#man confesses to Nancy Drew

[ndfan3]

Confession to Nancy

After Bill Travers finished, he looked appealingly at Nancy. His gun was forgotten about, discarded on a table as he confessed everything to the titian-haired girl sleuth. “But what happens now, Miss Drew?” he asked her sadly. Nancy took a deep breath. “I think you are basically a good man, Mr Travers,” she told him, “and you got mixed up in something you couldn’t control.” She looked him hard in the eye. “You need to let me have your gun and come with me to the sheriff.” Nancy continued earnestly. “Tell him what you told me. I can put a good word in for you.”

Travers bowed his head and he indicated with a slight nod that he agreed. “Very well, Miss Drew,” he sighed, “I agree to surrender to you.” Nancy exhaled in relief and looked around her erstwhile kidnapper’s forest shack. She noticed with satisfaction a coil of thin rope hanging from a hook on the wall. “Mt Travers?” she then said to her captive tentatively, “I will need to tie your hands behind your back before we set off. It is a long journey.” Travers looked up at the young detective and smiled wryly. “In case I change my mind?” he asked a little ruefully.

“Yes, sir,” Nancy replied.

AI image created via Microsoft Bing before its upgrade.

[nsuyeula]

Y’all maybe I was a little bit to harsh on Ace these past couple of episodes. I (very lovingly) was calling him a hypocrite and that he needed to chill out but after Nancy is fully ready to move on with Tristan after like, TWO DAYS - na I’m sorry I ever doubted you, you have never done anything wrong and I want to give you all the hugs. 

[foreficfandom]

POV: You Are Actually MUCH More Powerful Than Alastor (ch. 2 - "Flashbacks")

(Alastor x Reader, g/n, queerplatonic/sex and romance favorable, fan theories, God!Reader) (AO3)

Alastor was always a man who craved control and attention. Ninety-odd years of being a demon has long since mutated his mortal desires into a festering appetite. While he was alive, it was a very mundane longing for the spotlight. Being the sought-after host of his own radio show was as close as being his own boss he could realistically hope for. The masses could listen and fawn over his charisma and humor while ignorant of his champagne hue.

If he wanted more, he would have to turn to drastic measures.

Young Alastor had made the station affluent, so they could afford to get their hands on any show recording they wished. One autumn, they aired The Witch’s Tale, a trailblazer for being the first horror-themed show on the radio. It garnered controversy from the conservative crowd, but ratings didn’t lie. New Orleans loved the series.

Alastor relayed the local news in his typical rapid-fire speech, a fashionable showman’s chatter made even faster thanks to his Creole blood, and as he speed-read his script in real time, he recited a quick advertisement for Madame Jones’ Hot Comb Oil before running the magnetic carbon ribbons of The Witch’s Tale. Voices of the actors took over the air. He drew a breath from a cigarette and leaned back on his chair. Alastor’s voice was now due for a rest until the current tape ran dry.

This was his first time hearing the show as well. Short horror tales were narrated by a fictional character named Old Nancy, one of the witches from Salem. The first tale was of a Venus statue come to life to slay the son of its sculptor, the second adapted from the real life confessions of the convicted Scottish witch Isobel Gowdie, the third clearly ripped off from Stevenson’s The Bottle Imp, and so on. After each tape, Alastor came back on the air for more news, advertisements, and the occasional social commentary. A quick joke about the Nipponese making waves on the West coast, a little update on McKinley’s first year back in office.

If he were to be candid, each episode of The Witch’s Tale was a gamble of hit or miss. Some were near contrived. But a few were quite satisfactory.

Most interesting was the narrator. After each tale, Old Nancy would reveal a bit more of her backstory. She never married. She grew her own food and earned her own money selling poultices. She may or may not have slept with both men and women. Her cat was a demon familiar. Her house was constructed partly from the bones of her victims.

Alastor found himself lost in thought. A young maiden, a pregnant mother, and an old widow swam through his mind. But the fourth woman … standing apart from the others, free from the grasp of a husband’s heavy greedy fist, proudly dangerous. A woman alone, but free. The maiden, matron, and crone, and now the witch.

Suddenly, Alastor saw himself repeated four times in place of the women. He was the scrawny teenage boy, then his current self, then a wizened old man, and in place of the witch was this enchanting visage of his long-lived personal fantasy, chest thrust upwards and smile brazen.

He tapped his fingers against his stomach as a strange thought overtook him. Could one become the witch?

Could Alastor be truly free from the Man’s grasp?

Hidden deep in the winding alleyways of New Orleans, voodoo was still going strong despite the coppers’ efforts. When mother was still alive, she would buy dry goods and miscellaneous wares from a small negro outlet run by Haitian immigrants, and locals knew that the shop’s upstairs hid a small voodoo church, an open secret amongst those uninterested in contacting police for any reason, even if they themselves weren’t practitioners.

Alastor knew nothing of voodoo. Mother was Lutheran, father had apparently been a loose Catholic. Church Sundays had tapered off by the time Alastor was nine, as did house praying aside from Christmas eve, and mother was near illiterate so there was no Bible reading. He never asked her if she was still faithful after dropping the more superfluous habits. Alastor’s heart ached at the thought of mother barred from the gates of Heaven.

He heard the horror stories of this dread voodoo religion. He, himself, has recited many sensational reports of sacrificial rituals and cannibalistic orgies, almost certainly all fear-mongering bullshit, but plenty enough believed that voodoo witches and warlocks used a black magic. Cursing good Christian families to die of plague, using living shadows to ensnare children away, poppets with needles, sigils that glow, that sort of malarkey.

If I could curse people, or control a tangible shadow, it would be a right gasser, he thought to himself.

A steady list of potential victims formed in his mind. Number one, the man who abandoned his wife and child to a stricken life of poverty. Just harmless daydreaming. Maybe.

Alastor used to say to himself, ‘thank God’ that mother was such a genius, otherwise they’d never have survived.

He wonders if he would soon be swearing different oaths.

—

To your nose, virginity didn’t have a strong smell or energy, but innocence did. The first time the two of you met, you had sensed Alastor’s putrid, gore-soaked body roaming the hotel long before he could sense you approaching the front door, although you allowed him to believe he had the upper hand. Murderers, especially those who lusted, were very blatant. A subtle pang told you that Alastor didn’t lust for flesh like many men did. His body smelled virgin, but more telling, his powers would not be affected should that come to change. After all, only someone uncaring of an aspiration would not evolve from achieving it.

Alastor was not innocent. Not like princess Charlie. Not like the children sinner souls.

He may not have a clue what Angel Dust meant by wearing a “special sort of ring ”, but hunger had many forms.

Flesh, blood, and bone were common sacrifices made to manifest power. A human’s physiology cultivated some of its greatest energy from fats and protein, so it made sense why Alastor’s curse would force him to fuel by consuming meat. But if he were in kinder circumstances, he might have instead been encouraged to eat any other sort of matter, or not fuel himself through food at all.

Clearly, Alastor’s debtors wanted to corrupt the man beyond what murder would do to his mind and soul. The more Alastor killed, the more he ate, the more powerful he grew, and the more he’d need to eat. He became a slave to his appetite.

You wondered if it was because they couldn’t affect him through his loins, so they chose the closest alternative.

In any case, Alastor did resent his need for nourishment, just not nearly as much as he resented the actual chains. It helped that he has always found fulfillment in creating, eating, and sharing food, and there was a very good place in Hell for that kind of attitude.

Cannibal Town didn’t become a proper, distinct district until Overlord Rosie’s rise to status. The industrial revolution had created a great epidemic of poverty, and many struggling in the developing American frontier had turned to cannibalizing the dead to survive, from the children to the elderly, only tapering off when a successful ‘20’s economy rose to the rescue. Rosie turned the predominant Edwardian-era population into its current image. Walking through Cannibal Town’s streets of petticoats and boater hats, it was like stepping back into one of your past lifetimes as a New Yorker under Taft, watching Florence Lawrence in picture shows and seeing oreo cookies on the shelves for the first time.

In fact, ‘oreo’ biscuits were sold in Cannibal Town, imitating their original tin box packaging, but they were made with rendered human fat rather than pork tallow. Rosie wanted her people to embrace their partaking, rather than languish in their past sins, or hide their undying appetite. Human flesh wasn’t an addictive substance, but cannibalism certainly was. It was as habit forming as any other ritual gesture, like how Vaggie wakes up in the morning to tie her hair ribbon right-over-left, or how Husk always arranges the bar’s bottle storage just so, or how Alastor uses an old pewter pot to boil his coffee over the stove fire. Many of these antiquated cannibals treat their slaying, butchering, and eating with the same love they used to have for the Eucharist.

Alastor’s affinity for Cannibal Town wasn’t quite because he felt kinship between their cannibalism. Fondness for Rosie aside, it was the best source of properly prepared human meat for sale, trimmed and bled as thoroughly as venison chuck. Passionate cook he may be, but he never had the patience for true butchering. Especially whilst mortal, and in Hell, a victim could easily be ten feet tall with several limbs. Who aside from the butcher had time to set aside eight hours for that?

No, Alastor’s reasons and fondness for partaking wasn’t commonly shared amongst the Cannibal Town locals. Most likened it to a sexual gratification. Many saw it as an alternative way to rape the weak. Some saw it as their only outlet for frustration. Some just wanted to fit in.

And to them, cannibalism was a very social hobby. Proper ladies found great sisterhood in tearing into a corpse like starving wolves, respectable men could now exercise their libido amongst other men by delving deep into flesh as a group. But whilst Alastor, too, socialized through food, eating mortal flesh was his curse, not his indulgence.

You knew for a fact that ever since the inception of his deal, Alastor's clause for cannibalism would quickly morph into an honest taste for it, but Alastor could only hypothesize if that was the case, or he just simply lost his mind sometime after his fourth killing.

Alastor shook himself out of his reverie as he approached the door to his favorite Cannibal Town grocer, you following close behind. He had been finding himself lost in his own thoughts more and more often, lately. No doubt due to your influence.

He could have shut down in complete bewilderment, but he was Alastor, damn it all, so he will garner the bravery to take the next step forward, then the step after that, and so on.

Towards a brighter future, he dared to hope.

He opened the door for you, and the two of you entered the little store. Like all grocers before the ‘50’s, the wares weren’t self-serve. Alastor summoned a paper list, and read off what he wanted to purchase. The mustached shopkeeper brought forward each item onto the counter before ringing them up on the register, using an old exertion scale for the fresh goods. A pound of dried red beans, a rasher of salted belly, a loaf of sugar, three pounds worth of scrap shin bones, and four red capsicums. You noticed that the capsicums - the bell peppers - were the smaller, pointier variety sold during Alastor’s lifetime, before cultivation increased their size and yield. Likewise, the sugar loaf was compressed into an old-fashioned triangular cone, wrapped in paper, not a pure white but a light flaxy yellow from its residue molasses. All the manufacturer’s labels were a parody of their living equivalents. The burlap sack of Camellia-brand kidney beans was of a bloody heart with green, thorny vines named “Carnillia”, instead of the original round flower.

The shopkeeper wrapped the raw meats into their own smaller bag. It went unsaid, but they were obviously human remains. You reached forwards to carry the groceries whilst Alastor was occupied with paying, but then said to you, “Nonsense, dear,” and reclaimed the load in a gentlemanly manner. A polite, but largely useless gesture, as it’d take monolithic mass to truly test your physical prowess, and Alastor had his own increased strength as an Overlord.

In fact, the last time you struggled to carry an object with all your true power, it had created a black hole where it fell.

Part of Alastor’s original deal for power was certainly to improve his meager physical ability, as he was like many young men who pictured their ideal self boasting some petal to the metal. His lean muscles did not swell, and he couldn’t bench-press an automobile, but he did find a great force behind his punches, and his running speed, and even when he twisted open a pickle jar. It had been a relatively mundane boon compared to his showier magic, but the knowledge that you couldn’t be physically overtaken was intoxicatingly empowering. Alastor finally understood why burly brutes acted so brazen, even if his silhouette didn’t display it.

Yes, his original deal was as righteous as any young person’s plea for bravery. But whilst some may only ask for a sword, he had asked for a legion.

And by mother’s grave, he got it.

Father had been his original sacrifice. He tracked down the drunkard squatting in a Chalmette hobo jungle, and knifed him in the belly until the wretch’s blood flow slowed to a crawl. He spent all night dragging the corpse across town and to the lake, right where the most notorious of voodoo orgies were said to take place, and mimicked the manbo’s ceremony, finger painting vèvè before shouting - begging, screaming, really - for anybody or anything to answer him.

He always tries to avoid remembering what came next.

Mother hadn’t passed, yet, but she was on her deathbed. She had been fighting scarlet fever for weeks, and pneumonia had developed. Alastor himself had a brief sick spell due to contamination, but he refused to move out of the house. If his mother was about to leave this world, he wanted to be there.

Mother’s pauper’s burial was baptized in Alastor’s second killing. A eugenic small-time politician one neighborhood over, who would have never achieved his meager position if it wasn’t for connections, thanks to the scandal of marrying his fourteen-year-old niece. For this attack, Alastor let his new powers bloom freely, but his inexperience left the corpse a complete mangled mess. Indeed, the shocking state of the body was what first sparked rumors of the Butcher Of New Orleans. Named so because of the man’s conspicuously missing flesh and organs, leading the police to rightly profile the suspect as a cannibal.

Life went on. Alastor’s mind and mood matured, and he hit his stride. He grew from radio host to radio star. He made plenty of honest friendships. He found innocent fun, and also learned to refine his not-so-innocent ones. By age 37, Alastor had a celebrity career, a Cadillac automobile, a sparkling reputation, and a total body count of twenty-eight men.

A month before he would turn 38, he found himself in hell. He remembered that his first action was to look around, expecting to see his father as if the man would, by chance, be standing on the nearby street corner. He looked up, and saw the glowing celestial body that must be heaven, high above and unreachable.

He wondered if mother was simultaneously looking down. Or was she still waiting for her dutiful son to show up and join her? Alastor had made great effort to ensure that mother never knew of how much of a monster her son really was.

Slowly coming back to the present, Alastor found himself wistfully looking at the morning sky as the two of you waited for traffic to halt. The haloed planisphere was partially hidden by daytime cloud cover, but one could spot the ever present gateway to heaven just about visible.

You followed Alastor’s gaze to the skies above. As remote as heaven may seem to the eye, you knew that it wasn’t a matter of distance. After all, heaven and hell weren’t places. They were states of being. You told him so last night, since he was under the impression that with just enough power, he could track down his debtor.

Unfortunately, if a suitably powerful being didn’t want to be found, no amount of searching would work.

He had bristled at that, fur on his ears standing, and paced away.

Then spun around with renewed, fake bravado, and said he would lure them here.

“How?” you asked.

He had no idea, but just twirled his cane into both hands with a closed eye grin. Apparently, he’d think of something.

Before the night concluded, he told you that all these earth-shattering revelations would have to be mulled over a hefty serving of his favorite comfort food, so you and him would dine privately a stew of baked beans. An especially fatty and. Well. Cannibalistic recipe of his.

So it came to be that the two of you left the hotel early next morning for some shopping, which of course caught the eye of nearby Niffty, who would most certainly be relaying the latest gossip to everyone else.

Let them talk. Alastor loved being the hottest gossip topic, and the friendships you choose to keep are yours alone.

Of course, most of them suspected that there was more than friendship involved. Not the wording you’d choose, but perhaps it wasn’t inaccurate.

There was divinity between the two of you, now. Every time you’ve muddled in mortal affairs, great cosmic connections formed between your souls. Inevitable, considering who you were, but they often had great repercussions. You considered every one of them worth the trouble.

That afternoon, the two of you entered the kitchen once more, but this time you stood by and watched as Alastor prepared a kettle to hang over his fireplace. Per his request (demands), you arrived to his room at eight on the dot to his little table set with sliced bread and a decanter of whiskey. The pocket swamp beyond was darkened and dotted with lazy fireflies. A radio station played, but not from the two sat on his bookshelf, nor emitting from Alastor himself, just directionless in the air as if the room itself breathed radio.

“Please, come on in,” he bowed, just a tad overweening. Say what you will about the man, he bounces back from existential despair pretty gracefully.

One of the seats slid out on its own accord. You sat obligingly to the tantalizing smell of spice, partially masking your ability to detect the human remains in the stew. As Alastor sat across from you, the disembodied radio chatter in the air twitched frequencies to instead play a wordless ballad.

“I took the liberty of choosing tonight’s choice of drink,” he said, pouring whiskey for the both of you. “I know it’s a bit early in the evening for the mule, but indulge this pitiful sinner.”

“It’s your meal, after all.” And true enough, Alastor stood no ceremony in digging a spoon deep into his bowl. Alcohol had its particular effects on you, so you reversed the fermentation of your whiskey into a poof of evaporated ethanol and a wet pile of sugar, mostly to amuse yourself, also to sneak a pinch of malt into your bow to cut some of the fat. Alastor had made the stew so rich, you could probably alchemize a toddler from the lipids.

You watched as Alastor relished deeply in his first spoonful. Fats, you remembered, was sometimes a more affordable grocery than sugar or flour, depending on the slaughter season. A poor Alastor would have grown up being treated to cheap, streaky bacon more often than beignets or hot cocoa.

“Just as mother made it,” he sighed wistfully, as if reading your mind. Far from the first time he’s mentioned his mother aloud, but before it had always been a set up for a jape, his comedian nature never at rest, and not unfiltered sentimentality. He must know that it was useless to hide secrets from you.

You forwent the malt sugar to taste the dish as it was intended. Surprisingly, it was shockingly laced with pure intentions that caressed your tongue and made tears well up behind your eyes. You didn’t think Alastor was capable of it.

It tasted like love.

Maybe he had more of a chance than you first thought.

—

Supper continued throughout the night. Alastor downed one, two, and was working on his third bowl before the conversation turned to the elephant in the room.

“- and when I kill the wretches souls who’ve clipped me like a duckling, I’ll -”

“Cool the jets, Alastor. We’d have to find them, first.” You stepped in before he could wind himself up.

“See, I’ve been thinking,” he took a hearty swig from his third glass of whiskey, "take it from a man with a couple of his own eggs in the basket. You know what makes a debtor knock on the front door faster than a twinkle?”

“What?”

He grinned angrily. “If he thinks there’s more debt to be had. You spot a way to keep your favorite minion closer to your chest for longer, you take it before someone else can.”

With a twist of his wrist, he downed his glass and slammed it none too quietly on the table. His eyes no longer meeting yours and burning holes into the wall over your elbow. “So! You help me advertise my devilish self as desperate for another deal, or perhaps just a clever amendment clause or two, and I promise you, they’ll show up.”

“And then what’ll we do?”

“End their wretched lives! What else?”

“Life began millions of years ago, and it hasn’t stopped since. Your jailer has long since learned to take advantage of that.” You calmly lounged with loosely crossed legs and arms, while Alastor was beginning to hover over the table like an angry ape. “There’s no way to ‘end their life’ in a manner you’d care about.”

With his face so close, you could smell the whiskey on his tongue along with an unfortunate whiff of antiquated dental hygiene standards. He wasn’t quite yet drunk, but was certainly not sober.

Your words gave him pause, but a radio star never let dead air stagnate. “Well, perhaps it was never a matter of killing them. No proper creditor makes their debtor more powerful than he.”

You said, “Your leash has its share of loopholes and weakness, like all contracts do. There’s never a way to fully avoid them, so most make additions that forbid them.”

Green stitches all along his maw. In one blink, you saw Alastor in his full pitiful glory, glowing neon-bright inverted hues, rotted body held together haphazardly with unforgiving threads. In another blink, Alastor was his normal outward self.

Back and forth you flipped your vision, trying to find any clues or conclusions. Snipping the threads would just make him fall apart. There must be a gentler conclusion.

Suddenly, you remembered what he said. “Alastor, how many debtors do you own?”

“Oh, I can’t remember the exact number. Ninety years is a long time. The answer’s somewhere in my ledger, I’m sure,” he waved a hand.

“Lend me a look. Please,” you added when Alastor’s glare turned vicious, “it’s important. You can trust me.”

“Now, how in the world would my own roster matter to my predicament?”

You leaned forward, meeting Alastor’s couched posture in the middle. “I made a promise, didn’t I? I promised you true liberty. If you want my help, then let me help.” You kept your voice low as if whispering a secret, even though no one was around to overhear. No one Alastor could see, anyways.

A heartbeat passed, then another. Then, with a great crackling of old vertebrae like he had suddenly aged decades, Alastor reigned in his defenses.

Has he ever yielded so completely since granted his powers? No wonder it felt so dreadful, like shaking off a carpet of cobwebs.

Never let it be known that Alastor was a chap who couldn’t learn something new, you heard him think bitterly. A dry exhale aired throughout the room as elongated shadows retreated, electric bulbs shone brighter, and the fireplace changed from eye-searing blacklight back to its natural warm glow.

Nonchalant smile back on his face, Alastor wiped his hands with a napkin and stood.

“Ah well. No time like the present, then?”

[voidsteffy]

Thoughts about 4x01 (AHHHHH)

AH WE'RE BACKKKKK

THAT JUMPSCARE!!! oo you got me, just like s1 got me! (i feel very happy saying that)

Why does Nancy keep confessing her love for Ace out loud to Ryan and Carson? I mean.... Ryan can't keep a secret can he? (or did fanon get to my head??)

love that Nancy is a mysterical (is that a word, did i make that up, look away) success but a adulting failure, we love to be represented

nick being the photogenic eligible bachelor as he should be (I volunteer to be tribute) love that the only eligible bachelors can be Nancy's father or Nancy's ex-bf, we love being surrounded by pretty people

NOT ACE RANTING ABOUT THE BROKEN BAROMETER CZ HE KNOWS WHATS UP (almost, give my man some credit)

nancy is such a team player it's amazing

we're getting so much bess and ryan interaction... does that mean we can't get george-bess interactions anymore? NOOO

ryan honey when a suspecting relic dealer couple give you back your Porsche that they've been holding hostage, you don't drive it out without a full checkup. i mean nick coulda taken a look at it

THE MUSIC GIVES ME THE FEELZ OF S1 (official season 1 till 2x05) WHICH I LOVE

Ace i think the universe is conspiring against you every time you get a step closer you either get arrested or killed (too soon??)

they had such a good storyline with lawyer-apprentice! Bess, why did they ever switch to George? I want more of Georgeeee

the corpses are kickass jumpscarers i must admit as I laugh my ass out of horrified-land

can't believe nancy just left the broken bottle and his name out there (under a paper thingy but that doesn't count bess is nosy as hell) and now he's gonna find it isn't he

it all comes back to that damn clearing, isn't that where nancy had her wraith vision in the drew-a-fish episode?

WHY ARE THEY GOING SO CLOSE TO THE BODIES EWWW

jumpscarejumpscarejumpscarejumpscare— YUP you didn't get me that time hahaaa

GOO I REPORT GOO COLLECT THAT SHIT IT TENDS TO WANDER OR OPEN PORTALS cmon did we learn nothing from Legacies GUYS!

yep he saw it yeah boo she's lying

AHHHHHHHHHHHH HE FIGURED IT OUTTTT

wait is she allowed to tell him um then why did i read all those fanfictions with charades and 2k words on just them playing jacob and bella with werewolf confession all over again? (bcz ur a sucker thats why they were such wonderful fics too)

I TOLD YOU TO PICK THE GOO! PICK THE GOO! PICK THE GOO! ew it's heading towards the water supply! NO it's gonna be sand piper all over again STOP GO BACK DON'T BE SUCH A MALIVORE

um.... so i couldn't live-blog it this time cz timezones are a shitshow but i'm here with my entire notes laid bare i have so many theories and- and- and- AHHHHHHH

[ao3feed-nace]

Nancy Drew and the Hardy in the Hudson

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Qhc9r8B by TinyBullfrog AU from S3E10. Tired from the phantom knocking, the truth serum hits Nancy at Temperance's ball a little harder than it should. Instead of a tryst with Agent Park, she confesses that she's hoping to be more-than-friends with a well-known dishwashing hero. Ace, trying to contact her all day, overhears, and, once freed, the pair embrace that night. One expired box of condoms, a miscarriage in a prophetic vision, and a death curse later, Nancy flees horseshoe bay without informing any of her Crew. But she can't let this curse hang over her child's life forever - she has to break it, and for that, she needs to return to Horseshoe Bay. How can she navigate caring for and educating her child, managing the secret of the curse, and her ever-burning love for the man she abandoned while keeping the identity of her child's father secret? Words: 3481, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Nancy Drew (TV 2019) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen Characters: Nancy Drew, Ace (Nancy Drew), Original Child Character(s) Relationships: Ace/Nancy Drew, Ace & Nancy Drew & George Fayne & Bess Marvin & Ned Nickerson, Carson Drew & Nancy Drew & Original Female Character(s), Carson Drew & Nancy Drew & Ryan Hudson Additional Tags: nace, Angst with a Happy Ending, (always with a happy ending), Ace: The Dishwashing Hero of Horseshoe Bay, Judaism, "She has my eyes.", Learning languages for your loved one, Learning Hebrew read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Qhc9r8B

[afewproblems]

AO3 First Lines Tag Game

I was tagged by @2btheanswertothequestion thank you so much for the opportunity!

Rules: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published ao3 stories (if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics) 

(I definitely cheated a lil bit and included the first blurb of each fic)

You can Only Remember What You Want To Forget

Stranger Things, Steddie, WIP, 4K, Misunderstandings

"Shit!” Steve hisses, wrenching his face away from the open oven door as a cloud of hot moist air rushes out, he wipes his face with the free hand not holding the oven door handle. 

“You good man?” Robin laughs from where she’s perched on the counter, her dangling legs swing joyfully back and forth. 

“Peachy,” Steve mutters, grabbing a hot-cloth to pull out the baking tray, he shakes the mini pigs in a blanket around to dislodge them from the foil before putting the tray back onto the middle rack, “put on another fifteen would ya?” he says over his shoulder to Robin.

Just A Little Push

Stranger Things, Steddie, 2K, Meddling Gareth, mutual pining.

This was the last straw, Gareth thinks to himself, his face in his hands, fingers dangerously close to plunging themselves into his eyes. 

“I can’t take it anymore man,” Gareth groans as Jeff takes a seat at their favorite table. It’s tucked away into the far corner of the Hideaway, the thick shiny veneer has been dulled over the years and the honey wood beneath is covered in thick layers of graffiti and carved initials. Jeff is particularly proud of the Metallica logo he painstakingly free-drew out on one of the corners while the bartender wasn’t looking. 

A Clear and Present Threat of Tongue

Stranger Things, Steddie, 5K, Mutual Pining, inspired by New Girl 

It’s all Gareth's fault in hindsight. 

As his best friend and confidant, Gareth really should have taken Eddie’s feelings into account when he suggested a party out loud in front of everyone.

Warm My Cold and Tired Heart

Stranger Things, Steddie, 24K, Whump, Getting Together

Steve slowly walks around the cluttered and dirty boat house, armed with an oar and reflexes honed from years of basketball and baseball practice. He ignores the irritable scoffs and doubting gaze that Dustin keeps shooting him from the sidelines as he prods the lumpy tarps draped over the single boat. Dappled moonlight barely streams through grimey windows, while the smell of gasoline and mold stings sharply in his nose. Steve tamps down the urge to rub at his face, it's not a pleasant smell by any means but it's not the fetid stench of the Upside Down, this one still holds notes of the living rather than the decay of the Otherworld.

Ice Cream Sundaes and Cherry Lips

Stranger Things, Steddie, 1.3K, Scoops Era, alternate meeting

Eddie wasn't sure what he had done to deserve this. 

Hawkins finally opens a shitty new mall to loiter in, deal behind, and peruse music at. 

An air-conditioned building within driving distance for Eddie and Gareth, the only two in their band who had gotten their license --what Jeff was waiting for was anyone's guess, and there was only one rent-a-cop that slept in his office every day from noon to four.

It should have been paradise! Eddie was owed paradise God Dammit.

Always Quick and Never Painless

Stranger Things, Steddie, 3.8K, Mutual Pining,whump

Steve always falls first, falls fastest.

It happened three years ago with Nancy, it happened with Robin back before the bathroom confession cemented their platonic soulmate status. It happened with Lauren MacNeal in Steve's freshman year, and Cindy Carlile back when he was eight years old.

He knows himself and knows the beginning stages. It's always quick and never painless, and seems to hurt more with every passing year. A dull ache in his chest that throbs and whispers darkly, 'remember Harrington, you'll always be bullshit'.

And when he finds himself falling for one Eddie Munson, he knows exactly when it starts.

To Trust an Unknown Future 

Moon Knight, Moon Knight System, Adventure, Mystery, incomplete, 6.4K 

Marc opens his eyes to sunlight streaming across his bed. He breathes in deeply and shifts to his side, arching his back in a nearly feline stretch as he does so. His dark eyes fall on the figure asleep in the mirror beside him. Steven, his face is soft with sleep, curls draped over his forehead. Marc can’t help the smile that spreads over his lips at the sight.

The Safety of Darkness 

Moon Knight, Moon Knight System, 900 words, Whump

Sunlight streams across honey wood floors as dust motes sparkle and dance in the air, Marc waves a tiny hand through them and grins at how they undulate. The purple Hot Wheel he’s holding careens over imaginary curbs -dust motes the engine’s exhaust.

Marc raises his head from the pillow on his bed, his eyes trained on the door. He pauses to listen for a moment, the room is quiet save for the light bird song trickling in from the open window next to him. He breathes out through his nose slowly in relief and brings his gaze back to the toy above his head.

Wayward Miracles

Daredevil, Fratt, It's A Wonderful Life AU, 2.5K

"This, this is the shit I’m talkin' about Red," Frank growls as he smooths the gauze pad over the newly stitched gash on Matt's stomach.

It hadn’t been an easy evening.

Frank had been a block away when the fire fight started, navigating the quiet winter streets that were still bustling with New Yorkers on their way out of town for the holidays. While Matt had mentioned where he would be patrolling that evening he had left out, conveniently , the thieves he had been tracking for weeks. Thieves who also happened to carry a plethora of weapons, a generous gift from Wilson Fisk; Matt may have neglected to mention that as well.

See You Around Red

Daredevil, Gen, can be read as pre Fratt, Season 3 alternate beginning.

“We should kill this son of a bitch,” a voice says above him, muffled and clipped as though underwater. A swift kick to Matt’s rib cage reaffirms the thugs position on the matter.

“Nah man,” a second voice pants, slightly farther to the right, “leave him.”

Footfalls, heavy boots crunching against the broken glass, announce the other man’s path back towards the van. An irritated scoff floats down to where Matt lays, the ebb and flow of movement and sound nearly non-existent after the many blows to his head.

No pressure if you've already done this one but I'd like to tag: @flowercrowngods @steddierthings @strangersteddierthings @outpastthebrakers @henderdads @monstrousfemale

[seungchanpark]

"unfortunately, i don't think a book series intended for ages eight and above has any gruesome murders on a remote italian island — but sure, nancy drew and the seaside backstabbing, i'm sure that's something you can pitch to an editor," he says with a grin. at dom's next point, the one about gemma being broken up, chan looks away, back down to the small ancient city below them. he doesn't want to care about how gemma feels about anything, let alone a topic that chan himself is having difficulty processing. and yet, well. maybe he does. "yeah, no, none of us are processing this right," chan says. "it feels like every praeditus member is simultaneously fine and on the verge of getting admitted into psychological services. maybe i should start taking money on which one of us will have a nervous breakdown first... mari, maybe? for the sake of her art?" with others, chan's sentences tend to be short and to the point, an occasional jab or sarcastic scowl tossed in for good measure. with dom, though, chan has always found himself more jovial, more loose, more able to be something of a normal friend. it's a side no one else gets to see.

at the gesture, chan furrows his eyebrows but complies anyway, twisting his body so his socks brush against the other man. "i don't have to share shit," chan says with a laugh. "i'm the greatest mind of our generation writing two different senior theses that will likely define theoretical mathematics for the next half decade, wherein there am i supposed to fit petty relationship drama? do you think erdös was going around writing love letters in between publishing a paper a day?" and yet, the look dom is giving him isn't an easy one to push away, and so chan has no choice but to sigh and offer meager confessions: "i think gemma is attractive but insufferable," he says. "and i think fitz is insufferable but attractive." a beat. "and his head game is decent." chan breaks into a smile, taking one of the balcony pillows and throwing it toward dom. "that's all you're getting! greed isn't a good look on anyone, let alone meraviglia's golden boy."

he doesn't even notice the blankets until dom points them out, and then he's shifting nervously. the truth is he doesn't run cold, the coke is more than sufficient at ensuring that, but every since pukegate at the chapel, chan's been taking it easier than he usually does. as a result, not quite full-blown withdrawal, but little hints of it — a propensity to shiver a bit when others might not. "body's not used to fall, i guess," chan says. he hesitates, and every nerve in his body freezes, screaming just tell him just tell him tellhimtellhimtellhim. he opens his mouth: "and." chan says. the words wobble. "i think i'm catching something, maybe. fucking freshmen flu getting to me."

"god, mr. robot, give me your analysis and spare me the reliving. i think that single temper tantrum has defined my past week, i can't possibly talk about it any more." not with chan, at least; his promise to gen is a fresh wound in his mind, and his run-in with fitz is even more of a motivator. "so dupont, then. our dearly departed leader, murdered like something out of a fucking nancy drew novel. i thought the secret club and skeleton key ceremony were as wild as my college years would get. it doesn't feel... real, right? gemma's been real broken up about it though. makes me feel like maybe i'm not processing something right."

dom breaks a soft smile, rueful and contemplative. "speaking of gemma, i think it's your fucking turn to overshare, park. i got a fistful of gummy worms from your little arm candy earlier today. honestly, that mutual sweet tooth of yours made that whole thing make more sense." clearly, dom has picked up the propensity for gossip from his nights with em and dove. he employs it well, down to twisting toward chan, offering his lap up for the other's legs, the same way the girls always do to him, while he gestures to their veritable nest chan has built. "not all this, though. i know you kind of well, since when do you run cold?"

[ndfan3]

The Strange Message in the Parchment, The Nancy Drew Mystery Stories #54 (1977)

One of the more recent titles in the Mystery Stories series, this tale involves Nancy and her friends in yet another fight against kidnappers and extortionists. The story kicks off with a sheep farmer receiving a strange telephone message instructing him to decipher the writing on some paintings on parchment he bought as a curiosity to “right a great wrong”. His daughter, Junie, contacts Nancy and asks the young detective to help find out what the message and its alleged “great wrong” might mean. She Junie, commence their investigations and soon find themselves up against a suspicious and dangerous Italian named Sal Rocco, possibly involved in trafficking undocumented migrants to local farms. While investigating this angle the girls rescue an abused child, Tony, who has been staying with his uncle Rocco and threaten the man with the police.

Nancy then calls in the assistance of Bess and George and together the group of young women set out to solve the mystery of the parchments and capture the villain behind the mysterious goings on. They soon establish Tony’s mother in Italy is a talented artist who put together the paintings on the parchment before Sal stole them and abducted Tony. He now runs a fake union scam amongst the migrant workers. This leads to the girls being kidnapped and tied up by Ricco’s hired muscle, but they manage to escape and then turn the workers against the exploiter leading him to confess and surrender to Nancy and her friends in order to get them to summon the police to protect him.

Despite the Italian stereotypes, this is a curiously modern tale given our current vexed debates about illegal migration and the role of organised crime in trafficking. Not the best Nancy novel, but worth checking out.

[alphinias]

People are so annoyed on twitter about nancy's new love interest I can't believe this bullshit, they really won't let us have one good thing , I hate this so much.

I knew they were going to pull this when they brought out that multiple soulmates quote or WHATEVER it was in the S3 finale between Nancy and Carson. I knew it.

I’m truly someone who is patient with jealousy storylines. I like the angst. But like, y’all have done this exact same thing for the past two seasons with nace. It’s just old at this point! And they gave way too much screentime to the blossoming relationship with Park as is. It’s not as if they don’t already have the angst of the curse to work around.

[adgp35]

The Swindle

Julie spoke to the man while she tied him up. “You weren’t alone in that scheme,” she said, “or all those other scams. I know you are a pal of Morley’s and that the pair of you swindled all of those people!” Smith’s jaw dropped. He looked over his shoulder at Julie, trying to figure out how the young detective could possibly know these things. Convinced that the woman had concrete evidence against him, he quickly made a full confession.

Julie, having finished securing her prisoner walked round to face the nervous-looking man. “Ok, but where is Morley now?” she asked him. Smith looked at her sullenly. “You figure it out.” he muttered. “All I know is that he disappeared owing me a large amount of money!” Julie frowned. “Yes, little lady,” Smith continued, “I’m as much victim as perp here.” Julie continued to look at him seriously and then took the man by his bound wrists. “You’re still going to jail!” she retorted and pushed him towards the open door.

With thanks to The Nancy Drew Mysteries #48, The Crooked Bannister by Carolyn Keene for some of the dialogue.

AI image created via Microsoft Bing before its upgrade.

[timeguardiansarchive]

Nancy's natural charisma and spirited nature are quite uncharacteristically subdued. There are relentless caverns forming about her lackluster sky-blue eyes. It takes her whirring brain several moments to dissect the words being aimed at her, like fashioned arrows, by Troy. "Oh, uh--" She gracelessly, and rather distractedly, fumbles.

Drew nearly misses his words under the weight of the hazy fog enveloping her. "It's- it's not that." She was still being tormented by nightmares, but those had ceased to be a priority. Nancy clears her throat. "It's something Frank Hardy mentioned the other night--" She confides. "I can't seem to get it out of my head." That doe-eyed man completely VEXED her. "And before you give me any senseless crap about my being head over heels for him, it wasn't romantic." She knows any tactile opening that Troy found could be prodded at and weaponized against her. Especially, when she's this fatigued and whilst she's too busy reveling in the shadows of a mystery.

"I couldn't possibly sleep even if I wanted to." Nancy confesses, graciously accepting the tea with a "thanks". Flicking her exhaustion-riddled eyes upwards, she murmurs, "maybe you could get further ahead with it than I seemed to--" An impossibly long sigh is exhaled from the fathoms of her lungs while she attempts to figure out where she can start. "How do you feel about going with me, Troy? There's a theory I want to test and I'm not sure I want to do it alone-"

"A guy just can't disappear through a cave. He also can't be a ghost. There HAS to be a hidden entry and exit way. If we find it, maybe we can find more clues as to who has been frightening and stealing from tourists at Marble Cove."

 ♒ Troy from Nancy

@timeguardians (Nancy Drew)

Troy looks up from his cup of tea, squinting hard at Nancy as she stumbles into the kitchen. “You look like hell.” He does not wait for more of an explanation. He just starts fixing her a cup of tea. It is only after he sets the cup down at her elbow that he speaks again. “Just tell me you had nightmares last night, and that’s why you look so rough. If you were out running around all night trying to do who knows what, I’m locking you in your room tonight. You have to sleep at some point, Nancy, even if you have a case.” Nancy has a bad habit of running herself ragged when she is hunting clues. Her world centers around each case, and she is fascinated by the work. Unfortunately, that means she burns her candle on so many ends that she is left with a stub in no time flat. Though it is not part of his official duties, Troy has decided it is part of his job to make sure Nancy manages to reach thirty without having some kind of meltdown. At the rate she is going, he might have his work cut out for him.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

Imagine Steve Harrington confessing to you

"Listen, man, we're kinda walking into doom here..."

Steve glanced over to Eddie, realizing he was kind of fond of the guy now but then he looked over to where you were walking next to Robin.

"Yeah, well, doesn't feel right to do this now."

Eddie stifled a groan and moved closer to the man, giving him a little words of encouragement. Steve laughed a bit and pushed the aged high schooler away.

"I don't know."

"If Nancy and you might have a future -"

Steve laughed and shook his head, grabbing Eddie by the arm to cut him off. "No, man, not Nancy..."

Perplexed, Eddie tilted his head and turned to the group of girls walking ahead of him. He stared at Robin and you for a long moment before giving Steve a knowing glance.

"Oh, Y/N," he smirked, devilish admiration in his eyes. "Oh, she's fucking cool - maybe too cool for you, Harrington."

Steve's eyes moved back to you and he smiled wearily. "Yeah, I know."

The two started walking to catch up to the girls and you, and when Steve drew closer he felt a push of his back. He stumbled forward, a little ached came from where you wrapped up his wounds, and fell onto you.

"What the hell," you laughed, holding your ground as Steve apologized and straightened up. He side eyed Eddie, who smiled and motioned for Nancy and Robin to follow him on. Not noticing the exchange, you reached over and touched Steve's bandage, asking if it hurt.

"I mean, I know it hurts," you said, letting your fingers drifted from Steve's abdomen.

"I'm okay," he whispered, eyes wandering to where the trio was now yards away. His eyes moved back to yours and you smiled at him.

"This is crazy, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he confessed, reaching a hand to your shoulder. "I - you know, I'm going to make sure nothing happens to you."

Steve's face was somber and nervous, you held back a smile and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I was really scared when I saw you surrounded by those bats - I thought we were going to lose you...I thought I was going to lose you."

"Oh, yeah?"

You laughed then and smacked the side of his cheek light, he acted surprised but grinned as he looped a finger through the belt buckle of your jeans. Not resisting when he tugged you closer, you slide your hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck and playful tugged at the his hair.

"I'm telling you I love you, Steve and that's all you have to say?"

Steve's smile faded as he stared into your eyes - neither of you knowing if this whole plan would even work. This could be the last chance and he was going to listen to Eddie - because no one knew if everyone was going to make it home.

"I love you, too," he said quietly, letting you pull him into a kiss. His lips were soft against yours and if it wasn't for Eddie shouting "lovebirds" to the pair of you - the kiss might have gone on forever.

[aces-drew]

NANCY DREW | nancy loving ace just the way he is (in every reality)

OKAY OKAY LET'S FUCKING TALK ABOUT THIS BECAUSE NANCY DREW HAS AND ALWAYS WILL LOVE ACE FOR JUST THE WAY HE IS - BECAUSE HE HAS ALWAYS BEEN BY HER SIDE, BECAUSE HE HAS ALWAYS GIVEN HER SPACE, BECAUSE HE HAS ALWAYS HELD IMPORTANCE TO HER EMOTIONS AND THE WAY SHE PROCESSES THINGS LIKE NO ONE ELSE

hgbajkfslgjkahfkjghkajhgfkhakg- i have so many thoughts I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS:

1. in the right panel you can see how much nancy wants to re-affirm him of everything he's done for her with a confession, you can see it on her face, when she tells him that he never lacked in her eyes, all she wants to do is live out her life with him and affirm him of how much him being just the way he is means to her - how perfect he is, how long withstanding, how unconditional - you can see it break her that she can't lie in bed with him and tell everything he is is enough. that she could never imaging loving a man that wasn't her best friend and one of the most intelligent and loving men she's gotten the pleasure of knowing

2. you can see ace just needing that reassurance FUCK you can see it on his face!!!!!! you can see how much he needs this confession, of how much he's being trying to fight all of these mounting insecurities and fears on his own, and how much the right words from nancy could make that fight easier, the fact that they were always meant to be, the fact that them coming together in that moment would have been affirmation enough, would have been waiting enough, for a lifetime of support from the woman he not only loves, but reveres. to crave validation his entire life and find purpose in himself and caring for someone else but never feeling enough, all that yearning and longing for nancy is just a bigg fucking angst fest in this scene, and only three words from nancy take to somewhat ease it

3. YOU CAN SEE HOW MUCH THEY LOVE EACH OTHER IN THAT SCENE, HOW MUCH THEY BELIEVE IN ONE AND OTHER, how much nancy just fucking loves him, unconditionally, wholly and without any change to the man he is. and how much it kills them that she can't say it.

and so basically, this is the headspace i'm in rn:

[lovipop2049]

Jargyle Heacanons

-Argyle really wanted a dog and Jonathan didn't, but he was worried he'd upset Argyle so they settled on a golden retriever and Jonathan loves him

-Jonathan plays with Argyle's hair all the time

-Argyle is surprisingly pretty protective of Jonathan and will fight you

-They cook together a lot and they never eat out unless it's surfer boy and they're lazy

-You can tell what clothes are Jonathan's and what clothes are Argyle's because Jon's are so dull and desaturated in contrast to Argyle's bright clothes

-They've probably done each other's makeup while stoned

-Jonathan is def touch starved but Argyle will help with that lol

-Jonathan just cries into Argyle's shoulder sometimes and most of the time Argyle has no clue what's going on but comforts him anyways

-They try so hard to keep their relationship a secret but it's so obvious. Except for Joyce she's oblivious

-They are both very bad at flirting but Argyle's a little bit better

-Argyle thinks it's cute when Jonathan's flustered and makes it his personal goal to do that

-Jonathan was the one to confess, a think it would be when they aren't high though and Jonathan would freak out but Argyle's like "nah man i feel the same anyways lets smoke weed" and he was so chill about it that Jonathan had to ask "what are we bro" like 500 times

-Argyle is absolutely just Jonathan's pillow at this point

-Argyle is really good at helping Jonathan with his panic attacks

-Argyle always gives Jonathan his hoodie and Jonathan loves it sm that he just never gives it back

-Argyle onced asked if he could get a pet rat and Jonathan was like "okay no you're insane dude wtf"

-Argyle is actually pretty decent at drawing, he traced when he was little and learned for a bit, and he drew a portrait of Jonathan once that he's treasured since.

-Argyle was secretly really happy that Jonathan applied to Lenora college

-Nancy and Jonathan mutually agreed to break up but Nancy wasn't rlly too happy that he started dating Argyle. He never explicitly said it but she knows for sure and she thinks he moved on too fast

UM UM yeah Im gonna make one more hc post and then im gonna watch the dahmer series bc i don't know what to watch atp💀

[timeguardiansarchive]

The teen sleuth rises from her chair with the unanticipated entry of a young man. "Wh-- what happened to you?" Nancy's blue eyes flash over him with considerable concern. In seconds the strawberry blonde is at is side. "Looks like you got into a fight and lost--" She mutters eager to get a glimpse of just how catastrophic his wounds may be.

Sure Carson, her father was bound to be FURIOUS at the crimson state of his couch and the similarly drizzled carpet. That said, Nancy would be remised, if she turned the poor boy out on his rear.

"I -- I should get you to the hospital." She begrudgingly comments. "I only candy-striped once with my friend Bess. Even then, I wasn't very good at it." Nancy softly confesses. Still her eyes depart from him only to recollect where her father stashed the first-aid kit. "Well, that's not entirely true. I was distracted and working a case---"

"Miss?" Drew laughs a little at his formality. "Just call me Nancy-" She makes her patient petition. "And don't worry about the couch. Believe it or not, it has seen worse before. Mostly cause I can't keep out of trouble believe it or not--"

She rises, racing for the equipment, before returning. "You want to let me see?"

"get in here." (Nancy Drew - if you're feeling it?-- otherwise you can ignore) @timeguardians

Peter stumbled into the young woman's home, clutching his ribs as he did so.

Groaning in pain, Peter collapsed onto the couch. Hyperaware that he was probably bleeding all over the place.

"I'm sorry, Miss. I promise I'll pay to clean your couch, I just gotta lay low for awhile."