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Happy New Year, and Year of the Dragon !
#I know its not year of the dragon quite Yet but it is this year nonetheless#A LEAP YEAR TOO YAY#flight rising#fr#flightrising#derg#baby derg#Got a little too excited about all the new stuffs and uh#bought a buuuunch of new dragons without thinking#i need to slow down and focus on one project at a time dangit 😭#haven’t decided on a name for this fella tbh#very happy i was able to buy him at the auction house#a quick sketch of this fella also#would like to get back into drawing and having more unique poses too hehe#my art#gustofwindart
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The Rare Bookseller Part 48: Fitz's Charms
Prev > Masterlist > Next
June 1905
TW: mind control, blood drinking
Fitz once again had a plan.
It wasn't much of one. But the past few days in the auction house, he'd had little to do but sleep, eat, play solitaire, read the books and magazines Alexander brought him, and think about how he could escape his seemingly inevitable fate.
It certainly didn't help that Alexander would fix him with a look of intense longing every time he returned to the room, catching Fitz in his gaze and invoking the intense, unnatural urge for fangs in his neck. The horror of the night of the auction hadn't washed that compulsion from his mind at all, and his dreams as he drifted off to sleep were full of Alexander pulling him close, whispering his mesmeric song in Fitz's ear, humming softly as he bit into Fitz's tender flesh...
And yet, despite Alexander's very obvious desire, and the fact that he now owned Fitz (give or take his terrifying sire, who Fitz wished to put far from his mind), he never so much as laid a hand on him, explaining that he'd rather feed at home.
Fitz didn't accept this. They had complete privacy in the auction house room and Alexander had originally intended to buy Fitz for exactly this purpose. He'd barely been able to hold himself back in the showroom, and he was obviously struggling to hold himself back now. No, there was something else at play. After giving it a great deal of thought, Fitz concluded that the most likely explanation was that Alexander did not want to grow too attached to him. Despite his grand promises, it was clearly difficult for Alexander to defy his sire in any way. If Alexander's plans to kill the Maestro failed, it would be much easier for Alexander if he didn't care, if he could simply hand over Fitz without a second thought.
Well, that wouldn't do.
Endearing himself to Alexander would be the key to his safety and eventually his escape, Fitz reckoned, particularly if Fitz could avoid getting entangled in inconvenient affection himself. It would possibly afford him more freedom and privilege, and the more Alexander valued him, the more he'd be spurred on to save Fitz from his cruel sire.
And there was one obvious way to start that process: enticing Alexander to feed.
The fact that this plan happened to dovetail with his own enthralled desires was just a happy accident, nothing more.
Fitz had been scheming the entire carriage ride to Alexander's manor, trying to look as enticing as possible in the shapeless frock the auction house had provided for him. Alexander spent most of the ride very interested in the bland scenery of the country road, looking anywhere but at Fitz, his aura betraying where his interests truly lay and sending Fitz's head spinning.
"Well, here we are. Please make yourself at home." said Alexander, removing his coat and shoes at the doorway as Fitz looked around. The manor looked considerably smaller than his childhood home, certainly older, and infused with the musty smell of old books.
A dusty intellectual, then, just as Fitz had suspected. He could work with that. Lord knows he'd charmed his way into the homes of many such an intellectual just by feigning interest in rare plants or mystery stories or whatever bee they had in their bonnet.
"I should show you around," saidAlexander. "This will be your home, now, and I want you to be comfortable. You're free to go where you please in the manor, and use what you will, as long as you don't harm the books or the instruments, or enter my private chambers uninvited. Is that clear?"
"Clear as crystal, sir," said Fitz, deliberately stepping much too close to Alexander, enjoying how he squirmed. It gave Fitz the welcome illusion that he had the upper hand, despite being locked into the manor of the vampire who owned him.
Alexander first took Fitz into an old-fashioned kitchen that was spotlessly clean. "I'll provide you with whatever food you request, but I'll expect you to cook it yourself. Can you cook?"
No, no he could not. Fitz's family had had a chef, and since running away, Fitz had only rented out rooms without access to a kitchen. He'd subsisted mainly on sandwiches, the cheapest diner food he could find, and, when he'd worked as a waiter, as much food from back of house as he could snatch. But Alexander didn't need to know that. How hard could basic cooking be? "I'll try not to burn the place down, sir."
"Burn the place down? You wouldn't --"
"That was a joke, sir."
"...Oh, yes." Alexander took a deep breath, apparently having taken that entirely seriously.
"Are there any other thralls living here, sir?" Fitz already suspected the answer, given Alexander's air of desperation and how clean the kitchen was.
"No, it's only you."
"Very good, sir." That would certainly work to his advantage.
As Alexander left the kitchen and Fitz followed at his heels, he couldn't help but think of the food that awaited him. He believed that Alexander would keep him fed -- after all, he was apparently depending on Fitz alone for blood, and even the auction house had kept its prisoners fed well. His mouth was watering thinking of the steak and chicken he could be eating.
He'd just need to learn how to use a stove first. A minor detail.
"I hope you'll enjoy this. It's my music room," said Alexander, leading Fitz into an ornate room with a grand piano at its center. It was covered in a mess of sheet music and the bench was worn, indicating that it wasn't just a piano for show as many rich families had, but very well-used. An impressive collection of other instruments sat on the floor or hung from racks on the walls - a beautiful guitar that Fitz immediately coveted, several fine-looking violins, a brightly-painted harpsichord, a polished oboe.
"Yes, I do enjoy it, sir," said Fitz, lighting up. This was ideal -- music would be a way to pass the time and endear himself to his new master all at the same time. He gestured toward that gorgeous piano. "Do you mind, sir?"
"Not at all. You did mention you play, didn't you?"
"I do, sir," said Fitz with a cheeky grin. "Just listen." He sat down at the bench, making a dramatic show of stretching his arms and cracking his knuckles, pleased to see Alexander giving him full attention. With a deft hand, he launched into a familiar ragtime tune, keeping time by tapping his foot on the floor. He was out of practice, having not played a music gig in several months, but despite a wrong note here and there he could still produce a pleasant enough tune. He looked up to see Alexander absolutely enraptured, a better response than expected considering his rusty piano skills.
"That was wonderful," he said. "What song was that? I've never heard it."
"You've never heard the Maple Leaf Rag, sir?"
"I tend to be rather sheltered when it comes to newer music."
"Is that so, sir?" With a smile and a flourish, Fitz stood up and gestured to the piano bench. "In that case, I would like to hear some of your older music, if you don't mind playing, sir."
Alexander looked surprised and pleased at Fitz's request. "If you don't mind listening, I don't mind playing. It's far from perfect, though, I should warn you."
As Fitz leaned gently against the piano, Alexander took a small breath before starting in on the most complicated and arresting piano music Fitz had heard in his life. Nimble hands flew across the keys in patterns that were nearly impossible to follow with the naked eye, and despite Alexander claiming his performance was far from perfect, Fitz couldn't have identified one wrong note or missed beat if he tried. It was the sort of song and performance that demanded full attention, driving all other considerations out of the listener's head.
Despite the intense skill required to play the piece, Alexander's expression was not one of concentration. Instead, he seemed far away, as though his mind had departed his body.
"I'm a bit rusty. Apologies," said Alexander in all seriousness as he finished, as though he hadn't just given a virtuoso performance as casually as Fitz could plunk out a children's tune.
"That was... astounding, sir," said Fitz, caught off guard enough by the music that he didn't have a calculated answer. "I've never heard anything like it. What was the song?"
"It's a piano concerto written by a vampire composer, so not one you would have likely heard of. His works take advantage of the greater nimbleness afforded our kind." Alexander seemed oddly melancholy about having had the chance to show off a truly impressive skill. "Anyway, why don't we move on?"
He stood up abruptly from the piano bench, leaving Fitz to follow again, wondering what his next move should be. He'd thought the piano would be a winner, but it had only seemed to increase the distance between him and Alexander.
"Allow me to show you my pride and joy, the library," said Alexander.
Fitz inwardly scoffed. How could a library possibly be more interesting than the music room? He'd seen plenty of personal libraries in his time, and had never been all that impressed by a rich person's ability to gather a bunch of dusty books they never actually read. Still, he'd have to pretend to be impressed.
It turned out that there was no need to pretend. This wasn't some small parlor with a few bookshelves. No, this so-called library actually took up what looked to be an entire wing of the manor. It was two stories high with bookshelves stretching straight to the ceiling, punctuated by rickety wooden ladders. And like the piano, it was very clearly in use, with books scattered all around the chairs and tables and lying in big stacks on a large wooden desk.
"Well, what do you think?" said Alexander, clearly looking for approval in a way he hadn't with his piano playing.
"It's an astonishing amount of books, sir," said Fitz. "Have you actually read every one of these?"
"Most of them, yes, but there are some I haven't read cover to cover. Some of them are astoundingly dull histories that mostly have a place in cross-referencing other works."
Fitz leaned in close once more. "Astoundingly dull histories, sir? You certainly do know how to charm a man."
Alexander didn't move away. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you've attempting to charm me."
"And is it working, sir?" Fitz stepped closer, pleased when Alexander found himself nearly pressed against one of his bookshelves.
"Perhaps." Alexander seemed to be trying to compose himself. "Although I confess I don't see what the purpose is. At the auction house, you were trying to convince me to buy you. You did succeed, even if the ultimate outcome wasn't what either of us hoped. What are you trying to accomplish here?"
"Isn't it enough to want to please you, sir? Must you assume I have an ulterior motive?"
Alexander seemed amused. "Oh, I know you have an ulterior motive. I'm only asking what it is."
"I was just thinking that you bought me for a reason, sir." Fitz had him practically backed up against the bookshelf by now. "And that reason so happens to coincide with the spell that our mutual acquaintance placed on me. So it's less of an ulterior motive, and more that our interests conveniently align."
Alexander's eyes darted to Fitz's neck, his composure rapidly waning, and Fitz felt a thrill of power. For the first time since that fateful night when Miss Lily had volunteered to be his assistant, he felt like he had control over the situation, that he could skillfully manipulate things to go his way.
"Lily did condition you very well," said Alexander, his voice wavering. "But I did intend for you to get settled in first before I sated my appetite."
"I'm pretty well settled, sir. I think I'm going to be able to make myself very comfortable here. But I don't want you holding back on what you really want to do. That never works out for anyone."
"Is that so?"
"You wanted me to offer my blood to you, didn't you, sir? That's what you told me when we first met. Well, here I am. Offering." Fitz shamelessly pulled aside the collar of his frock, exposing his neck, enjoying the way Alexander's desire was settling around his mind, the way he had the vampire eating out of the palm of his hand.
It happened so fast.
Fitz was being pushed onto the couch, cold hands gripping his shoulders, a mesmerizing song ringing in his ears. Unlike Alexander's measured song at the auction house, this was desperate, needy, wrapping around Fitz's mind and pulling it beneath the waves before he could even comprehend what was happening. His plans and manipulation no longer mattered, dashed to pieces in the whirlpool of Alexander's irresistible voice.
The only thing that mattered now was listening.
"You will obey, won't you?" whispered Alexander in his ear.
"Yes, Master." The instinctive reply tumbled from his lips, and he wasn't remotely prepared for how right it felt. How good he felt falling back into the magic.
No, the vampire was never eating out of the palm of his hand. That was an illusion, smoke and mirrors he set up to trick himself. Alexander was absolutely in control, and there was nothing he could do about it. But unlike the absolute control Alexander's sire had used on his body, this was like rest and calm and bliss all at once, quieting his busy mind, soothing it in a way he was rarely soothed, forcing a sweet surrender.
"You'll feel no pain. Only pleasure when I drink from you."
"Only pleasure, Master." That's it, that's all there was. Only pleasure from being buried in a tidal wave of his master's desire.
And then the fangs were in his neck, finally fulfilling the promise that was made to him the moment he'd been enthralled, and the remainder of his mind crumbled in an instant. His master drank hungrily from the twin wounds, lapping at the precious drops of blood, as Fitz slumped onto his shoulder, sinking into a euphoric daze. Fitz could somehow feel every drop of his master's intense desire for him, and it felt like Narcissus looking into his pool, like a starving man served a lavish banquet, like he would never be satiated.
He was wanted, oh, he was wanted and wanted and wanted --
The feeding was over too soon, too soon for Fitz to fully savor the dizziness in his head and the heaviness in his limbs from his master's feast, the proof of his quality. The proof that Fitz was worth something to someone.
"Such a good thrall," Alexander murmured as he cradled Fitz's head against his chest. "You're perfect, Fitz. You're absolutely perfect. And I'm not going to let anyone else touch you, not my sire, not anyone. You're mine."
"Yours, sir," said Fitz, and he had promised that very thing to so many people, but he'd never actually meant it until now.
Prev > Masterlist > Next
Next time, Alexander gets drunk.
@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin
@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist
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@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl
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#whump#whump writing#vampire whump#vampire whumper#mind control#blood drinking#rare bookseller#alexander#fitz
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bg3 post epilogue slide show that exists in my imagination: [spoilers]
shadowheart and psymáre use their copious riches they collected during their adventure to buy some property in rivington, they have a house built for shadowheart’s parents and another for themselves. scratch and the owlbear cub have tons of room outside to run around and play!
funny idea popped into my head that psymáre should take over ownership of sorcerers sundries since it’s previous owner, uh, tragically died
im not sure where precisely astarion is living (maybe he also buys himself a house with all the gold we picked up) (also like, with cazador gone... who owns the szarr estate? maybe the gang pulls some legal strings so that astarion becomes the new owner, then he auctions off all of cazador's shit, and now has a ton of money. then oops the mansion burns to the ground. hooray insurance fraud!) but psymáre visits him often because they are friends. in her free time she’s researching ways for him to be able to walk in the sun again.
gale returns to waterdeep after retrieving the broken crown pieces from the river and returning them to mystra. psymáre’s roped him into her “helping astarion walk in the sun” project. she goes to visit him in waterdeep after everything at home for her has settled down and gets a grand tour of the city. they use magic skype to talk to each other when psymáre goes back to baldur's gate because they are wizard besties
wyll is in avernus, and so is karlach for the moment (a lot of players (including me) are disappointed that there's no way to give her a real happy ending, despite all the threads in act 3 that hint that there should have been a way, so... this might change pending future content updates) so unfortunately they don't see each other very much in person anymore :( but psymáre's a very smart wizard and makes magic skype work between planes so they can still catch up. i imagine she'd have a chat with barcus about potentially getting the iron hand gnomes and their new gondian allies to work on a solution to karlach's case
it seems like lae'zel and the gang permanently part ways after she returns to the astral plane, and I wish there had been a slightly longer goodbye scene with her if you had very high or exceptional approval with her. in my mind hers and psymáre's parting was a lot more like morrigan and the warden's friendship parting in da:o "i knew nothing of friendship before i met you, live well my friend, live gloriously". psymáre really didnt like lae'zel when she first met her and was surprised by how much she came to value their friendship (like... she only stole the hammer from raphael & freed orpheus because lae'zel asked her too. braving a devil's lair so you can free a guy who might just kill you when you release him for your friend is pretty ride-or-die, in my eyes). maybe they will meet again one day! i hope they will. psymáre's a high elf and still has many centuries of life left ahead of her, and in the astral plane lae'zel won't age, so who can say!
since jaheira lives in baldur's gate, that means they're neighbours and would still see each other! i dont see psymáre becoming a harper herself, but she'd be allied with them, certainly. jaheira goes home to her family and has a well deserved break from apocalyptic fuckery. also that reverse aging scroll jaheira has in her basement... psymáre's a high elf and is 370 years old, so she might expect to live another 400 years or so, whereas shadowheart... isn't going to live that long (elves live on average about 750 years, but half-elves only about between 128-180 years) ... maybe jaheira gives the scroll and her research to them, since she decided she wasnt going to use it?
(now ive made myself sad thinking about how all of astarion's friends are eventually going to die of old age :( maybe the "walking in the sun" fix will be to cure him of vamparism? this would be a good century or two into the future though, probably. give him plenty of time to decide if that what he wants or not. also plenty for psymáre to learn how to cast wish or find a scroll of true resurrection)
in halsin's romance ending he tell you that he's going to help the refugees and orphaned children start new lives in the now shadow curse-free lands, so obviously he's still gong to be doing that. i cant decide whether or not yenna goes with him or if psymáre and shadowheart adopt her lmao but i definitely think that they'd drop by and say hello whenever they're able. and im sure shadowheart would like to see moonrise towers back to its former glory!
i recruited minsc really late into act 3 so i didnt get to know him very well but i assume post-game that he's doing just fine i dont have any further thoughts on him lmao
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The Auction
A dystopian tale of the “New Americas,” where the divide between the wealthy and… everyone else is too great to cross. But with all the other viruses comes one that lies dormant in the genes, activating at birth and it is inevitably fatal. So now, perfect genetics are the most desired thing in a mate. Even if you have to buy one.
Important note: there are discussions of disabilities in this chapter viewed by the assholes in this dystopian tales as ‘adverse elements.’ Since my twin boys have autism, I know this is bullshit. Please keep in mind that any discussion of the differently-abled is only for the purpose of the story and their negative responses are pathetic and uneducated.
You’ll be seeing Rich Asshole Ransom Drysdale at the auction tonight, along with James Buchanan Barnes and Terrifying But So Good in a Suit Loki. All obscenely rich bastards. All looking for a wife.
Chapter One - This Can’t Be Happening
“This can’t be happening.”
The woman weeping softly to the right of Rowan might be a little older than she was, but it’s clear she had no frame of reference for what was about to happen to her.
“Stop, don’t mess up your makeup,” Rowan whispered, trying to wipe away the mascara streaming down the woman’s wet cheeks. “Look, it’ll be…”
It’ll be okay?
Was she really about to say something as stupid as that? The group of overly made-up captives - including Rowan, the crying woman clutching her hand, and the twelve other young women shivering in sheer dresses - were most definitely not going to be okay.
“Listen, you’re here now,” she squeezed the crying woman’s hand, trying to get her to look at her. “This is going to happen, so you have to take control of it, okay? You-”
“What is the problem here?”
The voice was sharp, no-nonsense, and sounded much like the priest at the shelter Rowan had left the instant she turned eighteen. But this man definitely took no vow of poverty. His suit was bespoke and perfectly tailored to hide the beginning of a paunch, silver hair expensively styled. “Number Eleven, you’re foolish enough to dismantle the stylist’s work for a tantrum? Who do you think wants to bid on a crying mess? Who would think you were worth millions of credits?” His sharp brown eyes went to Rowan. “And why are you encouraging this, Number Fourteen?”
“I’m not, Mr. Toussaint, I was just-” she tried to smile, to disarm the angry… What did they call him, she thought. Not a pimp, uh, a procurer?
He waved her off impatiently. “I don’t care. Amber!” he shouted over his shoulder, “Come touch up Number Eleven.” The man stepped back and looked over the group. “Listen to me carefully. I have done everything I can to improve your chances of a good match: your wardrobe, your manners, the expensive stylists... Your future is now your responsibility. You can receive a highly lucrative five-year contract with a wealthy partner who will spoil you. Or you can show yourself as weak, poor quality material, and then,” he paused ominously, “I cannot predict your future. The House of Toussaint is known as the finest auction house in the New Americas. I will not allow you to cheapen that reputation. Do you hear me?”
There was a chorus of mumbles and “yessirs,” but he wasn’t happy.
“Do you HEAR ME?”
“Yes, Sir!” Rowan said loudly, clearly, and while the others hurried to add to her answer, Toussaint stared at her, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“There’s a reason you are the last item up for auction tonight,” he said, “I intend to showcase your superb genetics. But that can change if you attempt to speak out again or involve yourself with the other girls.”
She gritted her teeth hard enough to crack a molar before taking a deep breath and offering her sweetest smile. “Absolutely, Sir. I understand completely.” She could picture Ben’s sweet smile as vividly as if he was standing in front of her. She could be sweet, too. She could be very, very sweet.
“Keep up that smile,” her pimp, procurer, whatever he wanted to be called, was standing behind her, looking at their reflection in the mirror. “The live feed to the reception room begins in ten minutes.”
The live feed. She shuddered. Her only moment of gratitude was that the humiliation of flouncing down the catwalk in that dress would be witnessed only by the men and women bidding for her and the others. At any other time, she would have liked this dress; not too much cleavage, with slim straps spread wide on her shoulders to show off her collarbones and neck, but dipping scandalously low in the back. It was beaded, silver, and a green so dark it almost looked black under the lights, with a long slit showing part of her right thigh. And so heavy. What did they make these beads out of, Rowan wondered, lead?
The stylist had pinned her hair up loosely, at some point, the auctioneer would tell her to take her hair out of its chignon and sweep it out to show off the length. Long hair, real long hair, not extensions, was rare, apparently.
As if any of that mattered.
Well, maybe it did. These women - and a couple of men she’d heard - who would be bid on like cattle tonight were all extremely attractive. Rowan sneered, carefully turning away so no one would catch her expression. Good genes weren’t enough for these rich bastards. Their bought and paid-for’s had to have good looks, too.
“Number One, you’re up!”
The girl was sweet, a classic Irish with pale skin, flaming red hair and a pretty spatter of freckles buried under a heavy layer of makeup. What was her name? Rowan tried to remember: they’d shared breakfast that morning, her oatmeal for Glenna’s fruit. Glenna! That’s right!
“Glenna, you got this!” Feeling stupid even as she did it, Rowan held up both thumbs, nodding and smiling. The redhead at least managed a watery grin and a thumbs-up before Amber hustled her out the door.
Walking back and forth, hands on her beaded hips, Rowan listened to the muffled sounds of the auctioneer, how he’d pause, waiting for laughter or some other response from the room stuffed with rich entitled assholes.
One of which is buying you and taking you home tonight, her spiteful inner voice reminded her.
“I don’t think I can do this.”
It was Mina, one of the few who had willingly signed up for the Bride Auction. Her warm brown eyes were wide, clearly trying to keep the tears from spilling. She had a wonderfully lush mouth, glowing skin the color of molten chocolate and a voluptuous figure, the kind of bombshell look that was wildly popular.
Rowan tried to smile, “I think it’s too late. Do you want the pep talk or to just cry a little?”
Mina’s full lower lip trembled. “P- p- p- pep talk.”
Oh, crap a stutter, Rowan groaned silently. It was nothing, nothing at all but with these choosy trust fund scum, the slightest sign of anything less than conventionally perfect could be dangerous. “Okay, I got you. Look. I’d tell you to picture everyone out there as naked, but I think that’s probably too gross to relax you.”
That helped, Mina giggled and hiccuped a bit.
“Who are you doing this for?” Rowan persisted.
“M- m- sister’s k- kids. She got in an accident last month, a hit and run. Just… coming home from work, carrying a bag of groceries. The car hit her hard enough that they found her soup cans a block away. They’re living with m- m- me but my roommates told me they have to leave or we all do. This is-” Mina’s hands were shaking and she clutched them into fists. “This is all I h- have,” gesturing bitterly at her face and body.
“Number Five!” Miss Lavigne said sharply, “Get in line. You’re nearly up.”
Mina turned to go and Rowan grabbed her arm. “Listen,” she said, leaning in close. “There is one unarguable truth in this entire shit show. These rich bastards, they think they have everything; the money, the power, they think they own us. But don’t you forget that there is something they don’t have: our perfect genetic profile. And they’re scared, scared enough to pay for it. They need you just as much as you need them. You strut down that catwalk like you own it. Like you own them. You make them bid so high their banker will have an aneurysm. You hear me?”
She’d been whispering to keep the malevolent Miss Lavigne from hearing her, but when Rowan let Mina go she realized there was a little circle of girls around them. “Don’t any of you forget it. They’re scared and they need you.” They scattered like they were mice when the kitchen light turned on, and Mr. Toussaint stepped in front of her, eyes narrowed with fury.
“It seems, Number Fourteen that you don’t want to see your brother ever again.”
Her hands darted behind her back so he couldn’t see them shake. “You should be thanking me.”
“What?” Now his ruddy skin flushed even darker.
“You want these girls to drain your clients out there of every last million they’re willing to spend and then several million more. Well, now they will.”
Mr. Toussaint’s sharp eyes canvassed the dressing room. The auction items were standing taller, checking their hair, or lipstick in the mirror, straightening the straps on their dress.
“Number Five! You’re on.”
Mina gave Rowan one last smile, and she nodded back.
He stared down at her for a moment longer. “Go have Amber look at your hair. It’s a mess." She was edging away when Toussaint leaned closer. “Your little speech was quite inspiring to these poor, deluded girls. But there are dozens just like you that have been sold through this house. These people fear nothing. And if they wish to carve you open and extract your DNA, no one will stop them. This auction that you so despise? It protects you. With marriage, with financial security that your new spouse cannot access. I do not expect humility from such as you, but be bright enough to pretend you do.”
Toussaint straightened his tie and left without another look at her.
Rowan was submitting to another re-pinning of her carelessly upswept chignon that took a good hour to create and practicing her smile in the mirror. Inviting, confident, a little demure, and uncertain… So many important people! She pretended to bat her eyelashes. It’s such an honor to be here!
It was fucking terrifying to be here. These were the names no one knew, the families so wealthy that they could crush notoriety. These people owned the New Americas.
Everything. Everyone.
Every law that passed, every new “Moral Mandate” was straight from their twisted brains.
“Number Fourteen! You’re on.”
And now, one of them would own her.
“Rowan Wallace is twenty-eight, stands 5”8 with black hair and pale green eyes,” the auctioneer’s voice is smooth and ingratiating and if Rowan wasn’t so busy trying to walk smoothly with a spotlight blinding her, she would have flipped him off.
“She is in superb health, with a full vaccination status, administered and verified by the Chronology Medical Group, which also performed a full genetic panel. You can see the numbers here on the monitor, and her specialized genome projection that…”
The room was dark beyond the brightly lit stage. Of course, Rowan thought, I don’t deserve to see who’s bidding on me. I’m just the shiny object.
“Her IQ has been tested, with a score of 145.”
Rowan slowed on her turn, letting the audience see the sway of her hips, a slight arch to her back as she turned her head to look over one shoulder. My IQ? When the hell did they test me for that? What else did they test me for?
“You’ll see,” the auctioneer continued, “on the 3D projection that Number Fourteen’s uterus and ovaries are in excellent health, and-”
That little revelation almost made Rowan trip on the edge of her dress, but she managed to make the stumble look like another half turn.
“Number Fourteen,” this time, the voice was Mr. Toussaint's. “Stand at the end of the catwalk, if you would.”
Yeah, so pleasant and oh, so posh when your rich assholes are in the room, she thought bitterly. Bitter, but not stupid enough to defy him, she sashayed back to the circular end, posing with her right leg turned and slightly bent at the knee, hand demurely behind her back.
“You rank at 495 out of 500 on the Genetic Reliability Outcome Consensus, Number Fourteen, quite superb.” There was actually a little round of applause at this and it took every ounce of self-control to keep from rolling her eyes.
Mr. Toussaint was looking at her, seemingly expecting some sort of response, so Rowan flashed him an insincere smile, eyes lowered. “That’s… good to hear, Sir.”
A little chuckle rippled through the bidders and she gave a sweet little shrug. Don’t think of these bastards, think of Ben. Don’t you forget why we’re all up here! Her feet were killing her, these high heels must be lined with razor wire or something because-
“However, adding in the adverse element score, you do drop fifty points, dear.” The son of a bitch bastard’s bleached white teeth glowed in the stage lighting. “Your brother was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, and of course is part of the package, isn’t he?”
Of course, Rowan’s teeth gritted, another ignorant asshole considering her brother as an ‘adverse element?’ How dare he! Oh, it’s on fucker!
“Well, Mr. Toussaint, I am sure you know, as do all of these extremely well-educated and well-informed leaders in the New Americas, that autism is an indication of the evolution of the human brain. Many people on the Autism Spectrum have unique gifts and talents, along with high scores for intelligence and potential to overcome sensory challenges that might inhibit their abilities to contribute to their community.”
His stupid bleached teeth opened like he was about to interrupt. Oh, no, bitch, I am on a roll.
“My brother Ben is a gift. He is challenging and intelligent, courageous in a way that I’m not. He makes me a better person, he makes everyone around him want to be more than they are. Truthfully?” Rowan looked out into the darkened room again. “He is the best part of this package.”
There was silence for a moment, quiet enough to hear the low buzz of the 3D projector and the rattling of the bracelet on her wrist as she tried to clench her shaking hands together. She'd screwed up. She had so screwed this up.
The auctioneer gave a light chuckle, smoothly divesting Mr. Toussaint of the mic. “Lovely, and it seems passion and loyalty are other excellent traits of Number Fourteen. And now, dear, if you will remove your dress.”
Rowan’s heart stopped. What? This was NOT in their practice runs! She looked out again, licking her lips. He was kidding. This wasn’t humiliating enough? Oh, there’s no way-
“Number Fourteen? Now, if you please.”
Ben’s sweet smile. She could remember it so vividly when he handed her the lunch he’d packed for her when she’d left their apartment that morning before they took him away. When he’d told her, “This is going to be a perfect day!” When he’d smiled, and…
Standing straight, shoulders back and looking regally over the darkened crowd, Rowan raised her hands to the glittering straps holding the heavy gown up and pulled them down. The silver and green beads flashed in the light as the dress dropped to the floor.
Alerting mutuals who I think might be interested, please let me know if you’d like on or off this list. Thank you!
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@albinotigerpython
@oldenoughtobeyourmama
@chezdricks
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#dystopian avengers#dystopian James Barnes#dystopian Ransom Drysdale#dystopian Loki Laufeyson#bride auctions#women sold for their genetic potential#patriarchal assholes#human trafficking#unwilling brides
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What’s in a Name? Pt. II
A/N: So I know I said that the first part was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done...but this takes the cake. The softest, cheesiest thing I’ve ever written and I will apologize for nothing.
Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no y/n)
Rating: PG for mention of guns??? A few smooches or two.
Word Count: 4.2k
Summary: The five times Marcus Pike tries to propose and the one time he actually does.
(Beautiful art by my bb @bucketheadredacted)
Read part one!
Marcus Pike was finally a man lucky in love.
Maybe. Hopefully. God, he really needed to be lucky. Just this once.
He had bought the diamond ring three months after she had moved in—that was him moving slowly! Honestly! He had felt the urge to look at rings only a month after she had kissed him in the park but had refrained, his past failed relationships whispering at the back of his mind. He didn’t want to push her away. Didn’t want to scare her by moving too fast. Didn’t want to break his own heart again. It had been a strange uphill battle to just learn her name—and now he wanted to give her his name, too.
But he loved her. Truly.
And he knew that within a month of stealing kisses and slipping into overpriced hotel rooms between briefings and meetings and auctions across the country. And Marcus hadn’t been able to stop himself from asking her if she wanted to move into his Washington D.C. apartment six months later.
The words had tumbled out of his mouth while they were still half asleep, his alarm blaring in the background, alerting them both that she needed to get up to fly back to New Orleans.
And she…giggled and rolled over to press a kiss to his lips, uncaring of his morning breath. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”
And it had been perfect. It had been good to come home and see her jacket slung over the back of the chair, to smell her perfume lingering in the bathroom as she dashed out the door, to wake up next to her when they both had a reprieve from their chaotic jobs and not have to worry that they would have to separate again within a handful of hours. It was good even when she tried a new recipe and the entire apartment smelled like burnt noodles for two days.
But he wanted to call her his wife and he wanted to be her husband. He wanted to have a family with her and maybe buy a house a little further outside the city—she had mentioned that she wanted a dog and a cat. “With room for them to run around!” She said with a smile.
And that all circled back to the ring. The platinum ring with the princess cut diamond. The ring he had been hiding for ages. The ring he wanted to put on her finger—if she said yes. Or he would have to tuck his metaphorical tail between his legs (again) and nurse a broken heart (again) and listen to his coworkers well-meaning condolences (again).
“When are you gonna ask her, man?” One of his fellow agents asked as they parked the agency-assigned SUV in the underground lot. Marcus had made the mistake of mentioning how he had a ring waiting at the back of his sock drawer and this agent—and honestly? Marcus couldn’t even remember his name—latched onto that and had spent the last three hours trying to ‘help’ Marcus come up with a plan on how to propose.
Marcus had a plan already. Thank you very much.
“I am going to take her to see the fireworks over the river.”
“Romantic. Good choice.”
Marcus felt himself puff up a bit at that. It was romantic, wasn’t it? This would be fine.
**
It was not fine.
The spot Marcus had picked was already crowded by the time they arrived—he was still grumbling about the flat tire he had to fix on the way there but his mood shift when he heard her sigh. It was a happy sound that had a smile pushing at his own lips.
“This is a good spot. Good choice.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his warm cheek before turning and grabbing the cooler from the back of his car.
Marcus quickly patted his pocket and felt the ring safely in its confines. This could work, right? He just needed to wait for the fireworks. He set a checkered blanket on the warm grass and helped her unload their cooler, filled with her favorite picnic foods and maybe a bit of alcohol too, hidden away in two tumblers. The wind off the river was nice, keeping them from getting too overheated and someone further down the bank had set up a radio, letting music provide a backdrop to the quiet lapping water and the conversations from the strangers around them. He was not the best conversationalist, Marcus had to admit, he was busy rehearsing what he was going to say in his head over and over, trying to imagine if she would cry or smile—or just…say yes. But he made her laugh and earned a few more kisses when he managed to contribute to the conversation and fed her a few of the grapes from the cooler.
It was good…it was fine…until it wasn’t.
It started with her swatting at something on her arm just as the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon. That wasn’t uncommon; the East Coast was notoriously buggy during the summer. It was probably a mosquito.
But then it happened again and again and again until she was standing up with a shriek, wildly hitting at herself. “Marcus! Marcus!”
“Honey?”
“There’s ants everywhere!”
He glanced down and…yes, there were ants everywhere. And then he felt his first bite.
They quickly gained more than their fair share of attention as they both scrambled to get the hundreds of ants off of them, knocking over their food and cooler with unpleasant groans and gasps as they gained more ant bites.
In a rushed haze, still swatting at themselves, they gathered up their belongings and all but dumped them in the back of the car. When their tires hit highway, they heard the first boom of the fireworks.
**
“How’re you feeling?” She whispered as she rubbed a bit more cream onto Marcus’s back. It had been almost a week since the ant incident and his body was still covered in small red bumps. A testament to his failure.
He reached back, a little awkwardly from his angle on his stomach, and grasped her hand. “I’m okay, honey.” He hummed when he felt her pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Marcus turned his head just a bit and looked at her hand. Her ring finger was still bare. The ring had been tucked away in his bedside drawer after they both scrubbed themselves clean and then all but bathed in calamine lotion. But Marcus was a man on a mission. Having brunch, just to the two of them, all calm and relaxed, was just as good as fireworks.
When she’d been showering earlier, he had called in a delivery from her favorite breakfast restaurant, the florist down the block, and snuck around the apartment to try to tidy up a bit. Not that the apartment needed much. He had set a new set of candles in two overly-priced candle holders and lit them…and then quickly snuffed them out, deeming it too early for candles. He had slipped back into bed just as she emerged in a puff of lavender steam from the bathroom, looking much more comfortable than she had in days.
He rolled over and sat up to steal a kiss against her smiling mouth before coaxing her down onto the bed to apply her share of the strangely scented lotion to her matching set of bumps and bites.
“You know,” she started, face squished in the pillow, “for what it’s worth, I did have a really good time.”
“Yeah?”
“You know I always like spending time with you.”
“Even if you get eaten alive by fire ants?” He asked, a smile pushing at his mouth as his fingers trailed down her back.
She laughed. “Even then.”
He leaned down to press a kiss behind her ear before finishing her layer of lotion and his smile only grew when he heard the familiar, satisfied hum rumble in her throat. A knock at the door had him rising. “I’ll be right back.” Marcus pulled on a shirt as he moved toward the door and opened it, happily seeing two delivery men. He paid them both quickly and moved to the kitchen to set everything up as he heard one of his least favorite sounds.
Her cellphone ringing.
Marcus placed the flowers in her favorite vase but didn’t even move to plate the food he’d had delivered. What was the point?
She came out of the bedroom, rubbing at her temples and her phone in her pocket. “I-”
“You have to go,” he said, finishing for her. “Where to this time?”
She grimaced. “Nowhere fun. But apparently a Pollock has surfaced at an auction set for tomorrow night.” Her eyes darted to the flowers and her grimace softened. “Are these for me?”
Marcus smiled and handed them to her, chuckling as she all but shoved her face into the blooms to inhale their scent. He tightened the knot on the top of the takeout and handed that to her, too. “Here, you can eat this on the road.” And when she opened her mouth to apologize, he kissed the words away. Marcus would never fault her for her job and its uneven schedule, just as she never held his strange hours against him. “Home by Wednesday?” He murmured against her lips.
“Home by Wednesday. I promise.”
When he closed the door to her taxi and waved as he watched the yellow car disappear around the corner, Marcus sighed. Strike two.
**
Patrick Jane was not who Marcus wanted to see right now. And neither was Lisbon. But that was beside the point. The point was that Marcus hadn’t seen his Honey in almost three weeks because of a demanding client wanting more and more art work so she was flown all over Europe to different auctions and private sales.
He had remembered how he heard her sniffle over the phone when she told him that this client was asking her to pick up more art. “It is good money, really good. I can probably take a few months off after I do this but I…” she hiccupped and his heart broke. “But I just really miss you.”
And that was why he had booked a table at this beautiful and romantic restaurant after she had managed to sleep off her jet lag and rinse the grime of the plane from her skin.
Marcus ordered expensive wine that she knew she only ordered when she closed a big deal and asked the chef to place the ring on the top of the tiramisu he had scheduled to be brought out in exactly 47 minutes.
But that plan had been fantastically derailed when that obnoxious blond man spotted him from across the restaurant and then had the gall to ask the hostess to seat them near each other. (What were they even doing in DC?) For her part, Lisbon looked uncomfortable, too, as they made small talk.
With each passing word and each forced anecdote, Marcus felt himself deflate. There was no way he was going to propose to the love of his life in front of his ex-fiancée and her husband.
“You know,” Jane started and Marcus felt his teeth grind, “Marcus always struck me as a family man.”
She smiled and reached out to wrap her fingers around Marcus’ and squeezed. “He is.”
“Oh?” Jane continued, leaning forward in his seat. “Is a congratulations in order?”
Marcus could hear his teeth grinding but her grip tightened on his hand while her smile remained steady. “That is none of your business. I am sure you can fill your time poking and prodding into other people’s lives. Now, please, you have interrupted my long overdue date with the love of my life with your prattle. I’m sure you’re lovely, but I am done entertaining you.” She raised her other hand and asked for the check which was quickly given. The hostess, for her part, did glance to Marcus to make sure it was okay before he subtly nodded. The ring was slipped back into his hand by a sly waiter.
“Marcus,” Lisbon murmured, “we didn’t mean-”
Marcus stood and buttoned his jacket before helping his Honey into her coat. “Have a good night, Lisbon.”
And they left the restaurant, flagging down a taxi as thunder rolled overhead. Marcus made sure to open the taxi’s door for her and let her slide in before joining her in the backseat. The pair was quiet for a moment, and then two before she started to giggle. The giggle grew into a full-belly laugh that had tears gathering in her eyes and Marcus had to laugh, too. She always made him laugh.
“God!” She said. “He’s so full of himself. And truly, Marcus, I’m sure Teresa is lovely but she has terrible taste in men. Choosing that over you? I would never.”
Marcus felt a selfish bloom of pride swell in his chest. “Yeah?”
She leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. “Yeah. I don’t plan on ever letting you go.”
And you know? That made Marcus smile just as much as putting a shiny ring on her finger. She wanted him forever.
He could propose tomorrow.
**
He did not propose tomorrow.
Or any day after that for the next three months. There just…wasn’t the right time. The ring he now kept in his suit jacket pocket seemed heavier by the day. Even his fellow agents seemed to pick up on the fact that something was bothering him.
“Fighting with your lady, Pike?” One of them asked as they were huddled around a table in the art storage room, trying to devise a plan to catch a thief who had managed to disappear with fourteen million dollars’ worth of some blueblood’s family heirlooms which included an Artemisia Gentileschi original. It was a brazen heist and obviously a huge case that needed to be their sole focus.
But sometimes his group of agents were a little nosey.
“We don’t really fight,” Marcus muttered as he looked over the blueprints of the family’s home, trying to find a way that the thief had come in and out. The official police report said a downstairs window was open but he didn’t believe that. “We have our disagreements but she is the most levelheaded person I know. The most heated conversation we had was over which diner had the best waffles.”
Another agent gagged. “You two are disgusting.”
“The word you’re looking for is ‘perfect,’ actually.”
Marcus shook his head and bit back a laugh—they really needed to focus on this case. “We’re not perfect.” And they weren’t. No one was. But that didn’t mean he loved her any less.
“Still haven’t proposed, eh?”
“Shut up, man.” There was no heat to his tone as Marcus scrubbed a hand down his face before looking at his watch. It was almost eleven at night. “Go home. It’s late. We can pick this up in the morning.”
The rest of the group grumbled their thanks and disappeared to the upper levels of the building, probably in search of their forgotten dinners before going home. Marcus tapped his pencil on the blueprints, his eyes constantly moving to the door leading into the ‘piano room’ which then led down to the wine cellar. He wasn’t sure why, but something in his gut just told him the answer led to that set of rooms.
“Marcus?”
He jumped at the sudden noise but quickly righted himself as he saw her entering the fenced off storage area, carefully skirting around a prized Greco-Roman statue they had just recovered in Philadelphia. It was no longer a surprise to see her down here, the front desk guards knew her by face and name and all but gave her security clearance, easily letting her through when they knew Marcus was working late. He stood and walked over to her, pressing a kiss to her lips and then forehead in greeting, listening to her hum in contentment as her hands wound around his waist. “What are you doing here, Honey?”
She smiled as she looked at him and shrugged. “I knew you were working late. Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d keep you company instead of tossing and turning.”
“You know I’m always happy to see you.” He led her over to the table and told her a little about the case, as much as he could without truly getting in trouble, and let her look over his notes.
She frowned as she turned the blueprints around and looked at them. “These people are like…billionaires, right?”
Marcus confirmed it with a frown but let her continue.
“Right. So, last time I was in LA, I was at that big, private auction at one of the gaudiest homes I’ve ever visited. Remember me telling you about that? The host got so drunk that he demanded he show everyone his three panic rooms and the private tunnel he had requested be dug behind his laundry room in the basement. Apparently he bribed the city inspector to keep it off the official blueprints so that a thief couldn’t use that tunnel.” She held up the blueprints and tapped at the wine cellar. “Ten bucks says there’s more to this wine cellar than just some ridiculous vintages.”
Marcus could feel his face lighting up. She was amazing.
They spoke a little longer, about possible suspects and how there was probably more than one thief—or at least a getaway driver—before their conversations shifted.
“The guys upstairs said something funny.”
“Hm?”
“They called me Mrs. Pike.”
His next breath nearly choked him. He was going to kill the guards upstairs. “O-oh? Really?”
“I think it sounds nice,” she said, her tone a little embarrassed. “Not that I haven’t thought about it before.” She smiled a bit, almost nervous. “We’ve talked about it, me and you, but to hear someone else say it…makes it sound…really nice.” She hid her embarrassment behind her hand and shook her head.
“I think it sounds nice, too.” He could do it. Right now. He could do it. They were surrounded by beautiful art. All by themselves. There was a light in her eyes that made his heart squeeze. His hand patted the pocket where he kept the ring and-
-it was gone.
“Marcus?” Her tone was filled with worry and she reached out to trail a finger over the crease that had erupted between his eyebrows, a gesture she did often when he brought work home with him. “Are you okay?”
“Y-yeah. I’m fine, honey.”
He most certainly was not but it wasn’t like he could tell her that or propose. ‘Yes, honey. I lost your engagement ring. Will you marry me?’ Fuck.
**
The next day Marcus was stopped by the man at the front desk as he headed toward his office. “Everyone’s been telling me about your big plans. Can’t do it without this.” He handed over a small bag and inside…was the ring.
“Where’d you find it?” Marcus asked, stashing the ring in his briefcase this time.
Apparently his pocket couldn’t be trusted.
“Parking lot.”
Marcus could only sigh.
**
This was it. This had to be it.
If it wasn’t? He was sure the universe was telling him to just give up. They were happy, right? In love? Maybe they didn’t have to be married. Maybe…
No. No, he wanted to be her husband and he wanted her to be his wife. And that was why the ring was (safely and securely) stowed away in his wallet. He just needed the right time.
She was sitting across from him at their favorite diner, a stack of pancakes and a plateful of waffles between them and half-finished milkshakes abandoned near the saltshakers as they tried to guess which type of syrup was in each little carafe from a single bite. It was a game they played a few times before—one they had played on their first official date, actually. It had lasted well past the dinner and museum visit he had planned and into the morning where they had landed at the diner as the sun rose.
“This has to be strawberry,” she said as she finished her bite. “What do you think?” She asked, holding out the fork for him to take.
He took his bite and nodded. “Strawberry, definitely.”
She lifted the carafe and smiled as she read the tape on the bottom. “Point for us!” They high-fived across the table, laughing. The waitress who always served them shook her head with a smile from her place at the counter, knowing their game too well.
Marcus poured the syrup on their next bite and guessed its flavor before letting her take a guess.
“Um…blueberry?” She licked her lips, contemplating. “Maybe?” As Marcus lifted the carafe and confirmed that it was indeed blueberry, she continued. “Oh, a display of Alphonse Mucha is coming to Georgetown.”
Marcus smiled. Over an hour of their first date had been filled with soft whispers and shy smiles in front of a wall of Mucha sketches. They had been asked to leave by a polite but tired museum guard, not realizing they were there past closing. It was one of his fondest memories. One of the first times he realized she was truly special. He fell a little (more) in love with her that night. “We should go.”
“I’ll get tickets!”
This was the time. This was the moment. He pulled his wallet out under the table and curled his finger around the ring and watched as she smiled, wiping a bit of syrup from her chin. “I love you.”
She paused and looked at him, smile continuing to grow. “And you know I love you, too.”
“And I’ve loved you for a long time. You make my life better, make me better. I know our jobs are crazy. But they’re beautiful. Filled with art and excitement. But you’ve really…made my life a masterpiece.”
“Marcus?” Her voice was soft, eyes narrowing just slightly.
But Marcus pressed forward. “And I know that’s cheesy but I-”
And his phone was ringing. Why of all times was his phone ringing? And worst of all, it was the ringtone he had set for his boss. He had to answer. And she knew it, nodding just once with a fading smile.
He stood from his seat and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he murmured before slipping away with his phone pressed to his ear.
**
Marcus was tired. Tired.
He had been to New York to Miami to Orlando to Atlanta and then finally to Rio. The band of thieves, making a run for it with millions of dollars of art—including a da Vinci sketch. But he and his team caught them before they disappeared into the wind and the art was lost to the black market.
But he was tired.
He yawned as he drove through the mostly-quiet streets, ready to slip back into his apartment and pull his honey into his arms and then…sleep for three days.
That sounded wonderful.
But then his phone rang again.
And he had to answer it.
Thankfully, it was a short call. Someone had just broken in to one of the smaller museums in Georgetown and they wanted Pike to catch the thief in the act. Marcus sighed as he tossed his phone in the passenger seat. If this went well, it meant less paperwork. And then he could sleep.
The museum was dark when he arrived. There was only a faint bit of life coming from around of one the corners and he slunk around in the shadows, a hand on his gun. He was ready. He could stop a theft before it happened. He could-
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks as he realized what he was looking at.
Standing in the center of the hall, surrounded by (electronic) candles and priceless Mucha originals, was his Honey. His Venus.
“Hi Marcus.”
He took one step forward and then two and then three-
And she dropped to one knee and gently grasped his hands in hers, tears filling her beautiful eyes. “You make me smile every day. Even when I feel the need to hide all your socks after you make me mad. You have given me a new way of seeing art, appreciating it. You, Marcus Pike, have helped me grow, helped me breathe when I thought the world was just too much, helped me learn what strawberry syrup tastes like.”
Marcus had to laugh at that, feeling tears start to gather in his eyes. “And pecan, too.”
“And pecan syrup, too.” She squeezed his hands again with a growing smile. “I’ve never known love like this. And I never want to be without it. I never want to be without you. I just…” she hiccupped, a few tears falling down her cheeks. “I just love you. Will you marry me? Can I be Mrs. Pike?”
Marcus pulled his hands from hers and quickly pulled his wallet from his back pocket, pulling the ring (finally), from its depths. “Can I ask you, too?”
She all but tackled him to the sparkling marble floors and pressed kiss after kiss to his cheeks, chin, brow, and lips, a laugh on her tear-stained lips. “Ask me.”
“Will you marry me?” The words finally came out in a rush, his heart beating wildly behind his ribs as he watched her smile. Her beautiful smile.
“Yes.”
A/N: Please let me know what you think!
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diamond trail I — myg
Plot: The theft of his most elusive and mystery possession leads to a web of trickery that threatens every large syndicate in the country. (alternative: Yoongis’ prized possession is stolen but he’s not the only gang leader being betrayed)
Pairing(s): Mafia Boss!Yoongi x Consigliere!Y/N
Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+
Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series
Word Count: 4k+
Genre: Mafia | Marriage | Mature Themes/Fluff/Smut
Tags & Warnings: criminal activities, mentions of past abuse (outside of the pair), explicit smut (spanking and very brief anal play), mild violence, coarse language.
Authors Note: it’s here friends!! i’m still a little rusty in terms of writing fanfiction after a while so please be kind lmaoo
A huge thanks to @casuallyimagining and @aroseforyoongi for helping with the proofreads!
Gold Dust held patronage of all heads in the underworld, allowing them to orchestrate the most exclusive and grandest auctions. You and Yoongi walked through the vault doors, hands intertwined with one another as two suited guards led you down the velvet lined stairs. Your footsteps silenced amongst the beating music of the club above. Your chest relaxed as soon as the soothing violins and piano touched your ears in the underground facility. Black marble walls and pillars encased you along with the sea of Italian silk suits and satin gowns.
Yoongi huffed at the very sight of them. All of these blank slates were products of a long-running nepotism. He might’ve been the only one alive who succeeded a popular gang leader. Then again, his father lived far too long for his own good and had way too many wives to be considered human.
What annoyed him further was the organization. Only the benefactors received private booths. The non-patrons had to be squeezed in with a potential rival in order to provide more benefits for the ones funding these events.
The suited guards stopped at the front booth on the right. Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek until it almost drew blood when he saw their seating partner.
“Min! Didn’t expect to see you crawl out of your hole.” Kim Namjoon wore the smile of a champion with the attitude of a diseased rat. Since he was part of the three oldest gangs alive, there was much respect to be handed to the man. Except Yoongi had no interest giving him the satisfaction.
So Namjoon made a goal to make his life a living hell.
Namjoons’ eyes flickered over to you, smile softened but gaze sharpened. “The beloved consigliere.” He raked up and down your form. “You look a lot better without business clothes, my lady.”
Yoongis’ grip on your hand tightened as you sat down on the other end of the booth. You pat the back of his hand as a silent comfort.
“Remember why we’re here,” you whispered.
Yoongi nodded. “I know.”
Normally, Yoongi brushed past events of pure greed and showy behaviour. However their syndicate suffered from a planned robbery a week ago. Only one item taken with precision: his mothers’ diamond gun. Everything else was untouched, barely shifted. They knew what they were doing.
You managed to trace it down to Kim Taehyungs’ annual auction. It’ll be natural to assume that Taehyung was the thief but most auction presenters had nothing to do with direct theft. More often than not, they were connected to the thieves to ensure that their place in the web of connections was concealed. Or at least delayed until they could escape to a safe house.
The room darkened; a spotlight shone down the stage. Kim Taehyungs’ lean figure stood proud, adorned in a red silk shirt and his hair curled. A ruby clip glimmered on the side of his head while his rings practically danced on his fingers. “Welcome my beautiful patrons to another friendly exchange of luxuries.” A calculated smile tugged at his lips. “I must say I’ve never seen such variety in a small listing before so this will be one for the ages. The underworld is aware of our rich history, our legends and ancestors who built this country without a trace of credit.”
Taehyungs’ words silenced the crowd to a point where you had to check they were still there.
“Tonight, I have items from each of these legends. Specifically the eight who strengthened that foundation.” Taehyung held a fist up. “Are you all ready?”
An applause indicated their approval earning a satisfied grin from Taehyung.
“Our first item belonged to Don Hayoon of So Pa.” He waved his hand for an assistant to roll the stand into center stage. “A vase made from ox bone and inlaid with gold to create this beautiful marble pattern. Don Hayoon allegedly made it himself during his years of retirement.”
So Pa disbanded eleven years ago due to a police raid in majority of their warehouses but they must’ve missed a few things. Yoongi wondered whether it was taken from the police or the gang itself. The whole retirement story must’ve been a ploy. Don Hayoon had arthritis which is why he had to retire in the first place before embarrassing himself in front of rivals.
Obviously none of these idiots would know that and Taehyung was milking it for what it’s worth.
The price was called and the cards flew up. Anyone with that vase in their house would gain prestige in seconds. It’ll be talked about from all corners of the underworld. Eventually a smug woman in a red suit won the bid.
“I’m surprised you didn’t hold your hand up, Min,” Namjoon spoke. “Considering you’re probably the only person who’s met Don Hayoon.”
“I’ve met him. I’m sure that’s enough for me to go on.” Yoongi landed his hand on your thigh, soft pink chiffon under his rough palm. He squeezed for some kind of comfort and glue to stop him from losing brain cells too early in the night.
“Considering the nature of your parents, I expected you to have more style.”
Nails dents could’ve formed your skin with the way he dug into your thigh. “Darling.” You pulled off his hand.
“Sorry.” Yoongi rubbed the area to somehow soothe it.
“The second item on our list belonged to Don Chun Hei of Mal Pa.” The assistant pushed in the second stand, holding a rose gem necklace which stood on a black velvet altar. “Chun Hei was best known for working closely with the mayor. Her reforms are the very reason these auctions and many other underworld events can be held with elegance and class. This necklace was a gift from the mayor himself. The rose gem is meant to be a culmination of diamond and rose quartz. Whoever made it has long since disappeared but this necklace has carried on this wonderful legacy.”
Chun Hei was someone both you and Yoongi could respect without question. Mal Pa had no age or prestige in the time Chun Hei made a connection to the mayor. She took her simple street gang and turned it into a professional syndicate that still lasted to this day.
You wondered if her descendants knew just the impact she had to the underworld. This item caused a stir amongst the crowd, suffusing the air with an eerie atmosphere of confusion and even anger. As the prices were called out, you noticed two people constantly raising the stakes to the peak until one of them gave up when it stretched too far. Except the one who gained the artefact didn’t look happy. You discovered that the anger came from them. The diamond gun may not have been the only thing stolen.
How many gang leaders was this thief trying to anger?
The power of auctions was the need to be elegant and impressive. Despite a small portion of the crowd knowing what was going on, they couldn’t say anything. Underworld events are where no leader has ultimate power. Everyone had to stay quiet and let the auction proceed.
“The necklace would’ve looked lovely on you, my lady. Perhaps I could buy it off as a gift.” Namjoon rested his hand out on the back of the couch so his fingertips were a breath away from your hair.
“No thank you,” you stated plainly.
If Yoongi didn’t have enough fuel to kill Namjoon before, it was brimming now. Every ounce of patience layered around him so he could sit still on his chair and let the auction go smoothly. He wasn’t going to raise his voice nor his hand first.
“Our third item is a notorious one at best. The famed Sapphire Assassins’ ledger.” Murmurs of recognition spread across the crowd. “Her true name was Mishil, right hand to Don Sungho of Jwi Pa. Sungho was an ambitious gang leader who believed the country’s underworld should have an ultimate master. He anointed himself and hired a professional assassin to kill everyone off on his hit list. Mishil listed all her killings down in this very ledger.”
Excitement coursed through your body seeing the battered old ledger. The blue covers patched with black ink splotches and the pages were tinged brown. You imagined the different ways she could’ve formulated her assassinations; the connections she had to make to be successful in such an elaborate scheme.
“As most of you might be aware, Mishil succeeded in the deaths of many gang leaders. However three gangs were able to execute her and Sungho before chaos could reach its full potential. To this day, no one has ever pulled a deed this vast and destructive. Not a friend to most of our gangs but there is surely a sense of power by having her failed ledger displayed in your home.” Taehyungs’ smirk marked success as soon as he called out for the prices.
Power was a key word to this crowd. While the more hardened members like Yoongi and Namjoon knew it was just a play for sales, Taehyung didn’t relish in the shouting any less.
While your angle wasn’t for power, your fingers still twitched to raise a card. Curiosity tugged at the back of your head, wondering how Mishil managed to gain that many openings and occurrences. Her techniques would’ve been useful in future assignments. All the syndicates you could manipulate for deals and contracts. Getting out of contracts. Anything. So many pieces of information must’ve been overflowing out of that ledger, calling out to you like a siren song. With a small sigh, you calmed the adrenaline pumping through your veins. This auction wasn’t a pleasure trip. You needed to focus.
The ledger was handed off to a man in a navy suit. At best, he would display it on his study like a fool. What a waste.
Reaching into your crystal clutch, you brought out a notepad and pen. If you couldn’t get the ledger now then there is a chance something could be arranged later. The auction was reaching its halfway point which meant the most valuable items are to come now.
“This fourth item belonged to Don Daeshim of Tokki Pa. The gang leader who drove away international syndicates striving to take over the country’s underworld. A bit of a hero. Rumor has it, he took a few drops of blood from each of those international associates and filled this goblet to the top.” Taehyung waved his fingers over the goblet mouth, mesmerizing the crowd like a herd of animals.
You observed the price calling with a brutally sharp eye. It might not seem valuable in the business sense but international associates may have had families and the like. Someone who might want compensation at the right time. You scribbled the description of the one who received the goblet. Thankfully, they had a noticeable scar down their left cheek with a distinguished citrine ring that was only sold by two jewelers.
“I wonder what it’s like having to work for someone you’ve married. Must be a pain hearing requests left to right.” Namjoons’ comment caused another stir in Yoongi but you stayed calm.
“If you think a consigliere simply takes requests then I feel sorry for yours. God forbid they find out they might be worth something more.” You narrowed your gaze.
“The Lady has venom.” Namjoon chuckled. “I mean no insult, of course.”
Yoongi tried to hold in a scoff, biting the inside of his cheek.
Silence spread amongst the three of you as Taehyung announced the fifth item: a gold mask once used to suffocate the Don of Yang Pa so his son could take over quicker. The sixth item was a First Lady’s dress which held at least a kilo of cocaine, hidden in every rhinestone and gem in small portions. It was later confiscated by the police but Gold Dust always knew how to make use of their connections.
Then seventh item caused a stir in Namjoon. For the first time in the night or ever, you noticed a sense of true and pure fury twisting his features.
“Our second to last item is a jade bracelet that belonged to Don Nari of Sutal Pa. A gang as full of mysteries and tragedies as its main rival, Gae Pa. Don Nari was the default leader after a tragic fire struck the Kim family. Leaving her and her young brother the only living descendants.” Taehyung lightly pressed on the bracelet, causing sharp gold spikes to spread out of it. “This was her weapon of choice. People had the habit of grabbing her wrist when they wanted to make a point so she had this bracelet made to show that she was untouched.” He blinked slowly.
“You son of a bitch,” Namjoon whispered under his breath.
“You’re not the only one riled up, Kim. Calm down.” Yoongi glared at Namjoon both as a warning and courtesy nudge to protect himself from embarrassment. “Don’t raise your hand.”
“Fuck off,”
“Namjoon,” Yoongi warned.
Namjoon shifted on his seat, fingers itching to grab onto his gun and shoot the auctioneer right in between his brows.
For once, Yoongi shared his anger. Of all the things they could take from them, they had to target the most precious object tied to a painful memory.
You noted down the buyer immediately. Park Jimin. He was a chain restaurant owner distantly associated with Yoongi but he soon began delving into arts dealing. He should be the easiest one to track down.
Yoongi had been slightly distracted by Namjoons’ downward spiral. His heart jumped before his mind caught up at the sound of his mothers’ name.
“It’s my honor to present to you our final item. The Diamond Gun of Min Areum.”
The gun rested inside a glass case lifted by a velvet lined platform. Lined in gold, encrusted with diamonds, glimmering brighter than the stars in a country sky. Everyone in the audience murmured in excitement, eager to lift their cards for the bidding.
“She was the First Lady of the oldest syndicate alive, Gae Pa. Her life as the wife of Don Min wasn’t pretty and filled with troubles. One day, she took her son to a mysterious jeweler and gave away all her diamond and gold jewelry. See this jeweler specialized in beautifying weapons and he made this priceless work of art. The same gun, Min Areum to shoot down Don Min and take over as Don herself.”
Yoongi could’ve sworn that Taehyung directed a smirk at him. Mocking him of the fact that he had such a prize in his midst. Flailing it right in front of him as a form of public humiliation.
Cards practically flew up to the ceiling in their sheer speed. Prices thrown from the left to right giving Yoongi a headache. He could hear his mothers’ voice, the small purple bruise on left eye as she took him to the jewelry shop every week. It was their only time of peace.
You reached out and touched his thigh, bringing his attention back.
Then a familiar voice brought you both to a still.
“Sold to Kim Namjoon!” Taehyung announced while the crowd huffed and cheered.
Yoongi glared at the man.
“What? You never said I couldn’t buy your shit.” Namjoon relaxed back on the couch, unrelenting in his own glare.
As the auction concluded, Taehyung announced that an afterparty will be held at the top level of Gold Dust. You noticed most of them were ready to jump off their chairs and kill him but he’d already disappeared backstage. Most likely straight to his vehicle so there was no time for anyone to act.
Yoongis’ body radiated a thick air of heat and the glares shared between the two leaders were sharp.
“We’ll settle this where there’s less people, gentlemen. Calm yourselves.” You glanced around at all the patrons and attendees either excitedly murmuring or harshly whispering. It was a strange atmosphere tonight. One can only wish there won’t be any bloodshed.
***
“Are you fucking serious? You know fully well it was stolen from me!” Yoongi growled. Both gang leaders were toe to toe in a dark corner of the club. Others were mingling on their own problems and issues with the auction and some were close to losing their inside voices.
“And I bought it fair and square. Don’t you think it’s a little childish that you’re simply asking me for it?” Namjoon spoke through gritted teeth. “Now get the fuck out of my way. I have business to deal with.”
Yoongi pressed a hand on his chest. “I could give Jimin one word and you’ll never find that bracelet even if it was up your own damn ass. So stay put.”
“I’m the last person you can scare with status, Min. You know this. I’ll snap my fingers—” he raised his hand and snapped his fingers. “—and your wife will be on her knees for me.”
Yoongi pulled out a small silver blade and pressed to Namjoons’ neck. Eyes darkened in fury. Hungry for a taste of his blood staining the floor, for that face to twist in despair.
“Stop it. Both of you.” Your voice struck firm as you pushed them apart. “Don’t you understand why this auction took place?”
Yoongi and Namjoon stared at you in confusion. You sighed in annoyance.
“Someone is trying to play with your minds. Causing you to drop blood so they don’t have to get their hands dirty. Why do you think all those artefacts were dumped into one auction? Where almost all the gangs of this country were attending?” Your eyes flickered from Yoongi to Namjoon. “Doesn’t that sound a little strange? From the naked eye, you’d think they were just silly but clearly—” You gestured at the both of them. “—whatever they’re trying is working. No one knows who the thief is. That causes suspicion and rumors.”
“We start blaming each other for spilling information,” Yoongi continued.
You nodded, relieved that some understanding spread through their faces. “We need to regroup in a neutral zone. Gold Dust isn’t that anymore. Once we find a place and time, we’ll figure what needs to be done. For now, separate.”
The leaders shared another sharp glare at each other before Namjoon walked away. Some of the heads that were turned to them now moved back and Yoongi hid his blade.
“Where’s the fucking restroom?” Yoongi hissed. You took his hand and led him over to the left side of the room, slithering through the crowd.
Two guards were already situated at the doors as Yoongi kept a grip on your hand when you walked into the restroom. The bright lights made him groan in annoyance.
Anyone who saw them enter immediately rushed out. The tension in the auction was so high that nobody wanted to be found near an angry gang leader.
Yoongi leaned forward on the marble sink, breathing ragged and his limbs shaking from anger. The last memory of his mother now rested in someone elses’ hands. Why couldn’t she come up with something less physical? Something that couldn’t be stolen. Namjoon was holding it now. I’ll snap my fingers. He was right. He had the power. There was no ultimate leader to call the shots. Just however reached the flag first. And if he reached first—no. He shook his head. Namjoon wasn’t the problem right now.
He let the water run, wanting the sound to drown any visions or thoughts that made bile reach up to his throat.
“Yoongi,” you muttered, rubbing his arm. “You okay?”
“I tried—I kept my cool but—when you mentioned you—” he rubbed his face roughly. “I—fuck—I could’ve killed him. I could’ve killed him.”
“But you didn’t.” You caressed the back of his head. “It’ll be okay. I know it feels like all the strings that surfaced are jumbled but they’ll come together. We’ve been through much worse than this, okay?”
Yoongi sighed. “I remembered her for the first time in years.” He chuckled sadly. “I thought I lost those memories a long time ago.”
You felt your eyes burn at his voice cracking. Yoongi never talked about his mother. There were only vulnerable moments in the dead of night when Yoongi couldn’t sleep. That was the first time he ever mentioned her. The first time she saw tears in his eyes. “We’ll get it back. No matter what, I promise.” That promise engraved in your mind.
***
The next morning, you rose in nothing but your champagne silk robe and sat at your study. Handwriting letters until your fountain pen emptied of ink and the steaming black coffee turned tepid. Park Jimin held the Kim familys’ prized jade bracelet and Namjoon held the Min Familys’ diamond gun. Clearly, the scandal spread further than the two gangs but your current priority is ensuring a war won’t break out between Namjoon and Yoongi.
Jimins’ death would also result in only chaos.
Gold sunlight gleamed through the white transparent curtains, beaming rays reflecting against the dark mahogany of the study table. Despite the mess in your brain, the morning itself was peaceful. You made sure Yoongi slept a few hours longer than normal so his daily alarm had been temporarily disabled.
Everytime he drowned in his emotions, Yoongi worked himself to the bone as if to make up for his vulnerability. You knew that would only taint the progress they had so far on the investigation.
You sent the letters out through different messengers. They will be followed through an underground trail until it finally reached the two gang leaders. Cupping your now hot cup of coffee, you let out a deep breath, emptying your lungs of the stress as you looked out the painted window of your study.
There was still time left to relax before they started work. Giving the empty cup to a maid, you walked back up to your bedroom.
Yoongi stirred underneath the white, cotton sheets. Bars of gold light shining down his pale skin through the blinds and a cool air kissed your flesh.
Door locked, you padded closer and gently climbed onto the bed. Yoongi draped a tattooed arm over your waist with a drawling hum under his breath.
“Where’d you go?” His voice vibrated through the fabric of the bed, cheek pressed against the pillow and raven hair covered his eyes.
“I sent letters out to the leaders for a meeting.” You kept your voice soft, caressing the dog silhouette on his arm.
Yoongi groaned in annoyance. “I really don’t wanna talk to that asshole. Can’t we do it another time?”
“The most important thing in the world to you has been taken. This is the meeting that’s going to help you get it and you’re going to back down?”
Yoongi rubbed his face before staring at you. “The most important thing in the world to me is lying down right here.”
You smiled, fingers tracing his chest. “The second most important then.”
“That’ll be our dogs.”
You chuckled. “Darling, you know you want it back. This is also going to prevent any brawl between Jimin and Namjoon.”
Yoongi hummed in agreement. In the moment of silence, he reached out and cupped your cheek. You leaned down and kissed him. You moved down, peppering kisses on his jawline and neck.
Yoongi let out a shaky sigh as your lips grazed his chest, gentle brushes against the tender skin where his prior wounds used to be. Trailing your tongue down his torso, the blanket slid off the edges of the bed.
Your hand reached down and gently cupped his crotch, earning a hiss from the man. Yoongi grabbed onto your hair, breaking the kiss so he could look at you. You graced him with a smile. Biting down your lips, you descended down his stomach. Slow pecks down his torso as your fingers hooked the hem of his boxers.
Pulling down the soft material, the tightening member sprung up, blushing at the tip. With another smile, you wrapped your lips around the tip and swallowed the length until it disappeared into your mouth. You closed your throat around his tip before pulling back. Yoongi hummed. Heat exuded from his body blocking out the cool breeze of the air conditioner, adrenaline seeping through his exhaustion.
Spit dribbled down your chin as you took his length again, bobbing you head. Your free hand wrapped around the base, squeezing until you heard a whine. Yoongi fisted the sheets and the other hand buried in your hair. Madness clouded his mind watching your head bouncing on him, drooling at the edges of your mouth and tears glossing your eyes.
Fire burning in the pit of his belly, he held onto both sides of your head and thrusted into your mouth. The tip hit the back of your throat making you whimper. He felt the tightness of his release just hearing the sound of your gagging. The way you obediently stayed still as he fucked your throat. Your panties felt heavy and hot with your arousal, desperately needing to be touched. One hand snuck under your robe, rubbing the soggy material.
Yoongi pulled his length out, enjoying the way you tried to catch your breath before staring up at him in tears. Pulling you back up, he flipped you both around until your body was bent over the soft bed, cheek pressed against the sheets. Pushing up your robe and pulling down your panties down to your knees, he positioned himself at your dripped entrance. Without another warning, he pushed himself in. The sheer squelch and stretch could’ve had you unraveling in seconds.
Vulnerabilities of the early morning had you dripping and softened to the slightest touch of ecstasy. Yoongi shared the same impatience as he fucked into you. Barely any remorse, arousal splattering at every thrust. Nectar dripped through the expensive sheets as the bed shifted from his movements. He grabbed your shoulder to push in deeper until the soft walls of your cervix hugged his tip.
Your moans and his heavy breathing melded together in a melody that reverberated throughout the bedroom. He nudged a thumb through your rim, pushing and hooking before pounding into you again. You fell full and overwhelmed, wanting to explode and fall apart.
You gripped onto the sheets until her nails dug into her own palms. Yoongi pushed your dress up further, caressing your back before smacking your bottom. Another whimper left your lips. He smacked it again.
Yoongi turned you around, lifting you onto his lap. Your back rested on the wood headboard as your arms wrapped around his neck. Sleeves of your robe drooped down your shoulders, barely hanging onto your body. Arousal squirted out of you making both of you laugh. Yoongi let out a blissful sigh as he quickened his pace. The headboard could’ve cracked from the pressure, breathing short and rapid like the speed of his thrusts. Lips latched on the curve of your neck as the pleasure trembled through you.
Before he could mutter anything, you felt the warm liquid burst inside you. Filling your womb until it spilled through the sheets. Yoongi snuck his hand between your legs, pushing you to the edge as your lips barely brushed against each other.
Bliss burst at the seams, ricocheting through every limb until your legs trembled, clasping tight around his hips. Yoongi kissed your jawline and your temple. “Fine.” He breathed out. “One meeting.”
You giggled as your breathing tried to catch up. “Good.”
next chap >>
#yoongi#thebtswritersclub#yoongi imagines#bts imagines#yoongi fanfic#bts fanfic#yoongi fanfiction#bts fanfiction#yoongi mafia au#bts mafia au
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I got to the Bugui auction and the aftermath and so good!
1. CWN instinctively planning to save Song Quitong who he doesn’t know - and he just plans to buy her and free her - because while the morals of that place view butterfly bone beauty feasts as non-people, CWN will never deny anyone’s humanity. I love it so much!
2. The fact that the weapon they are selling is Moran’s Bugui!!!! Honestly even tho it’s a reread, I forget why it reverberates with CWN (other than TXJ was beyond obsessed with CWN? Is it because it’s from the alternate universe and CWN has a splinter of soul from the alternate universe so two alternate universe things call to each other?) But then the fact that Moran forgets even trying to claim his holy weapon, the one he had for over 15 years, because CWN faints and taking care of CWN is more important and he doesn’t even think about it it for a second (also that’s lucky because if Hua Binan sensed Moran reaching for it, he’d try to trap him again then and there.)
3. Moran running, full tilt running, with unconscious CWN in his arms into that inn and the innkeeper taking one look at them and going “yup, boyfriends.” She’s the first one to notice that in the novel long before the two idiots do themselves. EQ does not equal IQ in their case.
4. Moran feeding medicine to CWN spoonful by spoonful and once again the care and sweetness of his concern has a dark dark sting in it because Meatbun takes care to remind the readers once again how he is so familiar with patiently giving him medicine. Ouch. Though the bit of his managing to get the whole bowl into him by lying the next spoonful would be sweet and doing it after every spoonful and CWN buying it kind of makes me want to sniffle. (I love that Moran loves CWN but I love even more that ultimately he cares for him in the sense of practical caring. CWN is so selfless but is so terrible at taking care of himself that it makes him happy that he ends up living with someone who makes sure he is covered by an umbrella when it rains, that the house is clean, that he has delicious food to his taste. Like, Moran’s love language is taking care of someone because he is a very practical person, and I love it. Which is why the things that his him hardest about what CWN has done for him are wontons and feeding him when he was about to starve to death as a child. Because practical care and even more specifically food are his love language.)
5. This is the first time they mention that CWN’s core is fragile and I remember why and I get super emo. Goddammit!
6. Moran losing his mind and basically snapping back to TXJ (sort of) when CWN says what CWN 0.5 said as he was dying is!!!! Also the way he kisses him is not a description of someone who is indifferent or just driven by lust but someone who sees someone who was the meaning of his life that he thought he’d lost and would never see again.
7. The last thing CWN 0.5 said was that it was his fault and that he won’t blame him in life or death, and he was looking gently at TXJ (and elsewhere Meatbun also says he told TXJ to forgive himself) and I remember not getting it at all the first time I read it, thinking CWN either has a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome, feels that he taught Moran badly as his master, is saintly or, most likely, a mix of those three. But in retrospect it makes so much sense and just !!!!! One of the most tragic things about the 0.5 storyline is that even after CWN found the truth, it was too late to change anything - the flower was in Moran 0.5 too long to be removed - he could fix things for the other universe but never for his own. But still, how much innate gentleness does it take to be able to say that - because even if TXJ is as much a victim as he is, he still tortured him even if not in control of his mind/soul and I think few people would he able to look past on an emotional level whatever their brain would tell them.
8. Moran finding Xia Sini’s clasp in CWN’s robes and going “is the kid really his son?” is amazing and hilarious. And CWN thinking “omg the guy I fancy is such a moron” ahahaha- yes he is. (The fact that CWN kept the clasp because Moran gave it to him though is so lovely...)
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All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 15
Chapters: 15/19
Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist
Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.
Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.
He happens to love them back.
Find it on Ao3
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14]
Almost a year into their relationship, Martin's lease comes up.
There's brief romantic talk of them all moving in together, but they're all attached to their own spaces, especially with Gerry needing to keep his art studio, and it trails off without any real resolution.
When Martin's landlord doesn't want to renew and he essentially has no choice but to find a new place to live, he panics.
Jon is with him when he opens the letter, and witnesses the heartbreak on his face, a look far more appropriate to the death of a loved one than to having to move house.
He understands though. This is Martin's first home. The first rent he paid, the first freedom he claimed. The first place he had whispered 'I love you' to Jon, and the first place Gerry had pressed his lips to Martin's.
Jon is settled in his own flat in a more practical way. It's close to the library, Gerry's bar and also to Martin's bookstore, but he still understands Martin's heartache, even if it is detached from his scope of personal attachment.
As Jon takes the time to think things through, he knows they're being silly. When was the last time he had commuted to work from his own flat? And if Martin had to move anyway, why shouldn't the three of them be living together? Gerry would happily spend every spare second with them and frequently tells them so.
At their knock, Gerry opens the door in a pair of leather pants and not much else, hair faded out from navy to a soft violet.
He physically reacts to see Martin tear-stained and Jon frowning intensely at his side.
"Why tears? Who do I need to murder?" Gerry mutters darkly as he draws Martin inside and into his arms.
"He has to move out of his flat," Jon tells him angrily, still standing in the doorway.
"Oh, love." He whispers, rocking Martin gently.
"It's so stupid to cry about it. It's just a shitty little flat." He hiccups into Gerry's chest.
"Fuck that. We all know better than that. That flat was important to you," Gerry retreats further into the studio, dragging his weepy partner with him and leaving Jon to shut the door. "And you're important to us, so here's the plan. Gertrude and I are gonna dig up some dirt, we're gonna have a little chat with your landlord, and he's gonna agree to sell you your flat. Problem solved."
Martin laughs wetly as he is deposited in the cushion pile and Gerry follows him down to sit in front of him and take his hands.
Jon strips his jacket and scarf off and tosses them on the couch (the biggest indication of his upset, really, as he normally always meticulously hangs things up), before flopping down on the floor with them. Martin and Gerry offer a hand each, and they sit in a triangle, connected.
"Gerry, you can't blackmail my landlord into selling me my flat." Martin starts, voice still choked with tears, "Not least of all because I can't afford to buy it anyway. I already have a business loan, not to mention all the debt from before my mother died."
Apparently able to sense any great excess of emotion, Luna and Saturn wander in and both attempt to curl up in Martin's lap. Jon takes Saturn, leaving Luna to her tearful human. Martin smiles gratefully and disentangles his hands to pet behind her ears.
There's silence for a moment as they consider Martin's words. Gerry opens his mouth, closes it, then decides to say what he wants to anyway. "I could lend you the money. Or give it to you. Whichever you prefer."
The look on his face could be accurately described as casually angelic, and he reaches out a hand to stroke Saturn benevolently.
Martin and Jon stare at him, stunned.
"What do you mean?" Jon eventually prods him, incredulously.
Gerry opens his mouth to respond, but Jon senses the sass coming and adds, "A real answer please," rather firmly.
"Fine then," Gerry mutters, rolling his pretty teal eyes. "I have some money in savings. And in investments and stuff, I'm not actually irresponsible, despite what my appearance might imply. And the years I spent galivanting about the county. And Europe." He shrugs, rambling on, "Okay, maybe I am irresponsible."
His partners stare at him for a moment, then exchange a look.
“Define some money?” Jon says, poking him in the ribs. Gerry tells them.
“What!?” At Jon’s exclamation, Gerry blushes from the roots of his hair, and all the way down his bare chest.
"Where did you get it?" Martin finally asks.
"From selling my paintings?" Gerry responds, but it comes out as a question, and he rubs his burning neck in embarrassment.
"And," Jon says, voice carefully neutral; having regained some sense of composure, "why do you keep your job at the bar if you have enough money to casually offer to buy Martin a flat?"
"Don't feel left out Jon, I'll buy your flat too." Gerry offers, smiling at him beatifically.
"Gerry…" Martin lets out his name in the significant tone of voice that lets him know this is a 'serious conversation'™ and to get his shit together.
"Okay, okay," Gerry flaps his hands uncomfortably. "At first it was just because I was convinced that the painting money was gonna dry up and I didn't want to be left in the lurch. I've always operated anonymously and that made it hard to make money as an artist, it was only when Gertrude joined the crusade that I found any success. She insisted that people would buy prints online, and she was right. The digital art and prints were really popular, and it led to people wanting the originals." Gerry pauses and shakes his head in disbelief. "And Gertrude always has to be extra about everything, so she sold them at fucking auction instead of pricing them, which made me seem edgy and exclusive."
"You are edgy and exclusive," Jon interrupts to insist, a slight petulant edge staining his voice.
"Thanks," Gerry mutters, still blushing. "Anyway, so then I had all this money, but I was convinced it wouldn't last and now it's been years and it's only gotten worse and I was panicking so Gertrude took half the money and helped me put it into investments, which have mostly been pretty successful too, so now I have all this fucking money that I don't know what to do with, so Martin, would you like a flat?" Gerry ends his monologue slightly hysterical and Martin laughs out loud at the slight desperation in his voice.
"Do you even own this flat? I've been wondering how you could possibly afford it." Martin asks him, gesturing around at the massive space in one of the most up-and-coming parts of London.
"Yes, it's one of the only significant things I've ever actually paid for with the art money. You know, to do art in."
"And were you ever planning to mention this?" Jon queries, sounding slightly put out. He frowns down at the cat, instead of his ridiculous boyfriend. Saturn decides at that moment that he's had enough belly-rubs, and without warning, sinks his claws in, bites Jon's hand and then scurries off. Jon glares at his fluffy black tail as it disappears up the stairs and Gerry tries very hard not to laugh at him.
"Jonathan!" Martin scolds him, pushing his shoulder gently to regain his attention. "Gerry doesn't have to tell us about his finances."
Jon pouts even harder.
"Jon's right, I should have said something. I just didn't want it to be a big deal." Gerry responds, voice quiet and unusually reserved. He looks a little adrift and helpless, and they can see just how uncomfortable the money talk has made him.
Jon sighs and dislodges the stick from up his ass. "It's not a big deal, love, I'm only surprised. I'm glad it's out the way now." He collects Gerry's hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles.
Gerry relaxes and tugs Jon closer to kiss him, before offering the same to Martin.
They all sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, digesting the day's many revelations.
“Not that I’m not incandescently happy to see you both, but why did you actually come over?” Gerry asks eventually.
“Oh,” Martin sits up straighter, remembering their original objective. He looks down at the cat in his lap, stroking its back in an effort to distract himself. “It’s a little awkward actually.”
Gerry raises his eyebrows, thinking of what could make Martin feel awkward after all the things they’ve done together, occasionally right where they are currently sitting.
"Do tell." Gerry urges him. Martin and Jon share a look. Gerry rolls his eyes at the pair of them. "Come on, guys, whatever it is, just tell me. It can't possibly be that bad. Unless you're breaking up with me? Because fuck that."
"No, Gerry," Jon says, sounding amused. "The opposite."
"The opposite?" Gerry asks, frowning.
"Yes, the opposite," Jon tells him more firmly. "We were thinking," Martin makes a small nose at this, "that is, I was thinking, that since Martin has to move anyway, the three of us should finally take the plunge."
"You know," Gerry mutters peevishly, "I love riddles as much as the next overdramatic goth with a young adult book obsession, but could you please spit it the fuck out."
"Jonthinksweshouldallmoveintogetherhere." Martin finally rushes out, breathlessly.
"Martin, baby, those are separate words."
He takes a deep breath and tries again. "Jon thinks we should all move in together, here, with you."
Gerry sits up taller abruptly, a wide grin spreading over his handsome face. "What, really? You actually want to."
"Well, yes," Jon says, although his voice still sounds nervous.
"Okay great. Luna and Saturn are gonna love this." Gerry jumps up excitedly. "So I know you guys like having your own personal space, and I always have my art shit everywhere, but I've been thinking and I think we can make you both comfortable here too."
Martin and Jon share a perplexed look at Gerry's sudden frenetic burst of energy.
"We'll be comfortable here no matter what," Martin rushes to reassure him.
"Hush," Gerry speaks over him. "We both know you're just saying that because you feel like an inconvenience. But you're not and we all have to make this our home. Come, come on, I want to show you."
Gerry grabs a hand from each of them and drags them behind him and around and under the wide stairs that lead up to the loft space.
He leads them to two doors under the stairs, leading them into one. It's a large storeroom, technically, and Gerry has filled it with extra paint, canvases of many different sizes, and a plethora of other painting supplies. There aren't any windows, and the industrial light makes the space look stark. The scent of oil paint and turpentine is pervasive, but homey since those are things they associate heavily with Gerry himself.
"They're both the same. I've been thinking that if you two ever did want to move in here, you could take one each. A creative space just for yourselves, or your own bedrooms if you need some space once in a while. If you want them." His typical self-confidence is slightly lacking, the nervous twist of his fingers belaying his nerves at the admission.
"Oh Gerry," Martin says with something akin to wonder in his voice.
"But aren't you using them?" Jon asks, never one to let romanticism come in the way of practicality.
Gerry shrugs, "I've been thinking of having cupboards installed in the studio space and moving all this in there anyway. It will be more convenient for me when I'm working and it will be worth it to have you here all the time."
Gerry pauses, brow furrowing. "I've also considered moving the art studio in here so you two don't have to trip over my art stuff all the time."
Martin and Jon both understand the significance of that offer, knowing that Gerry's favourite things about this place are the high ceilings, giant windows, and natural lighting at most times of the day and even at night.
"You would be willing to give up your art space for us?" Martin asks in some wonder.
"Well yeah, of course," Gerry says as if it's obvious. "We'll all have to share the bedroom then, but the living space will be bigger. Whatever you would prefer."
"Just like that?" Jon's blunt incredulity finally tips Gerry off to their shock.
"Oh come on. I obviously haven't been a very good boyfriend if you two don't already know that you're more important to me than painting." It was the most romantic thing Gerry could say to anyone, really.
Martin kisses him, tearing up again.
"What did I say? Don't cry, love." He reaches up to wipe the tears away, and Martin offers him a wobbly smile.
Jon goes over to kiss him too. "You love us more than art."
"We're going in circles here. Yes, I love you both more than literally anything." Gerry is starting to wonder if they're being obtuse on purpose.
"We love you too," Jon tells him emphatically.
"Of course you do. I'm delightful." They all dissolve into laughter at that, the weighty mood breaking with it.
"So do you think you'll both be happy here?" Gerry asks when the laughter has faded.
Even standing in the mildly dusty storeroom and breathing in paint fumes, Jon knows the answer already. "I think we might be able to make it work."
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FALL DRABBLEFEST 2020 NOW OPEN!!!
THE GUIDELINES
The objective of the Drabblefest is to publish as much fanfiction as possible for a fandom that desperately needs it!
Find a prompt you like on the list and just write something. There are only two requirements: it has to be at least drabble length (but it can be as long as you want!) and the main pairing has to be Ace/Nancy.
Anyone can participate at any skill level. Even if you have never written a fic before or if it’s been years…give it a try.
You can use as many prompts as you want. You can also combine prompts. There is no limit to the amount of prompts you can use and more than one person can use the same prompts. Make sure you mention the prompt in your author notes.
Please tag your fics #nacedrabblefest so that they can be reblogged.
If you cross-post to Archive of Our Own, please tag your fics as part of the 2020 Ace/Nancy Fall Drabblefest. You can also add a link back to the blog if you want. It may encourage more participation.
Comments? Questions? Comment below or hit the askbox.
GOOD LUCK!!! HAPPY WRITING!!
DRABBLEFEST DATES:
SEPTEMBER 29th- NOVEMBER 15th
THE PROMPTS ARE LISTED BELOW THE CUT---------------
Detailed Scenarios:
Nancy is secretly pining for Ace while he's dating somebody else.
Ace buys Nancy a first edition copy of “All The President’s Men”.
Nancy knows about Ace's whereabouts before Bess without even thinking.
Ryan gives Nancy unsolicited advice about not running from love even if you're scared...forcing her to confront her denial over her feelings for Ace.
Nick is concerned for Ace regarding his growing relationship with Nancy; he doesn't want Ace getting hurt because of Nancy's trust issues...but Ace knows what he "signed up for" and is okay with it.
Gilmore Girls-ish AU: Ryan raises Nancy in Horseshoe Bay cut off from his family and runs the ice cream parlor him and Lucy loved. Nancy and Ace grow up as best friends.
Nancy and Ace go undercover as newlyweds.
Nancy asks Ace for help with solving a case for Carson.
Nancy is annoyed/jealous when a new waitress at The Claw flirts with Ace...but doesn't want to admit it.
Nancy Drew's News starts posting anonymous gossip involving The Drew Crew leading to some interesting revelations.
When Ace is arrested for hacking, Nancy moves hell and earth to clear his name.
Nancy and Ace's PDA disgusts George and delights Bess.
The Drew Crew spends the day at the beach and Nancy low-key thirsts for Ace's body.
Ace and Nancy get trapped in an elevator forcing them to confront their feelings for each other.
Nancy goes speed dating with Bess, but all she can think about is Ace.
Bess cons George into helping her get Ace and Nancy together.
Laura returns at the moment Ace and Nancy's UST hits a boiling point.
Laura is getting married and wants the Drew Crew to attend her wedding.
George notices that both Ace and Nancy are very tired at work and comments on it.
Ace offers to give Nancy a massage when her neck won't stop hurting.
Nancy and Ace laugh over an inside joke and George thinks it's super weird.
Ace and Nancy dance.
Ace and Nancy have a secret relationship ala Monica and Chandler.
When their young daughter asks the moment they fell in love with each other, Ace and Nancy realize it's the same moment.
Ace gets a haircut.
Ace tells Nancy the story of how and why he was arrested for hacking.
Nancy and Ace stumble into a case on their honeymoon.
Ace realizes he's in love with Nancy, but decides to keep it to himself.
Carson witnesses a "moment" between Nancy and Ace and attempts to subtlety ask her about it.
The Drew Crew gives Lucy a proper burial.
Nancy goes over to Ace's place instead of Owen's on the night she discovers her true identity.
Nancy hates Halloween, but Ace loves it.
When a person dresses up as Dead Lucy at The Claw's Halloween party, Ace comforts a distressed Nancy (and also throws that person out).
Bess, George, and Nancy have an old fashioned sleepover for Bess's birthday. When Nancy gets a text from Ace, the girls tease her about her smile...but it turns into a serious conversation about her true feelings.
Nancy meets Ace's brother.
Ace and Nancy share their first kiss in the rain.
Ace and Nancy's first time is in an unusual setting.
Ace and Nancy have a stupid fight that leads to a super hot make-up.
Nancy talks to Ace about her recent traumas. He encourages her to make up with Carson.
Carson and Ace talk about Nancy. He thinks they're good for each other.
Ace and Nancy Facetime before bed.
Ace and Nancy go on a road trip that links to his past.
Ace and Nancy exchange earrings as a sign of their commitment to each other.
Nancy thinks Ace's hacking is a major turn-on.
When the girls are busy, Ace and Nick must solve their own supernatural case.
Ace and Nancy discover their fake elopement (for a case) was real! Comedy ensues.
When Nancy's fansite openly ships them, Nancy and Ace rethink their relationship.
Truth Serum is slipped into The Drew Crew's drinks.
Ace and Nancy share a moment before she's forced to flee town with Ryan.
Ace takes Nancy to an escape room for their first date.
Nancy sees Ace's scar from the crash.
After yet another near death experience, Ace and Nancy realize they can't keep ignoring their feelings and finally do something about it.
When the rest of the Drew Crew is out of town, Ace and Nancy must run The Claw together for the entire weekend with hilarious results.
George figures out Ace and Nancy's code word for sex.
After a fight involving Algaeca-related tension, the group fractures. Nancy flees to the Bluffs. Aces goes after her.
An anonymous love letter is found at The Claw and everyone thinks it's from a different person. Chaos ensues! Revelations come to light! Based on the classic episode of Full House [4x11: "Secret Admirer"].
Nancy's ex-high school friends comes back into the picture. Ace poses as her boyfriend to help her deal with them.
Ace watches Nancy as she falls asleep.
Nancy asks Ace out on a date.
Ace and Nancy's first date goes horribly wrong, but ends incredibly right.
Nancy learns Ace’s real name.
A jealous Nancy tries to win a date with Ace at The Claw’s charity auction.
Ace and Nancy confide in Bess separately about their feelings for each other but make her promise not to interfere.
Nancy and Ace accidentally wear matching costumes to The Claw’s Halloween party.
Nancy and Ace have matching soulmarks.
Nancy and Ace become friends long before working at The Claw.
To get a vital piece of evidence or scope out suspects/locations for a case, Ace & Nancy have to pose as a couple, or even if not, someone makes reference to them as such.
An evil spirit (possibly the Algaeca or something) infiltrates Horseshoe Bay & is able to take the form of its residents, namely Nancy (or Ace). It takes the other person to figure out it’s not them, & how to get the real person back.
A situation occurs where Ace has to protect Nancy from the Hudsons [physically and/or Nancy and Ace team up].
Nancy and Ace get high together (safely).
Dialogue Snippets:
“I don’t believe in regret.”
“Mmmmm...don’t leave this bed.”
“Kiss me and don’t stop.”
"I don't want to fight this anymore."
“I know I said I just wanted to be friends, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m not scared anymore. I want us.”
"Ace is the best. We all need an Ace in our life."
"I don't want to leave."
“You’re my inspiration Nancy.”
“So, you’re the famous Nancy Drew! All my son does is talk about you. I’m his mom.”
“I trust you more than anyone else in my entire life, Ace.”
“I never thought I’d love someone this much.”
“I want you to be my partner.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“I’m worried about you Nancy. The Hudsons are dangerous.”
“I had a dream where we were together and it just felt so right.”
“Do you want to go back to my place?”
“Stay the night.”
“I wasn’t ready for us before...but I’m ready now.”
“Do YOU know what missing frames are?”
“Stay.”
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Tears of Themis: Main Story 4-11 Translation
Chapter 4 – Heart’s Fire: 4-1 / 4-3 / 4-5 / 4-6 / 4-8 / 4-9 / 4-11 / 4-12 / 4-13 / 4-15 / 4-17 / 4-18
Translation Masterlist: here
Video: 【未定事件簿��第四章《心火》剧情_哔哩哔哩 (゜-゜)つロ 干杯~-bilibili
Lu Jinghe and I found a decent amount of information in Huang Haochu’s book room - there was Yuan Ting’s file, as well as information on Zhang Zhuo’s family members.
Conducting a comparison on the information between the two items, I had a bold guess.
At the same time, Lu Jinghe also found that Huang Haochu had been in contact with a private doctor who was not a doctor who treated mental illnesses.
Lu Jinghe: The visitors of Cheng Kai’s clinic are mostly superstars and rich businessmen. Their confidentiality is very good.
Lu Jinghe: The most lucrative service of their clinic is paternity testing. Zhang Zhuo was one of his visitors.
[Got Private Doctor’s Name Card!]
MC: Yuan Ting just might be another son of Zhang Zhuo.
ANALYSIS START
Yuan Ting might be Zhang Zhuo’s son. The most obvious coincidence is…
Zhang Hao’s personal information: Zhang Hao is the editor of an art magazine. His birthday is January 7th, and he is 30 years old.
Yuan Ting’s birthday: Yuan Ting’s birthday is January 7th, and he is 30 years old.
MC: Zhang Hao was born on January 7th. Yuan Ting’s birthday is also this day. Plus, both are 30 years old this year.
Lu Jinghe: So, Zhang Zhuo’s wife might have given birth to twins that year.
Lu Jinghe: But the Zhang family has always outwardly maintained that they have only one child.
Twins: Zhang Zhuo has been searching for his lost child for years, and Yuan Ting was born on the same day as Zhang Zhuo’s son, Zhang Hao. There is a high likelihood that they are twins.
The stolen baby: 30 years ago, on January 8th, a case where a baby was kidnapped occured.
MC: If one of the twins was stolen right after birth, then the Zhang family’s explanation is reasonable.
MC: The case of the kidnapped baby at the municipal hospital occured that year on January 8th, and Zhang Hao and Yuan Ting’s birthdays on January 7th align with that case.
Lu Jinghe: Teacher Huang’s guess was probably the same as yours, or else he wouldn’t pay special attention to this case.
Lu Jinghe: He never married, and strived to keep his hands clean of immorality.
Lu Jinghe: If he didn’t have his doubts about Yuan Ting’s life experience, then why would he get involved with a doctor who does paternity testing?
Lu Jinghe: Looking at how Yuan Ting was acting, I bet Zhang Zhuo got the paternity test report. The father and son have met before.
Yuan Ting’s reason for resignation: Yuan Ting’s reason for resigning was that he won a big lottery, and would go home to enjoy the life of a rich person.
Yuan Ting’s medicinal ointment: Yuan Ting had traces of medicinal ointments on him. The smell of them was like that of medicine ointments for bruises or burns. But from Yuan Ting’s external appearance, he was not hurt.
MC: Do you want to discuss Yuan Ting’s reason for resigning?
MC: He never actually did win the lottery, yet he said that he had gotten rich and even resigned from his work. The truth is, he probably found his father by birth.
Lu Jinghe: If Zhang Zhuo had not received the paternity test, he would not have reached out to Yuan Ting.
Lu Jinghe: Waking up from slumber to find that oneself is some country’s prince - this must have approximately been Yuan Ting’s experience.
Lu Jinghe: But he never thought that what was waiting for him wasn’t riches and happiness - it was despair.
MC: Right, did you notice earlier that Yuan Ting had traces of medicine ointments on his body?
Lu Jinghe: Medicine ointments? Are you talking about… burn ointments?
MC: That’s right. I thought earlier that that smell was very specific, but I was quite familiar with it.
MC: Because the burn medicine I use at home also has that smell. I’d use it when I burn my hands from making food.
Lu Jinghe: Zhang Hao was severely burned and stays in a care home. If Yuan Ting already knew about his lot in life, then he would definitely go to see Zhang Hao.
Lu Jinghe: The burn medicine probably smudged onto him there.
MC: Using the medicine as circumstantial evidence, it increases the certainty that Yuan Ting knew Zhang Zhuo’s family members.
Lu Jinghe: Your observation is very detailed. Do you usually watch me this carefully too?
MC: Usually I’m only concerned about the things that suspects have done.
ANALYSIS COMPLETE
MC: We’ve thought this whole time that Yuan Ting is very suspicious, though we don’t have a way of classifying him as a suspect, just because he lacks a motive to murder Huang Haochu.
MC: But if he really is Zhang Zhuo’s son, then his motive is ample.
Lu Jinghe: The private clinic must have revealed Yuan Ting’s identity results to Teacher Huang. Huang Haochu was able to guess that Yuan Ting came for revenge.
Lu Jinghe: So when Yuan Ting made his move, Teacher Huang, who wholeheartedly wanted to atone, did not resist in any way.
MC: The auction goods swap wasn’t even Huang Haochu’s actions. Why did he bother taking on all of the guilt onto himself?
Lu Jinghe: It was likely to be his depression, making his thought process particularly pessimistic.
Lu Jinghe: I’ll have my assistant think up of a way to get that paternity test report from that clinic.
Lu Jinghe: Otherwise, our theories earlier won’t have supporting evidence. In court, they won’t be persuasive.
MC: If we now assume that Yuan Ting is the murderer, then how did he murder Huang Haochu?
MC: Even if he knew that Cui Yuan would come to Huang Haochu’s house that night, he couldn’t be sure that Cui Yuan would definitely remove his tie and fight with Huang Haochu.
MC: He must have prepared other methods of committing the crime. It was just that taking advantage of Cui Yuan’s tie made it more complete, so he changed plans.
ANALYSIS START
Yuan Ting’s original crime plan was most likely…
Rum: Yuan Ting knew that Cui Yuan would come visit. He specifically prepared a bottle of rum for Huang Haochu and Cui Yuan.
Yuan Ting’s dubious points: Yuan Ting might have held onto the cyanide drugs that Huang Haochu had planned to have thrown away. He put them into the drawer after Huang Haochu was killed. He knew about Cui Yuan’s visiting time. He took advantage of the conditions to commit the crime.
Lu Jinghe: Do you still remember that bottle of rum?
MC: You’re talking about the bottle that Cui Yuan brought up - the rum that Yuan Ting specifically prepared for them!
MC: You’re right. Not only the alcohol, there’s also how Yuan Ting handled the disposal of the cyanide.
MC: His original plan was likely to put the poison in the alcohol!
Lu Jinghe: Based on Cui Yuan and Huang Haochu’s habits when discussing things, they were likely to drink alcohol.
Lu Jinghe: And Yuan Ting possessed the cyanide pills that Teacher Huang originally planned to use to commit suicide. He could have easily put it in the alcohol.
MC: If on the night of the 12th, Huang Haochu and Cui Yuan drank the poisoned wine, and the police found out about it - Yuan Ting could just say that the poison was put in by Huang Haochu.
MC: Cui Yuan and Huang Haochu did not agree about the matter of the swapped auction goods. The media embellished the matter without restraint. Huang Haochu also had depression.
MC: He wanted to commit suicide, and dragged his partner in to die together - that would be logical.
Lu Jinghe: Yuan Ting did not think that Cui Yuan wouldn’t open the alcohol. This impeded his plan, but it didn’t change the ending of the matter.
Lu Jinghe: Using the tie that Cui Yuan left behind to kill Teacher Huang, he was still able to kill two birds with one stone, and let Cui Yuan pay the price for the swapping case.
MC: But how did Yuan Ting monitor everything that happened in the book room, being able to make his move against Huang Haochu right after Cui Yuan left?
One-storey Toolshed: Under the window of the book room, there is a toolshed. There are abandoned tables and chairs on the roof. Outsiders could use the height of the roof and the tables/chairs to get to the outside of the second-floor book room and monitor all activities going on inside.
Crime plan (1): Yuan Ting’s original crime plan was to use Huang Haochu’s cyanide to poison the rum.
MC: I know - he stood on the roof of the toolshed on the first storey, sneakily listening to what was happening in the book room.
Lu Jinghe: That should be right. It’s very easy to get into the flower garden downstairs. It’s also hard for someone standing outside a room to be noticed by people at night.
Lu Jinghe: Plus, after Cui Yuan left, Yuan Ting also most likely opened the window while on the toolshed to get into the book room.
Lu Jinghe: So the police were only able to find the records of only Cui Yuan leaving.
ANALYSIS COMPLETE
MC: When Yuan Ting committed the crime, he most likely noticed that Huang Haochu did not resist.
MC: So after Huang Haochu died, he placed the remaining cyanide pills into Huang Haochu’s drawers.
MC: He wanted to mislead the police, making the police think that Huang Haochu had suicidal intentions.
Lu Jinghe: Yuan Ting must have gotten rid of the bottle of rum on the same night.
MC: If all our theories are established, then how do we explain how Yuan Ting was not at the scene as a witness?
Select: Identity as a twin
MC: Twins!
MC: Wouldn’t Zhang Hao and Yuan Ting look very much alike?
Lu Jinghe: So you’re saying… that Yuan Ting used Zhang Hao’s ID card to buy tickets for the high-speed rail, and returned to Stellis City at the time of the crime.
MC: That’s right. If they’re identical twins…
MC: Yuan Ting could choose to use his identity to go to the neighbouring province, and then use Zhang Hao’s identity to return to Stellis City and commit the crime.
Lu Jinghe: After committing the crime, he used Zhang Hao’s identity a second time to return to the neighbouring province, until the police contacted him about Teacher Huang’s murder, when he used his own identity to return to Stellis City.
MC: Exactly!
Lu Jinghe: I’ll have someone check on Zhang Hao’s ride records.
MC: Zhang Hao doesn’t even have mobility at all. If he took a high-speed rail ride during the period of time the crime happened, then Yuan Ting won’t be able to wash himself clean of suspicion!
Lu Jinghe: Also, what is in that password-protected file on Teacher Huang’s laptop? Could it be related to this case?
MC: Let’s search around the book room. Maybe we’ll be able to find the password.
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I came up with a funny role for young Lee van Cleef
A character named Georgie Ann (Lee van Cleef) is an art student who likes hippie fashion and even socializes with them. Georgie is the son of a Sheriff and was raised strictly, which is why Georgie likes to organize a quiet protest against law-abiding life. At the same University there is a medical school and his friend Steve is studying to be a pharmacist. Georgie worries about Steve and always helps him learn, and also supports his desire to learn how to draw pictures (you can say that Georgie is Steve's tutor). Steve went to University by a miracle, his parents come from a city near the Mexican border, they have no education and would prefer that their son also grow marijuana. They are good people in terms of character, it's just easier for them to live. Steve confronts them because they want him to come home and decide to cut off his funding for his life in the big city (in fact, they only planned to scare him). Then Steve decides to participate in poker games with money bets in order to be able to pay for the rent of his room and much more.
Steve knows that Georgie can help him and give him a room in his house (Georgie's father wouldn't mind). But Steve has complexes and that's why he's acting stupid. He doesn't tell Georgie about his problems, but asks him to play poker with him at the club to earn money. Georgie is even better at poker than Steve, but Steve only asks him to notice the cheating of his opponents. Georgie realizes that his friend is not telling the whole truth, but agrees, because he knows that Steve will still take part in the games. Georgie hopes that his friend will trust him and tell the truth.
In parallel with the development of the Steve problem, Georgie is also not so smooth. Georgie learns that one of the professors draws Nude portraits of female students (minors) and harasses them, but Georgie has no proof for the police (his father is on vacation), who accept his statement, but does not believe that a famous Professor does such things. Georgie is very good at drawing and he is a gambling man, he wants to bring the Professor to the surface. Georgie begins to frequently communicate with a first-year student named Mina, who tolerates the Professor's harassment and does not mind turning him in to the police. Together they come up with a plan that Georgie will draw it and send it to auction at the club where this Professor sells his paintings. However, neither Georgie nor Mine don't know which club is visited by the Professor and because Georgie is forced to move in with him and trust that he is lying. Georgie first plans to play the role that he is interested in the same thing as the Professor, namely underage girls depicted in the pictures (and not only), but Georgie notices that the Professor flirts with him and plays along with him. In the end, the Professor tells him the name of the club and how to get to the auction, promises to help him in this.
When Steve comes to Georgie with a request to help him with a poker game, Georgie immediately tells him which club they will play at. Georgie does not tell the whole truth about the situation to Steve, because she wants to provoke a friend to open up to each other. But Steve is still not honest. Georgie arranges with Mina that She will help them play poker (the Professor will agree to help her get into the club too), because Georgie can't afford to lose, he decides that if he wins, he will be guaranteed a place at the auction in an independent position from the Professor. Georgie doesn't tell Steve that she wants to win and not help him during the game (he will give the money to Steve when he finds out why he needs it). Mina is studying to be a journalist and she has a very brave character, she will be responsible for collecting evidence and will call the police if necessary. It is in Mina's interest to protect the University students and shed the truth on the Professor's identity.
Georgie tells everything to his father and he promises to help because his father would also not leave the Professor unpunished.
Georgie and Steve are essentially each other's opponents when playing poker and the other people at the table are just empty seats for them. Their struggle to win represents Georgie's desire to get a friend to tell the truth and Steve's desire to do everything possible to financially support themselves. Georgie wins, but she doesn't forget her main problem. The Professor is next to him throughout the game and shows signs of romantic attention. Mina pretends to be Georgie's girlfriend to save him from harassment. The auction begins. Mina informs the police officer who was assigned to them by Georgie's father. And Georgie decides to finally trust Steve, because she wants him to steal a painting that shows a naked Mina and no one can buy it. Steve is not happy that Georgie didn't trust him up to this point and Georgie reproaches him that Steve himself must be honest if he expects the same from others.
At the auction, there are paintings of the Professor (they are sexual content). The police officer gives a signal to his colleagues that they need to start the arrest. The auction breaks down, but the Professor had a gun and he escapes, and Steve steals the painting during the noise and gunshots. Georgie at this time takes Mina out of the building, where they meet with the escaped Professor. The Professor understands and threatens Georgie. However, Steve sneaks up behind him and hits him with the painting. Steve was very afraid for Georgie's life and so overcomes himself and tells him the truth about his motives. Georgie gives him the money, but Steve tells him to keep it with Georgie for now. Steve understands that he needs to talk honestly with his parents, not fight with them and answer their calls (he didn't answer more than 20 calls). Georgie tells him that you can live in his house. Steve thanks him.
Georgie's father arrives and friends go to his house. Mina won't be allowed in the University Dorm at night. Mina asks both friends if they can be described in the article and they agree. The Professor has been arrested.
Hell, I'd watch a movie like this.I should be a Director.
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Fic: The Real Housewives of Storybrooke (11/?)
A fic based on this premise here, following the lives of Storybrooke’s elite wives, with all the scandal, bitching and backstabbing that goes on behind the scenes of high society…
This verse is open for prompts!
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[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [AO3]
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REGINA
Regina would admit that however hopeless she was feeling at the prospect of her forthcoming meeting (well, meeting was the polite term for it, Regina was privately thinking of it as a battle to the death), the sight of her family outside the town hall buoyed her up considerably.
Robin, Tilly and Robyn had been standing outside the building since seven o’clock in the morning, waving banners reading ‘Save Storybrooke’s Green Spaces’ and accosting passers-by with leaflets that Tilly had spent all of the previous day photocopying whilst Robyn researched local environmental protection laws. Regina had no idea how successful they would be in recruiting people to their cause, but she couldn’t fault their enthusiasm. Tilly even had a megaphone, although Regina had no idea where she’d got it from.
“Hi Aunt Gina!” Robyn waved her over. “I know we don’t look too impressive at the moment, but Marian said she’d be along soon and David Nolan’s coming too. He’s bringing Emma and Bae. Or maybe they’re bringing him.”
“Well, however many of you there are, I just hope it makes a difference,” Regina said. “I really do appreciate all your efforts.”
She didn’t want to sound too pessimistic, especially after they’d been to so much trouble, but at the same time, the chances of being able to stop Belfrey in their tracks were extremely slim. Most of the paperwork was already underway.
“It’ll be ok.” Robin came over and put an arm around her. “You know that whatever happens, we believe in you completely.”
“I know, and I am grateful for that, but all the belief in the world isn’t going to help if I can’t get this development blocked.”
“Well, if the worst comes to the worst then we can always fall back on Mary Margaret’s plan to save us all with sheer audacity.” Robin smiled. “Go on. You can at least buy her some time to yell at her board.”
Regina nodded. “You’re right; I should be focussing on that. I’ve spent so long thinking that this is a fight I’m having alone.”
“You’ve done a lot of things on your own in your life, but you can rely on others, you know. When we say that we believe in you and we’re here for you, that’s what we mean.”
Robin kissed her cheek, and Regina twisted so that she could plant one full on his lips instead.
“Easy tiger.” He chuckled. “Now, go and do what you do best.”
Regina steeled herself and entered the town hall. Fiona Ebony and Victoria Belfrey were both already there in the large meeting room, plans and artists’ impressions spread out over the table in front of them.
“Ah, Regina, I’m so glad that you could join us.” Fiona’s voice was honey sweet, and Regina just raised an eyebrow as she took her seat. She had been working with Fiona for far too long to fall for any of her tricks.
Victoria launched into her prepared spiel, and Regina let her speak for a while before interrupting.
“Don’t you think it’s slightly premature to be making these plans now? I mean, the bidding window for the land still hasn’t closed; we’re all talking about this like it’s a done deal already.”
“Regina, dear, I really think that if anyone else was going to make a bid for the land, then they would have done it already.”
“Not necessarily. Last minute bids are often the most successful; ask any auctioneer.”
“Really…” Fiona was cut off by a screech of static from outside the building and Tilly’s voice yelling into her megaphone.
“Save Storybrooke’s green spaces! No new housing developments!”
Regina tried and failed to hide her smile as Fiona got up and went over to the window, opening it and yelling at the protestors outside. It had very little impact, not even when she threatened to call the sheriff. Graham had always been sympathetic to the cause and would likely just join them.
Accepting that she wasn’t going to get anywhere, Fiona returned to her seat and the conversation resumed, punctuated occasionally by Tilly’s shouting.
Regina sat back in her chair. Neither of the other women were listening to her, so she might as well bide her time and not waste her breath. One thing that she had learned about local politics throughout all her years in it was that you had to pick your moments, and right now wasn’t one of them. At least Tilly and the others were setting Victoria’s teeth on edge.
There was a timid knock on the door and Astrid, Fiona’s secretary, popped her head round.
“I’m very sorry to disturb you, Ms Ebony, but I have Sidney Glass from the Blanchard Group on the phone about the land bid.”
“What?” Fiona looked over at Regina. “Did you know about this?”
Regina just smiled benignly. “I did say that it was a little premature.”
Fiona huffed and turned to Astrid. “Tell him I’m busy.”
Astrid nodded and left the room.
Five minutes later, she was back.
“Erm, Ms Ebony, I have Mary Margaret Blanchard from the Blanchard Group on the phone. I told her you were busy but she’s not taking no for an answer. Every time I hang up she calls back.”
Fiona heaved a huge sigh and left the room to take the call. Victoria Belfrey was glaring daggers at Regina, but she just smiled, immune to Victoria’s rage.
Mary Margaret had come through.
BELLE
For the first time since she had begun actively trying to get pregnant, Belle suddenly had no desire to take a pregnancy test. She was feeling faintly nauseous at the prospect and she couldn’t tell whether it was out of anxiety, psychosomatic as a result of her other symptoms, or genuine morning sickness.
She paced up and down the bedroom, tapping the box against her hand. Mrs Potts was sitting on the end of the bed, knitting. Belle had called her up from the kitchen a moment of indecision so strong that she needed someone to work through it with her, and since Cameron was out of town with Mary Margaret trying to hash out the spectre of Belfrey Developments on the horizon, Mrs Potts was really her only option. She’d spent half an hour regaling the housekeeper with all her pent-up fears and frustrations, with the result that she now had nothing left to say and she really needed to pee.
She was late. She’d left it a week to make absolutely sure, but her period had shown no signs of arriving. If she was to take a test now and it was negative, Belle didn’t know what she would do, apart from cry her eyes out.
“Love, I think it might be best just to get it over with,” Mrs Potts said gently. “You’re going to have to bite the bullet sooner or later. Whatever happens, I’m right here for you.”
Belle nodded and went into the bathroom, feeling sicker than ever. The wait for the result was agonising, and when the timer on her phone went off, she couldn’t bring herself to turn the thing over, handing it to Mrs Potts instead.
“Oh Belle.” She felt Mrs Potts’ arms come around her. “Oh Belle, love.”
Belle closed her eyes. “I can’t tell if this is commiseration or celebration, Mrs P.”
“You’re going to have a baby, Belle.”
Belle’s eyes shot open and she looked at the pregnancy test that Mrs Potts was holding up in front of her face. Pregnant.
For a long time, she couldn’t say anything. After so long trying, it hardly seemed real that it had finally happened.
Embarrassingly, her first reaction was to let out a noise that could have been anything from a squeak to an outright scream, and then to burst into tears, and then to throw her arms around Mrs Potts whilst she sobbed snottily against the housekeeper’s shoulder.
“It’s all right, love,” Mrs Potts soothed. “Let it all out. I know how much this has been praying on your mind. You need the relief now, so just let it go. Everything’s all right.”
Belle didn’t know how long she stayed in her turmoil of emotions, everything from excitement to disbelief to fear that it was all a dream and back again, but finally, she had cried herself dry, and she realised that she was sitting in a sea of paper hankies whilst Mrs Potts rubbed her back.
“I bet you feel better after that now, don’t you?”
Belle nodded.
“Oh, Mrs Potts. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I’m so happy!”
Mrs Potts just smiled and patted her cheek. “I hope that everything goes smoothly, and you have the very best experience you could hope for.”
“Right now, I don’t care if I have the most horrific pregnancy ever, as long as I have a healthy baby at the end of it.” Belle’s hands came to her abdomen. “It’s really happening. I can’t believe it.”
Mrs Potts left her alone with her thoughts, and Belle fell to pacing up and down the bedroom, having cleared all the tissues off the blankets. She was desperate to let Cameron know as soon as possible, but she knew that he was in the middle of something important and she didn’t want to distract him. Besides, she would far rather tell him in person. She didn’t even know how she would word it, so being able to just hand him the pregnancy test would be the easiest way.
The wait for him to come home was agonising but made less so by Bae’s arrival home – Tilly had gone out with Robyn. His tales of their small but nonetheless exuberant protest outside the town hall kept her amused until she heard Cameron’s key in the lock, but even Bae could tell that she was abstracted, and he slipped away quietly as his father entered the living room. Whether he had guessed her secret or not, Belle didn’t know, but he knew how much she wanted a baby, and he’d always been shrewd beyond his years.
“How did it go?” she asked, trying to keep her tone nonchalant. If it had been a terrible day, then maybe he wouldn’t be quite as receptive to her news as he might otherwise have been. On the other hand, it might be welcome good news to him that would be a bright point.
“Good.” Cameron smiled and came over to kiss her. “I think that we’ve got everything sorted out. Of course, there are many more legal complications and loopholes to go through, and I won’t be entirely convinced that Belfrey won’t do something to pull the rug out from under our feet until everything is signed and sealed, and the land is in Mary Margaret’s hands, but we’ve certainly got started. We have a horse in the race now.”
He paused, tilting his head on one side as he looked at her. “Are you all right? You seem pensive.”
Belle shook her head. “No, I’m not pensive. Just excited. I’ve been waiting for you to come home.”
Cameron raised an eyebrow. “Oh yes? And what’s made you so very eager to see me?”
“It worked.”
“Pardon? What worked?”
“Stopping thinking about making a baby and just focussing on enjoying each other’s company.” Belle took a deep breath and pulled the pregnancy test out of her skirt pocket, handing it to him. “It worked.”
“Oh Belle…” Cameron was rendered speechless for a good couple of minutes before he finally tore his gaze away from the single word on the display and looked up at her. His eyes were shining, and Belle thought that she might well burst into tears of her own again. “Oh, my beautiful Belle. This is the most wonderful news.”
He pulled her in close, burying his face in her hair, and Belle closed her eyes, feeling warm happiness flood through her veins. Everything was well.
#rumbelle fic#rumbelle#outlaw queen#Belle French#Regina Mills#Fic: The Real Housewives of Storybrooke
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Send Me An Angel
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Belle had been hiding since the angels fell, hiding from the humans who had enslaved her race. She had watched as her kind had been trapped, taken by the humans and forced into a life she’d never expected. The humans had always spoken so highly of her race until they actually saw what angels were. Angels were beautiful, but they lost power after falling. It was easy enough to own them, to force them into servitude.
However, Belle was smart enough to be wary of the humans and she’d managed to stay hidden for a long time before she was finally found. When she was captured, Belle struggled as hard as she could until they caught her and brought her in. A collar was placed around her neck and she was taken to auction, purchased and sent to her new owner. That word made her want to vomit, something she’d never really experienced before. The cage she was in was ornate and pretty, looking more like a cage for a priceless bird rather than what it was actually for. But, it was still a cage and Belle was very much aware that it was a cage.
When she was left in the man’s room, Belle looked around while remaining wary of her surroundings. She was gagged with her hands behind her back since they had said something about Rumple needing his sleep and not wanting her to disturb him.
Gold wasn’t exactly used to how the angel stuff worked. He didn’t know much about the process at all actually, but when his son fell sick and the doctors couldn’t help, he thought that perhaps an angel could. So he’d sent one of his employees to buy one for him, too busy running his successful law firm and trying to take care of his suffering son to go himself. He’d told them to tell him as soon as she got here, but he didn’t get much sleep and so when his men had discovered that he was finally asleep, and in his bed at that, they left her tied in his room without him realizing.
He awoke the next morning, still feeling rather tired because this was the first good sleep he’d had in… probably weeks. He stretched and slipped out of bed, sliding his feet into his slippers and grabbing his cane that he kept by his bed. Only when he was one his feet did he see the woman in the cage, bound and gagged. He froze, startled, and cursing himself under his breath. He hadn’t wanted her bound. Ugh, he should have sent Dove. Dove would have done it right.
“Hi, sorry,” he told her instantly, coming over to the cage. It took him a minute to see they’d left the key on his dresser, so he had to walk over there before going back to her. “Um… it wasn’t supposed to be like… this,” he muttered, unlocking the cage before reaching in to gently help her out and onto her feet, careful not to touch anything other than her arm. “I won’t let it happen again,” he told her, gently taking the gag out of her mouth so she could respond before he moved around behind her to see if he could get her hands free.
Belle was confused when the man apologized to her, still wary of him despite the fact that he seemed genuinely embarrassed about her treatment. “I didn’t expect much different. They locked me up as soon as they found me.” She sighed, not liking that something so simple could hold her back when she knew that she had more than enough power to incinerate everything in this room if she’d only had her true power.
She didn’t trust him, refusing to trust any human since she’d fallen. Before, of course, she’d enjoyed watching them. They felt things so passionately, even when the outcomes weren’t good. Their wars even were works of art. But, she’d never expected them to do this. She hadn’t thought they would keep something magical and turn it into a commodity. “Your race doesn’t seem to know how to treat things that are different, even when you claim it’s beautiful.” She bit at her lip, trying to move her hands in an attempt to help him. It didn’t really do much, but she knew she’d definitely feel better with her hands unbound.
He winced a bit when she told him about how she’d been treated. By humans. He understood all too well that his race wasn’t exactly peaceful, and he couldn’t claim to be the exception to that. But he still felt bad for the way this angle had been treated. And of course the selfish side of him worried that she wouldn’t be willing to help heal his son because of her justified distain of humans. Which would mean that any concern he showed her would probably be seen by her as him trying to get her help.
“Yeah, I guess we aren’t very good at being respectful of others,” he admitted, fiddling with the knot before finally managing to get her wrists untied. “I can’t say I’m much better than the others. I can’t free you, and I know that must be hard. But I also don’t want to be completely horrible to you. You’re going to have your own room, and be free to walk about the house and yard.” Which was huge, mostly since his ex-wife had thought since they could afford a mansion, they should live in one. “And I don’t actually want much from you. I just… are miracles still something you can do? My son is sick, dying. And… you’re my last hope.”
Belle gently rubbed at her wrists once they were untied, looking up at him as he explained what he wanted with her. “I am not completely sure if miracles are still within my power. We’ve lost a lot of power as a collective since the fall.” She sighed, biting at her lip. She was a bit nervous what it would mean if she couldn’t perform the one task he’d wanted her for, worried that it would mean trouble for her.
Surely, he knew she didn’t have her full power. He had to. There was no way she could be kept prisoner by these humans if she still had her full range of power. They would have stood no chance against her power and she easily would have disintegrated anyone who had dared to look at her, let alone getting so far as to actually touch and imprison her.
“Your son’s illness may not be a problem that I can fix without my grace. And, I’m afraid, there is no way to restore my grace in this position. I would be willing to try, I suppose. But, I do not want you thinking that I am making you a promise. I am not sure that I have enough power and I do not want to make promises I cannot keep.”
Gold nodded slowly when she told him what he had feared would be true. She wasn’t sure that she could do miracles. He didn’t know what he was going to do if she couldn’t, how he was going to go about helping his son. But at least it wasn’t a definite no. There was a chance that this angel might be able to help his son, so he didn’t want to worry about what would happen if she couldn’t. Not unless it actually got to that point.
“I understand,” he told her. “I know this isn’t a promise. Trying is all I can ask of you.” It was, after all, all he’d been able to do for the past months, so he couldn’t really expect much more from the angel. Besides, if she couldn’t do it maybe she’d know something else that might help, something that modern doctors didn’t know of. But again, until she tried he didn’t want to have to think about possible alternatives.
“So I’ll take you to see my son now, and then you’ll probably want some food?” He wasn’t actually sure if angels ate food, now that he thought about it. “Or a bath or… whatever. Basically, you can do whatever you want after you’ve come and taken a look at my son, okay?” he asked.
There was no telling what this would mean, especially since that was the only reason that he’d wanted her here. The funniest part of all of this was that she could have certainly saved his son before she’d fallen, but she’d never have seen him and paid enough attention to save one person.
Belle nodded a bit, sighing again. Food. She had never needed it before, but she did experience hunger since she’d fallen. It had confused her at first, but she understood it now. “Yes, I think that would be fine.”
Belle was nervous to see his son, worried about what would happen when she met his son. She wasn’t sure that she could do anything to help him and she wasn’t sure what that would mean for her. But, she didn’t really have much choice in the matter.
Gold was glad that she didn’t argue any. Honestly he’d half expected her to try and bargain with him, telling him she would or could only help his son if he freed her. Naturally, that was something he couldn’t do. If he did, the government would be after him. And yet, if she’d forced his hand, he very well might have done as she asked.
He did feel bad for making her see his son before doing anything else, but the boy had been sick for so long. He just wanted to stop his suffering. So he made a beeline for the boy’s room, trusting the angel to follow. It wasn’t like there was somewhere else for her to go.
He opened it softly and came to kneel by the bed, ignoring the pain in his bad leg. “Hey son,” he greeted softly. “I brought someone here to meet you.”
“Who?” Bae asked groggily, trying to focus on the woman behind his father. That was when Gold realized he’d never asked her name. That wasn’t nice of him. He waited for her to answer, hoping she’d introduce herself to his son.
Belle bit her lip as they entered his son’s room, nervously looking at the boy as she stepped closer. “My name is Belle… Hello, it’s nice to meet you.” It was partially true, though she had wished that it was under different circumstances rather than her being held captive by humans in a weakened form. She stepped closer to him, looking over him for a moment. “What’s wrong with the boy? Perhaps if I know, I can try to focus my power on that rather than just trying to heal him completely. If… If I knew what exactly was the… the fatal part…” She was learning how to be less blunt, trying not to upset the father as she talked about his son. The man’s son was the only thing really keeping her safe from harm and she didn’t want to risk losing that bit of protection.
Gold watched as the angel introduced herself to his son, smiling softly. She was treating his son well after all, and he was always happy to see that. Then she asked him what was wrong with Bae though, and his smile slipped away. “He has cancer,” Rumple explained.
“And the chemo doesn’t work,” Bae chimmed in. “But what do you mean by focusing your power? You… you’re not an angel, are you?” he asked, eyes wide in awe and excitement. “You’re really a real angel? That’s so cool! But… you’re not one of the captured ones are you?” he asked, a frown on his face as he looked at his dad. “You aren’t condoning angels being captured, are you?”
“I… this was my last hope of helping you Bae,” Gold told his son gently. “And surely she’s better off here with us than….”
“Those are just excuses Papa,” Bae said, crossing his arms. “You need to let her go.”
“So I can be arrested and put in jail for who knows how long?” Gold asked. “You don’t understand what people will do to keep things this way.”
“I understand it’s wrong though,” Bae shot back.
Belle looked at Bae with surprise as he spoke up, shocked that he would so openly talk about such an unpopular opinion. “It’s alright… I understand. It isn’t his fault I’m trapped here. They would only find me again if he released me. So, really, it isn’t worth troubling yourself with.”
She sat down on the bed beside him, gently coaxing him into her arms. “You’ll be alright. Just let your mind go blank. Let yourself relax.” She hummed softly, something she had tried to avoid before. She didn’t like humans knowing about their healing power, knowing how they could soothe humans into calm sleep with their voices. Belle held him against her, getting petting his hair as she coaxed his head against her shoulder. “Sleep. Sleep a beautiful, dreamy sleep.”
Once Bae was asleep, Belle quieted and focused her energy on searching through him. This human was sweet, truly he was. He seemed to be a kind boy and Belle worked even harder to heal him. She’d wanted to save him to protect herself, but now she saw that he honestly was deserving. Belle held him tightly, shivering as her grace started to spread from her body and into his. She couldn’t know if it had worked until after, but she was going to give it all she had.
The light started to dim, Belle’s grip on the boy slowly starting to relax as she leaned back onto the bed with him. She was out, falling into a deep sleep as her energy had been depleted by trying to save Bae.
Gold was a bit surprised when the angel told Bae not to worry about her. He wished things were different, that he could let her go, but there wasn’t much that he could do about that. The laws were the laws, and he couldn’t go around breaking them. Things would only end up worse for both him and Belle. He just… well he was glad she understood that.
He watched as she held Bae in her arms, gently talking to him and getting him to fall asleep. It was sweet actually, watching them. Bae fell asleep rather quickly, laying in the angel’s arms as she did… something. It wasn’t like he could see what she was doing, but he knew that she was doing something, helping him. She seemed to exhaust herself though, because soon she was asleep just like his son.
Gold slipped out of the room for a moment, flagging one of his servants down and getting them to bring food up for himself, his son, and the angel. Then he went back into the room, replying to emails on his phone and looking up repeatedly to make sure they were both okay. He figured the best thing to do was let them sleep, but he wanted to be here when they woke so for now this was all that he could do.
Belle was exhausted, using far more of her power at that moment than she’d used since falling to Earth. But, this had been worth it. She knew it was. This boy was kind and he was sick to the point that there was no other option for him. Belle was so weak since she’d fallen, honestly surprised that she could even manage to get that much power.
When she woke up, her head was throbbing in pain and it felt like her eyes were going to shoot out of her head. Her stomach hurt, her body hurt. Everything hurt. It felt like she’d been hit by a bus; like she’d fallen from grace again. That pain was not one she was too keen on feeling again, but there she was.
Belle turned a bit, sighing out in relief as she checked on the boy. He was fine. She couldn’t quite tell if it had worked or not, but she felt something different now. It seemed like he wasn’t in pain. She sat up slowly, holding her head in her hands. That was far too much power. She wasn’t supposed to use that much power. Even before the fall, the other angels would have scolded her for this. She kept wincing in pain, differing spots demanding her attention as it took center-stage.
Gold looked up when the angle shifted, glad to see she was awake. He noticed quickly that she was in pain though. She’d hurt herself to help his boy. He couldn’t lie, he’d figured that might happen. But he was very sorry it had. She’d been so willing to help, and it felt wrong for her to be in pain because she’d helped his son.
He stood and made his way over to her, staying quiet so as not to wake Bae. “Are you alright?” he asked her. He could ask her if Bae would be alright in a moment, but making sure she was okay was the more pressing concern. “Do you need anything? I sent a servant to get food, so you’ll have that soon. Does… does Motrin work on you? I can get some of that too.” She was, after all, willing to hurt herself in order to help his son. Of course he was going to do everything in his power to help her.
“Anything that will help, I can get. Just say the word.” He might not be able to cure his son, but being rich had his perks and so he should be able to get the angel almost anything she could ask for. If only giving her freedom was an option.
She shook her head, biting at her lip in pain. He wasn’t really making sense to her since she didn’t really know what he was saying. Belle didn’t understand him, even without the pain distracting her. “Motrin? Like, another spell? I am out of power… I can’t…”
Belle had pulled similar stunts before the fall, but it felt so different now. The pain was so much more intense. It felt like she’d just held onto an exploding bomb, absorbing all of it rather than just being ripped to shreds. Normally, healing did hurt. But, it was nothing like this. Belle didn’t know how to handle this much pain, had never been personally subjected to this kind of feeling.
Some part of her realized that this was his fault, which made her want to be away from him and to buck against all of these new human rules for her kind. She wanted to run and never turn back, but she knew better. As much as she couldn’t run before, she really had no hope to go anywhere in her current condition. “Humans are constantly in pain… You cause pain, feel pain, and repeat the cycle until you all finally die. It’s exhausting. Exhausting, miserable creatures…”
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My Favorite (SPN) Things
This is a collection of my favorite SPN moments/things/thoughts for @atc74‘s giveaway.
Favorite SPN Con Moments
I have several Con memories that I will never forget.
MinnCon 2016 - @fuckyou-mavhenan and I got the con bug that year and decided to go to Minneapolis since it’s a half-hour drive from my house. That con changed my love for the show in a way I never thought possible. We had a photo op with Misha and Mark Sheppard, it was glorious.
It was also the year of “A Bowfinned Fish Named Salmon Dean”, with Jared and Jensen trying to imitate what a bowfinned fish might look like.
I took a ton of pictures at that con, but that was before I learned I could rent a better lens so they’re not the best pictures. It was also before I learned how to use Lightroom. And we were pretty far from the stage. But it was an amazing first con.
MinnCon 2017 - @fuckyou-mavhenan returned in August of 2017 and we planned the weekend down to the fifteen minute window with our Silver weekend passes. Except we never planned on any photo ops. In fact, we rolled up to the ticket table to check ops Friday morning and when we saw the very last J2 op, we bought it on the spot.
I learned just how sweaty Jared is that day. After the picture was taken, I said out loud, “Wow you really are sweaty,” because my arm was damp from having hugged him. He apologized for being “gross” and I said, “oh honey, it is so not gross” and he thought that was hilarious, then proceeded to smother me in a hug. I died. It was also glorious.
Pictures from that con were meh. Again, forgot to rent a better lens and still wasn’t using Lightroom, although our seats were nominally better.
MinnCon 2018 - Insanity. Like, just dumb. First, they moved the con to November, which was fucking stupid because @fuckyou-mavhenan couldn’t come up. Then I find out it’s the last time they’re going to be in Minneapolis so I freaked out and bought tickets near the end of February. Gold weekend and a Jared photo op.
Two weeks later I found out I was pregnant. And when I did the math, I realized I’d be just shy of 37 weeks pregnant. A couple months before the con I decided to book a hotel room in downtown Minneapolis instead of driving back and forth all weekend (because pregnant). And about two weeks prior to the con, VIP and M&G auctions went up so I bid on both and won both (VIP and a Jared M&G).
And then the weekend came. I was huge. I was uncomfortable, exhausted, and rocking some serious sinus bullshit (because pregnant). But all that ceased to matter for a number of reasons. First, VIP was a-fucking-mazing. Second, I met @atc74. For realsies. In person. And we kicked it together during the SNS. And Rob kissed us. :3
Then there was CUPCAKEPOCALYPSE
I will never forget that. Mainly because I’m still mad my pregnant ass did not get to eat one of those cupcakes.
I guess he made up for it here:
I cannot put into words how wonderful of an experience his photo op was. Every time I saw Jared on Sunday, from the start of his M&G, to the photo op, to his VIP M&G, and at last during his autograph, he either congratulated me on the baby or touched my belly and asked me about her. At least twice he told me I looked stunning and it reminded him of when Gen was pregnant with Tom. I don’t know how I kept my shit together.
And the pictures I took! I rented a damn nice lens and learned how to use Lightroom! I was so happy with how they turned out.
VegasCon 2019 - I went to Vegas for a bachelorette party. I had no intention of going to the con. It just... happened. The bachelorette group kind of wanted to do their own things on Sunday afternoon because we all paid a lot of money to go out there and the bride-to-be was super cool about it. So when I had nothing to do, I caught a cab to the Rio and figured I’d just browse the vendor room. My VIP liaison from Minneapolis was also there and so I met up with her to chat a bit, which was rad.
And then I ended up with a wristband. I won’t say how, but I did. It took me about half an hour to realize that, with a wristband, I’d be able to go buy a photo op or autograph. I was immediately pissed because Jared’s op had just wrapped and I so very much wanted to talk to him again, but all of his ops (solo or otherwise) were sold out. So at least I didn’t miss out on that.
But I did end up with a Rob & Rich op! I told them that the last time I’d seen them was in Minneapolis back in November in VIP and I was about to say “when I was pregnant”, but Rob said, “YES. YOU WERE PREGNANT. How’s the baby?!”
Ya’ll, I died. Rob is amazing.
I have more favorite con moments. But these are the ones that stuck out.
Favorite SPN Tumblr Moments
I have to admit, I’m a terrible member of the fanfic community on Tumblr. I hardly ever read fic. So, the only thing I’ll mention about fanfic is how grateful I am for the people that have taken the time to read, reblog, and comment on my work. I cannot thank you all enough (and ya’ll know who you are).
One of the slightly embarrassing things about the SPN fandom on Tumblr is how much you asshats have outed me and my thirst for Jared. I’ve been live blogging this season (and a bit of last season) and whenever I comment about how much I love Sam/Jared doing pretty much anything ya’ll gotta reblog THAT post. Thanks for that.
But the most amazing thing I cannot put into words is how awesome it was to meet people from this fandom now. @atc74, @sis-tafics, @saxxxology, @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms, @from-trista-with-love, @samsexualdeancurious, and @emptywithout, it was wonderful meeting you all. (I hope I didn’t miss anyone!)
Favorite SPN Show Moments/Characters/Things
So it’s no secret that Sam is my favorite character from the show. But there really isn’t a character I didn’t enjoy. Even the villains are epic on this show. And most of them were so wonderfully grey that I could never hate them for long.
I don’t think I can pick a singular favorite moment from the show. There are too many awesome pop culture references, too many awesome guest spots, and so many excellent story lines/plots.
I’m a sucker for lore, so I love things like Sam wielding Mjolnir and werewolves and djinn. I dig tulpas (”it’s notta tulpa”) and enochian brass knuckles and angel blades and Ruby’s knife.
I’m also a huge fan of cinematography, so we when we get those beautiful shots of these beautiful actors’ faces just popping out of the darkness (very much like a Caravaggio panting) I drool a little.
But if there is only one thing that really fueled my love for this show, it’s the damn gag reels. I thought I liked Sam before, but seeing how absolutely dumb Jared is on set intentionally fucking up takes made me love him even more. And I have an absolute favorite gag reel moment. Two, specifically, both from this season:
“Trusting a fart after 40.”
I fucking died.
Also:
@aborddelimpala, thank you for that gifset. I cried laughing so hard at this shit.
So that’s it. That’s all of my weird contributions to this incredibly unique fandom. I love you all and I love everything this show has given us. I can’t imagine my life without it.
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Diversion
Esme is frustrated with John’s infidelity and subconsciously begins to punish him.
Esme stood with her back to the door. She took short rapid breaths and tried to rub the sting out of her jaws. She squeezed her eyes shut, but all she could see was his icy stare.
She had made a glaring miscalculation in trying to talk to Tommy about taking the family on the road to France. It was a bold move, she knew, but she didn’t know that his reaction would be so fierce.
She could still feel his rough fingertips gripping her face. Her mind raced as she replayed it in her mind. The threats he made didn’t faze her.
If you ever talk about getting lost again I’ll cut you from this family.
She knew that Tommy needed her family connections, and she was able to remind him of that.
What family?
Her sweaty hands, her racing heart, and her inability to catch her breath came from somewhere else. His hands were freezing cold, but her skin burned where he touched it. Something electric passed between them while she spoke of getting lost. She hadn’t meant for it to happen—she’d never thought of him that way—but he felt it too.
Thank God the shop was empty. She wondered if he would have behaved any differently with others around. No, she decided, he wouldn’t have touched her in front of John. But, then, she wouldn’t have spoken to Tommy in that way in front of John, either. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to pull it together; she had things to do.
***One Year Later***
“I’m sick to death of it Pol.”
Esme stood in the vault, slamming £100 bundles onto a shelf. She and Polly were charged with doing the count at the end of the business day and readying the shop for the next morning, while the boys sought leisure pursuits.
“I like the work, God knows it beats moping ‘round the house all day changing nappies, but he just swans off without me every night and doesn’t come home ‘till we're all in bed.” She laid the last bundle of notes on the pile and mumbled, “Or sometimes not at all.”
Polly sympathized with her. Over the last year, she and Esme had bonded a bit, and she knew that life with a Shelby man could try the patience of a saint. She wrote the last sum in the ledger and slammed it shut with an air of finality. From her desk drawer, she produced a bottle of port and poured a glass for them both. The conversation that they were about to have called for a drink. Polly, never one to mince words called out, “Is he going to whores?”
Esme poked her head out of the vault and scowled, “I don’t know if he’s paying them, but there are women.” The heavy steel door whined as she pulled it closed behind her, and she gratefully swallowed the drink that Polly handed to her. “I can smell them on him when he comes stumbling in.”
“Does he still want you?”
Esme scoffed, “When does he not? He acts like all I’m good for is cooking his meals and riding his cock.”
“That’s how they all are. We are expected to keep the hearth and home while they have all the fun.” She lit a cigarette and poured another tot for both of them. “It’s not fair for us. Never has been.”
They drank in silence for a few minutes, then Polly spoke, “Have you ever thought of giving him a taste of his own medicine?”
Esme’s eyes grew dark as she quietly responded, “I’m an honorable woman. I would never lie with another man.”
Pol rolled her eyes, “I’m not suggesting that you turn into the town whore.” She tilted her head back and eyed Esme, “You’re an attractive woman. Attract some attention. Make him jealous.”
“Where, the Garrison?” Esme laughed, “I wouldn’t give any of those bastards the steam off my piss.”
Dissolving in a fit of laughter, Polly conceded.
***One Week Later***
Aunt Polly sipped her tea loudly while scowling over the edge of her teacup at John. He, Tommy, and Esme were in various stages of finishing breakfast and haggling over sections of the morning newspaper. John was oblivious to the fact that Polly had been shooting daggers at him with her eyes until Tommy spoke up. “What has John done to put your nose out of joint, Pol? Come on, out with it.” “All right, I’ll come out with it. Where were you last night, John? I heard you coming up the lane at four this morning.” She spoke in a no-nonsense tone. She meant to have answers. “Polly!” Esme protested. “No, Esme, he needs to answer.” Polly shot back. Tommy looked from Aunt Polly to John and then to Esme who uncomfortably shifted in her seat. Her face was a storm cloud, and she defiantly refused to look at anyone at the table. She sat with her arms crossed, looking at the door. “No, I’ll answer the question. I had business to attend to,” John stated, as if it was the most natural thing on Earth to attend to business until 4:00 am. Polly scoffed, “Business, eh?” Tommy tried to hazard another glance at Esme who stood up in a huff, “I have business to attend to as well. The betting shop opens in 10 bloody minutes.”
“Esme,” John started.
“Leave it, John. We’ll talk later.” Esme grumbled.
Before Esme was completely out of the room, Pol spoke up, “Better keep a close eye on that one, John.” Esme cast a glance over her shoulder to see what Polly was playing at. “There was a bloke in the shop last week who was ready to take her away.” “Who was he?” John sat up stiffly and puffed his chest out while Polly smirked behind her teacup. Alone in the shop, Esme prepared the betting slips and cash boxes. She smiled and shook her head; she could hardly believe the balls on Polly. Lost in her own thoughts she didn’t hear Tommy creep into the room. “Who was it?” He asked, his voice still raspy with sleep. Esme looked up with surprise, “Shit, Thomas. Don’t sneak up on me like that.” Within two steps Tommy was inches from her. He was close enough for her to smell his shaving soap and the starch in his shirt. She instinctively stepped back and he followed. “I said, who was he?” “Jesus, Tommy! Polly made it up. John’s been whoring around and Polly thought it would be a good idea to make him jealous.” Tommy took a drag from his ever-present cigarette and studied Esme’s face. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “Does it bother you that John stays out?” She lifted her chin and matched his attitude with her own. “He’s my husband, isn’t he?” The corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “That’s not an answer.” He stubbed his cigarette out and left her standing there, staring at his back as he walked across the shop to his office. She didn’t breathe or blink until he closed the door.
***One Day Later*** Esme loved horses. That was something Tommy could understand and something that Polly reminded them about as they loaded the truck to go to the horse auction. But John stood with a puzzled look as if the very suggestion was mad. “Esme doesn’t have time for horses what with the kids and the house and the shop.” Polly patted him on the cheek. “You’re buying horses anyway. Would it be so hard to do something nice for your wife? It would cost less than a weekend on the piss and she needs something to herself. Tommy, tell him.” Tommy shrugged, “It couldn’t hurt. Call it a diversion. Something to keep her from pining away about traveling.” “Or running off,” Polly quipped. “What’s that?” John looked back at Polly, “What’s she said?” “A woman like her can only handle so much for so long, John. She’s a Lee.” When all he could do was stare at her and shift the toothpick in his mouth, Polly let out an exasperated sigh and railed at him, “For fuck’s sake! She’s a Good wife, but even good women have their limits. With all the late nights you’ve been keeping, God knows where with God knows who, a gesture such as a horse would go a long way toward keeping your wife happy.”
John gave her a cheeky grin, the kind that got him out of numerous punishments as a child. “All right, all right, Aunt Pol.” As they climbed into the truck, Tommy nodded to Polly and she knew that he’d take care of it. Day turned into night, and the truck rolled into Charlie’s yard carrying a gelding and a stallion. Curly helped Tommy unload the horses and get them into their stalls since John had gone ahead to the Garrison to meet up with Arthur. Curly went over the first horse with an expert eye, “He’s a good one. But why’d you get a gelding, Tommy? Not like you to buy a gelding.” “He’s not for me.” As Tommy answered, he saw Esme walking into the stables. She hated not being allowed to go to the auction, so Polly told her to leave the kids with her and go to see what they’d brought home. She was flushed from the long walk and flashed a rare grin when she saw the new additions standing in their stalls. “You got two!” she marveled and approached the gelding. She pulled a sugar cube from her pocket and giggled when he nuzzled her hand. Tommy couldn’t help but smile along with her. Her passion for horses matched his own. There were few things in Small Heath that could bring peace or joy to him, and seeing Esme truly happy as she bent down to kiss the horse’s muzzle did it for him. “Do you like him?”
“He’s wonderful.” “He’s yours.” She was stunned into silence. Tommy walked over to the stall where she stood and brushed the gelding’s forelocks with his fingers. The horse nickered and Tommy murmured reassuringly to him. He then turned to Esme and looked into her deep brown eyes which were rapidly filling with tears and whispered, “He’s yours, Es.” She was amazed, utterly surprised, and touched by his kindness. Before she could think about what she was doing, she threw her arms around Tommy’s neck and embraced him. Her lips met his for a split second before she pulled herself back. He gripped her shoulders as she stammered, “I...I’m...” He knew that they were playing a dangerous game, but he wanted to make this okay. He didn’t want anything to dampen the joy that she felt and the odd connection that was growing between them. But his justification didn’t quite match his demeanor. “Don’t apologize, Esme. You’ve done nothing wrong. Just sisterly affection.” His eyes were half closed, and the words dripped off of his lips like honey. He let go of her shoulders, and in a daze, she turned toward the stall. It all had happened so fast. It was a heartfelt reaction, almost a reflex. But the way that it made her feel, and the way that Tommy looked at her… Tommy may have told her that she had done nothing wrong, but the butterflies in her stomach knew otherwise.
I absolutely love John Shelby, but he broke my heart every time that he cheated on Esme. I guess this is helping me work out my feelings about that. Don’t hate me.
Diversion: Chapter 2 can be found on my masterlist because Tumblr hates links.
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LA Pride 2019
So last year I went to Pride where I lived in Providence and had a great time (got a little sunburned, but that's okay). It was pretty small in comparison, but the whole thing was that it was very community based. Everyone there was happy, and throwing around compliments and everything. It rocked.
So when I got to LA pride, it was a sort of a similar experience. There were people handing out rainbow chapsticks, lots of booths for people catering to LGBT interests or comprised of LGBT people. Very much how I felt in Providence. But this was not actually the pride festival, this was just the outside.
The inside, first of all, was 40 dollars a ticket after tax, and very much was not what I had expected. Pretty much all there was to do there was to drink or to dance. It was just a gigantic party scene, or club scene. I mean, they literally had men on pedestals dancing in their underwear. The music was all house or dance music, it was loud as shit, and the crowds were ridiculous. There were some 7 stations where you could buy alcohol (for 9 bucks a beer at the cheapest which is a whole other thing). What I'm getting at is if you are disabled or have a kid, don't go to LA Pride. You'll get trampled, or won't get through the crowd, or the extremely loud music will bother you. I had some serious trouble with it all and I'm neurotypical and able bodied.
So I imagine the reason for this is because it was sponsored by Budweiser. The prices of almost everything were very expensive, which wouldn't be a problem, except that if you leave you can't come back. You paid 40 dollars to be told you can't leave for any reason (which feels much less like a Pride festival and much more like a huge money grab). I'm just saying the spirit of this event was not one of celebrating LGBT, it was about making money off us. I said to myself "This is the 50th anniversary of Stonewall! It's gonna feel great having participated in the 50th Pride!" But I just came off feeling like shit at having been totally exploited by a company, again. In my own space. And this doesn't begin to dig into the implications around the LGBT community's long history with alcoholism.
So the water. This is kind of a big issue for me, I really drink a lot of water, especially on days when it's hot. It was not hot by LA standards, but it was in the 80 F range (~27 C) which is enough to need water. They said online that you can't bring outside food or drink, but you can bring an empty water bottle and you can fill it up at a water station. There were no water stations. We asked just before we left, they said that they were still getting them set up. Now, this is ridiculous. If you aren't going to set those up as the priority over fucking alcohol? Your 7 bars??? And then have the gall to charge 4 bucks for a bottle of water?? Unbelievable! You shouldn't say "Oh I'm going to Pride, if I don't bring 100 dollars I won't be able to eat or have water!" That's completely ridiculous.
Now, it was not all bad by any stretch. There was a little trans galleria set up with art all by trans people and they were having a silent auction, which was super cool! They had little stickers with the trans flag that had he/him, she/her, and they/them pronouns on it, and I happily took one with gender neutral pronouns. The environment was also again pretty good, my girlfriend got a lot of compliments on her outfit, and it was all so welcoming for different LGBT identities! Lots of trans flags and rainbow ones.
But to sum up my whole experience, there was a table where they were giving out free condoms (not at pride proper, but surely part of the festivities). For me, just going to the outside bit will be more than enough. If parties and clubs aren't your scene, I wouldn't pay 40 bucks each to go.
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