#Oh that reminds me the dialogue was way different before and had actual swearing but it sounded too cringe 😭😭😭 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

horseshoegirl · 1 year ago

Text

Damn Those Dog Tags - Part 16: In the Blood

📖I'm amused you guys voted on this one as the one that inspired DTDT. I wouldn't say this one was one of the big three, but it ended up becoming my inspiration for Jake's backstory.

Also, this was me after that last part: 🏃‍♀️<-🔱🔥

I'm so sorry I broke all of your hearts with part 15! They have a happy ending, I swear! We just have to get through the angst first... And Sadie... Oh dear... I cried writing this... so it's safe to say maybe bring tissues?

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, original child character, Shitty family dynamics, Angst, talk about break ups, talk about therapy, probably inaccurate dogfight descriptions (I tried my best!), Jake is going through it, Emotional & Protective Sadie (She needs her own warning), & Protective Bradley.

#6K words

Part 16 | Masterlist | Part 17

It had to be the shock.

The reason why there were gaps in your memory. You don’t remember climbing into the front seat of Rooster's Bronco. Or even putting on your seat belt or him pulling out of the parking lot.

He probably had to do it for you.

You had to remind yourself he was driving you home. That you just very publically broke up with Jake in the Hard Deck. Spit-roasted George with very colourful vernacular.

You'd have to explain to Penny why you were swearing in her bar again. But you had a more pressing predicament than wondering what might happen in the aftermath of that experience, which would presumptively have Hangman's callsign back on the sign in the bathroom.

Even with a broken heart, you felt like you were a child being allowed to sit in the front seat of a car. Under the scrutiny of an "I'm not mad, just disappointed" parent driving you home from school. White hot anxiety coursed through your veins with the assumption you did something so incredibly wrong; you just didn't know what.

Rooster was eerily silent. Next to the roar of his engine and AC fan, the silence was constructing. Suffocating. He should be gloating, listing off all the ways you ignored him, ignored the team that day on the soccer field. All the ways he was going to hurt Hangman the next time he saw him.

It was driving you insane.

"Are you going to gloat? Say, I told you so?" you finally huffed through your tears when it became too much. "Hangman did what he does best?"

"Not today, Liz."

Out of all the things you expected him to say, that was not one of them. It almost made it worse. Like you were genuinely expecting a verbal argument, and the fact you weren't getting one was making you pout like an actual child.

"I'm sorry for what happened," he offered eventually, after a pregnant pause. A horrible scraggly sound accompanied your hiccup.

"I should never have let Sadie invite him to Saturday nights."

"No, I'm sorry for what I said in your hallway," he countered. "For the way I acted."

Ironic, isn't it? The person you knew to be the most childish when expressing his emotions was sobering your petulant thoughts and behaviour. Even when your mind and obsessive internal dialogue went, why the fuck did he think now was a good time as any to apologize?!

You dropped your chin to your chest. "But you did," you huffed, hugging yourself against the sudden chill. “In front of Sadie, no less.”

Had you turned your head, you would have seen Bradley nodding absentmindedly, his eyes staring blankly at the road.

“It was uncalled for, Liz. The fact you felt you needed to hide it from me….” he trailed off. You sniffed, wiping at your cheeks, letting him gather his words. "I get it. Why you didn't. I wouldn't have taken the news differently even if you had told me. It might have been worse."

“Still, I should have told you,” you offered, shaking your head before staring out the window, watching the trees blur by. “Not that it matters now.”

Bradley gritted his teeth, hands flexing on the steering wheel. He wanted to mouth off. Not about you ignoring his warnings but all the ways Hangman was a complete and utter cock.

He couldn't. You didn't deserve that in the fragile state you were in. Fragile wouldn't even be in the vocabulary of words Bradley would ever use to describe you. Hangman had made you like this, played you and your feelings.

It was never going to be your fault. He had realized that after the fight. When he promised he'd be there for you and Sadie, he didn't know what that meant or what it looked like.

A punch to Jake's face? Hearing it after the fact? Not actually being there to witness it? Him rambling off all the things he hated about Hangman? Ultimately, Bradley could only offer a measly retort of, "He's an asshole."

You swallowed hard. You couldn't deny Bradley's remark.

Jake being an asshole at that moment was him being Hangman, a side you thought you'd never have to see. For him to so readily agree with George, there was no other way you couldn’t interpret those words as anything but him playing you, using you.

Had he not given you that condensing grin and spoken those words, you might have believed he was merely being triggered by the presence of his brother.

You should have been waiting for the other shoe to drop. You felt foolish, naive, and utterly lost. The grief of losing Ridley was and had always been a constant companion, but this felt different. It was the realization that you had let him in and allowed him to become a part of Sadie's life and yours. You had trusted him, and he had betrayed that trust in the cruellest way possible.

You just wanted to know why? Why he lashed out at you? Why did he act like he cared when he didn’t?

Why? Why? Why?

You’d never get an answer from him now. You wanted to stay away from him, ignore him, avoid every mention or instance of him and his fucking callsign. The wall was back up, and it would never come back down. Instead, fixing your eyes on his dashboard, with no judgment in your voice, you asked Bradley, “Why Roo? Why did you lash out like that?”

Bradley sighed once, tapping his thumb against his steering wheel.

“Loving any of us is a death sentence, Liz. One day you might wake up and find one of us is gone. Just like that.” He shuttered in a breath. “I think, in some twisted way, I wanted to spare you the pain of losing someone you were in love with that way.”

He tried to find the words to explain his next point delicately, but there was no other way he could say it to you without not getting his point across. “You don’t handle grief well, Liz. You barely found the strength to carry on had it not been for Sadie.”

You huffed, knowing deep down he was right but doing absolutely everything in your power to keep denying it. You weren’t doing this today. If not, ever.

Bradley heard you but continued anyway, leaving your reaction tucked away for later. “I didn’t want you to end up like my mom. Sadie to end up like me. Cause him? He always flew like he had nothing to lose; he would do something foolish sooner than later. You would be left to mourn him. For Sadie to mourn him. I didn’t want that for you.”

He paused, letting his words sink in. Yet, you blurted out suddenly, "You need to go to therapy, Roo."

Bradley laughed softly. You looked over at him, slightly worried he might be having a fit. But it was a genuine reaction. And despite everything, you caught a tiny smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

You shouldn't be laughing. Not with the heavyweight still pressing down on your chest. Yet, sitting next to Rooster as he drove you home, his laughter was the only thing that seemed to be cutting through the heavy fog weighing over you.

Nothing could be done to suppress the laugh that bubbled up inside your chest. Bradley's grin widened, his laughter louder when he realized you were fighting your own. You couldn't help but join him. Whether the pain in your chest was from the laughter or the heartache, you couldn’t tell.

When the two of you finally managed to stop laughing, Bradley admitted with laboured breath. "I am, actually."

You turned to face him, utterly shocked. "Since when?!"

"Two days after." He doesn't need to be explicit. You know what he's referring to. "There's someone on base. I've only had one session so far, but it's making me realize I should have gone sooner."

You stared at him in disbelief.

If he had told you that, come to you while you were still working, or if he had called or even texted, you would have forgiven him instantly. You couldn't hold what he did to you against him after an admission like that.

"I'm proud of you, Bradley," you said, wiping your nose. "I really am."

He glanced over at you, a level of warmth in his eyes. “I needed to hit rock bottom and get a push by a few people. People who cared.”

His response was cryptic. It couldn't have been just you and Sadie, not after how you screamed at him or after Sadie kicked him out. Or even anyone on the Squad. It made you wonder who was his catalyst for the sudden change of thought. For now, you were just glad he was getting help.

You gave him a small smile, making Bradley reach over and grab your hand, squeezing it tightly. You gripped it back, but when he went to let go, you tightened your hand in panic.

"Just... Don't let go. Not yet."

Bradley didn't let go, driving one-handed the remainder of the journey back to your house. The two of you didn't say anything else. You sat silently even when he pulled into your driveway and turned off the ignition.

You didn't want to get out of his Bronco. You didn't want to walk into your house and see all the traces of Jake. You didn't want to gather his things in his bag. Leave them on the front porch, or change the spot for the emergency key.

But that was what happened when you went through a breakup, right? These were the things that needed to be done.

Bradley broke the extended silence, his voice deep and gentle when he asked, "What will you tell Sadie?"

Sadie.

You paused. You didn't really need to think about your answer. Just the weight of what it truly meant to say it out loud.

"The truth. As I've always done."

This was your worst fear about dating. The one that arose when you became Sadie's guardian. The one that so precariously dangled over your head when you told Jake you were a package deal. It wasn't the threat of betrayal, wasted time, or memories turning bittersweet.

As bad as that was at the Hard Deck, as broken and in pieces as your heart was, telling Sadie would be worse.

Jake broke your heart.

Now you had to break Sadie's too.

You glanced at Bradley, searching his eyes before asking him quietly, "Wanna come with me to pick her up from Penny's?"

Bradley smiled, nodding softly.

---

It was the eighth time the F-18s had flown this exercise this week. Coyote, Rooster, Hangman, and even Maverick, all had taken turns flying it with each other, in pairs, to navigate an imaginary narrow terrain.

Had Hangman been paying more attention, he would have questioned the sudden need to practice this particular exercise repeatedly and why it was just them, not Phoniex, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy. The first few times had been a simple flight test, learning the route, the twists, and the turns.

He was never more ruthless than in the cockpit, especially now. All that was child's play compared to some of the stuff he had done throughout his Naval carrier.

But today's addition? They wanted to see how they handled the pattern while dog fighting.

Rooster had decided to make it personal.

"Come on, Hangman!" Rooster taunted through the comms. "Is that all you've got?"

Hangman gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the controls, knuckles white. He was pushing his jet to the limit, narrowly avoiding Rooster's ‘fire’ as the alarm from the targeting system filled his cockpit.

The turn in the valley afforded Hangman the opportunity for some leeway to move out of the way. Barely.

"Come on! You're flying like a rookie today!" Rooster taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Thinking about what you did to Liz?"

Hangman's jaw tightened, and he forced himself to focus on the controls. "This isn't the time, Rooster," he snapped, but the cocky twang had lost its touch.

Rooster just laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Oh, I think it's the perfect time. You need a reminder of what a colossal fuck-up you were."

"I know what I did," Hangman growled, banking hard to the right to avoid Rooster's aggressive maneuvers. The asshole was gaining on him, even with how carefree he seemed to be with his taunts.

"Still thinking about Liz?" Rooster's voice was a sneer, crackling through his headset, and Hangman could hear the satisfaction. "Maybe that's why you're losing."

"Focus on the fight," Hangman snapped, anger boiling in his chest.

"Oh, I am," Rooster replied, his voice crackling through the headset and dripping with contempt.

The mountainsides and the green of the trees were a blur as Hangman and Rooster approached the end of the valley. Hangman could hear his heartbeat against the sound of his own breath in his oxygen mask.

Rooster didn't need to say the obvious aloud. Hangman was thinking about you. He couldn't shake the image of your face from that night.

Broken. Sad. Devastated.

He wanted to close his eyes, get lost in the moments when he would awake in your bed, finding you next to him. In your touch. In your voice.

When he hadn't fucked it up.

But he couldn't.

He rolled the F-18 over once he was clear of the mountains and the flight pattern, finally able to use open space to retaliate and flip around. There was only a few seconds left in their time limit.

If Rooster wanted a dogfight, he'd given him a dogfight while he still could.

"Where are you? Where are you?" he drawled aloud. He kept his eyes on the sky, searching for any indication Rooster was nearby as the seconds ticked away. But he was nowhere to be found.

"Time!"

Hangman didn't trust Rooster would listen to Maverick's call. He'd even go as far as to admit the man was almost like him, dead set on proving a point when it mattered. At least Hangman could demonstrate some restraint.

Sure enough, Rooster's voice echoed as his plane came into view. Swinging up and hanging upset down from directly under him.

Inverted.

"Forget to look below?"

Hangman finally had enough.

"Want me to take one out of your book?!" he yelled, staring up through the glass, never once taking his eyes off Rooster as he jolted the stick to the side, rotating the plane over in time with Roosters.

Into a damn spiral dive. A fucking corkscrew.

Rooster grunted with the effort of withstanding the Gs on his body. Hangman was no different, bracing hard as he fought against the controls. Neither one listened to Mav shouting over the airway or the different tone alerts signalling information.

"You think this proves something?" Hangman's voice was cold and ruthless even though he gritted his teeth. "Break off now, and maybe you won't embarrass yourself."

"Embarrass myself?" Rooster spat back. "Like you did with Liz?"

His response was automatic, like reading a script he had long since memorized. "Life is hard, Rooster. It's cruel and unforgiving. You can either whine about it, or you can face it head-on. You think you're going to prove something, kid, by keeping me here?!"

"Watch me!"

The world faded out. Nothing mattered but the two pilots, locking in that spin, seemingly staring each other down.

Yet, Hangman was completely unaware he was running out of space. The Terrain! Terrain! Pull Up! Pull Up! was background noise on muffled ears, as were Maverick's increasing shouts for the pair to stop and break away.

He was too caught up in everything to care. Rooster would have to break away first. He wouldn't give out.

He wouldn't let him win.

But then a voice, soft and delicate despite the alarms, shouts and struggles of the Jet's engine broke through the haze.

Jake.

It was a blast of bright light like the sun suddenly blinded the corner of his eyes. For whatever spoke to him, it had been as close as he had ever been to hitting beyond the hard deck. He finally pulled up on the control stick, saving himself just in time and avoiding hitting Rooster.

His breath was harsh, anger on the edge of boiling over as he levelled the jet. And when he finally returned to the correct altitude, Hangman ripped the oxygen mask from his face, fighting the urge to hit something, as Rooster's chuckles filled the air.

"Hangman! Rooster! Get back to base. Now!"

---

"Do the two of you want to get kicked out?! How could you be so stupid!?"

Nat's question was rhetorical. Hangman and Rooster were stupid. It was so deeply entrenched into their entire being she knew she was wasting her breath by even pointing it out.

A reminder didn't hurt, though.

She had her eyes set on Hangman, but Rooster wasn't very off, sliding his way over to the blonde pilot who had only just started his post-flight checks after getting his jet back into the hanger.

He was deadset on ignoring her, not once glancing her way as she stomped toward him.

“What will Liz say when she finds out how reckless the two of you were?!”

His reaction made her pause; his hands froze from where they were adjusting a valve. Had she turned away, she wouldn't have caught the grimace on his face - however slight or brief it made have been.

“Oh, you didn’t hear what he did?” Rooster called out, smirking from his perch, leaning against a nearby table and crossing his elbows. He may have promised not to gloat around you, but the squad was fair game.

"Liz even slapped him for it too."

Confusion, shock, and pure anger crossed her face in the three seconds she took to glare at Jake. Heat laced her voice as she asked, "What the fuck did you do?"

Liz would never, she thought, only if she had to.

Jake bowed his head, slamming the panel of the jet closed with a hard bang. He turned, gritting his jaw and standing straight, ignoring Nat’s heated question. Rooster chuckled from the side, uncrossing his arms to stride forward.

“Oh, he did exactly what we expected him to,” he filled the silence. “He hurt Liz and left her out to dry, saying she and Sadie were nothing but a bit of fun to pass the time. And when she confronted him about it, he went right for the kill, not concerned about who he would hurt in the process.”

The rest of the Squad was nearby when they heard Rooster’s words, awaiting the fall out of that aerial display. They gathered around the pair, faces twisting with disdain as a dangerous silence befell the room, each looking from Rooster to Jake, reflecting varying degrees of disbelief, shock and, more predominantly, anger.

Jake's eyes were dark, his face tight with suppressed emotion. For a moment, it looked like he might lash out, defend himself, try to explain. But he didn’t. No one would believe him anyway.

"Damn you, Hangman," Phoenix whispered, her voice breaking. "We trusted you."

The room seemed to deflate as the truth sank in. Bob, who had been silent until now, let out a long breath, his face pale. He couldn’t help but think of Sadie. She would be devastated.

“So did Liz,” Rooster smirked, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing Jake.

Jake's eyes narrowed, his voice cold and defensive. "You think you know everything, don't you, Rooster? You abandoned her when she needed you most. For what? To prove a point? Now you’re acting all righteous?”

Something hard flashed in Rooster’s eyes. “At least I owned up to my mistake and apologized. I never pretended to be something I wasn’t! I never fucked around with her heart!”

Jake let out a condescending laugh. “You think she came running to you because she trusts you? She couldn’t even tell you she was seeing me. What does that say about you? She doesn't trust you as much as you think.”

Rooster grinned. “If that were true, she wouldn’t have come to me in that aftermath. After all, she asked me to drive her home,” he said mockingly. “We even went together to break the news to Sadie.”

Jake clenched his fist at the mention of Sadie, charging forward to ready a punch to Bradley’s smug ass face. But Bradley didn’t move, still smiling as Jake stared him down last minute as the Dagger’s jumped to Bradley’s defence.

Jake’s guilt over you and Sadie wouldn’t let him follow through on that punch. Bradley was sure of it. Even with the rest of the daggers looming around, he knew Jake would still be seeking your approval, even if you would never give it to him again.

How disturbing would it be for him to know little less than three weeks ago, Bradley had been at the end of the team's disapproval as they backed Jake.

The tables had turned. Nobody would stand behind him after what he did to Liz now.

The two were locked in an intense stare-down, Jake more rattled than he let on and Bradley unnerving calm. It wasn’t until there was a slamming of a door echoing from somewhere in the hangar did the Squad suddenly walk away from the feuding pair, not wanting to be caught in the crosshairs, already on their phones to message Liz. the only one who had stayed was Nat, wondering how she could have ever thought Hangman was capable of change.

“Rooster! Hangman! My office!” Maverick's voice boomed from somewhere within the empty hanger.

When neither moved or peeled their eyes away from the other, Mav’s voice rang out again, this time enough to rattle off the hollow steel walls, making Nat jolt from the force of it.

“Now!”

---

As a team, the Daggers celebrated everything. Maverick labelled it moral support and team-building. Jake realized long ago it was just his way of getting all the pilots out of the hangers to experience life. Not that he ever complained.

After the lashing he got earlier, it was surprising that he and Rooster were still invited. It was clear as day nobody wanted him here.

It was the second anniversary of the Urianum mission. The official anniversary of the creation of the squad. Jake missed the last one, so he wasn't sure what to expect. A beach party. A game of dogfight football. A bonfire.

Jake couldn’t care less what was going on. You and Sadie would have been here with him had he not snapped.

Somewhere down the line, everything had become blurred. The day he had been dubbed “Hangman” - they said he was surgical, precise, unfeeling - the perfect pilot.

It gave him purpose and confirmation. He’d even make the stretch to say acceptance. He embedded it. Cause nothing else mattered. It worked the facade. It kept people at a distance and shielded him from judgment and expectations.

But now? Things were different. You, Sadie… the two of you got under his skin.

Would you, would have anyone, listened to the truth after the fact? That he only agreed with George to throw it back in his face? To cockily stand up and remark that he was better off than he had been in years?

Then you heard him. Heard him agree with George and assume so readily it had all been a game. You had never believed he was everything his callsign represented.

You were hurt. Angry. And those words he uttered proved every word you had probably been told about him, words you had ignored. It stung, the words you had yelled back at him. You had given him a chance before, so why didn’t you have faith in him then?

The facade returned. He opened his mouth, and his father and George came out instead. Hangman came out instead.

He had sworn so long ago he would never become like them. Yet here he was, inflicting the same trauma and patterns onto you. He had proved he was just as capable of the same cruelty and manipulation his father was.

You would never forgive him after that. It’s what he did best.

The only person who seemed to stand being around him right now was Javy, but he had left to get another drink, leaving Jake alone next to their bonfire, missing you.

You would have been in his arms, lying up against his chest. The pair of you staring out to the water, watching Sadie hunt for sea shells like she hunted for bugs. He would have stolen a kiss or two, unashamed of the PDA, maybe even purposely putting on a show to intentionally piss off the squad and make you blush.

The two of you would have laughed at Sadie. Maybe he would have been tempted to get up, grab her, and topple the both of them into the water. Rooster didn't need to remind him of what he lost when the absence of both of you was staring him in the face.

"You hurt my aunt."

Well... he was half right.

"You're going to get the both of us in trouble," Jake called out, not bothering to look up from the sand. He knew she'd come for him sooner than later, no matter your wishes. With all your threats to Bradley about revoking his Sadie privileges, Jake never would have thought he’d be receiving those threats too.

Sadie stepped onto the tree log behind him, spreading her arms wide to balance herself before jumping, landing softly on the ground.

"Since when have I done anything I'm supposed to," she argued heatedly.

It took her every ounce of strength not to lay into him like she wanted. She was desperately holding herself back. Because this was extremely different than Uncle Roo hurting her Aunt's feelings.

Hangman messed with her Aunt's heart.

This one was on her.

"Who did you escape to get over here?” Jake still couldn’t bring himself to look at her, reaching over to grab a stick in the sand.

“Aunt Nat. She thinks I’m with Uncle Bob.”

You picked up a shift today where Aunt Penny was working with you. So when the offer to stay with Amelia or sit around at the Hard Deck for most of the afternoon, Sadie opted to join you.

Little did you know she had other ideas. When Aunt Nat came by to steal her away, to join the others with the promise she'd keep her away from Hangman, Sadie saw the perfect opportunity.

Aunt Nat didn't know her tricks as well as she thought. A mad and angry Sadie was a conniving Sadie.

Jake said nothing, choosing to poke the sand with the stick in his hand before adding to the fire.

Sadie knew he was stalling, making small talk to avoid talking about what he did. She had played that card enough to know when it was being thrown back at her.

But he was the grown-up. He shouldn't be pulling childish tricks. He should be the one who should be telling her all the grown-up excuses for why things just sometimes don't work out or, worst case, it was for the better.

Nothing was ever for the better.

She sat down on the opposite end of the log, reasonably close to Jake. She dug her nails into the bare skin of her thigh. She wasn't going to speak first. She had promised him so long along she'd come for him. He should know better than to expect she was here for anything else.

Yet, the words he finally uttered had her reeling.

"I don't know what the right thing is to say, Bug."

The thin sheet of ice Sadie holding her back cracked at the mention of her beloved nickname. He shouldn't be calling her that; he didn't deserve to call her that. Not after what he did. Not after what he said.

For one of the first times in her life, Sadie saw red.

She quickly reached down to grab a handful of sand, only to toss the tiny grains in his direction. Jake ducked, shielding his face with his arms. Sadie leaped up and tackled his exposed side, hands balling into fists. She didn't know what she was thinking or her ultimate goal by coming here and seeking him out. It was such a good idea at the time.

When it came down to being face-to-face with him, she was at a loss for words. Her obvious hurt overshadowed any sassy remark or comeback she could gather.

"Sadie! Hey, stop!" Jake's shouts of her name did nothing to stop her from pounding her tiny fists on his back. “Stop!”

"You don't get to call me Bug!" she hollered through her sobs, still trying to leave a mark, thumps on his back accompanying her cries. "You lost that right!"

She knew you wouldn't want her doing this. Her mom wouldn't want her to do this either. But sometimes, it was just too much for her to handle.

She didn't know how to react to something like this. The world was making her grow up faster than she wanted to. Now, she couldn't help but think about what it would throw at her next.

Jake slid off the log, twisting to kneel in front of Sadie while holding out his arms to protect his face. He was at eye level with her, finally seeing the damage he had wrought on the ten-year-old girl.

Sea blue-green eyes framed by shimmering tears, pooling at the edge, until Jake watched one linger down her cheek. It’s your favourite colour staring back at him, making everything worse.

"Why did you do it?!" she cried, still trying to hit him, arms loosening their strength by the second. "Why did you say it?"

"Sadie, stop!" his voice was starkly quiet compared to the sobs, both fragile and profound, catching in her throat. Still, Sadie wailed, "I trusted you! You were supposed to be her person! You made her happy! You reminded her she was worth it!"

With each remark Sadie threw at him, he couldn’t bring himself to stop her tiny punches. Or say anything this time that could calm her cries. It was so starkly different from the night he found her hiding in her bed because of that thunderstorm. She had been the one to jump into his arms, to seek comfort from him.

This time, he was the reason she was crying. Like that night, he wanted to tell her it would be alright.

He couldn't. In losing you, he had lost Sadie too.

Utterly weak, Sadie's final thump on his shoulder resulted in her gripping onto his shirt as she fell to her knees on the sand, face blotchy and patch-stained red.

"Why Uncle Jake?" her voice was small. Devastated. "Why did you have to hurt her like that?"

He tried not to look shocked. Sadie's voice was sudden, so unsteady and innocent-like, it was hard not to hide any reaction. She caught on instantly.

"Don't act so surprised," she snapped at him through her misery. "You know she tells me everything."

Jake felt the sharp glare of Sadie’s eyes on him, her small face always displaying a type of sternness that was way beyond her years. She was demanding answers, as horrible as they were.

He couldn’t avoid this conversation. You were… you had taught Sadie to be honest and, in her doing so, to expect honesty in return. He didn’t know how to be. How could he explain this?

He didn’t know where to start.

He wasn't going to say anything. Sadie knew that. Adults would rather hide their emotions and not speak about things. She pushed herself away from him, the little force she exerted rocking Jake’s body back, readying herself to get up and leave.

This had been a bad decision, after all.

“Did anyone tell you why they call me Hangman?”

Jake’s words made her stop, making her fall back into the sand, kneeling before him.

“It’s your call sign,” she said innocently. Jake frowned, biting his lip. “Did they tell you the story?”

Sadie copied the look on his face, thinking about it before admitting, “A little. I know you left someone behind.”

It sounded worse coming from the mouth of a child.

Jake sighed, rubbing his temple. “Yes… but there’s a little more to it than just that.” He couldn’t look her in the eye as he managed to form the words, “My father… he was a tough man. A lot behind the meaning of that call sign has to do with him. He left … scars. Sometimes, they make me act in ways I don’t mean to.”

Sadie’s eyes softened a little, but she still looked confused. “So that’s why you said those things? Hurt her?”

Jake looked down to the sand in shame, nodding once. “When I’m stressed, the anger… the frustration... It brings back memories. It’s easier to put a mask up… lash out. Even when it’s the wrong thing to do.”

"So apologize," she sniffed, shrugging. "Uncle Roo did."

"It's not that simple, Sadie."

She eyed him hard. "Yes, it is."

Her tone left no room for a reply. Who was he to refute the honesty of a ten-year-old who had seen more shit than anyone her age?

"I know you're hurting too," she said, her voice small and trembling. "But hurting others won't help, Uncle Jake.”

A sad smile crossed his lips. "I don't know what the right answer is, Sadie."

Sadie looked at the fire, watching the flames dance. She didn’t know the correct answer either. Adults would rather hide their emotions and not speak about things than admit they were wrong. But he had to try, right? Cause if he didn’t at all, it would only make it worse.

Maybe she could nudge him one last time.

"Do you still have the note I gave you when you helped me with my math homework last year?"

Jake stared at her momentarily before reaching into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet, and opening it to find the ripped piece of paper. He had kept it tucked away in the back pouch, even after all this time. Her writing was slightly smudged on account of her using a pencil, but he could still make out her words along the top.

I believe in you.

"I didn't randomly invite you to that Saturday Night," she started to say, watching him stare down at the piece of paper. "I invited you because you looked sad when you thought nobody could see you."

Sadie paused her words, searching his face for any hint of emotion, before she continued. "Because you needed to know people care."

"Your Aunt said something similar to my brother," he said, not looking up from the piece of paper. "That the only reason she allowed me to come that night was because you reminded her of something your mom believed in."

"Of course she did," she said simply as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "She loves you."

Jake's hand clenched on his thigh involuntarily, his eyes turning away from the fire to the water. Growing up without love, without hearing those words, Jake was left wondering if he was deserving of such a remark.

How could he be anything else when all he ever did was self-impose an executioner’s noose around his neck, hanging himself with his own fear and self-doubt, always cutting himself off from what he craved most.

Hangman, indeed.

But Sadie wasn’t done - not by a longshot. Even with her tears, perhaps a touch quieter now, she managed a soft smile, telling him, “You taught me it’s okay to mess up, you know.”

Jake looked at her, puzzled. “I did?”

Sadie nodded, taking in a deep breath. “When you helped me with my math homework. I was struggling, messing up horribly. I wanted to quit. And nobody seemed to listen to me trying to understand till you came along.”

Jake was trying to see where she was going with this. Math and messing up a relationship were two entirely different things.

“But I was messing up because I was trying. And trying means the possibility of someday getting it right. I was so scared to mess up, but then you sat with me, listened, and made me realize it was even scarier not to try at all.”

“What does this have to do with …?” he trailed off, Sadie glaring at him as his voice died down. “You messed up, Uncle Jake. Bad. But that wasn’t the worst thing you could do to hurt her,” she stated, taking another deep breath. “It would be if you stopped trying to be better. Stopped trying altogether.”

Sadie thought about what Jake just told her about his family. Then she thought about everything that had happened over the last few weeks, the question she had once asked you about, the one that had plagued her until you made her recognize the truth.

"You're not your father, Uncle Jake. You're you.”

Jake couldn’t help the tears, as treacherous as they were, from pooling in his eyes as he lowered his head. He felt a tightness in his chest, a mixture of gratitude and pain, before he grimaced stiffly, huffing out, "It's a pretty messed up world we live in.”

Sadie didn't hesitate when she replied, "I'm almost eleven, Uncle Jake. I don't understand the world at all." Her bottom lip started to tremble, her eyes watering as she let out a sniffle. "But I know you never know when you'll say I love you for the last time."

Jake knew she was referring to her mom, her sudden death that night. But her words hit Jake differently. He recalled the moment he stood on Penny's porch and decided he'd try to take his chance with you.

You were still his possibility of someday. That had never changed. Like he thought then, time was something he was never promised. It was time spent well in the weeks he lived with you and Sadie. Small moments meaning the world, whether it was staying up to play a game with Sadie or waking up to see you sprawled out across his chest.

They were moments he thought he'd never have. Now that he had them, he was left wondering if he should spare you the heartbreak that came with loving someone like him.

Sadie's admission, and words of advice, were more damning than she knew.

He looked up from the sand to peer hesitantly at her face, not surprised to find another remark about to pass her lips.

"If you can't say you're sorry, my Aunt and I don't need to add somebody else to the list of people who've hurt us. So if you want to leave, go ahead but stay away," Sadie remarked, hiccuping as fresh tears streaming down her face.

Every word Sadie uttered hit deeper than any shitty remark his father or brother could throw back in his face. The façade he built, in the face of every slight to his character, was no match for a ten-year-old who had the ability to see through everyone's bullshit, including his.

He couldn't manage a reply. She had given him blows no physical assault could ever imagine reaching.

Sadie saw Jake's silence as a chance to leave. Aunt Nat wouldn't be gone for much longer, and she knew if she weren't with Uncle Bob soon, she'd cause a panic. She got up, rubbing the dirt from her hands, standing over the conflicted aviator with a face marred by sand dust and tears.

Sadie stepped forward to leave. But at the last second, she whipped around in a move that reminded him so much of you. Her voice was firm, scathing even, adding with a note of finality, “I won't be the one to stop you from leaving. And I won’t be the one to welcome you back either if you change your mind. If you're gone, stay gone. We can survive without you."

After shooting him a hateful glare, Sadie left Jake sitting in the sand, staring after her. She wiped her eyes as she ran, finding Bob sitting at the nearby bonfire with the rest of the team. He pulled her into his arms with a laugh, instantly handing over his marshmallow-topped stick with a smile as Sadie giggled, her sadness disappearing as she roasted Bob on the quality of his marshmallow.

Jake threw his head back to the sky, still kneeling in the sand, fighting the knot in his throat.

Damn, George.

Damn, his father.

Damn, Bradley.

Damn, you.

And in some ways, despite not wanting to admit it…

Damn, Sadie.

He didn't know how to make this right. But he wanted to. He had to.

That had to be enough.

Right?

.... Ouch, Jake... And OUCH, SADIE!

Tags:

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook @taestrwbrry

-Wickett ;)

Part 17 - Come a little bit Closer coming soon.

152 notes · View notes

serenescribe · 2 years ago

Note

hi hi Ell 👋 I wanted to send a prompt, so i hope youll find this one nice to think about :)

So we know in canon that Lilia trained Silver and Sebek while they were kids, and that his training was a bit unorthodox to say the least. We also know that Silver thinks the world of his father, that he feels indebted to him for life and that he'd give anything to repay that debt. With those facts I offer you a beloved scenario of mine where Lilia trains Silver and takes it too far but doesn't realise it until its too late.

Maybe he's making him spar, maybe he's asking him to do some insane physical effort, whatever it is he's determined to have Silver execute it perfectly. And Silver is tired, because he's like 12, he's been doing this since dawn and he barely ate any of the lunch his father made him (lets face it it wouldve been worse if he ate it). At this point his body is screaming at him to just stop and rest but he refuses to back down before he gives his father what he wants. The issue is that since he's not feeling his best, he's actually doing worse than he was at the beginning and Lilia of course notices. And maybe its the fact that this setting is similar to the one he was in back when he trained recruits as a general, or maybe he got frustrated that he couldnt manage to get him to do better but Lilia decides to try a different approach to motivate his son. He gets mean; taunting and berating Silver for not making any progress, telling him that maybe they should just stop his training altogether if this is the best he can do. But instead of getting fired up and angry like Lilia expected, like his recruits used to do, Silver completely breaks down. He slumps on the ground in front of him weeping, begging for just one more chance and promising he can do better. The mental and physical exhaustion weighs heavily on him and he swears he won't be a burden in future sessions, swears that he'll train day and night if need be to improve but he pleads his father not to give up on him. And Lilia, completely caught off guard by the situation, has to figure out how the hell to comfort his son and convince him that he didnt mean any of the words he spoke

hope you have a fun time writing bye bye!! 🌟

the way this prompt broke my heart when it first hit my inbox :') but at least it's hurt/comfort for once rather than flat out angst...? i hope i did it justice!

(also thank you to lacky my beloved for helping me with some dialogue bc oh my god writing mean dialogue killed me ;;; sobs)

Clang!

The sound of sword against sword reverberates through the air, accompanied by the haggard, weary sound of someone panting. Lilia narrows his eyes, his sword still outstretched, pressed against that of his opponent — his son, Silver, who is also his student.

Silver’s chest expands and contracts, lips parted as he sucks in another deep breath. The practice blade in his hand trembles before finally, he gives in. The sword drops to the ground below with a clatter.

“I yield,” Silver says, voice strained, dropping to his knees. He raises his arms, conceding in defeat.

But all Lilia can think, staring at his son before him, is that this is not good enough.

He knows what Silver is capable of, has been training his son by his own hands for the past few years. Silver shows plenty of promise, and it is up to Lilia to hone that potential to a perfect sheen, be it physical training or weaponry, such as the sword fights they practise so often. Lessons on survival, giving him tasks to complete in the elements. Things that Silver takes to like a duck to water, obediently heeding Lilia’s every word, carrying out his instructions with ease.

So to witness him concede so easily, dropping to the ground, averting his gaze as his body trembles?

Lilia is disappointed.

In a way, it reminds him of his days as the general during the wars he’d fought. There had been many a soldier who had not taken his instructions seriously, always putting in the bare minimum until he whipped them into shape. All he had to do was set his cold, calculating eyes on them, lips spouting cruel, judgemental words, before they’d be roaring to go. Pride is one of the things that the fair folk value deeply, after all, and back then, the many recruits under his command had not taken kindly to Lilia’s implications that they were as useful as the dirt under his heels.

And so Lilia opens his mouth, and says:

“If this is the best you can muster, then why bother?”

Silver stiffens.

“I’m disappointed, Silver. I’ve seen peasants with no training do better than this.” Lilia’s lips thin, a hand resting on his hip, practice sword still hanging from his other hand. “If you cannot even master the basics, how do you expect to get any better? No, better yet, how do you possibly expect to guard Malleus as his knight if this is the best you can do?”

Lilia’s eyes narrow as he drops into a crouch, arms folded across his knees as he meets his son’s wide eyes.

“I didn’t teach you to be this awful,” Lilia utters, voice entirely flat. “If this is the way you’re treating your training, then perhaps we ought to stop it altogether.” He curls his lip. “Is that not what you’d prefer, given your demeanour?”

Rising from the ground, Lilia holds out his sword, pointing the tip of the blunted blade towards his son’s crouching form.

“I shall allow you one last chance,” he breathes. “Pick up your sword, Silver. Get up now.”

Silver doesn’t respond.

Lilia clenches his teeth. “Pick it up!”

It is only then, when Silver uncurls himself to reach for the discarded blade at the side with trembling hands, that Lilia falters. He watches through widening eyes as Silver raises his head and, instead of the fiery enthusiasm and determination he saw so often in so many of his old soldiers, there is a watery desperation wavering in those big, auroral eyes. Silver’s lips tremble, his movements sluggish, and as he shoves himself onto his feet, Lilia realises—

Silver isn’t being lazy. He’s swaying from side to side, almost stumbling over his own feet, shaking uncontrollably as he raises his blade to meet Lilia’s own.

Oh, he realises, spotting something glistening along those rounded cheeks. Silver is crying.

In that instant, any trace of General Vanrouge, feared and renowned amidst those of the Valley, vanishes, dissipating in the blink of an eye. Left in its place is only Lilia Vanrouge, father of one.

His sword drops to the ground with a clatter. Lilia surges forward, any thoughts of training pushed squarely out of his mind as he wraps his hands around Silver’s shoulders, staring at him with his heart rattling against his chest. Shit, Lilia thinks. He’s well and truly fucked up now, hasn’t he?

“Silver,” Lilia starts, struggling for the words. What can he possibly say here? He reaches up, wipes away a stray tear that rolls down his son’s cheek. “Silver, you— you can drop your sword now.”

“No!” The outburst startles him, Silver’s usually quiet disposition interrupted by the force of his refusal. Silver all but collapses, pulling Lilia down with him; his knees buckle, and he hits the ground with a painful thud. Silver’s free hand reaches up to wipe at his tears to no avail. “I-I can do it! I can fight—”

“You can’t, Silver—”

“P-Please, just—” Hanging his head, Silver sobs brokenly, and it shatters something within Lilia. How had he not noticed all along, how absolutely exhausted Silver was? “J-Just give me one more chance,” his son begs, shaking his head. The grip on his sword loosens, causing the weapon to clatter to the ground. “I swear, I’ll train day and night to improve, I w-won’t be a burden anymore, please—”

“Silver,” Lilia repeats, voice firm, fingers curling tight around his son’s shoulders. He— he’s taken completely aback, caught off guard; he’d expected something akin to the fiery resolution of the soldiers of the past, not… not this.

Silver is twelve, a tiny part of Lilia remembers. His heart seizes again, a reminder that perhaps this time, he had gone way too far. Silver is young, and for Lilia to have treated him the way he would have treated a grown fae…

He’s not the general anymore. There’s no need for him to train Silver to such rigid standards.

Slowly, Lilia leans forward, wrapping his arms around Silver’s back. He pulls the sobbing boy against his chest, murmuring soft words under his breath in a bid to reassure him. And for a while, that’s all they do — Lilia, holding his son in his arms, ignoring the ache in his knees as he rubs Silver’s back gently, and Silver, who blubbers apologies and pleads for leniency until his begging collapses into crying, and he buries his head in the fabric of Lilia’s sweat-stained shirt.

Eventually, when Silver’s cries peter out into a sniffling silence, Lilia pulls away from him. He reaches out to cup his cheek, thumbing at the tearstained skin with a sad smile across his lips. “How do you feel now, dear?”

Silver bites his lip, eyes flicking away. He sniffles, before he mumbles, “I… I’m okay now, Father. I can fight.”

“I think we’ve had enough sparring for today, actually,” Lilia sighs wearily. When he sees the way Silver stiffens at his words, he adds, “That is a decision made on my account, not yours. I am not disappointed in you, Silver. Far from it; I am only disappointed in myself for not noticing how exhausted you are… far more than usual, anyway.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Lilia chides, though his tone is light. He exhales. “I think we should perhaps clean up for the day. And then I’ll see to dinner, hm?”

“I’ll help you!” Silver blurts out, a little shakily, and Lilia smiles. Even after everything, Silver is still so willing to help… Truly, Lilia would not have faulted him at all if he would have liked to take some time to himself, especially after he so carelessly spouted such cruel words towards his son.

As Lilia rises to his feet, holding out a hand to help his son up, Silver meets his eyes. He hiccups. “So… you’re not mad at me…?”

“I am not,” Lilia assures, leaning in to pull the boy into another hug. “And…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I am truly sorry, Silver, for pushing you that far. I should not have said what I did.”

And from the way Silver relaxes in his hold, pulling away to give him a small smile, Lilia knows that this will be enough, for now.

#writing requests #my writing tag #tumblr drabbles tag #twst #twisted wonderland #i don't think this one is spoilery? we knew he was the general ;u;#lilia vanrouge #twst silver #twst fanfiction #twst writing #when this fic goes up i shall be overseas at a beach and having a good time #i hope you guys enjoy! (aka: scream louder while i sip at my drinks)

111 notes · View notes

savebatsartedition · 4 months ago

Text

Whumptober 2024 Day 3:

Summary:

Mike, Peter and Micky get a bit tied up. Oh, yeah, and there are some guns too. (Episode: S1Ep4, Your Friendly Neighborhood Kidnappers) Prompt pieces used: SET UP FOR FAILURE | "I warned you."

Notes:

This was my first time trying to write these guys (SORRY), and at the point of writing I had only watched about six episodes. Sorry for any mistakes. Title is a direct quote from the episode this was inspired by. I don’t know why this turned out so long (for a whumptober fic of mine) I guess I just really wanted to write it. I also wanted to add more but I ran out of time before I could figure out what. :( Words: 4,269 Content Warnings: Swearing, kidnapping, being held at gunpoint, being tied up, hair pulling, very purposeful aspects of non consensual stuff (no assault of that nature actually takes place, but please do be careful, the layering of all the fears was very important to me while writing this) (Btw, this was inspired specifically by this dialogue in the episode because I went insane when I first heard it: MIKE: Hey, no, man, I’m sorry. A kidnapping is— NICK TRUMP: Contest rules. Rules! MIKE: Well, man, I don’t know. NICK TRUMP: Look, I’ll tell you what to do. Think it over. MIKE: Um, a kidnapping, man. NICK TRUMP: I promise, if this doesn’t work, we forget the whole thing. Talk it over. Go ahead, go, go. Discuss it.”

Fic also under the cut. :3

It wasn’t really all that difficult to convince them to do something stupid, especially when the idea of fame and money was involved. They’d been struggling to make their rent payments, barely shopping for food, and wearing each other's clothes when they needed to, but they still hadn’t made it much further as musicians. They needed this contest, they needed that newspaper, they needed this publicity. He had told them that. It had taken a little convincing, but it hadn’t been too long before, the suspicious glances of the bandmates had turned to excited whispers as they were promised fame.

Even though they wanted a more low-key group of watchers, people who would only know their name for so far, they couldn’t help but feel their mouths watering at the idea of money at their hands and in their bank accounts. It wasn’t really their fault. That was just the life of four musicians.

Mike had tried to tell him that they didn’t want it. They worked for themselves and each other, it had, in all honesty, always been that way. Ever since the four of them had found themselves stumbling together along the same beach, laughing about a shared dream of music and stability, they had always leaned on each other, and no one else. This man, Nick Trump or whatever he’d said his name was, was no part in that. They didn’t didn’t need his help, and if they did, they didn’t want it.

Davy had tried next, telling him that they had to rehearse. To practice their songs. You know, the thing that musicians needed to do to do well in contests like the one they were currently among the finalists of? Compared to practice, publicity was nothing, right? Plenty of traditional concert halls had been filled with musicians who had never once been under the bearing eye of a camera, how was their style any different?

But Nick Trump’s words had been true when he’d shook his head and laughed. He’d shaken a slip of paper in their faces, reminding them- at threat of paper cut -of the simple fact of it. By simply signing up for the contest, they had been signing their names up for “exploitation and publicity.” There wasn’t really any getting out of whatever their assigned manager decided he wanted out of them.

Yeah. “Exploitation,” felt about right. First of all, the very first thing on the list of publicity was, for some reason, Davy’s shirt being ripped off in a public space. And, as if being told to enter a restaurant purely in order to have their clothing removed (which even Davy seemed somewhat uncomfortable about) wasn’t already bad enough, the second attempt had left them stuck hands first in the sidewalk for an hour before Nick Trump had finally come back to rescue them.

Their hands were still caked in concrete dust, funnily enough.

Fed up as any of the rest of them, Mike had told their “manager” that kidnapping was over the line (because of course it was). But, painfully unsurprisingly, the man had only pushed harder. Taking no for an answer? From the guy who’s first move had involved public nudity? Maybe Mike shouldn’t have been surprised when his numb disbelief was beginning to turn into a feeling of danger. No matter what he said, no matter what any of them said, the man just shook his scary blue envelope, rambled on about rules, and wouldn’t leave until the Monkees had reluctantly nodded an okay to his plan. (Because what else were they supposed to do? Say no?)

Nope. They’d be kicked out of the contest if they disagreed with anything now.

Maybe they should have tried being a little more careful with their contest choices, but it was long past that. In their defense, this hadn’t been the first time something like that “publicity” had been in the papers for them, but this was the first time anyone had ever acted on it. To be honest, it wasn’t really a shock that they hadn’t thought much about that particular clause when they’d first read the contract, but now, as they stood there, fingers weak from lingering concrete dust, and hearts still racing from the ordeal at the restaurant, they knew they didn’t really have a choice in this. All they could do was stare at the door and wait for someone to burst through and take them away to God only knew where. (Speaking of which, wasn’t the newspaper meant to be here soon?)

For now, they just had to sit still, look pretty, and do their best to be excited about what was about to happen.

“Maybe it’s not so bad,” Micky murmured. Despite the fact that he was obviously still thinking about the promise of stardome that the man had given them, he didn’t sound so sure. His hands were shaking as he fastened his bowtie into place, still aching from the quick seal concrete (and the subsequent sledgehammer hit) that their new publicity manager had forced him to go through, “I mean, can you imagine it? Stardom, never having to be late on rent again…”

He trailed off, and to Mike, it was clear he couldn’t think of a single thing else to say. (At least, nothing that casts their current situation in a positive light.) A moment passed, and Micky glanced up at the clock, his hair swirling around his face at the jerkiness of the movement. “They should be here by now,”

“Who? The kidnappers, or the cameramen?”

No one said it, but they were all thinking it.

Peter hummed something mostly unintelligible about late kidnappers messing with plans, but Mike didn’t hear it all that well over the blood pounding in his ears. Why was his heart beating so fast over this? This should be safe, this should be planned. He didn’t really have a reason to be scared, right?

The man had promised them that this would work. (Mike ignored the fact that his every other attempt had ended in disaster of some kind.) Maybe this was going to be okay. Clearly he was just worried about something else, after all, the kidnappers and the cameramen weren’t the only people missing from the apartment. He was just worrying about Davy, obviously. It would really suck for one of the four of them to miss out on this wonderful experience. (Even in his mind it sounded sarcastic, and Mike sighed.)

Where was Davy?

Mike looked at the clock, Micky was right (for once), the kidnappers should have been here by now. What kind of publicity manager couldn’t even get his fake kidnappers to show up at the right time? Wasn’t that the point of the fake kidnappers? Scripting it so things didn’t go wrong?

“Mike, you should call them,” Micky joked, giving up on his bowtie as he did his best to wipe the concrete dust off his hands (though he left crummy streaks down the sides of his clean dress shirt, this attempt went no better than any of his last), “maybe they’ll answer,”

“Call ‘em?” Mike joked back, though his nerves were beginning to feel like they were on fire (perhaps Davy had had the right idea in leaving the pad after all), “How? Whaddaya want me to do? Pick up the phone and talk into it?”

Mike laughed and picked up one receiver, “Might answer, you know,”

For a second, Mike’s face broke into a small smirk as his hand hovered over the other phone, but another rush of worry crushed it out of him. He felt his face fall. This wasn’t the time for that.

“Yeah right,” Mike sighed, reaching up to smooth his hat down over his hair, making sure that his bangs looked right for the cameras (though he was starting to really wonder if they were coming at all). Mike and Micky looked at each other, shivering worry greeting rather nervous excitement as their eyes met. Peter hummed again, disgruntled about his still crackling fingers as he reached for a stack of plates from the counter. (How were they going to play like this?)

“We wait,” Mike said, hardly hearing Micky as he echoed him, only a half a beat late. Blood pounded in his ears. For a reason that he didn’t really want to think about as they all waited anxiously for the kidnappers to arrive, Mike had an awfully bad feeling about all this.

The three stared at each other for a moment. Micky’s bowtie was crooked to a degree that was almost offensive to the eyes, Peter’s hair was hardly combed and already getting into his eyes, and Mike could tell without even looking that his suit jacket was smudged with dust and leftover restaurant grime.

To be frank, they weren’t exactly the pictures of perfection.

Mike opened his mouth. Maybe he would have said something about his worries, maybe he would have just told one of the guys to make their outfit right, but the door slammed open before he could. He watched as his friend’s eyes widened, but froze stiff as he heard the click of a gun behind him. For some reason, that didn’t exactly sound like a fake gun.

“Okay, you dirty rats, drop everything and reach for the sky,”

For some reason, that didn’t exactly sound like a fake kidnapper.

They all raised their hands above their heads, Peter's plates falling to the ground with a crash as he let go. His eyes were wide and oh so brown, but none of them seemed to focus on how much that loss was going to cost them as the barrel of a gun brushed through the back of Mike’s hair. He sucked in a breath. Yeah. For some reason that didn’t feel like a fake gun.

Mike looked at Micky for help, but his expression wasn’t that easy to read. He was either going along with it all, or he too had realized what was really happening.

“Down to the couch, no excessive movements,” the kidnapper barked, and none of them hesitated as he forced the three guys down and onto the dark leather. His gun was still nestled in Mike's hair, drawing the two of them close as the kidnapper made him turn to face the barrel.

He was smirking, and Mike’s heart beat hard against his ribs as he watched the kidnapper’s partner shut and lock the door behind him. Where were the newspapers? The journalists? The camera crew? He chanced a glance at Peter, but didn’t get time to look Micky’s way before the kidnapper was pushing his head down and over the back of the couch, hissing something about misbehaving.

This didn’t feel like a fake kidnapping. Not one bit.

Mike would have been lying if he hadn’t admitted to the soft whimper that fought its way up and out of his throat. He’d grown up around guns, and he was very very sure that this was a real one. At either side, the guys obviously got it too, but neither dared move past unintentional shivering, sending waves of fear up Mike’s legs where they touched him.

“George,” the kidnapper said, keeping his eyes locked on Mike as he smirked, “What’s a good kidnapping without a little rope, eh?” He beconed his partner forward, and though he pulled the gun back slightly, Mike knew enough to recognize that there was no window of escape here. They were really trapped.

He felt Micky’s hand, which had been placed protectively at his stomach, shift to tap at his thigh. Mike didn’t know what the gesture meant, but he tried to appreciate it. Unfortunately, that was very hard to do when your heart was beating so fast that you were scared it was going to pop out. Unfortunately, that was very hard to do when your breath was only coming in quick gasps, and your hands were twitching more than they did after a long gig.

The other kidnapper, George it seemed, smirked as he drew closer, and Mike’s fear began to transform into full blown panic as the white ropes and cloths emerged from the burly man’s black pockets. This was not good, not at all.

Their “manager” had set them up.

Mike didn’t really feel the ropes being looped around him. He didn’t really feel the cloth of the gag being tied tight at the back of his neck. He didn’t really feel it when the kidnapper ruffled his hair and smiled, mocking him as his chest heaved in panic. What he did feel, however, was somehow even scarier.

He felt Micky’s entire body shivering when the kidnappers tied his hands together too tight, heard him pleading something almost intelligible right before the gag cut out his words, could almost smell the fear in the air as Micky chanced a glance his way. Was he apologizing for being so okay with this idea? Blaming Mike for it? Wondering if they were going to get out of this?

Mike couldn’t be sure, especially as, in his panic, he choked around the cloth in his mouth. He was so scared he couldn’t seem to figure out how to breathe, even with his nose and most of his mouth free.

At his other side, Peter wasn’t much better. His arms, thicker than either Mike’s or Micky’s, were clearly just as trapped as either of his bandmates’ were. His hair, which seemed to be tied into the knot at the back of his gag, was clearly pulling painfully, forcing him to whimper in pain as well as fear. Mike couldn't’ look at him, but he could feel his friend’s leg muscles stiffen when the kidnapper ruffled his hair. Smiling at his handiwork.

“Very nice George,” the first kidnapper murmured, his gun floating from one band member to the next, making it clear that, no matter who moved, one of them was going to be shot, “Looks nice and secure,”

He prodded at Micky with a foot, but the curly haired percussionist just shrank further into the dark leather of the couch. The kidnapper’s face briefly twitched into a smile. Clearly this was going exactly as he had imagined it…

Except for, of course, that one thing.

“Where’s the fourth one?” The kidnapper whispered, pausing the shifting of his gun to rest it briefly on Peter’s chest (it seemed to dig painfully into his fancy dress shirt when Peter sucked in a fearful breath) “We were promised four, but I only see three here,”

He drew back, and Peter seemed to practically melt against Mike. Weak just from the feeling of that barrel against his chest.

“Maybe you could ask him, Horace,” George said, his own gun held lazily at his side. Clearly he could tell that three scared musicians were not a threat to someone like him and his partner, “The dummy might answer,”

Horace leaned back towards Peter with a smirk, but when Peter shook his head, hair obviously tugging from where it tangled at the back of his neck, he withdrew again. “You should ask them,” Horace said, taking a step back and waving his partner forward, “I’m interested in seeing what you think you can do,”

George raised his gun slightly, but it was still aimed low, more at their feet than their knees but more at their knees than their thighs. Mike knew better than to move. He knew how fast a bullet could fly, he knew how fast a gun could move, he knew how debilitating a shot even to just fat would be.

But his blood ran cold when Micky began to shift, as if he truly believed this, with his hands tied behind his back and his mouth forced someplace between open and slammed closed, was his chance for an escape. Mike felt it in slow motion, watched as the kidnapper’s face began to twitch, felt it as Micky began to really almost stand.

But Mike knew him too well to let him.

He slammed his knee into his friend’s leg, and Micky stopped, obedient, as if realizing how stupid his death had almost been.

George nodded, and almost smiled, though it was cruel and crooked. “Smart one,” he purred, his praise feeling like cold fingers around Mike’s neck, “Good boy,”

Mike grimaced through his gag, but he didn’t have much time to dwell on the “compliment,” before the gun was raised higher, the footsteps pulled behind them as the kidnapper circled the three tied up band mates.

“I want some straight answers,” George was saying, now out of Mike’s view but oh so present in the hand on his shoulder, “where’s your buddy?”

There was no way he didn’t know they couldn’t talk, but as the fingers grew tighter around Mike’s shoulder, he knew he had to do his best to answer. “I don’t know!” he tried to plead, “Please, I don’t know!”

But his words could not be heard, and again he choked slightly in his panic. He coughed pathetically against his gag, but no words got out, just a wad of saliva that dripped hopelessly down his chin. He was shaking so hard that he was surprised that the old couch wasn’t squeaking with the reverberations of it. (Or, at least, he would have been if there had been pretty much any thought in his mind besides, “Holy shit we’re going to die,”)

The kidnappers pretended to be angry, but the clear smirk in his voice when George spoke again was enough to make it clear exactly what they were dealing with. “Where’s your buddy? I’m warning you, one of you has to answer,” he asked again, shifting to talk to Peter, though he kept his fingers clenched around Mike’s shoulder as he continued (it felt like it was going to bruise), “since the smart one was far too stupid to answer,”

Peter sputtered something completely impossible to understand, and quickly ducked his head down as George moved closer, his hand finally leaving Mike’s shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye (he was too scared to move enough to see clearly), Mike watched as the kidnapper grabbed his friend’s hair to yank him back up to a sitting position.

“I warned you,” George hissed, twisting his fingers and causing Peter to yelp and squirm, but not enough to even shift the ropes that bound him. Clearly they were in far too deep of trouble to really give escape a shot.

“Wow,” Horace tut tutted from across the room, “don’t you know not to move too much during something like this? I thought you were meant to be famous musicians or somethin’, surely, if you were, you’d have training of some sort,”

Despite the situation, Micky sputtered something back, but his already muffled voice died in his throat with a painful squeak as George shifted his hand to Micky’s hair. Tangling it tight into his brown curls in a way that seemed almost too cruel for even a kidnapper. George pulled, and Micky was forced to bend over the back of the couch as far as he could in order to look the man in the eyes.

Mike could not see his friend’s face, but he knew Micky’s body language well enough to feel the frozen fear as the kidnapper asked his question once more.

“Where’s your buddy?” he hummed, soft, as if he wasn’t yanking on Micky’s hair so hard that he was starting to cry, “Surely you’ve got to know what’s good for you, you brat, even though no one else here seems to.”

Mike felt the barrel of the gun in his hair again, and he closed his eyes as Micky whimpered against his gag. His heart felt cold. They really didn’t know where Davy was, they couldn’t answer even if they had a real chance to.

They stayed locked that way for a moment longer, Micky half crying as the pressure on his hair became ever stronger, Mike’s breath coming almost too fast for any air to come in as the cold metal of the gun touched so gently against his skin, Peter shivering with something that was somewhere between fear and rage as he was forced to watch his friends fight for breath, but completely unable to move as Horace moved in, his gun pointed coldly back at Peter’s chest.

The kidnapper's eyes were like those of some awful predator animal. A wolf maybe, perhaps a bear. Dark, deadly, and oh so intelligent.

Finally, the gunman spoke.

“George,” Horace hummed, though he had clearly been aware of the option from the start, “maybe if you took off their gags they would give you more intelligent answers,”

“Oh yeah,” said George, though he was obviously grinning with the excitement of what he was doing, “Maybe if I did,”

Mike felt his mind go blank for a second as the world seemed to slip momentarily into pure fear.

They didn’t know the answer to the question.

The gun shifted from the back of his head for just a moment as George pulled the dirty cloth from his mouth, Mike coughed again, feeling how wet the fabric had become as it fell against his neck. His arms hurt where the ropes tugged at them. But that was the least of his worries.

At either side, Micky and Peter’s pained coughing soon joined his. Micky’s clamped jaws just barely held back his whining as George continued to twist at his hair. (For some reason, that seemed to give the kidnappers a particular feeling of joy.) Peter was clearly seething, but he was just as obviously aware of the others and the position they were in. There was no fighting this. Even he knew that.

“Is that better?” Horace asked with a whole lot of false kindness, smirking very very wide as he looked at the shivering musicians before him, “I’m terribly sorry about that, I guess it just slipped my mind that you were, ah, a little wrapped up.” He smiled good naturedly, and Mike felt his eyes cloud with something that wasn't’ quite fear, but wasn't’ quite anger either.

Micky sucked in a pained breath as George gave one last twist of his hair, his eyes shining with hardly suppressed tears. There was a wet smear on his cheek, but Mike couldn’t be sure if it was from his friend’s tears or saliva just by looking at it, and even if he could, he wouldn’t have wanted that to be one of his last thoughts on this earth.

“So we’ll ask one more time,” Horace said, still smirking with fake pleasantries, “Where’s your other friend?” he paused to point at each of them with his very real gun, “any one of you is allowed to answer, so give me what you got!”

His face dropped into a horrible twist of rage and pleasure as the kidnapper stared directly into Mike’s wide eyes. “Trust me baby, you don’t want to make us wait,”

Mike wracked his brain. Milliseconds seemed to tick by like hours, each second growing the smirk back onto Horace’s face as he got closer and closer to really, finally, getting to shoot one of them.

Where the fuck was Davy?

Mike was really shaking now, his teeth, no longer muffled by the itchy hold of the cloth gag, chattered against each other as his friends froze still at his sides. Clearly, they were thinking just as hard as he was.

“None of you know?” George asked, sounding genuinely surprised for a moment before recovering, his hand now twisting into Mike’s hair as he spoke again, “As if! Tell us, now smart boy,”

Horace hummed, taking a step closer and pushing his gun towards Mike’s forehead (but not too close that it couldn’t be turned on Peter or Micky), “You won’t like what happens if you don’t,” he laughed slightly, “or, I guess you won’t care, ‘cus you’ll be dead, but your friends won’t like it,”

Mike’s mouth was not working to spit out words, even if he had had any to say. All he could do was whimper weakly as his hat twisted with the hair on his head. The kidnappers were just messing with him, like a baby mouse in a cat’s claws. His vision was growing spotty.

“Well then,” Horace hummed, “I guess you’ve made your choice,”

He pushed his gun forward slowly, savoring it. It was romantic, almost erotic, and Mike was terrified. But before he could black out, Peter was speaking.

“Wait, wait!” he called, and if Mike didn’t know him so well he wouldn’t have even known that his words were as much a complete guess as they were panicked and pleading, “Davy’s at the dance with a girlfriend, down the road someplace,”

“That’s a start,” the kidnapper grinned, though he looked a little disappointed that he wasn’t going to be splattering Mike’s brains on the wall. …at least not yet, “maybe you aren’t such a dummy after all,” He nodded to George. “Go get him, I’ll keep these three occupied,” He smirked at the guys, “It’ll be fun! I promise,” he lifted his gun once more and pressed it forward towards Mike’s heaving chest, “Right from my heart,”

Mike whimpered again, but there was nothing he could do. There never had been. They’d been set up for this right from the start. And now, once George and Horace realized that they had been duped, there was absolutely nothing that any of the band mates could ever do to keep the floors clean of their warm sticky blood.

3 notes · View notes

nessaxc · 4 years ago

Text

___________________________________

Stress Reliever || Kuroo Tetsurou

You're working so hard one day that you develop a migraine so Kuroo is determined to help relieve it.

~ Rating: Explicit

~ Words: 2.5k

~ Tags: Fluff, Comfort Sex, Lap Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Sexual dialogue, Swearing, Vaginal Sex,

___________________________________

Funny enough the day didn’t start off terrible. In fact, it started off pretty well. You woke up fairly early enough to drag yourself out of bed to do your morning exercises. Even after exercising and getting ready, you still had time to make yourself some coffee, and you were feeling in a positively good mood, though, that quickly went away.

Your professor was nagging you about the extra exercises and apparently you had a deadline for it, so you were swamped with work, and felt like you were being pulled in multiple directions. As such, you completely skipped lunch and barely had time to snack or eat the rest of the day. That was a major mistake and now you were starting to regret it horribly. The coffee stain on your shirt was a grim reminder of how much of a shit day you were having, so you tugged it off later that day to change into a comfortable nightdress.

Your head felt like it was on fire. You tried to focus on your computer screen, but the light of the device hurt your eyes and you shut them, pressing the heels of your palms into closed eyelids. The lack of food and water, plus your stress was starting to cause a migraine to emerge and you foolishly tried to just wish it away. Obviously it didn't seem to work.

Then Kuroo came around when you were working in the living room, wearing a deep red robe, sipping from a cup before he pulled it away from his lips to ask, "You okay, baby?" he walked over, and when he slammed his cup down on the table it made you wince.

"No," you admitted. You pulled your hands away from your face and nearly sobbed as you saw that your computer was now frozen.

You bit back a collection of swears that you wanted so desperately to scream. Instead, you grimly began to work again after everything closed, clicking on a browser to get back started.

"Earth to Y/N!" he waved his hand in front of your face, chuckling in amusement, and you just moved your head to the direction of the screen. The more you went on, the harder it got to concentrate. Your migraine was full on now, and your head was throbbing so much that it made it near impossible to focus on anything. You closed your eyes for a few moments, before you forced yourself to open them as you returned to the exercises you were working on.

"I think you need to relax," he suggested, "you can barely look at the computer screen," he laughed as he mocked the way your eyes were falling closed, his eyes heavily lidded as he slowly blinked them, a dazed look on his face.

"I can't, I have more work to do," you muttered. You appreciated his attempt at showing concern, but you really were too busy to leave now. You didn't even know what time it was, but you constantly told yourself that you weren't going to stop until everything was finished.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, and you fought the urge to look at him as he massaged the curve of it with his fingers.

"Aw don't be such a workaholic," he told you, and you nearly hissed at him, "I think what you need is a break, doctor's orders!" he exclaimed with a chuckle. "C'mon, you don't have anything that can't wait until tomorrow."

"I'm fine," you lied. You were stubborn and hated leaving things unfinished.

"You're not fine, c'mon, now the boss is telling you that you need to stop working," he urged, and you would have laughed because he was speaking in that cute whiny voice you loved had you not been so invested in your work. "I won't take no for an answer," he said with an amused smirk.

"No it's okay," you started, "I can keep going," you said, your voice lacking any sort of conviction. "I have a deadline."

"Well I said you don't, the professor gonna have to wait, last I checked you're supposed to listen to me, not that old fart," he pulled the laptop away from your grasp, and you wanted to argue but the words died in your throat as your head throbbed painfully.

"Tetsurou, I wasn't finished," you said, your voice expressing weak disapproval.

He scooped you up into his arms suddenly, humming away loudly and acting as if he didn't hear you. He carried you all the way to his room, bridal-style, which you couldn't help but giggle at, and he flopped down on the bed, positioning you on the comfortable seat that was his lap. He ran his hand along your arm, stroking the skin there as he eyed you with a suggestive look on his face.

"Migraine?" he asked. He knew you so well. You had the tendency to get migraines when you pushed yourself too much, and you groaned in response.

"You had a tough day huh?" he continued, a pout playing on his lips before he chuckled. "No biggie, I'm here to fix that," he assured, his voice somewhat soothing for once.

"It sucked," you mumbled, leaning into his touch as he stroked both of your arms with his hands, feeling yourself relax a little more. He pulled you closer against his chest, his breath tickling your neck.

"Sorry you had a shit day," he chuckled, his grin widening when you cracked a small smile, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. "But that's why you always have me to make it extraordinary!" he exclaimed smugly.

"It's fine, I had worse," you admitted, and he continued to laugh at that. You both fell into silence for a few moments. You loved that you could have a horrible day or a shitty migraine, and Kuroo would be there to help make you feel better. You were so comfortable and warm, despite the pounding in your head. But even with that pulsating ache in your head, you found yourself getting lost in the features of his face — those long ebony eyelashes, that single strand of black hair that fell in front of his forehead, the glimmer in his eyes, you drank it all in, and of course he noticed this.

"Like what you see, baby?" he raised both eyebrows inquisitively, his smirk only broadening even more so, entertained by your watchful stare.

"Maybe," you said with a light shrug, acting as if it was nothing.

He slid his hands up to your shoulders, kneading his fingers into them, and the feeling made you shiver slightly. You found yourself craving his touch almost instantly. You were suddenly very aware of his hot skin against yours and his hot breath chasing the skin on your neck.

"You know," he said before leaning in to press kisses upon your neck, "sex actually helps migraines."

As soon as he said the words, you felt him twitch against you. His lips then brushed your shoulder and you could feel his sly smirk.

"Is that so?" you asked, your voice taking a very different tone, that suggested a challenge. His fingers wandered down to the hem of your nightdress in search of the skin underneath.

"Yes, or so I've heard," he teased, making you chuckle in response.

"Make me feel better then," you whispered. You reached for the first button of your nightdress, his eyes widened a little as you worked your way down, and you emitted a soft gasp as you felt him harden against you. You popped the next one open but he quickly became impatient with your pace, he brought his hands back up and tore the dress open, letting the buttons fly about the room in loud pings before tossing it away.

You couldn't help but giggle in response to that because of how eager he was, and he quickly joined your state of laughter. Your hands fumbled to rid of the robe that covered his body, slipping it off in a hurry and allowing it to join your ripped dress on the floor. Your cheeks turned to the color of scarlet upon the sight of his stiff erection pointing up, amazed by how hard he was already.

You shivered when he cupped your breast. His hand was cold, and your nipples were already hard from the chill in the night air, but when he brushed his thumb over the sensitive tip of your breast, you sighed in pleasure. You trailed your cool fingertips down his side to his hip, your breath hitched.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he said under his breath before a chuckle slipped through, then he pressed his lips to yours. When you began to trail your fingers up and down his member, his tongue plunged into your mouth. He cupped your other breast, his thumbs brushing back and forth over your nipples. You inched forward, rubbing the ball of your thumb against the head of his member. When you were almost straddling him, you shifted your weight from your knees to your feet, sliding one arm around his neck to hold your balance as you kept fondling his member, and he nipped at your bottom lip, letting out a low, pleased moan.

"Oh shit," he growled before he added, "you're mine, all mine," he repeated, giving you one last hard kiss, then nuzzling his way down to your neck, and you arched to give him room as he brushed his lips just lightly across the tops of your breasts. You angled your hips, gripping his shoulders as you rubbed the slit of your sex into the hard length of his erection, your clit sliding against the underside of his shaft, and when he suckled against your nipple, you shuddered, making you whimper loudly.

"Mmm, yes," you murmured, closing your eyes as he lashed his tongue back and forth against your nipple, then gently bit the underside of your breast.

"So beautiful, fuck, I love how this perfect body is all mine," he cooed. He moved to the other, stroking your wet nipple as he pressed his other palm into the small of your back, guiding you as you ground against him. He murmured your name against your breast, and closed his teeth around your nipple. Your clit brushed the tip of his member and you moaned, hips trembling a little as you kept rubbing against him in a desperate attempt for some relief.

"Baby, get inside me," you moaned, and he kissed you between your breasts before he straightened. His dark-eyed gaze was intent on yours, watching as you were a complete and utter panting mess against him. He guided you up, angling himself under you, making you lean forward and you caught his earlobe in your mouth hungrily.

"Please, baby, please, oh fuck," you cried, and when he was just barely seated inside you, instantly you tilted forward, the tips of your breasts rubbing against his chest. He pressed the pad of his thumb against your clit, and you trembled as you sank onto his member, working your way down until your hips were flush.

You threw your head back as you thrust into him fervidly, losing yourself in the sensation of him inside you, filling you. When you took his full length and then gently circled your hips, his thumb still working against your clit, you both moaned aloud.

"Mmm. You feel so good," he growled. "Harder, baby," he urged breathlessly.

You adjusted your weight and he tilted back a little, changing the angle just slightly. When you began to bounce up and down on his member, he let out a louder moan, flicking your clit even harder, his other hand coming up to pluck at your breast. You cried out in pleasure when he squeezed your nipple between his forefinger and thumb, then did the same to the other.

"Yeah, babygirl, you're so fucking sexy," he panted hotly upon your moist skin, "so perfect riding my cock like this, oh fuck," he uttered gruffly around a grunt.

"Oh yes, Tetsurou," you sobbed as your inner flesh started to spasm around his member. You rode him harder, faster, seeking the friction your body craved without missing a beat, slamming your hips up and down upon his, frantically bumping into them without a care as your cries bounced off the walls of the room. "Yes, yes yes, baby, it feels so fucking good—"

"Come," he demanded hoarsely as he forcefully pressed down on your clit then slipped the pad of his finger into it with an untamed motion. Your arousal was making you shudder with desperation, and your sobs rose until you were almost screaming as he rocked up under you. Beads of hot sweat formed on his temple, making his hair stick to his warm skin as his body twitched with the sensation of engulfing you completely.

"Fuck, your pussy feels so good, baby," he praised, and your face flushed a deeper red, tipping your head back as your whole body trembled. You lifted your hips up and down as fast as you possibly could because you knew you were about to burst any second. You gripped his shoulders painfully tight for leverage when you finally reached your climax.

"Oh fuck," you mewled, rocking your hips side to side, almost corkscrewing down onto his member, and the wild movements of his finger stilled, groaning as he let himself come. You sank down onto him as he pulsed inside of you, and stayed lock to him, skin to skin, wrapped around each other.

Your head was against his neck as you panted hard upon his skin, eyes fluttering open as he tilted forward, letting both of your bodies fall back upon the soft cushion of his bed once you two shared a moment of simply attempting to get your breathing under control. He reached for the blanket, pulling it up around you two, over your bare shoulders, and then you realized you were shaking as your sweat dried on your skin.

"Mmmm," you murmured against his skin, placing a soft kiss upon his neck in a weak attempt to thank him.

Your migraine was now just a dull throbbing pain, and you felt so relaxed and satisfied that you went limp against his body. He lifted your chin up to make you face him, removing a few strands of hair from your face. He planted a couple of kisses along your shoulder and then your cheek. "So how's my girl feeling now? All better?" he asked with a chuckle, running his other hand down your back, feeling the soft flesh beneath.

"Better, much better," you purred as you stretched your body closer to his touch.

He chuckled, "Glad I could help."

___________________________________

126 notes · View notes

adorethedistance · 4 years ago

Text

READING MY BOYFRIEND’S FANFICTION?? - Owen Joyner x Influencer!Reader

JATP masterlist

Requested: OMGGG!! Could you do a an Owen fic based around his girlfriend being an armature youtuber/social media influencer (shes also an actress and they met on set and have been dating for a while) and it’s “reading/reacting to my boyfriend’s fanfiction” ? You can do whatever you want with the fanfic part it’s just a concept that has been running around in my head for a while. LOVE ALL YOUR WORK!!

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sex, very mild

Words: 1460

A/N: A fic?? From Ace?? Hi. I’m off spring break officially and so my stress has dissipated immensely. School was becoming so much these last two weeks and I thought I’d be stressed or worried, but I’m actually fine? It’s weird lol so I decided I could be productive with my stress-free moment and post a little fic for y’all. I love this prompt, and before any of you writers panic, I’m using my own fics for the fanfictions because I wouldn’t want to put y’all on the spot like that. Also this is my 3000 post! thought that was cool lol

“Do you wanna do the intro?”

“I think I have to do the intro.”

“Okay, go for it.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out a heavy breath in exaggerated preparation for my (some would say lengthy) intro. “Hello, hi. Yes, okay, this is Y/n Y/l/n vlogs, welcome or welcome back to my channel!” Once Owen finishes his statement I’m so stunned I can’t generate any sort of response other than a slacked jaw semi smile.

“That was not even close. Do you know my intro?”

“I got the first part right!”

“You’ve lost intro privileges,” I turn back to the mess of lights and tripods in front of me and ignore the disaster of an intro Owen offered. “Oh, hello, hi! I am Y/n and this is: Reading My Boyfriend’s Fanfiction!”

“That’s basically what I did.”

“No, it is not! It’s ‘oh, hello, hi. I am ‘name’ and this is: ‘title of video’.”

“You don’t ‘welcome to my channel’?” Owen’s voice has dropped to a hushed volume as he genuinely inquires about the segments of my usual introduction.

“I do not.”

“Don’t use any of this,” he pleads when making direct eye contact with the camera. “Mister Sid. Editing Sid, please don’t embarrass me.” His pleas fall on deaf ears, knowing that I’ll be using the footage in full.

“Anyways. Butchered intro aside, I am Y/n and today I am here with my lovely “So Many Stars” costar and scene partner, Owen Joyner!”

“I’m also your boyfriend.”

“That too,” I give Owen’s pointed comment a soft place to land, “So, yesterday--it was actually like, two weeks ago, I don’t know why I said yesterday--a little while back, I came across a tweet telling me someone had written a fanfic about us-”

“Did you read it?”

“On Wattpad. Of course, I read it. There are only three chapters up right now and they’re all in the 2-3k range so it was a quick read.”

“2-3k?”

“Words,” I reply nonchalantly as I unlock my phone. I bookmarked a few one-shots beforehand for us to read, and I’m slightly cocky about my selections. Owen then responds with an outburst of shock.

“2-3 thousand words is a short read?” I merely give him a blank stare.

“Judging by that reaction, Owen hasn’t read any fanfics in his life.”

“Is that not long to you- That’s what she said.” Owen cuts me off with his own stupid joke and I briefly sigh before answering.

“No, that isn’t long. Baby, I’m here for that 130k slow burn enemies to lovers on AO3 with the ‘only one bed’ and ‘locked in a closet’ tropes.”

“The what?”

“Oh, we have so much to catch you up on.”

__________________________

“So I saved three fics, an angst, a fluff, and a smut. Which do you want to read?”

“Wait, what does that mean?”

“Oh my- okay. Angst is the sad shit, it’s what you read when you need your heartbroken and a good cry. Smut is pretty much in the name, it’s explicit content that will undoubtedly get this video demonetized, but that’s okay because we do have a sponsor. And fluff is the cute moments, domestic and sometimes mundane romance that makes you smile like an idiot and put the device down to screech into a pillow.” Throughout my whole explanation, I can tell Owen was becoming more and more lost, so I opt to give him a few moments to collect his thoughts.

“Let’s start with the fluff just to ease into things.”

“Smart choice. This fic I have saved is called ‘Baby Fever’ and the summary says ‘you and Owen spend a day at the zoo babysitting Baby Shada, and her presence sparks conversation about adding a new presence of your very own’.”

“That sounds so ominous.”

“Here, I’ll read the narration and reader’s POV, and then you’ll read your own dialogue.” Owen nods and leans over my right shoulder to read off of my computer screen.

“You actually start the fic.”

“‘You ready, little one?’” The instantaneous actor mode Owen slips into has me howling with laughter at which he looks at me confused. My gasping for air makes Owen laugh empathetically despite still being unsure as to what’s killing me at the moment.

“Why are you laughing?!” He yells, dramatically shaking my shoulder.

“Just the way you jumped into that, I wasn’t prepared for you to turn on the acting charm. Okay, uhhhh, ‘I bite back a laugh when I hear Owen’s voice coo from the back seat’.”

The two of us go back and forth between reading the narrative, bouts of laughter, commentary on the accuracy of Owen’s character, and we finally manage to finish the 2.5k fic in about forty minutes.

“‘When he looks up from CJ’s tiny body and recognizes the familiar ‘baby fever’ look in my eyes, he smiles and utters a simple-’.”

“‘I told you so.’”

“That was cute! I like the tie-in of having us watching over Baby Shada- or, sorry, you and ‘y/n’ watching over Baby Shada.”

“They wrote me kinda funny, I don’t think I’d ever fabricate a life to make conversation with a stranger due to baby fever.” My jaw drops slightly and before Owen can respond to my reaction, I cry,

“That is such a lie!”

“What?”

“You absolutely would do something like that, are you kidding me?!”

“No, I would not!” Owen punctuates every word with the utmost offense. He has the same look in his eye as when he was proving himself to be the cleanest phantom of the three on the Sunset Drive podcast.

“You literally told the guy at Home Depot yesterday that we were buying plants for our child’s nursery!”

“Okay, that’s different-”

“How is that different? That’s the exact same thing as fanfic you!” Owen’s furrowed brow and dropped jaw are a sight to be seen as he leans away from me, bending at the waist to stare at me with defiance. I raise my eyebrows pointedly as I await a response. Instead of actually producing a response, Owen lunges forward, grabbing my waist in his hands and squeezing gently. The feeling makes me screech and gasp of laughter from surprise and also being ticklish.

“Owen! Owe-STOP, I’m gonna drop my laptop!” I manage to say through my laughter and with one final grab, he releases me from his hold. It takes a minute for my laughter to settle but once I do, the two of us are simply breathing heavy and staring at one another with giddy smiles on our faces. In a moment’s clarity, I turn to look into the camera lens to talk directly to my editor,

“Sid, don’t use any of this. And please don’t cut to this after we finish reading to make it look like- things were happening.”

“Actually, I think you should, Sid. Just cut to right there and make the world think we-”

“OKAY, thanks for watching, bye!” I quickly stop the recording before Owen says something we’re unable to recover from. I hear him laugh gently behind me as I set my laptop down on the coffee table behind the tripod. Coming back to the couch, I move to plop down but before landing successfully on the cushion next to my phone, Owen grabs my body and moves me to sit on top of him.

“You are crazy, you know that?”

“Hmm. Crazy for you, maybe.” His cheesy line makes me scoff but smile nonetheless. I reach my right hand up to caress the side of his face as we sit cheek to cheek.

“Remind me to never film with you again.” The gesture is sweet and the sentiment is not which makes Owen laugh and he presses a soft kiss to my cheek. I lean back into him so my back is pressed flush with his chest as he lazily wraps both arms around me.

“You say that now but you’ll regret it when you wanna do a ‘boyfriend does my makeup’ challenge video.”

“Nah. I’ll just call Charlie to-” Without allowing me to finish my sentence, Owen is digging his fingertips back into the tissue of my sides and I squeal with laughter once more. This time the torment is short-lived and Owen releases me after a sweet, reconciling kiss. “Do you have baby fever now?”

“It was cute and all, but not really, no.”

“That’s too bad,” I stand up from my spot on his lap to grab my computer and hold it to my chest, “I was gonna say we could practice some baby-making.”

And with that, I turned on the balls of my feet, heading for my bedroom when I heard Owen stand up eagerly, quick to follow.

***

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13 @kaitlyn2907 @itz-jas @crybabyddl @kcd15 @kinda-really-lost @calamitykaty @morganayennefertyrell@n0wornever @dream-a-little-bigger-x @mrstodorooki@vicesvsvirturesfanfic @curlybrownhairedboys @amazinggracy @kaitieskidmore1 @asdfghjkl-fanfics @ghostlygreenbean @juliefromaustralia @merceret @jemimah-b99 @ifilwtmfc @thesweetestsinner @imsydneywalker @lovesanimals @thebloodthirstyvampress @bumbleberry-pie @losers-club6 @tefilovesreading @dmcfarland1@joynerxmercer @kexrtiz @talk-on-the-street @phantompogues @konciousdreamer @sunsetcurvej @warmnesss0ul

206 notes · View notes

noladyme · 4 years ago

Text

You and Me makes Three - Part 1

Lyla moved to San Fransisco for work, and for a fresh start. The standoffish guy across the hall of her sublet peaks her interest in more ways than one; and when he finally opens up, she jumps at the chance to get to know him; and whatever it is his dark secret is.

Eddie Brock x OC Lyla

TW: smut and fluff

I’d found the sublet on craigslist; which I came to regret, when meeting the current tenant. Ziggy – as the guy called himself – turned out to be a long haired ultra-deuche; who’d spent most of our first meeting looking down my top, and talking about his upcoming tour of Illinois, with his band; Dirty Riders. I’d had my share of adventures with guys in bands; but in Ziggy’s case, I could literally smell the perfume from the chick he’d probably banged the night before.

After spending 20 minutes trying to distract me from the task at hand; I finally got him back on track, and we’d come to an agreement on the rent for the 3 months I’d be using his place. It was steep, but after having landed the job at a private school – and having been asked to start the week after – I needed a home; if only temporarily, while I looked for something else.

With most of my stuff in storage; all I had with me the day I was supposed to move in, was a couple of suitcases; and three boxes of essentials – like my books, pens and notes. And of course, my computer – my lifeline.

The neighborhood wasn’t the greatest; so, when I realized the door phone wasn’t working, and the Zigster wasn’t answering his cell, I was lightly panicking. I was standing alone on a street in a new city; with my most valued belongings, and no way to get out of there; as the cab that had brought me, took off as soon as the driver got my last box out of the trunk.

I kept calling Ziggy, and pounding the button for the apartment; but nothing came of it. I sat down on the doorstep, and was just about ready to cry; when a guy in his 30’s, wearing a casual leather jacket, walked up to the door with a key. “Excuse me”, he muttered, pulling out his keys. I looked up at him. It was hard making out his eye-color – blues, greens and browns meshed together to make a color all of its own. I found myself caught up in trying to distinguish the different shades in them; when I realized that he was about to unlock the door, and walk in.

“Hey”, I said. “Do you live here?”. He sent me a friendly but reserved smile; making me also notice his full lips; and the way his front teeth were just a little bit crooked – just enough to make him look interesting. “Yeah”, he said. “I do… Can I help you?”. I let out a relieved smile. “I live here too”, I said. “Or, I’m supposed to… I’m subletting from Ziggy”. He raised his brows. “You’re a friend of Ziggys?”. “Not exactly”, I scoffed. “He’s leaving town for a few months, and is letting me use his place… but the door-phone isn’t working, and he isn’t picking up his cell”.

The man seemed to be having an internal dialogue, before coming to a conclusion. “Yeah. Ok… come on in”. “Thank you!”, I smiled; almost crying in relief. I picked up my suitcases, as he unlocked the door, and carried them inside; after which I got the first two boxes – the man holding the door for me. I thought I heard him mutter “Fine!” under his breath, before he stepped outside, grabbing the last box for me. “Oh crap! Careful, that’s heavy”, I managed to say; before he groaned from the weight of the many books, I’d stored in it. “Shit, no kidding”, he grunted.

He put the box down just inside the door. “Do you need help up the stairs?”, he asked; obviously hoping for me to say no. I smiled and shook my head. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks!”, I said. I stuck out my hand to shake his, and told him my name. “I’m Eddie”, he answered. “I guess we’re neighbors. I live across the hall from Ziggy”. “Thanks for the help, Eddie”, I grinned. “I’m Lyla… by the way”. “Nice to meet you”, he muttered. He walked up the stairs, sending me an inquisitive look over his shoulder.

Five trips up and down the stairs later; I finally had all my things outside Ziggys door. I tried calling him again; and heard a phone ring behind the door. You’ve got to be kidding me! I banged the door. “Ziggy! I’m here”, I yelled. “Open up, you dick”, I added, below my breath. I looked behind me, at what was apparently Eddies door; and saw something move behind the peephole.

I banged the door again. “Ziggy?”. Someone coughed and moved around some stuff behind the door; and Ziggy finally opened; looking at me with a seriously hungover expression. “Fuck. What’s today?”, he rasped. “Wednesday”, I said exasperatedly. His eyes widened. “Shit, beautiful. I’m so sorry!”, he said smilingly. “Come one in!”. “My name is Lyla”, I reminded him, and stepped in behind him. “Lyla-licious”, Ziggy sniggered; making me want to barf violently.

The studio apartment was, if possible, worse than I had imagined. A heavy smell of incense, weed and stale beer hung over the room; and a collection of bongs shaped like female torsos sat on a shelf. Ziggy had decorated the wall over his bed with posters of his own band.

Ziggy scrambled to get his things together. Apparently, he’d not packed up his things for the upcoming tour of steakhouses, coffeeshops and dive-bars throughout Illinois. “Let me just get this…”, he smirked at me; before rubbing himself as close as possible to me to get to a pack of xxl-condoms on a shelf in the kitchen area. “You know, if you need it, you’re welcome to hang around after I get back”. “I’m gonna be pretty focused on getting something permanent set up”, I smiled; swallowing bile. “Absolutely, yeah. That’s so cool”, he said; leaning against the counter I was standing by. “Just let me know, ok?”. He put his hand on my shoulder, and squeezed it. “Sure…”, I said, and stepped back; going to check out the rest of the space.

It was one room – combined livingspace/bedroom/kitchen. A small bathroom with – thank God! – a bathtub; which was going to need some serious cleaning before I’d even put a foot in it. But it was mine… at least for the next three months. It’s not a lot, I thought to myself. But I can work with this.

Ziggy seemed to have his stuff packed up; and was standing in the doorway to the small bathroom; blocking my exit. He had a guitarcase casually hanging from one shoulder. “So… I’m ready to go”, he smirked. I nodded and half smiled. “Keys?”, I said. “Right. Here…”. He handed me a set of keys “If I get any mail…”. “I’ll let you know; once a week, like we agreed”. “Yeah”, he smirked and nodded; looking me over like I was edible. “So, I’ll call you?”. I swallowed bile again. “Yup”, I said, and reached out my hand to shake his. He took it; and held on to it; letting his thumb stroke my fingers. I will tear off your arm if you don’t let go, I thought to myself.

“Take care, Lyla”, he said; and winked at me; before finally moving away from the doorframe; and grabbing his bags to leave. “Shit, I forgot. The guy across the hall… he’s kind a of weird. Be careful, ok?”. “Sure…”, I muttered, and walked after him to the door, closing it behind him. I let out an audible sigh of relief, and put on the door chain.

---

I opened the windows, and got to cleaning. An old ashtray shaped like an avocado, turned out to be an actual shell of an avocado; and for the third time that day, I almost vomited. Riffling through some old dusty cd’s of Ziggys, I found a Fleetwood Mac album. “Yes!”, I cried out. At least you have that going for you, Ziggy, I thought – until I realized he’d never unwrapped the cellophane around the cover. I unwrapped it myself, put on the album; and skipped to my favorite song; singing along to the lyrics. “… well, I’ve been afraid of changing, ‘cuz I built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, even children get older…”.

Someone knocked on the door. For a second, I was afraid Ziggy had changed his mind about touring, and had come back. I opened the door slightly, leaving the chain on. Outside stood Eddie. “Hi”, I said cautiously. He seemed warmer. “Hey. I think you dropped this in the hallway”. He was holding one of my notebooks. I unlatched the chain, and opened the door fully, taking the book from him. “Weird”, I said. “I could swear I’d packed it in the bottom of one of the boxes”. Eddie smiled nervously. “Well… maybe it jumped out”, he said. “Maybe”, I chuckled. “Thanks”.

He lingered. “The music…”, he said. “I’m sorry. Is it too loud?”, I asked. He shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine”, he said. “Just different than what usually comes out of this apartment”. I laughed. “Yeah… The Zigster seems to have a very specific taste”. “Yeah?”, Eddie smiled. “You should see his collection”, I said. He nodded and smiled crookedly. “Maybe… sometime”.

I noticed the door to his apartment was open. It seemed like the mirror opposite of mine. Just less disgusting. I met Eddies eyes. I still couldn’t figure out the color of them – all I could conclude was that they were… kind. I would have lost myself in them, if he hadn’t turned to walk back into his own place. “Uhm, Eddie?”, I said. He looked at me again. “Could you point me in the direction of a good… grocery store?”. Idiot… He scratched his head. “Yeah, I mean… I do most my shopping at Mrs. Chens, down the street”, he said. “Just don’t tell her you know me. She’ll try to sell you meditation tapes and scented candles”. I laughed. “A scented candle wouldn’t hurt this place”, I said. “Ziggy left behind some pretty gnarly smells”. He laughed. “He’s a… special guy”. Our eyes met again for a moment. Eddie seemed to want to say something else, but then his eyes moved, as if he was listening to something. “I gotta go”, he said; and went into his apartment, closing the door. He's strange, I thought. But something inside me wanted to figure him out.

---

The next few days went by without much happening. I finally finished cleaning my new living-space – except for the mattress. I couldn’t get myself to sleep on it, after I’d taken of the old bedding left behind by Ziggy; and finding quite a few stains I didn’t even want to touch with rubber-gloves – so I’d slept on the couch so far.

Once, I’d run in to Eddie by the mail slots; exchanging a friendly helloand a smile. He seemed to be in a hurry to get out of the door, carrying a messenger-bag and a motorcycle helmet. I noticed him opening his own slot. It had E. Brock, written with bold letters on it. Watching him walk away down the hall to the door; I couldn’t help but bite my lip and smile. He moved like he was late for something; but at the same time didn’t want anyone to tell him when he was supposed to get there. Like some kind of internal struggle, I just wanted to unwrap and explore.

Saturday morning, I woke up early for once, craving coffee and carbs. I had neither of those things in the kitchen; so, I got dressed in my favorite jeans and a light, loose t-shirt, to head out and track something down. As I was still new to San Francisco, I wasn’t sure about how the weather would be in October. I brought my short leather jacket. Just in case. I put a notebook and a pen in my shoulder-bag, and was off.

Outside the building I grabbed a free paper to have something to read. I took a streetcar towards the Mission District; enjoying the sunshine and smells from food carts we passed. Hunger was about to take me over; and I opened my paper, to distract myself. The headlines were mostly fluff stories and ads; except for a couple on the murder of a local politician, and animal attacks by the harbor. Some drug dealers had been found with their heads bitten clean off. I winced at the thought; before turning the page, and a new header caught my eye.

Home robberies in Downtown Oakland – Gangs or criminals on city payroll? - Story by Eddie Brock.

I was surprised for a second. He didn’t strike me as a journalist in the traditional sense.

The story was mostly an opinion piece, but was based heavily on facts he’d dug up from interviews with victims, and homeless youth in the area of the robberies. Eddie was questioning the arrests made on young gang members for the crimes; and in stead suggesting that city-leadership was paying crime syndicates to commit the robberies, to be able to gentrify the area. If he was right; this was a big story; so, I was finding it strange to see the story in a free newspaper.

I arrived near Mission Dolores Park; having read about a nice, upmarket coffee shop there; with donuts that the blogger had written were to absolutely die for. They turned out to be less so. After standing in line for 30 minutes; I was handed a stale cup of organically sourced, fairtrade coffee; and a donut that was hard enough to break a window. Stepping outside the shop; I decided to give it a chance; and bit in to it – instantly almost choking on the floury consistency of the pastry.

“They’re not very good, are they…”. I turned to face Eddie; standing with an amused smile on his face. “Nope”, I answered, and spat out the donut-bite into a napkin. “Sorry…”, I said embarrassedly. “No worries”, he chuckled. “If I’d known you were coming here, I’d have told you. They’re vegan…”. I raised my brows at him. “Shit, sorry! Are you vegan?”, he asked. “No”, I shook my head and chuckled. “But I’ve for sure had better vegan food than this”. He sighed and seemed to ponder something. “Come on”, he said, and gestured for me to follow him.

We walked down a narrow street; passing smaller shops and street vendors – some of which seemed to know Eddie, and sent him friendly nods. “You’re popular around here”, I said; walking next to him. He chuckled in response. “I dunno. I prefer buying from smaller shops. Personal touch, you know?”. “I get it”, I said. “Locally sourced, and eco-friendly; right?”. He shrugged. “Something like that”.

He stopped by a small storefront; displaying pride-flags and caricatures of politicians in the window. I knew already that I would like this place. The man behind the counters face lit up. “Yo, Ed! Back so soon, man?”, he grinned. “I know you got that parasite thing, but seriously…”. Eddie looked uncomfortable for a second. “Yeah, Don… this is my new neighbor”. He introduced me, avoiding my eyes. “She went to La Boulange”. Don inhaled sharply through his teeth. “Yikes… New in town?”, he asked. I chuckled and nodded. “Coffee black?”, Eddie asked me. I nodded. “Give us two blacks and a couple of glazed yeast”. “I’ll add some sprinkles for the lady”, Don winked friendlily. Eddie groaned. “Just… don’t make them the green ones”, he said. “I was high for 12 hours straight last time”. I laughed out loud.

We left the store; Eddie politely having paid for our coffees and donuts. Through the window I saw Don point at me, and give Eddie the thumbs up and a wink. “He’s a character”, I smiled. “He sure is”, Eddie answered. His voice was deliciously raspy, and watching him speak I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of trouble his lips could get in to with mine. I had to shake myself out of the thought. “Thanks for this”, I said. “You haven’t tasted it yet”, he said.

I bit in to my pastry. It was carb-heaven in my mouth. “Oh. Oh my God!”, I said, mouth full. “I know, right?”, Eddie smiled. I raised my brows and nodded fiercely. “It’s why I go out of my way to come here every morning”. “Don’t journalists work all over?”, I asked, covering my mouth with my hand, as I was still chewing. He scrunched his brows at me in question. I pulled out the newspaper from my bag. “Oh, yeah”, he said. “I do freelance stuff mostly; but I have a position at a newspaper downtown. Used to write for The Globe”. “New York?”, I asked. “So, why move to San Francisco?”. He shrugged. “I lost the position for… being what I am. An honest reporter”.

I half smiled. “So, a new life”. “Yeah, and a girl”, he admitted. “My fiancée”. My heart dropped; and I did my best not to show it on my face. “Oh! You’re engaged? That’s great!”. “Not really”, chuckled. “I messed that up too… by being what I am”. “An honest reporter…”, I muttered. “And at times a little too cutthroat about it”. He sighed. “It’s good though. She’s good. I’m good. We’re good”.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Why am I telling you all this stuff?”, he said and laughed. “Are you sure you’renot a reporter?”. “Nah. I’m just an elementary schoolteacher”, I said. “I do write, though. But not articles”. “What?”, he said earnestly. I shook my head. “Another time. I’m sure you have somewhere to be”. He looked at his watch. “Shit, yeah!”, he said. “Sorry, I gotta run”. “It’s fine. Thanks again”.

He nodded and smiled. “You take care, teach’”, he said. “See you around”. He walked away; scratching his head, and looking back at me a couple of times. I took my time enjoying my donut and coffee; and walked in the opposite direction. Eddie – Be still my beating heart.

---

I spent the rest of the morning trying to map out the best way to and from work. As I was starting the next Monday morning, the nerves were getting to me. They’re just 5-yearolds, I kept telling myself. 5-yearolds attending a private school funded by their very rich parents; and some pretty serious sponsors from Silicon Valley. And me without my degree from MIT…

I stopped at Mrs. Chens for some light groceries. Although I’d loved Don’s donuts – and his coffee had been heavenly – I was to anxious to see myself making my way all the way to the Mission District the next day; and I always needed caffeine and access to some kind of breakfast in the morning. The lady behind the counter – Chen, I assumed – seemed nice, though a bit standoffish; and quickly checked out my coffee, bacon, eggs, cheese; and other essentials. “You’re new here”, she said. “How did you know?”, I asked. “I usually only get regulars”, she answered, and narrowed her eyes at me. “I moved in down the street. My neighbor recommended your shop”, I smiled. “Who?”, she demanded. “Eddie…”, I answered timidly. Her face instantly became warmer. “He’s a good boy”, she said. “Tell him to pic up my cousins latest cd. It’ll do him good. As well as his parasite”. That parasite thing again. Weird. I thanked her, grabbed my stuff; and left the store.

I made my way back to the apartment; cranked up the Fleetwood, and danced it out for a while. I’d always done that; when I needed to get something out of my system. It was better than drinking myself into oblivion – and I was out of whiskey.

I was completely oblivious to anything around me, when I heard someone clear their throat. I turned around, arms in the air; and almost died from embarrassment. The door was open; and in the opening stood Eddie.

“Sorry, it was open”, he said; trying to stifle a smile. “Ziggy had a crazy ex kick it down once. It’s always needed an extra push and pull to close properly, since then”. I nodded, blushing. He held up a carton of eggs. “Chen said you forgot this”, he said. “Thanks…”, I said, taking the pack from him. I grimaced. “So… this is embarrassing”. He laughed. “What? The eggs, or the dancing?”, he chuckled. “Ha, ha. Laugh it out”, I said, stifling a smile. “I was enjoying the view”, he said; and glint to his eyes – before grimacing himself. “Sorry… that was… probably crossing a line”. “It’s fine… you’re fine…”, I said; realizing what I’d just said. “Good, I mean. Shit… I do this to clear my head, sometimes. Dance. It relaxes me”.

He laughed. “I just got back from… a thing”, he said. “I need to clear my head a bit as well. Was gonna take a ride up to Coit Tower”. I smiled; my blushing beginning to fade. “That sounds nice”, I smiled. He exhaled. “Yeah… do you wanna come?”. My jaw dropped. “Uh… yeah. Sure. I’d like that”, I said. What the hell, Eddie? Are you asking me out? “Great”, he smiled. “I was gonna take my bike; are you good with that?”. “I don’t have a bike”, I said. He chuckled. “Not that kind of bike”. Right. The motorcycle helmet. “And now I feel like an idiot”, I muttered. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve met the biggest idiots in media, politics and sports; and you look nothing like them”, he said. “You do look like someone who needs to get out of this place for a while”. I smiled; grabbed my jacket; and followed him out the door – making sure it was properly shut behind me.

Eddie grabbed two helmets from his apartment; giving me another chance peak into his place. It smelled nice. Like tater tots and musky cologne. I didn’t know why, but suddenly it was my favorite smell. “Let’s go”, Eddie said; handing me one of the helmets; and we made our way down the stairs.

Outside the building stood a motorcycle. It was clearly well cared for. Eddie got on it, and put on his helmet; gesturing for me to get on behind him. “You should hold on”, he said. I searched for something to grab; and he took my wrists; pulling my arms around his waist. Wow. Ok. Firm. “You good?”, he asked. “Yeah”, I squeaked. He chuckled behind his helmet. “Sit tight, teach’”. He started the bike, and revved the engine; before taking off. “Oh my God”, I yelped; feeling his body shake in laughter in front of me.

I was convinced he took the steepest roads; scaring the shit out of me for the first few miles – before I finally got comfortable behind him. I relaxed my body; and let myself enjoy the view of the city in the dusk – and how close I was to Eddies warm body. I felt his calm breathing; and matched it – soon feeling completely relaxed. We hit a bump, making the bike jump a bit; and I laughed in glee; hearing him laugh along with me.

The drive was over way to soon for my liking. We’d made our way up Telegraph hill; and I got off the bike, taking of my helmet. “You liked that, huh?”, Eddie grinned at me. “Yeah, it was fun!”, I smiled. He looked at me; almost in wonder. “Was that your first time on a bike?”. “I tried it once, for like five minutes; when I was a kid, but kind of. Yeah”, I admitted. “I couldn’t tell”, he smirked sarcastically. I frowned in mock annoyance. “Shut up”, I said. “You’ve never had a better passenger”. He laughed. “Yeah… come on”.

The sun was going down; and we were too late for tickets to get up the tower; but Eddie seemed unfazed. “There’s a good view over here”, he said; putting his hand on my lower back, to lead me over to a railing. “You gonna push me over this thing?”, I joked. “Nah, would be a poor move for a first date”, he said. I looked at him. “This is a date?”, I smiled. He seemed to have an internal dialogue. “I… don’t know”, he said. “Do you want it to be?” I bit my lip. “Let’s see how good this view is; and I’ll let you know”.

The view was stunning. I could see both the lights of the city as well as the Golden Gate bridge. My jaw dropped at the sight. “Wow…”. Eddie looked at me. “Yeah, it’s pretty special”, he said.

I stepped towards the binoculars; searing my pockets for change. “I don’t have a quarter!”, I heard Eddie whisper. “It’s fine”, I smiled at him. “I can see pretty clear anyway”. He looked me, caught off guard. “Yeah. Sorry…”. I leant against the railing. “I could fall in love with this city”, I proclaimed. Eddie smiled warmly at me, walking up next to me – close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from his body.

We looked at the views for a while, talking about this and that. I told Eddie about my hometown, and how I’d loved it as well. “So, why did you decide to come here”. “It’s a long story”, I muttered. “Come on, I’ve already seen you dance!”, he chuckled. “You don’t like my dancing?”, I gasped in jest. He smiled. “You really put the oogie in the boogie”, he said. “You’re the most graceful elephant in a porcelain shop, I’ve ever seen”. “So now I’m an elephant?”, I raised a brow at him. He grimaced. “I walked right in to that”, he muttered. “Sorry…”. I smiled at him in forgiveness. “Seriously though. Why’d you make the move?”

I couldn’t help myself. I had to mess with him. “It’s embarrassing”, I said. He smiled encouragingly. “Ever since I was a kid… I’ve always wanted to act. Be in the big movies”. His lips parted, and he looked really uncomfortable. I continued. “So… I decided to give it a shot. Come here; and be near Hollywood, you know?”. I smiled earnestly. “I think I’ve finally got a shot; now that the studios are just down the street”. Eddie looked genuinely sorry for me. “Lyla… I don’t…”, he began. “Eddie…”, I smiled. “I’m kidding”. He exhaled in relief. “Thank God. I really didn’t want to be the one to tell you… You know?”. “I know”, I smirked. “’Cuz we’re a way off from Hollywood here”. I nodded. “About 400 miles. I realize that”. He began laughing, and shook his head. “Is this payback for the elephant thing?”, he said. I shrugged. “Maybe”, I smiled.

He bumped my shoulder with his own. “You’re bad news, darlin’!”, he laughed. “You’re not, though”, I answered. “Tell me; why did your article on those home robberies end up in a free newspaper, instead of some big ass media outlet?”. He sighed. “Not everyone wants to run the hard stories”, he said. “As long as it gets out there…”. I nodded. “I get it”, I said. “Besides, in a free paper the story will get a broader audience, right?”. He shrugged. “I hope so”, he said. “I think it’s an important story”. “Me too”, I agreed.

I told Eddie about my new job. “Private school?”, he grimaced. I laughed. “Yeah, I know”, I said. “Not very socially conscious of me. But the pay is good. And I needed a change”. “What made you move here? The truth this time”, he smiled. “It’s got to be more than the job. You don’t strike me as someone who does things just for money”. I chewed my lip. “I wasn’t in a very good place in my job, or my life”, I admitted.

He looked at me with warm eyes – the color even more indistinguishable in the dusk. I bit my lip; wanting desperately for something to happen. “How’s your head? A bit clearer?”, he said quietly. “Not really…”, I admitted. He let out a quiet laugh, and wrinkled his forehead. “Yeah, me neither”, he muttered. “Can I kiss you? I just feel like I should, you know...?”. I interrupted him by taking his hand. “Yes…”. He nodded and sighed in relief. “Ok. Then… I’m going to do that. Now”. I chuckled; and laced my fingers with his. He stepped closer; putting a lock of my hair behind my ear; before placing his hand on my cheek; letting his thumb stroke my cheekbone. “I like your eyes…”, he said. “Stop talking, Eddie”, I smiled. “Ok”, he said; and finally let his full lips meet mine.

It was soft. Gentle. I parted my lips; letting the tip of my tongue meet his. He wrapped his arm around my waist, and pulled me close; and I slid my hands around his neck – letting my fingertips play with the hair there. He pulled his head back a bit; letting our foreheads meet. “You’re… something else”, he smiled. “Something good, I hope”, I answered. “Yeah”, he breathed. “Can I… just… one more time?”, he muttered; before pressing his lips to mine again. I chuckled against his kiss; and returned his enthusiasm. This time there was a bit more heat to our connection. He held on to me; making me stand flush against him. I felt a rush of blood to my core; and my breath hitched.

Someone cleared their throat. Our lips parted, and we saw that we we’re being watched by an elderly couple. “You kids should take that somewhere else”, one of the men said. I flushed red, and Eddie took my hand. “Yeah. Let’s… go”, he smiled.

---

Once back at our building, Eddie gave me a hand to get off his bike. We walked up the stairs together, and paused in front of our doors.

“Thanks for this”, I said. “I needed a distraction”. “I’m a distraction now?”, Eddie asked with a smirk. “A good one”, I chuckled. He ran a hand through his hair, and sighed. “Thanks for the… kissing part. I liked that”, he said. “I did too”, I said, before chewing my bottom lip for a moment. “We could do it again… If you want to”. Eddie looked relieved. “I really do”, he smiled, and took a step closer to me. I met him halfway, and leaned in to him, as he cupped my cheek, and our lips met. He took my bottom lip between his own; softly tugging it – and the repeated the process with the top one. My tongue brushed against his lips, and he met it with his own; letting them reacquaint themselves with each other.

Eddie put his arm around me, and I shivered in pleasure, as our hips met; and I felt his body’s very obvious reaction to our kiss. He let out a soft groan; a sound that sent electricity straight to my core. Grabbing on tighter to me, he almost had my knees give in. In spite of his normally withdrawn and almost aloof demeanor – which he’d relaxed somewhat, curing our evening together – he now seemed like he couldn’t get me close enough; almost hungry in his kiss. I was right there with him; ready to throw all inhibitions out the window, and let him take me in that hallway. I literally had to dig my nails in to my palm, to tear myself from the heated moment.

I put my hands on Eddie’s shoulders, and pushed him away as gently as I could. “I’m sorry… Did I hurt you?”, he asked, in a surprisingly concerned voice. “No, Eddie; I’m…”, I tried. “I don’t always know my own strength. I’ll be more careful…”. Eddie seemed unable to stop talking. I put my fingertips to his soft lips – for a short second considering slipping one into his mouth; just to feel him suck on it – and took a step back. “Eddie, you didn’t do anything wrong. Really!”, I smiled. “But, I have this rule… I don’t have sex on the first date”. Eddie’s eyes widened, and he took a step back himself. “No… Of course! I don’t want you to think, I see you as some kind of… I mean, if you were, there would be nothing wrong with that… People can enjoy sex, that’s completely normal… But I would never expect you to just…” I couldn’t help but smile at his flustered babbling, but in the end, I decided to put him out of his misery. I leaned in, and gave him a short kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight”, I said. “Yeah… goodnight, Lyla”, Eddie said. He watched me as I unlocked my door, and I gave him a final smile, before stepping inside, and closing it behind me.

I leaned against the wall, and sighed frustratedly. It felt like everything below my bellybutton was literally screaming at my brain, saying; open the door, and stop thinking so much, you stupid blob of fat and water! I want to play!. I peeked out of the peephole, and saw Eddie beginning to fish out his keys. He looked like he was having a frustrated conversation with himself. He turned and looked at my door, and I quickly pulled back from the peephole. “You’re being an idiot”, I whispered to myself.

Before I knew it had happened, I had opened my door. “Eddie…”. He dropped his keys in chock, and scrambled to pick them up. His jacket and shirt rode up slightly, letting me get a peek at his tattooed torso; only making my resolve stronger. “Yeah! Hey… Hi”, he said, and got up to stand again. “You know, when I said I’d let you know whether it was a date or not…”. “Yeah?”, Eddie muttered. I chewed my lip, and took a deep breath before continuing. “I decided it wasn’t a date… So, technically, I wouldn’t be breaking my rule”. Eddie looked confused for a moment, before his eyes lit up. “Oh… Oh! You mean…”. He seemed unable to finish the sentence; and I felt my cheeks beginning to burn. “I mean, unless you changed your mind”, I muttered. “No!”, Eddie said, taking a step towards me. “I’d like that”.

I let out a pleased sigh, and was even more relieved when Eddie decided to take the lead, and step over to me; instantly capturing my lips in a warm kiss. I put my arms around his neck, and let myself float away in the pleasurable sensations his soft, full lips sent through my body. I’d known this man for less than a week – I could hardly say that I knew him at all – but everything in that moment was perfect; as if we were made to do this. Eddie pressed me against the doorway to my apartment, and let out a guttural groan when I ran my nails through his short hair. He pressed his tongue into my mouth, and once again I relished in his taste.

I looked out the corner of my eye at the main living area of my sublet, and frowned. I pulled back slightly, to be able to speak. Eddie moved his kisses down to my neck, and I gasped audibly. “Eddie… Oh, god. That’s… No, stop!”, I rasped. He pulled back instantly, and met my eyes. “What?”, he asked. “The bed in there is kind of gnarly… Can we do this at your place?”, I said. “Yeah, of course”, he smiled, and tore himself from me, to run over and open his own door. I closed the door to my own place – giving it that extra yank it needed – and stepped up behind Eddie. He looked at me over his shoulder. “Sorry about the mess", he muttered apologetically, and opened his door.

Eddie’s apartment was cluttered, but not dirty. I could have sworn I saw a few unwashed dishes by the sink, but when I blinked, they were gone; as if a shadow had whisked them away. He had post-it notes hanging with ideas for stories, and a couple that read things like If you eat it, replace it and Pigeons are not food. “Do you have a roommate?”, I asked. Eddie chuckled nervously to himself. “Nah, I… forget things”, he said, and tore down a note reading No roadkill in the tub!.

I decided against asking, and simply made my way over to the couch, letting my finger run along the back of it. “Do you want some coffee? Or a beer?”, Eddie asked, and moved towards the fridge. I bit my lip, and shook my head. “Maybe… after?”, I said, trying for seductive; and failing miserably, when I tripped over a stack of papers on the floor. Before I knew what happened, Eddie was next to me; catching me before I hit the floor. “Wow… you’re fast!”, I said. “I… did track in high school”, he said. “You were all the way over…”, I began.

Eddie pressed his lips to mine, to shut me up, and soon I was forgetting all about the ten feet he’d traversed in less than a second. As quickly as I could, I shed my jacket, and Eddie’s lips once again travelled down my neck. I pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and couldn’t help put squeeze his biceps; finding them as firm as I’d imagined. As Eddie latched on to my pulse-point, I let out soft moan; and was rewarded with his hands moving down to my butt. Giving them a tight squeeze, he suddenly lifted me up, and made me put my legs around his waist. “Let’s move over here”, he muttered, and walked us over to the bed in the corner; gently setting me down on it.

We both began tugging at each other’s tops at the same time, but after chuckling at each other; we silently decided to take care of our own clothing. After I’d shed my tank-top, I kicked off my sneakers while Eddie took off his boots. We kept eye-contact as much as possible, and I saw nothing but appreciation in his gaze, as he saw me get more and more undressed. I was enjoying the sight of his bare torso as well; wanting nothing more than to bury my face in the soft hairs of his barreled chest. I pulled off my jeans – leaving me in socks, bra and panties – and moved back on the bed. Eddie raised a brow at me, and shook his head; and once he had gotten rid of his own pants, he grabbed my ankle, and pulled me closer. I yelped in glee as my groin met his, and he pushed me to lie back. I managed to reach down, and hook my finger into the waistband of his boxer briefs; but Eddie grabbed my wrist. “We got all night…”, he said. “But…”, I said. “Relax”.

He smirked mischievously, and kneeled down at the foot of the bed, and ran his palms up my thighs; leaving goosebumps in their wake. As he left a soft kiss on the inside of my left thigh, while his fingertips stroked circles on my right one. My breath hitched, as his warm breath travelled up to my warmth. I was ready to scream by the time his soft lips left an openmouthed kiss on my covered folds. “Please…!”, I whined. Eddie chuckled, and I felt his tongue lick a broad stripe against the lace covering my throbbing, most sensitive parts. Once again, I tried to take charge, by grabbing his head; but he grabbed my wrists, and forced them down my sides. “I really don’t want to have to hold you down”, he chided. “I kind of need my hands for what I’m about to do…”. I let out a frustrated groan, and relaxed my arms as much as I could. “Good girl…”, Eddie hummed, and let go of my hands. I threw my arms back, and grabbed for one of the pillows above my head, and dug my fingers in to it, to keep from getting in the way of Eddie’s work on my privates again.

With agonizingly slow movements, Eddie hooked his fingers into my panties, and pulled them down my feet. He held them up with one finger, and gave me another smirk, before flicking them away. They landed over his open laptop, and we both laughed for a moment; before Eddie once again lowered his face. The last thing I saw before throwing my head back in pleasure, was Eddie’s pleased eyes widening at his upcoming feast. His perfect mouth closed around my folds and clit, and he gave me a deep suckle, before flicking his tongue over my clit. “I know…”, he muttered. “Come again?”, I croaked. “I’m just enjoying my meal”, Eddie replied, blushing adorably. “Ok… Uhm… well, contin… Oh my god!”. Eddie had entered me with two fingers, and began moving them in a come-hither motion, while sucking hard at my nub. Letting out a growl against my wetness, Eddie soon had me seeing stars. As his fingers worked on my most sensitive spot inside, his tongue moved in a zigzag pattern between my folds; going up and down, and never forgetting to give my clit a languid stroke when he reached it. I put the pillow over my face, and cried out in pleasure, as Eddie worked me towards a mind shattering orgasm. Everything went white, and I’m pretty sure I floated above the mattress for a few seconds; as if something was lifting me in the air.

I was panting into the pillow and shaking all over, as I came down. “Don’t do that!”, Eddie grunted. “What?”, I muttered through the pillow. Eddie climbed up my body, and pulled it away from my face, looking flustered. “Just… don’t cover your face. I want to see you”, he said. “Ok…”, I said.

We smiled at each other, and kissed again. I could taste myself on his tongue, and enjoyed it more than was proper. Eddie laid down between my legs, and pressed against me; making me leave a wet spot on his boxers, from my still glistening folds. “Let me just get these off”, he smiled, and pulled down his underwear; and letting his erection spring free. I smiled in appreciation, and took a hold of my new friend; gently beginning to stroke it. “That’s… that’s nice”, Eddie said, straining to keep his composure. “A bit harder, please”. I tightened my hold, and received a deep moan in reply. “Condom?”, I asked. “Shit, yeah”, Eddie said, and reluctantly pulled himself out of my grasp. As he got off the bed, and ran over to search one of the drawers in his dresser, I snapped open my bra, and took it off. When he turned around to face me, with a foil packet in his hand, his jaw dropped at the sight of my mounds. “That is… Those are very nice”, he croaked. I chuckled, and pulled off my socks; wanting to be completely naked. “Oh, right!”, Eddie said, and tugged his own socks off, one at a time; losing his balance, and falling on to the bed next to me.

I nabbed the foil packet from his hand, and opened it carefully, pulling out the condom. Straddling Eddies legs, I closed my fingers around the tip of the rubber, and held it to the head of his penis. I rolled it down a little, before lowering my head, and closing my mouth around it; rolling it the rest of the way with my lips. Eddie let out a gasping groan, and looked down at me with wide eyes. Once the condom was all the way down his hardness, I released him from my mouth, and sat up; smiling sweetly. “Where did you learn that?”, he asked. “While you were doing track in high school, I was under the bleachers; doing other kinds of workout”, I shrugged. “It’s an interesting talent”, he chuckled. “I have many more”, I said, raising a brow at him. “I’m sure you do”, Eddie smiled, and grabbed the back of my head; pulling me in for a hungry kiss.

I was flipped onto my back, and Eddie placed himself at my entrance. “Yeah?”, he said, searching my eyes for the go-ahead. “Please”, I said, unable to hide the pleading tone in my voice. Eddie gave me one more deep kiss, and as he did, he pushed himself inside me; bottoming out in my warmth. We both moaned deeply as we were conjoined, and Eddie began moving slowly in and out of me. “You’re so warm… and tight!”, he gasped into my ear. “You fit perfectly”, I panted, and moved my hips to meet his every thrust. “I do, don’t I…”, Eddie chuckled. “Holy… wow”. I locked my leg around his hips, and Eddie grabbed my other leg; hooking his arm under my knee. With ever thrust, the head of his penis brushed against my g-spot; but even just the friction against my nub, and the feeling of his velvety hardness brushing against my walls, were enough to make me whimper in pleasure.

After a while of moving together slowly, I felt my walls beginning to quake; and Eddie’s face lit up. He began thrusting faster and harder, and soon I was crying out in ecstasy again. Every atom in my being felt like it was exploding, and I came around him. “Yes!”, I cried out, and Eddie laughed, seemingly overjoyed that he could make me feel this way. “Fuck, you look beautiful when you come”, he grinned. My hair was a tussled, and I was pretty sure my makeup was a mess, but I took his words as truth in that moment; convinced from the expression on his face, that there was no way he could be lying. “Thank you… for that”, I gasped. “And for the orgasm. That was pretty awesome too”. We laughed together for a moment, before Eddie leaned down, and kissed me. “Are you good to continue?”, he asked. “Don’t you dare stop!”, I exclaimed. “Ok… Turn around, then”.

He pulled out of me – leaving me feeling empty and wanting more – and grabbed my hip, to make me turn over. I got on all fours, and once again felt Eddie probing my entrance. He pushed into me with a pleased sigh, and began moving again. He shifted between fast and slow; as if every time he picked up speed, he willed himself to slow down again. “It’s ok. I can take it”, I said. “Alright”, Eddie panted, and let out a groan, as he slammed in to me. I feel forwards on the bed, landing on my chest; and felt my backside lift with every one of Eddie’s thrusts in to me. “… just go to sleep!”, I heard Eddie behind me. “I’m not…”, I said. “What?”. “I’m not asleep. How could I be?” “Oh… No, yeah; of course!”.

He snaked a hand underneath me, and expertly began stroking circles against my clit. I was soon, once again, feeling the familiar rush of an impending orgasm. “I’m gonna…”, I rasped. “Again?”, Eddie panted; still thrusting in to me, and having found the perfect rhythm for the both of us. “Uh huh…”, I whimpered, and turned my face into the mattress; crying out in pleasure. My walls contracted around Eddie’s hardness, and moments later, he let out a rasping groan; and came.

I was trying to regain my breath, and still feeling my muscles clenching throughout my body; as Eddie pulled out of me. He placed a soft kiss to the back of my neck, and got off the bed, to rid himself of the condom. I pulled at the sheet, wrapping it around me, as he returned to the bed and slipped his boxers back on. He looked satisfied, but also a bit frustrated, and I quietly excused myself to the bathroom, to clean up.

Through the door, I heard him shuffling around the small apartment, and seemingly talking to himself. “… stay out of it… was a me thing… I don’t need that”. I was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable at the situation; and must have been stood for quite a while in the small bathroom, because suddenly there was a knock on the door. “Are you ok in there?”, Eddie called out. “Yeah!”, I replied, quickly finishing my cleanup, and washing my hands. I stepped out into the living area again, and gave him a half smile. “Uhm… are youok though?”. Eddie leaned in, and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek, before stepping over to the fridge. “Of course… I’m awesome”, he said, and got out two beers. “That was great!”. I examined his face, and couldn’t help but frown. “Ok… You just seem a little out of it”, I said, and accepted the drink. “Are you regretting…”. “No!”, Eddie exclaimed, his eyes wide and earnest. “Not at all… I just get in my head sometimes”. “Ok…”, I muttered.

Eddie sighed deeply, and took my hand. “Come on”, he said, and pulled me over to sit on the couch. “That… what we just did; that was really great. You were great”. “So were you”, I smiled, biting my lip. “Yeah?”, Eddie said; a slight pink hue to his cheeks. “Thanks…”. As I took a welcome sip of my beer, he merged his fingers with my free hand. “I’d like to do it again… If you’re good with that”. “I’d like that”, I said. We sat for a moment in silence. “Do you wanna stay the night?”. “I should get going”. We’d spoken at the same time. “Oh… Well, if you wanna go…”, Eddie said. “I just thought – seeing as you said the bed at your place wasn’t that great – maybe you’d want to sleep somewhere else”. “The couch isn’t much better”, I chuckled. “Are you sure though? I don’t want you to think you have to…”. “I’d like you to stay”, Eddie said. I felt my cheeks burn. “Ok… I’ll stay”, I said.

Eddie lit up in a grin, and leaned in to give me a warm kiss. “I’m happy you moved in across the hall”, he said. “Me too”, I smiled. “Me three…! Too!”, Eddie said, his voice having shifted from deep, and back to his raspy tone within seconds. He cleared his throat. “Sorry… My throat is a bit dry”, he said, and took a deep swig of his beer. I frowned in confusion, but decided to let it go. We had just spent a good while exercising, and my own throat was a little dry as well; and I took another sip of my beer.

We sat for a long moment in silence, sipping at our bottles, and smiling warmly at each other; before Eddie frowned deeply. “I have to tell you something”, he said. “And… You might change your mind about staying”. I felt a shudder go through my body, suddenly worried where this was going. “What is it?”, I croaked. Eddie took a deep breath, and blew it out. He took my beer from me, and put it down on the coffee table, next to his own. Taking both my hands, he looked deeply in to my eyes. “Here goes… Uhm… Wow, this is hard”, he said. “Just tell me”, I said, trying for calm and encouraging. “Ok… I snore… And not in the cute way”, Eddie said. “I give the streetcars a run for their money, when it comes to noise”. I instantly began laughing in relief. “That’s it? You should hear me!”. Eddie raised his brows at me. “I’ll bet you 20 bucks and a donut from Don’s, I can outdo you”, he said. “You’re a journalist. Don’t you have a Dictaphone?”, I asked. Eddie sprang over to his messenger bag, and pulled out a small recorder. “Let’s do this!”, he exclaimed.

I got to my feet, and followed him over to the bed. Unwrapping myself from the sheet, Eddie gave me a sly smile, and pulled me in for a deep kiss – running his hands up and down my sides – before he let me crawl onto the bed. Once I laid down, he crawled in next to me, and put the sheet over the both of us. He clicked the record button on the Dictaphone, and put it by the bed: before pulling me in to his arms. I cuddled up against him, and let his warmth lull me; feeling suddenly very tired. “Goodnight, Ed”, I whispered. We gave each other a soft kiss. “Goodnight, Lyla”, he replied.

I was already halfway asleep, when something tucked us in; pulling the covers over us. “Eddie?”, I yawned. “Yeah?”, he asked hesitantly. “Was that you?”. “Yes!”. “Ok. Goodnight”. I was out.

---

#eddie brock #eddie brock fic #venom #venom fic #eddie brock x oc #eddie brock fluff #eddie brock smut

76 notes · View notes

sassycassie-s-writing · 3 years ago

Text

Movie Night, Pillow Fight [Version 2]

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC/BatFam - Jason Todd/Red Hood

Rating: PG-13/T (maybe pushing M? but there’s still nothing super explicit. this is just a lot dirtier than I usually write holy cannoli. Heavy kissing, a little bit of suggestive dialogue and narration, minor swearing?)

Original Idea: This (V1 follows this idea a lot more than this one, which I spun off of about halfway through and did my own thing)

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I didn’t think this would be as long as Version 1. I was wrong. This one is ~200 words longer, at 3,491. Version 1 here. They start the exact same but change about halfway through. I wrote both of these two over the course of 1 day by the way, and refuse to pick a favorite. @welovegroot @jason-redhood @jason-todd-squad

^^^^^

“No, Bruce,” Jason said sharply into his phone as he grabbed his motorcycle helmet. “I’ve already told you a hundred times: Tuesdays are my day off. Unless it’s a Court-of-Owls-attacking-All-Hands-On-Deck emergency, I’m not going on patrol. I’m allowed one night off per week. And I have plans. It’s weekly movie night with a friend of mine. We’ve been doing movie night since college and I refuse to disappoint her. You know why I chose Tuesdays? Because Gotham’s crime rate is lowest. You’ll be fine without me.” He hung up before Bruce could reply.

—

I opened the door. “You’re late,” I said.

“Yeah. I had to go to two different stores to find your popcorn because they were out at the first one,” Jason replied, letting himself in and dropping his motorcycle helmet on my couch. “Let me go change into my sweats.” He pulled his grey sweatpants out of his backpack, two microwave popcorn bags falling out.

I grabbed them. “Thanks Jay,” I said playfully.

He gave me a brief hug before stepping past me to my bathroom. “The things I do for you,” he teased with a sigh.

“Get out of those jeans. You know they aren’t allowed,” I retorted before going over to the microwave. My bathroom door shut loudly. I boosted myself onto the counter and watched the popcorn spin in the microwave.

By the time Jason emerged from the bathroom, only one bag was done. He leaned against the counter next to me, arms folded, and joined my staring.

“So what movie did you bring?” I asked. “You said in your text it was one of your favorites.”

He beamed at me. “Well, my friend, we are watching the very first ever made Frankenstein. From nineteen-thirty-one.” He fixed me with a stare as my shoulders slouched. “Don’t you start moaning in complaint. You put me through watching that awful musical last week—”

“Excuse you, Phantom of the Opera is also a classic.”

“It’s basic.”

“You’re basic.”

“Maybe so, but after going through that ordeal, you promised we could watch one of my favorites. I managed not to fall asleep last week, so it’s my turn.” He stuck his tongue out at me, then shook his head. “I really need to refine your taste in theatre. Remind me to convince Bruce to give me his season tickets to the real opera. He never uses them anyway. Doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

Given Bruce’s parents were shot after leaving the opera, I imagined there was some childhood trauma there. I didn’t bring it up with Jason. We didn’t talk about family besides passing comments on movie nights.

When the second bag of popcorn was finished popping and put in its own large bowl—I had quite the collection of popcorn bowls, usually given to me—we went to my room.

Ever since we’d graduated college—two years ago—we’d had movie night in my bed, rather than on the couch, like we’d done in my dorm. The bed was comfier and gave us more room to spread out. I can’t even remember who suggested it, but it was probably me one week when I was sick or something and we’d just stayed that way ever since.

I’d always hosted too. In college it was because my roommate was never there, and now Jason just liked the escape from his family. They didn’t know where I lived, so the one time he hosted and they interrupted by coming over, he and I agreed we’d just have it at my place. I liked his brothers and sister well enough, but they’d ruined that movie night. I doubted Wayne Manor movie nights ever involved any movies no one had seen before—because everyone talked and yelled at each other too much to actually pay attention to the movie.

Jason put the DVD in the player in my room. “Prepare to be wowed,” he said.

“I’m prepared, trust me,” I replied flatly.

—

“Heeey,” Jason’s voice said softly. “Wake up, doofus.”

I blinked my eyes open blearily. “Wha…?”

He started chuckling. “You fell asleep about halfway through.”

“Duh. It was boring. What did you expect for a casual movie fan from this century watching something from nineteen-thirty-one?”

“Well, all that means is that we get to rewatch it—from the beginning—next week!” Jason declared. I frowned. “Don’t you pout at me. Those have been the official movie night rules since our freshman year of college.”

“That’s not true,” I said, pulling out my phone. I dug deep into the Google Docs on my phone for Movie Night Rules from our freshman year of college. Six years was a long way to scroll through, but eventually I found it. I opened the doc and scanned the rules. “Oh, buzz off,” I muttered, poking Jason in the side.

“No poking!” He lurched away. Jason was selectively ticklish. Sometimes I would poke him in the side and he’d jump, other times he wouldn’t even notice I touched him. And he swapped between the two randomly.

“Why didn’t you wake me up like two minutes after I fell asleep?”

Jason pursed his lips, trying not to smile. “I thought about it. But you looked so cute—” He pinched my cheek and I was reminded of the fact that he had the personality traits of an eighty-year-old grandmother. “—with your hair all messy and your cheeks all squished that I just couldn’t.” He laughed as I batted his hand away from my face. I poked him again. “No poking!”

“Then don’t tease.”

“I have a right to tease you. Look at my shirt! You drooled all over it.”

I grabbed the hem of it and pulled it up. “Let me throw it in the wash, then.”

I expected him to smack my hand away and shove the shirt back down over his torso, but to my surprise, he helped me take it off. I’d seen him shirtless too many times to bother staring at his remarkably muscular torso. I just climbed out of my bed and went to the small closet out in the hall that held my tiny washer and dryer. I threw his shirt in the washer, dumped a bit of detergent in, and got it started before going back to my room.

“Take that off! You’ll stretch it out!” I snapped.

Jason struggled to get one of my—much smaller—T-shirts from college off. I scoffed and helped him yank it over his head before throwing one my pajama shirts at him. I wore my dad’s old T-shirts to sleep in, so it was even big on Jason. “You could have just asked for a replacement and I’d have handed you this.”

“That’s not as fun as surprising you,” he joked.

I rolled my eyes and perched back on the bed. “Fine. Next week, we rewatch Frankenstein. I won’t fall asleep. But you’re bringing snacks again.”

“Of course.”

“And don’t forget the popcorn.”

“Doofus, if I forgot the popcorn, you wouldn’t let me through the door.”

I snickered. “True enough.”

Jason leaned over to set his popcorn bowl on the bedside table closest to him. “Maybe next week we should try this on the couch. I always feel bad about getting popcorn on your sheets—and then you won’t be so comfortable that you fall asleep.”

I grabbed a pillow and whacked him in the chest. His expression turned affronted.

“Did you just initiate a pillow fight?” he demanded.

“No,” I retorted. “I got payback for you insulting me.” I whacked him again. “That was me initiating a pillow fight.” I started flinging the pillow at him again and again.

“Hey! Not fair!” Jason protested. “I’m unarmed!”

I ignored him and kept up my pillow smacking.

He laughed. “Well, if you’re going to play dirty, I will too.” He reached out as my pillow hit him again and he wrangled it from me. “A-ha! Look at that! Got your ammo. How does it feel, to be attacked by your own pillow?”

Jason started smacking me with it. I squealed and blocked him as best I could with my arms. We were both laughing as I tried to reach around him to the pillow he’d been using to brace his back against my headboard. He grabbed my wrist with one hand and hit me with the pillow using the other. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m not going easy on you just because you’re adorable.”

I laughed as he nearly hit me hard enough to knock me off the bed.

So, I switched tactics.

Getting inside his much longer reach was the hard part. Once I managed to duck around his arms and wrench my wrist free, I started tickling him. Tonight was a ticklish night. He squirmed away from me.

Jason yowled—and I hoped my neighbors weren’t home—in laughter. “Stop it—stop tickling!”

I didn’t. I ran my wiggling fingers up his sides and across his neck. He tried to catch my hands, but I was quick enough to evade him.

For a few moments anyway.

“No. No!” His protests didn’t work on me. “Oh you’re as bad as my brothers. Stop it—stop it.” His voice went firm, all traces of laughter gone. With one quick movement, the pillow we’d attacked each other with was discarded on the floor. He grabbed my ankles and pulled me so I was lying flat in the center of the bed.

Jason straddled my waist, trapping my lower legs with his ankles and pinning both my hands above my head on the mattress. He was breathing hard. We both were.

He smiled. “There. Not so feisty now, are you? Hands pinned above your head, lying beneath me all… helpless.” He chuckled and licked his lower lip, his smile turning both playful and wicked. “I could have… any kind of revenge I want.” He bent his elbows, lowering himself over me. My breathing grew shorter and blood roared in my ears. “I can have any…” He paused, eyes flicking from mine to where my necklace charm had fallen down one side and landed on the mattress. His eyes widened, as if he seemed to just barely realize how close we were. “This is…” His elbows straightened, pushing him higher above me. “I’m… sorry.” He started to gently pick his way off of me. “I’m gonna let you go now.”

He released his grip on my wrists. I rolled them and flexed my hands to get some feeling back into them.

He swung his leg to get off me and used it to step off the bed. “I should go,” he said breathlessly. “I’m so sorry. I’ll grab my T-shirt next week.” He strode to the door of my bedroom while I sat on the bed, dumbfounded, jaw hanging open.

As he opened the door, I bounded off the bed.

I caught him before he could reach for his stuff on my couch, grabbing his wrist. “What was that about?” I demanded. He refused to turn and look at me.

“Just… let it go,” he said, shaking his head. He tried to pull his wrist out of my hand, but I grabbed it with my other one to hold him in both.

“No! What the hell is going on with you?”

“Leave it alone,” he growled out.

“I can’t! What happened in there that made you shut down? What did I do wrong?”

He whirled. “It’s nothing to do with you. It’s me!”

“Then tell me what it is!” I shouted.

Jason grabbed me by the shoulders, wrenching out of my grip so hard my fingers ached. He spun me around and pinned me by the shoulders against my front door. A muscle worked in his jaw as he clenched it before fixing me with a crystal blue stare. “It’s just… seeing you beneath me—all flushed pink and panting, your eyes hooded and staring up at me… seeing you like that… I just felt myself fall in love with you!”

If he hadn’t pinned me against the door I probably would have fallen over from shock. My mouth definitely fell open. “Jay… I…” I breathed.

Still holding my shoulders, he spun me around so I was away from the front door and moved to shove his jeans into his backpack.

Before he could, I threw reservation to the wind.

I grabbed his shoulders, forced him to turn and face me, moved my hands to the back of his head, and pulled him down to kiss me.

Our mouths crashed together hard enough to make my front teeth ache, but I didn’t care. My heart leapt into my throat and I almost melted as his arms circled my waist, pulling me closer, so our torsos were pressed against each other. My eyelids closed as I sighed. We were both breathing hard, air from our noses warm against each other’s skin. Holding my waist in both arms, he turned and pinned my back against the door again.

“Oh, God…” Jason breathed against my lips. He kissed me again and I moaned. He reached one hand up and tangled it in my hair. He could palm the back of my skull as though it were a basketball. His fingers were warm against my scalp.

When he pulled his lips away from me, I groaned quietly in complaint.

“We—we should not be doing this,” he whispered, shaking his head. The white streak at the front of his hairline flopped back and forth with the movement. I wanted to reach my fingers up and twist that streak between them. But I didn’t.

“Why not?” I replied, just as breathless.

“We’re friends. This isn’t us.”

“You just said that you just barely fell in love with me.”

“I did. But I’m not willing to ruin the good thing we’ve had going on here for six years.” He panted, shoulders heaving up and down, as he reached up and took my hands away from his face, gently dragging them by the wrists. “You’ve been the best friend I’ve been able to keep longer than a year or two. I can’t… I can’t just… this isn’t about what I want.”

“I’m the one who kissed you,” I pointed out. “What does that say about what I want?”

“It’s not just about wants,” he said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Us being together is dangerous? To whom?”

“To you.”

“Why would it be dangerous for me?” I pushed.

He let me go and spun away from me. He looked like he wanted to shout and rage—maybe throw something—but he just clenched his fists and panted.

When he finally turned back to face me, he’d calmed down a little. “It’s dangerous… because… I… oh, Bruce is gonna kill me…” he whispered, shaking his head again. “Because I… am… the Red Hood.”

Two big confessions in one night. I felt a little dizzy and remembered to breathe.

“Red Hood. As in… the vigilante. And… the crime boss.”

“Vigilante, yes. Crime boss days are behind me. I was newly-back-from-the-dead and not in a stable mindset when I became a crime boss.” I decided not to ask about that. He huffed and sat on my coffee table, instead of the sofa, rubbing his temples. “And I wasn’t going to tell you about it, by the way. You’re the only normal friend I have right now. But it’s too dangerous for us to be together. If any of the rogues in this city knew I had someone I cared about as much as I care about—as much as I love you… you would not survive to the end of the year.”

I crossed from the front door to the sofa and sat on the sofa cushion closest to him, setting my hand on his knee. “Jay, I… I’m willing to risk it. To be with you. We just need to be careful—”

“I’m not willing to lose you. I would have been terrified before tonight if someone worse than me caught you. Knew you were just a friend. Now, though? Now, I don’t know what I’d do if you were captured, and that scares me even more. I saw you under me in that bedroom and I saw a future that was good—for the first time in the nine years since I was resurrected—but I can’t let that be my future. For your sake.”

I bit down on my tongue to keep from shouting. But I did tighten my grip on his knee hard and snap, “Get over yourself, Todd. You’re not the only one who gets to make this decision.”

“No, but apparently I’m the only one who can see things objectively enough to make the wise decision.”

It was my turn to want to throw something. “Jason. Peter. Todd. I don’t care about the danger. And I know you do. But do you know what it’d do to me, knowing that you love me and I feel the same, but you won’t let me be yours? Do you know what it would do to you? I know what it would do to me. It would eat me up inside day in and day out. I would sit here dying for you, waiting for you to come to your senses and carry me back into that bedroom to stay in there all night. But you never would. And I would just wait. I’d never date anyone else. If I tried, all I’d be doing was wishing they were you.

“You and I are cut from the same cloth. Some people are just born to sacrifice. To give up what they want—what they need—for the sake of other people. It’s the only choice we’re ever given, so it’s the choice we make over and over and over again. Sometimes people will split others into Givers and Takers. Those of us born to sacrifice are a step beyond even Givers. We’re the ones who give up everything for others. I’ve done it with my family my entire life. Everyone else always wanted so strongly that my only option was to give up my own. You’re the same, I see it every time I see you with your brothers.

“Jason, it’s time for us to Take. It’s time to let life give us something. This is the moment to be selfish. To put aside Batman and his zealous crusade for one damn moment and let yourself be happy.” I dug my fingernails into his knee through his sweats. “Be selfish for once, Jason.”

He finally looked up at me, eyes meeting mine. “I can’t,” he said.

I clamped my mouth shut and sighed loudly through them. “Yes, you can. If you’re waiting for my consent, you’ve more than got it. I’m telling you now to give yourself consent to want. To take. Get over this hold out that a double life has on you and—mmph!”

He cut me off by slamming his lips against mine, surging off the coffee table and straddling me on the sofa. I moaned and wrapped my arms around his neck. He pulled me to one side, sitting on the sofa and guiding me to straddle himself. His hands were splayed over my shoulder blades. I twisted his white streak through my fingers. Our breath shuddered in and out of our lungs. I parted my lips slightly and ran the tip of my tongue over the seam of his lips.

They opened immediately and let me in. I sighed out my nose. “Please ruin our friendship,” I breathed into his lips. “This is so much better.”

He snickered out his nose, smiling. “Does your consent to let me want you include me carrying you back into that bedroom and neither of us leaving until dawn?” He nodded toward my room.

My body shivered. Not from cold. Excitement. Electricity.

“Definitely,” I said breathlessly.

His hands slid from my shoulder blades and down to my legs. He held them and stood up. I hooked my ankles around his back, locking my arms’ grip around his neck.

He carried me to my room, kicked the door shut, and laid me gently on the messed-up bedsheets and disarrayed pillows. On all fours above me, my legs around his waist, he kissed me. Gently, at first, but he quickly grew hungry. His hands worked their way under my shirt, callused palms scraping slightly against my skin.

“Still okay with this?” His voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper.

“Oh yeah,” I breathed, unable to even speak loud enough to be heard from inches away.

He smiled. Wicked delight flickering on his face. “Well, get ready for me to call you mine. Because I am all yours.”

I smiled. “I’m yours, Jason.”

#Movie Night Pillow Fight #Version 2 #Movie Night Pillow Fight Version 2 #Jason Todd #Jason Todd imagine #jason todd fanfiction #Red Hood #red hood imagine #red hood fanfiction #DC #dc imagine #dc fanfiction #BatFam #batfam imagine #batfam fanfiction

31 notes · View notes

headoverheelsforramsey · 4 years ago

Note

Hiiiii! Here are this week's different questions lol

Not Yet Wed Questions

Note: Great Scott! This week, we are going back in time to MC’s intern year. Think of Ethan’s relationship with them at this point and answer the following questions accordingly. It is entirely up to you when in year 1 this takes place (pre/post Miami, pre/post CH 15, etc). Feel free to answer with dialogue or pictures or both :) Have fun!

No worries. All of this is off the record and HR will never know!

The setting for this answers is:

For Both

When I first saw them, I thought__________

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Three people at work your coworker hates?

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

(Bonus round! Feel free to skip.)

Never have I Ever:

come into work hungover

had a fistfight

been kicked out of a bar

gotten a tattoo

broken someone’s heart

been in love

For MC (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What do you find the most impressive about him?

Last thing he texted you?

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

For Ethan (MC is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Last thing she texted you?

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

Hello Hello Bree! My weekly dose of sunshine has arrived! 🤗

Sorry this took so long I am literally neck deep in assignments.

Anyways can I just say that these questions were just brilliant!! Book 1 is so close to our hearts and Ethan MC dynamic back in the day was priceless. 😂

Just a fair warning this contains a lot of pinching noses and rolling eyes because that's what book 1 Ethan used to do all the time. So now let the fun begin! 🤩

The setting for this answers is: Post Chap 15, before the ethics trial.

Ethan : Remind me again why I am doing this?

Meera : Because you are unemployed and have a lot of free time, also because I asked nicely? (with puppy eyes)

Ethan (Rolls eyes)

FOR BOTH

When I first saw them, I thought__________

*Both of them wait for each other to answer*

Ethan : You go first, this was your idea.

Meera : Oh boy. Why do I have the feeling you are going to hate me even more after this?

Ethan : I can't hate you more than I did when I first met you.

Meera (expectantly) : So you are saying the hatred for me has declined since then?

Ethan : Just answer the damn question.

Meera : Okay fine. I thought "why is this person being so rude to me? I am still a kid I am still learning. Such an asshole, gotta keep outta his path."

Ethan (looks at her amused) : I thought "ah shit here we go again. A new bunch of nerve wrecking idiotic interns incoming."

Meera (dramatically opens her mouth and places her hands on her chest) : Ouch! Rude!

Ethan (sly grin)

What is your coworker's most used swear word?

Meera : Jesus. Christ. Jesus Christ. He is religious that way. (winks)

Ethan : Very funny Rookie. She on the other hand has an explicit vocabulary in slangs but I think I have heard holy shit, holy cow, holy fuck the most.

Meera (excitedly) : See I am religious too. Also look at us twining in swears.

Quick: What color are their eyes?

Meera (immediately) : Ocean Blue! No, Celestial blue!

Ethan (looks at Meera, surprised)

Meera (suddenly concious) : Blue. Just plain simple blue.

Ethan (thinks for a moment)

Meera (puts a hand over her eyes)

Ethan : What are you doing?

Meera : I won't let you cheat.

Ethan : Cheat? I don't cheat.

Meera : Ofcourse the great Ethan Ramsey doesn't cheat. Then go ahead and ans---

Ethan : Dark brown.

Meera (impressed with him)

Three people at work your coworker hates?

Meera (heaves out a long dramatic sigh) : Ask me whom he doesn't?

Ethan : I tolerate most of them though.

Meera (chuckles) : I think it'll be Dr. Thorne, Dr. Myles and Dr. Hirata. Atleast these are the ones he complains about the most.

Ethan : Hmm. Fair enough. Bose here obviously hates that back stabbing "friend" whose name I'd rather die than learn. And I think Dr. Emery and Dr. Mirani also falls under this list.

Meera : Full point for the first one, but I think Aurora is a good person overall, she has some issues, which we need to work out. And I don't hate Zaid, I just don't like how he is always in a grumpy melancholic mood.

Ethan : Which is very justified of him given that he has to work with the interns the majority of his work hours.

What is your coworker’s strangest or most endearing quirk?

Meera : Easy, pinching the bridge of his nose and rolling his eyes when annoyed, which is all the time by the way.

Ethan : I think adjusting her glasses when it threatens to slip from her nose and forming her lips in a strange way when concentrating.

Bree : I am sorry doctor could you just explain the last part better.

Ethan (rolls his eyes and tries to do his best impression of Meera's pout)

Meera (chuckles) : That's not how it's done, Ethan. This is how it's done (pouts)

Ethan : Yeah same thing.

If they had a crush on anyone at work, who would that be?

Ethan : Crush? What are we? Highschool students? I am not answering that. (prepares to leave)

Meera : I think it might be Dr. Emery.

Ethan (stops short on his way out, turns around and takes a seat again) : Really Rookie? Fine you want to know her crush? It's that scalpel jockey, or that paramedic guy she is so friends with or maybe that other Indian intern roomate she has.

Meera : What! No. They are my friends. What made you think that?

Ethan : What made you think Harper is my crush?

Bree : Okay doctors let's move on to the next round.

Never have I Ever:

come into work hungover

Meera : Nope!

Ethan : Never. We are doctors we might get someone loose their life.

had a fistfight

Meera : Yes.

Ethan (looks at her unbelievingly) : I thought you were the harmless kind.

Meera (smugly) : I am mostly harmless, untill you get on my bad side. What about you?

Ethan : I'll have to say no.

Meera : You punched Nash though.

Ethan : He didn't punch me back, so doesn't count Rookie.

been kicked out of a bar

Meera : Unfortunately yes.

Ethan : Unfortunately yes too.

Meera : What?! The great Ethan Ramsey?

Ethan : Stop calling me that. I am a human afterall and I had some very stupid friends back in med school.

gotten a tattoo

Ethan : No.

Meera : Yes.

Ethan (smirks)

broken someone’s heart

Meera : Not that I know off

Ethan : I am not proud of it but yes.

been in love

Ethan : No.

Meera : Expected. For me it's yes. Maybe it didn't last but I can't say what we had wasn't love.

For Meera (Ethan is not there)

Where do you see him in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

He thinks he won't practice medicine anymore because he can't solve Naveen's case but I know he won't be able to resist helping people and ofcourse that is what Naveen always wanted. So, professionally, he is doing wonders. Inspiring thousands of hearts, guiding hundreds of young doctors and saving millions of lives. The diagnostic team has becomes globally recognised. He has written another book or two. Maybe won the Lasker Awards.

Personally, I hope he is happy and not lonely. He needs someone by his side. Someone who can tolerate his sarcasm and critisisim. Someone who will put a smile on his face when he wakes up beside her. Maybe he'll have a family, if that someone is really strong-willed. (let's out a dry laugh)

What do you find the most impressive about him?

His passion for what he does. He just lights up and enrapts the entire room when he speaks about medicine. And I just get lost in the sea of passion in his eyes. Also his stubbornness and unwillingness to give up is really impressive.

Last thing he texted you?

I'll show you wait.

He ordered about half a dozen books on Medical Law and Ethics for me.

If he asked you out on a date, what would you say?

(stays silent for a long time)

I don't think so he will. Like the chances are really really thin but trust me if he does I wouldn't dare say no. (colour rises to her cheeks)

But yes that's in a different world. A world in which we don't live. (sighs wistfully)

For Ethan (Meera is not there)

Where do you see her in five years (both professionally and in his personal life?)

If she manages to save her lisence she'll be a wonderful doctor. She'll save innumerable lives and be one of the brightest stars in medicine. I am sure she'll secure a spot on the DT and maybe even lead it someday. She'll make me proud. (smiles genuinely)

Personally I hope she'll be with someone who loves her more than anything and that she is with literally anybody else but that scalpel jockey. She'll have a loving caring partner who'll cook her meals when she comes home from a twelve hour shift. She'll have amazing friends especially the ones she has now. They really love her and they didn't think twice before helping her out with Mrs. Martinez's case.

Maybe she'll have a family. A few kids who will also grow up to show a stunning reflection of their mother.

What specifically do you find attractive about her?

Ethan : I can't say attractive but I'll say I like her personality. She has a magnetic one that makes sure to turn heads any time she walks into a room. Also I love that she cares so deeply about people and she is willing to go out of her way to put a smile on these people's face. Like for example Mrs. Martinez.

Bree : So is this "like" or "love"?

Ethan : Did I? Did I just say love? I am so sorry I meant like.

Bree : Could you enlist something physically attractive about her?

Ethan : If I have to. I'd say I love, er... like, like her laughter. It literally brightens the entire room. (blushes)

Last thing she texted you?

"Thank you Ethan"

If she asked you out on a date, how would you respond?

(sighs) I would feel lucky to go on a date with her, but right now in this situation? It's too complicated. I can't jeopardize her career, so it's a no form me, despite my actual feelings.

This was so fun! Thank you once again @jamespotterthefirst

Tagging my usual : @starrystarrytrouble @mm2305 @charisworld @choicesfanaf @potionsprefect @genevievemd @shanzay44 @little-flowers-on-heaven @schnitzelbutterfingers @coffeeheartaddict @gryffindordaughterofathena @chemist-ana @adiehardfan @custaroonie @ireneadlerisseggsy @takemyopenheart @natureblooms24 @mainstreetreader @izzyourresidentlawyer @a-crepusculo @quixoticdreamer16 @starryeyedrookie @barbean

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed. And if you want to sit out only the answers to the ask games hit me up too. There won't be any hard feelings. I promise. 💜

#newlyweds game with our host bree #queen bree supremacy!#ethan x meera #asked and answered #messrprongs

37 notes · View notes

lovelyjasmari · 3 years ago

Text

Twisted Wonderland Reaction Part 13 ~ Dani’s New Hell Edition

Title is a reference to one of my pomefiore ocs who’s abt to have one hell of a wild ride during book 5...I...tried my best to think of a better title for this. I really tried...

Hello everyone!

Welp, months after falling fast for this series, the moment I’ve been waiting for has finally come! However it did come a little too late since I have already read about 75% of Book 5 on my own already and this post is mainly to react to the translations and some of the questionable changes in dialogue. 😭😅

But I’ll be honest, I really struggled to push through it for very personal reasons. This chapter truly solidified my love for Vil and secured his position as my ultimate favorite Twst character above both Rook AND Malleus for the sole reason of just how much we personally have in common. But this chapter has also brought up some extremely distressing flashbacks to traumatic events that happened during my days as an EGL that I thought I was over. And in the end, I still haven’t finished, I think I got to the point RIGHT BEFORE the overblot when I had to pause again.

So you know what that means, EN-only moots? THAT MEANS WE GET TO WATCH THE END AND BE TRAUMATIZED BY VILS OVERBLOT TOGETHER! WOOOOOOOOO

Warning: pic heavy, swearing, meming, flailing, some oc referencing, Rook thirsting, and very minor Neige slander (mostly slander against Disney but Neige catches it too)

Damn, not even five minutes in and we’re already to the violence! But it’s Crewel so...I’m kinda okay with that...👀

Lowkey I really hate this. Like this has irked the hell out of me abt EN for a while and it’s been made worse by the fact that I can understand most spoken Japanese. But now it’s getting ridiculous. They literally changed the fucking logo instead of just keeping it! And the thing is, I really don’t understand why.

But at least they kept the title of the song at least. And on that same note, they kept the song! 💖💖💖

Oh god, I know that “ara” anywhere. This cannot end well...

YESSSSSS!!!! A CROWN, A THRONE, AND I AM ON MY KNEES READY TO SERVE MY QUEEN! ✨👑✨✨

But I think we have learned by now to NEVER challenge Vil to a fight. It can only end one way for you and it’s not good.

OOOOOOOOOOOFFFFFFF

OF COURSE ROOK WAS WATCHING THIS WHOLE THING GO DOWN THIS GODDAMN HANDSOME HUNTING SUS AS FUCK FRENCH FUCKER I SWEAR TO GOD

Nah that title goes to Taima and Iman. But Kalim and Jamil are scary close...

Ohhhh, that’s actually kind of endearing in a way. How he’s still trying to be nice while inwardly he was likely cringing. Such a sweet boy, my only sunshine. ❤

And I love how much he’s developing as a character. It would have been so easy for Kalim to continue to play dumb like some ppl I know irl and not even attempt to resolve what happened between him and Jamil but instead, he acknowledges his culpability and that couldn’t have been easy. Not gonna get into spoilers but he’s going to have some further introspection later on in book 5 and really, you love to see it. Kalim has grown on me so much since the early chapters. It’s incredible, hell, ALL the twst boys are incredible!

How I felt when I did my first pirouette in ballet. 💖

Leona’s face! LEONA’S FACE!!! 💀💀💀

This chapter had a different name in JP that frankly, I liked better. No, EN! My love for Rook is NOT rooted primarily in me having a praise kink and my desire for someone like him compliment me frequently! DO NOT PERCIEVE ME!

What could I possibly say about this man that I haven’t said a thousand times before? And that wouldn’t get me kicked from this site for adult content? 👀

And in addition to everything else, apparently he’s also a LeoVil simp...I’m okay with that...

OOF, that’s why you install ad blocker, Cater!

Okay...so...I really fucking hate this child. I know it’s petty but I really cannot stand Neige as a character but I feel bad for it. Granted he reminds me too much of someone I know IRL but really that probably wouldn’t bother me as much were it not for how he’s designed.

Maybe this is my salt at seeing how Disney meddled with KH3 regarding the Frozen level but something about Neige’s design screamed cooperate meddling and in this case it really REALLY works against him because he’s “supposed” to be seen as more beautiful than Vil. But he’s not. Is he adorable? Yes. Precious? Absolutely. But beautiful? No. The word beautiful to me gives the image of something very compelling but Neige seems (and acts from what little I’ve seen of him) very innocent, cute and pure. And I feel like that could have been Disney’s intention. Like, no one can argue that the twst boys have a certain...appeal to them. Even Chenya has that to an extent. But I wonder if Disney was reluctant to allow a character based on the pure and sweet Snow White have that kind of appeal.

If Neige had a more dynamic design like Vil, maybe I could see him being considered more beautiful. There’s actually an interesting discussion that can be had over the stark differences between Vil and Neige’s design and what we as a society considers more appealing for various reasons, but I doubt Disney was considering that. Yana maybe.

But I’m gonna shut up now before I start waxing more philosophical and potentially upset someone. But yeah...Team Vil forever! 💙

When you’re so radiant, you begin to bishie sparkle! ✨

Lilia’s audition was...interesting. I can’t put my finger on it but his voice has an odd sort of charm but I feel like he wanted to start shrieking towards the end and only barely held himself back...

He’s like a little flame-haired vocaloid!

Jamil was definitely the best tho! His voice left my mouth open and my heart racing! His VA is hella talented! ✨✨✨

Also, I really love the Pomefiore chibis! Especially that I can see the backs of their robes when they move in certain ways. That will be helpful for art purposes in the future! 💙

BUT HOW THE HELL HAS ROOK NOT ACCIEDENTIALLY MURKED SOMEONE YET AND HOW THE HELL DOES HE HAVE PERMISSION TO JUST BE SHOOTING LIVE ARROWS AROUND THE SCHOOL

What in the ten duel commandments shit is this?

Kalim, sweetie, whatever you do, DO NOT PICK UP THE GLOVE

I...these fucking theater nerds...I can’t...

I LITERALLY CANNOT

OMG GUYS LOOK! It’s Maximilian! MY OC Maximilian has made an appearance! Hi, Maxie! This redheaded NPC looks a lot like him. Maybe I’ll try to make an edit of him if I can find this sprite.

Oh Kalim, my poor, stupid sunshine. I feel your pain, Jamil.

This had to be one of the hardest twistunes to date not because of the difficulty but because it was sooooooo hard to pay attention to the prompts cause I was listening to the boys and watching them move! But I still managed to pass it with an SS. Well done, Night Ravens! 🖤🖤🖤

Also kind of surprised we ended here since there are 75 parts I figured Book 5 would be split in 3 parts of 25. At least, that’s initially how I was trying to read it on my own.

#twisted wonderland #jas reads twst #long post #shut up jas

5 notes · View notes

postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 4 years ago

Text

I decided to watch the Walker pilot so you don’t have to. #2

Because I don’t love myself enough, I guess. Let’s continue.

Recap in case you missed the first part: it’s boring, Jared acts like he stumbled on the set and never heard about it before, Texan law enforcement must wear very pristine shirts and cowboy hats or they will die, I guess, the cinematography wants to be good but I’m not sure it knows how to do it.

The last thing I mentioned in the first post was Jared doing a thing with his mouth but I think you need to see it. It’s basically the extent of Jared’s acting in this show. I had nothing against you, man, I swear. I even got your autograph once. I’m not a hater. I’m just looking at him...

THE TITLE CARD! I had paused the episode riiight before the title card. You have to witness it in all its embarrassing glory

Whose idea was it??

Some shots of the city of Austin. Walker and Martinez (Mexican Lady Cop) are having lunch. She says she’s heard about him, he asks what she’s learnt, she says, I textuallty quote, “I hear you are the edge of the coin”. Again, we are not allowed to have any kind of slight metaphor without the dialogue slapping us in the face with it.

“Not head or tail, just... your way” Jared didn’t even come up with the metaphor in that interview, it was in the script. Unless he came up with that line, which isn’t even a good line.

She basically tells him not to get in the way of her career. Being a Mexican-American cop is hard! Such deep commentary.

They start discussing the case, which I had already forgotten about. The cop who was slightly assaulted and won’t talk about it. “Maybe whatever was in that truck spooked him enough to abandon his oath” maybe it was a monster. god I wish it was a monster so that’d mean I’m watching Supernatural and Jensen is in it. The “oath” thing is kinda icky, like they want to remind us that being a cop is a noble path. It is in some places under some conditions. But we’re talking about Generic American conditions.

He’s like “let’s use the traffic cams to see if we can see something” and he slips right into his Sam tone. Admittedly that’s a Sam kind of thing to say.

It was day, and now it’s night. Walker house. He arrives when his family have already started dinner. Except the daughter isn’t there, she’s out with a friend. “Isabel, some Mexican girl” Walker’s father calls the friend. “Mexican American, dad” the gay brother corrects him, a deep and interesting commentary on ethnicity in the United States, we’re weeping with emotion.

Walker apparently isn’t happy that his mother has enrolled his daughter in a Catholic school, his father snaps back at him. We don’t care. We’re not emotionally invested in any of this.

There’s some awkward dialogue because he mentions the daughter playing basketball, but she’s switched to soccer. Wow, it’s like she’s become an entirely different person in those eleven months he was undercover! Can you believe? Apparently she used to play soccer before, she’s come back to it. Whoa. She’s an utterly unrecognizable person now, it’s going to be so hard for Walker to get to know her again from scratch. Can you believe?

Then he gets a call. He needs to pick up the daughter from the police station. He does some Jared awkward faces and leaves.

The daughter (Stella) was at a party and was arrested for possession. I miss when possession meant demonic possession. Dramatic music plays. She’s there with the Mexican American friend, whose parents arrive and he starts a speech on how they should get to know each other better. It is so not the right context to start making friends. “Epic first meeting” Isabel says. “I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing” Stella says. “For who?” Walker quips, like a normal person does.

He’s like, let’s go, and the girls hug, which is the only believable expression of affection I’ve seen so far in the episode. Can’t the story be about Stella and Isabel?

Father-daughter conversation in the truck. Apparently we have emotional moments in cars, which we have never seen on television before.

He asks what she was thinking, she’s like, duh what do people use drugs for. She calls him out for disappearing completely. She mentions how it was bad enough that they didn’t have mom. He says “we both got to stop acting like she’s gonna come back and put us right” which makes absolutely zero sense. It’s like someone wrote it on a note for how to develop the characters and they just decided to slap it into the script of the pilot. Remember these people haven’t seen each other for eleven months, he left shortly after his wife died. They didn’t have the time to process the grief together, why is he even saying that line here?

Meanwhile Martinez get home and we meet her boyfriend, a very cute Black man. They’re cute. Why can’t the story be about them?

He asks her about Walker, she says he’s a mess. Oh god. She says he was a Marine, “signed after 9/11”. Holy shit. He’s a Marine who signed up after asdfghjkl can’t you feel the Manly Trauma here????

He’s a Marine who signed up to fight Muslims after 9/11 and now has a dead wife, he’s exactly the kind of male lead character we need right now.

She says she’s trying to figure him out. Her boyfriend is like “dude stop thinking about that guy, he’s not at home trying to figure you out” and she replies “oh I’m pretty sure he thinks he knows everything about me already”.

This is the first scene that hasn’t felt bad so far.

Meanwhile Jared and his brother go to a bar. It’s very ~Texas Aesthetic~, and they’re wearing cowboy hats, of course. You are not allowed to go to a bar without a cowboy hat in Texas. “The brothers Walker” the flannel-shirt-clad bartender says, coming with drinks. Jensen Ackles makes a face somewhere in the mountains.

The brother goes to call his partner and the bartender starts chatting with Walker. She has a conversation with Jared’s awkward faces and she’s like, I guess you left because I couldn’t answer your questions about what happened yo your wife. This is how people converse in real life.

She asks him if he’s alright and he doesn’t answer, instead is like “let’s have a dance”. He doesn’t say he’s fine, but I think it still counts as a I’m Fine Lie Moment #2 because that’s what it is in spirit.

I know you’re bored, I’m bored.

They dance in the Texan bar, I’m distracted by the pool tables and wish this was Supernatural so we’d see Jensen Ackles play pool.

Obviously the dance is interrupted by work - a text from Ramirez who says she’s got something, “office 8am?” so he leaves because he has to wake up early. I’m not kidding.

I was kind of warmed over by Ramirez and her cute boyfriend and by the bar who was kind of nice as a location, when the next scene at the office immediately starts with Ramirez saying “My mom wouldn’t let me play with dolls when I was a kid, so Iearned about cars instead”. I die a little inside. It’s the second time she’s referred to her mother wanting a son...? So she’s badass because she wasn’t raised to be feminine...? Ew.

So they have this lead thanks to her knowledge of cars. They go investigate. I’m bored.

I shouldn’t have said I was bored, because Walker destroys my boredom by having Jared pick up a cross and start talking to “JC” sarcastically asking him for guidance about his kids going to the Catholic school. “Can you stop” Ramirez says, along with all of us.

By the way they’re in a workshop run by an ex-convict who employs former criminals to make figurines (like that cross). I got a bad feeling about this. Former criminal in cop shows is always code for current criminal.

The investigation leads to two guys who work in the store - “oh I know you,” one immediately says when he spots Walker, “you’re the ranger with the dead wife”. Walker is like, what did you say. And the guy is like oh I heard the story of a ranger’s wife biting a bullet near the border, guess you couldn’t protect her uh~~~

They exchange more provocations - Walker calls him some lowlife something and the guy goes to punch him and Walker beats him up. Violently. I’m uncomfortable. We’re supposed to think he’s exaggerating here but... he does get very violent and should not be a cop. Period.

They go to Ramirez’ house because he cut his hand. Her boyfriend is like “baby there’s a dude bleeding on your couch” I want a season of him, exclusively him.

She scolds Walker. Not because he beat up a guy with more force than needed, but because he acted stupid and that’s bad for her career. I’m uncomfortable.

Also, what’s bad is that they’re supposed to work *together*. He says he has his own way of doing things. Yikes yikes yikes.

She says that her theory is that they put them together because he always break the rules. Apparently she read up his cases and he always break the rules. The main character of the show is a cop who break the rules in half the cases he works. Yikes yikes yikes but also did I mention yikes?

No, wait, he acknowledges that he “bends” the rules, like that’s better! Yikes!

More bad dialogue, then Stella’s school calls him. She hasn’t been at school.

He goes to ask Isabel’s mother, who reveals they haven’t their papers yet, so any criminal activity would mean deportation. He talks about it with Ramirez and mentions that his brother who’s a DA could get in contact with the Feds to speed up the papers. Are we supposed to be like “oh what a good guy”? The thing is just creepy to me.

Well, at least Ramirez says something about it, or actually quotes her mother who used to say that the law doesn’t protect us. That’s why she ~burned bridges~ with her family! Apparently because she became a cop.

Ow. Her mother is not speaking to her because for her, her daughter being a cop is like a betrayal. But for her it’s a way to set things right! We’re supposed to think her mother is exaggerated. #notallcops #individualgoodcopscanchangethesystemfromtheinsideforsuredefinitely

Meanwhile their investigation continues. Remember the cross Walker randomly picked up to mock the concept of Jesus? Ramirez stole it. And now they find out there’s heroin in it. Alright... obviously the business that was supposed to rehabilitate former criminals is a cover for cartel drug dealing. What were we expecting. I’m tired.

Ramirez decides to work the case alone and sends Walker to look for his daughter. “I was that kid once, I always wanted to be found”. The impression you get from the scene is that Walker had forgotten about his daughter missing lol. Ramirez insists he goes. I’m uncomfortable with how many times people put on cowboy hats. Someone should count. We’re only 30 minutes in and it feels like it’s happened 80 times.

Alright, a break now! My laptop’s ventilation is running like crazy, VLC and long tumblr drafts are a bad combination. Or maybe it’s just my laptop being allergic to this show.

#cw's jared: legit texan #marghe watches walker for some darned reason

137 notes · View notes

buckysbitch107 · 4 years ago

Note

Chris Evans with a girlfriend that has a really bad stutter like me. Like it may take about 5 mins for me to get a full sentence out. Thank you!

Sentences | Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: Yes, you have a stutter. So what? Just because it takes a little longer for you to say a full sentence, doesn’t mean people need to be rude. Chris has always been the person you go to when you feel down or insecure, even before the two of you started dating. So when an interviewer asks a question that hits a little too close to home, Chris is right there to defend you.

Warnings: SWEARING, Angry Chris, A Small Bit of Fighting, Little bit of fluff at the end

Word Count: 1.5K

A/N: This is my first time writing a stutter, so I hope I got at least some of it right! The person I used as a reference was Drew Lynch (One of my favorite comedians). I know there are different types of stutters, but his is the one I was most confident writing. I’m aware there are a lot of dashes in the dialogue. That’s the way I write stutters. I really hope you enjoy this one! Sorry if it’s bad or inaccurate!

“Thank-thank you M-Mr. Evans. I’ll see you tom-tom-tom-tomorrow.” You speak, pacing back and forth in your hotel room as your best friend sits on the bed. Her eyes widen as you end the phone call, dropping your phone on the bed before moving your head to look at her.

“And?”

“I go-go-got the-the pa-part.” You whisper, looking up at her with a surprised look on your face.

~~~

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh my god.” You mumble to yourself, pacing back and forth in the dressing room. You just finished up the last scene of the day, a very important scene. The kiss scene. It was going great, and then the next part of the script came up. The part that had Chris’s character, Nick, step closer to yours and take your face in his hands before leaning in and kissing you. The part that the two of you did perfectly. It felt so real… almost too real, and Chris hasn’t talked to you since that scene unless it was for acting purposes. You continue to ramble random points to yourself until a knock sounds at the door, distracting you for a bit. “Come in!”

“Hey, I heard you- oh my god what happened?” Scott asks, closing the door behind him as he steps inside. You turn towards him and sigh, your hands still doing the weird flappy thing they did whenever you got anxious.

“We-We did the-the-the, the scene.”

“What? What sce- oh. OH. OH MY GOD! THAT SCENE?!”

“Yes, that sce-scene!” You exclaim, continuing to pace back and forth.

“I know this is gonna sound weird. But thoughts?” You turn to look at him, the look on your face making him unconsciously take a step back. Your face remains in a state of rage until you actually begin to survey your own thoughts, and your face drops.

“It-It was-s great. Dammit, Sco-ott! It fe-fe-felt so-so real!” Your hands migrate to your forehead, pushing your hair back before running to sit on the back of your neck.

“Well, why don’t you ask him?”

“He’s-he’s been av-avo-avoiding me all d-ay.” More tears stream down your face as you continue to hyperventilate. You wouldn’t usually react like this, but the biggest crush you’d ever had in your entire life was possibly rejecting you, and you couldn’t even talk to him about it.

“I’ll go talk to him. Why don’t you grab a bottle of water while I go find him, okay?” You nod as Scott gestures to the minifridge in your dressing room. He walks out and you sigh, grabbing the water and chugging most of it. Meanwhile, Scott wanders around the set, looking for his younger brother. He finds him soon enough, talking with a coworker about something to do with directing. Scott motions to his brother and Chris nods, finishing up his conversation before walking over to his sibling.

“Yeah?" Chris asks, putting his hands in his pockets.

“You need to talk to Y/N.”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“She thinks you don't like her.”

“What? What do you mean? Of course I like- oh. OH!”

“Yeah. Now please go fix it before she digs a hole in the ground by pacing that much.” Chris’s eyes widen a little more before he nods, running off in the direction of your dressing room.

~~~

“Oh go-go-god, you were ho-ho-hori-horrible at playing that-that trumpet.” You giggle, trying not to pee yourself in the passenger seat of Chris’s car. The man next to you scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns the steering wheel.

“I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

“You-you-you-you sounded like a, like a, like a dying pi-pi-pig.” You continue to laugh in your seat as he pulls the car into an empty parking spot.

“That’s a little harsh.” He responds, turning his head to glare at you playfully, resting his hand on your thigh.

“I had-had to p-p-p-play it for-for-for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Chris turns off the car and leans over, pressing a kiss to your cheek before opening his door and stepping out. You open your door and step out as well, Chris walking around the car to grab your hand. He links your hand with his and slowly pulls you along, walking to two of you into the shooting studio. As the two of you enter, the studio’s cat steps into your line of vision. You gasp quietly, picking up the tabby before sitting in a chair behind the camera, set up on the small couch with some snacks and the cat. You barely pay attention as Chris sits down in the interview chair and the cameras start rolling, too distracted by the cat sitting in your lap. Zoning out, you don’t pay attention to any of the questions until you hear your name come into the mix.

“Now you met your wife on the set of Before We Go. Was it hard to make her stutter a part of the character?” Jason Nichols questions.

“Most people assume that it would be hard to incorporate a stutter into a character, but Y/N was actually super flexible and would sometimes even ask if we could do some more takes because she didn’t like the one we had. It was amazing what she did to make the movie an even bigger success.” Chris answers, causing a small smile to rest on your face.

“Now there are many eligible women in Hollywood, so why Y/N?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, she’s already paid less than you, and I don’t imagine that stutter of hers makes it any easier to land roles. I would have imagined you would go for someone in your pay grade.” Ouch.

“Alright, we’re done here.” Chris says, cutting the interview short by standing up from his chair. They quickly cut the cameras as your husband nods to you, telling you to pack up.

“I’m just saying-”

“You aren’t saying anything.” You can visibly see Chris getting more pissed off by the second. You try to pull him away from the scene, but the interviewer keeps trying to insult you. It’s all a blur before Chris finally snaps, punching the interviewer and knocking him to the floor before storming out of the studio.

“I-I am so-so-so sorry.” You whisper to one of the producers. She brushes it off with a quick “he deserved that.” before walking over to the interviewer and talking his ear off as she hands him a couple of tissues. You stand there silently, wondering what you should do when one of the producer’s assistants ushers you out.

“It’ll be fine! We’ll call back to see if Chris wants to reschedule, with a different interviewer of course.”

“T-Thank yo-u.” You whisper, offering him a small smile before walking over to your car, your fuming husband sitting in the driver’s seat.

~~~

“Darling? What’s wrong?” Chris asks, standing in the doorway of your bedroom, his bandaged hand brushing up against the door frame. You look up from your spot on the bed, giving him a small “mm” before looking back at your latest read. “Okay, what is up with you?”

“No-othing.” You mumble.

“Well it’s obviously something. You’ve barely said a word since the interview and you didn't even finish your dinner! Did, did I go too far at the interview?”

“W-What?! No-o! Not at-at all! It’s ju-ust-”

“Just what?”

“Do you-you think Nich-ichols was-was righ-t?” You question, finally deciding to look up at your husband. The look of confusion on his face would have made you laugh if your heart wasn’t silently ripping apart in your chest.

“What?! Of course not Y/N!” He exclaims, taking a mere four steps across the room to sit in front of you, Chris quickly taking your hands into his. “Why would you ever think that?”

“I-I don’t kn-kn-know…” You’re about to continue speaking when Chris starts moving, and it’s only a quick second before your husband has you sitting in his lap with his arms wrapped around you.

“Everything that man said today was bullshit Y/N. I chose you for so many reasons, and I don’t regret a thing, you understand?” You nod, slowly tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “I love you. So damn much baby.”

“I lo-ove you t-too.” Chris smiles at you once again before softly kissing you, pulling back just slightly to look at you.

“Why don’t we head to bed? It’s been a long day.” You nod and Chris stands up, walking out to call Dodger into bed and returning quickly with the dog and his lion. The two of you were already in your pajamas, having decided to change when you got home. Chris turns off the lights and slips into bed next to you, his arm immediately taking its designated place on your side. You cuddle into him and sigh, feeling comforted by your husband. Dodger sits on the edge of the bed, laying almost all the way over Chris’ feet. The three of you fall asleep like that, the hours before having worn you out, finally feeling at peace.

Permanent Tags: @wintersoldierslut @breakmy-bedbarnes@stuckys-hot-dogs @andreasworlsboring101@yaxamarvel @donutloverxo

Just a reminder that all requests are open! My masterlist is in my bio, so you guys know who I specialize in, but really I do anyone y’all request. As I’ve mentioned, nothing is too fluffy, angsty, smutty, or gorey for me. I mainly write Marvel and its characters/actors. I can also write some characters from other things, you just have to ask! Also please let me know if you want to be a part of the Permanent Tags! But please, for now,

Call me Emily

#chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans one shot #chris evans #chris evans fic #marvel #fluff #stutter

147 notes · View notes

writer-k-pop · 4 years ago

Text

Expectation vs Reality - Vocal

Description: You star in a music video with them and film a scene of either an argument or a cute talk but the dialogue is cut out. This is what you see in the music video versus what was actually said/happened during filming. Warnings: None Genre: Fluff

Seventeen Masterlist | Masterlists

Jeonghan

EXPECTATION: The scene is tense as you stand at one side of the table and Jeonghan stands at the other. The tension rises as the background color changes to fire-y tones of red. The music video says that two of you have come to break point over something not mentioned.

REALITY: “Jeonghan, consuming half a 5-hour energy drink will only give you half the energy for 5 hours.” You try to reason with him but he stays firm with his hands on his hips.

“No, it’ll give me full energy for half the time.” Jeonghan argues back, “There’s a whole research page on it. Do you have research backing your argument?”

“Who’s your research by? Vernon on zero sleep?” You ask, keeping a stern face.

Jeonghan nearly breaks but runs his hands over his face in frustration to reset. “It was written by a highly respected European scientist.”

“Oh yeah?” You cross your arms over your chest, “What’s his name?” You push, surprised how easy this acting thing is.

“John British.” Jeonghan spits out the name.

You spoke too soon. It takes every muscle within you to not burst out laughing and you somehow manage to keep a straight face.

“Sounds fake.” You say shortly, knowing any more and you might break character.

“It’s real. Ask Jihoon. He’ll tell you it’s as real as Dokyeom’s proof of ghosts.” Jeonghan continues, very seriously.

But it’s what pushes you over the edge and you burst out into laughter. Jeonghan following suit nearly at the same time.

“CUT!”

Joshua

EXPECTATION: It’s you and your group of friends versus him and his group of friends. The setting? A dodgeball court behind the school as the sun is setting. The two captains, you and him, walk out to the center and share a hand shake and a few words.

REALITY: When you meet hands, you take note of how clammy they are.

“Why are your hands so clammy?” You ask, shaking his hand. “You’re not afraid you’ll have to act out losing, are you?”

“We won’t be the ones losing.” Joshua counters, “Say how is your defeated face coming along? I think you’ll need it in a bit.”

“Don’t be sure, Shua.” You pull back your hand and pop a hip.

“I mean, if you don’t want to lose, you can come join us.” He points his thumb back at his group.

“Ooh, and leave my group to take the winning parade? No thanks.” You shake your head.

“Fine, if you’re so adamant about actually playing this out,” Joshua rests his hands on his hips. “How about loser has to pay for dinner?”

You smirk, “And winner gets to choose the dinner place.”

��Deal.” You both nod in agreement.

As you walk back to your sides, you yell to remind him, “Oh, by the way, we’re not actually playing a game!”

“CUT!”

Woozi/Jihoon

EXPECTATION: You walk into his studio with a large pizza box and bag with drinks hanging off of your arm. He’s surprised and different angled shots of your happy, giggly lunch in his studio blink past.

REALITY: “I brought pizza!” You yell happily after busting the set door open.

As you and Woozi get settled onto the couch and flip open the pizza box, you begin to converse with him to make it look like you’re having a great time.

“Hey, did you leave the toilet seat up before you went to bed?” You ask, sweetly, handing him his Coke bottle.

He takes it with a smile, “Uh, maybe?”

“Well, you did.” You give him the correct answer, “Please don’t do it again. I swear I almost died when I had pee in the middle of the night.” You finish with a flick of your hair.

Woozi squeezes his eyes shut and smiles down at his lap, “Sorry. Did you survive?”

You lean into his side, “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here. I would be up in the rafters haunting your every bathroom experience.”

Woozi chuckles, “Your sweet smile makes that statement ten times creepier.”

“Oh, good.” You bring your shoulders up in happiness, “Even better the creepier it is.”

He leans his forearms against his knees after you reach for a slice of fake, cold pizza. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

Now you laugh, “You better not, otherwise you’ll pay for it.” You look at him with a sickly sweet smile before pretending to feed him the pizza.

“CUT!”

Dokyeom/Seokmin

EXPECTATION: Dokyeom sweetly approaches with your door with flowers and a nervous breath. He raises a hand and knocks on your door. A few seconds later, you open it up and with nervous eyes, he holds up the bouquet to you. He asks you something and you smile and nod. He also breaks out into a smile and pulls you in for a hug.

REALITY: When you open the door, Dokyeom is there holding up the flowers, hie eyes looking everywhere but you.

“(y/n).” He starts and you wait, “So you know that we film Going Seventeen tomorrow.”

“Yes.” You answer, calmly,

“Well, some members might have to bungee jump.” Dokyeom continues, “And you know how much I hate heights.”

“I do.” You say.

“Well, I was wondering, if I have to jump, if you would jump for me and save me a heartattack.” Dokyeom finally asks his question.

For a second, you’re stunned into silence, unsure how to play this one out.

Nodding, you smile and crush his hopes with one word. “No.”

Dokyeom breaks out into nervous laughter but laughter none the less and pulls you in for a hug.

“You suck.” Dokyeom pouts into your ear but keeps a small smile on his face.

You chuckle, “I know but you’ll be fine.”

“CUT!”

Seungkwan

EXPECTATION: (ignore Jeonghan in the gif, focus on Kwanie) You’re sat sitting across from each other at a table, just the two of you. Talking, very seriously. Your hands are clasped on the table and Seungkwan’s got on arm up near his chin while the other just lays on the table.

REALITY: Earlier in the morning, Seungkwan had attempted to make you a morning coffee but he made it his way which left a lingering taste in your mouth. You were saving it for this scene.

“So you made me coffee this morning.” You raise an eyebrow in suspicion at him.

“I did.” Seungkwan nods curtly, “How did you like it?”

“You didn’t put anything in it.” You lean back, hands still on the table.

“It’s an Americano, you don’t put anything in it.” He explains.

“How do you drink that then?” You question, turning your palms upwards.

“What do you mean how do you drink it?” Seungkwan cocks his head to the side, “It’s an Americano. You just drink it!”

“It tastes like dirt.” You argue, “I felt like I was drinking watery dirt this morning.”

“You have no true appreciation for coffee.” Seungkwan shakes his head sadly.

“And you do?” You wonder, rolling your eyes.

“Of course I do.” Seungkwan says proudly, “I worked at a cafe.”

“For a day.” You point out.

“Still better than your experience.” Seungkwan shrugs.

You chuckle in disbelief, “If you have forgotten, I took a trip to a coffee farm and learned the whole process.”

Seungkwan remembers and points a finger at me. “That doesn’t count!”

“What do you mean that doesn’t count?” I question throwing my hands up in frustration.

“CUT!”

102 notes · View notes

lady-plantagenet · 4 years ago

Text

Unsolicited Book Reviews (n5): Wife to theKingmaker

Rating:

⭐️⭐️⭐️

Even before I had an account I had a tendency to go to tumblr to see people’s opinions before buying a histfic novel. Certain books are either severely underrepresented where I feel like there needs to be something on them, whereas others that are talked about enough - something more can still be said. So for my quarantine fun, I had decided to start a series where I review every medieval historical fiction novel I read. Hopefully, it will either start interesting discussions or at least be some help for those browsing its tag when considering purchasing it.

TL;DR: Ok swear to god this book was written by two different people. The ending was actually heart-wrenching, but so much had annoyed me throughout that I swore to myself to never again touch this genre for my own health. Twas an odd tale, and tbh the fact that it was odd probably elevated it from the 2 stars (or hell maybe even 1 if it was going to get any more richardian) to 3. Honestly, quite glad I read it in the end. Not the most historically informative, but some of the character arcs were actually quite neat (however extremely farfetched). Spoiler Warning: I’m going to divulge a lot on here because I know no one who follows me is going to read this book.

Plot: Ok, the plot... It was only after I placed my order that I realised this is the Sandra Heath Wilson of ‘Cicely’s King’ fame. I cringed and didn’t know what to do. For all you innocents out there... her Cicely series is a saga wherein Cecily of York pretty much bangs everyone who is male and from the house of york (minus her father and uncle George) and Even Henry VII(!!). She then has this kid by Richard III, calls him Leo and the rest is history(this is what I gleaned from goodreads). Nevertheless it had already shipped and honestly I had it coming; the synopsis does say she has an affair with her brother-in-law John Marquis of Montagu. Whatever, I couldn’t resist buying the only novel about Anne Beauchamp, and since it was published in the 70s/80s I knew it would at least be flamboyant and go all out. It delivered enough for it to have been worth reading.

So the novel follows Anne Beauchamp!(Nan) from when she is a 13 year old girl to 1478 when she finally leaves Beaulieu to go live at Middleham with her (as you guessed it- favourite) daughter Anne and her oh so belovéd son-in-law Richard Duke of Gloucester - You see? Since now finally the Great Other (Mr George) is finally vanquished England has its peace. Of course this is not true, Nan historically left the abbey in 1473 for Middleham and while I wanted a possible explanation from the author (who I would assume is better researched than I) for whether she went to Middleham out of her own volition or simply because the King trusted Gloucester better than Clarence... alas I got none. It was all pinned on the fact that the evil George (who as per usual alternates between omnipotent mastermind to absolute drunken himbo at the turn of a page) would not have her free for as long as she lived (for whatever reason). I really think the real historical explanation was because Edward trusted Gloucester - because after all Warwick Castle was Nan’s patrimony not Middleham. I doubt Nan had a choice in the matter but, the point is, Isabel was alive in 1473 and since there’s zero historical record or suggestion that Nan and Anne had ever seen her again, it would have been nice to have had a depiction of the conflicted feelings or a final meeting written for the three women. I’ll let it slide I guess, after all, one needs to cut some slack when it comes to books written pre-internet age by non-historians. And unlike Sunne in Splendour, this book does not purport to be completely accurate or a representation of the truth.

Christ some sub-plots were truly unexpected. One that made me groan at first was the whole arc between Nan and her niece Eleanor Butler. In this book she’s her ward (not historically true) and little Eleanor is all sweet and innocent and virtuous and, hell, at one point we get more Nan-Eleanor interaction than even between Nan - her own daughters (particularly Isabel who would have been the right age and a better substitute for Eleanor in their dialogue, but alas, who cares about Isabel right?). Eleanor even is the one to accidentally discover that Margaret of Anjou slept with Edmund Beaufort, siring Edward of Lancaster.

Ok. You’re probably thinking, god how trite eugh the Richardians are at it again, right? Yeah ok the Richardians are at it again, but it turns into something really neat at the end. Essentially, as I said, Nan has an affair with John Neville Marquis of Montagu (long story that I will expand on in characterisation) and she and him come upon Edward and Eleanor (overhearing them nothing more). So Edward and Nan then have this mutually assured destruction between them, because Edward divulges that he saw Nan and John years later when Nan confronts him (by this time he is married to Elizabeth Woodville) that she knows about the pre-contract with the intention of telling him off. He tells her that if she dares tell Warwick about the pre-contract he will tell Warwick about John, so she then agrees (also because she promised her niece that she would keep it quiet for the safety of her son by Edward). Years later when they meet again, Edward realised how much is at stake for Nan (especially since it turned out she loved Warwick all along and Edward figured that out), and so, during the period of John’s back-and-forth loyalties (we know he was disgruntled by the loss of the Northumberland Earldom)... Edward returns and tells Nan that if Montagu abandons him he will out her to Richard and cause a massive division between the brothers (militaristically speaking as well) and he knows he can do that because he figures out Nan will not out him because she blubbs about her promise to her niece. This madness then becomes bittersweet when (as history would have it) Montagu does end up fighting for Warwick, nevertheless, Nan is releaved during the whole time because there’s nothing in Warwick’s letters that give any indication that Edward ended up exposing her. Warwick dies in the battlefield, Nan is deeply aggrieved but happy he never found out at least. But then... years later when Edward comes to Beaulieu (1478 as this story would have it) to inform Nan that she may depart for Middleham, he tells her that he in fact did expose her to Warwick... but that Warwick didn’t believe him and laughed in his face because he thought there was no way she could be unfaithful because he knew she loved him. This sounds silly but it got to me a bit when I read it. Of course, we also have Edward saying he regretted his handling of the pre-contract affair because apparently Elizabeth Woodville had since lost interest in him and he’s hurt by how she shows no reaction to him having mistresses and he’s kinda given up, whereas Eleanor would have been more of a lapdog. This was essentially the centrepiece of the plot.

Look, I don’t really read these types of novels as a habit so I don’t know if bizarre plot lines like this are commonplace. Not going to lie though, it threw me and it was pleasantly enjoyable. This is basically what is to be said about the plot... the rest goes into characterisation. Nevertheless, this novel too often fell into the exposition trap (like telling us what is happening politically instead of showing us). While I appreciated the refresher of what happened 1445-1461 and I understand that the target audience of this book aren’t Wars of the Roses experts, I’ve seen it done more smoothly in many other more literary novels (eg Hawley Jarman’s or Lytton-Bulwer’s Last of the Barons). I’ve often said Sunne in Splendour was terribly dry and exposition-heavy, but at least it had historical detail so I could sometimes switch off and treat it as a non-fiction account for battles and character locations. But with this one I a) don’t have faith that the author paid attention to detail; see what I said earlier about the years 1473-1478, so I won’t take this as information and b) know that if she had done this with the years I know more about: 1461-1478, I would have gotten annoyed because of my familiarity with those decades.

Characterisation: Well we have lovelorn saintly Dickon here - always a pet peeve of mine. Look, I don’t have strong opinions about the man but it just innures me how whenever Richardianism rears it’s ugly head the plot suffers massively and it’s always favourite figures of mine that suffer the most. George Duke of Clarence... oh god, what can I say? Wife-beater, alcoholic, is disgusted by his wife when she is ill (you know, unlike the historical Clarence who had resided in the Abbot’s home near the infirmiary for the last months of his wife’s lying-in and after to be close to her and thereafter stuck with her until she passed away and two months after that as well), is stupid yet somehow still devious, is the indirect cause of her death... the list goes on. Welp, at least this Clarence unlike the Sunne in Splendour one has an elegant bearing, sense of fashion and is a great dancer. The Sunne one had NOTHING. It’s also odd that they make his attitude towards Isabel undergo a complete 180 as soon as he realises this marriage will no longer make him king. This makes no sense as the book has them want to marry for love, like YEARS before 1469, so this sudden attitude change makes no sense. Authors really need to be reminded that crown or no crown that marriage would still have made him the greatest magnate in England. There was also a ridiculous handling on the circumstance of his death, and this was the most factually wrong part of the book. Between Ankarette being aged down by 4 decades and the whole shmaz with Stillington, I don’t know where to begin. I bet most of you can guess how it was handled. Isabel is as per usual constantly depressed and without a personality because, well, we can’t have her compared to our shining heroine Anne Neville. 3x more beautiful, 5x more vivacious and 20x more significant than her doormat of a sister who complains all day- that is when she isn’t crying. Gahhh. Of course Anne Neville also cries but it’s for her beloved Dickon who she pines for constantly. Look, I have no qualms with romanticising this pairing, but authors need to keep in mind that Anne was like 13 at most when she became estranged from Gloucester. You. Need. To. Stop. Writing. Her. Like. A. Woman. . I don’t care what anyone says, no matter the time period, you can’t make me visualise a 13 year old that could feel romantic love of that deep a devotion and maturity and not send me laughing across the floor. But want to write a strong childish infatuation coming from a place of deep friendship? Fine by me.

Ok, onto more positive characterisation points: I liked Nan, quite a lot actually (I mean blatant daughter favouritism aside). A lot of authors attempt to write the proud noblewoman and great lady character but few pull it off. This is always how I have seen the real Anne Beauchamp and I’m glad to see it here. For a novel so insensitive towards certain figures, the author wrote Nan with great empathy. She was very intelligent but not in that artificial girlboss way, she loved her daughter(s) but in that medieval mother type of way (so no baby brain here), she may have not gotten along splendidly with all the women around her but there was none of that demeaning cattiness. About that, I want to say I was shocked by what a turn her relationship with Margaret of Anjou took. Since the whole Somerset-bastard child plotline was a thing... Nan was initially revolted and lost all her respect for Lancaster, but when the two women find themselves joined by fate they gain this strange mutual respect for one another. They butt heads a bit initially but Margaret of Anjou rises above it for her son’s sake and eventually strikes up an agreement with Nan on when they are to set sail. Margaret first won’t listen to Nan because she thinks she’s a fool but when she eventually slips by to tell Nan that she had thought about her plan and that maybe she’s right, she doesn’t apologise and Nan doesn’t need her to and it’s this weird telepathic understanding from then on and I certainly did not expect to see something like this in this novel. After the landing in England and news of Warwick’s death reaches the party, Margaret doesn’t gloat but diplomatically relays the news and when Nan says she wants to take sanctuary because she lost all heart and can’t fight on, Edward of Lancaster gently says something like: well if you come with us, you’ll at least get your revenge and that’s at least something (paraphrase). You could just tell this was Edward’s way of offering condolences, the type of way a child like him raised through war and promises of vengeance only could, and it was oddly powerful. Shame it couldn’t have happened as Nan and Margaret and Isabel all travelled at seperate times. The whole theme around Nan was that she wasn’t very partisan but only followed her husband as a magnate and then as a man, which I believe and it was great to see Team Lancaster understood Warwick was a seperate entity from York, and for all intents and purposes they were all in this together. Cool-headedness is much needed in this genre I realise, god how low flies the bar ~

Now onto the characterisation most people are wondering about. What of Warwick? He was the saving grace of the novel. He has the common touch yet he is sophisticated, he is idealistic yet he is shrewd, he is impassioned yet collected, he is dramatic yet subtle, he is ... I can go on and on. What is all the affair plot point about then? It doesn’t diminish the bond between the two main characters; to tell you quite truthfully the relationship the author wrote was bizarre yet still really touching. They used to hate eachother because Nan thought herself above him (after all the Warwick earldom was far more valuable than the Salisbury one- remember it was briefly a dukedom at one point), but then she sees what he made of himself and becomes proud of him and falls in love with him. However, he starts to get carried away with his ambitions, gets all-consumed by the legend of Warwick that he had cultivated and essentially becomes impersonal without wanting to (and realising). Nan feels she has lost him to the people of England (which are apparently all hypnotised by his presence, which ok is a fact grounded in history) and because of her wounded pride she starts seeking comfort in his brother (although, it makes little sense how this would work as I would gather he would also be away, especially at the Scottish boarders). When he refuses to support Warwick over Edward later on, she loses all feelings for Montagu and thinks him a coward, and when Warwick apologises for being amiss she realises that this whole time it was him she loved all along and is racked with guilt. I found this exploration of what it is like being wed to a man of such public standing quite interesting, the idea of losing him not to another woman or such but to his cause (which in this book is a mixture of belief in the french alliance, the common weal and subconsciously his own wounded pride brought on by an extreme adherence to inflexible chivalric values on his part and Edward IV’s actions), I confess, is not something I saw portrayed in this particular manner anywhere else. I mean it’s not like I’ve been searching for this particular motif, but this was a refreshing depiction of a medieval couple and it was a poignantly written relationship which the author had me invested in. The relationship was heartfelt because it was very distinct, Nan and Warwick weren’t just some stand-ins for a cash-grab but some consideration was paid to the real historical figures. The John plotline, sure I would in principle protest against something like this but it seems to have had two plot purposes: To illustrate the strain caused by the aforementioned issue and to kick off the whole Edward-Eleanor Butler-Montagu-Nan arc, which bizarre and unbelievable as it was, kept me on my toes. I’ll let it slide. Also, Edward IV was portrayed as quite a chilling villain in this, beholden of this weird mix of indifference, charm and wickedness.

Prose: This is what made me briefly wonder if this book was written by two different people. It failed to engage me in the first half, the descriptions were trite (except for the natural scenery bits), there was very little variety in sentence structures which gave it the stilted heaviness that thus afflicted The Sunne in Splendour (and most modern literature). There was a lot of redundancies eg the type of stuff like ‘whispered quietly’ or ‘yelled loudly’ and the author’s misunderstanding of certain period fashions drew me out eg references to bodices (not a thing then), calling the henin veil a silk scarf etc. She didn’t pull a Penman: exposit emotions to us, making me feel like I walked into a therapy session, but it was often heavy-handed. It first felt very much like an uninspired debut novel. A bit try-hard and I was wondering if this was the way of the bodice ripper... I wouldn’t know, I never read one before (though I’m unsure if this qualifies as it’s really not graphic and the focus is really not on sex nor is there much of it).

However, out of nowhere, the prose suddenly changed a little before half of the way in; colours, emotions, thoughts and the like started to blend masterfully. The sentence structures started varying to convey the way Nan was feeling. It became very show don’t tell, and it drew me in emotionally a bit (I must confess). Of course, that’s also around the point the plot had sort of started redeeming itself. Nan’s grief at her husband’s passing was particularly well conveyed - how she became a husk of her former self... I could read fifty pages of that. Her realisation that it had been him all along was also well written, and you could feel all the urgency and regret she felt at all the time she had wasted disregarding him as the plot grew nearer to Barnet. The mutual longing was also subtle yet strong, and it really was down to the effective use of sentence structure and waylaying of inspired thematic details. The mingling of past memories with present day in her later years was also very well done and with flow, and the adjectives etc used were no longer becoming distracting as before. My favourite part by far was the very last scene when she rides ahead of her escort to Middleham and she imagines a horse riding beside her caparisoned with the Neville standard; you can really feel how this is the first time that she had felt joy in years and she lets the ghost follow her.

... In Conclusion, this novel gave me very mixed feelings. I don’t know if I would have enjoyed it as much as I did had it not been for the fact that I entered it with a massive pre-formed love for the figures. It’s a bit like my experience with ‘Death Be Pardoner to Me’ (review #2 on this tag), was the book actually good or do I just have an affinity for the protagonist (Clarence in that case)? As such, I don’t think I would reccomend it. Indeed I wrote this spoilerish review because I was sure no one would fly off to Amazon after seeing this post. I can’t say if it’s above commercial historical romance in standard as this is the first time I’ve ever read a book from this genre. I think I’ll take a loongg break from historical fiction (after I finish with Jarman) because the Clarence portrayal was a bit of a nail in the coffin for me and I don’t want to continue upsetting myself for no reason. As I have now truly lost hope in reading a balanced depiction of him and if the literature isn’t absolutely expemplary why bother? Nevertheless, Warwick’s portrayal was a saving grace and made it impossible for me to give it two stars - it wasn’t perfect but still the best I’ve read (minus Last of the Barons Ofc). This is also a bit sad when you think about it, Warwick is also due some fictional justice. Even scholarly if you ask me.

The experience was educational as I learned a valuable lesson in what to avoid and include in my writing, what pitfalls/clichés not to fall into etc. I think I can draw another valuable lesson from this: Dear Histfic authors, if you happen to not be historians, heavily-researched in this time period, objective or literarily talented etc don’t take yourself seriously by publishing some tome of a work but just go nuts like this novel. At least this way you’re not sharing misinformation, inducing people into error and your work still gets to be engaging as opposed to a repetition of the previous amateur historical novelist. Yeah. For all the Sunne in Splendour’s superior quality, I must say I prefer this one better.

Tagging @pythionice who I have recently discovered has also read this book! Welcome fellow fan of Warwick <3

#lady-plantagenet’s book reviews #I’m actually embarasses by how long this is #I got into quite the rambling mood oh gosh #I confuse myself #I hope I have amused some of you with this retelling at least it is outrageous lmao #wife to the kingmaker #sandra wilson #george of clarence #isabel neville #anne beauchamp #richard neville earl of warwick #warwick the kingmaker #richard neville #george plantagenet #anne neville #I’ll add read more function tommorow I’m too tired now #sandra heath wilson

24 notes · View notes