#how pulleys work

[obsob]

making and weaving and loving! like we have done for millennia!!

[dilfslayer1080p]

every time I think 'I'm gonna focus on finishing 1 fucking thing' I get irresistibly dumb ideas like steal mark robers shit to make the nail gun real and throw off my whole day

[oatflatwhite]

Ok i started the mars house today and even as a devoted natasha pulleyite i can't believe this is a real book.

[thenatashapulleyuniverse]

short snippet I wrote for a writing class where the topic was to write in the voice of an adult speaking with a child.

in a turn of events, i ended up with a Raphael and Six interaction

Raphael stared at the little girl at his feet. She held herself straight, similar to the men she came with. Particularly the shorter one with the black hair and the impossible look in his eyes. Her fathers, Raphael remembered, two Englishmen that were Merrick’s friends. 

“Are you like Mori then? He used to be able to tell the future, but now he can’t. You used to be a human, but now you aren’t. I used to live in the workhouse until I didn’t. Things happen, I can't explain it, but they just do,” Six said, seemingly annoyed that she wasn’t able to explain the unexplainable.

“Tell the future?” Raphael asked. He had never met a prophet before, but he’s heard about them in myths from the oldest quipu knots. He thought they were just that, myths.

“Used to, until we went to Japan and he lost it. Wasn’t properly watching it, I suppose. But he seems happier now without all that, so I guess it isn’t a complete tragedy,” Six explained. Then, she looked at the ground and said more quietly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask your name Mr. Statue. Dad said I always have to introduce myself first, it’s the polite thing to do.”

“That’s alright. It’s Raphael.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope you’ll be able to explain how you work.”

[gender-euphowrya]

people listing 100% conventionally attractive characters as ''hear me out''s is so funny like. what do i have to hear. you don't need to explain anything that's a thin white woman with a boob window

[would-you-punt-them]

I just want to tell you this:

Thank You So, SO Much for informing people about the horrid Mr. Beast situation occurring within his Squid Game Beast Games.

I don’t think would’ve known about this awful and disgusting event occurring as much as I do now if you didn’t post about it on this blog.

Thank you.

I do think it isn't something that should be brushed under the rug, and I also feel that the more people know about it, the worse it becomes for Jimmy when the Beast Games show actually comes out.

One thing I forgot to include in the post is that the Las Vegas shoot is going to be uploaded on YouTube as an extended qualifier to the actual show on Amazon Prime.

It's worth noting that the contestants didn't know that until they arrived at the stadium. They'd been told that the Las Vegas shoot was the Amazon show, and there would only be 1,000 competitors (which is how it is marketed by Amazon). They only learned that the player-count had doubled and this wasn't going to be on Prime once they were on set, and were shown a video message from Jimmy saying he forgot to mention that actually there were 2,000 people and this wasn't the Amazon show (though MrBeast later claimed that this was always the intent).

I don't know when the video(s) will be uploaded, but I honestly can't wait because I'm dying to know how they're planning on editing the footage to cut out the horrors that took place during the challenges.

Like, how are they going to show the Red team losing the first challenge with the rope and pulley? On the one hand, surely they've got to show the 400 people who were eliminated in that challenge. But on the other hand... what exactly do they have to work with?

The production team refused the Red team's pleas to stop the challenge and demanded they keep going to the end, presumably because they needed them to do it for the sake of the video. Instead, anti-capitalist icons that they are, the entire team abandoned the challenge mid-way anyway so they could go help their teammates who were literally being strangled, throwing the game. And once they'd abandoned the rope, they never picked it up again.

Obviously, the producers can't show competitors being throttled. But that means that they also can't explain why the Reds lost the challenge. If the throttling happened toward the end, maybe they'll be fine, but if it happened closer to the middle, there's no way for them to explain why those 400 people just gave up so early.

It also presumably means any overhead shots of all the teams are ruined, because that would require them to explain why the Reds just aren't participating.

Maybe they could show the Reds giving up, but give a different reason. But no reason I can think of works. If they say they "tried their best but knew they couldn't win", they would then also have to answer the question of why the challenge was impossible for them - the reason being that their team of 400 consisted of about 380 women, while their opposing teams consisted almost entirely of the youngest and strongest male competitors.

And I'm not sure how they're going to explain that, because if they show the challenge of everyone going for coloured jerseys, they can't reveal why the teams ended up so unbalanced, as the actual reason is that the male contestants were hoarding jerseys and were physically violent against the female and elderly contestants, and organised themselves to guarantee they were all on the same team, resulting in a gender split.

I'm also not sure how they plan to edit around challenges like the briefcase game, where in the middle of the cramped field the male contestants were attacking and trampling the women. It's going to take a lot of editing to cut around that. And while they can edit out the injuries occurring they can't edit out the fact that by the end of the challenge there are suspiciously fewer female contestants remaining than there were to begin with.

Additionally, they're going to have to justify why the contestants started off so diverse in gender and age, only for the 1,000 who made it to the actual Amazon show predominantly being young and male, without it becoming clear that no one else had any chance. They can't introduce new contestants to re-diversify the cast, because 1,000 were promised by Amazon, 1,000 qualified, and people will complain if they try to fudge the numbers or cheat by introducing last-minute entries, which is especially bad now that he's currently under fire for allegedly faking and rigging competitions.

Jimmy also can't just not upload it at all, because then he'd have to explain that as well, and this is such a massive event people, both fans and detractors, are going to notice.

The more people know about it, the worse his situation becomes, because there's just no way out of it without inviting questions he doesn't want people to know the answers to.

While this is obviously too much to hope for in this timeline, in an ideal world enough people start talking about this that Amazon cancels his show due to the controversy - Jimmy has said Beast Games is intended to be his break into more traditional media, and I think it would be nice to shut that down.

[i-like-forcefem]

I’d love to forcefem someone using only loony-toons traps

Roll out of bed? Step on a button triggering a pulley that rips your pyjamas and underwear clean clean off

Stumble back from the shock? Trigger a slingshot that slaps you with a bra and a pair of panties that slip on due to the force (it’s a cartoon!)

Try to take them off? It snaps back so hard you eg pushed into your wall, triggering another button dropping a cute T-shirt perfectly over your head

Stumble around trying to see? Fall over a tripwire through a skirt that gets together around your waist as you slip through it

And then you find yourself in a fem get up scared to do anything, you sure won’t try to take it off anymore

So you’ll maybe open a cabinet to get your toothbrush? Cannon shoots you with a perfect face of make-up

But at least you could grab your (mysteriously) pink toothbrush now

You walk out of your room? Step inside high heels that clamp onto your feet and then stumble down the stairs falling into a kiddy-pool filled with Estrogen gell

Not to mention all the traps I can set at their workplace and on their way to work, all the traps I can make that you’d only ever trigger if you’re actively avoiding other traps…

And just how insane she’ll look to everyone else, of course the traps never activate when someone else could see it, so to everyone else she just looks like a crazy, but cutely dressed, girl

I might even make a trap attaching a fun little bomb to her, which will go off if she ever denies that she’s really a girl (and if the bomb ever happens to go off it will conveniently launch her inside a seat of the closest beauty salon, with her to confused by the blast to resist the full manicure we’ve order for her)

[concreteangel92]

The Angel Of The Night

AU Noah Sebastian x female reader

18+

Warnings: smut, PiV, oral (female receiving) praise kink, slight obsessive/stalker elements (this is based off of the ghost of the opera house himself 🤣) talks of the death of loved ones, dark romance, I’m pretty sure that’s it

So this has been in the works since August when I watched the phantom of the opera in Greece on my first night there haha I’ve always loved this show (west end and film!) and I even have a tattoo dedicated to it so it was a no brainer to me that Noah would fit perfectly into this aesthetic!

The mask (especially the new one!!) the glove, his voice all mixed with an old theatre and gothic aesthetic and atmosphere? Hell fucking yes!!

Remember that this is an inspired fic so you’ll see familiar names, themes, etc but it’s not the actual whole story! But if you’re a fan of the soundtrack, you may recognise a few lyrics here and there 🤭

I hope you all enjoy it, it’s a long one so grab yourself a cuppa and I’ll see you on the next fic. Also please let me know your thoughts!! I’d love to know what you all think as this is definitely the longest I’ve ever spent writing one story haha let me know, you can always message me anonymously if you’re shy 🖤

Tags: @triedbimsoblu333 @I00na24 @iluvmewwwww75 @veronicaphoenix @tosoundlessdarkistare @specialstay @dsireland86 @philomenie @clingylittlebun-blog @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @lilcrazy011

Masterlist

You’d been with your theatre company since you were a child, having lost your parents at a young age, the opera house is all you have ever really known.

You loved it here, the old theatre was your home. You knew every wing like the back of your hand, every creaky floorboard backstage, how the orchestra pit echoed when no one was in it, you knew the creepiest parts that no one like to venture into. You loved it all, it was your sanctuary.

There was something about the theatre that made you feel at peace, standing up on the stage in front of a huge audience, hearing their cheers and cries that made your heart swell. The heat of the spotlights, the magic you felt as you danced to beat of the live music, everything about it made you feel so alive.

The year was 1870 in Paris and you were currently playing the leading role in the current opera ‘Hannibal’

It was your debut as the leading lady and to say you were nervous was an understatement.

You walked quietly around the empty stalls of the theatre, taking in its musky smell, the beautiful architecture of the building and the huge crystal chandelier that hung high above your head. You ran your fingers across the old red velvet on the chair in front of you and sat yourself down in one of the seats near the pit.

The stage was empty but you could hear the hustle and bustle backstage of the cast and crew getting everything ready for opening night tonight, although there was still hours to go, there was still much more that needed to be set up.

You fiddled with your fingers nervously in your lap, taking a deep breath, you couldn’t help but speak aloud softly.

“Please….please let tonight go well”

You kept your eyes closed as you leant back in the chair, allowing a moment for yourself to process the evening that you knew lay ahead. You were certain you had been alone….until you heard his voice.

From high up above your head, in the gods, you heard his beautiful, ethereal voice humming down to you.

With a small gasp, you opened your eyes and looked up into darkness, and there amongst the ropes and pulleys of the backdrops and lights, you saw his silhouette and instantly a small smile appeared on your lips.

“There you are”

Your words were barely a whisper, your angel of music was right there with you. You should have known he wouldn’t be far away.

“Y/N what are you doing down there? You need to get ready for tonight!”

You tore your eyes away from your mysterious friend and saw your teacher/guardian Madame Giry standing in the wings on stage left.

“Yes Madame”

You casted up eyes up once more to the heavens to see that he was gone, like a ghost who was never there in the first place.

•••••

He was nicknamed the ‘Opera Ghost’

No one in the theatre ever questioned that box 5 was always left empty so no customer could use it, people ignored the eerie echoes of his angelic singing that seemed to come from no where all around the old building. No one had ever seen him fully, only catching glimpses of his shadow in the night.

No one, but you.

You were the only person to have had any interaction with the ghost. He had started visiting you when you were a child, you were 8 years old when your parents had met their tragic end and you were fated to the theatre. It wasn’t long after that you started to hear his voice in the night.

It started off with just singing, he comforted you when you were crying yourself to sleep, not having come to terms with the loss of your parents and the change that was about to happen within your life. You had felt so alone, you hardly knew anyone within the company, the only reason you came to be here was because Madame Giry was a close friend to your mother and she had agreed to take you in when they died.

But in those long, lonely first nights and weeks, his beautiful voice helped you drift off to sleep.

As the years went on, the beautiful voice became deeper and he started to talk to you quietly from within the walls, the mirror, you never knew exactly where he was but you always knew he was there.

In recent years, he had been singing your songs with you, helping you train your soprano skills, a patient teacher and a loyal companion is what you knew him to be.

Although you knew people had dubbed him the ‘opera ghost’ you felt that wasn’t a suitable title for this angelic creature so you called him your very own ‘angel of the night’ which was a nickname you often heard him whispering back to you.

Your angel wasn’t just a teacher to you anymore, he had become a friend. You told him all your hopes, dreams and your darkest fears. You’d talk to him until you heard the faint sound of the birds chirping and saw the first rays of the morning sun rising over the horizon through your window.

He would still sing you to sleep on the nights you struggled, when the past traumas returned in the forms of nightmares, he was always there to help take your fears away.

His voice was like nothing you had ever heard before. He sounded almost like a siren calling out to his awaiting victims and just like one, you felt the pull within your soul every time he called.

Tonight was the opening night, your big debut, but that wasn’t the only reason for your nerves. You knew he’d be there, watching from box 5, hidden within the shadows, but always there.

“Will he be impressed? Will I be everything he hoped for?”

These thoughts plagued your mind as you walked down the corridor, your heels clicking with every step, until you reached your dressing room/living quarters.

You wrapped your hand around the old doorknob and turned it so your door swung open with a creak.

In front of you was your dressing room, your bedroom was through the door at the back of the room, the walls were a beautiful shade of red, almost matching the seats in the theatre stalls out front. There were beautiful paintings in gold frames on the walls of your favourite artwork, a huge mirror that took up one wall, a rail of costumes and props lined another, you had your changing screen next to that and then you also had your beautiful make up vanity, surrounded by candles and all your make up and jewellery that was laid out for you on the counter.

But what caught your attention was the most beautiful bouquet of flowers, roses of the darkest red lay across your chair with a hand written piece of paper on top.

You walked over and picked up your present, inhaling their beautiful scent while you read the note.

‘To my beautiful angel’

You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face, you knew it was him, he had left you a good luck token in preparation for tonight.

You felt your nerve’s ease, you knew you could do this, as you knew your angel would be watching over you.

•••••

The sounds of a standing ovation, loud cheers and clapping filled your ears as you took your final bow, flowers of all kinds being thrown onto the stage around your feet.

The show had gone without a hitch, your solo performance had been an absolute triumph that brought the audience to their feet. Throughout the production you had tried glancing up at box 5, hoping to see a glimpse of him but of course, nothing. Just the sight of the curtains moving gently when it was take to take the bows, almost like they had been caught in the non existent breeze.

Your vision was blocked completely as the main house curtain fell to the stage, muffling out the sounds of the audience still cheering from the other side.

You felt yourself being embraced by your fellow cast and crew members, all congratulating you on your performance.

“That what incredible!”

“Bravo!”

“Y/N you were sensational!”

You felt your cheeks go warm at all the compliments, the adrenaline still fully pumping through your body as you tried to catch your breath.

You thanked everyone and helped pick up the flowers littered across the stage to take back to your dressing room.

“He was there, I know he was! I wonder if he liked it?”

You felt butterflies start in your stomach at the thought, you would never want to disappoint him, you craved to know how he felt. You couldn’t wait to get back to your room.

You once again gave everyone your thanks and made your leave, half jogging down the corridors behind the theatre.

Once you entered your room, you put down all your flowers, taking note of even more bouquets that had been sent here from different admirers that were now spread around and all the lanterns and candles were burning beautifully, giving the room a beautiful golden glow.

You walked behind your changing screen and started to remove your heavy dress, a costume you were relieved to be out of, finally feeling like you could breathe normally once the corset was gone. You settled for a simple white lace dress that fell to floor. You removed all the pins from your hair and allowed it to cascade down your back. You were about to remove the make up on your face when you heard a knock at your door.

You called out for them to enter and you looked up into your mirror and saw Madame Giry standing there with another body behind her.

“Sorry to disturb you Y/N but there is someone who would like to meet you?”

You turned around and glanced behind and saw a handsome young man standing almost nervously on the spot with his top hat in his hands. He had short dark hair, was an average height and was wearing a formal dinner suit fit for the theatre.

You nodded and Madame Giry stepped aside so he could walk forward.

“Miss Y/L/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you”

You smiled politely, stood and offered your hand for him to grasp in his own as he bowed his head gently.

“My name is Henry Edwards. Do excuse my intuition miss, I was just so captivated by your performance that I wanted to give my congratulations in person. I’ve actually seen many performances here at this theatre but tonight was by far the best I have ever seen”

You smiled wider at his words, his face definitely looking more familiar now that he’s mentioned he’d been here before. You’d often seen him admiring your dancing in previous productions.

“Thank you Mr Edwards, you are too kind”

“If I was to be so bold Miss Y/N, I would love to be able to discuss your performance further, perhaps over tea or a stroll around the park?”

You were taken back by his proposal, not used to men being so forward with you or even desiring you at all really.

“Oh erm…yes, I…I think that would be a lovely idea”

You panicked, you knew you weren’t particularly interested in the man in front of you but what harm was there to be courted for an afternoon.

Henry looked very pleased as he fumbled over a thank you, his next words were lost on you as you suddenly felt a presence within the room, the presence of someone who wasn’t happy at all.

You turned your head to the big mirror behind you and watched as a few of the near by candles flickered angrily before going out completely, leaving nothing but whips of smoke behind.

“Mine”

The word was whispered so low and dragged out that it almost sounded like the wind, but you knew better, the realisation sending chills down your spine.

You turned back and caught Madame Giry’s gaze, it was as shocked as your own, she knew.

“Well Mr Edwards, I’m sorry but that will be all for tonight, Miss Y/L/N is extremely tired and needs to rest her voice. Come back in a couple days to arrange this meeting?”

Madame had already started pulling gently on his arm and gesturing for him to leave, he looked baffled at first but soon composed himself.

“Oh erm…yes, yes, of course. Goodnight Miss Y/L/N and I’ll pop by in a few days?”

You nodded with a forced smile as you watched as he slipped his top hat back upon his head and walked out of the room, Madame Giry giving you one last look before shutting the door behind her, the sound echoing through the empty room.

But you knew you were far from alone.

You turned around to face the mirror, staring at your own reflection, the sound of his quiet humming started once more and you felt pulled towards the mirror.

Almost like you were in a trance, you stepped forward, your eyes glued to your own reflection until you noticed another pair of eyes staring back at you from over your shoulder.

You should have been afraid, you should have called out for help, but you didn’t.

Dark almond eyes gazed back into your own, his face becoming more clearer the closer you got. But it wasn’t his whole face you saw. It was covered by half of a white mask, almost like he was trying to hide his true identity.

You stood frozen in place as your angel came fully into view, it was like he’d appeared from the mirror itself, like he truly was a mystical creature from another world.

His song was hypnotising, the melody causing your head to feel so light and airy, like you were floating on a cloud.

You looked up in your dream like state to see him standing in front of you.

You reached your hand out without a thought and was met with a hard, firm chest, your angel was truly here.

Taking in his appearance, he was even more beautiful than you ever could have imagined. He was tall, extremely tall and towered over your small frame and was just as broad in his chest and back. You could see he had shiny, brown hair that was falling down to his neck, it looked so soft that you felt the urge to run your fingers through it.

Your angel was wearing a black suit with a long black cloak over the top and of course the half mask, you had never wanted to remove something so much in your life, his face was absolutely perfect, why would he hide? His eyes appeared darker now he was in front of you, he had the most intense stare that you’d ever seen, it was like he could see into your very soul and read your every thought.

The last thing you took note of was his tattoos that were peaking out over his collar and on his right hand, his other being covered with a black leather glove. It was unusual to see a man around these parts that had tattoos, you’d never seen any before.

He moved around your body slowly, his hands running up through the air next to your arms, not touching but still your skin felt like it had been set alight. As his hands came up near your face, he gestured for you to look ahead.

“Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside. I am your angel of music”

You inhaled deeply as you took in the sight of him standing directly behind you, his whole presence was consuming you.

His face suddenly looked angry as he whispered his next words.

“Insolent boy. Does your young suitor really think that he can take what’s mine?”

You turned to face him, the thought of your angel being angry with you was too much to bare.

“Angel my soul is weak, forgive me! Yours is the only one that calls me”

He stood staring down into your eyes, like he was trying to find a lie but he would find none. You knew your heart belonged to him, it always had.

“Hide no longer from me”

Your words were hardly audible but you knew he’d heard. No words were given in return, all you could hear the was sounds of his beautiful song again as it’s filled your mind. He walked back around your body and backed himself up towards the mirror, that was when he held out his hand to you, you took it without hesitation.

Your head light as a feather, you followed him willingly, you hardly paid attention to where you were going or how you got there, all that mattered was that you were with him. His siren song never once stopping as you made your way down the dimly lit corridors heading down to the catacombs beneath the city.

The walls were lined with candles, all lit up, the air was damp and cold against your skin.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Your beautiful angel in front of you, he could have been leading you to the pits of hell and you wouldn’t have cared. He kept looking back at you every so often, as if to make sure you hadn’t vanished.

Coming up to the waters edge, you noticed a small boat ready, he stepped into it first and one again extended his hand out, you took it and stepped into the boat after him.

The foggy feeling never left, you felt so free, so light, like nothing could touch you ever again. It was almost like you’d become a spirit of another realm, not of this earth but not quite moved onto the next.

You continued to listen to his voice, just as he always had done, he soothed away any of your fears. You took note of all the burning candles, the way the water lapped up the sides and casted a beautiful rippling reflection up on the walls.

As you rowed further into the catacombs, you saw your destination. This could only be his home.

It was breathtaking, even more candles lit the area and it was living space in the middle of the caves. Artwork, statues and musical instruments of all kinds surrounded you. And roses, dark red roses everywhere.

You closed your eyes as you felt the inner peace of contentment washed over you, you couldn’t describe it any other way, it was like you were in a dream.

The sound of his voice gently stopped as he got out of the boat and you stood to follow, allowing him to place his hands on your waist and lift you easily onto the floor.

You started to turn your head around to take in your surroundings but you felt his fingers grasp your chin gently but firm and pulled your face back to meet his.

You tilted your head and glanced down at his lips, wondering if he would lean down into you.

Gazing up into his face, you really took in his features, he was absolutely perfect. Your eyes wandered to the mask and your hand reached up slowly to push it off of him before you even truly thought of your actions.

Your hand was stopped by his gripping onto your wrist sharply and tightly, his eyes first the first time showing any sort of vulnerability as he shook his head slightly.

“Why do you hide from me angel?”

He brought your hand back down gently and took a deep breath.

“Because I would repulse you, you’d run from me”

You brought your free hand up and held onto his cheek, the pads of your fingers gently caressing his smooth skin.

“I could never, you’re my guide, my guardian…my friend”

His eyes soften at your words, you watched the candles fire reflecting and dancing deep within his irises as you waited for his response.

Your angel stood slightly straighter, he let go of your hand and he reached up until the base of the mask was between his fingertips. He hesitated for a moment before he ducked his head down and slid the mask off, his hair falling back into place as it was removed.

When he looked back up, the sight that greeted you was a shock. The whole right side of his face and into his scalp was burnt and had deep scaring. You would have believed it to be painful but it was clear to see that these were not fresh wounds.

You gasped quietly but you didn’t recoil. Instead you raised your hand and held the right side of his neck gently and leaned up and kissed his jagged skin softly, not missing the low moan it pulled from his throat as you did.

“Those that have seen your face draw back in fear. I do not”

“I do not frighten you little one?”

You shook your head and continued to gently stroke his scars.

“Never. Please tell me angel, do you have a name?”

“Noah”

His name left your lips in a whisper, your eyes half lidded as you looked up at him. It was a beautiful name that was well suited to the man before you.

His hand came up to brush your hair from your face, you couldn’t help but softy sing his own song back to him, not missing how his eyes darken.

“Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams”

Your eyes fell shut, the next feeling was his lips upon yours, gently moving with you.

It was electric, both of his hands came up to cradle your neck, holding close as he pressed his body into yours.

Pulling away, his hands slowly wandered down your body, your breathing was starting to quicken within your chest.

“Trust me?”

You nodded without hesitation, your eyes never leaving his. Noah then picked you up bridal style and carried you over to a huge king size bed that was covered in red sheets and was surrounded by a black lace canopy.

He set you down onto your feet and moved behind you to start undoing the ties on the back of your dress, letting his fingers trace the skin beneath as he did.

“Where does your soul long to be?”

You turned to face him, your dress loose over your shoulders.

“With you, I belong to you, I have always belonged to you”

He lowered his head down to you and once again captured your lips between his own, this time more passionate than before. Noah slipped his hands into the fabric at the top of your dress and continued to slide it off your shoulders as he moved his head down to start ghosting kisses along your collar bone.

You moved your hands into his hair and finally felt how soft it really was, it was like silk moving between your fingers.

You felt your dress starting to fall off of you, fully aware that your top half was completely bare underneath. You felt the material pool around your feet and his hands settled onto your hips as he continued to kiss and gently bite your skin, moving further down.

Your stomach was starting to tighten, the feeling that was washing over you was like nothing you’d ever felt before.

A soft moan escaped your lips as he started to moved his head lower and gently sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, feeling his warm tongue flicking over the harden bud while his hand came up to caress the other, rolling that nipple between his fingers.

You tried to hold back the noises that your body wanted to make, feeling self conscious of how you must have sounded, something Noah seemed to pick up on easily.

“Savour each sensation my little angel, let me hear you, let your darker side give in to me”

You watched as Noah stood tall and removed the cloak from his shoulders and his jacket and carelessly let them fall to the ground, he then moved you back until your legs hit the bed and he guided you down onto the plush mattress and your body sank into the pillows, his body following yours swiftly after.

You felt his hands running up your bare legs up to your underwear, toying with the waistband teasingly before pulling them off slowly, he was clearly savouring every noise or squirm your body was making under his touch.

“You’re mine my little angel, you belong to me”

You nodded, unable to form any words due to the feeling of him ghosting his lips across your inner thighs, spreading your legs apart slowly.

“Say it”

“I’ve always been yours Noah”

The sound of his name felt so right, he had always been there and you had always been his.

Noah used his hands to push your legs further apart, opening you up for him. A low groan came from deep within his chest as he leant down and licked one slow, long strip up your centre, the feeling sending shock waves through your body and your back to arch off the mattress.

You felt his fingers move to your outer lips to part them gently so he could flick his tongue inside, loving tasting you for the first time.

The sensations that were flooding your body was nothing short of pure ecstasy, Noah continued to eat you out slowly and let his thumb move upward so he could start rubbing firm circles against your clit.

“Oh my….Noah, please!”

You didn’t know what you were begging for, your body felt alive, your stomach was twisting beautifully and your hands found themselves running through his hair, pushing him closer into your centre.

The pleasure that you felt was overwhelming, your thighs were starting to shake, tears were forming in the corners of your eyes as you couldn’t stop the cries that left your mouth.

Noah didn’t stop, he moved his fingers faster and continued to devour you until your legs squeezed around his head and the breath was pulled from your lungs as your orgasm washed over you and you felt like you were floating and falling all at the same time.

Once you started to come back down, you saw that Noah had stripped himself of the rest of his clothes and was settling himself down in between your legs. The sight of how many tattoos he truly had was astonishing.

“I’ve waited so long to feel you around me my little dove”

Noah reached down and gripped himself and ran his head along your folds, your wetness gathering onto him, before he slowly pushed his hips forward, the feeling of him stretching you open was almost sinful.

Your head fell back into the pillows and his head fell into your neck as he growled from the feeling of you. Your hands came and found themselves wrapped around his arms as you adjusted to his size.

“You’re perfect…it’s like you were made for me”

Your cheeks became warm at his words, his praise making your core throb with need.

Noah started moving his hips against yours, it was a torturously slow and deep pace that caused you to feel every inch of him against your walls, your body instantly reacting to his movements.

“You feel incredible around me angel, fuck…you’re so fucking perfect. My perfect little angel”

You moaned loudly, his words mixed with his deep thrusts was intoxicating, your heart was swimming with so many emotions, you never wanted this moment to end.

You reached your hand up and placed it onto his scared skin, wanting to show him that he was beautiful in your eyes. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he started to thrust harder, a layer of sweat had now coated both of your bodies and the room echoed with the sounds of your cries and skin slapping onto skin.

“Noah…I..I feel…”

You couldn’t finish your words, you didn’t need to, Noah knew you were near your end. His hips moved faster, the motion pressing your body into the mattress as your nails dug into the skin on his back as your body wound itself up tighter.

“Cum for me, I want to feel you”

Noah’s own hips started to falter as your body was suddenly convulsing underneath his and you screamed out his name, you squeezed your eyes shut as you rode out the waves of your high, feeling Noah’s release deep inside of you as he groaned loudly into your shoulder.

You felt Noah kiss your skin softly as he slipped himself out, the loss leaving you feeling so empty. He brought you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you tightly as if he was frightened you’d leave.

“Stay with me?”

You looked up with a smile and kissed his lips.

“Forever”

Noah smiled back and he pulled the covers over your naked bodies and he started to hum his song once again, the song that you’d known since you were young.

It was beautiful, it was haunting but most of all, it was comforting. You snuggled into his side and allowed your angel of music to sing you into a beautiful, deep sleep.

[t8-ak47]

•|—DUNGEON FUCK—|•

~WARNINGS~ JPM x f!reader, male orgasm, edging, BDSM, bondage, fingering, unprotected p in v, sub reader

DNI UNDER 16

“When I say stay still, do I mean struggle, Hummingbird?” 

James gleamed under the leather of his mask. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he was beaming like a child in a candy store. You tried to tug away from your leather bounds, but the handcuffs that held you to the ceiling were just too strong. But in vain you tugged again.

“Let me down, you bastard!”

You shouted, angrily tugging at the chains. James slowly approached you, his dress shoe heels clicking across the tile. He gripped your wrists hard with his hand, and with the other yanked the mask off theatrically. As if he was revealing a grand surprise, he presented himself to you before running his gloved hands down your bare chest.

His hands felt the contour of your firm breasts before gently rolling a hardened nipple between his gloved fingers. He got right up behind you so he could whisper hot breath into your ear.

“You can and will do as I say, darling.”

It was no use struggling. You let yourself dangle, your bare feet on your tiptoes on the cold concrete ground. He worked the vinyl gloves over you, and by the way you drew back your stomach in recoil from the cold touch could feel the edges of your ribcage. You groaned as he traced lower and lower before brushing against your core. Each touch was so calculated, he knew exactly how to tease you and make you hate him.

You were about to shout at him again to let you down before he slipped his two middle fingers into your mouth. You moaned automatically, opening up your throat for it. The bitter vinyl taste was unpleasant, but his fingers thrusting into the back of the throat made it impossible to focus on anything but not gagging. Once he saw fit, he pulled his fingers out and inspected the saliva dripping from them. You only had a second to breathe before he had already reached down, gently caressing your entrance from the back.

The slickness of your own saliva against your pulsing pussy was almost cruel. He traced a figure eight around your entrance and then around your clit, holding your thigh up so he could have access to every little inch of your skin. With a bite to your neck he slipped the same two fingers inside of you, not even giving time for you to adjust.

“Fuck…”

He groaned as he felt you clench around his fingers. He began thrusting quickly up to the knuckle, watching you squirm on his fingers and begin to whimper. You knew you looked absolutely pathetic, but you couldn’t help being so desperately vocal as he rubbed your clit with one hand and fucked your wet hole with the other, preparing it for what was yet to come. 

“Come on Hummingbird, you’re so wet for me…”

His mewls in your ear made you even more aroused, your soft pussy gushing out juices onto his palm. Without warning he withdrew his fingers, licking your juices off his gloved fingers.

“Such a good girl for me. So good.”

He smiled a wicked smile before going to the wall, tugging on the chain so the pulley attached to your wrists yanked you up a couple more inches. You could barely touch the ground with your toes, but you were too focused on desperately trying to create friction between your thighs to make up for how James left you so high and dry. But quickly he was behind you, and he promptly tied another chain around your knee and hooked it to the ceiling as well. The cool air hit your core at the sudden exposure, but not before James’ gloved hand began toying with it again.

You heard it: the sound of metal hitting the concrete ground. And you knew exactly that it was his belt. Your suspicions were confirmed when you felt his tip tracing a stripe along your core.

“Are you going to stay still for me, doll?”

He smirked and kissed your earlobe before slipping in, using your own pulsing juices as lube. The chains dug deep into the skin of your raised thigh, but it created an angle for him to abuse just perfectly. He pumped in and out…his fingertips digging into your hips as he jabbed your cervix with each thrust. He didn’t stop at all, even at your whimpers and cries, not until he came deep, filling you up with his warm seed. He pulled out and tugged his pants up, smirking at how he turned you into such a desperate mess.

He didn’t give a fuck about whether it hurt or not for you. Not now, when you were his little dangling toy. You knew he’d cuddle you afterwards, perhaps after letting you hang there in desperation for a few moments more. But not now. Now, you belonged to the dungeon.

taglist (send an ask or comment to be added to the taglist): @fear-is-truth @silkcorpsedoll @hockeyrat

[team-118]

in case this year I come back and stay

8×08 wannabes coda, 661 words, pov eddie, on ao3

Eddie was thirteen, he thinks, the first time he felt the little tug in the base of his spine. In the middle of the night, the living room floor had been littered with sketches and calculations in Eddie’s messy handwriting. He'd pulled his dad down to sit next to him and explained, boldly and proudly, how his design worked. A miniature replica of the oil pumpjacks Ramon worked with in the field, it was sure to earn a gold ribbon at his upcoming science fair, and his dad's approval to boot.

But his dad's eyes had glazed over, a little, and he'd run his finger over the design before saying, "Eddie - son, well -" and he'd exhaled, long and deep. "I'm sure a regular lever and pulley would do just fine."

And there it was, the little tug. No, it said. You're wrong. I'm pretty sure you're wrong. I want to try it my way.

Eddie had heard that little tug out all the way to California. Come on, it said, and Eddie packed a suitcase and his son and drove until he saw the ocean. This way, it whispered, and Eddie applied to the fire academy. Quickly, it insisted, and Eddie followed it 40 feet under and then back up to his family. The tug led him into danger, but it also led him out. Sometimes, Eddie thinks, it's the only thing that's been able to keep his heart beating this long. It sounds like dumb luck - but it feels like something else.

Things don't go well when Eddie ignores the tug. He hates thinking about it. Careful, it says, and when Eddie doesn't listen, the dark circles around his eyes match his uniform at Metro Dispatch. Hey, it warns, but Eddie tells it to shut up and then he's sitting in his truck in Bobby's driveway with the words "hundred something bodies" ringing in his ears. His eyes look wild in the rearviews. Eddie, it snaps, but he tunes it out and clasps Buck's shoulder and tells him to call Tommy. It doesn't make the twist in his gut go away.

Eddie sits on the cold hardwood floor of his barren living room and signs the last few papers to solidify the move on a zoom call. The base of his spine is numb. If he was paying attention, he's sure that would hold true for the rest of him, too. He hasn't felt a tug in months. All he can hear is static.

"I'll, um, see you later," he tells Buck when he collects his key. He feels nothing but hollow. Bobby raises his eyebrow, sitting across his desk in his office with resignation papers in hand, and Eddie goes see-through. Hen and Chim corner him in the locker room and Eddie’s eyes glaze over.

He drives to El Paso in silence, knocks on his parents' door in the middle of the night. "I'm sorry," he tells them, and it feels flat and rehearsed even though he’s pretty sure he hasn't said that to them since Shannon passed. They exchange a long look, and all Eddie can think is Chris is behind that door. Chris is right behind that door. "I'm sorry, you were right." They let him through.

Eddie sits at the dining table in a house he swore he'd never return to. "Chris is asleep, of course," his mom tells him, a little miffed. She leaves him with a cold glass of water and a pillow for the couch. He gives her a tight smile and tries not to think about the morning.

He's swaying on his feet, about to pass out when his eye catches on something shoved to the back of the bookshelf. Coated in a thick layer of dust, it's almost unrecognizable in the darkness, but Eddie thinks he would know it anywhere: a gold ribbon from a science fair in 2005.

Eddie, he feels, from the base of his spine. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

[lacollectionneuse1967]

slip of the tongue part 3 - reckoning

Theseus Scamander x Reader

"Keep your hands to yourself!" You snap, trying to infuse as much venom into your voice as possible. "I can't," he groans.

summary: a second mission with newt and the group reintroduces theseus's former fiancée, leta lestrange, into the mix. old wounds and insecurities flare as you both reckon with your pasts and make decisions that determine your future.

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: romance with plot. some smut. slight angst!! non-canon compliant.

warnings: 18+ smut, semi-public inappropriate touching, dirty talk, hand kink

part one / part two / part three

author's note: it's funny how the title of this fic doesn't really fit anymore HAHA, goes to show that i did not plan this story at all. this part is going to be LONGER & more focused on plot & their character development! hope you enjoy, as always let me know if you'd like me to continue :)

The surreal, electric buzz from the gala dissipates as soon as you enter the elevator at the Hotel de Rome with Theseus.

Theseus's jacket is so large you're practically drowning in it, the sleeves hang well past your hands. You feel like a little girl in a nightgown. The elevator pulleys burr mechanically as it slowly rises, the electric bulb light casting your face in a sickly, ghastly light. The backs of your high heels have begun to dig painfully into your skin, that stinging pain the only thing grounding you to reality, that and Theseus's warm body beside you. You're positive your feet are bleeding.

Your weariness is mirrored in everyone else's faces when you walk into the hotel room at last. It's obvious that they're all overextended. There's no semblance of victoriousness, even after your successful heist.

Newt stands, alert, at the sight of his brother.

"Theseus! Finally, I was beginning to worry-"

"I'm fine, brother," Theseus waves him off. His hair is slightly damp from the snowfall, and his dress shirt as well. "We got caught up, but we're fine."

When Newt turns to speak to you, his lips part but no words come out. He's staring at your mouth. He looks pale and horrified.

"What?" You turn to the others and to Theseus in uncertainty. Tina and Jacob are also looking at you with newfound distress, but Theseus seems as clueless as you, frowning warily at Newt.

Newt makes as if to bring a hand to your face but pulls back at the last moment.

"Oh dear," Newt says. "Y-Your lipstick is smeared... I'm so terribly sorry, Y/N. And your hair—I didn’t think Dietrich would actually-"

Theseus half-raises an arm, cutting his brother short, looking admonished. 

“Actually, Newt, that would be my doing...”

Your face warms considerably. Newt chokes on his words.

“Oh…” He turns to the rest of the group, his face nearly flushed as yours. Jacob lets out a strangled noise and Tina does a discreet double-take between you and Theseus.

“Well,” says Newt, mercifully changing the subject. “We all made off fantastically. Good work.”

You want to share in his congratulations, but it feels premature with Grindelwald still at large. It doesn't feel as though you have much to celebrate in this tiny hotel room, the five of you still standing awkwardly in your evening wear.

"What now?" Asks Tina.

Newt sits on one of the two twin-sized beds and hunches over, forearms on his legs. He is your designated leader, but you have to admit he looks so small and frail without his coat. Thin and unsure of himself.

"I have it on good authority that Credence will be at a mausoleum in the French Alps. He could be heading there now, we have no way of knowing, but he is planning on going there soon. Tomorrow, maybe."

"Why?" Tina's face is full of emotion. You don't know who Credence is, or why he is important to the resistance, but you don't feel that now is the time to ask. It stuns you, the subtlety of her expression, how someone can look so crushed and full of love at once.

"He's, erm, searching for his ancestral records I believe," Newt answers. "The Lestrange artifacts and family tree were moved there from the cemetery in Paris, possibly by Grindelwald. This is likely all a trap set for Credence, but this could very well be our last chance to intercept him. To save him."

Tina is speechless, Jacob nods solemnly.

"Y/N," says Newt. It startles you to hear him say your name in all of this deliberation. "I know you probably don't understand half of what we're saying, and we understand if you don't want to come. But we'll likely run into Grindelwald and his followers. They're after Credence. We could use you."

You don't even have to think.

"Of course, Newt. I go where Theseus goes." You wonder if you sound too intense, too devoted, so you add: "And besides, I want to be of any help that I can."

Theseus reaches out and clasps your hand in his. It thrills you, for him to do this in front of his brother, in front of the others. Your heart races, happily so.

Newt smiles at the sight.

"Sleep," he turns to everyone. "We leave first thing in the morning."

----

The next day, by the time you make it to the French Alps in spats of apparition and stretches of traveling by train, it is nearly dusk again.

You and Theseus had slept like the dead in the too-small hotel room bed, with Tina in the other bed and Jacob and Newt, in a turn of events beyond your understanding, in some hidden compartment within Newt's brown leather suitcase. Strange, but you didn't question it. Your bodies ached when you woke, but it felt like heaven to you, being held by him, you wouldn't have traded it for the world.

"I'm too big for this bed," he lamented, stretching his limbs, when the two of you woke in the morning.

"Hmm, yeah. Too big... " When you smiled coyly and narrowed your eyes at him he threw a pillow at your face. You caught it with a laugh.

"Naughty," he chided.

"The resistance," as Theseus had once jokingly called it, turned out to be not so glamorous after all. The resistance was perpetually tired and forever embarking on some haphazard plans only half-understood.

But when you set foot at the base of the mountains in the Alps, you feel bizarrely energized. This is what you imagined the work of an Auror would be like, chasing leads, pursuing justice through crowded cities and rugged terrain. It feels good to be so proactive after a year of being more or less cooped up in an office at the Ministry. And, best of all, Theseus is here with you. And he wants you, if not your heart then your body, at last, at least...

"This can't be it, Newt," you hear Jacob say, his breath pluming in front of him in small huffs. He struggles through the thick snowbed to catch up to Newt, who is a bit ahead of the group. You're in what looks like a forest clearing, the mountains rise in the distance, gargantuan and feeling a bit holy in their emptiness, their silence.

"He's right. There's nothing out here," calls Tina.

It's a winter forest. A killing wood. In truth, you’ve never been so cold in your entire life. The whole world has turned white as death: white blizzard blotting the air, thick blankets of fresh snow carpet the ground, and everywhere outside the clearing are great white pines standing like sentries, their edges blurred and softened by the snow fog.

You can see what’s in front of you, but you can’t see what’s coming.

Newt walks clumsily back through the budding blizzard to rejoin the group.

"The mausoleum should be a bit uphill from here!" He assures. "It's concealed by magic. Credence doesn't know, but we need someone with the blood of a Lestrange to enter."

The blood of a Lestrange.

Before you can even make the connection, Theseus stiffens beside you and drops your hand.

"Newt, you didn't." His voice is grave.

"I'm so sorry."

You wonder in a shrugging, aloof way why Newt looks to you after saying this to Theseus. It still doesn't mean anything to you.

A branch cracks, a high, ear-splitting sound like a broken bone. When you see the figure emerge from the tree line, your hand is already on your wand.

Grindelwald, you think.

But then Theseus's arm snaps out to yours, stilling your hand, almost just as quick.

"Don't." He says.

She approaches you slowly and you make out who it is almost immediately, just by the shape of her silhouette. Theseus and Newt's reactions make sense now, it all clicks into place with resounding dread. You feel the word "oh" in the pit of your stomach like a dropped stone.

Floating from the forest like that, in her wine-colored silk dress and black coat, Leta Lestrange really does look something like a ghost, or an angel...

When she approaches she walks straight to Theseus.

"Newt wrote to me," she says loud enough for everyone to hear, but she is only looking at Theseus. Looking at him like she's searching for some lifeline there. "Credence thinks he's my brother... We both know this cannot be true. I can help you get inside the mausoleum. I want to help you."

You dare to look at Theseus, bracing yourself. He looks genuinely stricken, lips parted, palms open and hanging limp beside him. So little affects him, he's so confident and secure in himself. But there in the clearing, the look on his face...

Before anyone can speak Newt steps forward again.

"I'm so sorry, but we need to get to Credence before Grindelwald. We have to go. Credence is... sensitive. He's afraid. It's best Tina and I go ahead. Leta, Theseus," he turns to the two, who are having some silent conversation with their eyes. It's so private and familiar you have to look away, you want to scream. "You two follow closely behind."

"What about me?" Jacob chimes in with a nervous laugh.

Newt tilts his head and gives Jacob a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry, my friend. I won't leave you to the wolves. Y/N is a brilliant duelist and a master of all sorts of charms. You two will stay at the very back and wait outside the mausoleum. We can't afford to frighten Credence, and you need to alert us if you see any of Grindelwald's followers coming our way."

You nod numbly. Some roaring white noise fills your ears, anesthetizing the scene in front of you.

"Theseus," you hear Leta say softly. She places a gloved hand on his forearm. "Can I speak with you on the way there?"

"Of course," he responds, graciously, easily. She leads him up ahead.

You keep hoping Theseus will turn to you, even just to look back at you, to reassure, to reconnect now that Leta has been thrust back into the mix between you.

He does not turn back. You stare blankly at the back of his head as it disappears in the blurring snow. He follows Leta into the woods like a man being swept away by magic, following some siren song you can't hear.

'I can't compete with her,' you realize achingly. The truth rings dully in the pit of your stomach, metallically. 'They were engaged. They've been connected since childhood... I'm nothing.'

You try not to wring your hands or shuffle your feet, try not to look like someone left behind, wounded. You blink at the delicate crystals of snow that land on your lashes, hoping that the others don't mistake them for tears.

Newt comes over to you cautiously. He's not one for knowing what to say, but he's perceptive, and kind. Sinking, sinking, you can feel your heart being pulled to your feet and swallowed by the ground.

"Y/N," he begins. "I'm sure... When they were together—but when they separated…" He swallows and starts again. "I’m quite sure my brother’s mind is made up. I know he cares for you too, though I don’t know if he made you any promises-"

“He did not,” your voice sounds acrid, bitter to your ears, petulant, and you hate it. “It’s fine, really.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s okay. He doesn’t owe me anything.” 

'And I don't owe him anything,' you finish in your mind. When really you love him like breathing, need him like water. You're just trying not to let it show.

You want to be nonchalant and unaffected, want to give only what he’ll take. You don’t want to ask for too much. 

You don’t know why loving always takes the form of limitation with you. You withheld your feelings for him for nearly a year. You only ever do what he asks. You turned down jobs and tried your best not to burden him with your feelings, with your past.

Why this mode of loving, why starvation and restraint, when love itself, for you, felt like every door in you burst open at the sight of his face? It was a wild and unwieldy joy, a freeing sort of affection that you felt for him. Now and always. 

You swallow thickly, embarrassed at the speed at which he abandoned you for her. Embarrassed by the way Tina and Newt and Jacob, even, are looking at you.

"Let's go," you say, trying to sound encouraging. Newt and Tina run ahead. You and Jacob walk in silence uphill, trudging through the snow.

----

In the end you don't see any action at all. The mausoleum appeared at Leta's beckoning, a wave of her wand and the stunning glass building, hexagonal, glittered into solidity in front of you. You and Jacob waited outside, as instructed, but through the thick, crystalline glass you could make out that the bodies and artifacts were housed in beautiful stone tombs, scattered in the glass room like giant chess pieces, and you could see what unfolded within.

Leta, Newt, and Tina were talking to Credence. They met him down where he was crouched on the floor, explaining something to him in hushed tones. He was sobbing so softly. And then he was gone, and so was Tina, who left with him.

You feel so utterly mute, so adrift, you're glad that Jacob doesn't speak to you.

Newt is the one who jogs out to you and Jacob. Theseus is still inside talking to Leta, who seems sad in a soft, unperturbed way. He's gazing at her so gently as she speaks. It's the way he looks at small animals, and children, and the people he loves.

Looking at them feels like looking at a photograph, or like looking through the windows at Primrose Hill when you were a child, before you'd outgrown the title of "orphan." You would escape the orphanage to peek into the townhouses, the family homes overlooking Regent's Park. Dining tables and grand pianos, all the lights on. Nothing to hide...

"Y/N," Newt says breathlessly. "We better get going. We beat Grindelwald here, but I don't know by how much."

You cross your arms to help with the cold.

"Okay. Where are we going-"

"Oh, it's probably best if you go back to London. Back to the Ministry. Lay low until you hear from me, or Dumbledore."

You don't know why his goodbye is so cutting. You know that he's not abandoning you too, but it's almost too much.

He purses his lips sympathetically.

"Stay safe, Y/N. Grindelwald is planning something big. But if we act any earlier Grindelwald and the Ministry will be onto us and our efforts will have been in vain."

"I know," you say. "I understand."

You apparate away without another word. You try not to think about the two of them, in the forest clearing, in the glass mausoleum, together in all the years before that, but you allow yourself to wonder when Theseus will notice that you're gone.

----

On Monday you call in sick. You've never called in sick once in your entire time at the Ministry, so your request for a sick day is accepted easily and without complaint.

You sleep the whole day and do not answer the door when you hear the knocks. Knowing who they belong to is agonizing enough. He'd never been to your place before, but you can't imagine that it was difficult for him to procure the address.

You wake from your day of fitful, restless sleeping around 2am. Moonlight streams cold and bright through your chiffon curtains, filling your apartment with blue and silver shadows that you find comforting, beautiful maybe.

When you pad out into your living room, barefoot, you see a letter on the hardwood floor. A creamy envelope that had been slipped under the doorframe, waiting there for you like magic.

You bend down to pick it up and open it. There's nothing on the envelope itself, but you'd know him by handwriting alone, by his breathing, his scent.

Dear Y/N,

I know you're not sick. Because you're never sick. You have the most formidable immune system I've ever come across and I think muggle doctors should study you in a lab for it. But, I confess, that's beside the point...

I know you're cross with me. Please, if I have upset you or, worse, if I've broken your heart, I can assure you it was never my intention. Meaning: if I hurt you it is because I am a fool, and not because you are deserving of any hurt.

Forgive me for my behavior yesterday. I needed to resolve some things, and Leta's arrival was a true shock for me. I behaved poorly to you, but even more unforgivably to Leta, who I left mere weeks before our wedding, confessing my love for another woman. The pain I've caused her haunts me, and I was happy to be absolved of it yesterday evening. Happy to answer her questions and to be forgiven. But I should not have left you there alone. I should not have let go of your hand. I damn myself, because as much as I love you, it seems I've never been able to do it well.

I hope this pitiful explanation and guileless apology will suffice. Come, pretty girl. Come to work tomorrow, I beg you. My whole life is on the floor without you, nothing works, my head's a mess.

Yours,

T

You heart clenches painfully. Your lungs constrict and your hand tightens around the letter. You love him. You want to let it go, what happened between him and Leta, and you and him, in the clearing.

But you can't.

----

Apparently, it's going to be a week of first-times. Because, also for the first time in your career at the Ministry, you are running late.

"Fuck," you hiss to yourself. You hate traveling by Floo Flame, are used to the muggle comforts of walking and the London Underground, but you don't have time.

You dust off the fireplace ash from your shoulders as you walk through the British Ministry.

"Y/N!" you hear. The voice slices through the bustle and noise of the suit-clad workers not with its volume but with its familiarity.

It's him.

'Oh, god. Already?' You'd been hoping to avoid Theseus today. An impossible task, considering he was your boss, but you'd taken on more impossible tasks before. Bigger monsters.

"Y/N, hold on!" Theseus shouts again.

You have to speed up your walking to a near-comical pace to escape his long-legged strides. Hard to do in heels.

You turn your body sideways and push forward through a thicket of office workers with an "Excuse me! So sorry!" to shoulder your way into an empty elevator.

You slump against the back wall, exhaling deeply in relief. No Theseus-encounter after all. You really managed to-

"Aha!" Theseus exclaims, interjecting his overstretched hand just as the elevator doors begin to close. "Perfect. I was just looking for you, Y/N."

You don't respond, but huff in indignation and move aside, making room for him in the small elevator. He presses your floor number, level two, looking far too self-satisfied for someone who just ran across the marble floors of the Ministry of Magic, unrepentantly.

Your heart pounds as the elevator begins to move, you don't know why you can't look at him. Maybe it's because you know, if you did, all would be forgiven. You jolt when he leans forward and pulls the emergency break. The elevator comes to a jerking, screeching halt.

When he looks at you, sidelong, your stomach flips.

"C'mere," he mumbles, and moves to trap your body against the wall.

Your body responds differently than your mouth, arching against the wall, pushing closer to him.

"Ugh, no," you say, mournfully. You want it bad, want him. But you're still angry. It's oddly possessing, the notion that just a kiss from him could save you.

Your words do give him pause, however. He's standing so close to you he basically has you up against the wall, there's no escaping him. His chest heaves, you can feel his breath against your face. You want to press his open mouth to yours, to taste it, open yours to his tongue.

"No?" He echoes dubiously. "Did... did you not get my letter?"

"I got your letter," you retort, feeling flustered. "I found it... insufficient."

He starts forward again, a hand cups your ass. You slap it away.

"Keep your hands to yourself!" You snap, trying to infuse as much venom into your voice as possible.

"I can't," he groans.

"Try harder."

"I am rational and measured about all things in life, except for this, for you."

"Try harder," you say again, more forcefully, ignoring him.

"Hmm," he hums, considering. You don't move this time when his hand traces your thigh through the material of your skirt, you just stare, mesmerized. Your skin breaks out in chills. His fingertips move in lazy, dancing circles.

His hands, his fucking hands. They're so big. Long, elegant fingers with large knuckles. The veins there, the fact that you know what his fingers feel like inside of you...

Theseus follows your gaze with his eyes and scoffs, but not unkindly.

"You want my fingers inside of you, baby?"

He doesn't wait, and when you don't protest he doesn't stop. His hands slide under your skirt, one of his thumbs is pressing firmly against your clit through the lacy material of your underwear. He applies such a steady, unmoving pressure, staring into your eyes relentlessly and leaning his thumb harder and harder into that one spot until you squirm back against the wall with a ragged moan, breaking his burning gaze, not sure if you're more desperate to escape the sensation or to keep feeling it, over and over again.

"Theseus," his name sounds filthy out of your mouth, heady as a moan, though you're actually trying to tell him something. "Really, I just-"

The elevator lurches forward again, shuddering in place for a few moments before resuming its path with a piercing screech. You tumble into Theseus, losing your balance, and he catches you with both his arms.

"What did-"

"I don't know," he says, helping you right yourself, looking over his shoulder at the doors.

The elevator stops at level six, the Department of Magical Transportation. Your face is still flushed red and tingling with heat when the ornamental brass doors slide open and the two of you are greeted by a curious, gawking group of wizards that includes the department head, Mr. Silas Elodius.

"Oh, heavens! Mr. Scamander, it's you," Silas Elodius is a unfailingly happy, plump man. "We were wondering what must've happened! It seemed the two of you got stuck. Well, all sorted now!" He laughs heartily. "Trust our department to get you moving again."

Theseus returns the laugh, a little less enthusiastically. The both of you move against the back wall of the elevator to allow the large group to shuffle in.

"Excuse us, we're headed to level three," Silas smiles wildly, toothily. He tends to talk through his smiling, which makes his next admission all the more horrific. "Terrible accident involving a misplaced potion bottle on the Knight Bus! Boom! Limbs lost. Really nasty business."

"Erm," Theseus seems shaken, at a loss of how to respond, which is uncommon for him. "We'll be level two."

"Right, of course!" Mr. Elodius motions impatiently for one of his several colleagues to press the button. With the combined weight of everyone there, the elevator moves slowly, dragging sluggishly upwards through space. Thankfully, the group does not turn back to you or Theseus, preoccupied with their own small conversations.

Your heart is still thumping pitifully, your pussy still throbbing and aching around nothing, craving his fingers, stuffed inside. You're wet, and there is no relief in sight. But you still want, need, to be mad at him.

"Y/N," Theseus is leaning in, speaking so low that only you can hear him. The sound of your name in his mouth, it's a purr, a plea.

You shudder. "Theseus, please don't."

"If this were my office," he whispers. His hand returns to the front of your skirt, slips beneath the hemline and nudges your underwear aside, slides up, embarrassingly easily, between your slick folds. You lean back against the wall in silent prayer, for him. You're frozen, incapable of moving, incapable of telling him to stop.

"If this were my office," he continues, voice thick and ragged. His finger moves leisurely, pumping in and out, driving you crazy. "I'd have you on my desk with your legs up. And I'd lick you until you cried. I bet you're such a pretty crier. I wanna make you come on my mouth, my tongue."

It takes everything in you to remain quiet, to remain still. Just as you begin to lose yourself in the feeling, your head going pleasantly fuzzy, the elevator dings and he retracts his hand, smoothly, unfussily.

He looks so unaffected, leaning back against the wall. It's you who has to bow your head to avoid Mr. Elodius's eyeline. Your knees tremble.

"Well, this is us! Best of luck, Scamander." Mr. Elodius waits for his people to file out of the elevator before departing.

Theseus salutes him with two fingers, in a charmingly youthful way.

When the doors close again you've recovered more of yourself, your wits.

"Where were we?" He corners you again, kissing the side of your neck.

"I'm mad at you, Theseus." You don't stop him from kissing your neck, but you grip his wrist, haltingly hard, when it starts to reach under your skirt again.

"Mm," he hums against your throat, noting the way you expose more of it, craning it for his access. "No, you're not."

With a nip of his teeth, he extracts a whine and a tremor down your legs. You imagine his hands, his beautiful big hands, coming around your throat, squeezing, applying pressure there until you go light-headed. You want to be choked by him. You want to get down on your knees in this elevator and unbuckle his belt and take him into your mouth until he's the one who is needy and whining, wanting it bad, moaning and praising you, calling you a good girl.

The elevator dings for the final time and you have to physically push him off of you. He falls back without a fight.

"Our floor," you say, trying to make your expression into something like a glare. You're not very good at resenting him.

For a moment you're not sure what he's going to do to you. It's scandalizing and rousing, the idea that he might grab you, touch you anyway. The look in his eyes is black and beyond hungry, sapped of all restraint. He gulps and clenches his jaw. Blinks at last.

Ever the gentleman.

"Of course, after you," Theseus says. He motions for you to walk ahead of him.

You stomp off to your shared office, trying pathetically to fix your skirt and your hair and any other part of you that looks disheveled.

When he comes into his office behind you and closes the door, latching the lock, he looks equally undone. Vulnerable almost. It's not only that he needs you, which he does, but that he wants to make it okay and doesn't know how.

"Y/N," he makes a vague, defenseless gesture, throwing up his arms weakly, and sighs. "I don't.... How can I make it right? How can I make it up to you?"

It's a cheerless, pitiful noise, your responding laugh.

"Don't worry, Theseus. I got your letter. And besides, I manage my hopes quite well on my own."

"I wish you wouldn't. Don't."

You scoff.

"No, it's my fault for hoping for more from you. You're asking me to, what, put my faith in the world?" You know your tone is sharper than intended, and your expression is that of a burned woman, hardened and jaded.

But he doesn't hold it against you. You try not to flinch away when he steps forward and brings a hand up to your face, to your cheek.

"No, I'm asking you to put your faith in me."

You could cry at this tenderness he's affording you.

"I just," you gently place your hand over his and lower it from your face. "I just can't believe that you don't feel anything for her. I can't shake the way I felt watching you leave me, without a second glance."

Your voice breaks on the last word. You're admitting more than you bargained for. Admitting that this is the way you've felt your entire life. The orphanage, your parents, every adult who promised to help you, to save you, and didn't. It was too familiar of a pain for it to hurt as badly as it did, being left behind.

"Leta, she... I don't know what you mean," he says, shaking his head.

“Theseus, I'm not stupid! I saw the way you went after her! The way you left me behind, it was like I ceased to exist. You obviously still have feelings for her—"

“I have feelings for you!" He raises his voice in frustration, and it startles you. "She’s the one I left behind, for you.” 

You feel so worked up, so overheated. You don't want to be fighting with him, not now, not ever.

"I-I don't believe you-"

"Y/N, you are essentially calling me a liar right now. I don't know what else I can say to make you believe it, you act as if I took off with her and kissed her-"

"You didn't have to! You already have been for the last two years, Theseus!" Your hands are wavering, your bottom lip too. "I don't believe you because, if it's true what you told me, about you leaving her for me, why didn't you act in the months after?! You proposed to Leta mere months after dating, but for the months you were single you didn't try to-"

"I was your boss, Y/N! I was trying to be a good man, a good friend!" He rakes a hand through his hair roughly.

"So I'm just supposed to believe that you left your fiancée to live a life as my friend? To continue working with me like-"

“I apologize if that’s too difficult for you to believe, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.” His tone is brusque, almost business-like.

It's like a shot to the heart. His lack of understanding, lack of seeing.

“Too difficult for me to believe? Me?!” You’ve never raised your voice at him like this, every word is straining out of you, painfully. Any semblance of control you had is unspooling, rapidly. “Theseus, my second month here I was offered a position as an Auror, my dream job, what I’d worked so hard for at school, and I turned it down to keep being your assistant! I turned it down to keep living a life in your shadow. I thought that if I could make myself smaller for you I could-"

You can’t continue, the tears rise up in a saltwater tide in your lungs. You turn your head away, quick, so he doesn’t see your face break.

"Y/N," he says, gentle, broken. "Y/N, I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"Maybe you didn't want to know. I... I know you desire me, Theseus. I'm sorry, at one point I thought I could just sleep with you, and I wouldn't need anything more, but.... Oh, god, I'm sorry."

You rub at your eyes aggressively, even as the tears continue to fall, in a self-conscious and fruitless display.

He looks so lost, looks like he very badly wants to comfort you, to hug you, but no longer knows if he's allowed to.

"Y/N, I can recommend you for promotion, I can-"

"It's fine, Theseus. I made my decision and I've lived with it. There are no open positions right now anyway, the post was filled."

It's silent for long enough that the quiet no longer hangs there like an awful, third body between you. You regain your composure, the tears pass and give way to a hollow feeling.

"Y/N," Theseus speaks at last. He's standing across his office still, but the look in his eyes is so full of longing and yearning, he could've been across a train platform, a crowded room, a continent. "I have not been doing this right. I should've asked you to be my girlfriend a long time ago, I know. For that I am ashamed. But..."

He licks his lips and inhales sharply, trying to find the words.

"Y/N, please don't accuse me of lusting after you. What I feel for you is nothing so shallow as lust. Yes, I want to be inside you all the time, but that's because being close to you, this," he steps forward and places a cold hand against your chest demonstratively, below your neck, skin to skin, "This isn't close enough."

You look up into his seaglass eyes, your heart in tatters. Him, it's always been him.

"I miss you when I'm with you," he says. "I love you, I've told you before and I'll tell you again and again, but it's up to you to believe it, sweetheart."

When you still don't say anything, can't find the words, he looks crestfallen, closes his eyes.

"What do you want?" he asks you, opening them.

And you can't answer. To love him freely? To feel held and chosen by him? To live your dreams and relinquish your past without shame or grief or hesitation? Before you begin to say anything at all, the words building and budding at the back of your throat like a flower about to bloom, a knock sounds at the door.

Theseus closes his eyes and sighs, pained.

"Theseus-"

"I have to go," he says tersely. "I've been gone with my brother for too long. The department heads have called me in for questioning. I don't know when I'll be out."

You nod, swallowing.

He looks at your face, a look of determination settling on his.

"I promise to make it right."

----

It's past closing time and Theseus still has not returned from the depths of whatever secret, dim-lit corner of the Ministry they took him to for questioning. All day you've spent heartlessly filling out paperwork, finishing up your research assignments, stewing in anxiety.

Please, keep him safe. You think to no one in particular. Please.

You reluctantly leave the office, hoping to find him in the Atrium. You sit there glumly at the edge of the fountain, shooting periodic glances towards the elevators and the staircases, hoping to see him emerging from the Department of Mysteries, maybe, or the Courtrooms. Even the paper missives, usually magicked into airplane and bird shapes, have stopped flying overhead in the Atrium. The Ministry is emptying out, there's hardly any foot traffic at all.

You feel as though you handled everything, your insecurities and emotions, so artlessly, so recklessly in your last conversation. You are aching to make it better.

Eventually, you walk back to level two in a daze, pushing through the heavy oak door to the Aurors Offices with all the attention of a sleepwalker, your mind elsewhere.

You nearly trip on the house elf in front of the door when you stumble into Theseus's office. The elf grumbles in discontent.

House elves? Your shared office is hardly recognizable. Half-cleaned out, three Ministry house elves are busy at work, boxing and taping and scrubbing the furniture and shelves clean. Your stomach lurches.

Theseus. Where are all his things? Was he found out? Arrested?

Your voice sounds like a stranger's to your ears, so transformed by sheer panic.

"Hello, excuse me!" You say to one of the house elves. He looks over in open disdain, though you can't blame him, seeing as you almost crushed him just now. "Hi, yes, what is going on? What are you doing with Mr. Scamander's things? I'm his assistant."

"Mr. Scamander," the elf drawls, setting aside his mop bucket with a melodramatic thunk and splash. "No longer works here."

The elf tries to turn back to his work when you lunge forward and grasp him by the shoulder. He looks at your hand on him in abject shock.

"Please!" You beg, falling to your knees to better convince the house elf. "I need to know what's happened to him, it's important."

"Nothing has happened to him, miss. He turned in his letter of resignation an hour or so ago!" The elf shakes you off of him, none too gently.

He gestures rudely to the two, untouched pieces of paper laid out on the desk. Everything else has been cleared.

You snatch up the nearest page with a shaking hand, eyes racing over the words.

It's from the heads of your department, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and it confirms what the elf told you. Theseus gave up his position and designated you as the one he desired to fill the post. The Aurorship is yours.

The letter requested that you complete a trial period of one month, as it was unheard of for a witch with no Auror experience to take up the Head Auror post. But they were amenable if the trial period went well. These were dark days, recruits were scarce and few other Aurors were jumping to fill the position. Your confirmation meeting with the department heads was to be after work, at 7pm.

It's nearly that time now.

You blink at the words on the page, astounded and a bit shell-shocked.

You're hardly thinking at all when you pick up the second letter, hands moving with an automaton, detached fluidity.

Dearest Y/N,

The questioning did not go well. I had to act quickly, darling. I was thinking only of you.

Take the Head Auror position and be safe and happy forever. Blamelessly, and knowing you are loved.

Or, meet me at King's Cross Station tonight, at 7:15pm. If you'll have me, if you love me. I'm joining the fight against Grindelwald, for good. I'm meeting my brother and the others at Hogsmeade.

I am horrified that you ever put me over your dreams, and that I gave you so little in return for it. If I could turn back time, I would've done it all differently. I would've made you mine.

My love, you couldn't answer me when I asked you what you wanted today, so I wanted to give you this choice now.

It did not make much sense for me to stay at the Ministry. They were suspicious of me from the start, war hero or not, because of my relation to Newt. You could do wonderful things, have so much more influence than I could. There were no other open Auror positions for you to take but mine, but I can give you this one part of my life, easily. God knows I'd give you the rest if you asked.

I cannot promise your safety, or your happiness, but I can promise to love you, as I do now, as I always have, no matter what you decide. My heart is yours alone. All you have to do is reach out and take it.

Yours,

Theseus

Reading the words on the page, feeling your own breath suck in and whoosh out of your lungs, hearing it, it's all so surreal.

Your heart flutters meekly, wounded at either prospect. But you want to choose yourself. Who has ever chosen you? You need to be on your own side this time.

You glance at the clock and curse. You shouldn't have spent so much time waiting in the Atrium, floating about the Ministry.

"I can't go, I won't go," you decide. "It's too late anyway."

Who knew if you'd even be able to have a real relationship with him? Even if you believed his love for you, and that he was over Leta, and somehow overcame the horrors and traumas of your life that you hadn't begun to confront... who knew if it would work? That would be its own, new, excruciating pain, having loved and it still not being enough...

"I'm staying," you think to yourself. "I am. He doesn't know what he's asking of me, he doesn't really know me at all. I'm staying. I'm taking the position."

At first you thought the words to convince yourself, reaffirm and reinforce. But they don't sound as improbable as you thought. This happiness doesn't sound too good to be true, it sounds as if it could belong to you after all.

You sigh, trembling, and begin to go through the empty drawers of Theseus's old desk, imagining your life, or trying to.

You reach for the bottommost drawer, pulling it open.

The sight of the worn little clothbound book snags your vision like a thorn. You pull it out in a trancelike state and read the title: Garden Parting by P. M. Kipling. The memory rises without you even having to reach for it, like a face in water.

-----

One Year Ago

It was only your fourth week at the office. This bloody idiot named Henry Ludgate somehow came to the insane conclusion that if he talked to you enough, or talked at you, more fittingly, you would like him back. So every one of your lunch breaks, without fail, he'd come searching for you in the Atrium to talk your ear off about nothing at all.

At the present moment, he was trying to strike up a conversation about women's shoewear, a hard topic for even far better conversationalists.

"I actually do like flat shoes, or 'flats,' are they? But I only like the ones with a bit of heel, all the other types of flats are terribly unattractive I think."

You were dimly aware of your boss, Theseus Scamander, watching this all unfold with a lackadaisical amusement. He was leaning against a newsstand of The Daily Prophet pretending to read it, but really you knew his sly smile at the front page was for you.

"So, not flats?"

"Sorry?" Henry always jumped at the excuse of poor hearing to lean uncomfortably close to you.

You rolled your eyes, not caring if Henry saw or not.

"If the flats you say you like have heels, doesn't that make them not 'flat shoes'?" You asked curtly.

Henry stared at you dumbly. "Oh, right. So it's 'heels' I like then."

You flicked your gaze up to his, irritably.

"So how many pairs do you own, then?"

You thought you saw a rustle of paper in the corner of your vision--undoubtedly Theseus was choking back some fit of laughter.

Henry attempted to clear his throat but only seemed to choke, rubbing a half-fist on his chest touchily.

"What?! Pardon me, not for myself!" He was veritably red in the face, not pink or any subtle, healthy flush, but bright red. "I-I meant I like heels on women, on you."

You could barely tamp down your frustration. This was supposed to be a restful lunch break, a good hour of no-work, and yet you seemed to enjoy your actual work more than this (for many reasons, the first reason beginning with the letter T and the last reason being the way the first reason smiled at you whenever you said something bright, or funny, or kind. He had a smile like light cracking open the sky at dawn, it so completely transformed the rest of his face, always reaching his eyes).

"Henry," you sighed, indulgently, maybe a bit patronizingly. "As much as I am grateful for your... fashion tips, and your riveting conversation, I really do prefer to read on my lunch breaks. I'll have to excuse myself."

You turned on your heel before he could protest, finding another secluded corner of the Atrium by the fountain. You pulled out the book, Garden Parting, as more of a prop, or a shield, or a comfort object, like a teddy bear. You had no intention of reading it right now. Not when...

Just as you suspected. You saw the shadow come over your shoulder, the shape of his figure, his hands in his pockets. Even that, his outline or shadow, stirred up some feeling you couldn't name in your chest, in the cavity there, next to your heart.

"Mr. Scamander," you sighed. "I really don't understand what sort of sadistic pleasure you gain from watching Ludgate torture me with mind-numbingly boring conversation."

You said this without turning, already smiling. Theseus sat down beside you, gingerly, beaming.

"It's entertaining," he said. The deep rumble of his voice was pleasant. "The way you eviscerate him. It's my favorite part."

There was something so attractive about the tilt of his eyes, hooded, and the curl of his hair, a strand falling loose over his forehead. He brought his bottom lip under his teeth, bit down and squinted at you.

"Do you really prefer to read on your breaks, Y/N?"

You scoffed, mock-offended.

"Yes! Do you really read The Daily Prophet on yours?"

"No, not at all," he admitted, shamelessly and with a boyish smile. "What are you reading?"

You suddenly felt self-conscious. You almost didn't want to show him. Your book was soft and worn, the cloth corners frayed, the text on the front half chipped off.

Against your instinct and your nature, you found yourself reluctantly handing him the book. Your mortification increased tenfold when he didn't take it from your extended hand, he only stared at it unreadably.

"What-" you began.

"Wait," Theseus turned to his suitcase, set it down on the tiled floor beside the fountain and clicked open the latches. "Garden Parting by P.M. Kipling, right?"

He was speaking so excitedly, shuffling around in his suitcase.

'No way,' you thought, and then, because you couldn't help it:

"Oh, you're kidding," you gasped. "No, Theseus! You're kidding. I swore I was the only person in London with a copy."

Theseus pulled it out at last, victorious. A sleek hardcover, newer than yours, but creased from frequent reading.

"Oh, Theseus!" You brought your hands up to your mouth. You were always worried your emotions, especially excitement, would make it harder to be taken seriously at work. You endeavored to dampen and mute them, but you could not hide your girlish elation at this inexplicable commonality between the two of you.

He smiled at your reaction, a slow, warm smile.

"Who knew you had a secret affinity for muggle literature?" You tried to make your tone teasing and demeaning but couldn't commit to it, you were too surprised by the force of your own joy.

"My roommate at Hogwarts was muggleborn. He gave it to me."

"You carry it with you too?" You asked, still in disbelief.

"Everywhere!" It was a breathy admission, half a laugh, earnest. "I like to reread certain parts. It doesn't get old." He was smiling so big it was almost heart-wrenching, you did not think he had ever looked at you like that, eyes blazing with naked enthusiasm. Looking at you like you were holding some key, to what you didn't know.

"No one seems to know about it," he continued with a shrug. "I've been waiting for someone to talk with about this book since I was sixteen."

"Oh," you kept saying. You wondered if he thought you sounded stupid for it, or if he thought it was endearing. "There's this one part I think about almost every day. In the purple glass house, with the broken arm used to-"

"-To praise God and 'be done with it'?" He finished for you.

Then miraculously, he flipped his copy open, paper fluttering, to a sole, underlined paragraph. The very same.

"It's like we're speaking the same language," He whispered with an incredulous laugh, but his eyes were reverent.

You flashed him a smile, one that was glowing and real. You were holding his copy of the book between you now, like children with a shared toy, or like lovers reading a roadmap.

"What language? English?" You asked sarcastically, making a funny face.

But you had known what Theseus meant. What wavelength of sense that you two, alone, could access. How the world spoke to you both in the same ways, through the same channels of meaning.

Garden Parting was the only object you had from your deceased parents, the only thing that survived your childhood. It was a children's chapter book that your father used to read to you, quite a grim piece of magical realism about a lot of things, but mostly about a girl condemned to go back to her burning house and stay there, inside, until the flames went out. There's no question that it will be swallowed whole, that she will burn to death in the place she was born.

When Theseus spoke again his eyes were shining, perceptively.

"Is that you then?" His voice was subdued, made gentle, intentionally. His eyes looked strangely dark inside the black stone interior of the Ministry, blue like river slate, dim like rain. "The main character, that's you?"

It was the most you'd ever revealed. It was a single, quiet word.

"Yes," you said.

Theseus placed a hand on your forearm. You didn't dare move, react, for fear he would stop touching you. A bird on your windowsill.

"I'll be the great owl then," he said. "The one that takes her away at the end.... Or Reggie, the one that's her friend. Whatever you want."

You laughed, bleakly. You felt pressured to speak, nonsense, anything to cover up how much his words meant to you.

"Really," you said. "It's my favorite book, but sometimes I can hardly get through it, there's so much pain in her life. I get so anxious..."

"Here," Theseus plucked a ribbon from his suitcase and flipped open your copy of the book. He placed the ribbon strategically towards the back, surgically almost, his long fingers lining it up with the interior spine, right in the scene where the owl takes the girl away and there's happiness set aside for her in life, after all.

"I'll mark it with this," he said. Neither of you were looking at each other anymore, the moment was too intimate to bear. But you were both thinking of each other, talking to each other. "So you can remember how it ends."

-----

The memory of that day by the fountain is so unexpected that it is the first time you're remembering it at all.

'Maybe he does know me after all, does see me.'

The thought is a shattering one.

'Oh, god.'

You check the time. It's 6:50pm. You pull on your coat and snatch your purse off the desk. If you leave now, right now, you can intercept him.

Theseus has to know you're coming. Even if you don't make it onto the train, he has to see your face on the platform, through the window, even. He has to know that you're choosing him.

You apparate as far as you're able and begin to run towards the station the rest of the way.

You're coming for him, each pounding step you're coming, heart soaring, this is that freeing love that grows and grows and stretches out into space like air. And you're going to tell him everything, every wish and every nightmare, you're going to--

A hand shoots out and pulls you backward by the neck. The grip is so hard that you taste blood, everywhere, in your mouth.

You yelp but the sound is lost as you are torn through the air, choking through space. Being forcibly apparated always feels like choking, like being pushed down a flight of stairs repeatedly. You can't catch your breath or your footing, you don't know where you're being taken.

Dark material whooshes and cuts around you. You hardly feel a thing.

Could someone at the Ministry have seen the letters left on your desk? Read them? Were you and Theseus positively identified at the gala in Berlin, or maybe outside the mausoleum? Before you've even arrived at your captor's destination, your mind whirls helplessly, to Grindelwald, to the situation at hand, and then, finally, to Theseus, who is waiting at Platform 9 3/4 for a girl who will never arrive, for a girl he will assume is telling him "no."

It happened so fast you didn't even have the time to turn around, to touch your wand. You were apparated away, stolen into thin air, before you could even set foot inside the station.

---

part four here

authors note: yeah i did watch the last letter from you lover on netflix and YEAH it did inspire this fic and rewire my brain at the same time. SORRY this fic ended on a cliffhanger and was so long!! we just had a LOT of ground to cover, but the subsequent parts should be back to the normal length!!

i like writing a mix of smut and romance plot but let me know if you prefer one to the other (also garden parting isn't a real book if that wasn't obvious) OK BYYEEE love you thanks so much for all the replies and feedback :))

also i have yet to read through this for typos so maybe! come back in a day or so for the final version?

taglist: @karashaw99 @gracieroxzy @mystic-mara

[queenpiranhadon]

A/N: Augh I loved writing this so much help- I think the new Damsel movie affected me too much 😭 Biggest thanks to @cashmoneyyysstuff for beta reading this she’s a QUEEN Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): Light cursing, reader is the daughter of Aizawa, Shinso and Eri are biological siblings, Shinso is a year younger than reader, reader is 20 years old, f!reader, reader's mother is dead, medieval fantasy setting, reader's childhood friend is Kirishima, but you're also close friends with Deku and Ururaka, mentions of perverted actions (not done by a name character though, reader's nickname is Cactus, slight spoilers of the actual show/manga, reader is shorter than Kirishima and Shinso, some mentions of IzuOcha.

Pairing(s): Katsuki Bakugou x reader, Izuku Midoriya x Ochako Uraraka

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ: A Pot of Stew

Ssssss.... 

The crackle of the fireplace is all you really hear as you flit around through your home, grabbing the big stew pot from the wooden cabinet. The house was quiet, which was surprising, considering you lived with three other people.  

Your father was out with his friend, hoping to catch some fish before the harsh winter would freeze over the lakes. You had sent your brother out earlier to fetch some tomatoes from the market, as the small garden you maintained only produced lettuce, potatoes, onions, and strawberries when they were in season. Hopefully the tomatoes your brother brought back could have seeds that you could save to plant in the spring.  

Your sister was most likely out at Chiyo’s home, the old woman ran the local apothecary was sweet enough to allow the small girl to aid her in crushing herbs and spices to create the medicines that lined her shelves.  

Walking outside, you grab the big bucket by the door, making your way to the home of the Kirishimas, who had a well they let you use to fetch water.  

You mentally groan, knowing that carrying a bucket of water would be a bitch to carry back home. Hopefully you could bug your red-haired friend to aid you in carrying it home if he was around.  

He wasn’t there unfortunately, hooking the bucket to the rope before sending it down to collect water. Once if was full, you pulled the rope that you were holding onto with all your strength, allowing the pulley system to bear most of the weight. 

Deadpanning, you know most of the water that spills out will end on you, sighing in defeat with the resignation that complaining will get you nowhere. You had a family to feed.  

Rolling up the sleeves of your white blouse, you grab the bucket’s handle with both hands, almost dropping it from the sheer weight of it, lamenting the cold sting of the water against your skin as it seeps through your leggings.  

It was almost comical, the way your face was scrunched in concentration as you made your way home, watching your step from the occasional loose pebble so you wouldn’t trip. Your muscles ached, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle, considering how much worse you’d been through when it came to other tasks that required similar feats. It was another perk of being the oldest child, though you were only a year older than your brother, yet you wouldn’t have it any other way. Your family meant the world to you, and you would do everything in your power to protect them. 

Reaching the steps leading up to the door of your home, you set the bucket down finally, your arms practically singing in relief, only for you to pick it up again after turning the doorknob and closing the door shut with your boot-clad foot.  

Making your way to the stew pot that was currently sitting over the fire, you fill it with the water you fetched, letting it boil while you prepared the vegetables you needed.  

Busying yourself with chopping the ingredients you already had, you took the sprigs of cilantro you saved from a few days ago and sliced them so they were thin enough. As you worked your way through the small pile, the door opened to reveal a familiar tuft of purple hair.  

“Hey Toshi!” you call out, waving from the kitchen to signal your presence.  

Your brother takes notice, entering the room and setting the sack of tomatoes on the counter before making his way over to you, ruffling your hair in affection before raising an eyebrow.  

“How much stew are you making?” he asks suspiciously “The four of us aren’t going to be able to eat all of that in time before it tastes bad.” 

You snort, rolling your eyes. “You underestimate Eri’s appetite. Plus, Ejiro, Ochako and Izuku are coming over to join us. I’m making enough for each of our families.” 

Hitoshi chuckles in response, walking over to the makeshift pantry you made a few months ago, grabbing a loaf of bread. “Y/N, you would feed the entire village if you could. Actually, you could, but we wouldn’t let you.” he rolls his eyes playfully and you send him a halfhearted glare.  

“It’s called being nice, Mr. Hitoshi Aizawa, a concept foreign to your cold heart.” you say, placing the back of your hand on your forehead dramatically.  

He groans, taking the knife from you to slice the bread, while you move to take the tomatoes. “Ugh stop, you sound like Toshinori.” he gripes, punching your shoulder in annoyance. 

A giggle bursts out of your lips at that, abandoning the tomatoes you were washing in the basket to strike a pose, letting out an “I AM HERE!” in the best Toshinori Yagi impression you could.  

They used to call him All Might, a war hero who was known for bringing your home country countless victories, the wars he entered had casualty numbers so low that you wondered if he was blessed by the gods. Blessed in the past tense though, as after a critical injury in a recent war, he was deemed unable to fight and left the army with an honorable discharge, growing into the old man he was today, running a stand at the marketplace where he sold quality vegetables from his extensive garden. 

You must’ve looked ridiculous as you posed however, because your brother cackles, throwing his head back and smiling so wide his face must’ve hurt. You laugh too, happiness bubbling in your chest from seeing him so happy as well. You chuck an unwashed tomato at him, knowing he’d catch it, and reprimand him.  

“Okay now get back to work you rodent, we’re feeding a group of seven tonight.” you tease, sticking out your tongue and he tosses the tomato back to you, returning to slicing the bread.  

You both spent the next hour or so like that, trading banter and occasionally fighting, but managing to be productive as you finish cutting all your vegetables, throwing them into the stew pot, creating a lovely aroma that makes your stomach growl in hunger.  

You hear a knock at the door, Hitoshi opting to answer it. It was Chiyo, returning Eri home for the day, the girl in question had a bright smile on her face, and a few bottles of unknown liquids in her hands that were sure to join the others in the washroom’s medicine cabinet. 

“Toshi!!” she squeals, and you smile, hearing a small uff! escape the purplenette’s lips, knowing that Eri most likely hugged him around his legs, the only part of him she could really reach at the moment. Sometimes it was infuriating how much taller he was than you. 

Your brother thanks Chiyo, and the old lady leaves with the promise of fresh baked goods during her next visit. 

“Where’s Y/N??” Eri asks excitedly, and you want to snort at her random burst of hyperness.  

“M’over here banana.” you call from where you sat in front of the fireplace, and Eri trudges over with an annoyed look over her face.  

“I told you not to call me that!” she whines, huffing as she sits down next to you, trying to look into the pot to see what you were making.  

“Careful- it’s hot.” You warn, gently pushing her away. “Plus you love bananas!” 

Your little sister makes a face plopping down to lie on the floor with a grumpy expression. “I hate bananas.” she grumbles, stretching her limbs out to take up as much of the floor as she could. 

You quirk up an eyebrow “Are you sure? You sure look like one.” you say gathering her hair once she sits up and holding it high above her head to resemble the elongated shape of a banana fruit. 

She splutters, and you snort releasing her hair, so it falls straight into her face, and returning your attention to the stew, stirring it and taking the wooden spoon you had out, gathering some of the liquid before bringing it to your lips, tasting it briefly.  

“Toshi!” you call from where you sat. “Can you bring me some paprika?”  

You hear a Yeah whatever come from the hallway, and you return your attention back to your sulking sister.  

“Y’know for someone so nice, you’re really mean.” she pouts, and you smile in a half hearted apology, fixing her hair.  

“Eri, my job as your sister, as well as Toshi’s as your brother, is to be mean to you because we love you so much. If we were nice to you all the time, wouldn’t we be boring?” you ask. 

“Hmm... I guess. Is Izuku coming over today?” she asks, laying her head on your lap looking up at you with impossibly huge sparkling red puppy eyes.  

You laugh, flicking her nose lightly. Izuku was her favorite out of your friends, probably because he worked in the markets, for Toshinori no less, and he brought her apples every day. 

“Yes, Izuku’s coming over for dinner tonight, so go wash up and be on your best behavior.” you say warningly, and she nods, jumping up excitedly and rushing to your shared room.  

Hitoshi enters the living room at that moment, sprinkling the paprika into the stew until you told him to stop, stirring lightly before tasting and grinning in satisfaction.  

Handing him the spoon, Hitoshi has a taste of his own, his eyes lighting up as the flavors hit his tastebuds.  

“Damn.” is all he says, and you punch his leg, happy that he likes it, but scolding him for his language.  

“Eri’s in the other room idiot, go change and I’ll get dinner served before they get here.” you order, shooing him out and you grab a damp towel from the kitchen to carry the pot into the room, setting it on the countertop and placing aforementioned towel on top so it stays warm. Putting out the fire in the living room, you open a cabinet, grabbing a large plate and exactly seven bowls and spoons. Setting the dishes around the large wooden dining table, you spoon equal amounts of stew into each of the bowls, the aroma even stronger now, and you give Eri extra because you know she’ll ask you for more later. 

You brought out the wooden carved drinking cups that you had, a gift from your late mother, setting them around the table and filling them with some of the remaining water from the well. Putting the plate in the middle of the table, you set the bread Hitoshi cut from earlier along with some goat cheese gifted to you by Izuku the previous day.  

Wiping your hands on your apron, you sigh, about to call for your siblings before you hear a knock at the door, revealing a smiling Ejiro Kirishima.  

“Hey Eji!” you beam, wrapping your arms around your lifelong friend, who reciprocates the action and spins you around before setting you down, welcoming himself in- he'd been to your home so frequently certain mannerisms weren’t needed anymore.  

“Hey Cactus!” he smiles back, and you roll your eyes at the nickname.  

Ejiro insisted that your kindness was always a facade and that you were a fiery beast that even hell was afraid of in secret, and the redhead had given you the nickname once seeing you scold man around your age for trying to look up Ochako’s skirt. You insisted you weren’t usually like this, but the nickname stuck, a term of endearment used only by your closest friends.  

You smack his forearm, and roll your eyes, still smiling however, leading him to the dining room before calling out for your siblings.    

Eri bounds in, only to be swept up in Ejiro’s arms, giggling as he spins her around to simulate flight.  

He sets her down and she jumps up, “Again, again!” she chants.  

He groans, feigning pain. “But you’re so heavy!” He says, pretending to faint in your direction, and you roll your eyes and push him off, laughing. “I think you got bigger since the last time I saw you.” 

Eri giggles, putting her hands on her hips. “I saw you this morning silly! That was only...” she counts on her fingers. “47 hours ago!”  

You want to laugh, knowing that it was only about 13 hours since she last saw the red haired male, but Ejiro only groans even more.  

“Exactly! You grew so much from then! You might become even taller than your sister.” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.  

Eri giggles, and Hitoshi joins you three in the living room, stealing a piece of cheese from the table and popping it in his mouth.  

"I'm not short!" You grumble, crossing your arms. "You and Hitoshi are just stupidly tall."

You hear another knock on the door, leaving Ejiro and your siblings to their devices as you answer it. Opening the door, you’re met with Izuku, accompanied by Ochako, both giving you a hug as you let them in, exchanging their signature greetings.  

“Hey Cactus!” they both chirp in unison and you snort, ruffling Izuku’s hair and squeezing Ochako’s shoulder.  

“Hey you two!” you say, smiling knowingly. Ever since the two of them became a couple, they were practically joined at the hip.  

You make your way to the dining room, where Ejiro is seen with Eri on his shoulders, the latter playing with former’s hair while he talks to your brother.  

Eri’s eyes light up, practically launching herself off the poor red head- thankfully Izuku catches her, producing another apple from his satchel.  

You groan, knowing that if Eri ate too many she would grow to get sick of them, but you let her be, knowing that she was happy.  

You all sit down to eat, Shinso on one side of you and Eri on the other. Ejiro sat next to your brother and Izuku sat next to Eri with his girlfriend on his other side.  

Catching up with your friends, and eating the food you made, your eyes couldn’t help but wander to the empty seat at the head of the table, where your father sat.  

He still hadn’t returned from his fishing trip.  

You knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself, yet you couldn’t help but worry. Your father, Shota Aizawa sustained a terrible injury in a war a few years ago, forcing him to amputate his own leg in order to prevent the toxins from a poison covered arrow from reaching his neural system. It was the same year your mother had died, leaving you, a grieving ten-year-old you to take care of your father as well as a nine-year-old Hitoshi and a newborn Eri. You were forced to grow up fast in those times, a dark patch for your family, yet it became a big part of who you were today.  

Which included your boundless paranoia, thinking the worst as the time ticked by, with no sight of your father.  

Hitoshi takes notice, sending you a worried glance, opening his mouth to say something before the door swings open. 

It was your father, relief flooding through you before you took in his haggard state. He looks tired, more tired than usual. Your father always looked tired, but never weary.  

His eyes scan the room, frantically looking around, before the settle on you.  

“I have bad news.” 

Taglist: @andysdrafts @starieq @nemisimp @missa-archdevilme @coquettefoxxy

@032loe @icedemon1314 @fta1ask4 @iam-thevillain-of-thisstory @cuppalevi

@touyasprettydoll @slayfics @yeehawgiddyup13 @notjustanotherextra @frvv

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@noodleryworld @yui-aya @ashiblossom @rv19 @wheezdostuff

@yannvi @liluvtojineteyam @ah-mya @surprisemodafakas @kksmush

@sagejin @cax-per @kit-katsukii

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

My Home Is You Part 1/3

A/N: I am so obsessed with this movie, I've seen it twice. Enjoy. Leave a comment, like, or reblog if you've enjoyed it. Thank you to @kingliam2019 for requesting.

Fandom: The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare

Pairing: Gus March-Phillips x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, Nazi's, canon typical violence, possible spoilers for the movie, and mentions of sexual assault.

Part 2 Part 3

“What’s that?” Freddy points to the lump behind Gus’s coat. 

“Nothing,” Gus shrugs, “shall we.” 

“We shall not,” Freddy shouts exasperated, “it’s moving! Unless you became the hunchback of Notre Dame in the ten minutes I left you, you got something hidden behind your back!” 

“He’s got a point, boss,” Hazy shrugs. 

Gus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I think the jig is up,” he pushes the coat up and out you pop from behind his side, disappearing behind him with a shriek. 

“Where the hell did you find a woman?!” Freddy looks around, then goes silent putting two and two together, “Oh, I see.” 

“She’s coming with us,” Gus reaches behind him and you grasp his hand, trembling hard at being surrounded by so many men. His touch is warm, and you take a moment to breathe before stepping out from behind him at your full height. 

“Hello,” you whisper, giving an awkward wave. 

Gus lets go of your hand and claps making you jump and his face quickly turns apologetic, “Fuck, sorry about that, love. These are the boys,” he points to each man giving you a quick rundown on his merry band of miscreants. He turns to you with a proud smile, “I never did catch your name.” 

“Let me get this straight,” Freddy puts his hands on his hips, sticking out one finger towards Gus, “you find a random woman hidden in a Nazi garrison, fight your way out with her, and decide to bring her with us, without asking her name first?” 

“Probably did it a bit backward,” Gus rubs the back of his head with a chuckle, “but I’m making up for it now.” 

You clear your throat and they all turn towards you as you say your name, a small smile spreading across your face when they repeat it to you. “Welcome to the team,” Anders bows before putting his bow over his shoulder, “shall we get back to the boat, we got somewhere we need to be.” 

“After you,” Gus says, frowning when he realizes Anders is already halfway back to the boat. “That’s the spirit Lassen, lead the way!” Gus slings an arm around your shoulder and helps you walk, it’s slow and painful; your foot aches with every step but you keep it to yourself. These men have already done enough liberating you and agreeing to take you with them. The last thing they need is for you to be injured. But nothing gets past Gus. 

He doesn’t ask, just leans down and swings you up into his arms. You gasp, quickly wrapping your arms around his neck. “Wh-what are you doing?” you whisper. 

“You’re limping,” he whispers back, almost like two children sharing a secret, he grins. “I’m not about to let you hurt yourself worse before I can take a look at your injuries.” 

“I’m fine,” you bite your lip looking away, “you’ve done enough already.” 

Gus stops, the others moving around him to toss the rope down the cliff side, “Darling, I know you’ve just spent gods knows how long with the worst creatures imaginable but not all of us are monsters.” 

“I didn’t say you were,” you turn back to him, and catch your breath when you notice how close he is. “I don’t think you’re a monster at all,” you whisper, swallowing hard, “I just don’t want to cause you any more trouble.” 

“Do you know what I thought when I saw you tucked behind that wall crying and holding your ears?” You shake your head, and he grins, “She looks like just my kind of trouble.” 

The first smile in months spreads like wildfire across your face and you nod. “Ready?” Apple interrupts, “We managed a pulley to get her down.” 

Gus nods, lifting you into the makeshift pulley and working with Apple to lower you down. When you reach the ground Lassen lifts you into his arms while Gus and Apple come down and re-wrap the rope around their arms. 

When finished, Gus reaches his arms out for you and Anders smiles, tugging you closer. “I think I’ll hold on to her for a while. Give you a break,” he looks down giving you a conspiratorial wink. 

“Give me back my damsel,” Gus holds out his arms wider, “I’m not going to ask again.” 

“Who are you calling a damsel?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest, and Lassen lets out a joyful cheer. 

“You tell him, honey,” he turns walking with you back towards the dinghy. His glee makes a ghost of a laugh appear in your throat before you toss your head back in delight. 

Apple pats Gus on the back as he climbs into the boat and you look back to see Gus smiling, a full-blown smile just for you and you rest your head on your arm and look back at him. “It’s good to see you laugh,” he mouths, and your cheeks ache from smiling as he sits down and begins to row. 

“Row row, row your boat,” Lassen mumbles under his breath, the lull of the waves and the feeling of safety making your eyes droop. “Oh, the little lamb is tired, no?” he whispers in your ear, “You rest, no one will harm you ever again.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you repeat your fathers words aloud. 

“Little lamb, with the way Gus is looking at me right now. You don’t have to worry about anyone hurting you for the rest of your life.” He rubs a hand over your arm and chuckles, mumbling, “if looks could kill.” 

“He won’t always be there,” your words are drowsy as you burrow deep into his arms, letting out a yawn. 

“Ah, little lamb, I highly doubt that,” Lassen chuckles softly, before you feel yourself being lifted into anothers arms. The scent of smoke, cologne, and leather lull you into a deeper sense of calm and you snuggle into his arms. Gus looks down, brushing a knuckle over your cheek and committing your face to memory as you fall asleep, breathing softly. “Take a picture,” Lassen teases, “it will last longer.” 

“Her cell was next to mine,” Apple interrupts, “she was always so nice to me. Tried to patch me up the best she could through the bars. I tried to return the favor, everytime they brought her….fuck I can still hear the screaming.” The men are silent, the waves crashing against the dinghy as they get closer and closer to the boat. 

“Well,” Freddy clears his throat, “she’s safe now.” They reach the boat, helping Gus aboard and watching as he disappears below deck with you. 

“Heaven help the man who tries to take her away from him,” Hayes clears his throat, and the rest climb aboard and continue on toward Fernando Po. 

Below deck, Gus tucks you into his bunk and watches the rise and fall of your chest before he moves towards the end of the bed, and lifts the blanket to remove your shoe. He curses when he sees the bruising around your ankle. He removes the other shoe and has to control his breathing when he sees the same markings; shackles. 

“Never again,” he whispers, grabbing bandages and ointments and applying them to your ankles. The bottom of your foot is no better, and he grabs the tweezers removing several shards of glass and bandaging your feet. “No wonder you were limping,” he talks to himself. He takes the next twenty minutes checking over the parts of your body he can see, treating every little cut and bruise. When he’s finished he walks over to a basin of water and washes his hands before pouring a glass of scotch and sitting down at the map. 

He loses track of the time, his head snapping up from the table when the screaming starts. He pushes the chair out, climbing over the table to grab your thrashing body. He repeats your name over and over again till your eyes pop open, gasping you reach towards him throwing your arms around his neck and letting out a sob. “I thought it was a dream,” you sob brokenly into his skin, almost crawling into his lap, “I dreamed I was back there,” you take a deep breath, “that they were…” 

“No,” he shakes his head, pulling back to put both hands on your face, his thumbs brushing the tears from your eyes. “You’re safe,” he repeats once, then twice, “do you hear me?” 

“I’m safe,” you repeat back, the tears silently streaming down your face. From the stairs, the men stare at the scene before them. “Uh oh,” Freddy shakes his head, and the others turn to him with various questions. “Look at them,” he points back to you and Gus, “he looks at her like he just realized what love was.” 

“I didn’t know you were a romantic, Freddy,” Apple claps him on the shoulder with a laugh. “I’m not,” he shrugs, “but I’m also not blind. That right there,” he points a finger, “that’s love if I ever saw it. You just wait, I bet you ten pounds she goes home with him at the end of this mission.” 

“I’ll take that bet,” Hayes tosses over his shoulder. 

Apple raises a brow, “you don’t think they’ll end up getting hitched once we’re home.” 

“That wasn’t the bet,” Hayes grins, “he bet that she’ll go home with him at the end of the mission. I think we’ll either be dead or in jail so she probably won’t be going home with him.” 

“Never bet against yourself, Hazy,” Freddy shakes his head, “have I taught you nothing.” 

“It’s your deal,” Henry reminds him before shrugging past to go back to the deck, “let’s go, give them some privacy.” 

Their steps recede and Gus rubs the last of your tears away, “do you want something to eat?” 

“Yes,” you nod, moving from his lap and tugging the blanket around your shoulders. When you step down, you quickly look at the bandages around your feet and ankle before meeting his eyes, “thank you,” you whisper, “for everything.” 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he puts the kettle on, “any decent human being would do the same.” You sit down at the table seeing the maps and confidential files spread across the surface. Gus grabs the papers and puts them into a pile before putting down a cup of steaming tea before you. 

“I have a few questions,” you wrap your hands around the cup, absorbing some of the warmth. 

He takes a sip, blowing the top with a grin, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” 

“What were you doing in the Garrison?” 

“Rescuing Appleyard,” he takes another sip, “we needed him.” 

“For what?” 

Gus puts down his cup, crossing his arms over his chest and your heart beats a little louder at how strained the fabric is over his bulging biceps. You quickly take a sip of your tea, burning your tongue when you meet his eyes, seeing amusement sparkle. “Enjoying the show?” you cough, the tea spilling down the front of your dress. “Shit,” he shouts, grabbing a towel and pulling out the chair beside you to sit down. You grab it and soak up the liquid from your dress, the top sinking lower with each tug. 

When you’re finished you glance up to see his eyes on your chest before he quickly averts his eyes and clears his throat. “Enjoying the show?” you smile softly when he coughs and lets out a strained laugh. 

“Very much,” he turns his head and your mouth goes dry. Neither says anything for a moment before he goes back to the pile and tugs out the map. You take another sip of tea to prevent being parched when he spreads it over the table. “We’re on a secret mission for the English government.” “Come again?” you clear your throat, sitting up straighter. 

He grins, “We are on an unsanctioned, unofficial mission to destroy a ship and two tug boats holding enough supplies to supply the German U-boats for six months. We destroy those ships and we regain control of the Atlantic.” 

“And how do you plan to do that?” 

“Explosives,” he pushes a tin of biscuits towards you, “tons of explosives. What do you think?” 

You sit there for a moment, processing everything he’s said before reaching into the tin and pulling out a ginger snap. You dip it into your cup before taking a bite with a grin, “where can I sign up?” 

[wilwheaton]

How did the “automatic” doors on the Enterprise set work? My husband and I are arguing about it and you might be our only hope to save our marriage.

On our set, the doors were controlled by a pulley system that was operated by someone on the crew. They were signaled by a light, controlled by the First AD, so they knew when to open the doors. They'd watch us pass through, then close them behind us.

As I understand it, on Picard, Disco, and SNW, all the doors are controlled by someone with a tablet or something that does it all.

Now that you mention it, I haven't yet asked a current cast member if anyone has walked into doors like we all did at one time or another. I'm going to do that when we are back in the Ready Room.

[miley1442111]

injury-b.floyd

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a/n: intended for fem reader, but as always imagine what you like:)))))))))

summary: how you and your husband continue after you get into an accident.

pairing: bob floyd x reader

warnings: angst, insecurity around scars/injuries, reader gets injured, frustration with injury, +

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Bob and you had been inseparable since you were kids, going up in Montana together, then going into the navy together. He’d just become your husband. You two had been together since probably 6th grade and now you two were married. You were a pilot and Bob was your back-seater, always. That was until your accident. You’d gotten hurt in a flight, just some dogfighting, it should’ve been fine, but your plane malfunctioned and you went down. You went down and sustained massive injuries. 

Bob could remember getting the call like it was yesterday. 

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“Hello, is this Lieutenant Robert Floyd?” The voice on the other side of his phone asked. 

“Yes, this is him,” He answered, sniffling. It wasn’t everyday that you had to fly alone and it wasn’t everyday that Bob got sick. But when Bob did get sick, he was so ill he could barely get out of bed. 

“Your wife, Lieutenant Y/n Floyd was in an accident today. She’s alive, but she’s in St. George’s Hospital, we suggest you go to her.”

Bob’s world stopped. You were hurt. You had flown on your own and you were hurt. He could’ve been there. He could’ve saved you, he should've saved you. That’s his role as your husband, to love and protect you. He promised you 4 months ago that he would. 

“Lieutenant?” The voice spoke again. 

“I-I’m on my way.” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 When he arrived at the hospital he was told that you were in surgery to stop the bleeding in your lungs and to try and repair some damage. Apparently your plane had been improperly checked and the emergency evac pulleys weren’t working, so you had to go down. 

Bob felt sick to his stomach. 

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After hours of surgery and days of waiting for you to wake up, you finally did.

"Hey baby," he smiled, tears in his eyes as yours opened.

"Bob?" You questioned, eyes hazy from days of sleep.

"Yeah, that's right darling," a tear fell, then another. He took your hand in his and pressed a kiss against it.

"W-what happened?" You asked, afraid of the answer.

Bob recounted as best he could, leaving out all the horrible bits that he'd rather you forget.

A nurse and doctor joined you two next, explaining your injuries and treatment plan. You sat there, listen in utter horror, terrified that you'd been hurt this badly.

You'd never fly again.

After a few months in the hospital and hours and hours of physical therapy, you were discharged and sent home with Bob. The first night was quiet, too quiet for the both of you after becoming used to the sound of the hospital. You lay down in bed together and he held you tighter than he ever had.

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At home, you were constantly trying to do things you couldn’t do anymore. One of your legs had been shattered in the incident and you were on crutches or a cane most days, meaning easy things like making dinner or something as simple as making a cup of tea became difficult. Bob tried to help you as much as he could but he could feel your frustration growing every day. You barely ate, barely got up, barely talked anymore. 

“Baby,” he ran a soothing hand against your back, feeling the healed scars and the way you tensed under his touch. “Please talk to me,” he begged.

“About what?” You whispered into the dark expanse of the room, your back to him. 

“Just talk to me,” he asked, tears rolling down his cheeks silently.

There was a long pause, then you spoke. “Do you still love me? Even though I’m… like this”

Bob was stunned. He loved you more than anything in the world, you were the most beautiful thing in his world, and you were simply an incredible person. He sat up and wiped his cheeks, you following suit to look at him. 

“I love you more than anything in the world,” He promised, taking your hand. Finally, the flood gates opened and you sobbed into his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” you swore, burying your head into his chest as he held you tight. “I was so worried you wouldn’t want me anymore, t-that you’d l-leave me because, because I’m not what you m-married. Because I’m not pretty anymore.”

Bob’s heart broke. He thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world, he didn’t care that you had scars, let alone scars from something you couldn’t control. “Baby, you are the most beautiful, sexy, pretty, and gorgeous woman on the planet. I love you for reasons other than that as well, yes, but, it sure is a nice bonus to have a hot fucking wife,” he smiled at you and you laughed for the first time in months. 

“You promise?” You sniffled.

“I promise,” he smiled. “And I plan on showing you just how beautiful I think you are when you’re cleared by the doctor,” he smirked and you rolled your eyes. 

Your regular banter was back. While you still got frustrated with your injuries, and felt a little lonely when Bob had to go on deployments. You began to heal and live with your injuries, especially with Bob’s help.

Oh, and he stayed true to his plan. 

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navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[obwjam]

a small surprise (gravity falls g/t!)

aka when you fall back down the gravity falls rabbit hole and before you know it you're brainstorming every possible g/t idea...

and then you end up with something like this: ford's borrower friend is left alone and confused when a mysterious force jolts them awake one night... and discovers that the author of the journals has a mysterious twin brother

s/o to @pocket-lad for all the ramblings about giant stans and for fostering this idea with me -- check out their take on this!!

part 2

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Jay had never felt tremors like this before.

She thought the earth was about to split open and swallow her whole with how intensely her world shook. Of course she had felt earthquakes before – or what she thought were earthquakes. Ford had tried to explain it a million times, and Jay pretended to get it around explanation No. 837,382 so she wouldn’t have to hear it anymore.

But that was ages ago. Ford had gotten pretty much impossible to talk to after the whole triangle worshiping thing, and after Fiddleford quit, the house had fallen into an intense state of disrepair. Jay still lived here, of course, because it was warm and safe and Ford still remembered to leave food and water out for her. But anytime she tried to talk to him, he would look at her like he was hallucinating. He probably was.

It had been a few weeks since the two had actually spoken face to face. She felt uncomfortable trying to get through to someone who clearly wasn’t himself anymore. But this – earthquake, whatever it was – was enough to scare her to the point where she was afraid of being alone. She at least had to ask Ford what had happened; even if he was delusional most of the time, she knew him well enough that she could glean some sort of answer from his ramblings.

Careful not to trip over fallen objects, Jay made her way from her little hiding spot upstairs to the small pulley system Ford helped her construct to get down to the bunker. That had taken a lot of convincing, since Ford didn’t understand why he couldn’t just carry her down with him every time – “It’s much more practical!” he would say, dramatically pointing his finger up in the air – but she eventually persuaded him because he liked a challenge. It worked just as lowering a bucket into a well did, a simple enough mechanism that Jay could use herself no matter what. Ford was always fascinated by her raw strength.

The house was dark and quiet – nothing new – but there was an eerie feeling in the air that Jay just couldn’t shake. Something felt… wrong. Ford’s presence was easily felt, and Jay couldn’t sense him anywhere. The only sound was the snowstorm battering against the thin glass windows, making the wood creak and shake but nothing more. With one hand, Jay clutched the sewing needle that served as her protection. The other was pressed behind her back, ready to fend off anything from behind. It didn’t make her feel much better.

“What did you do now, Ford…” Jay muttered to herself, eyes darting left and right. It was hard to make out much of anything, but the usual controlled chaos of the main floor felt skewed, and it was clear to see from up on the table. Maybe once she got to her makeshift elevator, she’d start to feel better.

But she stopped short of the bunker’s entrance, because a sudden noise scared the living daylights out of her. She flung her needle forward, but nothing was in her immediate vicinity. She cautiously lowered the weapon, and it didn’t take long for her eyes to find the source. Standing in the center of the main room, staring intently at the journal like it was his last remaining possession on Earth, was…

“Ford?”

Ford froze, stiff as a board. Jay swallowed the lump in her throat. He was probably pissed at her.

“Ford…” Jay paused. She didn’t really think about what she would say if – when – she finally saw him. “What–what happened? Is everything okay? It’s–”

She was cut off abruptly when Ford turned around, and Jay’s stomach dropped so fast she thought it might take her through the floor. He – this man – he had Ford’s face, but this was not him. The hair was all wrong (he had a mullet, for Christ’s sake). The posture. The clothes. The look in his glasses-less eyes as he stared right at her. This wasn’t him. Jay was baffled. Did he do something to himself? Is this just what he looked like now? Could he really have changed that much in a few weeks?

Not-Ford blinked, then blinked again. His mouth hung slightly agape, and his eyes were blown wide. He looked dirty and tired, but most pressing, he looked mad. Mad at Jay.

“What the…” 

Not-Ford’s gruff, hoarse voice was the final nail in the coffin. Ford didn’t sound like that. Even when he was losing his mind, he spoke with a surprising amount of authority. He was just like that. This man… he sounded lost.

The reality of the situation hit Jay like a freight train. Slowly, she held her hands up and began to back away, like she was retreating from an animal. Whether this was some weird, alternate version of Ford or a complete stranger, it didn’t change the fact that she was being seen.

Jay was quick. Not-Ford was quicker.

At a blinding speed that Jay would never get used to from humans, Not-Ford had grabbed a jar from an adjacent table and slammed it on top of her, eliciting a very high-pitched scream. She jumped when a piece of paper replaced the wood of the table underneath her feet, and in just a few seconds, her world turned upside down. Literally. She was flipped to the bottom of the jar as Not-Ford brought her shaking form up to eye level.

“What the hell are you?” That rough voice was distorted through thick glass, but still terrifying. “And what the hell do you know about my brother?”

Jay almost choked. Brother? Ford had never mentioned a brother.

“Wh–who–where’s Ford?” Jay barely had the courage to speak.

“Oh, it talks,” Not-Ford sounded intrigued for a moment. “What, are you one of his experiments gone wrong? You’re so… tiny.”

Jay opened her mouth to respond, but her words died in her throat when Not-Ford – Ford’s brother, apparently – tilted the jar to the side, causing her to fall to the side with an unceremonious oof. He was observing her, like some caged animal. She tried to regain her footing, but failed miserably each time. Her legs felt like they were still stuck in those tremors. She wanted to yell at him to stop, but she could barely get air in her lungs as she was swirled around like water going down a drain. 

“Huh,” Not-Ford said, going still after what felt like a million years. “Did my brother do this to you?”

Jay stumbled and tilted her head. “Do–do what?”

“What do you mean, do what. Make you tiny.”

“Make me – no, he didn’t make me tiny,” Jay shot back, almost insulted. She felt the anger boil up inside of her when Not-Ford almost smiled.

“Oh, man, you really got the short end of the stick, then. Literally.”

Despite herself, Jay rolled her eyes. Height jokes. Very original.

“L–look, I don’t know who you are, but–”

“Can it, pipsqueak!” Jay actually had to cover her ears at the sheer volume of his voice. “I’m asking the questions here. Did you help him with this – portal thing?”

The portal. The tremors. Jay’s eyes widened. No. He didn’t…

Ford’s brother evidently understood her look of recognition. “Ah, so you do know about it. Well, you’re gonna help me fix it.”

“Wh–” Jay didn’t get a chance to speak as he swung the jar to his side. She flew into the side, and she tried to ignore the way her arm crunched under the pressure. The world whizzed by underneath her feet, and she could barely keep her balance with the way Not-Ford was lumbering around. Looks like she was getting a ride down to the bunker after all.

Jay’s mind raced with ways she could get herself out of this. As badly as she wanted to figure out what happened to Ford, she didn’t care to have this guy help her. She could easily find Ford by herself. Maybe she could try to find Fiddleford, too, but for all Jay knew, he was halfway across the world at this point, so that was probably a fruitless effort. He was very adamant about quitting when he left that night, which always made Jay sad whenever she thought about it. She sorely missed his calm demeanor and gentleness with her. She liked spending time with Ford, but at the end of the day, he had a tendency to regard her as some kind of scientific marvel, not a fully functioning person. Fiddleford never seemed to care. He just wanted to make sure she was safe and happy.

A harsh jolt brought Jay back to reality. Oh. Right. Not-Ford. Ford’s crazy brother. It had taken her a bit to notice, but Not-Ford’s hands were shaking. And the anger… it didn’t seem like he was mad at her. That made no sense; the only crime she was guilty of was knowing Ford. But the way he spoke about Ford – like he wasn’t here right now – and how the portal needed fixing, and he wanted help doing it… what exactly happened?

“Stupid secret bunker… stupid portal… stupid brother…” Not-Ford muttered. He was glancing behind him, as if Ford would pop out at any moment and yell surprise!

Not-Ford definitely got discombobulated, but he eventually found his way back to the control room. He threw the jar onto the main control panel, and Jay shut her eyes, hoping the sensation of moving would fade away quickly.

“Alright, short stuff,” Not-Ford said gruffly, slamming a journal in front of her. “Tell me how to turn this thing on.”

Jay started blankly at the journal. It wasn’t even opened to the correct section, and she could barely see over the horizon of the pages.

Not-Ford grunted. “Well, what are you waiting for?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Tiny people can read, right?”

“Wh–what makes you think I can do anything?” Jay managed to choke out. It had worked on Ford when they first met; using her diminutive size to her advantage. She had wriggled out of so many things she didn’t want to do by playing the useless card. 

Ford’s brother stopped. He abruptly grabbed the jar, lifting it up to his dirty, unhappy face. Jay gasped and inched back until her head softly hit the glass. Through the distortion of her clear prison, it looked like he was actually considering her words. If he was anything like Ford, it would work.

He was nothing like Ford.

“Heh, if you want to weasel your way out of this, you’re gonna have to try harder, tiny,” he smirked, placing the jar back in front of the journal. 

Jay shook her head in disbelief. “But – what –” she paused. Trying to reason with him wouldn’t work. This guy clearly didn’t work like that. With wide eyes and trembling hands, Jay considered her next move. Her primary goal of getting the hell out of this jar didn’t seem like it was going to happen anytime soon, and he obviously wasn't going to fall for a sob story. She could help him, but based on the way he’s been acting, he’d probably put her in a closet and forget about her as quickly as he found her. She looked up, trying to read Not-Ford through the warped glass. His hands were tightly wrapped around his waist, and his eyes darted nervously at every little sound. His demeanor didn’t match his tough-guy attitude one bit.

A lightbulb went off in Jay’s head: He’s desperate. And she could use that to her advantage.

“I’ll help you if you tell me what happened,” she said, sounding way less assertive than she wanted to. Not-Ford regarded her in something of a condescending curiosity before bursting out into laughter. Jay felt the heat rush to her cheeks. Why was he laughing? What was so funny? Oh, she shouldn’t have tried to play tough. She was in no position to negotiate.

“Trying to do this my way, huh?” Not-Ford leaned back in his seat. “Alright, I’ll play along.”

Jay was stunned silent.

“Go ahead, ask me what you wanna know. But don’t think about trying to be slick, because I have no problem shaking you around like a martini.”

It took her a second to gather her thoughts. She wasn’t planning on conning him, because she knew the consequences, but it was interesting that Not-Ford defaulted to assuming the worst. There were a million things she wanted – needed – to ask, but he was volatile. She had to tread carefully. So she started simple.

“Wh… what’s your name? And are you really… Ford’s brother?”

“Name’s Stanley,” he said, brushing some loose hair from his face. “And yeah, Poindexter's my brother. We’re twins.”

“Twins…” Jay repeated. That’s why they looked identical, even down to their names. But why would Ford never say anything about it? “I… Ford never mentioned anything about having a twin.”

Stanley laughed. “Yeah, that’s not surprising. We haven’t seen each other in years. He was probably tryin’ to pretend I didn’t exist.”

Jay frowned. Stanley sounded miserable saying that out loud, and she didn’t need to ask to know what that meant. 

“And what are you supposed to be? Some kind of fairy or something? I know Ford was into weird stuff, but this is just unnatural.”

Jay crossed her arms. “I’m a borrower.”

Stanley blinked. “You say that like I’m supposed to know what that is.”

“Well, it’s what… I am,” Jay said, gesturing to herself.

“Okay… so, what? You were Ford’s pet or something?”

“I was not – no!” Jay cried as that familiar sinking feeling entered her stomach. She was not about to do this again right now. “I am not a pet!”

“Okay, okay, yeesh,” Stanley said, throwing his hands up. “Sore subject, I see.”

“We were… friends,” Jay said cautiously. “He respected me. I think.”

“You think?” Stanley laughed. “Oh, I’m sure he did. He loves listening to other people. Especially when they’re the size of a doll.”

Jay felt the tears welling up in her eyes, but pushed past it. There were more pressing matters at hand than her feelings. “Where… where is Ford? What happened?”

Stanley froze, like all his bodily control was stolen from him. For a moment, he stared off into the distance, something flashing before his eyes that only he could see. If Jay didn’t know any better, she’d almost say he looked… embarrassed.

“I – he – we got into a fight,” Stanley said, hanging his head a bit. “One second, he was here, and the next, some wacky machine turns on and he’s bein’ pulled right into it! And I can’t get it back on, because in case you haven’t noticed, I’m the handsome twin, not the nerdy twin. So either you help me get this thing back on or I’ll–”

“Wait wait wait. He went through?”

“What, are your tiny ears incapable of hearing? That's what I just said!” Stanley cried.

Jay felt like she was going to throw up. Fiddleford walked out on site from what he saw inside that portal, and Ford went mad trying to make sure it was never used again. If he got pulled through…

“...he might not even be alive,” Jay whispered, her voice trembling as violently as her body. 

Stanley leaned in, causing Jay to recoil. “What? You’re gonna have to talk louder than that, pipsqueak. I can barely hear you.”

“I said HE MIGHT BE DEAD!”

For a moment, Stanley’s face remained stoic. But it soon twisted into a cocktail of sadness, rage and annoyance, his eyes practically glowing red, staring straight through Jay’s soul.

Jay tensed up. Maybe that was a bad idea.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. F-forget I said anything,” Jay stammered, holding her hands up. She retreated – as if there was anywhere she could go. Stanley could kill her in 10,000 different ways, and she didn’t even want to speculate about any of them.

But instead of taking the jar, Stanley just sighed. “That’s right, tiny. I don’t wanna hear any of that. My brother may be the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever known, but he is one tough son of a bitch and there is no way some – stupid gadget killed him!”

Jay opened her mouth, but stopped. Something piqued her interest.

“How… how much do you know about the portal?”

Stanley glared at her. “Nothing. That’s why I’ve resorted to asking some half-baked person to help me.”

“No, I mean… did Ford tell you anything about what it does?”

“Yeah,” Stanley said, though he sounded unsure. “Something about a universal gateway into unfathomable knowledge, blah blah, boring nerd stuff. Look, it doesn’t matter, just – tell me how to get it back on already, will ya?!”

“I don’t–!” Jay started to yell, but she took a breath. She couldn’t lose her cool. “I was here – around – I would watch when Ford and Fidds were working on it, but it’s not like I understood any of it.” Jay shut her eyes, waiting for blowback, some kind of retaliation. But it never came. Stanley just stared at her, eyes shaking. “Besides, if you only have one journal, you can’t… Ford wrote three journals, see, and they have to be combined to build it. Sort of a failsafe thing. Do you have the others?”

Stanley shook his head. “He told me he buried them or something. He didn’t want to turn that thing back on, I – I don’t even know what happened.”

There was a long stretch of silence after that. The two of them just stared at each other, unmoving. It was hard for Jay to put all the pieces together based on the limited useful information Ford told her after Fidds quit, but one thing was crystal clear – that portal should be shut down at all costs. Ford kept saying he was tricked, and using the portal again would destroy the universe. Jay believed him, too, because the kind of stuff he got himself into always seemed bigger than themselves. If Ford actually was taken through the portal, then that means it was turned on… and the universe was still here. No mass destruction, no end of humanity, no triangles. Everything seemed to be okay… except for the noticeable lack of Ford.

Ford. The first human she had ever talked to; one of the only beings on earth she considered to be her friend. Sure, he was obsessive, invasive and sometimes lacked humanity… but he was also protective, curious and caring of her. Jay hadn’t had to hunt for food in a year. She had unlimited access to cold, clean water. The worst thing she had to endure was Ford’s endless stream of questions and experiments, but it was a trade she’d make 100 times out of 100 if it meant sustenance, shelter and safety for the rest of her life. 

Above all, Ford trusted her. He would let her watch other experiments, take her on trips, and even contribute to brainstorming sessions. She would listen quietly as Ford and Fidds reminisced about their Backupsmore days and the things they would do to change the world. She felt part of it all. Ford made her feel part of it all.

So what would he want her to do, right now, in this moment? He would never want to put himself above the safety of humanity; not once he found out what Bill was really up to. He would rather spend a thousand years in another dimension than risk the safety of this one. Maybe the portal didn’t do anything this time, but would they be so lucky again? Something told her no. Maybe there was a reason Ford didn’t talk to his brother anymore. Maybe he was just reckless. With Fidds and Ford both gone now… it really was up to her to keep everyone safe.

Jay sighed, realizing she needed to say something before Stanley shook her around again. “Look, even if I – even if I wanted to, you need those other journals, and I – I don’t really understand all that mechanical stuff. I’m… I’m sorry, Stanley. I don’t know how to turn it back on.”

Stanley said nothing. Jay gulped. Oh, boy, he was mad.

“I – I just mean – I can’t –”

“What do you mean, even if you wanted to?”

Jay paused. The temperature in the room seemed to drop 20 degrees. “I– well–”

“My brother is trapped on the other side of some – some – some inter-dimensional weirdness, and you don’t even want to get him back?”

“That’s not – I didn’t mean –”

But she didn’t get to finish her sentence as Stanley grabbed the jar off the table, throwing Jay to the back of the glass again. “Listen to this, tiny! I don’t care what some half-pint wants! He’s my family! And if you’re not going to help me get him back, then – then you’re useless to me!”

“Wait, Stanley, come on, I –”

“And stop saying my name as if we’re on the same level here! You’re just some – some – some thing my brother happened to find interesting. You don’t know anything about Ford!”

“You’re one to talk, considering I’ve spent more time with him in the last year than you have for the last 10!”

All the oxygen in the room seemed to evaporate. Jay didn’t mean to say that, not really – sure, it’s how she felt, but she didn’t want to say it out loud. Maybe Stanley didn’t hear her. Maybe he wouldn’t even care. Maybe he’d just say you’re right and come to his senses.

Maybe not.

It was perhaps scarier that Stanley didn’t say anything in response. Instead, he simply blinked a few times, took a few breaths, then got moving. 

He didn’t know where he was going, just that he wanted to be anywhere but here right now, talking to anyone but – but – damn it, he didn’t even know her name. It didn’t matter. This stupid little thing was right about one thing – she’d spoken to his brother more in the last week than he had for a decade. What did Stan do to deserve this? Just because he broke his dumb brother’s dumb science project back in high school? And just when he was hopeful Ford was ready to turn the page, they got right back into it – and now he was gone, with no way to come back.

He glanced down at the impossibly small figure in the jar. How was this even possible? He didn’t think any of that fairy tale folk junk was real. And Ford would befriend it, too. They probably forged some weird bond over being weird. 

Deep down, Stan felt bad. He barely knew this little guy, and he didn’t really have a right to keep them trapped. But right now, he was pissed off and feeling irrational. The more he stared at this tiny being, the more it reminded him of everything he lost with Ford.

So he found the highest shelf and stuck the jar up there.

“HEY! ARE YOU KIDDING ME! HEY!!!” Jay kicked at the glass, as if that would do anything. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME UP HERE!”

“I can do whatever the hell I want, pipsqueak,” Stanley mumbled, not even bothering to look her in the eye. In an instant, he was gone, head down and hands shoved in his pockets. He had work to do.

“STANLEY!!!!” Jay gave it one more try, but it was no use. Okay, don’t panic. You’ve been in worse situations. Maybe I can just push the glass off the shelf. Jay slammed her body onto the side of the jar until she became numb. It barely moved an inch. Okay, maybe if I… no, that won’t work. Or I can… no, that won’t do either. What if… if… if…

“If,” Jay sighed out loud, her legs crumbling beneath her. She was trapped. Stanley wasn’t coming back to let her out. Ford wasn’t coming back at all. She would die here. What first, starvation? Dehydration? Oxygen deprivation? It was all the same to her at this point.

Truthfully, she didn’t know how much time passed. The low light of the bunker was the same any time of day, and she never saw Stanley pass by, so either it had only been a few hours or Stanley was working nonstop for days. The whirlwind of everything had finally caught up to her, and the cool glass of the jar felt nice when she laid down and stretched her body out. There’s not much I can do right now. I’ll think of something later…

The second she closed her eyes, she passed out.