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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 2 months ago

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Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Twenty-Seven

TW: medical stuff, talk of dying, nsfw

The next time you go to see Detective Washington Linda is there. She’s always there, bless, and you think that maybe she could use a change of scenery. “Would you like to get a coffee with me?”

She blinks up at you, as though the thought of being anywhere but by her husband’s side never even occurred to her. You sympathize, maybe even more now than a few days ago. You know that if Tom was in that bed…you would be losing your fucking mind. You try not to think about how real a possibility it could be, with the dangers of Tom’s job. Of how it could be not if, but when.

You need caffeine.

You go to the little café, Linda following a step behind you. You order a super sweet frappe drink that barely masquerades as coffee. She gets a latte.

“So…how is he doing?”

“Better,” she answers, looking into the frothed milk atop her coffee. “Stable, now, thank god. But…when he wakes up, we’re still going to have a long road ahead of us.”

“Yeah,” you acknowledge, understanding all too well. “But he’s strong. And you are too. I can tell. You’re going to make it.”

“We were going to leave LA, you know? That money they found in the car? We sold our house. We were going to start over in the Bahamas.”

“Well, maybe you can still do that? After he recovers? I’ve seen people recover from gunshots really well.” You hope you’re soothing her, instead of breaking her psyche down even more, but in truth you’ve never really thought you were good at this human connection stuff.

Linda gives you the tiniest of smiles, and it warms you up more than the steaming cup in her hands. “You could be doing anything with your break…Why are you coming to see me?”

“I don’t take breaks,” you say, leaning over with a smile like this is top secret highschool drama stuff. “Well, not usually.”

She laughs in a huff. “Well, thank you.”

“I wanna be there for you,” you tell her truthfully, toying with the plastic, icy cup in your hands. “I think you could use a friend if I’m not mistaken?”

“You’re right,” she nods, looking down into her own brew. “Although I’m sensing you need the company, too? After all, the only person I’ve seen you around here with is Ludlow.”

Oh….Oh.

Yeah, you suppose it makes sense that everyone knows by now. Tom is a little hard to miss, and you’ve been pinned to his side since the grocery store shootout. Every piece of you wants to defend him again—from the venomous way Linda says his name—dust off his badge and put him on the pedestal he deserves, but this isn’t about Tom…or you right now. “I’m… sorry,” you say, unsure of what else to provide. You bow to her grief, her anger, her pain, because sometimes that’s just what you have to do.

“Can you just tell me something?” She asks, her sorrow suddenly forefront.

“Of course, anything.”

“Tom…didn’t try and hurt him? Did he? He didn’t help the shooters?”

“Linda… No. Jesus, no. Tom, he…” you rub a hand over your face, forgetting that you’re wearing mascara to work because you feel this new sense of pride and confidence and beauty thanks to the subject of your current conversation. “He tried to help him, just like me. He did what he could. I swear to you.”

“And if he didn’t? Would you still be with him?”

For some reason, and it’s a reason you’ll have to do some soul searching about later on, you hesitate to answer that question. Because you’re not sure. Not sure if you would have blacklisted Ludlow for being involved with Washington’s near death, or comforted him about it—“you did what you had to.”

It’s scary, to give all of yourself when you…fuck it, when you love someone. Push morals and decencies and laws aside for a person. Lose yourself trying to justify their behaviors. You’ve been here, what? A dozen times? With friends, family, lovers. Thinking that if you could just see something in them, some redeemable quality, maybe that would erase all their copious horrible ones.

So, would you? Defend Tom if he had tried to kill Linda’s husband? You answer with what you truly believe:

“He wouldn’t. Maybe he would try and fight him. Break something, even. But he wouldn’t kill him, Linda. I know he wouldn’t.”

She appraises you with something in her eyes that resembles trust, and it makes you wonder what you did to deserve it. “I believe you,” she says, confirming your suspicions about her expression.

“Look. I know…our boys have had their differences. I know I don’t know the details. What I do know, is that Tom is determined to find the guys who shot your husband. He’s…all in on that.”

You’re surprised when Linda frowns at hearing this. “And what does the almighty Captain Wander think about that?”

Now you’re frowning too, because her skepticism maybe puts some things into perspective for you. You remember what Tom told you, about going around the official channels to get things done. “Honestly? I’m not sure it’s official. I just know Tom is on it like a missile. He’s not going to give up.”

Linda sighs, looking down into her coffee. “There’s a part of me that just wants to sweep all this under the rug and start over. But the other part of me?” She looks up at you, a fierce fire in her honey-brown eyes that makes you feel like you just stumbled on a lioness on the prowl. “The other part of me hopes Ludlow kills them all.”

***

It’s a long, hard day. The weather is getting colder, although it’s hard to call outside cold right now, especially considering where you’re from, but dropping temps, no matter how insignificant Kansians think they may be, still come with colds and sepsis and lung troubles, even here in sweltering LA.

It’s easier to get through the shift, though, because you’ve made a new friend, and she’s pretty damn cool. Linda is fierce, loyal, beautiful; you would envy her if it wasn’t for admiration getting in the way. Even better, you just seem to click with her so naturally, the vibes between you are immaculate—you feel like you’ve known her your whole life, and that’s really rare to have with someone.

You chart with a smile for once, because you really hate charting more than anything else on God’s green earth, but take a pause when your phone vibrates in your pocket.

Hey, baby, am I still picking you up at 1930, or you gonna be late?

Your smile sharpens and spreads, warmth flaring up your bones like freshly plugged Christmas lights, at Tom’s message.

I can do seven thirty if you stop distracting me.

But I miss you :(

Oh my god. Now you’re blushing and giggling.

C’mon, you know you’ve been thinking about me all day.

Nope. Forgot your name, actually. Who is this, anyway?

I think it’s time we give you that spanking.

I can take the bus home….

You know I will stop that bus with my lights and sirens on.

Fuck u, handsome.

Maybe after I turn that little ass red.

You roll your eyes, scoffing just as hard as clenching. This man is going to kill you. He’s so goddamn sexy it should be illegal. And he’s making all your dirty little fantasies come true while simultaneously making your heart melt. You shove your phone back into your pocket, determined to go back to work so you can actually get out at the time you’re supposed to, but it vibrates again.

I’m very serious about pulling that bus over. Don’t even try it.

Yes, officer.

Good girl.

What a dick. You’re absolutely head over heels for him. Asshole.

How the hell are you going to betray his trust and let Julian have his way with you? How are you not going to feel crippling guilt every time you look into those coffee brown eyes? How. Furthermore, is Julian going to want to keep doing this with you? Training you like you’re some sideshow pony? You grimace at the thought.

It’s wonderful, how when you see Tom all those bad feelings seem to go away—especially since he picks you up in full uniform, those delicious glinting handcuffs strung proud to his belt. You bite your lip when you see him, and he kisses the sting away.

“Working late?” You ask, shimmying your thumbs into his belt loops and pulling him closer. It’s been long, hard hours without him, and you missed him more than you want to admit.

He presses you up against the wall, just like you want, and tucks stray, wild hairs behind your ears. “Had a residential disturbance,” he says, “let me make you dinner.” It’s beautiful, how such mundane things sound so sinfully promising through his voice.

“You are dinner, Officer Ludlow.” Because God, you really have just been aching to lean into this cops and robbers fantasy that he started on that dark highway. All you’ve been able to think about is getting on your knees and undoing this uniform and sucking him empty.

Fuck Julian, and your job, and everything else when he kisses you with a growl, hands cupping the back of your head and threading through your hair so he can get you closer. He either really likes this feral beast you’ve become, or really doesn’t like it judging by this lip splitting dance of tongue and teeth that leaves you gasping for breath. “Careful, baby, might have to lock you up and keep you all to myself.”

You do love the sound of that.

***

You ask Tom to take you somewhere…somewhere high and airy where you can look down on the city of Angels. The city you both protect, with shining colorful lights that fight valiantly against the dark night. Tom holds you in his arms, chin on your head, and you don’t mind that all the shiny bobbles on his uniform poke at you. You feel so safe, right here, even though you’re alone in the woodsy hills of LA, and it’s because he has you securely tucked between his biceps.

“Something’s going on with you,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “I can tell, you know that?”

The fine hairs along your spine lift, and you hide your face in his arm, trying with all your might not to start crying like a baby.

“I’m just scared, of those guys trying to get rid of me…” it’s not a total lie, although it, surprisingly, between Julian’s clutches and Tom’s freedom, is the least of your worries.

He pulls you closer. “Listen, baby, I’m gonna protect you. I know you’re not used to that, to someone having your back, but I do. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere…not even if you want me too.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, I know.”

“I think I should probably ask you out properly, but I’ve been a little nervous.”

Your chuckle turns to confused laughter, and you look up at his sheepish smile. “The unbreakable Tom Ludlow, nervous?”

“Yeah, that you’re gonna tell me to go pound salt…again.” He tries to smile his way out of that statement, but his eyes droop and the corners of his mouth twitch with the effort of nonchalance. And you are a fucking asshole for trusting Julian and snubbing Tom—that’s all you really know for sure.

“Will you go out with me?”

His grin turns authentic, and it scares you how much lighter you feel now that he’s genuinely happy again.

“Yeah,” he agrees on the soft crown of your hair.

#tom ludlow x you #tom ludlow x reader #keanuverse

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johnwickb1tsch · 6 months ago

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Excessive Force : a Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE AMAAAZING @treedaddymcpuffpuff 😘😘😘) - Chapter FOURTEEN ---> (all chapters)

trigger warnings: mention of police shooting, child trafficking, past childhood trauma, abuse, etc. plz take care!

“Are you serious?!” You have to move the phone away from your ear to avoid a blown drum from Sheila’s screech.

“Yup.”

“Okay, why don’t you sound as excited as me?”

“I’m nervous. He’s really forward. And, I haven’t been on a date in forever.” That didn’t end horribly… You’ve decided not to count the fiasco with Julian. You’re in your room, fingering through the limited collection of nice clothes in your closet. You briefly debate wearing a turtleneck and thick linen pants just to piss him off. But, also, there’s that little sundress you bought at the mall that you’ve never gotten a chance to wear… The pretty, soft color would pair very nicely with your silky cream bra and panty set—that you also have never worn. You’re starting to re-think the whole not being a prude thing.

Plus, it’s hot outside.

Sheila pulls you from your search. “Listen, if he tries anything, just kick him in the dick. Works every time.”

“He’s like eight feet tall. I don’t know if I can reach his dick… with my feet.”

You both giggle.

“That’s why they make step stools.”

“Like, for that exact reason?”

Sheila’s one of those people that has proven to be supportive. You met her on a bus tour your first week in LA and have been buddies ever since. It works perfectly since you both have hectic work schedules and don’t really expect anything from the other one. She calls you for drinks, you call her for lunch. Sympatico.

“Obviously. So, he’s tall. Is he hot?”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth when you think back to his bare, bruised body on your exam table, those mile long, strong thighs that caged you in and felt more like they belonged to an Amazon Boa rather than a man.

“Okay, that silence either means hell yes or hell no, so which is it?” You hear the grin in Sheila’s voice.

“First one.”

You end up telling her about his persistent hospital visits, him pulling you over, maybe omitting some—okay, no, a lot of the details just so she doesn’t want to kill him just yet. You also haven’t told her about the Julian debacle–or that Tom basically rescued you.

You also leave out that he just happens to be the new superhero on every news channel right now. You’re still processing that yourself, and it’s not boding well for you keeping your cool with this man.

As it turned out, it was the news that informed you of Officer Tom Ludlow’s whereabouts those lonely night’s you’d missed him harassing you on that lonely stretch of highway. He wasn’t ignoring you. He was rescuing two teenage girls who had been kidnapped and trafficked by a gang. According to the report, Ludlow had entered the house after hearing a cry for help, alone, and gunned down every single one of the gangbangers before setting the girls free.

Parts of this story should have alarmed you, but there had been a time in your past when you would have given anything for a person of authority to ride to your rescue, red tape be damned. How many times had the cops come to your house for a domestic disturbance between your parents, and left you in a bad situation because of some legal technicality or another? How had they seen you, scared and dirty, cowering in the doorway, and left you behind? The horrors you could have told them, if only they’d cared to ask without your parents there to overhear and threaten you, but every time until the last time, they’d just left you in the hellhole that had been your childhood home.

How different your life—your sister’s lives—would have been if you had a Thomas Ludlow back then.

The twin girls’ MISSING posters and billboards were all over the city. Most anyone with the power to do something had given up on them as a lost cause, just another sad story, written them off as tragically probably dead in a gutter, but not Ludlow. Ludlow had risked his neck (and possibly his badge, because you’d heard of the old “I heard a cry for help” trick to gain entry, and it was almost always code for “I didn’t have a warrant, what are you going to do about it?”, to get them out, and goddammit if that didn’t just warm you to your toes and soften your heart.

Worse yet, you feel like the biggest asshole for calling him a fraud, to his face, the night after it all went down. He’d just taken it on the chin, and he still asked you out.

Ok, he technically extorted you, but it just doesn’t feel as sinister now as it had last night. He’d been bold, and borderline needy for some human tenderness, and fuck if you didn’t understand all too well why now.

Now, rather than having to keep yourself from tearing him a new one, you were afraid you were going to have to restrain yourself from crawling into his lap at the first opportunity, and fucking his brains out for being such a goddamed hero.

“Oh, he’s a freak!” Despite saying this, she sounds like she’s twirling her hair and kicking her feet.

You snort. “He’s got..uh…nice hands.”

You decide on the sundress and the bra-panty set, but you don’t bother laying them out in preparation, because you’re still telling yourself that this isn’t that big of a deal and you’re not that invested and that if Tom Ludlow kisses you, you won’t burst into flames.

You want to take a bath, leave some scent of those seldom used lavender lemon oils lingering on your skin, but decide against it.

No. Actually. You’re doing it. Taking a nice, warm, spiced soak, rubbing lotion over every piece of you except the very sensitive bits, shimmying into the undergarments. The panties end up being cheekier than you like, but your butt looks cute, and the dress covers everything pretty good, anyway—well, everything that matters.

After putting your hair up in a messy bun and throwing some mascara on, you’re ready for—actually, who the fuck are you kidding, you are the opposite of ready. Borderline panicking at the thought of this man coming to pick you up and taking you out and putting on his lewd charm and ruining this cute underwear.

By the time he buzzes downstairs, it’s too late to decide on another pair of shoes. You have to live with sandals—with the fact that he might just look down and get a full, unfiltered view of your toes curling when he opens his pretty mouth.

You’re totally fucked, here.

You think it again when you open the door, finding his lean form all in black, leaning on the wall with his hands in his pockets and his full bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s already thinking about eating you up. You literally feel it as his eyes look you up and down, from your messy bun to your pink painted toes. It’s been two seconds, and already you are soaked between your thighs.

Doomed. You are just fucking doomed, and a part of you is just ready to surrender, because it takes so much goddamn energy to fight your attraction to this man. You can feel it like live electricity crackling over your skin.

Of course, there’s that other part of you that wants to run right back up those stairs and lock yourself away from this gorgeous devil.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Your mouth opens to reply, but your brain takes a few seconds to catch up, utterly short circuited by how ridiculously handsome he is in his black button down, his dark pants belted low on his hips, those big feet in black boots. It’s a little strange, seeing him without his badge or his gun on his hip–but you can work with this.

“Hi,” you answer, scathingly clever as ever.

“Ready to go?”

You’d brought down your purse, to avoid inviting him into the private sanctuary that is your little shoebox of an apartment, but now you almost regret it.

“Yeah. Where are we going?” You step out the door, but he doesn’t move back, relishing your close proximity with a smirk. But there is a new softness in his brown eyes as he looks down at you that makes you a little weak in your knees. He reaches up to touch your cheek, feather light, and it boggles your mind how this man can be such a beast, and yet so gentle when he wants to be.

“You’ll see.” You narrow your eyes at him, but for once, it’s more playful than fueled by annoyance. “Relax,” he says, his shapely mouth dancing as he suppresses a smile. “You’re in good hands, honey.”

You don’t even flinch, as he drives this final nail into your coffin, the wave of desire inspired by the thought of those oh-so-capable hands and what they just might do to you tonight buzzing down your spine. This is how you die–you are strangely, almost, ok with it.

When he has you safely ensconced in the passenger seat of his sleek black Charger you look over at him, his long arm draped over the wheel as he navigates the hostile environment of LA traffic like a shark patrolling a reef. “So…I saw you on the news last night.”

He lifts one of those dark brows, though his expression remains otherwise unreadable. “Haven’t really looked at what they’re saying,” he admits, like he’s used to the media getting the details wrong towards their own ends.

“They said that you saved two underaged girls that were being traffiked?”

His mouth turns down, and you wonder if you’ve killed the happy vibe of the evening so soon with your nosy questions. But then again–you need to know. It’s a gnawing curiosity in your gut not just for the events that transpired, but the man who orchestrated them. Who you are currently alone in a car with, so you reason you have a right to know.

“Yeah,” he simply answers, not keen to crow his own praises.

“And you…killed all those guys?”

He gives a sigh that seems to come from the bottom of his soul. You sense a weariness in him that he’s never shown on the outside before.

“Yeah.” A long silence draws out between you, before he adds, “They were very bad dudes, y/n. Please don’t be afraid of me.”

You can’t exactly say that you’re not–but ironically, the news of him shooting down those gangsters really has nothing to do with it.

“I’m not. I mean–if they were abusing those girls, then they deserved it.”

He looks you over then, an appraising look as though you’ve given him some new information about your character. Maybe information you didn’t exactly mean to give away, but it’s out there now. He’s going think you’re a kindred spirit–or a blood thirsty gremlin.

Either way, you don’t really want to discuss why you sympathize with those girls, and with him.

“Are you okay?”

This question seems to take him aback, like he truly wasn’t expecting it. He’s surely used to being a pillar of stoic manhood, but you know this shit takes its toll. “Yeah. I’m fine, sweetheart. Thanks.”

You eye his hand resting on the center console, and a part of you very badly wants to reach out to him and take it. Almost as though he can sense it, or maybe because he wants it as badly as you do, he holds out his hand palm up in invitation. It’s possible you stare at that hand for a beat too long, his wide calloused palm and long blunt fingers. Long enough that he tries to play it off, starting to take it back, before you quickly lace your fingers with his. The way he smiles to himself sends warmth blooming all the way to your toes, and you’re glad he’s driving because they do, indeed, curl in your sandals.

You give him a little squeeze, relishing the way your hand feels so tiny and protected in his own, and say, genuinely, “I’m sorry. For calling you a fake cop.”

He clicks his tongue. “I’ve heard worse from people that aren’t half as pretty as you.”

You want to fight with him on that—scoff, roll your eyes—but you just can’t, because as much as that small, whiny part of your brain tells you he’s lying, the bigger, rational part absolutely knows just by the sincerity in his tone that he thinks you really are a pretty, sublime creature.

“But I still kinda think you’re a jerk,” you half tease.

“Mmmm, what happened to that feisty little thing I know? She change into a cute sundress and suddenly become sweet?”

You are loathe to admit the real reason for your change of heart.

“You wish.”

He chuckles. “Bet I can make you sweet.”

You’re a total idiot for what comes out of your mouth, and your underwear is the one that will more than likely end up paying for this mindless insolence. “How?”

He brings your hand up to his mouth, lips brushing over the thin skin of your knuckles, sending a spear of desire through your arm and into the rest of your body. You make a tiny choked noise when his tongue peeks a taste of your skin, going unfocused and fuzzy, radio static and full throttle cavewoman.

He kisses the center of your hand, then murmurs, “With sugar, silly girl.”

It's not only the panties that pay a high price, but also your throbbing heart, pleasantly tense and hot and full of desire.

He must find your slack jaw and blank stare immensely entertaining, because he’s laughing low and soft, rumbling in delight.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“I’m fine.” There has never been a more heinous lie uttered in this entire state.

You’re fairly new to LA, but you soon realize from your surroundings that he’s taking you to the Santa Monica Pier.

You are thanking the universe and the gods when you arrive at your destination. Five more minutes—hell, seconds—trapped in that car with him and you would have climbed into his lap and started barking.

When he swings into a parking space designated just for Law Enforcement you turn to him with a lifted brow, as though to say, Abuse your authority much?

But you already know the answer to that. This date is a product of it. And so far…it’s not so bad.

“Do you like fish tacos?” He asks, keeping your hand and massaging that bulky thumb over your wrist.

“Shouldn’t you have asked that before you made a reservation?” you taunt him.

“No reservation,” he informs you with a quirk of his mouth. “But the manager owes me a favor.”

He waves around the busy avenue and beach walk bustling with people, peppered with colorful shops and restaurants of every kind. “Pretty sure we can find you something you like, if Mexican food with an ocean view isn’t your thing…” He says it with a smirk, and you’re seriously not sure if you want to kiss this man or smack him. Maybe both, but save it for later, sings out the little devil on your shoulder before you can tell it to shut the fuck up.

Good lord.

You’ve heard of the restaurant–and that it’s famously hard to get into. You wonder if his connection is a product of a favor for a good deed, or a bit of blackmail. Maybe a little bit of both. You’re finding more and more that it’s hard to put this man in a single box.

“Honestly…?” You make him wait for it, and you can tell your effort to put this confident man on the spot only half succeeds, his dark eyes sparkling with mirth. “That sounds pretty amazing.”

This evil, evil gentleman. He opens your door for you, helps you out of the car, stands patiently while you fix your dress, only half looks at your exposed thighs before you pull the hem down and cover them up again.

Then, he threads his arm with yours and leads you onto the pier. You can’t believe you’ve never taken the initiative to come here before. It’s beautiful, lit up like a modern carnival of neon lights.

“Oh, can we go on the Ferris wheel?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Let’s get some food in you, and then we can do whatever you want.” He really needs to stop being so…caring. It’s seriously starting to mess up your insides.

You turn into a fascinated kid as you walk down the salt coated slice of wood built out over the ocean, looking this and that way, pointing things out, mentioning possible after-dinner activities. You feel like you’re getting annoying, but Tom just seems amused by your sunburned tourist behavior.

You pass by a little shooting booth with huge stuffed bunnies hanging from the rack, and he must see the way you’re ogling them, so he leans down close to your ear. “I could win you one of those?”

You grin back up at him. “I can win you one.”

“Oh? Little sharpshooter?”

It sounds like he doesn’t believe you, so you stick your tongue out at him between smiling lips.

He pokes your forehead in retaliation. “Anybody ever tell you how fucking cute you are?”

The restaurant lives up to its popularity and then some. It takes a while to get here, but you just know it’s worth every foot blister when they sit you down and immediately serve a popped bottle of iced sparkling water and delicious, warm salsa and chips.

You made it just in time to catch the purple orange sun sinking below ocean level, and the front row seats really just make the view that much more spectacular. At this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if a dolphin jumped from the water, illuminated by the dying sun, just like in the movies.

“This is… amazing.” You grab some tortilla chips to munch on while he pours you both glasses of the fancy water. “Have you ever been here before?”

“Once.” He doesn’t elaborate, so you don’t want to push the issue, but you can tell there’s some kind of ache behind that simple word.

“Okay, so you’re obviously not from LA—where are you from?” He leans over the table a bit, curious.

“Kansas.”

He opens his mouth, but you stop him because you already know what he’s going to say.

“Don’t do it.” You point a warning finger at him, giggling like an idiot.

“God, but I really want to,” he groans.

“So,” you say, taking another bite of chip. “Why did you become a cop?”

“You start with the heavy questions, huh?” he teases you. “Thought I was the one who was trained in interrogation?”

You suppose he’s right, considering your earlier line of inquiry in the car. But you shrug in response. Considering how you ended up here, you see no reason to tiptoe around things. “Just curious.”

He offers up an easy smile, letting you know you didn’t offend him. “Well, I actually always wanted to be a dentist.”

You snort with disbelief, trying to imagine this man’s bedside manner. But then, dentists do get to cause people a lot of pain… “Ok. Maybe that tracks.”

“I’m fucking with you,” he informs you with a smirk.

You do your best to appear annoyed, and fear you fail at it badly. “Guess it’s not hard to imagine you pulling teeth, is all.”

He huffs at that. “I always wanted to be a cop, since I was a kid. My old man was a detective. Killed in the line of duty. I guess I felt like I needed to pick up his unfinished business.”

You blink at that. You and your big fucking mouth. “I’m sorry,” you say, reaching for his hand across the table. He curls his fingers with yours, playing with your aqua painted fingernails with his thumb.

“It’s alright. Happened a long time ago.”

“How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

You squeeze his hand in yours, saying nothing.

“What about you? What made you want to be a nurse?”

You don’t really feel comfortable enough to tell him your whole coming-of-nurse story, so you give him the cut version: “when I was young and felt like I had no one, a nurse comforted me.”

“How young?”

“Ten.”

He winces. “Maybe I’ll get the full version of that story one day?”

There’s an epiphany, here, in this little restaurant with the comfy blue chairs, and it’s that Tom Ludlow scares you because he makes you feel something deep, deep inside your chest that you can’t even remember being there before he came along. Julian was easy, child’s play; although it stings, you’re writing him down as just another failed fling. You know if Ludlow gets his hands on your little sensitive heart, it will be a very different story.

You take a big drink of water to wash down the salty crunch. “Sorry.”

“For?”

“Being so…cold.”

He chuckles. “Oh, you are so cold. Gonna have to make it up to me.”

Warmth floods the top layers of your skin. “I already said I’d win you the bunny.”

You’re amazed at how easily he can transition back into a smooth, carnal beast. “I don’t know if that’s enough for me to forgive you.” The fake hurt in his tone should not make you squirm in your seat.

You bite like a dumb, good little fish should: “okay, then, how do I make it up to you, Officer Ludlow?”

You’re hoping to faze him with the sultry innocence of your tone, but it just fuels his devilish aura instead. “We can start with me turning you over my knee.”

You don’t have a retort, but your vagina absolutely does, and she gets you squirming in your seat.

He leans forward, knowing smile sure to be your undoing one way or another. “Would you like that?”

“Thought you didn’t want to hurt me?” You challenge, trying to keep cool despite the blazing Ludlow heat.

“Who says spanking has to hurt? Dr. Bitch?”

You can’t help the giggle that rolls out of you, and he seems to find it entertaining that you have to cover your mouth to hide it. “No, Tom, believe it or not, I am a grown woman who has lived an experienced life.”

“And how was it?”

You tilt your head. “What?”

“You know, when you asked one of your vanilla boyfriends to swat that gorgeous, plump ass a little bit? Just to see how it would feel.” He leans his chin on his palm, listening intently for your answer, and you think you might be on your way to spontaneous combustion.

How in the fuck can he just hit the nail right on the head like that? Know about parts of your life that you haven’t shared with anyone—not that there were many to share with. Are you really this readable?

Once again, he has your sharp tongue dulled with arousal and embarrassment, and you shift in the chair. “He did it, like, once and then stopped.”

“And did you like it?” He presses.

“Yes.”

He takes a little sip of his water, raising both dark brows over the glass at you. “Good to know.”

Tom recommends the margaritas and fish tacos, so you let him order for the both of you while admiring the view. You can’t decide which one you like better, his handsome face or the ocean scape.

As you are finishing your delicious dinner the last rays of the sunset are putting on a five star show for you, the sky painted that impossible deep blue and purple, the water shimmering like color-changing opals.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you sigh, and you catch him looking at you out of the corner of your eye with a softness you haven’t seen from him before. You get up the courage to meet his eyes, and he smiles at you, but for once not like he intends to eat you.

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, sweetheart.”

“Goddammit.”

He laughs at that, a real belly laugh that makes you warm all over even without the aid of your two nursed margaritas. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to out shoot you for that little bunny now.”

This wins you more genuine laughter. “Alright, Annie Oakley. Lead the way.”

#tom ludlow #street kings #tom ludlow x you #excessive force street kings fic #tom ludlow x reader #tom ludlow x y/n #keanu reeves #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #julian mercer x reader #julian mercer x you #keanu reeves x you

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ginandoldlace · 9 months ago

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Built at the end of the 13th century by wool merchant Laurence of Ludlow, Stokesay Castle in Shropshire is one of the best-preserved fortified medieval manor houses in England.

The yellow timber-framed gatehouse was added in the 17th century and is decorated with ornate carvings, including one of an angel and the Stokesay Dragon.

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satlun · 5 months ago

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Birthday Boudoir: Tom Ludlow x f!reader

Genre: tooth-rotting fluff Triggering Warnings: I use these pictures and gifs as references or inspirations for my writing only. I don't and won't romanticize or normalize their behavior; their age gap relationship, drugs, violence and etc. in the movie.

His birthday with the best gifts he ever received.

Author's Note: I love how Tom has masculine energy this much... 🧎🏻‍♀️I love love him. Please enjoy guys.

Credit: Polarr filter by @hayrolinefilters on ig

Today is Tom's birthday. You both usually go out side and find a good restaurant to eat together but this year Tom just wants to spend special time with you in this house. Eating home cooked meals, watching you both favorite movies and snuggling up together.

Tom said he doesn't want any presents for his birthday, he just wants you but you end up buying him a present anyway, how could you not give any presents for your boyfriend? Birthday is a special occasion for someone. You told him that you will go to the bathroom while you both were watching movies on the bed together. You walk through the hallway to the bathroom but you don't actually walk into it, you stop right in front of the door and open the drawer where you hide the present from him. It was wrapped delicately inside a dark blue box with a white ribbon wrapped around it

You slowly walk into the bedroom. Your room is quite dark because you both love turning off the light and watching movies in the dark, as if it's a theater. Tom sees you walk in with a little smile on your face, he's curious. “What?” Tom doesn't pay attention to the movie anymore, he looks at you with curious smile. Both of your hand hide behind your back because you don't want him to see it too soon. You didn't say anything but you slowly got into the bed instead. He notices the hand so he asks. “What is it? My present?” He's not stupid. You just give him a big smile when he finds out. Tom chuckles at you before giving a kiss on your cheek. “You didn't need to do that.” You give him a smile before crawling into his lap and hand the present to him. “It's my favorite person's birthday, how could I not give you anything?” Tom receives the dark blue box, you intentionally choose this color because it matches his uniform which he usually wears it. You always glance at him while he is dressing up, it looks really good on him. “Open it.” You're sitting in the middle of his legs while your head is resting on his chest. Tom turns off the television and turns on the lamp instead because he doesn't want the movie to interrupt this special time and then he gently pulls the white ribbon out before opening the box. There's a luxurious black watch in it. John raises his eyebrows and gives you a little kiss on your forehead. “Thank you, baby. I broke the old one last week from arresting a criminal. How did you know?” You look up at him and say. “I noticed you don't wear it lately. I checked in your accessory drawer and I didn't see it, so I assumed it was gone or maybe broken.” You always notice these little things, he always loves that. He doesn't need to talk or explain much because you pay attention to every tiny detail of him. So sweet. Tom slowly puts it on his wrist and takes a look at it. It's shiny and delicate, it's similar to the old one but this one is better. “Happy Birthday, baby. I love you.” You use one of your hand and place it on his cheek before giving a kiss to the opposite side. “I love you too.” Tom slowly leans over to your face and gives you a passionate kiss, his hand moving up to your neck. His soft lips now press against you meanwhile you let his tongue come into your mouth. It's so smooth and sweet, you slowly close your eyes and let him do it. After a moment, you both break the kiss. It was so romantic, kissing in dim light.

“Actually... I have another present for you.” Tom raises his eyebrows when he hears that. You didn't have your do that at all, the special time that you spend together tonight is enough for him. However, he knows that you are the kind of person who loves to surprise him. He understands that. “What is it?” He gives you another kiss and looks at you. “I want you to close your eyes and I will go get the present.” Tom chuckles with low voice. You are such a tease, it makes him excited even more. He can't think of any other present you could buy for him. “Okay” He answers before closing his eyes. “Don't open until I tell you to. Promise?” Say sweetly. Tom just nods his head. You get off the bed before going to the closet, you slowly take off your clothes and pick a white lingerie set from the closet. It has a top that looks like a bra with elegant style and a bottom that looks almost like a little skirt with the same style. You just want to be beautiful in his eyes, you love when you're beautiful around him, even he always says you are already beautiful but you need to be more beautiful on his special day. Tom can hear the sound of clothes but he still can't guess what gif he's about to get.

Soon, you are finally done dressing up in this white lingerie set. Tom can feel the movement of the mattress when you slowly crawl to him. You fold your legs and sit on your heels, looking at him with his eyes closed. “Open your eyes.” You say smiling softly. His eyes slowly open and look at you, his gaze lingering on your face, your cleavage, your waist and your legs. It's the same you but this time in this beautiful white lingerie set while Tom is in his dark blue pajamas, your favorite color. A smile slowly forms on his face. He likes it, you look really gorgeous in this lingerie. The way your skin looks so soft and smooth. The way your long hair falls on your shoulders, the way you are so small when compared to him because he's much bigger and taller so when you both are in the same bed you're like a little cat to him.

“Come here.” Tom calls you but he moves to you first. Maybe he can't just wait any longer. Tom gives you a passionate kiss on your lips while his hand gently pushes you down on the mattress. One of hand now on your thigh, squeezing it. His big hand can almost wrap around your leg easily. His rough skin makes you feel goosebumps a little. “Is this the present, huh?” Tom broke the kiss and asked you while his body was rubbing against yours because you were completely beneath him. “Yes” you said smiling before touching his face and leaning up to kiss him. Soon, you are on his laps. “You look beautiful... I just want to fuck you right now.” Tom tried to say while your lips were still on his. A small chuckle comes from your throat. How cute. He thought. “You still don't get the actual present yet.” Well, you really love to surprise him. Tom raises his eyebrows again with curiosity. “Are you gonna let me fuck you later?” He broke the kiss for a moment and continued. “Well, that's count but not the one that I am talking about.” Tom grabs your face and continues the kiss after you talk again. He just doesn't want his lips to take a break from yours. You can hear a low groan from his throat, he's satisfied with the kiss. His hands roam around your waist and up to your bare back. Tom moves his lips to your neck and gently kiss it, nibble it time to time. “What else are you gonna give it to me, baby?” He tried to say while he was busy with kissing your soft skin. You tilt your head for him so that he can kiss you easier. Your hands are now resting on his shoulders.

You slowly lean to the side table and grab a Polaroid camera from the drawer. Tom stops kissing you for a moment and follows your hand. He's curious about the present. You're hard to read. Your hobby is photography. You love taking pictures because it can capture your memories. The idea that you come back and look at it, the feeling of that time will come across your mind. And the fact that we can't remember all of our life memories so taking pictures is the best way to remember it, that's what you think. You have many cameras in this house because you're so professional about it. You have every type of cameras; from Polaroid to digital. Now, the camera is in your hand. Tom looks at you with curiosity in his eyes. “I want you to take a picture of me. In this white lingerie...” he can feel shyness through your voice. His cute girl is trying to be sexy tonight, so adorable.

Tom chuckles with the way you want him to. It's interesting for him because he thinks taking pictures of you while you both are in the same bed with casual clothes on is something that makes you both feel intimate and connected. Learning, seeing about each other body is another kind of love language for him. “Sure, my beautiful girl.” You hand the camera to him before leaning down on the mattress, posing like a model. Your little legs cross each other while one of your hand places on the mattress. You look stunning. Tom pick up the camera and point it at you. Your eyes are on the lens shyly. He can see the way your eyes move a little with shyness, it's just hard for you to keep your eyes on the lens when he is looking at you through it. “3... 2... 1...” you can hear the sound of shutter noise. The picture of you slowly printing it from the above of the camera. You love how Polaroid pictures can do something like this, you don't have to wait for so long. The picture is finally show up. Tom picks it and takes a look, he smiles at your picture. You don't look beautiful less even in the picture. “Can I see it?” Tom hands it to you. “Sure, baby.” You take a look at it. It's better than you thought.

“I love it.” You say as he leans on and gives you a kiss again. His girlfriend is so beautiful, he would do anything for you. He would kill for you, he would protect you at all costs. You're all he has. It's just you and always you. His hand wipes your hand from your shoulder so he can feel your skin more. His big hand gently rubs your shoulder, and down to your hand before the other side of his hand handing you the camera. “Take a picture of me.” He said. You didn't expect that actually, all your point is him taking pictures of you. “Okay...” you say with your soft voice before picking up the camera then look at him through the lens. He looks really handsome in dark blue clothes. It makes his skin color stand out than usual. “1... 2... hold on-” You make him curious again. “What?”

You get off the bed before grabbing his officer hat. Tom chuckles softly. Well, he knows how much you love him with the uniform now. You always compliment him about how he looks in it. He understands now that you love it so so much. You give him a playful smile which mixes with shyness in it. Your legs crawl back to the bed and place it on his head. “Better” you kiss his cheek and go back to the spot. “I see... you really like me in it.” He said as he you look at him through the lens. “So much... 1... 2... 3...” your finger press down and then the sound of shutter loud again. The picture slowly shows up from the camera. He secretly looks at you while you're busy, waiting for the photo. You're cute, your hair, your eyes, all your face. All are just the definition of perfection. Your every features combine perfectly. Finally, the picture is out. You take a look at it before handing it to him. “You look hot...” you say very thinly as if you whisper it. “I look hot?” He repeats the phrase before taking a look at it. His eyes meet you again before he kisses you at the corner of your lip. “But you're the hottest.” You bite your lips with playfulness. Tom notices how your reaction is slightly different than usual. You're really really shy right now. So he touches your faces to calm you down, before your heart pounding too fast. One of your hand grab the first picture of you that he took earlier and hand it to him. “This is your present. Keep me in your wallet and look at it when you miss me.” Yeah, you mean a sexy picture of you in this white lingerie is what you want him to look when he misses you. You smile softly at him. That's the best gift he ever received. It may sound normal for everyone else, like it's just a sexy picture but for him no. It's the picture that you both spend this intimate moment together. The way you dress up specially for him, the way you planned all of these. He appreciates it a lot. So it's not just a picture of you in sexy white lingerie, it's more than that, much more. Tom receives the picture from you and put it in his wallet right there. “I will keep you in here, close with me.” You nod and smile at him. “I really love you, Tom.” You add. “Really...” you look at him with passion. He can feel your love for him. It was said through your eyes. He loves you too. He doesn't need to say anything because you can feel it too. Not just this moment but since the day you start dating him. “And I would do anything for you. You know that?” Tom says and touches your face again. Tonight is one of the best moments in your life. He is tough with the others but he always has a soft spot like this for you. He always gentle with you, he treats you really well.

You both spend the rest of the night with taking pictures of each other, making out and taking pictures over and over before ending up having sex. It's just hard to just take pictures only when you look this good. How could he take pictures of this beautiful art without touching it? He takes one picture and he needs to touch you once before taking another one. He is so obsessed with you. He loves you more than anything. Today is the best birthday he ever experienced. You put very much effort into it, he appreciates that very much.

END

#keanu reeves #keanuverse #tom ludlow x you #tom ludlow x reader #street kings

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cheekyowldraws · 7 months ago

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Series: Pokemon Horizons

Characters: Main plot: Murdock, Friede Minor part: Rockruff, Mollie, Orla, Ludlow Mentioned: Katy, Liko, Dot, Roy, Blanca

Ships: FriedexMurdock also called Capncrunchshipping or Airfryshipping

Summary:

The story plays right after the fight against BlackRayquaza and before the Trio offically start their training at the Orange academy.

Murdock seems to work in Katys bakery and logically should stay in this town during that time. So I wanted to explore his feelings about being away from everyone, especially Friede and how they spend their last night together before being apart for a while. Lots of emotions, kisses and a little suggestive part at the end <3

Three days have passed since the big fight against BlackRayquaza, were the Brave Asagi got heavely damaged. It is heartbreaking to see their home being in this terrible state, but luckily nobody was injured during this incident and that's the most important thing. The ship can be fixed after all...even if it might take a while until they can go back to what they are used to...until the ship is filled with chaos and laughter again instead of silence and working noises. For the time being Liko went back to her parents house and Dot and Roy were able to stay at Blancas place until they can officially start with their Terastal training at the Orange academy. Only the adults stayed at the ship for now, but as soon as Orla officially begins with the repair they gonna have to stay at a hotel to not be in her way.

Murdock was sitting in his room heaving out a big sigh. He was glad that at least the kids could stay at a more positive environment right now. Seeing the damaged ship everyday just would make them relive this scary experience over and over again. Or that what he is believing anyways, knowing that he himslef is still struggeling with getting that disaster out of his head. He kept a brave face in front of the children, but in reality the cook was as scared as them, not knowing what happens next. Can the ship really be fixed completely? What are they gonna do if it's not possible? Will this the be end end of the RVTs? The cook couldn't help himself but worrying about these questions. Friede seems more faithful then him or at least knows how to overplay such thoughts. "PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER!" Murdock scolded himself while he slapped his own hands against his cheeks, squeezing them with a slight agression. "You are not a child anymore, so don't act like one!" Murdock remaind in this position for a while before he loosened his grip, letting out another deep sigh.

The chef inhaled and exhaled sharly several times to calm his nerves. There is no time to feel scared. He knows exactly what he has to do. In fact everyone knew repairing the ship wont be an easy task and will keep Orla busy. But for the mechanic to even being able to start with this endeavor, she needs materials and that in turn means they need money. Lots of money. So Murdock already decided what he personally can do to help. After all working hard is something he can do best.

A small smile formed on his lips while he looked at his phone. Only yesterday he mailed an application adressed to Katy's bakery in Cortondo, hopeing she gonna accept him and allow the pastry chef to work there until the ship is as good as new. To Murdocks surprise she personally called him back this moring to tell him he's hired. Needless to say that the chef almost dropped his phone, because he was so nervouse and honestly didn't expect such a fast answer, let alone a positive one. And on top of that he was told he can already start working in five days. Though the cook needs to leave a day earlier to get the keys for the small room he rented near the bakery, right after this hopeful phonecall earlier.

His smile fastly shifted to a more sad one. Working there means he need to leave for a while and live in that town...thinking about that fact alone made him feel wistful. Murdock don't even wanna think about getting seperated from everyone for an extended period of time that he cannot yet grasp. Especially being apart from Friede fills his thoughts with horror. Having him around all the time feels so natural and became part of his daily life. Being able to go to the other man whenever he wants, just to hang out or when he feels overwhelmed or just needs a safe place. Simply just having him by his side, to feel his touch, his warmth. Before Murdock completly got comsumed by his fear he felt something cautiously licking his hand. The cook was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't noticed his puppy climbed on his lap. Rockruff knew somethings was wrong and visible was worried about it's dad. "Sorry I didn't wanted to worry you." Murdock automatically wore a soft smile and gently patted his puppies head before he lifted it up to pepper it with kisses. Cuddeling with his little angel certainly helped to ground him and let him tackle this decision rationally. The chef knew that he had to tell Friede at some point, but he also didn't want his boyfriend to start brooding about this and having to go through all those feelings for days now as a result just like him...one suffering is enough. Murdock settled to only tell Mollie, Orla and Ludlow about his plans for now.

As expected the two woman appreciated his plans but side-eyed him when he pleaded them to not say a word to Friede about that. Nointhenless they gladly did respect his wish who he was very thankfull for. From this point on Murdock tried to tell Friede as well several times. When they were shopping together, when Friede was keeping him company while cooking, when they went for a walk...he tried to tell him...he really tried but everytime he chickened out the last second and brushed it off, finding a silly excuse for his strange behaviour. There was no way that the professor didn't started to get sceptical.

And before Murdock knew it the day before his departure had arrived. It already was dinner time to be exact. The chef was spending most of the day in the kitchen to make everyones fave meals. He just had too, because he doesn't know when he will be able to cook for them again. Murdock could feel tears filling up his eyes, but hastely blinked them away, before he served it all up. "Hope you all are hungry, because I made plenty!" the chef voiced with a bright smile while watching everyone slowly gathering around the table.

"That smells great!" Friede took in the scent a bit more before sitting down and filling up his plate. Orla and Mollie digged into the food as well. Ludlow on the other hand just silently watched the scene for now, sipping his tea, observing, already knowing something gonna happen. And he didn't have to wait long. "So delicious! I gonna miss Murdocks food!" Orla spouted out, mouth full. "ORLA!" Mollie promptly scolded her, but the brown-haired woman didn't realized what she just said. Murdock on the other hand froze in place, wanting to run away. "Please don't let Friede have heard that!" the cook was pleading in his mind. But the white-haired man DID hear and now looked at Orla with a very confused look on his face, swallowing down his food before asking "Hmm? What do you mean you gonna miss his food?" Realisation hit Orlas brain like a thunder bolt. She didn't meant to say that and tried to hastly come up with an excuse. "Ah that...well I mean when we start staying at the hotel he won't be able to cook there right?" Orla cleared up while slightly laughing awkwardly. "Right Murdock?" she then added hoping he gonna help covering her white lie but to everyones surprise his seat was empty. The tall man must have taken the oppertunity to leave while all eyes were on the mechanic. Friede felt like a fool and was visably confused. The professor hated when he didn't know what was happening and didn't realized how his face got very serious. "What is this all about?" he now asked with a slighty annoyed sound in his voice. The damage was already done so there was no reason to keep up this farce. "We promised Murdock to not tell you, I don't know why he asked for that though, so it might be better to ask him yourself." Mollie finally explained. The conference room was now overshadowed by a negative vibe.

"Listen to the wind, it talks. Listen to the silence, it speaks. Listen to your heart, it knows." Ludlow spoke with a calm and encouraging voice, breaking the uncomforteable silence that had settle over the group. Friede stared at his gramps for a moment before his eyes wandered back to his plate of food. His face slowly shifted into a sad but also concerened and betrayed expression. What did Murdock felt comforteable enough to tell literally everyone but him? He needed to know but...if he haven't told him yet why should he tell him now? Friede suddenly started to heavily shake his head, trying to get rid of those unwanted thoughts. With his eyes now filled with determination, the professor promptly finished his fill and then headed to the kitchen, were he was sure to find his 'target'. Ludlow was smiling as he saw the young man leaving the room ready to clear things up. When Friede entered the kitchen Murdock was busy washing the dishes not daring to look at the smaller man. The professor didn't knew how to start the conversation, he wants to know what the chef is hiding from him, but he also doesn't want to pressure him either. The white-haired man is certain that the cook must have a reason why he haven't told him yet, so he tries to approach the subject slowly. "That was delicious as always. I'm full!" Friede praised, putting on a smile. It wasn't a fake smile though, he meant what he said. Murdocks food is always the tastiest, still he felt more like crying right now. The taller man was taken abakt by that, because he was sure Friede straight up gonna confront him and ask him questions. "I'm glad to hear that. It means a lot to me. Thank you." the cook looked at Friede for a short moment to return the smile, before focusing at the dishes again. An awkward silence filled the whole kitchen. The only sound left was the suttle cliring of the table ware Murdock kept cleaning.

With every minute passing the chef started to get more nervouse. "That's your last proper chance to tell him you idiot!" Murdock started to scold himself in his thoughts. "COME ONE JUST TELL HIM YOU COWARD!" his thoughts went further and the cook got so angry at himself, that he abruptly stopped in his tracks, starteling Friede a little. Murdock was snapped back to reality by a gently touch on his shoulder. It was Friede who now was giving him a worried but warm glance. The cook took a deep breath and slowly let out the air again.

"I'm gonna leave tomorrow to work at Katy's bakery in Cortondo and wont be back for a while. We need that money or Orla can't fix the ship so it's unavoideable." Murdock started to explain, pausing for a moment to inhale deeply before continuing. "I wanted to tell you earlier, but the more I tried the more I couldn't bring myself too..." his voice now started to tremble "If..." he had to clear his throat before being able to continue. "If I had told you four days ago, you surley couldn't have helped but brood about me leaving all these days...and I didn't want you to go through the same thoughts that kept haunting me over and over again...I gonna miss you ya know?" the cook couldn't hold his tears back anymore and started to sob bitterly. "I'm so sorry I couldn't tell you until now I'm..." before he could speak any further he was pulled into a tight hug, while a hand gently caressed his back. "You idiot..." the small man said with a shaky voice himself. "You choose to keep all this feelings to yourself because you didn't wanted to make me suffer but..." Friede now had teary eyes as well "But imagine how you must have felt all those days, being all alone with those thoughts...that's what breaks my heart!"

"I'm so sorry...i didn't mean to hurt your feelings...I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." Murdock's voice softened as he continued to apologize, hugging Friede even tighter, but gentle enough so the smaller man could still breath properly. "Shhh it's okay I'm not mad at you." The smaller man kept stroking Murdocks back in gentle and firm circles to calm him down. This went on for quite a while until Friede felt that the other mans sobbing eased. He then proceed to sat down Murdock on the small wooden stool, who was busy wiping away his tears and was still softly sobbing.

"I want to apologize myself...No I need to apologize to you!" the white-haird man stated while he rubbed the back of his head. Murdock just looked at him with wide eyes, waiting for Friede to continue. "The words gramps said to me before had me thinking. I mean you did act a bit strange all of a sudden, but I refused to question it any further believing you surley gonna tell me if somethings the matter and..." "So you did notice..." Murdocks eyes wandered to the side in embarressment. Friede had to giggle at that sight. "Are you kidding me? When we went for a walk yesterday you literally kept staring at me with such an intense look , that you ended up running into a street lamp!" Friede now started to chuckle. "You should have seen your face!" and with that he bursted out into laughter. "STOP LAUGHING THAT'S NOT FUNNY!" Murdock tried to complain, but the moment he saw Friedes genuin smile while laughing like crazy he couldn't help himslef but join, laughing away all their worries. A few minutes passed and they now were sitting on the floor, right next to each other, tummies still hurting from their laughing fit. "Guess we are both idiots!" the cook stated while beaming a smile at Friede who returned the favour agreeing with a cheerfull "Yeah!"

And without a warning Friede was leaning in for a passionate kiss, making the tall man shudder in surprise. As soon as their lips touched Murdock literally melted into this sensation. The cook gently layed his hands around the other mans arms to pull him even closer. Both of them let themselve fully taken in by this moment, there hearts are pounding in synch, hoping this pleasent feeling would never fade. They tried to delay the unavoideable, but unfortunatly they had to break the kiss at some point to breath again. Now staring into each others eyes with such warmth.

"Soooo we can either have some fun now or just cuddle all night." Friede now looked at Murdock with playful eyes and a cheeky smile. The cook just looked at him with wide eyes, cheeks still rosy. He tightened his grip a little, his eyes nervousely flickering back and forth from looking into Friedes eyes to staring into the void. Friede just amusingly watched his future husband getting all flustered, while waiting for an answer. "Wh-Why not both?" the cook finally managed to declare, taking the professor by surprise, not that he is complaining though. He kinda was hoping for that outcome, because he wants both of them to enjoy this night to the fullest. "Never thought you can get greedy." the smaller man sassily returned, while purposly coming closer to Murdock's face who then started to pout a little "So what if I'm a little greedy?" the chef playfully growled back. "Nothing wrong with that." Friede assured while trying to kiss Murdock again. The emphasis is on 'trying' because his attempt got stopped by a big hand gently pressing against his lips. "W-Wait! N-not here!! Besides I need to clean the kitchen first and..." the cook got cut off mid-sentence by Friedes lips sealing his once again. It was only a short lived kiss this time meant to stop Murdock from blabbering nonsens. Friede now was looking into Murdocks eyes dead serious. "As if I would let you do the chores right now, the dishes won't run away, I gonna deal with them tomorrow." the yellow-eyed man explained. "But...!" Murdock tried to argue, but this time it was Friede pressing his hand against the cooks lips. "No buts! I already let the others know so don't worry!" the professor replied with a snippish grin while holding up his phone to show Murdock that he in fact send a message.

»Just put your dishes in the kitchen later. I'll deal with them tomorrow. I have to take care of Murdock tonight <3«

"T-Taking ca-care of me?" Murdocks cheeks turned into an even more intense pink admitting his defeat "G-Guess I have no choice then!" he stutterd softly. Pleased to hear that, Friede then purposely placed his hand on Murdocks crotch, making the cook jump at the sudden touch. His whole head turned into a bright red now and before the professor could make his next move he got lifted up by Murdock, bridal style. The cook now was dashing into his room, while gently carrying the smaller man in his arms, locking the door behind him before he allowed himself to be all over Friede.

At the same time in the kitchen:

"Guess we better sleep with our ear plugs in tonight." Mollie said after she read Friede's message while looking at Orla, who visibly was relieved about this outcome. With their minds at peace the two woman continued eating. Ludlow did join them as well now and was seemingly happy.

The next morning:

Friede and Murdock layed in bed cuddeling together. The smaller man was resting his head againsts the cooks chest, while the taller man wrapped his arms around him. Both were snoozing softly, enjoying this harmonic atmospehere until Murdocks alarm rang. The chef turned it off as fast as he could so Friede not gonna get waken up from it. He had to blink his eyes open several times before his vision was clear and he could see Friedes peaceful face, thankfully still sleeping. The cook decided it won't hurt to stay in bed for five more minutes, before he cautiously climbed out to not wake up the other man. He didn't want too, but he needed to leave soon so he had to dress up and get ready. When he came back from the bathroom he found Friede right were he left him and couldn't hold back a smile. He looked cute when he was peacefully sleeping. Murdock than hastly pulled out his phone to snap a shot he can look at whenever he misses Friede. Not that he already has a full album full of that. Happy with the result he now was thinking about waking the professor up to properly say goodbye for now. But wouldn't that be selfish? To tear him from his sleep just to catch another kiss? As Murdock was mostly silently debating with himself to either wake up the other man or not he suddenly got hugged from behind. The smaller man tightly wrapped his arms around him. "Good morning!" Friede muttered while letting out a big yawn. "G-Good Morning Friede. Did I wake you up?" the cook replied. "Nah I was already awake before you climed out of bed, but I wanted to let you get ready in peace." The white-haired man explained while he released the hug trying to catch a glimpse of Murdock's cell phone "Sooo did you get a nice shot?" Friede asked with a cheeky voice resulting in a high pitched scream leaving the cooks mouth, while the latter tried to hide his phone. But that just made Friede even more curious, now wearing a big grin on his face "I know you made a photo of me while I was supposetly asleep." Murdock was now trying to hide his blushing face behind his phone. "M-Ma-Maybe!" he managed to stutter out. "Good thing I also got a cute shot from you." the smaller man joyfully chirped. A small chuckle left the professors mouth when he saw the chef getting all flustered. Friede then took his chance to pull his boyfriend into a kiss, which immediately made the bigger man calmer. Both closed their eyes and enjoyed this delicate moment. Taking in every second, burning this feeling into their brains. They whined a little when they had to part, but they knew it was now time for Murdock to go. " Don't overwork yourself okay?" Friede wanted to make sure and with a "Don't be too reckless okay?" and a warm smile Murdock then left for his new temporary job.

#pokemon horizons #Professor Friede #Murdock (Pokemon)#Rockruff #pokemon #Pokeani #Friede (Pokemon)#Friede/Murdock #capncrunchshipping #Murdock pokemon #mollie (pokemon)#orla (pokemon)#ludlow pokemon #cheekyOWL writes stuff #cheekyowl draws

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ur-fav-h-anon · 2 months ago

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Out at the my moms friends lake (house) and thinking about which characters would be best to be with at the lake.

Like JW obviously, but he’s just kinda good where ever you put him, he’s happy as long as he’s with you. Also he gives me liking the water vibes so he’d be happy just chilling out on the deck or at the end of the dock with his feet in the water

Ludlow gives me big boat vibes. Like he just strikes me as the kind of person to sit out in the boat all day and have a drink and people watch and shit. (Kinda reminds me of my dad like that.)

Traven would be my number one lake tho. He’s prob handy so he can help with maintenance and shit and I just think he would be good company. Also I think he would like looking at the rocks with me (we’re up in the Canadian Shield so lots of really pretty rocks.)

Dishonourable mention to Donaka Mark. Yes I know he has a water front house and he had the vibes of liking the water… but fuck him.

#H out of the inbox #tom ludlow #jack traven #john wick #donaka mark #keanuverse

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hometoursandotherstuff · 2 years ago

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This is by far the nicest octagonal house I’ve come across, and it really is angled inside- sometimes they’re not. It was built in 1900 in Ludlow, Kentucky, has 4bd.,4ba., and is listed for $529,500.

It has a beautiful front door and the others I’ve seen haven’t been well taken care of like this. Notice the Greek column feature and fireplace.

Very nice living room, and it’s light and bright. There’s a house like this near me, and it’s dark, old, and very unappealing.

Notice the other walls inside. And, this one also has a large staircase to an upper floor.

Love this house- even the inner walls are angled. Look at the wine holder and built-in shelving in the dining room.

This is cute, an angled kitchen and an old brick wall w/an original oven.

If I’m going to live in a unique octagonal house, I want it to be octagonal inside and out. Notice the lovely stained glass window.

This home has more than one fireplace, and it’s very roomy. This is a spacious family room.

This room makes a perfect office size. Love the corner shelves.

Here’s a lovely vintage style bath.

I’ve never seen an octagonal home this large. Nice stained glass skylight, too.

The very spacious main bd. has a fireplace.

Here’s one of the other baths. These angled cabinets must be custom fit.

The 2nd bd. also has a fireplace and is also very large.

They squeezed a washer in this shower room.

I can’t believe that the 3rd bd. also has a fireplace. This is a great house.

Apparently, the 4th bd. is in the basement, but it’s nice.

There’s a whole setup down here, of gym equipment and a TV room.

The house is set on .56 acre and includes a beautiful lighted inground pool.

Plus a big 4 car garage.

Notice that it seems to be on a double lot. Much more land than the neighbors have.

https://www.remax.com/ky/ludlow/home-details/254-latta-st-ludlow-ky-41016/11474715996910264285

#octagonal house #unique homes #unusual homes #houses #house tours #home tour

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pocket-lad · 2 months ago

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CH 14- Trust in the Plan (or Lack Thereof)

It was InGen. Of course it was InGen. Who else had the money and the resources? Who else had records on them? Who else knew of Adelaide’s existence?

“Who’s…what’s InGen?” Ollie asked, hating to be in the dark.

Ian sighed. “Ahh, not sure you’d…it’s far too complicated to-”

“Try me.”

Ian looked to Sarah for guidance, but found none. “Uhh, um…” He was usually good at finding the correct words, but the task of explaining, well, everything to this borrower was daunting, and his mind was preoccupied with something much more important.

“Is it about the dinosaurs?”

Ian blinked. “Uh, yes. Kind of. The company who made them-”

“I thought it was a guy.”

“The company - the company the guy owned. They deal in, um, in genetics, and for whatever reason, they wanted Adelaide.”

Sarah chimed in. “Do you think Ludlow-”

Ian’s eyes grew wide. “That bastard.” He shot to his feet and started pacing again. Ollie backed away a couple inches.

Sarah continued. “The way he looked at her, like he recognized her. But what does InGen want with a borrower? What could they possibly get from her and what purpose would it even serve? Unless they’re wildly pivoting…”

“‘Why’…we can worry about ‘why’ later. Hell, we can worry about ‘why’ for the rest of our lives. ‘Where’ is, uh, infinitely more important.”

“Do they have a lab in San Diego?”

“It’s as good a place to start as any.”

Ian ran to grab the keys.

“Woah, where are you going?” Sarah asked.

“The Park. Or, the would-be Park. I’d imagine it would - well it would have to be around there.”

“You don’t have a plan-”

“I don’t need a plan.”

“Hold on!” Ollie yelled, overwhelmed by the rapid back and forth of the giants. She faltered when all eyes fell on her, and she backed away further when Ian marched toward her. He stared down at her from so high up, his eyes intense and frantic. Ollie held her breath.

“Ollie, you should come with me.”

What?!

Seeing her shock, Ian bent down to put himself at eye level.

Ollie’s eyes jumped around, taking in all of Ian’s face. She could see each hair in his eyebrow, each pore in his skin. His eyes were the size of her head. His teeth were too close.

“Adelaide is going to need someone her size on her side. I could really use your help.”

Ollie couldn’t answer. Her voice was stuck in her throat. The Bean sounded completely earnest, and she wanted to help Adelaide more than anything, but the thought of placing her life in his hands, of leaving the house with nothing but a giant Bean for support, was terrifying, especially when it was an environment hostile specifically to borrowers. An environment designed to trap her full of people who intended to trap her. Ian would be her only means of navigating the world - her eyes, her ears - and it was a dangerous world.

But then she thought of Adelaide…alone, scared, helpless. Her only escape would be through a Bean. It was one that she loved and trusted, sure, but after being trapped by Beans for days on end…

Ollie studied Ian’s face. She studied his giant fingertips pressing into the edge of the table to keep his balance. Just that minimal pressure alone could kill her.

“I…I can’t,” she whispered, averting her eyes.

Ian looked her up and down. She shook at just the mere thought of going anywhere. He respected her decision. “Okay.”

“I’ll stay. Make sure nothing…happens.” Sarah kept her words vague so as not to offend Ollie. She was growing to learn that these borrowers didn’t take kindly to the implication that they needed to be protected. They didn’t like to acknowledge their size, especially the disadvantages that came with it.

Ian nodded, then left.

Silence permeated the air and a nervous energy buzzed between them. They both felt like they needed to do something, but there was simply nothing to do except wait. And waiting was agony.

Sarah wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and defaulted to what she knew best. “You want something to eat?”

***

Ian sped through the streets, disregarding most traffic rules and regulations. His mind spaced out, and suddenly he was at Jurassic Park San Diego. The brakes screeched as the car came to an abrupt halt. He flung the door open, slammed it shut, and raced into the world beyond.

Ian didn’t believe in luck or hope, but he did believe in efficiency and critical thought. Hope wouldn’t get him any closer to Adelaide, and luck didn’t exist, but he could absolutely think his way through the situation. He just needed to calm down.

The amphitheater was in the same state as last time, only now the shoddy construction and abandoned atmosphere were amplified by the daylight.

“Adelaide?” he called out. Nothing.

Ian checked each and every crevice in the area, but nothing gave him any clues. She wasn’t here, but she had to be close, yes?

He hauled himself up some artificial rocks, climbing high enough to get a birds eye view of the surrounding area. It wasn’t as high as he anticipated, but it was enough to show him that there was nothing else around for miles. Defeated, he climbed back down and kicked a stack of crates.

They scattered to the ground as pain radiated in his big toe. Each crate, he noticed, had a shipping label. A location: Palo Alto. Perfect.

And so, Ian raced off in the car again, holding the address in his head. Every second he wasted here was a second taken away from Adelaide. He pushed the pedal harder.

Seven long hours later, the building Ian pulled up to was massive and modern. It was clean and slick and lined with windows and it sat upon an open plain of grass. There would be no sneaking around here. He’d have to change his approach.

Leaving the car a safe distance away, he sauntered up to the front doors and yanked them open. He was calm, cool, and confident. He was Ian Malcolm. And he was supposed to be here.

The young, pretty lady at the front desk looked at him expectantly. Her name tag said Hailey.

“Hello, Hailey,” he said in a low voice. “I’m Dr. Ian Malcolm. I was sent by Peter Ludlow. Would you be so kind as to uh, point me to the labs?” He casually leaned on the desk and smiled his best smile.

Hailey looked confused - a sign that she almost definitely knew Ludlow was dead. Perhaps Ian picked the wrong person to name drop. She reached for the phone, but was interrupted by a soft, severe voice.

“Ah, Dr. Malcolm. Right this way.”

Henry Wu.

Ian instantly knew he was on the right track and was instantly suspicious of Wu. His senses went on high alert as he slowly stalked toward the man.

An elevator opened, and they both stepped in. Wu scanned his badge and took them to the bottom floor. Ian would need to take that badge at some point to get into places he shouldn’t be, but also probably to get out. They descended for an eternity.

“I gather you are here for Adelaide,” Wu said.

“Yes…My employer is willing to pay - to pay handsomely for her…as well as the research you’ve collected from her.”

If Wu was taken aback by this, he didn’t show it. “You do not work for Biosyn,” he said matter-of-factly.

Ian had no idea what Biosyn was, but he figured it was his best shot. “I didn’t say that I do.”

The elevator door opened silently and they emptied into a sterile-looking, white hallway.

“Forgive me, but I was under the impression that you were quite…attached to this borrower,” Wu ventured.

“Yeah, I tend to get attached to assets of that much, uh, value.”

Wu hummed, but didn’t say anything. He seemed doubtful.

They traveled through a series of doors, all requiring badge access. There were no labels, but each one had a small glass window that they could see through. Some rooms held equipment, some had people working in them, some were empty. Ian tried his best to memorize the route they took, but he knew it would be a lot of running and a lot of guessing on a very short timeline, and that was if they ever found the chance to escape. They eventually stopped before one last door, which looked identical to all the others.

“Whatever Biosyn is paying you, we can double it. Triple it, even. We just need your knowledge and your assistance.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then there is little you can do to get her out of here.”

“Ah, an irresistible offer,” Ian muttered.

With that, Wu scanned into the room. He held the door open for Ian, who confidently strolled through. A female scientist greeted them as she backed away from a center table, inviting them to take a look.

Ian’s clenched jaw was the only sign of his distress when he saw what was on the table. Adelaide, strapped down to the counter with metal cuffs. Her body was bruised and bloody, her hair a tangled mess, her face gaunt.

“Yeah, that’s - that’s her,” he breathed.

Adelaide’s wet eyes opened, and Ian could see her fighting with herself, unable to decide if he was really real.

“She won’t eat, she refuses to participate in any tests we put forth. She destroys every enclosure we place her in, and she usually ends up hurting herself in the process,” Wu explained.

“I can see that.”

“Reports from others indicate that you two were close. I mean, my own eyes told me you were close. I find it hard to believe that there was no care present at all. No affection?”

So Wu clearly didn’t believe Ian’s feigned indifference to the situation. Hoping Adelaide would understand, he stepped closer and examined her as he spoke, amping it up. “I was…fascinated, at first. Hell, weren’t you? It was fun, it was, um, it was cute. But that wore off fast, as I’m sure it did with you. She’s quite…difficult…you could say.”

Wu chuckled.

Ian gently tilted Adelaide’s head left and right. He pinched her tiny hand sticking out of the restraint and felt each of her fingers on the pad of his. All the while, he ignored Adelaide’s flinches and whimpers. If he didn’t, he’d lose it right then and there. “So no, no affection, really. At least not now. Probably for the best, given, well…”

“Given?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say,” Ian smirked.

Wu didn’t push. “Get her to eat, Dr. Malcolm. If you can do that, we can talk payment and next steps.”

“I’m going to need you to leave, then. Her too.” Ian pointed to the female scientist that had yet to say a word.

Wu seemed extremely hesitant, but honored Ian’s request. He ushered Dr. Marshall out of the room, then followed. The door clicked behind him.

***

Adelaide felt helpless. She couldn’t believe Ian was there. He was right there, but his eyes were so distant, looking straight through her. And Wu stood next to him, and neither was moving, and she had no idea what was going on. Why else would Ian be here, if not to get her out? She wanted to hoot and holler and jump for joy because he could only be here to get her out, but she was still stuck, and they still didn’t move.

Wu explained the situation, and all Adelaide could do was listen. Ian responded in short sentences, his voice hollow.

And then he told Wu how fascinated he was by her, and how that fascination wore off, and how she was ‘difficult’, and how he had plans for her. This was an explicit lie. Adelaide knew this was a lie. And she could accept that it was a lie, until Ian reached in.

She flinched away from his fast-approaching fingers. They roughly pushed her head left to right, just like Clara did, and she let out a soft cry from the strain. He then pinched her hand, rubbing it in between his thumb and forefinger. She watched with shallow breaths as he scanned her, as if he’d never seen her, or anything like her, before.

Adelaide tugged her arm away as much as she could, but the grip of just two of his fingers was too strong. Apparently satisfied, he let it go. All the while, his eyes devoured her like she was some unknown specimen. This wasn’t Ian. This couldn’t be Ian.

Because if it was, that meant everything they’d been building toward, all five years they’d known each other, was a lie. Everything he said, everything he did was under false pretenses to gain her trust. But why?

Adelaide had nowhere else to turn. He was her last hope. And now, she was truly, truly alone.

Ian had everyone leave the room. As soon as it was empty, she said, “What are you doing? Why-”

“You know better than to speak unless spoken to,” Ian interrupted. His voice was calm and condescending. Adelaide’s eyebrows knit and her eyes flicked back and forth, trying to read his face, but it was blank. He looked down his nose at her, standing upright and tall.

“I appreciate your loyalty to us, but you should consider Dr. Wu an…extension of Biosyn. He just might be able to find us a solution.”

“What-”

“So if Dr. Wu asks you to eat, you eat. If he asks you to sleep, you sleep. And you don’t destroy the enclosures they set up for you. Yes?”

“Ian, whatever they did to you, we can-”

“Yes?” he repeated, louder.

“Fuck you,” Adelaide spat, her voice shaky with rage.

“Do what you want,” Ian shrugged. He laid his full hand over her body, putting pressure into his palm against the table but making sure not to actually press down on Adelaide. “But you know what happens when we disobey.”

Adelaide didn’t dare move. She could feel her chest touch his hand every time she inhaled, which made her flinch, but she couldn’t slow her breathing down to get it to stop. The heat radiating off his hand was stifling and she could hardly see through the tears.

The hand lifted, Ian left, and the room was empty. Adelaide’s body deflated.

Wu and Clara watched from another room the whole time through a set of cameras. Malcolm wasn’t lying. He truly seemed to have lost all affection for the girl, which Wu did not expect in the slightest. He wouldn’t say he trusted Malcolm yet, but he was proving to be a bigger asset than anticipated.

“No luck?” Wu teased when Ian returned.

“Give it a couple days. She’s in a new environment with new people. She’s scared. She’ll uh, she’ll open up soon.”

“It’s been a couple days.”

“Yeah, well you haven’t had me,” Ian smiled.

As the hours passed, Ian grew restless, and it became harder and harder to suppress it. He fidgeted with his rings, he bounced his leg, he looked around the various rooms for something to hold his attention. The female scientist disappeared but didn’t say where she was going. He could only hope that it wasn’t back to Adelaide.

Pointless conversations about money and genetics were hardly engaging, until Wu mentioned something about cloning.

“Cloning - cloning…humans?”

“Yes.”

Ian paused to think about his response. A number of negative thoughts and hostile remarks passed through his head, none of which were useful. “And who’s to say I don’t, um, I don’t take this back to Biosyn?”

“I think you’re smarter than that.”

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, another scientist rounded the corner. Her clothes were disheveled and her glasses sat crooked at the edge of her nose. “Dr. Wu, you need to come see this.”

Wu let out a sharp sigh. Whatever metaphorical fire this was, it could likely wait. These InGen people were intelligent, but their fear of failure frequently overrode their ability to problem-solve, which dragged him into a number of situations that wasted his time.

He looked at Ian, who just shrugged.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Wu decided. He didn’t want to leave Malcolm alone, but he should theoretically only be gone for a moment. And he trusted that the building was secure enough to prevent him from trying anything or getting away with it.

The second Wu left the room, Ian was on the move. He had easily snatched the badge that hung from the doctor’s belt by only a clip, and he found the correct room quickly. It was empty. Well, except for one person.

Ian rushed up to the table and Adelaide flinched away violently.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” Ian whispered, looking around.

“Get away from me!” she screamed desperately. He could hear the terror in her voice, but he also winced at the volume. If anyone was paying attention, they’d hear her.

Ian reached in to open the restraints, but Adelaide only struggled harder. Her wrists started to bleed as the skin tore from the repeated motion.

Adelaide didn’t know what those hands would do, but she knew what they could do. They hovered above her menacingly, casting her in their very large shadow. Anyone but him. They could torture her, experiment on her, do whatever they wanted to her, but not Ian. She couldn’t handle this treatment at his hands. She would rather die.

Ian knew they wouldn’t get anywhere with her chained up like that, so he ignored her trembling and unlatched the metal from around her limbs.

Adelaide immediately scrambled back, somewhere between a run and a scooch, her legs too weak to fully support her. Once she cleared a couple inches, she turned her head and threw her arm up to shield herself.

Ian knelt down, hoping to appear less intimidating. “Della, I don’t know how long we have. We need to leave, and I need you to trust me.”

Adelaide stared at him incredulously. Was this some kind of game? Was this not the same Ian that threatened her mere hours ago? What did he expect her to think? She pushed herself back further until her back hit something solid.

“You know I didn’t mean any of that. You had to have known. I have never and uh, will never hurt you. You must - you must know that.” Ian didn’t plead. He didn’t beg. He kept his face as calm as possible and his voice as earnest as possible. He needed her to trust him, or they’d both be in big trouble.

Adelaide didn’t know what to think. He was correct. He didn’t hurt her. His movements were careless and his demeanor indifferent, but no matter how intense the situation got, he never hurt her. Still, she couldn’t forget his words.

But you know what happens when we disobey .

She couldn’t forget the way his hand pinned her to the counter as he said them.

“I want to get you out of here, but, uh, you have to let me. Wu doesn’t - he doesn’t know, but he will soon.” Ian laid his hand on the counter, palm up. Adelaide jumped and curled into herself, trembling. It was so big. What was to stop him from pinning her down again and pushing just a little harder? Pushing until she couldn’t breathe, until she was crushed? What was to stop him from tossing her back in her cage?

Adelaide wanted so badly to trust him. She wanted him to break them out of here and never turn back and to take her home. Home , home. Her face contorted as she started to cry. She shook her head rapidly as she drew in shallow, uneven breaths. “I - I can’t.”

At the sound of Adelaide’s voice, Ian perked up. She was talking, which meant they were headed in the right direction. But they were running out of time. “Della. You are uh, brave and - and you are strong and you are smart. I know you can trust me.”

What other choice did she have? It was Wu and Clara and a million other scientists who had poked and prodded her senseless for the last couple days, or it was Ian. Ian, who she trusted to the moon and back. Ian, who did everything he could to find her. Ian, who nearly squashed her like a bug…

Adelaide shook her head again, trying to clear away those thoughts. Through the confusion and chaos, she understood that Ian only did what he did to trick Wu. Looking back, it was obvious. But those threats, the danger, it all felt so tangible.

You know better than to speak unless spoken to .

Slowly, Adelaide pushed herself to a stand. Once both feet were underneath her, she stumbled sideways.

Ian wanted to catch her, but he knew that if he made a move toward her, they would be back to square one.

Adelaide tried a second time. This time, she was able to hobble toward his hand. It was so big, and it pulsed with nervous energy. It was hands like these that made her life a living hell. She looked into Ian’s eyes, so far above her own. “Ian, I-”

Her legs finally gave out, and she collapsed into his palm. Even if she wanted to get away, she didn’t have the strength. Air rushed up at her and she shivered, still without any clothes but a scratchy hospital gown.

Ian held her up to his eyes, scanning her over. This was different than before. Just a few hours ago, his scan was studious and apathetic. Now, it was full of concern. Still, Adelaide couldn’t help recoiling.

“We’re almost out. Remember - remember what I said. What did I say? I said I have never and will never…hurt you.”

Adelaide nodded quickly, unable to say anything or else she’d just cry harder, and she knew she already looked so fragile.

“Are you okay?”

She shook her head no.

“Can you make it to the car?”

She shook her head yes.

Ian didn’t say anything as he lowered her to his chest. He couldn’t stash her away in the pocket now, not when she was so beaten up and afraid. Though, he couldn’t rule it out completely. He was about to become public enemy number one, and he couldn’t let her get caught in the crossfire.

Ian cupped his hand close to his heart and took off in the direction he assumed was the exit. It was time to go.

#jurassic park #ian malcolm #g/t #giant/tiny #jurassic park g/t #gt #size difference

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wonder-worker · 7 months ago

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"The feast of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist being appointed as the day upon which the coronation of the king [Edward V] would take place without fail, all both hoped for and expected a season of prosperity for the kingdom."

-Excerpt from the Croyland Continuator / David Horspool, Richard III: A Ruler and Reputation

Even though Edward IV’s death was unexpected, after twelve years of peace there need not have been too much of a sense of foreboding about the succession. The great dynastic wound from which the Wars of the Roses had grown had not so much been healed as cauterized by the extinction of the House of Lancaster. There was no rush for London, as had happened in earlier, disputed successions. The royal party didn’t set out from Ludlow for ten days after hearing the news of Edward IV’s death, while Richard took his time, too. And the new king had [his mother the dowager queen and] two uncles to support him: his mother’s brother, the sophisticated, cultured, highly experienced Earl Rivers; and his father’s, the loyal and reliable Duke of Gloucester, to whom Edward IV had entrusted unprecedented power and vital military command.

... [Richard of Gloucester] had achieved his goal by a mixture of luck and ruthlessness, and if he made it appear, or even believed himself, that destiny played a part, this only made him a man in step with his times. Modern historians have no time for destiny, but sometimes the more ‘structuralist’ interpretations of the events surrounding the usurpation can come close to it. When we read that ‘the chances of preserving an unchallenged succession were . . . weakened by the estrangement of many of the rank-and-file nobility from . . . high politics, which was partly a consequence of the Wars of the Roses and partly of Edward IV’s own policies’, it is hard not to conclude that an unforeseeable turn of events is being recast as a predictable one. But without one overriding factor – the actions of Richard, Duke of Gloucester after he took the decision to make himself King Richard III – none of this could have happened. That is, when the same author concedes ‘Nor can we discount Richard’s own forceful character’, he is pitching it rather low*.

Edward IV had not left behind a factional fault line waiting to be shaken apart. Richard of Gloucester’s decision to usurp was a political earthquake that could not have been forecast on 9 April, when Edward died. After all, Simon Stallworth did not even anticipate it on 21 June, the day before Richard went public. We should be wary of allowing hindsight to give us more clairvoyance than the well-informed contemporary who had no idea ‘what schall happyne’. This is not to argue that Richard’s will alone allowed him to take the Crown. Clearly, the circumstances of a minority, the existence of powerful magnates with access to private forces, and the reasonably recent examples of resorts to violence and deposition of kings, made Richard’s path a more conceivable one. But Richard’s own tactics, his arrest of Rivers, Vaughan and Grey, the rounding up of Hastings and the bishops, relied on surprise. If men as close as these to the workings of high politics at a delicate juncture had no inkling of what might happen, the least historians can do is to reflect that uncertainty [...].

(*The author who Horspool is referencing and disagreeing with is Charles Ross)

#wars of the roses #edward v #richard iii #edward iv #my post #I'm writing a post on this topic but I have no idea when I'll finish it so I figured I should post Horspool's epic analysis #or should I say epic takedown? <3 #friendly reminder that Richard's usurpation happened primarily and decidedly because of Richard's own decisions and actions #we need to stop downplaying his singular agency and accountability by casting the blame on others #most of all Elizabeth Woodville and her family but also the bizarre interpretation of historians like Ross and Pollard (et al)#who somehow hold Edward more responsible (through a 'structuralist' view as Horspool says) even though that literally makes no sense #also friendly reminder that actual contemporaries did not view Edward V's minority as a sign of worry and potential discontent #quite the opposite - they expected him to have a prosperous reign. which made sense since Edward IV left his son a far more stable #country than any former minor king (and most other adult kings tbh). The irony is that it was his son's usurper who benefitted from it.#also I added Elizabeth Woodville to the list because Edward V himself specifically said that he trusted the governance of the country #'to the peers of the realm and the queen' as quoted by Mancini (likely relayed to him by John Argentine)#and this is supported by evidence. After Edward's death the Croyland Continuator substitutes Elizabeth's role in the council #for that of the King: 'the counsellors of the king now deceased were present with the queen'#we know Elizabeth presided over all the council's decisions and initiated proposals (the size of her son's military escort) on her own #She was clearly the one with the most authority in the council (who were described as being present with *her* not anyone else)#Hastings made demands but he couldn't enforce them at all (and was in fact worried). It was clearly Elizabeth who had that power.#She was likely going to play a very prominent role during her son's minority and imo it's problematic to assume otherwise #(Lynda Pidgeon assumes otherwise but she's based her assumption on objectively false information so I don't think we should take her #seriously)(see: she claims that EW lacked influence compared to her male relatives in royal councils when EW HERSELF WAS IN ROYAL COUNCILS)#That's not to go too far the other direction and claim EW tried to dominate and tactlessly exclude others - we know she didn't #The impression we get by this first council and by Richard's own actions indicates that she Richard and Anthony would likely #work *together* when it came to governing the realm #I do find it frustrating when people disregard the fact that based on the impression we have she would've had a very visible #and powerful role

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dailyanarchistposts · 5 months ago

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F.6.2 What are the social consequences of such a system?

The “anarcho” capitalist imagines that there will be police agencies, “defence associations,” courts, and appeals courts all organised on a free-market basis and available for hire. As David Wieck points out, however, the major problem with such a system would not be the corruption of “private” courts and police forces (although, as suggested above, this could indeed be a problem):

“There is something more serious than the ‘Mafia danger’, and this other problem concerns the role of such ‘defence’ institutions in a given social and economic context. ”[The] context … is one of a free-market economy with no restraints upon accumulation of property. Now, we had an American experience, roughly from the end of the Civil War to the 1930’s, in what were in effect private courts, private police, indeed private governments. We had the experience of the (private) Pinkerton police which, by its spies, by its agents provocateurs, and by methods that included violence and kidnapping, was one of the most powerful tools of large corporations and an instrument of oppression of working people. We had the experience as well of the police forces established to the same end, within corporations, by numerous companies … (The automobile companies drew upon additional covert instruments of a private nature, usually termed vigilante, such as the Black Legion). These were, in effect, private armies, and were sometimes described as such. The territories owned by coal companies, which frequently included entire towns and their environs, the stores the miners were obliged by economic coercion to patronise, the houses they lived in, were commonly policed by the private police of the United States Steel Corporation or whatever company owned the properties. The chief practical function of these police was, of course, to prevent labour organisation and preserve a certain balance of ‘bargaining.’ … These complexes were a law unto themselves, powerful enough to ignore, when they did not purchase, the governments of various jurisdictions of the American federal system. This industrial system was, at the time, often characterised as feudalism.” [Anarchist Justice, pp. 223–224]

For a description of the weaponry and activities of these private armies, the Marxist economic historian Maurice Dobb presents an excellent summary in Studies in Capitalist Development. [pp. 353–357] According to a report on “Private Police Systems” quoted by Dobb, in a town dominated by Republican Steel the “civil liberties and the rights of labour were suppressed by company police. Union organisers were driven out of town.” Company towns had their own (company-run) money, stores, houses and jails and many corporations had machine-guns and tear-gas along with the usual shot-guns, rifles and revolvers. The “usurpation of police powers by privately paid ‘guards and ‘deputies’, often hired from detective agencies, many with criminal records” was “a general practice in many parts of the country.”

The local (state-run) law enforcement agencies turned a blind-eye to what was going on (after all, the workers had broken their contracts and so were “criminal aggressors” against the companies) even when union members and strikers were beaten and killed. The workers own defence organisations (unions) were the only ones willing to help them, and if the workers seemed to be winning then troops were called in to “restore the peace” (as happened in the Ludlow strike, when strikers originally cheered the troops as they thought they would defend them; needless to say, they were wrong).

Here we have a society which is claimed by many “anarcho”-capitalists as one of the closest examples to their “ideal,” with limited state intervention, free reign for property owners, etc. What happened? The rich reduced the working class to a serf-like existence, capitalist production undermined independent producers (much to the annoyance of individualist anarchists at the time), and the result was the emergence of the corporate America that “anarcho”-capitalists (sometimes) say they oppose.

Are we to expect that “anarcho”-capitalism will be different? That, unlike before, “defence” firms will intervene on behalf of strikers? Given that the “general libertarian law code” will be enforcing capitalist property rights, workers will be in exactly the same situation as they were then. Support of strikers violating property rights would be a violation of the law and be costly for profit making firms to do (if not dangerous as they could be “outlawed” by the rest). This suggests that “anarcho”-capitalism will extend extensive rights and powers to bosses, but few if any rights to rebellious workers. And this difference in power is enshrined within the fundamental institutions of the system. This can easily be seen from Rothbard’s numerous anti-union tirades and his obvious hatred of them, strikes and pickets (which he habitually labelled as violent). As such it is not surprising to discover that Rothbard complained in the 1960s that, because of the Wagner Act, the American police “commonly remain ‘neutral’ when strike-breakers are molested or else blame the strike-breakers for ‘provoking’ the attacks on them … When unions are permitted to resort to violence, the state or other enforcing agency has implicitly delegated this power to the unions. The unions, then, have become ‘private states.’” [The Logic of Action II, p. 41] The role of the police was to back the property owner against their rebel workers, in other words, and the state was failing to provide the appropriate service (of course, that bosses exercising power over workers provoked the strike is irrelevant, while private police attacking picket lines is purely a form of “defensive” violence and is, likewise, of no concern).

In evaluating “anarcho”-capitalism’s claim to be a form of anarchism, Peter Marshall notes that “private protection agencies would merely serve the interests of their paymasters.” [Demanding the Impossible, p. 653] With the increase of private “defence associations” under “really existing capitalism” today (associations that many “anarcho”-capitalists point to as examples of their ideas), we see a vindication of Marshall’s claim. There have been many documented experiences of protesters being badly beaten by private security guards. As far as market theory goes, the companies are only supplying what the buyer is demanding. The rights of others are not a factor (yet more “externalities,” obviously). Even if the victims successfully sue the company, the message is clear — social activism can seriously damage your health. With a reversion to “a general libertarian law code” enforced by private companies, this form of “defence” of “absolute” property rights can only increase, perhaps to the levels previously attained in the heyday of US capitalism, as described above by Wieck.

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 4 months ago

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Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty-One Twenty-Two

TW: nsfw, blood, trauma

Tom busts into the room. Someone’s yelling behind him about red tape and policy, like they don’t even know who he is in the first place. He’s blood and sweat coated, a fine grime glazing his skin, and still the most handsome and soothing thing you’ve ever seen in your life. Yes, even with the pickle juice smell and cornchip residue in his hair. “You alright?” He asks, kneeling down and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“I’m fine,” you say. “I see this stuff all the time.”

“Is he being an asshole?” He asks, glaring over at your interviewer in his two piece suit— the man looks about ready to either piss himself or strangle Ludlow.

“No, just a dick,” you joke before really thinking about it, and now you’ve earned yourself a scowl from the gentleman asking you questions who has actually and surprisingly been pretty nice. “I’m just kidding,” you reassure him, “inside joke.”

He looks to Ludlow, then back at you with his eyebrows raised as if he gets the whole picture now. You don’t really understand why you’re embarrassed about it. After all, if you’re going to date—what a weird word and even weirder thought—Tom Ludlow, you’ll probably meet his coworkers at some point.

“Stare a little longer, Brixton,” Tom warns.

You turn fully to the angry man beside you and rest your hand on his shoulder. “I’m alright. He’s going through suspect pictures. That’s all.”

“Any luck?”

You hate to dash that hopeful lilt in his voice. “Not yet.”

“But we still have a lot to go through,” Brixton says, interrupting the intensity between you and Tom.

“No shit,” Tom smiles.

5 million criminal profiles, four cups of disgusting coffee, and an actual migraine later, you are still shit out of luck. Looking at Brixton hopelessly, head in your arms, eyes almost as red as the blood stains on your clothes. “So, what if it’s none of these?” You ask.

“Could be someone new, someone we haven’t identified yet. Like I said initially, if it isn’t any of the ones I show you, you should be fairly safe. Low level criminals don’t usually care about witnesses.”

“Low level?” You ask, eyebrows pulling up. “They shot up a convenience store with submachine guns.”

He shrugs. “You’d be surprised at how easy it is to get ahold of those in this town.”

“Okay,” you sigh, “can I go, then?”

He looks at you for a long minute. “You gave your description to the sketch artist?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Alright, pack up.”

Seeing Tom is terrifying, and not because he’s a walking bloodbath. It’s terrifying that you can tell so easily, even from a distance, the man is in a rage. Berserk, boiling with dark energy, the kind that has your stomach tied up and your body tensing. “Are you alright?” As he’s walking you out of the precinct, a possessive hand on your waist.

“Let’s just get you home, cleaned up, then we’ll talk.”

“Okay.” You stay silent the entire car ride to your house, then all the way up to your apartment. The doorway breaks his silence.

“He’s alive, thanks to you.”

You let out a breath that got stuck in your lungs a long time ago at the store when the last bullet pierced Washington’s chest. You don’t understand why Tom feels the way he does about his old partner. After all, the man is attempting to throw him directly under the bus without a second thought, so you’re not really relieved that you saved Washington’s life, but rather that, for some reason, Tom seems content with the whole thing. “That’s good,” you say quietly. “Right?”

“Honestly…” he trails off, looking at the floor like he’s having some internal struggle about what he really feels; something you can relate to all too well. “I’m glad that you’re alright.” He crosses the room in a long legged stride, and bundles you up in his arms. “That’s the only thing I care about.”

And you thought you were fucked before…

“Let’s get clean, and go see the movie.” He sounds lighter, now, but you just know there’s something he’s holding back—trying not to tell you. You can feel it in the way he holds you, see it in the hard black of his eyes, taste it in the air like you can the dried mephitic blood.

“We don’t have to do that,” you assure.

“I want to.”

You’re not sure you really feel like sitting through a movie, but it seems important to him, to do something normal. Maybe that’s the way he copes with the horrible things he sees in his job. Forcing himself to do normal things. Or maybe…he just really wants to spend time with you.

You take a shower together–to save water, obviously. California is experiencing a drought. You get distracted though, for obvious reasons, and “we’re gonna be late,” you groan, as he sucks up the mess between your thighs. “Thought you-ah-wanted, wanted.”

He shushes you with the taste of yourself, licking at your tongue, pressing you against the soaked tile, hands cupping your breasts. “I’m sorry, baby, you’re just so fucking pretty.” He talks against your mouth, then delves back inside to clash teeth again. “How am I supposed to resist you?”

Possessive, needy, insistent Tom fucks you nice and slow on your bathroom floor with your legs pressed against your chest and knees hooked over his shoulders; a recipe for a deep, splitting angle that makes you scream. He pauses that lovely, skilled glide of his hips and pushes hair from your face. “You alright?”

“Jesus. Fuck. Yes! Yes. Why did you stop?” Because he was pummeling your gspot with every thrust, and it felt like nirvana and you need him to move again—oh, there he is, at the same pace, even—an expert in making you see God and the Devil all at once. You don’t know how many times you cum like that, pressed against the plush bathroom rug you got from a discount bin at Target which is surprisingly comfortable. Many consecutive orgasms are starting to feel like a continuous, nonstop one—like you’ve lost control of yourself, like the only thing you are or want to be is a tight sleeve for Tom’s cock.

“I can’t last much longer, honey.” By the sounds of it, it's a miracle he lasted this long.

A strangled sound escapes you that’s almost a laugh. He’s been so good to you. So good it feels like a dream. It’s almost hard to remember, now, a time when you’d been certain he was such an asshole. All this flits through your brain in a matter of a second. “Cum for me, baby. I wanna feel you. Need you.”

You watch with abject fascination through heavy lids, as his head bows, his body tenses, his grip on your hips tightening hard enough to leave bruises. How is it that you make this beautiful man fall to pieces? You’re afraid you would never tire of the sight. He spills inside you with a moan that shakes you to your soul, filling you with the hot rush of his seed.

It’s funny, the ridiculous things that go through your mind after sex, floating in through the fuzzy white afterglow of umpteen orgasms and Tom’s solid weight resting on top of you. Such as: It’s a good thing your bath mat is machine washable, because you just made quite a mess.

“I think,” Tom pants against you, “We’re going to miss the movie.” With this man in your arms, you cannot bring yourself to care. After the day you’ve had, this suits you perfectly.

“It’s fine,” you tell him breathlessly, pressing your lips to his cheek. “This is all I want anyway.”

He manages to sit up just a smidge, looking down at you with mischief in his sparkling brown eyes. Yet there is a vulnerability there too, underneath it all, and it squeezes your heart. You know he has a dangerous job, but the pure power and fury of those submachine guns earlier today ripping the store–and his old partner–to shreds probably had him feeling extra keenly the miracle of being alive. You knew that you yourself were a little surprised–but also numb, which maybe wasn’t the best, but it was how you cope.

“My naked body in your arms?” he ribs you, lifting an eyebrow.

“Either way.”

He lays a big kiss right in the middle of your forehead. “I think you like me.”

You look between the two of you, assessing the situation as if to say duh. But, then, feeling a little rogue, “nah, you must be hallucinating.” With a big grin on your face.

Reluctantly you part, Tom taking a deep breath as he leans back against the tub. “We might need another shower now?”

You smack his shoulder playfully–it’s all you can reach, from your position on the floor.

“I think this is where I’m sleeping,” you sigh, your head at a strange angle.

“Come on, sweetheart, I’ll make you something to eat.”

Miraculously, you suddenly find the strength to sit up right. He helps pull you to your feet, and you pause for a luscious moment, your body pressed to his.

“Tom?”

“Yeah, baby?” he asks with his lips on your forehead.

“This…is the nicest thing that’s happened to me…maybe my whole life?”

Maybe you'll regret it later, but there’s just something about nearly dying that day that makes you want to say it.

He really surprises you with his answer. “Me too.”

You’re surprised because he is literally the whole package: cooks, gives massages, fucks like a nineteen year old on double shots of testosterone. You? You feel like you pale in comparison to him, so of course the lack of nicety in your life isn’t really surprising. In his? Astounding.

He teaches you how to cook pollo con arroz with the sparse ingredients in your kitchen. Behind you, helping you cut an onion, he leans down to press his mouth against your ear. “I’m gonna have to take you grocery shopping.”

“Are you going to be cooking for me with those groceries?” You ask, only half joking.

“I’ll cook for you every single day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. You never have to touch an oven again if you don’t want to, baby.”

You know he’s probably exaggerating, but those words make your heart beat in Tom-sync. The organ no longer belongs to you, it belongs to the warm, tall, beautiful man behind you who’s making sure you don’t slice yourself with the veggie knife. And you’re not even sure how it really happened.

“You don’t think I will?” He asks, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Do you have time for that?” You reply, trying to keep your tone light and fun.

“I’ll make time. I made the mistake of working too much, when I was married. I promise, I’m not going to do that with you.”

“They give you a choice at the department?” you tease, still desperately trying to keep things light, even as your heart is constricting in your chest at the mention of his late wife.

“There’s only so much time in Complaints I can handle,” he fires back.

“So…how is all that going?” you ask. “Because they definitely looked at you at the station like you’re a legend.”

He raises his dark brows at that, endearingly shy all of a sudden. “I think you’re misinterpreting their feelings. They fuckin hate me.”

Sounds like Tom Ludlow doubts himself? Strange. You’re so used to his self-assured, cocky, confident side. “Sounds like you hate them?”

You feel him shrug. “I like three of them.”

That makes you chuckle. “Oh man.”

“You like everybody you work with?” He challenges, nipping at your earlobe playfully.

You squeak, almost slip with the knife until he catches and steadies your hand. “Easy,” he murmurs, boiling your blood again. Your vagina, who was once all bets off for Tom, is now begging for a break despite the constant kiln of arousal kept hot by his presence. Hell, by the thought of him. But, damn, it had been a while before this insatiable beast grabbed you in his clutches, and if you’re this sore and overworked you know that he probably is, too.

“Mostly,” you reply, swallowing the gathering saliva in your mouth. “I mean, nurses are bitches, but we’re too busy to really be catty or dramatic.”

“Nurses are bitches? Nurses are the backbone of healthcare.”

It makes you giggle, the fact that he’s defending your own kind against you. “Well, thank you. Despite what people say about cops, I think that there are some good ones—for example, you.”

He hmphs. “No, cops are fucking terrible.”

“If you didn’t exist, I’d probably agree.”

He turns you around and presses you against the lip of the counter, a wolf’s smile and shining, blown black eyes making your pulse thrum faster. “My ego can only take so much, baby.”

“Careful,” you warn, “I have onion hands.”

He grabs your hand up, takes your fingers and sucks them into his mouth, tongue tickling and warm and wet. You shift, try to pull back because it feels strange at first, and then so, so good, the skill of his mouth resonating in your clit. A tiny moan slips out of you and he smiles around your index, raising both eyebrows as if to say yeah, you like that?

“Tom,” you try, “I feel like if we have sex again my vagina will pack its bags and leave town.”

He lets your pinky go with a little wet plop. “You just let me deal with her. I’ll convince her to stay…”

Yes, Tom, whatever you say, Tom. You’re a little disgusted with yourself, but oh, not with him, not with Prince Dastardly Charming. “I am hungry, though,” you tell him, blinking wide and innocent—a great tactic, as you’ve come to learn.

The food is delicious, and you have just enough rioja left to serve it with. You sit across from each other at your little dining table, his legs tangled with yours because the man can’t resist touching you for more than five minutes—which you secretly love. You honestly forget that there’s something you need to ask him until you’re halfway through and halfway full. The food is that good. If he ever decides to change careers, chef wouldn’t be a bad place to start.

“You said that you worked too much? When you… were with your wife?” Maybe it’s invasive, but you add in, “you don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s okay,” he assures, washing a mouthful of rice down with red wine. “I want to be open with you about it, if you want to hear it?”

“Of course,” you nod, genuinely intrigued.

“The last few years of our marriage, I got promoted. That meant less time at home and more time at the job. I was gone a lot—a lot more than I was present, and I didn’t notice she was pulling away until it was already too late.”

You wince, and take his hand. “I’m sorry.”

He looks to your hand as if it can ground him, somehow. Keep him straight and steady. “Looking back, it was my fault. She’d beg me to stay some nights. But I was an asshole, I thought the work I was doing was important. After she passed I found her diary, it had a page in it where she wrote…” He pauses to take another drink.

You rub over his thumb, trying to soothe.

“It was one sentence. Over and over again. Please come home, Tom.”

You can’t help the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Maybe that’s why he’s so persistent, so determined to make you his—to show you he’s worth something. Because he couldn’t do it for her.

“Oh, honey…”

“So I was wrong. There will always be more crime to fight. More shit to shovel. It’s not a war we’ll ever win. But there was only one of her, and I…fucked up. I don’t even blame her for stepping out on me. I wanted to punish the shitbag who treated her that way, but I was the shitbag who left her alone in the first place.”

“Tom…” You squeeze his hand. “You made a mistake. But you couldn’t have known.”

“I should have known. I’m a nosy motherfucker, if you haven’t noticed.”

This makes you smile a little, despite the subject at hand. “It’s possible I picked that up about you.”

With his hair in his eyes he pays you a winsome smile that about breaks your heart. “C’mere,” he says, orders, tugging on your hand.

For once in a mood to obey, you let him pull you into his lap. It’s becoming your favorite seat. With his strong arms wrapped around you, you feel as though nothing bad can touch you. He snuggles into the bend of your neck, just holding you, and for the millionth time you think to yourself that you are just utterly doomed. “If I get caught up in a case and you need me, baby, promise me you’ll just tell me, alright? I’d drop everything for you.”

Once again, the tears well in your eyes. Fuck if you don’t believe him too. “Ok.” It’s all you can get out, past the scratchy lump of emotion lodged in your throat like a sea urchin.

You watch some mindless television together, until you decide you are both exhausted. You brush your teeth and change into your favorite age-softened nightgown–only for Tom to pull it right back over your head with a smile that is somehow both roguish and tender. “No need for that,” he tells you, walking you backwards until your knees hit the bed.

“Tom…” you plead, unable to stop your sleepy giggle as he kisses the insides of your thighs. “I was serious…”

“Shhh,” he says, smirking up at you with his cheek resting on the warm pillow of your thigh. “Kitty and I have to have a little chat.”

“Kitty says she’s tired,” you whine, your breath hitching as his lips travel higher.

“But I’ll be so gentle.” His soft lips touch your flesh so close to your aching apex, and your vagina is ready to tell you to fuck off, so she and Ludlow can have their talk. You’re really not sure how this is your life right now. Your love life went from dry as the desert to this–this beautiful man, between your legs, and in your kitchen, and if you’re really up for some brutal self-reflection:in your heart.

He has a little bit of stubble on his face this time; you can really feel it as he nuzzles into the plump top of your pussy. You press him back, choking on saliva, thighs clamping around him in an attempt to protect the sensitive flesh. “Oh God,” you murmur, head thrown back against the pillows.

“Sorry, baby.” He kisses the top of your slit where your clit peeks out, holds your hips from spasming, from probably giving him a minor concussion. “It’s hard.” A long lick up your labia, generous with saliva and feathery gentle. “To resist my gorgeous pussy.”

Here you are, legs hanging off the end of the bed, Tom Ludlow kneeling by your feet and licking your puffy cunt, calling you his again, and you’re not even arguing. No protest whatsoever. You might as well be handing your meaty little heart—and clit—over on a silver platter, garnished with spring onion and lemon.

You think, maybe, you can stand this method of cunnilingus a little better. But you’re wrong. The slow, torturous tease of his wet mouth inching its way into your folds, purposefully avoiding the yearning bulb at the very center of your pleasure makes you beg for that hungry devourer you once knew. You can tell he’s holding back by the low groans of agony vibrating your skin, the tensing of his arms so tight on your malleable thighs and hips, indents and bruises as testament to his resolve.

While he exercises self control, he makes sure you do, too—securing you into the mattress with his grip, conjuring the most hellish ache in your cunt and then pinning it in place, keeping you right there, whining and soaked and finally begging him for more despite all the initial, useless resistance.

He keeps you on the edge of his careful tongue for a little while—a lot longer than your patience can tolerate. Instead of trying to squirm away now, you’re pressing into him, offering yourself up for just a little bit longer of that wicked suck-lick-repeat that makes your vision gooey around the edges. “Please, Tom.” You want to beg pretty, but it comes out desperate and feral, the opposite of feminine and sweet, your teeth clenched so hard it makes your jaw ache.

He surfaces from the deep pool of your arousal. “Look at me.”

You do, and it’s a mistake. Because when you catch his black, heavy eyes, he’s giving you a long lick that feels like it’s breaking your toes instead of merely curling them, and the shiny, wet, hedonist’s smile is enough to take you right to the edge and leave you there. Screaming and thrashing.

“Baby, baby,” he calls, soothing you by petting your twitching, sweaty skin—fuck, you are going to need another shower. “You wanna cum?”

“Uh-huh.” Your eager nod makes him chuckle.

“Say you’re mine, greedy girl.”

Dirty cheating bastard. The glare you give gets sucked right back out of you, through your pulsing clit, into his mouth. He presses two fingers just inside you, and you growl at him, proving that you are, indeed, more like that cute chihuahua than you want to admit.

“That’s adorable,” he muses, stretching you open a little more. “C’mon, tell me.”

“That’s not fair,” you protest, trying to push down onto his hand, swallow him up.

He over exaggerates a sigh, breath cooling over your fiery flesh. “That’s alright, I have all night.”

Another strangled sound escapes you, your eyes dewy with pure frustration. Is it not enough, that he clearly holds you in the palm of his hand? Do you really have to say it out loud?

“I’m going to get you back for this,” you pant, straining for just a little more friction in just the right spot.

This only seems to delight him, of course. “Oh, I hope so.”

“Tom, Tom, Tom,” you call softly, trying a different tone, “please fuck me.”

“I am fucking you,” he says, laving at your clit and getting it nice and warm and soaked again.

“No,” you hiss. “Want your—oh. Want your cock inside me, please. Want you to-ah-uh cum inside me.”

You must drive a hard bargain, or he just can’t take it anymore. Judging by the sight of his big, beautiful cock, leaking and turgid, it’s the latter. You don’t have enough sense to be suspicious of why he’s letting you win so easily while he’s fucking your permanent indent into the mattress, sucking the nape of your neck between his teeth.

He gently fists his hand into your hair, sends your hips pushing into him. “That hurt, baby?” He asks, grunting with the force of his thrusts.

“Uh uh,” you say, biting into the skin of your arm while a thickened, wonderful release builds in your belly, soothes the stretching ache that goes hand in hand with his girth. “Feels good.”

He tugs a little, winding your hair around his fingers, digging into your scalp and mimicking the rub of his cock on your gspot. That’s enough to send you spiraling, falling down the rabbit hole, spasming and gushing around him with no before indications.

“That was unexpected,” he tells you, trying to laugh around a groan. “The hair, huh?”

You try to tell him to shut up, but between the muffling comforter and the increased speed of his taut hips, it comes out jumbled and messy, a praising moan instead of a witty insult. Then, you realize, he’s not letting you win—you can’t win, not with him. Whether it be with your fragile heart or your overworked cunt, you’ll lose in the end. You just know it.

He keeps a warm, grounding hand pressed to your scalp while he spills inside you, as deep as he can go, cursing and twitching. It makes you giggle, how he lays his full weight on you and then thinks better of it and rolls over to nuzzle by your side, instead.

“This is good,” you tell him, sleepily kissing his bicep.

He hums in agreement, setting the back of his hand on your shoulder blade, and then proceeding to adorably and immediately fall asleep. You happily join him after a wobbly trip to the bathroom.

#keanuverse #keanuverse fic #tom ludlow x reader #julian mercer x reader #julian mercer x you #tom ludlow x you

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ladyeckland28 · 1 month ago

Text

The Vanishing (A Victorian Supernatural Horror)

Inspector Alistair Blackwood of Scotland Yard stepped down from the steam-shrouded train onto the quiet platform of Ludlow station. The journey from London had been long and tedious, but the peculiar nature of the case before him had kept his mind alert throughout. As he collected his luggage, a stout man with ruddy cheeks approached, touching the brim of his bowler hat in greeting.

"Inspector Blackwood, I presume?" the man inquired. At Blackwood's nod, he continued, "I'm Constable Perkins of the local force. I've been sent to escort you to Ashworth Manor."

The two men climbed into a waiting carriage, and as it lurched into motion, Blackwood turned to his companion. "Tell me, Constable, what do you make of this business? A lady of standing simply vanishing within her own home – it's most irregular."

Perkins shifted uncomfortably. "Begging your pardon, sir, but there's not much I can say that ain't already in the report. Lady Ashworth went for her usual evening constitutional through the manor's corridors, as was her custom. When she didn't return for supper, the staff searched but found no trace. It's as if she stepped into thin air."

Blackwood's keen eyes narrowed. "And what of Lord Ashworth? How does he fare?"

"Distraught, sir. Barely leaves his study these days. It's a right mess, it is."

The carriage rolled on through the misty Shropshire countryside, the silhouette of Ashworth Manor gradually materializing on the horizon. As they drew nearer, Blackwood couldn't shake the feeling that the grand house seemed to loom over them, its windows like dark, hollow eyes staring down with malevolent intent.

Upon arrival, they were greeted by the butler, a tall, gaunt man named Hawkins. He led them through a cavernous entrance hall, their footsteps echoing off marble floors and wood-paneled walls adorned with stern-faced portraits.

"His Lordship awaits you in the study, Inspector," Hawkins intoned, gesturing towards a heavy oak door.

Lord Edward Ashworth sat hunched behind an enormous desk, his once-impeccable suit now rumpled and his face etched with lines of worry. He looked up as Blackwood entered, hope and desperation mingling in his bloodshot eyes.

"Inspector, thank God you've come," he said, his voice hoarse. "It's been a fortnight since Eleanor disappeared, and I fear... I fear the worst."

Blackwood settled into a chair across from the distraught nobleman. "Lord Ashworth, I understand this is difficult, but I need you to recount the events of that evening once more. Every detail, no matter how insignificant it may seem, could be crucial."

Lord Ashworth nodded, running a trembling hand through his unkempt hair. "It was a Tuesday, I remember. Eleanor and I had taken tea in the conservatory, as we often did. She seemed... distracted, perhaps a touch melancholy. When I inquired, she brushed it off, saying she was merely tired. As the sun began to set, she announced her intention to take her usual walk through the house."

"And this was a regular occurrence?" Blackwood interjected.

"Oh yes, quite," Lord Ashworth replied. "Eleanor found the exercise invigorating, and she enjoyed exploring the manor's many corridors and hidden nooks. You see, Inspector, Ashworth Manor has stood for centuries, with each generation adding its own touch. The result is a veritable maze of hallways, staircases, and rooms."

Blackwood leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Go on, my lord. What happened next?"

"I retired to my study to review some correspondence. When the dinner gong sounded and Eleanor hadn't returned, I sent Hawkins to fetch her. He came back alone, saying he couldn't find her. We organized a search, every member of the staff combing the house, but..." Lord Ashworth's voice broke. "She was gone. Vanished without a trace."

The inspector stood, pacing the room as he processed the information. "And there have been no ransom demands? No signs of forced entry or exit?"

Lord Ashworth shook his head. "Nothing. It's as if she simply ceased to exist."

Blackwood turned to face the nobleman, his expression grave. "With your permission, Lord Ashworth, I'd like to examine the house thoroughly, starting with the route Lady Ashworth typically took on her walks."

"Of course, of course," Lord Ashworth agreed eagerly. "Hawkins can guide you. He knows the house better than anyone."

As Blackwood made to leave, Lord Ashworth called out, his voice barely above a whisper. "Inspector... there's something else. Something I hesitated to include in my report to the authorities."

Blackwood paused, one hand on the doorknob. "Yes?"

"In the days leading up to Eleanor's disappearance, she spoke of... strange occurrences. Cold spots in the corridors, whispers when no one was there. She even claimed to have seen a figure, just for a moment, at the end of the gallery. A woman in white, she said, who vanished when she blinked." Lord Ashworth's eyes met Blackwood's, pleading. "I dismissed it as fanciful imagination at the time, but now... I can't help but wonder."

Blackwood's face remained impassive, but his mind raced. "Thank you for sharing that, my lord. Rest assured, I will leave no stone unturned in my investigation."

Guided by the taciturn Hawkins, Blackwood began his exploration of Ashworth Manor. The house was indeed a labyrinth, with corridors that seemed to defy logic, twisting and turning back on themselves in bewildering patterns. As they walked, Blackwood couldn't shake the sensation of being watched, as if the very walls had eyes.

"Tell me, Hawkins," Blackwood said, breaking the oppressive silence, "how long have you been in service here?"

"Nigh on forty years, sir," the butler replied. "I've seen three generations of Ashworths come and go."

Blackwood nodded thoughtfully. "And in all that time, have you ever experienced anything... unusual? Anything that might corroborate Lady Ashworth's claims of supernatural occurrences?"

Hawkins hesitated, his normally impassive face flickering with an emotion Blackwood couldn't quite place. "It's not my place to speak of such things, sir."

"On the contrary," Blackwood pressed, "it's your duty to assist in this investigation by any means possible. Your insights could prove invaluable."

The butler sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging. "Very well, sir. There have been... incidents over the years. Things that defy explanation. Doors that lock and unlock of their own accord. Objects moving when no one's in the room. And the sounds... sometimes, late at night, when the house is still, there are sounds."

"What kind of sounds?" Blackwood asked, his voice low.

"Weeping, sir. A woman weeping, as if her heart were breaking. But when we search, there's never anyone there."

As if on cue, a chill swept through the corridor, causing both men to shiver. Blackwood's keen eyes darted about, searching for any sign of a draft, but the windows were tightly shut, the heavy curtains still.

"Curious," he murmured. "Most curious indeed."

They continued their tour, Blackwood meticulously noting every detail, every oddity in the house's construction. As they neared the end of Lady Ashworth's usual route, they came upon a narrow door, almost hidden in an alcove.

"Where does this lead?" Blackwood inquired.

Hawkins frowned. "Nowhere, sir. It's always been locked, as long as I can remember. Lord Ashworth's grandfather had the key destroyed, saying it led to a part of the house that should remain sealed."

Blackwood's eyebrows rose. "And you've never been curious about what lies beyond?"

"It's not my place to question the wishes of the family, sir," Hawkins replied stiffly.

Blackwood knelt, examining the lock closely. It was old, yes, but not as old as Hawkins' story would suggest. Someone had replaced it, and recently at that. He stood, brushing dust from his knees. "I think, Hawkins, that it's time we had another chat with Lord Ashworth."

They found the nobleman in the drawing room, nursing a glass of brandy despite the early hour. His face paled visibly when Blackwood mentioned the locked door.

"It's nothing, Inspector," he said, a little too quickly. "Just an old part of the house, long since abandoned. There's nothing of interest there, I assure you."

Blackwood fixed him with a steely gaze. "With all due respect, my lord, I'll be the judge of that. I must insist that you open that door."

For a moment, it seemed Lord Ashworth might refuse. Then, with a defeated sigh, he reached into his waistcoat pocket and produced a small, ornate key. "Very well, Inspector. But I warn you, you may not like what you find."

The trio made their way back to the hidden door, tension thick in the air. Lord Ashworth's hand trembled as he inserted the key, and the lock turned with a groan of protest. The door swung open, revealing a narrow, winding staircase descending into darkness.

Blackwood lit a lamp and led the way, the stairs creaking ominously beneath their feet. The air grew colder with each step, and a musty, damp smell assailed their nostrils. At the bottom, they found themselves in a long, low-ceilinged chamber that appeared to run the length of the house.

"Good God," Blackwood breathed, raising the lamp higher.

The walls were lined with portraits, dozens of them, all of women. But these were no ordinary paintings. Each face bore an expression of abject terror, eyes wide with fear, mouths open in silent screams. And at the far end of the chamber, barely visible in the lamplight, stood an easel with a half-finished canvas.

Lord Ashworth fell to his knees, his body wracked with sobs. "I never meant... I didn't know..."

Blackwood turned to him, his voice hard. "Explain yourself, sir. Now."

Between gasping breaths, Lord Ashworth poured out a tale of horror. The Ashworth men, for generations, had been cursed with a terrible gift – or perhaps a curse. Their paintings could capture not just the likeness of their subjects, but their very souls. Each portrait in this ghastly gallery represented a woman lured to the house, painted, and then... absorbed.

"But I swear, Inspector," Lord Ashworth pleaded, "I didn't know the full extent of it until it was too late. When Eleanor discovered this place, when she realized what I was, what my family had done... I couldn't let her leave. I couldn't bear the thought of losing her. But as I painted, as I felt her slipping away, I... I couldn't go through with it."

Blackwood's mind reeled as he struggled to process this impossible confession. "Are you saying that Lady Ashworth is...?"

A soft voice answered from behind them. "Here. I'm here."

They turned to see a figure materialize from the shadows – Lady Eleanor Ashworth, translucent and glowing faintly in the gloom. Her eyes were sad as she gazed upon her husband.

"Oh, Edward," she sighed, her voice echoing strangely. "What have you done?"

Lord Ashworth reached out to her, his fingers passing through her insubstantial form. "Eleanor, my love, I'm so sorry. I never meant for this to happen. Please, tell me how to undo this. How can I set you free?"

Lady Ashworth shook her head slowly. "It's too late for me, Edward. But it's not too late for them." She gestured to the portraits lining the walls. "Destroy the paintings. All of them. Only then can we all find peace."

Blackwood, shaken to his core but determined to see justice done, turned to Lord Ashworth. "You heard her, my lord. We have work to do."

And so, through the long hours of the night, Inspector Blackwood, Lord Ashworth, and the household staff labored to destroy the cursed portraits. As each canvas burned, a sense of lightness seemed to fill the air, as if long-trapped souls were finally finding release.

When the last painting had been reduced to ashes, Lady Ashworth's spirit appeared one final time. She smiled at Blackwood, then at her husband. "Thank you," she whispered, and then she was gone.

In the grey light of dawn, Inspector Blackwood stood before Lord Ashworth in the study. "You understand, my lord, that I cannot possibly include the full truth of this matter in my official report. The world is not ready for such revelations."

Lord Ashworth nodded wearily. "I understand, Inspector. And I am prepared to face whatever earthly justice you deem appropriate for my actions."

Blackwood regarded him thoughtfully. "The disappearance of Lady Ashworth will remain an unsolved mystery. As for you, my lord, I think living with the knowledge of what you've done, and striving every day to make amends, will be punishment enough."

As Blackwood left Ashworth Manor, he couldn't shake the feeling that his world had been irrevocably changed. He had glimpsed a reality beyond the realm of reason, a darkness that lurked behind the veneer of civilization. And he knew that from this day forward, he would never look at a portrait quite the same way again.

#ghost story #victorian ghost story #ghost stories #supernatural #horror stories

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