#after all the evidence brought in this case I can’t believe anyone still thinks she’s truthing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lucentaire · 2 years ago

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resolvebound --- gray fullbuster.

A hug? His face scrunched at the very thought, aiming a look her way that said he didn’t think she was all that funny this time. They may not have been close, but he was sure she could guess he was hardly the hugging type. It was all part of the teasing, he knew, but still…even the mention of his so-called teammates was a little unpleasant. Sure, together as a team, they had achieved some incredible feats, but that didn’t mean he always wanted to be lumped in with them. But in any case…

“I don’t do hugs,” he said, but even as he spoke them, the words sounded strange to his ears (and a smidge petulant, or defensive). Perhaps they sounded strange because they weren’t entirely true, or maybe he just wished they weren’t, and that in some version of the world, the idea of anyone getting close to him in any way wasn’t uncomfortable. Sure, the urge to give physical affection was not one that often came to him, the urge to receive it was likewise rare, but there were a select few people who were exceptions (so he wasn’t…broken, right?). But, joke or not, needing a hug badly…would he even recognise such a need?

He sighed, choosing to focus his gaze on the words Evergreen was writing. The note about cereal and juice brought him a faint, momentary smile, it was so…normal. There would be things like that everywhere, he thought, frowning, people’s intentions frozen in place. A person could go from having their biggest concern being the lack of their favourite breakfast foods, to the lack of a roof over their head, or a missing loved one, or worse. He could still recall the destruction of his village, homes scattered in pieces, fractured belongings strewn in the rubble, and among it all…the evidence of lives suddenly halted. A child’s half completed drawing, an unwrapped but crushed gift, an unfinished letter.

It was highly unlikely many areas would be spared from the ruination to come, but minimizing the severity of it (and the lives lost), was all they could try to do for now. The thought pulled him back to the present, and he watched as Evergreen moved about the kitchen. Her question prompted a small laugh and shake of his head, “Nah, no allergies, can’t get rid of me that easily.”

His attention shifted to the fruit as she mentioned it, despite the fact he wasn’t all that hungry, given the situation looming over them. An apple tarte? He wondered about her baking skill, tempted to ask about it, yet deciding to add it to his list of things to bring up with her after they all survived what was to come. They would have time to talk after, he had to believe that.

The foreboding pressure of what they needed to overcome first, it pushed around him and had him absently rubbing his shoulders in an attempt to alleviate it. His eyes wandered the room, catching for a moment on a piece of art hanging on one of the walls. Once again, he found himself curious about Evergreen and her team, and thinking about his own place. There wasn’t any art up in his cabin yet, but he had a room full of his unfinished works (not that he would ever put up his own art anyway).

Evergreen’s movement brought his eyes back to her, a frown settling in. He stared at her hands for a moment before her words raised his gaze to her own, eyes intently studying her. He found himself moving towards her, stopping just a step or two away with an urge to…he wasn’t sure exactly. Communicate something, somehow. Reassure perhaps.

His breath then left him in a tired exhale as he settled with a small nod. Furious. Yeah, he could understand that sentiment, even if, for the moment, his own feelings on the matter leant towards disappointment in how everything had come about, and sadness for all the pointless destruction and death that was to come.

“Well,” he said, after a moment, a slight smile cracking, “I’m glad you’re furious and on my side at least.”

There was no telling, of course, how the fighting would all play out and if the two of them would be anywhere near each other during it, but he found himself wondering if they would work well together in a battle situation. Almost as soon as the thoughts began, however, he found himself glad their proximity would be unlikely. The enemy coming to them would no doubt require him to pull out the demonic magic within himself, and he’d rather not have her or any of their other guildmates around for that. Because he might not come back from it.

He moved away, towards the painting he’d noticed earlier (was it an Icebergian landscape? Something about it seemed familiar), but glanced back to her with a slight grin, “Don’t worry, I plan on coming back for the silver later.”

It was just a joke of course, and yet the ‘later’…it was more of a promise, that there would indeed be a later for all of them. A ‘later’ that they needed to work on securing in the here and now.

“So…should we check out those maps now?”

everyone in the guild knew---evergreen was not someone who talked much to others. and when she did, people probably thought, it was to establish her superiority. the truth was that she did not talk much because she watched more. she paid attention, she took note of things---and then, often filed them away for later. also: those who did not talk much rarely drew much attention to themselves, could choose to stay back and take their time. and even after years, she still thought the notion that most people did not know her well comfortable.

she was not the best at reading body language, but she could read some tells easily enough. she did not know gray well enough to read him like an open book, but she could spot tension as well as stress. but well. who would not be tense and stressed in a situation like this?

‘‘ give me a warning so i can hide all the valuables, ’’ she quipped with a possibly ill-advised wink as she grabbed two empty glasses, placing them on a tray before grabbing a water bottle, too. she was---what was it called again?---compartmentalising. reality was almost unbearable, if she looked at the full picture. she had to make it smaller, cut it into pieces that were almost digestible. there was no other way through this. still, a quip here and a sarcastic remark there might just help her to carry on.

she just had to get through another dangerous situation with questionable odds. lovely.

she grabbed the tray from the counter and moved, leaving behind the kitchen and the living room. they kept their maps in the study. well, in one of the studies. they had two. once upon a time, the house they inhabited had been meant for a more . . . traditional family. more two parents, two point five children and a dog, less four adults and a dog and as many ‘babies’ as bixlow deemed necessary at any given point of time.

she smiled briefly at that thought, then her face grew serious again as she left her tray on an empty desk and unlocked the cabinet that held their maps, dark eyes scanning the shelves for anything that might be of use, finally settling on some city maps as well as maps of the larger area. ‘‘ i was briefly wondering if the cathedral would have a sufficient amount of structural stability to withstand some magical damage to serve as some kind of shelter, but then i recalled that it took damage when. well. when laxus fought natsu and gajeel. which means it’s probably not in the best condition---unless you think that someone paid enough money to get a full repair done while we were all . . . absent, ’’ she pondered out loud as she placed some of the maps on the table before turning back to the cabinet to look for older, historical maps.

they should have some of those---maybe because freed had bought them, maybe because they had gotten them as a reward at some point. and they might be helpful if they showed any old underground tunnels.

‘‘ i do wonder, ’’ she said as she placed the stack of historical maps on the table, ‘‘ if master bob saw something like this coming. blue pegasus does have a flying warship. ’’

there had been a time when she had written the existence of the christina off as an eccentricity of an eccentric man. but that had been before she had been in his guild and had seen him operate. there was little, it seemed, that got past master bob. he was dangerous in a way she could appreciate as it was so easily overlooked. but---it was as her team said: if you don’t think master bob is dangerous, you aren’t paying attention.

she grimaced---just a little!---as she continued, her voice softer and quieter than usually. ‘‘ it was strange, being in a guild where the person in charge cares about all his mages. ’’ she rubbed her wrist. makarov had paid attention to her team. but that had been mostly, she knew, because they were close with laxus. ‘‘ before we were told ‘hey, a war’s gonna happen’, i was thinking about how many of our colleagues had, y’know, financial troubles this last year. and it feels so unfair. a lot of those that have struggled were also the ones who kept fairy tail going while we were all asleep for seven years. i obviously want to stay alive in what’s to come, but---i really want them all to stay alive because after all their struggles, they deserve some . . . i don’t know. they deserve to catch a break, i guess. ’’

#resolvebound #resolvebound: gray #time for some master bob stan life behaviour #ii. —— ( there's a time and a place to die‚ but this isn't it / war arc )#thread: above all the messes made #ii. —— ( in the wrong light‚ anyone can look like darkness / main )#i. —— ( she's so hard to please‚ but she's a forest fire / in character )#have a bit of rena sharing Personal Thoughts and Feelings about the situation

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first-son-of-finwe · 2 years ago

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to istarnie-nerdanel in your notes: why would amber lie ? she started lying to get money from depp, tro was to get some nice stuff from divorce: 3 penthouses with utilities paid, range rover, 50k per month. when that didn't work, she made more lies, which lead to start of process in 2016 - depo with her snacking and slipping up with alerting tmz is from that time. she knew her evidence was shit and depp didn't really want to relive it all in court so they settled with those 7million. but she couldn't shut up and pretended to be activist using other victims for her own gain making dv speeches for 33k. the sun got into that with their shitty writing, followed by trial. as a witness and not side she could just testify in depos if it was so painful for her, but it actually wasn't, she just wanted attention, so she attended everday in uk trial,where once again she changed her story and lied about donating money. she's started lying for money and public attention and she had to keep doing that, while making up her stories even more, because they started falling apart and showing her real face. karma got to her

Basically all of this. And honestly, I was watching closing arguments today and I found her response to things extremely telling. When they play the audio of her saying “I was not punching you, I was HITTING you” and calling JD a “baby” for “bitching” about it, I thought she’d at least have some regret about that. But no, she smirks. She literally sits there and smirks while listening to her own voice admitting to assault. The moment her face changes into an expression of actual negative emotion is when the lawyer begins to talk about Johnny wanting to separate from her.

I think beyond the desire for money and attention, a lot of it really boils down to that. Her need for attention, approval and fear of abandonment has already been remarked on by the psychologists in this case, and in the end, she just couldn’t stand that he left her.

#anti amber heard #after all the evidence brought in this case I can’t believe anyone still thinks she’s truthing

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paradisetemporarilymisplaced · 4 years ago

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So I was being a basic bitch the other day and listening to my true crime podcasts when it occurred to me just how suspicious Nile’s “death” would look to everyone not in the Guard, leading me to a train of thought that, 2200 words later, absolutely got away from me but I can’t let go so I’m inflicting it on all of you!

To set the stage, we know the movie takes place over approximately a week. Here’s what happens to Nile from the military’s point of view:

She dies is very seriously injured

She heals without a scratch

Just before she’s supposed to be shipped out to Germany, she vanishes, leaving two men concussed (and presumably reporting being knocked out by a woman with short hair wearing civilian clothes)

She goes AWOL for several days

They get word from the CIA that she is to be reported killed in action (details unclear)

So, at the beginning of this very weird week, the USMC has to tell Nile’s family of her death critical injury. What her family was told depends on how long she was dead – a Google search tells me that family will be notified in person within 8 hours of a soldier’s death, but we don’t know how long her first death lasted. For an injury, however, they’d get a phone call to notify them and the unit would arrange for them to visit as soon as the soldier is transferred out of a combat zone. Like I remember when I was in high school, a guy from my church who was a Marine was really seriously injured in a helicopter crash in Iraq and from what I could tell, his parents were told immediately and were flown out to Germany to see him, so it stands to reason that Nile’s family would have been informed relatively quickly after her throat was slashed, one way or another.

And then, she goes AWOL. Her family would be notified while the USMC tried to figure out where she went, not least because the military would want to know if she’s contacted them. (And it’s possible that her family may have been on the way to Germany to see her since we know that’s where she was supposed to go!) So for several days:

Nile’s mom and brother have no idea where she is

They know she was seriously injured and most certainly should not have been moving around on her own

They can’t get a hold of her

The military can’t tell them anything

And the next thing they know for sure is that she was “killed in action.” After being injured and vanishing into thin air. And they presumably cannot produce her body or any concrete evidence of her death. In any case, something sketchy is going on, so they’re like. SMELLS LIKE A MILITARY COVERUP.

In a surprise to probably no one, there is a well-documented legacy of mysterious US military deaths, particularly of women of color (TW for sexual assault in these links). The cases of LaVena Johnson and Vanessa Guillenin particular have made national news because of their families’ persistence in seeking justice. Likewise, Nile is a Black woman, and her mom and brother are most certainly hypercognizant of (a) state violence against Black people and (b) these high-profile cases of suspicious military deaths. So her family are seriously side-eyeing the situation, knowing that (a) the military has a serious incentive (and a documented history) of covering up things that make them look bad and (b) nothing about Nile’s disappearance and supposed death are adding up.

And Andy’s right. Nile does come from warriors. And you know who else does? Her brother.

Don’t get me wrong. Nile’s mom would absolutely not back down. She’d know something was up and want to get to the bottom of it. But based on what I know about Gen X parents (mine), they’re not the most technologically savvy. Like they can use the internet, but they didn’t grow up with it the way we young millennials and Gen Z did. So Nile’s brother takes the lead. And what do zillennials do best?

Social media.

Nile’s brother starts going hard on any site he can, trying to get the word out to see if anyone knows what happened to his sister. He starts a Reddit thread. He starts a Facebook group. He reaches out to the media and true crime bloggers and podcasters à la Sarah Turney, getting loud and being a general nuisance in hopes of getting some answers. He gets his friends and Nile’s friends involved. Maybe eventually Dizzy, Jay, and others from Nile’s unit hear about it and reach out, telling him what they saw and how weird it all was. He’s drumming up interest, and soon “Nile Freeman” becomes a household name (at least among the true crime fans).

Copley is, of course, trying his best, but at this point there is just so much that it’s impossible for him to scrub everything. Sure, he can erase new footage of Nile and the Guard, but what can he do about Reddit threads and podcast episodes that are speculating something weird has happened? Maybe he could hack the sites and shut those things down, but honestly, that’s the last thing he’d want to do, because that only adds weight to the theory that Nile’s disappearance is a military coverup. So eventually he has to tell Andy what’s going on.

Andy, obviously, does not take the news well. However, she is also completely computer illiterate, because that’s Booker’s job and he’s the only one who ever bothered to learn what the internet is in any meaningful way. (She probably calls Booker for advice, and for the record, I think Booker would have no qualms about shutting down conspiracy threads, tinhats be damned, but Copley is too concerned about the consequences. He’s ex-CIA for crying out loud, he knows how it’ll look if they scrub every mention of Nile’s name from the internet.) Maybe she confers with Joe and Nicky but, let’s be honest, they’d be equally unhelpful. So at this point, she knows they have to bring in Nile.

But the thing about Nile is that she, too, knows how to use the internet (duh). Aside from her being a young millennial/digital native, we know from the cave scene where she’s giving Booker suggestions on how to track Copley that she clearly is even more computer savvy than the average person. And for that reason she almost definitely took over the day-to-day tech stuff after Booker’s exile. So I think it would be foolish to expect her to be unaware of what’s happening. She’s not contacting her family or posting on the message boards or anything, but she knows what’s up. So Copley and the team probably sit her down to “break the news,” but we know the girl does not have a poker face (see: literally shooting herself in the foot and not being able to play it cool whatsoever) and cracks immediately, telling them she’s seen everything about her case – she’s not interacting with any of it, she certainly didn’t instigate anything, but she knows. (And she is so goddamn proud of her brother.)

At this point, I’d like to pause and consider Nile’s role in the overall narrative of this movie. She’s set up as a foil to Andy, obviously, but she’s also a foil to Booker. Booker, who, like Andy, is a serious pessimist, but who, unlike Andy, still has very fresh memories and trauma associated with being the new kid, which have destroyed him. In his mind (and Andy’s), if Nile communicates with her family, she’ll become just like him in a century or two – bitter, alone, and stuck with her grief and memories of watching her family die and knowing they died resenting her. It’s a small sample size, but this is the only experience they have to go off of.

But it doesn’t have to be like that.

There’s been a lot of discussion of TOG being a fundamentally queer movie – a group of people brought together because of something inherent about themselves that is different, that must be hidden, that causes others to hate, fear, and reject them. Booker’s backstory is the archetypal traumatic “coming out” story – his family learns who he is, hate him for it, and attempt to cast him out of their lives. He’s stuck with his trauma, his pain, his loss, and it consumes him.

But what if Nile’s family would be the opposite? What if her “coming out” to them as immortal is met with acceptance, love, celebration? What if her family is just overjoyed to have her back, and they don’t care what the circumstances are? I'm reminded of this incredible post from @shitty-old-guard-deaths a while back, where Nile’s mother hits Booker with a frying pan because “my baby let me believe she was dead for FIVE YEARS based on your bad advice???” (which may or may not have inspired this whole tangent). Nile takes the advice of someone who did the same thing she wants to do because she doesn’t want to risk her family’s rejection. She wants the good memories with her family and is afraid that showing them her true self will bring her unbearable pain, forever replacing those memories. But, with high risk comes high reward.

Anyway. Nile and the team are trying to come up with a plan for how to handle this whole thing, but she’s not really participating because she’s too afraid to hope. Until finally, quickly, so she doesn’t lose her nerve, she suggests she reach out to them, knowing that, realistically, that’s the only solution before things snowball even further out of control. The team is shocked, but realize that she has a point. They decide that Copley should actually be the first point of contact, posing as a US government official to talk with them and test the waters.

So Copley goes to Nile’s family’s house to talk with her mom and brother. They’re probably distrustful and apprehensive, but nonetheless secretly ecstatic that their work has paid off. They talk and review all of the information that they’ve collected, including testimonials from the people on Nile’s base and recent sightings (along with photos) of Nile (with the same three people) over the last few years that people have sent them but they haven’t posted publicly. At this point, Copley’s like, yeah this is about to blow up, we gotta put our cards on the table. He convinces them to come with him to some safe house/black site/whatever he can get that is technologically impenetrable (I’m picturing them in like, an interrogation room at a police station kind of deal), takes their phones, locks the doors, and brings in Nile.

What follows is the most delightful reunion scene of all time, bringing Joe, Nicky, and even Andy to tears as they watch and listen from outside the room. With Copley’s help, Nile tells her mom and brother about her immortality and what’s been going on since she died (within reason, of course), and they are thrilled. They don’t understand why (because no one does) but they don’t question it and they see it as a gift from God – she’s been resurrected, she will live, and she has a purpose. Her mother and brother are so happy to see her again and are willing to agree with pretty much anything to stay in her life as long as they can.

So. They set up some complicated agreement (they bring in the other three for support/intimidation as needed) setting the terms of their relationship. They swear Nile’s family to secrecy, maybe bringing up the lab to show how high the stakes are, and they readily agree. They come up with some cover story for Nile’s brother to share on the message boards (maybe that the government has opened an investigation but because it’s an open case he has to shut it all down? Tells people to direct their tips somewhere else? Something to that effect). There’s still speculation, of course, but without Nile’s brother at the helm providing the energy, the hype dies down as news stories are wont to do without any movement. And Nile’s family goes to work for the team. The experience has taught them that Copley can’t possibly do everything himself, especially when it comes to social media, so Nile’s brother takes the lead on the day-to-day tracking/social media while Copley and her mom focus on finding jobs and scrubbing their traces afterward.

So there you have it: Nile gets to integrate her biological family into her found family and spend the rest of their lives with them as it should be, Copley gets some badly needed help managing the reality of social media, the team finally has a positive narrative surrounding outsiders Knowing About Them AND about interacting with people from their previous life, and the audience gets the happy ending to this very lovely and very queer story to counteract the pain associated with Booker’s family.

Plus, you know, I’m a sucker for both a good government conspiracy theory and for Nile getting every good thing she deserves.

#the old guard #tog #tog fanfiction #tog meta #immortal family #nile freeman #mine #damn look at me contributing to a fandom! that’s new #pls reblog if you like this my self esteem could really use it #I just love nile so much and I’m being the nile-centric content I want to see in the world #it is just genuinely nuts to think abt how this situation would be perceived by anyone outside the narrative #she just mysteriously heals from a fatal injury and then VANISHES!!! this should be national fuckin news #also I do think there’s a major hole in the story when you think abt social media #like the only time it’s even hinted at is right at the very beginning when Andy erases that girl’s selfie #and the concept of fuckin Reddit is not even brought up despite Copley’s stalker board being analog Reddit #there’s just a lot of places one could go with this which is very much what we got here #1k

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plus-size-reader · 3 years ago

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Leverage

Magnus Bane x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2107 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Magnus taking a special interest in you, Clary's human best friend who resembles a lover Magnus had centuries ago

Just a concept I was tossing around. Let me know what you think and If I should work on a mini-series based on this

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“Just stay close and don’t say anything” Jace reminded, leading you and the rest of your party into Hardtail, his eyes focused on the surrounding crowd, constantly scanning for danger.

This whole thing should be easy.

All they had to do was find Magnus and get him to give Clary her memories back. All things considered, it should have been an in and out mission, something they had done a million times before.

...but they could never be too careful.

Especially considering that they had been forced to bring along some dead weight, in the form of you, as extra insurance.

Just in case the Warlock in question tried anything.

“This is a terrible idea” Alec grumbled, the words falling on mostly deaf ears, though by this point, even Clary was wondering if bringing you along had been the right call.

You were insistent, as soon as you found out that you could be of help but you weren’t blind. You knew that you were in over your head, heading into a downworlder bar with a couple of shadowhunters without any real idea what you were doing there.

Under any other circumstances, you would have turned tail and ran in the other direction, but this was for Clary.

If this ‘High Warlock of Brooklyn’ could give Clary her memories back, and help her figure out what their next step was, you were going to do anything you could to make that happen.

“We don’t even know if this will work-” he continued, earning an elbow to the side from Izzy, who knew exactly where he was going with that.

She knew what they should have already figured out, that once you found out why you were here, you were going to freak out for sure. After all, it wasn’t everyday that you found out that you bore a striking resemblance to someone else, long dead.

It wasn’t something you would be prepared to hear, so it would just be better if you could all get through this without you figuring out what you were actually doing here.

You took notice of the strange exchange between the Lightwoods but decided to ignore it.

The two of them were known to bicker, even to someone who had known them for a few short weeks, and you had more important matters at hand.

Like making sure you didn’t accidentally bump into a vampire or something as you made your way into the club.

“Keep your head down, and don’t go too far” Clary whispered, webbing her fingers with your own as you passed through the crowd, your grib unintentionally tightening as the reality of the situation set in.

Clary was built for this, it was in her blood, but you weren’t.

It wasn’t until you showed up to things like this that you realized just how far out of your depth that you were.

“I’m not going anywhere, trust me” you whispered back, focusing more on putting one foot in front of the other more than anything. Before now, you were sure that the correct answer to the question Jace asked you was yes.

Now that you were here though, you weren't so convinced.

You understood that getting Magnus to meet with you was a long shot in the first place, and you couldn't afford to mess it up, but you just weren’t sure why they needed you. Out of everyone here, you were the most out of place.

Anyone looking in on the scene in front of them would have seen just how much you didn’t belong. Not that anyone around you was all that concerned with you so far, all too focused on the music and lights.

As long as you did as you were told and kept your head down, everything would be fine.

All things considered, your job was easy.

You just had to stay out of the way, and hope that Jace and Alec didn’t need you for whatever it was they thought you could be useful for. Which could have been anything and you wouldn’t have known any better.

The Shadowhunters were so secretive, only telling you what they thought you needed to know, and even then, they always tended to leave out the important stuff.

It made working with them very difficult.

Still, you did what you were told and kept your head down, doing your best to blend in until something changed, which didn’t look like it was going to happen at first.

All in all, it looked to be a pretty standard conversation, though you couldn’t hear any of what they were saying from the distance you were at.

Of course, It wasn't until someone shot an arrow into some guy in the background that you realized just how wrong you were. Evidently, there had been an assassin in the crowd the entire time and no one noticed until Alec put him down.

Which, in turn, spooked the reclusive Warlock into nearly diving back into his wormhole.

He got his jewel, but from the looks on Jace and Clary’s faces, they didn’t get nearly as much as they were hoping for. The only thing that kept Magnus in place was the redhead’s grasp on his wrist, which likely wouldn’t be enough to hold him.

Clearly, they needed something else, which was exactly why they brought you.

You had inadvertently become the most important part of this mission just now, and that meant it was your time to shine, even if you didn’t exactly know what your part to play was.

Without missing a beat, Izzy shot over to whisper something in your ear, something that really didn’t seem like it would work. Though, by this point, you weren’t sure that you had any right to question any of the shadowhunters.

After all, you didn’t even know they existed until a couple weeks ago.

You shot Izzy one more questioning glance, just to make sure she was serious about this before she nodded, telling you to continue with the plan. If anything was going to get Magnus to stick around, it was this.

“Magnus, wait!” you called, doing your best to cut through all the noise that Alec’s arrow and subsequent murder had brought on, which worked surprisingly well.

As it would turn out, just because the Shadowhunters had neglected to tell you that you looked like the long lost love of his life didn’t mean that Magnus was going to. Even the sound of your voice was enough to ring alarms in his head.

He hadn’t heard that sound in so long.

Almost immediately, the Warlock spun around on his heels, his attention finding you immediately. It didn’t make sense, and there was no way that he could have explained it but there was no denying the truth.

Not when it was staring him right in the face.

It was you, and it didn’t matter how it had happened, not now. All he cared about in this moment was that you had come back to him, after all these years. . It was incredible, but even with as thrilled as Magnus was, staying here wasn’t safe. If Valentine managed to find him here, that meant that he likely already knew where the others were.

Every second he spent away was another second evil had to prevail.

Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t exactly trust the shadowhunters to tell him the truth. For all he knew, Magnus could have been looking at some glamour of sorts, and they were tricking him.

He was just having a hard time believing what he was looking at. After all this time, it didn't seem right to see you again.

“You always did like places like this” he hummed, that same far away look clouding his vision as had been this entire time.

No one had ever looked at you like that.

He was looking at you like the whole building could come crumbling down around you and it wouldn’t have mattered one bit. Like you had physically put the sun in the sky, and you barely knew who he was.

“I’ll be in touch”

...and with that, he was gone.

Though, the thought of walking away from you a second time was nearly enough to break his heart, he didn’t have a choice.

There would be no opportunity to talk to you if he was dead, besides, if they wanted to get Clary’s memories back, they were going to need his help.

“Who was he talking about? Who does Magnus Bane think I am?” you started, already asking all the questions that they should have seen coming but no one bothered to answer them.

They weren’t even sure they were going to need you when they asked you to tag along, and just because you had helped them out a little back there didn’t mean the Shadowhunters owed you anything.

You were still just some mundane.

The only reason you were still here was because of Clary, that and they needed you once Alec realized that they were going to have to meet up with Magnus in the first place.

Someone had to get him to agree to help.

“Don’t worry about it. All that matters is that he agreed to help us” Jace shrugged, ignoring you, which by this point was par for the course.

You were so tired of everyone acting like you weren’t here. .

“Come on. I did you a favor back there, can’t you at least tell me what I did?” you sighed, turning your attention to Izzy and Clary instead, because you already knew the males in your party couldn’t care less about what you’d done.

To them, you might as well not be here and you had come to terms with that. You just wanted to know who he thought you were, that was it.

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t even that big of a deal.

“The last partner Magnus had, she looked a lot like you” she allowed, recalling the photograph she’d seen, which might as well have been you a couple hundred years earlier.

You couldn’t believe it.

All this time, you were masquerading as someone else, someone that you didn’t even know existed, and everyone else knew all along.

It was ridiculous.

Though, before you could inform the surrounding Shadowhunters of just how ridiculous, Jace chimed in just enough to let you know that, even still, it wasn’t really your place to ask questions or have opinions.

“We were hoping to catch him off guard, we needed the upperhand” Jace shrugged, truly not seeing how wrong this whole thing was. Not only did they use you without bothering to tell you what was going on, but they exploited him too.

It wasn’t right.

“You should have told me!” you scoffed, thinking that at the very least someone would have had the decency to fill you in on the plan but it would appear that no one thought about that before now.

Jace didn’t even look all that interested in having this conversation at all.

“I would have helped even if you told me beforehand, you know? It would have just been nice to know what I was walking into” you continued, well aware that you were basically talking to yourself but not caring enough to stop.

You couldn’t be both the mundane they didn’t even care enough to address by name and a member of the team that they used when they needed help.

You could be one or the other, but not both, and certainly not at once.

“Well, now you know. Congratulations! Can we get going now?” Alec called, several paces ahead of all of you by now, and not stopping even still. He didn’t care at all about whatever little moral dilemma you were having.

He was much more interested in getting back to the institute before another assassin got the better of one of you.

“Thanks Alec, I appreciate that” you countered, not bothering to cover up the sarcasm flowing from your lips. If he could talk to you like that, there was no reason you couldn’t give it right back.

The truth was that it didn’t matter what they said or how much they pretended this wasn’t a big deal. What had happened back there with Magnus was a big deal, at least, it was a big deal for you.

After all, you just found out that you looked like some dead chick that was hooking up with one of the most powerful warlock’s of all time.

How was that not supposed to be a big deal?

#magnus bane #shadowhunters #magnus #the high warlock of brooklyn #magnus bane x reader #magnus bane x ps reader #magnus bane x plus size reader #magnus bane imagines #shadowhunters x reader #shadowhunters x ps reader #shadowhunters x plus size reader #shadowhunters imagine #magnus x reader #magnus x ps reader #magnus x plus size reader #magnus imagine

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glowingbadger · 3 years ago

Note

Hi it’s me, crawling through the window. Would it be possible to get a crumb of arranged marriage w/ Hubert? His line w/ Dorothea about being willing to get married for politics sake has fueled my brain rot for him.

Good God I need to secure my windows-

I mean HELLO FRIEND ANON YES IT WOULD BE MY PLEASURE

Lol actually though, I have been thinking about this for Hubie since we all started chatting about that arranged marriage stuff! I think it's a perfect concept for him~

This like... got weird while I was writing it though?? Idk man hahaha it ended up on the less-spicy side of what I usually write, and with some very weird dialogue in places... Idk, I hope y'all like it. Maybe if there's interest, I'll follow this up eventually with a more smut-focused piece?

I've been traveling and working so much lately that I just don't even know what writing is anymore or how it works hahaha

TW: A brief mention of non-con

Hubert (FE3H) x Reader ("wife," neutral pronouns)

Arranged Marriage - semi spicy i guess?

"Frankly, he's a pain," Linhardt must be able to see your surprise and confusion written across your face. He goes on, "He's reliable and capable, of course, but also the most persistent nag you'll ever meet. Actually, no-" he glances upward as though to cross reference his own thoughts, "No, her Majesty is worse. But Hubert is a close second to be sure. Always on and on about sleep schedules and proper nutrition and etiquette..." He sighs and closes the massive tome on his lap, as though to close the conversation with it, "frankly, he's an insufferable mother hen. Does that help?"

"Well, it's... Not what I expected," you admit with a shrug, "but thank you all the same."

It's been several weeks since the papers binding you in marriage to Hubert Von Vestra had been signed- and this alone had sufficed. No ceremony, no grand ball, just paperwork and a handshake with your father. A handshake that ensured that, even under the Empire's unification, he would maintain nominal control over his considerable portion of land, and in return, would swear absolute loyalty to her Majesty. It was a beneficial arrangement for all parties, and you were not ignorant to the part you played. You were hardly even a bargaining chip- moreso, a hostage.

Your new husband had made no secret of what manner of harm may befall you if your family were to renege on their deal. Fortunately, you know your father to be a reliable coward, so you have no reason to believe he would be bold enough to step out of line.

Hubert Von Vestra is a terrifying man. A zealously loyal man of storied cruelty and a frigid disposition. His frame looms over you whenever he's near, and though he's hardly placed a finger on you since you'd been given over to him, his mere presence is... arresting. There's a sort of charisma to him that's equal parts frightening and fascinating. Perhaps it's madness brought on by your circumstances, but you can't help wanting to glimpse just the slightest bit into that brilliant, ever churning mind.

Unsurprisingly, he has been resistant to your attempts to understand him. He hardly indulges you in small talk, and if you were the paranoid sort, you'd think he intentionally makes himself busy when you're around. Eventually, perhaps out of sheer stubbornness, you'd settled on a routine of bringing coffee to his study adjoined to your bedroom in the evenings. He'd been visibly surprised the first time. It wasn't until the fourth night that he'd given a curt "thank you." About two weeks in, he'd actually sat back in his chair and laid down his quill pen to receive the cup from your hands. After a month, he'd leveled his narrow gaze at you and said,

"I cannot begin to fathom what satisfaction you glean from playing 'maid' to me."

"Well, I, uhm," you hadn't expected him to address you so directly, but you managed to say, "You... work so hard, I wanted to do something for you, I suppose."

His expression is inscrutable as he replies,

"You are aware that my work was much the same before you arrived."

"I am," you say softly, "But- all the same..." you trail off, and Hubert seems content to let the matter rest. And so you leave him be amidst his reports and correspondence, coffee at his side on the desk. Yet for as unproductive as your exchange might have seemed, it does leave you with an idea. The thought to learn about the man from those who knew him long before your arrival at the capitol.

Your investigation into the true character of your husband does not stop with Linhardt. In fact, his testimony only leaves you with further questions. But perhaps the others would say otherwise; perhaps the United Empire's most up and coming crest scholar simply inspires maternal behavior. This has to be the case- you simply can't imagine that the notoriously ruthless heir of the even more notorious Vestra lineage would be so... Doting.

And yet the more you learn of him, the more contradictory he seems.

Caspar's take is much like Linhardt's- a picture of a man far closer to a school marm than any assassin or master of torture. Ferdinand seems both smitten and incensed by him, oscillating wildly between the two. Then eventually, to your shock, Bernadetta takes the initiative to speak to you about Hubert of her own accord.

"I'm, uh, really so-sorry to bother you!" she approaches with arms drawn close to her chest and eyes resolutely avoiding yours, "I- I just heard that you were... asking about Hubert, so, I, uh..."

It takes some time to prompt her further. You assure her again and again- no, this isn't intrusive at all- yes, you'd very much like to hear her perspective- no, you're not mad at her. In truth, you're endlessly intrigued about what a gentle soul like Bernadetta would have to say about a man feared across the continent. Finally, she manages,

"He's... actually really kind!" she blurts out, as though the words would abandon her if she gave them the window of opportunity. Your eyebrows raise slightly.

"You think so..?"

"Yes, completely-!" she stammers, "I know he's super, super scary, and powerful and spooky and cold and, uh, all of that. But still," her voice falters as she continues, "He only scolds people when they do something dangerous. And he only hurts people to protect others. I... I know he's done some te-terrible things. But... he's always been nice to Bernie," finally, she meets your eyes with an imploring look in hers, "So, uh, I'm really grateful to him. And I think it would be really nice for someone to reach out to him. If... if that's not too weird or anything. For you."

You smile warmly and nod,

"Thank you, Bernadetta. I know it can't be easy for you to come to me with all of this, but... I'd like to try, if I can."

The opportunity doesn't come in the way you expect.

At first, it seems the night will proceed like many others before. You bring a cup of coffee to your husband's desk, setting it down quietly so as to not disturb him. He's silent, but this is common enough, so you head back to the bedroom to undress for the evening. All nights prior, he would lay beside you long after you'd settled in, then rise to resume work in the morning before you woke up- all the while never allowing your bodies to interact in any way.

Tonight, just as you're about to close the door to Hubert's study behind you, long fingers catch around your wrist, visibly startling you.

It's the most physical contact you've had to-date, but he only says,

"One moment."

You whip around to face him, a touch of anxiety evident in your eyes. It's clear in his own that he notices, but if anything, he only seems amused. He steps forward, his taller frame menacing you as he speaks,

"I understand that you have been busying yourself with some manner of investigation as of late."

It takes a moment for his meaning to reach you. When it does, your face burns and you can't bring yourself to meet his scrutinizing gaze,

"Oh, uhm..."

"I assure you, my dearest wife," he says with barely concealed venom, "anything that I do not wish for you to know will be kept from you. Aside from which, your efforts thus far have proven amateurish at best."

Something seems off about his tone. You could understand if he felt uncomfortable or hesitant about your efforts to learn about him, but this seems far more grave, more... business-like. He steps towards you once more, and you step back in turn. Yet before long, you feel your legs bump the edge of the bed. A gloved hand trails a fingertip down your jawline to your chin, then urges you to look up at him.

"Whatever you are planning, my dear, I promise it will be fruitless. You had best rethink how you spend your days before your actions bring you to harm."

"No, I-" your brow creases deeply, your face burns, your body burns hotter and you don't want to consider why, "I've just been trying to learn about you as a person, nothing else. We're- we're married, after all, so..."

He gives an abrupt, dry laugh.

"Ah, so I am to believe that you've been interrogating my allies out of some misguided affection, is that it?"

"Hubert, just listen to me!" for a moment, you feel bolstered, defiant, and you straighten your posture, "You won't tell me the first thing about you- the only way to learn so much as your favorite color is to ask someone who's known you for a decade!"

Briefly, he does seem to consider your words. But his eventual reply is as aloof as any prior,

"If you're no spy or politician, then you're worse- a fool." he says, and before you can respond, he's seized both of your wrists and pushed you back onto the bed. For a moment, the room spins and your voice leaves you. A shrewd eye watches you with cruel condescension as he pins you against the sheets.

"I should think that you'd be well aware what I'm capable of," he nearly whispers, "I personally ensured that the rumors spread through your father's territory and further still. Do you think that anyone would even dare lift a finger to help you if I chose to seek retribution for this recent behavior?" He draws nearer, his grip tighter at your wrists, "Perhaps as punishment, I'll simply take my pleasure from you by force."

Your lips tighten, you take a breath. Then, meeting his gaze directly, you reply,

"You won't."

His visible eye narrows.

"And what evidence do you have to prompt such unfounded confidence? Perhaps you have crafted a flattering falsehood of me in your mind," a mocking smirk curls his lips, "Am I a misunderstood sentimental sort to you, then? A sad, lonely man for you to save?"

You scowl, though you suspect it looks more like a pout to him.

"I don't know what I think of you yet- not completely. But I don't pity you like that, and I don't think you're sad or lonely. I know you're not."

For the first time, it seems that you've caught him off guard. That frigid mask falters for just a moment, and you go on before he can replace it,

"You're surrounded by people who care about you. I've seen it for myself. Whatever you've had to do in the service of your ideals- it hasn't kept the people around you from wanting to know and understand you, even if it's despite you."

Hubert is silent for a moment. His gaze bores into you like he thinks he'll discover some hidden layer if he can just keep digging. Then, he sighs,

"How did I ever become bound to such a troublesome spouse..."

When you wrest your arms from his grasp, his hands fall away with little resistance, and you think that perhaps he had never truly intended to keep you in place by force to begin with. He moves to leave the bed, but your fists find the front of his clothing and tug him back down to you.

You press your lips to his without hesitation, and you can feel him inhale sharply, his entire body rigid above you. His lips are surprisingly soft, his scent like coffee and old parchment, and though your heart threatens to burst from your chest, you hold firmly to him by his clothes. Near imperceptibly, he leans down against you, and your fear, along with any remaining doubts, begin to dissolve. Knowing he won't pull away, you let your hands relax against him, running up his chest where you can feel his own pulse pounding. It's so human, so entirely reasonable and normal. Now, at last, Hubert Von Vestra is merely a man of flesh and bone.

Your tongue meets his naturally, your lips parting in time with his as your kiss deepens to a fevered pace. One hand reaches that sharp, handsome jawline, reveling in the erotic sensation of his mouth moving against yours. And yet, all the while, his hands remain staunchly on the bed beside you. He doesn't touch you- doesn't even let his body meet yours.

It's impossible to tell whether passion or madness drives you to bring your teeth to his lower lip, a single insistent bite communicating desire mounting faster than you can contain. And for a moment, you sense something new; a sound catches in Hubert's throat, a reaction he fights to stifle. Then, he pulls away. His pale skin is tinted a rare shade of pink, and his hair is ruffled out of place enough to reveal both narrowed eyes. His cloak has spilled around his frame to surround you both, and somewhere in your frazzled mind, you imagine that you're caught in some beautiful, velvet-lined trap.

"I- must... return to my work." Hubert says stiffly. He pushes up from you and turns away, leaving you still flustered on the bed behind him. You sit upright, holding your arms tight around your body as you watch him straighten his hair and clothes.

"You, uhm..." your face reddens still as you search for the right words, "you could... join me in bed, if you liked."

Hubert turns to the door of his study, speaking without daring to even glance your way,

"Anything that you offer to me now will be born from the impulse to survive. I have been bargained with before." His shoulders slack just slightly, his voice low and sober, "The proudest nobleman will even sell off his own child to a monster if he feels it will spare him its teeth."

You open your mouth to protest, then shut it without a word. You feel that you know your mind and heart, even in this moment, but you lack the words to convince a man like this. In a feeble attempt, you murmur,

"You don't frighten me, Hubert. Not anymore."

He half turns toward you, though his hand remains on the handle of his study door.

"You yourself said that you do not know what you think of me," he says, "As such, I will not lay a hand on you until the day that you do."

You stare down at your hands in your lap, barely registering the sound of the door clicking shut as he leaves you in the bedroom. No matter how you try to sort out your tangled thoughts, the memory of his lips on yours won't leave them. If anything, it eclipses any sense of reason, standing resolutely in the way of your path to clarity. Letting out a groaning sigh, you fall onto your back on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as if it could offer you any advice.

What do I think about my own husband? You wonder, the thought nearly enough to make you laugh. Well for one, he's a pain.

#hubert von vestra #hubert x reader #fire emblem #feh #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem imagines #fire emblem fic #x reader

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flying-nimbus-cloud · 4 years ago

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Aight Peter Maximoff stans, I want to point out some plot holes and unanswered questions about "Ralph Bohner"

WandaVision Spoilers:

(I am in currently listening to Sweet Dreams/80s music while writing this very drunk, determined and in immense denial. 😁🤘)

(Pls read, my drunk smol brain worked hard on dis 😘👉👈)

Ralphs name. Why doesn't Ralph Bohner have a hex name and a real name? Unless "Pietro" was essentially his hex name. But I truly believe that Wanda unintentionally or otherwise wouldn't name some random civilian "Pietro", right? Like how Sarah was named Dottie at random, wouldn't that be the case for Ralph also? From what was shown it made it out to seem he's called Ralph Bohner in and out of the hex.

From episode 1-5 Agatha spoke about Ralph like he was her husband for some reason. Why did he only appear in episode 5 if she had Ralph under her control to use to her benefit from the very beginning? It's just odd.

Agatha's abilities. Agataha had shown Wanda that can perform illusions(like how she turned a bug into a bird). So... why didn't she make Ralph look like Wandas brother if she can make illusions? Especially after going through the trouble of picking a guy that acts nothing like Wandas brother and giving him powers? Agathas power scale confuses me so much.

Why did Wanda recognize Ralph Bohner when he showed up at her door? The explanation "Cause magic" would feel so cheap. I seriously don't understand this. Wanda despite her fragile mindset would be like, "Who are you? You don't look like my brother. You don't act like him. He's dead(Wanda definitely knows that internally.) The only thing you both have in common is the superpowers. Y'all move fast." Now if it was Peter Maximoff from another universe I'd assume that Wanda can sense he's her sort-of brother but not really. Almost like somethings a little off....at least that's what I thought, but nope. He's a random person apparently, so there isn't that instinctual connection. So then why the recognition at all?

The alarm. In episode 5 right when Ralph appears at Wandas door some random ass alarm goes off at Swords base outside the hex. Why?? Peter Maximoff fans and myself thought that was him possibly entering the hex somehow. But apparently not...so what was that exactly?? Of course that was never explained.

Ralphs superspeed. So, y'all telling me that Agatha had not only forcibly put a necklace on Ralph to control him to be her "eyes and ears" BUT ALSO gave him LITERAL superpowers?? All of that is completely glossed over. Mf at Marvel will probably say, "Cause Magic" smh.

Jimmys missing guy. There's unfortunately a lot to debunk this theory, but I could still see it being a possibility. Jimmy along with Monica and Darcy all saw the TV when Ralph was on it, but Jimmy never said a word. An interesting point though is the fact that this witness protection person was never brought up again, which is really fucking weird. More shit left unanswered. Could it be "Ralph"? We don't know.

The house. Ralph Bohner is supposedly a struggling actor. At least that's the explanation many have said is the reason as to why he has a random headshot of himself laying about his man cave. But then how does he live in that big ass family home? Plus that house ain't actually Agathas, she came into WestView looking for Wanda to find answers about the hex. That wasn't originally her house. With Ralph looking like the broke ass himbo he is...how could he afford to live there if he supposedly lived as a civilian in that town to begin with??? Make this make sense lol.

Ralph chuckled at his name. Aight aight I know this is a stretch, but hear me out; If you had a dumbass name that sounded weird, you'd probably be used to people making fun of it or saying it wrong, right? You'd maybe even get tired of hearing the silly name your entire life. But when Monica said Ralphs name, he chuckled like one would at their silly fake name and not their real name. That's at least how my dumbass would react to someone saying a funny name I choose for myself. And honestly "Ralph Bohner" truly sounds like a name that Peter would choose lol. Unless WandaVisions writing team said, "Evan, we want you to laugh at your name like you've never heard anyone pronounce Bohner like Boner before." Or maybe Ralph didn't know his own name because he was under Agathas control still...or something.

Why "Ralph Bohner"? K so lets just say we all accept that they stunt casted Evan Peters and he is and always will be a nobody named Ralph Bohner. Marvel knew- no, knows that fans of Evan Peters Quicksilver and the X-Men would get hyped up bout him when they made that glorious reveal in episode 5. So they really dragged that expectation out for 3 weeks, to leave it off on a dick joke? Nah, Marvel/Disney can't be that stupid right?....right?

They gave us some hope and hefty amount of evidence(that isn't listed all here) that Ralph could be Peter Maximoff because of some Multiverse shenanigans....

But then they left it like...this?

Tis very strange of Marvel to think people wouldn't notice how they kinda, sorta baited fans if left like this.

I literally had no crazy theories for this entire show, everything Marvel I take with stride with almost zero expectations...then my boy Evan Peters showed up and my ass finally had some hope to see my comfort character make an appearance in the MCU...which ironically ended in a dick joke. The universe said, "Nah fam, you can't hope for shit lol 🤡"

Anyways, I'd like if this could give some evidence to those still willing to believe that Ralph Bohner is Peter Maximoff. With so many unanswered questions and plot holes with his character, it just feels wrong for him to be nobody...y'know?

Also I'm sorry if this gives you false hope lol.

Love y'all, Peter Maximoff stans are sweet as heck. 💕

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the-witty-pen-name · 4 years ago

Text

The Nanny Pt. 3

Lee Bodecker x Nanny!F!Reader

18+

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: alcohol/drinking, food, corrupt cop, mentions of prostitution/smut, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s), cursing, mentions of serial killers/murder, mutual pining,

Summary:

Based on this Request: The reader moves to Meade/Knockemstiff while answering an advertisement for a nanny in the paper. We learn that the ad was posted by Sandy, who has the reader watch her child whenever she and Carl leave to do their secret thing. After one of these trips, Sandy and her husband never return, so the reader is left caring for their baby. With the new investigation into these events, she meets Sandy’s brother Lee, the older, out of shape, alcoholic bachelor, and they are suddenly thrown into each others lives as he begins looking into his sister’s disappearance. Through it all, Lee starts to fall for her, and they slowly become a family.

A/N: I got inspired re-watching one of my favorite shows and I want to know if anyone else gets the reference I’m using! If I missed anything I should include as a warning that I missed please let me know! This is also unedited!

Taglist Form is in my bio!

Series Masterlist

Your shoulders tensed listening to the radio in the morning. Sitting on your ottoman, you were painting your nails, using the coffee table as your nail station. It was a really bright morning, and you had the curtains pulled open to draw in light. Julie frantically rushed between her room and the bathroom getting ready for her shift at the diner. The newest single from The Beach Boys was playing through the little counter top radio, but at the top of the hour, the melodies playing through the speaker changed to the news. The top story of the morning was chilling.

“Jules,” you said, calling her over hesitantly, putting the cap back on the bottle of polish. “Come listen to this.”

She scurried out of her room while working to tie her apron in the back, and then she stood next to where you sat to listen to the story on the news. The color drained from her face as you both listened to the reporter describe the horrific scene that was under investigation early this morning.

Roy Laferty was an evangelical preacher whose body washed up by the lake very early that same morning. The news report talked about the police investigation, and also disclosed his wife Helen, is also reported missing. They are looking into the disappearance of Helen, as well as opening a full investigation on Laferty’s murder. They also urge individuals with any information regarding the two to call the Sheriff’s department and to provide a statement.

“That’s horrifying,” you mumble, shocked as you try to process the news. Julie nods in agreement but strangely doesn’t seem nearly as affected by the news as you.

“It’s happening again,” she mutters, obviously concerned but her lack of surprise worries you.

“What do you mean again?” you ask.

“There was a string of unexplained murders, all men, like this newest one,” Julie explained, “This was all over the news like two years ago- can’t believe you hadn’t heard about it.” All you could do was shrug; this was all new to you. “Obviously, there was nothing linking their deaths, but there were these five killings a couple of years ago that are still unsolved. There’s no evidence, but the town rumors it was like a serial killer or something. Nothing is confirmed, of course, just a story.”

“What makes people think it was all the same person?” you ask, hesitantly.

“All the people were always the same type,” she shrugs, “Men all in their 20s and 30s. Again, there’s nothing linking them all together. It’s just talk.”

You clicked off the radio, and didn’t know what to do with yourself. Julie patted your shoulder, comfortingly but she had to go on with her day. So did you, and you almost her ability to move about the apartment almost unfazed by the news. You suppose it makes sense, her growing up here she’s probably used to it. You didn’t have the experience or the thick skin she had.

You had decided to go to the library, still preoccupied by the news segment as well as the things Julie had told you about the Sheriff. You spent the better half of the morning looking at the library’s archives of old newspapers. You wanted to read more about the unsolved cases Julie had told you about, so there you sat for several hours looking through the microfilm reader. You even stumbled upon articles that featured the Sheriff.

There he was plain as day on the front page when it was announced he had won the election the first time he ran several years back. You couldn’t help but notice the changes in his appearance and demeanor compared to the man you keep running into. He was a little slimmer, and he looked a lot happier, a little fuller of life, you decided was a good way to explain it. His smile was wider, and you could see the difference in his eyes as well. It was seeing how he was before the stress of the job began to take its heavy toll. He had on the same leather jacket as well, you were fairly certain, even though the one in the photograph hung a little looser.

You continued to skim through articles, piecing your way through the history of Knockemstiff. Little articles in black and white that persevered the history of this dark little town. You were beginning to realize this backwater town was a lot more tangled and complex than you originally believed. It was a tangled history, riddled with crime and unclosed cases, that people seem to have either forgotten or choose to ignore for their own sake. Your mind wandered back to the things Julie had told you about the Sheriff and him being corrupt. You wonder how much of what you read about linked back to him. Though you imagine if he has any sort of political connection, which a man like him must have, the things he was involved in probably didn’t even make it into the paper. The thought made you physically shiver.

You put the large leather portfolios of archives you took and put them back into their proper place on the self chronologically. You grabbed your sweater from the back of your chair, and pushed the chair back into place. Looking up at the clock on the wall, it was only just one in the afternoon. You decided to head down to the diner and grab a bite, and also visit Julie during her second shift. It was a short walk from the library to the diner. Everywhere felt like a short walk here, probably because everything in downtown was not much bigger than a few blocks. The majority of people lived far from the center of town, on their own land and farms.

The little bell on the door rang when you stepped in and Julie waved at you from behind the counter and pointed for you to grab an empty table in her section. You put your bag on the table and took a seat. It was a fairly busy time, most people who worked at the surrounding businesses coming in for their lunch break. Julie brought you over a coffee and then said she’d be back to chat when she got to take her five.

Lee hadn’t been able to go home since the phone call. The symptoms of his hangover were worsening and he was growing more irritable. His five o’clock shadow was still evident on his tired face and his head was pounding. He tried his best to just power through it but the sound of anyone trying to talk to him just made his ears ring.

After leaving the scene, he had to stop by his office and then he was on the phone for the better part of an hour fielding calls from frantic citizens not only of Knockemstiff but also Meade, where Laferty was from. Despite how horribly he felt, he tried his best to keep his temper level and just reassure people he had things under control. He was losing his patience.

He opened up his desk drawer and grabbed his bottle of asprin. Empty. He threw it into the small waste bin and got up abruptly grabbing his jacket off the hook and storming out. He didn’t tell anyone he was leaving and he didn’t care. It was a short walk to the drugstore from the station and he wouldn’t be five minutes. He just needed to do something to stop his head from hurting.

“Afternoon, Sheriff,” the pharmacist greeted when he walked in. He nodded his head upwards briefly to reply without having to talk. He just needed to get in and out. She went back to whatever she was working on when he came in, and he browsed the aisles for what he needed. After paying and walking out, he glanced in the direction of the diner when he was crossing the street. There you were, again. Sitting alone and chatting with the waitress that was refilling your coffee.

He let out a heavy sigh, and then continued walking. He didn’t want you to see him like this, hungover, unshaved, wrinkled uniform and heavy undereye bags from his lack of sleep. You looked- well, Lee thought you were the prettiest thing he’s seen in a while, maybe ever. There was something about you he couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe it was just because you weren’t from here. You were a fresh face, and not ruined by this town. There was a sweetness and an innocence in how you talked to him, because you didn’t know him like the rest of people here did. He liked that.

Even when he left the station for the day, he couldn’t even go home yet. He had a meeting at the bar with one of Brown’s lackeys. He was just supposed to collect his cut so he couldn’t imagine it would take long, but he was still annoyed. Stepping into the bar he looked around as he took off his hat. It was a little more crowded tonight then when he was here last. The red curtain was closed and his eyes lingered there for a moment before directing his attention to the man he recognized who was waving him over.

“Sheriff,” the man greets and Lee slides into the booth across from him.

“Hayward,” he replies. Without even needing to order, the bartender comes over bringing them a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

“You ever go back there?” Hayward asks, watching as a girl came out and brought a man behind the curtain who had been waiting at the bar.

“No,” Lee scoffs.

“They are amazing,” Hayward says, almost giddy. Lee feels sympathy towards the poor woman who had to take care of him. Lee doesn’t acknowledge the statement and just empties his glass and begins to pour himself a second.

“So, my cut?” Lee asks. Hayward frowns and goes into the breast pocket of his sports coat and pulls out an envelope of cash.

“You aren’t getting full,” the man says when Lee cocks a brow at the thinness of the envelope.

“Still?” Lee asks, pissed. Hayward nods. Lee’s jaw clenches.

“You didn’t keep things tidy on your end,” Hayward reminds him, “You got one job. Keep the cops out of our territory. We had two cruisers drive through last week. The only reason you’re getting anything at all is cause you managed to keep your people off us when we did the exchange with Deckard’s crew.”

The man finishes his drink, and then slaps the empty glass on the table. He pulls out his own envelope, which is much thicker than Lee’s and drops down more than enough for the drinks. He chuckles condescendingly and tells the Sheriff to get a dance. Fuck that. Lee takes the extra money and plans to just put it right in his pocket and go home. He finishes his third scotch and suddenly his headache was back. He felt worse than he did earlier today.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” a feminine voice asks, making him break his line of thought. He looks to his side and he recognizes her as one of the girls he sees bringing men to the back room, behind the velvet curtain. He shakes his head, and instead of leaving him alone, she slides into the booth next to him. Her hand grazes over his thigh. “You seem awful tense, Sheriff,” she says and then bites her lip.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. He knows she doesn’t actually want him, and it’s just an attempt to get him to spend money in the backroom. If he doesn’t focus his already hazing vision, maybe she could vaguely remind him of you. He can’t do it, but he wants to. Her hand moves up his leg and he pulls away. He adjusts his pants and she shrugs.

“Maybe next time then,” she winks before walking away. He rests his head back on the vinyl seat and sighs. He grabs his hat and jacket, leaving before he changes his mind. “Ask for Cherry when you come in, yeah?” she calls when he walks out.

You are just everywhere. You’re in his head and he doesn’t even know you. He needs to sleep, desperately, and part of him in the back of his mind hopes you’ll be there. When he wakes up, he doesn’t remember.

“Have you heard about the Church fundraiser coming up?” Julie asks. You shake your head. “It’s a pretty big deal here. Everyone participates.”

“What is it?” you ask, kicking off your slippers so you can sit crisscross on the couch.

“Bid-On-A-Basket,” she says casually, like it’s the most obvious thing.

“Never heard of it,” you reply, “It sounds fun. What is it?”

“All us single gals put together a picnic basket with everything for a lunch,” she explains, “and then all the eligible bachelors bid on the basket and a date with the girl who made it. Last year, the dreamiest guy, Bill Whittier, bought mine- it’s so fun. Me and Bill didn’t work out but it was a good time.”

“I don’t know anyone here,” you say hesitantly.

“Perfect way to get a date then,” she teases. You bite your lip. You aren’t sure about this.

“And what if some creep is the highest bidder?” you counter.

“You get a bad date story for your next date?” she poses. “Please,” she begs, “It’s for a good cause, all the money this year is going to help the Sunday school.”

“What if no one bids on it?” You rebut.

“Look at yourself,” she scoffs, “you’ll get bids. Trust me.” You roll your eyes.

“I’ll think about it,” you say finally. She smirks, completely planning to wear you down.

“Remember it’s for the kids,” she reasons, “It wouldn’t hurt to go and participate.”

“I said I’ll think about it,” you laugh.

Time passes and soon enough you get another call from Sandy, and you are suddenly back to taking care of Valerie. You had missed her, a lot actually. You definitely have gotten attached to her, and you think you’ve grown on her too. Sandy was vague this time for how long they’d be gone, but since the previous time went so smoothly, you didn’t worry about it.

About a week after Sandy and Carl left this time, there was another disturbing news report. You were sitting on the floor, changing Valerie and you had the television playing softly in the background. The news told the story of another body, this time found in the woods off of the highway. You finish changing the baby and hold her close, her little chin resting on your shoulder as you watch the news story. It was just like Julie had talked about. Another man, thirty years old. He was shot and his body abandoned. You jump at the knock at the front door.

You peep through the curtains, and you see the Sheriff waiting on the front porch. You wonder if he knows you’re there. Part of you almost wishes he knows it you here and he wanted to see you. It’s incredibly stupid on your part and you know better, but nonetheless, part of you hoped he came here for you. Very stupid. With Valerie on your hip, you open the door.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he says walking into the house. He stops in front of you and presses a kiss to Valerie’s forehead and she squeals happily seeing Lee. You close the door with your foot. “May I?” he asks, and opens his arms. You agree, based on Valerie’s reactions to him whenever she sees him. He takes her in his arms, and she starts playing with his tie. He loosens it so she can play with it and not choke him.

“What can I do for you, Sheriff?” you ask. He reacts in a way in a way you can’t really read, but you don’t press.

His mind just goes back to the woman a couple weeks back in the brothel who asked him the same thing, and that his mind immediately had gone to you. He just clears his throat and snaps himself out of that thought process.

“Um, I just came by to see Sandy,” he says, “But I can fathom a guess that she’s not here?”

“Excellent deduction,” you joke, and he smirks. Valerie has his tie in her mouth and is covering it in drool. He doesn’t even seem to care.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you nod. “You looked a little scared when you answered.”

“Just watching the news before you showed up is all,” you explain, “They were talking about how there was another man found dead.”

“Ain’t got nothing to worry about,” he says, “We’re on top of it. I’m on my way over there now.”

“Can I ask you something?” you ask hesitantly.

“Of course, darling.”

“My friend, you probably know her- Julie Grady.”

“Yeah, nice kid,” he says, listening but gently pulling his tie from Valerie’s grasp. She starts playing with the flap of the pocket of his jacket.

Kid. You almost grimace. That’s right. Of course, Lee would view someone your age that way. You weren’t. You chastise yourself for even caring, but you decide to continue. You shouldn’t care how he sees you.

“Yeah- well, she told me there have been others,” you continue, “I also read up about it, just the newspapers at the library- but she said people thought it was some kind of serial killer… I just, I want to know what you think.”

“I don’t think know,” he answers honestly, a little taken aback, not expecting you to approach him with something this serious. “I doubt it,” he explains, “Serial killers stay close to home. Now those cases you read about, and these two we are looking at- they sound close together but logistically, they aren’t really. Two of those unsolved were in completely different states- just like this new one.”

“So, no traveling serial killer?” you chuckle, trying to sound lighthearted. He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Most people like that stay in one area,” Lee explains, “They work jobs, they have a home, you know? They tend to stay near where they live.”

“That makes me feel much better,” you answer honestly.

“You got nothing to worry about, and that’s a promise,” he grins, although he supposes coming from him that probably doesn’t mean much. Regardless, it makes you smile.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” you offer again. He bites his lip, taking a moment to think.

“Sandy keeps a bag of candy in her cabinet,” he says, walking into the kitchen with you following close behind. He passes Valerie off to you and he chuckles under his breath at the state of his tie. He reaches up in the cabinet and pulls down a brown paper bag, filled with taffies and chocolates.

Something about this man who has a whole time scared of him playing with his niece and then stealing sweets from the cupboard is something you find so strangely endearing. He unwraps one of the brightly colored taffies and then puts the bag in his pocket.

“I gotta go,” he announces, “let me know if you hear from Sandy, yeah?”

“Of course,” you reply.

“Gonna head out to that scene, and do my report,” he discloses, not really sure why he’s telling you. “Then I have a meeting at the rectory about that fundraiser thing. Figure out security.”

“They need security at Bid-On-A-Basket?” you ask, with an eyebrow raised. He smiles.

“You going?” he asks, flirtatiously.

“Just seems weird to have police at a Church thing.”

“There’s been stupid fights,” he shrugs, “some guy will get outbid and cause a fuss. Nothing serious. Probably just gonna be me and a deputy in case. You going?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” you say sheepishly. “Why?”

He walks towards the front door, and you follow seeing him out.

“Cause I gotta know if I’ll be bidding on a basket,” he winks.

“You gonna start a fight if you don’t win it?” you joke.

“If it’s yours? Absolutely, darling.”

Taglist:

@adelaide-walker @thedepressolit @samanthadegaro @pyronack @greeneyedblondie44 @acciosiriusblack @weenersoldierr @teenagemutant @witchybarb @iraot @my-love-darling @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @swiftieandthewintersoldier @letsfly-andbe-free @rebekahdawkins @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan @hersilencedscreams @unsaltedalmonds @dangerdolns @vintagepigeon @bluebouquetcupcake29 @goslytherin @captainofallfandoms @buckistan @aynanasstuff @everything-is-all-clear @rosalynshields @tinynshykitten

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker imagine #lee bodecker fic #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x you #the devil all the time #sebastian stan characters #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker x f!reader #lee bodecker smut #slow burn #mystery #lee bodecker oneshot

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hmspogue · 3 years ago

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Outer Banks season 2 Official Trailer shot-by-shot rundown

A comprehensive post where I scream about analyze the entire trailer frame by frame for clues, theories, and plot. Just my own opinions and general tin foil-hatting

These are screenshots from Netflix’s trailer for Outer Banks season 2. I do not claim or own any of these.

note: this post is tagged as a long post if you wish to avoid having to scroll until your thumbs break.

“My old man used to tell me, ‘it’s best to never say you’ve hit rock bottom’.”

(Putting all of these shots together since they’re scenes we already know but-) Holy shit, okay let’s just....start off like this I guess, damn.

“'Trust me’, he said...”

Kiara looking back and forth between the boys like this really just feeds the headcanon I have that her form of grief this season is going to be her trying to hold it together for their sakes (and eventually just snapping).

JJ just looks fucking furious someone give these kids a hug? I already know this scene is going to ruin me.

“You can always go...”

JJ back working at the hotel. He looks literally so angry again in this scene I could see him self destructing at work and losing his job? (Please do not be isolating yourself you beautiful son of a bitch even though I know you’re going to).

Pope in the Twinkie (costuming wise they all are in warmer looking clothes for some of the shots, so just confirming it’s a little bit into the school year when this all takes place).

“Lower”

Big John was real big into pep talks, I see. (seriously can you imagine Big John having this conversation with like 8 year old John B after he fucking dropped his ice cream cone or some shit I shouldn’t be laughing).

I’m just-

These poor kids, I wanna know how the police all the way down in the Bahama’s knew about them?

Their calves....

“RUN!”

Are going to be so fucking jacked by the end of this season I stg.

Fuck you.

“The gold from the Royal Merchant....it’s here.”

For a while, I had thought that maybe they didn’t even make it to the Bahama’s at the front of the season and ended there (because everyone had been filming in there). But I guess they’re going to be making two trips.

If I were a bird from this POV I’d shit right on that house no questions asked.

oooooh ho hokay. Just so we’re clear. Ward Cameron not only get away with murder and about two dozen other felonies, but-

“Half a billion.”

HE STILL FINDS THE GOLD IN THE CRAIN HOUSE AND GETS TO KEEP IT?

Not the polo with the snap back, I just know this man has a playlist called Sad Boi Hours that is just Juice WRLD’s top 5 songs on Spotify and he tells his friends they wouldn’t know the underground artists he listens to.

Sh, you have lost screaming privileges. Go inside and take a nap maybe.

“John B, we are fugitives in a foreign country.”

So, previously, I was talking about how I was confused how they would still be trying to find him is everyone thought he was dead, but here the wanted poster clearly says “presumed lost at sea”. I think that will be interesting to see how the Pogues all interpret that.

Especially because they already had a memorial for John B and everything, I wonder if there will be any part of the Pogues holding out hope that they both could still be out there OUCH.

I’m going to circle back to this, but it looks like John B and Sarah are going to get separated for a little while in this man hunt, I could see my idiot himbo son trying to sacrifice himself so Sarah can get away but in reality just....stranding her.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid?”

Oh, sweetie....

“Well, Sarah Cameron, I do stupid things all the time without realizing it.”

The volume of his self awareness is astronomical. sir, that is your whole character summed up in your own words.

GOD, IT’S ME AGAIN. PLEASE LET THEM LEAN INTO COMPLETE HIMBO JOHN B THIS SEASON I’LL DO ANYTHING-

nyyooooOOOOOOOOOOOOM-

“Hold on!”

The complete abject terror I would feel having John Booker Routledge driving get-away and then saying the words “Hold on” while reaching fro the gear shift? The english language fails me.

Sarah, bestie, I’m so sorry.

I just wanna know-

what the plan or objective was in this situation. What was the reason for being this dramatic.

Rest in piss, bozo <3

“Ward’s still out there...”

Okay, same conversation they were having as before. I wonder what makes them decide they need to get back to the OBX for this tho.

“I can clear my name. This can all be over in one shot.”

It looks like Topper watching this but way more concerningly, correct me if I’m wrong but this 100% looks like....John B gets caught. And the DEATH PENALTY?! He did have a mug shot for the fliers in s1 and the one above but he was never brought in? Plus he just looks super dirty and dishevled in this one so I-

Jail break anyone?

I also still want to know if they’re going to go with a Topper redemption arc this season. like, does he know more than he should just from being around Rafe and his big fat mouth? Is he going to help out the Pogues even if it’s just for Sarah?

This shot just suddenly made me really sad. The thought of this all started because Big John left one last thing for his son to find, his literal life’s work. And when it all started, it was just a fun adventure John B and his best friends were going on together and having fun with. Then it all got dragged to absolute shit and turned into what it did, including the remaining 3 Pogues thinking that this treasure hunt took their two best friends away from them. And it’s nothing like Big John intended it to be.

Why my eyes wet?

Now we’re edging into what I was talking about earlier with John B and Sarah getting separated.

“If you think there is anything I wouldn’t do...”

Once again, John B is no where to be found. Also, just in case y’all didn’t already know or forgot Ward is an actual psychopath.

I believe this one of the new character, played by Jontavious Johnson (Stubbs). Based on the voice over it lowkey sounds like they’re implying Ward maybe hired Stubbs and Cleo to find and bring Sarah back. My theory would be I bet they do go to retrieve her, but she somehow convinces them that it would be more beneficial for them in the end to be on the Pogue’s side instead.

Miss Girl you gotta be keeping your head on a SWIVEL. Especially when you’re a FUGITIVE of the LAW-

“...you haven’t been paying attention.”

My guy, who are you clarifying this for?

It’s what you deserve for monologuing.

in all seriousness, the idea of them coming to face to face with Ward in Nassau after thinking they finally escaped him is genuinely terrifying.

“SARAH!”

It kind of looks like they’re either hiding their faces or covering their noses? I don’t know maybe it was from some tactic to get away from Ward.

What did I literally jsut say about yelling privileges, you unhinged mother fucker?

“I’m calling the shots now. I’m driving.”

The following progression of scenes made me actually snort-

“I can’t drive stick.”

PLEASE THE FINGER GUNS LAUNCHED ME INTO ORBIT I LOVE THEM, YOUR HONOR.

Alright, so now it looks like we’re in Charleston. This is the same scene with Heyward’s truck that got leaked from BTS (read: JJ and Kie shoulder touch).

One of the main things that stuck out to me in the following scenes which, you will see, is it lowkey looks like Pope is kind of heading up this part of the operation, or even going in alone? The following clips are just very Pope focused.

I don’t know what it means, it’s just an observation.

“John B was not the only one that Ward double-crossed.”

LIMBRY-

Bro, we have been hearing about this woman for literal months and I just have....so many questions?

Who the hell is she? How is she connected to Ward? Why is she in South Carolina instead of the OBX? How do the Pogues even learn about her and how to track her down? How is she meant to “help” them? GAH I JUST WANNA KNOOOW. I already know I don’t trust her though and no I will not be offering up supporting evidence.

Sir, that is my son please unhand him.

“I think you know what I want.”

.......no? But feel....free to explain yourself?

The print on the paper is the same one that’s on the ceiling tiles in the following scene. Obviously, with a key on it that most likely goes to the place a few shots from now.

Hell yeah, son, let’s get SLEUTHING.

“The treasure belongs to the Pogues.”

DAMN STRAIGHT.

Bestie’s I’m not going to lie, I stared at this frame for a solid 10 minuets and I have no idea what it says on there I’m sorry. Someone in the comments is welcome to enlighten us.

“We gotta find it first.”

I can’t tell if that’s just dirt or if he hurt his head? But he look GOOD right now for one thing. For another, same outfit as the one in the Twinkie from the beginning of the trailer.

Look at her. LooK AT HER! LOOK! AT! HER! I MISSED HER SO MUCH even in that damn smiley face top that continues to haunt my waking hours she is in it so much and it stresses me out for literally no good reason I’m sorry-

I could literally cry right now and I think that speaks volumes to how little we actually see him genuinely happy. Have I mentioned how much I love that red hat?

Also, probably not that important, but this is not from the same scene as the shots of Pope and Kiara were. This is from the next one-

“Woogity-woogity?”

“Give me some woogity, baby!”

Yeah, this pushed me over the fucking edge, the way that they’re actually happy and laughing? The fact that they kept woogity-woogity and made it A Thing? Yes.

I am, however, going to be intentionally ignoring what appears to be the very intentional stagingof having such an obvious space between where Kiara and Pope are sitting adn where JJ sits, even including the level they’re sitting on because I don’t have the emotional capacity to face those implications right now. Thank you for your time.

Yes yeeeeEEEEEESSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!

GIVE ME ALL OF THE SCENES OF THEM ACTUALLY GETTING TO BE TEENAGERS AND JUST BREATHE AND LAUGH AND HAVE A GOOD TIME AND NOT BE RUNNING FOR THEIR FUCKING LIVES!!!!!!!!!!!

before Rafe comes in and literally starts shooting because they can’t breathe for more than 7 seconds but we’ll....get to that.

They refer to Sarah as a Pogue this season or I burn Netflix to the ground. Your move, Jonas.

50 bucks says John B is driving the Twinkie again for the first time since being back.

I deadass think the Pogues JUST got Sarah and John B back and they’re just having the time of their life. Kie was in her smiley face outfit when Pope was in this one a few clips ago, and I still hold to the belief that that one still they released of JJ and Kie hopping over a fence is the Pogue reunion so-

Ward? I have no idea what he’s looking at behind the wall paper and I’ll be so honest I don’t care my eyes are only seeing Pogue content right now.

“This is a map of the whole island.”

This fit, when will John B learn how to operate buttons, stay tuned for season 5. Also my previous theory of this being their reunion outfits and stuff because Pope is in the back in the same jacket as before.

The plot thickens and so has JJ’s hair, Rudy drop the shampoo brand.

Please, dear God, tell me they’re back in the sex church. For @jiaaraa sake.

Kiara, your Madison is showing.

Okay, I really did try but all I can make out is Something to the tomb begin something something.

You’re welcome.

I am no expert but I do not believe boats operate on land.

John B looks like he is in the same outfit here that is in his mug shot we saw on the TV screen so I have a sneaking suspicion this is where he gets caught.

“John B is back-”

Once again with the damn sexual tension that’s always between Barry and Rafe in every scene they do are we about to kiss right now?

“-it’s him or me.”

First of all, no.

Second of all, I’m just....so very confused about this time line this season. It kind of looks like Ward and Rafe follow and find Sarah and John B in Nassau (unless those scenes by the truck were actually back in the OBX). So did they....go to Nassau, then just come right back when they did? I’m just confused.

Put that thing back where it came from or so help me.

Literally when will you stop at this point I am begging you.

This looks like the same scene the Pogues were, ya know, literally just having a good time at so fuck me, I guess.

Yeah, no, it’s going to be a no from me, I’m just going to pretend like I’m not seeing this and moving on.

I have simply no idea what is going on here or who that is on the bike but maybe JJ? Maybe Luke even? I think that’s JJ’s bike.

The sewer scene. The SEWER SCENE-

For months sicne that tiktok leaked this damn scene has been genuinely all I could think about. So (obviously) it seems like they’re sending Kie down into the sewer to go do seomthing and things go horribly, horribly wrong.

If you haven’t seen the tiktok, essentially all it was was JJ and Pope screaming and trying to lift up the man hole cover while Kie is begging for them to hurry from inside. I’m cheating a little bit as this isn’t a shot from the trailer but this picture was posted and it’s from the same scene.

I’ll just....leave this here. Back to the trailer shots.

Nice. Also, same shirt as mugshot.

Hey, um, what?

Kiara’s car, she’s driving, I can’t tell who’s in the back seat or the front.

Holy God what is going on and how can I as an audience member put a stop to it?

So, same scene as we will see and was in the teaser but, for some reason, they’re all jumping off of a giant ass boat into the little life raft where it looks like JJ gets hurt later but don’t you worry we’re getting to that.

JJ AND KIARA WITH THE POGUE HANDSHAKE JJ AND KIARA WITH THE POGUE HANDSHAKE THEY BOTH LOOK SO DAMN GOOD AND THEIR LITTLE SMILES SPARE ME-

Cleo 🥵

I’m so excited to see her arc and what it brings this season you guys have no idea.

Please for the love of God be about to get Ward Cameron’s ass like he deserves literally punt him into jail right from Tanny Hill.

Sarah at My Druther’s with what looks like a bloody bandage on her side? Same outfit she’s wearing when they’re running from the police on the beach and she has the bandage there too so. Interesting.

Topper hugging who I’m pretty sure is Sarah, being a general douche because he’s clearly looking at John B like 😏

Clips like these serve to remind me just how many of my worldly posessions I would gladly give up to be able to punch Topper Thorton in the throat one time.

I think this is Cleo jumping off the boat with Pope after John B and Sarah.

Absolutely busting a lung at Pope’s form in this one.

John B and Sarah waiting in the life raft, still Cleo and Pope coming after them. The obvious next question is where are JJ and Kiara. The scene I’m sure you all have been waiting for is coming up and clearly takes place in the life raft as well.

So, I really think JJ and Kie get left for last, something horrible happens as they’re trying to jump (my head instantly goes to JJ maybe like pushing Kie out of the way and getting hit on the head instead or even just some accident).

And, oh my GOD a scene of him falling off the boat after it happens and Kiara diving in after him immediately, having to desperatly try to stop him from sinkingand get to the life raft holy shit-

Girl CATCH HIM?????

Because why wouldn’t this be Rafe’s fault. Part of me wonders if this isn’t related to JJ being hurt.

I am going to try and unpack this as calmly as possible because behind my computer screen I am vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass but respectfully.

WHAT IN THE FUCK IS TIAUEWFHLAILA

Okay, so scene wise, JJ’s hit his head somehow (probably while he was jumping with Kiara) it looks like and now they’re back on the raft.

In my opinion, this is either:

A) JJ is in really, really bad condition after getting hurt in the jump and they’re not sure he’s going to make it. So this is a “Please stay with me, stay awake, please don’t die” hug OR

B) They very narrowly just avoided a deadly situation (my first thought is JJ hits his head while jumping, passes out in the water, maybe almost drowns but Kie and the others get him onto the life raft in time) and this is more of a “Oh my God, you’re okay, you’re safe now, we’re okay” hug.

I honestly lean more to the second one based on the little bit of Sarah’s face we saw in the background. To me, it almost looked like she was smiling thru tears, which, fits way more with the second option than the first.

Anyways. Moving on before I burst a lung again.

(also, before anyone comes at me, no, I’m not happy JJ is hurt, obviously.

(Once again, arrest outfits). You can still see the bandage but it looks like Sarah’s limping now too so...good Lord give the girl a break maybe?

Everything in this trailer just went to shit so fast I think I have whip lash, can we go back to the Pogues hanging out and being happy now pkease I liked those scenes.

“I get it. You guys are scared.”

“No.”

She’s cute but, uh, hello sewer scene outfits. Seems like them planning to do whatever the hell they were going to do in the sewers but the boys are starting to get cold feet as maybe they should but hind sight is 20/20 I suppose.

“It’s kind of cute.”

“I’m not scared.”

“You should’ve just led with that.”

I will never be able to express how much I adore Pogue banter and general dumbassery and I have a feeling this season will not be lacking in either department

I high key don’t think these two are actually going to be there for this scene to go down but I’ll let it slide this time because-

They do be kinda cute.

It both feels like I’ve been waiting for this damn show for 3 years and also like I just watched season 1 last month explain that to me.

Either way holy shit. I missed this dumb show and these dumb kids so much it physcially hurts and WE GET THEM BACK IN T-MINUS 16 DAYS.

Also. Where The Hell Is Wheezie Cameron And When Will She Have The Rights She Deserves.

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thornedrose44 · 4 years ago

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Prompt: “I can’t do this. Just leave me alone.”

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"Goodnight, Kara." Lena said from across the room when she finally managed to catch Kara's eye.

It was the first time they had made eye contact since Kara had welcomed her inside at the start of the night. Kara startled at the sudden sight of Lena, waving farewell as she stepped quietly towards the door, but made no move to follow after her and when the door swung quietly shut behind her Lena knew things would never be the same.

It was Kara's birthday party (her Earth birthday party to those that happened to be in the know, which to Lena's un-surprise was a rather considerable group all things considered). Kara had invited her, further proof of the strength of their newly reaffirmed friendship. Lena had been grateful for the invite, appreciating it as the sign that they were back on the right track, and accepted it without hesitation.

She had then proceeded to spend hours upon hours thinking of the perfect gift for Kara, excitement and anticipation building in her stomach.

It would be her first proper night out in months after being thrown back into her role as CEO and dealing with all the negative press following Lex’s downfall and upcoming conviction. Her working hours had reached an excess that she had never achieved before. The blowback onto her in the form of hatred for the Luthors was even greater than last time as well, despite her crucial role in taking Lex down. She was still deemed guilty by association especially since she had been working closely with Lex for a long time before revelations about his villainy became apparent.

The news were critiquing her every move, slandering her every chance they got and rallying the masses to a fervour - she was now facing at least one assassination attempt every week.

Regardless of all that, Lena had one salvation, one light of hope that she clung onto. Her friendship with Kara. It was growing again. They were spending time together. Relearning one another or learning about each for the first time in Lena's case. The conversation was finally less stilted and the trust was back.

But there was still something missing, something stopping them from returning to exactly where they were before.

Lena, as the months ticked by, realised that they were no longer as physically close as they once were. Hugs were rare. Gentle touches of the hands were swiftly snatched back to prevent lingering. Even extended eye contact was fleeting.

Lena at first thought the problem was that she had hurt Kara so badly that the woman who sometimes communicated solely through physical affection no longer wanted to be touched by Lena. That broke something in Lena. That Kara, even though she was trying to be kind, friendly and forgiving to Lena, was not comfortable with any sort of physical contact between them, drove Lena into a drunken stupor of college-level proportions.

Once the alcohol was out of her system and she had suitably recovered from her hangover, Lena had allowed the scientist within her to take over.

No more assumptions.

She would gather evidence, make an hypothesis and work towards a solution.

If she wanted Kara back in her life properly - cuddles on the sofa and lengthy hugs a necessity of that - Lena would put the effort in.

So she observed… and what she observed was this…

Pink cheeks and bashful expressions whenever their gazes met.

A thick swallow and faltering breath whenever their hands brushed.

Deep sighs and fingers digging fleetingly into her back as if on the edge of pulling her closer whenever they embraced.

Dark eyes and teeth biting into a bottom lip whenever Lena stretched or moved her hair away from her neck.

Attraction, affection and interest .

Lena didn’t believe the results of her evidence; she re-ran the tests over and over again trying to work out if she had just interacted with Kara on an odd day, if she just happened to be thinking about something (someone) else at the same time but… it kept happening over and over again.

If it had been anyone else, Lena wouldn’t have doubted what she was seeing but… but.. This was Kara.

Kara, who she had been in love with since she had walked into her office with her cousin.

Kara, who had never picked up on or reacted to her flirts.

Kara, who had broken her heart with lies.

Kara, who meant so much to her.

Kara, who she had only just gotten back.

Was it worth the risk?

Fear had blinded her, of that she had no doubt, but was it keeping her safe from the hurtful truth of Kara not wanting to touch her anymore or from the potential happiness that Kara returned her feelings but was too sweet or shy to put herself in a position that would make Lena uncomfortable.

Lena decided to take a chance - just this once because even if she was wrong about Kara not feeling the same, she had to believe that Kara was incapable of being cruel to her if she misread it. They promised each other honesty and Lena intended to show it.

It was why she needed to buy the perfect present, something that hinted that Kara’s feelings (if Lena was right) were returned. And just a week before the party, she knew exactly what the perfect present would be.

She wrapped it personally (normally Jess would wrap any gifts she had to send out), wanting to go the extra mile. It wasn’t perfectly done, a bit messy in places and the sellotape was excessive but she had done it herself which she knew Kara would appreciate more than professional gift wrapping.

Lena, however, realised that she had made a mistake the second she arrived at Kara's.

Knew she had misread… everything …

Because Kara… Kara couldn't stand to be near her for longer than it took to say hello, accept the present and then disappear off.

Lena hadn’t expected to be with Kara for all of the party; it was Kara's party and loads of her friends were in attendance, all of whom wanted to spend it with Kara. Who wouldn't?

It's just… Lena…

Lena didn't have anyone else.

It was made abundantly clear to Lena within the first thirty seconds that she was not welcome. Alex gave her a gruff nod from across the room before turning her back to her - she still didn't trust her and Lena had prioritised winning Kara back over the last few months above everything else. Brainy and Nia smiled at her but they were deep in conversation with CatCo employees all of whom were practically snarling at Lena (clearly not Luthor fans). James was here as well and dear God did he give her such a blazing look of hatred Lena was surprised she didn't burst into flames under its ferocity. (They hadn’t dated in this rewritten universe, much to Lena’s pleasure, though his original dislike for her was clearly a mainstay of every universe).

So… Lena grabbed a drink and stood in the corner as Kara moved seamlessly between her various groups of friends and colleagues, never once sparing Lena even a glance. The majority of her movements were accompanied by William Dey, who repeatedly tried to sling an arm around Kara's shoulder - the only joy Lena got from the evening was watching Kara repeatedly squirm out from under his touch.

She held out for two hours, sipping three beers and glancing intermittently at her phone as she stayed in her corner, hoping that Kara would come over for just five minutes.

Five minutes with Kara wasn't too much to ask for, was it?

Five mere minutes with Kara would have made the whole night worth it, made the glares and malevolent whispers sent her way worth it.

It was at the two hour mark that Lena accepted the truth.

Kara wasn't going to come over to talk to her.

Kara hadn't been pulling away from her due to a sudden realisation of feelings and attraction.

Kara hadn't expected her to accept the invite. Hadn't wanted her to accept.

Kara was ashamed of her, that was why she pulled away, why she didn't acknowledge her.

Lena couldn't really blame her but that didn't mean she had to stay and take it. So gathering what was left of her dignity, she shuffled towards the door, caught Kara's eye, waved and slipped outside… though, not before retrieving the present she had brought for Kara… it would have revealed far too much and Lena didn't need to deal with that on top of everything else.

Lena returned to her office for no other reason that she still had some good liquor stored there - Kara had encouraged her a couple of months ago to cut back on her drinking and she couldn’t deny the baby blue puppy dog eyes. She staggered into her office, chucking the present she had spent hours creating onto the sofa - she would buy Kara some random meaningless gift like a nice scarf or jumper tomorrow instead - and poured herself a full tumbler before flipping open her laptop and getting to work. She lost herself in designs and business plans as she made her way through the bottle.

She used to sit and brood when she drank but Sam had made her promise she wouldn’t do that anymore, hazel eyes filled with concern at where Lena’s mind wandered when unoccupied and fuelled by alcohol. Whilst Lena was in a pretty bleak space, she refused to hurt her last (and only) friend by breaking the one promise she had made to her.

It must have been two am when Lena heard a familiar thud from the balcony followed by a gentle knock that could only belong to one person.

“Kara, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Lena called out, not bothering to lift her gaze away from her laptop screen - she wasn't sure whether the sight of Kara would evoke tears or fury and she wished to give Kara neither.

“Hey… I just wanted… I was…" Kara stammered out; Lena didn't need to see her to know that she was fidgeting with the edge of her cape as she tiptoed nervously closer. "You know… flying around and saw the light on and figured I would check in on you, see how you were doing…”

“I’m fine. Just working.” Lena replied brusquely taking a sip of her whiskey.

“And drinking…” Kara muttered, her tone more worried than disapproving but Lena took offense regardless.

“Yes. It’s a Saturday night, cut me some slack.” Lena snapped back, defiantly swallowing what was left in her glass before slamming it down onto her desk.

The loud clack as it connected with the surface was followed by a heavy, almost suffocating silence.

“You left early.” Kara whispered into the unnatural stillness, shattering the fraudulent focus Lena had on her computer screen with those three words. Kara didn't sound confused or upset, just painfully neutral as if to emotionally step back from the situation so that she could garner some emotional truth from the CEO instead.

Well, Lena was done with that, done with giving more of herself than Kara wanted so she took a deep, calming breath and allowed her painstakingly crafted mask to slip into place.

“I wasn’t the first to leave.” Lena pointed out calmly, finally turning to look at Kara, certain she could keep her voice and face blank. It was then that she saw how… small Kara looked, which was never a word Lena would have used to describe Kara in full Supergirl regalia in the entire time she had known her. Kara looked defeated and lost, a tremble to her lip and very being that she tried to hide behind a shy smile.

“Well… I didn’t get a chance to talk to you…” Kara replied, ducking her head meekly as she admitted. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Lena pursed her lips at that, “I was there for over two hours, Kara. You could have come over whenever you wanted. It wasn’t like I was occupied.”

“Yeah… what was that about?” Kara laughed, rubbing the back of her neck, trying far too hard to make her tone light as if even the idea of Lena being without company was an entirely absurd concept.

The high-pitch to Kara's laugh and the unfamiliar tension around her eyes revealed to Lena that Kara knew exactly why Lena had been standing all alone that evening.

“I’m a Luthor, Kara." Lena replied sharply, not interested in trying to smooth over the harsh truths like Kara was always so keen to do when it suited her. "No one wanted me there and they all made that very clear.”

“I wanted you there.” Kara replied so soft and earnest that Lena nearly believed her.

“I highly doubt that.” Lena scoffed derisively.

“I did.” Kara insisted, eyes desperate and pleading.

Lena merely shook her head, turning back to face her computer, “If you say so…”

“Lena, I-”

“Kara… I can’t…” Lena muttered, her voice cracking in the exact way she didn’t want it to. “I can’t do this. Just leave me alone.” Lena requested, hating how it verged on begging.

“What?” Kara murmured in shock.

“I can’t just… pretend that I’m not hurt or upset.” Lena confessed, fingers curling into fists on her desk, eyes slamming shut to lock in the tears. “I just need… time to get over it and accept what we are. So until then… please just leave me alone.”

“I hurt you.” Kara repeated, her voice broken and raw .

“Kara, I didn’t…” Lena shook her head angrily, she didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to inflict herself on Kara who had tried so hard to be her friend. “It's your birthday, Kara.” Lena sighed sadly, “You get to spend it anyway you like with whomever you like.”

“I wanted to spend it with you.” Kara breathed, and Lena could hear the sharp inhales between each word that revealed that Kara was crying.

“Kara, you don’t need to…” Lena assured, with a wave of her hand, eyes focused on her lap, “let’s just leave it, okay?”

“No…” Kara gasped, and suddenly Lena felt a trembling hand connect with her own tightly curled fists, “wait… what did you mean ‘get over it’ and ‘accept what we are’?”

Lena sucked in a sharp breath at the question, biting down harshly on her bottom lip.

“Lena?” Kara pressed.

“Fuck it, fine.” Lena snapped, yanking her hands away from Kara’s infinitely soft touch and shoving herself out of her chair before storming away from Kara, desperate for space. “I thought you liked me.”

“I do-” Kara began, taking a tentative step after her.

“No, Kara.” Lena yelled, spinning back to face Kara, with a twisted snarl of total self-loathing. “Liked me.” Lena stressed, before throwing her hands up into the air as it all just boiled out of her, “God, I sound like a teenager. I thought you liked me. I thought you were touching me less because you were attracted to me. But then… I go to your party and you don’t… it was like you were ashamed of me, I sat in that fucking corner for two hours as everyone wished - out loud, I should say - that I would go. I sat in that fucking corner in the hope that you would speak to me for five minutes. For just five minutes. Because that… that would have made it all worth it. But you could barely look at me. And I realised you didn’t - don’t - like me… you’re ashamed of me, but you’re too kind to abandon me. Too noble and generous but even you have your limits. Of course, you didn’t want to spend your birthday talking to me. Of course you didn’t.”

Lena wanted to punch a wall, wanted to down the rest of her whiskey, wanted to do literally anything than be here in this moment watching the horror-struck expression on Kara’s face grow and grow with every word, watch Kara’s body tremble and shake with each harsh sweeping gesture.

“Lena, no… you…” Kara sobbed, striding towards her with fingers twitching at her sides, “you have got the complete wrong end of the stick. Actually, you’re right but also really wrong. And…” Kara swiped aggressively at the tears rolling down her cheeks as she approached Lena, stopping when the raven-haired woman flinched at their sudden closeness. “I screwed up but-”

“No. You don’t need to do this.” Lena cut in, holding a hand up to stop Kara, wanting Kara to know that her guilt was unnecessary and that she could finally be free of Lena.

“Lena, I’m so-”

“You don’t need to apologise.” Lena insisted, taking a deep breath to rein back in her swirl of her emotions. She could do this. She could let Kara go. “You were trying to be kind but you shouldn’t… god, if I make you that miserable, that uncomfortable, you shouldn’t have to force yourself to interact with me.”

“LENA!” Kara bellowed, stamping her foot to the ground and lifting her chin to reveal a determined expression.

Lena blinked in shock at the sudden volume and intensity; falling obediently quiet.

Kara placed her hands on her hips, took a deep breath, looked Lena straight in the eye with earnest, beseeching blue and declared, “I want to kiss you right now because that would be the big sweeping action that would prove to you that I mean what I’m about to say next but… you’ve been drinking… heavily from the looks of things.” Kara shot a displeased pout at the nearly empty bottle of whiskey as if it was all the bottle’s fault for Lena’s current state of inebriation and not the youngest Luthor’s unhealthy coping mechanisms. Kara turned back to face a stunned Lena, with a fond smile, “And I really want our first kiss to be one you remember and one you can fully consent to. So, you’re just going to have to believe me… please, please believe me when I say… I’m in love with you and I fucked up massively tonight. Really, really fucked up.”

“You never swear.” Lena murmured quietly, and it probably wasn’t what she should have been focusing on but her brain was currently stuck like a record scratch unable to fully comprehend what Kara had just told her; and the swear was just the cherry on top of an entire sundae of confusing and out-of-the-blue revelations.

“Which shows how much I believe that I fucked up.” Kara replied with a helpless shrug.

“But-”

“You were the only person I wanted to spend my birthday with.” Kara confessed, “Well, Alex at some point as well. But you mostly. Alex planned the party and I couldn’t…” Kara huffed out a frustrated breath and rolled her eyes, “she did this whole thing and I didn’t want to turn around and say I didn’t want it. That all I really wanted was a quiet night watching films with you because…” Kara sighed, “because then she’d know… To make it more bearable I invited you but there were so many other people, and I will be honest… I don’t even like half of them. Alex, just invited everyone I was friends on facebook with which is not a good barometer of friendship.”

Lena cleared her throat, none of it making sense, “Then why-”

“Did I ignore you?” Kara guessed with a painful wince.

“Yeah…” Lena muttered, wrapping her arms protectively around herself.

“Because… because I knew, or at least I thought I knew, that you hadn’t noticed how I felt about you.” Kara explained inching just that little bit closer towards Lena, attempting to bring them within touching distance of one another. “And I knew it was only a miracle that you hadn’t until now because…” Kara smiled a lopsided, rueful and self-deprecating smile, “Lena, I am not subtle. Not at all. And I knew… I knew if I interacted with you at the party… everyone else would be able to tell in an instant how I felt.”

Lena exhaled slow and deep, arms tightening their hold around herself, “And you didn’t want them knowing you liked me?”

“Love. Not like.” Kara corrected, patient yet firm, “Love. And no, I didn’t.”

Lena nodded once in understanding, letting out a hollow laugh, “I get it. I wouldn’t want anyone to know I loved me either.”

“Lena… no… no… you…” Kara rushed to explain, finally stepping close enough to reach out and place her hands gently on Lena’s curled biceps. Lena couldn’t help how she instinctively shifted closer, wanting to increase contact with Kara after being denied it for so long. “I didn’t want anyone knowing before you.” Kara admitted.

And that… that snapped something back into place for Lena.

Made the doubts screaming inside her head quieten down just enough to think… maybe…

Because… it was being last that had broken them the first time. Being the only one not to know and now…

“I didn’t want Stacy, who used to cheat off me in exams in college to know how I felt about you before you did.” Kara said, thumbs moving back and forth against the bare skin of Lena’s arms causing a swathe of goosebumps to rise like a wave in the wake of Kara’s every touch. “They didn’t deserve that. They didn’t deserve…” Kara’s jaw clenched, eyes darkening as she studied Lena’s face, “I was trying to protect you from them. They said horrible things about you and you should know, the minute after you left, I kicked everyone who so much as looked at you funny out. It was just me, Nia, Brainy and Kelly left… Alex, as well, but we had a rather heated argument before she was allowed to stay.” Kara bowed her head in shame, “I should have kicked them all out immediately but-”

“Then they would have known.” Lena finished for her.

“I had this whole thing planned.” Kara breathed out, her hands gradually shifting away from Lena’s arms around to her back, surrounding Lena in a loose hold, Kara’s eyes flickering over Lena’s face and body rapidly searching for even the slightest sign that Lena was uncomfortable with their contact. “Once everyone left, I had set-up the roof with lights and cushions and… I was going to tell you how I felt. I just had to make it through the birthday party from hell and I was trying so hard to keep to the plan. To not spoil it. To keep it a secret so that it could just be ours but... I…” Kara’s eyes slid shut and she inhaled a shuddering breath filled with pain. “I hurt you. And there is nothing I can say to make you forgive me, but I do… I do love you so much. And I will never, ever be ashamed of you.” Kara blinked her eyes back open and leaned forward to place a kiss on Lena’s forehead. “I just wanted it to be ours and not theirs. I didn’t want to share. You’re the only thing in my life that… I didn’t want to share.”

“Open your present.” Lena demanded, stepping out of Kara’s loving embrace.

“Lena-” Kara whimpered, pained at the sudden loss of closeness.

“Open your present, Kara.” Lena repeated, jerking her chin towards the sofa where the roughly wrapped present lay.

“I… okay…” Kara replied, watching Lena closely as she tried to make sense of Lena’s clear request. Kara walked cautiously over to the couch, picking up the gift with gentle hands. “Did you wrap it yourself?” Kara asked, her entire expression brightening as she stared down at the crooked, over sellotaped wrapping.

Lena harrumphed at the question, pursing her lips.

“You did, didn’t you?” Kara teased.

“The present isn’t the piss poor wrapping.” Lena replied with an exaggerated roll of her eyes that had the corners of Kara’s lips quirking even further upwards.

“Lena Luthor wrapped my present herself…", Kara whistled in awe, blue eyes twinkling with true delight for the first time that day, "what better gift is there?”

“Open it and you might find one.” Lena said, heart leaping into her throat as Kara’s deft fingers found a line of wrapping paper she could tuck them under.

The sound of paper ripping was deafening in the stillness; all Lena could do was watch and wait.

The paper fell away leaving behind a small black box, Kara shot Lena a hesitant look and it wasn’t until Lena nodded for her to continue that Kara clicked it open.

There was a pause.

A heavy, endless pause in which Lena couldn’t bring herself to even breathe.

“What is-” Kara began before cutting off immediately as she lifted up the beautiful bracelet made of nth metal and inscribed with ‘stronger together’ in Lena’s own cursive handwriting in both english and kryptonian.

The bracelet shined under the lights in Lena’s office, but in Lena’s opinion, Kara’s eyes shined impossibly brighter.

“You’re in love with me.” Kara whispered, seeing the present for everything Lena had hoped it would convey.

“Yes.” Lena confirmed because there was no hiding it now.

With trembling fingers Kara clasped the bracelet onto her wrist, long fingers tracing the words delicately inscribed with no small amount of wonder. Finally, she turned around and stared at Lena with so much sheer love that the youngest Luthor felt overwhelmed and like her heart might burst right out of her chest in its desire to be in Kara’s possession

Clearing her throat and clasping her hands behind her back, Lena gathered her courage and asked, “If I promise you I’ll remember it and that I am fully consenting… will you kiss me now?”

Kara was in front of her in the literal blink of the eye, hands reaching out to cup Lena’s cheeks as Lena’s hands moved to rest on Kara’s hips gently encouraging their bodies closer with a light tug.

“There is nothing I want more.” Kara assured with the widest grin that Lena had ever seen and couldn’t help but return.

Their first kiss could barely count as a kiss.

Their smiles were too wide to allow for it, but Lena wouldn’t change it even slightly. They pressed their smiles against one another, teeth knocking together and noses brushing.

It may not have been a successful kiss but it was tender and filled with so much joy that Lena wouldn’t describe it as anything less than perfect.

Their second kiss was an actual kiss, lips slotting together, tongues seeking each other out and teeth tugging whimpers and moans from one another in an endless cycle.

Their second kiss turned into a third, a fourth, a fifth.

They kissed until the sun rose.

Kissed until their lips ached and any remaining doubts Lena may have had were pushed back into the shadows by the light of Kara’s smile and blue eyes.

#supercorp #supercorp fic

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smelted-applejuice · 4 years ago

Text

Left Behind.

Parings; c!Wilbur Soot x Reader Pronouns; she/her Desc; Wilbur Soot left too soon, way too soon. TW: DEATH, MENTIONS OF DEATH, MOURNING, VANISHING TWIN SYNDROME, PREGNANCY.

Requests are open, feeling angsty today -

The ear-piercing scream that was heard throughout L’manberg was evident. If it wasn't for [YourName]’s brother-in-law, she probably would have hit her head and injured herself. Tommy gently set [YourName] down, in the same amount of shock as her, he watched [YourName] slam the ground and beg for Wilbur to be alive.

“PLEASE! PLEASE OH MY GOD,” [YourName] sobbed, holding the ground. Her fingers dug into the ruined dirt, her nails getting covered in dirt and soot from the TNT. Philza’s face softened, he had murdered his son for a good cause, but to watch his daughter-in-law break down was just as horrible. He watched [YourName] push herself up and make her way over to the cave Wilbur had dug out for this operation, helping her up, and stood there watching [YourName] cradle Wilbur’s face.

There, Wilbur laid in the lap of his wife with a smile on his face. The sword that was used to murder him remained in his body as it was hard for Philza to even think about yanking it out, that was his boy, his son, his pride and joy, and he just murdered him. Wilbur’s eyes remained closed no matter how much [YourName] whispered out begging for him to open them up.

Philza placed a hand on her shoulder, gently forcing her up from her spot. She was too tired to fight back, she just laid limp reaching out for her husband despite the reassurance that he won’t come back- [YourName] believed he would. She just knew Wilbur would awaken and come join her in bed and hold her close just as he did twice before.

But he never did.

Wilbur never came, and Tubbo was assigned president while [YourName] mourned the death of her husband. Fundy couldn’t understand why [YourName] was so attached to such a person, but then he remembered she loved him and had a connection with Wilbur that he didn't have. As jealous as he was, Fundy remained around and built a home for himself and his step-mother.

When everything was finalized, finished, and moved into, it scared everyone when [YourName] fainted in the middle of New L’manberg. Fundy was a moment too late and poor [YourName] had to get stitched for the cut on her forehead. She and Fundy had assumed it was just because she was mourning, but when Philza sat down in front of them after doing more research, they both knew it was way more.

Fundy placed a hand on his mother’s shoulder and prepped for the news. “[YourName], you’re six weeks pregnant. Twins. I assume you didn’t know this?” Philza spoke, “S-Six weeks?! TWINS?!” [YourName] repeated frantically making Philza nod. Fundy blinked a few times before letting out a soft scream of a fox, “I’M A BROTHER?!” he asked repeatedly pacing back and forth. “Six weeks, Wilbur died four weeks ago- oh my god, I haven’t been with anyone else, oh my god, Philza-“ [YourName] spoke sending herself into a panic, “That's great, you have a piece of his legacy no one else has..” Phil said gently holding her hands.

[YourName] began to cry, glad to have such a thing with her but mourned her husband. She looked up and realized the excitement had worn off and Fundy and now he was panic pacing. His ears were down and his tail was no longer wagging, he anxiously played with his jacket, so [YourName] dropped Philza and made his way over to Fundy to calm him down. She played with his hair, held his face, and hugged him gently, everything she could to ground and remind Fundy that it’s all okay. It just gave more proof how despite everything happening to her right now, she was ready to parent. And that’s what makes a good parent, a good parent.

Philza softly smiled and sighed out, “Despite everything you’ve gone through, you’re still there for Fundy. You’re a good mother, [YourName].” he explained with a smile. [YourName] glanced away from Fundy for a moment and gently smiled, “Oh, Uhm, thank you?” she said dropping her hands to her step-son’s elbows. Fundy hugged [YourName] while she was still distracted, just sucking in as much [YourName] time he could get before leaving and returning home. Fundy would admit, he’s worried about being left behind, but wouldn’t voice them until dinner. [YourName] thanked Fundy for the food and ate quietly until he spoke up, “You won’t leave me right?” he asked randomly. [YourName] was confused at first, but then it clicked, “Your father wasn’t the best at expressing love once he had a focus. I can do that, even with a new baby coming around- I’ll always have time for you, Fundy. You’re my son, doesn’t matter if I didn’t give birth to you or not.” [YourName] explained with a smile. That smile brought comfort to Fundy, instead of talking he returned focus to his food. For the next few weeks, no updates were given about [YourName]. After her stitches were taken out and things returned normal, she would begin showing- that’s how everyone found out Wilbur was going to have a second kid. Because of this, Tubbo made sure Ghostbur had zero access to [YourName], not wanting to trigger anything inside of him that would result in a negative reaction. Ghostbur wasn’t Wilbur and who knows the powers that ghost has hiding behind him. “I just want to see my wife! How’s [YourName]?” Ghostbur huffed, crossing his arms but quickly recovered floating around Tubbo who was working hard on some paperwork. Tubbo frowned for a moment, he was struggling harder and harder every day to hide [YourName] from Ghostbur. “She’s fine, she misses you too. Now, Ghostbur, go bother Philza, I need to make a few choices.” Tubbo mumbled watching Ghostbur rush through a few walls to return outside and find his father. Ghostbur floated through the top of Philza’s house where he had expected Phil to be, but instead, he was nowhere to be found. He gently floated downstairs, having yet to reveal himself, where he heard his wife’s voice and Philza talk. Joy rushed through his spirited body but halted when he processed that [YourName] was crying.

“It happens, and luckily one of the twins remained. You didn’t cause this, it’s natural.” Philza comforted, [YourName] nodded “I just- I feel horrible, I didn’t even know that was possible! Wilbur would be so upset” she explained. “Wilbur wouldn’t be upset at you though, some pregnancies result in one twin absorbing the other- and this was one of the cases,” Phil explained letting [YourName] lean against him. She took the water in front of her and drank some of it, not even noticing Ghostbur watching from the steps.

[YourName] stayed for a few more minutes, but left soon after. “[YourName] is Pregnant?” Ghostbur asked Philza, making him jump and nearly drop the glass he had in his hand. “GHOSTBUR!” Philza yelped, “Oh, hehe sorry, but my dear [YourName]. I-Is Wilbur the father?” Ghostbur asked softly. Phil debated on his next move and softly sighed “You’re the father, you were Wilbur before you were Ghostbur'' he explained gently, he didn’t want to make the ghost worry. “I should go talk to her-“ Ghostbur said, turning around and going to dash off, “NO-“ Philza yelled.

Ghostbur stopped in his tracks, “Why not?! First Tubbo, now you, I just want to see my wife!” he pouted before pulling some blue out and calming down. Philza sighed, “She’s not ready, she's fragile.” he whispered toward his dead son “She probably will react negatively and confusingly, and we don’t want that or her to get hurt.” he added trying to dumb down their reasoning. Ghostbur just sighed, accepting it as it is.

It didn’t stop Ghostbur from watching her though, he would go invisible and follow Fundy around the house and watched as his son helped out [YourName] around. “You’re coming up seven months, you need to be careful, I can hear dad screaming at us.” Fundy explained easing his mother into a chair and picking up what she was trying to get, “He’d have to suck it up, I can't be held down.” [YourName] jokingly pouted. Fundy just smiled and patted his mother’s hair, “I’m making lunch, I’ll be back.” he said leaving for the kitchen.

Ghostbur sat there and watched [YourName] shift in her spot but gently place a hand over top of her enlarged stomach. The womb that housed his and [YourName]’s baby. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but from the observations he’s made, Philza was right. Every night she’d wake up and reach over, what he remembered, to be his side of the bed and proceed to cry on a bad day into his old L’manberg coat. He obviously left his mark on his wife and he didn’t mean the baby.

Around the time [YourName] was suppose to go into labor, her emotions did a one-eighty and she no longer searched for Wilbur’s side of the bed for him or found herself begging for her husband to be alive. She didn’t know why, but it began feeling as if Wilbur was there and holding her hand through every step of the way, and that's why when she gave birth she was more than ready. While Ghostbur took this as she no longer missed him, the reality was [YourName] was just trying to be mentally there for her child. She couldn’t be the one waking up in the middle of the night crying, she had to be stronger. Ghostbur was in distress but didn’t want to tell anyone he’s been stalking his wife and child. He would get scolded by Philza, he had told him to leave them alone. But he just couldn’t he gave into his curious nature and just ended up hurting himself more, he couldn’t speak to [YourName] or give her blue on the nights she needed it more and he sure as hell blamed himself for it. He blamed himself, not Wilbur, and it hurt even worse than he thought it would.

The morning that [YourName] gave birth, it was hot and humid which added nothing good for the woman. Fundy was off the rails with stress, rushing around to get Philza. He didn’t know that Philza had taught Niki how to assist with labor, so now Fundy had to rush from Philza’s place to Niki’s place which meant an extra ten-twenty minutes of rushing around and leaving his mother in pain at the house. He didn’t want to leave [YourName] alone for more than he had to. By the time he returned to the house with Niki and Philza, [YourName] had managed to get into a spot and had everything right. Philza softly chuckled, “Might as well have the child on your own!” he said jokingly as he double-checked everything was there. Fundy hissed in surprise while [YourName] groaned, not really here for jokes just wanted this to get over with already! Niki shook her head, “It’s okay, [YourName], we’re going to give birth to this baby and the world will have another Soot on their hands!” she comforted patting [YourName]’s leg. The birth lasted HOURS, never in [YourName]’s life had she felt the pain she felt when giving birth to her child. As it was described by her mother, everything had been lifted off her shoulders and the pain was no longer there. The cries of her baby had rung throughout the home and outside she could hear the squeaks and excited yells from Techno and Tommy. They were just here for moral support- well WHEN did they get here? What the fuck? While [YourName] held her child, which turned out to be a girl, she thought back on the many conversations she and Wilbur ended up having before his death. Children were often a topic that was brought up when the future was mentioned, mostly after their marriage when Fundy was still younger. They had agreed on the name Fern, for ferns were pretty and it would- “Fit my perfect Princess,” Wilbur said placing a kiss upon his wife’s head. [YourName] giggled and grabbed Wilbur’s dirty L’manberg coat and dropped it in the water for washing. “You’re crazy, we’re not having a child while we’re at war, Darling.” [YourName] said looking up at him, “I know, but I think Fern would be the perfect name for our daughter, Rowan for a boy! Don’t they sound lovely?” Wilbur asked squatting across from his wife. Fundy had fallen asleep under the tree close by, this moment was perfect. “Absolutely” [YourName] replied leaning over the bucket and kissing her husband’s lips. “Fern.” [YourName] whispered gently rubbing a finger across her daughter’s cheek, Niki looked up from washing her hands and hummed “What?” Niki asked confused. “Fern. I think Fern would be perfect for her. Wilbur often mentioned that name.” [YourName] reiterated, “Oh! That is a cute name, shall I let the boys know they’re able to come in now?” she asked making the new mother nod. Niki left and entered all the boys under the roof, they entered quietly as possible, Tommy nervously fiddling with his shirt sleeve. [YourName] smiled softly looking up, “Hello boys, meet your niece, sister, and granddaughter; Fern.” she said revealing the sleeping newborn in her arms. Philza smiled, had stepped out of the room, and let [YourName] have more privacy as the birth went on. Fundy gasped at the smallness while Techno did his best not to melt on stop. Tommy was the first to speak, “It looks like him.” he whispered in awe, Techno nudged his brother harshly making [YourName] giggle. “It’s fine, Wilbur is her father.” she hummed. Finally, her family was mostly complete. A few months would pass, Fern would hit important milestones like eating, teething, crawling, all of those- but it didn’t feel the same without Wilbur. Wilbur must’ve had fox in him because after Fern’s first week, [YourName] and Fundy both noticed itty bitty fox ears and tail on the child. Fundy was beyond excited to show his sister how hunting works as a fox hybrid and how to pick the right berries, it was just a lovely sight to see. For each step, Fundy was there for his sister and his step-mother. For once, Fundy wanted to make Wilbur proud but in his own way. By taking care of his family, something his father couldn’t do. One day, [YourName] got away from Fern and Fundy. Today would be brother and sister bonding while [YourName] had a mother’s day off. She didn’t know what to do, but she finally sucked it up and got dressed. Today would be the first time [YourName] doing what she’s doing. It had been a year since Wilbur’s death and she had yet to visit his grave, and with no one home, she left to visit. To finally be His Visitor.

#dream smp x reader #wilbur soot x reader #c!wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #Wilbur soot x y/n #c!wilbur soot x you #c!Wilbur Soot x y/n #mcyt x reader #x reader

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spacedikut · 4 years ago

Text

the very insecure dr reid ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: “Could you write another fic about early Spence where he’s all insecure” combined with another request :) 5730 words

a/n: title taken from s1e5!! i wrote this months ago aka before i decided to try to make my fics gender neutral and i tried to make the appropriate changes but im also a dumbass so! yeah!

masterlist

Spencer is a man of science, if you didn’t already know.

This means he doesn’t spend his time fretting over what isn’t there, what doesn’t have facts and evidence to back it up. Of course, he dabbles in reading conspiracy theories and enjoys learning about various religions and things of that sort, but these are to expand his already infinite knowledge, not because he particularly believes in them.

The first time he believed there was some kind of God was when you kissed him.

It was after the case where both Elle and Spencer were trapped on a train with a paranoid schizophrenic – he still remembers how you reacted when he agreed to being sent in, how you tried to keep it light-hearted but pulled him aside to solemnly tell him you didn’t think you’d be able to live without him (if you do something rash and stupid, Spencer, I swear to God-). You threatened to nipple cripple him if he did die, and it was weirdly motivating.

After he was checked over, and teased Elle about saving her life, you came crashing into him with an audible oof and a whisper of, “God you smell so good I’m so glad you’re okay don’t ever do that again.” It was probably the adrenaline, the near-death experience high, but instead of gently pushing you away like he’d do with anyone else, he discovers your waist has a wonderful dip that his arms fit perfectly into as he tugs you close.

He’s hugged people before, obviously, but it’s always different with you.

You must think so, too, because when you pull away just enough that you’re still in his arms but can clearly see his face, you take a minuscule intake of breath that Spencer wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t, you know, Spencer.

A strand of Spencer’s hair falls from where it was tucked, falling into his line of sight. Without hesitation you’re pushing it back, fingertips brushing against Spencer’s cheek as you fold the hair back behind his ear. Your eyes meet when there’s no obstruction, electricity crackling in Spencer’s ears when he realises there’s nothing between you, nothing stopping you, and there’s something about the lack of space between you and how he holds you that just makes you ask-

“Would it be weird if I kissed you right now?”

Immediately, Spencer thinks yes. Not because he doesn’t want you to (he couldn’t think of anything better to do, to be honest), or because of where you are (although, knowing the whole team is not far away does make him feel a little funny), it’s because he’s him. Gangly, awkward, with very sweaty hands that feel at home on your body, and you don’t want to kiss that. You can’t want to.

Yet, he shakes his head, and finds himself copying you when you lean in and close your eyes.

It’s short, sweet, and somewhat weird. He thinks he blacks out, loses himself in your lips despite it happening so quickly.

When you pull back, Spencer’s eyes remain closed for a good few seconds before he’s brought back to Earth. And he doesn’t know what to say - pretty people don’t just… kiss him. They certainly don’t ask if they can kiss him, then follow through, and… stare at him like that.

“Has anyone seen Reid? Y/L/N?”

Whatever was supposed to happen after, whether it was good or bad, you’ll never know. Hotch’s footsteps are thundering towards you and, despite your daze, you step away from Spencer just as he spots you.

The second time he believed there was a God, he asked you on a date. And you said yes.

Neither of you mention the kiss. In your defence, he supposes, it happened merely an hour ago – everyone’s rushing to get back to Quantico so no one’s had time to make any kind of small talk, let alone have the talk after a kiss.

Elle gives Spencer a look of confusion when she slides past him, moving into the jet as he hovers in the entryway. He’s obviously waiting for someone, passing out tight lipped smiles to the team when they all squeeze past. Spencer isn’t a big guy, but it’s bizarre for him to be standing there like that, swaying like the palm tree he is – he’s usually setting up for yet another game of chess with Gideon at this moment.

Then you shuffle on, faltering when you catch him waiting for you but smile nonetheless. He straightens, hands remaining in his pockets when his mouth opens to speak. You interrupt him (before he can make a fool of himself, thank God).

“Wanna sit together?” You ask, eyes never leaving his. He nods and follows you like the lost puppy he is.

The second you invite him to sit next to you instead of opposite he wants to pull you tight into his side, but that seems like too much. He’s not Derek, for Heaven’s sake, and you’re not Garcia – all you’ve done is kiss once and really, when he thinks about it, you were probably on an adrenaline high too, so it might’ve been a heat of the moment thing. It happens, Spencer’s read about it, and although it would break his heart that it meant nothing, it’s likely. Oh, it’s so likely.

Spencer might be the first one on the team to cry on the BAU jet.

Halfway home, the team is lost in their own pass-times to notice when you bookmark your page and place your book on the table.

“Spence,” You whisper, testing if he’s awake.

He is. He hasn’t been able to catch a wink of sleep, no matter how hard he tries. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry if what I did earlier- you know-“ You gesture vaguely in the air, completely oblivious to the fact Spencer is very familiar with what happened earlier because he can’t stop replaying it, “-If that made you uncomfortable. Or if I forced you, or-“

“Would it be weird if I asked you on a date when we land?”

The grin you send him shoots straight to his heart, eyes crinkling with laughter at his echo of the words you used earlier. If you notice you don’t mention it, but his hands can’t stop fidgeting under the table, slick with sweat.

“It’d only be weird if you don’t kiss me after.” You say.

His brows furrow, a small incredulous laugh leaving him. “What? Why?”

“We’ve already had our first kiss, so it’s out of the way.”

“Are you saying… You want to kiss me again?”

You thought that was obvious from when you kissed him earlier, but you’re happy to remind him. “Yes. I would like that very much.”

“Okay,” He says, bashfully, with a lick of his lips. “I can- I can arrange that.”

This time, when you turn back to your book, your head finds his shoulder and Spencer thinks his it has turned to gold, blessed by being touched by you. Would it be too much if, the second you get back to base, he writes about this moment in great detail to his mother?

+++

All of that leads to now, where The Date is in three days.

He plans to take you to his favourite book café, a place you’ve always wanted to go but never had the chance to, and he was so, so excited. Any time he gets to spend with you is cherished and means more to him than it does to you, because to him it’s an excuse for you to give him more reasons to fall in love with you. And he does - fall in love - every single day.

Was is the important word here. He’s not excited anymore.

It’s terrifying how quick the tides can change.

Just this morning, he was glancing with child-like excitement at the outfit he’s already chosen for the date. You brought him some coffee, whispering an endearing, “Three days!” as you did, and, according to Derek, Spencer’s love eyes (what the hell does that mean) were so big even Derek fell in love with you for a second.

Now, Spencer’s not territorial, but that comment stuck with him. Maybe that’s why he’s here now.

He has to cancel the date.

It pains him – God, does it pain him – but he has to. He can’t go on that date with you. He can’t… put you through that. Make you spend time with him and have to let him down gently, slowly, like you’re talking down a temper tantrum. He can’t then pretend everything’s okay in front of the team. He won’t be able to pretend, because he’s liked you for months.

He won’t force you to go on that date with him. You deserve better than that, and better than him.

That’s what it comes down to: you deserve better than him.

It started that morning with Derek, as previously mentioned. Then the team was whisked away on a case, and the detectives were all over you. JJ, too, but they were too intimidated by Elle and Morgan, who just laughed at their attempts to impress you. It was borderline inappropriate, but you were too concerned with the victims and finding a serial killer to pay some officers and detectives you’ll never see again any attention.

Spencer noticed, though. And he couldn’t concentrate.

The detectives are dressed too well – by that, he means the suits and the Rolex watches are way above their paygrade – and they keep emphasising how good looking you and JJ are and how lucky the BAU is to have such dolls working on the team. What is this, the 40s? Who calls anyone doll anymore? And, yes, the team is very lucky to have you and JJ, but because you’re both great minds and wildly intelligent people that, yes, are also very gorgeous, but your looks aren’t all you have to offer, thank you very much.

There’s a detective approaching you, again, as you stand by the water cooler.

Spencer frantically looks around, trying to find a member of the team. “Morgan!” He weakly calls, because Spencer won’t scare him off. Maybe Morgan can chase them away like they’re stray cats, with his big muscles and scary eyebrows. Or Elle, who earlier merely lifted an eyebrow and the officers scattered like cockroaches.

All he catches of the conversation between you and the model/detective at the cooler is, “I appreciate it, but no thank you,” and that’s all he needs to hear.

He should’ve known someone would eventually make a move. You’ve said no, clearly, and Spencer doesn’t understand why. I mean, yes, he knows why – you have a prior engagement – but the detective… As much as he’s kind of a dick, he complements you better than Spencer does. Physically.

And there starts the spiral.

There must be something in the water, because every officer and detective and everyone in between is in peak physical condition with dashing looks to boot. They’re all straight out of a magazine, as if the popular kids from Spencer’s high school graduated and followed him here to remind him he is incredibly unworthy of you.

Spencer is lanky, unlike the broad men and curvaceous women here, and slicks his hair to the side rather than up like the others. He wears sweater vests, not blazers, and he’s so skinny that his trousers always look like hand-me-downs – nothing is fitted, like so many outfits are here.

They’re all everything Spencer is not. And Spencer is realising, quite quickly, that they’re the better ones – and that’s what you deserve. Better. The best.

It gets worse when they deliver the profile.

He finds his spot next to you, gives you a tight lipped smile, then looks at the outfits of his team compared to his own. Both Hotch and Morgan wear dark suits, well-proportioned and sophisticated in a way that Spencer is sure isn’t even in his calibre. Elle wears a deep green t-shirt, tucked into her tight black pants, and looks wonderfully intimidating with her double gun holster wrapped around her shoulders.

And you. You.

You wear a white shirt tucked into nicely tailored trousers, hair effortlessly styled with a pen tucked behind your ear. You all look like FBI agents. Intimidating. Prepared. Put-together.

Spencer… looks like he’s still in high school. He threatens no one, intimidates no one, and definitely does not make anyone feel inferior with his masculinity. He’s not an alpha male, is what he’s trying to say, and for each person he encounters in this wretched police department he feels himself shrinking.

So when they give the profile, he tries to say as little as possible. Tries to attract as little attention as possible, so when Hotch says his usual, “Thank you.” He can slip away unnoticed and hide from the superior beings.

It works, given everyone is too busy trying to save lives. Except you notice, and Spencer has to pretend he’s okay when you find him at the evidence board and tell him you’re excited for the date. He wants to believe you, truly does, but no matter how hard he digs into his brain to find a part of him that can fathom you see him as a better option than literally anyone else, it doesn’t exist.

You don’t seem to notice. He tells himself he’s glad, but there’s no denying the disappointment.

+++

Hotch calls it a night when the clock nears midnight. He says the team should get as much rest as possible and come in with fresh eyes tomorrow – despite this, the team knows most if not all of them will get little to no sleep, given that they’ll all be going over everything they’ve got so far in their hotel rooms.

You slink up to Spencer, a pep in your step even though you’re running on pure caffeine and nothing else. It’s then Spencer realises he has to do it now, because if he does it in the police department then he’ll be called unprofessional, but if he waits any longer than that he’ll be cutting too close and that’s a bad look.

“Y/N,” He says, coming to a stop before the elevators, allowing the rest of the team to head up. “I need to say something.”

You nod with a smile, covering a cute yawn when he takes a couple seconds to gather his thoughts.

You’re not sure what he’s gonna say, but you assume it’ll be to do with the date. Maybe a change of time, or a change of venue – he did mention the library café can get super busy on weekends – or, worst case scenario, the date will have to be postponed for whatever reason. And none are particularly bad, because you’re excited and just want to be with Spencer – it doesn’t matter if it’s not when he originally planned or where he originally planned.

But Spencer has always unwittingly been full of surprises.

“We can’t go on that date.”

Instantly you ask, “Why not?”

“Well-“ He seems caught off guard, like he wasn’t expecting you to question the sudden change of heart, “It’s complicated-“

“I’ve got time.”

“We should go to sleep-“

“Is it your mother?”

“No. No, it’s not.” Of course you look empathetic when you consider his mother might need him – a stab to the start. Add in the flicker of concern in your eyes – two stabs to the heart. “It’s not her. It’s- it’s nothing. Just, can we cancel?”

“And reschedule?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

The disappointment is clear on your face and makes Spencer feel so guilty, but not guilty enough to take it back. You’re not disappointed that you’re missing out on dating him, you’re frustrated that you’ve been building up to having plans on the weekend and they’ve suddenly been cancelled without reason. By Spencer, of all people. In a couple months’ time you’ll thank him, when you’re dating some bodybuilder who can grow a mean beard. You’ll thank him for not making you go on that date with him and forcing you to tell him you’re just not my type, Spence, and making everything awkward.

He can’t look at you. Maybe that’s why he misses the genuine sadness, the sudden glassiness of your eyes that humiliates you enough to make you angry. His words have ignited a fire in your chest that burns through your body like you’re made of gasoline, and you wish you could turn your thoughts off so you don’t start questioning how long he’s been wanting to reject you, if he even wanted to date you in the first place, how embarrassing it is to have been so openly eager when, apparently, he was very much not.

“I’m sorry.” He says, like it’ll do anything. He still can’t look at you and he feels like a coward.

“Yeah.” You sniffle.

He decides to take the stairs. You head for the bar, just for one drink.

+++

The following day, when an officer tries to talk to you, you blatantly ignore him. You tell him that unless it’s work-related, you’re really not interested, and word spreads quick that your pleasantries have died out and you’re not in the mood to tolerate creepy compliments.

There’s a permanent frown on your face that haunts Spencer the entire day. He knows exactly what’s going on – it’s his fault, after all – and he finds himself simultaneously avoiding you whilst witnessing your downcast mood.

Morgan starts investigating not long after you barely react to his terrible joke. He makes them for you, because you either choke on laughter or throw your pen at him, but this time it was like you weren’t even in the room. When Morgan poked you and asked if you heard him, your lacklustre reply was, “Hm? Yeah, good one.”

Morgan perches on the desk Spencer’s using. “You got any idea what’s going on with Y/N?”

“They’re mad at me.”

“You’re the reason they’re like this?”

Spencer doesn’t physically react, just says, as casually as possible, “Unless another person asked them on a date then cancelled without reason, then yes. It’s my fault.”

There’s no point in lying. Especially to Derek. Spencer doesn’t know how you’ll go about explaining your sudden poor mood, if you’ll curse his very existence or lie about it, but Spencer’s never been a good liar and the sooner everyone knows it’s his fault and he sucks, the better.

Morgan leans forward, attempting to make eye contact with the doctor who very much does not want to. “There’s a story there.”

“Obviously.”

“…You wanna go ahead and explain it?”

“Not really.”

“Alright,” Derek shrugs, “You stir in your sadness and continue being a sourpuss, I’ll go check up on Y/N and find out what really happened.”

Derek’s barely moved off the table when Spencer stops him, voice small like a child, “Wait, Morgan, I-“

You walk past then, too focused on a suspect list faxed in by Garcia to pay attention to anyone else. Spencer’s eyes follow you the whole time, and the look in Spencer’s twinkling eyes make Morgan slump back onto the table in realisation.

“Why’d you cancel, Reid?”

“I had to.”

“You had other plans?”

Spencer chews his bottom lip. “No. But I… I couldn’t take them on a date.”

Derek waits for him to elaborate.

“Have you seen the kind of guys hitting on them?” Spencer asks, scooting his chair closer so no one can eavesdrop. “They’re all… They’re- they’re like you, Morgan. All cool and put-together and actually look their age, for one, and I’m not that. I could never be that – and that’s what Y/N wants-“

“Have you asked them that?”

“No. But I’m a profiler, in case you forgot, and I think it makes sense that these big-shouldered, super muscly guys are all over-“

“But you haven’t actually asked them what they want.”

“No.” Spencer sighs, leaning back in his chair.

“That’s your first, and most vital, mistake, my man.”

Spencer purses his lips, catching you watching him over Derek’s shoulder. You immediately look away, shooting off to the evidence room as an escape, and Spencer’s cheeks burn with guilt and embarrassment.

He can’t believe he thought he had a chance with you.

“I feel like this should be obvious, Genius, but Y/N said yes to a date with you, then turned down every offer that came from someone that wasn’t you-“

“That’s because they already made plans with me and they’d feel terrible if they had to cancel for another, better offer. I made it easier for them.”

Derek gives him such an incredulous look Spencer wonders if he should burn his PhDs. “Are you serious?”

The crestfallen expression on Spencer’s face is enough of an answer.

“Come with me.”

“What?”

“C’mon,” Derek tugs Spencer up from his chair. “I need to show your dumb ass something.”

All that’s missing is classic spy music when Derek and Spencer sneak into the conference room the BAU is using. Only Hotch is in there, scribbling something down, barely glancing up when the two agents creep in like they’re on a mission.

Spencer doesn’t say anything until Derek reaches for your bag. “Whoa- Morgan-“

“Relax.”

Spencer just stares, brows halfway down his face, and watches silently.

“That’s they’re journal, Morgan, you can’t just read it-“

“It’s not, pretty boy.”

Hotch watches the interaction, mildly confused, then nods to himself when he realises what Morgan’s holding.

Morgan splays the journal on the table in front of them, flipping through pages with precision like it’s his notebook and not yours. When he lands on his desired page, it’s slid towards Spencer.

He reads it.

The Doctor Spencer Reid cheat sheet. (Because I do not have an eidetic memory and feel bad whenever I forget something he tells me)

He’s too stumped by the words cheat sheet to look further, so Derek does it for him, flipping to the next page where very basic information about Spencer sits – full name, date of birth, hometown. As he looks to the page next to it, he realises it’s full of his favourite things – favourite coffee, favourite candy (which has multiple answers, by the way), even favourite pair of socks. Like a switch has been flipped, Spencer comes to life, frantically switching between pages that are overflowing with facts and tidbits about him, from his favourite monologue from his favourite film to his favourite shelf in his apartment. All things he’s told you either in passing or when he’s confided in you at random times, you’ve taken note. You’ve listened, and for some reason you’ve written it all down so you’d never forget.

“What…What is this?”

“It’s everything there is to know about you, Reid.” Derek watches as Spencer slips through the rest of the book, filled with random to-do lists and phone numbers of various people, looking for the same information about the rest of the team. “There’s only one for you, you know. And if you ask me it’s a little creepy, but it’s saved our asses when it’s come to buying gifts for you a good few times.” He slaps a hand on his friend’s shoulder, smirking at how Spencer’s awe-filled eyes never leave the pages before him. “They care about you a lot, Reid. More than you think. So…”

“I need to talk to them.”

“Yes, idiot, you do.”

+++

That night, Elle and Derek invite you to join them for some drinks at the bar, promising they won’t let it escalate to arm wrestling and childish bets like they always do. Even though they make a compelling argument, add on that you’re stressed and upset and really, really want to forget emotions exist more than anything else, you’re half tempted to accept and lose yourself in some cocktails.

Then you spot Spencer talking in hushed tones with Gideon and everything comes flooding back. So you tell Elle to have a drink for you, please don’t make a ruckus when she gets back to your shared room, and bid them adieu.

In your room, you distract yourself by renting one of your favourite movies. It’s overpriced, and a part of you wants to look over the case files again, but being sad and burnt out won’t lead to any good outcomes.

It’s a futile attempt at switching your brain off so you don’t have to think about how excited you were for the date. You’ve had twenty-four hours to get over it, but every time you see him you’re thrown back into the bitterness you feel – bitter that you fooled yourself into thinking it’d work out, bitter that your hopes were so high, bitter that you let your feelings for Spencer become such a big part of your life.

You’re lying on your scratchy hotel bed, thinking about Spencer and how he’s going to be complaining to Morgan about said scratchy beds, when there’s a knock at your door.

Naturally, you assume its Elle. She reminds you so much of your older sister who used to slide you some money so you’d stay up late into the night and quietly let her back into the house after she’s sneaked off to go to a party – except Elle is probably swaying outside your hotel room after losing her keycard rather than swaying on your doorstep.

So when you open the door, teasing quip ready, you legitimately choke when you’re faced with a fidgety Spencer Reid.

He tries to ignore how the way your face drops when you realise it’s him feels like a punch to the gut.

“Hey-“

“No.”

“Oh.”

“You-what-“ He’s never seen you so flustered. “Are you lost?”

Just in case, Spencer leans back to check the number beside your door is in fact 208. It is, and he turns back to you, “Please don’t slam the door in my face.”

It slips out. “I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise your pretty face.”

You’re humiliated that he has this effect on you, the ability to obliterate all your filters and common sense just by existing. But the look on his face alleviates the want to jump out of the window – his mouth opens, twitching into the smallest, most bashful smile before it falls and morphs back into disbelief. You just… You just called his face pretty, a word that makes some feel emasculated but no, never with you. You compliment people and mean it, which makes Spencer’s guilt worsen and the urge to tell you he loves you with his entire heart more intense.

You speak at the same time.

“Why are you-“

“I wanted to-“

You roll your lips together, holding back a smile, and nod for him to go on. He does the same, so you shake your head with a, “I was just asking why you’re here.”

He holds up a finger, signalling one moment, and opens his satchel to start rummaging in it. “I know this is a complete invasion of privacy, and theft, really, but Morgan showed me it and I just- Why do you have this?”

You gasp.

In his hand is the journal you’ve been working on since a month into your employment at the BAU. The gifted notebook was initially used to jot down any bits of advice your superiors gave you (on your first day, Elle gave you a list she lovingly titled “If I wasn’t an FBI agent I’d sock these people in the mouths”) but, before you knew it, it had an entirely different purpose.

It started when you witnessed Derek stumble when asked Spencer’s favourite colour, to which he said no one remembers stuff like that! Aptly followed by Spencer reeling off everyone’s preferred colours (even delving into second favourites and favoured colour schemes) and you realised then that… Spencer’s whole life, he’s remembered so much about the people around him and very rarely have they returned the favour. So, in an attempt to build friendship and because you had the fattest crush on him already, you started the Spencer Reid cheat sheet.

You didn’t think he’d ever see it, even if it’s always used by the team on various occasions. It was the team’s little secret, bar Spencer, that assisted in nearly every decision made on Spencer’s behalf – what to order from restaurants, drinks, birthday and holiday gifts, how to comfort him when he’s stressed or upset.

The responses vary. Derek thinks it’s weird, as did Elle at first, but JJ and Garcia insist its sweet and, really, no matter what they think they’ve all come running to you when time has called for it.

“How… Did you steal it?”

“Yes,” He tells you, guiltily, “I had to read it – it’s incredibly accurate, by the way.”

You don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.

“So… Why?”

“I don’t know,” You say, a bold-faced lie and Spencer can tell, but he lets you continue, “You remember everything about everyone else, so I wanted to… do the same for you, I guess.”

“I have an eidetic memory.”

You airily laugh – does he think you forgot that? “I know that. Doesn’t it get tiring recalling all this information about your friends and not having it reciprocated?”

He clicks his tongue at that, eyes falling back to the notebook in his hands that he fiddles with while he thinks. It is tiring, he supposes, but that’s how it’s always been. He remembers everything, the people around him just… don’t. He realised at a young age that he’ll often have to remind himself that friendship isn’t measured by what they remember, but by other ways – like this. You, with your unassuming journal that is full of things Spencer assumed no one would ever care to remember.

You, with your tensed jaw and fluttering eyes because you’re embarrassed.

You, who’s done quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for him, and it’s been happening for years right under his nose.

You, who he cancelled a date with because he was so sure you were dating him out of pity, out of obligation after he asked and you felt forced to say yes, but now he realises you care about him just as much as he cares for you.

Touched feels like an understatement.

“Y/N…”

“If you find it weird, I’ll burn it the second we get home. Pretend it never happened, we can… discuss a restraining order if we must-“

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Oh.”

He smiles at you, hands tight on the book in his hands, smiles so big that his eyes crinkle and his teeth show and he looks gorgeous. It tugs directly on your heart strings and just for a second you forget that he cancelled your date, forget that you’ve been pining for years, and bask in the warmth that radiates from him.

“This is… Insane, really.” He laughs, “But also so… so cool. I don’t deserve this, at all, and to think we could’ve gone on a date but I chickened out-“

“What?”

He shrugs with faux-nonchalance. “The-um- the reason I took back the date was because I think you deserve so much better than me. In a, you deserve someone like all the police officers down at the PD, kind of way. I don’t want a pity date-“

You scoff, then with an indignant, “Come in here,” You grab Spencer’s satchel and tug him into your hotel room, closing the door with a forceful push as he turns to face you.

With your hands on your hips, you stare him down with furrowed brows and a look that screams really? “Is that really what you think, Spence? It was a pity date?”

“Well, yeah,” He tells you. The conviction in his voice is so strong that, if you weren’t this riled up, you’d probably tear up at how sure he sounds.

You give another scoff. “Not only am I offended you think I’d do that to anyone, but I’m also mad that you don’t see how I look at you! Spencer, I’ve been into you since I started working here-“ His mouth falls open. You’re exasperated. “-and the notes were a way to get to know you, yes, but they were also because I couldn’t stop watching you and had to play it off like I was doing it for a reason. You’re my favourite, Spencer.”

His heart aches a little, full of such a tenderness he’s never quite felt before. He feels loved, and so, so touched that someone would put so much effort into getting to know him and… years. Literal years you’ve liked him, and he’s been blind to it.

“I like you a lot.” You’re breathless after your little speech, “And if you still don’t want that date, that’s okay. But I like you, Spence, I really like you.”

Your gaze never wavers. Spencer wants to scoop you up and place kisses all over. For the first time in a while, he feels worthy. Like what you’re saying isn’t being said for the sake of it, because you’re his friend and you have to support him, but because it’s what you genuinely think and feel and Spencer might be in love.

He swallows deeply before speaking.

“I really like you, too, Y/N. And I’m-I’m sorry that I cancelled the date and- I should’ve talked to you, maybe, before doing it, but… We’re here now, right?”

“You want to have a date right now?”

Thumbing through the book, he says, “Actually, there’s some blanks in here I’d like to fill, if you’re not busy…”

You’re very clearly on board with the suggestion, basically skipping to your bed, plopping down and patting the space beside you with a grin. “I’m not busy at all, Doctor Reid. Tell me everything I don’t already know.”

So he does, thigh pressed against yours and blush on his cheeks when you let your head fall onto his shoulder.

The night is spent giggling over the most random information you’ve gathered, correcting only one mistake (his favourite socks change every week, not your fault), and adding onto the already plentiful fact file.

And the date that weekend happens, ending in a sweet kiss on your doorstep that leaves you both with shy smiles and thundering hearts.

It’s the first date of many, followed by the creation of a new journal full of all there is to know about your and Spencer’s relationship.

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @bitchyreids @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @chiffonchronicles @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @jasongideonapologist @gublertoon @averyhotchner

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #i tried to write the first half in the past tense but i got confused so sorry if the tenses r weird

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minor-solemnity · 3 years ago

Note

hi i love your work and am excited for your series. i was wondering if you can do a one shot where the reader comforts tom and let’s him fall asleep on her while she plays with her hair 😩 soft tom 😈

Yesssss! Soft Tom - I cannot resist! This may have gotten away from me a bit so I hope you enjoy 2.6k of fluffy comfort!

Tag List: @jinxqsu @naps-and-lemons @riddles-wifey @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute @crumpets-are-better-with-jam

What Equates to Worship

The door to your bedroom is open and you roll your eyes when you peer inside and find the source of your broken wards slumped in the armchair next to your bed. Tom’s best robes are in a heap at the foot of the bed, his smartest brogues are kicked into the furthest corner of the room, his hair - usually so neat - is disarray. He looks like the world’s most harangued man. “Good evening, my love,” You murmur as you make your way over to his side, kneeling on the floor so that you can take hold of his hands which are resting loosely in his lap. “You broke my wards again.”

It’s late when you get home. There is a Very Important Case being tried in the Wizengamot and your boss, Gerald Montague, is running you ragged in an attempt to get the edge on the prosecution. It’s a nasty case, the defendant, Mr Vickers, is on trial for the kidnapping and murders of five women. His chances aren’t looking good - there is enough physical evidence to bury him and his alibi is flimsy at best. In private, both you and Montague are convinced of his guilt but that doesn’t matter when it’s your job to convince the Wizengamot and a jury of his innocence. Needless to say, it’s not been an easy couple of weeks.

Your shoes click against the uneven cobblestones as you make your way down the narrow road to your flat situated just off the main drag of Knockturn Alley. It’s not the best part of town, but the flat itself is double the size of what you would be able to afford if you lived somewhere more reputable. Besides, it’s not as though you’ve ever been scared by the less savoury parts of humanity and society - you’d be awful at your job if that were the case. You throw a couple of sickles to the hag that operates outside your building, and she promises you glory in the afterlife in thanks. “If you could promise me glory when I’m alive, I think I’d find that more useful,” You say as you fumble with your keys.

She laughs, “That will cost you more than a few sickles, love, try again tomorrow.” You chuckle and shrug a shoulder. It was worth try at least. The gas lamps that lead the way up the winding stairs to your attic flat are already lit, casting a dim, flicking light across the stairwell. You frown slightly as you make your way up the stairs; no one usually lights the lamps, leaving it up to you to light them when you return from the Ministry every day. Your curiosity is further piqued when you reach your front door and find it glowing a dim red, indicating that someone has broken through the wards. You have an idea of who it is, but you take your wand out just in case you’re mistaken. You have a few files from the Very Important Case hidden in the depths of your bedroom, which in the wrong hands, would be disastrous for you and Montague.

The inside of your flat is dark and cold and looks just as you’d left it this morning. With a sigh, you flick your wand at the fire and smile as flames begin to flicker and burn. Your flat is relatively spacious, but the fireplace is enchanted to spread the warmth further than a normal fire would and with any luck you’ll be toasty and warm within a few minutes. You shrug out of your travelling robes and kick off your heels, rubbing your aching feet with relish. Next on your list of things to do is figure out who has broken into your flat and if it's something you should be concerned about.

You pad through the flat, your stockinged feet making no noise against the polished wooden floorboards. The door to your bedroom is open and you roll your eyes when you peer inside and find the source of your broken wards slumped in the armchair next to your bed. Tom’s best robes are in a heap at the foot of the bed, his smartest brogues are kicked into the furthest corner of the room, his hair - usually so neat - is in disarray. He looks like the world’s most harangued man. “Good evening, my love,” You murmur as you make your way over to his side, kneeling on the floor so that you can take hold of his hands which are resting loosely in his lap. “You broke my wards again.”

He makes a small sound in the back of his throat which is honestly pitiful and you are struck by a burning desire to make whoever put him in such a state pay for their crimes. Tom should never look so downtrodden - it doesn’t suit him in the slightest. You rub soft circles against his palms, smoothing the tension out of his fingers with careful strokes as the quiet of your flat weaves a gentle spell of calm and soothing around the two of you. “Is it a good evening?” He mutters and when you look up at his face, you can see the hard lines of annoyance and defeat marring his forehead.

“Hmm, don’t frown, darling - you’ll ruin your pretty face.” This at least gets a small hum of amusement out of him which you count as a win. Heaven knows that when Tom gets in these moods it can take a lot more than gentle touches and murmured sweet-nothings to get him to smile. You rise from your position and move behind the armchair, resting your cheek on the crown on his head and your hands on his shoulders to kneed at his knotted muscles. “I assume that you didn’t get the job?”

You’ve been so busy with your own work that you’d forgotten that Tom’s interview with Dumbledore was today. If you had remembered you would have taken the day off because even the most optimistic person would have known there was a fool’s chance of Tom getting the Defence job. Despite everything though, Tom is an optimist. You would never have guessed it when you first got to know him, but underneath his taciturn facade is a terribly hopeful young man who still believes that things will turn out in his favour. His idealism is part of what you love about him if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s a good contrast to your cynical realism.

It’s ridiculous, of course. Tom, despite his young age, is the most qualified person you can think of for the position. He knows more about Defensive magic than anyone save for maybe Dumbledore himself, and beyond that, he has the right temperament for it. It comes as a surprise to most people who meet him that Tom would be a good teacher, but he really is. His love of Hogwarts, defensive magic, and his desire to impart that knowledge all adds up to someone who sees struggling students and wants them to succeed. If it had been anyone other than Dumbledore, he would have been a shoo-in for the role.

“You assume correctly.” His voice is still tight and muted with resigned anger, but he begins to loosen under your hands, his head lolling to the side and coming to rest against your forearm.

“Did he give you a reason why?”

Tom sighs and the sound is world-weary and destitute. At that moment, your hatred for Dumbledore intensifies. “He never intended on giving me a chance. He invited me in and lectured me about dark magic. He essentially said that as long as he was Headmaster I would not be welcome in the castle.” The worst thing is that Tom sounds so forlorn. Unlike you, who had decided after a year at Hogwarts that the only thing you wanted to do was leave, Tom’s fondness for the school is unparalleled. “Knowing him, that won’t be for another hundred years or so.”

“I’m so sorry, Tom,” You say, dropping a kiss into the dark curls of his hair. “He’s an old coot. Still so struck by the mythology of his own genius that he can’t see past his own prejudices.” He hums lowly in response and eventually, you feel him start to relax. It’s gratifying to know that it’s you over anyone else, that he comes to when he needs support. You know his friends and followers would do anything to gain his favour, but at the end of the day, he doesn’t seek them out. No, he doesn’t trust them to see him like this, to see him in his more human moments of vulnerability. He trusts you to understand him and comfort him. That in itself is a gift.

“Now, come on. We can worry about Dumbledore later, but right now, let me find us something to eat.” Food, in your opinion, can go a long way to right a lot of wrongs and you have a sneaking suspicion that Tom probably hasn’t eaten all day. He’s annoying like that, too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care about silly little things like eating and taking care of oneself. You can’t help but chuckle softly as he mumbles something under his breath and reaches for your hands to hold you in place. “Later, my love. I promise,” You say and disentangles yourself from his grasp.

Tom follows you out of the bedroom and watches you with a look of exasperated amusement as you search your kitchen. Your cupboards are sinfully bare when you go to inspect them, the rush of the last two weeks has meant that you’ve neglected a lot of your more basic chores. “And you accuse me of neglecting my needs. You hardly set a good example, my dear.” He murmurs from where he’s lounging against the stove. You roll your eyes as you shove your feet back into your heels and head for the door.

“Veeraswamy?” You ask and have to hide your smile when Tom’s eyes light up. It’s not often that the two of you treat yourselves to restaurant-quality food as neither of your jobs’ salaries really allow the indulgence, however, tonight, you think an exception is called for. “Feel free to look over the files I brought home - maybe you’ll notice something I missed.” You don’t even finish your sentence before Tom is digging through your work bag and pulling out the offending files. Typical, you think fondly. Tom is as curious as a cat and one of the easiest ways of making him feel better about anything is to introduce him to a puzzle.

Fifteen minutes later you apparate home with a brown paper bag of Veeraswamy’s finest selection of curries and sweet treats. As a rule, they’re dine-in only, as many of the restaurants in muggle London are, however, you’re not above a confundus charm to get what you want and you always make sure to tip splendidly to offset any guilt you feel for taking advantage. When you get in, Tom has the case files splayed out on the small kitchen table and you spare yourself a moment to admire the elegant curve of his neck and the way his curls fall in graceful arcs across his brow. Without looking up, he makes a space for you to drop the bag of goodies on the table and you collect plates and the bottle of wine that is the only thing you already had in your flat.

You discuss the Very Important Case over dinner and he indulges in your complaints about Montague’s refusal to even consider your line of defence. “Vickers says that he went to a Seer and was told that these women would die by his hand. I want to make the case that he can’t be fully held accountable for the murders if it’s already foretold.” Never mind that that isn’t how prophecies or fortune work, no one in the Wizengamot understands the intricacies of Divination well enough to know that just because something is said, doesn’t mean it will come to pass. “Montague is convinced that we can prove his innocence without resorting to asking for lesser charges.”

“And he’ll lose the case because of it.” He hums, sets his fork down and reaches for your hand, his long fingers looping around your wrist. “Have you considered the fact that Vickers may have been compromised? The file says that when he was found, Vickers was abnormally placid and made no attempts to hide the evidence that would have been easily disposed of? Maybe hire a mind-healer and see if he’s been the victim of an imperius curse,” He says nonchalantly as though he hasn’t just dropped the biggest break in the case in your lap.

“Tom. Tom, you are a genius. How did you even begin to come to that conclusion?” He must hear the wonder in your voice because a small, self-satisfied smile curves his upper lip and he leans over the table to press a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips.

“These things are obvious if you know what you’re looking for.” The knowing in his voice hints at something darker and your eyes narrow slightly. Tom’s proclivity for the dark arts is no secret, neither is his cunning and ruthlessness. You don’t ask and he doesn’t tell, but you suppose it’s probably a good thing that you’re training to become a defence lawyer. Maybe one day he’ll need one.

Tonight is not the night for those kinds of thoughts though. You doubt any night will be - if ever there comes a day when you have to reckon with Tom’s less savoury pursuits, you already know where your allegiances lie. With a soft hum of acknowledgement, you stand and lead him to the bedroom. “Enough maudlin talk for tonight, I think,” You say as you settle against the headboard and motion for him to join you. “You must be tired after today.”

Even though he tries to hide it, you can see that the day has worn on him. Shadows form like ink stains underneath his eyes, and he holds himself with a kind of forlorn regret that fills you with a feeling of sympathetic sorrow. He crawls up the bed and raises an eyebrow when you don’t move to make room for him. Instead, you simply lift an arm and smile, sleepiness and tenderness mingling into something soft in your eyes. After a few second of internal debate where Tom looks from you to the spot you’ve made for him, he gingerly lowers himself against you, his head resting in the hollow where your shoulder meets your neck. He lies unnaturally still and tense in the way a feral kitten might react to the kindness of a stranger.

Honestly, it’s more than a little heartbreaking. Slowly - carefully - you rest one hand over his heart and begin to card your other through his hair. You’re not entirely sure how he manages it - you’ve never seen a haircare potion in his vicinity - but Tom has the softest hair of anyone you’ve met. It’s dreadfully unfair, really. You rub gentle circles against his scalp and smile softly in the dim light as you feel him relax against you, the long hard lines of his body soften as you continue your gentle ministrations. Gradually, you sense him ease into a contented state as he seeks clemency from the day in your touch.

That you can do this for him, that you can be this for him is not something you would have ever thought possible. You remember vividly the uptight rigidity with which he had held himself throughout your time at school. The fervent dedication he had channelled to reach the top of the pecking order, never allowing himself a moment of softness or reprieve. You’re certain that if he’s not careful he will burn himself out before he’s had a chance to truly shine, and you know just how brightly he could if given the chance.

You brush his hair from his eyes and lazily draw abstract patterns against his chest, feeling the way his breathing deepens as sleep overtakes him. In this moment of calm, sleepy repose, you feel your heart expand with all love and care you think you might ever feel, and you brush a soft kiss to the crown of his head, revelling in the almost breathy sigh that escapes him. “You’re far too good to me,” He mumbles, half asleep and entirely too sincere.

“Agree to disagree, my love. I am exactly as good to you as you deserve.” He chuckles at this, nestling deeper into your side and flinging an arm across your waist. “Now, sleep - we have so much time for everything else.”

AN: Also before anyone accuses me of anachronisms, Veeraswamy is London’s oldest Indian restaurant. It was opened in 1926 and I’ve been there once before - the food was so so so good and it was disgustingly expensive. I’m assuming that it wasn’t that pricey in the 40’s

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #minific #asks #request #prompt fill #prompt fic #harry potter #harry james potter

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missmungoe · 3 years ago

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What’s your idea about Makino’s little ring in the cover of chapter 806?

So I’m not sure if you’re asking me what I think the ring means (in which case, see: https://archiveofourown.org/series/581281), or if this is a prompt, but I don’t think the ring is an accidental detail, and as she had a child during the timeskip, it’s not unreasonable to assume it’s a wedding ring. I have >1.6 million words written about who I hope wears the matching one, but until “that man’s” identity is confirmed, it’s just a tantalising possibility, alas!

But even if the ring doesn’t mean what I hope it does, it doesn’t need to for my imagination to make it so, and just in case this was a writing prompt, here’s a little something I’ve been tinkering with, originally in answer to a completely different prompt, but since they went well together, I combined them:

The thing with feathers, that perches in the soul // Shanks x Makino; rated M (part 1/?)

“Take it off?”

Surprise lifted her voice, her laugh small and startled, but then she’d been caught off guard by the request, made out of the blue one morning.

The sun was taking its time, rising from its slumber with a lazy stretch across her floors, a slight chill still touching the salt air where she’d thrown the windows open. A thick cover of sea mist draped heavily over the water, soft as chiffon where it crept up the shoreline to the foundations of her bar; a protective shroud veiling her little corner of the world, half-forgotten by the rest.

Shanks had been reading the paper while she got ready to open, a routine they’d created, bit by bit over the months he’d stayed, communicated in touches and gestures―the chairs taken down from the tables while she had her back turned; a cup of coffee placed by his elbow before he could request it―no words needed between them in this first, tender hour, and so she’d been startled when he’d spoken.

She considered him across the counter, the glass she’d been polishing cupped idly between her hands. The look on his face was unusually serious, which told her what he had in mind wasn’t roleplay. Not the kind she would have expected him to suggest, anyway.

Unease crept with a shiver up her back, and she had an inkling already before Shanks said, evenly, “If anyone shows up, I want you to take your ring off. And I’m not talking about Garp, although this is probably the only time he’d agree with me.”

“But I don’t want to take it off,” Makino said, tucking her fingers around the hand that wore it, as though that could somehow keep it there.

She saw his eyes going to it, before they lifted to hers, the barest furrow between his brows betraying a rare tension. “It would be safer.”

“But who’s going to make the connection? It’s not like it has ‘property of Red-Haired Shanks’ inscribed on it.”

His lips didn’t even quirk, which was so jarring her own smile fell. She knew him so well, it was only rarely that he ever responded in a way she didn’t expect, but it was becoming clear to her now that whatever was on his mind, it couldn’t be smoothed over with jokes.

She took in his face, his handsome features arranged in a look she wasn’t used to seeing, a hardness about him that didn’t belong here, on her gentle shores―that belonged to a different sea, one that asked different things of him, things she couldn’t ask, and she hated it now for finding him here, and for infringing on her peace as she’d made it.

Her eyes darted to the paper, open on the counter, wondering if something in it had inspired this change, but seeing the way he looked at her, behind the counter that was the only protection she’d ever needed, Makino knew it wasn’t anything in the news, but something they’d both known had been coming for a while. Ever since he’d come back, it had waited in the wings, a silent patron she could ignore most days, too happy to pay it any mind, but there was no ignoring it now that he’d brought it up.

They’d been holding off discussing his departure, even as she’d known it was bound to catch up with them eventually. But while she’d made her peace with him leaving, knowing he’d come back, the thought of giving up the tangible reminder she had of that promise met resistance now.

She’d spent ten years hinging her hopes on nothing but her memories, trying to convince herself she hadn’t imagined the promise he’d made her. Now they were married, and there was more than words binding them, and even the sea had to respect these vows, spoken on the deck of his ship, no church or mortal court to give their blessing, only that bottomless cathedral, and the ancient authority that had witnessed their union.

She felt the metal of her wedding band, warmed by her fingers. Their rings had been wrought from the chain of the anchor that had first dropped in her port twelve years ago, but it wasn’t sentimental value that made her react so fiercely now, at the thought of parting with it.

She didn’t want to take it off―to pretend she hadn’t made that vow, or that the last two years hadn’t happened. The ring was a declaration of what she was, the only way she could declare it, when the world couldn’t know she existed. She refused to give that up, and to pretend she was anything less than she was, even just for show.

“It’s not like there’s any evidence tracing back to you,” Makino said, when he hadn’t spoken. “We don’t have a marriage certificate in the records that they can dig up.” Ben had been the one to marry them; an old sailor’s tradition, shamelessly borrowed with a pirate’s cheerful contempt of the law; the flowers in her hair new as snow, and the sea their something blue. Unconventional by most standards, but she couldn’t have imagined it any other way.

Shanks wasn’t budging. “It’s just safer if people believe you’re unmarried.”

“The whole village was at our wedding, Shanks. Half of them got blackout drunk, but I think they remember.” Her own memories were blurry at best, flowers crumbling under her bare feet, and laughing as he spun her, a wedding shanty that put their vows to shame, and laughter she could still feel in the bottom of her stomach.

The following hangover, though; that she remembered.

Still no smile, but then she heard how her attempted humour faltered, buckling under his seriousness. She didn’t like what it made of his face; the one she only knew as smiling.

“Not the village,” Shanks said, with a look and a pitch that said he knew she was being obstinate, and that left her breath feeling a little faint. He didn’t use that tone with her often, at least outside of more intimate settings, and she didn’t like it being invoked here, and in this way.

Shifting her weight, she squared her shoulders, all of her five feet brandished against his six and more, although even seated, it didn’t give her an advantage, but she saw the way his brow furrowed, as she said, gently firm, “I’m not taking it off.”

She didn’t know if the look on his face was affection or exasperation. “Can’t you just agree with me on this?”

“No.”

“Makino―”

“If anyone asks, I’ll just say my husband is out working the fields,” she said. “What are they going to do, go out and check? Because I can ask one of the farmers to put up a scarecrow by one of the ploughs.”

Her stubborn levity made no headway, his hardened features untouched, but she didn’t give in, her chin lifted as she stared him down across the countertop.

Then with a sigh, “You’d at least have to pick a believable lie,” Shanks relented, after enduring a full thirty seconds of her eyes. His look softened a bit. “And make it a good-looking scarecrow.”

“It could be asleep at the plough,” Makino suggested. “If we’re going for accuracy.” Her smile trembled, before it fell when he didn’t return it.

It was hard to swallow past the knot in her throat, and she heard it in her voice when she said, “I’ll tell them you’re out fishing.”

“And if they stick around and I never come in?”

“I’ll tell them I hope the sea king didn’t get you?”

This time she couldn’t even attempt a smile, and when his expression still didn’t change, she said, without teasing, “Then I’ll tell them you’re in Goa Port picking up a shipment of spirits. You’re a barkeep, but it’s hard getting orders delivered here. It’s a long way to Goa, too. You’ll be gone until tomorrow, at the earliest.”

“And if they come back and I’m still not around?”

She might have made another suggestion, but recognised from the stubborn set of his jaw that he wasn’t backing down.

His face changed then, something like regret chasing across it, there before it was gone, and she didn’t understand why before Shanks said, with a heaviness that held an almost portentous note, “Say that you’re a widow.”

She was surprised by the forcefulness of her own reaction.

“No.”

He sighed. “Makino―”

“No,” she repeated, fiercely. “I won’t.”

She saw that she wasn’t the only one surprised by her reaction. And she didn’t even know why it hit her so hard. She couldn’t claim to be particularly superstitious. Her mother had been too practical for superstition, but she’d also respected the sea; they all did here, who lived their lives beside it. It was a more pragmatic relationship than a sailor might devote himself to, which often had an air of fancy about it, but even if they didn’t read omens from the sky or pray to any gods, there was an implicit understanding among them that you didn’t challenge those forces lightly. They were thankful for fair weather and a good catch, but they didn’t invoke the Fates here, or seek to challenge them.

But the man seated across the counter from her had the authority to do that; the one who’d carved a place for himself on a sea most never lived to sail, one of few who could claim the kind of power it took to challenge that old authority.

She wasn’t like him. She knew what was owed; a debt she’d been paying for twelve years, for wanting him. She didn’t want to invoke that word, the fate that was all too common for those who gave their hearts to sailors, in case she invoked prophecy along with it.

Putting away the glass, Makino pressed her palms over the polished countertop. She saw how they shook, and the still-new gleam of her wedding ring where it circled her finger, but then she hadn’t been wearing it long enough for it to get scratches.

She didn’t want that to be their marriage, taken off when the going got tough, forever keeping its shiny new exterior. She wanted it to show signs of wear, of work, and love―of actually being a marriage, and not just when it was convenient, or safe.

“I’m your wife,” she said gently, although the fervour behind it refused to bend against her own fears. “I want to be your wife, even if I’m here and you’re not―”

The words faltered on her tongue, but then there was a reason she’d been avoiding thinking about him leaving.

Shanks’ look softened, some of the tension in his brow yielding as he said, understanding, “The ring isn’t what makes you my wife.”

“I know that,” Makino said softly. Turning her hand, she gripped his fingers. He wore his ring now, but she knew he wouldn’t take the risk when he left. But she understood that, even if part of her rebelled against doing the same. “It’s not like I don’t understand where you’re coming from. I know it’s a risk. What I’m saying is that I’m willing to take it.” To be what she was, she’d accept the danger that came with it. That was her marriage vows. Not empty platitudes about sickness and health, only the simple, unembellished truth.

Shanks said nothing, his gaze on their hands, but the look in his eyes like he wasn’t seeing a ring but a shackle, and a different kind of prophecy than the one she feared.

She decided to try a different tactic.

“If pretending is what you want me to do, I could always get someone from Dadan’s family to stand in as my husband,” Makino said, and saw him look up, the slightest tightening at the corners of his eyes betraying his otherwise unreadable expression.

Turning his hand over between her own, she traced the sword-callouses in his palm, the softer pads of her fingers catching against the rougher skin. “Magra, maybe,” she continued, and watched the barest flex of his fingers. “I’ve heard he’s quite handy. We could tell people we met when he helped me carry a keg from the storeroom.” Lifting her eyes found him watching her, but she only met his gaze calmly, as she asked him, “What do you think? Would he make me a good stand-in husband?”

His eyes held hers, her gentle challenge noted, the look in them somewhere between knowing and warning, and this time it sent an entirely different kind of shiver racing up her spine.

Undeterred, she lowered her eyes to their hands, smoothing her thumb over his knuckles, pale under his sun-darkened skin. “Maybe he could help me out around the bar. To keep up appearances.”

Flicking her eyes up to his, she went in for the kill. “He could even stay in the guest room. Just to be safe.”

His whole look darkened, and her stomach did a thrilling little flip.

“Don’t like that idea, hmm?” she asked, and tried to pretend her voice didn’t shiver, but it was hard when he was looking at her like that. “Me with someone else.” She trailed her fingertips across the back of his hand, her own so small she couldn’t even cover half of it with all her fingers splayed. “A different man in my house.” A fleeting caress to his wrist felt the tendons in his forearm, pulled taut with a strain that left her feeling suddenly short of breath, even as she said, demure, “And my pantry.”

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, wife.”

The pitch of his voice had goosebumps pebbling her flesh, his naturally deep timbre touched with a note of warning that stirred something deep within her, although she couldn’t tell which was the fiercer feeling, desire or relief, finding her cheek finally parried with something other than that hard expression that couldn’t be coaxed into yielding, no matter how gentle her touches.

“Well,” Makino said, and even teasing, the sincerity was real when she told him softly, her small hand gripping his, mapped with the evidence of his life, their marriage included, “I don’t mind a little danger.”

Then, this time without teasing, “I married you,” she said, and didn’t care that her voice trembled now. She wasn’t hiding her feelings. “And I’ll be careful, but I won’t hide what I am, or pretend that I’m something else. Or someone else’s.”

Bearing the weight of his eyes, she didn’t shy away from them, or from the truth as she spoke it.

“I’m yours,” she told him, fiercely, and felt the way his hand tightened under hers. “And if they come here and they already know about me, nothing I say or do will change their minds. The ring won’t matter. And there are things I can’t hide that easily.”

She glanced towards the crib behind the counter; the one they’d fashioned out of an old barrel of their captain’s favourite whiskey. She’d found the gesture both characteristically inappropriate and undeniably perfect, but then she’d spent her first years sleeping in a liquor crate while her mother worked. And their child wasn’t just the son of a pirate; he was the son of a barmaid, too.

She saw Shanks’ gaze going to it, and the baby sleeping within. And it was more than her lack of protection that weighed on him, she knew, but as long as he was who he was, there would be a risk in being associated with him. Even retiring wouldn’t change what he’d been. Not in the eyes of the current Fleet Admiral, anyway.

And since it wasn’t something either of them could change, she was determined to make the best of the situation, but then she was good at that.

She thought it was time to remind him just how good.

It was still a little while before they were due to open, and smiling, “You could always help me practice my ruse,” Makino suggested, and saw his brows lifting, bemusement at what she had planned easing some of the tension from his features.

Leaning across the counter, she trailed her fingers along his wrist, following the contours of his arm, and the distracting tautness of corded muscle under her fingertips, “My husband isn’t here, officer,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes. “It’s just me: a very lonely barmaid with a very spacious pantry.”

Her face fell when he pinched his lips, before his grin shattered his whole composure, and, “Wait,” she said, drawing back to stutter, “That sounded better in my head. What I meant was that―”

A broad hand reached around the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss that stole what she’d been about to say, and muffling her startled laugh, although his own was quick to follow, deep and rough where it rose from his chest, the kiss breaking when he couldn’t contain his grin.

Drawing back enough to look at her, he sighed, rough fingers slipping from her neck to tuck her hair behind her ear. “God, you’re terrible at this,” Shanks said, with such a fierce affection, her heart constricted. “Completely unconvincing.”

Balancing on her toes, the edge of the counter dug into her ribs, but the discomfort was fleeting and unimportant. Her smile trembled on her mouth, inches from his, his beard brushing her jaw as she murmured, “I know.”

Closing her eyes, she kissed him softly, her hands cupping his face, no pretence this time, only the honest truth, offered with all of herself, the only way she knew how.

He’d moved before she could react, the kiss breaking only for a second, and she’d barely had time to catch her breath when his mouth claimed hers again, his arm wrapping around her as he pushed her back towards the storeroom, and the door where it sat ajar.

They stumbled over the doorstep, fumbling between sloppy kisses, like they were in that moment younger people with less to lose, her little laughing shriek muffled against his lips when he hoisted her up onto the shelf where her ledger lay open, and she couldn’t contain her giggles even as he shushed her through grinning kisses, knowing from experience how little it took to rouse a three-month old baby but unable to help herself, something wild and reckless pushing like wings against her ribcage, refusing to stay hidden, wanting out, fearless in its desire, and its will to claim it.

They hadn’t brought a lantern, and the light hadn’t reached this far into her bar, the storeroom cool and dark and the heavy shelves keeping her spirits and secrets, the crates digging into her back as he pinned her to them.

“This is very rakish behaviour for a married woman,” Shanks rumbled, releasing her from the kiss, her breath hitching when his hand wrapped around her thigh, pushing her skirt out of the way. “Someone might mistake you for a pirate.”

Makino hummed, finding her balance on the shelf, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck as she swung her legs, her boots and stockings impishly bared, and saw how it drew his eyes, before she eased them apart, her smile small and demure, and utterly unconvincing. “Imagine that.”

His eyes held her, his features darkened by the shadows of her pantry, making his scars look more pronounced, but the look beneath was gentle as Shanks touched his brow to hers. His thumb traced the hem of her stocking, and the glimpse of bare skin beneath her skirt where he’d pushed it up.

The feeling from before seized her, that fearless thing, like wings waiting under her skin. And maybe it was easy to be brave here, within the walls of her pantry where it felt like nothing could touch them, but even knowing differently didn’t change what she felt, as Makino told him, soft, “Ask me again.”

His look changed, a sudden intensity in it that made her glad she was sitting, but she didn’t look away, accepting the full weight of the truth behind it, unfearing of what it meant to be loved like that, and by someone like him.

Bending his head, his mouth covered hers firmly, stuttering her breath with a gasp, a command behind it that left her hands shaking where she’d curled them around his neck, and if she’d had any more clever remarks prepared about stand-in husbands or navy officers, they fled her mind now as she melted.

The big hand around her thigh tightened its grip, his wedding ring digging into her skin, as though he could imprint something that couldn’t be taken off or hidden, that was written on her skin, on her soul, and if she could have formed the words, she might have told him he already had, but they were lost when his hand slid up her thigh to part her legs, finding her with a shuddering breath that she felt in the way it left him.

And this was another unspoken language they’d made, communicated in touches―her legs parting to him in welcome, and his hand pausing, his fingers already half inside her, asking; her breath hitching as she lifted herself up to kiss him deeper, her hands threading through his hair as she gave herself, a silent affirmation that told him to take―no words needed as he entered her, carefully even if it had been months since their son, but she appreciated the restraint he showed, even with all of him unravelling under her hands, that iron-clad control included.

Her legs wrapping around his waist pulled him deeper, her gasp stuttering with a faint little plea as he filled her to her limit. And if she hoped he’d leave something in her it was a private thought, begged with her breaths as she took him inside her, each thrust a little harder, the bottles stirring in their crates as the shelf creaked, a steady rhythm growing in tandem with her gasps.

Her hands left his jaw, fumbling with the front of her stays as she slipped loose the little hooks until it popped open, and he was already reaching for her, his fingers a shock of warmth where they slipped past the low cut of her blouse to cup one of her breasts, tiny in his hand, his sword-calluses rough where he caressed it, and her shivering moan was well received, from the deeper groan that left him, as Shanks slowed his pace, touching her as he took her, until the shelves were rattling.

Bending down, he kissed her chest, his lips seeking the wide valley between her breasts, her flushed skin pearling with sweat. His beard scuffed her breast as he pulled it free, and she gasped, arching against the shelf as he curled his tongue around a painfully sensitive nipple, her lips parting over his name where it left her in a whimper.

He came like that, her skirt shoved up her hips and her silk stockings slipping down her legs, spread to him where she sat, the pages of her ledger crumpled and damp beneath her; the stereotype of the lascivious tavern wench, but she embraced it now, shockingly indulgent in her own lewdness, watching him as he finished with deep, pulsing shudders, a groan leaving him that had her toes curling in her boots.

His eyes slitted open, the grey steel muted, but even then his full attention was arresting; a single look enough to dismiss everything else in the world, as though she was the only thing in it.

She watched as they swept across her, her breasts bared to the air and her thighs spread, his cock still inside her, but she didn’t squirm or try to hide, only allowed him to see.

Bending forward, Shanks kissed the parting of her hair, his breath winded as he leaned some of his weight on her. His knuckles brushed her cheek, catching the tears that had spilled over without her notice. His ring was cool against her skin; wrapping around the back of her neck, she felt how they shook.

Carding her fingers through his hair, she felt him exhale, but he didn’t let her go, just held her like that, the protective frame of his body between her and the door, hiding her from view, and nothing could have touched her there, in that moment.

His fingers trailed down the dip between her shoulder blades. Her blouse clung to her skin, the air within the storeroom damp and smelling of them, but she couldn’t even worry that someone would stumble across them, although had enough presence of mind to think that she should probably fix herself up before their first customers arrived, but was distracted by the deep chuckle that left him, and his voice where it rumbled into her skin,

“Where’s your husband now, barmaid?”

Her laugh trembled, and her arms tightened around his neck, pulling him closer and pressing her nose into the hollow of his throat. She loved him like this, freed of worry, if only for a little while. And that was her power; the only one she could claim, but it wasn’t a small thing in this age, to command peace.

And she knew how he expected her to react, because he knew her better than anyone, and never let an opportunity to make her flustered pass him by.

But she knew him, too, and like him, she knew exactly how to nudge him off balance. Which was why she said, demure as anything, “He’s ploughing his wife.”

She felt the hand on her neck pausing, the slight stiffening in him betraying his surprise, before his shoulders convulsed, as Shanks bent forward with a laugh.

The sound filled her, loud and lovely, but a softness about it that was hers, that tender, half-winded thing. She thought the whole village had to hear it, and that it would wake the baby, but she didn’t care, her own laughter helpless, hearing his, and feeling the way his arm tightened around her, which said more than any other gesture or word, even as Shanks murmured roughly, “I love you.”

Cupping his face with her hands, she pressed her forehead against his. “It will be okay,” Makino said, and didn’t care that she couldn’t make that promise; that there were other forces that wanted their say. But she wouldn’t hide from her choices, and him least of all. “You’ll see.”

Shanks said nothing, only held her, but he didn’t disagree this time, which she counted as a small victory, and it was what gave her the courage to quip, “And if anyone asks, I’ll tell them my husband can’t be held down. His heart belongs to the sea. It’s just the way things are, in this day and age.”

His eyes found hers. In the dim light, they looked darker, but she knew the look in them, and like the laugh, that was hers, too. “I thought we agreed that we were going for accuracy,” Shanks said. A tender smile curved his mouth, as he told her roughly, “And that you’re a terrible liar.”

Her grin couldn’t be contained, splitting her face, wide and without shame, and his.

The sound of the bat-wing doors swinging open reached them, followed by their first customers arriving, and her grin fell as horror widened her eyes, before she scrambled to pull her stays closed.

A voice from the bar drifted through the door―“Huh? Where’s Makino-chan?”

“That’s odd,” said another, as her mortification deepened, recognising one of her mother’s oldest patrons; a man who’d seen her toddle around in diapers. “Red-Hair’s not here, either. They’re usually open by now.”

Shanks’ grin grew, and she saw the punishment for her disobedience in the gleam in his eyes, and hissed, “Shanks, no―”

But she wasn’t quick enough, as he turned his head towards to call out, “She’s coming! Or she will be.” And before her horror could fully sink in, added brightly, “Just give me a few minutes to finish; I want to make sure she does.”

Her hands clapping over his mouth didn’t succeed in muffling his laughter, but then even her embarrassment couldn’t hold out against the grin that split his face now, which held no trace of his earlier seriousness, as he nipped and kissed her fingers until her mortification dissolved with her laughter.

When they emerged a few minutes later, after she’d blankly refused to let him get her off first (although had agreed to revisiting it after closing), it was to find their regulars waiting, knowing looks exchanged above poorly-stifled grins as she with every ounce of prim dignity she possessed asked them if they wanted their usual, all the while ignoring Shanks’ eyes following her as she made her way between the tables. Although having taken their orders, she caught the fond murmur as she made for the bar―

“Married life suits her, doesn’t it?”

“Aye, it does. Shame Em ain’t here to see it.”

Her smile ruined her prim composure, but she claimed it for herself, and kept her chin high as she walked to the bar where Shanks was waiting, leaning back against the kegs.

“What?” he asked, when she reached him, lifting up on her toes to steal a kiss; not something she usually did, shy about public displays, unlike him, and relished in his surprise at her brazenness, shaping his grin, a gentler thing than in the storeroom earlier.

Her own smile was small, as she lowered back on her heels, her head tipped back to look up at him, noting the dish-towel slung over his shoulder, a different kind of captain, with no sea underfoot, but a captain still.

“Nothing,” Makino said, before reciting, “One egg over easy, and―”

“―one sunny-side up, hash browns on the side of both, and a single serving of bacon, because old man Nakamura is watching his cholesterol.”

At her look of surprise, he only smiled, and bent his head to kiss her once, before he made for the kitchen, a grin thrown over his shoulder, leaving her staring after him, and wondering how he could have ever expected her to pretend to be the person she’d been before him.

The doors swinging open drew her gaze to his crew, and her smile blossomed as they greeted her, loudly and cheerfully. And there was no doubt in their minds what she was, catching their cheeky bows and tipped hats, but she didn’t shy from their reverence where it named her, and more clearly than any ring or vow.

“Hey, where’s that husband of yours?” Yasopp asked her, when she appeared at their table to take their orders. Someone had given him the baby, awake and peering up at all the faces around him. Yasopp made a face at him, and when he got a gummy little smile, asked him in a sing-song voice, “What’s his name again?”

“Keeps slipping my mind,” Ben agreed, grinning around his toothpick.

“Wait, who are we talking about?”

“Makino’s husband.”

“Oh, right! That guy.”

The others joined in, feigning forgetfulness, their laughter growing in volume, until there was nothing left of the quiet morning, dissolving like the sea mist as the sun claimed its seat in the sky.

Her playful look warned them, although her smile indulged their cheeky insubordination, knowing well just how far it was from the truth. Because she could imagine their reactions to the suggestion, however teasingly made, about a stand-in husband in their captain’s absence, endearingly protective, and not just of her. She would spare poor Magra that.

“He’s here,” Makino said, and heard in the words the fleeting truth, but didn’t care if she wouldn’t be able to say the same a month from now, or two. He’d be home again soon, with the tide. They all would.

Emerging from the kitchen, Shanks took one look at the room and stopped, a different kind of concern furrowing his brow now as every grin within turned towards him. “What did I miss?”

Coming over to where she was standing, he put the tray he was carrying on the table. The look he gave her said he had his suspicions, and that her innocent smile was fooling no one.

Then a gleam entered his eyes, and Makino knew she was in trouble even before he chirped, “Did you tell them about your plan to get a stand-in husband in my absence?”

Their grins fell, and Makino closed her eyes.

Poor Magra.

“A what?!”

She didn’t get a stand-in, but she didn’t take the ring off, either―a small act of rebellion, but it was the only thing she could do in opposition to the system that governed their world, and the laws that would punish her for her choices. And maybe there was a little pride there, too, but then loving him was her greatest crime, and she’d accept all charges against her, pleading guilty to whatever court would see her put on trial, mortal or otherwise. Those were her wedding vows, too; the ones she hadn’t spoken aloud to him.

Her bar saw the occasional new visitor, on their way to Goa or further still, who’d seen the lights from afar and decided to have a look, but there was only one who asked about the ring, and who didn’t bat an eye when she told him her husband was currently across the island signing off on a shipment. He’d only remarked positively on their bar, and said that no tavern in Goa Port he’d been to had been as hospitable.

(She hadn’t questioned his manners, unfailingly good, almost military-like; hadn’t looked closely enough at the set of his shoulders, that proud bearing she’d known since childhood, from the grizzled marine who’d ruffle her hair until her kerchief sat askew and who’d sneak her gifts behind her mother’s back.)

Garp would have seen through him, she would realise later, but she’d been so busy trying to keep up appearances, she’d forgotten to question if her visitor was doing the same.

She was getting ready to open―had just finished lifting the chairs off the tables and had gone into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee when she remembered it wasn’t necessary, and had instead gone to wring out the rag to wipe down the counter when she heard the bat-wing doors swinging inwards.

Ace was asleep in his crib, safe under the counter behind the curtain she’d pulled closed, and she didn’t pause at her early visitor, as emerging from the kitchen, she called out, forgetting for a moment that she was alone, the we invoked so easily, even weeks after he’d left, “I’m sorry, but we’re not open yet―”

The words cut off, as she came to a halt.

She could smell the cigar smoke from across the room, the butt smouldering like the embers in her hearth, an almost unnatural glow in its burning eye where it fastened on her like a brand.

The white coat was the first thing she noticed, but she would have recognised him even out of uniform, the straight shoulders and the flower tattoo peeking out from under his shirt, the garishly patterned kind that reminded her of Garp, but that was where their similarities ended.

He was flanked by two officers, their caps pulled low over their brows, but she recognised the one on the left, dark-haired and dimpled and refusing to meet her eyes, his hands white-knuckled around the rifle he was holding. He’d loved her cooking so much he’d asked for a fourth helping; had said it reminded him of his sister’s, who he hadn’t seen in years.

The Fleet Admiral took her in, a single sweep of his eyes across her announcing his feelings, something far more personal than simple contempt in the furrow of his brow. Judge, jury, and executioner; he’d already decided her charges, and what her punishment would be, for the choices she’d made. The only crime she’d committed, but for a man like him, it was enough.

And she’d been right. In the end, the ring hadn’t mattered.

“Arrest her.”

#Shanks x Makino #Shanks/Makino #Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks #Akagami no Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks x Makino #Makino #One Piece #One Piece fanfiction #opfanfic #fanfiction #mungoe writes #Shanties for the Weary Voyager #sharing snippets of my WIPs helps me feel like I'm being productive #this story isn't meant to be very long mind #(and I know - famous last words haha)#but I'm hoping this might pique someone's interest!

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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years ago

Text

Of Mice and Men

AYO back with day 5 of biodad!bruce wayne month! lets get it! I’ll leave this up to interpretation on whether this takes place before or after day 1...

Maribat Masterlist AO3 @maribat-bdbwm

Word count: 1.4K words

Summary:

“Has it ever occurred to you that the world does not revolve around you?” Was that supposed to be a joke? She sounded closer, probably ten feet away now. “Did you ever think that I might have business here, completely separate from your work?”

“So it’s a coincidence then.”

“Exactly.”

“Not likely.”

The night when Bruce met Sabine

BD!Bruce Wayne Day 5- Stories/Memories

without further ado:

“What do you think you’re doing?”

The words were out before he could even think them over. He was on a mission in Japan, tracking down a Penguin shipment that managed to leave Gotham under his watch. The subject of his question was an anomaly that had been following him since his arrival at the docks. She clung to the shadows, trailing him the entire distance, not breathing a word to him. If she were here to assassinate him, she would have done so. No, she had other motivations in being his tail and the secrecy was grating on his nerves.

“What ever do you mean?” Her voice was small, barely whispered into the night air, but he heard it nonetheless.

“You’re following me. Why?”

“So it’s a coincidence then.”

“Exactly.”

“Not likely.” Coincidences don’t just happen in this line of work. He needed to know more. He needed to keep her talking.

“Don’t believe me?” The humor was evident in her tone.

“No I don’t.”

“Too bad.” And that was the end of the conversation. Bruce kept moving, no longer letting himself get distracted. He would deal with her later. But first, the mission.

“It’s simple, really. I got you to look after me,” the woman beside him said after minutes of silence. He took the opportunity to assess her. The lower half of her face was covered in a dark grey cloth. It blended into her outfit, what looked like a grey kevlar body suit with white and dark pink accents. Bruce didn’t know where she came from, or what she was doing here but he didn’t have time for more questions. She continued to speak, her eyes never meeting his, “and you got me to look after you, and that’s why.”

“You want to use me as cover, in case whatever it is that you’re doing goes south.”

“Exactly.”

“I’d be a lot more helpful if I knew what you were doing.”

“There’s a man… that has something that doesn’t belong to him. It’s my job to retrieve it.” She looked at him with a challenge in her eyes, daring him to ask more. No matter, as long as it doesn’t interfere with his take down of Penguin’s shipment he would agree to work in tandem just for tonight. He let his silence answer her and decided to move to finally initiate his job.

It was easy work and the mystery woman moved in a way that actually impressed him. She used a whip, an unusual pink, but it mattered not when it would thwip and snap like an extension of her arm. She was an expert. Her short stature worked to her advantage, weaving in and out of harm’s way. It was like watching a mouse evade a series of cats and traps. If he were any less of a man he would have been thoroughly distracted watching her.

In no time the cargo was secured and on his hidden jet, ready for deployment. All that was left was to deal with the mystery woman.

Turning to where he left her, he couldn’t understand what he was seeing. There were now two of them. Acting and operating as separate, distinct individuals. Twins? Where has the other one been? Those thoughts didn’t last long however because in a flash of light the two women merged to become one.

Magic.

Of course.

As if she just remembered he was there, she turned to him with mirth in her eyes. He was ready to retract his offer of assistance but he never got the chance.

“Well, I guess this is where we part ways.” She spoke, no room for arguments. In her hand that wasn’t holding her whip sat a rather large talisman. He couldn’t discern what it was but he felt a sense of foreboding wash over him. “I will be seeing you again, I’m sure.”

He moved to intercept her but a cloud of smoke erupted in his face. As it cleared he was left with nothing in his line of sight. Not even a shadow of the woman was left. He was at an impasse with himself. Track her down or return the cargo back to Gotham? Magic users weren’t his forte and he would rather not tangle himself in a situation he did not fully comprehend. But the idea of an unknown, who so easily slipped under his defenses, running loose had him grinding his teeth. Making a mental note to find an excuse to return and stay in the country longer, he set out to Gotham. This wouldn’t be the last time he saw her, he would make sure of it.

Oh how right he was.

Bruce woke with a jolt, remnants of his sleep still lingering on the edges of his mind. The pattering of rain on his window was calming, a natural melody to rouse his sleep-addled brain. He thought back to his dream, his resurfaced memories. He thought back to Sabine and her steel gray eyes that could freeze him in place. Her dry wit and quick-thinking that saved her in a fight more than her skills did. He wasn’t certain back then, even though he was determined to uncover her when they first met that night in Japan, but they would meet again. And again. And Again. So much so that it was only natural that they would come together the way they did. He was still grieving from Talia’s rejection and the news of their seemingly lost son, and she was accepting of their no-strings-attached agreement.

Except there were strings. Their arrangement ended when she found companionship in another man and he was far too willing to give her up at the first opportunity. Love was never on the table between the two of them. But now, about a decade later, Bruce couldn’t help the what if’s and the why not’s. He needed to clear his head.

Untangling himself from his bed sheets, he threw a robe over his shoulders and stepped onto his bedroom balcony. The rain was frigid against his bare skin and the dark clouds casted a shadow over the mid-morning sun. The air was crisp and tasted of the early November chill that would begin to settle over the next few days. He basked in all the sensations, filling his lungs with the taste of the life he’s lived thus far. Memories of another morning, one just like this, began to run free in his mind.

“This will be the last time we meet like this,” warm fingers ran down his chest, an even warmer body pressed into his side. He was almost lulled to sleep by the song of the spring showers that played against the window panes. Her ever soft voice, however, called his attention away from the calls of sleep. “I found someone. Someone I can’t afford to lose.”

“Me too,” he heard himself say. He didn’t know if it was his subconscious calling out to his lost love or reaching for the one so close yet so unreachable.

“It was fun while it lasted.” It was.

“But the real world does not stop for fun.” It doesn’t.

“Maybe in a different life,” he said.

“Maybe in a different time,” she answered. His ear heard more than what was said to him, and her slow speech had overtones not of thought, but of understanding beyond thought. He grabbed for the hand that brushed over his heart and brought them to his lips, kissing the words he would never say into her fingertips.

He never told anyone of his rendezvous with the woman he knew as Sabine. Those meetings were just for him. He wasn’t Batman and he wasn’t Bruce Wayne in those nights. His investigation into her magic went unresolved and he never ran into her outside those encounters. It was a fleeting fling. One that left him with longing and yearning buried so deep even he could pretend it didn’t exist, that it never existed.

How foolish of him.

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luxwritesfanfic · 4 years ago

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Definitely Not Your Color

In true Sherlock fashion, he shows you exactly why green isn’t his color. Or, the one where reader can read auras and Sherlock is going through it at the sight of her new friend. AU!Bucky makes an appearance because I can’t live without him. Enjoy!

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You were stood off to the side of the crime scene recounting your conversation with the last witness of the night. There had been yet another murder and Lestrade had requested Sherlock’s help for what seemed to be a serial killer in the making. Two murders in less than a week and Sherlock was thrilled and it was easy to tell. An array of yellows and subtle oranges surrounded him, engulfed him, as he explained how vacant Scotland Yard truly could be and how quickly he had figured out the killer’s M.O. He shined like the sun, and you swore you saw tendrils of sunlight shoot off of his fingers as he analyzed every aspect of the scene before him. All confidence, he paraded around the crime scene in a way you knew so well, pointing out things that even after working with him for months that you wouldn’t of picked up on. He was happy to be working again, to be playing, no, winning the game once more.

You were thankful no one else saw his colors like you did. Because as sure as you were that he was what they meant when they said, “let there be light!”, you were sure that others would gravitate towards him even more until it got to a point that there was so much in between the two of you that you would only be able to see his shine from between the cracks of other people.

Pulling you out of your thoughts of Sherlock and things that you couldn’t control, you turned your head at the sound of someone’s throat clearing.

“He’s seriously brilliant.” An officer who you hadn’t recognized before stood behind you, holding his cap in his hands and drumming his fingers along the rim. He looked past you to where Sherlock and John were, a laugh slipped out from under his breath. “Makes it look so easy.”

Your lips twitched at the statement, a warmth you knew too well for your liking spreading around you. If anyone else could see you, really see you, you’d surely be figured out. Sherlock Holmes was a great man, you were sure of it. He was as intelligent as they came and as handsome as the devil, and sure— sometimes he could be rude, and maybe a little ignorant, and sometimes you really wanted to slap the smirk off of his face when playing Cluedo (Because, Sherlock, it can’t be the victim!) but you wouldn’t change him.

They told you not to stare at the sun but you couldn’t help it. You needed to see what was really there because you refused to believe that a man who couldn’t feel a thing made the world look that vivid. You were the moth and he was the flame and if that meant dying a painful death just to bask in everything that he was, so be it. Evidently, there were worse ways to die.

Stealing one last glance like you couldn’t help yourself, you shoved your notebook and pen in your purse and made your way back to your conversation.

“He really is. You’re new, right? Lestrade mentioned he had some new guys joining the force. Can’t say you didn’t have an interesting first week.” You wanted to lighten the mood as much as you could because you knew this wasn’t an easy crime to see. You still couldn’t look at the body too long yourself without feeling the black sit heavy in your stomach.

“Don’t worry ma’am, I can handle it.” As if he read your mind, he gave you a warm smile and nodded. “My father, he, uh, he was an officer as well. Started me with the bad stuff early. Said it would give me a little more character and a lot more advantage. There’s not too much that can scare me away, I don’t think.”

You returned his smile. He was a cool blue, and it matched his eyes perfectly. It looked good on him, you decided. “Good. London needs all the help that we can get. Oh- I’m Y/N, by the way! I work with Sherlock and John sometimes. I’m not a genius or a doctor but I can take damn good notes.” And at that you both laughed, as he reassured you that the boys would have nothing to study from if it wasn’t for you. In turn it made you laugh even harder when you realized he hadn’t got the chance to see Sherlock visit his Mind Palace yet, where everything you could offer him he already had.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m James, but I hardly ever use my government if I don’t have to. Please, call me Bucky.” He reached his hand out to you and shook yours, that boyish smile never leaving his lips. From behind you, you could tell subconsciously that it had gotten significantly darker. Like a light had went out. You didn’t think enough of it to turn around and investigate it.

---

You found it was easy to talk to Bucky and you had more things in common than you could have expected. He was polite and seemed to have seriously believed that you were an integral part of the team that he needed to get to know. You appreciated his kindness and how friendly he was, and it seemed like more than anything he was grateful you were giving him a chance to belong. You couldn’t figure out why.

It just so happens that from the angle you were looking, you saw Sherlock’s shoes before you saw his face. It looked like moss had grown through the concrete and saturated him so thoroughly that you thought he wouldn’t soon be able to move. It made you uneasy how sickly the green made him look. You had never seen this color on him before.

“If I knew all you were going to do was stand around and disregard everything I say, I would have brought Molly instead. She listens. Intently.” Sherlock spat and cut his eyes at you before looking to Bucky and giving him a once over before digging in.

“Generally, they say to try again and again if you fail. I would think that wouldn’t apply to something like the police academy. Third, no... fourth times the charm as they say?” The green fog spilled out of Sherlock’s mouth and continued to cover him, wrapping so tightly around his body that you thought he might have trouble breathing. Even though you were standing a few good feet away from him, you could feel how heavy the fog had made you, and you worried for Sherlock as it encompassed him. You almost made to reach for him because you were afraid you’d lose him under all the smoke.

“You’re a favored drop out who still lives with his mother, no, father. That’s where the drinking problem comes from I assume? One failed relationship too many and now suddenly your calling is keeping the streets clean of the people you used to run them with. Now, I know Lestrade has horrible taste when it comes to putting together a team but tell me, how did he get so lucky as to stumble across you? It can’t be the... no wait, it is because of-“

“Sherlock!” You say exasperatedly, looking at him like he’s he’s got three heads when you can’t even see the one he’s got as it is. He is solid and dark and lost in this feeling that you can’t name and he’s not him. Well, he is him, but weighed down so much by whatever he’s trying to carry through that you can’t imagine he’s acting this hateful for no reason. You refuse to believe it.

Bucky sighed and somehow still managed to twitch his lips upwards, a ghost of the grin he wore before. “Well, Mr. Holmes, you are what they say you are. Brilliant for sure. Hell, you haven’t even spoken a word to me prior and you know my life.” You were shocked to see Bucky’s reaction, most people would of blacked out on Sherlock for an outburst like that and this one definitely warranted it. “You’re right, about all of those things. I guess I’m just trying to play the best game I can with the hand I was dealt. I’m not one for feeling sorry for myself.” He straightened up and fastened his cap back on as he caught eyes with Lestrade and returned a knowing nod.

Turning to you, Bucky grinned as if it never phased him, like he had grown used to being talked down on. The blue never left him and that made you happy. You didn’t want him to feel bad.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I look forward to speaking with you again. Mr. Holmes.” With that, he bid you both a good night and headed towards his team.

“Sherlock,” you murmured when you turned back to face him. The fog was so dark that you couldn’t make out his features anymore. You felt the fear creeping up your neck while you were trying to figure out what was so wrong with him. “What’s wrong with you? I figured you’d be happy that you practically solved the case...?”

You saw it, he had been happy. And then you remembered his earlier comment about Molly. Maybe he wished she was here instead to celebrate his win with him.

“Listen... if this is about Molly, you know you can always ask her to tag along instead. I don’t want you to feel... obligated to invite me. She’s probably more useful in a situation like this anyway.”

You felt yourself internally deflate as you spoke, but you were able to make out Sherlock’s face once more under the city lights. The green began to thin out. He must’ve been relieved at your confession, you thought.

Sherlock visibly tensed for a second before quickly masking it under an air of nonchalance.

“I could care less about Molly or what she’s good for. All I care about is the work and that it gets done. You know that.”

You watched as time passed and you could start seeing more of him. You realized you’d been holding your breath for some time waiting for the green to dissipate and set your detective free. Sherlock was back with you, and whatever feeling tried to take him away from you was lost now. That’s all that mattered.

And, of course, because there were still pressing matters to finish attending to, your moment with Sherlock didn’t last long. You swore something had changed within him. Something you couldn’t name just yet.

You weren’t totally quite convinced that whatever had happened between you two back there wasn’t about Molly, or some strange feeling that Sherlock was having that he’d surely never talk about. Even still you continued to follow after him wherever he asked you to go, as he still always asked you to go.

And if he happened to stand a little closer to you the next time you worked alongside Scotland Yard, you were none the wiser.

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