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bookoftheironfist · 2 months

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Hi! I was thinking offhand about the IF Netflix show this morning and figured I ought to get the opinion of an expert — the fanon Danny characterization that I’ve seen in people’s fics (basically a goofy and oblivious golden retriever) seems a bit different from what I saw in the show, but I also know next to nothing about the personality of the character in the comics. Are the three of them distinct (comics, show, fanon) or would you say there’s similarities between them? Is there anywhere in particular that the fanon characterization seems to come from, in your opinion?

Hi, it's great to hear from you! I love this question.

First of all, I am contractually obligated to gesture in the direction of my big ol' Iron Fist reading guide, if you do happen to have an interest in checking out some comics...

I don't read fan fiction myself, so I can't really comment in an informed or specific way on how he tends to be written or conceptualized by the MCU fan community at large, but I have heard MCU Danny described as a "golden retriever" before and I think I have the general gist. I don't have any problems with that-- Danny is very sweet and endearing and kind, and this is true in the comics as well. There is also a whole lot more going on with him, though, at the heart of which is the fact that he has been shouldering massive amounts of trauma in most of his MCU appearances so far, some of it (if we look, for instance, at Danny in The Defenders) very recent. (In this regard, the treatment of his character in The Defenders drove me a bit nuts. Yeah, okay, let's repeatedly tease and belittle the guy who's just had his home destroyed and his people massacred by the villains and then physically prevent him from getting any closure. Aren't team-ups fun?)

Anyway, to answer your question, I don't see much of a difference in personality between comics Danny and MCU Danny. This is a situation in which context is key, and one of the things I've always found so compelling about Danny as a character is the fact that while he is capable of great kindness, positivity, generosity, and affection-- and is, to me, one of the least emotionally constipated male superheroes out there-- he is also capable of immense darkness, hatred, and violence. Danny has an exceptionally horrific origin story in the comics: at the age of nine, he gets dragged high into the mountains on his father's desperate bid to return to K'un-Lun, where his father is then murdered and his mother eaten alive by wolves. Having barely escaped with his own life, Danny finds a new home and family in K'un-Lun, but he has been transformed by his experiences and becomes razor-focused on the one goal that matters most to him now: killing Harold Meachum, the man responsible for his parents' deaths. When ten years pass and the portal to Earth reopens, Danny is faced with a painful choice: to remain in his beloved K'un-Lun and put aside his desire for vengeance, or to leave in pursuit of Meachum and be locked out of the city for a decade. As much as he wants to stay, and as much as his mentors insist that this revenge quest will destroy him, the rage and trauma that have been festering in him all this time are too much for him to ignore. Nineteen-year-old Danny storms back to New York City, haunted and out for blood.

His personality in these first issues is rigidly serious, emotionally locked off, driven, bitter, and quick to anger. Even when his revenge quest fails and he decides to let his parents' killer live, he comes out of it lost and broken, homesick for K'un-Lun and unsure of who he even is on Earth and what kind of life he could possibly build there. His answer comes through the friends he makes-- Colleen Wing and her father, Misty Knight, Rafael Scarfe, Luke Cage, the Sons of the Tiger, and so on-- who extend kindness and love to him and give him a place to belong. As this happens, Danny's personality softens. There's a key moment that I think beautifully illustrates the beginning of this shift. Danny gets invited to play some casual softball with Rafael Scarfe and his team, and ends up getting knocked on his butt. His first reaction is to feel angry and humiliated. But then he does something nobody expects. He laughs:

"You hear laughter as you hit the ground, and for a moment, it angers you...after all, you have been made to look the fool... So what? It won't kill a man to look foolish among friends. And you do look...funny." Scarfe: "I don't believe it. I just don't believe it. The great stone face finally cracks up. I dunno, Daniel Rand. After all Lee* told me about you, I didn't think you had a giggle in you. Nice to see I was wrong." Marvel Premiere #24 by Chris Claremont, Pat Broderick, Phil Rache, Vinnie Colletta, and Karen Mantlo *(Lee is Colleen Wing's father, who was employing and keeping an eye on Danny at this point.)

The reason I've been focusing specifically on early 616 Danny here is because this is largely the context in which we have seen MCU Danny so far. He is, relatively speaking, barely out of his origin story, and while many of the details differ, MCU Danny and 616 Danny still have similar origins and similar emotional responses to them. (In the years since the show first aired, I've seen people try to claim that MCU Danny was out-of-character in the first season, and while out-of-character-ness is, of course, up to interpretation, I tend to take this opinion as an indication that someone has only read modern Iron Fist comics. To me, season 1 was very obviously drawing from the original Marvel Premiere issues in its tone, themes, and approach to Danny's personality.) What's very neat to me about MCU Danny is that due to the changing of one small detail, the structure of his origin story was completely flipped. In the comics, he watches Harold Meachum kick his dad off a cliff and abandon him and his mother in the mountains. He knows exactly what happened to his parents, and he knows exactly who is responsible, and so his trauma response has drive and a target. For this reason, the very first version of Danny we meet in the comics is angry and serious, battle-hardened and focused on his mission to the exclusion of all else. It's only afterward that his character, over time, morphs into the lighter, more relaxed Danny with whom modern readers are most familiar. He still has that darkness and rage inside of him-- the 2014 Living Weapon series, for instance, was all about revisiting that aspect of his character-- but modern Danny is, on the whole, in a place that reflects the tremendous character arc he has traveled over the past 50 years.

The show, though, changes a key detail of the story: Danny's parents die in a plane crash, murdered by Harold from a distance. I wasn't too disappointed or even really surprised by this change (when that first teaser trailer dropped, my co-blogger and I went, "yeah, makes sense"). Live action tends to highlight concept weaknesses that are more readily allowed suspension of disbelief in the comics, and a plane crash feels a bit more rational than Wendell Rand taking his young child for a fun jaunt through some of the harshest terrain on the planet. Of course, all of the Netflix shows made all kinds of origin story changes, some of them for no apparent reason and to what I'd consider to be the detriment of the stories (here's my co-blogger and I griping about some of the strangest changes made to MCU Matt Murdock's origin, for instance, if you're interested). But what impressed me so much about this change to Danny's backstory is that they didn't then just carry on as if the change hadn't been made. The showrunner/writing team actually thought through what it would mean for the rest of the story, and what it meant was this: With Harold not obviously involved, Danny does not know that his parents were murdered. He is burdened with the same degree of grief and trauma, but without anyone to blame, with no outlet for his emotions, no goal to strive toward for closure. It means that he initially has no revenge quest. When we first meet MCU Danny, he is suppressing a lot of harmful emotions (I mean, a lot a lot), but he is also hopeful, because he comes to Earth not to murder a guy, but looking for healing and seeking to reconnect with the Meachums: beloved extended family that he has not seen in fifteen years, welcome remnants of a life he can barely remember. He is in an optimistic frame of mind, thus allowing us to see that trademark happy, dorky Danny who we don't meet until much later in the comics (that first link offers a direct contrast between Danny walking into the Meachum building in the comics versus the MCU, so it's worth checking out).

And then! Things immediately go horribly wrong. Danny is naive, out of his element, and easily manipulated. He gets psychologically brutalized by the Meachums, by Madame Gao and the Hand, eventually by Davos, he discovers more and more of the details surrounding the crash, he begins to spiral, his suppressed emotions break free, that darkness and rage come forth, and the story of Iron Fist season 1 climaxes with the realization of the revenge quest that was always bubbling beneath the surface. That glimpse of happy, well-adjusted Danny is gone, consumed by the grim, dangerous, extremely unhealthy Danny more familiar to Marvel Premiere readers. One major difference to note is that there's something uncontrolled, almost feral about MCU Danny at his absolute worst, symptomatic of the fact that he has been actively repressing these emotions, while 616 Danny spent ten years honing and focusing them. I find that distinction really interesting.

Having defeated Harold Meachum and found closure for his parents' deaths and peace for his identity struggles (I haven't talked much about those, but I've written a lot about them in my coverage of Iron Fist season 1, so feel free to go check that out), we see that default happier, hopeful, peaceful Danny return. This moment always brings me immense joy:

(I can't overstate my love for this tiny scene. Here's Danny at his most carefree, finally returning home, ready to plunge back into his training, accompanied by someone he loves. That's my guy: distilled.)

However, Danny barely has time to heal before he is shattered again by the...whatever the heck happened to K'un-Lun (this plot point was never, ever clarified, and I'm sad about it! Augh! Marvel!!). In the post about The Defenders that I linked waaay back at the beginning of this post, I point out that Danny's traumatic flashbacks to his parents' deaths get replaced by nightmares of K'un-Lun's destruction, a new source of trauma overlaying the old. In The Defenders, Danny's personality is perhaps closer to that of his Marvel Premiere counterpart. He is no longer out-of-control berserker raging; now, his grief and anger are focused. He knows his enemy. He knows what they did (maybe? Augh...). He knows what he must do to them to avenge his people and correct his perceived mistakes. But at the same time, he is still open to building friendships and connections, even longs for it (he has lost so many of the people in his life, he has been betrayed so many times...He and Colleen are alone at this point). He forms a bond with Luke (of course), once they are able to put aside their own demons enough to listen to each other. His interactions with Luke are very reminiscent of his first interactions with Colleen in IF season 1, in which he sees someone he thinks is cool and interesting and goes "Friend. Friend, yes? Friend?" (This isn't really a thing in the comics, but it's a cute feature of MCU Danny that also underlines how desperately he needs human connection. In the comics, his Found Family(ies) just kind of happens organically. In the MCU, Danny seeks out those bonds.) Something else that pops out strongly in Danny's personality in The Defenders is an admiration for his teammates, carrying on from his open admiration for Colleen's skills in his solo show. Danny in the comics is a kung fu mega nerd. He's a perfectionist when it comes to combat and will openly criticize his enemies for sloppiness or lack of skill, but the flip side of this is that he also has tremendous respect for and interest in the skills of others and is just as quick to offer complements. I love this about him and was delighted to see it show up in the MCU.

Luke Cage season 2 and Iron Fist season 2 see MCU Danny move toward that more modern sensibility for his character; they feel very much like the Iron Fist/Power Man and Iron Fist volume 1 era in the comics, in terms of both his personality and the direction of his life (apart from the end of IF season 2, which I don't feel I can cover properly here because it still just makes me go "???!?!"). With more stability, we get to see more sides of Danny that we haven't seen since the very beginning of his solo show, before his life went to hell-- the side that is open and friendly, that gifts Misty Knight her bionic arm, that is eager to spar with Luke, the side that is settled enough in himself to offer advice to others. We see Danny enjoying having a job-- not as a Hero for Hire in this universe, sadly, but working for a moving company, earning an honest living. We get to revel more in one of my favorite things about early Danny: his naïveté and unfamiliarity with Earth. This Danny is smiley, a little bit mischievous, open and caring to a fault. We see him reveling in what he does best: using his skills, kicking some butt, being the best there is at what he does (sorry, Wolverine). In Iron Fist season 2, we also see Danny connecting with his Iron Fist identity, really connecting with the chi of Shou-Lao for the first time in a way that makes him feel empowered. Danny's relationship with his role as Iron Fist, and with the city of K'un-Lun, is rocky and tumultuous in the show and even moreso in the comics, but it also means everything to him and brings him comfort and pride and a sense of grounding. With Iron Fist season 2 existing alongside the Luke Cage team-up episode, we also get a great example of something that is notable in the comics as well, which is a distinction between the way Danny is written in his solo series versus in team books, particularly in the modern era. In team-ups and cameo appearances, he tends to be comic relief, a bit more lighthearted, a bit goofier, while in his solo stories, faced with problems that are personal and strike deep, and where we are closer to his POV, he tends toward being more introspective, serious, troubled. This is to be expected, but is still worth noting in all discussions of Danny's personality. He exists on a spectrum, just like any other character.

This post is so long, and it feels like there are still a million more things to say. But I will, I think, end it by emphasizing that one of my favorite things about Danny is the breadth and depth of his personality, and one of my greatest joys regarding the Netflix shows was seeing a character I adore explored further, in a new medium and a different context, while still aligning with the same basic set of recognizable personality traits. Danny Rand is a hardcore, deadly martial artist who wields immense power and a soft, kind sweetheart who loves his friends and would do anything for them, or for anyone else for that matter. He killed a dragon with his bare hands, and he's so, so bad at business. He's straightforward and confident-- he's one of the best fighters in the entire Marvel Universe and he knows it, not as a boast but simply as a fact. He's a tangled, self-questioning mess, trying to find his way as an Immortal Weapon in the Capital Cities of Heaven and as a superhero on Earth and frequently failing. He's honest and sincere. He's a bit awkward. He's curious, a lifelong student (as all the best martial artists are). He's fearless. He's a huge dork. He transformed a skyscraper into a giant chi-powered mech to punch a god one time. He got his identity stolen by a sentient plant one time. He teaches little kids kung fu, and is an eager mentor to his protégé Pei and a kickass uncle to Luke and Jessica's daughter, who they named after him. He's a philanthropist and a Hero for Hire, and Rolling Stone named him the 77th Hottest Avenger. And while we were unfairly robbed of the time to explore every facet of MCU Danny's character, we were nevertheless gifted a wonderful range of stories and a powerful character arc (Shou-Lao willing, someday the MCU decision-makers will take their eyes off Charlie Cox long enough to remember that the other Netflix Marvel shows also exist and we'll get to see more of this version of Danny). And my hope for people writing Danny into their fan fics is just to remember his complexity, to keep in mind the forces that shaped him, and to have fun with how multifaceted and strange and unique a character he is. And if you or anyone else is ever looking for an Iron Fist nut to chat with, I'm always up for, um...writing extremely long posts about my guy.

Thank you for the question!

#Long post #pomegranate-belle #This post is a complete mess but I hope I answered your question!#Just....DANNY RAND *gestures emphatically*#MCU #Iron Fist #Danny Rand #Messages #Commentary #Adventures in Continuity

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sherbet-shark · 2 years

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Hi, there! Can I request a fluff/angst scenario in which Leona suddenly falls into a coma after his fem! s/o saves him from his Overblot and she stays by his side until he wakes up? Thanks a bunch!

Author’s note: I want to clear something up—my dear anon, and to future requesters. I’m willing and happy to write for the Overblot boys, but I want to clarify something. These boys are suffering now, and nothing’s going to help them. Not even their significant other, to write as if their mere appearance would make the Overblot boys normal is; very out of character and is fan service-like. It is not my desire to write them out of character. Their mind isn’t there, and not even their s/o would be able to get them out of this cloud of negative emotions. These boys have had other closer characters that could’ve ‘saved them,’ but as seen in the overblot episodes, their more intimate companions could not help.

An avid example is Azul and his complicated relationship with the Tweels. Azul, on some level, does care for the Leech twins. But this complex relationship didn’t fix how he felt and what he was planning. Even the duo didn’t understand what their Dorm leader desired. So, The word “Saving” demeans the character and their lore. Not to mention reeks of savior complexes, and the idea that love can save all is wrong. No amount of love and understanding can save these boys from their suffering. His s/o won’t heal Leona's childhood neglect. Later in this fic, I will have Leona confront the reader.

Love can do many things within realism and in terms of lore. But love cannot heal a mental turmoil brewing for so many years. Love can't make Riddle relive his stolen childhood, and love can’t fix his mother’s strict ways. Love can't fix any of their problems, so to have the mindset of, “My love will fix my partner.” It is unrealistic, but it's also harmful to boys and real people. Be sure to word your requests carefully and with awareness anon. The next request I might receive gives me these vibes. I will not write for it. Now that we got that out of the way. Since I’ve improved my spirituality, I have also been inspired by the ‘Tower’ card. Meaning colossal change, your foundations have been destroyed, rebuilding and revelation.

Word Count: 3.6k

Leona’s rampage in his dorm scared you, and he’s never shown such a raw and unbridled powerful side to you. His shadow beast was a blackened lion-like creature, with ink dripping from its class-casing face. Its tanned fur and stitched would’ve made you think it was an old stuffed animal that a child tried to mend with its stitching, but the memory of seeing that monstrous thing convulse out of Leona’s body and form into an extension of himself flashes in your head.

This wasn’t the Leona you knew, and the beastman concluded that he never knew you well either. After all, if that were the case, you wouldn’t have allowed those meddling tea lovers in this plot. If you didn’t love him, you would’ve known the importance of this Magishift tournament. You would’ve stepped aside, kept quiet, and let him win. Let him finally feel what it was like to bask in the glory of his retribution.

Decades of denial Leona was put through would lighten his heavy heart if he showed his abilities. Because no matter how much the third-year apathetic nature and his indifference. He hoped that his well-thought scheme would give him the chance to taste what recognition was like by his peers and the world.

The Kingscholar pride was deadset on their traditional ways, and in carrying on the tradition, he would never be king, constantly be ridiculed, always feared in his youth. Leona’s incredible feats with nothing more than glowers and snarls. The hope in his young heart died. The brown-haired man regarded that hope as a dangerous poison, and it died long ago, but it seemed like it festered into his mind with a newfound obsession as its seed with the upcoming competition. No matter how hard the prince tried to uproot that toxic feeling of hope, it would wrap around his mind and blossom. T

he opportunity to win taunted him, and he wouldn’t let it fly away from his claws. Kingscholar would play his cards right, undermined or not. Finally, Leona would have what he deserved. A taste of what he would forevermore be out of his grasp: his desires, recognition, pride, and power from his grip from the very day of his birth.

He never let you in a lot of the time, but you saw how his lust for obsession changed him and morphed him into an unrecognizable man. Despite how much you knew this tournament meant to your boyfriend, you led these fools into Leona’s plot and ruined everything. You were a traitor in Leona’s hate-filled mind, and you were a dirty no-good traitor who dropped his defenses and latched onto him. Pathetic parasites surrounded him. He knew Ruggie was only by his side when it benefited him. Still, he never thought that you could never be too careful with your relationships at Night Raven College and beyond in the second year and some inkling of genuine care. Leona came to that painful conclusion for many years as he built a wall around his heart and doused his heart in apathy.

The world and the people he met loved building him up, only to tear him down to his foundations. The way his eyes were glued to your figure was menacing. Fright filled your heart as Leona roared out. His voice wasn’t even the same, and it echoed and shook you to your very core. The sandstorm Leona summoned made you close your eyes as the Riddle and the other Savannaclaw members gathered their strength to attack the suffering man.

“You. How dare you show your face!” Green eyes filled with scorn stared daggers into his dorm members and lover. He almost finished the job on Ruggie, nearly disintegrating his arm with his Unique Magic. His chaotic clouded thoughts twisted and turned in his deranged mind as he howled a sadistic laugh. Despite the severity of his actions, Leona would never have to face the consequences of turning the world to sand.

The power surges through his pulse. Everything felt like the blood in his veins was on fire, but he didn’t care about the pain. All he wanted was power and destruction, which he finally received. Leona felt so powerful in his moment, the true king of the unfair world. Once he turned the world to sand and everyone in it, that’s when he could finally win. Finally, have it all. He doesn’t care who he’ll have to kill.

After all, if they cared for him, they would’ve known how much it meant for him. The blot on his body unnaturally pluses in his blood. Leona winces in pain as the parasites hit him with fire magic. Leona sharply inhaled as he felt shooting pain ripping across his chest as the man tensed up and ordered his ink beast to increase the attacks. Labored sharp breathes all that you heard from him. Even when the second prince pushed to the edge, his cold eyes calculated in silence as he growled at the insistent pain he felt.

The apathetic man commanded the beast with ferocity and rage dripping from his words as the glass-headed beast obeyed his whims. The stabbing pain in Leona’s chest thundered as his head throbbed every moment. But he refused to back down; glory was before his claws, and magical energy flowed freely around him as the ground below shook.

Cater narrows his eyes as the sandstorm dies down. He could see his fellow third-year’s beast, and he wavered with evident exhaustion. Leaf green eyes widen as Cater gasps for breath clutching his magical pen, watching the immovable beast. His hair was all out of whack, his uniform was dirty, and Cater could feel bits of blood clinging to his arm from a Flora attack he was hit head-on with, the orange-headed man’s brow knitted together.

The third year’s rally made you more determined to defeat him. Gathering up your courage, you pry your eyes open against the grains of sands scratching at your face. Behind you and besides you, your friends looked worse for wear as Ace and Jack heaved together and unleashed their combined attacks.

Leona’s figure was outlined in the darkened atmosphere, and the sandy whirlwind shielding the man slowly dwindled as his beast stomped its feet in frustration and intimidation. Crouching close to the ground as you focused on the small openings, the sand gave way. Leona’s overblot was scarily different from Riddle’s. The man floating before you dressed in a black lion mane and what you assumed was traditional royal wear clung to him as Leona hissed out his displeasure. He was tensing his body from what it looked like as his ink beast scratched at the broken earth blow.

“He’s preparing for another attack! Guys, get ready to guard.” Your throat felt dry from the suffocating atmosphere, but you yell to the boys to gather the remaining strength. Your head was violently throbbing as you dug your heels into the dirt. With haggard breaths, you glared at Leona. Fire in your eyes and a burning determination that you’d like to say rivaled Leona’s glint of hate and despair. You weren’t going to lose him. Not now, not ever. You may be magicless, but that doesn’t mean you’d lay down without a fight. That shared tenacity was what drew you and Leona together, after all.

Commander versus commander. A man bathed in his inner turmoil and blight against those dragged into this fight. The battle waves felt unending and intense as the last blast of Flora energy, but somehow your side won. Somehow. It was a miracle that Leona and all the ones involved with fighting his Overblot form and beast were still standing. But as Jack struck the last blow. You peeled back the veil of his past. The past he hid from the world and from those who cared for the cunning lion.

The parental and familial neglect affected his growth. Instead of being filled with praises for his actions and accomplishments, his childhood was filled with hushed harmful whispers. So much that he could never escape the shadows of his elders no matter how hard he tried. You couldn’t blame his indifference and hopelessness as he grew. No matter how hard he clawed out of the abyss, he was always dragged down, so why fight the inevitable? Why try anymore when the world wants his defeat? When he knew more than anyone that he’d never win.

After the victims of Leona’s plot voiced that they desired to get revenge, the Savannaclaw Dorm competed in the Magishift tournament. Your eyes felt heavy with fatigue, and the thought of fainting was too appealing. But not before you and Leona discussed what happened. Despite how Leona presented himself, you could see that his Overblot absorbed more of his energy than he let on. You kept a close eye on him while facing him in the exhibition match of the Tournament. Crowley sloppily added last minute to save his butt from becoming flambeed Crow by Grim’s fire breath. You had to admit that the grey beast’s pigheadedness was annoying most of the time.

Ruggie’s shenanigans with his senior were a distraction from the looming confrontation with Leona. The Savannaclaw darkness of his heart soaked in the sun. While the third-year dorm members didn’t seem to dig too much into Leona’s incident, you felt the overblot destroyed the foundation of your relationship. While it hurt, it felt as if it was for the better. Your thoughts distracted your play on the field in front of millions, and Grim’s “Super Hurricane” move knocked you out during the exhibition match. Faint yells were the last thing you heard as you closed your eyes, and you felt someone hold your body, weakly calling out and hoping it was Leona.

Silently hoping that what he felt for you was genuine and not part of another plot of his to hurt you, “Leo...” His name died on your lips as Jack cradled your unconscious body with Leona annoyingly huffed out as he scanned the audience with their cameras, eager to eat up any scraps as the beastman’s eyes glanced towards your sleeping form.

“We need to get the perfect to the infirmary. Help Jack pull your weight.” Leona cooly turned from the stadium lights and ignored the murmurs from the audience and teammates. The third-year glanced at Grim’s grey body as the small beast uttered excuses to Ace and Deuce. Grim’s watery blue eyes met the dorm leaders, and the former’s narrowed in displeasure as Kingscholar’s lion tail thumped on the ground. Ruggie hushed the trio of boys and carried the little monster in his arms. The second-year quietly scolded the flamming cat as Ruggie watched Leona stay behind on the field for the first round of Magishift.

It would be pretty odd if the captain of one of the teams weren’t there for the play-offs, and Ruggie silently understood his dorm leader. Despite how Leona endangered Ruggie’s life, he knew that Leona valued the prefect more than he let on or how he acted. However, this would be the last thing he’d meddle for Leona. The rest was up to the stoic lion man. As the third year approached his team and leered at the Heartslaybul teaming walking onto the field, the targeted members looked particularly trigger happy as the announcer said a small intermission would occur.

Waking up in the infirmary was the last thing you’d expect, but the dull pain in your head made you groan on cue. As the freshmen informed you what you’d missed, Grim and your first-year friends came to life. As the young men spoke, you lifted your body to see if Leona was in the room. Ace and Deuce immediately pressed your down to the infirmary bed, saying you shouldn't move too quickly. Ruggie’s voice rises slowly from a nearby bed, his ears flattening on his messy blond hair.

“Ruggie, you’re awake!” Jack turns to his senior. The wolfman’s tail subtly wags as he leans over to look at his battered upper-level students.

“Yeah, yeesh, stop yelling. Before anyone asks, Savannclaw lost. These bruises are all around my arms, and I can feel a scab on my knee.” Ruggie complained. Dusty gray eyes meet yours for a moment, and he sighs.

“He’s not awake yet, sorry. He’s probably just sleeping everything off.”

That was about ten days ago. You met Cheka Kingscholar, and he was a cute little thing that almost cried at his Unca’s unconscious form. The shenanigans of trying to peel the soon-to-be king was a pain in half, but his heart seemed to be in the right place. The nurses informed the Headmaster and the Savannaclaw dorm that their leader had gone into a coma. They didn’t know when he’d come out of it, but they had no idea. Ruggie and Jack assumed that he’d be under for a couple of days. He did go through an overblot and then a Magishift tournament, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise to you, but you did make it your priority to visit his infirmary bed daily.

Leona quietly stirred awake as his eyes focused on a familiar ceiling. His eyes felt heavy, but he urged himself to wake up. After three days, his sleeping lover propped next to him in a quaint little chair with a textbook. He huffs and touches your shoulder, gently shaking you awake. Your eyelids fluttered, and as you opened them. You met Leona’s face close to you. The suddenness made you gasp. Your grip tightened as Kingscholar’s eyes closed in concentration and scanned the room.

“Scared to see me? How long was I out?” Leona lightly mocked as he moved back and laid on his side, his hand cradling the side of his face, his eyes seemingly glowed in the darkness of the nurse’s office. The brick walls and clear windows made the atmosphere between you comforting yet urged you to speak. It seemed like the third year had gathered some clues for this discussion. After all, you were uncharacteristically quiet, and it looked like you were hyping yourself up.

“You were in a coma for thirteen days. The doctors said it was a combination of the blot in your system and exhaustion from magic. But before that, I’m sorry that I caused you so much added pain. When we fought out on the field, I realized how much I don’t know about you. Maybe it’s a mix of not wanting to open old wounds, or I didn’t want to know before. But now I want to know, and I want to understand what happened.”

You moved the book to the cabinet as you spoke and looked at him with a steward expression painted on your face. You were baring your heart out to him, and you knew it wouldn’t be easy to heal everything over. Your flaws laid bare before the second prince as his eyes rolled and he sat up. The covers move away from him as he shoots down your pleading soul.

“You wouldn’t understand.” As Leona returns your stare, his voice is harsh and raspy after days of no use.

“What wouldn’t I understand?” Swiftly shooting back immediately as you moved from your spot to continue to talk to him.

“Ugh. It doesn’t matter now, and you can’t do anything about it now. So why try.” His heart churned and twisted as he tried to veil the emptiness in his words with more apathy and indifference. But as he tried to move out of the Infirmary, you kept blocking his way, Leona could easily knock you aside and move, but he didn’t lift a finger to harm you, which was some sign that you were getting through to him.

Leona never did touch you, and he respected you and didn’t want to know about him. But now, with all his cards revealed. Kingscholar felt defensive and aggressive. Throughout your relationship with the dorm leader, he always was respectful towards you, and this small show solidified that you had a chance.

“It does matter, Leona! It matters to me! Listen, I understand what I did wrong and want to know you, and I want to know all of you. Please. It’s your responsibility to be in a relationship.” Bitting back as you stopped in front of your young man because despite how it felt, you wanted to continue fighting, you still loved him, and maybe after your false foundations were demolished, you could both build anew.

“So, we’re playing that ‘responsibility’ game- you were supposed to keep your mouth shut after I told you to stop putting your nose where it didn’t belong. Instead, you turn tail and lead them over.” Leona glared at you as his gorgeous face creased in frustration and intimidated you as he circled you. His lion tail flicks in your peripheral view, while others would’ve thought it was cute. You knew better. He was irritated, but you pushed through the suffocating pressure instead of fear taking your sense over. You pushed through the suffocating pressure.

“I did that because I knew what you were doing to other peers, and ours was wrong. You weren’t in your right mind. I saw how this obsession with winning made you turn into this. This thing. That Leona wasn’t the one I fell in love with.” You clench your fists out of frustration as you exclaimed, getting your point across to the apathetic man. Your heart pounded in your ears as your conversation got louder.

“Listen, you think you can just latch onto me and betray me and tell me how to live my life?! Well, surprise, surprise. You can’t fix me, and you don’t even know what I’ve been through.” Leona rebuttals as he growls down at you, his tail flicking more as he still tries to escape. He didn’t want this conversation at all, and he just wanted to sleep and have you return to his arms like before. But as he roared out, he showed how he felt.

“ I never did want to fix you. I don’t know, but if you’d just tell me. I never pushed you to open up. I never did that because no matter how hard I tried, you’d push me away as you did with practically everyone here! It’s your fault, Leona, because you push everyone away that tries to love you. But you know what I’m staying, so, go on, yell. Scream for me to get out. But I won’t. I may love you, but my love isn’t an excuse to turn a blind eye to something wrong.”

You weren’t backing down as you weakly reached out to his hand. Exasperatedly, you shake your head, your hair covering your face, concealing the raw emotions on your face from Kingscholar as he lets you hold his hand. Leona averts his furious gaze from you, and when all feels lost. Your head felt a hand gently pushing you towards his chest. His P.E uniform shirt pressed into your face as Leona released a deep sigh. He looked away from your form as he idly played with his lover’s messy hair.

It wasn’t what you expected, but… it meant the world to you as he stood in silence with you in a rare show of affection.

“If you’re hellbent, then fine. I expect your loyalty and in return.” Leona knew his relationship was different. He kept you in the dark about many things, yet he never did lie about what he felt for you. He did love you no matter how his actions seemed otherwise. Kingscholar was denied second chances before his birth, but maybe, this second hope was something worth reaching out for, with your hand in his looking forward to the future together.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #twst leona #leona x reader #twisted wonderland leona #twst x reader #overblot x reader #reader insert #twst leona king scholar #sherbet writes #sherbet's scenarios #Twst fandom stop romanticizing mental breakdowns and making them fan-service like #The boys are in pain #If someone romanticized your mental breakdown I think you wouldn't like that

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leggerefiore · 2 years

Text

Invisible

cw: angst with a happy ending, injury to reader, feelings of insecurity,

this was written as a vent fic so take it as you will, i suppose

~~~~~~~

Something insecure buzzed in your chest as you as outside the station. You knew that you were never going to be some prodigy, but the sheer number of losses left a cold shiver in your bones. The harsh words of him never helped. Emmet never meant for them to come across as harsh, you knew, but the way they seared themselves into your chest left you in near tears. You sniffled and wiped your moist eyes.

It was stupid. All of this was stupid. You weren't going to impress him. He barely acknowledged you as a usual challenger, much less a friend. He was always with the model Elesa, too. You were stupid. The feeling in your heart felt like a numb bruise as the tears finally fell from your eyes. Why did you bother trying? The Subway Boss could likely pick up anyone he desired if he tried. You were some no name person that couldn't even beat a preschooler on the train half the time.

You pressed your knees to your chest. Why were you even here? It was stupid adoration for him. He seemed so sweet with his bright smile and soft voice. A giggle would leave his throat sometimes along with a 'mhm' and 'yep' when speaking in agreement. You were just some weird stalker like the rest of his fans. Someone like that would never notice you.

The sky mocked you. Above the earth, the sun shone brightly and powerfully. Its warm light overtaking the earth and making a pleasant afternoon. Many people walked about in groups or pairs. They had friends, families and lovers, but you were alone. All your friends lived far away from Nimbasa. You needed to leave before you were asked to. No need to add salt to your festering wounds. Moving to walk down the stairs, you tripped off the edge of one.

Panic should have consumed your senses as you saw the pavement approaching hard and fast. You should have braced yourself for impact. No such actions were bothered by you. Resigning yourself to apparent fate, you hoped it might knock you out. Then you wouldn't have to deal with all the passing, judging eyes. People quietly gossiping to each other. Your body crashed hard against the concrete, drawing the populace around to a freezing halt. There was only a moment of realisation before you fell unconscious.

Stirring awake, you found yourself in a hospital room. An I.V. ran into you while rain pattered lightly against the glass of the room. Raising a hand to touch your head, you quickly flinched away from the pain. Bandages wrapped were wrapped around your head. Your phone lied on a nearby table alongside a slim vase of flowers. Fresh, purple hyacinths bundled beautifully and left you slightly relieved.

One of your friends must have been contacted over your accident and had come to see you. Reaching over, you grabbed a card that lied near it. There was likely some joke in it to cheer you up. Instead of the usual type of card, it was a strange one with a train on it. You would have to tell them about how that was going. Opening it, you nearly dropped the card in shock. In left-hand slant was written a message relatively neatly. A small smiley face was drawn on the inside as well.

“Hi! I am Emmet. I am Subway Boss. You know that because you challenge me verrrrry often. I was upset to learn that you had an accident outside of the station! Get well soon! I will be waiting for you to ride the trains again. Your improvements impressed me! Yep!”

Your heart felt strange. He had noticed you? It was a hard thing to believe, but here it was before you. The insecurity from before burned away into a new determination. Now, you had to beat him.

After you got better, of course.

The air around you felt tense as the forty-eighth trainer went down. The nursery aide seemed disappointed, but gave a friendly smiled ultimately. You returned it as you walked up to the PC to heal before the next match. Emmet waited on the other side of that door. Anticipation burned your brain. Cold metal chilled your skin as you grasped the handle and slid it open.

It had been a few months since your accident. Your recovery period was amazingly short, but you decided to dedicate your time into battling and strategies. This was going to be the time you finally beat Emmet and laid those pestering feelings of yours to rest. If you lost, you would give up on this useless dance of impossible to reach heights. You doubted Emmet would have any interest in a trainer that couldn't defeat him.

If you won… Well, maybe… Perhaps Emmet would give you the time of day.

The man smiled at you as you stepped into his car. His pokemon were already out and ready to go. You stood up straight and sent out your own. He giggled at your eagerness, “I'm happy to see you're better!” The battle started without any delay. His team was as good as they usually were, and Emmet's own ability to predict and improvise proved a challenge as always. You kept your cool as you applied all that you had learnt in your training.

One of his pokemon went down, then one of yours. Then another of yours, before you got revenge. Your third pokemon went down, leaving you at a two versus one. Nervousness dared try to creep its way into your mind, but you kept your eyes on the prize. Chandelure fell, leaving you solely against his Eelektross. Swallowing dryly, you wondered how this would play out. Luck felt as if it would be the final determining factor of this all.

This was his starter if the rumours online were correct, so they likely had a deeper understanding of each other. That was not to say the field was unfair, however. Your starter remained your last pokemon, too. They gave a look to you, clearly understanding your urge to win. Emmets's expression was down-right excited, eyes and smile wide. Eelektross used a thunder wave, but it missed. You were quick to gain the upper hand.

Soon, Eelektross was knocked out by your pokemon. Victory was yours. The pure, unbridled joy you felt led to you tightly hugging your starter, praising them endlessly for their amazing job. They made a soft sound at that. Uproarious applause echoed out as Emmet clapped his hands. “That was amazing. You're a verrry good trainer! Yep! Just like I thought,” he walked up to you and hold out a piece of paper, “I was worried that you had been worse than I was told when you didn't appear for so long. Now, I see you were training. You're wonderful!” His smile is bright.

Suddenly, you are pulled into a warm hug. Emmet's body pressed against yours. Your cheeks burned from the unexpected affection. What was with him? You felt your suppressed feelings haunting your brain. When he finally pulled away, his grin seemed a bit menacing. A cooing sound left him. “I'm about to take my lunch break,” he explained, “I'm going to this café I like. Do you want to go with me?”

You realised that you had no idea what was on Emmet's mind and said yes.

He later admitted he had liked you since your third battle.

You pondered if Ingo would be too scarred from the loss of his brother.

#emmet x reader #emmet/reader #pokemon x reader

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1252291 · 3 years

Text

𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘 ㅤ( E. YEAGER ) 🔞

you receive a random add on snapchat. after getting no answer of who it is, you forget about it happening until they send you a video that catches your attention.

warnings: slight breeding kink, daddy kink, dubcon. note: afab & she/her pronouns. // an: this is what eren looks like in this fic. // wc: 3k+

minors dni please.

EY199 added you as a friend on snapchat!

The notification was displayed on your phone screen from an app that you’d forgotten you still had downloaded. You clicked onto the notification, and watched as snapchat loaded up on your screen for the first time in forever. Long enough that your last messages had been opened, and never responded to–or that the messages waiting there for you were months old.

Add back. You clicked it.

A soft huff escaped. Snapchat was prompting you to start a conversation with the faceless, and nameless snapchat user, but you weren’t going to. Instead, you swiped away from the app and intended to forget about it until –

EY199: hey

Of all the words in the English language. Still, your curiosity outweighed your desire to roll your eyes and quickly unfriend whoever this was.

(USER): hiii, who is this?

In the corner of the screen, a little figure popped up but it wasn’t customised at all. Just as quickly as it had popped up, it disappeared again. You meant to just wait for a bit then unfriend them, but instead you forgot about the add entirely. And with it, the app, and whoever EY199 was.

___

The sun hung low in the sky as the evening wore on. The heat was festering, and didn’t seem anywhere close to letting up, while your fan blew hot air onto your body. One of your roommates was standing at the end of your bed in front of your bedroom mirror, looking at themselves as they put finishing touches on their outfit.

Absently, you were scrolling through any app that you could find, so you weren’t left staring at your roommate until she was done.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“Positive,” you answered, shifting a little on top of your covers. Head turned to the side towards the fan, letting air blow against your face for a few seconds with a sigh. “It’s too hot. I’d rather just stay here.”

“Where the AC doesn’t work? They probably have AC at the bar.”

“Mmmmm.” The thought of being in an air conditioned bar wasn’t enticing enough to make you get up; the bar was probably packed with heated bodies combating the cool air. It was better to stay behind, so you didn’t respond more–only scrolled, and occasionally glanced past your phone to watch her finish up before she was giving you a quick salute.

“Last chance.”

“Goooo,” you answered, smiling widely. “I’ll be fine.”

A few minutes later, and your roommates were calling out that they were leaving. When the front door clicked shut, and the sound of the lock turned, you dropped your phone off to the side, and rested your fingers across your stomach. Tapping gently, you turned your face back towards the fan with a deep sigh, and let eyes slip shut in attempts to forget about the sticky heat.

Bzz. Bzz.

You patted the bed beside you, trying to find the device that had managed to slip away, and picked it up to look at the notification.

EY199 sent you a snapchat.

You pressed the notification. It brought you back to your forgotten messages again. This time, there was a purple box loaded next to the username: A video. You pursed your lips as fingers from your resting hand tapped against your stomach again. On one hand, you didn’t know who EY199 was and didn’t really care to know, but on the other, your friends were out and there was nothing better to do.

Quickly, you did what any bored person would do: You clicked the loaded video before you could convince yourself it was a bad idea.

Two things became apparent. EY199 was a man, and he looked hot.

His fingers curved underneath the fabric of his t-shirt, tugging it higher up his abdomen. There was a sharp curve of his v-line, along with the view of his abs. Underneath the light of his camera, he shifted around; lifted his upper body so that he could work his shirt higher up to show off more of his frame. EY199 didn’t show his face though. Instead, only the black-painted fingernails that ran across his abs before the video ended, and you were brought back to the loading screen.

Hold to rewatch.

Your thumb hovered over it for a second. Realistically, you didn’t know who this was, so it wouldn’t matter if you watched it over. Or at least, it shouldn’t have mattered, but your cheeks still burned when his fingers were running over his abs again, and a notification popped up across the top of the screen, telling you that EY199 was typing.

By the time the video ended again, the message was sent and waiting for you.

EY199: liked it that much??

His small emoticon, still not customised, was sitting in the corner. While you hesitated to type, he was waiting for the response.

(USER): no i just dropped my phone the first time lol (USER): so i had to rewatch EY199: likely story hahahaha (USER): who is this??

He opened the message but didn’t respond. Instead, his emoticon disappeared. You left the app again. The heat in your face was still lingering, so you turned your face towards the fan and let your eyes slip shut. As much as your face had cooled, when you felt your phone buzz, it heated back up; next to his username, there was another purple box.

You stared at it. In attempts to seem collected, you turned your screen off and waited a few minutes (really, a minute and a half) before going back to watch.

In attempts to be logical about it, you noted his outfit was the same. His nails were still painted, but the camera was tilted lower. From this angle, the tattoo wrapping up his wrist was on display–disappearing further up his arm, and from view. His palm ran across his covered cock, tracing along the length to show that he was hard.

Your cheeks were beginning to burn again, even underneath the air from the fan–only to feel like they were on fire when he spoke, “tell me to stop if you want.”

Then you were back at the loading screen. Without making the mistake of rewatching the video, you were left with your two options: You could text him to stop, or see how far this would go. Suddenly, you strained to listen to your empty apartment. Maybe you were scared that you’d get caught, or maybe you just thought you were being stupid and needed a reality check, but…you’re allowed to be stupid sometimes, right?

EY199 wasn’t showing his face. You didn’t have to either.

It had been so hot today that everybody in the apartment had stripped down the bare minimum, leaving you adorned in cotton shorts, and a thin tank. With shaking hands, you pulled the straps down your shoulders and swiped to the camera. You clutched the phone tightly. Still laying on your back with the fan running, you held down the button to record and pulled your top to rest underneath your exposed breasts. Nipples hard from the sudden cool air and adrenaline coursing through your body, you ran your hand over one of your breasts and pinched one of the hard buds before letting the button go.

You watched the video over a few times in attempts to make sure there was nothing that could trace back to you, before you went to people in your contacts, only to check a thousand times that EY199 was the only contact selected.

Then sent.

Only a few seconds passed before the square was hollow. He was watching the video. Within a minute, you were clicking on his new video.

“Holy fuck, you’re beautiful,” he praised, recording the way his fingertips slid underneath the elastic waist of his briefs. EY199’s chuckle was deep in his chest–sending a little shiver through your body as his hand slipped inside of the fabric. “I’ll take that as a yes. Show me more, pretty girl.”

You took a deep breath before going back to the camera to record again. This time a little cockier now that he had complimented your small efforts. Your hand started at your breast again, still playing gently with one of your nipples before tracing your hand down your body. The tank had ridden up a little from the way that you’d been shifting around on the bed; it gave the camera a tiny peek of skin, right before the elastic of your shorts. You parted your thighs, then stopped recording.

The waiting time between videos was starting to feel normal. While you waited for him to open the video, your face turned back towards the fan. It was swirling hot air around the bedroom still, but it felt nice on the newly exposed skin. You sat up to tug the tank off–sparing a glance towards the door, wondering how long it would take for everybody to return. They weren’t likely to return anytime soon, but nerves were still fitted in your stomach.

His video came in.

“Tease,” he accused. EY199’s face wasn’t visible, but the smile was evident in his tone. Before he hit record on his own video, he had gotten rid of his briefs. Now, his hand was rested at the base of his hard cock laying across his stomach, flushed pink. Beads of precum were leaking from the head. With a soft grunt, he wrapped his hand around the girth of his cock; he stroked slowly–teasing you just as much.

Your hand slipped between your thighs to touch yourself lightly over the fabric of your shorts. It wasn’t enough, but you didn’t want to do too much if you were sending clips of yourself to him. You could feel your pussy aching softly; the fabric of your panties slowly being soaked through the more that you teased yourself.

He groaned as his hand twisted up so that he could thumb at the head of his cock, “fuuuck. You want to be my good girl, don’t you? Pull your shorts down, and let daddy watch you play with yourself.”

Daddy.

The self-proclaimed name was so simple, but it burned through you quickly. The second the video ended, you were dropping your phone off to the side with a jolt of energy going through your body. You quickly rid yourself of your shorts, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. You lifted the camera, finding the angle a little awkward before you sat up. The fan was still running across your body when you pressed your back against the cool bedroom wall, and spread your legs.

The new position was lewd. With the change in lighting, it was easier to see how the seat of your underwear was soaked through with arousal. You started recording: Fingers traced over the wet fabric before pressing it between your folds with a soft gasp–you played with your sensitive clit, and let soft whimpers escape at the needed touch.

Your legs spread a little more, before you ended the video and sent it. Curiosity burned through you, but not enough to make you stop and wait; you pulled the wet fabric down your thighs, letting it remain around one of your ankles before you were recording your wet pussy for him. Your fingers slipped between your folds to play with your clit again. You moaned softly as your head tilted back to rest against the wall behind you.

“D-daddy,” you whined despite the way your face burned. When you stopped recording and hit send, it was enough time that he had sent another video already. Before you could press it though, he was typing.

EY199: fuuuck. want to get my mouth on you so bad EY199: show daddy how you finger yourself when i’m not there (USER): okay, daddy

You went back to the video he had sent.

He was still playing with the head of his cock in the first video. His thumb slipped up the crown, then swept across the beads of precum at the slit; he spread it across. “So wet for me already? Look at the mess you made, baby.”

As the video played, another was sent. It switched over to the new video. This time, his hand was wrapped firmly around the girth of his cock–fucking his own fist quickly, unable to contain his moans before he gathered himself enough to speak, “thinking about how pretty you’d look sitting on my cock. Want daddy to spread you open on his cock, don’t you? Moan more for me, pretty girl. Tell daddy how you want him to fuck you too.”

There was the notification that he had watched your video again, but you were too busy to tease him the same way he had you when you rewatched his video. You swiped to the camera, and recorded the way your fingers dipped further down your folds until your index was teasing your slit.

“Want you to finger me first, daddy,” you muttered, still straining your ears for any sign that your roommates returned. When you heard nothing, you dipped your index inside of your tight cunt. “Your cock looks so big–want you to make me cum on your fingers first. When you’re not here–” you inhaled sharply as you started to finger yourself. Your body pliant and accepting––enough that you were able to add your middle finger quickly. It served more purpose; you could hear how you squelched around your own digits, and let a soft whimper escape before starting over. “–you’re not…here, I touch myself like this, daddy. I finger myself and pretend it’s you instead.”

Your fingers left your tight walls, only to trace back to your clit. You ran quick circles over it with soft moans just before you ran out of time.

Your pussy was aching with want. You didn’t know who EY199 was, but you wanted him. The video was delivered. With little patience, you waited for his new video to come in.

It took a few minutes. In that time, you fingered yourself with your eyes shut and head tilted back against the wall. You imagined the way his cock would split you open. His hands keeping your legs spread open so that he could fit between them.

You wondered if he had tattoos on his other arm too, or just the one you could see in the video. You wondered how dirty his words could get when he had you pinned underneath him, and whether he would praise you for listening so well. As if it was meant to be, your phone buzzed. You picked up the phone and burned when his words filled the room.

“That’s my good girl,” he growled, tilting the camera down so you could see the way his hand worked over his cock. “Keep fucking your tight little cunt for me–just like that.”

His hips lifted a little bit as another groan ripped through him. He was getting close. You might just be a random woman he messaged, but he wanted you to cum too. It was the least he could do when you’d so willingly sent him videos back.

“Fuuuck, you’re gonna make me cum. Can’t stop thinking about your pretty tits bouncing while I fuck into you–” His hand twisted a little, squelching from the amount of precum drizzling down his length. He breathed a little harder, “pin you down on your bed, and breed your pretty little pussy. Gonna stuff you full of my cock, and fill you up with my cum. You’d like that, right? Want daddy to eat it out of you after? Make you cum on my tongue too?”

The silver of his piercing hit the back of his teeth, before he was hissing a soft, “fuuuck, fuck.”

The video ended though, and you were left desperately fingering yourself. You recorded yourself whining for him, and holding your orgasm at bay, “yes daddy, please fuck me. I’ll be so good for you. Make me cum - wanna cum on your fat cock.”

He watched the video you sent, holding the base of his cock–fighting against his own peak. He wanted to watch you come undone, and wanted to make sure you saw what you did to him.

Quickly, he opened his camera again and recorded. When you opened it, it was hard to really make out his fist with how quickly he was moving, but his moans were clear. They sent heat up your entire body, until he was swearing, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” as cum shot up his chest.

You worked your fingers inside of yourself, getting wetter as your walls tightened around your fingers. You were recording the best you could when you were this close–until you were crying out. Soft thighs shook underneath the pleasure, your grip on your phone hard as you gushed around your fingers. You cried out for him, carrying yourself through with your eyes screwed shut. Only when you were left twitching, did you stop recording. You sent it quickly, before recording again–this time, capturing the way your cum stretched from your abused entrance, and your fingertips.

“Mm, came a lot, daddy.” You were a little embarrassed by it; he wasn’t there, but you were dripping just from his words, and from watching him.

Without another word, you sent the video and watched the one he had sent back.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he laughed, the camera panned back to his abs once again. But he traced the camera up his body, following his hand as it ran across his chest to gather the cum that had splattered across. “You have no fucking idea how bad I want to taste you right now. You sound so pretty cumming for me.” He paused, licking his lips. “We should do this again, hm? Oh - hold on.”

Your new video must’ve sent while he was recording because he watched it, and a new video of his played right after: “Fuck. That’s my good girl. Such a little slut for daddy.” The praise was said with a smile. You couldn’t see it, but you could hear it. “You are going to be my good girl, aren’t you? Gonna let me send you videos so we can fuck around?”

You watched the video over to stall. Too embarrassed to use your voice, even after you’d spoken to him through the videos, you opened up the chat. By the time you finished the first couple of letters, he was in the chat too.

(USER): maaaaybe EY199: just maybe, princess? (USER): mmhm EY199: what can make you say yes?? EY199: ur so fucking hot EY199: if that was my only taste, i should’ve savoured it more

You blushed a little at the words. Thankful for the way the fan was blowing air on you; it felt cooler now that you were sweating.

(USER): what’s ur name?? EY199: eren EY199: what’s urs? (USER): [y/n] EY199: gna be my good girl then [y/n]? (USER): yes daddy

Eren smiled to himself, while you swore you’d worry about if you knew any Eren’s later.

check out the sequel: Offline.

thank u sm for reading!! if u wanna join my tag list, it's right here. tag list: @ackermannsz , @weepinglevi , @ahanoha , @hznji , @monirei , @seraphdreams , @tetsunormous , @sweet-pea-bby , @yeagerslut , @jean-prettyboy-kirschtein , @mattyinc , @lazyezstudy , @dukina , @ereh-simp , @glittrkink , @alahmorah , @heyyharuhi - if u wanna be taken off, hmu!

#eren yeager x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren jeager x you #aot x reader #ivy writes #abt. eren #i blow AIR EVERYWHERE. this is the first eren fic i've written that's x reader #LIKE NOT JUST ..... a lil blurb of me talkin abt eren fuckin u like it's an actual fic #listen it was either EREN WITH THIS PLOT OR REINER and eren seemed the more likely and i kept thinking abt him in this situation #only eren can send me unsolicitied pics NOBODY ELSE!!!!!!#no fr dont send random pics to ppl its so weird #i have to post this before my service cuts out again. im travelin so im like in the weird stretch of #service for a few mintes then nothin

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creativeashproductions · 3 years

Text

Change of Scenery // Evan Buckley

IN WHICH: Captain Bobby Nash has kept a secret from his friends, his wife and his step children since 2015 when he came to LA. Bobby’s eldest and only surviving child comes to LA to reconcile and make amends all the while she catches the eye of a certain blue eyed firefighter.

Warnings: Swearing, death/familial loss, pregnancy, blood, angst, injuries/medical emergency, and fluff

Words: 8k

A/N: Back at it with another 9-1-1 fic. Hope you enjoy, and I may just have to do another crossover with 9-1-1 and Julie and the Phantoms.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

There are moments in our lives that define us, whether it can be known as a positive or negative, but the outcome is always the same. A six-letter word that strikes fear and excitement into the souls of humans is change. The fear can be for ourselves or as a result of a child, a sibling, or a parent branching out on their own. Unfortunately, you had gone through a harsh and cruel experience on a cold winter night in the city you grew up in.

A typical Thursday filled with classes at the college you attended in Minnesota on a scholarship, nothing out of the ordinary. The plan had been to drive to your parents’ apartment to catch up with them for the weekend. Saturday morning was already reserved for a girls day with your little sister Brook and your mom. In the afternoon, you’d promised to take your brother Bobby to the ball diamond.

Your bag was packed, the plan to drive straight from class to St. Paul the following day to arrive in the daylight. Your dad struggled with worry when it came to you driving in the dark and especially in winter with icy roads.

“Y/N!” Dottie screeched from the living room of the four-bedroom dormitory. The pretty and curvy brunette had been the first friend you made in college.

Typically Dottie was on the quieter side, so when she screamed, you practically sprinted to the girl.

“Where’s the fire?” You demanded with a smirk at the reference to a topic that was a constant in your family.

The fire drills your father conducted every four months for an exit plan in case of a fire and general information to save yourselves. He had also trained you to remember fire hazards and how to call dispatch with clear information if that time ever came. It never did and hopefully never would.

“The Lakeview Apartments in St. Paul.” Dottie’s dark brown eyes spoke only of pity and concern. The five foot ten roommate literally caught you as you tumbled into her arms with a loud grief-stricken scream.

You were forever indebted to the brunette for the plans she sacrificed to drive you back to St. Paul. There was absolutely no chance Dottie would allow you to both drive and be alone with no news. The media hadn’t released the names of the 148 deaths the fire relentlessly tore from the land of the living.

“I want to prepare you for what you’ll see. Your mother suffered severe third-degree burns over the majority of her body.” The kind nurse, also one of your friend’s parent, explained as she guided you to the Burn Center in the Regions Hospital, “I don’t want to lie and tell you she’ll be fine. You’re an adult Y/N. You deserve the truth and not be coddled.”

“Is she gonna survive?” You quietly asked, “Has she woken up since she was brought in?”

“The doctor placed her on a high dosage of morphine for the pain. Your father hasn’t left her side.” Lucinda informed you with sympathy written as over her face, The hazel eyes unable to adequately meet yours.

“I’ll check on her, then could you take me to the rooms my siblings are in?” You asked, completely unaware Brook and Bobby had been DOA at the hospital.

Your father hadn’t answered the text messages or the voicemails you had left on his phone—radio silent. You couldn’t be mad when he was with your mom, but a text would have been nice.

“This is where your mother is staying for the unforeseeable future. If you need anything, you can call me.” Lucinda softly replied before turning her heel to head back to the Burn Centre’s front desk.

It was horrific walking into a room with no idea if the occupant who had raised you would survive. The confident, gorgeous mother you had for the past nineteen years was unfamiliar to you, the extensive gauze covering nearly every inch of her body. You almost couldn’t even recognize the man sitting in the chair with his hands wrapped.

“Dad? What happened?” You questioned the grieving man. The only person left in your family as you would soon come to know.

“Y/N?” Bobby gasped, pushing himself to his feet, staring at his only living child. The guilt ate at him just staring at you with those light brown eyes, “Oh, sweetheart.”

Your dad crossed the room in a few steps. The scent of smoke was still clinging to every part of him, but it was fine. Your dad was okay, minus the wounds on his hands. You’d always been closer with your father than your mother.

“Dad, what happened?” You quietly asked the ashamed firefighter that had to reconcile his feelings on the fire and his career—that struggle ending up pushing you away when he really just wanted you as close as possible.

“The building caught on fire after an ember from a heater lit a blanket on fire,” Bobby informed you with his eyes pinned on his wife. Bobby knew the chances of Marcy surviving were incredibly low, and he had to tell you that.

Bobby only knew the details passed on from a firefighter who pitied the man who’d lost most of his family.

“Is Mom gonna be okay?” You questioned, and the said injured woman in the bed weakly responded.

“Baby?” Marcy quietly questioned from her absolutely still position on the hospital bed, “Uh, Bobby.”

You left your father’s side to be as close to your mom as possible, with the clear plastic separating you for her safety. Your heart shattered at the sheer exhaustion in her pretty blue eyes.

“Hi, Mom.” You shakily spoke with one hand lightly pressed against the plastic divider. You didn’t even notice when your dad stepped up too.

“Marcy?” Bobby called out from right beside you, just as torn up, but Bobby carried extra weight on his shoulders, “We’re right here, Marcy. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

The muffled grunt of pain, your mom’s attempt to save you from grief, Marcy let out as she turned her head to look at you. You knew deep in your gut that this was the time place you would see your mom alive. And by the look in her eyes, she knew too.

“The...kids…?” Your mom’s breathing became more erratic as she questioned the man she viewed as her hero. The man she believed had saved her and their youngest children, “Where...are they?”

“The kids are fine.” The way your father said it and the tears led to the knowledge once kept from you.

“No.” You whispered, seeing the total grief written clear on his face. The pain meds and agony kept your mom from knowing the truth.

“They’re safe.”

“I knew you’d come and save us.” Your mom breathed as her eyes started hiding the pretty blue you’d now only see in pictures. In your dreams, until even those faded as father time cruelly pulled you along.

Then your worst nightmare happened. You watched as the woman you looked up to flatlined with the thought of her children safe. You’d always know she’d held on just long enough to find out the state of her children. You could only hope she’d forgive your father for lying to her as she died.

“Mom!” You screamed, fighting the arms of an orderly restraining you. You barely noticed the resistance to your frantic attempts.

One minute you were staring at a team unsuccessfully trying to revive your long-gone mother, then you were in a hotel room. The atmosphere tense and quiet between father and daughter, with the ghost of your dead family to keep you both company. You could hear Brook gagging every time you’d kissed your now ex. You could see Bobby toddling after you years ago.

At least you had your father—a father whose guilt festered until he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“It was my fault.” He murmured, staring at the barely eaten burger that tasted solely just cardboard. He couldn’t bear to look at your face, “I didn’t mean to leave it on.”

Your head snapped to stare at him in disbelief, “What do you mean you didn’t mean to leave it on?”

“I-I went to the roof to sleep after your mom kicked me out. I didn’t have my keys to the apartment I had below ours.” Bobby began spilling the lies he’d told to you about his addictions. Of the apartment, you’d had no clue was even in his possessions.

The pain of losing your family tore into you, “You took my mom away from me. I’ll never get to share my wedding day with her. Shopping for a dress and gossiping about boys. I’ll never be able to wipe Brook’s tears during her first heartbreak.”

Each word broke Bobby more and more.

“You stole my future. You’re selfish, ungrateful and utterly pathetic. You cost so many people so much, all because you sought out your next high.” You spat, glaring at someone you’d never expected to hurt you. You didn’t notice your hands grabbing your possessions nor opening the hotel room door, “You couldn’t even properly try to get clean.”

“Y/N-”

“Get your shit together before you kill anyone else. I never want to see you again.” You sobbed with regret already festering in your body, but pride held you back from apologizing.

Upon your return to your dorm with Dottie by your side, you immediately began the process to enter an exchange program. Within a month, your feet entered Sydney Airport. You didn’t return to America for several years.

You took a job as a casual lifeguard on Bondi Beach, met Lucas in a meet-cute situation at the grocery store. You graduated college and found a job as a paramedic as you began becoming a flight paramedic. In 2020 Lucas and you discovered you’d be bringing in a little baby into the world.

Learning about your little Cashew growing safe in your womb fanned the flame of desire to reconcile. Ultimately the pride kept pushing the urge to apologize for the cruel words you told your father further away. You naively believed you had all the time in the world.

Remember the six-letter scary word? If losing your mom, siblings, and father was a devastating blow, losing Lucas was nearly tied. Your little Cashew lost their father before they even got to meet him. That was push enough to pack up your home and fly back to America with your father’s new address as soon as you could.

In the fallout of the apartment fire, your father relocated from Minnesota to Los Angeles.

Los Angeles, 2020

As soon as you’d found the nicest but cheapest hotel to stay in until you found a place, you walked the streets of LA. The first order of business of approaching your father at his workplace as you had no personal address. Residing still in Minnesota, Deputy Chief Evans had only given you the address of Bobby’s work.

You could only hope Bobby wouldn’t turn you away. That he was willing to bridge the gap, you’d widened over the years. That he could forgive the silence to each email, he sent when you changed numbers.

“We should go out to dinner.” The female voice was what brought you back to the present time. The woman was beautiful with her buzzed head and clear skin.

Right by her side was a dark-haired male of Asian ethnicity with a bag thrown over his shoulder, “If you’re paying, you bet I’ll be there.”

The two continued to converse in their own world until the man had to literally dodge you when they finally noticed you.

“Does Chief Bobby Nash work here?” You inquired, having no desire to enter small talk when the baby was sitting on your bladder again. You nearly retched when the man stared down at your swollen midsection, shocked, “It’s not his baby.”

Hen caught the evident disgust on your face, “He’s in his office. I’ll guide you there…”

“Y/N.” You supplied the firefighter. Hen smiled in response, “And your name is…”

“Henrietta Wilson, but you can call me Hen. That was Howard Han. He goes by Chimney, and I’ve been sworn to secrecy on the name.” Hen chuckled in her steps to the closed door of the fire chief. Hen swiftly knocked on the door to give Bobby a heads up.

“Come in!” Bobby called from his pile of paperwork he had pushed and waited to work on. It had slipped as the date came closer. Your twenty-seventh birthday, the seventh one since he last saw you.

“Cap, a woman is asking for you,” Hen told her friend and boss. It’s a good thing you didn’t choose to surprise your father because Hen was shorted, and your bump made manoeuvring around tricky.

“What can I do…” Bobby trailed off when he saw the girl waiting to talk to him. The pen in his hand dropped to the table in shock.

Hen glanced between the two equally taken aback individuals, “Am I missing something here?”

“Hey, dad.” You whispered to the man who’d been dreaming of this moment since the minute you left. He’d searched for you at your previous college and nearly made a missing person report.

“Dad?” Hen couldn’t pick her jaw up from the floor if she even wanted to because this was juicy information. Sure, Bobby had caved into telling his team, his family that he’d lost his wife and two children in a fire.

He rarely talked about his life before the 118, but he’d never mentioned having a surviving daughter. Not in the handful of times he’d talked about the tragedy, nor did he have any objects or photos of you.

“You’re really here?” Bobby lightly chuckled with a twinkle in his eye. Hen had only seen a handful of times. All of them had Athena in the scene, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You beamed, stepping closer to the man you’d missed dearly, “I’m so sorry for the way I left. What I said was cruel and untrue. You aren’t selfish, and I can’t blame you for something you couldn’t control.”

Bobby grinned. He’d stepped around his desk only to halt when he took in an undeniable development—the baby bump you carried.

“Is-”

“I’m pregnant. Six months along with a baby girl.” You laughed to the apparent disbelief in your father’s light brown eyes. His gaze continued to shift between the bump and your e/c eyes.

“Wow. Sorry, this is...wow.”

“She’s one of the reasons I wanted to come back. To fix our relationship because I want her to know her grandpa. You’re the only grandparent Poppy will know.” Bobby was quick to tug you into his arms as soon as the first tear dropped down your cheek.

There was so much you wanted to tell your father, but that overwhelming grief rose higher. You’d left Australia where Lucas laid in a plot in a cemetery. You left the friends you’d found in the city. Left the lifeguard job you’d come to love.

“Where are you and your partner staying?”

“He...uh...Lucas passed away recently.”

The arms holding you tightened in response to your confession, “Oh sweetheart.”

“I didn’t know where else to go. I can’t stay in the home we bought. Not the place he died when I couldn’t save him.”

“I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’-”

“Don’t coddle me. I was...am a paramedic. A flight paramedic, to be specific, so I know that my hesitation could be the reason he died.”

Your career took the father by complete and utter surprise because you’d always planned on a different job. Before the fire that claimed so many lives, you’d never entertained a career in the emergency field.

“We have a lot to catch up on. First, you need to know that I’ll always love your mother no matter what, but you need to know. I met someone when I first moved here, and we were friends at first. She divorced her husband. We started dating...sweetheart, I remarried.”

A wave of emotions flared in your chest, from betrayal to sadness and ultimately happiness. Having lost your first love, you understood and knew if love came around for you, you wouldn’t ignore it. Lucas wouldn’t want that.

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

Re-entering into Bobby’s new life was a difficult adjustment for everyone included. Tension had risen between Athena and Bobby for a brief period. Athena hadn’t even been aware of your existence, but she could fault Bobby. Athena had even told her first husband about her late fiance Emmett when they were still together.

It was difficult for you with the new addition of two step-siblings in the same birth order as Brook and Bobby had been. The Grant siblings had welcomed you into the family without any reservations.

“Did you ever get to fly the chopper?” Harry asked as he scrubbed the dirty dish from the Sunday family dinner.

It was the first dinner that had no awkward tension since you arrived back in the country. Athena had taken a bit to warm up, but it was nothing personal. She’d actually been the one to find you you’d been staying at a hotel. Mama Athena did not like her pregnant step-daughter living at a hotel. She’d actually stormed your room with Hen and Karen as back up to pack your room and leave for the Grant-Nash house.

“No. I had to help keep the patients alive. If I’m telling the truth...sometimes I didn’t even notice I was in the air.” You whispered to your stepbrother. He was just invested in your career as he had been when Bobby first entered their lives.

“That is so cool!” Harry enthused with soap suds splashing your thin knitted sweater. Harry’s mouth formed an ‘o’ when you flicked water onto his face in retaliation.

“Do you know Bondi Beach in Australia?” You inquired the youth with the chore of dishes completed.

“Yeah! There’s a tv show called Bondi Rescue! I watch the clips on YouTube!” Harry exclaimed, hot on your heels to the couch. Out of May and Harry, he followed you around with questions about your life in Australia.

“I was a casual lifeguard. I’m not featured on that show, but I would get called in when a lifeguard was needed. It paired well with my job as a flight paramedic.” You half-smiled, remembering the Bondi lifeguards who had welcomed you into the family. You became one of them when they started pranking you.

“Did you ever see a shark-”

“Harry, go brush your teeth. Leave Y/N alone.” Athena informed her youngest from the open patio doors. Your father, Athena and May had been outside as soon as the table had been cleared.

“But-”

“Harry,” Athena warned the youngest Grant. Harry didn’t attempt to argue with his stern mother; all he did was hug you quickly. You watched the young boy disappear into the hallway.

“He reminds you of your little brother?” Athena questioned. In your time of reminiscing, the older woman had settled in Harry’s previous position.

“A little.” You whispered, “Thank you for welcoming me into the family. For making my dad happy.”

“You know I may have some baby clothes put away if you’d like to use them?” Athena offered with that smile that made you feel at home. Athena was far different from your late mother, with her presence commanding respect and intelligence. Your mom was similar, but I suppose it could be described as a softer touch.

“Anyway, saving a penny is appreciated. I have a question for you also.” You hesitantly started with a bundle of nerves deep in your belly. Athena turned to give you her full attention.

“Well? Out with it.” Athena pushed, but she had a slight feeling of what you were about to ask her.

“My mom was one the strongest women I know. It hurts that my baby won’t get to experience her love and guidance, and you can say no. We’ve only known each other a short time, but would you consider...maybe being a grandma to my baby?”

Giddy was the feeling Athena developed along with the laughing smile that only came from happiness. The woman could only nod her head in response to your hesitant question. To Athena’s knowledge but not yours, Bobby was softly smiling, watching his formerly estranged daughter getting along with your stepmom.

“Oh!” You gasped as your baby kicked hard enough for her foot imprint to be seen through your knitted sweater.

Bobby was by your side in concern the second he heard your startled sound, but Athena wasn’t that concerned. Athena remembered having the same reaction.

“Are you okay?” Bobby frantically questioned. He faltered when the woman shared a belly-deep laugh at the sheer fear written in the seasoned firefighter’s eyes.

“Poppy was kicking.” You chuckled as your father’s shoulders dropped in relief, “Here.”

Your nimble fingers clasped around your father’s wrist to bring his palm to the spot Poppy was kicking. A certain lightness flooded your entire body, being capable of sharing this experience with Bobby. Watching tears well up in the grandpa to be’s brown eyes.

“Whoa.” Bobby breathlessly spoke as Poppy kicked against his palm. The feeling building in his was exhilarating with the small amount of grief mixed in, “I remember when your mom was pregnant with you. We didn’t know if we were having a girl or boy, but she was adamant you would be a kickboxer. So active.”

Athena watched as the relationship between father and daughter started healing directly in front of her eyes. The Sergeant was about to give you two some privacy when you caught her hand in your free one.

“Here.” You informed the older woman shifting to place her hand where your father’s hand had previously been. Your e/c eyes sought the wonder-filled different shades of brown eyes the couple had.

“You should get some sleep,” Athena spoke, staring at her hand resting on your bump. Her dark chocolate brown rising to find your gaze, “You won’t be getting a lot once she arrives.”

Bobby and Athena watched as you turned the corner to the spare room Athena’s parents used when they visited. For the time being, you’ve moved into the room, and the Grant-Nash house hoped you would stay. May had always wanted a sister, and Harry loved all the stories you told about Australia.

“You know, at some point, you’ll have to talk to her.”

“I just was-’

“-without anyone else being the buffer. Bobby, both your lives is evidence enough that some things are too trivial to stress over.” Athena pinned her stern gaze on her husband. The same husband is actively trying to avoid her penetrating gaze.

“What I did-’

“Is in the past, Bobby. You have a second chance with that wonderful woman in that bedroom and our grandchild. Now, are you sure that having the party at the firehouse is okay?”

A hand supported the base of your back where an ache tended to stay for most of the day. That ache wasn’t the worst symptom of your pregnancy. You had heartburn constantly that tied with unfortunate constipation that had thankfully lessened. Your purse always had a cardigan for the hot flashes as well.

“Perfect! May has my car, and Bobby needed that.” Athena beamed from the open bay of the 118. One of the firefighters, Eddie, if you recalled, snagged your purse and the specific ingredient for a recipe.

“You could have borrowed Bobby’s-”

“His vehicle is in the shop Buck.” Athena interrupted the only member of the 118 you had let to officially meet.

Now there were two suspects of the sudden shortness of breath you started experiencing. It could be Poppy in the limited space in your body or the handsome firefighter. Buck had to be hands down none of the most attractive men you’d ever encountered. His dark blonde hair had minimal height, but the soft waves made your fingers itch to feel it. His ocean blue eyes crinkled at the corners with mirth.

“Ah, so you’re flesh and blood of Cap?” Buck questioned from in front of you. His blue eyes centred solely on you, with half a mind thanking himself that he could navigate the station blindfolded in the dark.

“For the last twenty-seven years, I have been.” You retorted, stopping at the edge of the stairs to the apparatus. Your keen sense of smell catching one of your favourite meals your father had dug up from the recipes he hadn’t used in years.

A zing of electricity trailed off your arm when a calloused palm met yours. Your e/c eyes followed the path of tan skin until it reached the shirt sleeve of Buck’s t-shirt. The shirt emblazoned on the chest with the department’s insignia. The man in the casual uniform guided you safely up the stairs with his hand on your back.

The pressure of Buck’s hand on your aching back muscle nearly brought what would be an embarrassing moan from your lips. Thankfully a gasp of surprise fell out instead at the banner hanging with other decorations.

“What?” You choked, cupping your hands to your face. Pure unadulterated shock and affection flooded every inch of you.

The entire 118 squad intermixed with their loved ones surrounded the open area with grins. On a table behind everyone was many wrapped gifts. But the cake was the most impressive.

A large rectangular cake in the realistic shape of a fire engine parked in front of a fire hydrant with a fondant hose going to the truck. On top of the fire truck was the turnout boots next to the matching helmet, the 118 proudly on it. You adored the turnout coat draping off the top to hang off the side.

“If you look at the helmet, it says Poppy.” Buck enthused, guiding you even closer to catch the immaculate cake, “It has to be the best cake we’ve gotten from them.”

“Hey, my rebar head cake was phenomenal!” Chimney called with a belying grin on his face. His hand encased by a brunette woman about his height with her heels on.

“It’s a long story.” Buck offered as soon as you gave him a weird questioning look, “Let me introduce you to everyone!”

For the next five minutes, you spend it by meeting the family of 118, including Eddie’s completely adorable son. Christopher was happy to sit next to you as soon as Harry had found you. Slowly the others came closer to hear the stories.

“What’re the most common injuries on the beach?” Denny, Hen and Karen’s ten-year-old son questioned.

“Bluebottle Jellyfish stings. On one day, we had hundreds of people come to the tower for stings, and the treatment for the minor ones is stingose spray and ice.”

“My question is how a girl from Minnesota is a lifeguard in Australia. Especially on Sydney’s most dangerous beach.” Chimney inserted, waving his bottle of pop at you, his eyes kept moving towards the wine Maddie brought.

Unfortunately, the 118 wouldn’t be celebrating with the wine until their shifts ended in a few short hours. It was a damn miracle they hadn’t been called out yet.

“This former Minnesotan spent summers at my best friend’s parents’ place in Cali as a lifeguard. Also, Bondi is not the most dangerous beach in Sydney. That’s Tamarama.” You pointed towards the man who raised his hands in surrender.

“Have you ever seen a dead body?” Harry asked, bringing a sobering silence in the question’s wake.

Your body language changed as soon as he asked, “Unfortunately, I’ve seen death as a paramedic and as a lifeguard.”

“You’re a paramedic? I thought you were just a lifeguard?” Buck asked, interested in the new information. Buck could feel his Captain’s eyes on the back of his head; he was sure Bobby could smell the attraction on Buck.

“Casual lifeguard. Called when needed as a backup.” You turned your e/c eyes towards the arguably youngest member of the 118.

“How many dead-”

“Harry.” Athena warned her son from continuing a topic that killed the ease and happiness you’d shown previously, “Why don’t we stop talking about-”

“Too many, Harry.” You interrupted your stepmom with a gentle smile towards the woman, “It’s not just drowning that claims lives but also the cliffs surrounding the beaches. Lifeguards patrol more than the beaches and water. Lifeguards respond to medical emergencies, mostly spinal until the paramedics arrive.”

“Oh-”

“I had a fellow lifeguard leave the job because of the suicides we deal with.”

“...who wants cake?” Karen used the quiet interlude of the much too serious topic for a group of kids barely in the double digits of ages. All referenced children followed Hen’s life to the beautiful baked creation.

“Sorry for getting dark there.”

“We all know the dark side of the jobs we chose to do. You sound like you miss Australia. Are you going to return there?” Eddie questioned with one eye pinned on his son, consuming more sugar than he wished.

Eddie’s question did raise self-doubt, but you knew that ultimately living in Australia was no longer a viable option.

“There’s nothing there for me.”

Eddie, Buck and your father understood that mentality to a ‘t’ with family complications keeping them away. Your father for obvious reasons, whereas Eddie and Buck each had a living family with opinions only they saw right.

“You’re always welcome here. Especially when you bring that little cutie to the firehouse.” Maddie cooed towards your baby bump. The 911 dispatcher had asked many questions about your pregnancy.

Maddie was the type of person who could make a stranger feel like they had known for their entire lives.

“Here.”

A plate of the cake was thrust in front of your face courtesy of Maddie’s brother Buck. It is quite literally the perfect size you could ask for. In his other hand, he had a new bottle of water waiting for you to grab.

“Thank you, Buck.” Your shock must have shown in your voice when his cheeks flushed.

“This whole party is a celebration for you, so you shouldn’t have to get up...unless you want to!” Buck rushed to respond, getting more flustered with the amused look of his older sister on him, “You’re already doing something absolutely amazing, so you should get to rela-”

“Buck!” You laughed, ending the older man’s rambling thoughts. The entire party attendees had started watching Buck’s failed smooth attempt.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Buck mutely nodded in response, “No prob-”

The bell was the one to interrupt him instead. The on-duty firefighters rushed down from the upper levels to the lockers. The swift suiting up impressed you as it was like you blinked, and the bay was empty.

“Should be the last call before they get off shift.” Maddie, still occupied with the cake she was eating, “That wine looks so good!”

Your attention snapped from the vacant spots the 118 vehicles parked to the woman ploughing down on the cake. Sure it was good, but not that good. Maybe you could tell as a pregnant woman, or perhaps you just caught some of the symptoms you felt.

“How far along are you?”

Maddie froze, “What are you talk-”

“You’re pregnant, right?”

“Don’t tell anyone. Chim and I found out recently, but we want to wait on telling people. Once the first trimester is over, everyone can know.” Maddie pleaded with two hands cupped under her chin in a prayer position. The pretty brunette using the puppy dog eyes on the new friend she’d made.

“You should tell Buck-”

“We will once we enter the safe zone. So tell me about your baby’s father.” Maddie swiftly changed the subject, unaware of the ache developing in your midsection.

“Lucas Gowan.” You mussed, recalling the freckled half Australian half Scots man with the thick red locks.

“Ooh, is he still in Australia?”

“Technically, he is. I met him at the grocery store near the university campus. I’d transferred to escape my grief. It was purely an attraction at first sight before developing into love at first sight. We convocated and moved into a cosy little place. We’d only just found out about the baby when Lucas passed away.”

As you told Maddie, your hand had moved to cradle the only remaining piece of Lucas.

“His death was unexpected and sudden. He’d taken a run the morning of our scan to find out baby Gowan’s gender. He fell off the side of the cliff. I was told he died instantly. The investigator believes his shoelace untied, and he stepped on it. Fell right off the side.”

“I’m so sorry.” Maddie breathed, leaning closer to hold your hands in her own, “He’d be so proud of you. For returning to the states. Do you keep in contact with his family?”

“He was an only child. Parents died in a car accident when he was ten years old. He was in foster care until he aged out of the system. Poppy is named after his mom.”

Maddie instinctively knew talking about Lucas was, “You know you get along pretty well with Buck... I’ve never seen him so flustered.”

“Maddie, I can tell you are a very intelligent woman, but you’re wrong here. Why would a guy like Buck be interested in a pregnant woman with a reconciling relationship with her father and his Captain while grieving her baby’s dad?”

Maddie tilted her head to the side, “Because I know my brother. He’s only ever had that look when I first moved to LA. Back when Abby was still important to him.”

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

Maddie’s mouth opened to speak, but you were saved by the bell when Athena called you over for pictures. Then her attempts got thwarted once more when the 118 returned to the house perfectly synced to the end of shift.

“Driving here was the last time until the baby’s here. You’ve got precious cargo-”

“I’m seven months pregnant; I can still drive. There’s no law saying I can’t-”

Never argue with Athena Grant-Nash, “It may not be illegal, but I won’t endanger my daughter or my granddaughter.”

“I have to get to my OB/GYN appointment tomorrow. You and Dad each have a long shift during my scheduled appointment. Harry is both too young to drive and in school. May has a shift at dispatch. There’s literally no one available to take me.”

Bobby watched as two of the most important women in his life argued over something as trivial as driving. Harry shook at listening to someone fighting against his mother; she could be terrifying.

“I can take her.”

Everyone in the fir house turned to the voice who’d offered suddenly and found the sheepish form of a tall firefighter. Eddie’s eyebrows raised at his best friend.

“I don’t work tomorrow. I’ve got no plans. Albert’s got some date with a girl at her place.”

“I couldn’t put you out.”

“You need a ride, and I’ll be bored, so why not take my new friend to her baby doctor.”

“Baby doctor?” Hen parroted to her wife in astonishment towards her coworker and close friend. Both the women found the blatant flirting from Buck to the soon to be mother.

“She’ll take you up on the offer. She’s staying in our guest room. Come early for breakfast before you go. We’ll be having waffles.”

Buck found any excuse to visit the Grant-Nash home with the motive to hang out with you ever since the baby shower. From delivering baked goods from your favourite bakery to insisting on driving you to appointments. Didn’t matter if Athena or Bobby could take you; Buck was adamant he drove you.

The friendship was easy going and very natural, like a ball glove still moulded perfectly to your hand. The hangouts in your home evolved to weekly visits to restaurants with guidelines to the current event happening worldwide.

Ultimately it even led to a test date.

“You look breathtaking.” Buck breathlessly informed you once he’d gently pushed your chair closer to the table.

“Thank you.” You kindly responded despite thinking the complete opposite to the charming man sitting across from you.

Athena and May had helped you get ready for the date with calming words on how going on a date so far into the pregnancy was okay. Then, your father had tentatively inserted himself with sage advice on re-entering the dating scene.

“I thought we could grab some ice cream after,” Buck spoke up as soon as the waiter had taken your drink order. Buck had decided to refrain from alcohol and went with glasses of lemonade and water.

“You shouldn’t say that. I’ll just want ice cream.” You snickered, caressing the taut belly you’d grown to love. In fact, the firm push of a heel announced Poppy’s agreement with ice cream as dessert.

“How is Poppy?”

“The doc says she’s right on track. Healthy all around and in the position, she’s supposed to be at this stage.” Buck adored the affectionate smile that always appeared when the topic of your pregnancy was brought up.

“That’s amazing! Bobby gushes about you and Poppy. The fridge has an entire door dedicated to sonograms of Poppy. Even a few from that maternity shoot Hen and Maddie surprised you with.”

A few weeks had passed since the baby shower the 118 had surprised you with. Maddie had announced her pregnancy to the joy of the chosen family she had. Bobby had put together a crib he had painted. Michael, Athena’s ex-husband, had started making plans for adding on to the house for a room for the baby.

Despite informing the architect, you planned on moving out when you had saved enough, he’d made a sound argument. Athena would want a place for the baby to stay when you visited, or the woman demanded to babysit.

Now you found yourself in a National forest not far from Los Angeles, posing in front of nature. A surprise photoshoot Hen and Karen had organized with Karen’s brother Trey. Maddie and Athena had been the ones who drove you.

“Hold the teddy bear on your bump,” Trey informed you from behind his professional and intimidating camera. The photographer praised you in the rapid movement to listen to his offer.

“Hey! Maddie! You should take a few photos. I need a pee break.” You didn’t wait for Maddie to respond in your rush to the somewhat rustic bathroom hut.

By the time you returned, Maddie was taking a couple pictures. Then you took some with Athena to have on the nursery walls and for Bobby to have a photo for his desk.

“Now one with all three of you.”

Present

“So a daredevil.” You stated unsurprised that the firefighter had a history of recklessness. You don’t go into firefighting without a taste for danger.

“The bruises and blood fit better than the awful bleached hair during my time in Peru.” Buck laughed, recalling the questionable choice in his fashion pre-firefighting. Sometimes he missed the people he encountered in his period of self-discovery.

“You didn’t wear puka sh-”

“I did. Bleached hair, puka shells and Hawaiian shirts were my staples during my bartending years. I fit in with the aesthetic of the bar I tended.”

“Buck!” You nearly gasped at his raw honesty. Buck didn’t hold back any answers to your questions, but you each strayed from the topic of family.

Talking about the tragic family history wasn’t a good idea on the first time regardless of the time you’d known each other.

“You’re telling me-” Buck halted as soon as he caught the flash of discomfort flicker over your beautiful features, “Are you okay?”

“She shifted. Been sitting on my blad-” You cut yourself off with a hiss of pain. Buck’s eyes widened at the pain taking over your features, “Oh, that hurt.”

Buck went straight into work mode, “Have you been in pain for long?”

“No. A few cramps here and there today, but my doctor said it was nothing to worry about.” You informed the experienced first responder resting level to your knees.

Buck didn’t want to say it, but he was sure that you’d gone into early labour. There was no indication your water had broken, but he kept over the last hour together. Every once in a while, you shifted or pressed a hand to your bump.

“Has your water broken?”

You shook your head, “No, but...oh... that’s not a cramp.”

With that statement out, you clenched your fingers tight on the edge of the table as pain rippled in your belly. A contraction that stole your breath momentarily. In your contraction, Buck had dialled 911. Buck recalled that sometimes a woman’s water doesn't break until right before the birth.

“We’re not getting that ice cream, are we?” You snorted upon being lifted onto the gurney. How fortunate or unfortunate you were to have the 118 right there.

Hen had taken a position at your feet to check on your lower body while Chimney took your vital signs. You honestly didn’t like the look Hen and Chimney shared with Buck.

“What is it?”

“We’re gonna need to deliver here.” Hen sighed, giving you the facts that terrified you. When you envisioned having the baby, it was in a medical centre. Not in a restaurant.

“My office is large and away from the crowd if you want. I can show you the way.” Sophie, the restaurant manager, offered already starting to lead the way. Sophie would never know how thankful you felt for being able to have privacy.

“Okay, Y/N, is it okay if I check how dilated you -.” Hen breathed with her hand, gently disappearing until the thin blanket Chimney procured from the stocked ambulance, “Y/N when I saw I want you to do that.”

Hen didn’t need to check your dilation when she could see the baby’s head already.

“I’m right here.” Buck cooed in your ear. He had held your hand as his coworkers did their jobs around you.

“This isn’t the way I envisioned you seeing my pu-”

“Push.” Hen urged, cutting off your almost vulgar language, but it eased the tension in the small restaurant office. You couldn’t even see Buck’s flustered reaction as you bore down with the contraction, “Good! Take a breath.”

“You’re a strong woman. It never ceases to amaze me the strength women have.” Buck spoke, keeping your e/c eyes on his blue ones. His hand raised to push a strand of your sweaty hair off your temple.

“Once more push!” Hen called out just in time with the last contraction. The feeling of the pressure between your legs popping was moan inducing.

Poppy was silent. Your entire body froze, yearning for the sweet sound of crying instead of the eerie silence. The world stood still as Chimney worked on your baby girl.

“Pulse is strong,” Chimney announced, keeping his attention on the task of clearing Poppy’s throat and nose. And that sweet sound of crying commenced, “Congratulations Y/N, you have a beautiful baby girl. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

Your father beat the ambulance to the nearest ER in pure anticipation at meeting his granddaughter Poppy Nash Gowan. He barely noticed as Buck stuck to your side like glue. Bobby waited outside the door as you got checked over in the room.

“Quite the first date.” You mused towards Buck, who hovered in awe over the life form you had carried for nine months. You’d been pregnant for three quarters of an entire year to his fascination.

“All my meaningful relationships started with a medical emergency.” Buck finally looked up at you. He’d kept Poppy company in the bassinet while you delivered the afterbirth upon entering the hospital.

“Seriously?”

“Had a tracheostomy on Valentine’s Day with Abby, an earthquake with Ali and a newscaster in a crashed helicopter.” Buck listed off. He hadn’t even noticed scooping the newborn into his arms until he’d sat in the chair by your bed, “Why not add a sudden labour and delivery.”

“He would have liked you.”

The sentence came out of absolutely nowhere. Almost like something had ripped it out of your vocal cords. At the look of confusion, you elaborated.

“Lucas. He would have liked you. I think if it is possible, he might have pushed me into meeting you. I’ll still need to take it slow, but I’d like to give this a shot.”

That was all Buck needed to lean in closer to kiss you—the first of many kisses.

Some might disagree on how quick your relationship with Buck developed, but they didn’t know yours at all. It was natural with the firefighter who stepped into the role of father figure for a growing Poppy. By the time Poppy was one, you’d moved into a house not far from your father’s place with Buck. By the time Poppy was three, a pretty ring had sat on your finger. By five, the young girl had a baby brother.

“Your parents spoil Poppy.”

“You say that like you didn’t crawl into her crib during her afternoon naps.” You deadpanned towards your husband. Buck had the nerve to sheepishly grin, “You give in each time she says ‘pwetty pwease’ for a cookie.”

“It’s a crime to make her sad!” Buck defended himself, but a grin of amusement threatened his act, “Besides, you crack each time too!”

“Mhm. Just wait until Theo can talk.” You pressed a kiss to the sleeping infant strapped into the baby carrier. Theodore Robert Buckley could fall asleep in a thunderstorm if he was in Buck’s arms.

“Oh! Maddie wants to have Poppy over for a play date. Madster’s been begging for her cousin to have a sleepover.”

Maddie and Chimney’s daughter was only a few months younger than your daughter, but the two were thick as thieves. Buck had referred to the Han daughter as Madster with how similar her mannerisms were to her mother.

“Think they’d take the rascal?”

“Is this code for you wanting to have another?” Buck questioned with a twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes. The same blue Theo had inherited along with a birthmark like Buck’s on his bicep.

“I-” You choked, blinking furiously, “Evan, I pushed Theo out of my body barely three months ago!”

Buck inconspicuously winked in response with the sudden scream of excitement coming from Poppy. The rambunctious five-year-old ploughed into Buck’s legs full force. Falling into the practised ease, you’d unstrapped Theo from Buck’s chest and promptly had his tiny body stolen into his grandpa’s arms.

“There’s my boy.” Bobby cooed to the sleep drunk tiny infant. The little baby is crowded by his Gram Athena and Aunt May, “Gonna have to get you a Minnesota Wilds jersey.”

“Hell no. That boy is LA born and bred. He’ll be wearing a Kings jersey like the civilized.” Michael announced with the sudden arrival of Theo and Poppy’s Uncle Harry.

“Mommy? When are we going to Stralia?” Poppy inquired from right beside your leg. Her tiny handheld is the giant one of her dad.

“In a few weeks. Are you excited to see the mommy’s old friends again?”

“Hm. Can we see Dada?”

Buck may be Poppy’s father, but he’d never let Poppy go without knowing she had two fathers in all. Her first one waiting to meet here decades from the time she was born and solely referenced Lucas as Dada. Buck was grateful for the man who brought Poppy into existence; the little green-eyed tot Buck could never regret. Unlike Buck’s parents keeping his older brother’s existence a secret, the firefighter refused to follow in their footsteps. He’d continue to shower the late Lucas in gratitude and respect. He refused to make the same mistakes as Phillip and Margaret Buckley.

“Of course. C’mon Poppy, time to say goodbye.” Buck guided the little girl to the extended family showering her little brother with love. The little girl was quickly swung into Bobby’s arms, and Athena cooing at your infant son.

Changes. The six-letter word doesn’t have to be terrifying. It can be breathtaking, memorable and beautiful to experience.

Tag List(s): (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

9-1-1 Taglist:

@julessbrown

Julie and the Phantoms Taglist:

#evan buckley imagines #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley x fem!reader #evan buckley oneshot #911 imagines #911 oneshots #oliver stark #evan buck buckely #evan buckley x y/n #evan buckley x you #caitsy and ash productions

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mythrilhusk · 3 years

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Envy vs Popularity (aka why ‘deserving’ anything is a foolish concept, and posting neg purely due to envy at someone’s popularity is harmful to yourself and to them)

Envy. Most people don’t want to think of themselves as envious. But it still wells up, even in the best of us.

Envy is the desire to have what another person has, often at the cost of tearing them down to build yourself up. It’s a cruel, painful emotion, and those who act upon it end up saying or doing cruel, painful things. It can be parasocially indirect, too, where fans become envious for the sake of their beloved.

But I’m not talking about the massive scope of fandom in general. My scope is much smaller. I want to talk about this in the context of popularity for fanfics. Yes, this is (indirectly) about Bones in the Ocean and the negativity that the author has come across. I like Bones, I think it’s an enjoyable story. Does it deserve popularity, when a few envious claim it doesn’t?

The idea of deserving anything is a flawed concept at its core, because it implies the existence of entitlement or prerogative: this is my due, I should be / have such-and-such. But the world doesn’t work on this foolish sense of divine right. The idea of karma is often misconstrued in Western culture, I think. Karma, simply put, is consequences. Cause-effect. Action-Reaction. It isn’t some wibbly-wobbly arbiter of “good things for good people and bad things for bad people”.

Which is why you can’t say, Oh, this random fic deserves more popularity, and Bones doesn’t deserve its reception, because it doesn’t matter whether you think it’s deserved or not. Bones is popular, and your fic may not be, and that’s just how the cards panned out. There are reasons for these outcomes, sure, but they’re so convoluted behind-the-scenes, because there’s so many people, so many different reasons why each one saw a certain fic and liked it, saw another and wasn’t interested, didn’t see a fic they might have liked, or so forth.

Bones is an enjoyable story. Is there room for improvement? Certainly, but that goes for everything and everyone. Whether Bones ‘deserves’ popularity or not doesn’t actually matter. It has popularity. Deal with it.

Shallow criticisms of characterization and so forth hide the envy truly at play. Perhaps you wish for your fic to be popular, or for someone else’s fic to be popular. Perhaps you grow bitter, because you arrogantly believe your fic is objectively better than the fic that has attained popularity. Perhaps you grow envious, dreaming that the popular fic will crash and burn, and then everyone will flock to your objectively much better fic. It stops being I wish my fic was loved too, and becomes My fic should be loved instead.

I know how it feels. In my old fandom (which shall remain unnamed), I grew bitter at the popularity of what I considered to be trash fics, and the niche nature of my own works. I never said or did anything about it, but it still festered like strangling vines dripping with venom. But I came to realize that I was thinking arrogantly and shallowly. My fics don’t deserve popularity. Nobody’s fics ‘deserve’ popularity, but some get popular and some don’t, and that’s just the way it goes.

All anyone can do is focus on improving their own craft, without worrying about comparing themself to others.

Popularity is a fickle thing and rarely reflects the quality of the story or person. Bones in the Ocean and Passerine are among the better stories to gain such massive recognition, and we should be glad for them. It’s okay to not enjoy the stories, if they’re not your cup of tea, but you should be wary of turning your simple disinterest into bitterness. Bones is not a bad story just because you don’t like it, or just because it’s popular while your works aren’t.

Last note for the day, I believe we as authors should all learn to practice compersion for each other, replacing bitter envy. Compersion is a term more commonly known in polyamorous communities. It’s sharing happiness for another’s joy/pleasure/success. I think compersion should apply for the writing community, as well.

Work on improving your own craft. If you’re not content with your own popularity, that’s fine, but you can take steps to market yourself and your works instead of tearing others down. Try to replace envy with compersion. And remember that you are valid, but so are other people, so is everyone else, so stop and think before you spew negativity, and try to be kinder.

#bones positivity #essay on envy and popularity #dream smp writers #bones in the ocean #addressing negativity #ramble #probably incoherent #sorry i'm bad at structuring essays lol

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mari-the-hedgiewolf · 1 year

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It's about time I organized my Tumblr stuff into a list of some sort!~

Let's start from the beginning. Hello! Name's Mari, but I also go by Akira. My blog's usually an amalgamation of different fandoms sprinkled with original work! #mari-the-hedgiewolf is usually the tag I go by whenever I post stuff I did: arts and stories most of the time!

Specific tags of note are:

#festering desire and #festering desire fan fic are tags I use for my Genshin Reader Insert story. It is currently on hiatus because of Genshin, lol, but for anyone who's curious, here's the link for the prologue!

#howl! wally au is the Welcome Home AU inspired by Howl's Moving Castle. So far I got designs for Wally, Home, Julie and Sally. The others are currently WIPs!

That's it for now! See ya later!~

#intro post #mari-the-hedgiewolf

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vesperstalksclones · 4 years

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Cody x Reader

(18+)

Some smutty angsty sexyness that is Cody. My FIRST EVER fic written down properly and posted for the world to see. A story of a gal who was hurt by one man, but will be healed by another.

○○○

"Umf!"

My breath rushed out of my chest as he pushed me down on to the bed.

He loomed over me, predatory, menacing,... eyes of hard amber perusing my naked flesh, like a great beast considering the first bite of of his meal.

How I wanted him.

Cody.

He prowled up my form, muscles rolling under the bronzed skin. Spreading a scarred paw across my abdomen, he skidded it firmly upwards, the drag of the calloused fingers trailing tingles of delight in their wake. Upon my sternum. Between my breasts. He pressed his weight there upon my collarbone, while the his other hand dragged my knee to the wayside. Spreading my intimacy wide open before him he squirmed his thighs under mine, and flexed his hips outward. The result sent my insides fluttering like a caged bird, as his pelvis pressed forcefully against mine, crushing his solid member against my already eager sex.

My shuddering breath caught in my throat, and instead escaped as a groan so wanton in its tones it could've made his chaste monk of a general go scrambling for a clean pair of trousers.

He grinned, obviously pleased with my reaction.

"Is that so, Ad'ika?" The oppressive hand left my chest and slunk up across my neck. "You want me rough and angry?"

His lilting baritone voice caressed my ears. Tantalizing is its veiled meaning.

His hand darted under the nape of my neck, filled itself with my loose tresses, twisted and hauled at me firmly. I couldn't help but obey his touch, my body arching under his.

"I am not a gentle man…"

My hands groped at his skin, searching the sinews of his neck and then the muscles of his shoulders and back, seeking a sturdy hold I could use to pull him closer to me, whimpering all the while with my eagerness.

Cody took the opportunity to thrust an arm underneath me to maintain the curving slope I had offered him. Dipping his head he tasted my lips, and neck, licking and biting his way southward.

As I wriggled against him, my heart raced, hammering against my ribs. He was fierce and dangerous and I was utterly at his mercy.

Cody was soldier born and bred. Diplomacy was not his strong suit, and thusly force and violence had been taught to him as the appropriate solution for every situation. It showed through in his attentions.

He was an alpha male.

Proud. Regal. Dominant.

He had watched me for so long, perfectly posed during briefings and meetings, so serene and dignified. But his eyes. They would occasionally meet mine across a holo display, and my insides would clench violently. Those golden gems positively dripped with a primal desire, whether to mate or to feed I wasnt ever sure, but he distinctly reminded me of a monstrous lion-cat I had seen caged at the grand zoo on Couresant. The great male had regarded me as a snack, protected by the durasteel bars. Knowing I was beyond his reach, he had silently paced and imagined the taste of my flesh. And thus was the Commander of the 212th. Pacing safely behind his bars of self discipline.

Wanting.

Hungering.

It had haunted me until I couldn't function at my duties knowing he was nearby. And then couldn't sleep when the honey eyed fantasies besieged me. And THEN further struggled at work for the exhausted hangover that resulted. Damn him and his fucking beautiful eyes and the fucking cycle of self torment they set in motion.

His mouth had reached my breasts. He paused and buried his face there, rubbing his cheeks in to their fullness and drawing in deeply of my scent, his exhale fanning a hot breeze across the soft skin and tickling at the dusky pebbles waiting there. He nibbled his way to the treat, groaning with approval. He captured the firmness of my nipple with his teeth, giving a few experimental tugs before pinching hard. I jumped against him and yelped. Cody answered my bucking by grinding himself against me, his rigid cock finding its way between my slick folds and nudging the most delicious friction against the bundle of nerves hidden there.

"Codeeee..." I pleaded for nothing in particular. I watched as he mouthed at my breast, then took as much as he could in to his maw, sucking hard and lathing his tongue against the firm bud as if he sought to erase it from existence. I gasped out praises as I raked my nails over his scalp and gripped at his thick dark hair.

His hand crept between us, and he lifted away from my belly, fisting his member. A few eager strokes smeared my wetness along his length and, satisfied with the preparation, he pressed its throbbing head against my entrance. I sucked in a shaky breath as he began to sink in to me, relishing the stretch of my muscles around his thickness. Without warning he slammed against me, burying his entire length inside as his hips met flush with my thighs. I twisted with a shriek of surprise at the sudden invasion, pulling free of his mouth, the cool air causing goosebumps to rise on my wet flesh.

Without pause, the Commander withdrew and surged in to me again, and again, bracing his arms by my ribs, setting a grueling pace as rough and as angry as he had offered. My fingers kneeded at this forearms, scrabbling for purchase on the satin wrapped stone pillars, mewling and calling to him with every bone shaking thrust.

"Fucking hell woman!" Cody snarled from his chest, his rasping breath giving his deep voice a gritty edge infused with sticky, heady lust. "I've to fight to get inside you, you're so tight!" The best answer I could manage was strangled croon as I reached for his face.

His big hands snatched my arms away, strong fingers shackeling around my wrists and pinning them beside my head. He dropped his sweat soaked forehead to my shoulder and rammed in to me with every ounce of his body behind it. My muscles clenched at him like a greedy fist and he pushed back against them, uttering a deep animalistic grunt in my ear.

That noise proved my undoing. It ricochetted around in my mind and knocked loose something long ignored. A memory tucked away in the darkest recesses, and for a moment the world warped. Another man was on top of me, pinning my arms, his body heaving against mine. He had pressed his face to my neck, unwilling to look me in the eyes. He made no noise except for his grunts of exertion. And I had silently cried.

Cold fear began to seep through my gut, electric tingles of anxiety spreading out from my navel.

"Co…. Cody…"

Please, let me see your eyes. I need to know your here with me. His teeth scraped my neck in response.

"Cody…." I pleaded.

Look at me. Answer me. Please… anything! Just chase that fucking image away!

"CODY! CODY STOP!"

Cody froze, every muscle taunt and straining. His head snapped up, eyes wide.

"What?! What's… Ad'ika, why do you look at me that way?? Have I hurt you?"

His brow knit with worry. And then, after a moments thought, in to his eyes… those magnificent honey colored pools… seeped horror. He pushed up off of me, shame washing over his features.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry cyare! I thought that.. this is … is what… you.." he stammered. He was shaking from head to toe.

"No Cody! Don't think that!"

It was what I wanted. He was what I wanted. I had led him to my bed by my own hand. I knew Cody wasn't a cruel man. Tough and hard yes. Severe, sometimes. But abusive? Not for a hot second. I couldn't let him even entertain the thought that he had done wrong by mounting me. He slid further away and I lunged for him, catching his shoulders in a death grip.

"I got inside my own head for a moment.. And I frightened myself. I just needed to see your face and put it back where it belongs. Please don't think like that..." I pressed my forehead to his, our eyes almost close enough that the lashes could have tangled.

"...ever!" I kissed him gently, very aware that I had frightened him far more than I had myself.

Cody settled on his knees, searching my face. His own was still etched with worry: his forehead wrinkled, contorting the scar that twisted around his left eye. His full lips curved in to frown.

"What are you afraid of, cyar'ika?" He whispered. I lowered my eyes, afraid that he might see the truth festering there. "What's been done to you? Tell me."

I shook my head and wrapped my arms around his neck. Pulling myself against his thick chest, I sighed.

"I won't tell you, Cody, not right now. Especially not while you are trying to make love to me… and I've emotionally kicked you in the nuts."

Maybe not ever. I don't want him to know. I dont want whatever he and I might have to be tainted by such a shadow. Especially one that I had thought had been put to bed.

He framed my face with his hands and tilted it to his.

"What do you need from me?" He whispered softly against me. At least the fear had abated, and now he wore concern, and tenderness. Such a juxtaposition from the man who had raged on top of me only minutes ago.

"Just talk to me, love. Let me see your face so I can watch you enjoy me." I was relieved that he accepted my silence about the matter.

He regarded me for a moment.

"You still want me to touch you?"

"Umh" I nodded.

"You're not frightened of me?"

"No."

He sighed with relief, pressing a kiss to my forehead, and pulling me in to a tight embrace. He tipped forward with me, supporting some of his weight, but laying most of it on top of me.

We stayed like that for a while, kissing and whispering about nonsense. I marveled at his heft upon me. It could have been oppressive, but instead I felt safe. Protected. Anchored to something real.

It was when Cody began nuzzling at my neck that I noticed he was hardening against my thigh. Lifting his hips, he made room for his fingers to creep between my legs, praising my softness and promising to thoroughly wear me out.

He pleaded for my readiness as he caressed my clit, demanding for me to be wet and eager so that his cock wouldn't bruise me.

When his thick fingers delved inside of me, his thick knuckles flexed against my opening, and the rough pads searched for the bit of flesh within me that bit like lightning when caressed properly.

He watched my face, just like I had asked, admiring every blush and wince as I rolled my hips in time with the rhythm of his hand.

I begged him to enter me, to thrust deeply and hard enough to split me in two. To mark me, and claim me for himself.

Scrambling to his knees, he hauled me up against his chest, palmed my ass with his hands and lifted me above his waist. Positioning me above his twitching member, he lowered me slowly, allowing my body weight to impale me upon his rod. I groaned as his hard flesh parted me, feeling the ridge around his head slip inside, followed by the shaft of his raging erection. He filled me to bursting, connecting us in the most primitive and visceral way.

"Cyar'ika, that is my cock that sits inside you. You were made perfectly for me," Cody gasped against my mouth. "and I will fill every space within you so that there will never be room for anyone else!"

His arms wrapped around my waist with a steel grip. Arching his back and flexing his hips he raised me off of his lap, and hesitated only a breath before slamming me down, seating himself fully within me. I kissed him again and again until his thrusts became to vigorous to manage. All I could do was simply hang on, and loose myself in the feeling of his hard body.

"Who fills you, woman?" he growled, "Who will you think about in the night?"

"Ah! Cody!" I sobbed, quickly loosing the ability to form proper thoughts. He growled deep in his chest, rapidly giving in to his hunger, staring in to my eyes as he bared his teeth, unwilling to hide his grunts and groans as he did before.

My body was becoming frantic, begging for this male to push me over the edge and snap the tight knot that was building below my navel. I felt myself sinking under, drowning in the sensations he was driving between my thighs.

"I'm close Cody!"

He fought to keep his eyes focused on mine as he hammered his cock in to me.

"Come for me, ad'ika!" He roared, half commanding half pleading. He rammed himself in viciously enough to make my head whip back. Liquid gold flooded through my veins as my climax spilled around his member. The edges of my vision darkened and stars exploded in front of my eyes. I had the feeling of falling, of the room spinning around me even as Cody's strong arms held me in place.

Cody thrust within me again with equal strength. Another. And on the third he dug his fingers in to my hips painfully, an oath to some long forgotten god torn from his lips, snarling like a mating loth-wolf as he emptied himself in to me.

In the shadow of his release, Cody's strength waned. He slowly sunk forward, heaving ragged breaths so hard he almost seemed to be sobbing. I combed gentle fingers through his hair, enjoying the cool kiss of the night air on my skin as it swirled around us, lulling us two poor broken fools in to oblivion.

○○○

We had awoken in the early hours, Cody needing to return to his barracks to prepare for the coming day. He dressed and kissed me sweetly, apologizing for his duties that pulled him away. As the door closed I pressed my face in to the pillows where we had slept. They were spiced with the scent of the Marshall Commander, mingled with the salty aroma of sex. I wished for him to be there when I woke up. That he didn't have to be a soldier. That he didn't have to risk his life in another man's war.

○○○

I became aware of daylight on my eyelids.. My mind was foggy and slow, as if it was trying to swim through mud. There was something going on that was strangely out of place in my comfy bed, and disrupting my slumber. As I crossed the threshold in to wakefulness a moan escaped my throat and my jaw fell open. I tried to make sense of the smartly groomed head nosing between my legs as a tongue firmly scrubbed across my already alert clit.

"Good morning love…." he emphasized the pet name I had used the night before,, grumbling in to my over eager besh & winking one of those gorgeous golden eyes. "Good news…. I've the day off…"

~Fin~

#commander cody #cody x reader #clone wars #fanfic #angst #smut #beautifulsweetman

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delicrieux · 4 years

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Omg I loved the last one shot you wrote with the reader being in the resistance base and taking care of Kylo! I would love to see another part for it and see what will happen when the reader discovers the truth of who he is.

OMG ur one shot with kylo and him being injured i absolutely adore it and need a continuation !! ur writing is amazing too !!

thank u everyone for ur kind words and support 🥺🧡 u be asking i be giving . i mean .... prepare for some angst? yes? 8k words baby. also, same goes as always, if u want a continuation let me know ! xx

tags ( i wasnt able to tag some people!:( ): @taina-eny -- @shesakillerkween -- @leilei-draws -- @mitsuhkai -- @olivebolivee -- @fav-fan-fic -- @punxataniunderworld

requests are open! | masterlist | part 1.

Long tendrils of smoke rise slowly, spiraling into a clear, starry sky. Jet fuel ignited by a match; angry, red sparks glittering in the dark. It’s hot. Though it’s not the familiar, comforting heat of the wilderness, of the jungle you live in, nor is it the scratchy, dry heat of the deserts you grew up surrounded by. This heat is different, molding, tangible and felt deep within you. It spreads, achingly almost. Shortness of breath, of thought; the world is too quick, too fleeting for you to catch up and everything spins so wonderfully. Desire; the world is wax dripping from your fingers; red dots, red hues, bright orange flames. But that desire twists, rags your body and grows to...

Rage. It hits you in waves and you tremble. Violent shivers and horror; anger fueled by such uncontrollable passion that it goes beyond you, reaching for something, for anything to grasp onto. It destroys. It destroys everything around you. It’s a machine coming from within you; the small specter of purity now devoured by such hate directed at no one in particular that you come undone — nothing left, not even you. Just anger and power — a combination of the most terrible kind.

But this rage is not your own. It’s borrowed. Adapted to you. Fitted perfectly for your flesh, yet still a foreign entity latched onto your bones, no, this goes deeper, latched onto whatever makes you — you.

It is so easy to slip into it that it hardly registers. That raw energy within you twists and burns and you want to hurt someone because you are so hurt that you feel like you might die. One life to save yours; then, however many should follow, anything to keep that pain at bay. You don’t consider it much, you don’t have the capacity to. Blisters; it feels like you’re standing on the surface of a sun.

Where did this anger come from? Who deformed you so horribly? There’s a pull — a gentle tug that feels like a caress from a lover — that wants to turn you back; to purge the rage, the red, the dark, and bring you back into the light. But the pain stays, persistent, at home within you. It’s trying to tell you something. To make you understand. To make you feel what he feels.

And then—

You fall out of bed, breathless and terrified and soaked head to toe in cold sweat. You scramble away from your bed in blind panic, trembling and pressing your back against the icy wall of your bedroom. Your heart beats like a wild drum; your pulse is loud and violent in your ears. You raise your hands to touch your face, to grasp onto reality, to make sure that you are still you. A sigh of relief escapes you and all your energy with it. You slump, cast your head down in shame. You had never felt so... Strongly. You had felt anger, grief, passion— but never so visceral, never so raw. It terrifies you that you are even capable of feeling so, in a dream or not.

Whatever it was that had possessed you had left you feeling hollow. Numb. All your strength had been wasted in destruction of dream worlds that were, up till now, mostly pleasant. Whatever it was you don’t want it to return, ever. The pain was too much. The hate too real. And the potential of that power... Frightening beyond compare.

Your room is bathed in pleasant morning light - dawn is always beautiful and silent. You had slept for possibly only a few hours. You get up, your knees cracking from the weight of your body. Using the wall for support you decide to get ready. You will not sleep. You cannot. The carnal fear of the darkness behind your lashes is reminiscent of that of a child seeing scary shapes in the night.

You’re early to breakfast, though the cafeteria is already festering with life. You give a few waves to your colleagues, offer a few tired smiles when they chirp “Morning, Seven!”. With your tray full you stride to your table, noting that one seat is already occupied — July. He regards you with cold indifference, quietly drinking his coffee. If he is surprised to see you up so early, he does not show it.

Suddenly you hate the silence. The stiffness. The cafeteria echoes with snippets of chatter and laughs yet your table is a crypt — stale and uncomfortable. You can’t be alone with your thoughts. They still don’t feel like your own.

“Hello,” is your lame attempt at conversation. July grumbles something, chewing on his food, “decided get an early start today.” You explain yourself, not that you need to, but you feel better letting him believe this lie and yourself, too. “Taking pointers from you.” You add, taking a sip of water. It feels like a blade going down your throat. You hadn’t even noticed how parched you had been.

“Great,” July mumbles, “congratulations. You’re finally taking this seriously.”

“I’ve always taken this seriously.” You bite back, “War is no trifling matter.”

He snorts, “Could have fooled me.”

You don’t like his tone. Then again, it is your fault for engaging him in the first place. No one to blame but yourself.

In an attempt at casualness, you shrug, “You are still mad at me for not getting rid of our guest, aren’t you?” You don’t say his name. July would find it suspicious. You don’t dare share it. It was a secret passed on to you as a show of trust. You can’t break it, not even among friends.

A frown pulls on his face, cool, steel eyes locking yours, “You’re fraternizing with the enemy.”

“He is not the enemy.” You reply coolly, chest heaving with controlled frustration, “I conducted the interview. I did what we had all agreed on. I relayed the results and you were part of that discussion as well, if you had forgotten already. No threat was detected.”

“At the time.” He says hotly, setting his cup down harsher than intended. It echoes, a cracking, unpleasant sound, “There was no threat at the time.”

The wild flame in his eyes takes you aback. He had always been paranoid and it mostly never had any backing to it. But now he speaks with conviction; grits his words and laces them with honesty. He knows something. Something you don’t.

You sit up straight, swallowing down your concern before it reaches your face. “Elaborate.”

He looks away suddenly, irritated, scowling almost. Familiar tendrils of anger slither around your throat and your grit your teeth. You know better than this, better than arguing with him, better than stooping to his level of mindless shouting. It takes all of your willpower just to keep your mouth shut.

“Ah— Someone stepped out of bed on the wrong foot, as it seems.” Q’s pleasant voice chirps as they promptly plop down beside you, “Seven. July. Do hope the arguing will at least wait till lunch.”

“Fat chance!” Vendetta grins, sitting beside July and dropping her tray on the table with a silent click, “Look at them.” She snickers, “I know who’s fighting who at combat training today.”

“Perfect timing, you two.” You blur, your eyes drilling into July’s profile, not once wavering, “July just said something interesting about our guest.” The temperature, the warmth your two friends brought with them, seems to drop as their laughter abruptly cuts off, “In fact, he was almost insistent that our only patient in the Medical Wing is a threat. Know anything about it?” You finish quietly. You almost expect exasperated stares, surprised faces, hisses of “What?!” and “July, not this again...”. But nothing changes. Nothing comes. Just quiet admission. First blossoms of guilt.

You had always assumed that if your group of four would ever break into three it would be July as the odd man out. Not for any particular fault of his, but out of pure convenience. Vendetta is charismatic; Q is adaptable; you are compassionate. July is, despite his brilliance, almost deliberately difficult. The three of you fit like puzzle pieces, harmonious. You never withhold information from them, never needed to. The four of your share everything, no detail left behind.

Though it seems that your observation was paltry. They share looks and you realize that it’s no longer a quartet but rather a triad. You are left to sink or swim on your own.

“Seven, we...” Vendetta starts, thoughtful, gentle; her hand reaches for your own across the table but you pull it away and she stills, disappointed, “We...” She glances around, “We were going to tell you, but...We...”

“—Had no proof.” Q mutters bitterly, their face uncharacteristically blank, “Besides, of course, the mystery of his past, his sudden appearance, his... Unpleasant behavior.” They squeeze out the last part with a sour little smile.

“Seven, please, listen to me.” V tries to catch your attention, yet you stubbornly stare into your plate of food, “There is just...Something not right with him. It’s like this inching in my chest, I...I think I heard him...talking in his sleep again. Something about a base, but I-” At this you look up at her, and her face crumbles into a soft frown. “I would never lie to you, you must believe me. I just--“ She sighs, frustrated, “I just don’t know what, but something is wrong. I can feel it.”

“I told you not to trust him,” July states, “I said it since you—“ He points accusingly in your direction, “decided to drag him in.” He scoffs, “Should have left him to die.”

Something cracks within you. Something that sounds close to a ceramic cup shattering on linoleum. It spills over like hot liquid all over you, scalding. You pull your chair back suddenly. It’s a knee jerk reaction that halts the chatter and the laughter and the mindless bits of gossip as all eyes turn to you. You say nothing. Just stare. The unspoken “How dare you” fizzling at the tip of your tongue that now feels too big for your mouth. Your muscles cramp up; dull pain in your upper arms, your legs, your chest. You’re trembling again, eyes wide, dry, stinging.

“July.” Q hisses, “Even if we feel something amiss, he is still a person.”

You remember it clearly — the evening you met July. He wore a hard shell, scarred from life before finding the base, before finding a purpose. He was hard to approach and those who dared to glance at him withered away into the shadows. But you saw a glimmer of hope, of light; saw something in a man that has been wronged and has done wrong and now wants to devote his life to protect. He regarded you with the same cold stare, measuring you, challenging you to turn away like everyone else. But you invited him. You were the one that said that the Resistance is happy to have you. You were the one to offer him a seat by your table, Vendetta chirping and blushing and cooing once he joined. And even if he stayed silent through the conversation, you knew that he was glad to be here. Glad to find companionship. Glad to be among those who too want only one thing: to help.

Then came Q, a year later. A group that was equal amounts tough as it was tender was formed. A group of leaders. Nothing ever felt so right as to sit among them.

Now you feel like you’re drowning.

“You’ve changed.” You rasp, boring into July’s eyes. He does not back down, he never does.

“So have you.” He says evenly, “I have never seen you as irritated as I have this week. It’s affecting you. He’s affecting you.” If you did not know any better, you would say there’s a note of worry in his voice. But you always know better. It’s pity.

You decide that you hate him. You decide that you will never be able to look at him the same way, with the same distant respect, with solidarity. You hate him and you hate that he’s right. You have changed. Everyone has. You aren’t the scared, naive girl that ran away from home in hopes of finding something greater. Greater as in friendships; greater as in happiness. It was never about riches or fame or any other form of empty opulence. You wanted to help because you knew how it feels like to be helpless. And perhaps this week had been the most trying: you had been sleeping little, tossing and turning all night, staying up past dawn as to not draw any suspicion. Had been hitting harder than necessary in training. Had been less lively in conversation. You were one of the best because you needed to be in order to protect those who could not protect themselves. It was the source from which you drew your strength. But now that had shifted subtly in wanting to win. Wanting something for yourself. You always offer everything to the world, why can’t it give you something in return?

“That’s enough, July.” Q mutters calmly, their hand landing on your shoulder, a warm, comforting gesture that fills you to the brim with sadness. “You had said enough.”

You exhale a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment to collect your thoughts. Honesty had always been your policy. Honesty is the currency of your group. You are fighters, but you are also diplomats. Vulnerability is the price of compassion.

“I feel responsible.” You finally say, “For him.” You clarify, “I brought him here. I enlisted you to help and share our resources. He is my responsibility. And if you feel that he is unfit to be here, or that he threatens our values in any way, I shall make sure to deal with him accordingly and I am prepared to face the consequences of my actions should it come to it.” You finish dryly.

“He’s not your responsibility, Seven.” Vendetta mutters, “He’s ours. We’re a team. A family.” Q squeezes your shoulder, silently agreeing with her words. Her lips slowly rise into a loving smile, “And we’re worried about you. You seem tired. Let me bring him food today.” She suggests gently, “I can keep him company. That or, I know Michel is dying for a chance to talk to him.”

“You don’t have to carry this weight alone.” Q says, “A little break can’t hurt, can it?” He glances at July, “Once our heads are cooled...We’ll discuss this in detail at dinner. No stone left unturned. If the decision is unanimous, we bring it to the Commander. All in favor?”

“Aye.” Vendetta chimes. You nod stiffly. All eyes fall on July.

“You already know what I think.” He mumbles, “But very well. We meet at twilight.”

The day is long. Hours pass in a slow daze and exhaustion nearly crushes by the time a little over two hours is left till dinner. Dread grows and fester; it’s hard to breathe, and the humid air is constricting. You can’t help but feel how different things had been barely a week ago, and how rapidly and uncontrollably they have changed. It should be just another day in stolen paradise; just another day in the line of days before you are, as the rest, called into the main base. Finally ready. You had felt ready. Now you feel uncertain to the brink of madness. How easily your friends had turned... How easily you had been turned. But despite their concerns you fail to see any hidden evil in the man now know to you as Ben.

But perhaps that’s the point. Evil rejoices in the presence of naivety.

You feel him before you actually see him. It’s a sort of warning bell; a presence carried by the wind. You turn your head slightly, wiping away beads of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. You’re on the porch, in the same spot you had found Ben brooding last night. His footsteps are quick and heavy and his hand latches onto your upper arm, yanking you to face him.

“Where were you?” His question is demanding and a twinge of anger burns in his hazel eyes. All thoughts rush out your head with that; you stare dumbfounded, your lips parting to speak but the words sizzle and die on the tip of your tongue. His face contorts, the prominent anger shifting to confusion, “Have they been keeping you away from me?”

An astute observation. Eerily correct.

“What? No!” You say quickly, shrugging out of his hold and crossing your arms over your chest in pretend casualness, “Just been busy today! Lot’s of shipments, new training regime, yada yada...” He traces your face carefully for a lie, but whether he catches it or not you can’t tell. “How... How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He states coldly, irritation dripping in his tone. His brows knit into a frown and he looks away, peers into the wilderness. Pensive. Something lays heavy on his mind and all your intuition born last night evaporates. Nothing. No whispers. Not even a slither of familiarity. The connection you felt had been cut like a thread with scissors.

Is he actively pretending yesterday did not happen? The thought sounds plausible: he’s volatile and prideful, after all. “What are you doing up and about?” You inquire, matching his cool tone.

He exhales through his nose sharply, “Can you take me to the place you found me?”

You blink. He looks at you, expectant. “I...Sure.” You relent under his stare, “Yea, I... Follow me.”

Silence from his part. His lips are shut tightly as he follows after you into the maze of tall trees. Birdsong; buzz of insects; dangerous hums and hisses from creatures hidden in the bushes. The sun is merely a kaleidoscope of shapes seeping through the branches and leaves. The heat intensifies. You feel a prickling in your spine -- he’s watching you intently. His guard is up and so is yours. After everything you had heard today confusion is the only palpable emotion you can name. Can he see it, you wonder. Can he tell that the tension in your shoulders is because of him. You trust him, at the very least, you thought you did. But now he’s luring you into seclusion.

Or are you luring him? You could have said no. Or you could have agreed and went to fetch your blaster just in case. But you didn’t. Obeyed blindly without question. He is not the authority here, you are.

“That woman brought me breakfast today.” He says coldly. You tilt your head to him, inclining him to continue. That woman. Vendetta.He doesn’t continue. It’s almost like he’s complaining.

“Yes, I asked her to.” You say softly, “I told you already I was busy.”

“You didn’t look busy.” He counters hotly.

“Ben.” You say sternly, stopping, turning to him fully to catch his gaze. He’s so much taller than you that it’s difficult to not be intimidated, “My world does not revolve around you.” He gulps at your words, glaring, “And her name is Vendetta. The least you could do is remember that.”

You continue the trek forward. He’s silent, moody. You focus on not tripping on roots and stray branches; focus on keeping your balance once passing through small slivers of ground between sudden drops to the caves bellow.

Finally, a clearing. Water flows and twists like a serpent, glimmering in sunlight, splashing joyously. The river is long and wide and there is no bridge connecting the two sides, just piles of slippery stones. It’s a challenge getting past it, yet you did so almost every other day. The beauty of untamed nature cannot be compared to anything, and getting lost in it is liberating.

You hop on the first rock, then the second. The water is loud; the current is strong and it splashes your feet.

“Are you angry with me?” He asks silently. You jump and feel the knot in your throat tighten. You wobble and your arms stretch wide to keep balance and you promptly still.

“No, Ben, I’m not angry.” You admit, a bit breathless, but don’t elaborate any further. You are not sure if you’re telling the truth or not. You don’t want to think about it.

“Did you really find me so far out?” He continues questioning.

“Yes.” You mumble, “Why? Do you think I’m lying to you?”

“I never said that.”

“But you thought about it.”

“Oh, so you can read my mind now?”

“It’s not that difficult to tell what you’re thinking, you know.” You state sharply.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You still. A flare of anger rises from your chest to your throat and it take everything you have to control the frustrated sigh from escaping. Your hands ball into fists. Sweat drips from your forehead. With a dry mouth you turn to him, careful of your footing, finding him closer than you expected and just as irritated as you. His brows are kit into a frown, lips turned downward, chest heaving. A soft breeze kisses your heating cheeks, your shoulders, ruffles his dark hair.

“Exactly what you think it means,” You snap, “you’re always angry, always displeased, ordering everyone around, assaulting” You stress the word, “ or berating if something doesn’t go your way. Being secretive and malicious and just when I think I’m starting to understand you, you demand and demand and I literally can’t say anything or else you’ll be upset and then who knows what you’ll do.” You rant, “And all I wanted, all we wanted, was to help you. But you-” You jab your finger into his chest; an action eerily similar to what July did to you this morning, “-you treat us like we’re your servants. Can’t even bother to remember the name of the doctor that had been taking care of you all week. We could’ve left you to die.”

He grabs your wrist, squeezing tightly, pulling it away from his chest, “I never asked for your help.” He growls.

“But you got it anyway,” You retort, voice dripping with venom, “though I suppose you’re too arrogant to even say thank you. You spoiled, selfish, inconsiderate prick-”

“You don’t know me.” He seethes.

“I know everything I need to know about you.”

He falters for a second, something akin to disappointment flashing in his eyes but it’s gone before you can name it, “You do?” He sounds smug, in a cold, displeased way, “Ah, you do.” His grip loosens and you yank your wrist from his hold, fire raging in your chest. What a condescending look.

You’re so heated that you feel like you might cry. Now you see what July, what Q, what Vendetta see when they look at him - a malevolent, resentful asshole. How could he have fooled you? Was it the pretty eyes and the confused puppy-like stare? His sharp handsome features? Low voice, pleasant when whispered? All a font. You feel ill. Tarnished in some subtle but irreversible way. You don’t want to take him anywhere, you just want him to leave. A part of you wants to run away and leave him stranded, or push him into the water and watch satisfied as the current carried him away.

You genuinely believed you had formed some sort of a connection, as silly as that sounds. You hadn’t known him for long, but what you felt was real and it was special. But this is not the same man that did not let go of your hand, that did not want to left alone in the rain.

You shake your head, “You make me sick.”

He has no reply to that. He looks away, almost ashamed, and you turn back to the stones you stand on, the slippery rock unstable under your feet. The sky lights up with first shades of pink. Twilight is approaching.

The sooner you take him there and back the sooner you can request him to be escorted out of the premises, taken where he needs to go. And then this will all be over. He will be nothing but an unpleasant memory. The thought does not make you feel any better, rather it makes you feel hollow, like a balloon, acutely aware of the emptiness within you.

You continue forward in ill-tempered steps. You just want this to be over. His presence clings to you like second skin. Electricity at your fingertips, coursing through your veins, settling in your bones. You cannot shake it, cannot shake the hurt and the discomfort and-

You slip. For a heartbeat there’s only looming dread but before you can touch the water strong arms envelope you and keep you in place. You feel him breathing behind you, his chest rising and hitting your back. He sets you down back on the rocks, letting go only after you’re out of harms way. His arms drop and the heat with them. Wordless, you continue forward, not sparing him the satisfaction of a thank you.

You suppose wishing for an uneventful journey is unrealistic; trekking through the dense, suffocating undergrowth, fighting through the heavy, still air, all the while a million wild souls observe and track you and wonder are you here to hunt or be hunted. The colors, deep evergreen and rich brown, mute once the sun is is orange and halfway down. Not far now, not far at all. That idea was the only thing keeping you from crumbling into the dirt. But today is not your day, nor his. Everything always happens for a reason, even if that reason is simply bad luck.

You had been lost in your head, and he lost in the maze of looming trees. He’s unfamiliar with the territory - you were his guiding star, ushering him to where he needs to go. But you were too absorbed; too preoccupied with your blossoming hurt, with the near obsessive need to feel it whole so you could never forgive him and not feel an ounce of it once he goes back to his damned life outside your base. But the jungle is an obstacle course that demands attention and worship. Each step careful, each parting of leaves intentional and gentle. It either allows you to advance, or it does not.

You have no one to blame but yourself. No one to curse at for the forming bruises and muddy skin. No one to yell at for the stabbing pain at your rib cage, and no one to shun because of one fatal mistake. A misstep. A confusion of left and right. The fall was instant and painful and long.

Birds gawk and spill into the violet sky like ink. You lay in the dirt, your body aching with each intake of breath. Water roars; small droplets from the waterfall sprinkle on you and you wonder just how far down had you fallen. The clearing is unfamiliar to you, but right now everything is. Ben groans beside you; you see him sit up slowly out of the corner of your eye. He pushes his hair out of his face and exhales. You can’t move. You forgot how to.

You feel cold. Something hot and sticky runs down the side of your temple, pulsing down your jaw.

“...Seven?” His voice is rough and rushed and he instantly falls by your side, his hands cradling your face, “Hey. Seven, can you hear me...?”

You remember the leaf covered ground giving out; remember falling into darkness and hitting your back harshly on the steep decline and skidding through sharp rocks and branches; remember suddenly being plunged into icy water and spat out into the air before tumbling to the ground and smacking your head into something hard and blurry.

His fingers gently wipe away the dirt from your face, “Hey, you with me...?” He calls gently, his voice silent, seeping with worry. Through your haze and confusion your find his eyes - such a pretty hazel, now darker in the shade - and manage to squeeze out a painful, crooked smile.

“...Hi.” You whisper, almost voiceless. He cracks a smile, but his lower lip quivers.

“Hi.” He mutters, “Are you okay? Can you sit?”

You try to move but it proves to be too difficult. Noticing your struggle and sluggish movements, he gently eases you into a sitting position, his hold strong but not forceful, not even an echo to what it had been on the rocks. Your head spins, too heavy, buzzing. You gingerly lay it on his shoulder. Water laps by your feet. You are dripping from head to toe. The breeze makes you shiver, and he carefully wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his fingers pushing strands of wet hair from your face.

“Do you know where we are...?”

“The jungle.”

You somehow sense he doesn’t appreciate your sarcasm.

“You’re hurt.” He laments. Weakly, you clasp onto his arm and slowly pull away from his shoulder. You’re so close your noses brush. You can feel his breath ghosting over your lips. You see worry in his eyes. You feel a twinge of life light up in your chest.

“I’m okay.” You mutter, even if it is obvious that you are not.

“I’m sorry...” He utters, his eyes, half-lit and tender, pouring into your soul. His fingers brush your cheek, trembling lightly, lastly settling on the side of your jaw, “I’m sorry,” He repeats in a breath, “This is all my fault.”

Your heart spurs to life; the same pleasant buzz of energy flows back into you in forms of butterflies. The aching relents, the sharp pain in your side easing as if soothed by a cold touch. Your hazy vision sharpens and for a moment you can see everything in its minute detail, before all goes back to normal. The pulsing in your head stops, blood drying by your temple. You blink a few times, your brows knitting into a frown, lips parting to intake a slow breath. Your hand reaches to graze his cheek.

It’s back. What ever this fragile, beautiful thing is, it has returned to you.

“Who...are you?”

Vendetta had been right, there is something different about him, but perhaps not in the way she had intended.

“I’m Ben.” He says softly, “Just Ben.”

“No...” You observe him, “You are not.”

You feel a pull in your chest, as if you were a moon beckoned by his gravity, “How do you do it?” You ask, not quite certain what you’re referring to. A thousand questions swim in your mind and you shut your eyes, trying to focus on just one. But he still pulls you in, somehow, and gently you rest your forehead on his, each simple touch sparking a feeling of this is right and this is how it should be. Like a current of a river taking you where you need to be.

“I’m not doing anything.” He admits softly against your lips with an ache in the back of his throat.

Your eyes pry open, “Liar.” is all you say with quiet disappointment.

You untangle yourself from him and rise onto your feet, swaying a bit and he hurriedly jumps to aid you but you hold out your hand to stop him. His arms fall by his sides. The roar of the water momentarily absorbs you completely. It’s dark glimmer makes your stomach drop. You look up. The sky is already budding with stars, the last light dying by the horizon.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to return to the base now.” You mutter, a shiver crawling down your spine. Your wet clothes cling to your skin, leaving no bend and curve obscured to his watchful eye. But it doesn’t bother you, at least not as much as it should, “Before we lose light completely.”

He nods solemnly. “Why did you want to see where I found you?” You ask, knowing he will not deny you an answer. It’s that feeling, that connection, open communication that leaves him vulnerable to your prodding.

He glances away from your prying stare, his jaw locked tight. Your chest swells as you regard him — a picture of divine loneliness. You almost fall pray to it, to those whispers, to those instincts that urge you to rush to his side and comfort him. He sighs heavily, his shoulders falling. “I wanted to see if you would go with me.”

“What?” You sputter, eyes wide in disbelief, “Why?”

“Because I want you to join me.” He seems to find his voice, the first uncertain notes glossing over with purpose, “To leave with me.” The corner of his lips quirk into a half-smile, “Have you ever seen the snow?”

“No...” You admit, taking a step back, “No, I haven’t. The Rebels need me. I don’t want to leave.” You finish quietly, crossing your arms over your chest. It’s more of a comforting motion rather than a defensive one.

“But you agreed to go with me today.” He says.

“Because you asked.” You counter.

“Then I’m asking again.” He extends his hand in an offering, “Come with me.”

You stare at it, your instincts urging you to take it. But you don’t know what entails going with him; you don’t know about his life and what sort of deal you would be signing by lacing your fingers with his. A part of you wants to agree — the part which you desperately try to explain, but cannot — and the other reminds you of duty. Of your mission. It reminds you of everything you will be unable to do if you take it.

He watches you, half worried and half irked as you stare at his hand with distant eyes. He can’t read your mind, can’t hear snippets of your brooding thoughts, but he knows you’re considering his offer, and he knows that this is all a charade which will end in his victory. He knows you will accept — it is now impossible for you two to be apart, the consequences of that severe enough to burn out a star.

But you’re guarded. Your mind sits behind a wall that can’t tear down — he’s not close enough, and you won’t let him. It is most likely an unconscious effort, a shield of some sort that your untamed energy had built in order to protect you from the likes of him. He likes that. He always enjoyed a challenge: everyone always danced around him and to find someone actually worthy of his attention is a rare sight on its own. That being said, he could invade your mind, could hurt you, could force you to spill all of your secrets in one breath. But he won’t. He wants you to come to him by your own volition. He wants you to allow him into your mind because you want him to see and feel and hear everything that’s hidden behind those pretty eyes and tender smile. Therefore he will not be forceful or rough; instead he will open your eyes - sway you, offer you something for your kindness, because he cannot fathom the fact that some things in life have no price. But he knows that you will join him - sooner or later matters little in the grand scheme of things.

Though, it is his fault he is so terribly impatient.

It’s frustrating to think that the Force would connect him to you out of everyone in the universe. That must be why he’s feeling this tightness in his chest, this, if he wasn’t so prideful to admit it, fear festering inside him — you’re a member of the Resistance that is not only Force sensitive, but also now linked to him. If the Rebels should become aware of this sensitive information, there is no telling what they would do. In the First Order you would be hailed like royalty; showered with praise and opulence and given authority to do as you please, given the life so many in your base believe he has. But the Resistance would not be as kind, if they would be kind at all - they would use you, abuse you, transform you into a weapon or a helpless little lure. Because they would know he would come looking for you. He is now destined to always look for you; destined to follow you across the galaxy and back if it meant you standing by his side in the final battle. They would change you into something unrecognizable. The safest side is his, and his shadow is the only place you’d find solace. He could train you. Protect you. Allow you to harvest the power that is capable of so many beautiful, terrible things.

He knew you were Force sensitive when he first laid eyes on you — the silence was confusing and heavenly and at the same time oddly irritating. Everyone else was an open book full with loud, useless mussing, overloaded with trifling information of which the only value he found was the exact coordinates of your base. He could return any time he wished and destroy everything in a slow, arduous way that would break you down and rebuild you, make you see that he is doing you a favor if you were so stubborn that it would come to that: you had saved his life, and now he is trying to save yours. And despite your proclamation that you can tell what he’s thinking, he finds great difficulty understanding you. Kindness is alien to him. Kindness had been ripped out of him by betrayal and replaced by hate. It is the only real emotion, and the only source of his strength. If only he could tear you away from those people you call friends, then you could finally understand.

But knowing you had the Force dormant within you wasn’t enough, he needed to test you, needed to know just how far your powers went.

He didn’t expect it. To be connected. It wasn’t until you touched hands did he feel your happiness as his own.

Though it’s unstable, your connection. Wild emotions sometimes ebb and flow and pass one person to the other. And he, too, in moments of surprised vulnerability forgot to keep himself tempered and in control. His anger, hatred, all things wretched and deformed have slipped into your dreams and your day to day life. A part of him, now permanently a part of you. It felt like he finally found something he had been unknowingly searching for — a missing piece of him that has returned to make him whole. Without you, he would feel like carved bark, a half-finished project incapable of reaching its full potential. To let you go is not an option anymore.

Stronger together, he reminds himself in a scolding tone. He is not supposed to care about you, rather of what’s in you — raw, untamed power, a well of untapped potential. You are his half, and he is yours. You are connected by the Force, and there is nothing else to it. Cannot be anything else.

The human shell is hardly his point of interest.

“No,” You say, taking a small step back from him, from his offer, from the temptation, and casting your gaze down into the gleaming water, “no, I can’t go with you. I have to stay here.”

You don’t dare to look at him and see just what expression he is wearing, though you guess he’s not too happy by your rejection. You cheeks heat uncomfortably - his gesture was noble yet crafted so carefully that you suspect an ulterior motive behind it. You can’t throw your life away, not before you understand what’s actually going on between you. You clear your throat awkwardly, sparing a blank look at the swaying trees and trying to think of the best route to return home, “Come on.” You utter, “We shouldn’t be standing around here. Not safe.” You add silently.

Though you can’t help yourself. You spare a glance at him and freeze up -- it looks like you slapped him, his eyes wide with hurt and pale face blotching red. He slowly retracts his hand, his motion stiff and mechanic as if he does not know what to do with it if he’s not holding yours. It feels cold again, and you are fairly certain it has nothing to do with the lukewarm water dripping from your clothes.

Snow. You see it in quick flashes -- a white, hazy storm -- that fulls you to the brim with dread. What was it that Vendetta had said? A base somewhere existing in his memories, a place he will return to, a place where he wants to take you. A palace hidden in the snow.

July, in all his brutality, was right: you had been fraternizing with the enemy. Ilum, the planet of frost and snow and home to the Starkiller Base of the First Order. And someone from that same Order had offered you to come with.

It’s a different kind of pain -- you’d prefer the headaches after a day of mental gymnastics, the dull pain of muscles after training, the sharp stabs of a sprained ankle, the pulses and red flashes of an open wound. Anything would be better than this winter in your soul. You feel tired, in an incurable, empty way. As if you lost a half of something integral that you will never have again. Love can bloom only so much before it withers.

You turn away from him and approach the trees, not entirely certain if he’s following you or not. You feel like you’re a cloud in the sky, heavy with rain and thunder but unable to release it. The capacity for that had been robbed from you. He, you realize, is the first person in the line of people that you won’t be able to save. He’s going where you can’t follow. He’s another chess piece on the board that is this war - and one day you will face him among blood and slaughter.

It is hard to believe that mere minutes ago he had been cotton on your fingers, almost destroyed by longing he can’t explain.

Ben...To you the name is now forever cursed.

It is night when you return to your room, leaving a trail of muddy footprints behind you on the alabaster floor. You collapse onto your bed, your head heavy thoughts, each more confusing and cumbersome than the last. Your agreed meeting at twilight was completely forgotten after the tumble. Somewhere half-way through the jungle you recalled that your friends might be missing you.

The door to your room slides open and you look up - Q. They watch you for a silent moment, assessing the damage: messy hair, dirtied linen clothes, blood dried on your cheek, tired, deep eyes that face the world without truly seeing anything. They clear their throat, giving you a smile, “When we noticed your absence and the absence of our esteemed guest,” They start, their voice even, diplomatic, perfectly neutral, “it is suffice to say we were frightened that you had been lured to a trap. Fallen to an early grave.” They approach you easily, taking a seat beside you and landing a hand on your knee, “Though, fall you certainly did from what I can tell.” They finish with a note of amusement.

It takes you a moment to find your voice, “He wanted to see the place where I found him and we got lost.” You explain, sparing the details. They accept your answer, even if it’s full of holes. “Did the meeting commence?”

“After we unanimously decided that you aren’t stupid enough to get yourself killed.” They huffed, “V was especially eager to send out a search party. I must admit that I was, too, swayed by the idea. July, however, as always, shot us down. Had more faith in you than us. For that, I apologize.” They pause, pensive, “But you care little for that, I suppose. You want to know what we decided.”

“Yes.”

“Your vote still counts, Seven. And if you want, we can call a-”

“No.” You cut them off sadly, “No, I agree with your decision, whatever that decision might be.”

“Then first thing tomorrow morning he will be taken to the nearest station,” They say softly, “and released from our care.”

You think you could feel sorrow if you were not so exhausted - right now the only thing you want is to shut your eyes and forget the world exists entirely. You nod stiffly, replaying the dream you had this morning. Flames like hands grasping for the sky, chaos and wind and blood -- but the smoke dies down eventually, and now you stand in the aftermath. There is nothing left, just ash.

They tap your knee once for good measure and stand up, sparing you a rueful glance.

“I may not know exactly what your, ah...situation is, per se,” Q utters, “but know that if you ever wish to share it, you can come to me. Or any of us. Even July. He may be tough, but he still cares about you. In the only way he knows how.” They stand there for a beat, waiting for you to say something, anything really, but you don’t. “Goodnight, Seven.”

Q leaves and the door shuts and you wonder if today had been real or a factitious, terrible nightmare. Perhaps you never woke up, perhaps you are still sleeping restlessly, trapped, unable to open your eyes and look at the sun with a smile while saying, “It was just a dream.”. The pain had passed leaving nothing behind. The night is dark and endless and the bleak light of your bedroom illuminates your surroundings without an ounce of warmth. Still silence, suffocating air. This blanket of loneliness lays heavy on your shoulders before it all piles and piles and--

You, laying in bed, shivering, tears crawling down your cheeks and lips red from biting, and Ben, in the Medical Wing, heaving, watching the broken glass bottles glimmering on the floor, supplies smashed, sheets thrown about haphazardly in sudden rage, feel the same scorch of heartbreak.

hope you liked it!

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morganas-pendragons · 5 years

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Love Made Me Better | Castiel

I had a Sam fic fully written before my computer decided to delete it, and the last episode broke my heart for our angel in particular... so thanks to @webcricket ... this is my first Castiel x female!reader insert, and she’s loosely based off of my OC in one sense: They’re married.

Prompt: you fell in love with an angel a long, long time ago. now your angel wants to leave the humans left in his charge, and you can’t blame him. So instead of staying in the Bunker, you leave with him but not before Dean gets a piece of your mind.

---------

“Loving you has been my greatest honor.”

It started about a decade ago when a fallen angel caught your attention across a little playground in Lawrence, Kansas. He was tall and fair skinned, azure irises piercing your very being even from where he stood across the playground. Eventually, the fallen angel came to introduce himself as Castiel.

And everything has been a roller coaster since.

‘’My greatest privilege,”

You had lost count of the amount of times he’d made you cry, both tears of rage and tears of joy, in the six years since you’d married in a little courthouse in Detroit. You’d lost count of how many times he’d made you laugh or loved you just a little more deeply then you ever thought he would, or how awestruck he looked when he met the daughter that the two of you had created together.

“And my greatest tragedy.”

You’d lost count of the times you’d watched him die and remained helpless to do anything about it, how he was always finding fault in himself when something wasn't even his fault to begin with, you’d lost count of how he’d wept over your injured and battered form before forcing himself to come to terms with a simple fact: You were human. You were fragile, your life was finite, but the way you loved him was so reckless and free that the way he loved you in return made him just a little bit more human too.

Then Chuck took your daughter. Chuck killed your mother, took Castiel’s baby girl, and your entire world came crashing beneath your feet because your tiny family who you’d spent so long trying to keep safe and alive was gone. Your best friend, your baby’s godmother, was dead. Ketch was dead. Jack was dead. It was just you and Castiel now, and even then.. You wondered how long it would be before circumstances separated you.

The Seraph you’re looking for was standing pensively in the doorway at the top of the staircase of the Bunker, casting one last look over his shoulder to beckon you to follow him before the door quietly shut behind him. You stopped in the doorway between the dormitories and the War Room, fingers tightly wound around the straps of your duffel bag as you pivoted to look at the elder Winchester who hadn’t moved from his spot.

“Are you going to let your enhanced senses kick me out of the Bunker too? You always were an angry drunk.” Your words were venomous, as they should’ve been. You and Dean had once had a closely knit relationship where you could confide in each other over almost everything, including the angel you’d harbored feelings for, but ever since Mary had died it was like something vital in him had snapped and could not be fixed. “Because this whole spiel of how everything bad that’s happened to you is on Castiel? It’s bogus.”

“Did you not hear what I said?” You didn’t even flinch when he slammed the decanter on the table and nearly shattered it on impact. “If he hadn’t killed Belphegor, Rowena would still be alive! How are you so blinded by love-”

“Me?! Blinded by love?! Where were you when Chuck took Claire, Dean?” Dean winced at the mention of his niece but made no move to speak. “Where were you when Chuck killed my mother and took my daughter? Where were you when Chuck took my son? Where were you... you were right there, gun in his face, threatening to end the life of a two year old. In fact, that’s all you did from the minute he was born. I don’t know what happened to you when Mary died, but Castiel wasn’t even in the vicinity when he killed her! Rowena was.” The rage in your voice died at the thought of your best friend who had sacrificed herself to save the world. Who had took one last look over her shoulder before throwing herself into the Rupture and winked at you, bless her, as if she was trying to ease your anguish one last time. “If you’re gonna blame anyone, blame the dead. Blame everybody but yourself, right?’’ You clucked your tongue and rolled your sleeve up to show him the Enochian tattoo of Castiel’s name on the inside of your forearm. “You think I’m blinded by love... but love has made me a better person. Loving that angel you just kicked out of your Bunker? He made me a better person, a better wife, a better mother.”

“If you’re so concerned about it, why don’t you just go with him?”

Ah, there it was.

“For better or for worse, till death do us part. That was the promise I made and I intend to keep it.” Your gaze flickered towards the hall you’d just come from where Sam was blissfully ignorant of what he’d be waking to the next morning: a very empty bunker. “You’re not even going to let me say goodbye to Sam?” Your heart sank at the thought of Sam waking up, his grief still fresh from Rowena’s death, only for it to fester and deepen when he realized you and Castiel too had been released from the safety of the Bunker. “I have done so much for you and your brother, Dean. I was there for you whenever no one else was, I loved you like you were my own siblings, I helped you get over Lisa and I helped Sam get over Eilieen and now he has to come to terms with the fact he killed another woman he loved-”

“He didn’t love Rowena. Death always said he’d be the one to kill her, and he did. It’s fate playing out like it’s played out for our entire lives. Oh, which by the way, were never real to begin with. We were always just God’s broken play things.”

“Wow.” His ignorance really was astounding. “Did you not hear any of the times that Sam said he wanted to change Rowena’s fate? I might not be the greatest hunter in the world, but even I have eyes to see that Sam and Rowena loved each other and never said anything about it. You getting what I’m saying here? It was love that made Rowena throw herself into that rupture. Love for Sam, love for this tiny little family she’d been given that she believed she didn’t deserve. Love made her better, love made me better, and love is why I’m walking out of this Bunker with my husband.” You bent down and gripped the straps of your duffel bag, not daring to look behind you for fear that Dean’s stoic expression would crumble upon realizing that the last two people in his life were leaving him alone. “Until you get your act together, don’t call on us. And if everything really is Castiel’s fault, then you don’t want to call on him either. He might screw up your life again.”

“Y/N-”

“Goodbye Dean.”

Castiel was standing outside your car just a couple of feet away from the Bunker’s main entrance, his gaze softening when you walked out and caught sight of him, lips curling upward in a feigned smile that still made his knees weak. “Is he okay?” You threw your bags into the trunk and pressed your lips together, pondering what the best way to answer his question was. Even after all of that, after sticking up for himself and leaving when it was best because otherwise staying would kill him, his very human heart still feared for the man he’d rescued from Hell.

“Hey Angel.” You peered over the trunk door and wiggled your eyebrows, grinning at the rumbled laughter it earned you as he opened the drivers door and raised his hand for your keys. You tossed them to him easily, the two of you simultaneously climbing into the car before you turned yourself towards him and caught his chin between your fingers. “My angel.”

His eyes fluttered shut as you pressed yourself against his side and wrapped your hand around his nape to lower his forehead to yours. Your body softened when he moved his hand to press against the small of your back, deeper and deeper until you were chest to chest and close enough to feel his breath fanning your face.

“My human.”

“It’s not your fault.” There was nothing you wanted him to know more then this one simple fact: despite what Dean had lead him to believe, what had happened was not his fault. “My beloved,” You leaned forward and captured his lips with your own in the ghost of a kiss. “My angel, my husband.” They trailed over the curve of his jaw and down the column of his neck, across the apples of his cheeks and across the ridges of his knuckles. His chest constricted at the sight of one so gentle with him, one who loved him unconditionally despite his wrongdoings and did everything in her power to show him that. “What has happened with the Winchesters, with Rowena.. with Jack.” His eyes slam shut to prevent the flow of tears at the mention of your deceased son. “None of that, none of it, is on you.”

He sighs into the depths of your mouth when you come back up and capture his lips in a searing kiss, a declaration to prove that everything you’ve just said is true.

Then Castiel realizes that this is what his heart has always desired. You and him, together even when everything else aspired to tear you apart, here in your own hidden corner of the world where nothing could touch you. He thought about what you’d said to Dean in the Bunker - love made me a better person - and realized that loving you might have been the best thing he’d ever done, his greatest choice, his best accomplishment.

That was on him too, and he was so proud for it.

“None of it is on me.” He whispered to himself, forced to pull away for fear your lungs would collapse if he didn't give you a moment to breathe. “But you are on me, and I can think of alot of ways to entertain ourselves that way.”

Did he... Did he just make a joke? A sexual joke?

“You’re so lucky I love you because otherwise I’d probably be punching you in the face.”

That earned you that breathless smile he so rarely wore as he started up the car and with very little trouble, put in the address for one Jody Mills in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

When Sam woke up the next morning, he found himself staring at one lone text message on his phone. One that made him feel a little bit better about what had happened between him and Rowena.

Y/N: Even after all you’ve been through, after all she endured, and after all the two of you had lost.. the love you had for each other made you better, Sammy. Remember that when you remember her, and you’ll remember her more fondly. I love you.

- Y/N

#Castiel x Reader #Castiel x Y/N #SPN imagines #SPN fanfiction #SPN fanfic #Castiel x you #Castiel oneshot #Castiel imagine

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coffeecomicsgalore · 5 years

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Golden Boy’s Cursed Day

Coming at you with a crack fic that popped into my head today.

Poor Mr. Golden Sunshine Boy is just having the unluckiest day ever.

Ao3

Adrien, Mr. Golden Sunshine Boy, Paris’s elite teen supermodel, super fan of the amazing Ladybug, would be considered to have all the luck in the world. He’s rich, famous, has whatever he could desire. Yeah, sure, that’s what everyone who lives outside the picket fence would say and Adrien being the composed fool that he is emits the aura of good luck. But today? Today? Well, let’s just pretend that the word ‘luck’ decided it needed to be on the other side of Paris, hiding its face from the golden ball of sunshine.

Strike that. Luck was on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean pointing and laughing hysterically at him while the dark clouds decided to hover over his head pouring all the possible rain it could from its body.

Today, he was the epitome of bad luck and the cackling of the little god of destruction did not help his mood. Nope, not one bit.

It all started early this morning when an akuma disrupted the one hour of sleep that he got in between photo shoots, lessons, and homework. It was a particularly hard one, spending most of their waking moments defeating it.

When Adrien finally got to bed, he closed his eyes only for his alarm to go off five minutes after settling his head in the comfiest position on the bed, reminding him that it was time to get himself ready with his early morning prep. But instead of getting up like he should have, he decided to hit the snooze button for another 10 minutes of rest and ultimately fell into a deep sleep.

So deep in fact, that he didn’t hear the knock on the door reminding him it was time to get up.

Or the knock when it was time to eat his breakfast.

Or the knock when it was time to exit his room and head to the car and head to school.

Finally, a nudge under his rib stirred him enough to open his sleep filled eyes. When his eyes finally cleared of the blurriness, he noticed a dark figure hovering above him, scaring him into a frenzied panic. Without thinking, he threw a punch into the figure’s general direction and ended up almost punching the figure, who was coincidentally Nathalie, in the face (luckily, she was able to dodge most of the force, only being grazed with a knuckle against her cheekbone) but the sheer panic caused him to fall off the bed before falling on the floor and clutching his chest in a heaving mess.

He finally got to school, an hour later than normal, missing homeroom completely, and entered his first class halfway through an unplanned physics test. Groaning over the luck, he got to work on completing what he could, only being able to complete half of it in the time frame. Well I can at least get a 50%, he thought, but when the teacher announced that it was a peer review exam, he got his test back shortly after realizing he used all the wrong formulas and getting a 0 on the exam.

Shit.

Grumbling to himself, he tried to take a sip of his purple soda when Ivan accidentally knocked into him, coating his white over shirt in a wet, purple mess. At least it wouldn’t be seen on his black top. Looking down, he noticed that his pants took some of the spill and a wet spot in the worst possible place could be seen. It didn’t help that his longtime friend decided that she had embarrass him further when she ran up to him, giggling in her own snarky yet friendly demeanor with a “Adrikins! You couldn’t make it the bathroom? Utterly ridiculous, even for you.”

He could feel his skin burning from both embarrassment and festering anger, but he just took a deep breath and headed to the locker room to change in another set of clothes. Luckily, he had an extra set in his locker just in case. Can’t have the face of the brand’ be covered in crap, he thought with an eye roll.

By French class, he realized he left his homework on his desk at home and couldn’t pass it in. Muttering a passable excuse, the teacher sympathized with him and opted to give him half-credit if he brings it in the next day. Now he just had to remember it to stuff it in his bag and bring it in.

By PE, he was already annoyed and feeling the pressure of the dark cloud hovering over him that he didn’t see the dodge ball being hurled in his direction. Kim had planned a surprise attack on Alix, but Adrien happened to walk into the line of fire.

Adrien startled himself awake and realized he was no longer in the gymnasium. He noticed the stark white room of the nurse's office and noticed a very worried Marinette sitting quietly beside him. One hand was holding his hand closest to her, while the other was holding something cold that was pressed against his face.

Marinette smiled when she noticed him awake and shushed him sweetly calming down the nerves that plagued his mind.

“You happened to take a bad hit from a dodge ball and was knocked out from the impact.” She removed the ice pack from his face to assess the damage. Placing the ice pack back on his eye, she continued. “I carried you here.” Great. Just great. This amazing, petite girl who shouldn’t be physically able to carry his dead weight around, carried his unconscious body to the nurse's office. What’s next, world? Seriously, what’s next?

It didn’t take him long to realize what was next. Now sporting a black eye and a cut lip, Adrien walked into the next class where an upper classman decided to place a kick me sign on the back of his shirt. How did he know it was there? When another classmate decided to buckle his knee from behind and then steal his chair as he tried to sit down in his seat.

If an akuma was around, there would be no stopping him being akumatized.

Just get me now, Hawkmoth! He yelled in his head.

As if the world decided to throw him another wrench, the school announcement system startled the students. “Akuma! Please exit the classroom in an orderly fashion.”

What. The. Fuck.

Another difficult akuma. Another of him being controlled by said akuma. Ladybug having to fight most of the battle alone, and luckily, just luckily , Alya had captured the battle on a live feed. Adrien couldn’t ignore the crushing weight in his mind, so he watched the replay to try to ease it only to have a front row viewing of all the hateful things Chat Noir said towards Ladybug.

Great. Just keep it coming.

His father had magically allowed Adrien to stay at school for lunch. Nothing else had happened since the akuma was defeated, so maybe his luck was returning? He was happily talking to Nino as the two walked towards the table where Alya and Marinette were sitting at. Adrien didn’t pay attention to his surroundings and barely registered the Adrien! Wait! coming from Marinette’s mouth before slipping on something and falling flat on his back, the entire contents of his tray falling on top of him.

The entire lunchroom went dead silent as he placed the tray on his head hoping to hide from the embarrassment.

That’s where the day had brought him, hiding under the tray thinking back to the entirety of the day and how his luck brought him to this very moment. He wanted to shrivel up and phase into the floor, just like Plagg usually does when he needs to hide from the world.

When he heard Nino, Alya, and Marinette surround him, he moved the tray slightly to peak at them with one eyeball and then told them he was hiding there until the end of the day. Marinette removed the tray, Nino picked him up off the floor, and Alya started to grab napkins to help clean up whatever was caked on his face.

Looking at the mess of the floor, he didn’t notice Marinette whispering something in Alya’s ear, or the nod Alya gave in return, but he did hear Marinette taking in a heavy breath before grabbing Adrien’s hand and pulling him with her out of the school.

“Marinette? Where are you taking me?”

“You’re coming to my house. I have a set of clothes that you can have and you can use my shower to get cleaned up. You won’t have time to go home and do any of that and I only live right across the street.”

Not even thinking, the dreaded words rushed out of his mouth. “You sure like to help out stray cats when they need it most, huh princess?”

Marinette stopped dead in her tracks and took one look at him with the ferocity of Ladybug’s before he realized what came out of his mouth.

What the fuck times a million.

Marinette closed her eyes, took in a heavy breath, and smiled at him in such a scary way that Adrien wished he could cataclysm the ground and swallow himself whole.

Ladybug was going to kill him. No. Not just kill. Murder him in the worst possible way and then bury his body deep into the ground where no one would be able to find him. He was dead. So dead. Goodbye Plagg. I hope the newest Chat Noir will be good to him and give him as much cheese as he wants and-

“Silly kitty.” Marinette said as she tugged him back along across the street. She said it in such a sweet way that it pulled Adrien out of his thoughts. “Let’s go get you cleaned up and I will feed you to your heart’s content. And I’ll bring up a cheese danish for Plagg too.”

Wait, she wasn’t shocked? She’s not mad that I spilled my secret identity to her? Or freaking out that I’m the cat that keeps showing up to her balcony... Wait. Plagg? She knew who Plagg was? How does she know Plagg? His eyes shot open. “Marinette? Are you-? You know-?”

Marinette turned around quickly and placed her finger to his lips. “Not here, not now, and yes.”

Adrien.exe has stopped working.

He didn’t remember walking through the bakery doors. Or saying hello to Marinette’s parents. Or being shoved into her bathroom with a new shirt, pants, socks, and boxers (note to ask her later why she has clothes his size). Only when the cold water started hitting his face was when he realized where he was.

Walking back towards her kitchen was when Adrien noticed Marinette finished up scooping a plate of dumplings from the pot on the stove. He sat down and quietly gave his thanks as she handed him the meal. He didn’t want to look up at her, but he knew the inevitable question needed to be said. He knew there was no way around this. He blurted out his identity and per the rules...

“Are you going to tell me I need to give up my miraculous now that I’ve given away my identity?” He said sadly as he moved the dumplings around in his bowl. Marinette looked up at him without saying a word. “I’m sorry My L- Marinette. I never meant to blurt it out. It just happened out of nowhere! This day was the day from hell and I wasn’t even thinking and now that you’re the guardian, I know you like the rules, and... and... at least let me say goodbye to Plagg first!”

Marinette set her spoon down carefully and folded her hands on her lap. “I’m not going to take your Miraculous from you. You slipped. It was an accident, a dumb one at that, but at least you said it to the one person who understands and won’t make a fuss about it.”

Oh.

“Plus, do you think that I could replace you? My kitty and my best friend, the two boys that I care the most about in this world is sitting in front of me as one person. I couldn’t replace you in my life even if I tried – which I won’t by the way.” She picked her spoon back up and started to gather some broth before taking a sip. “This is fine. I’m fine. You’re fine. We are fine.”

Adrien furrowed his brows as he watched her in an eerily composed state. “Marinette, I know you. Why aren’t you freaking out?”

“Oh, I’m freaking out. Badly. But I’m internalizing it until later when I can scream into my pillow.” She said with a smile. “Right now, I just want to make sure you are fed and that we get back to class without another clothing change.”

Adrien let out a breath that he was holding in. “Okay. Maybe my luck is turning around now. I have my lady and my best friend sitting in front of me. You gave me clothes and carried me-” Adrien turned bright red. “Now I know why you were able to carry me to the nurse's office! You don’t look as strong as you are. I bet everyone else said the same thing!”

“Yup. Plus, you were saying some adorable things while you were knocked out. Something about Ladybug and her amazing ability of being strong?” She smirked. “And how my hands felt so soft without the suit? Yeah. Something like that.”

Adrien groaned as he hit his head against the table. Just kill me now. Stop my misery please! I beg you.

“Nope. Sorry kitty. Not letting anyone kill you today.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.” She said as she popped the ‘p’. “This is just too good to let go. Not for a very loooooong time.”

Dammit.

#ml Adrien #adrien agreste #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #ml fanfic #crack #ml crack #poor adrien #adrien has the shittiest luck

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hope-for-olicity · 6 years

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Fabulous Olicity Fanfic Friday - February 15th, 2019

Happy Friday! So this is my attempt to both thank awesome fanfic writers for their amazing work and offer my recommendations to anyone who is interested. Here are the fantastic fanfic stories I read this week! They are posted in the order I read them. This and all previous Fabulous Olicity Fanfic posts can be found on my blog.

Time for a Story multi-chapter WIP by @smkkbert - This fic shows Olicity and their life as a (married) couple with family. Although Olicity (and their kids) are the protagonists, other characters of Arrow and Flash make appearances. YOU NEED THIS STORY IN YOUR LIFE. https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912157/chapters/8757172

Some Comfort Needed by CaptainSammyAngel - After leaving J'onns office in 4x10, Kara needs advice from someone with a younger sister and the one person she can think of is a certain green-hooded vigilante. Will she get the advice she's looking for or will his advice be ill-advised? https://archiveofourown.org/works/17671556

Together (Post 7x12) by @dust2dust34 - Post 7x12. Felicity tells Oliver about William, but it’s so much more than that. https://archiveofourown.org/works/15714660/chapters/41686247

Arrow Out of Context: "I don't even have a regular plan" ARGUS part 4 multi-chapter WIP by @smoaking-greenarrow - Prompts: “Please tell me you have a brilliant plan.” and “I don’t even have a regular plan.” https://archiveofourown.org/works/14957309/chapters/41691815

Our Version of Events multi-chapter WIP by @machawicket and @geneeste - Action star Ollie Queen is trying to clean up his image and land parts that require him to do more than appear shirtless while fighting stuntmen. Pop star Felicity Smoak wants to be seen as an adult in time for the release of her new, grittier album. And talent manager John Diggle’s got an idea about what coverage of Oliver and Felicity’s brand new (and totally fake) romance could do for them both. http://archiveofourown.org/works/8025382/chapters/18375349

Olicity Dialogue Prompt: Meet Me At Midnight. Alone. by @originalhybridloverfics - Dialogue prompt. Smut warning. https://originalhybridloverfics.tumblr.com/post/182600084154/olicity-dialogue-prompt-meet-me-at-midnight

seemingly impossible (but not untrue) multi-chapter WIP by @alexiablackbriar13 - Young genius historian Dr Felicity Smoak unknowingly and accidentally calls up a bewitched alchemical manuscript within the Oxford Bodleian Libraries - a book that has been lost for centuries. Descended from an old and distinguished line of witches, Felicity wants nothing to do with magic, despite her unruly and powerful abilities. But her discovery of Ashmole 782 sets the world of creatures stirring; with a mystery afoot and new, dangerous magical abilities manifesting for her to navigate, she is approached by the enigmatic vampire biochemist Professor Oliver Queen, who seems to have a deep interest in both the manuscript… and her. Based on A Discovery of Witches by Deborah Harkness. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16224353/chapters/37923743

The Fan multi-chapter WIP by @leuska - For the past couple of months, Felicity Smoak, previous child star known to the world through her alter ego Lisy the Tech Whiz, who ended her career and her growing popularity at the age of thirteen rather abruptly, has sporadically received disturbing notes and gifts in her mail. Police believe the notes to be just little tokens of appreciation by a former fan. Despite having left the spotlight over a decade ago and living in anonymity since, the fan mail keeps coming, increasing in frequency as well as intensity. The last drop is when Felicity receives another letter with a love note. A scary, ominous note. A note written in human blood.FBI director Amanda Waller tasks her best Agent to the case. Oliver Queen, a criminal profiler, is currently working on a special task force formed between SCPD and FBI to catch a man dubbed the Start City Slasher, who has murdered at least three young women in the past nine months. Agent Queen is not thrilled with the prospect of holding a former princess’ hand through her problem with a simple stalker while a serial killer is still at large. However, once meeting her, Oliver finds there is nothing easy or simple about Felicity Smoak as their worlds start to intertwine. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726573/chapters/41820368

Quick Fix 7x12 by TimeforAstory - A quick fix for episode 712. Not the whole documentary thing that I was really looking forward from the episode description, that didn't have anything to do with it. I missed Felicity. I missed Olicity. I missed OTA. I miss everything that made Arrow a great show...Sorry for the ramble. I'm just really sad for what my show has become. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17688086

Shades multi-chapter Complete by @geneshaven - Felicity is preparing to spend the holidays with her guys Chapter 1: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/181215821029/shades Chapter 2: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/181291236319/shades Chapter 3: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/181398973624/shades Chapter 4: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/181513399444/shades Chapter 5: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/181607993734/shades Chapter 6: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/182028355089/shades Chapter 7: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/182214818554/shades Chapter 8: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/182265990139/shades Chapter 9: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/182394286309/shades Chapter 10: https://geneshaven.tumblr.com/post/182626910414/shades

With the Speed of an Arrow multi-chapter WIP by @academyofshipping - Oliver Queen’s elite and silver-spoon life has taken some blows in the past few years, but he is still the carefree billionaire everyone knows of and loves. When his role in the family business is in jeopardy and he is introduced to a motley of new people, his status quo is threatened. With a changed perspective, Oliver realizes his feeling for his best friend and anchor-in-life, Felicity Smoak, may be more than just platonic. OR A modern adaption of Jane Austen’s Emma with a gender swap* and no island. *Knowing that gender is not binary https://archiveofourown.org/works/16559846/chapters/38799857

Will Fate Allow? multi-chapter WIP by @mindramblingsfics - Seeing her parent's marriage dissolve at a young age made Felicity yearn for a healthy marriage of her own. She thought she'd finally found what she was looking for when Billy Malone showed up offering her what her heart desired. She thought she was happy and had everything she could want, but things began to unravel. Slowly she turned to someone who had become an unparalleled constant in her life...Oliver Queen. Oliver and Felicity are the definition of polar opposites. He is the mob boss that strikes fear in the hearts many, while she is seen as the sweet girl next door, but there is more to both of them underneath the surface. Along the way, they become connected to one another leading to their lives being intertwined forever. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16521596/chapters/38699951

Love and Little Cupcakes multi-chapter WIP by @christinabeggs - Felicity loved sweets so much that she paid no attention to her lovelife. Until Thea Queen came into her store wanting fabulous cupcakes for her sixteenth birthday. SO ADORABLE! http://archiveofourown.org/works/12400539/chapters/28216053

Home To You multi-chapter WIP by @the-shy-and-anxious-fangirl - Oliver Queen has never done what his family expected of him. He took a gap year after high school instead of going to college right away. He quit his fraternity sophomore year to join the student newspaper, switching his major from business to journalism. He became a photojournalist for a wire service instead of taking a place at Queen Consolidated. He went missing after six months instead of coming home for his sister’s twenty-first birthday. He survived five years of captivity in a war zone when everyone thought he was dead. He came home. But home didn’t have a place for him in it anymore. His parents were both dead, casualties of their own mistakes and a city they had turned against them. His sister was all grown up, the CEO of Queen Consolidated with a fiancé and a dog and a life of her own. Oliver didn’t belong in his old life, but there was nowhere else for him to go. He was a man without a home, without any way of finding one, until he stopped by the IT department of his sister’s company to get files off an old, battered memory card, and found a woman with curly blonde hair and bright, intelligent eyes chewing on a bright red pen and swearing at a computer screen. https://archiveofourown.org/works/12613188/chapters/28734552

Do You Remember multi-chapter WIP by @smkkbert - Eight years after Oliver and Felicity became teenage parents, they have everything they could have ever hoped for and more. They have a good life in a nice house. Their marriage is happy, and a second baby is on its way. The calm they have settled in is interrupted abruptly when a stalker starts terrorizing Felicity. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17409059/chapters/40978307

Charmed I'm Sure! multi-chapter WIP by @christinabeggs - What happens when three witchy sisters take on the evil in the world? https://archiveofourown.org/works/15852249/chapters/36922482

Nothing Breaks Like a Heart multi-chapter WIP by @by-mintsea - Oliver and Felicity struggle to reconnect after they leave Slabside. There is a lifetime of hurt festering inside both of them, but with the events of 7x08 and Elseworlds turning their lives upside down, can they figure everything out between them in time for William's return? (All the in between things we should have seen on screen in 7x08 and Elseworlds instead of what the writers gave us). https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221298/chapters/40496489

Pieces of Always multi-chapter WIP by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34 - Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows. Ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. http://archiveofourown.org/works/8220479/chapters/18840356

Overwatch multi-chapter WIP by @it-was-a-red-heeler - A burglary attempt convinces the Mayor of Starling City to hire Smoak Technologies to strengthen his security. But between the sassy AI watching him 24/7 and the personal trainer with his own reasons to kill him, Oliver may wish he’d stuck with his baseball bat for protection. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17500640/chapters/41221793

Run to the Water multi-chapter Complete by @someonesaidcake - The year is 1912, Oliver was 9 and far too old to be babysitting that nonsensical girl Felicity whose parents owned the cattle ranch where his parents worked and lived, but she won him over with oat and raisin biscuits and soon became his little blonde sidekick...with a completely unrequited crush on him. Years later she returns from boarding school and more than bush fires ignite in the changing times.... https://archiveofourown.org/works/7455738/chapters/16942293

Just Beneath the Surface multi-chapter Complete by @smoaking-greenarrow arrow - When an S.O.S signal is sent to the FBI from a woman named Felicity Smoak, Director Oliver Queen knows that she is in grave danger. He can’t help but notice the haunting similarities between what’s happening to her and what happened nine years ago; in thirteen unsolved cold cases that drove ex-agent John Diggle out of the bureau. With a race against the clock, Oliver enlists the help of his old mentor to reopen the investigation, and hopefully save Felicity’s life. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16239002/chapters/37963052

You Built Me from a Broken Heart (So Now What's Mine is Ours) multi-chapter by WIP longlivefelicitythequeen - Felicity meets Bratva Captain Oliver Queen at the Starling City Ball http://archiveofourown.org/works/5797147/chapters/13361644

A Quiet Valentine's by @alexiablackbriar13 - Part of the Man's Best Friend Series - Oliver and Felicity celebrate their first Valentine's Day as a couple (with Hunter!) There's blanket forts, cute banter, gift giving and of course, lots of cuddling. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17787413

// @emmaamelia95 // @mel-loves-all // @oliverfel4 // @green-arrows-of-karamel // @coal000 // @miriam1779 // @memcjo// @captainolicitysbedroom // @tdgal1 // @spaztronautwriter // @lalawo1// @quiveringbunny // @wrongshipper // @thebookjumper // @vaelisamaza // @myhauntedblacksoul // @lovelycssefan // @laurabelle2930 //

#FabulousOlicityFanficFriday #olicity fanfiction #fic recs

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armorbirdpress · 5 years

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Armor Bird Reviews: Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom - A One-And-A-Half-Year Retrospective

If you have been following my writings and ramblings and original works and DeviantArt favorites for long enough, you'll know that I am unashamedly a dinosaur fan - I never outgrew the phase because despite what people have told me both online and off, palaeontology, like other sciences, is not specifically a child's thing - obviously dinosaurs are cool, but there is a lot of technical stuff that you'd need college degrees to understand in the field, too. While I certainly am a stickler for accuracy when it comes to dinosaur portrayals, however, I am also not ashamed to admit that I have a love for fictional portrayals of them as monsters, too. Jurassic Park, which was - for its time - pretty much a reconciliation between the "prehistoric monster" imagery of dinosaurs in popular culture and the latest discoveries about the actual fossil animals during its production, is my favorite movie of all time, partly for this reason and partly because there's a lot of depth and sophistication to it as well - a sophistication that modern movies seem to be utilizing less and less. Even the Jurassic Park franchise itself was not immune to this trend, and although it still remains my top favorite franchise of fictional media, the changing conceit of what audiences want in an entertaining film has dragged it along for as much of a long and bumpy ride as just about everything else Hollywood has to offer. Still, even in spite of it all, there are a lot of things to like about the sequels we got since that groundbreaking original - I'm admittedly one of those people who actually enjoyed Jurassic Park III, though in fairness I was too young upon first watching it to really pick it apart and analyze its numerous flaws, and I also heaped a lot of praise on Jurassic World upon my first review of it... in hindsight, perhaps a little generously. Although I won't pretend that everything since The Lost World (including TLW itself) is flawless and that the complainers are wrong, even the infamously controversial JP3 had some enjoyable moments in its own right, despite being seen by many as the worst installment of the franchise by quite a margin.

Which leads us to the most recent film of the franchise, 2018's Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom.

I had intended to review this movie for a good, long while - back when I was a more prolific writer I used to write film reviews shortly after seeing the movies in the theater, though schedule concerns have obviously made that too difficult. But there's a silver lining here, in that by not reviewing a film I've seen until much later (...well, much, much, much later as the case may be), I have the time to really sit down and think about what made the movie tick or not, and oftentimes have come down from my rush of excitement by the time I actually get off my tail and write the review itself. There are exceptions, of course, with certain films actually leaving me disappointed as soon as I left the building, but these cases are mercifully rare. I'm happy to say that despite being horrendously imperfect, Fallen Kingdom wasn't one of those cases. I was genuinely entertained by it more than 50% of the time - which is, for better or for worse, the highest compliment I can give the film because, as we shall see, in some ways it really is quite terrible.

As always with my movie reviews: SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!

I watched Fallen Kingdom twice since its release - first in the theater at my home town, and then on rental DVD - and both times, my impression was the same: this movie, in retrospect, plays out much like a big-budget, cinematic fanfiction of the Jurassic Park films or even of Jurassic World (the latter of which I actually consider darkly hilarious for reasons that are highly specific to me exclusively, which you'd only understand if you know what I've written in the past - I'll get to that shortly). This is perfectly understandable, seeing as the director, screenwriter, and production crew have changed considerably from the team that helmed the original trilogy during the ten-year gap between JP3 and JW. Even if the work is canon, it's essentially someone else taking a look at the original franchise material, picking out what they liked about it, and building an original story off of it, oftentimes borrowing characters from the original work and inserting them in (most notably Rexy, and yes, I consider her as much of a character as the humans she menaced in the original movie). Across the board, in all kinds of franchises, this approach tends to fall flat if you don't know about the original work, though I do have to say that there was one very notable exception in the case of Jurassic World, that climactic fight scene with the Indominus rex, which is my favorite part of the movie even if it isn't entirely perfect. Now, I realize that I'm being a bit of a hypocrite by saying that these films are imperfect, because almost a decade ago, a friend and I co-wrote a megacrossover fanfic where Jurassic Park was the most prominent franchise by quite a margin (and didn't even start out that way to boot - my own selfish preferences caused elements of the franchise to slowly bleed in until a recycled plot of the second and third movies took over the whole thing). What makes it truly embarrassing to me is that the fic didn't even need the series' involvement in the first place, and my choice to shove it in anyway was one of the numerous factors that led to it going completely off the rails and turning into a tremendous tangled mess of clumsy writing and mishandled characterization, not just with JP itself but with almost all of the dozen other continua that got dragged in as well. Obviously, the fact that Fallen Kingdom is restricted by its very nature as a sequel to the one franchise only thankfully precludes the sheer absurdity of what my co-writer and I had inadvertently wrought back then, but upon rewatching the film I couldn't help but notice that in a few ways, it does ironically come off as being quite similar to my own old shame, albeit coincidentally, though it still earns points for choosing to be a Jurassic Park/World film and sticking with that conceit, rather than an entirely different film with JP elements shoehorned into it. I've harped on my stupidity as an immature fanfic writer back in the day for long enough, I think, but I felt this was worth mentioning regardless, because like the fic I touched upon above, this is a work I only started having issues with long after the fact, but these days I can't unsee these issues now that I've considered them.

One of the biggest things that stood out to me regarding Fallen Kingdom was that no matter how you slice it, it was trying to be two films at once, and had less time for both than most would have desired. The first half of the movie concerns Isla Sorna being destroyed by a volcano, and everyone trying to get the dinosaurs off of it before they are rendered extinct once again, with another island being noted as their new sanctuary (though of course, one of the antagonists quickly screws that plan over, but more on that later). You could easily make an entire film out of that - exploring the island one last time, dodging potential threats from both the volcano and the dinosaurs themselves, and coming to terms with the fact that not every creature can be saved, and that the end is coming for everyone eventually. The scene with the Brachiosaurus being overtaken by the eruption, with its plaintive wails and iconic rearing silhouette, is proof that such a moral could make a solid closing for this kind of movie, and heck, you could even have the subplot with the executives hoping to exploit the dinosaurs bleed into the movie until, at the very end, you get a scene where their true intentions with the animals are revealed as a sequel hook, rather than being resolved over the course of like half an hour or so in a rushed manner that gives people too little time to consider the implications. And this brings me to my next point.

Remember what I said about that dumb fanfiction I co-wrote having the elements I personally wanted more than my co-writer did slowly fester in true plot tumor fashion until they took over the entire story like literal cancer? As it turns out, what I witnessed in Fallen Kingdom wasn't quite as ridiculous, but kinda sorta similar in its own way. Obviously, Fallen Kingdom isn't so audacious (or ignorant of copyright laws and plain old common sense for that matter) as to let an entirely different franchise stage a gradual hostile takeover of itself, but the somewhat cliched plot of capitalist exploitation being the absolute worst roommate imaginable with a whole franchise's worth of temporally misplaced creatures that can and will kill you if you look at them funny - already done in both the original movie and TLW, and to some extent in JW as well, but still relatable in our current social climate even after so much repetition - still manages to... well, stage a gradual hostile takeover of the movie, and enforces itself in full force during the remaining third or so of the runtime. The antagonists, a pair of cartoonishly evil and somewhat flat executives, sabotage the plan so that the dinosaurs are diverted to the Lockwood Mansion instead of the sanctuary island, and then things escalate when the prototype Indoraptor is bought in and, inevitably, raises hell for everyone involved. As with my previous pitch, the idea of bidding wars over the dinosaurs and the moral debate over the ownership and exploitation of living creatures - something which does happen in the real world - could have made for something interesting, again, if the script wasn't so rushed. Continuing where the hypothetical sequel hook left off, we could open with a discussion between the villains about the implications of what they are doing, followed by the heroes having to deal with the ramifications of such actions along with the involvement of Dr. Wu, the Indoraptor, and of course Blue as a potential prize-winner. Of course this runs the risk of becoming the original Jurassic Park except on the mainland, and thus not really trying anything new, but it could at least give audiences the time to digest the film and appreciate the moments where it makes a genuine impact, even before the dinosaurs end up getting released into the mainland like what happened in the movie itself, complete with the insane amount of ramifications thereof. The Stygimoloch plowing its way through the bidders on its way to freedom was almost as cathartic for me to watch as the climactic fight in JW, and I wish it could've gotten more screentime, or even plucked up the guts to fend off the Indoraptor in a situation that doesn't seem forced, e.g. the hybrid and the Stiggy getting trapped in the same complex, or even Owen luring it over as backup (which is stupider but, given how he got it to bust him and Claire out in the movie itself, isn't entirely unreasonable). As for the Indoraptor itself, I feel like they could have done a bit better with its design, as even underneath the paint job and altered proportions it's still more or less "Indominus 2: Genetic Boogaloo", as I have called it at least once. Still, it has its own appeal as a monster design and, if it weren't for the presence of similar-looking creatures in previous installments of the series, it would certainly have made an impact as a monster. It's almost wolf-like in movement and mannerisms, even werewolf-like, which is intentional given the vintage horror movie homages the production team was going for. The way it menaces Maisie - who has her own set of plot-related craziness to her, but that's a can of worms I'd rather not open - makes you worry for her life, and even fear for Blue when she engages it in battle. I know I'm one of those who actually prefers antagonistic Velociraptors (the inaccurate variety from the films, not the smaller and fully feathered real-world version which I would absolutely take home with me if I could find a way to retrieve it from Cretaceous Mongolia and have it housetrained and okay I'll stop now), but Blue as always is awesome, and after seeing her actually manage to hold her own in her fight against the Indoraptor if only for a short while, there's no denying that anymore - even if that scene with her outrunning the explosion in the boiler room is a bit over-the-top even by the standards of this movie. There is of course no way a spectacle-driven, plaid-speed-paced romp like Fallen Kingdom could surpass the bar set by The Big One and the legendary kitchen scene, but on its own merits, the Indoraptor is a wonderfully serviceable and formidable threat that I just wish could've gotten more screentime and room to develop as a character, rather than just remaining as an unhinged killing machine that exists just to terrorize everyone before exiting the film (the same is true for all the dinosaurs here besides Blue, really, which is sad because, again, I much prefer when films develop monsters as characters rather than mere plot devices). With a little more design work to make him stand out more among the other critters in the franchise and more time to explore his nature, he could easily have become almost as iconic as The Big One as movie monsters go, or at least as much as the I. rex, though the latter bar is admittedly a good deal lower in the wake of how the movie industry has, ahem, evolved.

With that thought in mind, I will now spell out the biggest problem I had with this movie: the fact that it was trying to do so much in such a short space of time. Humorously and ironically, I know almost enough about the issues with my own writing to recognize the signs of that, with significant events being spaced too close to each other, too many characters at once (though admittedly, Zia and Maisie are a treat to watch, Franklin a bit less so but far from unbearable for my taste), and at least one questionable decision on the part of everyone at some point or another, up to and including the writers. There are a lot of things I liked, but not enough time for me to let them sink in, like I was being bombarded with one spectacle after another. It feels like overkill more than anything, and alas, far too many films in recent years have tried to shove that method into people's faces as though trying to say, "Here's your action, here's your fanservice, here's your whatever the whoopity-freaking-doo you consider entertainment, are you happy now?!" (Well, not quite as vitriolic and sarcastic, but you get the idea.) If the filmmakers and the owners of the franchise rights had been willing to accept four movies in the newer series rather than just three, and let Fallen Kingdom be broken up into two separate, slightly slower-paced movies, the problems with each individual portion would likely not have been as significant, and audiences would not have noticed them so readily. Sadly, though, the rapid-fire, dozen-blockbusters-a-year rush-job environment of the modern movie industry was not kind to this film, which is a crying shame. We need more movies that are more relaxed and subdued half the time, the way the original JP film was, and while audiences may have to take the time to once again get used to movies like that, I think it would be a welcome change of pace from the current influx of chaotic, nonstop slugfests and pyrotechnic displays we've become so familiar with.

In tl;dr form, it is with a heavy heart that I have to say that Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom is, in fact, the worst film of the entire Jurassic Park franchise, even more so than JP3 - though don't get me wrong, as with JP3, I still very much enjoyed it as its own movie, as clumsily handled as it was at times (though even then, the movie itself isn't entirely at fault for it). There's a difference between a movie being the low point in its franchise and a low point among movies in general, a difference which a lot of reviewers need to understand before taking an undeserved dump over movies that could've been so much better if Hollywood had worked just a bit differently. You have to actually try to make a work of entertainment media I consider genuinely terrible, and it was actually a relief to me that even the lowest points of Fallen Kingdom still ranked somewhat midway between "meh" and "shakes hand eeeeehhhhhh" from my own subjective standpoint. I truly hope that the next and presumably final JP film will turn out for the better, especially given that Alan, Ellie, and Ian are all slated to have major roles in it, but I'm not going to dismiss Fallen Kingdom off the bat just because of the issues I have with its writing. If nothing else, it's a perfectly decent popcorn flick with prehistoric monsters in it - and hey, that was pretty much what everyone was there for, wasn't it?

Grading Scheme:

96 - 100: A+

93 - 96: A

90 - 92.9: A-

87 - 89.9: B+

83 - 86.9: B

80 - 82.9: B-

77 - 79.9: C+

73 - 76.9: C

70 - 72.9: C-

67 - 69.9: D+

60 - 66.9: D

Below 60: E

Grades:

Writing: 6

Characterization: 6

Pacing: 7

Creativity: 8

Consistency: 8

Cinematography: 9

World Building: 7

Music and Sound: 8

Effects: 10

Engagement: 9

Final Grade: 78 (C+)

#Armor Bird Reviews #Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

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