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katebishopsbow · 9 months

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SOMEDAY IT WILL ALL BE OKAY • MAX VERSTAPPEN

pairing: max verstappen x driver!reader (platonic)

summary: watching kevin and his daughter, laura, playing together at the paddock makes you emotional as you remember the love that you never get to receive growing up. max is here to remind you that your past doesn't define you, and one day you will be okay.

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, daddy issues, mentions of absent parent

word count: 3.1k

author's notes: based on the real-life event of me tearing up when i saw that video of kmag's daughter playing with his visor. healing my own daddy issues one fic at a time :)

(image is not mine)

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Kevin Magnussen is a great dad.

People can say whatever they want about his driving – aggressive and maybe a little dangerous sometimes – but there is no denying that he is an amazing father who puts his daughters above all else. The Dane is always joking about how his two little troublemakers have been giving him a constant headache, but the rest of the grid knows that he would do just about anything for his girls.

Occasionally, Louise likes bringing Laura and Agnes to the track to see their dad at work. Being a Formula 1 driver with all the hectic schedules and non-stop traveling means that family time together can often be difficult to come by, so Kevin cherishes all the time he gets to be as present in their lives as possible.

The drivers all love it when the Magnussens visit the track, not only because Laura and Agnes are the sweetest little angels ever, but also because they get to witness the rare sight of Kevin “tough guy” Magnussen shedding his hard exterior and tease him about the heartwarmingly softer side he displays to his family.

And while you would never admit this out loud, somewhere residing deep within you is envious – envious of this kind of love that you never got to receive. Sometimes when you look at Kevin interacting with his daughters – just sometimes – you find yourself wondering what it would be like to have a father who is present, who genuinely cares, who loves you with everything they have so much that you never have to doubt your worthiness.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You were standing with a few other drivers at the track, idly chatting about the upcoming race and your holiday plans now that the winter break is right around the corner when Kevin suddenly saunters nearby, holding the hand of the most adorable little girl. “Laura, come say hi!” he kneels down and says to her, sporting the biggest and most loving smile on his face as his daughter gives a shy little wave to the crowd of drivers before her.

“Hey there, Laura,” you wave at her, settling on a simple greeting since you have never been particularly great with children. “Hello, little one!” Lando greets with a wide grin as he offers Laura a fist bump, and the girl explodes into giggles when he pretends to yelp in pain at how hard Laura fist-bumped him. Classic Lando – always so good with kids.

“She’s got quite the punch, doesn’t she?” Kevin jokes while he chuckles at the sight, admiring the joyous smile on Laura’s face with the tenderest gaze he only reserves for his daughter. Becoming a father is the best thing that has happened to him, and he thanks the stars every day for being blessed with such precious gifts of life. Laura and Agnes – his biggest pride and joy.

“Here to be dad’s little assistant, Laura?” Max asks, his nose scrunching up in an adoring smile like the way it always does when he speaks to Penelope. The little girl nods bashfully before running to hide behind her dad, holding onto his hands as if he is her safe place, her rock.

Kevin laughs at his daughter’s endearing shyness, picks her up and envelops her in his embrace before placing a kiss on her rosy, chubby cheeks. “You’re the best assistant in the entire world,” he whispers softly, adoration swimming in his eyes while Laura lets out a giggle at her father’s words. The drivers around them cannot help but smile along with them – how can they not at such a heartwarming sight?

Yet watching Kevin’s doting smiles and the way he looks at his daughter as if she is his entire universe, the initial warm fuzziness within you silently morphs into a dull ache that squeezes at your heart – an odd yet familiar feeling you know all too well. Despite your best efforts to push them away, your mind becomes clouded with hazy memories of the past – the painful past that has broken you and haunted you for years.

In the fogged-up memories of your childhood days, you were never at the receiving end of such an affectionate gaze. The only way your father has ever looked at you was indifference, annoyance, and a sense of uncaringness that tore your little heart up into pieces and left you wondering what you did wrong to be so undeserving of the fatherly love you yearned for.

He never picked you up and hugged you as if you were a fragile treasure that he cherished. He never held your hand in a way that made you feel safe and certain that nothing could ever harm you because he would be your shield, protecting you from the world and its merciless cruelty. He never once made you feel loved and cared for, ignoring your attempts to gain his validation and approval because he loved himself and his ego more than he would ever love you.

When you received good grades at school and showed him your report card with the rows of A’s, hoping that it would help you get his approval, he didn’t praise you. In fact, he didn’t bother saying anything. He simply gave you a half-hearted nod before shifting his attention back to the damned television screen in front of him, some uninteresting TV show that never should have mattered more than his daughter. So you stuffed the tear-stained report card back into your school bag, uncaring that it got crushed and crumpled, because in the end your hard work and effort didn’t matter. It never did.

When you had a rough day at school and came home with tears running down your cheeks, your father looked at you for a second, rolled his eyes and walked away. So that night you cried yourself to sleep as you soaked through your pillows with your wallowing tears, wishing that your dad could wrap you in his arms and tell you that everything would be okay. You knew that he could hear your sobs across the hallway, but chose to ignore you anyway. You wondered if he hated you that much, or was it simply because he never even cared to begin with?

And when he finally gathered all his belongings and disappeared from your life once and for all, you surprised yourself when you didn’t cry at the sight of the now-empty house. You had just felt empty and lonely – so painstakingly lonely. The kind of loneliness that seeped into your bones and slithered along your veins and consumed your soul.

As you grew older, you became familiarized with that emptiness – comfortable with it even. You begin to find yourself pushing people away when they get too close, keeping most at arm's length because that seems like the safest option, breaking your own heart before others can do it because you never want to experience the same heartbreak your father has put you through.

Despite how painful it is, you hold onto that loneliness like a lifeline because how could you not when that’s the only thing you know? How could you love when you don’t even know what it feels like?

Even though it had been years since your dad had left, the emptiness he had left behind never seemed to fade away. They say time heals all wounds, but you call that bullshit, because then why does it still hurt like a fresh stab into the heart?

Too deep in your storm of thoughts, you don’t realize the tears brimming in your glossy eyes and the way your lips quiver ever so slightly. “Hey… you okay there?” Charles, who is standing beside you, gives you an affectionate pat on the shoulders and whispers hushedly in your ear, worried at your sudden change in demeanor. Quickly nodding your head, you answer him with the best smile you can manage, “Yeah, just remembering some things.”

While most of the drivers still have their focus on Kevin and Laura, a few have also noticed your red-rimmed eyes and quietness. “What’s wrong?” Lando mouths the question silently toward you, eyes wide in concern as he tries not to shift everybody’s attention toward you. You shake your head and mouth “nothing” in reply to him as discreetly as possible, not wanting to ruin the group’s mood with your sudden sentiments.

As much as you want to stay, you simply need to get away for a moment to recollect your thoughts. “Uh – There’s something I need from my driver’s room, so I’m gonna head off,” you hurriedly blink away the tears and put on the best smile – a skill you learned to master after years of being in the public’s eye. You hope that the excuse you just blurted out is somewhat believable, and you quickly disappear into the distance after your fellow drivers bid you goodbye.

While making a beeline for your driver's room, you cannot help but feel so embarrassed, so guilty for the sudden burst of emotions that erupted in your chest moments ago. “What is wrong with me?” you mumble hushedly to yourself as you make your way to the garage – irritated and beyond annoyed at yourself that the mere sight of Kevin with his daughter is enough to bring you to tears.

This isn’t something new to you. It isn’t the first time a good father-daughter relationship has made you tear up. Movies, TV shows, song lyrics – you always get so emotional when you allow yourself to get lost in your thoughts, thinking too deeply about the painful reminders of the love that you never have.

It makes you feel stupid, because how broken do you have to be that trivial things like these are enough to make you cry? And it makes you feel scared, so utterly scared, because what if you were too broken to ever be capable of loving someone this much, too damaged to ever receive love despite yearning for it, and end up pushing away everyone who cares about you for the rest of your life.

When you arrive at your driver's room, you take a seat in the corner, breathing in and out while the self-blaming thoughts inside your head spiral in full force. This is so stupid, you are being stupid, and you hate yourself for being a fool and letting your past trauma affect you like this. Why were you even crying? There is nothing to be crying for. Stop. You need to stop.

Then you hear someone calling your name, voice faint and soft behind the door – Max. “You feeling okay?” he asks, and your delayed response and trembling voice as you answer him, “I’m fine.” are a clear enough indicator that you are far from okay. “Alright, I’m gonna come in now.” A sigh of mixed emotions falls from your lips – annoyance that you never seem to be able to lie to the man, and gratefulness that he always understands what you really need, and right now it is the company of your best friend.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says to you, eyebrows ceasing in sadness when he notices the expression on your face. Max hates seeing you like this, especially knowing the reason behind your tears is your absent father – someone who will never be worthy of having you cry over him.

You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your race suit, guilt weighing heavily on your chest as you apologize, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to ruin the mood back there. Did the other drivers notice?” Max shakes his head with a frown, refusing to let you blame yourself for something you should never feel guilty for. “You don’t have to be sorry, you did nothing wrong.”

“I don’t even know why I am crying, honestly. Why am I still so angry and sad after all these years? It’s like… am I always going to be like this, broken? Will the hurt ever go away?” you explain truthfully to him while trying to piece your muddle-up thoughts together, yet you struggle to put them into words. How can you begin to explain the years of trauma your dad has left behind? How can you describe the mess of emotions you have for him – the hatred, the resentment, and the fact that you still love and miss him so much even after everything he has done to you?

You don’t need to, because Max understands, he always does. One of the reasons why you two became close quickly is because you share a similar, troubled past – something that is rather unfortunate to bond over, you would argue, but it brings you a great friend nonetheless. Max’s father isn’t exactly absent like yours – Jos Verstappen is still quite prominent in his life, along with his abusive and manipulative ways of raising his kids which he would vehemently deny and claims to be “tough love” instead.

Even though he is there, it doesn’t change the painful truth that the presence of his father has ruined Max. For years, he thought being violent was the way to solve problems because his dad always seemed to be able to solve his with his fist. He used to believe that you had to be perfect to be deserving of good things in life because he grew up with the punishment of “no dinner” if he had performed poorly in a race. He didn’t know if he would ever be capable of loving someone, and then he met Kelly and Penelope.

“You know… when I first met Penelope, I was terrified. I was scared that I could never be a good enough father figure for her, that I was too ruined to show her the love she deserved to have. But then I saw her, and then I realized I love her more than anything,” he confesses as he places himself to sit beside you, a reminiscent smile dancing on his lips while he remembers his first time meeting Penelope, the little girl who has become his family.

He remembers the suffocating fear of ending up like his father when he first held the hands of little Penelope, mind plagued with all the horrible what-ifs. What if he was a terrible dad? What if he couldn’t ever love Penelope? What if he was just like Jos Verstappen and ended up destroying her childhood with his anger and temper the way his dad had with his?

Then Penelope gave him a sweet smile, her tiny hand holding onto his pinky as she looked into his eyes with such trust and comfort, as if she knew that Max would love her more than anything in the world. Max genuinely thought he was going to cry, his heart surging with an overwhelming amount of love and determination to protect the little girl in front of her and give her the home she and Kelly deserve to have, and that’s when he knew that he had nothing to be afraid of – that he was going to do better than his father.

“Listen, kiddo. Time doesn’t heal all wounds, it just makes the pain bearable. But there will be a day when your wound will still be there – it always will be there – but the pain and the hatred will no longer consume you. And you will realize that you can be better and stronger than your past, that you can break the cycle, that you are deserving of such unconditional love too.” You listen quietly to your best friend’s answer, exhaling a relieved sigh at the words you so desperately need to hear, giving you hope that despite all your trauma, one day you will be able to love with such certainty as well.

You are never too broken to love or be loved. You are not damaged goods that need repairing. You are not a monster for being intimidated by love and affection, for pushing people away even though you want more than anything for them to stay. You just need to allow yourself to heal from the hurtful past, to understand that your past trauma does not define you. You need to allow yourself to feel, to accept the depths of your emotions, to understand that your sadness and anger are always valid. You need to believe that you will be better than your father, that you will not follow in his footsteps, and that you deserve to be loved just as much as anyone else.

Feeling sentimental over this doesn’t make you stupid or a fool, it just makes you human. It is okay to cry over it, to be sad over it, as long as you remember that one day – while things will never be perfect – it will certainly get better.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Max tells you with a smile, reaching for your hand to give it a comforting squeeze, and you believe him. For once in a very long time, you genuinely believe that everything is going to be okay. The impact your father has on you will always be there. You can never wipe away the hurt and awful things he has done to you, nor can you simply erase the simultaneous love and hatred you hold for him, but one day you will learn to move on and find closure, and you are going to be okay, just like Max said.

There is a knock on the door, and you can hear your name being called again, this time in the soft and squeaky voice of a little girl. “I’m here,” you answer, and peeking behind the gap in the door is Laura with a cheeky grin on her face. Kevin leads her inside your driver's room with an apologetic smile, “Hey, sorry… Laura says she wants to play with you and insists that I bring her here.”

You watch as Laura crawls up into the seat next to you and Max, looking at you with the brightest toothy little grin ever, and your lips begin pulling up into a huge smile as well. “Is it okay if she plays here for a while? I’ve got a team meeting in 5 and she never likes coming to those…” Kevin asks apologetically before relief floods his expression when you answer him, “It would be lovely to have a little playdate with Laura.”

“Alrighty, see you later little one,” Kevin leans down to place a kiss on his daughter’s head, reminding her to be a good kid when he is away for the meeting, and you smile at the sight. Not an envious one, or a reminiscent one, but one of contentment because you know that one day you will be able to receive and give such unconditional love to someone too.

Someday, it will be okay. You will be okay.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #kevin magnussen x reader #f1 drivers x reader

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aces-and-angels · 8 months

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say i were to walk into the Park & Davis main office in the middle of a regular day -- what are the ✨vibes✨?

(like,, who's gossiping w who at the water cooler? whos out on their third coffee run of the day? who's asleep at their desk or buried beneath a mile high stack of discovery etc)

BLESS YOUR SOUL~ i love this question sm🖤

i go on and on so the answer will be below the cut lol:

---

first and foremost- i should set the scene by giving yall some insight on what the office may look like. so-

the main motifs of the office space have some similarities with mcgraw byrne- floor to cieling glass doors, sleek modern finish

however, park & davis swaps out mcgraw byrne's signature marble with wood paneling- as seen in the photo above- and has greenery incorporated throughout the space. the decision to have a sustainable garden in office is thanks to one of the founding partners, agnes park, who has a history working as an environmental lawyer.

now- onto the ✨vibes✨

you're most likely to find enid either holed up in the firm's library next to a box of discovery and several law textbooks or in her office. her charisma/charm is saved for snapping up potential clients outside the firm. while she's in office, she will only talk to you if it has to do with work.

will's all over the place, jumping between different offices of partners and associates. their role as a secretary isn't exclusive to one person, so they are moving around the most. which a. gets their steps in and b. gives will more chances to stumble on some drama~

they are most likely to be the one lurking around the breakroom a tad longer than necessary if they pick up on something juicy. thanks to their degree in psych- they picked up on how to read body language- so it's very easy for will to figure out if something has happened. enid capitalizes on will's nosiness to keep tabs on her coworkers (as a way to find opportunities to gain more power within the firm)

zahir (my sweet summer child) is still green when it comes to being an associate- you'll find him in a cubicle spending most of the day trying to keep his shit together. having enid as his supervisor is both a blessing and a curse, because while he learns so much- he is terrified of her- so much so that for the first month at the job, he's too nervous to take his lunch break (spends the time catching up on work instead).

when enid finds out (through will bc again she does not talk to you unless she has to/wants something), she smacks zahir (figuratively) upside the head and forces him to take a break. she puts in more effort to make zahir feel at ease by taking him out to lunch during their breaks from time to time (which only semi-works, the fear runs deep lol). but at least now, he doesn't fully meltdown when she tells him to rewrite his briefs.

onto the mothers: agnes and jina. being the founders- they are often out of office dealing with different affairs for the firm- but there is always one of them present at all times (per park & davis' motto- divide et impera aka divide and conquer). on her days off- agnes likes to stop by the office to help tend to the plants integrated around the firm.

most of their interactions with the other members of the firm involve being present for case strategy meetings/hosting moot court

#this was such a good question omg ty #aria-ashryver #park & davis #playchoices #choices #laws of attraction #my ocs #enid mendoza #zahir saidi #will thomson #agnes park #jina davis #and the world building continues sdhfds #into the windverse

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the-annotated-antichrist · 1 year

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youtube

Act III, Track 03 - Forgive me

Song links: Spotify - YT Music - Apple - Tidal

This is another track with a lot of dialogue, in which big things happen. It is also almost 10 minutes long. If you're looking for opera and drama, look no further. Let's begin...

Johanna, Agnes and Mare have infiltrated Seth's residence. In a secluded chamber, Johanna sits gazing at the holy dagger in front of her. She prepares to fulfill her mission and kill the Antichrist while her friends walk around the candle-lit room.

[Johanna:] In thy grace... [Johanna & Agnes:] ...turn to me and bless the soul of this faithful child None more divine than thee our lord [Johanna:] Lead me on to be strong - holy mission And guide my hand Amen

Seth enters the room. This in itself is significant. He could send his guards to deal with them. Three trespassing outlaws with one dagger probably wouldn't be a big problem for them. Yet Seth appears in person, alone, and does not call for back-up.

[Seth:] Now face thy foe! [Agnes:] Our lord has brought you here [Seth:] I heed no call, none but my own [Agnes:] To be boastful suits no mortal man

Seth tauntingly tempts Johanna, who is not impressed:

[Seth:] Join the night supreme I will be your guiding star I will set you free [Johanna:] Into the darkness forever you must go

Suddenly Helena comes in, urging reconciliation. As you may remember, she overheard Johanna and her friends talking about how only Johanna's dagger would be able to kill the Antichrist, so she knows why they are here.

[Helena:] Still the dawn may rise and shine [Seth:] Out of the darkness, my love I knew that you would come [Agnes:] Join with us Join with God [Helena:] It must not end, not like this If we conjoin as one

It is far too late for that of course. Seth and Johanna will not, cannot make peace. Johanna doesn't comment on her sister's appearance at all and instead likens Seth to a fallen angel again.

[Seth:] Join the night supreme I will be your guiding star I will set you free [Johanna:] Into the darkness forever you must go Fallen you are, fallen from the heavens to our world Fallen you are 'til the end of our time and beyond

As the music becomes more and more tense, Helena says:

[Helena:] Sister, O blood of mine Hand me the dagger Hand me the answer Hand me the voice of God

Reluctantly, Johanna gives Helena the dagger. At this point, I don't exactly know how lyrics and action go together. With a bang, the music comes to a complete stop and based on the scene description, I'm pretty sure it is here that Helena puts the dagger against Seth's chest. Into near-complete silence, Seth sings:

[Seth:] Come to me, to the fallen, my love

Seth calls himself "the fallen" and echoes the way Johanna (above) as well as Professor Pauli and the Pope (in Cursed be the Fallen) speak about him in the moment in which the one person whose affection he was certain of seems to take the side of his enemies. It will be interesting to see, if and when BA is staged, whether the actor who plays him says this sentence in an evil, seductive way or if he sounds like he's pleading with Helena. Thomas' rendition sounds ambiguous to me.

Helena answers sadly:

[Helena:] Deep down somewhere, in me, I knew what I had to do

The music starts again, both Seth and his enemies are calling to Helena, who still has the dagger to her husband's chest. Seth is calling for her to take his side, the women urge her to kill him.

[Seth:] Come to me, to the fallen, my love [Helena:] My love Forgive me [Johanna & Agnes:] Hear the whisper within you, sister From God and may peace come to your heart

Helena's words here are nearly inaudible, since the music and the urging of the other characters is so much louder. A tense instrumental part follows in which Helena makes her choice. With both sides pressuring her, she cannot decide between her loyalty to Seth and to Johanna. She turns the dagger around and plunges it into her own chest. All rush to her side, their enmity forgotten for the moment.

[Johanna, Mare, Agnes & Seth:] In the cloak of night, fallen you are Thou shall rise again Enter the void

The music slowly becomes calmer as Agnes speaks to the dying Helena and prays over her in her beautiful dark voice:

[Agnes:] In stillness keep eyes of gold your name Night birds take flight and sing [Johanna, Mare & Seth:] In the cloak of night, fallen you are Thou shall rise again, enter the void [Agnes & Seth:] Bless you Into moonlight And the temple you shall now meet in turmoil The soul will flow and shine

Afterwards, Seth, with a heavy heart, returns the dagger that is fated to kill him to Johanna. I don't know if he does this to imply that Helena's blood is on her hands, if he isn't thinking clearly or if he is simply too shocked and crushed to care about anything, even his own survival.

[Seth:] Give me your hand, receive this tool For it belongs to you

He picks up Helena's corpse and leaves the room with her as a choir of angels sings.

[Choir of angels:] Float, float with time And the night soon shall see you, greet you, tell you... of dawn...

With this, the song ends. I still get goosebumps from it every time I listen to it, at least if I pay attention to what is happening in it. I have some things to say about it, but I think I'll put them into the next post, when Seth mourns Helena and we have perhaps somewhat recovered from this scene...

#johanna orsini #helena orsini #seth thanos #tracks #act 3 #mare aravena #agnes azarova #symphonic metal #therion #taaposts #opera #metal #musical #musicals

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foxboyclit · 1 year

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cup of comfort

alt prompt for @flufftober day 4, enjoy some parent-child bonding

read it on ao3

When Howl rose, the first thing they noticed was the crispness of the air drifting through the window, carrying with it the smell of fresh-baked pumpkin breads from the bakeries up the street. The second thing, as they rubbed the tiredness from their eyes, was the shades of yellow the leaves had begun to turn. It seemed autumn was finally here.

In the past, autumn’s first chill would set them into motion; the Harvest Festival and Thinning of the Veil were just weeks away, and Goddess knew how much work goes into holiday preparations. In the past, they did not spend any time decorating their home for the season. Looking at the handmade leaf-and-gourd themed garlands Agnes had put up, they decided one lost day wouldn’t kill them.

Howl left for work, replacing their breakfast dishes with a note:

When you can afford to break from your studies, let us take advantage of the drop in temperature.

I’ll be at the cafe on Robin Street this afternoon, if you would be so kind as to meet me.

Lovely decorations, if I might add.

With love,

-H

It was not long after they had ordered and secured a patio table when they saw Agnes approaching. They waved her over, and she smiled once they caught her eye, and Howl rose from their seat just in time for her to wrap them up in a hug.

“Pleased you decided to join me,” they hugged back, then gestured for her to sit, “Have you any luck with the teleportation circle?”

“Not yet. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, maybe it’s the chalk?”

“I sure hope not, considering what I spent on those things.” Upon seeing Agnes shrink into her seat, they assured, “It was a joke, my love. I’ll be happy to give your spell a once-over, if you’d like.”

“You would?” she fidgeted excitedly at their nod. “I’d like that, Mx. Howl.”

“Just remind me once we’re home. Oh-” they straightened up as a server approached. “That’s for us.”

Two mugs of hot chocolate were placed in front of them, sweet and richly scented, and for Agnes; a generous topping of whipped cream. Howl held out their cup, and Agnes clinked hers against it, cheers! They both giggled before taking a sip. Hot and cozy, with the bitterness to balance the sweetened milk, Howl couldn’t help humming in satisfaction. This was far better than festival planning.

“Mx. Howl, why does yours look different?”

“It’s dark chocolate,” they offered her a sip, and she declined. Understandable, most people enjoyed the sweeter variations. Howl was sure this was the only place that even offered this variation, and oh were they blessed to have discovered it.

“Can I ask, what’s got you in the mood for this?”

They nodded, pausing as they savored another sip. “Oh, I guess I just wanted to ring in the changing of seasons. Autumn’s a busy time for me, and I realized I hardly remember to enjoy this time of year. It’s also your favorite season, if the pumpkin ornamentals hold any truth.”

“I-I’m sorry. I guess I got a little carried away.” Agnes mutters, and Howl waves it off.

“The house needed a fresh look. Your sewing has improved.” The smile that brightened her face was sweeter than any mug of chocolatey goodness, and they couldn’t help but mirror it.

“Thank you, Mx. Howl.” she beamed, kicking her legs as she sipped her drink.

“But of course; oh, you seem to have something on your nose-may I?” Agnes nodded, and they reached over to wipe off a bit of whipped cream. “You’re silly.”

“Silly?” she asked, feigning offense. “I’m an esteemed wizard in training. I’ve never been silly.”

“The whipped cream must be vital to your craft. My apologies, O Great Wizard Agnes.” they said, finishing the last of their hot chocolate. They stood and gave their daughter a curtsy offering her a hand. She took it, rising with an air of haughtiness that put the high elves to shame.

“Well, I’d hate to keep you away from your studies, Great Archmage. Shall I escort you home?”

She snickered at the title, and the two of them headed home, interlocking arms as they walked.

#flufftober 2023 #alt day 4 #c: howl willowstep #agnes willowstep #original characters #dungeons and dragons #forgotten realms #fox's writing

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theshotsheardacrossworlds · 1 year

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Jeans

Modern AU. Agi has a wardrobe malfunction, and Estinien gets turned on. Borderline NSFW.

Rrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiippppppppppppp.

“Oh dear!” Agnes squealed in her and Estinien’s bedroom at the loft. “Oh fuck! My jeans just ripped!”

Estinien rushed from the bathroom, in the middle of shaving, when he saw his red as a tomato wife quite literally trying to cover her ass. Don’t cover it! “Agi, what’s the matter?!”

Grinning sheepishly, she turned and removed her hands.

His pale blue eyes widened. Agi’s ass is simply too much for those jeans. ASSES OUT FOR HALONE!!!! “I, erm, you’re okay though?” OF COURSE SHE’S OKAY!!! HER ASS IS OUT!!!

Agnes scrunched her nose and giggled. “Yes, love. It was just a shock! I was rummaging through some clothes and remembered I have…had…these cute jeans. Went to try them on and goodbye jeans!” As she undid the button and zipper, she sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a pair rip like that before. Love? Loooooooooooove?” She giggled again, waving her hand in front of his face. “Are you still with us?”

Shit. Fuck. Balls. Fucking hells. Focus, man! He nodded as nonchalantly as possible. “Aye. Need to finish shaving then breakfast?”

She smiled and then turned to find another pair of pants.

As soon as Estinien closed the bathroom door, he picked up his phone from the top of the hamper.

@EstinienTheTrainer my sexy wife’s ass ripped a pair of jeans. best day of my life. love my #softnhot wife <3

Within moments, Estinien received responses.

@bigmaninsharlayan @EstinienTheTrainer you’ve got to be the most blessed man in eorzea #softnhot

@spicypickles @EstinienTheTrainer goddamn ser you are a lucky man!!!! #softnhot

@boobooboo @EstinienTheTrainer her ass is too powerful for mere mortal pants #softnhot

A smug grin appeared on his face as he put his phone down to finish shaving. Got to look my best for MY WIFE!!!! When he was finished, he picked up his phone to see more replies.

@Model_RenaCalab @EstinienTheTrainer WHY DID YOU BLATHER THIS DICKHEAD?!?!!? AGI IS GOING TO BE SO EMBARASSED #EstinienTheIdiotTbh

@EstinienTheTrainer @Model_RenaCalab oh fuck right off lol she was laughing about it when it happened #softnhot

@SerafinaLomm @EstinienTheTrainer Agi’s got quite the ass lol #softnhot

@EstinienTheTrainer @SerafinaLomm THANK YOU SERAFINA :D #softnhot

@AgiTheTallLady @EstinienTheTrainer why am i not surprised you blabbed about this lmao

“I DID BECAUSE YOUR ASS IS PERFECT AND YOU’RE PERFECT AND EVERYONE DESERVES TO KNOW YOUR ASS IS SO BIG AND JUICY THAT IT RIPS FABRIC!” Estinien hollered as he left the bathroom. Big juicy ass. My wife’s big juicy ass. Needs to be—

Estinien stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging open.

His wife, instead of finding another pair of pants, was still in her very booby top and her smalls and standing seductively by their bed. “You want this big juicy bum, love?” Her chocolate brown eyes twinkled and turned to shake her ass at him. “Well, come and get it.”

And I did get it. I got it several times. I’m such a lucky bastard.

#agnes currai #estinien varlineau #wolstinien #estinien x wol #agnes varlineau #these two dorks #modern au #serafina lom #rena calab #estinien wyrmblood #it is confirmed that agi's ass is simply too much

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ilikereadingactually · 1 year

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Nettle & Bone

Nettle & Bone by T. Kingfisher

this book took me two tries, because i'm sometimes bad at remembering when ebooks are going to return themselves to the library, but i am so glad i went back to it! what a complete delight!! i honestly think the cover does it a deep disservice, there's so much more brightness and courageous ordinariness in it than the cover image suggests to me. this is a book about untangling power, and acting with good intention, and putting one foot in front of the other until impossible things get done, and it's extremely charming!

i feel the DNA of so many stories in here. there are fairy tale elements, but it's not a retelling of something in particular; instead there are little bits from tales like All-Kinds-of-Fur and Sleeping Beauty and multitudes of others, and more modern things surfaced for me too, like Labyrinth and The Wizard of Oz. but it's a delightful story all of its own, featuring an equally delightful cast of characters. Marra, whose simple persistence and love for her sisters carries the plot; the dust-wife, who speaks to the dead, and Agnes the godmother, who blesses and curses the newly born; Fenris, the huge gentle foreign man whose back muscles are not interesting to Marra, no, not at all; and of course, you can't have a crew like this on a journey without animal companions like a demon chicken and a dog made of bones. each of these comrades felt precious and specific, and fit so satisfyingly into the puzzle of how to kill a wicked prince.

even the little bud of romance between Marra and Fenris felt very sweet to me; romance plotlines are not my thing, hetero romance plotlines even less so, but this one felt genuine and fairly well-supported by the narrative. for a reader who likes romance, it will be an extra delight!

the deets

how i read it: an ebook from the library, via Libby. yet another one that i will buy for my home library! i devoured this in about five hours, according to the app.

try this if you: love and read fairy tales, dig a lot of interesting women using their individual and powerful talents for good, ever just want things to be simple but keep on keeping on when they're hard instead, or delight in the story of a journey as much as what happens at the end of the road.

some lines i really liked: this time it's an assortment of very relatable Marra moments

"Do you mean that your chicken has a literal demon in her? Not that she's just a...a bad chicken?" The words sounded incredibly foolish as she said them, and the dust-wife's look indicated that they did not improve upon hearing. "Girl, have I given you any indication in the last week that I joke about anything?" "How did you get a demon in your chicken?" "The usual way. Couldn't put it in the rooster. That's how you get basilisks."

___

You did not get muscle like that simply from lifting boxes. If he wanted to, he could probably throttle me one-handed. Marra licked suddenly dry lips. The spell said we needed him. Surely we couldn't need someone who was going to try to kill us. Unless the world is very strange indeed, and maybe I should be dead and the dust-wife should raise me up and send me after Vorling as a vengeful shade. This seemed like a lot.

___

She wished she could sleep on her back, but it always made her feel short of breath. (Women in her family did not sleep on their stomachs after puberty. She hadn't even tried since she was fourteen.)

#books and reading #book recs #book reviews #bookblr #nettle & bone #t kingfisher #fantasy #fairy tales

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gregorygerwitz · 3 years

Photo

Happy pride month! We all deserve something a little soft, don’t we? So, here is just a cute little fic about coming out with baked goods!

Summary: Fitz knows who he is, and he doesn’t exactly hide it, but there are a few people he hasn’t told, and don’t they deserve to know, too?

Warnings: brief depiction of anxiety

Words: 2,534

Leo centric, coming out

Sneak Peek:

It was Agnes who came in from the backyard, sliding the door closed again behind her before stepping over to the island to inspect his set up. The no baking rule didn't really apply to him, but he still stood up straighter, bracing himself for whatever questions and concerns she had.

"Someone's been busy. It smells... good, actually. I assume the Radcliffe lack of baking skills is not something you inherited?"

With a small shake of his head and a smile, Fitz moved to grab two mugs for tea from the cabinet behind him. "No, it's not. I actually know what I'm doing, for the most part, and I promise I won't set anything on fire."

[ read on ao3 ]

#aosficnet2 #leo fitz #holden radcliffe #agnes kitsworth #kitscliffe #holden dadcliffe #aos #agents of shield #marvel #mcu #alex writes things #fanfic #cupcakes wip #agnes puts up with so much bless her

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bananonbinary · 4 years

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Time for a Salty Meta Post about Martin!

people who’ve followed this blog for a bit know that spending six hours combing through text for some goddamn sources is my specialty, so i compiled every time jon ever talked about martin’s work in season 1. which for the record, he stopped complaining about all the way back in episode 26, where he was angry that martin of all people got hurt.

things jon gets mad at martin for:

not being able to find records that don’t exist

not being able to find someone based only on a first name

the Dog

not wearing trousers in his off-hours

being the one that got caught up in the jane prentiss thing

mag 004 and mag 012 both have jon taking potshots at martin over research that was proven accurate by outside sources

things jon has never once complained about:

martin not understanding the filing system and just putting stuff away at random

martin being clumsy, constantly ruining things, spilling tea everywhere everyday, etc

martin turning in incompetent, poorly-edited, or badly formatted reports

martin not understanding the terminology used, skills expected, etc., and generally being extremely new to the field

please for the love of god stop making martin the silly bumbling idiot who can’t do anything right just because he doesn’t have a formal education. there’s zero evidence for it in the text, and it’s really weird to act like a 4 year degree would outweigh the *10 years* of job experience he has, not just in academia, but in the institute itself by season one. my boy has worked there longer than ANY of the rest of the main cast. screw you guys.

tl;dr: martin is never once shown to be bad at his job, jon pretty much only ever gets mad at him for the really stupid first impression and also not finding stuff that no one else was able to find either. after martin got hurt, jon talks about his research basically the same way he talks about tim’s or sasha’s work.

fucking proof under the cut:

(i didnt include the s1 finale or martin’s statement bc that’s just...two entire episodes of them talking to each other, but there isn’t really any notable Martin Complaints in either of them imo)

I swear, if he’s brought another dog in here, I’m going to peel him.

[pre-launch trailer]

Well, technically three, but I don’t count Martin as he’s unlikely to contribute anything but delays.

[...] Alongside this Tim, Sasha and, yes, I suppose, Martin will be doing some supplementary investigation to see what details may be missing from what we have.

[MAG001 Anglerfish]

Martin couldn’t find any records of Ex Altiora as a title in existent catalogues of esoteric or similar literature, so I assigned Sasha to double-check. Still nothing.

[MAG004 Pageturner]

I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week, but it was unenlightening. Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe, but at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon, which is always a welcome relief.

[MAG005 Thrown Away]

Martin was unable to find the exact date the original house was built but the earliest records he could find list it as being bought by Walter Fielding in 1891.

[...]

We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

[MAG008 Burned Out]

According to Martin, who was here when they took this statement, it was at this point in writing that Mr. Herbert announced he needed some sleep before continuing. He was shown to the break room where he went to sleep on the couch. He did not awaken; unfortunately succumbing to the lung cancer right there. Martin says the staff had been aware of how serious Mr. Herbert’s condition was, and had advised him to seek medical aid prior to giving his statement, but were told rather bluntly by the old man that he would not wait another second to state his case. I can’t decide whether this lends more or less credibility to his tale.

[MAG010 Vampire Killer]

“Veepalach” might also be a mishearing of the Polish word “wypalać”, according to Martin, which means to cauterize or brand. Admittedly, if Martin speaks Polish in the same way he “speaks Latin,” then he might be talking nonsense again, but I’ve looked it up and it appears to check out.

[MAG012 First Aid]

I sent Martin to look into this ‘Angela’ character - not that I want him to get chopped up, of course, but someone had to. Apparently, he spent three days looking into every woman named Angela in Bexley over the age of 50. He could not find anyone that matches the admittedly vague description given here, though he informs me that he had some very pleasant chats about jigsaws. Useless ass.

[MAG014 Piecemeal]

Martin declined to help with this investigation as he’s “a bit claustrophobic”

[MAG015 Lost John’s Cave]

There simply aren’t enough details given in this statement to actually investigate, short of Martin confirming that Mr. Vittery did indeed live at the addresses he provided.

[MAG016 Arachnophobia]

Oh, he’s off sick this week. Stomach problems, I think.

Blessed relief if you ask me.

[...]

I asked Martin to try and hunt down Mr. Adekoya himself for a follow-up, but have been informed that he passed away in 2006.

[MAG017 The Boneturner’s Tale]

MARTIN

Well, I need to tell someone what happened, and you can vouch for the soundness of my mind, can’t you?

ARCHIVIST

…

That is beside the point.

[MAG022 Colony]

Martin! Good lord man, if you’re going to be staying in the Archives, at least have the decency to put some trousers on!

[MAG023 Schwartzwald]

Martin found one other thing while combing through police reports for the Hither Green area. About a month after this statement was given, on May 15th, 2015, police were called out to once again investigate the chapel.

[MAG025 Growing Dark]

I know, but it would have to have been Martin, wouldn’t it? I mean, anything goes wrong around here, it always seems to happen to him. Anyway, we’re getting off topic. Why didn’t you report this?

[MAG026 A Distortion]

Martin made contact with the son, Marcus McKenzie, but he declined to talk to us, saying that he’d “already made his statement.”

[MAG027 A Sturdy Lock]

Tim and Martin had a bit more luck investigating Tom Haan, though only really enough to confirm that he seems to have completely vanished following his departure from Aver Meats on the 12th of July.

[MAG030 Killing Floor]

Martin’s research would seem to indicate the place employed a reasonable number of international staff they preferred to keep off the books

[...]

TIM

Ah well, that’s actually what he was asking, huh! Um, apparently Martin, uh, took delivery of a couple of items last week addressed to you. Did he not mention it?

ARCHIVIST

No, he… Oh, yes, actually. I completely forgot. He said he put it in my desk drawer, hold on.

[MAG036 Taken Ill]

#the magnus archives #LISTEN #i am once again asking people to remember that martin has MORE job experience at the institute than literally any other character #(except elias or i guess maybe rosie)#he's the goddamn veteran not the newbie #fan wank /

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ev-pierce-writes · 3 years

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Quantum Entanglement

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Words: 6.4k (oops)

Rating: 18+ (get outta here ya children)

Summary: Steve Rogers decides to disappear, take some time for himself in the solitude of a small town where he meets you.

Warnings: p in v. oral fem receiving. size kink (reader is much smaller than Steve in more ways than one). soft (very very soft) fem dom.

AN: This is stupid soft. Just simping all over the gd place. I'm so sorry but my baby Steve deserves nothing but the purest, sweetest form of love and that's what he's getting, though I imagine he likes to be ordered around. Took me way too long to feel good about this.

---

There had been the snap. And then the resurrection. Steve had lost everyone he loved and then had most of them returned, and it felt good to go back to normal, in some ways. In other ways, it was stifling.

As the world reeled and tried to figure out how to "be normal" in a time that was anything but, normalcy felt forced, rushed, exaggerated. He wanted to be in this world, of course. The 1940s were no longer his home, and Steve had everything he wanted here. But he didn't feel complete. A piece was always missing, something from a past life, that he couldn't quite name but knew he had to find.

So he disappeared. Went undercover as some might call it. Bucky knew, of course, and Sam on some level. But to the rest of the world, he had slipped quietly back into the past to live the rest of his life. In reality, he'd slipped into Herrington, Massachusetts, a small coastal town where he was invisible to the world.

He'd found a little house, a cottage on the beach, and settled in completely. He didn't need a job, the government was more than willing to pay him a severance check of some sort, but he took one anyway, stocking the local grocery store and delivering groceries to the elderly when they ordered. It was just antiquated enough to remind him of a faraway time, of the past, but didn't force him to give up his wifi and color television. That was something he'd come to love.

And that was where he met you. You, the petite spitfire with a bone to pick with the entire world. Fierce, loyal, and slightly terrifying when double-crossed. The first time he met you, you had come out of your great-aunt's house shaking a fist over the groceries.

"I told Mr. Pierce," you were yelling, "not to skimp me on the meat." Mr. Pierce was the grocery store owner. And the meat in question was a roast, for what purpose, Steve wasn't sure, but one that apparently did not satisfy your desires.

You hadn't been the one to answer the door, that was your great-aunt Agnes, a kind, leather-faced woman who liked to tip Steve a healthy amount for "carrying all those heavy groceries for a silly old lady like me."

"It's no problem ma'am," he'd replied and stepped back toward his motorcycle, recently decked out with a basket on the back to transport deliveries. Then you'd chased him down the road until he noticed you and stopped, shouting all the way.

"When you see him," you said, your finger wagging in his face, puffing and out of breath from your yelling and running, "tell the bastard that's the last time he gets away with making me pay for his shitty cuts of meat."

Steve didn't really know what to say, but then your face softened, your voice calmed, and you took a deep breath. Maybe the panicked look on his face had made you have a change of heart. "I apologize for yelling at you, I know you're just the messenger. But that slimy son-of-a-bitch is going to get what's coming for him someday."

"I'll let him know," Steve replied with half a smile on his face.

"You aren't from around here are you?" you had asked, a sudden look of curiosity in your bright eyes.

Steve nodded. "Just moved here."

"Look, I'm really sorry." You stuck out your hand and introduced yourself, and Steve had found that hand to be surprisingly supple and calloused for its tiny size. "Let me make it up to you. Aunt Agnes seems to like you. We're having a potluck tonight, her place. Why don't you come by and meet the neighbors? I'm sure they'd love a new face, especially one as handsome and friendly as yours. Maybe make some friends, even."

You were being surprisingly friendly and sincere, and Steve had no choice but to accept the invitation.

So that's how he ended up in an old lady's backyard, handing off a bowl of his mother's jello salad (it was a potluck after all), and accepting a beer from a man who looked similar enough to be your brother (a cousin, it turned out). You didn't even notice his arrival, flying about, getting everything set up, taking part in the appropriate amount of small talk. Earlier, when you'd chased Steve down the road, your hair had been flung all about your head, wisps of it sticking out from all directions and looking positively a mess. You'd been wearing jeans with mud on the knees and a t-shirt that had more holes than necessary for your arms and head. Now, your hair was pinned back and tamed and you floated about in a soft blue sundress, revealing a delicate plane of skin across your shoulders and tan arms and legs.

The calloused hands and muddy jeans made sense now as well. The backyard of Aunt Agnes' house was primarily a garden, not only beautiful rose bushes and creeping wisteria but rows and rows of fruits and vegetables, cucumbers, tomatoes, watermelon, strawberries. The work was obviously the product of a talented gardener.

Aunt Agnes was the one to welcome him in, having noticed Steve before you did and taking his arm. She began to talk, of you and the neighborhood and her many, many family members. She introduced them one by one, though most of the names he immediately forgot. But it was a blessing to not be recognized and he relished the feeling. Sure, he'd grown out his beard and his hair was a bit longer than the standard military high and tight, and he wore a flannel with the sleeves rolled up instead of red, white, and blue spangles, but it still amazed him that he could pass through the world like this.

Eventually, the conversations became too much, and Steve excused himself to the kitchen to find a drink while he waited for the food to be ready. Really he just wanted some silence, a relief from society. But you'd beat him there, and, ever the busy bee, were scrambling to fill a cooler with more ice.

"Steve!" you exclaimed when you saw him, pleasant surprise plastered across your face. "I'm so glad you came."

You reached out and gave him a hug that took Steve so much by surprise he almost forgot to return it. It was shockingly warm, your arms around his neck, and though he had to stoop down to your level, he wrapped his arms around your waist anyways.

"I hope they didn't overwhelm you out there. My family can be a lot."

"No, not at all. Just needed some quiet. I'll let you get back to work."

"I could actually use your help if you don't mind."

You directed him into the front room toward a stack of boxes, cases of drinks he assumed. When Steve returned to the kitchen, all four boxes piled in his arms, you nearly dropped the glasses in your hands in shock. You recovered quickly, trying to remain polite despite your poorly hidden astonishment, but Steve could already tell you were trying to compute how he had managed to carry over a hundred pounds of drinks in one go.

"You can, um, put them on the counter I guess," you managed to stutter out. Your sudden flustered state was amusing, and Steve noticed he liked the way you seemed almost embarrassed, cheeks flushed pink, though he had no idea why you should feel that way.

But then you picked back up with your normal bubbly chatter, and Steve found himself lingering longer and longer in the kitchen with you until he realized neither of you were doing anything but talking, the work abandoned in lieu of discussions about the town, your stall at the farmers market, and eventually, very naturally, the passing of your parents. The slip into deep conversation was easy, surprisingly easy, easier than it had ever been with anyone else, even though Steve felt himself having to lie a bit about his past. Sure, he could admit to being from Brooklyn and having no family and his stint in the military, but that was about the extent of it. He found himself wanting to tell you more but refraining.

When your cousin called that food was ready from the backyard, the jolt back to reality was abrupt and almost unwelcome, until you smiled and allowed him to put a hand on your back, pulling Steve out to enjoy some food.

As night fell, lights twinkled on in the backyard, and the summer heat reduced to a light thrum as the breeze from the ocean swept through the town. Fireflies glowed in the darkness of the low trees behind the house and you seemed to glow as well, good food and friendly conversation lighting your face up with joy. You caught Steve's eye several times during the night, noticing him watching you from across the garden, but he didn't care. He liked that his attention made you smile.

Finally, the party began to dwindle, as parents with young kids trickled out, followed by the older folks, heading off to bed. Soon, even Aunt Agnes turned in and only the cousins close to you in age remained. They pulled out the stronger bottles of alcohol, sitting in plastic chairs and passing shots around the barbeque that still glowed hot with coals. Steve accepted every pass of vodka that came his way, despite knowing it wouldn't get him even remotely drunk. But the camaraderie of the moment helped ease a bit of that gaping hole in his soul so he clung to it as best he could. And you were sitting next to him, insisting he take a sip, and again he couldn't turn you down.

"And then Jack nearly sunk the boat in the bay," you were saying, telling the story of one of your cousin's finer moments. "Your dad almost killed us."

"Oh you want to bring that up?" he teased. "How about the time you snuck out and Aunt Agnes caught you making out with Michael on the beach."

You blushed bright red at the reminder but protested that was years ago. Then another cousin brought up his own late-night escapades and you devolved into a fit of giggles, leaning so far out of your chair that Steve had to catch you before you slipped right to the ground. Your hand gripped his to recover but, to his surprise, you never removed it, even as you righted yourself in your seat. Your hand just remained in his, your small fingers wrapped in his large ones, as you turned to pester him into telling a story.

"What about you Steve? Tell us an embarrassing story."

He looked around at the group and they leaned in expectantly, curious to know more about the stranger who was quickly becoming a friend. Steve didn't know what to say, most of his stories involving things he wasn't yet ready to reveal about himself. So he picked one from long ago.

"I once picked a fight with a guy at a bar. He was a bit of a Nazi. Got my ass kicked. Fortunately, I had a friend to back me up or he definitely would have killed me."

Everyone looked shocked. "But you're so strong," someone spoke up. "Look at you. How could anyone beat you in a fight?"

Steve shrugged, not wanting to admit to it being a pre-serum story. "Guess I'm a bit of a pacifist."

He turned to you to gauge your reaction. Your eyes were wide, sparkling with mischief and curiosity and a hint of disbelief. For a moment Steve thought you had figured it out, figured out who he was, but then you started giggling again and the only thing keeping you in your seat was his hand in yours.

"That's not embarrassing Steve, that's just the most fucking noble thing I've ever heard. Making us all look bad."

Your teasing words made his heart flutter in his chest and he felt like he could get used to this crowd.

Eventually, the coals of the barbeque started to wink out, and the cousins excused themselves for the night, heading home on foot to the various houses they had come from. It seemed no one lived too far apart in this town. Suddenly, the backyard was quiet.

"Can I give you a hand cleaning up?" Steve asked, not wanting to leave you with the job that looked a bit overwhelming to him.

You looked around and shrugged, a little tipsy but fully aware that it was a big mess. "I'll probably just take care of it in the morning. Can you just help me get the dishes inside?"

Steve obediently gathered up plates and cups, filling the dishwasher in several trips. Finally, the last were inside and you stood in the kitchen filling the sink to wash the pots and pans while Steve tried awkwardly to find a way to say goodbye.

"Um, thank you," he said at last, "for welcoming me into your community. It means a lot. I'll, uh, see you later I guess. Have a good night."

You stopped your scrubbing to look up at him, bubbles up to your elbows, your face flushed from the warm night air and the alcohol.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

You paused, hesitant, eyes searching his face for confirmation of a mutual feeling. "Do you ever feel like you were meant to meet someone? For a reason?"

The question hit him like a ton of bricks, and he realized that this night had made him feel exactly that way, that somehow he was meant to end up here and meet you, of all people. Why else had there been an instant connection unless this was just the way you were with everyone?

But your question made him think otherwise. You had to be special. Steve, in that moment, could do nothing but nod in affirmation. And then, like you had both had the same thought at the same moment, you were meeting him halfway, rising on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck, and kissing him. Really, truly, kissing him.

It was like that missing piece had found itself. You slotted your soul into his and Steve was pressing you to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, and lifting you so he didn't have to bend down to reach you. Your wet hands tangled into his slightly too long hair, pulling him impossibly closer, tasting one another's tongues.

And that was the start of it, of late-night motorcycle rides down the causeway, of Saturdays spent on the beach that tapered into drinks with friends, of dinners filled with your chatter and smiles and laughter, and Steve couldn't believe how lucky he was. He was not used to this feeling, of building friendship and companionship and perhaps even love. And he certainly wasn't used to the intense desire to reach out and pinch your ass every time you showed up at his house wearing those gardening jeans, high-waisted and tight and so goddamn cute.

But he never did, was never sure how you'd react. You kissed him, a lot in fact, every morning that he came over and every night that he dropped you off at home. And you never shied away from telling him how handsome he was, how much you liked his hands and his arms and his short beard, how sweet he was and kind and soft and gentle. So many words, words that made his head spin and his world wobble and sway. But it never came to be more than that, never late at night when he was thinking of you most. And oh lord, did he think about you, how your small frame might fit against his in bed while you spooned and slept, or how tight you'd be if he fucked you until the sun rose. He didn't particularly like sleeping in bed, it was too soft for his taste and he tended to take the couch or even the floor most nights, but he would sleep in bed for you if you would just tell him that was what you wanted.

It was like you were waiting for the right moment. And apparently, that moment was July 4th, during the annual celebration. Steve had whispered to you that it was consequently also his birthday, and had begged you to keep that a secret, but it seemed you had simply forgotten the fact entirely. The day passed without mention that Steve was turning 39 (105 if he'd been really counting) and you kissed him as the fireworks exploded over the ocean, sitting in the sand, hands tangled together. He thought the two of you would sit through the show, but then you were standing and pulling him to his feet as well and slipping away as everyone else's faces were turned to the sky.

At your house, you pulled a small cake from the fridge, just big enough to split between two people, and lit a couple of candles as you sat next to him at the kitchen table. Of course, you hadn't forgotten.

"Make a wish," you said with a happy smile. So he did, hoping this summer would never end. "What did you wish for?"

"Can't tell you, otherwise it won't come true," he replied. But then you pouted and he lost all resolve. "How about I show you instead?"

The look on your face said it all, shock mixed with intrigue and the mischief he had noticed that first night almost a week ago. So he reached down and tugged your chair closer, forcing you to face him with your knees between his. And then he leaned over and kissed you, taking your small cheeks in his large palms, putting all the power of his suppressed feelings behind it. He hoped you understood that he wanted more than to just kiss you, he wanted to occupy space inside you, fill you, complete you. Steve could feel your smile against his lips.

You pulled away. "Did you wish that I was dessert instead of the cake?

"I might have. Should we make my wish come true?"

Again you smiled, bright and guiding like a lighthouse torch, and something in your demeanor changed. Instantly, you were relenting to his touch, letting him pull you further into his lap, straddling his waist and settling into him like that was where you were meant to be. The quiet house, probably as old as him in this New England town, creaked in the silence of the night, only occasionally disturbed by the bang of a firework. But it all faded away with you in his arms.

You fit perfectly, just as Steve had hoped.

"You gonna be gentle with me, big man?" you whispered, that same brilliant smile on your face, wiggling as close to him as possible, the fingers of one hand tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, the others tracing down the point of his sharp nose and pressing against his soft lips. "You gonna fuck me good? Be a good boy?"

Oh, Christ. Steve nearly lost his mind with your hips so tight against his, lost it at your words that made his heart race and color rise to his cheeks. He could be good. Really damn good. You seemed to know something about him that Steve didn't even know about himself, of how much he liked your praise, your commanding tone. If there was anything he was good at, it was taking orders.

"You just keep telling me what to do and I'm all yours," he mumbled against your fingers, the thump of his heart beating in time with yours somewhere deep in your chest, echoes of one another in the silence of the house. Your hand came to grip his chin, pushing another kiss against his mouth, a kiss with lips parted in a sigh, the mingled palate of you and him, like a glass of wine on the beach and chocolate melted on the tongue, sweeping over taste buds and breathed into starved lungs.

"Mm, you taste so good. Like you were created just for me, don't you think?" you asked.

"Built from the best material, just for you." Built to love you, he wanted to say. Steve shut up instead.

You hummed with pleasure and the hand on his chin gripped a little harder, a little more suggestively. He opened his mouth obediently as you slipped your thumb between his lips, and he let you press it against the soft muscle of his tongue. You wanted him to taste you, so he did, his teeth biting gently down on the pad of your finger, another pleasant hum running down your body and straight to his groin.

He waited for your instruction.

"Undress me."

He complied, obediently. Steve's large hands hiked your sundress up around your waist, revealing the softness of your hips. His fingers smoothed up the length of your thighs, kneading at the flesh of your ass that he had so longed to touch. Your reaction was music to his ears, a soft moan leaving your lips and breathed against his, and Steve closed his eyes, arousal spreading through his body at the thought that he was making you react this way. His length hardened, tight in his pants, pressed against the thin layer of fabric that covered the heat of your core. The thought that he might not fit flickered through his mind but it dissipated at the feeling of your fingers pressing into the rough stubble of his jawline.

Steve's hands continued to travel further up your body, taking time to release the zipper of your dress down the length of your spine, and you answered his quiet, "can I?" by pulling slightly away and lifting your arms over your head. The dress landed somewhere in the kitchen and Steve dragged you close again, arms wrapped around your back to encompass you completely, his lips finding purchase against the skin of your neck.

"Look at you, so perfect," Steve mumbled, face pressed into your hair. If he had looked up he would have seen you blush, but he was too preoccupied letting his senses discover every piece of you he could touch, smell, or taste. He wanted to envelop you, inch by inch, roaming and discovering and satiating his curiosity, but you dragged his attention back to your face.

"Hey, eyes up here," you said, pulling his face toward yours and locking gazes. The intensity of your eye contact was stunning, but there was something else behind those eyes, something other than intense attraction and unsatisfied arousal. Was it doubt? Insecurity? The reason why you kissed him for so many nights and never asked for more? You were searching for something, and it came in the form of a question. "You won't leave me after this, right?"

There it was, the bit of insecurity, a fear of loss, of transience, of lacking control. Someone had hurt you before. Maybe that's why you approached everything in life with such ferocity and sincerity. But Steve would never hurt you like that, never let you feel that way again. He hoped you could see it in his eyes the way he felt about you, but words would be more reassurance. "I'm yours tonight. And tomorrow. And the day and week and month and year after that, if you'll have me that long. Whatever it is you need, I'll give it to you."

You blinked and then smiled and pressed another quick kiss to his lips before murmuring, "touch me" against them. So he did, trailing his hands over every sliver of skin before him. He felt the goosebumps rising in their wake, the downy hair on your legs and arms, the heat of your core against him, grinding almost imperceptibly to find some kind of friction, any friction. He wanted to touch you so desperately, but he got the sense that you needed to take the lead, that it would give the control you felt you lacked. So he slid a hand down the plane of your stomach and stopped just shy of dipping into your panties, waiting for your word. But you were no longer interested in playing games. Your hand found his and pulled him lower, using his fingers to press into the seem of your cunt, and he found you slick and warm with desire.

You urged him forward. "Rub my clit, baby. Slowly. Gently."

Slowly and gently. That he could do. His fingers crept absentmindedly closer to the swollen bundle of nerves and when he landed there, touch soft and circling, you jerked against him, your whole body moving with the force of anticipation and a cry leaving your lips. And though it seemed to burn, seemed to be torture for yourself, you demanded he do it again. Your forehead leaned against his, eyes shut tight, and Steve watched as your face contorted in pleasure as he flicked and circled again and again and again.

"Yes, baby. Perfect. So good. So. Fucking. Good."

Every bit of you was soft, from your neck where he placed his kisses to the curled hair hiding the swollen bud of your clit where his fingers played gently and rhythmically. Even the orgasm that gushed from your smooth cunt and stuttered from your lips was soft. You came with a choked cry as your hand pulled him closer by the back of his head, your tits pressed to his chest. Steve looked up to watch you devolve into pleasure, eyes squeezed tightly shut, your hair messy and swirling about your face, the straps of your bra slipping from your shoulder.

"Bed. Now. Right now," you demanded before you even had a chance to come down from your high. He would have been just as happy to have you in the kitchen, just like that, but Steve picked you up, with you latched to his chest like a koala, and carried you upstairs. You felt feather-light in his arms, easily tossed onto the mattress, your hands reaching out to pull his white t-shirt overhead and grab at the plane of his chest. Even as Steve kissed you again you couldn't stop tracing your fingertips over the lines of his torso, the ridges of his abs, the v-line that led tantalizingly toward the waistband of his pants. He felt his cock twitch and strain against the fabric of his boxers, the rough cotton not enough to stimulate him but enough to make him ache for your pussy. Your fluttering hands were not helping and Steve pictured your thin fingers wrapping around his length.

"Look at you," you said. "You're fucking perfect." It was Steve's turn to blush.

Steve wasn't...inexperienced. But it had been a while, to say the least, since he'd had the time or energy or capacity to even feel attracted to anyone. And even longer, perhaps never, since he felt the way he felt about you, like a bee to a flower, drunk on sweet nectar and high on honey. That was you, the delicate flower, so small and tender beneath him, yet as stunning and resonating and thunderous as the fireworks bursting somewhere overhead.

Fighting to survive was all Steve had known for so long, standing up to the bully and helping the fallen to their feet, that it was a relief to not have to be that man for you. You didn't require protection or help or anything from him at all, and yet you welcomed his presence endlessly. Steve realized he was not a need for you, but a want, and for the first time he felt valued for something real, something that wasn't just his brute strength, but something almost bordering on love. This he understood as he stared at your sweet face, caging you beneath him in bed.

"Earth to Steve," you said softly as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling his pelvis down toward yours and dragging a deep groan from his lungs. He hadn't noticed he'd stopped kissing you and was getting lost in drinking you in amidst his reverie until your small hand pressed to the back of his neck and gently guided him back to your lips. But you stopped just shy, your eyebrows knitted in concern, taking his leisurely manner for uncertainty. "We can stop if you want."

"No, definitely not."

"Good. Then stop staring and kiss me."

"Where?" he teased.

"Everywhere, big man."

Everywhere was doable. So he started at your lips with one so big and breathless it rivaled Mount Everest. For a moment he let himself forget about everything except how long he could go without oxygen against your lips. But there remained more of you to taste.

Steve's lips connected with your chin and slid down your jawline, taking time to kiss the pulse of your neck and the dip of your clavicle. The fan of his breath tickled across your skin and you giggled, the purest sound of joy bubbling from your lips at his touch. More of that he wanted. So he continued down to the valley between your breasts, full and round despite your stature, removing your bra as he did so, nibbling lightly at the peaks of your chest before replacing his teeth with his pinching fingers and moving lower again. Lower toward the edge of your ribs, arched upward to meet the movement of his mouth, toward the slope of your hips, his sharp nose following each kiss as your underwear joined your bra into the abyss.

Your thighs he kissed, top to bottom, left and right, but it was your ass he couldn't get enough of, filling his grip with handfuls of your flesh, using it to pull you toward the edge of the bed where he kneeled, lifting your hips toward his face, your legs slung one over each shoulder. Steve sunk his tongue into your folds without warning and you gasped, your thighs suddenly squeezing tight around his head.

"Yes, right there," you hissed between ragged breaths.

He responded by burying deeper, gripping you harder, and moaning with delight at your overwhelming taste and scent bombarding his senses. You squirmed but didn't pull away as Steve's hands worked their way back up your stomach to cup the tissue of your breasts, the width of his palms capturing the flesh in one big handful. Your hands covered his, holding them there, forcing him to press you into the bed while his mouth left you twitching and bucking beneath his touch.

And in spite of the urgency with which Steve wished to devour you, he continued on leisurely, doing his best to build you up slowly and gently pick you apart bit by bit the way you had asked him to do it before. Your body betrayed its delight, evidenced enough by the way your legs hooked around him and held him down, but you praised him anyways, rapture falling from your lips between sporadic moans of pleasure.

"Fuck, Steve, you're so good, oh God yes, baby, you're doing so good, taste me like that," you cried, and the words spurred him onward, hurried his movements just slightly, his tongue circling your clit, fingers circling your areolas. He would do whatever you asked, jump off a cliff, take a bullet to the chest, drown himself in a river, if only to please you. But you would never ask anything of him that he couldn't give, and Steve knew the moment you asked for his heart it would be his heart you'd receive. And with that intent in his mind, he made you come undone with a silent cry.

Eventually, the trembling ceased, even as he continued to drink your release with the ministrations of his tongue.

"Oh fuck, you like the way I taste baby?" you asked. His affirmation came out muffled and sloppy between your legs. Even you were breathless, barely getting out the words, but you pushed him nonetheless. "I wanna hear you say it, Steve. You like eating me out? Like drinking my juices?"

"Fuck, yes, you taste like goddamn heaven, darling."

"Kiss me, Steve."

"Yes, ma'am."

He complied without a second thought, crawling back up your body to lean over you, giving you a taste of the heaven he had just dipped into. When your fingers found his belt, he helped you remove the rest of his clothes. And then your hands were roving down his chest again, searching blindly until they found what they were looking for. Steve groaned at your touch on his swollen cock.

You gasped. "Oh, God."

Before Steve could respond you pushed him over onto his back and straddled his thighs, eyeing the length on display before you, fingers around it as if testing the girth and finding them unable to wrap all the way around.

"Oh God," you repeated. A short laugh bubbled up from your throat, the controlling front you'd managed to maintain this whole time slipping from your tone.

"Something wrong?" he asked, feeling slightly inadequate under your scrutiny. Steve sat up to meet your eyes, hands finding their place on your hips.

You gazed at him, eyes wide and glassy. "You're gonna split me in half with that thing."

"We don't have to. Not if you aren't comfortable."

"Oh baby, I'm gonna get real comfortable sitting on your cock." Your sultry grin was back and you rose up on your knees to look down at him. Your other hand swiped between your legs, two fingers gathering the warm, wet juices of your orgasm, before joining the first around his cock. You pumped, rolling a drop of precum off the tip with your thumb and rubbing it down his length, mixing the release of your pleasure with his. Steve barely held back from bucking his hips into your hand. He would save that for your pussy.

"I want you to fill me," you whispered. "I wanna be so fucking full. Just go slowly, okay?"

"Slowly. I got you, baby girl. You can take me. Let me fill you."

Steve lifted your hips and guided you forward, aligning your entrance with his length. You moved at a crawling pace, letting gravity sink your pussy around him, pausing every inch to adjust to his intrusion. His biceps stung with the grip of your fingernails in his skin, but it was a welcome distraction from the rush of pleasure threatening to tip him over the edge prematurely. Agonizingly you dipped further, a cry falling from your lips, until you were fully seated, the tip of him pressed into the cavity behind your cervix. You were warm, so, so warm, and soft and tight and you fit perfectly, just like he knew you would.

"Fuck, Steve, you're so big."

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, wiping away a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

"No, fuck, no, you feel so good. I just--I can't move."

"I got you, darling," Steve whispered, his face falling to your chest and burying it in the soft flesh of your tits. And then he wrapped his arms around your waist and did all the moving for you, lifting you up and sinking you down again, just fast enough to make you gasp for air and whine his name. With every thrust, you cried out in pleasure.

"Don't stop, Steve, please, baby, don't stop."

The fingers of one hand tugged at his hair dampened by sweat, nails scratching lightly across his scalp, as the other fell between your legs. You pressed your fingers around your clit and along your entrance, feeling where Steve's thick cock was pushing in and out of your tight pussy, feeling how big he was, how much he filled you. The meandering touch of your fingers almost sent him straight over the edge.

But it was the slick warmth of your cunt that was too much, and Steve found himself resting his forehead more and more heavily against your chest, willing himself to give you everything you wanted before he even thought about himself. The satin scent of your skin, like talcum and rose and his cologne, intoxicated him with every breath, and he sucked and nibbled on one breast and then the other, mindlessly attending to the most sensitive parts of you. A drop of sweat rolled down your sternum and Steve chased it with his tongue, licking a warm stripe up the center of your chest.

"Tell me what you need, darling."

"Fuck, that's perfect," you whined. "You fuck me so good, baby. Don't stop. Gonna make me come--make me come so hard."

Your fingers pressed against your clit once more and then you were clenching around him, your already tight pussy settling into a pulsing vice grip, your body shaking against his while he kissed the sweat from your collar bones. Steve felt you pumping the life out of him, riding out your orgasm and dragging him closer to his. The hand that had been on your clit moved to cup the weight of his balls, pinching and massaging as they pulled in heavy with the need for release.

"Where do you want me, darling, you gotta tell me."

You practically ordered him to come inside you, told him you wanted to feel him sticky between your thighs all night and it was suddenly Steve's turn to come undone, his hot seed pumping deep inside you, his twitching member finally finding release. He moaned your name against your lips, pulling you into a final searing kiss.

When, after a good twenty minutes of not moving from that position, of breathing heavy and kissing softly, you finally pulled away to lean down and lick his cock clean, the sticky mingling of you and him on your tongue, and he had to fight the urge to get hard again. And when you kissed him again, he tasted that mingling, two souls becoming one, as they were meant to be.

He slept next to you for the first time that night, your small frame encased in his, even though there was no need to share body heat in the dead of summer. But he actually slept, no dreams, no nightmares, no waking up in the middle of the night. Just deep, heavy sleep, your head tucked beneath his chin, back to his bare chest, his hands holding your breasts, and your hands holding his. Tangled together. Souls as one.

#steve rodgers x reader #steve rogers #captain america #captain america x reader #avengers smut #captain america smut #steve rogers smut #simping for steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction

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celestialholz · 2 years

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Celestial Live-Reacts: STP 2.5, 'Fly Me To The Moon'

Well, my darling new friend @porgthespacepenguin has informed me I should look out for some gay shit in this one, so, erm...

Make it so boys!

Oh, hello there Renee! 😍 She's beautiful, damn

Weird American Laris?????

He's blaming Q, because of course he is 😆

... And then we get a flashback to "Is that what you really want?" ?????

... AND HE KNOWS IT ISN'T HER BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHO Q IS? Jesus fuck, real subtle here CBS 😂😂

She's not Laris, but she is named after the capital of Estonia! 🤔

... Renee's not the best pilot, apparently?

"Boom, you're dead" - this woman would have loved the Kobiyashi Maru 😂

Ahhhh, the launch day is the key

So Estonia's here to protect Renee, and fancies mentioning 'a grand tapestry' whilst she's here... is she also protecting her heart?

This intro theme goes harder than anything Russo did in Avengers

Frakes my guy! 😍 Back in the director's chair, as he should be ❤

"Alone, but not lonely"... this Queen's a fucking joy, truly 😍

... Rios didn't give Picard command access to his ship? 🤔 Lack of trust, or lingering guilt over his last boss...?

What the fuck is she doing

Queens in the house 😍 I'm a Raffen fan, I'll be real

... Bit late to consider the ramifications of public beaming after last week Seven babe 😂

"You need a target" and "all you want to do is run away" is a gorgeous dichotomy

Niiiiiice rescue ❤

She's hallucinating Elnor, bless her 😭

Supervisor???

GARY SEVEN! I was mentioning this to @q-card this week 😍 It's the fucking smoke box guys, dead giveaway 😂

"I watch, but I'm never seen" - could not be Q 😆

So Renee's an expert sailor, went to university at sixteen, and has a boatload of mental health problems. The drawbacks of genius ✊😔

Estonia be like 'fuck privacy'

"Feels like nothing matters" ... I feel you, Renee. We'll both be okay. ❤

HE RECOGNISES GERMAN Q FROM TAPESTRY 😂😂 Yeeees!

Ahhh, so he IS changing the future through her!

"I'm a god, and as I look down at humanity I see them at a crossroads. Will they evolve toward enlightenment, or will there be a divergence into darkness?" Here's this week's mirror image then 😍

New-age Lal? 😆

"People... are idiots." 😂 Amen Doc

Is this who Soji and Dahj are based off, his daughter? Precious 😍

Too much red tape in this fucking century, thank god we evolve 😒

"I CAN HELP. CHECK YOUR 3D PRINTER. ;)" Christ 😂 Just HAD to stick the wink in there didn't you king

... That's a Qcard. Again. Fuck off CBS 😂😍😍

Why's the cop here? Is she trying to, as my boyfriend just wonderfully put it, 'Borgify' them? 🤔

Sleepy Agnes, bless ❤ Is this about to be a self-blaming thing?

It's a traaaaaap

Poor cop 😆

... Yeah okay, that is not how I want to give up nicotine 😂

Hallo king, lovely to see you as ever 😍😍

"Why thank you, I worked hard on that" - did you? Did you actually? Has he really lost his omnipotence? 🤔🤔

"It seems I've taken time for granted recently, and she's threatened to abandon me" - what a delightfully poetic way to tell someone you've fucked yourself over, and that little crack at the end? 😭😍

Father-to-father solidarity, very nice 😍❤

"I am the evolution of stardust, I am the gentle flutter of a butterfly; I am death, destroyer of worlds... and I'm also a big fan of your work." Jesus wept John, you absolute star you 😍😍😍 What a stunning piece of prose for one thing, showcasing the duality of ultimate power and the ability to do what you want with it whether for good or bad, with John's insane tonal range... and we even get a lovely little Data reference at the end! Fuck, I'm in love ❤

... Also I'm sorry, is he drinking fucking Earl Grey? 😂 I wish for the sweet embrace of the void thank you (bless you Porg for pointing this out just before I wrote this review up from my notes, the speech killed me too hard to notice 😂)

This whole banter's wonderful to behold, which is a natural conclusion when you put two of Trek's best actors together 😍

"I don't know" - a permanent mood on Q's motives, though I'm getting there 😆

Galas! ❤

Stay asleep Agnes, for fuck's sake

MORE LADIES WITH GUNS 😍

This poor, poor cop 😂

"It's you I want", "alone in every timeline", "your fate in every universe, to be utterly alone", "loved completely"... good lord Queenie, get yourselves a honeymoon suite 🤣

... She's almost convinced, though...

She shot him! Smart girl, poor cop 😂

Being angry at Q's genius is such a Picard mood 😂

... Oh good gods, what can Q possibly need him to do for such a precious gift? 😅

Kore - which is her name, apparently - is wonderful, bless her 😍

... IT'S TEMPORARY. Q, you capricious bitch... 👀 "This is what you could have", yeah? Must be important, whatever he needs...

... Wait wait wait, she SHOT THE QUEEN???! 👀

"His spleen's in a box over there", good-o 😂

"... There are people carrying a dead cop out the door." "Oh, I'm sure he's not dead" 😂😂 'Space Dad Amazing At Excuses', more at 11

God in the fucking Continuum John's hot here 👁👄👁

"Do you have the cure? The real cure, not something that wears off? Because if you do, I am a hostage to you, sir." 😭 Bless him

"We're all hostages to what we love. The only way to truly be free is to love nothing. How meaningless would that be?" ...

...

... EXCUSE ME????

... And then he follows that up by saying he needs him to remove an obstacle, for 'US'????? And that that obstacle is... fuck right off, that's insane 👀😂

... I just... sorry, bear with me... you're having a bloody laugh aren't you? So he saves the person that means the most to Soong... and makes that only temporary, which is a lovely character deep-dive into dark!Q anyway... and then says we're all hostages to love... ties that together by suggesting they're both going to be saving the person that means the most to them by doing this... and we know Q's doing all this shit for Picard from interviews with John anyway... dear sweet fuck, just swallow me whole 😍😍😍

Oh, also: "I have discovered recently that I have certain... limitations" - still doesn't technically confirm the lack of complete omnipotence, but given the earlier thing about working hard... he's done all this off his own merit, and that is exactly what I've always wanted to see from depowered!Q: competence. Guy's an unrivalled genius with omniscience - he should not be anything other than a huge threat even without omnipotence, and this is brilliant character work for him 😍

... Is there more of this episode, I'm done 😂😂

"Good talk" 😆 Oh Raffi ❤

... Ohhh, so no Europa mission means awful future? 🤔

Microrganisms on Io? 🤔

Let's party lads, ayyyy 😍

'Intro to Antique Coding', oh my god 😆

Fly Me To The Moon ❤❤ Appropriate, and I love me some jazz, but it is a walking travesty that Frakes can't sensibly insert himself into this ensemble ✊

... Dear god, Agnes? You are gorgeous ma'am 😍😍

Queen's a dick even in death, very on-brand

"We had NOTHING together"? Cold 😂

... No no wait, SHE'S THE QUEEN???! Just when you think your mind can't be blown anymore, fucking hell 👁👄👁

Wow. Just Owen Wilson wow.

Celestial Rating: 9/10.

... Excuse me, darlings. I need a lie-down. 😂😂 Fucking spectacular.

#star trek picard 2.5 #star trek picard spoilers #jean-luc picard #Q of the continuum #cristobal rios #seven of nine #raffi musiker #agnes jurati #borg queen #qcard?#TWICE 😍#next week on picard: celestial spontaneously fucking combusts probably #what the fuck boys 😂😂#celestial live reacts #celestial reviews

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rhetoricandlogic · 2 years

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Liz Bourke Reviews Nettle & Bone by T. Kingfisher

March 31, 2022Liz Bourke

Nettle & Bone, T. Kingfisher (Tor 978-1-25024-404-8, $25.99, 256pp, hc) April 2022.

Kingfisher, as many of us know, is the open pen name of Ursula Vernon. Vernon is an award-winning author under both names, and her novels and stories as Kingfisher are united by their combination of pragmatism among characters and peculiarity in worldbuilding, with a strong sense of humour and a definite impression that, given a choice between several options, Kingfisher will choose the one most likely to turn out weird. (I haven’t read her two horror novels. I imagine they share many of the same characteristics.)

Nettle & Bone shares this combination of the peculiar and the pragmatic. Like many of Kingfisher’s novels, it draws on fairytale elements in its worldbuilding; like most of them, it’s strongly concerned, in its own way, with ethics, with power, and with what you do in response to cruelty.

This has a dog made of bones, a dust-wife, a demon chicken, a man rescued from a goblin market, a magical godmother better at curses than blessings but determined not to do harm – and Marra, so determined that even impossible tasks won’t put her off.

Marra is the third daughter of the ruling family of a very small and not very powerful kingdom. Her eldest sister – Damia, beautiful, beloved – is married off to the prince of a neighbouring, much more powerful kingdom. Shortly thereafter, she comes home in a coffin, and Marra’s middle sister – Kania, who Marra knows hates her – is sent to take her place. Marra is sent to a convent, to Our Lady of the Grackles, until Kania produces the desired male heir, held in reserve, although she doesn’t realise it until much later.

Marra likes the convent much more than she liked palace life. She can learn things, and be useful, and not have to guard her words. But she gradually comes to realise that Prince Vorling is an extremely cruel man who killed her eldest sister and is beating her middle sister, and is essentially killing her by keeping her pregnant with children that she constantly miscarries. He will kill her, once she provides a son. And Marra… well, Marra decides that she’d better kill him first. There’s only one problem: Vorling, like all his ancestors and descendants, is protected by the actions of a powerful magical godmother. To have any hope of success, Marra needs magical help. She needs a powerful dust-wife, essentially a witch of the graveyard, who can command the dead, so she sets out from the convent on a quest that will end up seriously testing her capabilities and her will.

She finds her dust-wife, in the end. She also builds herself a dog made of bones, and rescues a handsome and competent man from a fairy market. His name is Fenris. The inevitable romantic arc develops naturally, believably, with Kingfisher’s usual sense of humour and attention to the absurd. (Part of me wants to believe that naming him Fenris is supposed to evoke Dragon Age II, rather than the wolf of Ragnarok. But what’s in a name, after all?)

Humour is, I think, the most difficult of all the arts, particularly when you’re balancing the humorous with the truly serious. With its subject matter and themes, Nettle & Bone would be a grim novel without Kingfisher’s light touch. Take Marra’s own magical godmother, Agnes. She’d be great at cursing and dark magic. Instead she names her chickens, feels bad about hurting mice, and wishes health on all the children brought to her for blessing. As it is, some sections, such as Marra’s time among the bones, or her and her companions’ search through the catacombs, are dark enough to unnerve. Kingfisher’s humour gentles the harder edges, and Marra’s pragmatism and unassailable – if not unflinching – determination damn well earns a happy ending.

Nettle & Bone has excellently bizarre worldbuilding. My favourite element is the dust-wives, and the dust-wife who joins Marra in her quest is a fascinating character, though I confess I find all of the characters compelling, Marra most of all.

Kingfisher’s work, with its striking voice, humanity, and gift for the relatable weird, never fails to remind me of Terry Pratchett at his best, and Nettle & Bone at times reminds me strongly of some of Pratchett’s witches – albeit updated in line with the developing sensibilities of the last half-decade. And, as with so much else of Kingfisher’s work, the more I read of Nettle & Bone, the more I loved it. I recommend it highly.

#T. Kingfisher #Ursula Vernon #Nettle & Bone #mahreviews #long post

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daisychainez · 2 years

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Fic: Where am I at? pt.6

(pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5)

You’re not mine anymore but I’m still a little bit yours

Michelle Jones-Watson x Peter Parker

[Also read on Ao3]

Michelle feels slightly guilty as she wanders down the corridors of F.E.A.S.T, not really intending to seek out Dan and Adam out back. She’s still annoyed at Peter, annoyed at his mere presence, annoyed at the way her stomach flips when she sees him, the way her heart beats that bit faster when his eyes find hers. Most of all, she’s annoyed at just how much he affects her – for her, her feelings – her love – is still fresh. She vividly remembers the way his hands would dance around her bare back, bringing her in so close to him on the rare moments they could steal away in either his or her apartments in the time before. It felt like weeks had passed for her since those moments of intimacy; she kept being reminded that it had been years for him.

She shakes her head; she’s not going to waste any more time today thinking about him. She’d found her way back to a set of double doors leading out to the main hall where the shelter users where clustered around several tables spread across the open space. She spied a friendly old lady she vaguely remembered from when May still ran the centre, struggling with a few jugs of tea and coffee. She walked over quickly, making it just in time before the thermos jugs dropped from Agnes’ shaking hands.

‘Oh, my dear, thank you so much. I almost caused a health and safety catastrophe there.’ She smiled gratefully at Michelle who returned a small nod, a small smile gracing her face as she placed the jugs back onto the table behind them.

‘It’s no problem. We can’t be having a health and safety nightmare on Christmas day; you’d be getting us shut down.’ She looked conspiratorially at Agnes, winking at the older lady. ‘I actually have spent a lot of time working as a barista, what say you head on over there and relax for a bit, I’ll put my barista skills to work?’ She nods her head over to the nearest table where a cluster of people sat around, talking jovially.

‘Bless you dear.’ She clasped Michelle’s hand tightly before turning and shuffling over to the table nearby. Michelle turned back to the jugs, sighing slightly as she spied some red and blue piped cookies. Figures.

She’d started making her way around the room, stopping at every table to refill mugs, making chit chat along the way. She could feel a set of eyes on her, following her around the room. Her eyes flicked up to the boy in the corner, Harry, his blue eyes still fixated on her every move, a smirk laced on his lips.

She rolled her eyes. What a creep.

Michelle’s momentarily distracted by the commotion of Dan and Adam making their way into the hall, Peter following closely behind, all three with their arms laden with wrapped gifts. Peter has his tongue poking out, his usual look of concentration, trying (and failing in her opinion) to portray how heavy the haphazard mountain of boxes in his arms were. He catches her gaze, momentarily forgetting his charade until an arm clasps around his shoulder pushing him forward towards the tree where the boys had dropped the gifts they’d carried.

Michelle returns to her coffee round, focusing her attention on small talk with the groups clustered around each table rather than the man across the way.

__ __ __

Peter can’t help it if his eyes keep drifting over to the vision in red floating from table to table, her soft auburn curls bouncing as a small laugh escaped her lips, her attention captured by an older gentleman – someone Peter knew to be the biggest, most harmless flirt in New York City. She’s utter grace, beauty, simply ethereal. She has his heart caught in a vice and she doesn’t even know it; every time he sees her, the vice tightens evermore. He didn’t know how much more he could take; Boston had been so good to her, she’d grown, blossomed, become her own person over there.

When Peter had been at his weakest, his darkest days were usually spent curled around himself in his scant apartment, redownloading Instagram, checking in on Michelle and Ned on their public profiles, the little random insights into their college life away at MIT. Just seeing their smiling faces through his screen would put him at ease, knowing they were safe, they were thriving, they were together, that they had each other. That’s how it would start, a soft smile that would disappear until the tears would come when he’s reminded that they’re okay, they’re alive, they’re flourishing because- because he’s not there with them. He’d give up everything to make sure they stayed safe, and safe was wherever he wasn’t. And so those moments where he contemplated finally keeping his promise to reach out where few and far between as he was reminded of May’s words, he had a responsibility to the world, a responsibility that only Spider-Man could fulfill. There was no room for Peter Parker in this world, and he’d make sure it would stay that way.

__ __ __

It was blindingly obvious that there was some sort of tension growing between a certain girl in red and the boy who couldn’t stop making heart eyes towards her. Their fleeting glances did not go amiss, not by Dan or Adam or dear old Agnes.

Dan and Adam shared a look, Dan gesturing towards the bunch of mistletoe hanging behind Peter near the tree in the corner. Agnes caught onto their scheming, clearing her throat loudly enough for them to look her way. She smirked as she nodded her head towards Michelle, mouthing ‘Leave her to me.’

Co-ordinating their pincer movement, Dan made his way over to Pete as Agnes rose slowly from her chair, walking over to Michelle. ‘My dear if I could request one more favour from you. I’ve left the list of all the children we’re expecting for the gift exchange upstairs in the main office. Could you please go and fetch it for me?’

Michelle nods, she’s happy to help, a sense of affection for the kindly lady growing within her. She pops out the side door, disappearing upstairs to find that list.

Dan leans causally against the table near a crouched Pete organising the various boxes underneath the Christmas tree. ‘Hey Pete, that’s a mighty load of mistletoe you have dangling over your head there.’ Peter looks over to him, his gaze moving with his towards the bunch of stems dangling above him. His eyebrows furrowed together.

‘Yeah, well, it’s just a parasitic plant.’

__ __ __

Michelle’s back in record time, list in her hand as she grinned widely at Agnes. ‘Here you go.’ She extended her arm out to Agnes, waiting for the older lady to take the list from her outstretched hand.

‘Oh, thank you dear. If you wouldn’t mind handing the list over to our lovely Peter over there. He’s that dashing young man sorting the presents under the tree.’ She points over to the corner, leaning in closer to Michelle, her voice growing quieter. ‘He’s a real cutie, and painfully single too, or so he says. Lord knows how, such a charming young man.’

Michelle’s eyes widen, her words failing her, looking between the grin on Agnes’ face and the head of curly brown hair over on the other side of the hall. ‘Er…’

‘Well go on then, it’s almost time for presents.’ Agnes spares her one last smile before she turns towards another volunteer walking towards them.

Michelle takes a deep breath; she just needs to hand this list over and then she’ll call it a day and get back to the Mitchell’s. Yes. That’s her plan. Her feet carry her over towards the tree.

__ __ __

Dan’s about to reply to Peter but he’s beaten by one of the regular volunteers, the blonde bombshell Cassie who Dan is fairly sure is a classmate of Peter’s from ESU. ‘Come on Peter, a parasitic plant? So what, you’re not a fan of traditions?’ She has an easy smile, eyes twinkling with something Peter can’t quite pinpoint.

Peter sighs, standing from his crouched position. ‘I’m… not… against traditions… Just not really one to follow them myself, I guess. And yes, it is definitely a parasitic plant.’ He looks back at Dan who sends back a quizzical look.

‘Well- I hope you don’t mind indulging just this once for me Peter.’ Cassie steps closer to him, her eyes flicking up to the mistletoe and then back down to his lips. ‘They say it’s bad luck to not kiss when you find… yourself… under… the… mistletoe.’ Her eyes reach his and for a moment he’s frozen in place.

She closes her eyes slowly, leaning into Peter who’s staring down at her rosy, red lips. In a split second his senses go haywire, his eyes snapping up to Michelle who’s standing a few feet away, her head turning away from him as she drops the list in her hand.

Peter jerks his head to the side, Cassie’s lips making contact with his right cheek. When Cassie pulls back, a frown on her face, he shoots her an apologetic look and a tight smile before flicking his eyes back to where Michelle had just been standing. Taking a step away from Cassie, he scanned around the room for a flicker of red which he finally found disappearing through the side door leading to the back corridor. Before he can think, his legs are carrying him over to the exit she had taken.

Dan watches in disbelief, his face nestled in his palm. He’s shaking his head at how well that panned out. Cassie’s not too sure what to think.

__ __ __

It takes him a few minutes, but he finds her on the roof. Her hand is grazing over the strap of a beige backpack which he’d left webbed up here. She’s standing there in just her little red dress, the frigid December air bringing a chill to his bones. Her back is turned away from him, her head dipped down to look at something in her hand.

He quickly walks over, unzipping the bag and taking out a jacket he had stuffed within and draping it over her shoulders, his hands lingering on her upper arms. She’s so close… He can smell the scent of her berry shampoo, the same brand from her high school days. She’s trembling in his arms – whether it’s because of the cold or his breath against the back of her neck, he’s not sure, but he tucks in closer to her. His arms trailing up and down hers, squeezing gently.

His grip softens as she starts to turn, her head still canted down to her hands. His gaze follows hers until he spies the tattered folded paper clasped between her fingers, the words ‘you don’t know me’ barely visible scribbled across one of the folded sides.

He panics, snatching the paper from her hands. This breaks Michelle out of her daze as she flinches, glancing up to Peter’s anguished face. He squeezes the paper between his fist, his eyes meeting hers. ‘Did you read this?’ He sounded pained, a flurry of emotions running across his face. ‘Please.’

It takes her a second to collect herself, looking back to the note in his hand. ‘Er, no.’ She cleared her throat. ‘No, I didn’t read it.’ She took a step backwards away from him, a hand running through her hair. ‘I’m sorry, it was just hanging out of your backpack. I don’t know why-’. She looks back up to him, taking a quick breath, panic rising in her voice. ‘I’m sorry, I had no right to go through your stuff.’ She sidesteps him, making her way back towards the roof entrance.

He grasps her hand again, tugging her gently back to him. ‘Michelle, can we talk?’ He looks down at their entwined hands, his thumb ghosting across the back of her knuckles. Michelle shakes her head, refusing to look up. He moves closer still, taking their entwined hands up to his mouth, his lips gently pressing against the back of her hand. ‘Michelle…’ He breathes out, his eyes focused entirely on hers as she returns his gaze, letting their entwined hands rest against his chest.

She looks at him closely, studying the curve of his nose, the mole on his right cheek. Her eyes travel down to the cut on his jaw she had bandaged the other night, her fingers softly caressing against the band aid hidden just below his chin. The touch of her fingers is electric against his skin; ‘MJ’ he breaths.

She startles back, her hand slipping from his. She’s suddenly reminded where they are, the bite of the wind making her teeth chatter as she looks at him with a coldness settling itself inside her. ‘Michelle.’ She clenches her jaw. ‘You- you call me Michelle, nothing else.’

She leaves him alone on the rooftop, the vice in his chest tightening.

__ __ __

Ned was expecting Peter to come back to his place after he’d finished up at F.E.A.S.T but it’s gone eight and he’s yet to hear from him. He’s left a few messages and voicemails on his phone which have been left unanswered.

Christmas dinner had been his undoing and soon he’s struggling to stay awake past midnight with Peter still not making contact. He falls back on his bed, promising himself he’s only resting his eyes as he puts his phone on his bedside cabinet and feels the tug of sleep coming over him.

Ned’s fast asleep by the time his screen lights up with a text at two in the morning.

Peter: I appreciate you opening your doors to me last night but let this be the last time Ned. Don’t try and contact me again.

#spideychelle #spideychelle fic #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones watson #petermj #peter parker #post no way home

11 notes · View notes

sparkkeyper · 3 years

Text

A Matter of Trust

My take on the “night at Crowley’s flat” fic.

Swapping faces requires complete trust. Unfortunately, Aziraphale has not been particularly honest leading up to Armageddon and it's hard to overcome that doubt.

Words: 2295

Warnings: None

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

"You really think she meant switching our actual faces?"

"I've been over it a dozen times and I'm quite sure. I've had the last 72 hours to become familiar with Agnes' peculiar brand of predictions."

Crowley blew out a long breath and took another sip of his coffee. It was the deepest hour of the night. Darkness pressed around the outside of his flat, threatening at the edges of the LED lighting. "Put a lot of stock in this prophecy, do you?"

Aziraphale nodded from where he sat nearby on the couch, the torn slip of prophecy on the cushion between them. "Absolutely. Every prediction in her book came to pass exactly as she saw it. If this is the scenario we're up against, then 'choosing our faces wisely' is our best shot at surviving it."

"Suppose that's settled, then. Once Above and Below start after us, they won't stop unless we really give them a good reason."

"I agree. Now, this will require complete trust and extraordinary focus in order to work. It isn't like lending someone a scarf."

"That's the point, I thought. Something neither side will see coming."

"Exactly. All right then." Aziraphale wriggled a bit on the couch, bracing himself. "Are you ready?"

Crowley set down his coffee and flexed his fingers. "Ready."

Aziraphale held out his hand and the demon took it. Swap with him.

Nothing happened.

"Er..."

"Ngk. Hang on." Crowley gave himself a shake. "Been a long day and all that. Lemme just refocus. Right, let's do it." He took the angel's hand again. Swap. With. Him.

Again, nothing happened.

There were several long, awkward seconds.

Get it together, you stupid snake. This is important. This could be the most important thing you've ever done. This is Aziraphale. Best friend for centuries. You know what to expect from him.

He did know what to expect. That was the problem.

The moment was stretching on far too long. He dropped the angel's hand like it had burned him and scrubbed his palms over his soot-stained face.

"Crowley?"

"It's fine! I'll make it work, give me a blessed break."

He stood and paced the room for a moment while Aziraphale sat stiffly on the couch, watching him. "Is there anything I can do to...to facilitate things? I'm not sure what the problem is."

"There's no problem, it's fine," Crowley snapped. "I've got this. Just worry about your end of it and I'll worry about mine. Right!" He spun on his heel with his hand out and Aziraphale stood to match him. "Swap, then!"

He clasped the angel's hand and tried. He could feel the miracle simmering somewhere in the ether, attempted but not complete. He reached for it, he reached with all his might.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this," he insisted, a pit forming in his stomach. He'd just held his car together for 40 miles, he could believe one little idea for 5 seconds.

"Crowley-"

"I can do this!"

"Oh for goodness' sake-"

The angel was frustrated. He had every right to be but that was beside the point. A frustrated Aziraphale got indignant. A frustrated Aziraphale stormed off.

A frustrated Aziraphale pulled away when they needed most to stick together.

Crowley blessed savagely and spun, stomping for the balcony.

"Where are-"

"I just...I need to get some air." He slammed the door behind him before Aziraphale could respond.

The night breeze from so many stories up was like a slap in the face. Crowley welcomed it, leaning heavily on the balcony railing and burying his face in his hands. He couldn't do the miracle. Not that he didn't want to - he'd rarely wanted anything so much in his life. But he couldn't get his heart into it the way it needed to be.

We're not friends!

It wasn't true, of course. But it was something Aziraphale had wanted to be true. Because it would make the angel's life so much less complicated. Crowley was a friend...until he wasn't. Crowley occupied a place of esteem...until he didn't. Aziraphale worked so very hard to view a messy world in a manageable way and sometimes cuts had to be made.

His coffee sat suddenly on the railing because it knew what was good for it, and when he raised it to his lips it obligingly added a considerable amount of whiskey.

If they couldn't do the swap, they had no future. The Earth had a new lease on life tonight, but if they couldn't swap it would be at the price of their own. He knew Hell would show no mercy and he couldn't fool himself into thinking Heaven would. But Aziraphale... When it came to Heaven, Aziraphale could fool himself into thinking a lot of things.

I don't even like you!

Even if I did I wouldn't tell you! We're on opposite sides!

Aziraphale, who always had excuses to fall back on.

Aziraphale, who had a book with the Antichrist's address and hadn't told him.

Aziraphale who, when the world was on the brink of destruction, had kept calling out to Heaven.

If it came down to their partnership or Heaven, Heaven was the first to be appeased, no contest. Crowley understood his reasons. Aziraphale was, at his core, an angel. He treasured that identity even if he disagreed with his superiors and assignments. He held out hope in goodness, in Her, in a way Crowley never could. He wanted so badly for everything to turn out nice and good in the end, and Crowley could not take that from him.

When Heaven couldn't provide, Crowley was there to be his safety net. But Heaven was always, always first.

The balcony door clicked behind him and hesitant footsteps stepped out into the night. "If there's anything I can do to help you focus, you need only ask."

Crowley couldn't bring himself to look at him. "Focus isn't the problem."

Aziraphale was quiet for a very long moment. "Oh," he said softly.

There was no shock in his voice. No condemnation either. Crowley wondered if it would take some time to sink it, given everything that had already happened to them tonight, but as Aziraphale joined him at the balcony railing he knew that the angel understood what this meant.

Dull blue eyes followed Crowley's gaze out over London and Aziraphale took a slow sip of his tea. "This is my fault, isn't it?"

"Don't," Crowley told him tiredly. "What's done is done."

"But the consequences are ongoing. And will be for a long time, I expect." Aziraphale sighed heavily. "I am responsible, I won't pretend otherwise."

"I tried," Crowley confessed, the words barely audible over the background hum of the city. "I truly did."

"I don't doubt it."

A breeze wandered in. Tousled through red and blonde hair. Wandered somewhere else.

"I suppose I ought to at least ask...was it slow over time or was it because of this past week?"

Crowley didn't answer for a moment, taking another sip of his coffee. "Bit of both."

"Mmm." Aziraphale nodded, not particularly surprised by this. "I should have seen this coming, really. I should have seen a good many things coming."

"Stop it," the demon muttered. "You can't see everything coming. Something something ineffability."

"Is just one of the excuses I've been hiding behind for a very long time. And now it's caught up with me. With us." He sighed. "I suppose it's not just evil that contains the seeds of its own destruction."

Crowley didn't have the energy to come up with a biting response. He just looked exhausted. "I don't regret a minute of it, you know," he murmured. "The Arrangement. You and I. Wouldn't trade it for anything." There were dark circles under his eyes. "But I can't trust you the way I'd need to for this to work. I wish I could. I've tried. I just can't do it."

Aziraphale grimaced to hear the words out loud, but did not dispute it. How could he? "I don't blame you. You're right - it's not fair to ask you to trust me when I've squandered your trust so thoroughly."

We're not friends, hung thick in the air between them.

"Not that I think you don't care," Crowley clarified. "I know you do. You're terrible at hiding it, really. And you came to find me today before it all ended. That's not nothing." He took another sip of coffee. "But you also lied to my face. Repeatedly."

"I did," the angel acknowledged quietly.

"While the world was ending."

"Yes."

"That hurt, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale bit his lip hard. "I know. I'd take it back if I could. But I suppose it's too late to make a difference now."

They stood in silence for a time. Then Crowley sighed and turned back to the flat. "Come on. It's been a long day. There's wine in the kitchen, we may as well enjoy it while we can before they come for us."

The angel followed him inside and watched as he pulled glasses from a cabinet. "Thank you again for allowing me to stay the night. You didn't have to, after everything."

"Stay as long as you like," the demon uncorked the wine bottle. "Your shop's gone. Fuck's sake, I'm not a monster."

"No." Aziraphale's expression was very, very soft. "You're not."

Crowley took off his sunglasses and looked up at him at last: this demon whose heart had been broken too many times. "I want you to be all right, Aziraphale. I need you safe. I need you alive. I want to see you happy. But I don't know how far I can meet you."

"I can't say I'm surprised, after all I've put you through," the angel admitted ruefully. "Denying we were ever friends, or insinuating that you were somehow less than I. I've been a rather dreadful friend to you over the centuries."

Crowley hung his head, wine forgotten. "I know why you keep us at a distance and I know why you lied about the boy. You were doing what you thought was best at the time. I can't blame you for that. But to do what that prophecy wants, when push comes to shove I need to believe with all my heart that you won't leave me hanging. And I...I can't bring myself to believe that." He scrubbed his hands across his face. "Given time I might, but we don't have time. I can't do it. And I hate it. Because that's going to get you killed. I need you alive but once they come for us, I won't be able to save you. Not this time."

"You talk as though you're not in danger yourself," Aziraphale's face crumpled. "Crowley, if Below gets their hands on you they will destroy you utterly. I will not let that happen. I can't take back what I've said but you are the dearest thing in this world to me and I'm not going to stand back and let them take you."

Crowley looked like he was trying so very hard to hope but just couldn't get there. "I want to believe that, I really do. But I can't do blind faith like you can. I don't have it in me anymore."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the demon's. "I'm not asking you to forgive what I've done. And I'm not asking for blind faith. Goodness knows how much trouble that's caused." His voice cracked at that but he plunged onward. "I'm only asking you to believe me when I say that I will not let Hell have you. If we cannot switch our faces, we will find another way."

"But your prophecy. Agnes-"

"Agnes be damned." That shut Crowley up. Tears glistened on the angel's cheeks. "If I have to march Down There after you. If I have to take up a sword. If I have to stand between you and God Herself. I swear to you on everything that I am, I will not let Hell have you."

And in that brief moment, for just that one promise in a sea of other broken ones, Crowley believed he was telling the truth.

His hand scrabbled for Aziraphale's and he pushed for all he was worth before he could lose this moment, he pushed every atom of his soul into the heart of his best friend, gave him everything that he was and ever could be, and in that instant he trusted Aziraphale to keep him safe.

And then Aziraphale was pouring into him and Crowley opened himself up and let it happen, let him seep into every muscle, every bone, every molecule of his being -

-and suddenly there was no difference between them, there was no angel, no demon, just a tumult of soul and hope and pain and fear and resolve and-

Crowley tumbled out the other side like falling out of bed. He gasped in a strangled breath, stumbling backwards into the kitchen counter and staring suddenly into his own face. He stared down at his clothes - beige - and his hands - manicured - and back up, feeling the warmth of his best friend's corporation surrounding him like a blanket. Aziraphale, in Crowley's, did much the same.

There was stunned silence in the flat as they let this sink in. Then one of them snapped, or maybe both, and suddenly Crowley's face was buried in the collar of a stinking, burnt leather jacket and Aziraphale was crushing him close, and both were squeezing so hard the other could scarcely breathe.

"Thank you," Aziraphale managed at last. "For trusting me enough to let me save you."

"Not if I save you first," Crowley choked out, and broken giggles filled the flat.

(Also on AO3!)

#good omens #good omens fic #the night at crowley's flat #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale having to take responsibility for lying #the body swap #can these two idiots just SIT DOWN AND TALK #trauma is never your fault #being gaslight and coerced is never your fault #but we still have to be aware of those we hurt when we're not at our best #not that Crowley's 100% innocent #they'll figure it out they just need time

127 notes · View notes

snake-rot · 3 years

Note

(EXCLAIMING)

(ORCHESTRA MUSIC BLARING)

(GROANS)

(WHIMPERS)

(GRUNTING)

(MYSTICAL INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING)

(GROANS)

(COUNTRY ROCK MUSIC PLAYING)

(COUGHS)

Sweet home Alabama

Where the skies are so blue

WOMAN: Excuse me, sir, is there a commode?

Sweet home Alabama

(GRUNTING)

Lord, I'm coming home to you

(GRUNTS) Justin!

Quick, honey, take my picture. I got the pyramid in my hand.

(CAMERA CLICKING)

Yeah

Justin, you get back here right now!

No, stop!

GUARD 1: No, no, no! Stop him! GUARD 2: Go back! Don't climb!

(JUSTIN IMITATING AIRPLANE WHOOSHING)

Wait, wait.

Hold on. Easy, little boy.

Okay, stop, child! Stop right there. No!

(GASPS)

No, no, no, no, no! Oh! There he goes.

(GASPS)

Justin!

I've got him! I've got him!

(JUSTIN GRUNTS)

(AIR ESCAPING)

Outrage in Egypt tonight as it was discovered

that the Great Pyramid of Giza had been stolen

and replaced by a giant inflatable replica.

There is panic throughout the globe as countries and citizens

try to protect their beloved landmarks.

Law enforcement still has no leads,

leaving everyone to wonder, which of the world's villains

is responsible for this heinous crime?

And where will he strike next?

Gru: Freeze ray! Freeze ray! Freeze ray! [laughs evilly] Fred: Morning, Gru! How you doing? Gru: Hello, Fred. FYI, your dog has been leaving little bombs all over my yard, and I don't appreciate it. Fred: Sorry. You know dogs. They go wherever they wanna go. Gru: Unless they're dead. [laughs] I'm joking! Although, it is true. Anyway, have a good one. Fred: Okay. Yeah. Steamrolling whatever Gru: [groans] You've got to be pulling on my leg! Margo: Hello! Cookies for sale. Gru: Go away. I'm not home. Margo: Uh, yes, you are. I heard you. Gru: [gasps] No, you didn't. This... [monotone] is a recording. Margo: [scoffs] No, it isn't. Gru: Yes, it is. [o.s.] Watch this. Leave a message, beep. [Edith kicks the door] Gru: Ow! Agnes: Goodbye, recorded message. Margo: [o.s.] Agnes, come on. Gru: Huh? [screams] Kyle! Bad dog! No! No, no. Sit. My muffin. Dr. Nefario: Gru! Gru: Ah, Dr. Nefario. Dr. Nefario: I know how you must be feeling. I, too, have encountered great disappointment, but, in my eyes, you will always be one of the greats. Gru: What? What happened? Dr. Nefario: It's all over the news! Some fella just stole a pyramid. They're saying he makes all other villains look... lame. pause Gru: Assemble the minions! [throws Kyle off of his arm] Minions, assemble! Minion: Okay. Okay. Hey! Gru: Looking good, Kevin! How is the family? Good? All right. That's my Billy boy! What up, Larry? Hello, everybody! Yeah, all right! Simmer down. Simmer down! Thank you, okay. Now, I realize that you guys probably heard about this other villain who stole the pyramids. Apparently, it's a big deal. People are calling it the crime of the century and stuff like that. But am I upset? No, I am not! A little, but we have had a pretty good year ourselves, and you guys are all right in my book. Minion: Ooh! Ooh! Ooh! Gru: No, no raises! You're not going to get any raises. What did we do? Well, we stole the Times Square JumboTron! Nice! That's how I roll. Yeah, you all like watching football on that, huh? But that's not all. We stole the Statue of Liberty, the small one from Las Vegas. And I won't even mention the Eiffel Tower! Also Vegas. Okay, I wasn't going to tell you about this yet, but I have been working on something very big! Something that will blow this pyramid thing out of the water! And thanks to the efforts of my good friend Dr. Nefario... Dr. Nefario: Thank you! Gru: There he is. He's stylin'. Now, we have located a shrink ray in a secret lab, and once we take this shrink ray, we will have the capability to pull off the 'true crime of the century. We are going to steal... The Minions all pull out their weapons in response. Gru: Wait, wait! I haven't told you what it is yet. One of the Minions, Dave, shoots his rocket launcher at a crowd of Minions. Gru: Hey. Dave, listen up, please! Dave: Ditto. One of the Minions Dave shot walks over to him and punches him on the shoulder. Gru: Next, we are going to steal, pause for effect, the moon! The Minions cheer in response. Gru: And once the moon is mine, the world will give me whatever I want to get it back! And I will be the greatest villain of all time! That's what I'm talkin' 'bout. [picks up his phone] Yes? Dr. Nefario: Hello, Gru? I've been crunching some numbers, and I really don't see how we can afford this. It can't be done. I'm not a miracle worker. Gru:Hey, chillax. I'll just get another loan from the bank. They love me! Margo: Edith, stop it! Edith: What? I'm just walking. Girls: Hi, Miss Hattie. We're back. Miss Hattie: Hello, girls! Agnes: Anybody come to adopt us while we were out? Miss Hattie: Hmm... Let me think. No! Edith immediately puts a mud pie on Miss Hattie's desk, much to her displeasure. Miss Hattie: Edith! What did you put on my desk? Edith: A mud pie. Miss Hattie: [sighs] You're never gonna get adopted, Edith. You know that, don't you? Edith: Yeah, I know. Miss Hattie: Good. So, how did it go, girls? Did we meet our quotas? Margo: Hmm... Sorta. We sold 43 mini-mints, 30 choco-swirlies and 18 coco-nutties. Miss Hattie: [gets up] Okay.

Well, you say that like it's a great sale day. [furious] Look at my face! Do you still think it's a great sale day? Edith rolls her eyes in response. Miss Hattie: [hangs up a portrait] Eighteen coco-nutties. I think we can do a little better than that, don't you? Yeah. We wouldn't want to spend the weekend in the Box of Shame, would we? No. Girls: No, Miss Hattie. Miss Hattie: Okay, good. Off you go. Go clean something of mine. Girls: Hi, Penny. Penny: Hi, guys. Gru: Hello, Mom. Sorry, I meant to call, but... Gru's Mom: I just wanted to congratulate you on stealing the pyramid. [Gru sighs in disgust] That was you, wasn't it? Or was it a villain who's actually successful? [laughs] Gru: Just so you know, Mom, I am about to do something that's very, very big, very important. When you hear about it, you're going to be very proud. Gru's Mom: Ha! [sarcastically] Good luck with that. Okay, I'm outta here. [hangs up the phone before sending her karate instructor flying] Gru: Gru to see Mr Perkins Receptionist: Yes, please have a seat. Neil Armstrong: That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind. Young Gru: Ma, someday I'm going to go to the moon. Gru's Mom: I'm afraid you're too late, Son. NASA isn't sending the monkeys any more. Vector: Hey. I'm applying for a new villain loan. Go by the name of Vector. It's a mathematical term, a quantity represented by an arrow, with both direction and magnitude. Vector! That's me, 'cause I'm committing crimes with both direction and magnitude. Oh, yeah! Check out my new weapon. Piranha gun! Oh, yes! Fires live piranhas. Ever seen one before? No, you haven't. I invented it. Do you want a demonstration? Shoot! So difficult, sometimes, to get the piranha back inside of my... Receptionist: Mr Gru, Mr Perkins will see you now. Gru: So, all I need is money from the bank to build a rocket. And then, the moon is ours. Perkins: Wow! Well, very nice presentation. I'd like to see this shrink ray. Gru: Absolutely! Will do. Soon as I have it. Perkins: You don't have it? And yet you have the audacity to ask the bank for money? Gru: Apparently. Perkins: Do you have any idea of the capital that this bank has invested in you, Gru? With far too few of your sinister plots actually turning a profit. How can I put it? Let's say this apple is you. If we don't start getting our money back... Get the picture? Look, Gru, the point is, there are a lot of new villains out there, younger than you, hungrier than you, younger than you. Like that young fellow out there named Vector. He just stole a pyramid! Gru: I've got it. I've got it. So, as far as getting money for the rocket... Perkins: Get the shrink ray, then we'll talk. Minion: Suckers! Suckers! Gru: We got it! What? Hey! Hey! What! Hey! No, no, no! You! Vectors: Now, maybe you'll think twice before you freeze someone's head! So long, Gru! Gru: Quick! We can't let him get away! Up ahead! Up ahead! Fire! Fire, now! Vector: You missed me! Gru: Come to papa! Take that. Vector: How adorable. Gru: Got you in our sights! Like taking candy from a... What? Vector: Hey, Gru! Try this on for size! Gru: That's weird. What is going... This is claustrophobic! No, no, no! Too small! This is too small for me! [groans] I hate that guy. Margo: ...and please watch over us, and bless that we'll have a good night's sleep. Edith: And bless that while we're sleeping, no bugs will crawl into our ears and lay eggs in our brains. Margo: Great. Thanks for that image, Edith. Agnes: And please bless that someone will adopt us soon, and that the mommy and daddy will be nice and have a pet unicorn. Amen. Margo/Edith: Amen. Agnes: Unicorns, I love them Unicorns, I love them Uni, uni, unicorns I love them Uni, unicorns, I could pet one If they were really real And they are So, I bought one so I could pet it Now it loves me Now I love it Gru: Don't you... What the... Good luck, little girls! Edith: Whoa! Cool. Margo: Hi! We're orphans from Miss Hattie's Home for Girls. Vector: I don't care. Beat it! Margo: Come on! We're selling

cookies so, you know, we can have a better future. Vector: Wait, wait! Do you have coco-nutties? Margo: Yeah. Gru: Light bulb. Dr Nefario! I'm going to need a dozen tiny robots disguised as cookies! Dr. Nefario: What? Gru: Cookie robots! Dr. Nefario: Who is this? - Gru: Oh, forget it. Mrs. Hattie: Well, it appears you have cleared our background check, Dr Gru. And I see you have made a list of some of your personal achievements. Thank you for that. I love reading. And I see you have been given the Medal of Honor and a knighthood. - Minions: Me, me, me. Me, me, me. Minion: Kevin? Mrs. Hattie: You had your own cooking show and you can hold your breath for 30 seconds? It's not that impressive. Minion: Idiot! - Minions: Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Mrs Hattie: What in the name of... What? Gru: Well, here's the dealio. Things have been so lonely since my wife, Debbie, passed on. It's like my heart is a tooth, and it's got a cavity that can only be filled with children. I'm sorry. You are a beautiful woman. Do you speak Spanish? Mrs. Hattie: Do I look like I speak Spanish? Gru: You have a face como un burro. Mrs. Hattie: Well, thank you! Gru: Anyway, can we proceed with this adoption? So, so excited! Mrs. Hattie: Please tell Margo, Edith and Agnes to come to the lobby. Margo: I bet the mom is beautiful! Edith: I bet the daddy's eyes sparkle. Agnes: I bet their house is made of Gummi Bears. [Edith and Margo look at her curiously] I'm just saying it'd be nice. [picks up a Cheeto] Aww. My caterpillar never turned into a butterfly. Edith: That's a Cheeto. Agnes: Oh... [eats said Cheeto, making Edith and Margo recoil in disgust] Miss Hattie: Well, Debbie was a very lucky woman. [pause] Gru: Who's Debbie? Mrs Hattie: Your wife. Hi, girls! Girls, I want you to meet Mr Gru. He's going to adopt you. And he's a dentist! Agnes: Yeah! Margo: Hi. I'm Margo. This is Edith. And that's Agnes. Agnes: [sing-song] I got your leg, I got your leg! Gru: Okay, that is enough, little girl. Let go of my leg. Come on. You can do it. Agnes: Higher! Higher! Gru: Just release your grip. Wow! How do you remove them? Is there a command? Some nonstick spray? Crowbar? [sighs] Okay, girls, let's go. [They drove off in the distance.]Vector: Uh-huh! Oh, yeah! Pretty impressive! What are you looking at? Boo-ya! You got shrunk, tiny mouthwash! Take that! You done been shrunk! (His phone rings) Yello? I got the shrink ray, all right. No, I'm not playing with it. Gru? Don't make me laugh! No. P.S., he is not getting the moon, and P.P.S., by the time I'm done with him, he's gonna be begging for mercy. (Shrinks a toilet) Okay, bye. (Hangs up) Look at you, a little tiny toilet for a little tiny baby to... [The toilet pops out and water sprays him.]Vector: Curse you, tiny toilet! [Gru and the Girls arrive at Gru's Home.] Gru: "Okay, here we are. Home sweet home. Margo: So... This is, like, your house? [realizing] Wait a sec... You're the guy who pretended he was a recorded message! Gru: No, that was someone else. [Margo gives a skeptical look before she, Edith and Agnes enter Gru's house, with Gru following suite.] Agnes: [scared] Can I hold your hand? Gru: Uh... No. Edith: [looks around] When we got adopted by a bald guy, I thought this'd be more like "Annie". Gru: No, hey! [screams] Kyle, these are not treats. These are guests. Girls, this is Kyle, my... Dog. Kyle snarls in anger. Agnes: Ooh! Fluffy doggy! [approaches Kyle before he runs away, much to her disappointment] Margo: What kind of dog is that? Gru: He is a... I don't know. Margo: Do you really think that this is an appropriate place for little kids? 'Cause, uh... It's not. [Edith sees a closet that is sharp and goes in it.] Gru: No! No! Stay away from there! It's frag... [He sees juice spilling on the floor.]Both: (Gasps) Gru: Well, I suppose the plan will work with two. Edith: [muffled] Hey! It's dark in here. [Gru opens the iron maiden, revealing Edith, who spits out a straw]Edith: It poked a hole in my juice box. [They went to the

kitchen.] Gru: As you can see, I have provided everything a child might need. All right. Okay. As I was saying... (Edith knocked a bottle down) Gru: (Cont'd) Hey! Oh. Edith: Somebody broke that. Gru: "Okay, okay. Clearly, we need to set some rules. Rule number one. You will not touch anything. Margo: Uh-huh. What about the floor? Gru: Yes, you may touch the floor. Margo: What about the air? Gru: Yes, you may touch the air! Edith: (Gets out a laser gun) What about this? Gru: (Screams) Where did you get that? Edith: [shrugs] Found it. Gru: Okay. Rule number two. You will not bother me while I'm working. Rule number three. You will not cry or whine or laugh or giggle or sneeze or burp or fart! So, no, no, no annoying sounds. All right? Agnes: Does this count as annoying? [popping] Gru: Very! [sighs] I will see you in six hours. Margo: Okay, don't worry. Everything's going to be fine. We're gonna be really happy here. Right? Agnes? Gru: Question. What are these? Dr. Nefario: A dozen boogie robots! Boogie! Look at this. Watch me! Gru: Cookie robots. I said cookie robots. Why are you so old? Dr. Nefario: Okay. I'm on it. Margo: Hello? Agnes: TV! Margo: What is that? Edith: Whoa! That is cool! Come on! Agnes: I don't think he's a dentist.Dr. Nefario: We've been working on this for a while. It's a anti-gravity serum. I meant to close that. He'll be all right, I'm sure. Gru: Do the effects wear off? Dr. Nefario: So far, no. No, they don't. And here, of course, is the new weapon you ordered. Gru: No, no. I said "dart gun," not... Okay. Dr. Nefario: Oh, yes. 'Cause I was wondering under what circumstances would we use this? But, anyway. What I really wanted to show you was this. Gru: Now those are cookie robots! Agnes: La, la, la, la I love unicorns Gru: What are you doing here? I told you to stay in the kitchen! Margo: We got bored. What is this place? Edith: Can I drink this? Dr. Nefario: Do you want to explode? [Edith kicks him in the shin] Dr. Nefario: Gru! Gru: Get back in the kitchen! Agnes: Will you play with us? Gru: No. Agnes: Why? Gru: Because I'm busy. Margo: [scoffs] Doing what? Gru: Umm... Okay, okay, you got me. The dentist thing is more of a hobby. In real life, I am a spy. And it is top secret, and you may not tell anybody, because if you do... Edith: What does this do? [She fires a laser and it hits Agnes's unicorn and it burns to ashes]Gru: Hey! Edith: Whoops. Agnes: My unicorn! You have to fix it. Gru: Fix it? Look, it has been disintegrated. By definition, it cannot be fixed. [Agnes gasps in shock, then starts holding her breath] Gru: That's freaking me out. What is she doing? Margo: She's gonna hold her breath until she gets a new one. Gru: [sighs] It is just a toy. Now stop it! (Agnes faints) Gru: Okay, okay! I'll fix it! Tim! Mark! Phil! This is very important. You have to get the little girl a new unicorn toy. Gru: Hey, hey, hey! A toy! Go, and hurry! What are those? Gru: They are my... Cousins. Jerry! Stuart! Watch them and keep them away from me please. [The three minions put on a disguise and head to the store.]Minions: Wow!- Wow! [Meanwhile the two minions and the girls are tossing toilet paper at each other. Gru comes up and he sees the Girls and the two minions having fun.]Edith: It was your cousin's idea. Jerry: What? Gru: Okay, bedtime. Girls: Aww... Minions: Aww... Gru: Not you two! Minions: Yay. Gru: Okey-dokey. Beddie-bye. All tucked in. Sweet dreams. Margo: Just so you know, you're never gonna be my dad. Gru: I think I can live with that. Edith: Are these beds made out of bombs? Gru: Yes, but they are very old and highly unlikely to blow up. But try not to toss and turn. Edith: "Cool." Agnes: Will you read us a bedtime story?" Gru: No. Agnes: But we can't go to sleep without a bedtime story. Gru: Well, then it's going to be a long night for you, isn't it? So, good night, sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite. Because there are literally thousands of them. And there's probably something in your closet. Margo: He's just kidding, Agnes. Agnes: It's beautiful. Gru: Girls, let's go.

Time to deliver the cookies! Margo: Okay. But first, we're going to dance class. Gru: Actually, we're going to have to skip the dance class today. Margo: Actually, we can't skip the dance class today. We have a big recital coming up. We're doing an excerpt from Swan Lake. Agnes: Yeah, Swan Lake! Gru: That's fantastic. Wonderful. But we're going to deliver cookies! Come on! Margo: No. Gru: No? Margo: We're not going to deliver cookies until we do dance class. Really? Gru: Well, I am not driving you to dance class. So if you want to go, you are going to have to walk yourselves. What are you doing? Margo: Walking to dance class. Gru: Ya? Okay, fine. You just keep walking, because I'm really not driving you! Margo: Okay. Gru: You're going to suffer the wrath of Gru! Seriously, I'm going to count to three! And you had better be in this car! Here we go! One! Two! Teacher: ...three, four and five. And lift, and stretch. And one, and two... Agnes: Here you go. Gru: What is it? Agnes: Your ticket to the dance recital. You are coming, right? Gru: Of course, of course. I have pins and needles that I'm sitting on. Agnes: Pinkie promise? Gru: Oh, yes. My pinkie promises. All right. Our first customer is a man named Vector. Margo: But he's a V. You know, we're supposed to start with the A's. Then we go to the B's. Then we... Gru: Yes, yes! I went to kindergarten. I know how the alphabet works! I was just thinking that it might be nice to deliver Mr Vector's first. That is all. Almost over. It's almost over. Vector: Girls, welcome back to the fortress of Vector-tude! Do you have my cookies for me? Margo: Four boxes of mini-mints, two toffee totes, two caramel clumpies and fifteen boxes of coco-nutties. Vector: Exactly. I'd like to see somebody else order that many cookies. Not likely. Name one person who ordered more cookies than me. Margo: That'll be $52. Vector: Right. Seven, eight, nine... Tic Tacs! Where was I? Seven, eight, nine... Agnes: Why are you wearing pyjamas? Vector: These aren't pyjamas! This is a warm-up suit. Edith: What are you warming up for? Vector: Stuff. Agnes: What sort of stuff? Vector: Super-cool stuff you wouldn't understand. Agnes: Like sleeping? Vector: They are not pyjamas! Here you go, 52 big ones. Bye! Gru: Come on! Vector: What the...? Quiet down, fish. Down, boy!Gru: [laughs] We did it! Come on, girls, let's go! Margo: But what about the other people who ordered cookies? Gru: Life is full of disappointments... For some people. [chuckles ominously] Agnes: (Screams) Gru: Don't do that! Agnes: Super Silly Fun Land! Can we go? Please? Gru: No. Edith: But we've never been. And it's the funnest place on earth! Gru: "Don't care." Girls: Please? Please? We'll never ask for anything else, ever again! Pretty please? Please? Come on! Come on! Gru: "Light bulb." Edith: Come on! Gru: "Goodbye, have fun. [He began to leave. But a attendant of the roller coaster stopped him.]Carnival Ride Worker: Sorry, dude. They can't ride without an adult. Gru: What? [groans] [Soon Gru gets sick from the roller coaster ride.]Agnes: Oh, my gosh! Look at that fluffy unicorn! He's so fluffy, I'm gonna die! Margo: You've gotta let us play for it! Gru: No, no, no. Agnes: Come on! Gru: How much for the fluffy unicorn?Carnival Barker: Well, it is not for sale. But all you gotta do to win it is knock down that little spaceship there. It's easy! Agnes: Yay! Again! Margo: Wait! Edith: Come on. One more time! Agnes: Just one more. I accidentally closed my eyes. I hit it! I hit it! Edith: That was cool. Awww. Gru: Whoa, whoa, whoa. What was that? She hit that. I saw that with my own eyes.Carnival Barker: Hey, buddy, let me explain something to you. You see that little tin spaceship? You see how it's not knocked over? Do you know what that means, professor? It means you don't get the unicorn! Somebody's got a frowny face. Boo! Better luck next time! Gru: Okay, my turn. [Gru uses a fire gun and it blows up the whole booth.]Gru: "Knocked over!" Agnes: It's so fluffy! Yeah! Margo: That was

awesome! Edith: You blew up the whole thing! Agnes: Let's go. Let's try another game!Dr. Nefario: Gru, do you mind if I have a quick word? Gru: Okay, girls, go play. I got the shrink ray! Cotton candy! Dr. Nefario: We have 12 days until the moon is in optimum position. We can't afford any distractions! Gru: Get me Perkins. Sorry to bother you, Mr Perkins, but I figured that you would want to see this! Mr. Perkins: What? Well done, Gru. Rather impressive.Gru: Now, the rest of the plan is simple. I fly to the moon. I shrink the moon. I grab the moon. I sit on the toi-let. What? (girls start laughing) Sorry. Sorry! Could you excuse me for just one second? I told you not to touch my things. I told you, I told you. I've told you a thousand times. Margo: Hey, can we order pizza? Gru: Pizza? You just had lunch. Edith: Not now, for dinner. Gru: Dinner? Just... Fine, fine, fine, whatever. Just get back in there! Margo: Can we get stuffed crust? Agnes and Jerry: Stuffed crust!Gru: I'll stuff you all in the crust! Agnes: [giggles] You're funny! Gru: Just don't come out of that room again! All right. Sorry about that. Where were we? Mr. Perkins: You were sitting on the toilet. Gru: No, no, no! No, I'm sorry. It was a little attempt at humor. I know how much you like to laugh... [Mr. Perkins glares at him] Inside. Eh, now, I was saying... [the door suddenly opens] You don't seem terribly focused, Gru. Believe me, I am completely focused. Right? Edith: Hello! Mr. Perkins: What? Edith: That guy is huge! Agnes: Are we on TV? Mr. Perkins: What are those? Children?Gru: What are you doing? I told you to stay out of here! No, no, no! *Agnes: Freeze ray!Mr. Perkins: Mr Gru? Gru: Okay. As I was saying... Mr. Perkins: No need to continue. I've seen quite enough. Gru: But my plan... Mr. Perkins: Is a great plan. I love everything about your plan, except for one thing. You. Young Gru: Look, Mom, I drew a picture of me landing on the moon! Look, Mom, I made a prototype of the rocket out of macaroni! Look, Mom, I made a real rocket based on the macaroni prototype! Gru: I don't understand. Mr. Perkins: Let's face reality, Gru. You've been at this for far too long with far too little success. We're gonna put our faith, our money, into a... Well, a younger villain. Gru: But I... Mr. Perkins: It's over. Goodbye, Gru. Gru: Now, I know there have been some rumours going around that the bank is no longer funding us. Well, I am here to put those rumours to rest. They are true. In terms of money, we have no money. So how will we get to the moon? The answer is clear. We won't. We are doomed. Now would probably be a good time to look for other employment options. I know. I have fired up my resume as I suggest that all of you do, as well. What is it? Can't you see that I am in the middle of a pep talk? Yes! Yes, we will build our own rocket using this and whatever else we can find! Grab everything! Hit the junkyards! Take apart the cars! Who needs the bank? Let's go. Let's go! Mom! What are you doing here? Gru's Mom: And here he is in the bathtub. Look at his little buns. Gru: Mom. Not cool. Gru's Mom: And here, he's all dressed up in his Sunday best. Margo: He looks like a girl! Gru's Mom: Yes, he does. An ugly girl! Agnes: You're funny! Edith: Yes! Mine's shaped like a dead guy! Receptionist: Mr. Perkins, your son is here. Mr. Perkins: Send him in. Vector: Hey, Dad. You wanted to see me? Mr. Perkins: Yes, I did, Victor. - Vector: I am not Victor anymore. Victor was my nerd name. Now I am Vector! Mr. Perkins: Sit down. Do you know where the shrink ray is? Vector: Duh! Back at my place. Mr. Perkins: Oh, is that right? Back at your place? That's cool. I guess Gru must just have one that looks exactly like it! Vector: What the...?! Those girls sold me cookies! Mr. Perkins: Do you have any idea how lucrative this moon heist could be? I give you the opportunity of a lifetime, and you just blow it! Vector: No, I didn't. Mr. Perkins: Oh, really?Vector: You just wait until Gru sees my latest weapon. Squid-launcher! Oh, yeah! Man:

There's a squid on my face!Vector: Don't worry. The moon is as good as ours. Gru: Come on now, it's bedtime. Did you brush your teeth? Let me smell. Let me smell. You did not! Put on your PGs. Hold still. Okay, seriously! Seriously! This is beddie-bye time, right now. I'm not kidding around. I mean it! Edith: But we're not tired! Gru: Well, I am tired. Agnes: Will you read us a bedtime story? [pause] Gru: No. Agnes: Pretty please? Gru: The physical appearance of the "please" makes no difference. It is still no, so go to sleep. Edith: But we can't. We're all hyper! Margo: And without a bedtime story, we'll just keep getting up and bugging you. All night long. Gru: [sighs] Fine. All right, all right. Sleepy Kittens. Sleepy Kittens? What are these? Agnes: Puppets. You use them when you tell the story. Gru: Okay, let's get this over with. "Three little kittens loved to play, they had fun in the sun all day. "Then their mother came out and said, 'Time for kittens to go to bed."' Wow! This is garbage. You actually like this? Agnes: Keep reading! Edith: Come on! Gru: All right, all right, all right. "Three little kittens started to bawl, "'Mommy, we're not tired at all.' "Their mother smiled and said with a purr, "'Fine, but at least you should brush your fur."' Edith: Now you brush the fur. Gru: This is literature? A 2-year-old could have written this. All right. "Three little kittens with fur all brushed "said, 'We can't sleep, we feel too rushed! ' "Their mother replied, with a voice like silk, "'Fine, but at least you should drink your milk."' Agnes: Now make them drink the milk. Gru: I don't like this book. This is going on forever. "Three little kittens, with milk all gone, rubbed their eyes and started to yawn. "'We can't sleep, we can't even try.' Then their mother sang a lullaby. "'Good night kittens, close your eyes. Sleep in peace until you rise. "'Though while you sleep, we are apart, "'your mommy loves you with all her heart."' The end. Okay, good night. Agnes: Wait! Gru: What? Agnes: What about good night kisses? Gru: No, no. There will be no kissing or hugging or kissing. Margo: He is not gonna kiss us good night, Agnes. Agnes: I like him. He's nice.Edith: [turns off her light] But scary. Like Santa! Dr. Nefario: Only 48 hours till the launch, and all systems are go. Gru: About that, I was thinking that maybe we could move the date of the heist. Dr. Nefario: Please tell me this is not as a result of the girls' dance recital, is it? Gru: No, no, no! The recital? Don't... That's stupid! I just think it's kind of weird to do it on a Saturday. I was thinking, maybe a heist is a Tuesday thing, right? Dr. Nefario: Gru, you and I have been working on this for years. It's everything we've dreamed of. Your chance to make history, become the man who stole the moon! But these girls are becoming a major distraction! They need to go. If you don't do something about it, then I will. Gru: I understand. Dr. Nefario: Good. Minion: Butt. Butt. Butt. Gru: All right. Now, when we put our cups together, we will make the "clink" sound with our mouths. Ready? Edith? Gru: and Edith: Clink. Gru: There we go. And now we drink. And Agnes? Gru and Agnes: Clink. Gru: Very good! Excuse me, girls. Girls: Come on! Gru: Don't worry, I'll be back. Keep clinking. - Clink, clink. - Clink, clink.Gru: Miss Hattie, what are you doing here? Miss Hattie: I'm here for the girls. I received a call that you wanted to return them. [Gru gives her a quizzical look] And also, I did purchase a Spanish dictionary. [swats Gru's head with the dictionary] I didn't like what you said. Gru: But... I will get the girls ready. Agnes: Don't let her take us, Mr. Gru! Tell her you wanna keep us. Mrs. Hattie: All right, girls. Come on, let's go. Margo: Goodbye, Mr. Gru. Thanks for everything. Dr. Nefario: I did it for your own good. Come on, let's go get that moon. Gru: Right. What is this for? The recital? I am the greatest criminal mind of the century. I don't go to little girls' dance recitals! Dr. Nefario: Opening launch bay

doors. Commencing launch sequence. And we are good to go in T minus 10 seconds. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six... Vector: Oh, yeah! Gru: Nice work, Doctor. All systems go. Vector: Boo-ya! My flight suit. Oh, yeah! Once again, the mighty... Gru: I've got it! I've got the moon! I've got the moon. I can make it. Dr. Nefario: Wait a minute! Jerry: Kevin! Gru: Come on! Come on! Agnes: He's still not here. Margo: Why would he come? He gave us up. Agnes: But he pinkie promised! Teacher: Girls, girls, places. Edith: No, we can't start yet! We're still expecting someone. Agnes: Can we just wait a few more minutes? Teacher: All right. But just a few more minutes. Margo: He's not coming, guys. Dr. Nefario: Gru! Gru, can you hear me? Quick, we have to warn him, and fast!Gru: Okay, okay. There's the library. That's Third Street. The dance studio... There! There! There it is! Janitor: Sorry, buddy. Show's over.Gru: Over? Gru: Vector, open up! Vector: First give me the moon. Then we'll talk. Agnes: Mr. Gru! Vector: Zip it, Happy Meal. Gru: Now, the girls. Vector: Actually, I think I'll hold on to them a little while longer. Gru: No! Vector: Oh, yeah! Unpredictable! Gru: Listen close, you little punk. When I get in there, you are in for a world of pain! Vector: [laughs sarcastically] I'm really scared. Agnes: He is gonna kick your butt. Vector: What? He punched my shark! Dr. Nefario: There he is! Hang on, Gru. Oh, no! Gru: Vector has the girls. Go! Dr. Nefario: What happened to the ship? It's big again! Not as big as the moon is going to be! Gru: What? Dr. Nefario: The larger the mass of an object, the quicker the effects of the shrink ray wear off! I call it the Nefario Principle. I just came up with it now, actually. Gru: Oh, no! Margo: Did you see that? Girls: Vector! Help! Vector! Over here! Vector: Hey! What are you girls doing back there? Girls: The moon! Watch out! Vector: Ouch! Gru: Get as close in as you can. You got it. Margo: Mr Gru, up here! Agnes and Edith: Mr Gru! Gru: Okay, girls! Girls! You're going to have to jump. Edith: Jump? Are you insane? Gru: Don't worry, I will catch you. Margo: You gave us back! Gru: I know, I know. And it is the worst mistake I ever made. But you have to jump now. Margo: It'll be okay. Gru: Okay, girls. Margo: Jump now! Gru: Margo, I will catch you. And I will never let you go again. Vector: Not so fast! Gru: No! Margo: Let me go! Gru: Margo! I'm coming, Margo. Hang on! I got you.Vector: No! Oh, poop. News Reporter: This time, good triumphs, and the moon has been returned to its rightful place in the sky. But once again, law enforcement is baffled, leaving everyone to wonder, who is this mysterious hero? And what will he do next? Gru: Okay, girls. Time for bed. Edith: Come on! We want a story. Agnes: Three sleepy kittens! Gru: Oh, no! Sorry. That book was accidentally destroyed maliciously. Tonight we are going to read a new book. This one is called One Big Unicorn by... Who wrote this? Me! I wrote it. Look, it's a puppet book! Here, watch this. That's the horn! Agnes: This is gonna be the best book ever! Gru: Not to pat myself on the back, but, yes, it probably will be. Here we go. "One big unicorn, strong and free "thought he was happy as he could be. "Then three little kittens came around "and turned his whole life upside down." Edith: Hey, that one looks like me! Gru: No, what are you talking about? These are kittens! Any relation to persons living or dead is completely coincidental. "They made him laugh. "They made him cry. "He never should have said goodbye. "And now he knows he could never part "from those three little kittens "that changed his heart. "The end." Okay, all right. Good night. Margo: I love you. Gru: I love you, too. No, no! All right. Didn't I get you already? They're very good! Gru's Mom: I'm so proud of you, Son. You've turned out to be a great parent! Just like me. Maybe even better. Gru: No, I'm fine. Go ahead. No, no, no! THE END Hey, Carl! Hey. No, no, no. Me, me, me. John? No, no. Me, me, me. Oh,

poop. Oh, no! Stop! Stop! Hello, I am Gru. Back to work, back to work! Back to…

IS THIS THE ENTIRE FUCKING SCRIPT?

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bowieandqueen11 · 4 years

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Revelations/ Five Hargreeves Imagine

Request: Could you do an imagine for Five Hargreeves with a reader that is as snarky and sarcastic as him, and they bicker a lot, but they both like each other and just won’t admit it. And one night she has a panic or anxiety attack and he’s the only one she thinks of to go to. And there could be a confession to each other. I LOVE your stories your my favorite person to come and read from! Your just awesome!!

Thank you so much my dear @lizrobinson28 for sending this in, I’ve missed writing for Five! <3 This is an aged up imagine, where Five is around 18/9 and didn’t land in the Apocalypse!

Comments are much appreciated!

You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have gone to Griddys, seen your ex, shouldn’t have come out tonight at all. Agnes, of course, bless her heart, had tried to calm you down, but it was too late. You had made the wrong decision.

Waiting outside the donut shop, you wait for Klaus to come and pick you up. It was the least he could do, he had told you that morning, for letting him bunk over at your place for the last few months. Glancing down at your watch, you sigh. He’s late, as usual, probably off somewhere getting high or smoking blunts with any friends he can find out on the streets this late.

Struggling to catch your breath, the shivering cold of the night beginning to prick under your light jacket and pierce your skin like thousands of icicles, you do the only thing your mind can put together. The only place your thoughts can straggle together into one somewhat cohesive sense of directions. The sky is rolling blanket of cloud the colour of wet ash, and the ground its dank reflection. Each step becomes a prayer that he’s in while you walk.

The Umbrella Academy was the last place you wanted to be right now. The whole building, quite honestly, sent a chill down your spine, the stories Klaus had told you reminding something from out of your nightmares. Choosing instead to meet at Griddys, you had hoped you’d never have to set foot inside Sir Reginald Hargreeves’ halls again, or see some of the people that still lived inside. Yet something in your heart tugged towards Five’s window, as you hesitantly creep around to the side of the building near the bins. To be quite honest to yourself, the thought of him is the only thing stopping the coldness from chilling your bones, the only thing keeping your feet moving.Their hinges groan as you slightly push them out of the way, picking up a stone and trying to stop your hand from shaking as you stumble back up. Still trying to stifle down the beginnings of your panic attack, you pray your stupid best friend is in, and throw the stone at the window.

Finally, after what seems to be at least twenty minutes, his chipped window frame opens up, light from his amber desk lamp flickering out into the alleyway. His frown appears, a mop of raven dark hair falling over the edge until his wide eyes land on you.

‘What the hell do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy?’

‘W-will you just s... just shut up and let me in.’

His eyebrows furrow at the gasps you take to say your usual rebuttal, and he stands back as way of allowance. Climbing up the old, rickety ladder on the brick wall side of the building, you move towards the familiar glowing light and clamber in head first.

The bedroom was furnished on a meagre budget but if was full of a heartfelt warmth. The walls were still tarnished with childish wallpaper, leaning more towards yellow colour with age, with the single bed pushed up against the wall, a bed you had spent many nights pretending to annoy each other on. Although he would never admit it, as Five grabbed underneath your armpit and led you towards the bed, kicking his papers out of the way, you’re one of the only people he stills lets into his room.

‘You know, a call or something is always appreciated when you land head first into someone’s room. Especially this late at night.’

Placing your head between your knees, you barely feel his leg bump against yours as he sits down next to you. Clasping his hand together, he tries to stop his heart from fluttering against his breast as he frowns down at you.

‘Yeah, well, you can blame your brother for that.’

‘I don’t see him here, so I’m going to stick with blaming you.’

‘Look, if you didn’t want company, you didn’t have to let me in, so zip it Hargreeves.’

Five smirks, looking down at his twiddling thumbs to try and stop his cheeks from turning a hearty shade of beetroot.

‘Well, your company is one of the only one’s I actually enjoy.’

When Five stops talking, that’s when he knows there's a problem. He’s known you for nearly ten years now, and he knows you’re not capable of some sarcastic comment - that’s one of the things he likes most about you. Your fight, your passion, being one of the only people that can keep up and set him straight. The thing was, you couldn’t talk at that moment. Your words were crowded together and some felt like they were missing. Your sentences were fragmented and your thoughts seemed to jump from one thing to another.

It was when you started hyperventilating, that Five reached out to touch your shoulder, hand shaking against his will. Before he knew it, your fingers are white-knuckled, holding onto his school blazer and asking him if everything will be okay. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he tell you yes. He tells you over and over, stroking your back and trying to calm you down, until he grabs on your hand and pulls you back over to the window, doing the only thing his brain could think of doing as well. Somehow, he remembered, that when he needed to figure out some equations away from his family, the roof was always the quietest place.

It’s nice to sit out here with someone else. The roof peaks directly above his bedroom window, making a corner the two of you can curl into, your head resting against his cheek, smushing it slightly. His breath is warm as he gingerly wraps an arm around your waist, letting it sit hesitantly against your hip.The two of you, for a moment in time, are one. Two souls bound together, lost in the breeze that caresses your faces, and the starlight dancing in the sky. The coldness of the slate tile and it's dampness seeps through the thin polyester trousers, but he finds for once, he doesn’t care one little bit. He’s still murmuring to you, soft little nothings or embarrassing stories about Diego or Luther, but you’re glad for them.

‘Trust me, if I tell you the story about Klaus and the chocolate pudding, that will make you laugh.’

When your breathing finally starts to slow, you shut your eyes, trying to figure out how you ended up here, with your best friend, and also the most annoying person you know’s arm wrapped around your waist and the other tentatively brushing against your hair. It was the calmest, the softest you had ever seen him. He was a bit forward, a little intrusive, but in the end, it was the only way he had been taught how to care under this roof. The tile starts to become cold under Five’s fingertips, and so he shuffles closer to you a little, both of his arms enveloping you, comforting and warm. In seconds your body is moulded to his own, sharing his body heat as easily as he, you realise, shares your heart. Little did you know, as Five glanced down at you with scared eyes, that he was sharing the same little revelation.

‘Y/n, I think I have to tell you something.’

‘What is it, Five.’

Your gaze slid to the side as he pulled you tighter against his chest. His nose tickled your ear as you gasped slightly at the intensity of his grip. Feeling his lips softly graze your neck, gently, like the tickle of a feather, almost not at all, you feel your face heat but you don’t pull away. Instead, you evened your breathing, summoning enough courage to meet his twinkling gaze.

‘I think we both know. I think we have for a long time.’

‘I know, but I want you to say it.’

‘You always have to have the last word, don’t you?’, he says, laughing slightly, before bumping his chin against your forehead.

Looking up at the stars that burn infinitely over his head, he whispers,

‘I’m definitely in love with you, and for the first time in my life, I’m terrified.’

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