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markoslostgirl · 3 years ago

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𝑩𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏' 𝑼𝒑 (𝑩𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝑺. 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒏, 𝑬𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒓𝒆)

Requested by: @ringa-starr

Pairing: Bill S. Preston, Esquire x fem!oc

Word count: 2,110 words

Warnings: none, I think? Unless you count fluff

Summary: Bill’s girlfriend, Deidra, is sick, so Bill takes care of her

Author’s note: I feel so honored to write this for my friend, and I had a fun time writing it since we love the curly-haired angel, Bill S. Preston, Esquire. I’ve been working on this for 5-6 months, but I honestly think I could’ve done a better job with it so don’t come at me. Deidra, I hope you love it, and that you enjoy reading it. GIF isn’t mine, and it holds no significance to the imagine. I just couldn’t find one suitable.

Deidra sat up in her bed, letting out a sigh as she glanced up at the ceiling in boredom. She was sick, feeling miserable beyond compare. It wasn’t allergies, or even the flu. No, it was just a measly cold. Okay, so maybe she had made the most foolish decision of falling asleep with her hair wet while the air conditioner was running full blast.

Saturday had been a particularly hot day in San Dimas. Of course, it was always hot, but the one day on the weekend was uncomfortable. So, Deidra, her boyfriend—Bill S. Preston, Esquire—and her best friend, Ted ‘Theodore’ Logan, went to Waterloo to beat the heat.

Bill and Deidra had been dating for months now, and it had gone incredible. The first time Deidra had met Bill, she instantly became captivated by his sweet demeanor and charismatic personality. She gravitated toward him as if it were like a magnetic force pulling her in. Deidra didn’t know what it was, but there was just something about him she found so...alluring. Bill was boisterous and endearing, as well as goofy. He never failed to make her smile or laugh at his goofy jokes.

Deidra also had become entranced by the way he spoke every word with such genuine innocence, and it made her heart flutter. His beautiful, forest green eyes held such optimism, always sparkling with excitement. He had incredibly golden, curly hair, and cheeks dusted with a naturally rosy blush. His bright, cheeky grin was adorable, and it made Deidra’s soul lift up out of her body every time he flashed his Cheshire grin whenever he spoke. She was convinced he was the Greek God Apollo.

Since Deidra had been holed up in her room for days, she was about to go insane due to the palpable tediousness. While she kept herself busy watching reruns of “I love Lucy” and “The Brady Bunch”, or listening to music, she could only tolerate so much in order not to grow lack of interest.

Deidra hadn’t been able to see Bill, since she spent half of her time with him at Ted’s house watching them practice. She missed hanging out and spending time with them outside of school. The trio were a tight knit group, always together as they kicked around having the time of their lives. Other than spending time in Ted’s garage, Deidra spent the other half of her time at her house with Bill or going on dates with him on their own time. So, the time she had to stay away from him was the most heinous thing ever.

Bill was incredibly charming—always planning the most creative, romantic gestures for Deidra in his own special ways with the help of Ted, of course. It never failed to make Deidra melt at just how much of a gentleman Bill was. He always took her on cute, simple dates—whether it’s to the mall, Waterloo, or even McDonald’s. They spent time together as much as possible since they always had the most fun of times.

Deidra let out a yawn as she laid back down, stretching her aching limbs out wide at her sides. A loud sneeze erupted from her nose, causing her to groan and let her head fall back on the pillow due to the heavy weight on her head from lifting it up. She reached over and grabbed a tissue out of the box on the nightstand, blowing her nose before tossing the tissue in the small bin beside the nightstand her mom had placed there.

Deidra sniffed, staring back up at the ceiling with watery eyes as Elvis played faintly in the background. The sound of the front door closing echoed through the house, filling her with panic. Both of her parents were at work, and if they were home, they would let her know as soon as they stepped foot inside the house. All of the sudden, a familiar figure appeared in the doorway, filling her with relief.

“Greetings, my most bodacious babe Dee!” Bill exclaimed, his arms full of what appears to be food, games, and medicine. Bill had rushed over, filled with worry once he heard how sick Deidra was over the phone, and he wanted to take care of her instantly. “I brought some things I know you’d enjoy during your time of need.”

Her whole face lit up, her eyes twinkling. “Bill!” Deidra croaked, her voice raw from the amount of coughing she had been doing. “What are you doing here?” She asked. “I’m sick, which means you’re not allowed to be here,” she told him, a frown on her face.

“Dee, babe, I haven’t been able to see you for days,” Bill reminded Deidra. “I’ve really missed you, and I know you must be going insane trapped in your room. I figured I’d come cheer you up,” he admitted as he stepped inside the room.

Deidra smiled at his sweet confession. Bill always went out of his way to do things like this for the people he absolutely cared about, including Deidra and Ted. This was just the kind of guy Bill was, and it made her fall in love with him even more.

“I really appreciate it, Bill,” Deidra told bill, honesty in her voice. “I’m sick. I would hate to have you in the same situation, especially because of me. It’s most egregious,” she tried to convince him.

“I’m not going to get sick, you baby” Bill denied with a playful glare, causing Deidra to roll her eyes with a fond smile at his humor. “Just let me take care of you until you’re a hundred percent better again,” bill insisted before placing the items on the bed.

Deidra felt a stinging itch radiating from her throat, causing her to hack violently into her arm. The sensation of her throat feeling like it had been ripped to tiny shreds by a chainsaw was searing in waves of splitting pain. Once the coughing ceased, she squeezed her eyes shut as a sigh escaped past her lips.

Shrugging off his shoes in a lethargic way, Bill sat down beside Deidra, a concerned look etched on his face. He couldn’t help but notice her pale skin, the dark circles underneath her eyes, or her nose red with irritation. The look of pure misery vanished once bill placed a feathery, soft kiss on her forehead.

“Dee, you’re burning up!” Bill voiced as he pulled away, placing a cool hand on Deidra’s forehead, causing her to shiver due to how warm her body felt. Bill brushed the stray, baby hairs away from her forehead. “You stay here, babe. I’m gonna go and make you some soup,” he stood up from the bed with a smile before retreating downstairs to the kitchen.

A small grin graced Deidra’s lips, finding how adorable and sweet it was for Bill to become worried, especially whenever it came to her. Even at his own risk, Bill was a deeply compassionate person by helping when Deidra was in distress. She couldn’t help but feel naturally content, delighted, and safe in his presence.

Deidra crawled out from the warm cocoon of her bed, moving toward her record player and turning off the music of Elvis. She plopped back down on her bed and pulling back the covers closer up to her neck. It didn’t take long for Bill to finish making the soup, as he made his way back into the room, carefully holding a bowl of soup and a spoon. Deidra sniffed the air, the delicious smell of the soup wafting through her nose.

“Here you go, babe,” Bill softly spoke, carefully handing his girlfriend the bowl of hot contents and a spoon. “You need to eat a little bit so you can take your medicine.”

Deidra settled the bowl on her lap, the weight of the bowl full of soup feeling heavy in her hands. She placed one hand around the bowl, her index finger resting on the rim to keep it steady on her lap. Timidly, she took a spoonful of soup, bringing it up to her mouth and carefully blowing on it before taking a bite.

Deidra shivered at the warm feeling flowing through her body from the hot soup. Bill took his place beside her as he watched her continue to eat the soup. Noticing his beloved was almost finished, bill took the spoon and guided it to her lips.

Deidra blushed, eyeing the spoon bill was holding up to her lips. Bill often fed her from time to time, whenever they went on dates, but this time it was obviously under different circumstances. She was more vulnerable. Of course, neither of them seemed to mind, as it was a loving gesture bill did with patience.

The curly-haired angel pushed the spoon past the girl’s lips, letting her finish the last bite of soup. She leaned over, placing the bowl next to the cup of tea she had made a while ago, already sure to be cold now. Deidra glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand, knowing it was time to take her medicine once again.

After she finished taking her medicine, Deidra grabbed the bottle half full of water and took a big sip of it to wash the horrid taste down. She eased herself back under the covers in order to lie down, sighing in content from the warmth the soup and the covers provided her with.

Bill outstretched his arms for Deidra to envelop herself into his embrace, causing fear to cross her face as she shook her head in protest. “Bill, no, I don’t want you to risk yourself more than you already have.”

“I don’t care,“ Bill excused. “Just let me hold you.” Deidra bored her eyes into her boyfriend, biting her lip as Bill fluttered his eyelashes with an expectant smile before shuffling closer to him and curling into his chest. He gazed into her eyes with such fondness, causing a flush to creep up her face as she knew he was thinking of her.

“I’m only doing it because you’re cute,” Deidra commented, causing bill to form a smirk on his lips once he took notice of her sticking her nose in the air.

A moment of silence passed before bill spoke up. “Do you feel a little better, Dee?” Bill asked, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him. The warmth from the blankets combined with the heat from cuddling up to Bill enveloped her with a blanket of comfort. “Are you warm enough?”

The brown-haired girl hummed, nodding her head. “You’re soft and warm,” she murmured. “I don’t want you to move.” Bill did manage to make her feel a little better than how she was feeling before. He lifted her spirits once he showed up, so needless to say, she wasn’t feeling as miserable as she had been. “I’m so glad you came over. Any time without you is far too long.”

Her voice dripped with exhaustion from the medicine, the state of drowse sinking in as a side effect. Bill’s mouth lifted up into a smile as he played with Deidra’s hair, tracing through her long, wavy locks softly with his fingers.

“Don’t stop...” Deidra mumbled in a languid tone, causing bill to hum in question. “Your fingers in my hair,” the girl clarified. “Feels really nice...”

“You’re adorable,” Bill crooned, his mouth curving into a soft smile. “You know I’ll always be here, right?” Bill quietly vowed in a gentle tone, causing Deidra to hum in content. There were times where Bill struggled with expressing how he felt about the green-eyed girl, but they both knew he loved her so much.

As the day progressed, Bill made sure Deidra consumed her medicine regularly when she was supposed to. After watching Lady and the Tramp and playing board games, Bill and Deidra started reading together. Bill absentmindedly tangled his fingers through the dark tresses and down her back as he reads to her in a soft voice.

Bill peered down at Deidra, only to see she had dozed off once he noticed her eyelids flutter shut. The corners of his mouth twitched up as he gazed down at her, before closing the book and pulling her closer to him. He nuzzled his face into her hair, before placing a tender kiss on the crown of her head.

“I love you,” Bill whispered softly into her ear. “I hope you know this.”

“I love you, too,” Deidra declared, her voice just barely touched of a whisper. It nearly would have been too silent, yet bill had heard it loudly by the tiny grin curving on the corners of his lips. It just reminded how in love he fell with her more everyday.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

So, that’s it for this imagine! Bill is so cute, and as a Bill girl, I wish I lived in a universe where I was sick so he could take care of me! What do you think? Like I mentioned before, I really think I could have done a better job with this. I’m honored my best friend Deidra came to me to write this, and I hope I did it justice!

With love, from Audrey <3

#bill s preston esquire imagine #bill s preston esquire #bill s preston esquire x reader #bill and ted imagine #bill and ted #bill and teds excellent adventure #bill and teds bogus journey #alex winter

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artificialqueens · 3 years ago

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Galactica, Chapter 79 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Violet and Sutan showed up for Bob’s drag show. Courtney had a disastrous day at work before Galactica shut down for the holidays.

This Chapter: Violet parties a little too hard, Sutan gets sick, and Miss Fame finds out about her precious sketches.

***

Violet wasn’t surprised that Bob was an amazing and hilarious performer. What had surprised her was how into it Sutan seemed, slapping his thighs at every joke, cheering loudly, tipping all of the queens generously.

It was so unlike how he behaved at the adult parties they normally frequented, so unlike how he normally spent a night out mingling and networking, his charm laid on so thick sometimes that the real him barely even poked through.

At one point, after watching him stuff a couple of bills down one queen’s corset, Violet must have had some kind of strange expression, because Sutan caught her eye and gave her a wink, saying, “Not my first drag show, darling.”

Violet smiled, shaking her head at him, though she gladly accepted the kiss he offered up, Sutan’s lips tasting like whiskey and those horrible green shots. It was great to see him, to watch the grown man she cared so much for light up with boyish delight, Sutan throwing himself wholeheartedly into the show.

By the time Bob came up to their table after the show, she was starting to really feel the effects of all the drinks she’d had throughout the night, her speech sounding much slurrier than she intended when she accepted a sweaty hug from Bob.

“You were so good up there,” she said, trying to get out her words without sounding as crazy drunk as she felt, “Best one by far.”

“Wow,” said a voice nearby, and Bob let out a hearty laugh.

“You heard her, Thorgy, I’m the best. By far,” Bob cackled, turning and sticking his tongue out at a green-haired queen.

“Your friends are so sweet, Bob, you should bring them more often,” she said snidely, and Violet’s eyes widened, realizing her mistake.

“No, I just meant, uh, that...that you-” she stammered out, and Bob laughed even harder.

“No, we heard you,” continued Thorgy, giving an exaggerated eye roll. “As if Bob needs anything else to make his fat head even bigger.”

“Would you chill, bitch? She was just giving me a compliment! Nobody murdered your family.”

“Shut up, Bob!”

Violet tried to shrink as they continued to bicker, Maxwell slipping her another shot and whispering, “Don’t worry, they’re just like that. Bottoms up.”

Violet picked up the shot, toasting Maxwell with a little shrug, just as Sutan returned to the table with a fresh round for everyone.

***

“Sutan,” Violet groaned, and Sutan couldn’t help but smile, his girlfriend under his arm, snuggled against his side, an open bottle of water in her hand.

“Yes darling?” It had been a bit of a struggle to get to the taxi, Violet suddenly a whole lot drunker than he had ever seen her before, but they had had an amazing night.

It had been literal years since he had last been to a drag show, and he had forgotten how much fun they generally were.

It had been good to see Violet’s work friends, and to get to know them a little better, to know for certain that his girlfriend was surrounded by good people when she went to work.

“I don’t feel good…” Violet whined, the tone so new for her Sutan had to bite his cheek not to chuckle.

“I know lovely eyes.” He held her hand, gently lifting it and the bottle to her lips so Violet could drink some more water. He should probably have stopped her about 5 shots ago, but he hadn’t wanted to cut off her fun, which she was now paying the price for.

Violet took a sip, her nose scrunching up like it tasted all wrong, Sutan holding her in place even as he took the bottle.

“We’ll be home soon.”

He had been smart enough to change the sheets before they left, the task one he normally left for his housekeeper but she was on vacation, painkillers and water bottles ready on the nightstands - fresh sheets and a cracked window a guaranteed recipe for a good night’s sleep, something they both truly needed.

“Mmh,” Violet tried to pull away, her hand pushing against his leg so Sutan let her, his girlfriend sitting up straight.

“I really don’t feel good,” Violet dumped her head back against the headrest, “like I think, I might-”

The taxi rounded a corner, and Violet’s hand flew to cover her mouth, her eyes wide with panic, and Sutan knew instantly what was about to happen.

“Stop the car!” Sutan reached over Violet, opening the door and unbuckling her seatbelt in one fluid motion, a hand on her hip pushing her out on the street as he yelled over his shoulder to the driver. “Stay!”

Sutan followed behind Violet with practiced ease, the maneuver one he had done hundreds of times, models often drinking way too much if they didn't snort something worse during the first year of their career.

“Over here,” Sutan hated that he was forcing Violet to stand on her bad leg, but he didn’t have much choice, one hand finding her waist as he turned her in an attempt to support her weight, “How are you feeling-”

He was cut off as Violet grabbed his arm and bent forward to throw up, the majority of it landing directly on Sutan’s shoes, his fingers only just catching her ponytail.

“Oh god,” Violet choked, “I’m so sorry-” She didn’t finish, as she puked again and Sutan sighed, the second round of vomit soaking his shoes completely, the leather officially beyond salvageable.

“I’m sorry,” Violet’s forehead was leaning against his stomach, Sutan’s hand on her neck, a hiccup leaving her, her voice quivering with tears. “I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry-”

“Hey, hey,” Sutan tightened his grip, using his other hand to gently push on Violet’s shoulder to get her to stand up. Her face was an absolute mess, tears streaming down her cheeks, “Lovely eyes, don’t worry-”

“You’re wearing Prada.” Violet sobbed, her hand coming up in a desperate attempt to wipe her tears, and Sutan knew it was wrong, he just couldn’t help but laugh.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Violet hit his chest, but she still allowed him to move her so she was leaning against the taxi, the tip he’d need to give their driver growing by the second. Violet had thankfully not thrown up on herself, which was a true blessing combined with the fact that he had shoved the water bottle into his pocket. He took it out, uncapping it to pour the water over his shoes, washing them to the best of his ability.

It wasn’t perfect, but he had dealt with a lot worse.

Violet was pale, but she didn’t look like she was going to throw up again, so Sutan helped her back in the car, giving the driver a hundred as a thank you for not leaving them stranded.

“Lovely eyes?” Sutan felt a moment of panic when he realized Violet hadn’t said a word since they got back in the car, “Is everything-“

“I’m so embarrassed, I can’t believe I-“ Violet groaned, frustration heavy in her voice, “I threw up all over your Prada shoes.”

“You know,” Sutan grinned, the few times someone had thrown up in his hands so much worse than what he had just experienced. “You’re the only girl I know who’d care about the brand of shoes I’m wearing right now. The vomit would have been plenty for most.”

“Can we please just, not?” Violet sighed heavily, but she did lean her head against his shoulder, which Sutan took as a very good sign. “I’d love to pretend all of this never happened.”

“Violet. They’re just shoes.” Sutan pressed a kiss against her temple, “You’re so much more important.”

***

Raven flipped through the dresses she hadn’t worn in public yet, looking for the one she was going to be wearing for New Year’s. She had gotten several options for her and Raja, but they hadn’t had the chance yet to try anything on and make the decision, glittering suits and the more theatrical pieces Raja preferred on her side of their walk-in closet.

“What do you think of a green theme?” Raven looked over her shoulder and over at Raja, who was sitting sideways in one of the arm chairs, her legs over the armrest, a bouquet of lilies on the side table.

Raven loved their gigantic walk-in closet, the room so big they had to take down a wall when they moved in, but it was one of her favorite rooms in their apartment, so it was well worth it. It was all done in shades of beige and gray, a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the couch and the arm chairs almost making it feel like a miniature store.

“Raj?” Raven waited for a beat, but when she didn’t get a reply, she turned around.

“Hello? Earth to Raja?” Raven crossed her arms, annoyance curling in her belly. She hated being ignored, and right now, she was being ignored by her favorite person. “Urgh!” Raven huffed, stomping over and grabbing the phone from Raja’s hands.

“Hey!” Raja’s eyes widened in surprise and she sat up, her feet hitting the floor. “Give me my phone-”

“You promised-” Raven held her hand up so Raja couldn’t get the phone, her fiancée grabbing her hips and pulling her in between her spread legs, “you wouldn’t work.”

“I’m not,” Raja tightened her grip, and Raven had to bite back a moan as she felt her short nails dig through the fabric of her dress. “I’m texting Tan.”

“Please,” Raven turned the phone, still holding it over her head so she could see the screen without Raja snatching it away. She had expected to see her emails pulled up, Raja often working at the strangest of times, but instead, all she saw was a row of text messages in Indonesian.

“... Okay, so,” Raven hated admitting that she was wrong, but this once, it seemed like Raja wasn’t actually ignoring her for work. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” Raja smiled as she was handed her phone, her hand guiding Raven to sip on her lap, which she gladly did. “Tan says he has a cold.”

“What?” Raven raised an eyebrow, her arms around Raja’s neck. Sutan never got sick, like, never ever, so this was an unexpected turn of events. “Really?”

“Mmh,” Raja nodded, “He woke up with a fever, but it seems like Violet is there.”

This time, it was Raven’s turn to smile, her hand gliding under Raja’s open shirt. “So you’re going to go check in on him?”

“Oh definitely.” Raja grinned, “Who do you think I am?”

***

“Keep the change.”

To say that Violet was feeling guilty would be an understatement. She did her best not to spill the soup as she made her way back towards the living room where Sutan was sleeping on the couch, the TV running on the news channel.

It was terribly unfair, but she had woken up without as much as a headache, while Sutan was coughing his lungs out, her boyfriend hot with fever. Raja had done a pharmacy run, buying every medicine under the sun for her brother, which was now spread out on the coffee table. Raja had offered to stay, but Sutan had sent her away, telling her with a smile that Violet was taking care of him.

It was equal parts unexpected and amazing that he trusted her, that he still wanted her around after she had literally thrown up on him, the ruined shoes something Violet knew would be haunting her nightmares.

It was truly a miracle that she hadn’t fled the apartment, but she didn’t want to disappoint Sutan, so she stayed.

Violet put the bag down, returning with utensils and bowls from the kitchen, when Sutan cracked an eye open, her boyfriend looking up at her.

“Hey,” Sutan smiled, his hair adorably messy, the blanket all the way up to his chin, a small mountain of used tissues in the bin Violet had put by his head.

“I got you lunch.”

“What?” Sutan sat up, grabbing his glasses from the table to put them on. He was wearing a gigantic sweater and a pair of sweatpants, thick wool socks on his feet. “Wait, is that? Did you get me chicken soup-” He didn’t finish, a cough cutting him off, and Violet felt her heart clench.

“Bread too.”

“Ha,” Sutan snorted, a grin on his lips. “You’re the best,” he tilted his head for a kiss, but Violet reacted on instinct, putting a hand on his forehead, pushing him back, which made Sutan laugh.

“What?”

“You’re all...snotty…” Violet tried not to wrinkle her nose, but it was hard not to, his skin hot to the touch.

“So you can throw up on my shoes, but I can’t get one little kiss?”

Violet rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help but smile over Sutan’s attitude. “Fine.” She leaned forward, pressing a kiss against Sutan’s forehead. “And I really am sorry, I promise that I’ll replace them-”

“Lovely eyes,” Sutan looked up at her, her hands on his shoulder. “I meant what I said last night. I don’t care about the shoes.”

“But-” They hadn’t actually talked about it sober, and while Violet wished that the earth would swallow her up, she pushed on, “You always make excuses for me, and forgive things you shouldn’t, and I-”

“Violet,” Sutan reached up, touching her elbow, “That’s what you do when you love someone, and I happen to love you.”

“...You love me?”

“I do,” Sutan smiled, “I really do.”

“I-” Violet didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do, but as she looked at Sutan’s face, she realized that he meant it. This man, this strange, wonderful, amazing man, loved her, and Violet had no idea what she had done to deserve him. “I love you too.”

***

PEARL: How would you feel about a NYE party at 230 5th?

DAHLIA: Well that sounds fuckin posh. How’d you get on the list for something so chic?

PEARL: I’m chic as fuck

DAHLIA: Lol if you say so

PEARL: Lol, is that a yes?

DAHLIA: Sure, why not.

PEARL: Perf. You wanna come over early and get ready together?

DAHLIA: Don’t want to wait until the end of the night to get lucky, huh?

PEARL: Nope ;)

***

Symone yawned, leaning against a column in the Terminal 5 baggage claim, her sunglasses hiding her face as she was waiting for Gigi to appear on the escalator.

Her flight from Little Rock had arrived less than 2 hours before Gigi’s, and even though she could have easily gone back to the apartment, she had told her that she’d wait for her.

Symone was exhausted, but she was also psyched to see her friend, their time apart feeling much longer than a week, so staying at the airport had felt like the obvious choice.

Finally she spotted her, in what looked like a brand new forest green coat with fur trim, Gigi’s red hair hidden under a green hat, her friend carrying herself like a starlet who had stepped off of an old Hollywood movie set.

“Geeg!” Symone called out, waving, and her face broke out into a huge grin as she waved back.

Once Gigi got to the bottom of the escalator, she raced forward, nearly tripping in her platform boots as she ran towards Symone, flinging herself into her arms for a huge hug, squealing out, “Hiiiii!”

“Hey girl, long time no see,” Symone said, laughing, holding her tight. Gigi smelled like airport but underneath it, she was exactly herself, her skin warm and soft, and Symone had missed her more than she was willing to admit.

Soon, the two girls were standing in front of the baggage carousel, arms linked, giggling like crazy as they caught each other up on the latest family drama and antics from their siblings while waiting for Gigi’s bags to show up.

It felt good to be back together, and Symone basked in Gigi’s attention.

It wasn’t like she had never had friends, wasn’t like she hadn't had best friends, but Gigi was special, and Symone felt her heart skip a beat as she took her hand, intertwining their fingers.

“So,” Gigi looked at her, a smile on her face. “Pizza?”

Symone laughed, but nodded, Gigi a terrible but also amazing influence. “Pizza.”

***

“Sutan told Violet he loves her.”

“What?” Trixie looked up from the onion he was chopping, and over at Katya who was sitting at the kitchen table, one hand on her stomach, her thumb rubbing back and forth, her phone in the other.

“She just texted.” Katya titled her screen, though she didn’t actually show the text.

“Haven’t they been dating for months?” Trixie turned around, pretty sure that he had heard the earliest rumors about them going out together from Pearl all the way back in september.

“Not everyone says love you after the second date sugarbutt,” Katya grinned and Trixie smiled, a delighted flush filling his cheeks.

***

Fame sighed, a sense of restlessness and uneasiness lying heavily over her. They had come back from The Farm that morning, Fame spending the early afternoon in her study rearranging her chicken figurine collection.

Patrick had found the most gorgeous ceramic Plymouth Rock figurine, the black and white chicken absolutely a masterpiece, and Fame knew that she should be happy, tinkering with her collection usually an instant source of joy, but today, she just felt…unwell.

Fame wanted to talk to Bianca, but she also didn’t want to talk to Bianca, annoyance at how she had behaved at the dinner party still dancing under her skin.

Bianca hadn’t said sorry, not beyond the hurried apology she had thrown over her shoulder as she left, in fact, she hadn’t contacted her at all besides a single text on Christmas morning.

Fame closed the glass door to her chicken cabinet, walking over to her desk to pick up her phone. She knew it was torture, but she opened her messages, tapping Bianca’s name.

BIANCA: Merry Christmas, Blondie. Let’s hang out when I’m back in Jan. XO

Fame hadn’t replied, annoyance wheeling up in her at how casually Bianca dared to act, how she attempted to sweep how hurtful she had been under the rug yet again. She had overheard Juju and Detox discussing that Bianca had left the country, but Fame had very intentionally not checked any of Bianca’s social media, though Pearl swore to her that a simple look was untrackable.

She began typing out a message, but then stopped, deleting it again. It was too late to respond now without seeming petty, and Fame hated whenever Bianca accused her of that, but they still needed to talk, needed to actually talk about what was going on.

She needed an excuse, some reason to contact Bianca and lure her into a meeting, so she wouldn’t have to show her how she was feeling in text.

Maybe she could find out if one of their regular brunch spots had added anything new to their menu, and then ask if Bianca wanted to join her.

Fame sighed yet again, the plan seeming impossible as she took a seat in her chair, the latest paper deliveries from Galactica lying in a neat stack.

If nothing else, her bad mood could be useful for tearing through some of the more dull and dry parts of her job. Fame took the top one, the weight of it depressing in itself since Fame knew it wasn’t anything fun, Alyssa amazing at her job though she also insisted on being a pain in Fame’s ass.

She made it two thirds of the way through the report before boredom overwhelmed her. She needed something interesting, something fun, and if she was lucky, she knew just where she could find it.

FAME: Hi love, I know you’re still on vacation, but if you have some time today, I would love to hear your thoughts on my sketches. :)

TRIXIE: Your sketches?

FAME: Yes. The Met ones that my office sent to you before we shut down.

TRIXIE: Let me check my computer

Fame took a bottle of Pellegrino from the little office fridge under her desk, twisting the cap and grabbing a glass as she waited for Trixie’s reply.

TRIXIE: I don’t want to get anyone in trouble

TRIXIE: But the last email I have from Courtney is about the investor meeting.

Fame rolled her eyes, absolutely exasperated at Courtney’s inability to follow through with the simplest of instructions, since she was positive that she’d told her to send the sketches.

It took three calls for her to answer her phone, and by the time she did, Fame was fuming.

“Why doesn’t Trixie have my sketches?”

“Um...well, Miss, I…” Courtney’s voice sounded shaky and tearful, which Fame didn’t understand. If she would just follow simple instructions like any assistant, she wouldn’t get scolded or lectured. Her victim act made Fame even more irritated than she was already.

“Tell me! Because Trixie says he doesn’t have them and I know I told you to take care of them-”

“I-I think they might be gone.”

“Gone?” Fame froze, a few seconds ticking by before she really understood what Courtney had said. She felt her heartbeat speed up, dread collecting in her stomach. “What do you mean gone?!” Fame could hear her tone grow shrill, and knew that there was a good chance that Charles would come running any minute, her dog always showing up when she was upset.

“Well, I was in a cab on the way back to the office and then when you called, I-I was distracted and I must have not seen them on the seat…”

“Oh god…” Fame tried to take a deep breath, tuning out Courtney’s ridiculous explanation, her incompetence so staggering that she hadn’t even been able to do something as simple as not losing Fame’s original work.

She couldn’t believe it.

Her sketches were really gone, her work lost somewhere in the city, defenseless against whoever might happen across it.

“...and I have messages in to every company that operates-”

“Enough!” Fame exploded. “I don’t care for your pitiful excuses. How could you be so absolutely irresponsible?! I have put up with all of your mistakes, your incompetence, but this is beyond anything, those were- You’ve done, this, this is unforgivable Courtney-”

The door opened, Charles annoyingly enough clever enough to work out door handles.

“Miss, I’m so sorry-”

Fame could hear that Courtney was crying, but she didn’t care, her heart hammering away in her ears, words spilling from her lips, the only thing stopping her when she heard Bianca’s voice in her ear.

“Blondie!”

“Put Courtney back on the phone-”

“No.” Bianca’s voice was stern, and Fame couldn’t believe that she was taking that tone with her, especially considering her little sex toy’s latest fuck-up. “We’re trying to enjoy dinner-”

“Bianca-”

“You can finish this rant on Monday, but for now, she’s mine. See ya soon!”

Fame heard the beep of a phone being hung up, and as she lowered it from her ear, she saw that Bianca had done just that, cutting her off, and her blood boiled.

Bianca had betrayed her yet again, and Fame could feel her heart breaking, the whole thing so terribly fucking unfair.

Fame threw her phone down on the carpet, and put her arms around Charles neck, the heavy breath of her dog in her ear as she clung to him.

***

Courtney gaped at Bianca, mouth open in shock.

“What?”

“You just hung up on Miss Fame!” she exclaimed. She wiped the tears still trickling down her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Yeah, so? She deserved it.” Bianca sipped her cocktail, shrugging.

“Bianca! That’s my boss!” The truth, that Courtney wouldn’t admit out loud, was that witnessing it had been a little bit thrilling. No one had ever defended her like that. If she wasn’t so terrified of the repercussions, she’d have been delighted.

“You wanna call her back?” Bianca asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Well...no.” Courtney lifted her hand to her mouth, smothering a nervous laugh. “Oh god, she’s gonna kill me.”

“She won’t.” Bianca reached out and took Courtney’s hand. “At least not until next Monday.”

Courtney gave a rueful smile, shoulders sagging a bit. She’d been having the best time with Bianca, every day filled with joy and excitement and love. Part of her wished that it could last forever.

But of course, it couldn’t. It was just a vacation. And tomorrow they were flying back to New York. Which in and of itself wasn’t a problem. After all, they had a fabulous New Year’s Eve party to go to, which was being hosted by Jinkx Monsoon. (The Jinkx Monsoon, who Courtney was thrilled to finally meet; she hoped she wouldn’t embarrass herself by being too much of a fangirl.)

And then a few days later, the movers would come to help her get all her things from her apartment, and she could say goodbye forever to the apartment that her friends called “The Dungeon.”

So things were looking up--at least better than they had in a long time.

But then there was work.

Courtney knew that she should be grateful for all the wonderful things in her life, but the feeling she’d gotten when she saw Fame’s name pop up on her phone had been sheer, unbridled panic. And it hadn’t gotten any better once she’d answered. The thought of going back to all that, where every move she made was wrong, where she was nothing but a fuck-up and a disappointment, was upsetting and frustrating and beyond anything just exhausting.

“What’s wrong, sunshine?” Bianca asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Nothing,” Courtney said, attempting a smile, which Bianca clearly didn’t buy from the way she tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “No, it’s just...a bit of a bummer to think about work.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“I feel like someone just threw a bucket of ice water in my face and screamed at me to wake up from a beautiful dream.”

“Well…” Bianca twirled her glass by the stem, then asked, “What if you didn’t have to wake up?

“What do you mean?”

“Look, I’m not gonna tell you what to do about your job, but...it just seems like it’s making you miserable, with no upside. And worse, it’s leaving you no time to pursue the things you actually care about, like music.”

“I know, but what choice do I have? I have to work.”

“Do you?” Bianca asked, a smirk on her face, and Courtney rolled her eyes.

“Well, yeah. How else will I pay for stuff?”

Bianca shrugged nonchalantly. “You know your rent just decreased dramatically.”

“I know, but it’s not just rent. There’s my phone and student loans and credit cards and legal bills and-”

“Angel…” Bianca pulled Courtney closer, into her lap. “If money is stressing you out, then I can help you with all of that. Actually, I’d be thrilled to help you, if it allows you to follow your dreams.”

“I’m not asking for your money, B,” Courtney said, looking away. Bianca had already given her so much, and now this? What could she possibly offer in return?

“I know.” Bianca took her chin and turned her face back gently, looking into her eyes. “I know you’re not, but I’m offering. There’s a big difference.”

Courtney bit her lip, eyes falling closed as Bianca kissed up her jaw. Was this really happening? Was Bianca really offering her such an easy out to all of her problems? What was the catch? Courtney felt her throat tighten, tears pricking at her eyes.

“Let me take care of you, angel…” she whispered, and Courtney sighed against her.

“You don’t know how badly I want to say yes,” Courtney whispered back. And it was true, she did. She’d always been independent--in fact, she’d prided herself on it, and so had her parents. Even before she left home to study in America, she’d been self-sufficient. In a way, it felt like a cop-out to accept so much help from Bianca. But Courtney was tired, so very tired, of everything being hard all the time.

“Then say yes. Or at least, say you’ll think about it. You don’t have to decide tonight.”

For a few moments, Courtney gazed at her, too overwhelmed to speak.

“What?”

“Um...you just…” Courtney couldn’t say what she wanted to say, which was that Bianca was every single one of her dreams coming true. That she was sheer perfection. So instead, she said, “You just...look really cute tonight.”

A grin broke out on Bianca’s face as she asked, “Oh yeah? You approve?”

Courtney nodded. She very, very much approved. Bianca was wearing a vivid tangerine-colored dress, the color something she herself would have loved to wear (although she had to admit, it looked so good against Bianca’s skin that she’d probably hesitate to ever wear it again), and everything, even her accessories, were bright and fun and joyful. She was so beautiful, thinking about it made Courtney feel choked up once again.

“I...I don’t deserve you,” Courtney finally said, as a tear slipped down her cheek.

“You deserve the world,” Bianca told her earnestly. She leaned forward and pressed a soft, tender kiss to Courtney’s lips before moving to her cheeks, kissing away her tears.

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winterrose527 · 3 years ago

Note

and ok hmm on her morning run Ella finds that a dog (ahem matchmaker greywind) has followed her home

omg of course this has to be the first one I wrote! also I am sorry because this turned out longer than expected?

***

It had started as she’d taken the exit at the reservoir. That feeling of being followed. She had just kept running, because she had a far better chance of outrunning someone than she did fighting them off. She didn’t bother looking back, not wanting to risk stumbling, and she extended her legs further.

Usually she ran so that she didn’t have to feel guilty for eating ice cream every so often, or to clear her head, but her legs reminded her that they were good for this, too. Getting away.

It was foolish to run this early in the morning in the park. Even though there were all those op-eds about how it had been so gentrified with outdoor yoga classes and early morning kids play groups, she’d grown up knowing that you never went into the park at night. And a self-defense class she’d taken in college had told her that most assaults actually happened in the early morning.

So she was an idiot for doing it, but it had been such a beautiful morning and she’d woken with so much energy that she hadn’t been able to stop her feet from bringing her towards the green lushness. By nine o’clock it would have been too hot to run, so she’d set out at six.

She felt better as she exited the park. Shops were opening up, people were out walking their dogs. She could still feel it though, that sensation of being followed.

She turned her head quickly but didn’t see anyone so she kept running, turning right off of 5th avenue and heading east.

It was still there though. She reached into her armband and pulled out her keys, sticking them between her knuckles.

As the dark green awning of her apartment building came into view, Sid standing outside, she got the nerve and stopped running and turned around.

“Hey!” she shouted.

An old man across the street didn’t even look at her. It would take more than that to shock a long term New York City resident. Even if there was no one standing there for her to yell at.

Except, that wasn’t exactly true.

“Hey,” she said more softly, bending down.

A big grey dog, some sort of Husky mix maybe, approached her, his amber eyes looking into hers. She held her hand out and he sniffed it before his eyes closed and he rubbed his face against it.

“Hey,” she all but cooed now, crouching down and drawing him towards her, stroking his soft fur and ears, “Are you my stalker?” He made some sort of grunt in response and she felt around his neck for his tags. It was a grey tag darker than his fur and on one side it said Grey Wind. “Hello Grey Wind, I’m Myrcella.”

She turned the tag around and saw an address and a telephone number.

Grey Wind wasn’t wearing a leash and though he’d followed her long enough that she didn’t imagine he’d run away from her, she didn’t want to risk losing him either.

“Alright, come on you, let’s get inside and call your human,” she suggested.

As though that made very good sense he let her lead him by the collar towards her apartment building.

“They must be so worried about you,” she told him, unsure of why she was talking so much to this dog.

“New friend?” Sid greeted her.

“He followed me home,” she explained, “I’m just going to bring him upstairs while I call his owner.”

She had never looked into what her buildings rule was about pets, though she imagined that if there was a weight capacity Grey Wind far exceeded it.

“I saw nothing,” Sid smiled at her.

She smiled back, “Thanks Sid. Come on Grey Wind.”

Grey Wind looked at Sid who held open the door for him and then looked at her so she went inside and he followed. They went over to the elevator and she pressed the button for the eighth floor, grateful that no one else got in with them.

She led him to her apartment and brought him into the kitchen and filled a bowl of water and put it on the floor for him.

Once he’d had some to drink she looked at his tag again and dialed the number.

“Hello?” someone answered on the first ring.

“Hi, you don’t know me, but I’m Myrcella Baratheon and I think I have your dog?” she offered stupidly.

“Oh thank god,” the man said, “He just took off like nothing I’ve ever seen before, I’ve been all over the neighborhood. Is he alright?”

Myrcella glanced at Grey Wind who had rolled over onto his side and lifted his front paw to give her access to his belly.

“Um,” she couldn’t help but laugh, “Don’t be offended but he doesn’t seem as shaken up as you are.”

The man chuckled, “Of course not. I can come get him, where are you?”

In addition to being warned from going into the park at night, she’d also understood from a young age that you never gave your address to a stranger. There was something about Grey Wind’s amber eyes though and the concern in this guy’s voice that made it seem somehow less stupid.

“168 East 94th Street,” she said, “Just call this number when you get here and I’ll bring him down.”

“That’s funny,” he said, “I’m 168 West 94th Street.”

“Only in New York…,” she said that phrase that encompassed everything from a random party taking place at a taco truck or someone peeing right next to you as you ate outside at a five star restaurant.

“I’ll be right over,” he told her, “And I’m Robb Stark, by the way, and… thank you.”

“See you soon,” she said.

She hung up and poured herself a glass of water, sipping it as she sat on the floor with Grey Wind. He laid his head in her lap and let her scratch behind his ears.

“I should have kept you a little longer,” she told him and then thought about the panic in Robb’s voice, “But then your Daddy might have really lost it. What were you doing, running away from him?”

Grey Wind looked up at her, almost like he was trying to tell her something and though she didn’t know what it was, she scratched underneath his chin.

In what had to be record time, her phone buzzed.

“Hi, Robb, are you here? I’ll be right down,” she said.

“Um, actually, your doorman sent me up,” he told her, “But uh, I totally get it if that’s weird, I mean I’ve basically warned my sisters never to open their doors to a strange man and actually maybe your doorman shouldn’t be doing this job but uhmm… I am outside your apartment.”

There was no way that Sid had let him up, it had to have been one of the other guys. Sid didn’t even let her grandfather up without her express permission.

“Oh, that’s um.. okay I’ll be right there,” she said.

She hung up and got off of her floor and Grey Wind followed her. Stangely, even though he was Robb’s dog and therefore his loyalty would be to him, she felt better about opening the door with him at her side.

When she did, her first thought stupidly, was that she wished that she’d showered. Her second thought was that whichever doorman had let him up was getting a huge Christmas bonus.

She took advantage of his attention being on his dog and checked her appearance in the mirror above the little table in her foyer. She brushed a few strands of hair off of her forehead and was glad that she’d chosen her light blue exercise shorts and matching tank top for her run.

“What were you thinking, buddy?” Robb asked as Grey Wind threaded through his legs, his tail smacking against the doorframe he was so excited to see him. Robb finally looked at her and then something passed over his gorgeous blue eyes and he nodded down at Grey Wind, “Okay, I get it now.”

“Hi,” she greeted him.

“Hi,” he smiled at her. “I’m so sorry about all of this.”

“That’s alright,” she waved him off, “He’s a sweetie pie.”

“I’m glad he was a good boy,” Robb said and then held out his hand, “I’m Robb Stark, which you knew already.”

“Myrcella Baratheon,” she shook his large one, feeling her fingertips tingling.

He looked down at where their hands met and released hers, his fingers trailing over her palm as he did.

“Um, so, since you already gave him a run, I have a bit of time before work,” Robb joked and she smiled. His eyes wandered over her face and he gestured behind him, “Can I buy you a coffee… as a thank you?”

“Oh I’m sort of a mess,” she demurred.

His eyes looked over her, “This is you as a mess?”

She blushed, “Not a stage five or anything,” he smiled and she felt something in her stomach, “But I can make us coffee here… if you want to come in.”

“Yeah?” he asked hopefully.

She nodded, “You’re not like a murderer or anything are you?”

“I am not a murderer,” he agreed, “But I’m a little torn here.”

“Oh…” she nodded.

He shook his head, “No, no it’s just that one part of my brain is like this gorgeous girl just offered you coffee, you take it. If she offers you horse manure, you take it. And then the other part of me, the part that has two younger sisters is wanting me to tell you not to invite me in.”

She nodded, “It’s the second one,” his eyebrows raised, “The second voice in your head? He’s the one I’m inviting in.”

He grinned, “Well, both of them would be delighted.”

“Come on in,” she said, opening her door wider to accommodate his broad shoulders, “Grey Wind can lead the way.”

His dog did just that and she followed them into her kitchen, which gave her a great view of Robb’s butt in his shorts and his muscular back in his t-shirt.

“This is a great place,” he told her.

“Thank you,” she smiled, “I’ve lived in the city my whole life but I’ve been here about a year, have you been in the city long?”

“Just about six months,” he answered.

She went over to her counter and nodded, “That makes sense.” He looked at her questioningly and she explained, “You’re still nice.”

“What’s your excuse?” he asked.

She shrugged, “Haven’t figured it out yet.” Then she gestured to her counter, “So I can make us French Press or if you prefer a cappuccino or latte…”

“I’d like to say I’m easy, but I’d really love a cappuccino if it’s not too much trouble,” he admitted.

“It’s no trouble at all, please sit,” she suggested and went about making their coffees.

She made his cappuccino first and then made herself a vanilla latte and brought them over to the table and handed him his.

They heard sirens go by as they sipped their coffee, but it was New York City so neither them nor Grey Wind thought much of it.

She learned that he was from Vermont, the oldest of five. That his sister Sansa was working at a fancy boutique in Soho and that he worked as a VC, but focused on giving opportunities to entrepreneurs from more marginalized groups.

She told him that she’d been raised a couple blocks west and fifteen blocks south, that her bedroom growing up had a view of the Met and that when she was six she’d decided she was going to run away there and live in one of the historical rooms. She told him that she had two brothers but that neither of them lived in the city anymore and that she worked for a publishing house and had just taken on her own authors for the first time.

When he finished his cappuccino she offered him another which he accepted but didn’t drink.

“I try not to drink more than one cup in a morning,” he told her when he noticed her looking.

“Oh,” she said, “Then…”

“I wasn’t ready to go,” he admitted.

She felt a blush rise on her cheeks but found the gumption to ask, “Will you think I’m terribly forward if I told you that you don’t need to make up an excuse to be here?”

“No,” he said, “But it’ll make it a lot easier to ask you to have dinner with me tonight.”

“Robb,” she smiled, “You don’t need to make up an excuse to be here.”

“Myrcella,” he grinned, “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

She was about to answer when both of their phones flashed. They both picked them up off the table and she saw that it was just a Neighborhood Watch notification.

Robb was reading his and she saw the color drain from his face, so she looked down.

Attack in Central Park at 6:45 AM, victim is female, age 26 and has been taken to the hospital to address her injuries.

“Were you…” he started.

“Yeah…” she agreed.

They both looked down at Grey Wind who was sprawled underneath the table, touching each of their feet.

“Maybe somewhere outside?” she asked, “That allows dogs.”

Robb nodded, “I know a place. We’ll come pick you up at 7.”

She smiled, trying to get her heart rate to return to normal, and said, “I have lived in this city my whole life. I don’t need an escort, I just won’t run in the park in the morning anymore.”

He looked at her like he wanted to say something, and then his blue eyes softened, “Just looking for an excuse to get more time with you.”

And just like that, her heart steadied.

“You don’t need an excuse.”

#fanfiction #modern au #robbcella #as a general rule #do not do anything that myrcella did in this fic #unless of course it's Robb Stark #and then you do whatever you have to

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coneygoil · 5 years ago

Text

The Home We Built Together, part 35

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Astrid couldn’t recall a time when she felt more alive than she had riding on Stormfly’s back. The rush of the wind had pulled her hair and stung her eyes, but she welcomed it. She urged Stormfly on, testing the Nadder’s speed. Stormfly did not disappoint. She tucked her wings and streamed along the surface of the sea at speeds Astrid couldn’t have imagined she’d ever experience. She squeezed her knees tightly to Stormfly’s body, the Nadder showing no signs of her rider’s cling bothering her. Hiccup and Toothless maintained the same speed, soaring along beside them at a short distance. Astrid glanced over at their merged silhouette lined in the moonlight. Astrid wasn’t sure how far or for how long they’d flown. All she knew was that her heart thumped wildly when she thought about doing it again.

***

“I can start work on making saddles. We can take the gang up one at a time. Get them used to riding and the feel of how to work with their dragons. One of us could fly with them on the initial flight. I mean, every dragon is different, and it could be good for us too to know how to fly them—”

Hiccup chattered away as they trekked to the arena to feed the dragons. Him and Astrid had flown the better part of the night before, barely getting a few hours of sleep afterwards. The lack of sleep had been worth it. Astrid was still rubbing sleep from her eyes, but somehow, Hiccup was as energetic as ever.

Astrid laughed to herself. She readjusted the basket of food for the dragons that she insisted on carrying, despite Hiccup’s chivalrous protests.

Hiccup was about ready to burst. “We should tell the gang today!”

Astrid would have agreed if not for the all too familiar bellow that reached them before it reverberated off the cliff-face. It snapped their attention to where the great horn resided near the harbor.

“They’re back,” Astrid gasped, catching sight of the three ships in the distance.

The ship at the head of the small fleet was coming in rapidly, having lines of rows sailing it to shore. Crowned at the bow of the ship was a massive figurehead that they both knew well. Stoick the Vast nobly stood, his fur mantle swooshing in the misty sea air.

The ship docked and the gangplank lowered. The first body to lumber off the ship was none other than their mighty chief. His body held the weight of more than just his physicality. He carried a burden on his shoulders that could be seen even as far away as the cliffs. Gobber greeted his old friend with a hearty slap on the back. They exchanged bits of dialogue that was most likely questions concerning the campaign, which judging by the ships was a sore topic. Stoick suddenly paused at something Gobber said. They exchanged more dialogue before moving on and disappearing under the shadow of the cliff edge. Right before they were out of sight, Stoick’s somber mood had seemed to lift just a tad. Astrid wondered what Gobber had said to make that happen.

They were so caught up in viewing the ship’s arrival that Astrid didn’t come back to herself until she heard an audible swallow next to her. She glanced at Hiccup, but his eyes were still glued to the happenings below. Vikings ambled off the ship as the other ships began to dock along the harbor. One blonde Viking in particular caused Astrid’s heart to leap. A smile spread across her face.

She tugged Hiccup’s arm. “Come on! Let’s go! If we hurry, you can catch up with your dad and I can see my dad.”

Hiccup stayed rooted to the ground, the basket abandon beside him. “You go ahead and find your dad.”

Astrid’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you want to see your dad?”

Hiccup shrugged as if it was no big deal even though it was written all over his face that it was. “I do. I guess. Just not right now.” Astrid could see him visibly deflate. “The dragons need to be feed. You go ahead, Astrid. Go see your dad. I know you miss him.”

Astrid didn’t push. She knew how strained Hiccup and his father’s relationship was. She offered a small smile as she wrapped him in a supportive hug and gave him a quick squeeze. She smiled to herself when he sought a little comfort nuzzling into her neck.

With a promise to catch up with him later, Astrid dashed down the pathway to the docks. She weaved through the crowd of disembarking Vikings finding their land legs once more, carrying weapons and crates and bags of supplies. It appeared the fleet had engaged in some trade along the way, as well, with wares that were not found in their part of the Archipelago.

Excitement bubbled up in her gut as she spotted the one person she had trekked down there in search of. Halsten Hofferson was a man of medium stature. He was of rather slender build, but his shoulders were broad and strong. His head of golden locks favored his daughter’s and brushed his neck in a short braid. His beard was thinner and shorter than most. He didn’t quite fit the standard of Viking men on Berk, but he was a force to be reckoned with, just like his daughter.

Astrid called out to him and practically launched into her father’s arms. Halsten caught her up in his capable hold. Astrid’s boots left the wooden planks of the dock as she embraced her father. Halsten set her down after a significant greeting. He cocked his head at his daughter, a little bewildered but happy to see her.

“Astrid,” he chuckled out, surprised but delighted, “what was that for?”

Warmth crept in her cheeks, and she was embarrassed that they were most likely stained an obvious pink. “I’m glad you’re back.” She’d never been one to display such shows of affection publicly. If she hugged her dad – and she did, despite her outwardly stoic upbringing – it would be within the confines of their home where only Ingrid Hofferson witnessed the loving affection between father and daughter.

Halsten patted his daughter’s back, encouraging her to walk with him through the swarm of people and off the crowded dock. “How’s your mother?”

“She’s well. I don’t get to see her very often, but I know she stays busy.” Astrid recalled the times she’d spent with her mother since her father had shipped off on the campaign. Those times were too few and far in between. “I know she’s missed you.”

Halsten nodded his head, solemnly. “I’ve returned and she will not have to do without anymore.” Astrid could feel her father’s smile as he leaned toward her. “How’s my daughter?”

Astrid had so many things she wanted to say. So much had happened since the campaign had launched two months prior. Astrid felt a twinge in her chest. She couldn’t tell her father any of it. She had to keep her excitement to herself. She settled for something vague. “I’m fine.”

Halsten’s face fell just a bit. “Is the Chief’s son treating you well?”

She could clearly hear his concern. Halsten had not been the most thrilled person to have Hiccup Haddock as a son-in-law. Whereas Ingrid Hofferson carried a glimmer of hope that the hapless son of the Chief could change his course to a better direction, Halsten had strong reservations. Maybe because the Chief’s son was married to his only daughter. His hand had seemed to be stuck in a casing of rock when he had signed the married contract, reluctant but persuaded by his Chief to give his only daughter away.

A smile broke out on Astrid’s face. This was one area in her life she could share. “Hiccup is treating me good.” She ducked her head, trying to conceal her blush at the very thought of her husband and their discovered affection for one another. “We’ve really gotten close.” She paused for a short beat, reigning in her wayward thoughts so that she could face her father again. “I’m happy with him, dad. I really am.”

The village came into view as they rounded a corner of the path. Halsten watched her, searching for a proof of her claim. When he thoroughly examined her, he clapped a hand on her back. “Good to hear, Astrid. Maybe my mind can rest for the time being.” He tugged the end of her braid, teasingly.

Astrid shooed him away, laughing. “Will you stop!” A happy bubble of emotion rose in her chest. She didn’t realize how much she had missed her father until this moment. A question filtered through her head. The images of the burnt spots on the ships and the evidence of a dragon attack answered the question she was about to inquire of.

“How did the campaign go?”

Halsten’s features drew into a somber shape. “We were no closer to seeking the beasts out than before. We sailed around the initial fog that always plagues us, but it seemed to be wrapped around that place so tightly, we could never find a way passed it. Stoick knows the dragon’s nest must be in there. It is the perfect hiding place.”

Astrid knew all too well how perfect of a hiding place it was. The area around the nest wasn’t called Helheim’s Gate for no reason. It was a treacherous way of passage through the dense fog and jutting sea stacks. All on top of surprise dragon attacks.

“They found us. The dragons. We fought—” Halsten paused, seeming at a loss for a moment for the right words. As if he were checking his memory to be sure he was remembering correctly. “The dragons seemed strange. Like, they were trying to chase us away instead of obliterating us as it had been on the last two campaigns.”

Astrid hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath as her father recalled the experience. She knew in her gut that the dragons they’d encountered had to be the Nightmare’s rebellion. They were the only group of dragons there that would possibly do such a thing. She longed more than anything to tell her father why the band of dragons had chased them away instead of fighting them to the death. She longed to tell him that dragons were good. That they could live in peace with them. She wanted to share her secret, but no, this wasn’t the time or place. It wasn’t her secret to tell. Hiccup deserved to reveal the good news. It had been an unexpected fortune when the rest of the teens discovered their secret. But, Hiccup deserved to be the first to tell others besides their little group.

“We were fortunate to not lose a soul,” Halsten continued, drawing Astrid back.

“Yeah—” she replied, carefully, “you were.”

Astrid suddenly wanted to get back to Hiccup more than ever – as if an invisible string was yanking her in the direction she’d last seen him. She embraced her father once more, promising she’d stop by to visit within the next day or so.

She rushed off to the arena thinking she’d find Hiccup there, possibly still feeding the dragons or even gathered with the other teens. She jogged to a halt when she found the arena empty. The basket of food they’d brought for the dragons sat against a wall. She lifted the lid to find it empty. The dragons had been fed, but where had her husband ran off to?

Astrid made her rounds through the village to all the places she knew Hiccup could be. Many Vikings that had come fresh off the campaign greeted her. Their elation and relief to being home after such a long journey was evident on their faces. When she didn’t find Hiccup at all his usual haunts, she had a sneaking feeling exactly where he’d gone. She was just about to dash off in the direction of the forest when she heard her name.

“Astrid! There’s my daughter-in-law,” hailed Stoick, “but where is Hiccup?”

Astrid mustered a smile that she didn’t quite have the emotion to create at the moment. Her mind was solely on Hiccup. He wasn’t anywhere in the village. There was only one other place she knew he had to be. She didn’t know why she was so anxious over the idea that he’d disappeared again. If he was with Toothless then he was safe. She trusted the Night Fury with her life, but especially with Hiccup’s. But, just the thought that he’d disappear without telling her again made her stomach churn.

“That’s who I’m looking for,” Astrid played it off nonchalantly. “I’ll let Hiccup know you’re looking for him. Good to have you back, Chief!” She hurried away before Stoick could inquire any further.

She dashed off toward the forest. Her feet carried her without hardly a thought as to where she was going. She knew the path well. She weaved through the boulders that made a natural barrier around the cove and came to a halt at the drop that led into the cove. She peered around and listened for any signs of life. Her shoulders slumped at the same time her heart dropped into her stomach.

He was gone. Again.

Tags: @martabm90 @chiefhiccstrid @drchee5e

#httyd fanfiction #hiccstrid #arranged marriage au #the home we built together

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blehbleehhhh · 5 years ago

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You Feel Like Home ft. EreMika❣️

Hey, embarrassed Eren & shy Mikasa first kiss anon! Sorry it took so long to write .-. Hope you enjoy and that you see thiskskskndksk.

ps: Pulled this down at first because I wasn’t entirely proud of it lol. So I did some more editing until I was. 🤷‍♀️

A beautiful, fair skinned enchantress with silky raven colored hair lies completely naked in bed on her stomach dressed in only black knee high socks. She smiles sweetly as she tousles her hair, long bangs gradually falling across her angelic face and tickles her cute little nose, allowing a masculine hand to gently rest on her cheek. Dazzling gray-blues suddenly reflect Eren's smiling face while being full of lust, mischief, and desire as she places her hand on his fantastic abdominals and left soft kisses below his bellybutton, her legs bent at the knees so they cross at the ankle. She lifted her head to meet his eyes and bit her lower lip, taking a teasingly long time to unbuckle his belt and loosen his uniform trousers, slowly peeling them down his hips as he's graced with her beautiful smile to see his erection become exposed. His clothing suddenly dropped around his ankles as she leaned in to place a soft kiss to the tip and his hand carefully gathered her hair to keep it away from her mouth while she works, seducing him further under her enticing spell once more. Eren awakes suddenly in his bed feeling disoriented as an adrenaline rush takes over, hyper aware of how fast his heart races and an unfortunately familiar cold and sticky sensation in his boxers which was undoubtedly from having yet another embarrassingly sexual dream about Mikasa. Fuck! He groans, feeling disappointed as he lays back with his mind already thinking about her smile and how it seems to be seen less and less these days. With discontent Eren rolls on his side away from the wall, his heart beating hard against his chest because he now realizes that there was a part of him who always harbored such intense romantic feelings for the girl that he grew up with under the same roof of as luck would have it. I shouldn't feel this way about Mikasa! What the hell! These feelings have been neglected for far too long during his short seventeen years and manifested in dreams ranging from the eradication of all titans and settling down together, to something much more frequent and steamier like the one he had tonight. It all started from her simply bumping into him in the hallway to where their faces were briefly close enough to kiss, but she very quickly pulled away with an adorably bright pink face looking like she wanted to crawl under a rock.

This touch was clearly not like the rest, since she has somehow managed to snap Eren out of that mental block he had up, knocking it down completely unintentionally and made him think that perhaps her smile has always made the world outside his vision of such a glorious sight a blur, because she was all he could see in that moment. Perhaps his heart has always felt like it skipped a beat in her presence, and he simply hasn't been aware of the connection until now. Eren brought the covers over his head and exhaled a sigh of relief that the guys he's rooming with are still asleep but it didn't matter, he already decided when laying back down to wait until they all leave for breakfast to change his boxers. The level of embarrassed he feels is so extreme that he'll willingly put himself through a few more hours of jizz covered boxers just to conceal the fact that he'd had a wet dream about someone he shouldn't be having them for, the girl who has been treated like a sister for years now. But it's not like we're actually brother and sister, either. With that realization he felt a noticeable weight lifted off his chest, though his mind continued to wander further to the day, the exact moment when her body was pressed against his and they were looking into each other's eyes. It didn't take him long after this thought to recognize the feeling of peace, like he was home again, and though that made him want more, he also found it terrifying that his mind went from thinking of her as more of a friend or a sister to wanting the young woman naked in his bed. Hell, Eren isn't sure how to look at her now with these thoughts floating around his mind. Any attempts he makes to block these thoughts or change them with something that's completely unrelated to Mikasa were futile, because his brain was annoyingly persistent and often a distraction even at the most inconvenient times, like whenever they’re running through training courses with giant targets. These targets get hit alright, since Eren has been venting his frustration on them with vicious slices from his gear much more so than usual, though nobody really picked up on a change in his behavior except for his two best friends, one of which actually approached him about this and the strain on his friendship with the girl of their little group at the moment. "Any particular reason why you've been avoiding Mikasa?" Armin holds a boxing safety pad in his hand for Eren, looking just as determined and focused as the young shifter, who was clearly hyped up over something that’s causing increasingly angry punches.

"Nope."

"Why don't I believe that?"

"Don’t know, don’t care."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself," Armin slowly shook his head in disbelief, completely ignoring the typical sharp tone to his friend's voice. "Tell me, Eren, why anyone who has no reason to ignore their friend would then proceed with that anyhow and refuse to be anywhere near that person?" Eren furrowed his brows in annoyance as he stopped throwing punches, already sweating from the heavy training for the last thirty minutes.

"Dude, can you just drop it? I'm really not in the mood."

"Okay," The blonde sighs as another punch was aggressively thrown into the thick protective padding on his hand, then a second, much harder than the previous. "But you should know how much you're breaking her heart." Eren's face was now impossible to read but it’s clear to Armin how angry he is just from how hard he’s punching now, so hard, in fact, that his hand is actually starting to ache.

"She seems fine to me."

"How the hell would you know? You've been avoiding her for almost a week!" Armin’s freehand quickly wiped the sweat from his brow. "Haven't you noticed her missing shit in archery class? I mean, just yesterday she missed a tree with her 3DMG, fell, then got hurt. Mikasa is messing up. I'm relatively certain that she's doing extra training with Levi right now on the big targets." Eren's punching grew much quicker in pace, his fists returning after briefly pulling back with impressive force against the protective padding because he's angry with himself for not noticing the way his behavior effects her despite maintaining a protective eye from afar, so this news is brutally eye opening. Suddenly, Armin was stumbling backwards and falling on his behind in the dusty dirt because one of the punches was thrown so hard that it knocked him over. Only then did Eren's powerful fists finally relax at his sides, his body breathless and drenched in sweat as he offered a hand to his friend, who looked up at him in shock that he was on the ground in the first place.

"I'm sorry," Eren breathed a frustrated sigh as he helped Armin to his feet. "I didn't mean to do that. I think I just zoned out." But his friend just shook his head as he dusted himself off, but he could see that something was wrong. Green eyes so genuinely gloomy.

"No, it's fine, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

"Are you hurt?"

"It’s not me you need to worry about. You really need to go work this out with Mikasa," Armin sighs to catch his breath as he runs his fingers through his short, sweaty blonde hair. "I hate seeing you two so torn up like this.” Eren placed a hand on the back of his neck and sighed as he proceeded to anxiously crack his knuckles on both hands.

"I don't think I can do that."

"Even if to keep her sanity?"

"I don't know what to fucking say, Armin!"

"Just throw all your cards on the table, you know?" His friend looks away to remove the boxing pad and wiggled all of his fingers as he spins his wrist once. "Be honest. Tell Mikasa what's going on with you, because you owe her that." Satisfied with the state his hand was in Armin looked up to see a significantly softened expression looking down at the floor which indicated to him that he has gotten his mind working.

"Alright, I'll pull her aside later I guess.."

"Thank you. Now," Armin slips the pad over his hand and braces himself for impact as Eren takes his fighting stance, waiting for him to give the word. "I'm ready for you to actually punch now, so, have at it my friend. Clear your mind for all of our sanities, please?" Eren nodded once to silently give thanks and immediately began punching, taking all of his anger and frustration out on the protective pad as he clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw began to hurt. He feels sick with himself for making someone he cares about very deeply feel so horrible that even their behavior has started to change. Worst of all, with her ability to aim being effected, Mikasa’s life is in more danger than it is already amidst a seemingly endless war. But tonight he hopes to begin the complicated journey of mending the damage in their relationship so it can finally grow into something beautiful. And when she was leaving the common room with Sasha for something food related, he gently grabbed her pink cardigan sweater from where he sat near the door with Armin.

"Eren?" But the young man didn't answer, only continuing to pull her down the hallway and out the front door of the barracks so he can speak with her far away from possible prying eyes and ears. Mikasa wasn't sure what was going on but she was delighted that he's finally acknowledging her after going so long without so much as a glance. He seemed to be irritated when he let go over her arm and walked ahead slowly with his hands over his face, conveying to her that he certainly was distraught. She swallowed hard and crossed her arms over her chest, cozied up in her sweater from the chilly October night. "Why won't you talk to me?" Her soft voice trembled with tears and she felt the blush rapidly rising on her face. "Did I do something wrong?" Eren remained still with his hands in the pockets of his sleep pants, desperately trying to wrack through his mind for the right words he can say, but the barely audible sound of her soft cry is breaking his heart. I can't believe I made her feel like this..

"No."

"Are you angry with me?"

"Not really."

"I'm sorry, I-"

"No, you're right, you don't understand. I'm not even sure if I do." Eren finally turns to meet her eyes, already glistening from the tears that he has caused. "The simplest answer I can give you is, no, you didn't do anything wrong. But you did do something to me, Mikasa, a-and -" He stutters as his mind becomes so flooded with things to say, that his tongue simply cannot keep up when he speaks, something he finds to be incredibly frustrating. This just isn’t in his nature. “Fuck! I don't even know how to explain it!" Her face reads as even more confused as she processed what was just angrily uttered under his breath.

"Can you try?"

"Look," He takes a self-soothing deep breath and anxiously moves a hand to the back of his head, where it awkwardly itches a non-existent itch. "Ever since you, like, bumped into me in the hallway last week, I haven't been able to get you out of my head.." The young man groaned as he looked away feeling embarrassed that he's behaving so out of his comfort zone for a girl but this is Mikasa, the girl he spent all of his days with growing up after his parents kindly took her in. "You feel...you feel like home to me." His voice sounded shaky, as if he’s afraid of what how she will react to such news from a very private man. She swallows hard as butterflies surge out of control in her stomach having only dreamed to hear words such as these from his mouth and never once considered that it would actually happen someday. Eren takes a step closer and her heart leaps into her throat from excitement of what's the come. "I've been an asshole, and I'm so sorry.”

"It's okay...”

"No, it isn't, and I wish you’d stop going so easy on me when I fuck up," He hesitantly placed his hand on her cheek and welcomed the relentless nerves making him nauseous. "I've been taking you for granted and I'm sorry." Mikasa's eyes were suddenly doe-like as they reflect the sunset behind him and he couldn't help but study them because they’re just so unusual and beautiful. He leaned in slowly until their foreheads gently bumped together, his nerve to kiss her that he’d worked so hard to increase suddenly lost at the last second, leaving them both with racing hearts and quickened breaths. But there is no stopping him now that they’re finally close enough to touch, her sweet breath dusting across his lips as she curled her fingers into his zipped black hoodie, making him all the more eager to wrap his arms around her waist. Eren holds her close as he bravely leans in for more, his cheeks hot from feeling flustered but he didn’t care, not one bit, because this girl has him hooked and he fell for her hard when he allowed himself to. Mikasa sighed softly into his mouth, relieved that she’s finally kissing the only man she has ever loved after years of waiting for this exact moment, her hands slow to wander up his chest until both arms were extended passed his shoulders and her body was completely flush. He pulled his lips away and rests his forehead against hers once more. “Fuck, yes.” She rewards him with a beautiful, wide grin as he proceeded to kiss her once more and allowed herself to melt in his increasingly loving arms, wondering all the while how their relationship will blossom after this epitome Eren had that has taken it in a completely different direction. The way they’ve both intended for it to be.

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ezmodo · 5 years ago

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Volume 7 Shorts - Friendship v2.0 (V7E1)

(Gonna try doing shorts alongside the new volume like I did for V6. Spoilers abound, so if you haven’t seen the episode in the title then I’d say steer clear. Hope you enjoy!)

Penny’s heart soared as she danced through the air above the streets of Mantle.

Ruby was here.

She unleashed a beam that tore through two Sabretooths that were preparing to pounce on a man cowering behind a car. She saluted the civilian as she flew past, continuing her sweep of the city.

Ruby was here!

Ruby, her best friend in the whole wide world, was here in Mantle!

Penny thought she’d never see her again. After the Fall, Penny woke in the safety of her father’s workshop. He told her that she’d “died,” killed by Pyrrha Nikos during their tournament fight. Penny didn’t remember that at all. She had been fighting blow-for-blow against Ms. Nikos and having such a grand time of it. No one had ever been able to match her in a spar before and Penny found the whole experience delightful.

When Penny pulled back to unleash her special move, everything went black. Moments later she was rebooting and her father was smiling down at her. He must have deleted that last moment from her memory to spare her the pain. He was such a kind man. Penny was just a little bit disappointed though - she thought it would have been a rather unique experience to have.

Penny wanted nothing more than to leave and go find Ruby. There were villains out there and she just knew that her best friend would be out there fighting them. Mr. Ironwood asked her to join the military officially and protect Atlas. He’d said that they could be attacked at anytime and that the people of Atlas needed her help. Her father argued a lot with Mr. Ironwood about that but they eventually found a middle ground. Penny would be the unofficial protector of Mantle and be there to respond to any attacks the military weren’t able to stop in time.

It was frustrating at first. Ruby was a huntress and a hero but she’d need all the help she could get, but the people of Mantle really did need Penny. The Grimm were getting into the city at least once a week and they were often stronger than the AK-200s that patrolled the streets could handle. She knew Ruby would never abandon people in need and she wasn’t about to either. Penny had even made new friends, though none as close as Ruby.

One such friend was calling to her now. Penny turned at the next intersection, using a streetlight to swing herself around and gain momentum. The traffic over the military network indicated that the attack was over but a sole distress signal was coming in from two blocks away. She didn’t need to rush - there were no hostiles in the area, after all - but the sooner she helped her friend, the sooner she could get back home to see Ruby.

---

The street had seen fighting. Scanning the road, Penny was happy to see that none of the local residents had been caught up in the attack. The only “casualties” to be found were the remains of the AK-200s that fell victim to the Grimm. It was under one such crumpled robot that she found her friend.

“Salutations, Lemon! Are you in need of assistance?”

She received no response, though the distress signal continued to broadcast. Crouching down, she came face-to-camera with the surveillance drone. The poor thing was on its side, crushed under the weight of the combat robot.

“Are you well?” she asked. The only response was the whir of the bot’s camera as it scanned Penny’s face.

She lifted the heavier robot off the little drone and dumped the mangled remains off to the side. Penny dusted her friend off and patted the lemon sticker on its chassis affectionately. She had given each of her drone friends one and each neighborhood had its own theme. This neighborhood was fruit, to the east was vegetables, to the west was birds, and so on. Whenever the little girl who lived across the street gave her a new sheet of stickers Penny would range further from home to give her friends names.

“I’m glad to see you’re unharmed,” Penny said happily.

The little droid hovered in place for a time, internal devices whirring as it did a self diagnostic. Then, without so much as even a glance, it continued down the road on its preprogrammed route. Penny waved after him until he disappeared around the corner. They weren’t like her, she knew. They didn’t have aura, or a personality, and they never responded when she chatted with them, but she loved them all the same. She was glad Lemon was okay.

Lifting off, Penny decided to make one last lap around the neighborhood to make sure no one else needed assistance. There were no hostiles reported in the area, but casualties among the local residents often went unreported. As excited as she was to hang out with Ruby, she wouldn’t abandon the people she swore to protect.

Penny couldn’t help feeling giddy. She wanted to hear all about Ruby’s adventures. They hadn’t seen each other in so long, after all, and no news ever came in about the outside world. Penny even had stories of her own to share. And when was the best time to share stories? At a sleepover, of course!

Nails! Clothes! Cute boys! Penny would finally get that sleepover she had been planning since she first met Ruby. She’d invite the rest of Ruby’s team, naturally, and Team JNPR as well. The more the merrier, after all. Team JNPR was 50% cute boys though. Could you talk about cute boys while said cute boys were in the room? She’d have to ask Ruby.

Penny didn’t recall seeing Pyrrha Nikos with the group earlier. She’d have to ask about that as well. She really wanted to tell Ms. Nikos that there were no hard feelings for what happened during the tournament. After all, they’d cross blades in the heat of battle and, according to that cartoon Ruby told her to watch, that built the strongest friendships.

Her sweep of the city complete, Penny turned towards home. She just knew her father would let her have a sleepover. Tonight would be the birth of v2.0 of the unstoppable Ruby/Penny friendship!

---

Maria sat heavily on the curb outside of Pietro’s house, back complaining about her choice of seat. Not half an hour in Mantle and the brats had already gotten themselves arrested. She shouldn’t be surprised, honestly. Not since they all so readily jumped at the blond doofus’ plan to steal a bullhead to get here in the first place. Pietro paced nervously in the street, robotic legs taking him to and fro. His daughter was on her way back and he didn’t look prepared to deliver the bad news.

In a flash of green, said daughter rocketed down onto the street, going down to one knee dramatically as dust whirled around her landing zone.

“Father!” the girl exclaimed, approaching her father. “I was hoping Ruby and her friends could stay over tonight for a sleepover…” Penny started, hands gesticulating excitedly.

“Penny,” Pietro said patiently as he wrung his hands.

“And her boy friends, too. Not boyfriends, though maybe one of them is her boyfriend. Do you think so? Anyway, it would be rude to leave them out, and I know it’s unorthodox…”

“Sweetie…”

“They can sleep in the other room! Oh, we can watch movies, and play games, and...”

“Darling.”

“Oh! We’ll also need to feed them. Do you think they’d like pizza? I’ve read that pizza is the sleepover cuisine of choice. But I don’t have any allowance...do you mind if-”

“Enough!” Maria snapped, slamming her cane onto the curb for effect. She thought Ruby and that Nora girl were bad, but Pietro’s daughter was a whole new level of spastic.

“My apologies, Ruby’s Grandma,” Penny said quickly before turning back to her father. “Where is Ruby, Father?”

Maria nearly choked. “Who are you calling grandma?”

“My apologies,” Penny repeated, bowing. “Granny.”

“Granny?!”

“Listen,” Pietro blurted before Maria could start in. “Your friends were...well…”

“They were tied up and thrown into the back of a bullhead bound for Atlas,” Maria said, grumbling at the robotic whippersnapper’s sass as she climbed to her feet.

“They were KIDNAPPED?” Maria didn’t see where the blades came from, but now Penny was surrounded by the things, each glinting dangerously in the low light. “Don’t you worry, I’ll go and rescue them! You should alert the military!”

Pietro rushed to stop her. “They were arrested, Penny. By the military.”

“That’s silly. Ruby’s a good girl! Her friends are too!” Penny asserted.

Maria rolled her robotic eyes. “They stole the bullhead they flew here in.”

That gave Penny pause. Her swords lowered and folded in towards her, disappearing behind her back. Pietro reached a hand towards her in concern. “Now honey, I’m sure it’s all one big misunderstandi-”

“Ruby’s in her rebellious phase?!” Penny shouted excitedly. Maria nearly stumbled back from the girl’s explosive excitement. Her eyes were shining as she looked between the two adults. “Puberty! It must be puberty!”

This is it. This insanity will be what finally puts me in the ground, Maria realized. I should have never gotten off that train.

The blades sprung out again, circling quietly behind the robot girl’s back. Penny’s grin was wide and just a little manic. It reminded her of Ruby’s back in Argus, when they were in the thick of planning their “heist”.

“I should be able to catch up with their transport in no time at all,” Penny stated matter-of-factly. “Then I’ll-”

“No breaking the law, sweetie.” Pietro begged. “Please.”

The blades retracted in a flash and a more innocent smile graced her face. “I’ll go speak with Mr. Ironwood. Farewell Father!”

Resigned, the older man’s shoulders sagged. “Be safe, darling!” Pietro called after her.

Penny shot into the air and waved back over her shoulder as she streaked away. “I will! And it was nice meeting you, Nana!”

Maria thought she might need dentures after how hard she ground her teeth. She was just starting to get used to the normal level of wackiness Ruby and her friends got up to and now it looked like things were about to get zanier.

“That girl is an angel,” Pietro said with a heavy sigh. “The one that will see me to heaven, at this rate.”

Maria only grunted. She was too old for this ten years ago.

“I suppose we should get out of the cold and have a look at your eyes,” he said, turning back towards his home. “I’m sure we’ll be hearing from the General in no time at all.”

#rwby #rwby7 #penny polendina #pietro polendina #ruby rose #maria calavera #writing

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d-ama-ien · 5 years ago

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“They’re Cheesy for a Reason”

Written for the First Visitation Day Gift Exchange run by @yancy-support-group

Gift for @breadstickksss , Prompt: soft

Yancy x Reader

Word count: 2626 (I may have gotten a bit excited…)

It's been months since the incident that got me sent to Happy Trails Penitentiary. Sure, adjusting to prison life was a bit rough at first, and I still don't love when the guards are in a bad mood and beat us around, but the kindness of the other prisoners quickly made me realize it wasn't that bad to be in prison. And I was a model prisoner, so I didn't fall victim to the guard's bad moods very often.

Of all the prisoners, I had quickly grown closest to Yancy. He was the head of the family, in a way, so he often took the new prisoners under his wing until they got their feet under them. My feet have been under me for months, to the point where I can even help out new prisoners myself, but Yancy still spent most of his free time with me. It's not like I'm going to protest, I love spending time with him. Anything from mealtime to lifting weights in the yard was a pleasure; it was a surprise just how cute he could be, especially since I had heard from one of the others what exactly had gone down that led to him being sent here.

But, despite all his issues, Yancy was kind to the other prisoners, he valued the family he had built here above everything, he loved singing show tunes, even making and choreographing his own songs. When Yancy found out I was a musical fan as well, he had ranted about the shows he had seen for an hour before realizing how long he had been talking and apologizing. I found it adorable though, loving his enthusiasm, so we continued to talk about that for hours until the guards had to physically separate us for curfew.

I don't see Yancy every day, he has to keep the family in shape, I have my own things to do, my own friends to hang out with, but on those days that Yancy is off with a new prisoner, I can't help but feel a bit moody. Each day, spent with or without Yancy, I'm becoming painfully aware that the feelings I have for him are more than platonic. It gets to the point where I have trouble reciprocating his friendly touches, finding myself daydreaming that instead of a platonic squeeze on my shoulder, he would lace his fingers with mine and squeeze our hands together instead.

Yancy doesn't seem to be interested though, so I keep content with our friendship, enjoying the opportunity to know him any capacity. Sometimes, he makes it difficult for me to remain on the friendly side of things.

It happens while talking about first dates or first meetings in musicals. We were talking about romantic duets from our favorite shows, and the topic shifted to things like the start of the romance versus the big romantic finale when the characters will kiss and live happily ever after.

"I mean, is there anything cuter than I'll Cover You? Angel and Collins are absolutely perfect," I say, sighing as I remember the scene from Rent.

"Yeah, yeah, it's real cute until you remember the reprise that Collins sings after Angel dies," Yancy points out.

"It's still romantic! Depressing and awful, but those two have a love like nothing else, so even the reprise is romantic," I don't bring up how I cry like a baby almost every time I listen to the reprise. I mean, Angel's death and then the funeral and then all the breakups immediately afterward, it's a series of painful scenes.

"What about something cute and not depressing, maybe that Prom show you were talking about?" Yancy was pretty behind on Broadway shows, makes sense since he's been here so long, but I had been doing my best to tell him about the ones I knew.

"The Prom ends cute, but that main relationship goes through some serious problems too. I mean, the one girl's mom is a homophobe and purposefully ruins the main character's prom night, leading the girls to break up. They make up, but you know I cried in the theater because of that moment," Yancy sighs when I explain more about the central relationship I had told him about.

"Is every relationship depressing in musicals, or am I just not thinking of the right type of show?"

"I mean, if the relationships went well right off the bat, then it wouldn't be much of a plot," I point out.

"These musical characters got it all wrong, they just gotta do something simple. I think show writers underestimate the power of something cheesy like a picnic under the stars," Yancy throws his hands behind his head, leaning back casually while speaking.

"Aww, who knew you were an old school romantic," I tease, earning a scoff.

"Stuff like that's only considered cheesy because it works! Youse would agree if anyone did something like that for you," I'm almost offended at the insinuation that no one had ever done something cheesy for me. Still, none of my partners had set up a starlit picnic for me, so he was technically right.

"You got me there, I've never had anyone set up a picnic under the stars for me. But I think a normal coffee date would be the most realistic thing to portray in a show, I don't think picnics are super common anymore,"

"Do ya know what? I'll set up a starlight picnic for youse sometime, then you'll get what I'm talkin' bout," I laugh at what Yancy says, ignoring the stirring of emotions in my chest at the idea of Yancy doing something like that for me.

"Sure, Yancy, we'll see if that changes my mind," I agree.

"But, really, there's gotta be a relationship that goes well for an entire show," Yancy returns to the original train of conversation, and we spend the next hour of our free time trying to spitball shows with a straightforward and completely happy relationship.

After a week, that conversation is basically out of my mind. We have a lot of discussions, after all, and my brain space isn't only dedicated to Yancy, other things are going on around the prison to think about.

One evening I return to my empty cell, my cellmate had gotten parole a few days ago and hadn't been replaced yet. I turn on the small TV, it'll hopefully keep me entertained until lights out at least. The channels are minimal, I end up with some soap opera droning in the background while I take some time to read. They spoil us here at the penitentiary, but we're all about rehabilitation and rewards. Unless you get punished because when they give out punishments, you really suffer. That's why I keep on my best behavior, that's how I get these privileges. I'm just getting invested in a new chapter when the guard on duty stops by my cell.

"It's time for lights out, shut your TV off and get to bed," I oblige quickly, the guard walking away once I put the remote and book down by the, now off, TV. I slide under the covers of the bottom bunk, settling in for another good night of rest.

When I wake up, the cell is dim, I know it's still night, but I heard an unusual sound. I open my eyes slowly, blinking to adjust to the near non-existent lighting, and then I nearly jump out of my skin and have to muffle a scream.

Yancy has stuffed himself between the bunk and the mattress, grinning down at me. I cover my face for a moment, taking deep breaths to recover from the scare, before rolling out of bed to wait for Yancy to come out from under the mattress.

"What are you doing here? You nearly gave me a heart attack," I whisper my complaint, not wanting to draw the attention of the night shift guards.

"Just put ya shoes on, we got a picnic to get to,"

I blink in confusion as Yancy hands me my shoes, not sure I processed his sentence correctly. "A picnic?"

"You thought I was kidding?" Yancy laughs a bit as I slide my shoes on, "I really meant it when I said I'd take you out on a starlight picnic one of these nights," I suddenly recall our conversation from earlier this week, but I had seriously thought he was joking about that.

"Wait, we're in prison. How are we supposed to have a picnic?" It's the middle of the night, I don't know how to wrap my brain around this.

"We're gonna break out," My mouth drops open in shock, I'm about to loudly demand an explanation when he rapidly waves his hands, "Temporarily! We'll come back, we ain't leavin' forever. Just for the picnic,"

I sigh in relief, I was almost sure for a second that this was Yancy's evil twin or an alien imposter and I was going to have to kill him. The Yancy I knew did not want to leave here anytime soon.

"Come on, if youse keep stalling, we ain't gonna have time for the picnic," Yancy nags as I finish lacing up my shoes. "But, before we go, youse gotta promise that you ain't gonna tell anyone the way out, and promise that youse won't go out for no reason,"

"I promise," I intend to finish out my sentence honestly, and while I like the other prisoners, I wouldn't want any of them out in society, so I definitely won't be telling any of them the way.

"Good, we'll skip the blindfold then," Yancy says with a grin, turning to move some of the decorations, revealing a small hole in the wall. He hooks a finger into the hole, apparently the wall here is just a panel that can be dragged open. We go through the tunnels, dodging some insanely heavy security measures that require very odd counting to get through, swim through a sewage pipe, which is as awful as it sounds, go through a series of increasingly complex instructions that I barely follow. Suddenly we're outside the prison gates. Yancy grabs my hand, pulling me along until we're clear of the building's light, walking along the edge of a nearby forest.

I gasp when we come upon the picnic Yancy had set up, a collection of candles surrounding a large blanket, a basket sitting in the center. Yancy smiles at my reaction, dragging me over to the blanket and encouraging me to sit on the blanket while he pulls supplies out of the basket.

"Yancy, where did you get all of this?" I ask, totally delighted as he hands me a glass and pours me some sort of sparkling drink. He pulls out a plate of small sandwiches next, offering it to me before he pours himself a drink.

"Cucumber sandwiches, really?" He even cut them into tiny triangles.

"You just gotta know where the guards keep their personal stash, they got all sorts of fancy stuff there. They won't miss any of this stuff, so we might as well use it," he explains, leaning back to support himself on his arm, watching me with a small smile.

"I can't believe you really set this up," I lean back as well, craning my neck to look up at the stars. They're beautiful out here; there's no light pollution out here, so the night sky is clearer than I've ever seen it.

"I'm a man of my word, and I said I'd set up a starlight picnic for youse. Do youse doubt my word?" I can tell Yancy is teasing, he nudges my shoulder how he usually does when poking fun, but I decide to answer anyways.

"I thought you were joking, honestly. I mean, why would you put in the work of setting all this up just for me?" Yancy's brows furrow at that.

"What do ya mean by that? Of course I'd do stuff like this for youse." Yancy ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck shyly, "I care about youse, dummy,"

I wait for the joke or laughter to follow, but it never comes. My heart is nearly beating out of my chest, my cheeks burning red even if I'm sure he meant he cared as a friend.

"I care about you too, I really value your friendship," I reply, managing to smile at him. I swear his lips twitch into a frown for a moment, but it must be a flicker of the candlelight. I shiver a bit from a sudden breeze, Yancy immediately activates his "head of the family" instincts and starts rummaging through the basket.

"I thought it might get a bit chilly," he comments as he pulls out a fuzzy blanket, it's even my favorite color. I accept the blanket gratefully, wrapping myself up in the soft material. I stare up at the stars, trying to pick out constellations that I could remember, and I hear Yancy softly sigh from next to me.

"Hey, Yancy, I've got a question," I glance towards him, waiting for his nod before continuing, "Do you ever… do you ever regret getting sent here?"

It's a sensitive question, one I don't think I would ever ask while in the walls of the prison, but Yancy does not react at first.

"I…. I honestly can't say that I regret it. I didn't mean for things to go the way they did, but this life is better than anything I ever had on the outside. I got a real family here, and… I got youse," I twist my hands in the soft material of the blanket, quietly contemplating his answer.

"What about youse? Any regrets?"

"I miss my family, I guess, but otherwise, I can't say that I regret much. If I weren't here, I wouldn't have met you, and you're probably one of the best things to happen to me," I admit it, at least partially, getting those feelings into the open air under the stars.

"Come here," Yancy mutters, pulling me closer to him until I'm pressed against his side, resting my head on his shoulder. We sit in comfortable silence, relaxing under the stars.

"I think you were right about these picnics," I mumble, sleep starting to take over. I feel Yancy's low chuckle more than I hear it, followed shortly by the press of his lips against my forehead. I doze off, comforted by the warmth of his body and the blanket surrounding me.

The next day I wake up in my usual bunk, half wondering if I dreamed up that whole picnic. That escape situation was ridiculous after all, and I can't imagine anyone, even a guy as strong as Yancy, being able to carry someone through all those security measures. And it's not like I can ask about it- if it did happen, that means we literally broke out of here last night. I shake off the thoughts, deciding to just go to breakfast and worry about it later.

"Hey, youse!" Yancy greets as I walk into the dining hall, "I saved youse a seat," he points out the chair in question, going over to talk to one of the other prisoners while I go and grab a tray of food and take my seat.

"How'd ya sleep?" Yancy questions, winking when I raise my eyebrow at him. His hand finds mine under the table, intertwining our fingers and squeezing when I smile at him.

"I slept great, and you know after last night I just had this strange inclination that you had a point about those cheesy first dates,"

"I told youse, it's cheesy for a reason.”

#visitationdaygiftexchange #first visitation gift exchange #markiplier #ahwm yancy #yancy #a heist with markiplier #long post #so the literal 'soft' is the soft blanket that yancy wraps you up with #but its mostly a figurative 'ahhh soft fluffy fluff' kind of thing #that story about me crying in the theater during the prom is true i was literally sobbing at the fake prom set up #im a sensitive gay okay?#i do also cry every time i hear the i'll cover you reprise #again with the sesitive gay thing #RENT especially bc Angel is literally how I discovered my sexuality lol her death really really hurt #anyways sorry if you aren't familiar with musicals i just needed a reason that he would take us on a starlight picnic #and that reason is we all theater nerds in this joint

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wildefiction · 5 years ago

Text

Focus

PAIRING: Rob x Reader x Chris

CHAPTER: 12/?

WORD COUNT: 2,176

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Cute fluff, Stressed Reader, Gossip, Frustration

A/N: Here's chapter 12 to the collaboration @natasha-cole and I are writing - enjoy!

With a reassuring pat on your shoulder, Kim smiled before pulling open the door to the ladies’ room. Bri, ever the optimist, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and walked out with you. Bidding you good-night and good luck, the two of them sauntered back over to the decidedly smaller group of people they’d been sitting with earlier.

Wandering back over to the couch with the conversation you’d just had with the girls still fresh in your mind, you began to gather your things, fully intent on heading back to your room.

Rob’s tired smile greeted you from where he still sat on the couch. Lifting himself from the cushions, he raised his arms, stretching while trying to stifle a yawn.

Realizing your own exhaustion, you glanced at the phone in your hand to see how late it was. The screen read three-forty-five. How you’d managed to stay awake this long, you weren’t sure. Though it may have had something to do with the company you’d kept and the conversations you’d had in the several hours that had passed since you’d followed Kim up from the green room.

“I don’t know how you guys do this every weekend.” Smiling at the man in front of you when he reached for your hand, the question in your eyes was undeniable as his warm fingers laced themselves through yours.

“You get used to it, or rather, some of us do. We see each other a lot, but Saturday nights – everyone is so hyped up after the concert that we couldn’t sleep right away if we tried.”

Nodding your understanding as the two of you made your way to the door, you let his answer sink in. He must have mistook your silence for discomfort however, and as his thumb smoothed over your knuckles, you were brought back to the present.

“You okay?” Concern mingled with the fatigue on his face, and you smiled. The idea that someone could read you well enough to tell the difference between your being tired and upset was a new idea for you. For a moment, you considered just talking to him right then. The halls were quiet as he walked you back towards your room, but the thought was brief. You knew you’d rather be completely present for the conversation you’d be having with both him and Chris. Squeezing his hand, you nodded.

“Just tired. I don’t think I’ve been up this late in ten years.” “I’m actually debating whether it’s even worth it to sleep at this point.”

Rubbing your free hand across your face, the small movement seemed to bring with it the full weight of your exhaustion.

“Trust me, you’re going to want to sleep as much as you can. Don’t wanna show up for work in the morning and not be at the top of your game. It’s J2 day after all.”

Nudging your shoulder as the two of you approached your door, Rob stopped short, pulling you around and into a sweet hug. The steady beating in his chest threatening to make you fall asleep standing right where you were. Pressing his lips to your forehead, he smiled sleepily.

“Get some sleep, [Y/F/N] – I’ll see you tomorrow. Or…rather, later today.”

Nodding to yourself, but finding it difficult to move away from his embrace, you finally sighed and unlocked your door. With a final glance, Rob said goodbye and turned to walk back down the hallway.

Having zero energy to change into different clothes, you fell face-first into the mediocre hotel bed, asleep before you could even think about anything that had transpired tonight.

****

A frenzied knocking at the door pulled you from a deep sleep. Squinting against the early morning sun streaming through the window, you hoped the noise had been part of your dream. Closing your eyes to try and recapture it proved futile as the insistent interruption sounded again.

If only you'd given whoever stood on the other side of that door a spare key, you wouldn't have to get out of bed.

Wishful thinking on your part.

The next round of knocking came with the muffled sound of your name. Not wanting to disturb the people who were likely trying to sleep in on the final day of their weekend, you begrudgingly extracted yourself from the nest of blankets and crossed the room to the door. Pulling it open amidst yet another flurry of knocking, you were surprised to see Kim and Briana standing on the other side.

Craning their heads to look over your shoulder, Briana brushed past you into the room while Kim started immediately with rapid fire questions.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" "How ya feeling?"

"We brought coffee, and not that gross hotel sludge they so generously offer for free, but the real stuff. The good stuff."

"You like coffee right?"

Nodding with a barely disguised grumble of affirmation, you could only smile as the women both grimaced good-naturedly.

"Yikes, rough night?"

"...you're uh, you're not hiding anyone under the bed or in the closet are you?"

The last teasing remark was the first thing Briana had said to you, and honestly, the first thing that even remotely registered as a question needing answered.

Standing to one side so Kim could squeeze past, you turned, still wrapped in the duvet as the door clicked shut behind you.

"Definitely not."

Sipping at the bold flavors of the latte Kim had given you, the surprised glance shared between the other two women went unnoticed.

"Well, uh, have you talked to them yet?"

Glancing at Briana, her gaze was still on Kim even though she had spoken to you.

Turning your attention to the other woman, your eyes narrowed upon noticing the poorly concealed consternation Kim wore on her face.

"No….why?” Setting the coffee on the bedside table, attention now fully on the girls, you crossed your arms under your chest, alternating your attention between them, hoping one of them was about to start talking.

"Uh, well, funny you should ask...but uh...we..erm.."

Briana was stalling, shooting furtive glances to her friend, silently asking for help.

"We can't find Chris. We thought maybe…"

Waffling her hands in the air, her very pointed expression made it clear why they were at your room at nine am.

Choking on a sip of the coffee you'd picked back up, you took a moment to wipe the back of a hand across your chin.

"And..what, you thought he'd be here?!"

Scrunching up her face, Kim shrugged before nodding vigorously.

"I'm not sure whether to be offended or flattered." A snort of laughter followed the statement, but you weren't really upset.

"I mean, I guess I can understand why you guys would think to come here but I haven't seen Chris since last night."

"Rob walked me back to my room and then I crashed. As you can see, I didn't even change."

Skirting the bed to pick up your phone from the dresser, you flicked open the screen. There were no messages or missed calls.

"I'll shoot him a text and--"

"We've all done that. Went to his room too." Briana said the words softly, as if she wasn't sure how you'd take the news.

"Yeah, but maybe Chris will answer [Y/F/N]. Couldn't hurt anyways." Kim pointed out.

"I mean...it is still really early. Hell, I've only slept five hours myself. Are you guys sure he's not just passed out in his room?"

Typing out a quick good morning text, asking Chris if he wanted to meet for lunch, you set the phone back down on the dresser.

"Chris is always the first one up. Dude is awake before the birds, regardless of how late he stayed out the night before." Kim went on to explain that nobody had heard from him since he'd left the party last night.

"I'm sure he's fine. Really...he's a big boy, he can take care of himself."

"The convention doesn't start for another few hours, right? I bet he'll be back before the first set of photo ops. He's probably just getting breakfast or something."

****

Following the girls downstairs after you'd taken the time to shower and brush your teeth - which went a remarkably long way towards feeling like a functioning human again - the vendors room caught your eye.

"I'll catch up later guys, I'm gonna check this out."

Ducking into the adjacent hallway, several tables were spread across the space. Arranged amongst the typical t-shirt vendors, artists sold everything from paintings to jewelry to custom figurines.

Selecting a tote bag and several CD's from the Louden Swain merchandise table, you were paying for your selections when a familiar voice caught your attention.

"Yeah, that's her."

"I don't know, but he's been really different this weekend. It's like he doesn't even see us now that she's around."

The conversation was all hushed tones and urgent whispers, and it was clear that whoever the woman was talking to was trying, unsuccessfully, to keep her voice down.

You weren't typically one to eavesdrop on others discussions but it was pretty clear you were part of it. Plus, they were talking about Chris. Maybe they knew where he was.

Before you had a chance to ask them, the two women walked away, leaving you to wonder what they were talking about.

"Don't pay them any mind, unfortunately, gossip spreads like wildfire around here and since you're the new girl, you're the hot topic of the weekend."

Sitting diagonally from where you stood, a girl smiled at you from behind her booth. Approaching her table, you took note of the stylized art of the guests, lined up next to a large, incredibly detailed portrait of Rob.

"Wow, this is really amazing."

Bending over to study the color palette she'd chosen to use, you'd intended to take her observation with a grain of salt. She, however didn't appear to be finished.

"You seem cool enough though. You're pretty talented with that camera of yours. Chris talks about you often."

There was no hint of jealousy or mockery in her words, and her neutral expression seemed friendly enough.

"You guys are friends?" "Have you seen him today?"

The woman shrugged nonchalantly.

"I suppose? He and I have been at the same conventions for several years, and we take great delight in annoying each other - but aside from that?"

Bending over her notebook, she went back to working on her drawing.

Taking note of the fact that she hadn't really answered either of your questions, you were just about to look through her portfolio when your phone rang.

"Hey, did you guys find him?" "Oh...really? And what time does it start? Damnit. Ok, I'll be there in a sec."

Dropping the device back into your pocket, you said a hurried goodbye and made a beeline for the door.

It was nearing eleven o'clock, when a line of people would be waiting for their photo ops with Jensen. Hurrying to the room, when you arrived and the space was silent, concern really started to set in.

Chris had never missed a Creation event since he'd started. Well over a hundred events and he'd always shown up. You could only hope today wouldn't change that.

Approximately fifty people were already milling about outside of the quiet space, volunteers trying to herd them back into the auditorium.

"Guys, please return to the theater - we'll be calling Jensen's photo ops in groups of fifty to a hundred at a time."

"Chris hasn't even set up for the day please go back to your seats."

You made a mental note to thank the volunteers at some point today, they really were the backbone of these conventions.

Slipping through the door, you were quick to flip the light switches. The silence and the dark were too much together when you'd only ever seen the room brightly lit and loud.

Figuring the least you could do was start setting up, you made the rounds, checking that lights were connected, the printers were turned on and the marks on the floor didn't need refreshing. Chris's equipment wasn't in the room, but then you hadn't really expected him to leave it overnight.

Checking your phone once more, it was still devoid of any notifications. Navigating to your own playlists, you hit start and docked it in the cradle sitting on the table. It wasn't his music, but it made the wait infinitely less awkward.

When the door opened, you glanced up, heart beating wildly in your chest. Hoping…

"Hey, uh, we've got the first fifty people lined up out here. Should I let the handlers know to bring Jensen in?"

Chris's assistant searched your face for answers. Problem was, you had no idea how to do this alone. Right now, it looked as if your choice was being made for you however, as you couldn't realistically ask them to wait any longer than they already had.

'Uh..ye-yeah.. go ahead. Let's see what happens."

TAGS: @natasha-cole @wings-of-a-raven @jamielea81

#wildefiction #focus #SPNxRPF #spn conventions #collaboration

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juleswolverton-hyde · 5 years ago

Text

Hold the door (BC x Reader)

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Bangchan x Reader

Warning: Spoilers for GoT S4 & S6 E5

Summary: Fantasy can be brutal yet be addicting after a long day of work. Fortunately, a dearly loved kangaroo knows how to lessen the pain of the politics of Westeros.

Author’s Note: Top o’ the morning!

This is my first piece for Stray Kids since they are slowly taking over my life and especially Chris (Bangchan). Hopefully, despite this being not BTS-related for once, it is still an enjoyable read.

For any Stays reading this and who are not acquainted with my works as of yet: I hope I do not disappoint.

Masterlist

A good story evokes emotions with its imagery and plot line, even more so when actors play out the scenes which are craftily adapted to a visual new format despite being written first in ink. The series ‘’Game of Thrones’’ is a splendid example of what might happen in a scenario in which the story hits harder than expected, beloved characters dying left and right while the audience can merely look on in horror.

Or cheer in delight in Joffrey’s case.

The day at work at the café in the centre of town had been hazardous, the arrival of spring break ensuring lots of tourists to come in to taste and photograph the seasonal specials while enjoying the gradually becoming warmer sunny weather. The entire shift literally consisted of creating soft sweet sakura custard buns and sweet lush green mochis decorated with a rice dough cherry blossom and petals, slicing up the slightly floral cheesecake with a pink inside that had to be remade perhaps four to five times due to the high demand. Not to speak of the effort to deliver with making the time-consuming coffees and hot or cold cocoas befitting the abundant fall of sakura around the village. However, such are the duties of being part of the already small team: each person has to be able to work all-round when this time of the year comes despite there not being too much patronage otherwise since the city is not that big nor well-known.

But every exhausting shift makes a mini-marathon in the evening of the new season of ‘’Game of Thrones’’ all the more deserved, simply sitting back on the comfortable creme-coloured love seat with a cup of freshly prepared ice coffee and either a tub of cookies and cream ice cream or a protein bar in the same flavour. Fortunately, it is not minded by the boyfriend of one and a half years since the blonde athletic boy can mostly be found at the gym in the evenings when not hanging out with friends.

Nonetheless, Chris’s absence is more of a curse since the first episode of the night has a grander impact on the psyche than expected, making a firm hug that is mostly tried to be escaped from under normal circumstances now dearly desired. Too many impactful emotional events follow each other up at the end of the sixth season’s fifth episode, triggering the rare reaction of tears in eyes that can merely watch and a palm wrapped over a speechless mouth.

The response is even powerful enough to miss the click of the front door of the shared apartment and the dull thump of the ashen buffalo bag filled with sports gear in the tiny entryway leading to the studio, much less so the giggle following the habitual greeting of “I’m home, babygirl”, which is still awkward despite the many times it has been uttered.

‘Hey, Y/N, are you, wait, are you crying?’ As soon as the credits roll over the screen and the DVD is paused, fingers unclasp from paralyzed lips to wipe away the watery traces of the damage done by mere yet gripping fantasy which stirs the youth to rush over to the couch and rapidly take place on the empty spot formerly occupied by bare feet, making a sorrowful being bounce slightly with the impact of the sudden additional weight. Firm veiny arms are immediately clung onto when they initiate an unbreakable embrace, one slender hand placed protectively on the top of the head, cradling it against the shoulder. ‘What happened?’

No answer comes per direct, first throwing out every bit of frustration thanks to fantastical explicit cruelty while holding on to an oversized sweat-soaked onyx shirt but not minding the hint of sourness to the characteristic scent of minty soap. The golden-haired lad resembling a kangaroo when fired up with energy has taken on the tranquil appearance of a koala, its counterpart, and simply waits patiently until the incoherent blabbering attempts at voicing a reason for the silly behaviour gain a sense of logic. Simultaneously, the left upper arm is being rubbed in uncomprehending close solace, chin resting on the crown of the head when not giving soft caring forehead kisses and whispering soothing nothings.

At last, after a good while of crying, it is dared to look Chris in the eye to tell what forms the reason for the curious distress. Nevertheless, it is an obvious fact the thumb caressing the cheek while explaining forms one of the support pillars which keeps speech steadier than it would be without. ‘Geo- George R.R. Martin is a bastard. He- He let Bran’s wolf be killed by Whitewalkers and- and... Hodor...’ A heavy sob. ‘M- mea- means “ho- hold the door”...’

The very vivid thought about the death of the kind giant at the door arises, initiating a continuation of the lament created by a splendid bastard of an author’s writing. The hug tightens, a rumble in the trained chest beneath the slick flowy fabric resulting in an adorable chuckle as tears stream down a pale neck. ‘You take it way too seriously, Y/N. It’s just a story. Nobody’s actually dead, everything is fine.’

‘Shut up, Chris, you do- don’t know what power George has.’ It is incredible how ‘’Game of Thrones’’ has escaped the attention of the Australian platinum youth, but at the same time places him in a disposition of ignorance about how sensitive talk about the show can be. Certainly for long-time viewers who have likely seen their favourites be brutally murdered in favour of plot progression.

‘No, I don’t, but how about you show me and I’ll try to protect you from it?’ Hazel irises light up at the prospect at one of the most loved things aside from the steady relationship with a girl who gets carried away into fantasy too often and, judging by the broad smirk that begins to form, the continuation of the proposal is nothing surprising yet deliciously loving. ‘With food?’

‘Tha- That’s your solution to ev- everything, isn’t it?’ A careful curl of the corners of the mouth forms out of the sorrowful expression at seeing the genuine giddiness at a second dinner or, rather, late night snack together. Although, it also arises out of the vivid images quickly flashing by of the personified koala’s silly movements whenever something tastes incredible, the funny habit always a cause for affectionate laughter and a source of confidence in the at times doubtful personal cooking skill.

‘It always makes you smile,’ a stray strand is tucked behind the ear, plush roseate lips placing a sweet kiss on the forehead, ‘I’ll first take a shower and then prepare some tteokbokki. How about that?’

Unconsciously, a consenting eager nod is already given before the reaction can be even thought about, the stomach having overtaken demeanour out of anticipation of the small rice cakes. ‘Extra spicy?’

A slight nervousness slips into attitude, eyes holding a silent plead for toning down on the spice levels because the last time they were too high for most to handle, Cris’s friends who came over for the monthly movie night all frantically reaching for cucumber and milk to nullify the impact while trying to save the fellow Australian of the group at the same time. Withal, howbeit while clearly contemplating to adjust the amount of gochujang regardless of the request, the proposal is agreed to. ‘Sure, extra spicy it is. Now, don’t you dare continue in the meanwhile or I won’t cuddle you for the rest of the week.’

A sceptic roll of the eyes, finding no credibility in the statement considering the personality of the speaker. ‘Oh, come on, we both know that’s an empty threat.’

The slightly loosened embrace tightens to a literally breathtaking degree once more, but now it is tried to be escaped as is normally the case when the blonde youth tends to get cheesily clinging. ‘Or I hug you to death, your choice.’

‘Let me go!’ Any type of resistance results in the opposite, becoming more and more the prisoner of secure loving arms instead of a free woman. Notwithstanding, it cannot be said it is minded, though the rumbling in the stomach betrays the recently realized craving for food that can only be had when giving in.

‘Not before you answer.’ The heavy weight suddenly tipping the scales cannot be prevented from being the oppressor of the strength that is unable to lift it, head hitting the soft pillows of the sofa on the other end as the sporty lad with dewy skin maintains the firm hug. A delighted playful chuckle sounds at the realization of having the held figure exactly where she is apparently wanted, unable to be freed before having made a decision. ‘Well, what’s it gonna be?’

‘Either way, you’ll suffer. Option one leaves me alive but you’ll get cuddle withdrawal symptoms. Option two leaves you without your favourite squishy.’ An eyebrow rises in challenging mockery which will only worsen the circumstances though the sarcasm cannot be helped. Just as in the brutal series, if you play smart, you shall survive. And this preferred victim of affection, this most beloved fighter of clinging hugs, has plans to survive the night.

‘Aren’t you clever, turning my own words against me?’ A lopsided smirk forms on the koala boy’s face, eyes illuminated by playful lights.

‘In the Game of Thrones, you live or you die and I intend to do the former.’ Henceforth, a cute sweetness slips into speech as lips irresistibly pout, manipulating Chris even further into hurrying up in fulfilling the promise of tteokbokki and stop stalling the rest of the well-deserved marathon. ‘I’m hungry.’

Blonde locks bow in amused defeat, shaking briefly with acknowledged surrender before gazes lock again. ‘I have no idea what that reference means, but you win this time, Y/N. Can’t let my babygirl starve.’

The characteristic awkward laughter accompanying the nickname by default ends the topic of debate, the kangaroo boyfriend lifting himself off a half-crushed no longer entirely torn by fantasy figure to finally shower. In the absence filled with the lingering traces of songs sung with an angelic voice, more pillows and a thin ornately decorated blanket are gathered for properly snuggling up with delicious food and an amazing but heartbreaking brutal show.

Sweater paws clad in a soapy mint oversized sweater wrap around the platinum youth’s waist to give him a taste of his own medicine, trying to show how inconvenient it can be when a person is basically glued to you during household tasks, which lets them become increasingly more complicated due to the loving gesture. Withal, it does not have the intended effect as the young man manages to get along with making the rice cakes coated in a fierce red sauce just fine although it does pose a bit of a risk when a small hand reaches out for the gochujang tub to add more to the sauce and the chef obviously not consenting to this idea, the dispute resulting in play fighting that almost turns the fire pit open too far without further notice.

The tickling almost results in burns and burned clothing, the just as touchy retribution barely short of ending in a trail of sauce stains leading from the kitchen floor to the fake black leather loveseat thanks to fingertips poking sides. Regardless, it is managed to be reached without further ado, the cruelly incredible series resuming with one strong arm wrapped around the shoulders, a warm meal split in two put into two laps sitting side by side. Occasionally, a chewy tteok is fed with a content smile from the bigger portion of the athlete eating like a starved man, who is evidently as happy with the result of the obstructed cooking as the appreciating look in the eyes of the accepting mouth, going by the happy wiggles accompanied by tuneful hums.

And thus the imaginary intriguing political game synonymous to crimson onslaught continues, because the questioning, at times shocked, comments made out of ignorance brighten the mood due to their silent request for an explanation, delighting the nerdy fangirl within to no end.

Keeping the worst of silly emotions at bay.

Holding the door.

#Stray Kids #SKZ #Stray Kids x Reader #Bangchan #Bang Chan #Chris Bang #SKZ x Reader

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nervouscreatordreamercowboy · 6 years ago

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Cracks

It started with her fingers: the skin dried out as the cold months settled in and the costumes came out. If left untreated the patches would begin to crack open until crimson peaked through the gaps. The scabs spread up her arms, on the soles of her feet, into her scalp until the bleeding kept her from school for days. Her mother used to warn her each night before bed, “take care of your hands, they’re your God-given tools to take care of those around you. You must never let them crack, understand?” The question was left hanging in the air to haunt Paisley’s thoughts until sleep would finally relieve her. Superstitions were not uncommon in Meriden, but the belief in cracked skin was one that seemed to appear in the Hudson’s family alone.

Paisley had grown up on her Grandfather’s knee, pestering him with countless questions while he retold the story of their cursed bloodline. Deep down she knew he was exaggerating, by then she was big enough to phane the innocence and curiosity that used to linger on her mind. Her Grandfather would play up the great “horrors” their old relatives possessed, the most frequent being cracked skin that hid the truth beneath. Paisley drew those stories, reinventing the villains as misinterpreted beauties. Her Mother even bought her a book of geodes as a comparison to the hidden layer beneath their skin. Paisley often caught herself dreaming of these creatures, wondering what magnificence had been smothered by human’s irrational fears.

“Remember, princess,” he would always begin, “it’s only a fairytale. No one could ever be such a monster, not now not ever. Do you understand pumpkin?” She’d squeal as he tickled an answer out of her, laughing along with his granddaughter until their sides ached.

“What if there were a monster?” She’d manage once the game had ended and her imagination got the best of her tongue.

Her Grandfather considered the idea for a moment, then released a long sigh. “If there ever were another,” his twinkling eyes darkened with his words, goosebumps raced up Paisley's arms at the sudden change in tone. “If there ever were another beast,” he began again, steadier this time. “I would take my shotgun off the wall, hold it up to him,” his frail arms lifted into position as if with their own intentions. His limbs shook with the effort it took to hold them steady, fingers poised on an invisible trigger as he slowly continued, “and say ‘you got no place with us, and we ain’t afraid of you!’” With a tremendous shout, her Grandfather’s body shook with unseen fury as he fired the gun.

It took a moment for Paisley to realize that the tears welling in her eyes had slipped down her cheeks. Her stomach twisted, threatening to return her breakfast up onto the bearskin rug beneath them. Sliding off her Grandfather’s knee, she scrambled to the bathroom down the hall and promptly vomited. They didn’t go back to her Grandfather’s for the rest of the summer.

The trees had a mind of their own, bowing low in the wind and snapping back upright as the thunder rumbled solemnly in the darkening sky overhead. Paisley shivered, tugging her rain jacket tighter around her shoulders as she jogged to catch up with the others before the downpour could separate them completely. Katherine glanced back, dropping into a slow walk to join Paisley.

“You don’t have to come with us, you know.” Her perfect curls hung soaked in the rain, mascara stained her pink cheeks. “The cars are still unlocked if you want to turn around.”

Paisley considered the girl for a moment. It had only taken a single night for the girl to decide that perhaps the freak in the back of the classroom could be worthwhile, a bit of last minute fun before senior year drove her friends halfway across the country in search of overpriced schools and cramped living quarters. The invitation to join them had been simple, although Paisley wasn’t overly fond of the idea of passing notes in class, it would have been a crime to turn down Katherine White. The details of the excursion had been left unshared, not that Paisley minded. But finding herself tucked in Meriden’s most unpleasant hiking trail whilst stumbling through the freezing rain sometime after two am was not what she had in mind.

“I don’t want to turn around,” she managed through clenched teeth. “I’ll be okay, I promise.”

A flash of disapproval smeared over Katherine's features. Her red lips curled into a sneer, but before the words could top off her look, Michael called from up ahead, dragging her attention back to the group. “Where here!” His voice was a muffled shout through the sheets of rain.

“Fantastic!” Katherine chided back, grabbing hold of Paisley’s jacket as the faint outline of a cabin came into view. “Just try not to mess up too much,” she added as the pair reunited with the others on the steps of the house.

Michael tried the door handle, swearing as the lock refused to budge. Taking a slow step back, he surveyed the shattered windows and molding siding for a new entrance. Paisley felt Katherine’s grip tighten, “didn’t you mention a cellar entrance last time we were here, babe? Maybe one of us could go check it out.”

He considered the option a moment, pushing past annoyed couples to scan the side of the rotting building. “It could work,” he finally admitted, “but I don’t think the gap is big enough for any of us to get through.”

“Paisley is small enough,” the blonde beamed with delight, ushering their newest recruit down the steps. “It’s just to the right, the doors shouldn’t be too much of a squeeze for you. Once you’re inside just unlock the door for us and we’ll be ready to get this party going.”

Paisley kept her mouth shut as she trekked through the slick mud to the cellar doors. A rusted padlock hung on the handles, and one of the faded white doors had caved in at the base. Tentatively Paisley applied pressure to the weakened boards with her boot, easing her weight on until a satisfying snap sent more wood chips tumbling down the stone steps into the black room below.

“Any day now!” Katherine’s voice floated through the storm, pushing Paisley to reluctantly slide into the narrow gap.

The passage down was slick with fresh downpour, and the musty smell of aged memories invaded Paisley’s senses until she could hardly breathe. A quick try at the lights confirmed her suspicions that the home had been alone for quite some time now. Each creak of the wooden supports overhead reminded her of the grieving cries of an abandoned child, left alone in the woods to crumble apart.

Reaching into the depths of her jacket pockets, Paisley retrieved the flashlight Michael had lent her back at the parking lot. Flicking the switch, the damp room revealed its secrets, which mostly consisted of molding sitting chairs and forgotten dinner platters. Following the stairway leading up, Paisley let herself into the living space and promptly unlocked the door.

Michael swaggered into the room, arms open as he breathed in the smell of the cabin. Turning to the group, he grinned. “So, who’s up for a game of truth or dare?”

Paisley picked at the frayed end of the blanket as the teenagers giggled around her. The game had been dragged out an unnecessarily long time after Cindy and Ryan had decided that their dare was better off done away from the others, leaving Katherine, Michael, and Paisley to listen to the rain until it became apparent that the pair would not be rejoining them for quite some time.

“Alright then,” Michael sighed, taking a swig from one of the brown bottles Ryan had insisted on bringing, “truth or dare, Katherine?”

Katherine threw her head back in thought, sending a wave of golden curls down her nearly bare back. “I think I’ll go with truth this time,” she shared a wink with her boyfriend, “sorry to disappoint.”

Paisley felt her dinner threaten to find its own way out of her body.

“Tell us about your Dad.” He chuckled over his drink, “I don’t believe you’ve shared that yet.”

The color faded from the girl’s cheeks, her fingers dug into the blanket as she shook her head. “No, are you insane, Michael?”

“Aw baby, don’t be like that.” Michael frowned, “it’s just part of the game. Why do you have to be such a-”

Katherine held up a perfectly manicured hand, wrapping the other around herself as she stood. “Don’t call me that. I’m going back to the car.” All grace evaporated from her walk, Katherine managed to the door before facing them once again. “Can I have the keys, Michael?”

“Not until you give us the truth.” He snarled back, his rancid breath hitting Paisley like the heat of a roaring fire: unpredictable and dangerous. Katherine’s frame shrank at the sound of his voice, lowering to the base of the door until she sat shivering on the floor.

“I have a secret.” Paisley mustered, her hands trembled against her ruined jeans. She cast Katherine a hopeful look, sent a silent prayer that the girl wouldn’t tell the world, and lifted her cracked hands to her face.

She’d only managed the trick once in the seventh grade when her Mother wanted to prove a point to their pastor, and even then scars lined where the skin had broken. Paisley reminded herself of the worn book of geodes on her desk, imagined the beautiful crystals hidden beneath layers of grey rock, and dug her nails into the dry patches of her scalp. The skin beneath her fingers began to peel away, pulling strings of mucus along with it. Pink flesh curled back to reveal slick darkness beneath, green eyes blinked away the slime to peer at the screaming boy beside her. It felt incredible to be free again, even if only for a moment.

When Ryan and Cindy came rushing down the stairs, pulling their sneakers and jackets back on, Paisley was at the door escorting Katherine down the stairs saying something about leaving her phone in the car. Michael stared at the door as it shut, mouth agape as he attempted to form words that would never be believed.

As Paisley wrapped her jacket around her new friend, Katherine couldn’t help but wonder what she’d tell her parents when Michael McClain came pounding on their door claiming that he’d seen a demon, when all she’d seen was a new friend.

#writing #write #writer #shortstory #story #fiction #horror #please read

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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Beauty in the Sheets - Chapter 3 - (Branjie) - Thankyoumissvanjie

A/N: dun dun dun…. Y'all ain’t ready. Thank you all so much for the amazing response to this fic. It’s been crazy. I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter too!! <3 <3

Summary: “That all? You don’t got some secret wife somewhere, waiting dutifully at home for her beautiful blonde woman?” She was looking close to monitor Brooke’s reactions, trying to figure out if she was being lied to.

“Nope. No wife.” Brooke looked Vanjie directly in the eye, not blinking, not twitching as she said it.

“Honest?” She had to check one last time. And as Brooke gave a tiny nod, Vanjie could feel a small weight being lifted from her shoulders.

LINK TO AO3

“Why do you look so fucking smug this morning? You’ve only had a single cup of coffee and you already look ready to seize the day? You got some coke mixed into that, mama?” Katya was huddled in her chair, her sweater so big it almost functioned as a blanket. She was sniffing her extra-large “black-as-her-soul” cup of coffee, hoping that the damps created by the caffeine would make her wake up faster.

“Me?” Brooke tried to feign innocence but could feel her mouth curl into a satisfied smirk.

“Don’t go all mysterious girl on me. Honestly, what could make you such a ray of sunshine in the morning? You’re usually a pain in the ass before you’ve had at least four cigarettes. So what’s the T, hon?” The raised perfectly drawn eyebrow usually worked on Brooke. Katya having a secret power of drawing out the truth from everyone.

Just not today.

“Oh, nothing. I just had a really good night, slept like a baby,” Brooke seemed all loose, warming her hands on the warm cup as she smiled softly, her eyes closed as she took a deep breath.

A plate was loudly placed on the table, making Brooke’s eyes snap open as Detox sat down next to Katya.

Her neon hair and brows made her look like an alien when coupled with the fancy interior of the restaurant, but then again, Detox had a way of always looking out of this world in every setting.

“Why is Hytes smiling? It’s too early for the ice queen to be that sunny,” Her voice was dry as she wrinkled her nose at the small smile on Brooke’s face.

“Jesus guys, I am not the horrible in the morning,” looking around at all her friends and colleagues, who all seemed to either shrug or look away from her. “Am I?” Brooked tried to catch the eye of just one of them.

“I mean, you’re not that-“ before Nina could soften the blow, Katya interrupted her from her sweater cocoon.

“Mama, morning, day or night, you are always prissy and uptight. But we love that about you. Our very own uptown socialite bitch,” Katya sent Brooke one of her blinding smiles as she took a big gulp of coffee.

“Fuck you, guys. I am a delight,” Brooke muttered, making the whole table chuckle.

“Chiiiile, we love you, honey. But they ain’t calling you Ice Queen just for the fun of it,” Shuga’s voice was filled with mirth, as she shrugged at Brooke.

“Guys, guys. B is actually smiling. It happens two times a year, so let’s just all enjoy it,” Nina could see the smile slowly falling from Brooke’s lips, her best friend’s moods always fickle and quick to change.

“Whatever you say, boss. So what’s the plan for today?” Katya’s eyes lit up at all the possibilities, as she was the only one who was feeling up for this tour. She never got to go to any fancy places like this, so she wanted to soak it all up, so she could tell Trixie all about it when she got home.

“Uhm,” Nina swallowed her mouthful of yoghurt, looking at the tired yet anxious beauty queens in front of her. “Girls, shouldn’t we all wait until after breakfast where the whole group is gathered?” Almost in sync, all the occupants around the table lifted one brow, looking at Nina with unimpressed looks.

“Okay. I am SO excited because I’ve planned THE BEST day, for all of us. First, we’re going to the spa, to get that quality girls time - no Debbie downers allowed. Yes, I am looking at you, Brooke!” The excitement in her voice made it difficult for any of the surrounding women to keep a scowl on their face. The joy of Nina West an infectious commodity.

“Bitch!” The indignation in Brooke’s voice was ignored as Nina kept on speaking.

“I am talking, massages and bubble bath’s that smell more expensive than Dior’s perfume department. Then after lunch, we are going mini-golfing, which will be so dang cute, that we’ll ‘awh’ ourselves through every obstacle.“ and with a small smile, Nina took a sip of her green tea. Feeling quite proud of what she had planned.

She was met with silence, as they all looked impressed. Brooke was casually smiling into her coffee. Nina tried not to think too hard about why her best friend was in a good mood. She knew that she and Vanjie had probably slept together, her best friend always had a weakness for beautiful women.

But that talk would have to wait.

“How the fuck did you convince Ru to pay for this?” Trust Chad, to be the one to go straight to the point. She had worked for Ru for almost a decade, so Chad knew that the shrewd bitch didn’t spend money on her employees unless you forced her to.

“A lady never reveals her sources, but I can tell you that I had a great talk with Michelle a few months ago,” Nina’s shrug made all of them laugh, as they all knew that Michelle had a direct line to Ru, the woman often working as a liaison between the two parties.

“Honey, you’re a genius!” Shuga said almost in awe.

“Why do you all think that I’m your boss?” Nina flicked her hair over her shoulder, giving them all a wink, making the table erupt once again in loud laughter and giggles.

Catching Brooke’s eye, she mouthed a soft “thank you,” to her, as it had been her idea to go directly to Michelle.

Brooke waved her off with a smile, taking a sip of coffee, as her eyes travelled over to one of the other tables. Without turning around Nina knew who was sitting there.

Knew that she would most definitely see Vanessa with the same smile on her lips, like the one on her best friend.

This would never end well.

Lips were softly kissing their way across Vanjie’s collarbone, her body drenched with sweat, making her feel sticky. She was still trying to catch her breath, having just come… again, at the mercy of Brooke’s ridiculously talented hands

“Brooke, girl. I need a moment,” Vanjie tried to push her head away, but it was more a pat on Brooke’s slightly tousled hair than anything, her body still loose and almost weak after the two orgasms.

“But I’m comfortable here,” the words were mumbled against Vanjie’s skin, as Brooke kept on peppering her with small kisses all over her body. At the moment she was worshipping the dip in her clavicle, making Vanjie shiver with overstimulation.

“Mama, give a girl a fucking break!” Vanjie laughed as she once again tried to push Brooke away.

With one final peck on her shoulder, she moved away from Vanjie, rolling onto her side, leaning her head on her arm, her eyes trailing all over Vanjie’s body.

“Sure, let’s take a moment,” Vanjie looked into those blue eyes and felt herself get lost. There was something about Brooke. The way she carried herself, the way she was so unapologetic about herself and sex. It was refreshing.

It was powerful.

It was so fucking hot.

“Jesus mama,” Vanjie felt her heart rate slow, making her able to think a bit more clearly, “So, you gon’ tell me why you lying ‘bout yo name? I mean, Bella, really? What you think this is, some Twilight bullshit?” She raised her eyebrows, trying to make Brooke see that she couldn’t sex her way out of this.

Though, if Vanjie was honest she probably could.

“It’s simple. Anonymity.” Brooke said it all very calmly, shrugging one shoulder, trying to convey that it was really not that big a deal. “I mean, It’s hard being this hot if girls know your name.”

It all seemed very practised, and it made Vanjie narrow her eyes in suspicion.

“That all? You don’t got some secret wife somewhere, waiting dutifully at home for her beautiful blonde woman?” She was looking close to monitor Brooke’s reactions, trying to figure out if she was being lied to.

“Nope. No wife.” Brooke looked Vanjie directly in the eye, not blinking, not twitching as she said it.

“Honest?” She had to check one last time. And as Brooke gave a tiny nod, Vanjie could feel a small weight being lifted from her shoulders. She didn’t know what the fuck they were doing, but she was not ready to give it up.

Feeling brave and ready to give back to the woman, who had been very giving the last couple of hours she leaned closer. Her lips slowly trailed up Brooke’s arm, teeth softly biting here and there.

“I thought you needed a moment?” Brooke tried to keep her voice steady, but her gasp at the end made Vanjie smile, feeling victorious, knowing that she had found a small crack in the otherwise impenetrable armour.

As she leaned closer, Brooke rolled over onto her back, Vanessa crawling on top of her, her hands caging her in, as their lips met. Nipping and teasing. Teeth clashing and biting. It was soft, it was rough. Brooke’s hands grabbed Vanjie’s ass, the rough touch making her moan in delight.

“What do you want? Tell me,” The words were whispered against Brooke’s lips, that softly curled into a smile.

Then before Vanjie had the chance to say anything else, Brooke’s hand trailed to her hips, grabbing them tightly as she rolled them over.

As Vanjie found herself on her back, she glanced into those bright eyes, her breath catching slightly as they held promises of a long night.

“I want you,” and with those three words, she captured Vanessa’s lips in a searing kiss, that made her toes curl and her fists grab at the covers.

Two tables over a different set of ladies from Bloomingdales were sitting, almost mirroring the blonde skincare possé. The cradling of coffee cups and huddling in oversized sweaters made them stand out against the other patrons, who all looked ready to go out on the golf course.

Silky kept glancing over at Vanjie, who seemed to be in a daze. Her coffee cup stood untouched and, more alarming, was the fact that the plate holding a warm and fresh croissant also hadn’t been touched yet.

That never happened.

Silk guessed that this freak occurrence had a lot to do with a blonde and tall stranger sitting approximately 20 feet away from them. But she was a good friend, so she kept her mouth shut.

“What’s up with Vanjie?” A’keria was staring curiously at her, trying to figure out why her friend looked so out of it, and more importantly, why she was so quiet.

“Fuck if I know.” Shrugging at Kiki, Silky decided to bring her friend back to this plane of existence.

“Yo, Vanjie!” She tried to find that perfect yell that would make Vanjie snap out her sex induced coma.

No such luck.

“Vanj, girl?” A’keria snapped her fingers in front of Vanjie’s face, which seemed to do the trick as her brown eyes seemed to lose their fog.

“Jesus, what? Can’t a hoe just sit and mind their own business for a mo?” Vanjie took a big sip of her coffee but almost spat it out again, “Holy mother of fucking saint Michael, that’s hot. My tongue!” the whole table started laughing, as Vanjie tried to somehow stifle the pain by patting her tongue.

“‘Ness. Girl. What do fuck is you doing, hoe?” Silky laughed as she handed over her glass of water, “Like girl, how’s your head?” looking over her glasses, she stared at Vanjie gulping down the water, waiting for an answer.

“Haven’t gotten any complaints, bitch!” The loud foghorn voice, smiling eyes and sassy snap told them all they needed to know.

“Aaaaand she’s back. Jeez, girl, you can’t scare Aunt KiKi like that, she be getting war flashbacks of you going 2018 Christmas sale on her,” Silky was quick to duck, as Vanjie threw a napkin after her.

“Bitch. You swore a motherfucking oath that you ain’t ever be mentioning that again! Y'all did, so don’t you think I don’t see all them chuckles. I remember and the receipts will be kept!” Vanjie pointed at all of them, Plastique and Ariel giggling, while A’keria just raised an eyebrow at her.

“Dumbass hoes, all of yous,” she muttered into her coffee, trying hard not to look over at Brooke’s table.

She still felt tingles all over her body after this morning.

The transition from being asleep to waking was slow. Vanjie felt warm and comfortable. The duvet clearly having a higher thread count than the shitty IKEA polyester hell she kept at home. Her muscles were exquisitely sore, while her mind was still high on the night she had.

A warm and soft hand trailed over her stomach, making her suck in a breath, as the touch sent tingling sensations down to her toes.

“Morning,” the word was whispered against her ear, the small puff of air making her shiver. The hand on her stomach settled right above her pubic bone.

Not moving any further.

“Hey,” She tried to turn around, wanting to see Brooke in the morning, wanting to have a clear picture of how her blonde hair would look tousled with sleep and sex.

Did she have those puffy morning eyes or was she blessed with perfect doe eyes 24/7?

The hand on her stomach kept her from moving.

“You know what would take this morning from good to great?” Brooke’s morning voice was raspy and low, it made the tight knot of sensation in her lower stomach bloom.

“No?”

“Watching you come by my hand in the shower.” And with that, she jumped out of bed and walked over to the bathroom, her naked ass on full display. Brooke opened the door to the bathroom and walked right into the shower, turning on the water without a care in the world.

She never closed the door, giving Vanjie front seats to the show, as she was lying frozen on the bed, seeing a blurred outline of Brooke naked body through the tinted shower glass.

Before Vanjie’s brain even had the chance to ponder the invite her feet were already carrying her across the floor towards the real-life Aphrodite that had somehow found her way to this particular hotel room.

“What took you so long?” Brooke’s voice was teasing, her back faced Vanjie, as she lathered her body with lemony soap. The suds accentuated all her curves, Brooke having been gifted with the body most women would kill for.

“You only came once last night.” It was something that Vanjie hadn’t thought of in the moment, but as the night progressed she realised that Brooke seemed to not really care about herself or her own pleasure, as she kept on showering Vanjie with tantalising touches and sensual kisses.

“And?” Brooke’s voice hitched slightly, making Vanjie smile as she leaned closer to place soft kisses on her pale back.

“Lemme do something ‘bout that, Mami,” the combination of the warm water and Brooke’s skin was heady. The zesty lemon scent seemed to surround them, Vanjie realising that the citrusy smell would end up being an aphrodisiac for her.

Her hands went around to Brooke’s front, softly caressing her stomach, the muscles tight. Brooke tensed, as Vanjie’s hands touched raised skin, the bumpiness of it making her intrigued.

A scar? How had she not noticed that before? Before she had time to say anything, Brooke turned around facing her. Her eyes held a determined glint, while the slightly upturned smirk gracing her lips would’ve made Natalie Dormer cry in envy.

“Huh. I seem to remember saying, that the quality of my morning would increase by making you, not me, come, Vanessa?” and with that Brooke leaned down and captured her lips, slowly backing Vanjie up against the shower wall.

Vanjie wanted to kiss Brooke forever. Her soft, plump lips were intoxicating as they covered her own. Everything seemed to disappear as the kiss deepened. Vanjie’s heartbeat and Brooke’s tongue the only two sensory inputs that her mind and body could handle.

The water from the shower did nothing to quench the fire burning in Vanjie’s body, as Brooke’s hands roamed all over her body. Pinching and caressing her breasts.

As they parted to finally breathe, Vanjie quickly glanced down at the scar. It was large and pale - it seemed old, but before she found her voice to ask what had happened there, Brooke’s hand was distracting her, as it touched her inner thigh.

Vanjie gulped, knowing how talented those fingers were; her whole body clenching in need of their tantalising touch.

Brooke leaned her forehead against Vanjie’s the water cascading down over both of them, none of them caring that it got in their eyes and mouths.

“Tell me you want it,” Brooke’s voice was like velvet, and Vanjie wanted to follow any and all commands made by the goddess in front of her.

“Please, I want it,” She didn’t care that she sounded needy. Vanjie didn’t care that this tall, secretive blonde could make her do anything.

She tried to capture Brooke’s lips in another searing kiss, but she leaned back.

“Again,” Her voice was commanding, making her weak in the knees.

“Fuck… I… Mami. Please.” She was like a drug, and Vanjie was not ready to give it up yet - if ever.

Her fingers slowly crept closer, teasing her, making her moan desperately.

“One more time.” This time the words were said directly against her lips, the soft touch sending a shiver running down the length of her spine.

“Please, fuck me!” The words flew out of her. Vanjie didn’t care anymore. She just needed Brooke to touch her.

Then.

Finally.

As Brooke’s long and slim fingers touched her centre, Vanjie felt her legs go weak. Brooke immediately placed a thigh between her legs, ensuring that she wouldn’t suddenly fall. The contact made Vanjie gasp, as her body was flooded with a warmth that ran from her toes to her fingertips.

“You are so wet for me, Vanessa,” The way her name sounded on her lips made Vanjie groan, her head hitting the wall behind her, as she felt herself getting taken apart by Brooke’s skilful hands.

It was the sweetest torture, as her fingers played her like a violin. Taking her from major to minor and hitting all her notes - even G.

The intoxicating mix of the two fingers pumping in and out of her together with the thumb on her clit, made Vanjie climb towards a crescendo she didn’t even think was possible to hit. Her muscles tensing, body feeling hot, while her breathy moans seemed to reach a higher pitch.

“That’s right. You’re so good.” Brooke whispered it against her lips, as she added a third finger. Vanjie almost screamed at the sensation. The stretch a delicate balance of being too much and just enough.

“So close, please.” Vanjie couldn’t recognise her own voice. The desperate tone coupled with the breathiness made it softer than she ever thought was possible.

“Please what?” Even with her eyes closed, she could hear the smirk in Brooke’s voice, and she would have glared at her if she had the strength. But at that moment it didn’t matter that Brooke was painfully aware of the power she had, all that mattered was that she stopped playing with Vanjie and gave her what she needed.

“Please. Make me come,” The moment the words left her lips, Brooke’s thumb started to touch Vanjie’s clit in earnest. The pressure was just right, which coupled with the fingers setting roughly entering her, made Vanjie cry out, her whole body clenching as she came right then and there.

“Ugh, I hate you,” Katya’s loud groan could be heard in all corners of the large spa facility, making all the other patrons turn to look at her, trying to decipher what was going on.

“What have I done now?” Brooke walked out into the pool area, looking every bit the middle-class trophy wife fantasy in her white one-piece bathing suit.

“That,” Katya motioned vaguely at Brooke’s body, her face a mixture of disgust and admiration. “Jeez, Barbie. Could you give the rest of us a chance?” Katya loved Brooke to pieces, but she envied her body. The way that Brooke carried herself as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

It was admirable.

It was sexy.

It was fucking annoying.

“Sorry?” Brooke shrugged as she got in the water, her hair clipped on top of her head, to ensure that it wouldn’t get wet.

“Oh mama, I see that smirk, I know you fucking aren’t,” Katya did her flailing laugh that sounded more like a wheeze, almost falling on her ass, as the stones were slippery and not safe for a signature Katya guffaw.

The area next to the pool slowly filled up with the Bloomingdale ladies, all in different varieties of swimwear that ranged from classic and modest to sexy and trendy.

Only Nina and Silky noticed how Brooke and Vanjie’s eyes kept searching the other one out when they thought that the other one wasn’t looking.

Though Vanjie didn’t even try to hide her stare, as Brooke emerged from the water. It was as if the whole room stopped for a second to admire the water softly dripping down her pale and perfect skin.

Nina wasn’t affected by Brooke’s beauty, probably because she had seen in it from every angle since high school. She quickly clapped her hands to get the attention of her stunned employees.

“Ladies. The time has come for you all to give yourself some well-earned tender-loving care. This is Mrs Kasha Davis, who will be taking care of all us the next couple of hours. Now before I let her take the floor, I just want you all to know that you will be spending time with someone that you don’t work a counter with nor have roomed with so far. I have the lists up here, so you can see who will be getting a spa treatment with whom. Now, Kasha, take it away,”

“Nina is such a team mom, it’s a miracle that she hasn’t gotten her own football team of little monsters yet. Was she always like this?” Detox leaned against Brooke’s should, softly whispering as the very proper and motherly looking woman from the spa started talking.

“Oh yeah, you should have seen her at my we-weirdly big production of 30th birthday. Honestly, she had colour-coded lists and everything.” If Detox noticed Brooke’s stuttering, she didn’t call her on it.

“… depending on which list you are on, you will either be getting a luxurious massage, a delightful facial or a beautiful manicure,”

“God. This woman is too happy for me,” Detox complained, still keeping her voice low, as a soft groan left her body. The idea of being in the proximity of such happiness almost too much for her.

“D. Everyone is too happy for you,” Brooke giggled, though she stopped immediately the moment she saw the disapproving look, Nina was sending them.

“Now ladies. Get ready for some pampering and self-care!”

And with that the small woman clapped her hands in delight, once again drawing a groan from Detox, though this one was drowned out by the scampering of everyone trying to get to Nina and the lists.

Brooke stood in the back and waited for either Shuga or Chad to arrive with a list.

“B, honey, you are getting a manicure with Big Silk. Chile, she is going to keep you entertained, that’s for sure,” Shuga exclaimed as she looked over the list.

Brooke had a vague memory of someone named Silky over at the Mac counter.

Fuck, she hoped that she didn’t know anything about her and Vanjie.

“Bitch, if yo messy ass be saying anything to Brooke, I will make sure that ain’t ever seeing the sun again. I might be tiny, but I will kill you,” Vanjie was almost vibrating with anxiety over the thought of her best friend spending any alone time with Brooke. She tried hard to keep her tone low so no one heard what she was hissing at Silky.

“Boo, would I ever do you that dirty?” Silky placed a hand on her chest, feigning shock.

“You would, and you has, hoe. So don’t be playin’ all innocent with me!” Vanjie’s eyes narrowed, as she pointed a finger at her friend.

“Miss Vanjie. I am offended and hurt that you be thinking about me like that,” Trust Silky, to turn on the charm, trying to appear harmless, though she tended to be the worst wing-man a lady could ever want.

“Mary, I got three words for you. Tampa, 2016, Dana.” The stare that Silky received told her that Vanjie still hadn’t forgotten nor forgiven her for that night. A night that both of them had promised to never talk about.

“Alright. Imma be a good girl and leave lil Miss Seven alone. You have fun with Miss Fame and that facial, boo.” Silky turned around and walked over to Brooke who was standing in the back, looking less than enthused about the whole ordeal, while Vanjie wanted to bite her nails at the thought of leaving those two women together for any length of time.

This would not end well.

“… Bitch, I was motherfucking ready to do so!” Silky’s loud voice was filled with mirth as she finished her story. Her hands were getting painted by a cute nail technician that tried to hide her smile at the story, as she applied a sparkling layer of purple polish to Silky newly filed nails.

“And you said that?” Brooke’s voice was incredulous, as she looked over at her, her body fighting against the chuckles, as she needed to sit still, so the pale pink polish wouldn’t get all over her fingers.

In comparison to Silky, her nails were kept short and rounded.

“Honey, I swear on the lil baby Jesus, I was ready and then they wouldn’t even give me the motherfucking chance to do so!” It was clear that Silky wanted to talk with her hands, as she kept on fidgeting instead of being able to wave her arms around.

“Holy shit, Silk.”

And then they both broke down laughing. Both of them almost wheezing after air. Their cheeks hurting from having laughed almost constantly the last 30 minutes. Silky was a wild ride, and Brooke had no choice but to follow her lead.

“Hoe, you ain’t too bad,” Silky said, catching Brooke’s eyes, though her face turned serious.

“Is this the point where you give me the shovel talk?” She had been waiting for this moment ever since she realised that she would be spending alone time with Vanjie’s best friend.

“Nah, Vanj a big girl, she can handle her own shit. Just… Be careful, Miss Brooke. Life ain’t been too kind on her, don’t be one more bitch on her long list of shady hoes!” The sombre tone made something hurt inside of Brooke because she knew that her name would in all likelihood end up on that list.

Because she couldn’t give Vanjie anything more than what she already had.

It just wasn’t possible.

“I promise you, I won’t,” the lie turned her mouth ashy. Brooke had always been a good liar, but this time she felt bad about it.

Interesting.

“Now bitch, look at them nails! Silky ‘bout to get herself a man with these!” and with that, the seriousness was gone and Brooke tried to follow along with the Ganache show, trying to kill the pit that was slowly growing in her stomach.

“Honey, I feel reborn! That massage gave me back ten years. And Julio wasn’t bad to look at either, chile!” Shuga’s voice rang throughout the locker room, as all the ladies were getting ready for lunch.

“Oh mama, that facial went deep. I feel like a real woman, now. Trixie’s not gonna know what hit her. How about you Miss Brooke Lynn, you got them nails did?” Katya went over to Brooke, who was applying her makeup, her glasses resting on the tip her nose as she concentrated on getting her mascara on without also poking out her eye.

“Oh yeah. It was good, Kat. Silky was-” Brooke trailed off as her phone vibrated on the table in front of her, instantly diverting her attention from the conversation.

Steve will pick you up at 5 pm. Bill is turning 60 and he’s celebrating it at the Ritz. Remember, you must talk to Charlene and Diana tonight. Wear the purple gown (you know the one) with the gold underneath. Strappy heels, hair up, contacts and the diamond earrings I got you for our fifth anniversary.

- P

Fuck.

Brooke felt her heart rate pick up speed as her palms turned sweaty. She quickly opened up her calendar trying to figure out if she had overlooked something, knowing that it was improbable.

31st of August, Saturday.

Retreat with Bloomingdales

All Day

Nothing.

Shit.

“B, you okay?” Katya’s voice dragged her out of her spiralling thoughts, making her realise that not only was there a world outside of her panic but that she needed to quickly find somewhere quiet and empty, so she could figure out what she was going to do.

“Oh yeah, just something I need to deal with. Uhm. Right. I’ll see you all at lunch.” And with that she quickly gathered all her stuff, dashing out of the room, leaving her friends behind perplexed at the fact that Brooke had gone out into the world, without ensuring that she looked perfect.

Storming out, she looked for anywhere quiet, finally settling on an accessible toilet. Walking in and locking the door behind her, she quickly sent a text. Knowing what havoc it would cause.

I’m not in town, so that won’t be possible - B

Less than ten seconds after she had fired off the message her phone started ringing, the caller ID showing that Patrick was calling her. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself down, knowing that panicking would do nothing good for the conversation she was about to have.

“Hello, Patrick,” She kept her voice low and pleasant.

“Brooke Lynn. Where the hell are you?” Even if he wasn’t in front of her, Brooke could imagine the way that he was pinching his nose. Trying to calm himself down so he wouldn’t yell at her. The slight vibrato in his voice betrayed him though. It was clear that he was losing his calm.

Or he would.

“I’m in Albany,” She knew that the words would send him flying off the handle, the fact that she was that far away, would ruin all the plans he had carefully made for what would probably be a very important and strategic night for his overall campaign.

It was always a very important and strategic night for his campaign.

“ ALBANY? Why the fuck are you in Albany, it’s Bill’s birthday today, you know how fucking important this is?” She moved her phone a few inches away from her ear, as his anger made the decibels increase.

“Well, I guess Scarlet forgot to put it in my calendar, so no, Patrick, I didn’t know,” She understood his anger. But it wasn’t her fault that his secretary had forgotten to keep Brooke updated.

“Even if you didn’t know, you are supposed to fucking tell me, when you leave town. Every. God. Damn. Time.” The accusation was fair, though the fact that he overlooked Scarlet’s mistake made him roll her eyes. Of course, he would hold his hand over her.

“And YOU are supposed to always give me a 24-hours warning whenever there is an event, so really…” she was holding her phone so tightly, she feared that it might break in half. It had been weeks since they had last seen each other, summer always having fewer events of this type than fall.

She hated when he treated her like a child that needed to be reprimanded. She wasn’t a child, she was his… Whatever you could call the ridiculous arrangement they had.

“Jesus, Brooke Lynn. Fuck. Okay. I’ll send Steve. He’ll probably be there in two hours. You better be ready.” She hated the way he always insisted on calling her Brooke Lynn. He was the only one who did that.

She hated how he had no regard for her feelings on the matter.

“I promise,” her voice held little conviction. He always managed to make her feel small. All of her friends might see her as a bossy bitch, but they never saw her with him. How he just managed to strip away all her confidence and control.

“I ask for so little,” His voice sounded so sincere as if he honestly believed the lie he was telling.

“I know,” Brooke had to placate him, she knew that tonight was already going to be difficult, there was no need for her to make it even worse. Her legs turned to jelly, making her glide down against the door she was leaning against.

Not caring that the floor was probably filled with bacteria and dirt.

She leaned her head against the door. Feeling the panic settle deep in her stomach.

She felt sick.

“You better be the most perfect wife tonight,” The way he said it, all business, no warmth, created a lump in her throat. There was once a time when being his perfect wife had been the best thing in the world.

How the hell had it come to this?

“Aren’t I always, dear?” Her voice cracked a bit. His anger and coldness heavily implied that they would have a shouting match later, something that always left her feeling raw and useless.

Click.

He hung-up.

Shit.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #group fic #lesbian au #department store au #smut #fluff #beauty in the sheets #thankyoumissvanjie #tw power dynamics #submission

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multireality · 7 years ago

Text

Mystery

Summary: Negan was a mystery which Lucy was determined to unfold.

Author: Multireality

Pairing(s): Negan x reader (Lucy, OFC)

Word Count: 1962

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, slight daddy kink, fluff

Author’s Notes: I really liked how this one turned out. Requested by @ask-kakashihatake , hope you all like it. I love writing for Negan!

I hadn’t had much of a chance to experience the new world.

He ruled the new world.

I had lived in Alexandria since the beginning so I was pretty innocent. I had never killed a walker or really been close to one. But I wasn’t afraid, well that’s what I told myself. If I was faced with a walker I could kill it. If I was faced with danger I would react accordingly. Hopefully.

Alexandria gained a terrible atmosphere ever since the events of Negan, especially after he killed Abraham and Glenn. I didn’t know them well but they were nice, good people who always tried to protect our group. Rick our leader was broken ever since that night.

I wasn’t there when it happened, I didn’t leave Alexandria often. I ran the nursery here at Alexandria so I stayed behind. I never got the chance to meet Negan. The infamous bat wielding Negan.

I suppose that was a good thing. Yet it created a mystery about him. One that I wanted to expose.

However, today was the day he was due to come collect his half of our goods that we as a group had scavenged. Even now I doubt that I would see him in person. It was my job to stay with the kids and keep them all quiet and contained. Out of Negan’s way.

Things didn’t go to plan. Well, they didn’t go to Rick’s plan. Negan wanted to explore and therefore took a stroll around Alexandria. He came to a stop when he saw the nursery, his interest peaked.

I saw him through the window. His dark hair slicked back, a black leather jacket adorned his slender yet muscular frame. The infamous Lucille propped on his shoulder in all her glory. A white shirt beneath his leather jacket showed a spattering of chest hair. God was he beautiful. and the beard with a mixture of black and gray made him even more appealing. But he was the danger that I knew I needed to avoid. Yet who could avoid such an exotic creature?

“Now who is this beautiful little thing? I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet, sweetheart.” His deep gruff voice sent a mixture of desire and anxiety to the pit of my stomach. How could a killer be gifted with such grace?

I looked behind me to double check if he was talking to me, and found nobody else who he could have been talking to. This earned me a deep chuckle from Negan, his eyes sparkle with excitement.

“You sweetheart, what’s your name?” he asked again.

“Lucy” I spoke, trying to sound calm, and certain.

His face hardened and his shoulders squared. His entire posture went rigid. What did I do wrong? Then his posture relaxed and his face softened his eyes shining once again. This man was crazy. But was it the good kind of crazy?

After my encounter with Negan, he demanded that I come and live with him at the sanctuary stating that the nursery there needed someone like me. He didn’t leave me with a choice, it wasn’t my decision if I wanted to go or not. It was his. Negans.

That was around about four months ago. Time was a puzzle in the new world. It was almost non-existent. Nobody cared what time it was or how many days had past, just that they made it to tomorrow alive.

Negan and I had developed a strong bond over time. He was protective over me and therefore I was protected within the sanctuary. But I didn’t really need protection most people liked me as I did my part – I took care of the kids and therefore helped many of the saviors when dealing with their infants and teens.

I was simply minding my own business, exploring the sanctuary even though by now I knew it like the back of my hand when Negan came sauntering down the corridor. We were usually very friendly but recently we have been arguing, all because of his wives. I didn’t like that he had them or that he forced them to be there in a passive progressive sort of way. Even though he claimed he was innocent.

We’ve had many heated arguments over the past couple of days about his wives. Usually ending in him telling me I have no control over what happens in the sanctuary and I am simply a guest who someday won’t be needed. That’s what hurt, we bonded yet still he spoke about me as if I was replaceable.

“Hey sweetheart” he spoke as soon as he saw me. I simply ignored him and kept walking, avoiding eye contact in order to escape as quickly as I could. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. You still mad at me?” his playful tone was noted on my behalf.

“I don’t have anything more to say, Negan. You do what you want to do.” I replied. He was walking next to me now following me where I was walking, his body millimeters from mine.

“Come on baby, you know I didn’t mean what I said. It was just me being me.”

“As I said you do what you want to do Negan, I’m done playing these games with you”

“Baby don't be like this you know you mean more to me than any of them.”

“Sure I do. Actions speak louder than words Negan.”

It had been a couple of days since I last saw Negan, I knew I liked him and he liked me but I wasn’t going to compete with five wives. If he wanted to be with me he had to be with only me. Which in my opinion wasn’t asking a lot from him.

I was laying on my bed in my room reading a book I stole from Negans collection when a knock at the door broke me of my concentration.

I made my way over to the door and opened it to be greeted by Negans megawatt smile beaming down at me – since I was about a foot shorter than him. “Hey, doll.” He spoke confidently trying to contain his smile yet failing miserably.

“Hi” I replied in confusion.

“I got something to tell you doll, can I come in?”

“Um… sure"

And with that he strode into my moderately sized room – it was nicely decorated due to whenever Negan went on runs he brought me stuff to decorate and furnish it with. His tall frame made my room look smaller than it was in reality.

“What did you have to tell me Negan?”

“Well, you know those fucking wives that you don’t want around? Well, I got rid of them. Just me and fucking you now sugar.”

My mouth fell open in surprise at his news, did he really do that for me? I guess he deserves more credit than I give. I mirrored his smile and hugged him so tightly, I was surprised he could still breathe.

“I told you Lucy, baby. I’ll do anything and everything for you.” I pulled back from our hug and leaned up to press my lips on his, the kiss sweet and passionate. He pushed me back so that I was laying on my bed, while he stood looking down at me.

He stripped of his white t-shirt and jeans, leaving him in black boxers which kept him concealed from me. The smirk that was etched onto his face was dangerous as he tilted his head to the side – a silent command for me to get undressed also. I stood up and pushed him back, giving me room to undress. I pulled the white t-shirt that I had on off revealing to him my pale blue lacy bra that I had acquired after Negan went on a run and allowed me to have the first pick of his finds.

I began unfastening my jeans when he slapped my hands out of the way – a sign that he wanted to do it himself. “Let daddy open up his fucking present doll.” He spoke in a lust filled voice which caused my insides to tingle and my things clenched together to alleviate the pressure building in my core.

He yanked my jeans down my body and lowered his body with them as he inhaled deeply at the apex of my thighs. Now millimeters away from my drenched core. My matching lace blue panties were ripped from my body by his bare hands. “Sorry doll, I’ll find you some new ones.” Was his simple excuse for his impatience.

I pushed him on the bed this time and looked down at him. I slowly pushed down my panties and unhooked my bra leaving me bare for him. Ready for him to claim.

“Doll, you got to hurry the fuck up. I’ve been a patient man for four months. I need you fucking now.”

With that, he kicked off his own boxers and sighed at the alleviated pressure off of his throbbing erection. God, he was big. Intimidatingly big. He saw me looking at his with apprehension, “Lucy, baby, we’ll take it slow, okay? Nice and fucking slow.”

I climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips, his large cock pressed up against my core. I raised myself up and placed his throbbing tip at my entrance and slowly slid down on him. Once I was all the way down my breathing was heavy and coming out in harsh pants trying to accommodate to his large girth.

He tilted my chin up and made me look at him, our eyes meeting caused me to relax and allowed my walls to relax around his cock and make it more comfortable. “You’re so fucking tight baby, so good for daddy” he spoke in a strained whispered.

I lifted myself up slowly and then dropped back down suddenly which caused us both to gasp in delight. I continued this rhythm while he whispered filthy things in my ear as well as praise which sent tingles straight to my core.

The coil in my stomach was tightening and I needed to find release. Negan suddenly flipped us over so that he was on top and began mercilessly pounding into my tight heat. He held my hand above my head and lay his weight on me as his thrusts were short and hard. It was incredible.

He lowered his hand to my clit and began rubbing figure eights which caused me to moan and mewl. Shaking in delight.

The only sounds that could be heard in the otherwise quiet room were the slapping of skin and our mixed moans and breathless pleas as we united as one.

The coil in my stomach exploded as white bursts of light cloaked my vision. Negan continued to pound into me chasing his everlasting release. “Oh god, baby, you feel so good. My gorgeous girl.” He sped up his brutal pace and finally, he exploded inside of me as he shouted “mine” in ecstasy.

And he was speaking the truth – I belonged to him and he belonged to me.

We lay cuddled together on my bed as we soaked in the remaining bliss. I was tracing his tattoo on his chest with my finger as he nuzzled his face into my neck. He raised his head and tilted my chin up so that I was eye-level with him. “I love you” he spoke sincerely and it was my turn to show him my megawatt smile, “I love you too, Negan”

We lay together for hours, holding each other. And the last words I heard before I fell asleep nestled against Negans neck were the hushed murmurs of “I love you, Lucy, I won’t ever leave you.”

@negans-network

#negan #negan smut #negan x reader #negan x reader smut #negans network #twd oneshot #twd #negan one shot #negan imagine #jeffrey dean morgan #jdm smut #jdm fluff #jeffrey dean morgan smut #jeffrey dean morgan fluff #multireality

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ratherhavetheblues · 5 years ago

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INGMAR BERGMAN’S ‘SAWDUST AND TINSEL’ “We’re both stuck, Anne–stuck like hell”

Back in 2011, when (at Wonders in the Dark) I foolishly assumed that Ingmar Bergman was one of a small horde of filmmakers (including, Billy Wilder) after something very new, I was years away from comprehending what he had in store. Over the past year or so, I’ve wakened up a bit, to appreciate the momentousness of the range of his concerns, a range, despite good-will, leaving no impact where it really matters.

A constellation of conundrums of intent began to dawn upon me; and putting in place their dynamic has been quite a ride. But the elusiveness of the innovation has proven to be only slightly recognizable. Therefore, it’s time again to return to Sawdust and Tinsel (1953), which provides remarkable immediacy to those staying the course.

Whereas oracular figures—in Smiles of a Summer Night (1955), Winter Light(1963) and The Magician (1958)—would afford the thrill of seeing fit to trip up facile enforcement, the balance of power in the narratives remains so weighted against extreme change that understanding would almost absolutely trickle away. Similarly, the mea culpa, in Fanny and Alexander (1982), being brought to bear in terms of “the little world” (and its nagging spoiler, “the big world”), tends to be submerged by the Niagara of sturdy foibles. Then there is the perhaps too vague volcano of acrobatics and juggling, stemming from, The Seventh Seal (1957), and flashing over many subsequent entanglements the dark potency of which being lost on most viewers. The recherche dialogue between Eva and her muse, in Autumn Sonata (1978)—though a crucial clearing—becomes a victim of that protagonist’s hysterical self-importance. The action of silence (most salient in Persona [1966] but also on the move in, The Silence[1963] and Cries and Whispers [1972]), tends to be upstaged by the strong suit of survival. A mystical consummation, like that seen in, Wild Strawberries (1957), tends to maintain the status quo even more rigorously. Therefore, our second attention to this visceral production must be intent upon illuminating, as never before, the sensual structures and energies of players who live or die upon a cosmic scale.

One major expository response to that singular involvement is to spotlight two minor figures to lead the charge—the two stars of the show being brought to light as auxiliary weight for the previous marvels of poetic intensity. There is, of course, a saga, in this case pertaining to a slipping itinerant circus impresario and his slipping love life; but that’s not where the magic and the lift-off inheres. Careers and romantic complications are a dime a dozen; and they don’t tend to generate game-breakers.

Near the outset, a long-term carnie regales the rather recent owner, Albert, about an event of some rarity which happened 7 years before, involving a husband and wife team of clowns, still in the company. The troupe was set to entertain at a place along the seaboard, where an artillery regiment was engaged in training maneuvers. The flashback covering this crucial action has been given a medium of saturated sunlight in which to carry us on an even longer way from the mundane than killing fields and wandering sensationalism. “Tell the story if you want,” the boss allows (sitting on the driver’s bench of one of his caravans plodding along, early in the morning, drinking beer with the storyteller, and soon falling asleep, missing [as always] a remarkable revelation). “It was a hot summer day… The officers lay on the grass, hot and sweating, drinking out of boredom… Then along came Alma, an imposing woman… Carried herself like a queen, if a bit past her prime.” We see her, alone, on a ridge near the sea, bearing down upon the mere military, and carrying a basket for what might come along. Her dress of straight lines implies a mood not for curving away from her sterling desires. In fact, she is a vision of the goddess or medium, Aphrodite, she of coherent passion. As she approaches the fighting force, their cannonade becomes an imaginary orgy. Then, by way of an officer with cat whiskers in close-up yelling something where there is not a sound, except the cannon blasts, the recent workaday becomes even stranger. Cut to the brain-trust playing cards on the flat rocks. Advantage in the air. Cut to more of those silent mouthings, which disappear with a wave of sharp white space, soon displaying a division by way of the black uniforms. Alma merrily walks right over the improv poker table, spins around and produces an ironic smile and bow to her subjects. (The troopers on the ragged ground are not alert to their being overrun by a sworn enemy, as well as a congenial visitation to a lesser world. A soldier ridicules her, and she ridicules back.) Alma then begins to pull up her dress and challenge the power clique to live up to her powers. (In a cut, her advantageous mis-en-scene has been momentarily rescinded, to convey the human, often failing, interplay with the works of primary creativity.) The innuendo of coitus is taken up by the troopers and their shooting. Back on the topspin, Alma takes off her dress and tosses away her sun hat for the sake of a sunniness very seldom reached. (Such steps of hers like that will be repeated, somewhat, by that sleeping slug, unprepared for a crisis of cosmic proportions.)

Another stretch of fiery sky graces the beach; but disgrace looms, even during her ascendance to the ways of Aphrodite. Breaking the stalemate of mob ridicule and her wielding a secret weapon, an officer orders a cadet to go to her husband whereby more mundane resources would tip the scale and force a retreat. The apparition’s beloved clown and alcoholic, with infrequent rallies, lacks her ambition; and therewith we are to keep an eye on her miseries nearly buried by the ordinary two protagonists. And that Frost (where to start with that?—with Death, in the wings) rallies handsomely, though unevenly, that day. Never without his deathly white, cosmetic coloration (in glaring light he nearly disappears), his first appearance doesn’t seem much of anything. Brought out of the tent to meet the cadet, he mutters, “I once had the opportunity to perform for his Majesty…” [Frost being an exponent of trivial nostalgia in lieu of demanding traction]. (This is a gambit soon to re-emerge, in The Magician. As we work along here, we are impressed by how prepared this sojourn traces back to this film.) Only half-comprehending the dilemma, Frost misses the mark (as Albert will repeatedly miss the mark in the second part of that war-couplet which moves apace with great distinction): “The captain pays homage to me…” The cadet, who had conveyed that, “The captain sends his greetings,” sharpens up the message, to, “Your Alma is swimming naked with the regiment!” This causes his more realistic colleagues to laugh maliciously. A woman angrily confronts that drifter with, “Show you’re a real man! We’ll help you give her hell!” Someone else adds, “We’ll help you tar that saucy hide of hers!” With this, Frost pushes the sort of well-wishers away and rushes to the shore in a frenzy. Adding to his presence, are the pantaloons he always wears, trussed up in such a way that his physical proportions resemble an ostrich or a prehistoric bird. Frost being, in his eccentric and erratic way, also a primordial force, of questionable efficacy. With this crisis in the making, at a strategic point, we have our opportunity to regard this drama being very unlike others in its priorities. These presumed, by convention, also rans, are actually nearly the whole story. Their coming a cropper of the military devolves from the widespread war intrinsically bearing down upon creatures like our two clowns—too strange to readily stomach its stand in canniness; and too frail to mount a viable stand of uncanniness, going somewhere very few of humankind want to touch. Though cast as a problematic item of the preponderant in choices—a “circus and romantic saga”—in fact the action is devoted to a striking disclosure, beyond theatre and almost musical in its dynamic. The putative protagonists, Albert, and Anne, “lovers,” are the true also ran. They are trammeled with being not nearly crazy enough to be creatively balanced. And, therewith, the motif of the “little world” and the “big world” (explicit in Fanny and Alexander) hits the bricks to make of this entire Bergman filmic campaign, not a setting in relief of domestic exigencies but how the hell one might carve out a rhythm of sanity on a grotesque planet. As such, the entire (independent) corpus of Bergman’s endeavor must be seen as wall-to-wall war movies.

Frost, with the whole carnie nation delighting in his plight and racing close to his heels, encounters the mob of jeering heroes as he beholds Alma splashing offshore with an amphibian group. His shock, in close-up, is accompanied by a moment of all-out silence and stillness—as if the precinct of primal destruction clamps down for a moment. The white-out of the sun once again endows the chaos with pristine dignity. (Each of such stations emanating singular resources as to the massively ignored and dangerously beloved ways of life.) Then Frost calls out to her (no sound, no subtitles; but the cheesy, calliope circus theme). What was a regal bid to really live now begins to collapse. Jeering (now with the added non-strangers) recommences. Taking off his outer gear and struggling over jagged rocks provides another spew of black laughter. He does reach her, and those groping her drift away. In the capacity of a small but memorable rally, to consign to filmic archives, there is a close-up of him holding her and, as they behold the sea and the sky, they constitute an army of two. As that was transpiring, the cadet gathers up their clothes and hides them in a cravass. A girl from the circus laughs about that. Frost brings Alma to shore by having her on his back. The visual atmosphere is a slate sea and dark grey sky; and Frost, losing the energy to savor this austere beauty, begins to succumb to unsteadiness in negotiating the rocks while carrying her. Another silence obtrudes, as the couple resemble dying beasts. (The protagonists will prove to be all too human—predictable and presumptuous, leaving us more alerted to the fringes than the center.) The underestimated “clowns” are seen at a distance. The crowd closes in. Alma becomes stiff in his arms, her body like a cardboard sign. A deep drum roll sounds. The captain orders the heroes back to training. Frosts feet, shown in close-up, become very unsteady. That blazing outburst stages another fanfare to kindred spirits. A close-up finds them strangely glamorous at a watershed. Frost falls, and nearly faints. Another blinding brightness, another drum roll. They’re seen at a distance, on a ridge. (After such effort, this being a premonition of surrender, four years hence, in The Seventh Seal.) A feathery cloud formation becomes a confirmation that much had been well done. Then he falls, seen from afar. One more effort to proceed, and he’s flat on his face. He tries to crawl. (We’ll see Albert in a somewhat formally similar sequence, but with very little concern on the part of the cosmos.) Alma, no longer Aphrodite, fears for Frost’s life. Carnies and the cadet carry him home to the circus tent. Alma angrily (and silenced) reproves the wayward. She begins to cry out (silently covered).

Back to the seat at the caravan emanating this strange event, with Albert, as always, missing in action. He and the driver jounce, due to the bad roads; they look like rather identical puppets. The driver concludes, “Alma began to shriek that we’d done her old man in. We got angry and told her it was her own fault. But we picked him up and carried him back anyway…”

The last sight of the two who rocked Sweden for a few hours, was Frost being carried by several men of the art of the body, as if he were a white caribou. His head is thrown back and the pan shot moves backwards, as if he’s the subject of a hunt already dead. Seven years beyond this oddity/ odyssey, the driver has rounded out his harangue with, “That’s a woman and love for you!” It is, of course, nothing of the sort, the eyewitness not having a clue of what had really taken place. Here’s the moment to introduce the virtually sterile protagonists, now running the show, very badly—by way of their phony business names: “Alberti” (as in, “Alberti Cirkus”); and, “a fiery Spanish rider astride an Andalusian thoroughbred,” being hopefully antidotes to mask their lack of lyricism, their lack of poetry, their lack of courage. The day we first see them together, they’re entering the town where Albert dragged his wife and two children (from a modest retail business) into showbiz as being, at last, his supposed reality. This venue, in contrast with the puppets and cold and fatigue on the first occasion, musters cinematography of beauty, in the form of a close-up of a wagon wheel moving over a bridge showing its reflection in the water, and an imposing windmill. A rooster crows. A dog barks a welcome. Forward motion in the air. But who’s up for what it takes?

The mid-20th century “fairground,” a scene of desolation itself, becomes the scene of the staff, many having seen far better days from far better management, announcing to the boss their displeasure in not having been paid for quite a while, with an outbreak of fleas in all the caravans, and lacking viable costumes. (During the hubbub Alma is aghast in hearing that one of her colleagues wants to have her pet bear [and vignette for her work] killed and eaten.) In response, we receive some idea of the details of Albert’s being unfit for bringing off viable imaginative work. He muses that in America there is a healthy market for circus activity. “In America, circus folk ride through town, while bands play and the elephants trumpet. Everyone puts on their biggest smile and people line the streets cheering. A booming voice announces the show for that evening…” The goofiness of that razzmatazz premise transplanting to rural Sweden, is part and parcel of the goofy business plan in Jacque Tati’s film, Jour de Fete (1949), where a French farm town mailman attempts to wow the citizenry with big-market, American systematics.

On the spot to at least seem to be a businessman, he proposes one of those effervescent, Jimmy Durante circus parades for the permafrost customers, only to be busted, the horses impounded on the grounds of failing to secure a permit. Albert’s other excellent idea—on stronger grounds, in view of the Swedish government lavishing tons of cash for the arts (the theatre building in this tank-town having been designed upon the model of the royal palace)—was to borrow some of the costumes of the rich store, in order to put on a memorable spectacle. But there is a significant more, bearing down upon this disarray, whereby Albert was to pay a visit to his former spouse and (formerly unhappy) former circus partner (now the successful lone tobacconist of the present scene). Sleepy Alberti’s career of running the show into near collapse has inadvertently alerted Anne, the non-Spaniard, at this window of opportunity, that he’ll be returning to retail and she’ll be needing to make very different plans than she had bargained for.

Albert and Anne constitute, however, not mere perverse dullards and fools, but rather facile, effete revolutionaries lacking the nerve to prepare for what their excitement involves. Each releases a mission statement in face of discouraging mainstream forces. Albert’s ex declares, “I’m happy now. It was always a time of frenzy and fear.” He counters with, “It’s always the same, summer and winter. For me, it’s emptiness.” Encountering rather feminine and arrogant Frans (an actor she meets during negotiations for the costumes; and perhaps her best bet if Albert bolts), she maintains that an earthy matier like the circus is the place to be. “I’ll bet you apply cosmetics. You have beautiful hands… You’re a weakling… You can’t [as he did] treat me like that or speak of my husband that way…” Frans pushes back, “If we were alone, I’d crush you. I’d crush your resistance like a piece of dirty paper.” She quickly attacks, “What play does that come from? Save it for your pale, flat-chested actresses…” Stirring declarations; but hollow. Anne does go in for “dirty paper.” And Albert proposes returning to the good old days. His wife had prefaced the little reunion with, “All I can offer is pancakes.”

The theatre personnel arrive late. And Frans, having been roundly insulted by Anne en route to a pancake tryst, feels entitled to trip up an inelegant entertainment. Although this very intense incident could be imagined to be (as with the battle on the shore could seem) a simple display of dispatching, by the powers that be, foolish, obsolete eccentricity—road kill—the membrane on tap copiously speaks otherwise, to the horror of so many who don’t care enough, and where that leaves those who do show audacity of sensibility reaching an astounding threshold. That the figures being tracked do not handle their audacity well, is beside the point of this reflection per se. Sawdust and Tinsel offers to us a conveyance inviting the viewer to behold emotion so raw that normal dimensions become shattered and thereby become an intimate challenge. By the time the caravan comes to the little town playing it safe, we notice Alma and Frost having abandoned the realm of Aphrodite in favor of variations of Aphrodite-Lite, the specialty of Albert and Anne. Frost and Albert clearly spend a lot of time getting drunk. Alma has her low-key bear; Anne has her Tarot cards. By the end of the saga, Albert is heard to lament, “We’re both stuck, Anne—stuck like hell…”

Whereas the insulting regiment, at the (double) beginning, never gets to be heard, Frans, showing off to a pretty actress in the troupe (where affluent, educated elites would have honed a range of useful skills), and with Anne astride her horse circling the sawdust stage, he calls out, “Feel alright after our adventure, Sweetheart?” This elicits from Albert, the ringmaster’s, whipping off of the show-offs straw hat. In one of those grand, dramatic ironies Bergman excels in, Albert’s shock and fury at that moment had landed him in depths of pain whereby he had put in his place the smooth cynic. Frans, not expecting lightning from such a source, experiences, almost uniquely, disarray. As he puts his hat on, the girl he brung laughs in his face. The supercilious small-town sensation had, remarkably, retreated. Were Albert truly conversant with squelching vain nobodies, his evening might have included modest rewards from which to invent circus theatre to surpass the sclerosis of the local artistes. But Albert, on a high and afraid of heights, repeats the fun—flashing his whip as if the smattering of Americana Conestoga covered wagons in the convoy endows automatic magic—and Frans, feeding on hate, smashes the pretender to a pulp.

Much about this bloody gore reminds us of Alma’s sunny day at the beach. Frans’ fighting skills (the Artistic Director of the big/ little theatre mired in lostness organizes the bad feelings in terms of a duel, which is to say, a stupid way to die and a stupid way to live) are a reprise of the artillery display which punctuated the ridicule of Alma. Albert’s baby-peal crying in pain, from a dirty trick directed at his balls, is a reprise of the fake crying of a clown in the first scene of the show, where Frost is now merely ordinary, wielding a ladder (going nowhere—not even funny) and squabbling with the crybaby. The townsfolks (including the ex), recalling the civilian population witnessing Alma’s abortive ascent, present a variation of the universal amusement—most enjoying the massacre, while a few being sickened by it. On the other hand—as with the conscripts to the nation—the theatre employees show 100% satisfaction, in their prissy way. Distributed about this maelstrom, we have Anne thrown from her horse, due to a guy in the last row throwing a missile hitting the thoroughbred; Alma’s gig with her bear totally washed out by the late-comers from civilization wandering across the ring (and, to worsen her latter days lot, yelling to hapless Albert, “That’s it, Albert!”); and the ringmaster both humiliated and on a roll of visceral courage, hopelessly misplaced.

At the end of the fight, Frost becomes a voice of the status quo: “Ladies and gentlemen, the show is over. Thank you for coming this evening…” Albert’s nightmare finds him in the role of an abused bear, in a bearpit. On gaining what he’d call consciousness, he grabs his pistol and shoots Alma’s bear. You could say, that was the last bit of integrity this company would see. But, for what it’s worth, the tug of creativity is hard to entirely kill.

The circus caravan is on the move later that night. Frost and Albert are walking along in crepuscular light and crepuscular mood. Albert maintains a depressive glare, never looking, nor, once again, listening to the outer limits of life itself. Frost, an artist to Albert’s merchandising, speaks up, with, “Yesterday afternoon I had a dream while I slept off the booze. I dreamt that Alma came to me and said, ‘Poor Frost, you look tired and sad. Wouldn’t you like to rest a while?’ Yes, I said. ‘I’ll make you small [smallness virulently in effect already] as a little unborn child. You can climb into my womb and sleep in peace.’ So I did as she said, and crept into her womb, and I slept there so soundly and peacefully, rocked to sleep as if in a cradle. Then I got smaller, until, at last, I was just a tiny seed, and then I was gone.” Frost had not gone much further than hysteria in that initial struggle. But his dream carried him to the frontiers of creativity, which is to say, a fresh start upon getting real, the precinct Alma inhabited when an instance of Aphrodite (which failed to find traction). Alma, from the cozy confines of their caravan bed, interrupts, “Stop trudging along out there! Come inside and sleep!” Frost, the alcoholic Everyman, explains to the bemusing navigator, “You see? She can’t sleep without me beside her!”

Here we come to an unexpected minefield. Do the fidelities, at this stage of the careers of the once-briefly brave, still reach the point of magic? Or do those gentle moves conceal a crime? The dream of starting again seems to tell us, “Yes.” Bergman, being one very, very tough dude, is not one to settle for sort of. Does his investigation (and that of a host of other investigators) leave room for leveraging the daily juggle where the daily acrobatics have startled? Sort of. But the film wants us to consider hostile armies that aren’t going away.

After Frost, the unfocused family man, goes to bed, Albert comes to a halt, and Anne (not needing to go to bed) has her moment of truth, which is something else from a moment of vision. (Along a trajectory of job-shopping with Frans in his dressing room and beyond, in the light of Albert bidding for a less American Dream, she doubles back, in memory, to catch Frans rehearsing a drama that could only avail as a purgative. “I am but a poor jester in this farce of dark shadows. Her deceitful heart, her frailty, even her taunting indifference, turn my world upside down every day and every hour…Art that Count Badrincourt of Chamballe, or the most miserable of wretches? Farewell, O world…May my tears water my poor grave…” The intruder that is Anne is positioned behind a damaged backdrop, and we see only part of her face breaking through the musty garbage in knowing to be something better. [Far from Aphrodite; but a physical key still in play].) There they are (Anne and Albert), in the dull light, now apprehensive. (While Albert was carried out of his sawdust bailiwick—a position repeating Frost’s unconsciousness after breaking down in aid of Alma—Anne was busy gauging Frans’ cheek. A few years later, in Hour of the Wolf [1968], a woman at a party gauges the cheek of an effete rebel, whose confused bid to manage there being no heaven costs his life.) Each manages a wan smile. And they walk along that pregnant roadway and its links coming close to the dance of death, about to be fully unveiled in The Seventh Seal. Our guide’s dramatic genius presents a disaster without recourse, while, on a wider front, things could improve.

#ingmar bergman

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sharkticonxqueen · 8 years ago

Text

Like No Tale Ever Told

Pack Progress and a glimpse into No-tail’s past.

“Food.” growled No-tail.

Wildtide ignored her, resting his helm against her belly. The metal bulged, as h e rested his cheek on her paneling.

One, two, maybe three... by pressing down with his fingers, he could feel several hard lumps beneath her hide.

“Fooooood.” No-tail huffed, stroking her mate's helm. Instinctively, the two of them knew they'd broken the rules. Their firstborn wasn't fully grown, and it wasn't the right time of year for new pups. They'd likely get no help from the pack with this new litter.

Wildtide smiled. Honestly, he wasn't the least bit ashamed. Who could blame him for wanted to breed with such a strong, brave female? No-tail may have been missing a limb, but she was more of a woman than anyone he'd ever met. If he had it his way, he'd impregnate her a hundred more times.

Wildtide rumbled, nuzzling her belly. No-tail lifted a leg, pressing her foot against her mate. With a push, she managed to roll him away.

“Food now. Babies need food.” She told him, smiling wryly. Wildtide rose, stretching.

He tilted his helm, moving his hand in a swimming motion. Fish?

No-tail shook her head.

Wildtide held up two fingers, like ears. Petrorabbit?

No-tail patted her abdomen with a growl of approval. “Fast.” She ordered. “Go now, come back fast.”

Wildtide chuckled, changing to beast mode. He headed toward the trees. No self-respecting male allowed his mate to go hungry for long.

No-tail settled back against a pillow of rotting vegetation. The sunlight overhead beat down on her metal, the warmth doing little to ease her sluggishness. She was about to doze off when a familiar smell tickled her olfactory sensors.

Female-scent. Young-scent. Pack. Family.

She opened her optics, watching as her daughter Star sauntered over. The younger female had dark juice around her mouth, her sharp teeth gleaming as she smiled.

No-tail tried to sit up, grunted, rolled back and forth a bit, and finally managed to tumble to her feet.

“What have?” She demanded, approaching her daughter. “Star, what have?”

Star grinned, turning away. She shoved a handful of something dark into her mouth, more black juice staining her fingers.

“Oil-berries!?” No-tail bristled, outraged. “Are oil-berries? Share!”

She waddled toward her daughter, extending a hand.

Star lifted her own hands, showing they were empty. “Gone!” She announced, wiggling her fingers.

No-tail growled. Star may have been her little girl, but she was also a lower ranking female. Flaunting food like that would earn her a bite or two. The mother sharkticon was just about to struggle into beast mode when Star propped her hands on her hips, looking pleased.

“Found bushes. Lots ripe. Show you. Just for us. You, me, Papa.” Star declared.

No-tail squinted. “Bring berries.”

Star shook her helm. “No, you come.” Then her optics gleamed. “Trade.”

“Trade!?” No-tail snarled. “Trade what?”

Star clasped her hands together behind her back, rocking onto her tiptoes.

“Trade story.”

And that's how the two females ended up on the outskirts of the Packs territory, weaving the trees side by side. They walked quietly, for the most part, Star occasionally pausing to nip at her mothers flanks and shoulders.

Most mothers wouldn't have tolerated such childish behavior from a nearly-grown pup; but for the moment, Star was No-tail's only child, and No-tail adored her daughter. Star was almost a copy of her.

“Much more far?” No-tail grumbled, pausing a moment to rest. She winced, setting a hand on her belly. The eggs were shifting.

“Not much far.” Star hopped onto a fallen log. Holding her arms out for balance, she put one foot ahead of the other, swaying a bit. She closed her optics, daydreaming about the wonders and mysteries her mother had shared about her life before the pack.

“Want Story!” Star declared, turning on one foot to face No-tail. Now she was walking backward.

No-tail watched her, squinting slightly. “Watch hips!” She scolded. Then, “What kind story?”

“Trap-easy! Trap-easy story! Tell about flying!” Star declared. She missed a step and toppled backward with a yelp.

“Trapeze.” No-tail corrected. “Trapeze.”

Star sat up, brushing dust off her armor.

“Trapeze, then!” She retorted, getting to her feet.

No-tail brushed past a vine tree, exhaling. A story had a lot of words, it'd take a lot of thinking and effort.

Still...she enjoyed remembering. And it was so easy to recall, it seemed like only yesterday...

“Bugrimova Central.” No-tail stated. “Big city. Big buildings, as far as can look. Mecchamo Sharkticon Circus stop by three days. Each day like this; First painted clowns falling down, then tamer wrestling. Next, juggling and dancing, and fire eating. Music, tricks. Then...”

“Then?” Star probed No-tail to continue, leaning forward eagerly.

The pregnant female turned on her heel. .She placed a hand at her waist, lifting the other in a sweeping motion. She bowed to a crowd of memories.

“Then me.” She murmured, imagining the roar of the crowd. “Mecchamo's Famous Flying Sharkticon; Like No Tale Ever Told!”

“That's you!” Star clapped, delighted, “That your name!”

No-tail smirked. “Yes. I was star. Star of the show.”

The youngling grinned. “Now I'm Star.”

No-tail paused, turning to her daughter. Reaching out, she swung her arm, trapping the youngling in a headlock.

“I SHARE Spotlight.” She growled, giving her helm a nuzzle. “Still my light.”

“Graaaah.” Star wriggled, trying to pull free, “Share, like share berries?”

She pointed to a patch of land just ahead. A group of dark orange bushes were clustered around an old vine tree, the coppery leaves gleaming.

No-tail released her daughter, waddling toward the brushes. Pushing the leaves aside, she let out a cry of delight. The branches were heavy with fruit!

The two females feasted. With so much to go around, there was no need for bared teeth or raised fins. No-tail showed Star how to choose berries, to leave the flowers and green buds so that there would be more later. She was happy to share what her mate Wildtide had taught her.

After all, Star wasn't a pup anymore. She'd leave the pack soon, in search of her own pack to rule. No-tail didn't doubt her daughter would be an alpha, with many males, and even more children.

She jolted, letting out a groan. Star looked up from her snack, worried. “Hurt?”

“No, no.” No-tail flopped down onto her back. “Pups.”

Star stepped closer, reaching out to touch her mother's abdomen. She vaguely understood that half-formed pups lived in eggs, occasionally stirring as they dreamed. She also knew males had something to do with getting eggs. Honestly, it didn't seem that interesting to her.

Stories, on the other hand...

“Mother?” She rested her chin on her mothers chest.

“Hmmm?” No-tail glanced at her.

“Did you Fly high?”

“Yes, high.”

“Higher than that rock?”

“Higher.”

“High as tree?”

No-tail scoffed. “Help up!” She ordered. Star gripped No-tail's hand, tugging her to her feet.

No-tail sauntered over to the vine tree. Digging her fingertips into the back, she began to climb.

She and Star were the only sharkticons in the pack who could climb trees. She was proud of this fact. Weighed down, she wasn't as fast as usual, but after a few moments, she found herself standing on a thick branch.

“This tree---” She called down to Star. “This tree, not high at all! Flew above ALL trees.”

Indeed, she had. The trapeze often went up as high as six stories. Sometimes there was a net to catch her, sometimes there wasn't. A fall led to her losing her tail, but she didn't care. She flew better without it.

The memories were so clear. The smell of popcorn, of spun sugar. The musk of the circus animals. The applause, the applause that felt better than a belly full of meat.

She would never go back, but sometimes...No-tail missed the crowd, the eyes on her.

She glanced down. Star was looking up at her, rapt.

No-tail reached out, grabbing one of the vines. Iit was about as big around as her thigh. She gave it a good tug, putting her weight on it. Looking out, she could see at least a dozen more vine trees stretched out ahead of her, ranging between two and three stories tall.

She smiled, gripping the vine tightly.

“Mother?” Star called out, “Mother, what doing?”

No-tail rocked on the branch, feeling it bend. One, two....

She ran forward and leaped, locking her arm muscles.

The vine flexed.

Strained.

Held.

She swung, focusing on the tree ahead of her, gauging the thickness of the vines, the positioning....

On the upward arch, she let go, flinging herself forward.

“MOTHER!” Star shrieked, horrified.

No-tail seized a nighboring vine, grunting from the effort.

“You flew!” Star clapped her hands over her mouth, unbelieving.

No-tail scaled the vine, resting on another branch. She paused a moment to catch her breath, then gripped the vine more firmly.

Inhale.

Jump.

She spun, corkscrewing her body. On the third rotation she reached out with both hands, grabbing the vine once more.

Star was clapping, delighted, watching as her mother swung toward the branch.

No-tail jumped, planting both feet on the branch.

Breathing heavily, she grinned, taking a bow for her audience of one.

Star applauded.

The Branch creaked.

The branch broke.

No-tail fell two stories to the forest floor below.

#Pack Progress #No-tail #Wildtide #Star

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