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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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Merlin accidentally becomes Legolas/Katniss/Merida… you know the type;

He may be shitty at sword fighting, but Merlin begins to use a traditional bow and arrow and… actually becomes very good at it??

I imagine the first time he does it, it’s a complete fluke.

The five knights, The King, and Merlin are on their way back from yet another (frankly, ridiculous) quest.

They have been, of course, ambushed by a group of bandits, twenty to their six (six plus Merlin, though no one bar Lancelot knows about his magic, so he isn’t counted as a fighter). Though the knights outweigh them in skill, their sheer numbers makes it a… challenging, fight (meaning that they are winning, but far too slowly for their liking, and no one wants to admit it).

Now normally, Merlin hides behind a tree or in a ditch, and performs his spells quietly without being noticed, slowly helping and speeding up the fight. Except this time, the Gang was in the middle of a barren, open field, the bandits had disguised themselves with magic until the moment they attacked, and Merlin was right in the middle of all the action.

Everyone worried for his safety. There was nowhere for him to hide here, so they had to keep an eye on him, lest he get hurt (and Arthur sulked, or kicked off, depending on how badly he was hurt).

With nowhere to hide (and no branches to drop, or roots to trip people with), and one of the knights throwing a glance his way every ten seconds, he couldn’t use his magic.

He was currently on his hands and knees, Leon directly in front of him, Percival to his left, holding off four attackers between them (Merlin would marvel at how impressive that was if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied).

He keeps trying to get to Arthur, crawling between legs and over the groaning, injured bodies of bandits (he made a point to land sharp elbows and harsh knees into the more… sensitive areas), but with everyone moving around so rapidly, and the vicious swinging of swords and axes and maces inches above his head, he kept getting side-tracked and blocked and almost knocked out.

With a frustrated huff, he notices yet another bandit rounding on The King. Said huff turns into a pained gasp when he realises that Arthur hasn’t seen him yet.

The bandit raises his weapon in the air, seconds from bringing it down on Arthur’s back, but Leon is right there, and there are no branches to drop on him, and Arthur still hasn’t noticed!

The noise is too loud, grunts and yells and clashes of metal drowning out any sort of warning yell that Merlin could throw Arthur’s way, and he scrabbles around on the floor desperately; hands raking through sharp grass and over bloodied bodies as he stares in horror at the triumphant smirk on the future-King-killer’s face.

Time seems to slow (no magic, just adrenaline) as Merlin’s hands find purchase on a smooth, curved piece of wood. He picks it up without looking, at first intending to throw whatever it is as hard as he can in the bandits direction, before something (magic, instincts, periphery vision, who knows) tells him to look down.

He obeys, and widens his eyes as he sees the longbow gripped tightly in his right hand, and a stray arrow on the floor next to his left.

Merlin is no expert, only having actually hunted once or twice back home in Ealdor, when he was younger, but that was just enough knowledge for him to know roughly how to notch the arrow and fire. He pulls the two up quickly, a plan formulating in his head:

Step 1) Notch arrow.

Step 2) Close eyes.

Step 3) Magic? Hope?

Step 4) Come up with some sort of lie that explains how he managed to make the shot from sixty yards away, through a crowd.

Thankfully, it would appear that Merlin’s bad luck has given him a rest today; the first three steps go off without a hitch (the fourth will come a little later, when the battle is over), but he doesn’t have time to congratulate himself before he’s thrown into the fray, the bandits now obviously seeing him as some sort of threat.

Arthur finally defeats his own attackers, looking behind him in shock to see his unknown enemy lying on the floor, gurgling up blood and grasping weakly at the arrow through his neck. His head whips to the side, trying to find whoever had made the shot; his bewildered gaze meets Merlin’s for only a second before the servant is dragged to his feet, and promptly punched in the face.

He stumbles back and can just about hear Leon yell something from beside him but he pays it no mind, righting his balance once again and swinging his arm back, before bringing it down harshly on his newest attackers head. The resounding crack echoes over the field as the wood of the longbow splits in two on the bandit’s skull, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

The fight doesn’t last much longer, each knight taking advantage of their enemies' fatigue, and Merlin using his now broken longbow to whack them in the shins or trip them up when they weren’t paying attention.

He was sad to see it broken, but two of his closest friends literally owned a blacksmith's, and he had easy access to the Castle’s armoury; he could get a hold of another one easily enough, as long as he survived the journey back home.

The battle finally came to a close. Everyone was exhausted, and each of them was sporting more than one hefty bruise, but they were all alive and there were no serious injuries, so they could be grateful for that. After Arthur had counted his men, and generally taken stock of things, he traipsed tiredly over to Merlin, who had abandoned his broken bow in favour of cleaning a still weeping cut on Elyan’s temple.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Merlin.”

The servant ignores him at first, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully wipes the grime away from the wound. It was small, so an infection wouldn’t be too worrying, but it wouldn’t be comfortable and would make the scarring worse, so best to avoid it if at all possible. He hums in satisfaction as he leans back on his heels, Elyan gives him a grateful smile, and Merlin finally throws a glance Arthur’s way, before focusing back on threading the needle in his hands; it would only need two or three stitches, thankfully:

“Hmm. I'm not fond of hunting, but we had to for food back in Ealdor. Except we didn’t have fancy crossbows or hunting dogs, so we had to make do with hand-whittled longbows.”

Arthur nods, frowning slightly:

“Still, if I’d known you were that good, I would’ve demanded you had a bow of your own; that way us lot wouldn’t have to spend so much time making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Merlin smirked and quirked an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from Elyan’s stitches, whispering an apology at the man’s wince before he speaks slowly, concentrating:

“Careful Sire, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Elyan snorts out a laugh, but Merlin tuts and lightly slaps his leg disapprovingly, and he stills again. Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff:

“As if. Hurry up, I want to get moving as soon as possible.”

Arthur wasn’t the only one that noticed Merlin’s outstanding shot, and over the course of the next few day’s journey home, he received a multitude of compliments from the other knights.

Including an hour long excited infodump about the history and use of longbows from Leon, which Merlin eagerly hung onto every word of, a fond smile on his face (Leon was a noble, and had it practically beaten into him to not ramble, so Merlin always did his best not to discourage the man. That, and the fact that it was actually very interesting, and useful, if he were to keep up this charade that he was an expert marksman).

When Merlin finally had a moment alone with Lancelot, a few days after they had gotten back, he burst:

“Please please tell me you know how to use a longbow??”

Lancelot raises his eyebrow from where he was sat on the bed in Merlin’s room. Merlin was staring at him with unconcealed desperation, and the knight chuckled as he answered:

“Why? It’s not like you need any more training, that was a cracking shot.”

Merlin huffed loudly, running his hands through his hair as he looked back at the knight:

“I used magic!! I closed my eyes so no one would see and I guided the arrow with magic! Now everyone thinks I’m some master marksman! This is bad. What if next time I can’t use magic, or what if someone notices that I have my eyes closed when I fire?”

Lancelot clamps a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to stop himself from giggling, but he gives up quickly, bursting into laughter at the younger man’s panic. Said younger man fumes, sputtering as he picks up one of the knight’s discarded boots and throws it at him:

“It’s not funny, Lance! I’m being serious, this is an actual issue!”

Lancelot calms himself, rubbing the mirth from his eyes as he takes a deep breath:

“Ok ok, sorry. Yes, I can teach you to use a longbow properly. Have you ever actually used one before, or was the hunting thing a cover?”

The red fades from Merlin’s face slightly as he realises the other man is intending to help him, his panic lessening:

“Sort of. Yeah, I went hunting with a bow a couple times, but not enough to be that good at it.”

Lancelot sighs fondly and nods his head:

“Well, that’s a start at least. Come on, I’ve not got patrol until after dinner, and Arthur thinks you’re busy helping Gaius, so we’ve got a few hours.”

So I imagine that’s how it goes for a while.

After their last big adventure, Arthur was reluctant to head out as a group again, wanting to give everyone time to recuperate and get back into the swing of things.

Merlin’s skills with a bow were bought up constantly by everyone, news had even reached Gwen (who gave him a proud smile and a cute little dance to congratulate him) and Gaius (who raised an eyebrow, and had much better skill than Lancelot at holding in his laughter).

Gwaine, Elyan, and even Percival were desperate to set up targets and watch him shoot shit (their words), Leon wanted to talk about the specifics of technique and crafting, and Arthur... well. Arthur sounded like he was taking the piss, but there was something else in his tone that Merlin couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Affection? Pride?

Probably not, probably jealousy and annoyance that Merlin is so effortlessly good at something that Arthur himself was average at at best.

Merlin manages to avoid it for a while, showing his “skills” off, but he and Lancelot are running out of excuses, and Arthur is starting to accuse him of being a fake who got lucky. Normally, things like that didn’t bother Merlin, and technically Arthur wasn’t wrong... he had got lucky, and cheated with magic, but that wasn’t the point. It was nice for Merlin, to be good at something, really good.

He was good at plenty of other things. Magic for starters, though not even Lancelot knew the full extent of his power in that area. But he cooked well (shown by the fact that the knights always scoffed the lot), he was a good physician (shown by the fact that the knights trusted him just as much as Gaius when it came to treating injuries and sickness), and he was a BRILLIANT servant, if he did say so himself.

But he never got any actual praise for that. Merlin hated to think badly of the knights, his friends, but they only complained when Merlin wasn’t there, never praised him when he was. Well, apart from Lancelot. And that had just started a bunch of rumours that they were... uh... boinking.

(False. Anyone with more than two braincells could see that Sir Lancelot was head over heals in love with the newly-promoted Housekeeper, Guinevere, and that The King’s Manservant had an affinity for certain a blond prat-King.)

ANYWAY

It was nice for Merlin to have a skill that others thought worth complimenting, and with Lancelot monitoring his practice sessions, correcting any mistakes and offering congratulations whenever he did well, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he no longer had to come up with excuses.

Luckily, Merlin picked it up very quickly.

Despite being clumsy by nature (though Lancelot is starting to suspect more and more that it’s all for show), the dark haired servant can consistently hit bullseyes from fifty yards within a month. The further away from the target he got, the less astounding his aim was, but that was to be expected, and another month later he could successfully hit a moving target from seventy feet.

A training session, around three months after he started properly practicing, he finally “gave in” to Gwaine’s begging. Lancelot helped him set up a bunch of targets, and fetched a bag of apples to throw.

Merlin put on quite the show, grinning at the uproarious applause he got from the knights when he hit every single bullseye, and every single thrown target. Thankfully the knowing, proud smiles between the servant and Sir Lancelot went unnoticed, and even Arthur gave him a clap on the back and an impressed nod.

The first time Merlin met the knights in the courtyard to find Leon holding a longbow and quiver of arrows out to him, he panicked slightly, but one reassuring smile from Lancelot boosted his confidence, and he took them with a quiet thank you.

(After the fifth time, Arthur huffed, and told him to just keep them. He was the only one that regularly signed them out of the armoury anyway, so it would just be easier if he just took possession of them.)

It settled everyone’s stomachs, knowing that not only did the group have a master marksmen, hiding in the trees and taking out enemies that they didn’t see coming, but that Merlin personally now had more than his frankly horrifying (or... horrifying as far as they were concerned) stealth skills to keep him safe.

And that (a master marksmen in the trees) is exactly what happened.

In the early days, it involved a lot of bruises; Merlin could fire well, but firing and balancing at the same time? Took some getting used to, and involved a lot of falling out of trees at inopportune times.

The knights, Gwaine and Arthur especially, laughed endlessly at that, but quickly stopped after a particularly tired and irate and bruised Merlin fired an arrow so close by Gwaine’s crotch, that it stuck his trousers fast into the tree just behind him.

At first, it was meant to be just as back-up; Merlin was no knight. He still refused to wear armour, and Arthur didn’t want his manservant to make himself a target... at least that was his excuse.

Really, it was because (as far as Arthur was aware) Merlin had never deliberately killed before. Even now, years into his Kingship, and even longer into his knighthood, Arthur hated killing; it made him sick, and took a lot of practice at compartmentalization before it no longer bothered him as much.

Merlin was his manservant, his (best) friend, the love of his life (secretly). He was not a warrior, he was not meant to kill, he was meant to be protected from that.

But alas, Merlin did not get the memo, and the first patrol he went on with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he killed at least five bandits.

After the fight, it was Leon who approached him first, a concerned look on his face despite Merlin’s nonchalant expression as he checked over the string for wear and tear:

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin? You got a few good shots in there, you’re not feeling sick?”

Merlin looked up at the hand on his shoulder and the soft words, a confused look on his face:

“Why would being good make me feel sick?”

Leon tilts his head in sympathy, which just makes Merlin even more confused:

“The man you killed the other month was spur of the moment, protecting your King. But you... you killed a fair few men today, Merlin. I know that can be incredibly difficult at first, I just wanted to check in.”

The others had finally walked over to join them; Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and Arthur looking equally concerned, whilst Lancelot hid his proud smile. Merlin just raised an eyebrow at them:

“You seem to be under the impression that I’ve never killed anyone before?”

Everyone (bar Lancelot) looks taken aback at that, and Arthur frowns whilst Leon drops his hand in shock. The King speaks slowly:

“Merlin, are you telling us you’ve killed people before?”

The manservant clenches his jaw at that and looks back down at his bow, resuming his checking of the string and its knots. He speaks lowly, and the knights can tell it’s not a topic he’s fond of:

“Hmm. It’s a tough world, Sire. I’ve done what I had to, to keep myself and the people I care about safe.”

At his dark reply, conversation stopped, and didn’t resume for the rest of the day as everyone contemplated Merlin’s words.

That is, until he was the first one to successfully catch dinner later that evening. At which he got an incredulous look from Arthur when he made it back to camp with his half of the patrol:

“I thought you despised hunting??”

Merlin didn’t look up from the hares he was skinning, and the rest of the knights tuned in, curious:

“No. I hate hunting for sport; it shows hubris and cruelty. Hunting for food is not only necessary and natural, but humbling, if you do it right and honour every part of the creature.”

Arthur, ever the eloquent one, stared at him blankly, and said, rather dumbly:

“...What?”

Merlin huffed, finally looking up:

“Going after helpless animals on horseback with crossbows and hunting dogs is like giving yourself a huge pat on the back for winning a tournament against an unarmoured, unarmed, unconscious opponent, and then calling yourself strong and brave for daring to fight in the first place. It’s an egotistical act of violence for no other reason than cruelty for the sake of cruelty.-”

The knights looks on him with shock, Percival and Leon at least having the decency to look a little ashamed. Merlin looks back down to the hares, and everyone notices the careful way he cuts at the fur:

“I’ve taken these lives to feed us as a necessity. The meat will be eaten, but that isn’t all. I’ll take the bones home for Gaius, the marrow is useful in a lot of medicine. The fur can be repurposed for winter gloves or socks. The organs and other bits that we won’t eat: I’ll take for the pigs in the farms, or the dogs up at the castle. In using every part of them we are... honouring them, in a way. As a thank-you for their... sacrifice.”

Arthur looks a little dumbfounded. As royalty, he of course had never really considered the waste that comes about with hunting, but Merlin, a farm-boy from a rural village who barely scraped by every winter? Of course he saw a deeper meaning in hunting. He would have to.

Elyan is the first to break the silence:

“You almost sound religious, Merlin.”

Merlin looks up at him, a strained smile on his face. As magic incarnate, he has a particularly strong, temperamental relationship with nature and her creatures, a bond that some might call faith. To be wasteful or cruel in any way hurts him in more ways than one:

“Not really, I just have respect for nature, is all.”

No one mentions the thinly-veiled insult, but everyone creeps closer, wanting to see the way he disassembles the creatures for future reference.

It’s been eight months since that first, perfect shot.

Merlin’s skills with a longbow had become a normal, expected part of The Gang’s experiences, but the knights never stopped praising and thanking him when he saved their lives (something that Merlin still hadn’t quite gotten used), and The King had apparently not stopped thinking about it for barely more than a second.

Yule was approaching quickly: Merlin, Gwen, and the Steward being constantly busy with preparations in the castle, the knights being run off their feet escorting emergency aid to the border villages for the harsh winter, and Arthur himself having every minute of the day taken up with speech writing, invite sending, and his other general King-during-Yule duties.

That however, was all to be expected, and of course did nothing to keep Arthur and Merlin from their annual traditions.

It wasn’t official, it wasn’t even spoken of, but the last evening of Yule, the night before the new year, the two of them always spent together.

The last feast of the year would finish, Arthur would stay to see his guests off, thank the staff for all of their hard work, and finally retire to his chambers, his tired manservant barely a hair’s breadth behind him. They would sit in front of the lit hearth (in comfy chairs that only they used), work their way through a jug or two of wine, exchange small gifts, and fall asleep in front of the fire. Their hands, dangling over the side of their chairs, seem to be creeping closer and closer with each passing year; though have yet to become entangled by morning.

This year was somehow no different, and very different, at the same time.

The King and his Manservant settled in their chairs, tired and already a little more than tipsy from the wine drunk during the feast. Arthur looked up at Merlin, the fond smile dropping from his face when he sees the other man’s features pulled into a contemplative frown:

“What’s on your mind, Merls? I don’t think I’ve seen you this serious since the start of the celebrations.”

Merlin looked up at him suddenly, his eyes wide, but he smiles and shakes his head:

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking is all.”

Normally, Arthur would raise an eyebrow and let a scathing tease on the state of Merlin’s intelligence fall from his lips, but not tonight. This is the only night of the year that The King allows himself to entertain the idea that perhaps he and Merlin were more than friends, or at least could be. So instead he resumes his smiling, and looks back to the fire, taking another sip of his wine before responding softly:

“What about?”

Merlin hums, copying Arthur’s wine-sipping, before taking a deep breath:

“The future, mostly. You, me, Camelot. Secrets and truths, and when one might turn into the other. Soon, I think... yeah. Soon.”

Arthur huffs slightly in amusement. He knows that Merlin hides a great deal of himself, but he always becomes more cryptic after a few glasses of wine, like he desperately wants to say something and doesn’t have the power to stop himself from hinting at whatever it may be.

He asks his next question good-naturedly, a smile sweetened by wine gracing his face:

“The hell does that mean?”

Merlin lets out a short laugh, looking up at the other man:

“Oh, you know. Thinking about spilling all my deepest darkest secrets to you, at some point soon.”

Arthur snorts, saying, only for the sake of keeping up the charade they’ve built:

“You don’t have any secrets, Merlin. Certainly not any that are deep or dark.”

Once, Arthur would have believed that. Then, when he stopped believing it, he was angry about it, and now? Now, he finds he doesn’t mind so much. He is confident, he has faith, in both himself and in Merlin. He knows that those secrets are there, and Merlin knows that he knows, but that’s ok. Nothing either of them could reveal would tear them apart, at least not for long, so Arthur was happy to wait until Merlin was happy to share.

Merlin chuckled at Arthur’s response, shaking his head slightly before reaching down and picking up a small wrapped parcel that he’d stowed away before the feast:

“Come on, I’m a little nervous about your gift this year, so let’s get it over and done with.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the change in subject, and set his wine down so he could pick up the (much bigger) parcel by his own chair.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. After the first gift-exchange happened, Merlin had put his foot down and made Arthur swear to not go overboard on the expense side of things. Arthur may have been a prince, and now a King, but Merlin was still just a servant/physician; he could hardly afford anything worthy of a King.

He had a feeling that Arthur might’ve broken his word this year, but where Arthur had likely gone overboard with expense, Merlin had definitely gone overboard with sentimentality.

They swapped parcels, Merlin placing the large, heavy box carefully at his feet as he gestured Arthur to open his first. Arthur got to it, tearing the paper off without a second of hesitation, and Merlin allowed himself to smile fondly at the child-like excitement on the blonde’s face.

Arthur’s brow creased as he dropped the paper to the floor, stroking soft fingers over the worn leather of an old, well-loved book. Merlin took deep, fortifying breaths as Arthur carefully opened the first few pages, butterflies in his stomach as Arthur’s eyes wandered the yellowed paper in curiosity.

The King looked up at him, amused confusion on his face as he asked:

“Is this yours? I didn’t know you could draw, Merlin.”

Merlin gulped, and shook his head as memories of the exquisite sketches filled his mind; detail-perfect renditions of the castle, the town square, waterfalls and knights in action and people that Merlin didn’t recognise (for the most part. Arthur evidently hadn’t gotten to any of the pages with young Uther on them).

“No, not mine. This one requires a little explanation-”

Arthur nodded, carefully closing the book and holding it protectively in his lap as he gave Merlin his undivided attention:

“-I mentioned off-handedly to Leon a few months ago that I thought the lack of... of paintings of the late Queen in the castle was odd.-”

Arthur gulped at the mention of his mother, but nodded with a small smile when Merlin paused:

“-He said that when she passed, The King had everything to do with her moved to the vaults. He couldn’t force himself to destroy any of it, but looking at it, day in and day out, was too painful. We found the keys, with the help of Geoffrey, and went down to have a look, see what we could find. We didn’t tell you about it because we didn’t want to disappoint you, in case we couldn’t find anything.-”

Merlin once again looked a little nervous at this, and reached a hand out towards Arthur. When the man didn’t flinch away (if anything, he leaned into it), he moved to grip his shoulder blade, running his thumb over the exposed skin at the base of The King’s neck.

“-We found... a lot. Old clothes and paintings mainly, some jewellery. But then I found that;-”

He nodded at the book in Arthur’s lap, and tightened his grip on his shoulder. Merlin spoke his next words so quietly that Arthur almost doesn’t hear him, a soft smile on his face:

“-your mother was quite the artist, Arthur. I knew you had to have it.”

Arthur gasped softly, his eyes widening as he looked down at the book:

“You... you think my mother drew these?”

Merlin smiled at him, moving his hand to squeeze Arthur’s wrist slightly, before dropping it entirely:

“Check the back page.”

Arthur took a deep breath before doing what Merlin said, handling the book with even more care than he had before now that he knows who it belonged to. He turned to the very last page, to see an inscription written in beautiful cursive. Merlin recited it aloud, having memorised the words weeks ago:

“My dearest son, my silly sketches are able to hold only a fraction of our Kingdom’s beauty. I know one day that you will see what I see, treasure it just as much, and make it your own. You have my support, forever and always, your loving Mother.”

Arthur bites his lip harshly, lifting the book to press his forehead against the words as he shuts his eyes tightly, though that does nothing to stop the tears. Merlin replaces his hand on The King’s shoulder as the man shakes. He sniffles slightly, putting the book back in his lap, though keeping his hands wrapped around it securely, as he looks to Merlin:

“Merlin, I... I don’t even know what to say. This is... amazing. I... Thank you.”

Merlin smiles, shaking his head slightly:

“Technically, it wasn’t even mine to give, it’s always been yours. But I thought it might make a nice surprise. There’s plenty of other stuff down there, I’ll show you in the morning.”

Arthur nods his head, wiping his tears as he carefully places the book on his side table and gestures to the box at Merlin’s feet. He was itching to scour through the book, dedicating every single line to memory, but whilst Merlin had been nervous about Arthur’s gift, Arthur was buzzing about Merlin’s, and he was desperate to see the man’s reaction.

Merlin huffs out a laugh, but picks the box up, noting once again how heavy it is. He sets about removing the paper, much calmer and more methodical than Arthur had been, with his face pinched in concentration.

He frowns in curiosity as he sets eyes on the wooden box. It had a hinged lid, and a logo that he’s certain he recognises burned like a brand into the corner. He can feel Arthur bouncing in his chair slightly, and looks up at him in amusement, laughing once again when he nods excitedly back down at the box.

He lifts the lid, and takes in a shocked breath.

Inside was a beautifully crafted long bow; the wood smooth and varnished and carved, and a leather quiver. The patterns embossed in the leather and carved in to the metal at the base, match those carved into the wood of the bow, and Merlin traces soft fingers over the intricate swirls, stopping with a teary smile at the Pendragon crest, carved just next to a Merlin bird.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding as he looks up at the excited King:

“Arthur this is beautiful. Gods I almost don’t want to touch it, I feel like it should be on display behind glass.”

Arthur lets out a laugh, obviously pleased with Merlin’s reaction:

“Nope. It will be going with you every time you leave the city, and considering how much trouble we always seem to attract, I have no doubt that it will see a lot of use.”

Merlin laughs, closing the lid carefully and setting the box back on the floor, before launching himself bodily at Arthur. The blonde laughs, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle with no hesitation as the other man mutters endless thank-yous in his ear.

The servant finally pulls back, settling in his own chair again, and the two of them hope that the other puts the flush on their face down to the wine, and nothing else. They look to each other with wide grins on their faces, and Arthur breaks the stare first, taking another gulp of his wine before laughing jovially and speaking:

“Well. Here’s to an amazing year, and hopefully an even better one, starting in a few minutes.”

Merlin nods, lifting his own goblet to tap it against Arthur’s:

“Here’s to the past, that guides us-”

He gestures to the book on Arthur’s table:

“-and the future, that calls to us.”

He gestures to his new bow, and they both finish their wine off, a healthy flush to their cheeks and fond smiles on their faces.

They fall asleep in their respective chairs, the same as every year.

In the morning, they wake with pounding headaches, a promise of a golden future, and hands intertwined.

THE END!!

We love a cutesy/hopeful ending😌

Like always lads, you wanna write it out in full, go for it, credit and tag me✌️

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kyun-toast · 3 years

Text

[ATEEZ] Mafia!San - Will You Join Me?

word count: 2.9k warnings: explicit language, gun use, violence, description of death (not explicit), sexually suggestive, gets a lil steamy summary: cupid has a bullet with your name on it a/n: Y/N a little dramatic and San annoying af. I wrote this in a two hour flash at 2am, so this might be deleted after I reread it tomorrow because I’m pretty sure a lot of this is just me chatting shit.

1. Yoon, David – 12:45 Note to self: likes donuts. probs dunkin’, maybe krispy? idk just look for a man w a paper bag.

“I’ll have to warn you though, the lift is under maintenance, so you’ll have to take the stairs.” The receptionist smiled at you sympathetically. “I can get someone to help you with your suitcase if you’d like?”

“Oh no, it’s ok, I’ll just find another place to stay. I have weak knees anyway.” You forced a laugh and hoped the lady didn’t notice the dead look in your eyes.

“I’m sorry about that, love.”

Turning away with your suitcase in tow, you headed towards the building opposite the hotel and hoped that the rooftop would be easy enough to access.

It was quite irresponsible of you not to have a backup plan. It seemed that being named the sharpest shooter in the underground world had gotten to your head a little, but you argued that a bit of spontaneity never hurt anybody. Though your target would beg to differ.

Being a public building of offices, it was all too easy for you to reach the roof of the building. You found that walking with your held head high and gaze set straight ahead would never get you questioned. Who would ever stop someone with a walk so confident?

Thankfully, the rooftop hadn’t been turned into some garden space: an air-conditioning fan over here, a water tank over there. You checked your wristwatch reading 12:40 and muttered under your breath. The damn hotel lift had taken precious minutes of your time and compromised your view.

You opened your suitcase to set up your sniper, giving your little black cat charm on the side of your gun a squish. Cute.

Sitting on the case with your stock snug against your shoulder, you peered into the scope to get a closer view of the revolving doors to the bank. Oh great, there’s a lamppost in the way.

Mr. Yoon was apparently quite the punctual man, always seen stepping into the bank doors after his lunch break at exactly quarter to one and therefore, your window of opportunity was thin.

“I want it done today or you’re getting sniped yourself, Y/N.” You heard the voice of your boss yap in your head again. Blah blah blah, same old threat. You argued that procrastinating the man’s death was actually something very considerate of you to do.

You heard a familiar clatter of metal hit the floor and you turned your scope to the rooftop opposite to see a man in overalls with his toolbox open on the floor.

“Lift maintenance guy?” You muttered to yourself and wondered if the mechanics of elevators ran all the way through to the rooftop. You made sure that you wouldn’t be in his line of vision and swivelled back to your original position, cursing the man under your breath for ruining your first choice of setup.

12:44

“Come on, Yoon. Lunch time’s almost over.” Your finger lay restless on the trigger, itching to get a glimpse of the bank teller.

20 seconds.

“Krispy or Dunkin’ what will it be today, entertain me.”

10 seconds.

You saw the man turn the corner and waited for him to get a little closer for you to shoot.

5 seconds.

“That’s it, just past the lamppost and you won’t even know what hit y- what the FU-?” You shouted and quickly clasped a hand to your mouth. Mr. Yoon hadn’t even made it past the post, and he was already laying on the pavement in a growing pool of blood.

Calculating the angle in which he was laying, you spun your vision around to the hotel rooftop and saw the maintenance man begin to pack up a sniper back into his toolbox. Taking off his cap, you noticed a flash of white in his jet-black hair and just like he knew you were watching, he turned with a smug grin on his face and shot you some finger guns.

“Oh, you little fucker.” You spat, and watched the man jump down into a hatch to disappear.

You slumped dramatically onto the floor and splayed your limbs to stare blankly at the sky. Never in your life had you ever missed a shot, let alone have it stolen by someone else, and your boss had your phone ringing to rub it in your face.

“That wasn’t you, was it?”

“Listen, what if? You know, what if that was my thirteenth reason? I just couldn’t take it anymore and that was it. No more Y/N. You wouldn’t even come to my funeral, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t because you’d be too broke to have one. You realise you’re not getting paid for this?”

“Why? He’s still dead?” You sat up in disbelief.

“Well, it turns out someone else wanted him gone too. I can’t lie to our client and say that we did it.”

“You’re oddly moral for someone that runs a hotline for hitmen.”

“I’ll call you if I find you another job.”

“Justice for freelance contract killers.” You muttered weakly as he ended the call. The faint sound of police sirens filled the air as you let out a heavy sigh and lay back on the concrete.

You pictured the man and wondered who it was that would even think to render the notorious Y/N L/N jobless. Though you did have to admit that it was a clean shot.

“Skunk-hair looking ass.”

2. Kim, Seungho – 18:00 Note to self: babysitting. easy target but kid knows NOTHING.

You were stationed by a corner window in an unfinished apartment building with a trainee by your side, setting up his kit.

Stood by the trainee, you scanned to see if everything was in the right place, checking the kid’s posture too. You had been sent by your boss to reluctantly train a young recruit and you joked if you had been demoted following your last predicament. You were never in it for the money though, you lived for the adrenaline.

The boy had potential and you saw it, he just needed to make cleaner shots because three bullets somewhat near the target’s vital organs wasn’t going to cut it.

“What’s your name again?”

“Jisung. Han Jisung.” The recruit replied, his eyes never leaving yours, in absolute awe.

“Eyes on the scope.”

“I’m sorry, nobody told me I’d be getting trained by you. The Seoul Shooter? Like wow.”

“Ew, is that what they’re calling me?”

“Yeah, well I think it’s a pretty cool name, they used to call me ‘Jitman’ in my hometown, not very creati-”

You shushed the boy and tapped his shoulder as you pointed to a small figure in the distance.

“You see him through the scope? Now keep your hand steady, never feel as if you’re being rushed. Death works to your schedule.”

“Got it.” Jisung said, following the man with his gun.

“Ok, on 3… 2… 1…”

You heard the bullet cut through the evening air and hit the target neatly through his office window.

“Bro? That was so clean? That has to be one of the sexiest shots I’ve seen in a while-” You began.

“Uhh, that wasn’t me, Y/N.”

Before you could even process what had happened, you heard the rustle of footsteps patter down the stairs behind you. Taking out your handgun, you moved towards the open door to find the same man you had seen on the hotel rooftop stop in his tracks on the landing. Clad in a fitted black sweater and jeans this time, he looked a whole lot more attractive close up.

“You again?” You exclaimed; gun still pointed at the man as he dropped his duffel bag to raise his hands.

His eyes widened, not in shock, but more with an excited glint in his eyes.

“Oh my, it’s Y/N, the Seoul Shooter.” A coy smile painted his lips as he shook his white fringe out of his eyes.

“See, everyone calls you that.” Jisung interjected from behind.

“Shut up, Han.”

“Word around town is that you’ve been unemployed for some time now,” nodding towards Han, he added, “and it looks like the rumours are true.”

“I’ve actually decided to take a break you know? Let the other kids have a chance at making a name for themselves. Bit of charity work.”

“Y/N kinda got demoted because you keep taking their shots.” Han interrupted again.

“Hey, who told you that?!” You narrowed your eyes at the boy. Han Jisung was a smart ass and you vowed then and there that you wouldn’t take on any more training sessions.

You whipped your head back around to the man eyeing your body up and down.

“My eyes are up here, sir. Unless you really wanna get shot.” You spat.

“Well, I’d die a happy man if you were the last thing I’d see.” He smirked in retaliation and studied your eyes carefully. “Well, my job here is done, I better be on my way. Got a big cheque waiting for me.” He grinned as he reached to grab his bag and carry his way on down the stairs with footsteps too light-hearted for your liking.

“Why didn’t you shoot him?” Jisung asked as you watched the man disappear into the evening.

“I don’t think killing a man for taking my shots is justified.”

“What, and sniping Mr. Kim Seungho just before he gets to feel the bliss of clocking out is?” He laughed. “Do you know what I think, Y/N?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, I’m not going to say anything.”

Han Jisung tormented you the whole drive back to the quarters.

“Y/N and Skunk Man sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes lo-”

Smack.

“Ouch, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I was just kidding.” He laughed as an idea struck him, “K-I-D-D-I-N-”

Smack.

3. Park, Kiha - 10:32 Note to self: bad man. bad, bad man. but big, big cheque.

Having had your last two shots stolen, mystery Skunk Man was beginning to get on your nerves. You were seething to the point that you demanded your boss give you another job, itching to defend your title of being the finest shooter in Seoul.

Laying on the floor of a rooftop hangar, the man had the gall to pop up out of the hatch to set up his station right next to you, as if you were both on some picnic.

"Nice seeing you here today, Y/N." He said, sitting cross legged to mount a scope to the top of his sniper.

Not even bothering to take your eyes off the target, you muttered, "I got here first, you better back off." voice laced with venom.

"Well I've been promised a cheque too, we're all just trying to get fed around here."

Ignoring him, you glanced down at your watch that read 10:31. Any time now, Park Kiha would be walking through the glass bridge to get to his meeting in the twin building.

Steadying your finger against the trigger, you held your breath and counted down from three, two, o-

"I like your cat charm by the way."

You pulled the trigger only for it to stray a little to the right, still hitting your target, just a little less central than you would have accepted.

You shot up from your position to face the man laying on his side, head propped up against his hand to look at you.

"Do you have something against me? Do I even know you?" You exclaimed, carding your gloved hand through your hair.

"No uhh, but I saw your face on a bounty poster once and thought you were cute." He said, attitude too blasé. "That was a nice shot though, I was going to wait a few more seconds."

"So you saw my picture, and started following me around to antagonise me?"

"Nah, I just happened to be super lucky to have been put on the same cases as you. Big bad men have a lot of people after them I guess?"

Throwing your equipment back into your bag, you watched the man proceed to roll over onto his back with his arms behind his head to look up at the sky.

The mid-morning sun cast a golden glow over his skin and though you spent most of your life working with guns, his uniform and kit next to him looked a little different, almost attractive. They suited him a little too much and you thought that if a sleek sniper were to be personified, it would look exactly like this leather clad man.

"I should ask for your number, the way you're looking at me right now, Y/N."

"Good luck, you won't get it." You turned to step down the hatch as he propped himself up again to watch you leave.

Choi, San – 15:25 Note to self: he’s kinda hot tho :/

So, we had finally put a name to the face. As your boss handed you a folder, you were slightly taken aback at the small ID picture pinned to the top of the file.

“You might be a little happy about this one.” He said, taking a sip of coffee. “He’s been recently recruited by ATEEZ as their sniper. Quite a deadly one too. He was scouted shooting pheasants down in the Namhae countryside apparently.”

“Hmm, how much?” You questioned.

“A million dollars.”

“Excuse me? A mill-?” You choked on the air and composed yourself just as quick to nonchalantly lean against the filing cabinet and look out the window, “I don’t know, he didn’t look a million dollars-worth to me.”

“He hasn’t been in the game long, but man has he taken down some big names.”

Though you didn’t necessarily feel too attached to Choi San, you did think that you were going to miss him a little. It was nice having a friend on your level to spar with.

Who were you kidding? You thought he was hot and that it would be a shame to have to shoot him.

But on second thought, you had been itching for the adrenaline in the trigger again, and the million dollars looked a lot sexier to you than some man.

“I’ll take it.”

San was all too easy to find. He seemed to enjoy hiding in plain sight since no common person would recognize him in the bustling streets of Gangnam. Nestled in the corner of another rooftop, you zoned in on the recognizable black and white hair sat outside on the terrace of a café.

Once you were ready, you repositioned your finger on the trigger and focused the cross hairs on the familiar head. You were steady until San lifted his head and stared right back at you through the scope, sending you a wink.

“Shit.” You muttered, his actions throwing you off and when you repositioned your aim, he had slipped into the crowd, now lost.

“No, no, no, no, no, Choi San, ugh.” Seeing that he knew what you were up to, you got up to pace around the rooftop. Your mind worked nonstop to find an alternate solution but all you could conclude was to go home, stay low and pick another day to continue.

This man had thrown you into the worst slump of your life, but you were somewhat enjoying the chase and you hated to admit it.

The abrupt sound of a closing of a door behind you had everything clicking into place.

“You pretty motherfucker, had this planned, didn’t you?” You laughed.

Upon hearing the cocking of a gun, you turned to pull out the throwing knife strapped to your thigh and pulled his body in by his collar to reach his throat. And it just turned out that San had the same idea in pushing his handgun up underneath your chin at the same time, faces a little too close.

“I like your beret.” San said candidly, jerking his brow up at the hat on your head.

“Me, too. It’s Marine Serre.”

“Nice choice.”

“I’m going to count down from three and we’re going to drop our weapons, ok? And talk this out like adults because I for one, didn’t wanna kill you.” You bargained.

“Sure.”

“Three, two, one!” The both of you pulled away for a split second in bluff only to reposition your weapons against each other’s throats again.

“I knew it.” San smirked.

“No, for real this time. I mean it.”

“Go ahead, baby.” He smiled as his gaze dropped to your lips.

“Three, two, o-”

San cut you off by leaning into your lips, placing onto them a kiss so intense, almost mirroring the violent nature of the situation. However, what surprised you more was that you let yourself melt back into him. He let his gun clatter to the floor to walk you backwards into the wall behind, hoisting your leg up around his waist.

You broke away from the kiss for air when he smiled, “I mean, it is kinda hot, but I would appreciate it if you could stop holding that knife against my throat right now, Y/N.”

“Ugh, fine.” You muttered as San leaned back in to kiss you whilst roaming his hand around your thigh, ridding you of the rest of your knives and smirking against your lips in satisfaction.

Feeling his bulge grind between your legs, you both only grew more fervent for each other as you kissed.

“Wait, I wanna take you on a date first.” He pulled away to look you in the eye.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Mhmm, to Bar 1117.” He hummed, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“Isn’t that your company’s place…?”

“Yeah, they’re gonna love you.” He whispered, peppering small kisses down your throat.

“Are you trying to recruit me or fuck me, San?”

"I mean, you can kill me now and leave for that million dollars or you can come with me for a new job and that million dollar dick."

"You're unbelievable."

“I heard you were doing freelance anyway, baby.” He looked into your eyes again, a mischievous glow blooming across his face, “So, will you join me?”

disclaimer: San’s pie chart hair is one of my all time faves but I also can’t stop thinking that it looks a little skunk-like. In the cutest way. a/n: I've edited this a lot since I posted it and I think I'm gonna keep it

Mafia AU Masterlist

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dread-on-arrival · 4 years

Text

Richard Ramirez - The Night Stalker: Childhood Part 1

Serial Killer Masterlist

This is part 1 to my series on Richard Ramirez’s childhood, I wanted to make this series so we could go through - in detail - the influences and triggers in his childhood and early adulthood.

I recommend reading the first in the series Richard Ramirez: Family Background.

Word Count: 2576

Richard’s mother and sister recall him as being a quiet baby. His sister Ruth treated him as though he was her own child, she would dress him up like a doll: ‘He was particularly good looking, with a well-formed face and big, round, long-lashed eyes. As with his fathers and brothers, his hands and feet were large’. - The Life and Crimes of Richard Ramirez The Night Stalker by Philip Carlo. She’d bring him everywhere with her and would talk to him in both Spanish and English so he would be somewhat prepared when he started school. His mother noted his love of a music from an early age, if the radio was playing he would move his head and feet in time at a very young baby.

During this time Joseph had had around fifteen operations. Even though these operations mostly took place in the summer holidays so he wouldn’t miss school he still missed large chunks of his education. He was in hospital for such long periods of time that he started to miss school dearly but he didn’t complain.

At this point all the siblings apart from Richard were in school however Ruben was starting to struggle in school. Not because he did not understand - he was of average intelligence - but it was because he argued with other children and teachers. His report cards stated that he was a behavioural problem and was put into the ‘slow’ class. When his father found out about his ‘problems’ he beat him with a water hose, it didn’t help at all. Joseph was a below-average student due to being in and out of hospital. Robert was moved to a class tailored to his needs - it had became apparent he suffered from learning disabilities.

At 3 years old, 1963, Richard and his siblings saw their father lose his temper for the first time. He was working on the car outside the house and couldn’t fit the filter into the engine. It wouldn’t fit right and rather then taking a step back or giving it five minutes so he could calm down (anyone could get annoyed by something simple not going their way), he started to swear and shout but it escalated further then that. He repeatedly hit his head against the side of the house until blood started pour down his face. ‘”I’ve never seen anyone ever get so made,” Joseph said later. “He would just lose it totally. To see him doing that, making himself bleed and all - it was scary. When that happened, all the kids ran. My mom would stay out of his way totally. The funny thing was, he got more mad at objects than people.”’ - The Life and Crimes of Richard Ramirez The Night Stalker by Philip Carlo.

Robert was the third oldest of the siblings but he was the biggest, he was also the most relaxed, Ruben was rebellious and Joseph went along with pretty much everything, never really questioning his brothers. Ruth had all the good qualities of her brothers combined, she always helped Mercedes without being asked but could also play rough with her older brothers. She was often having pranks played on her but never took them to heart and would often quip back with clever pranks of her own. Still though, she clashed with Ruben. If she didn’t do as he said quickly he’d hit her and if it wasn’t for Joseph she would have been hit far more often. Later she said Richard would be the one to defend her, he loved his older sister more then anything and trusted her most of all.

After eleven years of saving the family began looking for a new house, their current house wasn’t exactly big enough for seven people. The house was one-story, three bedrooms, a large kitchen,a driveway, a backyard but no garage. It was located on Ledo Street, in Lincoln or La Roca (The rock) because of the cemetery, Cordova, close by.

Since Mercedes had gone back to work at Tony Lama’s - after they had been sued by a previous worker they now had ventilation equipment available - she needed a babysitter. She wanted a Mexican women so communication would be easier for her. Socorro was hired not long after to look after Richard unit Ruth and her brothers were back from school. Julian wasn’t around often since he was still laying tracks at the Santa Fe railroad. The further away he travelled the longer he was away.

Richard’s mother said that he could keep himself entertained for hours on end. Whenever his siblings were busy at school he would come up with his own little games such as Cowboys-and-Indians, one neighbour even spoke to Mercedes saying that Richard was exhibiting odd behaviour in the front yard. He would pretend to shoot the air in front of him before running to the spot where he had ‘fired’ and would act as though he would have been shot with great drama. He would act out other scenarios too but a lot involved some huge drama and battle.

Richard Muñoz Ramirez at age three on his first bike. He was a good child and able to amuse himself for hours on end. (Authors Collection) - The Life and Crimes of Richard Ramirez The Night Stalker by Philip Carlo.

One day when Richard’s parents and siblings were out he was left alone with Socorro. Socorro was watching television, not paying much attention to little Richard, this was a normal occurrence. He asked for her to put on the radio, he still adored music. The two-year-old asked for a further ten minutes yet he was told no so he took matters into his own hands. He went into his parents room where the radio sat on top of a large wooden dresser, using the open drawers as a kind of ladder he began to climb his way towards the radio. He made it to the third drawer but his weight caused the dresser to topple forward on top of him. It knocked him unconscious, creating a large gash on his forehead. Socorro pulled the dresser off of him and called Mercedes. She put a towel onto the gash, when Mercedes arrived they took him straight to the hospital. He had been unconscious for around fifteen minutes - being unconscious for at least that long is a sign of a brain injury. He had received a concussion and if he was to become dizzy or had problems with his equilibrium he should be taken back to hospital immediately. Thirty stitches were need to entirely close the wound, the scar was still visible once Richard was an adult.

Julian asked Mercedes to fire Sorocco and find a new babysitter. One that would be able to keep an eye on a restless child who could never sit still, someone who would able to pay a lot of attention to him for at least six hours a day, five days a week. She listened, fired Sorocco and the incident was never payed the slightest bit of attention again.

Their father’s hopes of the American dream for his children were beginning to falter, Ruben’s ‘rebellions’ were becoming worse. Whenever it was just the children home and no babysitter was present Ruben would bring over his ‘Bad group of boys’ as Mercedes called them. They would sniff glue in the house, Ruth saw it but never told her parents or anyone else. If Ruben found out she ‘snitched’ he’d beat her, their parents weren’t around enough to protect her from his rage.

A phone call from the police was Julian’s breaking point. Ruben, with his cousin Miguel and some of the other glue sniffers had been arrested in a stolen car. Julian picked up his eldest son from the police station in a rage that hadn’t been seen before. After working for so long at the Santa Fe railroad it seemed as though his temper was becoming more severe, like his father he was becoming withdrawn and no longer smiled as much. He was rarely home and when he was he would sit by himself, like he was brooding. Ledo street was in a good area of El Paso, it could sometimes be tough but the people their tried their best. They were hard-working Mexican-American first and second generation, all went to church often. Good people. Not many were arrested in that area, let alone in the Ramirez family. The Ramirez family may have been poor but none had ever been arrested, simply being arrested would be shameful for the Ramirezes. Julian slapped Ruben at the station, the moment they got back to the house he completely lost it. He beat him and beat him as Ruben begged him to stop. Ruben’s brothers and sister ran and hid where they could, Mercedes tried to stop are enraged husband but he ignored her. She prayed.

Richard listened to his brothers cries of pain, his brother begging for his father to stop. Richard began to tremble in fear and cried.

Once it was over, the anger gone, Ruben was left battered and bruised. Julian had broken his vow to never commit violence against his own family but he justified it to himself, his son should never have been arrested. He made him swear not to steal and that he must stop being friends with the ‘glue-sniffing boys’. However whenever his father was gone he would just go back to his old ways. He grades continued to drop only adding fuel to the fire of his fathers anger.

Not long later Ruben broke into someones house. He was arrested again. He viewed it as some sort of hilarious joke with his friends. This crime was far more serious and Julian beat him even harder. Previously the beating was borderline abuse (in today’s standard it would have been abuse but back then it was ‘discipline’) this time the line was crossed completely. Mercedes tried to stop her husband’s blind rage but she couldn’t. Both Joseph and Robert had fled and hidden. Ruben was beaten senselessly.

6 year old Richard once again overheard his older brothers desperate pleas, the cracks of the blows across his brother. He started to sob, terrified of his fathers rage and for Ruben, Ruth went to her little brother. She tried to calm him but when that didn’t work she just held her little brother Richie.

Mercedes put herself between her husband and son, begging for him to stop this. She cried it was too much and had gone to far, this wasn’t discipline this was abuse. Julian did stop. He left the house and went to the nearest bar to drink, he rarely drank because he was a diabetic but he was angry. He didn’t come home until late that night.

Ruben still didn’t listen and still continued his rebellious escapades.

It didn’t take Robert long to start sniffing glue, then Joseph started. Glue sniffing helped Joseph ignore the pain in his bones but he didn’t stick to it. He had seen his father’s anger and did not want to be on the receiving end of it. Robert however, was not deterred and he too started getting in trouble with the police. Both Ruben and Robert started fighting other kids and failing in school so they started to receive regular, severe beatings from their father. Even when he left, the family could feel his anger as if he was looming over them.

One Saturday all the children were home except Ruben who was out playing some ball game somewhere down the street. With Joseph’s help, Julian was fixing the sink. Julian couldn’t get the drain to fit with the wall connection and began shouting and swearing. Joseph could sense the volcano starting to rumble so he considered getting out of there but if he did how angry would that make his father? Ruth and Richard were together and could hear their father shouting so they gave the kitchen a wide berth. After a while of shouting and cursing Julian started hitting himself in the head with a hammer, like the car incident, blood started to run down his face. Joseph reconsidered his options and left as quickly as possible. Robert, Ruth and Richard all hid and waited for their father to calm and when he did they acted as if it was forgotten, but they couldn't forget that, Ruth said she never forgot it. ‘“My father,” she said, “would get so mad at things that he’d lose it totally. He’d get more angry at objects like the sink than at people. It was scary. Richard, all wide-eyed and frightened, was there, and he saw the blood as my father hit himself.”‘ - The Life and Crimes of Richard Ramirez The Night Stalker by Philip Carlo.

The kids were close with one another, after all they were very close in age. The older brothers liked to pull pranks on Ruth. They never were malicious and they never bothered her, she often came back with her own pranks so it was all fun and games. Although Richard was quite protective of his older sister, he felt that some pranks went too far. Ruben and Robert would often hit Ruth to get some sort of reaction - as siblings do - but if Richard saw a mark being left on Ruth’s skin he would get between his older brothers and sister and would defend her, telling them to leave her alone.

At 5 years old Richard went with Robert to the local park to find Ruth. Ruth was on a swing, in his excitement Richard ran to her not realising the danger of his action. She couldn’t stop her swing and it collided with a sickening thump into Richard’s head. Knocking him out cold. Robert carried him home hurriedly to their mother. She screamed when she saw her youngest child unconscious and bleeding from his head. He got his head stitched up at the hospital but the doctors said he would be alright.

Ramirez at six in an El Paso playground where he was knocked out for several hours by a swing. (Authors collection) - The Life and Crimes of Richard Ramirez The Night Stalker by Philip Carlo.

Richard’s first day at school came and went. Both Ruth and Joseph stayed out of trouble and were doing okay in school. In contrast Ruben and Robert were failing miserably and fighting anyone they disagreed with. At this point Julian was away from his family for weeks at a time. He was disappointed with their progress, he wanted them to do well in school and have a shot at the ‘American Dream’. He had hoped one of his children would be famous one day.

Part 2 should be up soon, if you think I have any facts wrong message me.

I have gotten my information from a range of articles, youtube videos such as Georgia Marie’s video on him, The Last Podcast on the Left’s two parter on him and Philip Carlos’ informative book ‘The Life and Crimes of Richard Ramirez The Night Stalker’.

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glowcrizzle · 4 years

Audio

Today is the 1 year AO3 anniversary of Slow Show by @mia-ugly. I am beyond grateful that this experience (and it is an experience) has existed in my life for a year and felt it needed commemorating. 🎂

I’m not a creator but I made this playlist for me, so I could take the fic with me, have it with my eyes closed, while driving -- you get it. Today seems like an appropriate day to share it.

It’s a. It’s a lot. Excessive you might even say. Tumblr will only give you the first 100 songs in this, so, Spotify will fulfill you (or overwhelm you). If you hit my username on the playlist, there are separate playlists for each chapter.

This is also on Apple Music, if that’s your jam, just hit me up and I’ll send you the link.

🎉 Happy Slow Show Day!! 🎉

13 pages of track-lists and excerpts below the cut. Godspeed! 💙

Key:

Songs from Mia’s soundtrack

Songs from the Fic

--Title--

Slow Show – The National

--Prequel--

Loverman – Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

Devils – Say Hi

--Chapter 1--

Here I Go Again – Whitesnake

bad guy – Billie Eilish

-trash a set and shag your husband

Something About You (ODESZA Remix) – Hayden James

-what it would take for Avery Fell to let his guard down

A Little Wicked – Valerie Broussard

-The handkerchief in his hand is now stained purple

You Light Me Up In the Dark – The Hounds Below

-His hair catches the light like a halo, making him look more of an angel than ever.

Lazarus – David Bowie

-This could be a problem

--Chapter 2--

Unsteady – X Ambassadors

-much easier than talking about the way his heartbeat is still racing

Heart of a Dog – The Kills

-Call me darling again.

The Twilight Hour - Still Corners

-Looked across the set and thought, Ah fuck me. I’m in love with him.

God’s Mistake – Tears for Fears

-Avery: He’s closed his eyes again, mouth going flat and still.

Lounge Act – Nirvana

-Tell her all the terrible things I want to do to her husband

Transatlanticism – Death Cab for Cutie

-There’s a strange urgency tonight, though, and Crowley can guess why.

Do I Wanna Know? – Arctic Monkeys

-What could it hurt?

Clueless – The Marias

-“Better - yeah. ‘S late.”

Motel – Meg Myers

-The hotel room is another disaster

--Chapter 3--

Alone in a Room – Asking Alexandria

-“I’m having a moment here!”

Since You’ve Been Around – Rosie Thomas

-makes Crowley feel like he can breathe again

Home Again – The Disco Biscuits

-It’s starting to feel like home again

Every Other Freckle – alt-J

-Perfect. Ridiculous and impossible and perfect.

Something For the Longing – The Orchids

As Far As I Can See – Phantogram

-it’s been a really, really long time

Sinister Kid – The Black Keys

-“Mothering buggering shit-”

All These Things That I’ve Done – The Killers

-Crowley fists one of his hands against his forehead, shuts his eyes tightly.

--Chapter 4--

I Like Me Better – Lauv

-I liked the outline of your face under the stagelights

I Do This for You (ft. Marlene) – Giorgio Moroder

-“Let me see what I can do. About your precious Hamlet.”

The Longing – Imelda May

-Avery POV: “Look at him like - like - you can’t let him see the way you look at him.”

Just a Man – Los Lobos

-Avery POV: like he’s being led into battle and not onto a set to do the job he loves

World In My Eyes – Depeche Mode

-wants to make that bastard purr

Tired (ft. Gavin James) – Alan Walker

-Let me be a magpie for you

Blow My Mind – The Benjamin Gate

-Avery: “I know you now.”

Breathe You in My Dreams – Trixie Whitley

-Crowley’s seen that expression on Avery’s face in his dreams

Love Me Like That (ft. Carly Rae Jepsen) – The Knocks

-What have I done to - oh. Oh. Right.

Like Real People Do - Hozier

-“Sure, angel, what- whatever.”

Clearly – Grace VanderWaal

-Crowley waits for the rest of the night.

Gwendel – PeelsDeen

-Az sits in the back seat, away from Crowley. Alone.

Now I’m In It – HAIM

-Avery POV: It’s a look like an open grave, a look like desire tempered with grief…

Flesh for Fantasy – Billy Idol

-Crowley isn’t lonely for the rest of the night

--Chapter 5 (Avery POV)--

Smalltown Boy – Rosborough

-1978, Hartlepool

Bright Horses – Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

-1986, Newcastle Upon Tyne

The Runner – Foals

-1991, Bristol

Shock To Your System – Tegan and Sara

-Tracy: “Why d’you let them?”

Cracking Codes – Andrew Bird

-“Forever, of course. I’ll never -”

Colour me In – Damien Rice

-Their fingers - just touch. Slightly.

I’m Not in Love – 10cc

-Less to regret by not ever speaking of it.

--Chapter 6--

Electric Current – Lower Dens

-“I’ll let you know when you find it.”

Guess I Miss(ed) You – The Daylights

-Keep talking, keep him here a little while longer.

Reflecting Light – Sam Phillips

-“don’t meet his eyes like that, it looks like it’s a lead-in to a kiss”

King of Pain – The Police

-a good reminder of the kind of life he’s got to live

I Wanna Get Better – The Bleachers

-and Avery’s gaze is so gentle it hurts a bit

Feather – X Ambassadors

-Avery: “Someone has to”

Darker Side - Jonny Lang

-Avery: “Oh - good Lord.”

Firestone (Acoustic) – Conrad Sewell

-“Will you show me?”

Velvet Gloves and Spit - Timber Timbre

-“Anthony - ”

Wrong – Depeche Mode

-Avery: “I have to go.”

F**k it I love you – Lana Del Rey

-“Not your fault, angel”

--Chapter 7--

Somebody to Love – Queen

Heavenly – Cigarettes After Sex

-“I fucking still.”

Will Do - TV on the Radio

-“You too. I’ll see you there.”

Monster – Colours

-No wonder Avery ran off like a thief after a heist

Swallow My Pride – Ramones

-“I feel fucking ill about it.”

I Was Wrong - The Oh Hellos

-Avery: “I’m the one who has to apologize, not you.”

The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret – Queens of the Stone Age

-Avery: “Please don’t tell anyone”

Wait for Me – Kings of Leon

-Avery: “Right now, I’m just - a bit in pieces.”

Don’t Stay – X Ambassadors

-“You can - stay or leave or - whatever you like.”

The Moth - Aimee Mann

-Avery’s eyes meet his, and then it’s like a car accident

Red Door – Julien Baker

-“I can - I can wait longer.”

Can’t Pretend - Tom Odell

-“I wasn’t apologizing for that. This morning. I won’t.”

Come Down to Me – Saving Jane

-Avery: “You were wonderful”

Secret Smile – Semisonic

-And if sometimes he catches Az watching him between takes

I Want More - KALEO

-Az laces both of their hands together, stares at them.

I’m Gonna Do My Thing – Royal Deluxe

-“So don’t tell me what will hurt me. I know what hurts.”

--Chapter 8--

Perfect Day – Lou Reed

Remember to Breathe – Sturgil Simpson

-“You can’t sit in the car all night you absolute nightmare”

Wild Love (Acoustic) – James Bay

-The two of them stare at each other and then both look away awkwardly.

Seasons – Future Islands

-finally, fucking finally, he’s exactly where he wants to be

Closer – Tegan and Sara

-Avery: “if you like”

I Want All of You – The Verve Pipe

-“If you think I can survive this without looking at you -”

Use Me – Miguel

-whatever he sees in Crowley’s face makes him come to some sort of decision

So Much Love – Depeche Mode

-Love, he said love

Don’t Be Scared, I Love You – Bill Ryder-Jones

-I know you, Crowley wants to say, but doesn’t.

Become My Dream – Silya & The Sailors

-“Even if - anything, angel.”

I Belong In Your Arms – Chairlift

-For nearly two weeks it goes like this.

Faster - Matt Nathanson

-“You’re going to fucking kill me, angel -”

Come Together (feat. Sivu) – LAUREL

-In case you think they don’t wake up together

The High – Kelela

-Az has pulled a stool over to the edge of the tub

Just in Time – Valerie June

-Then Az’s hand is on his shoulder, turning him around.

I Can’t Take It – Tegan and Sara

-Avery: “Don’t rush, just - like this.”

Like This – Jake Scott

-Avery murmurs and it takes Crowley back to their first kiss

Terrible Love – The National

-Flinches away from him.

Help You Out - Emarosa

-And he nods.

--Chapter 9--

I Remember You – Ramones

-The first person Crowley loved was a liar.

Brighter Skies - Race Banyon

-As if they were cut with a jigsaw, as if they were meant to fit.

Not Tonight – Tegan and Sara

-When they reach the edge of the city, his hand slides out of Crowley’s.

As Sure as I Am – Crowded House

-So Crowley kisses him.

A Promise – Miriam Makeba

-And for awhile, he believed her.

Mistaken for Strangers – The National

-They’re only two small words, but they still make Crowley’s teeth ache.

Hey, That’s No Way To Say Goodbye – Leonard Cohen

-“Good-“ Swallow, speak, leave.

The Fear – Pulp

-Crowley should have been smarter this time. He really should have been.

Take Me – Leela James

-“I’d like you to close your blinds.”

Whenever You Want It – Clare Maguire

-“What do we do now?”

At My Weakest – James Arthur

-“It will be.”

Komm zurück - Fotos

-For years and years and years, nothing did.

Come on Get Higher – Matt Nathanson

-their feet sliding in the tub

Lay Down – Sarah Proctor

-I want to wake up with you.

Sort Of - Ingrid Michaelson

-Why is my heart breaking?

Fairytale of New York – The Pogues

-Just pump that shit straight into his veins.

What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve? – Ella Fitzgerald

-Avery: “What do you think?”

We’re Gonna Have A Real Good Time Together – The Velvet Underground

-“You want to grab dinner somewhere?”

Hiding – IAN SWEET

-Crowley stops walking. Looks at Az in the darkness.

Romance Dawn – Radkey

-A slice of light cuts through the darkness.

Crown of Love – Arcade Fire

-Crowley feels like the world has never been darker, and his heart will never stop beating

Devil’s Backbone – The Civil Wars

-He thought he was ready for this conversation, but at the sight of Az’s face, his throat has gotten too tight to speak.

Sinners – Lauren Aquilina

-“If this all goes down in flames, if it all falls apart - we can go off together.”

Please Forgive Me (Song of the Crow) – William Fitzsimmons

-Avery: “It’s over. I’m - I’m so sorry.”

Start a War – The National

-He twitches and trips and yet somehow manages to walk away without falling over.

Broken – Daley

-And this soft heartache was somehow the sharpest of them all.

--Chapter 10 (Avery POV)--

Daily Battles - Thom Yorke & Flea

-He tries to remember these things - but the background is still a chorus of beeping machines. There’s nowhere he can be but here.

Everybody Wants You - Red Hearse

-Go out and surround himself with people much more interesting and available than Avery. Better people, certainly.

A Thin Line – Blackchords

-But still - roads not taken, and other fun middle-aged spirals.

My Own Soul’s Warning - The Killers

-When was the last time someone asked Avery that? When was the last time he asked himself?

Who Am I - NEEDTOBREATHE

-I miss you. There. It didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would.

Wait for Me - Jack Curley

-What he wants to say is ‘don’t find someone else. Not yet. You and your black leather and your cut-glass profile: you’re gorgeous and God knows other people want you.’

Coming & Going – Amaal

-“Two ships passing in the night,” he says quietly. Then he takes a swallow of wine, lets it roll down his throat. “If you were here -”

Iron - Woodkid

-Crowley leaves him there, pressed against the wet brick wall. Crowley leaves him there. Crowley steps between Avery and a camera, and then leaves him.

The Greatest Bastard - Damien Rice

-He can’t be the person that kicks Crowley into the ashes again. He can’t hurt him like this, and Avery’s going to hurt him - he already has.

No Right to Love You – Rhys Lewis

-He deserves someone like - like Daniel. Deserves to be loved in the daylight.

If It’s Hurting You - Robbie Williams

-Time is a tricky business when you’re dying slowly; it skips like a flat stone on a quiet lake.

Happy For You – Gayle

-But surely - surely he’s allowed just this much. Just one message, just so Crowley knows that - that he’s happy for him. That Avery is so happy.

I See You (ICU) - Phoebe Bridgers

-When Avery sees Crowley on the red carpet, it feels like the sudden remembrance of a lovely dream.

Once In My Life - The Decemberists

-Crowley: “I know there’ve been some - hard times. That’s - that is what it is. But for me - it’s been a privilege. A dream. So.” He nods and nods and nods again. “Thank you.”

Coming Down - Dum Dum Girls

-Tracy: “But I wasn’t. I was hurting you. This whole time, Az.” She shakes her head, wiping frantically at tears that won’t stop falling. “He loves you.”

I Don’t Know Anything – Little Voice Cast

-He’s afraid of finding out that all this time - he was doing the wrong thing anyway. He’s afraid that Anthony Crowley will never talk to him again.

Sweet Sour - Band of Skulls

-"And you're fired"

Heart Attack - Devarrow

-The sun is still rising when Avery gets out of the car, closes the door behind him. Though some of the roads have changed, his feet still know the way down to the docks of his youth. He was never a sailor, but the shoreline is familiar as a childhood sweetheart, as a long lost love.

Landslide - Robyn Sherwell

-He’s alone, and he’s nearly fifty years old. He could get on a ship, he could throw himself into the sea. There’s no one holding him back anymore.

All I Can - Sharon van Etten

-And he knows. He knows.

--Chapter 11--

Salvation - The Strumbellas

- there’s a moment where he swears he sees a young idiot in black standing in the crowd. Red hair gelled up into spikes, black t-shirt full of holes and safety pins. A young man who has no idea how much he’s about to lose.

Soldier - Fleurie

-And he’s still fucking here.

Easier – Mansionair

-Then he gets the fuck above ground and he calls Beez (oh great, they’re his emotional-support-asshole now. That’s healthy).

Deep End – Holly Humberstone

-“I brought you cheese,” Beez says, and Crowley starts crying.

Falling Short – Lapsley

-For the next few days, he lets his stupid body do what it needs to do to keep himself upright.

Chariot (Stripped Version) - Gavin DeGraw

-Shit, this was a bad bad idea.

Quiet Light - The National

-There’s a text from Az later that night, and his name on Crowley’s phone makes him feel like jumping off a cliff.

All That We Had is Lost - Postiljonen

-He’s not allowed to be in love with that man anymore. Wasn’t ever, really.

Heal - Tom Odell

-It makes a rather hysterical laugh well out of his throat. Anthony fucking Crowley. You are still alive.

Let Me Go - HAIM

-Crowley tries to ignore the soft, injured expression on the other man’s face as he turns away.

A Beginning Song - The Decemberists

-“What’s more frightening than having a choice?”

The Spark - William Prince

-And he likes to think he would have just burned the world to ashes with the power of his love, would have said fuck everyone, I choose you – but who knows.

Sharp Scratch - The Slow Show

-So stupid, I know, and I’m - sorry, I still love you and I’m tryin’ to stop and I will I just - needed to tell you that. I’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Just miss you.

Beautiful & Brutal – Plested

-Crowley moves without thinking. Falls like a stagelight, glass everywhere. He walks forward and is kissing Az before the door has even been pulled shut.

Bad Chemistry - Fake Shark

-“I’ve been - thinking about this -” Az says between darts of his tongue against Crowley’s overheated skin.

All We Do – Oh Wonder

-“But I - I love you. And I can’t - hide. It hurts too much.”

Broken Strings - James Morrison (ft Nelly Furtado)

-“I wouldn’t survive it. That way it was. I wouldn’t.”

Stole the Show – Parson James

-But even on their distant shores, Crowley and Az don’t stop looking at each other. It feels like an ending. Maybe it is one. Not a happy ending, but not a bad one either.

Level Up - Vienna Teng

-excerpt from Anthony Crowley: Out of the shadows, under the spotlight

The Wire (Alternate Version) – Patrick Droney

-Avery: “I’m rather in - in love with you.”

Sweet Thing - Van Morrison

-“You can stay at my place. If you like.”

Falling in Love - Cigarettes After Sex

-“I love you. I’ve missed you, and I love you, and I want you -”

Stay - Cat Power

-He watches the slow flicker of awareness in Avery’s blue eyes. The curve of his mouth into a shade of smile that Crowley’s never seen before.

Freedom - George Michael

-“To the world.”

--Chapter 12--

Banks - NEEDTOBREATHE

-What he wasn’t used to was bringing someone else down with him, and jail would be a bloody blessing compared to seeing Az grey-faced and staring out windows, or that one time Crowley’s pretty sure the man was crying in the bathroom, trying to swallow down the sound so that Crowley didn’t notice (he clenches his hands into fists just thinking about it).

Black Mambo - Glass Animals

-“It’ll have to be.” Crowley drops to his knees. “There’s a lot of ground to cover.”

Florets - Grace VanderWaal

-Crowley can let his fingers curl against Az’s palm, can watch him open as a flame, not caring who notices.

Sight of the Sun - fun.

-That this longing won’t destroy him, and won’t destroy Az either. It’s not a shovel for burying Crowley alive - it’s a spade for planting things.

Pale Blue Eyes - The Velvet Underground

-Az drops his hand onto Crowley’s knee (“What is this song? I rather like it.”).

Only Everything (Acoustic) – Quinn Lewis

-“It’s nice to have someone make it for you, right? Sometimes,” Crowley says softly, too much love in his throat and in his hands. It’s hard to breathe around it, especially when Avery is looking at him.

The Book of Love - The Magnetic Fields

-“You bought a cottage for us.” Crowley is an animal being taught to speak through scraps of meat and electric shocks. “This cottage.”

Say You’ll Be Mine – Christopher Cross

-Avery: “But if you wanted -” Fuck, there are tears in Avery’s eyes. “If you want. I’d like to call you my husband. I’d like to say ‘let me ask my husband,’ or ‘I brought my husband with me’ or ‘my husband won a BAFTA’.”

Anthem - Leonard Cohen

-Their broken edges match. And somehow, the light still shines through.

Precious Love – James Morrison

-When the light catches them both, they shine. And so do you. So do we.

Good Man (acoustic) - Josh Ritter

If you made it this far...wow, hi hello. So, this is ours and my musical exposure is limited, if you’ve got a better song for an excerpt, feel free to shoot it over, more than happy for this to be a living changeable thing. 🤡

#slow show #slow show playlist #tumblr html code after read more is some bullshit #it's fic for your ears

177 notes · View notes

freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Chapter 5

Gwilym!Prince Charming x Reader

Summary: After losing your parents, your step-family makes your life impossible. That is, until Prince Gwilym holds a ball. It’s your one chance for everything to change.

Word Count: 4.1k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish, @queen-paladin, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf, @namelesslosers, @headl0ng, @captvianswaan, @folietracksix, @baltimoresweethearts, @killer-queen-87, @haileymoreolikestupid, @itsametaphorgwil, @misslolasworld, @whitequeen-ofwillowgreen

A/N: It’s the grand finale! Thank you again for all the lovely responses to this fic! I can’t believe I’m almost done with the Disney AUs already! also i barely proofread this because i was so excited to post it so if you see a typo no you didnt

Warning(s): brief descriptions of abuse

Moodboard

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 here we go!!!

Frank and his daughters came home about an hour after you did. You were already back in your servant clothes and waiting by the door. You took their cloaks and bags, and began hanging them on the rack in the main hall.

“How was your night?” you asked politely.

“It was a splendid evening, Y/N,” Frank answered. “More than you could ever hope for.”

“I’m sure it was,” you returned, holding back a smirk. If only he knew.

“I’m relieved to see you have not stolen anything else from my wife’s closet,” he sneered.

You shook your head. “No, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve been thoroughly educated.”

“Very good,” he said, seeming displeased that he couldn’t goad you.

But nothing could spoil this night. It was perfect.

“Is there anything you need before going to bed?” you asked.

“I’m fine, but you’ll of course help the girls get changed,” he said.

You nodded again. “Absolutely.”

He watched you suspiciously as you followed your step sisters up the stairs. You were calm. Too calm. And you were humming, which you didn’t normally do. Plus the tune was something he had heard somewhere - but no event would have had you in attendance. His frown deepened. Something was up.

***

Gwilym returned to the palace two hours later, empty handed and broken-hearted. Rami and Ben were waiting on the steps for him, but as he walked up, he only shook his head. They sighed, disappointed for their friend. Thankfully, the remaining guests had all gone home.

“Sorry, mate,” Ben said.

“There was no sign of her?” Rami asked.

“No,” Gwilym said. “Even the carriage tracks just seemed to disappear. It was like she just vanished.”

“So, all we’ve got to go on is the shoe?” Ben wondered, holding it up.

Gwilym had only entrusted his best friends with it, and they had kept it from his father.

“It’s made of glass,” Gwilym said. “Which means it only fits her.”

“So what are we gonna do?” Rami asked. “Try the shoe on every woman in the kingdom?”

“Only the single women,” Gwilym said, as if it were obvious.

Rami and Ben shared a surprised look.

“I hope you’re joking,” Ben said.

“Far from it,” Gwilym replied. “I’m going to find that girl, and I’m going to marry her.”

Rami sighed. “Very well, then. But let’s start in the morning.”

“Thank you both,” Gwilym said, relieved. They had every reason to leave now. Both had duties at home, and had done what was socially expected. With the ball over, there was no obligation to stay. “Really.”

“Of course we’re gonna help you,” Ben said. “But I’m with Rami. Starting tomorrow.”

“You guys go on up, I’ll be right behind you,” Gwilym insisted.

His friends shrugged, but did as he requested and went inside. Gwilym remained, holding that glass piece of you carefully in the crook of his arm. He looked out into the night sky, hoping somehow you could feel his desperation.

“I am coming for you, my darling,” he said quietly.

***

You yawned as the sun peered into your room through your curtains. You were feeling unusually light this morning. Like you were still floating just above the ballroom floor. With a contented sigh, you stretched and forced yourself out of bed. Frank and the girls would be needing their breakfast soon, but you knew you had a little extra time today. They’d certainly have a bit of a lie in after the late night.

You threw your dress and apron on. You did a spin around your room, giggling as you imagined Gwilym there with you. Then you had to slow to a stop. It was a fantasy, nothing more. One glorious night. But now it was time to return to reality and your true life. Still, you could cling to the dream for one morning.

Humming to yourself, you put the pot on to boil and began prepping plates for breakfast. You set a pan atop the stove to start some sausages when you heard the jingle of a bell. You looked at the wall. It was coming from Eleanor’s room, so you guessed she was up. You asked Elsie to start the food and went back upstairs to get your step sister dressed. When you reached the landing, you saw Frank emerging from his room, already dressed.

“Good morning,” you said kindly.

“Y/N, what did you get up to last night?” he asked.

“Why, nothing, sir,” you said. “I cleaned up, as you instructed, changed clothes, and got a head start on some other chores. When those were done, I occupied myself by reading.”

He seemed skeptical. “I see. I hope you weren’t reading anything too fanciful. You mustn’t fill your mind with...unrealistic dreams and fantasies.”

Your brow furrowed with confusion. What was he implying?

“No, sir,” you said. “I try to keep everything practical.”

“Good,” he said. “Now get to work.”

You nodded, a bit perplexed, but continued into Eleanor’s room.

***

In the morning, Gwilym was the first up. He hardly slept at all. He wrote a decree for his father to send out, that he and Ben and Rami would be making the rounds through town and the countryside to find the owner of the missing shoe. They would begin today, and search until the prince had found his lost love.

To his shock, the king agreed to this. He read over it at the breakfast table, nodding at each point. The ladies were to try on the shoe and if it fit, it must be the girl who Gwilym met at the ball.

“Very well,” he said. “You’ll begin today?”

“Yes,” Gwilym said. “I want to find her as soon as possible.”

“Alright, son,” the king replied. He looked at the prince and offered a sincere smile. “And best of luck.”

Gwilym beamed. “Thank you, Father!”

And so, they began their search within the palace, where the out of town noble guests were staying. Gwilym had his doubts about those girls because he met them before you even came through the door. But he knew everyone deserved a fair chance. When the shoe fit none of those women, they made their way into town, with a few guards along for protection.

***

Frank received a letter from the palace early in the morning. He looked it over and you saw a flash of...something cross his face. You couldn’t place the emotion though. It seemed almost like a glimmer of hope. His eyes glanced over at you before quickly turning to his daughters.

“Girls, get yourselves looking nice,” he said. “We’ll be having visitors from the palace this afternoon.”

“The palace?” you questioned, without meaning to, but you could hardly help yourself.

“Yes, but that isn’t any of your business, Y/N,” he snapped. “Get my daughters ready and then proceed with your chores as usual. You are not to make your presence known while the visitors are here.”

You nodded apologetically. As you made your way back to the kitchen, you wondered if the visitors Frank referred to could be Gwilym and his father. Was he looking for you? Something in your heart told you he was, but you hardly even dared to hope. Such a thing was the stuff of dreams. And yet, the ball seemed like a dream too, but it was as real as the tea kettle you carried. You began devising a plan.

As the day wore on, you completed your chores quickly. You wanted to prepare yourself as well. Your gut was telling you Gwilym was on his way to take you away from here. And you had all the proof you needed in that slipper that was hidden beneath your bed. So when you finished sweeping the entrance hall, you ran up to your room to get it. Only, when you opened your door, you came to an abrupt stop. Frank was sitting on your bed, holding the slipper by the heel. One wrong move of his fingers and it would fall, risking a break.

“Well, well, well,” he said darkly. “I had a feeling you had made your way to the ball. You’ve been far too dreamy to have had as dull a night as you claim.”

Your heart rate quickened.

“That’s mine,” you said, feeling childish as the words left your mouth. “It was given to me.”

Frank laughed humorlessly. “Oh, likely story. I suppose this is another one of my wife’s things you stole.”

“You cannot stop me from this,” you said, ignoring the accusation. “The prince loves me.”

“Against his better judgement, I believe that’s true,” he admitted.

You blinked, surprised at your step father’s nonchalance about this. Did that mean he would accept it? No. There had to be something else he was getting at.

“As it is, though,” he said. “You’re spoken for.”

You frowned as your stomach dropped.

“What are you talking about?” you asked.

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he said, getting to his feet and straightening his jacket with his free hand. “And mine alone.”

A chill ran down your spine. Was he really saying what you thought he was saying?

“I’m not a slave, Frank,” you said. “I am free to do this.”

“I do not intend to make you my slave,” he said. “I intend to make you my wife.”

Your body went rigid as the blood ran out of your face. The very idea made your stomach churn. The thought of being his wife, sharing his bed, bearing his children...you nearly heaved right there in front of him.

“No,” you said firmly. “I won’t.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice,” he said.

“It’s sick!” you cried. “I’m your daughter!”

“Step daughter,” he said. “I will have this estate, Y/N. You will do for me what your mother could not. My son will be the true and rightful heir, and start a new line.”

“Are you not happy with the children you have?” you wondered, completely rocked to your core. “Why do you insist on a son?”

“Sons are the only useful offspring,” he scoffed. “Daughters are just mouths to feed until you can marry them off, and even then, what’s theirs will never belong to their family. It belongs to their husbands. Well, I am not going to lose everything because my previous wives were too weak to give me what I want.”

“I will not,” you refused again. “I’ll run away.”

“And leave behind your home?” he taunted. “The one your father built so lovingly with your mother?”

“It will no longer be a home to me if I am trapped in such a marriage,” you said.

“I’m not giving you a choice, Y/N,” he sighed. “I’ll keep eyes on you everywhere, I’ll lock you in your room, whatever it takes. Or, you can submit to me now and become mistress of this house as you were born to be.”

“I’ll die before I marry you,” you spat. “I’ll die before I bear any child of yours. I’ll -”

“No need to go on,” he said. He was being alarmingly calm about this. “I know the rest. But you will marry me, Y/N. You will have my son, and you’ll do it all without complaint. Just as you have with everything I have ever given you.”

You blinked again. So everything he’d put you through was a test? A way to manipulate you into obeying his every command? He was...grooming you? Your stomach gave another lurch.

“But first,” he said. “We will need to squash your dreams of Prince Gwilym.”

“What do you -”

He cut off your question by hurling your slipper into the wall. It shattered with a crash, which drowned out your anguished cry. You sank to your knees, hopeless.

“There now,” he said. “I’m only teaching you the harsh lesson of reality.”

Tears fell freely down your cheeks. You heard loud knocking at the front door, but barely registered it.

“That’ll be him,” Frank said.

You snapped to your senses and started to rise for one last desperate escape attempt, but Frank was faster. You felt the blow of his palm against your cheek before you even saw it coming. You fell to the ground, face throbbing. You wanted to scream, or cry, or swing back at him, but you were completely numb from the shock. You couldn’t feel anything but the sting on your skin.

“Do not resist me again, Y/N,” Frank warned.

With that, he walked out of your room, and you heard him turn the lock. You were trapped. You curled into a ball on your floor and wept quietly.

***

Gwilym was relieved when the door finally opened. This was the last house of the day. He saw a man there, whose smile was...unconvincing to say the least. He bowed.

“We are happy to see you, Prince Gwilym,” he said. “I am Frank Tarleton, and I believe one of my daughters is the girl you’re searching for.”

Gwilym raised a brow. “But you don’t know which?”

Frank blinked, taken aback, and then laughed an empty sort of laugh. “Good one, your highness. Please, come in.”

Gwilym looked at Ben and Rami who both shrugged. They followed Frank inside and into the drawing room, where two young women sat on the couch, looking nervous. Ben explained everything, with Frank nodding eagerly along. Something about the man struck Gwilym as slimy. He was too polite, too eager to please, and it seemed even his own daughters were made uncomfortable by him. Gwilym sighed.

“Let’s get this over with,” he mumbled.

He was beginning to lose hope. Who was left, if not these girls? And yet, neither of them struck him as the one he was looking for.

***

You listened carefully at your door, not daring to make any more noise. If Frank returned, he might do worse than strike you. But you could listen to what was happening downstairs.

It was a bit maddening to hear, though. To be so close to Gwilym now, and yet so far. To be a prisoner now in your own home was worse than being a servant. And the worst part was seeing the proof of your identity lying in pieces beside you. You felt like the slipper. Broken. Completely in pieces. Like your dreams too.

You heard the front door open and close again. You went to your window and watched Gwilym mount his horse, his friends on either side of him, and trot away toward town. Was that truly the last time you would see your love?

It couldn’t be. Now, you could hear Frank’s familiar footsteps coming back up the stairs. You knew you had to make a break for it as soon as he opened the door. You braced yourself. You had no time to pack anything, no time to grab money or valuables. You would have to break away with nothing but the clothes on your back and a prayer.

You watched the doorknob turn, feeling as if everything was in slow motion. It creaked slowly open and Frank’s body appeared in the door frame. He reached for you, but you ducked under his arm, darted down the hall, flew down the stairs, and straight out the front door.

You ran. As fast as your legs could carry you, not even daring to look back to see if Frank was in pursuit. You just hurtled toward town, hoping that anyone could help you. You would give up your home, and everything you knew - you would even give up your life - before marrying Frank. You had to escape, even if it meant becoming a beggar.

You burst through the back door of the tavern, tears streaming down your cheeks, and chest heaving. Flying through the kitchen, you threw open the doors to the dining area and found Zelda behind the bar. She looked up at the commotion you were making, took in the sight of you, and her brow furrowed.

“Zelda, please!” you cried, frantic. “I need help!”

You went to her, and she took you in her arms.

“Y/N, what’s -”

She didn’t get to finish her question before Frank came barreling through. He must not have been far behind. You let out a scream. Zelda pushed you behind her and you cowered at her back. She put her arms out to shield you further.

“Zelda, remove yourself if you know what’s good for you,” Frank threatened.

“Don’t, Zelda, please!” you begged. “Don’t let him take me! He’s going to force me to marry him! Please!”

She stiffened in front of you. “Oh, no you don’t, Frank. I will not stand by and let you do this.”

“Stand back or you’re fired,” he warned.

“I don’t care,” she shot back. “I won’t let you have her!”

“I’m afraid it’s not up to you,” he returned harshly.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to move her, but Zelda was a stout woman with considerable strength. She resisted him, taking hold of his biceps and forcing him back several steps. Her advantage was clearly gained by the element of surprise.

“Run, Y/N!” she cried. “Get out of here!”

Panicked, you leapt over the counter and wrenched the door open. You threw yourself out of it, trying to ignore the sounds of the struggle behind you. You darted into the street and sprinted as fast as you could away from the tavern. You had no idea where you would go from here - but you could not stay and be forced into a lifetime of Frank.

You glanced back. To your horror, you saw that Frank was emerging from the tavern and had spotted you right away. With a gasp, you turned back around and sped up. Only, as you turned, you didn’t realize what was in front of you. You ran right smack into a man’s back. The force of the collision put you on your rear in the dirt.

Wincing, you looked up. Your jaw dropped. It was Gwilym!

He met your gaze and froze as well. For a moment, you were both back at the ball, when he’d come up to you on the stairs and asked you to dance. He recognized you instantly.

“It’s you,” he whispered.

You opened your mouth to respond, but a sudden stinging on your scalp caused you to cry out instead. Frank had fisted his hand around your hair and dragged you to your feet.

“Your highness!” he gasped, noticing Gwilym. “I do apologize. My servant here has forgotten her manners.” He looked at you and continued through gritted teeth. “And her place.”

He yanked your hair on the last word for extra emphasis. Gwilym’s chest tightened as he watched Frank manhandle you. He briefly imagined himself drawing his sword and plunging it right into Frank’s chest, but he refrained.

“Release her,” he ordered.

Frank looked at the prince, bewildered.

“I’m sorry?” he questioned.

Gwilym’s expression darkened. “I told you to release her.”

Frank hesitated.

“Now!” Gwilym shouted.

You relaxed when Frank finally let go. Your scalp still itched with soreness. You desperately wanted to throw yourself into Gwilym’s arms but you were still afraid of what Frank might do. You did take a cautious step back.

“Your highness, I’m dealing with an unruly servant girl,” Frank said. “But she is mine and I may do with her as I please.”

Your lip trembled and you shook your head.

“That’s not true,” you sobbed. “You know it’s not, I’m your step daughter and you’re forcing me to -”

“SILENCE!” Frank roared, and raised his hand.

You shrieked and covered your face with your arms. But the blow didn’t come. You peeked out, lowering your shield just barely. Gwilym had taken hold of Frank’s wrist. Rami and Ben, who you just noticed being present, both had their hands on their swords. Now was your chance.

“Don’t let him take me back,” you begged again. “Please, your highness, don’t let him.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Zelda trotting up the street. She halted when she took in the scene before her.

“Sir Tarleton,” Gwilym said, releasing Frank’s arm. “We were at your home and I asked you if you had any more women residing there besides your daughters. You lied.”

“It wasn’t a lie, really,” Frank argued. “Just an omission. You see, there’s no way this girl was at the ball when I forbid her from going.”

“If that’s true, then you are still in trouble,” Gwilym said. “All eligible maidens were to attend.”

“She’s only a servant -”

“I know you’re lying, Tarleton,” Gwilym interrupted. “Now stand down.”

Frank stepped away from the prince, shooting glances between him and you. Gwilym turned to Ben.

“The slipper please, Ben,” he said.

“No!” Frank protested, starting toward you, but Rami stopped him.

Ben handed Gwilym the slipped you’d left behind on the staircase. You wiped your cheeks, clearing away the dirt and tears, and held your prince’s gaze. You smiled at him.

“I knew you were the girl from the tavern,” he said gently. “I knew I recognized you.”

“And the cemetery,” you reminded him.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “I remember.”

“How did someone like you even notice someone like me?” you wondered, amazed.

“Because you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” he told you simply. “Inside and out. And from that moment in the cemetery I saw what you truly are - a princess.”

You flushed, looking bashfully at the ground.

“I’m not really a -”

“Maybe not by birth,” he said. “But in heart.”

You met his eyes again. Those eyes that from the first time you saw them, told you the kindness of this man’s soul.

He knelt down onto one knee, holding out the slipper. It made you ache for the lost one Frank smashed, but you were relieved that you had left one behind at the palace. You toed off your boot and raised your leg. Ben stepped closer to help you balance and you shot him a grateful look. Then, you slid your delicate foot into the glass slipper. It fit perfectly.

Gwilym’s face lit up like a firework. Ben let go of your hand as Gwilym laughed, took you up in his arms and spun you around. You giggled with joy as well. He lowered you gently to the ground.

“Now, will you please tell me your name?” he asked.

You chuckled. “It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, and cupped your cheek in his palm. “How beautiful.”

“No!” Frank shouted again, and this time Rami had to grab him to stop him. “No! You cannot take her from me!”

“The girl does not belong to you,” Gwilym said sternly. He turned and faced Frank. “I see very clearly now that you have been mistreating her. She is free to choose whatever she likes.”

“I’m her father!” Frank insisted.

“Step father,” you said. Then you looked up at Gwilym. “I choose you, my love.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied. “Sir Tarleton, you’ll be taken into custody.”

Frank’s eyes went wide as the guards moved to take him from Rami. They clapped iron rings around his wrists. He seemed too shocked to struggle.

“Take him to the dungeon to await trial for his crimes,” Gwilym instructed. He faced you again. “And you, my darling, may come with me to the palace.”

“For how long?” you wondered.

“Forever, if you wish it,” he assured you.

“I could hardly wish for more,” you said happily.

He took your hand and helped you onto his horse. Together, you headed for safety, and building a life together. In true love.

***

You and Gwilym married as soon as possible. The whole kingdom was thrilled at the wedding. Frank was tried and convicted for his abuse, but would not serve a life sentence, so instead of prison, he was banished from the kingdom. Even so, early in your marriage to Gwilym, you frequently had nightmares where your stepfather returned.

Gwilym was as loving and patient a partner as you could hope for. He let you talk through your trauma, and he made sure to never do anything that caused you fear. His support helped you to truly heal.

Your step sisters had to move from the estate, which was now yours entirely. Eleanor and Miranda were surprisingly happy to take over their father’s first business, the tavern, which they ran successfully with Zelda. They both eventually found merchant husbands and lived peacefully, and you were genuinely happy for them.

But the greatest joy Gwilym ever gave you was your children. You had two boys and two girls, and they were the light of the whole kingdom’s eye - but especially the king, who lived a long and healthy life with his grandchildren. You had no other description for your life besides happily ever after.

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee x you #Brian May #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #brian may x you #bohrap imagine #BoRhap #BoRhap cast #borhap boys #borhap cast x reader #borhap cast imagine #borhap cast x you #borhap boys x reader #borhap boys imagine #borhap boys x you #a dream is a wish your heart makes series

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angelsfalling16 · 3 years

Text

My (un)Bloody Valentine

My fic for @m-xdd-y for the @snowbaz-sweethearts-exchange. Thank you for being so patient even though I’m several days late. It was really nice to meet you and be paired up for this event! <3

I’m not sure a Valentine’s Day-themed murder mystery is quite what you meant when you asked for angst, but I hope you like this!

Read it on ao3

Summary: Bodies of Normals keep showing up at Watford, and Simon is sure he knows who is killing them. That is, until he finds his prime suspect kneeling beside the body, all the proof he needs, but finds himself wondering if maybe he had it wrong all along.

Word Count: 5481

Warning: I don't think this fic is too graphic, but there are mentions of blood and missing hearts, so please proceed with caution.

***

Part 1: The Suspect

Simon

“There’s been another one,” I say to the Mage.

“Another what?”

I growl because he apparently hasn’t been listening to me at all for the past five minutes.

“Another dead Normal.”

He waves me off as he flips through some papers on his desk. “Normals die all the time. What’s so special about these?”

“Their bodies were found in the Wavering Woods.” The magickal side of the woods. It doesn’t mean that it couldn’t have been a Normal who killed them, but it does make it less likely. “Someone is either killing them and dumping their bodies in the woods, or they’re wandering into the woods and someone—or something—is killing them.”

“They’re just Normals. Why do you care?” He doesn’t sound the least bit concerned by any of this. He actually sounds more annoyed than anything.

“They’re still people even if they don’t have magic. And they’re being found on school grounds. Doesn’t that make it your responsibility to do something about it?”

“Look, Simon. I have a lot going on. I don’t have time to deal with a couple of Normals who wandered into the woods and didn’t come back out.”

“There have been six of them so far. And they were all drained of their blood and missing their hearts.”

The Mage’s eyes widen slightly at that, but it’s the only sign that he has any feelings about this.

“We could move their bodies to the other side of the woods and let the Normal authorities deal with this.” I can’t believe he’s actually serious. Doesn’t he care at all?

“That doesn’t seem like the right thing to do. Shouldn’t we—?”

He slams a book down on his desk, cutting me off before finally looking up at me. His expression is harsh, and I can tell before he speaks that my efforts here are fruitless. He isn’t going to do anything about this.

“Enough, Simon. I have enough on my plate dealing with the Old Families. I do not have time to deal with some idiotic Normals on top of that.”

I glare at him for a long moment, searching for something to say, but it’s pointless, so I turn and walk out of his office. There’s no use fighting with him. He’s obviously not going to do anything about this.

That’s fine. I’ll figure it out on my own. I’m pretty sure I know who’s committing these gruesome murders anyway.

It’s the same person I’ve been suspicious of for years. I should have known that one day his evilness would turn into murder.

I’ve been watching him closely ever since the first body was found, and I’ve compiled a list of facts that prove that Baz is the one committing these murders.

Proof Baz is killing Normals and dumping their bodies in the Woods:

No. 1: He’s a vampire. It easily explains why all of the victims have been drained of their blood.

No. 2: He’s been staying out until all hours of the night recently, sometimes not coming back until just before sunrise.

No. 3: He’s been taking a shower almost every night when he returns, and he tracks in dirt everywhere, which he cleans up when he thinks I’m sleeping. He usually takes his showers in the mornings, which must mean he’s wanting to clean off something that can’t wait. Like blood. And all of the dirt serves as proof that he’s spending his nights out in the woods.

No. 4: He’s evil. He tried to take Phillipa’s voice in fifth year, and she had never done anything wrong to him. He definitely wouldn’t care about hurting some Normals he knows nothing about.

No. 5: He hasn’t been acting like himself. He seems more withdrawn and tired than usual, and when he sneers at me, it’s missing most of its usual venom. It’s like there’s something bothering him so much that he doesn’t care about anything else anymore. (Being a serial killer will do that to a person.)

All of this has me convinced that it’s him, but it isn’t enough to convince anyone else because I don’t have any actual physical proof. No one believes me. Not even Penny.

She does at least seem concerned about all of the dead Normals, but she doesn’t believe it’s Baz who’s killing them. I tried to convince her, but she thinks I’m “too blinded by my obsession with him to see things clearly”.

I told her that I’m only obsessed with stopping him, but she rolled her eyes at me and still refused to help me prove it’s him, so I’m on my own.

Part 2: The Proof

Simon

This most recent body that was found has pushed me to work harder to find the person who did this because I was the one who discovered it. I knew that there were dead Normals in the Wavering Woods, but the details of their condition were kept a secret. So, when I stumbled across that body, almost literally stumbling on it, I couldn’t move.

The scene was gruesome. The body had been left lying half-hidden in some bushes, and there was a gaping wound in its chest where the person’s heart had once been. I wanted to scream out, but I couldn’t make a sound. I was too afraid that whoever had done this was nearby and would come after me if I did.

After that, though, I was determined to stop whoever it was, even if it meant putting myself in harm’s way.

It’s been a week since then, and I’m still not any closer to proving that Baz is the killer. I haven’t just been focusing on him—I’ve had other suspects—but he is still my prime suspect.

A body has been found every day since the first one was discovered, and it’s only a matter of time before one is found today, so I refuse to take my eyes off of Baz. I can’t let him kill another Normal.

He went to classes as usual, but at teatime, he heads straight for the woods. I wait a moment before following after.

I followed him into the woods a couple of nights ago, but I’m pretty sure he knew I was following him. He wove through the trees in circles, with no apparent direction, until I couldn’t catch my bearings. I was sure we were lost but after nearly two hours of that, he led us back out of the woods.

I don’t feel too great about the possibility of experiencing that again, but I would feel even worse if he killed someone and I didn’t try to stop him.

His pace is quick and purposeful as he makes his way through the woods. He seems so sure of his path that I wonder if he has already tied up a victim out here somewhere and is just now going back to take care of them.

A few feet ahead of me, he makes a quick turn into a thick patch of trees and bushes, and I pick up my pace to try to keep up with him. I turn where he did, but I don’t see him anywhere. I hurry forward, looking around for any sign of him, but everything is still and quiet. It creates an eerie feeling of both being all alone and being watched by a million pairs of eyes.

I slow my pace but keep moving towards where I think Baz went. I wander slowly through the trees, hoping to see or hear something that will help me find him.

As a couple of minutes pass and I still haven’t found anything, a lump forms in my throat, and my heartbeat quickens as I imagine all the awful things Baz could be doing right now to some poor sod.

I summon my sword and start thrashing it wildly about, clear the path in front of me so that I can push through the woods faster. I probably look like a complete madman, but I don’t care. I have to stop Baz before he hurts anyone else.

After what seems like forever, I slice through some low-hanging branches and step out into a small clearing. It’s only a few meters across, but the trees block out most of the light, which makes it difficult to see much.

At first, I don’t see anything, but as I take a few steps forward, two figures come into view on the opposite side of the clearing. I slowly move closer until the scene is clear. There is a limp body lying on the ground, a gaping hole the size of a fist in its chest, and someone is kneeling beside them. That someone is dreadfully familiar.

I gasp loudly, unable to stop myself, and Baz whips his head up towards me, his fangs bared.

I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I was right all along. Baz is the killer.

“I promise you this is not what it looks like,” he says, his words slurred because of his fangs.

“I don’t believe it,” I say, feeling queasy.

I was certain it was Baz but thinking it and seeing it are two completely different things.

I think there was a part of me that didn’t want to believe it was really him, didn’t want to believe he was capable of such horrific things, didn’t want to believe he really is a monster.

Being a vampire didn’t inherently make him a monster but this—these killings—are so much worse than being a vampire who feeds on wild creatures. It’s brutal and cold and unthinkable. I don’t understand how he could do it.

But here he is crouching over a fresh dead body, blood still pouring from the gaping hole in its chest, and the proof is irrefutable.

Baz did this.

He killed those Normals, and I have to stop him before he kills anymore.

“You killed them,” is all I can think to say.

“No. I didn’t. I know what this looks like, but you have to believe me, Simon. Please.”

He stands up, and I have to fight the urge to take a step back. I’ve never heard Baz plead with anyone before, so it’s strange that he’s doing it now.

Maybe it’s because he’s trying to keep himself out of trouble. But I won’t fall for it. I won’t let him get away with this.

I shake my head. “No. You did this. I know you did.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, and when I nod, he asks, “How sure are you? They will kill me for this if you turn me in, whether they have proof or not, so you should be absolutely certain before you run off and tell someone.”

He’s trying to trick me. I know it. I just… For some reason, I want to believe him. I guess I just don’t want to feel like this is my fault.

If only I had kept up with him, I could have prevented this from happening.

I shake my head again, hoping to clear away the doubt he has planted in my head before it can grow.

“You won’t fool me that easily. I know you did this.”

“Simon,” he says, and his voice is so soft and desperate that it steals my breath away. He rarely uses my first name, and he has definitely never said my name like that. “Look at me. Look at this scene. Really look at it. Do you honestly believe that I could do something like this?”

I take a deep breath and look at him then at the dead body and back again. I can’t stand to look at the scene before us for too long because it’s too gruesome, but I take a few long moments to study Baz.

His expression is hard, but there’s something vulnerable in his eyes, like he’s silently pleading with me to believe him.

It’s too much, and I have to look away, so I let my gaze fall down.

He’s still wearing his school uniform, same as me, but his somehow looks nicer. It never seems to wrinkle, and it doesn’t seem to have a spot of dirt on it even though he was just kneeling on the ground.

That’s what stops me.

If he had just killed that Normal, carved their heart from their chest, wouldn’t there be blood all over him? He could have cast a spell to clean himself up, but then, where’s the heart?

It’s not enough to wipe away my suspicions, but it is enough to make me doubt. Which I suppose was his plan, but it only means that I’ll have to keep an even closer eye on him tomorrow. I won’t let him hurt anyone else, but I also won’t turn him in until I know for sure he’s killing these people.

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth.

“You believe me?” He almost sounds surprised.

“Not completely. But like you said, I need to be sure before I tell anyone. I’ll just have to get more proof.”

He nods once then says, “Alright,” before quietly adding, “thank you.” If I’m not mistaken, he looks relieved.

I only hope I haven’t just signed a death sentence for another Normal.

Part 3: The Truth

Simon

I don’t get much sleep that night. Baz and I walked in silence back to the castle, and after we reported the body we found, he disappeared down to the Catacombs and didn’t return to our room for hours. I kept having to stop myself from going down there to keep an eye on him.

I get up bright and early the next day to make sure Baz doesn’t sneak off. It’s Saturday, so there aren’t any classes today, which means I should be able to keep my eye on him all day.

It’s Valentine’s Day, but I’m not sure how everyone can be so cheerful when these murders are taking place so close to our school.

If the victims were mages, I’m sure everyone would be scrambling. Parents would be picking up their kids; classes would be canceled; it would be a whole ordeal. But no one except me seems to be at all bothered by the murders. They haven’t even cordoned off the woods. It’s like they don’t even care for anyone’s safety.

The only person besides me who doesn’t seem in a cheerful mood is Baz, who seems to be moodily stomping his way all over the school.

I manage to keep my eye on him all morning and through lunch, but eventually I have to use the loo.

“Will you watch Baz for me for a minute?” I ask Penny.

“Why?” She asks, already looking annoyed at the mere mention of him.

“I want to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone while I’m gone.”

She rolls her eyes at me but says, “fine. But all I’ll do is watch. I’m not interfering in this.”

I smile gratefully at here and hurry to the loo. When I return, I don’t see Baz anywhere.

“Where’s Baz?” I ask Penny, an edge of panic worming its way into my voice.

“He left a minute ago,” she says matter-of-factly.

“What? Where did he go?”

“I think he was headed towards the woods.”

“And you didn’t try to stop him? Or go after him?”

She sighs. “Simon, this is ridiculous. Baz is not a murderer. You need to face the truth.”

“I have faced the truth. Baz has killed thirteen Normals, and it’s only a matter of time before he kills another.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant the truth about why you’re really obsessed with him.”

I frown. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She nods solemnly. “I know, and I’m only saying this because you’re my friend.” She pauses briefly before saying, “You’re oblivious. You are completely oblivious to your feelings for him.”

“I am completely aware of how much I hate him,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes. She does that often. “It’s more than that. You like him, and I think that if you really took the time to think about it, you’d see what I mean.

I want to stay and argue with her about this, but I have to go after Baz.

“I don’t have time for this,” I say. “I have to go after him.”

She shakes her head but doesn’t try to stop me when I turn to leave.

I take off towards the Wavering Woods, running as fast as I can and hoping it’s fast enough. I don’t even stop to consider the possibility that he might have gone elsewhere. I know he didn’t.

I have my sword drawn before I pass through the tree line. I keep running, blindly making my way through the woods. My movements are too loud for me to hear anything, but I can’t risk slowing down.

I have to keep moving. I have to keep running.

I have to stop Baz before he hurts anyone else.

I run for a long time, pushing harder and harder, until I trip on something, probably a tree root. I reach out to catch myself, scratching my hands on branches as I manage to stumble forward a few more steps before falling on my knees, hard.

I give myself a few moments to catch my breath before pushing myself to my feet.

That’s when I realize that I’ve made it to yet another clearing, bigger than the one yesterday and not quite as dark.

I take a few steps forward and find a scene similar to the one from yesterday. There’s a figure lying on the ground and something crouching over it. But it isn’t Baz.

This thing has wings and appears to be floating above the body with what appears to be an arrow poised over the figure’s chest.

I take a few more quiet steps forward, and that’s when I see who the figure is on the ground.

“Baz,” I whisper, barely audible.

The creature moves its arrow lower, and I cry out.

“NO!” I scream, and startled, the creature backs off and turns to me, hissing and spitting.

I freeze when I see its eyes. They’re bright red and glowing, and all of his teeth are sharp and pointed. What the hell is that thing?

It looks back down at Baz, and I cry out again.

“Leave him alone!” I shout, and somehow, my words are imbued with magic.

The creature hisses at me again, but as if he’s being pushed by something, he glides backward before turning and flying off into the woods.

I release a breath and realize that I’m shaking. I stay frozen to the spot for a long moment until I hear Baz take a gasping breath.

I rush to his side and sink to the ground beside him.

His shirt has been ripped open to reveal his chest, and there’s a button hanging from it by a thread. He’s pale, paler than I’ve ever seen him, and he doesn’t look well.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

How could I be so foolish? How could I honestly believe that he was killing people? If only, I had believed him.

“It’s not your fault,” he coughs.

“You’re so pale…” He’s more like an ashen grey. All of the color seems to have faded from him.

“Perks of being a vampire,” he says with a forced laugh, finally admitting it to me. Hearing him finally say those word aloud doesn’t make feels as victorious as I used to think it would, though.

“What did he do to you?” I ask, looking for a wound but finding none.

“Drank my blood. What little I had in me anyway.” He says it flippantly, like it’s no big deal, but it is a big deal. If he weren’t a vampire, he’d be dead right now.

He’s still dying, though. He can only go so long without blood. I have to do something. I have to help him somehow.

I think for a moment before the answer comes to me.

“Drink my blood,” I tell him.

He shakes his head violently. “No. I won’t drink human blood.”

“I won’t let you die.”

“I’ll go to the Catacombs. Drain some rats.”

“You won’t make it there in time.” Tears well in my eyes at the truth of this statement. I don’t want Baz to die. I have to save him.

“I can’t drink your blood, Simon.”

“Yes. You can.”

I pull him up into a sitting position and press his face into my neck.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “It will all be okay.”

I feel his hesitation even as he nuzzles his face into my neck—he doesn’t want to do this, but he doesn’t have a choice. Then, there’s a sharp pain as he sinks his fangs into the side of my neck, and I gasp.

The initial bite is incredibly painful, and my instinct is to push him off, but I just grip onto his arms instead. And after a moment, his bite starts to feel good. Really good. It’s like as he takes my blood, he’s giving me something else in return, something warm and pleasant.

My eyes fall shut, and my mind goes blank. All there is is me and Baz and this pleasant feeling.

But then suddenly the feeling is gone, and reality comes crashing back down around me.

Baz shoves me away, and I don’t even try to fight him as I land on my back in the dirt.

The world spins around me as I struggle to catch my breath.

I’m still breathing hard, but after a couple of minutes I manage to sit up and look at Baz. He looks a little better now. Color is returning to his cheeks at least.

“That was…” I begin, grasping for a way to describe that experience.

“Awful,” Baz finishes, rubbing his hands down his face.

I frown, wrinkling my brows at him. That’s not how I would have described that.

“Are you okay?” I ask tentatively.

“No. Yes. No.” He shakes his head then tries again. “I’m not thirsty anymore, but I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe you let me do that.” He won’t look me in the eyes. He just keeps staring at the ground.

“I couldn’t watch you die.”

He shakes his head at me. “Why not?”

I don’t know how to answer that. I don’t know how to explain it him. I can’t even explain it to myself.

“I just couldn’t,” I say, then I push myself to my feet.

“Where are you going?” He asks, finally looking at me.

“After it.”

“You can’t,” he says, attempting to push himself off the ground, but he isn’t strong enough yet.

“I have to.”

“Snow,” Baz rasps, his lips stained red with my blood, but I shake my head.

“I’ll find it. I’ll find whatever did this to you.”

“Simon, no. You’ll get yourself killed.”

I just shrug in response. I always knew I would go out fighting.

I turn towards the trees that the creature disappeared into and make my way to them, feeling woozy and a little unsteady on my feet.

Baz calls my name, but I ignore him and take off running once again.

I try not to think about why I’m so determined to get revenge for Baz. I mean, yes, I want to stop this creature, but I also want to get back at it for hurting Baz.

You like him. Penny’s words ring loud in my mind, but I shake them away.

I can’t think about that right now. I have bigger things to worrying about. Like stopping that creature before it can hurt anyone else.

Part 4: The Final Victim

Baz

I have to go after Simon. He’s going to get himself killed.

I can feel Simon's blood coursing through my body. It makes me feel sick to think about what I just did, but it also makes me feel better physically, better than drinking blood has ever made me feel.

I don't like the implications of that.

I don't care how good drinking his blood makes me feel, I can never drink human blood again. I almost couldn’t stop, and Simon was too dazed to stop me. I can’t risk taking too much from someone. I would never forgive myself.

This one time will be worth it, though, if it means I'm fast enough to save Simon.

I finally manage to push myself to my feet, and after a brief moment of dizziness, I take off running faster than I've ever run before.

I can just barely catch a trace of Simon's scent, that familiar smoky-sweet scent that could only come from him. I keep shoving through branches until his scent becomes stronger. I'm getting close. I push myself to run faster. I have to get to him. He has no idea what he's gotten himself into.

This creature can't be killed by Simon simply going off or swinging his sword at it. There's only one way to kill a creature like this, and it's even harder to do than I thought.

I've been researching this thing since the first body was found.

My aunt used to tell me the Legend of a winged creature that came out every 14 years, killing one person everyday starting on the first of February and killing its final victim on Valentine's Day.

I used to think it was just a story, but as soon as I heard how the Normals were being killed, I knew it was more than a story. And I knew I had to stop it.

I've been hunting it even as Simon was so obviously hunting me. Of course I knew he suspected me. He's not very stealthy. I mean, he handwrote a list of reasons I'm the killer and left it on his desk for anyone to see.

I thought for sure he was going to turn me in yesterday even after he said he wouldn't. But somehow, I just barely managed to convince him. And then it was just my luck to become the creature's final victim today.

The creature doesn't only go after Normals -- I think they're just easier prey. It targets people who are single, people who won't be missed by a significant other. I fit the profile perfectly, but I think the real reason it targeted me was because I saw it yesterday. I wasn’t able to stop it, but I got close.

I was to be its final victim until Simon stopped it, which is why Simon is in so much danger. He's going after it, running right into danger like he always does, not caring a bit whether he lives or dies. He’s so stupid, but I have to help him.

His scent becomes overwhelming, and I know I'm close. I push through some more branches and find Simon fighting the creature in the trees.

He swings his sword at it, striking it on the arm, but the creature barely flinches.

"Simon!” I shout. “That won’t work. You have to get its arrow."

"What?"

I realize my mistake too late when Simon turns to look at me, leaving himself open to an attack.

The creature rushes at him and knocks him off his feet. Then, it’s on him, ripping at his clothes, trying to get at his heart.

I race towards the creature, drawing my wand. Magic won't do much against it, but it might slow it down.

I cast a spell, sending flames towards the creature’s wings. It cries out in pain but doesn't move away from Simon, who is reaching for his sword which lies just out of reach. I run at the creature, knocking him off Simon, but it easily overpowers me, once again pointing its arrow at my chest. It bares its sharp teeth at me, and I decide not to fight it. At least if it kills me, Simon will be safe.

Simon

Baz knocks the thing off of me, but then he stops fighting. It's like he's given up, and I don’t understand why. I start to reach for my sword, but then I remember what Baz said. Get its arrow.

I lunge at the creature, landing on its back, and reach for the arrow. It attempts to shake me off, but when I see a speck of blood on Baz's chest, it’s like something snaps inside of me. I grip onto it and reach harder for the arrow. I won’t let it hurt Baz.

I manage to grab hold of the arrow and viciously rip it from the creature's grasp.

"Kill it!" Baz shouts.

I don't hesitate before plunging the arrow into the creature's chest. It bucks again, and I let go, letting myself slide off of it as black liquid oozes out of its chest. It yanks at the arrow, trying to pull it free, but it's too late.

The creature crumples to the ground in a lifeless pile.

I'm breathing hard as I step around it and help pull Baz to his feet.

As soon as he’s standing, though, he shoves me.

"You idiot!"

Baz

"You idiot." I repeat, shoving Simon in the chest again. "You could have gotten yourself killed!"

"I had it handled." He shrugs.

"You had no idea what you were going into. If I hadn't found you..." I trail off, not wanting to think about what might have happened if I hadn't gotten to him in time.

"Why do you care?"

"Because I—." I cut myself off.

"You...what?" Simon asks, and there's a strange expression on his face, one I’ve never seen on him before. It’s almost like he’s hoping I’ll say something.

"Because I care about you, okay?" I sigh, finally saying aloud what I’ve never been able to before.

I expect him to laugh and ridicule me for it, but he just stares silently.

I give him another moment before shaking my head and turning away. I can’t believe I just said that aloud. I can’t believe I said it, and I can’t believe Simon didn't react at all. At least if he'd laughed or hit me, I'd know where we stand.

I should head back to school. I'll report what happened here and then I'll try to forget how foolish it was to say that.

I take a few steps away from Simon, prepared to start running once I'm sure I’m going the right way, but stop when I feel his hand on my wrist.

"Wait." His voice is quiet.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"I care about you, too."

I turn to face him slowly, wondering if now is the point when he starts laughing, like this is all just some big joke. But he looks serious. And maybe even...nervous?

He stares at the ground, but his voice is louder and surer when he speaks again.

"I really care about you Baz."

I suck in my breath. This has to be a joke.

He tilts his head up and slowly meets my eyes like he’s afraid of what I’ll do.

I'm not sure what to say. I like him, and I want for him to be telling the truth, but how can I know for sure?

I search for something to say, and he steps closer to me.

His hand moves from my wrist up to my face, where he brushes a strand of hair out of my face and lets it linger there.

"I like you," he whispers, like it’s a secret only meant for me to hear.

"I like you, too," I whisper back without hesitating.

Then, Simon is moving closer to me, and I'm tilting my face down towards his, but he stops just short of our lips meeting.

"Can I kiss you?"

I marvel at the question because it's ridiculous that he even had to ask, but I also love him for it because he wanted to make sure it was okay.

"Yes," I reply, and the word is barely out of my mouth before he's kissing me.

I kiss him back gently, placing my hands on his hips to hold him there.

We kiss for long moments until we have to part to catch our breaths.

He takes a step back but he’s smiling up at me.

"Will you be my Valentine?" He asks after a moment.

I chuckle lightly. "Seriously?"

He shrugs. "Yeah."

I smile at him, my chest filling with warmth. "Sure, Simon." I nod. "Yes. I'll be your Valentine."

His face splits into a grin, and he reaches out to intertwine his fingers with mine.

I don’t think I've ever seen this expression on him, and it's hard to believe that it's because of me.

I feel my own smile widen, and I lean forward to kiss him softly.

This is the strangest - and maybe even nicest - Valentine's Day ever.

#snowbaz #snowbaz sweethearts exchange #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #wayward son #any way the wind blows #rainbow rowell #snowbaz fic #my writing #my (un)bloody valentine #snowbaz sweethearts exchange 2021

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rexisnotyourwriter · 3 years

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by @rexalexander and @postcardsanddaydreaming

After the Atlanta child murders, the Behavioral Science Unit is as busy as ever. With a new team member by their side, they take on what feels like a growing number of active serial killers as well as continue their interviews of already incarcerated subjects. Bill tries to track down Nancy and Brian with the hopes of repairing his marriage, while Wendy tries to take on a more active role in their research with an eager budding protégé at her side.

Read on AO3

Catch up: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

*If you enjoy this, please like/reblog on tumblr and/or leave kudos/comments on AO3. Your feedback helps keep fic writers writing.*

Notes: As always, thanks to my beta fish @hardythehermitcrab

Chapter 3: Could You Be The One

The bell rang. Her peers bolted from their desks and flooded the hallway, grabbing at their coats and bags, before running down the hall, towards the door. Towards freedom.

She waited, at least until there were only a few remaining children gathering their belongings, before getting up from her desk. The teacher gave her a smile, but it felt off somehow in a way she couldn’t quite place. She smiled back anyways.

By the time she reached the hall, her coat had been knocked to the floor. A partial footprint was left on the arm. She picked it up and brushed the dust off. The tread marks were still visible. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and went to the washroom.

The stall doors were all open. Empty. She lifted the sleeve of her coat near the sink and ran the tap slightly warm. Then, with a wet paper towel, she gently dabbed at the dirt until it was no longer visible. The sleeve was damp, but she reasoned she should be able to conceal that from her mother until it dried. She pressed a dry paper towel into it as best she could. It would have to do.

She stepped outside into the courtyard, arms crossed to hide her sleeve. Her mother was waiting in the car, ushering for her to hurry. She walked quickly to the car and got in.

“Finally,” her mother muttered. “I was able to switch my hair appointment to,” she looked at the time, “well, now. So, you’re going to have to come along.”

She said nothing, having no choice in the matter. It wasn’t exactly fun, but there were worse things. The dentist, for one. Her arms remained crossed for the remainder of the car ride. Every few minutes, she checked her sleeve. Each time, the dark patch of wet fabric was lighter and lighter.

Her mother turned into a different person as soon as they exited the car and went into the salon. Outside Mother. Outside Mother is attentive, always smiling (except when inappropriate), and does not raise her voice. Outside Mother also never smokes.

The salon was an onslaught of pastel from the pink cushioned chairs to the lime and cream colored walls. Outside Mother gave her name to the woman behind the front counter and apologized for her tardiness. She turned around.

“You can have a seat and do your homework while you wait, okay sweetheart?” Outside Mother told her in her sickly sweet voice.

The girl nodded and took a seat in one of the pink chairs. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as it looked. She inspected the magazines spread out on the coffee table.

How to make two outfits out of one.

She passed on that knowledge.

There were only a few other people in the salon. Three employees including the woman behind the counter, who couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. She looked like Ingrid Bergman - warm, soft. She glanced over at the girl and smiled. The girl returned the smile, but looked away quickly, embarrassed, but unsure why. There was a sadness behind the woman’s eyes, despite the smile. It was the same way she saw anger behind her mother’s. Fear behind her father’s. She wondered what people saw behind hers, if there was anything to see.

Outside Mother was settled in her chair, the large cone-like contraption hovering above her head, next to another woman. They each casually flipped through a magazine while chatting.

“So, how are Harold and the boys doing? Your eldest must be, what, twelve now?” Outside Mother asked.

“Almost. Johnny will be twelve next month and Simon turned nine in August.”

“Just a year older than our little angel.”

Outside Mother nods towards “her angel”. She could feel their gaze and didn’t look up to meet it.

“Harry got some exciting news recently,” the other woman said.

“Oh really?”

“It’s not public yet, but it’s as good as done. I’m not really supposed to talk about it though.”

Outside Mother gave her an understanding look.

“But -” the other woman continued, “if you can keep a secret.”

“Of course.”

“Well…”

Her voice went softer than could be heard from across the salon. The girl gave up on eavesdropping and took out her notebook and a pencil. She flipped past the pages of her homework to the last clean page of her book and began to draw.

The bell above the door chimed, announcing the entrance of another patron. Her fitted dark blue dress popped out among the soft pastel setting. She didn’t fit the scene, but it was the salon and everyone else in it that suddenly felt out of place in her presence. The woman at the counter acknowledged her. She appeared to be a regular. She turned around and took a seat next to the girl revealing a bold, deep red lip.

The girl continued her drawing. It was an open field with a few flowers. At the center stood a penguin. In the sky, far above the penguin, an assortment of birds were flying. She finished the final details of the wings, added a couple more flowers to the field, then swapped her pencil for her container of colored pencils. The woman in blue watched her as she pulled out a light green pencil and began shading the grass.

“Hmm,” the woman pondered out loud.

The girl paused her coloring briefly, then resumed without looking up.

“I thought penguins lived in the North Pole,” she mused.

“No,” the girl replied. “They live in Antarctica.”

“I see.”

The woman took off her white gloves, plucking the tip of each finger like petals from a daisy.

“Isn’t there snow in Antarctica?” she asked.

“Yes.”

The woman smiled. She was amused.

“This penguin is from Antarctica, but she’s not in Antarctica,” the girl explained.

“Ahh, okay. Why?”

The girl thought for a moment, then shrugged.

“I think she was taken from there when she was very little and doesn’t remember it. She just knows she’s from there and supposed to be there.”

“Couldn’t she go back?”

“No. She can’t fly. Penguins are flightless birds.”

The woman took in the drawing once more, understanding it a little better.

“Is that why she’s all alone?”

The girl didn’t reply. Instead, she switched her green pencil for a yellow one. She colored the insides of the flowers.

“Why don’t some of the other birds come down?”

The girl let out a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

“They wouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because they can fly,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Surely they don’t fly all the time. They must need to rest.”

“They do,” she confirmed. “But they never stay.”

“That must get lonely.”

The girl carefully filled in the penguin’s beak with her yellow pencil.

“It does.” She traded the yellow for a black. “She’s used to it.”

The young woman from the counter approached the woman in blue. They were ready for her. She gave one last look to the girl, who looked up this time.

Their eyes met.

They smiled at each other - a real smile, with nothing behind it.

The girl watched the woman in blue follow the hairdresser to her station.

She took out her regular pencil again and added to her picture.

——————————————————–

Wendy spent an inordinate amount of time over the past few weeks sorting through resumes and cover letters for the new secretary position in the BSU. There was more interest in the position than she (or Gunn, for that matter) had anticipated. She was able to get Gregg to help weed out some of the applicants, but he wasn’t as discerning in his decisions as she would’ve been, and found herself having to make further cuts to his “approvals”. The list was narrowed down to eight. Half of them were coming in later that afternoon for interviews, conducted by Wendy and Bill. The rest would be completed the following morning.

Bill sat hunched over a file, cigarette in hand, when Wendy knocked on his partially open door. He looked up at her with tired eyes.

“What are your thoughts?” she asked.

He stared at her, his brow furrowed.

“The applicants,” she clarified.

He let out a deep exhale.

“You haven’t looked at them yet, have you?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Bill shook his head in response to his own forgetfulness.

“I’m sorry. I’ll do that right now.”

“It’s alright. I have questions prepared. It’s more for your benefit.”

“Still.”

He shuffled the stacks of papers and files around his desk in search of the resumes Wendy had given him last week.

“I can make another copy of them,” she offered.

“No, no. I’ve got them here. Somewhere.”

She scanned his workspace, her eyes landing on a familiar looking folder in a tray.

Wendy cleared her throat. Bill looked up.

Her eyes flicked from Bill to the tray. He opened the folder, confirming its contents.

“I’m reading these right now.”

“Okay. Our first interview is at 1pm, so we should be in the meeting room by quarter to. Someone from HR will bring them down.” Wendy saw the look on Bill’s face and… “You forgot those were today.”

“Wendy - ”

“It’s okay, Bill. Really. Like I said, I’ve already reviewed the candidates and prepared questions for the interviews. You just have to show up.”

“I appreciate it, you know. All the work you do.”

She left him with an understanding nod and a polite smile.

Bill snuffed out his cigarette and immediately lit another one.

Holden walked quickly past Wendy, who politely acknowledged his presence, on his way to Bill’s office.

“Bill.”

He exhaled the long drag he just took of his cigarette.

“Yeah?”

“Gunn wants us to help out on those freeway killer cases in California. They found another body a few days ago in the San Bernardino Mountains. He wants us out there tomorrow morning.”

Bill groaned.

“What?” Holden asked.

“Wendy’s not going to be happy.”

“Why?”

“We have those interviews today and tomorrow for the new position.”

“The secretary? Do you really need to be there for those?”

“I’m head of this team, Holden, so yes, it would be good if I was involved in the hiring of a new member.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand. I can talk to her, if you want.”

Bill gave him a look that very clearly said no.

“Those freeway killings. The victims were drugged, raped, and beaten, right?” Bill asked.

“And bound.”

“Another BTK.”

“Not exactly, though. There are distinct differences between them.”

Bill looked at the folder under Holden’s arm.

“Is that -”

“Oh. Yes.”

Holden handed the folder to Bill. It was thick.

Wendy entered the meeting room at 12:45pm sharp with two glasses of water and the tape recorder under her arm. With Bill busy preparing for the last minute trip to California, they both figured it wouldn’t hurt to record the interviews.

Her notebook and list of questions were already on the table. She placed a glass of water at each side in front of the respective chairs, with the tape recorder on her side to the right. She popped open the recorder to double check that there was a blank tape inside. There was.

Wendy had done a fairly good job at screening the applicants. They were all (so far) more or less capable of doing the job, but each with their own weak points.

The first two candidates of the day were internal - both obscene stenographers, women about ten to fifteen years Wendy’s senior. Sandra was up first. She had passable answers to Wendy’s questions, but didn’t seem to fully understand what the BSU was or why it was important. Sharon, the second, was four minutes late and very rattled by it. It could’ve been coincidental, but someone who flusters easily was not the best fit.

The third was a young man named Peter. He was barely old enough to drink, but his resume was strong and he had work and volunteer experience. When asked about his comfort level with disturbing topics, his face went visibly white and clammy as Wendy listed off, in some detail, a few of the types of victims they deal with - those who have been dismembered, raped pre or post-mortem, mutilated, etc. She stopped before he got to the point of gagging and quickly wrapped up the interview.

The final candidate of the day was a much older man, at least sixty, if not older, named Thomas. He reminded Wendy of Gregg in twenty odd years. He was intelligent and experienced, but he had the same air of naivety as Gregg. That lingering aura of having been sheltered from the “evils” of the world as a child, or as they called it, a good Christian upbringing. Thomas was sweet and polite, but showed clear signs of not being able to keep up with the pace that the position would require.

At the end of the interview, Wendy thanked Thomas for his time and walked him to the elevator on her way to Bill’s office. His face was buried in his hand, his elbow resting on the desk.

She knocked softly. He revealed his face.

“I can come back if now’s not a good time.”

“No, now’s fine. I could use a break.”

“First round of interviews are done.”

“And?”

She waffled her head side to side.

“They weren’t bad. Not ideal in varying ways, but some are more...workable than others.”

“It’s a unique gig.”

“I think tomorrow will be better. There are two in particular that should be more promising. Frank Tyler, late 20s, some military experience, so he’s probably not squeamish. He has a degree in philosophy, so he’s educated -”

“And jobless.”

Wendy smirked.

“The other one is Ruth Cairns. She’s a bit young. But she has secretary experience and recently finished her degree in sociology.”

It was Bill’s turn to smirk. “The Boston girl.”

“So you did read the files I gave you.”

“No shame in rooting for one of your own,” he replied, still smiling.

“There’s no nepotism here,” she countered. It came out more defensively than she intended.

“She wasn’t one of your students?”

“No.”

He believed her. “Okay.”

“How’s the studying,” she asked.

Bill sighed.

“It’s a mess, honestly. They’ve gathered every case where a body was found near a highway thinking they must all be connected going back almost ten years. There’s dozens.”

“Better to have more to work from than less.”

He knew she was right. It didn’t make it any less work, though.

“Half of them don’t even remotely fit the MO. They’ve got women, gunshot victims. Some were disposed of in pieces in trash bags. Some appeared to have been thrown out of a moving car.”

Wendy processed the information.

“And the MO is based off of the most recent victims?”

“Starting in ‘79. An unidentified male, 20s, found his head, torso, and left leg in a couple of trash bags behind a gas station in Long Beach. He’d been sodomized with a sock. A couple weeks later, the body of Gregory Wallace Jolley, 20, was found at Lake Arrowhead, emasculated and with his head and legs severed.”

“Pre or post?”

“Post. A few months after that, the decapitated body of 19-year-old Mark Alan Marsh, a Marine, was found near Templin Highway. He was also missing his hands.”

“So, there is a definite pattern of young male victims, late puberty to early adulthood. All white?”

“Yup. Another 19-year-old Marine was found September of last year near the El Toro Marine air base, also in trash bags. Then four months ago, Michael Cluck, 17, was found on the side of Interstate 5 near Goshen, Oregon. Sodomized, beaten, kicked. Cause of death was thirty-one blows to the head with a blunt object. The back of his head was completely destroyed.”

He let out a long breath.

“I’m not even sure this latest one is part of it all.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked.

“Well, he wasn’t dismembered. We’ll know more of the details from the autopsy tomorrow, but they said they found tissue stuffed deep in his nose and rectum.”

“Could we maybe be dealing with a pair? Or perhaps even more than two killers, working together to some extent.”

“Maybe. If we are, they clearly have the same ‘type’.”

“Well, best of luck.”

“Thanks.”

Wendy lingered for a moment in the doorway. Bill could tell why, but all he offered her was a small smile. She nodded, understanding, and left. There was no word from Nancy.

Holden and Bill were relieved to find California not as unbearably hot as Georgia had been, but it still didn’t take long for their previously clean and crisp shirts to become nearly drenched in sweat.

They had studied the crime scene photos on the plane. Christopher Allen Williams, 17, had been missing his socks, shoes, and underwear. There was nothing that indicated any staging in the body placement, and lack of significant animal activity made it unlikely that it had been dragged from anywhere.

An officer was waiting for them when they got to the station. He was somewhere between Holden and Bill’s age with a moustache from the 70s.

“Agent Tench, Agent Ford.” He offered his hand to Bill first, then Holden. “Officer Eddie Zott. Thank you for coming out here.”

“Happy to help,” Bill replied.

“I’ve just got the autopsy report. Here, why don’t we -”

He led them down the air conditioned hall and into one of the empty interrogation rooms. It was not air-conditioned, but there was a single fan in the corner blowing warm air around the room.

Zott put the report on the desk and gave it a read, his lips mouthing along silently. Bill and Holden gave each other a side-eyed glance while they waited for the news.

Zott’s lips stopped moving, and his brow furrowed.

“Well?” Holden asked.

Zott looked up at their expectant faces and slid the report across the table.

“Cause of death was pneumonia induced by aspiration,” Zott explained.

“The tissue paper in his nose. He choked to death on his own mucus,” Holden added.

“And he had phenobarbital and benzodiazepine in his system,” Bill said.

Holden inspected the report for himself, looking particularly at the amount of benzodiazepine detected. It wasn’t an exceptionally high amount. More than what he had been prescribed, but not enough for an overdose. It was the combination of that with the phenobarbital that would cause more of the sedative effects.

“Do we know anything else about the victim?” Bill asked.

Zott smoothed out his moustache and cleared his throat.

“Yeah,” he started.

Bill and Holden waited.

“It, uh, “ Zott continued. “Well, when we were asking around about him, it came to light that he was, a...a working man, if you know what I mean.”

“You mean, he was a prostitute,” Holden confirmed.

Zott nodded.

“What about the other victims? Were any of them prostitutes?”

“Not that we know of. But we didn’t ask specifically about that. As I said, this just happened to come up.”

“See if you can find out,” Bill suggested. “It could be an important factor in finding a motive or pattern.”

Zott nodded, clearly not thrilled at the prospect of going down that rabbit hole.

“Yes, sir.”

Wendy once again prepared for the second day of interviews. The water, her questions, and the tape recorder were all set up with six minutes to spare.

Frank was up first, and he was brought down to the basement at exactly 10am. He wore a well-fitted ochre nailshead suit with a light pink tie that reminded her of something Bill would wear. His hair still had some semblance of a military cut, but grown out and groomed.

“Miss Carr,” he said.

“Dr. Carr,” she corrected.

“My apologies, Dr. Carr.”

She stood up to shake his hand and noticed a copy of Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche under his other arm.

“I always bring a book with me,” he explained. “I always give myself plenty of time to get places, which leads me with some free time, so.”

Wendy nods in acknowledgement.

“Have you read it?” he asked.

She smiled as they sat down.

“Yes, I have.”

Many times, in fact. But none for pleasure.

“It’s one of my favorites,” he beamed. “I’ve been taking German classes so I can read the original text.”

A real Nietzsche fanboy.

“Jenseits von Gut und Böse,” Wendy replied.

“Sorry?”

Clearly he needed more practice.

The rest of the interview went fairly well, the glaring issue being his devotion to philosophical concepts, and rather basic ones at that. It wasn’t exactly the worst thing, but she could already anticipate him interjecting into psychological conversations with philosophical “well, actually”s. He also made a point more than once to mention that he had no issues with the potentially graphic nature of the position, nor did he feel uncomfortable about the topic of twisted killings in general. In fact, he ended the interview by once again reasserting his comfort level.

Wendy looked at him with a small smile.

“‘He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster’,” she responded.

His eyes beamed at her like a love-struck puppy.

That’s when it hit her. He had reminded her of someone the whole time, but she couldn’t figure out who until he got that look in his eyes.

Holden. He reminded her of Holden.

She thanked him for his time and sent him on his way.

The interview had ended early - he was a fast talker - which gave her enough time to make a cup of coffee before the next candidate arrived.

Interviewing the candidates reminded her of when she was actually able to talk to the inmates for their study. She missed it. There was no way Gunn was going to let her do that again. At least not willingly. Maybe with more secretarial help at Quantico, Bill could convince him of her value in the field.

Her coffee break went by quicker than she thought, and she was soon interrupted by the arrival of the next candidate, Jenny Simms. Her application was unremarkable in the sense that nothing exceptional stood out, but she had all the basic requirements. She had secretary experience, was first aid certified, and volunteered at a homeless shelter since she was a teenager.

Jenny’s answers were all satisfactory. She had a calm demeanor, but was by no means fragile. She didn’t even bat an eye when Wendy described, in detail, some of the more graphic cases they had dealt with. Jenny took it one further and responded with an almost equally grotesque story of a man coming into the shelter with a gangrene leg that he tried to amputate himself with a pocket knife, heavily under the influence of multiple drugs. Plus she referred to her as Dr. Carr right off the bat. Wendy was pleasantly surprised, and marked her down as a front runner.

There was a larger break between interviews this time to account for lunch. She went upstairs to the cafeteria to grab her usual salad. A couple times, when she needed a break from the windowless basement, she stayed in the cafeteria to eat. On more than one occasion, she was approached in her solitude by a man, noticing the absence of a ring on her finger, asking if the seat across from her was taken. They would sit down before allowing her to answer. The daylight wasn’t worth the bother.

Back in her office, she kept a close eye on the clock as she ate her lunch. Today’s salad was half wilted spinach with almonds and blueberries and too much dressing. It was better than the bitter romaine they sometimes had that was drowned in what they called a caesar dressing, but tasted more like ranch with garlic powder. It hardly even qualified as a salad.

Wendy’s phone rang just as she was finishing her lunch. It was Bill.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d answer,” he said. “How’s round two going?”

“Better than yesterday.”

“Sounds hopeful.”

“There’s still two more to go, but I’ve already got a good idea of who I think would fit. I’ll let you listen to the interviews when you get back before I give you my thoughts.”

“Afraid you’ll influence my decision?”

“When have I ever been afraid of that? How’s California?”

“Hot. I’ll take it over Georgia, though.”

“And the case?”

“We thought we had an angle, but it didn’t pan out. The latest victim was a male prostitute, so we were thinking maybe that’s who he’s targeting. Local cops looked further into the other victims and it doesn’t appear that any of them were involved in that.”

“Hmmm. Were any of them suspected homosexuals? Even if they weren’t formally prostituting themselves, there could have been some form of covert sexual exchanges.”

“I can suggest that.”

Wendy heard the ding of the elevator from down the hall.

“I have to go,” she said. “You’re back tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Have a safe flight.”

She hung up the phone and quickly dabbed her mouth with a napkin. She poked her head out into the hall. It was empty. False alarm.

As she walked across to the interview room, a woman who she recognized from the HR department, but not the usual one who had been bringing candidates down, turned the corner at the end of the hall with another woman whom she assumed was Ruth Cairns.

“Oh, I think it must be this way,” the HR woman said. “I get so turned around down here.”

Wendy quickly snuck into the interview room. Thankfully, she had made sure to have it set up before her lunch break.

A moment later, the woman came in with Ruth. She was wearing a red plaid suit with a pleated skirt and double breasted blazer, her auburn hair pulled back in a neat, but loose, bun.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Carr,” she said, holding out her hand.

Wendy shook her hand.

“Please, have a seat.”

Ruth looked at Wendy as though she was about to say something. She sat down and closed her mouth, but her eyes still had that look.

Wendy tilted her head and looked back at her.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

Once again, Ruth opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first.

“It’s just,” she started.

Wendy signalled for her to go on. Ruth brought a finger up to her mouth.

“You’ve got a little something in your teeth,” she said.

Wendy felt her face grow warm and hoped it wasn’t showing.

Fucking spinach.

She ran her tongue across the front of her teeth.

Ruth opened her purse and pulled out an ornate silver compact.

“Here,” she offered.

“Thank you.”

Their fingers brushed as Wendy took the compact from her. The soft, innocent touch only made her blush more.

She hid her face behind the compact. It wasn’t as red as it felt, thankfully. She had successfully dislodged the spinach, and gave the rest of her mouth and face a thorough look over before handing the compact back to Ruth, holding it in a way that ensured their fingers would not touch accidentally.

“I know some people don’t like it when you say something, but if it were me, I would want to know. Rather get it dealt with right away then find out later you had a whole conversation with someone like that,” Ruth explained.

Wendy nodded in agreement, despite still being somewhat embarrassed.

She jumped right into the questions to get herself back on track. Some of her answers felt rehearsed. Not wrong, but definitely planned. Others, she seemed surprised by, but answered them acceptably.

“Why do you want this position?” Wendy asked.

“Well,” Ruth started. Wendy could already tell this was one of her prepared answers. “I am hoping to earn money so that I can continue my studies in psychology at grad school. Ideally in Boston, of course. This really seems like the perfect position for me.”

“And what makes you perfect for this position?” Wendy countered.

Ruth looked puzzled by the question.

“I should’ve thought that was obvious,” she replied.

Wendy raised her eyebrows.

“I mean,” Ruth continued. “I have the education. I have the job experience. I spent my summers on my grandfather’s farm helping him slaughter pigs and chickens, so I’ve got a strong stomach.”

Ruth went silent. Wendy looked at her. Both of them waiting for the other to speak.

“And,” Ruth continued. She took a deep breath. “I lied on my application form.”

Wendy sat upright.

“Just about my address. I said I lived here, but I don’t. I’m staying at a hostel. But I’m willing to move here because that’s how much I want this job. That’s how much I wanted a chance at an opportunity to work here. With you.”

Wendy’s eyes narrowed. Did she know this woman?

“I never formally took one of your classes. I didn’t get into any of them while you were still there. But I...I snuck in the back just so I could listen.”

She’s flattered, and a bit in shock. She wasn’t aware her lectures were that high in demand, especially based on some of the lackluster students she’d had over the years.

“‘Time and tide wait for no man’,” Ruth quoted. “Or woman, as the case may be.”

Wendy smiled.

“And wouldn’t you want someone who could not only do the job, and do it well, but also who could take the knowledge they’ve learned and apply it? Can you honestly say any of the other applicants would use this experience to further the work you’re doing even after they’ve left?”

They looked at each other - Wendy still smiling, Ruth worried that she’d blown it.

“You make a good case,” Wendy admitted.

She stood up. Ruth waited a moment before doing the same.

Wendy held out her hand.

“We’ll be in touch.”

Ruth shook her hand and gave her a sad smile, her eyes not meeting Wendy’s. Wendy gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and Ruth looked up to a reassuring smile.

#mindhunteredit #mindhunter fic #mindhunter #op*#a tide in a city #wendy carr #bill tench #holden ford

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retroateez · 3 years

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Prophecy - Chapter Fourteen

hi my loves! probably the last update of the year so in advance, happy holidays and a wonderful new year to all my lovely readers! i adore every single one of you <3

Prophecy Masterlist wc; 3199

No. Absolutely not. Not a chance in hell.

"We've been through this, Iris." Yeosang sighs. "You have to go!"

You stare up at your mentor, gritting your teeth and trying to contain your rage as best you can. He had found you in the castle gardens, sitting contentedly amoung the radiant blooms to completely ruin your day by telling you Hongjoong was arranging dancing lessons for you.

Because you didn't 'look as though you knew how to dance', apparently. (He was right.)

The prospect of going to the ball was bad enough, let alone have one of his stupid cronies teach you how to dance.

"Why can't you teach me?" you splutter, bursting into your room in an attempt to get away from him.

"Because I won't be dancing." he explains, following you into the room and standing in the threshold. "I'm just a guest. But you, you're an honourary guest."

Honourary guest?! What does that even mean?!

In the end, Yeosang pleads with you to please just do as he asks, and not to cause a fuss. So reluctantly, you agree. He tells you that he doesn't know who your dance teacher will be, and that you should also look for a dance partner to go to the ball with.

"You can't attend a ball alone." Yeosang says as if that is common knowledge.

He turns to walk away, but suddenly remembers something he had forgotten to tell you.

"You also have a dress fitting, by the way. You'll have to talk to Hongjoong or someone about it."

And with that he leaves your room, missing the way you collapse onto your bed with an overwhelmed grunt.

A ball, a dance partner, an elegant ball gown? It was all too much at once, especially for somebody who had never been introduced to anything remotely regal before. How were you supposed to act? What were you meant to say? What if the others could tell you came from a poor background and laughed at you? How were you supposed to dance in a dress? What if-

"Hey, are you alright?"

You snap your head up to the door frame, where the sight of Wooyoung's concerned face soothes your growing panic. He strides across the room and sits down beside you, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you against his chest. He's wearing a billowy white shirt, which you've noticed he likes to leave fairly unbuttoned, plain black trousers and shiny black boots, that you assume have just been freshly polished.

"Are you alright?" He echoes his previous question, knitting his eyebrows together and leaning closer to your face, causing you to flush and rapidly turn your head away.

"Yes," you lie. "I'm just worried about the ball, that's all."

"You're worried? Why? It's going to be so much fun!"

Glancing up at him, you notice how genuinely excited he is, and it settles your worries for a split second. You imagine Wooyoung is an excellent dancer, incredibly graceful on his feet and one who loses himself to the feeling of the music.

"I have no idea how to dance." you shyly admit.

"Really?" The elf shoots up, grabbing your arms along the way. He tugs you roughly so you're standing before him, yet he fails to understand his own strength, and you crash into his chest. Luckily he catches you, with your arms trapped uncomfortably between you both, and he grins, hot breath fanning over your face.

"Then I'll teach you."

"Is that so?" You question sarcastically, wrenching yourself from his grip to hide how flustered you are.

Wooyoung pulls your body back towards him, this time wrapping your arms around his slim neck and settling one his large hands comfortably on your waist.

"Yes." He answers confidently. "All good elves know how to dance."

You glare up at him for a few moments, but you quickly realise his mind is set, and that he isn't letting you go anytime soon. So you yield, relaxing your arms and your legs and Wooyoung grins triumphantly as you do so.

"First of all," he instructs you. "You move your left foot backwards, and simultaneously, I move my left foot forwards.

Hesitantly, you take a step back with only your left leg, and Wooyoung follows suit and moves his left forward.

"See?" He breathes, smiling warmly at you. "Just like that."

He takes you through some more steps, moving your right leg this time, how to move your torso fluidly, and not 'shifting it bulkily from one place to another like an orc'. He teaches you where you should rest your hands, one on his shoulder, and the other clasped firmly, but not tightly, in his own. He scolds you for being too tense, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you like a ragdoll to loosen you up a bit.

Soon, the two of you are twirling about your shared bedroom. Clumsily twirling, but twirling nonetheless. Wooyoung's grip on you is gentle, guiding and despite how cheesy it sounds, it's right. In the last few weeks you've felt increasingly comfortable around him. He is your comfort zone, your safe space and happy place all rolled into one, lanky, pointy-eared, star-loving, amethyst-eyed living being. It's shocking too, how long it has taken you to realise just how much you care about him.

And it's shocking how you remain oblivious to how he feels the exact same way.

To the way his heart speeds up when he knows you're close, the way his stomach lurches when your hand squeezes his as you spin around the room. His gaze on you growing softer as you both relax into each other's hold. Even to the way he subtley glances at you when you're both attending meeting with the king. Like he knows deep down it's wrong, that the two of you shouldn't be getting close in this way.

But it makes him so happy.

And that's all Wooyoung wants.

And heaven knows what Yeosang would say if he found out about Wooyoung's feelings for you.

But he'll cross that bridge when he comes to it, he thinks, and decides to instead concentrate on not stepping on your toes and not letting his hand accidentally fall too far down your waist.

You both continue to dance in silence. There's a definitive lack of music in the room, but you're both hearing the same melody in your heads, feeling the same beat in your bones and nothing could interrupt the harmony between you.

Wooyoung guides you once more through the room, but this time, in one grand gesture, dips you down whilst keeping a secure hand in the middle of your back. You tip your head backwards and close your eyes, trusting that Wooyoung won't let you fall.

Your eyes pop open to see Wooyoung leaning over you, his face so close to yours you can feel his breath on you.

"See?" He pants, flashing his killer smile. "You're a natural."

You shrug shyly, and he pulls you up so you're both stood facing one another.

"So, about the ball..." Wooyoung begins, suddenly looking nervously down at the floor and beginning to play with your fingers. "Can I tak-"

"Iris!" You and Wooyoung jump apart at Yeosang's bellow into the room. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Where on earth have you-"

Yeosang stops in his tracks, taking in the sight before him; Wooyoung's hands planted firmly on your waist, the deep blush spread across your cheeks.

"What are you two doing?" He asks suspiciously. No answer. "Whatever. Iris, you're late for your dance lessons. And Wooyoung, Hongjoong wants to speak with you."

Wooyoung bows his head respectfully, shot you a half sad smile and quickly hurries out of the room. Yeosang's curious gaze watches after him, then the mage suddenly turns to you.

"Well?" he snaps. "Off you go!"

With a start, you jump and scuttle off towards the grand hall where your mystery dance instructor was waiting for you.

Panic begins to flow through you then; who are they? Do they dance better than Wooyoung? Probably not. Are they going to be a strict teacher? You don't think you could handle anybody barking orders at you today.

You round the corner and discover the giant doors held open, not firmly closed like they usually are. Standing in the threshold, you take in the sight before you.

A collosal hall, stretching so far either side of you, you think it could probably fit double the entire kingdom's population within it. The floors are a pristine, freshly polished beige tile that looks perfect to dance on. You can imagine how amazing the clicking sounds of twirling heels would sound ricocheting off each of the mountain-high, stone walls. Embedded into the walls are multiple stained-glassed depictions. To name a few, you spot a man of impressive stature working away at his glass anvil, smithing something you've never seen before, something both round and spiky. You'll ask Yeosang later, you think. He'll know. On another window, there's powerful bears made out of honey-coloured glass, tearing into their prey; a venison of sorts. Through the years, the crimson dye of the wound had bled through the other panels, making it look as if the venison truly was writhing in pain and trying to escape the picture.

You frown.

The long, mahogany tables are pushed against the wall opposite you, presumably to create space for your lessons. There are benches stacked atop them neatly, and you salute the poor soul who was forced to put them there.

To your left, set proudly on a platform so as to raise its occupant higher than everybody else, is the throne. The centerpiece, the main focus, the pièce de résistance, is Hongjoong's special, reserved seat. Carved out of the richest, darkest wood the entire continent has to offer, you know that there probably isn't a finer throne to be seen. The backrest boasts an intricate design of swirls and stars, which run all the way across the armrests and even down to the bottom of the seat. The ends of the armrests curl inwards, and then curl in on themselves even more like a snailshell. A velvet cushion the colour of Wooyoung's vibrant amethyst eyes sits on the seat of the chair and you can't even begin to comprehend how comfortable it must be.

What catches your attention most though, is the exquisite, intricately detailed fox head, sculpted into the middle of the backrest. The light from the vast windows behind the throne shines through the gaps in the carving, forming the face of the fox in a natural way.

You imagine Hongjoong lounging in the chair, glittering crown upon his head, royal cloak draped over the armrests as he watches his subjects with a bored expression. The king strikes you as somebody who would find balls and banquets just as mundane as you do.

Seonghwa is stood in the middle of the hall, facing your direction and is mid-conversation with somebody else. He spots you and waves you over, extending a long arm well above his head. The other person turns to face you, and you scowl as your eyes meet with-

"San." you growl as you approach the men.

"Good morning, Iris." he smiles at you, but the look in his eyes is pure poison.

The kingsguard doesn't catch on however, and claps his hands togther before addressing you both.

"Great, you're finally here! San here," he gestures to the younger man who is sporting an incredibly unimpressed frown. "will be teaching you how to dance, and how one should conduct themselves at a royal function."

"Lovely." you speak through gritted teeth.

Seonghwa wishes the two of you luck, and informs you he will be back in two hours to check your progress. If you haven't gotten any better, he says, you'll have to keep practising until Hongjoong decides you're good enough.

Brilliant. A minimum of two hours being stuck with an-

"Idiot." San snarls. "You're holding your arms completely wrong."

You glance at your arms which are rung hesitantly around his neck.

"Shut up, clown. My arms are perfectly fine."

"I'm a jester, not a clown." He seethes. And no, your arms are too heavy. You need to relax them, or you'll crush the poor soul who has the misfortune of dancing with you."

You glare furiously at him, but relax your arms nonetheless. As much as it bruises your dignity to listen to him, you don't want to spend any longer with this insufferable human being than you have to.

"Fine." you huff, and let your arms hang more loosely.

"Better." San nods.

Luckily, your training with Wooyoung proved extremely helpful. You could see on San's face he was impressed with the way you moved your feet less clumsily than he had originally anticipated. Of course, he wouldn't ever admit that to you. Dancing with San was fairly straightforward, but it felt totally different to dancing with Wooyoung.

Probably because you couldn't stand San's guts. But whatever.

San's hands on your waist were easy to ignore, the fact that his face was ridiculously close to yours didn't bother you in the slightest. Almost the polar opposite to the way your heart would race and your palms would sweat when Wooyoung even breathed near you. All you could hear was the echoing of shoes on the polished tile floor and San's steady breathing in your ear.

The jester was in the middle of teaching you a new step when Seonghwa entered the room, tailed by a certain, nervous looking elf.

"So," Seonghwa looked at San. "how's it going?"

"Well. She seems to know what she's doing." San replied simply.

You shot Wooyoung a knowing, shy glance and his heart lurched up into this throat.

"Satisfactory enough for the ball?"

"Most likely, your time will be better spent teaching her royal manners rather than dancing."

You glare at San, about to berate him for insulting you, but you're interrupted.

"What exactly are you implying?" Wooyoung spits, his pupils narrowing in anger.

"The pigs in the courtyard have more elegance than she does." San retorts. "Step down, elf, I wouldn't try anything. I'm sure you're more than aware of what your fate will be if you even dare to start anything."

Wooyoung grits his teeth, knowing full well what would happen to him. He growls lowly in frustration before falling back to your side, and you can almost feel the anger radiating off him.

"Anyway..." Seonghwa's gaze flicks between the three of you, awkwardly trying to defuse the situation. "I think we'll leave the dancing lessons at that for now. San, join Mingi in the music room. There's a new routine for both of you to go over."

San nods, shoots both you and Wooyoung an irritated look, before hurrying proudly out of the hall.

"Apologies for him." Seonghwa addresses you both, straightening his posture and fixing the black strand of hair that hangs over his left eye. "He doesn't take to newcomers very well, I'm sure he'll warm up to you both in no time."

He adjusts his pristine uniform, bows shortly to you and follows San out of the room, leaving you and the elf alone in the hall.

"How stra-"

"Go to the ball with me."

"W-what?"

Peering up at Wooyoung, you notice his pupils are still dilated in fury. His nostrils are flared too, yet he speaks in the same calm tone he always holds.

"Go to the ball with me." He repeats, this time grabbing your hand tenderly in his and bending his head down a little to match your height. "Nobody has asked you already, have they?"

"No, but-"

"Then, I would be honoured if you would accompany me to the dance."

"Wooyoung I-" you lock eye contact with him, searching his amethyst eyes for any hint of malice or intent to humiliate you, but you find none.

He's dead serious.

And just like that, you're frozen. Of course your brain is screaming at you to say yes, and your heart is roaring at you to say yes. In fact, every part of you is blaring 'say yes', but the shock renders you speechless. You could sense something between you and Wooyoung had changed, but does this mean Wooyoung had sensed it too?

Sure, friends could dance at balls together too but-

It was different.

"Yes." you blurt, finally. "I would love to."

His face lights up like a kingdom parade, his eyes practically sparkle in the light and he smiles wider than you've ever seen, flashing a glimpse of his sharper, elfin canines.

"Really?" he grins. "Okay. Okay!"

"You're going to have to teach me more dancing, I'm still pretty bad at it."

"Nonsense." He says, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. "You're an excellent dancer."

Wooyoung waves goodbye to you then, stating he has some 'important business to attend to, immediately'

You wave back meekly, stunned from the peck on your nose. He disappears into the hallway and now your worries about the ball have increased tenfold. Now that you actually have somebody to impress? You'll be tripping over your feet and stepping all over Wooyoung's toes. But the thought of Wooyoung wanting to go with you makes you feel giddy.

So giddy in fact you practically skip up the castle stairs to your room. You grab your cloak and sling it over your shoulders, yanking the hood up and over to hide as much as your face as possible.

Like a ghost, you pad through the hallways until you're met with a small side-door underneath the stairs that you're convinced nobody knows about. Perhaps only San and Mingi, but they're busy. You steal out the door, closing it silently behind you. Rushing through the dingy stone hallway, you find another door with sunlight filtering out underneath it.

Just what you were looking for.

-----

You push the door open with a determined hand, flinching slightly as the bell above you obnoxiously announces your arrival.

"Welcome to the Ateez Apothecary! What can I- oh, why, long time no see, little lady!"

"Afternoon, Yunho." You respond to his usual, cheery grin with a small smile of your own. He's as tall and baby-faced as ever, this time donning a summery blonde mop in place of the gingerbread hair he had the last time you saw him.

"No Yeosang with you today?" He notices. "You're not doing anything sneaky, are you?" he chuckles playfully, fully expecting you to laugh along.

But you don't. You keep your face kind, but serious as you reply.

"Actually... yes. Kind of."

Yunho's face falls a little, but an intrigued glint flickers in his eyeballs.

"Oh? And am I correct in assuming you require my assisstance? And that you would prefer it if this was kept from Yeosang's knowledge?"

You nod.

Yunho smirks, leaning forward onto his elbows on the wooden countertop.

"Then what exactly can I help you with?"

You adjust your hood anxiously, biting your lip as you watch Yunho's excited demenour. You wonder if this is something that you should be doing. The obvious answer being no. But you refuse to be a pushover. You refuse to blindly follow the rules put in place by other people who have no obligation to follow those same rules. And you know that there's nobody else who would help you. Except maybe Yunho.

It's a chance you're willing to take.

"I want you to teach me magic."

Chapter Fifteen

#hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #wooyoung #yeosang #san #jongho #mingi #medieval!ateez #ateez #kpop #wooyoung x reader #retroateez

9 notes · View notes

nanasarea · 4 years

Text

Criminal I ii

Prompt: Part 2 of Criminal, where Prince Hendery is just trying to help, is that too hard to believe?

Genre: i have no idea at this point, you tell me

Pairing: cop!reader x criminal!hendery

word count: 1623

a/n: cause mama, i’m in love with a criminal (au) hendery. also NOT PROOFREAD

main m.list / criminal m.list / i ii

Message received from: 2Yang

Can you take over for me today? I’m hot

Message sent to: 2Yang

No need to brag, sweetie

Message received from: 2Yang

Y/N, I have a fever.

Message sent to: 2Yang

fine, but you owe me boba when you get back

And with that, one of the worst weeks of your life began. Your partner in crime, Yangyang was sick for the whole week, meaning you were all alone for most of your cases, the captain wasn’t satisfied with you and your progress, or lack of, Renjun spilled coffee all over your shirt and by the time Friday came, you were more than ready to say fuck it and forget about it all.

Or so you thought. The captain assigned you some extra work since you were no where near catching the killer from your most recent case. After 2 hours of feeling bad for yourself and trying your best to solve the case, you said enough is enough and decided if you weren’t going to get any progress done, you might as well have fun. Was going drinking by yourself your first option? No, you asked Renjun? too busy playing video games. Yangyang? still sick. Chenle? asleep at this point, or was just ignoring your calls.

You were sick of hearing no, so you just got up and went to drink by yourself. Sure, you felt awkward at first, but 3 drinks in, you couldn’t care less about being alone. What did you care about? The case. Yes, you were still thinking about it. You tried making connections in your brain, but it was useless, that was until a certain someone sat down beside you.

“And we meet again.” You heard the oh, so charming prince say before ordering you both drinks. “Indeed we do.” You smile, thanking him for the drink. “Now, I heard you’re stuck on the murder of that alley mur-” “How do you know about th-” “I have ears everywhere, sweetheart.We both know what connections I have.” He said, smirking at your confused face. “You know, I hate seeing you this hopeless.” He added before downing his drink in one go.

“Make me less hopeless then.” You laughed “Tell you what, I’ll help you out, but you have to keep me an anonymous source.” Your face practically lit up at his words, as if you were a kid on Christmas day. “But, I will say I do miss your lips, so I wouldn’t be against a little something in return.” He added, watching as you got flustered with a prideful smile.

Where you about to say yes to a member of Vision? The most infamous gang at the moment? Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the desperation to find answers, maybe it was your messed up way of wanting to spend more time with him, hell who knows, maybe it’s a combination of all 3.

“With pleasure.” You said “Which is exactly what you will be experiencing at my apartment.” He said, taking your hand and dragging you out of the bar. “Hop on.” He commanded as he got on his motorbike, but as if he saw the hesitation on your face, he quickly added “Don’t you trust me, babe?”, which caused you to cave and get on the motorbike. “Hold tight.” He said as you wrapped your arms around his waist. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a helmet tho-” You got cut off by the shock of the motorbike starting and speeding across town.

He parked is vehicle before chuckling. “I know I’m hot, but you can hold me inside too, so let go.” He said, tugging at your arms. “Don’t tell me you’ve never ridden a motorbike before.” He said as you made your way into his apartment “I never had the opportunity, sue me.” You defended, causing the smile on his face to grow immensely.

“Don’t touch anything please. You’re very pretty but you seem a little clumsy.” He informed, opening the door as you looked around the place. “I’ll have you know, I’m one of the best police off-” “And here you are, with a member of one of the most badass and elite gangs.” he cut you off, causing you to roll your eyes. He did have a point.

“So, what do know? Or what can you find out?” You asked as you sat down on the couch he insisted you to make yourself comfortable on. “Wow, what’s the rush? May I offer you a drink before we get started?” He asked, making you give him a questionable stare “What? Just because I’m in a gang doesn’t mean I’m not a gentlemen.” Hendery answered, smiling at the questionable stare “In that case, a glass of whatever you’re having, thanks.” You chuckled.

“Now, the hair found at the crime scene leading you in circles? I’ve seen it before, it’s common for people to use wigs with real human hair to cover up their tracks, but with that quality? I’m betting it’s someone from Blood Velvet.” He informed “Yeri to be specific, she’s known for wearing those types of wigs on the job.” he added “But that’s just a hunch.” He said before taking a sip from his drink.

“How do you know so much about Blood Vel-” “I’m giving you vital information, I suggest you don’t ask about my involvement, considering I’m helping you out of the goodness of my heart.” He cut you off, causing you to look away while drinking the strong liquor. “You understand why I can’t, right?” He asked, putting a hand on your thigh “Yeah. What if it isn’t Blood Velvet?” You asked, trying to change the subject.

“Sweetheart, its Blood Velvet. You know why they’re called Blood Velvet? Blood is red, their signature color and from what I heard, there was a piece of red thread on the victim? Besides, the victim fits the description quite well. He was in his late 40s, a past of sexual assault, hitting on barely legal girls in the club he was killed near? From those facts alone, we can guess that he’s one of the many men on Irene’s kill list.” He explained, causing you to let out a sigh and drop your face into your hands.

“So you’re telling me, Blood Velvet kill old creeps who deserve it.” You sighed “Pretty much. Life isn’t that black and white, you know.” He chuckled “I know what you’re thinking, you’re a cop. Gangs can’t possibly do something good, huh?” He asked as he poured himself another glass “That’s-” “You know, some of us aren’t evil, we just want the justice that the task force doesn’t provide.” He cut you off.

“You know why we steal so much money? One of my members, his sister isn’t well and they’re too poor to pay for the medical bill for it. Not all gangs mean harm. Sure, some are ruthless, and deserve no mercy in their punishments, some get into those gangs for money, protection, so on and end up stuck in them but some..” You could feel his hand slowly squeezing your thigh before continuing “Blood Velvet take out creeps who get away from jail time by throwing money at the government, 127 specialize in bringing justice to those who can’t fight for themselves, the Dream do their best to take out those taking advantage of the younger, easily influenced generation and Vision? we finance and we get money for those in need. We break laws but we do it for a good reason. You might be wondering why I’m telling you this. It might be the alcohol, it might be just me wanting you to understand, but I think it’s a bit of both.” Hendery said as he felt a single tear roll down his cheek.

You couldn’t help but think, is he telling you this to throw you off? Maybe Kun found out about last time and told him to make sure you don’t go on with your investigation on Vision. You didn’t mean to think that he was a possible liar, but hey, you were a cop, you’re trained to not be the most trustful with gang members, but part of you believed him, part of you wanted to believe him, so you did.

“Hendery, I didn’t know, I’m so-” “Just, promise me you’ll mark me as an anonymous source and that no one gets hurt.” “I can promise the first, but I don’t know if I can promise th-” “You have to. If not, I can’t let you leave. It’s a rule under Kun’s house.” He said, finally making eye contact. “Then I just won’t leave.” You chuckled “Let me guess, on one side, you’re a cop, you have to solve the case. On the other, it’s not a fair case to begin with.” He said, finally allowing some emotion to be displayed on his face. “Exactly.”

“Wow, I would sure hate to be in your shoes right now.” He chuckled.“Now that I’ve helped, may I get my reward?” He asked with a smirk on his face “Weren’t you all emotional, preaching the gang life 3 seconds ago and now you want to fuck?” You asked, laughing “Full 180, sweetheart. Need to learn that in a gang.” He chuckled as he took the glass from your hand and placed it on the coffee table before tightening the grip he had on your thigh.

“Now, let me show you how good I can make you feel.” He whispered into your ear as you practically moan into him before kissing him. Before you knew it, you were on his bed, both of you stripped of almost all of your clothes and panting. “Ready, baby?” He asked as you nodded, just by his tone, you knew, this was going to be a long night.

a/n: so um this is gonna need a part 3, I told myself NO MORE SERIES but here we are, with me starting another series! But listen, listen....it’s what Hendery deserves. I see so little content for him so yknow what imma just do it myself.

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solynaceawrites · 4 years

Text

Wires [3]: Bearers Of

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“It is much, much worse to receive bad news through the written word than by somebody simply telling you, and I’m sure you understand why. When somebody simply tells you bad news, you hear it once, and that’s the end of it. But when bad news is written down, whether in a letter or a newspaper or on your arm in felt tip pen, each time you read it, you feel as if you are receiving the bad news again and again.” — Lemony Snicket

»»————-　⚜　————-««

“Sure, I know her.” The waitress pops her gum, handing the grainy photograph back to Lir. “Comes in every Friday like clockwork, doesn’t tip, takes a new man home with her when she goes. She in some sort of trouble?”

Dante smiles charmingly. “You could say that. She wouldn’t have happened to pay by card, would she?”

“You’ll have to ask Joan. The bartender? She handles the tabs.” After a moment, the waitress bats her lashes, reaching out to place a hand on Dante’s arm, and Lir resists the desire to throttle one or both of them. “I can keep you company while your partner talks to her.”

“Who am I to say no to a pretty lady?”

He cuts his eyes to Lir. With a snort, she turns sharply on her heel, trying to keep her irritation from showing on her face, adding lady’s man to the list of ways she’d describe him. It’s far from the worst, but the bright giggles that follow her to the bar have her wondering if pig would be better. A woman emerges from the back as she claims a stool, pretty with her dark eyes and darker hair, and if she weren’t on duty, Lir might have considered leaving her number. Which probably only makes her slightly better than Dante, a fact that has her reaching into her pocket for her badge to buy herself a bit of time to settle.

“What can I get ya, sugar?” the woman asks.

“Are you Joan?” With a raised brow, the woman nods, and Lir holds out her badge. “I’m Detective Thorne with the Red Grave Police Department. I was hoping you’d be able to answer some questions for me?”

Joan studies her badge. “Detective, huh? Sounds like your questions are gonna be heavy enough to warrant a drink. What’s your poison?”

Against her better judgement, Lir replies, “Vodka sour, with Chopin if you’ve got it.”

With a smile that seems a little more than flirtatious, Joan gets to work. Lir watches her deft, slender hands scoop ice into a strainer before adding the vodka and sour mix and shaking, and that coy expression is still on Joan’s face when she sets it in front of her. “On the house for the city’s finest.”

“Thank you.” Lir takes a long drink, closing her eyes as her tongue comes alive under the bittersweet flavor. Then she slides the photograph of Jane Doe across the bar. “Your friend said that you might know her?”

Joan studies it, bracing her arms on the bar and giving Lir a very good glimpse of her cleavage. “Mm-hm. That’s Sophie. Pays with her Amex, likes a frozen margarita with sugar instead of salt on the rim. She the body they pulled from the alley yesterday?” Lir shrugs, and she sighs. “Shame. She was a sweetheart.”

“I heard the opposite.”

“I’m sure you did. She tips for the service she gets, and Lacey’s usually too busy flirting to pay attention to her tables. Never did me wrong, though, and most of the girls here will tell you the same.”

“I have to say,” Lir watches her sharply, “you seem awfully calm for someone who just found out there was a murder next door.”

Joan looks back at her steadily for a long time, not saying anything. When she finally does speak, her voice is quiet, “Don’t get me wrong, Detective. I’m pissed as hell about what happened to her. I read the papers, y’know? So I know that she was . . . If I could find the bastard, I’d wring his neck myself. But I’ve got to trust you to do it, and me crying won’t get you any answers. I’ll do it after you’ve left.”

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

Just like that, the tension is gone, the warm smile sliding back onto Joan’s pretty face. “No hard feelings. You can make it up to me later, if you want.”

“Maybe. Anything else you can tell me?”

The way she catches her plump lower lip between her teeth has Lir vividly imagining what it would be like to do that herself, and she breathes deeply to push the thought away. “Nothing unusual happened last night, not that I noticed. Sophie came in, sat at her table, ordered her drink. She was with some friends, but they split up to dance for a while, and I didn’t see her again until she paid her tab. We get pretty busy on Fridays,” she adds apologetically. “It’s easy to lose track of people.”

Lir takes another sip of her drink. “Did she leave with anyone?”

“If she did, I didn’t get a look at him. But it wouldn’t surprise me. Nothing against her, people can do what they want, but she knew the effect she had on others.” Lir thinks of the face on the slab, beauty made sorrowful by death. “Give me a moment, and I’ll get her last name for you.”

“That would be great, thanks.” As Joan moves to the register on the back counter, Dante slides onto the stool next to her, and Lir eyes him irritably. “Get anything from your witness?”

“Nah, she was too busy cryin’ to talk,” he replies. “Drinkin’ on the job?”

Before she can reply, Joan is back, and she hands a folded piece of paper to Lir. To her pleasure and amusement, not once does she look at Dante. “Here you go. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you, Detective.”

Downing the rest of her drink, Lir gives a little salute and heads out of the club, Dante at her side. She ignores him for the moment to unfold the note, a small grin breaking tugging at her lips as she reads over it; there’s a name on the top half, which she tears off to give to him, but on the bottom is a phone number and Call Me written in an elegant, looping script. “Sophie Marons,” Dante recites. “Wonder if there’s a connection to Simon Marons.”

“The lawyer?” Dante exhales slowly, and she curses. “Shit. Draw straws to see who makes the call?”

“Nope,” he drawls. “Your lead, your visit. Let’s go.”

Lir frowns at him, an expression that’s becoming more and more common the longer she works with her frustrating new partner. Her mother used to warn her that her face would get stuck eventually, and she’s starting to wonder if that’s true; at least he’s not sending her off alone, which she wouldn’t really blame him for but would still be angry over. And he turns the volume on the radio down once they're in the car when he notices her pulling out her bottle of aspirin and popping one into her mouth. It looks like he wants to say something and thinks the better of it. Good. The less she has to talk to him, the better. The drive to Marson & Co. passes with only the harsh strumming of rock and the quiet purring of the engine, and their silence persists into the lobby, where Lir speaks briefly to a receptionist, and in the elevator ride up to the seventh floor.

Dante whistles when they step off into an office that sprawls over the entire floor. Glass windows that stretch from floor to ceiling on three of the walls give a stunning view of the city, allowing plenty of sunlight in, and it glows over the interior decorations: a large oak desk, numerous shelves full of books, a sitting area, a bar set next to the elevator. It’s the office of a man who wound up rich and, as the figure behind the desk stands, Lir takes a look at him and decides it was probably inherited. Simon Marsons is as immaculate as the space he occupies, his suit pressed and his salted hair pressed back from a hairline that’s only starting to thin, a lavender handkerchief folded into his coat pocket and diamond cufflinks glittering at his wrists. Lir walks towards him, her boots thudding dully on the polished tile floor; up close, she can see the vibrant green of his eyes and that his teeth, when he smiles, are too even and straight to be anything but bought.

“My apologies, but I’m afraid I’m not open for visitors today,” he says, his voice pleasant yet oily somehow. “If you leave your name with Mary, I’ll try to—”

“Simon Marsons?” Lir cuts him off curtly. “I’m Detective Thorne. This is my partner, Detective Redgrave. Are you related to Sophie Marsons?”

His tanned face goes ashy. “Sophie? She’s my daughter. Has something happened to her?”

“You might want to sit,” Dante advises him, not unkindly.

Marson’s legs go out from under him, and Lir watches with embers of sympathy as he collapses into his grand chair. “Please,” he says, his voice shaking. “Where is she? Was she hurt? I knew I should have called when she didn’t show up for work yesterday, but I assumed she was sleeping off a hangover . . . Which hospital do I need to go to?”

Lir takes a deep breath. “Is your office always open on Sunday?”

“What? Yes, yes, I have a number of clients, and Saturday and Sunday are when I go over all of my notes. Please, Detective, Sophie . . .”

That ember sparks to a dull blaze. Speaking quietly, Lir says, “I’m sorry. We found her yesterday morning.”

A low keening erupts from Marson’s throat. It’s not unlike the cry of a wounded animal, caught in a trap from which it cannot escape and too weak to continue struggling, and Lir thinks of the fox her father had snared one year after it killed their chickens and her mouth fills with the heavy taste of iron. Dante steps around her, his own face displaying a hint of discomfort. It’s oddly reassuring to realize that he probably hates these visits as much as she does, the transformation from detective to confidante and terrible messenger that is a cruel necessity of their job. “When was the last time you saw your daughter, Mr. Marson?”

The man mumbles something incoherent, and the two of them share a look. “Sir?” Lir presses.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice choked. “You’ll have to . . . Mary will know. I’m sorry. Excuse me, I can’t . . .”

Lir exhales slowly. “Okay. Thank you. I’m going to leave my card. Please call us if you think of anything.”

He buries his face in his hands, and she slides her card onto the desk before heading back to the elevator. Once inside, she leans against the wall, and even Dante looks tired, the hollows under his eyes dark and deep. “Never gets easier, does it?” he mutters.

She shakes her head. Outside, she turns to him, her mouth dry and her limbs heavy. “I’m goin’ home. I need sleep. You?”

“Can’t argue that. Want a ride?”

The idea of him knowing where she lives makes her skin prickle uncomfortably, which is strange, given that they work together. Still, she points to the road. “I’ll catch a cab. See you in a bit.”

“Mm-hm.”

Lir leaves him there, feeling his eyes boring into her back as she hails a taxi and slides inside, nearly slurring with exhaustion as she gives the driver her address. She dozes on the ride, woken by the cabbie tapping the glass partition between them, and she fumbles to pay and tip before heading into her building. It’s quiet inside, warm in a stuffy sort of way, which makes her more drowsy. Another short trip in an elevator, and she’s at her door, which she unlocks with trembling fingers and kicks shut. Too tired to bother showering, Lir strips as she walks to her bedroom in the back, where she manages to pull the curtains closed and set an alarm on her phone before collapsing into bed. Behind her closed eyes, visions of Sophie Marson’s body linger, chasing her into her dreams.

In them, she is once again in the morgue. The lights overhead flicker as she stares at the slab in the middle, upon which rests a form covered by a white sheet, and her breath frosts in the air around her and chills her lips. As she stands frozen, the thing under the sheet moves, pallid fingers poking from beneath to curl over its edge and push it slowly down, and a low whine locks in her throat, the remnants of a scream she cannot voice. Creeping, unhurried, the corpse of Sophie Marson sits up, her pale hair spilling limply over her shoulders; when milky eyes focus on her, Lir twitches. But she’s paralyzed, her legs unresponsive no matter how desperately she pleads with them to work.

A low rasp falls from the corpse’s mouth, which forms soundless words. With every attempt it makes to speak, air whistles from it, barely audible over the thrum of the air conditioning, until, at last, it stands on trembling legs, bracing itself on the slabs as it clambers towards her. As it draws closer, the whispers take form: “You saw . . . you saw . . . you saw . . .”

No, Lir tries to shout, no, no, I didn’t see a damn thing. There was nothing to see! Just you, dead on the ground, and if something else was there I had to ignore it because things like that don’t exist!

Grasping fingers reach for her. The murmurs take on a fevered rhythm, rising in pitch and volume until they devolve into a shrill ringing, those dead eyes bulging as its hands land on her face—

Lir snaps up with a strangled scream, reaching to grab and shove and fight. Yet there’s nothing there; just her room with unpacked boxes cluttered around, and she hunches over and presses her palms to her cheeks, fighting to get her panicked breathing under control. The ringing cuts off, then starts again. Cursing, she fumbles for her phone, finding it buried under the covers, and jabs to answer it, fear making her bark into it. “What?”

Dante’s voice comes through the receiver. “Sorry to wake you, sleepin’ beauty, but Marson’s at the station to make a statement and Morrison is liable to rip you a new one if you aren’t there soon.”

“Fine, just . . . Wait, there?”

“Yeah. I’m outside.” Startled, she darts to the window and peers out, seeing Dante parked on the street below, leaning on his car, looking back up at her. He waves as he says, “Better get your ass in gear, Thorne.”

Furious with him, she hangs up and stalks to her bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Then she grabs a fresh change of clothes, tugging them on as she follows the trail of dirty ones she’d left earlier to her boots, which she slams her feet into. Keys, wallet, badge, gun, Lir grabs all of them from the table next to the door, then she leaves, choosing the quicker option of the stairs at the end of the building hall. Dante straightens as she emerges, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to laugh, and she glares at him as she yanks open the door and slides into his car, vindicated by his, “Hey!” when she slams it fiercely. It’s his turn to scowl, climbing behind the wheel, and he cranks the volume up to near painful levels before putting the car in drive and pulling away from the curb.

Tired of his dickish behavior, she turns the knob back down and snaps, “How the fuck did you find my apartment?”

He scoffs. “We’ve got personnel files.”

“For emergencies!” Lir shouts. “You don’t just go into them whenever you feel like it!”

“If you’d just told me—”

“I don’t have to tell you shit,” she seethes.

Dante slams on the brakes, yanking the car into a parking spot and turning to glower at her. “You’ve had a fuckin’ chip on your shoulder since we met. Like it or not, we’re partners, and that means I need to know where the hell you live in case somethin’ comes up, like it did tonight.”

“I could have gotten there on my own!”

“Yeah, sure, and Morrison would’ve reamed your ass out for takin’ so long. Shit, I had to call you four times before you answered your goddamn phone. You think he’d have stood for that?” Lir merely shakes her head, and he throws his hands up in frustration. “What the hell is your problem? Jesus fuckin’ wept, you’d think I’m the biggest prick you’ve ever met—”

“Because you are,” she says curtly. “You’ve been ridin’ me since yesterday, havin’ me run your errands—”

“Oh, so you’re above goin’ to the morgue—”

“—acting like I don’t know my head from my ass—”

“—or dealin’ with reporters—”

“What is with you?” she cries, exasperated. “I get it, you idolize Sam Spade, but do you need his fucking sexism along with the outfit?”

Dante closes his mouth, staring at her intently for a moment, and she realizes that, in their arguing, they had each leaned in, as if to intimidate the other. Then he grins, slowly, and this one reaches his eyes, melting the glaciers there. “You like Humphrey Boggart?”

Thrown by the question, Lir can only blink at him. “Uh . . . I guess? I watched his films a lot as a kid, so . . . What does that have to do with anything?”

“Got a favorite?”

“What?” He’s still watching her. With a groan, Lir slumps back into her seat. “I dunno. Marked Woman, probably.”

Dante nods solemnly. “Bette Davis was a babe.” He continues speaking as he eases them back into traffic. “Look, Thorne—”

She huffs. “Can you just call me Lir like a normal person, for the love of God?”

“Lir,” he amends without batting an eye. “Me ridin’ you? Sorry to break it to you, but Red Grave is a beast of its own. Maybe you were good in Fortuna. Hell, your record says you were. Here? You’ll get eaten alive if you aren’t careful.”

“What a load of shit,” she mumbles.

Dante sighs. “You know somethin’ else? It’s been buggin’ me since yesterday, and the only reason I haven’t suggested Morrison take you off the case is because I’m worried you’d get yourself killed if I couldn’t keep an eye on you. You’re too eager to prove yourself.” Lir bristles, but his next statement, spoken flatly with no hint of emotion at all, has a faint prickle of fear creeping up her spine. “You look an awful lot like our victim. If this guy’s gonna go serial . . . Well, you’d fit his profile nicely.”

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc dante #dante #dante sparda #dmc oc #lirael thorne #lir #dmc fanfic #dmc fanfiction #writing #story #myfic #wires

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quillsickink · 4 years

Link

I’ve meant to churn out the first chapter of this slow-burn nightmare for a while, so here we go. Caution - this is an eventual Ellie/Abby fic, so if you are not a fan - please evacuate while you can!

This story begins in a slightly alternate timeline from the events of the game. We start after three characters choose to make a handful of very different decisions. 1. Owen deserted to Santa Barbara while Abby and Yara rescued Lev. Dispirited, Abby fled with Lev to travel north along the coast instead of following her former friends to southern California. In a desperate effort to find a place in the world for them, she heads to an abandoned conduit for the Fireflies - an enigmatic hunting lodge from her adolescence. 2. Tommy refused to cooperate with Jesse and his request to come home. He instead continued his pursuit for revenge against Abby, having found evidence she defected and is wanted for murder by the Washington Liberation Front. 3. Broken from finding a mere empty aquarium after killing Nora, Ellie returned to the theater. Tommy's refusal to return to Jackson spurs her to make a drastic decision to abandon Dina and Jesse to bring him home.

With that, we start in a little town outside of just west of Montana.

===

Ellie's sneakers slap hard against the pavement as she trots down the arcade's alley. She pushes sharply against the emergency exit, ignoring the cold rain pelting her face. She hisses, nearly losing her balance on a slick patch of cracked asphalt.

"Fuck-"She breathes after righting herself and throws her shoulder against the entrance.

The hinges are stubborn, but after a couple of shoves, it gives way. She shrinks inside and pulls back the hood of her jacket from her soaked head of hair.

Shouldn't have bothered, Ellie thinks bitterly, wiping the rainwater from her eyes. A finger strokes the grip of her revolver as she takes a moment to check her sixes.

She presses the switch attached to her pack's flashlight, and it flickers on, illuminating the dusty room. Storm clouds had quickly blotted out the setting sun on the ruined city, and the sound of rolling thunder was enclosing on the outskirts of town.

Ellie shudders and takes a moment to run her hands along her forearms in a vain attempt to warm herself. She strips herself tiredly of her wet coat and overshirt and tosses the articles across the back of a weathered chair to dry.

It was going to be hell managing to pick up Tommy's trail again after tonight if she relied on the ground.

Whatever tracks or evidence he or Abby had left behind would have surely been washed away by morning. She groans at the possibility. There had been many nights where she was left to wrestle with the genuine possibility of giving up and returning to Jackson.

Ellie didn't want to face another morning of wrestling with herself at another dead end.

Above Scars, wolves, and infected - the weather had proven to be Ellie's most frustrating obstacle. Heavy and often unpredictable showers had kept her circling the area for far longer than she had anticipated. It seemed each time she caught the wind of Tommy's trail, she was met with nothing.

Another late night, she thinks, trotting quickly up the stairs. The second floor had a window featuring a downhill view of a formerly commercial section of town. It was worth the long sprint back in the storm if it meant camping with a good line of sight for the evening.

It had been difficult to move anywhere since yesterday, and she had doubts Tommy could cover much ground either. Not being able to see the ground six feet in front of you would be enough for anyone to seek shelter.

Ellie catches her breath and slides down the wall next to the open window. Her eyes scan the darkening streets, looking for the sign of fire or flashlight inside an endless assortment of broken, boarded windows.

It was easy to look for signs of life here; it had been improbably peaceful since her arrival. There seemed to be little human presence at all, save for the band of wolves she had stalked here. She had heard gunfire some days ago, her only clue that Tommy was still lingering somewhere nearby. Trees had taken over most of the downtown buildings, uprooting foundations and creating a canopy of shade and a sea of broken concrete. It was the perfect place to hide, both for herself and Tommy... or Abby.

The thought of the latter intruded into the forefront of her mind more often than she liked to admit.

Ellies wonders if the murderer's trail had gone cold for him, too. Why else would someone linger here?

She carefully rifles through her pack and plucks free a pair of cracked binoculars, pushing the thought of Joel's killer away. If was painful to dwell on, causing her to lose her focus.

Ellie peers through the lens, searching for the tell-tale signs of flashlight or fire.

She allows her arms to rest against the windowsill. Muscles ache from a tedious day of tracking, and she is hungry, but there's little motivation to eat. Not right now.

"Goddamnit," She whispers under her breath. All clues pointed the other woman had headed north along the freeway to this place. Ellie had no choice but to follow the wolves' tire tracks carefully, a tedious process, and a measure of Ellie's patience.

Ellie had spent weeks trodding after them. Just far enough behind as not to alert them of her presence, but close enough that she couldn't lose them in an emergency.

Snake, traitor, bitch. There were many choice words the wolves had picked to reference Abby, which piqued her interest. Ellie had only picked up bits of conversation, but it seemed her former brethren had equally vitriolic relationships with her.

Wonder what the hell you did to them. Something alarming enough to send a squad after you, at least.

Despite the slow start, stalking them had provided her with an unreliable stream of information. The circumstance had proven to be working in Ellie's favor, and that's all that mattered at present. Following them hadn't been easy in any capacity, but it was the only lead she had since discovering the aquarium was a dead-end.

She shuddered, thinking about a handful of close calls that had kept her on her toes.

A buzz around their camp indicated they were hot on Abby's heels, but Ellie had suspicions they had been pressured from within to turn back. A fatal run-in with infected had dampened their spirits and left two of them dead. Not everyone who split off to escape came back to regroup.

A three-day barrage of miserable weather had been the nail in the coffin for their expedition to bring Abby to justice. Ellie had watched their hopes deteriorate before they tucked their tails and began the trek back to Seattle. That had been a hard night for her. Equally defeated, she was forced to choose between leading a blind goose-chase or returning to Jackson. Again.

And for what? This was a persistent thought for her. For Dina?

She reaches for her journal and begins to notate her position. No sign of life anywhere. Ellie eyes the countless windows where inevitably, she would hope to see signs of light.

She probably despises me.

After everything they had done to get this far.

All the blood that had been spilled just to get here, with no tangible resolution in sight.

She kept these thoughts to herself, feeling them too miserable to bring to life.

She felt there was nothing left in Jackson for her. Not right now. Ellie had broken a lot of promises already. Returning home wasn't plausible until she kept her word to Maria, or buried Abby. Whichever came first.

She opens the leatherbound book to the middle, carefully removing the tattered bookmark. Her fingers press against a photo carefully tucked into the spine.

Dina.

Ellie's lips twist into a partial smile.

Bet you're really showing by now. For sure.

She presses the tip of her pen to the paper.

She had spent weeks trying to suppress the notion that they hadn't made it back to Jackson.

Jesse better be taking care of you, she writes slowly.

Her eyebrows furrow.

It hurts to say so.

The words scratch heavily into the paper, and she pauses to twirl her pen.

Day 7 in this place. Four days since I heard gunfire. No sign of life today. Another storm is blowing in. Feels like it is going to freeze over soon.

Ellie pauses, lifting her head to take a tentative peek over the sill. She hoped the temperature didn't dip too low tonight.

Time passed slowly in moments like these. Three months of traveling alone had begun to take its toll on her spirit. The disconnect between Dina and Jesse felt real; separated now for almost twelve weeks.

She had said things that she had slowly begun to regret. Even worse, regrets from words she didn't say.

Ellie twirls the pen in her fingers.

Running low on ink. I should probably try to find another soon.

She jots a final statement in her entry for tonight.

I hope one day you understand.

She tucks the picture into the journal and moves the ribbon to the following page—time to put this away and be diligent, for now.

===

"Tommy's not coming back."

Jesse had knocked defeatedly at the theater door. When Ellie opened it, his expression spoke volumes on the grimness of the situation.

"I tried to reason with him, but-" Jesse sighs in frustration.

"-he's caught wind that Abby's defected. She's left Seattle."

Ellie bites her lip, a seed of dread growing in her stomach.

"Where did you see him last?" She asks sternly, gripping the straps of her pack.

---

"Take her home, Jesse," The exhaustion in her voice the following morning was apparent. She had barely slept, rattled by her experience in the hospital. The weight of the pipe in her hands and Nora's face haunted her thoughts, and there was little comfort in Dina's arms. In the wee hours of the morning, she had grown numb to her decision.

"If something happens to Dina or the baby-"

"You won't be able to forgive yourself?" Jesse was understandably angry. He had caught her on the way out, fully prepared to depart without them. The look of surprise on her face had spoiled her intentions.

Jesse couldn't wrap his mind around the idea of Ellie abandoning them to leave on her own.

"No. I couldn't. And she can't go home on her own-" Ellie finds it challenging to look at him in the eyes.

"You're not thinking straight-"

"No, Jesse, I...I don't know. I do know if I'm going to find Tommy, I have to think like him,"

Jesse was speechless.

Ellie knew well enough how clever he was at covering his tracks.

"He's not going stop until he has her head." She forces herself to lower her voice, should she threaten to wake Dina.

Jesse clenches his fists, and Ellie gestures toward the back of the building.

"...I promised Maria. Dina's too sick to see the end of this. If you really want to help, just take her and go back to Jackson,"

"Ellie-"

"Don't follow me."

Jesse stares incredulously, shaking his head in disappointment.

"You're making a mistake."

Ellie did not respond and instead turned to leave.

She hoped Dina was able to read the hastily penned letter before Jesse could spill her transgression.

The door's weight felt enormous on the way out.

===

Ellie wakes with a start, her eyes fluttering open to a surprisingly vibrant room. Exhausted, she had fallen asleep in the crook of her elbow.

Shit.

She hadn't intended to sleep this long. Ellie squints and shields her eyes from the grey skylight. It takes a moment for her to grasp what she sees, struggling to peel reality away from a familiar nightmare.

Her heart skips as a beat as she notices a dark contrast of black smoke against ash-colored clouds. She grabs frantically for the binoculars and shoots upright to her feet. Peering expectantly through the lens, she focuses in on the location of the fire.

The trail disappears behind the rooftop of a brewery in the distance. Ellie racks her brain for details - recalling the layout of the streets of the city's downtown.

Has to be him, She thinks as she scrambles to gather her things.

Couldn't be more than a few miles off. If I keep a steady pace, I could reach the campsite by noon.

===

"Abby!"

Lev's voice echoes through the department store, and Abby's head whips to greet him. He waves her over to where he's kneeling across the street.

She grunts and rises to her feet, having just rummaged through the pack of a long-dead drifter. Poor guy didn't have much to his name - at least not when he died. She dusted off her hands before moving to join Lev, kneeling next to another corpse lodged in the threshold of a general store. Still somewhat fresh.

"Do you know him?" Lev asks curiously, reaching for a pouch attached at its side. Abby furrows her brows as she takes a look, allowing her counterpart to rummage through the rucksack.

"No," She shakes her head. "Doesn't look familiar. Has to be one of the assholes that was following us," Abby inspects the unfamiliar man's face, then his jacket.

"There were a lot of us,"

No patches of any kind - must be new. She reaches for his neck, carefully pulling a bloodied chain from the dead man's collar. Aha.

"W.T.," She says, reading the two letters stamped into the tag. "Weird. Just initials," Abby drops the tags, which clink pitifully against his chest.

"Wonder what they stood for."

"Hey-" Abby cracks a faint smile and reaches down to pluck something from between the corpse's fingers. Lev eyes her incredulously.

"Missed something," She hums fondly and presents it to her counterpart to have a look.

It's a pistol - in surprisingly good condition. Abby allows her fingers to run across the barrel before engaging the safety. Only two bullets left, she thinks, before slipping the gun into her side-holster. The former wolf notices the pout forming at the corner of Lev's mouth, and she stifles a chuckle.

"This one's nice, but it's got some kick to it. The gun I gave you suits you," Abby crosses her arms and Lev suppresses the urge to argue.

"Yeah..." He sighs, carefully stepping over a crumbled bookcase used at one point to barricade the entrance. Abby follows suit behind him. He had seemed morose since this morning, not that she could blame him. She had struggled to keep them occupied and maintaining momentum; for the betterment of them both. The lingering effects of Yara's death were most noticeable when there wasn't an immediate goal under their nose.

Having direction kept her from dwelling too much on the recent.

She often thought of Yara. And Owen...and Mel. Their last interaction together had left a bitter taste in her mouth. As much as their abandonment had stung, she still hoped they had made it to Santa Barbara in one piece. She had meant her word when she promised she would head in the opposite direction, at least for the time being.

Abby wondered how Alice was faring at sea.

Similar thoughts intruded often, and she found it necessary to find something distract herself. Right now, her focus was keeping Lev safe and getting the two of them to the lodge.

"Been a while since we've practiced," She adds as they move into the street. Abby leads the two of them along, her eyes looking expectantly for the inn's sign in the distance. It "Maybe we can set up some targets once we get out of town,"

Lev nods and shrugs his shoulders.

"That would be nice," He hums, fiddling with the straps of his pack.

Abby stifles a sigh. I'll cheer you up eventually. Somehow.

The walk to their camp was brief, and soon enough, Abby could see the familiar flaking, sky blue exterior of the 'Silver Cloud'. It had been a long day of scouring for supplies, and the idea of resting her legs was more than appealing.

Abby grunts as she struggles to peel back a rusted tin section used to bar the window. A bit of elbow grease was enough to peel it back and allow Lev to slip through the opening. Abby follows shortly after, careful not to let the metal make too much noise behind them.

Lev breathes a sigh of relief and relaxes his shoulders. The inn smelled like the underside of a pier, Abby thought as she wrinkled her nose. But it was safe, and that's all that mattered. Whoever the owners were before the outbreak had taken care to seal the place shut before closing the doors. The roof sagged slightly from years of neglected, unattended leaks on the south end, but it had managed to stay dry enough to use as shelter.

Lev carefully settles onto the floor after removing his pack. Abby watches as he begins to pull a few items from the day's scavenger hunt, carefully inspecting their spoils.

Abby turns to rifle through her backpack. They had enough food for now, but they still needed a few more things before she could comfortably have them venture out of town. It might be some time before they could scavenge a town for necessities.

Preparing for a trip of this magnitude had taken longer than anticipated; with limited supplies, Abby had resorted to exhausting every potential resource they could explore along their way. They had spent themselves looting the husks of department stores, pharmacies, residences, and a sole general store for any useful materials they could find.

She pulls a small tin from her pack, a makeshift first aid kit. Abby had been more conscientious of the need lately after the trauma of dealing with Yara's injury. The former wolf purses her lips as she carefully opens it, examining its meager contents.

A handle of sewing needles in a yellowed, plastic package. A small bottle of alcohol and a sterile razor. A pitiful wad of unused gauze.

She blinks, recalling have found that Mel and Owen had not only left them behind; they had also taken the precious medical kit she had almost gotten herself killed to get her hands on. The feeling of dread in her stomach when she and Lev returned to see a missing boat was hard to forget.

Blinking away the thought, she puts a spool of thread inside the tin and bitterly snaps the container shut.

"Hey," Lev murmurs, holding an object up for inspection in the dim light. "Look at this,"

Abby peers up from her thoughts to see her counterpart clasping what appeared to be a coin between his thumb and pointer finger.

"Found it in a matchbox," He flips it over to inspect the back, lips pursed in disappointment.

"We needed the matches."

Abby extends her arm and gestures for Lev to hand it over.

"Let me see," She purrs quietly as she plucks it from his palm. The blond squints, her eyebrows raising.

"This is a wheat penny," She hums and offers it back. "You should keep it. They're good luck."

"Huh. A wheat penny," Lev repeats curiously, rolling the coin between his fingers.

"You believe in luck?" Lev eyes her incredulously as he flops onto a nearby couch, adopted as a bed. He tucks the coin into the pocket of his pants for safekeeping.

Abby smiles and raises a brow.

"Sure. When I'm lucky," Abby slides into an armchair with a quiet huff and begins to rub the tension in the back of her neck. She rests her head against the cushioned back, her eyelids growing heavy.

"We should get some rest. Got a long day ahead of us," Abby sinks further into the worn leather, throwing her legs across the chair's arm. She works a hand into her back pocket to remove a map, heavily creased and often referenced. She carefully unfolds it, her eyes drawn to a penciled circle at the outer edge.

"Nearly there," She mutters under her breath, tapping their location. Carefully, she traces her finger along the highlighted route to their destination. Getting there wasn't as easy as the mapped route suggested. Abby had taken the time to mark their actual path, which proved to be a much more jagged and cumbersome hike than anticipated.

"This is our last night here, right?" He asks quietly.

"Swear," She sighs, rolling onto her side. "Last night. We head out first thing in the morning."

Lev sighs in relief and closes his eyes.

They had hunkered down in this place for longer than she cared to admit.

Having the WLF on their heels in the early weeks had fatigued them. The two had spent time resting and biding their time here until she felt they were ready to leave.

Shaking them off of their heels had been a victory for them. Now, they just had to keep moving.

"You think the lodge is still empty?" He whispers. Abby closes the map as dusk dies outside, along with her light source. She furrows her brow.

"I hope so, Lev."

Abby didn't really know what propelled her to take them there. Intuition? A sense of nostalgia? A little bit of both.

She had only been there once with her father when she was about Lev's age. Back when the Fireflies were naively hopeful.

But it was the most extraordinary few months of her life before the Fireflies found it in their best interest to abandon the property. She knew that the lodge was exploited as a conduit for them in the faction's early years. They were moving on a shred of hope that it was still there.

The place had good bones...at least that's what her father would say. She wasn't an engineer by any means, but she was hoping she and Lev could patch any disrepair that might have overcome it…

It was the only place that came to mind when she thought of rebuilding her life.

===

"Fuck,' Abby stutters as she stumbles forward onto her knees. The wolf's boot catches on the wheels of an overturned utility cart. She's shivering, soaked. Foul greywater reaches to her elbows, and she can't see her hands through the filth of it all. In a panic, he pushes herself to her feet and propels herself forward.

A dismal realization overcomes her; she's back in St. Mary's.

No, no, no...even worse. Abby's head whips desperately to find some sort of evidence of her whereabouts. She stifles a cry of terror when she sees the flickering emergency room sign swinging woefully in her peripheral. The whirling growl of a generator sings somewhere in the distance.

The air smells familiarly sour, and she's painfully aware that her hands are empty. Her pack is gone and stripped of all her weapons, Abby is vulnerable and naked to her environment. A quickly approaching gurgling scream encumbers her senses, and her instincts only tell her to move forward. Trembling fingers reach frantically at her hip for a pistol that's no longer there.

Dread transmutes to sickness as she turns a corner to be met with a dead-end.

The sound of flesh and bone scraping against the walls sends a shiver of horror down her spine. Abby's body reluctantly swivels to face the monster lunging aggressively toward her.

She tries to scream, but the sound dies in her throat. She can see every face in the tangled amalgamation of the Rat King. It's twisted core rolls closer, and it dawns on her that the mountain of fungus and flesh isn't a conglomerate of unknown stalkers, but of people she knows—her friends.

The twisted gaze of Mel and Owen cause her to cry out for help. Manny's slack jaw and aimless stare are positioned next to the familiar faces of dead Scars. Yara and Lev. The shoulders supporting them all attaches onto a central face - a memory of a man she had compartmentalized and locked away for some time.

Joel Miller. He stares at her, and Abby snaps her jaw closed. Her body trembles, and she forces her eyes shut as the snarling of the beast swallows her whole. A young woman's scream echoes in her thoughts as her eyes snap awake before the creature's maw reaches her.

Her mind wanders to the ski resort- the grisly sound of metal against skull-bone and the young girl's piercing cry on the floor, begging her to stop.

"Please, don't do this-!"

The creature stumbles aside, and finally, Abby can see a young woman's figure kneeling in the flood-waters.

"Abby, please don't do this-!"

---

Abby startles awake, her forehead coated with a thin sheen of sweat. She takes a deep breath as she snaps up to rest on her elbows, finding the air thick and hard to breathe. The shrill screech of her name was disturbing.

It's cold in the riverside inn, but she's burning hot - her shirt dampened from wrestling a nightmare in the morning's wee hours. Abby takes a few moments to regain her senses, relieved to see it was still early. Tiredly fixated on the pinholes of grey light streaming from the ceiling, Abby Anderson forces herself to sit. It's unbearably quiet.

Thank God, she thinks, allowing her head to rest between her knees. She was surprisingly happy to be here, in this dank place. Nausea slowly begins to ebb away.

It had been a while. Abby tries to remember the last time she dreamed about the hospital. Her fingers massage at a knot of muscle in her neck.

That's not what happened...with the girl, back in Jackson. She didn't know my name.

The incarnation of Joel and the girl's cry for mercy had truly grated her. More than that vile creature.

Funny, she thought. She had tucked that memory to bed some time ago, having washed it away with a new sense of purpose. She shakes her head, instead choosing to turn toward Lev's sleeping form.

Except he's not there. Instead, Abby's met by with the sight of an empty couch.

Her name is Ellie, she recalls suddenly. Joel Miller's little counterpart. The girl with the cure.

She rubs at her eyes.

No time to dwell on it now, she thinks, slowly moving to her feet. The muscles in her jaw ache with tension, and she slowly stretches her mouth open. Ouch. Fuck, that hurts.

It had been a long time since her mind had wandered to linger on the man who killed her father. Those feelings of hatred and resentment had been excised and buried. It seemed guilt had trickled into the empty space. It was growing harder to ignore, especially in moments where she found herself alone.

She had done far worse things to people that weighed on her less. But why?

He deserved it.

Abby pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers, reaching to grab her jacket and boots.

She opts to rise on her feet and itemize her things to prepare for the journey that lies ahead. Dawn was fading, and she wanted to hit the pavement before the day got away from them.

"Lev?" She asks hoarsely, moving slowly to the back door. She notices it's unlocked, and the rotting shade was open.

She opens it and steps onto the dock. Lev is sitting on the edge and turns to look at her. He seems serene this morning.

"Morning," He says quietly as Abby comes to sit next to him, relieved. She yawns, and he tucks his knee to have a place to rest his chin.

His eyes focus on a thick line running from his palm into the dark water.

The two didn't say anything for a few minutes. The breeze blowing in the water felt nice, and Abby allowed it to rejuvenate her spirit.

"I thought maybe we could have breakfast before we go," Lev begins to wrap the line leading down to the hook, removing the slack. The shadow of a fish flickers into view, prompting Abby to notice a nearby bucket, teeming with several others.

"Good idea."

===

Weird.

A dead wolf.

Ellie takes a careful glance around before squatting to investigate the corpse.

'So you're the one they left behind,' Ellie thinks, rifling through the dead man's pockets. The body was still...somewhat fresh.

Gross. Ellie grimaces as she picks up the coat in his hands. Still dry, without much blood on it. She would soon need it, as a simple overshirt wasn't going to cut surviving a harsh winter. The temperature was already starting to drop now as autumn was kicking into full swing again.

She runs her fingers across the WLF emblem stitched onto the bicep. The article was still in pretty good shape.

She offers an empathetic glance as she shrugs the jacket across her shoulders. The brunette found it a bit ironic to be brandishing WLF, not that she had much choice. She felt it a shame she couldn't find a proper replacement.

Ellie pauses as she realizes his gun is missing from his holster. Her gaze narrows and her breathing slows as she weighs the possibilities.

Her attention is drawn to a wound at his chest.

Clean shot, large bullet. So this was the last rifle blast I heard.

Instinctually, she peers over her shoulder at the many possible vantage points. She traces each one, trying to figure where the shooter was standing.

Tommy. Had to have been him.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it was the only clue she had to go on. Excitement swells in her chest - instinct was telling her she was moving in the right direction.

She exits the shop, leaving the door open the way that she had found it. It closes slowly against the body in the threshold.

I'm convincing you to come back, even if it kills me.

She picks up the pace, slipping into the liminal spaces of the broken city's alleyways.

And what if it's not him?

Ellie struggles to catch her breath as she finds herself in a full-blown sprint.

A part of her screams in anticipation; what if it's Abby?

Her heart pounds, beating painfully against her ribcage.

She wished she could stop hoping that it was. There was a sliver of her that simply refused to let it go.

Her body slams loudly against a chain-link fence, and her fingers curl viciously through the openings. She presses her forehead against the metal links.

The smoke is feigning in color, but it was closer.

She pulls herself up, scrambling to the slide over the top.

Ellie pauses to wipe the sweat from her eyes.

Wonder what Dina would think - seeing me like this.

Doesn't matter.

Ten minutes at a time.

The bottom of her soles slam against the concrete, and she's off again.

Just follow the smoke.

===

"C'mon Lev," Abby peers nervously over her shoulder.

"We're more exposed than I would like to be,"

Lev stares in wonder over the bridge's side, leaning against the concrete with his elbows. There was something about rushing water that was captivating, especially with a view like this.

The river below had become swollen from heavy rainfall, peppered with old cars and carcasses of boats. The bridge itself had long since collapsed in the center. Instead, it served as a downward ramp into the rushing water. A conglomerate of cars and pontoon boats from neighboring docks had formed a footbridge to the other side.

Lev moves to crouch beside Abby next to a shelled tanker. She raises a brow as she stares at the trail of cars before them. A look upriver only showed miles of running water, with no evidence of another way across.

Abby huffs in thought.

"That's...a long detour," Lev murmurs as he studies the pebbled bank. They had been walking non-stop since breakfast. The sun had settled in the west, threatening to retreat behind the mountains in the distance.

The bridge had collapsed as to leave a path of broken automobile rooftops to tread across. Rain from the night prior had risen the water level yet again, evident by the muddy current below.

"Yeah...shit," Abby rubs at her chin and slides to sit. She allows her pack to slip from her shoulders onto the fractured asphalt and turns to Lev.

"It's not safe. We have to wait,"

Lev feels her frustration, sighing in disappointment. He turns his attention downriver, thinking hard for any semblance of an idea.

"Abby," He murmurs after a few moments. Abby turns to him while unscrewing her canteen, before nearly draining half of it.

"Look, there." He squints, pointing indistinctly to the favoring riverbank. Abby squints, trying to spot what Lev is referencing. It soon becomes evident as she makes out a dull, orange blinking light at the edge of the water. The dimming sun favors the detail, and she strains her eyes to get a better look.

"Attached to the line, across the water," Lev whispers. "That box. Can it take us across?"

Abby realizes he's talking about a nearby metal cab, half-way hidden in the undergrowth. She had assumed it to be a power-line, and her pulse quickens as she realizes it's a fashioned, rugged lift. Clever.

"Someone's been here recently," Abby looks hard at the forest across the river. The line angles high above them to meet the slope on the other side, disappearing somewhere in the trees.

"See the generator?"

Lev blinks, nodding. Abby can almost see the wheels turning, and her gut starts to sink.

"Maybe it works-"

"Absolutely not," Abby says immediately, shaking her head. She almost feels sick thinking about it.

"And who is to say it's safe- ?"

"You said yourself, someone's using it," Lev interrupts her, nearly pleading in earnest. Thunder rolls somewhere beyond the mountains, and seeing the expression on Abby's face, Lev looks away in disappointment.

"It might take days for the river to drop," He leans tiredly against the car and crosses his arm. Abby stays quiet for a moment, and she can see he's despondent.

He was right about that. Abby sighs, peering thoughtfully at him as Lev peers into the water below.

"If it's not lowered by morning, we'll check it out. Deal?" She sighs, her hands resting on her hips.

Lev hesitantly nods, and a gentle smile tugs at his lips.

"Okay."

"I know what you're thinking. All the good things about fear. Yada-yada."

"Yada-yada?"

"Don't worry about it-," Abby tosses Lev his pack.

"... I'm sorry, Abby."

Abby walks a few paces and sharply pulls at the old tailgate of an old pick-up. It squeals as she lowers it to use as a seat.

She tries not to think about the cable-car.

"Don't be. Let's get some rest. It's getting dark."

===

Ellie slips to the ground, her chest heaving to catch her breath.

A runner gurgles piteously on the ground beside her. She watches as it grows still in the grass before her fingers relax on the handle of her bloodied machete.

Shaky fingers turn off her flashlight, allowing the soft-orange glow of the generator to light the riverbank.

Her mind hums numbly with fatigue, and she forces herself to take a few minutes to rest. Ellie had been pushing tirelessly today, desperate to make up for the lost time she took investigating the campsite.

Whether it was Tommy - or someone else - they hadn't left much for her to recover. She had discovered only the charred remains of a perceived cooking fire, which had been neatly scratched away save for a handful of burning coals. A pile of stripped fish-bones did little to identify who had started it.

No scraps, no belongings left behind. The only notable clue had been the imprint of a boot-heel entrenched in a sodden patch of grass up the street. Fresh.

Whoever it was had intentions to head east, towards Libby, denoted by the signs.

She stares blankly at the generator. Hugged by tall grass underneath a shelter, she almost hadn't seen it...and probably wouldn't have in daylight. A gas canister lay on its side amid a patch of trampled grass. Whoever had left it was kind enough to screw the cap closed.

Someone was here, and not long ago. Ellie stares at the cable high above her, and the gondola, which hung only a few meters away. It gives a groan as it swings, agitated by a gust of wind.

Ellie squints with exertion as she lifts herself onto her feet. She had wandered to the river's edge, having spotted a potential foot trail near the road. The bridge in the distance offered little promise she could use it as a means across the river. It seemed to have collapsed and crumbled into the water below.

In an effort to find some semblance of a boat, she was met with this.

Ellie spots several other infected littered in the surrounding area as she carefully takes a look around. All shot, save for the one.

Tommy...if it was you, you left in a hurry. The noise must have drawn them out of the undergrowth.

I can't afford to stay here tonight.

Ellie staggers to pick up the canister and carefully moves to fuel the generator with what remained.

This might be the dumbest thing I've ever done, she thinks, glancing at the dilapidated bridge downriver.

She takes a few tentative steps toward the rusted cab on the platform to inspect the interior.

Seems to be in okay shape.

Ellie presses her boot into the floor to test its integrity. It was exceptionally dark inside, but Ellie had faith that it could hold her across. Somebody had trusted it enough, at least.

A muffled clap of thunder startles her, and she shakes her head in disbelief at what she was about to do.

The shriek of a clicker echoes in the distance. Rainy weather seemed to disturb them as well – drawing them out from the darkness into the rain.

There's not enough time to find another way across tonight.

Ellie grips the handle of the generator's starter cord and gives it a few sharp tugs. It growls in response, the mechanical roar spurring her adrenaline to spike. The platform beneath her vibrates, and Ellie holds her breath as the lift squeaks to life. The gondola lurches forward with a jolt, and she's suddenly made aware that the motor is not going to wait for her to board.

Ellie pulls herself up into the gondola before it can escape the platform. She stumbles inside, careful not to spill backward out of the open door. A nervous laugh escapes her as the cab sways, pulling her skyward along the cable. She allows herself to sit, her back pressed against the cold aluminum. Her eyes squint the car's body scrapes along the weathered line, and she takes a few deep breaths while the swinging slows to a gentle sway. Ellie thinks of all the ways she would suffer if the car detached, finding herself smiling in fear and disbelief.

I may have actually lost it, Jesse.

Her gaze is drawn out the window where the cable ran to an identical platform, presumably among the trees on the other side of the river.

Just a few more minutes… then I'm never doing anything like this again. Ever… ever again.

===

Abby awakes to the sound of a screech.

Before she can even comprehend what's happening, she's upright in the truck's bed. She jerks her head to see Lev already on his feet, staring across the water.

The two offer a confused glance to one another. Lev's mouth hangs open, but before he can say anything, Abby sees the cable-car floating above the river along its suspended course. A mechanical whir slices in the air, the unmistakable groan of a gas generator.

A clicker cries out again in the distance.

"Someone's in there -"Lev whispers and kneels behind the truck out of eyesight. Abby purses her lips in worry as she zips her coat closed.

"Lev, c'mon," She whispers hurriedly, her gaze following the gondola's movement.

Who the hell is in there?

"We have to move."

#elliexabby #elliewilliamsxabbyanderson #tlou2 #tlou #retribution #quillsickink #tloufanfiction #femslash #fxf

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misssophiachase · 4 years

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Here is it, part three! Unlike all my other stories each chapter is from dual points of view (divided into two parts) because I think this keeps the story moving faster and more fluidly. Let me know what you think of this format and the story so far : ) Read from the beginning at FF and AO3.

Synopsis: She skipped bail and he’s tasked to track her down. As a seasoned bounty hunter, it’s a fairly routine job on paper for Klaus Mikaelson but then he meets Caroline Forbes and has no idea what to do with her.

Thrill of the Chase - Part 3 - I Shot the Sheriff

Cumberland County, TN (Interstate 40)

Caroline

"Interesting song choice," Caroline offered, unable to help herself as the scenery rushed past her window. She decided to blame it on her friend called guilt that decided to rear its ugly head at the worst possible time.

"Why? You don't like Bob Marley?"

"Who doesn't like Bob Marley?" She countered, trying to ignore just how good he smelled from this close proximity. A mixture of soap, mint and something else enticing she couldn't quite identify.

She was actually a little thrown by the fact this very song was on her fugitive track list and the guy who picked her up on the side of the road just happened to be playing it.

Oh, and for the record, she didn't get in his car that easily, it took at least nine minutes. Even if every fibre of her being was ready to hop into his passenger seat as soon as he strolled over in all his blonde curls and black henley goodness. Caroline decided to blame it on distraction, pure and simple.

She'd managed to fumble through what she thought was fairly standard small talk followed by outlining her current dilemma. Given he had neither a spare tire or cell service, Caroline either had to trust him to call for help after leaving her by the road still stranded or go with him to the nearest town.

She figured the second option, albeit one her parents wouldn't endorse, was more expedient. She had places to be after all.

Yes, he could have been a serial killer, but she certainly wasn't squeaky clean herself. Plus, she was starving and had run out of snacks and really needed to use the restroom. She wasn't the pee in the bushes type of girl so Caroline had no other choice. Well, that's what she kept telling herself.

"So, do you think he did it?" She asked, probably against her best judgment.

"Did what?"

"Commit the crime. It's one thing to shoot the sheriff, because you know maybe he deserved it, but to be blamed for the deputy too? That's rough."

What he did next, she wasn't expecting. He let out a rich and throaty chuckle and Caroline didn't think it could sound any better than that sexy, English accent. But it did. It was so mesmerising that Caroline found herself laughing along.

"So, you're ready to throw the book at the poor guy?"

"No, I was just amused by your analogy. Here I thought the song was about corruption and injustice in general but you seem to take it almost personally." She cursed inwardly thinking that playing it cool was not her best trait.

Who was she kidding? She was woeful. Mainly because Caroline was a nosey person by nature but by posing questions she was just asking for them to be returned. She also didn't think they'd be analysing lyrics about committing crimes. Caroline might as well have stamped guilty all over her forehead.

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for the underdog."

"Nothing wrong with that, love."

"I have a name you realise?"

"Yes, but you didn't feel the need to share it when we first met even if I told you mine," he offered, his eyes not leaving the road. Even housed under those aviators, she didn't need to see them to know they were rolling.

"You could be a serial killer for all I know, Klaus," she said, emphasising his name. It was unexpected for sure but the more they talked, Caroline started to think it suited him. "Not that, you know, I'm, uh, giving you ideas or anything," she rambled, unable to stop the words tumbling from her mouth.

First, she was talking about shooting law enforcement and now mass murder. Yeah, Caroline was dealing just fine with her current situation.

"Thanks," he shot back. "You know, for not giving me any ideas. If I hadn't met you god knows how many people I could have killed today at least."

"You're hilarious," she drawled. "So, why did you stop? By the road I mean, not your killing spree."

"My conscience," he began. "It has this annoying way of niggling at me until I do the right thing. Plus, maybe if I do something good the universe will return the favour."

"I'm convinced that's an urban legend."

"Oh, like the killer in the backseat?" Caroline couldn't help herself and turned around to inspect it. "Gotcha."

Maybe the universe was more in tune than she first thought given it was playing tricks on her and not the good kind. Caroline had a mind to right all of her wrongs then and there but knew that would take a lot more energy and will than she currently possessed. She'd said as much to her friend Bonnie and that was only a couple of hours into her road trip.

"Your dad sent his favourite henchman to my apartment," she joked through the phone. "He could have at least sent one of the cute ones."

"I'm sorry, I'll be sure to tell him to send Tyler or Jesse next time," she drawled. "How is the lovely Alaric?"

"Urgh," she groaned. "I had to take a shower afterwards, he's that creepy."

"I'm sorry to put you in this position, Bon," she apologised. "When I made the decision to run I guess I didn't think about the ramifications. I should have realised that my parents know no bounds when it comes to harassing people, my friends included."

"Stop right there, Caroline Elizabeth Forbes," she chided. "I mean sure you didn't tell me you were actually going to run away in the first place but given the circumstances I can hardly blame you." Caroline winced knowing that it didn't sit well with one of her best friends.

"I didn't tell you because the less you knew the better," she reasoned, knowing she had good intentions at least. "I was always going to get in touch, I just needed to put some space between me and the city first."

"Well, now that he's gone can you please tell me why you've decided to go all Harrison Ford on me?"

"Clearly someone's been watching too many movies."

"And clearly someone is living one."

"I didn't kill my wife," she argued. "Not that Harrison Ford killed his wife either but you know what I mean."

"Please just tell me you have a plan and blasting NWA's choice thoughts about the police in your car doesn't count." Caroline muted her latest fugitive track, not realising just how loud it was playing.

"What makes you think I don't have a plan, Bonnie," she scoffed, feeling a little offended, even if she knew her friend was right. "I brought snacks and everything."

"Because that's the most important thing," she groaned. "I know things are strained with your parents and…"

"Don't say his name," she interrupted. "He, who shall not be named, doesn't deserve it."

"He called me."

"He what?" She squeaked, almost driving off the interstate as she said it. "I thought you would have had him blocked months ago."

"I kept his number so I knew if the idiot had the audacity to call, turns out he did," she explained. Caroline couldn't really argue given she'd done the same thing.

"When did he call?" Caroline asked curiously.

"About a half hour ago."

"Does he know that I…"

"No, I don't think so. I only answered to get him off your back and throw a few of those choice insults I'd stored up the past few months. But he said he's been trying to call you for a few days now, something you didn't feel the need to share obviously."

"Lucky me. Look, I didn't want to make you any madder than necessary given that hot temper," she continued before Bonnie could argue back. "I didn't answer and have no intention of listening to the string of pathetic voicemails he left either. Those are right up there with my parent's incessant pleas to get me to come home."

"He said he wants to talk."

"Well, too little too late," she muttered, thinking that nothing could salvage what was irreparably broken between them. Now, he was just messing with her and she didn't want to play. "But idiot aside, just know there's somewhere I need to be and I'll reevaluate things after that, I mean what's another week?"

Sure, she was living in a fantasy world but Caroline needed the time alone to put things into perspective. She figured her therapist Camille might even agree with that part.

"So, where is Kat these days?"

"Wow, I really suck at this 'on the run' thing."

"No, I just figured if anyone was going to play the Louise to your Thelma it would be her."

"Hey, I could be Louise!"

"You and I both know that's laughable," she joked. "And remember Thelma did get to do the nasty with Brad Pitt."

Instead of buoying her, the comment only made her feel pathetic that the last time she got laid was forever ago and the person was her poor excuse of an ex boyfriend.

"Well, what would a fugitive road trip be without bedding a cute cowboy in some skeezy motel," she quipped. There was only one guy she planned to see on this trip and things between them were purely platonic and uncomplicated. "Look, I should really get going, Bon, but I'll call you soon, okay?"

"Be safe," she murmured into the phone and Caroline felt like she was going to cry. It had only taken a few hours and she was already turning into a ball of emotional mush. Some hardened runaway she was.

"So, where are you going?" Caroline asked, determined to block out all other thoughts that might make her regret this little trip.

"Says the girl who won't tell me her name," he shot back, finally turning to face her, albeit briefly. Caroline shivered involuntarily, it seemed so much easier to converse when he wasn't looking straight at her, even in sunglasses. "Why? Where are you going?"

"Oh you know, here and there to visit some friends."

"How extremely specific," he joked. "I've been here and there and I have to say it's not too bad for the most part. You must have been a geography major, right?"

"You enjoy teasing me."

"What can I say? It's been a long drive so far, it's nice to have some company even if most of our conversation has centred around crime and punishment." Caroline felt her face warm, hoping that the blush creeping up her neck wasn't going to completely envelop her and give the game away.

She turned to look out her window, the scenery hadn't changed all that much since she climbed into his car but then she noticed a green sign ahead.

Welcome to Crab Orchard, Tennessee - Population 673

Looks like they'd arrived, to what and who Caroline wasn't quite sure.

Klaus

"Twizzler?" Klaus looked up distractedly to see his new, blonde friend waving a bunch of the red candy in his face.

"No, thanks," he offered. "I try not to eat anything…" he trailed off, subconsciously stroking his abdomen.

"Fun?" She inserted the word in his sentence, but didn't miss the way her eyes travelled to his abdomen and took in every stroke he made. Looks like Klaus wasn't the only one slightly distracted.

"Let's just say I practice this healthy regime and sugar is pretty much enemy number one."

"Like I said, no fun," she reiterated, her eyes finally meeting his and proceeding to bite onto one of the strands, her pink lips enclosing around it.

Klaus didn't think he'd ever seen something supposedly so innocent look anything but that. He watched in interest, unable to look away if he tried. When she started to moan happily from the taste, Klaus had to look away while trying to contain the thoughts he shouldn't be thinking in the first place.

She was a skip - his- after all. And apparently he was here to apprehend her, not entertain untoward thoughts. It seemed as if his professionalism had flown out the window the moment he clapped eyes on Caroline Forbes. He'd been inwardly arguing with himself for most of the drive. She was sitting in such close proximity to him completely unaware. The most unbelievable part? She was in his car without any need for coercion or handcuffs. Klaus couldn't remember the last time one of his felons had been this easy to capture.

Klaus figured it had something to do with her innocence and seemingly trusting nature. Something which intrigued him from the outset. If she was his friend or girlfriend he'd be absolutely affronted by her willingness to jump into a stranger's car but she wasn't. Although, if Klaus was being honest, he wasn't unwholly upset she was by his side at that moment.

At the same time, he couldn't help but think how good she smelled, a mixture of vanilla and roses - post rainstorm. She also had this adorable habit of scrunching up her nose when she spoke, a nose with a slight dusting of freckles he couldn't and didn't want to ignore.

Klaus shook his head, trying to concentrate. He really needed to apprehend her and he needed to do it now.

They were waiting for the mechanic in the sleepy, little town of Crab Orchard to tow her car back to the gas station and replace her busted tire. Klaus had offered just to purchase it and go back himself but the guy, who seemed way past retirement age, had insisted and refused to relinquish the tire otherwise. Klaus knew it was all a money making exercise but didn't argue. Given the size of the town they probably didn't get much business as it was.

So, here they were. Caroline moaning over twizzlers and him trying to ignore just how much it was affecting his resolve.

Crab Orchard was only a couple hours out of Nashville and it would have been so easy to keep driving and deliver her directly to Lucien's agent at the airport who would personally escort her back to New York. But something stopped him.

Yes, she was beautiful. He thought so when he saw her picture and then when he pulled up alongside her on the road but after talking to her, Klaus was incredibly intrigued. And he wanted to know everything about her.

He knew he had places to be, his siblings hadn't stopped reminding him as evidenced by numerous texts and his recent call while she was using the bathroom and buying a year's worth of snacks inside the tiny gas station.

"So, what do you think the Wicked Witch of the West wants?"

"Hello to you too, Kol."

"Don't tell me you're buying into Rebekah's drivel about the urgent need for this family reunion and down south of all places?"

"Of course, not," he shot back, thinking this was no doubt one of Rebekah's usual attempts to make herself the centre of the universe, not that she had to try all that hard. "You know I like to keep my family time to an absolute minimum."

"I'll pretend we're still talking about sister dear," he drawled sarcastically. "I don't know why I had to leave Chicago in such a hurry, we can't all have broomsticks to ferry us from place to place on a whim." Klaus had to fight the urge to laugh. Kol, albeit the epitome of an annoying, younger sibling, always had that keen ability to hit the nail right on its head.

"I suppose we'll find out in just under a week," he sighed, wondering how much longer Caroline would occupy his time before that. "Have you spoken to Elijah and Henrik?"

"You know how Elijah bores me, Niklaus," he replied knowingly. "Henrik is on his way from Florida with a girlfriend, Lizzie someone."

"Can't say I'm surprised that he's the only one with a girlfriend." Klaus and Kol liked to joke that Elijah should have been in the priesthood; his love life was that stagnant.

"And how about you?"

"How about me what?"

"How about your girlfriend, Hayley isn't it?"

"She's not my girlfriend, never was," he growled, probably a little too fiercely given his brother's response.

"Wow, message received," he laughed. "Although, does she know that? Because last time I visited she was being extremely girlfriend-like."

"I never asked her to be," he grumbled. "It was casual, nothing else, and for the record she knew that, well apparently." For some reason it was his bail skip that came to mind at that very moment and not his ex-girlfriend, or whatever she was. He didn't want to analyse why either.

"So, Lucien tells me he has you on assignment in Tennessee?" Klaus wanted to admonish his younger brother then and there for the job but for some reason he wasn't altogether upset anymore since meeting Caroline.

"Yeah, just have to apprehend this skip and send her back to the City," he murmured, thinking that wasn't what he wanted to do with her at all. "Piece of cake," he lied.

"Well, I'll let you get back to your bounty hunting," he teased. "Don't be too hard on the poor girl, whoever she is."

"I'll try," he muttered, disconnecting the call before she proceeded to tempt him with twizzlers.

"So, it looks like we don't have the right tire for this particular, vintage model," their great-grandfather of a mechanic explained.

"But, George, you said…"

"I said I'd look at it first before making any assessment," the geriatric swindler not dissimilar to one of his distant relatives interrupted. "I can have something first thing tomorrow."

Klaus stifled the urge to roll his eyes. It would be cheaper and much quicker for him to travel to Nashville and back with a new tire. But then Klaus realised that meant less time together and given he needed to gain her trust that wouldn't work.

"And where would we stay?" Caroline asked, impatiently tapping her heel on the ground. Clearly this was messing with her plans and Klaus wasn't altogether unhappy with the development, purely for bounty hunter purposes of course.

"My wife Eileen runs the cutest bed and breakfast just down the road, she'll give you a good deal." Given George's price gouging tactics, Klaus highly doubted that. "And my brother Jack runs the local bar, best beer and steak in three counties."

Of course he did but Klaus wasn't going to complain. As they made their way towards his car, Caroline nudged him playfully.

"Bed and Breakfast? How utterly quaint and romantic, just don't get any ideas, mister."

"I can't help that we are responsible for propping up the economy of this town and all of George's family."

"Well, I suppose with great power comes great responsibility," she joked. "And given we're stuck here together, the name is Caroline."

Even though he knew that from her file, Klaus had to admit her telling him felt nice. Klaus had no idea what she was doing to him but he wasn't complaining. Besides, what harm would one extra night do?

Lots as Klaus was about to find out.

#klaroline fanfiction #klaroline fanfic #klaroline #misssophiachase #my writing #thrill of the chase #i shot the sheriff

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years

Text

Robin’s Requirement’s Chapter 1 / 2

In which Bruce is not okay, Jason is dead and Robin #3 is magic, literally.

He woke up to pain. Ants crawled over his back, nails dug into his wounds, and the weight of the sky pressed down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Bruce supposed it said a lot about himself that he didn’t even bother to look at the time or the bottle he picked up from the nightstand before a handful of pills disappeared down his throat. His bedroom was light already. By Bruce’s estimation, it was around eleven, maybe even twelve.

He’d been out late last night, hunting down what he thought might be Scarecrow’s new supply chain and he hadn’t been back in the Cave before six or so. He hadn’t been anywhere close conscious when the Batmobile had arrived home. Alfred must have gotten him out of the suit and into his bed.

Bruce couldn’t even recall the last time he hadn’t just fallen asleep in the Cave’s med bay. It was just more practical. Why bother going upstairs (going past that room) when Bruce could also just stay in the Cave. Alfred brought him food and everything else Batman needed was down there either way. He had no use for the life upstairs.

The painkillers kicked in.

It didn’t get easier to breathe.

Atlas’s burden didn’t lessen.

Bruce sat up and observed his surroundings. He was still in the manor, that much he could tell from the view out of the window, but he wasn’t in his bedroom.

Going by the clear view Bruce had of the pool, he was in a room on the west side, the other side of the manor. Getting him here while he was unconscious must have been a lot of work, it was a much longer walk from the Cave to the west side.

Alfred should have just left him downstairs.

Bruce pushed the soft blanket off himself and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He had to hand it to Alfred, he’d prepared the good stuff for him. Last night’s beating had been harsh and Alfred usually disapproved of Bruce taking their experimental pain killers with his other meds, but there was no other way Bruce could keep going. He had to move forward for as long as he could until his body finally gave out and Bruce was allowed to go.

Bruce stood up and used the bedpost to catch his balance. He remained like that for a couple minutes, or so it felt, then headed for the chair standing next to his bed and picked up the red bathrobe hanging from the back of the chair. Slowly he put it on, keen on not aggravating his wounds any further. He might not be able to feel the pain anymore, but that didn’t mean his injuries wouldn’t let him bleed out.

His bandages were still a pristine white at least, no blood sickering through. Bruce walked over to the door. If he remembered last night’s investigation completely, Scarecrow would meet his new benefactors tonight at the docks. Bruce should check the place out beforehand, bug it too maybe. He used to be faster than this. Tracking down a villain, especially Scarecrow, had never taken as long as it did this time. Perhaps he should force the Arkham staff to chip their inmates, it would undoubtedly make life easier for everyone involved.

Bruce reached for the door handle, only to pull back his hand in the last moment as the door opened and he came face to face with Alfred, who was carrying a tray with a breakfast in one hand and a suit with the other.

“Good morning, Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted, pushing past Bruce into the room, acting completely oblivious to the fact that Bruce had been attempting to leave.

It would be one of those days then.

Scowling, Bruce stood at the entrance, refusing to move. He had crucial matters to tend to, he couldn’t indulge Alfred now, but he wasn’t about to storm out of the room like an upset teenager throwing a tantrum.

“I’ve prepared a light breakfast for you. Peppermint tea and vegetable soup. You will finish this bowl and then get dressed.”

Alfred set the tray on the small table and put the suit - the Brioni. Bruce didn’t know what for. He hadn’t worn a suit in half a year, maybe longer.

“I’m not going out today, Alfred,” Bruce said. “I have a case.”

“You always have a case,” Alfred replied, a sharp edge to his voice.

Bruce narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “So? They’re important.”

“Beating a group of men so badly they could die on the way to the hospital is important? The morning papers sure had some interesting things to say about that.”

Bruce could feel the fires simmering beneath his skin. Alfred didn’t know, he hadn’t been there, hadn’t had to witness-

“They didn’t die. And you didn’t hear what they were planning to do to that kid,” Bruce replied.

“No, I did not, but I believe I know you and you are not doing yourself a favor spending twenty-four hours a day dressed as a bat.”

“You don’t understand, I-”

“Nearly flatlined thrice beneath my hands yesterday. Had you arrived at the Cave even just a second later, you would have been dead. I made a promise to your parents. You wouldn’t die on my watch and I refuse to support any matter that gets you killed any longer.”

At the end of his speech, Alfred was breathing heavily. His words echoed in Bruce’s mind.

Flatlined.

You would have been dead.

All of it would have been over. Just like that. No more fighting, no more struggles, no more nightmares, he’d just-

“The board of Wayne Enterprises is holding a meeting concerning the plans to begin rebuilding the Narrows,” Alfred continued. His breathing evened. “Many of your board members oppose it, and as the acting head of the company, you should attend if you want a say in how the project goes. Lucius is already busy discussing the Kane Chemical deal in Metropolis.”

With those words, Alfred turned around, marching out of the room and leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts.

Bruce hadn’t been to WE in a while. Lucius had it handled. He did well, negotiating contracts and deals and kicking out a whole lot of ignorant people and hiring some of the recent college graduates. Bruce had kept an eye on things, somewhat. He trusted Lucius, and besides, if he didn’t have to look after WE, he had more time to spend on the streets.

But the Narrows… That project had been going on ever since Bruce had taken over the company. It never moved forward because so many who could afford to live well protested against it.

Bruce sighed and sat down at the table. It was just one meeting, he could do it. Use the time to re-energize at the office so he’d be prepared for tonight. Bruce reached for the spoon and began to eat the soup.

It tasted like cardboard.

His plan had been to get in and out of the building as fast as possible using the back entrance and private elevator, but that didn’t work out. Someone spotted him in the garage and within minutes the whole office knew that Bruce Wayne had shown his face in public for the first time since the-

In a while.

The elevator had been full of over-eager people, all trying to subtly catch a glance of Bruce Wayne, hoping to discover which online article had managed to grasp Bruce’s character the best.

They’d see a non-interested man typing away on his phone, dressed in an elegant suit wearing shoes worth more than their salary, a Rolex watch, and a high color hiding away anything scandalous or exciting.

A secret affair, the newspaper would scream in the morning. Out all night partying again!

And if someone in heels managed to spot the make-up he had put on, they’d expect a hickey.

Nobody would think of bruises and stab wounds, ribs showing through.

Bruce Wayne, the ideal man.

Batman wanted to kill him.

He was glad when the elevator pinged and Bruce could finally escape the awkward space. The meeting had started ten minutes ago, so he was late, but not outlandishly so. It wasn’t like the board wasn’t already used to Bruce never being on time. The past decade had been filled with hasty emails, changing schedules, running into meetings late or having to leave early because he had to go to school for-

His office was on the same floor as the conference room. He passed it, and his secretary Caroline’s desk. The red-haired woman looked up in surprise when she saw him, but didn’t move from her spot.

He’d gotten plenty of cards in the past, but Caroline’s was one of the few he had actually bothered to read and reply to. Usually, her daughter would be sitting beside her right now, coloring in her art book, but Monica had started school in September.

Bruce nodded at Caroline, then moved towards the conference room. He opened the glass door and was greeted by the sight of Lucius looking one more sentence away from jumping straight out of the window.

“-and it’s not like anything worthwhile ever gets out of the Narrows!”

Sharp nails dug into the palm of his hands. Bruce wanted to throw a punch, make something, maybe even himself, bleed. He shouldn’t have come.

“Nothing worthwhile.”

The words were out of Bruce’s mouth faster than he could think. The noise made all heads turn to him, surprised faces stared at the man caught in-between the entrance.

“Mr. Wayne!” Gerry Thipson startled and immediately began to sweat.

Good.

He must be aware of how out of line his comment had been.

“We weren’t expecting you,” Thipson continued, glancing at his fellow board members.

“The funding of this project is very dear to me,” Bruce said and closed the door behind himself.

The seat at the end of the table was left vacant, Bruce’s usual absence even more present. Bruce purposefully took his time getting there, enjoying how Thipson started to shrink in his own seat.

“Never mind its importance for our city. Wayne Enterprises has always worked to improve every part of Gotham - and the Narrows need it more than every other part.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair and folded his fingers together.

“The district is criminally underfunded, the schools hardly have enough money to pay the teachers, never mind buy equipment for the students. If we’re not going to change anything, nobody will, and we’ll lose even more bright lights in those streets. Or do you think differently, Mr. Thipson?”

Thipson sat up straight as if he had heard his name at roll call.

“Of course not, Mr. Wayne. But the numbers-”

Bruce stared at Thipson. Numbers. Really.

Did he know how many homeless lived on those streets? How many children had to skip school. How many had died-

“Wayne Enterprises is a transnational cooperation that can afford to pay us quite handsomely and I certainly don’t need another yacht this year if it means getting a handful of kids through High School, or do you?”

There existed no word capable of grasping how much Bruce wanted Thipson to say another word disagreeing with Bruce. He itched for a confrontation, for a fight. But Thipson and all the other board members stayed silent, some of them smiling while the majority was carrying their rage on the tip of their tongues.

Trash.

Maybe Bruce should show up at WE more often again. Just often enough that he could chase these people out of his company, out of Gotham.

“I thought so. Well, then, Lucius, how far are we actually with the Narrows Project?”

Lucius being looking through his papers, handing a couple of them to Bruce. The man’s brown eyes lingered on Bruce’s frame and for all his exhaustion, he looked relieved.

“We started with purchasing all the abandoned buildings down Napier street, but we haven’t started tearing them down yet.”

Lucius kept going, and every disgruntled sigh was met with a glare. Bruce would pay closer attention now to the people he had hired. He was well aware of what a mighty opponent greed and hubris were (and how much you pay for it) and he wouldn’t let it continue where he could and should prevent it.

By the time Bruce returned home, the afternoon had already come and gone, as, despite summer’s long-lasting heat and days, autumn quickly made itself known with its early evenings and cold. He had loosened his tie in the car and thrown his jacket on the passenger seat. The pain killers had worn off halfway through the meeting and Bruce was fairly sure he was bleeding through his bandages.

He parked the car in the garage and made his way up to the Cave entrance. He could redo his stitches and bandages by himself and he really didn’t feel like entering the manor again. Today’s trip to the office had been more than enough. Alfred was undoubtedly preparing dinner already. He’d have to eat it by himself, Bruce didn’t think he could stomach it. Nausea had been flaring up every once in a while and only water and herbal tea had actually stayed down.

At the touch of a button, a strategically placed bookcase opened to reveal a hidden passage. The manor had many of these secret paths built into it. His father used to tell him that they had been constructed for emergency evacuations or swift servants that shouldn’t be seen. It had been easy enough to add another entrance to the Cave to these passages.

Bruce rarely took the main entrance to the Cave nowadays. It was ridiculous anyway, sliding down a pole like a child.

As usual, the Cave lit up as soon as Bruce stepped inside and all electronics powered up. It didn’t take them longer than one uniform change to be up and running. Time, Bruce knew, was essential. One second too slow and you watch your life-

Bruce headed for the med bay. He took off his shirt and while the bandages were still a neat white at the outermost layer, taking that off revealed red fabric. With iron discipline, Bruce unwrapped his whole torso and then used the bandages to put pressure on the bleeding wound as he fetched himself needle and thread. Combined with another dose of painkillers, sewing the wound shut was much easier than going to WE today. Bruce examined the wound below his ribs and scowled. It would most likely scar and he wasn’t sure he had the patience to deal with Alfred’s disapproval once he noticed.

Once he was finished treating himself, Bruce took his seat in front of the computer, reviewing the information he had gathered in the past weeks. He already knew the deal would go down at the docks tonight, but he’d been unable to pin down which one of Scarecrow’s minions would be there for the exchange. They were all probably on the other end of seriously dangerous. Scarecrow hadn’t been out of Arkham for long, which meant he hadn’t had the time to train his minions properly or earn enough cash selling his Fear Toxin to Gotham’s underground. All his hired goons were going to be too scared of Scarecrow turning on him to actually risk their lives for the job.

Bruce continued researching the meeting place, relistening to the audio files he had acquired while getting stabbed in the ribs. He replayed them once, twice, and nearly a third time, but his common sense stopped him. There was only so much you could gather from such a short exchange as he had listened to.

Satisfied with his gathered intel, though it would have been significantly better if he had gone out this morning too, Bruce headed for his suits. He walked past the Case and for the first time since he had put it up, he didn’t freeze up but could continue his path.

It felt like progress, or something similar enough to it.

He did a quick inventory for his utility belt, restocking batarangs and knock out gas, then changed into his suit and got into the Batmobile. Out of his rear window, he could see Alfred entering the Cave.

Bruce didn’t stay long enough to see what kind of expression the butler made.

Batman left the Batmobile parked down at the shores of one of the rivers running through the city. It was hard to spot it there, but the car could still reach him fast enough if needed. He had another two hours left before the deal went down, which gave him enough time for another small patrol.

The City Hall district was known for its white-collar crimes, nothing Batman could really reach with his fists. Nevertheless, it was never as silent as tonight. It made Batman frown, discontent settled deeply in his chest. Gotham was never silent or calm or peaceful. This ugly city couldn’t rest, not even for a night and yet…

There was something in the air Batman couldn’t pinpoint and it put him on edge.

As the time of the deal drew closer, Batman crossed the rooftops over to the docks, checking out the area. After checking that nobody interesting was lingering outside of the warehouses, Batman began heading for the right one.

The hired goons he had spied on had said they’d meet up at the very end of the long strip, in one of the warehouses the big families used to cover up their drugs. Scarecrow didn’t usually deal with the crime families, choosing to pick less dangerous targets. He must have been desperate for money. Finding a way into the building was easier than Batman had expected, so he searched for a strategically smart place to sit and wait.

It took roughly an hour before anyone showed up. Expensive suit, cheap cigarettes, and slicked back black hair - Maroni’s youngest, his friends carrying two bags. Money, it had to be.

Maroni didn’t work with any of Gotham’s proper villains. He regarded them as rude annoyances with no honor to speak of. This must be a solo trip of the youngest then - was he trying to steal his older brother’s spot as the heir or establish his own leverage?

Batman didn’t have to wait for long for the next group to arrive. As expected, Scarecrow didn’t show up with many people, merely two guards wearing gas masks.

“Scarecrow,” Maroni began to speak. “I thought we had an agreement.”

“We did,” Jonathan Crane replied. “I’m just not going to stick to it. Now!”

Far quicker than Maroni’s boys could raise their guns, Scarecrow’s men threw modified smoke bombs their way, releasing the fear gas.

Batman put on his rebreather, covering his mouth, and jumped down from his hiding spot. Maroni began to scream once they spotted him. They still had their guns and it was too late to neutralize the effects of the gas, he had to work quickly.

Batman rushed in, grabbing the first one and breaking his arm. His gun dropped to the ground. Then he reached for the next one, shattered hand. Number three he knocked out with a punch to his right temple. Maroni himself he pushed to the ground face first, kicking away his gun in one swift move.

“Batman! Get him!”

Scarecrow’s men both jumped Batman at the same time, far too skilled for random street thugs. Maybe Scarecrow had had more cash hidden than Batman had assumed.

The Rogue in question, meanwhile, was getting away with the cash.

Batman snarled, but he couldn’t shake the two attackers away quickly enough. He’d lose Scarecrow and there was no telling what he’d do with so much cash.

Then, red blurred at the corner of Bruce’s eyes and something threw itself at Scarecrow. The man crashed to the ground, money going flying.

He tried to get up again but was stopped by a kid, dressed like a traffic light, jumping on his back.

His rebreather must have stopped working, Bruce thought. He’d inhaled some of the gas, he must have.

“You- you’re- You’re dead!” Scarecrow screeched. “The Clown said so! Who are you?”

The kid shrugged in a ‘what can you do’ kind of way.

“The name’s Robin,” the kid said with Dick’s smirk and Jason’s accent. Bruce felt ice crawl up his veins. “Always has been, Straw man.”

He was going to throw up.

#dc #dc comics #lego batman #bruce wayne #tim drake #Alfred Pennyworth #fanfic #robin's requirements

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caroline18mars · 4 years

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A Man On Fire - Chapter 67

So this wasn't some joke, he was gone and not coming back? I don't..get it, ok so what do I do? I've made reservations now..fine ok, I'll paint some more and then go to dinner by myself..what a loser am I? I just got stood up in my own apartment. She brushed an angry tear away, what am I to do with his birthday present now? I don't like my life, I just don't like it anymore, what life Harper? What kind of life did you have so far? One full of trouble, rebelled against my parents, rebelled against my upbringing, rebelled against men and where are you now? What do you have to show for? Some paintings that nobody out there is waiting for? She plopped down on the floor and let her emotions run free, that stupid fuck had put her in a rollercoaster and her cart was running off the track, the track she had gotten back on running from him. Him coming back to NY just wasn't healthy, and what a cow she had been letting him closer again, close enough for him to start manipulating again and you just let him. Jared was in the cab, his heart hammering, this was so messed up, he was such a prick to up and leave like that, she wouldn't understand, if he even had another chance with her, it was now completely blown. Wash off the day, it was all she could do, don't spend another hour here all by yourself, not today, just go out and walk in the snow, let all the memories of these last two days freeze out of your system. Shivering she stepped from under the hot water and quickly dried so she could get this stupid brace back on, painting all afternoon had put too much strain on her wrist again. Ok, what dress? The place I'm going to on my own now Mr. Stupid Rockstar has ditched me, definitely requires a smart dress..but what about shoes? I can't go walking in the snow with stilettos..ok sneakers and take a bigger handbag to put the stiletto's in, you've already strained your wrist, you're not gonna fuck up your feet too. And whatever you do, do not, I repeat DO NOT feel alone, or abandoned or dumped, you can do this, if this is gonna be your life from now on, then so be it, how many times do you need to be told that you've done things on your own most of your life, so why not now? She talked to herself in the mirror as she got dressed, he bought me this dress..NO, don't you dare, you're not gonna feel sorry for yourself.

An hour later, she stepped back out all dolled up in the cold and on a slippery pavement, ugghhhh, maybe better take a cab? She looked around but there was one parked right in front of her, no light on, ok that was definitely hired already, gently she started walking when she heard someone whistle at her. The cabbie waved at her “need a ride? I saw you looking around?” he grinned at her, ploughing through snow , “I do..” she slowly walked to the curb where he held open the door for her, weird cabbie, please don't let it be some crazy loon or worse a serial killer. “Where to?” he looked at her in the rear view mirror, “Estela please? It's in Soho” she said as she put her key back in her purse, “that's gotta be one loaded guy if he's taking you there” the car mingled with the traffic, could you stop looking at me and watch the road instead?. “It's just me” why did she even say that? I don't want to share anything with this guy, “what? No way, a mighty fine lady like you dining all by herself? That's fucked up” just drive, will you? She nervously straightened the skirt of her dress and ignored him by looking out of the window. They had been driving for half an hour with the endless banter of the cabbie before she checked where she was “wait a minute, I think you're going the wrong way” she frowned, “nahh, I'm just taking a shortcut, we'll be there in 5 minutes” ok wiseguy if you say so, I'm just not paying the extra miles if that's what you're after. Five minutes later he stopped in front of a building that was not even close to the restaurant “I'm sorry, I just got the message that the road is blocked up ahead, you'll need to get out here, my shift is over, I'll call my colleague who'll come and pick you up” he pushed a few buttons on the dashboard and a brief conversation later he turned around to her “you can wait here in the lobby, he'll come and pick you up in a few minutes” he pointed at the hotel they were standing in front of, what? What the actual fuck? “no charge of course! Enjoy your evening”. Just get out Harper, what a nutcase is this? She got out of the cab and hopped over to the entrance, anything was better than standing out here in the cold, she pushed through the revolving door and looked around her, “excuse me Miss, we got the message you're waiting for another cab? Will you please just follow me? The cab is already waiting on the other side of the hotel, this road is completely blocked” a bellboy invited her to follow him. “Yes, the cabbie told me the same thing, this is not even close to Soho, is it?” she quizzically raised an eyebrow at him, “oh no, it's not..please” he held open a door for her. Just as she walked in, all the lights were dimmed suddenly, turning wherever she was to pitch black, “Oh” she breathed nervously, but then the lights shot back on again.

”HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!” a wall of excited screams and cheers thundered out to her and she froze on the spot as she blinked against the blinding light, her heart pounding in her throat. “Happy birthday sweetheart” Charles walked up to her with his arms wide open and pulled her in for a hug, “Charles..but it's not my birthday, you got it all wrong” she stammered still in shock but he just smiled mysteriously when he let go of her to help her take off her coat. “Happy birthday Harper” Jared doomed up behind him while the party behind them burst into full swing “but..I don't understand” had everyone here lost their marbles?. “I felt bad for not being there on your birthday so I wanted to surprise you, Charles organized it all, the cab, this party..” he put his arms around her but then let go again “all I had to do was buy you this..”. Charles gave him a box that he handed to her “open it!” he gave her a sweet nudge, just open it so I can hold you again, Harper gently opened the box that held another box with a name on it that made her gasp “You didn't..oh my god, the Dior bag..you remembered that?” all the stress and adrenalin translated in tears when she pulled out the bag she had been drooling over so many times. “I take it you like it?” he grinned as she put her arms around his neck for a hug, “I love it” she whispered almost breathless “I'm just..this is all so..unexpected”, he could actually feel her shaking “and I love you”. If she was shaking before, those 3 words made her freeze on the spot, but he didn't regret saying it, this was his heart taking over, his brain had left the building a couple of days ago, slowly she let go of him with a huge blush across her cheeks, she didn't say anything back, she just smiled uncomfortably. Change the subject, this is getting too heavy and I'm not ready for things to be awkward between us again, we had a lovely couple of days, so let's keep them lovely “this is not a present anymore, Jay..it's too much..”. What am I saying? A gift is a gift, I don't even want to give it back “no, it's not..it's given with all my heart” too much again, Jared, too much, please keep this nice and light “thank you, I'll cherish it always” she whispered in his ear before she pushed a kiss on his cheek and hurried to the nearest mirror to check herself out with her brand new bag, amusing both men but one of them's eyes had little hearts dancing in them.

”This party is just crazy” she shouted at him over the music as she left the dancefloor to get herself a drink, “it is” he followed her like a puppy “if you don't want to be too hungover tomorrow, we should go and have something to eat” he pointed at the buffet that had just opened, he just wanted to sit somewhere with her, just the two of them. “God yes! I'm starving! Let's go” she took his hand and dragged him to the buffet where they filled up a plate and he guided her towards a quiet spot “ah some peace and quiet” he sighed happily as he sat down. “You're really getting old Jared, and I was hoping for some more dancing later on” she grinned as she put a potato in her mouth, “I'm perfectly happy sitting here with you, I don't care if you think I'm old, I think I've proven on more than one occassion that I can still keep up with young people”. Somehow she got a little annoyed hearing him say that “that you did..your physical escapades with whats-her-face and some other chicks sure proved that..I still haven't recovered” gone was her appetite, getting lost in her thoughts she pushed her food around her plate. It felt like he had kicked himself in the stomach seeing her upset again, those last couple of days they had been able to diplomatically dance around their break-up, growing a little closer again with every minute, only to find themselves on opposite sides of the spectrum again. “Harper..I..I'm sorry..I didn't mean..” he couldn't find the words right away, “don't matter, Jared, it's done with, nothing either of us can do or say to make it better” she quickly pushed some more food in her mouth to stop herself from turning this into another drama or fight.

Is that what 'we' are to you? Over and done with? How many times had he felt his heart break over this? More than he could count, I want to make it better Harper, more than anything. “So, is time our only friend then? Is there nothing I can say or do?” he blurted it out before he got too much time to think again, “I..I don't know Jared..when you..what you did was so..I was completely gutted, like you had ripped my chest open and yanked out my heart with your bare hands..the first weeks I could barely breathe, in the beginning when we started dating I knew it wasn't gonna be challenging knowing that with your popularity there would always be women hanging around you, but somehow you got me trusting you..I gave myself to you heart and soul..and look where we are now” she put her fork down and leaned back in her chair to look him straight in the eye. “I can't go through that agony again..I won't..”, in his eyes glared an infinite sadness when he kept looking at her without saying anything. “Hello beautiful” Nathan's voice blew up their little intimate bubble of sadness, “oh Nathan, hi” her head shot up, “a late happy birthday, now don't make me sing because there are people who are better at that than me” he grinned at Jared. “Oh..I'm not interrupting something, am I?” Nathan picked up on the tension between them, yes you are you prick, just leave, I really need to be alone with her right now. “Uhm, we were just talking..” Harper was trying to snap back to reality, “do you have a moment, I got you a little present, it's in my jacket, wanna come and open it?” he pointed at the other side of the room. “Ok..” Harper got up reluctantly, she had to zip up the raw, open wound of heartache in a split second, this was none of Nathan's business anyway “lead the way” she mumbled, feeling bad for Jared all of a sudden. Jared watched her walk off and banged his fist on the table in frustration, his frustration wasn't about what she said, because she was right, he had done what he had done, but it was the fact that she was giving up, the hurt was too real and raw for her, and she was moving on which was the hardest part, watching her frolic with that fucker was almost too much to take.

#jared leto #jared leto fanfic #jared leto fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #30 Seconds To Mars #30 seconds to mars fanfic #a man on fire #chapter 67 #Harper Coco #Harper and Jared #caroline18mars

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nctinfo · 5 years

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[TRANS] KStyle interview with NCT 127 Vol.1 & 2!

Q. You have completed your first Japanese tour「NCT 127 1st Tour ‘NEO CITY : JAPAN - The Origin'」 yesterday, how are you feeling now? Yuta: I’m still in the state of lingering in the memories. First off because we got to hold this tour, I’d like to express words of gratitude towards our fans, staff and our members who worked hard together. This completely new experience became an opportunity for my confidence to grow. My mindset to show even cooler performances to our supportive fans has only become stronger.

Q. You also shed tears during the last greeting. Doyoung: The fact that our 2-month tour has come to an end was special, and the surprise event our fans prepared during the encore was touching so I let the tears flow. From the very first destination that was Osaka, to the last show in Saitama we went through a lot with our staff and members together, and thanks to our fans support we managed to complete the tour smoothly so I was really touched.

Q. With the tour being so long it seems like managing health condition must be hard. Yuta: Since we’ve spent so much time together if there's a member who’s unwell we know about it. When that happens each one of us cares and covers for the other. I myself managed to hold on till the and because of the help I’ve received from everyone. Before each stage, we all gather together and cheer for each other. Johnny: It’s also memorable when we’re in the middle of the concert on standby backstage, and we tell each other ‘Fighting!’, ‘Let’s do our best!’, ‘We can do it!’

Q. How was the tour for the newest member Jungwoo? Jungwoo: With each concert whenever I stood on the stage with the members I was happy, but on the other hand I also worried a lot. I haven’t got as much performing experience compared to the other members so I’m clumsier, and because of that, I thought I had to work extra hard. But I was still able to get a lot of experience on this tour. My performance, as well as overall acting on stage, have become more free than before so it seems like I’ve progressed. Taeyong: Jungwoo added a new charming point to our team. Through this tour he’s become a necessary part of us. Right now all of our members have fallen for Jungwoos charm kekeke Also Jungwoo is becoming more and more used to things so he’s able to show off his confidence, he’s grown so much through this tour.

Q. Haechan has joined the tour at the Saitama Super Arena as he’s only recovered from his injury, how does it feel to be back? Haechan: I was happy to be able to participate at last and my gratitude towards fans who waited and the members who filled in for me has become bigger.

Q. Please let us know of any episodes that happened when sharing room with other members on tour. Yuta: This time I was roommates with Taeil-hyung. We had 3 concert days at Saitama. Taeil-hyung surprised me with working out everyday early in the morning. After wrapping up day 1, he woke up super early on the next day and worked out. That was really something (laughs) Taeil: My mood gets better when I exercise. Yuta: Taeil-hyung has a six pack.

Q. That’s awesome! Jaehyun: It’s April Fool’s today! (laughs) Everyone: (laughs)

Q. It was a lie? Yuta: The six-pack was a lie, but the working out in the morning was real. Jaehyun: I was just rooming with Mark, and we just spent the time listening to music. And I always knew Mark is a good sleeper, but when he fell asleep in 1 minute I was really surprised. Yuta: Kinda like a manga protagonist (laughs) Taeyong: I was rooming with Doyoung or Mark a lot, and whenever we went to the convenience store I’d think ‘Let’s not buy much?’ but even then we always came back with a lot of things (laughs) We’d come back with 3 big bags of shopping, eat together while talking about one thing or another or stream on VLIVE while eating. Johnny: I’ve just been sharing a room with Jungwoo. The time has passed like water (laughs) Rather than doing anything it was a very peaceful time. Whether Jungwoo is just good at being quiet or if he didn’t exist……. (laughs) Jungwoo: (gets sulky) I’m disappointed….. Yuta: Don’t cry~ (laughs) Jungwoo: It’s a joke. We were listening to music and falling asleep while talking like other rooms…… That’s how we’ve been. Johnny: Ah! Today we promised to watch a scary movie together. Jungwoo: If other members want to watch too come to our room!

Q. Have you decided on the movie yet? Johnny: We haven’t decided yet, we’ll just look for something fun on Netflix. Jungwoo said he can’t watch alone. Jungwoo: I have to sleep with lights on. Johnny: So cute~ (laughs)

Q. Do the members usually watch horror movies together? Yuta: Recently we’ve watched two in a row. What was the title? Jungwoo: It was a movie called <Happy Deathday>. 2nd series has just come out! It’s a very fresh time loop movie. Johnny: I feel like he’s in charge of promoting the movie (laughs)

Q. Who are the members that don’t watch horror movies? Yuta: Mark and Doyoung! Mark: I don’t watch them. I’m scared~

Q. Who was Haechan rooming with? Haechan: Manager-hyung. Not a single episode here hehe Taeyong: Shall we ask manager-hyung then? (laughs) Haechan: This…. I’m sorry.

Q. You must’ve learned some new Japanese phrases at the tour? Taeyong: I’ve memorised ‘Cheers again’ from an anime. I use it at after parties. I like after parties! hehehe Jaehyun: ‘Once-in-a-lifetime bond’ Taeil: ‘Solo tour’ Johnny: ‘So there’s no regrets’, it’s something I wanted to use on the last day as the ending comment so I’ve memorised it. When I yell ‘So there’s no regrets scream!’ the fans shout with me and it makes me really happy. Mark: ‘Get home safely’

Q. Doyoung’s last greeting was entirely in Japanese. Doyoung: I wanted to speak Japanese so I was learning. I tried my best to memorise.

Q. Did you learn any gags from Yuta this time too? Yuta: I taught Jungwoo a lot. Jungwoo: It’s ‘Shall we eat something really delicious?’, ‘It’s nothing’. And ‘Bankai’ (a killer move in ‘Bleach’ manga) too!

Q. Since you’re from Osaka, do you teach them any regional dialect? Yuta: Not necessarily, but because Osaka was our first destination I’ve told them a lot. Usually, I just tell them when they ask specifically.

Q. You must’ve made a lot of memories at the Japanese tour if you were to choose only one to remain in a picture which moment would it be? Jaehyun: It actually is captured in a picture. It’s the surprise event during which fans were singing <TOUCH>. It’s a picture I want to look at over and over again. I think all members would agree? Everyone: Yes!

Q. <Wakey-Wakey>, the title track of your 1st Full Japan Album 「Awaken」 which was released on April 17th is a very powerful performance song and is packed with a lot of different parts. Which part of the choreography do you like? Taeyong: As expected it's the chorus. The choreography is eye-catching and it's a part that feels more powerful in this (already) powerful song. Yuta: Mark's rap part has an impact too, so it became a powerful chorus. Doyoung: I think the part where Johnny-hyung stands up in the first intro part is really cool. It creates the atmosphere of the song.

Q. The 'invader dance', where you move your fingers while stretching your arms sideways, is also a highlight. Speaking of invaders, there is this game called Space Invaders, which was very popular in the past, but you might not know it? Doyoung: I played a similar game though. (It was called) something like 'Galaga' Jaehyun: There was this airplane shooting game called 'RaidenX' at the arcade when I was younger. Taeyong: Although I never actually played invader, I tried my hardest to express it through my imagination.

Q. After you guys finished your concert in Fukuoka, you watched the music video of < Wakey-Wakey> together. Whose scene did you think were cool? Doyoung: Johnny-hyung's hairstyle had an impact as expected! Long hair!

Q. How did you feel with long hair? Johnny: Even though I was just dancing, it felt different from usual. I felt like my hair was dancing with me. It was like 'my whole body is one'? (laughs) Jungwoo: (bursts out laughing) Taeyong: I think everyone came out looking really cool (in the mv). The atmosphere was a little different from all the music videos we've done so far. We shot the scenes according to the individuality of the members and every scene showed the members well so I felt like the artistic feel of the music video was displayed. Taeil: I think the dance parts where we are wearing black is really cool. The set was nice, and the outfits really matched well with every member.

Q. What’s your favorite song on the album? Taeyong: I like <Kitchen Beat>. I like it as much as <Wakey-Wakey> because of the sophisticated beat and imaginative theme that feels like hip-hop. Mark: <Long Slow Distance> has a special feel to it because it's a ballad song in Japanese which the Japanese fans hear from us for the first time, and I think the members' voices go well with the song. Haechan: I like <Long Slow Distance> too. It's a ballad genre we never tried before so I hope the fans like it too. Taeil: I like R&B songs, so <Lips>. Doyoung: (I like) <Wakey-Wakey>. No wonder it's the title song too! Yuta: I like them all but I personally feel like <Kitchen Beat> is really cool! I felt the song, Jaehyun: I also like every single song, but I had a lot of fun recording <Lips> and I think the song has a great feeling to it. Jungwoo: I also like <Kitchen Beat>. Because Taeil-hyung told me I did a 'good job'! (laughs) Everyone: Oh~ (clapping) Johnny: I like <Blow My Mind> the most. I was so hooked on Doyoung's part that I could not get it out of my head for a few days. It's fun to sing and it's a song that is easy to sing, so I think the fans will like it too. Taeyong: <End to Start> too, I love it because it's a song with an intense theme from start to finish.

Q. The album title 'Awaken' has a theme of "reflecting on yourself, discovering yourself and awakening". Who is the member who seems to be awakened recently? Taeyong: I really like sweets, so I ate a lot during the tour. Recently, Jungwoo has started to like Japanese food too and is eating it well. I was awakened to Japanese food. Jungwoo: The sushi we had on the tour was the best. Fatty tuna! Johnny: I think Yuta's Japanese has awakened (laughs). Of course, it's natural for him since he's Japanese, but it's just like how my English was awakened when we were in the states. I think I was also awakened to seeing Yuta doing well on the tour and speaking Japanese. Yuta: It may be so!

Q. You guys seem to like Japanese food. Please let me know what you like most in Japan! Haechan: I really like sushi, ramen, eel on rice and Motsunabe

Q. What sushi do you like most? Haechan: Either sea urchin or salmon roe, I like fish eggs. I didn't really like eel before but I really liked it on a ricebowl in Nagayo. Taeyong: I was awakened! To eel!

Q. How about the other members? Doyoung: I like the kindness of Japan. (in Japanese) Kind! I can feel the kind and friendly culture in everything, and I'd like to learn. For example. When we go to the venue for rehearsals, all the staff will say, "Welcome~", "Let's do our best-". I felt a very warm atmosphere. Mark: I like the delicate morality of Japan. I feel like there's also meaning in the small things, and like Doyoung-hyung said, the feeling that everyone is cherished can be felt from the kindness. I really like that Johnny: When I was in the car this morning and looked outside I thought 'beautiful' as I saw the scenery. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom right now! I can feel the history of the streets and it is so beautiful. Yuta: I feel like I'm also praised when I hear these things and it makes me happy.

Q. The subject is changed but you appeared on Japan's original Korean music program 'Power of K TOKYO LIVE' on March 4th. Please let us know your impressions. Taeyong: I heard that a new K-POP themed program was made in Japan and it was a very new experience. Although we also performed, it was fun that the members were also able to show their charms through the games we played. Yuta: The venue (of the show) was where we did our showcase tour (Toyosu PIT), so as I entered the dressing room I thought 'it’s been a while'. The members talked with each other and talked about ‘the showcase we did here'. Doyoung: That's right! Jaehyun: After losing in the drawing game, Johnny-hyung and I had to show various facial expressions in the punishment game, but it was fun (laughs). Johnny: It was a punishment game that requires fast reaction skills, but I think it worked out well. Some facial expressions came out I didn't even know I could to, please check on air to confirm(laughs)!

Q. <NCT LIFE> will also broadcast on 'Kchan! HallyuTV'. It was shot in different places every season, please tell us about your memories or back stories. Doyoung: It was a fun and good experience to go to various countries. Even though we were shooting for the show, it felt like I was traveling with the members. I want to continue doing <NCT Life> if the chance is there in the future. Yuta: Where do you want to go next? Taeyong: Hawaii! Doyoung: I want to go to Hawaii too! America would be nice too.

Q. What were other sides of the members which got discovered while shooting <NCT LIFE>? Doyoung: We did a Yuta-tour in Osaka (NCT Life season 7: Osaka). Yuta-hyung planned everything we did during the trip, he really prepared it in earnestly. It was like he created a portfolio Yuta: yeah, that's right (laughs) Doyoung: He had never shown this deliberate image during our practices (laughs) I was really surprised. Taeil: When we just debuted we did sports in Paju to build on our unity (<NCT Life> season 3: Paju), I remember playing games and eating BBQ together. Mark also made fried eggs (Mark didn't know how to fry a sunny-side-up egg and the mess he created was highlighted) Mark: Yes! Sorry (laughs) Taeil: It was fun because it rather seemed like we were playing around instead of shooting a show. Johnny: In Chiangmai, Thailand (<NCT LIFE> season 6: Chiang Mai) the members celebrated my birthday with a surprise, but I was really surprised. However, I remember Taeyong more, who was beside was, also getting fooled/surprised (laughs). I was getting nervous because Doyoung's condition wasn't good but I relaxed when learned it was a prank and I was able to have fun and celebrate.

Q. In Chiang Mai, Doyoung was impressive for answering all the questions during the game to guess the name of the animals in Safari Park so well. Taeyong: Doyoung's intelligence was proven. Johnny: On the contrary, I was angry at myself for not remembering any of them. After that (game), I started to respond with 'name' without knowing (laughs).

Q. Jungwoo hasn't been able to participate in a shooting yet, but if you were to go, where would you wanna go to? Jungwoo: I really want to go to Hawaii too. I heard it's a good place and there are a lot of things to see so I became curious after hearing so much about it.

Q. Amongst the members, who is has the best sense for variety shows? Johnny: excluding me, it's Yuta (laughs) Taeyong: Though Yuta has variety sense, I think Jungwoo's variety sense isn't a joke either. So we have to do <NCT Life> again. Mark: I also think Jungwoo will be a hit. Jungwoo: I think it might be difficult with cameras in front of me...... I'll do my best, though.

Q. Finally, is there a message you want to give to our readers. Taeyong: On April 17th, our new album 「Awaken」 was released and we hope it receives much attention. Through this tour of Japan, I felt that everyone in Japan was looking forward to us, and my heart was full. We will continue to grow and strive to show only good images. Thank you very much for interviewing us like this today. We will be glad to take this opportunity again in the future.

Translation: Alex, Esmee @ FY! NCT (NCTINFO) | Source: Kstyle (1, 2) | KOR (1, 2) — Do not repost or take out without our permission!

#NCT #NCT 127 #taeil #johnny #taeyong #yuta #doyoung #jaehyun #jungwoo #mark #haechan #t:interview #t:trans #kstyle

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