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aroundtheworldwithphillyfogg · 2 years

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December 8th: in which Verne is bored and compares indigenous to animals twice

The train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption, passing Fort Saunders, crossing Cheyne Pass, and reaching Evans Pass. The road here attained the highest elevation of the journey, eight thousand and ninety-two feet above the level of the sea. The travellers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by limitless plains, levelled by nature. A branch of the “grand trunk” led off southward to Denver, the capital of Colorado. The country round about is rich in gold and silver, and more than fifty thousand inhabitants are already settled there.

Thirteen hundred and eighty-two miles had been passed over from San Francisco, in three days and three nights; four days and nights more would probably bring them to New York. Phileas Fogg was not as yet behind-hand.

During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole Creek ran parallel with the road, marking the boundary between the territories of Wyoming and Colorado. They entered Nebraska at eleven, passed near Sedgwick, and touched at Julesburg, on the southern branch of the Platte River.

It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on the 23rd of October, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge. Two powerful locomotives, carrying nine cars of invited guests, amongst whom was Thomas C. Durant, vice-president of the road, stopped at this point; cheers were given, the Sioux and Pawnees performed an imitation Indian battle, fireworks were let off, and the first number of the Railway Pioneer was printed by a press brought on the train. Thus was celebrated the inauguration of this great railroad, a mighty instrument of progress and civilisation, thrown across the desert, and destined to link together cities and towns which do not yet exist. The whistle of the locomotive, more powerful than Amphion’s lyre, was about to bid them rise from American soil.

Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and three hundred and fifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed before reaching Omaha. The road followed the capricious windings of the southern branch of the Platte River, on its left bank. At nine the train stopped at the important town of North Platte, built between the two arms of the river, which rejoin each other around it and form a single artery, a large tributary, whose waters empty into the Missouri a little above Omaha.

The one hundred and first meridian was passed.

Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one—not even the dummy—complained of the length of the trip. Fix had begun by winning several guineas, which he seemed likely to lose; but he showed himself a not less eager whist-player than Mr. Fogg. During the morning, chance distinctly favoured that gentleman. Trumps and honours were showered upon his hands.

Once, having resolved on a bold stroke, he was on the point of playing a spade, when a voice behind him said, “I should play a diamond.”

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix raised their heads, and beheld Colonel Proctor.

Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognised each other at once.

“Ah! it’s you, is it, Englishman?” cried the colonel; “it’s you who are going to play a spade!”

“And who plays it,” replied Phileas Fogg coolly, throwing down the ten of spades.

“Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds,” replied Colonel Proctor, in an insolent tone.

He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just been played, adding, “You don’t understand anything about whist.”

“Perhaps I do, as well as another,” said Phileas Fogg, rising.

“You have only to try, son of John Bull,” replied the colonel.

Aouda turned pale, and her blood ran cold. She seized Mr. Fogg’s arm and gently pulled him back. Passepartout was ready to pounce upon the American, who was staring insolently at his opponent. But Fix got up, and, going to Colonel Proctor said, “You forget that it is I with whom you have to deal, sir; for it was I whom you not only insulted, but struck!”

“Mr. Fix,” said Mr. Fogg, “pardon me, but this affair is mine, and mine only. The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting that I should not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for it.”

“When and where you will,” replied the American, “and with whatever weapon you choose.”

Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the detective endeavour to make the quarrel his. Passepartout wished to throw the colonel out of the window, but a sign from his master checked him. Phileas Fogg left the car, and the American followed him upon the platform. “Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to his adversary, “I am in a great hurry to get back to Europe, and any delay whatever will be greatly to my disadvantage.”

“Well, what’s that to me?” replied Colonel Proctor.

“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg, very politely, “after our meeting at San Francisco, I determined to return to America and find you as soon as I had completed the business which called me to England.”

“Really!”

“Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?”

“Why not ten years hence?”

“I say six months,” returned Phileas Fogg; “and I shall be at the place of meeting promptly.”

“All this is an evasion,” cried Stamp Proctor. “Now or never!”

“Very good. You are going to New York?”

“No.”

“To Chicago?”

“No.”

“To Omaha?”

“What difference is it to you? Do you know Plum Creek?”

“No,” replied Mr. Fogg.

“It’s the next station. The train will be there in an hour, and will stop there ten minutes. In ten minutes several revolver-shots could be exchanged.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg. “I will stop at Plum Creek.”

“And I guess you’ll stay there too,” added the American insolently.

“Who knows?” replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly as usual. He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers were never to be feared, and begged Fix to be his second at the approaching duel, a request which the detective could not refuse. Mr. Fogg resumed the interrupted game with perfect calmness.

At eleven o’clock the locomotive’s whistle announced that they were approaching Plum Creek station. Mr. Fogg rose, and, followed by Fix, went out upon the platform. Passepartout accompanied him, carrying a pair of revolvers. Aouda remained in the car, as pale as death.

The door of the next car opened, and Colonel Proctor appeared on the platform, attended by a Yankee of his own stamp as his second. But just as the combatants were about to step from the train, the conductor hurried up, and shouted, “You can’t get off, gentlemen!”

“Why not?” asked the colonel.

“We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop.”

“But I am going to fight a duel with this gentleman.”

“I am sorry,” said the conductor; “but we shall be off at once. There’s the bell ringing now.”

The train started.

“I’m really very sorry, gentlemen,” said the conductor. “Under any other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige you. But, after all, as you have not had time to fight here, why not fight as we go along?”

“That wouldn’t be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman,” said the colonel, in a jeering tone.

“It would be perfectly so,” replied Phileas Fogg.

“Well, we are really in America,” thought Passepartout, “and the conductor is a gentleman of the first order!”

So muttering, he followed his master.

The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed through the cars to the rear of the train. The last car was only occupied by a dozen passengers, whom the conductor politely asked if they would not be so kind as to leave it vacant for a few moments, as two gentlemen had an affair of honour to settle. The passengers granted the request with alacrity, and straightway disappeared on the platform.

The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient for their purpose. The adversaries might march on each other in the aisle, and fire at their ease. Never was duel more easily arranged. Mr. Fogg and Colonel Proctor, each provided with two six-barrelled revolvers, entered the car. The seconds, remaining outside, shut them in. They were to begin firing at the first whistle of the locomotive. After an interval of two minutes, what remained of the two gentlemen would be taken from the car.

Nothing could be more simple. Indeed, it was all so simple that Fix and Passepartout felt their hearts beating as if they would crack. They were listening for the whistle agreed upon, when suddenly savage cries resounded in the air, accompanied by reports which certainly did not issue from the car where the duellists were. The reports continued in front and the whole length of the train. Cries of terror proceeded from the interior of the cars.

Colonel Proctor and Mr. Fogg, revolvers in hand, hastily quitted their prison, and rushed forward where the noise was most clamorous. They then perceived that the train was attacked by a band of Sioux.

This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more than once they had waylaid trains on the road. A hundred of them had, according to their habit, jumped upon the steps without stopping the train, with the ease of a clown mounting a horse at full gallop.

The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports, to which the passengers, who were almost all armed, responded by revolver-shots.

The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned the engineer and stoker with blows from their muskets. A Sioux chief, wishing to stop the train, but not knowing how to work the regulator, had opened wide instead of closing the steam-valve, and the locomotive was plunging forward with terrific velocity.

The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like enraged monkeys over the roofs, thrusting open the doors, and fighting hand to hand with the passengers. Penetrating the baggage-car, they pillaged it, throwing the trunks out of the train. The cries and shots were constant. The travellers defended themselves bravely; some of the cars were barricaded, and sustained a siege, like moving forts, carried along at a speed of a hundred miles an hour.

Aouda behaved courageously from the first. She defended herself like a true heroine with a revolver, which she shot through the broken windows whenever a savage made his appearance. Twenty Sioux had fallen mortally wounded to the ground, and the wheels crushed those who fell upon the rails as if they had been worms. Several passengers, shot or stunned, lay on the seats.

It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had lasted for ten minutes, and which would result in the triumph of the Sioux if the train was not stopped. Fort Kearney station, where there was a garrison, was only two miles distant; but, that once passed, the Sioux would be masters of the train between Fort Kearney and the station beyond.

The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot and fell. At the same moment he cried, “Unless the train is stopped in five minutes, we are lost!”

“It shall be stopped,” said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from the car.

“Stay, monsieur,” cried Passepartout; “I will go.”

Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a door unperceived by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the car; and while the struggle continued and the balls whizzed across each other over his head, he made use of his old acrobatic experience, and with amazing agility worked his way under the cars, holding on to the chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of the sashes, creeping from one car to another with marvellous skill, and thus gaining the forward end of the train.

There, suspended by one hand between the baggage-car and the tender, with the other he loosened the safety chains; but, owing to the traction, he would never have succeeded in unscrewing the yoking-bar, had not a violent concussion jolted this bar out. The train, now detached from the engine, remained a little behind, whilst the locomotive rushed forward with increased speed.

Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved for several minutes; but the brakes were worked and at last they stopped, less than a hundred feet from Kearney station.

The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the Sioux had not expected them, and decamped in a body before the train entirely stopped.

But when the passengers counted each other on the station platform several were found missing; among others the courageous Frenchman, whose devotion had just saved them.

Three passengers including Passepartout had disappeared. Had they been killed in the struggle? Were they taken prisoners by the Sioux? It was impossible to tell.

There were many wounded, but none mortally. Colonel Proctor was one of the most seriously hurt; he had fought bravely, and a ball had entered his groin. He was carried into the station with the other wounded passengers, to receive such attention as could be of avail.

Aouda was safe; and Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest of the fight, had not received a scratch. Fix was slightly wounded in the arm. But Passepartout was not to be found, and tears coursed down Aouda’s cheeks.

All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of which were stained with blood. From the tyres and spokes hung ragged pieces of flesh. As far as the eye could reach on the white plain behind, red trails were visible. The last Sioux were disappearing in the south, along the banks of Republican River.

Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless. He had a serious decision to make. Aouda, standing near him, looked at him without speaking, and he understood her look. If his servant was a prisoner, ought he not to risk everything to rescue him from the Indians? “I will find him, living or dead,” said he quietly to Aouda.

“Ah, Mr.—Mr. Fogg!” cried she, clasping his hands and covering them with tears.

“Living,” added Mr. Fogg, “if we do not lose a moment.”

Phileas Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself; he pronounced his own doom. The delay of a single day would make him lose the steamer at New York, and his bet would be certainly lost. But as he thought, “It is my duty,” he did not hesitate.

The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there. A hundred of his soldiers had placed themselves in a position to defend the station, should the Sioux attack it.

“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to the captain, “three passengers have disappeared.”

“Dead?” asked the captain.

“Dead or prisoners; that is the uncertainty which must be solved. Do you propose to pursue the Sioux?”

“That’s a serious thing to do, sir,” returned the captain. “These Indians may retreat beyond the Arkansas, and I cannot leave the fort unprotected.”

“The lives of three men are in question, sir,” said Phileas Fogg.

“Doubtless; but can I risk the lives of fifty men to save three?”

“I don’t know whether you can, sir; but you ought to do so.”

“Nobody here,” returned the other, “has a right to teach me my duty.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg, coldly. “I will go alone.”

“You, sir!” cried Fix, coming up; “you go alone in pursuit of the Indians?”

“Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish—him to whom every one present owes his life? I shall go.”

“No, sir, you shall not go alone,” cried the captain, touched in spite of himself. “No! you are a brave man. Thirty volunteers!” he added, turning to the soldiers.

The whole company started forward at once. The captain had only to pick his men. Thirty were chosen, and an old sergeant placed at their head.

“Thanks, captain,” said Mr. Fogg.

“Will you let me go with you?” asked Fix.

“Do as you please, sir. But if you wish to do me a favour, you will remain with Aouda. In case anything should happen to me—”

A sudden pallor overspread the detective’s face. Separate himself from the man whom he had so persistently followed step by step! Leave him to wander about in this desert! Fix gazed attentively at Mr. Fogg, and, despite his suspicions and of the struggle which was going on within him, he lowered his eyes before that calm and frank look.

“I will stay,” said he.

A few moments after, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman’s hand, and, having confided to her his precious carpet-bag, went off with the sergeant and his little squad. But, before going, he had said to the soldiers, “My friends, I will divide five thousand dollars among you, if we save the prisoners.”

It was then a little past noon.

Aouda retired to a waiting-room, and there she waited alone, thinking of the simple and noble generosity, the tranquil courage of Phileas Fogg. He had sacrificed his fortune, and was now risking his life, all without hesitation, from duty, in silence.

Fix did not have the same thoughts, and could scarcely conceal his agitation. He walked feverishly up and down the platform, but soon resumed his outward composure. He now saw the folly of which he had been guilty in letting Fogg go alone. What! This man, whom he had just followed around the world, was permitted now to separate himself from him! He began to accuse and abuse himself, and, as if he were director of police, administered to himself a sound lecture for his greenness.

“I have been an idiot!” he thought, “and this man will see it. He has gone, and won’t come back! But how is it that I, Fix, who have in my pocket a warrant for his arrest, have been so fascinated by him? Decidedly, I am nothing but an ass!”

So reasoned the detective, while the hours crept by all too slowly. He did not know what to do. Sometimes he was tempted to tell Aouda all; but he could not doubt how the young woman would receive his confidences. What course should he take? He thought of pursuing Fogg across the vast white plains; it did not seem impossible that he might overtake him. Footsteps were easily printed on the snow! But soon, under a new sheet, every imprint would be effaced.

Fix became discouraged. He felt a sort of insurmountable longing to abandon the game altogether. He could now leave Fort Kearney station, and pursue his journey homeward in peace.

Towards two o’clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing hard, long whistles were heard approaching from the east. A great shadow, preceded by a wild light, slowly advanced, appearing still larger through the mist, which gave it a fantastic aspect. No train was expected from the east, neither had there been time for the succour asked for by telegraph to arrive; the train from Omaha to San Francisco was not due till the next day. The mystery was soon explained.

The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening whistles, was that which, having been detached from the train, had continued its route with such terrific rapidity, carrying off the unconscious engineer and stoker. It had run several miles, when, the fire becoming low for want of fuel, the steam had slackened; and it had finally stopped an hour after, some twenty miles beyond Fort Kearney. Neither the engineer nor the stoker was dead, and, after remaining for some time in their swoon, had come to themselves. The train had then stopped. The engineer, when he found himself in the desert, and the locomotive without cars, understood what had happened. He could not imagine how the locomotive had become separated from the train; but he did not doubt that the train left behind was in distress.

He did not hesitate what to do. It would be prudent to continue on to Omaha, for it would be dangerous to return to the train, which the Indians might still be engaged in pillaging. Nevertheless, he began to rebuild the fire in the furnace; the pressure again mounted, and the locomotive returned, running backwards to Fort Kearney. This it was which was whistling in the mist.

The travellers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place at the head of the train. They could now continue the journey so terribly interrupted.

Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the station, and asked the conductor, “Are you going to start?”

“At once, madam.”

“But the prisoners, our unfortunate fellow-travellers—”

“I cannot interrupt the trip,” replied the conductor. “We are already three hours behind time.”

“And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?”

“To-morrow evening, madam.”

“To-morrow evening! But then it will be too late! We must wait—”

“It is impossible,” responded the conductor. “If you wish to go, please get in.”

“I will not go,” said Aouda.

Fix had heard this conversation. A little while before, when there was no prospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made up his mind to leave Fort Kearney; but now that the train was there, ready to start, and he had only to take his seat in the car, an irresistible influence held him back. The station platform burned his feet, and he could not stir. The conflict in his mind again began; anger and failure stifled him. He wished to struggle on to the end.

Meanwhile the passengers and some of the wounded, among them Colonel Proctor, whose injuries were serious, had taken their places in the train. The buzzing of the over-heated boiler was heard, and the steam was escaping from the valves. The engineer whistled, the train started, and soon disappeared, mingling its white smoke with the eddies of the densely falling snow.

The detective had remained behind.

Several hours passed. The weather was dismal, and it was very cold. Fix sat motionless on a bench in the station; he might have been thought asleep. Aouda, despite the storm, kept coming out of the waiting-room, going to the end of the platform, and peering through the tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mist which narrowed the horizon around her, and to hear, if possible, some welcome sound. She heard and saw nothing. Then she would return, chilled through, to issue out again after the lapse of a few moments, but always in vain.

Evening came, and the little band had not returned. Where could they be? Had they found the Indians, and were they having a conflict with them, or were they still wandering amid the mist? The commander of the fort was anxious, though he tried to conceal his apprehensions. As night approached, the snow fell less plentifully, but it became intensely cold. Absolute silence rested on the plains. Neither flight of bird nor passing of beast troubled the perfect calm.

#Around the world in 80 days #Jules Verne #around the world in 80 dailies

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jabbage · 1 year

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#Letters from Watson #lettersfromwatson

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lostwithoutyouherewriter · 2 years

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Sunrise: A Final Fight Ficlet

Inspired by “Guy and Cody,” artwork by Tei Lee, from the 2019 Street Fighter Pin-Up Special

Cody Travers lounged under the palm tree, shirtless and annoyed. “Alright, Guy, you mind telling me why you dragged my ass out here at the crack of dawn?”

As they watched the sun rise over paradise, the bushin-ryu master gave his longtime friend and sparring partner a look. It was a grim look, one that indicated he would abide no misconduct from the reckless mayor today. Unfortunately for Guy, such a look rarely dissuaded Cody from acting out.

“We must meditate before we train,” proclaimed Guy. “A mind at peace shall prepare you for any fight.”

Cody scoffed, flicking at the sand that clung to his striped swimsuit. “Sure, and I’ll bet that strawberry double dip cone is the favorite workout snack of master ninjas everywhere. Come on, man. Why’d you really bring me out here?”

Guy had half a mind to counter that remark, even as he took another slow lick of his ice cream. After all, it was his friend who suggested the summer treat as they made their way down to the beach. He never could resist the whims of Mr. Travers. It had been that way for so many years, ever since the day Cody had recruited the ninja to save his then-girlfriend from the clutches of Mad Gear. While he prided himself on his stoic approach to life, Guy could not help recalling the disappointment of that adventure.

After fighting alongside his friend through the dark alleys and industrial wasteland of Metro City, they had finally reached the end of their journey, rescuing Jessica Haggar from the notorious crimelord Belger. As the two partners walked side by side, their victory made even brighter by the neon sun rising over the skyline, Jessica called out to her beloved and stopped them in their tracks. It was then that Guy realized they must part ways, and as much as it pained him to do so, he kicked Cody Travers out of his life and into the arms of his sweetheart.

It was the hardest decision he had ever made, and he regretted it ever since.

Now, after years of turmoil and heartbreak, after watching his dearest friend fall into depression and incarceration, he finally had Cody back at his side... or rather, he stood beside Mr. Travers, mayor of Metro City, as the man's personal bodyguard. Every moment, every outing felt like they were making up for lost time, so Guy made a point of sticking to their routine. Sparring, meals, even paperwork—he didn’t want to miss a thing.

Of course, stuffing his face full of sweets wasn’t the kind of morning Guy had envisioned, which was why he was still chipping away while Cody had already scarfed down his Rocky Road Delight. He always envisioned something far more meaningful and, ultimately, impossible.

Still, it was a morning spent together, and perhaps that was all Guy could ask for.

“Total ghost town out here,” mused Cody, brushing a hand through his thick, blonde hair. “I get it. You wanted me all to yourself, didn’t ya?”

Guy shot his friend another look, far more surprised than usual. “What do you mean?”

Cody laughed. “Dude, it’s so obvious. You’re totally into me.”

“What? No. I... I don’t want...”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You don’t want a scandal, now that I’m a big shot mayor, but who gives a shit, man? Let’s just go with it. Be ourselves for once.”

Guy sat there, dumbfounded. It wasn’t often that Cody Travers could pull a fast one on him. It was almost too much to take in, and he suddenly felt the urge to meditate long and hard on the matter.

A finger swiped at his cone, stealing a dollop of strawberry and shaking him from his thoughts. “Might as well,” said Cody, arrogantly licking the pilfered ice cream from his fingers. “It’s gonna go to waste if you keep staring like that.”

He couldn’t believe it. Sure, Cody had always been a wild card, but this was ridiculous. He had always been a skirt chaser, going after all the blonde and buxom beauties. There was no way he was into men, especially not a serious martial artist like himself. No, it was just another prank. He was messing with Guy, like he always did.

“Do not play games with me,” he said, glaring at the ocean.

Cody lifted himself up, staring intently at Guy. “You think I’m joking? Why do you think I hired you as my bodyguard, man?”

“We fought well together. It was never anything more than that.”

“Oh yeah? Is that what you think?” asked Cody, bumping his fist hard against the ninja’s shoulder. “You never could stand up to me in a fair fight. Why else would I hire a good-looking amateur like you?”

“Your words are empty. I am the thirty-ninth master of bushin-ryu, and my skills on the field of battle will far surpass your undisciplined techniques any day.”

“Prove it.”

In a sudden flurry of sand and muscle, Cody Travers lunged at the ninja, catching his friend in a serious grapple. As they rolled down the dunes, locked in a tight embrace, it was a testament to Guy’s skill and focus that the strawberry cone remained mostly intact. When Cody managed to slip in a jab at his arm, however, even the summer treat could no longer maintain its composure. With the mayor pinned under his torso, Guy paused as his cold, milky ice cream dribbled down the man’s chest.

Cody gasped, startled by the touch of frozen dessert on his bare skin. The pink liquid trailed down his pecs, filling the spaces between all of those perfectly chiseled muscles. He looked up at Guy, more serious than the ninja master had ever seen him. “Go on. Don’t let it go to waste.”

Guy held down his partner’s arms, the anger flaring up again. “I told you. Don’t play games.”

“And I’m telling you this ain’t no game. Do it. Lick me clean, Guy.”

The ninja glanced from side to side. The beach was deserted, for now. “You have an image to uphold.”

“To hell with my image! I want you. Besides, you’re the only reason I became mayor in the first place.”

“What?”

“Look, Haggar might have influenced the top brass and sponsored my campaign, but I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere near that office without you. You always believed in me, reminded me that there was still good in my actions even though I was too damn stubborn to see it.”

Cody reached out to him, stroking the side of his face. Guy relaxed into this tender show of affection, and when he lowered himself on top of Cody, there was no mistaking it. He could feel the mayor growing hard beneath him, and soon, they were both rising to greet one another.

“I’m not playing, Guy,” said his partner, rubbing his sleek shorts against him in such a meaningful way. “So, are we gonna do this, or what?”

In one of those rare, undisciplined moments, the bushin-ryu master gave in to his desires. He leaned over, running his lips over this man’s fine chest, licking the strawberry flavor mixed with such delicious sweat. Cody heaved upward, no doubt appreciating the touch of Guy’s tongue as it circled his nipple.

The mayor gasped. “Keep doing that and I’m not gonna last much longer."

“Good, because I intend to finish this fight.”

The sun was climbing higher over the horizon now, and Guy knew their time together was short. It was always cut short by the forces of this world, but at least this morning belonged to them. Perhaps one day, they would no longer hide in the shadows, making love on a deserted beach. Perhaps they would reveal their love, walking side by side, defiant against the world. And then they would kiss under the neon glow of a rising sun without care or hesitation.

Wouldn’t that be paradise?

You can continue reading "Summer of the Warrior" ficlets on AO3 throughout July!

#final fight #street fighter #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #guy final fight #cody travers #hot and sweaty #romance #gay men #ice cream #smutty stories #coming out #beach #hunky guy #kiss kiss #hothunks

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homoose · 3 years

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Love Has a Learning Curve: Part V (x reader)

Summary: Y/N meets Diana, and it goes better than she expected. Y/N meets the team, and it doesn’t go completely as planned. Spencer’s spidey senses are tingling.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, fluff

Word Count: 5k

Warnings/Includes: alcohol/drinking, reader gets drunk on accident and is incredibly insecure and self-deprecating, I think that’s it

a/n: Thank you all for your patience and kind words in this really sad and weird moment of my life. This couple brings me so much joy and I’m absolutely dreading the hurt that’s coming in the next part. Sorry in advance 😭 But also, you can re-read Lighthouse and First of Many before the angst!!!!!! If you haven’t read those fics, I recommend it because there are some relevant connections. ♥️

Series Masterlist

———

Y/N felt his hands sneaking around her waist, rubbing low over her tummy, and then the press of his warm body along her back. She tilted her head to make room for him to settle his chin on her shoulder, smiling as his hands completed their journey and wrapped her up tight.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she answered, pressing their cheeks together.

“Are you almost done?”

“You made quite the mess, doctor.” It was the last weekend of Spencer’s sabbatical, and he had spent the afternoon cooking all of her favorite foods— a sort of preemptive gift for when he was back on the BAU’s unpredictable schedule. She’d taken on the responsibility of the dishes in return, which was no easy undertaking considering it seemed as though he’d used every single pot, pan, and utensil in her kitchen.

“If you’d let me help, you’d be done by now,” he complained, hugging her a little tighter and turning his head to drag his lips across her cheek.

“Let me just finish this pan, and then I’m all yours.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, then another to the spot behind her ear, and one more to her shoulder. Then he propped his chin once more and rubbed his thumbs where they rested against her sides.

She laughed a little as she ran the dish brush along the edges of the pan. “Comfy?”

He hummed his confirmation, and she could feel his smile as she lathered the inside of the pan, then rinsed it, and finally drained the sink. She dried her hands on the kitchen towel and turned to face him. He didn’t remove his hands, instead just let them glide over her hips and then settle on her lower back.

“Thank you for all of that.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the fridge, packed full of leftovers. “My mom will be so honored to know you made her pot pie.”

“I could eat it every day for the rest of my life and be very, very happy.” He dropped his gaze and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Speaking of moms, I… I was wondering if you, um— if you’d want to meet my mom?”

Her eyes went a little wide, and he took her silence as an answer, continuing, “You don’t have to. It—it’s too soon.”

She brought a hand up to cup his chin between her fingers, bringing his eyes back to hers. “I would love to meet your mom.”

…

Spencer shut off the engine of the Volvo, turning in his seat to face her. She tried to settle her nerves without also spurring his own anxiety, which had been quite obviously flaring all morning.

“I’ll check in and visit for a few minutes, try to gauge what kind of a day it is, and then I’ll text you to come in or not.” He ran a hand over his face. “I really should have had you drive separate, because if it’s not a good day I don’t want you to have to wait around while I visit with her, but she’s been having a lot of good days recently, and—”

“Honey.” She found his hands where they were clutching a little aggressively at his leg and covered them with her own, running her thumbs soothingly along his skin. “It’s okay. Either way— whether I meet her today or we wait for a better day— it’s okay.”

He closed his eyes and breathed a relieved sigh. “Have I told you how much I love you yet today?”

“Mm, I don’t think you have,” she smiled.

He brought her hands up to his mouth, kissing the back of each. “I love you so much. The most.”

“I beg to differ.” She leaned over the console and kissed his nose. “I definitely love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He shifted to meet her lips in a quick kiss. “I’ll text you in a few minutes?”

She gave him another kiss. “Sounds like a plan.”

Spencer dropped the keys into her hand and then climbed out of the car, closing the door and practically trotting toward the building. She would have laughed if it weren’t for the raging anxiety that was nearly suffocating her. She opened her door and put her legs out the side of the car, taking a deep breath and looking out over the parking lot.

Y/N knew that meeting Diana was a good thing. That Spencer wanted her to meet the most important woman in his life was a testament to their relationship. But the closer she got to it, the more she felt completely and totally out of place. What did she have to offer this woman’s remarkable son other than a mountain of student loan debt, an endless supply of expo markers, and an ever growing collection of toilet paper rolls?

She loved teaching kindergarten, and she was the first to defend the profession in most settings. But she was about to be in a room with two of the most brilliant minds on the planet, and she couldn’t help but wonder what she would possibly have to contribute. More than that, what would Diana Reid think of her son settling for someone so… ordinary?

Her phone buzzed with the incoming text message, and she bit back a sigh.

Spencer: It’s an incredible day. She’s already asking about you.

Y/N turned her face up to the clear blue sky, feeling the sun on her face and taking a deep breath. Then, she hoisted herself out of the vehicle, locking it and turning to walk toward the building. DC was hot and sticky this time of year, and she was grateful for the blast of air conditioning as she entered the facility.

The woman at the front desk— Suzanna, by her name tag— smiled kindly at her. “How can I help you?”

“I’m, um— I’m here to visit with Diana Reid.” Y/N began signing into the visitor’s log, smiling a little at Spencer’s hasty signature right above. “Her son is here, too— Spencer.”

“Ah, yes, you must be Y/N. Diana’s been so excited to meet you.” Suzanna chuckled lightly at her expression, and Y/N wondered just how much everyone already knew about her. “They’re just through there— in the sunroom.”

Y/N mumbled her thanks and turned in the direction of the sunroom, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from the skirt of her dress. She’d spent far too long getting ready this morning, including steaming the dress— a simple number with a black bodice and a skirt covered in books. It was her own personal nod to the incredible legacy that Diana had left— not only as a professor of classic literature, but also as the mother of the most incredible reader— and man— she’d ever met.

And now she had a moment of panic, wondering if maybe it was too on the nose, or if Diana would think it was silly and immature. She briefly considered turning and heading back out to the parking lot, but then Spencer appeared in the doorway to the sunroom, waving his thanks to Suzanna and then positively beaming at her . How could she deny him this?

He held out his hand to her, and she accepted it, instantly more at ease from the simple touch. He pulled her gently into the room, and there was Diana, perched on a floral sofa and looking quite elegant in a soft purple shawl.

She stood immediately, an absolutely radiant smile stretching across her face at the sight of them. Y/N watched as she clasped her hands in front of her and felt Spencer squeeze her hand at the same time.

“Y/N,” Diana smiled. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Y/N returned her smile. “It is such an honor to finally meet you, Mrs. Reid.”

She scoffed and waved her hand. “Just Diana, please.” Y/N saw the moment she noticed the dress, her eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “I can already tell you’re perfect for my son: the lover of books.” She motioned to the seating area. “Come, sit.”

The three of them sat, Spencer in the armchair just across from them as she and Diana sat on the sofa. Y/N folded her hands in her lap and tried to straighten her posture. Diana leaned back against the couch with a smile.

“I really have heard a lot about you,” she repeated, sliding her eyes over to a blushing Spencer. “Spencer tells me you teach kindergarten.” Y/N nodded, and Diana shook her head. “I deeply admire the patience and energy you must have for that age group.”

Y/N laughed a little. “They can certainly be a handful. I hear you were a teacher as well.” Her eyes went a little wide at her mistake. “A professor, I mean.”

“Oh, yes, yes— 15th century literature.” Diana tilted her head, considering Y/N with a knowing gaze. “But teaching is teaching, no matter the age. And where would any of us be without our kindergarten teachers? The ones who teach us the very foundations of learning. Who not only teach us to read and write, but also to inquire and investigate and discover.”

Y/N felt unexpected tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, and she had to take a moment to breathe before speaking. “Thank you for saying that. Sometimes people assume that kindergarten is all play doh and finger paint.”

“What’s that saying about making assumptions?” Diana pondered.

“Issac Asimov said, ‘Assumptions are our windows on the world,’” Spencer offered.

“Mm, thank you for that, honey, but the one I’m thinking of is from an episode of The Odd Couple , I believe,” Diana corrected, winking at Y/N. “When you assume, you make an ass of you and me.”

“Ah.” Spencer held back a laugh, and Y/N’s heart felt just a little bit lighter.

Diana smiled brightly at her. “Your students must absolutely adore you.” Diana gestured vaguely to Spencer before continuing, “Spencer loved his kindergarten teacher— hm, Mrs. Hudson, was it?”

Spencer nodded in confirmation. Diana looked back to Y/N with a slightly mischievous grin. “His report cards always came back with the note that he was ‘helping’ the other students just a little too much— always the professor, even at five years old.”

Spencer let out an indignant squeak, and Y/N laughed. “My parents got a very similar note.” She gave Spencer a smile. “We just couldn’t help it, apparently.”

“I’m sure it didn’t help that he’d been reading for three years before he was even enrolled,” Diana mused. “Did he tell you that he originally considered studying the classics?” Y/N shook her head. “Well. When you’ve already read and discussed all the course material, it seems a waste of money, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, I suppose it does,” Y/N agreed.

“Oh,” Diana tapped Y/N’s arm affectionately before gesturing back to Spencer, “and then there was the time that he became so fixated on the idea of becoming a magician that he somehow managed to trap a rabbit in our backyard.”

“ Mom ,” Spencer choked out.

“Oh my. No, no— please go on,” Y/N begged, waving her hand dismissively in Spencer’s direction and leaning closer to Diana. “I need all the embarrassing stories.”

Diana let out a lilting laugh. “The poor thing spent the better part of a weekend in a storage bin while Spencer tried to figure out the top hat trick.”

Y/N turned to him with a bewildered grin. “The storage bin was well ventilated!” he defended. “And she had plenty of food and water.”

“Did you figure out the trick?” Y/N asked.

“No,” he admitted sheepishly. “Mom found out about the rabbit before I could. And you need more than just the hat for the trick anyway.”

“We fed her one last carrot and then sent her back out to be with the rest of her bunny family, who must have been missing her dearly.” Diana winked at Y/N. “At least that’s what I had to tell six year old Spencer.”

“Rabbits are incredibly social and live in large colonies, so that actually was most likely the case,” Spencer supplied.

Diana smiled fondly at her son, and Y/N could practically feel the love radiating off of her. “Either way, I had one very sad little boy for the next week or so.” She turned back to Y/N. “We actually took a break from some of the more... advanced reading material so that I could read him The Tale of Peter Rabbit .”

“A classic in its own right,” Y/N said.

Diana nodded. “I’ve always said that children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and imaginative storytelling. We can learn a lot from Peter and Ferdinand.”

“I love Ferdinand!” Y/N gasped. “Gosh, that’s one of my all time favorite books. My mom read it to me when I was little, and I read it to my kids every year.”

Diana threw her hands up. “And that right there tells me everything I need to know about your teaching. Well— that and everything Spencer’s already gushed about, of course.”

The three of them spent the better part of the afternoon laughing and trading embarrassing childhood stories. Diana was even more lovely than she could have imagined, and Y/N was grateful to be so quickly accepted into the small but incredibly loving family unit.

Every so often, she would catch Spencer’s eyes on her— soft and content and practically sparkling— and her heart would leap into her throat. He was uncharacteristically quiet, letting Diana lead most of their side of the conversation, only chiming in here and there to offer context or defend himself in a particularly mortifying tale. Diana unwittingly (or perhaps purposefully) revealed just how much Spencer had spoken about her; she already knew about Y/N’s home, her family, and most of her interests.

Spencer may have been quiet, but he was also blushing profusely— caught in the act of being absolutely enamored with her. Y/N found that she didn’t know how to feel about that. She should be happy. She should be thrilled. And in some ways, she was. Being with Spencer had made her the happiest she’d been in a very long time— maybe ever.

It was the happiness that scared her.

She deserved happiness. That’s what Anita would tell her. But the way she felt with Spencer— comfortable, natural, easy — was the rising action. She was still anticipating the climax, the mountaintop, the apex of joy. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t help it. She’d learned that every mountain had a valley, and the falling action always dragged her against every jagged stone on the way down. She never failed to plummet from the heights into the depths of where she’d learned to live, quiet and lonely and a little bit bruised.

This knowledge didn't stop her from soaking up every second of the highs.

“I’m starting to get a little tired,” Diana admitted. She reached across the couch and patted Y/N’s hand, squeezing gently, and then she looked to Spencer. “I start to— forget when I’m tired.”

The smile that had become almost permanent that afternoon faltered slightly, but he nodded and checked his watch. “Four hours is pretty good.”

She hummed. “They’ve been longer as of late.”

Y/N watched as his nose twitched. “Does Dr. Kincaid think that’s good or bad?”

Diana gave him a sympathetic smile. “She’s not sure.”

It was quiet for a long moment, and then Y/N stood. “Let me give you a minute together.” Diana stood as well, and Y/N clasped her hands together. “I don’t think I can articulate how incredibly happy I am to have finally met you. And I— I definitely don’t have the words to properly thank you for raising such a wonderful man.”

Diana took her hands, squeezing them gently before pulling her into a hug. Y/N returned the embrace, and Diana murmured, “Thank you for loving him. Through the highs and the lows.”

Y/N blinked back tears for the second time that day, nodding into Diana’s shoulder and hugging her tightly.

With a final squeeze, Diana released her, and Y/N excused herself back out into the foyer. She signed out of the visitor log and waved to a grinning Suzanna, and then headed outside to catch her breath. She made it to the car, unlocking it and settling into the passenger seat before leaning over to turn it on and get the windows rolled down.

Spencer emerged from the building, his hands in his pockets. He quickly made his way to the vehicle, practically running across the parking lot and sliding behind the wheel. Before she could even say anything, he was surging across the console to grab her face in his hands and pull her into a kiss.

She steadied herself with her hands on his chest, clutching at his shirt and returning the unexpected passion with a slightly bewildered smile. When he was finished, he pulled back to lean their foreheads together. She caught her breath and asked, “What was that for?”

“She loved you, and I love you, and I’m so glad you got to meet her.”

She could hear the emotion in his voice, and she slid her arms around his back, pulling him into a hug. “Me, too.”

He leaned into her for a minute longer, breathing into her hair and pressing another kiss to her shoulder. Then he pulled back, smiling widely. “How would you feel about meeting the other family?”

…

Spencer drove them to meet up with the team at O’Keefe’s, a favorite haunt of theirs on the evenings when they’d wrapped a case at a reasonable hour. They headed up the sidewalk hand in hand, with Y/N leaning a little into his side. She was feeling slightly more at ease this time around thanks to the buffer of knowing Penelope, Luke, and JJ already.

Spencer held the door open, trailing in behind her with a hand on her waist. She spotted Penelope’s bright green dress immediately, and Spencer raised his hand in greeting. The group gave them a raucous cheer, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile.

Spencer kept his hand on the small of her back as they approached the table. He greeted the group and then turned to Y/N, gesturing around the table. He introduced her to Tara, Matt, and Emily, the three of whom greeted her with warm handshakes. Penelope was practically vibrating with excitement as she scooped her up into a hug.

“Gosh dang it, you are just so cute ,” Penelope squeaked. She pulled back from the hug to take stock of Y/N’s outfit. “The books, I love it. And the shoes!”

Y/N laughed, twirling her ankle to show off the pink t-strap heels. “I’m definitely going to regret them in about an hour. But they look cute anyway.”

Tara sidled up to the two of them, raising her glass in solidarity. “Here’s to cute shoes and pinched toes.” She took a sip of her scotch and then turned to Y/N. “What’s your poison?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Y/N insisted.

Tara waved her hand and gestured to Spencer. “You got grandpa to come out to the bar. You’re not paying for a single drink tonight.”

“I come out with you guys!” he squeaked indignantly.

A chorus of exasperated groans made their way around the group, followed by good-natured laughs. Tara raised a single eyebrow in Spencer’s direction, and then turned her attention back to Y/N. “Like I said, you won’t need your wallet tonight. What’ll it be?”

…

She did not, in fact, have to reach for her wallet at all that evening. Between the seven of them, Y/N’s cup was always full and her smile was nearly permanent. She heard endless stories about Spencer, complete with photo evidence— much to his dismay.

She learned that Tara had a doctorate in forensic psychology, and Emily had worked internationally for years becoming the Unit Chief of the BAU. Luke had been an Army Ranger and a member of the Fugitive Task Force, and Matt had traveled the globe with the International Response Team.

They were all incredibly kind, asking about her family and her work, listening with interest as she recounted growing up on a farm and her days spent teaching kindergarten. Despite their apparent interest, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little… silly. Stories of field trips and finger painting felt incredibly juvenile in comparison to the lived experiences of this remarkable team of people.

She did her best to steer the conversation back to the team whenever possible, which in some ways made the whole thing worse. But she managed to keep a smile for the evening, and she lost track of how many drinks made their way down the hatch. Luke ordered an assortment of snack foods for the group, and she gratefully accepted a few fries and a mozzarella stick to soak up some of the alcohol sloshing around in her stomach. At some point Spencer returned from the bar with an extra glass of water, sliding it her way with a knowing smile and a press of his lips to her cheek.

Eventually, Y/N had to excuse herself to the bathroom, patting Spencer’s arm and carefully navigating the dim bar. In the way that it so often did, the level of her intoxication made itself abundantly clear in the harsh lighting of the restroom. She stumbled out of the stall to wash her hands, using the countertop for balance and cursing under her breath.

She raised her head to analyze her appearance, groaning a little at the smudge of mascara under her eyes. As she swiped at the black rings, she considered that she had never quite figured out the ideal amount of alcohol— somehow always managing to get a little too drunk. And now she was too drunk in front of all of Spencer’s friends— his family.

Not only that, but for the second time today, she couldn’t help but feel so overwhelmingly ordinary . Surrounded by the team, all extraordinary and awe-inspiring in their own right, she was… plain, unaccomplished, boring . Spencer had called her remarkable; she felt anything but.

She closed her eyes against the tears that were threatening to spill over, remembering the last time she’d cried in a bar bathroom. She’d spent that evening wondering what was wrong with her… wondering if she deserved to have someone like Spencer at all.

“That’s just… the alcohol talking,” she reminded herself out loud into the empty bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. “Stop bein’ a weirdo.”

She pushed out of the bathroom and back into the bar, walking a little more cautiously as the alcohol started to course through her bloodstream. As she approached the group again, Spencer’s eyes found her immediately, and he reached for her, pulling her underneath his arm and into his side. He brought his mouth close to her ear and murmured, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just—” She slid her hand around his waist to keep herself steady. “Just more tipsy than I thought.”

He ran a soothing hand along her arm. “Do you wanna go home?”

She shook her head. “No, no— ‘M fine. ‘S nice to be with your friends.”

“You’re sure?” He squeezed her shoulder and lowered his voice. “Because honestly I’m kind of ready to go.”

She looked up from where her head was resting on his chest to see him smiling softly at her. “Whatever you want.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then turned back to the team and cleared his throat. “We’re gonna head out.”

Tara made a show of checking her watch. “10:45? I’m surprised you stayed this long, old man.”

…

Y/N’s eyes opened slowly and came into focus as Spencer’s car came to a stop outside her apartment. “Why’re we here?”

Spencer shut off the ignition and pulled out the key with a small smile. “I have a feeling you’re going to feel… less than stellar tomorrow. I thought you might like to wake up in your own bed. Hang on.”

He climbed out of the vehicle and closed the door before coming around to her side. She could feel the tears welling up as she fumbled with the buckle on her seatbelt. Everything was a little uncoordinated, and she felt absolutely ridiculous.

The door opened, and she carefully swung her legs out one at a time. Spencer stood slightly to the side, and she knew she should hurry up and let him get home, but she didn’t move to get up.

“Do you need help?”

She shook her head, and the action sent a tear rolling over her bottom lash line. She tried to swipe it away, but of course Spencer caught it.

“Hey— what’s wrong?” he asked gently.

She sniffed. “Are you just dropping me off?”

He cupped a hand underneath her chin to tilt her eyes upward, and his eyes were soft but concerned. “I was planning to come upstairs with you. Unless you don’t want me to.”

She shook her head. “No, I— you can come upstairs.”

“Okay.” Spencer cocked his head. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Y/N didn’t know where to begin. She was drowning in self-doubt— had been since about the one month mark. It seemed that every day there was something new to feel insecure about. The confidence she’d had on his doorstep in March was nowhere to be found.

That was too much for her slow moving brain to articulate at the moment, so she settled on: “They’re all so smart and funny and cool and interesting.”

“Okay…” he prompted.

“And I’m not,” she admitted.

His mouth turned quickly down. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “I’m just— a kindergarten teacher and I— I don’t have any cool skills or stories, and I don’t even have any muscles, and they’re all so pretty —”

“Hey, stop— stop.” Spencer squatted down to be eye-level with her. “First of all, you’re not ‘just’ anything. And you’re my favorite kindergarten teacher and the best one I know.” He grabbed her hand and laced their fingers together. “You have lots of cool skills and stories. And I don’t have any muscles either.”

She lifted her free hand to squeeze his bicep. “Yes, you do.”

“Muscles are overrated.” He smiled and brought a hand to her face, smoothing her hair back and then letting his fingers linger on her cheek. “And frankly, pretty is too mundane a term to describe you. I’d go with something like radiant, or ethereal, or incandescent.”

“You have to s‘plain your jokes to me,” she slurred, swiping her forearm under her nose.

“Not always. And besides, I have to explain my jokes to basically everyone,” he reminded her. He squeezed her hand. “But unlike everyone else, you let me explain them to you. And you actually listen to the explanation.” He shrugged. “I think I like that more than I like telling the joke.”

She was quiet then, eyes focused on a particularly interesting piece of loose gravel. She knew the list of her flaws was longer, but her brain couldn’t string them together in her current state.

Spencer shuffled closer and waited patiently until she finally looked at him before continuing.

“I love you. And not because of your job, or your cool stories, or your muscles,” he clarified. “I love you because you’re you. And, a little selfishly, because I love the person that I am when I’m with you. Okay?”

He smiled tentatively, and she let out a long breath. “Okay.”

He leaned forward and kissed her nose. “Now, come on. Let’s get inside.”

Spencer helped her navigate up the walkway and the three flights of stairs. Rather than rummage drunkenly through her purse, she passed it off and allowed him to retrieve her keys and unlock the door.

He supervised and provided balance support as she haphazardly swiped a makeup wipe over her face and fumbled into her pajamas. Finally he got her settled into bed with a bottle of water on the bedside table.

He pulled up the covers around her. “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” he murmured.

This was the moment that he’d realize what an absolute fool she was. He’d finally be alone in the bathroom, and it would become abundantly clear that she couldn’t drink responsibly, that she was boring, that she was obnoxious. She was sure of it, and her heart was fracturing into a thousand tiny pieces.

Spencer’s nervous laugh broke through her haze of insecurity. “Whoa, I thought we were done crying?” he joked. “Honey, c’mere.” Spencer pulled her up into his arms, rubbing a hand over her back.

She hadn’t realized she was making any noise until the sound vibrated against where Spencer had tucked her into his shoulder. As if she hadn’t been foolish enough tonight, now she was blubbering into his nice cardigan. Despite herself, she clung to him like he’d disappear like smoke between her fingers.

“I’m— I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed; it’s not funny,” he apologized. “Shhh, sweetheart . It— it’s okay, it’s okay .”

“I don’t want you to go.” Her voice was full of tears and cracked pathetically at the end.

“Okay, okay,” he agreed, a tinge of confusion in his voice. “I’m— the bathroom can wait, I suppose.”

That only made her cry harder, which poor Spencer responded to with even more aggressive soothing. He stroked over her hair and hugged her tight, shushing her and rocking her a little bit back and forth.

He was just so sweet . Kind and thoughtful and considerate— three things she hadn’t experienced from a significant other in a very long time. And it was exhausting waiting for the shift— for the moment that he realized she wasn’t worth the hassle. She was so tired of anticipating the end.

“I don’t want you to leave.” She hated how ridiculous she sounded, gasping and hiccuping.

Spencer froze for a full second and then squeezed her impossibly tighter. “I’m not. Baby, I’m not. I am right here.” He stroked a firm hand up and down her spine. “I need you to take some deep breaths with me. I’m gonna do it, too, okay?”

He led her in a series of deep inhalations and long exhales to the rhythm of his palm on her back. He murmured quietly to her, reassurances and promises and love. As her breathing came closer to normal, he pressed a soft kiss into her hair.

“I love you, Y/N. You know that, right? I wouldn’t change one single thing about you.” His hand on her back slowed to a stop, and she could practically hear him considering his next move. “I’m pretty sure Billy Joel wrote a song about it, actually. I love you just the way you are. ”

She couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling up in her throat at the tone deaf melody, and she felt him smile against her hair. “Okay?”

She wasn’t okay, but that wasn’t his fault. She sighed and sniffed. “Okay, off brand Billy Joel.”

“That’s not very nice,” he chuckled, pulling back to swipe his fingers over her damp cheeks.

“Yes, it is,” she insisted. “I love off brand. Just as good as the real thing, and with some fun quirks.”

“Somehow I don’t think he’d appreciate the comparison.” He smiled softly at her, and then his expression melted into something a little more serious. “But I mean it. There is no place I’d rather be, and no one else that I wanna be with. When I say that I love you the most, I mean that I love you more than I have ever loved anybody. Ever.”

He looked at her so earnestly that she wanted to cry all over again. How was he so wonderful, and gentle, and loving, and perfect ? He’d promised to do better on a chilly night in January and then spent every single day since then doing exactly that.

“But I actually do have to pee,” he admitted sheepishly. “Are you going to be okay here for a few minutes?”

He was speaking to her as he would a child, and she was utterly mortified. She waved her hand. “ God , I’m bein’ so annoying.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a little drunk. And a lot adorable.” He tapped gently on her nose. “But you’re also kind of sad, and I don’t want you to be sad.” He propped the pillow up behind her. “It’ll be the fastest pee ever— four minutes, tops. Most of it will be hand washing. Okay?"

“Okay,” she smiled, and she really meant it.

He hopped up and trotted to the bedroom door. “See you in four minutes. Have some water while you wait.”

She followed instructions, sipping carefully from the bottle he’d left for her. She also rummaged through the bedside drawer for the Advil, popping two and washing them down with another swig of water.

Spencer returned to the bedroom with his cardigan and pants already discarded. He quickly slipped out of his button up and into his pajamas before sliding in beside her and holding out his arms. “All right, c’mere.”

“Hmm?” she hummed.

“I’m demanding snuggles,” he clarified. “That’s the price you pay for my chauffeur and caretaker services.”

Another smile slowly turned up the corners of her mouth, and he returned it, pulling her against his side. “There she is.”

She allowed herself to settle and melt into his warmth, the soft fabric of his t-shirt under her cheek and his fingers brushing lightly over her arm. She willed herself to stop waiting for the shift. She begged herself to stop looking for the end.

Maybe this time there wouldn’t be an end. Maybe she could have an infinite middle with Spencer Reid. Maybe she had earned that.

———

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cononeillbreastingboobily · 3 years

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Do you have any predictions about Adam's story in season 4?

I wouldn't call them predictions per se, but wishes more like?

And so:

• Mr. Groff finally reaching out to Adam. I'm fully expecting a very cathartic scene in which both of them honestly say how they feel. Given that in s3 both of them have gained some psychological tools and have gone through massive inner transformations, I think they would definitely be able to meet somewhere in the middle - which won't be able to happen unless Michael actually apologizes to Adam for all of the years filled with neglect and abuse. But, if they do air out what hurts both of them the most, I'm honestly very hopeful: both of them are characters with hearts full of warmth, and if both of them make an effort, I think they will be able to carry on, healing their relationship with each other, treating each other more like equals.

• on that note, I'm really hoping for a scene in which Adam comes out to his parents, whether to both of them at once or separately. I just really need him to say the words "I'm bisexual" because let me tell you, we were robbed of that in s3.

• I want to see Adam being surrounded by friends: we know he's besties with Ola, and I would LOVE to see more scenes with the two of them. Also, the unlikely friendship with Ruby? Give me those two jilted faves watching KUWTK with their dogs napping between them. Perhaps the three of them together, even? That would be an interesting dynamic to see, I think. Especially given that the three of them are now exes of two twats that are best friends. Oh, imagine the gossip!

• this goes without saying, but I really want to see Adam get closer with Rahim. They were definitely setting something up in the latter half of s3, and this is a dynamic that I never anticipated I would absolutely adore. They would make a lot sense to me romantically - neither of them clicked with Eric the way they do with each other already, when it's still platonic. I think they would be one of the best relationships on the show if they did become canon and stayed together. Seeing how much they both value honesty and communication in their relationships, and how despite their best efforts the last relationship they were both in ended in disaster, I think they would be a very healthy couple, who would strike the balance of putting their own wellbeing first, while making sure that their partner feels adored completely and listened to at all times.

• on the topic of Rahim, I think that a big part of Adam's healing post-s3 would be connected to his expression of queerness. In his relationship with Eric, Adam was made to feel inadequate for many things, and that included the fact that Adam didn't express his own queerness the same way Eric does. Must I bring up the thing with going to the nightclub?

And so, think about it. Eric and Rahim are both gay, but the way they present is nothing alike. Eric opts for vibrant colours, makeup, nail polish, and Rahim doesn't. And that doesn't make him any less gay! I think that a big part of Adam's journey going forward would be learning that there is no "correct" way to be queer, to present yourself as such. So perhaps he would strike closer friendships with the queer characters he knows from school - Lily, Cal, perhaps even Anwar? All of them present themselves differently, have different queer identities, and are 100% valid in them. I think Adam would benefit A LOT from learning how many ways there are to be queer, and finding his own way to present himself, one that feels most authentic and comfortable to him.

• I'm hoping Adam would continue working hard when it comes to his schoolwork. It's clear to many people by now that the boy has a learning disability, so perhaps getting professionally diagnosed would be in the cards for him? I think it would be very important - it could result in him feeling not good enough again, but hopefully the wonderful people around him would make sure that he knows that he isn't a failure, that he's loved no matter what, that everyone has his back no matter what, and that a diagnosis like that isn't the end of the world.

• given his success during the dog training contest, I think he wouldn't drop the topic. I think he would try to enter more contests like that, having more and more support from the audience as more of his friends and loved ones would join in on cheering for him and Madam.

• and given that it's his last year of school, I do wonder what he's going to do once he graduates. I think that a wonderful career for him would be connected to dog training: perhaps he could teach classes on doggie training to dog owners who would come over with their own pups? I think he would be fantastic at something like that.

I think that's it? I think I've covered all of the bases I wanted to. But whew, that was A LOT of words. Didn't even realise I had so many in me, at least on this topic. Although, Adam is my favouritest, most specialest boy, I love him sooo dearly, so I do want to see him be happy and loved.

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earlgreytea68 · 3 years

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This post got me thinking about Pete and religion.

Fall Out Boy lyrics are full of Christian religious imagery. You kind of get the impression that Pete was raised in a household where he was just casually surrounded by all of this STUFF, that he absorbed and turned over in his lyrics. I mean, “Knock once for the Father, twice for the Son, three times for the Holy Ghost”... (West Coast Smoker).

He’s preoccupied by Heaven as an exclusive party. The idea shows up again and again. The Black Cards (I *love* the Black Cards stuff, I need to devote a whole thing to Black Cards at some point) have an entire song called “A Club Called Heaven.” On “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Fame,” “Heaven’s got a gate full of metal detectors.” On “Thriller,” he shows up with his plus one to the afterlife.

But Pete’s not entirely sure he’s getting into that party. In fact, usually Pete puts himself in Hell: He might be dancing in a club called Heaven, but he knows the doorman in Hell personally. The road to his house is paved with good intentions in Hum Hallelujah (which is, of course, traditionally what the road to Hell is paved with); “we’re just Hell’s neighbors” in America’s Suitehearts (if we’re not in Hell, we’re right next door, and that could be Heaven but I don’t think so). To get on St. Peter’s list, you need to lower your standards, says Rat-a-Tat. This is what Pete Wentz lyrics do, a simple sentence like that is LOADED with meaning. Because after all, his name is Peter, and it could be Peter Wentz’s list he’s referring to there, and it could also be the list to get into Heaven, and it could be that getting on Peter Wentz’s list doesn’t actually take that much (lower your standards, I’m never getting any better than this) and it could be that it’s St. Peter at the gates of Heaven who needs to lower *his* standards (again: I’m never getting any better than this).

(My absolute favorite Heaven/Hell lyric, though, is when Pete throws in Purgatory, that place in Catholicism where you go to do penance for your sins before you’re let into Heaven: On w.a.m.s. Pete writes, “My head’s in Heaven, my soles are in Hell, let’s meet in the Purgatory of my hips.” The glorious beauty of the sex innuendo being the *purgatory*: what you have to get yourself through to get to actual Heaven. ugh, Pete Wentz kills me sometimes with the way he uses words.)

He left his conscience pressed between the pages of the Bible in the drawer, but what did it ever do for him? So asks XO, and the gorgeously ambiguous phrasing of those lines KILLS ME. What’s the antecedent to the “it”? His conscience, sure, that’s what he’s thrown carelessly in the drawer. WITH THE BIBLE. Which could also be the “it”: What did that whole faith thing ever get me anyway?

But he wants it *so badly.* My second favorite lyric from Hum Hallelujah (a song that is nothing but excellent lyrics is “I love you in the same way there’s a chapel in a hospital.” There is SO MUCH packed into that line. SO, SO MUCH. And one of the things in there is the ambiguous irresistibility of faith: Sure, maybe the chapel is a last-ditch effort when nothing else works, or maybe that chapel is the ONLY thing that works and the only thing that matters in the whole place. I love you like that, like I don’t know if you’re all I’ve got left or you’re the only thing that matters, and I don’t know which it is but wow, either way, it would be great if you gave me a sign. Ugh that liiiiiine. “Have you ever wanted to disappear and join a monastery?” asks 20 Dollar Nose Bleed.

“I will never believe in anything again,” says (Coffee’s for Closers), but who really believes that? The temptation of belief creeps up in between the proclamation (”kick drum beating in my chest again,” “preach electric to a microphone stand”), undercutting it in the same way that its over-repetition in the song starts to ring hollow (Pete doth protest too much). The comfort that religious people get from their faith in God, Pete wants that. But he can’t get there. He’s always hedging his bets (“in case God doesn’t show” --Thnks fr th Mmrs). He’s always doubtful of God’s good intentions if He is there (”when the world ends, will God go down with it?” --What a Catch, Donnie).

So he tries to find substitutes for this faith he doesn’t have. “My words are my faith,” says Hum Hallelujah, but then, immediately afterward, “To hell with our good name,” so that’s how much actual trust he thinks you should place in that. “We’re a bull and your ears are a china shop.” Look at what a mess my words can make in there if you let them in; that’s what faith does to you, buddy. His gospel is the gospel of giving up (Arms Race). “Follow the disorganized religion of my head,” says West Coast Smoker. “I can work a miracle,” boasts Uma Thurman. “I’m the holy water you have been without,” says Fourth of July.

But he’s not really what he wants to believe in. “We’re saints just swimming in our sins,” Twin Skeleton’s reminds everyone. “If we pray to the Lord,” goes the outro on w.a.m.s., “does he sing on a stage?” Maybe rock and roll is what he should be believing in? “I’m the last damn kid still kicking who still believes,” claims Save Rock and Roll. “I will defend the faith, going down swinging.”

All of which brings us to MANIA. Religion, faith, belief is ALL OVER MANIA. In fact, the entire album is constructed as a journey toward finding the thing you believe in, the thing you have faith in, and finally settling in to cling tight to it. The first song on the album, Stay Frosty, Royal Milk Tea, is struggling with loss of things to believe in: “All my childhood heroes have fallen off or died.” (Champion later has the same theme: “I’m young enough to still believe, but young enough not to know what to believe in.” The most explicit Pete has ever been about his journey toward faith.) But then, in the second song, Last of the Real Ones, the lyrics have found someone to revolve around, someone to be with forever: “the ultra-kind of love,” that ultimate faith. But it’s not quite there yet. There’s doubt in there. “Tell me I’m the only one even if it’s not true.” “There’s been a million before me.” The bridge is expert Fall-Out-Boy song ambiguity. “I’m done with having dreams, the thing that I believe / you drain the fear from me.” Is that “I believe that you drain the fear from me”? Or is that “I’m done with the thing that I believe”? The song’s phrasing lets it be both at once, both a proclamation of faith and a proclamation of doubt, all at the same time.

But things get better. We eventually get to “Church.” An entire song where the religious imagery is pitched toward love (or blowjobs, like, same thing, maybe, for Pete Wentz). “If YOU were church, I’d get on my knees, confess my love, I’d know where to be, my sanctuary, you’re holy to me,” is the refrain of the whole song. It can’t get any clearer than that. Pete Wentz has found what he wants to believe in, and it’s the YOU (whoever that might be ahem just saying that in “Sunshine Riptide,” the she says “I love you ‘til I don’t,” while the You is the “truest feeling yet”). The other enduring theme in MANIA is fakeness and pretend: fake tears, fake friends, people you’re pretending with and around. That theme shows up in Church, too: “I’ve got a few more fake friends and it’s getting hard to know what’s real.” But in Church the proclamation of faith is in the chorus, which means that no matter how anxious Pete gets himself in the lyrics, he resolves back to the central belief: I’ve got you, I know where I should be. YOU’RE what’s real, right here, forget everyone else.

AND THEN we get Heaven’s Gate. Which revisits Pete’s favorite idea that Heaven is a party he’s going to have to try to crash. But here the song is all about how he’s no longer aimlessly looking for something to believe in; he’s found it: “I’m a missile that’s guided to you.” Maybe he’s gotten it wrong, that he’s chosen the You as his thing to believe in, that the only thing he wants is Your love, but if he’s gotten it wrong, he’s got faith the You is going to get it right and give him the boost he needs into Heaven. “Honey, please come through” and take me along with Your awesomeness, because I’ve decided it’s You I’m going to follow, Your dreams I’m going to make come true, and I’m not going to try to detox from You anymore, I’m just going to go all-in on this whole thing, and in the end, if I don’t make it on the list, will You slip me a wristband?

The album closes out with Young and Menace, with “I’ve lived so much life I think that God is gonna have to kill me twice,” which is such a beautiful bookend to “I read about the afterlife but I never really lived” in Saturday, like, ugh, that always kills me, look how far Pete Wentz has come, and then finally into Bishop’s Knife Trick: “I’m yours, ‘til the earth starts to crumble and the heavens roll away.”

Let’s go back to the places that we never should have left.

Idk, maybe you could read this as: Pete Wentz finally found something to believe in, and it ended up being the person who hasn’t left his side in 20 years, the person he’s never had to pretend with, the person who’s been there through all the fake friends, the person who’s golden and amazing and DEFINITELY going to get it right when Pete doesn’t. I mean, maybe you could read it this way.

#long post #peterick #pete wentz #fall out boy #fob

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makeste · 4 years

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BnHA Chapter 297: We’re Bustin’ Outta This Joint

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi did his best to undo all of the good vibes from the Girl Power arc by killing off Midnight. It sucks and I still don’t like it, but it is what it is. Unfortunately, Not Killing Off Your One Female Teacher Character With Any Character Development was worth 30% of his grade for the semester, so it brought his average down all the way to a C-, and so he and his report card will just have to live with that. Meanwhile Ochako did some rescuing, and the other U.A. kids lay around unconscious and/or traumatized. The chapter ended with an abrupt cut to Tartarus, where AFO is apparently just chilling and waiting for the Nearly High Ends to come bust him free. What kind of a cliffhanger is that to leave your fans hanging on for three whole weeks. Who’s suffering more here, the characters or the readers.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “okay I know you all want to know what happens to Deku and Shouto and the rest, but have you considered finding out what happens to Overhaul and Muscular and Moonfish and New Girl Character instead?” Fandom is all, “you had us at New Girl Character.” Seiji’s dad is all, “I’m just going to say a bunch of stuff to help make sure none of the readers feel conflicted about cheering on a bunch of mass murderers escaping from prison.” Tomura is all, “dammit AFO why are you still here.” AFO is all, “shhh, Tomura, go back to sleep.” Tomura is all, “wtf but you’re literally hijacking my body and continuing to shred it to bits while we break into BnHA Alcatraz to recruit your own personal Suicide Squad.” AFO is all, “:).” Real!AFO is all, “HERE I AM, EVERYONE, SORRY TO KEEP YOU WAITING.” And then the chapter ends. Geez.

oh shit lol it’s a whole big fucking page all about Tartarus

my very first thought was “that’s a long-ass fucking bridge”, and then I went to go google “longest bridges”, and Wikipedia was all “son there are literally a hundred and fifty bridges in the real world longer than 5km, and the longest one is actually 165km”, and I was all “oh shit I really don’t know jack shit about bridges.” then I looked at the list for a few more minutes and realized that the super-long bridges were all built over land, and that the longest bridge over water is only 38km. which is way more reasonable, but also still really fucking long though?? ngl I would freak the fuck out on that bridge. what does any of this have to do with Tartarus you ask?? absolutely nothing, I literally forgot I was reading a chapter for a sec lol uh

anyway, my parting thought on the bridge is that it kind of defeats the whole purpose of having a giant island fortress prison, but whatever. moving on

and the six levels thing is straight out of One Piece lol. something tells me BnHA’s prison break arc isn’t going to be quite as fun. hmm

so now we’re cutting to “the Bronze Gate”, which is the main entrance off of the bridge, and some goat-looking motherfucker is out here trying to become my new favorite character. bro

SON OF A BITCH WHAT’S WITH THE BULLETS FLYING IN THE BACKGROUND. DON’T TELL ME THEY’RE SHOOTING AT GYGES. THEY CAN’T KILL OFF MY FRESHEST HOMIE GYGES. SURELY THEY WOULDN’T

ooh and now, giant robots!

giant robots with machine guns. “I’m very sorry I killed off Midnight, makeste” you know what, fuck you Horikoshi. thinking you can buy my affections back so easily

does Gyges have six arms??? look how fucking calm he is announcing the code red security lockdown, holy shit. GYGES

NOOOO

NO NOT BRIAREUS. THIS DAY EXACTS A HEAVY TOLL

YO, WHAT

he came there himself?? so much for making the Noumus do his dirty work. and based on the speech bubble shape and font, this is still AFO talking

uh oh what’s happening

is he using Decay or is his arm just sort of crumbling to pieces because he hasn’t had time to heal up yet? if it’s the former this prison break is going to set a record for shortest arc yet isn’t it

now we’re cutting to B10 which is apparently the lowest level. but do they mean lowest as in the least security, or lowest as in the deepest underground, a.k.a. the most security? idk it’s confusing and I think they should be more specific. is it B like in basement?? are there six levels or ten?? stupid Tartarus

anyway so the guards are talking about how Gigantomachia is scheduled to arrive tomorrow morning. heh. will there even be a Tartarus tomorrow morning

(ETA: WELL, UH.)

wow they’re talking about just killing him outright. damn

I kinda feel like “prison guard” is one of those jobs that just sort of naturally attracts shitty people. anyways yeah, Seiji your dad is a real piece of work

and he’s even doubling down on it after the other guy repeatedly keeps trying to hush him up. dude we get it, you’re an asshole

ooh and now we’re getting an interesting look at the various prisoners, some of whom look suspiciously familiar!

for starters, that’s definitely Moonfish in the upper left corner, I’m like 99% sure. not quite clear who that is across from him in the upper right, but it’s been a hot minute since we saw Muscular, so maybe?

and could that be Overhaul in the panel beneath him?? they’re not showing his face so I assume it’s someone we’d recognize, and he’s the only currently-incarcerated villain with that haircut as far as I can recall. though it seems weird that he’s not restrained more given his quirk. I thought Horikoshi mentioned in Ultra Analysis that he’d gotten it back somehow. eh well we will wait for answers

I don’t recognize the person to his left either (though she has an oddly familiar look to her?). but the person on the bottom right, next to Kurogiri... is it Stain?? the hair and body language are sure giving off Stain vibes. if someone had told the me from two years ago that I’d actually be excited to see Stain again I would have said you were full of shit. and yet here we are. these sure are interesting times

anyway so now the Code Red intruder alarm is blaring. and I gotta say, that one scene sure was effective at killing any sympathy I might have been inclined to feel for these guards lol. bring on the imminent massacre

“what horrible timing” lol yes. it’s almost as if they planned it that way

uh oh

is he omae wa shindeiruing. watch your six, Mr. Prison Guard

oh shit

WHAT DID I SAY. WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY. but nooo, you all were all, “but a bridge is more convenient!” VERY WELL THEN, LIE IN THE BED THAT YOU HAVE MADE

anyway so it’s the High Ends lol. I mean we already knew it was them. let’s just get on with it

omfg Tomura ARE YOU RIDING ONE

WHAT ARE YOU, A NAZGUL. WHY IS THIS MY FAVORITE THING

and it looks like it actually is Tomura again, too (as opposed to AFOmura)

-- is he using Decay on himself?? is that what it is?? or no wait, is this just more of the weird side effect shit that’s been happening since he Awakened. actually yeah never mind that’s clearly what it is

y’all this man is out here having a full blown argument with himself

so this is equal parts compelling and hilarious to me right now lol. like I feel so bad for Tomura, but I also lowkey want to see how far this escalates. like do you think he’d go as far as to punch himself in the face. where will this journey lead us

fucking look at this shit

other people have already mentioned this, but with this scene especially it makes me really curious how they’re going to show this in the anime. will it be AFO’s voice coming out of Tomura’s mouth? or Tomura’s voice using AFO’s speech patterns? more importantly, will it be cool and dramatic, or will it actually wind up being hilarious? or both?? never count out both

also he’s looking pretty good there in that bottom panel with his one eye just barely visible. that doesn’t have anything to do with anything, but here I am, pointing it out

also also, lol at Tomura being all, “the fuck do you mean, ‘rest’, you’re the one that dragged my body out here to raid a fucking prison,” and AFO being all, “oh yeah, lol, true true, but I meant rest after that.” yes, this man clearly has nothing but the purest intentions, Tomura. trustworthy af

this fucking guy. Tomura is your bullshit radar finally operational yet?? can you see yet that it was always his intention to use you right from the very start?? oh man I am starting to get fidgety now listening to this

so Tomura’s saying he doesn’t just want to be used as a chess piece. and AFO is all, “well okay but what if it’s a VERY NICE AND IMPORTANT chess piece.” bro DID HE STUTTER

-- AHH BUT NEVER MIND THAT, HERE IT IS, THIS IS WHERE THE FUN STARTS OMG

GO ON AND ACQUIRE THEM THEN! omg. why am I so fucking excited. it seriously makes no sense. like seriously, ‘hooray, our old buddies, Overhaul and Stain!!’ -- come again now?? who is this person that I have become

meanwhile AFO is making all this fuss and I really don’t understand it though

why would you need to plow directly through the building. why can’t you just use doors like a normal person. it’s not like they can lock you out, like hello, you can literally turn anything you touch into dust, what’s with all the melodrama

anyway so he’s apparently hitting the prison with some sort of EMP attack now and shutting down all their systems

omg the suspense is killing me. this is going to be so badass once it’s animated, but right now all I keep thinking is “YES, GREAT, CAN WE PLEASE JUST MOVE IT ALONG”

the doors are opening ahhhhhhh come on come on come on let’s go let’s get to the excitement already

now the guards are running over to try and regain control. but, like

yeah that’s pretty much how I’m expecting the rest of this to go basically

so now they’re shooting at the dust cloud lol. well if there’s one thing movies have taught me, it’s that bad guys who wait inside clouds of dust while panicked cops blindly rain bullets at them until they run out of ammo are basically invincible lol. soooooo

OHHHHH SHIT

AHAHAHAHAHAHA. THEY ARE SO FUCKED LOL, SHIT

YEP, AND HERE’S ANOTHER ONE

is this the first time we’ve seen Moonfish’s face? I feel like we might have caught a glimpse of it before on an omake page or something. either way, it wasn’t anything I actually needed to see again. thanks...?? I guess??

okay but seriously, are we supposed to actually know who this badass lady is?? like I don’t know her but I feel like I know her, you feel?

(ETA: lol there are already like 60 different theories about how she’s related to every single character in the series. will be interesting to see if anything comes of this. although we did just get three “this villain was secretly related to [insert character(s) here] all along” reveals just in the last arc, so idk, it might be better if we pass on it this time lol.)

girl who are you. please stick around. for the love of god don’t let this man kill you off too

????

wait so is this Overhaul? boy sure has seen better days huh. but the floppy sleeves... yeah, it’s gotta be him

anyway so then the only ones missing are Stain and Kurogiri, yes?? omg. and one page left to go

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO CONVINCE ME HE COULDN’T HAVE DONE THIS SHIT RIGHT FROM THE VERY BEGINNING. FUCKING TIME-BIDING DRAMA QUEEN

AND HE’S JUST FLOATING HIS LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM ALONG BEHIND HIM SOB. THIS FUCKING GUY

AND IS HE JUST ABSENTMINDEDLY DRAGGING SOME POOR SCHLUB’S CORPSE ALONG BESIDE HIM LIKE A SLEEPY TODDLER CARRYING THEIR TEDDY BEAR. I FUCKING CAN’T. REST IN PEACE, FRIEND. GIVE MY REGARDS TO GOOD OLD BRIAREUS

so that’s it! and we still don’t have any idea what AFO is actually planning to do now, after all of that. are they going to merge bodies?? or is he going to try to switch with him?? either way Tomura’s body has to be part of the plan somehow since he keeps making so much of a fuss over it. flkhglkhlk. dammit I need answers lol

#bnha 297 #shigaraki tomura #all for one #overhaul #muscular #moonfish #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #horikoshi where is gyges!!#your silence is defeaning #first midnight and now this #I am beside myself #r.i.p.

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yes-i-am-happyaspie · 3 years

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How about a little bonus @sicktember Mini-fic?

This one is solely based on something that is mentioned in the fic 'Loosen Up' by @jenniboo311 AND to make it better she helped me write it! (not to mention convinced me to actually post it) Some of the most amusing parts of this were her idea and I love her for it.

I call this one 'A Crappy Situation' and it's 993 words of Peter questioning his eating choices. It's hurt/comfort in the most ridiculous and humorous way possible.

Summary: Against Tony’s advice, Peter scarfs down a questionable looking hot dog directly before heading out on an impromptu mission. It turns out he should have taken that advice. Yet, under no uncertain terms does he want to admit the man was right. Unless he absolutely has to. Sicktember prompt: Food Poisoning

Warning for mentions of diarrhea/stomach upset and illness. Also *read in Cap's voice* Language.

[Full Fic Below the Cut]

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Tony asked while suspiciously eyeing the hot dog clutched in Peter’s greedy hands. Their dinner plans had been interrupted by a call to assemble. Though, apparently his protege, who was determined to never miss a meal, had accosted a street vendor nearby. “I’m not sure street meat is the wisest choice before-”

“It’ll be fine,” Peter interrupted with a shrug, then he inspected the hot dog for a generous three seconds before devouring it in an animalistic fashion that made his mentor cringe.

However, an hour later, after the impromptu mission had wrapped up and Peter was clinging to Iron Man’s back, it was not fine. His stomach had started gurgling unhappily towards the beginning of the fight and had since progressed to something more painful. And undeniably embarrassing.

He knew he needed to say something. Something like, ‘Hey, Mr. Stark. I’m in desperate need of a bathroom, do you think we could take a quick break?’ or ‘Excuse me. Would you mind landing at the next possible gas station?’ But something was stopping him. Mostly his pride. He could practically hear his mentor’s saying, ‘I told you so,’ and really wanted to avoid bringing that into fruition. Then his insides twisted with such ferocity that he had no other choice but to speak up.

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” he began, but that's where the pre-planned speech ended. Because the urgent cries coming from his intestines had somehow managed to wipe all manner of professionalism and eloquence from his brain. Thus the words “I’m about to shit my pants!” flew out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“What?” Tony curtly replied, taken aback by the abruptness of the comment.

“We have to Land! Bathroom. Bathroom now!” Peter squawked, all sense of self-respect having gone completely out the window. “Put me down. Put me down. Put me down!”

As Peter began to twist and turn on his back, Tony had to readjust his pitch to counter the movement and keep himself steady. “Alright, alright! But you’ve got to be still!” he shouted belatedly processing the actual request.

“I can’t!” Peter shot back between a few stuttered breaths, his gut was growing angrier by the second.

‘Don’t crap on your childhood hero, Peter,’ he thought to himself as he frantically tensed every muscle in his body. ‘You'll never recover.’

“Do you want me to drop you?!” Tony questioned, once again adapting his torque and using the flight stabilizers to prevent them from taking a sudden nose dive. While he was well aware that Spider-Man could stick to damn near anything, he couldn't stop picturing him plummeting to the ground.

“Do you want me to shit on you?” Peter shouted, then abruptly realized that was not a sentence he ever thought he'd say to anyone, let alone Tony Stark. Hysterically, he reflected on what his life had become.

Tony sped up and gritted his teeth. “You better not,” he grumbled under his breath. That was not a situation he wanted to have to explain to anyone. Ever.

“Then shut up and land, already!” Peter screamed, knowing he would likely regret it later. But for the time being, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had much more urgent things to dwell on. Like, not crapping in a multi-million dollar suit.

Had it not been for the second-hand anxiety, Tony would have felt the need to berate the kid for telling him to shut up. But he figured they could circle back around to that later. When there weren’t any unpleasant threats looming over him.

After spotting a Seven-Eleven on the corner, he started their descent, half-expecting Peter to take off via web once they'd reached a reasonable altitude. However, the kid seemed to be more focused on trying to strangle him through the armor than anything else. “Pete, you’ve gotta ease up. This armor isn’t impervious to your super-strength, and I’m mortal.”

“I can’t ease up. I’m terrified to unclench anything,” Peter whimpered, the pressure was building and he was starting to fear for the worst. Although, he did make an effort to reposition his arms so that he wasn’t in danger of inadvertently murdering his famous, superhero boss-slash-friend-slash-father figure. Whatever. He didn’t actually have the capacity to try and put a label on their relationship at the moment.

As Peter adjusted his grasp, Tony sucked in a sharp breath. “I’ll take those consequences over pending death, if you don’t mind,” he coughed, then landed directly in front of the convenience store. “Alright, Kid. Go-”

Peter did not require any further prompting. He hurriedly detached himself from the armor and tore through the gas station’s door with enough strength to rip it off the hinges. “Sorry! It’s an emergency!” he hollered but didn’t slow his steps. He only had eyes for the wooden men’s room door that was taunting him from the back of the store.

Once Peter was inside, Tony stepped through what could no longer be considered an actual door and waved casually towards the dazed attendant. “Yeah. I’m gonna pay for that,” he said as he retracted his armor to slide a can of clear soda and a ‘Stark Damage Control’ business card onto the counter. “You can bill me.”

Fifteen minutes later, Peter emerged with a sweat soaked brow and the stench of hot garbage trailing behind him.

“Ready to go?” Tony asked, popping open the can of soda and passing it over.

Peter lifted the bottom of his mask to take a sip, ignoring the horrified look the store keeper was shooting between him and the bathroom. “Yeah. I’m good now. Thanks for, uh- yeah.”

"So, we're never going to speak of this again," Tony stated in no uncertain terms, lifting off to resume their journey.

Peter nodded his head gratefully. "Does this mean we can ignore the part where I told you to shut up?"

"Yeah, no. That part, we're speaking about."

#happyaspie mini fic #sicktember2021 #thank you jenniboo!#sick peter parker #spider-man #iron man #peter parker #tony stark #irondad and spiderson #peter parker doesn't feel so good #food poisoning #diarrhea #tummy issues #marvel fanfiction #tw illness #tw diarrhea #iron dad and spider son

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goldenlie · 3 years

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I already made that point in the ask on a different blog but I dislike how they put Dream on pedestal and relate anything that happens with George to him. Jokes and more serious takes calling him covid warrior get me annoyed because it's the same person that allows his mom do groceries for him and didn't see any issues with Sapnap going to visit Karl, create irl content with him and other ccs and even make video with mr beast despite Sapnap apparently interacting with his mom and sister. It also surprises me how the fans push so much towards meet up when it's clear they are the ones that care the most about it. Don't get me wrong I do believe dream team wants to meet up however question directed at Dream if he would visit George in UK was meet with awkward silence and George had to answer for him that it means no. Clearly it's important but there is no feeling of urgency or even a maybe in there. Same with George, I feel like after experiencing irl content and hanging out more with ccs in UK he isn't in any real rush to get to the US when he knows neither Sapnap or Dream will be down to create that type of content which is fine but George seems to enjoy making it so losing advantage of meeting up with Wilbur, Tommy etc to create content might be something that he started to care more about. Wilbur also planned to move to US from what I remember so it's just a theory, not really serious but maybe George wants to move when Wilbur does so they both have someone to create irl content with? Sorry for rambling but this situation rubs me the wrong way in so many ways, hope you'll have a nice day!

(The following is a depiction of my own personal views containing fandom critical aspects which mostly dissolves into a general discussion. This isn't intended to speak on behalf of any DT members (S+G+D) in any sense or to insinuate how they feel regarding their following.)

In an effort to shorten the length of this, my thoughts on the "covid warrior" situation are in more detail here. In summary, It's not the best idea to hold a cc so high for the expected, eventually something will slip and the fall will be much greater than it deserves to be. As you mentioned, allowing quarantines to occur in his own home where other family members frequent doesn't fit the narrative created by some. No ones going to be perfect in a pandemic, yet we shouldn't act oblivious in favor of holding up this pristine image specifically crafted and implemented by fans.

Regarding the Dream association with George. I'll preface this with acknowledgement that getting the green light from the creators themselves to view their relationship romantically, will create a ripple effect of posts, clips, and overall more attention funneled to the cc's. However, I don't think the aim was to ever be overshadowed by the idea of themselves in a romantic sense. To be truly frank George is the one facing the brunt of this association. People think Dream and they imagine a high tier mc player, people think George and know him from being flirted with in tiktok clips. This link leaks into moments unintended to be related to one another, bringing up his name whenever George even interacts with other ccs? Expecting Dream to give George a slap on the wrist for attending a party? Unwarranted behavior. Dream is not responsible for George (or Sapnap) and vice versa. They are separate people responsible for their own actions.

The initial excitement at meeting each other was very clear in December/January due to both Karl+Quackity and Sapnap+Dream meeting up. Understandably over time the thrill at the thought began wearing off due to the shaky future presented by the pandemic (Yet I've no doubt they'll be glad to be together under one roof in the future). I think this was especially obvious during the puffy podcast in particular when Minx directed the question to Dream whether he would visit George now or wait another one and a half years before meeting him. Dream toyed with the question for a bit, confirming the timeframe before being pressured for an answer to which he responded he'd guess he'd go. It didn't exactly sound ecstatic and as you said it's not the first time the question has been dodged or answered with such emotion or lack thereof.

That being said, It's not surprising they don't want to get their hopes up considering the pandemic is too reliant on people to predict. However, I saw a lot of talk at the time concerning how sweet it was Dream said he'd go to London. It's down to personal perception but in all honesty the situation did not read that sweet to me. Although I understand the desire for a heartfelt sentiment declaring "Yes! Of course I'd go across the Atlantic for George!", this was not it. There is a tendency to romanticize and view subjects with a rose tint in this fandom but this instance was one of the more painfully obvious times.

A similar reaction occurred on Georges solo PkMn stream. Dream joined heavily insinuating him to end stream despite George explaining his plans to continue for a further hour. At a weak attempt at pleasing the fans Dream promised a dnf stream and within seconds the chat spammed "take the deal!". It felt very self exposing of chat, these joint streams are not uncommon but it had been five months since the previous solo stream. On top of that, some started claiming how whipped George was to leave steam when in reality there wasn't much of a choice presented. When watching a trailer to a game they might potentially play, commentating it with "what's happening" Dream responded "you're ending stream". Not everything is a "cute" moment (if anything looking back this was comical) and that's expected, but lets not act tone deaf when we bare witness to such.

Returning to your initial point regarding the meetup, Sapnap seems to be the one who carries the brightest torch for it publicly. During a GTA stream he excitably referenced the long awaited time in which he would collect George from the airport. George once expressed offhandedly how he thought S+D might not have room for him to which he joined the call expressing how they could do bunk beds together and reassured him they'd have space (although surely that was obvious from the beginning). Sapnap once posed the question to George where he'd take him if he showed up in London, asking if they'd go to Tesco. Even during the PkMn card unboxing stream (Karls), he told the camera George could have any of the cards he pulls and they'll be waiting for him in Florida. These were all such genuinely kind sentiments where you could tell he's been anticipating the meeting for a while yet, they've been talked about to a much lesser degree.

Regarding the content situation, there hasn't been a stream which consciously consisted of Sapnap and Dream together since the move in. Baring in mind Sapnap often disregards face-cam streams the odd joint stream could've occurred if they so wished. It's not apparent to a random viewer they live together, not to say that's a bad thing or that they needed to in any sense, but I feel like it's a good teller of how content will be once George moves in. Obviously Georgenap could do face cam streams together and I have no doubt that's what we'll get, which I can't complain about. Honestly it wouldn't be surprising if George and Wilbur do the plane journey over together. However, Wilbur has expressed his desire to travel America and as much as I'd enjoy Georgebur taking landmark after landmark, it seems more likely for George to travel on occasion to the states where Wilbur finds himself. Sadly indicating the real life vlogs with Gnf will regrettably be left in the UK.

#I absolutely rambled back don't worry anon hope you week is banging #talk until your hearts content I enjoyed reading your perspective!#apologies for going all in on a different topic you briefly mentioned #cw critical #mcyt fandom critical #georgenotfound #dreamwastaken #sapnap #scheduled post

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adsosfraser · 3 years

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The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Six

Read on AO3

Before Claire could journey up to Inverness, she had to settle some matters first in London. The first thing she did was walk up the grand steps of her parents’ bank and walk through the marble columns of the main entrance. A little over two-thirds was left in her account, and she withdrew it all. She walked out, two hundred pounds heavier. The pound notes were neatly stacked into piles of twenty in her suitcase. It was all that remained of her inheritance which had been pretty substantial; the rest had been spent on various celebrations in her life and her travels with her uncle. In total, her trip up to Inverness would be very comfortable, and she would have some to spare for a mockup dress, with guidance of course as Mrs. Graham had assured her.

The first thing she did was purchase a train ticket at King’s Cross Station to Edinburgh for the next day. She was almost giddy when she felt the smooth surface of the ticket and her receipt shoved into her hands.

The pawn shops in London had infinitely more variety than Inverness, she was certain. There was practically one on every corner in London, but only one she could remember in the general area of Inverness. She couldn’t very well bring a banknote with her into the past. But she could find something to trade. No matter what century, gold, silver, and jewellery always held value.

She glanced through the miscellaneous items dotted throughout the store and finally assumed a stance before the jewellery counter. Dainty rings laid within velvet boxes and chains strung across the shelves enclosed in glass carefully haphazard. Her eyes paused on an emerald. Jamie’s birthstone. Next to it was a ruby, much like the ring meant for her baby, set into a gold necklace. She pointed at the different necklaces, bracelets, and rings for the attendant to put aside for her. With one final point, she was ready at the register with her money. At the last minute, she spied a stack of pictures and postcards depicting the world’s modern marvels. An airplane, skyscrapers, tug boats, telephones, even the atom bomb were included in the stack. She added it to her items and smiled up at the cashier. She left, with little less than half of what she had withdrawn that day from her purchases at the train station and the pawnshop. She could always purchase more in Inverness.

Claire hurried over to her next stop; the sun would be sinking soon. Her body stopped before the small metal door. A locker in the storage facility. It contained mementos from her childhood. Pictures of her parents and notes from the various friends she had made across the world with her uncle. It was the only tangible thing that anchored her to one spot. While she constantly left for new places, it had been reassuring to know that the locker would always be there for her to remember. She shuffled through the items and pulled out some of her baby pictures where she screamed with cake smeared over her face, her parents’ smiles shining brightly behind her. One with her mouth covered in ice cream on a pier at Brighton with her parents, months before the accident. The rest were her dirty and dusty with her uncle, beaming with curiosity at various excavation sites. Claire glanced slightly at the envelope that contained things pertaining to her time with Frank and shoved it back deep into the locker. There was a final one of her during the beginning of her nurse’s training, smiling optimistically for the camera in her uniform at the train station, oblivious to the gruesome years to come sewing back shattered men and hiding from the sky itself.

She boarded the train without fuss the next morning. No one was travelling during the New Year. They were all settled in with their families enjoying their feasts. So Claire enjoyed the luxury of an empty compartment within the train and patted her suitcase reassuringly.

The Reverend would be away for the week to substitute for a minister who had taken ill on short notice. The house was left to Roger, Claire, and Mrs. Graham.

“Och, Claire, it’s sae fine seeing ye again.” The short woman gathered her in her arms, bringing her down to her level. “Would ye like a cuppa?”

“That would be wonderful Mrs. Graham, thank you.”

She puttered about in the kitchen and instructed Claire to place her luggage in the second room to the right up the stairs. The door creaked open to a light room covered in a rosey wallpaper. Claire was glad it wasn’t the same room she had stayed in months ago. She set her things on the bed and returned downstairs to where the elderly woman had already set up the cups with tea on the small circular table. Tarot cards were strewn all over the tablecloth. Claire presumed Mrs. Graham wanted to take a peek into her future once again. Seeing no use in delaying the inevitable, Claire launched into her questions.

“What do you know about the stones Mrs. Graham?”

“Och, please call me Mairi, lass. I’m sae glad ye called over before ye arrived here, didna want ye to be disappointed. I looked through some of my mother’s old things, and there were many journals passed down through the matrilineal line. It would have been a mess to try to find them in short notice, but I managed to find the box just in time. One of them details the subject of powerful stones holding the Earth’s energy itself within them. Ye can read through dear and I’ll wait fer any questions.” She stood up to fetch something from the counter near the oven and returned with a smooth brown book.

She looked closely over the scribbled notes and drawings in the small leather-bound book. It most likely could fit into her coat pocket and she was amazed at the artistry of something so old. The pages were weathered yellow like they had been soaked in tea and there were tears in some spots, but it didn’t hinder the journal’s abilities to instruct. Within it contained certainties, speculations, doubts, and even contradictions coming back to scribble that human sacrifice was indeed not necessary and strongly discouraged from the earlier statement regarding it as a necessity. Different hands amended the pages, added different textured paper when the pages ran out, and ripped out some to little stubs close to the spine.

A calendar was sketched into the very first page, listing fire festivals at each point of a star. Imbolc. That was the closest date. She had missed Yule while in the ward and cursed herself. She would have to wait a month more, if the information written down in the battered book was to be believed. After months of separation, what more was one month? But her soul agonised over the fact that she was so close to the stones, but their strange attributes limited her. Would the nagging feeling of anxiety for her son ever waver? Or did this new sabbatical mean she would be too late?

“So Imbolc, a fire feast?”

“Aye, most all o’ the journals in my grove ha’ something similar. It’s always, a gem and a fire feast. Many other suggestions have been quite unsettling.”

“So when I came through, on April the 16th, I was two weeks away-”

“Lass dinna work yerself up o’er that jes now. Ye canna blame anyone, it’s jes,” the kind woman squeezed Claire’s hand in comfort, “jes the way things went.”

“But, I put my baby in danger, and it killed him.” She couldn’t help the wobble of her lip and the big fat tear that rolled down her cheek.

“Ye dinna even ken if he could ha’ gone through at the proper time anyway.” Mrs. Graham hooked her weathered finger under Claire’s chin and brought her gaze towards her. “I know it might not be what ye want to hear right now, but perhaps yer baby saved ye. Ye couldna ha’ travelled alone, even wi’ yer wee gem.”

“But why take my baby? Why not me?”

“The way I see it, the stones only wanted one tae live that day. And if yer baby survived while ye died, weel it wouldna ha’ survived anyway wi’out ye. It doesna do well to dwell on the past lass. The only thing ye can do is look to the future and move forward. Go to yer lad. Yer soul kens what yer brain refuses to. The boy needs ye.”

“What if I’m too late? The death certificate-”

“Have faith, Claire, yer- Frank researched tirelessly to find his fate. If he wasna going to make it, yer soul wouldna be in overdrive to return to him.”

“Yes, of course. Faith.”

“Fer now we bide, and I’ll help ye prepare. These are lean years yer returning to, ye’ll need all the help ye can get.”

The greying woman stood up to leave but Claire placed a hand on her arm to stop her. “Thank you Mairi, for everything.”

For the next month, Claire helped Mrs. Graham tidy the manse and watch after Roger. Her heart had warmed to the small boy instantly and she played planes with him whenever he asked, mimicking the noises and spreading out her arms wide to fly across the garden. Reverend Wakefield, much to his own chagrin, helped Claire smuggle some supplies from the hospital, during his visits to the ailing and injured who couldn’t attend church. He even found a set of knives that were close to being pitched before he intervened and saved them from the dumpster. Claire passed those weeks amongst pleasant company in the manse, and knew she would miss her friends dearly. To her surprise, Graham Munro, the kind boy who had brought her to the hospital from the stones, visited the manse occasionally and would take up a game of cards with her and Roger. The seven-year-old won almost every game they played; Claire and Graham had made the mistake of having him lose and much to their dismay he had started a tantrum that lasted for four hours. One evening, he had sulked into Claire’s room, his cheeks tracked with fresh tears from a nightmare and she pulled him close, murmuring to the young boy. Yes, she would miss them all terribly.

Mrs. Graham worked on the logistics of Claire’s dress; she was impossible at sewing, knitting, and practically any other domestic task. A plain white slip dress was transformed into a shift, extra yards of wool were donated through her druid friends which turned into her various layers of skirts, and an old blue raincoat fit for a giant was found in the closet and transformed into a cloak of sorts to cover the fact of missing stays.

On the First of February, close to midnight, Claire, Roger, Mrs. Graham, and Reverend Wakefield climbed into the Reverend’s black car. Roger was bouncing off the back seat next to Claire, excited at being awake way past his bedtime. Reverend Wakefield had driven them to the stones to humour them, still not quite believing in the absurd story. A leather messenger bag sat on Claire’s lap, practically bursting from the contents within it. She had already dressed into her new clothes that would not be so conspicuous in the eighteenth century. Her heart raced as the headlights from the car illuminated the grey stone at the top of the hill.

Claire offered a short sentence of gratitude for the Reverend’s hospitality and then moved on to her fast friend Mairi. He lingered back behind the line of the stones with his arms around Roger. Claire shared a heartfelt goodbye with Mrs. Graham and thanked her profusely. Tears clung to her eyelashes and she pecked the small woman on the cheek. Roger was inconsolable when he felt the atmosphere shift. He thought it was a fun adventure with his new friend, not the finality of a goodbye.

“No Miss Claire! I dinna want ye to leave!” He slobbered into her stomach and held tight to the buttons of her cloak.

“I’m sorry, Roger. I’ll miss playing pilot with you terribly. Will you keep this safe for me?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a toy rocket, the new fascination of young boys. Planes were old news, but space was exciting.

“Aye!” He tried to be brave like his father said his parents had been. She shoved back the hair from his eyes as he looked up at her with glassy eyes and a snotty nose.

“What do ye say, Roger?”

“Thank ye, Miss Claire!” He hugged her tight.

He took the plastic object from Claire’s hands and skipped over to his father. His mood had instantly changed and he was happily distracted from the severity of the moment. They all walked slowly towards the stones, Roger hand in hand with his father. The buzzing swarmed through Claire’s ears and she was standing near the centre cleft now.

“Father, what’s that noise?”

“Stay put Roger.” He tightened his grip on his son’s shoulders, fear laced into his voice.

With one last tearful glance of goodbye, Claire vanished. The group was left stunned, even Mrs. Graham. Hearing certainly was not seeing.

“Mama?” She felt the soft curiosity of a child’s mind amongst all the screams of anguish and hopelessness. “It’s okay. You can go home now.”

She pulled her towards her, guiding her mother gently.

“I love you, mama. Tell da I love him too.”

Was it really the child she had lost, or a delusion her mind had conjured? One thing she was certain of though deep in her bones. She had been a girl. A beautiful soul.

#jamie x claire #outlander fanfiction #adsofraser writing #craigh na dun #fergus fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #canon divergence #frank randall #roger mackenzie #brianna fraser #mrs graham #reverend wakefield #lol i'm really vomiting out these words quickly #outlander fanfic

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jesuisgourde · 3 years

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gay/queer references in Peter’s journals

Again, I have probably missed stuff due to going through pretty quickly and also due to having stared at this document for so long, everything has kind of blurred together.

Sometime close to the day that Carlos & I watched 'Love And Death on Long Island' (and afterwards paraded through the tea rooms of Picadilly) we both filled in application forms and were tres excited to be invited to the same group 'interview' - twas more like an audition though. I got the part. Carlos never. This did not bring any animosity - we both know that success for either of us is magnified a million times if it is shared by us both.

from 'A Diamond Guitar' by Truman Capote "Except that they did not combine their bodies or think to do so, though such things were not unknown at the (Prison), they were as lovers. Of the seasons, spring is the most shattering: stalks thrusting through the earth's winter-stiffened crust, young leaves cracking out on old left-to-die branches, the falling asleep wind cruising through all the newborn green. And with Mr Schaeffer it was the same, a breaking up, a flexing of muscles that had hardened. It was late January. The friends were sitting on the steps of the sheep house, each with a cigarette in his hand. A moon thin and yellow as a piece of lemon rind curved above them, and under its light, threads of ground frost glistened like silver snail trails. Tico Feo had been drawn into himself - silent as a robber waiting in the shadows."

Then a meet with Bounds Green's African prince outside whitechapel tube, rugged lookies at I in military attire & to a ruptured Albion rooms tidied in hours and now lids drawn heated on the eyes. A young looking fella has a crush on me.

Jackie/Camillia/Marie/Kate/Chris/V. churchill Jackie/Evelina/Jasmine/Sachi/Dalston/Sussie Sandra/Carlene/FP/Jay/Dalston/Kraut

There sat a young black man, perhaps in his early or middle twenties. He looked for all the world like the archetypal rude boy. Clean, cheap reebok, nike, adidas variously rolled, laced & zipped about his lean, spreadeagled body that hung loosely about the waiting room chair. Gold & tattoos adorned his person, and a blank animal look was attached to his clear face. He sat before me in a row of four empty chairs, staring at polished floor or the mundane television. A balding white man minced in & all perceptions were suddenly proven to be false as they embraced and snuggled up to each other, giggling & whispering & touching each others noses.... very much in love, fingers crossed for the blood tests.

[Image: an article from Gay Times of an interview with Peter. For some reason, the portrait included alongside the article is of Carl wearing a grey and black t-shirt.] Name? Peter Doherty Age? 22 Where are you? I'm on the motorway just north of Southampton. What kind of day are you having? (Vaguely) Erm... quite misty. Something's waiting around the corner, but there are no corners on the motorway, so we'll just have to wait and see what lies ahead. Maybe something will happen tonight.... What's this we hear about you once being a rent boy? Well, when times are hard, duty calls. How long ago was it? When I was 19, about three years ago. How do we know this isn't just a Shaun Ryder-type lie? 'Cause if it was, it would make me a complete scumbag and I'm not, and I'm not interested in that kind of pantomime. It wasn't a very happy time. I didn't really enjoy it. Why did you give it up? (grimly) Well, certain people disappeared... and anyway, ultimately I found myself no longer in such a vulnerable position anymore. Dawn broke, and I realised that it was a beautiful world after all. Have you done any other dodgy jobs? All of us in the band have tried to deal, but it's not good if you like the drugs too much. You just end up using them yourself! I once was a gravedigger. I used to do it with my mate in Willesden Green cemetery. We didn't actually do the digging, a machine did that, but we used to have to fill them in. It was pretty grim work. So are you gay then? Love is love, wherever it comes from. I'm not anything, really. I am a very sexual person but... I dunno, I believe in liberty... The Marquis de Sade has a lot to answer for... Do you get a lot of gay fans? Yeah - well, there's one guy in particular. He's very shy and he follows us around. He brings in letters and cards and stuff, but he's very quiet. I think John (the bassist) is the main pulling power in the band. Are you jealous about that? Nah! I've known him too long.

You know I'm alright i dont even care i like it when they stare & stare call me queer, dear oh dear a million things & what I wear He's real hard when he's with his mates but I'll saw him again & he was too late

Dear NME I'd have thought after the Gay Times piece, the interview with Rapture fanzine & our recent gig at the Slum Club everything would be clear. No it still remains to give a big hearty fuck off to all these twisted suburban types calling me a liar. Vulnerable young men & women all over the world find themselves victims of circumstance.

she was dressed in suit & tie & lightly etched-on moustache. 'I've always wanted to kiss a bird in the back of a taxi.' she says, running her hand up the fishnet ladders of my thigh. Stepping onto the front line in Bow puddles, elevators, buzzing doors,

[Image: the original page in the book has been preserved. Two paragraphs have been boxed off with biro. They read:] “...cast Richard Burton and Rex Harrison as bickering queer barbers and then much more uncompromisingly in William Friedkin's adaptation of The Boys in the Band (1970), which introduced some of the plainer four letter words in the English language to the screen for the first time. 'Who,' asks Cliff Gorman, in his brilliant portrayal of the most effeminate of the homosexual group as they gather for a soul-searching party, 'Who do you have to fuck to get a drink around here?' Other homosexual manifestations to occur in movies around this time included an elliptical but unmistakeable male fellatio scene in John Schlesinger's Midnight Cowboy (1969) when Jon Voight, as a broke and disillusioned Texas stud importunes in a New York cinema....”

[Image, top left: a blurry photo of John onstage, playing bass. Image, top right, sideways: a photo of the band onstage. Carl and John are on the left, sharing a mic. Peter is on the right, playing guitar and singing into his own mic. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his bottom half from the chest down is visible. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his top half from shoulders up is visible. Image, bottom left: a torn fragment of a photo. What looks like a denim-clad knee and a yellow carrier bag are visible. Image, bottom middle: a photo of someone's knee in torn jeans, taken from under a table. Image, bottom right: a torn photo of Carl in a black sleeveless shirt, posing with his fingers in his mouth.] [A paragraph from the original page of the book has been left exposed and boxed off with black biro. It reads:] “The Boys in the Band was displaced by an immeasurably more powerful portrayal of homosexual groups, Fortune and Men's Eyes (1971). Set in a Quebec prison, this disturbing, factually based drama vividly recounted the corrupted of a heterosexual convict trapped in a tough, potentially vicious homosexual society. In one horrifying scene, a weak, put-upon prisoner is gang-banged by his fellow inmates; in another, the 'hero' is blackmailed by his cellmate into accepting him as his lover for the duration...”

Like a cat on a hot tin roof Like a macho man in a roomful of poofs I have tried in my way to be free.

[Written in Peter's handwriting] Jerome... is that how it's spelt? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes it is [Written in Peter's handwriting] Can I read you something? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes please.....

I insist, new book of Albion, befuddled by drugs I may yes about 2 but I do not miss out entirely on the subtleties of the inhuman relation ships that are this the mainstay of my stay here in one bounce of a loaf. Boys are fooled into fooling with boys. [...]

More general references/some extra explanations:

“The boy looked at Johnny” is a line from Patti Smith's song “Horses,” part one of a three-part song called “Land.” In the song, a young man named Johnny is assaulted by another man in a locker room; he then mentally journeys to other fantastical lands and visions. A lot of people interpret it as being about gay sex, although some people interpret it as being about a stabbing.

Peter quotes and references Jean Genet's writing and works about Jean Genet many times. While Genet's works are nearly all about crime and prison (one of Peter's main interests and points of fascination), all of his works are very explicitly gay. The Thief's Journal is more about Genet's various lovers than it is about his criminal history. Our Lady Of The Flowers is about a drag queen and her criminal lovers, and is also extremely erotic.

(“Jerome” is Jerome Alexandre, vocalist of The Deadcuts, who was friends with Peter and Mark Keds.)

#squash transcribes books of albion #peter doherty #feel free to request compilations of other kinds too

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sarcastically-defensive17 · 4 years

Text

Far away - P. Parker.

This is an overload of angst, inspired by - and named after - ‘Far Away’ by Nickleback (yes, I’m a nickleback fan, I’m sorry). There WILL be a part two.

No this was not requested, and the gif is not mine. I hope y’all like it!

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

WARNING: the contents of this story may be triggering to some readers. This story contains: domestic arguing, mentions of familial death and guilt, mentions of violence, mentions of abandonment, pregnancy, Peter and Y/N both being bitches, and all round angst. Please do not read if this may cause you any offense or trigger you in any way

It had been near 2 months since she had seen Peter. In person, that is.

The relationship between Y/F/N and Peter Parker was an odd one. Best friends through middle school, they were like two peas in a pod. Inseparable to the point where Y/N was adopted as an honorary Parker.

In high school, tragedy struck both of them. Y/N’s mother left, divorcing her father and leaving for California. Ben Parker died, shot by a lawless mugger when he was out looking for Peter. Peter blamed himself. Y/N fell in with the popular crowd, looking for any chance to distract herself from her overwhelming anger. Peter became distracted, finding any and every excuse to escape school once he began an internship with Mr. Tony Stark. Peter and Y/N often vied for the attention of Liz Allen, their crushes on the woman making their anger with one another overflow whenever they were in each other’s presence.

In University, they reunited and decided to start over. One thing led to another and they quickly became lovers, with distance between.

Until she fell pregnant. 7 months into their relationship, she found out about the new life growing inside of her. She was ecstatic, but full of nerves. Peter was anxious, worried for his child and the woman he loved.

Life as Spider-Man was hectic. He grappled with the thought of her getting hurt because of him every day. He had seen the danger that had come to Pepper, what happened to Ben, Ned, almost everybody he held dear.

Her first trimester went by with a rocky start. Y/N fought with her own fears, wondering how she could be a mother when her own wasn’t there to teach her. Nevertheless, she loved peter. She gave her all to him, but he was distant, growing more so every day.

She didn’t want him to go. He had risked his life - and their relationship - far too many times in the past year. He knew it was a risk, he knew his life would be in danger every second he was undercover, but he still went.

Then Tony told him to go undercover.

She was in New York, about to hit her third trimester, and he was in Belgium, unaware of the life growing inside of her.

He broke the news to her of his undercover mission with Clint three nights before he left. That same day, he had missed their scheduled appointment to find out the sex of their baby.

To say there was an argument would be an understatement.

She had printed the picture up, gotten a card for him, and left it waiting on their shared bed for when he got home. Spider-Man was only half of his job, the other half was spent with incredibly long hours at the lab with Tony working on whatever their incredible minds could think of that day.

Sometimes she felt as if their relationship had been mostly made up of her waiting on him.

He had walked in the door, moving to gather his stuff together from the spare room they had in their apartment that housed his gear. They were set to turn it into a nursery.

He told her of the mission as soon as he walked in, immediately erasing the excited grin from her features.

“How long is it going to take?” She fought the nerves from building, knowing that the longest mission he had been on before had been two weeks. Tony told her when her and peter moved in together that Peter wouldn’t be expected to go on a mission any longer than that.

Peter sighed, grabbing a large bag. He had to head back for debriefing, and training before the mission began. He didn’t expect to be back home before he had to leave. He didn’t want to leave her, but he had came to terms with the fact that he was Spider-Man before he was Peter.

“I don’t know, Y/N. At least a month and a half-“

“You can’t go!” She interrupted.

Peter chuckled softly, paying no mind to her growing anger. “Yeah, I do. Clint and I are the only ones that can go unnoticed. Nobody has seen my face, and Clint has done so many undercover missions. He’s practically living a new life every month.” He hustled around the room once again, grabbing every box of spare cartridges for his web shooters. “After all, this is what I do.”

Y/N scoffed. Recently, he had been putting everything before his family. He missed their anniversary in favour of working on a new web formula with Tony. Her birthday was spent alone with nothing but a 10 minute phone call from him because he was on patrol. Now, he had missed the day they had both been looking forward to for months.

She didn’t want to be selfish, she loved him fiercely, but his child needed him too. Every time he left the house with his suit, she feared for his life. Now, she had the baby to think about too. It was about more than just her.

She tried to push down her feeling that he didn’t even want to be a father.

Peter rolled his eyes at her scoff. “Y/N. I’m Spider-Man. That means that I need to help people, not just be here when you want me to.”

“That’s not what it is, Peter!” She exclaimed, eyes widening at his words. “I’m due in three months!”

He rubbed his hand down his face, huffing. “Y/N, can you just stop? Please? I need to go, and you’re not going to stop me. This is my job. Tony and May are here.”

“I thought your ‘job’ was spending hours with Stark and forgetting that I exist,” she snarled, making quotation signs with her hands. Tensions had been high between them lately, the past two weeks turning their house into a war zone. She was sure her news would bring a happier note, but the news was all but forgotten at the time. “We are your family, Peter!

His eyes were blazing with anger, his bags in his hands as he slipped past her to the door. He spared a look at her swollen stomach, almost sadly.

“Peter!” She called after him as he ignored her, stomping through their apartment.

She tried a few more times, latching onto his hand as he got closer to the door.

“Please, don’t go. The last mission you were on, you came back with four broken ribs and a concussion. I can’t lose you, we need you,” he refused to look at her.

“You won’t lose me, y/n. I’m an adult, I don’t need you to babysit me. Enough, I need to go. This is about more than just you, so please cut the crap,” he sighed at her, anger pulling his brows down and crinkling his nose in the way she had memorized.

Y/N had struggled with trust issues since before her mother left, and she had used all of her courage to trust peter, but the anger and fear were too much, her mouth working without instruction. “Why don’t you just fucking admit that you don’t want to have a family, Peter? You’ve made it perfectly obvious that the baby means nothing to you!”

That set him off. “Grow the fuck up, Y/N. This may shock you, but this isn’t about you, for once! Don’t you ever say that I don’t want this child.”

She scoffed at him again, spitting, “you couldn’t even bother to fucking show up for the sonogram today. Our baby is fine by the way, not that it matters, obviously.”

His laugh was evil. “You’re so fucking perfect, aren’t you? I’m sorry that I have a job, unlike you. I fucking save people, every day. I don’t have time to hold your hand through fucking everything because you’re a narcissist!”

She was taken aback by his shout, her next words flying out without the filter between her brain and mouth coming into action. “You know what? Fine!” She shoved his arm away. “If you walk out that door, don’t fucking bother coming back. You don’t care that we need you here, so don’t even bother being apart of this.”

“You’re kicking me out because I’m going on a mission?” His laugh was sarcastic, almost full of disbelief. “You really are selfish, Y/N.” He wrenched the door open with his free hand, not bothering to kiss her like he always did before a mission. No further words were exchanged, only a longing glance at her stomach and a fleeting look in her eyes.

She was left in the quiet apartment.

She trudged to their room - her room, now - fighting the tears threatening to fall. The photo of their baby was sitting carefully on the bed right next to the card.

The dam broke, tears streamed down her face and sobs ripped from her chest.

She picked up the photo of herself and Peter from when they announced their pregnancy. He was on his knees in front of her, hands on either side of her small bump, smiling brightly with love in his eyes, and she was looking at him the same way.

She flung it against the wall, watching the glass shatter from the frame and fall to the ground.

She pulled the card up from its spot, reading over the words inside.

‘I have loved you all along, Peter. Thank you for beginning this journey with me. We’re so far from where we began.

I know that our little girl will be as perfect as you are.

All my love, Y/N.”

The two months has passed agonizingly slow. Her heart wrenched each day when she woke to an empty bed. Their baby grew steadily, now a month away from making her entrance.

Her new routine had been to watch the news every morning before her daily run. Her work hours had decreased, but she filled her schedule to clear her head, in order to stop the pain.

She hadn’t spoken to peter since he left, she barely even knew where he was.

Jedd Walters was on the news, his booming voice echoing through her house as she watched from the kitchen.

“This just in,” his voice grew more urgent. “After months of being undercover, we are saddened to report that beloved Avengers, Spider-Man and Hawkeye are missing after a KGB detonated bombing brought down the building they were in. After two days of searching, neither man has been found, but many Belgium citizens have been wounded, with no casualties as of yet. More information will come available as the story progresses.”

The scream that tore from her throat was full of pain, and the tears that fell from her cheeks burned.

Tag list: @starshonerose @another-lonely-heart @mantlereid @snookiebrookie @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3

#peter parker angst #peter parker x reader #Tom Holland #Tom Holland x reader #alternate universe #pregnancy #angst #did I mention angst?#marvel #spiderman mcu #Spider-Man #tony is alive bitches #my baby won’t be dead unless I say so #sarcastically defensive17

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silma-words · 3 years

Text

The right thing to do (Part I)

Choices: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Ellie)

Rating: PG (part 1) // [Mature (part 2)]

Category: Angst

Summary: Bloodbound AU (after book 1 – the events of book 2 never happened) – After surviving Vega’s attempt on their lives, everything seems to be going well for Adrian and Ellie… if it weren’t for Adrian’s constant rambling doubts, convincing him gradually that it would probably be best for her to carry on without him in her life.

Warning: none (for part 1)

Words: 2881

**Disclaimer: Characters and background plot are the property of Pixelberry.**

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The right thing to do (Part I)

Everyday seemed to Adrian like a blessing, after they had survived their confrontation with Vega. They were all doing their best to work towards a return to normal, but somehow, Adrian felt like something was amiss. Resuming quickly to his usual business schedule, he had been working tirelessly to assist the former Clanless vampires in any way Raines corp. could, as much to make amend for all they had endured in the past, as to fill in the void that destroying his serum and all related research had left in his head. He was finding comfort as well in Ellie’s presence, every night as his trusted assistant, and during the day, when she wanted to, as his companion.

He wouldn’t lie, he was fully aware that what they had was unconventional. It was unpredictable. And maybe a little unreasonable. And yet, what they had was bringing more light in his life than he would have ever expected. They barely had known each other for eight months, and after what they had gone through within the first few weeks after she had joined his company, he had been expecting things to quiet down a little between them, once the intensity and passion that life-threatening situations might have exacerbated would have worn off.

However, that intensity and passion had not died down, somehow. He was still stupidly distracted and intoxicated by her presence, and amazed that she had not grown tired yet of the endless nights and the sunless days, kept away from living a normal human life as she was staying by his sides and adapting to the burden that his nature entailed. And unless he was completely mistaken, Ellie seemed to be feeling equally content with their relationship. She was thriving as her assistant, more confident and pro-active as months were going by, and when they were alone, every worry seemed to wash away from both of them, no matter what they would do, or say, or what they had endured at work throughout the night.

What they had was something that resembled the most what Adrian thought was happiness. It reminded him of more simple times, over two centuries ago, before he was turned and before he started his lone journey throughout eternal life. And yet, Adrian’s mind kept playing him tricks, his brain rambling endlessly when she was asleep in his arms, wondering if what they were doing was right. His heart was saying it was. But his head…. his head wouldn’t let him rest and savour these moments fully. As the weeks went by, it was becoming increasingly difficult to push these thoughts out of his mind. As his feeling grew more and more for her, and hers for him as well, so did the shadow of his doubts. Darkening his thoughts until he could no longer ignore them.

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When she walked in into the penthouse, Adrian was waiting for her on the couch, having taken the opportunity that she had been spending her night off with Lily to come home early from work and prepare everything. Doing his best to hide his nervousness by casually leaning back on the sofa with a drink in his hand, he couldn’t help but smile at her when she joined him in the living room, happily springing towards him to greet him with a tender kiss.

“Had fun with Lily?” he asked casually, knowing that she would probably want to tell him all about it, although not entirely sure that he would be able to hide what was on his mind for long.

“Oh, you know…” she started happily, a grin on her face. “The usual! The plan was just to geek out on some new game she got, and it obviously went totally off track with booze and stupid bets before ending up in a club…”.

Adrian smiled, although a little weakly, genuinely happy to hear that she and Lily were still up to their usual mischief and harmless games. He would have probably laughed and asked for more detail if he had not been so aware of what was about to come.

As she grabbed the glass of red wine he had set for her on the coffee table, Ellie noticed that a small business card had been resting under her glass.

“What is it?” she asked after grabbing it, curious, flipping the card between her fingers inquisitively, casually sitting on the couch by his side with her glass of wine in the other hand.

Adrian felt his stomach clutch, knowing that this was his cue to approach the subject that his heart definitively didn’t want him to bring up at all. Doing his best to ignore the ache of his guts and keep his voice neutral, he answered, as casually as possible:

“That’s from Mr Quince, one of my oldest collaborators. He invests mostly in renewable energy but is also heavily involved in a few humanitarian projects. He is a truly remarkable man, very kind, with whom I had the chance to work a few times, more particularly when implementing the ‘clean water project’ on the ground”.

She looked away from the business card to stare at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why are you showing me this? I assume this was not under my wine glass with no reason” she teased him, making him smile a little despite his uneasiness, his eyes locked on his lap.

“Do you need me to do some research about it to prepare for an upcoming meeting?”, she asked genuinely, taking a sip of her wine.

“No, I already had a meeting with him this week, actually”, he started, tensing a little as her brow furrowed even further.

“Oh…” she simply replied, a little startled and confused. “I don’t remember seeing this name on your agenda.”

Adrian did his best to ignore her comment, not wanting to admit just yet that he had kept this from her, and continued. “Mr Quince told me that he was currently thinking of changing his staff a little, and was about to start recruiting for a new Executive Assistant…. He wanted to know if I knew anyone, through my network, that might have experience in Communications, capable of working alongside charities as well as to handle complex corporate deals… “.

Adrian let his voice trail off, letting the information sink into her before taking the risk of lifting his gaze back to her to see her reaction. Ellie, who was about to take another sip of wine, had stopped still, the glass inches from her lips, her eyes staring blindly at the wall opposite her. It took her a few seconds to process what Adrian meant, and when realisation hit her, she abruptly turned around on the couch to face him, her face contorted in a mixture of pain and anger.

“Are you saying that you want me to go work for someone else???!” she asked heatedly, her fingers clutching her glass of wine dangerously tightly.

“I…” Adrian started, not so sure anymore that the words he had rehearsed when the right ones.

“Are you firing me??!” she continued, louder than before.

“No, I’m not firing you” Adrian quickly answered, reaching to grab her free hand in his. “I just… I just thought that perhaps you would like to have more options for your career…” he paused, staring into her eyes as calmy as he could, “… for your future…”.

She went completely still again for a few seconds, staring at Adrian with a mixture of disbelief and anger. It seemed to him like these seconds had lasted hours. She finally broke her stare, standing up suddenly to face him, her body rigid with rage.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean???” she barked, her voice shaking. “Am I not good enough to be your assistant anymore, and you are trying to find a way to ease me out without hurting my feelings?”

“Of course not!”, he urged, sitting straighter on the sofa. “I would never recommend you to a business partner if I did not think you were the right person for the job! You have eve…”

“So you already recommended me to him then,” she interrupted, pulling her hand away, “before even mentioning it to me?!”.

Adrian remained silent, aware that his silence was an answer in itself. She took a few steps back, nodding silently, her gaze cold, her eyes screaming of how betrayed she felt. “So your mind is already set then… you want me out of Raines corp…”

He stood up, reaching for her, but she coiled back even further without a word, her eyes cutting through him accusingly, sharper than any knife that had ever sunk through his flesh.

“I just… I just don’t think that you are where you should be right now”, he finally stated calmly, his eyes never leaving hers in an attempt to show her that he only wanted the best for her, that this was not an attempt to run away from what they have. He wanted her to read in his eyes how much he cherished what they have, and how much it hurt him to say these words.

She stared at him for a while, frozen there in the middle of his living room, trying to make sense of this bomb he had just dropped on her. She finally began to move again, walking away slowly from him, staring at the floor, her brow furrowed and her eyes squinting in an attempt to stall the tears that were threatening to erupt and cloud her vision. She was shaking her head slightly, trying to formulate her thoughts and questions.

“So… you don’t think I should be where I am now…” she repeated, her voice a whisper, before looking at him again. “Are you speaking about work, or about us too?”.

Once more, her question was only answered by Adrian’s silence. He didn’t move. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t reach for her. All he could bring himself to do was simply stare at her, his eyes silently screaming how sorry he was, and how much he loathed himself for this.

The realisation hit her hard. He had been thinking about this, planning this, long enough to get organised, meet a trusted business partner behind her back in an attempt to ease his announcement. His decision. His one-sided decision. She knew him enough to know that he must have been thinking through this for a while. And he had never told her. He had decided this for both of them. She felt her hearth shattering to pieces, and those pieces burst into flame, bringing tears of rage to her eyes.

“Why? Why now?” she asked coldly, clenching her teeth to avoid breaking down right now before him from the pain and the rage. “What have I done?”

“Nothing!” he reassured her, once again taking a step forward as if to reach for her, but realising his body wouldn’t move any further, as if the rage in her eyes would burn him if he got any closer. “You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong”, he simply stated softly.

“Then why?!”

Adrian paused, his shoulder tensed, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes momentarily as if to gather his thoughts.

“I just…” he started, his eyes in the air, unable to look straight at her any more. “I just feel that I’m wasting you away… that I got you trapped in something that is not… not what you deserve…. and you deserve much better than what this life can give you… than what I can give you”.

When he finally looked at Ellie again, her eyes were still wild, filled with hurt and anger.

“So it IS about us then!”, she snapped, accusingly. Adrian continued, eager to fully explain why he felt so strongly about this.

“You are so young, and have so much yet to experience, discover… so many things that you couldn’t get and do if you stayed here…”

“But it’s not like I had things figured out before I met you, or had a plan or anything!” she argued back. “I finally felt like I belonged somewhere, like I had things to look forward to… “. Her eyes were piercing through him as she paused, before pointing a threatening finger at him. “Don’t you dare take this away from me like this!”.

He winced and shook his head slightly, walking away from her to stare out the window. His silence made her stomach clench, crushing her rage into a sudden wave of confusion and despair. Still his back to her, she saw his shoulder tense further, and heard him chuckle lightly. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, but his tone was bitter.

“Things to look forward to? Like what? Working nights, sleeping during the day and barely see the sunlight? Knowing that every day you are coming in to work you might end up in some kind of messed up situation against people or creatures that you’d be powerless against?...”

“You know damn well that I can defend myself, and that I don’t care about…” she started, before he turned around and cut her off, his voice sharper and louder than before.

“But I care. I don’t want you to wake up in 6 months, a year, ten, and realise that you have wasted your time and your youth trying to fit into a world that you are not bound to”.

She stayed silent for a while, staring into his eyes, fighting the turmoil of emotions inside her to find a way to channel it and help her form some kind of counter-argument. All it succeeded to do was re-ignite her rage.

“And what about what I want?” she retorted. “Am I not allowed to make these decisions by myself? Walk away – or not – when I will decide to? Do whatever I wish of my youth?”. She paused for a second, her brow frowning even further as her anger grew. “Or is it that I am too young and too stupid to know what I want, and you… oh, self-righteous Adrian Raines,” she chuckled dramatically. “have decided to finally grace me with your wisdom to lead me back towards the light?!!!”.

He knew that the mockery in her voice was only meant to show him how ridiculous she thought his decision was, but somehow it hurt more than he had expected. The words caught in his throat, the dozen of other arguments he had pathetically rehearsed before seeming now useless as her anger was pushing her away from their reach. They both fell silent, staring at each other, his pleading eyes engaged in a soundless battle against Ellie’s, trying to reach through the storm of emotions that were starting to cloud her vision.

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. And that look in his eyes were making things even worse. All she wanted to do right now was to throw something at him, or punch him, or scream. But in a flicker of a thought she felt the anger turn against herself, convincing her that she’d be the one to deserve her own hatred. For not seeing this coming. For ignoring all she knew about Adrian, about his past, about all that he had lost and that shaped him, about everything that he was and that should have been a warning that some day this would happen. Deep down, she had always known this moment would come. But she had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. That with time, she might have soothed his fears and doubts enough for him to stop thinking this way. She had hoped that she would have had more time to show him how much she cared and loved him. But this was too soon. Way too soon. He wasn’t even going to give her a chance. He had already given up on her. On them.

As the focus of her anger had shifted back to him in a second, she started to walk towards him ready to punch him with all her might, but suddenly felt a surge of shame and despair overwhelm her, stopping her dead in her tracks before she reached him. What was she doing? She was making a fool of herself, trying to fight the inevitable. No matter what his motives were, she knew Adrian well enough to know that her rebellion would be to no avail. Maybe hitting him as hard as she could to make him feel just a fraction of the hurt she felt would make her feel better on the moment. But she knew this feeling would disappear instantly. Suddenly overwhelmed by a crushing feeling of defeat, she let her body slowly sink to the ground until she could sit and rest her back against the base of the sofa, hugging her knees as close to her core as possible, her eyes locked on her hands as she was trying to calm down and collect her thoughts.

She didn’t know what to say. Or what to do. Should she storm out? Leave now and never return? Pretend that she understood and that it would be all right? Or keep fighting this until she found a way to convince Adrian to give them more time?

[end of part I]

Part II

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A/N: This wasn’t meant to be a two-part fic, but that confrontation ended up being much longer than expected (and I’m terrible at writing dialogues!). Hopefully, part 2 should come around quickly thanks to this bank holiday weekend. Thanks for reading! :)

Tags (if anyone wants to be added/removed from the tag list, let me know!)

@adriansbiss

@choicesficwriterscreations

#bloodbound #adrian raines x mc #adrian x mc #adrian raines #choices stories you play #bloodbound fanfiction #choices fanfiction #play choices #bloodbound choices #fics of the week #choices fic writers creations #angst

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