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writhingg · 2 months ago

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heard you, saw you / need you, love you

Slender body angled in your direction, he leans against a rumbling car, a thick haze of cigarette smoke surrounding him. You quickly take stock of him—tall and tattooed, shaggy hair and black jeans ripped at the knee—and though you can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you know he’s looking at you. More smoke pours slowly from his lips, and with a wide, wicked grin, he points his cigarette at you and calls out, “Gonna get you, baby!”

Eddie wants you, and he won't stop until he has you.

Word count: 4,857

Tags/warnings: 18+/minors dni, Flayed!Eddie Munson x fem reader, Eddie Munson & Billy Hargrove (Billy is more of a side character), college-aged reader, post-season 4, no use of y/n, Eddie and Billy live (sort of...), Eddie hints at SA-ing reader (nothing physical, but he does talk about it), horror, suspense, dread, blood and gore, coercion, emotional manipulation, swearing, creepy older men, the Upside Down, background Shadow Monster/Mind Flayer, literary references and allusions, this is not romance.

A/N: I posted this on ao3 back in April, but since we're about a day away from October (spooky season!!!), I figured it would be the perfect piece to debut on here. This was heavily inspired by "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" by Joyce Carol Oates and Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain. Reblogs are the best! Likes and comments are appreciated as well! Thanks for reading!

sweet, mourning lamb there’s nothing you can do it’s already been done

Your life is perfect.

You have a father who gives you money whenever you ask for it and a mother who dotes on you even though she secretly covets your youth and your beauty. When she looks at you, you can see the wistful look in her eyes, gaze lingering on the smooth skin between your manicured brows, the barely-there smile lines from late nights of laughter around a bonfire at Lover’s Lake, surrounded by your best friends and girls who pretend to be your friend and boys who want to be more than your friend.

At Hawkins High, everyone knows your name, always calling after you or grinning your way, trying to get a seat at the lunch table where you and all your friends gossip about the latest rumor—“Did you hear that Tracy Anderson got knocked up?” “Is she the next Virgin Mary or something? ‘Cause no away anyone’s touching her.”—while sipping on cans of Diet Coke.

It fills you with a triumphant sense of joy to get whatever you want; all you have to do is flutter your lashes or flash a coy smile and people are like putty in your hands, bending and twisting in whatever way you wish.

When you tell your parents you’re going out and don’t know what time you’ll be home, your dad grumbles a response, not bothering to look up from the TV dinner he’s shoving into his mouth while your mom asks if you really need to show that much skin, her uneasy grin falling into a grimace as you strut through the front door without a single glance back.

Crystal, your third-favorite best friend, is waiting for you at the end of your driveway. She’s perched in the driver’s seat of her dad’s new car, a sporty red convertible with leather seats and a top that goes all the way down. She greets you with a kiss on your cheek, and after the two of you complain about the humidity and gush over each other’s outfits—“God, that top is to die for!” “Baby blue is so your color!”—she tears off down the road, the both of you hollering the entire way.

A girl on the cusp of womanhood, you’re no stranger to stares that follow your every move.

Boys are always looking at you, but men want more than a small piece. Men want to swallow you whole.

You notice the way they watch you, with leering eyes and bottom lips tucked between teeth stained yellow from tobacco dip. You simper and wiggle your fingers in their direction, you and your friends giggling behind your hands when they stumble over themselves in their attempt to approach you. And when you see them up close—the crow’s feet, the nose hair, the greying mustaches—you no longer hide your laughter, doubling over with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“As if!” you always shout, unfazed as they grunt out stupid little bitch and fuckin’ tease. The words hang in the air as the men give you one last acidic look, scampering away with bowed heads and clenched jaws.

When you and Crystal pull up to the drive-in theater, it’s a familiar scenario. She finds a spot in the middle of the packed lot, and before the two of you even slip out of your seatbelts, the cars on either side of you are loud with boys you know from school and boys you’ve never seen before, all of them asking for your names and if you want to go for a drive to somewhere secret. The two of you share a smirk, Crystal busying herself with tuning the radio while you watch the intermission ad on the screen. You giggle at the dancing bars of ice cream, a jaunty tune crackling from the speakers as she finally finds the theater’s station.

They’re like hungry wolves, you observe, snarling and salivating at the sight of you reapplying your lipstick. When you climb out of the car, Crystal handing you a few bucks for her funnel cake and root beer, you pretend not to hear their desperate howls. It feels good to ignore them, just like it feels good to ignore the men who whistle at you on your way to the snack bar. Their idiocy amuses you, deluded enough to believe that cries of “Over here, honey!” will have you bounding over to them like a lost puppy.

You keep your head held high, eyes forward and hips swaying as you follow the oily scent of fried dough. You walk no further than a foot or two before the revving of an engine breaks your stride. Startled, your head whips to your left, and that’s when you notice him.

More smoke pours slowly from his lips, and with a wide, wicked grin, he points his cigarette at you and calls out, “Gonna get you, baby!”

You roll your eyes in response, thinking only of how stupid it is that he’s wearing sunglasses at night before flitting your gaze back to the growing snack bar line.

Later, after Crystal’s food and your corn dog are paid for by Robbie, a sweet-talking sophomore over at Purdue, you’re settled in the backseat of the convertible watching an old movie about a baby and some lady named Rosemary. You let Robbie put his arm around you, but when it’s clear that his insistent lips won’t be met with an eager, open mouth, he climbs out of the car in a clumsy hurry, huffing insults under his breath you’ve heard time and time again.

You sport a smirk as you help yourself to the pretzel he’s left behind, and in the distance, in the dark, you don’t see the man with the sunglasses watching you.

“You sure you don’t want to come?”

You heave a dramatic sigh up at your mom, muttering, “Yes, I’m sure,” for what feels like the thousandth time that morning.

Attending a barbecue at your great-uncle’s house—where you’ll be surrounded by your sticky cousins and all of your catty aunts who will make snide comments about your “hooker makeup”—is not your idea of fun. With the end of summer looming over you like a dark cloud, the promise of college and responsibilities and having to fend for yourself edging dangerously close, you plan to enjoy your last days of freedom by lazing about instead, sprawling out on a thin blanket in the backyard while the sweltering sun beams down on you.

“Alright,” your mom finally concedes. “Your father and I will see you later then. There’s some money on the fridge so you can order yourself a pizza. Call if you need anything, okay?”

You give a barely-audible hum in return, listening to the slap of her sandals as she shuffles to the awaiting station wagon. When you hear it disappear down the street, you exhale a relieved breath. After your whirlwind of a week—the drive-in, a shoplifting spree with your second-favorite best friend Amy, and a two-day rager at an abandoned lake house that once belonged to some guy named Reefer Rick—you’re in desperate need of solitude.

Situated on the grass, you switch on the radio, flipping through a few stations until you hear a song you don’t completely hate. Though the air is muggy, you find yourself lulled into a quiet comfort. Eyes soon slipping closed, your mind fills with shiny daydreams of white-sand beaches, roiling blue waves, and sweaty, muscled surfers. You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until the incessant buzzing of a fly near your nose brings you back to reality. When you rise from your blanket with a yawn and a joint-popping stretch, you feel a hot, simmering ache across your face and chest.

“Shit!” you shout, scrambling toward the side door of your house. You take the stairs two at a time, out of breath as you rush past your frilly bedroom and into the bathroom. Twisting the faucet on, you splash your face with cold water, your warm skin immediately soothed by the icy temperature. A sunburn was so not on your agenda. Now you’ll have to spend the rest of the afternoon slathering yourself in one of your mom’s expensive moisturizers, which means you’ll have only a short window of time to primp yourself for tonight’s party over in Loch Nora.

You swear again, frowning as you gaze into the mirror and catch sight of your frizzy hair. With a scowl, you reach for your flat iron, a second away from plugging it in and dialing up the heat to the highest setting when you hear the loud blaring of a car horn.

“No way,” you mutter in disbelief, stunned as the horn beeps again only a few seconds later.

You cannot believe your parents are already home! They’d only been gone for an hour or two and weren’t supposed to be back until tonight! When you hear the horn a third time, though, a tell-tale signal of your dad’s impatience, you grit your teeth. You already told them you weren’t going to that stupid barbeque! What makes them think that you would change your mind, that you would want to hang out with all those gross kids and old people always going on about life a hundred years ago?

The horn sounds again, prompting you to forcefully stomp your foot against the tiled floor. Your parents are not going to ruin your plans. They’ll have to drag you out of the house kicking and screaming.

You barrel down the stairs and into the kitchen, bolting towards the side door once more. Your hands are on the screen, ready to push it open and unleash your frustration, but you stop at the last second.

It’s not your parents in the driveway.

The car is blue, sharp, and loud, with a set of words on the hood in an intricate, looping cursive. You can hardly read it, squinting as you try to decipher the sentence—“abandon all hope, ye who enter here”—before your face contorts into a disapproving frown. You think the car would look much better without all that mess written on the front of it.

Someone clears their throat, and your gaze then travels to the lone figure leaning up against the driver-side door. Your frown deepens when you see a man with a head of shaggy hair and sunglasses perched atop his nose.

“I was starting to worry you were ignoring me,” he says.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know me, honey. It hurts my feelings.”

He smiles at you, wide and toothy, and a look of recognition flashes across your face when you realize that he’s the same man from the drive-in.

“See? You know me.”

“No, I don’t,” you tell him, your voice sharp.

“You’ll get to me know me.”

He’s still smiling at you, a small dimple peeking through, and it occurs to you that he thinks he’s being cute. You study him, noting that he’s more of a boy than a man. You eye the black polish on his nails and his slightly cropped t-shirt, the sinewy muscle of his tattooed arms and his self-assured stance. He’s not your type, and you definitely don’t think he’s kind of cute.

“What do you want?” you ask him, arms crossing over your chest.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?”

You roll your eyes at the playful pout he gives you, and when he shifts to the side a little, you see through the window that there’s a second person in the car. Another boy, muscular with blond hair styled into a curly mullet. He sits behind the wheel and jams a tape into the cassette deck, the car filling with pounding drums and heavy guitars. Like the boy standing before you, he’s also wearing sunglasses.

“Hey,” the shaggy-haired guy says, snapping your attention back to him. “You’re pretty.”

“What?”

“You’re pretty. Prettiest girl I ever saw.”

You ignore the rush of warmth that blooms in your cheeks, gazing at him through a glare that takes more effort than usual to maintain. “I don’t even know you.”

“Eddie Munson,” he tells you. He jerks a thumb behind him. “And this is Billy Hargrove. Doesn’t say much, though. He’s shy.”

For whatever reason, in the furthest part of your mind, the names unlock a small inkling of familiarity. You brush away the thought, though, your glare fixed and sharp.

“Well, Eddie, it’s nice to meet you or whatever, but I think—”

“You should come outside and take a look at the Camaro. Decent stereo and it goes fast.” He leans forward, hands gripping the window frame behind him. “You like it when cars go fast, don’t you?”

There’s something in his words that makes you flustered again. You busy yourself by tugging at the frayed hem of your denim shorts, eyes darting away from him. He’s too forward and too inviting and too much trouble.

“So? What do you think?”

“What do I think about what?”

He chuckles, amused at your attempt to sound nonchalant. “Going for a ride. You know you want to.”

You exhale an exasperated huff, both hands on your hips now. Boys are always thinking that they can boss you around, that you’ll obey like some mindless servant. You don’t care that your stomach flutters a little at his words – it’s both insulting and annoying.

“No, I don’t.”

“You can sit in the front,” he continues. “Billy doesn’t mind moving to the back. We’ll turn on the radio and listen to some music. I bet I know what your favorite song is.” Then he does the most peculiar thing...he starts singing the song you dozed off to earlier. It’s an odd coincidence, especially when his voice starts to sound like the voice on the radio, gravelly and kind of breathy at the same time.

“That’s not my favorite song,” you interrupt him.

Again, all he does is laugh. “Fine, we don’t have to listen to music. We can do something else.”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. We could get pizza, go to the arcade.” One corner of his lips curves into a sly grin, as if he's privy to a secret only he knows. “We could even go to the beach.”

Another strange coincidence, you think, one that makes your heart beat just the tiniest bit faster. “There aren’t any beaches around here.”

“I’ll take you to one.”

“No, thanks.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve got plans.”

“Plans?” he questions, both eyebrows raising in what looks like feigned surprise. He places a hand over his heart, clutching the fabric as if you’ve dealt him a fatal wound. “How could you have plans when you’re supposed to spend the day with me?”

You roll your eyes at him, having already grown sick of whatever game this is. You take a breath, ready to tell him to crawl back into whatever hole he dug himself out of, but then he says your name, and you flinch as if you’ve been slapped.

You never told him your name.

“How did you know that?” you ask him, a mix of suspicion and fear swelling inside of you.

“How did I know what?” he replies, mimicking your earlier line of questioning.

“My name...I didn’t tell you what my name was.”

“You didn’t have to,” he shrugs, quiet for a moment as he plays with a silver ring on his middle finger. Then, an insidious smirk spreads across his face. “I know everything about you.”

It feels like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water on you, the air knocked from your lungs while your limbs lock in place. He seems close, too close now, and with a clarity that makes your heart thrash painfully, you realize that the only barrier between the two of you is a flimsy screen. With trembling fingers, you touch the lock on the side door, ensuring that it’s hooked in place.

“You d-don’t know me,” you stammer, trying your hardest to keep a straight face.

“‘Course, I do, baby. I know you and I know Amy and Crystal. I know sweet-talking Robbie and all those high school boys always running after you. I know those men and what they wish they could do to you.” He pauses, then his voice gets lower, taunting. “And I know your parents aren’t home right now, that they’re at your Great-Uncle Walter’s house for a barbecue. I know they won’t be home till later tonight.”

Your eyes are wide, your skin feeling too warm and too tight. You try to respond, but all that comes out is a shuddering breath.

Eddie isn’t looking at you anymore. He’s staring up at the sky, as if he’s trying to see past the sunshine and clouds. “Your dad...he’s sipping on a beer and tearing into a slab of ribs. And your mom is chatting away with your Aunt Belinda. She’s got a drink in her hand, something tart and sweet and mixed with vodka. Yeah...with the buzz the two of them are working on, they definitely won’t be home for a while.”

“How could you...you don’t know that!” you shout at him, breaking your composure. “You don’t know anything!”

He angles his head toward you again, still smiling, but there’s no longer any mirth. It’s what you see on all those other men, sharp and threatening.

Like he wants to consume you.

“You’re my girl. It’d be a shame if I knew nothing about you.”

“I’m not your girl!”

“Oh, but you are. You were made for me, honey, and I was made for you. And you can try, but you can’t run me off. I told you I’d be here, and I’m not leaving until you come with me.”

“Want me to grab her?”

Billy’s words petrify you, just as it petrifies you to see the shift in Eddie’s temperament. When he rounds on Billy, gone is the playful lilt of his voice. His skin flushes red, knuckles turning white as his hands curl into fists. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Hargrove? Huh? No, I don’t want you to grab her! She’ll come out here on her own, alright? Stay the fuck out of it.”

Eddie whirls around to face you again, a hand pushing back the hairs sticking to his forehead. He grins, and there’s not a single trace of his previous anger. “Sorry about that. Billy’s a little crazy, that’s all. Don’t pay him any mind. It’s just you and me, yeah? You and me.”

You nod because you don’t know how else to respond. Your fingers are still glued to the screen door’s lock, the metal latch warm and damp from your touch. Eddie cocks his head to the side, studying you.

“You’re scared of me.”

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being correct, but you have no rebuttal, no scathing comeback. You stare at him, blinking back tears, trying not to crumble. You are scared of him.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he says, his voice soft and warm. “I promise I’ll be gentle with you the first time. I’ll hold you in my arms real tight and I’ll kiss you and I’ll touch you better than any of those scumbags ever could. You’ll cry my name so sweetly, and you’ll be wet and aching and you’ll beg me, you’ll beg me to keep going. You won’t ever want to leave me.”

A wave of nausea mixes with your fear, your stomach churning violently when his tongue swipes slowly along his bottom lip. “You – you’re sick! You’re disgusting! Go away or I’ll – I’ll call the police!”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter. The police can’t keep me from you, just like that door between us, and that lock you haven’t let go of. They’re just barriers, and barriers can be torn down. Nothing can keep us apart.”

“Shut up! Just shut up! You’re insane!”

“Baby, listen,” he says, flashing you a placating grin. “As long as you come out here, I won’t go in there, but if you touch that phone, if you call the cops or your parents or anyone else, deal’s off and I can step foot in that house. I’ll hurt anyone who tries to stop me, and I can tell you this much...you won’t like it if I have to come after you.”

“Just let me grab her,” Billy says flatly. “I’ll make it quick.”

Eddie’s jaw seems tight enough to crack his teeth as he whips around again. “Are you fucking stupid, Hargrove? Are you deaf? You got a few bolts knocked loose? Your daddy shove you around too hard? Your mommy drop you on your head too many times? She’s mine! She’s mine and I don’t need your slimy fingers all over her. She’s mine and she’s gonna come out here because she loves me and I love her, got it? Mind your business and shut the fuck up!”

You want to run. You want to hide beneath the covers of your bed and fold yourself up and wish and hope and pray that you’ll wake up from whatever awful nightmare this is, but you catch something in your peripheral vision, something that keeps you anchored to your spot.

In the chaos of his outburst, the sun had changed its position in the sky, his shadow slanting tall and wide along the concrete driveway. It shouldn’t be something you notice, just as insignificant as the blowing of the wind, but you stare anyway, eyes wide with horror when you see a non-human figure sprouting from his body. Broad shouldered, the shadow’s wings are outstretched, with pointed horns curling from its head and long, sharp claws where the fingers should be.

It’s only the light playing tricks on you. It’s not real, okay? It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not—

A shrill cry tears its way out of you as you watch the shadow mirror each of Eddie’s movements.

He turns around, no longer shouting at Billy. His mouth is pulled into a knowing smile as he reaches up to remove his sunglasses, and when you see his eyes, you let out a blood-curdling scream. There’s no iris, no pupil, no white. Both eyes are dark, fully encompassed in an abyss of black.

Your body moves of its own accord, drifting backward and falling onto the stairs leading up to the kitchen. Eddie moves with you, a hand over his forehead as he peers hungrily through the screen. He calls your name again and again and again.

“You with me, sweetheart? You’re not gonna touch that phone, right?”

“Why are you doing this?” you whimper.

“Because I want you.”

“Why – why me?”

“I saw you at the drive-in and knew I had to have you. Such a pretty little thing, I thought, needs someone like me to take care of her, to her protect from all those creeps. They’re rotten, all of them. They only want to hurt you. They wouldn’t love you like I love you.”

“Stop!” you shriek, nearly out of breath. “Just stop!”

“Don’t you realize we belong together? All this time, you’ve been saving yourself for me. Don’t you know that?”

Billy is standing beside him now, watching you with the same bottomless eyes. Like a blackhole, their gazes suck you in, pulling and stretching and tearing you to pieces.

And suddenly, seeing the two of them side by side stirs another rush of buried recognition.

You recall fuzzy, childhood memories, images blurred around the edges of news reports on the Starcourt Mall fire. You remember sitting on the couch, a teddy bear in your lap as dozens of names and faces are plastered across the screen, your mom in the background murmuring something to your dad about Susan and her poor stepson.

You remember your dad and a few angry neighbors huddled around the dining room table, all of them whispering about something called “cults” and “sacrifices” and “you think Wayne’s nephew actually did it?” while you colored in a picture of butterflies.

You remember the earthquake, the ground splitting open, strange, grey snowflakes falling from the darkening sky as your parents packed up the car and rushed you out of town.

You remember coming home after almost two years of sheltering out west, flyers of missing persons still hung up around Hawkins.

And when you think hard enough, when you think long enough, you finally realize why Eddie and Billy look familiar to you.

“No,” you shake your head too quickly. “No, no, no, no. It’s not—you can’t—”

“Use your words,” Eddie coaxes gently.

“You can’t. You can’t because…because you’re supposed to be…”

“Say it.”

Heart pounding, blood rushing, stomach whirling, the word falls quietly from your lips. “Dead.”

“See? Didn’t I tell you she was smart, Hargrove? Not like the last one. What was her name again?”

“Jessica, right?” Billy drawls out. “Or Jamie? Or was it Jacqueline?”

Eddie snaps his fingers excitedly. “Wait! I got it. It was Julie. Julie Thompson.”

Your face is buried in your quivering hands, but when you hear the name, everything becomes still and silent.

Julie Thompson. She’d gone missing last year, assumed by police and her parents to have run away with one of the many college boys she was sneaking around with. No one believed you when you said she wouldn’t just run off. And she was your best friend. Your first-favorite best friend.

You lift your head, reluctantly meeting Eddie’s pitch-black eyes. “What did you do? Where’s Julie?”

“Get in the car and I’ll tell you.”

“No!” you shriek, despair and hot anger coursing through you. “No! Fuck you! You – you’re fucking dead and you’re nothing and you can’t be here! You just – you can’t!”

“But I am here,” Eddie replies, all traces of his softness gone.

He sees every part of you—the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe too hard and too fast; the trembling of your shoulders as you hold back an anguished sob; the delicious throbbing of the pulse in your neck—like a predator tracking every movement of its prey.

A predator that has won the hunt.

“I’m here because this town owes me and I’ve come to collect what’s mine. And you, sweetheart, belong to me.”

You’re screaming again, your head whipping back and forth so rapidly that your world starts to tilt. You clamp your eyes shut, but your mind offers no solace, because behind your lids, there is only red – a red sky, red lightning, a red pool of something thick and warm and murky that your feet are quickly sinking beneath. And out of the pool comes slippery, snaking vines that wrap around your ankles and up your calves, tightening and binding as they rise higher and higher. And something is diving toward you, the beat of its wings growing louder as it swoops beneath the red clouds. And you feel the ground rumbling, shaking, falling apart as lightening cracks and illuminates a monster in the distance. Massive and spider-like, its roar cuts into you so deeply that you feel it in your bones.

It's coming after you.

You struggle and cry until your throat is raw and aching, and you beg for your parents, for someone, anyone, to hear you, to save you, but there is no one, there is nothing except red and screams and fear and blood. You can’t breathe and you can’t move and you sink further into the depths of this hell, and you swear and you plead that you’ll do anything, you’ll do anything, so please please pleasepleaseplease—

The distorted chimes of a grandfather clock reverberate across the cold, blazing landscape, and then someone laughs, cruel and deep and echoing. It grows louder, and it stretches on forever and ever, and you can't do anything because you are decaying flesh, you are crumbled bone, you are dust.

You are nothing.

After an eternity of depravity and suffering, of drowning beneath the weight of wailing souls and fetid corpses, your eyes are open again.

You claw at the lock on the screen door with shaking hands and push yourself over the threshold. And when you tumble outside, desperately gulping in lungfuls of fresh air, your face streaked with snot and warm tears, the world is bright and burning again.

Eddie stands before you, his mouth twisted into a malicious smile, his arms wide and open.

“I told you, honey. I told you I was gonna get you.”

#part 2 coming soon #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #billy hargrove #stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fanfiction #fanfiction #stranger things fandom #cross posted on ao3 #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem reader #flayed!eddie munson #monster!eddie munson #my first fic on here!!!

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underhousearrestblog · 1 year ago

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headcanons: Spider-Man characters as your best friends

(summary) Spider-Man: Across the Spider-verse characters as your best friends (headcanons)

(pairings) Miles Morales x reader, Gwen Stacy x reader, Hobie Brown x reader, Miguel O’Hara x reader, Peter B. Parker x reader, Jessica Drew x reader, Pavitr Prabhakar x reader, Earth-42!Miles Morales x reader

(genre) platonic friendship head canons

(also) this is all highly platonic as I am also including the kids and I don’t feel comfortable writing anything romantic for Gwen, Pav, Miles and Prowler!Miles

HAPPY READING!

Peter B. Parker

always taking his wife’s side even if she’s wrong just to piss him off

- But she told me that it doesn’t count as babysitting if I’m saving the city at the same time! – Peter was walking back and forth around your small apartment after a small spat with Mary.

- And she’s absolutely right, - you agreed while keeping an eye on Mayday who was hanging from your ceiling in one of her webs. – If the mask is on, babysitting duties are off...

getting blamed for teaching Mayday swear words, even though it was Hobie who taught her to say “fuck”

always being that friend that reminds him that his wife is way out of his league (even though you don’t actually think that and you do it just to tease him...)

constantly flirting with his wife just to annoy him

- I’m so sorry, babe, - Peter kissed Mary’s cheek. – I’ll make it for that date night. I promise.

- How about I take you out, Mary? I think you deserv-

- Y/N!! – you heard Peter yell from the other room. – STOP FLIRTING WITH MY WIFE!

You leaned closer to her and lowered your voice.

- I saw this cool new restaurant downtown-

Mary smiled at you, playfully shook her head and laughed.

- I’m married, - she flashed her ring.

You didn’t blink for a hot second before asking:

- Happily?

- Y/N!!! – you leaned back in your chair just in time to avoid a pillow that flew straight past your face.

regularly being woken up by Peter calling you up at night to pick him up from the other side of town because he didn’t feel like waking Mary up and had no problem ruining your sleep

his love language with you as his friend being quality time – after not spending a longer period of time with you because of his duties as Spider-Man or because he had only spent time with Mayday and his wife, he would randomly show up at your apartment and tag along while you were running errands (eating in your car with his feet on the dashboard, getting crumbs all over the seat while he’s telling you every little detail about the latest news in his life) – never ever forgetting that you’re his best friend

when Mayday’s old enough to go to school and she needs help with homework – both you and Peter constantly arguing about which answers are the correct ones and Mary ending up having to take Mayday to the other room because it devolves into an actual fight

Miguel O’Hara

him obviously having a soft spot for you that allowed you to get away with pretty much anything

- It was irresponsible, highly dangerous, reckless behavior that I cannot-

- It wasn’t us! – Gwen stepped in to defend her and Miles. – It was Y/N’s mission! We weren’t even there!

Miguel was silent for a second. Then he turned around to where you were sitting in his chair, calmly eating popcorn and enjoying the show. He brushed his palm over his face, as you watched in satisfaction him having an inner battle with himself.

- Anything to add? – you asked, smirking.

He shook his head in disappointment with one hand still on his hip as he pinched the bridge of his nose in between his fingers.

- Just... – he sighed, walked over and pushed your crossed ankles off his desk. – Just don’t do it again...

taking his clothes, especially because you know it annoys him

- So, I have this new hoodie-

- That’s MY hoodie.

- It WAS your hoodie. Any piece of clothing you haven’t worn for more than two months is officially up for grabs by your best friend. Best I can do now is name it “our” hoodie.

always using the best friend card in the workplace and getting away with essentially everything because you’re best friends with the boss

his love language being acts of service – mostly because he’s awkward with any words of affirmation so he would usually change a light bulb if he saw that one of yours was burnt out or change your tire when he saw that one was flat – and when you noticed it, he would just brush it off as if it was nothing, saying “that’s what friends are for”

you being kinda the only reason Miguel hasn’t died from overworking himself – you usually would force him to go home, take a shower and sleep at least eight hours – which he would object but then you would take his office key, lock him out and leave no room for arguments

having Lyla as your partner-in-crime – her giving you a lot of embarrassing material on Miguel and constantly snitching on where he is and what is he doing...

no man or woman that you’re dating is ever good enough for you – and ever if you end up in a serious relationship, Miguel’s loyalty always lies with you – his first priority is making sure that you’re safe and comfortable in any relationship

being drunk and calling Miguel up in the middle of the night (in one of the rare times he’s actually sleeping and not working himself into the ground)

- Hi? – he would sit up in his bed and stare at the phone where you were Face-timing him.

- Hi, - you said in all seriousness. – Ok. Bye.

Hobie Brown

accidentally developing a habit of not bringing your wallet with you when both of you went out to eat that resulted in him always paying for you

- I’ll get you next time, - you promised, still chewing on your burger.

- Uh-huh, - was all you heard before he pulled the check closer to his side of the table. – Just so you know – you’ll have to take out a loan to repay me for all this stuff, - he gestured towards the food with one of his fries.

- Well, who’s keeping count anyway-

- One thousand and fifteen dollars.

You had been friends for two years at that point so it wasn’t unbelievable or anything...

his love language being physical touch – Hobie wouldn’t be embarrassed or ashamed to hug you whenever you or him needed a hug...

making a habit of stealing his food which initially annoyed him but then he compromised by making his orders larger to accommodate you

having quite romantic nicknames for each other, even though you’re just friends (names like “love”, “darling” and “babe”) but also randomly calling each other “bro” and “dude”

Hobie’s an excellent long-distance friend if one of you is out of town – calling you every day to make sure you’re safe and sound

if you have a pet, Hobie would have the biggest annoyed-dad energy – meaning, he would constantly complain about how clingy your pet/ pets are to him but occasionally you would catch him snuggling with the animal as if it was his own pet

if you don’t like some of your own family members, he hates them too, and if you have great relationship with your family – he loves them, no questions asked

Miles Morales

constantly cock-blocking him with Gwen like the annoying sibling you were

You watched your best friend and his crush sit on the balcony of the apartment building. At that point, Gwen had lightly touched his shoulder and you could’ve sworn you saw Miles melt into a puddle.

- HI! – you leaned out of your window that was right next to your best friend’s balcony. – HAVE WE MET? YOU’RE GWEN, RIGHT?

You saw Miles shake his head at you to go back inside your apartment. That only gave you more courage.

- Oh my god! – you grinned and reached out your hand over the space between your window and Miles’ balcony for Gwen to shake. – I’m Miles’ friend, Y/N. It’s such an honor to finally put a face to a name so talked about!

Gwen reached over to shake your hand.

- Really? – she looked unconvinced. – You’re talking about me to your friends, Miles?

He needed some time to find words, so instead your smile widened and you faked surprise:

- Is she the same girl whose hair you ripped out?

Gwen threw annoyed look at Miles who looked just as guilty as when it first happened.

- I have to say though, you can’t even see any difference, - you said when it was very clear that you could definitely see the shaved side of her head.

his love language being words of affirmation – especially after you found out he was Spider-Man and supported him no questions asked, he always let you know how much he appreciated you as his friend

when you first found out he’s Spider-Man, you got him a Spider-Man Halloween costume for his birthday and gifted it to him in front of his parents with a note attached just for him (and watched with satisfaction as Miles read “in case you ever need a backup” written on the paper)

if you’re taller than him – constantly testing his patience by reminding him by how much exactly he’s shorter than you – even though he’s a superhero and all that...

getting a driver’s licence before Miles – him being a very nervous driver so you take it upon yourself to teach him (and his dad being impressed by how much better he seems to get every time he’s driving with his son)

at one point, Miles’ dad to would catch you after you had thrown up some graffiti of your own but since you refused to call your folks because you knew they would be very, very mad, he would just sigh in annoyance and let you go with a warning

- If I catch you bragging about this to Miles, you’ll be right back here!

you making and selling Spider-Man merch but putting the most embarrassing photos of Miles on it just to annoy him

- Is that... Is that a photo of me with two birds glued to my hands?

- I believe that real life situations create the most amazing art, dude!

Jessica Drew

being constantly worried for her safety when she’s both pregnant and saving the city every day

You had developed a habit of becoming her designated driver so she wouldn’t swing back home on her webs.

- Hey, - you called out to your friend as soon as she had given her statement about the robbery to the police. – Get in!

You opened the passenger side door of your car.

Jessica had to take a double look when she saw you just casually waiting to pick her up after a fight.

- Y/N? – she looked around surprised. – What are you doing here?

- Apparently, I’m giving a ride home to a reckless pregnant lady, - you yawned and pointed to the passenger seat. – In.

She walked around and got in – really no point in refusing a free ride home when you’re already here.

- Are you in your pajamas? – she looked you over when you started the car.

- It’s one in the morning, - you pulled out of the parking lot. – Of course, I’m wearing pajamas.

- How did you even know where I was?

- I have a Spidey-sense of my own that’s called “my best friend is back on some bullshit that police could’ve sorted out themselves”, - you yawned again and then pointed towards her. – I have tracker in your boot’s heel.

Jessica’s love language being acts of service – which was matching to yours; essentially both of you doing little things for one another (you always dropping her off and picking her back up for any and all pregnancy-related appointments, her making more food so it’s enough for you too, her texting you where there’s less traffic while going about her day as Spider-Woman so you can get to work easier, you later on becoming a godmother/ godfather for her baby and spoiling that child to no end)

saying goodbye to each other like a married couple

- Drive safe, honey! Text me when you’re home!

- I will, darling! Love ya!

Earth-42!Miles Morales

becoming friends after you accidentally caught him in one of your security system traps that you had been developing

- Oh so it works, - you muttered under your breath, as Miles watched you press some buttons on your tablet. – This prototype alone, if sold, could get me a nice apart-

- Hey! – you turned towards where the intruder was trapped in your artificial web trap. – I really don’t have time for this bullshi-

You knew the Prowler. Or, more specifically, you had heard of him. At that point, you had never actually seen him in person. And you weren’t actually seeing him now – he was still in his suit.

- You broke into my lab, - you clarified. – Do you think I have time for your bullshit?

Instead of panicking, calling the security or the police, you simply put down the tablet, kicked your feet up on the table in front of you and opened a juice box.

For a small moment, the intruder stopped struggling, as if too bewildered by your reaction.

You raised your eyebrows, awaiting some sort of a threat or question...

- How are you even here? – a low voice – no doubt changed by a voice modulator – asked. – It’s a national holiday. No one was supposed to be here!

- Oh yeah, - you threw your empty juice box over the lab, straight into trash. – My boss made me stay overnight. Apparently, the security system prototype was supposed to be ready yesterday but I had taken a sick day so...

- What an asshole, - your captive murmured under his breath.

- Ain’t that the truth, - you agreed. – So, what are you after, - you looked into your tablet one more time before adding, - Miles Morales.

He was definitely surprised. After the initial shock, he took off his mask.

- How did you know who I am?

- I didn’t, - you turned your tablet towards him. – Well, not until my webs touched you and pulled any and all DNA data they could from you. Then, the program ran diagnostics through all collected DNA data from all over the world and – boom – a genetics match found identical to Miles Morales!

getting along very well with his uncle – something that Miles says annoys him but secretly he enjoys having more people that resemble a family to him, especially since his dad is gone

his love language being gift giving – Earth-42!Miles getting you a particular part for your tech that you’ve been looking for all over the city but instead of saying something – anything – he would just awkwardly thrust it into your hands, murmur something along the lines of “I got this for you” and immediately leave

if you’re single on Valentine’s day, you would order a pizza and hang around with Miles – he would say it’s sad that you have to hang out with your best friend but would actually appreciate the company

Gwen Stacy

taking dozens of photos of Gwen’s hair after the-Miles-incident where she had some of her hair ripped out

- No, stop! – Gwen tried to slap your phone out of your hand. – This is humiliating enough without lasting evidence!

- This is gonna be my Christmas card this year!

to outsiders it looks like you don’t like each other at all – both of you constantly bickering like siblings and yelling like a married couple; and both of you being surprised and taken aback when somebody genuinely points out that you should be nicer to one another (and immediately laughing when anyone assumes you hate each other...)

· you always rely on Gwen to tell you the truth – no matter how harsh it is

- I think it went over well, - you said, as soon as your crush had left your lunch table.

When she hadn’t said anything, you turned to see her watching you with a blank look on her face.

- Your kidding, right? – she raised an eyebrow. – It was so awkward to watch I would’ve chosen to watch paint dry! That guy’s a dick! How can you even like that moron?

essentially having lots of your stuff over at her place and lots of her things at yours – and it’s gotten to a point where both of you have freed some space up in your desks, closets and dressers for your friend to comfortably leave their things in

constantly staying over at the other’s place – both your and her parents no longer surprised when one of you emerge to eat breakfast with everybody else there

Gwen’s love language being physical touch – especially if she’s nervous or anxious, she would wrap her pinky finger around yours just to know that you’re there

Pavitr Prabhakar

forever and always saying “Chai tea” just to piss him off

- Let’s get some Chai tea!

- Say it right and we might.

- I got you some Chai tea!

- I’m not drinking it if you keep saying it wrong!

- You know what I’m craving? Ch-

- I swear to god-

one of you constantly finding and perfecting some sort of a “talent” or “skill” – like juggling or doing a headstand – and the other one always trying to ruin the performance by knocking out one of the balls while juggling or making the other fall while doing a headstand

Pav’s love language being giving gifts – especially food; with him being Spider-Man, you would often text him while he was running errands and keeping peace all over the city to ask him to get you a particular snack (at some point, he had memorized your favorite places and would just get you something even before you asked – especially if he needed a favour from you and wanted to butter you up before asking...)

fighting for the sake of fighting

- YOU’RE SO WRONG! HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE HOW WRONG YOU ARE!?

- ACTUALLY, I REALIZED I WAS WRONG, LIKE, TEN MINUTES AGO! BUT THEN YOU SAID SOME DUMB SHIT AND I DECIDED THAT I COULDN’T LET YOU WIN!

him accidentally pushing you out of the first story window when his crush unexpectedly came over and you were asleep on his couch (insert: Cameron Diaz’s character in The Other Woman being pushed out of the window) and you bringing it up any time you need a favor from him

- I can’t just do that! That’s borderline a crime!

- So is throwing your friend out of a window, Pav!

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mosquego359 · 2 months ago

Text

𖤐One Kiss and A Quidditch Match — Chapter 1: Destiny's Invitation𖤐

Prologue (recommended to read)

Pair: Cedric Diggory x Male Slytherin Reader

Word count: 3.1K words

Summary of the book: You and Cedric Diggory hate each other. It has always been this way. But everything changes one night when you kiss each other at a party. Now, it seems you can’t escape each other — from being partnered up in Herbology for an important project to having to help Cedric during the Triwizard Tournament.

Summary of the chapter: It's the first day. You and your four closest friends have Defence Against the Dark Arts first thing, but you meet the teacher even before class starts and he surprises you with information you didn't realised he had. After first period, you and your group get a surprise invitation to a party.

Notes: This is my first Cedric fanfic so please forgive me for any OOC moments. Please comment anything I should change to improve this. Also, this first chapter will mainly focus on your friends, but there is an interaction with Cedric. Additionally, I am not British so I am not 100% sure how to correctly write people from the UK.

Content warning: There are a couple curse words in this chapter, but they are not too frequent. I may also write a few sexual scenes in later chapters if people request it.

!PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION OR CREDITS TO ME!

...

“Just a few more days and I’ll be old enough to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. Fuck, (Name), I kinda pity you for being born in March,” one of your close friends, Alistair Campbell, ranted about his latest obsession, small pieces of chewed toast flying out of his mouth.

“Don't talk when you eat, Cambell,” another one of your friends, Elsie Wilson, gagged, removing her Slytherin cloak and draping it over the chair to your left. She sat down in an almost royal manner, carefully smoothing her skirt.

Alistair leaned across you to get close to Elsie, chewing, mouth open, intentionally being noisy, and spitting bits of mushy toast onto her lap. Elsie gasped and got back up, wiping the bread off her skirt with a napkin and a disgusted look on her porcelain face.

“It’s the first bloody day of school, Alistair. Calm down.” You pushed your cackling friend back into his chair, wondering how the hell girls were attracted to a moron like himself.

You had to agree Alistair was a looker with his curly hair dyed bright red — faded to burgundy from many Quidditch practices under the rain and days during the break where he went swimming — strong, square jaw, and flawless brown skin, but it didn’t excuse his rude behaviour.

Whenever he walked anywhere with you and the rest of your clique, girls would ogle at his pretty face and muscles, giggling and sometimes latching onto his brawny biceps, attempting to start a casual conversation. If they were smart, they would notice he wasn’t interested and walk away. If they weren't — which was most of the time — one of you had to ask them to leave.

“Blimey, Elsie! I didn’t notice you were here,” Alistair’s twin sister, Winnie, said from the other side of her brother, brushing her frizzy black hair out of her guileless eyes with a toothy grin.

Winnie spent most of her day zoning out during class or lying face-down on her bed to think about whatever she was currently obsessed with. So, one of you had to help her rush through homework or revise using your notes.

Elsie smiled painfully, sitting back down with an irked expression, “Hey, Winnie.”

You glanced around, “Wasn’t Brian supposed to come down with you?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“He’s skipping breakfast,” she sighed. “He insisted on studying for our Defence Against the Dark Arts class — Mary, could you pass me the bacon?—and when I mean insisted, I mean insisted.” Elsie emphasised as she scraped the platter full of bacon on her plate.

“Of course he is,” said Alistair, waving his fork around like a wand.

Brian Ashmore was the final person to complete your friend group of five. Quiet and studious, he was, like you, a Half-Blood. Lucky for the both of you, no one in the school apart from a few close friends and some teachers knew about it, so you two fit right in with the Purebloods in your house. But it also made people see you as just another stereotypical Slytherin.

After finishing your breakfast, you and your friends left the dining hall.

“Should we go find Brian or should we go to class without him?” asked Winnie. She twisted one of her black locks around her finger and skipped along next to Elsie.

Alistair waved his hand. “We all know that nerd won’t be late. Can’t be missing out on slobbering over the new DADA teachers and getting good grades,” he mocked in a pestering voice, causing you to roll your eyes in exasperation.

“Merlin’s beard, Campbell, you are such an ass.” Elsie shoved him.

“Aww, you’re so grumpy without your boyfriend,” he jeered.

You slid in between them to dissipate the argument before it escalated any further. One of your least favourite things in school was whenever those two idiots argued. Alistair always found a way to get under Elsie’s skin, and it seemed as if you were the peacekeeper of the group. Winnie usually wasn’t paying attention, and Brian didn’t care enough to solve any argument.

“Do you know what the new professor will be like?” you asked your Pureblood friends to ease the air around them, adjusting your book bag so it didn’t fall off your shoulder. “I heard he is an Auror, but that’s all I know without assuming based on looks.”

That seemed to do the trick because Alistair nodded with interest, “Yes. He’s called Mad-Eye Moody. From what I heard from Pa, he’s a rather crazy old bloke.”

Mr. Campbell was a professional auror and rather famous with a knack for violence. While Winnie aspired to be as recognised as her father in the same field of work, Alistair’s dream was to soar in the air and be a famous Quidditch Beater.

"Well, it’s unfortunate that you both share a name, then.” Elsie commented, obviously still peeved from your friend’s previous comment, “If we try to refer to the “insane Alistair”, people won’t be sure which one we’re talking about.”

“Wait what?” He stopped walking.

Elsie flashed him a quick smirk, “You didn’t know? Mad-Eye isn’t his first name, you eejit. You’re both called Alistair.”

“And all of you will be late if you keep stopping in the middle of the hallway,” a gruff voice said behind them.

You turned to be faced with a savage-looking man roughly the same height as you, with a balding head of greasy ginger hair. He had one normal-looking eye while the other was electrical blue, rolling around as if scanning his surroundings. His wrinkly, squashed face reminded you of a mean pitbull.

“And it’s Alastor Moody, young Miss,” he pointed a thick finger at Elsie, who recoiled in embarrassment and mild fear. “Not that’s any of your business; you’ll be calling me Professor.”

“Sorry, Professor, it’s just playful teasing; my friends didn’t mean anything,” you jumped in as you gripped your bag’s brown strap, noting how you were the only one of your friends who wasn’t too affected by his odd appearance. You remember your parents raising you to never judge people based on looks.

The man leaned closer, seeing you eye-to-eye, “Hmm, you look familiar, Lassie. What’s your name?”

“(Name) (Surname), Professor.”

Moody barked a laugh, a sudden sound that caused you to flinch in surprise. “That’s why you look so familiar. I knew your mother, (Mom’s Name) (Maiden Name). It was unfortunate a brilliant witch like herself married a man like your father.”

You looked away at the mention of your Muggle father. It wasn’t the fact that he wasn’t a wizard that bothered you. Well yes, it was, but what frightened you was what the school would do if they found out. Many Purebloods were discriminatory towards any wix with Muggle ancestry, and being known as a Half-Blood or Muggleborn would greatly affect how students saw you. That was why you and Brian only informed people you were close to about your parentage.

You remembered, at first, Alistair was rather rankled after being revealed that information, but quickly got over it. You were aware that many others wouldn’t be so merciless.

But Mad-Eye Moody didn’t elaborate, only holding eye contact with you for a couple of seconds until he turned to walk around your group with a clickety-clack of something inanimate hitting the floor. Did this already odd man have a peg leg?

Winnie waited until he rounded a corner to speak, “He’s a little weird.”

Alistair shuddered. “He gave me chills. It’s so eerie how he just sneaked up on us out of nowhere.” He glanced towards you. “I also find it strange how he knew who you were, (Name).”

You were still turned to face where Moody disappeared. A peculiar smile stretched across your face.

“This is gonna be a good year.”

“What was that madman talking about? Late? We’re practically the first ones!” Elsie growled when you and your clique entered the spacious classroom.

“You have an unpleasant habit of insulting teachers, Elsie. One day, it’ll get you in real trouble.”

Mad-Eye Moody was nowhere to be seen, but behind a desk at the front of the classroom stood a boy with slicked-back hair streaked with a big slash of grey across the brown. He was twirling a quill; grey eyes focused on the object so you could see him from his side profile. His tired, unsmiling face turned to look at you and you spotted the burn scar covering the bottom half of his left side.

“Briaaannnn,” Winnie whined, dramatically swaying to the scar-faced teenager and enveloping him in a warm, Winnie-coded hug. “You need to eat! It’s unhealthy to be skipping breakfast.”

Brian Ashmore set the pen on a nearby desk and patted her head softly, bored eyes now focused on her form. Silence was his only response.

A mutter of voices came from the entrance behind you. It must have been five boys — four voices you didn’t recognise, one that you were very very familiar with.

“Excuse me, could you please move out of the doorway?”

You turned around to be met by Cedric Diggory’s striking grey eyes. He stood, one book tucked under his arm, slightly ahead of his friends. His sweet smile slowly faded as he realised who he was talking to.

You eyed one another, and he and your friends fell silent watching the interaction.

“Of course, I just had to share my favourite class with Diggory,” you thought. “I forgot we had Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Hufflepuffs this year. Don’t we also have Herbology together?” You felt slightly ticked off that you shared most of Hufflepuff’s favourite class with Cedric and the 6th year of his house. If only the schedule was similar to last year, and Snape’s class was the one you had with him. At least there, you could flaunt your skills with flamboyance.

You saw a muscle tick in Cedric’s square jaw as he forced a polite smile, “Sorry, (Surname), I neglected to simplify my words so you could understand the point I am trying to make.” A couple of his friends snickered. He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but you cut him off.

“I find that wouldn’t be necessary; a prodigy like myself can comprehend simple Hufflepuff dialect,” you responded as calmly as possible, keeping yourself from punching his stupid face.

Cedric let out a sarcastic laugh. “Of course, I forgot that you defined smart as using a couple pretty words in your sentences.”

Your face contorted into a snarl, “Oh really? How’s your Exceeding Expectations in Potions doing, Diggory?” You practically spat at him, teeth bared and hands on your hips. You rolled your shoulder back to prevent your bag from slipping, keeping your aggressive attitude.

Cedric’s nostrils flared, and you knew you hit a nerve.

But he didn’t do anything. Instead, he shoved past you to the desk at the second row furthest from the door. His friends followed suit, settling in a couple of seats near him.

You smirked triumphantly, walking over to Winnie and Brian with Elsie and Alistair confidently strutting behind you. You honestly found it rather funny how your group was sometimes more passionate about your and Cedric’s bickering than either of you.

You placed your bookbag at the desk closest to the door and chatted with your friends, waiting as students slowly filtered into the class and filled in the spots left.

Finally, as Alistair was recounting one of his dates with his girlfriend over the summer break — Elsie looked peeved, while Brian emphasised his surprise at how long their relationship was lasting — you saw the rough-looking professor limp through the door, his peg leg tapping against the wooden floor.

All of your classmates’ conversations halted at the sight of the strange man. They already saw him at the Great Feast yesterday, but they couldn’t help but stare, your friends included.

The students who weren’t seated settled into their desks. Alistair pulled back the chair to your right, the girls were at the desk directly to your right, and Brian was behind them, one of his and Cedric’s mutual friends, Leslie Westmore, to his right.

Professor Moody hobbled to the front of the class.

“Right then,” he said, “I’ve had a letter from Professor Lupin telling me of the subjects you’ve learned from last year. Seems you’ve covered rather interesting creatures — Merfolk, Basilisks, a bit of Dragons, and Phoenixes, ain’t that right?”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the students, and you nodded, mildly interested.

“A bit disappointing that you didn’t finish the unit on Dragons, but what you know right now is alright. But you are behind — very behind — with dealing with Dark Curses. Now, Dumbledore believes that you are old enough to study these curses only in 6th year, but I disagree. It’s never too early to learn about them. If you’d be in 3rd or 2nd year, lacking understanding would be acceptable. But you are already in 6th year, and having no knowledge of the Dark Arts — the real Dark Arts — is very very unfortunate.”

Brian raised his hand but didn’t wait to be called on to speak, “Actually, sir, Professor Lupin informed us quite a bit on the subject of the Dark Arts — specifically the Unforgivable Curses.”

“Is that so?” Professor Moody stared directly at him with his normal eye, his prosthetic one zooming around the room, before settling down on two girls at the back, “You need to put those candies away, Miss Armstrong and Miss Hilton; my classroom is not a restaurant.”

The girls blushed and frantically put their candy back in their bags, eyes downcast with embarrassment. You felt remorse towards them, but not enough to be distracted from the lesson.

Moody continued without skipping a beat, “With that new information, I think I know where to start this lesson. Alright, everybody knows what the Imperius Curse does, yes?” After a short second with hesitant nods of approval from the students, he continued, “Good, because today you will learn how to resist it.”

By the end of the first period, a red-faced Brian, a distracted Winnie, a sore Alistair, a smug-looking Elsie, and a sympathetic you walked out of Professor Moody’s classroom.

After a couple of paces, Brian shoved his face into his hands and let out a dejected groan. You placed your hand on his shoulder, gently petting his deltoids, a solicitous smile on your lips as you tried to comfort him.

“Hey, it’s not that bad.”

He took his head out of his hand, and you saw his cheeks were rose-red. “Well, you weren’t the one who played Princess Fairy in front of the whole class, Mr. Perfect.” He sighed miserably, “One word goes around the school, I’ll be ruined!”

“Oh please,” Alistair jumped in with a hand massaging his coccyx, “I’d much rather do that than have to sit out for a single Quidditch practice because of a butt injury of all things. Blimey, he’s truly a madman…”

Next to him, you could hear Winnie humming as if she had never eaten that spider not even twenty minutes prior. Even the thought of doing the same nauseated you, so seeing your friend looking serene made you question her morality.

Elsie shrugged, joining the conversation, "Well, at least everyone else in the class had to go through a similar experience as us, so if they are daft enough to mess with you, you could just blackmail them.” It was nice that Elsie acted sympathetic towards Alistair, but you suspected she was actually talking to Brian.

“Funny. The two only students who managed to break from the curse are comforting us,” huffed Brian.

Elsie gave him a confident half-smirk and raised her eyebrows while you shrugged with a chuckle, tugging on your bag’s straps.

“Puddings!”

The four of you engaged in the conversation halted, and you grabbed Winnie’s arm so she didn’t wander off. This snapped her back into reality, and you turned your heads to face the direction of the noise.

A pretty girl with honey-brown eyes and wavy, blond hair tied into a low ponytail ran up to your group.

You saw Alistair’s pained smile turn into his typical, white-toothed grin when she wrapped her skinny arms around his torso. She was over a head shorter than him, so she buried her face into his chest with a sing-song sigh.

Once she pulled away, Elsie eyed her repeatedly, “What do you want, White?”

The pretty blonde — a popular Pureblood Hufflepuff named Destiny White — frowned at Elsie’s cold comment, “You shouldn’t be so mean, Elsie, aren’t we friends? We don’t treat friends like that.” She paused momentarily before giving her a slightly satirical smile, “Or maybe Slytherin girls are just rude like that.”

Elsie narrowed her eyes, but when Brian touched her shoulder, she held her condescending tongue. As much as you disliked Elsie’s outbursts, you agreed that Destiny was a reasonable person to yell at.

Destiny turned back to a haughty-looking Alistair, handing him a paper envelope, “Anyways, the Weasley twins are hosting a little get-together for all the students 16 and up. We’re meeting up at 11 PM tonight in front of the Gryffindor common room so they can let us in.”

“Why would they host a party in a common room?” You inquired, confused, “Wouldn’t it wake up the younger kids?”

Destiny let out a little giggle, “The party isn’t in the common room, silly. I’d tell you the location, but that’s a little secret, and we don’t want the professors to overhear.” She lowered her voice as she spoke, “All the info is in the invitation.”

“Are we invited?” Winnie spoke up from behind you. She eyed the envelope her brother held in his hand with piqued interest.

“Of course,” Destiny stuck her hand into her pocket to retrieve four other letters, handing them to your group. Elsie was the only one who hesitated before begrudgingly plucking it from Destiny’s hand.

Brian eyed his envelope suspiciously, “How did you get so many?”

“Fred and George want my help since I’m friends with tons of people here!”

“Thanks, Babe,” Alistair smirked, leaning down to peck her cheek, and Destiny giggled. “We’ll be there.”

They shared a quick kiss on the lips, and Destiny slowly backed away, waving her hand, “I hope to see all of you at the party,” she spun around before stopping and turning her head, eyeing Elsie with a cheeky expression, “Even those who might ruin it.”

Immediately after she was out of earshot, Elsie hissed at Alistair, red-faced with vexation, “Leave her; she’s a bitch.”

Alistair laughed, “No way. One of the perks of dating her is the way she always manages to piss you off.” He elbowed her arm playfully before advancing to his next class, too ignorant to notice the faint blush spreading across Elsie’s cheeks.

...

Thank you for reading, please comment any suggestions you have or any issues I should fix. Like I said in a Tumblr post, I will only post on Thursdays at 12 AM BST. I may post every week or every two weeks, I don't really know. It depends how long I take. For those who are interested, here's how I imagined Winnie would look like.

Chapter 2

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house-of-slayterr · 6 months ago

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A little obvious, but Villains I think would be into Knife/Sharps Play:

Let’s start this list of properly…

Mary:

Mary loves surgical play, she’s the doctor and you’re her helpless little patient. Sometimes she uses laughing gas before you start, help you get the feeling that your life is truly in her hands. But she won’t hurt you too bad, she would never damage her perfect little doll. Just be prepared to have her name carved into the body part of your choosing.

Amanda Young:

Amanda is another obvious choice. She loves to remind you of the power she holds over you. Remind you of who’s in charge. Her favourite thing to do is put you in escapable traps and give you little quizzes on your relationship as part of your test. Just simple flesh wounds are you payment if you ever get the answers wrong. She likes to save the deeper cuts for face to face time. She loves the feeling of you skin, under her blade, between her teeth. Anyway she can mark you, she’ll have the world knowing who you belong to.

Herbert West:

Now Dr West, he hardly has time for sex. Most of his focus is on his experiments. But the way you can lure him out of that dingy basement is by becoming his latest experiment. He loves to dissect you, metaphorically and literally specking. He’d probably rip open your chest to see your heart if it didn’t mean loosing you. And reanimation was plan B for you, he preferred you still fully loving. But he loves to stick you with needles, sometimes to draw blood he saves in his little shrine to you, or to give you something that will help you more into the mood. All with your consent of course, but he loves it when you’re heads in the clouds. He loves to quiz you during it, and every answer you get wrong is another delicately carved Mark on your skin.

Anton Chigurh:

Anton loves to watch you squirm. He thinks the sounds you make are delightful when you whimper away from the sharp blade. He’ll use diffent techniques. They do leave permanent marks, but nothing too difficult to hide. He likes to see how far you’ll let him go before he draws back. He loves the psychological aspect almost a bit more. Explaining to you what his weapons have done to other people, yet giving the reasons why he’d never do that to you. He finds explaining his work to be intimate, showing you a side of him only ghosts have ever seen.

Billy & Stu:

These two come as a package deal, and they love when you play helpless victim. Billy is more directly into the knife aspect, he loves tracing shapes on your skin, might even let you do it back to him if he’s in a particularly good mood. But Stu is into the blood. Nothing could stop his horny brain from thinking about you and Billy covered in blood, doesn’t care if it’s your own or someone else’s. He likes to play with it, and he’ll get upset if you try to clean yourself off too soon. He has hundreds of Polaroids of you and Billy.

Otis Driftwood:

Admittedly, Otis thinks you’re a god damn work of art. And any good artist wants to leave their mark on their most prized piece. His initials are carved on both your thighs, through less than delicate work, because he wants any man who dare try to get that far with you, know exactly who you belong to. And know that he will find them. The only place he won’t use his knife is on your pretty face. He likes delicate and soft the skin is there and doesn’t want to shatter the effect of your dolll like beauty.

Baby Firefly:

Baby is just as depraved as Otis. Her version of foreplay is letting you play helpless victim. She loves to chase you, scare you, make you bleed rubies just for her. She loves holding it against your neck while she whispers sweet nothings in your ear. She loves the smell of the adrenaline coming off your skin when she has you willing and complaint for her. She probably gives the best aftercare as well. Taking her time to clean and patch you up so she gets to play nurse.

Patrick Bateman:

This main only gets off if someone else’s pain is involved. You’re barely any safer with him than anyone else would be. The one thing keeping your pretty little heart beating, in his eyes, is that he owns you. And Patrick takes care of his property. You’re part of his routine, coming home after a long day, just to leave a new mark on you while he fucks you into oblivion. He loves to trace and lick at your scars, and remind you that he lacks those imperfections he’s given you. He’s in control and he’ll be sure you and everyone else knows that.

An: that’s all I got for now but I have been feeling a little mentally better about trying to write again. It’s not nearly as scary as it has been for months. Things are slowly getting better.

Tag: @oceansrose2002 @kados-of-chaos @mothmans-kingdom @myers-meadow

#slashers #villains #knifeplay #knife kink #headcannons #Amanda Young #American Mary #anton chigurh #Stu Macher #billy loomis #otis driftwood #baby firefly

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thedeviltohisangel · 8 months ago

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All The Things I Did (4): The Only Thing That I See

a/n: ok this is the one i warned you guys was horny but i'm sure its actually to our benefit. this is setting up the next couple big plot pieces: harding's arrival and his past with cass, john demoting himself to fly again, cass' next mission and a whole lot more. happy to chat about any of it//we had a great little sleepover in my inbox and i saved a couple to answer over the next few days. more interludes in the chute, submissions still open, and a new masterpost pinned to my blog. happy reading!

When Mary knocked on Cass’ door before the sun was out and warned her it was pancakes for breakfast, it meant the men were flying today. She was looking forward to this raid in particular as the coordinates for the U-boat pens had been passed to her by a new potential source during a previous trip to Belgium. Surveillance planes had confirmed their location but it meant that Colonel Huglin would want her to brief prior to wheels up. John wasn’t flying but he would be watching. She wanted to impress him. Offer him a little bit of insight into the work that she did. Show him the bumps and bruises were worth it if it brought the war to an end even a moment sooner.

He wasn’t outside waiting for her to get breakfast and her heart fell but she knew he was busy. A piece of her was curious what John Egan, Air Exec behaved like. She imagined he was more stoic and held quite the presence. Or maybe he was exactly the same and more of a pain in the Colonel’s side than anything else. Cass smiled to herself as she walked toward the HQ offices. Yeah, that definitely seemed more like her John.

----

He was rifling through papers when she entered the bullpen, calling out headings to the navigators and dodging orderlies delivering cups of coffee. She dropped her jacket off at her desk without anyone noticing and approached the map with small airplanes meant to simulate the raid.

“A few degrees to the east, gentleman. Otherwise, you’ll miss the last loading dock.” Her fingers nudged the group of planes in the correct direction then she stepped back and let the stares wash over her. Deep breaths, Cass. You know you’re right.

“Gentlemen, surely you’ve all at least heard of Lieutenant Cooper. She is the one responsible for locating these pens for today’s raid.” Some of them nodded with respect, others rolled their eyes or scoffed. Most of them seemed ambivalent.

“I’ll be at my desk should any questions arise, Colonel.” Yet all of them could agree on staring at her backside as she walked away.

“You make a habit out of embarrassing the brass the morning of a raid?” She paused her typing with a smile and walked around her desk to meet him in the doorway. There were wildflowers behind his back and she gripped his chin to pull him down for a kiss.

“Good morning, Major.” John hummed with pleasure before going back in for one, two, three more kisses.

“Morning, doll.” His voice was huskier at this hour than she was used to. It sparked right between her legs. “You thought I forgot?” He produced the flowers from behind his back and handed them to her. As she did every morning, she brought them to her nose and blushed like a schoolgirl.

“First mission as Air Exec. Wouldn’t have blamed you if you did.” John stepped deeper into her office, closing the door behind him, as she tucked the latest bouquet into a vase on her desk that was already filled with his previous gifts.

“Would feel better if I was going up as a squadron commander.”

“You would say that.” Cass jumped up onto her desk, welcoming John between her legs with some light scratches on the back of his neck. “I, for one, am happy you’ve got two feet on the ground today.”

“That’s very selfish of you, Lieutenant Cooper.” He stepped closer and kissed her slow. Deliberate. Decisive. Dangerous. He kissed her like he flew. “I’ll stop flying when you stop spooking.”

“But then I wouldn’t get to see you all hot and bothered over my well being again.” John licked his lips as she fiddled with the knot of his tie. Cass wasn’t sure what was coming over her if not, just simply, the allure of John Egan. They had claimed each other publicly. All that was left was privately.

“Did that turn you on, Cass?” She nodded, pressing her chest against his as her tongue slipped between his lips and stirred an ache within him. “Do you like that they could walk in on us at any time?”

“Fuck, John.” Her lips moved to the column of his throat and he groaned at the nipping of her teeth. She was tempted to have him take her right there on the desk. He was tempted too. Wanted to rip those thin, tantalizing panty hose from her legs and hike her skirt around her waist. Had fantasized how soft the skin of her thighs would be. What she would taste like. How she would sound as he worked her over the edge again and again and again.

“Cass, baby, I want you so bad.” She was intoxicating. A siren at sea. At this moment, he was powerless to deny her anything.

“Then take me, sir.” God, he could die a happy man. He was pushing her skirt up her legs, Cass spreading them wider as she leaned back onto the desk and pulled John down with her when there was a knock on the door.

“Major Egan? Lieutenant Cooper?” Cass collapsed onto her back, panting with pent up tension, John catching himself with his hands on either side of her head.

“Just a minute,” John called. He dropped his sweaty forehead to her shoulder in defeat before standing to his full height. His mouth ran dry with a tease of lace, Cass tugging her skirt down to hide it from his starving eyes.

“You like lace. Noted.”

“I think I’d like anything that was on you.” He grabbed her hands and tugged her closer. “Or off you.” No longer able to control herself around John Egan, she stood on his toes and pressed up into his lips once more.

“Major Egan-”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” John stormed to the door and threw it open. “Private, I said we needed a minute.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” Cass chuckled as he scurried away, adjusting her jacket and grabbing her briefing materials from the drawer.

“Don’t go scaring them, John. We need young men to want to stay in.”

“He’ll be fine. I’ll apologize when your spell has worn off a bit.”

“Oh? There you go with that witch motif again.” He followed her out of the office, out of the building and into the daylight.

“Has to be some kind of explanation for the way you’ve got me wrapped your finger like this.” She stopped and turned to face him.

“Maybe it’s love, Major.” His retort went right back down his throat. How the fuck did she know? He had tried to say it the other night but had since thought better of it. He couldn’t risk scaring her off.

“Maybe.” She read the yes behind his maybe.

“Maybe,” she repeated, whispering. “We should go inside.” John nodded, stepping closer and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I just need one more minute.” It was a moment John had never really thought about. The moment you realize the woman you love, loves you right back. He wanted to engrave it in his mind, heart and soul. Never forget this feeling with her. Carry it with him until he didn’t have to be afraid of losing it anymore. “Cass? You mean a lot to me, you know that?”

“We’ll make it through this, John. Together.” He kissed her one last time before heading, because how could he help himself, the sound of together silencing all the doubt in his mind. If only for a little while.

----

Cass sat quietly along the side of the room as Colonel Huglin unveiled the target for today’s mission and the unfortunate low-low position that the 100th would take. She looked around and tried to read if any of the men seemed nervous or had any understanding of what was about to happen to them. They were doing a good job of keeping it all at bay.

Eventually her eyes landed on John as they always did. He had recovered from their earlier tryst remarkably quickly. Cass was nearly positive she would need to replace her undergarments at the first available instance. Looking at him now only added to her need to shift and adjust in her seat. Back home, men were either ruggedly handsome and good with their hands or politely coiffed and intellectually impressive. For John Egan to somehow embody both was a figment of all her desires.

He caught her staring out of the corner of his eyes. Offered her a smirk and would have blown a kiss if he wasn’t sitting in the front row. As if she could read his mind, she blew a kiss of her own. John pretended to catch it and slip it into his pocket.

“Our intelligence officer, Lieutenant Cooper, will take it from here before Captain Becker delivers the weather.” Cass stood to the sound of whistles and cheers, a low chant of ‘Spook’ spreading throughout the room. John smiled but kept his decorum. Though that blush on her cheeks was going to make him go mad.

“Thank you for the warm welcome, gentlemen. Lights please.” The room plunged into darkness save for the screen she was using to deliver her brief. “Please note there are both naval and ground based anti-aircraft assets located along the Frisian Islands. Towards the mainland, you can expect concentrated flak from here all the way down to Bremen. Sources tell me they are radar enabled so they will have the capability to track you.” A hand shot up in the crowd.

“Ma’am? What kind of artillery are we looking at?”

“88 and 105.” She paused to see if there was follow up before continuing. “The most important aspect is your target to the northwest of Bremen if I could have the target map, please.”

There were no further questions, John standing to the side while she presented the bombardiers and navigators with supplemental files for the run. She didn’t offer them luck or tell them to fly safe. Just told them to remember their training and stick to the headings she had given them. Anything else would be empty words.

“I think they were very thoroughly briefed, don’t you?” Cass laughed as she gathered her maps and placed them back in her folder.

“Surprised I do more than run around Europe and get shot?” John looked at his shoes sheepishly but his jovial tone seemed to have slipped away.

“Shouldn’t joke about getting shot, Cass. Kind of scared me when that happened.” She touched his cheek gently.

“Once they all take off and you’re done being a leader of men, you can sit and read my report if you like. I’m positive your imagination is worse than the truth.” At least, she hoped it was. “You should go talk to Buck. Give him some parting thoughts.”

“You’re the one who told me there are no words to describe it.”

“Not to warn him or guide him. Just remind him why he’s going up there today and why he will again every time after.” His smile was tight lipped. Her words were very carefully chosen to not reflect the truly dire nature of their circumstances. He appreciated her for it. She held onto that quality as long as she could. Beyond the German surrender and the atomic bomb and the curiosity with what came next. But one day she would have to break. And she knew John would be there. He’d always be there. Had to.

----

It was a couple hours later when he found her again. She looked like she was fighting sleep from behind her typewriter. John couldn’t help but admire the sight, almost regretting the gentle rap of his knuckles on her door.

“Leader of men here for Lieutenant Cooper.” She acknowledged his presence with a smile but kept her chin in her hand. “One plane back with mechanical issues. Just a waiting game.”

“You’re not good at patiently waiting, are you?”

“I think I’m being pretty patient with you. With us,” he added as he motioned around them. “An impatient man would have taken advantage of your offer this morning.” Cass scoffed and sat up. Good. John liked when she was at her full capacity to spar with him. Sometimes, he said something just to get her to banter.

“You only didn’t because of that poor man that knocked on the door!”

“Well, he’s not here now.”

“So, what’s stopping you?” She looked at him expectantly. As if she was actually curious if he would just sweep her desk clean and take her right then and there. She would let him.

“Time. Need to make sure there’s no limit to how long I can take.” Cass liked the sound of that. John taking his time to work her up and up then over. Not just once. Maybe not even twice. She knew what she would be thinking about all night.

“A consolation prize then?” There was a red folder dangling from her fingertips. “It can’t leave this room.” John took it, taking a seat with enough distance from her to keep his head clear of sinful thoughts.

She typed away quietly as he read, something domestic about the whole thing that made them both incandescently happy, only the occasional grunt of concern or impressed hum slipping from his mouth.

“They teach you how to do all this at spook school?”

“Most of it. Some just has to be instinctual. Kind of like your piloting. There is only so much to learn in a training environment before the real thing has to take place.” He looked down and reread the lines about the information she had received. How she had written the tangible impact these identifiers would have on the war. Wanted to skip over the part where the local police followed her after her meeting. How they turned her in and she took a beating but convinced the interrogators she was just lost. How she made her tourniquet out of ripped cotton and a stick.

“Cass, you’re fucking incredible, you know that?”

“It’s always nice to have a handsome man tell me.” Their thoughts matching, she met him on the other side of her desk and accepted his kiss eagerly.

“We always find ourselves here,” he said with a sigh, her cheek fitting in his palm and his thumb resting on the top of her cheekbone.

“Are you complaining?”

“Never.” He leaned back in, ready to seal the world off once more, when the sirens ran off. The planes were back. And with them, the real world.

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfic #callum turner fanfic #mota fanfic

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jjtheresidentbaby · 1 year ago

Note

idk if u still do supernatural but r u open to a fic of little sam and cg dean? (i dont ship them i just love the brother dynamic they got)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ not true ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

|| dean winchester & sam winchester

a/n: ofc I still do spn!! I still write for all the fandoms listed on my navigation post unless they’re crossed out

warnings: hurt/comfort, swearing, set in season 1, rude people, protective dean, pet names talk of jess’ death/cg!jess

Dean feels Sam's face tuck into his neck before he sees his brother walk over, Sam presses himself into Deans side so something is obviously wrong.

"Sammy?" He asks, turning on his feet to look at Sam's face, his eyes glisten with un-shed tears, nose sniffling after a second. Dean feels dread twist up in his gut, this hunt should be an easy salt and burn, they had come to this shop to ask a few routine questions about the owner who had died and since come back to haunt the place that his daughter now owns. Sam shouldn’t be upset or hurt at all.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart what’s wrong?” Deans hand comes to cradle Sam’s cheek before he can stop himself, he knows that Sam has slipped into his headspace, it’s written all over his face.

“Nothin’ just some guy.” He mumbles and a spike of anger flares in Deans chest. This is the fourth hunt in that past however many months that someone’s said something about Sam, whether it be about his “childish” behavior or the rambles he gives on cases that are too intricate for the local pd to understand. Both make Dean angry, protective, but the comments about how “clingy” or “young” Sam is really get to him.

His brother has been through a lot throughout his life, something that Dean is keenly aware of. The latest trauma is Jess dying, it had shook Sam to his core, just like when Mary died and John became a mess. But they’re working through it and Sam regressing has been helpful, it’s only four months into Dean finding out about the coping mechanism and yet he’s fallen comfortably into the role of a caregiver for Sam. A role that Jess used to fill, Dean is always sure to be sensitive when that comes up.

The last thing Sam should have to deal with is a bunch of assholes who have nothing better to do than poke fun at someone they don’t know. It gets to Dean in different ways than it does Sam, the older Winchester wants to hunt the people down and give them a piece of his mind, while Sam would rather Dean leave it and let Sam latch around him a little more than normal.

It’s how Dean finds his hand gripped tightly in Sam’s as they walk down the crooked sidewalk back to the Impala, thankfully not wearing suits as he’s sure it’d be an odd sight for anyone passing by. It’s not a long walk by any means but Dean can feel his mind spiraling the more Sam squishes against his side, whatever was said must’ve been bad, really bad.

“Hey it’s okay Sammy, it’s just us now.” Dean assures as soft as he can. Sam’s staring up at him from where his head is rested on Deans side, his body halfway slid down the bench of the impala so he can be smaller than Dean. It’s something Dean noticed almost immediately, Sam always slumps himself down or curls his shoulders in when he’s regressed, just trying to shrink himself to be physically tinier.

“Can you tell me what they said? You don’t have to but if I know I might be able to help more.” There’s a low rumble as Dean drives down the road, now thankful that their motel is just outside of town and not in the middle where they could run into more rude people.

“I- I was just asking questions about the girl we’re trying to help but this- this guy came in and started to say stuff about how nobody like me could really help her.” He sniffles through the explanation and Dean has to focus half his energy on not turning around to go tear that guy a new one. It’d do no good, sure it’d satisfy him, but Sam would still be upset and probably even more so knowing Dean got into a fight because of him, despite none of it ever being Sam’s fault. The kids got a heart of gold that people love to prey on.

“That’s not true, it will never be true Sammy. You are an amazing hunter and anyone would be lucky to have your help.” The compliments fire off in instinct, of course Sam’s a good hunter, of course he’d be the person you’d want to get help from, Deans never thought anything different.

“But—.” Dean shakes his head firmly, glancing down at Sam’s soft face and hand gripping at the t-shirt Dean has on, Dean wishes he could stay like this forever. Just them, safe, in Baby, only worrying about each other.

“But that guy was a jerk and you don’t deserve to be talked to like that. Now c’mon we’ll order something and watch cartoons.” A tired but full smile spreads on Sam’s face as they both tumble out of the car, Dean already holding his hand out for his brother and a plan forming in his head for what they can do once this hunt wraps up, they could both use a little tlc in Deans opinion.

#jj writes #supernatural agere #caregiver!dean winchester #little!sam winchester #sam & dean #dean winchester #sam winchester

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satninroses · 1 year ago

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Broken Back & Doting Girlfriend

(A/N): I have nothing to say ;-; I hope you all enjoy! :-)

Summary: Elvis slips and injuries himself in the shower. You rush to help him but get sidetracked with little Elvis.

Pairing: Older! Elvis Presley x Fem! Reader

Word count: 2,788

Warnings: SMUT! MINORS DNI! Hand jobs (M. Receiving) Dirty talk, swearing, descriptions of injuries, mentions of Colonel Tom Parker

Elvis returned home a few days ago from his latest tour. This one in particular had taken a large toll on him. He felt like he had no time to breathe or talk on the phone with you. When he finally got home, you were glued to his hip to make up for all the lost time.

You felt as though Tom Parker was squeezing every last drop of energy out of him. You had pleaded with him to take a breather but Elvis persisted that he needed to prepare for the next big tour he was going on.

As if there wasn’t enough to worry about with his music and the Colonel, he always worried about you. He worried if you liked it at Graceland when he wasn’t there. He worried if you were comfortable in all the lavish clothes Elvis gifted to you. He even worried over if your dinner was warm enough.

Even before he met you, he was always stressed about his Mama and Papa. He always wanted to make sure they were ok and in need of any assistance. He had always told them that if they ever needed anything during a tour, he would walk right off that stage and take the first flight back to Memphis.

After his mom passed and his dad had distanced himself from the family, he was left with no one but him and the Mafia. Sure, he wasn’t lonely but he always get as if something were missing. He enjoyed how his mother doted on him as if he were still a young man.

Life had seemed dull for a year or two before he met you. He was well into his late thirties and you were fresh out of college. When he first spotted you outside the gates to Graceland, your sweet face had drawn him to you first. Your hair looked soft and your cheeks had a sweet pink tinge to them. You had the biggest and sweetest doe eyes he had ever seen. You sported a pretty pink dress the fell right beneath your knees. You had the prettiest string of pearls around your neck and on your ears. You were also wearing these adorable Mary Jane heels.

When he had first approached you, the girls around you grew excited at his presences and did everything to get his attention. Not trying to be rude, he handed out a few hugs and autographs. He wanted to push through all of them to get to you.

After the mob of girls had moved to the side for him to pass through, he stopped right in front of you. You were about a foot shorter than him. He peered over at your friend who was stationed next to you. She had an awe-struck look on her face while you babbled on about the newest fashion trends you wanted to indulge in.

He cleared his throat and your head shot up to look at him. You gasp and your hands come up to slap over your mouth. “You’re Elvis Presley.” The excitement rushed through your veins and up into your brain.

He checked and nodded his head. “In the flesh Darlin’. What’s your name?“ You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and smiled up at him “(Y/N).”

He let go of you and grasped your chin in his hands. His lips met yours in a rush. You gripped his bicep and kissed back. He pushed back a little bit.

He released the short-lived kiss. “Listen, why don’t you come back here later tonight when I can meet you again without any nosy paparazzi. I’ll let security know that you’re coming. They’ll let you in.”

These last few years have been a dream for him. He loved you so much and you loved him even more. He was 39, almost 40 this year. You were on the verge of 23. You were so polite and kind-hearted. He doesn’t know what he would do without you. Every night, he thanks his lucky stars and mama that you were sent to him. He knows that if he were to step out of line even once when it came to you, his mama would rise up and scold him endlessly.

Tonight, he wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and cuddle with his beloved. He entered the bathroom connected to the bedroom. He stalked towards the faucet of the shower and switched it on. While he was waiting for the water to heat up, he took in his reflection through the mirror.

He was sweaty and he looked exhausted. The bags forming under his eyes were becoming increasingly noticeable. His arms bulked up a little bit from the endless guitar and piano playing these last few weeks. His eyes traveled down lower. He seemed to be bulking up in size in general. He wasn’t fat by any means, he was just a little round around the edges.

He turned away from the mirror and headed to the shower. He checked the water and stepped in. The hot waterfall was like the best back massage he had ever had. He felt much more relaxed and calm. He let the steam envelope him and clear his pores. He felt much less tense and more loose.

He allowed himself to put his guard down and enjoy himself. He began to hum the melody to Burnin’ Love.

“Lord Almighty. Feel my temperature rising,” he sang softly to himself.

He turned to grab the shower head to adjust it. As he turned, he tripped over his own foot and took a harsh fall to the ground. “SHIT!” The pain that he had been feeling in his back and arms increased tenfold. To make matters worse, the shower rod had fallen right on his face and onto his nose. It wasn’t broken, but it was bleeding heavily. “Damnit! (Y/N)!”

You had been sitting on the bed looking through a magazine detailing Elvis’ latest adventures. Your head perked up at the sound of a crash in the bathroom and a loud profanity from your lover. You hopped off the bed and rushed to the bathroom. “Elvis? Are you ok?”

The scene beneath in front of you made your stomach turn. Elvis was sitting in the tub now, the shower rod having fallen on him giving him a bloody nose. His arms and back seemed to have taken the most damage as it looked like it was already swelling.

“Elvis! What happened? Oh dear, you’re very hurt! Uhh… Don’t move, ok?” You handed him a warm rag to hold to his nose while you gathered some more items to help him.

He was compliant. He laid in the tub in pain while he watched his doting partner scramble about the bathroom. It really reminded him of his mom. This is why I love you he thought to himself.

“I think we need to take you to the hospital.” Elvis didn’t like the thought of paramedics entering his home while he was indecent. He also didn’t like the idea of having to travel down stairs, out of the house, into the car and put more pressure on his achy areas.

“Doll, I think it’s ok. I just need to get dressed and sleep it off with some pain killers.”

“But Elvis! What if you’re seriously hurt?”

“Satnin, it’s ok. I just took a tumble is all. Trust me, ok?”

For a second, you looked hesitant to believe him and considered going against his wishes but you didn’t want to stress him out further.

“Ok. What can I do now to help?”

Elvis had finally snapped back to reality and realized the gravity of the situation. He was sopping wet and naked with his legs spread in front of you.

“I suppose we can try and put my clothes on. I wouldn’t worry about drying me off. I just need to get out of here right now.”

You nodded obediently and began rummaging through the clothes on the vanity to look for something light he would wear. You dug a paid off dark grey pajama pants out from the pile and showed him. “Are these ok?”

He nodded back at you. You made your way over to him and helped him out then over his feet. You continued to pull them up until you hit his mid thigh.

While the pants were not form fitting, Elvis had but on a little bit of extra fat and muscle so it was making it impossible to pull them up.

“E? These pants aren’t fitting. Do you want another pair?”

“No, it’s ok. I can squeeze into them.”

You tugged at the waistband of the pants harder and harder trying to fit them over his legs. In the middle of this tug-o-war battle with you and the pants, you had caught a glimpse of his cock.

It was still wet and had some soap suds on it. He wasn’t erect but it still sat large and very thick in between his legs.

You grew up as a modest girl. You were polite to everyone you came across. Sure, you had a few boyfriends before Elvis but it never progressed further than light kisses and the occasional hand holding. To you, this seemed very intimate and you were flustered.

“I’m sorry. I know this is uncomfortable for you. But, I have to go over your.. you know.”

Elvis bit back a chuckle from your timidness in attempt to ease the tension. “It’s ok baby. You’re ok.”

You felt more grounded from his reassurance. You pull the pants up further until they’re over his thighs. The waistband catches him roughly. His dick was harshly pressed against his lower abdomen. It almost hurt more than his arms and back.

“(Y/N), baby. S-Stop real quick. You caught me.”

You cock your head to the side in confusion.

Caught him? You thought to yourself. It takes Elvis everything in him to to groan in frustration of the situation.

He contemplated his next choice of action before making a decision.

“Satnin. Listen very carefully. I need you to reach into my pants and push… Little Elvis to the left a little bit. That’s what I meant when I said that you caught me in the waistband. I’m real sorry Darlin’. “

The fire in your stomach somehow got hotter. You’ve never touched Elvis this way, much less, touched a man in general. This made you jumble up into a flurry of all different emotions. Shame, embarrassment, excitement, and… arousal?

You hesitated for a second before slowly sliding your hand down into his pants to readjust him. The palm of your hand grazes the tip of his cock by accident. He lets out a low and guttural groan.

You continue to readjust him into a more comfortable position. At the same time, his cock was beginning to grow hard and heavy. You felt bad about this. You wanted to retreat back to yourself and help in other ways. You look at him to apologize and he was no better. His eyes were shut tightly and his grip on the shower rod was so tight that he knuckles were turning white.

He was trying to stop himself from getting hard and making this more awkward but he was failing miserably. He wanted nothing more than for you to just jerk him off right then and there. He knew about your lack of knowledge in the sex department. He didn’t want to push his limits with you but this was something he couldn’t control.

“I’m so sorry Elvis. I know I didn’t want to make this awkward and i’m doing a terrible job. I’m not hurting you, am I ?”

“N-no. Not at all. It feels good. Really good. You could… keep going? Maybe I would feel a bit better.”

You nod nervously. It wasn’t that you were scared and didn’t want to do it! You were just inexperienced. You didn’t have to first clue on how to please a man and you didn’t want to disappoint Elvis.

You turned your body so you were more facing him. You have him a shy smile and began to pump his cock again.

“God, Satnin. You sure know how to use those hands. Yeah, just like that” He he weakly moved his arms so that his hands were on yours. He slowly pumped your hands up and down the length of his cock applying little bits of pressure when needed.

You could feel your core producing a wetness that pooled in between your legs. You moaned a little from the friction.

“Elvis? If I help you up, can we go back to the bed?”

He smiled softly at you and nodded. “Just don’t kill me, doll.”

You rose from your spot on the floor and dusted of your butt. You stood over the tub where he sat and gripped his outstretched hands. You pulled him up, albeit not easily, and walked him gently over to the bed. You placed a pillow in the middle of the bed and urged him to lay back on it.

“Are you ok? Do you need anything else?”

“I’m ok angel. Are you?”

You smiled and held his head in your hands. You bent over and gave him many small kisses all over his face.

Your kisses grew more passionate every time. Soon, those little kisses turned into a war. Who’s tongue could take over the other ones? Even in a not physically good condition, Elvis still had the upper hand.

He kissed you like it was your last one ever. He gripped that back of your head tightly and didn’t let got. His other hand rubbed it’s way down your face, to your neck, to your collarbone, to your breasts. He squeezed one in his big palm and massaged it.

You moaned quietly into the kiss before pushing youself off of him. “We came in here for you! I want to please you.”

You slithered your way down his body until your eyes and mouth were face-to-face with his hard cock. It looked much prettier like this. It stood tall and thick. The tip was a pretty pink and precum was dripping down and onto his balls. Speaking of which, his balls sat heavy on the blankets. They had a satisfying weight in your hands. For a few minutes, you took a closer look at every individual hair, vein, and part of his pelvis until you were satisfied.

You brought your hands to his cock again and began a slow pumping rhythm. Deep sighs and occasionally sharp inhales could be heard from Elvis. His arms lay dormant at his sides and he had his neck and head arched off the bed and looking at the ceiling.

You increased your speed and friction in an attempt to create a stronger reaction. As expected, he was groaning much more loud and whimpering your name here and there. You moved one hand off his cock and down to his balls where you pulled and tugged them.

“Fuck. Baby, spit on it. Get it nice and sloppy��

You obliged. You gathered a little bit of spit and released it onto his cock. You so spread it up and down the length of his cock. It looked even prettier than how it started. Not only was it pretty and big, it was practically glowing in the light.

You jerked him off faster. This resulted in a flurry of swears being released from him.

“Fuck! Just like that. God you’re p-perfect (Y/N).”

You kept doing until he jerked his hips up into the air. His cum shot out the top and coated you in it. Even through his orgasm, you kept the same pace. He spurted all over you. Long ropes of his thick cum coated your hair and face. He let out a loud groan from the bottom of his throat and lied back on the bed breathing heavily.

“You’re so good Satnin. So perfect and good for me.”

You moved so you were laying at his side. You kissed him deeply. “I love you so much Elvis. I’m so glad you were patient with me.”

He smiled sweetly at you. “Absolutely. However, you might want to get cleaned up before you fall asleep here. I’ll be waiting.”

You rolled your eyes and pursed your lips playfully and stood up.

“Fine. I’ll be sure to clean up the mess YOU made though.”

You both laughed at your childish remark before he looked at you with serious eyes.

“Just so you know, when I’m feeling better, I’m gonna repay you real nice. Nice and rough.”

#50s elvis #60s elvis #70s elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x reader smut #elvis x reader #elvis x reader smut #x reader #reader insert #x reader smut #reader insert smut #satninroses

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silverstarfics · 1 year ago

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@thunder-pride day 4 whoo!! I haven’t written a teenage Virgil in ages so hopefully this turned out okay. AO3 here.

Middle school was a hell the likes of which Virgil hoped he’d never have the misfortune of experiencing ever again. The other kids sniffed out difference like bloodhounds, but rather than celebrate it they used it as an excuse to torment him. He tried to keep his head down, but he also tried to be kind which had the side effect of drawing attention to him. So, it was understandable for him to dread high school. If middle school bullies had been bad enough, just how much worse would it be around fully-fledged teenagers?

Shockingly, it wasn’t that bad. People tended to forge their little groups and stuck to them, a little like the way prey animals banded together to find safety in numbers. Virgil was never going to be part of the popular crowd, but he found his people in the arts kids. They were all different in individual ways but they seemed to celebrate this diversity within their own circle.

So, after a little while, he began to drop his guard and let them in, and in doing so began to confront some of his own repressed feelings which had marked him as a target for so many years. It was a slow process, not aided by the climate in which he’d grown up. The world had entered a new era of peace and understanding after so many decades of conflict, but there were still pockets of adversity in some areas more than others and it made self-acceptance so much more terrifying. Even once he’d admitted those feelings to himself, he was still scared to search for a label.

His friends had no such fears. They were so proudly themselves that it left him stunned. They were like exotic birds with all their colourful displays, spreading messages of love and acceptance until the world had no choice but to hear them.

For the first few months of their friendship, he was a little in awe of them. He longed to have their confidence, to share that ability to be unapologetically true to his heart. The little ember of hope in his soul – the same one which still believed he’d eventually leave this place and be something more – knew that he’d eventually reach that level too; it would just take him a little bit longer.

Lunchtimes were usually spent in the art studios. Their teacher was a laid-back man who was difficult to age, always wore flamboyant suits and had an enamel pride pin on his lanyard. He welcomed them with open arms, assuring them that they were free to spend as much time in the studios as they wanted, adding with a little joking smile that they kept him feeling young. They pushed workbenches aside, spread out their various projects, unpacked their lunches and took up residence on the floor for the next forty minutes.

It was a relatively large space, yet it seemed as cosy as a tiny cottage. There was a skylight which projected sunny spotlights on summer days and provided a steady drumbeat of rain when the weather grew gloomy. Every surface was cluttered with colour and chaos. There were uniquely shaped antique lamps scattered about the place. One wall was covered in postcards from their teacher’s travels. It was a home away from home and Virgil loved it.

Mari burst through the door when he'd just started on his latest piece. His hands were smeared in charcoal which had added a strange taste to his sandwich, surrounded by quiet chatter and music from Felix’s latest playlist, occasionally interrupted by ads because none of them wanted to pay for Spotify Premium even though they could afford it.

“What time do you call this?” Annie teased, looking up from her portrait to reveal several streaks of acrylic paint across her nose.

Mari dropped her bag onto a table with a groan. “I know, I know, I’m late.” She peered over Virgil’s shoulder as she sank down to sit beside him. “Huh. Looking good, Vee.”

“Um, excuse you?” Felix tossed an eraser at Mari’s head. “We’re still waiting for an explanation. And it had better be great because you abandoned me with this lot for like a whole twenty minutes. Do you know how long that is, Mari? Nearly an entire half-hour.”

“Hey,” Virgil protested.

“Oh, not you, Virg.” Felix winked at him. “You’re a delight. No, I’m talking about our resident cryptid hunter over there.”

“Mothman is real,” a disembodied voice echoed from behind a door as Sam hunted for a new set of watercolours. “You’re just a hater.”

Felix twirled a finger around his temple.

Sam stuck their head around the door with a suspicious glare. “I know you’re making fun of me.”

“Me? Never.”

“He was,” Annie confirmed.

Felix tossed up his hands in mock offence. “Traitor. Virgil, you’re my new bestie.”

“What about me?” Mari shot him a wounded look and leant a little heavier against Virgil’s shoulder. She broke a piece off her chocolate and offered it to him. “Actually, no forget it. I’ve decided I like Virgil better than you. He lets me use him a backrest.”

“You didn’t actually give me a choice,” Virgil began to point out, then cut himself off with a fond sigh as Mari patted his head and slid another square of chocolate into his hand. He returned to his sketches as Mari finished her lunch. He was vaguely aware of their conversation, only really tuning back in when fingers slid into his hair and started braiding the longer strands. He twisted to glimpse Mari’s smile, brighter than the sun as she arched a brow and waited for protests which never came.

“Oh, cute pin.” Sam reached for Mari’s bag. “Where did you get it?”

“Etsy.” Mari moved onto a new braid. “Want me to send you a link?”

“Please.” Sam held up the pin for Virgil to see. “Look at this little guy. Pride frog! I love it.”

Virgil tried to place the colours and came up empty-handed. “Sorry, this is going to sound really dumb, but… what flag is that?”

“Pansexual.” Mari paused, glimpsing the flash of confusion which he tried desperately to hide before anyone could call him out on it. “It’s when you like people regardless of their gender, so you mostly fall in love with their personality.”

“Wait, there’s a word for that?” Virgil dropped his stub of charcoal and sat up so quickly that he nearly knocked his head against Mari’s. “I thought I was… I don’t know. But there’s an actual community?”

Mari looped an arm around his shoulders and planted a kiss on his temple. “Virg, honey, I am going to text you a link to a really great video which can explain all of this way better than I can.”

Felix rolled over to face him. “So, do you think this is something that might describe you?”

“Um.” Virgil ducked his head. A faint knot of relief was unravelling in his chest. “Maybe?”

It wasn’t until later that he finally got around to watching the video Mari had sent him. He curled up in a corner of the couch and plugged in his earphones. The house was relatively quiet for once with Gordon staying over at a friend’s place and Alan already asleep. He hugged a cushion to his chest and balanced his phone against his knees.

Oh.

It fit. It fit him perfectly and he wasn’t sure what to do with the warmth in his chest. He wasn’t alone. There was an entire community of people like him.

Movement flickered in his peripheral vision. He yanked an earbud out, heart pounding as though someone had walked in on him committing a crime.

“God, Johnny,” he muttered shakily. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Don’t call me Johnny,” came the predictable reply. Then, hesitantly, “Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

John shifted uncomfortably, unable to make eye contact as he pointed out, “You look upset.”

“Do I?” Virgil wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and registered that his face was wet. “Oh, right. No, I’m okay. It’s happy tears, I promise. I just… I figured something out, that’s all.”

“Good for you.” John hung around for a moment longer, voice soft as he added, “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Virgil called after him. He stole a glance down at the new pan pride pin Mari had gifted him and curled his fingers around it with a smile. “I’m proud of me too.”

#me? projecting a little? nooo surely not #don't mind me reusing ocs from other fics #i say other fics it's just the one fic #anyway!!#that's my contribution today #thunderpride #thunderpride 2023 #thunderbirds are go

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waywardnerd67 · 2 years ago

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Extra Dessert

Title: Extra Dessert Summary: Dean has to go out to return a few presents with (Y/N) earning a special reward. Paring: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 935 Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Fluff/Implied Smut Square Filled: Day After Christmas Bingo Card: @spnchristmasbingo A/N: None

Check Out: 2022 Christmas Bingo Masterlist

Christmas had been everything Dean had wished for and more. Everyone had made their way to the bunker for Christmas dinner and presents. Sam had proposed to Eileen in front of the Christmas tree. Cas had to explain to Jack how Santa got into the bunker to set the presents under the tree with a chimney. Jody, Donna and the girls were all sitting around the map table telling Mary and Bobby about their latest cases. Charlie and Rowena were off to the side discussing their next road trip to Atlantic City. However, the best moment was walking into his Dean Cave and finding his beautiful girlfriend wrapped up in a bow. Only a bow. He then spent the rest of the evening unwrapping and enjoying her gift of love.

Dean woke up to (Y/N)’s side of the bed empty and heard the door creaking open.

“Rise and shine, handsome.”

Fresh coffee and bacon filled his nose as he propped himself up on his elbow, “How about you come back to bed and we ignore the world.”

“No can do. I volunteer us for returns duty. We have quite a few presents that need to be exchanged and I figured you would be itching to get out of the bunker.”

She set the tray of breakfast over his lap as he sat up in bed, “No itching. Not a single itch. All I want to do is lay in bed with you all day and ignore the world.”

(Y/N) held a piece of bacon up to his lips, “Sorry handsome, I made a promise and I intend to keep it. I can always take Baby out myself…”

“Sweetheart, I love you and would do anything for you. However, I draw the line at my Baby.”

She smiled, leaning in to kiss him, “I would have you no other way. Finish your breakfast and be ready in 30.”

She walked out of the room then stuck her head back in, “And I love you.”

Nearly two hours and three stores later, Dean was muttering curse words beneath his breath trying to navigate through the packed parking lot of Target. Soccer moms were whipping their vans in and out of parking spots and lanes like Nascar drivers. His knuckles were white from gripping Baby’s steering wheel.

“Damn… freaking… watch it momma bear!” He yelled out to the hundredth minivan to almost hit his Baby.

Finally, he found a spot and grabbed the six bags worth of stuff to exchange. People were shoving and pushing their way inside towards the customer service desk as Dean followed (Y/N). She was looking down at the receipts as a woman shoved past him.

“Excuse you.” She sneered, rolling her eyes.

“Oh no, excuse me for merely standing here trying to return my stuff. Had no idea this whole store was only for you!” Dean called out as (Y/N) covered his mouth.

“Handsome, I know you’re tired and frustrated. I promise when we get home we can lock ourselves away in our room and ignore the world. I need you to be patient and not yell at the Target moms.”

“You’re lucky I love you. I promise to try and not yell at the soccer moms.” He grunted.

She gave him a peck on the lips before turning back around as the line moved forward. Dean looked down at his watch seeing it was almost noon. They inched closer and closer to the clerk taking returns. His arms and hands were aching from holding the bags. (Y/N) had her arm around his waist as her hand rubbed firm circles along his lower back. He glanced down at the time on (Y/N)’s phone seeing it was ten minutes past one o’clock.

“Son of a bitch…”

“What?” (Y/N) looked up, arching an eyebrow at him.

There were still four people in front of them, “We’ve been in this godforsaken line for over an hour. Isn’t there a way to speed this up?”

She smiled, “Remember patience and then hiding away from the world. That’s the light at the end of this tunnel.”

“Yeah but this tunnel doesn’t seem to ever end. I’m stuck in Target line hell and can’t escape.”

(Y/N) slipped her hand around his neck pulling him down until her lips pressed right below his ear. Goosebumps raced across his body making him shiver.

“If you're a good boy then I’ll do the thing you love for me to do.” She whispered.

Dean took a step back, staring down at her, “Are you serious? Don’t toy with me right now?”

(Y/N) giggled as she drew a cross over her heart, “Cross my heart. I will do the whole thing for you, but you have to be patient here while we wait in line.”

From that moment until they were walking out of Target with their exchange gift cards, Dean was on his best behavior. After having a nice dinner with everyone, he went in search of (Y/N) to head to bed after an exhausting day. Walking into their room, he found her lying on the bed placing the last mound of whip cream on her breasts.

“Hungry?” She smirked.

He licked his lips as his eyes traveled down her body. His mouth watering at the sight of her lying there in a whip cream bikini.

“Ravenous.” Dean pulled off his shirt diving head first between her legs, “I feel like I earned this extra dessert.”

Her moan echoed throughout the room, “Oh god, yes you did handsome… yes you did.”

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#spnchristmasbingo #waywardnerd67fics #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader

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bourbon-ontherocks · 2 years ago

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LES PILES DE COURRIER LILLOIS, what in the apollo dodgeball was that?? the PI bit + starry ceiling + emergency lights at the end (😭) made up for the horrid lighting in this ep. RIP émilie, I’d hoped she’d make it :(((( (par contre j’ai cru pdt 80 % de l’épi que son mari était allé au cap-vert, ptdr). when adam’s the last to leave the office and the cleaning cart comes into frame, ARGH, we know how bad he wanted it to be morgane because so did we 😥

The Courrier Lillois part got me screaming anon, I wasn't joking when I said I'd manifested too much canon stuff into existence with my fic lol, was almost expecting to read Sandra's initials down the article 😅

ALSO, this might be an unintended mishap, but did you pick up on the first wife's date of death? October the 4th??? Now why does this sound so familiar? 🤔🥹

I found the PI/film noir bit hilarious and extremely well done with Théa's interruptions, not such a big fan of the starry ceiling stuff though, for me it was too reminiscent of the projector effect in 202 which I hated.

Obviously the emergency lights in the end 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 Such an amazing callback, also did you notice that the moment Adam catches Morgane's eyes, the music/sounds surrounding them abruptly stop, leaving only room for a high-pitched note that sounds like tinnitus? 😱 The rest of the world stops existing the moment they see each other again, and that's my cue to die in the middle of the pieces of my shattered heart 😭😭😭

What do you mean the lighting was horrid this ep? Please enlighten me (pun awfully intended) 😆😆

"par contre j’ai cru pdt 80 % de l’épi que son mari était allé au cap-vert, ptdr" well I can't blame you, this Cap thing is a whole rollercoster lol, but you'll see 😉

The cleaning cart scene... 😭😭 their theme... 😭😭😭 Adam keeping his eyes on the cleaning lady as if she'd suddenly morph into Morgane... 😭😭😭 him taking off his tie before leaving like in that scene in season 1 😭😭😭 (also someone please explain to me how Adam can take off his tie and put it in his desk drawer in the evening, but come into the office in the morning with a tie on? The man must have dozens of worn ties in that drawer LOL). I particularly enjoyed this scene because we got very few insights into Adam's POV since the beginning of the show but in particular in latest episodes where it's kind of getting crucial to know his side of things, so witnessing the way he thinks of her just from seeing a cleaning cart felt so earned and rewarding 🥹🥹🥹

#julia's adventures with the HPI anon #hpi analysis #hpi tf1 #hpi season 3 #tf1 hpi #hpi #anon #ask

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cptn-m · 9 months ago

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One Piece chapter 1109 review

Ten minutes? Boo. BOOOOOOO! What a tease. That's, what, 4 chapters of Dressrosa time? 18 chapters of Namek time? Fine. It's fine.

But to get more serious, this is Egghead going full circle. First we were set up to expect a defensive siege of the main lab, then it evolved into an escape sequence, and now for the final leg, we're being set up to defend again. And with this being the ninth chapter of volume 109, the time for a climactic end-of-book cliffhanger is coming up, as early as the next chapter (but realistically on the eleventh or twelfth because there have been a few shorter chapters in this run) maybe we see this wrap up, or at least get ready to wrap up relatively soon.

This is a very transitional chapter. Transitioning into a new cover story (I think Momo moved Onigashima; outside of another Oars having shown up there, nothing else realistic), transitioning through the setup phase for receiving Vegapunk's info, transitioning to the real final set piece. Seeing new characters return in great numbers like this is always good fanservice, but cameos alone aren't a lot to analyse. The acknowledgement of time zones in the Water Seven bit is cool. I know Oda isn't super invested in this kind of thing for his worldbuilding, so I'm not going to waste my time trying to work out if this is an accurate depiction or not.

Haha yeah okay of course I am.

A thoroughly pointless analysis of One Piece timezones

First, we need to all get on the same page about the orientation of the globe. It's a myth with a frustrating amount of staying power that the Grand Line runs along the equator, but this is not actually the case. All evidence in the manga points to the Grand Line and the Red Line forming an X shape across the globe. The first explanation of the Grand Line in chapter 22 comes with a handy compass rose for orientation, and the image of the globe on the following page depicts them as diagonals. The special recap at the end of volume 81 reiterates this image of the globe, and puts Reverse Mountain on the "front" of the planet. Finally, the compass directions offered when the Supernova captains are planning how to leave Wano also place the Grand Line on an angle. This is our canon orientation.

Yes, this means that if you were standing on Marie Geoise, the seat of the rulers of the world, you would have to look west to see the East Blue and look east to survey West Blue. That's kinda silly. Maybe the names of the seas predate the World Government making that their perch.

In the latest chapter, we're shown broadly the time at a few key, identifiable locations. It is, of course, daytime on Egghead. It is explicitly nighttime at Water Seven. Windmill Village, in the East Blue, and Dressrosa have light skies, suggesting day; meanwhile Kamabakka, Marie Geoise and an unnnamed West Blue location all have shaded skies, suggesting nighttime. North and South Blue are both shown with light skies, but their locations on the planet make it almost impossible for it not to be day somewhere in them, so without more data like proximity to the Red Line, the Grand Line or the poles, they can't add anything to this analysis.

First, we have to work out where these locations are on the map. While it's tempting to place Egghead on the globe's front face, in the second half of the New World, for Law's statement in chapter 1056 about northeast being the furthest forward move to be true, this means that Wano, and by extension Egghead (directly southeast of it) have to be on the rear side, in the first half of the New World.

Dressrosa is before Egghead in the New World, easy win.

Water Seven doesn't offer anything as explicit as that for its placement, but for it to be the island that connects to Fishman Island, under Marie Geoise, via Log Pose, you have to assume it's in the second half of Paradise, also on the rear side of the globe.

Kamabakka is only a few days' sail from Lulusia, which was selected by Imu to test the Mother Flame because it was "close" to his location, so the easiest extrapolation is that it too is in the second half of Paradise.

For both Windmill Village and the unnamed West Blue location, it's impossible to tell if they're on the front or rear hemispheres of the world, but I've placed them both on the front because the map was going to get crowded otherwise.

For the sake of simplicity, we're going to assume that daylight moves east to west over the planet, just like the real world. We're also going to ignore things like curvature and axial tilt because they get complicated, harder to work into the graphics, and probably wouldn't have that much of an impact on the result anyway. The proportions of my day/night/dawn/dusk segments are not exact; I just eyeballed them. Excuse the roughness of the graphics.

So, can we make the day and night times shown in the latest chapter's panels work?

Unfortunately, no, we cannot. If it's morning on Egghead it can be dawn on Dressrosa, just before dawn at Marie Geoise and late at night in the second half of Paradise for Water Seven and Kamabakka, there's no way it makes sense for it to be day in the East Blue and night in the West Blue. Oof, we were so close. But Oda's time zones are busted.

The conclusion here is that this stuff doesn't really matter that much. Like travel times, the phases of the moon and the exact day and date the story is taking place, Oda may occasionally make a throwaway reference to these things, but he's also known to forget them and totally happy to fudge them for the sake of the story. I enjoy the mental puzzle of working out details like these and running through the implications, but I don't think they offer any genuine insight into how One Piece has been plotted or where it's going.

Ahem…

Getting back to the chapter at hand though, the bit of action with Luffy is very fun. I enjoyed Borsalino's laser eyes and the big clap attack. Saturn being able to fly around like a frizbee with all his legs out has a familiar vibe to the ancient dinosaur hunting techniques from Onigashima. And on Saturn's abilities, the telepathy between him and the other Elders is very interesting and definitely builds the case that whatever they have going on is beyond just Devil Fruits. As, of course, does the summoning. I'd be curious to see what kind of limits are placed on this to keep them from just showing up at Revolutionary HQ or something. Saturn rode with the Marine fleet until he was close, so maybe there's a proximity limit on unfamiliar areas, but once one is there, he can summon the others to his location from anywhere in the world.

The summoning spread is an awesome page for sure, but in the vein of last week's complaints about characters disappearing and inconsistent staging, it feels like a huge empty space has manifested to fit it in. Egghead's buildings felt a lot closer together than this in previous backgrounds, even accounting for how destroyed they are.

This was something the Onigashima anime (the bits of it I saw anyway) was really bad about. One minute the roof area is an enclosed arena, the next there's an expasive k or two of the pillars around the outside because it's a cool shot for a character sent flying to bust through them one after the other. Establishing shot puts Zoro and King on the crumbling, shrinking outer edge. But in the sakuga cut it grows a mile of extra turf for Zoro to sprint and leap through while flaming dragons tear up everything around him. Cool moments are cool, but I don't like seeing the established setting being compromised to make space for them.

I feel like I've been harsher on paper than I actually feel for this one. Transitions can be a let down, and are definitely hard to write about, but they don't mean the stuff I'm excited for isn't coming. I can wait a week or two for the payoff, after all the years of following this story, that much more isn't a huge deal.

Wordpress!

#one piece #one piece spoilers #manga review #one piece manga #op spoilers #monkey d luffy #One Piece analysis

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unfortunate-arrow · 1 year ago

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Sophie Beckett is four years old and doesn’t understand why everyone gives her dirty looks when she sings the songs that Grandmama had. She doesn’t understand the grumbles of “papist” by the occasional servant. She doesn’t know that Ireland is revolting… again. What she does know, though, (or, at least hopes) is that maybe if she stops speaking like Grandmama, then the earl will pay more attention to her. And so, she stops using the tongue of her grandmother.

Sophie Beckett is nine-years-old and has forgotten much of her life before the earl. She doesn’t remember any of her second language. She might be fluent in French, but technically, it’s her third language. Sophie is nine and understands more. She understands that this latest Ireland rebellion is a blip, only important to those on the isle who are revolting. The earl doesn’t care and pulls the paper away from her, remarking that she shouldn’t worry herself with the goings on of an isle across the sea.

Sophie Beckett is twenty-three and standing over the man she dreamed of. He’s sickly and pale and all she can think to murmur as he twists and turns is a soft string of words that her grandmama had used. It’s a hazy memory, and the words come out with little effort, even as they sound foreign to her own ears and she’s not quite sure what exactly they translate to. Little by little, more hazy memories of language appears and she starts to piece together the words’ meanings, but there’s almost always an uncertainty to them. She whispers “I love you” in their quiet lulls in the tongue of her grandmother, even when other people are around, even when they look at her funny.

Sophie is twenty-three and married to the man that she dreamed of. He’s not perfect, but he’s hers and that’s what matters. (Plus, she’s not perfect either. God knows she’s made her own share of mistakes.) He asks, one night when they’re tangled together, what all those words she says mean and where they come from. She explains “I love you,” but that she’s not sure what everything else means or where exactly they come from, aside from Grandmama.

Sophie Beckett is fifty-four-years-old when she learns that those words are Irish from her newest daughter-in-law, who easily translates each word with the precision of someone whose first language was Irish Gaelic. She’s left reeling, suddenly understanding a lot of different reactions to her as a child. Coupled with the delivery of a rosary and a simple letter from the current Penwood earl, she’s left with a lot more answers than she would have ever expected.

Sophie Beckett is fifty-five-years-old and standing on the island where her grandmother and mother came from. Her husband wraps an arm around her shoulders, kisses the side of her head, and whispers “I love you” in Irish, echoing her own productions. It’s purely by accident that she discovers where her family had come from.

Sophie Bridgerton is fifty-five-years-old and staring at a gravestone with the name “Liam Beckett” carved into it. An older woman approaches, and tells her the short, sad story of a man who died young and penniless and alone. The old woman tells her that Liam Beckett urged his wife, Mary, to take their daughter, Bridget, and go as he was dying and refused to let them waste their money or time on a dying man. The last the woman had heard, Mary and Bridget Beckett had gone to England for work. Sophie knows, for sure, then that this man was her grandfather and as she returns to the inn where she and Benedict are staying, she learns that the name Liam is an Irish short form of William… which just so happened to be the name of her youngest son. Perhaps the world just has a funny way of working.

#sophie beckett #benophie #benedict x sophie #my writing #just a stream of consciousness about irish!sophie (with also the implication of catholic!becketts)#an updated version of my previous one this time with the addition that with irish!sophie her grandfather was liam (or uilliam)#both of which are irish versions of the name william which is benophie’s youngest son’s name #(and goddamn you can pry benophie’s three boys from my hands… they don’t get enough love especially in terms of benedict adoring them too)#but an irish heroine would be such a fascinating addition to the show! and sophie’s the only remaining love interest that it makes sense fo #michael & john are scottish; gareth is lady danbury’s grandson (& god i would love to see him show up earlier on the show)#penelope & phillip have already appeared and lucy doesn’t have the vibe for it #also mary & bridget are just really common names in ireland which is why i used them for her mother & grandmother

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dreamer213 · 2 years ago

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Broken Machines: Lights the Dark

Chapter 32: Free Fall

For the next two weeks, Whitley was strikingly productive in all areas. Working hard to keep up with his new schedule and following orders flawlessly with a pep in his step, his previous gloominess seemingly disappearing overnight. Jacques was quite satisfied with this outcome while the staff and Willow still worried for the young boy’s well-being. Little did they know Whitley had plenty to be happy about, not that he would let any of them know that as he stealthily carried out his plans. The first of which was to gather the resources he’d need for his little “trip”, starting with a phone. With his father busy with prepping for his campaign Whitley was tasked with managing the cleaning out of the old things as Jacques bought new clothes and electronics for his up-and-coming political career. This meant he had to organize the removal of all the family members' old clothing and swiping out older tech for the latest models without losing any data.

Whitley chose to start with the electronic for a medley of reasons. He purchases the technology, supervises their delivery, and handles the data transfers himself. When no one’s looking he copies files that could be or are incriminating to different drives and has Mary hide them in an old dresser in the back of a nearly abandoned storage room, one of their many hiding places for evidence. As he looked through a stack of burner phones, Whitley noticed some were still in their packaging unused.

Whitley: Perfect.

He thought before pocketing a couple of them for himself and disposing of and replacing the rest. With step one out of the way step two begins. What is step two? Money. Getting anywhere in any city always required some money and for what Whitley had planned he’d need a lot of it. Taking advantage of the clean-out Whitley gathers together all the clothes, shoes, and accessories he’s outgrown and calls Julia in for assistance. She comes into his room a bit confused but willing to help in any way she can. Whitley greets her warmly as he finishes separating the clothes into piles.

Whitley: Thank you for coming Julia. I know your section has been busy recently.

Julia: It’s nothing, Young Master. Now, what did you need my help with?

Whitley: It’s a bit of an odd question but I’d like to know what the market value would be for some of my old things.

He says gesturing toward the neatly stacked piles of apparel. Julia steps forward and looks over the items carefully. Being a Mantle-born fashionista, she’d thrifted or bargained for most of the high-quality goods she owned so she knows the discount and resell market like the back of her hand. And from what she could see these piles could easily be gold mines. The clothes were of great quality, from good brands, and very lightly used, they’d turn a quick profit if sold to the right thrift shops or an even bigger profit if sold separately online. As for the bit of jewelry in the mix, last season's cufflinks, watches, and the like could easily be pawned for a hefty price. Yes, this could be a good hall if sold correctly the type that could feed a small family for a month or two if they budget well.

Julia: Yes, yes.

She states nodding as she picks up a shirt and inspects it closely, trying to calculate just how much it could sell for at this very moment.

Julia: Honestly, this shirt alone could sell for at least 10000 lien give or take a few thousand depending on the store. And the jewelry could be up to 50000 a piece if pawn off and maybe double that if put up for auction.

Whitley: I see.

Whitley walks to her side and picks up the piles closest to them, gently placing a few pieces of jewelry on top before revealing the real task he needs her to do.

Whitley: Then would you mind selling these off for me?

Julia: Excuse me?

Whitley: Instead of disposing of these clothes I want you to sell them. Quickly and quietly if possible.

Julia: Ookay? But may I ask why? What would you have to gain from selling some old clothes for what amounts to chump change to someone of your prestige?

Whitley: Oh, it’s not about the money I just wanted to research the topic a little for the sake of the Father’s campaign.

Julia: For Master’s campaign?

Whitley: Yes, with him running for a role that affects not just Atlas but the entire kingdom we'll be in the public eye more than ever, and as you know my father doesn’t have the best reputation with people outside high society.

Julia: Indeed. Though that’s the understatement of the freakin century.

Whitley: So, I’m looking into ways to help him appeal to the working class. But with him buying himself a new campaign wardrobe and this cleanup I realized this all could seem extremely wasteful to the general public and put him at an even greater disadvantage with Mantle voters than he already is. So, I decided to try a few different methods of disposing of old goods firsthand before proposing anything to Father.

Julia: I see, but wouldn’t donating be more-

Whitley: And because of this is out your usual duties I’ll give you 40% of the profit for your assistance.

Julia: Pardon?

Julia’s eyes widen at bit as she pauses her questions at the offer of extra monetary gains. Whitley doesn’t change his expression but gives her a second to calm down from her surprise before he continues.

Whitley: I’ll give you 40% percent of the earnings as a handling fee while I hold on to the rest for future donation if things start looking grim. This way I can create a trail of reselling and have a nice mint to drop on whatever cause is most influential when the time is right. So, will you help me?

Julia: O-of course! It would be my pleasure!

Whitley: Thank you, Julia. Please try to get it done as soon as possible.

Julia: Yes, sir! I’ll get it done before the end of the week!

She says cheerfully while taking the stack and rushing out of the room to go find a good box to store them in. Whitley waves her off before getting back to work and to planning. With step two in motion, step three would be his focus until the funds were secured. Step three was simple, figuring out transportation. Living in a large city, especially the capital of the kingdom, meant that transport was both public and private were commonplace. A ride between cities, either way, was just a phone call and cab fare away, and the vast subway situation was easy to navigate if you had a map and train pass. Whitley only had to do was doing some research between paperwork and indirectly asking Godfrey what station he use to pick Penny up from, disguising the question as gathering information about the transportation system for one of his father’s campaign speeches. Now that he had a route, funds were coming in and he had the means to communicate all Whitley could do now was wait. Wait until he found an opening, a chance to make his move and get to the hard part of his plan.

Meanwhile, Penny was managing her return to normalcy decently well. There had been some fallout coming from the theft situation, lowering trust in officials, more bar brawlers on weekdays and street thugs moving away from the factory routes to around the subway to find easier prey, but she handle it all gracefully. Penny still performed her job with the same efficiency as before and was less tired because of her newly scheduled break times. Ten minutes in the morning, a lunch break after patrol, and ten in the afternoon. The last break happening after her duties of overseeing training sessions or once she’s done checking in on the Maiden with Winter. That part being the newest and only addition to her schedule that she was aware of before it happened. Monday and Friday she would join Winter and help care for Freya, making sure she takes her medication, checking her for bed sores, helping her do light exercises to keep her fit, and overall, just making sure she’s comfortable as she approaches the end of her days. It was a little outside Penny’s field of expertise but being ever the quick learner Penny picks up the care task quickly. The only real drawback was Freya’s attitude, she was often quiet but quick to grumpiness when upset, and when Freya got upset her powers would go haywire. Which was only made worse by the fact she doesn’t particularly like Winter enough to be calmed by her presence. So, it was up to Penny to mitigate these outbursts in the stead of the Winter Maiden’s actual successor.

By the second Friday after her reassignment, Penny had a good understanding of how to handle Freya. After finishing her lunch in the cafeteria, she meets up with Winter in the connecting hallway and heads to the Maiden’s room. Penny avoids looking directly at Winter as her features only reminded her of the person her heart still aches for. Just the thought of him still made her chest burn with a deep pain strong enough to make her sob. But she couldn’t fall into that pit of despair right now, not when there was work to be done.

Since it’s Freya’s lunchtime, Winter, plates her meal while Penny prepares Freya some tea. The elderly woman was always more manageable when she’d had her tea and Penny had figured out just the right way to make hers. The steps change a little with the type she’d have that day, but the jest was she liked the temperature just below boiling due to the cold surrounding her, three teaspoons of sugar put in before the water, so it dissolves quickly, and a few drips honey and lemon to add a soft natural taste. It wasn’t the proper way to make tea but if this simple thing made a dying woman a little cozier then what’s the harm?

Penny walks out first, giving Freya her tea with a sweet smile, the aged Maiden taking the cup silently while looking directly into Penny’s eyes. Penny averts her gaze from her to avoid making awkward eye contact and her sight falls to the same painting that caught her eye last time. Though now something about felt different from her last viewing as she stares at it. The light the girl was holding up seemed so heavy the more she looked at it, the spirals at the edges making it seems like a drain sucking the light into one large mass. And the girl, even though she was just a silhouette seeing her among the vast mountains by herself holding such a heavy light gave Penny an odd sense of loneliness.

Penny: She looks so young and small. I wonder why she’s out there on her own, holding something so heavy.

She muses to herself, not noticing Freya’s gaze on her. But her thoughts are soon halted by Winter approaching with Freya’s lunch. Quickly breaking out of her daze, Penny helps set the track table and clean up the dish when Freya has her fill of it. It’s not long until she’s done for the day and on her way to make her daily reports before going home.

At around that same time, Whitley’s plan was coming together nicely. Julia had come through with thrifting and sold the first stack for a nice profit, the phone was set up to a billing account he had access to as part of taking on some of the household duties and his route to get to Mantle by taxis then by train was set now that he had cash in hand to pay for the fares. And lastly but most importantly his father was leaving for the weekend for a stay at a colleague’s hotel to talk over possible campaign donations and policies with a few titans of the labor industry. As Jacques was headed out the door, he reiterated his expectations for the weekend to Whitley.

Jacques: The paperwork should be done no later than tomorrow night, and I expect this house to be clean and tidy when I return. This that clear?

Whitley: Of course, Father. Leave everything to me.

Jacques nods at his obedience before turning around and heading out the door toward the waiting limousine. Whitley waves him off and watches him leave from the doorway, a fake smile plastered on so metal it be impossible to tell that it was purely for show.

Whitley: He’s getting in, sitting down, he’s barking orders at the driver again, aaaaaaand-

Soon the limousine shifted into gear and drives off the property, Whitley waits until the vehicle is completely out of sight to grab the front door handles then slams them shut. He turns to face the near staff members he can find and with a calm smile as he issues a simple order.

Whitley: Tell the cooks not to bother with making my dinner tonight, I’d like to go to bed early.

Those who heard him nod in compliance, one goes off to relay the message to the kitchen as Whitley walks back to his room. Once alone he’s quick to finish his work at lightning speed, it wasn’t anything difficult, so it wasn’t too hard to get through it fast without making any mistakes. He double-checks his work before getting up from his desk and walking to his wardrobe. He retrieves the money and phone from their hiding spots at the bottom and then changes into the outfit he’s chosen for his little outing. A long black coat with no branding on it, a plain white dress shirt, black pants, navy socks, a pair of dark gray winter boots, and gloves. This was the most casual set of clothing he owns; they were also some of the most well-lined and warm. Even though both cities had city-wide heating systems Mantle’s was far weaker from the higher weather damage and Grimm wear and tear. And judging from the weather report this week had been a little colder than usual. Knowing this Whitley also grabs a winter cap and scarf for extra warmth and wind protection as well as a face mask he’d swiped from a supply closet to hide his face. He couldn’t risk being recognized by anyone while he was out, less his father hears of it.

He up a pillow dummy in his bed and takes the pocket watch out from its hiding spot, kissing it for luck before sliding into his pocket. Whitley waits by the door for a bit until he knows the night rotation has shifted out of the way then makes his exit. Being stuck in the manor for most of his life had given Whitley one advantage in this endeavor, he knew this house like the back of his hand. When things had gotten rough between Weiss and Jacques and the during the fallout of her going to Beacon Klein had made sure Whitley knew every secret passage and hidden room in the manor in case of an emergency. Sometimes, during Jacques’s more destructive tantrums, Whitley would warn the staff to take cover and then hide himself in a crawl space until the situation had calmed down enough for him to interfere. It was all he could do to prevent further harm during those rampages. But now the knowledge would serve a different purpose, as a means to escape.

Quietly dashing through the halls, Whitley sneaks into the east wing and opens the secret passage behind a faux bookcase. Making his way through the tunnels and outside, he takes a moment to breathe the cold night air and shake off the dust from the unused space before making a b-line for the driveway. With the road ahead of him clear Whitley takes a look back at the manor, fear, and hesitance creeping, but he pulls his gaze back quickly. Turning his head down and shutting his eyes tightly, as the reality of what he’s doing sets in.

Whitley: I shouldn’t be out here. If I get caught there’s no telling what he’ll do! This could end bad, really bad. Can I really risk everything I’ve worked so hard for over-

As he starts to second-guess his decision an image of Penny passes through his mind, and he pauses. He takes a deep breath and exhales with a sign before opening his eyes, a look of determination glimmering in the blue of his irises.

Whitley: Yes, I can. She’s worth it. And I know I won’t feel whole again until I see her again.

He thinks steeling his resolve as he marches down the driveway and onto the open road. He walks until he’s a good distance from the manor and pulls out the spare scroll to call a taxi. He waits by the road until he sees the light from the sign atop the cab approaching and waves the driver down with the flash from the scroll. He gets in, keeping his head down he doesn’t say a word to the driver and shows him the directions to the station with the scroll. The driver groans at his impersonal style of communication but pulls off towards the station, nonetheless. The drive feels extremely long, the sounds of top-ten music blaring from the cab’s radio barely registering to Whitley as he tries to stay calm and focused. Once they arrive at the train station rain begins to fall. Whitley pays the fee before getting out and walking into the station. It was quite busy being the night before the weekend, young people were coming up to splurge their cash at Atlas bars and nightclubs, and working-class people of ages were heading home to rest after a hard week of work. The place reeked of dust, sweat, bodily odor, and cleaning solution, thankfully Whitley’s mask provided enough filtration for to breath it in without gagging as he walks to a counter to buy a train pass. Around this time Whitley considers calling his contact in Mantle before getting on the train but quickly dismisses the thought. Knowing how he’d react if he called now, he’d do everything in his power to convince Whitley to go home before anything could happen to him, but he’d come too far to turn back!

Whitley: Better to ask forgiveness than permission in this case.

He thought as the teller at the counter hands him his pass. Whitley nods in thanks as he takes his pass and heads to the platform his train would be arriving at. The wait for the train his more nerve-wracking than the drive as the hustle and bustle of the people around giveWhitley some sensory overload. But still he just keeps breathing. He wasn't going to be shaken, he was a man on a mission and he damn well would see it through to the end! He takes out the pocket watch to check the time, the shine of his beloved trinket easing his anxiety ever so slightly.

Whitley: It shouldn’t be long if the schedule’s right.

He thought before closing the watch back, rubbing his finger over the snow lily imprint on its front before putting it away. As if on cue the train to Mantle finally pulls into the station, and as the doors open to let the passengers out Whitley files into the crowd of people entering the nearest train car. He stands instead of taking a seat, holding onto a standing pole to secure himself as the conductor announces their destination before closing the doors and pulling the train out of the station. Whitley gets lost in the sounds of chattering people and the feeling of weightlessness as the train begins to make its descent into the lower city.

Back at the manor Mary has grown anxious after thinking over Whitley’s recent behavior. She knew he’d fall into a depression after losing Penny, it was obvious that her departure would devastate him, especially with how Jacques went about it. No, what worried Mary was just how fast Whitley had rebounded from that depression. The light in his eyes had deemed so quickly but returned just as fast and burned even brighter than before. He seemed more driven, so full of purpose but with the position, they were in it made no sense. Sure, the cleanup had provided them an opportunity to look through some of Jacques’s more sensitive documents and make backups to add to their evidence log but the path to the goalpost was still far ahead. Jacques was seeking political power now and depending on his success, it could be a good thing or bad thing for them in the long term. Whitley still had a couple of years until legal adulthood and with no trusted adults capable of combating Jacques on their side Whitley was still stuck in his position. Until he comes of age, he wouldn’t be able to make a claim on the SDC without a proxy.

Mary: So, what’s gotten him so riled up?

Mary thought as she turns a corner, marching down the hallway to Whitley’s room. She knows he should be asleep by now and if she was quiet, she could check to see what’s been going through his head with her semblance without him knowing. Unlocking the door with her master key, Mary can feel something was off immediately. She doesn’t bother looking around, walking straight to his bed, and the moment her hand touches the mass through the blankets she knows he’s slipped out of the manor somehow.

Mary: God damnit.

Mary swears under her breath, she sits down on the bed and holds her head in frustration. What was he thinking? Why would he pull a stunt like this when he knows what could happen if he’s caught?

Mary: The hell was he thinking? What could’ve possibly driven him to-Oh shit, don’t tell me-

Thinking about everything that’s happened Mary realizes there’s only one reason Whitley would have does this for. She covers her face with both hands as anger and annoyance begin to cloud her vision.

Mary: Ugh, Unbelievable! This is a straight off tragic romance novel!

She grumbles, her foot tapping anxiously as she tries to think of what to do. She pulls out her scroll and calls his scroll but hears it ringing in the room, spotting it on his desk. Getting up and grabbing the scroll Mary is growing angrier by the second. She takes a second to breath and collect herself while she tries to concoct a plan of action. The answer comes to her as she recalls her dealings as a youth, she’d written plenty of teenage romantic fluff off the memories of her peers and she knew well how stories like these played out. Looking down at Whitley’s scroll Mary wonders if he’d ever deleted Penny’s contacts.

Mary: If he’s going act like a tragic male lead then let’s see how his leading lady feels about his dramatic escape.

She says sarcastically, seating down while she attempts to lock his scroll.

Down in the lower city Whitley’s train finally reaches its stop, the train car jerks to a stop as the conductor announces the station and opens the door. Whitley’s swept up with crowd as he gets off, moving with the sea of people until he manages to break away by the gates. Stepping to the side he takes out his scroll and daily the number of the only people he trusted to help him find his way through the city.

In the upstairs apartment of the Little Cave Antiques Klein’s getting ready for bed. He’s putting on his pajamas when his scroll starts to ring. He picks it up off the nightstand and looks at the caller ID and though he doesn’t recognize the number Klein still answers the call like the gentleman he is.

Klein: Good evening, this is Klein Sieben. How may I help you?

Whitley: It’s me, Klein.

Klein’s eyes go wide and turn a bright shade of yellow at the sound of his former young master on the line. He taps his feet, and his voice is full of joy as he replies to the young men’s statement.

Klein: Young Master? Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise! To what do I know the pleasure of this evening call!

Whitley: I need your help, I’m in Mantle.

Klein: Excuse me?

Whitley: I’m in Mantle, Klein. I snuck out, took the train from Atlas and now I’m waiting by the gate at the station.

Klein: You did, what?!

Klein is completely dumbfounded, taking almost half a minute to fully comprehend what he just heard. When the words finally click in his head, Klein lets out a shriek as his eyes cycle through several colors as he flips out! Whitley turns down the volume on his scroll to save his hearing and lets Klein have his moment of shock uninterrupted. When the older man finally calms down his eyes turn bright red, and his voice lowers to a grumble as he scolds the boy for his irresponsible actions.

Klein: WHAT IN THE WORLD DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING! SNEAKING OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, AND TO MANTLE OF ALL PLACES! WHAT IN GOD’S NAME POSSESSED YOU TO THINK THIS WAS ANY KIND OF GOOD IDEA! MUCH LESS GO THROUGH WITH IT?!

Whitley: I’m sorry Klein but I was desperate. There’s someone down here I need to see, and I need your help to find them.

Klein sighs, he was used to Weiss’s strong emotional outbursts but this was completely out of pocket for Whitley.

Klein: Couldn’t you have found a better way than doing something this risky?! If your father hears of this there’s no telling what he’ll do to you!

Whitley: I know but I couldn’t wait anymore.

Klein: You couldn’t wait? You couldn’t wait so you snuck away from home to another city at this late hour?! What could possibly be so important that you’d risk his wrath for this?!

Whitley: Because-Because I couldn’t take it anymore more!

Whitley’s voice strains causing Klein’s eyes flash back to brown and his anger to disallow. Whitley grits his teeth, his voice was so weak and hurt, like a tiny, injured animal as he explains himself.

Whitley: I’ve spent my whole life trying to keep that man’s fury at bay. I’ve watched him drive my mother into endless alcohol binge and run my sisters off in his vain attempts to control everything. But for once..for once in my life, I had someone who made me feel happy! I had someone whose smile gave me the strength to actually try to live, to just be okay with…being me. And he tossed her out as soon as he saw that I wasn’t miserable!

Klein: Whitley.

Whitley: I..love her, Klein. I love her so much it feels like I’m rotting without her. My heart’s ached every single day since she left, and it gets worse and worse with every day she’s not here. I dream about her, I think about her every day, and the fact I couldn’t be with her hurt so much it feels like my chest going to cave in! So, when I saw an opportunity to go find her, I couldn’t resist.

He admits, fist clenched tightly against his chest as he holds back tears. Despite his venture being carefully planned and researched Whitley had honestly acted on impulse from the moment he knew his father would be out of the manor long enough for him to make a run for it. Even in his moments of doubt his desire to see Penny outweighed all relational thought. And Klein could hear it, the yarning and years of raw pain spilling out of the child he’d watched over for so many years. He knew just how lonely and broken Whitley had become but was powerless to do anything for the boy. No one and nothing could ever truly better the dreadful condition Whitley lived in, until now. With a heavy sigh, Klein takes off his nightcap and goes out to the living room to grab his coat, hat, and shoes.

Klein: Which station are you in right now?

Whitley: Sovereign Central.

Klein: Alright. Stay put, I’ll come pick you up.

Whitley: Thank you, Klein.

Klein can hear Whitley’s smile through the phone as he tucks his umbrella under his arm and opens the apartment's front door.

Klein: You're welcome, Whitley. Now please just stay safe until I get there.

He asks before hanging up and heading out into the pouring rain, trudging through the storm to go find his young master.

Later at the Polendina residence, Penny was lounging on the couch while her dad made dinner. She’s watching tv, gloves off and kicking her feet the bunny’s ears on her house shoes flopping with every motion when suddenly her scroll rings. She’s shocked to see that Whitley’s calling her! Confused but delighted and terrifyingly nervous Penny fumbles to grab her scroll and once she’s got a firm grip on it, she takes a big deep breath before answering. After the disaster that was the last time they met, Penny has no idea what to say so she just blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

Penny: H-hello?

Mary: Ms. Polendina.

With that one utterance, all of Penny’s hope instantly evaporates and is replaced with annoyance.

Penny: Mary.

She states rather coldly. Penny didn’t how to feel about the woman since they spoke in the library. Despite Mary making her intentions clear Penny couldn’t find it in herself to trust her as she was the first to acknowledge that her and Whitley’s love was doomed to fail. And the fact that her prediction turned out to be correct only made Penny feel more conflicted. Hearing her talk again filled Penny with a deep rage even though she had nothing to do with what happened. Still, Penny couldn’t help the irrational anger Mary’s voice induced, but she tries to suck it up as she probes for the reason behind her call.

Penny: Mary, why are you calling me and why are you doing so from Whitley’s scroll?

Mary: Because he left it here after he decided to so daringly ran off to Mantle to find you!

Mary states equally as annoyed as Penny. It had taken her far too long to unlock Whitley’s scroll as he had changed the password and added security blocks that triggered every few failures. After nearly two hours of trying, she’d finally opened the damned thing only to not find any clues to where he could possibly be and have her call for help be met with hostility. Though Penny’s animosity died off as soon as Mary told her what Whitley’s done as her mind clouds with confusion and worry.

Penny: He did what?

She asks in disbelief, not wanting to think that Whitley would actually sneak off to an unfamiliar place like that, especially at night when the city was at its most dangerous!

Mary: He snuck out of the manor and is probably somewhere in Mantle looking for you!

Penny: Ar-are you sure?

Mary: Yes! There’s no other reason he would do something this stupid unless it was for you! Now, I need you to find him before anyone else notices he’s gone.

Penny: I-Okay! But where would I even start to look?! Do you have any idea where he could be in the city?!

Mary: No, but Whitley’s an intelligent child so if he left behind anything that could track him then he’s probably went incognito. My best guess is public transport, or he found someone to pick him-Oh God, dammit all!

Mary clutches her head as she recalls a possible point of contact Whitley had in the ground city. Her sudden cursing confuses Penny, and she asks anxiously asks for clarification.

Penny: What? What happened?

Mary: It’s nothing, just go check the train stations first and I’ll call back if I find anything else.

Penny: Okay! I-I’ll try the one closest to me first! Bye!

She hangs up and pockets her scroll then rushes towards the front door. Pietro calls out to her, but Penny doesn’t hear him as she dashes out of the door and into the pouring rain. She runs towards the station; her slippers get drenched by the rainwater on the street, but Penny doesn’t care about the coldness of her feet, the dirtying of her shoes or rain soaking her clothes. Right now, her only focus is finding Whitley and making sure nothing bad happens to him. She’s going full throttle when she stops at the crosswalk for a red light, while she’s waiting for it to go green Penny watches a short man heading in the same direction slip and fall on the next street. He tries to pick himself up but slips again on the pavement. Knowing time is of the essence but being unable to turn her back on a person in need, when the light turns green Penny runs up to the man, pucks in his fallen umbrella and helps him to his feet only to find she recognizes him.

Penny: You’re the man from the antique store, Klein.

She says while handing the umbrella back to him. Said man looks at her a bit bewildered by her appearing in from him and his odd luck in this tricky situation.

Klein: Little Miss? Oh, thank goodness I ran into you! I’m in desperate need of your help right now.

Penny: What happened?

Klein: Young Master Whitley snuck out and is waiting for me at the Sovereign Central train station!

Penny: Sovereign Central-Wait Young Master! Why did you- how do you-

Klein: Because I am a former butler of the Schnee family.

Penny:…What? You used to work at the manor?

Klein: Yes. Young Master told me of you long before you came into my shop. I didn’t know it was you at first but when you deserved the boy you fancied, I know you and the girl he’d grown close with were one and the same.

Penny: But why didn’t you tell me?

Klein: It wasn’t my place to tell you. Young Master should have-Never mind that now! What matters is that Whitley is waiting at the station and came here to look for you!

Penny is gobsmacked by this information, she was too wound up with worry when Mary told her to fully process the fact Whitley really had made such a dangerous decision just to come see her. It had been less than a month since they last saw each other so it was oddly flattering but also extremely concerning that he’d go this far for her, she’d blush if it weren’t so distressing.

Klein: We need to go to him right away before some ruffians do!

Penny nods and the two start back on their rush to the station but Klein barely takes two steps forward before falling over again. Penny turns back and while helping him up she notices a rip in his pajama pants and a fresh wound on his shin.

Penny: You’re hurt!

She cries but Klein waves her off as he forces himself back onto his feet.

Klein: It’s nothing, just let me-OW!

His sentence is cut off with a yelp as Klein tries and fails to put pressure on his injured leg, forcing him onto his knees. Being no stranger to injured people Penny picks him up off the wet pavement and into a fireman’s carry, throwing his umbrella over her shoulder with him.

Klein: Wait, what are-

Penny: You’re in no condition to be out or running in this weather. I’m taking you somewhere safe to rest.

Klein: But what about Whitley?

Penny: I’ll find him after I drop you off.

Klein: But-Whoa!

Penny doesn’t give him a chance to protest and takes off running back the way she came. Once she’s back at her house Penny comes through the door and sees her dad on the phone trying to reach her only to turn around and see her carrying a man over her shoulder and drenched head to toe in rainwater. He strides over to her, face full of trepidation as he confronts her sudden actions.

Pietro: Where have you been?! I’ve been calling and calling but you won't answer?!

Penny: I’m sorry Dad, I was in a hurry and didn’t hear my scroll!

Pietro: What the-what do you mean a hurry?! You ran out of the house out of nowhere and now you come back with a man over your shoulder and all you can say is you’re in a hurry?!

Penny: I’m sorry but it was an emergency! An ongoing emergency that I need to get back to right now!

She explains while setting Klein down on the couch, the shift in position allows Pietro to see that the smaller man’s wounds.

Pietro: Is that blood- Alright what the hell is going on?! What happened to him and where-Is this the man from the antiques store?!

He asks pointing down at the wounded man, completely confused by the situation unfolding around him. Klein tips his hat in greeting before trying to better explain their current predicament.

Klein: Evening, Sir, and apologies for the sudden intrusion. Your daughter and I seem to have stumbled into quite the dilemma involving an unfortunate young man and she insisted I not go any further on an injured leg.

Pietro nods, not filling understanding what he meant but getting enough of it to know why he was currently on his couch.

Pietro: Okay but that doesn’t explain why-

His sentence is cut off by the front door slamming shut, both men look up only to see that Penny’s run off again. Pietro stares at the door stunned and confused by his dear daughter’s actions and still out of the loop of this absurd crisis he’s found himself in.

Pietro: Good God, what is happening tonight?!

He groans, rubbing his temples as a stress fueled headache coming in. His confusion is interrupted by Klein holding a hand up and waving it to get his attention.

Klein: Excuse me, but if you could be so kind as to procure me a first aid kit, I think I can clear things up for you.

Klein offers, Pietro signs and turns his chair around to go find the emergency medical kit. Whatever was going on it was bad enough that Penny was acting rashly and not thinking clearly enough to even clarify what she was doing. And that worried her dad at no end but with his physical limitations, there was no way he could stop her. All he could do was try to piece the situation together and call for help if things got out of hand. While Pietro looks through the cabinets Klein pulls out his scroll to call Whitley and update him on what’s happened only to discover his scroll practically in pieces, shattered by the fall.

Meanwhile, Whitley is still at the station waiting for Klein to arrive. He tries calling him but never gets through to the line. After multiple failed attempts to get in contact with him, Whitley puts his scroll away and contemplates what to do next. Suddenly he feels a twinge of pain in his stomach and it lowly growls in hungry. He chose not to eat earlier to keep the staff away from his room for his escape and now he was paying the consequences for that choice.

Whitley: Ugh, I should’ve grabbed something from the kitchen when I had the chance.

He laments, holding a hand to his stomach as it continues growling from its emptiness. With no way of knowing when his old friend would arrive and feeling a little fatigued from the stress and waiting Whitley decides to go grab a quick bite to eat before it gets too late.

Whitley: There should be a few places nearby that are still open at this hour.

He muses, before walking to the gate and out onto the street. Rain pouring overhead as he marches along down the street scanning the area for a restaurant, food stall, or even a convenience store to stop at. As he’s passing by an alleyway a large arm comes out from the darkness and grabs him by the shoulder, quickly pulling him into the ally way from the main street. Within a matter of seconds, Whitley’s pinned to a walk and surrounded by five thugs, a large dusty red-haired man holding him in place. The man looked like a hooligan, he was tall, balky, and has definitely seen a lot of fights, his tan face was covered in scars most of which looked like crawl marks. But those were just small pickings compared to red fox tail clipped to his leather jacket. Why you may ask? Because firstly Whitley could tell it was real fur not synthetic, secondly there were no red foxes in the frozen kingdom to hunt and lastly, it was too big to be from any sort of wild fox. With a twisted glint in his dark gray eyes and a cruel grin painted on his face, he looked at Whitley dead on as he tries to intimidate him.

???: ‘Ello there, little man.

He greets him mockingly, Whitley doesn’t talk back, nor does he break eye contact, maintaining a neutral expression as best he can while he tries to think of a way out of this mess. He’d been a victim of physical violence before, and he knew one wrong move could be the difference between grave injury and death. He didn’t know how this thug might act if he screamed or said the wrong thing so for now silence was the safest option. The thug is baffled by the lack of fear in Whitley’s eyes but kept on grinning. It was always easy to ring cash out of people when they were scared for their life but breaking down a little snot’s bravado then robbing him was much more satisfying. And so, this game intimidation continues.

Jack: Me name’s Jack, Honest Jack. Lovely night for a stroll through the city ain’t it?

Whitley says nothing, he just stares at Jack and listens hoping for an opening to flee.

Jack: I don’t think I’ve seen you ‘round here before and you look a little too fancy to from these parts neither. So what are you doing on our turf?

He asks playfully but forcibly, Whitley still doesn’t respond half out of stubbornness and half out of fear. Jack doesn’t take too kindly to his idleness this time and grips the boy’s shoulder tighter, a sickly acid aura bubbles from his hand and onto Whitley’s shoulder. It crawls across his skin to this his throat resting in his larynx and voice box like a thick mucus. Jack smiles darkly and resumes his questioning.

Jack: Alright, let me ask you again. What are you doing here?

Whitley tries to stay quiet but the bubble of mucus starts to raise, pulling his voice out of his mouth violently.

Whitley: I..Came..Here…To..Met…Some..One!

Each word comes out choked, carried up by the bubbles, and pops in the air. It hurt so much, that sentence alone made Whitley’s throat feel raw and dry. Jack marveled at the boy’s disposition, most would cry or puke halfway a few words through due to the effects of his semblance but this kid, he had one helluva pain tolerance. Wanting to see how far that tolerance went Jack keeps pressing Whitley with more questions.

Jack: Is that right? So you must’ve come from the upper city then, huh?

Whitley: Yes..I…Am!

Jack: Woah, a rich kid! Guess we’re eating good tonight boys!

He says to other thugs who cheer excitedly, delighted to have caught such bountiful prey.

Jack: That is if he’s got money on ‘em. You do have money on you, don’t cha boy?

Whitley tries again to keep quiet but bubbles dragging his voice are too strong to stop.

Whitley: Yes…I…Do!

The hoodlums murmur in joy, knowing they’d luck out with a wealthy mark. But the merriment pauses as Whitley continues to talk.

Whitely: But..I..Have..No..Inten..Tion..Of…Giv..ing..Any…Of..It...To..You!

The thugs look at him baffled by his sharp attitude, Jack especially so. This was one of the problems with his semblance, it forced honesty from people but couldn’t sugarcoat what came out. Those who weren’t stricken with fear could get a little cocky with him but he could always hear a little terror underneath it. But this one, this one had way too much moxie for the situation he was in. So Jack pressed him again, forcing more of the acid-like bubbles into the boy’s aura.

Jack: What did you say to me?

Whitley: I..Said..I’m..Not..Giv.Ing...You..Any…Thing!

Jack: Is that so? Well, aren’t you a cheeky little bastard? You think you're in any state to be acting all tough like that, huh?!

This toxic back and forth soon devolves into an argument with Whitley being unable to hold his tongue. As the two kept squabbling the commotion gets loud enough to hear from the edge of the alley. It’s this noise draws Penny’s attention as she finally closes in on the station.

She’s rushing down the street to her destination, Sovereign Central was literally within sight, but the sounds of fighting coming from a nearby ally cause Penny’s protector instincts to kick in again. She turns on her night vision and slowly down as she passed by the alley, but times seems to freeze when looks into the darning and sees a group of thugs harassing a young man. The glow in her eyes turns harsh and poisonous when she locks in on the young man’s features, specifically his snow-white hair and blue eyes. Not even thinking Penny turns on her heels and launches herself directly at Jack just as he raised his fist to punch Whitley.

The lead gangster doesn’t have time to process what’s happening as one moment he’s about to pummel a snot-nosed brat then the next he’s been pushed away with enough force to knock them a few feet away. He lands on his back, and the pain from the impact knocks him out before he can face his attacker. Seeing their boss laid out on the cold wet pavement the four remaining hooligans charge at Penny, aiming to get revenge for their fallen leader. Unfortunately for them, it’s a pointless fight. The one closest tries to lunge at Penny, she grabs his arm and pulls his stomach into her fist hard. He retches as the wind is knocked out of him out and falls to the ground. The next three go down just as easy with the second thug falling after two punches to the gut and a kick to the stomach. The third comes in right behind him and gets a kick to the face and a knee to the side, throwing him to the wall as he passes out. And the last tries to get the jump on her by rushing her from behind but he’s nowhere near fast enough or skilled enough to outmatch Penny. His attempted punch doesn’t even get to contact before she turns head and grabs his arm. Her face was cold and neutral but her glowing eyes radiated rage as she throws the large man over her shoulder then onto the pavement. In what felt like hours but was only a couple of minutes all five crooks were laid out on the alley floor, rain drenching their unconscious bodies. Throughout all this Whitley had stood frozen in the same spot he was pinned in, rubbing his sore throat and watching Penny in silent awe as she beat the daylights out of those men.

When the fight is finally over Whitley reaches out to touch her but is soon pinned to the wall again, this time by Penny! With her hands on the wall and her body less than an inch away Penny had him completely locked in place. Her expression was unreadable, and her eyes were still aglow as the gazed into Whitley’s. They stand in silence for a few seconds as the adrenaline from the altercation wears off. Whitley opens his mouth to speak, unsure of what to say in this position, but Penny bests him to the punch.

Penny: Whitley...What the…

She tries to stay calm but soon all the worry and fear she did been holding in since Mary called her. The glow in her eyes fades and her lips begin to quiver as she tries not to lose her cool.

Penny: What…the FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!

But she fails, the combination of heavy emotions throwing her mind into disarray. She couldn’t hold back the anxiety, frustration, and dread she’d been holding back since she last seen him. Knowing he was in the city alone so late at night was bad enough, but to find him getting mugged too? That was Penny’s limit, she couldn’t think straight after seeing him in danger like that.

Penny: WHY THE HELL DID YOU THINK THIS WAS OKAY TO DO?! WHAT PART OF COMING TO MANTLE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT SEEMED OKAY TO YOU?! AND ALL ON YOUR OWN TOO?! DO YOU KNOW HOW SCARED I WAS WHEN I HEARD YOU RAN AWAY?! HOW COULD YOU WORRY PEOPLE LIKE THAT?! HOW-

She pauses her screaming rant as tears blur her vision and trickle down her cheeks, blending in with the rain pouring over them.

Penny: How could you do that to me?

She whimpers out, her face full of sorrow as she has a total meltdown from the emotional roller coaster this night had taken her on. Whitley looks at her concerned; he attempts to speak again but gets choked up as his own emotional wall comes crashing down. Three weeks, for three weeks he’d been without the person who’d given him more joy than he’d ever known before, and the first thing she does is save him from harm.

Whitley: How did I get so lucky to meet someone so extraordinary?

He thought before wrapping his arms around her and pulling Penny into a tight embrace! He holds her as close as possible and nuzzles into her neck, breathing in her scent as much as he can. He couldn’t help the tears of joy that fall as after almost a month he finally, finally felt whole again! He didn’t mind her soaking wet hair or clothes, or the cold rain drenching both of them, or the fact their reunion had taken place in a dingy alley of all places. No, none of that mattered as long as she was in his arms again.

Whitley: Sorry that I worried you, I just wanted…No, I..needed to see you again.

He says softly, voice sweeter than Penny had ever heard him talk before. Her anxiety born breakdown turns to a moment of comfort as she wraps her arms around him. Melting into the embrace, Penny lets out all the negative emotions she’d stored up and takes in all the love Whitley was pouring out. God, she missed him, she missed his voice she missed his scent, his touch, she missed everything about him so damn much. She’d been so sure she’d messed up her chance to be with him and love him, but this night had proven her wrong, so very wrong. As they continue holding each other Whitley puts his forehead to Penny’s, glancing deeply into her with all the love his battered heart could muster.

Whitley: I missed you so much, Penny. Please..never leave me again.

He pleads, Penny opens her mouth to reply but Whitley doesn’t give her a chance. Taking a hand off her Whitley pulls down his mask and closes the distance between them, kissing her right on the lips. Penny is stunned by the sudden kiss, her teary eyes wide in shock from sudden contact. But with a second her shock fades into joy edge melts into it quickly, closing her eyes and completely relaxing in his embrace. Despite the cold rain, Penny felt so warm, so safe, and happy. Her head felt fuzzy in a way she’d never felt before but instantly loved.

Love, real romantic love. That was something Penny could only have dreamed of not so long ago. Everything she’d been through in the last few months had seemed so impossible but strangely wonderful in ways she couldn’t have ever predicted. But now she had someone she was willing to fight any evil for without hesitation and who’d throw himself into a dangerous situation just to be with her. It was almost like a dream, one neither ever wanted to wake up from.

The moment ends when Penny’s scroll rings, breaking the warm atmosphere the young lovers had built on their reunion. Penny pulls it out and sees it’s her dad. The reality that Whitley had technically run away from home and that there were five unconscious criminals at their feet soon dawns on both and they decide to clean up the mess. Penny and Whitley assure the older men wanting a home that they’re fine and will be there shortly then Penny calls for backup to come get the thugs. It takes almost an hour to resolve things but once the police arrive, they arrest the thugs on outstanding warrants before Penny can even explain what she caught them for. The most they ask her is if she caught them trying to hassle someone again and Penny says yes. That’s enough cause to get them dragged away and give Penny and Whitley a chance to head back to her home. As they begin the long walk back Whitley takes off his coat and offers it to Penny. Penny smiled and wrapped the coat around both their shoulders.

Penny: Now, we’ll both be warm.

She says with her usual cheerful smile. Whitley smiles back at her and they walk shoulder-to-shoulder and hold hands all the way to her house, fingers intertwined as if they couldn’t be close enough. When they arrive at the house and open the front door they are greeted by the sight of Klein, bandage up and helping Pietro in the kitchen. Klein hears the door open and power walks over to welcome them back, throwing an arm around Whitley as he tries to hold back tears.

Klein: Thank the stars, you’re finally here! I was so worried you might’ve been hurt or mugged or-Gods I don’t even want to think about I’m just glad you’re alright!

Klein cries as he hugs his mischievous young master, who pats his back reassuringly.

Whitley: Sorry for worrying you. I-What happened to your leg?

He questions, pointing out the banged wound on the elder butler’s leg. Klein laughs off his concerns and regales the circumstances of this little misfortune.

Klein: Oh, this is nothing just a little scratch. One I got rushing to find you.

Whitley looks down in shame. He had never meant to cause anyone any harm in his endeavor, especially not the man who’d treated him kinder than his own father had. Klein once again waves this off and proceeds with his story.

Klein: But thankfully I had the luck of running onto the sweet young lady you came here to see.

He states pointing at Penny, who smiles at the acknowledgment, before getting back to his tale.

Klein: She helped me, carried me here for treatment, and continued the search in my stead. To great success, it would seem!

He jocks before laughing at the absurdity of events that had unfolded over the course of this memorable night. Whitley also laughs, both in absurdity and happiness at how the two nicest people he knew had met in such a preposterous way!

Whitley: Unbelievable! I was hoping to introduce you to her later, but it looks like fate beat me to it.

He jocks back, a bright smile on his face as he marvels at his good fortune. Seeing a chance to cut into the conversation, Penny tugs at Whitley’s hand forcing his gaze onto her and Klein’s follows suit.

Penny: Actually, I haven’t told him my name yet, so we haven’t technically formally met yet.

She quips, Whitley and Klein immediately realize she’s just creating an excuse to do the introduction and play along.

Whitley: Is that so? Well, why don’t we rectify that right now? Penny, this is Klein. He was my family’s butler for years and practically raised me.

Whitley states while gesturing to Klein who tips his hat in greeting to Penny.

Klein: Pleased to meet you.

The short says cheerfully to the sweet redhead who waves to him in response, this promotes Whitley to let go of her hand and place it around her shoulder as he introduces the lovely girl to his old companion.

Whitley: Klein, this beautiful girl here is…my love Penny.

He pauses and pulls her closers before bestowing the title of his love. It’s simple but perfect as it describes just what he felt for her, she had shown him love and made him love deeper than he could ever imagine. Penny blushes when he utters those words, though she had a few titles, soldier, daughter, protector, and so on but she’d never been given a romantic one before. It made her head feel fuzzy again and reminded her of their moment in the alley. Her face glows brighter from the memory and she covers her face in embarrassment, barely able to vocalize her signature greeting.

Penny: S-S-Salutations.

She stutters out causing both men to chuckle.

Klein: Well now that we’ve gotten introductions out of the way, why don’t you two go clean up before dinner?

Penny and Whitley look down and remember they’re absolutely soaked from the rain and definitely need to dry off or change. Whitley hangs his coat by the door and Klein helps him dry his clothes with a blow dryer while Penny goes to her room to change into dry off and change clothes. After getting her hair dry and wiping off Penny looked at her closet stumped. She honestly doesn’t know what to where in this situation like this, what with the person she loved and recently shared her first kiss with staying for dinner. Scanning through her clothes, she can’t find anything that feels casual enough to wear for only a few hours at most before changing to go to bed, so she ops to wear her pajamas and put the pink cardigan she’d received so long ago on over to cover up her shoulders and back. Once she’s ready Penny head back downstairs and sees that Whitley, sans winter hat and mask, had pulled up chairs at the dining table for him and Klein while Klein helps her dad plate the food. She rushes over to help, grabbing the utensils to set the table, and soon dinner is served.

It's a classic for rainy nights in Mantle, a hearty beef stew with a side of mashed potatoes and dinner rolls. Penny was delighted by the spread, but Whitley seemed a little cautious, not because of the meal's content but the presentation. Unlike his usual meals, this food wasn’t present in the prettiest way, the scent off was much stronger, and the serving size itself was far bigger than he’d gotten in years. It was actually a bit intimidating, being offered some much at someone else’s home. Could he really eat this? Even though he was starving from the journey here Whitley couldn’t help the unease he felt as he looked at his bowl. But his thoughts are interpreted by Pietro setting the pot of leftover stew in the center of the table.

Pietro: Go ahead and dig in everybody! It’s been a long night and we got plenty to go around!

Pietro cheers before grabbing his own bowl and chowing down. Penny and Klein also start eating eagerly, this encourages Whitley to have a taste for himself. He takes a spoon full of stew and sips just a little before immediately shoving the whole spoon into his mouth. It was rich and warm, the beef, though tougher than he was used to, paired perfectly with the vegetables and spices. He has to stop momentarily due to the heat of the stew, so he switches to mashed potatoes while the stew sat to chill. Since he had only one spoon, Whitley set his spoon on the rim of the bowl, lets then digs into the potatoes. They’re soft and creamy with a hint of butter and the residue from of the stew only enhanced the flavor. Once he’s done with mashed potatoes, Whitley’s about to go back to the stew but catches Penny ripping her dinner roll into pieces and dipping them in the stew before eating them. Curious, Whitley tears up his dinner roll in half and dips it in the stew, letting soak for a bit before eating it. It has a nice mushy texture, and the flavor of the stew is mellowed by the soft bread. He keeps ripping and dipping until he’s out of bread then goes back to eating the stew. Despite his graceful manners, Whitley finishes his food first but even with his bowl and plate empty he was still not satisfied. Penny, Pietro, and Klein look at him in awe as Whitley wipes his mouth with a napkin before articulating his delight to Pietro.

Whitley: Thank you for the meal, Mr. Polendina. It was delicious.

Pietro: Uh, thank you, glad you like it. Honestly, I thought I’d given you a little too much but looks like it was just right.

He says while rubbing the back of his head, confused and impressed that such a skinny kid could eat so much. However, his confusion wanes as Whitley goes on.

Whitley: Actually, I’m still a bit peckish. Do you mind if I have another helping?

He asks politely, Pietro smiles and reaches over to grab the ladle from the pot. He knew his daughter had described the boy as princely but didn’t think he’d be this polite, especially since he was the from highest of the upper crust. But here he was, breaking bread and minding his manners in a little Mantle like a little gentleman. And being so sheepish over something as simple as asking for seconds at the dinner table? What a charming young man his sweet pea had fallen for.

Pietro: Of course you can, hold out your bowl!

Whitley has another bowl and a few more dinner rolls, after which he starts to feel lethargic but cozy from the first truly filling meal he’s had in ages. After they clear the table Pietro suggests he settles in on the couch for the night. Wanting to stay but also feeling guilty for inconveniencing his old friend Whitley looks to Klein who gives a reassuring nod.

Klein: My taxi should be arriving soon. I’ll be back to pick you up tomorrow.

He says happily before gathering his things and heading home. Now alone with the Polendinas, Whitley pulls the pillows to mon side and Penny brings him some blankets to keep him warm. They make a bed for him on the couch while Pietro makes a pot of hot chocolate and puts out some ginger snaps as dessert. He takes his holding and retires for the evening while the two love birds relax on the couch. Sipping on hot chocolate between bites of ginger snaps and watching tv with Penny by his side, the only thing that grounds the fact this is really happening to Whitley was the small aches from his sore body. Said sore body eventually calls out for rest in the form of a yawn. It’s a small yawn, surprisingly high-pitched and soft like a cat’s meow. Penny giggles at the cute sound and clears away the empty mugs and plate, giving Whitley space to lie down. He fluffs his pillows and tries to maneuver himself into a comfortable position. While washing the dishes Penny hears him tossing and turning and goes back to help him after putting every away. She grabs one of the blanks and covers him with it just as Whitley finally settles in. As she drapes the soft fabric over him Penny spots a hand-shaped bruise forming around his shoulder and collarbone between the open buttons of his shirt. A small twinge of guilt hits her as she wonders just how much Whitley had stuffed to be with her again.

Penny: I’m sorry we couldn’t give you better sleeping accommodations.

Whitley: It’s fine, it’s my fault for doing all this out of nowhere.

Penny: Still-

Penny reaches out and ghosting the tips of her fingers over the still-forming bruise.

Penny: you went through so much to get here.

She laments. Whitley notices her shifting mood, sighs and grabs her hand, pulling it up to his mouth and kissing her knocks. This stuns Penny out of her guilty thoughts and back to the reality of her love sitting before. Said love sits up and rests his forehead on hers as he intertwines their fingers again, not a hint of the cold, uncertainty, fear, or suffering from his long journey in sight. Instead, his gaze was filled with warmth and affection, all pointed at her and her alone.

Whitley: And I’d do it all again if it means I get to be here with you.

He declares lovingly before kissing Penny’s cheek and laying back down, hand still interlocked with hers. Penny stays with Whitley until he falls asleep. She knows they should’ve talked about how this happened and what to do next. About what happened in the alley before she showed up, what they’d do if his father found out he left the manor, and how they were going to keep in contact without getting caught. But that all could wait til morning, after breakfast they could talk about everything they needed to make sure this wasn’t a one-time thing. But for now, it was time to sleep and rest well in the comfort that despite all the odds against them their love had refused to die.

In the coldest kingdom on a dark rainy night, a unique love had faced every challenge in its path only to flourish beyond what anyone who witnessed it would have imagined. A true burning light in the sea of the city’s darkness.

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