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1moremilgram-enjoyer · 1 year ago

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Hey! It's me again. Wanted to respond in a comment cause I don't have much to add but it's slightly too long so here we are lol.

(About boku and ore in MeMe) My problem with this is that, as far as I can tell, ore isn't ever used in the songs, and the "I'm (boku) already the fake one" lyrics does make the most sense to me being Akakoto. I unfortunately don't have enough Japanese to argue much on this point, though; curious, does anyone know if Akakoto uses ore in the audio drama? As far as I knew the ore/boku thing wasn't apparent to the audience until the start of Trial 2, but that could be wrong.

This is the question I wanted to answer; yes, I think Akakoto uses ore in the first Voice Drama. I hear it twice when he starts attacking Kotoko. Maybe an ear test contrasted with subtitles by someone who doesn't know Japanese isn't the greatest, but I think it's pretty clear in the lines:

M (Aka): One like the other... You're pissing me (ore) off!

M (Aka): Don't fucking mess around with me (ore)!

It probably wasn't as clear when we had less lines, but it was still there. And I do think he would use ore in the songs. As I said, I think the Double sample might include it. I don't see why one song would follow the rules and the other wouldn't.

The point I was getting at there is that the line doesn't work with Aokoto; if the pronouns are consistent then it can't be Akakoto either; therefore what makes the most sense (to me) is a third alter, one which has more knowledge of the system than Aokoto but still uses boku. Therefore, Midokoto makes the most sense. Especially because again, this "boku pronoun + line that doesn't work with Aokoto" thing also happens in the shower and bath scenes.

Since I'm here I might as well talk about some other things.

When they said Mikoto and Kotoko "drew," I didn't really think of it as meaning they were actually equally matched in a fight, necessarily. If Mikoto were able to evade or something, that'd work. Besides, they say it was a draw, but Mikoto's clothes are pretty tattered and Kotoko has no injuries as far as I can tell, so I at least don't think it's perfectly even.

Fair, I guess, though I always felt a fight was more implied. Both from the wording ("Kotoko attacked him and they had a real dogfight" - Jackalope), the visuals used, the fact Kotoko ended up somehow biting off part of a strap from Mikoto's uniform, and the fact it's sorta implied that happened while Aokoto wasn't fronting, and I don't see Akakoto just evading, so Midokoto goes back to making the most physical sense. Though like you said, "evenly matched" is perhaps giving the Mikoto alter a bit too much credit :v

The UNDERCOVER English translation used to be entirely different!

Oh! Yeah, I think I had seen someone mention something like that, but I didn't fully know what it meant. Thank you for informing me!

(Also, [the Undercover] line uses boku, if you're curious. Makes sense considering that it's pretty clearly supposed to be Aokoto talking.)

... I thought... I thought Es was singing? /j Yeah the line's wording is very much Aokoto.

(About the reflection motif)

Yeah, this is personal opinion. I think it still works as "Aokoto and Akakoto are opposites/reflections and Midokoto's just kinda there", but I see why it may feel a bit unsatisfying.

I don't know how I would explain the three spreads in Twokoto theory. I guess the first two would be for Aokoto and Akakoto, and the third one would be for Mikoto as a whole? Not a great argument, but it's hard to theorize about it without actually going into the meanings of those spreads, which again, I don't really have enough knowledge of tarot to do properly.

You say this like tarot is an exact science lol.

I guess that's a possibility, but like you said, we probably would have to look at the spreads a bit closer. Which I will, in that MeMe analysis I swear I'll finish writing some day.

(The door thing)

Oops. Yeah, my bad. I saw someone mention the "Double x3" thing somewhere, checked if it was true, but forgot to check the other doors. That one's on me.

I personally see it more as "I'm Double (MeMe)", meaning I am two (MeMe). Putting them together just means you're doubling the fact that you're saying there are two. I can totally see it going either way, though, and I think we'll have to wait for the Double drop on that one.

Nice one! Yeah same, both interpretations work.

(But if you double MeMe, what you get is MeMeMeMe which is four and this means- /j)

Anyways, that's the final things I wanted to add. Thanks for the response again! Take care!

Hello! If it’s okay, I’d like to know your thoughts on the Trikoto theory (3+ alters). I think it’s a cool theory! And pretty likely, honestly. (Here’s a document about it in case you don’t know what I’m talking about. I didn’t make it, and I unfortunately don’t know who did, I just found it in another blog)(I really hope that link works lol)

Hey FF! I was wondering when you might send something in. Not the topic I expected, but I'm here for it!

I've definitely heard of this theory before. I can't say I know for sure where it originated, but I've always been under the impression that a blog called @bertrandcaillet started it as they're the first one I saw talk about that theory and they told me about it a while ago. They've since deactivated, though, so I can't really check with them to see if that's true.

I think the trikoto theory is interesting, and I fully agree with what's said on the document about how it would be nice if Milgram is showing a system with more nuance than just having two alters.

That being said, I personally don't believe this theory for a number of reasons. I'm going to do my best to explain why here. I do want to say going into this that while I do have extremely minimal psychology teaching (as in, undergrad psyc MINOR), I do not claim to be that educated on DID or similar struggles. So, anything that I say will be focusing much more on Milgram as a piece of media from a writing standpoint, because that's what I have much more extensive experience in.

I will say that I am very aware that most systems have more than 2 alters. That being said, I think I also remember from my psyc class that the average number is, like... 16? I'm not at my dorm right now and that's where my notes are, so I can't check, but I remember specifically thinking about it in the context of Mikoto and trikoto theory, so I'm pretty confident it's Above Three. That means that either way, it's not like we're doing The Most Common Number, so I think two versus three is largely irrelevant on that point.

For the sake of clarity, I'll be using the names in the doc (Akakoto, Midokoto, Aokoto), but I only personally believe that two of them (Akakoto, Aokoto) exist. I've taken to calling them Orekoto and Bokuto, but for this post, Akakoto and Aokoto it is.

At its base, my problem with trikoto theory is that I don't see a lot of evidence for it. Most of what I've seen has been talking about the implications of it if you assume it's true, but I've just never really been convinced in the first place. I'll just go through some of the main reasonings real quick:

The RGB Colors

I do acknowledge that I'm very much not a visually oriented person, so the color shifting is something I'm less inclined to notice. However, while the background of the room is blue and the train station and apartment are pretty green, I don't feel like there are ever really any red backgrounds (other than when the headspace becomes red as ooposed to blue). Because of that, I have a hard time believing that the backgrounds themselves contribute to the idea that there are three. I definitely think the red/blue coloration in the eyes and such are indicating different alters, but I don't think that specific fact supports there being three of them.

The Voice Changes

This might be a me issue, but I only really hear two different vocal inflections. I understand the point about there being some harsher (?) sounding vocals that don't have the growl, but personally, I still think the tone matches the one described as Akakoto enough to count. Similarly, the parts towards the end that are picked out for Midokoto ("I'm probably not to blame," etc.) actually sound more like Aokoto to me even if I do try to track the three voices.

I'm hesitant to go too hard in believing the different voices because to me, doing so would severely limit the amount of control Natsuki Hanae would have over the emotions he wants to put into the song. The vocalists in Milgram do a fantastic job at using specific vocal intonations to convey deep layers of emotions in their songs. I feel like it would be very limiting to only be able to use certain vocal effects (ex. growl) in specific places due to the limitations of the characters. If there are two, the two voices are far more separate, which gives more space for customization within the bounds of each voice.

This is also a little bit iffier on evidence, but there's the Es cover of MeMe. I don't know how much Yurina Amami knows about Mikoto's story and the entire video is in grayscale, so take all of this with a grain of salt, but to me, I feel like Es uses two voices here, not three. Notably, they even have a bit of vocal growl on the "switch" and on "split and half, make that heart beat," which are both squarely in the Midokoto tone. They do still have the two voice split, sounding a bit more apathetic and aggressive in the Akakoto parts and cuter in the Aokoto parts. To me, that signifies that there's suppose to be two voices going on, not three, but you could argue that that's just Es' perception of Mikoto, so it's not decisive or anything.

Mikoto Fighting Es

Yes, in his first audio drama, Mikoto is able to beat Es up until Kotoko stops him. Yes, that's inconsistent from what we've seen from Futa and also t2 Amane. I agree that that's because the Milgram rules only apply to one or more alters, and thus any others that may exist can get around the rulings. We saw this between trials, too, with how Mikoto (seemingly Akakoto at the time) was able to avoid being restrained despite his guilty verdict, likely through the same loophole.

(Side note: this implies to me that Milgram's system for restraining guilty prisoners is, like the protective barrier around Es, somewhat magical and isn't a physical thing. Thus, if we were to, say, vote Amane as guilty, I am fairly confident she would be unable to harm any other prisoners, as we've already seen the barriers are able to prevent her from attacking others. I still lean Amane innocent anyways, but I wanted to point this out.)

Anyways, I don't think that this is actually evidence towards trikoto theory because it works perfectly fine with just the two of them. Aokoto is the prisoner in Milgram and Akakoto isn't. This doesn't necessarily mean that Aokoto is the one who was fronting while the murder happened, though; the rules of Milgram just necessitate that the prisoner is involved in/related to a death. It can be indirect.

I think that that's exactly what Milgram is asking us with Mikoto. The question is, how do you fairly hold a system accountable? Can you blame one alter for the other's actions?

Milgram loves to complicate these, and I can see the appeal of a complication being learning about a third alter. Personally, I think it's much more likely that the route Milgram is taking is looking at how much knowledge the alters have about each other and asking how much Aokoto would have to know to make him an accessory to Akakoto's murder plans. It could go either way, though.

Some Bonus Points

I think the strongest piece of evidence brought up is the use of threes in Mikoto's design. Other than "they just liked it aesthetically," there isn't much of a counterargument I can make about it. My best one would be that they might be going for a "switching between black and white" type of thing, which would work better with more stripes, but that's pretty weak. I also had the idea that the first character of his name looks like three stripes, which might be a better or worse explanation! You get to decide, I have no idea.

The cake sells me less, though. It's true that Kazui's is a perfect 50/50 and that Mikoto's isn't, but that's because they're representing different things.

Kazui's is half and half because his song is called half, and it could also be a sign of how he and his wife didn't actually connect more in a marriage sense; they're still two fully separate people rather than being a unit.

Mikoto, if he has two alters, is still physically one guy. Mikoto is mostly sitting on the flower designs. I'd argue that the flowers are meant to show Mikoto as a whole: the connection point of the two alters.

That's pretty much all of what I have to say on the doc (in terms of the trikoto aspect, whether I believe it or not there's some good work done in character/lyric analysis that applies to two or three alter theories), but I'll go over some of my reason for why I actively believe there to be two, because there are some reasons.

Reason 1: The Song Titles

The doc explains what the meaning of MeMe is in trikoto theory, but it definitely still works with two, more obviously so. That's not evidence, though, because the trikoto theory has a viable explanation too.

I have no idea what they'd be doing with the song title Double, though. I guess it would be a play on somebody being someone else's double, meaning they're someone like them, which is no doubt part of the song title either way, but I think it's difficult to ignore the meaning of Double that means, y'know... multiplied by 2, or:

But that could very easily be a diversion and we haven't seen the second video, so I'd let that slide. However, that brings me to the bigger problem:

Reason 2: Upright Versus Reversed

AKA, the tarot cards.

Tarot cards can be read two ways, Upright or Reversed, based on the orientation of the card when it's placed/picked up/whatever. I already went over in my original theory (which is pretty outdated, I could do a way better job but I wrote that one literally first out of my milgram thoeries and I hated not having a good name scheme for the various alters) why I believe Akakoto to be the Hanged Man (Upright) and why I believe Aokoto to be the Hanged Man (Reversed).

I struggle to imagine why the devs would pick tarot, something that clearly has two meanings to it, when there are actually three alters. Maybe it'd just be to throw us off the scent, but it feels a bit too intentional to me.

Plus, if it was meant to throw us off, I'd expect we'd get a different metaphor/symbol for the second MV (as we have been with pretty much everyone). However, the association between Mikoto and "reversible" things has continued into trial 2, even before his MV has come up.

I say this because of his trial 2 cover song: Reversible Campaign. Funnily enough, I actually thought this song would go to Kazui before it was announced as Mikoto's, but then I looked again and understood why they wanted it for Mikoto.

My thoughts get confused and fight with each other

Very Mikoto, works for either two or three alter theories. However:

I just want to waver between black and white

It's turned me upside down

There's more that seems to paint Mikoto's mind as a dichotomy, not a... trichotomy? Is that a word? I don't actually know.

The Song Lyrics of MeMe

This is sort of an extension of the above part, but there are also definitely song lyrics in MeMe that sound like they're heavily implying two. Again, you could argue that that's trying to throw us off the scent, but some of them are, in my opinion, actively difficult to justify for trikoto theory.

Split in half, Make that heart beat

I cannot for the life of me understand why any of the three alters would say "split in half" if there are three. I guess if any of them were aware of one of the other alters, but not the other? I don't think that's what was being argued, though, sorry if I missed that.

I’m already the fake one

Little harder to argue this one because I don't know how definite versus indefinite articles work in Japanese, but saying the fake one really sounds to me like there is one fake and one real. If you were just having a moment of existential crisis, in most situations, I think you'd opt for "I'm already fake."

The Mirror

This is sort of the same argument as the tarot cards, but there's also the use of mirror imagery in Mikoto's MeMe MV. Mirrors have two sides and are a reflection. You could use Haruka logic and say that it depicts self reflection, I guess, but considering the reflection acts differently, I think it's much more likely that this is meant to show the two alters.

Conclusion

Hopefully this all made sense? I respect trikoto theory and I could easily be super wrong about it (see also: my original opinions on gay Kazui theory and police Kazui theory), but I've just never really been sold. It's possible my opinion would change if I saw evidence that I felt worked better for trikoto than... twokoto? theory, but personally, I feel like most evidence I've seen for it is still better explained by there being two alters. Let me know what you think, though :)

#rb #mikoto kayano #trikoto theory

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echojulietfoxtrot · 3 years ago

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Station Eleven Full Season Review (No Spoilers)

So now Station Eleven is out there in its entirety and I'm all caught up, I can tell you my verdict is that it was so stunning it could even wobble on landing and still be the best thing I've seen on television for years.

If I was irked by some decisions in the second half of the season - ones I suspect came during post Covid retooling - that's only because the bar was so high it felt like grease smudging on a masterwork. It's imperfect, okay - but it gets so much more right than wrong, and what it gets right it gets so right it's breathtaking. There is nothing else like this on television and it's hard to imagine there will be again.

Set at different times before and after a near-extinction pandemic - seen almost in passing more than in progress - Station Eleven is told through a web of different people; a guy trying to get a stranded little girl home in Chicago in the 2020s, a woman who writes a comic book as her marriage fails in 2010s, and a group of travelling performers touring Shakespeare around the "After" in the 2040s.

Across these ages and places, the rhymes and relationships between timelines slowly begin to emerge, and it becomes clear these different journeys might have a shared direction after all.

If that sounds like a confusing drag, it isn't. If it sounds too serious it isn't that either. If it sounds pretentious, well, I could tell you but I'd spoil my favourite gag in it.

Station Eleven is many things, and most surprisingly some of those things are lively, funny, and full of unembarrassed warmth, whether it's a scene set in the world where appendicitis will kill you, or the one still hosting the single worst pitch meeting I've ever seen.

What it is most immediately though, is an astonishingly beautiful thing to look at.

The world of After is a huge, sprawling landscape of vivid natural life, leaping into the space people used to fill, while the colourful survivors dwarfed within it seem to burst beyond themselves with energy and personality. The world of Before seems almost lifeless by comparison, but its thoughtful composition makes for a quiet tension as we wait for this life and almost everyone in it to meet their foregone end. A breakup, a job interview, an awkward dinner party; mundane events take on a poignant heft while the doomsday clock ticks away unheard, in rooms filled only with glass and closed doors and electric light.

The eclectic soundtrack and score is as hand-crafted as the visuals, and would be superb even out of context. It runs a diverse spectrum, from bluegrass strings and warm crowded-campfire folk singalongs, all the way to the eerie synths and cold, lonesome piano notes which punctuate the empty Post-Anthropocene around them. Hip hop, funk, blues, and 1990s pop, all show up too to make memorable cameos, as if to form a portfolio of human music to date. Music's starring role goes hand in hand - and sometimes blurs into - some remarkably clever sound design tricks, which I won't spoil, but go a long way to lending this universe an offbeat and off-kilter atmosphere, quite unlike any of its genre mates.

Production Design - and Wardrobe in particular - goes in even bolder, fresher directions for such a well trodden premise, conjuring a giddy mishmash of found, altered, and remade material from the leftovers of human society. An improvised knife pouch sits comfortably over a corset made from package strapping; ornaments become jewellery, blankets become imperious capes. Endlessly inventive and thematically on point, I'll be very surprised if the costume design alone doesn't win braces of awards, if nothing else.

The cast deserve their share too. They're perfectly selected and uniformly terrific; even apparently comic novelty weirdos live and breathe. But Davis as lead, Patel and Lawler as unlikely fellow travellers, and Deadwyler as secret weapon are all giving what feel like career bests. Special mention is also warranted by Lori Petty, who is wonderful in a supporting role that does exactly that, a character so lived-in even for her limited scenes that everyone else feels more real in her orbit.

The show demands plenty of each of them. The writing, once you learn to trust it, is compassionate and kind to both character and viewer, and though it may challenge your patience and attention early on, it's sure to be generous with rewards sooner or later. This kind of textured, patient storytelling relies on a large, totally committed cast to work, and they deliver, hurling themselves at both its highs and lows with equal zeal.

Make no mistake - bad things can happen in this world and to these people, and you'll feel them, but the show's interest doesn't lie in grimdarkness or despair. They have all lived through an indescribable loss, but Station Eleven is less concerned with trying to describe it anyway than it is in seeing them make sense of that "living" part, as best they can.

Violence is certainly present, but almost always off screen, and it goes uncelebrated. Its effect is what's important. Station Eleven is not here to wallow in the characters' trauma and pain - it is here to witness them unpicking it, decoding it, and reworking it to something new. Not everyone died, we're reminded, and characters who didn't die when everyone else did mean to get busy living, through art, travel, and each other. The show is unafraid to take big serious feelings seriously, but that's earned by being just as willing to allow for humor, and surprising left turns into the absurd on a hairpin whim.

The Direction, similarly, can be epic and ambitious when it wants to be, taking very cinematic advantage of the huge landscapes and lush outdoors; but it can just as easily and suddenly become quirky and strange and intimate. More than once I found myself startled into laughter just by a knowingly timed cut or needle drop, something completely unexpected and yet unimaginable any other way once it's done. One show-shattering plot revelation near the end is marked simply by closing in on Davis, feasting so exuberantly on a couple of swearwords you'll rewind to enjoy it again.

Book readers will of course want to know how faithful it is, and the answer is "It's complicated". They will find characters and plotlines taking dramatically different routes, and to entirely different conclusions; some themes are pressed harder or much more lightly than in the novel. Some plots are changed or replaced, some characters swap roles entirely. But the tone and sensitivities are in tune enough that these divergences feels like a complement, not a failure or rejection of the source. More often than being omitted, the book's ideas can emerge from an unexpected place to make the same points in the end.

This might best be approached then as an alternate timeline to that of the book's world, a companion piece; this Kirsten could understand that one, though they are fraternal rather than identical sisters. Where Book Kirsten is grateful not to remember the first year, this one remembers all too presently, and it's easy to imagine any difference between them stems solely from that fork in the road.

(Incidentally, if you're wondering - I would suggest reading the book first if you haven't already, solely because its plot depends on a surprise reveal near the end that's made matter of fact very early in the show)

The misgivings I mentioned about later episodes may be minor, but I'd be remiss not to note them - a particular subplot I found draggy was given more spotlight than it deserved, only to resolve in a way that's both puzzlingly unsatisfying and at odds tonally with what I think was intended. A secondary character involved with it is irritating without mitigation, and I promise you'll know exactly which one I mean.

But again, that only bothers me because everything else is so well considered and assembled that it jars. A draggy plotline frustrates because it's next to such compelling ones; one annoying character is nothing compared to the six or seven warm, funny, wounded ones I felt grateful just to spend time with at all. The show's unconventional, interlocking structure means there is always plenty of everything worth seeing through to the heartfelt end, if you just keep the faith.

Ultimately, Station Eleven is not a story about the end of the world; rather, it is a defiantly life-loving fable, a story about people figuring out how to live in whatever world they get left with. And more importantly how to thrive in it; how to make peace with who they had to become to get there, how to honour the people who didn't come with them, and who they can choose to be now. Something survives, this show insists, and so long as it does survival is insufficient. There must be more. We must make it more.

I cannot recommend this enough, but I'll do my best to try all the same. You'll laugh. You'll cry. It makes plenty of space and time to do both, and offers a graceful, only occasionally clumsy sense of understanding either way.

Station Eleven is now out on HBO Max in most territories, and begins in the UK&Ireland on STARZPlay via Amazon from 30th January.

#station eleven #mackenzie davis #stationeleven #station11 #scifi #hbo max #himesh patel #lori petty #matilda lawler #starzplay #helen shaver #hiro murai #leftovers #the leftovers #patrick somerville #television #terminator dark fate #post apocalypse #emily st john mandel

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wing-ed-thing · 4 years ago

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Retail Therapy (Kakuzu x Reader)

Synopsis: Deidara has a new partner for a combined effort with the Zombie Combo. However, something about you has Kakuzu heated.

Word Count: 2,123

Tags/Warnings: Violence, Threat of Violence, Probably Language, Gender Neutral Reader

Notes: Kakuzu content is probably some of the best stuff I’ve ever written. Right now I’m watching a video on fried milk. Ever hear of such a thing? Fascinating.

Kakuzu didn’t like being paired up with Hidan, let alone joint missions where he’d have to deal with even more people. Not to say that Kakuzu hated people, because he did, but he never thought that he’d hate anyone more than he absolutely hated you. He hadn’t even met you yet, but he knew at his very core that you would quickly become the bane of his entire existence.

“Shopping?” Kakuzu asked slowly, the word forming on his lips as if he had an aversion to even speaking it. Deidara leaned back on the large bounder that he settled on and stretched his arms up above his head. The blond nodded with a short groan before his hands came to rest behind his head.

“Yep,” he answered, “And for hours too, so I’d get comfortable.” Hidan plopped down on a patch of dirt below, his back and scythe against the side of the rock. Kakuzu glared down at his partner causing Hidan to shrug. To Hidan, if Deidara thought that the three of them would be waiting a while, he would take his word and make himself comfortable. Kakuzu’s attention turned back to Deidara.

“Hours? What possibly could someone be purchasing that takes them hours?” Hidan gazed up from his spot, head tilted back against the surface behind him.

“And we only came like five minutes late too. Who takes off like that?�� Kakuzu almost nodded in agreement, but knowing his partner, Hidan would take any excuse to complain. Deidara shrugged, basking in the warmth of the sun and stayed lounging even as a rustling came from the woods. Hidan’s hand immediately reached up to grip the handle of his weapon and Kakuzu took a defensive stance. Deidara’s eyes remained closed.

“Oh hello, boys! I didn’t know you were here!” You sauntered out of the trees, bags hanging from both arms. They were pushed tightly in a line, every other patch of your skin strained by the handles of a different shopping bag. Even in your altered Akatsuki cloak, Kakuzu took a look at you and immediately decided that you were decorated far too ornately and that he’d like to kill you when he had the chance. You were objectively beautiful, but if Kakuzu had his way, Deidara would have to be assigned another partner soon. “You haven’t been waiting for too long, have you?”

“You shouldn’t have left us waiting at all,” Kakuzu glowered, although not any more than usual. Either you didn’t hear him or you ignored him as you walked up to your partner. You plucked a package from one of your more reachable bags.

“I got you something, Dei-dei!” You threw it up to Deidara weakly but he managed to catch it. He opened the small, folded, paper bag. Deidara glanced down at you with a nod of his head and a fold of his lips. He took the neat band in his hand while you looked at him expectantly. “Aren’t they nice? Hair ties. Silk from a small village in the Land of Water.” Deidara held them up to the sun.

“That’s some great quality you found. Thanks.” Your partner glanced down at you again. “Must’ve been one hell of a fight assuming that you got a good price for it.” Kakuzu looked on at your exchange, increasingly beginning to lose his temper.

“Believe me, I did. And I found a ton of other great finds too. I gotta show you—”

“Enough,” Kakuzu growled and you finally turned your attention his way. Hidan had since passed out against the boulder that Deidara sat on. “You’re wasting all our time. The sooner we start, the sooner we can part ways.” You gave Kakuzu a once over with your nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Well someone’s grumpy,” you mused. You rolled your eyes and pointed your nose upward. Huffing, you threw your shopping bags into the air and as they fell, you swiftly unfurled a scroll. Your new items disappeared one by one. You rolled the paper back up, scowling as you slipped the scroll into one of many slots that you wore strapped to your clothing. The pockets ran down the small of you back and you latched the bundle of paper in place with a flip of your nimble fingers. Kakuzu frowned back, tentatively wondering if all the scrolls you carried contained the same amount of shopping bags. You approached him with crossed arms. “Okay then, tough guy. Let’s get started.”

You sat down and summoned a map of the next village. It laid out in front of you and placed your hands on your knees in challenge. Kakuzu sat down on the other side of the map, eyes boring into you. You didn’t budge. And as you began to speak, it was hard to focus, at least for Deidara. Though he supposed he’s seen you this fired up before.

“It would be easier if we lure the jinchūriki outside of the village,” you said, gesturing to the small, unnamed village on the map. It wasn’t large, but just big enough to serve as a maze for your prize. At least you knew the woods better and a jinchūriki was bound to stand out among the trees.

“I can get up some traps,” Deidara added and you nodded.

“Back them into a corner and cage them into a small space—” You nodded again— “We can use some explosives around the area… maybe here?” You pointed to a section of the map outside of the village. You looked up at Deidara. “You’d be our last line of defense when the jinchūriki tries to run.” Deidara smirked and puffed out his chest.

“Leave it to me!”

“We’ll need someone to drive the jinchūriki out of the village,” Kakuzu cut in, not particularly liking how you dominated the strategizing. “I’ll go with Hidan.” While Kakuzu thought that he would stop at nothing to get away from the Jashinist, this had to be a regrettable first. Hidan napped a few feet away.

You raised an eyebrow and scoffed, “You and Hidan? Psh… might as well have Deidara set off fireworks in the sky that spell out ‘single, hot jinchūriki in your a—”

“I can do that!” Deidara cut in before immediately backing down at Kakuzu’s pointed glare, not that he’d show it. You locked eyes with Kakuzu, taking his fiery stare off of your partner.

“I’ll go. You’re too conspicuous and, really, have you seen Hidan? You two would be spotted a mile away.” Kakuzu almost snarled.

“And you wouldn’t?” You let out a short, bitter laugh. Your left arm supported your weight as your knees touched together on the right side of your body. Kakuzu scowled at your blatant lounging. Everything about you challenged him and he hated you for it. Your lids narrowed in a smug smile.

“I’m not the one—” who’s fuckin’ jacked — “ with big-ass black stitches across my whole body.”

“And four faces on his back…” Hidan called out, still half asleep. You turned back to Kakuzu.

“And four faces on his back,” you repeated, much to Kakuzu’s vexation. The sass in your blinks was lost on the older shinobi. He stood, causing you to stand too. Deidara took a hint and retreated. Kakuzu crossed his arms over his chest and he planted his feet on the ground about the same width apart as his broad shoulders. He pointed two fingers at you harshly.

“And you’re—” Gorgeous. — “a brat. I should just kill you right here.” You stood your ground, daring to slap Kakuzu’s hand out of your face.

“As much as I’d like to see you try, tough guy, I’d actually like to do some quality work and get the hell away from you as quickly as I can.” Kakuzu huffed, gritting his teeth underneath his mask.

“Nice to hear that we’re on the same page.”

And with neither of your partners wanting to deal with either of you pissed off, you and Kakuzu were paired together.

***

Deciding that your cloaks were too noticeable, you sealed yours away. Kakuzu kept his draped across his arm, distrust of you evident. You walked down the road together under the late afternoon, waiting for nightfall. You hoped that striking at night would give you not only the surprise advantage, but also minimize the number of clueless civilians that would no doubt wander in your way. But as soon as your eyes fell onto the market, Kakuzu quickly began to wonder if his stubbornness landed him with an even larger headache. But his usual, standoffish demeanor remained the same. Kakuzu’s eyes drifted to their corners as he scowled down at you.

“No.” That was all he said, as if you would actually listen to him and not immediately march in the direction of the market. He reluctantly followed, every reach to hold you back by your robes falling just a bit short each time. By the time you were stopped, too many people surrounded the two of you for him to pull you away without drawing attention. Normally, attention from others wasn’t anything that Kakuzu would be concerned with, but your two teams had their orders and Kakuzu would be damned if he had to spend anymore time with you.

You stood in front of a booth with your hand on your chin. Kakuzu stood next to you, following your gaze to a simple, but sturdy-looking sword. You gingerly picked it up, carefully studying it’s craftsmanship. The man behind the booth leaned over his table, motioning to the piece of merchandise in your hands.

“Ah, you have a good eye, mercenary.” You glanced up at him.

“Land of Earth? Lots of excellent craftsmanship comes from there, I’m not surprised.” You ran your thumb across the dull of the blade. “Antique too, but still hardy.” The merchant nodded pointing to a few spots across the weapon.

“Could get you out of a bind too. Reliable smithing comes from Tsuchi no Kuni.” Kakuzu looked on at the show in front of him. In stark contrast to earlier, you seemed poised and he found you knowledgeable. You appeared calm and competent enough to handle yourself and for a second, Kakuzu became lost in your analysis.

You stepped back, turning the sword around in your hand to feel out the balance. The blade whipped around your body with ease. The seller softly applauded your embellished practice. Kakuzu almost rolled his eyes, but took some comfort in the fact that you were looking to purchase something of quality and not just anything at the very least. You looked down at the weapon with a nod or two before asking the dreaded question.

“So what’s your price?” The merchant didn’t hesitate.

“A hundred thousand ryō.” Kakuzu almost left right there, but a dominant part of him wanted to know what you were going to do. His hands grasped his biceps, his cloak still hanging from his forearm. Kakuzu watched you closely. You shook your head.

“You’re going to give it to me for twenty-five thousand.” The merchant gaped at the outrageous price you named. He sputtered a few times.

“That price is far too low for this quality. You must be joking if you think I’d sell this fine piece of equipment for practically nothing.”

You did name a ridiculous price. Not even Kakuzu could see getting what you wanted for that price without a fair bit of violence and intimidation. But you ripped into that merchant. You ripped into this poor seller like nothing Kakuzu had ever seen before. He didn’t even know if he could call it bartering, but whatever it was, it was likely one of the most skillful things that Kakuzu had ever seen.

He folded his lips under his mask. You didn’t yell. Kakuzu didn’t even find your appearance intimidating in the slightest, yet every point and number the merchant brought up, you countered. And by the end of the intense conversation, if Kakuzu didn’t know any better and had less of a spine, he’d likely be handing the sword over too. The man had long since started sweating, tugging at his collar. If Kakuzu didn’t see it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it as you handed over exactly twenty-five thousand ryō. He almost overlooked the complete waste of money as he still stood stunned, though not outwardly showing any such emotion.

You nestled the sword by your hip and the seller let out a breath of relief by the time you walked away. Kakuzu followed wordlessly next to you as you strutted off in triumph.

Perhaps he misjudged you. He stared, not noticing as he did so.

Yes, you were going to save the organization a fortune.

Notes: “oH mY gOd KaKuzU sAiD hE wAs GoNna KiLl rEader! wHy wOuLd yOu wRiTe sOmEtHiNg sO tOxIc???”... They’re criminal terrorists, Susan.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

#kakuzu x reader #kakuzu #Akatsuki x reader #Akatsuki!reader #deidara #hidan #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #x you #x reader #reader insert #naruto headcanon #naruto headcanons #naruto imagines #naruto imagine

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hillnerd · 3 years ago

Text

WAKING UP- CHAPTER 5

Rating M A03 ff.net [ Previous Chapter] [start at the beginning]

For thanks yous, chapter warnings and ‘what happened last chapter’ scroll to the end of this chapter :)

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CHAPTER 5 - QUEEN OF CLUBS

Ginny didn’t have a very large room, and it felt even smaller as Hermione tried to ready herself to go to a club, of all places. She wasn’t the club ‘type.’ She couldn’t say for sure, as she’d never been to one, but what little familiarity she had made it sound awful. Loud noises, skimpily dressed, dancing as if she hadn’t a care in the world seemed… exhausting. And pointless. And dangerous! Fleur, Angelina and Ginny were trying on a myriad of dresses and asking for the group's approval. While the wireless played raucous tunes and the other girls giggled, Hermione spent her time packing and repacking her beaded bag.

The extension charm was still firmly in place. She hadn’t figured out a way to keep things more organized within it, though, so the canned goods she’d placed there kept falling over. She wasn’t going to forget food again, that she knew. She hadn’t located a new tent yet, but she needed to prioritize that soon. She had just finished repacking some of her clothes when she heard Ginny ask, “What are you doing?”

Hermione snapped the bag shut, not knowing how to explain her preparations in any way that made her seem of sound mind.

“Just wasn’t sure what to wear…” It wasn’t a complete lie. She wasn’t sure what fit her anymore.

“Well, you can never go wrong with a little black dress,” said Ginny pointing to a thin-strapped sundress Hermione hadn’t had reason to wear in well over a year.

She nodded and went to a corner, turning her front away from them as she changed into the dress. As she wiggled her jeans out from under the dress she noticed the other girls showed no similar discretion, happily throwing dresses off in the middle of the room.

Hermione gave a speculative look in the mirror, tugging a bit at the neckline of her sundress. It fit differently than before, bagging around her waist and chest in an unflattering way, and the straps would not stay in place.

“I can do alterations to dresses if anyone needs them,” said Fleur, grabbing a book from within her bag, discreetly catching Hermione’s eye. Arachne Salavarrieta’s Little Book of Sewing had a few good spells for altering clothing on the fly. All four of them looked over the text for just the right spells to take in, let out, and shorten dresses.

Ginny, still underage and unable to do magic, begged them “you’ve got to shorten my skirt once we’re there!”

“Why not have us do it now?” Angelina asked, propping up a magically enlarged hand mirror on the roll top desk.

“I have four older brothers downstairs,” Ginny said with a sour look.

“Why should that matter?”

“One of those gits will take the piss in front of Mum if I look remotely sexy. That is, if Mum doesn’t already notice all on her own. I don’t know! Either way, just help me with the hem at the club, please? I don’t want to be the only one there looking frumpy!”

“From-py?” Fleur asked.

“Unfashionable, old-fashioned, overly modest and drab,” Hermione provided, fairly certain the term had been liberally applied to herself over the years.

“You look far from from-py, but we will help with the skirt,” Fleur assured Ginny.

“And if any brother gives you shit at the club, we’ll hex them for good measure too,” Angelina added, bringing out a pair of curling tongs and prompting Ginny to sit in front of her.

Hermione pulled at her dress some more, not sure how much to alter it, and not sure if she wanted to bother. A pernicious guilt gnawed at her as she pulled the dress taut to her body. She should be doing something that mattered, not fretting over a dress. She should be in Australia. She hadn’t earned a rest, let alone a ‘fun time out.’ She’d taken no steps forward. She’d not found her parents’ location, she’d not earned money, she’d not even checked to see if her old childhood home was still standing.

“Hermione, is everything alright?” Fleur quietly asked, coming to stand beside her at the long mirror.

Hermione forced a smile onto her face.

“Oh you know me… I’m never sure what to do with fashion and all that. I’m more at ease in a library.”

Fleur gave her a searching look she’d seen before at Shell Cottage. It was a look that sought truth behind idle chit chat. It brought a sisterly sort of comfort that Hermione had not thought Fleur capable of a year ago. She had found the French woman to be condescending and too effortlessly beautiful to warrant any attempt at friendship. The war had given her an appreciation for Fleur, though. They were something akin to friends now.

“I just…” Hermione said in a low voice only Fleur could hear as the wireless yowled another rock anthem. “This feels so silly when there’s so much to do.”

“We’ve earned a bit of silly, do you not think so?”

“You all might have…”

“Hermione,” she said, putting a tentative hand around her shoulder. “You ‘ave done more than most anyone.”

“Since The Battle I’ve done nothing! Everyone is helping rebuild and all I’ve done is sleep! And my parents are still in Australia, and I’ve…I’ve done nothing to get them back.”

“Ron told us of your parents and the memories… Will you be needing any help?”

“No,” Hermione quickly insisted. “No. I just need to make a plan and get them back here. Once I have a plan then it will all be alright.”

“You are meaning to bring them back here in England… To the home you lived in before?”

Hermione nodded, and saw a look of concern wrinkle Fleur’s otherwise flawless brow.

“Hermione… Have you been to your home since the war ended?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m planning on checking on it soon.”

“This is why I asked. You can not do that alone. Many Muggleborn homes were cursed after the war. Some are no longer standing,” said Fleur, her voice ringing with intensity despite the lyric tone.

Hermione was aware that many a Muggleborn home had been razed to the ground, but refused to believe the same could have happened to her childhood home.

“Even the Burrow needed much curse breaking,” she continued. “We do not know each other well, but I am happy to help you with this.”

“Oh you don’t have to!” Hermione said with a shake of her head.

“Oh poppyrot!” Fleur said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Hermione let out a long breath, her gratitude forcing her to not correct Fleur to the word ‘poppycock.’ “It is my pleasure!”

“You two alright?” asked Ginny giving the two a sidelong look as Angelina continued to curl her hair.

“We are,” Fleur said, looking to Hermione who confirmed this with a head nod. “Just helping out with fashion. It is a ritual we women do. The girls gather and dress and help one another to look more beautiful, while the men do nothing.”

“Maybe they shower,” Angelina added with a laugh, “but probably not. They never put in half the effort we do!”

“You see? It is the way of it,” Fleur said, giving Hermione a small squeeze and a meaningful look. “I can help whenever you like.”

“Thank you, Fleur…” she said with equal import. When the other girls looked at her with curiosity she continued, “I don’t have any of my usual things like makeup or hair products.”

“I have a ton of stuff in my bag,” Angelina offered.

“As do I. We girls help one another,” Fleur said, grabbing a comb and some bottles of French products Hermione didn’t recognize. She continued with the faintest whisper, “You can send a message or Patronus to me when you are ready to enter your old home.”

Words failing her, Hermione put a hand on Fleur’s and gave it a small squeeze. Fleur said nothing, but the warm smile she sent in the mirror reassured her that the French woman completely understood.

After an hour of sewing alterations, primping, squealing, and many changes of clothes by each of the ladies, they decided they were almost ready enough to leave.

“Oh! Jewelry! I forgot about that,” Ginny moaned, looking through her small box of earrings.

Angelina and Fleur were eager to help her, but Hermione wasn’t sure she could take another debate about fashion. She was grateful for the silly hour she’d gotten to spend with them, though. Despite her hair still being a bit wild and curly, Hermione had to admit she liked how she looked in the mirror. The black sundress fit her perfectly now. She almost looked like she had a figure again. Between the dress and the makeup, and a bit of product from Angelina to keep her hair from frizzing, she looked almost pretty. She felt a touch of excitement flurry in her stomach at the thought of looking nice in front of Ron. It almost made her forget how nervous she was to be out of the safety of the Burrow. She gripped her beaded bag close to her side.

“I’m going to wait with the boys, if that’s alright.”

The girls waved her off as they held different earrings beside Ginny’s face.

As Hermione stepped into the hallways she immediately ran into a thin, though sturdy, body and let out a small exclamation of alarm. She quickly muffled her sound when she saw it was only Harry.

“Are you all ready to go then?” he asked, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Ginny behind the closing door.

“We’re almost all ready,” she said with a fond smile. “You know girls, it takes them forever.”

“You’re a girl too, according to Ron at least,” said Harry, giving her a wry grin. Harry was looking rather sharp in Muggle clothes that actually fit, and his hair was looking mysteriously untidy.

“Did you do something to your hair?”

“What?” he asked, putting a hand to the back of his hair and patting at it. “It doesn’t look bad, does it?”

“No,” she laughed, seeing the panic in his eyes. “Just not as wild as usual.”

“Yeah, well it took like four spells and I think they’re already wearing off.”

She studied his hair and could see one by one little hairs slowly moving into disarray, almost like someone had rubbed an invisible balloon against it.

“You’re trying to look extra nice for Ginny,” she teased. He frowned, but a blush began to form around his jaw. “Yeah, well, we’ve never gotten to properly go someplace together, have we? You did the same for Ron, right?”

He had her there.

“Speaking of, where is he?”

“Downstairs, I think,” he said, hand going to his hair again. “Is it looking bad again?”

“It’s looking more like it usually does, if that’s what you mean.” His face scrunched in disapproval. “Really, it looks fine. Your hair fits you best when you do nothing to it. You look perfectly nice.”

“You too,” he said with a glance at her, before heading towards the bathroom. “Ok, I’m going to try to spell this one more time.”

She knew it was a lost cause, but didn’t have the heart to tell him as he eagerly tried to preen.

As she reached the bottom steps of the stairs, she could hear the low rumble of men’s voices.

“They’re taking ages,” Charlie sighed. “I don’t see why it takes them so long.”

“Women wear more?” said George.

“Harry’s hair has taken almost as long,” Lee said with a snort.

Hermione looked around the corner and saw the men all sprawled around the room, shoes up on tables and couch arms in a way they’d never dare if Mrs Weasley were in the room.

While everyone lightheartedly bantered with one another, in the corner sat Ron. His brow was creased as he silently played chess with Lee. He looked haggard, and for the eleventh time that evening, Hermione wished they weren’t going out. She’d much rather spend the evening wrapped in Ron’s arms, as she had that afternoon.

Her nerves had frayed at the thought of sleeping beside him, worried he would catch her in a nightmare. Silencing spell in place, she had feigned grumpy tiredness when he asked her questions. There had been no need to worry, though. Cuddled up to him she fell asleep as surely as one did on sleeping draughts, and somehow her nightmares were kept entirely at bay. It was the best sleep she’d had in months. The only thing that could have improved it was waking up beside Ron. He’d been gone when she’d woken, with no one knowing where he was. He’d come back from the village looking worn out giving excuses of ‘getting supplies’ which didn’t hold up to real scrutiny, when she thought of the timeline he gave. Ron Weasley was up to something, she just didn’t know what.

As if her thoughts drew him to her, Ron’s eyes rose and met hers.

The furrow in his brow smoothed, his scowling expression softened, and a boyish smile of his tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Who’s winning?” she asked, approaching the chess board.

“Ron was, but I think my luck’s about to change,” said Lee, a few of the men joining him in laughter and elbowing Ron, seeing his rather besotted look. Usually he’d turn beet red and curse at them, but his face remained mostly impassive as he met her eyes and smiled. The only sign of his discomfort was his ears going a tiny bit flush.

“Check mate,” said Ron, moving his bishop across the board, and rising from his seat.

“No it’s not, is it?” Lee asked, looking at the board. “Damn!”

Ron gave the lot a two fingered salute and led her from the living room to the kitchen, where his mother was doing some tidying and listening to the radio.

“I wasn’t sure about the dress,” she mumbled. Ron’s eyes traveled down her and she suppressed the urge to readjust her neckline, though she wasn’t sure in what direction.

“Well you look amazing in it,” he said, looking her in the eye and making her stomach do a tsukahara flip.

“Thank you,” she managed. A pleasurable rush of nerves ran up her spine. Despite looking very tired, he looked handsome. He was wearing an untucked dress shirt she’d not seen before, with the sleeves rolled up his arms in a way that made the nerves in her spine turn to jolts. Given the darker color scheme of it, she assumed it was a hand-me-down from Bill. She quickly realized all of him was looking rather polished, with the exception of his beat up boots. She wasn’t sure what to say to him. He was so sensitive about clothes, and the last thing she wanted was to cause additional stress on him, but she also knew he was a bit insecure and it might be nice to compliment his appearance.

“So how long until the rest of the girls are ready?” he asked.

Well there went that opportunity.

“Soon, I think. They just had to pick out earrings for Ginny,” she said looking up into face. His eyes looked so weary. “Are you doing well?”

“Course,” he grunted, immediately turning from her. “Mum, do you need help with that?”

Mrs Weasley turned from the dishes and assured him she didn’t. Despite the assurance, he started putting dishes in the cabinets. He didn’t spare her another look, not when the rest of the girls came down the stairs some ten minutes later, and not when they gathered on the edge of the property.

“Before we go,” George announced, beginning to hand each of them a playing card, “here is a Muggle I.D. for each of you.”

“Why do we need an I.D?” Ginny asked, inspecting the playing card in the waning light of the sunset.

“Because they check to see if you’re old enough to drink at clubs and such and can’t just put up an age line,” answered Bill.

“Why didn’t you transfigure these already?” asked Hermione, looking at her playing card, the Queen of Clubs.

“I’d have to know what Muggle I.D.s look like to do that. This just has a spell to register as an I.D. to Muggles. Pretty clever, if I do say so,” George said, smiling to them all as he finished handing out the cards. “Getting the dates right was tricky. Just make sure you say your birthday was in 79 or earlier. The card will match up with whatever date you say.”

“Where are we apparating to, George?” asked Angelina.

“My hotel room’ll do,” he answered.

Hermione felt Ron unexpectedly stiffen beside her.

“Everyone but Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Fleur knows where to go. So you all can pair up and side-along there. Here, Gin, come with me,” said George, waving Ginny over.

Ron made as if to grab Ginny back, but George had quickly disappeared with her. One by one they all disapparated, leaving her and a distracted Ron staring at the space George had just occupied.

Ron licked his dry lips and scrunched his brow in determination. “Right… Okay then, I guess we better go.”

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” she said, gently putting her hand in his. “We could just stay in, you and me.”

His shoulders slumped. “Merlin, I wish I could take you up on that.”

“Why don’t you?” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ve been dreading going out.”

“You too?” “I packed and repacked my bag, just in case,” she said, giving the beaded bag a small shake that made its contents give a crash. “Damn. That’s probably the books again. I really need to find a way to make things stay in place!”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he said with a fond look on his face. “But we should go. It’ll be good to get out, plus with G— nevermind.”

“Plus what?”

“Look, I really want to tell you, but I’m just not up for it all right now.” Her face must have given away how frustrating she found that. “I will, I swear I will! Just not tonight. Let’s just— let’s just pretend we’re okay and go out and try to enjoy ourselves.”

It went against every instinct in her body to agree to wait to know something, but she nodded her acquiescence. His large hand moved to her back and the tight feeling of being compressed overtook her as he Apparated them to George’s hotel room.

In moments they reached their destination and the feeling of her breath being stolen didn’t stop, for Ron’s fingers grazed her side as he took a pace back from her.

When they arrived they received a good amount of teasing for taking their time to arrive, heavily implying the two had been snogging. Neither teen corrected them. As everyone made small talk, Ron was completely silent and looked about the room with seeming purpose. He had shown immense concern about George right before they left, had that intense conversation with him earlier, and she had to admit George smelt like a bar when he arrived and looked like he might have been sleeping on the floor of one. She had no idea what Ron was looking for, except perhaps empty bottles. The room was sparse, and only a tray of food, and a small bag in the corner showing any signs someone had been living there.

No one seemed to notice his actions except George who fixed him with a glare when no one was looking. Ron looked far from sheepish, and instead stood tall and locked eyes with his brother.

“Let’s get going. It’s just a few streets over,” George announced to the room, looking away from Ron.

Nerves shook Hermione as they travelled down the grimy London street. It did not look much different from Tottenham Court Road. The last time she had been near this part of London they’d ducked into a grotty cafe and been cornered by a pair of Death Eaters.

At least then it had been a less obtrusive group, with only her, Ron and Harry. Now they were a large boisterous group with so many redheads they stood out like a flock of goldfinches. Most of them were loudly talking or laughing, and many a passerby smirked at the boisterous group. If someone wanted to target them, they’d be all too easy to spot. She gripped her beaded bag so harshly one of her nails chipped.

Thankfully George was quite correct about the distance being short. In minutes they arrived at a large dark building with music dimly pulsing through its walls and a line to get in.

A large barrel-chested man with the thickest neck Hermione had ever seen stood at the door. The eldest Weasleys along with Lee and Angelina were let through with barely a glance at their playing cards, but as soon as he spotted the younger members of the group the bouncer began to look like an agitated bulldog.

He eyed Ron and Hermione’s cards closely, but gave a much more scrutinizing look towards Ginny and Harry as they handed their playing cards to him. He held a small flashlight to the Jack of Spades and Queen of Spades, and even ran a fingernail along the edge.

“What’s your birthday?”

“1979!” Harry offered, before wincing at his volume. Ron let out a chuckle, while Ginny rolled her eyes. The man’s glare intensified. “Er… July 31st 1979, that is.”

“Hmm… And you?” growled the Bouncer, sourly looking to Ginny.

“Tonight’s my birthday, actually!” she said with a winning smile. Hermione nearly protested, but Ron gave a small shake of his head.

“Ah, happy birthday!” said the man nodding at the card before handing it back to her, looking much less ornery. “Let Teresa know about it, and they’ll do ya something special.”

“Your birthday, huh?” Harry asked Ginny as soon as they were through the door.

“Much easier to have a good time and get some free drinks that way, isn’t it?” she said, giving a conspiratorial grin he shared.

“But it’s not your birthday!” Hermione protested, irritation prickling down her neck.

“I’m not eighteen either,” Ginny breezily pointed out.

“Well you’re lucky the card was able to adapt to that when you hadn’t said an actual date,” Hermione persisted. She clutched her beaded bag closer to her chest. “We don’t want to stand out.”

“Why not? It’s a Muggle club. It should be fun.”

“Well, it might be a Muggle club, but that doesn’t mean it’s completely safe.”

“You worry too much,” she said in an infuriatingly calm and understanding voice.

“No! We have to make sure we stay low profile and don’t say anything wrong, because all it takes is one wrong word and then everything falls apart!”

Harry looked to the ground, his eyebrows knitting together. He had to be thinking of the Taboo and the Snatchers as well.

“It’s just a bit of fun, Hermione. We’ll be okay,” said Ginny with a smile, looking around to spot the rest of their group, taking Harry by the hand towards a corner table. “Ah there they are!”

Hermione had never felt more like shaking her friend. Didn’t she understand how dire things were? They’d met Death Eaters at a Muggle cafe in London last August, and Fenrir and those Snatchers in the woods. All it took was one small mistake and then hell would rain down on them; they could end up beaten or cursed or stabbed in the chest. “Hermione…” she heard Ron’s voice quiet and low in her ear. “There isn’t a Taboo anymore…”

“You don’t know that!” she almost shouted at him, painfully gripping her beaded bag.

One of his large hands gently started unwinding her fingers from the bag, before taking it from her and putting it in his jacket pocket. He started massaging her fingers. Under the pink and orange lights she could just make out the imprint the bag had left on her hands.

“I can feel the Taboo’s broken, and I bet you can too if you concentrate on it,” he said, continuing to work her hands until they became limp in his. “But if you want to leave and go back to the Burrow, we can right now.”

His quiet earnest words brought her eyes up to his. He saw right through her. He didn’t give her empty platitudes. He gave her a common sense answer to why things would be different, and an out if she was uncomfortable. She felt the overwhelming need to kiss him, and despite the crowd she decided to indulge herself. She stood on her tiptoes, and he took her lead leaning down to brush his lips against hers, hands still holding hers. How had they had so many years together without kissing?

For years she’d had to sit near him, with careful scrutinization over every action and inch between them. Was sitting too close to her friend? Would her leg pressing to his be too much? Would he notice how her eyes were fixated on his mouth a good three minutes as he grinned and told her about the mad thing he’d seen earlier that day? Did his hand around her shoulder linger longer than a friend’s hand would? When he’d tiredly leaned his head into her, had it meant something to him?

Now she could kiss him whenever she liked, and melt into his strong form, and let her hands be caressed, and get the anticipation of more ring through her body, and know it might be fulfilled later. The only thing she struggled to hold back was blurting out how very much she loved everything about him.

“Alright?” he asked as their lips parted.

She nodded, biting her bottom lip to keep herself from saying ‘I love you and actually yes I’d like to go home, but only because I want to snog you until both of us can barely breathe.’

“Ready to have ‘a bit of fun?’”

“I think I can manage,” she said with a smile. As long as he was by her side something akin to enjoyment of the evening could happen.

They went to a back table that didn’t nearly have enough seating for them all. This didn’t seem to matter as half of them strategically placed their jackets and purses so strangers would know it was occupied, while the others went to the bar to get drinks for everyone. Their table butted nearly up to the bar, and Ron perched on one of its stools.

“Do you want something to drink?” Hermione asked, looking at a menu.

He shook his head. “Someone needs to stay sober. Might as well be me.” He took the menu from her and eagerly pointed to it. “But I could do with these fried cheese things!”

She got in line, ready to order and pay when George stepped in. “Put your cash away. You’re not buying a thing, tonight! We’re here to celebrate you three, after all!”

Grateful not to have to spend the meager amount of cash she had, she put in her order for Ron’s food, and her wine. She’d never drunk much in her life, but she experienced the occasional wine with her parents.

She had worried the evening would be tedious, but seeing everyone looking giddy, toasting one another, and even dancing made her rethink the evening.

Ron had kept a close eye on George, but his brother was looking at ease and jubilant surrounded by family and friends. Hermione enjoyed the warming tang of red wine as they chatted away and seemed more relaxed than they’d been in years. The wine soothed her nerves as well.

“Was your skirt that short when we left?” George asked Ginny after she did a twirl to the music that accidentally flashed a cheek of her knickers.

“Yes it was,” she coolly answered. “And even if it wasn’t, there’s nothing you’re going to do about it, is there?”

Harry, already looking sloshed, looked down at Ginny’s legs, his mouth slightly open.

Ron gave a chuckle before flicking his friend’s ear.

“Righ’, sorry,” Harry said with a nod. Despite all the spells he’d done on his hair, it had reverted to its normal disheveled state.

“Let’s dance!” Ginny said, grabbing Harry’s hand. If it weren’t for the few rounds of shots, Hermione didn’t think they’d be able to get him on to the dance floor, but in his current state he happily followed his girlfriend to the bright lights and thumping music. This seemed an adorable prospect until they actually saw him dance.

“Oh shit… Someone needs to hit him with a stunner or something,” Ron laughed, as Hermione leaned back into him.

Harry had no sense of rhythm at all, and his stiff-armed movements made many people wince. Ginny didn’t seem to care, and was happily dancing beside him. Her effervescence seemed to drown out Harry’s sad attempts at movement.

Ron guffawed, and shook his head in amusement. Seated on a bar stool, he was only a half a foot taller than Hermione, which made for much more convenient kisses with no tiptoes needed. She had finished her second glass of wine and had a hot pleasant sensation buzzing through her. She put her head back and closed her eyes, feeling the vibration of his deep laugh and the music thrumming.

“Hmm… Y’should dance with me,” she murmured, though she made no move towards the dance floor. Instead she rubbed her hands down his legs that were on either side of her. The lights on the dancefloor shifted to green for a moment, and the cozy peace felt strangled. She glanced up to Ron, and thought of the one thing that really made her feel nothing but warmth. “You should snog me.”

He chuckled a bit, and she felt the back of his fingers graze her cheek.

“Dance or snog— Whichever you want,” he replied in her ear. “Though it seems you’re going a bit legless for dancing.”

“I am not!” she protested, pushing herself off of him and nearly stumbling. She stood very tall and made firm eye contact. “I am far from inebriated and do not like the implication that I am inebredated!”

“You mean inebriated?”

“That’s what I just said!” she said, grabbing his hand. “C’mon, let’s dance!”

He gave a shake of his head, but followed her onto the dance floor, where most of their group were dancing. Despite the yellow and orange lights, they were a vibrant group that stood out. Hermione couldn’t think why she’d been worried about it, though! And Ron was actually a very good dancer. She’d discovered this at Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and was happy nothing had changed. He had a grand sense of rhythm and the way he held her close and moved about with her made her feel like one of those ladies from an old musical. Roger Gingers? No, that wasn’t it…

“You make me feel like a lady!” she shouted over the music. “I mean, a lady from a musical that dances and such! Y’know? Like with Astaire and all those old ones in the movies?”

Ron gave a nod, and she nodded along happy he knew the reference. Yes! He and she were meant for one another. He knew what she meant when she said things. Oh no, that couldn’t be right. Fred Astaire was a Muggle! There was no way he knew that reference!

“Wait! You don’t know who Astaire is!”

“Nope,” he replied, an amused grin making his dimple appear.

“Then why did you nod along?”

“You’re supposed to smile and nod at drunk people and irate girlfriends— and you’re the best of both!”

She laughed as he spun her around. She could do this forever! Just spin and spin, his hands on her, the bright lights bringing out odd colors in his hair, his warm smile, the invigorating feeling of just being alive...

“You dance as well as you snog!” she yelled, right as the song stopped, making many on the dance floor snigger, but she didn’t care. It was true. And he was hers, not anyone else's, and she got to snog him whenever she wanted. “Let’s get another drink!”

She bounded to the bar, and added another wine to the tab George had started.

“I think you might’ve had enough,” said Ron, sidling up beside her.

“Then you drink it!” she said, holding up the wine before taking a sip. He gently took the wine glass from her, and put it on the bar.

“Ever since I drank that poisoned mead, I’m not much for drinks from people I don’t know.”

“I just drank from it, though, so you know it’s safe,” she said, holding her hair up and away from her too hot neck.

“And I need to be sober so someone can get us all home at the end of the evening.”

That was a very good point. “You should snog me in the club’s bathroom,” she countered.

“That is very very tempting,” he said leaning in and giving her a peck on the nose. “When you aren’t sloshing about I might take you up on that.”

“M’not!” she said, grabbing her wine glass.

“Another round?” George asked, holding out a tray of shots. “For the trio! And the birthday girl!”

“Oh yes, let’s drink to my birthday!” Ginny crowed, grabbing what was at least her shot glass. There was a quick clearing of a throat from behind her from Bill. “Oh come oooon! Can’t I have some fun?”

“You can have plenty of fun. Just might want to be able to remember it tomorrow.”

“Don’t be mummish!” she replied, downing her drink.

Harry tittered at this, and she put a hand over his shot glass before he could get it to his lips. “You might want to hold back.”

“Mummish,” Harry laughed, with a shake of his shaggy head.

“How much has he had?” Charlie asked.

“A couple of shots and a beer,” said Lee with a shake of his head. “Complete and utter lightweight.”

“I want another shot,” Harry protested.

“Sorry, sloppy, leave this to the professionals,” George said, downing it before Harry could stop him. Hermione caught a grim look pass between Ron and Bill, but dismissed it as a good song came on and the other girls dragged them all onto the dance floor.

The party continued until Ron insisted they take a water break. Hermione slide into the booth next to him, wobbling only slightly, yet she gladly snuggled into him.

There was a gauzy blur to everything, with only the center of her vision having much clarity. It was nice. Her blurred cameo-vision settled on Ron. He was very handsome. And tall!

She told him so.

“Thanks,” he said, not seeming to take her seriously.

“I mean it, though! You’re almost pretty,” she said with a firm nod. “I’ve always thought so. You have the bluest eyes… They’re so… Blue! And I love your hands. They feel nice too.”

“Uh huh…” he said with a smile. “I think we best get you home soon… Here, have some water.”

“I don’t want water, I want more wine,” she said, taking the water and drinking it. “But I do mean it. You’re very good looking. And you have a cute bum! I haven’t told you that, but I should. I should tell you these things! I mean to, but I wait too long, and then I can’t tell you. Like with your clothes tonight! You look extra dishy and I can’t tell you because I don’t want you to think I’m not nice about clothes to you, ya know?”

“Well in that case, thank you?” he said, pouring her some more water that she angrily sipped at.

He’d taken off his jacket and rolled his sleeves up again at one point. She trailed a finger along a brain-scar on his forearm. She liked that. There was something about it that made her squirm in a good way.

“I like your arms… But to my point!!” she said, sitting up straight and poking him in the chest. “There’so much I can’t tell you! I’m the best secret keeper in the world. It’s like… It’s like my words are Fidelius charmed! And I don’t know how to tell you the secret! I want to, of course, but if I did and you didn’t say you love me back then I’d be so upset, and so I don’t say anything!”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his chest.

“You make it hard to not say things when you’re so pretty and good. You’re so good, Ron Weasley. I want to… I want to bottle you up and marry you and be the only one to touch your bum.”

His chuckle pleasantly hummed through her. He braced her against him a bit then kissed her forehead.

“I want that too,” he said, almost so quietly it couldn’t be heard over the music. She felt him stir beneath her head and let out a huff. “What?”

She cracked open an eye to see Harry gormlessly staring at them.

“I’m so glad you didn’t die. You’re like… the most important people in my life and I love you both so much,” said Harry, pointing to somewhere a foot or so to the left of them.

“No more alcohol for you, Harry,” said Ron, making Hermione sit up.

“I mean it!” Harry belligerently stated.

“We love you too, Harry,” said Hermione, putting a hand on him. “You’re like a brother to me! If I had brothers. I don’t. But if I did, you’d be my little brother.”

“You’re like an older sister that I love like a sister. And we’re both not dead,” Harry said with a nod.

“Merlin’s balls. We’ve got to get out of here,” Ron muttered, grabbing a glass of water and thrusting it into Harry’s hand. “Chug that and try not to be such a melancholy arsewipe, yeah?”

“I can’t help it. I had a bad childhood until I met you and Hagrid…” Harry said, looking so sad Hermione wanted to cry.

“You did! Ron, he DID have a bad childhood!”

“Yep, I’m aware,” said Ron with a sigh getting up. “Harry, where’d you put your glasses and jacket?”

He gave a sad shrug. “I don’t have a family. I don’t even have glasses now.”

Hermione nodded. “He can’t SEE, Ron.”

“I’m legally blind.”

“He’s blind, Ron!”

“Oh my GOD! I’m going to find the glasses!” Ron exploded, a hand going to his hair. “I’m getting bloody tired of dealing with drunks, you know that?”

“But he’s blind, Ron.”

With a wild gesture of frustration he started looking around the various points in the bar Harry had been to. Harry murmured about a lot of sad things, and Hermione told him about Ron’s bum which made him snigger. She leaned her head against the back of the booth, closing her eyes for just a moment.

She heard Charlie, Bill and Fleur bowed out for the evening, citing business they had to do the next day. Bill pulled Ron aside for a moment. She could just make out the low voiced words of ‘George,’ ‘rest’ and ‘bail’ beside her. She cracked open an eye and saw them both glancing at George, who was still bouncing on the dance floor with Lee and Angelina. Hermione listened to hear more, but the thrum of music drowned them out.

Hermione woke up an indeterminate amount of time later lying in their booth, head curled up on a conjured pillow and Ron’s large jacket draped over her.

She blearily rose and blinked to see Harry finish a shot beside her.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be drinking anymore,” she managed to rasp even though her tongue stuck to the top of her mouth. She smacked her lips and looked for some water. The nearest pitcher seemed miles away even though it was a mere few feet.

“Y’were sleeping in the booth and there’s was noone to stop me,” said Harry with a triumphant smile that morphed into an unpleasant low belch.

“How long have I been asleep?” Her head was aching. She should have drunk more water.

“Mmm… An hour or so?”

“Where’s Ron?”

“He tucked you in,” Harry answered. She warmed at the thought of giant Ron hunching over to tenderly make her comfortable.

Harry put his chin on his hand and stared at her. “He fancies you.”

“Well I quite fancy him as well.”

“You fancy him,” he said with a sloppy dismissive hand, “but not like he does you. He’s all…” A series of soft pats rained down on her head. “And you’re all…” He pointed a finger at her face, nearly poking her in the eye. “Ya know?”

“Oh well that makes sense,” she humored him. “Where are your glasses? Didn’t Ron go to fetch them ages ago?”

“Search me…” he said, putting his head on the table before slurring. “I need a nap…”

Ginny, Lee and Angelina came panting off the dancefloor.

“Where’s George?” asked Angelina, gulping down some water and making a loud noise of satisfaction when she’d finished.

“Wasn’t he with you?”

No one knew where George or Ron were. They were about to start searching when there was the sound of a mic turning on, and the DJ announced, “and now one of our guests wants to make an announcement.”

There was a horrid feedback noise and a scuffle, but then a familiar voice began to ring through the crowd.

“Hello everyone!” said George into the mic.

“Oh God, who let him have a microphone?” said Angelina, shaking her head.

“I’m George and I’m here to celebrate my little sister’s birthday! So everyone, say cheers to her!”

Many of the crowd raised their glasses and Ginny was happy to wave to them and give a small bow. Hermione spotted that she was wearing Harry’s glasses on top of her head. She turned to point this out to Harry but he was letting out a series of small snores.

“Also we’re here to celebrate my brother Ronnie, and his two best friends. I can’t tell you what they did, but they are being honored for their services and it’s pretty impressive shit, so cheers to them!” The crowd cheered again. “That’s right. He’s very impressive. Didn’t think he would be, but here we are! Didn’t think he’d make it out of a war alive, but he did. Not a fucking scratch on him, ‘cept some missing fingernails.”

Hermione looked for Ron, and found him standing to the side of the DJ booth. He looked like he was saying something, and George’s face went dark and surly. “No, I don’t feel like going home.”

“Get off the mic!” someone from the crowd hollered, and few people let out a resounding ‘woo’ in agreement.

“Yes, thank you for your support!” George said with a wave. “What was I talking about? Oh yes! The war! My other brothers all made it ok, but I lost an ear, and then my twin brother got fucking killed by a bloody wall. How stupid a way is that to go?”

The DJ tried to get George to hand over the mic, but he was belligerently holding it low and crowding the DJ out. Ron looked like he was saying something. He put a hand on George’s shoulder that was violently shrugged off, prompting Angelina and Lee to run over to intervene.

Hermione didn’t want to crowd them and was fairly certain she couldn’t get there fast enough to help anyways. Ginny had a hand to her mouth.

“None of you know how much we sacrificed to keep you all safe, you know that? On the run all the time, nearly dying every day, and you lot just went about your lives having no fucking clue. People died. My brother is DEAD! And you’re all having a bloody good time, but he’s dead and everything is fucking ruined and—”

The thick-necked bouncer moved in and started pointing a beefy hand in George’s face.

“George, don’t!” came Ron’s holler, just barely picked up by the mic.

Hermione heard a chorus of yells beside her as, in front of the entire Muggle club, George whipped out his wand and brandished it at the bouncer.

“Take another step and I’ll drop you,” he snarled.

Hermione gave a yell of her own as Ron put up his hands and stood in front of George’s sparking wand.

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

Chapter 5 Author’s Note-

Chapter 6 is already written and in the editing process.

I actually split Chapter 5 into two parts as it was epically long. So next chapter will be from Hermione's POV

oh, and it will have some smut

and angst

====================================================

Giant thank you to:

@abradystrix and @divagonzo for betaing and being so supportive and wonderful.

CHAPTER WARNINGS:

cursing, depresssed/anxious thinking, talk about eating & weight gain/loss, evidence of PTSD, drinking and drunkeness, threats

Previously, in 'Waking Up'

Hermione is on edge about her parents and is having trouble with anxiety in general- also worried about Ron not saying 'I love you' yet

Ron was exhausted from tending to George the night before- he's running on fumes- and is devastated that Hermione doesn't seem to care for Harry joining the Aurors- He fills out paperwork and gets sick with anxiety

Needs a quill and sees Hermione needs money for Australia

Goes to the village to get a job- gets lost in dark memories

Comes home to everyone giving cheers to him and the trio for Order of Merlins and Auror offers

They're all gonna go out to celebrate

#fanfiction #hermione granger #ron weasley #romione #harry potter #waking up #My writing #post hogwarts #hp fanfic

62 notes · View notes

snowbellewells · 3 years ago

Text

Self-Promo Sunday: “Into the Unknown With You”

Another one shot from my assorted collection “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts” - this one playing with some of the ideas I would rather have seen in 6x10 and 6x11, it certainly diverges from canon at that point...

Summary: As Emma searches for a way back home from the Wish Realm, help comes from a surprisingly welcome source...

{One more Author’s Note: The “awfully big adventure” bit is a tiny nod to J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan.}

Can also be found on AO3 or ff.net

“Into the Unknown with You”

by: @snowbellewells

‘No, no, no!’ Emma’s mind reeled horrifically as she stared at the spot where only moments ago the portal had been whirling, her way home to her son and her pirate wide open. She wanted to scream; it couldn’t just be gone, and yet, a second too much hesitation, and the chance was lost. She looked to Regina anxiously, her fists clenched so tightly she felt the impressions her nails cut into her palms. It was all she could do not to rail at Regina, this whole twisted world, and her own bad luck.

‘What now?!?’ she wanted to demand, wanted to shake her former nemesis turned tentative friend, but one glimpse at the other woman’s stunned, disbelieving face staring across the shoreline at her presumed dead True Love, and Emma knew it would be a lost cause. Having stood beside a grave in grateful stupefaction at her own love’s miraculous return to life not so long ago, Emma couldn’t find the heart to remind Regina just yet that she had spent the last day preaching that none of their surroundings or those they encountered in the Wish Realm were real, and hurry her along. She too found herself blinking dazedly at this other – very convincing – version of Robin Hood for a few moments.

Even if her heart was still crying out for her home and her family, for Henry’s soft hair tickling her nose when she placed a kiss to the top of his head, and Killian’s arms enfolding her, she didn’t know where to go in this topsy-turvy version of the homeland she had never actually lived in, and so she had to wait – more impatiently by the minute – until one of these two, either queen or thief, snapped out of their spell and led the way…

As it turned out, Robin Hood was not the sort of outlaw who would truly do harm to two ladies passing through his territory. He wouldn’t have even made to steal their jewels and furs once the same trance that had overcome Regina seemed to strike him mute as well, but Regina offered him a pouch of coins that had been strapped to her waist and a ruby ring, pressing it into his calloused palm with a quirked smile and the assurance that “she insisted, she was much more partial to his cause than he knew”.

Emma wanted to snort at the ridiculous understatement those words were, and she only barely managed to hold back a roll of her eyes, which she sensed the thief saw but let slide with a conspiratorial wink.

Before she could make an argument for trying to catch up to Gold – or Rumplestiltskin here, she supposed – or ask where they were going to find another bean, it was evening, they were entering a forest in the gathering dark, and soon they had been welcomed to sit around a roaring fire with Robin’s motley crew, and even been offered the ale and venison passed around the circle as if they were part of the merry band.

“Now,” the archer began, seated beside Regina, his boy nodding drowsily on his lap. He looked around her to meet Emma’s gaze head on. “You must be thinking that I owe you an apology. Clearly you were about to leave this place, and because of me, you missed your ride.”

She tried to shrug it off nonchalantly, not wanting to get them kicked out in the cold, or to lay blame on him for something he couldn’t have known, but instead, to her own mortification, she felt hot tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. Though her sight grew glassy, Emma refused to let them fall. “So,” she tried for flippant, even if it fell horribly flat, “does that mean you know where we could get a replacement bean and want to help us get it?”

“Actually, Princess Emma,” Robin winked, a knowing sort of mischief in his eye, “I just might.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The following morning dawned misty and cool, but fair, and Robin greeted Emma at the simmering coals of the previous night’s campfire with a welcoming grin, Regina at his side on the stump they used for a seat, looking as soft and at ease as Emma had ever seen her, her head resting on his strong shoulder seemingly still half asleep. She and Regina had talked at length the night before, and at long last Emma had accepted that Henry’s adoptive mother wasn’t returning with her yet. “I know he isn’t the same Robin, that this whole place is built on a whim, but I’m not losing him again,” she had whispered vehemently. “There has to be another way to get back…one that he could take as well…if he wanted to…” The emotion welling in Regina’s dark eyes had been raw enough that Emma finally consented to go on without further fighting to change her mind, only giving a nod in affirmation when Regina had asked, “You’ll explain to Henry? Tell him I mean to return as soon as we both can?”

“Ready, your Highness?” the sandy-haired outlaw asked, breaking into Emma’s recent memories once more and looking down at her from where he now stood at the ready. “We should make the harbor by noon, if we set out now.”

“The harbor?” Emma asked breathlessly, dazed for a moment by what this could mean. Her heartbeat kicked up in both anticipation and dread. Surely he wasn’t here too…was he?

“Yes,” Robin answered her spoken question with an amiable nod as he kissed the back of Regina’s hand in farewell and turned to head off with Emma on his heels. “I happen to know a pirate with whom I sometimes trade my less than lawfully acquired goods. He might have just the sort of thing you need to return home…”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

The sound of gulls crying and wheeling overhead and the creak and groan of the wooden docks as they reached the edge of the shore town and neared the sparkling blue harbor was enough to take Emma’s breath away. Robin took a step forward to lead her down the docks, already offering to make introductions, but Emma stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

There before them, as recognizable as always, was the Jolly Roger, bobbing proudly at anchor. Though most might be intimidated by the sight, Emma drew in the first full breath she’d had since remembering herself in this strange realm – as if she had gotten her first real glimpse of home at last. He might still be the vengeful Captain Hook in this reality, but somehow she wasn’t afraid. He would never truly hurt her – and she only wanted to be at his side again without further delay.

Reassuring Robin that she could take it from there, Emma bid him goodbye. Though he looked uncertain, the archer took her at her word and left her with his best wishes. If she clutched his hand a moment longer and a bit tighter than would be normal and bid him be safe a little too fervently – well, she didn’t have to explain herself to anyone here…

At her first step onto the gangplank, a shudder of recognition ran through her, as if the vessel itself was welcoming her back aboard, shivers skittering along her spine. At first glance, the ship seemed deserted, her crew perhaps gathering supplies or unwinding at the nearest tavern, but the air around her wavered, charged suddenly, letting her know she was not alone. Emma felt even before she heard heavy footfalls on the planks or that deep, commanding voice at her back, asking who went there, that she had not gone undetected by the ship’s captain.

Turning, her eyes found him, hungrily drinking in the details; altered, but still without doubt the man she loved. The dark hair was windblown and unruly, practically begging for her fingers to delve into its soft abundance and brush the fringe back off his forehead. Though the strands might be shaggier and generously shot through with grey, it made him no less attractive to her starving eyes. In fact, she only wanted to stare at him all the more, to catalogue every difference, trace the deeper crow’s feet around his eyes and the added lines on his forehead. Those fathomless blue eyes were lined so liberally with the kohl she hadn’t seen him use for some time in their modern Storybrooke life that she almost wanted to chuckle at the effect until she registered the way the blue of his gaze also looked paler – as if washed out by too many tears shed alone and without comfort, or dulled by pain held back because he couldn’t afford to let it show.

Brandishing his moniker, and that dastardly, flirtatious mask he had long since let drop around her, to full effect, Captain Hook stepped well into her personal space. “And who might you be?” he questioned, breath warm on the shell of her ear as he leaned in, hook lifting the heavy rope of her golden braid and tucking it back over her shoulder. It was an achingly familiar gesture and he stood much too close for calm comfort, sending her pulse fluttering again, and yet no recognition lit his gaze as he studied her; the fond devotion she had come to rely on more than she could say was utterly absent, making her heart ache and crack in her chest.

“Princess Emma of Misthaven,” she answered as sturdily as she could, raising her chin and meeting his eye with as much confidence as she could muster. “I had hoped to speak to you on a delicate matter of some importance.”

“A delicate matter, is it?” he asked, his enunciation and the way his tongue caressed his words seductively had not been altered or diminished in the slightest, whatever else had changed. He stood back to his full height, fingers in his waistband, hips thrust forward and looking every bit as sinfully irresistible as he ever did, complete with that wide-open, chest-exposing red vest she had witnessed once in their trip to the past through Zelena’s portal. If she hadn’t known him so well, she might have been fooled by the bravado, but knowing his heart as only a True Love could, she saw the emptiness behind the lascivious look, the pain within the façade – the proper, honorable lieutenant he had been, hating the persona his course had forced him to adopt. Even as he ran his tongue across his lower lip, letting his eyes trace her curves from head to toe almost lewdly, she could see the regret clouding the pupils and the wistful longing – as if he could sense what might have been.

Unable to stop herself, Emma reached forward impulsively, grasping both his hook and hand tightly as she spoke, “Yes, very…but just maybe…I was meant to find you. Maybe you’re the only one who would believe me.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Another hour found them below deck in his cabin, seated at the scratched, weathered wooden table which had served him in his lonely meals for ages, Emma’s hand still clinging to his hook where it rested on his thigh, but the other reaching up tentatively to trace that faded scar she knew so well beneath his eye. Hook – though more and more her Killian with every passing moment – had scooted closer to her on the roughhewn bench, blinking in awe as she saw hope returning to his face. He appeared both afraid to believe her words, but also desperate for them to be true.

“So you’re telling me that all of this around us – this whole life – is an illusion?” he asked haltingly, not daring to move his eyes from her face, as though he thought she might disappear as quickly as she had come to him.

“Well, yeah, basically,” she tried to explain. “Or more like…it’s a possibility that didn’t actually come true. There’s this v-villain in my home, in the real timeline that I come from, who made a wish that reset things, and I was sucked into it. I have a son, family and friends, a-and another version of you…who’s my True Love…there missing me. And I have to get back to them.”

“There’s another me?” he breathed, and where anyone else would have been skeptical, he looked merely stunned, wanting. “And…we’re…together?”

“Yeah, we are,” she whispered, laying a hand over his rapidly beating heart and drawing comfort from its rhythm. She already felt stronger, more certain, even with this iteration of her pirate. Her watery smile quirked up into a bit of a smirk at one corner, “And don’t worry, he’s still devilishly handsome.”

Her captain’s eyes fell to their joined hand and hook in his lap, huffing out a laugh at her words. “More so than I, I’d wager,” he murmured.

Emma hummed under her breath, reaching out to run her fingers along a grey streak in his longer hair. “I don’t know about that,” she offered. “There’s something pretty appealing about this model, grey hair and all.”

“You flatter me, Milady,” he teased, that voice still a sinful purr rumbling from his chest as he lifted her hand to press a kiss to its back. Still, emotion welled up beneath the flirtation, making his magnetic gaze all the harder for her to escape. She was blinking, nonplussed and floundering for some audible response, when he straightened and pulled her to her feet with him. “Enough lollygagging then! I’ll prepare the old girl to set sail. It’s time we got you back where you belong!”

For a moment, Emma was stunned anew. This full-on piratical version of her True Love, who didn’t really even know her and had no reason to do anything she said, had not only chosen to believe her story, but was going out of his way to help her – just as he had ever since he turned his ship around to take her to Neverland. The lump in her throat was almost too much to speak around, but Emma managed to croak out, “You really would give anything to help me, wouldn’t you?” even as she shook her head in disbelief.

“Aye,” he affirmed, looking a bit like he was marveling at that fact himself. “I am not sure I fully understand, nor can I explain it to you, but I sense that I would – that I am almost compelled – to help you in any world or time you would appear to me.”

“Thank you,” was all she could really say in response, her wondering smile nearly blinding him with its brilliance.

“Come then,” he offered her his arm, his speech all business again, even while the pointed tips of his ear flushed, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude and praise. “Above deck, and we’ll be off. I know someone who deals in nigh impossible to procure objects.”

~~~OuaT~~~~~CS~~~~~OuaT~~~

Standing beside him at the helm just a few short hours later, wind in her hair and the salt spray on her face, it struck Emma that though she was desperate to get home, to make sure her son, her family, and her Killian were alright, she didn’t want to simply abandon this pirate captain beside her. She didn’t know what would happen to him, if he would find something to live for, something to be part of, or if she was dooming him to his quiet desperation…even if he might simply vanish into nothingness with the rest of this ill-fated wish. She didn’t know what happened next, to be completely honest. Laying a hand on his forearm, she gazed up into his face, swallowing hard. “I don’t know what becomes of you, or this realm, when I leave here and go home,” she admitted. “I’m not sure if you all just go on like it never happened, if you cease to exist, if you wander here aimless forever…I just…I don’t know…”

Covering her hand with his, he guided the ship with no more than his hook rested capably on the wheel. “Worry not, Princess,” was his confident response, fervent resolve painted over his strong, careworn features. “We shall still set things right, as they should be. Whatever comes after this – infinity or oblivion – will be an awfully big adventure.”

Tagging: @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @thislassishooked @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @stahlop @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @wefoundloveunderthelight @apiratewhopines @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @ineffablecolors @drowned-dreamer @thisonesatellite @kday426 @ultraluckycatnd @xhookswenchx @hookedonapirate @blowmiakisscolin

#self promo sunday #cs canon divergent ff #season 6 divergent one shot #into the unknown with you #wish realm fix-it fic #of a sort?

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blackswallowtailbutterfly · 3 years ago

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Got my upper lip, chin, and neck waxed. I don’t feel bad about it, just musing. Like, my hair is long and will remain so, but I don’t straighten or style it. It’s either loose or I (rarely) braid it. I haven’t plucked my eyebrows in ages. Don’t own many pairs of shorts, but don’t care who sees my legs hairy. Don’t care about my pits either. Don’t care if I look tired, don’t care if I got blemishes. Any everyday clothes that are flattering are pure coincidence because I only wear them for comfort and practicality. Don’t care that my boobs sit lower on my chest than they might if I’d worn a bra regularly throughout my teens and twenties. Don’t care about obvious cellulite. Don’t care about the crease beginning to develop in my forehead and at the corners of my eyes. Don’t care about strands of silver slowly threading through my hair. Didn’t care when I put on weight either until it started interfering with my job and my stamina, so then I got on track to losing it, but had no problem with the way I looked.

But that one thing I can’t quite get over. It’s not a testosterone imbalance. My periods are regular and the cramps are mild and the one single semen ever got in me I got pregnant. Women on both sides of my family have it, though not quite to the extent I seem to, and I’ve noticed most young girls at edge of puberty have a shadow on their upper lip before it disappears a year later. Maybe one day I won’t care. I have major respect for all the women who are able to rock the moustache and chin fuzz without giving a shit, but I’m not there yet and maybe I’ll never be.

And the thing is it’s so impractical because when it’s grown out a little it keeps my nose warm and every time I shave or wax my nose is cold in pretty much anything below 25C. There’s not just no physical benefit to getting rid of the hair, but it actually has a physical disadvantage for me. I feel like in our development in the womb, sometimes our brains recognize when something’s not quite right and expresses/represses certain genes to help compensate. Like my grandmother only has 8 adult teeth and the rest are all baby teeth, and when she was first put on baby food, she would spit out all meat and sweets and only go for the veggie pastes. It was like her body knew she would only have one set of teeth and some change to work with so gave her taste preferences that would protect them. To this day she could take or leave some sweets and really doesn’t like super sweet things. And for me, I guess I have poor circulation in my nose or something, but from puberty onward I got a fine fuzz of hair growing naturally under it, with some course hairs interspersed after I reached adulthood. I remember when I had my sammoyed dog, reading about how their coats worked: a dense layer of soft undercoat, and guard hairs over top. There’s no real difference between human hair and the hair on other mammals. Its function is to wick away sweat (for those mammals that sweat) and dirt, and to help keep us warm, and to keep things out in the case of female genitalia. It has a purpose. I know it and no longer feel bad the way I used to just for having upper lip hair. I just can’t quite stand not to remove it when it gets noticeable from several feet away.

Femininity requires us to alter ourselves and/or put ourselves on display whereas masculinity is simply existing in a natural state (with the exception of long hair, but men in plenty of cultures let their hair grow, and it’s pretty normal here in Europeanized North America too).

Since I stopped shaving my armpits I no longer have itching or inflammation from spiking myself. I never wear makeup, so I can rub an itch on my face, eat and drink without worrying about needing to touch anything up. My mass of frizz and curls helps keep my ears warm in the winter and can be soaked to keep my head cool in the summer. I do experience irritation in the winter when my leg hairs get caught in my thermals but not enough to bother shaving. Because I’ve never worn bras regularly I can run and jump with no discomfort to my chest and can lift my arms up without bra straps impeding me. I can twist and bend easily because because my clothes are loose enough not to impede me. I can walk very long distance because my shoes fit comfortably, have good grip, and don’t crush my toes or put all the step impact on the balls of my feet. I am free to sleep in, be at leisure on the net, or at work in my garden when not at my job, and thankfully removal of the upper lip hair is only once a week and no more than 2 minutes if I’m shaving.

And I wonder how many things we could do, how much more sleep, how much head space for thought about the state of our individual selves and of our sex, how much more time for hobbies or leisure would we all have if we stopped it all, and much we could do to improve things for women collectively if we did.

#ramble #my posts #femininity #shaving #existing in a natural state #upper lip hair #humans as animals

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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

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Callisto (Full Prologue)

Prologue Part One - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Bit 4 | Bit 5 Part Two - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3

When I first started this story, I was of two minds whether to put all of the prologue at the front or scatter it throughout the fic. I started with 700-odd words of it and drove into the body.

It fast became obvious that I really needed to build a lot more into the prologue as the OCs were empty shells and I needed to explain the story behind them and why Jeff is so determined.

So at the end of Part Two, I stopped and went back. This is the result. Nearly 5000 words of Jeff Tracy landing on Mars. It can stand as its own story, but it definitely leads into the planned events for the novel, Callisto. Either way I hope you enjoy it. Be aware that the first 500 words or so may be familiar as they were part of the original version. Don’t worry, the rest is new.

Of course, many, many thanks to @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 and @janetm74 for all the amazing support and help with this fic. Plus @onereyofstarlight my go to science officer on this voyage. You guys are absolutely amazing and I couldn’t have done this without you ::massive group hug::

Now this is done, I can finally go back to writing the novel chronologically. I have to say that this is going to be one hell of a ride.

No warnings needed.

-o-o-o-

2033

“Another boy?”

Jeff grinned. “Yeah. Another one.” He couldn’t help but stare at the photo that had landed on his screen as a good luck token from Earth.

He did of course, know about Lucille going into labour the night before and it was for that reason he hadn’t had the sleep he probably should have pre-history making Mars landing. But honestly, to get this signal from that little blue planet a good eight months away…his heart swelled…his beautiful baby boy had a shock of red hair that screamed their Irish ancestry down through the hundreds of years since their family had left the old world.

Lucille sat holding him, looking tired but ever so proud. Her dark hair was tied back and the sparkle in her eyes brought a lump into his throat. Her mother, pink hair and all, sat beside his wife holding his two eldest boys on her lap. Scott had his hand on Virgil’s arm as the now second youngest reached over towards his baby brother, a frown of concentration on his face.

“He’s beautiful.”

Jeff startled a little. Berry was breaking regs and leaning over the back of Jeff’s pilot couch, her straps unfastened. The cockpit was pretty snug in the lander, most of the room taken up with safety equipment and interfaces, leaving little for the padded personnel support.

He shot an eyebrow in her direction and she smiled a dare back at him. The astrogeologist wasn’t one for breaking the rules, she just liked to taunt him a little.

Ju, in contrast, was checking her harness was secure a second time. “Creating your own crew, Tracy?” Her auburn eyes smirked at him. “Aiming to replace us?”

He grinned. “Could be.” Dare he mention that his four-year-old eldest could already name all the controls in this cockpit? His grin widened. “But we can’t replace the first person to set foot on Mars, now can we?”

Berry snorted, a little abashed. But it was, after all, her part to play once they made touchdown. The words had been rehearsed, the order of exit decided. For very specific reasons, the first human on Mars was going to be Kate Berrenger.

Berry had worked her ass off to make this mission a reality. Her specialisation onboard was astrogeologist, but honestly it was far more. The woman was talent on legs. It was she who had designed much of the equipment they were deploying on the surface, she who had hunted and gathered the funding, she who had put in the sweat and tears to make this work. And Ju wasn’t far behind. The two of them were quite a powerhouse pair. Jeff considered himself and Lee lucky to have been chosen for this mission. Of course, he’d known Berry for a very long time, worked with her for most of it, but it wasn’t a given that the team that had helped populate the moon would also be the first on Mars.

“Given how many life support pods we’re dragging down there, I bet your boys could drop by in about thirty years or less.”

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, Berry?” The thought was tantalising. Not to put pressure on any future careers – Lucy would kill him – but he would hope that at least one out of three might follow in his footsteps.

Maybe?

He turned around and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted. “Major Tracy, tell your team to secure. Two minutes to separation.” Sinclair was his usual grumpy, nervous self.

“Roger that, Orbiter Control.”

He glared at Berry and the redhead bit her lip with a smile, green eyes dancing, before sitting back and strapping herself in preparation for the sequence.

She didn’t stop smiling though.

“So watcha gonna name him?” Lee prodded him with his eyebrows from beside Jeff.

A last glance at the photo before he returned to separation prep, fingers tight in his gloves. “Are you going to remember this one?” An eye in the engineer’s direction.

“Sure.”

Running his fingers over the controls, Jeff ran through pre-flight. “Name my eldest.”

Lee grunted, his eyes darting away. “Not important right now.” A flick of a switch. “I’m green across the board.”

“A-ok.” Jeff ran through the last sequence of checks…and ran them again…for luck. “Orbiter Control, we are green for separation.”

“Roger that, Cornerstone. Separation in sixty seconds on my mark.” A breath. “Mark.” Another pause. “Good luck.”

And the countdown began.

Jeff ran his eyes over everything again. The great ship that had journeyed so far from home was preparing to split in half. The lander at the top of the vessel was to pull away from the orbiter and its massive propulsion engines to begin the historic descent to the Martian surface. Eight months in space, so much preparation time and so many sacrifices before that, had all led to this moment.

History in the making.

His eyes combed the readouts watching like a hawk. The computer had control, but computers could only do so much.

Still green across the board.

Quiet, his fingers touched the screen where the photo had been. “John Glenn Tracy.” A breath. “His name is John.”

Displays shifted as the countdown hit zero and machinery grunted. The Cornerstone drifted apart from its propulsion module and floated free far above the red of the Martian surface.

Jeff eyed his instrumentation and sent a prayer to his family back home.

Today was an important day.

-o-o-o-

Lee watched Jeff side-on as he clicked his helmet into place. Taylor was a realist and he knew he wouldn’t be here without the crazy pilot.

It was Jeff’s drive that had gotten them this far. It was like riding a rollercoaster of determination and outright luck. From the Airforce, through space training and their sojourns on Alfie, Lee had tied himself to the man’s coat tails and hadn’t looked back.

God, it had been fun.

Jeff Tracy was a tsunami that crashed through everything and took everyone with him.

And Lee went willingly.

When they had been chosen for this mission it was a dream come true.

The countdown dropped to zero and machinery clunked as the lander separated smoothly from the orbiter. She drifted momentarily before the computer engaged thrusters to push her gently out of orbital alignment.

“We are five by five for atmospheric entry.” The words he uttered were almost rote after so many practise simulations back on Earth.

Atmospheric entry on Mars was considerably different to entry on Earth. Terran atmosphere was more like soup in comparison to the barely-there Martian atmosphere. Still made for a warm entry though, friction was friction after all.

“Trajectory achieved.” Jeff’s voice was confident and firm. As always.

Lee eyed the computer readouts, mentally ticking off procedure as the lander dipped into the outer reaches of the atmosphere and shifted to its entry interface.

Forces wrapped themselves around Lee and his body responded. After so many months of weightlessness, this was going to be a challenge.

“Ready for deceleration burn.”

The landing module sported early entrance stage retro thrusters designed to slow the vehicle to reduce the friction on the spacecraft’s skin. A new innovation that had proven essential in many return trips to the moon in preparation for the creation of a habitable dome on the satellite.

And here they were attempting to do something similar on Mars.

Cornerstone shook as her thrusters engaged exactly on time.

The craft roared.

Lee revelled in it.

“Three minutes to subsonic.”

“I really hate this bit.” It was barely heard above the commotion.

Lee snorted to himself. Ju was an astronaut in every sense, but she had a thing regarding atmospheric entry and the microscopic bits they could be exploded into if something went wrong.

“We are on track, Ju. Not a thing to worry about.” His voice reassurance itself, Jeff could sell the moon cheese if he so felt like it.

“Orbiter to Cornerstone. Tracy, we have a problem.”

Lee blinked. Sinclair’s voice was ominous.

“Orbiter, detail?”

“Cornerstone, weather has kicked up on the landing site. We have a developing dust storm. Looks to be a big one.”

“Orbiter, we are fixed for descent. Please advise severity.” Jeff’s tone was frustrated and Lee couldn’t help but echo it.

Data landed in Lee’s console and while Jeff continued to monitor their descent, Lee examined the situation. “We have a category five dust storm developing over the landing site. Orbiter is right, she looks like she could actually do some damage.”

Mars dust storms were generally all gust and no guts. The air density and pressure forced storms that were dramatic to look at, but generally little more than a windy day on planet Earth. This one, however... “It’s an anomaly.”

Jeff’s eyes darted from his console to Lee’s, grey eyes assessing the data. “Ju, your opinion?” They had to make the decision fast. Altering their trajectory now was possible, but fuel was precious. Any extra used now narrowed their safety margin for later.

The meteorologist’s fingers darted over her board. “Unusual strength, I agree.” Lee glanced in her direction as she frowned. “But Cornerstone should be able to handle it.”

“‘Should’ is not a good enough assumption, Zhang.” Jeff was frowning. The lander’s retros cut out as they reached a safe enough velocity to manoeuvre and Jeff’s hands curled around the yoke.

Lee’s finger darted over his board and brought up the outside cameras.

The red planet stretched out before them, her slightly blue tinted atmosphere contrasting against the rust of her surface.

That surface was churning.

Ju was outraged. “How the hell did that develop in the time it took us to separate from Orbiter? She was as calm as a sleeping baby!”

“I don’t care about then, I need now. Zhang, recommendation!”

The woman grunted. “I say go. If you think you can handle it. It is well within Cornerstone’s specs. Your decision, Major.”

Jeff’s lips thinned, his eyes darting across the readouts. A moment and he hit the comms switch. “Orbiter, we are go for landing. We’ve come this far, might as well go all the way.”

“Tracy, are you sure?”

“Humanity never got anywhere taking it easy.” He glanced at Lee. “Hold onto something.”

Cornerstone began her turn, orientating her nose to the sky so her retros could lower her safely to the Martian surface.

Or in Jeff Tracy terms, ‘spinning so she could park her ass’.

As if reading Lee’s mind, the glint in Jeff’s eyes was something to both be wary of and to celebrate.

Out of the four of them, Jeff was the most reckless, the most daring. But as he was the pilot, it sometimes called for it. Jeff had already saved them from becoming just another crater on Earth’s moon by pulling the most unconventional manoeuvre ever seen on the satellite when a landing thruster misfired on approach. The craft had shot off on a completely unpredicted vector that would have ploughed them into moon dust...if Jeff hadn’t reacted as fast as he did. He flipped the craft with its remaining three thrusters and, shedding the majority of their velocity in an energy dump that had Lee’s stomach on the outside, planted their craft like a sack of potatoes.

They had landed roughly, but they had landed alive and Lee was still amazed his friend had been able to do that.

So, if they were going down in a cloud of red dust, Lee was quite happy to have Jeff at the controls.

Not to say that Lee himself wasn’t handy with a spacecraft. He had his own experience to be proud of. He flew, but his realm was more the mechanical. He was here as back up and maintenance.

For those times the Tracy fix wasn’t quite enough.

A sigh. He eyed the billowing clouds below as they rapidly approached. They were history in the making. Whatever happened here today would be taught in schools for decades to come.

He had faith in Jeff. They would land, Berry would take those first important steps on a new planet, say the rehearsed words, and join Neil Armstrong in the halls of fame.

But first they had to get there.

-o-o-o-

Jeff swallowed as the cloud of dust loomed beneath the lander. Numbers scrolled across his console. The computer should be able to handle most of it. Its programming was solid. Lucy had made sure of it.

The thought of his beautiful wife...little Johnny.

Dust swelled and wrapped around their craft and visibility became...bad.

Cornerstone shuddered.

Mars dust was a bastard of a thing. Ever so fine and carrying a tiny electric charge that on occasion interfered with instruments.

This was one of those occasions.

“We have blackout on three primary sensors.” Damn. Two others flickered, the screen fritzing a moment.

His fingers darted over controls in an attempt to compensate for the data loss.

Lee was muttering beside him and stabbing at his board. “Rerouting to back-ups.”

Their screens flickered and cleared somewhat.

Numbers plummeted.

Beyond the blinding dust the digital readout that marked the surface of the planet approached.

Far too fast.

Retros crucial to start the landing sequence did not fire.

Shit.

It took seconds for him to compensate and move to manual, but that was enough for the craft to fall many more metres so, when he did manually trigger the burn, they were lower than they should be.

Cornerstone roared as he pushed more energy into braking.

“Lee, we need primary thrust or we are so much pancake!” Her four landing thrusters were not slowing them enough. The math in his head was churning out a fatal result and their history-making attempt was fast turning into a shitfest. “I need that power now.”

“You have it.” Short and sharp as Lee’s hands darted over his console.

On Jeff’s board the main thruster icon lit up.

It wasn’t meant to be used this way. The main thruster was for launching. It was far more powerful than they needed to land. But if he didn’t slow Cornerstone, she was going to take on a big red rock and lose.

The computer ran calculations and spat numbers out at him.

“Firing main thruster.” The icon flashed, Cornerstone roared and g-forces wrapped around all of them and squeezed.

No one said anything for the second of burn that slowed their descent ever so rapidly. Everything shook, the ship’s superstructure groaning.

Jeff’s eyes tracked their velocity, counting down as the surface of the planet rushed towards them. Visually they couldn’t see it. Virtually it looked ready to slap them in the face.

But the main thruster compensated, slowing the craft just enough for the landing rockets to do their job.

Jeff killed the big one and concentrated on the landers to take the last of their speed.

Cornerstone slowed. Five hundred metres. Four hundred metres. Three hundred metres. Two hundred metres. One hundred metres. Landing struts deployed. Fifty. Thirty. Twe-

The whole ship slammed to a stop, its structure groaning and tilting for a second before righting itself. Alarms began shrieking, red lights flashing all over his board.

What the hell?!

The readout had them stalled nineteen metres ‘above’ the virtual surface. Virtual was obviously not lining up with actual.

Another metallic groan and the ship tilted slightly again. This time it stayed tilted. No doubt a landing strut had taken the brunt and folded.

One red light screamed at him more than the others.

Beside him, Lee confirmed his fears. “We have a fuel leak.”

Shit!

He was unstrapping himself even as the craft groaned again. Something sparked not far away. Lee was a split second behind, listing the reason for the malfunction. The exterior hull, and the mangled landing strut responsible.

A rupture in the external hull. Hell.

Jeff undocked a diagnostic pad and slapped it on his belt.

Martian gravity made itself known. So many months without its native pull, Jeff’s body protested the sudden movement, but they didn’t have time. Precious fuel was escaping.

He hit the ladder leading out of the cockpit at a run, feet locking around the struts and his hands pushing him down. The whole sensation of gravity, but only a third of Earth’s was baffling. His body caught between expectations and stumbling along the way. Ultimately, he partly fell his way down through the access ports, hands grabbing at the railings barely preventing him from colliding with each deck.

Cornerstone’s fuel tanks were attached to her four landers, with a fifth fueling her main launcher.

It was number three that was the problem.

His boots hit decking and he scrambled for the airlock. Beside him Lee had a toolkit and they both barrelled through the door sealing it behind them.

The pumps cycled and the pressure dropped, their suits shifting with the change, and then the elevator was lowering them to the ground.

As the doors opened, they were faced with a wall of swirling dust.

Jeff did his best to ignore it but it fast became a problem. The maintenance tab in his hand was directing him to climb ladders up the side of the vehicle, but he could barely see the tablet, much less the ladders themselves through the red dust.

“Stick close, Lee. I’d hate to lose you in this.”

“Right behind you, Jeff. Wouldna want to lose you either.”

It was simple, but reassuring nonetheless. Fumbling, he found the landing strut. It was skewed in a way that even in the thick swirling haze, he could see was far from the right angle for correct support.

Hooking a foot into the lowest rung, he snagged his friend and urged him up the ladder ahead. If anyone was going to save their asses in this situation, it was Lee.

If Jeff could land it, chances were Lee could fix it. The man could jimmy two sticks and a rubberband into whatever was needed. Hell, he’d done almost exactly that on the moon at least twice.

This was just another challenge. Jeff had landed them, no matter how roughly. Now Lee would be able to fix it.

Jeff clung to that maxim.

But the question wasn’t about skill, it was more about whether or not they were going to damn well be able to see what they needed to see in order to do what needed doing.

Red obscured everything. The speed it was all flying past spoke to his earth senses of gale force winds, but the pressure on his suit was little more than a windy day.

Not enough to affect the spacecraft.

Mars was obviously educating them early that this was not Earth. Not in any way shape or form.

Their clamber up the strut was partly a blind one, but they made it to the damaged side of the craft. Through a mixture of touch and virtual readout, it became clear that the outer hull had buckled, forcing the inner hull into the fuel tank. Most of it had held, but there was a small microfracture and the pressure differences were bubbling solid state fuel into gas at a rate that, if it didn’t deplete the tank, would likely cause an explosion that would solve all their problems with a history-making finality.

Jeff climbed up beside Lee as he fumbled at his tool kit. The tank was dislodged off its mounts, something they would need to remedy later, but it was still inset from the hull.

Jeff put his body in position to block the main flow of the dust and wind, jamming himself up against the still warm hull of his ship.

A little less dust swirled over the bubbling crack and Lee didn’t hesitate. Before Jeff could blink, gell bondtape landed smoothly over the area, the engineer sealing it with an electronic nudge from a set-wand. The electricity lined molecules up like soldiers and locked them in place bonding them to whatever the tape was adhered to. They had used the same stuff on Alfie two years ago when one of their habitats had tried to make one with the lack of lunar atmosphere.

An extremely simple solution for a very dangerous problem.

His heart, still adrenalin-fueled, refused to believe the danger was over.

As if reading Jeff’s thoughts, Lee smirked at him through the haze. “Never leave home without it.” A sigh as he ran a gloved hand over the seal. “This should hold for the short term. Once we are sure the strut is stabilised, I’ll give it a good going over. Hopefully, we can lose this storm in the process.”

Jeff would have liked to claim it couldn’t blow forever, but both of them knew Mars storms could be unpredictable and last for months if they so chose to.

Lee ran a scanner over the strut’s connection to the launcher. How the hell the engineer could see the readouts, Jeff didn’t know.

For all future excursions to the Red Planet, Jeff was going to recommend helmet based heads-up displays.

“She’s safe for now. A little bent, but she isn’t going to fall over. Hopefully, once we get out some of the heavy lifting equipment we can bend her back into shape if we need to.” Lee stood up. “Hull patching is going to be an ass, though.”

Jeff’s lips thinned and he dropped a hand onto his friend’s shoulder. “One thing at a time. We’ve got this, Lee.”

Lee grunted. “How the hell do you keep spinning the optimism, Jeff?”

A snort. “What? You’d prefer doom and gloom?” He shuffled back towards the ladder. “That’s it, Lee, we’re never leaving this god forsaken rock. Welcome to your new home.” He raised up his hands and as if the gods declared him some kind of Moses for that very moment, the dust clouds parted as if they were a red sea of sand. Sol, so much smaller this far away, poked its weak light through the hazy atmosphere and lit up the bare red rocks of their temporary home. While on one side, the billowing wall of dust storm swirled on its way, on the other red mountains rose up to a weak blue-red sky.

Lee shifted down beside him. “You know, I figured you had an agreement with the gods of physics, but isn’t this a little ridiculous?”

Jeff was too captivated with the view to respond.

Cornerstone was on the plateau they had been simulating for months on end. She stood tall and proud, if a little crooked and pinker than her promo shots.

“We made it.” The words fell from his lips.

Lee clung to the ladder beside him. “Yeah, that we did.”

Sunlight flickered weakly in the atmosphere and a gust of wind dragged more dust across the view.

Jeff shifted. “We better get inside before that mess starts up again. Take advantage of being able to see where we are going.”

Lee didn’t respond immediately, his eyes combing the jagged horizon. “Thanks, Jeff.”

A frown. “For what?”

“Getting us here.”

“It was a group effort, Lee, you know that. Couldn’t have done it without the team. Couldn’t have done it without you. Hell, you just patched a hole that could have blown us up.”

Lee grunted.

“Are you guys going to hang outside all day, or do we have to guess the sitrep?” Berry’s tone was tight.

“Roger, Berrenger. Situation secure. On our way back in.”

It wasn’t until they reached the elevator that he realised exactly what had happened.

And who he was.

By the doors, protected by the shadow of the lowered module was a single footprint that hadn’t been blown away by the wind.

“Aw, hell.”

Lee, as always, stepped up beside him. “Yeah. I guess that makes you the first man to walk on Mars.”

-o-o-o-

Ju was furious. “It was Kate’s right to be the first!”

The vacs in the airlock had sucked everything off their suits to the point Lee was surprised his hair wasn’t standing on end despite the helmet.

As it was, his hackles were somewhere near orbit as they stood in the conference room that doubled as a mess. “And what exactly do you think we were supposed to do? The ship was going to explode.” It was simple to Lee. Sure, he was all for equality, it was a given, but they would’ve been all equally dead if he and Jeff hadn’t done what they did.

“You didn’t give us a chance!”

“I’m the engineer here, Zhang. There wasn’t time! The decision was made and we are alive because of it.”

“Then why weren’t you first, Taylor? Why the hell was Tracy even out there? He’s not the engineer!”

Beside Lee, Jeff straightened. “Standard procedure, Zhang. We work in pairs. If you think I was going to let Lee go out in that on his own, you’ve been serving while wearing a blindfold.”

The short, dark-haired woman stepped up to the Major, her eyes fiery. “It was Kate’s place in history and you stole it!”

Lee flared. “We did what was necessary! This was not a publicity grab, for Christ’s sake! It didn’t even occur to us until we were returning. It was about saving our lives, Zhang. How can you possibly think it was anything else?”

“Because it always is.” She waved a hand at Jeff. “Always the hotshot. Always the first. Always the hero. Do you ever think, Tracy? Do you ever think about those you barrel past?”

Jeff glared down at the meteorologist. “I will not apologise for my achievements, Zhang. This was an honest to god accident.”

“Due to decisions made by you.”

“What the hell, Zhang?!” Lee pushed forward. That was taking it too far.

“We should never have tried to land in that dust storm. We should have waited it out.”

“You said we could take it!”

“But it wasn’t my decision, was it?” Her tone was a positive hiss at Jeff.

“Screw you, Zhang-“

“Taylor!”

“Jeff-“

The man was still the damn tall walking wall when he wanted to be. “Lee, stop.” He glared at Ju. “I will not apologise for my command decisions either, Zhang. What was done, is done.” His stance softened as he turned to Berry.

She had been ominously quiet the entire time.

Jeff sighed. “I’m sorry, Kate.”

The red-haired astrogeologist straightened away from the bulkhead, her arms still folded across her chest. Lee had always liked Berry. She had her head on much straighter than Ju ever did.

Ju was like a terrier with a bone.

The bone variety today was definitely Jeff-flavoured.

But there was only kindness in Berry’s eyes as she looked up at the Major. “This sucks, Jeff, it really does.” She looked down a moment. “But it is what it is and I guess it was what it was meant to be.” A shrug. “I suppose I’ll have to settle for third on Mars. Still pretty momentous, I think.”

“Kate, it doesn’t have to be that way.” Jeff took a step towards her. “It’s not official. It was a stupid repair. We can do the ceremonial step onto the planet anyway. No one has to know.”

Her head tilted to one side. “So, the ship miraculously healed itself?”

“Berry-“

She closed the gap between them, placing a hand on his arm. “Jeff, honestly, it’s not what is important here. You took the first step. We still have plenty of others that need to be taken. My ego can keep.”

Zhang flared again. “Kate, this was for women-“

“Ju, enough. It doesn’t matter! Humans have just landed on Mars, for god’s sake. I would have thought we would be a little less worried about the gender of the person taking the first step and more worried about the fact we did it without blowing up.”

“It was supposed to be you.” Ju wilted in defeat under Berry’s glare.

“Well, it was Jeff, and I think he is no less deserving than any of us.”

Jeff’s voice was quiet. “Are you sure, Kate?” The use of her first name was a rarity for the major, there was a friendship between those two almost as long as the one between Jeff and Lee. Hell, if Jeff hadn’t met Lee’s sister, Lucy, the engineer wondered what might have eventuated in that department.

Not that he had ever had to worry about that. Jeff was a complete sop for Lucy. His sis had the man wrapped around her little finger.

If that made Lee feel just that touch more protective of the crazy pilot, then so be it.

Kate straightened, her shoulders strong. “I’m sure.” Then her lips curled up a little. “Besides, my lines were so much more elegant than ‘Stick close, Lee. I’d hate to lose you in this.’”

Jeff snorted and shrugged. “If I’m going to make history gotta make sure my best friend is with me.”

Zhang made a disgusted sound and stormed out of the room.

Shoulders dropping, Jeff sighed. “Guess I need to work on my phrasing.”

But Lee was too wrapped in the moment, a little too proud and grateful to care. “She’ll live.”

The grunt from Jeff reminded Lee that they still had months to share living quarters with the fiery Ju.

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her.” Berry squeezed Jeff’s arm before reaching out to Lee as well. “Thank you, both of you, for getting us down safely. We’re on Mars, guys. Let the party begin.”

The smile in her eyes was honest and ever so heartening.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Jeff Tracy #lee taylor #mars #callisto

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solarianvoidthearoace · 4 years ago

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Excerpt#1 from my JuPeter Vampire!AU

CN/TW: Alcohol mention, swearing, blood mention, gun threat, pub ambience (drunk background characters), minor emotional breakdown, Nureyev-typical (I hope, at least) flirting

Sinking deeper onto the table, ignoring his warming beer, Juno didn’t catch the heels drawing closer from his blind side.

“What’s a place like this doing with a wonderful lady like you?”, a soft, melodic voice carried over the chatter and ambience of the tavern. Groaning, Juno rightened himself,

“Place ain’t doing anything. And whatever you’re about to say next, no. No, I can get my own drink; yes, that seat is taken; no, I won’t be lonely tonight. And most of all, yes, you can fuck off.” His eye finally dragged higher than the edge of the table, focusing on a slim man clad in dark maroon, accentuated with the embroidery of roses. Letting his gaze wander higher, Juno froze in his seat.

“Hello Juno”, and promptly the man sat opposite him after all. Sucking in a deep breath, Juno felt his back go rigid,

“From the get-up I take it it’s Rose.” The man gave a short laugh, almost painfully stilted, and waved him off,

“Oh no, goodness no, I’m well known in this town. I just happen to be just back from a business trip. I mean, sure, I don’t go by the name of my grandfather, it’s Ransom for me, but asking around for me would actually get you somewhere in this particular town.“ Juno’s eyes narrowed,

“And why would that be? Last I remember you weren’t exactly an involved member of society.” Ransom waved the question away,

“I will be around to answer those questions you like to puzzle out so much. Atop the closest hill is the Nureyev estate and manor, after all. The more interesting, and I figure time-sensitive, question would be… what are you doing here, detective?” Juno tried not to get hung up on the casual use of the man’s birth name he had seemed so secretive about.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I said I was recuperating after a long job gone sour, would you?”, Ransom just tilted his head, in an almost bored gesture if Juno hadn’t known him.

“Right… It’s true, though”, Juno sighed and focused on the warm stale beer in his stein,

“I’m waiting for a pay-out and the way I know the Registry there might be one last job attached, so I didn’t want to get too comfortable in any area just yet. It’s not like I can go back to Hyperion. Rita, you remember her, is with me as well.” Ransom tilted his head the other way, resting it on his palm,

“So you finally did uproot yourself. Well, I don’t think it’s any difference to you but there isn’t any use hiding it either, this is the town I had been talking about back when we… when we were”, he simply finished. Juno raised a brow, he might have to pay more attention to this town Rita and he were staying in during daylight.

“What sort of job do you think you’ll have to do to bail yourself out for good?” Apparently the silence at their table had gone on too long for Ransom’s taste.

“Depends on whether this area is prone to vampires, if you remember my actual profession.” Ransom tensed under his utter boredom, short enough most people would have missed it. Most, except for Juno Steel.

“Yea, I know, the entire time you dragged me along fighting off that witch Miasma, not a single vampire. I’m well aware I must seem rather lousy.”

Before Ransom could answer, the upcoming praise of Juno’s professional skills already readable on his face, a crash resounded from the bar.

Some drunkard apparently hadn’t just crashed his almost-empty stein, attempting to swap it with some other patron’s, he also managed to drag his arm through the shards and add his blood to the seeping puddle of beer. The bar-dame and apparently owner of the place seemed ready to swear up a storm, which made Juno tense. Still, his suddenly drawn-up shoulders were nothing compared to Ransom.

The man went rigid, his jaws clenched and his hands cramped around the edge of the table. When he opened his eyes after a deep breath, prying his fingers from the wooden tabletop, Juno caught a glimpse of his pupils being dilated.

His inquiry whether Ransom felt okay didn’t make it past his lips before the man had abandoned the table and shoved his way to the back-entrance. Even more confused than he was to see Ransom in this town in the first place, Juno slowly got up and went to pay his tab.

Whatever was up with his former… his past… with Ransom, Juno decided to leave the tavern out the front and round its outside, wandering casually to the alleyway where the back-entrance lead.

What he saw there made him grasp for his holster, as well as the stake he usually would have carried strapped to his thigh. While his left hand came up empty, he did manage to aim his revolver at the silhouette. The silhouette that was hunched slightly, in the shifting shadows of the alleyway, grasping at something small. Whatever it was, the figure stood cradling it with something vicious dripping from their face.

Sending up a quick prayer to whoever listened, that today may be a day his aim wasn’t as shot as it still was on some days, Juno steadied his revolver with his left. Having been a vampire hunter as long as he was, Juno could distinguish the way blood flowed and dripped even in twilight conditions.

“Don’t move!”, he clicked the safety off his revolver now that he had the thing’s attention,

“Hands up! Slowly!” The figure complied, raising their hands and showing off what they were holding. A flask glinted in the sparse light. Or maybe it was small enough to count as a vial. Calming down that they weren’t armed beyond their obvious nature, Juno scanned the rest of the alleyway. The two of them were alone, no body laying nearby either. Taking that in, Juno remembered himself. Why he was standing in this alleyway in the first place.

“He said he’s known well enough around here, didn’t he?”, he muttered to himself, not that he had any illusion it would pass by the predator’s hearing. Then, louder, directed at them again,

“Where is Ransom? He left out that backdoor!”

“So you sneaking in and out of doors is fine but woe is me when someone else leaves you behind?”, the figure laughed so mirthlessly it send chills through Juno.

“That’s not… He looked ill, sick somehow. And while I know he can fend for himself he never believed me about your kind. I’m not taking chances, letting a vampire go when they might have attacked a friend of mine.” The silhouette perked up at that,

“Friend of yours? Were the two of you friendly, recently?”, a teasing lilt replacing that mirthlessness.

“Whatever”, Juno snapped,

“He’s sick, you’re dangerous, I’m armed. Should be all that matters.” The figure shrugged, their hands still over their head,

“Have it your way. Silver bullets, I take it? You do know a crossbow is more versatile in regards to ammunition a hunter might need?”, they sounded as if they were trying for smalltalk. Except their voice was pressed, somehow, as if they were altering their cadence, practiced but forcefully disguising their voice.

“What’s it to you?”, Juno stepped towards them. Just a precaution, he told himself, in case his aim might falter for real. Curiously enough, they copied the length of his gait and stepped away. Before Juno could do more than huff, they spoke up,

“If we are to continue this little chat, may I ask that I be allowed to wipe my face? I’m sure you can see I happened to spill some of my nutrition.”

Juno faltered, his revolver sinking just a bit. How was this vampire so casual about being caught in the act of drinking blood? Sure, it was from a vial, might not even be human, but they hadn’t tried deflecting at all.

“You know what? I’m hopefully out of the job by the end of this week anyway, and since you seem more interested in chatting away…”, Juno sighed, clicking the safety back in place. That, as he was immediately made aware, had been a mistake. The vampire was on him in a blink. Juno was turned around, his chest and cheek pressed to the nearest wall, before he managed to get so much as another glimpse at the vampire that had finally left the shadows.

“You trust some vampire in a dingy back alley not to rip your throat out, just because you tell him you’re about to retire anyway? My my, and here I was thinking your sense for self-preservation had improved, it being a requirement for vampire hunters and all that”, it was a growl, low and hinting at danger yet to come.

And quite frankly, too close - for a vampire of all beings - to Juno’s jugular for him to be comfortable with it. Except for one little detail. Juno’s brain slowly catching up on these off-hand remarks the vampire had thrown at him.

“Nurey-?”, he was broken off by the man’s lips on his cheek.

“I’m not sorry you found out like this, if I’m being honest. Even though I probably should have attempted a fight to scare you off and to get away without you connecting the dots”, his arm across Juno’s throat loosened the same moment his head sagged onto the hunter’s shoulder,

“Juno?” The hunter had fallen silent, even though he did relax into the man’s half-embrace. After a moment, he felt Juno shudder and slump. Concerned, he maneuvered Juno to turn in his arms, to face him, but before he could so much as replace his hands on the hunter’s shoulders, Juno had fallen into him.

With Juno pressed even closer to him, he felt that shudder again and realised it was sobs wracking through the hunter.

#jupeter #TPP fanfic #junoverse fanfic #peter nureyev #Juno Steel #juno steel series #Au fanfiction #Juno Steel AU #tpp jupeter #vampire Au #vampire #vampire!nureyev #juno x peter #peter ransom

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itsadamcole · 4 years ago

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graduation day pt. 5

fem!reader x finn balor

it’s reader and Finn’s wedding day, and things don’t go exactly as planned ... “i do”

word count: 6.2k+

warnings: fluff, smut, dirty talking, nsfw, angst, jealousy

— final part ... lots of drama. let’s get it —

masterlist || part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 || request an imagine here

~ 18+ content below - read at your own risk ~

"Y/N," your mother says to you. "Sweetie. Wake up. We have our spa appointments this morning and we have to get our hair and nails done."

You let out a quiet groan and say, "I wanna sleep."

Your mom says, "It's your wedding day, honey. You have to get up."

Your eyes open and see the wedding dress you picked out a few months ago hanging in a bag on the closet door in the bridal suite of the hotel you're staying in.

"It's my wedding day," you say, quickly sitting up.

Laughing, your mother says, "Yes, it's you're wedding day."

It's been just over a year and a half since Finn proposed to you. You would have gotten married sooner. You were supposed to marry at the beginning of the year, but you and Finn welcomed a little bean about six months ago so you both had decided to push off the wedding a few months.

On Valentine's Day, Alania Riley Balor was born. Your daughter. Yours and Finn's daughter. It's been six months and a half months or so since the birth of your daughter and it's now your wedding day. August 25th, 2022.

You roll out of bed, stretching and yawning. Your mom holds out a folded piece of paper and says, "Finn slid this under my room door and it said to give this to you when I saw you today.

After rubbing your eyes and yawning one more time, you take the piece of paper and read it to yourself.

My love, I can't wait to marry you and see you in the dress. I've been looking forward to it since we pushed off the wedding so we could get used to parenthood. I love you. I'll see you later. - Finn

You smile and your mom says, "Alright, let's get going. We're going to be late for our appointment."

You get changed into a white tank top and tight black short shorts. You put flip flops on your feet and you tie your hair up into a messy bun before you leave.

The spa feels nice. You get massages and face masks. Then you and your mom leave to get your hair and nails done for the wedding tonight.

You get your hair curled and half of it is put up. A flower crown is put in your hair. Little white flowers are put in your hair. You get a french manicure. A white tip with a band of silver separated the white tip and light pink polish.

It's about two in the afternoon so you head back to the bridal suite.

The ceremony is taking place by a beach on the hotel property. Palm trees are everywhere, grass under your feet. White rose petals will be the 'aisle' with white chairs on either side of the aisle.

The reception is taking place in the ballroom of the hotel, then you and Finn are going to Ireland. You've wanted to see Finn's home country and it didn't take very long to convince him to honeymoon in Ireland. He's homesick so it really took you about five minutes to get him to say yes.

As your mom does your makeup, your dad FaceTimes your phone. You answer and see that your dad is holding Alania. "Hey," you say. "What's up?"

"Alania is being fussy," your father says. "I think she misses her mom because when I tried to FaceTime Finn, his voice did nothing. I thought maybe if you talked to her then she might react differently to yours."

You think for a second before you say, "Here, let me sing her a lullaby over the phone. Can you put it closer to her?"

After moving the phone closer to your daughter, you sing a little lullaby to her. Her fussiness turns into coos and you smile when you're done.

"Thank you, Y/N," your dad says quietly.

You say, "You're welcome, Dad. Finish getting ready."

He hangs up the phone and your mom finishes up your makeup.

There's a knock on the door of your suite and you go to answer the door, tightening the tie around your waist. You open the door to see Veronica standing in your doorway. She's standing in front of you in a white dress. It's a short white dress with a poofy skirt and tight top with spaghetti strap sleeves. A glittery fabric covers the breast area to the waist.

"Hi, bestie," she says, sarcastically. "Do you like my dress? I wore it especially for you."

You raise your eyebrows and you say, "You look like you're wearing a homecoming dress and you're literally almost forty. Well, you might as well be in high school with the way you're acting."

She glares at you and says, "It's better than that dress you're planning on wearing tonight."

Sighing, you say, "Sure. Whatever you say."

Veronica laughs and says, "Look at the dress. I dare you." You blink at her and walk over to the dress in the bag that hangs by the closet.

You unzip the bag, revealing a stained and cut up wedding dress. Your eyes widen and you say, "Veronica, what the hell? You're really that low to cut up my wedding dress?"

Your mother says, "That's it. Get out." She's talking to Veronica. "Now."

She laughs and says, "Enjoy your day with no dress." She waves at you and smiles before she walks away. Your mother shuts the door.

Panic begins to set in. Your wedding dress was destroyed. You bought it yourself. It was simple and cute but cheap. You were so proud that you could afford it on your own.

It was a beautiful white gown. Form-fitting with a slight flare at the knees. The dress has sheer, off the shoulder sleeves. Plain and simple but cute. Now it's all cut up and stained with who knows what.

You begin to hyperventilate and cry.

There are about two hours before your wedding. You have no idea what you are going to do. You can't walk down the aisle in your robe.

Your mom says, "Hey, Y/N. Relax. We'll run to the dress shop and get you a dress."

"That was my dress," you cry. "I loved that dress. It was the one thing I could afford on my own. Finn paid for everything else so I wanted to pay for my dress. I was so proud of it."

She looks at you and says, "I know. I know you were honey. We can go get you a dress really quick that you'll love. There's a shop right down the street. You do need something to wear tonight down the aisle."

You look at your mother and nod. You know she's right. You do need something to wear tonight. "Okay," you say, sniffing. "Let's go."

***

You have about three hours, maybe less, to find a dress that you love enough to wear down the aisle.

After trying on four dresses at the bridal shop, you start to breakdown in the dressing room. Nothing seems to be going right today. Veronica showed up in a white dress and destroyed your wedding dress. She's playing the jealous girl who would do anything to get the groom.

You're about to give up when your phone starting ringing and you see Finn's contact pop up. He's crying to call you. You clear your throat and answer it. "Hi," you squeak.

"Baby, is everything okay?" Finn asks. You can hear the concern in his voice. "Ver came by my room and said ya were crying."

Anger rises inside you and you say, "She destroyed my dress, Finn. It's all cut up and stained. She was wearing a white dress when she came by my suite. She's ruining the day, Finn. I'm trying to find another dress but I don't know if I can find one in time. There are like two hours until the ceremony starts. My hair is a mess, my makeup is a mess, and my dress is ruined."

Finn says, "It's okay, princess. We can push the ceremony back a little bit until ya find a dress. Nothing has to be ruined, my love."

You pout and look at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are red and your cheeks are puffy. Hearing Finn's voice has calmed you down enough that you sigh.

"You're right," you say. "I'm sorry to dump all this on you right now."

Finn says on the other line, "I'm supposed to be there for ya, Y/N. Ya don't have to be sorry. I'll leave ya to find your dress. Tell me if I need to push back the ceremony a little bit and I will. I've waited too long to marry ya but I want ya to make sure ya have a dress ya love, princess."

An idea pops into your head when he calls you 'princess'. You say, "You won't have to. I love you. I'll see you in two hours."

"I love ya too," Finn says before you hang up.

You pop your head out of the dressing room. Your mom and the consultant stand outside the small room.

Both of them look at you as you ask, "Do you have any like ball gowns? Like a poofy skirt? Something that makes me look like a princess?"

The consultant says, "I think we have something like that. One second." She disappears.

Your mother asks, "Why something that makes you look like a princess?"

You smile and say, "Finn just called me and he called me a princess. It gave me an idea and it's something I could do to surprise him."

She smiles as the consultant comes back with a dress. You take it and put the dress on.

It's a perfect fit and doesn't need any drastic alterations. The top of the dress is a plain white top with a sweetheart neckline. There are no straps on the dress. There is a sparkly silver belt around your waist and from the waist down is a poofy skirt with layers of tulle. You spin around a bit and look in the mirror.This is the dress. You love it and it makes you look like a princess.

You leave the room in the dress so your mother and consultant can see the dress on you.

When your mother sees you in the dress, she gasps. "You look beautiful, sweetie," she says. The consultant agrees.

"It fits almost perfectly," you say. "I love it."

The consultant says, "It's half off too. Only ninety-five dollars."

You smile and say, "I'll take it."

***

There are thirty minutes until the ceremony begins when you get back to the hotel. Your mother and one of your bridesmaids work together to fix your hair and makeup. It doesn't take too long.

They help you in the dress, zipping you up and fixing the skirt. You put on your heels. Your bridesmaid hands you your bouquet of white and light pink roses as your mother takes off the flower crown and replaces it with a tiara with a veil attached. The veil has a small train.

Ten minutes left. You rush out of the room to the area where the best men and bridesmaids are all lined up.

Finn's best friends, Kevin Owens and AJ Styles, both smile when they see you. Kevin says, "I thought you had another dress."

"I did," you say as you line up behind AJ. "A jealous bitch cut it up and stained it so I went out and bought this."

AJ says, "Well, you look good. Finn's lucky."

Your father walks in holding Alaina and you say, "No, I'm lucky." You smile.

Alania has Finn's beautiful blue eyes but has your Y/H/C colored hair. Her cheeks are a rosey red color and she's in a cute light pink dress, matching the color of your bridesmaids' dresses.

Your father says, "I thought I'd give you the option to hold Nia instead of the bouquet. Actually, Finn told me he'd love to see you walk down the aisle with Nia the other day when we were out drinking. She's fed and burped so she shouldn't be throwing up."

You had never even thought about that. You smile and nod, throwing your bouquet of flowers onto the small couch. Your father hands you your daughter as the music plays for the best men and bridesmaids as they walk down the aisle. You hold your daughter in your left arm as you hook your right arm with your father's.

Alania's head rests on your shoulder as she sleeps peacefully. You start to walk out of the room with your father.

All eyes are on you when you come into view. Finn stands under a white arch decorated with white flowers and branches. A smile lights up his face when he sees you with Alania.

Carefully, you walk down the aisle. Before you know it, you're standing in front of Finn. You hand Alania off to your father when you get to Finn. He sits next to your mother. The crowd sits down.

You meet Finn's eyes as the official says, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here to witness the matrimony of Finn Balor and Y/N L/N. If anyone should think that these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Not surprisingly, Veronica stands up and objects. You and Finn both sigh.

She was never invited to the wedding. She came as a plus one, with Seth Rollins.

"This is ridiculous," she says. "She marries her former teacher and I get fired for saying how inappropriate the whole relationship is."

Something in you finally snaps. You look directly at Veronica as you say, "You got fired because you're literally obsessed with Finn. You've stalked him, literally to the point of scaring our child. We've both taken pity on you because you're so lonely that you've gotten to the point where you have to stalk my fiancée. Guess what, sweetheart. He's getting married. Right now. To me. You lost your chance. Grow up, leave us alone, and find someone else because Finn is mine. Forever. Literally."

The crowd cheers as you go off on Veronica. You wait a second before you say, "Oh, and by the way Veronica, Finn and I had sex on your desk in your classroom when you went to lunch one day. Remember when I told you that a student came in and destroyed it? Yeah, that wasn't a student. That was me and Finn when he destroyed my insides. Sorry to my parents and Finn's parents for having to hear that."

Everyone laughs and Finn smiles. "That's my girl," he says.

You look back up at Finn as Veronica stomps away. A few people cheer and clap when she walks off.

The official says, "Alright." He gives a nervous laugh. "Do we have any vows written that you two would like to say to each other?"

Finn nods and says, "Yeah, I do."

Everyone quiets down and he takes your hands.

"Y/N L/N, my princess," he begins. "Our relationship was far from normal. When we met, I was your teacher and ya were my student. We were never meant to end up together but here we are. We are here in front of friends and family, who accept our relationship, and our daughter, who is the only person I love just as much as I love ya. The day Alania came into our lives, I was so happy. I had never experienced such a level of happiness until she was born. I will love and protect both of ya as long as I shall live."

The crowd 'awes' at the same time. You smile and tear up a bit as Finn recites his vows.

It takes everything in you not to kiss him. Not yet.

"Y/N?" the official asks.

You sigh and say, "Mr. Balor." That gets a little laugh out of Finn. "When we met, I was just a college student in my final semester of school. I entered that semester not knowing that my entire life would change. You were my English professor. You were the 'hot' teacher that everyone had a little crush on. I had a crush on you from day one, I won't lie. When we finally were able to be together, I had no idea that we'd end up here. As soon as we were together, I knew that I would never be able to spend another day without you in my life. I'm excited for our future together. I'm excited to spend it with you and Alania. I'll love you forever, Finn. That's a promise I intend to keep."

The crowd sighs and Finn wipes away a makeup stained tear that managed to roll down your cheek. You let out a little giggle and lean into Finn's touch.

The official smiles and says, "The rings, please."

AJ hands the official the rings. He hands you Finn's ring and hands Finn your ring.

The official says, "Do you, Finn Balor, take thee Y/N L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, til death do you part?"

Finn maintains eye contact with you as he says, "I do."

He slides the silver wedding band onto your left ring finger. You watch as he does.

You smile, looking back up at Finn, and the official asks, "Do you, Y/N L/N, take thee Finn Balor to be your lawfully wedded husband, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, til death do you part?"

"I do," you say, fighting back happy tears as you slide Finn's wedding band onto his finger.

The official smiles and says, "By the power invested in me by the state of Florida, I now declare you man and wife. Finn, you may kiss your bride."

It takes less than one second for Finn's lips to attach to yours after that last statement. You throw your arms around Finn's neck as you share your first kiss as husband and wife.

The crowd cheers as Finn pulls back. He smiles and you say, "I love you, Finn Balor."

"And I love ya, Y/B Balor," he says. You smile and lean up, kissing him again.

After a second, you pull back. Finn's parents and your parents walk up with Alania, who's now wide away. You smile as Finn offers her his finger and she takes it.

You hug your parents and Finn's parents. Finn's mom says, "Welcome to the family, Y/N."

You smile and say, "I'm happy to be here."

Finn's holding Alania now and you take in the sight of your new husband holding your daughter. She's playing with the flower in Finn's suit.

All of you walk back to the ballroom to get the reception started.

***

After dinner, it's all dancing. You dance with your father and Finn dances with his mother as other couples dance around you.

When dessert is served, and after you eat it, it's time for yours and Finn's first dance as a married couple.

"I'd like to invite the newlyweds to the dance floor for their first dance as husband and wife," the DJ says.

Finn takes your hand and the two of you walk to the dance floor. Thinking Out Loud by Ed Sheeran starts to play.

As you approach the center of the dance floor by yourself, Finn spins you around. You laugh and smile up at him as he takes you into his arms. His arms wrap around your waist and yours wrap around his neck. You close your eyes and rest your head on his chest.

The suit jacket has come off but he's still wearing his tie and his shirt is tucked into his dress pants.

He says, "Ya look beautiful tonight, baby. Absolutely stunning."

Your face turns red and you smile, looking up at him. "You're obligated to say that because we're married," you say, teasing him."

Finn says, "Oh shoot. Ya are right, because ya never looked beautiful when we were dating or engaged." He smiles. You giggle.

His eyes meet yours as the song and the dance continues.

You suddenly ask, "Would you want more kids one day? When Alania is a little older and doesn't always need our attention?"

Finn nods and says, "Of course. Maybe when Alania starts school then we can try for another baby. That'll give us about three or four years."

You smile and continue swaying with Finn to the music.

You're both quiet for a second before Finn says, "I can't wait to spend forever with ya, Y/N. I've been looking for ya for years and now ya are in my arms."

"You're stuck with me, Finn," you giggle. "You get me for every Thanksgiving, every Christmas, every birthday, and every day in between for the rest of our lives."

He smiles and says, "That sounds so good."

You smile up at him before you lean up, kissing Finn. He continues to smile into the kiss as he kisses you back.

Your fingers slide into his hair as he holds you close to him.

After a minute, the song ends and other people come onto the dance floor. A Thousand Years by Christina Perri comes on next.

"Did ya really have to announce to everyone that we had sex on Ver's desk though?" Finn asks, pulling away from the kiss.

You laugh and say, "Those words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. It's my desk now anyway."

Finn laughs and says, "That's true."

***

After the throwing of the bouquet, which one of your bridesmaids catch, you head off to get changed into something more comfortable for your flight over to Ireland.

You keep with the white theme and put on a short white dress with a plunging v-neck that exposes a lot of your cleavage and an open back. The skirt falls just passed your butt and is very flowy. You wear tan wedge sandals and tie your hair up in a ponytail.

You meet Finn in the lobby of the hotel. Everyone is outside waiting to throw their rice and say goodbye.

Finn's eyes land on you and says, "That dress is gonna look so good when it hits the floor tonight."

Laughing, you say, "It's tomorrow in Ireland."

"Oh, shush," he says, smiling. "Let's go so we can say goodbye to everyone before our flight. Our passports and bags are in the car."

You nod, lacing your fingers with Finn's.

As soon as you walk through the doors, rice is thrown. You and Finn are both laughing as the crowd cheers and claps.

At the end of the crowd are both yours and Finn's parents, and Alania. You take your daughter and your mom says, "She'll be in good hands with us. You go have have lots of fun."

"She'll have lots of fun," Finn says. "I promise." He gently taps your butt and you gasp.

Your parents laugh and you look at Alania.

She coos, "Momma." You smile and fix her dress.

"Momma and dadda will be back soon, Nia," you say softly to her. "Grandmom and grandpop will take care of you."

Part of you has always hoped that Alania will have a broken Irish accent. You still have some hope that she'll have a broken Irish accent because Finn has an Irish accent. Finn's parents will be taking care of her with your parents while you and Finn are honeymooning in Ireland for the next two weeks so she'll still be exposed to the accent. You've even found yourself with a bit of an accent sometimes.

Finn says, "Y/N, we have a flight to catch." He kisses the top of Nia's head and you look up at him, nodding.

Your mom takes Alania back and you say goodbye to your parents before saying goodbye to Finn's.

He helps you into the passenger's seat of the car. You wave out the window at everyone as Finn gets into the car. He waves for a second before driving off.

Things settle down for you as Finn drives to the airport.

"Ya will love Ireland," Finn says. "They have such beautiful weather this time of year. I'm excited to show ya around the country. It's not a very big country and we're staying in the middle of it."

You smile and say, "You better take me to your hometown."

He pulls up to the airport and says, "My parents still live there and I have full permission to stay the night one night in my old room while we're in Ireland."

"Yay," you say, smiling as Finn parks the car.

***

You left Orlando International at eleven at night, making at stop at JFK airport in New York before flying to Dublin. It's about four in the morning when you land in Ireland, and you've been on flights for close to 12 hours. Timezones are weird.

Finn drives from Dublin airport to the Wineport Lodge, which takes about ninety minutes. So it's about six in the morning when you get to the hotel. You're extremely jet lagged and tired.

You and Finn check into the honeymoon suite before making you're way up to the second floor.

The suite is a large room with a large bed facing the wall of windows and a balcony. There's a desk attached to the wall and a cushioned chair against the little wall separating the doors leaving to the balcony and a set of windows. There's a little table and two chairs on the other side of the bed.

The room is in the shape of a large triangle and the walls are a tan color. The rest of the room fits the tan aesthetic of the walls.

The bathroom has a stand up shower with a glass door, a large bathtub, a counter with two sinks, and a toilet.

As soon as you reach the bed, you collapse onto it. Finn laughs. "Ya seem tired," he says.

"I am," you sigh. "Timezones suck and I'm exhausted."

He smiles and says, "Get some sleep, princess. Ya will need it. I'll wake ya in a few hours after I unpack."

You say, "I'll unpack my things first." You take your suitcase and begin to fold clothes and hang them up in the small closet. Finn does the same.

It's seven in the morning when you're finally able to sleep. Finn falls asleep soon after you do.

It seems like you only slept for two minutes when Finn wakes you. It's about four in the afternoon now. He wakes you up with kisses so you're not too mad.

"Wake up, baby," he mumbles against your cheek. "It's dinnertime. I ordered us some room service and it should be here soon. I figured ya would want to stay in tonight."

Your eyes flutter open and you smile when you see Finn. "Staying in sounds nice," you mumble, still half asleep. You yawn and sit up in bed.

Finn smiles and says, "I hope ya slept well. Ya seemed to sleep well."

Yawning, you say, "Like a baby. I haven't slept like that since before Alania."

He laughs and says, "I'm glad ya slept well."

A few moments later, someone knocks on the door. Finn answers it in his loose black and white sport shorts and a white t-shirt. A cart with food is wheeled into the room and the door closes.

"So we have some Irish stew with Irish potatoes and cabbage," Finn says. "This is colcannon and this is soda bread. I promise it tastes better than most of it looks."

You smile as Finn puts some food in a plate for you. You've made your way to the table while he explained the meal. You eat a bit of it and hum. "This is really good," you say. "Especially the potatoes but I'm not surprised there."

Finn laughs and eats at the table with you. "I'm glad ya like it," he says, eating some of the Irish stew. "I've missed Irish style dishes, especially from Ireland. It's some of the best food I've ever eaten."

You nod in agreement. "It's definitely some of the best food I've had," you says finishing up what's on the plate.

Finn smiles and finishes up what's on his plate.

By this time, it's about five. The sun has begun to set and you look out at the view over the lake of the setting sun.

Your new husband walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your shoulders.

The two of you stand at the window and watch the sun set. "Ireland is beautiful," you sigh. "And I've only seen a little bit of it."

Finn kisses your jaw and says, "You're more beautiful than Ireland."

You giggle and look back at Finn. He's looking down at you. "And you're so cliche," you say.

"But ya love me," he says, a smile on his lips.

You peck his lips and say, "I do love you. I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

Finn laughs and says, "That's very true."

He leans in and kisses you softly. You kiss him back, turning in his arms. You grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him closer to you.

You pull back after a second and say, "I have a surprise for you. You have to give me a second to get it ready though. And you have to close your eyes."

Finn smiles and says, "I like surprises."

"You'll definitely like this one," you giggle, slipping away. His back is turned to you so you grab the lingerie and walk into the bathroom.

After stripping out of your dress, you put on the red two piece lingerie. The top is completely see through except for the cups, which push your breasts up. The top ends right past your butt and you wear a pair of red lace panties underneath.

Sighing, you leave the bathroom and walk back into the main room. Finn's still looking out the window so you clear your throats to get his attention.

Your new husband turns around and his eyes widen when he sees you. "Damn, baby," he says.

Slowly and almost seductively, you walk over to him. You run your fingers up his chest and ask, "Like what you see?"

Finn nods and says, "One hundred percent."

"I thought I'd surprise you a little bit," you say. "Give you the wedding night you deserve even though it's not technically our wedding night because timezones are weird."

He licks his bottom lip and he says, "It can be whatever night ya want it to be, baby."

You look up at Finn and say, "Then let's make it a good night.”

Finn's lips crash to yours. The kiss is intense and passionate from the start. Your tongues are already in each other's mouths as you both stumble toward the bed. You pull off Finn's t-shirt and throw it to the floor. He takes off your top and it joins his shirt on the ground.

You're pushed back onto the bed and Finn crawls onto you, hovering over you. He lays between your legs and starts to kiss your neck, leaving a mark or two.

Soft sighs leave your lips as he marks up your neck. Your fingers are in his hair, running through his hair occasionally.

His lips trail down to your breasts, where he pays extra attention to them. More than he has before. He kisses them and sucks on the nipple. A moan escapes your lips, letting Finn know you like what he's doing.

You feel Finn spread your legs out a bit as he kisses down your stomach.

After you gave birth to Alania, you told Finn how self-conscious you felt because of the added baby weight. It's kept you from having sex a few times, but tonight, you almost embrace it.

Finn's told you how much he loves you and your body, no matter how it looked. He said that the baby weight made you look hotter. Those words ring in your head as Finn kisses down your stomach to the waistband of your panties.

It's been a while since you and Finn have been intimate. You both have been taking care of a newborn who likes to cry a lot at night and needs attention during the day.

Finn runs a finger over your clothed core, making you gasp and sigh. You bite your lip as you feel Finn push aside the fabric and start to rub your clit. Soft sighs escape your lips as his fingers are replaced with his tongue. Your eyes flutter closed and your sense of touch takes over.

He sucks on your clit and occasionally swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud.

After a moment of this, Finn literally rips off the panties. Your eyes open and you look down at your husband. "Finn!" you gasp. "Those were expensive!"

"Don't worry, princess," he coos. "I'll buy ya new ones." Then he pushes two fingers inside of you, making you moan softly.

You grasp onto the bedsheets as Finn moves his fingers. Soft moans continue escaping your lips and you bite on your bottom lip. Finn's mouth is back on your clit as he adds a third finger. A knot forms in your stomach and you feel your walls begin to clench around Finn's fingers.

"Finn," you whine. "Baby, I'm about to come."

He smirks before he says, "Come, princess. It won't be the last time I make ya come tonight."

His words are enough to push you over the edge. You release all over his digits. Finn continues moving his fingers, helping you ride out your high. You lay on your back, gasping for air as you come down off your climax.

Finn licks your comes and juices off his fingers before he stands up at the foot of the bed. You watch as he pulls off his shorts and boxers. His hard member slaps his stomach before he crawls back onto you. You cup Finn's face in your hands and kiss him softly. He kisses you back just as soft.

You slide your fingers into his hair and you smile into the kiss. "I love you," you mumble against his lips. "You always know how to make me feel good."

He smiles into the kiss and says, "It's my job as your husband to make ya feel good, baby." He leans down and starts to kiss your neck again. You sigh softly.

"Finn," you sigh. "I need you. Please." You're almost whining.

Your husband smiles against your neck as he begins to run his tip through your soaked folds. You moan softly, leaning your head back against the bed.

Finn slides his erect member into you slowly. You moan a little louder, your mouth forming a little 'o'. He thrusts slowly and shallowly into you.

He buries his face into your neck and you're moaning in his ear. "Faster, Finn," you gasp. "Please."

"As ya wish, princess," he gasps as he begins to move faster and deeper into you. Your moans get louder and you drag your nails down his back, definitely leaving scratch marks.

Finn groans in your ear as he moves even deeper and harder into you. You gasp as his tip grazes your g-spot. "Finn!" you cry out, digging your nails into his back.

Your husband says, "Baby, keep scratching up my back and people will start to get concerned if they see it."

You stop scratching up his back and grip his upper arms instead as he moves harder. You wrap your legs around Finn's waist as he moves, almost digging your heels into his lower back.

Finn kisses you passionately as you both are pulled closer to your orgasms.

Neither of you says anything as the room is filled with your moans and the sound of skin slapping together.

He reaches his climax first, releasing inside of you. You soon follow him, releasing around Finn. You lay on your back and Finn collapses on top of you.

Your mind begins to race, thinking about how you got to this moment.

When you told Finn how you felt on graduation day, you never thought that you would end up here. You never thought that you were going to end up married to Finn with a baby, all within two years. It's been a crazy two years.

Imagine what wouldn't have happened if you never told Finn how you felt before you graduated.

"Finn," you say, looking at your husband.

He looks up at you and says, "Hm?"

You smile and run your fingers through his hair, saying, "I am so in love with you."

Finn smiles up at you, saying, "I am so in love with you too."

The two of you share a kiss and the kiss turns into a night of sex and little makeout sessions. The night of sex and little makeout sessions turns into a lifetime of loving each other and making each other happy.

#finn balor imagine #finn balor fluff #finn balor smut #finn balor x reader #wrestling imagine #wrestling smut #wrestling angst #wwe imagine #wwe smut #wwe fluff #nxt imagine #nxt angst #nxt fluff #nxt smut #wedding imagine

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purplesunrisefanfic · 4 years ago

Note

Would you be willing to share a couple of YOUR Abby fantasies with us, your adoring, always horny, Abby simping fans?

Sure! And thank you, this was a fun ask ❤️💕💪

Abby Sexual Fantasties

(Abby/reader OR a mixture of Abby/author and Abby/GN!reader)

Fair warning, my fantasies are even more high-key kinky than my fics so major warning for very graphic and explicit sexual content, hardcore BDSM and arguable edgeplay. Also, as far I’m concerned Abby switches, don’t @ me about your HCs that she’s a rigid “top” or whatever else, @ me about your graphic sexual fantasies of Abby instead. 😈

I don’t want to warn in detail and thereby effectively imply I have caught everything that might need a warning because I fear I will miss something, so anyone who has specific triggers, please inbox me the specifics (Anon is on) and I’ll reply either saying this post is fine or with a redacted version suitable for you personally. And please do ask, I’m happy to help with this stuff. 💛

Gender and Bodies Note: I have written this in two different formats. The first was using “you” so it’s easier to reader-insert but the “you” is based on my fantasies, ie me and the body I have. I’m AFAB (and not knowingly intersex) with my original layout/plumbing and am comfortable with all the sex options my body has available. As far as I’m aware I don’t reference anything that couldn’t work the same for someone who has had a vaginoplasty, except that I talk about getting extremely wet beyond what might be possible for many vagina-havers. Maybe even most other vagina-havers tbh, bc I have a noted ability to get soaked way beyond what most people who self-lubricate can. It’s actually partly a coping thing that it so regularly features in my fantasies tbh because it helps to think of it in sexy way when the actual reality is that trying to get off is often like trying to build up friction on a freakin’ slip n’ slide! 😂

If you don’t want to read a “you” with such characteristics, scroll down and I’ll rewrite the necessary sections with an “I” so you can read these with an author-insert instead of a reader-insert. Look for a line made of emojis.

Reminder: App/mobile site = no read more breaks, don’t @ me, @ Tumblr bc it annoys the eff outta me too! (Tumblr, if you’re listening, please please fix this shite ASAP.)

Abby/Reader version (Warning: This version is body-specific):

Assuming, which I do, that @pinkchubbiebunnie is correct that Abby cannon has a hairpulling kink, (well spotted and much appreciated detail btw, thank you, Tanisha! Hope you enjoy these as well they seem like your sort of thing too 😍) Tying up Abby’s wrists with rope then braiding the rope into her hair and tying the rope onto her braid so that every time she’s overwhelmed with desire and starts to struggle against the rope it pulls her hair and teases her some more. Edging her like that until she breaks, her face covered in sweat while she pleads for release. Once you give it to her, you don’t stop and she struggles again when she becomes overwhelmed with pleasure, but struggling pulls on her hair again which intensifies the overstimulation. Tears in her eyes, she pleads for you to stop (but doesn’t actually safeword) so you offer/remind her that she can safeword. She breaks eye contact, her already flushed face starts burning and she shakes her head. You tilt her head back up, forcing eye contact. “So you don’t really want me to stop?” you question her evilly, just to make her say that she does want you to stop, but she doesn’t want you to have to do what she wants, she wants you free to ignore her. Her lip trembles when she tells you to use her how you please, breaking off mid-sentence to whimper, utterly overwhelmed because you haven’t let up on her clit this whole time. You make her come once more, and she finishes up an absolute mess. You think you ought to stop there, and lay off touching her further, until she softly asks you, in a small voice with pleasing eyes, to put on her strap and fuck her with that because she feels desperately empty after all that stimulation.

Flip-side: Her and Manny are ultimate bros and ultimate dom bros. You’re in a lifestyle BDSM situation with her and have to get yourself used to the fact that she’ll spank you in her shared apartment whenever you deserve it, whether Manny is around or not. Equally, you see some of Manny’s poly rotation facing the same from time-to-time. You don’t have orgies or even have sex when Manny is there (or vice versa) but they both feel discipline can’t wait. He’s respectful and super discreet about it, which low-key feels nice/destigmatising but high-key feels embarrassing as hell that he sees this stuff without ever bringing it up in conversation with you. You always wonder if part of his charismatic grin is teasing you that he knows what the “special necklace” you always wear really means. Oh, and between her muscles and her hands which are calloused from all the physical and soldier work, she can spank you hard and long without needing a paddle.

She’s figured out how to pack discreetly with something firm enough to fuck you with, and when you patrol together she’ll take any opportunity to give you a taste. She never lets you orgasm while you’re out and makes sure you’re always walking around soaked through your clothes and grateful your trousers don’t show an obvious colour difference. She always eats her supper (“supper” = British for evening meal.*) super slowly on those days. Anytime you seem like you might be relaxing during the meal or becoming less needy, she makes suggestive eye contact and squeezes one of your thighs between hers under the table, letting you feel the toy between her legs so she’s sure you don’t get a break from feeling desperate for her. You end up having all your patrol group believing your old minor knee injury (which doesn’t really cause you any proper trouble) always gets painful towards the end of patrol days because you always blame that for why you get noticeably quiet and jumpy by the end of a patrol day.

She’ll play really sadistically if you ask her to. (Content warning: this is about to get into the details of that). With that, she won’t use any bondage, just her raw ability to overpower you without even breaking out in a sweat. She’ll pinch and pull at your nipples, grab you by your hair and drag you around. She’ll absolutely cover your thighs in hickeys (and you tend to have to bite hard to leave a mark on a thigh) on the way to going down on you. She keeps her nails short for practical reasons, but she knows how to grab you and angle her fingers so you feel her nails sink into anyway. She picked up enough medical knowledge that she knows where and how she can safely hurt you. Abby can control herself and her voice so you get her steeliest tone and expression while she makes you scream and cry. That type of treatment makes your clit swell like hell and you get so wet from it that it’s obvious and embarrassing. And Abby loves to make that worse by drawing attention to how wet it makes you, taunting you about how much you like her brutal treatment. She’ll sometimes slip her fingers inside just to be able to coat them in your juices so she can smear them over your body. Smirking, she’ll coo about how you’ll let her do whatever the fuck she wants with you. If she feels like using her strap on, she’ll slip it inside you briefly at first, only to pull it out, shove you to your knees and make you suck it spotlessly clean of your own taste before she’ll consider actually fucking you with it. Afterwards, she cleans you up gently and tends to any little injuries (she never does anything dangerous). She’s takes hold of you a little possessively, reminding you that no one but her gets to treat you like that, and she’d kill anyone who tried. Then she showers you with love and praise, holding you protectively until you fall asleep.

💜💪💜💪💜💪💜💪💜💪💜💪💜💪💜💪💜💪💜💪💜💪💜💪

Abby/GN! Reader & Abby/Author version:

(Still uses “you” with one alteration to the original) Assuming, which I do that @pinkchubbiebunnie is correct that Abby cannon has a hairpulling kink, (well spotted and much appreciated detail btw, thank you, Tanisha!) Tying up Abby’s wrists with rope then braiding the rope into her hair and tying the rope onto her braid so that every time she’s overwhelmed with desire and starts to struggle against the rope it pulls her hair and teases her some more. Edging her like that until she breaks, her face covered in sweat while she pleads for release. Once you give it to her, you don’t stop and she struggles again when she becomes overwhelmed with pleasure, but struggling pulls on her hair again which intensifies the overstimulation. Tears in her eyes, she pleads for you to stop (but doesn’t actually safeword) so you offer/remind her that she can safeword. She breaks eye contact, her already flushed face starts burning and she shakes her head. You tilt her head back up, forcing eye contact. “So you don’t really want me to stop?” you question her evilly, just to make her say that she does want you to stop, but she doesn’t want you to have to do what she wants, she wants you free to ignore her. Her lip trembles when she tells you to use her how you please, breaking off mid-sentence to whimper, utterly overwhelmed because you haven’t let up on her clit this whole time. You make her come once more, and she finishes up an absolute mess. You think you ought to stop there, and lay off touching her further, until she softly asks you, in a small voice with pleasing eyes, to please use your fingers or whatever else you want to penetrate her because she feels desperately empty after all that stimulation.

(Unaltered from “you”/reader-insert bc no body-specifics) Flip-side: Her and Manny are ultimate bros and ultimate dom bros. You’re in a lifestyle BDSM situation with her and have to get yourself used to the fact that she’ll spank you in her shared apartment whenever you deserve it, whether Manny is around or not. Equally, you see some of Manny’s poly rotation facing the same from time-to-time. You don’t have orgies or even have sex when Manny is there (or vice versa) but they both feel discipline can’t wait. He’s respectful and super discreet about it, which low-key feels nice/destigmatising but high-key feels embarrassing as hell that he sees this stuff without ever bringing it up in conversation with you. You always wonder if part of his charismatic grin is teasing you that he knows what the “special necklace” you always wear really means. Oh, and between her muscles and her hands which are calloused from all the physical and soldier work, she can spank hard and long without needing a paddle.

She’s figured out how to pack discreetly with something firm enough to fuck me with, and when we patrol together she’ll take any opportunity to give me a taste. She never lets me orgasm while we’re out and makes sure I’m always walking around soaked through my clothes and grateful my trousers don’t show an obvious colour difference. She always eats her supper (“supper” = British for evening meal.*) super slowly on those days. Anytime I seem like I might be relaxing during the meal or becoming less needy, she makes suggestive eye contact and squeezes one of my thighs between hers under the table, letting me feel the toy between her legs so she’s sure I don’t get a break from feeling desperate for her. I end up having all our patrol group believing my old minor knee injury (which doesn’t really cause me any proper trouble) always gets painful towards the end of patrol days because I always blame that for why I get noticeably quiet and jumpy by the end of a patrol day.

She’ll play really sadistically if I ask her to. (Content warning: this is about to get into the details of that). With that, she won’t use any bondage, just her raw ability to overpower me without even breaking out in a sweat. She’ll pinch and pull at my nipples, grab me by my hair and drag my around. She’ll absolutely cover my thighs in hickeys (and you tend to have to bite hard to leave a mark on a thigh) on the way to going down on me. She keeps her nails short for practical reasons, but she knows how to grab me and angle her fingers so I feel her nails sink into anyway. She picked up enough medical knowledge that she knows where and how she can safely hurt me. Abby can control herself and her voice so I get her steeliest tone and expression while she makes me scream and cry. That type of treatment makes my clit swell like hell and I get so wet from it that it’s obvious and embarrassing. And Abby loves to make that worse by drawing attention to how wet it makes me, taunting me about how much I like her brutal treatment. She’ll sometimes slip her fingers inside just to be able to coat them in my juices so she can smear them over my body. Smirking, she’ll coo about how I’ll let her do whatever the fuck she wants with me. If she feels like using her strap on, she’ll slip it inside me briefly at first, only to pull it out, shove me to my knees and make me suck it spotlessly clean of my own taste before she’ll consider actually fucking me with it. Afterwards, she cleans me up gently and tends to any little injuries (she never does anything dangerous). She takes hold of me a little possessively, reminding me that no one but her gets to treat me like that, and she’d kill anyone who tried. Then she showers me with love and praise, holding me protectively until I fall asleep.

*While we’re on this subject, beware using the term “dinner” with Brits bc it’s a different meal in different regions. Somewhere like Newcastle, dinner = lunch whereas in London dinner = evening meal. 🤷‍♀️ We’re a weird country on many counts, that’s the tip of the iceberg.

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #abby tlou #tlou2 abby #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfic #my fic #my fics #well they’re kinda fics so for ease of filing #cw

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