#I repurposed that joke because I laughed so hard | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

callistochan87 · 2 years ago

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nothing major but enjoy part of a 2700 word excerpt from what I'm writing because this is the most i've written in a sitting so far

first draft obviously, edits required? yes. but hey. i have been struggling so I'm trying to find what accountability i can. please enjoy this thing that was intended to be one scene and instead spanned about half a typical chapter length. i cut it before it started getting too sad, but also because lol i hit tumblr's post limit

also description? what's that? i have avoided the curse of newbie writers so hard i have transcended description entirely

Eric presented the package with a flourish, a card and a small hinged box that could, and would double as a decorative something.

Christine looked at it. He never usually got her Valentine’s gifts beyond some nice chocolates or something practical they’d both wanted, so the display felt off. He was perfectly aware of this.

She read the card, smiled briefly, and then opened the box. Inside were two large chocolate bars, some sort of small-batch, fair-trade chocolate that had an air of high quality. These two were book themed, judging by the wrappers—one, ginger and nori with dark chocolate; the other, she didn’t see the ingredients, but the wrapper caught her eye. Alice in Wonderland-themed, perhaps a bit stereotypical, but she had always tolerated Eric and her father making reference to it.

That was Eric’s usual Valentine’s Day fare. No, It was the little box that provoked examination. It looked like jewelry, and Eric knew this was an unusual turn. She didn’t wear jewelry besides her wedding ring and the two titanium hoops in her ears, worn because they were easy to remove or put back in and simple enough not to get snagged on anything.

“What’s this?” she said. She was turning it over in her hands and not actually opening it. It didn’t help it had been a repurposed ring box.

“You could open it,” Eric suggested.

Eric sat down next to her on the couch and watched. He was well aware of the unusualness if this particular gift but…he had to do something more than usual, because this year was different from past ones. He’d seen the way she often lapsed into silence and let conversations drift around her, the way she spent too much time hunched over her mother’s old notebooks, or the split-second hesitation as she white-knuckle gripped a box of her mother’s old clothes to go to the Salvation Army.

“You don’t usually get me anything else,” she said, discomfort on her face, “I didn’t get you anything. That’s how we usually do it.”

“It’s not a transaction,” Eric said.

“Look, Christmas was bad enough,” she said, an embarrassed flush creeping up on her face, “This makes it even more lopsided—“

“I said it’s not a transaction,” he repeated, “I’m not keeping score. Please, open it.”

Christine finally fumbled with the box. Inside was a deep purple-blue crystal, unpolished. The bottom still resembled rock, but the top part caught the light, casting bright purple highlights across Christine’s hands. He had thought it a small rock, but it looked larger in her hands. He couldn’t read her expression, but she smiled a sort of half-smile.

“It's a crystal. You have tons of those already. Quartz? No, amethyst. Yeah. You have tons of amethyst already.”

“It’s iolite,” he says, adjusting his glasses, “Mined up near Ghost Lake. I got it from a guy in Grande Prairie.”

“Ghost Lake? Where’s that?”

He made a so-so motion with his hands. “If you’re looking on a map? A bit south, south-west, of Wekweètı̀.”

"You had to pay a guy from Grande Prairie for this when you could've gone up to Ghost Lake yourself?” She smiled wider. This was the a joke. He didn’t think he’d be so relieved at a joke.

"I know you don't like camping," he said with a laugh, "If you don't like it at actual, government-owned campsites, I'm not about to charter a plane to fly you out into the bush.”

She gave a short bark of a laugh. “Well, it’s very pretty, thank you. I think there’s a spot in one of your display cases, next to the tourmaline chunk you got for your birthday—”

“Please don’t call it a ‘chunk’,” he said with a laugh, “That sounds weird.”

She made as if to give the iolite back to him, but he closed her hand around it. She gave him a look—God, too much like her mother and he didn’t even think she realized it—and did that same sort of half-laugh.

“This is your gift,” he said.

“Eric, we both know this is a gift for you with my name on it,” she said, “You said that about the quartz and the amethyst, and that big geode you had to have, and they all wound up in your display case eventually. Go on and put this one in there too.”

He glanced around. She wasn’t wrong. His collection had started out on a spare shelf on one of the bookshelves, before slowly eating away at the remaining space, and then onto a second bookshelf and a decorative shelf in the bedroom. Christine didn’t collect much, but it was limited to a small selection of things at the equally small computer desk. Things like books on aliens and holographic stickers and her latest collection appeared to be her mother’s notebooks, carefully left under the desk, with just enough space for her to tuck her legs underneath. Those were new, and a worrying new acquisition.

Still, she liked purple. Most of the things she had collected, if she’d had a choice, were purple. Every time he saw something purple, he thought of her. Unfortunately, yes, past gifts had made their way into display cases “for safety”, but he was adamant this one wouldn’t.

“No, I mean it. It’s yours.”

“Eric, what am I supposed to do with it?” she said, with a bit of a laugh, “Stick it in my pocket and wind up ruining the washing machine?”

“Well, don’t do that,” he said.

“It’s too big for a necklace,” she said, turning it over in her hands, “I’d sink to the bottom of the lake if I wore that.”

“No it’s not,” he said, a spark coming to mind, “Hey, Shelby’s been making those macrame necklaces lately, I could ask her to put it on a string?”

“Go ahead and ask your sister if you want, she’ll say the exact same thing,” she said, “I…oh come on, don’t look so put out. You know I don’t carry much stuff on me. I forget my purse half the time. I don’t have a lucky rock that I keep in my pocket. I get why you got it, but we both know it’ll wind up in your rock collection sooner or later. Better to put it in there now so it’s safe.”

“I want you to have something to remind you of me, when I’m away.”

“Eric, every rock reminds me of you. It’s not tied to a specific rock. Your whole stupid rock collection is a constant reminder of you when you’re not here,” she said. The ‘stupid’ was said with affection.

“Come on, I know you. You saw a shiny new rock on one of your geologist listservs somewhere and decided you wanted it, but it’s ‘mine’ because it’s purple. Okay, fine. You can put all ‘my’ stuff in a separate case, how’s that? We can put it on the dresser or something.”

“Would you show it off if I did that?”

“Show it off to who? No one comes over.”

“Your dad comes over,” he says, “My family comes over.”

“I’m sure your parents have seen enough purple rocks for a lifetime, but sure, I’ll show it to them if they ask.”

She leaned back against the couch and he followed suit, putting an arm around her shoulder. It wasn’t quite a cuddle.

“You can’t wait for them to ask,” he said, “Because they won’t.”

“I just gotta ambush them as soon as they walk in?”

“Exactly.”

She gave a little amused smile. It wasn’t enough to fill him with joy, but it was a much better streak that he’d seen since Christmas, so

Eric took that as a win.

#celestial souls #text post #my writing #snippet #my stories

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bellshazes · 8 days ago

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happy halloween, here's my horror-inducing bdubs wild life episode 2 fic. some director's commentary notes:

the title is from t.s. eliot's the waste land, and i didn't know how the fic was gonna end when i decided this, so it's more earworm than the fact that bdubs is so fear death by water-coded.

the prose is heavily influenced by calvino's under the jaguar sun, but bdubs' imposition of hidden rules on nature is all renfield from dracula, specifically the 1931 film which repurposes jonathan's initial stay at casle drac as renfield backstory to the servitude

there are a lot of half-baked puns that exist mostly to make me laugh: whetting appetite and teeth, the ciphers and "code" of the wildcard food mechanics which is a mod, all of the bad jokes about "keeping time" because, get it, he ate a clock! it's in his tummy. that's where he keeps time

I was really fascinated by how the constant attempts to block or whatever led to accidentally eating valuables, and what it meant that it seemed the food was what changed when there were mechanical effects on their character bodies. and in his group at the wildcard roll, bdubs being the first to notice the hunger change....

also every build bdubs has ever done on the life series loudly proclaims his relationship with safety and an attempt to impose his particular worldview at the time on the world via physical form but his use of the golden ratio in this episode and separation as defense was really convenient. break down nature! manipulate it for power and safety!

I did not want to write about human hunger or eating issues; it was important to me that the hunger be mostly strange and alien and a compulsion toward devouring/consumption, but strictly a la a magic curse, or slow descent into madness. obviously it couldn't be avoided entirely, but i did try very hard to make it distinct.

bdubs does eat polished deepslate he knows will infest him in the storage cave with joel, as joel is going through deepslate blocks' edibility. why? he has grass and dripstone. honestly my version is more logical, in a bdubs-in-the-fic-type-logical way. when i noticed, i sat there and had to think about whether i really was going to commit to the whole renfield motif of eating animals that have eaten other living things and well. there was only one way it could go (sorry)

i wanted to do more with liquids - the initial hungry salivating, the arrows' blood, the dripstone after going down smooth "like the arrows" (due to the blood) and of course the clock-conduit/water breathing/final scene complications. there are threads there, if i tell you to look for them, but it's too short of a piece and my writing too slow to spend another 1000 words trying to weave it in smoothly. but i do think it's etho's secondhand blood-drawing that kickstarts the real madness that differentiates bdubs' mania from the others'.

Almost all spoken lines are from canon or close to them, with some modifications for clarity or - for the final scene only - omitting one or two lines in a conversation for pacing. (and eliding some too-gamey elements - Strength V is just strength, etc.) Etho's "slide them down your gullet and say thank you," and in particular the way he said it also contributed heavily to the vibe and need to write this beast.

Also, on the list of things I wish I'd had the time to spend refining and making consistent, but the idea was - the sentences are long and rhythmic with stacked clauses, comma after comma et cetera when Bdubs is confronting or succumbing to the hunger; it's short, staccato sentences when he thinks of order. The meter of the sentences is different, although I could NOT stop alliterating because, I don't know, too much Anglo-Saxon poetry in my youth? They're two sides of the same coin though; the clock's steady rhythm is part of the mania and craziness, not an antidote to it. It only serves to drive him deeper into the long winding passages of being consumed by consumption.

with a wicked pack of cards (gen/horror, 3.3k)

The nothingness choked him, slid down his throat, settled achingly in his belly. He gasped, swallowing yet more nothing with each panicked breath, tension rising, strangely certain that it was the deepening pit in his stomach that was consuming him. He was dust empty, mouth wool-watering, desert dry - and then that lingering at the tip of his tongue resolved into speech, loud with all the empty air inside of him released like a high pressure valve: I'm zombie hungry.

Bdubs tries to put order to his wild hunger, no matter what it takes to satisfy it.

On AO3 or below the cut. Content warnings for body horror, implied physical transformations, implied (non-permadeath) murder, insect eating, mild self-injury, and cannibalism. Inspired by Bdubs' interaction with Scar while fording the river in episode 2.

At the dealing of the second card, the body, whose previous unruliness had some sense in it, now had senses that fled, revolted, confounded, fell apart, misfired.

The first sensation had been familiar, lingering on the tip of his tongue like a word once known and now forgotten, or perhaps misplaced, or misused. The weight of its absence sat heavy in his mouth, drawing down saliva and anxious air. The nothingness choked him, slid down his throat, settled achingly in his belly. He gasped, swallowing yet more nothing with each panicked breath, tension rising, strangely certain that it was the deepening pit in his stomach that was consuming him. He was dust empty, mouth wool-watering, desert dry - and then that lingering at the tip of his tongue resolved into speech, loud with all the empty air inside of him released like a high pressure valve: I'm zombie hungry.

The others knew, because they had none of them escaped some desert, some zombie, some brief terrifying hunger in any number of worlds - but faces contorted and limbs jerked as if the strings that drew them across the body and dove hands into pockets or slid palms over mouths had snagged and knotted, contorting intent into some misunderstood action. Objects stuttered in hands, and across the group amongst the incoherent concerns, Mumbo's voice rang all in one breath.

"I can eat my pickaxe," he said.

The strange language of other bodies resolved a little, the glass between himself and the world wiped clean. The angle at which that pick hovered in front of Mumbo had, in the peripheral vision, been easily assumed to be merely a defensive posture, but now with focus resembled more a skewer just picked clean. It was only wood and stone, but reflected the sun just in front of Mumbo's open mouth.

Reflexes tensed his arm and raised it, the grip of his fingers around uneven cobble convulsing, poised as if to examine or divide or reduce it, to throw it away from him, preparing a decisive action, and when his hand had traversed the full arc, he felt stone at his lips.

The hunger was already fully there, but several people had levitated away after scooping dirt into their surprised mouths before Bdubs could make room for anything. Cobble made him nauseous, all the emptiness of his stomach now gnawing at muscle, sinking into bone. It occupied him, infected him. He could no longer rely on this body to obey his intent in ways that had once made sense - or in ways he had once thought they did, perhaps.

Even in the oldest games like this, your body and the usual laws of the world were subordinate to the survival urges. Finite bodies, bodies which did not heal, bodies which even death did not restore, conditions on the sating of hunger were all familiar, grown natural. The itch of the killing curse was only a temporary sickness. Swords arms had twitched, footsteps crept too close to new targets - but it was controllable, had been controlled, until the last, when he told himself he had decided to act.

Looking out at the world, the first wild card had only made perception more true: slinking toward the ground brought you closer to the overlooked and immeasurable small things, so that all the world seemed to tower over the little forgotten kingdoms of earth and stone; reaching upwards, jumping, ascending all made the world smaller in comparison to your own vantage point. But it had been the body that changed, always changing, subordinated to conscious will but equally governed by absentminded instinct.

In the night, Etho came running to the river, arrows in hand, laugh a little manic. "Eat the arrows, slide it down your gullet, and say thank you."

Bdubs drew out his own small stash of arrows scavenged from skeletons. Tango took one from Etho and snapped it in half and set to chewing. Had Tango always had that many teeth? Had they always been so sharp? The light was low, the moon thin, the hunger urgent; he could not read his body, its signals and ciphers and code.

He tilted his head back toward the sky, held the arrow at the fletching, let gravity settle its pendulous swing above him. He smiled and his mouth opened wide. The arrow fell, pointed head drawing blood from his tongue, throat, washing away the accumulated desperate spit, food and drink both, and he let the roiling emptiness consume it.

Not long after, he made a clock and swallowed it whole. To keep time made him feel more whole, more of himself, and this way there could be no losing it. The clock sat heavy in his stomach, providing a steadying, mathematical precision against which he could mete out the following days and nights. He saw more clearly, and was drawn to water, but did not enter it, though he marked out the eventual course of a moat to keep their island safe.

Even unruly bodies could build and bring order to the landscape. The area needed cleared, devoured, made empty for the next steps. They needed walls between them, some container to keep the hunger from spilling, mixing, combining, growing out of control. The clock beat metronomic agreement as the emptiness clawed at his low ribs, its weight a comfort even as it dragged the pit of hunger deeper, down and down and down with each twitch of the gears.

He only got as far as laying the law down for three tower island before the natural order changed again. The polished deepslate he'd kept at hand now barely satisfied the beast in his belly; he was suddenly aware of how the dark cold stone ground only to loose chunks between his dull molars, coating his mouth with dust and grit. How had he not noticed before, the way it choked and grated, clogging his throat? He swallowed thickly, some rubble caught there, and swallowed again, trying to dislodge it, all attention narrowed to the constriction of his throat, salivating desperately, swallowing, a little movement, swallowing and swallowing, until it dislodged and he could no longer swallow, for it was crawling back up his esophagus, writhing, a thousand sharp edges prodding his flesh, frantic as if all the desperation he felt were escaping with animal fear, scrabbling against the back of his teeth.

Panicking, he stumbled toward Etho, reaching out with one hand and tapping his fist soundly against his chest with the other. But Etho fled before he could communicate, sickly green and twitching with poison shock. He began to scream, but the only noise that left him was the sound of silverfish falling from his gaping mouth.

The silverfish scurried away as everyone scrambled with their own crises of sound or physical affliction. Bdubs snapped back to action as Cleo arrived, and shared her stalactites. They went down like the arrows had, soothing his sore throat and washing away the dust. The taste of cracked eggshells lingered not unpleasantly on his tongue; his pulse settled back into the clock's stable rhythm. There was something like a congestive drip in his throat, but he didn't feel sick. He felt fine again, his appetite whetted.

Etho needed saving, as usual, cowering inside their temporary structure with fistfuls of lapis, unable to get full. He passed dripstone through between the cobble post and the wall, aiming a couple at the small of his back to get Etho's proper attention, and despite his initial skepticism, Etho ate. He'd come around and listen someday, Bdubs told himself. He would get his team to take care of themselves before others, take the world as it was in all its cruel order and get them to build up their own defenses.

In the morning, he crossed the river to visit Gem and Joel, who were eating grass.

"It's even better than dripstone," Gem said, pushing a fistful at him. Her fingers were stained light green; when he took the grass from her, there were thin, reedy lines across her empty palm.

More visitors arrived, pulling her attention away. Bdubs ate and found she was right. He ran his tongue over his teeth and considered his ground-down molars. He had nearly forgotten there were permissible organics, all the leaves and once-inedible plant life - but then, it had a certain soundness to it, that life could be better prolonged by consuming living things. A kind of natural order, like the golden ratio - common, comforting, exploitable.

His throat itched. He followed Joel into the storage cove, watching him rifle through chests and consider a variety deepslate configurations before swallowing them. Joel's teeth looked sharper, too, like he had imagined Tango's were the night of the arrows. They certainly held up and broke down stairs and walls and polished tile with ease, without breaking.

Joel looked up and grinned wide and thin through cracked lips. A little trickle of blood was trailing from the corner of his mouth, carving a path through the dust Bdubs hadn't realized was coating Joel's face. "Polished deepslate stairs are pretty good," he said before turning back to his chests for more supplies.

"Is that so?" said Bdubs. There was no stonecutter, but he did have one last block of polished deepslate on hand, from before the re-shuffling. He thought of the silverfish, the infestation - they must eat small plants or fungal growth, down in the caverns and mountain hollows where they normally lived, surely accumulating many little grasses within them - and if grass was good, better than stalactites…

He popped the deepslate into his mouth and bit down, cracking it like a bone. No panic, now; he swallowed and chased the rubble with one deep breath, drawing in more air than he knew he could hold, ribs and chest straining under the expansion of his lungs, the weight in his stomach, counting tick, tock, tick, tock until he could breathe in no more and began releasing all that breath even more slowly to the tick tock, tick tock.

The silverfish came crawling up, but they were less frantic or perhaps he was more prepared, as when they spilled into his mouth, he widened his jaw with shut lips just enough that when they moved forward, seeking an exit, he snapped his teeth closed again, crushing them. He repeated the action without thought; taste and texture had long ceased to matter, imparting no feeling other than the briefest of satiation, and after so many rocks and stones the thin, vulnerable carapaces and tiny limbs of insects were almost gentle.

If Joel noticed his rhythmic soft crunching seemed different than gnawing on stone should, he didn't say anything, and then Impulse arrived with a watchful Gem at his heels, and Bdubs let the chaos of the scene carry him away.

The day waned. He stuck to the surface, planting trees to harvest logs and leaves. He was losing patience with other people, who he instinctively felt wouldn't appreciate his discovery, his new science. Pearl and Scar had swum across the river only a minute after he returned home and were such a nuisance he barely registered Etho prodding him to use the enchanter for fear of Scar taking it away or worse.

Impulse showed up too, because two troublemakers following him back from Gem and Joel's simply wasn't enough. "What you guys eating on?" he asked.

"Stalagmites," Bdubs lied, cleaing up the dripstone he'd tried to use to protect their only fortification.

"Did anybody hear that?" Pearl said before he could even finish the word, standing presumptuously in their doorway, shouting a little over the din of thunder and people squabbling about what the meal of the day was.

"Yes, of course there's noises, Pearl, everything's going - going crazy," Bdubs huffed, drawing out the last word and snapping the two syllables apart into distinct pieces. He turned on his heel toward the back of their island-to-be, away from all the hullabaloo and static that drowned out his strong pulse, the perfect mechanical motion of the body he was cultivating.

He fumed while chopping trees. How could anyone only just now register the full range of immediate effects, while he was discovering the hidden ones, the intricacies of consumption? Pearl herself had protested when Gem accused her of already going red in the day, with her one beaten-up eye - a familiar sight to Bdubs, who knew what a bad fall could do. But Gem and Pearl were both wrong, as Pearl was neither red nor merely scuffed, her sunken eyes and thinned-out cheeks a clear warning not to succumb to the hunger or else suffer its changes.

It was so clear to him now, scuttering energy propelling each swing of his axe in perfect time, that it was not the food that changed but them, their bodies, their teeth and mouths and ears and stomachs and eyes and hands, skin and bones and flesh. Not only changed but changeable, just as it had been with the changing of size, if you only bothered to understand the rules. Even the strangest rules had logics to unravel, spiraling out into encompassing, comprehensible patterns; or perhaps spiraling inward, smaller and smaller until every piece and fragment of the world could be expressed in its strange ciphers.

The last of Gem's grass got him through enough trees that by the time he returned to drop off the wood and foliage he'd harvested, the disharmonious crowd had left again to bother some other poor soul. But it wasn't satisfying even as he knew he was full and not falling prey to the emptiness' unending desire for more; since consuming the silverfish, mere harvest lacked that vitality. There were few other options, as there was no more deepslate to induce them. He knew the pattern well enough now to follow its long arc toward the only satisfying next target: if living things made old stone unsatisfying, and live creatures surpassed picked plants, then this cultivated hunger could only be fed by some larger, hungrier thing than silverfish. All the usual animals were out, meat of any type inducing terrible starvation-weakness, that old zombie hunger; the unusual animals had nothing to give beyond that had not already been tested and found inferior.

He bit into the last of the oak saplings he'd been planting as he approached Scott and Etho, who were blessedly calm and outside the fortification and, apparently, talking about him.

"Bdubs is working hard," Etho said, and Scott nodded appraisingly.

The green growth of the sapling went down easily, barely reminiscent of more lively stuff - but then, a burn spreads from his chest and down his arms, lighting up the nerves and veins, branching out and drawing his hands closed, one going to the sword at his hip. "Oh, what do I have here," Bdubs said, and lifted the sword from its sheath in one hand with an airy smoothness he had never possessed before. "Strength," he said, flourishing the sword and tossing the last saplings to Etho. "From an oak sapling."

"Be careful not to get annoyed and punch anybody. You could practically one-shot anybody on the server like that," Scott said eyeing his posture, and Bdubs was pleased that someone recognized his transformation, all the work he had done.

"Oh, I wanna kill somebody," Bdubs said through gritted teeth, striding toward the river with long, strong strides. The hunger and the adrenaline reminded him faintly of his time as the boogeyman, but he had never felt so clear-headed, so in control.

"Scar's about ready to cross the water there," Etho said behind him, a little softly and with a laugh.

Bdubs wasn't laughing, his eyes fixed on Scar and the cow in the water, Cleo trailing. "It's so juicy - I'd take him out."

He couldn't make out the words, but he recognized Scar's cries of frustration and Cleo's amusement. The cow tread water aimlessly, trying to follow the wheat in Cleo's hands despite Scar tugging on it, occasionally dragging its head under the water for brief seconds. They were going to breed the cows, foolishly in anticipation of when they could eat like they used to, obsessed with the wrong consumption and overly sure of their place at the top of a food chain that had been totally upended.

Bdubs ran his tongue over his teeth and between one tick of the clock and the next made his decision and dove into the water, swimming direct and efficient over to the ruckus.

Scar managed to notice the noise of him cutting across the river even over the cow's sad braying. "Look at him, I told you!"

Bdubs placed strong hands on his shoulders, so that Scar's grip on the buoyant cow kept them both afloat. His nails dug into fabric, and he pulled himself closer, treading water. "Hello, delicious!"

"I told you this man was hungry!" shouted Scar as Cleo giggled helplessly in the background, both of them acting as if it were a joke. "Go eat grass, that's the only thing that works."

They didn't know better, but they'd learn, just as his teammates would learn that it had to be every man for himself, every person against the world, and eventually, the rules dictated that there could only be one, all the others falling by the wayside, consumed. He could teach that lesson even if he could not win.

"No, you know what's better, what's going to make you foam at the mouth? A sapling gives you strength, enough to one-shot anybody on the server."

"Oh, wow," Scar said, attention finally leaving the cow, interest piqued by bloodlust as usual.

Bdubs smiled. "Wanna see?" he said, and without hesitating, sunk his stone-sharpened teeth into Scar's shoulder, through the fabric of his vest and shirt and deep into the meat of his shoulder. Suddenly, the playful crowing turned to an animal screech, driving the cow further away and blocking Cleo's view.

"Cleo!" shouted Scar, but without the cow or anything else to hang onto, it was him that slipped under the water's surface, gurgling and trying to orient himself.

Water did nothing for the hunger, but with sharp pulls Bdubs could widen the rip in Scar's shirt and finally, finally tear into flesh of that living thing which had grown stronger from all the accumulated life, and he swallowed it whole, blood leeching into the water, confusion from above now loud enough to drown out Scar's bubbling desperation, concern from Cleo and even faintly Etho's nervous holler, surfacing to reaching arms as he backpedaled and gasped for breath, lungfuls of air that invigorated him even as Scar tried to thrash in his hold, wild-eyed and hoarse.

"I told you," Scar croaked, but Bdubs held Cleo's worried eye and was sure, knew with total confidence that if anyone understood it would be Cleo, who could not fault him for his hunger and his desperation, since he had betrayed no one, and if she did find fault then that was good too, to protect her own self from the threats that would come not from the world and its next deal of the cards but the players, and with a red and toothy smile that revealed how this injury was dealt, he tried to prepare one last push before the strength left him, and bit into a sign because he had left the sapling with Etho.

With a moment's lull, Scar began to kick and nearly got away, bloody and carved-out shoulder now visible to all bystanders who had all also failed to understand what hunger meant until they saw it fulfilled, but the birch imparted a familiar feeling, and Bdubs announced:

"Water breathing - and now, I'll see you all later," before sinking into Scar's outstretched, flailing arm and deep into the water, down the underwater ravine, and finally, finally, ate until he was full.

#and so my promise is fulfilled.

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years ago

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Objections: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: you go to a wedding as the maid of honor for your best friend, so you have to keep things proper. But there's always room to have a little fun, right? (a piece for the Gangland Collab hosted by @semisgroupie)

wc: 2.5k

tw: NSFW

masterlist

Flustered.

That's one way to describe how you're feeling while everyone is running around and making demands. You're barely dressed when the bride - and your best friend - comes into your shared hotel room with a red face.

"Y/n, my shoes won't buckle!"

You stoop to help Mizuki silently, hoping she would calm down after your assistance. But then she begins to complain bout how awful the wedding rehearsal had gone the night before, where only two out of the four groomsmen had shown up. The best man had even sat the rehearsal dinner out, claiming to have a wicked hangover—a likely story.

"There," you state, standing up and pulling your blush-colored dress straps over your shoulders.

"Thanks, y/n. Don't know what I'd do without you."

And you carry Mizuki's flowers as she rushes across the courtyard to the church, her hands full of tulle skirt. And you adjust her veil when it slips off her hair a little. All the things her mother would have been there to do, you're there for instead. Because that's just who you are.

The groom and the groomsmen have already descended the aisle, and you hand Mizuki her flowers as her father approaches her in the church's lobby. His tattoos are covered by the long-sleeved suit and buttoned-up shirt, but you know Mr. Magahara would show his tattoos if he could.

"You're the best maid of honor," he mentions, and you smile, giving him a wink.

"Wouldn't give this up for the world."

As you walk down the aisle alone, you smile at all of the family members present on Mizuki's side, knowing each and every one of them by name and function. You take your place across from the groomsmen standing behind the groom and eye the best man - a tall, black-haired fellow - with curiosity. His black eyes flick to you for a moment, linger on your appearance in the blush silk, and then turn away just as quickly as if you no longer existed. But Mizuki is coming down the aisle, and you turn toward her, placing your best "I Want to Be Here" smile on your face.

The wedding vows and ceremony passes in a blur, and before you know it - she and her white-haired groom are wedded. As they leave, you walk back up the aisle beside the best man, secretly wondering why he couldn't just suck it up the night before, but you keep your thoughts to yourself as you wait for the golf carts purchased to take you all to the reception.

"Y/n, you and Geto will get in the next one," Mizuki claims and zips off, facing the crowd while her dress flies around her and Gojo. You turn to the man as he sits in the driver's seat of the white golf cart, and he pats the seat next to him. His cuffs roll up just a bit to reveal a red and black tattoo outline when he does so. You look back up at his face, and Geto raises a brow - noticing you noticing his tattoo.

"I don't bite..." he offers, shrugging. Other people are going past you and the stationary cart as you assess the Yakuza member, but after what feels like forever, you decide to get into the cart, and he starts it up before taking off at a crawl. "Often." Before you can respond, he floors the pedal down on the golf cart, and you scream, holding onto the side rails for dear life.

It would be just your luck. You're stuck in a golf cart with a bona fide crazy man who is in the Yakuza.

When he finally pulls up a the barn, you step off the cart, dizzy, but you feel no more inclined to throw up than you did before. However, Geto gets out of the vehicle and loops your arm through his, guiding you towards the repurposed barn like a gentleman.

"Wasn't so bad, was it? Maybe four-and-a-half stars out of five?"

"Out of ten," you mutter, earning you a hearty laugh.

_____________________________________________________________

You're six toasts in and a little unsteady on your feet when Geto turns to you, watching you eat the cupcake offered to you moments before. He places his hand on his chin, examining you in the dim lighting of the venue like he did at the church.

"What?" you wonder, mouth full of icing and cake.

"Just watching you eat that cupcake. Maybe I should've gotten one, yeah?"

"Yeah," you muse, sucking some icing off of your index finger. "They're fucking amazing."

"I bet..." You think you hear him groan in his throat, but you can't be sure, so your attention goes back to the people on the dance floor, and you thumb over to the crowd.

"You don't like dancing?"

"Eh," Geto shrugs, watching the groom sway to the slow song with his bride. "No one's ever asked me to dance with them before." You stand from your chair and offer Geto your hand, praying he wouldn't embarrass you by not taking it.

"Well, Mr. Geto, may I have this dance?"

The man looks at your hand, then back up at your face, as if you were joking. But you continue to stand there, palm up, until he finally takes it, leading you to the dance floor. He pulls you into a traditional slow dance hold - one hand against your waist, the other holding your hand out - and you look up at him, laughing.

"You can dance!"

"Never said I couldn't," he chuckles, smiling down at you. "Just said I hadn't." After a few moments of this, the song changes to something fast and exciting - definitely a song that makes you want to shake your ass a little. At first, the mafia member is caught off-guard by the song, but he dances along with you, mouthing the words to the song.

"You acted like you've never been to a party before," you mention, and he shakes his head, his banging flopping back and forth.

"Always rolled up in the back and watched the festivities."

Your entire perception begins to shift, and for some reason, your cheeks heat up under his gaze. It's the alcohol, you consider. It has to be.

But as you move closer to him and Geto takes your hips in his hands, you know you won't be able to escape this evening unscathed. The DJ changes the song to a sultry and seductive song, and you follow the beat, rolling your body under the firm grip of the hands on your body. Your fingers creep up Geto's suit and rest on his chest, eyes following and resting on his face. He leans down and exhales in your ear, and you tilt your head back, hair tickling the back of your neck.

"Fuck..." he breathes, and you stifle a moan when his hands creep up to the top of the back of your dress. "Y/n, I don't know if I can keep dancing with you like this... Makes me think about--"

"Don't," you whisper, feeling the need grow in your stomach. "Don't say it. We just met, and I can't... I shouldn't..."

"I'm renting a hotel room tonight and heading back into town in the morning," he adds, ignoring your plea. "Maybe we could..." Geto leaves the ending open, and you close your eyes, hissing as he grips your ass.

"You're making a scene."

The sound of Mizuki behind you is enough to startle the both of you into sobriety. You look back, and Gojo and Mizuki raise their brows at the two of you simultaneously.

"If you're going to fuck each other, don't do it here. Go on," Gojo smirks, jerking his chin at you. "Get out of here."

Neither of you needs any more permission to take off and go back to the hotel.

"Get your things and meet me on floor ten."

You fumble with the keycard as you stumble into the hotel room you shared with Mizuki. Nothing but the thoughts of being under Geto fill your mind as you throw your things into a bag and rush up to the tenth floor.

Geto is standing in front of the elevators and scrolling on his phone, his black jacket slung over his shoulder and tattoos on full display from his forearms to his elbows. Shit.

He notices you immediately and holds his hand out for your bag, then walks you to a room at the end of the hall. The plush carpet beneath you makes you a little unsteady on your feet, but you keep your composure and step into the room behind him. He sets your bag on the couch in the room, sighing and placing his jacket over it before walking over to where you are, still standing at the now-closed door in anticipation. He tilts your chin up and smiles, leaning in for a kiss without speaking.

And you give him exactly what he wants, pressing your back against the door as Geto runs his hands over your body slowly, deliberately. "You've been driving me crazy all night long," he muses, pulling away from you and tapping your nose with his index finger. "But now I've got you right where I want you."

"Wait," you murmur, head hazy, already drunk on his essence. "I don't even know your first name."

"Suguru," he whispers against your lips. "But I go by Su."

And before you know it, you're moaning that name over and over again, his head between your legs and hands on your thighs. You can see all of his tattoos from his back to his hips, and for a moment, you're lost in the intricate patterns and swirls and animals. Your hands are tangled in his hair, and he moans when you tug slightly on it, pushing him into your cunt a little more.

"Please, Su..." you beg, and he answers your request by sucking on your clit and flicking his eyes up to watch your face change. "Oh my god." Your rock your hips against his face, and he hums loudly, bordering on a growl while his tongue flicks back and forth. "Ah!" Your orgasm arrives faster than you thought it would, catching you off-guard and making your back arch.

Suguru grabs your hips and repositions you so he's still eating you out as you cum. And when you're done, he pulls away slowly, licking his lips and peeling his pants off.

"That's a good girl," he mutters, pushing your legs up and grasping his hard length. "You ready for me?"

"Yes, please," you whine, and Suguru slides his cock up and down your pussy before slapping it with his cock head a few times.

"Wet as fuck," he groans, then slides into you, barely getting his cock past your entrance before easing up. "And tight as shit. Damn, Satoru owes me ten bucks."

You're about to ask what the hell that means, but he slides back into you, and the thought evaporates. "Oh, Su!" The man slides back out, then in, gaining a few inches each time. His hips meet yours with a slap of skin, a rhythm he maintains as your own personal initiation begins.

"Keep those hips still for me, kitten." You obey, moaning in time with his thrusts and watching his cock pump in and out of you with a milky, white ring of your cum forming at the base. "Look at that... You're creamin' all over my cock." All you can do is moan in response, feeling your body flush under his gaze. Lithe fingers dance around your collarbone before sliding back down to your breasts, toying with your nipples carefully.

"Can we..." You gasp as he leans down and swipes his tongue across your breast, the sound of your moans and groans cutting through the static in your head.

"What'd you say?"

"Can we--" Another gasp is pulled from you when Suguru tugs your right nipple with his teeth, delivering a shock of pain and pleasure.

"You keep stopping mid-sentence, kitten. Spit it out." All this time, he hasn't stopped thrusting into you, and you frown a little, trying to recall what you wanted to say.

"Su, can we please -- ah!" Suguru drives a hand toward your clit and rolls it between his fingers.

"Baby," he chastises, smirking playfully. "Didn't they teach you to finish your sentences in grade school?" You huff in response, and Suguru laughs, pulling his hand away and leaning over you. "No, really. What is it, y/n?"

"Can you fuck me from behind, please?" Suguru's brows raise, and you swallow hard, feeling him pull out slowly.

"Be my guest," he encourages you, and you flip over, scooting to the edge of the bed eagerly. Suguru slaps each ass cheek once before entering you again. "Go ahead," he murmurs, and you bounce back onto his cock, taking control. You look back at the Yakuza member and bite your bottom lip, feeling your climax build.

"Feels so fucking good, Su," you whisper, and his mouth parts at the way you look. "So damn sexy..."

He slides out of you almost instantly, pushing you onto the bed and mounting you from above. "Trying to make me cum, huh? I know your little tricks. I've got something for that." He doesn't sound displeased at all, just a little surprised, but his reaction no longer matters as he pounds into your little cunt as hard and fast as he can, pushing your hips into the bed over and over again. A hand crawls up to your neck, and Suguru latches his lips onto your earlobe, traveling lower while he fucks you so hard that the headboard begins to shake.

"The h-headboard," you cry out, but Suguru pays you no mind, keeping you in place while he thrusts into your abused cunt until you tip over the edge, choking out a sound between a wail and grunt.

"Good girl," he whispers in your ear as your hand scramble to find purchase among the silken sheets and pointless pillows. "Cum for me... just like that." A ragged inhale triggers his climax, but you're still riding your high as he rocks into your cunt, filling you with his cum. You both lay on the bed, recovering with deep inhales and exhales, and a soft moan or two.

"Shit," you breathe.

"That was fucking amazing." Suguru stays inside of you but pulls you onto your side so he's spooning your body carefully.

"You're in the Yakuza," you whisper. "Does this mean I can never tell anyone about what we did?" Suguru laughs loudly, shaking your body as he holds you.

"Everyone watched you and I leave, I don't think there's any confusion about what we're doing. And even if they didn't Gojo will tell them for sure." You groan, but Suguru pulls you in closer. "Don't worry, y/n. I won't let them embarrass you. I'll make sure to let them see you with me on dates, too."

#getou suguru x reader #getou suguru #geto smut #getou x reader #jjk geto #saturo gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen geto #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen #ganglandcollab

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windtraces · 2 years ago

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i'm thinking about my genshin ocs again and wanna talk about them but idk who to talk about or what to say so... basic rundown and if anyone wants to ask? i added at least one new one (who is repurposed from an old oc)

acier sterling- fontaine, geo vision, sword user. his attacks deal with metal instead of rocke. almost fanatical devotion to fontaine's military/guard/police/whatever because his mother died in childbirth and his father, who was also military, deserted when he was a kid, so he was raised by the state. has a horse named argent who he nursed back to health and loves

ikshan- sumeru, anemo vision, catalyst user. was born Plagued By Visions. he can see the future, can't turn that off, and has some limited past visions too. afflicted by the Thousand Winds of Time. will laugh hard at any joke. vision came from his bf, who was an akademiya researcher whose death he foresaw but at the time he was trying to suppress his visions. took the vision shell and it became his vision, just as he foresaw. currently part of the rtawahist darshan because even though he does Not use stars to see the future, it's the best they have and he can predict when an experiment is gonna hurt someone

sigismund blumenthal - mondstadt, hydro vision, catalyst user. man who was sickly as a child and went blind due to that. studied stuff anyway with tutors. at one point on a trip home from sumeru was separated from his escort by a hilichurl attack, found a seelie, and it led him back to his caravan. seelie has stuck by him ever since and is his "seeing eye seelie". he studies seelie, magic theory, and magic history. likes teaching magic

faolan angurvadal - khaenri'ahn, visionless, sword user. currently lives in liyue and helps run a commune with his totally-not-boyfriend. left his family because of Pressures. descendant of a black serpent knight, his older brother was supposed to take oaths similar to theirs but died so then it fell to him to take those oaths and he just couldn't. ran away. has a cool sword. makes shields, has a dog named stinky.

manette "mannie" desrosiers - fontaine, cryo vision, sword user. an actual pirate. high femme lesbian. fled fontaine because her noble family arranged a marriage she didn't want, became a pirate captain. weaponizes femininity to keep out of trouble. mostly wears black. very peppy and cheerful, cares a lot about fairness despite being a literal pirate.

kuroha - inazuma, electro vision, sword user. kitsune who was captured by the fatui and used as an assassin. escaped relatively recently and returned to inazuma, smuggled in before sakoku decree ended. very traumatized by the experience.

zelig ecklund - mondstadt, anemo vision, sword user. diluc's cousin, his mom was crepus' sister. in the adventurer's guild. studied swordsmanship behind his dad's back and ultimately saved his life with it, which is where he got his vision. left on a trip to natlan about a year before in game events and just got back, does Not know what the Fuck is going on in mondstadt, so normal and so confused.

#i think that's my faves #having a femme named mannie was deliberate btw #acier #ikshan #sigismund #kuroha #mannie #zelig #i have more but these are my most developed i love making ocs #i kinda just wanted to ramble a little but seriously if anyone wants to talk genshin ocs i am here

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years ago

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The Killing Cure (Part 21)

So this is another mobile post. Will put it under the cut when I get to my desktop.

He doesn't know how he hadn't noticed promptly; Lady Dimitrescu, though she is still much taller than he, is actually quite small. He wonders if the woman is aware silent in his embarrassment he strikes his forehead with the heel of his hand, stupid stupid Salvatore, of course the lady I knows! She is a smart woman and a change so big…? Small…? Profound, wouldn't go unnoticed. It is somewhat comforting if he were to be honest. Before she was such an intimidating presence to be around. So much so that he sought to avoid her if he could help it.

But the woman who sits before him, shifting in the chair with a look of mild disgust is infinitely more approachable.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

Dimitrescu shakes her head and is hear sinks. He is loathsome, repulsive, repugnant! Of course she doesn't want anything that has been delivered by his grimy hands.

"You got any beer? I haven't had a good beer in a while." Ethan requests. "I could use one."

Salvatore nods eagerly. He hasn't had company in so long, much less company that is willing to let him be hospitable. Only Mother Miranda let's him be hospitable.

He plops a can into the man's hand. He visibly cringes when the slime runs down the side of his his palm. And for a second Salvatore thinks that he will put the drink inside. Instead he wipes the can clean and pops the cap.

"Are you sure that you don't want anything, Lady Dimitrescu?"

"To eat or drink, absolutely."

He thinks that he hears Ethan grumble, "you should eat, those vitamines are only supplements."

"But there is something else that I would like." She carries on as though she hadn't heard the man sitting next to her.

"How can I help?" He has asked the wrong question. He knows that he cannot help. He wonders why she is asking him rather than Donna or even Karl. Surely even Karl is a more desirable option.

"Winters and I are looking for his daughter. I imagine that Mother Miranda has given you a role to play? I am asking you to... reconsider your alliances."

"Betray Mother Miranda?" He squeaks. He could never! He doesn't understand how she could ask such a thing! To betray the only person who has seen his value.

"I-I couldn't possibly, Lady Dimitrescu! Mother Miranda has been good to me."

"By turning you into a gross and gushy fish...man...thing?" He chuckles to himself, "manthing." And then he clears his throat, reverting back to tealitibe seriousness, "I wouldn't call that good."

"I...well it's...nobody, mostly nobody, messes with me anymore."

"That's because you isolated yourself in a swamp." Lady Dimitrescu drums her claws...former claws upon the armrest.

Salvatore slinks back. "Mother Miranda sees my value." Even where he doesn't, she always has.

.oOo.

"She doesn't see your value, Moreau. She sees you vulnerabilities and she uses them." Just as she had used her. And how lovely it had been to believe those lies. "I see your value, Moreau." At least she hopes that she will in time. She thinks that even he can tell that she is telling pretty lies.

"I know how you look at me and my dwelling." He gestures about the place. "You want to use me."

"So then what does it matter? You're being used either way, what difference does it make who's using you?" She scoffs.

Ethan nudges her. "What she means to say is that we would really appreciate your help."

"I meant what I said, Winters!" She snaps.

Ethan inhales deeply, "I would value your help. And I wouldn't use you. You gave me a beer, we're friends now."

"Friends?" Moreau tests the word.

"You ever have a friend before?"

Moreau meekly shakes his head, "none at all, Winters."

"Well now you do and you can start by calling me Ethan."

Now Moreau looks far beyond anxious. The pathetic creature is all jittery and stuttering.

"B-but you won't like me. You'll find me repulsive eventually."

"I already do but friends look past that. I was able to look past Alcina's occasional blood baths. She smells like a corpse when she comes out of those and it's pretty awful."

Alcina clenches her teeth, cheeks coloring ever so slightly. "How dare you--"

"I look past a whole lot of that too." He jabs his thumb at the snarl on her face. "She's pretty cranky all the time but she isn't so bad once you get used to traveling with her."

"Blood and mucus are not the same. At least she's nice to look at."

Ethan smiles a lopsided awkward smile. "Yeah she's a beautiful lady. Her eyes are alluring, her face is charming, she has nice hair and a fantastic…"

"Winters, stay focused!" She demands sharply.

"Ass." He whispers to Moreau.

She shoves him off of the couch, "have some tact or sit yourself down next to Moreau, you loose lipped oaf."

Ethan rubs his own rear. "Well anyways, to show you that I am not repulsed by you I will gladly sit next to you until Alcina wants to be nice to me. She rolls her eyes as one cretin seats himself next to the other.

He does his best to keep the appalled expression off of his face even as the stench of death and fish assaults his nostrils. His eyes are watering and Alcina smirks. She must admit that the man is very good at feigning acceptance.

For a heartbeat she wonders if he is only pretending to accept her, wonders if he will stab her in the back as soon as he has his Rose back. She bites the inside of her cheek.

"So what do you say Moreau? Trade a heartless cultist for a real companion?"

"I'll consider." He twiddles his thumbs.

But she knows him, she knows that he won't want to venture beyond his comfort zone. And his comfort zone wears a bird mask.

"If you can stay the night, I will have the answer by morning."

.oOo.

It was exactly what he was hoping to avoid; staying here with the putridly smelling miasma of sea and decay. And on a makeshift hammock that is damp and slicked with what could either be mold or algae.

He doesn't want to rest which it is. He is rather content in his blissful ignorance. He can't deny that he is quite pissed that Alcina has taken the dry cot. He can't even get to sleep in a perfectly hammock and has no idea how Moreau can possibly sleep in what looks to be a large and repurposed fishing net.

He groans and makes his first attempt to scramble onto the hammock. By the fourth, he is ready to sleep on the floor.

He pretends not to hear her when Alcina slips into the room. A feat made harder by the very obvious cracking of the floorboards.

“Winters…” She looks off for a moment. “I’d like you to spend the night with me again.”

With only a sentence, his anger dissipates, "shit,I thought you'd never ask."

"After your," she coughs, "crass commentary, I wasn't going to. But I changed my mind."

"What made you do that?"

"This place is damp and chilly. You are warm."

It sounds like an excuse to him but he isn't one to question a mercy no matter how small.

This cot is even smaller than the one at House Bennivento. Ethan is certain that Alcina is plenty aware of this. She climbs onto it anyhow and gestures for him to join her.

"Shouldn't I get in first?"

She shakes her head, "lay down before I change my mind."

He crawls atop her and tries to make himself comfortable. It isn't particularly hard, Alcina is very pleasant and charmingly soft and kindly warm. He hesitates for a moment before resting his head upon her chest.

He feels her fingers weaving through his hair. "Comfortable?"

"Very." He confirms. He thinks that he is more comfy here than he would be in a bed of his own.

She sighs. The exhale is followed by a brief duration of silence. At last she fills it, “it has been a very long time since I’ve been in pleasant company. And longer still since that company has been a man.”

"We're there any women?" The question comes forward before he can curb it.

"Several of them have warmed my bed. Good girls, they were." She muses.

"What happened to them?"

"Well I used them for my wine, of course."

Ethan cringes and she chuckles as though she has only told a simple little joke. "I was thinking of doing the same to you but your blood was so stale." She continues to stroke his hair.

"Well that's reassuring." He grumbles.

"I suppose that it doesn't matter anymore."

This time it is he who is responsible for the silence. He as he tries to make sense of a woman who doesn't seem to, by her very nature, make any sense at all.

"Why?" He finally musters.

"Why what?"

"Why am I sharing a bed with you again?"

She furrows her brows as though he is the confusing one. As though it is he who has been sending all sorts of conflicting signals.

"It's just that, one minute I'm a stupid manthing and the next I'm a charming gentlemen." He continues. "Do you like or not?"

"You are indeed a stupid manthing and a gentleman. I wish that you would just pick one, preferably the latter of the two."

And she is dodging the more important question. "And if I decided to pick 'stupid manthing' what would you do them."

She makes a sound, perhaps something to indicate both amusement and annoyance at his audacity. "I would…" she trails off. "I suppose that it depends on the extent that your idiocy reaches."

He has to laugh at this, how can he not--it is her quaint prose and relief that she is even considering humoring dumbassery to any extent at all.

"Your antics can be endearing and entertaining sometimes." She confesses. "But they are also terribly annoying."

"So do you like me or not."

With no way to dance around it she falls back into her silence for a very long time before she mumbles, "I'm trying my hardest not to…"

"But you do?"

"I...yes. I think." This mumbling is even softer.

"Care to figure it out for sure?" He asks. Though there any enough room to contact his preferred test, he thinks that something simpler will suffice.

Her hair stroking comes to an abrupt but brief halt. "I suppose that I wouldn't mind."

"Good." He props himself up just enough to kiss the woman's forehead and then her lips, a gentle testing of the waters before he kisses her neck. And when she doesn't bat him away or shove him off of the bed he lays one on her collarbone and then her chest.

He is met with something between a hum and a purr, her fingers tap upon his back. "How was that?"

"It was well enough, Ethan." She replies. "Perhaps we can double check when we find more comfortable lodgings."

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina/ethan #ethan winters #fanfiction #ethan x alcina

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nervousladytraveler · 3 years ago

Note

"it's our anniversary and i don't want you to see what i've planned so i'm going to lead you into the kitchen blindfolded but i'm going to place a kiss on your head because you're confused about what's happening and it's adorable" slightly strange request, but can you write this one in the Distance between us universe? Feel free to ignore if you aren't interested. Thanks!

Thanks so much for this! Of course if it's an anniversary in the Distance AU, Ross and Demelza aren't celebrating alone.

---

“Ross?”

“Just give me five more minutes,” Ross called from the kitchen, hoping he could actually accomplish his mission in that time frame.

The commotion coming from the other room told him he was on borrowed time.

She deserves something elegant, he thought wistfully.

Demelza, his wife of three years, was always such a good sport, and from the day he’d first met her, she’d taken whatever setbacks life handed her with a shrug and a smile. Thankfully any recent trials or tribulations they’d faced together had been minimal, and it was just the day to day burdens of parenthood that seemed the worst of it now. Mucky nappies, runny noses, sleepless nights, picky eaters--still, Demelza never complained even when she was cleaning sick from the nursery floor or replaying the same Peppa Pig video for the 11,000th time.

“Please don’t put yourself through too much trouble,” she laughed. Her voice seemed to be coming from the hallway--she wasn’t peeking was she? He had so wanted this to be a surprise.

Today was their anniversary, and Ross was determined to start an entire day of celebration off on the right foot. He was preparing Eggs Benedict, a favourite of hers and one that held special meaning for them both. It had been a while since he’d last made it--as a parent of young children he’d just been too fuzzy headed in the morning to manage crisping the bacon, keeping the toasted English muffins hot, perfectly poaching the eggs, while also pulling off an unbroken Hollandaise sauce. Today he was sure to drink an extra cup of coffee to help his focus and as he moved around the old farmhouse kitchen, he went through the check list in his head to make sure everything went according to plan and was done at precisely the same time. Ross had also scrambled an egg very plainly for their two year daughter, Julia ,who was going through a particularly fussy stage.

It was Julia and her toddler energy that was adding another layer of complication to this morning’s endeavour.

Of course she was rubbish at keeping secrets--what could one reasonably expect from such a small child, really?--so she needed to be distracted and kept from the kitchen. Every now and then she’d come scampering in with a mischievous shriek and Ross would have to scoop her up and deliver her back to the living room where a suspicious--or at least curious--Demelza waited.

And all of them needed to stay quiet so that the newest Poldark, two month old Jeremy, wouldn’t wake from his carefully timed early morning snooze.

Usually, whenever Ross or Demelza implored their little JuJu not to wake her baby brother, she’d immediately practice her best banshee wail or slam a door on purpose.

"Juju, are you tryin' to wake Jeremy?" Demelza would ask gently.

"Yes, I want him to play with me," she explained in her half-formed logic. It wasn’t naughtiness, just an exploration of boundaries--and her lung capacity--as she settled into this new reality of sharing her parents.

Again, Demelza’s patience with a two year old’s developmental stages was extraordinary and Ross liked to believe he’d learned a lot from following her lead.

Yes, this morning she deserved perfection.

After Ross sprinkled the chopped parsley across her plate, he stepped back with a sigh. Maybe not perfect, but it looked pretty damn good. He decided to wait until Demelza was in the room to pour the prosecco so they could all enjoy the pop! together--that wouldn’t be so loud it would wake the baby, would it?

“Okay, I’m going to put this on you,” Ross explained, holding up the blindfold. At one time it had been a silk necktie but Ross rarely wore one any longer so his once impressive collection had been repurposed into all manner of decorative and practical items.

“What? This is really…” she laughed then seeing she should play along, nodded her head with a smile. “Yes, Ross.”

“Mumma?” Julia asked. “Daddy tied Mumma!” Both parents held their breath to see if she would scream with fear or delight but thankfully she only giggled as she poked at Demelza’s covered eyes with her stubby fingers.

“JuJu, you have to be Mumma’s guide okay? Can you hold her hand and help her to the dining room?” Ross asked, hoping it was a straightforward enough task.

It was almost beyond the little girl’s abilities but she only led Demelza into a wall twice. Ross finally intervened to help his wife find a chair.

“Uh uh uh,” he scolded as Demelza started to remove her blindfold. “Not yet.”

But when she heard the unexpected pop of the cork she jumped in her seat with a start.

“Ah! What the fu..!” Demelza caught herself just in time but her outburst was enough to inspire a tirade of squeals from Julia who then crawled into her mother’s lap and wrapped her arms protectively around her neck.

“It’s okay, Mumma. I’m here,” Julia said and kissed her sloppily on the cheek.

“Well, thank you. I’m not scared at all then,” Demelza laughed and discreetly wiped the slobber away. “Ross, please tell me what is goin’ on?”

Ross poured out the prosecco and chuckled, amused by her adorable confusion. He placed a much tidier kiss on Demelza’s head but sensing the joke of the blindfold was losing its charm fast, he slipped the tie off at once.

“Happy anniversary, my love,” he said and kissed her again, this time on her lips. Then he ruffled Julia’s dark curls and lifted the girl up into his own arms so Demelza could enjoy at least one meal unencumbered by children.

“Ross--it looks brilliant! Oh, thank you!” Demelza turned to him with shining eyes, then looked back to the exquisite plate in front of her, unable to contain her eagerness to tuck in.

“To my amazingly wonderful wife--Cheers!” Ross said, raising a glass.

“To my amazingly attentive husband,” she winked back. “Oh wait, someone else needs a drink so she can toast her parents. Would you like that, Juju, my love?”

“Here you are then,” Ross said rather pleased with himself for pouring orange juice one-handed while still holding the girl.

“Cheews!” Julia sang and slammed her cup as hard as she could into Ross’s glass. “Happy Birfday!”

“No, love. It’s an anniversary. This is the day I married Mumma. Because I loved her so much.”

“Oh Ross,” Demelza whispered. “Come sit down and eat with me. It will remind us of the first time you made Eggs Benedict for me.”

“I seem to recall we didn’t do much eating that day, Demelza.” He laughed at the memory. It was the first time they kissed, the first time they held each other, and the first time they went to bed together. The beginning of their journey together, it was another anniversary they still acknowledged.

Over the baby monitor they heard the quiet little mewling coming from the cot upstairs. Demelza began to rise but Ross stopped her, catching her hand in his. “Wait...” he said softly. Just as he predicted Jeremy settled back down. They could probably enjoy another five minutes before one of them would have to attend to him.

Ross kissed Demelza’s hand, still in his.

“I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be,” she said looking around her.

He had to agree.

“Happy Anniversary, my love.”

#anonymous #kisses prompt #ask nervousladytraveler #poldark fanfic #ross poldark #demelza poldark #family fluff #Distance Between Us AU

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random-french-girl · 3 years ago

Note

Leatin for 15? 🥺 accidentally, leah sees fatin crying. would they say why, and what’s the fallout?

Hello Anon! Thanks!

It happens probably two months into their island nightmare. Leah wakes up at night, and Fatin should be on watch duty but she’s nowhere to be seen, so Leah, obviously worried, goes to look for her. She hears weird sounds in the woods, approaches cautiously because her brain immediately goes into full conspiracy mode, but instead what she finds is Fatin, sitting by herself on a log, sobbing. It’s the first time Leah sees Fatin cry, and she is shocked. Like, the kind of shock where you freeze in place and stop breathing for a hot second. Deer in headlight. Because here’s the thing: Leah is used to being the hot mess. Her emotions run wild, but also right under the surface, ready to come out given the tiniest opening. Leah has a hard time controlling her emotions (and I think part of her doesn’t really want to, anyway), so she often ends up crying in front of people.

But Fatin is the opposite. Fatin has a tight grip on her emotions - the only time she cries is right after the ~crash, when she’s so in shock she’s sobbing and gasping, covered in her own puke. Quickly after that, though, she regains control of herself, and she never lets go completely ever again. Until now, apparently.

And so Leah is paralyzed, and panicking, because she doesn’t know what to do at all. She’s never the one who comforts Fatin! She’s never the one crying people go to for a hug! (She’s the one people go to when they feel like they’re losing it, but this doesn’t seem like a mental breakdown.) Anyway she takes a big breath and joins Fatin on the log. Sits next to her silently. Thinks about opening with a joke, then decides against it, then probably says the most awkward thing possible anyway (”fancy seeing you here” “...” “sorry that wasn’t funny”) and hands Fatin a tissue (which really is a strip of one of Fatin’s own shirts that they’ve repurposed) and then tells Fatin that she’ll listen if Fatin wants to talk about it. And Fatin kind of resists, for a while, because it is so hard for her to be vulnerable and open, especially after what happened with her dad, but eventually she starts talking (and it’s something totally expected, like she misses her family and feels guilty about the way she left things) and Leah listens, and is surprisingly adept at finding a good balance between letting Fatin speak, and giving her advice, or her opinion, or gently countering her when she’s too hard on herself. And then Fatin leans against Leah and rests her head on Leah’s shoulder and Leah kind of... gingerly places an arm around Fatin’s back, and they stay quiet for a while while Leah’s heart beats way too fast, which she refuses to think about.

The fallout is that when they go back to camp everyone is FREAKING OUT and Shelby was just about to organize a search party. Dot and Rachel take turn yelling at them for leaving without warning anyone else, and Martha and Nora fret over them because they notice Fatin’s red eyes, and it’s only when Toni makes an innuendo about the two of them getting ~alone time that the tension disappears and everyone laughs, Fatin the loudest of them all. And afterwards, when they’re both lying side by side trying to fall back asleep, Leah makes Fatin promise her that the next time she gets so upset she’ll go to Leah first.

#the wilds #leatin #fatin x leah #anonymous #random meta #is this meta? is this wishful thinking? shrugs. porque no los dos!

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meyeselph · 3 years ago

Text

Gwenpool: Desperate Misanthrope's Confused Angst

Showtime

Ms. Pool woke up in a familiar room. Not in Krakoa - there are no mutants around. This isn’t a story about that. Look, honestly, without an actual Gwenpool series and the constant breaks in her comics appearance I can’t even begin to give a fuck. I cancelled my marvel universe subbie. I might get back to my stories but single issues are iffy. I read fast and don’t pore over the artwork. So I get 10 minutes of entertainment for….FIVE DOLLARS? When did this happen? Jeezus.

Who even reads comics anymore?

Anyway, long story short, Gwen got out of bed and recognized the room as her old one from the “old times.” The dark times. The ‘not running around in pink and white outfits and shooting people’ times. She panicked (Been there. It is what it is though). The only way out of trauma is through.

She dressed in old clothes, immediately hit by old smells, she couldn’t help but cry. Was it all a dream? Have I gone insane (again)? All the usual self doubts cropped up. I mean, really, if you think this kind of thing didn’t pass through her mind regularly why don’t you transport yourself to a comic book universe?

Oh, you can’t?

Oh. It isn’t actually possible for you and I’m stupid for suggesting it. So, yeah. If it actually happened and you kept that attitude then the logical assumption for a normie is a mental breakdown. Trick for Gwen, though, is it's probably always been both real and her being nuts.

So she goes downstairs to the kitchen to figure out why this is happening and Evil Gwen is having cereal. Let's say cocoa puffs. I’ve been thinking about those recently. You ever remember cereal as something worth cherishing. Not as just bullshit that TV convinced you to want? God damn, now I want Cookie Crisp. Cookie Crisp wasn’t even ever that good. Why do I want Cookie Crisp?

So also sitting around the table were the faceless versions of her father, mother, and her brother. Just chilling. No BD. Seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind?

Yes, I know that references aren’t jokes - fuck you, I’m painting a picture and I CAN’T PAINT, THAT’S WHY THIS ISN’T A COMIC. Fucks sake. Anyway. So, Gwen is so creeped out that she just sits her butt down by Evil Gwen as if she’s the comforting presence here.

Her name’s too long. Let’s call Evil Gwen uh…….Gren. You know, like Grendel from Beowulf. I haven’t actually read Beowulf and this is all a little confusing but I'm solving problems here. Writing this is harder for me than you would think so it’s best to keep things flowing off the cuff. That’s the Gwenpool™ style anyway, isn’t it? Are you laughing yet? IMPROV. “YES AND” MY SHIT, READER!

“So, you ever really look into the retconned past thing, hun?” Gren said, moving her tongue around her food. Being gross as an attempt to be properly evil. She swallowed before continuing. “This is all I could really put together on short notice but i’m pretty sure what the future people created, all that stuff to try and trick you, it was all bullshit.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to convince me to go all psycho like you again?” Gwen asked, exasperated, realizing she was now back in the whole ‘fuck with Gwen to decide her fate’ song and dance routine from the end of her first arc.

“Nah, not really.” Gren said. A hammer appeared in her hands out of nowhere and Gren swung it into their fake father’s head, snapping his neck..

“DAD!” Gwen instinctively cried as she saw her father’s body slump to the floor. Gren slapped Gwen’s face. “That’s it,” Gren said, “this is what the trick was.This is a poorly created character in a fictional story. Meant to manipulate you into attaching your concept of “father” to it. Even his finished version in the original comics run wasn’t THAT well drawn. Your dad read like a boomer’s idea of a responsible parent. You were going through a mental crisis and struggling to find purpose in life and his genius idea was get a shitty low paying job and suck it up?”

Gren turned to their brother, pushed his face to the table and smashed the back of his skull. . “Brother dearest, too. Going right along with their victim blaming. He gaslighted you as if what you were going through was just you being ‘irresponsible.’ Bitch, people working a minimum wage job aren’t somehow not impoverished and miserable because they get some of that ‘honest work’ that folks keep badgering on about. Minimum wage work is occupied by many physically and mentally disabled people held hostage; they’re people society only pretends to care about. Then they turn it all into you acting like some world ending threat. No questions about what drove you to the edge in the first place. You are just ‘unstable,’ so you’re just a problem to be solved. They say, ‘Let’s all solve this girl being upset and on edge by ruining her concept of self, reality, and memory.’ Brilliant!”

Gwen barely processed this in horror. Gren then slit the poor facsimile of their mother’s throat while continuing to rant, “You see people die all the time, Gwen. Half of the time you are doing the killing. You do it because it’s in a story. In a story the NPCs don’t matter and, after all, your original schtick in the story was to be kill-crazy. The non-marketable characters can be replaced or retconned at the stroke of the artist’s pen.” Gren leans forward as she pulls a Gwenpool mask over Gwens face. “Then the writers convince you that you have some middle class milk toast family and you take abuse and subsume your emotional needs because the problem MUST be you. You aren’t ‘normal’ so you have to be fixed.”

Gwen wiped her eyes over the mask and sighed. A bit of fire filled her gut as she stared at Gren. “So fucking what? You want me to go on a killing spree and be a big time villain to get myself a nice, shiny permanent big bad status? That’s how I stay around right? Just build my legacy on bodies?”

Gren scoffed “You already lost that fight, girly. Where do you think we are? Because this ain’t Marvel Comics.”

Confused, Gwen blinked and tried reaching for the page margins, finding nothing. Wait….why was everything on this page so ill defined and undetailed? Wait? Why was the story in kinda wobbly third person past tense?

Gwen sighed “Oh. I’m in a fanfic. I guess the publishing fight is for another day eh?”

“My advice, personally,” Gren stated, “is that you consider the lobster.”

“Wait, what the fuck?”

Gren pulled aside the kitchen curtains revealing the face of a giant lobster, its claws tapping on the glass. The lobster muttering gutterally about personal responsibility.

“Because there’s a couple thousand giant lobsters outside that would like to claw you until you read their book.”

Scared of Girls

On the rooftop, Gren shoved a high powered rifle into Gwen’s hands while she handled the close range threats. So, this conversation they’re about to have is important. Sniping puts Gwen into a sort of zen space, so that’s a better task to keep her focused, after all.

“So, what? You wanted me to internalize that my “origin story” is bullshit? Okay, what does that accomplish, then?” Gwen asked in a bit of a deadpan. She was so tired today. Not really feeling her happy go lucky energy. More like a “happy go fucky” energy. It was hard to always be on a knife's edge. Still the rifle’s kick into her shoulder was satisfying as she blew through two of the creepy looking lobsters at once. “Also, why the lobsters?”

Gren considered this. “Okay, last question first, I had to experiment a lot and do a lot of research to construct this place for your learning and healing in fanfic form....These buddies are a failed experiment of mine that I repurposed because the fic needed more action. Isn’t that right, giant enemy crap?” As she peppers the nearest goon with a hail of shotgun pellets the entire throng of them burst out, sharply muttering about divine symbols.

“As for what I'm trying to teach you, it’s that you aren’t reaching your potential.” Gren grumpily huffed.

“Duh,” Gwen reloads, “I mean you just killed a mannequin version of the voice in my head that says that to me every day.” one of those crustaceans talks about feminine symbolism while she decides on her next target.

“Not like fake daddy’s ‘Be a responsible member of society by paying your taxes’ type of potential. I mean your creative and emotional potential.” Gren flipped off the slavering throng of monsters, noticing they were starting to keep their distance from the roof.

“I never did finish that fanfic idea I had.” Gwen mused.

“God, don’t mention that,” Gren thrusts a finger at Gwenpool. “Not that I don’t respect fanfic, but when comic book writers make you and Kamala squee about fanfiction to try and relate to “the kids” it comes across as so condescending.”

“Really? I mean…..I'm sure it’s meant as support for the concept?”

“Most fucking superhero comics are just legalized fanfiction! The people who created the characters are either long gone or working on someone else’s characters! They just think they are so much better because they got fucking paid. They can’t imagine themselves as on the same playing field as fanficcers even though most of them have the same level of connection to the roots of the work as anyone else.” Gren groused loudly as she seemed to pull Reed Richards out of nowhere.

Confused, Reed looked around until his eyes met Gwen’s.“Oh great, you again.” Reed groaned as he turned to survey the piles of lobster gibs while Gwen cheered the lobster forces’ retreat with a resounding “EDF, EDF!”. The scattered creatures skittered amongst the bland scenery. It looked like a suburban neighborhood but someone forgot to color in the sky….or write that the sky had color. A castle hung out in the distance breaking up the generic normalcy and lay cloaked in shadow despite being surrounded by an endless white void.

“And…..black….you?” Reed pointed to Gren, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I have an evil future self….well I stopped that future so it’s an….evil...alternate timeline self?” Gwen said with a nervous chuckle, abandoning the kill quest for the minute and rested her rifle on the roof.

“Ah. Yeah I’ve been down that road. It’s a rather common occurrence. Multiverse being what it is.” Reed laughed heartily while putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m not sure I’m evil, honestly,” Gren interjected. “I think I’m just really fucking grumpy and I’m slightly more gung-ho on the homicide. Considering Gwen’s already one of the more kill crazy characters on the roster it’s not that much of a distinction.” Gren flipped her cape. “My main distinction is I don’t like that meme from The Incredibles! You can just make it so the cape detaches automatically when it’s pulled hard enough!”

“You could still have it tangled up around your face.” Reed pointed out in his standard know-it-all fashion.

“Don’t make me go into fuck wife mode, stretch.” Gren spat. “Okay, anyway, so I brought him here to illustrate a point. Reed. Explain particle physics to me as a laymen.”

“Huh...i’m not sure why but okay. Particle physics (also known as high energy physics) is a branch of physics that studies the nature of the particles that constitute matter and radiation. Although the word particle can refer to various types of very small objects (e.g. protons, gas particles, or even household dust), particle physics usually investigates the irreducibly smallest detectable particles and the fundamental interactions necessary to explain their behaviour. In current understanding, these elementary particles are excitations of the quantum fields that also govern their interactions. The currently dominant theory explaining these fundamental particles and fields, along with their dynamics, is called the Standard Model. Thus, modern particle physics generally investigates the Standard Model and its various possible extensions, e.g. to the newest "known" particle, the Higgs boson, or even to the oldest known force field, gravity.” Reed rattled this off rather mechanically.

Gren then took out her phone and showed Gwen the Wikipedia article on “Particle Physics,” which is naturally the same words that Reed had regurgitated above, just without any formatting and, again, on a phone.

“Reed can’t be a genius in any subject unless he’s written by a genius in that subject. That’s how stories work. Everyone is limited by the understanding and capabilities of the writer. Same with your origin story and all the people you’ve interacted with. If you are as ‘meta’ as you think you are then you have to realize that you aren’t actually talking to people. You are talking to the writer. Dr. Strange didn’t rewrite your existence to be a part of the Marvel Universe. As far as most of Marvel continuity goes Dr. Strange was never there and doesn’t know or care about his MCU casting…..Hey Reed, buzz off please before the conversation pivots to why you haven’t cured all known diseases.”

Reed looked a little surprised but then pulled out a teleportation device (of course he has one) and blipped away with a shrug.

“How awkward is that going to be when he enters the MCU after Kamala is already introduced with a very similar power set?” Gwen chuckled.

“Keep up the way you’ve been going and you’ll never see it. I’m not exactly expecting a young blonde girl casting call for Deadpool 3 and that’s your best bet.” Gren snarked. Gwen winced with a sigh.

“I don’t get what I'm doing wrong. I have a fanbase comparable to some of the characters that have already shown up but I can’t even get comics written about me most of the time. An MCU push seems unlikely. They would literally have to deal with completely recontextualizing my powers and gimmick”

“Let’s ask her what you should do.” Gren motioned her way to the suddenly appearing long hair future Gwen, looming over them like The Attack of the 50 foot Woman for some reason. Dwarfing the roof they are on. Let’s call her BIGwen!

Gold Guns Girls

As BIGwen acclimated to her surroundings she stubbed her toe on a car, dramatically flipping it so that it took out a few more lobsters before caving in a nearby house. The lamentations about clean rooms soaring as the remaining couple dozen of them attempt to clean up some of the bodies of their fallen kin. The large and sort-of-in-charge Gwen hissed in pain and adjusted her boot. Getting her balance as best as possible she muttered curses that traveled rather well considering the lung capacity of a giant.

“You know,” Gren started, “I wasn’t expecting much from our previous uses of the ‘make her big for emphasis’ trick, but it really does only work as a vague ghostly background element. I didn’t just want it to be ‘oh, here's a third Gwen for the conversation, though. Would lack umph.”

“ Yeah, I get it, but staring at my own giant taint is unsettling.” Gwen muttered.

“I’d still, hit it.” Gren grinned, then immediately got punched in the arm. “OWWW! Look, I’m the evil one here and we’re in a fanfic. I’m allowed to make internet fetish jokes.”

“And I’m allowed to hit you for it.”.

“Dirty lampshading goody two shoes. Don’t act like half your fanbase isn’t thirsty. It’s “insert current year argument”, all art is sexy to someone.” Gren complained back,rubbing her arm before hopping off the roof. Gwen followed while listening as patiently as she could considering how many changes in topic her evil-caped self is going through to get to her point. “This chick is the reason you’ve been on the path of good girl. Some vague idea that in the future everything will work out for the best. HEY, DOWN HERE, BIG SHOW!” Gren waved at BIGwen and she looked down curiously.

“Yeah what??” BIGwen responded in a booming and agitated tone. Honestly, being in this fic made every version of Gwen a little grumpy.

“How’s she supposed to be a popular hero that makes it into the MCU and has a stable publication history?” Gren asked.

“Fuck if I know.” Came BIGwen’s response. “Have you tried growing your hair out?”

“Rub it in,” Gwen muttered under her breath, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kind of depressed now.” Gwen said as she sat on an abandoned car.

Gren hopped on the roof of the car, patting Gwen’s shoulder before squatting with enough force to flex the car’s shocks like a rocking chair just to amuse herself. “Future “good” Gwen wasn’t an actual plot point, it was a call to action to the fans to make fanfic like this and support the character outside of the actual Canon. Chris didn’t trust that Marvel would treat the character right. That, and your obsession with getting a new book, are both the writer’s attempt to turn a marketing tactic into fan engagement. If you want to be real then that makes the fans want you to be real even more, too.”

Gwen sighs heavily and leans her chin on one hand. “I mean...the time traveling through the life of an NPC fan complete with a Never Ending Story reference was a bit sappy even by the standard we sometimes set...damn it it really was just kind of a fan manipulation trick wasn’t it?”

BIGwen Sat down on the street next to them and crossed her legs. “Hey, little me. Don’t get too down. I mean it worked for the most part. You have a healthy cult following. Characters have survived on less and there are worse things to be known for then as a fan first character”

“But I have to fight for attention all the damn time, though. It’s so easy for Wade with his fucking meme bullshit. He even gets runoff enthusiasm from me. Jeff the land shark is all over Oldpool online” Gwen felt rather heavy and tired all of a sudden. Marvel editorial forcing a gun to your head is not a fun way to be.

“All that fight is hell on the fanbase too.” Gren sighed. “Advocating for shit, getting crumbs and being expected to accept it while Disney lavishes all the attention based on some bullshit numbers game. Even if you make it into the MCU will it be a Batroc style cameo with obligatory ‘killed off in case we don’t feel like paying the actor again later.’ Will it be an emotionally rounded character or an ambush bug style joke? The thing is. You're Not the one fighting and you never were.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

“This version of her doesn’t know?” BIGwen whimpered.

“You aren’t real, Gwen.”

Head Like a Haunted House

“No….we aren’t having this conversation. Fuck you fuck you i’m not a fucking Nihlist and i’m not going to do this right now.” Gwen said as she scrambled off of the car and pulled out some guns. BIGwen then picked her up off the ground.

“You need to hear this, Gwen,” BIGwen boomed. “The gimmick has run its course. It’s fucking with your canon. You’re never going to be a marketable character keeping up a half fourth-wall Kayfabe”

Gren climbed onto BIGwen’s Shoulders and perched over Gwen all menacing like. “You need to listen. I’ve been trying to ease you into this. Making things more meta slowly until you were ready but it was never going to be easy.”

One of Gwen’s guns was fired from it’s holster and pierced one of BIGwen’s fingers. BIGwen screamed and her grip loosened. Soon Gwen was on the move running up her arm and firing at Gren, who dodged like the nimble and cute badass she is. “Don’t do this Gwen. Just because it doesn’t matter to the comic version of you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m a real person god damn it! I read the comics out there! I came in! That’s why I know shit I shouldn't know. That’s what I am! THAT’S ALL I AM!” Gwen shrieked as she pulled out a sword from hammer-space and decapitated BIGwen. Suddenly a mess of colored streamers and a pile of Mickey Mouse merch tumbled out. Look, I am busy right now. Gwen is still slashing at my ass. I'm not going to explain it.

For some reason now the remaining lobsters were helping Gren. For Gwen’s own good you understand. This is proof that I’m right for some reason.

Gwen pulled out a revolver, firing pumpkin sized holes in lobsters who were still wailing about self actualization. She fully planned on shoving a sword up her evil self’s ass and getting rid of this doppelganger shit for good. Which is total bullshit by the way. She totally just cut off Gren’s leg because what the fuck you mean I’m not real? I’m going to be real all over your corpse.

Gren didn’t really think that was even a good comeback and also thought you should probably say it instead of meta willing the smack talk into existence, otherwise this fanfic is going to read like trash. Also, Gren’s leg wasn’t actually cut off. In a puff of smoke it is revealed that the cut off leg is a log and her leg is fine. Gren is a ninja now, believe it.

Gwen proceeded to do a sick ass CQC judo throw on Gren and then grab her cape and wrap it around her face like Reed suggested. Callbacks for the win! Callbacks to Checkov’s gun ideas always lead to victory in fights! She then totally shot at her and such.

But the bullet was caught by the cape because the cape was a symbiote! That’s right Gren is also GRENOM!...boy that sounds stupid. Anywho, the cape was no longer around her face and the fight continued and Gren now ALSO had extra powers and special wizard-symbiote armor (that would only show up in the MCU version if Marvel finally got the Sony characters back). The meta powers work like shit in text but this would be really good in CGI or animation if Marvel wanted to adapt this fic and give the writer lots of money. Gren still has more experience with them, though, and Gwen can’t really just kill her way out of this fic so she has to just let the story play out.

…...eh?....oh Gwen’s crying. I love/am you girl but we gotta work on the crying. Fucks sake this is harder than I thought. I’m depressed now too. Well I'll try to get the writing back on track so you guys can see what is going on. Even the lobsters are minding their manners now. Chill vibes, guys.

“The marvel character page for Gwenpool says, and I quote:

Gwenpool arrived in the Marvel Universe from the “real world,” but has wasted no time in making the most of her time in her fictional universe. Using her knowledge of comics to her advantage, Gwenpool causes and solves problems for her fellow heroes.”

Gren drags a lobster corpse slowly toward Gwen and sits on its tail as she talks to her. Taking her time to really scrape the lobster against the ground, smearing the gore on the pavement. Not that it was heavy for her or anything. Totally still has that symbiote, which would make moving it easy. Totally wasn’t a detail added in the second revision of the fic slightly before the lobsters were added.

“The words “Real world” are in quotation marks in that wiki. Real people don’t make it into comics because fiction isn’t real. Half of your versions barely make use of the ‘real person’ gimmick because it’s too meta by half and not every writer wants to waste time justifying it. So they just treat it like Deadpool’s medium awareness. Which it mostly is.”

“I really am just a fucking rip off distaff character.” Gwen moans. “Just a Gwen combined with a Pool. I’m worse than the Batman who laughs. I never mattered because I was never real”

“Fuck don’t say that. You were made with love and care by a team of creators who took a weird offshoot idea and built out a compelling metafiction idea and a likeable protagonist off of it. They just didn’t have the time and foresight to go far enough.” Gren sighed.

“Far enough?” Gwen sniffed as she was pulled up to her feet and dragged toward one of the big castles. As they walked Gren kicked along a Mickey Mouse doll that had rolled out of BIGwen’s severed head. Every time it bounced it cheerfully said ‘hahah. I love you!’

“Too much haha, not enough trauma. You’re not just a joke character.” Gren said as she kicked the Mickey doll into the big front door of the castle. The shadowy thing of course lighting up and being all fantasy and shit as the door opened.

“Well I did end both of my comic runs pretty mopey.”

“Damn right you did. When the jokes run thin they run to your real bread and butter. You’re an empathy machine.” As Gren shoves Gwen through the gate they are swallowed up in the castle, going dark again. “Let’s getcha sad clown on.”

Never there

“See, what evil me should have been telling you about in the original run is how to find meaning and purpose when technically nothing means anything. Comic book characters live in a world without real death and suffering. It’s all a puppet show version of real pain and real emotion meant to bring that out of an audience.” Gren opined as they walked through a black void to a couch floating in a nothing area lit only by the static of an old TV.

“Can we turn on a light?” Gwen asked as she sat on the couch. Gren sat on another recliner that suddenly appeared and put her feet up.

“Fuck off. Ambiance is a thing. We aren’t having a ‘lights on with something fun on the TV’ conversation. So look, I am not really ‘evil gwen.’ I’m half an author insert and half a plot device. If we are talking about the reality of the story you are basically talking to yourself. I am speaking about the things you don’t want to admit to yourself. You know, you’ve seen this kind of story sorta... right?” Gren picked up the remote and frustratedly changed channels between a bunch of vaguely illustrative footage on the TV, not finding anything that worked. A lot of black and white footage of trains for some reason. Just what comes to mind when I think of documentary footage? Weird.

“I am not sure how to illustrate this shit visually and this is a text story anyway so I would have to explain the illustration,” Gren griped.

“I basically get it. It’s not that uncommon a trope.” Gwen nodded.

“Because of the level of meta we are on right now we have to really acknowledge that you are basically an author insert, too. I mean, to a certain extent every version of you is more the writer that is working with your character at the time than a set character.” Gren said as she settled on a visual of Gwen being pushed out the window by her own narration text in the original comic run. When all else fails, resort to footage from the last story. That way people can look it up online!

“Right here is where the character crystallized in the mind of the author of the current fic we are in. A vague suicide metaphor wrapped up in the flavor of self destructive escapism. Your parents in the story thought it was a suicide attempt on at least some level. This is serious business. Not just a girl who doesn’t like work and can’t finish her fanfic. In this comic you are built on this understanding. The writer of this fic has ADHD and autism. So his version of you more or less has it, too. Writers bring themselves with them into their work.”

Gwen nods and takes a deep breath. “I….I can feel it. Like the world is closing around you. You aren’t built for anything that anyone wants from you. The one thing you really believe in, the one thing that really defines you, the stories in your head…..it’s just not enough.

You can’t trust you’ll ever make it with writing because you can barely write. You barely have the energy to do anything but wish that you weren’t you. What if someone actually listened? Actually believed in you and whisked you away somewhere else where the world would fit your needs? What if you were someplace you could be someone else, someone strong and confident?”

“Yeah. Like a funny anti hero in a comic for instance.” Gren nodded. “But the original comics sort of left the theme on the table. They were captured by the misconception of Gwen as the problem and not a person who needed help. All that desperation that real fans of the character might feel just bundled up into love for this character that really ‘gets’ them but Marvel doesn’t ‘get’ the character. They won't use her. They won’t go past vaguely gesturing at her mental issues and moving on. They saved the angst for Wandavision.” Gren scoffs.

“I mean the show was okay but they literally have a character built entirely on the theme of escapism and trauma. One that’s custom built for mind-screw visuals and reality bending plots and they think she’s just a lazy fangirl who really likes guns that they can sit beside Deadpool sometimes and stick in the X-Men’s bloated background character roster when they don’t need her.”

Gren leads Gwen off the couch and deeper into the void where a door to a bedroom waits. A room like her own, absolutely slopping over with old toys of comic book characters. An unclean messy space in a run-down house that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. Huddled in bed, reading an 80s era X-men comic with a flashlight, is a 12 year old Gwen.

“This is never going to be canon but this is the version of Gwen in this fic. She can’t stop crying at school. Things that shouldn’t be hard are so hard and she can’t explain why. Everyone says she’s making excuses. Meanwhile her mother is fucked out of her mind on pain killers and her step father killed himself last year ‘cleaning his gun’ while drunk. You know exactly what is on her mind right now?” Gren says as she gestures at the girl.

“I wish the superheroes would save me from this.”

“They won’t. They can’t. They were never meant to.” Gren Slams the door loudly on the scene.

“That is the emotional core of Gwenpool in this fic. The desperation that so many of the fans down here in the fucking muck of the real world feel. Poor and emotionally unfulfilled. Confused and vulnerable. If Disney and Marvel gave two fucking shits about people like that they wouldn’t waste as many stories as they do. They wouldn’t just use untold wealth to make expensive escapist stories with the military. Their gestures toward progressive ideas that they occasionally make in their stories would be THE ENTIRE POINT of their stories and the actual thing they used that money for instead of lobbying the government to keep Mickey Mouse out of the public domain.

“Disney has the power yet they save a fucking miniscule fraction of who they could. Saving people doesn’t make money.”

When I Get To The Green Building

Gren stormed through the void. The scene disintegrated around her as Gwen followed. Both now in a bit of a sour mood but with newfound determination.

“Come to think of it. Why is the fucking Hulk getting to fight for social justice in the comics? Why are they making a gay alternate universe Captain America? Why are they grasping at straws so hard to find characters that get to advocate and I am just sitting on a fucking island being grumpy?” Gwen groused. “I’m pretty sure I’m pansexual….at least in this fic. I could advocate for a bunch of shit at once.”

“You have a youth fanbase, a unique story and you technically aren’t an alternate universe version of fucking anything no matter how many people still think you are a Stacey. They made a fucking ‘for the fans’ character and then neglected it. Presumably because some fucking money making metric didn’t pan out despite the comics just being an MCU test kitchen and IP farm anyway.”

“You’re a fucking check mark on a ledger. I don’t even know if anyone technically created Gwenpool as a whole and Disney/Marvel can give the character to whoever they want to do whatever they want completely separate from what the fanbase wants and needs because she isn’t established. The IP landlords have spoken. The fans haven’t risen to enough ‘buy my merch’ calls to action to invest more resources. So tease endlessly until that changes.”

“Gah. Now I'm actually as pissed as you are.” Gwen said as she started fiddling with her guns. “Who do I kill?”

“We can’t do shit. You’re not even a character at this point. You are a meme for an underused character.” Gren smirked all evil like. “See but that’s it. You aren’t just a meme. You’re a MEME.”

“Uhm...I don't follow.”

“Like the concept of Justice. Gwenpool is an idea. Defined entirely by how people who engage with the idea choose to engage with it. The IP law means Disney owns Gwenpool but they don’t own how Gwenpool is perceived. Just like we as a people decide what justice is through popular consent we also decide what Gwenpool is. You see they made a character for the fans…..in my opinion that means the fans can do as they like with it even if it makes Disney uncomfortable.”

“I mean they can’t even stop porn of their characters just because of the sheer volume of the problem. I suppose people could do whatever.” Gwen nodded.

“Exactly. So the fans should just fucking Occupy Gwenpool!” Gren said as she flipped her cape dramatically with a mad smile on her face. That’s right. She was Dirtbag Leftist Gwen all along!

“Squat on that IP. Make Gwenpool a mental health advocate. Make her an LGBTQ activist. Make her fight for social and financial justice so hard that Bruce Banner looks like a poser. Make her talk shit about politicians who put their career ahead of the people. Do all the shit that makes the comicsgate crowd sad. Keep politics in our stories! Rally around that pink and white ass so hard they have to notice and then tie it all to the fact that Disney has great power and with great power they take no responsibility for how shitty the world is.”

“ If they are going to fuck Gwenpool fans they gotta learn Gwenpool fans fuck back. We have already proven we can make all kinds of cool shit. Let’s get serious and make more, harder, faster! Get a hashtag or some shit. They can't DMCA all of us! GWEN IS OURS WE JUST HAVE TO REACH OUT AND TAKE IT. Then they either respect the character and her fans or they just hit a PR disaster.”

“Marvel/Disney neglects fan focused cult character themed protest movements. Proves they are only progressive when it makes them money. They’re so worried about Mickey ending up in the public domain? We’re the public domain! After our entire lives stannin their characters and buyin their merch building them from an animation house into a juggernaut they are just another weight on top of the boot on our necks. They have to take responsibility!” At this point Gren is pretty much ranting maniacally and neglecting the actual writing of the story so this is Gwen taking over to wrap up.

Guys I may not be ‘the real Gwen’ but really, isn’t the version of Gwen that actually came from the real world all of us? Isn’t Gwenpool really the Gwens we made along the way? We could easily bring a little heroism and chaos to the real world (at least to the internet) if we really tried. Put the fear of God into some IP landlords and fight for some cool people that society is screwing over, too.

Prove that even in the fandom abyss people aren’t as powerless as they seem. Use that internet comic fan mobbing for something besides giving Zack more money. Disney is gearing up for their next IP fight for Mickey in 2024. Seems like a fine time for IP themed protests. For now we just need to spread the word that our needs are more important than their profits.

It’s been real. It’s been long. It’s been a real long time coming…..

But I finally finished my fanfic.

See ya, true believers.

#gwenpool #fanfic #deconstruction #outofloveiswear #fortheoriginalwritersnotmarvelordisney #tw mental health #tw mentions of suicide #tw mentions of drug abuse #tw violence #tw gun violence

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yanderenightmare · 4 years ago

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YANDERE ! BAKUGO KATSUKI x FEM!READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: noncon/dubcon, yandere, drugging, kidnapping, abduction, stalking, abuse, anxiety, manipulation

PART TWO

SAFETY

Her head felt… fuzzy; as though stuffed full of cotton. Eyes felt more or less the same, they stung and her vision; spotted and blurry. The room was bright, too bright, lit with light so white it became blue. A crisp smell scented the air, as if made up of bleach, and pricked the inside-walls of her nose. She hadn’t gotten completely used to her new apartment yet, but it wasn’t hard to tell… that this wasn’t the same room she had fallen asleep in.

There was a figure to her side, dark in contrast with the otherwise white room. She didn’t make him out completely at first, but could tell it was definitely a person. She would have been more afraid, but the process was one that she’d grown used to. This city was dangerous, she’d come to understand fairly quickly, just as quickly as she’d become familiar with the high-ranking hero. As if the hair weren’t a good enough characteristic, the stark, crimson eyes were enough of a reminder.

“Zero?” She spoke softly, his heart melting even more than it already had by watching her sleep. It disgusted him, he didn't want his heart to melt, he wanted it to explode. He longed for the feeling. It only pounded that way when she looked at him with terror-wide eyes or screamed blood-curdling screams, when he felt her quake against him. He’d grown desperate to say the least.

It was an educated guess, something about the size of him, something about the atmosphere, something about the smell of burnt sugar that always accompanied him. As it had done a month ago. The hero had saved her from villains who wanted her because she in some way posed a perfect host for receiving quirks. She found it strange at the time, being quirkless and all, but she figured that filling an empty glass is easier than a glass half full or brimming. She’d undergone numerous other attacks since. She found it strange how so much drama could befall her in the space of a month, and how quickly the same hero was to respond, especially to the smaller petty crimes she’d found herself caught up in. And here she was again, saved.

“Some people aren’t meant to take care of themselves.” She must have heard him wrong, or at least his tone. It must have been a joke if anything. The words weren't really meant for her anyway. Not that he felt the need to make excuses for himself. He did what he wanted, she just happened to be one of those things. It was her own fault if anything.

“Did you save me again?” She tried laughing at it, tried masking her own sense of failure. It wasn’t as though she weren’t grateful, but she didn’t exactly enjoy being saved, especially when it became a daily occurrence. Perhaps it was this city, she hadn’t been drawn to crime before, it must be the city, what else if not?

“Yes.” It was an abrupt answer, reminded her of a command more than anything. The growl in the back of his throat always evident, however it didn’t alarm her quite yet, she’d gotten rather used to it actually.

She rubbed her temples. More to suppress the headache than to calm her stinging eyes. “Where are we?” She didn’t recognize the facility. It seemed clean, very clean, yet still held certain artifacts and decoration, more so than any normal rescue lounge, personal even.

“Our apartment.” Again, the answer spoken like such a statement. However, she wasn’t paying attention that much anymore and hadn’t quite grasped the entirety of his words. She was far too preoccupied with the realization that she was currently lying in a bed, despite not yet feeling anything more than her throbbing head and discomforted eyes. She wore the same clothes she’d gone to bed in, a t-shirt that didn't even reach to her bellybutton and a pair of repurposed boxers she’d taken from her brother long ago. However, the state of her half-naked self didn't raise any alarm yet, as she did not yet realize the plush cuff linked around her ankle either.

Her brows furrowed when his words settled a bit more, but didn’t think too much off it, given that it hurt her head and each thought was a more than straining process to fall through on. However, wanting to rise into a more dignified position, she made to sit upright, but felt the movement never fulfill. She thought first it had to be her, maybe she was still too tired, but then realized the large hand currently resting firmly in the space between her lungs. The realization would go about unknown for a longer time if it weren’t for the simmering heat that soon spread all the way through her blood into the very tips of her toes. She gave him a confused look, only know seeing the different shape of his eyes. They weren’t mere slits as they usually presented themselves, but were rounder, less red, more black, and glazed with something she couldn’t quite seem to recognize.

He gave an explanation despite the building fear that only now started to fester alongside her headache. He wasn’t dim, he easily spotted her discomfort, but perhaps he wanted to see how long they were going to dance before one of them slipped. “You shouldn’t stand, it’s still unsafe to walk.”

He wasn’t wrong. She didn’t feel that walking was in her element, however she was sure she could manage, and going so far as to call it unsafe, as if she were some newborn gazelle, was taking it a bit far. She understood he probably knew more about it than her but… she needed to calm down. He saved her, she should be thanking him not preparing to bite his head off. Her anger was probably also due to the fact that she has needed him to come save her more than several times now. The frustration was with herself and her own lack of ability more than with him. She decided to smile instead, show gratitude instead of bitterness. It wasn’t his fault she was quirkless, however… he needn’t act as though she were helpless. Though… again, that might have been her fault as well, she hadn’t exactly displayed any sort of strength in her time with him. She guessed now would be as a good a start as any.

“I feel fine, really.” She insisted, still smiling. But she felt still that her tone might have been too stiff. The last thing she wanted was to take her anger out on the hero, what kind of person would she be then? “Thank you.” She added, quickly realizing she forget to mention it. “I’m really grateful that you’d go out of your way to save me yet again.” She really was, but she couldn’t get over her incapability. It was embarrassing to say the least, especially in front of the hero. “But… I think it’s best I just go home and sleep it off.” Be polite, be humble, bury your pride, she kept telling herself. Too caught up in her own ways of expressing her emotions that she didn’t even notice the malcontent on his face. She wouldn’t dare stare at him, therefore not seeing how intent he was on staring at her. Her headache too must have been a factor, or else the hand on her chest would raise more caution than she was currently in possession of, especially when he added more pressure each time she made to get up.

“I insist.”

The answer came a long time after, or perhaps it just felt that way. Her headache kept disrupting her focus. So much she hadn’t even gotten to the part of questioning why he was sitting on the same bed she was lying in, how long he’d been sitting there and even why she was there of all other places to go.

“What exactly happened?” The question lingered in her mind; why was she there? “I can’t remember being attacked. Actually… I can’t remember anything except for going to bed yesterday.” There was probably a reasonable explanation. She knew she was probably just being paranoid, he was one of the highest-ranking heroes after all, but she didn’t see the harm in being a tad bit suspicious, she couldn’t see how he would take offence of her prying, it was more than justifiable behavior, and it wasn’t very professional of him to bring her to his apartment in the first place if anyone was keeping score. Nonetheless, she did feel rude for her insinuating tone, it was uncalled for and unwarranted and disrespectful.

“You knocked your head.” He answered, quickly killing off her guilt, but it wasn’t a satisfying answer, alike most of his answers, and the pain in her head certainly didn’t feel like any blunt force trauma, it felt more anesthetic than that, more purposeful, intent on making her drowsy.

“Well…” She decided it wasn’t really her expertise anyway, who was she to question his diagnosis? He probably met with this every day. “My head feels fine, truly… Ground Zero.” It was a white lie, she figured. All she wanted was to go home at this point. The oddity of the situation more evident now that she had regained more consciousness, and his less-than answers didn’t help ease her nerves. “I should probably head home. Free you of wasting any more time on me.” She tried her best not to be rude, he had saved her life so many times now, it would seem. And although she had more questions regarding the latest rescue, she was more eager to get out of there than anything. The sickly-sweet scent of the hero almost more overwhelming than her headache.

“You can’t.” His calm voice gave yet another short answer. His hand pressed down on her chest again when she made to push herself up a second time.

“You seem to know an awful lot about what I can and can’t do, Ground Zero.” This time she couldn’t help it; the sneer in her voice. She nearly spit his name as if it left a bad taste in her mouth, when really it was the failure of trying to live by herself that made her bitter. Nasty tones weren’t something she usually felt the need to resort to, but she felt as though perhaps her discomfort wasn’t apparent enough to the hero, all she wanted was to go home. However, he didn’t seem all that affected by it, and if he were, he certainly didn’t show it. He did answer however.

“It’s Bakugo Katsuki.” Something else accompanied his voice this time, and the growl in his throat turned grimmer. And as though she had only now heard it for the first time, her ears drew back.

“Ok… Bakugo… I’d like to go home now, please.” Staring into his eyes became like facing her own growing helplessness, the onset of something akin to terror. Those blood-red orbs seemed so much smarter, so much quicker and stronger somehow.

“You are home.” She jolted at the words, them sounding like a threat meant to keep her in place; a correction. And she did, remain in place, only for a couple seconds though, until she pushed his hand away, exercising the element of surprise, knowing how it would take every ounce of energy she had to do so. Though, it didn’t seem as if he had tried to prevent it.

She’d leaped towards the door, hoping it wasn’t locked, even though the idea seemed fairly slim, given that luck had decided to abandon her fully for today. But, she never even made it to the door, no… she met the floor instead, feeling something tugging her down, a soft yet heavy weight around her ankle. She thought it might have been his hand, but looking back she noticed the metal leash trailing all the way back to the bedpost.

There was a cackle that sprung through the room, haughty laughter. “I was gonna put it around your throat.” She looked up at him, meeting with a totally different person. A widespread grin displayed on his face. “But, I don’t think we would have played for so long if I had.” He towered over her frame, casting eerie shadows down at the ground, which somehow made her feel cold. The same shadows dancing over his face, in his eyes. She tried scooting back, but the leash wouldn’t allow it. He chuckled again, every sound more dreary and life-draining than the next, as large hands descended to pick her up into large arms.

“Let go!” She screamed now, and kicked, letting tears spill in mere seconds.

He hummed in response to her outburst, a chuckle that sounded dreadfully similar to a moan, and her ears started to burn at the sound. “Have I already earned your screams?” It became hard to breathe, his tone making it clear that this was merely the beginning, as his arms felt as though they could break her spine if they wished, or by accident if he weren’t careful. “You’re just so eager to please, aren’t yah?” She whimpered at his words, causing him to yet again send another hungry-hearted groan to shatter her ribcage and claw at her heart. She didn’t want to let the fear encompass her entirely and kept struggling to escape his hold, only to be met with the soft bed again, a mattress that seemed to want to swallow her and sheets intent on suffocating her. “You’re tired.” It was more than condescending, so much worse. “And now you’ve hurt yourself.” She was used to being mocked for her helplessness, for her lack of a quirk, but never were the insults adorned with this type of disgusting affection. She hated it, she loathed, so much she felt herself choke.

“Get off me!” She tried to make it sound more intimidating than a whine, but she was afraid she had failed miserably. The hand placed on her ribcage was back, hindering her form getting up. He stroked a fresh scrape on her knee, eyes so wide and so black and so crazed with frenzy. It stung, but she had greater problems at hand. She kicked and flailed, all to his amusement. He snickered at her attempts, her hands trying to push his hand off her chest, to no avail. Still trying to kick even though one leg was firmly caught with his other fist, the nail of his thumb digging, burying itself into the back of her knee.

“Like I said earlier…” He replaced the hand on her chest with his weight instead, moving to hold her throat in a soft grip, but she could feel the wanton pressure in his fingertips in spite of it, heat radiating off him in waves, or perhaps it was his breath. “Some people aren’t meant to take care of themselves.” Her other leg still flailing freely, until he decided to quell it’s conquest by placing his knee onto the inside of her thigh. He couldn’t help but let a content smile fall over his face as she yelled out in pain, her moves becoming more frantic, more desperate, until she again felt the, up until now wavering, headache begin to dull her senses again. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped fighting until she felt his wet, hot tongue sliding up her neck as a slow, burning threat before his teeth sunk skin deep into her flesh.

She kept struggling, but it didn’t take long before he had her entire position secured beneath him, and by that time she was so drowsy that not even the feeling of his teeth scraping against her throat was enough to wake her.

All he wanted was to hear those sounds she made, those earth-shattering, beautiful sounds, and he would give his all to coax them out of her. One has to give him props for trying not to break her beyond compare, but he would never lay any empty promises, not even if just to console her afterwards. He didn’t like liars, he had morals, he was a hero after all, but he was also human, and some things are just too bewitching to resist. It was her fault more than his, her fault for catching his attention.

PART TWO

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ssa-pretty-boy · 4 years ago

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Dizzy on the Come Down

Summary: Snippets of phone conversations between Spencer and his girlfriend while he’s away working on cases. Based on the song ‘Dizzy on the Comedown’ by Turnover.

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: all fluff except for some brief phone sex / masturbation

A/N: This is mostly dialogue seeing as though its just phone conversations ha. Also, I’ve repurposed this a couple of times but each time I feel like it comes out a little better. Sooooo if you’ve seen this before… no you haven’t.

——

Up and down like a red rubber ball

You’re always back and forth like the clock on the wall

I want to know about you

I’m spinning all around you

“Ya know,” Spencer thought aloud as he lounged back against the stiff mattress, “I’m really glad we ended up getting together. Your cat-and-mouse shit was getting really annoying.”

“Cat-and-mouse shit? Spencer Reid,” she paused to snort out a laugh, “I was smitten from the start and you know it! Besides, it took me weeks just to convince you to come into my apartment.”

A dark blush worked its way onto his cheeks even though he was alone in the dingy, motel room. “I was too,” he grinned. “I’m completely enamored, bubs. And I have been from the moment I saw you dancing around in that crap hole of a record store. And by the way, that’s called being a gentleman.”

“Okay first of all, its not a crap hole anymore since the new owner cleaned it up,” she defended, immensely proud of all her hard work she put into her store. “And second, its called you being too chicken to ask me out.” She laughed, knowing damn well that he had made her just as nervous and giddy as she made him. She smiled broadly and snuggled a little further into the leather arm chair, her legs dangling over one of the arms.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he chuckled.

If I stay do you think that we could change your routine?

I know a trick, I’ve always got a few up my sleeve

This life is controlled confusion

It’s just a grand illusion

“Today I was at this mall right? We were trying to find anyone who could have been a witness,” he paused, choking out a laugh, “Well, I saw this magician guy and he was doing card tricks. Derek and I went over to him but when we got closer I realized his form was all wrong-”

She wasn’t able to help the giggle that bubbled out of her, he simply could not resist the opportunity to show off his ‘sweet skills’ as he so loved to put it. “Let me guess: you showed him how to do the trick properly?”

He scoffed, “Of course I did. With technique like that he was giving magicians everywhere a bad name.”

“Oh I’m sure,” she teased, screwing the cap on the bottle of red nail polish she’d been using to paint her toes. “Did you finally teach Derek how to do one while you were at it?”

“Absolutely not! I can’t just reveille my secrets to a member of the general public, Y/N. The only reason the old guy got any help is because he was at least trying to teach himself.” She could practically see the look on his face right then, the overly dignified set to his jaw, his raised brows.

“M’kay doc. Whatever you say,” she hummed into the receiver, fanning her freshly painted toenails.

And you ask me “How do you feel when you’re away?”

And you ask me “How do you pass the days?”

“How are you feeling?” she whispered into the dark of their bedroom, her phone tucked between her shoulder and cheek.

He sighed, a long drawn out breath that could’ve easily been mistaken for a gust of wind. “It’s been pretty shitty; hectic and tiring ya know? Local P.D. doesn’t want to cooperate, the families are clearly not telling us something… But we caught a break today so we’re really hopeful things will start to turn around now. But right now?” Spencer paused, squeezing his eyes shut and sighing again, “Right now I just really fucking miss you.”

“I miss you too,” she whispered, clutching his pillow tightly to her chest. “Please just be safe, Spence.”

His chest tightened at her words, he knew worried she always was for him. “I will be baby.”

Sing along to a song that I know

It goes bah bah bada, sing it over and over

Let it hypnotize you

I’m still here right beside you

“I cannot get that stupid song out of my head,” he groaned as the simple chorus of the over played pop song drifted through his mind again and again and again.

She laughed, a melodic tune he’d missed so much in the past few days. It sounded slightly warped though the phone but it was her none the less. “Which one, doc?”

Scrubbing his hands over his face he sighed as he mindlessly flipped through a boating magazine he found tucked into the nightstand drawer. “I don’t even know the name of it. The chorus goes something like ‘bah bah bada’,” he hummed, his fingers subconsciously tapping out the rhythm on his thigh.

“I think I could list off ten songs with a beat similar to that one,” she countered, her laugh still light and lilting.

Spencer rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help the small smile that was tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh c’mon bubs, you know it! It’s the one you really like! You’re always singing it,” he mused, reminiscing on all the times he’d caught her humming it under her breath.

Her eyebrows puled together as she concentrated, trying to recall the song he was speaking of. “Spence, there is honestly no telling. You know its like a 24 hour radio in my head!”

Hold my hand, you can follow my lead

You’re like a ballerina twirling round on your feet

And watching is so fantastic

I want to ask you

Spencer hadn’t laughed in what felt like days, not a real belly aching laugh anyway. But she had him stitches, nearly doubled over at the lame jokes and stories she was telling him in attempts to lift his spirits, she knew how tough this case was. Finally after a moment she caught her breath. “Do you remember that time we were dancing around in the kitchen? It had to have been like midnight or something and you just started to twirl me around. And we ended up slipping because we both had socks on and I broke my arm?”

“God, how could I forget that?” he groaned, softly laughing at the memory of the two of you tangled in a mess on the kitchen tiles. He had truly been scared to shitless regardless of her assurance that it wasn’t his fault. When he saw her trembling lip and the tears she had tried to hold at bay, it damn near broke his heart. “I was terrified I had hurt you really bad- worse than a broken arm! Then when I finally got you home from the hospital you were so high on the pain killers you could barely walk straight. I all but had to carry you to bed.”

“And you apologize for weeks and you probably still don’t believe that it wasn’t your fault.” She started laughing again as she said it and he could practically feel the love radiating from her, even from so far away.

“I really fucking love you.” Spencer smiled so wide it actually hurt his cheeks a little but it was an ache he’d always welcome.

Would you come here and spin with me?

I’ve been dying to get you dizzy,

Find a way up into your head

So I can make you feel like new again

“I really fucking need you right now. I’ve been hard for days.” Well, she thought, what a way to answer the phone.

Mindful of her surroundings, she bit down on her lip to suppress her laugh and quietly suggested that he go take care of that.

Scoffing, he rolled his eyes as if she could see him through the phone. “My hand has nothing on your mouth or your pussy.”

“Spencer!” she squealed and quickly reached up to turn down the volume on her cellphone when the lady next her gasped at what she had no doubt heard him say.

Mumbling a quick ‘sorry’ to the other patrons, Y/N made a mad dash for the door of the crowded coffee shop. She looked over her shoulder to see the woman staring after her slack jawed. Cringing, she turned away from the storefront window, her cheeks and neck heating up as she started speed walking down the sidewalk.

“Well, it’s fucking true! I’m dying to touch you again. To make you cum,” he said, his voice growing husky.

“Are you trying to have phone sex with me, doc? While I’m walking down the damn street? The people in the coffee shop probably thought I was some ten cent floozy!” The thinly veiled attempt at annoyance did nothing to hide the amusement in her voice. Spencer hummed, his hand sliding down over his stomach and toying with the drawstring of his faded (he refused to refer to them as ‘ratty’ as Y/N did) flannel pajama pants. “No way. Fifteen cents minimum.”

With a roll of her eyes she did laugh that time. “Can we put this conversation on hold until I get home? I’m literally only a block away from the apartment.”

Now collapse, take delight in the fall and catch your breath

I know you feel the ring from it

So try and collect yourself now

It’s just a euphoric comedown

“Come on baby,” he practically growled as he continued to roughly tug on his throbbing cock. “Cum hard for me. Make the neighbors think I’m actually there.”

She gasped at his encouragement and sped up the fingers she had rubbing small, tight circles on her clit, she had nearly forgotten just how filthy his mouth could be. “Oh god,” she moaned, tossing her head back into the pillows and arching her back off the mattress, the phone nearly slipping from where she had it trapped between her shoulder and ear. Adding just the slightest bit of pressure as she continued to swirl her fingers, she came, choking on a hoarse call of his name. Letting the pure euphoria take over, her toes curled and legs trembled as the pleasure washed over her in waves. It wasn’t as intense as the orgasms he gave her but it would have to do until he got home.

At the sound of her cumming and calling out his name, Spencer met his own high. He grunted and easily milked himself through his own orgasm. The line went quiet for a moment and he thought she might have fallen asleep. “You still there sweet girl?” He was panting, still trying to catch his breath as he grabbed a few tissues and cleaned himself up.

“Yeah,” she sighed softly and Spencer was kicking himself for not thinking of switching to FaceTime so he could see the look on her face. “Just a little blissed out.”

And you ask me “How do you feel when you’re away?”

And you ask me “How do you pass the days?”

“How are you feeling?” she cooed. “You’re on bed rest right? You need to be if you aren’t. You have got to start getting some rest. That’s probably a big part in why you’re so sick. That and you don’t take vitamins or drink juices.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and tried to snap a snarky reply but all that came out was a bone-rattling cough. Groaning, he rolled onto his side and placing the phone on the pillow beside him and switched it to ‘speaker’ so he wouldn’t have to use the energy to hold the phone up. “I feel like hot garbage. Wish you were here,” he mumbled before another fit of coughs racked through his achy body.

She pouted and sat completely helpless in their bedroom, wishing more than anything that she could be there with him, nursing him back to health. “I’m sorry baby. I love you,” she offered quietly, hoping her words would comfort him in some way.

“Love you too,” he rasped and she felt her heart sink a little further in her chest.

Cause I can still remember when you were afraid of the dark

And I told you to come and you followed where I asked you to go

“You know I’d follow you anywhere, right?” he whispered, pulling the scratchy sheet tighter around him. “To hell and back if I had to. All you have to do is ask and I’m there.”

Sighing, she squeezed her eyes shut and willed the tears away. “I know you would.”

They were both quiet for a while, letting the silence fall over them like a thick, comforting blanket. His eyes darted around his hotel room and he desperately wished he was back in his apartment with her. Holding her. Comforting her. “Its just scary ya know?” she finally spoke up. “I mean I have total faith in your ability to take care of yourself, don’t get me wrong. But being so far away from you… its terrifying and not to mention so fucking lonely sometimes. Every time the phone rings I’m terrified its going to be Derek or J.J. telling me you’ve been hurt. I know how much you love your job and I’d never ask you to choose, but it is scary.”

His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, he swore it actually felt like it had cracked in half. “I know, baby. I know,” he sighed, raking a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends a little. “It wont be much longer now. I promise.” He paused again, eyes darting around the room in hopes of finding something to say to help ease her worries. Finally his eyes landed on the book peeking from his opened satchel at the foot of the bed. “Would you like me to read to you?”

His offer was sweet and genuine and instantly brought a smile to her face. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

Would you come here and spin with me?

I’ve been dying to get you dizzy,

Find a way up into your head

So I can make you feel like new again

“Bubs,” Spencer cooed, his tone quiet and soothing. “Just come out to Las Vegas. Let me fly you out. We’re wrapping up the case now and my mom was asking about you when I called yesterday. She’d be thrilled to see you.”

Sniffling, she wiped at her nose. She was quiet for a few minutes, her attention focused on picking at a stray string on the fluffy white duvet covering their bed. “Can I? Come out there, I mean. I need you. I wont be in the way, I promise.”

Spencer was speaking quietly, trying not to draw too much attention to himself in the bustling precinct but he was practically buzzing with excitement at the thought of her accepting his offer. As discretely as he could, he sat down at the nearest unoccupied computer and pulled up a few airline websites to compare prices. “Of course you can baby. And there’s no way that you’d get in the way. I’ll book you a flight now. How long do you want to stay?”

“How long can I stay?” Her voice quiet like his own, raw from crying to him for the past fifteen minutes about how horrible her day had gone.

With the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, he quickly browsed through the webpages, comparing the airlines and what each had to offer. “We can stay as long as you want,” he assured her, his tone making it evident just how serious he was about his offer.

“You were planning on a whole week, right?” she asked hesitantly, almost like she was afraid he would tell her that he had changed his mind.

He confirmed that a week was in fact the original plan but then offered to tack on a few extra days, he had the extra vacation time saved up so why not use them up. They both desperately needed the break. When she agreed he gave a comical ‘whoop!’ into the phone earning him several confused looks from not only his team mates but the local detectives that were still in the room. “This is going to be great. I can show you all my favorite places from when I was a kid! All you need is a little quality Spencer time and we’ll have you feeling like new in no time.”

“I think that’s exactly what I need.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine

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selfwriting-sugarquills · 4 years ago

Text

Something more infinite (George Weasley x reader)

Description: You and George Weasley were not friends, in fact you were sort of enemies. Since your third year at Hogwarts, you’d been enthralled in a feud that consisted of constant teasing and ruining each other’s plans. A more wise person would probably say that it would be wiser to stay away from each other, but where’s the fun in that?

Chapter 1: Now shake hands and be friends.

Chapters: 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 (final) |

Word count: 1.3K

Warnings: None.

You had been called many things already at the age of 13, though the words had ranged from menace from your father, to little shit by your cousins to devil by your mother they had always been said with a shake of the head and a grin. Sure, you were a lot, even you could see that but you weren’t truly terrible. Your high energy and affinity for pranks made you fun and lovable, at least in your youthful opinion. Hogwarts had been a blessing, it was like your private playground where you could lay out as many pranks as possible and thanks to the vastness of the castle’s twisting corridors, you would sometimes first see the results days later, like a sort of belated present from you to yourself. This was going well so far, you hadn’t been caught yet at least, even three years into your education at the castle. Well, actually it had been going well. Someone had recently taken to dismantling your traps, and you’d have to go back to check them, only to find them ruined (most often with the prank products themselves missing and not a single victim in sight). At first you’d suspected Filch had become too good at sniffing out your traps but you figured Filch would confiscate everything he found, without leaving behind whatever you’d used to set it all up. After almost two months without a single successful prank, you were more than livid; after all, pranks took time and just as much brains as it took a sense of humor, how could anyone just ruin your hard work?!

So when you found the culprits you were ready to hex them into a jelly right then and there. The problem was that you were in transfiguration and you couldn’t just leap over the desk at the ginger boy and try to land a good hex without earning yourself detention for weeks.

The ginger boy in question was George Weasley, not to mention his twin Fred, but for some reason, George was the one who annoyed you the most, perhaps it was the fact that he was the one who, mid laugh, admitted to not only dismantling your dungbomb trap but to reusing it on someone else... or perhaps it was just because he was sitting right next to you when he said it,

“Honestly it’s on them, Fred, they shouldn’t be leaving their stuff around if they don’t want others to make good use of it,” he says, snickering with his twin and Lee Jordan as the twins recount how they used your dungbombs to prank a ravenclaw prefect,

“It was you!” you say quietly but the anger in your voice is loud and clear, your hand clenched around your wand. George Weasley’s head whips round to face you, his smile fading as he notices your frown,

“Yeah?” he says, a hint of a laugh still present in his voice, “Why?” he asks, and it only takes a short moment and a very pointed scowl from you for him to realise the exact answer to his own question,

“oh,” he says quietly before a smile erupts on his face, “sorry ‘bout that,” he says, clearly not sorry. “Sorry’s not going to do it, you ruined my stuff,”

“We just repurposed it into something better, I don’t see how that’s wrong,”

“You don’t see how stealing is wrong?”

“It’s not exactly stealing if you leave it lying ‘round the castle free for anyone to take,”

“I didn’t leave it lying around! They were traps, they were supposed to be there!” you say, heat rising to your cheeks as anger bubbled inside you, but George doesn’t seem to take your rising temper into account as he shrugs and says, “Well maybe learn to set up better traps then, if you don’t want us to find them,” before turning back to his friends. It takes everything in your power not to hex him but it’s easier to play the petty game. The transfiguration class in question is on the subject of turning mice into snuffboxes, though George, Fred and Lee were more occupied with playing with the mice, as George picked his up, blissfully ignorant mid his conversation with Lee, you casually point your wand at the small white mouse sitting on his open palm, a simple stinging jinx would do, you think and quietly mutter the incantation.

“Ouch!” The reaction is quick, but effective as the mouse lets out a quick squeak as if it had been bit and promptly bites George’s thumb before wiggling out of his grip, George winces and withdraws his hand, while Lee and Fred laugh at his expense. He turns to you and you put on an innocent face, trying to look unknowing while a smile tugs at your lips.

“Hey!” he says holding his bitten thumb with his other hand, “that was uncalled for!”

“What was?” you play dumb, he scowls at you before grabbing his own wand, the jab hits you in the side like a bee sting and you yelp, before quickly retorting the same jinx back at him who grabs at his face like it’s been slapped while Fred and Lee are in stitches behind you both, clearly the stinging jinx isn’t enough for you both as it only takes second before you resolve to using oppugno on him, sending your successful snuffbox flying into his face while he uses flipendo on you. You cry out in a mix of anger and hurt as you land on the floor, already preparing mentally to cast the next charm when your wand is blasted out of your hand by Professor McGonagall, who looks positively furious. Thankfully, she turns to George first,

“Mr Weasley!” she bellows, causing George to wince, “What exactly do you think you’re doing? I’m well aware of you and your brother’s affinity for practical jokes but using flipendo on a fellow student is below even yourself-”

“But she started it!” he points at you, his hand cupping the cheek that you pelted the snuffbox at,

“I do not care who started it,” McGonagall cuts back in, “this kind of behavior is not tolerated in my classes, as you should be well aware of as this is your third year at this school, I will be taking 10 points from you both for resorting to using hexes rather than talking to each other like the sophisticated wizards you’re supposed to be, and I’ll see you in my office after classes today, Mr Weasley. Now shake hands,” She says,

“What?!” You and George both exclaim exchanging looks of disgust and horror, McGonagall crosses her arms across her chest, “I won’t be entertaining measly feuds in my classroom; shake hands and agree to be on friendly terms again,” George glowers at you and you return the look. Your hands meet briefly, clasping tightly around each other before shaking once and releasing as if the other’s skin had burned your own. He ignores you for the remainder of the lesson, but scowls at you out the corner of his eye whenever Fred and Lee break into uncontrollable fits of giggles. You’re on your way out the door when a hand grabs at your shoulder, turning you around, you shoot him a mildly annoyed glance before pointedly averting your eyes to McGonagall who’s erasing the notes from the lecture off the board with a motion from her wand, he follows your look and removes his hand,

“You know, it really was uncalled for,” he says,

is this his attempt at getting you to apologise? if so, it’s not working. You put on the same sly smile, putting a hand on his shoulder,

“Maybe you should learn to do better jinxes next time, if you don’t want to be caught,” you say, parroting his phrasing from earlier and his eyes darken as he recognises his own, albeit twisted, words. Your smile widens. You turn on your heels and practically skip down the hall. That was when you decided: You were going to hate George Weasley for the rest of your life.

taglist: @schlongbottom @cardboardbenmazzello @unseensilver @mochamiilk Let me know if you want to be added :))

#the first chapters are a little slow please have patience #it gets spicy #i prom #george weasley #Fred and George #george weasley fanfic #george weasley x reader #george weasley series #harry potter #hp #hp george weasley #chapter 2 and 3 is coming v v soon #like in fifteen minutes #and then the rest will be scheduled one per day

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justmemewriting · 3 years ago

Text

The Sister (Javier Peña x reader) - Part 17 - Colonel Pinzón

"Good morning, my love," Javi woke you up the next morning.

You opened your eyes, but closed them immediately after because the sun was shining in your face.

"Ugh," you groaned. "Can't we just stay in bed?," you asked Javi and snuggled closer t him.

Javi put his arms around you and gently stroked your arm. He then lifted his hand and caressed your face gently placing a kiss on your lips.

"I wish we could, mi amor, but we've got work to do," Javi reminded you.

"I know," you said and sighed. "I just wished we didn't."

"Me too."

Suddenly, there was only silence. Neither of you wanted to say anything or move, because it was rare for you to have moments like these together where you could just enjoy each other's company.

"You know what?" Javi asked you.

You sleepily lifted your head and turned to look at him.

"We should take a trip," Javi suggested.

"A trip?" you repeated.

"Yes, a trip. Not right now, of course," Javi clarified.

"Maybe we could take a few days off in a few weeks and we could forget all about Escobar for just a little while."

"That does sound really intriguing," you admitted. "But you know just as well as I do that the son of a bitch Escobar would still be on our minds the entire time because we still haven't caught him. Also, Steve would kill us if we left him doing our work on his own."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Javi sighed.

"But, let's make a deal then," you suggested and held out your pinkie. "I promise that you and I will go and leave this shitty place as soon as we catch Escobar to go somewhere."

Javi intertwined his pinkie with yours and started grinning.

"So, where would you like to go then?" Javi asked you deep in thought.

"Hmm. Honestly, I don't really care as long as our trip involves you, me and a whole lot of us being naked." Javi chuckled in response. "Obviously."

"What do you think?" you asked Javi. "Anything come to mind?"

"I don't know," Javi admitted. "Somewhere warm with a beach."

Suddenly, there was a knock on Javi's apartment door.

"You guys ready soon? We need to get goin'," Steve yelled.

You and Javi both groaned as you were both still laying in his bed.

"Well, maybe somewhere your brother can't bother us," Javi stated annoyed. You just shook your head and laughed.

You loved your brother with every ounce of your heart, but it was true though. He constantly interrupted moments that you and Javi shared.

It was already pretty rare for you to be able to have them in the first place. You really didn't need to constantly be interrupted by your brother.

—

After Steve scolding you for taking so long to get ready, you were finally on your way.

Things were about to get very different and that very soon.

Now that there was no more 'la catedral', the next stop was Carlos Holguín.

You were currently driving to the old police academy that had been repurposed as ground zero in the search for Escobar. If someone asked you, it was exactly stuff like this that showed how many people wanted to have Escobar caught and put behind bars. Or dead. To many that didn't really matter anyways.

"So who is it that we're gonna have to talk to once we get there?" you asked your two partners in the front seats of the car.

"Colonel Pinzón," Steve answered. "From what I've hard he is a big fan of the US, so we hopefully won't have a problem with him"

"Just because he's a fan if the US, doesn't mean that he's a fan of us," Javi answered Steve. "So play nice."

"Did you hear that, (Y/N). Play nice," Steve warned you jokingly. You just scoffed.

Yes, there were times where you could lose your temper but never without reason.

"Haha, very funny Steve," you said sarcastically. "I'm just a very passionate person."

"Some people call it passionate, others call it aggressive and crazy..."

"Oh, shut up," you said and laughed.

Once the three of you arrived at the building, two officers led you to the office of Colonel Pinzón. One of them kept looking at you weirdly which is why you gave him your best 'fuck-off'-face you could manage.

The two officers opened the door to Pinzón's office and you entered. You took a seat next to Steve and waited for someone to start talking. This was just one of the moments where you preferred to be a bit more quiet since Pinzón gave you a weird vibe.

"Agents Peña and Murphy, it's very nice to meet you. And who's that? Did you bring secretary?" Pinzón asked and you honestky couldn't tell if he was being serious or not.

You sighed. Yes, it wasn't everyday that you saw a female agent working for the DEA, but it also wasn't news either. People should've gotten used to it by now and honestly, you were quite sick of those sexist comments.

Deciding to have a little fun of your own you said "Oh yes. García is the name. I'm just here in case one of those two here needs something. Like a coffee. Or a foot rub," you joked. The man laughed, now seemingly understanding that you also were an agent. "I should suggest that to my secretry," Pinzón answered and laughed.

"Jokes aside, I'm agent García. It's a pleasure to be working with you, Colonel," you introduced yourself and shook his hand.

"Likewise," he answered.

"Let's get straight to it then," Pinzón continued. "As a courtesy to your government, I'm allowing you to participate in this manhunt. But... I set the limits and all decisions rest with me. If this condition is unacceptable, take it up with the president," Pinzón said as he stood up and started walking out of his office. You, Javi and Steve quickly followed him.

"Of course, Colonel. I hope we didn't get off on the wrong foot," Javi answered.

"Not at all. Every operation needs a well-defined hierarchy," Pinzón stated as he led you to a different part of the building.

After a bit of walking you reached a room in which there were two desks with dozens of stacks of papers and files on top of them.

"I hope this will be an adequate space for you to do your work." he said and looked at you for confirmation.

The place you had been given was an absolute dump, but of course you weren't allowed to show that, so you just nodded with a slight smile on your face.

"What, you're talking about this? This-" Steve started, but you quickly hit him with your elbow to stop him from continuing his sentence.

"This is more than adequate," Javi continued for him. "Gracias Colonel." And with that Colonel Pinzón left.

"Ow, what was that for?" Steve whisper-yelled at you.

"You, of course couldn't shut your mouth again, so I had to stop you some way," you answered.

"But this place is a dump. How are we supposed to work here properly?" Steve questioned.

"Honestly, i don't know, but seeing that they've assigned us to that shit hole, they already don't like us much, so we should just try and get on their good side." you told him.

"(Y/N) is right. Working here isn't going to be a piece of cake. We can count ourselves lucky if they share any intel with us at all." Javi continued.

"So what if they don't share their intel with us. We just gonna leave then?" Steve asked.

"Well, I have my ways of getting information," you said with a smirk on your face.

"And that would be?" Javi asked you with a dubious look on his face.

"I'm a woman, Javi. And as a woman I have certain assets that I can use to my advantage. Let's just leave it at that," you said and chuckled.

"Wait, I thought only Javi slept with others to get information," Steve said which might have been intended to be a joke.

"Gross, I don't sleep with them. I occasionally just get them drunk and flirt with them, and bam: they tell you everything you want to know," you said and shrugged.

"I have to say, I don't like the sound of that at all," Javi said with a stern look on his face.

"Oh c'mon. It's just for work. And we all profit from the information," you answered, but Javi kept the stern look on his face.

"Oh baby, don't be mad. You're still the only one for me," you said and winked at him. Javi just chuckled.

"Wait? How many times have you done that?" Steve asked you.

"Hmm. I guess I used to do that quite a lot," you answered and saw Steve looking at you weirdly.

"Well, you try being a woman in the DEA. Nobody tells me anything," you continued.

"Alright. I'm not judging," Steve laughed.

After a moment of silence, you decided that it would be a good idea to start sorting through the files. Maybe there actually was something useful. You looked at one of the files and looked at its date.

"Guys?" you asked. Javi and Steve looked at you with confused looks on their faces.

"This one's from 1962," you told them and threw it in the corner.

"Oh god," Steve stated and ran a hand through his hair.

"(Y/N), with this mess you might have to do a whole lot more than just flirt." Steve told you which earned him an angry look from Javi.

"I was just joking," Steve said nervously.

"I hope it will stay a joke, because this is just crap. But if it comes down to it, it'll be our last resort." you said and shrugged.

Hopefully the next days were going to be a lot more successful.

#javier peña imagine #javier peña #narcos #steve murphy #narcos imagine #narcos x reader #javier peña x reader

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melmac78 · 4 years ago

Note

Care taking prompt: Gordon bandaging/stitching up Scott’s wounds?

Story injury maker is based on this green machine. The other item on right is an old icebox, aka refrigerator.

I wish I had a pic of a fully intact one, but the one I saw at the Trade Days yesterday that was restored is too small for the story. They’re fairly uncommon now, and wanted a reference for readers who may have never seen one.

For the record, I remember these being around in places as late as early 1990s. The few around now are also repurposed. Hope you enjoy:

••••••

“This is embarrassing.”

"I know Scott..." said Gordon as he assisted his oldest brother in Thunderbird Two's bay.

Scott shook his head. "No, more than embarrassing - this is ridiculous. I knew smoking could be bad for your health, but..."

Any thoughts were cut off with a sharp hiss when Gordon situated his brother onto a cot in the Sickbay to assess the injury.

The aquanaut scoffed slightly. "Second hand cigarette pack vending machines are even worse," he finished with a smirk as he started cutting away the neoprene around his brother's left calf.

Scott rolled his eyes at the bad joke. Thunderbirds one and two had to go to a rescue at a retro restaurant created by Francois Lemaire.

The restaurant was the peak of sophistication - two stories tall, featuring a variety of antiques from the 1950s to '70s.

A work of art for the high class tastes - including dinner.

Unfortunately for International Rescue - Lemaire didn't pay attention to the fact it was on top of a well known faultline, and Mother Nature showed her displeasure flatening the building with an earthquake.

The brothers were successful in rescuing everyone alive - albeit a few with injuries severe enough to require hospitalization.

Scott had finished helping Madeline, the last person inside, out of a pile of debris when an aftershock hit.

He protected her safely, but a broken cigarette vending machine fell on him.

Fortunately, the machine landed in a way it didn't crush his leg.

Unfortunately for Scott, the machine's glass window broke, slicing a 3 inch long gash in his calf.

After a bit of a struggle with the machine, freeing Scott's ankle from the slats that once stored cartons, Gordon and Madeline helped the eldest Tracy outside.

Madeline left with a couple of paramedics for a checkup.

Gordon and Scott ended up in TB2, thankful for once Francois elected to pay more attention how he nearly lost his wife than pester the Tracys.

Scott shook his head at the memory. "Seriously, how in the he... heck did Lemaire find one of those monstrosities?" he pondered outloud, before hissing l at Gordon's ministrations.

The aquanaut shrugged. "Don't know - but some folks years ago when the machines were made illegal to vend cigarettes bought then turned them into miniature art dispensers. Get a few more dollars selling postcard sized art,” he said, then whistled. "Yep. You're gonna need stitches, but you're in luck, you have the best stitcher in the world.

Scott was more concerned when he saw his brother put the needle in the ampoule for a local anesthetic. *oh no,* he thought, and paled slightly. "That's Virgil... I can wait a few minutes," he said.

"Yeah... I know he's the best, but they still need the jaws to move away that life sized replica of the Beatle’s Yellow Submarine blocking the main road," said Gordon as he tapped out the air bubbles out.

”Seriously Gords… I can wait…” said Scott, swallowing hard as the shot glistened. *Not now, not with Gordon present...* He thought, but he knew the signs. He felt light, had a feeling of dread, compounded with old memories...

To his dismay, his brother didn’t listen. “No you can’t. It’s a deep gash, and Virgil will have both our hides if you pass out from blood loss,” said the blonde bluntly.

He then turned back. "Now lie back Sc...."

The aquanaut froze slightly when he saw Scott staring at the needle, pale as a sheet and start to sway. "Scott..." he said warily, only to see his brother's eyes go blank and he listed to the side.

“Woah!” Gordon immediately caught his brother before he fell off the cot. He put the shot down and assisted his older brother flat onto his back. "Easy there bro," he said gently to the eldest as Scott started to come back around.

"'M fine..." said Scott muzzily.

"Sure, and that cigarette machine hit you with feathers," teased the younger man as he checked his brother's pulse. He sighed in relief to hear the older man snort in disgust, and once satisfied Scott wasn’t going to fall out on him, continued. "Blood or needle?"

"Huh?"

"Which one made you faint?”

“I did not…”

“Scott, seriously, you did: briefly” said Gordon gently. Seeing Scott wince in embarrassment, and pain, The aquanaut continued. “I’m not going to make fun - promise, but I need to know the cause because I'd rather like to know how to help.”

The eldest gave a faint blush. "Needle," he said. "Can give shots no problem, but..."

Gordon gave a half smile. "Getting them isn't such?" he said, and Scott nodded.

“Bad doctor checkup when I was in first grade. Complete accident, but gave me nightmares and a lasting fear. Virgil remembered my blackout back then though…”

"So that's why you'd rather Virgil help when you’re hurt? Didn't want us to know of a phobia?"

The raven haired man nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, don't know what's more embarrassing - getting cut by an antique cancer stick machine or fainting from a shot," said Scott, expecting a tease.

He was thankful he was lying down for what came next.

"Neither," chided Gordon.

“Huh?”

"Seriously there's nothing wrong with accidents or fears - besides a potential medical worry."

A confused Scott started to open his mouth as the younger man continued. "But there will be another one if I don't start stitching this, so stay laying down," Gordon said, pulling out a small stuffed toy and putting it in Scott's hands. "This should help."

Scott took the item in his hand and looked at it. "A sea turtle plushie," he stated perplexed, looking at the item. It was about 3 inches long, two inches wide with a swirly tie-dye printed shell. "Never seen this before.”

“I know, I keep Surfer in my baldric most of the time.”

“Ok… but what is, um ‘Surfer’ for?"

Gordon chuckled. "To keep people distracted, and I see that he worked his charms again," he said. Seeing his brother's confusion, he continued. "Gave you the shot - should numb your leg in a couple of minutes.”

Scott chuckled in relief. It was a distraction all right as he traced a pattern on the toy. “So, where did he come from?”

The aquanaut then paused for thought, growing a bit more somber. "I got it from Penny and Parker shortly after the Chaos Crew put me in the hospital."

Scott tilted his head, curious for more as Gordon checked his brother's leg.

Finding it was numbed - Scott was not reacting, started stitching the wound.

The aquanaut, sensing his brother's persistent look wanting for more, continued. "I never told any of you this - but I have a vague memory of coming to in my 'Bird and something sharp cutting through my broken arm."

“But nothing pierced your uniform,” said Scott, remembering the day his brother was lying unconscious in the bed he was now using. He was thankful though: based on what few photos EOS captured of the rescue, some items came too close to finishing the Chaos Crew’s job.

Scott shook off the memory, and saw the aquanaut nod as he started another stitch. "Yeah, I know that now - it was the actual break, but I think in my semiconscious state, I thought it was a knife stabbing me in the crook," he said. "The memory stuck so badly in my head that during a simple blood test in the hospital I fainted."

“Now hold up... they didn’t say you...”

"Well, I am adult you know: doctor/patient confidentiality. Especially as you are a bad enough smother hen without more fuel,” he said, and seeing Scott’s unimpressed look, continued. “Penny and Parker unfortunately were visiting when that spell occurred.

“I was embarrassed - thought when they came back Parker would tease me and Penny do her polite ignoring it,” the aquanaut continued, starting on the last stitch. “But, to my surprise, they gave me the turtle. Said if I ever was in pain or having issues with a shot, hold it, and know that there were people who loved you no matter your faults. Didn’t have a repeat then or since."

Scott started seeing where this story was going. "So you don't see my phobia as a fault?" he inquired.

"No Scott. You're human, like all of us, just sometimes you need a reminder," he said as he finished tying the last knot and started to bandage the stitches. "Personally, I think as ‘Surfer’ worked for you, as you didn't feel that shot, or flinch once from the stitches, maybe you should consider your own.”

Scott was about to speak when Virgil contacted them, saying he was returning back to the Thunderbird and that John was remote piloting One back to base.

"John better not ding my ‘Bird. That'd be worse than fainting and being cut up by a cigarette machine," said Scott, distracted from the talk about plushies.

Gordon chuckled. "At least Virgil isn't considering taking Thunderbird One and converting it to a miniature art dispensing machine. He talked about buying Lemaire’s… but I think it’s to scrap it into a weird recycled art sculpture after cutting you. Double when he eyed the icebox," he said, then laughed more when Scott rolled his eyes. "Now, lie back and rest. I'll stay here and keep you company so Virgil doesn't be a Smother Rooster."

"Papa bear," corrected Scott.

"OK, papa bear ... but same reason," he said, then grew sober, as he tapped the turtle, which Scott handed back. "And Scott, just remember, two things: 1. I won't tell anyone else about your phobia, and 2. Even if the others find out, we'll always love you - warts and all."

The eldest nodded and let himself relax into the comfort of the bed as Virgil flew them back back to Tracy Island...

When he later on woke up safe and sound in the Island's infirmary, brought there to double check the stitches and ensure no infection, he found his left hand was resting on something soft, and fluffy.

Picking it up, he found it was a tie dyed octopus. Just the right size to put in his baldric... just in case.

"Thanks Gordon," he said, smiling.

#thunderbirds are go #gordon tracy #scott tracy #tsarinatorment #care prompts #TAG Fanfiction #Thunderbirds Are Go Fanfiction #TAG Fanfic

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