique smiled on the screen, raising her hands in the air in surrender. “But remember you were confident in GCSE textiles when you tried to make a children’s dress from sponges for our coursework. Doesn’t always mean you’re right.”

“Don’t bring that into this!” Monet gasped, the attack on her garment cutting deep almost like an attack on her entire being, earning a chuckle from her best friend. “Imma get going, gotta shower and go to the shops before my shift but I think I’m gonna tweet it. Who knows, might see her again when we go out on Monday!”

“Monday? Bitch, I’ve got a broken arm.”

“You can still wiggle.” Monet winked at her friend before bidding farewell and hanging up the call.

She may not have had a glass slipper to try on every girl in town but she did have all the power of social media on her side, and that would simply have to do.

***

Looking around at the other girls as they made their way through the town centre, Nina couldn’t help but feel utterly ecstatic.

Things had been awkward at first - the lack of contact since the Brooke and Vanessa break up was a huge elephant in the room that no one wanted to address. However, as time passed the awkwardness began to melt more and more, Nina was excited to learn anything and everything she had missed out on whilst the girls were away at Uni.

“It’s just down here I think.” Brooke squinted at her phone and pointed to one of the streets.

“I thought we were going to the Lebanese,” Akeria stated from Vanessa’s side, earning a jab in the ribs.

“Scarlet doesn’t like it.” Yvie turned to face her. “Besides this place is really nice, I don’t know why we’ve all never been.”

“Probably because we don’t have the same taste buds as your highness!” Silky laughed, Brooke muttering some sort of private school girl gag under her breath too.

“You better not go on like that when she gets there!” Yvie shot daggers to the pair with her eyes, only making them chuckle even more. "If one of you even thinks about calling her that nickname you will be drop kicked.”

It was safe to say Nina had missed their shenanigans, a part of her wishing she could rewind time back to when they went for food like this every other week.

She’d missed Silky’s snide comments and Vanessa’s grunting laugh. She’d missed the way that Brooke and Akeria both clapped when they got excited. And the way Yvie tried to act all cool and hard in front of Scarlet but ended off turning into a soppy puppy everything she smiled anyway.

It was safe to say she was grateful to Brooke for organising their meal and catch-up. Not only was Nina getting to see the friends she had missed so much but she was also being distracted from refreshing her phone every five minutes, constantly disappointed when waiting to see if a certain someone had changed their mind and added her on Snapchat.

“Well, I’m excited to try something new!” Nina smiled at her friend, pretending not to be extremely anxious at the fact she couldn’t find a menu online so didn’t already know what she was going to order.

In fact, she still didn’t know what to order thirty minutes later once Scarlet had finally arrived, a round of drinks having already been devoured by the group, the range in the menu making her foot dance nervously on the floor below them.

“You guys ready to order your food?”

Nina didn’t dare turn around, the discernable voice ringing behind her.

The voice she’d let whisper sweet nothing in her ears less than twenty-four hours earlier.

The voice she thought she would never hear again.

She looked aside to Brooke, a devilish grin on her face, clearly proud of her work as Fairy Godmother.

Nina wasn’t so proud.

Her leg began to shake more, placing her own hand on it to try and calm down.

She didn’t do hookups, they weren’t the norm for her. She wasn’t used to just kissing someone in a club, giving them every part of her and more than acting like it was nothing afterwards. She didn’t understand how people just threw themselves all in and then decided it was nothing. There Monet was, most likely thinking that the whole thing meant nothing when it was filling the entirety of Nina’s brain. She was drowning in it.

It was like watching a gruesome video, Nina knew it would only end in tears on her behalf but couldn’t help but take a peek.

Only Monet looked anything but gruesome. Her hair slicked back into a ponytail, her face fresh, the end of the pen meeting her mouth as she took a break from writing.

Never in her life had Nina felt any inclination to be an artist yet suddenly she wanted to paint a portrait of the girl right there, her apron slightly stained and her hand showing the remnants of a stamp that hadn’t quite washed away.

Her hand that Nina had written on.

If Nina was drowning then Monet was on fire.

“What about you, Cinderella?”

It took Nina a moment along with an elbow from her right to realise Monet was speaking to her, just gawking at her like a kid in a sweet shop (Monet was probably a sherbet lemon, bright and fizzy right next to the till. She was more of a chocolate mouse, hiding on a shelf lower down).

‘Just ask what she recommends,’ Nina thought to herself, only the words never came out, her mouth opening and closing like a puppet she couldn’t control.

Brooke went to speak for her but Monet was too fast, a superhero reading Nina’s mind and saving her from the burning building. “My favourite is the jerk chicken, with lots of gravy.”

“Perfect.” She managed half a smile, wishing Monet would speak for her more often. Wishing she’d speak for everyone in the world with her voice so lovely.

Nina felt Monet’s hand leave her shoulder as she walked away.

She hadn’t even felt her place it.

“Well, isn’t that a weird coincidence.” Yvie sipped from her straw and looked up at Nina despite the utter lack of liquid left in her glass.

“Seriously? I told you I wanted to forget it.“ She turned to face Brooke, giving the best attempt at whisper-shouting as she could.

“I know, I’m sorry, but if I told you you wouldn’t have come. You’ve fancied her for so long I wasn’t gonna let you just let it go.”

“Did you ever think that I can make my own decisions, Brooke? You don’t have to dictate my life all the time. I look like such a freak now!”

“Hey,” Vanessa chirped in from the other side of the table. “Nina, she was just trying to help. I saw this thing on Twitter—”

“Scarlet, do you like Lebanese food?” Nina shouted over, interrupting Vanessa’s plea.

“Oh of course,” the girl responded, clearly unaware of the tension in the air. “My family visited the Zahriyeh beach resort last year and the food was to die for!”

“I’m going to the loo.” Nina stood up abruptly, almost knocking her chair over in the process. “Please don’t follow me.”

Making her way into the bathroom, Nina stared at herself in the mirror.

She knew her friends only wanted what was best for her, that she shouldn’t have snapped at Brooke. She just kept reliving her awkward conversation, kept thinking about the add that never came through her phone and wished they would have left it be.

It was okay for Brooke, who had Vanessa and everyone else in their old sixth form falling around her. Or Yvie who had the quickest wit, unapologetically herself every minute of every day. They were the type of girls who people fawned over, who girls like Monet wanted to speak to. Not Nina West who couldn’t say the word “chicken” without having an aneurysm.

Trying her hardest not to cry, she almost jumped out of her skin when the door opened, expecting an apologetic Brooke with her puppy dog eyes to walk through.

How wrong she was.

“Oh, sorry.” Nina looked around and made her way towards the door.

“For using the bathroom?” Monet smiled at her, Nina left unable to think of a response other than the word sorry again. “About the other night—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nina blurted, the fear of rejection injected into her bloodstream. She couldn’t bring herself to hear it, to hear Monet tell her that it was nothing or spurt some lie about losing her username. So she decided she’d do it herself, trying her very hardest to seem nonchalant. “We were both drunk, it was stupid.”

“Yeah.” Monet looked down at the floor. “No biggie.”

Nina missed her smile already.

Breaking a silence that felt like a lifetime, Nina released a breath. “I better go. Wouldn’t want to miss my jerk chicken.”

“Couldn’t have that.” She heard Monet’s voice tail off as she made her way back to the table, reliving their conversation for the entire meal - her mind lost in an alternate universe where the night before was the start of a new journey, rather than the remnants of one that never took flight.

Nina realised then how easier things were as the sidekick.

The sidekick never had their heart broken.

***

Monet was ready to take everything she had previously thought about fate and throw it out of the window when she realised the mystery girl from the night before was sitting in the restaurant, sipping happily on a strawberry daiquiri.

Monet had never wanted to physically be a cocktail before in her life but that didn’t stop her from wishing it at that moment.

Asking their head waiter to give her the order instead, she counted down the seconds until their last friend arrived and she could go ask what food they wanted, slipping into her natural confidence and flirtiness, ready to have a daylight conversation with the girl from her late-night memories.

She was nervous again, awkward. Monet wanted to tell her to breathe and shake it off, settling instead for placing a hand on her shoulder whilst she decided what to order.

Normally when asked for suggestions, Monet told the customer whatever was easiest to make, or whatever was going to waste, never her real suggestion.

She gave it this time without prompt.

It was probably wrong to follow her into the bathroom but a part of her just couldn’t handle the anxious look on her face and wanted to tell her everything was okay.

Monet was never one to shy away for what she wanted, overly-excited that she had found the one that got away, thinking of how much the girl would laugh when she told her about her night, how she lost her username thanks to her stupid best friend’s gymnastics related delusions of grandeur.

Only she never got the chance.

“Don’t worry about it. We were both drunk, it was stupid.”

Monet knew she shouldn’t have been upset, it was the type of thing she’d said to many girls before herself. But a small part of her just wanted to crawl up in a ball and cry thinking of how wrong she’d been, of how badly she’d read their moment of passion.

Monique was right. She couldn’t wait to hear her ‘I told you so.’ Monet guessed things hadn’t changed at all, those few words throwing her back in the cycle she was in before. Maybe fate was a part of it after all, maybe this was simply the role she was dealt, no arguments, no compromises.

“Enjoying the shift?” Bob called on her way out, grabbing some tofu from the bench and shoving it in her mouth.

“Something like that,” Monet sighed, checking the clock to see how much longer she would be hiding in the back kitchen until she was free.

“Not like you to be in a mood.” Her sister looked her up and down, clearly sensing a change in disposition from her usually annoyingly vibrant personality. “You better put a smile on cause I know those girls out there, I reckon they’ll tip you if you’re nice. They went to sixth form, used to host a lot of house parties.”

Monet was taken back for a second, laughing to herself at the thought that the girl she’d spent all day trying to find not only went to her old school but also knew her sister. She was starting to wish she’d looked beyond the three pillars of her best friends at sixth form and branched out that tad more, maybe things would be a lot different.

“Do you know the blonde one?”

“Brooke Lynn?” Bob asked.

Monet didn’t know how, but she knew that wasn’t right.

“No the other one. With the dumb smile.”

“Oh.” Bob realised. “Nina West. She was always real sweet, looking after her friends and cleaning up everywhere at parties. Awful fashion sense though, good god!”

Nina.

She could have said it again and again until it no longer felt like a name.

“Well, I’ll see you later.” Bob snapped her out of her daydream. “You out again tonight?”

“Nah,” she sighed. “Monday.”

All Monet wanted to do was get drunk and forget all about Nina and Monique and the thoughts in her head, desperate for the next forty-eight hours to whizz past her like lightning.

Only that didn’t really happen, Monet instead spending the entire time holed up in her room, letting the hours drag by until it was time to hit the club with her friends.

She wrongly thought that with every drink the name would slip out of her mind that little bit more, only it slapped her across the face every time she swallowed instead.

Maybe it was because she’d made the mistake of searching her.

She wasn’t hard to find once Monet knew her name, coming up immediately with twenty-seven mutual friends. Scrolling through picture after picture of the girl laughing with her friends, something pained Monet in knowing she could no longer send a request. That her feelings were unreciprocated. She’d told the girl that their hookup was “no biggie” but there she was thinking about the photo she’d seen of her standing on the bridge in town and how she wished she could hold her waist while she stood there.

Monet had a strong love-hate relationship with the internet.

One more shot and there she was again.

Nina West, as vivid as a photograph in her mind, her foot tapping against the floor, her eyes a scene of bewilderment.

She danced to a song she knew and then again to the next until they were all blurring into one and she couldn’t figure out what the words were anymore.

Another shot.

She could see Nina leaving some coins on the table before she left the restaurant, her body something that could inspire poetry.

Just one more wouldn’t hurt.

“You wanna go for a walk?” She heard Monique whisper in her ear, snapping her back to the reality her brain was running from.

She didn’t have to say yes.

The breeze was bitter against Monet’s face as they left the club; Monique wrapped a jacket around her body for warmth.

“What about the others?” She turned back and stopped, feeling her friend’s arm link into her own despite it being her only mobile one.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about them.”

They walked for a while before stopping at a spot by the river, the moon glistening in the water.

Monet watched it flow in silence.

Normally she’d have been scared by the rustling in the trees or the darkness of the night’s sky but those fears were lost in the moment.

“Are you really this upset about a girl you’ve known for a few days?” Monique’s eyes shone in the dark, pools of chocolate around her pupils. They kept Monet grounded. “She’s not even that pretty.”

Monet thought she couldn’t have been more wrong if she tried.

“You don’t get it.”

“But I really want to.”

“It felt different, Monique. I never feel like that, I never get like this. It’s fucked me up. I’ve only ever thought anything like that about…” Monet stopped to swallow, deciding she shouldn’t carry her sentence on anyway.

“About me?” Monique whispered, holding her hand out to her friend, her glittery nails scraping the surface of the other girl’s skin.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me.” Monet pushed her hand away. “I don’t know, I just thought this was something telling me that things were gonna change. I was wrong, too confident. Like the sponge dress, remember.”

“They still can change,” Monique responded.

Her hand moved to the back of Monet’s head, falling down her hair.

She was hesitant at first, moving towards her friend, slow and steady.

Monet’s breath hitched just before their lips touched.

And then everything started to blur.

Lost in the moment, Monet felt Monique’s free arm move down her back, her own hands gripping tightly onto the hem of her top.

It was happening. She’d reached the pot of gold at the end of her rainbow.

Only the coins weren’t shining as brightly as they did in the fairy tales.

This is what she’d imagined for years, what she fell asleep thinking about.

So why did it feel so wrong?

Every movement flashed by in a second; Monet wasn’t feeling them.

She wasn’t feeling anything.

Then the image of highly arched eyebrows and dusty blue eyes made their way into her head.

Monet didn’t have to say it, feeling her friend pull away in the darkness.

“She’s got you bad, hasn’t she.”

“I know you’re just trying to make me feel better.” Monet ignored what she said about Nina. Their friendship was more important. “I know that you wanted to do that because you thought it’s what I wanted. And I did, by the way, think I wanted it. But I don’t. And even if I did, I don’t need you to make me feel better that way. I just need you to be my best friend.”

“I am,” Monique responded, her voice fighting against a brittle sound. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I’m always happy.” Monet smiled. It was weird how things seemed to make more sense rather than less when she was drunk. “I don’t need a girl. Granted, it’d be a nice bonus, but it doesn’t matter if I’ve got my best friends.”

Monique hugged her like she only had seconds to live.

Yes, Monet wanted Nina. She wanted her more badly than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

But she needed her friends.

“Let’s get you home and never speak of this again, then.” Monique smiled, holding out her hand yet again.

“Agreed.” Monet clasped it around her own, her balance still off-kilter from all the drinking.

At least she didn’t have any shifts to cover the next day.

“Except when you admitted you were wrong about your sponge dress.” Monique grinned. “That, I will never let go.”

***

Nina had just about managed to ignore Brooke and Yvie’s texts about their meal turned ambush. Of course, it was difficult, she’d even written some stuff in her notes that she wanted to chat to them about once she wasn’t mad, having started typing to Yvie about a question on Pointless before remembering she was supposed to be shunning her.

Except Brooke knew her weakness.

Nina could never hold her poker face against a smirking Vanessa Mateo.

“You’re here before me.” Nina stood in awe at Vanessa, a half-drunken hot chocolate and a plate of cookies in front of her.

When they went to Dublin for a long weekend before everyone moved away, Vanessa had slept through her alarm and nearly missed the flight, spending the entire trip borrowing belongings she’d forgotten from the rest of the girls.

She’d be late to her own funeral.

“Of course I am. Didn’t want to miss out on any of my quality Nina West time.” She grinned and pushed the plate across the table, motioning for Nina to take a seat.

Nina loved how easy things always were with Vanessa, finding admiration in the way she never complexified her emotions.

It seemed odd at first when Brooke fell for her. She remembered being told about the night they met, going into every detail about how intense and annoying Vanessa had been as they searched for her phone. It always made Nina chuckle remembering how casually Brooke had added “and then I kissed her” to the end of her thirty-minute rant about the girl.

She’d always pictured Brooke with someone who shared some of her qualities, a little cynical, a little stubborn, surprised that she’d date someone so full of energy. But the first time she saw them together she knew that Vanessa was her perfect complement.

It just made sense.

“So, are you gonna tell me why Brooke Lynn really sent you here?” Nina asked after twenty minutes of Vanessa’s intricate questions about her degree.

“She didn’t ask me.” Vanessa held her hands up and pouted her lip. “I know why you’re mad, we shouldn’t have meddled. I just thought I’d show you this.”

Nina didn’t know what she expected to see on Vanessa’s phone but it certainly wasn’t a tweet from Monet, dated the day of the meal.

“This is an urgent PSA: To the girl with the pretty eyes and sparkly jumpsuit I got with last night, I’m sorry I lost your snap. Hit me up so I can buy you another vodka Red Bull and put your dancing to test again x.”

Nina was glad Vanessa was there to pick her jaw off the floor and attach it back to her face for her.

“I saw it that day and showed Brooke. I honestly thought it was the right thing to do.” Vanessa held a hand out to her, warm and honest.

“No, no. It was.” Nina read the tweet for what might have been the fiftieth time since she’d seen it. If she wasn’t so shocked she probably would have signed herself up for the Guinness World Record for fastest reading. “I fucked it.”

“You can always pop up now?” Vanessa suggested.

“I can’t. I was so rude Vanjie, I read it all wrong.”

“So make it right.”

Nina grabbed her own phone for a second before placing it back on the table. “If I was her I’d ignore me.”

Maybe the fairy tales just happened to the princesses because they took chances, they didn’t let fear get in the way. They never told the prince that their feelings were nothing, a mistake. They were unashamed of how they felt and never afraid that it wasn’t returned.

Maybe that’s why Nina had always been the sidekick.

“Well, you don’t know you well enough then ‘cause the Nina I know wouldn’t ignore someone.”

She hated when Vanessa was right.

“Either way, I should probably go talk to Brooke and Yvie. I feel so bad!”

“Don’t change the subject,” Vanessa caught her out. “I think they understand. Besides, those two are gonna be there for you to message and kiki with as much as you like for the rest of your life. Do you really wanna go back after Easter and let this girl forget about you?”

Maybe it was Vanessa who should go for some sort of world record instead. Nina would have put money on a successful career for her in motivational speaking.

Cinderella wouldn’t have even made it to the ball had the fairy godmother not given her a gown and slippers.

All that Nina needed was to borrow her friend’s confidence for a night.

“I guess a message wouldn’t hurt.” Nina pulled out her phone and opened her notes, ready to type.

“As long as it’s not seven pages long like the ones you help Brooke write to me!” Vanessa leaned over and squinted at the phone.

“You know I do that?”

“You might as well wax seal them with your initials, bitch. Sometimes I’d rather she just trusted herself though. Like I’d rather have her tell me ‘Vanjie, I’m a dick but I love you’ full stop than all that poetry bullshit. I don’t know why she thinks she needs to sound all like you.”

Nina chuckled to herself for a moment, thinking of all the times Brooke had handed her a written message to Vanessa and told her to make it “more meaningful.”

She’d always envied Brooke in many ways. But she never really stopped to think that Brooke might have just envied her too.

“Noted.”

A notification flashed on Nina’s screen, her fingers automatically pushing it away so she could carry on drafting her succinct message.

“Wait, who was that?” Vanjie tapped the screen with an acrylic.

Pulling down the notifications bar, Nina’s face scrunched for a moment as she processed what she saw, looking up and making eye contact with Vanessa when she read the message.

Maybe they’d have to call Brooke to pick both of their jaws up from the floor at that point.

***

“The trailers are gonna start in a minute! Where you at??? x” Monet sent her third passive-aggressive text to her friend in a row.

She cursed under her breath, figuring it would be her best friend to convince her to get dolled up to go see a movie and then be late. She’d even begged Monet to walk further to the hipster cinema where you rented a sofa instead of seats - Monet having the entire one to herself for the time being.

“They’re on for twenty mins anyways. Whereabouts you sitting so I don’t have to scramble in the dark? xoxoxo”

Hearing a tut from behind her, Monet replied quickly with her location before putting her phone back in the pocket.

Normally she’d feel weird about being at the cinema with just Monique, sharing a sofa together in the most classic of date settings. Only now she didn’t, something about their kiss wiping away her feelings, picking up that “what if” she’d always had and sending it away down the river they had laid by.

Maybe it would make their friendship that tad stronger.

Just not strong enough for Monet to deal with being abandoned in a cinema. That would need a lot of forgiveness and grovelling.

A glimmer of hope dazzled before her when she heard the door close, making out a figure coming her way before realising it wasn’t Monique.

At least she wouldn’t have to share her nachos.

“Sorry, this seat’s taken,” she called out as the girl made a beeline for her sofa.

“I know.”

Monet could make out the blue of her eyes in the dark room, the cream jumper she wore complementing them perfectly.

This time it was her struggling to find the words as Nina perched her body onto the sofa, her knees tight together, arms smoothing her skirt and hugging her knees.

“I saw your tweet,” she whispered, looking straight ahead at the screen rather than at Monet.

“I thought you thought it was nothing, you were just drunk.” Monet didn’t even try to pretend she was looking at the screen too.

Her heart was racing. Her entire body on fire.

“I spoke to your friend too, she told me you’d be here.”

“Oh.” The frames began to merge together in Monet’s mind.

“I was just nervous to say it before. But that feeling you had, I felt it too.”

Monet placed a hand on the girl’s knee, noticing how her foot was starting to bounce.

She never wanted to take it away.

“I-” Monet started her sentencing only to be shushed from behind.

“We have to be quiet,” Nina whispered.

Monet moved towards her, their lips centimetres apart.

She looked at Nina and could have sworn she saw the flame that was burning in her chest in the girl’s eyes too, lighting up the darkness around them.

“Well, let’s stop talking then.”

#rpdr fanfiction #nina west #monet x change #monique heart #ninex #background momo #background branjie #lesbian au #fic challenge #black girl magic fic #ashley #tw anxiety #concrit welcome #diversity fic #got my number

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misterewrites · 5 years

Text

The Detective and the Crook (Sherlock AU)

Hello everyone, Mr.E here and kinda back from my retirement! I hope you’re all doing good!

Sorry for disappearing like that, I had a lot of things come up and some more personal responsibilities i have to take care of but hopefully I can get back into steadily writing again. Also I apologize if this is a little off because I am rusty but hopefully you still enjoy it.

So this is a birthday gift I owe someone and I really hope they like it. They asked me for a sherlock au and I decided to go with the guy Ritchie movie series the one where Robery Downey Jr. is Sherlock. I really enjoy those movies and I feel it is a great balance mystery and action.

In this AU, set in the 1800s like the movie and the books, Marco is naturally Sherlock with his Waston being Janna because that felt like a fun dynamic I wanted to explore. They’re called in to investigate a crime scene and Marco suspects there’s more to it than meets the eye. Yes Star is Irene Alder because I could not resist.

Warnings! There is a crime scene, suspected suicide. Very tame scene, not graphic but still giving a warning just in case. There is cussing because they’re all in their mid-20s but I think that’s about it.

Well I hope my friend enjoys this gift. I am so sorry it took so long and I hope you had a great birthday. Thank you all for reading it, please let me know what you think if you enjoyed it and I hope you all have a great week! See you all soon with another story!

A thin misty veil of fog blanketed the city of Echo Creek as the frosty winter air kept most of its residents within the cozy confines of their homes. Only the unfortunate and determined would dare to brave such a chilly morning.

“What kind mad loon commits crimes during the winter?” Janna asked with a hint of annoyance, tucking her uncovered fingers within her gloved palms “And in the morning no less! It’s been scientifically proven that the winter mornings are psychologically bull.”

“And I suppose your source for this scientific research is the University Of Janna says?” Marco replied sarcastically.

“We both know I’m not going to answer that.”

“You know when I told you the Yard called that they had found a body this morning and that they requested my...”

“Our” Janna corrected, rubbing her hands for warmth.

“...our services, it was greatly implied they meant right away. Hence the whole walking towards the crime scene now. Why on earth did you cut off the tips of your gloves if you knew it was going to be cold out?”

Janna scratched her chin thoughtfully for a moment “I like being fashionable and let me tell you fingerless gloves are going to be huge. Wait and see.”

“I’ll take being warm over being fashionable”

Janna scoffed with a roll of her eyes “And that’s why you’re boring safe kid.”

The pair’s footsteps echoed dully against the thick foggy air with towering, massive warehouses on one side and the murky ocean on the other.

Marco was sensibly dressed for the weather: A large thick travel coat hung over his frame with his finely pressed black dress pants and slightly muddied loafers scraping across the ground with his white collared shirt tucked underneath the layers.

Janna was not as prepared as her partner: Though a green scarf was wrapped snugly around her neck to keep it warm, her dark blue dress jacket, green blouse and knee length yellow skirt did not help. The black ‘fingerless’ gloves were equally ineffective for warmth and her dirtied, frayed riding boots thudded loudly against the cobbled streets. And in true Janna fashion, the cap she had stole from an unsuspecting paper boy sat unevenly on her head.

“So what are we looking today?” Janna asked quizzically, unable to handle the silence for another moment.

“Someone jumped from their office building.” Marco answered matter of fact.

“Uggggggggh then why are we here?!”

“We both know the police have less than an unbiased eye for these types of matters. I simply wanted to confirm their claims.”

“And you couldn’t do it by yourself? I could be wrapped up nice and snug as bug in my bed right now.’

“Shouldn’t you be studying for your final exam?”

Janna fidgeted nervously “I...well it’s on the 5th so I have time.”

Marco’s stare was completely deadpanned “Today’s the 3rd Janna”

“Ah shit.”

Marco shook his head tiredly as the pair reached their destination.

It was a secluded building surrounded by thick, lofty brick walls clearly meant to keep people out, the floor was muddy from the moist ocean air with the squish of dozens of police boots bustling this way and that filling the air. In the center, surrounded by cracked wood and shattered glass was a man, arms outstretched and unmoving, the earth underneath soaked a dark red.

“I suppose that’s our bloke huh?” Janna chimed “Rather peaceful scene. Was expecting more gore, more grisly. Nice change of pace speaking honestly.”’

“I just cleaned these loafers” Marco whined quietly, trying to shake the mud from his feet.

“Oi!” a nearby police officer shouted “Show some respect for the dead!”

“I do!” Janna shot back “Especially more so than you fine folks. Messed up any more crime scenes McNab?”

The officer shifted uneasily before quickly making his escape.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought”

“Janna, stop picking on the police.”

“I will if you don’t.”

The two chuckled softly as a familiar person approached.

“Marco!” Detective Ferguson yelled with unrestrained glee “JANNA BANANA!”

“Don’t call me that” Janna murmured.

“I’m glad ya’ll had the time to come down here though I’m afraid it might be for nothing.”

“Always happy to help you Ferg.” Marco shook his best friend’s hand “More so than the other yard’s detectives.”

“I’ll count myself lucky and show you to the vic.”

The trio trudged through the thick mud over to the lifeless corpse laid across the random debris.

“What happened?”

“Well” Ferguson scratched his neck “Some random bloke on the street saw the guy laying here and figured he was drunk. Called us right away. His name is Andrew Willingham. Accountant that works for building we are currently standing in front of. We don’t have much to go on given that we haven’t been here long. So far we gathered he tossed himself out the 5th story window. Must’ve been stress or something.”

Marco pursed his lips, his instincts screaming at him that there was more here than seemed.

“Mind if I check the body?” Janna piped up.

“Got your medical license yet?” Ferguson cheekily responded.

“My test is in two days….” Janna mumbled darkly.

“Then officially you know I’m not allowed. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to go for a walk. A loooooong walk.” and with a wink, Ferguson strolled away, whistling unusually loud.

Janna and Marco sighed in unison.

“Could he be any more obvious?”

“Of course he could, he’s Ferguson.”

“What do you think?” Janna muttered softly as she began to circle the corpse carefully.

Marco stretched his arms towards the sky, mumbling under his breath “I suspect foul play. I’ve been investigating this company. There’s been some known associates of various crime lords visiting this location lately.”

“Fuuuuuuuuun and already proven correct. Ugh, it’s so annoying.”

Marco watched the scattered police cautiously “What is it?”

“Bruises on the knuckles.” Janna cracked her neck “So unless he’s a bare knuckle boxer….”

“Impossible. With his build, he’d lose. Consistently”

Janna rolled her eyes “Obviously captain. Probably was assaulted before thrown out the window. Fought back but lost.” Janna frowned at the body “Well clearly.”

Marco opened his mouth to respond when another, unfriendly voice cut in

“What are you two doing?”

A random officer approached the two, eyes narrowed in suspicious irritation.

“Hello officer!” Marco gave a cheerful wave “I am sure you know who we are. I am Mr. Diaz and this is….”

“Like you said, I know.” The officer gritted his teeth “And I am afraid civilians aren’t allowed in crime scenes.”

“Detective Ferguson...”

“Is not here” The officer crossed his arm threateningly “And when he comes back, I’ll be happy to let him know where you’ve gone.”

“Oi! What’s going on here?”

The trio’s attention snapped towards Ferguson madly rushing their way.

“What seems to be the..” Ferguson huffed, his breathing heavy as he doubled over “Oh boy. That….mud...very hard to walk across….”

“Detective” The officer started “I know Mr. Diaz is a friend but regulations...”

Marco gave a loud sneeze, causing the two officers to jump in surprise.

“I am very sorry I...” Marco let loose another sneeze “Oh, I guess I’m allergic to something here.”

“You have allergies?” Ferguson asked quizzically.

Marco nodded before sneezing once more “I...I think I should go.”

“Okaaaaay” Ferguson nodded slowly “I hope you feel better? I’ll let you know if we find anything else out.”

Marco wiped at his nose with his coat sleeve “Thank you Ferg. Janna?”

Janna snapped to attention mockingly “Coming boss man!”

Marco ignored the glare of the peeved officer as he and Janna made their way out of the murky courtyard.

_____________________________________________________________

The pair walked in a careful silence until they were sure the police were out of earshot.

“What did you find?” Marco asked nonchalantly.

Janna reached into her pocket and brought out an elegant pin: It was a beautiful, well crafted butterfly shaped pin inlaid with varying shades of blue gems.

“A blue butterfly pin. Fine piece of jewelry, worth a pretty pound.” Janna answered with a hint of boredom “It was tucked inside his jacket pocket. Good call on checking his clothing. Should we tell the bobbies?”

Marco shook his head “No. I’m afraid this is beyond their reach. I think the man that called it in was involved somehow though I doubt he was the murderer.”

A brief tense silence.

“Do you think she’s involved? It’s not really her cup of tea offing random, supposed criminal accountants.”

Marco bit his cheek anxiously “No. I don’t think she murdered him but I believe he knew her. I suspect he’s part of the same organization as Star. The pin is most likely a subtle way for the members to reveal their identities to one another in public. I’ve seen this pin on her person and its general shape and color seems to indicate it was custom made.”

Janna let out a sigh of relief “Oh thank the queen. Not going lie, I was going to be very disappointed in her if she started offing random blokes.” Janna paused “I mean innocent blokes. Well...presumably innocent blokes. Seriously, can you figure out if he’s a crook or not? I don’t like feeling conflicted. Morality is annoying.”

“We need to find her.”

“Because you want to see her ooooor she’s a target?”

Marco coughed, tugging at his collar nervously.

Janna snickered “You could’ve just said both. Both is good. I miss her too.”

“I do not miss her” Marco firmly growled.

“And how bout those pictures of her you have hanging on the wall? Oh I’m sorry, your case board.”

“You never know when the police...might want to reexamine her case and….I just wanted to be prepared. She is a rather tricky criminal.”

“Mhm” Janna smirked mischievously “You know where she is, don’t you?”

Marco flushed a bright red, coughing coolly “No….but I know where she will be.”

“Awesome!” Jana beamed cheerfully.

_______________________________________________________________

“Oh bloody hell” Janna pouted, openly glaring at the rundown state of pub that towered before them “You couldn’t have told me we were coming to this shitehole? I lost money here. Repeatedly.”

Marco ignored his partner’s whining “Perhaps you should stop gambling on games of chance.”

“Perhaps you should mind your own business.” Janna huffed “Ugh, are you sure she’s here? Maybe she’s round at the nice corner store. I should go check it...”

Janna frowned as Marco held the back of her coat tightly.

“Fine fine safe kid but I want the record to show I protest this whole adventure.”

“Mhm”

“I mean it Marco. I want a voucher” Janna gestured threateningly as the duo began making their way towards the building “One adventure where I get to stay home and do nothing.”

“Let’s get this over with Janna. You have a test to study for.”

“Oh shut up” Janna snarled, angrily pulling the bar door open.

The detectives flinched as the silence of night was broken: Cheers of triumphant joy and sorrowful cries filled the air. The smell of cheap alcohol and thick smoke wafted all around them as an unbearable heat engulfed the pair.

“Open a damn window!” Janna shouted into the crowd, waving the smoke away from her face.

“Go outside if you don’t like it.” A cigar smoking patron answered from a nearby table.

Janna shook her head “That’s going kill you. Painfully.”

The patron made an obscene gesture before returning to his drink.

Janna growled furiously, clenching her fist in righteous fury.

“Janna” Marco stepped between his friend and her victim “Janna, he’s drunk. He’s not worth it.”

She gritted her teeth “Just once. Just once and I’ll be good.”

“Janna, we’re here on a mission.”

“You suck” Janna grumbled, adjusting the cap on her head “I need a drink….”

And with a sudden turn, Janna stomped her way over to a waiting bartender.

“Don’t forget why we’re here!” Marco yelled after only to have his partner respond with a lazy wave.

Marco sighed tiredly, his gaze searching for the elusive trickster Star among the drunken patrons.

No, not Star. Don’t use her name. If he uses her name, that humanizes her and he was here on a case. He was not here to see her. He was here to question a suspect and nothing more. Not at all. Nothing beyond that. Why was his heart racing? There was no need to be nervous. None whatsoever. It was just….Star. Her.

Marco jumped at the soft tap of his shoulder. He whirled around with his fist closed, his stance guarded from the interruption of his thoughts.

He was expecting some sort of muscular goon or drunk trying to stir up trouble. What he found was a barmaid with a tray in one hand and a smug knowing grin on her lips.

“Looking for a fight darling?” She teased.

Marco flushed, dropping his hands to his sides “N-no. Sorry, I was..distracted. “

“I bet” she gave a flirty wink “Can I get you anything?”

Marco narrowed his eyes “No though I suspect you have for me.”

The barmaid’s grin widened as her voice dropped to a whisper “She’s waiting for you. Upstairs in the office. It’s the room just above the bar love.”

Before Marco could ask any further questions, the barmaid gave a cheeky grin and giggled joyfully before vanishing into a thick crowd of customers.

“Of course….”

________________________________________________________________

Marco took a deep breath, his nerves further frayed and on edge as he stood on the second floor landing. The rowdy shouts and cries of the bar below could be scarcely heard over the thundering of his footsteps in his ears, each step he took brought him closer to the office door across the way. Marco noticed Janna giving a hearty laugh at the counter, playfully nudging a sailor before making her way towards card game in the back.

Marco felt oddly exposed making his way across the second floor. He told himself it was due to being in such a vulnerable location: Everyone below had an excellent unobstructed line of sight to the detective with little to no cover if someone decided to take a shot at him even though none had any reason to suspect who he was.

Of course that’s only what he thought. With each step his heart raced more, the idea of seeing Star tugged at his heartstrings and morals.

Marco gulped anxiously, gently running his fingers across the weathered, ancient door that separated the outlaw and himself.

He took a deep breath, gripping the doorknob firmly for a moment….two….three before he steeled his nerves and quietly pushed open the door in hopes of catching Star unaware.

“My heart is pierced by cupid”

Marco flushed, pausing as Star’s voice caught him off guard instead. It was sweet and soft with a gentleness she hardly spoke with.

“I disdain all glittering gold”

The floor creaked under her steps, back and forth in time almost as if she was dancing with someone but he could hear no other person in the room and Star never sang while there was an audience.

“There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold.”

Marco knew there was no point in waiting. Either she had taken a moment to relax before his arrival or, more likely, knew he was listening. He entered the room, eyes downcast as to avoid Star’s Cheshire gaze. He closed the door behind him with a subdued thud.

“Okay” Marco thought to himself “Let’s get this over with”

Marco’s cheeks burned a bright red as he slowly took in the sight of Star.

She was as beautiful as the last time she escaped from him: Her long blonde hair tied in a braid slung over her shoulder with various colored flowers weaved within. She wore a brown long sleeved blouse with matching fingerless gloves holding tightly onto some invisible partner. Her skirt was not the current bell shaped dresses most woman preferred nowadays but rather a slim, knee length skirt that seemed rather practical. And of course, in true Star fashion, weathered yet well kept riding boots completed the outfit.

Her blue irises were hidden behind her closed eyes, her body swaying back and forth to some unheard music. She hummed softly, a melodic sound Marco could’ve listened all day if he were a weaker willed man.

He coughed hesitantly.

Star’s eyes slowly opened, blue meeting brown as a soft warm smile danced on her lips.

“Good evening my sailor bold.” She spoke sweetly “Which storm are you chasing today?”

Marco stayed still, ignoring Star gestures to sit.

“This isn’t a social visit Star.” Marco struggled to keep his voice neutral.

“It never is” Star responded sarcastically “Always business with you. Why can’t you ever come just to see me?”

“If you found a permanent residence I’d visit more often. I think the local jail is very lovely. Perfect for you.”

Star chuckled, an intoxicating sound to his ears.

“How’s our Janna? I heard she’s been going on the straight and narrow now.��

“Good” Marco played with a random globe on Star’s desk “She’s almost a real doctor now. Her medical exam is in two days. I think she’ll pass with flying colors but don’t tell her that. Pride is quite the sin.”

Star beamed proudly “I am so happy for her. Please pass along my congratulations, will you sweetie?”

Marco answered by clearing his throat.

“Marco, Marco, Marco” Star sighed tiredly “Enough flirting. Why are you here?”

Marco strolled across the room, glancing at everything that wasn’t Star.

“Andrew Willingham. You know him.”

It wasn’t a question.

Star’s grin faltered for a moment “He’s dead isn’t he?”

“Jumped out of a building this morning.”

Star scoffed “Like you really believe that.”

“We both know I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

Marco made his way to the window, staring at the busy street below.

“And what?” Star put her hands on her hips “You think I killed him? For shaaaaame Marco. You know me better than that. Or at least I thought you did.”

Marco rolled his eyes “I don’t think you killed him but I believe the murderer is coming for you next.”

Star looked unconvinced “I run with a very secretive and, frankly, shadowy organization love. I haven’t done anything...” Star pursed her lips “Lately to anyone. Who would want to kill me?”

“How many of you are in town?”

Star scratched her chin thoughtfully “If Andy’s dead, then just me but that hardly seems like any sort of proof that I’m in.….”

Creak.

The roof groaned unhappily as bits of dust fell from the ceiling, the building shudder slightly while the wind howled outside.

Marco and Star stared at one another in understanding.

Star moaned unhappily “That’s not the building settling, is it?”

Marco shook his head.

Star glared openly at the detective “I hate it when you’re right.”

Silence.

CRACK!

The window shattered, glass scattering everywhere as a dark robed figure sailed into the room, knife drawn. He lunged directly at Star, his blade glimmering in the soft light of the room.

But his attack struck air as Marco pulled Star closer, wrapping her in a protective embrace.

“Woooow, we are bold today aren’t we Mr. Diaz?” Star teased.

“Not now Star!” Marco shot back, cheeks tinged pink.

The assassin skidded the across the floor, gracefully raising to his feet before pivoting on and charging at his targets.

Star slipped her hand into Marco’s, trying to ignore her skipping heartbeat when Marco firmly held her waist.

The assassin slashed wildly, striking with a finesse only a master of their craft could muster.

The assailant’s single minded pursuit was mired with confusion as the two did not assume any defensive stances to fight off his assault but rather began swaying back and forth, their feet gliding effortlessly across the aged wooden floor as if in a dance.

He thrust forward, tumbling forward when Marco spun Star, gracefully twirling the thief out of harms way. The assassin whirled around, attempting to slash the detective but Marco dipped his partner and as Star fell backwards in Marco’s arms, her leg shot up and caught the assassin in the stomach, sending him stumbling backwards.

“This reminds of Paris.” Star grinned slyly as Marco brought her back to her feet

“You and I remember Paris quite differently Star.” Marco shot back, spinning her away from their foe’s lunge.

The assassin roared with a savage fury and plunged his blade towards the couple but with a gentle shove, Star broke away from Marco, dropping into a respectful bow before glancing upwards towards the detective.

“Could you…?” Star gestured towards the assassin.

“Right.” Marco awkwardly nodded in agreement before giving Star a steely glare “Don’t go anywhere.”

Star gives a cheeky grin “Would’ve dream of it love.”

Marco rushes forward, grabbing the assassin’s shoulder but before he could react, the assassin lashed out, elbowing the unprepared Marco.

Marco staggers to the side, narrowly avoiding the blade as it scrapes across the wall. Marco jabs at the assassin, his fist connecting with his chin.

The assassin staggers back, weapon and hand wildly flailing to keep Marco at a distance.

“Who do you work for?” Marco yelled, not really expecting an answer.

“Death” The assassin mumbles darkly.

“Such a bloody edgelord” Marco clicked his tongue in disappointment.

The assassin lunges at Marco, hand reaching for his throat. Marco grabs at the man’s wrist but the assassin throws his weight forward, knocking Marco off balance. Marco stumbles uneasily as the assassin goes in for the kill.

Marco tackles into his opponent, slamming him into the bookcase. The assassin winces in pain, kneeing Marco in the stomach before shoving him away.

The two caught their breath for a moment, the falling books thudding loudly onto the floor.

The assassin yells with a hope of startling Marco. He swings with crazed fervor: Left right, thrusting forward.

Marco dodges and weaves the blade, hopping side to side to avoid the weapon. The assassin rushes at him, trying to drive the blade into his chest.

Marco flails for a moment, not used to facing such a skilled opponent.

The assassin smashes into Marco and sends him sprawling onto the desk. With a confident grin, he raises the blade high before bringing it down with all his might.

Marco reaches for the closest thing he could find and uses it as a desperate shield. The blade sinks into a leather bound book he grabbed. Marco winces at the force of the blow, sweat beads forming on his neck as he struggles to fight off the assassin.

“Soooo love.”

Marco frowns, glancing towards to door, not at all surprised to see Star giving him a cheery wave.

“You got this right?” Star asked hopefully.

“Don’t go anywhere STAR!” Marco shouted, wildly kicking at the befuddled assassin.

“Right! I’ll get Janna”

“STAR!”

But it was too late. She vanished beyond the doorframe.

“Ugh” Marco growled, shifting his focus back onto the problem at hand.

The assassin snarled furiously: He yanks back with all his might, pulling the book free from Marco’s grasp. Marco sits up but the assassin is ready for him. He strikes at Marco’s stomach with an open palm, knocking all the air out of his lungs.

Marco gasps in a panic but the assassin doesn’t go for the kill. Instead he rips his blade from the book and races for the door.

There’s a loud thud that no one hears as the assassin kicks open the door. His eyes narrow at the sight of the fleeing Star. He grins to himself, gingerly holding the edge of his blade. His arm pulls back, his gaze focused solely on his target’s back. He takes a deep, calming breath and….

“Shit!” The assassin howls as his blade his knocked out of his hand by a book. He turns around in time to see a charging Marco.

He pulls his fist back but its too late: Marco slams into him, pressing him against the second floor railing and holding him place.

The assassin grabs at Marco but Marco lays into him, driving his fist into the assassin’s side over and over again.

The sounds of the bar are overwhelming though it doesn’t seem like anyone has noticed the two combatant fighting directly above them.

“Janna!” Marco shouts, flinching as the assassin knees his side but still managing to keep his hold on him “JANNA!”

Janna chuckles, swaying drunkenly as she yells in victory, hastily collecting her winnings from the disgruntled losers.

“JANNA!” Marco tries again.

The assassin jabs at Marco’s side, nearly getting free but Marco slams him against the railing again.

“DAMNIT JANNA YOU SUCK!”

Janna’s head snaps towards the source of the insult, her dull eyes slowly growing in realization.

“Ah shit!” she exclaims, raising to her feet “Da hell going on brav?”

“Janna, Star!” Marco gestured with his head towards the fleeing Star.

“Right” Janna gave an intoxicated salute.

“Oi” One of the players stood up “Sit back down. I wanna win my cash back.”

“Srroy.” Janna slurred “But I gotta go. Duty calls.”

“You ain’t going nowhere till I win back my money. Now sit.”

“No man” Janna glared “You sit”

Before anyone could react, Janna grabbed her winnings and tossed them into the air. There was a pause for a moment as the bills rained down across the bar.

“MINE!” A cry called out from nowhere, breaking the spellbound customers of their stupor and sending them frantically towards the fallen cash.

Janna shook her head disappointingly “So weak willed….right Star? Star….gotta stop Star...” Janna scratched her chin, glancing left and right in search of the elusive criminal.

Meanwhile, the assassin strikes furiously at Marco, each blow attempting to break his grip on him but Marco holds fast, blocking where he could and simply taking the less painful attacks.

“Tell me who you work for!” Marco shouted, pulling the assassin closer by his collar

“I’m a professional!” The assassin screeched before headbutting Marco.

Marco winced, stumbling backwards and loosening his grip on the assassin.

The assassin reached into his pocket, drawing another dagger as he straightened up.

“Ugh, of course you would have another one.” Marco gritted his teeth through the pain.

“Professionalism.” The assassin sneered as he moved his blade back and forth.

“Okay” Marco thought to himself “This is bad. Close range, nowhere to move with my opponent has a dagger, about 4 inches. Maybe if I retreated back into the room and get more space, I could fight him off. He’ll lunge at me and it’ll be the only shot I have to dodge him. Okay, I got this. Just wait for an opening and….”

The assassin took a step forward, prepping himself for his attack when….

A sharp whistle cut through the brawling symphony below, causing the assassin to flinch in surprise.

He turned in time to catch a frying pan directly to the face. He flailed uncontrollably, backing up against the wooden railing for support.

“What the…?” He growled, noticing a grinning Star waving at him with the kitchen utensil before pointing to the left.

Confused, the assassin followed the direction and found Marco racing at him full speed. He rose his arms to protect himself but it was too late: Marco tackled into him, cracking the railing behind him and sent him plunging to the room below. There was a thud and the sound of wood crunching as the assassin broke through a table.

“Nice of you to come back” Marco huffed, leaning on his knees for support.

“What? I needed a weapon.” Star motioned the pan in her hand.

“Star….I...”

Screams and the breaking of glass caught Marco’s attention. The two glanced downward only to find the assassin nowhere in sight.

Marco and Star shared a concerned glance before sighing tiredly.

________________________________________________________________

“3 minutes to boarding! 3 minutes to boarding!”

Marco shifted uneasily alongside the train car, conflicting emotions tugging at his resolve.

Since the unknown assassin had escaped into the night, Star felt it best to leave Echo Creek until the threat died down.

The trio stood outside the waiting train, the star twinkling over head. The train platform was nearly deserted though Marco kept a careful eye out in case their assailant decided to trail them from the bar.

“It was nice seeing you again Star.” Janna hiccuped, rubbing at the splitting headache she was nursing.

“Aww, it was great to see you too Janna Banana. You’re going do great on the test and you are finally going to be a real doctor.”

“Legal doctor” Janna corrected, smiling brightly at the blonde before tightly embracing her in a hug “Be safe.”

“Only for you.”

The two broke apart, Janna standing awkwardly between the detective and the outlaw.

She coughed uncomfortably “Right, I’m just gonna go….not be here.”

And with a cheery wave, Janna walked towards the station entrance.

“So...” Marco began

“Thank you” Star said with a loving softness “You still owe me two.”

“Two?” Marco scoffed “You owe me for Paris.”

“You owe me for Washington.”

“No, you caused Washington. I helped clean that up so really you owe me two.”

Star smiled playfully at him “Fine. I owe you two my sailor bold.”

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Marco whispered, unable to keep the plea out of his voice.

Star cupped and caressed his cheek fondly “Marco, I know you’ll keep me safe but it’ll be easier if I go away for awhile. Besides, you’ll know where I am. You always do.”

“Yeah….”

Star leaned forward, kissing Marco with softly Marco wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.

“Train leaving the station! All aboard!”

The two parted slowly, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes.

“Goodbye my sailor bold.” Star grinned mischievously.

“Goodbye princess.” Marco smiled sorrowfully.

Marco stood there in silence, watching the train shrink into the distance.

“So...” Janna cleared her throat “You ready to go home?”

Marco gave a simple nod before following Janna back onto the street.

“It’s too bad Star didn’t give you any leads to anyone who might want her dead. Would’ve been helpful”

“Right. Helpful.” Marco reached into his coat pocket, unsurprised to find a certain item missing from within and instead finding a small folded up piece of paper Star had placed there. He unfolded it, eyes narrowing at the word that she scrawled across its surface.

Toffee.

A lead but a dangerous one.

________________________________________________________________

“Excuse me miss, may I see your identification please?” The usher asked politely.

“Of course!” Star beamed, passing both her ticket and the false identity card she swiped from Marco’s pocket “I’m sorry, I was just deep in thought. I’m about to spend some time away from my husband and I already miss him.”

“Oh” The usher shifted uncomfortably “I’m sorry to hear that...” He squints at the card “…. Mrs. Diaz. I hope you see him soon.”

Star’s cheek flushed as she took back the card, her heart skipping at the sight of Star Diaz written on the paper.

“Me too.”

She sighed longingly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the item Marco had snuck in. She smiles gently at the simple sliver wedding band with a note that said “For your disguise.”

She slipped the ring onto her finger, playing with it absentmindedly as she stare out the window, Echo Creek shrinking in the distance.

“Me too.”

#Star vs au #Sherlock AU

21 notes · View notes

moonfox281 · 6 years

Note

Hi I was wondering if you can write a one-shot or anything with mob wife au where Dick didnt realize he had a kink for Jason's scent until Jason went on a business trip and Dick is missing his husband but can only cling on the smell of Jason that still lingers on their bed. Then when Jason came back from the trip, they had some smoking hot scene together. That's all, thank you so much and I just want to say I really love your writing, your fics especially mob boss au. Keep up the good work.

Hehe, I love the way your mind works.

(Click here for AO3 link)

“I have business trip next week.”

Dick rolled on the bed and looked at Jason, brows quirked up. “Excuse me?”

Jason, in only his pants that hung loosely on his sculpted hips, switched on his legs and looked down like a kicked puppy. He had always looked good half naked. Dick enjoyed watching the way his ripped muscles buddle up, coiling like powerful waves of tropical ocean at the time of July.

“Honey,” Jason started, stopped, bit his lip, then tried again. “It’s only for 2 days, 3 at top.”

“I don’t care if it’s a whole damn month, you’ll miss John’s first day at school.”

“I know, and I don’t want that. Trust me, you and I, we’ve planned this for months. It’s just… job.”

Dick rolled his eyes, looking outside the window of their penthouse bedroom. To say he was disappointed was an understatement, but he knew Jason’s job. He remembered nights of the early years when Bruce skipped dinner or not even going home at all, leaving the 9 years old him alone wondering to himself if he was being abandoned again. In the end, had Jason’s illegal empire ever been different from a business enterprise?

They were all the same, just different customers, and different needs.

Jason crawled over on the bed, looming over him. His hand went up, sliding the hem of Dick’s robe open. “I’ll make it up to you. I swear.”

“Oh, and how are you going to do that, Mr. Todd?”

Dick looked at him, tried to not let the way Jason’s eyes glowed get to him. He caught his hand, stopped it from sliding further on his skin, but Jason, the damn superhuman human he married, pushed him down the mattress and caged his wrists on the headboard.

“I can think of a few things, Mr. Todd.”

Dick had gotten used to being alone. Not lonely, but alone. His husband was an international crime organizer, and he went then and there every month. Trips to the airport were a casual thing to Dick by now, to the point he remembered every possible route and shortcut they could ever take. There was an alley right in the corner of Bull street that led to a secret underground way that went all the way to the airport fly gate, built and used only by the Red Hood elite gang members. Or there was this huge International Delivery Service facility right next to the airport, that was actually a front of the gang’s medical and tactical emergency response forces. It was very hard to forget that one time Dick was traveling to Washington and the whole airport went in alarm because a kid forgot his backpack with a special toy in it. The moment the announcement hit the speaker system, Jason’s men marched in from practically everywhere and whisked Dick away while he was still in the middle of processing what the hell was going on.

Marrying Jason meant everything to Dick, but sometimes, the things that came along could be a little bit too much, like the heavy ring on Dick’s finger that kept making him think how terrible it would be if he punched somebody, or like right now, sitting in a bulletproof SUV with two guards in tactical vests with three assault rifles, and … well, Jason. The thing was like a damn fortress, both inside and out. Ahead of them, a normal looking Forb was actually driven by Jefferson, the head of Jason’s security and tactical director, carrying three other guards all in disguise, and behind, an old minivan with one of Jason’s many task forces inside.

It felt like they were going to war sometimes. Worse, Dick knew Jason only went this extra mile when Dick was with him. Normally if he was going alone, Jason would even drive himself.

“You want anything when I get back?” Jason squeezed his hand, smiling like a dork.

“As if I even need anything anymore.”

“You sure? Russia has quite good chocolate.”

Dick huffed. “Are you trying to make me fat?”

“Oh we all know your body has that special system, making all the fat go in one particular place.”

He swatted Jason’s head, and heard him laugh out loud. Dick glanced around and looked at the guards, watching the corners of their mouths quirk up, and blushed heavily. God, if embarrassing Dick was Jason’s way of making his guards stay loyal, he was doing a fantastic job.

They arrived at the airport peacefully, as if Jason would ever let anything happen. Dick could bet his money that his husband even had snipers crawling somewhere on the nearby rooftops to cover for them.

The jet was already waiting by the time their cars made to the place. Jefferson went out to talk with the pilots, guards wandered around to do a recheck on everything. They got off the car, Jason kissed his hand, a duffle bag over his shoulder. His vest, well ironed and matt black, did things to the blue in his eyes and that cocky smirk he always wore like a damn badge. Usually when he dressed well, it meant some people were going to get killed. After years of marriage, Dick knew it would be the best to not talk about it. “I’ll be back by Wednesday, if not, you know the drill.”

“Oh you better be back by Wednesday. You owe John a day out.”

“I did say it may take up to 3 days, didn’t I?”

“Oh yes, but if you can make it back sooner…” Dick licked his lip, biting it while watching the way Jason gulped.

“Wednesday it is then.”

When waving his goodbye, Hank, another of Jason’s boy, stood next to him and shook his head.

“You do know how to walk him around.”

Dick just smiled, and watched the jet take off.

On the first night, things went on like usual. Jason called right away once he landed, and he talked with John for almost half an hour before homework whisked the boy away. He talked about how terrible the cold was at this time of the year in Russia, how empty his huge hotel room was without his family, and how much he wished he could be there with them eating Dick’s homemade steaks and mash sweet potato.

International crime organization meant international movement every now and then. There were nights when Jason woke up at 4 in the morning, barely an hour back from patrol to get ready for a flight overseas.

Most of the times Dick stayed at home and waited, on some occasions he would go with Jason to watch his back. Dick had got used to it, had got used to rubbing his nose on the empty bed sheet at night when his husband was away, or curling on the couch of his favorite reading area by the window to fell asleep more easily.

Patrol had been strikingly easy since marriage, with Jason’s growing power in the underworld, and Bruce’s widening crime fighting community. And tonight, just like every time Jason went away, the streets were even quieter than ever.

Dick always knew Jason got something to do with this.

“Did you get home safe?”

Dick huffed and rolled his eyes when taking off his Nightwing suit. Safe used to be a foreign conception of his life, applying more for the people around him rather than Dick himself.

“With 5 of your men and the amount of firearms they carry? You’re lucky we didn’t get pulled over by the cops, they’d probably think we were on our way to rob the National Bank.”

Jason chuckled. “You’ll be fine. The cops on duty tonight were all my men.”

Dick dropped his shirt. Thinking about all the routes they had passed today and suddenly lost his words. He knew Jason had insight in the law enforcement, knew how usual this happened for most big crime organizers. Still, it was a bit of a shock.

“All of them?” Dick asked, slightly wished Jason was just joking.

“All of them.” Jason wasn’t joking.

Dick enjoyed the way Jason chuckle. He had always loved his deep voice, the roughness of it, it made his sweet man sounded edgy, manly, with a hint of mysterious, just like the classic novels he read.

“What are you doing?”

“Having breakfast. Just got up actually, last night kept me up a little too late.” Jason’s sigh sounded tired, and Dick caught the sound of him moving on the bed. “What are you doing?”

“Getting change. Tonight was surprisingly easy, thanks to you.”

Jason yawned and hummed a soft sound. Dick could imagine the face he was making, could vision the hand he rubbed on the back of his neck, moving it up to comb through the short locks, a soft smile he had on his dozy face, teeth white and even showing through the crack of his lips.

“What are you wearing?” He spoke, after a beat of silence.

“What?”

Jason chuckled again. “What do you have left on your body?”

“Right now? Nothing but a robe.”

“Good. Where are you now?”

“In our bedroom.” Dick bit his lips, getting a glimpse of what Jason was having in mind.

“Why don’t you put me on speaker, baby?”

Dick thought about it for a second, then left to peak out at the living room. Hank was lurking near the elevator, and no sign of Jefferson. The man had probably gone upstairs. Dick swallowed then got back to the room, locking the door carefully.

“Okay.” He said, putting the phone on the speaker on top of the office desk by the window.

“Now, why don’t you strip for me?”

Dick shivered when Jason’s voice came out as loud and clear as if he was right here in the room with him. He closed his eyes, slid his fingers tips down the thick fabric, tugging at the belt before pulling it off completely. The hems ran off his shoulders, the whole robe felt down, puddling behind his feet. His skin revealed to the space, uncovered and still steaming after the hot shower.

“Is it cold?”

Dick shifted, switching on his legs, and swallowed. “A little.”

Jason chuckled, the sound of the sheet moving under his weight came clearer. “Touch yourself.”

Dick thought about it, thought about the three of Jason’s men lurking around inside his house just a door away, thought about John sleeping upstairs, but then about Jason on his hotel bed, more or less naked too with a hand sliding down near his member.

He bit on his lip, then did what he was told. His fingers slid on naked skin, lightly shaken and cold. His breaths were getting louder, and Jason was getting responsive by it.

“That’s it,” He breathed. “That’s it, baby. Imagine I was there.”

Dick did. He thought of the way Jason always touched him, of his big hands, his patchy knuckles, his calloused fingers rubbing against his scars. He would toy with his belly button, caress his nipples until they hardened. Meanwhile, his lips would land down the side of Dick’s neck, peppering kisses, sucking skin while his hands had their game on Dick’s body.

Dick’s hands traced down to his cock, shivering when the first touch landed but soon, it felt like nothing was enough.

“You sound good, baby.” Jason’s voice came out low, rumbling like an animal. It did things to Dick. “Climb on the bed. Keep touching yourself.”

Dick followed his every word, crawling on the mattress with a hand between his thighs.

“Play with your back too.”

Dick bit on the sheet when his fingers made their way further to the back. He felt his rim there, twitching like expecting something.

“Do you feel yourself there?”

Dick nodded to himself, shakily answered. “I do.”

When the first finger went in, he gasped. His inside felt hot and soft, and the feel of it brought all sort of a new experience to Dick. He wondered to himself if this was how the inside of him had always felt like.

When the second finger made its way in, Dick moaned. And Jason must have reacted to it, because briefly through his closed lids and heaving, Dick caught on the sound of his husband’s choked out laugh.

For a few seconds, Dick couldn’t do anything but stayed still and relaxed. This was too much, this felt too much. It amazed him thinking about how his body usually took in Jason’s fingers and then his thing because it sure felt a lot harder doing this all by himself.

“Breathe, baby. Breathe.” Jason cooed, softly.

Dick inhaled, exhaled. Three times, then by the fourth, he felt much better and eager to move.

It felt good. God, it felt so good he actually cried out.

Jason’s chuckles got louder, his breathing got heavier, his bed creaked a little, the sheet moved around. Dick didn’t need to see to know his husband was enjoying the hell out of this phone call.

“Can you take in three?”

This time, he was sure he would get even louder so he bit on the sheet even harder and muffled it all. In the background, Jason was cursing, laughing, then heaving. He was breathing through his mouth and groaning. Dick could tell he was jerking himself by the sound and mental image of Dick spreading out and fingering himself on their bed.

“Baby I’m so close.”

Dick was close too, but he couldn’t get off like this, couldn’t get off like this if it wasn’t Jason. So he rubbed his face on the sheet, and wormed the other hand down to touch his rock hard cock. Even the slightest touch sent electric to his spine, and the bed smelt like Jason, his woody smelt, thick, heavy, musky like the wood at fall after a good rain.

Dick missed his touch, missed his warmth, the way he always whispered the sweetest things to his ear while making love.

His nose rubbed on the sheet, and the thing was coated was Jason’s scent.

He came, hard, with Jason name on his tongue. The orgasm struck him with full force that made his knees weak and shake, Dick himself felt shamelessly blessed that their place was well soundproof enough so the guards wouldn’t think he wasn’t being butchered and barge in.

He must have passed out, Dick was sure of it. Because for a minute he just laid there, heaving, ass in the air and knees down and legs too numb too feel anything, feeling the cool sweat coating his back and running on his heated skin.

Jason must have climaxed when Dick’s head was still somewhere around cloud nine, because when he laughed, the sound came calmly relaxed and satisfied.

“I love you.”

Dick laughed, blowing the hair that had felt down his face. He would need a shower again, and change the sheet.

“Jason,” He called, stopping for a beat to catch on his own breath, swallowing for the sake of his dry throat. “Wednesday?”

Jason chuckled, moving on the bed again. This time, his voice got louder, but odd enough, wispier too, as if he had pressed his lips so close to the speaker like sending the words straight to Dick’s core.

“Wednesday.”

“You big fucking liar.”

Jason went silent, but even through the phone, Dick could understand that was his way of admitting defeat. The whole house turned back to look at him, even Beast hopped his head up from where he was lying. Jefferson peaked through Hank’s shoulder to look at Dick’s reaction before turning to look at each other.

His guards had been staying over his place since Jason went off. Jason’s order, of course, even when most of what they did were carrying his bags and reaching for items on the top shelves while grocery shopping.

“You said Wednesday. Tomorrow is Wednesday already. I expected you to drive John to school because you’ve already missed two of his first days. But now you’re telling me you’ll be stuck there for another 3 days?”

“Ba‒Baby,” Jason shuttered. Jason never shuttered, only to Dick. “It just came out of nowhere. I swore, I didn’t have this coming.”

“You didn’t have it coming? Right, who messed up this bad that you have to stay this long?”

“If I tell you, death would be a mercy for them. No, honey, no. I’ll call John later, tell him I’m sorry‒”

“You’ll miss his first football test!” Dick screamed. Literally screamed.

“Dickie, baby, I know. But‒” There was sound of door opening, and then next was Jason’s faraway voice cursing and groaning. “Fuck what? No, I’m talking to my husband, tell them to fucking wait… What? Now?! Tell them the last goddamn person said that to me was strangled alive.”

“Jason, are you in trouble?” Dick growled. He slammed his smoothie down the marble counter so hard Bob — the same grumpy sarcastic Viking vibe Bob who had a man bun and a bazooka on his back five days out of seven — literally jumped.

“Jason Peter Todd.”

“Yes, Dickie? No, I’m not in trouble, more like some people are gonna be in serious trouble because of me. But no need to worry, I have to go, but I’ll be back soon, I swear.”

“I hold little faith to your promises right now, Jay. Whatever, just don’t cause a national crisis, and don’t.get.in.any.trouble.”

From the way the whole three of Jason’s men widely looked at him when he grunted out every word, Dick was confident Jason got the message crystal clear.

“Ye‒Yes sir.” Dick was right. “I really have to go now. I’ll call back when I can, I love you.”

“Love you too.” Dick mumbled back then shut the phone, throwing it down the counter with a sigh.

He needed to kill Jason, and get some tea. John was still asleep by this hour, and the penthouse felt too big without most of his family present.

“Annie, can you make me some tea?”

His butler, Anastasia smiled at him. On the stove, the kettle was already screaming. “I kinda figured you would say that.” She hushed Jefferson outside of the kitchen so she could reach toward the drawer, pulling out Dick’s favorite cup set. “I have to admit, before working for you, I had in mind the Red Hood was a more fearless man.”

“Oh you have no idea.” Dick rolled his eyes and got over the counter for his tea selection. Jason always left the coffee bags scattered around in this particular drawer despite how many time Dick had told him not to.

“I guess you’re just special enough to bring out that side of him.”

Dick turned back to look at the back of Anna and her strawberry blonde hair when she slid the lemongrass to put into the teapot. Anna was Mac’s wife, one of Jason’s gang head members, and one of the few Jason truly trusted to let be around his family. Mac was a busy man so that Jason wouldn’t be busy himself, for that, Anna, without a job and three kids always at school, was usually left lonely at home until one day, Jason offered he might need a butler for their penthouse in Diamond District.

She loved the job. She loved it too much she wouldn’t let Dick cook sometimes.

“Are those boys going to join you for lunch?” Anna asked with a specific smirk, and Dick knew what she was talking about.

Hank waved back at her with his gun, his very very big gun, next to him, Jefferson was pointing at something on the tablet for Bob, who looked like he was armed for a zombie apocalypse rather than guarding a 20 years experience vigilante.

Three elite guards from his very own personal protection team, tagging along to anywhere at any time, assigned directly by the Red Hood himself.

One week ago Dick had got back to the Manor and had a little tea talk with Damian. The boy had asked him if Jason was treating him well. Dick could only have laughed.

Jason was treating him too well it was hard to watch sometimes.

“Blue,” Hank smirked, coming over and pulling a chair out next to Dick. “You like the Turkish Delights I made last time?”

Dick huffed, thanking God secretly that all these men were wise enough to not talk about their Boss when Dick was still mad at him. Behind him, Anna chuckled while watching Hank look eager for his answer.

“I do, very much. Who would have thought these big hands can make such lovely sweets.”

He wriggled his brows at Hank, and pulled the gun out of his hand, disabled it at ease. “No guns on the counter.”

Hank looked back at him, dumbfounded. Jefferson, who seemed to have enough talking with Bob about the things on the tablet, went over and snapped a finger at the man.

“Blue,” He turned to Dick, eyes looking everywhere on his face before meeting his eyes. Dick never took Jefferson in as a shy man, but he acted like he had choked on his tongue sometimes. “Technically I’m not allowed to do this, but if you want to know Boss’s schedule, please ask me, I can make some calls, ask Trevor around. Do not do any research by yourself.”

Dick twirled on his chair and tried to act normal in front of Jefferson’s serious face and Anna’s big fat smile when handling over his tea. Anna even put a slice of lemon into his cup, what a lovely butler she was.

“Blue, are you listening to me?”

“I am, I am.”

“So you remember the routines, right?”

Dick rolled his eyes. These men, they were treating Dick as a child.

“No patrol over 6 hours. No going out without a team. No new cases without backup. No traveling overseas or out of the gang’s territory. No skipping meals during the days. And get back home before 3 AM.”

Dick was seriously getting a headache listening to Bob covering all the things Jason had repeated to him over and over again every time he went on a business trip.

“Guys, you are all aware that I’m perfectly capable of winning a 10 men SWAT team in exactly 7 minutes and a half, right? You must be, you’ve seen me do that before.”

Hank rubbed a hand over his face, and his beard, biting on his cheek as if trying to find the right words to say. “Blue, you wear spandex, literal spandex that gets cut and burnt and not bulletproof.”

“Yeah, and spandex that helps me fly.”

Jefferson put his tablet down the marble counter, sighed, and squeezed Dick’s hand. “Blue, I know you fly, and you fly beautifully. We just want to keep you safe, as safe as possible, and Boss not killing us for not trying.”

“Oh he won’t kill any of you, not if I tell him so.”

Jefferson sighed, seemingly exhausted. “Blue.”

“Okay, okay. Jesus.” Dick actually laughed. He could play this game, besides, it was nice to have someone around running errand for him.

Jefferson knelt down, head leveled with Dick’s stomach. He put his hand on Dick’s knee, a harmless gesture but Dick got a feeling it carried something more than just what it seemed.

“If I ever have to watch you in a 3 weeks coma again, I think I’ll actually die.”

Dick barked out a laugh, sipped on his tea, and patted Jefferson’s on the head.

Dick didn’t know he had fallen asleep, until his body reacted out of instinct.

A hand caught his wrist, blocking his blow fully and strong. Jefferson’s face came clear in the dark, closer than Dick had expected. His forearm planted on the head of the couch, and his beard had a strange grey color under the moonlight when looming over Dick like this.

Dick let out the breath he had been holding, hands tugged at the wool blanket on his shoulder. He didn’t know why he did that, suddenly, he just felt naked in front of the man’s eyes.

“You’ll catch a cold if you sleep here.” Jefferson said so, but right after that, he left to fire up the fireplace.

Dick watched the way his back flex when hunching down. His thick muscle bundled up, barely hidden underneath the thin cover of his shirt. Dick had seen him naked a few times, knew well how bulky this man actually was underneath all the layers of armor he carried most of the time. The gun holster hugged tight to his arms and shoulders. You could always know how fit a man was by the way the shoulder holster hugged on them.

Jefferson walked back after setting the fire. Dick watched the fireplace light the room up, painting dancing shadows on the walls as Jefferson made his way back to the couch he was curling on, knelt down one knee, one arm planted down the cushion right next to Dick’s legs.

He stared at Dick in silence, so serious and focused as if analyzing him.

Dick rubbed the edge of the blanket on his nose, tearing his gaze away and laying his head down his knees. “Don’t ask.” He whispered.

“It’s okay to miss him.”

“I know.”

Dick knew. But if felt like a joke, showing this side of him to someone. Jason was only away for four days, back then, they used to avoid each other for months, but now, Dick felt torturous waiting for the sun to come up and down without a body pressed next to him.

Jason’s scent still lingered on the sheet, in the first two days, it shooed Dick to sleep like coating him in his husband’s warm embrace. Now, his scent only reminded Dick of his absence in the room.

Jefferson looked down his feet, then up at Dick. He pushed his lips into a thin line, the hand he had on the couch lightly rubbed on Dick’s blanket-covered legs.

“This is the first time he goes on a business trip this long without you by his side.”

Dick smiled, hopping Jefferson didn’t catch the way his lips was weighing down. “Yeah. He’s never gone this long.”

Dick could feel Jefferson’s eyes on him, he just didn’t care anymore. The fire reminded him of a night when they got back from an undercover mission, too pent up by leftover energy and adrenaline of jumping off a 20 stories building, they had sex countless times by the fireplace, and then danced naked in the dark, with only the red and orange light as music and guidance to their steps.

“Why don’t you call him?”

Jefferson’s words brought surprise to Dick, half because how they broke the peaceful silence between them, and half of the meaning they carried.

Dick tugged himself in tighter, had this major urge to curl himself into a ball and hide away from just everyone’ eyes.

“I don’t think I have any right to say I miss him.”

Jefferson frowned, hunched over even closer. “What makes you think so?”

“Because I’ve made him wait much longer.”

Dick had expected Jefferson to just leave him be like that. To his surprise, the man pulled out his phone, and dialed Jason’s contact.

Dick caught on his wrist, half amazed, half panicked. “What are you doing?”

“Calling him for you.” Jefferson deadpanned.

“He could be working. He could be busy.”

Jefferson only stared back, smiling.

“For you? He won’t be.”

Dick was cleaning their dressing room when the stack of shirts he was folding fell off where he had laid them on the wardrobe.

“Oh for Christ sake.” He mumbled and went over to pick it up and fold them again.

Jason’s side was always on the left. Most of his clothes were shirts, jackets (a lot of them), coats, and suits. He had a few hoodies, and a few tanks, but overall, his tastes ran short in just a few styles. Unlike him, Dick liked to test things out on his right side, with oversized tees (mostly stolen from Jason’s), cotton shirts, polos, blazers, sweaters, turtlenecks, sweatshirts. Even Babs choked when she saw his side of the wardrobe. Dick remembered when they first moved in, Jason had joked, Dick’s side had to be right, because he was always right.

Picking up a jacket of Jason that he had planned to hang up the hanger, Dick took a decent look at it, and tried to recall the last time Jason had worn it.

Driven by curiosity, he lifted the collar up, and smelt it.

A satisfied sigh was drawn out. The thing smelt clean, a whip of worn leather even though looking new, and just like Jason. Jason, who smelt like old wood, burnt charcoal, and home.

“You really miss me that much?”

Dick yelped, whole body jointed up when caught by Jason’s voice. He turned back, and his husband was standing right there, leaning on the doorway, smirking devilishly.

“You are… home?” Dick tried to catch on his breath, a hand smoothed on his chest. He threw the jacket right back to the stack of clothes so quick like the thing had offended him.

Jason chuckled and walked over, invading Dick’s personally space in the speed of light.

“You’re not happy?”

“No, I just… I thought you’d be back tomorrow.”

“Well, I decided to wrap things up sooner than scheduled, because a certain someone was missing me so badly he had to listen to my voice to fall asleep last night.”

Dick blushed when taken over by the memory of last night. Jefferson had called Jason for him, and they had talked for what felt like hours, to the point Dick couldn’t recall when he had passed out, only to wake up in a bed with Beast staring at him in the morning.

Jason caught his chin, lifted it up with his fingers so they could face each other. Dick could mirror himself on the intense blue of Jason’s eyes.

“Tell me, how bad did you miss me?”

Dick swallowed, breathing through his mouth when Jason’s lips brushed over his.

“You already know.” He whispered back, shivered when felt a hand wormed its way underneath his shirt and palm on the small of his back.

In his head, Dick had expected the hand Jason had on him to travel down a little lower, or his lips to trace the side of his neck so his teeth could lightly gaze his skin like how he always did. To his surprise, Jason only pulled him closer, drowning him in his warmth and familiar scent of his. His arms, his big arms, wrapped around Dick as if promising to never let go of him.

“5 days,” He whispered in the crook of Dick’s neck. “5 damn days. I missed you and John like crazy.”

Dick chuckled, rubbing his face on Jason’s shoulder because he could.

“Tell me, how bad did you miss me?”

Jason barked out a laugh, arms still squeezing Dick into his chest. He kissed his hair, and their legs were swaying on their own.

#jaydick #mob boss au #mob wife au #My writing #writing prompt

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jungnoir · 6 years

Note

Detective au + Renjun. My request is a drabble. Thanks.

elementary;

huang renjun | all you leave behind is the ghost of your touch on Renjun’s skin and the memory of a person who had finally gained that upper hand. detective!au, criminal!au. | 2k words. | fluff(?), flirting, I don’t really know what genre this is, not humor but it’s kinda close.

a/n: i love how straightforward this request is sfhisjfi here ya go. definitely based reader off catwoman because why not amirite

“Hello, detective. You’re quite punctual today.”

Renjun slides inelegantly to the doorway of the exhibit floor, the polished marble that made up the ground he walked on costing more than the net worth of half the citizens in the city combined. He only ever showed up to places like these when he had cases to solve, and he very rarely got to enjoy the glimmering chandeliers and pristine paintings hanging from the walls. Even now, as he was surrounded by jewels of all shapes, colors, sizes, and origins, you were the only thing that had his attention. You were the case he’d been dying to solve ever since you’d first appeared on his radar, and you were the case made with a diamond shell. Nothing could crack you open, not like the others.

You, his “arch nemesis” when put so informally, had gone from being a thorn in his side to a knife in his back. With each victory you claimed, that knife kept on twisting.

“Your clues are getting less obvious. What, are you afraid I’ll catch on to you faster if I know where to look?” “On the contrary, detective. I know you’re smart enough to figure me out.” The fact that you were dangling upside down from a rope going up and out of a vent in the ceiling made your wicked grin look like a frown. Pearly white teeth shined back at him as you raised a hand and waved, the tips of your black gloves looking particularly sharp at the ends, resembling feline claws. He was certain he’d never let those claws get too close to him.

The young detective makes a quick surveillance of the room, checking for anything out of the blue in case you decided to up the challenge again. You had managed to hack into the system (denying all outside access in the process) and switched off the alarm to get in only to quickly switch it back on the minute Renjun entered the gallery, your orders for him and him only to enter having been no surprise. It was your usual demand: always him, always alone, and always right when you were just about to get away with a crime. You absolutely loved getting him one-on-one, but that didn’t mean you didn’t like adding a little fun every now and then, just to tease him more.

Renjun straightens from his defensive stance slowly, watching you with the same intensity you watch him with. When he sees you don’t plan to pounce, he begins to walk forward, ever so slowly. There are red lasers running haphazardly along the floor, all ready to switch on the very loud and very expensive alarm if, god forbid, he managed to step too close to one of them. You watch his movements with great curiosity, grin reducing into a smirk of sorts. You always did love that little frustrated look on his face.

“You’ve been at this game for months. I’d think you’d have been able to fill an apartment with all the jewelry you’ve got.” Renjun glances your way as the stunning diamond necklace glints in the glass case right underneath you, “You probably don’t need this too.”

“And miss the golden opportunity of watching some wealthy old dinosaurs sniveling on live TV about their precious, ancient jewels going missing? I think I’ll pass. I mean, really, who sets up a snatch like these in plain sight for any other reason than for them to be stolen?” “I think you miss the whole point of museums, kitty.”

Your grin comes back tenfold at the use of the name you’d signed off with the first time you’d committed a high-profile crime like this one. It was a name you’d fashioned for yourself, and you had to say, you rather enjoyed hearing the young detective say it through clenched teeth, seething. It was rather cute. He was rather cute.

“You’re probably right,” you purr, “what can I say? I see a pretty thing and I just want to take it… better watch out.” The last part of your statement goes right over his head and it’s as much as you expected. Despite the fact that he was a kid genius, he was rather a dolt in the face of flattery.

The boy continues to proceed toward the middle of the room, the light shining from inside the glass case where your desires currently lay casting a warm glow on his features. The closer he managed to get, the more his furrowed brow became prominent. Swiftly, you pulled yourself up the rope so that you were hanging right side up this time, one hand clutching your escape route and the other resting over your heart, “You’re too young to look that stressed, detective. Am I stressful for you?”

“Yes!” Renjun answers with no hesitation, halting in his tracks to be sure that he doesn’t trip the alarm in his vexation. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That you’re starting to outsmart me? That I may actually be coming to a dead end with you? Because if that’s what it takes for you to stop, I will admit it to the whole city.”

You blink, “So I see you’re nowhere near figuring out my motives either.”

If Renjun’s stare could shoot daggers at you, they would most definitely be embedded within every part of your skin by now. The look he gives you could rival that of an angry bull. You have the nerve to even pity him, eyes softening just a little behind the slim mask that covers your face from your hairline to the very peak of your nose.

“Want me to tip you off?” You offer, resting a hand on top of the case to tap your nails along the surface in a discordant rhythm. The sharp point of one of them traces a circle between every few beats.

Renjun’s face falters for a moment, clearly confused. Your offer baffles him and it doesn’t take a genius to know why. He was never used to getting tips, hints, or help. After all, he was the Huang Renjun: graduated early from high school top of the class, grades so exceptional that top tier universities around the world were itching to take him in, to claim him as part of their student body. Why, who wouldn’t want such a bright kid walking their halls every morning? You didn’t blame them in the slightest, but you’d always found it quite sad how many of them wanted him more for his reputation than his mind.

It started as a simple rivalry, your young eyes that never followed anything but the words on a page or the numbers on chalkboard had been caught by someone for once. A challenge. A contender.

You had done everything in your power to pass him up from kindergarten all the way to high school, doing above and beyond the expected and then some to beat him. No matter how hard you both worked, neither of you could ever pass the other, not really.

Not until your sophomore year of high school, when he entered the nationwide science and research symposium (well under the minimum age to even participate, but his deception of age was overlooked in the end) and won, sweeping out contestants twenty years his senior and you, too, in the process. From there, it was no longer a competition between you and Huang Renjun because as far as the entire world was concerned, no one was and no one ever would be in his league. Renjun was the face of youthful intelligence. Renjun was unparalleled… except that once, he was.

It was as prominent then as it was now with you staring at him face to face (or rather, face to mask) and challenging him to crack the code. You dared him to remember you. Before you had arrived on the scene as “Kitty”, it was believed there wasn’t a mystery that that boy couldn’t solve. And yet…

Renjun finally exhales a loaded breath, your eyes widening a little in anticipation. Just as quickly as you’d gotten excited that you’d really gotten under his skin, he snarls, “In your dreams.”

Your snort rings out in the silence, just as your nail stops circling the glass. The trace you’ve made causes a perfectly rounded cut of the supposedly “impenetrable” casing fall in and leave a nicely sized hole in its wake. Perfect diameter for you to slip your arm in, pick up the necklace, and- “Well, I do dream of you, detective. Maybe that’s because it’s seldom you ever get close enough for me to do anything else.”

Renjun’s mouth drops a little and you think for once that he might have gotten one of your little jokes, but his eyes are clearly focused on the necklace in hand. He hadn’t even noticed what you’d been doing. Was he making this incredibly easy or were you just getting too good? Regardless, you slip the necklace into the small pocket at your thigh, feeling around for something to throw. When your hand catches onto the handle of one of your throwing knives, the instrument slipps into the palm of your hand and then slides right back out of it in the direction of the floor with expert ease.

The moment the blade pierces the connection between one beam of light and the another, a shrill blaring sound nearly deafens the two of you at once. You barely wince at the noise, finding the nervous look on Renjun’s face far too amusing. The doorways and windows are suddenly barricaded by heavy steel doors meant to keep any intruders from getting out once they’d gotten in, but you’ve got your own escape plan already. By the time those fools got access back to the system to shut it off, you’d be long gone from here.

In fact, you’re just about to shimmy back up your rope when Renjun surges forward, fear of tripping the alarm now irrelevant. His hand grasps your wrist and you look at him in real surprise; never had the two of you made contact like this before. It was always a fun game of cat and mouse with the figurative cat in this case never getting close enough to touch.

You are rendered speechless for the first time in his presence, unsure what to do first. Did you shake him off? Wait for him to say something? Relish in the moment before it eventually all came crashing down?

Renjun decided for you.

“You know, I never saw it before,” he says in a low breath, yet you’re able to hear it over the blaring alarm miraculously, “but I’ve only known one person in my whole life who could actually give me a run for my money. Know anything about that?”

You feel yourself slowly swell with pride and an abundance of elation. This, this. Never had he admitted to your power over him, and now you knew that he knew it too. You were his equal in every sense of the word, and if there was anyone who could tie the world’s favorite boy genius up in his own knots, it was you.

You slip your arm from his grasp and raise the nails on your glove to gently caress the underside of his chin, the boy visibly shivering under your touch. The sounds of law enforcement banging on the steel doors sounds so distant in this moment, a breath shared between the two of you lasting a lifetime almost. You clutch his chin in between your fingers with finality and lean forward so that your nose just grazes his own, “Why, detective, it’s my job to make the mysteries and your job to solve them. You’ll have to find out yourself.”

His eyelashes flutter. Just out of your peripheral, you see his hand inching slowly toward your face. His fingers just skim the brim of your mask before you tug on your rope twice, your accomplice getting the signal to yank you upwards and away from the scene.

All you leave behind is the ghost of your touch on Renjun’s skin and the memory of a person who had finally gained that upper hand.

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ofrevas-archive · 6 years

Text

Detailed companion verse

Name: Alanari Tillahnnen

Race: Elvhen

Class & Specialization: Arcane rogue

Varric’s Nickname for them: Bright Eyes

Default Tarot Card: The Chariot

How they are recruited: Encountered protecting a group of elvhen refugees in the Hinterlands. If the correct dialogue options are chosen, Alanari may become an agent or a companion.

Where they are in Skyhold: before renovations are complete, they can be found on the second floor of the barn. Later, they will move in to one of the vacant rooms overlooking the garden. If romanced, their belongings will move to the Inquisitor’s tower.

Things they Generally Approve of: compassion towards marginalized people, limiting the Chantry’s influence, defending elves

Things they Generally Disapprove of: prioritizing the interests of nobility over everyone else, hostility towards elves, turning elvhen artifacts and history over to humans

Mages, Templars, Other?: afraid of both (though that is not something they’ll easily admit), slightly favors mages. Greatly dislikes the Circles.

Companions

Friendly: Varric Blackwall Cole

Indifferent/neutral: Sera Dorian Solas Leliana Iron Bull Josephine

Unfriendly: Cassandra Vivienne

Romanceable?: By elvhen Inquisitors. If the Inquisitor refuses to help rescue their brother, or if Morrigan is allowed access to the Vir’abelasan, there is a potential outcome of Alanari breaking off the relationship.

Small side mission: tbc.

Companion quest:

Triggered upon reaching the Dalish camp in the Exalted Plains. When the Inquisitor exits conversation with Keeper Hawen for the first time, they will approach him on their own. They become more and more distressed, and run from his side mid-sentence to ask that the player accompany them to the Emerald Graves to find their brother, Hawen’s First.

Option 1: Refuse to track Taven and his group. This nets you a ‘greatly disapproves’, and Alanari will temporarily leave the party to find him on their own. There is, after this, always a hint of disinterest bordering on coldness in their voice when speaking to the Inquisitor. This option will also end any romance, no matter its progression.

Option 2: Agree to help. When next entering the Emerald Graves, a cutscene outside of Din’an Hanin will trigger. You hear combat ahead, and Alanari rushes ahead. The party follows, and the next scene shows Alanari cutting down combined Red Templar-Venatori forces alongside a small group of elves. All appear to be defending one elf in particular, who bears more than a passing resemblance to Alanari.

Like Fenris’ personal quest, if the story progresses and their quest is not completed, Alanari will disappear from Skyhold or camp, and return only when they find Taven.

Tarot card change

Option 1: Five of Swords: discord, promotion of self-interest, conflict

Option 2: Page of Wands: enthusiasm, welcome news

Romanced: Six of Cups

Cole’s reflection on their thoughts: “Quiet, sad acceptance. Say it doesn’t hurt until it feels real.”

Comment(s) on Mages: “Alone and desperate when the entire world either wants you dead or wouldn’t care? No, I have no idea what that feels like.”

Comment(s) on Templars: (sarcastically) “I do appreciate how well they protect everyone from ‘the dangers of magic’.”

When looking for something: “Wait, this could be useful. Let me...there!”

When finding a campsite: “I’m fine to set up here. Or move on. Your choice.”

When the Inquisitor falls: “Hey! We still need you here!”

When the Inquisitor falls (romanced): “No! No, no, no...I’m coming!”

When they are low on Health: “Some help over here!”

When they see a dragon: “Couldn’t we find another path? We’re intruding on its home.”

If the party decides to attack the dragon anyway: “Really?”

During their small side quest:

Greeting:

Cold/Hostile (-75 to -5): “What, you need me to go beat someone up because he didn’t bow to you quickly enough?”

Neutral (-5 to 34): “What is it?”

Warm/Friendly (35 to 125): “Falon?”/”Lethallen?”

Sample banter:

(adapted from here.)

Varric: You don’t talk much about yourself. Alanari: *laughs* I talk enough. Varric: No, what you do is put out hot air, and hope no one notices. Not the same thing. Alanari: What do you want me to say? My life wasn’t some magical adventure. Or constant stealing, despite what I know humans like to believe. Alanari: Why do you want to know so much, anyway? Varric: Everyone has a past. Alanari: So make it up. Everyone else does.

Leaving the Inquisition: “Not that I expect you to care, but I’m out. I want nothing more to do with where you’re heading.”

Detailed approval/disapproval: major quests

Champions of the Just:

Lord Abernache: Care to mark the moment? Ten Orlesian houses walk with you.

(Nobility Knowledge) I celebrate this pairing. : slightly disapproves

Perhaps an overblown speech?: slightly approves

Banner ritual:

Andraste first: slightly disapproves People first: approves Templars first: disapproves

Templars allied: disapproves Templars disbanded: no change

In Hushed Whispers:

Connor: That's me. The boy with Redcliffe's blood on his hands.

It wasn't your fault.: slightly approves I'm surprised you're here.: no change They should have killed you.: slightly disapproves

Fiona: As one indentured to a magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you.

You've made a huge mistake.: slightly approves That was fast.: no change You're ignoring the Breach?: slightly approves Then tell me who does.: no change

Lysas: Were you really looking to ally with us?

Yes. Mages should be free.: approves You sound doubtful.: no change No. You should be contained.: slightly disapproves

Dorian: The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it's unraveling the world.

This is a lot to swallow.: no change Do you have evidence?: no change I don't trust you.: slightly approves

Felix: And I can tell you one thing: whatever he's done for them, he's done it to get to you.

How do we stop him?: no change I'm flattered.: no change He doesn't scare me.: slightly disapproves

Alexius: Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives.

Perhaps we should include her.: approves Because you simply ooze trust.: slightly approves Let's get to business.

Alexius: The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?

We have connections.: slightly disapproves Nothing.: slightly approves I know you want me dead.: no change Let's talk about time magic.: slightly approves Tell me about the Venatori.

Alexius: Felix, what have you done?

He's concerned about you.: no change Your trap has already failed.: no change Why are you really here?: no change

Alexius: You're nothing but a mistake.

What was supposed to happen?: slightly approves What is the mark?: no change Who killed the Divine?: no change

Alexius: The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes.

Who is the Elder One?: no change You're a fanatic.: slightly approves What kind of power?: no change

Conscript mages: disapproves Ally mages: slightly approves

In Your Heart Shall Burn

If all six townspeople were helped/rescued (only party members): approves

If you don't save all six townspeople, but do manage to save at least one (only party members): slightly approves

Dorian: From what I gathered in Redcliffe, it marched all of this way to take your Herald. / Cole: The Elder One doesn't care about the village. He only wants the Herald.

I'd give myself to save Haven.: slightly approves Why? Why does he want me?: no change How do I stop him?: approves

Roderick: She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could... tell you.

Cullen, can you get them out?: no change Rocks won't stop a dragon.: no change Go. I'll distract them.: slightly approves

The Ceremony

Cassandra: You.

(Surprised) But I'm not your chosen one!: no change (Pleased) I'm honored./My faith is rewarded.: slightly disapproves (Confused) Everyone agreed to this?: no change But I'm not even human. (non-human only): slightly approves You trust this to a mage? (mage only): slightly approves (Mad) I don't want this!: slightly disapproves

Cassandra: There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you lead: that must be yours to decide.

A dwarf will stand for us all. (Dwarven only): no change An elf will stand for us all. (Elven only): approves A qunari will stand for us all. (Qunari only): no change I'll set an example as a mage.: slightly approves I'll be a servant of faith.: slightly disapproves I fight for order, not faith.: slightly approves I'll do it because it's right.: slightly approves Corypheus must be stopped.:slightly approves I will lead them to vengeance.: no change I'll do it for my own power. : disapproves

Here Lies the Abyss

Hawke left in Fade: disapproves Warden left in Fade: no change

Wardens exiled: no change Wardens exiled (if Jana was sacrificed): approves Wardens allied: no change Wardens allied (if Jana was sacrificed): slightly disapproves

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

I'll talk with Florianne. (Publicly expose the duchess' crimes to the court, avoiding further bloodshed.): no change I will execute her myself. (Kill the duchess.): no change Take her away. (Give the Duchess to the guards.): no change Detain the duchess. (Save Celene's life, then deal with the duchess.): no change Wait for Florianne to attack. (Allow the empress to die before dealing with the duchess.): no change

Celene rules alone

Briala is an accomplice. (Gaspard executed. Implicate Briala as well.): disapproves (Special) No, spare Gaspard's life. (Try to convince Celene to let Gaspard live.): slightly disapproves

Celene and Briala rule together

Briala helped stop Florianne. (Use the evidence gathered about Gaspard to support Briala.): slightly approves What about Briala's reward? (Gaspard executed. Attempt to reconcile Celene and Briala.): slightly approves Reconciliation successful: no change

Public truce

All of you were at fault. (Try to force the three leaders into a truce.): no change Work together for Orlais.: no change You've been outplayed.: no change

You work for me now.: slightly disapproves

Gaspard rules alone

Gaspard will be emperor. (Use the blackmail material to discredit Briala and support Gaspard.): greatly disapproves

Gaspard and Briala rule

Briala can take over. (Use blackmail material to put Briala in power.): greatly approves

What Pride Had Wrought

Follow rituals to access temple: approves Follow Samson/Calpernia: slightly disapproves

Accept alliance: approves Reject alliance: greatly disapproves

Allow Calpernia to leave: slightly approves Destroy Samson’s armor: slightly approves

Elvhen inquisitor drinks: slightly approves Inquisitor allows Alanari to drink: greatly approves Morrigan or non-elvhen inquisitor drink (potential crisis point): greatly disapproves

Detailed approval/disapproval: minor quests

Flowers for Senna:

approves

Jana (Crestwood):

"Don't join the Wardens." / "Solas?": slightly approves

"Go ahead and join." / "I can see the appeal.": disapproves. applied during “Here Lies the Abyss”.

From the Beyond:

desecrate the graves: disapproves.

clear the site of demons and leave: approves

Someone to Lose:

“He was brave.”: no approval change.

“Teenagers are stupid.”: slightly disapproves

“Blood magic.”: slightly disapproves

allowing Alanari to explain what happened: slightly approves

By the Grace of the Dalish:

each time a task is completed: slightly approves

The Knights’ Tomb:

give the scroll to Keeper Hawen: greatly approves sell the scroll to the Chantry: greatly disapproves

Bestow Mourning Halla (wartable):

Cullen/Josephine: approves Leliana: slightly disapproves

Freemen of the Dales:

each time a cell is wiped out: slightly approves

Judgement approval/disapproval

Gereon Alexius

Execution: no change Imprisonment: no change Put to work for the mages: approves Made Tranquil: disapproves Forced to research magic arcana for the Inquisition: no change

Knight-Captain Denam

Execution: no change Imprisonment: no change Given to the Templars to be punished: slightly disapproves Exiled to the Sea of Ash: disapproves Conscription: disapproves

Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons

(if alive) Encloisterment: slightly disapproves Recruit her for the Inquisition: no change Farm work: approves Exile: slightly disapproves Make her the Inquisition's court jester: slightly approves

(if dead) Ignore her: no change Put her remains to use: no change Return the trade routes to the reigning monarch: slightly disapproves Void her claims: no change

Magister Livius Erimond

Imprisonment: no change Execution: approves Made Tranquil: disapproves Remand to the Grey Wardens: no change

Ser Ruth

Divine Forgiveness: disapproves Public Humiliation: no change Imprisonment: no change Refuse to judge a Warden: slightly disapproves Exile like the rest of the Wardens: no change Exile to the Deep Roads: no change

Samson

Serve the Inquisition: no change Give him to Dagna for study: no change Remand to Kirkwall for judgment: no change Exile to the wilderness: disapproves Imprisonment: no change

Captain Thom Rainier

Pardon: approves Give him to the Wardens after the Inquisition ends: no change Servitude to the Inquisition: greatly disapproves

Chief Movran the Under

Banishment: slightly disapproves Put on public display in a gibbet and "probably" released: disapproves Arm and Exile to Tevinter: approves Assign to Abernache: no change

Mayor Gregory Dedrick

Give him to the Grey Wardens: slightly disapprovers Exile: slightly disapproves Give him a clean death: no change Lock him up in Ferelden: no change

Crassius Servis

Imprisonment: no change Returned to Corypheus: slightly approves Recruited as an Informant: no change Recruited as a Smuggler: no change

Mistress Poulin

Have her rebuild the town: slightly approves Released: disapproves Put to work: no change Execution: no change Money confiscated for House Trevelyan: disapproves

#long post #very long post #headcanon;#placeholder companion verse;#please tell me if you see an empty line

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hysterialevi · 7 years

Text

cobblebats fanfic pt. 3

From Bruce’s POV

I stood in the middle of the Vales’ house, taking in the grotesque crime scene as the police guided the boy I found to safety, leaving me alone with Gordon. The lieutenant was staring at Mrs. Vale’s corpse who lay on the floor of the living room, her jaw limp and open, and her eyes gouged out. Meanwhile, the other police officers were examining Mr. Vale, who was currently hanging from a belt in a storage closet.

My nose wrinkled at the stench. The entire house was covered floor to ceiling in blood, and the unmistakable scent of Vicki’s drug lingered in the air, mixing with the smoke from Gordon’s cigarette.

“I just don’t get it,” the lieutenant shook his head. “Why would the Children of Arkham attack a family like the Vales?”

“Because their daughter, Vicki, is Lady Arkham.”

Gordon nearly choked on the smoke. “Vicki!? Wait--Vicki Vale the reporter?”

“She killed her own parents so she could use their company warehouse to stockpile the rest of her drugs. The boy said he heard something about drugs, and attacking the police. Can’t confirm anything, but it sounds like the Children of Arkham might be plotting something against your people. The warehouse is Vale Oil & Heating. You should secure it as soon as possible.”

“Well, thanks for the heads up. I’ll get on it right away. What about you?”

Just then, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Who was texting me? It wasn’t Alfred, that much was obvious. He knew I was Batman right now. If he wanted to talk, he would’ve just spoken to me through my earpiece. I silently groaned. It was probably Harvey, lecturing me about Selina again. Though, I was going to have to deal with him later. There was another problem at the moment.

Out of nowhere, the commissioner stormed through the front door like an angry bull, his stern eyes piercing right through mine.

“What’s going on in here?” He barked.

“Securing the crime scene, commissioner.” Gordon answered.

“Not anymore, you’re not,” he strutted further into the house. “I’m taking over this investigation. I can’t risk you allowing Batman to contaminate our crime scene again.” He threw a dirty look at me. Absolute ray of sunshine, this guy.

Without saying anything--anything aloud, at least--I took my leave and quickly strode out of the house, bumping shoulders with the commissioner along the way.

Well, that was done. Now it was time to see who was trying to text me.

Hopping back into the Batmobile, I bolted through the streets of Gotham, the tires screeching and fallen leaves whirling behind my trail in a flurry as the outside view became a giant blur. Before I knew it, I was back home and pulling up to Wayne Manor. When I saw who was waiting at the door however, I hastily switched to my regular red car in panic before my guest could see me.

It was none other than Oz. Again. Uninvited. Again.

His long, black coat was missing from his attire today, and instead, he only wore a white t-shirt along with a simple bracelet on his right wrist. It was odd seeing him without his signature piece of clothing.

Coming to a halt, I slid out of the Batsuit and tried to exit the vehicle as casually as possible, quickly popping my earpiece out and straightening my shirt.

I approached the short staircase which led to the manor’s entrance. “Oz?” I called out. His attention jolted towards me from above.

Oz appeared to be in better shape than last night. His face was still bruised and broken, but he seemed to have calmed down ever since our brief conversation. Maybe now he’d actually tell me what was going on.

“There you are,” he said, sounding annoyed. “I tried texting you, but maybe I should’ve sent a pigeon instead.”

“That was you?”

“Yeah.” He rested his hands on his hips. “I dunno, maybe I should’ve called?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I reassured. “I was just expecting Harvey, is all. Is there something you needed?”

Oz awkwardly peered at me in silence. It was the same look he gave me last night.

“Is...everything all right?” I double-checked. Why was he acting so strangely?

More silence. This was getting uncomfortable now. I could try inviting him inside. Maybe that would divert his attention.

“Do you want to talk inside? We can sit down somewhere.”

Still nothing. What did he want?

He finally responded. “...why are you being so nice to me?” The question left me dumbfounded.

“Why?” I shrugged. “Erm...I don’t know. You’re my friend. Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

Oz didn’t seem convinced. “Oh, is that what you were doing at the press conference? Being nice? Well, anyways, I thought I might pay a visit. Figured you’d want an explanation for last night.”

“That would be appreciated.”

He sighed. “I told you about what Vicki did to me, yeah?” His expression softened with sorrow. “I... guess I just needed to vent to someone. Also I was a little drunk, so I may not’ve been thinking straight.”

“And you came to me? I thought you hated me.”

“Oh, no--I still do.” Gee, thanks. “But, for some reason, I felt like I needed to talk to you specifically. And to be perfectly honest, I was expecting Alfred to shoo me off the minute I showed up at your door. I didn’t even think you were still awake. I just...had to be...here.”

I nodded. “I can understand that. After all, you have a lot of memories here.”

“...right.”

I stepped closer. “Oz, I’m just gonna say it. I feel like this has to do with more than Vicki betraying you. This seems personal.”

Oz was clearly reluctant to open up. “Vicki and I were friends. Close friends. So yeah, I may have been a little pissed about her trying to murder me. And I know murder don’t exactly mean much to you Waynes, but in my world, it’s not normally considered a pleasant thing.”

I tried keeping my cool. I would’ve been lying if i said Oz hadn’t just struck a nerve.

“My parents were murdered too, Oz. You know this.”

He glowered at that.

Before we could continue talking however, Alfred stepped into the scene--prim and proper as always--sending a wave of relief through me. As much as I wanted to help Oz out, it was always so difficult to communicate with him. It felt like trying to get a rock to speak.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted. He turned to Oz, “...Master Cobblepot.”

“Alfred.” he replied, his words sharp.

“What’s up, Al?” I asked.

“Sir, there’s something I think you should see. It’s Mayor Dent. He’s threatening to seize the estate.”

#cobblebats #story #fanfic #bruce wayne #oswald cobblepot #batman #telltale

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devilinthebox · 7 years

Text

Theon in ADWD Re-Read - The Truth Found in the Godswood.

(This covers the Prince of Winterfell chapter. Warnings for rape/implied sexual assault, the Boltons in general). Previous meta can be found under this tag.

Theater creates its own language, able to divulge truths words serve to hide. This is the thesis of Antonin Artaud famous book, le Théâtre et son Double, and the Prince of Winterfell chapter illustrates it better than most examples you could think of. This chapter is a favourite of mine, a favourite of many readers.

My love for literature means that I want to understand how it all works. Reading it over and over again, it becomes clear : the key is theatre. You’ll see, that theme structures the chapter.

The chapter covers the Masquerade Wedding between Ramsay and Jeyne Poole, the feast, and the wedding night. It is a pivotal event in the story - the Boltons solidify their power over the North - as well as an essential step in Theon’s “redemption” arc. Note that I am not fond of the Redemption Arc idea because I find it too morally and religiously charged, but I lack a better term to define Theon’s journey from this book onwards. I could call it Acceptance Arc: he clearly recognizes, regrets his crimes; all of this starts here, in the Godswood of Winterfell.

And redemption demands sincerity of heart. Theon was shallow. His status as a hostage shaped him so profoundly - I believe it’s often downplayed. He was a hostage, and in a sense, he will always be one. I always come back to that truth. The first time we glimpse the real Theon, that scared, bitter, sad young man, is during his last Clash chapter. He compares his life as a hostage as a constant state of fear and pain like that of the man about to be hanged (”it chafed, it chafed me raw”)…

The shy boy he was adapted to constant fear, never truly mended his amputated self-esteem (how can you grow as a person in these circumstances? When, at 10, you are confronted to the harsh truth of being a pawn in a greater political game?). He clung to the appearances - he was a Prince, and handsome at that! - pushing away the terrified boy and his mutilated sense of self. Theon was shallow. And it caused him to constantly choose the wrong paths, the easy ones he needed to boost his pride. It is on a stage, during a masquerade, that Theon finds himself.

Theatre reveals, painfully. It is not a pleasant experience, yet it’s inevitable, inexorable. Theon’s Dance chapters until then have been filled with lies. We have demonstrated that the Reek persona is a mask Theon adopted to protect himself; it is a defense mechanism, never an identity he manages to embrace. Theon, the truth, threatens to burst out at any moment. And we have seen how scared Theon became of his own personality - his smiles, his defiance, his name - surfacing again.

Paradoxically, a play, a performance is needed to summon the truth. Theatre, like the plague, writes Antonin Artaud, is a castastrophe as much as a revelation:

If the essential theater is like the plague, it is not because it is contagious, but because like the plague it is the revelation, the bringing forth, the exteriorization of a depth of latent cruelty by means of which all the perverse possibilities of the mind, whether of an individual or a people, are localized. Like the plague the theater is the time of evil, the triumph of dark powers that are nourished by a power even more profound until extinction. In the theater as in the plague there is a kind of strange sun, a light of abnormal intensity by which it seems that the difficult and even the impossible suddenly become our normal element.

The plague, the play, is the heart of this chapter. It starts with a conversation between two players, forced to hide behind masks that don’t fit them. Jeyne’s eyes shine through : “the bride raised her eyes. Brown eyes, shining in the candlelight”.

Theon struggles to control his thoughts, in spite of his efforts: “talk like that will get you killed, or worse. That lesson he had learned as Reek”.

Their dialogue is touching and intimate like a secret talk two scared actors share before the play, hidden behind the curtains. It is also one of the rare moments they escape Ramsay’s gaze. They are still under the influence of their gaoler and hesitate to act as Theon and Jeyne respectively.

(Interestingly, Jeyne is first defined by the coldness of her body: “a corpse buried in the snow” - snow here may refer to Ramsay’s true last name, meaning she is unable to escape him, her grim fate. It fits with Theon’s way of thinking: he dares not calling Ramsay by his bastard name, yet, his mind will find a way to remember the truth. Coldness also serves as a contrast to the warmth of the Godswood, the “strange sun” that will rise in this chapter).

Theon and Jeyne are still buried in the show. They dare show affection and kindness to one another, though. The masks shatter, a little : “tears spilled from her eyes at last,” Theon notices, as if he were relieved, in a sense, that Jeyne is still there somewhere, afraid but still existing.

The lies persist, Jeyne and Theon are already in costume after all, and almost on stage :

“(…) Does Lord Ramsay think I am pretty?” “Yes,” he lied. “He’s told me so.” “He knows who I am, though. Who I really am. I see it when he looks at me. He looks so angry, even when he smiles, but it’s not my fault. They say he likes to hurt people.” “My lady should not listen to such … lies.” “They say that he hurt you. Your hands, and …” His mouth was dry. “I … I deserved it. I made him angry. You must not make him angry. Lord Ramsay is a … a sweet man, and kindly. Please him, and he will be good to you. Be a good wife.” “Help me.” She clutched at him. “Please. I used to watch you in the yard, playing with your swords. You were so handsome.” She squeezed his arm. “If we ran away, I could be your wife, or your … your whore … whatever you wanted. You could be my man.” Theon wrenched his armaway fromher. “I’m no … I’m no one’s man.” A man would help her. “Just … just be Arya, be his wife. Please him, or … just please him, and stop this talk about being someone else.” Jeyne, her name is Jeyne, it rhymes with pain. (…) “It is time. Wipe those tears from your eyes.” Brown eyes. They should be grey. Someone will see. Someone will remember. “Good. Now smile.” The girl tried. Her lips, trembling, twitched up and froze, and he could see her teeth. Pretty white teeth, he thought, but if she angers him, they will not be pretty long.

(The “pretty white teeth” expression is a clear parallel to Ramsay’s line concerning Theon. It binds Jeyne and Theon’s experiences, meaning they are similar).

I couldn’t resist reminding you of the entirety of the dialogue: it’s so profoundly emotional. Also, it sets up the whole theme of this chapter. Theon and Jeyne have to enter the stage now, unwilling, as if sentenced to death. At this point, they’re both on the verge of abandoning their identities forever. The scene ends with this detail, sinister, yet not deprived of hope: “when he pushed the door open, three of the four candles fluttered out”.

One candle is still burning.

There is no denying it. The “dark powers” Antonin Artaud evokes are winning. The Wedding plays out. There is no preventing it, and, akin to the horrific plague, the play is a revelation. It is the first step in Theon’s journey towards the acceptance of his true nature, his faults and his regrets.

As readers, we know Theon’s kept his wits. He is an actor, he plays his part, and he is starting to realise it will lead him nowhere :

“they are using me to cloak their deception, putting mine own face on their lie. That was why Roose Bolton had clothed him as a lord again, to play his part in this mummer’s farce. Once that was done, once their false Arya had been wedded and bedded, Bolton would have no more use for Theon Turncloak.”

Note that he speaks of Theon Turncloak as if it were yet another character, not the true Theon yet. Indeed, Turncloak is as much a caricature as Reek. And Theon, as a person and a character, needs to embrace the complexity of his personality in order to be redeemed. (Again, think of the term with an open mind - I have no better word than Redemption, although I’m bothered by its religious connotations).

Theon seems to be obsessed with lies. They grew unbearable.

“Serve us in this, and when Stannis is defeated we will discuss how best to restore you to your father’s seat,” his lordship had said in that soft voice of his, a voice made for lies and whispers. Theon never believed a word of it. He would dance this dance for them because he had no choice, but afterward … He will give me back to Ramsay (…)

But Theon is still buried in the snow, his mind refusing hope - all the suffering it brings. Death by Stannis’ sword is “the best he could hope for”. The Wedding is a terrifying, humiliating experience for Jeyne and Theon. It is their Plague. The horrible event that reveals the beasts hiding beneath the masks. No other scene demonstrates this better than Theon’s description of the guests:

The way the mists threw back the shifting light made their features seem bestial, half-human, twisted. Lord Stout became a mastiff, old Lord Locke a vulture, Whoresbane Umber a gargoyle, Big Walder Frey a fox, Little Walder a red bull, lacking only a ring for his nose. Roose Bolton’s own face was a pale grey mask, with two chips of dirty ice where his eyes should be. Above their heads the trees were full of ravens, their feathers fluffed as they hunched on bare brown branches, staring down at the pageantry below. Maester Luwin’s birds. Luwin was dead, and his maester’s tower had been put to the torch, yet the ravens lingered. This is their home. Theon wondered what that would be like, to have a home.

Then the mists parted, like the curtain opening at a mummer show to reveal some new tableau. The heart tree appeared in front of them, its bony limbs spread wide. Fallen leaves lay about the wide white trunk in drifts of red and brown. The ravens were the thickest here, muttering to one another in the murderers’ secret tongue.

Difficult not to be reminded of Artaud’s take on theatre: a “strange sun” (”it was warmer in the godswood, strange to say “ ; “inside the godswood, the ground remained unfrozen, and steam rose off the hot pools, as warm as baby’s breath”), a “revelation”, a moment where the impossible slides within our reach.

This scene refers to theatre explicitely (”like the curtain opening at a mummer show”, “a pale grey mask”).

The Godswood allows Theon to connect with his souvenirs, emotions, regrets. All of this is linked to Winterfell and the family he idealised - the Starks.

“Theon wore black and gold, his cloak pinned to his shoulder by a crude iron kraken that a smith in Barrowton had hammered together for him. But under the hood, his hair was white and thin, and his flesh had an old man’s greyish undertone. A Stark at last, he thought.”

(To me, the white hair detail is meant to be symbolic before all else - maybe Theon’s dark hair hasn’t gone completely white, but it doesn’t matter. It looks white, cold, frozen. Theon is buried in snow, as we’ve said before).

Of course, the connection is even deeper than he realises as Bran will soon call for him through the Weirwood Tree. In Theon’s storyline, the Godswood symbolises the past that does not pass. The past is the first step to acceptance; Theon doesn’t need to remember as much as he needs to accept who he always refused to be - the shy, scared boy who yearned for home. Then, he can deal with his faults.

I personally read this bit as a metaphor for his journey:

There was a path of sorts, a meandering footpath of cracked stones overgrown with moss, half buried beneath blown dirt and fallen leaves and made treacherous by thick brown roots pushing up from underneath. He led the bride along it. Jeyne, her name is Jeyne, it rhymes with pain. He must not think that, though. Should that name pass his lips, it might cost him a finger or an ear. He walked slowly, watching every step.

The path to acceptance is “treacherous” - Theon might tempted to find excuses or deny some parts of himself he deems weak. It’s also “half buried”, meaning the path is not clear to him yet, he doesn’t know what to do, how to find hope and strength any longer. The key to it seems to be empathy : “he led the bride along it”. Jeyne, an innocent young girl, as scared as he had been as he was snatched away from his home. A girl that doesn’t matter in the great scheme. A pawn, the Prince he was wouldn’t have cared about, once.

Theon remains in a constant state of terror. He is someone who was shaped by fear. Ramsay amped up Theon’s fear to its maximum, forcing him to retreat within the confines of his mind. Inside the warmth of the Godswood, leading Jeyne on this path, Theon is slowly regaining his strength. He walks carefully. The lights around him are still faint, weak:

The mists were so thick that only the nearest trees were visible; beyond them stood tall shadows and faint lights. Candles flickered beside the wandering path and back amongst the trees, pale fireflies floating in a warm grey soup. It felt like some strange underworld, some timeless place between the worlds, where the damned wandered mournfully for a time before finding their way down to whatever hell their sins had earned them. Are we all dead, then? Did Stannis come and kill us in our sleep? Is the battle yet to come, or has it been fought and lost?

(That scene is so beautiful)

Soon, the dark masquerade will play. Theon and Jeyne cling to their masks, quite desperately, to survive. Since Jeyne and Theon touching conversation, Theon hasn’t let himself got off script. With Ramsay here, this is amplified by the nature of the ceremony. He is reciting a text. But isn’t he always reciting a text, with Ramsay around?

Ramsay Bolton stood (…) clad in high boots of soft grey leather and a black velvet doublet slashed with pink silk and glittering with garnet teardrops. A smile danced across his face. “Who comes?” His lips were moist, his neck red above his collar. “Who comes before the god?” Theon answered. “Arya of House Stark comes here to be wed. A woman grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?” “Me,” said Ramsay. “Ramsay of House Bolton, Lord of the Hornwood, heir to the Dreadfort. I claim her. Who gives her?” “Theon of House Greyjoy, who was her father’s ward.” He turned to the bride. “Lady Arya, will you take this man?”

And then - Jeyne embodies the Truth, with her brown eyes, reminding Theon of his lies, of the scene, the stage.

She raised her eyes to his. Brown eyes, not grey. Are all of them so blind? For a long moment she did not speak, but those eyes were begging.

There is hope for them both :

“All around them lights glimmered through the mists, a hundred candles pale as shrouded stars.”

But first, they must face the Plague.

“The weirwood’s carved red eyes stared down at them, its great red mouth open as if to laugh. In the branches overhead a raven quorked.”

After the Wedding, Theon shares another intimate moment. With someone he never took the time to understand, really - himself. At last! And it happens in the Godswood, a place of memories, repressed feelings and emotions. (Do you know The Unforgiven III? This song is Theon’s: been afraid, always afraid // Of the things he’s feeling // He could just be gone // He would just sail on…). The scene is positioned in the centre of the chapter, emphasising its symbolic importance.

Alone on the deserted stage, Theon finally dares to think freely. It’s a monologue, and any theatre lover knows the pivotal role of monologues in a tragedy.

Theon found himself wondering if he should say a prayer. Will the old gods hear me if I do? They were not his gods, had never been his gods. He was ironborn, a son of Pyke, his god was the Drowned God of the islands … but Winterfell was long leagues from the sea. It had been a lifetime since any god had heard him.

(But us, the readers, we do hear him in that moment. He isn’t alone, really. The reader is the closest to a god in the world of ASOIAF, as we are offered the perspective of all characters)

He did not know who he was, or what he was, why he was still alive, why he had ever been born. “Theon,” a voice seemed to whisper. His head snapped up. “Who said that?”

This bit sounds strangely Shakespearian to me. I’m expecting to see a vengeful ghost any second.

All he could see were the trees and the fog that covered them. The voice had been as faint as rustling leaves, as cold as hate. A god’s voice, or a ghost’s.

Well then.

How many died the day that he took Winterfell? How many more the day he lost it? The day that Theon Greyjoy died, to be reborn as Reek. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with shriek. Suddenly he did not want to be here. Once outside the godswood the cold descended on him like a ravening wolf and caught him in its teeth. He lowered his head into the wind and made for the Great Hall, hastening after the long line of candles and torches. Ice crunched beneath his boots, and a sudden gust pushed back his hood, as if a ghost had plucked at him with frozen fingers, hungry to gaze upon his face. Winterfell was full of ghosts for Theon Greyjoy.

The revelation unsettles Theon; deep down, he wants to face himself. The fear is still there, though. He has suffered so much, and for what? To keep a name and a personality that ended up betraying him, leading him to make terrible choices, to become a person no one could ever pity?

There is still an ambiguity here, between the cold and the warmth. It is the “frozen fingers”, the cold, that wants to reveal the truth, to uncloak him. As we’ve seen, the path Theon will follow from this chapter onwards is not a easy one. It’s a perillious journey. He may get lost again. This is a strong parallel with Bran Stark’s own journey. The two Princes of Winterfell will need to advance in the shadows in order to find the truth those around them concealed.

This is not the purpose of this meta to explore this theme further but I do believe the parallels between Theon and Bran are meaningful, strongly tied to the battles to come. It’s another hint that Theon’s storyline is verging towards the magical. After all, Theon was never made for politics. He has been a prize of war, a pawn to his father and Eddard Stark. The two Princes of Winterfell are more suited to the Godswood than the Throne Room. (Which does not mean they will never rule, although I have doubts about Theon ruling again. But Bran’s magic has to be taken into account). I hope they meet again. There are so many connections between them.

This moment of truth is left unfinished. It still has repercussions on Theon’s mind. His defiance surges back - he allows himself to be bitter, and depressed, and emotional. It’s great: this is the first step into regaining strength and dignity.

All the color had been leached from Winterfell until only grey and white remained. The Stark colors. Theon did not know whether he ought to find that ominous or reassuring.

(This is often undermined : Theon’s core conflict is there, plain to see. He can’t put words into his feelings regarding the Starks).

And above all, Theon cannot turn a blind eye to the truth any longer. It’s always creeping through, in the form of Jeyne:

“Even the sky was grey. Grey and grey and greyer. The whole world grey, everywhere you look, everything grey except the eyes of the bride.”

But this chapter is the first step of a long journey. Theon is not even aware of the great change within him:

“What had she been thinking, that he would whistle up a winged horse and fly her out of here, like some hero in the stories she and Sansa used to love? He could not even help himself.”

He still corrects himself in his own narrative: “So long as Jeyne took care not to anger him, he should have no cause to harm her. Arya. Her name is Arya.”

His walk to the Hall holds a symbolic meaning as well. Nietzsche writes in the Twilight of Idols : “Only thoughts reached by walking have value,” in opposition to Flaubert. Theon’s quiet walk confirms this, as his steps lead him inexorably to the atrocious wedding night, he finds himself remembering. Memories are the crux of our identities. Theon might not realise it, but what he is doing is already brave, and an act of resistance against Ramsay’s psychological (and physical) tyranny.

It starts with a sensation, because Descartes was wrong and our minds express themselves through our bodies:

“Even inside fur-lined gloves, Theon’s hands had begun to throb with pain. It was often his hands that hurt the worst, especially his missing fingers. Had there truly been a time when women yearned for his touch? I made myself the Prince of Winterfell, he thought, and from that came all of this. He had thought that men would sing of him for a hundred years and tell tales of his daring. But if anyone spoke of him now, it was as Theon Turncloak, and the tales they told were of his treachery.”

Finally, Theon reflects on his past actions and how they’ve come to define him, annihilating any hope for redemption, a better future. This state of mind, the hopelessness, also prevents him from helping an innocent girl. So, in this case, to look back allows Theon to grow as a person, make sense of his own actions. He ceases to idealise his life in Winterfell:

“this was never my home. I was a hostage here. Lord Stark had not treated him cruelly, but the long steel shadow of his greatsword had always been between them. He was kind to me, but never warm. He knew that one day he might need to put me to death.”

There can be no future for someone who’s stuck in the past, whether idealised or dreaded. Still, Winterfell remains his almost home, a place he could have been happy. A place he wanted to feel accepted in. Simply put, Theon is facing the truth, with all its facets.

Theon kept his eyes downcast as he crossed the yard, weaving between the tents. I learned to fight in this yard, he thought, remembering warm summer days spent sparring with Robb and Jon Snow under the watchful eyes of old Ser Rodrik. That was back when he was whole, when he could grasp a sword hilt as well as any man. But the yard held darker memories as well. This was where he had assembled Stark’s people the night Bran and Rickon fled the castle. Ramsay was Reek then, standing at his side, whispering that he should flay a few of his captives to make them tell him where the boys had gone. There will be no flaying here whilst I am Prince of Winterfell, Theon had responded, little dreaming how short his rule would prove. None of them would help me. I had known them all for half my life, and not one of them would help me. Even so, he had done his best to protect them, but once Ramsay put Reek’s face aside he’d slain all the men, and Theon’s ironborn as well. He set my horse afire. That was the last sight he had seen the day the castle fell: Smiler burning, the flames leaping from his mane as he reared up, kicking, screaming, his eyes white with terror. Here in this very yard.

It’s worth noticing that Theon, for the first time, thinks of Ramsay with no apparent trace of terror. The memories are flooding his mind, many of them include traumatic events. Yet, he carries on, detach himself from the Reek persona and clearly defines it as a mask (”once Ramsay put Reek’s face aside (…)”).

The last part of the chapter opens with a light: “the hall was blessedly warmand bright with torchlight, as crowded as he had ever seen it.”

Again, the truth, now revealed, cannot be unseen:

“(...) along the walls the banners hung: the horseheads of the Ryswells in gold, brown, grey, and black; the roaring giant of House Umber; the stone hand of House Flint of Flint’s Finger (…) Yet their bright colors could not entirely cover the blackened walls behind them, nor the boards that closed the holes where windows once had been. Even the roof was wrong, its raw new timbers light and bright, where the old rafters had been stained almost black by centuries of smoke (…) the largest banners were behind the dais, where the direwolf of Winterfell and the flayed man of the Dreadfort hung back of the bride and groom. The sight of the Stark banner hit Theon harder than he had expected. Wrong, it’s wrong, as wrong as her eyes.”

Theon is fully himself in this moment - sorrowful, full of self-hatred. This is one of the reasons why the term “redemption” bothers me: Theon acknowledge his crimes, but refuses forgiveness. He doesn’t seem to seek it (or to believe it possible, even): “Theon Turncloak,” someone said as he passed. Other men turned away at the sight of him. One spat. And why not? He was the traitor who had taken Winterfell by treachery, slain his foster brothers, delivered his own people to be flayed at Moat Cailin, and given his foster sister to Lord Ramsay’s bed. Roose Bolton might make use of him, but true northmen must despise him.

As we have seen, it’s only the beginning of his journey. For now, he is focused on survival. That’s all. But at least, he is able to think freely.

“Let them laugh. His pride had perished here in Winterfell; there was no place for such in the dungeons of the Dreadfort. When you have known the kiss of a flaying knife, a laugh loses all its power to hurt you.” He even regains his old, dark humor : “to his right sat no one. They are all afraid the dishonor might rub of on them. If he had dared, he would have laughed.”

The feast is another play where lies reign. Even the pie is a lie (this one was too easy, sorry) :

“True to his word, Manderly devoured six portions, two from each of the three pies, smacking his lips and slapping his belly and stuffing himself until the front of his tunic was half-brown with gravy stains and his beard was flecked with crumbs of crust.”

The same motif keeps on repeating itself - Jeyne and her eyes, the truth, Theon’s true self, the bravery he can display now that he has lost his misplaced pride, his false hopes.

“When she raised her head and looked at Theon, he could see the fear behind her big brown eyes. No longswords had been allowed within the hall, but every man there wore a dagger, even Theon Greyjoy. How else to cut his meat? Every time he looked at the girl who had been Jeyne Poole, he felt the presence of that steel at his side. I have no way to save her, he thought, but I could kill her easy enough. No one would expect it. I could beg her for the honor of a dance and cut her throat. That would be a kindness, wouldn’t it? (…)”

Interestingly, the truth is visible through Theon’s thoughts. Spoken words are the ones who are treacherous. See Theon’s dialogue with Barbrey Dustin, where he doesn’t dare speak his mind. “Her last word was a lash, but Theon dared not answer back in kind. Any insolence would cost him skin. “If my lady believes Lord Manderly wants to betray us, Lord Bolton is the one to tell.” They’re both standing on the sidelines as Roose receives news of Stannis’ army as if they were two characters on the stage, commenting on the comedy around them.

Ser Hosteen Frey pushed to his feet. “We should ride forth to meet them. Why allow them to combine their strength?” Because Arnolf Karstark awaits only a sign from Lord Bolton before he turns his cloak, thought Theon, as other lords began to shout out counsel.

It cannot last. Ramsay remains a constant threat, imprisoning Theon in a role that suits him less and less. The sole presence of Ramsay’s allies means that Theon returns to his state of terror.

It was not until Theon pushed himself to his feet that he realized how much he’d drunk. When he stumbled from the table, he knocked a flagon from the hands of a serving girl. Wine splashed across his boots and breeches, a dark red tide. A hand grabbed his shoulder, five fingers hard as iron digging deep into his flesh. “You’re wanted, Reek,” said Sour Alyn, his breath foul with the smell from his rotten teeth. Yellow Dick and Damon Dance-for-Me were with him. “Ramsay says you’re to bring his bride to his bed.” A shiver of fear went through him. I played my part, he thought. Why me? He knew better than to object, though.

He has no choice but to help Jeyne hide beneath the mask of Arya, so as to protect herself from the worst of Ramsay’s tortures. As he did before her. As he continues to do, reluctantly. The two are explicitly paralleled in their suffering:

“she had emptied that goblet more than once. Perhaps she hoped that if she drank enough, the ordeal would pass her by. Theon knew better.”

Their shared pain isolates them from this comedy. They feel, really, like the two last real people in Winterfell, but only with each other, when the masks shatter a bit. It’s in the details. Here, as they follow Ramsay’s men like the two prisoners they remain.

“As they climbed, Damon Dance-for-Me whistled, whilst Skinner boasted that Lord Ramsay had promised him a piece of the bloody sheet as a mark of special favor.”

We don’t get Damon’s line, because it’s a background noise. They try not to pay attention, to appreciate the presence of the other while they still can. Forget the rest.

The motif of theatre is present until the very end of the chapter. The bedchamber has been “prepared” like a stage, with all the accessories.

“All the furnishings were new, brought up from Barrowton in the baggage train. The canopy bed had a feather mattress and drapes of blood-red velvet. The stone floor was covered with wolfskins. A fire was burning in the hearth, a candle on the bedside table. On the sideboard was a flagon of wine, two cups, and a half wheel of veined white cheese.”

And Ramsay is waiting, strategically positioned, as an actor would be.

“There was a chair as well, carved of black oak with a red leather seat. Lord Ramsay was seated in it when they entered.”

Theon soon realises he won’t be able to let go of his Reek costume tonight. He struggles with his usual role, fails to master his thoughts as he was trained to. Again, this act of resistance is betrayed by his mouth, his body as if the body were the last piece of Theon that still belongs to the Boltons.

”Not you, Reek. You stay.” (…) He could feel his missing fingers cramping: two on his left hand, one on his right. And on his hip his dagger rested, sleeping in its leather sheath, but heavy, oh so heavy. It is only my pinky gone on my right hand, Theon reminded himself. I can still grip a knife. “My lord. How may I serve you?”

His mind, though, it never truly surrendered. Theon is no longer blinded by Ramsay’s lies. He sees the harsh, horrible truth:

“A child. Theon had forgotten how young she was. Sansa’s age. Arya would be even younger. Despite the fire in the hearth, the bedchamber was chilly.”

And the truth found in the Godswood, it’s cold, cold, cold.

#theon greyjoy #jeyne poole #gottheongreyjoy #asoiaf meta #i never know how to tag asoiaf stuff #also featuring #bran stark #ramsay snow #barbrey dustin #words are wind #asoiaf epiphany #this is such a masterpiece of a chapter #please follow me through it

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