#I was so on the edge of Andrew again but I had *this* idea ages ago | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

denimbex1986 · 10 months ago

Text

'Out Brit filmmaker Andrew Haigh has crafted an exquisite, melancholic, lyrical meditation on love, death, family and memory, anchored by a truly arresting performance by Andrew Scott. "All of Us Strangers," loosely and queerly adapted by Haigh from the Japanese novel "Strangers" by Taichi Yamada, centers on Adam (Andrew Scott, in a rich, nuanced performance deserving awards attention), a frustrated screenwriter who lives in a virtually empty high-rise, outside London. The only other apparent tenant is a mysterious boozy younger man named Harry ( Paul Mescal, crazy-sexy), who hits on Adam and the two eventually hook up. Meanwhile Adam reconnects with his long dead parents (Jamie Bell & Claire Foy, both flawless) who are, once again, living in his childhood home in the suburbs. Oh, and both are the same age as when they perished in an auto accident when Adam was 12, meaning they're both significantly younger than their son. But this is no gimmicky supernatural thriller, although it can be viewed as a ghost story of sorts. Haigh has more ambitious aspirations that delve into identity, desire, grief, regret, abandonment, fear, loneliness and forgiveness. Not too heady!

And the film is told through the autobio-Haigh-lens which is unapologetically queer.

Haigh is no stranger to telling gay stories, both obvious and peripheral. In 2009 he made his first feature, "Greek Pete," which followed a London rent boy around for a year. His breakout hit, "Weekend," released in 2011, chronicled a 48-hour gay romance and is already considered an LGBTQ classic. The film starred Tom Cullen and Chris New.

"45 Years" followed in 2015, dissecting a marriage in crisis. Charlotte Rampling received her first Oscar nomination for her role opposite Tom Courtenay.

The quietly bold HBO series, "Looking" premiered in 2014. The cast included Jonathan Groff, Murray J. Bartlett, Frankie J. Alvarez and Russell Tovey. "Looking" presented an authentic peek at a gaggle of gay friends in modern-day San Francisco. The show only lasted 2 seasons but was given a movie-length wrap episode in 2016.

The highly underrated indie, "Lean on Pete," (2017) took a current but, also, prescient look at the ethical and moral divide in the U.S. Haigh also kept the enigmatic lead character's sexual orientation cryptic. And as played by the gifted Charlie Plummer, that ambiguity had a decidedly queer lean.

"The North Water," a 2021 miniseries based on the novel by Ian McGuire and created by Haigh, had its share of homoerotic scenes between leads Colin Farrell and Jack O'Connell.

"All of Us Strangers" is Haigh's most personal queer exploration. It's also his most haunting, mesmerizing and best film to date.

EDGE had the pleasure of a zoom chat with Haigh.

EDGE: Andrew, the relatability to so much of this film for me was so deep and almost profound. I've spoken to quite a few people queer and not queer, who feel the same. So, through specificity you've achieved universality.

Andrew Haigh: That's very nice. That's always kind of what your goal is. Nobody wants to see a story that is just about something very specific--that has nothing else to say. That doesn't work. You have to always ground it in something universal bubbling underneath. That's what I was trying to do. It's so nice that it does work for people and works for different types of people. That's important. I didn't want to make it just for one group of people, so I'm really pleased about that.

EDGE: Can you speak about taking the Yamada novel and making it your own?

Andrew Haigh: Yeah, so the central idea is the same. I love that central idea of meeting your parents again, it felt like it unlocked something in me, and it unlock this idea about being able to talk about your past and what the past has done to you and how it can be hard to leave it behind. I don't just mean in terms of grief. I mean, in terms of how we felt when we were young and childhood experience...

This idea that we are so formulated by the first 10, 15 years of our lives and we can never really escape that. I see that in everybody. I see in people who are 70... your childhood has defined you who you are as an adult. It's almost impossible to escape it. And so that felt like such an opportunity to be able to tell that story within this strange sort of ghost story, metaphysical love story, whatever you want to see this as.

EDGE: You're reminding me, Jane Fonda said when she was writing her autobiography that she needed to go back to examine in order to move forward. I feel like the older we get, the more we seem to look back.

Andrew Haigh: I'm 50 now and I feel like the last 10 years, I've really felt it. I think when you're young, you don't look back, obviously, there's nothing to look back on. But as you get older, you're like, Okay, I've got however many years I've got left, I need to go back, I need to recalibrate, I need to have a reunion with my own path, so I can understand why I am the way I am. So, it makes total sense to me. But you have to stare it in the face. And you have to throw yourself into it in order to find some kind of way to move forward. I think that's why the film does resonate because I feel like we all want that. And the idea that we could actually have a world in which you could physically meet your past, again, is quite powerful.

EDGE: This is like a 1980s question, but we keep boomeranging, don't we? Did you get any pushback wanting to tell a queer specific and Andrew Haigh-specific story?

Andrew Haigh: I'm Yeah, that's interesting because that's two different things, isn't it? I like that. When the producers came to me with the book, the minute I said I want to do this, but I have to make it queer, they were like, of course great, do it and make the story you want to make. And Searchlight and Film4 were the same--they were l excited by the idea that I had made it specifically queer. There was no pushback... And then specific for me, is again, something different. And I feel like luckily, I've been making films now for long enough that people understand what that film will be. And they wanted to support that. So, it felt good.

EDGE: How did you decide on the structure and tone of the film?

Andrew Haigh: That was probably the biggest struggle. I did a lot of versions of the script... to fill in the structure, which there is a sort of logic but then I throw myself away from the logic. There's lots of things that I'm trying to do at the same time. And in many ways, I wanted just to plot it emotionally. If all this is a manifestation of Adam's need, what does that mean for the plot?... What does that make the tone of the film feel? And especially when you're dealing with something that could be seen as ghosts, there's so much weird logic that gets put onto those stories. Can they eat? What happens to them when he's not there? Is he really in the house?... At one point during the writing, I was like, I've got to free myself from the eternal, endless questions that you can ask yourself about the plot, and just make it be a film about feeling and texture and emotion and let that drive it.

EDGE: Speaking to that, I was fascinated by the quiet moments, the details, the lingering close ups, I've seen a few films lately, where there was all that minutia, and I was just fucking bored. Here, I was never not mesmerized.

Andrew Haigh: That's nice, because it's so true, there's no point, putting the camera on someone's face if they're not giving you something that is interesting. It just doesn't work. It's pointless... like someone standing by the window, looking out to show that they're lonely only works if something's happening or you're feeling something. For me, it is about that fine tuning and calibrating in the edit, so you're not bored and you're giving the audience something new each time or something surprising or there's something underneath what you're giving... I feel like I've always been trying to find that in everything I do. It's finding that space for the character just to exist and for you to lean in and listen more and concentrate more. I feel like if you can do that you're enveloping the audience into the story and into the world. And if you do it right then it can work.

EDGE: And, of course, your cast assemblage helps because you get such authentic and deeply affecting performances from your actors, whether it's Tom and Chris, or Charlotte and Tom or Charlie Plummer. And Andrew, Paul, Claire and Jamie here. Can you tell me a little bit about your selection process?

Andrew Haigh: The selection process is always the thing that I spent so long thinking about it. If you get that wrong, it's not going to work. And it's all about trying to find people that make sense together. That's how I how I do it. And also trying to find the right kind of people, not just as actors, but as basic human beings. I spend a lot of time reading interviews that actors might have given, watching clips of them when they're being interviewed. And then I have to sit down with them and talk to them before I go forward. I want to know what it is that they care about in terms of the material. I want to know if they're going to be open enough as collaborators to share their own experience, and me share my experience, of life and relationships and family and all that kind of thing. Then if you can get that, I think you just develop a trust. And they know I'm not going to screw them over... I love that process. I love working with actors. I love letting them be what they want to be as much as what I want them to be. That's the trick, you've got to just let it come out of them and don't try and force it into some preconceived notion of what you need that performance to be.

EDGE: I've never heard another director say that he's watched interviews (as part of the casting process). You can get so much from somebody from that.

Andrew Haigh: So much. And, also, you can see what they're showing and what they're hiding. I think I'm relatively perceptive about people and it's what they're not showing that is the most interesting thing to me. You can see a certain vulnerability in people when they're doing interviews... I also think that what an actor chooses to do with their career says so much about the person they are. Like Charlotte in "45 Years" Her choices have been so fascinating in her career that I'm like, well, you're an interesting person. There were choices that you (made). It's so important. The work that someone does defines them in so many ways. So, you have to take that on board when you're trying to make a casting choice.

EDGE: And the chemistry between Andrew and Paul were off the charts, but Claire and Jamie, too. Did you make them all shag before? I'm joking.

Andrew Haigh: (laughs) Yes, it was a really awkward session. We were in a bad hotel, and we were like, come on, this is what we got to do. We've got to really force ourselves through this. (laughs)

EDGE: Have you ever been in a situation where the chemistry wasn't working? Not necessarily on this film? And what did you do?

Andrew Haigh: ...I've been really lucky. I do think the reason that chemistry sometimes doesn't work is that you just set it up wrong. And you don't nurture the right environment on set. That is so important. If you can nurture that environment so they don't spend time locked away in their own trailers not talking to each other, that you create an environment where people are getting to know each other. I think so much of my job on set is to understand what people need.... it can be quite exhausting. You're like a therapist, basically, for the whole of the shoot...But I think that's what you need to do as a director to make sure that everybody is comfortable enough to give the best performances.

EDGE: There's so much conversation about actors playing queer roles versus the best actor for the job. I'm curious where you land. And how did it relate to the casting of Andrew Scott?

Andrew Haigh: I did want someone that was that was queer to play Andrew's character, because there's so much nuance I'm trying to pick out genuine feeling that I needed that character to have. And I think any of us who are a certain age who grew up at a certain time, it's in our body. It's baked into our DNA. How we felt the fear, the terror, the worry--all that stuff. And I didn't want to have a straight actor playing that role. Because I'd have to then try to explain all that. You know what it's like, you sit down with a gay person, there's so much shared experience you don't even need to talk about...you go into a room full of queer people you're like, I can breathe a little bit easier. Most of the time, it depends if who you're in a room with, but most of the time...

But then outside of that, there's lots of choices that go into who you cast for the role. I understand the arguments about why it can only be a queer person playing a queer role, but I really do think it depends on the role. Look, I'm gay, I wrote it. The producer Graham was gay. You don't need everybody to be gay. You just need enough people who know what they're talking about to be part of that project.

EDGE: I wanted to talk about internalized homophobia because it's there in the film. It comes from the people who shape us, doesn't it? Parents, relatives, friends...

Andrew Haigh: ...So many of us have dealt with internalized homophobia for so long in our lives. We've grown up with it. Every day you were going to school and having to deal with it, having so much shame. Sometimes you can hear a younger generation sort of think, 'Oh, you guys are just full of self-loathing, you're fully shame, get over it! And you're like, hold on, we weren't born with self-loathing or shame, it was put upon us by the world we lived in. So, you can't condemn us for having those issues that were put upon us... It doesn't just go away when it's embedded in you growing up. And it is from our family. It's from everybody, the TV, the news... I think it's a life journey for a lot of queer people to shed that internalized homophobia. And for me, personally, it's been a journey. And the film is another step in that journey to shed that. It's a very complicated thing.

There's a line in the film when (Claire Foy) asks if Adam's lonely, and that it's a very lonely life. And he's like, If I am lonely, it's not because I'm gay. And he's right. But also, being gay in the world has made him lonely. So, it's not being gay that makes you lonely, it's being gay within the world that can make you lonely.

EDGE: "Lean on Pete." I adore that film. I really appreciated that you never felt the necessity to force a sexual orientation on Charlie. There was no obligatory girlfriend or hookup scene, I'm assuming that was deliberate.

Andrew Haigh: Absolutely. And it's so weird to me--in the original novel, there's no sense that that kid is queer--but there's something to me when I thought about Charlie that he felt like a queer kid. So, in some strange way, it felt like it was a story, as well, about a kid trying to find his way in the world and being torn between this freedom--this desire for freedom--but also a craving for stability. I feel like sometimes as queer people we're told we've got to just go and find our new family... well, no, sometimes we want the stability of our actual family. I felt like that spoke to America, as I see it, and even in a bigger way about this conflict between stability and freedom. America was born on this search for freedom, the individual, but that cannot be great for everybody... We don't all need to be let free in the world to fend for ourselves.

EDGE: There's a lot of anxiety and stress involved in filmmaking. You seem like a really well put together person, how do you deal with it and not go insane?

Andrew Haigh: It's a funny thing because I feel like I'm actually quite an anxious person. And I feel like during the process, there were so many times when the anxiety of making it is almost overwhelming. Why am I doing this? Why am I putting myself through this? And that's writing, shooting, is all different anxieties, editing, the fear that that project is now going to be in the world, and how is it going to be taken? Filmmakers. It's an exposing art form. Even if it's nothing to do with you, you're exposing something about yourself. I don't care what anyone says, you care about the reaction, you care how people take it. So, it can be a stressful thing. I mean, you can just ask my poor partner who has to deal with my stress and anxiety constantly at the end of each day. But there was something that still makes me want to do it. I can't imagine I would want to do it forever... I know some filmmakers keep working into their 70s and 80s. I can't imagine that will be me. I feel like there will be a time when it's like, you know what, that's enough now, I've done what I can do, and I need to have a quieter existence.'

#Andrew Haigh #Andrew Scott #Paul Mescal #All of Us Strangers #Greek Pete #Weekend #45 Years #Looking #Lean On Pete #The North Water #Jamie Bell #Claire Foy

0 notes

smolbeandrabbles · 4 years ago

Text

Almost Maybes - Ralph Anderson x Jeannie Anderson (The Outsider)

@wltz-bby @happyskywhale

Happy Birthday @mandy23b 😘💕

May I proudly present to you, your babies!

Author’s Note: Pretty much entirely book canon and references, which is how we like things in this house!

I’m not gonna lie, when I very first heard this song (in... April?) I thought about it as a Ralph song, and then a Ralph/Jeannie concept and I knew that if I was going to do it - I would write it for you for your Birthday, so, it’s been a little while in the making, to say the least!

I hope you enjoy, and that you don’t mind that it’s not a reader insert for your birthday 🎁💙

Love you lots @mandy23b! 😘😘

Almost Maybes - Jordan Davis

Disclaimer: Show watchers only, a whooole bunch of book references ahead / The Outsider & characters belong to Stephen King / gifs & lyrics not mine

Premise: Ralph reminisces on everything that has led to him being right here, right now...

Words: 1452

Warnings: N/A - literally there is more swearing in the lyrics than there is anything in the story.

_______

I had one saying we were done In a Baton Rouge college bar It kinda came out of nowhere Man, I took that one pretty hard And I had another one in another town And I spent a whole lot of nights missing her 'Til it all went black, she stopped texting back And I finally got the picture So here's to the almost, so close It's over out of the blues Here's to the "hey, I think we need to talk" And the "it ain't me, it's you" Here's to the tears and beers and wasted years On the weeds that looked like daisies I wouldn't be sitting here next to you If it weren't for the almost maybes Here's to the one that my family thought Was gonna make me drop to one knee And I tried like hell, but I couldn't help My mama loved her more than me And to all those July crushes Turning into September leavin's Goodbyes that didn't feel good back then It happened for a real good reason Wouldn't be no all alones Wouldn't be no sad songs Wouldn't be no had enough Pick yourself up and get to moving ons From the didn't work outs The girls next door and the bat shit crazies There wouldn't be no you and me right now If it weren't for the almost maybes No, it wouldn't be no you and me right now If it weren't for the almost maybes

---

It was a fairly quiet day in the Anderson household – which all three of them could be glad of. Derek had been to Summer camp again this year and, having only been back a few weeks, Ralph was trying to encourage ample family time. Today, though, he’d let his son off and let him sleep in until 12pm (probably). Ralph was sitting out in the backyard, staring out across the grass even though he wasn’t really looking at anything. Instead, and probably why he was letting Derek sleep in, Ralph was doing some reminiscing. It wasn’t often he thought about his life before his family; probably because there wasn’t much to think about. Nothing particularly worth highlighting: he and his brother had drifted apart and only shared the occasional holiday or birthday card. There wasn’t really anything of note in his career either, sure he had plenty of horrifying stories from his early days at Flint City PD – but that was all overshadowed by the events of the previous summer. (And who in their right mind would want to reminisce any of that?!) The only good thing about last summer was meeting Holly. Instead Detective Anderson was reminiscing on how exactly he got to be right here, right now. How did he arrive at this moment in time, with the son he was allowing to sleep in… and Jeannie. Ralph wasn’t really one to go around proclaiming his love from the rooftops, but if he felt the need to ever get sappy… Well, there wasn’t any other words for it, she was the love of his life. Arguably the only love he’d ever really had. Which is what he was thinking on right now. Sure he’d had crushes, high school girlfriends, college girlfriends… summer romances and then the kinds of ‘love’ that lasted about as long as Spring Break. Geez, that’s too long ago to want to think about! But Jeannie was like none of those, there was no all-consuming passion or ever the belief of holding onto something and making it work just because… Sure he’d had those fast-heart-beat do-not-screw-this-one-up-Ralph! Your-life-depends-on-it! moments when he’d first met her. But Jeannie always made everything so easy; Ralph worked hard for her because he loved her, because he wanted to be impressive – not just good boyfriend material, but husband material… and then father material. Now he could think back to 15 years ago when she’d come rushing to him to announce the result of her pregnancy test: as scary as the Outsider? Well it had been to him at the time. Jeannie was his best friend; she had been for 25 years. And to him, that was what really mattered. They had stuck together through everything: good and bad, the very toughest of times – and Ralph could also count a fair few of those. He laughed to himself, suddenly remembering some of the break ups. He and Jeannie had had many an argument and disagreement but they’d never fought; not in the way that had ever had him thinking they wouldn’t make it. Ralph fretted more that they wouldn’t make it because he wasn’t good enough for her; worried over that one for years, even when they’d first got married. He’d probably never been more nervous than asking her father for his blessing… then more terrified that she’d simply say no. But some of the other break ups. Sometimes the arguments were just plain funny to think back on – even if they hadn’t been at the time. Ralph had taken plenty of rejections pretty hard, that when he examined them in hindsight revealed he’d probably dodged bullets. Oh, he’d done his fair share of breaking up with people – some had even been pretty amicable! – but there was some bad mixed in too, one so awkward that Ralph hadn’t even been able to tell her he was breaking up with her because she wouldn’t stop crying. Yeah, probably best not to reflect on that one… It took a little time for him to realise she’d been calling him. “-Honey, are you alright!?” “Oh!” He smiled instantly, “Yeah, sorry, I-” She shook her head at him gently, there was no need for an explanation, Jeannie already knew. “Would you like coffee?” He nodded, “That would be great!” “White and sweet?” “Like me!” Ralph beamed, stealing Jeannie’s favourite phrase – it’s what she always said. He at least raised a laugh from her as she headed back inside and he watched her go, still beaming. That immediately set his mind to good things, for they had shared many more of those. In fact, Ralph wasn’t the only one with previous horror story relationships. He and Jeannie had had many a giggle together about some of her own. When he was a little younger Ralph used to joke about arresting anyone who had formerly broken her heart – if he were honest with himself, he’d probably still do it. She joined him then, placing his coffee down on the garden table she sat beside him, hands around her own. Jeannie sighed contentedly as she took her first sip – comfortable in the silence and Ralph’s presence as they observed their garden together. “So, what’s on your mind today, Mr. Anderson?” “Oh…” He shifted with a shrug, “Nothing exciting, previous relationships. Everything that lead to me being here.” She looked across to him with a raised eyebrow, almost choking on her next sip, “Lord, that seems a little deep for a Sunday morning!” “I can be deep, sometimes!” She laughed at that, the way Ralph folded his arms but couldn’t keep that scowl up. Eventually instead he held his hand out for hers, and Jeannie was only too glad to slip her hand into his. Ralph squeezed hers gently, “I love you, you know that?” “Hmm, occasionally.” She couldn’t help her tease, taking another sip, “What’s gotten into you?” He sighed, “I dunno… I just…” “You know that Derek isn’t going to rise until early afternoon too, right?” It was past time for Ralph to drag him out of bed, anyway. “Well that’s part of it.” “What is?” Jeannie tipped her head gently at the way her husband was chewing the inside of his mouth. “Spending time together… Y’know? He’ll be heading to college before we know it and I just don’t want to miss-” “Ralph, Ralph!” She calmed him, “Sweetie, we have years yet, first you think too much on the past and then too much on the future! Don’t you give that brain of yours a rest?” She knew the answer, but Ralph shook his head anyway, “Can’t.” Her voice was soft, and she placed her mug down to gather his hand between both of hers, “You can.” “Okay, but… I was thinking about you too, you know?” There was suddenly that smile he loved so much upon her face, “Of course I do.” And his face lit up too, “I know exactly what you’re thinking, Ralph, I know you.” “Better than anyone.” He agreed, “Sometimes it’s scary.” Jeannie laughed again, “Well I figure sometimes I gotta be scary, or nothing would get done.” “Eh.” Although he wouldn’t quite disagree, “…I’d rather you be scary than some of our exes!” This time her laugh was infectious and he couldn’t help but chuckle as she placed a hand to her temple, “Oh, please! NO! Ralph-! I haven’t had to think about ex loves in 25 years, I shouldn’t like to start now!” “I just got thinking, if it wasn’t for all these people before you and everything I learned, I don’t think I’d ever be with you.” He’d screwed up before, more times than he’d probably care to admit, but Ralph couldn’t ever have afforded to with Jeannie. You know when you know; and Ralph had, almost immediately. Jeannie wasn’t about to let him take all the ‘credit’; “I messed up a bunch of times too.” She was as glad for it as he was, and despite her words, she knew he was right. Without all that, she wouldn’t be here holding his hand and wishing that Derek would wake up a little earlier without being forced to. “It was only ever really you.” She nearly blushed, “It was only ever really you, too.” “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow with a cocky grin, “That good, am I?” Jeannie shook her head, leaning across the table, Ralph leant in too, to accept her kiss. As sweet as their very first, and just as unforgettable as every kiss she’d ever given him. He chased her; one kiss wouldn’t be enough this morning. She had no complaints, he tasted just like the sugar in his coffee. That only had Jeannie laughing again, “You’ll do!”

---

Thank you for reading!!! 🥰🥰

#Happy Birthday Amanda!#Ralph x Jeannie #The Outsider HBO #The Outsider #hbos the outsider #Jeannie Anderson #Ralph Anderson #Ralph Anderson x Jeannie Anderson #Ben Mendelsohn #I was so on the edge of Andrew again but I had *this* idea ages ago #Knew it'd be /perfect/ for you #and it's a little different and I...#I just really hope you like it hun!#Hope I did them justice in my second go of writing them...#I think it's a little better than the first but I like /Trouble/ also #187

22 notes · View notes

psithurista · 3 years ago

Text

approach shift pt. three

pairing: Peter Parker x f!reader (TASM/Andrew Garfield version) length: 4.3k rating: explicit 18+ warnings: oral sex (m receiving), fingering, unprotected PIV sex, creampie, cumplay

Peter Parker is a weirdo. A hot, distracting, irritating weirdo. And you can't afford distractions right now. So there's only one thing to do.

series masterlist

This is stupid. Really stupid; embarrassing even. You readjust your grip on the box in your hand, shifting your weight to your other foot only to be rewarded with an unpleasant squelch. Your feet are soaked inside your shoes; the roar of the rain outside still deafening even inside the building.

You knock again, your knuckles beginning to bite with a dull pain from the repetitive effort.

He mustn’t be home. Because if he is in there, then he’s ignoring you. This isn’t a thought you want to consider, but after fifteen solid minutes of fruitless knocking, you have to admit to yourself that at this stage, it’s just sheer, wilful stubbornness.

It had felt like a good idea at the time. He’d walked out of the finals early last week, swearing under his breath and hurriedly silencing some kind of alarm on his phone…and then he’d failed to return. You haven’t seen him since, though you’re embarrassed at yourself for glancing up hopefully every time the bell over the door had chimed at the cafe.

It had felt like the worst kind of joke that, as soon as your worries about studying were over, he’d ghost. You should be celebrating with everyone else in your cohort on the rooftop of Maya’s building. You can practically see it now: people shrieking with laughter, dragging chairs and drinks out of the rain and clambering over one another, soaking wet, to crowd into her kitchen.

You’d told yourself that you just wanted to check on him; just to make sure he hadn’t fallen over in his apartment and hit his head or something. No other reason. You’d almost managed to convince yourself of this, too.

And so now, standing damp and impatient with your jaw clenched hard outside his door, you’re trying very hard to ignore the increasing suspicion that his hallway neighbours are peering out at you through barely-cracked doors.

“Peter?” you try, one last time, banging the door with the side of your hand instead of your knuckles. Nothing. Just the dull roar of rain.

Pathetic, you think. What are you doing here? You’ve fucked twice; one of those times being the academic equivalent of a back-alley hookup. You barely know each other, and he’d made it clear from the outset that he had no desire to become entangled in anything beyond the immediate. He’d been blunt, despite his apparent sweetness. So the twist of rejection you feel is not his fault.

You decide to skip the party and head straight home, turning to do just this, when his door flies open so violently that you could swear you hear something crack.

“Hi! Hi, hello.” He leans awkwardly around the doorframe so you can only see the upper half of his body. He’s shirtless, his face flushed, and he’s soaking wet. You stare.

“Did you just get in?”

“Yeah,” he pants, still hanging around the edge of the door.

Confused, you look down the deserted hallway, then back at him. “Did you climb up the fire escape?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. You watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Uh. No. No, I got home a little while ago. I’ve been in the shower.”

“I’ve been knocking for ages.”

“Yeah, I got, uh. Noise cancelling headphones. Sorry. I’m really sorry.”

You’re so bewildered, you forget to feel embarrassed. Dazedly, you half-lift the unappealingly soggy box in your hand. “I brought pizza. And beer. Just thought maybe you wanted company. I can come back, if it’s not a good time.”

He blinks at the box in your hands. A slow, crooked smile lifts his lips from his teeth, and your heart hitches at the sight.

“Yeah. It’s a good time. Definitely a good time. Uh. Can you just give me one second? I’ll be right back. Don’t—don’t go anywhere, okay?” He doesn’t wait for you to respond before shutting the door in your face, and you stand, stunned for a moment.

Then your brain catches up, and you gasp in indignation. “Peter! Hey, what the fuck?”

Inside, there’s a clumsy-sounding thump and then the slam of a closet door, several times, as though it won’t stay shut. You press your ear to the door. Is he hiding a body in there?

And then, impossibly quickly, he’s back. You step back as he opens the door fully, now dressed and leaning in the doorjamb. He offers a shy smile so genuine it nearly melts away all your remaining frustration. “Hi again. Sorry. Come in. Please.”

You shiver as you pass him, kicking out of your wet shoes and leaving them beside the door.

Considering the chaos you’d envisaged, you’re surprised to see that it’s perfectly tidy inside his apartment. He leans against the kitchen counter, hunching away from the shelf over his head as he watches you shrug your bag off your shoulder and dig out a pack of cans.

“I saw you walk out of the finals early.”

He dips his head as he nods, looking down at his feet. “Something came up. Got it all answered though. How’d you go?”

You shrug. “Fine, I think.” You don't actually know; but it's out of your hands now. “Do you have any glasses?”

He reaches into the cabinet behind you, drawing out a single mason jar sans lid and a chipped mug with dark coffee stains inside. “Jar or mug?”

You accept the jar from him, wryly turning it in your hand. “This is very Pinterest of you. You’re just missing the twine.”

He snorts, cracking the tab off a can and pouring the contents into his mug. “I’m gonna take that as a compliment, even though I know it wasn’t your intention.” You shiver again, violently, and he lowers the mug from his lips.

The beer’s not cold anymore, but the way your wet clothes are clinging to your skin is making you start to feel clammy. He seems to register this too, because he pads past you, digging out an oversized sweatshirt from a stack of folded laundry near his bed and tossing it to you.

“If you want to hang up your wet stuff in the bathroom, it should dry off. This’s clean.”

The sweatshirt is soft-worn; faded to a middling grey shade. You bundle it in your arms, feeling a tiny prickle of emotion low in your stomach at the easy, careless way he offers the small kindness. “Thanks. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Ducking into his bathroom, you peel everything off, underwear included, draping it over the shower curtain railing. It’s dingy in here; the cracked tiles lit a sickly yellow, but the thought of stripping off in front of him without the immediacy of sex feels a little too intimate, for reasons you aren’t quite sure of.

The sweatshirt reaches your mid-thighs, and you push the sleeves back to free your hands. It’s beautifully soft and warm, and you let yourself scrunch the neckline to your face, breathing in the smell. Turning to leave, the sight of a tiny aloe plant on the counter gives you pause. You touch it lightly, imagining him putting this tiny thing into its pot, watering it, keeping it alive.

He’s leaning back in the chair by his desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him, considering the contents of his drink. You gnaw your cheek, stepping over his feet to perch on the edge of his bed with your jar. You aren’t sure what to say. You feel intrusive; conscious of having invited yourself here with nothing to offer but warm beer and cold pizza.

“How come you wanted to come see me?” he says, not looking at you. There’s a shadow around his jaw and above his lips, and you imagine how it would feel prickling inside your thighs.

I hated the thought of you sitting in here alone while everyone else celebrated.

You shrug. “I was worried you’d crashed your board into the back of a truck or something, after I didn’t see you for a while.”

He nods, running his thumb around the edge of the mug, his teeth showing. “Glad I’ve managed to impress you with my physical acumen.”

You nudge his foot with yours. “Someone with as many scars and bruises as you do must have a serious lack of coordination, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He looks up from his hands, and you find yourself staring at the way his jaw juts slightly to one side when he smiles; the way the tiredness-darkened bags under his eyes lift.

“And…I guess I just like hanging out with you.” His smile falters just the tiniest bit and you worry you’ve gone too far, backpedalling. “Well. Better than getting rained out of a roof party, I mean.”

“Wait, you mean that party at Maya’s? That’s tonight?”

You give him a flat look. “When else would it be?” He runs his hands through his already-messy hair. The gesture has become a familiar one, and you catch yourself smiling at it. “You weren’t planning on going, were you?”

“Nah.” He puts no volume behind the word, shaping his mouth around it emphatically and wrinkling his nose. “Not my thing. I’m sorry I don’t have a dryer, otherwise you could probably still make it. Man, I can’t believe I forgot about that.”

You can’t tell if this is self-deprecation, or a hint for you to leave. You take another lukewarm sip of your drink, keeping your voice light. “For a smart guy, you’re pretty scatterbrained.”

He grins at you, lopsided, leaning close enough that you can see the freckles on his chin and beside his nose. His posture is awful; tall frame hunching over the seat. “I am. Smart. I’m a smart guy. Very smart. Don’t be intimidated, it’s alright, I—”

You snort and press your hand to his face, trying to cover his open mouth as he keeps talking. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He catches your fingers with his teeth, gently holding you in place, and a faint shiver runs up from your hairline as he closes his lips around your skin, his eyes on yours.

Thunder cracks outside, loud enough to make you jump, and the lights dim. He steadies your hand before you can spill beer all over yourself, nimbly loosening the jar from your hand and sliding it onto the table beside his abandoned mug.

“Sorry,” you breathe. “I get a little nervous with storms.”

“S’alright,” he breathes back. His gaze darts down to your lips, then away under lowered eyelashes.

The weather only deteriorates further as the night continues.

Yet, oddly, you feel perfectly at ease. Peter keeps up a stream of inane conversation; a combination of terrible jokes and pop culture references. You recognise it for what it is; his attempt to keep you distracted. And it works, you realise, as you watch the way his broad shoulders shift under his shirt as he stands at his sink, ribbing you about your graduate position.

“Oscorp? Seriously?” He turns to gape at you, looking thunderstruck.

“I know, I know. They’ve had some…PR issues. But that was years ago now. The company’s been making great strides ever since it was bought out. And there’s nowhere better for the field; even if I don’t stay long, I think the experience will be worth it.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but you change the subject before he can. “What about you? Found anything yet?”

He nods. “I, ah. I’m still doing some freelance photography for now. My camera’s kinda busted, though. Keep dropping it off buildings. S’been kinda hard to find the time for applications. But I think I’ve found some lab work with Horizon.”

You scrunch your nose. “So you’re with the competition. Can I convince you to spill all their secrets, Parker?”

“Ha. Depends how nice you ask.”

It isn’t until later, when the lights are off and you’re curled into his side in his bed, that you realise you’ve forgotten about the storm completely. The colours shifting from his phone screen play across both your faces, an old movie, and a burble of noise that you aren’t paying close enough attention to distinguish individual words of dialogue from.

You wriggle into the heat of his body, close enough to smell his skin. Uncurling your hands from your chest, you press your palms flat to the tautness of his lower stomach instead. You’re rewarded with a quiet intake of breath as his eyes flutter shut. Encouraged, you feel your way lower.

There’s a scattering of dark hair at the lowest slope of his abdomen, the muscles flexing under your hands. Everything about him feels beautifully firm under your touch, yet soft, his skin smooth.

You flick open the button of his jeans, pressing your face into his chest as you feel blindly below you. The movie’s still playing, but all you can hear is the sound of his breathing, close to your cheek. When your hands slip into his underwear, you find him already hard, his cock straining against the fabric.

You ease his cock from his jeans, wrapping your hand around him and relishing the feel in your palm; the weight, and thickness. Gently, you glide your fingers down to the base. His arm had still been holding the phone aloft, but now it drops limply to the bed beside his head, the recording pausing.

You want to hear him. You want to hear what you can do to him; just you, with just your hands. You let your thumb stroke gently over the slit at the head of his cock, your fingers still gently curled around the shaft as you glide your hand back up. A tiny gasp escapes his throat, and you press your face tighter into his neck, feeling his tendons standing out with the effort of holding still.

As you pump your hand back down to the base of his cock, unbearably slowly, you feel the flex of his thigh muscles as he shifts his legs on the bed. When you reach the head again, a bead of precum slicks beneath your thumb, and you spread it on his skin as you stroke him again.

“Fu—fuck,” he breathes. You hum your response into the scratch of stubble on his jawline, stretching your neck up to reach. Your lips find his skin, and you press a chaste, closed-mouth kiss to the edge of his chin as his hips flex.

His skin tastes the same way he smells; like clean laundry, and cheap deodorant used in place of cologne, and the faint, ever-present spice of him: skin and sweat and Peter. You want more of it, you decide, and as you let go of his cock a barely-audible groan sounds from between his lips. As you withdraw your mouth from his skin, his head lifts from the pillow, as though trying to chase you.

“Help me take this off,” you say, plucking at his shirt. He yanks it off in a surprisingly fluid motion, one-armed, as though he’s used to undressing in a hurry. In the same gesture, he’s already kicked out of his jeans, leaving him bare.

You lean up onto your knees, taking him in. Lean but defined, you can see the veins standing against the muscle on his forearms; fine hair and freckles decorating the ripples and lines of his torso. Those bright, soft dark eyes stare up at you, the expression somewhere in between disbelieving and pleading. He’s pretty, you decide.

You lower your head to his chest, your hair falling in your eyes, dragging your lips over his collarbones just to feel the shape. He throws both arms up over his head, grasping at the pillow as you kiss the rise at the top of his pectoral muscle. You let your tongue press against the heat of his skin, gently running through the valleys between each perfectly-marked line of his body.

As you kiss lower, your eyelashes brush against his abdomen, and you watch as goosebumps raise on his skin.

You wrap your hand around his cock again, kneeling between his legs. Your tongue presses gently against the sensitive head of his cock, and you feel his hips jerk underneath you at the contact. You lick your lips to wet them, letting an open-mouthed kiss around the head of his cock soften until you’re taking him into your mouth. He feels almost painfully hard; as though his body is straining, begging for you of its own accord.

You take him as deep as you can, until you feel the nudge at the back of your throat, then you lift your head back up, his entire shaft coated and slippery with saliva. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, gently stroking down to his balls as your lips come free with a filthy-sounding wet suck.

You sneak a glance up at him as your hand resumes its movements. It’s dim in the room, but not completely dark; lights from the street outside still providing plenty of illumination to see him. His head is thrown back, a deep flush blotching all the way up from his neck to his cheeks. He’s biting his lower lip, his brows pinching together in pleasure. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Your own need aches hard in your cunt, and you press your legs together as your hand strokes back upward, now slippery and covered with your own saliva. You can see his thighs flexing, his bare feet bracing against the bed as though to hold himself still, and you know if you keep going like this, he won’t last much longer.

He seems to know it, too. “Come back up here,” he rasps, his usually-breathy voice rough with the evidence of his restraint. You do, crawling up until you’re hovering over him, and a quiet squeak of surprise escapes as he wraps both hands around your wrists, rolling you onto your side. You’re shocked again with how easily he moves you; as though the weight of your body is negligible to him.

His breath feels hot against the shell of your ear as the front of his body slots perfectly against the back of yours. You part your thighs, feeling as his still-soaked cock slips into the softness between your legs. He slides his lower arm beneath the curve of your waist, using it to drag you back until you’re flush against him.

His sweatshirt is rucked up around your hips, and as he grinds himself against your ass, you reach down between your legs. Your fingers find your clit, aching and swollen with arousal, and as his cock glides against you again, you bite down a weak little sigh.

He withdraws his upper arm from around your middle, and you hear as he spits on his fingers. “Oh, God,“ you breathe, as he hooks two slick fingers inside you. He presses the wetness into your opening, deep, until his knuckles meet your clit. He withdraws his hand, and you hear as he sucks them into his mouth behind you, fresh heat exploding up from your stomach at the obscenity of the gesture.

When his cock next glides between your legs, he aims higher, the blunt head pressing forward against the lips of your cunt, and he guides himself with his still-wet hand.

Carefully, one millimetre at a time, he splits you open. You’re sure that if you could see his face, your expressions would be mirrored; your lips parted in a silent cry, his own pressed against your hairline.

From this angle, the fullness is thought-shattering. The ridge at the head of his cock drags against the sensitive place just inside your opening as he rolls his hips backwards, gritting an exhale against your hair.

Your hands scrabble blindly for purchase in front of you as he drives himself back inside you, bottoming out and shoving the air from your lungs. Your bare legs tangle in the sheets, your eyes rolling closed, every thought leaving your head, every nerve ending thrumming with desperation for him to continue.

You can’t find anything to hold onto, and as his next thrust drives right into the place that makes your muscles clench, your gasp forms his name.

And you feel the change come over him the moment he hears his name spilling from your lips, weak and needy. He presses his face into your damp hair, his hips snapping against you, and light explodes behind your eyelids.

Clinging to you like an anchor, both arms wrapped around your body from behind, he fucks into you with complete abandon. The lewd, wet slap of his hips against your ass reaches a punishing pace, and your breathing can’t keep up with him, your fingernails sinking into his forearms as you hold onto him with all your might.

You feel his features contorting into your neck as he groans, a broken, low, sound, driving himself deep inside you. You feel the pulse of his cock as his body grows rigid against yours, spurting his release deep, filling you until you imagine you can feel him inside every part of you. You’re gasping for air, light-headed and dizzy, when he withdraws, leaving you empty.

You roll flat onto your back, your chest heaving with the effort of your breathing. But you don’t get to rest for long before he’s leaning on his elbow over you, arching in and kissing your neck, his hand gliding down between your thighs.

“Pete—Peter…”

“Shh,” he murmurs, his own breathing still far from even. “I wanted to—I should’ve—let me fix this.”

You try to tell him there’s nothing to fix, it’s fine, really, and what’s with his weird complex about do-overs, constantly trying to fix everything anyway? Instead, all that comes out is a high, weak sigh as his two fingers press back inside you, right through the squelch of his cum still filling your oversensitive cunt.

Your toes curl against the sheets tangled around your bare legs as he hooks his fingers, coaxing and thrusting in the same movement. Your hips roll against his hand, and as his thumb gently strokes over your clit, you utter a garbled little curse.

The sounds in the room are filthy; the sloppy, loud wetness of your cum-filled cunt as he jerks from his elbow, working his fingers faster inside you, your own cries escaping your control as the hard edge of pleasure in your core crests higher and higher.

Your eyes fly open as you feel your edge approaching, and you find yourself staring up into his face, where he’s already focused utterly on yours. Your brows pinch together, your open-mouthed expression plaintive. He’s flushed anew with exertion, sweat beading on his forehead, but he only works you harder, his eyes fixed to yours, absolutely concentrated on utterly ruining you.

In the split second before it hits you, you’re still gazing up into his eyes. Soft, dark and emotive; as though concealing an unimaginable depth of feeling. And then every muscle below your waist contracts at once, and you see only white.

It’s like being incinerated; both extreme, stripping sensation and total numbness. Your brain shorts out, your cunt squeezing around his fingers again and again, your own release commingling with his cum in a wash of incomprehensible feeling.

You aren’t sure how long it lasts, but he rides you gently through it, his fingers slowing gradually until he slides them free.

As reason slowly returns to you, you realise your thighs are trembling and cramping from the force of your orgasm. You’re barely aware of what’s happened, only that you want it again, endlessly. Peter’s long limbs are entwined with your own, both your bodies sticky with sweat, but neither of you make any move to get up.

It takes an inordinate amount of effort to force yourself out of his arms to go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. Back in that harsh, bilious light, you test the dampness of your clothes with your fingers, squeezing for moisture. Your jeans are still a bit soggy at the hem, but for the most part everything’s dry. You should get dressed and leave now; it doesn’t sound like the rain’s going to let up anyway. But as you reach to pull his sweatshirt off, you find that you just…can’t do it.

You glance up at your reflection in his mirror. Your lips are swollen, and your hair is a disaster. Your eyes look too bright. You stare at yourself for a long moment, thinking. Then, you flick off the light and walk back out into his apartment.

He’s still leaning back in the bed, though he’s pulled on a pair of sweatpants. You offer him a wry little grimace. “Sorry I interrupted. Can we keep watching?”

His lips are parted over his teeth for a moment as he looks up at you. There’s something there that bothers you; something you can’t immediately identify. It’s not exactly sadness, or worry. It looks almost like regret. But then it’s gone, and he’s giving you that same shy, crooked-jawed smile as before.

“Yeah. Cm’ere.”

This time, you let your head rest against his heart, listening. To his steady, slow beating, and the murmur of the actors’ voices, blocking out all the sirens and engines and thunder of the world outside.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x f!reader #peter parker x female reader #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #tasm peter parker #tasm x reader #tasm smut #tasm fanfic #tasm imagine #andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #andrew garfield!spiderman x reader #the amazing spider man #the amazing spider man smut #the amazing spiderman fanfic #the amazing spiderman imagine

921 notes · View notes

peterparkersnose · 3 years ago

Text

1 girl, 3 spidermen

all the spidermen x pregnant!reader

tom!spiderman x pregnant!reader

andrew!spiderman x pregnant!reader

tobey!spiderman x pregnant!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: pregnancy, mentions of sex, mentions of abortion

summary: Y/N has some fun with all 3 Peter’s, but when she falls pregnant she is unsure of who the father is.

a/n i apologize in advance besties this is going to be so chaotic, everyone is of age

masterlist

read time: 5 mins 46 seconds

Part 2

You sat on the edge of your bathtub, anxiously waiting for your phone timer to go off. Your period was three weeks late, and you were worried. You had also accidentally skipped one of your birth controls, and for your specific one you had to take them for a solid week again to regain the power it once held inside your body. You were 90% sure you were pregnant, you just wanted to be sure.

You had gone on three separate dates, with three separate men. All coincidentally with the same name. You had come to know about the universe theory and how they all came to be on your universe, but you didn’t really understand the concept. They all had no clue they went out with you until they all met up for their weekly meeting.

“Dude, I had the hottest date this week.” “No way, me too.” “Shut up, so did I!”

They soon discovered this girl was the same one they had all been seeing.

The phone alarm beeped and it scared you, causing you to smack the phone off the counter. You picked it back up, hoping it didn’t crack.

You flipped over the test.

Positive.

You groaned, placing your hand on your forehead.

Three possible baby daddies.

Sure, condoms existed, but you were on a budget. Not the smartest idea, yes, but you thought your birth control would work fine. You were also aware of STI’s, but the Peter’s seemed like clean people.

You picked up your phone and called each of them.

Peter 1: “Hey Peter,” “Oh hey Y/N! How’s it going?” “Um, not so great actually.” “What’s wrong?” “Peter, I have to be honest with you. I’m pregnant. And it might be yours,”

There was a long bit of silence. You heard a whooshing sound and then a grunt. “Were you flying?” you asked him. “I’m gonna be a dad?” he asked, excitedly. “Maybe, it could be someone else’s.” “Who else would it be? I don’t think it could be anyone else’s but mine Y/N,” “The other Peter’s,” you sighed. “Ohhh, yeah I mean.” Peter said disappointedly, secretly hoping it was his.

Peter 2: You called him, and it went straight to voicemail. You sighed, deciding to be the chaotic queen you were just sent him a picture of the positive test.

Your phone immediately rang.

“What the hell did you just send me?” he yelled through the phone. “You didn’t pick up.” “Well,” he sighed. You admitted, you guys had the worst date out of all of the Peter’s.

“All I’m saying is that it might be yours.” “Oh,”

“I would recommend a test if your keeping it. If your not, it’s none of my business. But I’ll be there if you need me. Text me, appointments, meetings, anything.” “Thank you Peter,” you smiled.

Peter 3:

“Hey Y/N? How are you? I was just about to text you,” “Oh, really?” “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about you a lot ever since our date.”

“Maybe you should sit, if your not already sitting Pete.” “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked, concerningly. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that- Peter, I’m pregnant.”

“Your what?” he asked. You could almost see his eyes getting wide in your mind. “But I don’t know if it’s yours. It could be-” “Please don’t say the other Peter’s.” he sighed. “The other Peter’s.”

Same with Peter 1, there was a long silence.

“Peter are you okay?” “I really like you Y/N. That is why I am willing to take responsibility. No matter what, I’ll raise that child with you and I’ll do a great job doing it. If your keeping it, of course. If your not, if you want me to, I’ll be there. I’m willing, anything you want. 2AM cravings run to the grocery store. Putting together furniture. Taking care of it.”

You were shocked by his willingness. “I’m going to get a paternity test first chance I get. I appreciate that a lot though,” you said. “Oh well yeah, a paternity test makes sense. Even if I don’t come back as the dad though, I’m willing to help.”

You felt your stomach flutter and a smile came to your face. “Thank you so much Pete. That really means a lot to me.”

You received an invitation to the next weekley Peter meeting. You walked into the apartment of Peter 2 and found them all waiting for you by the door. “Hey!” they all said, almost at the same time. They staggered around you, looking at you in awe. “Can I take your coat?” Peter 1 offered. “I can take your purse,” Peter 3 said. “Would you like some water?” Peter 2 asked. “Yeah, um, sure. Thanks guys.” you said, awkwardly handing your belongings to them.

“So I met with my doctor,” you began to say. You all were sitting around the round table in Peter 2’s kitchen. “Wait, what? I missed an appointment?” Peter 3 asked. “No, it was just to make sure I was actually pregnant. I am.”

All three of them let out a sigh at the same time.

“She said I can get a paternity test starting at 7 weeks, and tomorrow I’ll be 4 weeks.”

“How will this process go?” Peter 2 asked, wrapping his hands together.

“Well, I’m assuming they’ll swab you all for DNA, they’ll extract some from inside of me and test it.”

“Will it hurt the baby?” Peter 1 asked. “No, it shouldn’t. There’s always a chance though, but its very slim.”

“No, I don’t like this.” Peter 3 said abruptly. The three of you looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean?” you asked. “I-I don’t want to hurt the baby. Even potentially. I don’t feel like I want to take that chance.”

You all stared at him. “So your saying you won’t get tested?” you asked him with a pissed off tone. “Not until it is out and healthy. I don’t want to harm this child.”

“You know now that I’m hearing it, Peter 3 has a point,” Peter 2 sighed. “What?” You and Peter 1 said at the same time. “Thank you,” Peter 3 said, waving his arm at Peter 2. “So you guys are telling me I have to wait until this thing is born to find out who the father is?”

“I’m willing to do it now,” Peter 1 said. “But Peter, it could hurt the baby.” Peter 3 said, “Yeah,” Peter 2 followed. “This is ridiculous, are you even keeping it?” Peter 1 asked. “I am, yeah.”

“I mean, I don’t know. It’s a clump of cells right now. Maybe I can wait.” you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I’ll sway with the majority but I still think we should be doing this now. Who is going to take care of Y/N during her pregnancy? I can’t! MIT start’s next month.” Peter 1 asked.

“I said I’d be there no matter what.” Peter 3 said. “What? What if it’s not even yours?” Peter 2 argued. “I’ll love it either way.”

“Your not even dating Y/N!” Peter 1 pointed out. “Yet,” Peter 3 smirked, giving you a wink. You looked away and blushed. “Oh god,” Peter 2 said, putting his hand on his forehead.

“So, the plan…” Peter 3 started. “Y/N, how would you like this to go?” he asked. “Um,” you thought. “Peter 1 is going to MIT. That is priority.” you stated. “He is far too young to be dealing with anything like this.” you said, cursing yourself for hooking up with a 19 year old. You yourself was 23, and had no clue Peter was 19 at the time. “Peter 2 and 3 have solid jobs, so that is also priority.”

“No Y/N, you two are the new priority in my life.” Peter 3 said. It made you cringe thinking about what he just said. You two. “Me and Peter 2 can switch days while Peter 1 can visit on the weekends. Do you guys think that’s a good plan?” Peter 3 suggested. They all mumbled a yeah.

“What about you, Y/N? How is work going to work for you?”

“Im pregnant Peter 3, not dying. I can still go, you guys can come after work. If you want.”

“Of course we want to Y/N,” Peter 2 re assured you. “I don’t like all this ‘putting yourself second’ stuff. We’re here to help.” Peter 2 said, grabbing your hand from across the table.

You were on the subway home, scrolling on your phone. You get a text notification saying you’ve been added to a group chat. You click on the notification.

Spidey Baby Daddies

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,”

Join the tag list

vote on who you think the father should be

Update post here (not a part 2, but please read)

PART 2

517 notes · View notes

lesbianjackies · 3 years ago

Text

Touch Me - Part One

Part Two

TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,735

Warnings: Mentions of abuse from Hydra, mentions of death, mentions of food

Summary: You've been locked in a cell for as long as you can remember - which isn't saying much, considering you barely remember anything. Everything changes when you're rescued by the Avengers.

A/N: Don't let Wanda fool you - yes, this is a Peter Parker x Reader, but Wanda is going to be an extremely important character. The concept is kind of a mess but it's basically a TASM!Peter Parker x Reader series inspired by Shatter Me by Taherah Mafi and with Andrew's Peter replacing Tom's. Peter isn't in this part but I promise you will get lots of him soon, I just needed to set the story up with part one. I hope you enjoy it! I'm very excited to continue writing it, I've had this idea for a while. (And don't worry, I will be continuing my Five Hargreeves series Riddle Me This, this is just another idea I had that I didn't want to wait for.)

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. You don’t know anything, really, other than your name, which is (Y/N), and your age, which is 17, and that if you touch someone you kill them. You’ve been in this room as long as you can remember, this cold gray metal room with one gray metal toilet and one window and one gray metal shower and one gray metal speaker in the left corner of the room and one gray metal camera in the right corner of the room and one gray metal bed on which there is nothing but one worn gray blanket. You’ve never left the room, or at least you don’t think you have, but you can’t really know for sure, because you don’t remember anything but your name and your age and that you kill people when you touch them.

The big door opens once a day, and the little door at the bottom of the big door opens three times a day. The little door opens for food, or at least you think it’s food; if you’re being honest you’re not really sure. The big door opens when they send in a person. They send in a person, sometimes a woman, sometimes a man, always between the ages of 18 and 30. Then they speak through the speaker and they always say, “Touch them, (Y/N),” and you always do. You always do because you didn’t once and then they came into the room and then they hurt you until you couldn’t hurt anymore. You always touch them and then they always scream and scream and beg you to stop but you don’t stop, you don’t stop until the people in the speaker tell you to stop, and they never tell you to stop until the person who came in through the big door is dead. And then they collect the body and they lock you in the cold gray metal room and then you cry until you can’t cry anymore.

When the doors are not opened all you do is sit. You sit alone and with nothing to do and you count the seconds as they pass and you look through your little window where there is nothing to see but ice and you wait for the torture to start again. You want to leave, but you don’t know where you would go, or if there even is anywhere to go, so you do what you’re told and you sit in the room and you count the seconds as they pass.

A loud boom sounds from outside your cell and you pay it no attention. Loud sounds are a common occurance wherever you are. You continue counting. A boom sounds again, and this time it’s followed by a very loud, scream-like sound. It’s not screaming, though. Screaming is normal here. This is like a machine screaming. This is not normal. Another abnormal sound comes from on the other side of the big door and you scramble to the farthest edge from it. It sounds like someone is trying to kick it in. It sounds and sounds and sounds and with each sound the door dents. After ten sounds and ten dents the door falls into the room.

A very muscular blond man wearing an odd red, white, and blue skin tight suit and carrying a shield steps in. “Come on,” he says.

You stare at him blankly, terrified.

“Come on, I’m getting you out of here!” He looks behind him frantically.

You still say nothing.

“Please, we don’t have much time!” His voice becomes panicked.

You’re scared and confused. “Who are you?” Your voice is raspy from lack of use.

“Call me Steve,” he says. “Please, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help.”

“Help me?”

“Yes. I’m going to get you out of here. So the people here can’t hurt you anymore.”

You nod slowly and he reaches toward you as if he’s going to pick you up and you almost lurch away before you notice he’s wearing gloves. You allow him to carry you and he runs through a place that looks like a laboratory. It’s horrifying and you recognize so many of the people, staring at you, fighting other people with similar but different outfits. There is so much dead, dead, dead, and you’re used to dead, but you’ve never seen so much of it in one place before.

Steve runs through without stopping, the people who hurt you and make you hurt people too preoccupied with his friends to notice him carrying you away. You’re cold and scared and you almost bury your head in his neck but then you remember you’d kill him if you did that so you keep your head up even as you shiver in the snow outside the building. He keeps running and you think he might never stop but then he does, in front of a large white plane that you almost didn’t notice because it blends so well into the snow. He hoists you up into it.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Which isn’t saying a lot, considered all you’ve ever seen before is a cold gray metal room. It’s nice, comfortable, with seats and tables and food that looks much better than the maybe-food you’d been given in the cell. You run around, touching everything and looking at everything and laughing because you’ve never seen anything good before. You pick up a bag labeled “Doritos” and open it. There are orange triangle shapes that you think are food inside. You eat one and your eyes widen. It’s good. You’ve never eaten good food before. You stuff another triangle into your mouth and quickly devour the entire bag, licking the orange dust off your fingers when you finish.

“Like ‘em?” Steve asks, grabbing a bag labeled “Lays” for himself. You nod, eyes wide, and he chuckles. “Feel free to eat whatever you want. You can have something to drink, too.”

He leads you over to a small white fridge and opens it. Inside are bottles of water and colorful cans with who knows what inside. You pick a silver can with “Diet Coke” printed in red writing on it and open it, taking a sip. You grin and down the entire can. You throw yourself onto one of the chairs and gasp at how comfortable it is. You snuggle into the plush white and sigh contentedly.

The plane door opens again and you sit up curiously. The people you saw fighting the people who hurt you earlier walk in. “Is she okay?” asks a red-haired woman wearing all black.

“Yes,” Steve responds. “She’s just not used to life outside of Hydra.”

The red-haired woman nods and sits down beside you. “I’m Natasha.”

“Nice to meet you, Natasha,” you say politely. “I’m (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)?” A brown-haired woman wearing a red jacket walks over, looking confused.

“Yes. That is my name,” you tell her. “It is one of the three things I know.”

“What do you mean, it’s one of the three things you know?” asks a dark-haired man wearing sunglasses.

“I know three things. My name is (Y/N), I’m seventeen years old, and when I touch people, they die.”

“When you touch people they what?” A brown-haired man with a quiver of arrows strapped to his back looks horrified.

“They die,” you repeat.

“Hydra’s testing,” the woman wearing the red jacket speaks up again. “Like what they did to Pietro and me. They turned M- they turned (Y/N) into a weapon.” She looks down, an expression you can’t read on her face.

Natasha turns to you, smiling kindly. “Would you like a change of clothes.”

“Yes,” you reply. “Yes, please.”

She nods and leaves, coming back a few minutes later with a green sweater and some plaid overalls. “You can change in here.”

You step into the bathroom and pull on the clothes, stopping when you glimpse your reflection in the mirror. You step toward it tentatively; you’ve never seen yourself before. Your hair is long and scraggly, a little dull in color. You have dark circles under your eyes, and your face is scattered with bruises and marked with scars. You look away and walk out of the bathroom.

“...but she doesn’t remember,” the woman wearing the red jacket is saying, but she stops when she sees you enter. She gives you a pained smile. “Hello, (Y/N).”

“Hello,” you reply. “I would say your name, too, but I don’t know it.”

Her smile falters for a second, but she quickly pastes it back on. “It’s- it’s Wanda.”

“Well, hello, Wanda.” You smile back. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s… nice to meet you too.”

The man wearing sunglasses clears his throat. “We need to figure out a way to solve your little… touching problem.”

“You can do that?” you breathe.

“We can try,” another man speaks up. He has gray hair and is wearing a purple shirt. “I’m Bruce, by the way.” He holds his hand out for you to shake and you stare at it for a second before he pulls it back awkwardly. “Sorry…” He chuckles uncomfortably. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“(Y/N).” You turn to Steve. “Let me introduce everyone. You’ve met Nat, Wanda, and Bruce, but that’s Tony,” - he points at the man wearing sunglasses - “Clint,” - the man with the arrows - “Bucky,” - a stoic looking man with an arm that seems to be made of metal - “Sam,” - a dark-skinned man wearing red-tinted glasses - “Rhodey,” - another dark-skinned man wearing what looks like a gray suit of armor - “and Thor.” - a large man with long blond hair who’s holding a very big hammer.

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” you say. They nod in greeting and you sit back down on the comfy chair.

Natasha pulls a very warm blanket over you. “You should get some sleep. I’m sure you didn’t get much where you were.”

You nod, and with the comfy chair under you and the warm blanket over you, you realize just how tired you really are. You yawn and curl up, falling asleep almost instantly. Funny how you woke up in a cold dark room on a hard metal bed, and you’re falling asleep in a warm bright room on a soft comfortable chair. You can’t say the change is unwelcome.

80 notes · View notes

verus-veritas · 4 years ago

Text

Legacy

Revenge, Technology, Mind Transference, with a dash of unrequited love. What’s not to love? /Verus

"Dude! P-please! I'm sorry! Whatever you think I've done, it must all be a mistake!" Andew yelled, thrashing against his confinements and eyeing the only point of exit in the room. His firm muscles were wet and taut against his clothes, and his handsome face flush red with terror and worry.

"Are you really sorry though? It didn't seem like it from the way you acted during Gavin's funeral. The sneers and laughter you made as his parents said their final words to him..." I said, hiding in the shadows. Only my feet and the contours of my body was visible for him to see.

"N-no offense. I just found it funny when the parents said they wish he'd atleast gotten a girlfriend before he passed away-" The same devious sneer returned on his perfectly handsome face, as he most likely remembered the scene in his head.

"Of course you found it funny. Because you knew he was completely gay. Gay, and had a massive crush on you for ages. He literally worshipped the ground you walked on, and spent most of his waking hours wishing he could be with you." I explained, slowly walking around him as I pulled out a flimsy latex cap with electronical nodes attached to it.

"And I let him. I did no wrong." Andrew talked back. His eyes following my figure until I stood directly behind him.

"No! You lead him on, made him believe you were actually interested in him. And then you destroyed him. You are the reason he ran out of the house crying, and you are the reason he didn't see the truck speeding towards him!" My voice was shaking as I quickly slapped the cap onto his head, accidentally pulling out a few strands of his hair.

"Ouuch! Get this thing off me!" He shook his head and began thrashing about again.

"You know. He really loved you... He said he was going to make you the happiest man on earth. Showering you with gifts and undying love, and be by your side forever and ever. That's why he trusted you so wholeheartedly and let you do whatever you wanted."

"Naive..." He quietly muttered under his breath.

"He was even fine with you staring and drooling over other girls. As long as he could stay by your side."

"What a fag..." I could hear him gritting his teeth.

"But that evening when you invited him over, only to have him find you in the bedroom hooking up with a random girl... that completely ruined him. You shattered his dream, his self-confidence, and his sensitive soul! He didn't know what to do and where to go, which is why he ran straight out into the traffic..." My voice was uncontrollably going up and down now, as I was unable to hide my emotions.

"Dude only had himself to blame. He should've known I only had him around for the free stuff he bought for me." Andrew snickered, as he looked down at the expensive shorts Gavin had bought for him a few weeks prior.

"How dare you!" I tried to punch his shoulder, but knew I was too weak to do any real damage against his hard muscles.

"Y'know... it almost sounds like you had feelings for him- Wait a minute! You're that pastry white kid that always walked around with him aren't you?! Hah! 'Ghost boy' we called you!" The tone in his voice shifted - with more confidence and arrogance. Back to the way he normally talked - a manipulative bastard at heart. "I see. So you best friend Gavin never had feelings for you, and now that he's gone you blame yourself for not having stopped him."

"......" I clenched my hands till my knuckles turned white.

"Hah! Maybe you really were a horrible friend. Have you thought about that you might be the reason he's dead?" He laughed, obviously enjoying the way he was toying with my feelings.

"...you have no idea..." I mumbled, as tears began to flow down my cheeks.

"Maybe you should be the one sitting in this chair - tied up and wearing this stupid cap on your head. Hehe."

I took a deep breath and calmed myself, before walking around him once again and turning so he could see me. See the real me... one last time. "I will. Soon."

"W-what do you mean with that? And why are you also wearing that ridiculous cap?" He asked. His tone in voice once again becoming panicked and anxious.

"You see. The reason why I'm so pale is because I spend so much time at home playing with my inventions and devices. Coding is one of my favorite things to do. And for the last few months I've relentlessly been working on creating this device we're both wearing right now. It was originally only meant to be used on you, recoding the patterns in your brain into loving Gavin as much as he loved you. While also erasing all of your bad traits and turning you into his ideal boyfriend... but there's no reason for that anymore, is there? So, I upgraded it into 2.0, which can now be used with two people."

"P-pff... yeah right... and what does this new version do then?"

"It can transfer the consciousness between two human brains. Even recoding the brain into believing the new consciousness have always been in control of its own body. All the memories, habits, and even muscle memory will be easily accessible to the new permanent owner." I explained, as I began fiddling with a machine by our side. The nodes on our caps lit up.

"Permanent?! Wait a minute. Let's say all of this freaky sci-fi stuff is actually real, what's going to happen to my consciousness?" Andrew asked, as he began to get more anxious by the beeping sound of the nodes on his head.

"All gone. Overwritten by mine. Erased out of existence with no way of restoring it." I answered nonchalantly. Flicking the last switched around, the device was now ready to be activated.

"What the fuck! Then you're basically killing me?! Get me out of here, you sick freak!" He began violently thrashing against the back of the chair, and flung his head around to get the latex cap off... but to no avail.

"Am I really though? Your memories, your body, and your relationships will all still be here, under my complete control. I'm just... discarding a small part of you that's no longer necessary."

"No...no... Help! HELP! SOMEONE!! THIS CRAZY MOTHERFUCKER IS GOING TO KILL ME!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, but the soundproofed walls would do him no good.

I flicked the final switch and walked over to him as the machine began buzzing. Standing in front of him, I suddenly sat down on his lap and grabbed hold of his face. I stared into his fearful yet piercing blue eyes and slid my hands across the cheeks and contours of his face.

"This beautiful face of yours that Gavin loved, I promise I'll take good care of it and cherish it until the day I die. It's the least I can do to honor my friend Gavin." I leaned forward and gently laid a kiss on his sweaty forehead, while holding him in place as he screamed for all he was worth.

"No! Noo! NOoO-Uoogguuughhhh" His scream turned into a gurgle as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. At the same time, my eyes went white and hazy as my pastry body slumped over and fell on the cement floor. Most likely cracked open its head or something from the sound of it.

"NgOOuoouughhgguuuhh!!!" Andrew's head flung back and forth as if to fight whatever was invading his head, but it barely took a minute before the thrashing suddenly stopped and his head slumped down.

His eyes were closed, his face flushed red from exertion, and the sweat and drool pooled down onto his expensive shorts. A further five minutes of stillness and blinking nodes passed before any activity was seen.

---

*Gasp*

I awoke to the cap on my head giving me a quick electric shock. In front of me laid my old withered body, lifeless and without a doubt stone dead. My throat felt dry and tired, and the ties on my arms hurt like hell. In fact, everything felt, looked, and smelt different. The smell oozing from my sweaty clothes that once smelt great now stunk in my nose. I could recall from Andrew's memories that he showered atleast twice a day. I showered atleast twice a day.

After some fiddling with the special knots in my back, I easily slipped the rope off. Massaging the sore parts on my wrist, I soon relished in how big and strong my new hands looked now. Hands who should've been holding Gavin's...

I explored further up till I reached my new bulging biceps. Squeezing them I felt how firm and taut they were. I never in a million years would have managed to get myself this big, but here I was, standing in the body of a perfect specimen. The body of the man who my friend loved, but who didn't truly love him back. If only I could've done this before Gavin died... Would he have loved me instead, or would he have hated me for what I had done? Well, atleast he would've been alive.

My focus went to my Andrew face, as I caressed the blemish-free skin and the small stubble forming on it. The face of the man I had hated for a while, the face of the man whose identity I would have to take over, and the face I would see in the mirror for as long as I breathed. It was one of the most handsome faces I've ever laid my eyes on no doubt, so I'm perfectly fine with that decision.

My hands continued to explore what was now mine; running fingers through my lush but wet hair, following the outline of my cobblestone abs, and shaking my strong and muscular legs awake from sitting too long.

Not long after I finally slipped the drool and sweat-soaked shorts off myself and watched as the tool between my legs arose to its new owner. It might not have been as long as my former one, but the very girth of it made up for it. As I enveloped it between my palms, I realized that no one had ever been as intimate with Andrew's tool as I was now, and no one would ever be. Not even Gavin would if he was somehow resurrected. Only I, Andrew would ever know how this throbbing member would feel in my own hands, the endorphins and pleasure its touch would send throughout my amazing body, and the ultimate earth-shattering orgasms I would experience as I edge myself to climax every day from now on.

The very thought of it immediately brought me to the brink of orgasm, so I quickly spread my legs apart and thrust the member fully through my grasp. It was all that was needed as I suddenly began shaking with pleasure and exploded shot after shot of Andrew seed all over the floor, myself and my former lifeless body."Ugh! Uuuugh! UUUuOOGggHH!!"

“.... Holy shit.....” I moaned, slightly shocked by the unfamiliarity of the new voice coming from my throat.

Reeling from my first ever orgasm in my new body and life, I sat back down on the chair and took a breather. I was sweaty, my crotch sticky, and my armpits stunk. Yet, I know I still looked glorious. How couldn't I? After all, I am Andrew. The man who Gavin loved, and who loved him back just as much, if not even more...

I will dedicate this new life of mine to worship and care for this body just as much as Gavin would have. His legacy, Andrew's body and life, and my consciousness have finally become one... and I promise I will carry them with pride and confidence to the grave... even if it is the only thing I will accomplish in this short insignificant life of mine.

#possession #revenge #selflove #love #dark #permanent #identity theft #mine

464 notes · View notes

papipopsicle · 3 years ago

Text

AFTERTASTE PART SEVEN

Pairing: Archie Andrews X Reader

Summary: In which two best friends since childhood test whether sex and friendship can co-exist without causing conflict. Including OC's Flick and Cherry, a bisexual and lesbian in a sapphic relationship who are best friends of Y/N.

Song: Dream Boy by Waterparks

Warnings: swearing

Words: 2.1K

MASTERLIST

feedback is always appreciated

Y/F and Y/M Robins were far from perfect parents. Y/F had the mental age of a toddler at times, and being an estate agent who always has to go the extra mile- he often wasn't home when his wife needed him the most. Y/M, on the other end of things, had been a stay at home mum until Y/N turned 16 last summer, and now she helped with all the administrative work for Mayor McCoy. She was a maternal creature which, coupled with her brilliant sarcasm, made for some explosive conversations. The two met on the first day of university and got married a week after the last.

When Y/M first found out she was pregnant with little Y/S Robins, the two realised they wanted a quiet bubble of a town to raise their children and grow up with them. But it wasn't until their second daughter was about to turn seven until they found their forever home in the quaint town of Riverdale. Ten years passing before their eyes, and the picturesque place didn't seen all that anymore.

Jason Blossom's death had nothing to do with the short gunshot sounding over the waves of Sweetwater River, the noise which woke Y/N from her sweet unmemorable dreams every few nights. The summer days rolled into early August without anyone caring, Y/N spending most of them at Cheryl's side listening intently to her past adventures with her brother. Betty threw herself into an internship at a publication house; Flick and Cherry had volunteered at a summer camp, and Archie was helping his dad out more and more with constructions job.

Although it hadn't been the start to the relationship Y/N had hoped for- the nervous giggles and hand holding, short and sweet kisses on late night walks followed by poetry worthy cuddling. There was a magnificent silver lining as Archie's muscles gained definition, and he suited the sweaty builder look far too well.

[INSTAGRAM]

♡ 602 likes

y/n Humph!

129 Comments | Tagged: cherylbombshell

view comments

♡ 584 likes

Cheryl busy being my own icon

98 Comments | Tagged: y/i/n

view comments

"Earth to my gorgeous queen? Y/N/N?" Cheryl quizzed her friend, who currently resided at the poolside of Thornehill Manor. Her mind was off on a glorious tangent about her rendezvous in the kitchen at two in the morning. Fixing herself a glass of water, when Archie slips his hand into her pyjama shorts, his other around her mouth muffling her needy moans.

The red headed beauty shoved her y/h/c friend playfully, warm skin sweaty under her pale touch. Y/N blinked innocently and sent her an apologetic smile, "What?"

"I asked if you've thought about dating anyone else since Clayton?" The fiery ginger girl enquired with her usual upbeat tone.

Cheryl knew she had a unique quality about her which made it almost impossible for Y/N to lie to her face. The y/h/c girl scrunched up her nose, hiding the smile the idea of Archie Andrews brought to her face. 'Yes. We started off as fuck buddies but never actually fucked. Then I drunkenly asked him to be my boyfriend, now a month later I think we may genuinely work out.'

"Maybe." Y/N bit her bottom lip, listening to her friend's squeal as she squeezed her sun tanned arm.

"I knew it! You have this euphoric glow you only get when someone else makes you climax." The redhead affirmed confidently, watching the Robins girl's eyes bug out before hitting her arm, "Y/N/N, you know your secret's safe with me."

"Fine." She sighed and took a sip of her fruity cocktail, "It started off as just fooling around, honestly I just needed to let off some steam after everything. I knew he was into the kinds of things I was, I mean he used to tease me about it non stop. And it was good, so good I stopped being a pussy and asked him to be my boyfriend."

"Holy freaking hell!" The Blossom girl grinned with excitement, "Dare I ask, who is it?"

Y/N deadpanned at her friend, "Guess."

"Please don't tell me it's that muscular oaf Reggie, he's pretty but there's not exactly much going on upstairs." Cheryl tapped her temples and rolled her eyes at the thought.

"Nope."

The ginger thought for a moment, consulting her liquid courage and splashing her feet around the waters edge, "It's Archie."

All it took was a side-eyed glance at the y/h/c girl's blooming rosy cheeks to know she definitely wasn't wrong. Y/N severely lacked the ability to lie, even if her tone held conviction, her features were far too expressive and told the truth all on their own. It's not like they were hiding it from anyone, but the past four weeks had gone far too quickly without any moments to spare for the world around them. They slept together each night, the majority of that time not actually spent sleeping, but they hadn't been given the chance yet to explore more romantic avenues.

"It's fucking Archie Andrews- you're fucking Archie Andrews and don't you dare deny it." Cheryl gawked in her gorgeous white and nude bikini, watching as her friend lay back against the hot marble slabs which encased the large pool with the largest grin adorning her plump lips.

"We haven't had sex yet, so technically you aren't completely correct." Y/N winked but carried on before the girl exploded with a hundred questions and could never be turned off, "Trust me, I want to, and I'm sure he does too. But you know, it's his first time, I want it to be perfect for him."

"Y/N/N, you really love him, don't you?" Cheryl gagged to begin with, but she found it sweet in truth. She wanted someone to hold, who would hold her right back just as tight for no other reason than needing to.

Y/N sat back up and paddled her feet, "You have no idea, Cher."

Arch 🧡

That new post should be illegal

Tiger 💛

Ooo

I like this reaction

Maybe I should post more

Like this one

Cheryl pushed me in the pool

And I may have had a drink

Or three

Arch 🧡

Well that's sexy

I swear nobody looks good like that how on earth

You're a goddess

But also

How's she holding up?

Tiger 💛

🥺😇

Broken

But she's strong yk

You coming over for dinner?

Arch 🧡

Yeah Y/D invited my dad too

Need me to pick you up from Cheryl's?

Tiger 💛

Awe cute we love a bromance, and it's all good my mommas coming now anyways :))

Hours had elapsed far too fast and soon the summer heat simmered into cool waves of wind brushing over sun kissed skin. Cheryl's arms were clasped around the blonde's shoulders in a tight embrace.

"Thank you so much, Y/N/N, I don't know what I'd do without you!" The Blossom girl professed with sparkling eyes and a brilliant smile.

Y/N beamed up at her, fingers carding through her damp y/h/c hair as she looked over her shoulder to see her mum pulling into the driveway, "You don't need to thank me, Cher, friends look after each other. Message me if you need me, okay?"

Cheryl promised she would and the two teen girls hugged goodbye, with Y/N soon heading home- listening to her mother gossip about Hal and Alice's screaming match last night, Y/N loved her inability to keep her mouth shut sometimes.

"Mom," The y/h/c stopped her mid sentence and received a side eyed glance in response, "I need to tell you something and you're totally not allowed to freak out while you're driving."

Y/M's eyes widened and her grip tightened around the steering wheel, her daughters very rarely confided in her. While she knew her youngest was safe in her promiscuity, neither of Y/M Robins' girls ever shared their secrets so for the most part she took finding out into her own hands.

"Honey," The forty four year old's calm tone was hardly comforting to the teenager, "if this is about you and Archie fooling around, your father and I figured that out a long time ago, like so long ago. Who do you think does your laundry? When your underwear starting looking like dental floss, we caught on pretty quickly."

Y/N felt like a deer in headlights, "Mum, what the hell?" Her cheeks heated to an inhuman temperature.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, as long as you're being safe and he's-"

"For the second time today, and I can't believe I'm saying this to you, but I am not having sex with Archie Andrews!" Y/N's high pitched voice sounded through the car. It truly was a blessing and a curse to have such open minded parents in situations like this. She thought about telling her mother the truth, but Y/M was a blabber mouth as well as a gossip, so Y/N chose to withhold certain pieces of information.

The Robins matriarch dropped the subject but didn't forget about her daughter's tone, and continued to ramble on about how odd she found Penelope Blossom and the whole Blossom family in general. "Like why on Earth is Rose in a wooden wheelchair? They know it's the twenty first century, right?"

As expected, the Robins household was once again filled with warm laughter and copious amounts of food. The topic of Jason was skimmed over, and Y/S found herself away from the dinner table. The eldest Robins sibling was currently pleading with Alice as she began shoving all of Polly's belongings in the boot of Hal's car. She couldn't comprehend life without her best friend, not after losing Jason. They were meant to be going travelling together for a year- working the worst jobs and staying up all night to watch the sun rise in different countries. But instead, Y/S's eyes were blinded by tears as she screamed down the street at the speeding car, with Polly Cooper taken out of her life indefinitely.

Y/N was oblivious to the dark inner workings of the Cooper clan, Betty's knowledge about her and Archie unbeknownst to the loved up teens. She'd spent every second not occupied by her internship trying to justify the romantic act as a fleeting moment of loneliness fuelled by alcohol. She wrote in her diary ideas on how she could win Archie back over, not knowing it was in fact, too late. Betty found herself hopelessly in love with the boy next door, unfortunately for her, the girl across the road was the only one his mind found.

Archie and Y/N washed up while their parents resided to the living room with three glasses and a bottle of white wine. The short girl turned the tap off after placing the last utensil on the draining board, flicking her sudsy hands at the boy's face. "What the-"

She didn't give him a chance to finish that thought, jumping up and wrapping her legs around his torso- planting a kiss onto his lips, then cheeks, then forehead. The two fell entranced by each other, planting pecks across nape of her neck and top of his head.

"Son," Fred's voice called out from the next room and the two immediately pulled apart, hearts beating in their ears, "we're going in a minute."

"Alright." He replied, placing his girlfriend on the floor once more.

"I wish you'd stay." Y/N pouted childishly, she meant the words entirely but hated feeling overbearing. Her life had been turned upside down this summer, it started off with her unable to fall asleep with another person next to her- now Archie's chest was her most comfortable pillow and is arms were the warmest blanket.

"Tomorrow night instead, Princess? I promised my dad I'd spend more time with him before senior year." The boy reasoned, holding her close and unknowingly feeling the exact same way, he adored holding her by her waist and pulling her close under the duvet.

"Monopoly night at yours?" She grinned and he nodded back in reply, the two sharing a final kiss in the kitchen before walking into the hallway.

Y/N felt at ease as she wished the two a goodnight and headed up to bed. She took off her tea dress and replaced it with Archie's bulldog t-shirt, managing to reach the same length on her thighs as her dress did.

Arch 🧡

I can still smell your perfume on my sheets

Tiger 💛

Marking my territory obviously x

Arch 🧡

I love it

Hope you sleep well baby x

Tiger 💛

Call me that tomorrow and we won't be sleeping so you better rest up tonight x

Arch 🧡

Whatever you say, baby x

Tiger 💛

Goodnight x

Arch 🧡

Night princess x

part eight?

wanna be tagged? just send in an ask x

#fanfic #fanfiction #riverdale #archie andrews #archie x reader #archie andrews x reader #archie #Riverdale imagine #riverdale fluff #riverdale smut #riverdale imagines #archie imagine #fluff #smut

142 notes · View notes

raysofcrosby · 4 years ago

Text

WHATEVER LIFE THROWS AT YOU – m. tkachuk

part five – MORE TREATS THAN TRICKS

warning(s): none.

summary: it’s halloween and matt makes well on his promise to help ethan work on his wrist-shot before trick-or-treating and a night of passing out candy to trick-or-treaters leaves matt feeling a little nostalgic for halloween’s past. and when the night comes to end, he gets a little halloween surprise of his own.

word count: 10,040

an: lowkey this made me excited for halloween lol

⇠ previous part • playlist • series masterlist • join the series taglist • next part ⇢

In the four days since Matt ran into Caroline, Susan, and Ethan at the store, he’s gone for ‘relaxing walks’ around the neighborhood with his Mom, helped her decorate the outside of their house for Halloween, attended his second physical therapy appointment and contemplated making a spam Instagram account so he could look through Caroline’s profile again. While he didn’t make a spam Instagram account, on the grounds that even he realized the idea was sort of creepy, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t have underlying motives for going on the walks.

Because during those walks, he’d come to learn about what took place during the last eight years of Caroline’s life. His Mom strayed away from the immediate aftermath of what took place once he went off to London and their relationship ended. Really just giving him the SparkNotes version of everything that happened. After graduation, she moved downtown, attended St. Louis University, and graduated with a Bachelor’s in Education in four years. Right after, she got a job as an English teacher at Grove Park High School and started on her Masters. Apparently, her Aunt Clara had gifted her the house down the road that her Grandmother had owned. The same house that the two, when it laid vacant, would climb over the fence and sneak their way inside through a key Caroline knew for a fact was always hidden beneath one of the heavy brick stones that outlined the edge of the back porch.

She never went into detail about her husband or Ethan’s father, and while Matt wanted to ask and push her for details, he knew she probably avoided talking about it because it was like an old reflex. Caroline Marsh was very taboo to Matt and he knew that even after he told his family he was fine, they’d still try to save him the details. When he asked why he hasn’t seen her in the summer for the month he’s there before all of their family vacations and trips are planned to start, she told him that she visits Clara with Ethan.

Made perfect sense because Aunt Clara was always someone Caroline looked up to. There was a pretty significant age gap between Susan and Clara of fifteen years. So when Susan and Richard, Caroline’s Dad, had Caroline...Clara was only 10, 18 when Andrew, Caroline’s brother was born. Which, of course, gave Clara the title of the cool Aunt. When they were 15, Clara was 25 and traveling around the country out of her Father’s old ‘72 Volkswagen bus and doing freelance work to make ends meet without needing to dip into her savings.

Clara was actually the reason why Caroline and Matt even crossed the friendship line. When in sixth grade it was announced that their respective schools were coming together and hosting a winter dance, Matt wasn’t even sure he wanted to go. His Mom was more excited about it than he was and he didn’t want to dress up. When he went next door to ask if Caroline wanted to come over to do homework, it was Clara who answered the door and invited him in to wait for Caroline to come downstairs after she told her that Matt was there.

“I heard about the dance, are you excited?” She was visiting her sister and brother-in-law, wrapping up her winter exams at Saint Louis University.

“Not really,” his face scrunched up as she shook his head. “Aren’t dances kind of stupid?”

“Oh no, dances are the best.” She smiled, sitting down on the couch and motioning for him to sit. “You get to just hang out with your friends at night, dance to fun music, you even get to make fun of your teachers out of the classroom.”

He sat down in Mr. Marsh’s recliner. “Did you go to any dances?”

“Every single one from junior high to high school.” She nodded, turning the volume on the tv down. “I think I had a date to all but maybe two. But that was because my boyfriend was a jerk.”

“What’s the point of going with a date if you’re just going to hang out with your friends?” He asked, leaving back into the chair and draping his legs over the arm of it.

“Because you can dance with your friends to fast songs, but you can’t really slow-dance with them. Well, you could, but that would just be kind of awkward, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d want to do that.” Matt laughed, nodding his head. “Do you have to have a date?”

“No, but some people like the idea of it. Lots of kids your age will ask their crush to be their date.” She looked at him, picking up her water. “Any girl friends of yours come to mind?”

Matt immediately shook his head, hoping that she wouldn’t notice the way his eyes had widened or his cheeks were starting to heat up. “N-No, not really….”

“Not even Caroline?” Yeah, guess he wasn’t so slick after all.

He shook his head, scooting his legs off of the arm and putting them on the floor. “She wouldn’t go if I asked. She’s my best friend.”

“Well, Matt,” she leaned forward and put her water back down, turning to him. “What if I told you that I had it on good authority, that Caroline likes you?”

“Really?”

“Mhhm, but you can’t tell anyone I said anything, it’s a secret.” She smiled at him, resting her chin on her hands. “And I can guarantee that if you asked her to be your date to the dance, she’ll say yes.”

“I don’t even know how to be a date,” he replied, scrunching his nose.

“There’s not much to it, Matthew. You guys just hang out and talk like you normally do. If a slow song comes on, you can go out and dance together if you’d like. You can hold her hand, kiss–”

“KISS?!” His eyes all but bugged out of his head as he felt his cheeks grow warm. “Miss. Clara, we’re best friends. Even if we do...like each other, wouldn’t that be weird?”

“Sometimes the best relationships come from friendships, Matthew,” she laughed, leaning back into the couch as the footsteps echoed down the stairs. “Remember what I told you...secret.”

In the end, Caroline ended up asking HIM to be her date to the winter dance when they were lying in the middle of the living room doing their homework. Both of their moms were giddy over the entire thing, making sure that his shirt matched her dress, setting up a time to take pictures– you’d think they were going to the prom. But Clara had been right, even if they were there as dates, it was just like any other time they hung out. They danced with their friends, made fun of some of the music choices thinking that the teachers from both schools must have picked some. They laughed and joked together like nothing had changed.

And when he finally got the nerve to ask if she wanted to dance during Bless the Broken Road, he was still surprised that she said yes. Everything about it was awkward as they tried to copy the way everyone else was dancing— his hands on her hips, hers on his shoulders, way too much room in between. But at some point, Caroline just wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him and he was more than positive that she could feel his heart racing against his chest. And as the song drew to an end, she pulled back and their friends around them started to giggle, but they didn’t care. She was the one who asked him to be her date, he was the one who asked her to dance, but they both leaned in for the kiss at the same time.

Yeah, Matt owed Aunt Clara a lot. Though, he might start holding a grudge against her since she’s the reason why he can never see her for that first month he’s home— cause Caroline chooses to visit. He couldn’t contain his surprise though when his Mom told him how Clara was actually settled down in Florida now with a husband and two kids.

He also learned that his Mom started gardening shortly after he went to Calgary a few months back, the Landry’s down the street’s oldest son is a quarterback at Mizzou and projected to go as the overall pick in the draft after this season, the boy two streets over actually goes to school with Taryn now, transferring in and they’re been getting pretty close (over Matt’s dead body, no way) and that Andrew, Caroline’s younger brother is set to sign his letter of intent to play baseball at the Vanderbilt in just a few short months.

The only thing he didn’t learn, but desperately wanted to...was why he hadn’t seen Caroline or Ethan since the run-in at Wal-Mart. It’s not like they didn’t have the weekend to bump into each other, or even yesterday and this morning since he’d learned from Brady that both his parents and the Marsh’s rotate on who takes Ethan to school since she has to go in earlier than he does.

But the day was halfway over and his parents said Ethan would come over at 5 pm before they took him trick or treating at 6. Matt came home from his check-up at 4 and was able to shower and get dressed before grabbing the binder of hockey cards off of his dresser and sat down in the living room watching tv to pass the time before Ethan got dropped off.

Much to his disappointment, Caroline had dropped Ethan off at 4:45, right when Matt was downstairs adjusting the shooting tarp against the wall. He was hoping that he’d get to say hi again, but like the last eight summers— he just missed her. If it wasn’t for Ethan ready to rush down the basement steps and bump right into Matt at the top of the steps, Matt wouldn’t have even known he was there.

God, he was such a rambunctious kid. It probably took him about ten minutes of making sure he got to say hi to Keith and Chantal before Matt could finally get him to settle down on the living room couch where he and Brady’s collection sat. While he knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, considering how long Ethan’s known his family, Matt still found himself feeling a little shocked at just how much he knew about the players within the confines of the pocket pages within the binder. Obviously, he knew some of the greats to ever play the game, but he was even familiar with players that Keith had played with and against as well as some players Matt played against in the beginning of his career.

Matt just listened to him go on and on about the players, listing the facts that he knew– where they were from, how many Stanley Cups they’d won, how many other NHL awards they’d won. And if he had moved onto another player, but they had a fact that tied back into the previous he’d forgot to mention, he’d stumble over his words while flipping back to wherever the card had been. Matt tried not to laugh, but wow could the kid talk. He hadn’t lied when he told Caroline that he reminded him of her because of how much he talked.

Caroline, whenever she was talking about something she was super passionate about, could talk for hours. She could go on and on and just give you endless amounts of information and facts, bouncing from one fact to another and you could see the excitement in her eyes and hear it in her voice. The same way Ethan was getting sitting with Matt just flipping through the cards.

It was one of the many things loved about Caroline Marsh, and he was starting to love that about Ethan too.

Once they reached the end of the collection, Matt suggested that they go down to the basement and try to get some work in on his wrist shot before Chantal came around to make sure Ethan was ready to go trick-or-treating. Again, Ethan practically charged down the stairs, leaving Matt in his dust, only stopping to look over his shoulder when the doorbell rang. Matt told him to go ahead before he turned back and answered the door, hoping it wasn’t any trick-or-treaters.

“Oh, hi.” It was Caroline. She had her hair pinned half up with the rest flowing down and was wearing a white buttoned-up blouse that was carefully tucked into a maroon pencil skirt that came to a stop just at her shins– but as usual, she was wearing her go-to pair of shoes, white keds.

“Hey,” he replied, adjusting his sling. “Did you want to come in?”

“No, no that’s fine,” she replied, shaking her head and holding up a duffle bag. “I forgot to drop this off earlier when I dropped Ethan off. It’s just some of his stuff for his costume.”

Matt nodded and reached for the bag, tossing the strap over his good shoulder. “We’re just getting ready to go down to the basement to work on his wrist shot.”

She sucked in her lips, nodding as she held onto the crossbody strap of her purse. “If he gets too riled up, don’t be afraid to tell him to relax,” her eyes moved to his sling before back up to his. “Don’t let him guilt you into doing anything you don’t want to or can’t.”

Matt laughed, shaking his head. “I’m fine, Care...really.” He moved his sling, showing that he had some mobility in his shoulder. “I’m already 80% healed.”

The laugh was there on her lips, but she kept the serious look in her eyes. She knew more than anyone how far he was willing to go to get back out into playing again, so he knew that while she found his joke amusing, her warning held true.

“I’m serious, Matthew.”

Matthew? Again? Ew.

“Fine, fine be a Debbie Downer, I won’t stop you,” he joked, rolling his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”

She shook her head, sighing. “I can’t, I have to go get ready for tonight.”

“Oh? Big party?”

“Try chaperoning a high school Halloween dance,” she laughed, shaking her head. “A teacher’s wife went into early labor, he asked if I could cover. He’s taken way too many after-school bus duties when I opted not to volunteer. I figured I could cover for him tonight.”

“Halloween dance? On a Tuesday? Why didn’t we have those?” Matt laughed, leaning against the door frame.

“Because we both went to Catholic school and even those few merged events were already pushing it.” she laughed. “Besides, tomorrows a planning day for teachers, so there’s no school.”

“I’m starting to think we should’ve gone to public school,” he replied nodding his head.

He felt at ease for the first time since he saw her on Friday. She still seemed a little uptight around him, but their conversation was flowing easily. No hesitance, no looking like she might throw up on him at any second...and minus the fact that she was still calling him Matthew– she smiled.

“I should probably go,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Dance starts at 7. I need to be ready to leave by 6:30.”

“Okay, do you want me to take pictures for you tonight before he heads out?” It was a genuine offer, really. But now that he thought about it, this was a great way to get her to unblock his number.

“You don’t have to. I’m sure your Mom will cover it for me,” she replied.

Annnnd shut down.

“It’s fine, really,” he replied, shrugging his good shoulder. “I’ll be his one normal interaction since we both know how crazy the parents get with taking pictures.”

She laughed, a big laugh this time as she nodded. “Remember in fourth grade when you almost cried because you thought we were going to miss out on the big candy bars cause they kept taking so many pictures?”

“That wasn’t me, that was Brady.” He huffed rolling his eyes.

“Oh no, I vividly remember it being you.” Her eyes twinkled at the memory as her smile reached them. “That was the year you and I went as a pink-lady and t-bird from grease.”

“Yeah, because you were obsessed with that movie and begged me to go.” Not like she had to beg him for him to agree anyway.

“Okay, as if you weren’t always singing one of those songs anyway,” she replied, her laughter fading out. “Have fun tonight and I’m serious when I say don’t do anything your doctor hasn’t cleared you for.”

“Okay, Mom,” he joked, rolling his eyes. “Have fun at your dance tonight. Don’t forget you knew what it was like to be a teenager once.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t eat too many m&m’s and put yourself into a sugar coma.” She started to walk down the front steps before turning back and waved. “Have a good night, Matt.”

He was too shocked by the fact that she hadn’t called him Matthew to even reply to her before she was out of earshot. He smiled and closed the door, making his way down to the basement to hear a puck slap against the tarp.

There still may be some kind of divide between the two of them, but at least they were getting somewhere.

“You talk too much,” Ethan said, turning around and resting an arm on the end of his hockey stick.

“Okay blabbermouth,” Matt laughed, walking over and onto the shooting pad, nodding at him. “Talk any more and you might run out of words to say.”

“Impossible,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. “I read at a higher grade level than the rest of my class and my teacher Mrs. Rumer says it's because my Mom’s an English teacher. But really, I’m just smarter than the rest of them.”

Matt shook his head as he laughed, standing just in front of Ethan. “Okay, give the class a break, and let's see what we’re working with.” He kicked over a puck and nodded at him to get ready.

Ethan nudged the puck back with the blade of his stick, placing it correctly on where it needed to be– just behind his back foot. Matt watched carefully and studied his stance, making sure there was nothing he needed to adjust, but there was nothing. His feet were shoulder-width apart, knees bent in a good stance, his hand placement was perfect.

He watched as Ethan looked from the tarp to the puck, furrowing his brows and scrunching his nose as he took one more look before focusing back on the puck. He shifted back and forth slowly as if he was practicing his weight transfer for the shot before he stilled again, and cupped the puck with his blade. In one quick movement, he was shifting back and then dragging the puck forward, finishing the shot with his stick pointing at the top right corner of the tarp, right where the puck had hit.

Matt bit on the inside of his cheek before kicking out another puck to him, nodding. “Do it again, but try going for top left.”

Ethan nodded and repeated the process, step for step. Focusing on the tarp, then the puck. Practicing his weight transfer as if he was picturing the shot in his head. And then finally, taking the shot and finishing it and nailing the target Matt told him to. “Was that okay?”

Matt nodded, nudging another puck. “One more time, call the shot.”

“Um…” Ethan chewed on the inside of his cheek as he looked towards the tarp before pointing his stick out. “Bottom right.” Again, he followed through the same routine– focus, weight transfer, shoot– only the shot was just high of the target. “Dang it.”

“Hey, no you did good, it wasn’t too far off,” Matt said, walking over to him. “Do you know what you did for it to kind of sail a little higher?”

Ethan turned back, going through the motions as he tilted his head to the side and looked at Matt, shaking his head. “No...not really.”

“Okay, so go over the shot again, but stop at the follow-through,” Matt replied, stepping back slightly as Ethan took the shot, stopping at his follow-through. “Okay, now see the blade? See how it’s open just slightly?” Ethan nodded as Matt turned the blade over. “Right there. For a low shot, you want to follow through low and close the blade. For a high one,” he adjusted the stick and turned it over with a smile. “Follow through high and leave it open just a bit.”

“Can I go again?” Matt nodded and nudged another puck towards Ethan, who turned back at the tarp before looking back at Matt with a smile. “Bottom left.”

“Let’s see it,” Matt smiled, stepping out of the way and resting his right arm across his chest, just beneath his sling.

Watching Ethan go through the same motions each time, reminded Matt of how he and Brady were as kids. Practice and get down the motions, so when it came to a game-time situation, it was already muscle memory and your mind already knew what steps to go over in your head. Like that phrase, his Dad always used to tell them– practice like you play, play like you practice. It always reminded them to make sure they were always doing their best and not half-assing it like a lot of kids do sometimes.

Ethan shot the puck and it sailed right through the cut-out target. “I did it!” He smiled, turning to Matt. “I remembered to follow through low and close it.”

“Nice job, buddy.” Matt smiled, holding up his right hand for a high-five, Ethan having to jump up slightly to hit his palm. “Think you can go top right?”

“Obviously,” Ethan replied, rolling his eyes as Matt nudged another puck towards him. He set himself up and followed through with his routine, nailing the target. “Ha, told you.”

“Alright big shot, bottom right,” Matt laughed, nudging the puck and crossing his arms again. “So, did you ever find that Mackinnon card in your box?”

“No,” he huffed, setting himself and going through the routine again, shooting and watching the puck sail through the bottom right. “But if I ask for card boxes for my birthday, I bet I’ll find one.”

Matt nudged another puck over, a thought coming across. “When’s your birthday?”

“December 11th.” He replied, going top left.

“Mine too,” Matt smiled, nudging another puck. “If I get any boxes, I’ll give them to you. How about that?”

His eyes went wide as he smiled, missing tooth on display. “Really?”

Matt laughed, nodding. “Get this in the top right again and definitely.”

Ethan tore his vision away from Matt and focused so hard on the puck that Matt thought he might give himself a headache. And of course, after his routine and a shot, Matt wasn’t all that surprised that the puck sailed through his intended target once more. “I’ll go ahead and make sure to ask my parents for some hockey cards.”

“Don’t worry, my Mom taught me to share. We can split the pack,” Ethan propped his stick up, resting his arms on top of it. “Can we go around the horn now?”

“Do that and you might miss out on some prime Halloween candy.” Matt turned around to see his Dad standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall.

“Just one more time, please?” Ethan asked, pulling the classic puppy dog eyes. “Matt helped me and I think I’ve got it.”

“Sure, one more but then you need to get changed so we can go.” His Dad laughed, crossing his arms.

Ethan nodded and then looked at Matt. “High or low?”

“High, then low,” Matt replied, kicking over two pucks and nodding his head back at his Dad. “Show the old man what you can do.”

“This old man taught him what he can do,” he laughed, shaking his head. “And you too.”

“Don’t worry Papa Walt,” Ethan smiled, setting up the first puck. “I don’t think you’re that old.”

Matt and his Dad both laughed as Ethan shot the first puck, going high left before setting up the second and shooting right away going low right. Both pucks sailed through the targets.

“I did it!” He jumped in place, smiling at the both of them. “Matt told me how to follow through high for a high shot and low for a low shot and, and—“

“Great Job E,” His Dad smiled, clapping along with Matt. “Now come upstairs, Mimi’s got your costume ready.”

Ethan ran over to the three locker stalls against the wall and propped his hockey stick up against it, ready to run out of the basement. “Hey! Your Mom dropped off a duffel bag for your costume!”

“Okay, thanks!” Ethan replied, running out of the shooting area and through the rest of the basement, his footsteps echoing as he ran up the stairs.

“How’d it go?” Keith asked, walking over to Matt as Matt bent down to start collecting the pucks.

“Really good,” he replied, tossing the pucks into the storage bucket. “Great, actually. His wrist shot is already solid, he just needed a small adjustment on the follow-through. I don’t know why he wanted to work on it.”

“He just wants it to be perfect,” he replied, picking up double the amount Matt could and dumping them into the bucket. “Reminds me a lot of you. It took me forever to get you to actually move from one thing to another. ‘I can’t, Dad. I need to make 20 shots in a row before I can move on.’” He laughed, picking up the last few pucks. “Same work ethic, just as stubborn.”

“Probably because we had the same teacher,” Matt replied, closing the bucket and nudging it off the shooting pad with his foot.

“Yeah,” Keith replied, nodding his head. “Probably.”

“What are you trying to get him to work on now?” Matt asked, adjusting the strap of his sling.

“Backhand,” he replied, the two of them walking out of the room.

“I don’t blame him,” Matt laughed, walking up the stairs first. “I wanted to avoid that like the plague.”

“Trust me, I remember,” Keith replied, closing the door behind him. “But hockey now is really just putting emphasis on the fun in fundamentals. You can’t force the kids to try and work on something unless they want to. So, I’m just taking it in stride.”

“I can help if you want,” they walked into the living room where Matt’s Mom was handing out candy at the front door to some trick-or-treaters. “See if I can get him interested?”

Keith stopped as Chantal turned from the door, nodding his head. “Yeah, that’d be great. He seems to work well with you. Plus, you’re both stubborn so I’m sure that’ll go smoothly.”

“Gives me something to do,” Matt replied, shrugging his shoulder. “Besides, it’s nice to be doing something hockey-related. Even if I’m not actually doing it.”

“Okay, okay I’m ready!” Ethan came running around the hall corner, dressed fully in his hockey uniform...except for the jersey. The jersey definitely wasn’t his. “And I definitely didn’t take a handful of m&ms from the bag on the counter.”

“Well don’t you look adorable,” Chantal smiled, reaching for her phone. “Oh shoot, I don’t have my phone on me.”

“Don’t worry, Mom,” Matt said, pushing himself up so he wasn’t leaning against the back of the couch as he pulled his phone from the pocket of his sweats. “I’ve got it covered.”

“Hockey players aren’t adorable, Mimi,” Ethan sighed, adjusting the helmet on his head. “They’re tough.”

“Sorry about that sweetheart,” she laughed, walking by him and into the kitchen.

“Do you know who he’s supposed to be?” Keith asked, looking at Matt. “Go on, take a guess. I know you already know the answer.”

How could he not know the answer? If it wasn’t obvious by the navy blue Blues helmet, complete with matching uniform– then the jersey was the dead giveaway. Not only because of the very obvious St. Louis Blues logo on the front or the stitched 7 on the sleeves but because if he were to have Ethan turn around and he pulled the collar back he knew he’d find Matthew written in black sharpie in his 12-year-old handwriting on the tag.

“Ethan, come here,” Matt waved him over and Ethan followed without hesitation. “Turn around for me?” Again, he did and Matt tugged softly at the back of the jersey, sure enough revealing the faded black sharpie– Matthew. “This is mine I wore to your last game.”

“I’m wearing your jersey?” Ethan whipped around, eyes wide. He looked back at Keith and shrugged. “Sorry, Papa Walt. I know I’m supposed to be you, but I’m gonna pretend I’m Matt since it’s his jersey.

Keith laughed and Matt smiled, crossing his arms and giving his Dad a ‘what can ya do?’ look. “Oh come on, let’s just get these pictures done so we can get candy,” Keith said, coming up beside Ethan. “Which, you’re now going to share with me considering you’re breaking our deal of being me for Halloween.”

“Not the m&m’s though,” Ethan said, giving Keith a serious look. “Those are mine.”

“I thought you said your Mom taught you to share?” Matt smiled, taking pictures of the two.

“I don’t share my m&m’s, no way.”

“Okay, okay let’s get some more pictures done, and then we’ll be off.” Chantal smiled, coming into the living room and joining the pictures.

Matt smiled as he watched the three of them goof off with Ethan before it went from the three, to Keith and Ethan, to Ethan and Chantal, to eventually, just Etham. “Alright, you’re tiring him out with the pictures, time to go.”

“No, no just a few more,” Chantal said, stepping into the frame. “Matt, why don’t you take a few with him?”

“Okay, sure,” Matt replied, shrugging his shoulders and handing his phone off to his Mom before coming up next to Ethan. He stood there, draping an arm over his shoulder as Chantal took the picture, and then for the next, he squatted down beside him, keeping a hand on his shoulder. Not the least bit surprised that Ethan had leaned into him as the two of them smiled.

“Can we go trick-or-treating now?” Ethan asked, looking at Keith and Chantal.

“One more,” Chantal insisted, sending a look to Keith before looking back at the two. “One more and then we can go, make it good.”

Ethan turned and looked at Matt, a smile on his face. “Do you want to fight?”

“What?” Matt laughed, widening his eyes.

“Obviously not a real fight, geez,” Ethan replied, rolling his eyes.

“How about we save the fighting for later, hm? Now it’s time for candy.” Keith laughed, as Chantal stepped forward and handed Matt his phone.

Ethan ran off towards the door, Keith following behind. “Hey, Mom?”

“Yeah?”

Matt paused, looking at his phone. “Is Caroline’s number still the same? I figured I’d send the pictures to her.”

He wanted to hide at the way his Mom smiled, and for a second he thought that she knew of what his intentions for his question were. But that was a bit irrational anyways...besides, Caroline was married. “Still the same, yes.”

“Thanks, you guys have fun,” Matt replied, waving them off as they left the house. He looked at his phone and flipped through the pictures, sighing. “Now only to figure out how to get her to unblock me.”

The doorbell rang and he put his phone down onto the back of the couch before picking up the bowl of candy and opening the door to a bunch of trick-or-treaters. He smiled and grabbed small handfuls of candy, dropping them into their individual bags and wishing them a Happy Halloween before closing the door and returning to the living room.

He grabbed his phone, walking around the couch, and propping his feet up onto the table before going to his contact list and clicking on a name, bringing the phone to his ear as it rang.

“Well as I live and breathe, if it isn’t Matthew Tkachuk,” the friendly voice of none other than Mitch Marner, his teammate from his stint on the London Knights, laughed on the other end. “Is this a trick or a treat call?”

“Hey Mitch,” Matt laughed. “Don’t worry, all treats over here.”

“How’s the shoulder man? I saw the fight, kid’s reckless this early in his career.”

“It’s getting there. Only have a little less than two weeks left with this shitty sling before I really start getting into rehab. I’m home in the meantime. A better way to get my head straight and get better faster.”

“Well you’ve got my well wishes for you man,” he replied, the background noise fading out followed by a door closing. “Sorry, it’s the team Halloween party.”

“No problem, I was actually calling to see if you could do me a favor?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“You still on good terms with Mackinnon?”

“I hope so considering he’s my teammate,” Mitch laughed. “Why? What’s up?”

The doorbell rang and Matt got up, grabbing the bowl of candy and opening the door to more kids, this time holding the bowl out for them to pick. “If I Venmo you and give you my address, how fast do you think you could get Nate to sign a trading card and send it?”

Mitch laughed as Matt waved off another group of trick-or-treaters, just for more to come up to the door. “In the business of getting autographs now, Chucky?” He laughed.

“It’s not for me, you as–” he paused, looking at the ground of kids with a smile. “Jerk. It’s for Care’s son.”

“Hold up...Care?” Mitch asked as Matt closed the door. “As in Caroline? The same Caroline who–”

Matt groaned silently, knowing damn well he’d need to stop Mitch before he got started. There wasn’t a single person on that London Knights roster who didn’t know who Caroline Marsh was. Most of them were like Matt’s own personal therapists, though some weren’t very good at it, offering advice along the lines of– just get over her. She’s just a girl, find another one. Take your pick from any girl in the stands– Mitch was one of the few that didn’t roast him the entire time for being upset about his longtime girlfriend breaking up with him over a text. Maybe it was because he was in a pretty committed relationship himself or maybe it was just because Mitch has always been a well-rounded guy.

Either way, there wasn’t a single thing about Caroline Marsh or even their entire relationship that Mitch Marner didn’t know.

“Yeah, yeah same one.” Matt huffed, closing the door and walking to the kitchen to grab the mixed candy bag from the counter. “I guess he’s been on the search for this card and his birthday’s coming up. Kid’s a freaking hockey fanatic, so I figured I’d use my connections.”

Mitch laughed. “I’m sure Nate will do it for free, Dude. What’s his name?”

“Ethan.”

“Nate’s here at the party. I’ll ask him and see what he can do.”

“Thanks, Mitchy,” Matt replied, dumping more candy into the bowl. “I owe you one.”

“Nah we’re good,” Mitch replied, opening whatever door of the room he was in. “Actually no, you definitely owe me and I’m gonna cash it in as an explanation for this thing with Caroline.”

“Another day, man.” Matt laughed, opening the door as the doorbell rang. “Once I figure it out myself.”

“Alright, dude. Just send me your address and I’ll get right on it. Have a good night.”

“You too, man,” Matt replied, hanging up the phone and smiling at the kids. “Go ahead, take your pick of what you want, at least four pieces.”

When the kids left, Matt picked up his phone and saw the time– 6:25. Caroline wasn’t leaving until 6:30. He could just leave the bowl of candy on the porch and run down real quick to show her the pictures, maybe get her to unblock his number. He was about to run out before he grabbed the bag of candy leftover. He could always use this as a backup plan since he remembered Ethan saying something about how Chantal said he could have extra candy.

He grabbed his keys from the fob on the wall, put the bowl out on the porch, closed the door, and locked it behind him before jogging down the front steps and quickly walking the short distance of one block down to where Caroline and Ethan now lived. He opted to walk along the street since the sidewalks were full of parents with their children and when he reached his destination, he walked up the driveway and then the sidewalk, up the front steps to her door.

312 in black block numbers was just above the door frame, and hanging on the door was a burlap wreath with a blue and yellow ribbon at the top, hockey pucks glued to parts of the burlap with a sign stretching across the wreath that said– if we don’t answer, we’re at the rink.

Yep, definitely the right address.

He rang the doorbell and stepped back, suddenly feeling really stupid using a half-empty bag of candy as his backup plan. Part of him didn’t expect for her to answer the door, simply because she had a big bowl of candy propped up on a small table just off to the right with a sign that said ‘please take two, just to be fair, or maybe three if you dare. Happy Halloween!’ When the door opened, he looked away from the bowl expecting to see Caroline, but instead, a man stood there holding onto a big bag of assorted candies.

“Oh,” Matt paused, stepping back slightly. “I think I might have the wrong house?”

He didn’t, he knew he didn’t. But he wasn’t exactly expecting to meet Caroline’s husband, or who he could only assume was her husband. He was 5’10” or maybe 5’11 at most– definitely shorter than Matt. He had a tan complexion, black hair that was gelled back maybe with a little too much gel, and green eyes– green eyes that were definitely not all that pleased to the fact that Matt had rung the doorbell. But Matt tried not to pay much attention to that considering he was finding it hard to take the guy even the slightest bit serious since he was wearing an outfit similar to Jack the Skeleton from the Nightmare Before Christmas.

“No, you’re at the right place.” His voice was a little lighter than Matt thought it would be. “Are you looking for Caroline?”

“Yeah.” Matt nodded.

The guy peered out of the door to see if the candy bowl was empty and then looked back at Matt, nodding. “Hold on.”

Matt was close to saying that he didn’t need to worry about it, that he’d just talk to her later– but that would be a lie. The only ever time he’d even be able to talk to Caroline is when he crossed her path when she would drop off Ethan. And even then she seemed hell-bent on avoiding him. But before he could, the guy closed the door in his face.

“Such a dick,” Matt mumbled under his breath, stepping aside as some kids came up the path to grab some candy.

When the door opened back up, the guy was back, this time with a white round mask perched on top of his head– he was Jack the fucking Skeleton. “She’s just finishing up her make-up, then she’ll be back.”

Matt nodded, standing there and rocking back on his heels as another group of kids came up and went. He looked at the guy, extending out his right hand. “You must be Care’s husband. I’m Matt.”

“I know who you are,” he replied, shaking his hand. “And yeah, I’m Jonathan.”

Matt wasn’t oblivious to the way Jonathan was shaking his hand with a hard grip, but he also wasn’t one to back down and hardened his own grip. “How long have you guys been together?”

“A while now,” he nodded, letting go of Matt’s hand. “Heard you got to meet Ethan.”

“Yeah,” Matt smiled, laughing as he thought back on the eagerness back in the basement. “He’s a good kid. You guys did well.”

“Thanks, he’s great.”

Matt couldn’t help but wonder what the hell Caroline ever saw in this guy. Unless there was a bright and glowing personality beneath his dickish exterior, then he didn’t have a damn clue. Granted, it has been eight years– for all Matt knew, he didn’t really know who Caroline had grown into or if her taste in guys had changed. As far as he remembered, he checked all the boxes. But maybe it changed because, by the looks of it, he and Jonathan had absolutely nothing in common.

“Okay, I’m done,” he heard her voice before he saw her and when she appeared beside Jonathan in the doorway, it was very clear as to why he was dressed as Jack the Skeleton. Caroline was dressed in the familiar outfit worn by none other than Jack’s love interest, Sally.

Her identical, multi-patterned dress ended just a little bit above her knees. She wore white stockings with black stitching across them on her legs, while also wearing an identical pattern of sleeves on her arms. She had a long red wig covering her natural dark hair and what she finished up in the bathroom, had to have been her red lipstick and black liner giving her the stitched mouth effect.

“Hey, Matt,” she looked confused, but at least not revolted that he was standing on her door. “Jon, why don’t you go grab my coat from my closet, then we can leave.”

“Sure thing, babe,” Jon replied, kissing her right on her lips before looking at Matt, nodding. “Nice to meet you, Matt.”

“You too,” Matt replied, trying to withhold his eye-roll as Jon walked further into the house and out of view. “Well, he’s nice.”

“Yeah,” she replied, fixing the edge of her lips with her pinky before looking at him. “So what’s up? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, no, yeah everything’s great,” Matt replied, nodding. “I just...wanted to bring by the candy.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking at his bag of candy. “The candy?”

“Mhhm. Mom said Ethan could have the rest. Figured I’d drop it by now before it got too late.”

“It’s still early in the night, plenty of trick-or-treating left,” she laughed, shaking her head. “I’m picking up Ethan after the dance anyway, so how about I just take whatever’s left then?”

“Sure, that’ll work.” He wanted to bring up the pictures, but he couldn’t. Especially since she was coming back later tonight. Maybe his odds of her turning him down would lessen by then. “So...the Nightmare Before Christmas?”

She blushed, looking down at her costume before looking back at him with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t see how you can talk about my costume when you’re not wearing one. What are you supposed to be? Couch Potato chic?”

“Oh, haha, very nice.” Matt laughed, rolling his eyes. “I’m just saying...I don’t get it, that movie gave you nightmares when we were kids.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Yeah, it did,” he nodded, pointing at her. “All those times I took Brady’s nightlight? It was because you were scared Oogie Boogie would come crawling out of my closet.”

She traced the inside of her bottom lip with her tongue as she tried to fight the smile from growing on her face. “It’s not my fault. He’s terrifying and made of bugs.”

“Which is why you watched it once and then never again,” he laughed, letting it fade out before motioning towards the costume. “Which brings me back to my question...why exactly are you dressed as a character from it?”

She sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “Jonathan’s choice. He was already going as Jack and since I was a last-minute addition, he suggested I go as Sally.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. She was married to the guy and he didn’t even know that the Disney Christmas classic gave her nightmares from their first time watching it? Before he could come out and say anything else, Jonathan reappeared in the door with her coat. “Ready to go, babe?”

“Yeah, we don’t want to be late,” she replied, looking at Matt. “Ethan will love the candy, just set it aside and we’ll take whatever's left.”

“Sounds good,” Matt replied, stepping back and down the front steps. “You guys have fun tonight.”

He turned away from the door and walked down the sidewalk and the driveway before either of them could say a reply. He didn’t bother to walk in the street this time as he held the half bag of candy in his hands, maneuvering his way through the crowds of kids before reaching his own house. The bowl on the porch was on the low side, so he dumped some of the bag into it before unlocking the front door, picking the bowl up, and returning inside.

Placing the bowl on the small table just by the door, he hung his keys back up and locked the door before walking into the living room and plopping down onto the couch. He picked up the remote and almost found himself putting it on ESPN, but then changed his mind and put it on Freeform since they were still doing their 31 nights of Halloween marathon– a marathon that more often than not, the two Marsh siblings and three Tkachuk siblings often found themselves plopped down in front of a tv to watch, sorting through their candy and trading. He could still see Caroline scolding him for trying to trick Brady into trading a good candy for a bad, but then secretly making the deal herself. He got up off of the couch and walked over to the kitchen, picking up the bag of m&m’s to snack on. But before he walked back into the living room, he walked over to where his Mom kept the sandwich baggies and poured some into a bag, zipping it up.

Just in case he did in fact eat himself into an m&m coma, there were still some for Ethan to take home.

Ethan and his parents came home from trick-or-treating around 8:30. Matt offered to stay up with Ethan until Caroline came to pick him up, seeing the exhaustion written all over his parents' face. Ethan plopped himself down on the couch, placing his pillowcase of a trick-or-treat bag, onto the table and going on and on about all of the cool costumes he saw and how many people complimented him on his own.

“I had to tell them I was Papa Walt or else they wouldn’t get it. But don’t worry, I was still pretending to be you.”

The neighborhood trick-or-treaters slowed down by 9 o’clock and by 9:15, the doorbell had stopped ringing. Matt sat down on the couch next to Ethan and told him about how they used to go through their candy when they were kids. But since there was no one else to do trades with, he’d help Ethan shift through what he wanted and then what he didn’t and that they could just give to Brady to take to practice one day. After they sorted through all of the candy and set aside what Brady could have, he let Ethan go through what was left of the bag for the trick-or-treaters and take what he wanted.

Once that was done, the two sat back on the couch and started to share Matt’s bag of m&m’s, opting to sit in-between the two of them as they watched tv. Ethan wasn’t up for watching Casper and spent the last five minutes of the movie that remained to go down the hall to the bathroom and take off his costume, returning back in what he was wearing when he arrived at the house– shorts and a t-shirt, but still wore the jersey over it. Matt helped him put all of his gear back into the duffle bag and when Ethan asked where he could put the jersey, Matt told him he could wear it until his Mom came to pick him up.

They went back to the couch and Ethan had taken the remote, scrolling through the Halloween movies that were currently playing this late. He asked Matt if they could watch Friday the 13th and Matt said sure, knowing that if he was anything like Caroline, he wouldn’t last minutes into the film. She always hated scary movies. But surprisingly, Ethan made it to the second murder of the movie before almost kicking the m&m bag between them in fear. Matt suggested they go back to Freeform and Ethan quickly agreed before grabbing another handful of m&m’s and eating them.

Hocus Pocus was on (again) and the two eased back into a comfortable state as the movie played. They caught it just as it was starting and by the time that the witches were hung for their crimes, Matt turned to ask Ethan a question, only to see that he was curled up on the couch, fast asleep with three m&m’s still remaining in his right hand. Matt laughed and reached over, clearing the m&m’s from his hand before gathering his candy all up into the pillowcase and resting it on the living room floor before getting up and walking across the room to Keith’s lay-z-boy and grabbing a blanket, walking back and draping it over him.

It was an hour into the movie, and almost 11 o’clock when Matt heard the knocking at the front door. Ethan had been fast asleep next to him and hadn’t moved an inch since. Matt slowly stood himself off of the couch, careful not to disturb him before walking over to the door and peeped through the hole to see Caroline standing there, opening the door with a smile.

“What? Did your carriage turn into a pumpkin an hour early?” He joked, nodding at her obvious change in wardrobe. She was no longer dressed up as Sally, but instead was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, the same old St. Louis Blues hoodie, and had her hair held back out of her face in a ponytail.

“Haha, very funny,” she laughed, stepping in as he stepped aside. “Honestly, my costume was starting to get me the creeps.”

“How was the dance?” He asked, closing the door as she stood off to the side.

“Remember how we used to say that the teachers had a play in some of the music?” She asked, crossing her arms. “We were so right. I heard some of them talking all excited about how their request got played.”

“I knew it,” he laughed, shaking his head. “The music taste just never matched up with anyone our age.”

She smiled, looking towards the living room. “How was your night?”

“Eh, passed out candy, probably ate more than I gave out, and just watched that Halloween marathon on Freeform.” He started to walk over to the couch. “He passed out about an hour ago. Not sure how considering we ate half of the m&m’s in this bag.”

She laughed and walked over with him, stopping at the end of the couch. “He’s been out the entire time?”

“Oh yeah, hasn’t moved an inch,” Matt replied, slowly peeling back the blanket. “Do you need help taking his stuff to your car?”

“I actually didn’t drive it down here, I walked.” She sighed, standing up and resting her hands on his hips. “I figured he’d be awake and we’d walk home.

“Good luck getting him awake,” Matt laughed softly. “He sleeps like you did, like the dead.”

She rolled her eyes and nodded. “Trust me, whenever he needs to get up earlier than he’s used to, it’s a challenge.”

She bent down and placed her hands under his arms, lifting him off of the couch slowly before maneuvering him to where he was resting against her right hip. Ethan, still fast asleep, wrapped his arms around her neck and turned his face to the left, resting it on his arms as she held onto him. Matt watched in amazement, finding himself impressed by how easy she had been able to lift him and hold him.

“I’ll grab his stuff,” Matt said, walking around and picking up the pillowcase of candy before walking over to the door where the duffle bag was.

“You don’t need to–”

“Care, I’m not totally broken,” he said, bringing the straps of the bag onto his right shoulder and moving to the door, opening it. “Just...let me walk you home, okay?”

She nodded and walked through the open door, Matt grabbing his keys before following behind, closing and locking the door. He was surprised and happy to see that she had waited for him to lock the door before they both started to make their way down to her house.

“Fair warning,” Matt sighed, nodding at the sleeping Ethan. “He may or may not have watched a small bit of Friday the 13th before he fell asleep.”

“Matt!” She whispered, her eyes widening. “Why did you let him convince you to let him watch it?”

“I didn’t think he’d make it through the first scene, Care!” Matt laughed, motioning towards him. “He’s your son, so I figured he’d dip out. But he actually made it to the second before almost giving me nerve damage in my leg and spilling the m&m’s.”

They laughed, but Matt noticed that hers wasn’t as full and for a second he thought that he might’ve said something wrong, but he just brushed it off. “Dad says that he’s trying to get Ethan to work on his backhand.”

“Since the season started, yeah,” she nodded, adjusting Ethan on her hip. “He doesn’t seem to want to even try it, I think he might be a little scared that he won’t be great at it from the get-go.”

“I offered to help him try and get Ethan to give it a shot,” he replied, kicking at the ground. “Is that okay with you?”

“Ethan will love that. He hasn’t stopped talking about you since that day at Wal-Mart.” She replied, nodding her head.

“But will it be okay with you?” He asked, holding onto the pillowcase tighter. “I mean, no offense Care...but it kinda feels like you’re avoiding me. Either that or just the way you hesitated in the store when Ethan asked to work on his wrist shot...it kinda seems like you don’t think I can handle a kid?”

She was quiet as they got closer to her house and for a minute, Matt was really hating the fact that he even said it. But he didn’t want to go ahead and offer to help Ethan if Caroline wasn’t comfortable with the idea.

“It’s not that, Matt, I love seeing you with him...” she sighed, shaking her head. “He’s just...he’s an energetic kid and I don’t want you to jeopardize your recovery because you get lost in the moment, you know?”

“Well, I don’t know if you know this, Caroline Faith Marsh,” he laughed, giving her a small smile. “But I am a grown man.”

“Really?” She faked a gasp. “I had no idea, not with the way you play on the ice sometimes.”

He paused, blinking at her as they reached her front door. “You watch my games?”

She stopped as if she was thinking about what to say as if she’d been caught and maybe she had. “Hockey obsessed son who grew up around the Tkachuks,” she laughed, reaching into her sweatshirt pocket and grabbing her keychain. “What do you think?”

Grew up around all but one, he thought, not wanting to push the subject. He finally got her to actually relax around him, he wasn’t going to jeopardize that now.

He followed her into the house, as she turned on the light. “Do you need help getting him to bed or anything?” He kept his voice low, thinking that maybe Jonathan was asleep in the house.

“No, I should be good. You can just put the bag right there and then the candy on the table.” He did as ordered and walked back to the front door where Caroline stood. “Thanks...for walking us home and hanging out with him tonight.”

“No problem, it got my mind off of a lot of things,” He replied, digging his hand into his pocket.

“Oh shoot, the jersey,” she sighed, looking at Ethan. “I can just put him down and–”

“No, don’t worry about it. Really, Care.”

“Are you sure? It’s your jersey from–”

“It’s fine, promise.” He smiled, nodding his head. “Just, bring it by the next time he comes over. It doesn’t fit me that well anymore anyway.”

She nodded, giving him a small smile as she held onto the door with one hand. “Goodnight, Matt. Thanks again, really.”

“Goodnight, Care...and anytime, really.” He replied, nodding his head. He turned around and started to walk down the steps when he stopped and turned back. “I have some photos from tonight. I’ll just send them to my Mom and she’ll send them to you.”

He saw her smile fall as she nodded, adjusting Ethan again. “Okay, yeah…”

Matt waved and she waved back before closing the door. He turned back around and made his way back down the block and towards his house. The neighborhood was quiet and the street lamps were the only source of light on the block. When he reached his house, he walked up to the door and unlocked it, walking inside before closing and locking the door behind him, turning the porch light off. He walked into the living room and closed the m&m bag, putting it onto the table before turning off the tv and making his way up to his room.

By the time he got to his room, he hadn’t realized how tired he was. He took off his sling, going over the stretches his trainer told him to work on before taking off his sweatshirt, putting the sling back on, and climbing into bed. He grabbed his phone and went to his photos, swiping through the ones from tonight. A part of him felt sad...jealous even, as he flipped through the ones of Ethan and his parents. Even through pictures, you could see how close of a relationship that they had with each other. At least Brady wasn’t here to rub the relationship into his face either. When he got to the photos his Mom had encouraged him to take with Ethan, he smiled.

When he got to the last one, the picture where they were supposed to be goofy and Ethan had turned to him, asking if he wanted to fight...Matt paused. The two were looking at each other, Ethan still smiling from his question and Matt laughing in response. He only just met the kid, but Matt knew he liked him already.

Maybe he didn’t know Ethan as long and maybe this was the first and only time that the two of them got to hang out together– but in this picture, and maybe he was just seeing things and overthinking...maybe in this picture, you could tell that even they could have a close relationship like he and his parents.

Matt went to click out of the picture when a text popped up from the top of the screen.

Care Marsh 🐻: Hey, could you send me those photos?

taglist [if striked through, it won’t let me tag you 🥺] :

@hockeybabe87 @nolanscheeks @hey-there9-its-me @besthockeyfics @hockeyshmockey @sidscrosbyy @hockeystop @hannabritta @robschwartzman @ipuckwithwriting @tkachuk-yeah @luvsherleafs @heyheyheyhayes @oilers2997 @cutiesara23 @glassdanse @annedub @notaccurateornice @art-m-anic @corrinereads @reavenedges-lies @lwstuff @whatishockey @mydarkestsecretlol @dorotheathe1 @barzyspov @dutch-tv-fan @dude-44 @wastedheartcth @sorryjustafangirl

#hockey writing #hockey oneshot #hockey imagine #hockey one shot #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk one shot #matthew tkachuk writing #matthew tkachuk oneshot #nhl writing #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #nhl one shot #my writing

328 notes · View notes

willowbird · 4 years ago

Note

Cute uncle!Andrew and Neil with Aaron’s future kids!

Ooh! Don’t mind if I do! I hope you enjoy! <3

------

The reunion had been Abby’s idea, and while Wymack had done some obligatory grumping about the idea of having this particular group of Foxes invading their house (”I hope you remembered to hide the liquor.” “David, they’re all legal adults now and we’re inviting them over to drink with us.” “Make sure you have the fire department on standby.” “David, I highly doubt they’re going to burn down the house.” “I swear to fuck if those Minyards think they’re going break my shit I’ll haul their asses out to the park and leave them in a cardboard box.” “David, I think you’re being a bit dramatic.”) he was able to admit, at least to himself, that he was looking forward to seeing them again.

Sure, he’d kept up with all of them individually in his own way, and they’d gotten together periodically over the years, but this would be the first time in at least a decade that the lot of them would be under one roof -- under his roof -- and he was looking forward to seeing with how own eyes how they were doing.

He’d thought he’d known what to expect.

After all, he’d paid attention to the pro careers of Matt, Allison, Kevin, Neil, and Andrew. He spoke with Renee at least once a year in person when she came by PSU to hand-deliver her donations (and Allison was usually with her these last few years as well). He saw less of Nicky and Aaron, since Nicholas had returned to Germany after graduation and Aaron had moved on to medical school and that was even more rigorous than the training schedule he’d put them through, but he was still aware of their general well-being. Dan he probably saw the most, as she’d gone on to coaching and was now in the same division as PSU, running a newer exy team at a small public university in northern Georgia. Kevin was always around for the holidays and visited during the off-season, and they spoke on the phone regularly -- so he was generally up-to-date with his son’s life.

It had started out within the bounds of his expectations. Nicky and Erik had flown in the night before and stayed at a hotel in town, but Dan and Matt had arrived first because Nicholas Klose still didn’t understand the function of a goddamn alarm clock. A prompt Renee and Allison showed up a little after them, followed by a harried Nicky and an exasperated Erik. Kevin ambled in solo, followed by Neil and Andrew, who still looked unbothered by the whole damn world (probably because they were the ones typically setting it on fire, but hey - what did he know?). Last to arrive were Aaron and his wife, former Vixen and one of the youngest female neurosurgeons in the field, Katelyn.

That was when things got... strange.

Wymack had been in the kitchen, pouring a seltzer for his (three years sober) son, when he heard the front door open and Abby greet the final arrivals. He heard a small, excited little voice call out, “Unca Annew!! Unca Neew!!” Then there was the rapid patter of little feet followed by a squeal of delight and a deep laugh that Wymack couldn’t place because he’d legitimately never heard it before.

Curious and confused, Wymack stepped out of the kitchen just enough to peer into the foyer and his eyes didn’t quite register what he was seeing.

Andrew was standing in the foyer with a blond-haired little girl in his arms who couldn’t be any older than three (though frankly, he was shit at guessing ages on munchkins). He was grinning and hugging her, listening as she jabbered on about something-or-other. Neil was standing at his shoulder, also smiling, though his attention diverted and his expression softened in a way that Wymack hadn’t known the venomous little viper to be capable of.

“U-unca Neewy?” Wymack noticed that the little girl in Andrew’s arms wasn’t the only child present. An identical child in a different colored dress was huddling behind her mother’s legs, looking anxious at the new place and the strange woman (Abby) who kept smiling down at her.

“Hey there Pips,” Neil said quietly, crouching down and opening his arms in offering. It took a moment, then the little girl cautiously edged away from her mother before half-tripping on uncoordinated legs the five or six steps it took her to get to Neil, who wrapped her up in his arms as natural as breathing and hugged her tight. He murmured something in her ear that Wymack couldn’t hear and when the little girl nodded he scooped her up and kissed her cheek before turning to join Andrew and the other small child.

Andrew and Neil holding children. Andrew and Neil being good with children. Andrew and Neil, smiling and laughing and comforting small little children. It was such a bizarre thing that Wymack didn’t really think when he spouted off a bewildered, “What the actual fuck?”

Seven faces instantly snapped to where he was standing and it took more will than he liked to admit for Wymack not to cower under the five disapproving adult gazes and the two shocked child ones.

“David!” Abby hissed, and he grimaced an apology.

“Ooooooo, he said it! He said it!” crowed the chatterbox in Andrew’s grasp.

Andrew looked like he was about ready to commit murder and never in all the years had he known the bastard had Wymack ever felt intimidated by him -- until now. It made no sense, but somehow, he became about thirty times more effective with a small child in his arms. What the fuck was up with that?

The other child made a timid little whimpering sound and Neil shot him a similar promise of an untimely death with one scathing narrowing of his eyes. Suddenly, Wymack was very eager to cancel his plans to go see the Denver Wildcats next game.

Then Neil softened again in that way that made Wymack feel like he’d been transported to an alternate dimension. He bounced the child gently and murmured quietly to her, and this time Wymack was able to hear what he said.

“I know he’s big and loud, but that’s Wymack. Remember I told you about him?”

“Uh-huh...”

“Remember what I said?”

“Uh-huh...”

“Pips.” The tone was gentle, but still commanding in a way that eerily reminded Wymack of Betsy. This was getting too weird.

The little girl hugged Neil tighter around the neck, then took two deep breaths before pulling back and peaking over at where he was still standing right at the entrance of the kitchen. She studied him warily before saying, “He’s da bear man.”

The... bear man? What... the fuck?

“That’s right. He’s big and loud but very soft. And he’ll stay far away if you don’t want him close.”

Wymack was pretty sure he needed to lay down.

Thankfully, Aaron finally decided to speak the fuck up. Granted, the tiny fucker sounded way too amused for his own good. “Coach, you haven't met the twins yet. The little energizer bunny with Andrew is Penny and Neil’s got Piper. Piper is a bit shy, that’s all. She’s not all that great with strangers still.”

“Alright family, let’s get out of the foyer hm? Would you girls like some snacks? I bet Uncle Andrew will show you where the cookies are if you ask him nicely,” Katelyn offered with a knowing smile.

It had an immediate effect. Even the shy one, Piper, lit up like damn Christmas tree as both girls looked to Andrew like he was here to deliver them Salvation. In a childlike unison that had absolutely no right being that adorable, both girls gasped, “Cookies?!”

Andrew smirked. Then he chuckled and kissed Penny on the cheek. “Oh, I think I can find something.”

Wymack stepped out of the way as Andrew led the way with Penny, Neil and Piper right behind them, into the kitchen.

He watched them go, then just stood there, gobsmacked for a moment. Katelyn was the one to cross over to him and pat him consolingly on the shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, Neil has already offered both of them to teach them how to pick locks when they turn five.”

It did but it didn’t.

Aaron snickered unhelpfully. “Go have a drink, Coach. If that is fucking you up, just wait until tea time.”

“Tea time?” Even to his own ears, his voice came out raspy. “What the fuck is tea time?”

Aaron cackled in response. Cackled.

Jesus Christ, this was not what he had signed up for.

#asks #blue-hail #aftg #aftg fic #aftg prompt #future fic #uncle andrew #uncle neil #andrew is good with kids #neil is good with kids #pov david wymack #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #neil josten #david wymack #foxes reunion #fluffy drabble #100 followers

234 notes · View notes

shadowayne-deactivated · 4 years ago

Text

dancing with your ghost

Melinda stands in the open doorway, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder with nothing in it but a collection of Polaroids, a ring, and his shirt.

Artificial light filters into the room from the hallway, bathing what is in the doorway’s path with a dim yellow light. The unmade bed is illuminated, untouched since she left a week ago.

It has been two seconds and also three months since she’s been gone, yet she knows she’s aged a hundred years.

Melinda’s exhausted, but she can’t curl up into the sheets, achingly alone, laying in cold sheets without the sound of his weak breathing in and out next to her. Not without his hand gently held in hers, fingers twitching occasionally.

She hasn’t slept in weeks. She spent every second listening to his heart beat and falter and beat and falter and beat, until it didn’t do anything at all.

The idea of laying in bed with no soft, strenuous beating under her hand- it feels more vast and empty than even the nights she spent in the tiny apartment after Bahrain; ghosts and guilt and hate replacing the spot where Andrew used to lie next to her.

Melinda closes the door behind her, the door that separates her and her ghosts from everyone else.

She has thousands of ghosts haunting her, but none of them are Phil.

The room is pitch black, but she doesn’t turn on the light. She lets it sit, the inky darkness swirling around and seeping into her body as she closes her eyes and breathes in deep, faltering slightly when the memory of his bloodshot eyes and rapid loss of speech float through her mind.

She uses vague muscle memory to light the same, unscented candle that has been sitting on her small desk since early in their time in the Lighthouse. Daisy found a short break day to deliver them each a small gift soon after they returned from the future.

Daisy’s gift for Coulson was a boy hula dancer, to match the other one sitting in a storage building with Lola. Daisy joked about finally being allowed to drive the precious car, and Coulson just shrugged with a small smile and an odd look on his face.

Now Melinda knows what the look meant. He already knew, even then.

She drops the bag on the cement floor and it lands with a hollow thunk. She pops open the bottle of beer that was pressed gently into her hands when she stood in the center of the common room on shaky legs barely holding her up as Daisy clutched her. She didn’t cry, just held on tight like Melinda would blow away.

Maybe she will.

Her stomach is full of rocks and she sits down on the chair next to her desk, gripping the back of the chair with her free hand, looking down at the ground because she can’t see her room without being hit with a memory of him.

Everything has Phil in it.

He is in Daisy’s earnest face. He is in the maroon couch where he explained to the team that he was leaving for good. He is in the small collection of cooking utensils hung on the wall in the cafeteria area from when he insisted to cook them a meal at least once every couple of days for morale, even when the world was falling apart around them.

Now she knows, can see what he was doing. He was trying to hold onto something he loved to do because he knew he was running out of time. He knew, so he tried to spend that time with them while he could.

Once, Daisy and Jemma joined him. The three tried making lasagna but it was mainly Phil cooking while Daisy and Jemma ate the ingredients and messed with him. They were going through their own personal hells, yet they were smiling and giggling, the unfamiliar sound of joy ringing through the lighthouse and lifting the mood of the entire base.

It was one of the only times she saw him smile recently, before Tahiti.

He smiled a lot in Tahiti, at least when he was awake.

Melinda still marveled. He smiled until the end. He smiled when she talked, when she laughed, when she brushed soft kisses to his lips as she cradled his head when he couldn’t stand anymore.

She asked how he could smile when he about to see nothing ever again. Be nothing.

“I won’t be nothing, Lin,” he replied. “I’ll be your memories of me. And I smile because I see your love, for me and for Daisy and for the team, and I know that you will live. And that’s all that matters.”

He said it so simply, so matter of factly.

Melinda wonders if he’d be smiling if he would know she can’t live without him. Won’t.

She’s nothing without him, nothing without her better half holding her away from the edge of the pit of mania and darkness and sickness, the kind that creeps over your mind so quickly that you don’t notice it until you’re gone.

Without him, she is silently drowning, thousands of hands grabbing at her skin and ears and eyes, rough, unlike his careful caresses.

Without him, she is dying.

Melinda takes another sip of the beer and rests her forehead on her desk, for the first time noticing the sheen of sweat that is sticking some of her hair to her face.

There aren’t five stages of grief. Whoever came up with that was wrong.

Everyone experiences loss differently, but the one thing that stays the same for every person is that the loss never leaves. It stays heavy inside a person, creating a chasm of emptiness. Every new loss adds to it, making it deeper and wider until there is more emptiness than there is human.

Melinda is nothing but empty.

They danced together, before he was barely able to tell her he loved her.

The radio was playing faint tunes as he sat at the dining table, reading a book. (Not Ulysses. They didn’t have enough time to get it for him.) He had a cannula running up around his ears and tucked inside his nose, trying to feed to him the oxygen he fought every day for.

A song came on that Melinda recognized. It had played at her 19th birthday, her first one celebrated at the academy. Phil had dragged her out to a club near the base, and slow songs had played over the speakers as he got her a sundae and offered to pay but she refused to let him.

The lyrics played, but she didn’t pay attention to what they said, not back then.

Oceans apart day after day

And I slowly go insane

Phil, with his endless energy, had bounded up and held out his hand. “Dance with me, Cadet May?” he had asked in a teasing tone.

She’d grinned. “Sure, Cadet Coulson. Show me your moves.”

If I see you next to never

How can we say forever

In Tahiti he’d gotten up, less energy than even a few weeks before, and held out his hand to her, his giddy smile exactly the same as thirty years ago in that club, somehow untouched by time. “Cadet May?” he prompted.

She suppressed a grin. (She wishes she hadn’t. She wishes she let herself be free with him, be happy without any boundaries, but she still wouldn’t, couldn’t.) She took his outstretched hand and got up.

Wherever you go

Whatever you do

I will be right here waiting for you

They stood together, her mostly supporting him, and they were barely moving, simply swaying, but Melinda was looking in his bright blue eyes that were getting hazier by the hour and felt like she was back in their undercover missions, getting spun around and twirled so quickly she was lighter than air.

Whatever it takes

Or how my heart breaks

I will be right here waiting for you

The song ended, and Melinda was brought back to the present, where the sun was setting and Phil was sagging in her arms. She murmured that he needed to sleep, and helped him into their bed.

He didn’t get up again.

Waiting for you

The whole time they were in the magical place, he promised her that the pain was bearable, but when her back was turned he’d grimace and make fists so tight his knuckles would turn white.

He’d never been good at hiding things from her.

He hid the scar tearing through his soul, though, for months. Maybe she couldn’t read him as well as she always thought she could.

The middle of their first night he woke up still half asleep, crying that he didn’t want to die. The opposite of seven years ago, when he’d pleaded with Fury to let him.

She held him, softly kissing him on the head as she soothed him back to sleep, his head on her thigh as she sat against the backboard of the bed.

“I don’t want to die either,” she whispered in the dead of night, after he’d fallen asleep and couldn’t hear her anymore. After nobody could hear her anymore.

waiting

“I will love you for the rest of time,” he always said. “You won’t hear it, you won’t see it, but you will feel it, and you will know.”

She remembers his words, but she’s sitting alone in a tiny room lit by a scented candle and the alcohol in her throat doesn’t burn enough to abate the emptiness.

She isn’t angry anymore. Or sad, or upset, or even scared.

She isn’t anything at all.

“You will feel my love, even when I’m gone,” he said.

Melinda sits and she drinks until the bottle is empty and the wick of the candle burns down into the molten wax and extinguishes the flame, leaving her in the dark black well of grief.

“You will feel my love,” he said.

And she doesn’t say out loud what she knows deep down.

Because the darkness already knows too; knows because of the glistening tracks on her cheeks and the empty bottle clutched tightly in her hand, soon to be replaced by another.

She doesn’t feel it.

And she’s not waiting anymore.

#daisy johnson #Melinda May #phil coulson #philinda #philinda fic #aos #aos fic #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d #mine #my fics #angst #angst fic

94 notes · View notes

i-know-my-value-darling · 5 years ago

Photo

Supernatural stars reflect on the show's undying legacy

Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles, and Misha Collins discuss 15 years of fantasy, family, and flannel.

"We only get one shot at this." Sam and Dean Winchester are surrounded. The monster-hunting brothers are standing on the edge of a cliff. They look to Castiel, their brother in arms — or is it wings? — but even he can’t help. One move in the wrong direction could ruin everything. After years of fighting demons, going toe-to- toe with Satan himself, and saving the world multiple times, they once again find themselves in a position of having to perform under pressure. But this situation is unlike anything they’ve ever dealt with before. All eyes are on them as they have one shot…at getting the perfect picture.

It’s a dry, hot August day in Malibu — when people were still allowed to gather outside — as Supernatural stars Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, and Misha Collins prepare for the last setup of their final Entertainment Weekly cover shoot. With a bottle of champagne in each of their hands, Ackles once again reminds them they get “one shot” to do this right. But if their characters can shoulder the weight of the world, surely these three can handle a photo. Read the whole story below

The champagne soaking is meant to be a celebration of 15 years, of making television history. Supernatural, the story of two brothers destined to save the world, is the longest-running genre show in the history of American broadcast television. (So old, the first three seasons shot on this thing called film.) What started as an underdog story, living its first few years on the verge of cancellation, has become an institution, a milestone to which other shows aspire. Supernatural not only survived the move from The WB to The CW after its first season — it’s now the final WB show left standing — but became the backbone of the now highly successful CW network. Over the years, the sci-fi series has aired on every weeknight, helping to launch shows including Arrow and The Vampire Diaries. The network moved it one final time, most recently, to Mondays, to help Roswell, New Mexico expand its audience. “Supernatural is a major link to many of the shows that we have successfully built to market,” The CW’s chairman and CEO Mark Pedowitz says. “Almost every one of our shows has had it as a lead-out or a lead-in.”

And to think, it all started as a promise to bring horror to television. After Supernatural creator Eric Kripke had finished working with Warner Bros. on 2003’s Tarzan series, he pitched the idea of a reporter who travels around hunting urban legends. As he puts it, it was a Kolchak: The Night Stalker rip-off. But when he realized the story would benefit from having brothers at its core, he started writing. “At the time, The Ring and The Grudge were huge hits in theaters,” Kripke remembers. “We said, ‘We’re going to take that experience and we’re going to put it on TV,’ and the initial goal was to be scary.” After Warner Bros. passed on his first, what he calls “uptight,” draft, Kripke had to reassess the kind of show he was creating. “I canceled all my Christmas plans and wrote that second draft in three weeks,” he says. “That was when the show got its sense of humor, because I was locked alone, over winter break, in my office. I couldn’t do anything fun, so I started entertaining myself.”

The show was still scary, but it was also funny and, over the years, would continue to evolve. Sure, you could say it’s a little bit X-Files — in its early days, the show often used the line “The X-Files meets Route 66” — and there were definite Star Wars influences (Sam and Dean were originally based on Luke Skywalker and Han Solo). But no combination of pop culture is going to perfectly describe Supernatural because the show has managed to do something remarkably rare in the age of peak TV, where audiences are so overwhelmed with content that an original idea seems foreign: It’s created a truly one-of- a-kind experience.

For starters, it’s a show about two flannel-wearing, beer-loving, blue-collar dudes from Kansas who for a good chunk of their lives traveled from cheap motel to cheap motel, paying for gas and greasy diner food with a mix of fake credit cards and money they earned scamming people at the pool table. “Almost all television is about rich people or, at the very least, middle-class people,” co-showrunner Andrew Dabb says. “The fact that we’ve been able to take this Midwestern blue-collar approach to this genre feels like we’re breaking the mold.”

But the mold-breaking didn’t stop there. Supernatural might’ve started out as a horror show with some snarky one-liners, but it evolved into some of the boldest, most experimental (and certainly strangest) stories on the small screen. “We’re a show of big swings,” co-showrunner Robert Singer says. “I used to say, with every idea, ‘This will be a home run or they’ll cancel us,’ but every year we wanted to do something really nuts." And when he says nuts, we’re not just talking about the episode with the talking teddy bear or the murderer targeting imaginary friends. Those are just some standard monsters of the week. We’re talking about the black-and-white episode shot like a classic Hollywood monster movie, or the episode that introduced Chuck (Rob Benedict), a prophet — who’d later reveal himself to be God — who was famous for writing a book series called Supernatural. That, of course, led to Sam and Dean attending a Supernatural fan convention as the show continued to redefine what it meant to inject a series with meta humor. And the swings never stopped. Season 13 featured a Scooby-Doo crossover as an animated Sam, Dean, and Castiel solved a case alongside the Mystery Inc. gang. And in season 14, after giving God a sister a few years prior, the show made the Big Man Himself its final villain. “I don’t think any idea, barring some production concerns, has been viewed as too crazy,” Dabb says. “Because we know that our fans are smart and that they’ll follow these guys anywhere.”

So long as each episode features Sam and Dean — and the occasional heartfelt talk on the hood of the Impala — the show can do just about anything, which is another reason Kripke had to rewrite his first draft of the pilot. Originally, Dean was the only brother who knew about monsters growing up, bringing Sam up to speed later in life. It wasn’t until Kripke figured out that they needed to be in this together that the series snapped into place. Because at the end of it all, they’re two brothers bonded by the loss of their mother and a life spent on the road with an absentee father. (It just so happens that their mother was killed by a demon and their father hunted them.) The familial dynamic — the irrational codependency, as the angel Zachariah (Kurt Fuller) once called it — is the most important part of the show. “The first inkling I had that we had something special was shooting the pilot,” Kripke says. “It was the scene on the bridge when Sam and Dean talk about their mother. It was the first time that you really saw their chemistry and their connection as brothers on full display. Because I’ve always said this show begins and ends with whether you believe that sibling relationship.” But Sam and Dean weren’t just the center of the show. For many years, they were the show.

Supernatural has never been an ensemble drama. For the first 82 hours of the series, Ackles and Padalecki were the only long-running series regulars — Katie Cassidy and Lauren Cohan briefly joined for season 3, appearing in 12 episodes combined. But Sam and Dean weren’t just in every episode; they anchored every episode. (They skipped table reads because there would’ve been only two actors there.) “I had many moments of not only questioning, ‘Can I keep this up?’ but an answer of ‘I cannot keep this up,’ ” Padalecki, 37, who’s been vocal about his struggle in the early seasons, says. “I borrowed strength from Jensen.” But even Ackles, 42, admits it was a tough job. “The 23-episode seasons were nine and a half months of filming,” he adds. “It was a lot of work, but I always came back to: I still enjoy it, I still like telling the story, I still like these characters and the people I work with.”

Not only did the guys stick around, they built a reputation of having created one of the warmest sets in the business, with a number of crew members staying with the production all 15 seasons. It all dates back to a talk Kripke had with his stars during the filming of the series’ second episode. “I said, ‘The show is about your two characters, and with that comes this responsibility,’ ” Kripke says. Padalecki remembers the exact setting of what he calls their “Good Will Hunting moment,” a bench in Stanley Park in Vancouver, where they film. It was a chat both actors took to heart. “We’d both been on other sets,” Ackles says. “We knew we wanted to enjoy it, to have fun with our crew; we wanted them to like us and us to like them and to have fun doing what we do.” It’s an attitude Pedowitz hopes bleeds into other CW shows, an attitude that launched an annual tradition where the CW chairman/CEO takes his new casts out to dinner with the Supernatural guys, a chance for the vets to share advice. “It’s always the most flattering situation,” Padalecki says, recalling a moment he had a few years back with the late Luke Perry, who was a part of the Riverdale cast. “Luke was sitting next to me and he was like, ‘What y’all have done and what we hear about you guys, it’s really cool to be associated with y’all in some way, shape, or form,’” he recalls. “And I’m sitting there pinching myself.”

It’s a behind-the-scenes legacy that’s perhaps just as impressive, if not more so, than the onscreen legacy. Collins, 45, who started as a guest star and the show’s first angel in season 4, has become the show’s third-longest-running series regular, and he still remembers walking onto set his first day. “When you’re coming onto a show as a guest star, it can be a little bit nerve-racking,” Collins says. “Coming to this set, it was an immediately different vibe. Think- ing about working on other shows in the future, that’s something that I aspire to bring with me.”

A similar reputation extends to the fans as well. Not only is the #SPNFamily one of the most dedicated fandoms out there, it’s also known to be a pretty nice one. (Not many fandoms can say they’ve helped launch a crisis support network for their fellow fans.) But their dedication isn’t just about seeing what crazy twist God throws at Team Free Will next. Thanks to fan conventions and social media, the viewers are just as invested in the lives of the actors. Supernatural’s not just about the words on the page, it’s about the actors saying them. “When you’re dealing with the public taste, there’s an alchemy of great writing, a great idea, and the close-up that’s required,” Peter Roth, chairman of Warner Bros. Television Group, says. “You need stars who you want in your living room.” And you need stars who want to be in your living room, and who, even after 15 years, care so deeply that they get emotional while taking photos in Malibu.

"It's going to be a long eight months," Ackles declares. Standing on that same ledge, an hour before the champagne shot, Ackles, Padalecki, and Collins walk away from a group hug after unexpectedly starting to tear up. It might be the setting — looking out over the ocean — or the occasion: their last-ever photo shoot. Or maybe it’s the fact that they’re almost a month into filming their final season.

It had been a question posed to the stars for years: How long will this show continue? How long can it continue? “Even my mom and dad were like, ‘When are you going to be done with this?’” Ackles says with a laugh. It was a decision the network and studio had ultimately put into the actors’ hands, and it was a conversation they’d been having for a while. Back in 2016, Padalecki told EW, “If we don’t make it to [episode] 300, I think Ackles and I will both be truly bummed.” But in season 14, they hit 300…and then kept going. While filming episode 307, they announced the upcoming 15th season would be the end, which will bring them to a total of 327 episodes when all is said and done. “[Jared] and I were always married to the fact that we never wanted to go out with a diet version of what we had,” Ackles says. “We wanted to have enough gas left in the tank to get us racing across the finish line. We didn’t want to limp across.” Padalecki remembers the moment it hit him — not the decision to end it, but rather the opposite. “We had that moment where he and I both realized that we didn’t want it to end,” he says. “It finally got to a point, ironically, where it was like, ‘I never want to leave this. I could do this until the day I die, and then if I get the choice when I’m dead, I’ll re-up!’ But you never want to be the last person at a party. We just knew. That’s not to say there haven’t been vacillations, but we all trust the decision that was made.”

Starting in July 2019, the cast and crew returned to Vancouver to begin filming the final season, but in March 2020, with two episodes left to go, they were sent home. For years, fans had wondered what, if anything, could stop the Winchesters, and now it seems we have the answer: a global pandemic. As sets closed amid social-distancing measures due to the spread of COVID-19, it didn’t take long for fans to start connecting the dots, sharing relevant GIFs from episodes that featured viruses, most notably Chuck telling Dean to hoard toilet paper “like it’s made of gold” before the end of the world in season 5’s “The End.” (Did we mention that Supernatural is also kind of psychic? In a season 6 episode, Dean calls Sam “Walker, Texas Ranger,” which just so happens to be the role Padalecki has lined up after this ends.)

When production paused, it all felt a little like we were living in an episode of the show, just waiting for Sam and Dean to drive up in Baby, open those creaky doors, and save us. They might not be able to do quite that, but the thing with the Winchesters is that they never stay down for long. When Supernatural is able to safely resume production, it will. And though there are only two episodes left to film, fans will enjoy a total of seven unseen hours, including the return of Charlie (Felicia Day) and a mystery woman who visits the bunker and, for some reason, gives Sam and Dean all the holidays they never got to celebrate. “She makes Christmas for them and Thanksgiving, birthday parties, and all that. It’s a very good episode,” Singer says, adding, “I don’t know when it’s going to air.”

That’s the thing—no one knows, not even the guys who took out Yellow Eyes, stopped Leviathans, defeated Death himself, and are supposedly destined to be the messengers of God’s destruction. But Sam and Dean do know the value of a good plan B. “Obviously it’s a horribly unfortunate situation we’re in, but the silver lining is that it gives us an opportunity to recharge,” Ackles says. “We had just finished episode 18, we shot one day of episode 19, and I was reading these two monster scripts thinking, ‘It’s like we’re at the end of a marathon and they want us to sprint for the last two miles.’ I feel like this almost gives us an opportunity to refocus and go into the last two episodes and hit them with everything we got.” Because when they do return to set, shave their quarantine beards, and step back into Sam and Dean’s shoes for the last time, they’ll have one shot at ending this thing…and they’re determined not to miss.

Photos: Peggy Sirota for EW

https://ew.com/tv/supernatural-stars-cover-ew-to-reflect-on-the-shows-undying-legacy/

#supernatural #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #misha collins #last season #season 15 #entertainment weekly #cover story #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #full post #SPN #spn family #new photo #new photos

785 notes · View notes

sherl-grey · 3 years ago

Note

Oh god they all sound so amazing I can't decide which ones I want to know about most but I think I've settled on 2, 4 and 5 if you want to share anything about them?

Ace you are too kind for words, truly! 💖 Unfinished drafts are a mess for me but I'll try to answer this as best I can! I'm gonna hide it under a cut though because it's long, and I'd hate to spam the people on my dash who are just here for gifs and a good time and not my disaster fic plots that may or may not ever be finished, haha.

2 was "Something Wild," named after the song by Lindsey Stirling feat. Andrew McMahon. It's long and planned for at least two separate stories--basically, Academy through Eighth incarnation are all setting up characters and leaving a Bad Wolf trail, and the real shit goes down when the Time War happens (since I am really attached to this idea I don't want to spoil this publicly, but am happy to DM if you still want more!) and then the rest will follow New Who seasons but with an underlying subplot that results from the War. This is my favorite idea in awhile but unfortunately cannot seem to do it justice; unsure on if/when I would get to publish this! Still kinda picking away.

4 is based off the song "Check Yes, Juliet" by We The Kings which just screams TenRose to me. It follows canon TenRose, a high school/college-aged AU James and Rose, and a vaguely regency/historical Lord John Noble and Lady Rose Tyler as the universe tries to split them all up in various ways. I loved how this went in my head but translating it into words has been awful and I will say probably reads terribly. Writing about it here has made me want to try again but I'm attempting to save people from having to read this nightmare, haha. The intro is set in Rise of the Cybermen/The Age of Steel:

“You can’t stay,” the Doctor told Rose regretfully, swallowing the lump in his throat. The longing look in her eyes as she watched alternate versions of her parents, alive and together, throwing a party full of London’s elite in a rather impressive mansion… it was enough to set him on edge, and it was all he could do not to take her hand possessively and beg her to look at him, just him.

“‘Course I can’t,” Rose agreed, though the wistfulness remained in her eyes even as she glanced back at him. “I’ve still got Mum at home. My real mum. I couldn’t just leave her, could I,” she said dully, and the Doctor just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her.

You’ve still got me, he wanted to yell. You’ve got me, you can’t leave me. You just can’t.

“She’s got you,” he said instead. “Those two haven’t. All these different worlds, not one of them gets it right.” He closed his eyes in sorrow for a moment, overwhelmed with pointless regret over not having been able to fix her world for her. He��d done everything he could, taken a reaper to the face for her, and still she’d had to watch her dad die. Several times over.

“I dunno,” Rose said contemplatively after a pause. “S’ true, none of them are perfect. No world is. But…” she trailed off, swallowing hard, and the Doctor nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt her take his hand. “It doesn’t do any good to stay hung up on what they get wrong. They get some things right, don’t they?”

The Doctor stared at their joined hands, lightly stroking his thumb across the back of hers and wondering if she could feel his double pulse hammering against her skin.

“Yeah. They do.”

5 is something silly and I don't have much of it actually written (like 6 paragraphs maybe, lol) because it's tough to get right, but basically Nine thinks "wait, did she ask me out? she asked me out!" and then every time he second guesses himself it's like "well, she holds my hand a lot" which is basically making out for Time Lords, and since physical intimacy is not super necessary (it would be a bonus, of course, but he could live just holding her hand forever), this dumbo will jump straight to "I want to marry this girl" when his feelings boil over. Of course, "this girl" is blissfully unaware of this idiot's thoughts.

Sorry I don't have much to give you with these, but hope this helps satisfy some of the curiosity!

#asked and answered #nerdie-faerie #ace you are a treasure

9 notes · View notes

sometimesitrytowritethings · 4 years ago

Text

Mountain Man: Part 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Swearing, Mention of death, Mourning

Summary: You never thought you’d love again. Then Arthur Morgan came into town. Fate continuously has you meeting each other in odd ways, and a troubled past is something you are both familiar with. Perhaps that’s what will make this time different.

Notes: A MASSIVE THANK YOU to @morgans-whore for helping me out with this!!! If you haven’t read their work, please do so immediately.

------

Worth’s General store was a large building at the end of the Main Street. Although obviously aging, Jacob Worth did his best to maintain the store as much as possible, and keep it as well stocked as he could for the citizens of Valentine. The store was small and dark, despite the bright day outside, but stocked to the brim with goods both local and exotic.

You stepped over the familiar threshold, and were immediately greeted by the friendly voice of Jacob, “Good morning!” You greeted him with a nod and a smile, moving to the left so that the excited child behind you could dart inside.

Ben immediately dashed to the small candy display near the register, bouncing up and down in excitement. His curls bounced with him while he looked at the selection with a grin that reminded you so much of his father. Small, dirty hands grabbed for a bar of chocolate and a bag of hard candies, holding them up to his face for closer examination.

“Are you looking for anything in particular today? We just got in some more of that coffee from Guarma that I know you’re fond of,” Jacob continued, standing behind the counter and keeping his eyes on your son. He indicated to a shelf behind him, with a sign bosting “Fresh Guarman Coffee! $1 per pound!”.

You smiled at him. “Thank you, Jacob, but we’re only here for picnic supplies today. I’ll come back later in the week to pick up more coffee and dry goods, if you could please hold some for me?” Jacob was a nice man, if a bit lonely of late. He had been very close to your husband, and made sure to take good care of you and Ben in recent years.

He nodded, grabbing one of the heavy bags off the shelf and putting it to the side behind the counter. “Of course, happy to,” he wrote your name on a slip of paper and put it on top of the bag. When he stood up, he brushed his fingers off on his apron, and then rose his hands to comb through his unkempt beard. “You going over to see Andrew today?”

With a bittersweet smile, you nodded in affirmation. “Yes, it’s been a while since we’ve gone over there. And since the weather is nice today, we thought we would have a picnic,” you explained, walking over to your son and ruffling his curly hair. “Isn’t that right, Ben?”

“Yep!” he exclaimed, still mostly focused on the candy in his hands. “And Mama said I could pick out a candy for today, right Mama?” He looked up at you, eyes wide with excitement, reminding you all the more of Andrew.

You couldn’t hold back the loving smile that lit up your face when he looked at you. The five years since Ben had been born had been tough, no doubt, but seeing the boy grow up was worth more than the world. He was becoming more and more like his pa as he got older, earning you a small, bittersweet ache in your heart every time you noticed the similarity.

Raising Ben together with Andrew on the little ranch outside of town had been your plan. The two of you had looked so forward to teaching him to care for animals, to giving him more siblings to play with, to raising him into the brilliant young man that he was indeed becoming. Unfortunately, fate had had other ideas. Only one of those wishes was coming to fruition, and you were forced to watch him grow up alone.

You had grown up in a small town on the eastern edge of New Austin, helping your parents in the saloon and restaurant they had owned, and sadly knew next to nothing about ranching. Andrew, on the other hand, was born on a small ranch just outside of town, and had practically been taking care of animals since he could walk. Sadly, Andrew had passed only a few months after Ben was born, and never got a chance to teach him anything or give him any siblings.

Ben’s determined decision brought you out of your bittersweet reverie. “I think I want chocolate today,” he said, before placing the small bag of hard candies back on the counter. “I like when it gets all melty when it’s hot. Then I can just lick it off the package and I don’t even gotta chew.” His rambling made both you and Jacob chuckle.

You went back to browsing the shelves, picking up a few apples and peaches, and asking Jacob for loaf of bread, dried beef, and some cheese. As a special treat for you and your son later, you picked up some assorted biscuits as well. The last things on your list were a small bottle of wine for yourself and a bottle of milk for Ben… who was now hiding something behind his back.

He had a shameful smile on his face, and was rocking back and forth from his heels to his tippy-toes. Behind him was an obviously empty space on the shelf where peppermint candies usually sat. He could have only been more obvious if he were whistling. The boy really was a horrible thief.

“Ben, sweetheart, put that down please,” you lightly scolded, getting ready to bring out your stern mother voice if need be. “You’ve got a chocolate bar for later, you don’t need more candy.”

Then again, there is no reasoning with a child. “But Papa’s favorite is peppermints. I wanna get some candy for him,” he says, eyes going wide and shining with definitely-fake tears. He brought the red and white striped package out from behind his back and showed it to you, eyes as wide and innocent as a puppy.

“Honey…” you rubbed the bridge of your nose as you spoke, and closed your eyes, torn between holding your ground and giving into the puppy-dog eyes.

“Please mama?” There it was, the lip tremble. This kid had you wrapped around his tiny little finger. “Please? They’re his favorite. I’ll leave the chocolate if I gotta.” And the cincher. He had to have known what he was doing, offering to put back his own treat to get peppermints for someone who couldn’t even enjoy them? He was a literal angel.

An angel you could simply not say no to.

“Oh, alright, you. Those puppy dog eyes are merciless, you know?” you concede, not hearing the door open behind you and the heavy footsteps coming your way.

The boy jumped in excitement, his curly hair bouncing with him, and ran up to the register to show his purchase to Jacob. You follow suit, pulling a few bills out from under the blanket in the basket and handing it to your friend across the counter.

“Peppermints AND chocolate?” came a husky voice from behind you. “You really must be worth more than I could afford.” You recognised the sound almost immediately, and turned to face the man from the night before. He was again standing casually, observing the scene before him with his fingers looped in his belt, and smiling softly at your son.

Seeing him again so soon made you smile. Last night may have been short, and may have amounted to nothing in the end, but flirting with him had certainly been fun. “Well, hello again Mountain Man,” you responded, teasing him with the nickname Anastasia had unintentionally bestowed on him the previous evening and making no pretense of hiding the fact that you were running your gaze up his body. Although he was wearing the same clothes as the evening before, and was significantly dirtier than you remembered him being before you left, he looked even more handsome in the light of day. “That’s certainly true, but maybe we can negotiate the price over a drink sometime?”

His soft smile that had been reserved for your son turned into an impressed smirk as his gaze drifted to you. “‘d be happy to,” he responded.

You glanced down at your son, who was still pre-occupied with the peppermints, and decided to forgo any further suggestive talk while he was with you. Which, unfortunately, meant that you weren’t entirely sure what to say next. “Well,” you managed, clearing your throat and turning to pick up the full picnic basket from the counter. “I certainly didn’t think I’d see you in the general store. Don’t you mountain men hunt all of your own food?”

Arthur barked out a laugh, throwing his head back with it. You were surprised about how attractive it was. “Shoa, if I weren’t such a bad shot, maybe,” he retorted, looking back at you. “‘m headin’ out for a bounty. Just need t’ stock up on some supplies before I leave.”

“Bounty?” That certainly surprised you. Though, now that you’ve had a better look at him, you supposed that he could be a bounty hunter. He did have multiple pistols in holsters at his hips and a couple of repeaters strapped to his back. Not to mention the fact that he could probably wrestle anyone to the ground with his bare hands alone.

“Yeah, some snake-oil salesman been pawning off poison to women with sick husbands,” he explained nonchalantly, pulling his hands from his belt and walking in your direction.

“Ah…” you drew in a sharp breath as he came closer to you, backing you up until you were nearly touching the shelves against the wall. Your heart was pounding in your ears, what was he playing at? He kept his eyes on yours the whole time, the same predatory look in them that you noticed last night, and you would have panicked if it weren’t for the mirth in them as well. Somehow, you could tell he wouldn’t hurt you. This was just a part of the game.

Without a word, and keeping his eyes locked with yours, he reached behind you and pulled a box of shotgun shells off the shelf.

When he had what he wanted, that stupid attractive smirk returned to his face and he stepped back, giving you room to breathe. “S’posed to be camped out by Cumberland Falls. Shouldn’t take long, if ya’d want to join me for that drink afterwards,” he explained, finally breaking his gaze from you and heading to the other side of the room to the display housing basic tonics.

Now that he wasn’t so close, now that he wasn’t looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive, you could finally let out the breath that you had apparently been holding. “I… I’m a bit busy today, I’m afraid,” you managed, holding up the basket full of picnic foods for him to see. Your heart was pounding, and it was certainly not from fear. You only hoped he wasn’t able to tell.

Completely oblivious to the situation before him, Ben strolled over to you from the cash register, where he had been chattering on to Jacob. “Yeah, we are going to see Papa!” he told Arthur excitedly. “We even got him candies!”

Your eyes snapped to your son at the sound of his voice, only to see him standing beside you with an opened bag of peppermints, one already in his mouth. Faking offense, you bent down to your son’s height and took the peppermint bag from him. “You said those were for papa, you little thief,” you teased, slipping the bag into your basket before reaching out to Ben’s sides.

The boy knew what was coming, and was preemptively laughing and trying to escape you. “He doesn’t mind sharing!” he giggled, backing away from you with a grin.

You narrowed your eyes playfully at the child. “Oh, sure he doesn’t,” you taunted before going in for the kill, “you sneak!” With that, you drew Ben toward you and began attacking him with tickles. Ben’s shrieks of laughter filled the room as the two men watched on with smiles on their faces.

“Mama, no!” shrieked Ben through his laughter. “No tickling! No tickling! Let’s go see Papa!” His laughter died down as you stopped tickling him and released him from your hold. He was breathless and grinning from ear to ear, eyes shining with glee. You simply adored him.

“Alright alright, let’s go, my little thief,” you said, giving him a purposefully loud, wet kiss on his cheek, which he proceeded to wipe off dramatically. He then dashed to the door, careful to keep out of arms’ reach, lest you try to catch him again. You followed him with a smile, stopping briefly at the door to say goodbye.

“Anyway, it was nice seeing you again, Mountain Man,” you said, turning to Arthur with a small wave of your left hand, the light glinting off your worn wedding ring.

He cleared his throat and tipped his hat as you turned back around to follow Ben. “Ma’am,” was his simple farewell, and if you had glanced back, you would have seen his eyes, focused on the ring on your finger in disappointment.

The cemetery, much like everything else in the small town, was just down the street from the general store. Ben ran slightly ahead of you, still within eyesight, the bag of peppermints once again held tightly in his tiny hand. You waved and said hello to the few people that you passed as you walked the short street, but all-in-all it took no time to get to where you needed to go.

Andrew was buried next to his parents, and you knew the space like the back of your hand. The grave was starting to age, but was generally well kept by both the town minister and yourself. It was situated toward the back of the cemetery, under a tree and away from the road - an ironically beautiful spot for a picnic. Andrew would have loved it.

Just an hour after leaving the general store, you sat atop your picnic blanket, a worn blue and white quilt sewn by yourself and your late mother-in-law during the early days of your marriage, under the shade of the large tree with a book in hand. The half-eaten loaf of bread, leftover cheese, and beef were packed neatly back into the picnic basket, leaving you and Ben plenty of space to lounge.

Peppermints had been scattered over the blanket and beside the grave itself, as Ben played with a wooden horse on top of the weathered stone. He spoke quietly, voice still full of excitement, to his father’s and grandparents’ graves as he played. The book you were holding, a cheap romance novel that you had borrowed from Margaret a few weeks prior, didn’t manage to hold your interest, and you were lost in thought.

About Andrew. About the past. About what could have been.

Andrew had been beyond excited for your pregnancy, even going as far as building a small nursery onto the small house once he had inherited it from his parents. It had been a hard time for him, torn between the sadness of losing his parents to cholera not a year prior and the excitement of bringing a child into the world with the woman he loved. Thankfully, the entire town had been there to support him: his friends stopped by whenever they could, the Downes next door helped out on the ranch when they got a chance, Ms. Chadwick had even taken to stopping by on a weekly basis to help you during the pregnancy.

It had all gone surprisingly smoothly, and a little over a year after his grandparents’ passing, little Ben was safely brought into the world. The first few months were an exhausted dream, taking care of a child, your child, together. Waking up at dawn to feed Ben and make coffee for Andrew before he went out to take care of the animals. Days spent feeding and playing with your son, working as much as you could, and waiting for Andrew to take a break so you could coo over the little one together. Nights spent cuddled together, looking adoringly at the face of the perfect child that the two of you had brought into this world.

It was so wonderful, and so tragically short-lived, that you sometimes weren’t sure if it hadn’t all been a dream.

But then you remember Ben, so much like his father in so many ways, and the bittersweet memory of that time solidifies in your mind. It was no dream. It was short-lived, exhausting, and too perfect to last. Andrew was gone, but he still lived on in your son, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

An excited squeal from the boy brought you back to the present, and you turned to watch him race his wooden horse across the headstones decorated with your family’s names. Not far away, Arthur was also alerted by the sudden shrill noise. Watching the two of you, as he stood by his horse and covered with grime, sweat, and dirt, he smiled.

#Arthur Morgan x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #f!reader #arthur morgan x f!reader

92 notes · View notes