#am i legally required to tag this the witness . | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darklydeliciousdesires · 2 years

Text

Not One of Many - Chapter Eighteen.

I am thrilled by the response to this story and thank each and every one of you for your commitment to reading it :) you are all beautiful people!

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,119

Warnings - 18+ content, adult audience only. Minors DNI!

“I lived in the suburb of Millsborough in Kingston until I was ten, which was when my mother and father relocated to the UK, my father garnering a coveted spot at chambers not far from where I am currently resided.”

Beth was knee deep in getting to know you chit chat with Marcus and Steve, the former detailing of his rise through the world of investment, a businessman like Alfie, except Marcus bought up companies on the brink of bankruptcy for a steal, and turned them back into multi-million-pound corporations. She also learned that it was just another part of Alfie’s lucrative investment portfolio, that he owned a considerable wedge in shares for a good number of them.

As she sipped her drink, it was now Steve who was explaining his own roots to her, his life always immersed in the legal system, naturally since both of his parents came from such a background.

“And what do you specialise in?” She asked with curiosity.

“As a seasoned barrister, I like to think I can turn my hand to most areas of law, but I specialise in criminal defence and immigration law.”

“Have you fought any cases I might have heard within the media?” Steve loved her inquisitiveness, the very ethos of a talented journalist one might say, but he knew Beth was asking for her own curiousness in wanting to get to know Alfie’s friends better.

The only other of his girlfriends whom he’d met who even had a flicker of interest over what he did had been dear, sweet little Mimi, albeit most of his explanations sailing over straight over her head. Her grasp of mathematics had impressed him hugely, though. He’d never seen anyone work through a Sudoku puzzle at such a speed, and she’d never made a miscalculation either. One whom he hadn’t cared for at all was still propping up the bar, her cackle audible over just about anything else. He detested when women tried too hard, especially those who were beginning to become sloppily drunk, as Talia was. All in an effort to show a man who couldn’t care less how well she was doing without him.

“It is very likely, yes, Beth. I recently successfully fought for twenty people who became embroiled in the fallout of the Windrush scandal to remain in the UK. A hard slog, four years of back and forth and moments where I thought I would not succeed, but my effort prevailed, them and their families being granted the right to remain.”

“Oh, that’s absolutely fantastic! Yes, I do remember now, well, the broader of the entire Windrush debacle, I do. My pal Kinga covered a lot of it,” she revealed, Steve’s eyes widening.

“Kinga Clarke?”

“Yes, don’t tell me that you know her?”

He clapped his hands together, laughing with mirth. “Oh, Kinga and I go way back! We were at the same boarding school, albeit her three years below me. We meet up whenever our schedules allow. She’s a bloody good egg, that girl. We must meet up again and you bring her along, I haven’t seen her in about eight months, it’d be splendid to catch up!”

She agreed such was a fantastic idea, Alfie too.

“Yeah, I wanna make a point to get to know your friends, darlin’. Set something up and we’ll do it soon. I’m looking forward to seeing them all tomorrow though, it has to be said.” He referred there to the ELLE magazine party, Magda managing to squeeze him onto the guestlist as well. Fashion parties weren’t really his scene, but he’d go anywhere Beth required him to. Anything to spend time with his beloved.

It was while the lady herself was enthralling his friends with the same wit and charisma that had hooked him in the first place that he glanced in the direction of the bar, seeing his ex-girlfriend continuing in the pursuit of making a fool of herself. Screaming with laughter, hanging off men’s necks, having them buy her drinks and showing off to her friends. God, she’d become so messy. Their breakup had sent her into a tailspin, it seemed, the usually elegant woman who respected herself much more than the behaviour he was witnessing gone from her entirely.

“It’s sad, isn’t it? But don’t let her get to you. She’s vying for your attention, but I have no idea who on earth she thinks she’s fooling with the grandiose ‘I’m having such a good time without you’ routine. It smacks of desperation,” Beth spoke, leaning close to him, Steve and Marcus discussing something the latter was displaying on his phone.

He was about to reply, Talia catching his eye and lifting both her middle fingers in his direction, Alfie feeling his temper shoot up sharply, his forehead creasing.

“Hey, hey,” Beth began, turning his face to hers. “Don’t let her wind you up.”

“She’s fuckin’ disrespecting me in my own fuckin’ bar though, baby.”

She stroked his arm, trying to de-escalate his rising ire. “I know, I know, but she’s looking for a reaction. Show her none and you have the upper hand, don’t you? Come on, gorgeous. No more of these, no more of the Solomons crinkles.”

He paused, raising an eyebrow. “The what?”

“When you frown and your forehead crinkles. Those are the Solomons crinkles!”

“I’ll be giving you the Drake smacked arse if I have any more like that out of you, young lady!”

“Why? I love them! Except for now, because some silly twat is pissing you off.”

“You’re inferring I need botox in me ‘ead!”

She gasped, smacking his arm. “I inferred no such thing!”

His frown deepened, Beth moving to kiss his forehead. “Don’t you try and sweeten me now, treacle, oh no! Damage has been done!”

“Shhh.” She kissed him into silence, poking his frown lines. “Solomons crinkles.” She then added in a voice so cute, he couldn’t help but smile at her.

“That cuteness gets around me every bloody time. You women, you wield so many weapons.”

She beamed; her grin huge. “I quite agree! Now, give me kisses.” He obliged, his hand stroking her thigh while the other clasped her hand. She knew how to bring him back down from anger in an instant, which was no easy feat. She knew him better after only a few months and just shy of one month actually in a relationship than Talia had for the entire year he’d been with her. Then again, she paid attention to him and the person he was beyond his body and his bank balance, as Alfie was slowly coming to realise. If he scrutinised it, no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel, those were at the top of Talia’s list for her where dating him had been concerned.

“Good bloody heavens! That’s the third man she’s welded herself to at the mouth! Reminds me of one of those little algae eating fish that people who keep tanks have to suck all the algae from the glass!” Steve exclaimed, turning back to the table, shaking his head as he re-tied his long, thick dreadlocks, Alfie and Marcus in hysterics. Beth would have been, except her eyes were on Talia, watching as she suddenly came steaming through the crowd, hurling herself at the roped off section, the glass she held launched, missing Beth’s leg by a fraction.

“You fucking cunt! You stole my boyfriend!” she screamed, Alfie out of his seat in second, the two nearby bouncers hanging back but remaining alert for further instruction from their boss.

“You don’t throw anything at her, you hear me? You don’t ever fuckin’ come near her, yeah?” he spoke sternly, Talia crinkling her nose in disgust.

“He finished with me, for that devious little slag over there, you know! I mean, he let this go, for that!” she then shouted at a group of people at a table within the VIP, gesturing to herself and then Beth, everyone witnessing it thinking the same thing. They didn’t blame him at all if her claims had been the case. “I want to talk to you, Alfie.”

“You’ve got fuck all I wanna hear, Talia.”

“Then I want to talk to your bitch girlfriend!”

He nodded at Paul and Rhonda, the pair moving forward to take her arms and behind towing her in the direction of the door.

“You don’t ever fuckin’ come near her.” he repeated sternly. “Make sure she don’t come back in. Not now or ever. She’s barred. Permanently.” His doormen nodded, Talia thrashing so wildly that Rhonda was given no choice but to fully body hug her to get her out of there, Paul clearing patrons out of the way, Talia still screaming. “Right, now she’s dealt with, another round?” he asked, arriving back at the table, his friends and Beth looking stunned.

“I feel like going to stick my head directly under the optics after witnessing that,” Marcus exclaimed, his eyes wide as he drained the last of his Courvoisier, Alfie beckoning one of the bar staff over to take the orders.

“You alright, duchess?” he asked, taking a seat again, his hand smoothing down her thigh.

“I’m fine, the glass didn’t hit me and her words failed to hit the mark as well. It takes more than a silly, drunken mess to dent me. How about you?”

He frowned, his eyebrows then fluttering up, sipping his drink. “I’m sitting here kicking myself that I spent a year with that mess.”

“In your defence, she wasn’t a mess when you were with her, though,” Beth reasoned, her eye caught by the sight outside, the doorwoman repeatedly having to push Talia away from attempting to gain entrance again, before unsurprisingly, she turned to vomit all over the pavement.

“Whatever she was, she still ain’t a patch on you, baby beast.” He kissed her softly, nuzzling her cheek.

“Baby beast?” Marcus asked, pointing at Beth. “Why?”

Alfie grinned, undoing a couple of the buttons of his white shirt, revealing a fraction of the portrait Beth had painted with her lust upon his chest. “That’s why.”

“Bloody hell!” his friends both chorused at once, wincing, giving Beth looks of disbelief.

She shrugged, nonchalant. “He likes it.”

“Oh, love, we know what he’s like. When we were twenty-two, we went to Ibiza for a fortnight. First night there, some bird came over with a bullwhip and cracked him straight over the back with it. His response was to shoulder lift her out of the club, take her back to his hotel room and shag the hell out of her for the rest of the night. His back looked like the road map of Great Britain after she was finished with him!” Marcus revealed, sending Beth into hysterics, glad she’d paused from taking a sip of her cocktail.

Their night was fantastic from there on in, arriving back at Alfie’s at just gone 2am, but not falling asleep until 4am. The following morning, he got up to let Cyril out, ordering them breakfast to be delivered from the best kosher deli nearby, salmon and cream cheese toasted bagels and two portions of matzo brei on their way, brewing some coffee and taking it back upstairs.

“You stay right there, let’s have a lie in,” he spoke as Beth sat up, reaching for her cappuccino.

“What time is it?”

“Only half eight.”

“Are you just getting back up here from a workout?”

“Nah, love. I did my cardio in the early hours.” He certainly had, too. “I’m giving myself a day off for anything that doesn’t involve spending time with you.”

That surprised her, that he was content to just relax. She had nothing on all day and had planned to just chill out there regardless of his plans, rather than heading back to her flat, so having his presence was nice. He worked much too hard and needed to take more time for himself. “Oh, I ordered brekkie too, so we’re all sorted to sit here and do fuck all.”

That suited her down to the ground. A rare Saturday of doing absolutely nothing at all other than moving location to the cinema room to continue watching documentaries together while they ate, shower fresh and dressed in comfy clothes, Beth buried in a pair of his loaned sweatpants. He’d had her in hysterics already by saying they looked like MC Hammer trousers on her.

In the end, the fact they’d only slept for four and a half hours took its toll, both cuddling up with one another for a nap, Beth lying against his chest, pondering for a few moments before she fell asleep. It was so easy with him, how comfortable she was already, unguarded and totally relaxed around him. Usually in a new relationship, she wouldn’t let herself slip in ways like letting him see her without makeup on, or having a wee in front of him, silly little things like that. That morning she’d run into the bathroom to go to the toilet and not batted an eyelid when Alfie had come in to brush his teeth while she was mid-tinkle.

He was so easy going, their vibe together meshed perfectly. The only thing about him that irritated her slightly was his refusal to let her pay for anything, but she knew if it became more of an issue, she could approach such with him through discussion. It wasn’t something that came easily to him, not being a provider, generous as he was with his earnings.

Kissing his chest, she closed her eyes, her impending slumber only disturbed by Cyril jumping up to position himself within the gap in their entanglement of legs, resting his head on her leg, Beth scratching his shoulder with her foot before falling asleep. Once they had awoken again, the leisurely pace of their day was put on the back burner a little, Alfie decreeing that he needed a workout, feeling odd for not hitting the gym, while Beth sat out in the shade of the garden, finishing off one of her three articles she was currently working on.

“And look at that, big C. I’m all done. Would you like to go for a walk?” At hearing the W word, the bullmastiff lifted his head, his ears pricked. “Shall we go find your dad, hmm? Where’s dad?” The dog heaved himself up, trotting into the house, following Alfie’s scent until he found him, gulping back a protein shake in the kitchen, wrapped in a towel. “Someone wants to go for a w-a-l-k.”

“Yeah, you wanna go the park, lad?” Alfie questioned, Cyril jumping around and barking. “I think that’s a yes. Let me just go get me gear on and I’ll be back.”

“How was your workout?” she asked, just as he was about to leave the kitchen.

“Fuckin’ painful, treacle. Worth it, though. Look at them!” Flexing his biceps, he grinned, Beth virtually swooning. The muscles on him. He was so thick and sexy. Dressed in just a towel and he made her pulse flip, but suited Alfie was where it was at for her. That night, he chose a dark olive-green suit and waistcoat, with a black shirt, the buttons undone a little casually, complimenting her dress beautifully. She'd decided to go with her favourite Matthew Williamson maxi dress, the earthy hues and abstract pattern perfect, dressing it up with a few pieces of nice jewellery, pinning her hair up save a few wispy strands here and there.

They arrived at the rooftop location of the party an hour later, fabulous people everywhere, a few acquaintances stopping to say hello to Beth, until she spied one of her own fabulous people and made a beeline across the party for her.

“Babe, you look a bloody treat. Come here, give us a little smooch!” Magda welcomed her with, air kissing her cheek to avoid her trademark bright red, Chanel painted lips printing Beth’s cheek. “Alfie, you look like sex on legs as usual.” Magda’s attest made him laugh, kissing her cheek, being swiftly introduced to Dennis.

“So, I hear you’re in the classic car business?” That was it, their men were lost to conversation over all things automotive, Beth taking a champagne flute from the passing tray, Magda smiling warmly.

“Now, what’s all this I hear about a very lucky young lady getting her first Birkin, then?”

Confused, Beth wondered what she’d missed there, knowing she’d yet to reveal such to her bestie. “How did you know?”

Magda jerked her head in Alfie’s direction. “Your fella here phoned me at work and asked which one it was that you wanted. Ain’t he lush, ay? He’d said he was looking to get you the red one, but I said to him, ‘no, no, sunshine! Dark blue, that’s the one she’s in love with!’ and now there you go, you have it, and I’m only a tiny bit envious!” That revelation touched Beth deeply, that he’d been so concerned in getting the correct one she’d wanted, he’d called her best friend for advice.

They chatted for a while longer as a two, having a little schmooze with other guests here and there before they were joined then by Kinga and Oliver after an hour, the latter with his mouth full of canapes, wiping away crumbs before he gave Beth a kiss, Kinga moving in for a little air smooch as well.

“I met someone last night who knows you!” she exclaimed, Kinga’s eyes widening. “Steve Barklay.”

“Barkie! Oh my lord, how is he?” she cried, clapping her hands together with mirth.

“He’s really well, spoke nothing but very highly of you and suggested we all go out as a group soon.” Kinga nodded vigorously at the prospect, Beth then detailing the events of the rest of the evening to them, Talia and her drunken, glass throwing, abuse hurling antics.

“Jesus bloody wept! What a flippin’ state!” Magda exclaimed, shocked. “I would have thrown a pissin’ table at her, had I seen her launch anything in your direction.”

Beth cooed at her bestie’s fiery protective streak, giving her a little one-armed hug, Kinga and Oliver exchanging sudden curious glances with each other. “Darling, this Talia girl. I don’t suppose she’s a redhead with a, I’m unsure what it is fully, but has a tattoo containing leaves on her back?” the latter questioned, Beth feeling her heart somersault.

“Yes, that’s her. Why’d you ask?”

“Because she was trying to gain entry to the party just as we were arriving.”

Hearing that Alfie's ex-girlfriend had moved on from glass throwing and abuse hurling to following them was news Beth didn’t particularly relish in learning that evening.

51 notes · View notes

the-storyteller-and-her-soldiers · 2 years

Text

Rosy In Retail

Title: Rosy In Retail Word Count: 1,480 Warning: None, just fluff! Though if you need anything tagged let me know Ship: The Tale of a Delinquent and the Top Student (Robby x Myself) Summary: Working in retail sucks, but working with someone you love can make it bearable and can even lead to some rosy moments.

Drops of water pelted the ground harshly outside. These minuscule but consistent crashes sent the liquid debris onto fleeing people and into flooding puddles that grew deeper by the moment, despite only being created by dreary droplets. Yet inside one of the many buildings of the suburban strip, everything from the flooring to the atmosphere was dry. The headache-inducing fluorescent lights shone down onto shortened indigo tips, revealing a silvery tint to the style that was caused by a fading dye job.

That could only be observed when the lady possessing these lavender locks stood relatively still. A task that may seem inherently simple for her co-workers seemed like absolute hell to her. Within her little cubicle for cashiers, Rebecca shifted her weight from her left foot to her right. She paced the three to four steps that the cubicle allowed. She leaned against the short back wall for a second, only to stride forward and rest her body on the hardwood counter instead, all in a matter of seconds. If no customers were in sight, she even strode down the small aisle of cubicles, gathering tags and discarded hangers to organize later.

Yet since she had been in this position for so long in life and for so long already just that day, the restless routine she created had become just as monotonous as asking careless customers how their experience was or being vehemently denied when simply fulfilling her job's legal requirement of asking them to get a credit card.

One thing that made suffering through the eternities of her shifts more bearable was the fact that Rebecca's boyfriend often worked alongside her. It was nice to have someone to drone to when the store lie dead, and to have someone else witness the audacity that some customers had during the holidays. But the best part of it all was having someone who understood her past the cheery sale pitches and college discussions, someone who she could head home with afterward. Having that, along with a relatively supportive group of co-workers and bosses, made the psychological horror that was working in retail a little less horrific.

Cocoa-coated irises flickered from the sales screen before them to the depths of forested green that belonged to her partner. Within the unnatural glow of the overhead lights, they seemed to shimmer with a sense of joyous affection, an unspoken sentiment of the worth Rebecca had to him, all while the couple tended to suburban socialites, PTA parents, and the elderly alike. When they finally had another drop in customers, Rebecca's smooth skin slid over to Robby's counter as she reached out to grasp Robby's hand.

"So, where were we in our conversation before the last customer rush?"

The corners of Robby's lips twitched upwards in an amused smirk while he intertwined their fingers. "Let's see, you were telling me the gory details of the latest podcast episode you have on. That led to you wanting to ask me something. And then we got interrupted by that ass slamming his cart full of stuff on your register."

"Oh, right, thank you! I swear I'm so braindead between finals and work today... ANYWAYS! I was gonna ask if you were coming over for dinner tonight?'

"You got that question during your episode about cannibalism?" Robby retorted, an inaudible chuckle escaping his lips which were only evident by the rise and fall of his shoulders.

Rebecca rolled her eyes and head before melting into a fit of giggles. "No! I mean the mentions of all the food reminded me, but it wasn't the deciding thing. The timing just sucked! I promise we're not having people for dinner nor am I luring you into being dinner." Rebecca paused, her eyes glancing around to make sure that no one else was around. "At least I don't think anyways..."

"Well then, what are you having for dinner?"

"Mom said something about hamburger alfredo when she took me in this morning, but I don't know if we'll have it tonight. If not, I was gonna treat to take-out!"

Robby tilted his head for a second to give the illusion that he did have to ponder the choice. This small gesture earned him some more giggles from his girlfriend since they both knew that Robby was more than happy to spend time with Rebecca in her home, rather than in the apartment he shared with his mother and her countless partners or his father and his girlfriend who just happened to be the mother of his worst rival. He then affirmed that he would be joining her for the evening and leaned in to kiss Rebecca's forehead.

As much as the two longed to last in that quiet moment or be released from their shift, reality and their boss came crashing in as their naturally booming voice questioned if either of them had gotten a credit. The two simply shook their heads. Robby took a more nonchalant tone to his answer. Rebecca's tone, on the other hand, conveyed a sense of remorse that even Robby believed for a moment before he caught a glimpse of her mischievous smile when their boss turned their back.

"Well, there's always tomorrow. You're both scheduled in, right?"

The couple affirmed that they were to show up tomorrow which led to their boss remarking on how the two had never been separate in all their time working there. But before anyone could dwell on that fact and have a moment to change it, another coworker strode down the aisle and into Rebecca's cubicle.

"Conn, long time no see! I take it you're my relief and my ticket home?" Rebecca excitedly pondered as she took a step back from the computer.

Conn, who was a man in the same age range as both Robby and Rebecca, laughed as he patted her shoulder to calm her bouncing. "That I am, no need to thank me."

"FINALLY!" Rebecca exclaimed, earning a scolding look from her boss before he simply sighed and let the younger group continue their antics. "I swear you're like the best guy on the planet for this!"

"Best guy on the planet?" Rebecca's boss questioned with an entertained inhale.

"You heard the woman, Boss" Conn replied with a grin.

Robby only watched as the three went back and forth on Rebecca's standards. He knew that his girlfriend made friends easily and was highly complimentary towards everyone, but that rationale couldn't entirely keep the tangled barbs of jealousy from wrapping around Robby's heart. He still wanted to be the best man for her with no exceptions or competition.

But before a pouty scowl could even completely form on Robby's face, Rebecca's delicate grasp had squeezed his hand and began to drag him towards the breakroom. He looked down at her with a gaze widened in surprise yet was only met with a beaming smile in return.

"Now you know while Conn may be the greatest guy for being my relief, he's still a random guy. You, honey, are the most spectacular boyfriend, my best friend for over ten years, and the greatest sweetheart to ever exist! I'm surprised that the team hasn't come to you asking if you can shut me up yet!"

And just like that, those sharpened twinges of poisonous negativity recoiled and retreated to the depths of Robby's core. He was left grinning like an idiot while the heat rose up his neck to dust his cheeks. "Wait, you're serious? And so were our coworkers? I thought they were just being motherly when they told me how much you talk about me..."

"Of course I am, I never shut up about you to anyone when it comes to praising you! That's how much you're on my mind. I like sharing some sweetness with others so that they feel appreciated too! Or else I'm pretty sure Donnie or Mary-Lee will put duct tape over my mouth at this point while I work..."

Rebecca shuddered at the thought of her intimidating bosses and getting on their bad side. But Robby couldn't help but bring their walk to a halt to bring the lavender-locked lady into his arms. This sudden pause made Rebecca rosy-cheeked in turn before she quickly nuzzled herself closer into his embrace. The two shared a quick kiss in front of the breakroom and when Robby pulled away, he wanted to reaffirm just how deep his feelings for Rebecca were and no one made him feel as special as she did.

However, once again, their sweet moment was interrupted by their coworkers. "You two can kiss and cuddle after you're done with work!"

So much for sweet moments when working... But there'd be plenty of time later for Robby to properly convey his feelings since he was planning on not letting his special little lilac go anytime soon when they got home...

#ship: the tale of a delinquent and the top student #selfshipdom #selfship community #self insert community #self shipping #self insert #self indulgent stuff #selfship #fo community #f/o content #oc x canon #canon x si

3 notes · View notes

forgottenyear · 8 months

Text

No trigger warnings, but long text (~1000 wds).

I have no idea what I intended to write, but I am sure I did not write it. Whatever it is, it is not entirely unpleasant for a change, but maybe I am not the best judge of my own life.

I tend to think about how we dropped our interest in electronics because we were afraid that we would discourage our brother from pursuing the field. It sounds quite noble that way.

I think it had more to do with the issue of stealing another’s identity, although I am unsure of which way around that would have worked. I no longer know who got to electronics first.

I do know, maybe because it was later, that we crowded the middle sister out of theater. She was trying very hard to act, and we walked in and took the lead in our first production. (We later moved over to theater tech because it used more of our creativity and did not require memorizing lines.)

But the oldest sister has always tended to steal elements of our identity. She tends to tell stories about herself, that we previously told her about ourself. We, with a friend, came up with a mnemonic for a singer’s name, which we later told this sister. The last time I talked with her, she was telling me that she has a mnemonic for the singer’s name. It is silly little things like this, and I would feel more foolish to say anything, but still. As a child, we would be accused of stealing elements of this sister’s identity, and now I do not know how much truth there was to this.

This also came into play when the amnesia broke, and my me-ness was carved up and distributed (“me-ted?”) to the original owners.

I had a young friend and mutual up to a few years ago. Before I realized there was a wider community, and before I realized that I had set this blog to private (when my partner and I had ongoing legal dealings with someone who was aggressively invading our privacy), this lone friend was the only active follower of this blog.

This (high-school-aged for the first year or so) friend was in therapy for trauma, which is why they followed and began conversing with me, but their story gradually evolved to resemble mine over time. They bought books about DID and were involved with the DID tags, and their story changed still further, to where some of their story contradicted major portions of the earlier versions and so the earlier were dropped. They had seen a doctor for many years, but this doctor was unwilling to re-diagnose them with DID in contradiction to symptoms with which they had long presented. So, they burned through several doctors before they could find one who would diagnose them with DID instead of a diagnosis where a patient only imagines they have DID.

(I do not diagnose, and I will not. I relate this anecdote according to what I witnessed. I do regret that my existence may have been an influence at the wrong time.)

The point of telling this is that I cringed each of the many times that this person’s story included a new element that appeared to have been copied and pasted from mine. I am not talking about general, relatable experiences that are somewhat common to most with trauma and DID, but the sort of specifics that would get one accused of plagiarism.

I became uncomfortable with writing too openly. I began to write far less than I need for self-therapy.

Yes, there was an element of not wanting to “corrupt” an impressionable friend. But there was also an element of feeling my identity was being siphoned away.

I became worried that I could never again speak a thing they had assumed from me, or I would look like I was mimicking them.

The friendship turned odd after a while, to where this person began acting like a teacher or a parent toward me. The RL person invading my privacy was legally removed beyond my concern, and I felt like it was safe again to explore the wider DID community on tumblr openly. When I told this friend that I needed to talk with others, the friend was almost frantic about how bad an idea this would be and how vulnerable I would be. When I was determined, they announced that they could no longer trust me, and I was blocked. (They accidentally “liked” a post from this blog a few months later. Oops.)

I am not a parent. I am not a teacher. I am not a therapist. I am frightened of these things because of the responsibilities that go with them.

A younger friend recently told me, again, how I influenced their life for the positive, mostly. I want to hope I have been a positive influence on most of the younger people around me. I try very hard always to have everyone feel as though they are my equal, and I “try,” not because it is difficult, but because I am aware of how easily I blunder into being intimidating.

I wrote recently about a young client who felt inadequate to take over a job from me, even though they had the better educational qualifications. That I had influenced them to enter the “same” field of work, but then they felt inadequate to fill My shoes. (And the “same” field of work was actually an incidental nuisance that I was happy to be rid of.)

I feel equally heartbroken over the possibility that a young person “admired” my DID enough that they wanted the same diagnosis.

Does my post end on the same subject as it began? Do they ever?

I am no longer sure why I ever think I will not wander off in the middle of expressing a thought.

1 note · View note

hermanngottlieb-geiszler · 2 years

Text

Well *cracks knuckles* it’s my turn for showing the internet my take on the new Riddler design Paul Dano is playing.

I have seen people flooding the riddler tags with their takes and I personally am in shock. As a long time riddler fan, who’s read every issue and played all Arkham games and watched all media including him, I think Matt Reeves take is such a great one.

Now now, don’t flood my comments crying “boo hoo he’s not neon” or “but herrrrrmannn he’s not flamboyaaaaant”. Listen first.

The Edward in this scenario, is a serial killer using his killings to draw light to the corruptness of Gotham city and in turn the Waynes. Showing how the city relies heavily on mobs and the over abundance of corruption in the police force and soon to be the reliance on vigilantes. So he’s not trying to get attention on himself. He’s getting the light shown onto the dark and true parts of Gotham. This is paralleled with how I can assume Selina’s character is going to come in play with Bruce, how she will “show him the ropes of Gotham” with aiding in fighting styles like how she was shown sparring with him in the trailer.

Anyways, Ed isn’t wanting the attention. He wants to destroy Gotham in a more interesting and wit required way. Through slowly showing the public the truth of the gcpd and the nature of the mobs, through live broadcasts on hacked Jumbotrons (similar to Arkham-verse, Riddle Factory, and to an extent Zero Year) and through his game he discovers a new player which is the Batman who is working through the gcpd with Gordon. Thus, furthering the corruption as the police is working alongside a vigilante as well as the mob on some portions. This Riddler does want the attention, but he wants it for different purposes. And his outfit conveys that stunningly.

Okay onto his outfit design that people can’t seem to wrap their heads around. His outfit is based off a military grade extreme cold uniform. The mask was designed to conceal the wearers identity and keep them warm in frigid terrain. Riddler has added onto the concealment of his identity by putting plastic over his hair, allowing himself to be at crime scenes without leaving behind any dna evidence like hair follicles. Thus, allowing the duct tape scene to make more sense with how he was able to do it and not be caught. People don’t seem to realize that dna evidence is pretty damning for serial killers. So the fact that he has all these bases covered for one in this is AMAZING DETAIL. As much as it hurts all you idiots, Riddler in a real world scenario cannot be flaunting his face and showing the world his identity. Which is WHY he is covered. Which is WHY he’s finally back to being enigmatic. Not to mention, he’s going against some of the most dangerous groups in Gotham (at the time, since it is before the rise of the Rogues). The mob in Gotham is NOTHING to joke around about, especially since this is Pre-Rogue Gotham so they are the strongest force in Gotham at the time.

So this new Riddler is GREAT. He’s smart. He’s methodical. He’s sly. He KNOWS what he’s doing. He knows it’s dangerous but he loves the thrill of the game because he knows he can’t be caught. And since a new player entered, one that isn’t hive minded like the mob, he is LIVING for it. Because Batman is not legal either. He’s a vigilante which to an extreme sense Riddler is too. This is the start of Batman realizing that once he enters the ring as a vigilante, people are going to rise up and play against him. This movie is showing the downfall of the mobs grip, and showing the rise of the Rogues. Showing the rise of penguin alongside the rise of the Riddler.

It feels very Riddler-esc and I’m so glad that the dcu finally is giving him justice. He is enigmatic. He’s smart. He’s cunning. He KNOWS the game. He sees everyone as a chess piece and he sees himself as the game master.

Unfortunately, no one seems to understand that riddler is not just some “campy hee hee hoo hoo villain”. People don’t seem to understand that he isn’t just tights and spandex. He’s MORE than that. I know the only other live action versions of Riddler have been Frank Gorshin (who is one of my favorite iterations I will say), Jim Carrey (which was a great performance, just wasn’t 100% the riddler), and Corey Michael Smith (who did alright, I just don’t like how Gotham handled his character as the show progressed. He never grew and stayed pretty one note and wasn’t…a smart riddler which was alright in his arc for season two but as the show progressed, he didn’t). But riddler in the comics and even the Arkham-verse games, has NOT been campy.

I’ll probably make a part two, comparing past riddler iterations and showing how he isn’t just “an annoying gay twink” as some put it and that he is fully capable and has been shown as a serious villain. He has killed people. He has done serious heists and schemes and he isn’t what the majority seems to think he is.

Part two coming soon

#edward nygma #riddler #the riddler #dcu #the Batman #robert pattinson #battinson #oh no an actual dc fan made their take on it #Paul dano #edward nashton #i hate calling him that as it’s a dead name to him…

258 notes · View notes

queenshelby · 3 years

Text

The Judge’s Daughter (Part One)

Featuring: Tommy Shelby x Virgin!Reader

Words: 8,700

Warning: Angst, Blood, Gore, Mention of Suicide, Mention of Miscarriage, Drugs, Racism, Smut

Tag List:

@lilymurphy03 @deefigs @theflamecrystal @chrisevanshoeee @desperate-and-broken @weepingstudentfishhorse @captivatedbycillianmurphy @fookingshelby @livinginfantaxy @rosey1981 @atomicsoulcollecto @peakyboyslover @nerdy4itall @elenavampire21 @hanster1998 @mariapaiva13 @fairypitou @harry-is-my-sunflower @zozeebo @lauren-raines-x

………

Challenging Times

In early 1930, times were hard. The Wall Street crash in 1929 caused many men to lose their fortune. Your family had also lost money on the stock exchange. A lot of money.

Your father was a wealthy judge and now, he was just a judge. Your family home had to be sold and your father moved into a medium sized apartment in London with one of his maids.

Since your mother had passed away in 1920, your father had often sought comfort in his employees. There was one maid in particular who was of interest to him. Her name was Catherine and she was 10 years your father’s junior.

You accepted his relationship with her but soon felt uncomfortable to live with them in the London Apartment.

But your father wasn’t the only family member who lost his fortune in the stock market crash. Your brother had also lost a lot of money. So much money that he could not repay his gambling debt to one of London’s most notorious criminals.

As a result, your brother committed suicide. His mental health had always been troubled ever since he’s been to France, fighting for England in the First World War. Your brother was much older than you and it was almost a miracle when your mother fell pregnant again and gave birth to you after three miscarriages.

Your brother adored you and protected you whenever necessary. He was kind hearted but, unfortunately, got himself involved with the wrong people on several occasions which is when he began gambling.

Following your brother’s death, your father struck a deal with the man to whom the gambling debt was owed, releasing three of his gang members from prison.

The debt was forgiven and you inherited your brother’s small cottage north of London. Regardless of your father’s actions, he began to despise criminals who involved themselves in illegal gambling activities. Your father was known to be particularly harsh when it came to offences of this kind.

He once told you a story about a man who used to be a prominent criminal who made his fortune through race fixing and illegal gambling activities. That man was now a member of parliament and your father despised him.

Being Jewish, your father’s hate for this man increased even more when he became the deputy leader of the British Union of Fascists.

The man’s name was Thomas Shelby and you met him once at a gala organised by the socialist party in Westminster. He was a smart man but he was also extremely rude and insulted your father at the gala following a dispute they had earlier in the day.

Your father threatened him and told him that, one day, he will ensure his downfall. It was your father’s mission and it was dangerous.

With that threat in mind and heated political events unfolding around the country, your father asked you to move to the countryside. Take up your brother’s cottage and lay low until things were taking a turn.

It took you quite some time to build up the courage to move into the house where your brother took his own life. But, you eventually did, taking up your brother’s work at the property while attending nursing school every second week.

The cottage was free standing but behind a larger house owned by wealthy Londoners. Their wealth seemed to have been unaffected by the stock market crash and, just as your brother did, you attended their yards and animals on the small farm in exchange for a wage and free food from the produce.

You also spent some time renovating the cottage which was rather dated.

The cottage had two bedrooms, one of which you converted entirely to a studio for your paintings. You enjoyed painting and you were quite good at it.

The other bedroom you redecorated with your own furniture.

The downstairs area consisted out of a small living room with a fire place and a small kitchen and bathroom.

It wasn’t much, but it was a place you could call your own. It was home.

Initially following your move, you would travel to London occasionally to visit your father and his mistress. You wondered when he would finally propose to her. She had been waiting for years.

When you visited, you would often sit in one of his open hearings. You were quite interested in the political and legal situation in the country especially following recent events.

Notably, it has been six weeks since the assassination attempt on Oswald Mosley, the leader of the British Union of Fascists.

Being Jewish yourself, you, just like your father, despised fascism.

The event at which the assassination attempt occurred was visited by many Jews, protesting against the establishment of the party and their obscure ideas. Despite your father’s instructions not to get involved, you were one of the protestors on the day and, although not openly, you have been associating yourself with the communists.

Your newfound friend Jesse Eden had since led several more protests you attended. Being only 20 years young, you believed that you could make a difference and convince people that their support for fascism was wrong and immoral.

The problem was that your father was at the centre of it all.

Following the assassination attempt on Oswald Mosley, two Jews were arrested and appeared in your father’s court. The prosecution didn’t have enough evidence for a conviction and the men walked free.

No one really knew who was behind the assassination attempt. There were no witnesses and everyone who may have witnessed the attack had since been found dead.

Regardless of this, for some reason, the leaders of the British Union of Fascists seem to have believed that a Jewish man by the name of Alfie Solomons was behind the attack. But there was one little problem, Alfie Solomon was dead. Or wasn’t he?

The men that were arrested used to work for Alfie Solomons and took the fall until your father set them free for lack of evidence.

A week after this decision, a Jewish owned factory was bombed. The factory was owned by the men who were set free by your father and a company owned by a Trust.

Ten men were killed and, following some arrests, it became evident that Jimmy McCavern was behind the attack.

Jimmy McCavern was the leader of the Billy Boys and, over the course of another week, your father was able to make a connection through some documents admitted to evidence between Jimmy McCavern, Alfie Solomons and a man named Thomas Shelby who was the deputy leader of the British Union of Fascists.

An arrest warrant was issued against Jimmy McCavern and Thomas Shelby by the London police following your father’s advice to them. Since, apparently, Alfie Solomons was dead, no arrest warrant could be made against him.

Thomas Shelby was the first member of parliament who was subject to such warrant and your father may have just, like this, gotten himself a lot of enemies.

The men he had against him now were not only the Billy Boys but also the Peaky Blinders and it was too dangerous for you to continue to visit him in London.

Unfortunately, little did you know that the danger was about to lurk just in front of your doorstep.

An Unexpected Visit

It was a Wednesday evening at 8pm that you heard a rather loud knock on the front door of your cottage.

You didn’t expect anyone and approached the door with your loaded gun. It’s not that you had ever shot a gun, but you bought yourself one two days ago just in case you needed it.

‘Who is it?’ you asked from behind the closed door.

‘It’s Jesse Eden’ you’ve heard from behind the door and you immediately recognised Jesse’s voice.

You put the gun aside and unlocked the door.

To your surprise, Jesse wasn’t alone and your chin dropped as you saw the man standing right in front of you. You remembered him. He was the man who stood beside Oswald Mosley during his speech in Birmingham and you had met him before at a gala at Westminster.

His name was Thomas Shelby.

‘I think we have met before Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.

‘Yes, we have Mr Shelby’ you said nervously and frightened at the same time. You immediately wondered whether Jesse was under duress by him. Why otherwise would he be here with her you wondered.

You invited them both inside after Jesse made the request to come in. She wasn’t sure whether they had been followed.

To your surprise, Jesse soon told you that she required your help. According to her, Thomas Shelby had to lay low due to the arrest warrant issued by the London police.

If Thomas Shelby was to be arrested, he may be killed in prison before a hearing could be conducted.

Accordingly, Jesse asked you to hide him at your house until the charges against him are dropped.

‘You mean until the chief of police has been bribed enough to drop the charges?’ you chuckled in response to her request.

‘I wish it would be that easy Love’ Tommy said as he looked at the pictures on your living room wall. His hands were in his pockets and he almost looked unbothered by the situation.

‘You cannot be serious Jesse. You seriously want me to hide this man at my house?’ you said in disbelieve.

‘I am afraid I am serious Y/N’ Jesse responded.

‘Well, a fascist hiding at the house of a Jew, how ironic’ you said angrily, still unsure why Jesse was helping him.

‘I know we have gotten off on the wrong foot at the Westminster gala Miss Rosenberg, but I would greatly appreciate your help’ Tommy said, recalling his argument with your father in your presence in late 1929.

‘You think Mr Shelby?’ you chuckled. ‘You insulted my father and my entire family’ you said.

‘And for that, I apologise’ Tommy said politely but firmly.

‘Jesse, you need to explain to me why you are helping this man. I do not understand it’ you said.

‘I cannot give you more information Y/N. You just need to trust me on this, alright?’ Jesse asked almost fearfully.

‘Alright, but why me?’ you pondered.

‘Because you are the daughter of the judge hearing this matter. No one will think to look for me here, at your house’ Tommy explained.

‘Jesus’ was all you could respond with to Tommy’s comment.

‘Y/N, trust me, please. It’s for the cause’ Jesse said.

‘I find this hard to believe, but alright, he can stay’ you responded.

Not long after you agreed to house the deputy leader of the British Union of Fascists, Thomas Shelby, Jesse made her way back to Birmingham. It was a three-hour drive and she had to hurry before anyone became suspicious.

‘You will have to sleep on the lounge. Please help yourself to any food, water and drinks’ you said while you walked into another room to fetch a blanket, pillow and change of clothes for Tommy.

You still held on to your brother’s clothes which should have fitted Thomas just fine.

‘I thank you for your hospitality Miss Rosenberg and I apologise for intruding your space. I should be out of your hair within the week’ Tommy said as you came back to the living room and handed him everything he needed for his stay.

‘I am doing this for Jesse, not for you Mr Shelby. Although I do not quite understand why she is helping you’ you said just before you sat down in one of the arm chairs.

‘Let’s just say, we had a thing once, eh’ Tommy smirked.

‘I didn’t think that she would fall for a man like you’ you said.

‘A man like me, eh?’ Tommy chuckled.

‘Yes, a socialist turning to fascism. It’s rather disappointing’ you said.

‘Sometimes we do what we have to do Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.

‘Yes, if we didn’t, you wouldn’t be staying here, trust me’ you said before excusing yourself.

You made your way to your studio, painting and drinking wine. It was what you enjoyed most and you wanted to space from the stranger now living with you in the small cottage. A man you had literally nothing in common with and who you despised.

While you were painting, Tommy made use of your telephone and enjoyed some of your late brother’s whiskey.

It was obvious to you that he was struggling with being cooped up in your cottage and, just as your thoughts got lost in your paintings, you heard some a cracking noise near the door of your studio.

‘What are you doing?’ you asked as you noticed Tommy walking into your studio, looking through your many paintings.

‘You are talented. These paintings are extraordinary’ Tommy said.

‘Thank you, Mr Shelby’ you said with surprise. Had he really just complimented you?

His presence and closeness sent shivers down your spine. It wasn’t that you were frightened but you were clearly intimidated.

‘What are your plans, Miss Rosenberg?’ Tommy asked as he kept looking through the paintings.

‘My plans?’ you asked.

‘Your plans for the future? What are they?’ Tommy asked.

‘I am studying to become a nurse. Perhaps, one day get married and have children. The usual’ you said shyly.

‘Well, let me tell you, marriage is overrated’ Tommy chuckled before he asked how old you were.

‘I am 20’ you responded.

‘Still young with a life of opportunities ahead of you. Don’t waste them on the cause’ Tommy said.

‘Coming from a man who wastes his political career on fascism’ you said, causing Tommy to chuckle.

Your comment instantly sparked a political debate between you and Tommy which soon erupted into a heated argument.

During the argument he told you that you were too young to understand, ignorant and naïve and you were keen to throw him out of your house right then and there.

But, you bit your tongue and reminded yourself of the promise you made to Jesse.

You couldn’t stand him and his arrogance any longer and went to your bedroom, leaving him to debate about politics with himself.

Things Must Change

The next morning, you woke up early to attend the garden, ignoring Tommy as you left the house.

But, it wasn’t long until Tommy joined you in the garden. It was obvious to you that he was clearly bored.

‘What happened to the people who lived at the large house over there?’ Tommy asked as he walked outside to have a cigarette. You didn’t allow him to smoke inside the house.

‘They are in France for their annual vacation. Apparently, their fortune was unaffected by the stock market crash’ you responded.

‘Lucky them eh’ Tommy grinned as he grabbed some of the leather gardening cloves and a bucket from the side of the house.

Wearing his expensive suit and with the bucket in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth he walked over to the berry bushes where you were standing.

‘I might as well make myself useful eh’ he said jokingly as he began picking some berries.

‘Uhm yeah…but these aren’t ripe’ you giggled as you observed Tommy picking off some of the raspberries.

‘Right. Well, I usually don’t garden’ Tommy chuckled.

‘I couldn’t tell’ you laughed, causing Tommy to smile back at you.

This was the first time you noticed him smile. It was a gentle smile and it suited him.

Tommy helped you in the garden for the remainder of the day. It wasn’t like he had something else to do other than make phone calls to his brother and someone by the name of Kent.

You managed to keep your arguments to a minimum and you started to worry that you were slowly beginning to enjoy his company.

Later that evening, following dinner, you even sat down together in front of the fireplace in the living room to drink whiskey and wine and make some conversation.

‘I have been checking on your calls, contacting the directory because I wanted to make sure that I am safe with you being here. I have been told that the last call from my number was made to the Crown Investigations Office’ you said with surprise as you poured Tommy a glass of whiskey. After everything that happened in the past, you still didn’t trust him.

‘That’s correct’ Tommy said.

‘The only reason I could think of as to why you were talking to an officer of the Crown while you have an arrest warrant against you is if you were working for the Crown yourself. Otherwise, you would be mad tipping them’ you said.

‘I was just trading information that might be useful. In exchange, I am hoping for the arrest warrant against me to be dropped’ Tommy explained.

‘Mr Shelby, do you actually believe in fascism? I have not heard you speak about your party’s ideals since you’ve been here. We spoke about politics but you still seem to be a socialist at heart. So tell me, why do you follow this mad man Mosely? I am curious’ you said.

‘The thing about political parties is that they take the course into the direction in which they are steered. Much like a car. But just like with a car, if you fill it with the wrong fuel and the engine breaks down as a result, you will be going nowhere’ Tommy said as he took a drink.

‘And you are the fuel Mr Shelby?’ you asked with curiosity.

‘Yes, I am the fuel Miss Rosenberg’ he said.

‘Your intention is to undermine Mosley on behalf of the Crown. Jesse knew and this is why she helped you, isn’t it?’ you said after pondering on about what Tommy had just told you.

‘And now that you know this as well, it makes you my accomplice. I might be able to use your help Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.

‘If it helps to end fascism, perhaps I am willing to give it’ you said with a smile. ‘But I am curious now Mr Shelby. Was it you who initiated the attack on Mosley?’ you asked.

‘I rather not answer Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.

‘I understand. Also, you can call me Y/N now that we aren’t enemies after all’ you said.

‘Alright Y/N, then I insist that you call me Tommy’ he responded.

After some more conversation you decided that it was time for you to make your way to bed. It was late and you had to get up early to attend the animals.

Nightmares

Falling asleep that night was easy. You felt much safer now despite Tommy’s presence. You knew he wasn’t going to harm you.

But just as easy as you had fallen asleep, you were woken up by a loud noise coming from the living room at 1am.

‘Tommy, are you alright?’ you asked worryingly as you walked downstairs in a haste, wearing nothing but your silk nightgown.

‘My apologies, I didn’t intend to wake you’ Tommy said as he sat on the lounge, covered in sweat.

You initially thought that he might haven gotten sick until you saw a small empty bottle on the living room table. Your brother used to have one just like it which he carried around everywhere. It contained Liquid Opium and helped him sleep. He took it every night until, one day, he stopped. The withdrawal was barely manageable and his addiction soon rebounded.

You knew what this was. You had seen it before.

‘I will make you some tea to help you sleep’ you said kindly as you observed Tommy’s struggles.

‘I don’t think that tea will help me sleep Love’ Tommy chuckled.

‘My brother used to have nightmares after France. When he returned home, my mother made this for him and he managed to get at least some sleep. It’s worth a try’ you said with a warm smile. You knew Tommy had been to France. You had spoken about it when you spoke about your brother earlier that evening.

‘I suppose why not, eh’ Tommy said as he walked to the bathroom to clean himself off with a cold wet flannel.

After you put on the kettle, you walked to the studio and grabbed some more of your brother’s clothes.

‘These should fit you’ you said shyly as you handed Tommy a clean plain shirt and pants.

‘Thank you, Y/N’ he said as he took the clothes.

This was the first time you saw Tommy without a shirt and, despite his level of exhaustion, it was quite a sight. He certainly was a very attractive man.

After Tommy had gotten himself changed, you sat down next to him and handed him the cup of tea.

‘Do you want to talk?’ you asked.

‘It’s the middle of the night Y/N, you should get some sleep’ Tommy said.

‘It’s alright. I am not tired’ you said with a warm smile.

That night Tommy spoke with you about everything. About France and his late wife Grace who visited him in his dreams. He didn’t know why, but he felt as though he could talk to you and trust you.

At 4am, you eventually fell asleep on the lounge next to Tommy which is where you woke up the next morning covered with a warm blanket.

The fire was lid and there was a note on the coffee table as you woke.

‘Borrowed your hunting rifle, will be back by 8’ the note said.

You didn’t know how to hunt and had been telling Tommy how your brother shot bucks whenever you came to visit him at the cottage from London. You would then prepare it with veggies from the garden just the way your mother had shown you.

You thought that, perhaps, Tommy was better equipped than you when it came to hunting. You struggled enough even just to slaughter a chook from the farm and your intake of meat was clearly lacking as a result.

Attacked

With Tommy gone, you decided to attend to the horses. Grabbing your shovel and rake, you walked into the stables.

But, just as you walked inside, you could hear a loud noise from behind the barn.

You wondered whether it was Tommy and approached the back area of the property carefully. After all, he had a loaded gun and you certainly didn’t want to get shot accidently.

Just as you walked to the side of the property, you saw a strange man.

‘Hello Love’ the man said, cocking his gun.

‘Who are you and what do you want?’ you asked holding on to your rake tightly.

‘We’ve got a dispute to settle with some Jews Love. Now be a good girl and put down this rake would you’ the man said firmly.

You obliged and the man approached you slowly.

‘Now Love, we will be having a good time and then we will visit your father’ the man said just before he called for another man who was at the back of the barn.

Within an instant, the man grabbed your wrists and pushed you against the outer wall of the barn.

‘Such are pretty thing aren’t you’ the man said as he aimed to cover your mouth while moving away your skirt.

But, just when the man’s hand reached your mouth, you bit him firmly just before yelling for help.

‘You fucking bitch’ the man said as he reached for his gun.

In this moment, you heard a shot. The other man was hit, but barely and went to check out where the shot came from.

With both men distracted, you ceased the moment and pulled out the gardening scissors you were carrying in your thin jacket. Within an instant and without thinking, you rammed the scissor into the neck of the man who was still standing right there in front of you.

This was all it took for the man to fall to the ground. You couldn’t help it but scream as your hands and blouse were covered in the man’s blood.

You were besides yourself, sitting on the ground next to his dying body in shock, unable to do anything.

After what felt like an eternity, you saw Tommy approach you, making his way through the veggie patch carrying your hunting rifle and covered in blood himself.

‘Are you alright Y/N?’ he asked as he kneeled down next to you, comforting you.

‘There is another man Tommy, he walked to towards the berry field’ you said.

‘I know. He’s dead now and so is the third man who was driving them here’ Tommy said.

‘Did you kill them?’ you asked.

‘Yes, I did’ he said and, just in that moment, you threw his arms around him.

This is when you realised that he had been injured and was in agony himself.

‘Tommy, you’ve been shot’ you said with worry as you saw blood staining through his white shirt.

‘Yes’ was all he managed to say at this point as he was losing blood.

‘We will get you to a hospital’ you said in a haste.

‘No hospital Y/N. I will be taken into custody if I set foot in a public place like this until the arrest warrant has been dropped’ Tommy said.

You could see the agony on his face as he held onto the side of his chest. He was in pain. A lot of pain.

‘You are nurse, aren’t you?’ Tommy asked, breathing heavily.

‘I am a student nurse Tommy. I have not practiced on a life person’ you said worryingly.

‘Well, it’s about time then eh’ Tommy chuckled.

‘Tommy, you can’t be serious’ you said.

‘I am serious Y/N. I need you to do this, please’ Tommy said.

‘Alright, common’ you said nervously. It wasn’t like you had a choice. Tommy was bleeding a lot and his wound needed attention immediately.

With haste, you walked inside with Tommy and placed a towel over the lounge and got your first aid kit as well as a bottle of vodka from the dining room. You then went to the bathroom quickly to get a bowl of clean water and more towels.

While you were getting everything ready, Tommy made a phone call to his brother Arthur, giving him your address. By that point, Tommy was barely able to stand up.

As you returned from the kitchen, you helped Tommy to remove his blood-soaked clothes.

You gasped for a moment. You weren’t sure whether the blood or the sight of his naked body took away your breath.

‘You’ve got whiskey?’ Tommy asked.

‘Tommy, I don’t think it matters which alcohol I use to clean out your wound’ you said as you got everything ready on the table.

‘To drink. Trust me, I’ll need it. I am out of Opium’ he said, his breathing still laboured.

‘Yes, of course’ you said before you poured him a large glass of whiskey and handed it to him.

He drank all of it in an instant before lying down.

‘This is going to hurt’ you said as you cleaned your hands and the tweezers from your first aid kit with some of the vodka.

‘I know’ he said, taking in a deep breath.

‘You have to stay still’ you went on as you reached for his wound which was still profusely pouring blood.

‘I know’ he said again before closing his eyes and holding on to the edge of the lounge in anticipation.

As soon as you entered the wounds with your fingers and the tweezers, all that you could hear was a loud grunt.

‘Fuck’ Tommy screamed as your fingers went in deeper, retrieving the bullet from his wound. By this point, you were breathing as heavily as him.

‘I’ve got it Tommy, don’t move now’ you said as you carefully pulled the bullet out of his flesh.

Tommy took in a deep breath and, with another loud grunt, you dislodged the bullet.

It was intact and you sighed with relief while Tommy opened his eyes, looking at you in agony.

‘Now I will clean up the wound and stitch it, alright?’ you asked, causing Tommy to nod.

He let out another loud grunt as you poured some of the vodka over his wound before handing him a clean towel to apply pressure to the wound while you prepared the stitches.

His face was expressionless when you placed the stitches. You knew that the worst pain was over but, nonetheless, you were surprised by how well he had handled it.

This was when you noticed several large scars across his chest and arms. Almost too many to count.

‘You have been shot before, haven’t you?’ you asked while Tommy looked almost relaxed when you placed the sixth stitch.

‘Just a few times’ he smirked.

While you placed the last stitch, you could hear a car pull up in front of your door.

You opened the door quickly before applying a bandage around Tommy’s chest.

‘Fucking Hell Brother’ Arthur shouted as he walked into the living room with Isiah.

‘Arthur, this is Y/N’ Tommy said by way of introduction.

You quickly shook Arthur’s hand by which he was rather surprised.

‘Who the fuck did this?’ Arthur asked.

‘The Billy Boys. But they weren’t after me. They were after her’ Tommy explained.

‘Why?’ Arthur asked.

‘Because she is the daughter of the judge hearing the McCaven matter. I assume they wanted to send a message’ Tommy said.

‘Did they see you?’ Arthur asked.

‘Yes, but it doesn’t matter. They are dead’ Tommy responded.

‘Alright, what do you want us to do with the bodies? Send a message?’ Arthur asked.

‘Burry them behind the property. This never happened. They just disappeared and never made it here. By the time McCaven finds out the arrest warrants will be dropped and I can deal with the situation and Mosley’ Tommy instructed.

Arthur and Isiah attended the bodies as instructed by Tommy. You were surprised how quickly and efficiently they made the bodies disappear without any evidence whatsoever. It was clear to you that they had done this kind of thing before.

Before they left, Tommy gave Arthur a note to give to Jesse Eden and a note to give to a person named Kent.

In return Arthur gave Tommy three guns, a change of clothes and a bottle of opium.

After Arthur and Isiah had left, you made sure that Tommy was resting. After all, he had lost a lot of blood and you didn’t want him to pull a stitch.

Tender Moments

‘Do you have any more of that tea?’ Tommy asked as he held on to the bottle of opium that Arthur had given him. He starred at it, but didn’t open it.

‘Yes, sure. I will make some’ you said.

You were surprised by Tommy’s request but didn’t dare to argue.

You sat down next to him to have some tea while he placed the bottle of opium on the table in front of him.

‘Tommy, don’t’ you said.

‘Don’t what?’ he asked.

‘The opium, don’t take it’ you said.

‘Well, then put it away somewhere I cannot find it eh’ Tommy said as he handed you the bottle and you obliged with his request.

Tommy knew he would be regretting this soon, at night when his nightmares would wake him once again. It wasn’t the pain he couldn’t handle, but rather it was Grace’s visits in his dreams and dreaming about France hat destroyed him.

He was afraid of going to sleep but he needed sleep badly especially after today and so did you.

‘Are you not going to sleep?’ Tommy asked as clock struck midnight and you were still there with him talking about matters which he never talked to anyone about. He felt like he could confine in you and, despite your young age, you understood and you cared.

‘I don’t think I can. Not after what happened today. Not after what I have done’ you said as tears were building up in your eyes for the third time that evening.

‘Y/N, listen to me, alright?’ he said, caressing your face gently.

‘What you have done saved your life. These men were here to hurt you and now they can’t. You are safe now’ Tommy said as tears began to run down your cheek.

‘I killed someone Tommy’ you said in disarray.

‘You killed a bad man’ Tommy said as he used his thumbs to wipe away your tears.

‘It’s still a man Tommy’ you said before pressing your head against his chest. ‘Will the picture of him ever leave my head?’ you asked.

‘No Y/N, it won’t. But your guilt will, that I promise’ Tommy said. ‘Now, let’s get you some rest, eh?’ Tommy said.

‘Will you come with me Tommy?’ you asked nervously, knowing that your question was somewhat unusual.

‘Come with you? To bed?’ Tommy asked with surprise.

‘Yes, just to sleep by my side. I am scared Tommy’ you said.

‘I never had a woman ask me to join her in her bed simply for the purpose of sleeping, but alright, I suppose I can do that’ Tommy smirked before he followed you upstairs.

As Tommy lied down next you, bandaged up and wearing not much more than his white undergarments, you could feel something unusual. It was almost like some sort of warmth which was flowing through your chest.

‘Do you want me to turn off the light?’ Tommy asked as he got comfortable on the large white pillow, facing you and starring into your dark eyes.

‘Not yet. Perhaps we could talk for a little longer’ you said as you looked into his comforting blue eyes.

‘Alright, what you want to talk about?’ he asked and this is when you brought up his current wife Lizzie and his children.

‘What about your wife and children, where are they?’ you asked.

‘They are in Scotland, where, apparently they are safe from all this and from myself’ Tommy said with some disappointment.

‘From yourself? But they are your children’ you asked with some confusion.

‘They are, but they are indeed safer without me until I sort things out’ Tommy explained.

‘Do you miss your wife’ you asked.

‘No, I do not miss my wife. She filed for divorce six weeks ago’ Tommy said.

‘You do not seem upset about it. Why is that?’ you asked.

‘Because I know that it’s the right thing to do, to keep her safe. Our relationship was never one made of love. I never loved her the way a husband should love his wife. But, she is mother of my daughter and she cares deeply for my son. I trust her. She’s always been loyal to me and to the Company’ Tommy explained.

‘That’s nice…to have someone like this in your life’ you said.

‘It is indeed. Now you should get some rest eh’ Tommy said as he turned off the bedside lamp.

To his surprise, as soon as he turned off the light, you leaned over towards him carefully and rested your head on the uninjured side of his chest.

He let you and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close until you drifted off to sleep.

This was the first time for Thomas Shelby since he came back from France that he shared a bed with a woman other than his wife who didn’t have any sexual interactions with. To his surprise, despite the pain after having been shot, he slept better than he had expected. In the absence of nightmares, he was well rested until, after five hours of sleep, the next morning you heard a loud bang on the door.

Taking a Turn

You walked downstairs again with your loaded gun in your hand.

‘Who is it?’ you asked as you approached the door carefully.

‘Jesse Eden’ the person said and you quickly opened the door while Tommy came walking downstairs, out of your bedroom.

‘I actually just came here to make sure you didn’t kill each other but it looks like you’ve managed to become acquainted’ Jesse giggled.

‘It’s not what it looks like’ you said as Tommy walked out of your bedroom wearing nothing but his undergarments.

‘I assume Tommy has informed you about our past relations. But, for the record, I no longer have any interest in the man, so it’s quite alright with me if it is what looks like Y/N’ Jesse laughed.

‘You are no longer interested, eh?’ Tommy said to Jesse with a cheeky smile.

‘Unless you have forgotten, you ended up marrying someone else’ Jesse said.

‘Should I give you two some privacy?’ you asked as you felt uncomfortable being caught in between their conversation about old times.

‘No Y/N, there is no need eh Jesse?’ Tommy said with a laugh.

‘No there is not. Arthur came to see me last night to give me your note. But he hadn’t said anything about you having been injured’ Jesse said.

‘It’s alright, she’s a nurse. I got lucky’ Tommy chuckled.

‘Well, I am glad because I have information from one of my informants that will be of interest to you now that you are still alive. The Crown prosecutor was removed from the case and so was the chief of police. Apparently, it was found out that they both involved themselves with illegal prostitutes at some of your brothels’ Jesse said.

‘Now that is interesting, isn’t it?’ Tommy smirked.

‘You obviously knew and blackmailed them. The man in charge of the matter is now your friend Lawrence Staghill who, I believe, is filing for a motion to dismiss for lack of evidence in front of the judge who still owes you a lot of money. So, it looks like that everything is going to plan for you once again Thomas Shelby OBE. You should be free to leave after the next three days. The case is to be heard after the weekend’ Jesse said.

‘You hear that? Three more days and I will be out of your hair Y/N’ Tommy said.

‘I can’t wait’ you said cheekily and with a hint of sarcasm.

Jesse stayed for a little while longer before heading back to Birmingham and you made sure that, for the entire day, Tommy rested.

It was hard for Tommy to rest. It was almost like he needed to do something at all times. He wasn’t a man who could ever just sit still and, say, read a book. His mind had to busy constantly and he loved to be challenged.

For you, the day went by quickly and looking after Tommy was almost like looking after a child who refuses to listen.

Gone Too Far

‘I see you made yourself a bed on the sofa again’ you said as you noticed Tommy putting the blanket and pillow on the sofa.

‘Whilst I enjoyed our pillow talk, I figured that last night was an exception. Unless you think you might have difficulty sleeping again’ Tommy smirked.

‘I think I just might’ you said with a smile as you finished brushing your hair.

‘Alright, I will take my pillow and blanket upstairs then eh’ Tommy said.

‘Alright, see you up there’ you smiled, causing Tommy to chuckle.

This was strange indeed, but he figured that, at least, the bed was more comfortable than the lounge.

‘So, what do you want to talk about tonight, eh?’ Tommy asked as you walked into the bedroom with a glass of water and two white pills.

‘I went to the chemist today. This should prevent infection’ you said you said as you handed him the glass and the tablets.

‘Thank you’ Tommy said as you lied down next to him.

He swallowed the tablets and waited for you to say something, start a conversation of some sort.

But you didn’t. You lied there quietly, your dark eyes gazing over his half naked body.

In this moment, he didn’t know what came over him but, just as he leaned to lie on his uninjured side, he ran his hands through your hair and his eyes met yours.

‘I haven’t met anyone quite like you’ Tommy said.

‘Why is that?’ you asked.

‘I am not sure. There is something about you that intrigues me. That doesn’t happen very often’ Tommy said and, just as he did, you leaned forward and your lips met his.

His lips were soft and still tasted like whiskey.

Reluctantly at first, he returned the kiss, gently but passionately.

It was a short kiss and your tongues never touched by the time you lips drifted apart.

Once your lips separated you starred at each other, questioning in your mind what had just happened between you.

With embarrassment, you pulled away and turned around quickly.

‘Goodnight Tommy’ you said after you turned around. You turned off the night light and pulled your blanket over you tightly.

‘Goodnight Y/N’ Tommy said with a slight chuckle, still facing into your direction.

Despite the fact that Tommy had been on your mind now for days, you were surprised by your own actions and wanted to pretend that the kiss between you just moments ago didn’t happen.

You knew about his past, the killings, the illegal businesses, everything. He was a man you knew you shouldn’t get involved with. He was also still married and, at least in the eye of the public, he was a fascist.

You tried very hard to ignore the fact that he was lying next to you, half naked. The fire was lightening the room slightly and you simply couldn’t close your eyes, starring to the other end of the room.

For ten minutes you tried to lie still, but couldn’t. You fidgeted and kept starring up and then to the side again.

‘Do you want me to help you go to sleep?’ Tommy asked as he noticed your restlessness, which instantly broke the silence between you.

‘Help me go to sleep?’ you asked with some confusion and without turning around to face him. You were still to embarrassed to look at him.

‘Yes’ Tommy said as, suddenly, you could feel his body moving closer towards yours but still separated by your individual blankets.

‘What do you mean by that Tommy?’ you asked with some ignorance and, just when you did, you could feel the back of your blanket lift slightly.

Within seconds, Tommy’s fingers trailed over your bare shoulders downwards over your small breasts which were covered by nothing but your silk nightgown.

Your nipple turned hard instantly at his touch and you let out a deep sigh.

‘Tommy, I have never been with anyone before’ you said, allowing his touch but worrying about what he was intending to do to you.

‘Don’t worry Love, I am not going to fuck you. At least not in the conventional way’ Tommy chuckled as his fingers circled over your hard nipples.

You had no idea what he could possibly mean by that. Did he not find you attractive? What was he going to do to you then if not that?

‘So, you don’t want me?’ you asked curiously while small moans escaped your lips as the tips of his fingers continued to run circles over your nipples.

‘I want you alright. But I am not keen on tearing my stitches’ Tommy said as his hands began to take hold of your breasts harder.

You moaned at his touch and felt a strange and unfamiliar sensation build up in between your legs.

It wasn’t long until you felt his fingers move downwards over your stomach until they finally began teasing the top of your mound through your panties.

‘Tommy, I don’t think I will be going to sleep with you touching me like this’ you said with heavy breath. You wondered how on earth this was actually going to help you go to sleep.

‘I hope not’ Tommy laughed quietly. ‘But once I am done with you, you will sleep very well, that I promise’ he whispered into your before biting your earlobe gently.

You took in a deep breath and moaned quietly. The feeling of his hot breath was intense.

‘So do you want me to continue?’ he whispered.

You couldn't say yes. But you also couldn't say no. Instead, all that escaped your lips was another soft moan.

‘I need to hear you say it Love. Tell me you want me to keep going’ he said.

You whimpered under his touch, your hips now rocking to meet his hand. But he held firm.

‘I...it feels really good’ was all you could manage to say.

‘And you want me to continue?’ he asked as his fingers moved a little lower, over your panties, expertly brushing over your clit.

‘Yes Tommy, please continue’ you moaned and, just like that, Tommy slit his hand beneath your panties, running his fingers directly over your wet slit, dipping only the top of them into you gently.

He then began to rub his wet finger tips over your clit, circling around your hard nub with light pressure.

‘Oh my god Tommy’ you moaned as you never felt anything just like that.

After a minute or two, Tommy gently slid one finger into you, looking out for any cues from you to ensure that he didn’t hurt you now that he knew that you were a virgin.

You were so tight, it was almost too much to start and he could feel the resistance of your hymen within you. But he kept going, carefully and gently thrusting his finger in and out of you at a slow pace.

You moaned softly and Tommy loved pulling a reaction out of you. It was almost like it was his goal to break your normally stoic composure.

Tommy wanted to know that you were enjoying what he was doing.

He began sliding his finger in and out of you all the way slowly at first, but not long after he started to build speed.

You enjoyed the alternating feeling between emptiness and fulness inside of you and were making the most delicious noises now. Your eyes were completely closed and you were moaning louder.

Suddenly Tommy slipped a second finger inside of you just to give you a little extra jolt and you reacted better than he could have expected.

It was slightly painful at first but the mild pain soon subsided and turned into pleasure.

‘Tommy, oh god...fuck’ you moaned as you began squirming just slightly and moaning a bit louder.

As his fingers kept thrusting in and out of you, your breathing became heavier and your legs began to quiver.

His thumb soon gave extra attention to your clit while he kept up with the movement of his middle and index finger.

Your moans kept getting more frequent now and you were certainly getting wetter too as Tommy kept going faster and harder.

You couldn’t believe how good he was making you feel with his fingers but you also didn’t know what to expect when an overwhelming sensation of warmth and tingling overcame you slowly.

‘Tommy, I don’t know if this is right. It feels strange’ you moaned as your legs began to shake and you couldn’t control your movements.

You tried to squirm away as the feeling was too unfamiliar to you. But Tommy persisted, pushing his hand firmer against you and his fingers even deeper inside of you.

‘Does it feel good?’ Tommy asked, knowing already what your answer would be as he could feel your walls tightening around his fingers.

‘Yes Tommy’ you managed to let out in between moans.

‘Then its right Love’ Tommy smirked. ‘Just relax and let go eh’ Tommy whispered.

You moaned once again, louder than before, and gave into the sensation.

It was intense, so intense that you had to clench onto the sheets and, just like this your orgasm washed over you.

You were a shaking mess and Tommy kept up the speed with his fingers until your orgasm slowly began to subside.

‘Fuck, what the hell just happened?’ you said once you began to calm down and while Tommy still stroked the outside of your now soaked mound.

‘Did you never have an orgasm before?’ Tommy asked surprised and with curiosity.

‘Like this? No. Never’ you said. Of course, you pleasured yourself before but the sensation was different, way less intense than what Tommy just managed to do to you.

As Tommy removed his hand from you, you turned around, your cheeks flushed. It was almost like you were embarrassed to look at him after what had just happened.

‘Feeling relaxed now?’ Tommy asked with a grin on his face.

‘Yes…uhm…thank you’ you said shyly.

‘It’s my pleasure’ Tommy said with a smile before giving you gentle kiss. You could have spent all night just kissing him. He was good at it and his lips were full and soft.

‘You should get some sleep now, eh’ he said after your lips drifted apart and he caressed your face.

‘Is there anything I could do to return the favour?’ you asked shyly, feeling somewhat guilty about the way he made you feel with nothing in return.

‘No, not tonight Love’ Tommy said as he pulled you closer. Whilst he had the desire to be with you that night, he was still not well enough after his injury and felt as though he should give you time. You were inexperienced and this was new territory for you, possibly overwhelming. Just like this, you had awoken the soft and gentle side of Thomas Shelby and that, in itself, brought him out of his own comfort zone.

He did not know what to do or how to act. The only woman who had managed to do this to him after he’s fought in France was his late wife Grace and he was certain that he would never meet another woman like this again. A woman he would care for in the same way he cared for Grace. Having met you changed everything for him that night and he struggled with the idea to accept his fade, especially with a woman half his age and who was the daughter of the man who tried very hard to bring him down.

Thus, as you leaned your head against his chest carefully, making sure that you didn’t lean against his wound, he couldn’t help but stare at you and ponder about what had brought him to you. Perhaps it was meant to be.

‘What’s wrong Tommy?’ you asked as you began to notice his eyes being fixated on you as he ran one of his hands through your hair gently.

‘Nothing, just enjoying the moment’ he said.

‘Me too Tommy’ you responded before closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Change of Heart

The next morning, when you woke up, Tommy was not by your side. His side of the bed was empty.

But, when you walked downstairs you could see him, sitting in the dining room area with a pen and paper.

You weren’t sure what he was writing and you weren’t sure how to approach him after last night.

You decided to go with a kiss and, just after you said good morning and leaned in to kiss him, Tommy pulled away.

That was unexpected and you looked at him, full of questions.

‘Last night was a mistake Y/N for which I apologise. I should not have been temped’ Tommy said.

‘A mistake? Right’ you said as you walked over to the kitchen bench to boil the kettle. Small tears were running down your eyes and you tried hard to hide them from Tommy.

You had begun to care for him and you most clearly were developing feelings for him.

‘Y/N?’ Tommy said as he noticed you being upset.

‘Tommy, please just give me some space alright’ you said as you walked into the studio with your cup of tea.

You were embarrassed and you felt weak. Yet you wanted to be strong.

Were you too naïve, failing for a man like him?

504 notes · View notes

samstree · 3 years

Note

for the drabble thing: “you weren’t there”

maybe post mountain geraskier? i’m in an angsty mood rn but whatever you wanna write will be good :)

Creatures of the Night (2)

It's the night of Jaskier and Valdo's wedding. Geralt needs to do something.

(endgame geraskier, background valdo/jaskier, angst, infidelity)

Previous | AO3

The Oxenfurt Observatory might just be the grandest building in Redania.

The great hall is decorated with countless flowers and candles, giving the ancient walls a soft glow. Through the tall glass ceiling, stars are shining in the clear night sky, the perfect weather for a wedding.

It must be Jaskier’s idea, to be handfasted at midnight, to have his guests slow-dance under the moon and the stars until dawn breaks. Their new life will begin when the candles burn out and the first ray of light spills into the room.

If only there’s a competition for the biggest romantic on the continent. Jaskier could win without breaking a sweat.

The room is being filled up with guests—mostly bards and professors, old schoolmates of the two grooms. After all, both Valdo and Jaskier are Oxenfurt’s children, which means everyone is dressed in the most colorful clothes one could imagine. In another word, the room is being filled up with Jaskiers, and it’s getting loud.

It’s more difficult to locate the bard himself through the din of the room, but Geralt hears him, unmistakably. Jaskier’s heartbeat approaches the Observatory, thrumming with nervousness.

No more nervous than Geralt.

He breathes in, and exits the room in a few strides. And there Jaskier is, surrounded by pale moonlight, with jasmine flowers braided into his hair and pure joy painted across his cheeks. He seems to be murmuring a private joke to Essi, and they both burst into strings of giggles.

Geralt almost backs out.

“Geralt!” Jaskier notices him. “You came! I was worried for a moment.”

“Of course.” Geralt gestures to the outfit he helped pick out. “You look nice.”

“Thank you. Now, Poppet, can you give us a few moments?” Jaskier sends Essi inside with the sweetest smile. She shoulders past Geralt a little too curtly. There’s always an air of wariness whenever Essi regards Geralt, an untrusting side-eye here and there.

“Don’t mind her.” Jaskier waves when they are left alone. “Little Eye is a tad too protective. She’ll get over it.”

“Hmm.” Geralt swallows hard. “Can we find somewhere more private? I want to talk to you.”

Jaskier blinks, but leads them away anyway until they are by the side of the road, the celebrating crowd and the orange glow of candlelight in the distance.

“Here to make sure I end up someone else’s problem, aren’t you? Don’t worry, in about half an hour, I will be legally required to only bother Valdo for the rest of eternity.” Jaskier nudges Geralt in the shoulder, a jasmine slipping by his ear.

Geralt rights it without thinking, his fingers trembling.

Gods, he can’t say it. He can’t. Jaskier is so happy and Geralt will only ruin their friendship. His second chance is too precious to be risked—

“No, actually,” Geralt heaves out a breath, his heart pounding. “The opposite."

Jaskier snorts, “And, my dear witcher, what is the opposite?”

Here it goes.

“I am in love with you.”

The words sink into the silence. Geralt’s world narrows down to the steady rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest and the little hitch in his breathing. In the darkness of the night, Jaskier’s eyes stay in the shadows, his emotions obscured.

“No, you are not.” When he finally answers, it comes out in a snort. “Ha! A good one, Geralt! And they say witchers don’t have a sense of humor, idiots!”

Jaskier lets out another dry laugh, although the waver in his voice betrays everything.

“I am,” Geralt stresses again, “in love with you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier is staring, the upturn of his lips freezing into shock, the rise and fall of his chest picking up into a frenzy and suddenly he’s breathing too fast. “You can’t. You just can’t…” Air seems to trap in his lungs and a salty tang of tears hits Geralt full-force.

“I wish I couldn’t love, like what they say, but Jaskier, I can and I do—”

“You can’t do this to me!” Jaskier shouts, crying openly. “No, no! You don’t get to tell me this now! We had twenty years…”

Geralt wants more than anything in the world to pull Jaskier into his arms and wipe away the tears, but the space between them is too great. “I didn’t know for twenty years, Jask. Forgive me. It was only after the mountain that I learned how important you were to me. I couldn’t go on like this—”

“The mountain?” Jaskier chokes out a whimper. “You realized after the mountain? You mean when I bared my heart to you and you stomped on it like it was nothing?”

Geralt shakes his head, the guilt constricting his chest. “I’m sorry. For all the pain I caused you.”

“For months I thought I was but a mistake to you, that you hated me for two decades and couldn’t wait to cast me aside like dirt stuck on your shoes. Do you even know… Geralt, do you have an ounce of idea what I went through?”

Jaskier sways and Geralt catches him in his arms, placing his head on his shoulders and feeling the uncontrollable shakes running down Jaskier’s spine. The sight of Jaskier hurt because of him, again, pains Geralt more than any monster’s claws or talons.

“I love you, Jaskier,” he vows. “You were never nothing to me. You are everything. I was an idiot. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier struggles and swats at his shoulders and Geralt takes it all the while murmuring more sweet nothings into his ear. Finally, when Jaskier calms down, it’s with another whimper. “You are an idiot.”

“I am.” Geralt cradles the nape of Jaskier’s neck, running his thumb in circles, soothing the last of the trembling away. “Just one word from you, Jask, I can take you away. You don’t have to marry him. Just give me the word and I’m yours. Gods, I’ve waited for so long for this day. At last, I’m sure of my heart, just as I’m sure of yours.”

He buries into Jaskier’s hair and inhales the grief and the flowers, and something that is distinctly Jaskier, expecting a whispered plea. Just one word from Jaskier and they can start their new life together.

What he doesn’t expect is the way Jaskier goes stiff in his arms and the hand that pushes him away.

The soft moonlight catches a glint in Jaskier’s eyes, and it speaks of determination. “Valdo,” he says, as if in a dream.

“You don’t have to marry him. We can lea—”

“Valdo will be here soon.” Jaskier sniffles and wipes at his tears frantically. His whole face is puffy from crying and there’s no way he can hide it. “It’s almost midnight.”

Geralt’s world comes to a stop.

“What?”

“Get inside, and don’t say anything about this.”

“I don’t understand. Jask, you don’t need to go through this anymore. I’ll give you anything you ask. Just say the words, please,” he begs for the first time in a century, catching Jaskier’s hand.

“I am saying it. Get inside. Sit in the back row and don’t speak to me. Valdo might be able to tell.” With a few deep breaths, Jaskier school his features back to neutral. “Only the gods know how he can read me like an open book.”

Geralt’s blood runs cold. “Do you love him?”

The anguish by the corner of Jaskier’s lips says everything. It remains as he smiles a crooked smile. “He loves me. Oh, Geralt, he loves me. I can’t hurt him like this.”

“I thought,” Geralt looks down in shame. “I thought I knew your heart.”

“I thought I did too.”

“Then why?”

“You weren’t there,” Jaskier shrugs like it’s the easiest explanation. “He was.”

Despite every cell in Geralt’s body screaming against it, he nods and lets go of Jaskier’s hand, allowing his limp fingers to slip from his grasp at last.

Jaskier has asked it of him after all.

He doesn’t know how he got back into the crowd, the warm light only a blur in his vision. Another group is stopping near the hall, among them is the other groom-to-be. Valdo’s worried voice when he sees Jaskier is another blow to Geralt’s chest.

“Oh, Julian, are you crying?”

“Just…too happy.”

There’s the sound of kissing, and Geralt can’t tune it out. He laughs at himself for the masochistic tendencies, but maybe he deserves the torture.

“No more tears. Let’s get married, my love.”

The guests settle, and the music begins.

The happy couple walks towards the altar in the witness of family and friends, and Geralt watches every moment of it.

If the smile on Jaskier’s face is a bit strained as the priest ties the ribbon, no one seems to notice.

---

A big thanks to anon for the prompt! I asked for some one-word or one-sentence prompts and the next thing I knew they were connecting into a whole story.

Each chapter of this story will be based on a prompt, so send in one if you want to steer it in certain directions ;)

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #angst #background valdo/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #weddnings #unrequited love #requited unrequited love #valdo marx #endgame geraskier #ignore the fact that glass ceilings weren't a thing back then #also 'Oxenfurt Observatory' looks so nice

80 notes · View notes

babybluebex · 4 years

Text

revelations

pairing: spencer reid x fem reader (y/n)

summary: rewrite of “revelations”. y/n and spencer have to navigate what happens when their lives are threatened and ultimately taken away.

word count: 2800+

warnings: season 2 reid, drugging, mentions of r*pe

a/n: this one is a little heavy, so sorry about it. the next part will be happier, i swear. pls don’t hate me :(

“We have an unsub,” Gideon began. When we first met nearly three long years ago, I never anticipated that Jason Gideon would give me away to Spencer at our wedding. We had decided to get married spontaneously after work one day, employing Gideon to be our legal witness as we went to a small courthouse in nearby Montclair to elope. He told me how odd it was now to call me Mrs. Reid, but he said that the title suited me well. “That’s targeting young men.”

“Who doesn’t?” JJ scoffed.

“Yes, but he’s a bit different,” Gideon said. “He targets young fathers. All of the victims were between the ages of 25 and 30 and had children that were born within three months of their murder. When interviewed, every mother revealed that their babies had been conceived out of wedlock.”

“What’s that mean?” Spencer asked with a gaze full of curiosity.

JJ laughed. “Spence, you of all people should know what that is,” she said.

“Why, because I’m a genius?” Spencer asked with a smirk. “Contrary to what you think, JJ, I don’t know everything.”

“No,” I replied with a sweet smile. “You should know what that is because Baby was conceived out of wedlock.” I gently patted my swelling tummy, and Spencer’s face flushed with embarrassment.

“Oh,” he said. “Noted.”

“It seems like our unsub has a religious motive,” Gideon said. “Maybe targeting those who live in sin. Hotch, see if you can find anything in the crime scenes that might connect to Christianity in any way.”

“Why specifically Christianity?” I asked.

“Most people that are committed of murder and incarcerated in America are Christian,” Spencer began. “There are more documented cases of a crime scene being labeled with words like ‘Satan’ or people saying that God told them to, and other Christian imagery; you hardly see Islamic or Jewish intentions behind killings like this.”

“So, it’s usually Christians?” I clarified. “But factor in a margin of error--”

“The margin is small enough to make looking for exclusively Christian material viable,” Spencer replied. He gave me his tight lipped Muppet smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Fine, you out-logiced me,” I sighed. “What’s that, the third time this week?”

“Fourth,” Morgan said with a chuckle. “Five, if you count the coffee jab on Monday.”

“The doctor said it was fine!” I exclaimed. “Just a little every so often!”

“But statistically--” Spencer began.

“I love you to pieces,” I sighed. “But if you give me another statistic right now, I will kill you, Dr. Reid.”

“Fine,” Spencer said. “If you say so, Mrs. Reid.”

“Garcia’s working on finding a common link other than the obvious,” Gideon said. “Reid, I want you to talk to the mothers again; maybe you might be able to get something out of them that the others haven’t. And Reid… Doctor, start on a geographic profile. Focus on churches of stricter denominations in the area.” With that, we all got up to depart off to our work.

“How’re you today?” Spencer asked, taking my hand to help me out of my chair. At six months, I had a significant bump that made maneuvering around difficult, and it was no wonder that Gideon assigned me to interview the mothers. I was as certain as he was that I could get some hidden information out of them that Hotch or the non-pregnant Elle just couldn’t. People usually reacted differently to a pregnant woman in normal circumstances as well, so it was a safe bet.

“Just the normal,” I replied.

“Back ache, headaches,” Spencer began listing off all of my normal symptoms. “Hungry?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I have crackers on my desk.”

“Good ole’ JJ,” Spencer chuckled. “Are you… Are you alright to work on this case?”

“Of course,” I said. “I’ve had to work worse cases.”

“But not when you’re…” Spencer began and struggled for words. “As emotional as you are now.”

“Maybe I can use that to my advantage,” I said. “Not everything has to be a setback, Spence.”

“If you’re really not alright with it, I can talk to Gideon,” Spencer said.

I gently patted his cheek. “I’m a big girl, my love,” I told him. “I can do it. But I am fine, I promise.”

“Hey there,” I said, entering the cool interrogation room. The young woman’s eyes locked onto my stomach immediately, and her shoulders fell from their defensive position. “My name’s Special Agent Y/N Reid, I just want to ask you a few questions. Is that alright, Mrs. Barder?”

“Miss,” the woman said softly. “Yes, that’s alright.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” I said. “Umm, call me Reid. It’s easier. So, what can you tell me about Travis?”

She sighed. The file said her name was Elizabeth, but I was waiting for her to tell me that. People tended to be more personable when they were under the impression that you knew only what they told you. “He was nice,” she said and shrugged. “A good boyfriend, a good father.”

I nodded gently. “Explain that to me,” I said. “What constitutes a good father to you?”

Elizabeth shrugged again. I could tell by her body language, the raised shoulders and folded arms, that she was holding back and not allowing herself to become too comfortable with the environment. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I knew that I needed to get whatever information she was withholding out of her. “He helped me as much as he could,” she said finally. “When I was pregnant, he never complained when I flew off the handle, ya know? And he got up in the middle of the night to change Pammy’s diaper, he always let me sleep.”

I smiled. “Pammy’s a nice name,” I said. “And that’s your daughter?”

Elizabeth nodded. “We named her after my mom,” she said softly. Volunteering information that I hadn’t asked for was good. Her walls were coming down, brick by brick.

“That’s really sweet,” I said. “We don’t know the little one’s gender yet, but, if it’s a boy, we’re naming him Gideon after a close friend.”

“And if it’s a girl?” Elizabeth asked eagerly.

“Erin,” I replied. “Another close friend of ours.”

“That’s really nice,” Elizabeth said. “But, umm, yeah, Trav was good. He volunteered at our church a lot, and it was nice to have all of them behind us.”

Nowhere in earlier interviews did she mention a church. I nodded and made a small note of it, and I asked, “Was it a big church?”

“Not really,” Elizabeth said. “Big for the backwoods, but not huge. Maybe 100 people altogether.”

“That sounds nice,” I said. “What’s the name of the church for me, please?”

“Mount Zion,” Elizabeth told me. “It’s nondenominational, but Christian.”

“Alright,” I nodded. “And no offense is meant by this question, but I’m required to ask: did your boyfriend ever do anything strange? Like, suspicious with money or hanging out with weird people?” A moment passed, and I added, “If someone asked me that about my husband, I’d freak, so I understand if this question makes you uncomfortable.”

Elizabeth looked at her hands as she thought, and mumbled, “He went out to get drinks a few weeks before he…” she cleared her throat and said, “Ya know, before he… Died. It was a group of them from church just hanging out, but Trav mentioned that a new guy tagged along that was really strange.”

I sat up straighter. “Alright,” I said slowly. “Strange how? Did Travis describe it?”

“He just said that he was really off-putting,” Elizabeth told me.

“His name?” I asked. “If you don’t know, that’s totally okay.”

“Something with a T,” Elizabeth said. “And the last name was weird too.” I couldn’t blame her for not remembering; if my pregnancy brain was any indication of the years to come, I would be forgetting a lot too. “Toby… Maybe? Toby?”

I wrote down Toby ?. “Okay,” I said. “Did Toby go to the church?”

“He visited,” Elizabeth said. “He was a strange-looking guy. Looked like the guy from Dawson’s Creek, ya know? I would have remembered seeing him before.” A moment passed, and she said “Hankel.”

Toby Hankel. “How certain are you that that’s the name?” I asked.

“I’m certain it’s Hankel,” Elizabeth said. “But shaky about the Toby part. I know it’s a T name, but it’s not coming to me.”

I nodded. “Right,” I said. “Well, Miss Barder, this has been extremely helpful. I’m gonna give you my phone number in case you can come up with that name or anything else that might help us with the investigation, and you can call day or night. As I’m sure you can gather, I’m always awake.”

Elizabeth chuckled. “Thanks,” she said. “Agent Reid, right?”

“Right,” I told her. I gave her one of my business cards and at the last moment noticed that it was one of Spencer’s. It shouldn’t have surprised me; I wore his jacket instead of my own. “Oh, whoops, that’s my husband’s card. I don’t have any of mine on me, but call that cell number and ask for me, and you’ll get me.”

Elizabeth looked at the card. “Dr. Spencer Reid,” she read. “You’re married to a doctor?”

“Not the useful kind,” I joked. “Mathematics degree, among others. He’s a nerd and a half.”

“He sounds good,” Elizabeth told me softly.

I carefully reached out and put a gentle hand on top of hers, and I said, “I know how hard this sucks, but I promise that Travis would be proud of you. You’re being so brave right now.”

Elizabeth sniffled. “Thanks,” she said. “That means a lot.”

Just as I was nodding, the door flew open, and a startled Hotch stood at the door. “Reid, we need you,” he said. “Now.”

“Yeah, I’m almost finished,” I replied. “I’ll be right there.”

“No, Y/N,” Hotch said firmly. He always used my last name, never my first. “We need you. Right now.”

“Hold on,” I said back.

“It’s about Spencer,” Hotch said, and I froze. “We need you now.”

I nodded slowly. “Agent Hotchner, could you show Miss Barder out?” I asked softly. “And, uh, where does the Doc need me?”

“Garcia’s office,” Hotch said. “Gideon’s already there.”

I took a deep breath. “Well, uh, sorry to dip out,” I told Elizabeth. “But it was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again.”

My footsteps fell heavy in the hallway as I made my way to Garcia’s office. As I walked, my mind raced, trying to think why Hotch had been so cross with me. Was Spencer in trouble? Hurt? I knew that I was overreacting, but the thought of it made me walk just a bit faster.

I pushed the door to Garcia’s dark office open, and I moved up next to Gideon. He was watching the computer screens intently, Elle at his side, and Garcia in her chair. Every single screen displayed a single image of my husband bound and gagged to a wooden chair, a small red light blinking every so often on his darkened form. “Gideon,” I whispered in horror. “What is this?”

“Livestream,” Garcia answered in a hushed tone. “We can’t figure out where it’s coming from, the stream reroutes IP addresses every 30 seconds.”

“And we’re sure it’s live?” I asked. “I didn’t even know Spence had gone out into the field.”

“Neither did any of us,” Gideon told me. Carefully, his arm wrapped around my waist comfortingly, and I let out a single sob. I couldn’t see the video too well, but I saw Spencer sitting there, his head bent down, his hair in his face. His arms were tied roughly to the arms of the chair, missing his shoes, a tear in his shirt.

“Is he alive?” I whimpered out.

“Yes,” Gideon told me, and pointed at Spencer’s chest. It was moving, although shallowly, but it gave me hope.

“Where is he?” I asked. “Who did this to him?”

“Okay, Gideon, she needs to get out of here,” Elle began, but I shook my head.

“No,” I said, my tears streaming down my face. “I need to stay.” I saw her watch my hand as it covered my belly, and she nodded quietly.

My eyes were glued to the screen as we all watched Spencer sit there. I couldn’t tell if he was conscious or not, and I couldn’t figure out which was worse. Finally, after standing there for what felt like days, the camera began to shake as someone picked it up. They moved it closer to Spencer and, with the angle change, came a new view. Spencer’s eyes were open, his mouth gulping in air as quickly as he could. His lip was bleeding, the blood pooling in his lap, and he let out a guttural gurgle as the person behind the camera grabbed a fistful of his curls and forced his head back. I watched him sputter out a mouthful of saliva and begin to choke on it, but he recovered quickly. “You think she’s watching?” a voice behind the camera asked. “You think they’re all watching?”

“Don’t you dare talk about my wife,” Spencer said with gritted teeth. A cold flash raced through my body and I tensed up in Gideon’s embrace. Whoever this man was holding Spencer hostage, he knew about me.

“Oh, she’s your wife?” the man asked. “Where was that title when you got her pregnant?”

“Leave her out of this,” Spencer said, his bottom lip shining with spit and blood. “Whatever issue you have, it’s with me.”

“Haven’t you heard that saying, Doctor?” the man asked. “It takes two to tango?”

Spencer’s eyes finally fell on the camera, and his Adam’s apple throbbed as he struggled to swallow. “Where’s that video going?” he asked.

“To her,” the man said. “So that she can watch.”

Spencer began to breath frantically, his chest heaving, and he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“Anything you have to say to her,” the man said. “You can say to God. No need to be quiet, Doctor.”

“This has nothing to do with her,” Spencer said quickly. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault.” I saw tears on his cheeks, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s my fucking fault.”

“Admit your sins to God, boy,” the man told him.

Spencer’s eyes opened. This time, he looked above him, and he began to weep. I had never seen Spencer cry like that, and it made me sick to my stomach. “I did this to her,” he mumbled. “I came home and I was drunk, and she didn’t-- She didn’t ask for this.”

I shook my head violently as I bit my finger. He was lying. Why would he lie?

“Y/N?” Elle whispered. “Is that true?”

“No,” I said quickly. “He never has and he never would.”

“So why’d he say it?” Elle asked. “To let his torturer hear what he wants to?”

I watched the screen for a few seconds more before whispering, “To send us a message.”

“You know what I think, Doctor?” the man asked, and the camera steadied as he put it down. “I think you’re a lying degenerate.” There was the sound of clinking glass, and Spencer took a deep breath.

“Why would I lie about raping my wife?” He asked through clenched teeth.

“To save her,” the man said. “If you sinned, that’s one thing. If she did, I would have to find her too. And your child--”

“Don’t fucking talk about my child!” Spencer yelled. I had never heard him so frantic and angry.

“Far too hostile,” the man said, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Maybe this’ll calm you down.” Behind the camera, the sound of leather against cloth sounded, and Spencer began to thrash in his seat.

“Please don’t,” he whimpered, all of his anger gone. “Please, I--” Before he could get any more words out, the man moved in front of the camera and began to secure a belt around the top of Spencer’s arm. I saw a light gleam off of a thin hypodermic needle, and I watched as the man sank the needle into Spencer’s arm and administered a drug to him.

I rushed out of the office and collapsed on the floor. I felt sick and dizzy, and I didn’t even want to try to go back to the real world. My Spencer was being beaten and tortured, and we were no closer to finding him than before. It was enough to make me scream, and I did. Gideon was next to me in a second, putting his jacket around my shoulders and trying to help me up, but my legs were too weak to carry me. Gideon swiftly pulled me up into his embrace and carried me to his office, where it was quiet and cold. I curled up on his couch and cried, sobbing and choking and praying to a God that I didn’t believe in that Spencer would be okay. And if okay meant that he died to stop his suffering, then so be it.

#mgg #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid #reid #criminal minds #raymond #southern gothic #paul #500 days of summer #chip #68 kill #lesley smith-judiment #hot air #american actor #fanfic #mine

79 notes · View notes

sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

Text

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Thirty Four

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

July 4th, 1998

Emile watched the scene unfold in front of him in slow motion. Faith had told one of the bullies that she wasn’t going to take anything else they wanted to dish out, and the guy pushed her backwards. She stumbled back a step, but rushed forward, pushing back just as hard, and the bully staggered backwards two steps. He turned red, bringing his fist back to swing.

Faith reacted quickly, bringing her shin up to the guy’s crotch. Emile couldn’t even step in to try and break it up, he was in so much shock. He felt so utterly powerless. Not only to help, but to stop the fight from happening in the first place.

May 26th, 2001

Emile felt completely powerless. There he was, five feet away from his boyfriend who was in the middle of a panic attack, and Remy’s mother, the bitch, was trying to get Remy to come with her. Emile wanted to move forward, to comfort Remy, to change his mind, but his feet felt glued to the asphalt he was standing on. He felt like he might cry, or like his heart might shatter and he would never recover.

Remy was looking at his mom with a mix of fear and hope, like she could somehow save him or wave away all his trauma. The blood roared in Emile’s ears as slowly Remy stood on shaky legs, and hugged his mother. She walked over to Emile, and Emile just stood there, looking her over. She frowned at him. “I need to get Remington’s things,” she informed him.

“And clearly I need to get off this bad acid trip,” Emile said. “Because I’ve never known Remy to hug people he’s afraid of before. Ever.”

“Remy isn’t afraid of me,” Remy’s mother scoffed. “If anything, he’s learning where he fits in the family. It took him long enough, but he’s coming around.”

It was Emile’s turn to scoff. “Right. Because he would clearly tell you how he feels about you if it was anything remotely negative. Of course. There would be no backlash for that, I’m sure.”

“Of course not, I encourage all my kids to be honest with me,” Remy’s mother said.

“Bullshit,” Emile growled. “I bet the second they come to you with a problem you either make it their fault for not doing what you wanted them to do, or you guilt trip them into taking whatever they said back. Remy, how close am I?”

Remy was shaking and glaring at Emile. “Let it go, Emile,” Remy warned.

“You know me, Rem. I never let anything go until I feel like it’s been fixed. And this is not a solution. At best, it’s a band-aid over a bullet wound,” Emile said.

Remy’s mother tried to forcibly move Emile to the side, but Emile just stood in place, a smile slowly growing on his face. “You’re not getting Remy’s things, not if I have a say in it,” Emile said.

“You don’t have a say in it,” Remy’s mother snarled.

“Don’t I?” Emile asked.

“You don’t,” Remy said, voice sharp and angry. “Let it go, Emile. Let me go.”

“No,” Emile said. “Even if you leave with your mother, I will never stop thinking about you. I’ll never stop trying to write, to find you, to show you that I love you. I love you more than anything else in the world, Rem. And whether or not we’re just friends, or something more, we’ll always have a certain connection between us. And I, for one, am not willing to give that up.”

Remy’s mother sneered at him. “You’re going to burn in Hell,” she informed him.

“Hell will be fabulous, covered in glitter, and I’ll have any guy I could possibly want,” Emile replied without missing a beat. “Although, considering I’m Catholic, you know, I might actually be going to Heaven. I don’t think just being gay will land you in Hell. Purgatory, maybe. Maybe I’ll spend a little longer in Purgatory than I would have otherwise, but you know what? That’s completely worth it.”

“Emile,” Remy said. “Please, stop.”

“Why should I?” Emile challenged.

“Because I asked you to,” Remy said. “I’m not comfortable in this situation. I’m calling it.”

Remy’s mother turned to Remy. “Since when do you talk about your feelings?” she asked. “That sort of thing is completely unnecessary.”

“Wow, I see where he gets that from,” Emile muttered.

“What?” Remy’s mother asked, turning back to Emile. “What is that supposed to mean?!”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Emile said with a wave of his hand. “After all, I’ll respect Remy’s decision to not want to talk about it.”

“You’ll tell me what that meant, right now!” Remy’s mother demanded.

An idea formed in Emile’s mind and he widened his eyes with false innocence. “But ma’am, if I did that, I’d be considering you more important than Remy.”

“Remington answers to me,” Remy’s mother spat. “He listens to what I and his father have to say, and he can make his own choices once he’s listened to what we want him to do. He’s free to do whatever he wants, so long as it’s within our plans for him.”

“And there it is,” Emile said, feeling completely vindicated. “Remy is a second-class citizen in your eyes. You come first, and he comes second. Maybe third, or fourth, depending on what his siblings say, isn’t that right?”

“Children are to listen to their parents,” Remy’s mother growled.

“Yeah, when they’re twelve,” Emile said. “Remy is, to use his own words, a ‘grown-ass man.’ He’s old enough to make his own choices about his life, and you’re stripping that right from him. Children have to listen to their parents when they are still children, because their parents generally keep them from doing something stupid that would hurt the kids. But once that child is eighteen, they’re a legal adult, and they’re allowed—no, they’re encouraged to make their own decisions. If Remy makes the choice to go back to you, that’s his choice. But if you strip him of his ability to make his own choices, then you are the one in the wrong.”

“And yet you were trying to take away my choice earlier by saying I couldn’t go back to my mom and dad,” Remy said. “You’re a hypocrite.”

“Yeah? Well, at least I’ll admit to my mistakes, unlike someone in this parking lot,” Emile said, glowering at Remy’s mother.

“When did you admit you were wrong?” Remy scoffed.

Emile looked at Remy. “Every time I’ve yelled, or moved too fast, or made a sudden noise that scared you. When I tried to figure out the logistics of getting a giant sofa into the apartment and you informed me it would never fit through the door.”

“But not when it comes to my family,” Remy said. “You never say you’re wrong when it comes to my family.”

“I’m...not wrong when it comes to your family,” Emile said.

Remy made an offended noise. “You’re not even open to constructive criticism when it comes to your opinions on...virtually anything. Especially cartoons and my family, though.”

“Well, you hardly give evidence to support your claim that your family isn’t as bad as you claim, and you just get mean when you insult cartoons,” Emile said, crossing his arms. “And no, providing you with food and shelter doesn’t mean that your parents were good. That’s a requirement of being a parent. Not something optional you get when you behave, or because your parents feel ‘generous.’”

Remy’s mother snarled, “Move out of the way so I can get my son’s things and we can leave!”

Emile stared down his nose at Remy’s mother. “Ma’am, I say this with as much respect as I can muster, but go to Hell.”

“Emile!” Mom snapped at him. “You can’t say that to anyone!”

“Well, what am I supposed to say?!” Emile asked. “Should I give her a customer service smile and let her hurt Remy?!”

“Once again, you’re hurting me more than she ever has!” Remy exclaimed.

Remy’s mother turned, shocked, to Remy. “You don’t genuinely believe I’ve hurt you?”

“Wha—no! That’s the point!” Remy said, but Emile could see Remy’s tells, and he was definitely lying. And his surprise meant that he wasn’t doing it as well as he usually did. “You haven’t hurt me at all, and he’s hurt me plenty of times!”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, Remington?” Remy’s mother said. “You’ve always had the exact same face when you lie, from back when you were four years old to now.”

“Okay, so maybe you’ve made me feel bad once or twice, but—”

“When?!” his mother asked. “When have I hurt you?!”

Remy looked like a deer in headlights. “At the coffee shop?” he said. “You scared me out of my wits. And at Thanksgiving, trying to get me to change my major—”

His mother cut him off again. “I was helping you!”

“No, mom. You weren’t,” Remy said, before clapping a hand over his mouth.

His mother was eerily still, and Emile knew that whatever happened next was going to get ugly. “Oh, I see,” she said. “I’m the villain, here. After all these years, you’re still ungrateful for everything I’ve done for you. I made sure you were happy, and that you would fit in with others your age! All those times you were upset when I might take some childish thing away from you, it only took you the next day to recover and it was like nothing ever happened! Do you want to be like your ‘friend’ here and be stuck in the past, watching children’s shows for the rest of your life? I was so relieved when you outgrew your comics phase. You would never have had friends if you had kept that up.”

Emile was ready to strangle Remy’s mother. Not even over insulting his love of cartoons, but for her blatant disregard of Remy’s feelings. It was completely unfair and cruel. Remy removed his hand from his mouth, but his eyes were glassy.

His mother scoffed. “Crocodile tears don’t work on me, Remington, and besides, no one likes a crybaby. They’ll train that out of you in the military.”

Remy was shaking all over, and he muttered, “So that’s where I am. A rock and a hard place. Fantastic.”

“Why are you even entertaining these people?” his mother asked. “We can get you new clothes, you don’t need anything in that suitcase of yours, anyway. Let’s go.”

Remy didn’t move.

“Remington,” his mother prompted. “We’re leaving.”

“I thought...” Remy cleared his throat. “I thought you said you’d be proud of me. Well, I’m doing what you wanted. Why are you still treating me the same as always?”

His mother scoffed. “You don’t get special treatment over your brother or sister. This is the way your father and I treat them, and so it’s how we treat you. Just because you make us proud doesn’t mean your place in this family moves.”

Remy blinked repeatedly. “But...but you always treated me like I was a problem child. If I listen to you, I’m not a problem anymore. I get my own spot at the table when we make decisions.”

“Remy, you clearly don’t know what’s best for you on your own. I’m glad you came to your senses and decided to listen to me, but you can’t be trusted to know what’s best for you. Toby and Vanessa barely know what’s best for themselves, after all these years. They get their opinions considered, but you have to work a while before you get to that point,” his mother explained.

Emile stayed silent, and didn’t move, even though he wanted nothing more than to kill Remy’s mom then and there. Remy was staring at her with hurt, and shock, and betrayal. “Even if you’re proud of me...you get the final say in my life? That’s what you’re saying?”

“Yes, you’re finally beginning to understand!” Remy’s mother exclaimed.

Remy looked down, before looking back up, saying, “No, Mom, I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you get the final say in my life.”

“Because I know you best!” his mother exclaimed.

Remy laughed. “Mom, you don’t even know that I can cook. You set me in front of the stove and said I was old enough to make my own food, and I found I had a knack for making meals, but you never once thought to ask how it was going. If you ever saw me eating something I made you accused me of ordering take-out, because there was no way I’d be able to make something like that, of course. You don’t know me. At all, I’d say. Why should you get to control my life when you don’t even know me?”

“Remington, don’t you dare backtalk,” his mother said.

Remy bit his tongue, pulling a face. “Yeah. No,” he said. “Misses Thomas, I’m sorry for having you drive me all the way out here. Clearly, this was a mistake.”

Emile’s heart soared with hope. “Does this mean you’re staying with us?”

“It means we’ll be having a very. Long. Talk,” Remy warned. “But if I’m not going to be respected at home, then I’m not going home. Sorry, Mom.”

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

4 notes · View notes

averyjarhman · 3 years

Text

Watch "Rickey Smiley Saying What Someone Needs To Say" on YouTube

youtube

"What Happened To Our Decency?" ~Rickey Smiley

https://youtu.be/uiFXWkhYlAw/

Rickey Smiley, addresses Health & Social issues, PARENTING, family, gang violence, Community Fear.

Back in the day, Tupac Shakur, a Mega-popular American recording artist and Gun Violence Homicide victim, shared his definition for THUGLIFE, as well as his belief that it impacts EVERYONE of ALL AGES AND BACKGROUNDS >>>

*"The HATE U Give Little Infants Fvvks EVERYONE"* ~Tupac Shakur, Childhood Trauma (ACEs) Victim

Apparently the HATE young Tupac (born 1971) experienced or witnessed, inspired him to not only create his often misinterpreted THUGLIFE Child Neglect, Abuse, Abandonment and Maltreatment AWARENESS PREVENTION PSA...

...Tupac chose to tattoo THUGLIFE in bold letters across his ONCE neglected, hungry "hurting" belly.

Indicating to me he was pretty serious about PREVENTING HATE.

Tupac explains THUGLIFE:

https://youtu.be/0TfEr_BLW30/

https://cubeupload.com/im/EndHate/THUGLIFETupacShakur.jpg

https://cubeupload.com/im/EndHate/TupacPreventTHUGLIFE.png

The GOOD NEWS:

According to SCIENTIFIC Medical Research, Tupac was 💯 correct!

Early Brain Child Development SCIENTIST, Dr. Bruce D. Perry MD, PhD, spills the beans to Childhood Trauma (ACEs) victim Oprah Winfrey, offering SCIENTIFIC medical research explaining why children who grow up witnessing or experiencing violence, chaos, uncertainty, inconsistency or neglect are more vulnerable, having much HIGHER RATES of risk for mental health problems, much higher rates of risk for doing poorly in school or just functioning in the world:

https://youtu.be/VgLwxXMXJZs/

Learn why 'SOULutions' oriented Child Abuse Awareness, Education & PREVENTION Advocate, California Surgeon General Dr. Nadine Burke Harris, MD, FAAP, MPH, Founder of the 'Center for Youth Wellness', believes a NATIONAL MOVEMENT is required to educate citizens about our Nation's Child Care Public Health CRISIS:

https://vimeo.com/119419175

Cali Surgeon General and pediatrician Dr. Nadine Burke Harris explains Childhood Trauma, Child Neglect, Maltreatment and ADULT MENTAL HEALTH:

https://youtu.be/eQEFcM5NXRI/

Dr. Harris offers REAL SOLUTIONS for preventing Violence & HATE:

https://youtu.be/OMbYUfiUsco/

The SAD NEWS:

Recognizing many American citizens of African descent support Democratic Party values and ideology, as well as a COMMUNITY CODE OF SILENCE rule and SNITCHES GET STITCHES policy, I am beyond heartbroken knowing Joe 'Unity' Biden and Kamala Harris, our Nation's Chief Elected Problem Solvers, will NEVER, EVER, NOT IN A MILLION YEARS, address the primary reason for untold numbers of American children and teens of African descent SUFFERING, THRU NO FAULT OF THEIR OWN, a traumatic childhood upbringing fraught with Pain, Struggles, Hardships, Uncertainty, Community Violence and FEAR!

https://www.firststar.org/black-children-have-highest-abuse-rates/ by BlackVoiceNews

"We need more people who CARE; you know what I'm saying? We need more women, mothers, fathers, we need more of that..." ~Tupac Shakur

If a CARING, responsible fellow American or foreign-born citizen has developed a plan for PREVENTING American children and teens from SUFFERING, THRU NO FAULT OF THEIR OWN, a traumatic, potential life scarring childhood upbringing fraught with Struggles, Pain, Hardships, Depression, Uncertainty, Sorrow, Demeaning Government Handouts, Resentment, Sadness, Intra-Racial Discrimination, Community Violence and FEAR...

...I look forward to learning their SOLUTION for ending POVERTY, largely created by our Nation's unhealthy, potential life scarring Culture of Generational Child Neglect, Abuse and Maltreatment evolving from America's multi-generational, ignorant, once legal Culture Of Racism.

https://cubeupload.com/im/EndHate/5d9ReparationsChildAbus.jpg

https://cubeupload.com/im/EndHate/LetsRaiseKidsWho.png

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/empathy

Tagged:

"FOLLOW THE SCIENCE"

"MENTAL HEALTH"

"BECOME A HERO" >>>

"REPORT SUSPECTED CHILD ABUSE"

Peace ♥️🇺🇲 EndHate2021

#Rickey Smiley #gun violence #gang violence #mental health #mental illness #parenting #family #maternal responsibility #child neglect #childhood depression #teen depression #teen violence #Community violence #Community fear #Anti-social behavior #sadness #solutions?#Youtube

3 notes · View notes

everydayanth · 4 years

Video

youtube

Having followed the science side of cannabis over the past few years with J working on research teams around the US, this is all shit that NEEDS to be talked about.

The cannabis industry is full of rich ass bros and I have so many stories I don’t even know where to start. As a complete outsider moving with J, I had a front-row seat to confusion and chaos, and as someone who grew up poor in a diverse neighborhood and schools (which I am incredibly thankful for), then studying social science, the sudden immersion into the world of Cannabis was a wakeup call for me. I understood the theory of white privilege, I understood the application of it and how it worked, but there’s an economic component I never had access to. I was on the same free lunch programs and going through the same foreclosure threats as my neighbors, and I didn’t fully understand the racial component of that until I saw it in Cannabis.

When J got dropped into Cannabis research because of a sudden start-up failing to follow its investor requirements working in biotech (it was a big deal, so I’m not going to mention specifics, since we’re still in an odd place with all this), we had moved to the west coast from the midwest where Cannabis was still 100% illegal and problematic. I grew up in the midst of gang wars over drugs, calling it Marijuana (can you hear the white accent?) and being warned about the devil. I’d witnessed several people murdered over Cannabis in my neighborhood through gang violence, or else locked up by police for seemingly no reason.

Cannabis and minority culture were very much intertwined in my mind, and I understood it as a cultural difference from my white religious family, who fought among themselves about alcohol allowance according to God, and respected the law selectively (so the whole “bUt It’S iLlEgAl” argument was a joke).

Cannabis was in the same debate as beers, wines, and liquors, but it still held memories of violence for me. Though I know those incidents were more about power, control, survival, and a means around a racist system now, at the time of moving to the west coast, Cannabis was a duality to me: a misunderstood cultural component, a criminalized tool for a racist agenda, and a thing I saw so many depend on when life got too hard in the way of alcoholics – a thing that would stop me from leaving if I let it too close.

J came into biotech from a pre-med/criminal justice education. He is very well versed in the War on Drugs and the legal history of the US being a racist, white supremacist agenda for cultural, legal, and economic authority through institutions like religion, education, and law. For him, Cannabis and minority cultures, both Mexican and Black American (and, as we learned from friends in southern California, also in many ways Native American) were intertwined as well.

So when his company dropped him into Cannabis, then moved us around several times with unfulfilled promises and broken contracts, both of us were new to Cannabis and astounded at the whiteness of the industry. Of course the white stoners of the 60s and 70s were spearheading it though, they had the money and their minority counterparts were in prison. It’s wrong, it needs to change. But I was naive to be surprised by it.

What really affected me though, was the people with money. They were everywhere in the industry and they were old-money white or upper-middle class converted drug-dealer white. But by all accounts of my and J’s education and experience, it should be a minority-lead industry, right? People whose cultures value the cultivation of the plant should have far more interest, ability, and practical/research knowledge. But they were cut out by the nepotism, money, and white privilege (i.e. criminal justice system).

The science initiative was: analyzing this plant will help us understand the pieces of it and what can be used medicinally or how it is currently helping so many conditions. A great intent, J even got to work with some amazing researchers, but science needs money. So the focus quickly shifted again and again to investors.

And the investors were always white. They were always men. And in my experience, they were genuinely horrible people.

We felt so stuck. Exhausted, our stuff had been in storage for years, contracts were falling through, we never knew where we were going or when. This wasn’t cushy science or higher academia, because universities get federal funding, so they can’t invest in something that’s federally illegal without jumping a lot of hurdles. Additionally, many minorities can’t afford to invest in something that is federally illegal. It’s a bigger risk, a vulnerable position to make your interest known as a minority in the industry – not with the prison and arrest ratio numbers the way they are.

The investors and businessmen were playboys. They talked about bitcoin and big money, went to clubs and cheated on their wives and girlfriends, and tokenized, exoticized, and appropriated minority culture. They invested in research until they made the start-ups worth something with the promise of science, then withdrew their investments and stocks, doubling their fortunes and dissolving the company. Or, as was most often the case, just cutting the research budget after using the science research as an attraction for other investors, and hoping the science guys would quit before they got fired. If they quit, they’d be bound by the do not compete clause and couldn’t use the research with a competing company, which means the current start-up could retain the IP. But they would hang on for long enough to have to be let go, taking their IP and starting again.

They should have started their own lab instead of relying on a company to fund them. But to get a license to work with Cannabis as a plant, as a thing that can’t even cross state lines or be in a lab with out a license/card, you need to qualify by state standards, and generally only the big companies do. So even if they started their own place, they’d have to leave Cannabis, and at that point, they had some incredible research halfway done that could be really meaningful and helpful to a lot of people. Working in several states, the message became clear: this industry is a playground for people with money to make more money and everyone in charge wants to keep it that way.

I’m not in a place yet where I can consolidate my experience as an outsider with an ethnographic distance. I get a pit in my stomach when I think of an investor who took us out to dinner in Seattle. J was working tirelessly, doing 3 people’s jobs because they refused to hire more people despite having the money, he filled in basic hourly positions to compliance and legal staff. They were a small company and continued to make huge mistakes. Going out with investors, we were told, was part of the game, part of the obligation to getting the funds to do the real science.

Working from 6am-10pm and coming in 7-days a week was part of getting a salary at $40k, part of being a scientist and checking experiments and building data and value. Being versatile and filling other roles like marketing and compliance, that you could be held legally accountable for as an individual in some states (J did great though, he was fine), is part of working for a start-up, is part of a new industry, is part of new science! They did everything they could to normalize practices that we didn’t have enough professional experience to identify as wrong, inefficient, or red-flag warnings.

But we learned. And we did make a difference sometimes, changing important minds about the value of Cannabis, the need for federal legalization, decriminalization, and the importance of accountability regarding pharmaceutical corruption. But the investors, oh how I dreaded the word investor.

And this was a big one.

He took us to a restaurant so dark I couldn’t see my food and pushed together fancy dinner-date-for-two tables in a long line to accommodate everyone with the air of someone who was accustomed to fixing everything with money. His son worked in the company and was the reason the guy was investing. My end was the tag-along-SO end, and our discomfort was palpable.

Usually at investor dinners, we ended up paying our own bills because important people would leave sporadically or, I dunno, they were cheap? They’d cover the C-Suite and we’d be left on our own, or, and I really hated this, they’d each order 5 drinks and the most expensive entree and then split the bill evenly, so the poor people like me, who budget their spending, ate an $11 meal with a $6 beer but paid a $60 cut of the whole bill (buy more drinks then, take your share, wealthy peers have yelled before – but then the overall bill is still bigger, so that literally doesn’t help me at all; don’t eat anything then – well, that doesn’t really feel like an option at a big business dinner).

Or, the really shitty one, someone would order a round of drinks, then expect you to get the next round. If this is standard cultural practice where you are, awesome, you have a social agreement, this is not standard here though, and meant actual multi-millionaire investors expected their own hourly employees or $40k salary workers to buy a round of drinks for 5+ people on a regular basis. Do you know how fast that adds up? And, here’s the shitty part, they would start with “you wanna get this round and I’ll get the next?” and then never get the next. EVER! They’d be fall-down drunk or disappear. This happened weekly.

Over and over it happened in a world of overconsumption, privilege, wealth, and the desire to have no worries, party hard, do drugs, yeah! Which, fine, but not when there’s such a power dichotomy and economic disparity. I started to see the tricks, the cons, the advantages, the selfish narcissism, the cheating and taking from others without sharing, giving, or participating in the group. The investors were not part of the group. They didn’t care about the science, they cared about profit margins and knowing when to jump ship with the largest pay off. It got to the point where I (arrogantly, probably) felt like I could screen investors and tell after a single dinner if they were going to scam the program or use the science to get licenses then dump them, or never actually give them the equipment to do their work. There were a few who genuinely cared.

Anyway, this fancy restaurant: we didn’t know who was paying, but I opened the menu and the absolute cheapest thing was a caesar salad for FOURTY-NINE DOLLARS!

But no, we don’t get to order our own food. Fancy investor says we all must try this specific steak because it’s his favorite, one for everyone! Which makes it sound like they’re paying, but I’ve learned you never know. One girl was vegan and I tried to jump on that train to go for the comparatively reasonably priced salad, but alas, decisions had already been made, wine was being poured without question, steaks were being served, and at the end, checks were served down the table in a neat line of leather books, a bill was put in front of the two of us for $250 and my jaw dropped. The server goes “Mr. [Name] has kindly taken care of the wines for the table.” WINES HE ORDERED AND STEAKS HE INSISTED WE EAT! Ugh, I was so confused and angry and sick of the talk and playing nice and making friends. I went to the bathroom and hyperventilated with J texting me that he’s done and we need to find a way out (but remember the IP and non-compete clauses, getting out is hard).

The guy ended up paying for everyone. It was $7,000. I can only assume he wanted us to see the bill and his generosity, or that the CSO said something about people not being able to afford it. Either way, that same story repeats itself over and over: white millionaire man invests in cannabis as quick buck, no interest in science, makes fortune and leaves with no legal retribution.

When J worked with UCI, they tried to press for legal retribution for fraud against a company that had partnered with them, but it didn’t stick because the independent companies have the money, the power, and the law.

It was like living in a reality tv show, in a bubble where the real world happened outside. If you move between places often enough, you don’t fit in either. I tried to stay on the outside, but most of those guys tried to stay on the inside. And on one hand, I get it. They see fast cars, easy money, models and big parties, they grew up white and wealthy without realizing it because they have no context of diversity or poverty, they don’t actually see the harm they cause, they don’t actually care, because all they want is to fit in the bubble. It’s infectious, addictive for them.

And I despised it because being inside the bubble made me physically ill. It wasn’t anthropological fieldwork, it wasn’t removed from my life, I had no safe home base to return to, to think and consider and code notes, this was my life.

Now, we are just about to pass the two-year mark living in RI. It will be the first time we’ve lived anywhere for more than a year since we moved from the midwest almost seven years ago. We’re recovering as a team, as a couple. I’ve gotten more done in the last two years than the 6 before that combined. We got to travel to so many places, and actually meet some amazing people. The companies moved us and paid for housing. There were benefits is what I’m saying, I don’t regret our choices, because I didn’t know what the consequences would be and we made each choice together. We’ve learned so much about each other from the experience. And we survived it together, and I’m proud of us for that.

J ’s all but given up on science now, we left the millionaires to their parties and drugs and alcohol and broken relationships, and I should mention, because I know my tone here may seem dismissive in its generalization, that I learned a lot about stoner cultures and rave cultures and drugs and more about history and criminal justice, and I think there can be a time and place for drugs and alcohol, and that Cannabis should be legalized and fully decriminalized.

What I am fed up with is the wealthy and their context bubble, the investment in their friends, the quick scams that are perfectly legal and make them richer for doing nothing, and the irresponsibility; the avoidance of confrontation, integrity, and honesty, disregarded for a quick buck. Lives left a mess in their wake with no jobs as the company falls apart. For me right now, the Cannabis industry is being lead by people soaked in the slime of deception hoping to make money with the same corporate structures of taking advantage of their workers that their fathers used before them. It is currently a racist, classist industry, sure there are some amazing exceptions, but as a whole, there is a problem with where the money is coming from and going to.

Most of the investors I’ve seen support Trump’s policies (passionately and often because they personally benefit), while the workers adamantly oppose or avoid caring about politics at all. Just because you’re a fanatic about something doesn’t mean you get to stop caring about or considering the impact of what you do or the world outside of it. If you work in Cannabis, know who you are working for and what the impacts of your work are. I have found that, more than any other industry, Cannabis seeks to maintain a status quo in white power, authority, and culture (re: religion, morality, ownership, wealth, cultural institutions, legality, etc.), while retaining the image of being individually diverse, subversive, and rebellious, leading to intense appropriation, exoticization, tokenism, and continual reinforcement of white privilege and classist power.

That’s it. That’s all I’ve got to say on it right now. I’m exhausted. I need to go recharge and find some hope. But I think making people aware of these areas that don’t get seen, because they don’t want to be seen, is part of building hope. People starting to look around and realizing how many millionaires there are, and how easily they make more money this way without social contribution, is part of identifying the problem, and I am eternally grateful to comedians like Hasan Minhaj and Trevor Noah, who look in these dark corners and find a way to make us all look with them, stirring up conversation as we decide what to do about the mess.

#cannabis #cannabis industry #corruption #white privilege #black lives matter #diversity #industry regulation #american capitalism #capitalism corruption #science #research #biotech #culture #anthropology #society #real talk #hasan minhaj #patriot act

13 notes · View notes

wolfpawn · 4 years

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 89

Chapter Summary - Danielle stays in Ireland to deal with the house situation as Tom heads back for the Kong Skull Island premiere.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Danielle sat waiting in the solicitor's office, a cup of tea on the table next to her, a small but significant piece of paper under her hand. She thought of how she had dropped Tom to the airport that morning, telling him she would be home in less than a week hopefully, that she would see him before he went on the international part of the Kong Tour.

Again she looked at the small piece of paper in her hand, it had taken Tom another two minutes to convince her it was the right thing to do, and a small call to NatWest to confirm that yes, given her credit history and the fact she had her house as collateral, she very much was guaranteed the loan. So with a small transfer and a trip to her Credit Union, she and Tom were able to hold the piece of paper that meant that she would get to pay for her aunt's part of the house. Tom smiled as she looked at it, clearly ecstatic as to what it meant for her. When he had asked her what was her plans, she simply shrugged and stated the other half, when she could.

She was brought back to the present by the sound of people walking down the hallway towards her. She knew by the irked voice of one that it was her aunt, she inhaled deeply and waited for the door to open. When Bernadette entered the room, she looked angrily at Danielle. "What do you want? I suppose you are going to try and stop me from forcing the sale?"

"Just sit down, Bernie," Danielle growled.

"You have no respect," The woman commented, but she did what was required. "Where is the solicitor gone?"

"To get the last of the paperwork."

"What paperwork and what would you know, you dropped out of college, Mattie was too soft on you, you went on to do nothing."

"I would disagree, I have a great paying job, I have a nice home and a good hard-working boyfriend, things are very much going well for me Bernie, not that I am overly bothered by your opinion, though I do use it to gauge things. What you find to be terrible and anger, I know my father would have approved of, so thank you for setting my concerns to rest." Danielle smiled sweetly just as the solicitor re-entered the room.

"Right, so it is a fair swap really, nothing of great note, you Danielle Hughes, are offering the whole twenty-five thousand euro share of the house at Droichead Beag, Connemara, Galway to Bernadette Whelan, your aunt and on her accepting, she is signing over her share of the building and her legal rights to it. That is the general gist of this." The solicitor explained.

Bernadette frowned then looked at Danielle, who looked at her for her reaction before pushing the draft forward. "How?"

"I told you already, I have more than enough money." Danielle grinned. "Oh and I still want my mother's things back. I mean it, Bernie, I am going home tomorrow, I want them back before I head to the airport. I have spoken with Michael and Lourda, I have a guy coming to change the locks today and you will not be given a key, you are no longer responsible for anything in the house and you will not have to concern yourself with its maintenance or bills."

"Fine." Bernadette went for the bank draft, which Danielle pulled back.

"I will give this to Mr Roberts, you will sign that legal document, he will give us a copy each and you will get your money then."

"Are you trying to imply I would try to rob it?" Bernadette snapped, her face showing how appalled she was by the idea.

"No, but that is the legal process." Danielle scoffed, "So sign the damn paper so I can get on with my day. I need to go shopping for a dress."

"What would you want a dress for, you never wore dresses when your father was alive?" "I have something to go to as soon as I return to London, so chop-chop, I'm a busy woman."

* Danielle smiled as she drove to the airport. She had slept well enough as Tom's smell was still on the side of the bed that he had been on and knowing that they would return there soon, her holding the largest part of the home she always wanted making her excited and happy. She had gotten a dress the day before after the solicitors and with her hair and make-up booked, she looked forward to going home, to being home with Tom again, arranging for them to go public and finally be able to do things together. The idea of them and Mac going for a walk in Hampstead Heath was enticing in ways she could not vocalise, she knew at first there would be people annoying them, but she knew too that they would be old news again in the near future.

She handed back the car and went to the check-in desk, she knew Tom would be busy all day, he had to prep and get ready for the premier. He had texted earlier in the day to ask her how she was getting on, she gave him a story about getting the legal work signed and said little else before the car to ready him for the day arrived, so with 'I love you's' and goodbyes, they said they would talk later.

As it stood, she arrived in London on time and was able to get a taxi back to the house, it felt almost odd to be back and for Tom not to be there, but with too little time to worry about things, she rushed around, getting her bag and everything brought back upstairs and into the room, she looked around, Tom had it as it always was, but she realised that the bed was unkempt in the centre and not to the side, causing her to laugh slight, Tom clearly taking advantage of the greater space. She took out the dress and went into the wardrobe to get the shoes she knew would work with it. Just then, her phone rang. "Hey, Nacelle."

"So, I spoke to Henry, he said that he can fit you in, he is brilliant, I trained with him, I would not allow some half-wit at you."

"You're the best Nacelle."

"You know it darling, listen, how does lunch at ours sound next week?"

"Brilliant, day and time and I'll be there."

"Woohoo, we will wait until lover boy is on the road so you'll have something to do other than pine for him."

"I will not pine, I will mope quietly in a corner and pretend not to eat my own weight in Ben and Jerry's." Nacelle laughed. "I'll be fine, it's only two to three weeks."

"How was Ireland?"

"Wet, wetter than usual."

"So submerged then?"

"Effectively, here faired no better I can see."

"Apparently not if you listen to Becky. Anyway, I will talk to you later, Henry is lovely, he'll look after you."

"Thanks again Nacelle."

"Anytime girl, I'll look after you." Nacelle sang before hanging up the phone.

With her dress and shoes in hand, Danielle rushed outside and into the waiting taxi, texting the address as she went.

* Tom smiled brightly as the rain fell, there had been one question about Taylor, but he dismissed it, focusing on the movie instead, he smiled, posed and spoke with his fellow cast members for what seemed like an hour on the carpet. He loved that the tour was starting at home, he would be able to get another few days at home. More importantly, if Danielle could get everything sorted in Ireland, she could come home, he could spend a few more days with her before he left again, that caused him to smile more.

He joked and smiled as he, Brie Larson and Samuel Jackson stood together, being photographed and Jackson complained jokingly of the British weather. He began to walk into the cinema finally and sighed. Overall the evening was a success thus far. He took out his phone and looked at it, a few texts had come in, all of well wishes, but none from Danielle, which caused him to frown. She knew what time he was due to be in the cinema, she was usually one of the first to text, so it felt a slight bit disheartening. He looked at the celebrities that had come to the premiere also, the cameras flashing as they posed, he found himself hoping they enjoyed it. He also watched the others that had secured tickets, Emma said she was coming, so at least his little sister would be in the crowd, one of the first to give her opinion on it. He had not seen her enter, but the simple text 'we're here' had made its way to his phone, making him smile.

The movie was well edited, the CGI made all the imaginary running for his life look good, and from those who were present, it seemed to be well received, not Oscar-worthy, but good nonetheless. Again, he checked his phone a few times through the movie, but there was no word from Danielle. He was tempted to text, but as the first to clench his jaw when others did such things, he resisted, he would ring her when he was done. He watched as one woman rose from her seat in a manner that suggested she was trying to make as little of a nuisance of herself as possible and rushed up the aisle of the theatre. She was well dressed, her choice elegant, but Tom had to admit alluring also, he had not seen her outside posing for photos yet he felt as though he knew her, but he shook his head, she was of similar build to Danielle and he had not seen her face properly because she had not looked toward him in the darkened room.

There was a round of applause when the film ended and slowly the lights began to rise again. The room was a flurry of activity once more. Tom felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and when he saw Danielle's name, he grinned widely.

Danielle - I hope you had a great night and that the screening went well, I know it will do great with people. Why do I get the feeling you have made a new clatter of 'Hiddlestoners' with this one xx

Tom smiled as his brow furrowed, unsure what Danielle was referring to, but to see a text from her caused him to feel elated. With people congratulating him he shook hands and began to talk to people regarding the film.

The after-party was being held in a small club not far from the cinema, the list was shorter than the premiere one and in truth, as much as Tom enjoyed getting people's positive reactions, he wanted to go home.

He forced the smile onto his face as he stood with the same small flute of champagne in his hand after half an hour, counting down the minutes until he could leave. "Well done." the first genuine smile came onto his face as he heard his sister's voice behind him. She embraced him tightly in a hug. "I actually really enjoyed that."

Tom chuckled, "you sound somewhat shocked by that statement."

"Well, remakes can go either way," Emma stated defensively.

"Where is Jack?" Tom looked around before looking to Emma again.

"At work, I told you this the other day."

"But you said 'we're here'."

"Yes," Emma grinned. "But I never mentioned Jack."

"Then…" Tom turned slightly and stared open-mouthed as he realised who was beside them. Feeling incredibly sheepish for noting the woman that had gone to the restroom during the movie was similar to his girlfriend, not realising it was actually her. Danielle's hair was tied back from her face, which had her make-up done to have a natural look and she donned a dress he knew for a fact she had not had in the closet before going to Ireland. "How…the house…?"

"Done and dusted yesterday, I flew home at lunchtime. Hello, by the way." Danielle smiled.

Tom immediately leant in and forced himself to only kiss her cheek. "Hello, I…I didn't think…"

"When Luke rang about that confirmation for the show, he asked if I planned on coming as a normal patron, I told him to see if I could keep a ticket aside, and when Bernadette all but snapped the bank draft from my hand, I knew I could make it."

"So it's done, you have the house?"

"I have half the house, but don't worry, I will get the other half soon." Danielle winked. She watched as Tom fought to prevent himself from declaring to the room about them, his eyes darting over her elegant dress which shaped her breasts perfectly. "Behave," she warned.

"This will be the longest two hours of my life." He groaned.

"What was it you called it before," Danielle teased as she leant in to whisper in Tom's ear so Emma would not hear. "Delayed Gratification." She grinned.

Danielle's dress

#I Hate You I Love You #tom hiddleston #Tom hiddleston fic #chapter 89 #wolfpawn

17 notes · View notes

asocier · 4 years

Text

interaction guide for emile!

last edited: april 6th, 2021

emile ... my sweet baby boy. he’s an extremely friendly muse all around, and while he seems like he’d crumple at the first sign of danger, emile has surprisingly good fight or flight instincts. there’s a part of him that can work well under pressure, so when the world literally is on fire, emile will unexpectedly take charge and call the shots. of course, that’s when the pressure is really on — for the most part, emile is extremely non-confrontational and is perpetually stuck in a loop of ‘what am i doing with my life?’ as he wakes up everyday to a job he doesn’t care for. he makes the best of things, however, and finds pleasure in the simple things. he especially loves being out in nature, so that’s where he’ll truly be himself. in terms of his love life, he’s trying — that’s all i can really say on the matter. he’d be a good boyfriend, though, once things get serious; my sources have confirmed this.

supernatural plots — boy howdy, does emile befriend supernatural beings easily! i’m not sure what it is, but he really has a history of forming meaningful relationships with those who aren’t human, and it might just stem from the fact he thinks they’re incredibly interesting so long as, you know, they aren’t trying to kill him. so throw your magical girls, your aliens, your monsters, your non-human muses at emile because boy howdy is he down for the shenanigans and the adventure that comes alone with befriending these muses. he will absolutely literally be so fascinated by them and not give them grief if they’re nice to him !!! if they try to kill him, boy howdy will he be ready to run for his life because emile is already scared of everything and now he gotta run to save his ass.

family friendly wholesome plots — emile + children is literally one of the best things on this blog. i say this for like two other muses on this blog too but c’mon, emile and kids literally get along so well, how could i not suggest this possibility too in an interaction guide for him? he’s one of best babysitters and would love to interact with young muses, even if they aren’t small children but still quite young. even tween/teenagers might get along with him ( though if they’re going through some angst, he’s gonna be ... a lil awkward )

nature/camping/plant plots — i mentioned that emile loves being out in nature, and this has long been the case since he was young. i make fun of him by saying he’s like an overgrown boy scout just because he has so much knowledge about the outdoors and camping from years of doing things like hiking. he also has a green thumb; really loves himself a nice plant. so here are some plots where your muse:

needs a camping/hiking buddy and invites emile ( pre-est relationship most likely )

meets emile at a campsite ( first meeting type of plot ! )

is a camp counselor at a summer camp and emile is your co-counselor/head counselor and yall gotta take care of all these fking kids together for a whole summer

works at a plant nursery/floral shop and they always see emile come in bc he hoards plants and loves to buy fresh cut flowers, either for himself or his sister, alison bc she loves flowers too

just ... talks to emile about his plants casually or asks him for advice on why their plant isn’t doing so well

needs a new trail mix/energy bar recipe and asks emile ( a neighbor? a friend? someone who is also looking at recipe books in a book store? ) if he has any

art/photography/music plots — like his sister, emile dabbles in a lot of hobbies too and he shares a lot of those with alison. the biggest differences lie in the fact that while alison favors watercolor painting or body art with acrylics, emile prefers sketching with paper/pen and paper. similarly, while alison mainly plays the piano, emile plays the violin. photography is something both siblings share, though emile likes to take pictures of landscaping in addition to portraits. here are some plots where your muse:

needs a photographer for their *insert special event here* and hires emile

needs a violinist for their *insert fancy event here that requires live music* and hire emile

asks emile for violin lessons

wants to play pictionary with emile and that’s how they learn that emile can draw really well

“what even is emile’s romantic life” plots — my boy really tries to fall in love, okay. he tries, but it’s not that easy for him when you take into account how he’s not really out of the closet to a lot of people in his life and how he generally just has terribly luck with romantic relationships in general. this started back in high school, and it really doesn’t do much for his self esteem when it come to dating. it kind of puts dating on the back burner for him, really, especially since he isn’t in the best place in his life at the moment to find a serious relationship, but he still likes to try and go on dates once in a while, and he’s trying to learn to embrace the fact he isn’t straight. so here are some plots where your muse:

bothers emile a lot about why he doesn’t have a girlfriend and plays matchmaker/tries to teach him how to talk to girls because that’s what you think the problem is

gets set up on a blind date with emile and it either goes really well, or it goes really badly. plot twist: you two used to know each other somehow ( high school, community college, work before one of yall left the office, camp a while back, ect ).

plays a supportive role in helping emile discover his sexuality ( can be in high school or afterwards ). your muse can either be super helpful or super intrusive and it makes emile suffer but, you know, your muse has good intentions. this “help” can be your muse sharing their experiences with emile, taking him out to lgtbq+ spaces to help him embrace this side of his identity, assuring emile that it’s not wrong to like the same sex, ect. they could also just take a balls to the wall crazy approach if that’s more their style, up to your tbh

miscellaneous plots — here are some more random ideas in case you’re feeling stuck still! i’d like to remind everyone that my wishlist tag is always a great place to look too if you aren’t feeling what’s in the guide. i hope that the guide gives you an idea at least as to how you might approach a muse and what plots work well for them!

your muse offers to find emile a better job because they can tell he’s not loving his current job, so they offer him a helping hand. similarly, your muse offers to help emile go back to school because they wants to see emile succeed and be happy doing something in a field he actually cares about.

office plots — your muse works at the same law firm as emile and shares an office space with him. please talk to him because emile needs a friend at work to make his job more enjoyable :’)

high school plots — emile does have a high school verse like most of my other muses do. the bulk of what happens in high school involves emile discovering he’s not straight and being bullied for it for nate and cedric. on top of that, he’s witnessing his sister go through a really bad relationship, but with how secretive she is with things, it’s hard for him to intervene. there’s a lot of avenue for serious plots in this verse, but as with alison, lighthearted high school plots can also happen with emile! teenagers aren’t just full of angst, after all. sometimes we just need some shenanigans.

community college plots — instead of university, emile attends community college for a couple years to obtain his associates so that he can work as a legal assistant. he works odd jobs to keep himself afloat, and for the most part, he’s just vibing.

werewolf verse plots —a post explaining the basics of this verse can be found here! in this verse, emile is considered a beta and spent his whole life practically raising his sister, alison. growing up, the siblings did not belong to a stable pack, and as such, they pretty much spent most of their life kind of living how they wanted. emile in this verse is just vibing, too. he’s not looking for a mate or for drama, he’s just trying to make sure his sister doesn’t get herself into trouble. i’d like to re-emphasize that this is not a true omegaverse even though i do categorize muses as alphas, omegas, or betas, mention bonding between werewolves, nesting, heat/rut, and the use of suppressants to control the severity of heat. the description of these topics, however, are very tame as the focus of this verse is not unhealthy power imbalances or plotless smut. this verse exists bc werewolves are cool, and also because the idea of bonding between partners is where i find the most interest since true bonding really embodies the “to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death” sentiment in marriage vows except even to a more serious degree. so yeah — werewolves. have your werewolf meet mine. it’ll be fun.

#wishlist;#cw: long post

7 notes · View notes

pipermca · 5 years

Text

Drone

Written for the @tfspeedwriting challenge on Oct 19 2019.

Prompt: Setting: a drone auction Rating: Very very lemony Warnings: Slave coding, forced exhibitionism, non-consensual interfacing, all the bad things like that Continuity: G1ish Wordcount: 2800 Time: 2 hours, 8 minutes Summary: While investigating a suspected trafficking ring, Prowl discovers that things are even worse than the Enforcers had originally thought.

Notes: Sorry, but this was the very first place my brain went with that prompt! Very rough draft

Prowl did not like doing undercover work.

He preferred the predictability and routine of patrol and deskwork and investigation. He preferred driving to speak to witnesses, or collecting evidence at a crime scene, or piecing together a myriad of facts and details into a coherent picture. (He especially liked doing that.)

But since he was one of the few Praxians on the Rodion police force, he was occasionally called in when they needed a door-winged mech to play a specific role for a case.

Prowl had been working this case for months. For years, there had been rumours of a trafficking ring operating in Rodion. Pleasurebots spoke in hushed tones of those who'd gone missing: picked up by a client and then never seen again. But since most of the shareware that worked the undersides of the citystate were transient in some way or another, a missing mech report very often just revealed that the mech had moved on to another city, or they turned up deactivated, killed by a cortical patch burnout. Sadly, that meant many of the missing mech were not missed for long... It was just assumed that they'd moved on, or found someplace to stimulate their processors directly into the Afterspark.

Why waste time looking for shareware? was the common opinion. If they hadn't put themselves into that situation, they wouldn't end up missing or dead. They made their choices.

Prowl hated that sort of disdain for the pleasurebots. He didn't care that they were selling their frames for shanix; he'd spoken to enough of them to know that through a few slips of bad luck, anyone might find themselves facing the same choice. Starve, or sell whatever you have to survive. And when you have nothing, all you have to sell is yourself.

But eventually, the number of missing mechs had reached a point where even the citystate's leaders had taken notice. No, scratch that... A young mech, just barely into his adult upgrades, had been found deactivated in one of the waste troughs that ran under the city streets. He hadn't been a pleasurebot, but had been working as a dancer at a club. His roommate had reported him missing after he hadn't come home after work one night. The uproar from that death finally caused the Chief Enforcer to order an investigation of the rumoured trafficking ring.

It took them all of a week to find out the rumours were probably true.

However, all of the leads they picked up seemed to lead right to a very seedy - but totally legal - pleasure drone trading house. The proprietors bought very legal mech shells, outfitted them with drone motivators, and then customized the shells in whatever way the purchaser requested. Sure, some of them were sold as housekeepers or nannies for younglings, but most of them seemed to end up being used as interface toys.

Your personal pleasure drone could be equipped with multiple valves or spikes, extra arms or kibble that you might find exciting, extra intakes or no intake... And then it could be programmed to act almost like a real mech. Moan at the right time. Buck its hips into you at the right amount of stimulation. Say your designation in whatever pitch or volume you wanted. Be the perfect partner for whatever kink you wanted to satisfy.

This in itself was vaguely scandalous; the initial investigation turned up a number of high-ranking citystate officials who were regular customers. That scandal kept the newsbots occupied for almost a full year as the city collectively clutched its hands to its spark chamber and asked how such a torrid thing could happen in Rodion.

Meanwhile, the investigation continued, quietly peeling back the layers of what lay under that trading house. Under that layer of obscenity, were so many layers of filth and depravity that it took the police over a year to sort out how to even approach the next step in the investigation.

And thus began one of the longest undercover jobs that Prowl had ever undertaken. So many detectives were required that they pulled from all over the force, and Prowl was given the role of a prospective client.

He'd purchased several drones from trading auction house, turning them all over to the forensics team to determine whether there was anything illegal being done with them: unregistered parts, unapproved logic circuitry, banned scripting, and so on. Every single drone ended up being perfectly legal, if distasteful to polite society.

But finally, after months of buying drone after drone and telling the proprietor how much he was enjoying his purchases, Prowl had been given an invitation to the "VIP night" sale.

"It’s an auction night where we bring in special vendors to show off some of their more rare and special models," Spinup, the trading house's owner told Prowl a few nights before. He leaned on the counter to show Prowl some pictures from the datapad he was holding. "They've got top-notch programming, resulting in some very lifelike reactions. There will be demonstrations, and even the chance to take one for a spin." He grinned at Prowl, or 'Haywire' as he knew him. "Based on what you've told me of your preferences, I think this might be right up your alley."

'Haywire' had a preference for drones who could do more than just lay back and take a spike, or act as an unthinking rutting machine. Prowl smiled broadly at Spinup, lifting his green and silver doorwings in an anticipatory gesture. "Thank you. It does sound like something I'd be interested in."

When Prowl stepped into the trading house the night of the special sale, he did a quick scan of the crowd. His orders for this particular night were strictly surveillance, and to collect information. He was instructed to show interested in a few of the models, but then aim to be invited back later to collect more evidence to lay the groundwork for a full raid.

That was fine with Prowl. He knew it was required to collect evidence, but he hated buying drones knowing that the shanix he paid for them would just get funneled into whatever unsavory dealings they were trying to uncover.

"Glad you could make it, Haywire!" Spinup handed Prowl a glass of high grade and ushered him to a seat near the display stage where drones were usually displayed for sale. Tonight, the stage had been draped in glittery mesh, and a chair had been placed near the middle. Spinup handed Prowl a paddle with a number on it. "If you're interested in bidding on any of the merchandise, just hold that up high. We'll be starting in a few minutes. Just relax until then."

Prowl nodded and turned his attention back to the crowd. Many of the mechs in attendance were wearing obvious disguises, with poorly done paint jobs, or false kibble tacked on to disrupt silhouette recognition software. Others, though, were either well-done disguises, or were moneyed mechs who Prowl didn't recognize. He tagged captures of several of their faces for later analysis to see if they could be identified.

Soon, the lights in the trading house fell, and music started up. A spotlight lit the stage and a mech done up in glittery paint stepped out from behind the curtain. "Welcome to our special VIP night! I'm Brushfire, your auctioneer for the night. I know you're as anxious to get started as I am, so let's see our first item for bid!"

A drone stepped out from behind the curtain. It had the too-slow and too-smooth movements of a well-programmed drone, a gap between the jerky movements of a household drone and the more natural movements of a live mech that even the best programming had yet to bridge. There was a vacant look in the drone's optics as it obeyed Brushfire's command to spin in place, showing off its gaudy paint and open interface panels for all to see.

Prowl sipped from his glass of high grade as he ran a comparison of the drone's face against the database of missing mechs. Having the glass raised to his mouth managed to keep him from reacting when he got a hit almost immediately.

The face matched a pleasure bot who had been reported missing just two weeks before. The story from the other bots on his corner was that a client had picked him up, and he'd never come back.

Prowl watched the 'drone' carefully. It acted just like a drone, following every command to the letter and not a bit more.

"And for the next demonstration, I'll show off how lifelike it can really be," Brushfire said, and held his fingers to the drone's lips. "Suck on these."

The drone's mouth opened slowly, and Brushfire pushed his fingers into its mouth. The drone started to suck on them, his jaw working slowly.

Beside Prowl, a customer slid his interface panel open and slid his fingers into his own valve under the table.

"Now... Wake," said Brushfire.

Suddenly, the vacant look on the mech's face vanished, replaced by shock, then revulsion, and then fear. His optics went wide and darted up to Brushfire's face, but his jaw continued to work as he sucked on Brushfire's fingers. Brushfire slowly slipped his fingers from the mech's mouth, pausing to wipe them on his plating

"Show me your spike," Brushfire said, and the mech's spike housing spiraled open, his spike pressurizing immediately. "Now... Stroke yourself to overload. Show us what you've got."

The mech's face flushed with a look of humiliation as he grabbed at his spike and started pulling on it. His optics flicked from Brushfire to the crowd and back as he hand moved faster and faster, until his whole frame shuddered into overload, his transfluid spattering the stage floor in front of him.

At the next table, the customer's hand worked faster under the table.

Brushfire turned to look back at the crowd. "Perfectly cognizant, and perfectly controlled," Brushfire said with a smile. "The lock will allow for the drone to be aware of everything done to it, but it will still follow every single command."

It took every bit of Prowl's training and willpower to not jump out of his seat and charge the stage. They'd suspected that the missing bots were being used as a cheap source of shells for the drones. They had suspected that the missing bots were being used as unwilling slaves, possibly in an underground brothel of some sort.

This... This was so much worse.

"Do we have anyone who would like to test the merchandise? For 300 shanix you may have 15 minutes, with an option to purchase afterwards."

The customer beside Prowl jumped up and waved his auction paddle. In just a minute, he and the 'drone' were escorted to a curtained-off area beside the stage. Before the curtain was pulled shut, Prowl saw a panicked look on the supposed drone's face.

Prowl's hands balled into fists under the table.

For the next 'drone,' a dance pole was set up on the stage. The crowd watched as Brushfire 'woke' the drone, and ordered the mech to dance. The mech twirled on and climbed and rode the pole in a way that a drone simply could never do. At Brushfire's orders, the mech stuck his fingers in his valve and began pumping them in and out as he twirled around the pole. And all through his sensuous motions, the mech glared daggers at every mech in the audience, including Prowl.

Slag, thought Prowl. I wish I could help you.

But... orders. Surveillance only.

He dutifully recorded the mech's face, and matched it to a club dancer who had been reported missing over a month ago.

As the second mech for sale was taken backstage by another client, Spinup stopped by Prowl's table. "See anything of interest yet?" he asked.

"It's all been very interesting," Prowl replied smoothly. He smiled at Spinup ingratiatingly. "But I'd hate to jump at one offering and miss something I might enjoy more."

"Fair enough," Spinup said with a laugh, and wandered off to the next table.

For the third sale, the pole had been replaced by the chair again. When the next mech was brought out, Brushfire spun him around slowly as he'd done with the others. This mech was Polyhexian, mostly white and black, with blue and red accents. His visor was dark, and he moved with the same uncanny motions that the other mechs had before they'd been woken up.

"A fine treat for you tonight," he said. "We've had a dancer, now we have a singer. Wake."

The mech's visor brightened as he came back to awareness, but his expression didn't change. Prowl saw the flicker as the mech looked out over the crowd before his gaze settled on Brushfire.

"Sing for me," said Brushfire, pushing the mech down into the chair. "Sing a love song for me, and show off your valve while you do that. Overload at the end."

The visored mech began to sing. The song was unfamiliar to Prowl, but the tune was bawdy and lively. In contrast, the mech's expression had hardened as his fingers splayed his valve open as he sang.

Prowl ran the mech's face against the database of missing mechs, but got no hits. Perhaps this mech hadn't been reported missing yet. Or – worse – maybe he had been reported missing, but not in Rodion. Prowl would have to return to the precinct to run a full search, but he wondered if this 'trading ring' stretched farther than just the dark corners of Rodion.

As the mech's song came to a close, his voice trembled slightly as his frame was wracked by an overload. The expression on his face made it clear that the overload was neither wanted, nor enjoyable.

As the mech's visor came back down to glare out at the audience, Prowl decided that orders could be scrapped in the light of new evidence.

Before Brushfire could ask whether anyone wanted a turn with the singer, Prowl held up his bid paddle. "I'll take a turn with him," he called.

"He's a bit more expensive than the previous trwo," Brushfire warned. "It'll be 500 shanix for 15 minutes."

"Worth it," Prowl said, flicking a door wing.

Within minutes, Spinup was pulling the curtain closed. "I'll give you 20 minutes," he said. "I want to make sure you get a good feel for what this one's capable of."

Prowl nodded. "Looking forward to it," he purred, and stepped closer to the supposed drone.

As soon as the curtain was closed, Prowl felt along the mech's neck for his hardline port. Surely the stall was bugged, if not outright being monitored by video. He hoped that the mech hadn't been outfitted with viruses to protect the ring's investment. "Your voice is lovely," Prowl said, using the same low rumbling tone he'd just used with Spinup. "And you look just as beautiful as you sound. Shall I see if you feel beautiful, too?"

The mech glared up at him, but he didn't move when Prowl slipped a jack into his neck port. He kept his hand over the connection, trying to hide it from whatever camera they had in here. Connection protocols ran and came up clean of viruses, but Prowl couldn't get any deeper than surface level diagnostics. Prowl hoped that the mech's internal comm systems hadn't been encrypted so that he wouldn't be able to understand what was being said to him over the hardline.

::I am Detective Prowl with the Rodion Police.:: Prowl paused, waiting to see if there was any reaction. ::I am going to get you out of here. Do you understand?::

The mech looked up at Prowl blankly.

Scrap.

Prowl stroked a hand down the mech's face, trying to keep up as much of a show for the stall's cameras as possible. "Will you sing for me?"

Slowly, the mech's hand slid up to Prowl's waist, and one of his fingers tapped on Prowl's hip armor. Then he began to sing.

Instead of the dirty tune he'd sung on stage, the mech began to sing a slow, melancholy song. Through his visor, his gaze held Prowl's.

Prowl nodded. ::One tap for yes, two taps for no?::

One tap on Prowl's hip.

Perfect.

Prowl traced a thumb across the mech's lower lip. "So beautiful," he purred again.

The mech's visor brightened.

::Are you here of your own free will?::

The mech's fingers quickly tapped twice on Prowl's hip.

Not that Prowl was surprised, but the confirmation only steeled his resolve to get at least one of these mechs out of this situation tonight. ::Do you want me to get you out of here?::

One tap

::Other than the lock on your processor, are you injured or in need of immediate medical attention?::

Two taps.

The mech's song slowly faded as it ended, and he leaned back into the chair he was sitting in, still looking up at Prowl.

This glare had been replaced by a dawning look of hope.

"That was lovely," Prowl said, cupping the mech's face in his hands. "Will you sing me another?"

The mech immediately opened his mouth and began to sing again. This time, though, his song was filled with hope.

#tfspeedwriting #My writing #rough draft #lemon on the citrus scale

10 notes · View notes