#this is only halfway a coming out post. technically. since we already knew we were arospex | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tfwlawyers · 3 years

Note

Not me singlehandedly going through your entire parent trap au I’m so invested even though like half of the posts are from 2015 💀

THESE THINGS HAPPEN I get such a kick out of knowing this au is still making its rounds though 😭😭

and yk what just because I know I’m never going to do anything else with this, have a 3.5k attempted scramble of fic for this au I tried writing back also in 2015. i was even less of a writer back then than I am now so it’s absolutely terrible but have at thee

“Oh, wait...” Trucy winced and tapped her earring. Apollo’s eyes widened in realization. “Looks like we have one more thing to do tonight - it’ll be super quick, I promise.”

“Oh no,” Apollo said, visibly paling, “there’s no way you’re doing that to me-”

“Then cutting my hair was a total waste,” Trucy huffed, tugging at a newly shorn lock, “because there’s no way I can go to camp with pierced ears and come home without. Come on, Polly, where’s your sense of adventure? It’s just one little pinch!”

“Just one?” he asked hesitantly, eyes now trained on the sharp needle laying on the table.

Trucy paused. “Well... I guess it’s technically two. I really only wear the one earring, but both my ears are pierced.”

Apollo sighed. “Great.”

“Nah, I got this,” Trucy said, grinning toothily. “I went with Aunt Maya when she wanted to get hers pierced, even though she chickened out at the last second.” She picked up the needle and a book of matches from the table, eyes glinting. “I had to get mine repierced because of infection the first time too. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Put that apple slice back,” Apollo said, narrowing his eyes at the piece of fruit in Trucy’s hands. “They’re acidic, I don’t need that anywhere near me and oh God you’re really going to shove a piece of metal into my ear, aren’t you-”

“You sure I look okay?” he asked, patting down the skirt. He squinted down at the stark white boots he’d thankfully fit into. “I’m terrified to walk in these, they look like death traps -”

“Which is why we’re practicing,” Trucy said primly, wiping her hands on a gel-stained rag. She still didn’t quite have a grasp on the correct ratio of product to actual hair, but she was much better than when they had started five weeks ago. “Now, walk towards me.”

“One last thing, I guess,” Apollo said, removing his bracelet and handing it to Trucy, watching as she carefully slid it on. He rubbed his now bare wrist absentmindedly, feeling strangely naked without it.

“So... this is really it. We’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this,” Trucy confirmed, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. For all her apparent enthusiasm, she looked as nervous as he felt. The studs in her ears reflected the morning light.

“Give papa a hug for me,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Give daddy one for me too,” she said.

They hesitated a moment more before Trucy threw her arms around her brother’s shoulders. Apollo’s arms immediately snaked around her waist, drawing her in tight. They clung to each other, silently willing and praying this was somehow going to all work out - that they wouldn’t just to get to meet their other parent, that they wouldn’t only get a few short weeks with the other father they hadn’t even known had existed, but that they could find some way to reconcile the two, that they wouldn’t have to lose anyone across the wide expanse of the Atlantic ever again.

“You’ve had your ears pierced,” he said almost absently, cradling her head between his hands and gently turning her neck back and forth to better view the studs. He clicked his tongue. Trucy felt her heart sink.

“Do you... hate them?” she asked tentatively.

Edgeworth’s eyes snapped to hers. They were the same soft gray color as the paint Daddy always kept too much of around the house. “On the contrary - I find they suit you incredibly well. Please tell me you didn’t get an infection.”

Her face split into a wide smile.

Apollo thumbed through a stack of canvases that had been shoved into a corner. There was a thin layer of dust of them; if he had to guess, he’d say they hadn’t been disturbed for at least three months - not a particularly long stretch of time, all things considered. They were clearly less polished works, lacking the technical skill and attention to detail that made Phoenix Wright a name to be reckoned with in the art community, but they were still beautiful in their own way. Paintings of vineyards and what looked like London, towering skyscrapers and calm seas and -

His father.

Apollo blinked.

The portrait of Miles Edgeworth drawn in rich oils did not blink back. Nor did the three that followed.

“There were a lot of paintings of the same person in daddy’s works. Some guy with grey hair,” Apollo said, struggling for nonchalance.

Maya’s grip on the mixing bowl faltered. “Is that so,” she said carefully.

“Was he one of daddy’s favorite models or something he just never told me about?”

Maya pursed her lips and continued stirring with a newfound vigor. “You could say that.”

“You’re not Apollo?” he asked, voice thick. “You’re Trucy?”

She smiled weakly. “That would be correct.” One strand of hair fell lank across her forehead - how did I not notice, Apollo hasn’t used nearly that much gel in years - and he absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear. He felt her press into the warmth of his hand, as if she were afraid he might suddenly vanish across the Atlantic again.

“I hope you don’t - I hope you don’t hate me,” she said, voice beginning to waver, “it’s just that Polly and I met at the camp and the whole thing sort of just spilled out. I’ve wanted to see you for so long, and Polly felt exactly the same way about Daddy, so we sort of just - just switched lives and hoped it wouldn’t take you so soon to notice. I really hope you don’t hate me, because I’ve wanted to meet you basically my whole life and I hope that maybe one day you can love me for me and not Polly and -” (this is ALL from movie tho so mix this up)

Edgeworth’s left hand came to cradle the rest of Trucy’s face, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Oh, my dear,” he said, cautiously tugging her forward. She came willingly, all but sprawling across his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin and wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’ve loved you since the day you came to me,” he whispered into her hair, blinking away the beginnings of tears he felt gathering at the corner of his eyes. He felt her tighten her hold and he did the same.

He poured himself a thumbnail of scotch, perfectly content to pretend he didn’t have tickets to a plane back to a state he had vowed never to set foot in again departing in less than four hours. “He was rather handsome,” he found himself admitting, absentmindedly swirling the glass and taking a sip. He paused, staring at nothing and mumbling to himself, “...had the most crooked smile. Always made me weak at the knees.”

“What was that, sir?”

Edgeworth snapped his attention back to the other man; he’d nearly forgotten Gumshoe was even in the room. “Nothing, nothing, never mind, have you seen the tickets?”

Gumshoe shrugged. That was Trucy’s cue.

“Almost ready, papa?” she asked, stepping smoothly into the room from her hiding place behind the thick wooden door. Edgeworth looked just as wild-eyed as she’d been hoping.

“Yes, of course, I’m almost finished packing -”

She didn’t even have to look at his still mostly bare suitcase to know he was lying.

“ -and you did tell your father we were coming, didn’t you?” he finished, placing his drink on a nearby dresser and running his fingers shakily through his hair.

“Absolutely,” Trucy promised.

“Ah,” Edgeworth said, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. They looked like they’d been polished recently.

“Liar,” Gumshoe leaned down to whisper. She shushed him.

“Might I suggest we continue this little gathering inside,” Maya said, already beginning to shepherd the twins - the twins, she was going to need another vacation just to process the fact that they were together again - into the room. She twisted back around to look at Edgeworth, still shoving Apollo (that was Apollo, right?) forward. “Hi,” she began again, offering a free hand, “you probably don’t remember me -”

“Maya!” he interrupted, smiling warmly and bending to kiss her chastely on the cheek. His breath was sour with vodka and his glasses clunked awkwardly against her face. As he turned and stepped fully into the room, Maya’s cheeks(rp) began to hurt from smiling so fiercely.

“I knew I always liked him,” she said to no one as she closed the door.

This was ridiculous. This resort was full of entirely too many people who favored the same sort of eccentric clothing that man had even fourteen years ago, a disproportionate amount of them with the same slate grey hair. He almost would have written that (awkward*) expression seen from across Dahlia’s shoulder/a hotel lobby as a figment of his overtaxed imagination had it not been so much realer than the stacks of canvases in his studio. Which meant Miles was here, but he’d swept the first level of the hotel twice already after begging Dahlia to take to her room for a bit, the pool area was as depressingly empty as the inside was, and -

There he was.

Across the pool, descending the steps carefully from the inside lounge area and walking on the balls of his feet like he always did when he’d had a bit too much to drink (and why did he still remember that) was, without a doubt, Miles Edgeworth.

Phoenix suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Edgeworth was halfway down the opposite path before Phoenix realized he should probably do something.

“Excuse me,” he said, shouldering his way through the crowd. It would be rude and more than a little intrusive to just call out his ex-husband’s name in the middle of a resort, right? Perhaps not as rude as nearly shoving the poor bellboy into the shrubbery, but, well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

He didn’t immediately notice the odd assortment of friends and family and a lumbering man in striped green swimming trunks perched on pool chairs as he stepped past, but they certainly noticed him.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Trucy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said vaguely, refusing to take his eyes off Edgeworth. He was abruptly terrified he might vanish again if he did.

“Nick, watch out -”

“Hey, pal -”

“Daddy -”

With that, Phoenix collided into a passing service boy, arms pinwheeling wildly as he fell directly into the pool behind him.

“Hello Miles,” he said, smiling sheepishly and wringing out his tie. He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck and settled for clenching his hands into tight fists instead. “Or do you people call you Edgeworth now?”

“Miles is - Miles is fine,” Edgeworth said weakly, trying to look anywhere but Phoenix, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation they should be having for the first time after fifteen years. “My father still calls me Miles.”

Something warm coiled in his chest. It felt infinitely more dangerous than it had fifteen years ago.

“You always had a smart mouth,” he murmured, rubbing a swathe of cleaning ointment along the cut on Phoenix’s forehead. Phoenix hissed.

“So glad you remembered,” he bit through gritted teeth.

“Hush.”

Phoenix hmmed but stayed silent for a few more seconds, staring at Edgeworth as he dug back into the first aid kit. Edgeworth tried not to flush under the scrutiny.

Phoenix held his wrist in a loose grip. He should have felt clammy from the pool and the rapidly descending night, but he blazed oddly hot against Edgeworth’s skin.

“Miles, I-”

“Feenie? Who is this?”

“Dollie!” Phoenix said, shooting upright and wincing at the sudden dizziness.

Edgeworth’s burgundy coat was hung carefully over his arm, too thick for the warm California night. The buttons on his waistcoat glinted from a nearby streetlamp’s glow.

Phoenix swallowed.

“Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?” Edgeworth asked, leaning in slightly. Phoenix’s (nose twitched? something about scent memory?) and he refused to let himself acknowledge that Miles’s choice of aftershave hadn’t changed since the day they’d met. He abruptly remembered the taste of cheap wine and overly sweet cake on his tongue, felt the ghost weight of a ring fifteen years gone.

He hastily turned away.

“No idea.”

“Grandfather chipped in a bit -”

“Apollo,” Edgeworth warned.

“Alright, so Grandfather chipped in a lot, whatever, we’re poor teenagers, the point is,” he said, emphasizing the final word by pulling the ship’s impressive doors open with a firm tug, “it’s ours for the night.”

Phoenix whistled shrilly in appreciation, instinctively reaching out to ruffle Apollo’s hair. It was a testament to how important the night was that Apollo merely batted Phoenix’s hand away. “Seriously, dad,” he mumbled. His scowl was clearly forced, however; he felt oddly warm that he was able to finally use that word at all.

“Subtle,” Phoenix remarked.

“Mm,” Edgeworth agreed. “I don’t suppose we should let their efforts, however misguided they may be, go to waste, should we?”

“You just want to know who else they roped into this ridiculous scheme of theirs.”

“Oh, because you don’t.”

“I,” Phoenix said, moving to the chilled champagne propped by the windowsill and popping its cork, “have a perfectly healthy level of curiosity. It does not involve wondering what’s going on in my kid’s head. Trucy is a teenager. That’s terrifying.” He carefully poured the sparkling drink into two glasses and offered one to Edgeworth.

“I find that somewhat difficult to believe,” Edgeworth said, striding forward and taking the proffered glass. He made certain their fingers did not brush. “Thank you.”

They waited until she had hastily bowed out of the room before turning their focus back to each other. “Miles, that’s why we came up with this arrangement in the first place,” Phoenix continued, nonplussed.

“Really?” Edgeworth carefully picked up his glass flute, trying to ignore the tremor he felt running through his hands. “I thought it was because we’d agreed to never see each other again.”

Phoenix’s heart clenched. “Not ‘we’, Miles,” he said slowly, spreading his hands on the tablecloth and feeling like if he missed a step here, he would risk something he couldn’t afford to lose again.

Edgeworth took a shaky draw of wine. “You know,” he said slowly, seemingly forcing himself to meet Phoenix’s eyes, “that part is unclear to me as well.”

“Oh, you don’t remember the day you packed?” Phoenix asked.

“No, I remember that day perfectly. Did I hurt you when I threw that - oh God, what was it -”

“It was Kamisar’s Modern Criminal Procedure. It left a dent in the wall from where it rebounded off my head.”

“Oh,” Edgeworth said, at least having the grace to look properly abashed. “Right. Sorry.”

Phoenix shrugged. “It’s not like I was making it that easy on you.

And....” Edgeworth trailed off, twisting a napkin between his fingers. “You didn’t chase after me.”

Phoenix felt (something) shift. “I didn’t know that you wanted me to.”

“A toast to -”

“Our children,” Edgeworth cut in. He ignored the tightening in his chest at the our.

“Our children,” Phoenix repeated slowly, as if the words didn’t quite match with what his mouth had wanted to say.

“We both got where we actually wanted to go.”

Phoenix’s eyes never wavered from his. “We did,” he said, voice strange.

They toasted again and finished their meal in silence.

“Apollo, what are you doing in those clothes? We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“We’re getting totally ripped off,” maybe-Trucy said. “Daddy said we’d get our camping trip and we want to go.”

“Wait, hang on,” Phoenix interrupted, “what camping trip?”

“The one Aunt Maya and I make you take us on every year before school starts,” almost-definitely-Trucy said. Phoenix began to lift his finger in triumph, sure he’d found his kid -

“ -the one behind the house that runs all the way up to Gourd Lake, remember when you fell in that one year,” I’m-not-too-sure-if-this-one-is-still-in-fact-Apollo finished.

Phoenix’s arm fell listlessly to his side. Edgeworth snorted.

Phoenix shot Edgeworth a look. Thanks for helping, one of these is yours. “This is entirely unfunny, you’re going to make your father miss his flight,” he said, shifting his attention back to the twins. Honestly, he was an Ivy University graduate and Miles was a world renowned defense attorney, how were they being duped by their own kids -

“Apollo -” Edgeworth began.

“Yes?” they both said in unison.

Edgeworth groaned. “They get this from you, I’m sure,” he said.

“It’s not my fault you’ve apparently been raising a devilishly deceptive teenager,” Phoenix quipped back, never taking his eyes off the twins. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine pound at the base of his neck. “He’s probably rubbed off on Trucy.”

The twins grinned.

Phoenix rubbed a hand over his eyes before stooping to their height once again. He stared hard at each of them, looking back and forth between their faces. “This one’s Trucy,” he said slowly, pointing a finger to the sibling in orange. “I’m positive.”

“You know, I hope you’re right, Daddy. You wouldn’t want to send the wrong kid all the way back to Germany - ”

“ - would you?”

How was any of this fair?

“Here’s our proposition. We go back to Daddy’s house, pack our stuff, and the four of us leave on the camping trip.”

“The four of us?” Edgeworth interjected. They ignored him.

“And when you bring us back,” maybe-Trucy-maybe-Apollo continued, “we’ll tell you who’s Trucy and who’s Apollo.”

“Or,” Edgeworth said, carefully stepping around and in front of Phoenix and crossing his arms firmly across his chest, tapping his finger rhythmically against his arm, “new plan. I take one of you back to Germany with me whether you like it or not.”

Two identical sets of eyes twinkled back at him.

(He felt a migraine beginning to pound in his left temple.)

“You can cook now?” Edgeworth asked.

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix said. “I can make pasta. And pasta. Probably more pasta, if you ask really nicely.”

“Hm,” Edgeworth said, eyebrows scrunched in mock thought, “pasta sounds good.”

Phoenix grinned, bumping Edgeworth’s shoulder. He was warm through the cotton. “Pasta it is.”

Edgeworth looked across the seat at Apollo. His glassy eyes reflected the flickering street lamps as the taxi sped down the empty street.

“Apollo, I -” he began, deflating as Apollo turned further away. It’s entirely justified, he thought despondently. I’d hate myself as well.

“Grandfather?” Apollo called, shrugging out of his heavy jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. The house was silent.

“I’ll check the study,” Edgeworth said, tugging his jabot loose. Apollo nodded and headed towards the direction of the kitchen, toeing off his shoes on the way. Pushing open the wide doors that led to the study, Edgeworth saw someone reading a paper at the desk. He cocked his hip against the door and crossed his arms. “Hello, father. We’re back.”

The newspaper lowered. It wasn’t Gregory.

“Hiya, papa,” Trucy said. The corners of her mouth were quirked despite her obvious attempts to reign in her expression. “Did you know the Concord gets you here in half the time?”

Edgeworth slipped against the doorframe. He felt the knob dig into his hip. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”

(Edgeworth was acutely aware of the doorknob digging into his hip from when he pressed against it. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”)

Apollo walked into the room, drawn to the sound of voices. When he saw Trucy his face split into a blinding grin. “What are you doing here?”

Trucy neatly folded the newspaper on the desk and clasped her hands in front of her. “It took us about thirty seconds after you left that we decided we didn’t want to lose you two again,” she said, eyes crinkling.

Edgeworth swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “We?” he said, voice cracking.

“We,” a new voice agreed.

From the corner of his eye, Edgeworth noted Trucy moving to stand by the far wall of the study, giving the vaguest attempt of privacy. It didn’t matter. His eyes were trained on Phoenix, tracking his movement as he crossed the room.

Phoenix peppered his face in light kisses, smiling into the curve of his throat and pressing his lips to the thrumming heartbeat beneath his skin.

They eventually pulled back, desperate for air. Phoenix’s eyes crinkled - crow’s feet, Edgeworth thought wildly through his haze, he’s got crow’s feet now, I haven’t seen him this close up since - and he rested his forehead against Edgeworth’s.

“God, I’m never letting you go again,” he whispered, hands snaking around the other man’s back to pull him even closer.

“You want to toast with this? I’d have thought you might want to upgrade to something with a little more class.”

Phoenix smiled sloppily, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “You’re the only one I said I’d drink it with, remember?”

Edgeworth smiled back. He took the proffered bottle warmed by the weather and tugged his husband into a proper kiss, matching rings glinting in the dying sunlight.

#bluefaewren #replies #parent trap au #attempting to write tag

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wingsofanillyrian · 4 years

Text

Lights Over Monaco: Chapter 1

ITS HERE! I plan on updating this weekly/biweekly, based on how busy I am. Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list!

Special thank you to my new F1 friend for inspiring this fic as well as being my beta reader, @acourtofcouture ! F1 fans out there, her fics are AMAZING

Chapter Masterlist

F1 Glossary

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

Nesta Archeron discovered Formula 1 when she was 9 years old. She woke before the sun one Sunday morning, quietly excited to have the television all to herself and watch whatever cartoons she wanted. But she couldn’t remember what channel they were on, instead flipping through the programs. She had almost given up when she stumbled across a race.

The moment she had seen the brightly colored open-wheeled cars flash across the screen, she paused. For whatever reason, the high pitched wasp-like scream of the twelve cylinder engines and the astonishing speed that the drivers were travelling enthralled young Nesta. She didn’t look away once for the rest of the race, or even for the post-race interviews and wrap up that most adults skipped. Something about it had her adrenaline pumping.

Nesta traded her dolls for matchbox cars, and when she grew older, picked up racing magazines instead of teen ones. Ever since that day, Formula 1 consumed her. No matter how the other kids or her two younger sisters teased her for it, her love for the sport never tarnished.

She spent years getting up at 2 am to watch live races that were being held halfway around the world. Instead of going to her senior prom, Nesta stayed home and layed out her predictions for the season’s drivers and constructors championships. She didn’t know how to do anything half-ass. She poured her whole heart into the sport and devoted her life to it.

**********

Nesta spent her 24th birthday working. It wasn’t like she could request the day off, not that it mattered. The racetrack at Monaco was exactly where she would have been anyway, working or not.

A press pass got her through the first security checkpoint. The team tents loomed ahead as she waited for personnel to cross the unstriped asphalt, inching her car carefully through the throngs of people. She rolled her window down, soaking in the sound of air tools and snippets of conversations.

Street tracks like Monaco were her favorite. They required drivers to push themselves with plenty of technical corners and dramatic incidents. There was less room for error, as the tracks themselves were not as wide. Drivers had to know their limits and follow the racing line closely.

Race tracks were Nesta’s comfort zone. She knew each track on the calendar like the back of her hand. Every turn was permanently etched in her mind like words on a tombstone. Race weekends followed a set schedule, something that she could appreciate. Friday: practice laps. Saturday: more practice, followed by qualifying, where each driver got the chance to set the fastest lap and secure a spot in the starting line up for the main event on Sunday.

Before she had graduated college, Nesta had managed to fully entrench herself in the world of Formula 1. Securing an internship at ESPN her sophomore year, she had made herself indispensable to the crusty old man that had been the senior track side reporter for decades. She studied everything he did and the questions he asked each driver, noting what changes she would have made. Somehow, he came to admire her spirit and taught her the tricks of the trade.

When he retired the year after Nesta graduated, he went to the board of directors and personally recommended her to fill his spot. She waited two agonizing days for their decision.

Using whatever means necessary, Nesta had clawed her way to the top and cemented her reputation as the most cutthroat reporter in the industry. Her goal had been for everyone in motorsport to know her name, and in only two years, she had done so. Better yet, she had caught the eye of one of the fastest drivers on the grid.

Her phone rang just as she pulled into the press parking area. She answered, not bothering to check the caller ID. “Hello?”

Tomas’ velvety voice thundered through the speakers of her Civic. “Hey baby. You here yet?”

“Just pulled in,” She replied, touching up her makeup in the rearview.

“Right on time for a quickie. Meet me at my trailer in five.”

Tomas had already hung up before she had the chance to protest. Both their reputations hinged on their relationship staying secret. If the press caught wind that she was fucking a driver, her credibility would go out the window, and Tomas would be the laughing stock of the grid. So sneaking into his trailer wasn’t exactly the type of discreet she was aiming for.

Tomas Mandray had been racing for Red Bull for two years when she had scored her first exclusive interview with him. He had just been awarded pole position at the Spanish Grand Prix in Barcelona, and Nesta had sweet talked her way into the paddock. It had taken minutes for his charming blue eyes to enchant her. He had won that race, and taken her to bed straight after.

The sex was great, but that’s all it ever was. Their relationship was purely based on the physical; nothing emotional on either end. They had agreed on that from the start. Just sex.

Unfortunately for Nesta, somewhere along the way it had become something more.

Sighing, she put on her oversized sunglasses and hid her tawny hair under a gauzy scarf. The fashion wouldn’t stand out at all amongst the celebrities that frequented the Monaco Grand Prix. Going over the top here was expected; Monaco was known for its money. Due to the lack of income tax, Monaco was a haven for white collar delinquents and royalty alike. Lamborghini’s and Ferrari’s were commonplace, and women wore rings that could set a jewel thief up for life.

No one bothered her as she strode towards the pit checkpoint, flashing her press badge to get by. She fell into her usual cadence, exuding an air of importance and invincibility. Seemingly without realizing, people moved out of her way when they saw her coming. The navy, red, and yellow of the Redbull tent came into view, and Nesta inserted herself into the crowd of mechanics and VIPs to get past security. Press wasn’t allowed in the area until after the race.

Nesta broke away once inside, heading down a back corridor. She knew the layout by heart, having walked the path many times. The door at the end of the hall led outside to Tomas’ private trailer. She didn’t bother to knock before entering. Tomas would already be waiting for her.

He set down his phone as she entered. “Finally,” He said with a savage grin. “We only have a few minutes.”

****************

Tomas left as soon as he finished, donning his jumpsuit without so much as a kiss goodbye. Utterly used to the behavior, Nesta straightened her clothes and again touched up her makeup before heading back out.

She was scheduled to conduct a pre-race interview with Cassian Valle in the Mercedes tent in twenty minutes. Redbull and Mercedes were at opposite ends of the pit, giving her plenty of time to think.

Truthfully, Nesta was dreading the interaction. Cassian was an arrogant ass. She couldn’t stand interviewing him; all he did was skirt around questions and try to flirt, which made it incredibly difficult to get any headline-worthy tidbits from him.

Azriel Sainz, Cassian’s teammate at Mercedes, was much more amiable. He was mostly forgettable and quiet, but always gave her something to work with and was sometimes downright pleasant to talk to. She could understand why the public loved him, but not why they were so enamored with Cassian. Sure, he was a three time world champion, and that earned him plenty of fans, but he was just so… dreadful.

She made it to the Mercedes pit just minutes before the scheduled time, immediately spotting her tense cameraman, Jacob. Slim built, he was average looking, nothing special. He was sweet though, if not a bit of a pushover.

“Where the hell have you been?” He hissed, chocolate brown eyes wide. “Valle is waiting.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, handing Jacob her sunglasses and the scarf. “I’m here now, aren’t I? Not my fault if he was early.” Nesta accepted her microphone and rolled her shoulders. “Let’s get this over with then.”

“Happy birthday by the way,” Jacob added. Yes, there was the pushover side shining through.

Nesta threw a grin at him over her shoulder. “Thanks.”

Cassian’s back was to her as she approached, his white Mercedes jumpsuit half on, the arms of it cinched around his waist. The crisp gray shirt he wore left little to the imagination, hugging his sculpted form. Good; at least that would capture the attention of any women that might be watching. As would the deep brown curl that fell in his face when he turned to her.

“If it isn’t my very favorite reporter,” He crooned, a grin plastered on his face. “Took you long enough to get here. I also hear it’s your birthday.” Nesta glared at Jacob. He shrank under her steely look, an apology stumbling from his lips.

“I would give you a birthday kiss, but I think you’d knock me out if I offered.”

Nesta pointedly ignored him, “Let’s just get on with it,” She said, motioning to Jacob to start recording. Once he signaled he was ready, Nesta breathed deep, the sweet scent of high octane fuel assaulting her senses. It steadied her, and she slipped into her professional mask before turning to the camera.

“As we all know, the Monaco Grand Prix offers drivers a unique set of challenges. The two-mile street course has 19 technical corners with little room for error. It is in Monaco that we get to see who has what it takes to be a Formula 1 champion.” She turned to Cassian, gave him a professional smile and continued.

“Last year, you had a puncture at turn seven when you ran over some debris. Coupled with the fumble the pit crew had with not having your tires ready when you came into the pit, you finished a disappointing 12th place, winning you no points in the driver’s championship. Do you expect that this year will be better, or will you stick to your usual aggressive driving style?”

Cassian laughed, running a hand through his unbound curls. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be changing anything. You can expect to see me on the podium, sweetheart. Most likely in first.”

Nesta grit her teeth. She couldn’t air that, and he knew it. “How about you answer the question without trying to piss me off?”

“It’s too easy,” Cassian said, that devilish grin returning. Nesta cut him a glare that simmered with violence. “Alright fine,” He relented, putting his hands up. “Go again.”

She repeated her question, and this time he answered, “I don’t really see any need to change my driving style, what happened last year was a fluke. I went wide on the turn and didn’t notice Vanserra's front wing until the last second and wasn’t able to change course.” Nesta nodded, encouraging him to go on. “I don't see myself making any mistakes like that this year. You can expect to see me on the podium, most likely in first.”

“Thank you for that Cassian. Good luck on the track today.”

“Thank you,” He said, waving at the camera. He paused before adding, “Though I won’t need luck.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and signaled for Jacob to cut the recording. At least that last bit could be edited out. “You are absolutely insufferable, you know that?”

Cassian shrugged, undoing the arms of his fire suit and slipping into them. “I do my best.” He winked at her before zipping up his suit, opening his mouth to say something else when the Mercedes team principal, Rhysand, barked at him to get his ass in gear. He gave Nesta a wordless salute before jogging off.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Jacob said, packing up his camera. “That guy has balls.”

“He’s a Formula 1 driver,” Nesta said simply, putting her sunglasses back on. “Of course he does.”

**********

Nesta watched the 78 lap race from the press box, silently cheering Tomas on. Each time the pack of cars passed, the windows rattled, doing little to muffle the engine noise. She chatted with the others as necessary, keeping one eye on the tarmac below. Tomas had started from pole position, and held onto first place until the final 10 laps. He had attempted to lap an AlphaTauri driver when the driver had failed to yield, violating FIA regulations. The two had bumped tires in what was ruled a racing incident, but Nesta knew better. Tomas had lost his cool and nudged the other driver on purpose, nearly sending him into the wall.

It was a bad call on Tomas’ part, as the comfortable four second lead he had held over second place shattered. Nesta swore under her breath as Cassian overtook Tomas, her heart dropping when the other Mercedes driver, Azriel, did the same. Tomas would not be happy about that.

When the checkered flag waved, Cassian was first, Azriel second, and Tomas third. The winners parked before the podium, anger radiating from Tomas as he tore his helmet off. Tamlin, the Redbull team principal, said something to Tomas that had his cheeks burning red.

Nesta grabbed Jacob and headed for the press room. They had a half hour tops before the post-race interviews started, and Nesta had to make sure she was front row. Though it didn’t matter where she sat; she always made sure her questions were answered.

It was more so for Tomas. She wanted him to see her, to see the understanding on her face and know she supported him even when he didn't win.

They were first to the press room, and Nesta had ample time to prepare questions. She couldn’t question Tomas, or she risked uncapping his rage. Instead, she jotted down a question she knew would shift the focus from Tomas to the Mercedes drivers.

Reporters began filing in, vying for the perfect spot and debating the race results with one another. Nesta remained in her seat, determined to maintain her composure as her stomach churned. Tomas finally entered, jaw set as he took his place on the stage. Nesta tried to subtly catch his eye, but he pointedly avoided looking at her.

Cassian and Azriel entered, laughing and congratulating each other. Nesta noted the slight change in Tomas’ posture, the only hint of the blood boiling beneath his skin. Cameras flashed, reporters shouted, but still Nesta remained seated. Cassian, at least, sought her out in the crowd, and flashed her an ‘I-told-you-so’ grin when he found her. Once the clamor had died down, Nesta stood. The room quieted further, the others having learned not to talk over her if they valued their jobs. Nesta had a knack for digging up dirt on anyone she pleased.

Her eyes were still locked on Cassian as the moderator indicated she could ask her question.

“Azriel,” She started, turning to the dark haired man, “You were lucky you were able to take second in this race, after the incident in turn twelve on lap 27 when you sustained heavy damage to your front wing, thanks to the actions of your teammate. Does it ever get under your skin that Valle’s overly-aggressive driving threatens your own position in the championship?”

The room was silent. Tomas hid his grin behind a well-manicured hand. Cassian’s eyes narrowed, a muscle in his jaw fluttering. Good; she had hit a nerve. Azriel shrugged, crossing his arms.

“It was a racing incident. Could have happened to anyone. I don’t think the blame lays entirely with Cassian; I could have given him more room on the corner.”

And that was that. Nesta didn’t ask any more questions, but she could feel Cassian glaring at her throughout. At the end of the interview, all three drivers thanked everyone before leaving.

As Nesta made her way back to her car, she texted Tomas.

You okay?

Her heart pounded as she waited for the reply. Her phone buzzed minutes later.

I’ll be home late. Party at the Redbull house.

Oh. Okay. See you later then.

“Happy birthday to me,” She muttered, stuffing the phone in her pocket.

Nesta wasn’t sure why his reply stung, but it cut deep. She had hoped that he would want to see her instead of going to another party and spend time with her on her birthday. Instead, he would probably stick his tongue down another woman’s throat like usual. She couldn’t really blame him. Their relationship had to remain secret and to do so, Tomas had to maintain his playboy aura. It wasn’t really cheating if she had agreed to it.

But if that were true, why did it hurt so fucking bad when he did?

Some of her tension eased when she finally spied her car in the lot. The Blue Bullet, she had nicknamed it, due to the strikingly bright paint. It was the first purchase she had made upon being promoted, and it had since become her pride and joy. She had chosen it because it set lap records left and right when it had hit the market a few years back, and she had craved speed her whole life. On city streets, this car was the closest she could get to experiencing Formula 1 without completely breaking the bank.

“How about you don’t ask stupid fucking questions next time your prettyboy loses?”

Nesta’s breath hitched. Your prettyboy. The accusation was clear. Her hand slipped from the door handle, turning towards the voice. If he knew… If he knew about her and Tomas, they were done for. She willed her voice into solid steel.

“Cassian. I would advise you to choose your next words wisely.”

He placed a hand on her Civic, getting in her face. “Racing means you have racing incidents. I don’t expect you to understand, seeing as you’ve never been behind the wheel of a real race car.” He sneered at her car, the insult striking home.

Fear faded, replaced by a rising wave of scarlett rage. Nesta’s gaze stuck to where his hand lay on the bright blue paint, utterly vexed by the infringement. She bared her teeth at him, rising to the challenge in Cassian’s flaming hazel eyes.

“Get. Off.”

Cassian started at the command in her tone and obeyed. He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Understanding the nuances of Formula 1 is my job description. I asked about that incident because I knew it would piss you off. Looks like I was right huh?” Her temper was getting the better of her. “And by the way, would it kill you to give me a decent quote once in a while, instead of always trying to get in my pants?”

“I do not-”

“Oh go fuck yourself,” Nesta scoffed, yanking the door open.

The corners of his mouth twitched upward as she slammed the car door. “I was already planning on it.”

Those parting words haunted her drive home, even as she took the long way in hopes of blowing off steam. She shifted through the gears, throwing the Civic around corners much faster than was probably safe. Nesta didn’t care; her head was a mess. At least he hadn’t mentioned anything more about Tomas. Maybe Cassian had just thought she had a crush, based on the way she had been looking at him during the conference. Gods, she couldn’t get Cassian out of her head.

His grin followed her up the stairs to her apartment, where she snapped the curtains shut. She couldn’t bear to look out over the track any longer today.

Those words echoed in her head as she brushed her teeth and crawled into bed alone. Swam through her thoughts of Tomas, as she struggled to keep her eyes open when the clock showed 1 am. As she finally gave in, they were her last thought.

I was already planning on it.

@aphoeni @planet-faerie @nina-zcnik @linsimin @that-little-red-head @teagoddess99 @enpointe10 @electronicstrawberrystrawberry @awesomelena555 @iptneus @weesablackbeak @wonderland--memories @nessian-trash-heap @magicalwaterfall @perfectlyimpxrfect @cassians-wings @valkyrie-archeron @acourtofcouture @nesemryn @chloepereyra @illyrianshadowhunter

#Lights over monaco #nessian #nessian au #nessian fanfiction #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of war and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #acotar fanfiction #my writing #nesta archeron #cassian #lucien vanserra

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whatsupmrstark · 4 years

Text

Bare

Peter parker x stark! Reader (aged up peter ofc)

Summary: a fun day at the compound leads to getting caught by your less than approving dad

warnings: smut with lots of plot have fun

Everyday felt like a never ending date. But in a good way.

You and peter have been together for a while, 10 months to be exact. And nobody knew, well nobody means the avengers your friends and... okay so everyone knows except your dad and happy but hey! Don’t judge the mans scary about his kid. Not that you were scared but more of Peters sake.

The affair started about a year ago, you hung out when he stayed at the compound. He was the only person there under the age of 30 and you two hit it off. Then days at the lab together and so on. You begged your dad to transfer you to midtown and after almost two months of begging and throwing tantrums he agreed, under the pretense you had all your classes with peter and we’ll that was just a bonus.

So then from there you kissed a kiss turned into kisses and dating and homecoming and now your here 10 months later cuddled up against him in the most not obvious way watching a movie with your dad and the rest of your family.

“Nat I swear to god your telling me you wouldn’t fuck him” Wanda whispers sneaking a peak at vision,making sure he hadn’t heard,before focusing back on the movie. You and peter hadn’t stopped your incessant tapping, yes you learned Morse code as an avenger study but you always put it to use in times like this.

He finished pressing out I love you to the skin on your back. A little smile played on your faces as you sat up more in your seat, “hey dad will you go get me more popcorn?” You looked down at him he was a row in front of you in the makeshift theater. And for a stark we all know what “makeshift” means he just nodded grabbing your bowl “Hey me too” Bucky laughed extending his arm to hand his bowl.

Hold up let me explain the seating.

In the front row was nat, Wanda, your dad, and Bruce all huddled together as the scary can and will kill you if they’re angry tier

Then middle row you on the end seat peter next to you and Bucky and Steve on his other side -the soft kid at heart tier

And the third row had vision, Sam and Thor the undecided, we got in to late to pick a good spot tier?

Tony enjoyed culturally enriching the group of misfits and had on a Risky business and sandlot marathon. Right now your halfway through sandlot and halfway through your pantience to go the fuck to bed.

Leaning over into Peters ear you whispered “can you sleep in my room tonight?” He nodded before turning to whisper back “how am I gonna do that, what if mr. stark comes in” you rolled your eyes and kissed him softly, you guys weren’t fans of pda but it was just a peck

“He won’t just come by after everyone’s sleep and I’ll lock the door” it was a good enough answer because he nodded before turning back to the movie just as tony came down the isle handing you both bowls of popcorn, hot buttery and fresh just how you liked it.

By the time the movie ended it was almost 12 and everyone was off to sleep, except tony, he headed down to the lab to work on something and you headed off to take a shower.

Post shower and ready to drag yourself into bed you looked up at the ceiling fighting sleep when you heard your door creak, Peters eyes darting around the dark room till they landed on your stiff body “hey are you awake” you nodded stupidly “yeah I’m up” you twisted around in the sheets, scooting over so he could have get half the bed, “is my dad asleep?”

He just shrugged as he climbed into the bed “Friday where’s tony” you asked aloud, one of your favorite parts of the new update was tracking where you all were in the compound. “Mr.stark is in suite” you just shook your head a little “safe and clear” peter sighed resting into the bed comfortablely, “I can’t believe you own Spider-Man pants” you giggle looking at him Choice of pajamas

You two talked for a while about nothing and everything as you usually did, you fell asleep and peter just watched for a while, you’re tense expression dwindle away drooling on his chest as you curled up tighter against him. It wasn’t long until sleep over came him and he too slept long and hard.

When you woke up, you rushed peter out and back to his room stealing kisses and feeling the adrenaline of doing what you’re not supposed to.

And this continued for a week, a full week of blissful domestic sleeping, the best sleep of your life. Cuddled into your boyfriends body and completely aware of your maybe consequences.

Friday night you sat around the dinner table. “Not for you to take this the wrong way but when is May getting back peter?” Sams question has everyone’s eyes on the two of you, trying to his the fact your holding hands under the table “she’s supposed to get back Monday-I’m excited I haven’t seen her in forever” Sam just nodded to the answer going back to his mash potatoes.

After dinner you all gathered in the living room to play some games laughing and fights and boards flipping halfway through a game of life. “Yknow Thor maybe you should have six sets of twins” everyone laughed at the joke seeing his two cars trailing behind another. “Haha, you and peter are probably the only ones here who will have kids” Wanda blurted and you wanted to dissolve. Of course tony hadn’t taken that the wrong way but everyone kinda shut up. The game ended with vision being victorious and everyone went their separate ways.

Peter was the next to slip up, on Saturday night you were doing what you usually did, watching a horrible reality show on Netflix about nothing but sex and bikinis and girls with awful fake tans. Bucky, who luckily always found a way to spend time with you on saturdays, was really invested though he’d never admit. “I really really thought brad and Angela were gonna get together by the end of that episode” you laughed at his commentary.

Bucky was sitting criss cross on the floor between your legs as you sat on the couch “Bucky I swear your hairs gonna look.. fantastic” you chuckled as you braided another section “are you sure you don’t want Rasta beads on the front” he scoffed eyes still trained on the tv in front of him “no sam would laugh at me and Steve would probably make me take them out” you leaned to the side and forward to look at him smirking and continuing with trained hands at the clusterfuck of braids in his hair

“I think when you take these out your hairs gonna be like beach wavy” taking a comb and brushing out another section “like micheals hair?” You sometimes forget he’s not up to date on all the technical girl stuff “yeah micheals hair makes him like 10 times hotter”

“Who’s hot?” You practically jumped out your skin, Bucky got startled and went into defense “Peter what the fuck, you don’t sneak up on people like that!” You slung an arm over the back of the couch to hit him but he just laughed and swung over to sit next to you. “Another trash reality show marathon” he laughed as he watched the show along with you.

As more time passed you stopped paying attention to peter, when you finished buckys hair you leaned back and curled into the blanket. Watching peter now, he never really got into these show like you and Bucky, you didn’t even get into these shows like Bucky.

And then you felt the little pang of jealousy you got when a girl tried something with peter, he was obviously always uninterested in anyone but you. “Did you just look at her ass?” Peter broke his gaze from the tv and fixated on you “what?” Buckys eyes left the tv too looking between the two of you on the couch opposite to him, mouth full of frosted mini wheats straight from the box.

“You totally just checked that new contestant out, stared at her ass!” He laughed and the got serious once he realized you werent joking. “Babe.. you’re kidding right?.. I really didn’t even look and–“

“What’s all this babe stuff peter” both of you stopped shellshock and turning your heads to look at your dad fridge open as he rooted through it “it’s- uh.. yeah- hey mr. stark” you wanted to laugh and piss yourself at the same time.

“It’s some new slang stuff tony, Yknow how the kids are today” Bucky covered for you as he got up to put his Wheaties away “I’m gonna head to bed kid don’t watch it without me” he winked as he turned around shooting finger guns at tony- “goodnight buck” you all chimed at the same time

“Jinx”

“Double jinx”

“Triple jinx” you all harmonized like a well oiled machine, your dad let out a deep chuckle as he stirred his fresh coffee

“Okay cut it out, since you don’t look busy why not come help me in the lab kid” you both looked up excited and tony looked at you a little sad, “we can work on your new suit” you just let your smile fade and nodded

You three walked down the hall together in complete silence “so dad, this is like the seventh?- seventh right peter?- super spidey suit and I’ve yet to see mark one of iron girl” peter nodded to your predictions statement and tony just rubbed his temple as he picked up the speed and hurried to the lab peter going too. You stopped at your bedroom door “I’m still gonna be asking for it in the morning” you shouted at them and tony just looked at you down the hall smiling at his little girl.

You stopped at struck a quick pose “I am iron man” you mocked his voice, you could see the skin around his eyes crinkle when he laughed just as the elevator door shut them from view. And you headed into your room.

Not a few hours later peter snuck into your room, you paused the movie you were watching and looked at him as he slumped into your bed half sleep already “Yknow I had to call your dad babe for the past 3 hours because he didn’t believe it was slang”

“Hey you’re the one slipping up not me- and god please never call me babe again I already am my father” he chuckled against the pillow his face was smushed in “cmere baby I wanna cuddle” you rolled your eyes and clicked off your tv “Peter any form of babe- not even bae- is acceptable anymore, get creative”

Then came Sunday- the day known to be wasted away worrying about everything you have to do and getting none of it done.

Soon after checking if tony was in his suite you texted peter

You:Come over peter

Peter parker:The last time you texted me that... 😏

you:Just get your ass over here I want to cuddle

You didn’t hear him till your door pushed open and he came into the room. He sauntered over and kissed you. “Hey” he smiled pulling away “hi” , “so what do you wanna do tonight” he asked sitting on the edge of your bed.

You pulled your legs into a cross cross position sitting up against the headboard, “I don’t know, wanna make out?” He just smiled at the brashness murmuring a soft ‘yeah’ as he climbed foreword kissing you. Soft kisses turning into strong ones and you were laid down peter over top of you savoring every second.

“Y/n..” before the words left his lips you’d already felt his hard on press on your thigh for a second. “Are you okay if we..” you asked, usually when you guys did it it was at Peters house and this was new territory.

Peters eyes locked with yours, your peaceful demeanor soothed his anxietied state. He started kissing you again grinding against you this time. Your hands that were draped around his neck ran through his hair finding purchase on the back of his head. You loved being close to him just as much as he did you. The heavy weight of his body against yours made you relax, you felt safe.

Your kiss moved to his neck sucking a small bright red spot that’d be gone by morning you tapped at his side to turn over and you two did just that, resting on his abdomen before scooting down, kissing at his collar bones that peaked beneath the shirt.

You tugged at the top, pulling it up and over his head before just scooting it off the bed. “As much as I’ve seen you peter, I miss you so much” he had the most blissful look in his face. Completely content. Lips a bright shade of pink tucked into a smile. You went back to kissing all down his chest admiring every part of your boyfriend.

“I love you” you smiled and pick your head up to look at him “you what?” He never wanted to pull you down on top of him more “you heard me”

“I love you more peter” you punctuated the statement pulling your sleep shirt over your head. “Can I-“ you gestured to his shorts tucking your index fingers into the waistband of his boxers “yeah” his throaty response stung at your ears.

You pulled both the offending items of clothing off his hard cock sprang up and rested back against his abdomen while you dropped the clothes off the bed. Hands landing on his thighs, gently patting and rubbing the muscular legs you adored.

You pressed down on him leaning forward to kiss him before going back down hand wrapping around him, his head fell back on the pillow already. You pumped him slowly kissing at his v line admiring your work as Peters breath shortened.

You licked your lips before wrapping them around the tip, sucking slowly, tongue twirling over his slit tasting his oozing Precum leisurely taking more of him into your mouth. “Fuck, y/n” Peters hand slipped into your hair. He wasn’t a head pusher but he liked to rest his hand and feel your movements, something to ground him and not get lost in his senses.

You kept bobbing he let out faint noises of moans. “Y/n I can’t be quiet you know that” voice strained and quiet

You lifted off him, a bit of spit had dribbled out your mouth, a slick string of mixed bodily fluids attached you to him. “Hey, FRIDAY put on sound control. Block the whole room out” you spoke fast. “Yes miss stark” the response made you happy.

“What the frick is that” you looked at him massaging his thighs again before stroking his cock. “We had to add an update because I play music too loud for people to sleep. It’s just in my room” you smiled at him and he gracefully laid back to his resting position

You returned to your previous activity’s sucking harder. He didn’t hold back letting out all the beautiful sounds he knew you loved to hear. “That’s it baby” hands returning to your hair as his hips threatened To jut out. You took a hand down petting and rubbing his balls coaxing his first orgasm out.

Peter groaned hard, not expecting to cum so quickly his hot load shooting in your mouth, swallowing quickly and pumping him through his high. Scooching up to rest above him he pulled you into a heated kiss, stomach hot and body aching, wishing to be touched. He pushed at your shorts sliding them down your thighs as much a he could. You lifted one knee at a time trying to get the clothing off. Somewhere in that your tits ended up in his face as he watched you struggle “babe” he chuckled watching you wiggle around in attempt to remove your clothes.

You looked up at his face, he was smiling tenderly post laugh and you just gave up sitting down on your bottom to pull them off your ankles, taking the time to take off your underwear. “I could’ve helped” he fake pouted running a hand from your calf to your knee then up to your thigh as he moved over top of you.

Peter kissed your neck giving warm wet kisses down your chest. He flicked at your nipples before wrapping his lips around one sucking generously eliciting vague sounds of pleasure from your mouth. Your legs wrapped around his mid section, Peters body slotted perfect in the space between your legs. You leaned your head back bumping into the headboard as his tongue swirled and lapped at the bud “ow” hands slipping to hold the spot.

He pulled away fast “are you okay?” Full of concern “yea yea just keep going” you burned in embarrassment as he smiled back, nothing ever seemed to go as smoothly and as sexily as you imagined. Peter leaned back down sucking the other abandoned peak into his mouth, he picked up on the tongue swirl you’d done to him earlier. Caressing at your hip, you looked down seeing his back muscles flex in the dim light coming through your window. “God you’re so sexy” words slipping past your lips in pleasure.

You could feel the smile against your chest as he continued hand sliding between your body’s to your aching core, nimble fingers dancing in all the right places to make you sweat. “Peter” the soft moan of his name had him jumping. Finally letting his fingers glide though your folds, wet and eager.

His head descended kissing down your stomach before placing soft kisses across your hips, legs parting when his three middle fingers rubbed at your clit, fluid and steady movement supplying just the right amount of gratification to leave you dizzy.

Your hips raised involuntary, one of his hands come up to push you back down.

He pulled his fingers away from you, a soft whimper at the loss of the stimulation he provided. “Peter-“ you’re voice was hoarse and whiny as you looked at him so badly wanting him to do something,anything.

“Peter please just fuck me” you could feel the air that left his mouth hit your thigh when he let out a chuckle, your body was hot all over and all you wanted was him. Peter craned over you kissing you more his knee coming between your thighs as you went to shut them.

When you two parted you leaned over to get a condom turning back to peter, sitting on his haunches between your parted legs, his hand wrapped around his cock as you opened the foil packet.

Almost as soon as you’d discarded the packet peter had the condom on and pulled you back to the bed kissing down your neck and shoulder “I love you y/n” hot messy words as he kissed your knuckles fingers interlocking as he held your hand.

You looked down between you two taking the one free hand you had to guide him in, sighs of practical relief left both of you as he slowly sunk in. Your free hand is just now as interlocked as the other, the back of your hands pressed into the sheets Peters nails digging into the fabric below as he started to move his hips.

He groaned so softly “fuck” he kept the slow pace he’d started, wanting you to fully adjust. “Please go faster” your breathy voice that theatened to moan was enough for him to increase his pace. Both your breathing and the sound of you bed creaking filled your ears.

Your legs wrapped around his hips, a loud moan left your lips as he hit the spot he’d been looking for adjusting to hit it with every thrust. Peters lips felt warm and wet when he bit on your shoulder removing a hand from your grasp to hike your leg up. “Fuck you’re so tight” he sounded breathless.

You bit your lip “let me ride you” he continued thrusting and then stopped abruptly “and it’s not even my birthday?” He smiled coyly pulling out as you two switched positions, Peters hands reaching out and greedily grabbing your thighs. You flipped your hair around getting it out your face grabbing onto his shoulders and raising your hips off his lap as he helped himself running his tip along your slit the rubber glistened even more “go ahead sit on it like a good girl” if you weren’t so ready to cum you’d have blushed but he knew just how to egg you on.

Lowering down onto him felt like being impaled in the best way possible “fuck” starting with a grinding motion and starting to rock up and down, the bed squeaking even louder. Peter brought his hand down to rub your clit, going over in a back and forth motion, your hips bucked up to him and a loud moan ripped through you “fuck peter don’t stop” he knew just how to bring you to the edge.

You bounced faster on him his fingers working magic “peter- fuck I’m so close- can I please cum?” He nodded one hand on your waist to help guide you “cum on my cock baby” you whimpered at his words before cumming hard around him clenching down and eyes rolling back “holy shit” you breathed out against the skin of his neck as you his in the crook, body slumped and leaned forward. He was still hard and ready inside you “use me Pete” you whispered in his ear kissing his sweet spot.

Peters hands ventured at your waist rubbing the skin before he grabbed handfuls if you hips his fingers dug into the skin of your ass as he gripped hard, picking your body up and moving you up and down him- god what his super strength could do “who’s is this huh?” He asked as you pulled your head out of hiding moaning a ‘yours’ as he moved your body all on his own. power and Dominance in every movement

You were a mess- your cum coated his cock as it pulled against your sensitive walls “pete- I cant just-“ you whimpered out as he just dropped you down on himself over and over. the sound of you body colliding back with his rang in your ears and you bit your lip to hold back a moan “cmere baby” Peter thumb cradled your chin as he pulled you in for a wet hot kiss, you’re eyes felt sewn shut you were breathing heavily through your nose as you let him in swallowing his groan as he thrusted up slowly the short quick movements seem to hit ever spot you could imagine in such little time “peter let’s- holy fuck- let’s switch” you pulled off his face and he nodded, hand firm gripping himself to pull out and flip you two over.

His warm hands held on to the expanse of your back before just tipping you straight off his lap onto your back, instead of into your pillows you now looked up and seen your footboard as peter smiled down at you before kissing your neck, soft wet open mouth kisses full of every tender moment his actions might have lacked.

Your hands came down around his neck one dancing across the tender skin from your previous attacks, the other gliding through his hair and grabbing at the bit on the nape of his neck- “Peter” you moaned breathlessly

Peters hands had found its ways to your thighs as he kneeled over your body. Fingers leaving impressions from grabbing at you. He sounded just as breathless as he pulled off you admiring the mark he left- soft red and swollen soon to be dark and purple. He lifted your legs and moved you around, adjusting to an easier position.

“Tell me you want it- tell me you want me as much as I want you” his face was red and hot, he still looked so soft and nice sittting above you “fuck- peter I want you” you grabbed his hand lacing your fingers just as he did before. He moved his hips easily finding his place sliding in so perfectly “it’s like you were made for me”groaning he commented. the silence that surrounded you both felt so comforting and empty- filled by every noise made in the room. The light bed rocking, gasps and groans as he quickened- the skin on skin contact decimating into a tune you’d hum the next day.

As he moved longer and stronger he let go of your hand pushing his into the bed propping himself up as he rocked into you. Your legs wrapped around his pert ass, his toes digging deep to keep traction on the soft sheet. “Fuck y/n” he breathed through gritted teeth

“Peter I’m so close- are you with me”

He nodded biting his lip, looking down to where you wrapped around him so perfectly “I’m right behind you”

He let the consistency of his movement out the window, he was hitting deep and hard and fast. “Peter-“ you grabbed his bicep “cum in me” he locked eyes with you if he wasn’t so caught up in making the two of you finish he would have had a kid in a candy store expression. Instead he quickly pulled out taking the condom off and sinking back in, soaking in the feeling of his bare cock in you, everything he’d imagined and more. But he could barely ground himself at the moment he had to focus on the rough feeling of raw knees pressing into mattress.

Everywhere you touched left fire, every noise you made sounded like birds chirping on a Sunday morning, everytime he looking at your face eyes shut in pleasure holding your self back, waiting for him.

It was all too much “y/n— holy shit— I’m gonna cum” he moaned hips twitching and eyes rolling as he came feeling the relief of the tension in his stomach as his coil snapped. Jutting in and out a few times relishing in the feeling of you, hot, wet, messy and tight. Feeling you pulsate after you came.

He collapsed on top of you, dick buried deep, chests heaving against one another, your legs wrapped right around him. You could hear him swallow deep in his throat as he let out another deep breath. “Holy shit best one yet” he groaned feeling your chuckle vibrate against his ribs. You ran idle hands through his hair, regaining from your own orgasm.

You two sat like this for a minute until he got enough and pulled away “god damn” he muttered just enough under his breath to not be heard. Pulling out slowly not wanting to go, admiring everything he’d been able to do. “I feel sticky” you locked eyes as you both looked down

“I can’t believe you let me do that” he fell over next to you on the bed, you scooted over to give him more room. “You deserve it, plus I’m on birth control now”

“Your what!?” He smiled and practically giggled picking his head up to look at you.

You just nodded “I said I had cramps” you elaborated. He just kept breathing an arm sneaking down to play with your hand “we should tell them”

You sat up looking down at him “if we tell we can’t do things like this” you frowned

“Am I just a secret to you?” He didn’t sound accusing, he sounded sad.

Pity and guilt filled your chest. “It’s not like that and you know it- I just wanna-“ you readjusted your searing and looked him in the eyes

“Stealing moments like these make it worth it for me, but tommorow I’ll shout from the rooftops I’m in love with peter Benjamin parker, dad be damned”

“Dad be damned” he chanted, bright toothy smile in place

“Scream it now, sound proof and all” he gestured around the room

You shut your eyes and shook your head,

“IM IN LOVE WITH PETER PARKER” you shouted

“Cmere let’s get you cleaned up” peter groaned, sitting up and taking you with him on his way off the bed

Afterwords you two laid in bed “do you know what time it is” you mumbled against his side as you curled up against him

“Snack time?, please I want grapes” Peter brushed some hair out of your face as you groaned

“I don’t think I can get up I’m so tired” you looked up with a pout sitting up onto your forearms, cradling your head. “... but if you give me a piggy back ride” you smiled and he leaned in kissing your forehead, soft lips pressed against the sweat soaked skin.

“Deal.. but I want one on the way back”

You immediately furrowed your brows and he chuckled “I’m kidding, I’m kidding... unless”

“Shut up” you laughed at him leaning off the bed to pick up the discarded clothes from earlier. Tossing his shirt and shorts over and sitting up to put on your shirt the two of you got up

You piggy backed all the way to the kitchen, being as quiet as you could.

It was complete silence, you could hear the flick of the light switch, overhead lights shutting on and illuminating the common area.

“Do you think Sam ate all my grapes?, I swear to god I’m this close to making tony call a meeting” he turned to like at you as you jumped onto the counter just shrugging.

When the fridge door opened it lit up his face, the led glow compared to the light created by Tony’s green initiative was nothing.

“And what would the queen of stark industry, miss y/n stark like to snack?” He joked with you turning and flashing an award winning smile

You shrugged hopping up to open a cabinet. You found the worst best snack In the world. The peanut butter and jelly two in one and a spoon. Breakfast of champions.

Peter watched you crack the jar open leaning against the island and popping a grape in his mouth. “I don’t know how you eat that” he laughed “I mean how psycho do you have to be to eat a pb&j minus the bread” you rolled your eyes “for one- it is good- your just a baby about trying new things and two— did you just call me psycho?” You hopped back into your place on the counter watching him with murder eyes as he flushed with color. “I kid” he shrugged.

You two giggled and talked. eventually you closed the lid on your jar and he zipped the packaging of him grapes and you were on his back once more.

You immediately fell into bed shrugging off your shirt “were still cuddling I hope you know” you looked at peter as he took of his shirt and shorts. He met your eyeline a little smile on his face “and who am I to deny you cuddles?” He joked around before falling immediately silent. You had lifted your hips and slid your underwear off under the covers, thinking nothing too much of it before just throwing them on the ground.

But peter couldn’t help but feel a slight excitement. He never really said anything but he like the idea of the two of you sleeping naked. He doesn’t really know why. So he just went over the foot of your bed, adjusting into his spot on your bed. you flipped to be facing him just as he threw his boxers across the room. “You’re a mess peter” you mumbled scooching in closer to him, holding him across the abdomen and laying your head flat on his chest.

Peter liked the feeling of your skin against his, it was soothing almost therapeutic. You were quick to sleep so he just laid there in the dark playing with your hair and listing to your breathing. It wasn’t much longer till he too fell asleep.

—

Early bird gets the worm was Steve’s thing. And apparently he thought the best course of action was shock. So he started with tony.

It took him a while but he eventually got tony to wake from his sleep. “What the hell are you doing Rogers”

Steven would just plaster on a bright smile “up and at em tony we’ve got big plans today” of course your father just grumbled and tried to turn back over. After a few minutes of Steve poking him he huffed and got out of bed.

Then they even to Bucky. Steve has this one down pack. Growing up the only way nicks mom could get him up on time was.... a wet willie. As much as Steve hated to pull this card he was more excited to have a productive day with the team. Something they haven’t had in a while

With Bucky awake they divided and conquered. Wanda, vision, Sam, Clint, thor, and Bruce were all quick wakes.

Now all nine of them stood outside of Natasha’s door. “I’m not doing it” Sam spoke up. An immediate uproar of ‘not it’ fell from the group. Steve eventually sighed and took the job of waking her up. Much to his surprise she was already up and in workout clothes. “Morning” she addressed Steve as he entered her room seeing the small flock of avengers .who were watching like this was the next best thing, scatter in the hallway.

Then that left you and peter.

It was bright early and seven am when you woke up with peter laying almost across your body. You had to push with a bit too much strength to get up, head groggy and eyes fuzzy.

upon standing You immediately felt the tingle between your legs that , from last experience, would go away to a dull ache in a hour or so. Hobbling into the bathroom you peed, washing your hands and splashing cold water against your warm skin. You had picked up your toothbrush when you heard footsteps of impending doom coming down the hall. “Oh no- oh shit” you mumbled dropping your toothbrush on the counter. Just as you got out the bathroom taking a side glance to peter who was passed out with the sheets and blankets pushed down his naked body past his thighs, only the knee down covered. “Peter” you whisper screamed. He stayed plum asleep no wiser to the world around him as you scrambled to find a shirt- any shirt- which happened to be Peters.

The soft knock on your door made you heart rate pick up. Peter twisted his head to the side but didn’t even wake up a little. “Y/n” you heard your dads voice. You almost shit yourself when the door handle moved. You looked at the lock in pure horror in the split second between the handle twisting and the door opening.

Peter forgot to lock the door after getting a snack. Peter forgot to lock the door. Your dad is coming through that door. Peter is completely asleep. Peter is completely asleep completely naked and completely exposed.

Fuck

You could hear tony shush all the avengers just as the door cracked open. He assumed you were asleep it being so early and all. When he opened the door and saw you, you froze in place. “Good you’re already up” Steve spoke up behind him.

At the same time Bucky Sam and nat rushed down the hall “peter isn’t in his room. Where could he be?”

Your eyes flashed quickly between your entire family standing in your doorway. Down to your fathers koala slippers and then up to his eyes, bright and cheery despite the obvious exhaustion he hid so well. By now his eyes had a chance to give you a one over. You were flushed and looked jittery and nervous. Then his eyes hit your bed.

And all hell broke loose.

“WHAT THE FUCK”

That one woke peter up.

“Dad” you tried to keep your voice calm

Peter frantically pulled the sheet up then the blanket all the way to his neck.

“UH— Mr.Stark I-Um fuck” he swallowed hard. His stomach was in his throat and he felt increasingly more uncomfy as the other avengers watched from the door.

Tony clasped his hands together and took a deep breath “peter I’m gonna ask this one time- and I don’t want you to lie” he spoke pointing his finger at him barely wanting to open his eyes after the sight he just had to absorb.

“Yes sir- mr. stark- sir” you had to close you eyes and shake your head. Peter was his mentee and, hell if you didn’t know any better you’d think your dad liked peter more, the most peter would get is a slap on the wrist and be on with it.

But here was peter parker acting like your dad would blast him down in the next ten seconds if he misspoke. “Okay-okay- why IN THE HELL are you NAKED in MY daughters bed?” Tony finally looked at the boys face. He was covered in a shade of red he’d never seen.

“Dad” tony whipped his head to you almost having forgotten you were right there. “You’re not speaking for him” he turned attention back to flustered, scared shitless, bare naked peter. “If I have to ask again, what the fuck is going on peter- for the love of god just say it”

“I’m in love with your daughter” peter whispered. You smiled and I love you too wasn’t practical in this situation but you mouthed it to him anyway.

Tony let out the deepest most exhausted sigh you’ve heard leave him in years and just shook his head “I can’t deal nor process this right now. So I’m going to go to my room and take a nap and I want to see you both as soon as I’m up” he turned and pushed past the rest of the power rangers to get out mumbling things under his breath your glad you couldn’t understand.

You turned and looked at nat who was hitting Sam who was trying not to laugh. “But mr.stark I’m in love with her” he mocked Peters voice. And you rolled your eyes. “I have no words” you looked him dead in the eyes. “And if you pick on peter about this again I’ll tell my dad you knew the whole time” Sam shut up quick and you slammed your door shut.

Peter let out a sight of relief sitting up in your bed. “Holy shit y/n tony knows”

You got into the bed handing him his boxers. “I couldn’t even care less right now I need another four hours sleep”

Peter laughed and curled up into a cuddle with you. “You’re just like your fucking dad”

#Tom Holland #Peter Parker #Peter Parker smut #Tom Holland smut #avengers #stark!reader

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renegadewangs · 3 years

Text

Van Zieks - the Examination, part 5

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

It’s time to return to the first game for case 5, The Unspeakable Story!

Episode 5: The Unspeakable Story – Part 1

Prepare yourselves, this is a big one! So big, even, that I'm going to have to split it into two parts. Fortunately, we can skip over the entire Investigation segment, because virtually none of it is relevant to Van Zieks. In fact, we don't even learn Van Zieks is the prosecutor until we enter the courtroom and see him standing there. Somehow, no one thought to ask who Ryu would be facing. What we do learn during the Investigation is confirmation that McGilded was indeed a lying scumbag who murdered Thrice-fired Mason. He asked Gina to lie for him in a court of law, too. So indeed, Ryu backed the wrong horse in The Runaway Room and Van Zieks was right to suspect the defense of deceit. He was wrong in how he worded half his arguments, though.

An extra thing worth noting is that after the conversation in which the blood is found on Gina's coat and the truth of McGilded comes out, it's revealed that Gregson was hiding nearby in the shadows. He insists he didn't eavesdrop and only just walked in, but it's implied much later in the trial that he knew about the blood on the coat. This means that Gregson is, from this point on, holding the full knowledge that McGilded was McGuilty in the omnibus murder.

So into the courtroom we go, where it is shown we're facing Van Zieks. (And nobody is surprised, because who else would it have been? Auchi?) It is now two months after the Runaway Room and the two Clouded Kokoro cases, so immediately upon starting the trial, the judge basically asks Van Zieks whether he's gone insane- in his own words, that is. First he asks how many years it's been since Van Zieks retired, to which Van Zieks replies that it's been five. The judge notes that Van Zieks resurfaced rather suddenly two months ago, (then basically handled three cases in a single week,) and showed up again today.

HAH. I love how on the nose this judge is when it comes to dissing the prosecution. He goes on to state that Van Zieks used to deal exclusively in matters concerned with 'the highest echelons of society and government', yet today he's trying 'a simple case of burglary and murder'. We already learned this from Gregson in case 1-4, but it's nice to have it repeated again.

Van Zieks replies that there's two things he cannot abide: “Wealthy scoundrels who hide behind a mask of philanthropy-” (hi McGilded!) and... “Secondly- even more loathsome... Those wily scoundrels who masquerade as allies only to effect total betrayal in the final hour.”

So that settles it then. He's specifically taken on his three most recent cases because there were Japanese people involved. He's also outright admitting that which Ryu had already guessed: Van Zieks hates Japanese people and going by his wording (“betrayal”, etc.) he has some bad experiences. Ryu wonders whether that 'torrid look of hatred' in Van Zieks's eyes is directed at him or at all Japanese people. Frankly, I think that in a subconscious sense, it's neither. The way I see it, that torrid look of hatred is directed at a man who died ten years ago. But I'll get back to this when it's time to address the backstory. The judge finds that an “alarmingly scathing explanation”, but welcomes the Reaper of the Bailey back to court all the same.

I love the implication that Van Zieks can apparently just come and go as he pleases in terms of prosecuting. Retirement can just be upturned on a whim and he's allowed to choose any case he wants. Who even is keeping him informed on which cases are happening and who the defense is? Is there a Chief Prosecutor in play we don't know about or is Stronghart slipping notes into his letterbox? Or has Van Zieks been entering the prosecutor's office every day for the past two months, demanding to hear news of 'that Nipponese attorney'?

So anyway, Van Zieks lays out the opening statement, pours himself a glass of wine, accuses Ryu of jumping to conclusions and reveals that he has witnesses. Remember when he threw aside his cloak halfway into 1-3 and it was seen as a big deal? … Yeah. It's not much anymore, now. He gets rid of it before the first witnesses have even taken the stand. The guys called forth are literal criminals who happened to break into the scene of the crime and, according to Van Zieks, “will face trial in the very near future” for their “various trespasses”. Alright, so he's acknowledging he's called forth some sketchy witnesses, but considers the murder itself far more sinister than their burglary.

Ryu manages to prove the taller Skulkin brother fired a gun at the crime scene and in doing so, struck poor innocent (S)Holmes. (Ryu presents a picture of a blood-stained calendar with a bullet in it to prove this, yet ten minutes later, he'll present the exact same picture and the entire court will act as if they'd never seen it before. Awkwaaard.) Van Zieks pours himself another glass of wine, toasts to Ryu's incompetence and later has another micro-aggression:

Scumbag points! And also possibly hilarious foreshadowing if he's referring to either Asogi Sr. or Mikotoba here. Though it's hard to say how well acquainted Van Zieks was with (S)Holmes and his partner roughly 16 to 10 years ago. Anyway, Van Zieks flings another chalice and basically admits that he already knew these two criminals gunned down (S)Holmes, but made a deal with them not to get into that. Though technically, Ryu was the one who got into it by proving it in court, so Van Zieks didn't break any unscrupulous deals. And maybe he was even expecting Ryu to do so? Maybe that's why he was pushing Ryu to present evidence? Either way, Van Zieks now owes 'his Nipponese friend' a word of gratitude, since he helpfully confirmed the two brothers couldn't possibly have shot the victim. Only one bullet was fired from their pistol, after all, and if it hit (S)Holmes it couldn't possibly have killed Windibank.

Van Zieks proceeds to “take a moment to consider the aforementioned Great Detective, Mr. Sholmes” (KEEP THIS LINE IN MIND), and brings up the security cameras (S)Holmes planted at the pawnshop so that he can present a picture of the defendant waving a pistol at the victim. Why didn't he present this evidence immediately instead of asking two shady burglars to testify? Who even knows, man. He's being erratic, just as the judge said. The jurors have seen enough and vote guilty, so it's time for a Summation Examination! Van Zieks poured himself another glass of wine before Ryu even asserted his right to that, because he knew it was coming. He has to stand in silence and so he will drink.

(Juror No 1, aka Mr. Garrideb, proceeds to piss me off by oggling the maid juror. I thought the whole point of this character was that his wife misunderstood and jumped to conclusions; that she's been punishing him wrongfully since he does indeed love her and will stand by her side no matter what, but apparently not.) Some tomfoolery later, we require the prosecution's help to prove stereoscopes are just as cool as wireless telegraphy.

I honestly think it's hilarious that he's meant to stay silent but has broken that rule several times, so now we're taunting him by asking him a direct question during the Examination. So after it's been proven the two criminals moved some stuff around inside the pawnshop, four jurors vote not-guilty and the trial continues. The two witnesses get called back to the stand and---

… Okay. So he definitely is against perjury. He seems to hate it, even. He apparently keeps giving them the evil eye as they testify, intimidating Ringo into telling the truth. But I just can't shake the memory of him feeding a lie to Shamspeare in Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro. Also, the game very much caught me off guard during this testimony when I presented a piece of evidence which wasn't correct, but instead of leading to a penalty led me to a unique set of dialogue not found when presenting other wrong evidence. That is to say, I presented a picture of Gina holding the sole gun to disprove the testimony that both she and Windibank were wielding guns, which led to:

Isn't that what we often do in these games? Van Zieks clearly hasn't been paying attention. Anyway, the judge points out that so long as I couldn't prove that Gina was still holding the only gun some time later, when Windibank was shot, the evidence wasn't relevant. So I had to present the picture of Windibank's body (not holding a gun) instead. Ryu manages to point out through that picture that the Skulkin brothers were lying and-

OKAY OKAY. I GET IT. Van Zieks hates perjury with a burning passion and Memoirs of the Clouded Kokoro messed up. The trial continues on to the point where Ryu manages to suggest that the Skulkin brothers shot Windibank and Gina then locked the door to save herself. At first Van Zieks is shocked at the notion, but after Ryu details his logic, he just puts his hands down on the desk and chuckles.

This is the first time we see something close to laughter from him, and it's not even really laughter. It's just a malicious, bitter little noise. In fact, we've never seen him smile. He's not even smiling now, as he cackles. That's a stark contrast from other prosecutors, who all smile/smirk as they gloat. Barok's facial expression barely changes at all. Are they building up to something? Anyway, the judge wonders why Van Zieks finds this amusing, as he found the argument quite persuasive himself. Van Zieks pours himself another glass of wine and says:

“But such blatantly malicious conjuring tricks amount to nothing more than inexcusable pettifoggery here. Because you see, it contains a fatal flaw!”

Scumbag points! He then proceeds to imply all the members of the jury are too dimwitted to count (as he flings his chalice). Bullets, that is. There were two bullets found at the crime scene and there were two guns recovered, each having fired one bullet. So if the Skulkin brothers had shot (S)Holmes, they couldn't possibly have shot Windibank as well.

Bye wine bottle, rip person sitting behind him. Van Zieks proceeds to slander Gina for being “far from a law-abiding citizen” and having “a past riddled with criminal misconduct”. To further illustrate his point, he presents a piece of evidence that the defendant attempted to steal the day beforehand, not with the subtlety of a pickpocket but by brute force and brazen impudence. Gregson loses it at this point, shouting out a loud “Hold it!” before losing his nerve and stammering his way through his protest. He mentions that there was a meeting with the prosecution service where it was agreed that piece of evidence wouldn't be used. Ryu is baffled and thinks this:

And now I'm baffled as well, because thinking back on it... Yes, Gregson has talked about Van Zieks before in Investigation segments and has been called in to testify, but as far as I can recall, he hasn't ever addressed Van Zieks directly. Fascinating stuff. Van Zieks says he's unaware of this meeting- probably because he found out Ryu's defending later on and snatched this case up at the last second. Perhaps even took it from the originally-assigned prosecutor with brute force and brazen impudence. Gregson insists that 'the government bigwigs' were very insistent about not using the disc as evidence, to which Van Zieks says:

Good gracious, Van Zieks is a loose cannon! … Or wait, maybe he's a reckless renegade? Or is he perhaps a prosecutor on the edge with nothing to lose? (Alright, put on a pot of coffee- we're gonna get to the bottom of this!) ...Either way, the prosecution thinks it's sufficiently made its case by establishing motive, opportunity and baseness of character.

OY! I thought you don't read third-rate detective stories! But Iris specifically wrote that line into existence, so he must have. Me thinks we've got a closet Adventures of (S)Herlock (S)Holmes fan on our hands, here. The jury buys into his slander, votes guilty, Iris accuses him of being mean and Ryu enters Summation Examination mode a second time.

Oh he knows what he's in for. He knows. Several minutes of talking about bullets later, the topic of (S)Holmes's waist pouch is brought up and Iris wonders whether perhaps the bullet hit one of the glass vials with flammable content. Van Zieks suddenly speaks up with an “If I may...”, catching the startled attention of Ryu in particular.

“I should inform the defence that I have the pouch in question in the antechamber outside the courtroom. As I understand it, when the police arrived on the scene and found Mr Sholmes injured, they removed the pouch in order to assess the wound. Since then, it has been in my safekeeping along with all other evidence relating to the case. I can personally vouch for the fact that it has not been touched since the incident occurred.”

This whole plotline cracks me up with how little sense it makes, considering the position of this pouch on (S)Holmes's outfit. But I'm not here to criticize plot-convenience of evidence, so let's move on and look at what's actually happening here. The defense is discussing possibilities with the jurors in hopes of changing their minds towards a not-guilty and instead of keeping silent, as he's supposed to during this moment, Van Zieks actively speaks up to admit he has a piece of evidence which may be of assistance. It's entirely possible that the pouch would have all three vials intact and thereby dismiss the theory that the bullet hit one of them, but... Regardless of whether he remembers seeing a broken vial with his own eyes, he's taking a risk by showing the pouch. He could've played by the Summation Examination rules, kept his mouth shut and then later when it comes out he had the pouch all along, just remind everyone he wasn't allowed to speak. That's what most prosecutors would've done. Naturally, it's revealed there was indeed a broken vial and some scorched leather, and even closer examination reveals a third bullet we can present to the jurors.

Scumbag point! So with all the confusion on the third bullet and the implication of there being a third gun, the judge does something pretty extraordinary. He doesn't wait for the jurors to change their leaning and instead actually suspends the Summation Examination until the matter is cleared up. This implies any judge has the power to overrule juror leanings, at the very least during Summation Examination, when they feel the case presented by the counsels is lacking important details. Anyway, closing argument on hold for now and the Skulkins return to the stand. Barok looks them straight in the eyes with his usual evil eye and asks them whether the third gun is one of theirs. When that's denied, he asks whether they had an accomplice, which is also denied. And it's kind of funny, because only a few minutes later when Ryu implies they had an accomplice, we get this line:

“Yet in all that time, there has been not a murmur of a third man. If this apparently wraithlike being exists...” pause for chalice crush... “The court must be shown hard evidence!”

But Van Zieks was the one who questioned the Skulkins about an accomplice earlier, so... Indeed, we don't have evidence, but the murmur was definitely already there. So now the prosecution wants two things: evidence there was a third person on the scene and their identity. The game prompts two options: Either present an answer to the prosecution's demands or, y'know, don't. Naturally I chose the latter option to see what happens and it goes about as well as you'd expect. Ryu stutters and trails off, Van Zieks notes the defense is unable to complete a sentence, let alone provide credible answers... Iris takes the place of Susato in telling Ryu off for faltering, so Ryu desperately tries to catch himself and push his argument. Van Zieks says: “So, my Nipponese friend, despite the swimming eyes you seem to think you have something to say...”

PENALTY FROM THE PROSECUTION, oh how I've missed you. Loading up the savegame and choosing the first option actually also leads to the exact same line of “so, my Nipponese friend, despite the swimming eyes you seem to think you have something to say...”, just with a slightly different posture and followed up with the words “this promises to be interesting.” Ryu presents the blood sample on the calendar once more and as I said before, the court acts as if they've never seen this picture before. Hilarious. Van Zieks asks why the blood is depicted as green and Ryu explains it's because of a new chemical (S)Holmes invented. The green blood is then linked to Eggert Benedict through the music disc. The court gets very excited, but much like the skin prints in case 2-2, this isn't admissible evidence. Van Zieks says “this has gone on long enough now. This flagrant ignorance of the mechanics of law.”

“The protagonist in a series of short stories for the vulgar classes. A god of detection or some such. And now you employ chemical substances devised by this fantastical persona in the highest court in the land? Do you expect us to take you seriously? The samples made by this plaything are not fit to be called evidence.”

These lines! I had a quick look at both Scarlet Study's and Taisa's scripts, and there Van Zieks outright accuses (S)Holmes of being a fictional character. He doesn't actually diss the stories themselves though, nor is there anything similar to that plaything line. He only says the chemical itself is 'rubbish'. What ultimately kills me is the “Yes, I’ve heard the name” as if this is the first time it’s being uttered in the courtroom. Let's be merciful here and take case 2-2 out of the equation. Yes, (S)Holmes is mentioned several times there, they establish the two have some sort of history and he even enters the courtroom at one point to address Van Zieks directly, but that case was developed after this one so accidental retcon is bound to happen. No, let's look solely at the cases in the first game. (S)Holmes has been mentioned several times throughout the course of this trial, even by Van Zieks himself. Even better, Van Zieks was the one to present photographs taken by one of (S)Holmes's playthings earlier on. OOPS.

Ryu enters despair mode because there really is no way to prove that the color green is unique to Eggert Benedict, nor would it be accepted as evidence to begin with. But that's okay, because much like the skin prints in 2-2, it was never about having it filed as official evidence. It was about influencing the jury and as Iris so smartly points out, the Summation Examination was suspended earlier. This means that technically, it's still going on. It doesn't matter what the prosecution or the judge thinks of (S)Holmes's invention, it only matters what the jurors think, as they now have the power to force the trial to continue. Naturally, the majority votes not-guilty. Van Zieks objects rather ferociously. “My lord, with all due respect, this is an outrage! The prosecution refuses to accept this decision!” (heehee, I really enjoy these lines. With all due respect, indeed.) The judge asks on what grounds the prosecution is objecting, and Van Zieks says:

“Then they are too ignorant to be trusted with the judgement of anyone's guilt!”

Gosh, he really doesn't enjoy how 'gullible' the jurors are, does he? Or rather, he gets frustrated when the jurors begin to think for themselves instead of taking the prosecution's word for it. The judge sets Van Zieks straight by basically reminding him that this is how the court works.

It is so satisfying to watch him squirm. Van Zieks wants us to play by the court's rules, so we're playing by the court's rules and now he's got no more comebacks. This is it folks, we're subpoena-ing Egg Benedict! He does indeed show up to court after a brief intermission and reveals his true name to be Ashley Graydon. Graydon expresses haughty dismay that the highest court of the land was swayed by some self-professed detective's homemade tincture. Van Zieks tells him it was the will of the jury, and their great British justice system demands that the jury's will is upheld. Graydon calls the jury members inept, as Van Zieks has done many times before, but agrees to testify. Ryu attempts to needle this guy several times by asserting he was definitely at the crime scene, but indeed, the blood sample doesn't count as evidence and Ryu doesn't really have anything else to back him up. Van Zieks oh-so-kindly reminds him that the obligation to prove the defense's assertion lies with, well, the defense. Eventually we do get there and Graydon starts making up some bullshit story about how he met McGilded in a gentlemen's club and bonded with him over unique music box music, so that's what that disc was. Van Zieks points out that Yard have indeed been gathering items believed to have been McGilded's property, presumably to aid their investigations. Gregson once again loses his composure here and tries to shut the conversation down.

Gregson and Van Zieks continue to banter back and forth about how Gregson is definitely not allowed to talk about these things and Van Zieks should also know better than to pry. Even Ryu thinks it's strange the two of them are bickering like that. Anyway, we're not allowed to discuss the McGilded stuff, so back to Graydon and his breaking and entering! Van Zieks asserts that if the police confiscated the disc beforehand and Graydon saw this happen, there was no reason for him to break into the pawnshop anymore.

Oooh, that's some tasty triumph over Van Zieks's ignorance! Ryu brings up the second item pawned by McGilded, a 'small box'. Van Zieks insists that no such thing was stolen from the pawnshop and he can prove it, since he has a picture of the shelves from before the break-in and one from after the break-in. You know, the pictures taken by that idiot detective's silly little plaything! Through the magic of stereoscopes (or the 3D Slider in the 3DS version), Ryu can see that a small box was moved.

It's absolutely hilarious that most of the court has to go cross-eyed to do the stereoscope thing and then there's Van Zieks, with a fancy stereoscope device that he just happened to have with him in a trial he couldn't possibly predict would require a stereoscope. He's so extra! Ryu asserts that if the box was moved, they have to raise the question of what was inside it and send the Yard to retrieve that thing at once. Van Zieks objects, saying that “some little box belonging to a man who died two months ago can't possibly be relevant to this trial.” The judge doesn't see it his way, though, and overrules his objection. Nice! So officers are dispatched to Baker Street to fetch the box and Van Zieks grumbles to himself about being hoodwinked by a farce.

The judge once again doesn't take kindly to Van Zieks's attitude problems and I love this. I can't wait for the prosecution to be penalized, because it feels like it's right around the corner here. Van Zieks elaborates that this whole thing is nothing but a smoke screen; a Nipponese specialty. Scumbag points for this one! I can't entirely connect this to Professor foreshadowing, I think it's just him being petty. Either way, he's going to jump through hoops now. Mere minutes ago he established that the Yard is still investigating McGilded's stuff and the 'aftermath' of his activities, but he's flipping it all over now. He begins to talk about how McGilded died two months ago, immediately after the trial in which he was found not-guilty.

“So I propose a toast. To my learned friend, and his most... insightful defense.”

So the logic being used here now is that McGilded was a fine, upstanding citizen and anything he pawned was truly innocent/ordinary, so why would someone want to steal it? The only way to prove that there's more to these items than might be apparent would be for Ryu to reveal that the acquittal was a mistake and the defense's argument was based on false information. They all suspected this two months ago, though. It was made abundantly clear that the only reason McGilded walked free was because nobody could say for certain whether the evidence was tampered with. Either way, Ryu's cornered now and wondering to himself whether Van Zieks knows the items in question are related to the omnibus murder. He probably does. He has access to the evidence, which means he has access to to the pawn tickets which hold some very specific dates on them.

The game gives Ryu an option whether or not to have Gina testify about what happened two months ago, but this option isn't real. If you choose 'leave it', Ryu still decides within two lines of dialogue that they have to uncover the truth. There's no penalty for stalling. So Ryu calls for Gina to testify and Van Zieks definitely knows what's up.

“In particular, the impact it will have on the accused's standing... And indeed your own.”

So this is a warning, clear and simple. Van Zieks knows shit will hit the fan. Or, as he later phrases it, it will bring the court down around Ryu's ears. But Ryu insists upon the testimony, the prosecution agrees and Gina is put on the stand. The judge tells Graydon he can step down, Graydon promptly sees this as an excuse to leave and bids them all a good day, but Van Zieks tells him to wait.

Oh, this... I like this. By now, Van Zieks has caught on to Ryu's little trick of watching the reactions from other witnesses during testimonies. He's purposely making Graydon stand there and listen to Gina's testimony just in case he reacts in such an overdramatic way, Ryu can pursue it. Iiinteresting! Now it seems as if he's on our side, but we're not quite there yet. Before Gina can begin her testimony, Van Zieks reminds her that if it turns out she willfully withheld information two months ago, she'll be prosecuted for perjury. That's just an intimidation technique to get her not to reveal what she withheld. … Which is weird, because you'd think Van Zieks would want her to spill those beans. Either way, with some encouragement from Ryu and Iris, Gina begins to talk about the lies she told. Aaand we're ending the essay here for now, because we're only about halfway into this disaster of a trial and the plot will only thicken from here on out. Stay tuned for part 2 of The Unspeakable Story!

#dgs #dgs spoilers #tgaa #tgaa spoilers #barok van zieks #thank goodness #the consistency is back #BLESS

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obeymeaskme · 3 years

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Obey Me!: Human and Demon Hearts!

A/N: Make sure to check my pinned post for the whole story so far!

Chapter Two: Reaching the bare minimum (2/2)

Word Count: 1,926

Rating: 18+

Away in her self cleaned room, Noelle had laid in her bed. Face burrowed in the pillow, as she sobbed quietly. Thankfully enough time went by for her tears to subside, as a knock came from her door. Grumbling about being interrupted from almost falling asleep, she turned on the lights, and opened the door, peeking her head through. She didn't see anyone immediately, but caught the sounds of Satan's footsteps and soft humming as he walked back down to the dining room. A soft warm, and earthy smell dragged her attention to the plate of food sitting on the ground. A side of normal looking mashed potatoes, and a ham and pineapple dish made her sigh in relief of not having to go hungry for the night. She ate her food, and decided to wash the dishes in the morning.

The full swing of the weekend had stirred Noelle from her sleep. And much like she promised herself, she got dressed and made her way to the stone kitchen to wash her platter. She jumped slightly as Satan and Lucifer were already in the kitchen, yet they showed no sign of noticing her. Noelle ducked behind the wall, not wanting to intervene just yet. Her heart almost sank as she quickly learned what Satan was explaining to Lucifer, which was what she had told satan the previous day in the library. this caused her emotions to rush back to her while Satan expressed concern over Levi's attitude to her during their art class. Lucifer seemed to hum in thought and had quickly reminded Satan that this was what she had asked for, and a small argument broke out.

It seemed that even Satan was aware of how cruel his brothers were beginning to act towards her. Lucifer seemed stunned at his reasoning, and shot back at him, reminding Satan that he wasn't the eldest, and he doesn't know a thing. Noelle felt herself become defensive for the only Demon she had found safety in. she stood in the doorway, a set of tears stroked her cheeks as she spoke.

“So what?” Was all she could muster with her crackling voice.

The two brothers seemed stunned. Satan felt the growing anger and defense within her arise. Feeding into his own sin. Lucifer closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose before responding.

“And just how long were you standing there?”

Another surge of courage ripped through Noelle, as the familiar sensation of being pushed too far made her swallow what tears she had shed. Her voice came back out in full.

“Long enough. If you're going to talk shit about me, at least grow the balls to say it to my face, coward.”

A line was crossed and Lucifer had glared at her. Noelle's hand reached over her lips, touching them gently. Part of her was surprised and impressed, but the other part of her knew how grave of a mistake she just made. Lucifer was the Avatar of Pride. A demon who found entertainment in being above everyone, unchallenged. He even showed some grace as he sauntered up to her, backing her up into the hallway and against the wall. The other demons of the house had sensed Lucifer's aura and had made their way to the kitchen, stopping at the scene before them.

It was at that point that Noelle realized why she had struggled so much with the citizens of Devildom.

Lucifer's voice dropped into a growl. An inhuman growl.

“If you're going to be so bold to ask me, I will tell you. You are a small, and weak human in a world of strong demons who could rip you to shreds. If it wasn't for Lord Diavolo's orders to maintain your safety, I'd have yanked that flapping, moronic tongue of yours out of that little useless cavern you call a mouth. So we shall make this clear once, and once only. Do. Not. Speak ill of me like that again. Or so help me, there will be 'a case of rules meant to be broken'...”

He took a quick, short pause to inhale deeply, and spoke with a final, shaky voice.

“Along with a few broken bones, do I make myself clear?”

Noelle's body was only able to shake violently in fear. She heard what he had said; What he had threatened. Her mistake was forgetting where she was, and what she was surrounded by. Demons.

Her mind may have refused to process a response, but she felt every inch of her body screaming “I'll behave”. White hair and brown leather blocked her vision, and Mammon stepped between them, trying to coax Lucifer down from his rage.

“Alright there, uh Lucy! You don't have to go that far! And besides, the kid's shaking in her boots! I think um- she gets your point.”

A silent scoff was heard, and he looked past his brother and gave a final glare before walking away. Finally out of his eyesight she realized the black wings of his apparent demon form. She watched as the almost emperor like clothing, along with the wings, burned to ash, showcasing Lucifer's casual outfit. Then she dropped to the floor.

Breathing heavily, and still shaking. Even with her physical form showing her fear, her mind became painfully calm in contrast to the intense moment that just passed. The remaining brother's grew uncomfortable, but a small chuckle was heard. It came from Levi.

“Wooow! What Did you do to make him so grouchy?”

Satan started scolding Levi for such a vicious remark, and Mammon knelt down to Noelle's side, cautiously placing a hand on her shoulder. He jumped a bit as she got up quickly, and walked halfway to Levi, catching his attention. She looked around at the brother's before her. She spoke, her voice stuttering and shaky.

“Grouchy- That's just grouchy? You- you all just.. you- just stood there. Why? Why would- why would-”

Mammon had quickly placed a hand back on her shoulder as the rest looked on in sympathy. Even Leviathan had realized the trauma that was just bestowed upon her. Satan was next to speak, walking up to her and ruffling her hair in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Yeah- That's Lucifer when he's grouchy. What you just witnessed was a Demon Feeding. Come to think about it...” Before he finished his thought, Mammon gathered everyone's attention and reminded them that it was best to go back to what they were doing. Leaving just Satan and Noelle in the hallway. He looked at her. Having felt the anger and confusion she had hidden so well in the moment. He felt it all crumble, and then he felt... nothing.

He led her into the kitchen, and she watched him as he made the family breakfast. Silence drumming out to their ears. That was until Noelle found her voice again, calm and recovered.

“That was... scary...”

Satan hummed in response.

“It could have been worse.” He looked back at her, studying her in her response.

“what... was that about Demon feeding?”

Satan chortled, clearly amused by something, but answered her nonetheless.

“Before you had decided to entertain everyone just then, I was telling Lucifer, or more so reminding him, that you're human. A lot of times you have kept yourself vulnerable. You're mostly honest, you tend to reach out to others before they even consider asking for help... to a demon you're a very tempting snack.”

Noelle shuddered and swallowed her collective saliva, as she listened to Satan explain further.

“Demons, even if they're fallen angels, have this weak spot for humans like you. The response to that weak spot can go one of three ways. The first two are usually the most common, I'd say about 99.5% common. A demon will take interest in your soul and have the urge to make a contract with you, or will Feed off of you. Which is exactly what everyone has been doing to you. Well except me and the few others who don't bother interacting with you.”

Noelle tilted her head, and Satan sighed, resting himself next her, as she sat on the counter.

“What I mean is, since you're a relatively pure and kind person, despite your perverse sense of humor, you're the kind of person demons just love to torment. When a Demon Feeding takes place they're, in a way, suffocating your soul, and eating at the desired emotion they want.”

Satan rubbed his neck, and an almost visible light bulb went off as he turned towards her, seemingly excited with what he was going to say.

“It's almost like chewing bubble gum!”

Satan's smirk grew playful, and he elicited a laugh out of Noelle. Through her short laugh she asked him what he meant, to which he responded with great theatrics-

“It's just a taste of the soul without eating it! Incubi, and Succubi do it all the time! Ew-”

Noelle laughed harder at his outburst, almost falling off the counter. Satan had caught her before doing so, and led her off the counter tops back to the ground. She was quickly silenced by Satan's glare at her before he finally spoke up again.

“The best way to prevent this, is to not back down. Don't give anyone else the ability to scare you, or get what they want. I won't lie, because you've already gave some a taste it will be harder to fight them off. Bella hasn't been affected by the same condition because Belphegor and Beel have the most history with humans, therefore lacking the desire to take what's not rightfully theirs.”

He began to speak with a light blush.

“I'll even admit that seeing you overwhelmed with anger, made me tempted to feed off you as well... It's an instinctual thing... and it's.. different from what Lucifer did to you.”

Noelle scrunched her face in confusion.

“what do you mean?”

“that third option... The .5% reaction... If a human and demon have some form of common ground, then instead of wanting their soul, they find pleasure more so in amplifying emotions. It's like when you protected Bella when you first got here. She gave you the strength to face demons without thought. It's like an urge to connect with a human, except it's through a more spiritual means. So technically speaking... this was my fault. I think I accidentally amplified my feelings towards Lucifer to you. So uh- I'm sorry.”

Noelle nodded at him, and smiled lightly. A soft weight lifting from her shoulder as she gave him a hug. Speaking as she pulled back.

“It's okay. I'm just glad this just means no one here completely hates me... I was worried. Maybe you need to stick around me more often ya' know? Give me a boost of confidence to start finally sticking up for myself.”

Satan smiled at her, and playfully thought about it before nodding at her.

“Perhaps I do...”

“Hey Satan?”

“Yeah?”

Noelle sniffed the air and before she could ask, Satan had jumped up and rushed to the burning food.

“SHIT!”

#obey me: human and demon hearts #obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levithan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphagor #obey me fanfic #obey me oc

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deer-knight · 4 years

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I love asking questions about people lol, so sorry if this is really weird. Where'd you get the archery/sword experience? Have you been backpacking? If so, where's your favorite place you've been? Some of you favorite books/authors? What's your favorite part about teaching/working with kids?

alright, i wanna honor these questions with proper responses, so i’ll just tag this as a long post and y’all can deal with it :P i’ve bolded the different questions so you can read whatever you’re interested in. ARCHERY: i started fashioning self-bows and arrows in my parents backyard (which was just about 3 acres) when i was 11, just going on what i knew bows and arrows to look like. i shot at trees and rocks and i’d do it for hours and hours after school. my parents are strongly anti-weapons and the only reason i ever got into archery beyond my backyard bows was because of my grandfather, who gifted me a longbow for my 13th birthday and brought me for a few lessons with a junior olympic coach he happened to know. then armed with some proper equipment and a couple of lessons the rest of it was just practicing in the backyard at primarily self-made targets of foam and cardboard.

and i practiced religiously. nearly every day, for at least an hour or two, i’d be out there. i briefly joined an archery range the following year, and nearly outshot everyone at the first tournament, despite being the only one under the age of 30, which i am proud of to this day.

i continued my practice and love of archery up through high school and uni, but gradually fell out of consistent practice just cause i no longer had the space once i moved out of my parents place. i’ve taught archery for girl scouts and now teach primarily primitive archery at work. so in essence, i’ve come full circle - back to self-bows and shooting at trees in the woods.

SWORDPLAY: most of my swordplay experience is from modern olympic foil fencing, which i did from age 13/14 to about halfway through uni, which is when i discovered sca rapier fighting. somehow i managed to convince my parents it wasn’t at all dangerous or violent (which it technically isn’t - it’s really quite tame, at least if you don’t fence sabre). i mostly fenced foil, but my high school team was tiny, and i filled in wherever bodies were needed, so i learned a bit of everything. i did however break my ankle when i was 16 during a fencing bout, which required surgery. i couldn’t walk for 6 months, but i was back at it again as soon as i was cleared, and having good footwork became my top priority.

as for sca rapier, i was at a local renaissance faire and saw one of their fight demonstrations. i noticed that the techniques looked awfully similar to épée fencing, but the swords looked far more beautiful and certainly more substantial as weaponry. needless to say, i was intrigued. i asked their table how to get involved, and i started attending their practices the very next weekend, never to pick up a foil again. i’ve been fighting with my local group and learning from my sca peers ever since.

since then, i’ve received my award of arms in large part due to my rapier dedication, i’ve won one local rapier championship, and ranked 15th in my very first large scale tourney last year, one with close to 80 participants. at work i teach kiddos the basics of swordplay, using foam swords i constructed of pool noodes, pvc, and duct tape.

BACKPACKING: no, i haven’t technically been backpacking, but i love hiking and i’ve covered most of my local peaks. ^_^

FAVORITE BOOKS/AUTHORS: this has been a difficult and shifting thing of late, as academia crushed my adolescent love of reading and i took a long break from reading for pleasure post-uni.

that said, the kingkiller chronicles by patrick rothfuss and the stormlight archives by brandon sanderson were my absolute favorites in high school, and having reread them recently to try and rekindle my relationship with reading is a difficult thing. they are not the perfect books i romanticized them to be, but i don’t think i can dismiss entirely the good they did for me as a depressed teen. i loved the storytelling, i loved the worldbuilding, i loved the quality of the writing and they way it let me escape for a while. would i recommend the books to anyone today? probably not. i’m searching for better ones.

it’s likely i simply didn’t notice the misogyny or lack of queer representation as a problem because it was what i understood to be normal, and being a daft and obliviously closeted trans queer kid, the only thing i knew how to do was repress and avoid conflict.

i don’t know if i can call those books my favorites anymore. i’ve thanked them for their comfort when i needed it, but i’ve let them go. for now i’m on the hunt for books i can actually see myself represented in.

FAVORITE PART OF TEACHING/WORKING WITH KIDS: hm. i think it would have to be their creativity - the way they ask questions, their curiosity and their different ways of figuring stuff out, and beyond all - their gorgeous imaginations.

there are certain kids who, like me, really just want to learn, to soak up every bit of all they touch and see and hear, and to never stop trying to get better at the stuff they love. one of my students got their first coal using a bow drill this fall, after having tried for years but never quite being strong enough. a new student struggled to cross a fallen log that spans a shallow ravine, too scared of falling off to walk it like a balance beam. they worked at it for a while, crawling out on their butt or hands and knees and then backtracking when they got too scared. by the end of the day they could walk across it, still some fear in their eyes but the confidence of practice in their chest.

i love when kids come back from their “sit spot” (20 minutes of quiet time alone in the woods) to report that they had made a new friend in the form of a tree or a fern or a squirrel that sat near them on a stump for a while. sometimes their new friend has a name and a story, sometimes they don’t. sometimes they were visited by the fairies or the voices of the wind.

and sometimes they take a foam sword to the face and they cry, their arrow doesn’t fly as straight or as far as the others, or they say mean things to one another to protect their own pride and insecurities. sometimes they cut themselves while carving or they get clotheslined by a tree branch, and sometimes they bicker and argue about who did what, and that’s part of it too. we ask them what they notice in their bodies, how they feel and we figure out what those feelings mean and where to go from there. that’s beautiful too.

so, it’s all my favorite. i couldn’t ask for a better job. i’ll most likely do this forever :P

thanks for the questions! i’ve tagged all “about me” kinds of questions with “& lore” so if you want to ask a question but don’t know if i’ve already answered it, check there first! my about me page also has some basic stuff there ^_^

cheers! &

#long post #& lore

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years

Text

The Christmas Wish: 1/4

Merry Christmas, @snowbellewells ! You have become such a sweet friend to me, so I wanted to gift you with something this holiday season. Since we were talking about Hallmark Christmas movies the other day, I thought the perfect gift would be writing you a Captain Swan version of one! I hope you enjoy it and have a wonderful Christmas with your family.

Many thanks to @kmomof4 for being my beta when I know this week is busy with your family. Thank you so much, my dear friend!

This has four parts and one chapter will be posted each day this week, with the last one posting on Christmas Eve. It is loosely based on a Hallmark movie starring Jessie Schram, funny enough, called The Birthday Wish. This fic is set in 3b, but sticking to canon didn’t work at all with what I wanted to do, so it ended up being canon divergent. I think the only canon part that remains is Zelena. There’s no Rumple, no Neal, no cursed lips, no time travel. Yeah, I know, not much canon left, haha. Let’s just say this is more character driven . . . .

Summary: Emma leaned forward, closed her eyes, and a wish bubbled up unbidden from the depths of her heart. "I wish I could just have a simple, domestic life. Is that even in the cards for me?" Breath left her on an exhale just as the wish floated through her mind, and the candle blew out. The "answer" to her wish had to be some kind of trick, however. After all, it wasn’t as if anything in the vision she received could ever in a million years be real. It was ridiculous. Captain Hook, the father of three driving a minivan? Impossible.

Rated G for Hallmark movie levels of fluff and Christmas feels

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @teamhook @xhookswenchx @bethacaciakay @whimsicallyenchantedrose @welllpthisishappening @optomisticgirl @hookedonapirate @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @spartanguard @let-it-raines @tiganasummertree @vvbooklady1256 @scientificapricot @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @ohmakemeahercules @hollyethecurious @ultraluckycatnd @jrob64 @wellhellotragic @winterbythesea @winterbaby89 @lfh1226-linda @carpedzem @thesschesthair @resident-of-storybrooke @cutieodonoghue @justbecauseyoubelievesomething @juliakaze @thisonesatellite @therealstartraveller776 @thislassishooked @profdanglaisstuff @killian-whump

Chapter One: The Vision

“Mom, come on! It’s already started!”

Emma hadn’t seen her son this excited since they left New York. Henry was standing in the open door of their room at Granny’s, shifting with nervous excitement from one foot to the other. Emma was on her hands and knees with her head halfway under the bed. Where the hell had her other boot gotten to? It couldn’t have just disappeared. Then again, this was Storybrooke . . .

“Everything alright, lass?”

The sound of Hook’s voice made Emma jerk backwards and smack her head against the bed frame. She scowled at the pirate who was now standing at Henry’s side as she sat up on her knees rubbing the lump that was rising on her head.

“Where’d you come from?” she muttered as she rose to her feet. A dust bunny tumbled from her messy hair, tickling her nose and making her sneeze.

“Sorry,” Hook apologized with a slight smirk that made her think he wasn’t all that sorry.

“I can’t find my damn boot,” Emma snapped at him, almost as if it were his fault.

“Want me to help you look, love?”

“Mo-om,” Henry whined.

“Actually,” Emma replied, pushing her hair out of her face with one hand so she could look at the pair in her doorway - one on the cusp of adolescence and the other looking far more handsome than he had a right to in those ridiculous pirate clothes. Anyone else would look like they were headed to a tacky Halloween party. “Could you take Henry down to the Christmas carnival?”

“I thought we were going together!” Henry exclaimed.

Mom guilt slammed into her at his crestfallen expression. Between figuring out this new curse and trying to stay one step ahead of this wicked witch (Wicked Witch of the West? Seriously?), Emma knew she had neglected time with Henry. It was so different from what he had been used to in the life they had built in New York, and she hated letting him down. Not to mention that at twelve, Henry wouldn’t be wanting to hang out with her for too much longer, and she was missing it.

“I’ll be right down. It’s gotta be around here somewhere.” She really needed to buy an extra pair of boots, but frugal habits born of so many years on the streets didn’t go away easily.

“I’ll guard him with my life if necessary,” Hook swore to her solemnly.

Henry rolled his eyes. “First off, I’m twelve, not two. Second, it’s a Christmas carnival. What’s going to happen? I get hit in the head with a candy cane?”

Hook just arched a brow at her, and she shook her head ruefully. Little did Henry know. Sometimes his lack of memories stabbed her with even more feelings of guilt. She waved him off.

“I know, I know. Just get down there and teach Killian how to overdose on Christmas sugar.”

“Will do,” he told her joyfully as he shot off towards the stairs, Killian hurrying after him.

Emma collapsed onto the bed for a minute once they were gone. She’d told her mom

that having a Christmas carnival on Main Street was a bad idea with the Wicked Witch still out there. On the other hand, she had yanked Henry out of school, dragged him away from his friends and the life he had known, and brought him to this bizarro town. Now he was having to celebrate Christmas here, too. They didn’t have a tree or the Christmas decorations they had bought together last year. They hadn’t made cookies and hot chocolate for their annual viewing of Home Alone. Of course, technically, it was only annual in memories that weren’t real, but that was beside the point. The point was she was now ruining her son’s Christmas too. Ever since he heard about the Christmas Carnival, he’d set aside his Nintendo DS and his cell phone for the longest span of time since they’d arrived here.

Emma got up and resumed her search for that elusive right boot. She finally found it wedged beside the TV, hidden by the window curtains. She yanked both boots on, then turned to glance at her reflection in the mirror. She frowned at her tangled hair and grabbed a brush. Once her golden hair was glistening and smooth, she grabbed her lipstick and reapplied it. It wasn’t until she was touching up her mascara that she scowled at herself in the mirror.

Who exactly are you primping for, Emma?

She refused to answer her own subconscious as she tossed the mascara angrily onto the vanity. It bounced and slid into the sink, but she just left it there and marched out the door.

The Christmas Carnival was literally on her doorstep, filling the street in both directions from Granny’s patio. A choir of children from the elementary school stood on a stage near the post office belting out Christmas carols, led by someone who looked a lot like Mary Poppins (she probably was Mary Poppins, Emma thought with a chuckle). Leroy and some of the other dwarves had gathered around a booth where you were supposed to toss as many bean bags as you could into the mouth of a giant wooden snowman. Merry Men cheered and laughed as they took turns trying to pop balloons in a dart game. There were plenty of other typical carnival games: ring tosses, coin drops, wheel spinners, and one of those “go fish” games where kids tossed a clothes pin at the end of a string over a blanket and one of the nuns from the convent attached a bag of Christmas candy. There were also merchants with booths selling all sorts of handmade Christmas gifts, and food booths offering everything from hot chocolate to corn dogs to cotton candy.

She found Killian and Henry fairly quickly. They had found David at the strong man game. She chuckled to see her father spitting on his hands and rubbing them together before lifting a mallet and slamming it down. A bell went flying up, ringing loudly and impressively as it almost reached the top of the strong man game. With a smirk, her father offered the mallet to Killian. Emma rolled her eyes but couldn’t look away as Killian took off his coat. He really needed to go without that long coat more often, she liked the figure he cut in those tight leather pants -

“Are you kidding me?”

Emma jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. She turned to see Mary Margaret shaking her head as she watched the men.

“That is just unfair,” she continued. “I know your father is wary of Hook’s feelings towards you, but to challenge him to that game . . . “

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know . . . “

Emma crossed her arms over her chest and leveled her mother with a scathing look. “Know what?”

“He, um . . . well, that is, he only . . . “

“Only has one hand?”

“Well yeah.”

Emma arched a brow and gave her mother a smug grin. “I think Killian can handle himself.”

Right on cue, Hook swung the mallet with his good arm, and the bell flew up. It didn’t make it as far as her father’s swing, but it was still damn good. Emma smiled as she watched her father slap Killian on the back.

“Killian is it?” her mother asked pointedly.

Emma turned to take in her mother’s curious stare. She tightened her arms further around herself. “Uh, yeah, that’s his name. It’s the name we use around Henry, so you know . . . “

“Okay,” her mother teased, a smirk of her own teasing her lips. She changed the subject, however, by lifting a plate holding a cupcake into Emma’s line of sight. “Happy Birthday!”

Emma cocked her head. “Birthday?”

Her mother sighed. “I know it was almost two months ago. Yet one more moment I missed. I wanted to make it up to you.”

“It’s okay, really.” Emma took the plate and looked at the cupcake. It was chocolate with white icing and blue sprinkles. “It’s not really Christmas-y. Where did you get it?”

“A cupcakery opened along with the new curse. Felicity’s.”

“Is that her real name?”

“It is.”

Emma snorted loudly. “Cute.”

Mary Margaret grinned. “I know.” She threaded her arm through Emma’s and steered her towards a group of picnic tables set up beneath some fairy lights. Emma let her mother pull her to the table and sat down with the cupcake between them. Mary Margaret pulled something out of her pocket with a proud smile. “Felicity even gave me a candle and some matches!”

“Really?” Emma asked with raised brows as her mother stuck the candle into the cupcake. It was sparkling blue with a star on top.

“Mhm,” her mother said, “I told her it was for you and how I missed your birthday, and she wanted it to be special. The cupcake is special too, she said. It’s her Sugar Plum Fairy cupcake, and she was almost sold out. This was the last one.”

Emma spun the cake around, eyeing it. She had obviously been in town way too long if she was suspicious of an innocuous cupcake. The woman owned a cupcakery, for heaven’s sake! She had to sell the damn things. And what better way to drum up business than to pay extra special attention to Snow White? Emma let out a breath as she told herself to just relax and enjoy the cupcake. The bright pink and glittery decorations may not be her style, but it was chocolate, and you couldn’t go wrong with chocolate in Emma’s opinion.

Her mother lit the candle, her eyes sparkling as she sang “Happy Birthday.” Emma squirmed, never comfortable with such attention, praying no one else heard the song.

“Make a wish!” her mother exclaimed.

Emma bit her bottom lip as she suddenly remembered the last time she had made a wish on a cupcake. She had wished that she didn’t have to be alone on her birthday, and seconds later, Henry had knocked on her door.

So Emma leaned forward, closed her eyes, and a wish bubbled up unbidden from the depths of her heart. I wish I could just have a simple, domestic life. Is that even in the cards for me? Breath left her on an exhale just as the wish floated through her mind, and the candle blew out.

“Hey, where’d you get the cupcake?”

Emma opened her eyes to see Henry standing beside her. Behind him were her dad and Hook. Even as her son eyed her cupcake jealously, he shoved a forkful of funnel cake into his mouth. She chuckled.

“I didn’t buy it at the carnival,” Mary Margaret explained. “I bought it at a bakery specially for your mom.”

“Why?”

Her mother, who had the world’s worst poker face, went slack jawed and stammered as she looked at her daughter. Emma calmly removed the candle, licked the icing off, then started to peel away the wrapper before she answered her son.

“Because I helped her set up her baby registry the other day, and after two hours of agonizing over strollers, high chairs, and onesies, she owed me.”

It was only half a lie. Emma had helped her mom register at Storybrooke’s only baby store. Named, naturally, The Stork’s Nest. And it was also true that the experience had been torturous enough to earn her dozens of cupcakes.

She still wished she didn’t have to lie to her son - even half lies.

*******************************************

When Emma awoke the next morning to blurred surroundings, she wasn’t alarmed at first. It always took her a minute to fully awake and adjust her eyes to the morning light. But when she couldn’t see well enough to even find her phone on the nightstand, worry gripped her. She sat up abruptly in bed, trying to blink the sleep away. She squinted, and still all she could see was a white blur that she assumed was the sun streaming through the window and around it only blurry gray. She groped in the general vicinity of the nightstand, knocking over the lamp. She swore loudly as it crashed to the floor.

“Mom!” Henry shouted as he burst through the door.

Emma turned towards his voice, assuming that the moving brown blur in front of her was her son. “I’m . . . fine,” she lied, not wanting to alarm him. “Just go downstairs and ask Granny’s help to go get your gr - I mean, David.”

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

She pressed her lips together and took a sharp breath in through her nose. “Just go, Henry, okay?”

She heard him grumble something under his breath about how he wasn’t a little kid anymore, but she heard the door to their rooms open and close anyway. While he was gone, she rubbed at her eyes, then opened them again, but still she couldn't’ see a damn thing.

“Swan?” Hook’s alarmed voice cried out as he burst into the room.

“Killian?” She squinted at the big black blur in her doorway that she assumed was the man in question.

“I know you said to get David,” came Henry’s voice as a smaller brown blur joined the larger black one, “but I ran into Killian in the hall, and I know him better, so . . . “

“It’s okay, Henry, just give me and Killian a minute.”

“I want to know what’s going on!”

“I know, kid,” she said, her voice softening, “and I’ll explain in just a minute, I promise.”

Henry made no reply, at least none she could tell. She heard the door to her bedroom shut and sensed Hook drawing closer.

“What is it, love?”

“I can’t see,” she confessed softly, reaching out a hand for him.

“What?”

She could clearly hear the strained concern in his voice. Her hand found his, and she used him as leverage to stand up from the bed. He was closer than she had anticipated, and she awkwardly bumped against his chest.

“I mean, except for a light blur over there, and a dark blur I assume is you, I. Can’t. See.”

Emma thought ironically of those black frames with the clear lenses she had worn for

merely fashion reasons back when she was a teenager. They seemed incredibly stupid now.

“How long has this been going on?” Killian must have bent his head closer to hers because his breath was hot against her cheek.

“How long? I just woke up this way!”

“This must be some kind of sorcery, love. You don’t just lose your sight overnight.”

Do you? Emma wondered. She vaguely remembered some movie she had seen once where a woman woke up suddenly blind. It was probably a Lifetime movie, though, and she wouldn’t call those medically accurate by any stretch of the imagination. Nevertheless, she gripped Hooks arms tighter and shook her head.

“Maybe it’s magic, maybe not. Either way, get my phone, call my Dad, and ask him to drive me to the doctor, okay?”

“That will waste too much time. Maybe I could -”

“You can’t drive, and I don't’ think this warrants a 911 call.”

Did Storybrooke even have 911? She should look into that.

“As you wish,” was all Killian said, his voice solemn. The words took her back to a hot jungle, his lips on hers, and his hand tangled in her hair. She swallowed thickly as she pulled her hands away from him. He reached around her, and then she heard the familiar beeping sounds as he opened up her phone. She was glad she had given him that cell phone crash course the first time he’d watched Henry for her.

“And Killian?”

“Yes?”

“Can you explain this to Henry for me? Without freaking him out?”

“Of course.”

Then he brushed a kiss across her brow and swept from the room, leaving her flustered. He’d done it so swiftly, without hesitation, as if it were something he did everytime he told her goodbye. Maybe it had been unintentional?

Needless to say, it had been a weird morning.

*********************************************

“Is your sight coming back?” her father asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice as he drove through the streets of Storybrooke.

Emma squinted out the window of her dad’s truck. “That really bright blue to my right is the ocean I’m guessing?”

“That’s a no, then.”

A strained silence fell between them, but what could Emma say? She hated to worry him, but there was no denying this was really, really bad.

“You sure we shouldn’t go straight to Regina?”

“Not yet,” Emma told him, “let’s rule out a physical cause first.”

“I don’t know if that’s any better than a spell.”

“Believe me,” she muttered, “I know.”

“Your mom Googled it already -”

“That’s never good.”

“- and people with green eyes are at higher risk for eye cancer and macular degeneration.”

“Not helping, Dad.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “It is good to hear you call me Dad again, though.”

Emma’s eyes blurred even further with her sudden tears. “Sorry I can only seem to say it in crisis situations.”

“Hey, all in good time. When you’re ready.”

He released her hand, and Emma resisted the urge to grab it again. She was so thankful to have him with her. How many times had she fantasized about parents who would take care of her when she was sick? Though she would have preferred something less dramatic than sudden blindness. A cold and some chicken soup, maybe.

“I know I’m not the best judge of this at the moment, but aren’t we going the wrong way?”

“I’m not taking you to Storybrooke General. An optometrist arrived with this second curse, and I think I trust whoever it is with my daughter’s eyes more than I trust a possibly drunk Dr. Frankenstein.”

Emma chuckled at the wry sound of her father’s voice. “I bet mom wishes an obstetrician came with this curse too.”

“You have no idea.”

Her father slowed the truck and made a right turn. He assisted her out of the vehicle, and she slipped her arm through his as he guided her to the door of the clinic. She felt him freeze suddenly beside her once the door swung closed behind them.

“You!” he exclaimed in a suspicious voice. “I know you! What the hell is going on? I thought you were a baker!”

“No,” another voice calmly replied, “that’s my sister Felicity. I’m Avery, the receptionist for Dr. Liv Lachesis, the optometrist. Which I should also explain -”

“Welcome,” a third voice spoke up, “how can I help you today?”

“Triplets?!” David exclaimed.

One of the women - Emma couldn’t tell which one - chuckled lightly. “Yes, triplets. It always throws people.”

“Well,” her father sighed, “I have a twin, so I can relate. We’re here for a bit of an emergency, though. My daughter woke up this morning unable to see.”

“That is an emergency. Emma, why don’t you come with me?”

“How do you know my name?” Emma asked suspiciously as the doctor gently touched her elbow.

“Everyone knows the Savior.”

Dr. Lachesis’ words were gentle and soothing as she guided Emma into the exam room and helped her sit.

“Now just lean back Emma, and try to keep your eyes open. I’m going to put these drops in. It may sting a little, but it shouldn’t hurt. Okay?”

Emma nodded her head. Even though the optometrist had a soothing bedside manner, she still felt her stomach knotting with nerves. Dr. Lachesis gently held Emma’s right eye open, squirted two drops of liquid in, then repeated the procedure with her left eye. Emma blinked, hoping to see more clearly. She panicked when instead of blurry splotches of light and dark, before her eyes was nothing but inky darkness.

“It’s going to be okay,” the doctor soothed, as if reading her thoughts. “Lean forward and look into my phoropter.”

Emma had no idea what that was, but she leaned forward anyway. The doctor guided her face forward, and Emma felt cool metal pressed against the skin around her eyes.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

Emma heard a click while the doctor adjusted the machine’s settings.

“Look again.”

Dr. Lachesis’ voice was almost hypnotic, and Emma blinked once again. The black nothing before her faded, and she could once again see fuzzy splotches of color. The fuzzy splotches then cleared, and objects took shape before her. She was outside, dressed in a sweater, boots, and all the normal winter outerwear. Snow crunched beneath her feet and the air was crisp and cold against her cheeks. She blinked again, and tilting her head up saw that she was standing in front of a beautiful blue Victorian home with a welcoming porch, and a turret with windows nestled on one side. It reminded Emma of a doll house she had admired in a store window one Christmas as a child.

Emma then realized there were voices and laughter behind her, and she turned to see a man standing in front of the sliding door of a black minivan. He was bending over, buckling a toddler into a car seat. He straightened and turned towards her, and Emma froze in shock.

“Look, Graham, Mama’s got your shoes.”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, wondering even more what kind of crazy contraption a phoropter was to make her see what she was seeing right now, but when she opened her eyes the scene hadn’t changed. Captain Hook was buckling a toddler into a minivan. What the hell?

His eyes sparkled with mirth and he was smiling in a way she had yet to see. He gestured with his hook towards her.

“Swan? The shoes?”

She looked down to see that she did indeed have a tiny pair of brown boots dangling from the tips of her fingers. As bizarre as the whole scenario was, she shuffled forward and handed Hook the shoes. He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a beat before turning back to the child before him. He chatted amiably with the child, making him giggle as he slipped the shoes on his feet and tied them deftly with one hand. Emma stared at the little boy of about three, cataloguing his features. He had the same shade of eyes Emma had - a cool, pale green. He had a little dimple in his plump chin, much like her and Snow. His hair was thick and black, curling over ears that pointed in an almost elf-like way. Emma felt her jaw drop as she looked from the child to Killian and back again.

“Mama?” Emma startled when a little girl popped up from behind the little boy. “Mama did Daddy really almost burn down Granny’s when he got you a Christmas tree?”

The little girl looked so much like Emma, it was downright eerie. Except she had bright blue eyes. Eyes that looked really familiar . . . but it couldn’t be!

Killian chuckled as he scratched behind his ear. “Well, in my defense, I was new to the entire concept of electricity.”

Wait a second - did this girl just refer to them - she and Hook - as Mama and Daddy? Then Emma took in Killian for the first time. He was wearing dark skinny jeans and a motorcycle jacket instead of his pirate garb, yet that wasn’t what really surprised her. What surprised her was the charcoal wool beanie on his head. Captain Hook wearing a beanie? Surely this was some sort of hallucination. Emma then glanced down at herself.

“What the hell am I wearing?”

“Wowds, Mama!” the toddler - Graham? - laughed, kicking his little feet.

“Mama, you have to wear the tree shirt to go get the tree,” the little girl added. “It’s ta-dition.”

“That’s tradition, Hope, now buckle up so we can get going,” Killian instructed.

Suddenly, a golden blur rushed past Emma, and she let out a surprised shout as a golden retriever jumped into the van.

“Sorry,” Killian apologized, “the kids begged to bring Nana along. I didn’t think it was a problem since the tree farm is outside.” He paused and tilted his head as he studied her. “Are you okay, love? I can drive if you want. I know your morning sickness still bothers you some.”

Then the strangest thing of all occurred when Killian Jones - Captain Hook himself, put a hand to her belly then brushed a kiss to her lips. It was the kind of quick, familiar kiss a couple shares when they’ve been together a long time. Emma looked down where his hand rested, and sure enough, her belly was swollen beneath her sweater. Her hideous red sweater covered in a garish Christmas tree with pom pom balls for ornaments. She swayed on her feet.

“Emma!” Killian cried in alarm, his arms going tighter around her.

Everything went blurry, again, then dark. Emma blinked her eyes, and suddenly she was back in the optometrist office looking through a metal contraption that must have been the phoropter. She jerked away and leapt up, her gaze darting wildly about the room. Well, at least she could fully see again.

“What kind of crap was that?” she yelled at Dr. Lachesis. “What kind of spell did you put on me?”

“It was my sister who cast the spell. I merely completed it.

“Completion is my area of expertise, sis,” Avery spoke up from the doorway.

“Okay,” the doctor sighed with a roll of her eyes, “I showed you the middle. It’s what you wished for, after all.”

“Emma,” David cried out as he pushed his way into the room, “are you okay? What did they do?”

Emma shook her head, unsure of how to even describe what had happened. Not to mention her father’s reaction if she told him she’d just seen herself knocked up with her third child with Hook of all people.

“Nothing, Dad,” she muttered, “let’s just get out of here.”

After all, it wasn’t as if anything in that vision could ever in a million years be real. It was ridiculous. Captain Hook the father of three driving a minivan? Impossible.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #christmas fluff #a captain swan hallmark christmas movie #for snowbellewells

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sighmurderbot · 4 years

Text

cowboy like me

Hey, do you guys remember that one scene in Season 15 where Spencer mentions in an alternate life he’d want to be a cowboy?

May I introduce my Hallmark-movie and ten-cent-romance-novel inspired fic, cowboy like me. It’s my first try at a reader-insert, and it’s unbetaed and ugly, but if anyone else has this Very Specific Itch, it exists here.

Summary: Doctor Spencer Reid was a renown professor in Washington DC until his mother passed away and he came home to Grandridge, Nevada to settle her estate. This includes her cattle farm, Serenity Ranch. Despite Spencer's determination to wrap up his mother’s estate and return to the city, there’s something about the small town and its colorful cast of inhabitants.

For some, Grandridge is home to generations of family. For you, it's an escape, and Diana Reid is the local ranch owner who took you in without a second thought. All the years you worked for her, you never met her son, and it's only after she passes away that Doctor Spencer Reid deigns to visit. You can't imagine ever liking the man who's trying to get rid of the only home you've ever known. Love? Forget it.

Word Count: 1k (more chapters to come whenever I get the inspiration)

You pressed your heels into the sides of your horse, urging the frisky mare over the last hill that blocked your view of town.

Despite its name, Grandridge, Nevada, never had any delusions of greatness. You could pretty much see the whole thing laid out in front of you, clear in the morning sun. But that’s okay, because this one-post-office town was home to you and 337 others who loved the endless desert sky and quiet life.

Taking a deep breath of fresh air, you could already feel the sun warming your back and the hint of heat that would soon overtake you.

“What say we hurry home, girl?” you murmured to your mount, patting her neck. She tossed her head, jingling the bridle in anticipation. You shook your head with a smile and loosened the reins slightly, relaxing back into the saddle. With a small squeeze and a click of your tongue you were off in a fast canter.

The wind caught the ends of your hair, playing and pulling at it while you guided the mare towards the biggest building on this end of town. If you closed your eyes for a moment and matched her stride with the movement of your body, it almost felt like you were flying.

It didn’t matter that you had been riding horses since you were old enough to hang on, or that this was technically your job, there was an indescribable joy to letting loose a little with your horse. Her energetic stride and perked ears let you know that she was enjoying this as much as you were.

Far too soon you were slowing to a trot. Outside the stable you stopped next to a hitching post, easily dismounting. The mare began pulling towards a bright blue bucket, and you good-naturedly tugged her back.

“There’s nothing in there, Ezzie,” you laughed, quickly trading her bridle for a halter before she could redouble her efforts towards the bucket. The bridle bumped against your side from its place hung over your shoulder while you hitched Ezzie to the post and slid her saddle off. Tucking the sweaty girth over the top of the saddle, you carried it into the cool, sweet shade of the stable.

Your footsteps were greeted with excited whinnies from multiple directions as velvet noses poked out of stalls and wide brown eyes followed your movements.

“You guys already ate,” you exclaimed to your equine audience with a chuckle.

The smile on your face died as the crunch of tires on gravel reached your ears. You frowned.

They weren’t supposed to be here yet.

You made a quick stop by the tack room to drop off the saddle and bridle, promising yourself you’d wipe them down later, and stepped out the opposite end of the stable. Partially obscured in the shadow of the building you watched two figures stepping out of a truck too shiny to have ever driven anywhere except a rental parking lot.

One figure was short and stout, and you recognized her instantly. Shelby Barker, the “too-smiley, too-nice lawyer”, according to Diana. You had met her a few times when she had come to see Diana about this or that. The other figure, tall and slim, you knew only from photos in the house.

Doctor Spencer Reid.

You squared your shoulders and tried not to let your scowl be too obvious. One deep breath later, you were marching across the yard, small puffs of gravel dust floating behind you.

“Y/N!” Shelby exclaimed with a smile so big it looked uncomfortable on her round face. She waved. “How are you?”

“Hi, Ms. Barker,” you replied, notably less enthused. “I’ve got a horse hitched out back I need to groom and turn out, but I heard you come in.”

“Not a problem, dearie, not a problem at all,” she went to pat your arm then hesitated, electing to nod instead. You barely restrained rolling your eyes at her.

God forbid she gets a little dirty.

“We’ll just head into the house,” she rambled on. “I’m glad to see you’re keeping things around here running smoothly.”

You tuned her out halfway through the first word. You knew from past experience that, despite being a semi-competent estate lawyer, Shelby would talk until she ran out of air and nothing she said was important. Instead, you turned your attention to the man behind her. His hands were shoved into his pockets, and he was dressed in dark slacks and a black vest over a deep purple dress shirt.

He’s going to roast out here in about an hour if he doesn’t stay inside, you thought. His brown hair was just as unruly as in each of the photos Diana had proudly displayed on every surface in her home.

She had talked about her son at every opportunity. A prominent professor in Washington DC, he frequently flew her out to see him at some conference or another that he was lecturing at. A few times she had invited you along with a twinkle in her eye, probably hoping to set her son up with the loyal ranch hand, but you had declined every time. You weren’t sure if you could hide your disdain of him if put face to face with him.

What sort of son doesn’t come home to visit even once? She said he hasn’t been back to Greatridge since he left for boarding school when he was nine.

You had often caught Diana studying a photo of Spencer with a faraway, mournful sort of look. Knowing that the man before you had caused her any sort of sadness made you want to lash out.

Instead, you interrupted Shelby with a tight smile.

“I gotta get back to work,” you said. “There’s lemonade in the fridge, help yourselves.”

With that, you turned on your heel and stalked back towards the stable. Your chest tightened, anger cutting into your heart and bringing tears to your eyes. You welcomed it. If you were angry then there was no room to be sad. No room to cry over the death of the woman who had taken you in when you were lost and cared for you like her own child. No room to mourn. Just anger, anger at the injustice of the world and at Shelby Barker and her stupid smile and at Doctor Spencer Reid, the prodigal son returned home too late.

#cowboy like me #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid reader insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds AU #au fanfic #rancher au

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stainedglassfish · 3 years

Text

ok guys i am once again posting this story i wrote but this time with a fancy tumblr thing check it out under the cut (reblogs greatly appreciated)

At the very end of the universe there was a town. Not a large town, just an average sized town. Don’t ask how it got there, nobody knows and it’s possible there is no answer. It floated gently on the endless cosmos, drifting towards infinity and destruction. A gigantic wall surrounded it, 30 feet tall. Nobody had ever been over the wall. Nobody had ever tried.

Life went on. Everyone knew they were very close to their own demise, but nobody really minded it. Life was rather bleak when you were with the same 300 people your whole life and had no concept of exploration or curiosity. Everyone went about their business and society made no progressions.

Now, one day something very odd happened. In a dusty alleyway a man appeared in a bluish flash of light. He stumbled slightly and leaned against a wall, gasping for air. He was a time traveller, from way back in a distant age. In fact, he hadn’t meant to come here. He had technically died, but all his tamperings with the space-time continuum had brought him here instead. Brushing himself off, he wandered out into the main street. Everything froze. People around him stopped halfway through words, mid-step, and all eyes turned to him. The only one who remained oblivious was a woman who seemed to be mopping the grass. The newcomer strolled down the street with a slight swagger. He had no idea where he was or the importance of it. At length one of the villagers ran off, returning with two others. One was the mayor of the town. She was short and businesslike, and she appeared struck dumb upon seeing the man (whose name was Fread. He hated his name, as it reminded him of bread, which he despised), in sharp contrast to the man next to her. He was rather long and gangly, and his eyes had a misty, sad quality to them, as if he was only half in this world. He was the town scholar, the only one there who still had any passion towards knowledge.

“Who- what-?” The mayor found her voice and stepped closer to Fread, peering up at him.

“My name is Fread. Where the hell am I?” He was utterly perplexed by this reaction to him, as nobody had even seen him appear.

“You mean… you mean you don’t know this place?”

“I think maybe we should go elsewhere…” Fread had a few things to explain. He was silently led away to a building in the far west.

The room was startlingly empty, and out the window Fread could see the wall. He still couldn’t see over it though. He had haphazardly explained his predicament to the mayor, who had since scurried off looking dazed. Fread was left alone with the scholar. Outside life was returning to normal. The people had already brushed aside what had happened and had gone back to sluggishly working on things that did not matter. Turning to the scholar, Fread tried to think of something to say.

“So uhh….. What do you do?” Fread had never been much of a conversationalist, but he wanted to know more about this place and about the man standing before him. He saw within him something he couldn’t quite place, a sort of twisted despair.

“I am the scholar here. Everyone else has rather… abandoned the arts and literature. They do not seek knowledge or enrichment,” replied the scholar. He seemed to be avoiding getting any closer to Fread.

“Why?”

“Everyone’s lost hope. Nobody knows when all this is going to end, nobody sees any point in improving.”

“Oh,” Fread wasn’t sure what to make of this. This was the fate of humanity? To give up when growth and development was such a crucial part of society? “By the way, what’s your name?”

“Peter.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Fread. With an A,” He added with distaste. He was beginning to realize that he didn’t know how to get back to his own time, “Uhh, Peter, I don’t know exactly how to say this but…. I’m not sure how to get back.”

“Back?”

“Back to my home. To my--” He paused, tears suddenly springing to his eyes, “Y’know, there’s not a lot back there for me.”

“I am sorry. If you would like, you could stay with me, in my house,” Peter’s voice took on a quality of near excitement, but he still looked mournful as ever.

“I think I’d like that,” but Fread was crying, and though he looked forward to getting to know Peter more, he wished it didn’t have to be at the end of the universe. Hesitantly, Peter approached him, and Fread fell into his arms, trying to focus less on his predicament and more on the sensation of Peter’s hands rubbing his back gently, on the sound of his heart beating lightly in his chest. Eventually they broke apart, and Fread was feeling significantly better.

They dined together that night. The house was filled with books on shelves, in towering stacks, scattered about. At a desk, papers and art supplies littered the surface. Peter made incredible soup and bread, and Fread found that he hardly missed his life back home. Peter explained the wall to him, and Fread was extremely curious.

“So nobody knows what’s over it?”

“No, nobody. It has never been crossed as far as I am aware.”

“But who put it there? Why?”

“I do not know. We assume it is there for a reason, and nobody here is brave enough to cross it.”

“I’d do it.”

“You would?”

“I don’t have much to lose, anyway. And you never know, maybe there’s a whole world out there.”

“But how would you get over it?”

“I saw that water tower near the wall. I could climb that, and then take a rope down,” Fread was getting excited. This was an adventure, and it was true, he didn’t have much to lose. Except Peter, and that’s what got him.

“Could you…. Do you think you could come with me?” He asked Peter, who looked down at his soup thoughtfully.

“I do not think so. The people here need someone to hold them together, to keep anything alive. You would have to go alone.”

“Oh,” Fread said sadly. He was still going to do it though. He was filled with a burning need to find out what was behind the wall, and he could tell Peter was too.

The next day he spent with Peter. He was risking a lot, and though he felt it was important, he was not ready to go after just one day. Peter never seemed to run out of things to talk about, and he told Fread about plants and animals and space and literature and though Fread didn’t really understand it, he liked listening to Peter talk.

After a while, Peter fell silent, and they both ruminated on their time together and what was ahead. Fread had his head on Peter’s shoulder, curled against him and nearly falling asleep.

“Peter?” Fread asked quietly, unsure what exactly he wanted to say.

“Yes?”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. I just have, like, a bad feeling. That there’ll be nothing over there, or- or that it’s dangerous or I won’t be able to get back, or-” he trailed off. Peter, putting aside the book he had been reading, pulled Fread into his arms and held him tightly, humming a tune Fread didn’t recognize. Eventually Fread fell asleep, and Peter stayed there, not wanting to disturb him. He smelled nice, anyway. After about an hour he picked Fread up and carried him to bed, and they slept that night cuddled together.

In the morning Peter made eggs and toast for breakfast. Neither of them had much to say, but they were never more than five feet from each other. Fread enjoyed the food, but he couldn’t eat much as his trepidation grew. Peter read a few poems to him from a large leather-bound book, but in the end grew silent and just hummed to himself, running his fingers through Fread’s hair.

At last the time came. A crowd gathered around the water tower as Fread prepared to climb up and over. He had a rope slung over his shoulder, and he was trembling slightly with nerves and excitement. Peter stood at the front of the crowd, his brows knitted slightly. Fread was resolute, and though his emotions ran high, he did not cry and he felt no need to. After steeling himself for a moment, he prepared to begin the climb. As he was about to begin, Peter rushed forward, grabbing him by the arm and wheeling him around. Almost under his breath, Peter spoke to him, sounding slightly choked.

“If you… if you don’t come back from this, I want you to know that you are the best thing to have come here in all my time. You’ve… you’ve given me new hope and new motivation and I- I love you,” And Peter kissed him, gently, but lingering just long enough for Fread to know the feeling behind it. But it was over too soon, and Fread had to turn away to climb, murmuring a goodbye that did not feel like enough. He could taste Peter’s tears on his lips.

And when he reached the top, and looked back, he could not find Peter in the crowd. He could not have, as Peter had returned to his home, unable to watch as Fread disappeared over the edge. Fread tied his rope to a rung of the tower, and began his descent. Reaching the bottom, he rubbed his eyes, confused. Before him was an endless expanse of nothing. Not a single sound, no color or rocks or sand. Fread couldn’t decide if it was black or white or some color that he couldn’t even comprehend. As he stared into it, trying to make sense of it, he saw something on the horizon (or what he supposed was the horizon, there wasn’t exactly a sky or land.) It was getting bigger and bigger, and Fread felt his heart leap to his throat as he watched it. It was a sort of swirling mass, at once misty and sharp. It advanced upon him, and Fread found that he could not move. He watched as it advanced, and when it reached him he knew no more. He was swept up and torn apart, and the mass crushed the wall as if it were made of paper, devouring it and shortly after, the town. Nothing remained, no color or light or earth or buildings, no consciousness or thoughts or emotion. And the mass, having finally won out against the town at the end of the universe, expanded until it was everything, and then nothing was at the end of the universe.

#it is gay btw #tw death #not sure exactly how to tag this #my writing

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midnightsnyx · 4 years

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Matthew Tkachuk - In Your Dreams: part 2

a/n: a couple people requested a part 2 and i couldn’t help myself!! thank you for all the love on part 1!! <3 also im bad at writing cheesy romance so i apologize in advance at how bad it will be lol

part 1 here

warnings: angst, fluff, insinuated smut (i may get there some day folks but today ain’t that day)

word count: 2967

tag list: @buckybarneshairpullingkink

my masterlist

Matthew Tkachuk

“Are you sexting my brother?”

You yelp when Brady drops on the couch beside you and snatches your phone from your hand. Luckily, you were only scrolling through Instagram so he didn’t see the suggestive texts you and Matt had been exchanging all morning.

After the summer, you and Matt had been texting back and forth, trying to get used to the idea of talking without insulting each other. It was much easier than you were expecting and you discovered rather quickly that you enjoyed talking to him. He was sweeter than you’ve ever seen, thoughtful, good-humored and you were completely infatuated with him.

After a couple months of texting and Facetime, you flew to Calgary to spend the weekend with him. He wined and dined and took you to his bed and you hated having to leave.

You snatch your phone back. “No. Although I’m not sure why you would want to see them.”

“I don’t!”

“Keep your nose out of my business then.”

. . .

“Heck no.” Brady says when you meet him at the Canadian Tire Centre. “Oh, heck, no. You’re not wearing that!”

You look down at you Calgary Flames jersey and shrug. Matt sent it to you and asked if you would wear it for tonight’s game because the Sens were facing off against the Flames.

“I mean, technically, it still has your name on it.”

“You’ve betrayed me!”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re being dramatic. Look,” you lift your jersey up to show a Sens t-shirt with number 7 on it. “See? Now c’mon, you have a game to play.”

He follows you like a sad puppy and sighs. “My own brother is stealing my best friend. You know, I think I liked it better when guys hated each other.”

You groan and shove his shoulder. “Grow up.”

Along with buying your jersey, Matt also bought your ticket so that you’d be on the visitors side. Which means he spent most of warm up showing off to you as if you’ve never seen him play before which you have but you’ll never admit it to him.

It’s an intense game and you’re not sure who you’re cheering for half the time but they go into overtime so at least they’ll both get a point.

Matt ends up scoring the winning goal and when he points to you and mouths, that one was for you, you think your heart might burst out of your chest.

. . .

The two of you haven’t put a label on whatever you are and part of you is okay with it because it is fairly new but you’re also worried about what he does when the two of you aren’t together which is quite a lot. Sure, he sends you flowers and calls you after every game no matter how tired he is. He texts you every morning and calls you before you go to bed and it makes you feel special but sometimes you can’t help but wonder if he does this for other girls and if it makes them feel special too.

It’s something that’s on your mind on a weekend that Matt brings you to Calgary. He had practice in the morning so you’re hanging out at his apartment waiting for him to come home. You’re cooking lunch when you hear the front door open, and Matt calling out to you.

“Babe, I’m back!” He shouts and your heart swells at the term of endearment but it drops when you think about him calling other girls that when you’re not around.

His arms wrap around your waist and he presses a kiss on your neck.

“Something smells good.”

“Yeah, it’s fettuccine… I think I might’ve messed it up a-”

“I’m not talking about the pasta.” he mumbles, pressing more kisses down your neck.

“Oh?” you squeak and you really shouldn’t, because you’re still worrying about not being the only one, but you let him drag you to bed anyway.

Later that night, long after he’s asleep, you’re trying to ignore the taunting voice in your head reminding you that he might be holding other girls like this. Reminding you that someone else might also wake up to his sleepy smile and messy hair.

. . .

“So you’re her.”

You raise your eyebrows at Johnny Gaudreau, who Matt had introduced you to when the two of you first arrived at the bar. He introduced you as Brady’s friend and when you looked at him, he just shrugged.

You’re not sure what you were expecting - certainly not saying you were his girlfriend - but Brady’s friend? It was bothering you and you were doing you best to hide it but you knew you were failing because Matt had been sending you weird looks all night all while basically ignoring you. He’s barely touched you since you sat with his friends.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You reply, glancing at Matt who is deep in conversation with one of his teammates.

“He talks about you a lot.” Johnny shrugs. “I thought you two were dating.”

“Apparently not.” You mumble, standing up and giving Matt a quick look. “I’m going to get a refill.”

You leave before he can reply and push through all the sweaty bodies trying to get to the bar. While you’re flagging down a bartender, someone sits on the stool next to you. You look, expecting it to be Matthew but instead it’s a stranger. A handsome stranger so when he offers you to pay for your drink you almost say yes but a familiar arm wraps around your shoulder.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Matt says, glaring at the man until he mutters an apology and leaves. When he’s out of sight, Matt turns so he’s facing you and now you’re the one on the opposite end of his dirty look.

“What the hell was that?” He snaps and you scoff, shrugging his arm off you.

“Excuse me?”

“You were going to let him buy you a drink!” He says loudly and you glance around but nobody seems to be paying attention to you thankfully.

“It was a drink, Matthew. I wasn’t inviting him home.”

“Well I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” He says harshly and you flinch. His eyes widen immediately and he reaches out but you hop off the stool and run out of the bar, ignoring him calling your name.

You run out of the bar and down the street until you come across a quiet diner. A bell dings when you open the door and a kind looking, older woman greets you and tells you to seat yourself.

You’ve been sitting in the diner nursing a glass of water for no more than fifteen minutes when the bell rings, signally a new customer.

You don’t have to look up to know who it is but you do anyway and you’re greeted with a very guilty looking Matt. He slowly walks over and seats himself across from you.

“How’d you find me?”

He shifts in his seat and stares at the table instead of you. “I tracked you on snapchat.”

You swear under your breath for not turning that option off. When you look at Matt again, his eyes are on you already. He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off right away, wanting to speak your mind before he says anything.

“You introduced me as Brady’s friend.” you say quietly and he nods. “you barely spoke to me the entire night and then you got possessive when that guy spoke to me.” he nods again and you sigh. “look, Matt. I’m not asking you to say something you’re not comfortable saying or you’re not ready to say - I don’t think I’m ready for it - but you’re not allowed to act like I’m nothing to you when there are people around but get jealous if someone talks to me. And you’re not allowed to say what you said to me. That was unfair.”

“I know.” he replies. “and I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I was out of line.” He looks back down at the table and you know he’s trying to think of what to say so you give him a moment. “I know it’s selfish… but I guess I just want you to myself a little while longer. I like the two of us in our bubble and that bubble is going to be popped when people find out about us. I’m in the spotlight, people are going to want to know our business and I don’t want it to freak you out.”

You nod in understanding. You were aware of how the media can be and it’s not something you look forward to.

“I’m scared.” He admits and you reach across the table, squeezing his hand.

“I’m scared too.” you tell him, lips turning up in a tiny smile. “but it’s better to be scared together than alone, right?”

He mirrors your smile and leans across the table and you meet him halfway.

. . .

You spend Christmas with the Tkachuk’s and Matthew proudly introduces you as his girlfriend and Chantal and Taryn squeal, Keith smiles and hugs you and Brady rolls his eyes and says “I knew this would happen all along. The two of you should really thank me.”

Matt blushes when his mom gushes about how glad she is that he found someone like you and that she had a feeling the two of you were meant for each other but later that night he tells you how happy he is that you gave him a chance.

The two of you debate over how it would be best to tell everyone you’re dating and you decide on a cliche but simple post to his Instagram.

It’s a picture of the two of you standing in front of the tree, his arms wrapped around you and lips pressed against your forehead. The caption reads, it wasn’t love at first sight, but we turned out okay.

It accurately sums up your relationship perfectly and you tease him about how long he’s had that one in his back pocket.

But it still makes your heart race and you want to shout I love you from the rooftops.

. . .

It’s not easy being 2877 kilometers apart and it becomes more obvious the longer the two of you are together. You fly to Calgary as often as you can but you still have school and Matt can’t visit Ottawa much because of his hockey schedule.

It’s a test for the two of you - and your relationship - and sometimes you feel frustrated and you wonder if you can do it but you think about when Matt Facetime’s you nearly every night that you’re apart from each other and you know that it would break your heart to live without seeing his curly brown hair and blue eyes and hearing his voice so you tell yourself it’s worth it.

And it is, until it isn’t.

. . .

“I don’t understand what the big deal is.” Matt says, obviously frustrated.

The two of you had been arguing for hours. You were graduating in less than two weeks so you’re job searching and when Matt brought up the idea of you moving to Calgary with him to get a job, you panicked.

You have been together for just about eight months now and you know that it’s normal at this stage to move in with someone but you were scared. There’s always been the fear in the back of your mind that one day Matt is going to wake up and decide that you’re not who he wants and if you uproot your entire life in Ottawa for him, you don’t know what you would do if something happened between the two of you.

But you couldn’t explain this to him so you kept making up lame excuses as to why you couldn't move in with him.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” You say quietly and he huffs.

“Can you please just think about it?” He pleads and you’re tired of arguing that you just agree even though your answer will still be no when he asks.

“I love you.” He says and you smile softly. One thing about Matt is that no matter how big an argument and even if it’s not solved right away, he tell you he loves you.

“I know. I love you too.” You say before he ends the call.

You flop back on your bed and even though it’s only seven o’clock, you feel ready for bed. Ten minutes later, you’re just dozing off when you hear your door open and slam shut. You would freak out but you hear Brady call out to you and you tell him you are in your room.

You expected him to come over because when you and Matt argue, he makes sure to check on you.

What you’re not expecting is to see him fuming with anger.

“You’re an idiot.” He says.

“Excuse me?” You snap and he huffs, putting his hands on his hips and glaring at you.

“You love my brother, right?” he asks and you nod. “and he loves you.” you nod again and he raises an eyebrow.

“So why won’t you move in with him?”

You roll your eyes and sit up. “It’s not that simple, Brady.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just not.” you say because you don’t actually have a valid explanation. You know most of your reasons are foolish but you can’t help it.

He sighs and sits on the bed next to you. “What’s going on in your head? We’re best friends, you can talk to me about anything.”

You look at him and can’t help but smile. Brady always had a way of making you feel better when you were kids.

“I guess I’m scared.” You admit quietly and he knocks his shoulder against yours more gentle than normal.

“’bout what?” he asks and you shrug.

“He wants me to move across the county.”

“Yeah.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

A small smile crosses his face. “But what if it does?”

. . .

Three weeks later you’re holding a one way ticket to Calgary in your hand and saying goodbye to Brady in the airport.

“You got everything?” He asks, passing you your carry-on. You’re pretty sure if you looked close enough, his eyes would be a bit watery but yours are too so you can’t poke fun.

“Everything I need.” You tell him, and hug him tightly. You hold on to him a little longer than usual but it’s hard leaving your best friend after being attached at the hip for so long.

When he pulls away, he grins. “I’m proud of you.”

“I know.” you say. “I’ll text you when I land. And don’t forget-”

“I won’t tell him.” he promises and you hug him once more before leaving.

You’ll miss Ottawa, but it’s time for the new chapter of your life to start and you can’t wait.

. . .

Matt’s not surprised when he opens his front door to find you standing in front of him. He just grins and leans against the door.

“Missed me, did you?”

“Yeah.” You tell him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. “I really did.”

#matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #matthew tkachuk imagines #calgary flames imagines #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #hockey fanficiton #hockey fanfic

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

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A Little Bit Like Home

You moving to school has been tougher than Calum would like to admit but there are some moments that make it easier to bear, there are small moments where it’s not so bad.

A continuation of these two blurbs (Blurb 1 and Blurb 2) Again it’s hella self indulgent. Inspired what really happened to me in my DnD campaign, see this post.

**Contains spoilers for the Waterdeep Heist from Dungeons & Dragons if you are currently playing that module!!!**

Enjoy my masterlist!

Support me on Ko-fi

___________

“Can I make a perception check on the walls? See if there’s anything else funky in this room?” you ask, clicking over in your browser tab to the dice roller. The DM allows you to make that call and you click on the d20.

“Your the only one rolling well on those things tonight,” one member of your party, playing an Orc sent out to learn magic and getting packed in with your ragtag group, notes after their failed attempt to pick the lock. You managed to pick that that too, but you chalk it up to you being a Drow Rogue and lock picking being one of your skills.

“18,” you call out, looking back at your character sheet to make sure you’ve done the math correctly.

“18?” The DM asks, just to be sure. You nod. “Okay, so you look around the room and there’s not really anything worth noting besides some dirt and blood. But no traps, no buttons in this room.”

“This room,” the entire party echoes laughing. The six of you have just survived barely a lightning trap. Which you still refuse to admit to setting up, but it was definitely you since as the marching order had you in front.

“We’re going to have to go back to that mimic room,” the paladin of your group declares. Your party was warned that the room at the start of your adventure in this hell of a magic maze could be a trap and a mimic could be in the depths of it. But there was a chest still yet to be opened. However, you took the advice of your Orc and backed out of that room to avoid a fight just yet.

Your previous encounters in other rooms leaving some of your party is better shape than others. This early in your adventure together the five of you didn’t really want to risk loosing anyone just yet. Lightening and your pirates love of ale seemed to be your only foe at the moment.

“We should maybe just see what’s in here first,” Calum, playing as a Druid, counters. “Though it seems like if we find yet another key to a door that’s already been picked, it’s might be useless.”

You know the tease is directed at you. “Hey, look here buddy, I will not hesitate to shoot a quiver into your ass. I see a lock I’m going to pick it,” you defend.

“Besides,” your party’s pirate starts, “we’ve ducked a lot of rooms afraid of getting into another fight. If they pick a lock or two and we find the key later, at least we can add to the Bard’s collection.”

“Thank you,” you laugh.

Soon your party’s able to direct their attention back on the adventure and magic maze you’ve found yourself in. You and Calum end up smashing mirrors in a room to avoid any sort of magic in them that would cause your party to fight your soul doubles. This leads to a five minute debate of how to leave said room that didn’t involve shoving the unicorn that your party was tasked with finding up someone’s ass due to a riddle unveiled, Everything you see is mine.

“Wait,” you say, laughing at the argument about who can fit the unicorn into their mouth. It was deemed to be more dignified. Your pirate waits outside the room, still naked thanks to the magic that rips all the clothes, weapons, and armor off of anyone that attempts to leave the room. “Everything you see is mine. If the mirrors are smashed, then nothing can be seen right?”

“No, shards can be face up, so technically things can be seen,” the party’s Bard counters.

“No, no, you’re onto to something,” the pirate starts.

“Oh my god, we’re so fucking dumb,” the orc hollers. “Someone cover their eyes. You means us. Anything we can see can’t leave the room.”

Thankfully, you’re still dressed having only attempted to leave the room and letting others continue with their naked escapades. “Holy shit,” you shriek as you direct to your DM how you cover your face with your hood and hold it tight around your eyes so you can’t see anything and step through the door. You’re able to cross completely clothed, swords, crossbow, and pack still in tact.

“We’re so fucking STUPID,” you laugh.

Calum’s giggle cuts through the speakers of your laptop. “How were we so prepared to just be fucking naked through the rest of this maze?” He directs to the DM that he redresses, having also attempted several times to brute force the magic door with no success.

“We never speak of that,” the orc demands through their own laughter. “Never.”

The party comes to a stopping point about another hour later, saying goodbyes before leaving the Zoom meeting. Not even thirty seconds later after ending that call, an incoming FaceTime call comes from Calum. You answer it, wiping at the corner of your eyes. He’s grinning as the call finally connects. The weekend that Calum came up to visit, a friend in the cohort asked you if you’d be willing to going a beginner’s campaign. You had wanted to give the game a whirl but you knew it would be a time suck and asked if it was okay to bring someone else along too.

After getting a yes from the DM you know you had to convince Calum to join in. It took less effort than you thought for him to join in and the two of you spent a couple hours the night before picking out your characters before you emailed the information back to the DM. Now every Saturday night you and Calum spend about three hours in a Zoom getting into all sorts of trouble. He settled easily on the Druid but spent forever trying to find an artist rendering of his character, Okolian, that felt right. Long black hair with streaks of white was a must along with a single braid as well, which he stole from your character’s look though your hair is all white.

Slowly, it was decided that Okolian would have blue skin muscular, but not overly buff and refused to wear sleeves in order to wear leather arm bands around his biceps which could easily be mistaken for tattoos or markings of his people. Okolian prefers his staff but is also armed with a sickle and mace. The Calum touch of course was to add ferns rather than feathers.

“I can’t believe you were going to let me be the one to have to figure out the unicorn,” Calum teases.

“Hey, it was only six inches. Not that bad.”

He sputters his laughter. “Is that payback for calling you out for picking all the locks?”

“I would never do such a thing but maybe.”

“Anything else on the agenda for tonight?”

“No not really. Whatever work there is out in the world, I’ll get to it tomorrow. What about you? The night’s still young.”

Calum shrugs. “A friend was supposed to get back to me about drinks tonight, but I haven’t heard anything yet. If he gets back within the hour or so, I’ll probably tag along but if not, it’s not a big deal. But you never did tell me about last night. How’d that go?”

You cover your face for a second, remember how many drinks were consumed the night previously. Calum laughs at the slightly panicked look that crosses your face. “There was two drinks too many past my usual limit and I felt it. Big time,” you answer.

He’s glad to hear you getting out more. It’s in turned made him feel a bit better about getting back to his normal routine, getting dinner more with the guys or other friends. Missing you doesn’t hurt so bad anymore for Calum. He feels most often right before he’s going to bed, when he’d normally curl up into your side and open his arms wide for you to curl up into him. But it hurts less during the day.

Getting used to the cohort and getting out a couple Friday’s in the month has helped you as well. You don’t feel so chained to your phone, don’t feel so beholden to being there for every text right away. It’s still hard when you start to cook dinner and almost reach out for a second plate still by habit. And in the morning when you’re fixing your cup of coffee your brain still wants to pull down a second cup. Sometimes you do. Sometimes you just give in because you need it. Need to let yourself sit with those feelings.

“I’ll be sticking with cider after last night,” you tease. “Wine makes me myself too much. Never doing that again.”

Calum’s been privileged to see you wine drunk a couple of times and he can already imagine the type of trouble you nearly got yourself in. “Is your picture on the wall at the bar?”

“Not that bad, but close,” you giggle.

“What am I going to do with you?”

It’s just a joke but for a moment it makes you pause--what’s going to happen when you go back for break? Are things going to be different? Most of your clothes and things are still there though slowly more and more has been shipped to you. Is Duke going to remember you? Miss you too?

“Promise me the house isn’t too different?”

Calum furrows his brows, head titling just a little to the side. “What do you mean, baby?”

“Like without me, is it all going to be different when I come back?”

“It’s all pretty much the same here. Duke’s the king of the castle. Still have plenty of hoodies for you to steal and your side of the bed still misses you. I still miss you.”

“No, I--I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like I don’t want you to find ways to cope but I don’t know. What if it never feels right? Like so much has been missed that I just won’t ever fit in again?”

Calum shakes his head. “Babe, no. You still belong. Your shoes still have space in the closet. Your mugs still sit in the cabinets. There is so much of you still here--it’s how I get through the days.”

Maybe that’s what’s rough for you. There’s not much of Calum at your place. There’s none of his dirty laundry that’s halfway hanging of laundry baskets and there’s no bass rumbling and there’s snoring next to you at night. It’s all you, which is nice. But you wish you had a little bit of Calum too.

“There’s none of you here,” you say softly.

“I can fix that.” It’s a steady confidence, a nod of his head at statement. “Don’t you worry.”

You two steer the conversation to something lighter before you call it a night. And it’s harder to get up the next morning, to peel yourself out of the sheets. But you do it, you push up with a grunt and get your day started. Coffee, a quick bowl of cereal and fruit. You call Calum right before lunch to check in and then get back to work.

As the days pass, the conversation the ache gets buried in some stress. However, you get a text about a package to get from the lockers at the front of your complex so shuffle down the path thinking it’s the new mattress pad you ordered. It shipped late last week but you hadn’t expected it to arrive this soon.

As the door swings open to the locker you spy Calum’s handwritten on the label of the package. What the hell had be gone and done? You pick up the box and kick the door close with your foot before taking it back up to your apartment. Setting the box down on the kitchen counter, you find the scissors and cut into it. Right on top is a small envelope with your name scribbled across it.

You said you didn’t have anything of me. So I knew I had to correct that. I hope they help. And a little thing from the old man, well not from him. But you’ll understand when you get to that.

Love you.

Digging into the box, you notice a few guitar pics, a couple extra t-shirt and then a long thin box. You pick it up, noticing it looks like a necklace. But with Calum you never can be sure. As you crack it open, you laugh, finding a gold chain staring up at you, attach to it is a tiny locket that as a paw print on it. You crack it open though and find a tiny picture of Calum and you inside of it and your eyes well with tears. It’s from your last vacation before you left for school, just two of you reclined on the beach and Calum kissing your temple.

You draft a text to Calum. Tell Duke it feels like home now.

#calum hood #calum hood blurb #calum hood fanfic #calum hood angst #calum hood fluff #h writes #5sos #calum 5sos #calum hood x reader #calum hood x reader insert #5 seconds of summer

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ladyhaesoo · 4 years

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hotel blue moon | 6

“Are you going to secretly hide my body?"

"Of course. I can't let someone who's seen so much of me live."

part 1 | part 5 | part 7 | read on page (not for the mobile app, but prettier)

a/n: this post was brought to you by the “editing is for losers” club. also, i changed the place that family was from, that’s for plot reasons. also also, i REALLY loved writing this one, so i hope everyone enjoys reading it too!

She made them stop at a restaurant halfway en route to the Hwaseong, and Kangtae was glad to stop—if not entirely happy about their choices of restaurant. Still, food was food, and Moonyoung had announced that she was hungry once every five minutes in the last half hour; enough to make him hungry, too.

Moonyoung looked around the restaurant with distaste written on her face. "This is where you bring me to eat," she muttered, and Kangtae huffed out a laugh.

"At least it isn't a convenience store. Sit, I'll get menus." She took a seat, checking the top of the table for dust and grimacing at her fingers. Kangtae couldn't help laughing. Ko Moonyoung was inexplicably cute—maybe her attitude was frightening to some, but Kangtae ran a hotel for ghosts, which put Moonyoung's temper into perspective more than most things would. And besides—she was amusing in a way very, very few people were.

She hadn't been lying about wanting to know him; she'd spent the car ride so far questioning him. He might even go so far as to call it an interrogation.

"Where are we going?" she'd asked, first thing after he began driving. "Business trip, but where?"

"Hwaseong."

Of course, she couldn't accept anything for what it was, and so the next question came: "What business do you have? It can't be anything illegal, or you wouldn't have let me come with you. Or are you going to secretly hide my body?"

Kangtae had nodded, of course. "Of course. I can't let someone who's seen so much of me live." It wasn't even too far from the truth—though, he supposed, most people who knew him too well were simply already dead. The only exception would be the various hotel manager's he'd had over the last few decades of running a legitimate verifiable business. Apart from them, and Mago, whose position on the scale from "alive" to "dead" was fairly questionable anyway, Moonyoung was probably the only living person who he'd met and spoken to so much in the last—oh, five hundred years.

It wasn't a bad thing, he supposed.

"And the business... nothing illegal," he said. "It's more a favour than anything else." She had looked at him, and he had been compelled to elaborate: "It's part of our VIP guest service package."

"VIP? I'm a VIP," Moonyoung had said, lip curling. "I should visit your hotel. I don't mind paying extra for special attention from the CEO."

She was certainly... blunt. He liked that, though. She didn't hesitate to look him ankle to shoulder as he returned with two menus and took a seat opposite her. "So," she announced, leaning forward, chin on fist and glitter shining on her lower lashes. "I have a question."

"Really?" he asked, blowing his eyes wide in faux-innocence. "I didn't expect that."

"Are you married? Is that why the hotel is a no-go? Do you have a secret wife hidden in your hotel attic I can't meet?"

It wasn't in his attic, and it wasn't quite a woman, but—Kangtae forced the smile onto his lips to tug upward. "You could say that. I have a wife you can't meet." When Moonyoung's expression soured, he laughed. "It's Blue Moon. The hotel's been like a demading wife since I've owned it." Perhaps a little more possessive than any spouse ought to be, though. "I can't stay away for more than a day or two without it falling to pieces, so maybe it's more like... a child?"

Moonyoung smirked. "Good to know," she said, and wrapped her ankle around his.

"Now it's my turn with a question," he said, leaning forward, He leaned forward, sliding his leg up just so, enjoying the way her eyes darkened and mouth opened. He leaned closer, and then closer still, and then, just when her eyes dropped to his lips, he raised the menu between their faces. "What do you want to eat?"

The man in the car crossed and uncrossed his arms. Kangtae ignored him, and watched the transience of emotion on Moonyoung's face.

They pulled into the city to find the streets packed with people, streamers and flyers running through cramped alleys and central roads alike. Kangtae seemed to know precisely where to go, and drove with precision and control. It added nicely experience of the drive, being able to watch his hands and neck and certainty of movement even when she had nothing to say.

"Where are we?" she asked when he finally pulled into a parking lot. It was still light outside, but barely—she could see the sun setting on the horizon, colouring the sky orange and pink.

"At my meeting. I'll be back in five minutes, don't go anywhere," he announced. Moonyoung shrugged and followed him out of the car, grabbing a lighter from her bag. He shot her and then the no-smoking sign a look, but only smiled and shook his head before walking away. She quirked her lips up, and lit it up. In her bag, her phone rang again—twelfth missed called from Sangin.

She'd told him that she was on a trip to Hwaseong with Kangtae when he had called the first time—she wasn't scared of Kangtae, but she also wasn't an idiot—and then hung up when he began repeating variations of what the hell with nothing to actually add. She didn't know what the problem was; the promotional period for Zombie Kid was over, and she had no schedule for a few weeks, or at least until she was well into working on her next book.

Of course, it was possible Sangin's problem was just Kangtae. He didn't trust her around people—which, she supposed, was fair in this case. She had stabbed him. But Kangtae hadn't been the intended victim, and had shown no signs so far of wanting to sue her or of publicising her horrible misdeeds. So that couldn't be it.

And he was interesting.

Everyone she knew, everyone she met, fell into the same few categories. Boring. Dull. Frightened of her. Awed by her. Disgusting and contemptible. Tedious. Fun was—so very rare. Willing to answer her questions, even if she could tell he wasn't being perfectly honest. And—entertained as much by her as she was by him.

Smoke burned through her lungs and out into the air. It was a cold evening; colder than she would expect. She closed her eyes, imagining being in a different parking lot, one underground, without all this bright sunlight. Hand on hand on waist. Warmth under her palms. An arm around her in her bed. Soft fabric sliding against her leg, pressing just enough to give her a glimpse of the muscle underneath. Eyes dark and flickering to her mouth, lips this close...

She really, really, wanted him.

"I know, right? He's really handsome," a male voice said, and her eyes snapped open. She turned around on the spot, but there was no one there, only the chill in the air and empty cars.

"Who's there?" she asked, sliding a hand into her purse, closing it around a lovely pair of tailoring scissors with gilt handles that led to large curves cutting off in sharp points. It was meant for clothes, but it would definitely cut through more. "Who the hell said that?" she asked again, turning around on her heel. No one responded.

Footsteps. Moonyoung spun on her heel—but it was only Kangtae. "Who are you talking to?" he asked.

She let go of the scissors and turned back around. "I thought I heard someone," she said, rubbing at her arm.

Kangtae looked around. "There's no one here," he said. Moonyoung watched as his gaze paused just by the car, almost as though he was looking at someone, but—there was no one there. She shrugged, putting the smoke out.

"Probably an echo." It was a windy day. She knew she'd heard the words clearly, but—no one here. Maybe she was hearing ghosts now? "Is your business done?"

Kangtae shot a dark look back at the building he had just come from. "We'll need to make a few more stops."

Their last stop was apparently a campaigning spot, covered top to bottom in smiling, family friendly pictures of local assemblyman Kwon Mansu (or so they said) who hoped to be voted back into the position this election cycle. The politician and his family were taking pictures at the moment, walking from stall to stall and shaking hands, looking generally like a perfect candidate and his perfect family—barring the red eyes on his wife, that was.

As the assemblyman began to climb up the podium to make whatever obnoxious speech he was about to, Kangtae got out of the car. She followed, more than curious. It had become more than evident that his business had to do with this Kwon Mansu, but she didn't know what. The distaste was evident on his face, but here too the reason was beyond her.

She had a feeling, though, that she was about to find out.

"Are you ready?" he asked, just as he was being was introduced. She raised an eyebrow, and turned back to the stage, leaning back on the car to wait.

When he opened his mouth, a screech sounded, high and harsh enough to send gasps into the air and people ducking. Assemblyman Kwon ducked himself, but he was too professional to take the embarrassment. A smile fixed itself on his face, and his staff hurried to the mic, looking over it. "Technical difficulties," he laughed, just loud enough that he likely wouldn't even need the mic if it wasn't for his sense of self-importance.

He tried again—and yet again, the mic screeched. She looked at Kangtae, then back at the assemblyman. When he cleared his throat, the mic seemed fine, though, so he began to speak.

The words, she gathered, were not his.

"Everyone, this is a message from Kwon Gido! I'm Kwon Mansu's youngest son!"

Chaos erupted. Kwon Mansu's wife crumpled to the ground, her children gathering around her. The man himself began shouting near-miss obscenities and yelling at his staff as the mic kept going apparently without his help. The gathered media were undoubtedly having a frenzy—flashes began to go off, no doubt getting very good pictures of Kwon Mansu and some shocking audio recordings of Kwon Gido's last message to the public about why not to elect his father. Bodyguards in black and white looked left and right for a culprit, but the culprit was the speakers. And then, just as someone realised you could simply unplug speakers, a reporter found—

"These are Kwon Gido's hospital reports!"

She turned to Kangtae. "How did you get that audio recording?" Surely a recording made by Kwon Gido on his last days was unlikely to appear in just anyone's hands.

"He was a guest," Kangtae said. She opened her mouth, then shut it again as a man in bright purple marched over to them.

"You!" She leaned back onto the car just a little more, watching as Kangtae postured—hands in pockets, shoulders relaxed, one elbow leaning on his car, the picture of cool and uncaring. "Are you from the hospital?"

She answered first. "What hospital? I'm a writer, and he's my lifejacket."

Kangtae rolled his eyes, turning to her. "I told you, I have a job."

"I'm warning you both. I don't know where you got that recording, but if anything happens to Assemblyman Kwon because of what happened today—"

"Yes? What if something happens?" Irritation laced his voice.

The man raised one threatening finger. "You two better brace yourselves."

It was almost funny. "Really?" she asked, gasping. "You're so frightening, I'm so scared. What do I do?" Beside her, Kangtae was almost laughing, teeth out, lips curled up—but eyes hard. The man she was talking to, though, didn't seem particularly amused.

"You little—" He didn't get to finish his sentence, but she could imagine what came next. The step forward, the raised arm. She didn't even have time to brace herself for the hit when Kangtae was in the way, one hand on his palm.

"Didn't I warn you and Assemblyman Kwon?" he asked, twisting until the man was shouting. "Why didn't you brace yourself?" He let go suddenly enough that the man fell over, scrambling backwards. She watched as Kangtae turned to her, almost as though checking to see if she was alright. A woman ran over to them.

"Wait here," he said after a minute. Moonyoung watched him go, watched the man on the ground wring his hand, obviously in pain, watched the reporters shouting and flashes going off. In the back, Mrs. Kwon Mansu was sobbing into her hands. Same old story everywhere, it seemed.

Assemblyman Kwon said something. Kangtae's mouth twisted—he replied, something not quite a shout, not quite audible past the general chaos. Mrs. Kwon's face turned white, and Assemblyman Kwon looked like he would have hit Kangtae if there were simply less people. But Moon Kangtae—simply didn't care. His hands returned to his pockets, and if they were clenched into fists now instead of relaxed, she didn't know who else was watching to see. He took a slow saunter back to her, smiling when he reached her, and asked,

"Had fun?"

She really, really, really wanted him.

#kdramanetwork #psycho but it's okay #it's okay not to be okay #iontbo fanfic #pbio fanfic #mine #minefic #pbiofic #hotel blue moon #moonmoon #i just....love them so much #the tension is getting to me tho lmao

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laufire · 4 years

Text

Supernatural s2

I’m halfway through s3 already (technically a rewatch, but there were episodes I didn’t watch the first time around), so this post is a little overdue lol. At this rhythim the posts will overlap. Plus I’m hoping I can finish s4-5 during the holidays to see the ~intended ending~ before I have to slow down on the binge-watch. After that, a season a month sounds achievable AND won’t take longer than 2021 xD

ANYWAY.

-Overall, I’ve enjoyed it more than the first one, but at the same time I’ve found myself missing how... claustrophobic? Insular? Compact? That one was. s2 was about the world opening up just a little bit more, introducing new characters to the brothers’ life, etc. I do love the detail that this is something that can only have, narratively speaking, once John is dead. Again: this show gets abusive families, consciously or not.

-The foreshadowing is beautifully done. 15 seasons make for a lot of unintentional and ironic foreshadowing later on, I’m sure, but the purposeful foreshadowing is superb this season. About the crossroads deals, of course, but especially about John’s last words. I already knew he’d told Dean he might have to kill Sam (father of the year, seriously. Though I side-eye the fandom even more for always having acted as if this is only awful for Dean lol), so I was hyperaware of every single detail. My favourite moment was the absolute horror of hearing Gordon proudly, cheerfully relate how he murdered his sister when she became a vampire (which, btw, as someone that’s still bitter about what went down with the Gunn siblings on Angel, I found it healing to see something like that treated as a horror story).

-Speaking of Gordon: I unashamedly love his character lmfao. Sterling K. Brown is mesmerizing, always. At the same time, I have serious mixed feelings (especially after seeing his arc in full in s3) because man, if it isn’t a racist mess. I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s not exactly revolutionary that the first time we see the story from the monster’s POV (something I want the show to do! Often!), it’s when white monsters are stalked and brutalized by our first black hunter. Especifically a white woman, btw (although I’m happy to see Tara Maclay as a brunette vampire. I didn’t know I needed that in my life, but I did). And you can tell that the show thinks it’s just so SMART and FUNNY to have a ~racist black hunter!! I mean, the comment about how psychic kids would be “betraying their race” if they allied with demons?? FFS.

And ofc there’s the fact that he’s condemned for the exact same type of stuff that makes Dean be hailed as a hero lmfao. Though I won’t like, I love the moment where, faced with the comparison, Dean’s response is “I might be like you, I might not. But you’re the one tied up.” I love those kinds of character moments. As of s2 I officially have a love-hate relationship with Dean Winchester, I hate it here xDD

But still, on his own, Gordon is an amazing character (it’s one of the most frustrating things about the show, the greatness tainted by the bigotry :))). Charismatic, terrifying, and ofc superbly acted. Also, I love that the fact that he praised John (as opposed to every other hunter having a rockier relationship with him) is clearly supposed to be a red flag LMFAO.

-I enjoy how the seasons delves more deeply into Sam’s ~~dark origins, since it was my fave thing about him way back when. I’m already mourning the (as I suspect) lost of his powers, ngl. There’s a little more attention in how he tends to over-identify with supernatural creatures struggling with their ~dark sides too (bitch me too, the fuck xD), which I LOVE to see (among other reasons because at least in that way we get a little of their POV in the forefront lol). One of my favourites in that sense was the episode centered around the ghost-who-didn’t-know-she-was-ghost, played by Tricia Helfer. I clocked early one what was going on, but it was still very enjoyable, especially with Sam’s empathy with her (contrasted by Dean being a total bitch about it, btw. I can’t believe I still see post about how Dean is all heart/kindness/compassion/whatever the fuck. Dean is all about selective empathy and only when it conveniences him, pls).

I was more divided on the episode with Madison the werewolf, tbh. OTOH it put Sam in a better position, for a change xD. As the one willing to make The Hard Choices by fulfilling his promise to kill her because she was dangerous, even when Dean offered to ~take the burden from him. OTOH I hate that kind of thing lol. YOU GUYS KNOW A HUNTER PRO LIKE BOBBY, I BET HE COULD’VE FIGURED OUT SOMETHING TO CONTAIN HER A FEW NIGHTS A MONTH. Also, my immediate reaction was to compare this to when my man Angel had a crush on a werelady and helped her every month lmfao. But then, very few characters can withstand a comparison with Angel, in any sense :P

I also liked Sam’s subplot with his fellow demon-psychic kids, though I wish it’d lasted longer :/ (also: RME at the queer girl dying almost immediately AND her power being killing people, her girlfriend first of all, with her touch. The black guy was the last one to die at least...?). My fave was Ava, by far. I loved her since her reaction to helping Sam stealing a psychiatrist’s records was yelling “I’M AWESOME!!”. It made it easy to buy that someone that appeared so mundane, with her easy life and her fiance and whatnot, would become so power hungry and go off the rails, IMO.

BTW: RME at Dean being all “oh Sam is going too dark/becoming to cold” when Sam kills Jake. Jake ripped off his spine and killed him first!! It both amuses me and infuriates me all the times Dean tries to push Sam to be more like himself and then freaks out whenever Sam is not all sunshine and rainbows (while still remaining, IMO, far less cold than Dean himself. Besides, it’s not easy to be colder than Dean, lol).

Lastly, a little character detail I loved was when Sam was jealous about Dean being in the federal database but not himself lmfao.

-I loved the new foreshadowing crumb with Sam finding out Mary knew the demon, too (information he’ll withhold from Dean, which I approve of LOL). I mean, I know exactly what’s up, I’ve watched most of s4 xD (also, what is UP with this family and making deals with demons. Everyone but Sam so far!! And then HE gets dragged for ~getting too close to one smh. Maybe lead by example!! Also also: yes, it was meant to be ambiguous, but I can’t help but notice the only kiss-pact -or further, depending to how close YED was to Lilith’s levels, since to make a deal with her you have to fuck xD- we didn’t see was the one that must’ve happened between John and YED. Cowards!! xD). Still. I’m so curious about her. Her resurrection is one of the main reasons I’m determined to make it to the later seasons, ngl.

-Another thing I LOVED about this season is how they used sibling relationships to parallel/foreshadow stuff about the brothers, the way s1 did often with fathers. I’ve already mentioned Gordon and his sister, but the others are not less brutal imo: Andy having to kill his evil twin, who wanted him all for himself (... Dean is that you xD); the little girl’s ghost who wanted her grand-niece to commit suicide to stay with her, and didn’t give in until her old sister agreed to die in her place. It was chilling. Also, at one point the parallel was between the brothers and a married couple (the ghost-who-didn’t-know-she-was-a-ghost) and asñdlfkajsf. I’m guessing they had fun with the shippers lol.

Speaking of the brothers’ relationship, this season also goes a little further in escalating the violence between them, when Dean punches Sam in the face and he refuses to respond (“you can hit me all you want, it won’t change anything”. Fuck), or when Dean again punches Sam after Sam was possessed by Meg ¬¬

-Going back to my love-hate relationship with Dean, lmfao. My biggest beef remains how much validation his POV gets from the narrative, granted or not; he’s one of the most irritating cases of protagonist-centered morality and I know it’s only going to get worse smh. At least this season it feels a little more balanced than in s1, with episodes like the one where the civilian Sam had tried to keep away dies halfway through the ep because Dean allowed him to get involved, for example. Still, it grates on me xD. The continuing prison rape jokes/demonic possession rape jokes (with Meg and Sam), his general grossness with women and his lack of sympathy for non-humans even when they’re not trying to hurt anyone don’t exactly help. Also, I often see him praised for some of his political views, a lot of which I agree with (his mistrust of cops, saying convicts don’t deserve to die no matter what they do), but when contrasted with his general attitude across the show it’s really grating ngl.

But then he has such AMAZING character details thrown in, that make me appreciate him as a POV character nonetheless, as much as I often want to curb stomp the guy xD. I loved his speech about how there’s no such thing as a dignified death. I love how he refused to come near his mother’s grave, both at the beginning and at the end of the episode (this show is like, the cure to DCCW’s shows false fuzzy sentimentality istg). I love his pop-culture references, like when Sam mentions Dean always thought OJ was the murderer or Dean jokes about freeing Katie Holmes from Scientology’s cult xD (sometimes it really hits you how old this show is lol). I enjoyed his Wishverse episode, and his lines after Sam dies/he sells his soul to save him (“I had one job”, “my life can mean something”) hit HARD.

But most of all? I LOVE how and why he starts losing respect for John. It’s so fucking cold and abrupt and makes so much sense!! Like, yes, part of it is John’s message about killing Sam (... again, father of the year!), but most of all it’s about John making a pact with a demon and dying TO SAVE DEAN (and probably, simply that he died at all. That shit de-mystifies anyone). IT’S SO FUCKING GREAT TO WATCH. “He spent his life chasing that demon. He was supposed to die fighting, not making a deal with the damn thing. That was supposed to be his legacy, not this." Damn, Dean xDD. The *contempt* with which he said that killed me.

I also love his inherently atheist vision of the world (even if yes, it’s extremely funny knowing this show has canon God and angels and shit -no Jesus Christ though, which I find endlessly funny-, or that they actually meet the archangel Gabriel in disguise xD. Either way, the episode with the fake angel and its foreshadowing was hilarious), his anti-destiny stance, and that it’s him and not John who gets to kill YED.

-I liked Ellen and Jo. Not LOVED, but I liked them. I keep fearing that secondary (especially female) characters will feel empty/shallow but the show keeps proving me wrong, even with one-episode wonders, and at first I wasn’t sure about them, but I was sold quickly. Partially because of the actresses, they both had this... humanizing, endearing quality? It worked really well. I also loved the explicit contrast between John and Ellen’s parenting styles, with Ellen wanting Jo to return to school and be safe from the hunt, and Jo wanting something different. Also, I wouldn’t ship it if you paid me, but LOL at anyone who actually buys Dean sees Jo as a ~little sister just because MEG said that rme.

This show is just REALLY good when it comes to giving depth to a character with only a couple of brush strokes, which makes it all the more frustrating when they abruptly die or disappear to never be seen again/only once more (to abruptly die!) :)))

I was less sold on Ash; he was amusing, but having a Genius Hacker TM helping them out seemed like the beginning of increasingly giving the brothers ways of deux ex machina-ing them out of problems, when one of my favourite things about the show is seeing them creatively find ways out themselves. I like when they’re competent! Like with the multitude of codes they have to improvise plans, like in the episode where with two words through a lawyer they implemented a quick scheme so that Sam would escape from a police precinct. I like that stuff.

-I’m still so bitterly jealous about the dead man’s blood hurting vampires detail. SO BITTERLY JEALOUS. I love a lot of what this show does with its lore but that little bit is the worst offender. I want it so bad xD

#talking to the void #my thoughts #spn thoughts #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #gordon walker #ellen harvelle #jo harvelle #spn s2 #the winchesters get to have a tag I GUESS

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ghostsreadingghosts · 3 years

Text

The Specialist

Synopsis: Welcome to the Institute - a business slotted into the space between worlds. Here, strange things aren’t so abnormal, but should still be feared. Follow Ellis, a Data Specialist, as she fulfills her tasks in the archives and perhaps finds more than what she was meant to in the process.

Data Specialist. Data. Specialist. Such a vague title, though Ellis thought it was probably fitting. She felt like a vague member of her company, just an almost faceless little job puppet that flitted from work load to work load without ever leaving much of an impression on anyone. She wasn’t closely tied with any person here - wasn’t even close enough that most of them knew her name. But she knew them, or at least, observed them.

Amilia was head analyst for the Institute, meaning she was the one who assigned everyone’s work load in their department. She was a petite, intelligent woman who’d never worked anywhere other than the Institute for her entire life and, honestly, was probably born there. No one was really sure where she came from. She just sort of appeared one day working in the archive vault and no one questioned it. It was one of those things that was best not to question, Ellis had learned.

Charlie, on the other end of the employment ladder, was a junior analyst, having been hired right off of his college internship, meaning he’d already been working there for a year so it was easier than putting up another job posting and training in someone else. It also meant he’d probably stick around for awhile because he had no “real world” experience yet outside of an internship and he was just poor enough that he couldn’t afford to quit without another job lined up. Which was unlikely in the near future, given the experience garnered at the Institute was a very specific kind.

Then there was Darius, who was one of the Analysts and field workers. They were always running on too much caffeine and too little sleep, but so was everyone else in the Institute aside from Upper Management. They’d been a runaway at one point in their life, but by now would simply describe it as having a ‘no contact relationship’ with their parents. Only Ben tried to ask about them once and Darius had stonewalled him at every turn. So much for a “close knit workspace,” as Ben liked to call it.

Ben was the secretary and the liaison between Upper Management and the Data & Records department where Ellis worked. He was the perfect creature of poised charm and warm smiles - all grins and business talk with nothing really much deeper. It made Ellis’ skin crawl. He looked like one of the Office Drones from the top floor. Those strange little eldritch beings peeled off of the Beyond and stuck into expressionless skins, milling about on the upper floors in jerky, uncoordinated movements as they fulfilled the tasks of their masters until they could be released back into the Beyond again were the primary menial workforce of the Institute, though Ellis couldn’t imagine why. Their faces never moved right, their skin and clothes never settling quite into a perfect facsimile of humanity. Instead it was always just off enough to cause discomfort and Ellis had long learned to steer clear of them when they made their rare appearances on the lower floors to deliver packages or run office errands. It did make Ellis wonder how other offices worked, though.

She had never really had work outside of the Institute, as far as she could recall. Maybe a job when she was teenager babysitting or cutting grass, but she couldn’t remember. Her life was full of long days and boring evenings, so it’s not as though there was anything particularly worth remembering if her life had always looked the way it did now. But she heard stories from time to time from other people about work outside of the Institute and it always made her mind twist about in strange ways.

She’d gone on a date once with a man named Garrett who, when Ellis asked about his work, laughed and said he was just an office drone. He’d been very confused when Ellis’ color drained from her face and she excused herself to pay her tab and leave. Ingrid, Ellis’ roommate and a woman who worked in marketing, stated that he was just making a joke and that Office Drones were different outside of the Institute. Ellis wasn’t sure what to make of that, but wasn’t particularly keen to go out with someone who referred to themselves as a lifeless husk with nothing but a squirming, wriggling mass of inhuman tentacles and teeth inside.

But was it really any better than her job, when she thought about it? Data Specialist. Did that mean she specialized in data? Or that she dealt with specialist data? Perhaps both. She did have to sign a rather lengthy NDA when she was hired, or at least she thought she remembered signing an NDA. It was so long ago now.

She frowned as she climbed up onto a ladder in the archives, putting a rather temperamental file back onto the top shelf. As she completed the task, she shuffled through her notes and found the form she was looking for just as Ben rounded the corner.

“There you are, Ellis,” he said, never looking up from his clipboard. Ben was one of the only people there who actually remembered her name and Ellis was fairly certain that it was only because he worked with Upper Management and thus was required to know any and everyone who entered the building. “You’re so quiet now. I was wondering if you had the -” he lifted the pages on his clipboard and flicked through a few before Ellis cleared her throat.

“Here.”

“Ah, excellent.” Ben took the yellowed sheet she had stuck in his face, the heading printed in dark gothic lettering, and slid it into the papers on his clipboard. “And the -”

“On the table.” Ellis motioned to the work table where a thick manilla folder sat.

Ben followed the gesture of her hand and spotted the envelope. “Splendid,” he purred through a toothy smile. The air hissed through his teeth unpleasantly as he did so. “I’m not sure how we managed before you, Miss Ellis.”

Ellis wasn’t sure how to take that, but the statement almost sounded like a threat. She wasn’t entirely sure how it could be a threat, but it definitely felt like one.

Before she could respond to his question, the man was gone, the clip of his hard leather soles reverberating through the cramped archive halls. Ellis sighed through her nose and collected her papers into her soft leather briefcase before sliding haphazardly down the ladder to land with a neat plop on the floor. One of the files about halfway up the shelf - far out of reach from the ground level - spat a paper out at her and Ellis caught it with her fingertips as it drifted towards the floor.

“Thank you!” She waved up at the shelf and saw the edge of the file rustling back and forth in response.

“That’s a neat trick. I don’t think the archives behave that well for anyone else here.”

Ellis jumped when she heard the voice behind her and turned to see Francis resting against one of the shelves, his arms crossed against his chest and his dark eyes blinking at her in the dim archive light. Francis had always reminded her of a spider, somehow. Perhaps it was all of the eye tattoos on his arms or his long, spindly fingers that always seemed to be able to grasp things just beyond their reach. Whatever it was, he was as unnerving as he was beautiful and Ellis did not like that she was alone with him in the archive of all places. He technically was the head of Human Resources, so never really needed to come down to the archives except in very specific circumstances.

Ellis didn’t like Very Specific Circumstances. She swallowed and wiggled her fingers in a nervous ‘hello’ towards the man who was technically her superior but was still in a completely different department.

“Ah, I forgot about the silence thing. It has been a while since we’ve seen each other, hasn’t it?” he mused. He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture before Ellis could answer. “It doesn’t matter. I was hoping you’d be able to find something for me and bring it down to the mail center. I’d bring it myself, but, well - you are the Data Specialist for a reason and even I can’t crawl my way through these archives the way you can.” Francis bared his teeth in a strange mimic of a smile which Ellis couldn’t bring herself to return. She cleared her throat to ask what Francis needed, but the suit-clad HR manager simply began speaking again.

“It’s actually a few somethings - if you don’t mind. It’s for the Guillespe case. You know the one, I’m sure. The gentleman with the unfortunate bog hound?” Francis pulled a sheet of paper from his breast pocket, folded long ways down the center and handed it off to Ellis. “I was hoping it was an isolated incident, but Hellen thinks otherwise. She gave me a list of call numbers for you to look up. Just put them all in an envelope for me and bring them down to the mail room. They’ll make sure it gets to me in the morning.”

Ellis tugged on the tarnished chain hooked to her belt and pulled out her pocket watch to check the time. If he wanted this by morning, it meant a late night for her. And it was supposed to snow as it was. She frowned.

“Any questions?” Francis asked and Ellis looked up at him.

“I don’t think -”

“Good. Have a good night, Ellis. I’ll try to remember to swing by more often. It’s such a lovely little hovel you’ve carved out for yourself down here.” With that, the man scurried up the shelf and back into one of his tunnels in the ceiling, disappearing into the black void without another word. Ellis let out an exasperated sigh and unfolded the paper in her hands, scanning the call numbers and already forming the most efficient way to look for the articles and files that Francis wanted her to dig up. It would take her awhile, but she could manage it if she worked quickly and the archive decided to be helpful.

She made her way determinedly through the sprawling catacombs of the archive, taking long-familiar turns and winding her way on sure feet through the space, sometimes pausing and glancing up at the shelves to verify the call sections again. The struggle in compiling already collected data for the people at the Institute wasn’t so much that it was difficult to find, but rather that it was difficult to get to. Shelves were sometimes fathoms deep and some files were particularly cantankerous, whereas other organizational units and shelves were high enough that just getting up the ladder took several minutes, let alone climbing up on the shelf to then finish the journey. The information was easy enough to find, but collecting was a wholly different matter.

But Ellis knew the archives. She knew every shortcut, every switchback and wrong turn, every ladder and high shelf and soothing song to play for the files and the creatures that lived with them. She knew where to go and how to get it and where other people could become lost in the endless hallways and cramped corridors, Eliis could always find her way. It was a pity that so few remembered she was here to congratulate her on her hard work.

Oh well. She couldn’t have everything.

It was a long trek to collect all of the data for Francis and by the time she had it all, it was well past closing time for the Institute. The mail room would still be open since they sorted mail at all hours to make sure they kept deadlines, but most everyone else would have gone home or be in their Institute Approved cabinets by now. She’d be lucky if she wasn’t locked in.

The hallway to the mailroom was long and narrow and steep, almost more of a chute than a hallway and it was always a struggle to get back out again. Ellis had once slipped and wound up falling into a mail bin and was almost put in the paper shredder since non-addressed living organisms couldn’t be accepted. She’d gotten out of that by quickly writing “To: Archives” on the back of her hand, making her an addressed living organism and thus mailable. It had taken half an hour, but she eventually was deposited back at the archive door and only had to spend a few minutes getting the mailroom label off of her forehead. Ever since then she’d been more careful and always made sure to keep a new felt-tip pen on her when she went to the mailroom just in case. She tucked the files into an inter-office folder and wrote “Human Resources: Francis” on the front before dropping it into the open maw of the mailroom and scurrying her way back up the hallway to safety.

To her dismay, it wasn’t the locked doors that were keeping her in the Institute when she finally reached the entrance, but the foot and a half of snow piled up on the ground. Ellis groaned as she looked out at the fat snowflakes the clouds hurled down at the earth. She couldn’t see more than five feet out the door, which meant she’d almost certainly get lost before she made it to the bus stop. If the buses were even running in this weather, which they probably weren’t.

She eventually turned back into the Institute entryway to see if she might be able to snag a guest cabinet for the night. It was no use trying to find alternatives outside. She would sleep in the archives, but that wasn’t the best idea. She knew what was there when she was awake, but even Ellis, who knew the archives better than anyone, didn’t trust them while she was sleeping.

Twenty minutes and several flights of stairs leading to nowhere in particular later, Ellis found herself at a very odd door that she didn’t remember seeing before. It wasn’t as though the door was odd in any way. It was simply an office door - brown with blinds covering the window and a round handle with a lock in it. It looked much like any other door Ellis had seen in the Institute before, but Ellis was certain - certain! - that it had not been there before. Or, at least, she was sure that she’d never seen it there before. So then why did something just seem so familiar about this one?

Ellis had always been a curious person and on instinct, her hand began to reach out towards the handle.

“Don’t open in,” a part of her whispered in her ear and her hand paused. “You know something bad will happen if you do.”

“Open it,” another part replied. “Who knows what might be behind it? It could be different this time.”

This time? But Ellis hadn’t ever seen this door before. Or, at least she thought she hadn’t. Had she? No, wait, that wasn’t right. Something was… wrong.

Ellis dug the heels of her palms into her eyes and scrubbed until she saw stars. She felt a headache coming on.

But she wanted to know what was behind the door. And besides, Upper Management went to bed when the Institute closed for the night. And Francis - dealing only in Human Resources - was probably out schmoozing their next Human Resource, so it’s not as though he was there to get angry with her. What harm could it really do? She placed her ear to the door and listened. If there was no sound coming from inside, then it was probably just a storage room and she wouldn’t bother going in, she decided. But she did hear something. A little mechanical whirring noise, followed by a pause, then more whirring.

Hesitantly, Ellis reached out and tried the handle of the door. It was unlocked. Ellis felt her heart thrumming loudly in her chest and she swallowed before swinging the door open and looking inside.

Ben looked up from a desk. Bright pink readers perched precariously on the end of his thin nose and his eyes narrowed as he saw who was standing in his doorway.

“Ah, Ellis. I’d hoped you’d gone home for the evening.”

In front of the man was what looked to be a rather ancient sewing machine all in black with an electric lamp attached to it that had clearly been added at a later date. Ben appeared to have been using it and now he picked up a seam ripper from the desk and clipped the threads connecting his project to the machine.

“Rather unfortunate, that. I had hoped you’d remember what happened last time. But I suppose it can’t be helped. They did a little too good of a job when making you a Data Specialist.”

Ellis’ eyebrows furrowed and she tried to open her mouth to speak.

“Ah, ah, no. You’ll tear your stitches, dear Ellis.” Ben rose from his seat and crossed to her. Ellis noticed for the first time just how tall he was. And that he wasn’t wearing his suit jacket. Without the suit jacket, the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to reveal the thousands of little threads running up and down his arms. All his Connections. It was a little frightening how many he had. Ellis looked up at him in confusion and Ben simply motioned to her left.

In the mirror was a woman - unkempt dark, curly hair and large eyes that looked like black marbles. Her long, thin form was covered by dusty, ragged clothes and her soft leather briefcase hung at her side like a satchel. But her mouth -

Her mouth had been sewn shut.

“I suppose you won’t remember. I had hoped-” Ben paused behind her and looked over her reflection. His face held the imitation of a frown and for a flash of a second he almost looked sad. Almost. “Well, in the end t was Upper Management’s decision, not mine. Though, I did ask to do the the stitching myself. I thought the blue silk suited you. It really stands out with your eyes.”

Ellis blinked at Ben’s reflection in a panic, her heart racing faster than before.

“Oh, now, now, Ellis, don’t worry,” Ben spoke reassuringly as he pulled several long threads from his arms. He held them up to his lamplight, squinting and checking the threads against each other before choosing one and threading it on a needle.. “We’ll just start again like last time, little puppet.”

Ellis watched as Ben lifted the limp form from his sewing machine up, holding it out like a dress for her to appreciate.

“What do you think?” he asked.

It was a skin. A skin that looked like her. Ellis felt herself go stiff with fear as Ben laid the skin out carefully on the work desk and walked over to her, brandishing his seam ripper.

“Now, hold very, very still.”

#writing #short story #horror #writers on tumblr #original fiction

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rushingheadlong · 4 years

Text

Almost Make Believe - A Brian x f!Reader smut fic

Summary: When you saw Brian’s performance at the Big Mama Club you thought nothing could ever top being front-and-center to him rocking out in a tight black tank top… and then you run into him a bar after the show, and your night goes from great to amazing.

Wordcount: ~2,600

Tags: 18+ / NSFW, smut, 1998 Tank Top Brian x female!fan!Reader. (Assume for the sake of this fic that Anita isn’t in the picture.) Arm kink, with a hint of sweat kink, and semi-public sex.

Notes: This technically wasn’t a request for my #1YearFics week, but the lovely @maryfree asked for this ages ago and inspiration finally struck (after a friendly nudge from her). Since the first fic I posted on this blog featured tank top Bri, I thought what better way to wrap up this week than with a bonus fic featuring some very on-brand tank top smut!

I hope this was worth the wait Mary and thank you for being so patient with me taking half a lifetime to write this for you ♥

You think you fell a little in love with Brian the first time you heard a Queen album. You didn’t even know his name then, but the moment you heard his guitar sing you went scrambling for the liner notes to look it up and then scanned through the photos decorating the accompanying booklet until you figured out which one he was.

Skinny with a mess of dark, curly hair and the most intense eyes you think you’ve ever seen in your life… You knew then and there that you were a goner for Brian May.

You’ve always found him almost unbearably attractive, the sort of man that you looked at and almost hated for how effortlessly sexy he was even when that clearly wasn’t his goal. He was a man who, by his own admittance, didn’t care about fashion but somehow everything he wore looked amazing on him - from gaudy jackets to simple (but always disheveled and unbuttoned) shirts.

But you have never, never seen him look as incredible as he does tonight.

Brian is in Rome for a one-off performance and brief Q&A about his new album, open only to members of the press and the fan club, and you’ve managed to snag a ticket to this exclusive event. It’s an acoustic performance, something lowkey and intimate, and maybe that’s what contributes to you being weak in the knees from the moment that Brian enters the room - wearing, of all things, a simple black tank top.

It shouldn’t be as hot as it is but Brian fills it out so nicely, and you can’t remember his arms ever being as muscled as they look in that tank top. You’re so distracted by the sight of his bare arms, the necklaces decorating the hollow of his throat, and the faintest glimpse of his collarbones above the neckline of the tank top that you almost entirely miss how indecently tight his jeans are tonight. (It takes you an embarrassingly long time to realize that he’s wearing black clogs on his feet as well, but you’re so struck by the rest of his outfit that you find that you’re not even bothered by his questionable choice in footwear.)

You manage to get a spot up front by the small stage, the perfect vantage point to stare at Brian as he strums at his guitars and croons into the mic. It’s warm in the small venue and you can see sweat beading on Brian’s brow, and when he reaches up to wipe it away you have to bite your bottom lip to hold back a whimper.

There’s no stopping your growing arousal, though, especially not when Brian’s eyes land on you, just for a second - just long enough that you can see his eyes widen slightly, and you can almost convince yourself that when he licks his lips it’s because of you and not a parched throat. It’s enough that you can feel yourself growing embarrassingly wet and it takes a real effort to stop yourself from squirming and pressing your thighs together right there in the Big Mama Café.

The show is over far, far too soon. Brian shakes hands with fans as he leaves the stage and you’re sure you’re imagining the way his hand lingers in yours, you’re sure he was just looking back at Jamie or Spike before he leaves the room, but you still let yourself imagine that it was you he was looking at instead.

There’s a bar nearby and you duck into it, needing a drink (or several) and some time to compose yourself before you can think about heading home. It’s quiet inside and you find your thoughts drifting back to Brian and the way he looked in that tank top. The memory of his muscles flexing as he played his guitar, the vast expanse of bare skin on display, the brief glimpses of usually-hidden pits, the glisten of sweat down the column of his throat....

Fuck. You’re supposed to be calming yourself down, not making yourself even more worked up about your celebrity crush!

You down your drink and order a second, when a familiar - but unexpected - voice asks, “Mind if I get that for you?”

Your heart leaps into your throat and you turn to look at Brian May as he slides onto a barstool next to you. He has a jacket on now but he’s still wearing that damned tank top underneath it, and you can see it ride up slightly as he sits down.

You tear your eyes away from that sliver of exposed skin to nod at him, and you clear your throat. “S-sure,” you stammer. “Thanks.”

Brian’s smile is warm and beautiful. “Great.” He orders a drink of his own before saying, “You were at the show, weren’t you? In the front row?”

You nod again. Your heart is racing in your chest and you can feel your face flushing but somehow you manage to say, “Yes, I was. You were absolutely fantastic.”

Brian laughs and ducks his head a little in embarrassment. “Thanks. We weren’t bad, I suppose.” Your drinks arrive and Brian hands you yours, and clinks his glass against yours. “Cheers.”

You echo the sentiment, and as both of you take a drink you wrack your brain for something, anything to say to keep the conversation going. “How long are you staying in Rome?” you ask. “I thought you said you had a plane to catch.”

“Mm, I do but we got word that our flight was delayed until later tonight. So I thought I’d grab a drink before we left,” Brian explains. “What about you? Are you a local?”

You shake your head. “Just in town for the show.”

“And in no hurry to leave, I take it,” Brian says, a little teasing.

You laugh, and trace a finger through the condensation dripping onto the bartop. “I needed a moment to decompress after that performance of yours,” you say, and it must be the alcohol that makes you bold enough to add, “It’s a bit overwhelming being that close to you when you look and sound that good, you know.”

Brian looks surprised and you’re just about to apologize for your comment - and possibly disappear into a hole to die of embarrassment - when he smirks at you and says, “Well, thank you. But you’re not the only one who got overwhelmed. It’s quite difficult for me to have to do a show when there are beautiful ladies like yourself front and center in the audience.”

“Surely a world-famous rockstar like yourself is used to seeing beautiful women at his shows,” you say. Your voice has dropped down to a sultry note, something that matches the dark arousal you can see in Brian’s eyes.

“There aren’t many women who look like you,” Brian counters in a low murmur, and you know it’s probably a line but god is it working. He takes a long gulp of his drink and turns to face you a little better and says, “If I was in Rome for longer I’d ask you to go to dinner with me and come back to my hotel room after, but unfortunately I don’t have much time before I have to leave. So I hope you can forgive me for being a bit forward but… well…”

He nods towards the back of the bar, where you know the restrooms are, and raises an eyebrow questioningly. It’s not a direct question but you don’t need it to be. You know what he’s asking and you down the rest of your drink and stand up, leaning in close to him to whisper, “Wait a few minutes, then come follow me.”

Luckily, the bar has single-occupancy restrooms and you enter the first one, leaving the door unlocked. You splash some water on your face and look at yourself in the mirror, but you barely have time to wonder what the hell you’re doing before there’s a knock at the door and Brian ducks inside, and flips the lock behind him.

There’s a beat where the two of you just look at each other, a shared moment of arousal and amusement and almost disbelief that you’re actually about to hookup with a near-stranger in the bathroom of some bar. And then you take a step forward and Brian meets you halfway, wrapping an arm around your waist and capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

You gasp and Brian swallows the sound as his tongue slips into your mouth, tracing against yours, and you suck on it as your hands quickly reach up to push his jacket off his shoulders.

“We probably shouldn’t get undressed…” Brian mumbles against your mouth, barely breaking the kiss for long enough to get the words out, but he still helps shrug off his jacket and lets it fall to the floor.

You pull back, pressing lighter kisses against his mouth and moving down to kiss and nip along his jaw, though you’re careful not to leave marks on his skin - no matter how much you may want to. “Just wanted that off. You look too fucking hot in a tank top, I can’t stand it.”

You can’t keep your hands off him now that his shoulders and the top of his chest is on display again. You run your hands down his arms, feeling those muscles that had driven you crazy when he was performing, as Brian reaches down and runs one hand up your skirt, along the outside of your thigh.

“This okay?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. He leans in to lick and kiss at your neck and you tilt your head back to give him better access.

“Yes, god, please,” you gasp, and then Brian’s fingers are trailing inward, towards your core. Your knees almost buckle when he brushes along the soaked front of your panties, and Brian tightens his grip around your waist and groans against your neck.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already…”

“Been wet since the show,” you admit, and that gets Brian surging up to kiss you again, fierce and hot, and you tangle one hand in his hair as he pulls your panties aside and slips two fingers deep inside you.

You moan and buck against his hand as he scissors his fingers and twists them inside you. “Fuck, Brian, just fuck me already, please fuck me, god-” your voice trails off in a high-pitched whine as Brian crooks his fingers and rubs against your g-spot, and Brian quickly swallows down the noise before you get too loud and draw outside attention to this illicit tryst.

Brian pulls his fingers away and fumbles for his wallet, pulling out a condom as you undo his belt and fly and push his jeans down far enough to free his cock. You moan softly at the sight of it, big and thick and heavy in your hand as you stroke his length, feeling a rush of lust as Brian groans and rocks into your hand.

Brian tears open the condom and you take it from him to roll it down his cock. Brian’s hands drop to your waist and he says, “Wrap your legs around me, okay?”

You barely have time to comprehend the instruction before Brian is lifting you up with a small grunt, balancing you on the edge of the sink but still supporting most of your weight with his arms, which flex and strain under the effort. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in close and Brian goes willingly, lining up his cock at your entrance and sinking into you slowly.

You bite your lip to stop the loud moan that wants to slip out as Brian bottoms out inside you, his cock filling you so much that it’s almost a pained sort of pleasure, lighting up every nerve ending in your body even before he starts rocking into you. The first thrust has you leaning forward, ducking your head against Brian’s neck to muffle the noises that you can’t hold back any longer.

“Fuck, you feel so good, you’re so fucking good,” Brian praises and he fucks into you fast and hard. You mouth at his neck, tasting the salt of his sweat on his skin, and your fingernails dig crescent moons into his arms as you cling tightly to him.

You know you’re not going to last long. You’ve been turned on since Brian’s concert and having him here, around you, in you, is absolutely overwhelming. The feeling of his bare arms beneath your hands, the sound of his pants and groans and mumbled praise in your ear, his hair tickling your face and the taste of his skin and sweat on your tongue…

You think you could die here, just like this, without a single regret.

Brian’s thrusts start to speed up and he brings a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit and you bite down on the strap of his tank top to stifle your loud cry of pleasure. “Want you come for me, love, c’mon, come on my cock,” Brian says, and that’s all it takes.

Your orgasm hits you suddenly, white-hot pleasure setting you on fire as you clench down on Brian’s thick cock and writhe against him. Brian ducks his head to capture you lips in another kiss, your cries lost in his mouth as he works you through your orgasm, his nimble guitarist’s fingers circling and teasing at your clit without pause. You try to find your voice to tell him that it’s too much, it’s too overwhelming, when a second orgasm rips through you, stealing your breath and leaving you gasping and shaking against Brian.

And then Brian’s hips stutter into you and he’s groaning and coming as well, and his hand finally falls away from your clit as he grinds against you, chasing his own pleasure. You keep kissing him and rub your hands along his arms, until Brian’s climax ends and the two of you are left tangled together, panting and breathless and slowly coming down from your highs.

Brian pulls out gently and helps lower you back to the floor. Your legs don’t want to work properly and you lean heavily against the sink as Brian disposes of the condom and quickly wets a paper towel. He cleans your slick away from the inside of your thighs with a tenderness that makes your heart ache, but when Brian wets a second paper towel to wipe the sweat away from his face and clean himself up you feel your stomach flutter with arousal again.

Pull yourself together, you tell yourself as Brian straightens his own clothes and picks his jacket up off the floor.

“You know,” Brian says with a small laugh. “I don’t even know your name.”

Your chest is tight with a bittersweet longing, a thousand wishes that this could be the start of something long-term and beautiful… but you know it’s not meant to be.

You’ll be damned before you put the weight of your dreams on Brian’s shoulders though, so you muster up a smile and tell him, “I’m Y/N L/N.” You lean up to kiss him again, stealing into his mouth and lingering for as long as you dare, because you know you’ll probably never get this again... but just in case the stars align again you murmur in his ear as you pull away, “Come find me the next time you’re in Italy.”

And with that you step back, smooth down the front of your dress, and give Brian one last smirk and a cheeky wave before you duck out of the bathroom.

You fell a little more in love with Brian today than you already were - but that's alright. You're leaving the bar with a spring in your step and the heartache already fading, and even if you never see Brian again you at least got this one moment where your fantasies almost entirely came true.

#brian may fic #brian may fanfic #brian may smut #brian may x reader #brian may x female reader #queen band fic #my fic #1YearFics #brian

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