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rywritten · 2 years ago

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Sometimes,

I think about how Dream is probably one of the only people in Technos life who hasn't betrayed him. (Not including the Syndicate or Phil)

But I kinda think about how Dream probably did consider Techno a friend lover because Techno was one of the few who actually understood him when no one else did and how grateful and cherished that made Techno to Dream.

But then I think about the aftermath of the prison break, how Techno turned Dream away after the promises of escaping and instead of warmth and love its instead bitter cold snow in its wake. How cold and heartbroken and bitter it probably that made Dream feel.

To top it off the only light he had in that godforsaken prison, Techno, asks him to revive Ranboo after he turns him away with only a sword. The irony of it all sets a bitter taste in his mouth.

So with that he leaves, with only the prison clothes on his back and rosy cheeks becoming wet with frozen tears he refuses to let anyone see.

I think about how he must've felt at that time. The irony, the betrayal of it all, at least to Dream it is.

But what if Techno was already heartbroken by the after effects of Ranboo's death, that his coldness towards an ally, to a friend even was justified to him.

That once his mind is cleared from his anger, that all that leaves is his sadness, his regret, how could he do that to his friend? His ally, the one person who didn't see him as a weapon.

It leaves him cold and filled with determination, determination to find him and make it up to him and apologize and maybe give Dream what he needs, a home. Love.

Like what he promised in prison.

So with the falling snow landing in his rosy hair and cloak, he sets out to find his friend love and actually make it right, invite him inside and cuddle, to bring him home to him.

(This is my first drabble so please excuse it, I'm not a writer. But if you read this then finish this however you like or continue it how you like! So enjoy my hurt/ comfort dnb drabble, thank you for continuing to write dnb, you greatly inspire me with this ship.)

how dare you show me up in my own blog, anon. that was amazing and heartbreaking at the same time.

im such a sucker for emotional pain caused by the one person you least expected... and let me tell you, the blatant dismissal in which techno told dream to gtfo was a slap to the face...

so here's me taking you up on your offer to do some emotional damage control over that very iconic and heart breaking scene:

The Arctic forest is thick and dense, even more so now that he's reached the very center of it.

The snow covers the earth like a white blanket, freezing the rivers and anything unfortunate enough to cross its path. The smaller animals have already fled inside their little dens in slumber, anticipating the promise of spring in the coming months.

Only those who hunt for flesh remain and roam these frosted land.

Techno was on a quest, but not one of bloodshed this time.

He needed to find Dream and make sure the other man was safe.

But the farther Techno walked, the deeper the snow was. His boots sunk with each step, but he doesn't let such an inconvenience slow him down. He trudges on, keeping his pace brisk and quick, as he scanned the forest for any signs of blond hair.

Techno doesn't know how long he's been searching, but he knows that the sun has long since set when the horizon above him darkens, the reds and pinks of the sunset has now turned to a deep shade of indigo and gray.

Shadows have overtaken the forest, contorting the trees and branches into silhouettes that loomed over him. Techno pays it no mind, only squinting his eyes to get his vision to focus on what was ahead of him.

His feet protest for rest, but he is reluctant to do so, not when there has been no sign of Dream in any of the places that he's checked.

Something close to fear settles at the pit of Techno's stomach; fear at the reminder of Dream's injured state right before their disastrous parting, and at the thought of Dream's badly torn prison garb as well as the way both of his hands and feet were probably exposed to the cold the entire time.

How could he have been so stupid? Techno berated himself. To let his own grief lead him to do something so cruel to the one person who didn't see him as a weapon.

The anger and resentment building up inside of him towards himself is steadfast and growing in intensity, and just when the voices have started to call him out as well, he hears a noise.

It was a soft thing, barely a whisper to his highly trained ears; and while commonsense would've easily categorized the sound to be that of a small woodland creature burrowing itself deep inside its den, Techno chose to look for the source of the sound.

Another sound, and Techno was running towards it, waving though snow covered tree branches until he recaches a small clearing.

Moonlight shines down upon the forest floor, allowing Techno a better view of what was in front of him: a trail of blood staining the white earth, leading Techno to the sight of Dream's hunched figure resting on an old oak tree.

Like this, the other man looked even smaller. His pale skin was almost translucent from the cold, and there's blood covering Dream's arms from an injury Techno only realized now after seeing him again. Both of his arms are exposed to the cold just like Techno had feared, and he's shivering.

Shivering in a way that was far too concerning, it has Techno immediately crossing the few meters separating the two of them to reach him.

As soon as Techno crouches to the ground right in front of Dream, he pulls at his cloak and wraps it around the blond's shaking frame. Dream was still shivering despite the added layer of thick fabric, and Techno wracks his mind for a quick remedy.

He doesn't really know what compelled him to reach out and embrace Dream in a tight hug, but the relieved sigh that Dream lets out as soon as his freezing skin touches Techno's was enough to silence any doubt Techno had in his mind.

And now that he has the other man in his arms, Techno is suddenly caught with the overwhelming feeling of never wanting to let Dream go ever again.

"I'm sorry." Techno whispers, kissing the crown of Dream's head as he slowly rubbed soothing circles over Dream's back. He keeps repeating the same apology over and over like a mantra; a pleading prayer for which he desperately asks for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone." Techno says, pulling Dream closer to himself. "I'll never do it again."

It was as much of a promise as it was an oath; with the moon and stars as their bare witness.

He had almost lost Dream out of his own stupidity and selfishness, and the underlying fear of what could've happened had Techno arrived a few hours later, at the prospect of what he could've lost tonight, the idea of loosing Dream was for too much to bare.

A slow, painful death was a far better option than to witness the death of someone so precious to him.

And with Dream's answering embrace, Techno swore to himself that he will never, ever, fail Dream this badly again.

Even if it will cost him his life one day, he will make sure to never betray Dream's trust again, no matter what cost.

#ry.quests #dnb #dreamnoblde #im back after months of being mia #i hope this little drabble was worth the wait anon #thank you for taking inspo in my works #im honestly so happy despite being underserving of such a praise lmao #thank you for enjoying my works and i hope you're having an amazing day!

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meetthemoosemonster · 4 years ago

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Summary:

AU where Ranboo goes to Sam and asks him to Lock him up in the prison to stop himself from doing what ever hes doing when hes sleep walking. AKA Ranboo tries to make a self destructive decision, and Sam is a Responsible Adult, and offers him support. Also, Sam has four arms because I think thats perfect for his character, fight me.

Note: If any of the creators mentioned in this state that they are uncomfortable with this fic, or the topics in this fic being written about them, I will take it down as soon as I know. Also, this is based off the characters, and not the actual content creators.

CW: Panic attacks Mild injury Mentions of prison Manipulation(but just c!Dream being himself) If I missed one please tell me so I can fix it!

Enjoy the fic!

Fic under cut for anyone who doesn't want to leave tumblr.

And remember, reblogs fuel the writing braincell!

The ding of someone joining a voice call echoed in Ranboos ears

"s- Sam?" The enderboys hand shook over the button that summoned the Warden to the entrance of Pandora's Vault. He was hyper aware of the buzzing purple particles that surrounded his lanky form, and the uncontrollable vwoops and crackles that came from his mouth.

"Ranboo? I told you you weren't allowed to visit the prison anymore. You need to leave. Now." Sam's voice was hard, the voice of a Warden. Ranboo felt a year streak down his face as he choked back a sob. For once his mind was silent.

"I-" Ranboo took a shaky breath. "I don't want to visit, Sam."

"Then why are you here?" Concern glinted through Sam's warden persona, his voice softening ever so slightly. "I know you said you couldn't tell me what's up with you, but I can help Ranboo. It's ok if you need help." Another vwoop mixed with a sob escaped Ranboos throat, and he sunk to the ground in front of the nether portal.

"I- I-" Ranboo couldn't continue, and just squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to stop the tears that boiled his skin as they ran down his face.

"Ok, I'm coming out ok? I'll be there in a second." The boy curled up on the blackstone floor didn't say anything Sam could decipher, but the four armed man vaguely recognized that Ranboo had mumbled something in void. The sound of the nether portal geared up, and Sam walked out of the purple swirls to see the enderman hybrid curled up on the floor vibrating, his jaw slightly unhinged.

"Ranboo? Ranboo, what happened? Why are you here?" The Warden voice was gone now, and Sam could only stare down at the black and white form of a shaking child, concern furrowing his brow.

Ranboo looked up, a scared, no, terrified look etched in his face. Ranboo tried to wipe his tears away, flinching at the pain.

"I-" Ranboo could barely stay sitting up with how hard his body was violently shaking. "I ne- eed to y- you to l- lo- lock me up- p, p- please." More tears spilled out of his eyes, and Sam immediately dropped to the ground at those shaky words. Sam carefully put 2 of his arms behind the shaking figure next to him, trying to offer support. Ranboo flinched at first, not comprehending what Sam was doing. But then he fell back into the arms, letting them hold him up.

"Why would I lock you up? What ever happened with the books you signed doesn't warrant being put in the prison?" Ranboo tensed at the words, but Sam couldn't tell if it was the mention of the books, or the prison that caused Ranboos reaction. "Ranboo, seriously, what's wrong? I promise I won't be upset if something happened." Ranboo just shook his head repeatedly, and pulled his knees closer to his chest.

"You k- know how I have a r- really bad me- memo- memory?" Sam slowly nodded, and Ranboo continued. "Well, I've been hav- having these l- long periods of t- time that I don't remember anything, and and and," Ranboo paused, and took a deep breath. "And my tools have been used, and things are missing, and I don't have anything wr- written down in my memory book." Ranboo looked cautiously at Sam, how nodded gently as if to say 'go on'. Ranboo swallowed.

"A-and I'm, I- I think I've been helping D- Dr- Dream when I'm like that…'' More choked sobs mixed with enderman sounds echoed on the walls, and the vibrating particles buzzed like angry bees in Sam's ears. He could hear his heart beating louder in his chest at Ranboos fearful confession. But Sam pushed down the shock, and tried to comfortingly shush the boy.

"Shhh, Shhhh, it's gonna be ok Ranboo. You obviously didn't want to h-"

"I blew up the community house Sam." Ranboos' voice sounded resigned now, his body and brain exhausted from the panic that still coursed through the kid's body. Sam didn't know what to say, he looked stunned. Sam had been on the server for a long time, longer than most of the people who now inhabited this world. He had memories of the community house, before all the wars, all the chaos and pain and violence that plagued the Dream SMP. When he'd seen it had been blown up, he had to mourn for a bit, mourn the symbol of a more peaceful past.

"And Dream gave me one of Tommy's disks. At- At least that's what Dream told me. Or his voice. I- I don't know what's real anymore anyway." Ranboo said the last sentence in Void, too tired to even notice that he was slipping into his native tongue. Sam retracted his arms, still shocked. Ranboo noticed the loss of support and just laid his head on his knees and closed his eyes, not really caring what happened next.

"Ranboo…" Sam trailed off and they just sat in a tense silence. After a couple seconds Sam shook his head to clear it. "Ranboo, what do you mean Dream's voice?"

"I hear his voice in my head s-sometimes. He usually tells me what I did, where I hid evidence, what I'm doing wr- wrong." Ranboos body was still tense, but he was eerily still and quiet in contrast to how he was a few minutes ago. Then Sam felt Ranboos red and green gaze meet his, urgency in his eyes." Sam, you need to lock me up, I can't be allowed to do anymore harm. I'm too dangerous. Please Sam, please, you have to, it's the only way. I can't stop it on my own, I don't know how." Ranboo was crying again, his face tightening in pain. "...please…" Ranboos' voice cracked, and he hung his head again, not even reacting when Sam carefully wrapped all 4 of his arms protectively around the half enderman.

"I'm not gonna put you in the prison, Ranboo. You're a kid." Sam's voice was tight with anger at Dream, at the server that had told these children that it was somehow their fault, and that their slip ups were worse than all the adults' slip ups.

"But I can't be trusted, I'm going to hurt someone, I can't hurt anyone." Ranboo leaned against Sam anyway, yearning for comfort, even if he thought it was gonna the last time he'd get it.

"There are other ways to make sure you don't do something bad when you black out. We'll figure it out, but I'm not letting you in that prison. You're just a kid." Sam reached around Ranboo and got out his comms. "Is there anyone I can ask to watch you to make sure you don't run off until we figure out a better system? If not I can stay with you for a bit." He looked down at Ranboos split colored hair, the boy curled up in his embrace.

"I don't know, I- I don't want to bother anyone."

"Ok. But you're not bothering anyone, you're asking for help. How about this, you're staying with Techno and Phil in the snow biome right now, right?" Ranboo nodded hesitantly. "I'm going to message them telling them that you're with me, and you might need someone to watch over you for a couple days. We'll figure it out from there, ok?" Ranboo stirred slightly. a soft him of agreement came from the boy, and Sam smiled slightly as he typed out the message to Technoblade and Philza. "You're going to be ok, I'm gonna to help you. You're safe now." Slowly Ranboo dozed off in Sam's arms. After a bit Techno showed up at the prison, looking concerned, even though he still stood with the confidence of a man who could blow up nations without a second thought. The Blades face softened when he saw Ranboo sleeping peacefully in Sam's arms. Sam looked up and smiled.

"Good, you're here, my arms were going numb." Sam joked quietly, then he carefully stood up softly shook the enderboys shoulder to wake him up. Ranboo blinked as he tried to wake up, but he was still exhausted and sleepy.

"Sam? What's happening?" Sam smiled.

"Technos here to take you home, is that ok? Ranboo nodded, and stumbled over to Techno, and leaned his tall frame against the pigmans slightly shorter one.

"Keep an eye on him, ok? Things just got more complicated, and he doesn't deserve to be put through anymore then he already has." Sam looked worriedly at Ranboo, who was already falling asleep on Technos shoulder.

"Uhh, ok?" Techno looked confused, but carefully lead Ranboo away from the prison to the nether portal that's would take them home. Sam watched them go, then turned around and re-entered the prison, his face hardening as he made his way to the center of the prison. He needed to have another chat with Dream.

#ranboo #awesamdude #ranboo fanfic #awesamdude fanfic #dream smp #dsmp #angst #fluff #hurt / comfort #fanfic #ao3 #my writing #fanfiction #dsmp fanfic #dream smp fanfiction #pls reblog!

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insaneasgardian · 4 years ago

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Harsh Measures

(Not a x Reader insert)

Pairings: A little Irondad, and hinted Stucky.

Summary: Nick Fury finds a very unique way to discipline his team of superheroes.

Warnings: I don’t think there is any, but if you find anything triggering please let me know and I’ll put it here.

An arrow zipped towards Tony Stark, who dodged it at the last second. “Ha! You missed” exclaimed the billionaire to the owner of the said arrow; the one and only Hawkeye. He simply smirked, “Got you to look” he said. This caused Tony to frown, he stood still in confusion, and this gave the newest avenger, Spiderman, an opportunity to dunk a bucket of pink paint all over his mentor. “Sorry Mr. Stark!” he said, “Mr. Barton gave me $50 to do it!”. Ironman shook his head and sighed, looking around at the rest of the avengers who were currently in a state of utter chaos. Loki and Natasha appeared to be flicking knives at each other, which was much more catastrophic for the fragile furniture around them, than for the 2 contenders themselves. Clint was now engaged in trying to lift Mjolnir, while a very drunk Thor staggered around the common room, laughing at his friends failed attempts to pick up the hammer. Bucky had dared Sam to stick a metal fork in the electric socket, and Sam, who had been intoxicated by Thor’s Asgardian ale had gladly accepted the challenge. Vision and Pietro appeared to be fighting, as per usual, with the speedster running around and breaking things around the fancy room. Wanda desperately tried to get her brother and her lover to stop fighting by using her magic to hold them both still.

Amidst all the chaos, Captain America frantically ran to and fro, being the only responsible adult, he tried to get all the others to stop whatever danger they were inflicting on themselves and others. “He-Hey! Sam, no, don’t do that!”, “Pietro, Vision, you two stop this RIGHT NOW!”, “LOKI, NAT! PUT THE KNIVES DOWN!”. Peter and Tony simply stood in the middle of all this watching as the hyperactive Avengers ripped the lovely room to shreds. “Mr. Stark... should we help Mr. Rogers?” Tony shrugged, “Nah”. Peter nervously fidgeted then quickly glanced around the room, “Mr. Stark, have you seen Mr. Banner anywhere?” he meekly inquired, the older man looked towards his favorite kid and once again told him, “Nah”.

As the Avengers common room soon began to look more like a pig sty, a certain Bruce Banner heard a racket from his lab just one floor below all the commotion. He adjusted his glasses on his nose and contemplated whether or not he should go upstairs and check out what was happening. After a minute or two of thinking, he took off his lab coat and hung it up on the rack. He would go up. He strolled into the elevator and pressed the button for the common room. The scientist tapped his foot impatiently as his brain began to play out several possible scenarios for the cause of the cause of the ruckus. However, none of these scenarios were as crazy as the one he saw when he stepped out the elevator coming to a standstill to see what appeared to be a couch with beer spilled all over it, knives sticking out all over, and Peter and Tony sitting on it eating shawarma.

The very confused doctor looked over and surveyed the rest of the scene, knives flying around, drunk idiots trying to lift mjolnr, more drunk idiots doing potentially life threatening stuff, a mutant and a robot in a duel, a witch and America’s golden boy trying to stop the chaos.... meh, just another day in Avengers tower. Bruce turned to leave, he was used to all the disarray, and he much rather wished to be alone in the lab. However, the minute he turned his back, a crumpled up shawarma wrapper hit Dr. Banner’s back....

And that did it.

All the avengers froze as their gentle friend’s face contorted and turned green, every vein in his body pulsating as his entire body enlarged, all his clothes dropped to the ground, leaving him bare except for a pair of purple shorts covering his lowering half. The hulk had been unleashed.

“NO FIGHTTTT!” Exclaimed the big guy, before slamming his fist into the ground and running off, eventually destroying a good portion of Stark tower.

“2 HOURS! IT TOOK AN ENTIRE 2 HOURS BEFORE ROMANOFF COULD LOCATE HIM AND CALM HIM DOWN!” Exclaimed the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D as he paced back in the forth in the meeting room, glaring at all the heroes with his one eye. Next to him stood the kind and loved Phil Coulson, who currently happened to be looking over the team over Avengers, shooting a few whom he happened to make eye contact with looks of pity. Earth’s mightiest heroes all shrunk in their seats in front of Fury, for each and every one of them had faced his wrath before and did not wish to come face to face with it again.

The very annoyed director suddenly slammed his fists on the table, causing everybody in the room to flinch and sit up straight. “I’ve given you idiots enough chances,” he muttered, everybody looked in horror at each other as they all thought about the director’s next words, “All of you, -Save for Cap, Bruce and Wanda as they had nothing to do with it- shall be punished for your immature behavior”. Steve, Bruce and Wanda breathed a sigh of relief as a wave of terror washed over the rest of the team, what would he ask them to do?

“All of you who I believe deserve to be disciplined, shall sit in this meeting room for 5 HOURS!”. Everybody let out a collected gasp, because... 5 hours? That was a harsh punishment, even for them! Even Coulson looked terrified for his friends. “That’s not all....” hummed Fury, “You’ll all have to watch a 5 hour long Rappin’ With Cap compilation”. Wanda, Bruce and Steve looked at their friends in dread and pity as their was a deadly silence in the air, the offenders jaws had dropped, their eyes wide as the realization sunk in... they had screwed up BAD, and they were getting the worst imaginable punishment for it. “I don’t care if anybody has a date, I don’t care if anyone has a mission, I don’t care if someone has homework, hell, I don’t even care if somebody has a funeral to attend! Each and every one of you will sit here watching the video, understood?” Spoke Fury in a low, threatening voice. The punished Avengers frantically nodded, not wanting to anger their director further.

Nicholas Fury’s one eye darted around the room, making sure nobody was stepping a toe out of line, before he pulled up his computer screen on the projector and the 5 hour long compilation started to load. He then proceeded to walk out the room, Phil, Wanda, Steve and Bruce following him, as soon as they all stepped out, Coulson locked the door behind them. The unlucky avengers that were locked in looked at each other nervously, terrified of the 5 hour torture they were to endure. Within a few seconds of a black screen loading the video, Steve himself in full Captain America gear popped up on screen.

“So... you got a detention.” Began America’s golden boy as everybody in the room groaned and prepared themselves for the longest hours of their life.

“You look terrible!” Exclaimed the younger Maximoff as she saw her exhausted teammates slinking into the room. “Gee, thanks Wanda” murmured Peter as he collapsed onto Tony who was equally exhausted, and hugged the kid before crashing on the couch. “What took so long?” inquired Bruce, “You were in there for 7 hours instead of 5!”. Sure enough, when a few of the heroes glanced at the clock, they saw it was late in the evening. “Stark tried to pause the video... but Fury somehow found out and extended the punishment.” breathed out Thor before grabbing a glass of water and downing it all in one gulp. “Well that’s too bad isn’t it” smirked Loki. “You were in there as well...” Pietro reminded him, “Was I though...?” whispered the trickster. Natasha gasped, “Why you little... you created a clone of yourself!”. The prince grinned like a cheshire cat and nodded. Bucky groaned loudly as he flopped on the loveseat next to the couch, and rested his head in Steve’s lap, “If you’d just listened to me” sighed Cap “Let this be a lesson to always do as I say” proclaimed Captain America. The culprits that contributed to unleashing the hulk all glared at the Captain, the cause of their current state. “No” said Peter breaking the deadly silence, “No, I don’t think I will”.

#Irondad #Stucky #Nick Fury #Punished Avengers #Hulk Unleashed #Avengers in trouble #Avengers #Marvel

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prorevenge · 5 years ago

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Bully Creates His Own Revenge

This ones a bit long but please stick with me because it's a good one...

So here's the basics, when I was a kid my dad was in the service, U.S. Navy, and so we moved around a lot. Because of this I was always the new kid over and over again, meaning I was constantly the target of would be bullies and this made me fairly introverted and distrusting of other people by nature. In the waning years of my father's military career he decided he would take his family back to his home town and do some recruiting until he retired. So away we went to the family farm built by my great grandfather.

If anyone has ever found themselves moving to a small town suddenly then you are well aware of what I mean when I say that the locals were very small town minded. For those of you who don't know, the small town mentality is basically thus, "if you're not from there, born and raised, then you don't belong there." A lot of small town citizens are closed off and want nothing to do with outsiders.

So there I was, not only the new kid but introverted and an outsider....bully magnet. For the most part I tried not to let it get to me but I did have some bad days and got into a few fights, always in self defense though. And eventually as people grew up most of the other kids matured out of trying to be a bully and began to just leave me alone. Especially once they found out who my great grandfather was...something about one of the four founding families...I don't know...I never really cared that much and besides those people had shown their true colors by treating me like crap for years by that point...but that's a different story. This story is about a kid we'll call Mike.

You see Mike was the only one who never seemed to grow out of trying to be a bully. He would daily track me down and tell me how worthless I was. That I was just some dumb farm boy who would never amount to anything and would always be a loser. He would walk up to me randomly and say things like "I know you're going to be the one who shoots up the school someday, and when it ends with your suicide I'll be the one cheering". He had some issues. At one point I arrived to school to find he had painted the combination on my locker with toothpaste. A lot of weird stuff like that.

Anyways we get into our senior year of high school and I've long since been doing my best to ignore him. His not being able to get a reaction out of me seemed to really upset him and even his friends started saying his seeming need to find me everyday to simply be a jerk was bordering on the creepy and obsessive. And then all of a sudden the verbal abuse stopped one day a couple months from graduation. I assumed he had finally just given up but that wasn't the case.

A couple weeks later I walked to the end of of our LONG driveway to catch the bus and found that our mailbox had been run over. I didn't think anything of it at the time other than that it must have been some drunk. I get home later that after noon, take some photos of the damage just in case and then fix the mailbox, new wooden post buried onto the ground. I finish my other chores and homework and relax the rest of the evening. Next morning I go to catch the school bus and the mailbox has again been run over. I get home, photos, repair it, chores, homework, relax. It happened again the next day and again the day after that...this went on for two weeks only stopping on the weekend. My parents had reported the smashing of the mailbox but there was no evidence as to who the culprit even was so nothing was done about it.

I finally have enough of digging out broken post and replacing them and so...The Revenge

I get up early on a Saturday and head to the end of the driveway. I dig a 2 feet by two feet wide hole 6 feet straight down and filled the hole with fresh cement and in the center placed a ten foot section of the old farm house' original cast iron water pipes, sunk 6 feet into the concrete. I filled the rest of the 10ft cast iron pipe with concrete as well and mounted the mailbox on the top. Mind you I looked into how far from the road the mailbox needed to be for safety reasons and attached ample amounts of reflectors.

Monday morning comes and I notice the mailbox post has all sorts of scratches on it but otherwise it's fine. I get to my final class of the day, creative writing, and am in the middle of a story outline for that week's project when a friend of Mike's comes in, we'll call him Steve.

Steve sees me and freaks out.

Steve: Do you have any idea what you did to Mike's car?! OP: I didn't do anything to Mike's car?? I don't even know what it looks like. Steve: Your little stunt with the mailbox totaled it! He had to get it towed into town at 5AM this morning! (small town. Auto garage is DEFINITELY closed at 5AM) Steve: He's gonna sue the [FRONK] out of you! (Censored for RSlash, just in case) OP: OK but you are aware that deliberately hitting and/or damaging a mailbox is a federal offense right? Steve: What are you talking about? OP: You don't actually own your mailbox. Legally it belongs to the Post Office so destroying a mailbox is destroying government property making it a federal offense. Steve: So what? He'll get a little fine, but your gonna pay! OP: Oh No...hahaha..It's actually a $250,000.00 Fine or up to 3 years in prison per offense for vandalizing a mailbox, and since it's happened 10 times in the last two weeks that translates to either a 2.5 million dollar fine or up to 30 years in prison.

Steve just stares at me for a moment and storms out. At that point I pull up the federal statute on the computer I was working on and Mike comes in insisting that I'm making that who thing up. So I show him the law and he freezes.

OP: You can take me to court and I might have to pay a small fine and maybe even tear down the mailbox...but your life would be over. Mike: Maybe but you can't prove I did it ten times! OP:Actually I took photos of the damages so I can prove it was at least ten times... But even if I couldn't $250,000.00 is till A LOT of money...much more then your car is worth I'm sure. Would you really bankrupt yourself or even get yourself sent to prison to force me to pay you a grand or two for the car?

Mike stormed out of the classroom and never bothered me again.

The Best part was actually the domino effect this created. You see Mike didn't have enough credits to graduate on time. Wasted to much time trying to be a Dr Phil case I guess. I heard through that small town grapevine that he was eventually shunted over to adult programs by the school. Without his car, which was totaled, and unable to afford another (his mother bought the 1st one and refused to buy a second when she found out how he totaled it) he couldn't get to his classes and was eventually tossed out of school due to attendance problems. Without a diploma or GED he couldn't get into even a community college nor find proper work. Not having access to gainful employment left him living with his mother in a trailer, living off her and the occasional odd job he gets.

Meanwhile I'm now married with a child and living in beautiful subtropical Algarve in the south of Portugal in Europe.

Mike if your out there reading this I only have one real question....Just how did that Mailbox taste?

(source) story by (/u/ThorsHammer0999)

#prorevenge #by /u/ThorsHammer0999 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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itsmyusualphannie · 5 years ago

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something wrong in the village

Chapter 5/5: deuteronomy Beta: @candanandphilnot Rating: T Warnings: Read on ao3

Summary: Fiona Lester has a secret. Dan Howell thinks they hate each other. Dan meets an online friend and comes to realize something important about himself while juggling a changing relationship with his parents, friends, and Fiona.

~~~ previous chapter ~~~ first chapter ~~~

The next morning was a blur of drawing half-heartedly instead of paying attention, the mind-numbing droning of teachers, and a sidestepping game of avoidance with anyone who wanted to talk to Dan. He kept his head buried in his phone, which wasn’t hard since he and Phil were texting almost nonstop. He heard the whispers drifting around the entire school on the subject of the newly-decorated bathroom, but he didn’t go inside. He just waited.

He didn’t have to wait too long.

“Daniel Howell,” said a pleasant, yet stern, voice from the other side of Dan’s locker. The bustle of students moving to their next class was an indistinguishable racket around them.

Dan finished typing his message and sent it before slowly closing the door to his locker. It did not slam. “Yes?” he asked back, just as pleasant, but the principal did not look amused.

A finger quirked at him. “Come with me,” Dr Pentland said. She turned without waiting for a reply. He followed, slipping his phone into his pocket.

A minute later found him sitting slack-limbed in Dr Pentland’s office a few hallways away from his locker. He watched with disinterest as she settled into her cushioned chair. The one beneath him was hard, cold wood, no doubt intended to make the person sitting on it as uncomfortable as possible.

“Now,” said Dr Pentland, folding her hands in front of her on her desk and fixing Dan with a cool stare, “I’ve talked to a few people already about the vandalism that occurred in one of the restrooms on the far side of the school. I’m sure you’ve already heard about it.”

Dan blinked slowly at her and did not answer, but she was nonplussed. “I know that you’re...quite the artist, so even if you’re not the vandal, I’m sure you might know someone who was interested in this particular section of creative arts. I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble for something that another person committed, of course, and I know you wouldn’t want another mark on your record.”

“So you want me to tell you who spray-painted a full wall of colours that happen to resemble a trans flag?” asked Dan.

Her gaze was clear. “I’d like for you to tell me who caused the markings that the trans flag was painted over. I’m only one person, you see, and as much as I love going into rank teenager bathrooms, I don’t have the time. Therefore, I don’t see the chaos until something big brings enough attention to it. I might not have known what was there now, but I’ve heard enough from other students that I’ve been talking to this morning.”

Dan considered this for a long moment, but he finally shrugged. “I don’t know. Looks cool now, though,” as if he had not been more than a casual observer, “is it going to be taken down?” He tucked his fingers, stained with pink, blue, and white paint, beneath his legs. They felt heavy with the weight of the memory of working for over two hours on the wall art while the school settled quiet around him.

Dr Pentland finally smiled, the small expression breaking the stern set of her stare. “Unfortunately, I don’t think we have the funds for a bucket of paint to cover that up. We’ll have to leave it up for now, but I’ll certainly get right on that.”

Although Dan refused to like her, he could feel respect stirring somewhere deep in his chest. He couldn’t show it, though, so he just shrugged and picked at a loose thread on the side of his jeans. “Cool. Is that all?”

She regarded him for another long moment, cool blue gaze searching him, before she finally nodded, apparently satisfied with what she found. “We’re done,” she confirmed, but then she pointed a long, manicured nail at him, eyes narrowed. “Now listen, if I have to call you in here one more time this semester, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble. Not suspension trouble. Worse than that, understand?”

For the first time in a while, Dan met her gaze without looking away. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he said, and he was surprised to find that he meant it.

~~~

Dan met Fiona’s level stare in the hall with an unblinking one of his own and then he continued on, heading out of school and toward home. He didn’t look back, but something had sunk its fierce claws into his mind and it wouldn’t let go. Fiona’s sharp cheekbones, casual tilt of the head, wispy hair against a pale neck, wouldn’t escape him.

~~~

hey phil i told you about this person at school who i pissed off right? and then came out to my dad kind of i think and all that other shit that happened and then i graffiti-ed all over the wall of the school bathroom?

Graffiti-ed sounds gross. but yeah.

i think i need to apologize to the person i upset. even if i didn’t do it on purpose

Dan…

i’ll let you know how it goes. wish me luck lol

I don’t think you’ll need it.

~~~

The next day, a headache had settled deep into Dan’s mind, twining around his thoughts like a virus and pulsing in time with his heartbeat as he got dressed for school. He could only offer his mum a half-hearted wave as he left.

The first part of the morning was a headache-induced blur, but Dan stole by the nurse’s office to get pain medicine, so by the time he made it to his second class of the day, he felt a little more alert, albeit tired for no reason that he could garner. He was already slumped in his seat, pulling a sketchbook from his backpack, before he remembered that he was in English class.

He jumped, almost involuntarily, as he craned to glance over his shoulder, but no Fiona was present. The seat behind him was conspicuously empty. His chest bubbled, impatient to apologize in hopes to calm his nerves, but class wasn’t the right time to do it, anyway.

Dan closed his eyes and pulled in a slow breath. It didn’t really help. Other students bustled around him, finding their seats and chattering with classmates. Their teacher wasn’t there yet, so Dan opened his sketchbook and the sharpest of his various dull pencils and began sketching. His hands trembled minutely, either from the dull thud of the headache behind his eyes or from the nerves twisting his stomach, but he forced himself to tightly grip the pencil and drag it in quick flicks over the paper. The lazy form of a figure sprawled across a car hood formed over the rough sheet. There was nothing in it, the outline emotionless and flat, but it was something that Dan could focus on to help pass the time.

The eyes of this figure looked tired, though, and Dan could empathize with that. He filled them in, the grey of the pencil graphite etching a weary stare, and scribbled lazy eyelashes. The students around him quieted as everyone settled into their seats, but there was still a hum of chatter. Dan was curling his fingers over the slope of the figure’s neck when the door to the classroom thudded, and despite his effort to maintain his concentration, he looked up.

Their English instructor came inside, head tilted jauntily as she headed toward the front of the room. That wasn’t unusual of itself, but Dan’s gaze caught on the tall figure just behind her, head ducked and hands clasped behind a slumped back. Fiona.

“Good morning,” announced the teacher once she reached her desk, and as usual, her eyes narrowed at Dan. He defiantly dropped his pencil and ignored its skittering across his sketchbook. No one said “good morning” back, but their instructor was used to it. She did something different this morning, though. Dan watched as she stood wide-stanced in front of her desk, instead of behind it, and propped her hands on her hips. She surveyed the room with a quirked eyebrow and an unamused slant to her lips.

“Listen up,” she barked, and the room fell abruptly silent, the gaze of over two dozen teenagers affixed to her. She harrumphed. “Lester here has something to say to the class,” and yes, Fiona was stepping up next to their teacher, still staring down at the floor like the unending gaze could burn through it. “We’ve talked to the principal and a few other teachers this morning, so you might hear the same thing if you have another class with Lester. But if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it. This isn’t about you.”

Dan’s hand moved quietly to scoop up his pencil and he curled his fingers around it, letting the smooth edges dig into his palm. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the front of the room, and neither could any other students, apparently.

Fiona heaved in a slow, shuddering breath, finally looking up to survey the room beneath pale eyelashes, and Dan could see it from where he was near the back. He could feel the air in his own lungs catching in sympathy. The past few days of seeing Fiona in the halls, the confidence in every one of Fiona’s movements, crept in on him and he could only taste anxiety, the same nerves bubbling in his stomach making its way outwards. He wasn’t the one up there, but it felt like he was. The cold, metal edge of the pencil eraser bit into his fingertip.

Fiona took another breath. One more. Shoulders squared and jaw clenched. A warm blue gaze travelled the room. “Hi,” Fiona said. Lips quirked in a little smile. “I’m sure most of you know me, even if you haven’t talked to me, but I haven’t been completely honest with anyone here at school. So let me reintroduce myself.”

Dan’s breath slipped from his lips at the same moment the last words left Fiona’s.

“I wasn’t born male, but I am. I go by ‘he/him’ pronouns. My name is Phil Lester.”

For the second time in the years that they had known each other, Dan saw a genuine smile break loose on his self-proclaimed mortal enemy’s face. It flashed clear white teeth, etched wrinkles around bright eyes, and forced Dan to blink rapidly to keep it from blinding him. He couldn’t look away.

“Alright,” said their teacher, standing and clapping her hands as it was evident that nothing else was going to be said. “Thank you, Phil.”

Someone clapped for a moment in the corner before quieting abruptly, but the tension was broken. A few people began talking to each other under their breath, the usual in this class, but Dan’s lips were sealed as he watched Phil stuff his hands into his pockets and head toward the back of the room, offering a loose smile to everyone he passed. Only a few looked away from him, and Dan could overhear one girl whisper something to him, apparently an encouragement, as Phil’s lips stretched wider. He nodded at her and continued on, passing Dan and sliding into his seat with a flourish.

Dan slumped over his desk a little more, rolling his pencil between his fingers in a facsimile of interest for the lazy sketch before him, but his attention strained to the seat behind him, where Phil was loudly rearranging something. He could feel the back of his neck burning from their mutual proximity and only hoped that it wasn’t obvious. The nerves churning his stomach had settled for half a moment when Phil had swept past him, but now they were alive in earnest, battling against his ribs with a ferocity that had him pressing a hand to his chest.

And then Dan’s desk jolted. He heard a chuckle behind him and another, more careful kick, thumped against the leg of his chair. The vibrations burned into his thighs and back, somehow fighting back against the anxiety in his chest. The warmth in his neck travelled to his cheeks and he knew his face was burning as he ducked his head.

He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his lips, though.

Dan chewed on autopilot, but he didn’t taste the food he was eating. It was something tasteless and grey, shovelled thoughtlessly into his mouth and half-heartedly chewed. His gaze was fixed to the double doors on the far side of the cafeteria. The controlled chaos of a hundred students consuming lunch was a babbling stream in the background of his thoughts. Dan had left English class just as it ended, but he’d been to slow to catch Phil on the way to his next class, so he’d had to head to lunch. He’d caught one last glimpse of dark, quiffed hair and a laughing grin as Phil had vanished around the corner of the hallway while talking to someone else from their class.

“Hey, Danny boy!” A tray clattered to the table beside Dan, and he almost jumped, yanked heartily from his thoughts. He settled for frowning at the invader. It was Sam.

The other boy clapped him on the back and began digging into his meal with gusto. He talked around the bites he crammed into his mouth. “How’s it going? Didn’t see you much yesterday. Did you see that shit in the bathroom?”

Dan shuffled a few feet further from Sam down the bench. Any distance was better than nothing with him. He rolled his shoulders, trying and failing to discard the crawling feeling that came with the slap on his back. He didn’t reply, instead scooping up a limp vegetable and biting into it.

Sam wasn’t deterred. “...and then Johnathan said he’d ask around and help figure out who did it. It’s weird, y’know?”

“Sure,” said Dan absently. He was watching the open doors again. He didn’t know why he was - Phil wouldn’t be out of class for another ten minutes, at least - but every time someone dark-haired or tall or in any way resembling Phil walked through the door, his attention was yanked toward them without any conscious decision of his own.

“Oi lads!” another familiar voice interrupted Sam’s chatter. Two boys dropped onto the bench across from Dan and another slid in beside him. They dropped their trays to the table and dug in, beginning a conversation with Sam like they had been here this entire time. Dan sighed and sank over his meal, which was suddenly even less appetizing than it had been earlier. He kept a distracted eye on the doors while he pondered the fastest way to exit this trap.

He was given an opportunity only a second later, but he almost regretted wishing for it. One of the guys was in his English class too, usually tucked in the corner and obnoxiously ignoring their teacher with a bobbing head to the earphones he constantly had tucked in his ears. Dan knew his name with the vague knowledge of an acquaintance, but it wasn’t something he could bring to the forefront of his memory at this exact moment. When he started talking, though, Dan’s attention was snagged.

“Nah, Johnathan’ll be here later. But hey, did you guys hear about what happened in English class earlier? And another class, apparently.” He laughed uproariously, gesturing with his fork. A few mashed bits of carrot flew across the table and Dan watched them land on the top of Sam’s head as he bent to take another bite of his food. “Phil, eh?”

Dan’s hand tightened so suddenly around his plastic spoon that it creaked ominously in his hand. His mind reeled between both his classmate and the phone in his pocket, and he realized that he hadn’t talked to his Phil since early that morning before his first class.

One of the other guys snorted, taking a bite out of his sandwich and talking around it. “Yeah, I think we found the person who did the shit in the bathroom? Fiona thinks she’s so cool, eh?”

More laughs of agreement. More loud chewing.

Dan’s stomach roiled and he pressed a hand against it, glaring down at his tray of bland cafeteria food with a look that he wished he could dare to lift and direct at the thoughtless group of chattering boys around him. He wondered if he would be doing the same thing if he hadn’t gone through what he had the past few weeks. Maybe if he hadn’t known Phil for years, or hadn’t met Phil’s older brother Martyn, or had never signed up for a stupid location-based friend website. He was different than he had been a month ago though, and Dan hadn’t felt it happening, but a feeling clawing its way out of his chest told him that he couldn’t just listen to what was happening and do nothing about it. There wasn’t much that he could do, but there was something. That feeling scrabbled its way to his heart and clamped warm hands around the beating pulse of his life. The nerves settled abruptly in his stomach and his head felt clearer than it had in a very long time, the headache from that morning dissipated.

“He,” said Dan, too quiet to be heard over the chatter around him, and he heaved a breath and tried again. “He,” he said, louder, and all four boys at the table looked at him. A piece of lettuce hung unattractively between Sam’s lips.

“What?” said one of them after a moment.

Dan set his spoon on top of the half-eaten food. “His name is Phil,” he said, and despite his sudden rush of courage, he felt his hands shaking. He folded his fingers around the sides of the tray to hide the trembling. “And you might not get that, but it’s not that hard. He’s a fucking guy and you need to respect that.”

They gaped at him, every one stunned into silence. Dan climbed out of his seat, picking up his tray and clutching it to his chest.

“Also,” he added, something like glee bubbling inside him, “I was the one who painted the flag in the bathroom.” He waited a moment longer, absorbing their dumbfounded expressions, and then he laughed quietly to himself and left the lunch room.

~~~

It only took him a few minutes to make his way to the bathroom that he had illegally decorated. The bell rung as he headed out of the lunch room, so the halls were crowded and he had to manoeuvre his way around the rush. He didn’t think he would ever again talk to those guys that he had once called friends. They didn’t do anything for him, and he clearly had done nothing for them.

He texted as he walked, pulling out his phone and texting the person he had messaged more than anyone else in his life over the past month. He didn’t get any immediate replies, but he didn’t expect anything right away, in any case.

you’re not going to believe what happened so that person i fucked up with came out in class today and he has the same name as you what are the odds lol

He almost ran over a girl leaving the bathroom, but she just raised an unimpressed eyebrow and held the door open for him to slip past.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing back at her, and that’s right when he ran over someone else.

Well, he ran into someone else. He hit them solidly and bounced back, arms flailing for balance. Something in his backpack crunched ominously when he landed against the wall only a foot behind him.

The door shut beside him, the girl who’d held it open vanishing into the crowd outside the bathroom. Dan winced and straightened up, rubbing the elbow he’d banged against the wall alongside his backpack. “Sorry - ” he started, but then he saw who he’d run into.

It was Phil, formerly Fiona, formerly Dan’s self-declared enemy. He stood with an amused tilt to his lips, watching Dan with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Everything that Dan had ever known about him was the same, but it was somehow so different. That posture Dan had noticed before was just a new confidence that Phil hadn’t owned before.

Light from the small window in the corner fell across the back of Phil’s head, his shoulders, and illuminated a wide square of the wall behind him. It reflected the tall blue, pink, and white colours from the wall to cast Phil in a halo of bright colours. A perfect rectangle of the three colours was splashed across his cheek.

Dan couldn’t look away from the reflected light, or maybe it was the arch of Phil’s cheekbone that held him captive. “Hi,” he finally said dumbly.

Phil hadn’t moved this entire time. He cocked his head, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Hey,” he said.

“I’m.” Dan took a shuddering breath, and he remembered the past few days, and the phone in his back pocket, and the way his dad had talked to him. He opened his mouth, but nothing escaped for a moment, but when Phil’s open expression began to slide away, he forced himself to speak.

“I wanted to - I want to,” he corrected himself hastily, “apologize to you.”

Phil’s eyebrows arched high on his forehead. “For what?”

“For, uh,” said Dan, but all of the words he had tried to memorize, the half-planned speech he had arranged, flew away in the presence of the one person who Dan still wasn’t sure how to feel about. He scrounged for something to say, but had to take a deep breath, shake away the cobwebs threading his thoughts, and start again.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “about being a prat the past four years. I know it was both of us, but I had a part in it, and it never should have gone on as long as it did. I’m sorry for punching you in class. Sorry for, uh...throwing eggs at you that one time.”

Phil snorted a little laugh them, and although he wasn’t smiling, Dan took that as an encouragement to continue.

“I’m sorry I got you into trouble as much as I did. I was young and stupid when it started, and I’m probably still young and stupid, but I don’t want you to think I hate you or anything. I...don’t think I actually ever did.” Dan heaved a deep breath and finally let his gaze fall to the floor, free from Phil’s unending stare. The linoleum was scratted and pitted with scars, stained suspiciously every few feet. By some miracle, the bathroom was empty but for the two of them, but Dan had no doubt that someone else would be ducking inside the bathroom any moment now.

“Is that all?” Phil finally said, and Dan’s head snapped back up.

“I - ”

Phil laughed, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I just...I should apologize too. It wasn’t just you. We were both involved and you didn’t force me to fight back.”

Dan couldn’t tear his gaze from the jut of Phil’s collarbone peering over the edge of his shirt. “Oh,” slipped out, but he pulled in a quick breath and added, “It...that wasn’t only because you just came out, though. I was already planning it before you said that.”

Smile wrinkles etched their way around Phil’s eyes, almost familiar with how often Dan was seeing them now. “Yeah,” Phil said. “I know.”

Dan just blinked at him.

“I should...probably apologize for something, too,” Phil added. “I mean, I didn’t know for sure until yesterday, when this was revealed.” He gestured over his shoulder, at the colours and pride sprawled across the wall for all to see.

“Oh,” said Dan, but he still had no idea what Phil meant, and it was clearly evident because Phil laughed quietly.

“I’ll show you,” he said, and reached for his pocket. Long fingers reemerged with a slender phone, which Phil unlocked swiftly and tapped at for a few moments, and then stopped and looked back up at Dan.

An instant later, Dan’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. He didn’t move right away, but at a tilt of Phil’s head, he reached back to pull it out. His heartbeat thudded in his ears as he swiped at it and revealed a new message from his contact “phil the fellow nerd.”

Dan Howell, you’re kind of an idiot.

Their gazes met, understanding sparking in one and warmth in the other. It all made sense now. It couldn’t feel more right.

“Oh,” said Dan, and he felt a smile breaking across his face. It almost hurt, the sheer surprise and joy making itself known in his expression, but it was matched by Phil’s answering grin.

“So,” said Phil. He moved for the first time since Dan had almost run him over, taking a few steps to stand just in front of him. Dan could feel the warmth of his body crawling across the distance between them.

“Friends?”

~~~ previous chapter ~~~ first chapter ~~~

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phanfic au #high school #trans phil #misunderstandings

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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Bad Girls Club (Branjie) Chapter 7 - Joley

ao3 link

“So, how have you been?”

It was the most innocuous question possible, but Brooke Lynn already felt like she was in an interrogation room – the kind where the only light came from a lamp that was being shone in her face. Her hands were clammy, and her gaze fixated on the table. The pounding in her chest coupled with a ringing in her ears and made it near impossible to think straight. “Good enough,” she answered with no idea if it was actually her voice.

Kameron gave a short nod of understanding. “Maybe not the best question to ask, all things considered,” she conceded. “But I couldn’t leave without catching up with you, and maybe a few other things…”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

She quirked her brow before laughing and shaking her head. “No, no, that ship has sailed. I’m much more interested in whatever’s going on between you and that little firecracker you were staring at the whole time. This is new for you and I’m intrigued.”

Brooke flushed a deep red, swallowing thickly and clearing her throat. “Why are you so interested in my love life? I figured you of all people would be the last to want to meddle.” In this camp alone, she could think of at least three more obvious suspects for that sort of thing.

Kameron shrugged. “My shift ended, and I have an hour to kill, might as well make you squirm. Besides, I meant it when I said you and I are cool – just because you’re used to everyone lying and being passive aggressive doesn’t mean I’m looped into that.”

And she had a point – realizing that some people actually do mean what they say was an important life lesson Brooke Lynn had been taking away from her time here. It had been jarring at first, how blunt everyone could be, but she had come to appreciate the fact that, nine times out of ten, she knew exactly what she was getting into with someone. Sure, growing up in an emotionally repressed environment made her more intuitive, but at the cost of constantly questioning where she actually stood with people. “So, what, you’re gonna mediate some sort of therapy session between us?”

“Oh, good idea!”

“Wait, no—” But she was already being dragged across the dining hall.

Then Kameron got a hold of Vanessa’s wrist with her free hand and suddenly they were both being escorted outside without anyone around them giving it a second thought. This allowed her to take the girls outside, sitting in a patch of grass. “Okay, ladies! Couples’ therapy is in session.”

“Couples?” Both girls questioned in unison.

“Situationship therapy isn’t as catchy, work with me,” she rolled her eyes. “Now, tell Dr. Michaels what the trouble is.”

“Hey, I wanna see your medical license!” Vanessa could feel Kameron’s glare burning a hole into the side of her head, and – despite the fact it did make Brooke laugh – she gave in. “Fine, fine,” she sighed dramatically. “I took it personally when Brooke Lynn said she wanted to forget this place and go back to her normal life because it felt like I don’t mean nothing to her. Can I go now?”

“That’s not how therapy works. Sit,” Kameron reprimanded and watched Vanessa sit with crossed arms and furrowed brows, finding her defiant pout almost amusing.

Brooke Lynn, on the other hand, was far less amused. “That’s what this was about? My family life is strained to the breaking point, my future has been dangling in the balance, I have no fucking idea what sort of hell on earth I could be facing when I go back to school, and you made all of that about yourself?” She was seething, vitriol shooting off every word. It was hard to avoid tripping over herself as she scrambled to her feet. “This is beyond playing Dr. Phil, Kameron. This is… I don’t know what the fuck this is, other than fucking insane.” Turning on her heel, she all but sprinted off.

Vanessa was quick on her feet despite the sudden panic that sunk her heart into the pit of her stomach. “Brooke! Brooke Lynn, wait! Let me explain!” she shouted, running as fast as her short legs would carry her across the wide expanse of grass.

Even though Kameron suddenly found herself left in the dust, she was unfazed. She nodded observantly, brows knitting together. “Guess ‘marriage counselor’ is off the potential career list,” she decided, brushing herself off and returning to the dining hall. The other girls from her group had asked about her disappearance with marginal interest but accepted ‘just needed some air’ at face value.

Meanwhile, Brooke Lynn had made it nearly a quarter mile down the camp’s nature trail before Vanessa caught up to her. Sure, she could have pushed it further, but despite her fury, she knew she couldn’t outrun the inevitable confrontation forever. They did still share a room, after all – and it was way too far into the summer to try to change that. She whirled around, making the other girl skid to a halt, dirt kicking up at her heels. “Fine. Talk,” Brooke snapped.

There was a brief moment where Vanessa forgot all she had to say, but as soon as she began, the words flowed out. “Look, I know I always be walkin’ around like I’m the shit and all that. And I don’t really suffer from no low self-esteem or whatever, but I know I’m not smart, I know I probably won’t ever amount to nothing. So when someone like you, someone so fucking far out of my league… when whatever we had started… I don’t know, I felt special.” She looked away and sniffled, a wave of humiliation hitting her as she forced herself to come to terms with what had been building up inside of her over the past few weeks. “Then you started talking about going home and it was the reality check I was afraid of. Guess I was mad at you ‘cause I was mad at myself or something.”

Brooke Lynn didn’t know what she was expecting Vanessa to say – she had learned early on in their relationship that anticipating anything that came out of her mouth was essentially impossible – but that confession had caught her completely off guard. There was an emotional self-awareness that blew her away. She was sure A’keria had helped her get there, but that didn’t lessen how impressed she was. But at the same time, her heart broke for her – those insecurities were real and raw and spoke volumes about who Vanessa was. Yes, she was still frustrated, but it was hard to stay angry at her, leaving her quiet as she took it all in.

“You probably hate me now, huh?”

The brokenness in Vanessa’s voice hit her again. Brooke shook her head, shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “I could never hate you. I just don’t have it in me.” She exhaled deeply, looking up at the bright, sunny sky. It almost mocked them with how perfectly cheery it was, like the sun had no right to shine that bright when their hearts felt so dark and heavy. “And for what it’s worth, you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit. You are the very definition of special, Vanessa.” There was a brief pause before she followed up with, “I meant that as a compliment, not shade.”

Vanessa managed a soft laugh, pushing the hair out of her eyes, even if her gaze was fixed squarely on the ground. “I know what you meant,” she assured and let out a deep sigh. When her mom would say that sort of thing to her, she could never fully shake the sense that there was a hint of obligation – your mom has to tell you you’re special, right? But when Brooke said it, it felt real and made her feel special. “So, where we at now?”

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Brooke Lynn hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Meet me at the lake after dinner, we’ll see how we feel then.” The lake had grown to have a sentimental meaning for them – if there were any spot to determine their fate, that had to be it.

“We’ll see how we feel,” Vanessa echoed and turned to make the walk back to the dining hall. It felt like such a long trek when she wasn’t chasing after someone.

“It kind of sounds like you’ve got your course of action figured out,” Nina mused observantly. “What are you looking for me to tell you, exactly?”

Brooke shrugged, tugging at the strings hanging off the frayed ends of her denim shorts. “I just wish I knew how to figure out what I feel. I’m used to everything being clear cut. Vanessa is just… She’s so… I’ve never met anyone like her before. And no one has ever made me feel like this before.”

Her teacher let out a good-natured laugh and shook her head. “I swear, it’s like you forget that you’re seventeen. You’re experiencing a lot of firsts, that’s what being a teenager is all about. I think meeting someone like Vanessa is good for you, and no matter what your relationship ends up being, I think you’ll have grown for it.”

“That doesn’t make this any easier.” She kicked her legs and whined. “This is tonight, I need to bring an answer or I’m gonna look like an asshole.”

“You’re overthinking things again, Brooke,” Nina gently pointed out. “All you need to do is speak from the heart and the rest will follow.” At the end of the day, she knew the teen wanted an impossible solution that wrapped up her story in a neat bow. While she was flattered by her unwavering faith, she just couldn’t seem to drive home the reality of the situation.

Brooke rolled her eyes dramatically and laid back on the desk. “God, that’s so lame. Does Monét like that sort of cheesy shit?” Deflecting to their relationship seemed to be a go-to for both herself and Vanessa when they didn’t want to be faced with the reality of their circumstances.

It was most likely due to the fact that it always garnered the same reaction – the teachers would recoil and blush. They would stammer and lose their train of thought and give the flustered teens a moment to recuperate.

Unfortunately for Brooke, Nina seemed unfazed this time around. In fact, she smirked. “Actually, she does,” she grinned. “And do you know why I know that? Because we talk and communicate our feelings like human beings. You should try it.”

“You didn’t have to come for me like that,” Brooke mumbled. Nina must have picked that up from Monét, she thought and momentarily regretted her matchmaking decision.

A’keria looked at Vanessa with pursed lips and furrowed brows. She pensively cocked her head to the side, and it took much longer than her friend would have liked before she started talking. “You’re a hot fucking mess, you know that, right? You both are.”

“Maybe so.” Vanessa clicked her tongue. “But that doesn’t answer my question, bitch. What the fuck am I s’posed to do at the lake?”

The eyeroll she received in response wasn’t helpful, but it wasn’t unexpected either. “Have you ever solved a romantic problem by yourself? When you gonna realize that there ain’t no one that can tell you how to feel about Brooke Lynn. That’s between you and her.”

Vanessa pouted and crossed her arms, actively looking down and away from her. “Look, you know damn well I ain’t never gonna meet another girl like her… Maybe that’s for the best. But I don’t wanna fuck this shit up. I’ll never forgive myself if I do.”

A’keria sighed, her expression softening. She wrapped her arm around the smaller girl and squeezed her shoulder. “Vanjie, even if it is the worst-case scenario – you guys don’t work out and don’t see each other again – life goes on. Your heart will heal, and you’ll find another girl worthy of all the love you’ve got to give and will welcome it with open arms.”

Deep in her heart, Vanessa knew there was truth in her friend’s words. She had healed her broken heart before, life had gone on. Even with that, however, she couldn’t let go of the idea that this would be her ‘one that got away,’ the ‘what if’ that she would look back on with a sense of longing when she was old and gray. But she didn’t have the words to convey that sense of fear. “I guess so.”

It wasn’t an especially convincing statement, but A’keria knew when to stop pushing. She gave her a hug from the side before letting go and standing up. “Come on, let’s get a snack or something. Can’t have romantic revelations on an empty stomach, right?”

The lake was as serene as ever when Vanessa and Brooke Lynn approached it. Crickets were chirping, the water was still, the full moon illuminated the picturesque scene. It was just the neutral environment that they needed for this conversation.

They sat down cross-legged and faced each other. It took what felt like ages (but in reality, was less than a minute) before either of them spoke, but Vanessa was the one to break the silence.

“I thought I’d know what to say when I got here, but I still don’t know shit,” she confessed. “All I know is I’m tired of fighting with you and worrying about everything I do. I don’t care if I’m not good enough for you – one of the first things you said to me was that we’re equal here.”

Brooke Lynn shook her head. “I don’t want you to think you not being good enough is the issue. I’m not better than you because of where I come from, or at all.” She reached out and took her hands. “Why don’t we just make the most of the time we have together?”

Vanessa didn’t need clarification when it came to that. She moved closer until she was sat on Brooke’s lap, her arms draped around her neck and their lips connecting in a tender kiss. That was all they needed, it seemed, for all their worries and fears to melt away.

Brooke’s arms wrapped around Vanessa’s waist and held her close as the kiss deepened. After a moment, she slipped her hand under her shirt, pushing it up inch by inch before she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” she breathed out.

“And you not half bad yourself,” Vanessa smirked, trailing kisses along her jaw and down her neck, until her lips latched onto her pulse point and left a hickey in its wake. If the moan Brooke let out was any clue, that was the right spot, leading her to pay extra attention to the dark, purple mark that was forming, only breaking contact to take her shirt off as well.

They didn’t talk much after that – instead, there was an eager, haphazard mess of limbs as they tried to undress each other as quickly as they could manage, each article of clothing landing somewhere in the grass.

When they were naked, Vanessa pinned Brooke to the ground, a mischievous smirk on her lips. Normally, she would have submitted control to the blonde, but she wanted to channel everything she had been feeling over the past few days into the perfect, lustful expression. She trailed her lips down her body, not leaving an inch of skin untouched.

While Vanessa’s hand moved between Brooke Lynn’s thighs, her mouth moved to both of her breasts, massaging her nipples with her tongue and savoring the moans it elicited. She started with her hand by pressing her thumb to her clit, rubbing in small circles while she slowly kissed down to her lower abdomen.

“Turn around, baby. I wanna take care of you too,” Brooke insisted, and – despite Vanessa’s original plan – she had her hands bracing on her hips in a matter of seconds. She didn’t wait for her to start before she traced her tongue in a line down her slit before wiggling it inside.

“Fuck…” Vanessa exhaled softly, momentarily distracted before she gathered herself enough to reciprocate. She had a firm grip on Brooke’s thighs, fingernails digging into her flesh as she licked and sucked on her clit with a fervor that was reserved exclusively for her.

Vanessa’s skill and enthusiasm had a clear effect on Brooke Lynn. Her body twitched and trembled under her touch, causing her own ministrations to be erratic and fierce. She was the first to come, too, moaning out despite how stifled it was.

Even though she couldn’t hear it clearly, Vanessa knew when she had gotten Brooke off, paying extra attention to work her through her orgasm. It wasn’t until she was certain she was spent before she shifted to just riding her face, clasping her hand over her mouth in a vain attempt at keeping quiet – the last thing they needed was to wake up an adult.

Brooke was able to focus all of her attention on eating Vanessa out as soon as she was able to move her body as she needed to, her hands roaming the expanse of her thighs and torso while she refused to come up for air.

“O-Oh god, fuck, fuck, Brooke!” Staying quiet proved to be too difficult of a task when Vanessa approached her climax. She bit down on her lip, whimpering and whining as she rode it out.

When Vanessa had calmed down from her orgasmic high, Brooke scooped her up in her arms and held her close. They lay in relative silence – their breathing still audibly heavy – and basked in the warmth of each other’s bodies.

Maybe this did clear the fog of confused emotions that had incessantly followed them, or maybe it threw a wrench into things. All either of them knew was that there was nowhere in the world they’d rather be than in each other’s arms.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #lesbian au #teen au #bad girls club #joley

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missjanjie · 5 years ago

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Branjie Fic | Bad Girls Club (7/8)

Title: Bad Girls Club Summary: Los Angeles’ new program, the Juvenile Female Rehabilitation Program (JFRP) was created with the purpose of taking at-risk girls in the county and send them to a summer-long program located where a sleepaway camp once stood. There, they will take classes in ethics, behavior, and other courses to help mold these young minds. Brooke Lynn and Vanessa have been sent there for wildly different reasons, but with the same result - a clean permanent record. Being roomed together, the pair might find an unlikely alliance (and maybe more) in each other. Word Count: ~3k (this chapter)/~19.2k (total) Relationship: Branjie (Brooke Lynn Hytes/Vanessa Vanjie Mateo) Rating: E

Read on AO3

------

“So, how have you been?”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

“Oh, good idea!”

“Wait, no—” But she was already being dragged across the dining hall.

“Couples?” Both girls questioned in unison.

“Situationship therapy isn’t as catchy, work with me,” she rolled her eyes. “Now, tell Dr. Michaels what the trouble is.”

“That’s not how therapy works. Sit,” Kameron reprimanded and watched Vanessa sit with crossed arms and furrowed brows, finding her defiant pout almost amusing.

“You probably hate me now, huh?”

“We’ll see how we feel,” Vanessa echoed and turned to make the walk back to the dining hall. It felt like such a long trek when she wasn’t chasing after someone.

------

“It kind of sounds like you’ve got your course of action figured out,” Nina mused observantly. “What are you looking for me to tell you, exactly?”

“That doesn’t make this any easier.” She kicked her legs and whined. “This is tonight, I need to bring an answer or I’m gonna look like an asshole.”

“You didn’t have to come for me like that,” Brooke mumbled. Nina must have picked that up from Monét, she thought and momentarily regretted her matchmaking decision.

------

“Maybe so.” Vanessa clicked her tongue. “But that doesn’t answer my question, bitch. What the fuck am I s’posed to do at the lake?”

------

They sat down cross-legged and faced each other. It took what felt like ages (but in reality, was less than a minute) before either of them spoke, but Vanessa was the one to break the silence.

“O-Oh god, fuck, fuck, Brooke!” Staying quiet proved to be too difficult of a task when Vanessa approached her climax. She bit down on her lip, whimpering and whining as she rode it out.

#branjie #branjie fic #rpdr rpf

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reckoningss · 6 years ago

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The Shield - Part 2

Summary: Homicide detectives Mia Wallace and Thor Odinson are partners with a reputation for closing tough cases. The latest, however, proves to be more difficult than the others as the two contend with a killer with an interesting MO, an overbearing District Attorney, and unreconciled feelings.

Pairing: Detective!Thor x OC (Mia Wallace)

Warnings: Violence. Like seriously, guys. It’s about homicide detectives and serial murder. Descriptions of blood and death. BEWARE!!!

Wordcount: 2.5k

A/N: Buckle up, bros.

The latest crime scene was an expensive apartment carved out of what used to be a classic brownstone. Mia noted the traditional architecture with appreciation as they stepped inside and ascended the stairs. When they reached the third floor her nose wrinkled almost of its own accord at the distinct chlorine-like smell in the air. There was a dankness in the building - a sticky, cool humidity that clung to their faces as they strode down the hallway toward the open apartment door where first responders filed in and out. A glance at Thor confirmed that he noticed the same thing.

The reason for the clammy atmosphere became more apparent to the pair as soon as they crossed the threshold into the apartment and Mia’s first step squished wetly into the thick carpet. She grimaced.

“Why is the floor wet?”

“Doer left the sink on,” one of the CSI’s, Phil, explained as he walked over to hand Mia and Thor each a pair of gloves. The entire forensics crew was sporting standard issue, white fully body suits complete with hoods and plastic shoe covers. Mia gratefully accepted a pair from one of the responding officers. “Only reason we found her so soon was because the water started leaking into the adjacent flats and the one directly below. The entire apartment was flooded two inches deep when we got here.”

Mia and Thor shared a knowing look. “So forensics is pretty much fucked.” Phil nodded grimly at her assessment as she and Thor followed him to the kitchen.

“So what’ve we got?” Thor asked as they squeezed through the door. A crime scene tech placed a yellow square on the counter for reference and took a photo, the flash painting the scene like a garish tableau.

The victim, a pretty brunette of about 30 was slumped in front of the kitchen sink, her hands bound to the faucet with twine to keep them in the stainless steel basin. A bright pink cleaning sponge was clutched tightly in one pale hand while a chipped piece of fine china was perched in the other.

“Looks like a Rockwell.” quipped the second CSI, snapping another picture. Mia scowled at the moniker.

It would seem that this was the latest in a rash of murders plaguing the upper east side. The killer chose his targets with precision, each was a well-to-do professional woman, all unmarried and in their thirties. Each found strangled and posed with absolute attention to detail as though they were doing some sort of housework. They had found the first victim slumped over an ironing board. The second was propped up on a stool over a hot stove. The third had been positioned on her hands and knees beneath her living room coffee table, a feather duster in hand. The supposed domesticity of these poses was what inspired the distasteful nickname. All it took was one narrow-minded tabloid columnist to liken the killer to Sam Rockwell and the rest was history. For better or worse, the name stuck.

Phil sidled around them to stand near the body. “Annette Gordon, 35, account executive.” Leaning in, he gently lifted the shoulder-length hair away from her neck to reveal ligature marks. “Strangled, we’re thinking in the bedroom - identical patterning as the others. Then stabbed.”

Thor furrowed his brow at that. “Stabbed? You sure this is our guy?”

Phil nodded. “Posed post-mortem.” He lifted the plate and sponge out of her hands, slipping them into two plastic evidence bags held open by other CSIs, then gently lifted one wrist, sliding a gloved finger beneath the string. “See? No bruising on the wrists.”

Mia noted the chipped fingernails on the otherwise pristine hands. “She put up a fight?” The tech hummed the affirmative and she looked to her partner. “That might account for the stabbing.”

Phil retrieved a pair of scissors from a kit lying on the counter and carefully cut through the twine, causing the body to slump into the arms of a waiting forensic tech. He laid her gently onto a sheet of clear plastic that covered the floor as the lead tech slipped the wet twine into an evidence bag. Mia almost gasped at what she saw. Phil squatted down next to the body and pointed a gloved hand to the angry red gash marring the woman’s torso.

“The blade entered here;” he pointed to a spot above her navel, “and then continued up. sharp blade too” His fingertip followed the wound. Mia looked around the kitchen. The floors were wet but clean.

“There’s not nearly enough blood in here for a wound like that. What’s the bedroom look like?”

“Signs of a struggle but more of the same. Some blood but not enough to account for this. But the water might’ve helped with that some. And it probably contributed to the disheveled display.”

Thor looked unconvinced. “Doesn’t make sense. How would he get rid of all that blood?”

Phil shook his head. “There’s nothing here. He must’ve found a way to catch most of it and take it with him.”

“He’d have to get rid of it somewhere. Parker!” The young beat cop stuck his head into the kitchen, wide eyes trained on Thor. “Have some uniforms search dumpsters within a ten block radius. Our doer wouldn’t want to be seen walking around with a bucket of blood.”

A flurry of speech erupted from the hall and Mia could hear the distinct sound of the officers watching the door trying (and failing) to hold the perimeter. Sharing a confused look, the partners followed the noise to the living room just in time to see a woman in a skirt suit cross the crime scene tape. Mia recognized the thin frame and delicately rouged cheeks. She also recognized the air of entitled authority when the woman opened her mouth.

“I want to see her.”

Thor stepped toward her offering a hand as her low pumps sunk into the sodden carpet, she accepted it immediately. “Ms. Carter.”

“Sharon, please.”

“Sharon,” Mia interjected, stepping out from behind Thor’s broad back into the woman’s line of vision, “you can’t be here.”

Carter shot Mia a flat look and the detective felt herself bristle. “I’m the District Attorney, I have every right to view the cases I will be prosecuting.”

Mia tried to keep her annoyance in check but she knew it was bleeding into her tone. “This is an active crime scene.”

“So hand me some booties and take me to the body.”

A crime scene tech scurried over with a pair of booties and the DA leaned against Thor’s arm as she pulled them on. He didn’t miss the caustic look his partner was giving him over the attorney’s head and he hung back when Phil led Sharon to the kitchen.

“She shouldn’t be here.” The words were out of Mia’s mouth before they’d even made it into the other room.

Thor shrugged. “She’s taking an interest in the case.”

“That’s great, but the case is still in progress and she’s in the way.”

“She’s just trying to help.”

It was at moments like this that Mia wished her partner wasn’t so endlessly generous.

“What she’s trying to do isn’t as important as what she’s actually doing.”

DA Carter returned to the living room followed by Phil. “This has to end. Where are we with the investigation?”

“We’re following some leads but as of yet there hasn’t been much to go on,” admitted Thor.

“Have you swept the streets? Why aren’t you bringing anyone in?”

“We’ve conducted some interviews,” Mia managed through gritted teeth, “But we don’t think rounding up random men from the street would be a very responsible use of our resources. We’re working from a profile, it just takes time.” She doubted that Sharon was paying much attention to her explanation; the district attorney was already punching a number into her phone and raising it to her diamond studded ear.

“We don’t have time. Women don’t feel safe in their own homes. The city deserves better than this. You need to pick it up.”

There was no time for a response, DA Carter was already striding out into the hallway and listing demands to her assistant on the other end of the line.

The following afternoon, Mia sat across from the department psychologist Dr. Steven Strange who was going over crime scene photos as Mia slid them to him across her desk. “The stabbing is new. He’s stuck pretty strictly to strangulation up to this point.”

Dr. Strange hummed low in his throat as he inspected a photo of Annette’s stab wound. “The deviation from his usual MO is definitely interesting. All of the previous murders have shown us a lot about him but I think this one is more revealing than all of them.” He shuffled through the photos again until he found the one he was looking for - a close up of one of Annette’s hands. “I think you were onto something with the defensive wounds. The previous victims showed no defensive wounds, suggesting that he was able to convince them to comply or subdue them - either way, an indication of intelligence - but Annette fought back, setting him off.” He pushed the picture of the wound back to the center of the desk. “Look here. There’s overkill but there’s also restraint. He broke character but was able to maintain a high level of organization.”

Thor snorted from his position perched on the edge of your desk. He tossed a red stress ball into the air and caught it. “Nearly gutting a woman and then flooding her apartment doesn’t quite read as organized.”

“True,” Strange responded placidly, “but after stabbing her he managed to collect and dispose of the blood and pose the body like he usually would. Flooding the apartment was probably just an afterthought, a forensic countermeasure in case he left behind some evidence during the struggle.”

“So what? We’re looking for a smart guy, white, mid-thirties who had a bad relationship with his mother? That’s half of the upper east side.”

“I’d venture to say father,” interjected Strange. “The lack of overkill at every crime scene says a lot. There’s bitterness, yes, and unmistakable hatred for women in professional settings. But that kind of hatred is taught. Probably by a bitter father who constantly tells his son that women belong in the home. This guy is a narcissist who sees himself as some sort of performance artist, which is why he sticks so close to MO after such a drastic shift in tactics.”

Mia stayed quiet during this exchange, mulling over the crime scene again and again. “He’s getting sloppy.”

Both heads swiveled toward her. “Annette caught him off guard, I wouldn’t be surprised if she got a piece of him. So he lashes out and then he has to cover his tracks. Think about it. We wouldn’t have found her for another day at least if he hadn’t flooded the apartment. He’s going to make a mistake and we’re going to be there when he does.”

Mia’s revelation was rewarded with a reassuring smile from Thor, one that suffused her chest with warmth. It was short-lived.

“You two! Up and at ‘em.” Mia and Thor both looked to the far end of the squad room where their captain, Nick Fury, was stepping out of his office. “You’ve got a date with the DA.”

The look on Thor’s face was identical to Mia’s own. “Come again?”

“Ms. Carter has announced a press conference to address the Rockwell killings and she’s asked for the two of you to be there.” He made a show of checking the old timepiece on his left wrist. “You’ll have just enough time to grab a coffee on your way to City Hall.”

Mia watched Thor shoot the stress ball into the open drawer of her desk before rising from his position to gather his coat. He pulled the keys to the squad car from his pocket, dangling them from his index finger. “Wanna drive?” She didn’t budge.

Fury narrowed his eyes at her. “What’s the holdup, Wallace?”

Mia leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms and trying to adopt a diplomatic tone. “Why us?”

“Because,” Fury drawled as though he were talking to a child, “you’re the two detectives on the case.”

“Yes, but I hardly think we need to be there for her to grandstand. You could send two uniforms, we’re not going to be the focus, she is. That’s the point.”

Captain Fury stalked toward Mia’s Desk, the same quiet deadliness in his gait that she recognized from other times she questioned his authority just a little too much. One thick hand was planted in the center of her desk and he leaned in so they were eye to eye. “Be that as it may, she doesn’t work for us as much as we work for her. And if we want her to keep frying the fish we catch, we’ve got to scratch her back sometimes, so trim your fingernails and get uptown. Now.”

Mia knew better than to argue with that.

A flock of citizens, journalists and reporters had gathered on the sidewalk below city hall. Mia could see their faces - all wide and bright with anticipation as they waited for the DA - from where she stood shoulder to shoulder with Thor on the steps. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this press conference wasn’t going to go well for them. The tittering crowd fell under a hush as the large doors of City Hall swung wide and Sharon began to make her way down the steps. She stopped midway at a podium that had been set up for her. As she took her position Mia couldn’t help but notice the delicate curve of her neck and the stately air with which she held herself. She acted like the president rather than a district attorney. It was all foreign to Mia; she never craved the spotlight.

“Today,” Sharon began, her voice clear and confident, “I have a message. Not only for you watching and listening today but a message to one man. I have something to say to the man that has been terrorizing the inhabitants of our city. You are a coward. sneaking through windows in the middle of the night to try to snuff out the women that make you feel inferior. Well, You. Can’t. The women of this city are brilliant. We are resilient. And we are stronger than you.”

Mia snuck a glance at Thor out of the corner of her eye, uneasiness beginning to creep up her spine at the direction she felt the press conference taking. His eyes remained forward, his face a mask of stoicism.

Sharon continued, seemingly emboldened. “I want you to know that we are hot on your tail. We are breathing down your neck. We will catch you; and when we do, I - a woman - will personally see to it that you pay for your crimes with your life. This will not end well for you. You’ve been warned.”

Sharon, done lambasting the unknown killer to the press, offered the cameras a final, cutting look before turning away from the podium and retracing her steps back up the stairs. Mia looked over the stunned onlookers, the entire crowd evidently under the thrall of the DA’s caustic words. The silence stretched on for a second that felt like eons...and then broke beneath a tumult of shouts and camera flashes.

Part 3

Tagged: @karmezii

#Thor Odinson #Thor x Reader #Thor x you #Thor fic #Marvel Fic #mcu #Avengers #Thor Imagine #Thor AU #Marvel #Detective AU #Thor x Reader Angst #Thor x Reader fluff #Thor x OC #My writing #Thor Series #Cop!Au #Detective!Au #Thor x oc series

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spongeekat · 6 years ago

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The 6 Times Peter Wanted To Reveal his Identity (And the 1 Time He Did) Chapter 3

Chapters: 3/7 Fandom: Spider-Man - All Media Types , Deadpool - All Media Types , Marvel Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson Characters: Peter Parker, Wade Wilson, Mary Jane Watson, Eleanor Camacho Additional Tags: Spideypool Big Bang 2018 , Prompt Fill , Peter Parker Needs a Hug , Deadpool has a daughter , Hurt/Comfort , Peter has anxiety , Anxiety Attacks , Secret Identity , Identity Reveal , Peter chasing Wade Summary:

"Look, I’m just a Deadpool. I know I’m not Dr. Phil. But I couldn’t just let you make some bad decision and let the world lose one more hot piece of ass. Anyways, I live in the area and saw you standing on the ledge, and I thought I could maybe talk you down. Dying hurts, in case you were wondering. It’s not worth it.” Dying...hurts? Talk him down? Bad decision?

Oh.

“Oh.” Everything suddenly connected and the gears started turning in Peter’s brain. “No, wait, I wasn’t…” He didn’t quite know how to explain he wasn’t there to do that without completely explaining why he was up there in the first place. Any resolve he may have had earlier about revealing his superpowered persona had melted away, his plans going awry within seconds. "

Or Peter is madly in love with Wade, and plans to meet him on top of his apartment building to reveal his identity. Wade thinks Peter is standing on the ledge ready to jump, and takes it upon himself to make sure he gets home safe and finds a reason to live again.

read on ao3

Part 1 Here

Here is part 3! I missed a week due to home issues, but the rest of the fic should update normally! Next chapter will be much longer as well.

And huuUUUUGE thank you for putting up with my lateness @alurkerofnote :D

Day 3 - Tuesday

Peter’s hand rubbed against the zipper track beginning above the curve of his spine, fingertips again coming up empty. His arms dropped uselessly against his side, groaning to audibly show his disappointment.

His zipper was there somewhere. He heard it dinging against the metal teeth up the length of his back, and if he kept feeling for it he would find it.

Peter yawned, tears peeking out from the corners of his eyes, as his fingers continued to prod in the small of his back. He was completely and utterly exhausted. The night previous perusing the city had been brimming with robberies, car jackings, and muggings, as if the slight increase in temperature prompted every convict to crawl out of their hiding spots to wreak havoc. He’d clawed himself into his bed sometime around 5 AM, caught 2 hours of sleep, and was out the door sprinting to class by 7:00. He was looking for any reason not to go on patrol, even if it was as minor as an unlocatable zipper, to at least give him a chance to rest for a few seconds.

His gloves eventually brushed the pull tab, and he deflated. Guess he had to finish suiting up. He tugged the zipper up to his neck and fiddled with the spandex momentarily, pulling it snug in all the right places.

That was, until a knock on his window pane had the tired boy jumping 5 feet in the air and throwing himself backwards into a defensive position on his furthest wall. His toes firmly drug to a stop on the wallpaper, one arm shooting out with his fingers ready to tap his web-shooters if need be. There was a muted scuffling behind the glass, though his curtains were drawn so he couldn’t see who was there. It didn’t take long to figure out, however.

“Petey, Petey, Petey, Petee-eee-ey~” The intruder was caroling his name to the tune of Jolene, repeating his knuckle raps obnoxiously to the beat of the song. “I’m begging of you please just let me in.”

“Wade?” Peter snapped as realization sunk in to his chest. It took seconds to calm his adrenaline-ridden heartbeat, more relieved that he wasn’t about to face a criminal than he was mad Wade had nearly sent him into cardiac arrest. He peeled himself silently off the wall, taking short, but annoyed, steps to stand behind the curtains without drawing them. “What the hell, dude? You scared the pants off of me. Why are you on my fire escape? And singing Dolly Parton?”

Wade hummed the rest of the verse to himself, presumably out of parodying song lyrics, before he started to whisper-yell. “Ignoring the fact I should totally make fun of you for what you said, I’m here to check up on you! I said I was going to keep those sweet cheeks safe. Can I come in?”

“Into my bedroom?” Peter asked, weakly, swallowing the suggestive- but intrusive- thoughts that the question entailed. “Um, I’m kinda...preoccupied.”

“Ooooooh?”

“Not like that!” Peter groaned, smacking a hand to blanket the reddening of his cheeks. God, he had to change, and fast. He tore the zipper undone he had put in so much effort to find, shoving the suit off his shoulders and hips. “Give me a second!” He kicked the rest of fabric off and lodged it under his bed, using a pillow for extra cover to be safe. His web shooters clattered into the lockable drawer on his desk, the cartridges following them. Shutting the drawer so hard it shuddered, he located the first clothing options in sight; a pair of fluffy pajama pants and an Einstein shirt 2 sizes too big (which was totally a gag gift from MJ months ago that he’d never put away), which he shimmied into. Confident that he had probably concealed every Spidey related item in his panic, he drew open the curtains and flashed Wade an unimpressed look. And there he was, in his full-suited glory, hanging upside down on the rail of Peter’s fire escape as if it was a playset.

“I have a few questions.” Peter said as he pushed the glass open, the screen absent due to years of him climbing out for his nightly routine. Wade didn’t seem to notice- or at least didn’t comment on the lack of one- looking ecstatic that he even answered. “First...why didn’t you call to check up on me? Or use the front door?” He gestured vaguely towards the direction of the living room to accentuate his point.

“You barely texted me today.” Wade answered, curling so he was sitting on top of the bar and facing Peter. The sit-up made his muscles bulge in the leather covering his thighs and abdomen and Peter inhaled carefully to maintain a level expression. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t lonely. Also, I missed you.”

“Good to know.” Peter rolled his eyes, watching Wade drop to hang upside-down childishly. “Just come in. You’re gonna break the rails.”

“Me? Getting on the VIP list to Peter’s bedroom? I feel like I got a golden ticket! Move aside, Willy Wonka!” Wade dropped himself to his hands, flipped ungracefully on his feet, and followed Peter’s lead to let him crawl inside the apartment. His muddy boots hit the carpet and he managed to pull his entire body inside the small opening. He paused upon straightening up, giving his bedroom the same scrutinizing examination he had to the living room his first time visiting. “Never mind. I wanna go outside again. You’re messy, and that’s something coming from me.”

Peter stared at him silently. The mercenary shrugged and half-lept to fall on top of his mattress. “Kidding. It’s cute. It fits you.”

Peter did his best to ignore the creaking noise of his bed, making his way to his office chair to sit across the room. “I appreciate the housecall, but is that the only reason you came? I actually was kinda in the middle of something.”

“I’m hurt. I brought home-cooked meals and you already wanna kick me out?” Wade gasped in faux-pain, pulling off his pink Hello Kitty backpack. He drew out a grocery bag filled with containers, setting it beside the foot of the bed.

Peter was taken aback, a slightly stunned expression passing over his face. His outward appearance hardly changed, yet his stomach churned nervously at the thoughtful gesture. “You cook?”

“Nah, they’re frozen, but I make a mean pancake in case you’re ever interested. It’s the thought that counts though, right?”

“Thanks.” Peter rubbed his forearm, finding anywhere else to look to avoid staring at Wade.

“Soooo, what’s a kid like you busy doing tonight?” Wade asked as he stretched out across his comforter, propping his feet up on his mattress. “Playing games? Watching porn? Still wallowing about that ex-girlfriend that’s pregnant with someone else’s money-burner?”

“What? No, there’s no ex-girlfriend, dude, I already said that.” Peter muttered, struggling not to let his vision wander to his Spidey suit shoved beneath Wade’s sitting place. “I have a lot of homework I have to catch up on.”

“Boooo-oring.” Wade kicked a few of his pillows aside, rolling onto his side as his bed squeaked again. Peter desperately needed that noise to stop if he was going to guard his sanity.

“Okay, well, this was a great visit and all, but you can text me next time you wanna play therapist, okay?” Peter pushed himself to his feet, walking over to offer his hand to Wade to help him up. He stood there a moment with no reaction, Wade seemingly refusing to accept it, instead sitting up on his own.

“Do you seriously want me to go?” Wade asked, a weird tone ebbing into his voice. Was he confused? Disappointed? Peter wasn’t .

“I-I mean, yeah, I already said I was busy.” He was trying to not sound as annoyed as he felt, but his throat was taut with irritation. It wasn’t quite with Wade, though, because he was trying to be nice. Mostly he was upset with himself; with his inability to execute with his plans that had landed him in a difficult situation he couldn’t imagine resolving without either or both of them ending up hurt; with his emotions that were so intense they were painful, only made worse by the fact Wade was acting so generous to him outside of his superhero identity; and with the fact Wade knew his name, his family situation, and where he lived. Yet he still wasn’t able to bring himself to say that simple sentence.

I’m Spider-Man.

He’d been ready to lay it all out on the line two days ago, albeit with hesitancy, but somehow he had convinced himself that Wade might actually start to reciprocate his feelings if he knew the man behind the mask. His gaze trailed to the plastic bag still resting on the mattress. He had gone out of his way to care for him multiple times. He might be a fun project for Wade to pass the time, but Peter didn’t think he would go this far for some kid he found fun to mess with.

Peter’s eyelids screwed shut, his mind piecing together a way to confront the issue. He could ask him why he was hanging around, and hopefully conversation would naturally circulate back to Sunday night. “H-Hey, Dea-”

“I’ll get out of your hair.” Peter suddenly felt the air change and Wade was towering him, his much larger frame barely an inch from his chest. He had to turn his head up at a steep angle to look at him. There wasn’t the usual humor in his words, and his body language was a lot more tense. Terrific. An upset Wade was never fun. He always had to dig to even get a hint of what was bothering him.

“What?” Peter blinked, watching as Wade shimmied passed him to grab his pack and sling it on his shoulder.

“You said you had stuff to do. I can tell when I’m a problem, Petey-Sweetie. Glad to see you didn’t off yourself today. Good job on that.” Wade shoved the window he had come in open, poking a leg out so that it connected with the grate of the fire escape. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Peter chewed on his lower lip, his confession filed away in a queue of things to tell Wade in the future. He gave a short nod, guilt immediately radiating in the pit of his abdomen. “Thanks...for this all. Sorry to cut this so short. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“You better. I’ll be waiting.” Wade dropped his pack out the sill, waiting for it to clang against the metal, then ducked his body out of the small cavity. He grabbed his bag, moved to grip onto the ladder leading down into the darkness, then craned his neck to shout one last thing. “You should get a window screen. You’ll get spiders or ants in your room if you leave it open like this.”

Peter suppressed a spurt of ironic laughter, settling for an amused half-smile instead. “I’ll remember that. Goodnight, Deadpool.”

His weight made the ladder rattle and bang on the poles obnoxiously, probably annoying every other neighbor underneath him, until the sound disappeared and Wade had run off. Once Peter wasn’t able hear his boots scraping the asphalt he pulled his curtains shut, finally feeling able to breathe.

He bent to grab the meal containers, to put them in the freezer before he left for his patrol. It was quite the stock of food, enough to stop him from starving for the rest of the week that Aunt May was absent, and his stomach growled in appreciation.

Maybe he’d see Wade on patrol as Spider-Man, and they’d converse with the comfortable familiarity that had developed naturally between them through years. Wade would make some flirtatious joke, along with one about the spider being his hero that had the strength punch him into another timeline, and they’d team up and be on their way. Peter would be able to feel like his strong, normal self. They’d be friends and superheroes, and not a weak kid and his supposed guardian angel. No lies hanging heavily between them.

He’d muse on Wade’s kindness, that he didn’t deserve, later. For now, he pulled his spidey suit out and started dragging it up his legs. He had a city to protect, people to save, and his angst would have to be put on reserve for another day.

#spideypool #spiderman #deadpool #fanfiction #my fanfic #spideypool big bang 2018 #spideypoolfanfic #fanfic

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just-another-vcblog · 6 years ago

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Eleven Questions

Thank you @theballadofmrslovett for tagging me in this, and I have shamefully left it for too long (Elmo in Grouchland was my first movie too!).

Instructions: Tag eleven people, answer the questions, and create eleven of your own questions.

Tagging: As always do not feel obliged to answer @vampires-and-witches @theraphaellus @vampyredelanuit @xlilvamp @magicbubblepipe @thevampchronicles @secret-les-mis-blog-ooo @monstersinthecosmos @sunjawlow @iwt-v @dianysus

If you could spend a day with any person, who would it be and what would you do? Dr. Phil Currie and we would work on a paleontological dig

What is your favorite Land in Disneyland/world (like Adventure Land, Fantasy Land, Tomorrow Land)? Adventureland for Big Thunder Mountain

Best Halloween costume you’ve ever worn? I’ve never had an absolutely outstanding costume, but I was a pretty cute Hermione when I was six.

What is one quote that you use often, either from a movie or person irl? I have no idea, probably something from Austin Powers that has sunk so much into my day to day life I don’t even realize it.

Who would you cast to play yourself in a biopic? I’m not really sure. Natalia Dyer maybe.

Describe your perfect day. I don’t think I have one. Maybe travelling and seeing a new place with museums. Or curled up on the couch reading a book while it rained outside.

Name three random trivia facts you know! Aerosmith’s song “Dude looks like a lady” was written about Vince Neil (of Motley Crue). Rubies and sapphires are the same stone but with different impurities causing the change in colour. The London Beer Flood of 1814 killed eight people.

If you could live life in one film genre (action, film noir, rom com), what would it be and why? Spy genre.

Describe your favorite outfit/ensemble. Sweater (blue or grey or black), with a leather jacket, black skinny jeans, and leather boots.

Name a song you really love but are too embarrassed to show real life friends or family. I don’t get embarrassed by my music tastes. I went to a VIP Weird Al concert. I know all the words to the Lonely Island’s “Motherlover”. I have no shame.

What is your Hogwarts house (alternatively, what is your alignment or Zodiac sign)? Ravenclaw

My questions:

What is your favourite pair of footwear?

Do you play any instruments? Is so what?

What is the worst movie you have ever seen?

Do you believe in aliens, ghosts, or anything else of the supernatural?

What is your favourite meal to make?

Have you ever dyed your hair?

How has your day been?

What’s your favourite flavour of chips/crisps?

Who was your first celebrity crush?

What is your proudest achievement?

What was your first music album?

#about me #not vc

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stunudo · 7 years ago

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BAU Prep School AU: 2018

Welcome to the Frederick Buchanan Institute located in scenic Quantico, Virginia, a senior high academy that shapes the best and brightest minds. Its motto is “Behavior, Analysis, Unity,” the mascot the Submariners, colloquially “the Unsubs”. The small school supports the most accomplished faculty from across the country. (image link)

2016- 2017 Class of 2018

Messy

September 29, 2017 11:17pm

Luke Alvez hadn’t expected this, despite his explicit instructions to his team to do so in the case of an emergency. And yet he found his phone ringing in the late-night weekend hours from an unsaved Virginian number.

“Hello?”

“Is this Luke Alvez?”

“It is, and you are?”

“My name is Frank Broadhead and I am—”

“The principal for the International School.”

“Why, yes, actually.”

“With all due respect, sir, but why are you calling me so late?”

“Well, you see, Mr. Alvez. Or Coach? Do you prefer Coach?”

“Semantics, please continue.”

“Right, well. Phil and I just so happened to find a few of your students breaking into our football stadium tonight. Now I wanted to call Aaron Hotchner myself, but young Mr. Malcolm has convinced us that you were the right call. Are you?”

“Sorry?”

“Are you the right call?”

Luke stared at the ceiling of his apartment and whispered a few choice curses beneath his breath.

“Are you pressing charges?”

“Now, Coach, we were very lucky to have apprehended the intruders prior to any hijinks. But, either you or another faculty member come and collect the lot of them or I am calling the police, followed by their parents.”

Luke could hear various protests in the background, this was not the way he wanted to spend his weekend. He also didn’t have a large enough vehicle to cart around multiple teenagers. “Besides Trevor Malcolm, who and how many are there?”

Luke grabbed his keys and double checked his back gate as he continued with the phone call.

“Well, I have a very aggressive young lady by the name of May Howard, a more demur girl named Azalene Curtis, a disrespectful punk who refuses to tell me his name and Mr. Malcolm.”

“Alright, Broadhead, tell Brooks to sit tight and I will be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Mr. Alvez.”

Luke hit the end call button and sighed. It was late enough that the bugs and occasional cars passing by were the only noises on his street. He stared at his list of contacts for a solid minute before making the call, which finally connected on the fourth ring.

“Man, you better not be drunk dialing me.” Morgan’s voice was amused.

“Sorry, Derek, but duty calls.”

An hour later, HM Hotchner, Coach Morgan and Coach Alvez all stepped out of the large black Suburban. The rival school was cast in near darkness, besides a few lights in a first-floor wing. Luke led the way, Hotch and Derek shared a glance at his familiarity with the campus. When they reached the door, Luke was texting on his phone.

“K, should be just a sec for them to let us in.”

“Anybody know about this?” Hotch looked at his two current sports’ coaches with concern.

“Honestly, Hotch, I had no idea. I gave the guys my number in case they needed a sober driver, I wasn’t exactly expecting a full bail out.” Luke admitted, scratching the back of his neck. Aaron nodded, he was grateful to have Alvez on his team.

“My whole focus has been putting in the work to stick it their football team come playoffs, Hotch.” Derek held up his hands as they were empty of precursors to the crime. “If I had heard Howard and company would be trespassing I would have nipped that in the bud.” Derek’s eyes lit up as someone opened the secure door wide.

A tall African American guy gave them an annoyed appraisal, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Brooks.” Luke sighed. “This is my boss, Aaron Hotchner,” he paused as the shook hands. “And I’m guessing you’ve met Coach Morgan?”

“Brooks. Sorry about this.” Derek patted the man on the back as he led the way through the dimmed hallways.

“That bulldozer on your line?” Brooks started. “She’s a pistol.”

“Are the students alright?” Hotch interjected.

“Yeah, the guys may have been on something, but they lost their buzz fairly quickly.”

Luke and Derek both groaned, Coach Phil Brooks led the way to the principal’s office as they passed through a waiting room. In a row, spanning the spectrum of fear to boredom sat four Submariners. Lena Curtis, May Howard, Trevor Malcolm and one Iggy Cruz. When their teachers and headmaster stepped into the room, they erupted into a slew of explanations.

“Sir, we didn’t even—” Trevor started.

“Coach, I am so sor—” May’s voice hitched as her favorite teacher looked at her with complete disappointment.

“Are you going to call my dad?” Lena squeaked, she had been crying.

“Enough!” Hotch raised his voice and the room quieted. “Submariners on your feet.” Even the coaches beside him straightened up at the direct order. Iggy was the last one to stand, letting a huff fall from his lips. “You will wait here with Mr. Morgan and Mr. Alvez. I am going to sort this out with Principal Broadhead, then we will discuss the consequences of your actions.”

October 2, 2017 12:58pm

Ms. Prentiss’s phone buzzed against her desk, but it didn’t register as she was reading going over the final act of The Crucible with her Sophomore class.

“Now Miller wrote this during the Red Scare, what parallels can you draw from the play and those events?” She looked out into the faces of some very bored and mildly confused teenagers. Her phone buzzed again, more obvious now in the silence left by the unanswering class. “Okay, let’s try this again. Red Scare? Anyone take post World War Two history, yet?”

Five hands were raised around the room, she sighed and nodded. Then Zachary Henkel’s hand shot up as if he was electrocuted.

“Yes, Mr. Henkel? What can you tell us about the Red Scare?”

“Nothing, actually, but Ms. Garcia is waving frantically and knocking at the door.”

The English teacher’s brow knit as realization sunk in.

“It’s time?” She asked the excitable guidance counselor.

“It’s definitely time. I don’t want to into details. But, hospital, go, you now.” Emily Prentiss gave a wilted glance back to the waiting class. “Go, Emily, I’ve got them.”

“Communism and Arthur Miller. You, go.”

1:14pm

The Kirsch Memorial Hospital felt like a maze, despite the now weekly appointments JJ had been having within. Emily soon found the birthing wing and signed in at the desk.

“Your partner is in room 13C. Breathe, Mama, you got this.” The beaming nurse said to Emily, who must have looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Right, thanks.” Emily gave a half smile and pinned her security tag on her blouse. The rooms were set up like hotel suites: very comfortable and spaced in pairs down a soothing hallway.

“Oh thank God!” JJ exclaimed as she saw Emily’s black hair peek through the double wide door.

“Or just Penelope, hey you.” Emily grabbed JJ’s hand. “Sorry I didn’t answer right away, I though it was an email notification.”

“You really need to stop being so professional.” JJ’s laughed cut short as a contraction started.

“Where are we at?” Emily watched the monitors they had on her girl and her bulging belly.

“Six minutes apart, but only dilated to 4,” JJ grunted. Emily rubbed JJ’s back with her free hand, as the pain eased so did JJ’s grip on the bed rail and Emily’s left hand.

“Good job, its like you’re ready to have a baby today.” Dr. Savannah Hayes smiled at the couple as she entered the room on her rounds. Emily watched JJ with immense pride as JJ sighed at her OBGYN.

“Ya think?”

Oct. 8 3:40pm

Matt Simmons had wrapped up his Sociology class early, telling the kids to enjoy the fresh air before a set of storms was due in for the weekend. Between his amazing stories, his looks and his more relaxed teaching style he had quickly won the hearts of the student body. He regularly received assignments early and was asked more than once if he was single, for their mothers or aunts. He politely declined the offers. Today he made his way down to the sound booth at the back of the Rothschild Auditorium to help set up for the coming musical. Rehearsals varied by day of the week as Lucas Turner was a lead this year and had recruited a few other football players for backstage work as well. The actors wouldn’t be in until 5:30pm. Matt found Alex Blake already playing with the levels as the set crew started showing up after the final bell. She held her chin in her palm, scrutinizing the coloring below.

“How’s it going?” He leaned against the door frame, his large arms folded across his chest. Alex jumped at his appearance, holding her chest. He tried to bite back his amusement, but her rueful smile told him it wasn’t going to be met with a scolding.

“Matthew! Damnit, I thought reporters liked an intro before they make an appearance.”

“Getting hard of hearing in your old age, Doc? Better keep up.”

“I am as quick as ever, thank you very much,” Alex tilted her head.

“Yeah, I bet,” He smiled at her confidence. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. What’s up with the ‘Ms.’ Did you decide to forget your PhD?”

Alex sighed, spinning to face him and away from the control desk. He had leaned back in another chair, all young and firm and handsome. “When Dave and I split, I wanted a fresh start, so I left the Doctor title behind as it was always paired with Rossi.”

“I was sorry to hear about that, and Ethan of course.”

“Thanks.” She closed her eyes at the mention of her late son. “So, what exactly brings you to teaching? It’s not exactly high adrenaline, which I recall you always chased.”

“Hannah had a rough go of it last year and I, well, I needed a change of scenery.” Matt flinched but didn’t go into greater detail.

“Did your sister ask you to keep an eye on Hannah?” Alex’s voice was low and soothing.

“Are you kidding? She barely talks about Hannah, no, Hannah and I have been close since she was little. I figured there was going to be at least a temporary opening and I reached out to Hotch.”

“JJ probably loved that.” Alex smiled, turning back to the stage.

“Yeah, well, she has her hands full now.”

“True. You sure you want to give up your nights to help run sound?” Alex teased.

“I like to be useful, plus, something tells me the Director can keep me in line.”

She gave him a look before rolling her eyes at him, “Welcome to life in the Theatre, Mr. Simmons.”

6:08pm

Jake wasn’t certain his feelings meant anything in the grand scheme of things and that thought alone made him panic. But the gnawing in his gut was getting worse with each passing day. There was something about being in the wings, the dust and ancient currents were like layers of reality, secluding and enclosing them. Michel was going over their lines and Jake was trying not to stare or break their concentration.

Michel was had contoured today and felt drastically more confident now that the itchy school blazer had been discarded. They had their sleeves rolled up to their elbows and left the top buttons open, despite the draftiness of the theatre. Now if they could just get their lines down they would earn their bad ass title for another week. After rehearsal they had a late dinner with their parents, who were briefly stateside and probably another hour of homework. So much for senior year slacking.

Jake was going to lose his nerve, but the romantic leads were going over their first scene and it felt like they would be called on for their entrances at any moment. Michel had turned to him now, “Can you read Jackson’s lines I just need to stop using the script as a crutch already.”

“Sure. But, you could always ask him to run lines.” Jake didn’t mean to sound snarky, but his self-consciousness came off as annoyance.

“Jake, you are literally doing nothing right now. Come on,” Michel huffed. Jake stood up straight and accepted Michel’s script from their out stretched hand. He leaned over the folded booklet and waited for Michel to start, their character was Bellomy, the leading lady’s father and they adjusted their stance as they got into character. Jake was transfixed, clearly, he understood acting, but watching Michel do it was like watching water boil or leaves change color. A natural transformation resulting in something completely different than who was there before.

“Oh lady le di le da loo…”

“Oh, lady le di le da loo…” Jake sounded it out choppily. Michel grabbed him tightly as the characters would greet each other in the show

“Hucklee!”

“Bellomy!”

“Neighbor!”

“Friend!”

Jake hadn’t let go of Michel, though a wall was meant to be separating the men on stage. He dropped the script and turned to his longtime friend and crush.

“How’s the gout?”

“What?” Jake looked down at Michel mystified.

“That’s the line, Jake. What’s wrong?” But before Jake could answer or Michel could stop him, his lips were on Michel’s.

Oct. 10 6:54pm

“Now ladies and gentlemen, will you please rise for the singing of our National Anthem?” The announcer’s voice boomed over the stadium filled to capacity with Homecoming crowds. The F.B.I. Scarlet Submariners were on the East side of their home field as their opponents the gold and black Kingsford Knights were on the West side. The sun had set fifteen minutes prior, letting the overhead lights illuminate the turf for miles around.

Mr. Walker raised his arms and the Pep band began the familiar bars, as Sacha Kane began to sing. The song wrapped up with thunderous applause and the coin toss followed. The teams stood lining the field as the captains returned. Sitting and stewing in their jerseys without their pads were the benched senior Ignacio Cruz and sophomore May Howard. The defense took the field and Lucas Turner sighed as his right side felt empty with an unreliable substitute. Coach Morgan had made the call, which Headmaster Hotchner backed fully. Coach Alvez had given Trevor a comparable two-game ban and a parent-approved drug test as punishment for the theatrics at the end of September.

“It had to be Homecoming,” Derek thought to himself as his back up kicker botched a punt, leaving the rival team on the Unsubs’ thirty-yard line. They went into the locker room down by six at half time. Thunder rolled in the distance. As well-spoken as Coach Morgan was, he didn’t need to say anything, the team knew they had to step it up. He let them breathe before offering a few shuffles to the lines.

“Unsubs! Whose house is this?!” Coach Morgan bellowed to the cement lined room.

“Our House!” They barked back.

“Whose house is this?!”

“Our HOUSE!” A deep booming response this time.

“Search and destroy, guys! SEARCH AND DESTROY!” The sweaty and pumped up bodies of forty teenagers jogged back on to the field to the enthusiasm of their stands. They went on to win by eleven, just as the cascade of rain flooded the stadium. After everyone had showered, Coach Morgan called Cruz and Howard over to discuss their reinstatements for the following week’s away game.

“You two care about your school, but there are better ways to defend it. Use your God-given talents to help your team, or you never were an Unsub. Behavior, Analysis, Unity. Earn it.”

Oct. 11 5:24pm

Chloe’s phone went off as she helped set the table for dinner. Her gaggle of siblings were either taking up space in the kitchen, trying to snag a taste early or lounging in the adjoining living room. All of her friends were off to take group pictures before heading to dinner at some posh restaurant or another. What a difference a year makes, the memories of last year’s dance clouding her thoughts.

She glanced down at the caller id before answering. “Lucas?”

“Hey, Chloe, listen, are you busy tonight?” He seemed quiet, like he was secluded.

“Helping with dinner right now, why?” She propped the phone against her shoulder as she began dishing out the salad.

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go to Homecoming. With me. Like a date?”

She had not seen this coming, but that was probably because she had avoided romantic entanglements like the plague they had proven to be.

“Lucas…” She let her voice hang in the air. “I don’t have a dress, this is really last minute.”

“Wear anything, you can go in jeans. I just, I just want to dance with you Chloe, I swear.” He sounded sweet, not desperate and demanding. But nervous and sheepish.

“Lucas, you can dance with anyone there, you’re classically trained.” His nerves seemed to be infectious.

“They’re not you, Chloe. Please think about it? Call me back when you’re done with dinner. I won’t be hurt if you say no, but just think about it.” Lucas waited for twelve seconds before she replied.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thanks. Talk to you later!”

“Later.” Chloe ended the call and turned back to find her entire family had sat down to eat around her.

“Who was that?” Her mother Anita asked suspiciously.

“Lucas, Lucas Turner.”

“Well, what did the boy want?” her mother sat down and patted Chloe’s seat beside her.

“He asked me to go to the Dance tonight.”

A mix of ‘ooohs’ and teasing burst from her siblings, her cheeks flushed and she ducked her head as she fell into her usual spot.

“Do you want to go, doll?” Her father asked as he started cutting into his steak. She shrugged and then nodded.

“He’s a good guy, then, not going to get fresh?” Chloe smiled at her mom’s concern.

“He’s a sweetheart. He was there for me when I broke up with Brayden in the first place.” The name drew a stunned silence among the Roycewood family. It had gone unspoken for so long.

“Alright then, it’s settled. Aimee, you’re to help your sister get ready right after dinner. You hear?”

“Sweet! Of course, Mama.” Chloe’s thirteen-year-old sister replied, the excitement of dresses and make up turning her weekend magical.

“Thanks, you guys.” Chloe tried to bite back a smile, but her cheeks were determined to stay up.

“Anything to keep that smile on your face, doll.” Her dad nodded.

Next Chapter: The Show(down)

@mentallydatingspencerreid @dontshootmespence @ultrarebelheart @lyrasilverroseelizabethamanti @cynbx @rikersgirl22 @pllfrommars @wheresthewater @darknesstoglowing @adropintheocean1234567 @tleighstone12 @unitchiefwives @sam-carter-in-training @prettyboysjello @ddreammcatcher @thegirlinflames @night–hawk @t25luver @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @thismiss02 @literallyprentissstwin @usercorgis

@natalie-fangirl

#criminal minds #BAU Prep School AU #cm #Luke Alvez #Derek Morgan #hotch #Aaron Hotchner #Alex Blake #Jennifer Jareau #Emily Prentiss #Matt Simmons #BAU Team #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds au #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #CM Series #CM Fanficiton Series #Unsubs Class of 18

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imaginemedreamingstuff · 7 years ago

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4 years // For you || part six Dan Howell

A/N: I ended the last chapter on a little cliffhanger so here is part six, i hope you enjoy it!

Word Count: 1.2K

POV: Reader

MASTERLIST // PART ONE // PART TWO // PART THREE // PART FOUR // PART FIVE // PART SIX // PART SEVEN // PART EIGHT

The sun was weak as Dan and I headed to Phil’s car that he parked in the drive way. We had gotten up early because we didn’t want Luke to be all by himself when he woke up.

It was soon to be autumn. The air was fresh and the leaves of the oak tree, that I used to sit under when I was younger, started to turn orange.

We walked through the front doors of the hospital together and greeted the old lady at the reception. At this time of the day the hallways were mainly empty. We passed a few nurses and doctors but we seemed to be one of the only visitors.

Dan knew exactly where to go this time and as we stood in front of Luke’s room the look on his face was extremely different than it was yesterday. Less than 24 hours ago he was terrified and close to having a panic attack, but now his brown eyes sparkled with excitement and it seemed like he couldn’t wait to see his son again.

When we quietly entered his room Luke was still asleep. I saw a soft smile appear on Dan’s face as he saw his son like that and the sight warmed my heart in the purest way possible.

“He is the cutest thing in the entire world.” Dan whispered fondly as we sat down and just waited for our little one to wake up.

I told Dan more about Luke, that he used to kick me a lot during my pregnancy for example. Or that his first word was Mummy and he only ever ate one specific baby food brand.

Dan listened carefully, eager to know as much as possible about Lucas.

“You are still here!” Was the first thing Luke said when he woke up. His silvery voice was filled with enthusiasm and relief while his light brown hair was ruffled and pointed into all different directions.

“Morning sunshine.” I chirped as I walked over to his bed and picked him up.

He wrapped his tiny arms around my neck and kissed my cheek lightly.

“Of course! Your daddy is still here. He promised you, didn’t he?” I said as I tapped his little nose, earning a bright giggle.

It’s been a few months since Luke’s last chemotherapy and although he was still suffering from its horrible side effects he could still smile and I had never been more thankful for anything in my life.

“Do you want your dad to hold you?” I asked my little angle.

Dan’s head snapped up as his eyes widened. Suddenly he looked nervous again.

Luke on the other hand nodded vigorously.

“Are you sure that I should hold him, Y/N? I really don’t know how-“ Dan babbled awkwardly, as I walked over to him with Luke in my arms.

“Dan” I laughed. “He is not a new born anymore, it will be fine.” I assured him as Dan took Luke in his arms.

“Woah. You’re so much taller than Mummy.” Luke realised in amazement, making Dan and I laugh.

As our laughter filled the small hospital room the world felt at peace for a few short seconds. It felt good, it felt like Dan had never left and like Luke wasn’t suffering from an life-threatening illness.

But then the door was opened, not slowly but with a hurried push.

Dr Lancaster was wearing his white coat and although he had a polite smile on his face most of the time, his eyebrows were furrowed together and his smile was nowhere to be found.

“Good morning, doctor.” I greeted him with an uneasy feeling in my stomach region.

“It’s good to see that you are here already, Miss Y/L/N.” he said. “You must be Mr Howell, right?” he added, eyeing Dan who was still stood in the corner holding Luke who was clinging onto him.

“May I ask you two to come talk in my office?” Dr Lancaster asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Dan and I instantly agreed and followed him outside while a nurse took care of Luke and gave him his medication in the meantime.

Dr Lancaster’s office was a small room filled with patient charts and a huge desk. The air was hot and fuggy but that wasn’t the only reason why I was unable to breath.

Being in this room had never meant anything good before and I was sick with worry.

The older man silently cleared his throat before he started talking.

“I’m sorry to tell you that Luke’s condition has worsened drastically. Our machines detected a few irregularities tonight, we don’t know why yet. The stem cell transplant is currently vital, I fear that it might be our only hope now.”

I felt Dan stiffen up in shock and concern beside me as my heart sunk to my knees and I felt the need to gasp for air.

“He will make it if we start now.” Dr Lancaster calmed us down as he questioningly looked at Dan.

“I’m here, I’m ready.” Dan almost screamed.

The doctor nodded and asked us to follow him once again. This time he walked us to an empty hospital room where nurses were already waiting and greeted us as soon as we walked in.

10 minutes later Dan had rolled his sleeve up and was resting on one of the beds.

“This is going to take about 4 hours, Mr Howell. Just try to relax.” One of the nurses said the moment she pushed a needle into Dan’s underarm, right into his largest vein.

Dan winced at the sudden pain.

“We need to filter the stem cells out of your blood, that’s why it takes some time. But I’m sure they’ll help Lucas.” Dr Lancaster explained.

I spent all of those four hours holding Dan’s hand while Luke was being prepared for the transplant and I couldn’t be with him anymore.

We were both praying that Dan’s stem cells would help our son and since the doctor assured us that they surely will we were able to calm down a little bit.

Although it probably wasn’t one of the most comfortable feelings in the world for Dan he didn’t complain once and we just talked through it like we did this morning when we were waiting for Luke to wake up and everything was a little bit more alright.

“He really likes you.” I said, making Dan smile.

“I wish I would have been there from the start. I would have loved to hold him as a new born and see him grow up. I think I’ll never forgive myself for missing that.” He admitted.

“I’m just really glad that you’re here now. He will still grow a lot, you know? Especially since his father is a giant.” I laughed and shot him an encouraging smile.

And for a little while I really thought that we were going to be fine, that the universe was on our side now and that one day soon we could be a real little family.

If only Dr Lancaster hadn’t been wrong…

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filmstruck · 7 years ago

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Phil Karlson’s THE YOUNG DOCTORS (’61) by Jill Blake

As part of their ongoing “Directed by” series, FilmStruck has assembled a great collection of films by Phil Karlson. At Universal Pictures, Karlson cut his teeth as an assistant director, working on numerous films throughout the 1930s. After World War II, Karlson made his directorial debut with A WAVE, A WAC AND A MARINE (’44), which was produced by Lou Costello. The film was a disaster and did very little to jumpstart Karlson’s career. But by the mid-1940s, Karlson firmly established himself as a solid B picture director by contributing to popular film serials such as Charlie Chan (SHANGHAI COBRA [‘45] and DARK ALIBI [‘46], currently streaming on FilmStruck) and The Bowery Boys, while later directing KID GALAHAD (’62) starring Elvis Presley and a pair of film noirs featuring John Payne: KANSAS CITY CONFIDENTIAL (’52) and 99 RIVER STREET (’53), both of which I will be writing about in a couple weeks. Although he didn’t get the recognition he deserved, especially for his film noir work, much of Karlson’s filmography has been reevaluated, with some of his lesser-known films being discovered by new audiences. One of those discoveries is Karlson’s 1961 hospital drama THE YOUNG DOCTORS.

Starring Fredric March, Ben Gazzara, Dick Clark, Ina Balin and Eddie Albert, THE YOUNG DOCTORS follows the personal and professional lives of surgeons and nurses in a metropolitan hospital, very much in the spirit of the beloved MGM series focused on Dr. Kildare. March is Dr. Joseph Pearson, head of the pathology department at the hospital. Dr. Pearson is a thirty-year veteran of his profession, and as such, has sunk into a routine that is monotonous and bordering on negligent. Part of that negligence is attributed to comfortable familiarity.

For example, Dr. Pearson is almost always seen either chomping on or smoking a fat cigar, even in places where the slightest open flame would cause a catastrophic explosion; not to mention the numerous detrimental environmental factors that smoking causes, particularly in a medical setting. Another example is his pathology lab, located in the bowels of the hospital (which is actually a fairly accurate locale—just ask my scientist husband about the windowless world of graduate school chemistry laboratories), which is an organized disaster. For Dr. Pearson and his very small staff, they know exactly where everything is amongst the piles of papers, pipettes and vials of blood. But to an outsider, such as the incoming assistant pathologist, the young and overly eager Dr. David Coleman (Ben Gazzara), it’s a dangerous and embarrassing sight. .

Dr. Pearson and Dr. Coleman immediately clash, as the senior doctor fiercely marks his territory with his years of experience versus Dr. Coleman’s book knowledge. While Dr. Pearson is obviously burned out by the constant battles within a tightly budgeted and sometimes corrupt hospital bureaucracy, he should be more accepting to the more modernized approach to medicine and pathology that Dr. Coleman brings to the department. Unfortunately, Dr. Pearson is stubbornly resistant to any modifications to his current practices suggested by Dr. Coleman, including modernized blood tests; as a result, he unnecessarily places a mother and newborn baby in grave danger. While Dr. Pearson is at fault in many ways, he also has the invaluable asset of age and experience, which must be taken into consideration alongside official medical training, something that Dr. Coleman is initially hesitant to acknowledge until he’s faced with a highly personal and emotional medical emergency affecting someone he loves.

THE YOUNG DOCTORS isn’t a particularly good film, as it falls on tired clichés and a lackluster script. But the performances are stellar, particularly Fredric March, who was in the last years of his career, and the always exceptional Ben Gazzara, following up his role in Otto Preminger’s ANATOMY OF A MURDER (’59). (Also, an important heads up for all you Gazzara fans out there: there is a scene where he goes ice skating. Well, attempts to, at least. Go watch and enjoy.) I also have to give recognition to a young Dick Clark (yes, THAT Dick Clark), who holds his own against the larger-than-life on-screen talents of March and Gazzara; as well as character actress Aline MacMahon, known best for her Pre-Code work. While this film is far from Karlson’s best, he should be given credit for his work with this excellent cast.

#Phil Karlson #The Young Doctors #Ben Gazzara #Ina Balin #Fredric March #FilmStruck #StreamLine Blog #Jill Blake

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sunshinedjh · 7 years ago

Text

Summoning Love Part Six: Wings

Summoning Love: Phil Lester has the ability to make anything he desires appear at will. However, with great power comes great responsibility. And along with his parents wanting to disown him, his entire school thinking he’s a freak, and being the only person in this world he knows of with a hidden power, things can get rather lonely… Phan |Superpowers |High School Au |

Part Five

Word Count: 1298

Wattpad<<<

Warnings: N/A

Traipsing up to the school gates, Phil prepared himself for what was to come. He felt a little less confident than he had at home. Although, he had found an old leather jacket just before he’d left and decidedly it really completed his look.

He was going for the whole ‘he’s a bad boy but he’s sensitive look’ and no matter how many anxious emotions he was feeling right now, he had to try not to show them.

As he arrived inside the school building, corridors were littered with students and teachers alike. Phil felt like all their eyes were on him, glaring and staring him down, judging him for wearing such a stupidly uncharacteristic outfit.

He could still turn back couldn’t he? He still had time. What if he just ran back home quickly and changed into something more…

'Well, well, well, hello there Lester’ a voice called from down the walkway. It was Scott Stevens from what Phil could hear, one of Kyle’s friends. 'Dressed a little out of your comfort zone today aren’t we?’

'Shut it Stevens’ Phil replied nonchalantly, in a threatening growl. He wasn’t sure what had made him speak like that, perhaps it was the jacket.

'Ooo hoo hoooo, Alright man, I was just starting conversation’ 'Yeah well go start conversation with someone else’ Phil challenged Scot, staring him dead in the eyes.

By some miracle Scot did decide to back off, wandering off to go pick on an easier target.

Slightly stunned by his actions, Phil had remained frozen for a moment. Had that really just happened? He couldn’t remember anyone finding him remotely threatening in his life and yet he’d just scared of one of the most popular bullies in school.

Okay maybe not quite scared, but still.

Ruffling up his hair a little and yawning, Phil carried on down the corridor to his locker.

Dan hadn’t been having the best of days, in fact this particular one was starting out to be one of his worst by far.

He’d already been yelled at by Mrs Evans, for what he still wasn’t sure. He’d slept through his alarm and had to get ready as fast as he could, going without breakfast.

And the thing that really topped it all off was that his phone has smashed to pieces after he’d dropped it on the curb during his walk to school.

Sighing internally, Dan reached into his locker and tried to focus on just getting the books he needed and getting on with his day.

Focus, he did not however. As the sight he saw in that moment, out of the corner of his eye, made him do a full one eighty and captured his full attention.

Phil Lester was walking, no, striding down the corridor with a strong swagger about him. He had black dr martins on, his hair pushed back and was wearing a fucking leather jacket.

He looked hot.

And this really wasn’t doing Dan any favours, adding to his already giant crush on the boy.

'F f fuck’ he muttered under his breath, turning back to face his locker in order to hide his blush and keep Phil from seeing him.

Dan really wished he had the confidence to speak to the black haired boy. But right now, with the current status he had in this school, he didn’t think he’d be doing that any time soon.

Not that Phil was much higher in popularity than him to be quite honest. But come on, he was probably straight right?

Phil had somehow made it through the day with himself and his tough persona intact. Well, until now.

He may or may not have gotten a little carried away with himself and resorted to using his powers.

And while he hadn’t yet gotten into any scrapes yet, he was probably about to…

He was being chased.

Having just left the school gates after using his powers to steal Kyle’s football, he wasn’t exactly in the greatest position right now.

He knew he shouldn’t have done it and he knew he had gotten to cocky and now it very much seemed as though he was about to pay for it.

Kyle, Joe and Scott were all on his tail. They were definitely faster than him too, so Phil knew he was so dead.

The sun was beginning to set as he sprinted down the city streets by his school trying rapidly to think where he could go to hide.

He’d long since dropped the football, deciding immediately after summoning it that it was probably he worst thing he could’ve done and was definitely pushing boundaries as to exactly how badass he could get away with being.

His breathing had become heavy, his palms sweaty and his legs already ached a hell of a lot, curtesy of him never exercising.

The sun had almost fully sunk now. Shadows and darkness coming out to engulf the city citizens that Phil was desperately trying to manoeuvre his way around. He knew he didn’t have much time before the others caught up.

His leather jacket was starting to rub against his arms from sweat and his dr martins were definitely slightly painfully too small.

Perhaps all this was just a way of mocking him for thinking he could be something he wasn’t, and anything more than he was.

Now wasn’t the time to get philosophical though, Phil just needed to find somewhere to hide and fast.

Think think think.

He couldn’t think of anywhere at all.

So it was then that Phil took a gamble. And perhaps not the wisest of gambles.

He looked behind him momentarily to judge how far away the others were. Crap. They’d gotten so much closer.

And he ducked into the nearest alleyway in search of a place to take cover.

The still setting sun wasn’t visible back here, making it almost entirely blanketed in darkness. Frantically looking around for a place to take refuge, Phil was beginning to lose hope.

If he’d have had any more time left there to himself, he might have actually had an anxiety attack. Luckily for him though, he wasn’t left alone long enough for his panicked thoughts to consume him.

Kyle, Joe and Scott skidded to a holt at the other end of the alley and froze. Each of their faces was adorned with the most wicked of grins that Phil could just about make out in the dim light.

'You picked the wrong guy to mess with Lester you know that’ Kyle spat as the three boys edged closer.

'Clearly’ Phil replied, trying to sound like he didn’t care.

'You’re gonna pay’

'What are you gonna do?! I’m not afraid’ Phil yelled.

A quick glance at their faces and Phil realised that he probably should be afraid.

'I’m not afraid’ He repeats but in a stutter.

'I’m not…’

The boys had reached him now, and before anyone could do anything else, a quick grunt from Kyle alerted the other boys to spring into action.

All three of them pulled knives from their pockets and edged even closer to Phil.

Phil was going to die.

Right there and then he was sure of it. Once the anxiety had take over there was no doubt about it.

The last thing he heard before closing his eyes was laughter, laughter increasing in volume as it got closer and closer to Phil before…

The laughter ceased.

And the first thing Phil saw as he open his eyes was, was, was…

Phil was quite sure he’d gone mad at this point, but he could’ve sworn the first thing he saw was wings.

Next Chapter

#phan #summoning love #phanfiction #dan and phil #daniel howell #amazingphil #dan howell #phil lester #phanifc #phandom #equinoxhowell

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