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delphi-shield · 2 months

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:// sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ғᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ / ʙɪʟʟʏ.ʙᴜᴛᴄʜᴇʀ

Billy Butcher x Reader smut, hurt/no comfort wc: ~5.2k mdni read on ao3 digging the worms out of my brain real quick since i finally caught up with the boys. idk i think i worked through something personal with this, so like, that's a win for me.

summary: Butcher knows better than to be fucking around with you, but there's 50 quid in it for him if he gets you to call him 'daddy'. Easy money.

content: s4 spoilers, dubcon, butcher's pov, an exorbitant amount of kessler in the first half, age gap, general sleazy behavior, handjob, finger fucking, piv, pussy slapping, some just the tip action, blowjob, mentions of titfucking, degradation, general objectification, public sex, not proofread.

“Makes you realize men have nipples too.”

The bar is packed for a Wednesday night, but Butcher already knows exactly what Kessler is talking about. You’re a ditch lily, sitting tall in this shithole. He turns his head away, pretends he doesn't see the way you lick up a trail of spilled cosmopolitan from the side of your glass, pink tongue parting your lips, eyes half-shut.

Fucking typical. Kessler could sniff out daddy issues and sadness from a mile away, and he was lethal at half that distance. He could have them wrapped around his finger in the time it took Butcher to take a piss.

His eyes linger. A thing like you doesn't belong in a dump like this. This is the sort of place girls like you stumble into at 1 AM, survey the crowd through the haze of cigarette smoke, and wobble right back out onto the streets, take your chances with the elements rather than the haggard, unfriendly crowd that hunches over their drinks.

Butcher likes Midwest 10's. Begs Kessler to stop ogling barely legal co-eds, says he's not some sleazy cunt in a John Hughes film. He can lie all he wants. If it makes him hard, it makes Butcher hard.

He glances sidelong at your face. You've got this Christmas-light bright smile that makes his dick jerk. Kessler’s more than under his skin. He’s in his veins, in the same blood that raises his cock up like a goddamn bicycle pump when you lean over the bar, arms squeezing your tits together.

"You could probably fuck 'em." Kessler tips his head to the side, eyes locked on your cleavage. His eyes narrow, lips pursed, evaluating your chest and charting a course for his dick to travel.

"Shut up."

"Huh?"

Fuck. Your tip your head to the side from two seats away, brows pinched together. Cute, in a lost little lamb kind of way.

Butcher's eyes cut to Kessler. He's cocked it all up now. The sly, punchable grin on Kessler’s face turns him back to his drink. He drains his glass and gestures for another. If he doesn’t look at you, if he keeps drinking, this all goes away.

"Nothin'. Don't you worry about it, love."

That should be the end of it, but you’ve clearly got something wrong with you. You fiddle with your purse, pluck up your courage, and drop yourself onto the barstool next to him. Whether you’ve got no sense of self-preservation or you’re just that damn oblivious, he doesn’t intend to get to know you well enough to find out. Butcher's strained smile doesn't do much to smooth the worry lines away.

Kessler chuckles, leans back and props his elbows up on the bar. Cunt just wants to watch him squirm.

"No," Kessler corrects, drawing the word out. "I want you to get some pussy."

His eyes dart over to Kessler, looming over you, hands ghosting up your arms to squeeze your shoulders. He blinks rapidly, rubs at his face, tries to play it off like he's nervous or tired or whatever the fuck but when he looks down, there's your tits again. Butcher lolls his head back to the ceiling. Laugh it up, you fuckin’ cunt.

And Kessler does. Makes a show of slapping his hand on his thigh, head knocked back, grinning toothily.

He tries to ignore you, but you’re straddling that stool next to him in your little skirt and ordering another cosmo. This isn’t the kind of bar for cocktails, and he knows without even seeing the bartender’s eye roll that he hates you.

It's none of his business. He ought to keep himself sat there drowning in his drink ‘til last call and past that, make them throw him out on the street, give him a reason to swing first. It's a better idea than messing with you.

The bartender drops your drink off in front of you and turns before the words ‘thank you’ leave your glossy lips. Another sickly pink cocktail with a dried out lime dropped on top. Butcher can’t help himself. He’s got a soft spot for the clueless.

“Cheery bloke, isn't he?” He says, casting a sidelong glance at the bartender. He taps a finger against the bartop, inclines his head toward your cocktail. “That the only drink you know the name of?”

Your cheeks warm. You hide it behind a hand, turning your face away from him to laugh.

“What? No. I just think they taste good.”

Kessler snorts. “That’s a fat load of shit.”

Butcher agrees. His mouth twists into a half-hearted smile. He slides his glass over to you.

“Try it,” he insists.

There’s hardly a passing thought for your own safety. You look between his scotch and his face and seem to decide it’s safe to take drinks from strange old fucks in bars. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, warm and soft - sticky. You must be more sloshed than you look, must keep spilling your drinks. Hell, for all he knows, maybe this place does make the best cosmo in the city. Maybe the bartender just hates your ass because you keep making a mess.

You don’t even ask what he’s drinking. (Maybe this is all a grift, he thinks. Kessler’s at his ear, chuckling - she ain’t bright enough for that.) You lift his glass and leave your lipstick behind.

“Oh my god.” You sputter, pound a fist against your chest. It makes your tits bounce. Fucking miracle your shirt is containing those things. “That tastes like ass.”

“That is the highest quality scotch this bar serves.”

“It tastes like someone put a cigarette out in a glass of whiskey.”

“It’s a shit bar.”

You laugh, head tipped back, nose scrunched - the works. You’re too tipsy for it to be on purpose. Being cute comes naturally to you. Must be how you’ve made it this far.

You pass his drink back and scoot your cosmo closer to you, spilling it as the glass skips over the pock-marked countertop. Butcher snorts, dabs it up for you with his sleeve. He’s starting to think his theory about the cosmopolitans might hold true.

“Well, here, a trade’s a trade.” He takes your drink by the stem (fucking amazed they even have martini glasses in this place) and pounds back a mouthful.

It isn’t that bad, but he makes a show of scrunching his nose and shaking his head. He slides your drink back over to you and mirrors the way you had clung to your drink.

“You’re kidding,” you laugh. “It’s better than yours. I don’t know how you drink that.”

“I’ll keep my liquid ashtray, thanks.”

Your eyes are all lit up when you smile, but it emphasizes the raw edges, the puffiness that lingers. Rough night for you, by the looks of it. Not like he’s having much of a better one.

There’s no harm in it. No harm in showing you what a proper drink tastes like, broadening your horizons and helping you both forget what a shit hand you’ve been dealt. He buys you a drink on the condition that you try something that isn’t a cosmopolitan. You can hardly stomach a whiskey and coke. He orders you a fernet and coke for shits and giggles, expects you to spit it out like all the rest, barks out a laugh when you declare it’s tasty, notes of lavender drawing you in. Notes of lavender - Christ, what fucking suburb did you pop out of?

He introduces you to more drinks, leans closer with each empty glass. You're new here, you tell him. You tell him your name, too, not that he remembers. Got stood up on some shitty date. He knows it’s got to be shitty because what idiot in his right mind would take you here, of all places?

By the time he orders you both shots of Rumple Minze, you’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. Your hand splays against his chest, head leaning against him. You lift his shot to his lips for him and he’s too drunk to find it childish and irritating. He downs it and does the same for you, watches you extend that pretty neck to drink it down.

“I’ll get you a cab,” he slurs, rocking unsteadily to his feet.

“I already called an Uber.”

Jesus. It’s a struggle not to roll his eyes. Fucking kids. Allergic to one night stands, couldn’t take a hint to save their life. Even Kessler is on his side, his head thunking against the bartop.

It's for the best, he thinks, trying to curb his disappointment. He's got shit to do. Ryan to worry about. Kessler's a right cunt, pushing him to you. He hasn't got the time to be fucking about. This entire thing had been a waste of time, too busy trying to get his dick wet to make the most of what he’s got left.

Butcher stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat, steps back, ready to split and stumble his way back home. He nods quick and sharp, tight-lipped smile to keep his frustration locked behind his teeth.

You show him your phone, make him squint to see what he’s supposed to be looking at. “My Uber is still a couple minutes away, so…”

Kessler picks his head up from the bar. He's a bloodhound for pussy. He picks up the leading edge in your voice before Butcher’s even done parsing your words.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Kessler drones. “You can’t even get it up, can you?”

“I’m damn well going to try.”

“What?” You laugh, swaying on your feet.

Butcher wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you against his side. “Nothin’. Don’t you worry about it. I’ll keep you company. Make sure no nasties try to get you.”

The cold outside is bracing. You wrap your arms tight around yourself and this time Butcher’s too drunk to pretend he isn't staring at the way your tits press together.

It’s your idea. Really. The way you look up at him, the way your lips stay parted while the pair of you pace the sidewalk. You wrap your hand around his bicep and squeeze, eyes drifting slowly to the side, to the alleyway just a few strides away.

See? It’s your idea, honest. He drags you behind a dumpster, pins you to the wall of the alley, and shoves his tongue down your throat, yeah, but you moan so fucking loud and drag him closer. It takes longer than he'd like for your hand to stop massaging his chest and start fondling his cock, but you're a sweet girl - don't seem the type to do this too often. Need some guidance.

Butcher lays his hand atop yours, wraps your fingers tighter around his bulge. Your breath hitches, your eyes flicking down to your hand, mouth popped open - got this sweet, vacant little look in your eye.

He'd bet real money you go dumb for cock.

“$50 says you can get her to call you ‘daddy’,” Kessler pipes up, leaning against the wall next to you. He tips a cigarette into his mouth, cups a hand around to light it, and Butcher swears the light from his zippo gleam in your eyes. He doesn’t doubt it. Seems cruel, though, especially when he can’t remember your name.

“What was your name again?”

It takes a bit for you to get dick off your mind and fish around for your name. You mumble, make him lean in close and tilt his head to get you to say it again, clearer.

You're the obedient sort. Pick up on cues so easy. Don't even make him ask for it again. He pats your cheek, smirk creasing his face.

By your side, Kessler flashes a crisp $50. He plucks it taut, fans himself with it, makes a real show of being a dick while you try to take Butcher's out of his pants.

At the end of the day, 50 quid is 50 quid.

“How ‘bout you ask daddy for permission, sweetheart?”

Your mouth moves wordlessly.

“Please?”

He clicks his tongue. “That’s real polite. But it ain’t what I asked for, is it?”

“Can I please play with your cock, daddy?”

“Better.”

Kessler slips the fifty into Butcher’s coat pocket while you fumble with his belt and free him from his pants. You lay his cock in the seam of your hands, cupping him like he’s a gift on two legs. You stroke him reverently, look up at him with big, thoughtless lamb eyes.

Your heart’s in it, but you’re too reserved for his taste. He grips your hand in his and guides you down his cock, shows you when to squeeze, when to twist your wrist, how to flick your thumb over the slit of his tip.

He can never make it last when he drinks. Should have warned you before he came on your pretty skirt, but you’ve got a natural talent for stroking dick. He keeps his groan locked up tight. It rattles through his chest and he leans into you, crushing you against the wall of the alley. His hips stutter and rut into your hand, still wrapped around him, coaxing every drop from his tip. You still toy with him while he tries to catch his breath. He’s got to push away from you with a mumbled “Christ, all right, that’s enough.”

It’s like he’s taking your favorite toy away. You pout up at him, hand still molded for his cock by your side, by the skirt his ruined with his cum. He almost gets an apology out, but you drag a finger through his mess and bring it to your lips, make a show of licking it up.

His chest aches. He isn’t sure if it’s the tumor or his heart desperately trying to pump enough blood down to his dick to get him up again.

Butcher crams two fingers into his mouth and scrapes the dirt from beneath his nails with his teeth. The rest is a blur. He knows that he kicks your feet apart, traces your slit through your panties before he pushes them to the side and finger fucks you until your head snaps back against the wall. It’s quick, messy - leaves his forearm soaked. He’s not so sure that was real, but he’s too drunk to figure it out, too gone ask.

He tucks himself back into his pants. You set your panties back in place, skirt still hiked up to your ribs. You slip a little lower down the wall, panting. He stops you before you can slip all the way down, pats your cunt, and tugs your skirt back into place.

“Let’s get you a cab, eh?”

That’s the last thing he remembers clearly. You’d missed your Uber, had to take a cab with him anyway. He remembers you leaning against him, tucked up against his side, hand stroking his chest. He’d pet your hair - soft as lamb’s wool - and whispered nonsense against your head just to get a laugh out of you. After you get out, the whole thing’s blank.

When Butcher wakes up at 2 PM the next day, choking on his own vomit, he can't find the 50 quid. He turns his jacket inside out searching for it. A scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it falls from his jacket pocket. He doesn’t spare it more than a glance and keeps digging for his wallet.

Lambs lose their appeal after the flying cunts nearly bit his cock off.

That farm had been dirty business. Wicked stuff, the kind that doesn't wash off. This work always has been, but this time the blood doesn't come out from under his fingernails. He tastes bile every time he breathes. The copper twang of blood trickling down the back of his throat is the only chaser he gets anymore.

He doesn't think of you often. He knows it'd break your little heart to hear it, have you looking up at him with those ‘fuck me, I'm sad’ eyes and that little girl pout that makes him feel every bit the lech he is. You’re a sweet thing. Vacant, just like him. It didn’t take long to piece that together.

You’re easy and malleable, quick to fit yourself around him in whatever way he demands. He liked that about you at first.

But when he calls on you at three in the morning for a quick lay and you answer the door in a full face of make-up, hair done and wearing the sort of nightgown that no one actually sleeps in, all he feels is distaste.

You let him crowd you against your couch (a neutral color, no blanket in sight, your living room just as blank as the rest of you) without so much as a ‘hello’. You hook a leg over his hip. No panties, he realizes, eyes locked on your drippy cunt, already flushed. Been touching yourself to the thought of this. He warms a little at the thought.

Butcher wedges his knee between your leg and grinds. Any warmth you’d kindled with wet pussy dissipates the moment you moan so goddamn loud, the sound hollow and plastic. He keeps his leg still, flexes his thigh for you to grind on. His jaw tightens. He nearly shoves his fingers in your mouth to keep you from making those stupid fucking noises.

You let him twist you up however he wants, more a posable toy than a person. He pushes you further along the couch until your back arches awkwardly against the arm. You don't protest. Of course you don't.

His thick fingers trail down your slit, part your slick folds for his inspection. He sways back on his haunches, admires the pretty way he's got you arranged, pinned open on his fingers for him.

He brings his hand down sharply on pussy once, twice - and the third time directly to your clit is just because you kept making that annoying fucking noise. That nasally, porn-star whine that drills him between the eyes and makes his hard-on flag. The way you twitch and jerk at each hit might be genuine but that fucking noise drives him up a wall. Christ, there's got to be something about you that's real.

Pussy’s real. Can’t fake that, he thinks.

“Stay right there,” he says, a bite to his voice when you try to shift against him again. If you could just lay there and take it - is that so much to ask for?

He guides himself to you, hips rocking experimentally. You suck his head in and his chin dips to his chest. He groans deep. It turns to a growl when you raise your hips. He lays his forearm against you, pressing you down - and that moan might have been real.

“Can't you do fucking anything right?” He snaps. His hips push forward, bullying himself deeper into you. You suck a breath through your teeth, your hand bracing against his forearm. “I told you to stay right there.”

A spark of indignation flickers in your eyes, flash-fire flushed out by the same pitiful little lamb wool you pull back over your eyes. Makes you look all downy, plush and fuckable - he's fished more respectable shits from the toilet.

You’re a good girl for a few more shallow thrusts, lay there just like he wants while he works himself to the hilt. He finds his rhythm sloppily, one knee propped on the couch, the other foot planted on the floor. Your tits bounce with every thrust and he’s stupid enough to take his hands off of you, trust you not to move while he gropes at your breast.

Immediately you rise to your elbows, try to arch your back deeper. He’s positive you’re trying to mimic some video, down to the exact angle of your spine, but your heart isn’t in it. His cock butts against your walls, shallower than before, the pleasure that had been tearing through his blood coming to a screeching halt. He hisses through his teeth, grinding out his frustration.

“Don't –” his shoves you back down, hand flattening against your cheek and pushing your face into the couch. Feels fucking awful any other position. “–fucking move. Don't fucking move. Trying to cum. Goddammit.”

Your hands curl into fists by your head. You hide your face, press it deeper into the cushion and he presses your face deeper to help you. The noise you make is pitiful, but at least it's real.

Fucking hell. Now he’s completely out of it. You’ve gone and fucked up pussy for him. He didn’t think that was possible. He can’t find the angle he needs, can’t get back to that gummy spot that make his vision blur.

He pulls out and flips you onto your stomach, ignoring the little whine you make. You don’t raise your hips - god forbid you take a fucking hint - so he sits you up for him and wedges his dick back in. It only takes a few thrusts for him to realize this is worse. Tighter, dry, chafing his dick like goddamn sandpaper.

“Your cunt shrivel up or something? Feels fucking terrible.”

He snatches your wrist, pulls your arm back at an angle that makes you cry out, and fills your palm with lube. Can't even get wet on your own. Fucking Christ, he's got to do everything for you. Even has to curl your fingers around his cock, drag your hand back and forth until you final get the big, swinging fucking hint and jerk him off.

He meant to stuff himself back into your cunt, but at this point your hand will do. Six one way, half a dozen the other. At least your hand doesn't chafe.

You’re silent now. Small mercies. The only sounds are the slick of your palm working him over and his labored breaths. Your hand is clumsy at this angle, but he’s not going to risk letting you move and fuck it all up again.

Once he’s close, he drops your hand and flips you onto your back again. A big hand presses your knees apart, opens you up for him. You're still so pliable, even if the sheen is gone from your cunt. You try to fix your hair. If he notices the tears brimming your eyes, he doesn't say anything.

He lines himself back up with your cunt, dragging himself through your folds. Your knees knock closer with each pass of his bright red tip over your clit. He taps it once with his cock, expecting another produced moan to rattle the walls, but you only whimper, your thighs trying to close around him.

Butcher smirks. He pumps himself into you, keeps himself shallow - just the tip past your puffy lips.

You whimper, try to shuffle down and take more of him. Butcher’s hand grips your face, squishing your cheeks so hard it stings.

“Don't you fucking move,” he grits out. You used to take instruction so well. Now you've gotten all up in your own head. Nobody likes an uppity bitch, he ought to make you see that.

What he really ought to do is make you get down there and jerk him off. Your hand is still slicked, but you'd probably piss yourself at the chance. Instead, he pushes your knees damn near up to your ears and barks for you to hold your own legs. Your hands curl around the backs of your knees. There you go. Figuring it out again.

His hand strokes his dick quick and hard, one hand dedicated to keeping himself just inside you. It doesn't take long for him to cum. It’s a slow burn that seeps up through his belly, lattices up his ribs and congeals in his chest, makes him ache and cave over your body while his hips sputter. He squeezes himself dry, pumps his cum into your pussy until it flows past his tip and seeps down onto your couch.

Butcher lingers over you, catching his breath. He’s already gone soft, his cock dropped out of you. He sits back against the opposite arm of the couch, splays himself out while you curl up.

Something burns in his chest - remorse, maybe. You’re all curled up against your couch, cheek cushioned on your arm - won’t look at him, don’t paw at him or lean against his side, don’t even reach to clean yourself up.

His head knocks back to the ceiling. He can’t be bothered to pull answers out of you. He reaches for the tissue box on your coffee table, plucks a handful, and cleans himself off.

He tosses the box back to the coffee table and shoves his boots back on, barely taking the time to lace them up properly. He scoops he coat up from where you’d shucked it onto the floor, buttons himself back up, and you still haven’t moved. His eyes linger on you for a moment, brow set low.

Can’t be bothered, he reminds himself. He runs a hand through his hair and makes for your door, boots thunking heavily against your floors.

“Can I see you again?”

You’ve managed to pick your head up when he glances back at you. You sound so desperate it's pitiful. His lip curls. He runs a hand over his head, looks anywhere but you.

Christ, even your apartment is blank and devoid of personality. He hadn't noticed it before, too consumed with the need to get between your thighs. He shrugs, and gives you a lifeless smile.

“We'll see.”

Butcher closes your door behind him and hurries down the hall. He turns the corner to see Kessler’s cheshire grin greeting him in the dark of your stairwell.

He ought to get right with you before his time comes. He isn't proud of the way things ended. Butcher’s a right bastard, but he isn't blind; he'd seen the look on your face, the hopeful shine in your eyes dulling when he'd left you there without so much as a ‘cheers, love, thanks for the rub’.

He doesn't bother texting you. He's already posted up outside your apartment. Giving you a heads up would only give him time to pussy out.

Besides, you're home. He knows it. You’re piss-easy to track. Home to work, work to home, same route, same time. It will be easy to knock on your door, get his closure, and slip out of your life for the last time.

It should be easy. He’s had harder conversations with people who meant more to him but he keeps staring at your door, trying to will himself to knock. He’s not that weak yet. He can still raise his hand.

Butcher turns to leave just as you open the door. His shoulders tense when you call out to him.

“Billy?” You blurt out. There’s genuine surprise there.

“I just thought I’d –” He turns to catch a glimpse of you and it sends him headlong into silence.

You look a right mess. No face isn’t done up, an oversized t-shirt draping off your shoulders. Your pajama pants are fluffy, snowflake print - tackiest thing he’s seen in a while.

You duck your head down, trying to catch his eye.

“You okay?” You hook your thumb over your shoulder. “Want to come in?”

He doesn’t. Not even a little. He wants to rip the band-aid off, forget he ever met you and let you get on with your life - whatever it is you do. But you step to the side and fix him with a weak little smile that he thinks might be real, and his feet take him in through the door.

It’s a nice place in the daytime, he realizes. Natural sunlight, open floorplan, your shelves crowded with plants and knick-knacks he’s never seen. You offer him a drink, laugh when he says water and fall quiet when he insists.

You hand him his drink and collapse onto your couch. Your legs kick up onto your coffee table, and for the first time he realizes your socks are fuzzy, too. He looks around, scans you from head to toe. Is this the right place? He keeps picking at his nails, trying to free the grime from under them.

Once you realize he’s baffled, you’re merciful enough to start the small talk. It’s awkward and stilted - his fault, his answers halting and quick. You give him grace, sip on your drink. Your laughs never quite reach your eyes, but you scoot closer to him on the couch anyway.

“Why are you really here, Billy?” Your hand settles on his thigh and curls inward.

It’s not how he wanted this to go, but he doesn’t stop you from sliding your hand higher while he chokes on his words. You’ve got his belt undone by the time he manages to string a sentence together.

“I've been a right cunt to you.”

“Mhm.”

“You don't got to put up with it, yeah?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Got your whole life right ahead of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Fucking Christ, could you give him more than a noise? A few moments ago you’d held a conversation with him.

His irritation is snuffed out by your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock and sucking hard. Your hand pumps his shaft, twisting your wrist on the way back up. Good God, you learn quick.

Butcher could spoil you rotten if he had the time. He could get you whatever you wanted - if ever you wanted for anything. He cups a hand over the back of your head, encouraging, not guiding.

You’re methodical. You let your hand work what your mouth won’t reach, fondle his balls with the other one. It’s clinical. You’ve committed the moves to memory, when to swirl your tongue, hollow your cheeks, when to moan around him, when to look up at him with those tears straining at your waterline.

He finishes quick, his chest heaving. You pass him his water while you reach for a tissue box. He drains it and nearly misses you spitting his cum into a tissue, wadding it up and tossing it into the bin.

“I haven’t got much time left,” he says, breathless.

Your brow creases. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, your lips swollen. “What?”

“I’ve got this –” he gestures nebulously with a hand, like he’s trying to pluck the right words out of the air. “– thing. In my brain, see? Inoperable. So, if I up and vanish on you, it ain’t personal.”

You stay silent, stone faced. He wishes you’d say something. Even one of the irritating platitudes people like to parrot would be better than this. Your eyes harden. You purse your lips, breathe deep, and stand from the couch.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Billy. It was good to see you.”

Butcher’s still trying to catch his breath. He tucks himself back into his pants, a mess he’ll clean up later, and rises unsteadily. You don’t reach out to help. He makes another nebulous gesture towards you, his hand quivering.

“You want me to..?”

“Nah. Don’t strain yourself.”

He stuffs himself back into his coat, watching your eyes linger - maybe realizing for the first time how much slighter he’s looking. Butcher pats your cheek gently as he passes by.

You don’t ask to see him again. For your sake, he hopes this is the last time.

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher smut #the boys smut #the boys x reader #billy butcher imagine #the boys imagine #billy butcher x you #the boys x you #the boys #billy butcher

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zepskies · 1 year

Text

Break Me Down - Part 17

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: *Gives you a box of virtual tissues.* Just in case. 😘

Word Count: 6,000 Tags/Warnings: Macho angst ahead, hurt/comfort, major, major fluff…

Part 17: More Than Words Can Say

Mount Sinai Hospital was one of the largest private hospitals in the city.

Fortunately, it was also the closest to Vought Tower, or what once had been the focal point of the superhero industry. It had been reduced to mere rubble and whatever dilapidated parts still stood.

All the news outlets were covering the tower’s collapse, and speculating on what could’ve created the blast that made the entire city tremble—not unlike last year’s incident, when Soldier Boy killed the most powerful supe in the world.

In the hospital, M.M. walked through the Emergency Department until he found Yvette and her son, Devon. They sat beside each other on a single cot, now joined by Yvette’s husband Chris while she signed her discharge papers. She’d gotten off with a minor concussion and a bandage over her temple.

“Just checking in on you guys,” M.M. said. Yvette smiled, but she asked about you.

“She’s in surgery,” he told her.

Yvette nodded, though tears welled up in her eyes. Chris rubbed her back and held his son’s shoulder.

“Please call me with any news on her,” Yvette asked.

“You got it,” M.M. said.

“And please,” she said, holding her son. “Thank Soldier Boy for us.”

M.M. paused at that.

Seeing the family was well in hand, he returned to the trauma wing. There in the waiting room sat the whole team, minus Butcher, who’d been admitted to the hospital as well after the ED doctors didn’t like what they’d found on his lab reports. (But M.M. would look into that later. Hughie was with him now anyway.)

That left Frenchie, Kimiko, and Annie to wait for any news on you. Even Grace had arrived an hour ago.

But M.M.’s attention was drawn to the dusty motherfucker standing near the hallway.

Soldier Boy leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. The collar of his supe suit was undone to give his neck and chest some breathing room. He’d removed his gloves, and an empty gallon jug of water lied at his feet.

He was covered in a fine layer of soot and grime, though he’d since washed his hands and face to the best of his ability. He was also flanked by his two hired men, Frank Cardoza and Lorenzo Rivales.

Grace had run a quick background check on both, and as M.M. had learned, they were ex-Marines Soldier Boy had picked up in Colombia, while he was busy infiltrating a drug cartel.

Fucking figures, M.M. thought, shaking his head as he watched the man. Grace stood and joined him.

“He’s not just gonna fuck off back to South America,” he told her. “You realize that right?”

She considered that with a tilt of her head. “Let’s just see what happens here.”

As if right on cue, your surgeon made his way down the hall and over to the waiting group. Ben pushed off the wall and went to meet him, as did Grace, Annie, and M.M.

Annie and Ben eyed each other with mistrust and annoyance, respectively, but then he ignored her to regard the surgeon with a terse, expectant gaze.

The doctor was a graying man in his fifties. He seemed to internally brace himself before he spoke, glancing at Ben first before the others.

“We’ve repaired the damaged muscle around her right leg. The femur is broken. We also addressed the wound near her shoulder,” he said. “However, the rebar did nick her heart. She’ll need additional surgery to repair it.”

Ben sensed a but coming. He crossed his arms. “Okay, what’s the problem?”

The doctor gave a nod and a short sigh.

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” he explained. “We’ve given her a transfusion, of course, but she’s in a delicate state right now.”

“So why’re you wasting time? Do your fucking job,” Ben snapped. Grace shot him a glance, but addressed the doctor herself.

“What are her odds, doctor?” she asked. Ben eyed her with a glare. She ignored him for the time being.

“She needs this now. But, there is a chance she won’t make it out of surgery at this stage,” the surgeon replied. “The OR will be available in thirty minutes…so this would be the time to be with her, just in case she’s unable to get through this.”

“Excuse me?” Ben said.

His tone was dark and deep with grit, and the doctor stepped back. No one dared attempt to hold Ben back, but Grace quickly thanked the doctor and urged him to move forward with prepping you for surgery.

Loco shared a saddened look with Frank, who watched their boss with a deepening frown.

Annie turned to Ben with a measure of sympathy, hidden underneath her irritation at his attitude and her worry for you. You were still her friend, and she felt guilty for how cold she’d been treating you lately. And she could see, at the very least, that this man cared about you.

“Look, can you just calm down a bit? We’re all here hoping she pulls through,” Annie said.

M.M. stood behind her, silent, supportive. But Ben just ignored her, and everyone else for that matter.

He stalked down the hallway. And when he turned a corner, out of eyeshot, he growled and punched a hole deep into the closest wall.

Hughie perked up when Butcher finally started to rouse in his hospital bed. They had him on a hefty dose of morphine.

He blinked his weary eyes, his head rolling over on the pillow. His lips quirked when he noticed Hughie, who was glaring at him.

“Watching me sleep now?” Butcher remarked. “Pretty fuckin’ creepy, Hugh.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Hughie said.

That was something Butcher couldn’t refute. He nodded. “I see they told you.”

“When were you gonna say something?” Hughie said. “When you fucking dropped dead?”

“Probably not even then,” Butcher teased. But when he took in the younger man’s face, all he saw was his little brother, Lenny. Butcher sighed.

“Ain’t nothing any of us can do about it.”

“Fucking cancer?” Hughie said incredulously. “You could’ve gotten treatment.”

“Would’ve bought me a few more months, maybe,” Butcher admitted. That fell between them for a moment with stony silence.

“It’s all right,” he added. “I’ve had my fucking time. Got to see the life drain from that golden cunt’s eyes…got to let my girl rest easy.”

Hughie didn’t buy that. Or maybe, he just didn’t want to. His eyes burned, both with emotion and determination. He stood from his seat and set out to find Grace. If there was anything that could help Butcher, she would know.

While the others went down to the cafeteria for a bite to eat, Frank sat in the waiting room with Loco beside him and Dr. Baker’s briefcase on his lap.

He was sorting through its contents while Loco sat with crossed arms and slumping shoulders. He looked over at Frank’s stoic profile with a frown.

He was older, but not by much. They’d gone through one fresh hell after another together, and somehow, Frank always managed to pull their asses out of the wringer. It seemed Frank was trying to do the same for their boss.

It was funny, actually. Soldier Boy wasn’t their first contractor. You were their first kidnapping though. Neither he or Frank had felt good about it when Antonio brought you back to the mansion in Medellin, but they’d agreed to do a job. Guarding you became part of that job.

And yet, you had somehow reminded both Frank and Loco that they used to be respectable members of society. They used to have families, friends. They had once been soldiers. Good men. Maybe that was why they’d grown fond of you over the past few months.

And Frank…well, Loco knew the man had his reasons for wanting to be done with this work. Loco couldn’t blame him; he was feeling tired himself.

“Found anything good?” Loco asked in Spanish. Frank’s dark brows had drawn together in new interest.

“More than good,” he said. He looked up, but didn’t find Soldier Boy in the waiting room. “Where the hell did he go?”

Loco pointed to the reception desk. “Try asking someone.”

With a sharp sigh, Frank gave Loco the briefcase. “Guard that with your fucking life. Don’t let anyone from the CIA take it from you.”

Loco gave him a look of offense. “It’s like you don’t know me at all, bro. Fucking hurts.”

Rolling his eyes, Frank got up and went over to the reception desk.

“Excuse me,” he said. There seemed to be no one at the reception desk. Granted, it was late at night, and they technically weren’t supposed to be there. Grace Mallory had worked out an agreement with the hospital to allow them all to stay overnight.

He didn’t have to wait too long though, as an on-duty nurse came over with a clipboard in hand. Her red hair caught his eye, along with her pretty smile.

“Hi there. Can I help you?” she asked.

Frank faltered, just for a moment. But he cleared his throat and met her eyes.

“Did you happen to see which way Soldier Boy went?” he asked.

She gave him a wan smile and pointed down the hall, to the left. “That ‘a way. Think he had an argument with the wall over there.”

Frank followed her gaze and caught sight of the hole in the wall. He frowned.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

The nurse gave him a sideways look. “No worries, hun. It’s not your fisticuff outline in the wall, now is it?”

Once again, Frank didn’t know quite what to say to her slightly teasing smile. But he returned it, more reserved, but genuine.

“Thank you,” he said, with a nod. Then he remembered then what he needed to do.

And he took off brusquely down the hall.

It took him a few minutes to pull his head together, but Ben eventually worked up his nerve to go and see you.

You were still drugged out asleep, of course. He stood outside the large window of your private room in the Intensive Care Unit. He wouldn’t go in though. Part of him refused to believe it had gotten to this.

And the reality, that this was his fault. He’d caused the blast that destroyed the tower. His fault he hadn’t gotten to you sooner.

“You are the reason I needed saving,” you’d told him once.

You were right then, and it still held up now.

So, no…he wouldn’t go in there, into your room. The truth was, he couldn’t.

But Ben’s awareness prickled before he noticed, Frank had joined him. Ben tolerated it. While he wanted to be alone, maybe part of him (one he wouldn’t acknowledge) craved some kind of company.

“You’ll get paid, don’t you fucking worry,” he said dryly.

“That’s not the only reason I’m here,” Frank said.

It felt like a confession. Ben didn’t reply though; he was focused on your pale face, covered by the breathing mask. Shallow puffs of air fogged the inside of it while your heart monitor clipped on.

“There’s another solution here,” Frank said.

Ben gave him a cursory side glance. “She wouldn’t take Compound V. Not even to save her fucking life.”

“That didn’t stop you before,” Frank mentioned.

Ben didn’t answer, but he’d been internally debating it ever since he’d spoken with the surgeon.

“All right, get it over here,” he said. “The temporary stuff.”

Frank rose a brow. He’d been curious enough to try testing the man. But now, he frowned.

“She won’t forgive you,” he pointed out.

“What’re you, devil’s fucking advocate? She’ll get the fuck over it,” Ben snapped.

But after his initial anger subsided…he knew his subordinate was right.

“She’ll be alive to hate me,” he said, more honestly.

Frank inclined his head. “There could be another way.”

Ben glanced over at him.

“She lost a lot of blood,” Frank said. Ben frowned.

“They’ve given her fucking blood transfusions—”

“Yeah, normal blood. A supe’s blood is stronger. Yours could probably heal her,” Frank said. “But, the only one who can break your skin is you.”

Ben eyed him in suspicion. “Who told you that?”

“Read it somewhere,” Frank said evasively.

Ben huffed in response, but as that realization truly sunk into his mind, his lips pressed together in new determination. He left Frank to start a brusque pace down the hall.

He ignored the red-headed nurse calling at him at the reception desk when he shoved through a locked security door, into the OR unit. He searched until he found your surgeon and pulled him from the sink he was washing his hands in.

The man gasped with fright, though he tried to hide it looking up at Ben. “What the hell’re you doing?”

“I’m making a donation,” said Ben. He raised a blunt nail to his wrist. “You better hurry the fuck up, because I’m about to open a vein.”

It was morning by the time another doctor returned to deliver an update on your progress: the “treatment” was working. Your wounds had knitted closed within an hour following the blood transfusion, and you no longer needed surgery. They had also x-rayed your leg and found that the bone was whole once again. Even your broken ribs had healed.

Ben nodded at the news. He didn’t respond, and just started walking down the hall. Grace, Annie, and M.M. stared after him with mixed reactions of confusion and curiosity.

“Where are you going?” Annie asked. She was exhausted; all of them were.

The supe ignored her though. M.M. shared a look with her before he decided to follow the man.

Meanwhile, Ben once again stopped in the middle of the hallway when he was out of view. He took in a slow, steadying breath of relief, his fists clenching at his sides.

“Congratulations. After today, you’re gonna get your statue put back up,” M.M. said.

Ben turned around to stare back at the man, schooling his face into a stoic frown.

“Yvette and her son are going to be fine, by the way,” M.M. added, as he crossed his arms.

Ben paused slightly at that, filing that information away with secret satisfaction.

To M.M., he merely raised a brow. “You got something to say, or are you going to keep wasting my fucking time?”

“You think saving one black kid makes you a hero?” M.M. asked, point blank. “Taking down Vought. Saving her. What does that all mean to you?”

Ben frowned in irritation. “Why the fuck do you care?”

“Just answer the question. Be honest for once in your motherfuckin’ life,” M.M. said. “Do you really think you’re a hero?”

Silence fell between them.

Ben didn’t know what it was about this guy. Maybe it was his persistence, or the fact that he’d pulled you out of the rubble and got you to a hospital in time to save your life.

But Ben actually considered the question.

Killing Stan Edgar and Black Noir. Saving you. He’d done it all for selfish reasons. The kid…that was something else. His face stuck in Ben’s mind, how he’d trusted the superhero, like dumb kids were supposed to do.

But in that moment, carrying the tower on his back and knowing he was the only barrier between a mountain of hot rubble and this one kid…Ben hadn’t wanted to fail.

And still. You are the reason I needed saving…

It wasn’t really saving the fucking day if he started it, was it?

Ben’s lips turned on a humorless smile. Still, he had saved the kid. And his mom. And you. For now, that was enough.

“Looks like I am,” said Ben.

But he met M.M.’s stare, briefly allowing him to glimpse beyond a wall of arrogance and pride.

And Ben walked away. M.M. watched him go in silent contemplation.

Grace intercepted Ben before he could visit you in the ICU.

Christ. What the fuck now? he thought sourly.

She gestured for a word, and with an annoyed look, he followed her down the hall.

“I’ll get to the point,” she said. “Butcher is sharing a floor with your girlfriend, down in Oncology.”

Ben raised a brow. That prick had cancer? Par for the fucking course, if he said so himself.

“So?” he remarked.

Grace sighed. She’d expected that reaction. “They’ve given him weeks, but the way he’s been pushing himself, more likely it’s days. Taking the untested Temp V long-term has had its adverse side effects…if you were to make another blood donation, I’ll make it worth your while.”

So now his blood was some fucking wonder drug? Hell no, Ben thought.

“You’re asking me to save the guy who’s double-crossed me, tried to hunt me down, tried to end me?” he said, with a dark, incredulous chuckle. “You can fuck right off, sweetheart.”

She grated at the sweetheart remark, but Grace leveled him with steely blue eyes.

“If it weren’t for me, you’d be on ice right now,” she pointed out.

Ben’s lips pursed. He’d really like to snap this bitch’s fucking neck on principle…but then he thought about it. He could work this into his favor.

“You know what. I’m having a good day, so maybe I’m feeling fucking generous,” he said. His mouth edged into a smirk. “But I think it’s time we renegotiated our contract. Don’t you?”

Grace stared up at him, and she inhaled a deep breath.

“Fine.”

You slowly woke up in a hospital room, in a paper gown with an IV drip and a heart monitor. Which made sense, as the events of yesterday came back to you in a rush.

But beyond feeling relieved to be alive, you also felt extremely well-rested. You didn’t feel like a building fell on you.

What kind of masterful drugs are they giving me? You tried to read your chart on the wall, but you didn’t see any pain medication on there.

Annie popped into your private recovery room. Her face brightened when she saw that you were awake.

“Hey, hun! How do you feel?” she asked, lowering into a chair at your bedside. You wouldn’t know that this chair had been occupied by various members of the team over the past few hours, including M.M., Frenchie, Frank, and even Grace.

“Great, actually,” you replied. But now you frowned. “I shouldn’t feel great.”

You remembered nearly being crushed under a pile of rubble. You remembered falling on a piece of rebar, and unable to move your crushed leg. You remembered the worry in Ben’s eyes…

And panic stung at yours.

“Did they give me Compound V?” your voice shook when you asked. Annie calmed you down with a shake of her head and a reassuring hand on your arm.

The door to your room opened once again. Ben’s frame filled up the doorway. When his eyes met yours, your breath caught in your throat. He was still in his supe suit, and with his hands resting on his belt, he strutted inside the room.

M.M., Frenchie, Frank, Loco, and Kimiko came in behind him and at least looked showered. Ben looked like he hadn’t even done that much, nor slept all night.

“It wasn’t the V,” he said at last. “Just a little blood donation. Seemed to work like a charm.”

His resulting grin had a bit of charm in it as well. Your head tilted in confusion.

"Whose blood?" you asked.

"Mine," he said. His expression faded, slightly more serious.

You found yourself slowly smiling, though your brows still furrowed in surprise. He gave me his blood…instead of Compound V.

While you tried to wrap your mind around the gravity of that, you reached for the pitcher of water on the rolling tray beside you. You grasped the pitcher, but the plastic actually crunched in your hand. You gasped and moved your hand over so the water inside wouldn’t spill all over you.

Ben raised a brow.

The room fell silent as all eyes stared at you. When the water finished pouring out onto the floor, you gently set it back down on the tray.

“Seems you got some of his strength in the deal,” Annie remarked.

“Great, there’s two of them,” Hughie quipped with a grin.

“Well, that’s probably just temporary,” M.M. sighed. “Hopefully.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, and it brought a slight grin to Ben’s lips.

After a bit of well wishing, everyone cleared out of your room to let you rest up…except for Ben, Frank, and Loco.

“What are you guys going to do now?” you asked of the latter two. Loco cracked his knuckles.

“Got another job lined up in private security,” he revealed. “I’ve lost the taste for drug running. Nearly lost a damn toe on the last one.”

You laughed. “Well, thanks for doing one more job here.”

“Anything for el Capitán,” Loco said, giving Ben a respectful nod. “He pays exceedingly well.”

You raised a brow at Ben, who shrugged with a cocky grin. Smiling, you turned to Frank, who was sitting in the chair beside your bed.

“And you?” you asked. Frank gave you a rare smile.

“Going home,” he said. “To my daughter.”

Your eyes began to sting, but you tried to blink away the beginnings of tears. You nodded and squeezed his arm.

“Give her a big hug for me. And thank you again…for everything,” you said, even though you realized that thanking your former guard keep was strange. Still, there had been no part of your kidnapping that was normal in the least.

Frank hesitated, but he covered your hand with his.

Though he caught the way Ben’s face tightened, and Frank let go of you. He stood with Loco, giving you and Ben a final nod. Then the two men left your room and disappeared down the hall.

Part of you felt melancholy, like chapters of your life were closing. But you also felt like new ones were waiting in the wings.

Your gaze turned to Ben, who stood near your bed.

He was looking over your chart to see if the doctors needed anything else before you were discharged. But your soft voice called to him, earning his attention. You beckoned him closer.

He went over and sat down on the edge of your bed, laying a hand on your thigh. You reached out for his arm.

“Thank you,” you said.

Ben scoffed, though a hint of humor glinted in his eyes. “For what? Saving your reckless ass for the millionth time?”

“For saving Yvette and her son,” you replied with a smile. “And yeah, all that other stuff.”

Your hand slid down his arm and slipped into his hand. Your fingers curled around his palm.

“Really. Thank you…”

Tears welled up in your eyes again. You still couldn’t fucking believe he opened up one of his own veins and gave you his blood. He gave a public hospital his blood in order to save you.

He could’ve easily slipped you V24 again, or worse, the permanent stuff. But he didn’t just save you. He’d respected your wishes.

What you wanted to say next got stuck in your throat.

Ben had something hiding behind his eyes, like he was reluctant to show you his real emotions. But when he focused on your face, his hand tightened on yours. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak. He only let go of your hand to brush a falling tear from your cheek. His lips twitched at a smile.

“Come on now, baby doll. You’re tougher than that.”

You choked on a laugh as more of your tears slipped down your warming cheeks. “Nope. I’m actually not.”

“Hmm. Could’ve fooled me,” Ben said. You matched his grin with a beaming smile of your own.

Slowly, you pushed yourself up and took his dirty face in your hands. You guided him down to you, and you pressed your lips to his.

He allowed it with his usual demanding, fervent kiss. But then it slowed. He held your wrist to keep your hand in place on his cheek, and his thumb drew bath and forth over your skin.

You parted from him, pulling back enough to see his face. There was so much you wanted to say…but maybe right now, it was too much.

You met him with another tearful kiss.

Before you were officially discharged from the hospital, you had one more visitor.

Grace was once again there to debrief you. This time though, Ben sat at your side on the bed, a silent statue who regarded the woman coolly. He seemed to be tolerating her presence with more ease than usual, and you wondered why.

“You’re going on medical leave,” she informed you. “For three months, and then a psychiatrist will need to clear you for duty.”

Part of you wanted to argue, considering you were completely healed of your injuries. But you knew you needed a break from the S.A.—from all of this.

“Your mother and sister will be brought out of witness protection soon, after we determine that the threat is sufficiently neutralized,” she said. “You can return home today as well.”

You could finally go back to your apartment…though the thought didn’t call to you as much as it should have. You glanced over at Ben.

“Is this the part where you try to ship him back to Colombia?” you asked.

“That was the agreement,” Grace said wryly. You frowned, trying to blink away the tears forming once again in your eyes.

You didn’t want to lose him, but you also didn’t want to give up your life here. You didn’t want to leave the S.A., or your family, or your friends. Ben put you out of your misery, however.

“We renegotiated,” he said.

Your eyes widened. “What?”

Grace explained, “In exchange for his assistance in another case, he can stay in the U.S. on a trial basis. As long as he agrees to live within the law.”

You didn’t entirely trust Grace. Ben would be watched at every moment. That was a given, but considering he still didn’t have full control over his nuclear power, you were surprised Grace would allow him free roam within U.S. borders.

“And, provided, he agrees to a relocation. Preferably not in a densely populated area,” Grace added.

There it is, you frowned. You shared a look with him, and you could see he wasn’t entirely on board with this. You had no doubt he’d agreed to her demands by lying through his teeth.

You turned back to Grace.

“What if he becomes a contractor for Supe Affairs,” you proposed. “There may be some fallout after Vought’s collapse, and more of their records to go through. Other labs to clear out. Ben would be a lot of help, if he’s willing.”

You glanced at Ben again. He met your eyes, then Grace’s, and he nodded marginally. He was getting bored of the heat in South America anyway.

Grace heaved a sigh. Ben’s lips formed a smirk.

“Oh, relax. I just ended Vought. You’d be an idiot not to cash in on that PR,” he pointed out.

“Need I remind you that you caused the tower’s collapse?” Grace said tersely. “And you did not end Vought. There will be repercussions to this, believe me.”

Ben’s face tightened, but you grasped his hand.

“But he fulfilled the mission,” you said. “He took out Black Noir…and Stan Edgar in the process.”

“The idea was to arrest him, but I get your point,” Grace said. Her hand raised to cover her mouth as she thought about your proposal.

Eventually, she spoke. “If you can play by our rules, then we’ll contract with you. But until you get that atomic bomb under control, you can’t remain the city. Upstate is the best I can do.”

Ben chafed at being told what he couldn’t do. What the fuck was he going to do in Upstate New York? Slowly rot to death in dusty-ass suburbia?

You shot him a knowing look, raising a brow.

“It’s a fair offer, Ben,” you pointed out. His lips pursed in annoyance. But he glanced at your hand in his.

Then he looked up at Grace. “Fine. But first, unfreeze my fucking bank accounts.”

Ben later led you out of the hospital. There was a car waiting outside, and he got in to drive, despite you offering. He must’ve been going on very little sleep, if any over the past two days.

And of course, he’d refused to be seen at all medically, saying he was fine. You were still concerned about that destabilizing gun Black Noir had shot him with.

“I’m fine,” Ben had claimed. “Just need some sleep, that’s all.”

You watched his profile for a moment, and a smile started to raise your lips…until you finally remembered something that felt like a heavy stone in your stomach.

“Um…” you said, earning Ben’s attention. You looked up at him. “My father’s dead…”

Good fucking riddance, was Ben’s initial reaction. Followed by a frown, as he now realized he would never get the pleasure of choking the shit out of Jon himself.

Ben had been fucking livid to learn from Frank that you’d been left alone in the Tower with your father while it was coming down (and Ben was petty enough to dock that little slip up from Frank’s pay). Had that asshole lived, Ben wouldn’t have put it past him to try and take you with him after escaping the building. The mere thought grated on him.

“Black Noir killed him,” you said, heaving a shaky breath.

That cut through Ben’s thoughts. He glanced over, watching you fight some conflicting emotions.

“…Punched a hole straight through his chest,” you added.

Ben hummed in acknowledgement. You turned to him with a raised brow and glassy eyes. When he realized you were expecting a bit more from him, his lips pursed.

“Well, he got a quick death,” he said. “Better than he fucking deserved, far as I’m concerned.”

You sighed and leaned your head back on the head rest. Your eyes closed.

“Goddamn it, Ben.”

Ben eyed you with a deepening frown. “What the fuck do you expect me to say?”

“How about some decency?” you asked, as a tear fell down your cheek. “He tried to apologize. But I wouldn’t let him.”

He paused at that. While he thought you were being unreasonable, it begrudgingly dawned on him what you wanted, and maybe, what you needed. He sighed through his nose. Even now, you were a handful.

Ben reached over, taking your hand from your lap. He pressed the back of it to his lips, earning your mild surprise.

“That’s not your fault,” he said. And he briefly took his eyes off the road to look into yours. “None of it was. You understand me?”

Your face softened. Though you tried to blink away your tears, a few of them still fell. You wiped at them with your free hand, while the other squeezed around his fingers, resting against your thigh. Despite how you were fracturing inside, warmth still kept you afloat.

So you looked up at Ben, and you nodded. He seemed satisfied by your answer. He turned back fully to the road, but you kept a tight hold of his hand. He allowed it.

“We’ll have to go to the safe house to get our stuff,” you said eventually, with a small sniffle.

“No need,” Ben said. “That’s taken care of.”

That confused you. Was he taking you to your apartment then?

But instead, he drove you out of the city, and an hour upstate into Scarsdale. You’d never been there, but you knew it by reputation—as one of the most affluent towns in the state.

You were even more confused when he drove down a street flanked by tall hedges within a private community. He pulled into a circular driveway in front of an immense white house, with a red brick roof, colonial architecture, a manicured lawn, complete with matching fountains lining the front door.

Ben parked the car and encouraged you to get out with him. You followed him up to the front porch, expecting an old billionaire to pop out of the tall bushes at any moment to chase you away.

“What’re we doing here?” you asked. His hands fell to the belt of his supe suit as he surveyed the stood, the door, and the walls for anything amiss.

“I’m looking into buying it,” he revealed, as if he’d just told you, It’s pretty fucking sunny today, huh?

“Our stuff is ready to be shipped out when the deal closes with the owner,” he added.

Your eyes flew wide. “What? When did you have time to scope out houses?”

You’d only been discharged about an hour after the conversation with Grace.

“I had Frank look into some shit. He found this one,” Ben shrugged. “Could use some work, but not bad.”

Our stuff, you repeated in your mind. This house…was he trying to recreate what the two of you had in Medellin?

And more importantly, was this his way of asking you to move in with him?

Well, there’s not too much asking going on, you thought in annoyance. And yet, you blushed; the sentiment in itself was enough to warm you.

You brought Ben back down to Earth by grasping his hands, earning his attention from the old grout in the tile.

“Ben, this place is amazing,” you said. “But I don’t know if I’ll be comfortable living like this.”

He frowned down at you. “What the hell do you mean? You could have anything you want here. It’s safe. Got plenty of room—”

“A bit too much room,” you said, holding up your thumb and forefinger a couple inches apart.

He looked adorably grumpy. You smiled and squeezed his hand.

“Did you really feel cozy and at home in that mansion with fifty rooms and nobody in ‘em?” you asked.

He didn’t answer you, and he didn’t seem happy either. You didn’t want him to take this as a rejection.

“If we’re going to do this,” you said, “then can we start a little smaller? Somewhere that feels like home to both of us?”

Ben stared back at you in annoyance. “You need to broaden your palate.”

You just managed to stop yourself from laughing.

“You haven’t had a normal home in a long time, Ben,” you replied. Maybe ever, you realized. “How about you trust me?”

He gave you a dubious frown.

“What about this,” you tried. “Let’s pick it out together! If in a few months you still hate the new place, we’ll try it your way.”

“You’re assuming we’re gonna make it that long.” Ben was starting to wonder if this was going to work after all. The two of you were from very different worlds.

You offered a cheeky smile. “I’m optimistic.”

He huffed. “Sure.”

You reached up on your toes, and gripped the front of his suit when you leaned up to kiss him. His hands rose naturally to hold you, resting on your jean-clad hips. He followed your languid kiss, his furrowed brows relaxing when you touched his cheek.

When you broke from his lips, his eyes opened to find yours.

“I am, Ben,” you said more seriously. “I’m not playing games. This is real to me, and I want to be with you.”

But then you hesitated. You lowered back down to your feet.

“But if it’s not to you…if you’re just passing time with me, until you get bored,” you said, “tell me now. Please.”

It was Ben’s turn to hesitate. It was the please that got to him, along with your downturned gaze. He captured your chin between his fingers and raised your face up to him.

“I’m not fucking around,” he said. “I want you to live with me.”

Your smile was soft and bright when you took his hand. Ben wouldn’t admit it, but something in his chest stuttered to life then.

“Okay,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

AN: *squeals* It's happening! We've really gotten here, folks. How'd you like how it all wrapped up with Grace, M.M., and even Butcher?

But we're not quite there with these two yet...

Next Time:

“Why’re you nagging me like a goddamn wife?” he snapped.

“Wife?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You don’t even call me your girlfriend.”

But God forbid another man even smile in your direction. Ben was possessive, protective, and claimed with all but words that you were his. And yet, he wouldn’t say it.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was afraid of commitment, but you’d been living together for six damn months.

Keep reading: THE EPILOGUE

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#More Than Words Can Say #the boys #soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 17 #zepskies writes

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grimoireofhayley · 10 months

Text

Of Friends and Horror

Stu Macher x Fem!Reader x Billy Loomis

Word Count: 1.6k

WARNINGS: Graphic content, Smut (MINORS DNI), Language, Talks of SA, Cheating, Obsessiveness, Gore, 18+ Content, Stalking, Possessiveness, Dirty talk, Religion talk, Suppressed Mental Health problems (I.e., reader has some issues that she isn't aware of)

Taglist: @ev3ningrain @nerdytif @fanfic-enjoyer123 @darkenwolfie @juda-the-simp @colsons-baker @junnniiieee07 @ok-boke @ren-ni @katie-tibo @bruce-yamada @kenma-izhu @cookielovesbook-akie @elevenpurple @hyunlix-world @mavix @halleest

A/n: Oh-my-god, I am so sorry for the major delay! Trust me, I was in the middle of writing the chapter the same day I said I would post it, but being a mom is super-duper busy and they will always come first and I completely forgot to post the chapter, but here it is FINALLY.. My twins are now 3 so they’re acting like teenagers, but toddler form; super bossy, extremely demanding, always and I MEAN always keeping me on my feet. Plus, I had to re-write it as I didn’t like how the first attempt at chapter 14 sounded 😮‍💨 Anyways, I barely have time to write, but when I can, I hope you all enjoy it. I hope this chapter is up to your liking! More chapters are still on the way, A LOT MORE. Keep in mind, the Billy scene in previous chapters and this scene is my first time writing smut/smut related things… 😓😓😓 Lastly, Thank You ALL so much for getting me to 405 followers! I’m in disbelief 🫢💜

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OF&H Masterlist

Chapter 14

Gulping, you shakily took the phone off the counter, hanging it up and unplugged it from the wall, making sure no calls would come through anymore that night for her sake.

Looking over, you saw Sidney gripping at her brown hair, pulling it in every direction, her jaw clenched, yet, her teeth chattering; she wanted to scream, shout and cry, but couldn’t. Her pale features now a rouge from both exhaustion and terror. Her sanity seemed to slip away bit-by-bit each time Ghostface would call; preying on her, taunting her, humiliating her.

“What, what!?” Dewey came running from his room, waving a gun around in his white t-shirt and blue and white striped boxers.

Tatum tsk-ed at her brother’s tardiness, pushing passed him to follow Sidney.

You rubbed the nape of your neck, placing your other hand on Dewey’s shoulder, “Next time.. maybe be a little quicker.” You laughed, half-heartedly, trying to make light of the situation, seeing how confused Dewey seemed to be.

“(Y/n) (L/n) and Sidney Prescott who were both…”

Before the news reporter finished his sentence, Dewey shut the tv off, pulling a chair out from the kitchen table, sitting down.

“Billy was released.”

Your ears perked at the sound, relief washing over.

Sidney’s eyes lit up, but she still clearly had her doubts.

“His cellular bill was clean. He didn’t make those calls..” Dewey stated, grabbing a carton of milk before pouring some of it into his coffee. “We’re checkin’ every cellular account in the county.” Dewey finished, taking a long gulp of his un-sweetened drink before continuing. “(Y/n), Sidney..” He eyed both of you, “Any calls made to you two or Casey Becker are being cross-referenced, it’s going to take some time, but we’ll find him.”

Tatum nudged you and smiled at Sidney.

Dewey pulled into the school lot with ease, parallel parking at the curb.

He got out and opened the door for you and Sidney.

You smiled at him, thanking him quietly, and he tilted his hat at you as Sidney got out next.

However, your smile quickly faded, seeing a reporter running towards your side; most likely to ambush both you and Sidney about what happened.

“(Y/n) how does it feel to know the murderer is lusting after you and nearly butchering your friends? Do you know who the killer is, are you a part of his twisted game?” A red head asked, shoving a mic at you, accusing you of being his partner-in-crime.

You scoffed, irritated, but somehow calm, honoured that she knows the killer wants you.

“What about you, Sidney? How does it feel to be almost brutally killed?”

Sidney bit her lip, already wanting to cry.

Dewey stepped in front, shoving the reporter away.

“Hey, leave them alone!” He shouted, towering over the petite woman.

She stumbled back, but wasn’t giving up.

“People want to know. They have a right to know!”

You, Tatum and Sidney bolted, getting away from all the interrogations this woman was sure to have up her sleeves.

You were pressed against a locker; your mid back arched causing your torso to move forward; and your arms folded, pushing your breasts together, making them pop out.

“This is a mistake, I shouldn’t be here…” Sidney huffed, grabbing her books and slamming her locker door shut.

You sighed, plopping a sucker in your mouth; twirling the red treat around your tongue, pursing your lips tightly around it and without meaning to, your eyes landed on Stu who was already watching you.

You blushed and he smirked, liking how you looked with your mouth full.

“I want you to meet me right here after class, okay, Sid?” Tatum spoke and Sidney nodded.

“Hey, Stu, I haven’t seen Billy around… is he really pissed?”

Stu tore his gaze from you, looking at Sidney.

“Oh, you mean after you branded him the Candyman?”

You shoved Stu slightly, giving him a glare.

He winced, “No, his heart’s broken—“

Suddenly a scream was heard and the four of you looked into the direction it came from, spotting a student running down the hall dressed as Ghostface.

You blushed again, seeing the full cloaked figure and that ghostly-white mask again.

‘Fuck, that’s hot.’ You smirked slightly, turning your head to the side, trying to subtly check out the student who’s dressed up like the murderer, you let out a quiet “Mmph” squeezing your thighs together.

Unbeknownst to you, Stu heard your moan, and knew exactly what you were doing with your thighs. Luckily, the others did not, but he is so glad that he did. He can smell the hormones leaking off of you; they were practically oozing with want for the cloaked-killer.

He bit his lip, trying to contain his excitement.

“Why are they doing this?” Sidney spoke, watching the student run away.

Stu, glanced at you, “Are you kidding me? Look at this place, it’s like Christmas!” He laughed, a devious smirk prying at his lips as the comment was directed at you. You were his Christmas, knowing the woman he wants is full blown horny for him, for Ghostface.

Tatum huffed, hitting him with the lollipop you had given her prior, “Stupidity leak.”

“Hey!” Stu shrieked, immediately looking at his girlfriend, while the school bell blared, signalling the start of class and students were quick to get going.

Sidney ran down the hall, upset at Stu’s comment and Tatum ran after her. You sighed, looking down, picking up your bag in the process. You went to go wave ‘bye’ to Stu, but he vanished.

“Huh?” You mumbled out loud, seeing how he was gone and so was every other student that was there nearly two minutes ago. “That’s my cue…”

Tapping your fingers against your hip, you hummed to the tune of ‘Your Dead’ by Norma Tanega.

You stopped in front of the janitors closest to reach for your Walkman that was in your bag, wanting to blare the song in your ears, hoping that actually listening to the catchy tune would make it stop repeating itself inside your head.

Though, the universe had other plans…

You felt the door swing open, hitting you, knocking you out of the way, making you drop your only source of music.

Soon after, a hand covered your mouth and an arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into the closet.

A scream hitched in your throat as the unknown figure flicked the light on, revealing who the culprit was…Stu.

“Stu, what the actual fuck was that for!?” You narrowed your eyes, clenching your fist, ready to punch him out of fear.

He laughed, but soon afterwards told you to be quiet, locking the door behind him as he stepped forward.

“Shh, I don’t want anyone to hear us.” He whisper-yelled, getting closer to you, placing both hands on either side of your arms.

He was a good two-to-three feet taller than you.

“I saw you, you know…” He bit his lip again, rolling the flesh with his teeth, gripping your arms tighter.

You looked up at him, confused, not sure what he meant, however, a part of you knew where this might be going.

“The way your face went red, how you rubbed your thighs together..” He taunted, poking your nose, “Let’s not forget that sweet-little moan you let out when you saw that student…” He leaned into the crease of your collarbone, nipping at the skin, the coolness of his lips penetrating your warmth.

Your face was hot with yearn, but also embarrassment. “The student who was dressed as the Woodsboro slasher…” He grinned, feeling you shiver at his touch.

“W-what—“ You began, trying to act like you didn’t know what he was talking about; ashamed that you were caught. You were quickly silenced by Stu pressing his lips against yours, his bulge pushing up against your side.

His fingers danced across your arms to the string of your grey tank top, ripping it from your body with force as the sound of the thin material shredding lingered in your ears. Fortunately for Stu, you didn’t have a bra on…

Your breasts jiggled from the impact, bouncing in place which caused a small guttural growl to emit from Stu’s throat.

Stu immediately grabbed your boob in his right hand, rubbing his thumb across the perky bud, while his other hand gripped at your bare side, his fingers digging into your ribs.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, staring at the finger prints you already had bruised into your skin. They almost lined up with his own marks, but his were slightly bigger. Stu only quirked a brow, continuing to fondle your breast, not wanting to ruin the moment by asking.

Stu trembled at the thought of someone else having you, but he was sure to find out who and kill him.

“M-mm..” You let out a breathy moan, making Stu lose track of his thoughts,“But T-Tatum—“ you stuttered, holding back another sound as he slid his hand into your shorts, rubbing your clit through the silk of your panties.

He hooked his finger under the band, pulling you even closer, his forehead pressing up against your own.

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#fanfiction #scream 1996 #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #billy x you x stu #scream franchise #stu macher #billy loomis x female reader #billy x stu #stu macher x female reader #stu matcher x reader #stu macher smut #stu x reader

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beybaldes · 1 year

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the woman that loves you (boy you're such a fool)

Eddie Roundtree x Fem!Reader

djats masterlist

Word Count : 3.1k

Summary : the end of the band is just the beginning for y/n and her favourite bassist.

normal = flashbacks ,, italics = interviews

Warning!! I have not read the book or the show!!! All info I have gathered has been from other x readers I have read. sorry in advance if I have butchered your fav show/book because i have plainly made shit up in favour of satiating my own need for more Eddie fics xoxo

Y/n: I think about that last day all the time. I think about everything I should've said or done. But I don't think it would've changed anything honestly - everyone seemed pretty set on what they wanted for the band. Who was I to change that?

your legs pulled from warrens lap, quickly jumping from you seat and running out of the bus, desperate to reach the cab before it could pull out and take Eddie away. whatever was out there had been on your side, your hard pull open of the door stopping the driver from leaving as he put it into gear and got ready to leave.

"I'm so sorry" you said to the grey haired man in the front seat, turned to Eddie with a creased brow. "I'll only be a minute."

"birdie..." he hummed, pushing his sunglasses away from his eyes, letting them meet your own. "let me go, I need to leave, I can't stay here - not with Billy, not after everything."

"I'm not asking you to stay, Ed's." You murmured, tears brimming your eyes as you placed one knee into the cab, tucking yourself into the crook of his neck, one arm holding the door open. "I know that's not fair. I just don't want you to leave without saying goodbye."

Though you couldn't see it, tears began to pool in eddies eyes at the way your voice trembled and your words came out in a whisper - like a little kid too upset to really get the words out. When he'd packed up his things and called the cab he had only thought about leaving, getting away from all of it and getting to be his own person - he'd yet to consider that he'd be leaving some of his nearest and dearest friends behind in doing so. That he'd be leaving you behind.

Eddie: I'd never done anything as hard as leaving the band. At least not until y/n stopped the cab to speak to me.

"I got to go birdie, I got a plane to catch." soon half a continent would separate you, something so scary when for the last decade you'd only been a street, a room or a curtain away at all times.

"Just gimme one more moment." You tried to savour the feel of his arms around you, holding your body tight and close as if it was the last time he was going to do so. 'it probably was the last time he was going to do so,' the thought made your stomachs churn and your whimpers boarder on full on sobs. If it weren't for the fact you wanted your last moments together to be happy, you would've just let it all out, cry into his arms like the little kid your rise to fame never let you be. "Just one more moment."

Camilla: Y/n. She, she was always the closest with Eddie. They were like two peas in a pod - I don't think I'd ever seen one without the other somewhere nearby.

With a particularly tight squeeze, you pulled away, knowing that no hug would last long enough to satiate the longing ache already settled deep in the pit of your stomach.

Eddie was quick to wipe at the tears that silently rolled down your cheeks, his large hand cupping your face as his thumb stroked across the apple of your red cheek. "I'm gonna miss you, birdie."

"Not as much as I'm gonna miss you, Ed's." You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, trying to tell him everything you didn't have the time to say in what could easily be passed off as a misjudgement of closeness. "Please don't be a stranger."

Eddie didn't say anything else. He let you close the cab door and stand on the side of the pavement, watching as he drove off and away from the six, away from you. Only when the cab was out of sight did either of you let the tears fall, not wanting the other to be saddened by your own heartbreak. Though, when had goodbyes ever been easy?

Billy: Y/n had always been a sensitive girl. But the band had been her whole world - each of us, we, had been her whole world. I think it truly broke her when the band broke up that day.

Furiously you wiped at your tears, trying to clear your face before you returned to your seat on the tour bus, knowing now that it was unlikely the six would continue past this moment, and that more goodbyes would probably be in order. You could cry it all out on the flight you were sure you'd have to book later today.

Making your way back to the tour bus, you silently got back on, not even making it to your seat before you broke down in tears again. Your knees couldn't hold your weight any longer, and as you began to sink to the floor, Warren was quick to spring from his seat, wrapping you in his arms and lowering you to the floor at a gentle pace. He gently stroked his fingers through your hair, shushing you as the pair of you rocked back and forth on the floor of the tour bus. Karen was quick to join the two of you, pressing a kiss to your temple and letting her own tears fall in the group hug containing the final members of the 6.

Y/n: Karen and Warren - I'd always been good fiends with them. But that day, on the bus, it became something different then. They're my best friends in the world now. Karen was the maid of honour at my wedding. I did ask Warren but he refused, claiming it only made sense for it to be Karen.

"It's okay sweet girls." Warren whispered to the two girls that were now cradled in his arms, all three of the in a mess of limbs and tears on the floor of the tour bus. "Everything's going to be okay."

"Warren had been right of course." You paused with a smile, waiting for Julia to adjust the camera so that both you and Eddie fit into the frame; his arm wrapped around your waist pulling you into his side, a kiss pressed to your temple after which he gazed down at you lovingly. "Everything was okay, in the end. Eddie called me the second he landed back in Pittsburgh, correctly guessing I'd still be on the tour bus with Warren and Karen."

"Thank god I'd been right (about the tour bus)." Eddie smiled, pressing another kiss to your temple, relishing in the feel of his arm that was around your waist, knowing he'd never have to lose that feeling as long as he played his cards right. "I don't know what I'd have done if she hadn't picked up. If I'd lost her for good."

"Hello." You murmured into the phone, the loud ringing having woke you from your sleep. Thankfully, Warren and Karen were still asleep to your right, the ringing noise not waking them after the exhaustion of getting through such an eventful and emotional day. "Who is it?"

"Birdie..."

You sat upright at the voice on the other end of the line, sleep vanishing from your eyes. "Eddie." You whined, fingers scratching at the phone as if you could claw you way through it and into his arms. "I miss you."

"I know birdie, I miss you too."

"How'd you know to call here?" You and Karen were crashing in Warrens room, the three of you too upset to be left alone and not wanting to pay for three separate rooms when money was now going to be an issue.

"I figured you'd end up in bed with Warren, or Karen, or both. I called each room until you picked up." A soft smile graced your features at the thought of Eddie calling every room until he found you. He knew you so well. "I'm back in Pittsburgh, I want you to come with me."

It had taken Eddie seconds to realise the mistake he'd made in leaving the band. Not in the way of leaving the band, but rather in the way it meant leaving you, too. But his cab was going and his flight had been paid for.

"I... I love you, birdie." Eddie whispered, unsure if he was allowed to say such words after how hard he'd made you cry just hours before. "I don't want to not have you in my life. And I'm not calling just because I need someone right now, or because I regret leaving the band. I'm calling because I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you in it, and when you realise that you do something about it."

Eddies words had you shocked to silence, his voice calling out for you several times in the moments that you took to process what he'd just said. "Birdie, please say something."

"I'll tell you I love you too when you pick me up from the airport tomorrow at 11."

You could feel the smile that filled Eddies face through the phone.

"Am or Pm?"

Your hand interlinked with Eddies as you let your head fall to his shoulder, wrapped up in the memory of your first day out of the band. "It was difficult to say goodbye to Karen, her flight going back to England when both mine and Warren's were going back to Pittsburgh. It hurt a lot to see her go."

"I was in tears the whole flight." Karen laughed, wiping away a stray tear as she recalled when you and Warren left her at the gate to get your own flight. "But I called y/n as soon as I landed, and she told me she'd already booked flights to come and visit in a month. She's always been so good to me, to all of us, like that."

You'd slept on Warren's shoulder for most of the flight, his head atop yours as your dreamt about what life would bring going forward. Neither of you wanted to stay in Pittsburgh, but knew it was right for the moment, to take a deep breath and remind yourself of who you were before the band - without the band. Warren's long-time girlfriend, Lisa, had been the first person you saw once you escaped baggage claim, her running into his arms the moment she spotted him, but not forgetting to give you a hug of your own and a kiss to your cheek.

"My girl now, Rojas." You teased, pulling Lisa into side hug, hear head falling to your shoulder with a bright smile.

"Already forgetting about me?" You were quick to turn around at the sound of Eddie's voice, dropping your luggage and crashing into his arms, pressing kisses to his cheeks again and again, only stopping when he placed two fingers under your jaw and turned you to face him, finally giving you a real kiss after years of dancing around each other.

"Finally!" Warren shouted, head thrown back in laughter as he watched the two of you address all those lingering looks and hugs and touches that had happened over the past few years. "I better be invited to the wedding!"

"She told you that?" Warren scoffed, pulling the lit cigarette from his mouth, tapping the burnt butt into his ash tray before replacing it between his lips. "I only refused to be her maid of honour because Eddie asked me to be his best man first. How could I say no to being her maid of honour otherwise?"

"I love you too." You gasped out, pulling away from the kiss with Eddie. "I love you too. I love you so damn much it keeps me up at night, you're all I think about, all the time."

"I love you even more then that, birdie." Eddie nuzzled his nose against yours, quick to pull you in for another kiss that had Warren shouting at the pair of you to 'get a room.'

"Y/n did fulfil her promise." Karen nodded, thinking about her life long friendship with the brunette she'd met by chance. "She came to visit three weeks later. I was so excited. We spent a lot of time taking about the solo career I'd been planning for myself and how she could come along, be my opener for the American leg of the tour I would hopefully do - I didn't even notice the ring on her finger until her third day there!"

"I proposed the same night she got back to Pittsburgh. The girl had just flown halfway across the country cause she didn't know how to be without me, and I'd practically begged her to do it because I didn't know how to live without her. How could not?" Eddie retold with a soft smile gracing his features. It was one of the things you'd come to love the most in his old age; how soft and loving his features were when we wasn't stressing about the six, or Billy.

"I can't believe you came all this way, for me." Eddie mused later that night, the two of you face to face in his childhood bed, not wanting to fall asleep in fear this would all be some dream.

"How could I not?" You asked, pulling one of your hands out from beneath the duvet, pushing a strand of Eddies overgrown hair out of his eyes and safely behind his ear, careful to avoid brushing against the black eye nursing on his cheek. "Like you said, Ed's, I want to spend the rest of my life with you in it. Why would I wait to start the rest of my life when I could start it right now?"

Eddie pressed a hot and firm kiss to your lips, pulling away and resting his forehead against you own, a lovesick smile gracing his face. "You're exactly right birdie. Exactly right." Another series of kisses were pressed all over your face, starting at your lips, moving to your cheeks, then your forehead and back to your lips again. "Why wait when forever can start right now?"

Eddie pulled off one of his rings, holding it out in the small gap between the two of you. "Marry me."

It hadn't been a question.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I have no doubt in that. And I know more then anything, I want the rest of my life to start right now; I've spent years not doing that, and I don't want to wait another day. Marry me."

"It was quite the bold ask." You giggled, curling into Eddies side with a bright smile. "But who could say no to such a face?"

"Yes." You whispered into the darkness of the room you'd spent so many of your formative years in. "Yes." Eddie slipped the ring on your finger, pressing another series of hot and firm kisses all over your face.

"He promised to go out and buy a real ring the following morning." You explained to Julia, sticking your hand out towards the camera to show her that your engagement ring was just as simple of a band as your wedding one. "But I told him a didn't want one. This one meant more."

"She gave me that ring as a gift for my 15 birthday." Eddie mused, reaching for you hand and toying with the ring that'd sat on your finger for the last 20 years. It should've sat there for a lot longer, he thought. "It seems kind of full circle that it's ended up back in her possession. But she wouldn't have it any other way."

"I was happy for them, y'know." Daisy smiled, thinking back onto the pictures you'd sent her of your wedding day, her choosing not to come to keep any peace you may have had that day. "Glad to see more then just Warren came out of the band happy. Really happy."

"We only had a small wedding." You explained, the day feeling minutes ago rather then almost 20 years ago now. Where had the time gone? "Warren and Karen came, but everyone else didn't. I asked Cami to come, but she felt it'd be better if she didn't. I understood of course, things were different then, but it hurt me a lot - that the people I'd spent everyday of the few years of my life with didn't want to come to my wedding."

Eddie squeezed your hand tighter, pressing a kiss to your hair. "It was a hard day for y/n. But despite everything, we had the best time; it was the perfect day, honestly."

"Everyone came to visit sooner or later, one at a time, to congratulate us, apologise for not coming. Graham was the first to come and visit." You let out a low laugh as you dwelled on the memory. "I wish I had a photo to show you of the face he made when he realised I was pregnant."

"I'm sorry... what?" Graham choked out, unmoving in the doorway to your house as he stared at the baby bump that had formed under your summer dress. "Since when were you pregnant?"

"It wasn't the way I meant to say it." Graham denied. "It had been about 4 months since the band broke up, and only 1 month since they got married. I was just surprised!"

"Since just over 3 months ago." You laughed, pulling him into your house with a kind smile, taking hold of his bag for him and leading him towards your guest room. "Don't tell Eddie, but I think it's a girl."

"Oh! Of course she did!" Eddie laughed, his head thrown back over the cushions of the loveseat the two of you were cuddled on. "Though, not that I said anything at the time, I knew it was a girl."

"I'm sure you did." You nudged Eddie in his side, intertwining your fingers with his and letting your head fall to his shoulder. "Our Janie was born 6 months later. She was beautiful. 6 pounds and 8 ounces."

"She just started college last year, it's weird for the house to be so empty." Eddie added, a slight frown settling into his features. He missed Janie every day she was gone, that little girl - his little girl - being the absolute light of his life.

"You didn't have any other kids?" Julia asked, head peaking up just over the top of the camera she was recording the two of you with.

"No. Just our Janie. She was perfect. We didn't need another. Spitting image of her mother, with my rocking personality." It was moments like this, where Eddie spoke so fondly of you, your daughter, your family, that you knew - despite the hurt the band caused you across the years - every second had been worth it.

"Yeah, it was perfect. All perfect."

#djats x reader #djats imagine #eddie roundtree x reader #eddie roundtree imagine #eddie roundtree oneshot #eddie roundtree #eddie loving x reader #eddie loving imagine #eddie loving onehsot #eddie loving #daisy jones and the six x reader #daisy jones and the six imagine

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jackwolfes · 5 months

Note

prompt #59 with wesper pls 🤲

“Tell me to go and I will but ask me to stay and I'll never leave you again” Prompts: [1] [2]

The scene through Wylan’s bedroom window is lightning and malice, the rapidfire patter of rain gunshots on glass reminding him what little kindness waits for him outside, but right now inside isn’t much better. He stands with his arms at his sides and bare feet uncomfortable against the cold wood floor. The fire in the hearth is low enough to offer little comfort.

Across the room, dripping rainwater onto Wylan’s expensive bedroom floor, Jesper stands resigned to whatever pain Wylan plans to inflict upon him. That hurts. The accusation of it digs beneath Wylan’s ribs like a burrowing beetle, carving out space between sinew and bone and biting down where it hurts most. It isn’t my fault, he wants to scream, but he’s too cowardly to say anything, not even I’d never hurt you. Not even, I’m sorry.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Wylan finally manages. “If my father found out…”

Jesper doesn’t interrupt him. It is simply Wylan’s voice failing him, as it has so many times before, because as with every other facet of Wylan’s being, failure is his natural state. He doesn’t know what he’d even say if he could muster up the strength to speak, so perhaps silence is better.

What would he even say? If his father found out he would, what? Actually disown him like he’d threatened to do days ago when he found him tangled up half naked with a serving boy? Kick him out of this prison he’s forged, the one that Wylan has so rarely been happy in but has always been mostly safe in? Both are plausible options. Wylan has always been a weak little lamb under the blade of father’s butcher knife, kept alive on a whim and little else. He can’t imagine his father going so far as to actually see him killed, but once he’s thrown out of his good graces, what hope would he have to survive?

Just Jesper, who doesn’t owe Wylan a damn thing.

Jesper. Wylan can hear the echo of his own voice whispering that name a dozen different ways through the seasons. Kindly, reverently, desperately. Never in between the expensive silk sheets of his bed, but in plenty of other places they shouldn’t have been: the stable, most often, but the kitchens, too. Out in the gardens when the weather permitted it, a few times in the library, that once at the inn as they travelled out of town because neither of them had been able to hold back. Those golden slivers of enjoyable memories might be the only time Wylan has ever truly felt happy on his father’s property. Jesper has given him the world time and time again, and all Wylan did was see him get thrown out on the street and fired for taking the time to love him tenderly.

The floor doesn’t creak when Jesper takes a step forward, which means Wylan’s sharp inhalation is entirely too audible. Over the heavy storm outside and the occasional crackle of firewood, the sound is a vulnerability. An admission. Wylan fights against every urge telling him to damn reason and run to Jesper, to throw himself in his arms and hold him close, and he hates himself for picking the safe option. He hates himself for a lot of reasons, but Jesper still crosses the room under the flickering firelight and comes to a half a bare few inches away. The rain water dripping off his clothes creates a puddle on the floor, seeping towards Wylan’s bare toes, but neither of them move.

“Tell me to go,” Jesper whispers, “and I will.”

Wylan shuts his eyes. He should, he should, he should, he isn’t strong enough to form the words between his lips. He simply cannot resist the magnetic pull of Jesper Fahey and all his charm, all his divinity, all his — perfection. Even with his eyes shut he can sense that Jesper is close, and maybe getting closer. His body stays deathly still, torn between wanting to jerk away back to where it’s safe or leaning into Jesper’s touch, where it’s safest.

“If you ask me to stay, I will. I’ll never leave you again.”

The husky edge to Jesper’s whispering voice floods Wylan’s senses, in past his lips like cherries and chocolate, down his throat, around his wrists, in his head. His eyelashes open with a flutter; he parts his lips. Steel eyes stare at him like he is precious, worth keeping around, and Wylan was never going to survive without him in his life.

He surges up to kiss Jesper fiercely, grabbing the back of his head to hold him close. The chill of rainwater caught in the tight coils of his hair press into Wylan’s fingertips like holy water sanctifying his skin. Wylan feels everything. Jesper’s hands on his hips, turning the thin fabric translucent with water and imprinting the shape of his palms into Wylan’s body. In a moment Wylan will stretch upwards to deepen the kiss and his shirt will peel away from his skin — maybe even sooner if Jesper chooses to be so bold as to pull it off for him — but the mark feels unerringly permanent. It is a brand on skin, but instead of pain it brings with it liberation.

Wylan steps backwards, still clinging to Jesper with desperate hands. The clumsy gesture makes them both stumble but their lips don’t stray apart, which is more than what Wylan needs. Lightning cracks, blindingly bright against the dark night sky, and the thunder chasing its heels provides cover for the quiet little moan that slips between Wylan’s parted lips. He can barely hear it himself over the roaring rush of blood in his ears, the slam of his heartbeat thudding in his head, the dizzying slide of Jesper’s tongue along the backs of Wylan’s teeth as he plunders for gold. This is his one chance at pure secrecy, and it feels magical.

The back of his legs hit his mattress sooner than he realises, the impact juddering through his body and shooting surprise through his frame. Unbalanced, he tumbles backwards and hits the soft mattress with a thwump of silky fabric, but Jesper catches himself before he can fall.

It instantly pushes too much distance between them. Unceremoniously, Wylan is jerked free from the dizzying bliss he’d been feeling a second ago. The chill in the air takes its place, reminding him how cold he is without Jesper near him. Splayed out on the mattress with Jesper standing above him like that and framed by the lines of his spread thighs, he shivers. But the furrow in Jesper’s brow is enough to make Wylan nervous. His fingers twitch, lying on the mattress beside his head with his palms facing the sky expectantly. Jesper’s eyes flicker to the side and catch the motion. He says nothing, and Wylan sees want warring with apprehension in the metallic shine of his eyes.

And maybe Wylan is a coward, but Jesper isn’t. Jesper is one of the bravest people he’s ever met. They’re barely touching anymore, but the tiny point of contact between Wylan’s knee and Jesper’s shin is just enough to lend him strength.

“Stay,” Wylan croaks.

Sunshine blooms. The eye of the storm hits them like midsummer. Life erupts in Jesper’s eyes as he smiles that real, earnest, perfect smile, and he says, “Don’t want to ruin your bed getting it wet, do I?” As if he hadn’t made a million messes before with Wylan a beautiful, willing casualty. So Wylan laughs, breathless and giddy, and spreads his legs apart a little wider as he enjoys the show that Jesper puts on, haphazardly and clumsily stripping out of his rain-soaked clothes. They hit the ground with an ungraceful slap, and when Jesper clambers naked onto the bed (and onto Wylan) he’s barely even dry. He’s hard, though, and oh so pretty, and before Wylan can reach out to grab hold of him and start to give him the pleasure he deserves he’s taking hold of Wylan’s wrists and pinning him down onto the bed. Wylan jerks, spine arching with a breathless little moan, but Jesper kisses him and does not leave — he said he wouldn’t, and Wylan trusts that he means to keep his promise.

#oh i reeeeally liked this one i kinda wanna make it into smth longer but we shall see #wesper #soc #six of crows #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #wesper fics #soc fics #fics #asks #capybarablunt

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burntsaltsblog · 10 days

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tw: nsfw, 18+

Chapter five

"We are not sharing a bed."

"Alright, doll, enjoy sleepin’ on the floor then," Butcher shrugged, kicking off his boots.

I scoffed as I turned towards the door. "I'm getting my own room."

"You will do no such thing," Butcher intervened sternly. "I told Ed we was on our honeymoon, remember?"

"Yeah, and I also told him you were gay, so I guess we're both liars," I said, pivoting back to Butcher as I placed both hands on my hips. "Unless," I continued, analyzing the burly Brit.

"Unless what?" Butcher barked, mirroring my stance.

"Well, I don't know," I slyly commented. "I've seen the way you look at MM. But hey," I held up my hands, "I get it. He's a nice-looking man, you know, with his big, strong arms and stubble that I'm sure would leave the loveliest of burns on anyone's thighs-

The rest of my words evaporated into thin air as Butcher stalked over to me, immense agitation written all over his face as he backed me up against the sky-blue wall. "Oi, I know what you're tryin’ to do, ya’ sneaky little cunt. But it ain’t gonna work."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, peering up at him innocently. I widened my eyes, painting on a face that resembled a puppy.

Butcher's mouth hardened. "You're tryin’ to get a rise outta me, so you'll get your way." He leaned in as his voice fell to a husky whisper. "Nice try, sweetheart, but I ain’t fallin’ for it."

"Well, it was worth a shot, don't you think?"

Butcher merely shook his head before retreating to the other side of the room and unpacking his belongings. I watched him quietly for a moment as he threw his Hawaiian shirts into the white wood dresser before sighing loudly and holding my hand out. "Give me your keys."

"Why?" He grunted, not bothering to look up.

"Because I'm sleeping in the car."

"Bullocks." He argued, closing the now full drawer and finally looking at me. "You’re not leavin’ the confines of this room without me supervision."

"I'm not a child, Butcher. I don't need you to babysit me," I huffed. "Now, hand over your fucking keys."

"Not happenin’, princess. S’not safe to be out there all by your lonesome," he said, gesturing to the window to acknowledge the outside world.

I narrowed my eyes. "You don't give a rat's ass about my safety. You're just scared I'll drive off without you, leaving you all alone in Snow White's cottage with only Ed to keep you company. But maybe that'd be fun. I mean, speaking from experience, older men are amazing in bed because they really know how to take control. I bet Ed would rock your world if you just gave him the chance."

My frame again collided with the wall when Butcher trudged back over with much more aggression. I giggled maniacally as his fingers applied the most beautiful pressure to my neck, cutting off most of my air source and the blood to my head.

His mouth grazed my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "You're going to sleep in this room, in that bed, with me, even if I have to hold a gun to your head. And lucky for you, I have plenty of those."

Butcher pulled back enough so he could see my face. "Do ya’ understand?"

I was dizzy as I stared at him, smiling lazily. "Yes, Daddy. I understand."

Butcher's breath caught in his throat, and for a brief moment, I thought he might kiss me. In preparation, I swiped my tongue over my lower lip. His eyes honed in on the action, and his mouth parted as soft pants exited his mouth.

But everything shattered when he suddenly pulled back, ending the confusing yet heated interaction.

"Go shower, ya’ smell like shite," he instructed, turning away from me.

"You don't exactly smell like roses either," I grumbled as I shuffled over to my bag and pulled out an oversized white tee and a clean pair of black panties with a simple lace trim.

As I entered the small, extended bathroom, I glanced back at Butcher and almost missed the bulge he was attempting to conceal by pretending to look out the window. His knuckles were white as they clenched the blue silk curtain, and his shoulders were taut with tension.

The bathroom door clicked shut, and I leaned on it for support as I closed my eyes and focused on taking deep breaths. The sight of Butcher's tented jeans was burned into my eyelids, causing a strong need to settle in my core, pulsing incessantly.

"Fuck," I whispered as I pushed myself off of the door and made quick work of turning on the shower and stripping myself of my clothes that had begun sticking to my skin.

I let the waves of purposeful cold water wash over my body as I scrubbed myself, trying to think of anything other than what I knew Butcher was doing in the next room over. If I strained my ears, I could almost hear his quiet grunts of pleasure as he roughly stroked his member, nearing his release. There was no doubt that Butcher had sent me to go shower so he could fix his little problem.

With minimal shame, I let my hand trail between my breasts and down the length of my torso until I reached my aching cunt that had been begging for attention since the moment Butcher wrapped his hand around my throat.

I leaned against the shower wall as the water, now much warmer, trickled down my back, only aiding my nearing orgasm. My hips rocked against my hand as my fingers dove into my sopping hole relentlessly, grazing the spot that made my knees go weak. A place that Butcher had no trouble reaching with his fingers and his cock. I pictured the veiny length that I'd had the privilege of coming apart on that one night now months ago.

I slammed my other hand over my mouth to silence my whine as I came on my fingers. My vision blurred, and I helplessly reached out to shut off the water before staggering out of the shower and grabbing a fluffy white towel that sat on the countertop.

After gathering my bearings, I hastily dried myself off and left my hair, wet and tangled, to fall around my shoulders as I threw on my shirt and underwear.

Then, I shut off the bathroom light and cracked open the door, peering out into the now-dark bedroom. I squinted, making out Butcher, who was in bed, lying on his side, facing away from me. I studied his breaths for a moment as I tried to deduce whether or not he was faking his slumber.

Deciding that he was, in fact, asleep, I tiptoed over to the unoccupied side of the bed and nimbly slid under the covers. I turned my head and watched as a sliver of moonlight that snuck between the curtains fanned over him, basking his beautifully sculpted face in a glow that made him look almost ethereal. I assumed it was what Zeus looked like if the Greek God ever took a few moments of rest.

A yawn bubbled up from my throat, urging me to rest as well, so I clutched my pillow and closed my eyes, listening to the breeze that was picking up outside. I was grateful that Butcher wasn't hogging the blankets, and I drew them up to my neck, burrowing deeper in search of warmth.

Soon, I drifted off, and dreams invaded my mind, specifically one about the day I met Butcher. He had found me in a tiny hideout, living with other dealers as we all scrounged on the street, barely scraping by. He had initially come to collect some information from our boss, but when he'd laid eyes on me, huddled up in the corner of the dingy apartment, he recruited me immediately.

"What's a pretty thing like you doin’ livin’ in a place like this, eh?" He asked, displaying his prominent cockney accent as he crouched in front of me. "Did some bloke use ya’ to pay a debt?"

"No, you ass, I work here," I shot back.

His brow arched at my surprising rebuttal. "Well, I'll be. For someone who looks like a little princess, you sure do have a mouth on ya’."

"And if you ask me what else my mouth does, I will bite off your tongue and shove it so far down your throat you'll be shitting it out for a year."

"Jo," Hugo, my boss, warned me, and I scowled at both men, scooting farther into my corner and tightening my hold on my stale mug of coffee.

"New deal," the Englishman announced, rising to his feet to face Hugo. "I'll give ya’ one grande for everythin’ you know about the Temp V that's bein’ funneled through the Chinese restaurant down the street." He then pointed to me. "And her."

I stood to my full height, which wasn't very impressive compared to the broad man in front of me. "This isn't the 1800 hundreds, buddy. You can't go around bargaining women like they're fucking objects."

"Sorry, love. Didn't mean to tickle any nerves. I am merely in the position to expand my team, and I was thinkin’ you just might be the perfect fit."

"Team? Do you coach cricket down at the local senior center?" I asked mockingly.

"Is she always like this?" The man questioned Hugo, completely disregarding me.

"Yup, I have yet to find her off switch."

I glared at my boss. "Fuck you."

"See," Hugo said, gesturing to me. "You really want to put up with this? She's stubborn to an end, with an attitude that would drive anyone insane."

"No," the Englishman whispered as his hazel eyes wandered my face, "She's magnificent."

༺༻

A clash of thunder jolted me awake, and I abruptly sat up before throwing my legs over the side of the bed and stumbling over to the window. I cautiously pulled the curtain back to gaze through the glass and watched in horror as rain splattered down angrily while lightning flashed from above.

My latest career was in face-to-face combat with supes who did frightening things like shoot lasers from their eyes or start a fire with a mere snap of their fingers. But my greatest fear in life was storms. Even the slightest bit of thunder immediately brought me back to my childhood, and I felt like a little kid again, cowering under the covers of my bed while my parents all but tore each other apart in the living room, and a storm raged all around the small ranch house.

Anxiety racked my body, and I sprang back when thunder boomed again. A small whimper left my mouth before a voice behind me drew my attention.

"Come on back to bed."

I twisted around to look at Butcher, who was now awake and sitting up. I opened my mouth to respond, but another thunderclap interrupted me, and a tremble vibrated in my bones.

My vision blurred with tears as I bit harshly into my lip before my mouth filled with the taste of copper. I looked up at Butcher, and when he saw my face, his brows creased, and he held out his hands, beckoning me toward him. "C’mere, love."

I hesitated, but when a branch from the tree outside smacked against the window, I shot forward, straight into Butcher's arms.

"Atta girl. There we go," he murmured, pulling me to lay on his bare chest as he leaned back against the headboard. My legs landed on either side of his torso, and I wrapped my hands around his neck, grasping the ends of his hair and tangling my fingers in the strands.

"That’s it. Ya’ just hang onto me," Butcher whispered.

His hands rubbed up and down my back soothingly, and I focused on the feeling of his touch to ground myself.

"It's just a pesky little storm. Nothin’ to be afraid of."

His reassurance made me sink further into his embrace, and before long, my breathing began to slow, and my cries significantly quieted.

I pulled back slightly to rest my forehead against his and took notice of the tension that began to brew between us. My eyes dropped from Butcher's dark eyes that studied me to his full lips, which were only inches from my own, and without thinking, I closed the gap between us.

My cunt pulsed, and I knew Butcher could feel it as I ground myself down on him while our lips clashed together. But all too soon, he broke away. "Fuckin’ hell, doll. What are ya’ doin’?"

I mumbled my answer, leaning back in. "Need you."

Butcher stopped me by placing both his hands on my shoulders, creating distance between us. "Now, just a minute, love. I don't want ya’ goin’ and makin’ a mistake here."

I went to answer, but Butcher held up his hand, silencing me as he continued. "You're in a very...vulnerable state right now, and I don't wanna take advantage of ya’."

"You're not. I promise."

Butcher didn't look convinced as the wind blew harshly outside, and I winced in his arms, bracing my hands against his chest. "Please, Butcher, I need this. I need the distraction."

Fresh tears of desperation welled in my eyes, and he was quick to wipe them away as they stained my cheeks.

Butcher was quiet as he looked at me in nothing but my thin t-shirt with my nipples peeking through and my panties that were beyond soaked.

His silence sprouted panic in my head as I began to worry that maybe it was due to the fact that he didn't want me like that anymore. One hook-up three months prior certainly didn't define one's feelings, and the arousal he displayed earlier this evening could easily be explained as some sort of anatomical dysfunction.

"It's ok. I get it," I muttered, mortified, falling off of Butcher's lap and curling up on my side of the bed. "It was presumptuous to assume you were attracted to me. I'm sorry."

Rejection flooded my body, and I pulled my blankets tightly against me, only to have them ripped away seconds later.

"The fuck are ya’ goin’ on about?" Butcher asked gruffly, leaning over me. The simple chain displaying his wedding ring dangled next to my face, and I did my best to ignore it as I answered him. "The fact that you're clearly unattracted to me. But it's fine, no hard feelings."

I shoved my face into my pillow so I wouldn't have to look at Butcher as he granted me the confirmation that I so dreaded. But instead of doing just that, he gently instructed me, "Gimme your hand."

I hesitated before placing my hand in his outstretched one. Still lying on my side, I felt Butcher guide it behind me towards his frame. A small gasp of air escaped my lungs when my hand was placed over his front, and I felt a bulge that grew with every second.

"You think I don't want ya’?" He asked lowly. "Then explain this."

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat as I looked over my shoulder, and my heart raced at the lust that bloomed in his eyes. "Of course I want you. I'll always want ya’, doll. No matter how much ya’ try to push me away. You're the reason why I can't sleep at night no more because I'm fuckin’ my fist, rememberin’ the way ya’ whined underneath me as you came all over my cock the night before I left."

I didn't know what to say. For the first time in my life, all words had evaded me.

"But, I know how spontaneous you can get, darlin’. And I don't want ya’ to wake up tomorrow and regret tonight."

"I could never regret you." My voice was hoarse from crying, and I slowly sat up. Butcher matched my position on the bed, so we sat facing one another.

My eyes lowered to Butcher's hard length, and I reached my arm out. "Is this ok?" I whispered as my fingers traced the waistband of his boxers.

Butcher breathed deeply, closing his eyes before opening them again to look at me earnestly. "If this is what ya’ really want, petal, then s’ok with me."

The new pet name warmed my cheeks as my hand dipped into Butcher's boxers and wrapped around his hard length. I used my other hand to ease down the fabric, and his cock popped free, leaking pre-cum from its angry, red tip.

Butcher hissed as I spat into my hand and began to stroke him gently. I wanted him in my mouth, to feel his fat, swollen head hit the back of my throat till my eyes watered, but I craved comfort at this moment, so I looked at Butcher. "Please," I begged. "I need you. Need to be close to you."

Solemnly, Butcher nodded and easily pried my hand off of him. He was quick to discard his boxers and eased himself up the bed until he was leaning against the headboard once more.

"C’mere, sweetheart," he encouraged softly.

I, too, rid myself of my underwear and crawled up the bed. Butcher used his hands on my hips to guide me as I swung my leg over his torso so I was straddling him.

"You tell me if ya’ wanna to stop." He said, removing one of his hands from my hip to cup my jaw instead to guarantee that I was looking at him. "I don't care if I'm in the middle of comin’; if ya’ wanna stop, we stop, got it?"

I nodded, appreciating that even in a heightened moment of pleasure, Butcher would still put my needs before his.

"Atta girl."

Butcher ran his hands up at down my arms as I wrapped my hand around his cock for the second time that night and lined him up with my pussy which was weeping just for him.

"Daddy," I whimpered as I sank down on Butcher's thick shaft, my walls stretching to accommodate his almost painful size. "I forgot how big you are."

"Fuck I missed ya’," Butcher groaned. "I missed both of ya’: my girl and her perfect pussy."

I was already preening under his words as I rose up before sinking down on him again. I repeated the action several more times before settling into a steady rhythm.

"Doin’ so good for me, love," Butcher said, his voice raspy as his thumb circled my aching clit, and I couldn't stop my look of pure content as his praise washed over me.

"Fuck, Daddy, that feels so good," I whined. But Buther already knew that based on how tightly I was squeezing his cock, threatening to milk him any second.

"Yeah? You gonna come, sweet thing? I know ya’ want to. Come on and show me how much ya’ appreciate my cock stretching you wide open."

My slick walls constricted around Butcher's length, and a soft cry left my mouth as I reached my climax. I gripped Butcher's shoulders, holding on for dear life as he grabbed the fat of my ass harshly, helping me to fuck myself through my orgasm.

"There we go. Make a mess for me. That's it, petal."

My chin met my chest as I panted, trying to catch my breath. My movements were much more docile as I slowly continued to ride him, enjoying the lasting pleasure from my orgasm. But the feeling soon turned intense again as I felt my second high quickly building.

"Already goin’ for another?" Butcher chuckled, brushing stray hair away from my face, which had stuck to my sweaty skin.

"Daddy, please," I cried, even though I wasn't even sure what I was pleading for.

"Take what ya’ need, sweetheart. Make yourself come again," Butcher coaxed as his thumb left my throbbing clit and instead reached around to rim my puckered hole. I mewled loudly as my hips slammed down harder, chasing a new high.

Butcher eased my shirt over my head, revealing my chest and nipples that were practically begging for to be sucked.

"There's my beautiful girl. So fuckin’ pretty," Butcher growled, leaning forward and swirling his tongue around my nipple before taking it into his mouth. He sucked greedily, causing my second orgasm to crash into me like a freight train. A strangled moan exited my mouth, and I clung to Butcher helplessly.

Once I came back down to earth, Butcher gripped my hips firmly. "Hang on tight, petal," he warned before holding me in place as he fucked up into me, now intent on chasing his own release after holding back for so long to ensure that I had got what I needed.

"Best fuckin’ pussy." He groaned. "You've fuckin’ ruined me for anyone else."

Butcher's movements stuttered, and I felt his hot release coat my walls. His teeth sank into my shoulder, marking me and creating a constant reminder of this night.

The silence that followed felt poignant compared to the way we had been filling the room with sounds of satisfaction just moments before.

"You reckon we was too loud?" Butcher finally asked, kissing the mark he had created, soothing the inflamed flesh as he traced random shapes on my lower back. His length still pulsed inside me, but I found the connection comforting, so I made no motion to move.

"Well, you did say we were on our honeymoon," I joked. "At least it's believable now."

Butcher spanked my ass playfully. "Accordin’ to traditional marital standards, I believe newly married couples usually engage in such intimate activities more than once on their honeymoon."

"It would be a shame if we didn't at least try to live up to those standards, don't you think?" I asked, a smirk playing at the edge of my lips.

"A shame indeed," Butcher replied, leaning forward to capture my lips in a long kiss.

The hate I had so intensely felt for him melted away as he caressed me as if I were the most precious thing in the world.

"Thank you," I murmured, looking up into his amber eyes.

Butcher smiled softly, something he didn't often do. "Let's get some sleep, yeah? I think you've done a proper job of tirin’ us both out."

I nodded, and Butcher eased me off of his softening length. I whined, but he was quick to place a kiss on my temple, calming me.

Butcher delicately placed me down on the mattress, and I sighed in contentment. I watched him effortlessly strut into the bathroom, and he threw a wink my way, knowing that I was checking him out. Even though we'd just had sex, the sight of his muscular body had me rubbing my legs together.

Butcher popped out a moment later with a towel in hand. Right away, he spotted the needy look on my face and snickered. "Insatiable little thing, aren't ya’?"

I nodded my head up and down, and Butcher scoffed, "Tomorrow, we can continue, but right now, young lady, you're goin’ to sleep."

I pouted up at him, feeling playful. "But I don't want to sleep, Daddy."

Butcher climbed on the bed and placed a hand on either side of my head. "But you're not in charge, are ya’, petal?"

"Mm, I guess I forgot who it was. Maybe you should remind me."

Butcher's eyes darkened as he grinned madly and gripped my waist, effortlessly flipping me over.

"Oh, you're in for it, sweetheart."

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katyawriteswhump · 2 months

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the freak in the penthouse, part 5.1

accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve. E-rated (overall for sexual content, this part M) CW: contains references to past abuse

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2

On AO3

5.1 Newsflash

“Jesus, how many times do I have to tell you, Robin? Eddie genuinely is the best thing that’s happened to me in a fucking age.”

“No way, shit-bird.” Robin grabbed Steve’s arm. He let her drag him back into the kitchen. She poured him a glass of milk, dumped it on a counter. She glared meaningfully at it then proceeded to butcher a pile of herbs.

“You like that Eddie guy too much,” she whispered, chopping madly, which always made Steve nervous. This week, she’d already gotten band-aids on three fingers. “What do you really know about him? Or him about you?”

“What kinda dumb question is that?” He whispered too, though the kitchen was otherwise empty.

“You’ve spent over a fortnight with him!”

“So? Look, I honestly think I’ve made a difference to his life. When we first hooked up, he was mopey and depressed. He’s totally pepped up.”

Or it could be all the sex and booze acting as his band-aid.

She paused in her chopping. “What’s he done for you?”

He makes me happier, too. Bite me.

Robin didn’t look in the mood for that kind of bull. She plucked a banana from a bowl and dumped it down beside his untouched milk.

“You know I like looking after people.” He picked up the banana. “I’ve got my meds and I’ve paid off most of my debts.”

“You told him about that, huh? Why you need the money so badly?”

“Get real, Robin. What was I supposed to say—'Hey, Eds. I’m your friendly neighborhood asthmatic call-boy.’” He stuffed the banana in his mouth.

“No. I mean, how your trust-fund went bye-bye, and what that horrible lawyer did to you.”

“Jesus, Robin. No!” He swallowed quickly before he spluttered all over her. “It’s not exactly a turn-on. Mommy and Daddy were loaded, and I was their coddled brat who’d been told he’d never want for anything. Before they went and inconveniently died.” He always impressed himself when he got that word out without a hitch, though it never came without a pang. “Then it turned out my trust fund was in debt. So my dad’s lawyer got me working it off with my ass, passing me around his friends. Then I finally got away, got a shitty job as a shitty bellhop… and caught pneumonia. In LA. Nobody catches pneumonia in LA! I mean, it’s beyond pathetic.”

“It’s tragic, Steve, and it’s not your fault. I honestly still don’t know how a trust fund can be in debt."

“Look, it’s over.” He took a glug of the milk and met her scowl with a cutting one of his own. “I’ll be able to rent somewhere of my own when he’s through with me.”

“Yeah, and I wouldn’t worry so much, but you look waaaay too sad when you say that. Be careful Steve. I don’t wanna have to stab lover-boy’s eyes out with an ice-pick.”

“Don’t you dare. His eyes are dazzling.”

She harrumphed despairingly then drew a key out of her apron pocket and dumped it by the banana skin. “My roomie is away. Get some sleep, or heaven help me, Steve, I got a filleting knife here with your name on it.”

…

Eddie was poring over his game notes—sucking on a cigarette and stressing his pants off. Someone knocked loudly on the door. A jerk in a three-piece suit, who Eddie vaguely recognised, let himself in.

“Mr Munson, I’m terribly sorry to disturb you.” The newcomer offered a preening smile. “I’m Larry Kline, head concierge here at the Beverly Hills Yorkshire. We met briefly when you checked in last month.”

“Right.” He unenthusiastically shook Kline’s outstretched hand. Kline’s beady eyes slid around the room. “Uuuuuh, is there a problem?”

“Have you had company staying here, Sir?”

“What’s it to you?”

“You are supposed to sign in extra guests, Sir. But seeing as you’re a very special guest, we can overlook—”

“Look, man, nobody else is staying here.” He turned away, stubbed out his smoke in frustration. “Is that why you’ve come to play ‘persecute the freak?’”

Kline’s hand flew to his chest in an attempt at mortification that reminded Eddie what an amazing actor Steve was. Steve’s douchiest fluttering of his lashes never looked that fake: “It was not my intention to offend, Sir. Please accept my sincerest apologies.”

“Accepted,” muttered Eddie, wishing he’d get lost.

Kline cleared his throat. “I am here, ahem…”

About how I’ve made your sleazy hotel stink like good ol’ Reefer Rick’s?

Kline presented a silver ashtray with a couple of mints and a scrap of paper. “It’s a delicate matter concerning your check this week, Mister Munson. I’m sure it’s just an error at your bank, but it’s bounced.”

“What?”

Kline put down the ashtray on the doily-covered occasional table. “It hasn’t been paid.”

“That’s gotta be a mistake.” Eddie found himself fiddling madly with his rings. There’d been a fat row of numbers on that check from the gaming company—he was richer than God! Apart from the house he’d bought for his uncle, he’d not gone too mental. Okay, there was the collectors’ guitars, the studio time, the… penthouse.

He got rid of Kline with a mumbled promise that he’d call the bank. He’d have to find his check-book to find the number. He stared at the phone, a ghastly turquoise monstrosity with a golden handset. And then at the mints in the ashtray, under which was tucked an invoice for 8,347 dollars and twelve cents.

He stared at it, unmoving, for a long time.

Then he ate the mints and tucked the invoice under the phone. He’d call Dustin. Later.

...

5.2 on tumblr .... On AO3

I've added a hashtag #thefreakinthepenthouse for ease of finding the earlier parts. I am very happy to tag usernames if anybody is interested... please let me know.

Thank you for reading. Likes reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕

On tumblr: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3.1 Part 3.2 Part 4.1 Part 4.2

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3

#thefreakinthepenthouse #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve and eddie #steve harrington fanart #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington whump #steve x eddie

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randy-jester · 1 year

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So this is a niche idea that probably only appeals to me but I can't get it out of my head so I'm sharing it with all of you. AU where Gold (from the Pokémon: Lost Silver creepypasta) gets adopted by the Haunted Mansion crew

Long post under the cut

Quick disclaimer: I have not played the Hypno's Lullaby FNF mod yet and I have not watched a full playthrough of it yet (I have seen parts here and there though). I've just been listening to the Monochrome song on loop for 4 straight days (it's a banger btw, especially the Perish mix) and fell straight back into my old Creepypasta phase. My entire perception of Gold's personality comes from what I've seen of the FNF mod, read about on TvTropes, and fanon (I did read the original creepypasta story that he's from, but that honestly gives nothing to work with). This is to say, I apologize in advance if I absolutely butcher Gold's canon personality. I am just very fond of the perception of his character I have in my head.

Anyway! The most prominent trait I interpret of Gold from what I've seen of him so far is that he is DEAD. And SAD. And SAD about being DEAD.

And Disney's Haunted Mansion is filled with dead people who are not necessarily as distraught about their predicament.

I imagine Gold (and the many, many Unown inhabiting his corpse) somehow get isekai-ed out of his game and into one of the Disney Parks. He's floating down the sidewalk feeling very sad indeed, groaning "N O M O R E" every so often.

Ghost Host looks outside and sees this lost soul and his companions just floating about. Hosty, not being one to just leave a soul out in the open, decides to take him in.

The Hatbox Ghost and Emily (Beating Heart Bride) adopt him immediately! Gold is like the son they never had. Hatty is absolutely delighted when he learns Gold can detach his head from his body.

Communicating with Gold is difficult at first, seeing as Gold doesn't speak much. But after some time, the other ghosts eventually learn to read the Unown language.

In particular, Gold and Gus (the prisoner hitchhiker) would have a special bond over both being non-speakers (I headcanon Gus as mute)

This isn't to say I don't think Gold has the ability to talk. I think he could, he just prefers not to. More often than not, he only groans maybe 1-3 words at a time. Otherwise, the unown just spell things out for him.

Sally Slater (the tightrope girl) and Victor Geist (the Organist) go out for ice cream once a week. After they get to know Gold, it becomes a regular thing for them to invite him on their outings. They grab a wheelchair for him (so that he doesn't have to use extra energy floating around) and wheel him out of the mansion to grab some Dole Whip.

Gold doesn't talk much. So during these outings, he prefers to just sit and enjoy his ice cream while listening to Sally and Victor bicker and gossip. Even though he never says it, he enjoys their company.

The hitchhiking ghosts are the ones to take Gold on his first tour of the park. Their preferred method is tying up Gold to those big Mickey balloons and dragging him from place to place

They take him on the fast-pace thrill rides first (think Space Mountain, Splash Mountain, Thunder Mountain, etc.) first because those are their favorites (though specifically more Ezra's favorites). They quickly find out that Gold does NOT like that. So Phineas suggests they take him on It's A Small World. Gold feels much better afterwards. :)

I headcanon Gold prefers the more calm rides. So think It's A Small World and the Storybook Land Canal Boats.

Oh, and he absolutely does NOT want to go on Matterhorn. Ever.

At the end of the hitchhiker's Disney park tour, they gather near the castle to watch the fireworks. Hatty and Emily join in too.

Gold is now surrounded by many more friends, who are all dead just like he is. But perhaps being dead doesn't have to be so bad after all.

#haunted mansion #the haunted mansion #lost silver #fnf lullaby #gold lost silver #hatbox ghost #beating heart bride #herr victor geist #sally slater #hitchhiking ghosts #headcanons #jesters ramblings #feel like this appeals to literally only me but whatever #i am cringe but i am free #everyone is happy #especially gold because he deserves it

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jeeperso · 2 years

Text

D&D Quotes Without Context

Ravenloft edition, Fundertainment Land Arc, part 4

You are presently standing in the line for the Grinder, it being the most popular attraction at the park, its a giant roller coaster with an aesthetic like a slaughter house. “Do they have haggis?” "Oh...a roller coaster like that. This will be fun.” “You still think that? Here?” "You couldn't tell I'm freaking out a bit by my gritting my teeth?” “No, we’re in a non-visual medium.” "Oh good, we're making waves! They said just before the oncoming tsunami…" "As long as it isn't a sludge tsunami…" “So, we standing here or you want me to clear out the line?” "It would probably be best if we follow the rules. After all these hooks may not be entirely for show.” "Oh god, this ride goes closest to the lab, he is abducting people to experiment on!” "We've humiliated the lords by surviving this long. We are now the star attraction.” As you get strapped in, the worker in a butchers outfit looks at you with dead eyes. "You're all gonna die.” Poom: "So what else is new?” Eventually you turn a corner and go into a tunnel, it’s pitch black, with the sound of machinery and screaming around you. Edmund: “Who would willingly subject themselves to this!?” Jonni: “Kids about to get Isekei-ed?” Gorbash: “WEEEEEEEEEEE!” Jonni limps down the corridor with Nyx attached to her leg. When you reach the double doors and push them open, the first thing that hits your nose is the smell, the stench of death in decay. Poom: "I'm getting flashbacks to Tuesdays.” [monster pic] Gorbash: "OH NOT YOU FUCKS AGAIN!” Edmund: “I don’t recognize that at all.” Jonni: “You were naked in another man’s castle.” Nyarlathotep: "Ah, the grindhouse riff-raff.” Gorbash: “I think this is the one whose ass Vesh was kicking before we went into their terrible meat and surgery dimension.” “Eddie! Tetanus booster!” "Be at peace, for I am the Angel TriVia, of where the three roads meet.” “I’m gonna make him dead! Or disassembled! Depending on how he identifies!” “MARSHAL, YOU HAVE FINALLY COME HOME TO PAPA.” Jonni looks over to Marshall. “Kumquat?” Poom: "Which one is Kumquat?” "My father was Vine ‘Brickface’ Samuels, Sheriff of Last Light.” "YOUR FATHER VAS A CALCULATOR AND YOUR MOTHER WAS A COIN OPERATED MECHANICAL BULL.” Gorbash: “...Well i didn't need that mental image.” "WHY MUST YOU BE SO DIFFICULT. All I want you to do is entertain people. AND THEN KILL THEM.” Jonni: “Jeebus K Muffinlips, can I PLEASE turn this guy inside out?” "I AM THE ONE WHO DOES THE DISEMBOWLING HERE YOU INFLAMMABLE THOT.” Jonni: “BECAUSE I DON’T DO KNIFE WORK! I’M JUST GONNA MAGIC IT SO YOUR INSIDES ARE YOUR OUTSIDES.” Gorbash: “...I don't think I've seen Marshal fuck-word angry. This is going to be quite the reckoning.” Okay for that one, when yo u guys start down the service tunnels, you see some....thing begin to emerge from the shadows, something made of bone and tar and bits of popcorn, but then it see's Marshal, see's what mood he is in, and it very quietly backs up and vanishes back into the darkness. Poom: "One of the smartest creatures we've encountered.” Gorbash: “Occasionally even the horrors of the deep are smart enough to realize when they don't want a piece of something.” Eventually you come to a three way fork in the road. Angel TriVia: <"MY time has come.”> "They had a sadistic demon child help them design this place, didn't they?” "Hello Molly.” “Apparently, yes.” Jonni pushes Edmund in front. "ACK! Hey! What the heck Jonni!?” “Don’t complain, you get to keep your pants this time.” "Someone else want to try their luck?” Poom steps forward. Edmund: "I trust Poom.” Poom: [rolls a 1] Edmund: “She's the kind of person who can —" Jonni: “I’ve never seen someone lose tic tac toe to themselves…” Edmund: "I think she was trying to play Candyland…" Azathoth: "Zzzzzzzhmp? What was that? I think I fell asleep.” Nyx: ”Darn it, Az, you were supposed to be giving Poom hints on how to win the game, not sleeping.” GM OOC: Which is why I'm thinking of a skill to use. OOC: Religion's +12 GM OOC: What are you going to do, appeal to the Tic Tac Toe gods? Poom: "Sorry about that: I didn't know everyone else played without real toes.” GM: Poom you remember yelling "KING" ME" and then everything went blank. “MIND CRUSH!” Poom: "I think that's my thing.” "You were a very challenging opponent." Edmund said with true admiration at a Tic Tac Toe connoisseur. "WHAT IS IT ABOUT THIS PLACE AND MEAT!?” “I thought the Meat Man was a gnome?” "And THAT's why my cooking is a curse.” Gorbash: “Fuck this place.” Poom: "That's what we're doing.” You are all now in a cheerfully decorated room with painted murals on the wall, there is a wooden table with six small paper boxes and crowns on it, and a sign hung overhead that says intermission. Jonni: “Bigbooty?” Nyx: ”I am not dressing up for a birthday party, I have enough nightmares about a few of mine gone wrong as it is.” Marshal: "You only had one a year…be grateful.” Edmund gestures to TriVia, who curiously goes to inspect one of the boxes. TriVia: "It contains a small sandwich, a pouch of fried potato wedges, three apple slices, a small carton of milk, and a toy.” Edmund: "Huh. Apple slices. Really?” It’s a normal happy meal. Perfectly mundane. OOC: So rancid dog food. Gorbash proceeds to demolish the contents of one of the boxes. “It's standard fare for this place. So if you don't want yours I'll take it.” Poom: "I've survived this long by not eating strange food. Help yourself.” Gorbash: “Funny enough, I've survived BY eating strange food. Don't mind if I do.” Edmund: ”We're going to face an evil Marshal aren’t we? One rebuilt in the bowels of Fundertainment but bereft of any soul or spirit…..Lahshram." Poom: "Bless you.” Edmund: "Thank you." Wiping his nose with a napkin from the box. Filling the entire doorway are a giant sideways facing pair of teeth. Marshal pulls out his maul, and begins a rhythmic chant as he takes practice swings. ”I. Make. Holes. In teeth.” "Be ready for anything. Danzi might be a cryogenically preserved head in the vaults before us.” "There is no way I’m ready for anything this place can throw at us.” OOC: Basically, Gunder is corpo Walt Disney, Danzi is insane futurist Disney. "They'll need proper burial.” “I mean, around here I think that’s trash pick up on Tuesday. They probably deserve better’n that.” Jonni: “Five gold says he put his brain in a Marsh-bot.” Gorbash: “I don't think that's big enough for his ego.”

#dungeons and dragons #dnd 5e #quotes without context #ravenloft

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blogplot · 7 days

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Anne Clark would be Nowhere without David Harrow

My writings regarding my work with Anne Clark and how it all went pear shape, please see:

https://substack.com/@petrock1 ~~~ or ~~~ WordPress starting with “When you're Anne Clark ...”

There are many other platforms I wrote the same to not have all the eggs in one basket.

With writing these and posting online, people comment or contact me, especially Germans who are Clark's main audience since 40 years. She never fully learnt German though, which seems to be normal for British or American people, no effort made and being used to everyone speaking English.

Some of the people who comment or contact me say they are just really only into the music, and not the texts. That explains for sure why no-one saw the mistakes of Anne's book “Notes Taken Traces Left”.

But it also shows that it's really due to David Harrow who wrote and produced many of the early hits, like two of many people's favourites, “Sleeper in Metropolis” and “Our Darkness”.

David Harrow on Daily Bandcamp interview.

If you only take Anne Clark's spoken word, she wouldn't have gone anywhere far with it. It's the music that grabbed the poetry and thrust it into people's ear drums.

I wasn't keen on Anne's music/spoken word at first and had to “smoke” it into my ear, which I explain in “When you're Anne Clark ...”

And for some reason, Anne never mentions David Harrow compared to mentioning Charlie Morgan mainly, who sadly died early in his life and career.

Only Anne and David know why he seems forgotten, and he humbly mentioned on Facebook that it's nice his work is still played, after someone posted “Sleeper...” And even now, people still discover it for the first time, which is weird. But it might be the usual management issues who can't be bothered doing a proper job of promoting the artist they manage. Looking at Jeff Aug.

UPDATE: This particular post of "Sleeper ..." with all the comments has disappeared now after my interaction with David Harrow. That's why I keep receipts. This is how it works when people, be it Anne Clark & Co or collaborators or fans don't want free speech. I've seen accounts with 100K followers disappear for campaigning about something legit, no hate speech, no call for violence etc. It's arbitrary and cowardly. Whoever has either more followings or a stronger voice gets smaller accounts shut down and posts deleted. But keep speaking out, it's just a normal day in the office when it comes to social media platforms. EXPECT to get shut down. Keep speaking/writing etc.

I wouldn't be surprised if it was Harrow who got it shut down to distance himself. Often in reality people then communicate in the bckground or meet up to brainstorm how to shut accounts down. Part of the public posts in my conversation with Harrow. My response regarding "wasting time" has to do with writing things off ones system to move on, and the responsibility artists have. Responsibility that I also mean in how careless Anne Clark is with her work and with people who work(ed) on her stuff.

... cutting it short ...

Sorry David Harrow, Anne Clark, colleagues, fans, friends etc. you can all dismiss me as a lunatic or bitter or whatever in your dictionary of definitions for me. You and Anne will meet up very soon and laugh about what I do, that's your prerogative. I know who I am and what I've survived and what I've been through. And I am not scared or worried about what people think. So, you guys stay in your bubble, and I continue to do what I want to do. I spread out my writings far and wide and don't keep all the eggs in one basket. Just please spare me of cowardliness. That'll be all.

But, back to Anne Clark, it's also an Anne Clark thing to not care properly, parallel to not looking after her book of mistakes and letting others butcher it.

. She was also followed around on and off for 10 years by a documentary maker who after 10 years came up with only 1 hour 20 minutes of documentary film. And Anne settled for that. It's currently (as in September 2024) at 6.5 out of 10 on IMDb.

If she was young, I'd say she has a lot of talent, the musicians produce incredible sounds, and she has a lot to go for. But she is in a comfortable bubble, mainly tours and works in Germany, then Europe for decades, playing the same venues year after year after year. And that's okay. Why exhaust yourself with bigger venues or further continents?

I now suggested to Clark to collaborate with Harrow again and even have him on stage. The fans would flip out. But Anne Clark ghosts people, once she either doesn't need them anymore, or they become inconvenient, or she finds someone more attractive or useful to her. Maybe that's what also happened to Harrow. And that was the last time I gave Anne suggestions, except, she needs a new proper manager.

But Anne Clark without David Harrow just wouldn't exist in the music scene. Harrow created these unique electronic sounds that distinguish Anne Clark from the rest of the early electronic acts. And I simply don't understand why he's never mentioned, unless he did something unforgivable.

But then, with Anne, many people do “unforgivable” things that gets them on the ghosting list or if you are lucky, she'll call the police on you. That's punk!

Just make sure you don't lose anyone close to you that might traumatise you.

A more recent track by David Harrow:

youtube

Links to David Harrow's work.

#anneclark #anne clark #sleeper in metropolis #sleeperinmetropolis #our darkness #ourdarkness #David Harrow #DavidHarrow #newwave #newwave80s #newwave1980s #Youtube

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coreytasticc · 2 years

Note

Top 5 Full metal alchemist moments.

This answer comes with the caveat that I haven't watched or read Fullmetal Alchemist in a year or so and these are what have stuck with me most. Please mentally add a ", from what I remember, " before any claim or assertion I make about the plot of Fullmetal Alchemist

Honourable Mention: Any page with Barry the Chopper.

Barry is here because I love him, when he first shows up it's a joke. He's there for a funny moment and for Al to realise that there are other soulbonded armours and also to be a bastard and facilitate a brother fight. But when he returns, even if only for a few chapters, absolutely out of the blue, he's got some of the best moment and stoked some of the funniest discussion on a server i left a long time ago. Ol' Butcher Barry, Bastard, murderer, my friend.

5. The coup chapters

While -sadly, to my military and politcs obsessed self- the majority of the planning and organisation of the coup against Bradley was glossed over in manga-hood, the tension in the lead-up and the complexity of it's execution, handled and communicated so elegantly and clearly by Arakawa -even with a mostly-separate arc going on elsewhere- from the hushed chatter in the leadup to the training exercises, through the train bombing and assault and his return, and GOD there's so much going on and the pace is perfect and the action is intense in the manga and so fluid in Brotherhood. and...

4. My friend and soulmate, Greed

Abusing the definition of "moment" for this one. Greed. Introduced the same way you would a monster of the week, his first iteration is a very stock, lovable bastard, with a cool power, and being introduced relatively early, also another excuse to show off how smart Ed is and his on-the-fly alchemy fighting contrasted with Al's affable compassion, The Greed of Dublith is a bit character.

Though, after his capture by Wrath, reabsorption by Father, and eventually moving in with Ling, he's given a brand new chance to flourish as a characters, simultaneously developing Ling but that's a separate ask, and over the course of the whole story, he comes to see through his own facade and even trust the soul of the body he's borrowing. His whole arc is a commentary on so many deeply human experiences, conveyed through an immortal* perspective, I don't have to the time to say all the things I want to about Greed. His final line is by far my favourite Back my patreon and I'll make 11 hour essay on him, eat my ass quinty

3. The Hohenheim and Dwarf in Xerxes chapters

Xerxes is, to me, by far the most interesting piece of lore in Fullmetal Alchemist, the few times it's mentioned as well as when Ed actually travels there, it's only eluded to as a long-dead civilisation that was utterly wiped out. -Brief aside, the wiki says Xerxes was destroyed in 1510, but it always looked like a Bronze age society. Weird.- So when we finally get to go there, no less in the shoes of Hohenheim, Slave #23, experience it as a living society, and the world that Hohenheim is a product of, and, of course, the tragedy that started this whole plot. Again, I haven't read or watched it in over a year, but when we got to explore Xerxes I was absolutely floored and pored over every page, however sadly quickly it was over.

2. "You darling little idiots, it's okay to hurt."

This one is here solely because of how hard it hit me. I heard these words in the context of having to confront trauma, stop laughing it off and actually process it. That got to me. I hold to this day that if I'd watched Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood instead of JoJo's at age 15, I would've saved myself a lot of time with processing the emotions I was stuck with. By the time I was 19, and got around to it, I was mostly through those emotions, that line resonated with a person I wasn't anymore. Arakawa, a fully grown experienced adult, understanding and sympathising with a child that doesn't know how to work through what they're feeling. God.

1. The Ishval chapters

The Ishval chapters might actually be the best series of chapters I have ever read in a manga; as I went through them, I truly felt sick, deeply, deeply, sick. In the manga, every bit is on full display, and it was very sadly cut down for ratings in Brotherhood, but it's an absolutely vicious display in the manga. I don't have the proper words to express it, that's why Arakawa drew it. It's viscerally disgusting and impacting and it needs to be experienced.

There! At long last! My top five six moments in story components of Fullmetal Alchemist.

Took a while, but I liked answering it. Love u Cameron 💝💝💝

#BlueGrimm #Judas Rising #now that's a reference no one's gonna get

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gauntconotations · 3 years

Text

liking goth-inspired thinnnpooo a lot rn

#if you see me butchering ED words #its cause i am #tmblr cant find me now #pr0 ed #anorekic #annarexx #prooana #thinnspi #getting thinner #skinysp0

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abbatoirablaze · 2 years

Text

The Basement At Vought

Word Count: 577

Warnings: none

“She’s not going to wake up this year, I’m telling you.”

“Shut up, deep,” Homelander growled, looking into the pool that housed the first hero who had been in stasis since she showed up on Earth, “I didn’t ask you. Or any of your little fucking sea creatures for that matter. Get them the hell out of her pool.”

“They wanted a bigger place to swim,” he frowned, “and anyways…she feeds off of the algae. I think-“

“No one cares what you think,” Homelander hissed, turning to the superhero he wished he hadn’t brought back, “no one cares what you or your weird little wife think. Now get them the hell out before I vaporize them.”

“Homelander is right, deep,” Mr. Edgar announced, the door clicking shut softly behind him, “you need to make sure that her stasis pool is clear. If this is the year she wakes up, I don’t want her having to deal with your little pets.”

“They aren’t pets, Mr. Ed-“

“I don’t care!” The head claimed, glaring at the young hero as he cut him off, “Get them out. And now! Or I’ll let Homelander zap them all.”

Deep mumbled, but gathered up his friends regardless, transferring them back to his own pool which had a tunnel travelling under the city so that they could easily reach the bay. Homelander gave a heavy sigh as he stared at the woman. She was protected by an almost egg-shaped barrier that was hard to the touch. But he could see through it, and knew that the supe had to be just as important as he was.

Hell, she had shown up on Earth at the beginning of the first world war, and immediately went into stasis in her little protective dome. Over the years, scientists tried to experiment on her, but failed. And anything that tried to harm her, instantly disintegrated. Homelander knew from years of studying her that she was the forefather of all modern day supes.

Stormfront.

Soldier Boy.

Himself.

All of their powers came from her.

And while the generations of scientists had worked on her, and began to separate out that her genetics were far superior to theirs, they were never able to give all of her powers to another supe. Only able to fray out the sequencing enough that humans could accept it and develop their own powers.

“She needs to wake up!” Homelander said firmly, looking at her, “she needs to help me solve this. To put those stupid men like Billy Butcher and Hugh Campbell in the ground once in for all.”

“You need to give her time, Homelander. You don’t know what she’s waiting for.”

“How are you okay with this?” He growled, looking back to Mr. Edgar, “why has no one attempted to get her out?”

“They’ve all tried,” he sighed, leaning against the wall, “your powers derive from her, Homelander. None of you can hurt her.”

“Well I wish that she would just wake up!” he growled, kicking the side of the large tank.

And it was in that moment where her eyes opened. A bright blue flash before they turned a burning white. Homelander’s frown turned into a wicked grin as they didn’t seem to notice him. The color faded and her eyes panned across the scene before her. She was surveying her surroundings.

Until their eyes met.

And Homelander’s breath caught in his throat

What on earth did he just wish for?

#the boys tv #the boys #amazon tv #amazon prime tv #homelander #the deep #stan edgar #superhero

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sorrydearie · 2 years

Note

I'll follow my inner Boyle and ask for the most intimate thing you can do to a lover with your fingers 🥺

4. Having their hair washed by the other

“Dios, Martín. Don’t you trust me?”

Andrés was this close to giving up. He was fighting the urge to storm off like a spurned lover and let Martín deal with this mess himself.

After all, it wasn’t his fault Martín had broken his arm. He hadn’t picked a fight with Martín in some seedy bar or other, he hadn’t grabbed his shoulder and flung him against the wall. He hadn’t turned him into an invalid who was incapable of completing even the simplest of chores – such as washing his hair.

Andrés wasn’t obligated to stick around. He was doing this out of the goodness of his heart. Martín should be grateful that he was willing to sacrifice his time, cutting his honeymoon short so he could return to Martín’s side and nurse him back to health, like a good friend. Like his only friend.

Martín shifted on his feet.

His eyes darted around the room as though he was looking for a way out – some kind of distraction tucked away between bottles of cologne and shaving cream.

“It’s not about trust,” Martín mumbled, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s just… washing another guy’s hair, that’s… fucking weird.”

Ah, so that was it.

After years of friendship, Andrés knew Martín like the back of his hand. He knew about his mood swings, about his bad habits; even the darkest, most haunted recesses of his mind felt like a second home to Andrés.

Which was how he knew that when Martín said weird, what he actually meant was intimate.

Martín was allergic to any forms of intimacy.

Andrés’s lips twitched into a grin. Because Martín had never shied away from his touch. He was free to approach Martín however he liked – he could wrap an arm around his waist, press a kiss to his cheek, or rest his hand in the crook of his elbow when they walked side-by-side, step-by-step.

Andrés was the exception.

“My, Martín. You act like I’m asking you to strip and spread your legs for me,” he joked. “I’m simply trying to help you. I’m your friend, no?”

Something dark and greedy flickered across Martín’s face, but it was gone in an instant. He huffed out a resigned sigh, the very picture of a cornered animal whose choice lay between a hunter’s snare and a butcher’s knife.

“Fine,” Martín said – an angry puff of air. “You may wash my hair. But don’t make it weird. I’m not one of your women, I don’t want any of that rose-scented shit. And I’m not getting naked! If you want to see the goods, you have to buy me a drink first.”

Andrés may have won the battle, but at what cost.

There were little things in life he disliked as much as a brooding Martín. It was… straining.

Especially when Martín made sure to let him know that he disagreed with what they were about to do – and not just with words. He glowered as he climbed into the bathtub (his balance thrown off by his cast), and grumbled as he sat down on the little stool inside.

He scowled when Andrés rolled up his sleeves, and hmph-ed when he turned on the water to wait-wait-wait until the temperature was perfect.

“This is fucking stupid,” Martín complained. His cheeks were stained red – probably from the hot shower fumes, Andrés thought. “I should just get a buzz cut— ah! Hijo de puta!”

“You’re not shaving your head,” Andrés said. His tone left no room for arguments. Still, he yanked at a handful of Martín’s hair – again – for good measure. To make sure that Martín knew his place.

Martín mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like you’re not my fucking boyfriend, but another sharp tug had him quiet and docile.

Come to think of it… He reminded Andrés of a stray cat Sergio had once brought home when they were young. The beast had nearly scratched Andrés’s face off when he’d tried to bathe it.

Thankfully Martín had slightly better manners than a flea ridden tomcat.

Andrés pressed his palm against Martín’s forehead, silently coaxing him into tilting back his head. Martín complied without a fuss; his eyes fell shut as the jet of warm water washed over the crown of his head, so vulnerable, so trusting.

Andrés made sure to keep his touch gentle. He was willing himself to be kind and patient – to prove to Martín that there was nothing weird about this. After all, they touched each other all the time. They dressed each other’s wounds, they shared drinks and meals. Sometimes even a bed.

There was nothing wrong with a bit of intimacy between good friends.

Beneath him, Martín had gone still.

Andrés might have thought he’d stopped breathing if it weren’t for the slow rise and fall of his chest. His shirt had gotten slightly wet – despite Andrés’s best efforts to keep it clean and dry. It was sticking to Martín’s skin now, so tight that Andrés could see the outline of his nipples through the fabric…

He dragged his eyes back up.

To Martín’s hair. The reason they were here, doing this.

He turned off the water and picked up the bottle of shampoo nestled away in the tub’s cranny – one of those two-in-one abominations that smelled like male sweat and machine oil. Andrés would have to replace it with something more refined, something that’d suit Martín better. A fresh scent, perhaps. White tea and clover.

Andrés poured the shampoo onto his palm, rubbing it between his hands before bringing them up to Martín’s hair. He slowly massaged it in, nails scratching lightly against Martín’s scalp. He couldn’t help but marvel at how soft Martín’s hair was, how it shone as brightly as black scapolites.

It was even softer at the nape of his neck; Andrés traced the little V of hair with the tip of his finger. Martín shivered, and a soft little sound filled the air – something caught between a dreamy gasp and a moan. An intimate sound.

If he’d thought that Martín looked vulnerable before, it was nothing compared to this.

His eyes were still closed, his lips slightly parted. There was a rosy-red flush to his cheeks, and his features were slack, save for a small crease between his brows. He looked like he was experiencing this – softness, intimacy, love – for the first time.

Andrés swallowed, hard. Something inside his chest expanded, squeezing forcefully against his heart as the moment dragged on and on and on… Time seemed to stand still. The world had narrowed to this moment, this bathroom, this touch, and it was too much all of a sudden – too much and yet not nearly enough.

He slowly disentangled his fingers from Martín’s hair. Then he reached for a towel, wiped his hands clean, and got up.

Martín’s eyes fluttered open, a dazed blue.

“What… Where are you going?”

His voice was hoarse, like he had just woken up from a pleasant dream, and Andrés couldn’t do this. He couldn’t, shouldn’t. Wouldn’t. He threw the damp towel into the sink, and headed for the door.

“I’m meeting Hélène for dinner tonight, I’m already running late,” he said; the lie came easy. “You’ll have to manage the rest on your own.”

He didn’t dare look back.

It was only when he’d stepped out of Martín’s flat – hands tingling, his nose filled with the scent of Martín’s damned shampoo – that he could admit it to himself.

Martín had been right.

Washing another man’s hair was too intimate by far.

#berlermo #la casa de papel #berlin x palermo #ficlets #thank you for the prompt Shot Gun #have some bi panic

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rivalsforlife · 3 years

Text

Phoenix Wright: The Truth Reborn: Oh No We’re Doing This Again

hi.

Nearly two months ago, I wrote an essay summarizing and making very wild conclusions about the second Takarazuka Musical. I did this about two and a half years after watching the first Takarazuka musical. As such I did not have the full context for many things from the musical and was relying mostly on my memory, which blocked many things from this musical for my own safety. However, just this week, I decided to rewatch it, because I enjoy tormenting myself. I said I wouldn’t write anything on it. Here I am writing something on it.

Here’s the youtube thumbnail so that you know what you’re getting yourself into. And here, of course, is the link. This is the HD version which may be slightly more pleasant to watch. Maybe.

It was not quite as cringe in a funny way as the second musical to me, and therefore this essay may be less funny, but I feel like I’m doing a disservice to people by providing a summary of the second musical while completely neglecting the first. Quite possibly doing this is even more of a disservice. I just eagerly await the day that the third musical is translated because *that* will be the day that I finally shuffle off this mortal coil. Either way, I want to write this stuff down so that I never have to watch the musical again out of curiosity.

The following essay will contain major spoilers for both the first and second Phoenix Wright Takarazuka musicals, as I will be using many points from this musical to argue my thesis of the second musical. ... like you were going to watch them anyways.

This one broke 8k. I’m dead inside.

Introducing The Director

Again another disclaimer that I don’t have anything against the actresses or the theatre troupe. I DO have something against Suzuki Kei, who I recently learned is the writer and director of all three of the Ace Attorney Takarazuka musicals, and is quite possibly my mortal nemesis.

This man is the one who brought this monstrosity into the world.

This man, allegedly, cleared the first four ace attorney games *seven times* before sitting down to write these musicals. He played these goddamn games seven times and did not take in a single word. The man clicked through them mindlessly while watching a badly written legal romance drama in the background and got them completely confused. I genuinely have no idea how this man could have played these games more times than even me and yet managed to get so many characters (MAYA!!!!) completely and utterly wrong. This haunts me every day, truly.

This man played Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Justice for All, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Trials and Tribulations, and Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney seven times. SEVEN TIMES EACH!! and was told to create a musical based on the series. He played these games seven times each and you know what he said?? You know what he said?? “This sucks, I’m getting rid of all of Phoenix’s backstory, butchering half the characters, and writing Phoenix/Lana fanfiction, but also rewriting all of Lana’s backstory so that she was Phoenix’s childhood friend, and you know what, I’m changing her name for good measure.”

I think this man played the games seven times each and then hated it so much and was so sick of it he tried to write something that destroyed as much of the series as possible while still being vaguely recognizable. And then somehow it became a massive hit because people like me see this and go “what the actual hell” and watch it, or people who haven’t played the games see this and go “wow what a great musical!” and then he wrote TWO MORE, destroying EVEN MORE every time in his wake, until finally, finally, he stopped after making Edgeworth straight and time traveling into the past to face off against a corrupt Gregory. I guess that was the last straw.

I have to issue a disclaimer here that for legal reasons this is a joke. I don’t actually hate this man and would not punch him in the face if I met him because that would be rude, and he is entitled to his wrong interpretation of the games. I don’t know what his thought process was. But allegedly he did play the games seven times according to the wiki. This whole essay here is satire and not slander and I don’t want to offend this guy if he somehow stumbles across my nonsense tumblr post. At the same time: Suzuki Kei blink twice if you need help.

Anyways half the reason that I’m making this essay is because I want to share my fake ao3 page for this musical. The other half will become apparent later.

Sorry if that’s illegible because of tumblr quality it’s not really important. All you really need to know is that it’s a fake ao3 screenshot for the musical. Also in the author’s note I said he played the games four times but it was actually seven I just remembered wrong because I didn’t want to believe it.

at this point you may be like “Grace shut up and get to the actual musical” and okay, fine, let’s start this nonsense. Also note that I may be referencing things from my essay on the second musical very frequently; I’m not going to force you to go read that though because the fact that you’re reading this is enough of a torment already.

The Musical Begins

Unlike the second musical, this one opens with some narration from Phoenix.

Transcript:

Phoenix: I’m reviewing a particular case at the moment. To me, this case... is one I’ll never forget.

Immediately I think this is important because it establishes that this whole musical takes place in a flashback that Phoenix is reflecting on. Why is this important? Because we know, by the time of the second musical which takes place three years later, Leona is dead.

Knowing that Leona is inherently doomed to die of her Sad Woman Disease paints this whole musical in a different light. It’s not Phoenix reflecting on how he got back together with his lover; it’s Phoenix dwelling on their past together, and the opportunities they had, before her life was so cruelly and inexplicably taken away. We don’t know if Phoenix’s reminiscing takes place before or after Leona’s death... but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was after.

Phoenix, still in the present, starts to sing. “A wave appears on the horizon like a mirage, it trembles, then vanishes. Your voice, carried upon the waves, fades upon the shore, erasing the splendor of the past.”

This line actually shows up in the second musical, sung by Lucia about her imprisoned fiance quite possibly. It’s kind of hard to tell what the meaning of these songs even are. They’re too abstract for me I think. But this line appears very frequently in the first musical when Phoenix is thinking about Leona.

Then we enter the flashback time.

Phoenix inexplicably yells at a newspaper saleswoman. This is not relevant to anything whatsoever. Then Larry barges in to the office, looking for Maya. Phoenix describes him as “A real trouble maker, but you just can’t hate the guy”, the latter part of which I think many people would disagree with.

Well, afterwards, Maya comes in. Phoenix describes her like this while making exaggerated “can you believe this shit” gestures.

Transcript:

Phoenix: She’s as ditzy as they come. Oh, and about the outfit... Apparently she comes from a family of spirit mediums. Try not to make fun of her, okay?

Suzuki Kei personally has it out for Maya and I can never forgive him for it. Maya in these musicals is here for pure comedic relief but it’s not even comedic because I just get so angry. How can you play the trilogy seven times and think this about her?? The girl who figured out DL-6?? The girl who told Phoenix to sacrifice her life in order to find the truth?? The girl who put on a brave smile in order to try and cheer up her younger cousin even after she saw her own mother murdered right in front of her eyes?? That Maya Fey?? Ditzy as they come??????

Ugh. Moving on.

Maya and Larry run off, leaving Phoenix to watch the American Broadcast.

Important things to note here are the Godot mug, the little line up of what I think are the messed up little ace attorney figurines beneath the screen, and the fact that while this broadcast is supposedly from and to America the screen is actually not at all showing America. Like literally almost everywhere in the world except North and South America.

The broadcast says that Leona Clyde, age 24, was arrested for murdering the senator Robert Cole! Leona Clyde -- that’s Phoenix’s ex-girlfriend! He runs off to the detention center.

She is not happy to see him.

Leona: Mr. Wright... I’m not the woman you once knew.

Let’s Play A Matching Game

Sorry for the abundance of screenshots that are going to be throughout this section. Phoenix convinces Leona to let him defend her. Some of the conversation seems... familiar.

Leona: No one would defend someone who admits to killing a senator. I’m waiting for a court-appointed attorney.

Edgeworth: Every defense attorney I’ve talked to has turned me down.

Phoenix: In that case, let me defend you.

Game Phoenix: Let me defend you.

Leona: Don’t be ridiculous!

Edgeworth: Don’t be ridiculous.

Phoenix: I’ll never accept that you’re a murderer. Let me prove your innocence!

Game Phoenix: Huh? Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to prove that Miles Edgeworth is innocent.

Leona: I’ve already confessed my guilt.

Gumshoe: He confessed that he did it! In court!

Leona: It’s foolish to think you can win this case.

Edgeworth: My case is near hopeless, Wright.

Leona: (in response to phoenix offering to defend her) No you won’t! Don’t ever come here again.

Edgeworth: Look, just go away, and leave me alone!

Phoenix: You of all people should know. Once I decide to do something, I see it through to the end.

Edgeworth: Once you start on something, you always see it through, don’t you?

Leona: I never thought that you’d be representing me.

Phoenix: Ah, who could have guessed this day would come?

Edgeworth: Not me.

Phoenix: You believed in me. You saved me. And this time, I swear... I swear I’ll save you!

Game Phoenix: Edgeworth believed in me, and I believe in him. I’m the only one who knows the real Edgeworth. I’m the only one who can help him.

I could’ve done a few more, but tumblr is already threatening to murder my laptop.

So long story short, Phoenix manages to convince his lover to let him be the defense on the case. Then immediately after swearing to save Leona, he starts singing a song, which I’m not screencapping because this is enough:

“As long as there are people in this world, there’s only one path I will follow! As long as there is love in this world, there’s only one path I will believe in!”

Edgeworth sings this in the second musical after saying that he returned to California because of Phoenix. Phoenix sings it now after swearing to defend Leona. You draw your own conclusions.

And then we finally get the opening credits. Eleven minutes in.

Just Pretend This Is Narumitsu Fanfiction

Following the credits, we see a beautiful beach. Couples (exclusively heterosexual, of course,) dance and embrace in the background for some time, before revealing Phoenix and Leona, in the Even Further Past, before the LSATs or whatever the ace attorney universe’s excuse for law school exams are.

Phoenix establishes his absolute hatred of change, an important characterization moment.

Phoenix: The view here never changes, huh?

Phoenix reminisces on when they were kids. Leona’s parents were both lawyers (they’re both lawyers) and sometimes they would be like lawyers with her when she was a kid. This inspired her to also become a lawyer after their tragic death of Sickness. They never specify what the sickness is that caused two people who must be relatively young to die while Leona was in her early twenties at the latest. It may be whatever sickness claimed Leona’s life later. Sad Woman Disease. (Sad Man Disease for her father, I guess?)

Phoenix also talks about why he’s becoming a lawyer.

Phoenix: Watching you chase your dream inspired me to become a lawyer too.

So, it’s not “my childhood friend looked sad in a newspaper” because I guess that makes no sense or is too gay or something. But this is another important piece of Phoenix characterization. His entire life so far has been focused around Leona. They’ve been friends since they were kids, and then Phoenix decided to become a lawyer solely because Leona was becoming a lawyer. Not even to try and get back into contact with her after she moved away or anything; just because he’s so obsessed with her that he wants to have the same career as her, then they can run a Mom & Pop Law Firm or something, years in the future, after years of happy marriage and a few children or like whatever the hell.

Well, there’s a few steps they’ll need to get to that. At this point Phoenix still hasn’t confessed his feelings for Leona. He does so here, on this beach.

Leona tries to protest.

Leona: But I’m pushy, selfish, and only care about my goals... You’d get fed up with me.

Phoenix: That’s what I’ve always admired about you. That’s who I’ve been chasing all these years. That’s the only person... I love.

Sooo, Phoenix, your type is pushy selfish people who only care about their goals...? In the first, older lower-quality video translation it was “only care about my work”, too. Hm. Things to think about.

They sing a little duet together. Then we go back to present-day of what’s technically still a flashback. Whatever. Murder is happening.

Back To The Murder

So some plot things to establish: Leona is the legal counsel of Governor Miller, who is running for president in the AMERICAN PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION. After the flashback so that Phoenix has some time to change clothes, they show an interview of him talking about the murder.

Governor Miller: I vow to forge a peaceful country with my own two hands, and to prepare myself for whatever may lie ahead.

Reporters: Through thick and thin, he’s a friend of the people!

The Takarazuka musicals are not very good at hiding their killers.

Phoenix: Oh yeah... It’s almost time for the presidential election, isn’t it?

NEVER FORGET, WRIGHT. THIS IS AMERICA. LAND OF THE FREE! god what even was that line.

Anyways, we meet Gumshoe, who is incompetent once again. Maya runs around the crime scene, picks up the murder weapon, puts her fingerprints all over everything, moves things around, all while Phoenix is like “lol get a load of the world’s stupidest girl” or whatever. But who cares about that.

It’s time to get to the only valid part of this musical.

Edgeworth’s Gay Little Villain Solo

You may have seen this one before.

Edgeworth arrives, but not really. It’s like Phoenix heard Edgeworth was prosecuting and immediately entered a dream-like state, where Edgeworth is heralded by the sound of trumpets in Great Revival. He’s played by a different actress than in the other two musicals, since I think she retired in between the six or so months from this musical to the second. She still plays the role well, though, or as well as can be when you’re written in an ace attorney Takarazuka musical.

Shrouded in scarlet solitude... it’s Edgeworth.

Yes, those are six Edgeworths. Yes, they pick Phoenix up and carry him around and dance with him. Yes, it was probably not meant to be at all homoerotic.

He sings a song that’s called “My rule”. I only figured this out later, but it’s loosely based on a “catchphrase” of his in the Japanese version - in game 1 he says something along the lines of “All I can do is get every defendant declared guilty! So I make that my policy.” In DD in his dramatic anime introduction before the trial, he says “I intend to question the defendant with all I have. For that is a part of my creed.” “So I make that my policy” and “For that is a part of my creed”, to my understanding, are both translated from the same line, which I think is like, “sore ga watashi no ruru”, “That is my rule.” (If I’m wrong, please correct me.) In this song he sings about how he’ll reduce all criminals to ash and such, basically talks about his game 1 prosecuting strategy as “my rule”.

It’s very fun and probably if you want to only watch one number of this musical, it can be this one. It starts about 26:10 in the video I linked.

Once the musical number is done, Phoenix and Edgeworth stare at each other, and the background fades into the courtroom, so court begins. I feel like I should note that Phoenix has not picked up any evidence or talked to any witnesses in this investigation except for Gumshoe, since Maya just moved some things around and then Phoenix had some weird fever dream about Edgeworth which presumably took up the rest of the day.

The Trial, Day 1

Edgeworth: Consider it a prelude to the poignant Greek tragedy that’s about to unfold.

Maya: The real tragedy’s your pompous attitude!

Those are the only screenshots I took of this trial day. Here’s a summary, though:

The trial starts off with Leona confessing, Phoenix says “no I think she’s innocent”, and since ace attorney doesn’t care about the defendant’s wishes he’s allowed to proceed. For some reason Leona lets him do this without complaint.

Gumshoe is the first witness, he claims to have caught Leona red-handed at the scene of the crime, standing over the corpse. Phoenix tries to claim that since Gumshoe didn’t see Leona committing the crime, he didn’t actually catch her red-handed, to which Edgeworth responds “What do you think being caught red-handed means?”

Once Gumshoe is dismissed, Lotta takes the stand. She has a photo of the actual moment of the crime, where Leona is holding a knife in the air in front of the victim.

The Takarazuka musicals like to do this thing where the image is blurry and zoomed out, but then Phoenix will go “I’VE NOTICED A CONTRADICTION” and it zooms in really far as the resolution increases drastically in order to show you the contradiction that is impossible to spot for yourself, because they don’t want people figuring out the mystery in this musical based off of a video game where you have to solve the mystery yourself. Anyways Phoenix zooms in on this photo and sees that there’s blood on Leona’s hand, presumably before she stabbed the victim. How did it get there?

Edgeworth suggests the victim was stabbed multiple times. Phoenix says the autopsy report contradicts that. Edgeworth, uncharacteristically, does not update it to suit his argument.

Phoenix concludes that this photo is not showing the moment Leona stabbed the victim, but the moment Leona removed the knife! ... Which somehow casts doubt on her having been the one to stab the victim. Because as everyone knows, anyone wanting to kill someone would never remove a knife, it’s not like they’d bleed out faster that way, or anything.

And this whole contradiction is confusing because presumably if the victim was stabbed and then the knife was removed, they’d know that happened, because then the knife would not be found stuck in the victim’s body, since the victim was only stabbed once. So this shouldn’t be news to the prosecution that someone removed the knife after stabbing. But the investigation was headed by the most incompetent version of Gumshoe ever, so. sure. I guess no one knew.

That at least manages to extend the trial another day.

This Totally Has To Be Illegal

After the trial, Phoenix goes to talk to Governor Miller, aka Mr. Totally The Real Killer. Phoenix asks him why he decided to hire Leona as his legal advisor.

Basically, it’s because her parents were both renowned lawyers. Her father was a Chief Prosecutor, and her mother was a defense attorney. ... a prosecutor and a defense attorney couple... who does that remind us of...

Phoenix points out that just because her parents were good lawyers, it doesn’t mean she’d necessarily be one. Miller says that, sure, but she is actually really talented, and her law school marks were spectacular. Phoenix says “WHY WERE YOU LOOKING AT HER LAW SCHOOL MARKS”, like it’s somehow? suspicious? for a government official hiring legal counsel to look at their law school marks?

Apparently it IS suspicious because Governor Miller freaks out and asks if this is an interrogation. Before Phoenix can press much further, he gets a phone call, and leaves Phoenix alone in a big room.

So naturally Phoenix behaves like a fully grown adult running a law firm.

If all he did was sit in the chair, lift up a desk lamp, and poke his finger on a pen, that’s one thing. But then he leans over, OPENS THE GOVERNOR’S DESK DRAWER, and finds a knife that’s just sitting there casually. It looks like a butter knife. It’s not anything major. Maybe the dude just wanted to butter his toast?

I mean I know Phoenix will dig around in stuff whenever in the games, but he has no reason to suspect Governor Miller at all, much less dig through his drawer probably full of confidential government documents to lift up a knife that he thinks is suspicious. It’s not even covered in blood or anything?

Naturally Governor Miller’s assistant comes in just then, and Phoenix puts the knife. in his breast pocket.

bud. It may look like a butter knife, but putting knives up against your chest is not a great idea. Much less stealing a knife from a governor?

Well, in his panic, he accidentally knocks over a bunch of books on the desk. The governor’s assistant helps him pick them up, and they find a photo. Look a little familiar?

The photo has the assistant, the victim Robert Cole, Governor Miller, and the victim’s brother who died in an incident two years ago. He’s the “Neil Marshall” of this musical, and he died in what was essentially the SL-9 incident. Same general premise, except it occurred in the courthouse, and the names are different.

AND FINALLY WE REACH THE END OF ACT 1. They do a musical number here which is a weird sort of mashup of the main opening credits song, Edgeworth’s Villain Solo, and the love duet between Phoenix and Leona. They are all such different songs that it sounds a little weird.

ACT 2, FINALLY

The act begins on a sour note with Maya playing with the knife and showing off her characterization, which is one of the most infuriating Maya characterizations you’ll sometimes see around the fandom by people who don’t like Maya.

Maya: Let me whip up my special spirit channeler hamburgers!

sigh.

But then we’re saved (?) by the arrival of EDGEWORTH, who is presumably just here to chat. He asks Phoenix if he’s defending Leona in hopes of winning her back, then says to keep out of it, since it’s a very important case and he can’t understand the gravity of it.

Then Phoenix says this.

Phoenix: Would you be saying that if you were the one on trial? The defendant is in a dark prison, reaching out for hope... Can you imagine the loneliness and sorrow of being ostracized?

CAN YOU IMAGINE IT, EDGEWORTH? CAN YOU IMAGINE IF YOU WERE ON TRIAL AND I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO WOULD DEFEND YOU AND BELIEVED IN YOUR INNOCENCE??

Edgeworth responds to this by essentially rehashing his speech in Turnabout Sisters about how he needs to find all defendants guilty because he can’t guarantee their innocence and all that. Maya gets upset and leaves so that Phoenix and Edgeworth can talk about their childhood in private.

Phoenix once again complains about how people change since nine years old.

Phoenix then says that he has something Edgeworth doesn’t: the POWER TO BELIEVE! Then Maya comes in and tries to spike Edgeworth’s coffee, so he leaves.

The Class Trial

Phoenix explains a bit about Edgeworth and his backstory to Maya. Namely, the class trial. Phoenix was accused of stealing lunch money, Edgeworth stood up for him, but instead of Larry, Leona stood up for him. I guess Suzuki Kei thought “oh the class trial, if Leona stood up for him, it would be so romantic, because she’s a woman, and he’s a man”, or something like that.

Edgeworth wanted to become a Great Lawyer Like His Father! But then he turned cold as ice.

Phoenix: His father got too deeply involved in a case... and paid for it with his life. Edgeworth saw him murdered. He was never the same again. I bet he couldn’t forgive the criminal.

Yeah I bet he couldn’t ever forgive the person he thought killed his father all these years, Phoenix. I bet he really hates that person, Phoenix. I bet he has nightmares about that person killing his father or something, Phoenix.

Phoenix: He vanished, then returned without his mercy or compassion. He had become a monster. When he lost his father, he also lost the ability to believe in others.

So like... one of the most chilling things about this musical is that they never actually solve DL-6. This probably roughly takes place 15 years after DL-6, since they were about the same age when the class trial started, and at least Leona is 24 now. The next musical takes place three years from now, and in it, Edgeworth refers to von Karma as his mentor, implying he’s still around and doing things.

So, in addition to everything else going wrong with this musical, DL-6 still happens, but von Karma never frames Edgeworth for it fifteen years later. The statute of limitations runs out, and von Karma forever gets away with his crime. And Edgeworth has no idea.

What changes did they make to DL-6, though, you may ask? I’m desperate to know as well. In the third musical, which I’ve watched because I hate myself but am unable to fully understand because I don’t know much Japanese, there is a scene where Miles flashbacks to DL-6. It’s abstract, but he makes gun-throwing motions at Gregory, followed by a gunshot sound.

Therefore, in this musical’s internal canon, either Miles Edgeworth shot his father, or he believes he did for the rest of his life.

... moving on.

Phoenix: But he still has his humanity. It’s still there, deep down inside!

At least, if nothing else, Phoenix still believes in him. Even this Takarazuka Musical couldn’t touch that.

The Feenie Sweater

Right after this, Larry barges in, and Phoenix leaves him alone with Maya. The musical tries teasing Larry/Maya, but fortunately, Maya’s having none of it.

Maya: You’re barking up the wrong tree.

Props to this musical for not being as bad as it could have been.

After this, the two sit down on the couch, and Maya asks for more gossip on Phoenix and Leona. Larry launches into a story, which turns into a flashback that ends up being narrated by Phoenix halfway through. This one’s about Phoenix and Leona’s relationship.

This is an interesting line in here, “I’ll guide you to the future”, for it loosely referencing the sort of love ballad Phoenix sings with Lucia in the second musical which is about “I’ll take you to that radiant future”, and he later sings to the memory of Leona right around the time of his big spiral into despair.

I’m sorry if you haven’t read my other essay and just said “wait what” to what I just typed.

Leona was getting ready to move to New York to defend the weak “in the big city”. This is rather strange wording because it implies that California does not in fact have a big city. She says some things in her conversation with Phoenix that probably plant some of his later issues.

Leona: This is the first time we’ll be apart since we were kids.

Leona: We promised we’d always be together.

Leona: I’ll be waiting. Waiting for you to come to me.

Haha. Sure would be a shame... if something were to happen... and they wouldn’t be able to be together anymore...

So some dancers wearing black come in and take off their outer jackets, to symbolize the passage of time. They circle around Phoenix and Leona. In this, you can just barely see, Phoenix is wearing a pink sweater beneath his jacket.

“Oh,” I think to myself, “Is that the Feenie sweater? Are they including it here as a reference to the games?”

Then the dancers keep moving.

THAT IS NOT THE FEENIE SWEATER. That is a pink sweater with a sexily drawn woman on it.

This is the other half of the reason why I decided to go through with making this essay.

This is so incredibly funny to me. Suzuki Kei Who Has Played The Games Seven Times has seen the hand-knit bright pink sweater with a giant red heart on it seven times. The sweater Iris, Phoenix’s girlfriend, lovingly knit for him that he wears all the time even though it is one of the tackiest, cheesiest items of clothing to ever exist. And so, when the costume designers were designing the clothes for College Phoenix Wright, they asked themselves: “Should we include the Feenie sweater?”

and “NO,” someone must have shouted, “NO, we can NOT include the Feenie sweater, it is PINK and it has a HEART on it and it’s TOO GIRLY. Phoenix Wright is a MANLY MAN. He would not EVER wear something PINK with a HEART on it.”

“BUT,” someone else said, “it’s a REFERENCE to the original games, where he DID wear a pink sweater with a heart on it! We MUST include it to pander to the fans!”

“WAIT,” a third person interjected. “I have a BRILLIANT IDEA. We can keep the pink... But to make it VERY CLEAR he is a heterosexual, masculine male... we put a sexy woman on it.”

And Person Three Got A Raise.

Thank god we’re finally halfway done this musical.

We Just Have To Go On With Our Lives Now

There’s plot or something happening. Leona breaks up with Phoenix inexplicably over the phone. Probably because of that freaking sweater. Imagine wearing that. God.

Eventually we go back to Phoenix talking to Leona, and he asks about the Jack Lyon case, which is the rip-off version of the Joe Darke case. Leona is pretty cagey about it, but Phoenix proves that she was there in the gallery that day. Leona refuses to answer, claims again that she killed the victim in her case, and leaves.

This makes Phoenix sad, so he starts singing.

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

If this sounds familiar, it’s the part where I started absolutely losing my mind in the second musical because this line had never shown up before then, I’d forgotten it was in this musical, and Phoenix was screaming it alone in a red room, so I thought he was like desperately resorting to a necromancy ritual in hopes of bringing Leona back to life.

Instead, this line actually has CONTEXT, though it does just end up enforcing my theory. This is Phoenix mourning what he used to have with Leona, wanting to bring the “old her” back, because he’s devastated that people sometimes change. There are several flashbacks of their college days where he’s wearing his Sexy Woman Sweater. He does succeed in winning her back at the end of this musical. Before she dies, of course.

Phoenix in musical 2 still believes that he can bring back what he used to have with Leona... even beyond death. That’s something affirmed by this musical. I’m very grateful to it for somehow managing to enforce my nonsensical theory.

Doctor Ema

After this, Phoenix returns to his office, and meets with someone new.

That’s right! Only now, halfway through the musical, do we actually get to meet the Ema-equivalent to Leona’s Lana-equivalent. Her name is Monica Clyde. She has little rainbow heart stickers on her briefcase, which is the closest thing this musical has to acknowledging that gay people exist.

But what does this little briefcase contain, you may ask? Scientific investigation tools? No.

A full surgical toolset. Because you never know when someone’ll get sick, or when someone will need an entire operation in front of you. I guess.

So yes, Monica Clyde is not a forensic scientist in training, but a doctor! She decided to become a doctor because of her parents, who passed away of The Sickness, and so became a doctor in order to save lives like theirs.

Once more this has much darker and deeper implications than the musical is even aware of, because Monica is so anxious about treating sick people that she carries a full surgical toolset around with her at all times, scared to lose someone like she lost her parents... and then sometime in the next three years, Leona, her big sister, is going to die.

Of what? The strange Sickness that claimed her parents? A car accident? A botched spur-of-the-moment surgery? Whatever it is, Monica was unable to save her, even when she’d been training her entire life for it.

Monica is not mentioned at all throughout the second musical. It’s as if she does not exist.

Because unlike Ema of Rise From The Ashes, Monica is not at the heart of this story. She is, primarily, a plot device here to make Leona not trust Phoenix so that he can angst about their relationship.

What a mess this world is.

The Trial, Part 2

Rather than try to prove Leona’s innocence, Phoenix wants to link the current case to not-SL-9, the Jack Lyon case. He does this by showing this picture.

Senator Cole, the victim, is in this picture. His younger brother whose name I’ve forgotten, the victim of not-SL-9, is also in this picture. They are brothers. It is apparently novel that they are in the same picture, and somehow makes their cases linked.

As well, Governor Miller is in the picture. I guess you could say like... Governor Miller’s legal counsel is the defendant, so that’s another link? Even though the Governor would presumably know a Senator, so this isn’t an unusual group. Right now Phoenix has absolutely nothing to prove that these two cases are linked other than “hey, these two victims are brothers”, but apparently it works. So they spend a lot of time talking about not-SL-9, since Leona has confessed to the murder on day 1 and there is absolutely nothing indicating that she can’t be immediately declared guilty.

They hid the fact that Monica was a hostage in this not-SL-9, meaning that some of the case records were forged. Here’s Edgeworth’s reaction when this comes out.

Edgeworth: This is an outrage! I’m the most influential prosecutor in America! There’s nothing I don’t know!

In RFTA, when Edgeworth learns he’d been using forged evidence to give a man the death penalty, he is devastated, his entire worldview is shaken, he sees himself as a monster who could end up becoming horribly corrupt if he isn’t stopped.

Musical Edgeworth goes “I DIDN’T KNOW SOMETHING???”

It’s certainly strange characterization, but I guess Edgeworth is further behind in his character arc than in RFTA, so... ugh. Fine.

Phoenix calls Monica out as a witness to prove she was involved in the case. This causes Leona to panic, and try to dismiss Phoenix as her attorney, like Lana in RFTA, but Edgeworth interjects to call Monica in anyways. He and Phoenix have a little moment.

Edgeworth: You said to believe in others. I suppose I’ll try believing in you. Try to keep up.

Phoenix: Edgeworth!

So Monica comes to the stand to testify. We get to see this picture of Monica being held hostage, and not-Joe-Darke’s incredible eyeliner.

Lots of it is very similar to the actual RFTA, except instead of the victim being stabbed on the knight with the giant knife, he’s instead stabbed with a regular old knife. Leona still refuses to admit to what really happened, until Edgeworth convinces her to believe in Phoenix.

Edgeworth: Your attorney is a runaway train with a one-track mind. Yet he placed all of his faith in you. Believe in him. You owe him that much.

Leona testifies, and says that when she found the victim, he was stabbed with a scalpel.

Here is where things get weird.

Scalpels Can’t Kill People

So basically earlier in this trial, they talk about how Leona knew that the knife that stabbed the victim was double-edged despite being buried in his chest. The judge questions if this means Leona killed him, but Phoenix is quick to say no, she was searched when she entered the courthouse and couldn’t have concealed a knife.

Yet, Monica was able to bring in her surgical toolkit which contains several sharp knives, scalpels, scissors, etc.

This is the first major contradiction.

Leona continues to say that when she found Monica, and the scalpel stabbed in the victim, she also ran into Governor Miller, who if you haven’t been able to tell yet is the Gant-equivalent of this musical. He offered to help her with the cover-up, etc.

The next bit goes a lot like RFTA. Phoenix accuses Governor Miller, who barges in, says Phoenix has the decisive evidence in his pocket. This is the “butter knife” that Phoenix took from his office when he dug around in confidential documents and stole it for no particular reason. It has Monica’s fingerprints on it! ... And Phoenix’s and Maya’s too probably because they were handling it without gloves, but they don’t mention that part.

Leona cries about how she shouldn’t have trusted Phoenix because he was apparently now blaming Monica, Monica looks terrified, she and Leona have some good sister moments but it’s not as good as it could be if the story was actually about Leona and Monica like how RFTA was about Lana and Ema. But Phoenix has the decisive piece of evidence that can turn this around.

It is this:

Phoenix: Scalpels are made for medical incisions, not stabbings. So how did it stab the victim?

...

... What?

So like. Yes, scalpels are made for medical incisions. Medical incisions often involve cutting through flesh, very easily. As a result, they are sharp. Extremely sharp. As in: their purpose is literally to stab people, very specifically.

Yes, they’re easier to control, so that surgeons don’t regularly stab people how they’re not supposed to be stabbed, but it’s not like, impossible to stab someone in a killing way with a scalpel? Admittedly, I have never tried to kill someone using a scalpel. And I do not have experience using a scalpel for surgeries because I am not a surgeon. But I’m pretty sure, if you take a sharp scalpel, and you stab someone in the chest with it with a reasonable amount of force... they die.

Like, is this a particular kind of scalpel that is not very sharp? Is the problem that the blade doesn’t match up with the initial wound? But even then, we don’t have the original unforged autopsy report or even a picture, so how would Phoenix know what the original wound looked like to say it didn’t match up? And even then why wouldn’t Phoenix say that instead of SCALPELS CAN’T STAB PEOPLE???

This is his decisive contradiction and it makes ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE TO ME!!!

Well Darn I Guess Scalpels Can’t Kill People

This is such a decisive piece of evidence, that scalpels can’t kill people, coming from the man who thought “caught red-handed” does not involve being caught standing over a corpse with blood on your hands, that it causes Governor Miller to confess.

Unlike Gant, who created the murder with Neil Marshall both to ensure that there was decisive evidence to convict Joe Darke, a serial killer who had not left any decisive evidence behind, and gain control over the prosecutor’s office in order to pull similar stunts to get criminals convicted using false evidence, Governor Miller does not have that as his motive. After all, he’s not a police officer. Instead, he ended up accidentally killing not-Joe-Darke, and then set up the incident in order to get Leona on his side. As her parents were both influential lawyers and very respectable, having her and her parents’ reputation on his side could help him become President of America Where This Takes Place.

So, let’s just take a moment to run over some of the things that made the original Rise From The Ashes great, in my opinion. Just for fun.

1 - The heart of the story between the Skye sisters. Lana closing off to protect Ema, Ema wanting to get through to her sister and get back to the way things used to be. Phoenix, in this story, is more of a bystander to this plotline rather than in the heart of it himself.

2 - Edgeworth’s Character Development. Basically RFTA creates an interesting transition between Turnabout Goodbyes and JFA. It causes Edgeworth to re-evaluate everything he knows about being a prosecutor. So quickly on the heels of Turnabout Goodbyes, it crushes the last bit of hope in him. It compares him to Gant, who also hates criminals, and forces him to wonder if his hatred of crime will one day lead to him being a criminal himself. He’s already convicted one person on forged evidence; how many others could there be?

3 - The Ends Justify The Means. ... wait come back, don’t leave. What I found neat about this case was also Gant’s motive. At one point he was presumably an honest person who hated crime and wanted to stop criminals. But over time in the police force, he became corrupted. He wanted to have all criminals convicted. So what do you do when you don’t have the evidence to convict them? Joe Darke was a serial killer who has killed several people and may have killed more if he’d gone free. The only way to stop and convict him was by using forged evidence. Other criminals could hide evidence to get away with their crimes, so people like Gant would make it up to catch them; but then when do you stop? What happens if there’s no evidence because someone is truly innocent? When does the line between “this person is a criminal and I want to stop them” and “I just want to convict everyone I’m dealing with” become blurred? This is also something he shares with Edgeworth and helps to advance his character.

All three of these things are either lessened or outright ignored in this musical. Leona and Monica’s story takes a backseat to Phoenix and Leona’s Love Story, with Monica only showing up halfway through, and mainly as an excuse as to why Leona is withdrawn. Edgeworth doesn’t seem to blame himself for the forged evidence he used, and doesn’t have a crisis questioning his morality over it. And Governor Miller’s motive is purely power. Unlike Gant, who would have become Chief of Police whether he solved SL-9 or not, Miller needed Leona to win the presidency. And instead of asking her to help him with his campaign like a normal person, he just blackmailed her instead.

... How do you play the games seven times and miss this much?

The Case Finally Ends

god. we’re almost there.

The case ends, Leona is declared not guilty but will still face trial for covering up murders and such. Probably less of a sentence than Lana because she was not involved in ongoing police corruption? Either way she’s dead in three years, so she’s got something a bit more concerning coming up.

She’s led away. Phoenix sings a bit about Leona before being interrupted by Edgeworth... who has something important to tell him.

Edgeworth: You awakened within me those once-cherished emotions I had discarded. I see visions of a distant, nostalgic past.

So basically this is the unnecessary feelings of the musical. Something along the lines of “seeing you again and fighting for my former ideals is making me question many things about myself.”

How does Phoenix respond?

Phoenix: Edgeworth... Try talking normally for a chance.

Sure, we were all thinking it, but that’s a little cold, Phoenix.

Edgeworth tries a smooth recovery.

Edgeworth: I don’t do... idle chit-chat.

This doesn’t accomplish much. So he leaves to allow Leona to visit with Phoenix alone. He’s got to go change for something more important coming up.

Leona and Phoenix decide that they’re going to get back together once Leona is done her sentence! They make a promise that is very funny if you know she’ll be dead in three years.

Phoenix: I’ll be waiting. For you.

There are a lot of hugs here, I’m not screencapping them all. There are also several moments where their faces get very close together and like, their nose brushes the other’s cheek or something, but they never actually kiss. Is it because the actresses weren’t comfortable with it (valid), or they thought kissing would be too much for the musical (sure, whatever), or since both characters are played by women the show staff did not want two women kissing on stage (probably the real answer)? I don’t like watching kisses, but I kept bracing myself for one and then it never happened, so.

Phoenix ends the main part of the musical with one last musical number starring my personal favourite piece:

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

I like to think that at this point, this is present-day Phoenix, after finishing his reminiscing, still desperately wishing he could bring Leona back from death.

But alas, he cannot. And so, after one last daydream of them dancing together on the beaches of California, singing about their love, the musical ends.

Dance Time!

This starts at exactly the two hour mark, if you’re interested in watching what is, once again, one of the only fun parts of this musical.

Seriously, Edgeworth’s actress kills it here, when I first saw this I went “oh, this is why I saw so many people being gay for her on twitter.”

Edgeworth’s song is an encore of “My Rule”, so it’s lots of fun. Afterwards Phoenix gets another fun piece.

Then we get to the love ballad part, which I can probably overanalyze, I feel like I haven’t done enough ridiculous over-analyzing in this essay in comparison to the other.

Uhhh so the fog represents how Phoenix feels lost in this world without Leona. You can see it in the second screenshot separating the two of them, representing the barrier of death between the two of them. Idk it’s midnight I’m getting worn out from having to think about this musical for so long.

But his mourning over Leona’s death becomes even more apparent in the credits, where Phoenix sings that one line again:

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

I’m not fixing that screenshot, I think it’s oddly fitting, in a way. That’s me right now.

Then at the very end, he sings this song.

Phoenix: I’ll spend... this eternal life... soaring through... the heavens!

Technically, this refers to his name Phoenix, but let’s dig a little deeper. He spends the rest of his life soaring through the heavens... the heavens that Leona went to after her untimely death, perhaps?

Overall, the musical becomes much more interesting when you just see it as a prequel to the second musical. This musical establishes many core concepts of Phoenix’s character: his refusal to believe in the concept of things changing, for one, and also his extreme dependency on Leona who he was never separated from since they were kids and where he based his entire life around her dreams and ideals. All he can think about is her. And in the end, he promises to wait for her in California.

Yet, to paraphrase Miles Edgeworth, all that is waiting for him is her death. Their dream of opening up a Mom & Pop Law Firm will never come true.

Thanks again for bearing with me even though this wasn’t as funny!

#ace attorney #phoenix wright the truth reborn #idk maybe someone wanted to know what the first musical was like without actually watching it?#my essays #my posts #i'm TIRED i'm going to BED goodNIGHT #this is less funny jokes and more actually criticizing the musical #because so much of this is like. wow. you really thought that was a good idea huh #just skip to the feenie sweater part honestly that's the funniest part of this musical

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