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andypantsx3 · 4 years

Text

statistically significant | 7 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

One month later

The Hero Awards certainly did not disappoint the second time around.

Though you’d spent the last few months in the company of some of these heroes, you couldn’t help but linger on the sidelines as they stalked their way down the walkway, staring in awe. As before, they were decked out in their absolute best, glimmering in jewel toned dresses with daring cutouts, or carving dashing profiles in well-fitted suits. Reporters and fans swarmed the sides of the red carpet, roiling like a pot reaching an agitated boil.

Their excitement was so palpable it hung heavy in the air, absolutely contagious. Maybe it was the fact that you knew some of the heroes up for awards tonight personally, but the potential of the evening simmered under your skin, a soft but constant hum of frenetic energy.

Or maybe some of that was due to the fact that this year, you’d been able to convince your boss to shell out the extra cash for the full dinner option. No longer would you need to smuggle snacks into your dress--this evening, you were a solid professional.

Which was a good thing, really, as the dress in question was not altogether any more secure or supportive than your dress from last year. You’d tried to angle for a thicker fabric and a little more of a conservative design, but several people had aired opinions on your choices over the course of the last few weeks, and you’d ended up in a thin swathe of delicate fabric that was really quite pretty, if you did say so yourself, but would support a grand total of maybe two popcorn kernels.

“You’re looking awfully forlorn over here,” someone chirped by your ear.

You startled, whirling to find Mina behind you, looking rosy and radiant in a form-fitting dress only a few shades lighter than her skin tone. Tiny pearls and clusters of glittering pink diamonds were stitched carefully into the fabric, winking at you as she moved, as bright as the conspiratorial grin she wore. She looked absolutely fabulous--she was one of the people who’d bullied you into the snackless gown, and you could begrudgingly admit that the girl had taste.

“Is it because a certain hotheaded blonde isn’t here yet?” she asked, a pink eyebrow going up.

You flushed. “Mina--oh my god, no. Not everything is about him, you know.”

She idly inspected a nail, looking supremely unconvinced. “Someone should tell him that, then.”

You huffed a laugh. The last time you’d been at the Awards, you’d said as much to him yourself. But a year later, the message was still not exactly being received.

“I’m actually thinking about dinner. I’m literally starving,” you complained, trying to divert the subject.

Mina nodded sympathetically. “I have a six pack and I still had to suck in to fit into this shit.”

As if on cue, your stomach growled sympathetically. You weren’t proud of what it was going to be like when you were finally unleashed on that multi-course dinner, but god it was gonna be worth it.

Several shrieks went up in the crowd of fans behind you, and you looked over your shoulder in alarm. Your pulse relaxed slightly when you realized it was just another pro sauntering down the walkway, but then the lights flickered off ashy blonde locks, and your pulse jumped violently. You jerked in surprise.

Mina didn’t even try to suppress her snort as you turned around fully, eyes pulled like a magnet to Bakugou as he stalked down the red carpet. Even looking like he would rather be anywhere else, and moving briskly over the carpet like he was going in for a kill, he still looked better than he had any right to. The charcoal of his suit--stitched with deep ruby flowers so dark they were almost black--brought out the piercing scarlet of his eyes, and your heart leapt into your mouth when those eyes cut over to meet yours.

His expression didn’t change, and he kept moving, but you flushed all the way from your head to your toes at the intensity behind his look.

Mina made a disgusted noise. “You’re both like a dog with a bone.”

You glared at her accusingly. “We literally just looked at each other.”

She clicked her tongue. “Please, he all but just pissed on you to mark his territory.”

Before you could reply, she called out, catching sight of Kirishima, and seized you to drag you over to say hello.

You let Mina drag you around for the next half hour, making polite conversation with her high school friends, a couple of friends from other agencies, and one fashion journalist who Mina had converted into a weekly drinking buddy. Mina kept the conversation light and easy, and you enjoyed yourself for the most part, though you almost passed out when a very distinct head of green curls materialized over her shoulder and then Midoriya Izuku--better known as the number one hero Deku--was smiling at you eagerly.

Things got even weirder when he appeared to not only already know who you were, but knew a great deal about your work, enough to ask some very detailed questions about your training model software that was going into production a couple months from now. Mina had the gall to cut into the conversation to call you both huge nerds, though she’d directly benefited from the model herself.

The conversation was unfortunately cut short when a calloused hand flung itself in front of your face and a rough voice sounded from over your shoulder. “Stop sticking your nose in my fucking business, Deku.”

You whipped around to find Bakugou glaring over your head at his former classmate. His hand closed around your shoulder and dragged you closer to him.

“I was just asking about her model, Kacchan,” Midoriya said patiently. “It’ll be great to be able to compare my movements directly with some of the other heroes in almost real time! Ojirou’s been trying out some new fighting forms and I was thinking I should try to adapt them to work into my shoot style--”

“Just because you couch it in nerd shit doesn’t mean you’re not trying to spy on me, fuckstick,” Bakugou said. “Stop poking your nose into my relationship like the town fucking gossip.”

Midoriya flushed a little, looking slightly chastened when you turned back to him in question. He gave you an embarrassed little smile. “I did want to meet you for reasons other than your model. Kacchan’s been my friend since I was little, and I wondered what kind of person could interest him so much he wanted my perspective on your work--”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou demanded, but he wasn’t fast enough.

You perked up in interest. “He asked you what?”

Bakugou bristled like a cat being dangled over a bath, but Midoriya was paying him no mind. “Right after the last Hero Awards, he’d done all this research and he asked me about whether your model results lined up with some of the personal analysis that I was doing--”

“Deku,” Bakugou’s fingers tightened on your arm, growing alarmingly warm. “If you don’t shut the fuck up right now I’m going to punch all of your teeth straight down your throat and into your stomach.”

“Kacchan,” Midoriya protested, but he was interrupted by a call on the overhead for everyone to start taking their places in the theater interior for the awards to begin.

Bakugou used the distraction to pry you away from Midoriya. In the blink of an eye, he’d gotten you across the theater and was corralling you towards the Miruko agency tables, looking like he’d sucked on a lemon. You stifled a laugh. You’d wondered a couple months ago exactly how and when he’d figured out you were quirkless, and he’d once asked if you thought you were the only one who’d done their research.

If things were anything like you were starting to suspect, your demands that he do better at the Hero Awards had apparently aroused his interest in more ways than one.

You and Bakugou hadn’t exactly settled on formal terms for your relationship yet, and he still more often than not answered any of your interest with the assertion that you were the one with the crush on him. But this was more evidence--beyond the mysterious coffees that showed up at your workstation almost every morning--that your interest was more intensely reciprocated than he was willing to own up to.

By the time you’d settled at a table and been flanked by a grinning Mina and Kaminari, the awards were getting underway. They were thrilling to watch, something you’d had to miss out on last year when you needed to sneak out with a giant hole in the front of your dress. The heroes you’d worked with this year raked in an insane number of awards, and their elation was palpable, so thick you could almost taste it in the air. The pair of men with satyr horns were named the Best Rookie Duo, Miruko was awarded Takedown of the Year, and Kaminari clocked the Fastest Fight Win for a battle last month in which he’d rendered a villain with an aluminum quirk insensate only seconds into the fight.

A very unfortunate match up, you thought.

Mina nabbed an award for Fan Favorite, and in almost no time, it was the moment that you’d been nervously awaiting since nominations had gone out. You’d cheated, doing your own calculations behind everyone’s backs just to get a clearer picture of what his chances were, and you rather liked his odds, but there was always a chance it wouldn’t go how you thought. But this was the moment that Bakugou was up for Most Valuable Hero.

You barely heard any of the words the host was saying as he trotted out the names of the nominees, detailing some of their key accomplishments. He covered Bakugou's latest slew of assists and rescues, stats that made you feel kind of weirdly warm and proud, and then your ears strained for the syllables you’d hoped to hear.

And then:

“The winner is...our explosive number six, Ground Zero!”

It took everything in you not to leap out of your seat in joy, though something like a strangled squeal managed to escape you. Bakugou gave you an evaluating look as he got to his feet, stalking up on stage with his usual intensity.

As soon as he was up there, it struck you that allowing him time for an acceptance speech was maybe not a great idea. Graciousness was not exactly a strength of his.

“Obviously I’m the most valuable,” he growled into the mic. The stage lights glinted off his hair and teeth, making him look slightly more predatory than usual. “I didn’t need you fucks to tell me.”

A choking noise could be heard from Kirishima’s seat a couple tables over, and Mina put her head in her hands.

“What’s important is that I’m number six now and it only took me a month,” Bakugou’s head swiveled in the direction of Midoriya and you suppressed a groan. “Don’t get fucking comfortable. I’m gonna wipe the floor with every one of the top five, and next awards you’ll all be kissing my ass.”

He didn’t seem like he had much more he wanted to say, which was an incredible relief as both the host and nearby security looked about ready to wrestle him offstage.

He leapt neatly down from the stage, and when he made it back to the table, he didn’t take his seat again. Instead, he grabbed your arm, hauling you out of your seat, and then he was pulling you down the aisle and through the door to the reception area.

He pulled you past the snack table and you thought he was steering you towards the stairwell again, but at the last second he took a sudden turn, shoving you through a door into the women’s powder room. You didn’t even have enough time to formulate a question before he had you backed up against the wall, your shoulders hitting the cool stone at the same time his mouth hit yours.

His kiss was hot and demanding as always, and you lost yourself in it easily. He trailed a line of burning kisses down your neck and over your shoulder, making you shudder and shake when he lingered too long over any particular spot.

It was hard to think past the press of his body on yours, but you tried your best to formulate words.

“Katsuki--it’s--we’re in the women’s room,” you panted, embarrassed by the fact that even as you spoke, you were clutching him closer. “This is--what are you--? S-someone’s gonna come in.”

Bakugou broke apart from you just long enough to level a searching glance around the room and--spotting what he’d been looking for--hefting the trashcan in front of the door with a forceful kick to stop it shut.

“There, nerd. Now stop fucking complaining,” he rasped, immediately attaching his mouth back under your jaw. You shuddered.

“What the fuck has gotten into you,” you demanded, seizing a fistful of his blonde hair to pull him back from where he was leaving what felt like a very deep bruise over your collarbone.

He leveled you with a burning, red-eyed stare. “Like you don’t fucking know.”

You looked at him in question. “...I actually don’t.”

He tried to lean in again but you gripped his hair harder. “What? You can’t just keep throwing me up against walls, especially here. What is it with you and shoving me into weird places at the Hero Awards?”

Bakugou growled. “If you don’t shut the fuck up and let me do what I want, I’m gonna burn throught this dress too.”

You froze up, then glared at him accusingly. “I literally write the code that processes your rank. If you ever wanna come within sniffing distance of the top three, you won’t touch a single thread of this dress.”

The hands on you grew hot, but not hot enough to burn. Bakugou slid a calloused hand over the curve of your waist, thumb brushing the underside of your breast.

“God, the fuckin’ attitude on you,” he said, almost reverently.

You felt your face warm under his scrutiny as he leaned closer. “You wanna know what's gotten into me? I wanted to melt that entire fucking thing off you last year. You were so fucking mouthy, such a little brat to me. Wanted to rip your dress off and fuck you right in the stairwell until you forgot you’d ever even heard of numbers.”

You shivered. Bakugou smirked, eyes darkening, leaning back in to bite under your jaw. You realized you’d lost your grip on him and willed your fingers to cooperate again.

“I fucking won that stupid award because I let you boss me around. I've waited an entire year. Now you’re gonna let me do whatever I want with you.”

Your legs went out from beneath you but Bakugou was already there, catching you under your thighs and hauling you up onto the countertop between the sinks. Your back brushed the mirror, glass cold under your shoulder blades.

“Y--you know, if you actually want to be number one, you can’t make speeches like you did,” you babbled nervously as he filled the space between your thighs. “Your public approval rating is part of your ranking, right? It’s weighted right below rescues…”

Bakugou paid you no mind, fingers already searching over your back to find the zipper to your dress. He yanked it down with little ceremony, seizing the front of your bodice to pull it off of you.

“I don’t need to be fucking nice if I’m the one saving the day,” he announced imperiously, leaning down to capture a nipple with his mouth.

Your hips jerked, and he pressed a hand to your thigh, holding you back down against the counter. Dimly, you registered that the words were familiar. “N--not--ah!--not this again.”

Bakugou didn’t deign to respond, instead doing something absolutely mind-bending with his tongue. You swore loudly, catching a fistful of his jacket. “Fuck, Katsuki!”

A hot palm slid up your thigh, gathering up the soft material of your skirt until he could slip a hand underneath. Calloused fingers trailed over your core with obvious intention. You inhaled sharply when he pressed them into you, leaning up to cover your mouth with his again.

Bakugou had you squirming wildly against him in barely a minute, snorting when you tried to get a hand on his zipper.

“Want me that bad, nerd?” he asked, pressing forehead to yours in an oddly tender move.

“If you don’t hurry the fuck up I’m gonna finish things myself,” you threatened, though Bakugou did not look at all as if he believed you.

He helped you get his zipper down, taking himself in hand, but he stopped just as he brushed your entrance, leaning forward to bite another kiss into your mouth.

“Now it’s time for you to make good on your end of the bet,” he growled, a smirk growing over his features. “You’ll tell me I’m the best and I was right all along.”

You stilled underneath him, disbelieving. “Are you--are you fucking serious.”

Bakugou pressed forward, just enough for you to feel the pressure of him on your clit. You fought down a noise like a whimper. Damn him.

“I jumped two ranks,” he said. “You’ll tell me I’m the best if you want me, nerd.”

“I am not gonna beg for you like this,” you announced, though it sounded a little more like a question than you had wanted it to.

Bakugou brushed his thumb over your clit again and little sparks danced over the corner of your vision. “Mmm, you’re gonna scream.”

You felt something like a tension snap inside you. Fuck it. He was so annoying but holy shit if he wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever encountered. If he needed his ego stroked, well it wasn’t nearly as much as you needed your own stroking.

You grit your teeth. “Ugh, fine--just--you’re the best, and you were right all along. Now will you please--”

You didn’t even get to finish before he was sinking into you, narrow hips fitting flush with your thighs. You swore at the feeling of fullness, and then he was moving, picking up into a frantic pace. He leaned forward, sealing his mouth over yours to swallow all the little noises you were making. It was mere minutes before you were shivering underneath him again, moving your hips to meet his, desperate for more, Katsuki, more.

“Ah fuck--so fucking good for me,” he grunted against your mouth, giving a particularly hard thrust, and that was all it took to unravel you.

You stifled a scream in the thick fabric of his jacket, arching up into him. He cursed and followed after you with a few more short thrusts, crushing you against the counter when he let his weight go slack.

You panted underneath him, catching your breath while your fingers slowly unclenched themselves from the hem of his suit jacket. Bakugou rubbed his face in the hollow of your shoulder, radiating smug satisfaction.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it, nerd?” he rasped, biting down lightly where he’d left the hickey earlier.

You pulled back, looking into his face again. He looked far too pleased with himself, but he was so handsome like this, all messy hair and a kiss darkened mouth. Your irritation with him fizzled out a little.

He flashed you a predatory grin. “You said it yourself--I'm the fucking best.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop your hand from coming up and tangling in his hair. “Shut the fuck up.”

Bakugou, predictably, did not look as if he was going to shut the fuck up at all. So you took matters into your own hands, and leaned in and kissed him again.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou

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asphalt-cocktail · 4 years

Note

Hear me out..kay?

'70s John Lennon with younger female home assistant reader getting into a lil dispute because John thinks he let himself go after the Beatles broke up, but the reader believes otherwise and it ends up in the two of them having passionate/slightly rough sex because he's more or so angry with himself than anything? And the two of them are really close too, like John allows her to watch Julian and Sean when he's at the studio or on business trips?? And the two boys genuinely like her???

(a universe where he isn't married to yoko ((no hate intended)) and is single and happy that way..)

Oh my god, I love this idea! 70s john is so pretty. I love how he looks as he gets older. it’s like fine wine. Some of the ages might not add up but we’ll call this an AU for the sake of consistency!

Warnings: Some smudges of angst, smut, insecurities, language

Also it got WAY longe than I expected so i got a little carried away.

As John slept, he dreamt he sat perched on a throne made bones. It overlooked a high cliff that faced the ocean where the wind burned his face and he could hear seagulls screaming in the background.

He was alone. For once he wished he had the screaming crowds and bandmates calling his name. But only the shrieking gulls filled his ears.

The dream seemed to go on for two lifetimes and the atmosphere felt staticky as the waves repeatedly crashed against the shores and hit the rocks. At times he could feel the soft kiss of saltwater sprinkling against his face.

He blinked for the first time in what felt like ages and suddenly his throne of bones began to collapse, he grasped at them panicked as he desperately tried to prevent himself from falling. Just as his footing slipped John shot up in his bed breathing heavily. He blinked to clear the bleariness that had settled from sleep and palmed his bedside table for his glasses and crudely wiped them on his sheets to clear the fingerprints before slipping them on.

Suddenly the room was clear, and the sound of gulls was replaced with Sean’s squealing laughter. It helped John feel grounded in his brief moment of panic. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, Christ, what did he have to do today again? John ran his fingers through is knotted hair and slipped out of his bed. Right, he had to do several interviews to promote his new album and single that was just released then he had a dinner party. He grimaced at the thought of having to sit for several hours with a group of yuppies and pretend to enjoy their conversation.

As John walked through is bedroom he slipped on a pair of slippers and his dressing gown before stopping in front of his full length mirror. He gave his belly a firm pat, he’d lost a significant amount of weight in the last five years, mostly from depression, but it was still a small victory in his eyes. Atleast he had that going for him.

The bedroom door open and John found himself lured to the kitchen by the smell of syrup and pancakes. He flashed you a tight-lipped smile, “You’re early.” He greeted you.

You shrugged your shoulders, not looking up from the batter as you poured it into the skillet, “I know I thought my exam was going to take much longer than it did.” You said sheepishly. John had been gracious enough to accept you as his assistant and sometimes nanny. He was nice and the job helped you learn a lot about public relations and management, which is what you had hoped to do after you’d graduated from university.

“Do you want some pancakes? Sean helped with them.” You said waving the ladle towards John.

He shrugged, still groggy from sleep. He really didn’t want any, but the way Sean stared at him with his big black eyes begging changed his mind. He sighed after his idle moment in thought and nodded his head, “I suppose I should see what the little chief has made for us.” He smiled and ruffled the kid’s hair.

After breakfast John rushed to get ready, “And you’re okay with taking Julian to piano lessons? Remember Sean still needs to finish that cough medicine from his cold earlier last week, and they can’t stay up past-” he rushed out his of things that he now only worried about due to having children.

You placed your hand on John’s arm and gave him a look, “John I’ve worked with you for almost three years, I think I can handle a day of babysitting. Julian will get to piano lesson on time and Sean will get his medicine; and don’t worry I won’t give them any sugar past 6pm.” John chose to ignore the little wink you gave Julian and Sean from the other side of the room.

He let out a sigh and his shoulders relaxed, “I know, I just” Worry I’m not good enough, his intrusive thoughts echoed in his mind and he shook his head before sharply inhaling, “I just worry about them, you know how it is.” You didn’t, you weren’t a parent. But you understood a little bit with where he was coming from.

You gave John a sympathetic nod and patted his shoulder, “Go on, you’re going to be late for the interview.” You said and turned him, pushing him towards the door.

A small smile settled on John’s face, it didn’t matter if he left for 8 hours or a full week, he still gave you the same reminders and the same list when Yoko or Cynthia couldn’t take the kids. John rushed out the door and you turned towards the boys and grinned at them. They were both nice, Julian had a wee bit of an attitude, but you chocked it up to him being in double digits while Sean was a curious and surprisingly even-tempered boy.

You made sure Julian got to and from piano lessons okay and wrestled with Sean to take the last dose of his medication, bribing him with some cookies. The remainder of the afternoon and evening you watched a movie with them, walked in the park, and drew pictures of the cats.

At lunch time John called to check in on the boys and to let you know it was going to be a late night, after reassuring him everything was fine you resumed your conversation with Sean about some fabulous story he was making up.

John sat at the dinner party, poking at his food and listening to his scientist friend tell them about a fancy new machine they got at work. The autoclave used immense amounts of heat and pressure to sterilize items, nothing survived the autoclave. In that moment John decided he saw some of his own likeness in the machine. As the voices turned to mumbles and John fell deep into thought he found that his own heart was harsh an inhospitable, much like the machine. That was why he was mostly alone in his 17-room apartment in New York City. His two wives couldn’t even make his home their home, and when he received a phone call from Cynthia or Yoko saying they were coming to pick the children up or to send them home on the morrows next fight he couldn’t say it struck him by surprise.

As the evening grew late you put Sean to bed and then an hour later you sent Sean to bed, much to your surprise neither of the boys fought with you tonight over why it was unfair they had different bedtimes or how they should be allowed to stay up later because it was summertime.

Infomercials from the television droned in your ears and lulled you to sleep as you sprawled out on the couch. A hand touching your shoulder caused you to jump and you blinked before John came into focus, “I’m home, you can stay the night in the guest room. It’s too late for you to go home alone.” He said kindly.

You rubbed your eyes and groggily sat up, “How did the meetings go today?” You asked after a deep yawn.

John’s face scrunched up, the way it did when he was frustrated and deep in thought, “It was alright.” He shrugged.

“What do you mean alright? You just released a new single, no one had an opinion on it?” You asked as you made your way through one of the many long hallways that made up his Dakota apartment.

John followed you, hoping for conversation and company, “I don’t know, I must have termites in me brain or something.” He frowned leaning against the door of the bathroom and watching you rummage through the cabinet for your spare toothbrush. Your movements moved on memory and you pushed aside the antacids and ibuprofen to get to the toothbrush you kept in the back of the medicine cabinet. The familiarity in your actions made John feel comforted.

“what do you mean?” You asked before you began brushing your teeth. You watched as John shifted, leaning against the door jam. He felt uncomfortable. You could tell.

He looked away from you, “I’m washed up I suppose.” He dug his shoe into the grout of the bathroom tile, “No one wants to listen to a former Beatle without the other three.” John wanted to open up to you but his body felt like an unstable bag of foam and bones and his ability to speak clearly vanished.

You spat out your toothpaste and wiped the remainder off with the towel that hung on the wall, “Oh come off it,” You scolded him, “You don’t mean that do you?”

Now it was your turn to follow John as he walked through the house, kicking his shoes off and tossing his jacket to the side, “That’s how it seems.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, “Every time I talk to one of these hokey television people, they just rub it in me face how successful Paul or George are doing.” He frowned, “And I’m just sitting here, a one hit wonder. No songs in the last five years.” He tugged open the door to his wardrobe and pulled out sleeping cloths and tossed them onto the bed, “Paul’s got his 87 children, and his new better band. What do I have?” His cheeks started turning red and his thick brows furrowed.

You listened to him complain about his imperfections, he obviously needed to get them off his chest, “John,” You said softly interrupting his monologue, “You don’t mean that.” You bluntly said.

John looked away from you and huffed loudly, “First I get called the fat Beatle, then I get torn to shreds for saying one thing about Christianity and now I can’t even write a damn song anymore.” He angrily pulled his shirt over his head, “If I can’t even write a damn song what use am I?” He continued to mumble to himself and tug the thin and worn sleep shirt over his head and stuck his arms through the hole.

You walked forward and boldly grabbed John’s wrist as he reached for his lounge pants, “Stop it,” You said in the same tone of voice you used to scold one of the children, “I don’t want to hear you say bad things about yourself that aren’t true.” Your brows knit together as John turned to look at you.

His eyes narrowed to little slits as he studied your face. John felt as though the throne of fame he once sat upon was now crumbling, much like in his dream “You’re just an assistant, you don’t know anything.” He said coldly and shrugged you off.

You know he didn’t mean it, but the words stung, “Yeah, I’m just your assistant who watches your kids, and takes them to piano lessons, and does your laundry, and brings you take away when you are too sad to leave your room.” You shot back.

Your words hit John like a 10-ton truck, and he looked at you shocked, none of his assistants had ever been this bold before. They all cowered beneath the mighty John Lennon, but you were different. Your tongue was just as sharp as his, and he hated to admit it; but he liked the way your brows furrowed, and your eyes ignited with fire every time you argued back at him. He wanted to get a rise out of you, so he pushed you, “I pay you for it, don’t go around thinking you’re special. I could post your job in the paper and have hundreds of college kids lining up to work for me.” He hissed stepping towards you.

You were backed into a wall, literally and figuratively, you felt at a loss for words. John was right and you both knew it, what was the worst that could happen if you pushed back a bit? “Do it, I dare you.” You scoffed and moved to push past him, “Surprised anyone would like to work for a washed-up Beatle.” You mumbled under your breath knowing that he would hear you.

John brought his arm up and pushed you back into your spot between the wall and pushed his lips against yours. It was hard and messy; your teeth clicked together, and your noses knocked. It took a moment for you to realize what was happening until John roughly shoved his knee between your legs. You let out a whimper feeling him pull away and start leaving hot open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and trailing down to your neck. Your chest heaved against him and you swallowed thickly, and you desperately tried to focus as he continued to latch onto your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin, “John.” You whined and ground yourself against his thigh.

He loved how you practically purred his name as you spoke. John’s hands pushed down on your hips, helping you as you slid against his thigh with wanton need. Your breathy sighs sent a shiver that crept down his spine and settled in his belly, “We can stop, just say it and I’ll stop.” He said rubbing his nose along your jaw.

You swallowed thickly, “Please don’t,” You didn’t want to go back now.

John pulled away and pulled you by your wrist before pushing you back onto the bed. You bounced back against the plush large mattress and laid against the pillows and watched as John knelt between your legs. He rubbed his hands along your thighs and kissed you’re the skin that had become exposed from your shirt riding up and pushed it up more. He sucked and left kitten licks as he exposed more of you stomach and chest, kissing between your breasts and sucking at the soft skin on the sides.

John peeled your shirt off and in one swift movement your breasts were exposed and your top and underclothes tossed aside. He dove against your neck again, deepening the marks he’d already left prior and adding new ones, nipping at the skin and inhaling your scent. You reached your fingers and laced them in his soft long hair. You’d always wondered how it felt and how it smelt. You found yourself burying your nose into the side of his head and breathing deeply. He smelled like stale smoke, the gum he always chewed as a nervous habit, and like his eucalyptus shampoo. It made your brain feel dizzy.

Your legs wrapped around John’s narrow hips and pulled him flush against you. He groaned feeling your heat against his awakening erection and ground against you. he felt like he was 18 again, sneaking home some blurry faced bird through the back door at Mimi’s after coming home too late. But this felt better, it wasn’t some random company for the night; it was you.

The assistant he hired on a whim because he needed someone to watch Sean while he flew to LA for recording, the same person who folded his laundry, the first person he told of his divorce from Yoko. Even in his dream as he stood alone on the edge of the cliff as his throne collapsed, he knew if he called your name you would come.

Now, here he was; swallowing your moans eagerly in his mouth and listening as you left ragged breathy gasps in his ear as he ground against you. His hands fumbled with the buttons on your pants before he finally gave up and pulled them open, the small button popping off and bouncing to the other side of the room. John kissed your hips and along the lower half of your stomach and it twitched.

You squirmed, looking down and seeing his intently focused face as he yanked down your underwear and jeans and carelessly tossed them aside. You suddenly became aware of your nakedness as you stared down at John, fully clothed in a loose sleep shirt and the pants he wore today. Your eyes trailed his body and you sat up, tugging at his shirt. Your movements were hesitant and less confident than his. John’s hands guided his shirt up and he tugged it off, throwing it to join the rest of your discarded cloths and you ran a hand along his chest. Admiring the freckles and imperfections that made him distinctly human. He pulled back and shrugged his pants off and resumed his spot between your legs, pushing you back down.

John kissed the sides of your knees and made his way up your thighs, “Is this okay?” He murmured.

You shivered feeling his lips moving against your legs and nodded your head, urging him to continue. The pit of nervousness that settled in your belly violently vanished as you felt John’s hot tongue swipe between your folds and lap at you, “Jesus Christ,” You gasped out.

You could feel John smirk as he hooked his arms under your legs and pulled you close. He spread you apart, groaning and rubbing your clit with his thumb, “Has anyone ever done this to you before?” He asked glancing up at you.

You swallowed thickly and shook your head, “N-no,” You choked out.

John hummed acknowledging your answer and licked at your core again, taking his time to trace lazy shapes around the bundle of nerves. It sent a tingle that rang through your whole body, from the tips of your toes to your fingers and you desperately reached for John’s hair to keep him in place.

Your toes curled and you pressed John’s face closer against you and bucked your hips, grinding against his face. He groaned and pressed back, pulling you closer against his face. The plug between your brain and mouth disconnected and your mind felt like it was swimming. The string in your stomach tightened as you continued to grind against John’s tongue as he lapped at you. Your soft breathy sighs climbed in pitch before it snapped and your hips squirmed against him. John firmly held you down and he harshly rubbed your clit. The burning sensation caused your toes to curl, your eyes to blissfully shut, and made your legs shake. Your hips tried to jerk away from his hand, but he held you down, watching you writhe, jaw hanging slightly ajar.

“St-op” You choked out and gripped his wrist, letting out a sob as he pushed you to your peak once again. Your chest heaved and your legs shook as it washed through you. You curled into yourself and your face scrunched up.

John left you no room to breathe as he pulled your face close to his and captured your mouth in an open mouth. His tongue explored your mouth and you could taste yourself. You gripped at his forearms and pulled him back down, thumbing his briefs and tugging them down. John smiled against your mouth as he wiggled out of them, twisting his legs and shifting before he finally gave up and broke your kiss for a moment to tug them the rest of the way down.

You reached to kiss him and frowned as he pulled away, settling between your legs and rubbing his cock teasingly between your wet folds before he pushed in. You gasped, feeling John stretch you as his pelvis pushed against the back of your legs. He sat there for a moment and his face reached up and cupped yours as he hovered just inches away from your face.

You brought your hand up and placed it on John’s, his thumb traced your bottom lip and he slowly moved his hip, pushing deep inside you. Your mouth fell open and you let out a soft moan. John eagerly took the opportunity to slip his thumb into your mouth and pushed harder into you as your lips wrapped around it.

John’s hands gripped your hips as his picked-up speed, pulling them against him and making your skin slap together. He fell over you and you wrapped your arms around him pulling his body close to yours. His head fell next to your shoulder and he messily kissed up your shoulder and up to the side of your mouth before you captured his. Your kiss lacked tact and was only motivated by wanton need for each other. Your teeth clanked harshly together, and you clung to John as though he would vanish from you in an instant.

John broke the kiss and latched onto your neck once again, nipping at the skin and leaving a lingering and dull pain as he continued his trail before settling near your ear. John’s grunts and soft breathy sighs were perhaps the best sound’s you’d ever heard. In that moment you didn’t care that your bodies stuck together with sweat, or that your head kept bumping against the headboard.

You found yourself reaching for John and whimpering as he pulled away and hooked his arms under your knees and brought them up, leaning onto you and pushing deeper inside you. Your back arched off the mattress as he pulled back and began to slowly rut deep inside you.

John clenched his teeth together and hissed, feeling your walls twitching around him as he continued his languid pace, “Please,” You said softly, your brows knit together and your eyes looking helplessly up at him.

His lips spread into a knowing smirk, “Please what?” His voice sounded ragged and strained as he continued to tease you.

“More please,” You barely recognized the whiny tone of your voice.

“Yeah?” He asked and harshly snapped his hips against yours, “Like that?” He asked snapping them again. The headboard lightly tapped the wall as John’s thrusts grew harder and faster while your staccato moans followed jointly. John watched you, your mouth hanging open and skin shiny from the combination of his and your sweat that coated your body. He felt more human in this moment than he’d felt in a long time.

John’s brows knit together, and his thighs clenched, he didn’t want this to end. You pulled his arms and pulled him close to you, not caring if it seemed like you were being clingy, “Come inside me,” You breathed out next to his ear.

John’s body seized up and he huffed out a shaky haggard breath before he came, holding you close against his body and riding out the high that fogged over his senses.

For a moment he laid on top of you, softening inside you but enjoying the intimate closeness the two of you shared in your post coital haze. John kissed your shoulder before pulling back and kissing your lips. He pulled back and the two of you smiled at each other.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

You couldn’t help but turn your head and breath out a small laugh before John rolled over to your side. The two of you laid on top of his wrinkled duvet staring at each other. You pursed your lips and remembered what you said earlier, “I didn’t mean it, what I said.” You said sheepishly looking away.

John’s expression was soft as he looked at you, “I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it either.” He said his arm now resting on your shoulder. He pulled you against his bare chest and you pushed your knee between his legs, entangling your bodies together as John held you.

#john lennon x reader #smut #ac asks #anon #sin sunday #beatles x reader

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wagner-fell · 3 years

Text

As Alastair Carstairs slid onto the rink once more, the olympic stadium was so quiet the only sound to be heard for miles was that of his skates cutting through the smooth ice.

While his fabulous attire caused a massive ripple the surprisingly heteronormative men’s figure skating community, his movements only caused a slight ripple in the fabric of his navy blue skirt. The silver diamonds flowing downward like manufactured tears silently clinked against each other. The color scene of his costume perfectly matched the streaks in his hair and the gold hoops and silver studs along his upper earlobe were just icing on the cake.

Thousands of Iranian flags surrounded him, all encompassing walls of green, white and red. It was Iran’s second year placing in this particular sport and the second year of Alastair’s career outside of the junior league. Only Charles Fairchild was idiotic enough to believe this was a coincidence.

Alastair stopped directly in front of the second place winner and spun around to face the crowd. He blew a kiss to his younger sister, Cordelia. The camera zoomed in on her as she jokingly swallowed it.

When the gold metal was draped over Alastair’s neckline, the audience’s cheers roared so loud people watching from the comfort of their homes were forced to refuse the volume by several bars in order to keep their hearing intact. The people witnessing it live lost that hope during Alastair’s free skate routine.

Barbara dropped her brother's hand and stuck both her fingers in her ears to block out the noise. While Eugenia hurriedly stood and lifted Tomás into the air in an act of celebration. (A feat that would become nearly impossible in just a few short months.)

Once returned to the ground, Tomás fixed his attention to the boy on the screen again. Beautiful.

Tomás had begun skating on recommendation from his physical therapist to ‘get active’. Not the smartest decision on her part, for he had injured, to some degree, every bone in his body from the leg down. But it kept him busy and his family loved going to his competitions an embarrassing amount.

Throughout the entirety of his career, Tomás had been mediocre at best. However watching the god in human form known as Alastair Carstairs skate lit a something in him he hadn’t even known was there. A desire to excel.

Tomás closed his eyes and imagined being able to do something as breathtaking as what he’d just witnessed.

One day, he promised himself, one day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is a short snippet from my contribution to Alastair Month, Born To Make History! If it isn’t already obvious from the title and general plot, its a Yuri on Ice!!! Thomastairs AU

Featuring: Tomás Lightwood of Spain, Alastair Carastairs of Iran, Matthew Fairchild of England, James Herondale of Wales, and Kamala Joshi of India (Plus Cordelia as Iran’s champion fencer)

@adoravel-fenomeno @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @lifewouldbebetteronmars @light-bane08 @thechangeling @thomas-thedavid-lightwood @the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @hardlymatters @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @arangiajoan @noah-herondale-lightwood @foxglove-airmid @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @sandersgrey @maxboythedog @shelvesofgold @book-dragon-not-worm @hahahax30 very sorry if I forgot your name from the tag list. Lmk if you want to be added/removed from the tag list!!

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bisexualbumblebee-writes · 3 years

Text

Alive and Well Part 1- Jasper Badun x OC

Jasper Badun x Angela Young

Description: Angela reads the morning news and discovers that Cruella is dead, and Jasper and Horace have gone to jail for it. It leaves her with unresolved feelings for Jasper, but after getting a call from Artie, she realizes that they may not actually be unresolved.

Word Count: 1.8k

“You’re sure that it’s okay if I stay home today?” Angela asked hesitantly, twirling the phone cord around her finger.

“Of course,” Artie responded earnestly. “In fact, I think I may just close the shop a bit early today, business has been a bit slow, you know?” Both of them knew that that was a lie, but Angela was thankful that he made an attempt.

“Thanks Art, I’ll see you tomorrow then?” She questioned hopefully.

“I can swing by later tonight if you’d like,” he suggested.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” she brushed it off. “Have a good day, lots of love.”

After setting the phone down, Angela took another look at the very reason she wanted to stay home. She picked up the newspaper carefully, as if it would bite her, and tried not to tear up as she read the headline.

Cruella Up In Flames

A few hours earlier, the fire department received a call about a large house fire in the warehouse district of London, where it was discovered that it was the upcoming fashion icon Cruella’s lair. Just an hour before that, she had a flash mob showcasing her new work in Regent's Park, only to get run out by the police.

Angela’s heart broke as she read it over, and the next line didn’t help her in the slightest.

Police caught and arrested Jasper Badun and Horace Ethan for conspiracy to murder, though there was no body discovered among the wreckage.

She set the paper down, not being able to read anymore of it. It just didn’t make sense, just last night everything seemed fine. Everyone had a blast with the show and even discussed getting drinks to celebrate the occasion. Plus, that didn’t even sound like Jasper and Horace. They loved Este -or actually- Cruella, from how they talked about her, she was like their sister. Sure she had been very pushy before the show, but that doesn’t mean the boys just jumped to murder. That wasn’t them. It was the Baroness, it had to be. But she couldn’t prove that, besides, Cruella was dead and that was the end of it. And yet, how was she supposed to just move on as if the past few months of helping the icon meant nothing, as if they weren’t the best days of her life? She had no idea.

Just a few hours later she received a call from Artie.

“I need your help,” he spoke rather excitedly.

“Hello to you too, Art,” she responded amusedly. She heard the man laugh on the other end, and she could just imagine him shaking his head at her.

“Hello Angela. How are you doing? How’s the family? Is your garden coming in nicely? I need your help,” he retorted in the same tone as before.

“I’m as well as I can be. My mum got over that nasty cold and dad said hi. It is, but I’ll need more fertilizer soon. How can I help you?” Artie then gave her an address, telling her to meet him there for something important.

“What is it? I’m not going to get killed, am I?” She joked, smiling when she heard him laugh once again.

“Oh no, nothing like that love. Just get here as soon as you can. Lots of love!” He gave her no time to respond before he hung up. Angela only stared at her phone, confused. After a minute she shrugged and set it down, she had no reason not to trust Artie so she would have to get ready for the secret location.

Just an hour later she stepped off the bus and arrived at a nice looking house. She double checked at the address she’d written down then walked up to the doorstep, knocking nervously. After only waiting for a few seconds the door opened to reveal a bald man in a nice suit. Her eyebrows shot up a bit and she messed with the hem of her rust colored parka.

“Uh, hello. Is Artie here?” She greeted him awkwardly.

“Are you Angela Young?” The man questioned in a deep voice, to which she nodded. A small smile rested upon his face and he opened the door wider for her.

“Come in, my name is John. I am the owner of this house,” he explained as she stepped inside. “May I take your coat?”

“Oh, uh, yes please.” She, with John’s help, took her parka off and she waited while he hung it up in a nearby closet.

“Angela!” She heard Artie call from down the hall. She barely had time to turn before he hugged her.

“I thought I heard your voice love. We’ve been waiting for you.”

“We?” Angela repeated confusedly.

“I’ll go make you some tea,” John spoke before walking off to what Angela assumed was the kitchen.

“Come on,” the excited boy instructed, linking his arm in hers and leading her down the hall.

“Artie, what’s going on?” She questioned as she followed him. “Why are we here in a stranger’s house?”

“Just wait and see,” he responded before stopping in front of the doorway of what seemed to be the living room. She stared at him curiously for a minute before walking inside, then gasped.

“Jasper!” She cried out in surprise. The man grinned widely at the girl.

“Angela,” he exclaimed as the girl practically ran over to him. The two embraced, Jasper’s head lowering a bit to rest on top of her head.

“You’re okay,” she breathed out, now sounding relieved.

“You are too,” he responded in the same tone, squeezing her tighter. Angela wanted to cry, this time with happiness, but that would come later.

“I am too,” she heard Horace speak up from the sofa. That made Angela giggle as she (very hesitantly) pulled away from Jasper and faced him.

“I’m glad,” she responded kindly as she offered him a quick hug. “But what happened? I thought you two had gone to jail?” She questioned, looking around.

“Well, we were in prison, but then we escaped,” Horace explained.

“We had some help though,” Jasper added, now looking past Angela. That made her turn around, and her eyes widened.

“Cruella,” she exclaimed. “You’re alive.” Though she was happy, she found her feet were stuck in place. She was still rather upset about Cruella’s treatment of not only her, but Artie, Horace and especially Jasper. That made her smile fade, and the woman seemed to understand why.

“I know you’re probably mad,” she started, making Angela cross her arms.

“That’s a bit of an understatement, don’t you think?” She cut her off rather coldly. She could see Artie frown out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t exactly care at the moment. Instead, she shrugged and began walking around the living room.

“I mean, now that I know what the Baroness is capable of, I want to take her down. Believe me, I do. But that was your goal before your ‘death’ and look what happened. You treated everyone like they were trash and beneath you, you acted as if Horace and Jasper hadn’t been there for you since you were children, and yet you still were ready to throw them under the bus to reach your goal. Hell, you almost fired me from a job I technically didn’t have! None of us were being paid for helping you, we did it because we cared about you. You didn’t care then, though. Tell me, what difference does it make this time around?” She stopped when Jasper reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

“Just hear her out, Ang,” he pleaded softly. “She’ll explain everything.” She stared at him for a moment going over her options. Eventually she sighed and faced the woman across from her expectantly. After a few minutes of Cruella staying quiet, Angela breathed out a laugh and shook her head.

“I’m leaving. Good luck with whatever you guys are trying to do but I’m not about to be a part of it.” She grabbed her bag, ignoring Jasper when he called her name. Just as she reached the door, she was stopped by Cruella finally speaking.

“I almost died,” Cruella started. “If it hadn’t been for John, I would have. It’s quite the eye opener, though I don’t recommend you try it,” she stayed quiet for another minute before looking down when Angela faced her once more. “There’s no easy way to say this. The Baroness is my birth mother, she gave me away to die. And then killed the sweetest woman, albeit a liar, who ever lived.” Angela’s eyes widened, and her shoulder slumped enough that her purse fell from her shoulder and hung from her elbow.

“We are in a kill-or-be-killed situation here. I can’t run, she’ll find me. You know she will, Angie,” she paused yet again then took a deep breath before looking at her. “I went a bit mad. I’m sorry. After all that’s happened with us, I can’t help but view you as my sister, and I know you’re the same way. Well, at least you were before I blew up. The point is, you’re my family. You guys are all I have.” Cruella gave her a desperate look, which made her close her eyes in thought. After a minute of silence Angela crossed her arms and exhaled deeply.

“God, you’re really hard to say no to sometimes,” she finally spoke, opening her eyes once more. A smile appeared on Cruella’s face and she stood. The two met each other halfway in a hug.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” She questioned, which made the girl laugh.

“Yeah, why not,” she responded as they pulled away. “So, what now?” Cruella’s sincere smile melted into a mischievous one.

“I have a plan,” she spoke.

“Of course you do,” Artie responded teasingly.

“And you two are going to help me,” Cruella continued. Angela and Artie gave each other a look before facing the woman.

“A night full of fabulous and mayhem and possibly death.” Angela hummed in thought.

“Hmm. Check, check, I’m not quite sure about the death though.”

“It won’t be any of you,” Cruella retorted. Artie grinned.

“Continue.”

“The Baroness’ charity gala is this weekend. We’re going to need the home addresses and measurements of all the guests.”

“Easy,” Horace responded, petting Winky.

“You and Artie’s tribe of dressmakers, of course,” Cruella continued.

“Of course,” Angela repeated with a grin.

“A black cape, pots of paint.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jasper questioned with a laugh.

“Several boned corsets…” Angela turned to face the others with a playful smile.

“Should we write this down?” John walked in with tea for everyone, and Cruella’s smile widened as she looked around.

“Let’s get started then.”

#Cruella 2021 #cruella #jasper badun #jasper badun x oc #jasper badun fanfiction #jasper badun fanfic #jasper badun imagine

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voidingintotheshout · 4 years

Text

Black History Month Public Domain Reading List

I’d seen a list floating around the internet with links to pirated books by black writers of note for black history month. I felt that it was problematic to be sharing something that’s disenfranchising black writers when there are a lot of great books by black writers to read that are in the public domain and free to read. I compiled this list of books by various black writers of note with descriptions and links to a site to download them onto your devices. The site is Project Gutenberg, the original e-book site, releasing ebooks since, surprisingly, 1971.

Slave Narratives & Other Writings

Up from Slavery: An Autobiography by Booker T. Washington (A Memoir). This is his personal experience of having to work to rise up from the position of a slave child during the Civil War, to the difficulties and obstacles he overcame to get an education at the new Hampton Institute, to his work establishing vocational schools—most notably the Tuskegee Institute in Alabama—to help black people and other disadvantaged minorities learn useful, marketable skills and work to pull themselves, as a race, up by the bootstraps. It’s worth knowing that Washington was a segregationist, and so some of his views may surprise modern readers. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2376

Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave by Frederick Douglass (A Memoir). It is generally held to be the most famous of a number of narratives written by former slaves during the same period. In factual detail, the text describes the events of his life and is considered to be one of the most influential pieces of literature to fuel the abolitionist movement of the early 19th century in the United States. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23

Narrative of William W. Brown, a Fugitive Slave by William Wells Brown (A Memoir). A wonderfully gripping slave narrative that’s the length of a novella. The matter-of-fact, almost journalistic way in which the writer describes the horrors he saw and experienced really hits home. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15132

Clotelle; Or, The Colored Heroine, a tale of the Southern States; Or, The President’s Daughter by William Wells Brown (A Novel). This book tells a fictional story of what the life would be like for the mixed-race daughter of founding father and president Thomas Jefferson and slave Sally Hemings. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/241

The Souls of Black Folk by W. E. B. Du Bois (Essays). The book contains several essays on race, some of which the magazine Atlantic Monthly had previously published. To develop this work, Du Bois drew from his own experiences as an African American in American society. Outside of its notable relevance in African-American history, The Souls of Black Folk also holds an important place in social science as one of the early works in the field of sociology. In The Souls of Black Folk, Du Bois used the term "double consciousness", perhaps taken from Ralph Waldo Emerson ("The Transcendentalist" and "Fate"), applying it to the idea that black people must have two fields of vision at all times. They must be conscious of how they view themselves, as well as being conscious of how the world views them. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/408

Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral by Phillis Wheatley (Poetry). She was the first African-American author of a published book of poetry. Born in West Africa, she was sold into slavery at the age of seven or eight and transported to North America. She was enslaved by the Wheatley family of Boston. After she learned to read and write, they encouraged her poetry when they saw her talent. On a 1773 trip to London with her master's son, seeking publication of her work, Wheatley met prominent people who became patrons. The publication in London of her Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral on September 1, 1773, brought her fame both in England and the American colonies. Figures such as George Washington praised her work. A few years later, African-American poet Jupiter Hammon praised her work in a poem of his own. Wheatley was emancipated by her masters shortly after the publication of her book. They soon died, and she married poor grocer John Peters, lost three children, and died in poverty and obscurity at the age of 31. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/409

Alexandre Dumas’ Writings

Many don’t know this, but he was the grandson of a French Nobleman and a Haitian slave woman. Writing in the 1800’s, his work is characterized as adventure novels and page-turners with beautiful descriptions that rarely steal the show from the plot.

The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas is a standalone book that sets up his D'Artagnan Romances (pronounced Dar-tan-yun, by the way). Romantic in the sense of vivid and sentimental in tone, the stories have captivated generations all over the world. https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1257

The Count of Monte Cristo (Illustrated) by Alexandre Dumas is one of the best adventure tales of revenge that spans decades, as our hero unfolds a tale of revenge that includes prison breaks, fabulous wealth, hedonism, and much more. https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1184

The Black Tulip by Alexandre Dumas is one of his shorter novels that takes place amid murder and intrigue in a world where tulips were more valuable than gold. A good read, but not as gripping as the above two books, but great if you don’t want to be on the hook for a thousand pages of description and action. https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/965

Zora Neale Hurston’s Writings

She was an American author, anthropologist, and filmmaker. She portrayed racial struggles in the early-1900s American South and published research on hoodoo. The most popular of her four novels is Their Eyes Were Watching God, published in 1937. She also wrote more than 50 short stories, plays, and essays. Her writings are known for their noticeable focus on vernacular speech, where character spoke as they would during that place and time.

Three Plays by Zora Neale Hurston (Lawing & Jawing, Forty Yards, & Woofing). Lawing and Jawing is about a "regal" Judge who having a rough morning sends everybody to jail. He adjourns the court so he can "escort" a pretty girl home since he sent her innocent boyfriend to jail. Forty Yards is all about the teams cheering and singing. Every step is a song. The game is just an excuse to sing, even when the place catches fire they sing. Woofing is about a procrastinating man who doesn't finish anything and when a marching band goes past his porch, he and all his cronies drop everything to follow the band. http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17187

The Mule-Bone: by Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston. (Novella) The only collaboration between the two brightest lights of the Harlem Renaissance—Zora Neale Hurston and Langston Hughes. In this hilarious story, Jim and Dave are a struggling song-and-dance team, and when a woman comes between them, chaos ensues in their tiny Florida hometown.

http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19435

De Turkey and De Law by Zora Neale Hurston. The two friends from The Mule-Bone, Jim and Dave are back again and so is Daisy. These two friends become enemies because they both imagine that Daisy prefers himself over the other. They both go out to hunt a turkey to give Daisy. The two young men fight over the turkey and one gets hit with a mule bone from the same old mule from the other play.

http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22146

#zora neale hurston #alexandre dumas #booker t washington #frederick douglass #william wells brown #sally hemmings #thomas jefferson #w.e.b. du bois #Phillis Wheatley #black history month #black writers #project gutenberg

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nothisis-ridiculous · 3 years

Text

Take Me Home Now: Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: They Are Cryin'

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

"Fuck."

It wasn't a painful awakening; she actually felt damn good. Clearer, like the tiny neurons in her brain fired without a jolt of pain. The sweet moment of clarity after the removal of an infected tooth. Bliss. If only a familiar face could loom over her, a happy embrace of the one she loved. A blissful reunion.

The aging woman who looked over her with a sour expression erasing her gratitude and any field of butterflies illusion. Along with the confusion of waking up in unfamiliar territory.

Right, she was dying just a moment before.

"Where am I?"

This sloppily white-painted interior was not part of the shopping center she recognized. The medical machine that counted out her vitals was also out of place, but that was a minute detail. Jane had woken up from the dead once already, just not inside of a shipping crate. Make that one low she had not yet met.

"Just outside of London," the woman's scowl relaxed, "you're with the Special Operations Biotic Company. Luckily for you, I understand you had a rattled implant."

Her hand was grabbed before she felt her spirits utterly bottom out, the woman's dark brown eyes peering out at her from behind black and white streaked hair. A moment of shared pain passed between them before Jane could not manage to keep up the contact, "how about the LT? My home?"

"The latter is in one piece. I'm not familiar with the person you speak of," the lady spoke gently, "you were rushed here after an injury. But let me introduce you to the person that saved your life, Doctor Balcan."

Jane's gaze shifted to the person arriving on the other side of her bed, the most beautiful creature she had ever beheld. Dark brown hair and eyes loomed over her; the soft smile set upon full brown lips looked perfectly primped without a touch of makeup. The simple doctor's smock hung perfectly on her body, the garment unable to smear an ounce of the poise this woman possessed. As the female nodded in greeting and her long lashes crested her cheeks, Jane was infected with jealousy.

"Thank you, Helen," even her voice was sweet, not in an artificial way, but in the vein of the sweetness of a ripe strawberry, "I think I can handle Jane for the moment if you wouldn't mind grabbing her meal."

The woman waited for Helen to leave before speaking again, "how long have your biotic powers been misfunctioning?"

"Since the Reapers fell," time was a funny thing to Jane anymore.

"Just shy of seven months," the minuscule movement of her eyebrow hardly seemed surprised, "though, I wasn't expecting to be fixing an L5n implant."

"Who else would be stupid enough to bullrush a krogan," any vanguard worth their salt knew how other biotics could view them. Rash. Stupid. Bullheaded.

"I think your stupid luck is what saved your life. You should have had severe seizures attacks, if not died from them, months ago."

Jane continued with a snarl, "but the mall. How... did everyone make it?"

"It was unkind of us not to tell you immediately, but only one civilian casualty," the doctor proffered a soft smile, "the Special Ops group got to your compound in time to repel the brunt of the attack. We had heard there was a pocket trying to rebuild; we just weren't sure if you were friendly, so the entire team did not come along. They had to rush you back here. The equipment is too fragile to move quickly."

She was even nice, gross.

"I was asked to pass on the message that you keep your ass down," at least the swear word brought her down from the utterly ethereal.

Jane's smile cracked, slightly painful against the cybernetic scars that littered her cheek.

"Your body is a curious piece of work; the sheer amount of upgrades and scarring at a microscopic level is fascinating," the woman pulled out her datapad, scrolling down what Jane assumed was a list of medical notes, "synthetic weaving to reinforce bones, microfibres in your muscles, synthetic skin fibres as well. I can't imagine the cost of that modified biotic amp."

Jane looked at her blankly, "you certainly poked around."

"Somebody wanted you alive," strawberry remarked, undeterred, "I'd think you're some sort of mad scientist experiment -that's a foolish notion. But I have my bets on Special Ops... N7."

Jane's eyes snapped into a glare, setting her jaw hard. Teeth grinding into her following biting statement, "don't attempt to bite off more than you can chew."

The woman returned the statement with tempered pity, lips tucked into a frown. The kickback from her calloused words came back twofold as a sharp pain seared across her orbital bone, requiring a hand to staunch the heat before it ended out in a cry. Jane should be thankful, instead, she was pissed. Most of the angst directed inward, some at the patheticness of the situation, little at the well-meaning doctor.

"Can I go?"

"I'll need you here for a couple more weeks minimum."

Fucking perfect.

The doctor continued before Jane's snarl turned into an attack, "you know you need to keep your biotics offline for a while. During that time, we can prepare to merge our groups as one. We'd like your help in escorting us back."

The last line was a platitude, but the LT's message made more sense. The guilt of their previous encounter started to trickle into her psyche before she squelched it away with a flinch, "any more orders, doc?"

"As you are The Commander, I think I should be deferring to you."

"Come again?"

The female laughed behind her hand, "it's obvious who you are. You may fool everyone else with the fancy scars, wilted demeanor, and blonde hair -which by the way, looks fabulous- but your unique physiology and enhancements give it away. I struggled with the thought briefly because how could the savior of the galaxy be here? You charged in with the strike team that went to activate the Crucible. But by God's grace, you're here."

"You can't be-"

Strawberry waved away the protest with her hand, "I'm more than some yokel surgeon. I don't get to be a spec ops field doctor without further training. You won't fool me."

"You bitch."

"Language, miss!"

The sharp crack of the older's woman's words snuffed the faint glow Jane had unconsciously started to accumulate. But it did not dim her glower, blue eyes pinned on the female tapping something into a datapad. Jane was still, frozen in the moment until the second snap of warmth from a small body clambering into her bed shook her from a blind stupor. The little hands and the mound of mousy hair looking at her with barely disguised disdain.

"But I already know those words," Evelyn murmured, only to increase the scrutiny Helen placed on her patient.

"Why are you-" the room immediately thickened with another aura, a solemn shake from the salt and pepper haired woman stopped her question, "are you here because Pater sent you?"

"It is my job," the girl declared bravely, "Pater said that I was to stop you from fighting with anymore krogan. Or just fighting."

"It was my fault, Evelyn...Helen," Strawberry squeaked, "I poked Mar- sorry, I meant Jane without telling her."

Jane's attention returned to the Doctor, pupils narrowing. That was no longer her name.

"I'll excuse it this time, Rahna," Helen's voice returned to a gentle timbre. Handing over the plate of rations, prepared in a manner that was meant to be appeasing. Simple rations that Jane was not thrilled to consume, "eat up. Biotics need energy. I've seen you guys crash before. I don't want you accidentally breaking something expensive."

Rahna.

Rahna...

Rahna.

The woman raised an eyebrow in her direction, plump lips playing into a smirk. Jane was had. Jealousy sunk deeper into her guts, bordering on hatred. How could Kaidan call her beautiful after seeing this divine creature? Beautiful on the Citadel. Beautiful after the first night they had bunked together. Beautiful every time they fucked after. Beautiful in the small moments. Beautiful in the big and the in-between. Had he meant Rahna all along?

"Two weeks."

"What now?" Jane snapped away from the grip of her thoughts.

Rahna crossed her arms, Evelyn giggled, and Helen spoke, "biotics."

"All of this commotion is probably a little too much for her, right now," Rahna cautioned to a sulking child, "let Jane eat in peace while I run a few more tests."

"Yup, super hungry," Jane murmured under her breath.

The patient's gaze did not stray from the Doctor, laser-focused on the slightest movement she made. Waiting for her to do something rash, her temper barely holding behind her tongue. Violent thoughts collided in her head, the desire to do something impetuous a string she had yet to completely cut. It was the easier way, the brutish way- but it was not the way Shepard did it. Shepard would resist, The Commander famously turned the other cheek. Chose kindness. Some of her could still seep through.

Even if it was in the form of stony silence.

"Why hide who you are? You are the one person who could reunite everyone."

A bloody icon. Hero. Butcher. Madwoman. Lover. Terrorist. Murderer. Savior. Pathetic.

"There's nothing to explain," a surly statement only dampened by a flinch, "I don't owe you anything."

"So, it wouldn't matter if I told everyone?"

Jane's silence was the answer.

"This is Major Alenko's squad, I'm sure everyone would be interested," Strawberry continued, placing her first foot away from the bedside, "Let alone you being Shepard, the Major's fling is a very juicy topic. I'm sure meeting the woman would be a top priority."

Rahna took several steps away, gliding out of the retrofitted container. Someone pulled her back, Jane regretted the breeze against her exposed backside. Luckily nobody seemed to pay them much mind in the moment.

"No," her eyes lit with tears, "don't. I can't."

Kaidan knew it was the end; Mary couldn't bring herself into accepting that. Luck. Stupidity. Credits. Spite. They had all stopped her death, had prevented her from reaching a low she could not climb out of. The brutal murder of her parents. Losing her unit on Akuze. Hell, even the deaths of friends during her campaign against the Reapers. They hurt like hell, but it never brought her to her knees. Now... in this moment. In the reality of losing Kaidan, she crashed. Tears, sobbing, railing against the ground. It was pathetic.

Was it the loss of her entire family aboard the Normandy, or just one man?

Dark brown eyes met her on her level, gentle the hint of moisture in her deep eyes, "everyone here mourns him."

"Fuck you."

Rahna laughed, offering out her hand and pulling the woman up to her feet, "I won't tell your secret, but I think you should talk to someone. We have-"

"No, nobody else."

"You know the risks of PTSD; you can't push through it."

"I'm fine."

Jane's stare hardened the emotions out-drying the tears riveting down her scarred cheeks.

"Or how about a deal, my silence for a few talks? Nothing official, just friendship."

She considered for several long moments, biting back each bitter comment that fought to come out. It wasn't the time for resistance. Talking wouldn't hurt, especially if it meant Rahna kept silent. What was she supposed to do for the next two weeks? Stare at the wall? Teach a child to swear? Avoid Kaidan's squad as much as humanly possible?

"Friendship may be pushing it."

#fshenko #shenko #mass effect fancition #take me home #mass effect spoilers

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lover-of-trash-and-people · 3 years

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im angrier this time? netflix shadow and bone s1e7 re-watch (substituting alcohol with iced coffee this time) (oh, also, spoilers)

yes jesper shooting ketterdam cards title card omg I straight up forgot that this was the darkling backstory episode we all know I love bin bons as much as the next person but um can we petition to never see the flashback darkling look again I kind of love Luda but I find the entire backstory kind of unnecessary even though I get why they did it okay mr. barnes king of micro-expressions alright fuck you show makers with you breaking my heart showing me how the Grisha have had to go through this countless times that they have their plans memorized oy dumbass otkazat'sya man you speak the darkling's name with some respect alright I've got to accept the tricck they use against the king's men is pretty cool omg you fucking bitch this is exactly why people say acab I've seen people say why couldn't he have broken his bonds and killed them before they killed Luda and I truly believe a) he didn't want to kill unnecessarily and b) Luda's life was at stake so like I get it okay so I don't like the 'just mortal' thing they brought it to sort of drive darklina soulmates agenda home because lmao that is not why okay I get Baghra's points but I don't like her, she like made more sense in the books her position on merzost is true to the books but like her pacifist stance is not the same and it just doesn't make sense okay I like the poc tidemaker in their company the score when the king's men soon to be volcra confront the darkling is impeccable that blast of darkness that we see spread outwards from him was very cool dunno how I feel about him hyperventilating and the fold flowing from him like an inky black liquid god, the score when baghra asks alek 'what did you do' is so eerie and beautiful that transition was on fucking point HOW IS KANEJ IS SO ON POINT I SIMPLY CANNOT the Inej Jesper bond is so beautiful I love it okay I love and hate how they refer to Inej's horrible time at the Menagerie so briefly and yet try to add so much impact to it omg why is Jesper about to make me cry cut to Malina huddled together? okay, show god I hate how the amplifier storyline is so incredibly poorly developed the stag is so beautiful I can't 'maybe there's another way to do this'?! again with the sgegehshshsjsjs I hate it here, fucking explain it at least okay fine the shot of Alina lighting up as she touches the stag and smiling with the soft violin in the back was beautiful now time to say bye to the stag and cry I guess okay I love zoya, she feels very authentic to book 1 zoya with maybe a few tweaks we love to see a man with plot armour uwu okay Alina my fucking queen taking out the arrow would cause him to bleed out faster why would you do that the dumbassery okay alek you overdramatic bitch I LOVED THE LIGHT SHIELD lmao I'm gonna cry at how nasal and supervillain-y the Darkling sounds when he says 'you can't save them all Alina' like okay king maybe that line could have better delivery I'm so sorry I love you so much I'm still a BB stan 'you've lost too much blood' maybe if you wouldn't have taken the arrow out you dumbass 'you said you wouldn't hurt him' nobody said that Alina but I get it you've been through a lot you're obviously not thinking love the cut, she's always cool 'miss starkov' you're in tsarist russia stfu ono I'm not prepared for this Kanej scene I need several minutes they're so perfect 'Jesper fixed your cane' I see you writers thinking they're clever omg Amita shivering from the cold babe I'm so proud of you you're so incredibly cool I love his little jaw movements before he says 'you were right' and her composing herself before turning around due to the shock of hearing these words from Kaz's mouth okay we've all talked about the voice break when he says 'she's real' so I will not dwell on it but it was beautiful the little head bend after he says 'and you' as if catching himself before saying 'and jesper' yes sir that was very convincing AAAAAHHHH IT'S HAPPENING I CAN'T COPE yeah okay fuck you I'm crying Kaz's expression at 'I can't go back to the Menagerie' being literally 'I can't believe

you think I'll ever let that happen' you fucking idiots I hate you and how much you love each other you are disgusting David so much so as breathes I love him Him saying 'Im going to place this around your neck' comedic genius David looks so sad my baby angel it's not your fault get that man's true name out of your mouth Starkov you're not supposed to know it let alone say it in front of other people aleksander this is the first time I've truly disliked you, you fucking asshole, Alina my love please don't believe him (why am I saying it like I haven't read the books and watched this already) LUKE HAVING ACTUAL TEARS IN HIS EYES AS HE PLACES THE ANTLERS AT HER NECK WHY IS HE SO GOOD AAAAAAAAA I didn't notice Ivan slowing her heart on my first watch, is that to reduce the pain ouch I am even more sad now okay Jessie you did it again Emmy time for all of these people okay the violin being sad and terrifying this is so good Luke being sad, Jessie literally crying I fucking can't do this anymore 'this is my power' 'but now I control it' really? that was the best you could do at this scene that is meant to have this great of an impact? him sort of pushing her down made me even more upset I'm so mad right now Freddie's microexpression with the eye when Inej says 'Jes has a point' Jessie looks so perfectly shell-shocked, I love them so so much the prosthetic's so gross, I love it so much DAISY HEAD IS THE PERFECT GENYA I WILL ACCEPT NO COMPLAINTS She brought me to tears and I love it Alina pointing out the Darkling's role in Genya's circumstances this early on, we love to see a well deserved call out it seemed very unlikely to me that Kaz would agree to go home empty handed but I do think it would make sense to cut their losses at a certain point I love the Kribirsk camp sets far too much, they seem to have literally leapt out of the books the darkling coming to see Mal seems very fanservice-ey and not at all adding to the plot in any way but I love it Archie bringing that youthful brashness to Mal that we all know he would have is wonderful mal calling the darkling 'shadow man' lmao I'm gonna cry 'you are a child' yeah Alek babe it's best you don't talk about that Alina is of the same age as he is I wanna go to Ben Barnes' school of nose acting because god damn Archie perfectly bringing to life Mal's realisation of the impact that Alina's immortality will bring to their life together oof sir you don't understand how perfect it is that Ben's eyes are actually that dark 'you'll wish you killed me here' it's okay honey you lost this one the Crows being the Crows I love them can we please have Jesper wearing the Zemeni man's red suit be a stepping stone to him wearing fancy clothes of outrageous colours like lime green and orange in the six of crows timeline because the fans will lose their shit and you know it Inej looking fucking fabulous in her suit I can't Kanej smiling at their crazy little bi son's antics okay can we talk about Milo literally saving the day because writer's room im looking at you you're a bunch of crazy mfers and I love you but I also hate you also I get that Mal's a tracker but would he actually have food in his pocket I know this joke has been made before but like Mal pretending to be asleep after waking the guard up is every teenager pretending to be asleep when their parents come to check on them in the middle of the night omg it's the scene those beautiful gauzy curtains at the door of the tent, I want them so bad 'you are special' he says standing stiffly at the door with a creepy inflection why am I suddenly an anti wtf I want his kefta so bad though 'my parents' I love that the show added her losing her parents to him as well because well it makes him even more villanous in her eyes doesn't it no matter what she might have felt for him uwu first fight as a couple (I'm kidding please stop) I love Jessie as Alina so much darkles don't even go off comparing being Grisha to being half-shu you can't compare experiences of being the other that interchangeably yes baby call him out on his

hypocrisy man I'm so conflicted like I understand his motivations and his story so well but like how is this helping okay but Alina's expression changing ever so slightly at him saying 'you and me' stop breaking my fucking heart assholes why is Jessie breaking my heart more on this watch than Ben did on the first one I knew it before he said it but I still gasped when he did on my first watch the little head tilt after he says it still with tears in his fucking eyes man I love this show this was the most devastating break up I have ever experienced and I will not accept any counter arguments okay actual villain time we love to see it sir please don't erotically remove her cloak you have long lost the right again I knew it before they said it but them saying it had me screaming WHAT A GLORIOUS EPISODE

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collegeburnoutsuperstar · 5 years

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Social Distancing Book Recs

I’ve been getting tons of book recommendations from friends and family to help get through social distancing/self-quarantine, so I thought I should share some of my favorite books with everybody!

Horror/Apocalyptic: *all books are ADULT*

- The Stand by Stephen King “This is the way the world ends: with a nanosecond of computer error in a Defense Department laboratory and a million casual contacts that form the links in a chain letter of death. And here is the bleak new world of the day after: a world stripped of its institutions and emptied of 99 percent of its people. A world in which a handful of panicky survivors choose sides -- or are chosen” (Goodreads Summary).

- Inferno by Dan Brown “Harvard professor of symbology Robert Langdon awakens in an Italian hospital, disorientated and with no recollection of the past thirty-six hours, including the origin of the macabre object hidden in his belongings. With a relentless female assassin tailing them through Florence, he and his resourceful doctor, Sienna Brooks, are forced to flee. Embarking on a harrowing journey, they must unravel a series of codes, which are the work of a brilliant scientist whose obsession with the end of the world is matched only by his passion for one of the most influential masterpieces ever written, Dante Alighieri’s The Inferno” (Goodreads Summary).

- World War Z by Max Brooks “The Zombie War came unthinkably close to eradicating humanity. Max Brooks, driven by the urgency of preserving the acid-etched first-hand experiences of the survivors from those apocalyptic years, traveled across the United States of America and throughout the world, form decimated cities that once teemed with upwards of thirty million souls to the most remote and inhospitable areas of the planet. He recorded the testimony of men, women, and sometimes children who came face-to-face with the living, or at least the undead, hell of that dreadful time. World War Z is the result. Never before have we had access to a document that so powerfully conveys the depth of fear and horror, and also the ineradicable spirit of resistance, that gripped human society through the plague years” (Goodreads summary).

- It by Stephen King “It’s a small city, a place as hauntingly familiar as your own hometown. Only in Derry the haunting is real... They were seven teenagers when they first stumbled upon the horror. Now they are grown-up men and women who have gone out into the big world to gain success and happiness. But none of them can withstand the force that has drawn them back to Derry to face the nightmare without an end, and the evil without a name” (Goodreads summary).

- The Shining by Stephen King “Jack Torrance’s new job at the Overlook Hotel is the perfect chance for a fresh start. As the off-season caretaker at the atmospheric old hotel, he’ll have plenty of time to spend reconnecting with his family and working on his writing. But as the harsh winter weather sets in, the idyllic locations feels ever more remote... and more sinister. And the only one to notice the strange and terrible forces gathering around the Overlook is Danny Torrance, a uniquely gifted five-year-old” (Goodreads summary).

- House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski “[House of Leaves] focuses on a young family that moves into a small home on Ash Tree Lane where they discover something is terribly wrong: their house is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. Of course, neither Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist Will Navidson nor his companion Karen Green was prepared to face the consequences of the impossibility, until the day their two little children wandered off and their voices eerily began to return another story -- of creature darkness, of an ever-growing abyss behind a closet door, and of the unholy growl which soon enough would tear through their walls and consume all their dreams” (Goodreads summary).

Comedy:

- Good Omens by Neil Gaimen and Terry Pratchett “People have been predicting the end of the world almost from its very beginning, so it’s only natural to be skeptical when a new date is set for Judgement Day. But what if, for once, the predictions are right, and the apocalypse really is due to arrive next Saturday, just after tea? You could spend the time left drowning your sorrows, giving away all your possessions in preparation for the rapture, or laughing it off as (hopefully) just another hoax. Or you could just try to do something about it. It’s a predicament that Aziraphale, a somewhat fussy angel, and Crowley, a fast-living demon now finds themselves in. They’ve been living amongst Earth’s mortals since The Beginning and, truth be told, have grown rather fond of the lifestyle and, in all honesty, are not actually looking forward to the coming Apocalypse. And then there’s the small matter that someone appears to have misplaced the Antichrist... “ (Goodreads summary).

- Dad Is Fat by Jim Gaffigan *PG-13* Dad is Fat is a comedic memoir that details Jim Gaffigan’s life growing up in a large Catholic family to his experiences as a husband and father (specifically parenting his five young children while living in a tiny walk-up apartment in New York). I highly recommend the audiobook (which is narrated by Jim Gaffigan), my family and I always listen to it during road trips. It never stops being funny.

- Bored of the Rings: A Parody of J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings by The Harvard Lampoon *ADULT* “A quest, a war, a ring that would be grounds for calling any wedding off, a king without a kingdom, and a little, furry ‘hero’ named Frito, ready -- or maybe just forced by the wizard of Goodgulf-- to undertake the one mission which can save Lower Middle Earth from enslavement by the evil Sorhed… Luscious Elfmaidens, a roller-skating dragon, ugly plants that can soul-kiss the unwary to death-- these are just some of the ingredients in the wildest, wackiest, most irreverent excursion into fantasy realms that anyone has ever dared to undertake” (Goodreads summary).

Middle-Grade:

- Percy Jackson and the Olympians series by Rick Riordan (book 1: The Lightning Thief) “Percy Jackson is a good kid, but he can’t seem to focus on his schoolwork or control his temper. And lately, being away at boarding school is only getting worse - Percy could have sworn his pre-algebra teacher turned into a monster and tried to kill him. When Percy’s mom finds out, she knows it’s time that he knew the truth about where he came from, and that he go to the one place he’ll be safe. She sends Percy to Camp Half Blood, a summer camp for demigods. Soon a mystery unfolds and together with his friends-- one a satyr and the other the demigod daughter of Athena-- Percy sets out on a quest across the United States to reach the gates of the Underworld and prevent a catastrophic war between the gods” (Goodreads summary).

- The Heroes of Olympus series by Rick Riordan (book 1: The Lost Hero) “Jason has a problem. He doesn’t remember anything before waking up in a bus full of kids on a field trip. Apparently he has a girlfriend named Piper, and a best friend named Leo. They’re all students at a boarding school for ‘bad kids.’ What id Jason do to end up here? And where is here, exactly? Piper has a secret. Her father has been missing for three days, ever since she had that terrifying nightmare about his being in trouble. Piper doesn’t understand her dream, or why her boyfriend suddenly doesn’t recognize her. When a freak storm hits during the school trip, unleashing strange creatures and whisking her, Jason, and Leo away to someplace called Camp Half-Blood, she has a feeling she’s going to find out. Leo has a way with tools. When he sees his cabin at Camp Half-Blood, filled with power tools and machine parts, he feels right at home. But there’s weird stuff, too-- like the curse everyone keeps talking about, and some camper who’s gone missing. Weirdest of all, his bunkmates insist that each of them--including Leo-- is related to a god. Does this have anything to do with Jason’s amnesia, or the fact that Leo keeps seeing ghosts?” (Goodreads summary)

- The Children of the Red King series by Jenny Nimmo (book 1: Midnight for Charlie Bone) “Charlie Bone has a special gift-- he can hear people in photographs talking! The fabulous powers of the Red King were passed down through his descendants, after turning up quite unexpectedly, in someone who had no idea where they came from. This is what happened to Charlie Bone, and to some of the children he met behind the grim, gray walls of Bloor’s Academy. His scheming aunts decide to send him to Bloor’s Academy, a school for geniuses where he uses his grifts to discover the truth despite all the dangers that lie ahead” (Goodreads summary).

- Things Not Seen by Andrew Clements “Bobby Phillips is an average fifteen-year-old boy. Until the morning he wakes up and can’t see himself in the mirror. Not blind, not dreaming. Bobby is just plain invisible... There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to Bobby’s new conditions; even his dad the physicist can’t figure it out. For Bobby that means no school, no friends, no life. He’s a missing person” (Goodreads summary).

Science Fiction:

- Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick *Adult* “It was January 2021, and Rick Deckard had a license to kill. Somewhere among the hordes of humans out there, lurked several rogue androids. Deckard’s assignment-- find them and then... ‘retire’ them. Trouble was, the androids all looked exactly like humans, and they didn’t want to be found!” (Goodreads summary).

- Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton * Suitable for Young Adults* “An astonishing technique for recovering and cloning dinosaur DNA has been discovered. Now humankind’s most thrilling fantasies have come true. Creatures extinct for eons roam Jurassic Park with their awesome presence and profound mystery, and all the world can visit them-- for a price. Until something goes wrong...” (Goodreads summary).

Fantasy:

- The Magicians trilogy by Lev Grossman *ADULT* (book 1: The Magicians) “Quentin Coldwater is brilliant but miserable. A senior in high school, he’s still secretly preoccupied with a series of fantasy novels he read as a child, set in a magical land called Fillory. Imagine his surprise when he finds himself unexpectedly admitted to a very secret, very exclusive college of magic in upstate New York, where he receives a thorough and rigorous education in the craft of modern sorcery. He also discovers all the other things people learn in college: friendship, love, sex, booze, and boredom. Something is missing, though. Magic doesn’t bring Quentin the happiness and adventure he dreamed it would. After graduation he and his friends make a stunning discovery: Fillory is real. But the land of Quentin’s fantasies turns out to be much darker and more dangerous than he could have imagined. His childhood dream becomes a nightmare with a shocking truth at its heart” (Goodreads summary).

- The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater *YA* (book 1: The Raven Boys) “What do you know about Welsh kings?” This incredibly atmospheric story centers on a seemingly random group of teens as they uncover the mysterious and magical secrets of their small Virginia town.

- A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab *Suitable for Young Adults* “Kell is one of the last Antari-- magicians with a rare, coveted ability to travel between parallel Londons; Red, Grey, White, and, once upon a time, Black. Kell was raised in Arnes-- Red London-- and officially serves the Maresh Empire as an ambassador, traveling between the frequent bloody regime changes in White London and the court of George III in the dullest of Londons, the one without any magic left to see. Unofficially, Kell is a smuggler, servicing people willing to pay for even the smallest glimpses of a world they’ll never see. After an exchange goes awry, Kell escapes to Grey London and runs into Delilah Bard, a cut-purse with lofty aspirations. She first robs him, then saves him from a deadly enemy, and finally forces Kell to spirit her to another world for a proper adventure. Now perilous magic is afoot, and treacher lurks at every turn. To save all of the worlds, they’ll first need to stay alive” (Goodreads summary).

- The Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkien *Suitable for middle-grade through adult* “In ancient times the Rings of Power were crafted by the Elven-smiths, and Sauron, the Dark Lord. forged the One Ring, filling it with his own power so that he could rule all others. But the One Ring was taken form him, and though he sought it throughout Middle-earth, it remained lost to him. After many ages it fell by chance into the hands of the hobbit Bilbo Baggins. When Bilbo reached his eleventy-first birthday he disappeared, bequeathing to his young cousin Frodo the Ruling Ring and a perilous quest: to journey across Middle-earth, deep into the shadow of the Dark Lord, and destroy the Ring by casting it into the Cracks of Doom” (Goodreads summary).

- The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss *Adult* “Told in Kvothe’s own voice, this is the tale of the magically gifted young man who grows to be the most notorious wizard his world has ever seen. The intimate narrative of his childhood in a troupe of traveling players, his years spent as a near-feral orphan in a crime-ridden city, his daringly brazen yet successful bit to enter a legendary school of magic, and his life as a fugitive, and his life as a fugitive after the murder of a king form a gripping coming-of-age story” (Goodreads summary).

- The Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch *Adult* “An orphan’s life is harsh-- and often short-- in the mysterious island city of Camorr. But youge Locke Lamora dodges death and slavery, becoming a thief under the tutelage of a gifted con artist. As leader of the band of light-fingered brothers known as the Gentleman Bastards, Loke is soon infamous, fooling even the underworld’s most feared ruler. But in the shadows lurks someone still more ambitious and deadly. Faced with a bloody coup that threatens to destroy everyone and everything that holds meaning in his mercenary life, Locke vows to beat the enemy at his own brutal game-- or die trying” (Goodreads summary).

Fiction:

- The Stephanie Plum series by Janet Evanovich *ADULT mystery-thrillers/romance* (book 1: One for the Money) “You’ve lost your job as a department store lingerie buyer, your car’s been repossessed, and most of your furniture and small appliances have been sold off to pay last month’s rent. Now the rent is due again. And you live in New Jersey. What do you do? If you’re Stephanie Plum, you become a bounty hunter. But not just a nickel-and-dime bounty hunter; you go after the big money. That means a cop gone bad. And not just any cop. She goes after Joe Morelli, a disgraced former vice cop who is also the man who took Stephanie’s virginity at age 16 and the wrote details on a bathroom wall. With pride and rent money on the line, Plum plunges headlong into her first case, one that pits her against ruthless adversaries - people who’d rather kill than lose” (Goodreads summary).

- The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown *Adult* “While in Paris, Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon is awakened by a phone call in the dead of the night. The elderly curator of the Louvre has been murdered inside the museum, his body covered in baffling symbols. As Langdon and gifted French cryptologist Sophie Neveu sort through the bizarre riddles, they are stunned to discover a trail of clues hidden in the works of Leonardo da Vinci-- clues visible for all to see and yet ingeniously disguised by the painter. Even more startling, the late curator was involved in the Priory of Sion-- a secret society whose members included Sir Isaac Newton, Victory Hugo, and Da Vici-- and he guarded a breathtaking historical secret. Unless Landon and Neveu can decipher the labyrinthine puzzle-- while avoiding the faceless adversary who shadows their every move-- the explosive, ancient truth will be lost forever” (Goodreads summary).

- Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle *Adult* Sherlock Holmes stories are always fun when stuck at home.

- 11/22/63 by Stephen King *Adult* “Life can turn on a dime-- or stumble into the extraordinary, as it does for Jake Epping, a high school English teacher in Lisbon Falls, Maine. While grading essays by his GED students, Jake reads a gruesome, enthralling piece penned by janitor Harry Dunning: fifty years ago, Harry somehow survived his father’s sledgehammer slaughter of his entire family, Jake is blown away... but an even more bizarre secret comes to light when Jake’s friend Al, owner of the local diner, enlists Jake to take over the mission that has become his obsession-- to prevent the Kennedy assassination. How? By stepping through a portal in the diner’s storeroom, and into the ear of Ike and Elvis, or big American cars, sock hops, and cigarette smoke... Finding himself in warmhearted Jodie, Texas, Jake begins a new life. But all turns in the road lead to a troubled loner named Lee Harvey Oswald. The course of history is about to be rewritten... and become heart-stoppingly suspenseful” (Goodreads summary).

Non-Fiction:

- The Men Who Stare at Goats by Jon Ronson *Adult* “In 1979 a secret unit was established by the most gifted minds within the U.S. Army. Defying all known accepted military practice-- and indeed, the laws of physics-- they believed that a soldier could adopt a cloak of invisibility, pass cleanly through walls, and, perhaps most chillingly, kill goats just by staring at them. Entrusted with defending America from all known adversaries, they were the First Earth Battalion. And they really weren’t joking. What’s more, they’re back and fighting the War on Terror. With firsthand access to the leading players in the story, Ronson traces the evolution of these bizarre activities over the past three decades and shows how they are alive today within the U.S. Department of Homeland Security and in postwar Iraq. Why are they blasting Iraqi prisoners of war with the theme tune to Barney the Purple Dinosaur? Why have 100 debleated goats been secretly placed inside the Special Forces Command Center at Fort Bragg, North Carolina? How was the U.S. military associated with the mysterious mass suicide of a strange cult form San Diego? The Men Who Stare at Goats answers these and many more questions” (Goodreads summary).

- Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert *Adult* (I recommend listening to the audiobook, which is narrated by Elizabeth Gilbert) “To recover from [an early midlife crisis, divorce, and depression], Gilbert took a radical step. In order to give herself the time and space to find out who she really was and what she really wanted, she got rid of her belongings, quit her job, and undertook a yearlong journey around the world-- all alone. Eat, Pray, Love is the absorbing chronicle of that year. Her aim was to visit three places where she could examine one aspect of her own nature set against the backdrop of a culture that has traditionally done that one thing very well. In Rome, she studied the art of pleasure, learning to speak Italian and gaining the twenty-three happiest pounds of her life. India was for the art of devotion, and with the help of a native guru and a surprisingly wise cowboy from Texas, she embarked on four uninterrupted months of spiritual exploration. In Bali, she studied the art of balance between worldly enjoyment and divine transcendence. She became the pupil of an elderly medicine man and also fell in love the best way-- unexpectedly” (Goodreads summary).

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saintsurvivors · 4 years

Note

Hi! I love your writing!! For the Whump Drabbles, could you do #56?

No pressure, have a fabulous day!!

@whumpflumpthump I just realized when I sent that last ask, I didn't give you a character😅 Sorry about that, I would love it if you did Mac, thanks, and sorry again

No. 56 Begging

Ahhhh! no problem fam, honestly, thank you so much for sending this in and sorry for your wait!! <3

warnings: broken bones, shitty self esteem, referenced torture but non graphic, jack’s potty mouth and atrocious southern accent.

Mac’s broken bones before. He’s not exceedingly clumsy, but whilst cuts and bruises are a warriors lost, broken bones and concussions seem to be a spies lot, especially ones that deal with explosions and under the table incidents that DXS do. Never mind the fact that he’d broken several fingers and ribs whilst back downrange, had barely been able to stoop when things had gone wrong so spectacular and Al had been less ...well, had been less Al and more parts of Al.

But human minds aren’t designed to remember pain, not really, even ones that are eidectic memory. The neurons remember it, but you forget what caused it, what made your heart stammer, what made your lungs seize, what made you want to jackknife up from your bed in the middle of the night, face wet with tears and blood beneath your nails because you’ve scratched your throat raw. You only remember it when it’s happening again, when you’ve felt that loss, that break.

Mac’s good at compartmentalization. Too well, often times. Jack doesn’t quite understand, not really though he tries, just how afraid Mac is, how afraid he is that if he even begins to open those tiny little boxes, meticulously labelled and stored away in the shelf of his mind, that he might not ever get them back closed. Everything he doesn’t, can’t deal with, handle. Everything he wishes would be wiped clear like the last equation of the white board by the eraser. But it isn’t that easy.

Maybe that’s why he can’t help it, why he leans so easily upon Jack, despite Jack no doubt hurting just as much as he does. Broken bones and concussions are a spies lot, but Mac thinks that kidnappings and hurt are a MacGyver and Dalton special, and wishes that it wasn’t. Wonder sometimes, in the back of his mind just how much Jack regrets meeting him. Wonders if Jack wishes he’d walked away at the end of his original tour and had left a stubborn bomb nerd in the sand of Afghanistan. Wonders how long he’d have lived; it’s a question he likes to ask himself, especially now, after missions, or when he and Jack are traipsing back to exfil after things have gone to shit.

Thinks he knows the answers, but always swallows the question and the answer, swallows the pennies he can taste too, doesn’t want to turn around and accidentally spit it out on Jack. Jack, whose already bloodied, bruised and aching. He’s got probable fractured ribs, but he can’t rest because he has to help haul Mac’s stupid, incapable ass out of the fire. He can’t keep doing this, not to his partner, not to Jack.

His left leg buckles, fire lancing up his shin to his thigh, spreading through his hip. his ankle twists further, and he only just manages to avoid bringing Jack down with him by twisting and ducking, knows that Jack’s ribs can’t take the strain and Jack’s reflexes would have him letting go. The ground is hard and cold, he can already feel the bruises forming over bruises, wonders if he’ll have the entirety of their kidnapping marked out on his skin like the world’s most fucked up map. Wonders if he’ll be able to read all the pit stops and roads, he’s where they first captured us, here’s where they fractured Jack’s ribs up after a failed escape attempt, here’s where they almost waterboarded me, here’s where they shattered my shin with a hammer because I called someone an asshole and Jack punched their lights out-

A frantic hand tucks beneath his armpit, tries to get him up, clamps down on his instinctive cries, blinks reflexively in place of the full body flinch he wants to give.

“C’mon man, we gotta hustle, I think they’re right behind,” Jack crouches as best he can, tries to get his shoulder jammed underneath Mac’s, tries to haul him up through sheer force of strength. A wheezing grunt escapes, pained. God, Mac is so selfish. “Get up, hoss, don’t do this to me, now.”

“You gotta go, Jack,” He says, looks Jack in the face, sees the wide, pain lined eyes, the grit of his teeth. He’s in so much pain, Jack is, exhausted to his very bones, beaten and bloodied. He doesn’t deserve this. “You, you need to leave.”

Jack pauses for a single moment, his arm around Mac’s waist tightens, leaves Mac breathless, dizzy, with breathlessness and pain. Jack loosens immediately, but that rare look of anger doesn’t. Seems to only grow deeper.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Jack far enough growls it, anger and pain, his eyes flash, he looks furious. Furious enough to hurt, to break, to punch. He does neither, only look at Mac like Mac’s said something so stupid, so out of far left field that it doesn’t even compute, as if Jack hasn’t had the same thoughts.

“Just go, Jack!” Mac hisses, insists, tries to shove himself backwards out of Jack’s grip, manages to break it, only to immediately miss it. He’s so fucking selfish. “Look, I’m just weighin’ you down, at this point, baggage, dead fuckin’ weight, you know this, man! You gotta go!”

“Now, I know that’s them blows to the heads talkin’, because I’m pretty sure I didn’t just hear my partner say to leave him the fuck behind!” It’s angry, angry and harsh and pained. An edge to it that has Mac’s back straightening, a shiver roiling down his spine, something pooling in his gut that he hasn’t paid attention to for the longest of times, because like Al used to say, it isn’t the bomb that’s going to kill you, it’s the emotions.

“Jack, please,” He tries to plead, can hear the shouts getting closer, the bark of angry shouting, he can’t let Jack be taken, not again, not when it was Mac that got them into this. “Please, just, go, already! They won’t be able to keep up with you. I can distract them-”

“Boy, are you stupid?” Jack hisses, and that seems to be the last straw. He grits his teeth, face turning red, hand shaking from where he’s tucked it up around Mac’s waist, hauling him up. Mac barely gets his feet beneath him, before Jack is fairly enough marching him forward, eyebrows knitted together, eyes flashing.

“Jack.” Mac hisses, pleads, begs. He’s got no chance but to go forward, pain sunfire hot, chemistry fire burning. He’s sick to his stomach, swallows down the bile. Every foot forward is agony, gut punch deep.

“No, Mac.” Jack grits out. He’s sweating, red faced. His ribs seem to creak with every movement, but he’s got Mac locked too tightly against him for Mac to do anything. They step wrong and Mac lets out a thin yelp. Jack doesn’t even flinch, only grabs the arm he forced Mac to throw around his shoulder further over, presses the swell of his thumb harder over the wrist pulse point. “No, Mac, I ain’t leavin’ you. You know why? Because you’re a fuckin’ stubborn ass of a kid who I still want to punch sometimes and you’ve got the shittiest set of emotions I’ve ever seen and I mean that, I’ve dealt with Deacon and that guy is a hot mess, but fuckin’ Christ, Mac, telling me to leave you behind?”

Something seems to have rattled loose inside of him, something hurt and vicious. Mac falls silent, keeps his hurt noises locked behind his teeth.

“We’re both gettin’ outta here, hoss, I don’t care what that stupid brain a’ yours is saying, and I swear to High Heaven that if you ever ask me to leave you behind, I will knock you on your skinny ass and drag you there, do you get me? ‘Baggage, dead weight’-” Jack scoffs, literally hauls Mac up over a mound of rocks; his anger seems to be the only thing keeping him going. “Biggest crock a’ shit I’ve ever heard, I’ll tell you what Mackie, if i ever meet that pops a’ yours I’m gonna be beltin’ him so hard I swear-”

“Jack,” Mac says, soft, gentle. Something swells up inside of him, warm, cosy, like he’s just slipped into a hot bath. Even the fiery hot pain of his broken leg seems to have been soothed. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, he says,” Jack’s words sound angry, but his tone is soft. His fingers tap something out in morse code against the shiver of Mac’s ribs. something that spells i love you. “Just never ask me to leave you behind kiddo, I can’t. You go kaboom, I go kaboom, got me?”

“You go kaboom, I go kaboom.” Mac echos softly, wondrously, hopefully.

#whumpflumpthump #mac whump #jack whump #angus macgyver #jack dalton #macgyver 2016 #!!!#kw #this got LONG #prompt

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 10: Premonitions]

Several weeks and depressive episodes later...I’m BACK! 😃

And guess what: we’re officially approximately halfway done with BYCNL! (There will probably be nineteen chapters total.)

The Queen/BoRhap fandom is feeling extra quiet lately, so if you’re still out there I’d LOVE it if you dropped me a comment/message/etc to let me know! I appreciate you all so much and hope you are finding things that bring you happiness, fulfillment, and peace. 💜

Chapter summary: Roger makes a purchase, Freddie makes a friend, Y/N makes an unsettling discovery, John makes a bewildering request.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies (but not your babies...or are they?!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 😊

“Roger, this is too much.” Your sandals click on the marble tile floor, a sandy gold like the beaches of Ostia. You peer up at the winding staircase, the Tudor-style diamond windows, the chandelier dripping with crystals. “This is way, way, way too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much,” he parries merrily. “And look!” He pulls back an armful of sheer white curtains that had obscured the backyard. “The pool has a slide!”

You smile because you have to; he’s so elated, so young. “Roger, baby, unless you’re planning to acquire a literal harem of women we will never have a use for six bedrooms.”

“Sure we will!” He counts on his rugged fingers. “There’s one for us, and one can be the guest bedroom for when my mother or your parents visit, and then there’s one for if Chrissie ever wises up and leaves that wanker Brian and requires a place to stay between husbands, and one for when John needs an escape from that mind-numbing domestic purgatory of his, and one for Freddie’s overflow cats...” Roger trails off. He’s lost track.

“That still leaves one unnecessary bedroom.”

He grins. “One for Roger Junior.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s a wonderful home for children,” the real estate agent chimes, flitting around rearranging pillows and dusting off tabletops. “Plenty of space to spread out in, lots of bedrooms, fenced-in yard, security gate, spectacular school district...and such a lovely garden to explore! Does your wife garden?” she asks Roger.

“Girlfriend,” he corrects. “And no, she’s thoroughly useless in the agricultural department.”

You laugh and shove him away. “I have other talents.”

“You certainly do.” He growls as he grips your waist, inhales you, bites playfully down your neck and collarbones. The real estate agent raises her eyebrows, but politely averts her gaze and pretends to check if an artificial fern needs watering.

It’s the downturn of August, 1976. The sun is glaring and hot and spills in through the windows, setting the metallic flecks in the marble floor alight. It makes you think of the Yellow Brick Road, of fantasies built piece by piece into truth. John and Veronica bought a house in Putney, Brian and Chrissie a far larger one in Chelsea, Freddie and Mary a posh flat in West Kensington. Roger has his heart set on nothing less than a Surrey mansion. On the rare occasion that Queen has been home since the start of the A Night At The Opera Tour, you and Roger stay in his shabby—dodgy, you remind yourself—old apartment and pack boxes late into the evening, giggling over all the random and ancient relics you stumble across, sticks of Freddie’s eyeliner and dust bunnies tangled in strands of Brian’s spiraled hair, crumpled up spheres of paper with excerpts of songs scrawled on them, fossilized crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches beneath the couch. Queen is preparing for a brief UK tour at the start of September, including a free concert in Hyde Park organized by entrepreneur Richard Branson. Then it’ll be back to the studio to record their next album, a highly anticipated album, an album that will make millions regardless of what’s on it; and what’s on it, in your humble and musically unlearned opinion, is pretty goddamn great.

“Seriously,” Roger prompts, quietly now. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. I love it. I just don’t need it.”

He grins. “I know you don’t need it. But I do.”

“That list of yours is getting awfully long.”

“You have no idea. We haven’t even started on the exotic pet collection yet.”

“There’s a marvelous koi pond out in the backyard,” the real estate agent says. “You could add turtles, and frogs, and all different types of fish. I can recommend sturgeon, they have such an alluring primeval sort of look to them, and the shimmer on shubunkins is just delightful...”

“You heard the lady.” Rog stretches his right hand like he does when his arm bothers him, when the bone that will never fully heal aches like something ancient and irredeemable, like hunger, like unrequited love: fingertips sprayed outwards, then folded into his palm, then outwards again.

“Rog...I don’t know.”

“Come on, baby! It has everything. Roman-style master bath. Bedrooms with mirrors on the ceiling. Space for my own studio. Land. Enormous refrigerators. You’ll have abundant room for John’s drawings.”

“Ohhh, now that’s true.” John is always adding to your collection, slipping you sketches as the boys scurry around getting ready before a show, during songwriting sessions that last long after midnight, when the band and its expanding circle of friends and family gather for birthdays and holidays. You don’t ask him about You’re My Best Friend, or, come to think of it, any of his other songs. You don’t ask him how he feels about his new life as a husband and father. And in return, John doesn’t ask whether you’re ever going to marry Roger, if you even want to, if you worry about what the future holds. It’s a loaded peace, but a comfortable one. A safe one.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Roger asks suddenly. “The girlfriend thing. The not-wife thing.”

“No,” you reply, smiling. “Of course not.” Roger isn’t someone who pens love letters, recites all the reasons why he cannot live without you, sings love songs. He rarely speaks of love at all. Roger is as he always is: all action, all energy, eyes forever looking forward. But he does love you; you’re sure he does. Everything he does bleeds with love.

“Good. Because there’s no one I’d rather acquire a harem and zoological park with.”

“Okay,” you relent. “But no lions or tigers or bears. I’m quite attached to your limbs, and you’ve come close enough to ruining them already.”

“Deal.” He taps the Canon that hangs from your shoulder by its strap. “We should document this momentous juncture. One day we can pull out the photo album and show Roger Junior. ‘Hey look kid, this was the day Mum and Dad bought the house you were conceived in.’”

You laugh, almost positive that Roger isn’t serious. “I can guarantee you that precisely zero percent of children would ever want to hear that.” Nevertheless, you ready the camera and hold it as far away as you can, the lens aimed towards you.

“Don’t forget to smile!” Roger trills in his high, victorious voice as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone.

You snap the photo. The flash bursts through the kitchen of the Surrey mansion, blinding you both. The artificial bluish light dissipates like smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~

His name is Laszlo, and he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen...even when he’s not especially well-mannered.

Currently, Laszlo—an Eastern European moniker from somewhere in his mother’s comically vast family tree—is whimpering and squirming against Veronica’s chest as she pats his tiny back and sighs wearily. Veronica, ever the good Polish Catholic wife, is already pregnant again. Chrissie smirks triumphantly and puffs on a cigarette, her rings glimmering on her left hand, her dress violet and new and very expensive. Brian is lost in some deep intellectual conversation with Richard Branson, gesturing with his long nimble hands and nodding empathetically, his dark curls rustling in the breeze like the lithe branches of a willow tree.

“Thank god you’re here,” John calls as you and Roger approach. “Freddie is about to get this concert cancelled.”

“I’m about to make this concert fabulous, darling,” Freddie objects. “We need pyrotechnics, we need sparklers and explosions and fireworks!”

Mr. Branson shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Fred. The embers could travel and set the trees on fire.”

Freddie groans. “Tell him, Roger!”

Roger shrugs, grinning, resting his elbow on John’s shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t burn down Hyde Park.”

“You’ll be under a huge orange canopy, right over there.” Mr. Branson motions with a sweep of his arm. “You can’t do anything aerial. Flashing lights, sure. Fog, sure. But no fire. No explosions. Oh, and there’s technically a noise ordinance, but we’re working out a deal so the city won’t enforce it on the day of the show.”

“Orange?!” Freddie squeals.

“How will the acoustics be in a tent?” Brian asks, troubled.

John smiles mischievously. “Yes, how dreadful if no one could hear the extraneous guitar solos.”

“I have a gong, Rich,” Roger says. “Everyone will be able to hear my gong, right?”

“Your gong?” Freddie whines. “What about my voice?!”

“I miss stadiums,” Roger grumbles. You exchange a knowing glance with Mary and Chris and Veronica, who is imploring Laszlo to take a bottle. Our boys are difficult, aren’t they?

“The acoustics will be fine,” Mr. Branson snaps. “The tent color will be fine. Everything will be fine. You don’t need any fucking fireworks. Please for the love of god just tell me what kind of sandwiches you want.”

“That’ll be an ordeal as well,” Chrissie quips, and you all laugh; even Laszlo perks up, stops wriggling, glimpses around the open green space with curious greyish eyes like John’s.

Some teenage employee carrying a tangle of cables trots over, sweat dripping down his flushed freckled cheeks. “Mr. Branson? There’s someone from the city here to see you.”

Richard Branson smacks his forehead. “Jesus christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, Steve, hey, have you seen Dom? Go find Dom and tell her to come over here, okay? Thanks.”

The teenage employee nods and disappears into a sea of bustling people ferrying equipment, fliers, chairs, messages.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Mr. Branson says. “These city bastards are out to crucify me. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful that Queen of all bands is willing to put on a free concert in their backyard, but alas. Hey, Dom, over here!”

He waves to a petite young woman with a glossy shock of black hair and olive Mediterranean skin. She’s wearing all yellow: shorts patterned with daffodils, a tank top the color of butter, a headband like a sunbeam. One of her trim arms is cradling a notebook; the other reaches out so she can shake hands with everyone. The gesture is courteous but somewhat unnatural.

“This,” Mr. Branson begins, “is my personal assistant Dominique. She’s wonderful, she’ll listen to all your pretentious tales of woe and do it with a smile, because she’s a true professional. Better yet, she’s going to ask you the tedious questions I was supposed to so you don’t have to wait for me to finish sparring with the city council. Okay? Okay. Have fun. I’ll be back.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Dom says placidly in a heavy French accent. So that’s why her handshake was off somehow, stilted and weak; the French usually kiss as a greeting. You choke back a snort as you imagine Veronica’s reaction to that. Mr. Branson stalks away muttering about litigious twats.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling!” Freddie circles Dom, admiring her outfit, her hair, her gold hoop earrings. He wafts his cigarette around flamboyantly, completely forgetting to smoke it. “The French are so tasteful, aren’t they? You simply must connect me with your stylist.”

“I would be happy to, Mr. Mercury. But regrettably, I am my own stylist.”

“Ahh!” Freddie exhales, enamored. Mary lifts Laszlo from Veronica’s tired arms and cradles him, tickles his nose, beams down into his fresh and inquisitive face.

Dom pulls a pen from her shirt pocket. “May I ask your sandwich preferences for the day of the show?”

She immediately receives four very different answers, and she raises an eyebrow, her pen hovering over the lined paper of her notebook.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Chrissie says, and Dom chuckles civilly.

“Ham and cheddar,” Freddie tells her, synthesizing the responses. “Bacon, fried fish, steak and onion jam...and something for Brian. Cucumber maybe. Could we get some cucumber sandwiches, dear?”

“You’re a vegetarian?” Dom asks Brian, jotting down notes.

“He’s morally superior to us in every way,” John sighs dreamily, and Rog and Freddie cackle.

“I’m not a strict vegetarian,” Bri clarifies. “But for the sake of the animals and the planet, I try to limit meat when I can.”

Roger adds: “And I order twice as much of it, just to spite him.”

Dominique leads Queen around the portion of Hyde Park where the concert will be held, runs through the itinerary, fields a litany of questions and complaints. And you decide that you like Dom; she’s professional and reserved, yes, but she’s also patient with Freddie, smiles at his jokes, compliments his black-and-yellow striped shirt (“We match, and you remind me of a...oh, what’s the word in English? That bug...it flies around buzzing...buzz buzz...a bee!”), asks him what he’s planning to wear to the show. She assuages Brian, listens to John, takes the time to chat with the women about children, makeup, homes, what it’s like to be in love with rock stars. But Dom mostly ignores Roger, dodges his grins, remains staunchly undazzled. And that would worry you—because Roger loves the chase, you know that firsthand—if he hadn’t already taught you how to trust him, how addictively flawless and exhilarating life with Roger Taylor could be.

When Laszlo begins to fuss in Mary’s grasp, you take your turn holding him; and he blinks up at you with eyes that are wide and clear and seeking, and you find yourself feeling like you always do when you’re around your godson: like maybe you have a stronger opinion about wanting children than you thought you did, like you can’t stop envisioning a baby with Roger’s eyes instead of John’s.

That evening—after leaving Hyde Park, after dinner, after drinks mixed out by the koi pond—as you doze in a sweltering bubble bath and steam curls through the air, you hear Roger’s voice floating from the kitchen downstairs. You rise out of the tub, towel yourself off, slip into a white silk robe as rivulets of bathwater slink down the back of your neck. You tread gingerly towards the kitchen, keep silent so you can hear, lurk in the shadows of the hallway with your palms pressed flat against the wallpaper.

“Hello, is Dominique Beyrand in?” Roger says into the kitchen phone. “I’ve been trying to track her down. Sure, I’ll wait. Thanks.” After a pause, he continues. “Hi, Dom! It’s Roger Taylor, from Queen. The irritating blond one. I was just wondering if you’d happened to stumble across my wallet since this afternoon, I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, you haven’t? Bloody hell. Well, thank you for taking my call. Aw, that’s so kind of you, I’m sure I’ll locate it eventually. I’ve got a terrible habit of losing things. Okay, thanks so much. Goodnight to you too. See you soon. Cheers.” He hangs the phone up as you step into the kitchen. His smile is bright and innocuous. “Hey, baby!”

“Who was that?” Your tone is similarly casual; or so you hope.

“Just Richard Branson’s assistant. That French woman Dominique. I can’t find my wallet and thought I might have left it at Hyde Park, but no dice. Oh well.”

Roger begins rummaging through the drawer full of business cards and address books, tapping his foot, humming to himself. And surely he isn’t trying to avoid my eyes. Your gaze skates over the marble countertop. There, by the refrigerator, just a few feet—a meter, you correct yourself to be properly British—from where Roger stands, is his black leather wallet.

“It’s right there, Rog,” you say, pointing. And now your voice isn’t so nonchalant.

Roger spins to check. “Oh my god, I completely missed it!” He snatches up the wallet with a celebratory chuckle. “I’m such a twit sometimes. You’re too fucking smart, you know that? You’re making me look bad.”

He rushes to you, takes your left hand, bites your knuckles lightly like he did outside Massachusetts General Hospital under dawn skies over two years ago. And then Roger whispers to you, nuzzling your neck scented with lavender soap and doubt.

“Let’s go to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock at the door. John is standing on the front porch of the Surrey house with his hands in his pockets and a vague sort of smile on his face. He’s in a black suit.

“Get ready,” he says. “Do your hair, throw on some earrings. Maybe the pearls Roger got you last Christmas. We’re going shopping.”

“Why do I need to look fancy to go shopping?”

John shrugs, feigning indifference; but the puckish glint in his eyes gives him away. Yet there’s something a little sad and weighty in them too, isn’t there?

Your own eyes narrow. “I’m onto you, bassist.”

He laughs as you tug teasingly at a lock of his downy hair. “You always are.”

John takes you to a dress shop on Bond Street where the corsets trickle with gemstones and the designers all have Italian names: Armani, Prada, Abate, Cerruti, Valentino, Biagiotti. He sinks into a leather chair just outside the fitting room and lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, points to you with the lit end.

“Go ahead. Go wild. It’s a blank check.”

“Really?!” You glance around the shop, your pulse racing. “But I don’t know the occasion. I don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed or whatever. Although I don’t think I’ve ever been overdressed in my life.”

“Yes, you can’t seem to shake those pragmatic service industry roots, can you?” Another drag. “You need a dress and matching shoes. Formal, but not too formal. Think a record company party. Elegant but exciting. Lots of sparkle. Slightly slutty, if you’re so inclined.”

“This is an unconventional bonding activity,” you tell John, trying to conceal your nerves.

“Love, this isn’t something you can fail at,” he says, gently now. “You’re going to look amazing no matter what. So just have fun with it. This isn’t a test. This is one of those adventures you’re always searching for.”

I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage; that’s what Roger once told you. But maybe you don’t always want to be quite so free, so unmoored. “Okay. But you have to swear to give honest opinions. I don’t want to show up looking like a wombat because you were too nice to say anything.”

John just chuckles to himself, shakes his head, devours cigarette after cigarette.

With the assistance of one of the shop employees, you climb into a pastel pink dress with a full ruffled skirt, an emerald green dress with an empire waist and loose sheer sleeves, a shimmering metallic silvery dress with a form-fitting silhouette. John nods at all of them, wholeheartedly approves, defers to your judgment. He periodically consults his wristwatch as he taps his cigarettes on the rim of an ashtray, and deflects your questions when you ask him why. Then you step out of the fitting room—balanced on gold heels—in a white dress with a hem that hits just above your knees, a halter neckline, a slim keyhole down the center of your chest; and John’s cigarette tumbles out of his fingers.

“That’s the one,” he breathes, soaking it in. Then he asks the employee to cut off all the tags and whips out his wallet. “Toss your old clothes and shoes in a bag. We gotta catch a cab.”

“We’re going straight to the party?”

“We certainly are.”

“What the hell kind of ridiculously lame party starts at 3 p.m.?”

John smirks craftily. “The kind of party we’re going to. Let’s rock and roll, Florence Nightingale.”

John gives the taxi driver an address and you sail through the streets of London, splashing through shallow evaporating puddles, squinting when sunlight ricochets glaringly off the slick pavement. The taxi rolls to a stop outside of a grand stone building with columns and intricate carvings of leaves and flowers. The sign outside reads: Kensington and Chelsea Register Office.

You turn to John. “Who’s getting married?!”

He just smiles, a deep harbor of secrets.

“It’s Fred and Mary, right? Jesus christ, John, you can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding, Mary’s going to strangle me—”

“It’s not Mary’s wedding.”

Slowly, your jaw falls open. “No,” you whisper in disbelief.

John darts out of the taxi, jogs around to your side, and opens the door for you. You gape up at him senselessly, struggling to remember how to form sentences.

“John...this...this is some bizarre and elaborate joke, right?”

“Nope.” He offers his hand, helps you out of the taxi, leads you up the front steps of the Register Office. Inside, everyone is waiting: Freddie and Mary, Brian and Chrissie, Veronica with babbling baby Laszlo, Roger’s mother and sister...and Roger, of course, in his best black suit and bleached blond hair and trademark guaranteed-to-dazzle (unless of course you’re Dominique Beyrand) grin. He flies to you and takes your hands in his.

“You look incredible, baby.”

“Roger, what’s going on...?”

“Don’t freak out,” he commands, and instantly your panic vanishes. There’s a pink rose pinned to his lapel. “I know we don’t feel like we need to get married. I know we agree it doesn’t mean anything.” Is that still true? “So don’t think that this is about trying to trap you or control you or bullshit white picket fences or anything. And of course you can say no, I won’t be mad, no one will hold that against you, we can find some other reason to party. But the simple facts are that I’m a British national with a mansion and a plethora of perpetual royalties and you’re an American here on a work visa, and the law gets a bit thorny in this situation. And I want to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me. That you can carry out my wishes. That you can stay here with the band as long as you want to. So, I’ve got your passport and birth certificate and everything else we need...and some overly-enthusiastic witnesses. Are you cool with signing a piece of paper today?”

“Of course she bloody well is!” Freddie exclaims, and everyone laughs. Mary is carrying a basket full of champagne flutes, Chrissie several bottles of pink champagne, Roger’s sister a tub of ice. Brian has been entrusted to chronicle the event with your Canon. Veronica is more giddy than you’ve ever seen her, even more animated than she was at her own wedding. Well, I suppose she doesn’t have to worry about any illicit pregnancies or condemnatory great aunts this time around.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. And you wish you weren’t beaming so broadly your cheeks ache, because it feels a little pathetic to be this happy about an admittedly meaningless wedding. But it does make you happy, your general aversion towards conventionality be damned.

You sign papers and you toast glasses and you giggle uproariously in the lobby of the Register Office with the best friends you’ve ever had, guzzle pink champagne, pose for photos, take your turn holding Laszlo, kiss Roger beneath the stone arch of the centuries-old building.

It doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, suddenly very aware of the missing weight of a ring on your left hand. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But you catch a few furtive glances between Chrissie and Bri, the twist of a frown on Freddie’s face when he thinks no one is watching, the distance in John’s shadowy eyes as he inhales champagne like air.

It doesn’t mean anything.

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sunshine304 · 3 years

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I am so so sorry that it took me this long to continue my LoF watching posts! RL, y’know. Ep 26 felt like a good place to take a breather, as well, so that’s what I did.

Anyway, let’s move on to eps 27 and 28!

It’s exposition time! Zhou Fei and ChuChu are at a tea house and hear about an army deserter who was trained on the Mountain of the Immortals (has this been mentioned before... IDK), was poisoned and became a monk. A-Fei thinks this story sounds familiar (indeed it does, indeed it does...) and ChuChu remembers having read sth like this in a book (the book of ... Peng Lai? I think?).

Oh look, Huo Fort becomes relevant again! I forgot about them. Anyway, Huo Lintao, who is now the boss and seems to not be well liked basically everywhere, wants to fight Disha and invites people from Jianghu to his Destroy Disha Assembly (God, I just love that name XD). Li Sheng & 48 Strongholds get an invite and he wants to investigate. Huo Fort is also... attacked by random cultivators I guess?

Meanwhile, let’s check in on Yin Pei! He still can’t deal with his internal injury (loss of internal power? still not sure; I’m assuming it’s sth like severe damage to a golden core in xanxia or even complete loss of one) and scours Old Daoist Master Chongxiao’s rooms for the Phoenix Pill, which... I think gives you lots of power but is also really super dangerous?

This show sure has lots of useful but also dangerous power restoring/improving pills and needles, huh?

Anyway, Yin Pei takes the pill. He does not feel so good. Uh oh.

Li Yan and Yang Jin go in search for A-Fei again – uhm, didn’t A-Fei simply go into town with ChuChu? Why are they searching for her again, other that Yang Jin wants to fight her because one obvious defeat isn’t enough? I'm guessing there has been a time skip again...

Meanwhile, at Disha Manor! Shen Tianshu is nursing his wounded ego I guess, while Chu Tianyu, an older member, is now supposed to take care of all this drama, but he doesn’t really want to because he’s retired. How many weird members of Disha are there?

Oh okay, so Yin Pei goes kinda crazy because of the scabbard since it seems to be gone, takes more of the Phoenix Pills, which is a fucking stupid idea, we get some exposition that this might turn him into a demon of some sort, and then he kills Chongxiao for the scabbard because he thinks that the old master wants it for himself.

Which, you know, isn’t true, but that’s what you get for being so secretive, I guess. Chongxiao actually wanted the scabbard so a forger could make lots of copies of it, so that Yin Pei can keep the original one. *sigh* Well, too late now. Yin Pei also meets that evil guy from way back in ep 7 or 8 who’d fought Chongxiao and Li Sheng, who calls himself the Black Judge (I’m too lazy to look up his name and hope he doesn’t really become that relevant).

I’m kinda sad that Yin Pei simply seems to go the “Oops I’m super crazy now“ route instead of having a more interesting redemption arc. I also... don’t really know what he wants to do now? He’s got the scabbard of his father... Are there still people alive he could take revenge on? Disha I guess?

But! The song that plays while Yin Pei confronts Chongxiao is awesome! I'm in love.♥

Back to the main characters, thank you! Xie Yun is really ill and freezing, the poison taking its toll. He’s at the same inn as two new characters (noooo, no more characters, have mercy!) Zhu Chen and Zhu Ying of the small Zhu sect, who are there for that assembly. They eye XY and feel sorry for him. We instantly know that these are Good People.

Aaaaaand introducing another new character, Ying Hecong, Poison Doctor! I know he’s relevant because he’s got a poster!

Of course Zhou Fei just misses Xie Yun in that inn. *sigh* But then she meets Li Yan and Yang Jin there, which is nice.

Yet another new character! He’s Black Tortoise Ding Kui and has henchman that are dressed in a rather peculiar way. Is this now the same as with that Azure Dragon guy, and I don’t really have to remember him? He’s from the 4 Guardians Mountain (speaking of which, where tf is Mu XiaoQiao!?).

Okay okay I see now. Everyone is in LingLing for that meet up with the Huo family! Madame Nichang is there too! Ah my beloved! ♥ She tells Xie Yun to follow his heart, and not be stupid and only think of his end.

Xie Yun is all evasive of course, and then he meets up with Cheng Zichen who of course is also there! Because of this he finds out that Zhou Fei is there, too, which puts him into a conflict. Because his running away was going so well, dammit!

On to Ep 28!

Xie Yun hides out in the carriage with Ling Yu of the Feather Robe Troupe, who slyly comments on him running away from Zhou Fei. He’s sad and says that it’s not A-Fei’s fault and that he’s just an unlucky person who is not good for her. T_T Kill me, why don’t you.

A-Fei has learned a lot and notices XY’s ruse, yay go my heroine!♥

She catches him and they fight, and she asks him about the poison. Zhou Fei obviously suspects ahhhh! (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ But of course when XY seems happy that she was looking for him, she goes all haughty again and is like, “It’s only because of the HYTS!“ (although no it was mainly because of him and she looks light she might burst into tears any moment now, too...)

They get distracted by the procession of Black Tortoise Master walking by and A-Fei knocks XY out. They’re even now! XD

Nice to see the whole gang together as A-Fei drags the unconscious Xie Yun to an inn! ChuChu my beloved! ♥

OMG Li Sheng and Yang Jin getting into this peacock fight! XD Li Sheng scolds his sister and Yang Jin is super pissed about it. Li Yan is looking sooo smug, like “Yep that's my very own protective himbo!“ XD

Then Li Sheng is sent off to find Madame Nichang because she at least might know what to do about Xie Yun.

Ding Kui arrives at the Hui Fort. If I understood correctly... Hui Lintao wants to... kill all the cultivators when they arrive for his assembly? Or just those other cultivators that are randomly attacking him? There's traps in the forest they have go through. He specifically mentions that the traps are set after Daoist Master Chongxiao’s design, so hm might Li Sheng be of great help here later? Anyway, that old guy from Disha is there and seems to find all of this very funny. I’m confused.

Mu Xiaoqiao my love!!!!!!! He’s back!!!! For about 5 seconds but there he is, looking fabulous! ☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

Ding Kui (who... has left the Huo Fort I guess) wants to work with him and reminds him of his debt to the Huo Fort. I had forgotten about that.

Oh let’s check in for about a minute on Yin Pei, who is still crazy and slaughters some people... uhm somewhere. He also now calls himself the true Master of Clear Light. [at least I think it’s supposed to be his new name?] Nicely written on the door in blood. Okay then.

But the instrumental of his song plays in the background, making all of this much more epic, so it’s fine.

Madame Nichang arrives, is shocked, and states that Xie Yun is poisoned, as A-Fei feared, and he has a year if he doesn’t use his internal force anymore. A-Fei is devastated and we get their love song while she rubs his (supposedly) ice-cold hand. Oh my heart. T_T

Ying Hecong arrives because he wants to see the poisoned guy! XD He has never heard of tact.

Since A-Fei is desperate she lets him in, and we get some exposition in bits and pieces. Ying Hecong first assumes that XY must’ve been poisoned about a month ago (which fits the fight against Disha, where he used the needle), but wonders how that could be because Lian Sheng (the poisoner known for bone piercing blue) has been missing for a while longer. He lets slip that he isn’t actually a doctor, uhm yeah....

Oh not A-Fei is so sad and crying, nooooo T_T She’s angry at XY, asking why he had to meddle in her affairs and then leave to just die somewhere alone. Oh nooooo. ಥ_ಥ ಥ_ಥ ಥ_ಥ

(side note: easy scene for Wang Yibo, just lying there the whole time, no lines for once XD)

A-Fei gets the Tianmen Lock from Madam Nichang (a special lock that has a double lock mechanism that is very difficult to open. Md. Nichang actually alludes to this lock being very useful for lovers and I’m like... okay XD). YunFei are kinky as ever, nothing new here – A-Fei is so pissed at XY that she doesn’t want him to have the chance to run away again. XD

Loved how XY complained about the lock destroying his posture. XD And how Zhou Fei’s like, “It’s not my fault you’re bound like that, Li Sheng is to blame!“ while the flashback tells us, that uhm no, he’s not. XD

Ending with A-Fei telling Yang Jin about the Hai Tian Yi Se. Ah they’re important relics it seems. Well whatever. XY listens in.

I really need to keep on watching, it seems stuff is happening.

#legend of fei #you fei #sabrina watches legend of fei #my posts #my gifs

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inkedstarlight · 4 years

Text

Bittersweet: Chapter Four

Summary: In which Nesta and Elain are introduced to the Inner Circle. Note: Read it on AO3 here! Warnings: mention of eating disorder, weight loss Bittersweet Masterlist

September

Nesta was staring at her reflection when Elain knocked on her bedroom door.

“Feyre’s here!”

“I’ll be right out,” she called back.

Nesta directed her gaze back to the mirror. She didn’t know what to make of what she saw.

Her face was jaunt, the shadows under her eyes resembling purple bruises. Her face had always been angular, but never so bony. Her thick golden hair now hung limply, greasy strands falling into her face. Nesta hadn’t showered in days, and her breath reeked thanks to a lack of nutrients. She was the color of a ghost, nearly blending into her surroundings with her tiny presence. Nesta was shrinking into herself little by little. Until nothing remained.

She had never been so underweight, not even when their mom forgot to cook most nights. At Nesta’s normal weight, her toned thighs touched each other. Rolls formed on her stomach when she bent over. She looked like a woman.

But as she stared at the mirror, Nesta looked like a girl.

It wasn’t intentional. Gods, she’d seen what that sort of thing did to people. Elain struggled with an eating disorder since she was thirteen.

Those couple years were brutal. Their dad was emotionally absent, their mother gone. Feyre was working every day. Nesta did as much as she could, but… there’s only so much she could do. Their family couldn’t afford a therapist or nutritionist. Elain didn’t want to get better.

Then, Elain passed out walking home from school. That’s when Nesta had enough. She couldn’t stand to watch her sister completely disappear right in front of her eyes. So, she talked to Elain’s guidance counselor, Alis, who was the only qualified person there. The other counselors did shit. All they cared about was academics and nothing more. Alis gave Nesta pamphlets for free group therapy. Nesta marched home and told Elain about it.

She refused for a month.

Nesta had never seen Elain so angry and hopeless during those few weeks. Angry at Nesta for getting into her business. Hopeless in the way that she didn’t particularly care what happened to her.

Then, one day, Elain found Nesta sobbing on the floor of their bedroom. When Elain took a step closer, Nesta snapped. She screamed. Gods, did she scream. She begged – begged – Elain to stop killing herself. Nesta was desperate, and she knew the only way Elain would agree to get help was if Nesta asked her to do it for her. And so Elain agreed.

It took a long time; recovery isn’t a linear process in the slightest. But with time, Elain healed. She healed until she was doing it for herself, not just for Nesta. And now… now, Elain cherished her body. She’d once told Nesta that the intrusive thoughts still surfaced, but they weren’t nearly as loud as they used to be.

Nesta’s sudden weight loss… it wasn’t the same. It was the depression that was gnawing at her very flesh, the guilt that was eating her away until it hit bone. She didn’t care to eat. She didn’t care to do anything.

Elain had been trying to get her to eat every day. Three meals a day. She had always been a fabulous cook, baking and cooking until the sun set. Nesta wished she could stomach Elain’s food, but she felt as if she would throw up if she consumed anything more than a piece of fruit.

Nesta sighed with resignation. Turning her back to the mirror, she walked out of her room to find Feyre and Elain lounging in the kitchen. Elain’s profile was backlit by the window above the sink, highlighting her light hair.

“What do you want?” Nesta asked as she approached them, taking a seat on the stool. She’d completely lost energy during the past few weeks, and any semblance of patience was easily lost on her.

Feyre ignored her brash tone. “How are classes going?”

“Fine.” She didn’t bother elaborating. There wasn’t much to tell anyway.

“You look thin,” Feyre commented, running her eyes over Nesta’s barely visible body.

“Are you here to criticize my appearance or can I retreat back into my room?”

“It was just an observation, Nesta,” Feyre told her. Then, she addressed both of them. “My friends and I are having a dinner party tomorrow night at my house. It’s a small tradition that we do every other week. Do you guys want to come?”

“Yes!” Elain jumped up excitedly. She gripped Feyre’s shoulders, the latter smiling widely. “I finally have a reason to dress up!”

Feyre unraveled herself from Elain’s grip and turned to Nesta. “Are you in?”

“I’m invited?” She couldn’t help but ask. Feyre hadn’t exactly gone out of her way to spend time with Nesta. It wasn’t like Feyre was cruel to her; they’d simply become strangers after years of no communication. Feyre had shown Elain around town, but that courtesy didn’t extend to Nesta.

Feyre blew out a breath of air and nodded. “I want to try to fix… this.” She gestured between them.

Nesta would have laughed if it weren’t for the nervousness in Feyre’s eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’m ready to meet your friends quite yet.”

I know I'm not ready.

Nesta had been doing better since the semester started; that much was true. Even so, she rarely talked to anyone, save the obligatory conversations with professors as well as her T.A.’s. She only left the apartment for classes and never lingered on campus to study or socialize. Considering it was a challenge to talk with her peers, Nesta was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to make conversation with her estranged sister’s friends.

“It would mean so much to me if you met them, especially Rhysand.”

“I said another time.” Nesta’s voice was hard.

Feyre squeezed the bridge of her nose as she tried to reign in her temper. “Please, Nesta? It would be good to get out of the apartment.” She looked resigned, as if she knew Nesta would refuse. “You don’t even have to say anything. No one there will question your silence, I promise. They’re all easygoing.”

She wasn’t asking much of Nesta. In fact, Feyre was asking for the bare minimum. And as much as Nesta dreaded the idea of being surrounded by a group of complete strangers…

You need them as much as they need you. Her father’s words echoed in her head.

Nesta nodded. “Okay.”

And with that, the tether between them began to mend.

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

Feyre and Rhysand’s house lay at the edge of the city, the stars brighter without the light pollution of the city. Elain marveled at the mountainous backdrop as she and Nesta pulled up to their spacious home in Elain’s old Beetle. Nesta’s stomach twisted when she noticed several cars parked in the driveway. She should turn around and return home, she wasn’t ready for –

“Let’s go inside!” Elain sang as she unbuckled her seatbelt. She wore an off-the-shoulder pink dress, the pastel color complimenting her fair skin. The soft fabric fell just below her knees, a gentle breeze caressing the skirt of the dress. She was stunning. Nesta had told her as much when Elain emerged from her room.

Nesta, on the other hand, had chosen to wear ripped jeans and a black hoodie. How she and Elain were related, Nesta had no idea.

They strolled to the front door, Elain bouncing with each step. She’d gushed throughout the entire car ride about the stories Feyre had told her about Rhysand, which somehow led to Elain rambling for ten minutes about her dream wedding.

Gods, Nesta had never met a bigger hopeless romantic.

Sounds of laughter could be heard from inside as they stepped onto the front porch. Elain didn’t hesitate as she knocked three times.

Feyre answered the door just seconds later. Her golden hair tumbled to her shoulders, an easy smile on her face. Nesta had never seen her sister look so happy. She was glowing, and it wasn’t because of the warm lights behind her.

“You made it!” Feyre exclaimed happily, opening the door wider to let them inside. She noticed the dish in Elain’s hands as they walked past her. “You didn’t have to bring anything, El.”

Elain only scoffed as Feyre closed the door behind them. “Like you would have been able to stop me.”

Just as Feyre was about to address Nesta, a few people – her friends, Nesta presumed – entered the foyer.

“Everyone, these are my sisters, Elain and Nesta.” Feyre gestured to them as they stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Elain and Nesta, this is everyone.”

A tall, dark haired man approached them, sliding his hand onto Feyre’s lower back.

Nesta knew who it was before he spoke.

His violet eyes sparkled. “I’m Rhysand,” he reached in to shake their hands. “I’ve heard a lot about you both.”

Elain really wasn’t lying about his eyes.

He directed a blindingly white smile at Elain to which she returned. But when his gaze slid to Nesta, his grin slipped slightly, eyes narrowing.

What the hell?

“Well, isn’t this lovely,” a seductive voice drawled. Nesta’s attention was grabbed by the tiny girl who’d spoken, her hair sleek and short. She was standing at the kitchen table with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at Rhysand, and a raised brow that seemed to say, Really?

“I’m Amren.” She flashed Elain and Nesta a wicked grin. “Excuse Rhys’s poor manners.”

Nesta liked her already.

“This is Azriel,” she pointed to the brooding man behind her. He nearly blended into the shadows, his presence calm and quiet. Nesta couldn’t help but notice the scarring on his hands. She instinctively pulled her sweater over her wrists.

The man – Azriel – gave them an awkward wave, his gaze hovering on Elain who returned his greeting with an equally awkward wave of her own.

“I’m Morrigan,” a raspy voice sounded from the kitchen counter. A woman sat at the breakfast bar with a wine glass in hand. Her lips were painted the same crimson color of the drink she held. “But you can call me Mor.”

Another woman stood behind her, hands playing with Mor’s blonde hair. Her skin was a dark hazelnut, waves of thick, black hair framing her face. She wore a bright smile. Together they were regal, the picture of beauty. “This is my girlfriend, Aurra.”

Aurra murmured a greeting, to which Elain reciprocated with a bubbly enthusiasm.

“There’s one more of us, Cassian, but he’s in the Marines. He’s stationed in Turkey right now,” Rhysand explained. He directed the statement towards Elain. He didn’t seem to care to acknowledge Nesta’s presence. “He’ll be back in December.”

“Oh, I completely forgot!” Feyre jumped in. She looked at both Nesta and Elain. “I meant to mention this to you guys when I visited you the other day. Cassian actually lives in the same apartment complex as y’all. I think his place is just a floor above you, so you guys will get the chance to meet each other. It’s hard, though, because he never knows when he’s going to be deployed.”

Nesta nodded absentmindedly, uninterested in these people’s lives. She doubted she would see them again, much less the friend who lived near them.

After the introductions, everyone got settled. Feyre gestured Nesta and Elain to follow her into the living room.

“Dinner isn’t ready quite yet,” she explained, sending a pointed glare where Rhysand stood. He lifted his hands up in surrender. “So, I figured we can just drink and chat until Rhys can cook us something edible.”

Mor snorted from the kitchen at Feyre’s jab. She grabbed Aurra’s hand and they waltzed to the armchair that sat next to the vast fireplace. Aurra pulled Mor onto her lap, Mor giggling as she took a sip of her wine.

Feyre offered them wine. Nesta took hers and followed everyone to the living room. Luckily, she found a seat that distanced her slightly. Feyre sat atop a stool, Rhysand behind her to keep an eye on dinner. Amren lounged on a plush floor cushion, leaving Elain and Azriel on the loveseat.

The conversation came easy. Rhysand and Mor fired question after question at Elain, to which she answered happily. Feyre kept her word; everyone respected Nesta’s space. She was faced only with the occasional, “More wine?” or “The bathroom is over there.” It gave Nesta the opportunity to sit back unbothered and listen to the conversation.

“So how do you all know each other?” Elain asked curiously, gesturing to Feyre’s friends.

Rhysand smiled with fond memories. “I lived across the street from Azriel as a kid. Cassian is my adopted brother, so we all grew up with each other. Mor over here is my cousin. We all went to the same university. Amren…” Rhysand got silent. A small, contemplative smile grew on his face. “I don’t really know how she joined us. I’m pretty sure she approached us and told us that we were now friends with her.”

Amren nodded to confirm as everyone laughed. Her smile resembled the Cheshire Cat.

“And Feyre darling,” Rhysand looked at his girlfriend lovingly. “She stumbled upon us in our sophomore year. That’s a story for another night though.”

Nesta couldn’t help but snort at his nickname for her. Feyre shot her a glare.

After dinner, which ended up being soup thanks to Rhysand’s lack of cooking skills, they all retreated back to the living area. Feyre popped open yet another bottle of wine to top everyone off, and Elain brought out the cupcakes she’d made.

As they were enjoying her sister’s dessert, which was droolworthy like every dish in the past, Elain and Azriel caught Nesta’s attention from the loveseat. She’d noticed they hadn’t spoken much beyond “Hello” and “How are you?” Nesta attributed that to Elain’s innately nervous nature, so she was surprised when she struck up a conversation with him.

“Do you go to school?” Elain asked Azriel timidly, taking a sip of wine.

His head dipped down, tufts of black hair falling into his eyes. “I, uh, work at an animal shelter.”

Elain gasped loudly. She clutched his leg and looked at him with wide eyes. “I love animals! I want to rescue a dog.” Elain began rambling about the bunnies who lived in her garden, the many strays she’d found on the street back in high school, the bird she tended to when she noticed his broken wing.

Nesta watched Azriel smile for the first time tonight. Where most men would cringe from Elain’s incessant chatter, he leaned forward with interest. Nesta could tell he was hanging on to every word that left Elain’s mouth.

As the night went on, Nesta watched the dynamic between everyone. Where Azriel was timid, Mor was booming. She was always laughing at something (usually her own joke), and she made her opinions known. Nesta respected that.

Amren, though? Amren was a creature of her own. She was snarky to her friends, but the love could easily be seen in her eyes. Nesta immediately took to her.

And Rhysand? Nesta was unnerved by how… domestic Feyre and her boyfriend were. They acted like they were a married couple, for gods’ sake. She got second hand commitment phobia just by looking at them.

When it was time for them to leave, Feyre’s friends demanded they join again next week. Elain promised they’d be back again with a giggle, and Nesta swore she saw the light in Azriel’s eyes flare.

So, once a week, the lot of them got together to hang out. Feyre and Rhysand hosted most dinners thanks to their spacious house but occasionally, Mor and Aurra offered their place which was equally gorgeous.

As the weeks passed, Nesta slowly became more comfortable with everyone – though Rhysand typically avoided her, and she did the same. Though she remained near silent during the nights, Nesta found herself looking forward to the dinner gatherings.

And perhaps, perhaps she could find a home here.

#nessian #bittersweet #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #angst #my writing #fic

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radreactions · 5 years

Note

First off love your blog. Your so much fun to read, and your reactions are great. So in the truest spirit of Fo4, how about the companions reacting to Fo4 glitches? Gonna let YOU surprise us with what glitches they are.

Damn this was fun! I even added a few pics of my own experiences 😂 Enjoy!

Ada -

She stops and turns, gazing at the young man enjoying his dinner on a floating plate, sitting backwards in his chair with a table right behind him. She glances up at Sole, the little light on her processor unit blinking rapidly overtime as she tried to make sense of such an impossible scene. "Hey George," Sole greets overly casually, as if nothing was wrong it the world. "Good food?" The physics defying man looks up with a grin. "Oh the best! Molly just got in a new shipment of bloatfly, it's the best I've ever had!" Sole glances to Ada, that little light rapidly picking up in speed as George places down his now floating knife. "Good to know, thanks Geroge." They walk off but Ada remains still, staring uncomprehendingly at the poor man who just wanted to enjoy his dinner. He didn't know a series of "!Error!" messages were flickering throughout Ada's HUD.

Cait - "Ohh THAT is the creepiest goddamn shite I have ever seen." She mumbles, clutching her shotgun tightly as she watches the bones of a long forgotten corpse jump and rattle around on the ground. "What'd ya do ta it?" She demands, casting Sole an accusing look, a single skeletal leg fluttering up between them before dropping back down again. "I don't know," They replied, face pale. "I stepped over it and my boot must have caught on something." Suddenly the whole thing lurched upwards almost to the roof, causing the both of them to yelp and jump back, before it calmly floated to the ground where it finally lay still. "Fer fuck's sake, I thought goin' clean was supposed ta stop me from seein' shite like this."

Codsworth - "Oh heavens!" He gasps upon seeing the settler pumping water. If he had a chest, he'd place a hand over it. As it was, his pincer was clutched dramatically to his hull as all three of his optic units focused themselves on the headless settler who just made as if to wipe sweat from their nonexistent brow. He turns to Sole then, shocked and more than a little disturbed. "Sir/mum, are my optical units malfunctioning or are they suffering a severe case of a headache?"

Curie - "Oh! Mon Dieu! I seem to be...structurally compromised!" She gasps, pushing with all her little body's might against the ground she had suddenly fallen through. The concrete was at her waist and despite how hard or fast she kicked her legs - seemingly underhindered by soil that was alarmingly nonexistent below the surface - she just couldn't get herself up. Sole tried pulling, as did Dogmeat, but alas to no avail. "This will pass, yes?" Sole's noncommittal shrug certainly didn't alleviate her worry. But hey, on the bright side, she decided to study this rare phenomenon of intangibility while it lasts.

Danse - He could feel it burrowing around under his feet. He could hear it squealing and hissing, hungry for his blood. His eyes tracked it's movements through the sights of his weapon, finger halfway depressing the trigger in preparation for when it finally makes it's move. A silent, breathless moment later and suddenly it burst through the ground in a raucous explosion of soil and rock and fury....only to sail right over his head and up into the sky. He watched, shocked, as the radscorpion hissed and clicked it's pincers metres in the air above the treeline, it's tail whipping about in a frenzy as it sailed away into the distance, never to be seen again. "Danse?" Sole called, emerging from behind the Red Rocket and startling him. "Did you get it?" He lowered his weapon and scratched his head, still trying to come to terms with the fact that he ACTUALLY saw that. "It...got away?" Sole gave him a questioning look but didn't press the matter further. Even hours later he was still thinking about it, brow pinched in confusion, bewildered mind wondering where the heck the thing ended up. What if it was still out there? Looking for him? Waiting for the perfect moment to strike? He shudders.

Deacon -

"Umm. Sole? Uh, a little help? Gravity is...well...I think I must have broke it. In related news, guess who's looking fabulous?" *tilts shades, gives a wink* "That's right, it's me!"

Dogmeat - He bounds ahead of Sole, panting excitedly because Sanctuary and all his friends are just over the rise and he's got a new collar on and wow, doesn't he look fancy! Just as he turns his head to check on his companion, he see's them disappear. Immediately, he stops in his tracks and tilts his head in confusion. That's a new trick. Is that normal for humans? He knew they were a little weird but...how did Sole DO that? And where did they go? He looks left, he looks right, he sniffs around for a bit and still can't find them. Where...? Suddenly he hears them screaming and there, falling from nowhere above him, they tumble from the clouds shouting words that would normally cause his tail to hide between his legs. He winces when they hit and trots over to give them a questioning lick. "Fucking Todd fucking Howard. Mister 'it just works'. Yeah right you sonofa-" Suddenly they're gone again and he hears "Are you fucking kidding me?!" shouted once more from above. He sits down and sighs. This could go on for a while.

Gage - "Now how in the...?" He shields his eyes as he gazes up towards the roof of the dilapidated pre-war home where a caravan's Brahmin stood, chewing calmly on a peice of yellow straw. "That ain't the weirdest shit I've ever seen, but it's up there." He grimaces as the thing lifts it's tail and shits through the rafters, a grin spreading across Gage's lips when he hears cries of disgust from the occupants within. He looks to the Overboss and lifts a mischievous brow. "Wanna make their day even worse? My caps satchel is feeling a little...light."

Hancock -

"Whoa! What the hell is this? And why the hell didn't I get an invitation?" He turns to Sole and waggles an eyebrow, already removing his trenchcoat. "You gonna join in or do you like watchin'?"

MacCready - He couldn't stop it. He just COULD NOT stop it. "Seriously, I'm freaking the fu-heck out here, Sole!" he yelled, paddling for his life in thin air. He was walking fine one moment, then suddenly his body developed a mind of it's own. He's swimming. On land. And he can't FUCKING stop it. Sole, laughing, kept backing up a few steps of which MacCready couldn't help but following with a big kick of his legs and a stroke with his arms. "Help me out here, for fu-argh-God's sake!" Sole just kept laughing and backing up, resolutely deciding for him that he's gonna kick their ass as soon as this humiliating ordeal is over.

Maxson - He stared in horror as Paladin Danse approached him, all words seemingly lost in the face of this...this...ABOMINATION. Gone was the power armour, despite the clunk of each of Danse's steps, and in it's place was freakishly elongated limbs that Danse didn't even seem to notice. "What the hell?" He demanded. "Where is your designated power armour, soldier?" In the past he had wondered if Danse was one of those soldiers who took to liking their armour way too much, but this? This was...certainly unprecedented. "I'm wearing it, Elder." Danse replied, a questioning furrow on his brow. "What are my orders, Sir?" Shaking his head, Maxson gave them and immediately reached for a bottle of bourbon once Danse's freakishly long back was turned. He was pretty sure, as Danse made his way through the Prydwen, that he heard suprised screams followed by gunshots.

Nick Valentine - He watches disbelievingly as Sole shoots down another raider. "Nick, are you gonna help or are you just gonna stand there and look pretty all day?" They shout, promptly reloading the clip in their gun. Their UPSIDE DOWN gun, that they seemingly still operate as if it were the right way up. Their left hand was grasping nothing but thin air but still looked as though there was something clutched in their hand. He could see the trigger being pulled, but their finger was miles above it. "Uh...sure...sure." he replies, still watching as Sole aims through the upside down weapon, literally through the stock, and still manages to hit their target. "You just...have a little something on your piece there." They look at him before looking down at their upside down gun, giving a sheepish grin as they wipe away a bit of congealed blood. "Thanks, Nick." They promptly go back shooting and he watches, noticing the muzzle flash appearing at least thirty centimetres above the actual barrel. "I need a hard reboot." He mutters.

Old Longfellow - He squints into the sky, watching in half amusement as the mudcrab drops from thin air and splats on the ground only meters away from him. "Well," he grumbles, his white eyebrows lifting a little as he turns to look at Sole. "That's new."

Piper Wright -

"Umm. Blue? You're seeing what I'm seeing...right?" She timidly shuffles closer to the giant pink behind of what she can only assume is a Brahmin and stares at the way it is seemingly stuck THROUGH the solid concrete wall. "Is...is it still alive??" Suddenly it moos and she jumps back in shock, clutching Sole's arm as if for dear life. "I can't tell if that came from the front or the back, but either way...what the heck do we DO with it?"

Strong - The sound he made was almost defeaning in the dark and stuffy subway station. It was also creepy. VERY fucking creepy. Sole has never heard a sound like that before and they desperately hope, as Strong remains doubled over laughing, that they'll never have to hear it again. On the ground, where they've just killed a lowly ghoul, it's corpse was spinning like a beyblade and was apparently the most hilarious thing Strong has ever seen. "Are you done yet?" They ask impatiently, but get nothing but another roll of creepy ass laughter that finally prompts them to move on into the darkness without him. At least ghouls were a lot less scarier than...whatever THAT was.

Preston Garvey - He and Sole were gazing out over the ocean just after successfully winning back the castle from the queen mirelurk, her corpse being promptly dissected by the Minutemen in the courtyard behind them. "Wow. Not that long ago, I never would've thought we could-" He cuts off because just as Sole turned to look at him, the ocean suddenly became a flurescent green rectangle stretching endlessly before him. "What the hell?!" He sputtered, eyes going wide. Sole turned back and the ocean promptly reappeared. "What?" they asked, turning to look questioningly at him. Again, the ocean flickered and the almost blindingly bright green glared up at him. "The ocean!" He exclaimed, pointing. Again, they turned and again, the deep blue of the ocean reappeared. "Preston, this can't be the first time you're seeing the ocean." They turned back to him and he had to squint from the brightness of the most hideous colour green he's ever seen. He shook his head, breathed a sigh, and decided that he'd help cut up that monstrosity after all. At least that thing was meant to be green.

X6-88 - "Sir/ma'am, you seem to have displaced your ammunition cartridge." He states calmly, gesturing to Sole's left hand where one seems to be lodged through their palm, an end sticking out of both sides. It looks painful and he silently commends them for their handling of it. "What do you mean?" They ask, lifting up the hand in question. "I have it right here." He frowns, noticing that their fingers are clutched around air roughly the shape of the cartridge. "Are you feeling alright, X6?" He doesn't know what to say to that, or when they go to place the damn thing in their satchel and it magically floats through their fingers. Literally THROUGH their fingers. For the next couple of hours on the road, he runs a self diagnostic and feels like screaming when it comes up normal.

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eclecticstarlightconnoisseur · 5 years

Text

EDINBURGH TO BOSTON - CHAPTER 16 - REACH OUT, I’LL BE THERE

Good Evening all! Here is the long-awaited next chapter of Edinburgh to Boston. Once again life has sent another challenge my way to cope with. There are days I cope well and other days. But,let’s not discuss that.

I also had another reason to keep this back until now. This chapter deals with subjects that are relevant to the New Year: hope, forgiveness, new beginnings, peace.

As always, I need to thank my most fabulous beta @scubalass who finds all my errors, inconsistencies and generally keeps me on the straight and narrow path. I could not do this without you. 🧡🤗

Another interesting item is that Hubby and I were watching a documentary on Motown and the song Reach Out, I’ll Be There came on. And all I could think about was that must be how Jamie feels about Claire as he listens to her. There is a youtube link at the end of the chapter for the song at the end.

I welcome any suggestions, thoughts, comments on the story. I would really like to hear what you think of this chapter.

So without further delay, I give you:

Edinburgh to Boston

Chapter 16

Reach Out, I’ll Be There.

Now if you feel that you can't go on

Because all of your hope is gone,

And your life is filled with much confusion

Until happiness is just an illusion,

And your world around is crumblin' down;

Darling, reach out (come on girl, reach on out for me)

Reach out (reach out for me.)

I'll be there, with a love that will shelter you.

I'll be there, with a love that will see you through.

I'll be there to always see you through.

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

She yearned to touch him. Kneeling beside him, her hands hesitating above his head. The need to touch him intoxicated her, to feel his soft curls, the hardness of his bone and flesh, his warm breath on her skin. She needed to know him as real and alive under her fingertips. Whole. But she felt afraid to startle him out of his deep meditative state.

She spoke to him in a hushed tone not wanting to startle him. “Jamie, it’s me, Claire.”

Jamie lifted his head up slowly, not really sure what he is seeing. At first, he believes she is an illusion, an apparition conjured by his fatigued and distraught mind. He blinks several times, clearing his vision. “Claire, is it truly ye? Sassen...” he looked up at her, unsure if he should use her pet name.

Claire saw how the night affected him, eyes swollen and red-rimmed, eyelashes damp with tears.

“Yes, it’s me your Sassenach,” she smiled, gently stroking his cheek feeling the soft scruff prickling under her touch. “I became worried sick when you didn’t come back. I...I thought maybe you were hurt or lost or had an accident. I had to find you. God, Jamie, don’t ever do that again to me,” she whimpered eyes glazing with tears threatening to escape their boundaries.

Jamie struggled to rise from his recumbent position. His legs trembled and he labored to stand. They were stiff from disuse, cold from lying prone on the marble floor, and the remnants of his drunkenness hampered his progress. He looked like a newborn colt’s gangly first attempt to stand. Claire quickly moved to his side using her body to support him as he struggled to remain upright. After regaining his stability, he wrapped her tightly in his arms, pulling her close to his chest. “Claire.” Her name rippled off his tongue like the ruffling of sweet water flowing down a burn.

Overwhelmed with emotion Claire began to sob. She clutched his jacket needing something to hold on to.

He spoke tenderly to her, whispering comforting words in Gàidhlig into her hair. “‘Tis alright a leannan. I’m here. Dinna be afraid.”

Tenderly he stroked her back comforting her as if she were a small child. Her weeping grew faint reducing itself to a quiet hiccuping sound. She looked up into his kind blue eyes and punched him in the chest.

“Ow! What was that for?!” he demanded with a surprised look on his face.

“You scared me. I...I thought lost you. I was afraid you wouldn’t come back.” She trembled in his arms, “I thought you...” She hesitated, “When you didn’t come back, I thought it was because you didn’t want me anymore.” Claire buried her face into his chest nervous about his reaction.

“Not? Not want ye? For the love of God, woman, I want ye more than life itself. How could I no’ want ye? Yer the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Humph. Then why didn’t you come back?”

“Because I thought ye dinna want me.” He dropped his arms from around his beloved shifting his gaze to his shoes intently studying them as if something new and interesting happened to them.

Turning away Jamie began to pace. His sound hand opened and closed into a fist. Anger and frustration pulsed through his veins.

“I failed ye, Claire! Ye told me that yerself. Ye said I left ye there to fight him off, tae, tae defend yerself. And how do ye think that made me feel? Hmm?” he spat out angrily. “I kent I was wrong. ‘Tis bad enough that I kent it, but tae hear it from ye. By Christ, did ye need tae throw it in my face?” he fumed. “Weel, after that I kent I was no’ man enough for ye. Ye need someone better than me to care for ye. That...That ye deserve someone more capable than me as I couldna keep my word.” He stopped pacing, his back turned to her. “Ye ken tae a Highlander breaking a promise is a verra, verra serious thing. Did ye ken that? No, I dinna believe that ye do. ‘Tis a matter of honor and loyalty th...that yer word has value, meaning. That ye can be trusted. Christ, I couldna keep my promise to ye or to the damn wee birds!” Frustration and shame plagued him, his fingers erratically tapping against his thigh.

He turned to face her, tears welling up from deep inside him running down his cheeks. “I’m nay good for ye. I came here and prayed for guidance. At the time I thought I was angry because ye dinna want tae have Frank arrested. Truth be told, it drives me mad that ye dinna.” His face was grim and taut with the thought of Frank escaping punishment. “I understand why ye dinna want tae and I appreciate it. Not tae have the arrest record follow me for the rest of my professional life ‘tis a blessing. But, ye ken I woulda carried that weight for the rest of my life so ye could get justice.” He blew out a breath steadying himself. “Instead, what I found deep in my heart is that I am no’ man enough for ye. When ye needed me, I failed to protect ye as I swore tae do. I’m sorry Claire. Sae sorry for everything.” He turned and walked toward the exit leading back to the shelter. He had the appearance of a dejected man, shoulders slumped, head hanging low. “When I get back to Scotland, I’ll give in my resignation tae the hospital. I canna be yer partner anymore. Ye need someone ye can depend on. I’ll get my things and be out of yer life.”

“Go to him. Be with him. He needs you,” Brother Stan told her.

God Almighty, what have I done!? I’ve shattered this beautiful man, his beautiful soul. Do you see what your secrets have done Beauchamp? The damage you caused.

“JAMIE, WAIT.” Her voice echoed reverberating throughout the cavernous church waking the saints and angels to bear witness to her amende honorable before God and her man.

Claire ran to him, blocking his way to the exit. She grabbed both arms, looked imploring up into his face, “Please Jamie, don’t go.”

“Lass, ye have a good heart. I ken ye feel the need tae forgive me. But I canna forgive myself for the dishonor I brought to ye, for being a disappointment tae ye. So if ye dinna mind,” Jamie’s hand went to break her hold on him.

“Please! Listen to me. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I haven’t been honest with you. I lied to you about Frank, about me, about our marriage. You need to hear the truth first. All of it. Please hear me out. Give me another chance.” She became frantic trying to make him understand, to listen to her. She took a deep breath having come to a decision that could possibly break her heart forever. “If after you listen, should you still want to leave then I’ll not stop you,” she bargained.

Jamie stopped struggling to escape her grasp on his arms. “Lass, what do ye mean ye lied tae me?” His lips drew taut in an angry thin line. The only thing that Jamie Fraser could not abide was a lie. “Ye lied to me about what?” he asked glaring at her.

Claire let out a breath she did not know she was holding. She rather risk his ire than have him reproach himself when he was blameless.

“We need to sit. This is a long story. I only ask that you listen with all your heart and an open mind.”

The Scot looked at her quirking an eyebrow in question. “Alright let’s hear it then.”

Claire took him by the hand and led him to a pew. She looked up to the altar, uttered a silent prayer asking for strength to tell him the truth and to accept his ultimate decision.

Taking his hand in hers, she began her confession.

“Everything I told you about how Frank insinuated himself into Lamb and my life is true. He is a master manipulator. He convinced Lamb that he truly cared for me. His behavior could even be called gallant, respectful, courteous. But that all changed once we were married. He was jealous, and became abusive, especially when drunk.”

She recounted the incident with poor Albert the young professor. “He had threatened Albert, and actually took a swing at him. Fortunately, because of Frank’s level of intoxication, his punch went wide completely missing him.”

She peaked at Jamie from under her lashes. His face remained unreadable.

“Frank grabbed my hand and we left the party. In the car park, he started yelling. He insinuated things, calling me a whore. Then he threatened to beat me.” She told him that was not the only time he had acted like that. There were other incidents, some that ended in violence toward an innocent but the cruelty directed toward her continually escalated.

“Frank is jealous of you and the claim he believes you have on me. He thinks I’m still his. When we divorced, he seized hold of my arm telling me.” Claire paused. She looked toward the chapel ceiling trying desperately to compose herself. She bit her bottom lip hard enabling the coppery taste of blood to fill her mouth. She straightened herself, squaring her shoulders, and looked deeply into Jamie’s calm blue eyes. “Frank said that the divorce meant nothing. He would never let me go. That I am his forever and any man who thought differently would end up being very sorry. He touched me to mark me hoping you would walk away thinking me his or tarnished. What happened couldn’t have been avoided. He was hellbent on creating trouble.” She blew out a sigh, “I’m sorry for blaming you, Jamie. Neither you nor I could have stopped this from happening.”

When you feel lost and about to give up

'Cause your best just ain't good enough

And you feel the world has grown cold,

And you're drifting out all on your own,

And you need a hand to hold:

Darling, reach out (come on girl, reach out for me)

She continued with story after story. Stories about how he degraded her during her residency and fellowship. Implying the only reason she passed was because of his and Lamb’s influence. This only made Claire work harder to be recognized on her own merit. She became chief resident then chief fellow. She became a recipient of several prestigious awards for the research she did as a cardiac fellow. Despite this, Frank continued to claim her achievements were the result of his influence and not her excellence as a doctor.

Claire stopped talking. She raised her hands to her temples massaging the throbbing pain sitting there.

She resumed her tale continuing to pour her heart out to Jamie who sat expressionless and silent. Imperceptibly, his hand gravitated to hers which now rested in her lap. A thumb began to gently stroke her hand. His hand squeezed hers, supporting her, comforting her. Touching made the ordeal easier somehow.

I can tell the way you hang your head,

You're without love and now you're afraid

And through your tears, you look around,

But there's no peace of mind to be found.

I know what you're thinkin',

You're alone now, no love of your own,

But darling, reach out (come on girl, reach out for me)

“Go on, lass. There’s more isn’t there?”

Claire bobbed her head up and down acknowledging his statement. Swallowing the lump that formed in her throat, she pressed on with her story. “You recall,” she said with a shaky voice, “I told you that the box of love letters from Frank’s girlfriends fell, opening, and I read them. I also told you that I confronted him and he admitted to all the affairs. I said I struck him and went back to Lamb. Well, the truth is that I did find a box of letters, I lied about the rest.” The penitent, took a deep breath, exhaled and began. “What did happen was the day Frank found out he did not make tenure, he came home drunk. He threw me against the door, slapped and punched me in the face. When he was done with that, he grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head down on the dresser, and then.” Claire paused steeling her courage, “And then he raped me. My face was bruised, my mouth and lips were bloody. There were ecchymoses under my eye, my arms and thighs. I fought him, but he was too strong. After he left, I packed my things and fled to Lamb’s place. That’s when I found the letters after I pulled my suitcase out of the closet.”

“He broke me. He. Broke. Me. I was never the same after that.” She kept her eyes on him watching for his reaction.

Jamie said nothing. His muscles tensed, and she saw his hand close ever so slowly into a white-knuckled fist. His eyes grew dark like black swirling thunderheads ready to unleash their fury. His breathing grew deeper, faster. A guttural growl emanated from the farthest reaches of his chest vibrating through him. The veins in his neck distended as blood coursed through them. They looked like great snakes undulating as they filled and emptied with each hammering beat of his heart.

She didn’t know how long had she spoke. It could have been minutes or hours. But she told him everything leaving out nothing. As she finished her account, Claire admitted, “No one outside of Lamb and Lamb’s lawyer knew any of this as I never told another soul.”

Hearing the details of her nightmare flooded Jamie with so many emotions, anger for the pain she suffered. Admiration for her strength and resiliency. Love. His love for her only deepened. It had no limit; it had no end. She was a survivor. And she was his.

“Why did ye no’ tell me, Claire?”

Looking down at her hands, she whispered, “I didn’t want to tell you for fear of what you would think of me. Tainted, damaged, useless. That you would believe the things Frank said about me. That you couldn’t, wouldn’t see me.” She sat up straighter, turned and looked her lad in the face. “If this is too much for you Jamie, I understand. If you want to go, well there’s no hard feelings, just go.” She gave him a small smile and sat waiting.

She had the desire to cry, but would not. To do so would be to continue Frank’s hold over her. To let him continue to own her. By telling Jamie the truth, it liberated her. The demon was cast out and struck down. The exorcism complete. Her eyes strayed toward the shrine of St. Michael. The Archangel was renowned for slaying the dragon. At this moment, Claire felt a kinship with the saint for tonight she slew her own. She would not let Frank possess her ever again. She finally won her freedom.

Reach out (reach out for me.)

Just look over your shoulder

I'll be there, to give you all the love you need,

And I'll be there, you can always depend on me.

It seemed like an interminable length of time before Jamie spoke, “Mo nighean donn, yer a braw lass, sae brave, sae strong. I love ye Claire, but ye shoulda told me,” he admonished her. “Ye shouldna be carrying this alone. I have a broad enough back to carry this with ye.” His arms came and wrapped around her, pulling her to his chest, enveloping her in his love.

“I dinna want ye to ever feel ye canna tell me something, mo chridhe. Ye need to reach out for me, come tae me. I’ll always be here for ye. Always.” Gently he placed a delicate kiss on her crown tugging her even closer to him.

Claire looked up into his kind blue eyes, feeling the love therein. “There is another reason that I didn’t want to tell you all of this. Fear of what you would do it you ever met Frank. I bloody did not want you to kill him, James Fraser. I am a terrible baker.”

His brow furrowed with a look of puzzlement running across his face. “Lass, I dinna take yer meaning. What in hell are ye goin’ on about?” He looked up and stared directly at the altar. His face turned bright red with the realization of where he was and mumbled a heartfelt, “Pardon.”

She looked at him with a smirk on her face and a laugh waiting to erupt from her lips. “I don’t think I could bake a cake with a saw in so you could escape from jail.” Her eyes danced with the light of merriment and joy. The lines of pain and stress so long part of her visage were smoothed away. She positively glowed.

Jamie swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he attempted to stifle his own laugh. He rested his chin on the top of her head, “A nighean,” he sighed and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose.

“Ye’re daft woman, ye ken? But, I love ye fine and that’s all about that.”

Claire nestled against his chest feeling safe and loved and relieved.

They sat there immersed in their own little sphere of happiness. Not speaking, not moving, just being.

“Claire? Lass?” I think it’s time we go.”

“Mmm, yes I think we should go too. I’ve had enough of Boston, Jamie. Take me home. Home to Scotland.”

“Aye, Scotland,” he choked with emotion.

They walked together fingers interlaced toward the exit through the shelter. Claire helped Jamie into his overcoat and placed his beanie on his head. She quickly prepared herself for a wintery blast as well. They found Brother Stan at his work, comforting all who needed it.

“Thank ye Brother for everything. I’ll never forget ye,” Jamie clasped the cleric’s hand warmly.

Claire leaned forward giving the clergyman a quick peck on the cheek. “Thank you for looking after him.”

“Go with God, go in peace, go in love,” he wished the couple.

“And,” winking at Jamie “don’t beat up any more trees, eh?”

With his head bowed, a grin on his face, Jamie responded, “Trust me, Brother, they are safe from me.”

Claire took out her mobile ordered a car to take them to their next destination.

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

They arrived back at the hospital for one final check on Jamie’s hand. A confirmatory X-Ray revealed no new breaks just some new bone bruises. Dr. Nelson, visibly annoyed with his recalcitrant patient placed a brace over the injured hand immobilizing and protecting it from further damage.

“Dr. Fraser,” he reprimanded harshly, “You need to take better care of your hands. Unless of course, you don’t want to operate anymore,” he inquired raising a questioning eyebrow.

Jamie, rather shamefaced replied, “Aye, I do. ‘Twas foolish and careless of me. It willna happen again. Thank ye for yer care, Dr. Nelson. Truly.”

Once again, they bid their farewells to the staff and hurriedly headed once more to the hotel.

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

The fatigue from the previous day dragged at their heels. Sleep though would remain elusive as preparations for their departure took precedence. Each surgeon took turns washing their faces and brushing their teeth hoping a modicum of cleanliness would keep their exhaustion at bay.

Claire began the task of packing their suitcases while Jamie spent his time trying to find an earlier flight home.

He watched as Claire sorted their things methodically and neatly packing. Despite the smile on her face, he could see her desire to be away from here and safe in the embrace of Scotland.

As he dialed the airline he prayed, “God dinna let me fail her this time. I need tae get her away from here, from the memories and the pain. Please.”

“Good morning! Alba Airlines this is Ainslie. How may I assist ye?” chirped a feminine voice on the other end of the phone.

“Good morning tae ye. This is Dr. James Fraser and I’m wondering do ye have any available seats leaving today from Boston to Edinburgh, for two?”

“One moment sir.” Jamie could hear the clicking of the keyboard as Ainslie typed finding their reservation information to leave Boston in three days; time. The representative hummed softly as she searched for any vacant seats.

“Dr. Fraser,” she said exuberantly, “It just so happens that a couple canceled their flight for today. That flight leaves at 9:50 PM. Would that be alright?”

“Aye, lass that would be fine. Please make the reservation for Dr. James Fraser and Dr. Claire Beauchamp.”

“Dinna worry Dr. Fraser, I will make all the necessary arrangements for ye and Dr. Beauchamp.”

“Thank ye kindly, lass.”

“Sassenach, ‘tis all arranged. Our flight is at 9:50 PM. ‘Tis a bit late, but at least we leave today. Alright?”

She comes and stands between his legs, wrapping her arms around his neck. Slowly Claire bends and places a kiss to his cheek. “You’re a magician. How did you manage it?”

Jamie wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him resting his head on her abdomen, “‘Twas naught but a wee bit of luck.”

“Well, whatever you did, I’m glad of it,” she smiled tenderly at him.

He looked at her with hungry eyes, pulled her down to sit on his knee. “I love ye, mo chridhe, always.”

Claire wrapped her arms around his neck pressed her forehead against his whispering, “And I you, forever.”

Jamie took in the face that was his heart. His lass’s face glowed in the soft light. Her eyes soft like a fine sherry, her skin like pearl, and her lips. Ah, her lips blushed like pink rosebuds, plump and sweet, begging to be kissed and kissed often. Slowly, his hand reached up cupping her cheek as his thumb traced her lips. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her, ravage her mouth with his. Possess her. But he couldn’t. Not after her revelations. He simply could not come to her like a brute blind with need. No. That would never do.

“Claire. Lass, I would. I’d like verra much to kiss ye. May I?”

“Yes,” she whispered while nuzzling his cheek.

Their lips came together tentatively at first, just a mere touching. Claire moved to deepen the kiss. Her lips parted and her tongue danced across his lips seeking entry. Jamie startled, then yielded to her request. Their tongues moved in a tantalizing rhythm of their own making swirling, tasting. Her hands tangled in the silken curls at his nape. His hand brushed across her back caressing her luxuriating in the feel of her body against his. And suddenly he broke the kiss. He stared at her. Her face was flushed with passion, eyes smoldering, lips kiss swollen.

She fisted his shirt, “I want you, now,” she whimpered.

Jamie rested his forehead against hers, “No, a nighean, no’ here in this place of heartache and sorrow. I dinna want ye tae recall our joining here to be tainted with the memories of what happened with Frank last night.” He paused, considering what he wanted to say next. “Ye deserve better my own. I need to love ye in a place that belongs only to us. A place of love. No’ a place where we try tae erase memories but a place where we make them.” He took her hand and kissed each of her knuckles, “I need tae take my time so I can serve ye rightly. No’ like this,” his voice low and sultry. “We’ll have time when we return to Scotland. Then I swear I mean to make ye moan and weep, even if ye dinna wish tae. I mean tae make ye sigh and scream with the wanting. And at the last, tae cry out my name. Then and only then shall I know that I served ye well.”

Claire leaned forward bit the shell of his ear and murmured, “I’ll keep you to that promise, Jamie Fraser. Do not disappoint me.”

She stood and noticed an errant sock on the floor. Bending all the way over to pick it up, she displayed, according to James Fraser, her finest asset and gave it a slight wiggle. Slowly the tease stood up sock in hand. She heard a small groan and mutterings in Gàidhlig.

“Good,” she thought. “That should teach him not to trifle with her.”

Turning her head around to look over her shoulder, she gave him her most coquettish looks, “I’m going to take a shower.” Claire walked toward the bathroom with an unmistakable sway to her hips. Her lover’s grumbling became louder.

Claire showered, towel-dried, wrapped her hair in a towel and dressed in her robe. She felt relaxed from the heat of the water. The warmth from the shower induced a feeling of calmness and bone-weary tiredness causing her to struggle to keep her eyes open.

How many hours had it been since she had a decent night’s sleep Claire wondered? Too many. She could not recall when she last had a full night’s sleep. But it really didn’t matter how long she had gone without sleep. She would gladly do it again and again and again. For him. She is the keeper of his heart and soul. Never again would she let harm come to him. Nothing else mattered only Jamie. She could not, would not let anything or anyone come between them. He was hers.

Walking out of the bathroom, the bed looked enticing. It called to her seducing her with a magnetic force she was powerless to resist. Claire tugged on his shirt that she had napped in earlier along with fresh panties. Climbing onto the bed, she stretched out waiting for Jamie to join her after his shower. The pull of slumber, however, was too great. Slowly her head began to slump forward only to jerk her back into wakefulness as she felt her head drop.

Jamie followed suit, still mumbling his irritation to himself as he entered the bathroom. He quickly showered succumbing to the peace and tranquility of his ablutions. He felt purified somehow. The pain, tension, and worry were washed away and circling down the drain. He released himself from the stress of the past day and surrendered to his exhaustion.

How long has it been since he was this tired, he wondered? Probably not since his medical internship. Shite, that was a long time ago and he thought he was feeling his age. I’m tae old tae be doing this sort of thing, he scolded himself. He looked up and thought about the Sassenach in the other room. I may be too old for this, but she’s worth it. He chuckled to himself. Aye, I’d walk through the fires of hell and back for her. He knew he would willingly suffer more than a few sleepless nights for her because he loved her more than life itself.

He came out of the bathroom with the towel slung low over his hips. He rootled around in his suitcase finding his sleep pant. As he pulled them on he caught a glance of Claire sitting on the bed her head bobbing as she struggled to remain awake. Climbing into bed he drew her to him.

“Sassenach, we need to sleep awhile. Let me hold ye. Come, lass lay yer head down.” They lay together spoon fashion. Jamie wrapping one arm around her chest while the other lay across her abdomen. He felt the steady thrum of her heart becoming soothed by it. Claire snuggled closer, her arse nestled in his groin. She mumbled, “I love you.”

“I love ye too, mo ghràdh.” They closed their eyes yielding to the narcotic of sleep.

A hazy winter’s afternoon light cast about the room. Early shadows crept up the walls.

Jamie woke first. He was lying on his back and his Sassenach curled into his side, her head resting on his chest. She snored lightly as she slept. His hand came around moving her curls off her face allowing him to study her in repose. She looked relaxed. The usual lines around her eyes and mouth were gone. She mumbled something incoherent and gave a wee chuckle. She was dreaming. He hoped she was happy. He hoped she was dreaming of him and that he was making her happy. Placing a gentle kiss to her hair, he closed his eyes thinking just for a few minutes more.

The room was dark. The weak winter light had long gone. Claire’s eyes blinked adjusting to the dimness of the room. She became aware of Jamie’s slumbering form next to her, breathing gently, hands folded across his chest. He looked like one of the tomb figures she had seen during her travels with Lamb. All that was needed to complete this picture was a little dog asleep at his feet.

She snuggled against him, inhaling his sleepy scent. Masculine. She exhaled contentedly and then saw the clock blinking angrily 5:01 PM.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, we have to be at the airport by 7:30 PM.

“Wake up! Jamie! Wake up! We need to get ready to leave.”

Jamie became instantly awake, jumping out of the bed scanning the room for threats of danger. Seeing none, he turned his attention to Claire.

“What’s amiss lass?”

Claire was hopping around on one leg trying to shimmy into her jeans. “We need to leave for the airport soon. Don’t we need to take care of the bill? We didn’t even tell them we were leaving. We need to get a car. Jamie, why are you standing there looking at me like that? We need to hurry.”

He sat down heavily on the bed scrubbing his face with his hands. “Lass, dinna do that again. Ye scared me to death. I took care of everything while ye were in the shower. There is nae bill. I spoke with the manager about shortening our stay. He was no’ happy at first, but I convinced him otherwise. Then the wee mannie could no’ do enough. It was aye Dr. Fraser, of course, Dr. Fraser.” Jamie chortled to himself.

Claire gave him a side-long look. “Exactly what did you do to make him so, shall we say, agreeable?”

“Oh, no’ much,” Jamie replied with a broad smile on his lips. “I just insinuated that if word got around about what happened last night the publicity may no’ be in his favor, aye?” His cat-eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Jamie you didn’t!”

“I did.” he snorted. “The man was being a right arse.”

“You know I would never allow that to happen. It would be too embarrassing!”

“I ken it, but he doesna. And Padrick will pick us up at 6 P. M. to take us to the airport.”

“You devious…”

“I am.” With that, he fell backward onto the bed laughing until tears leaked out.

“I told ye Sassenach, I would take care of ye, did I no?” He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand.

“Yes, you did. You didn’t say how though.” She shakes her head. Claire came closer to him placing a soft kiss on his lips, “Ridiculous man.”

“But ye love me.?” It was both a statement and a question.

“Very much so.”

They finished packing their bags, dressed quickly and went to the lobby to wait for Padrick.

Seeing Jamie, Pierre the maitre d’hotel surreptitiously approached him. “Dr. Fraser, if I might have a word with you? In private.” He grabbed Jamie by the coat sleeve pulling him into a small out of the way alcove where they would not be observed. “I know the Madame did not wish a list of names who witnessed the umm, shall we say, the occurrence of last night. However, I took it upon myself to create such a list.”

He handed Jamie a list of the patrons of the restaurant with statements of what they observed duly notarized. It also contained names and contact information should there be a need to testify on behalf of Dr. Beauchamp.

“The Madame is such a lovely lady and the man un foutu de salaud,un fils d'une pute. He shall never step inside this restaurant again,” he growled. “I am so sorry this happened to her. Would you keep this for her should she ever need it?” He pressed the envelope into Jamie’s hand.

Jamie overwhelmed from the gentleman’s kindness clasped his shoulder with gratitude. “Merci, mon Amie.” He took the envelope and placed inside his coat’s inner pocket.

“Le plaisir était pour moi, Monsieur.” Pierre bowed and left.

Claire waited impatiently for him in the lobby. Upon seeing him, she glared at him suspiciously, “Where were you?” She had the feeling he was up to something that he did not want her to know about.

Thinking quickly and not completely telling a lie, “I thanked Pierre for his assistance last night, Sassenach. He also assured me that the villain wouldna be allowed back in his establishment.” Jamie said that with no little satisfaction. He liked the idea of Frank being ostracized from the brasserie. It was some mark of justice.

He clasped her chin raising her head up and brushed his lips across hers, “Come Sassenach, our car awaits.”

Padrick the ever-present chauffeur loaded their luggage into the boot and swiftly departed for the airport.

Jamie and Claire arrived at the airport making their way to the Alba Airline terminal.

“‘Twill be good to be home, Sassanech, do ye no’ agree?”

“Yes, I do,” she sighed with relief at the prospect of leaving Boston.

They found seats in the waiting area and made themselves as comfortable as possible.

“Do ye remember when we left Edinburgh, lass, ye were busy staring at my arse? Did it live up to yer expectations, then?” he said smugly.

“If you must know,” she sat there contemplating. “Hmm, well I would say umm…”

“Fer Christ’s sake, Claire, is it or is it no???” He seemed rather annoyed that her answer was not immediately forthcoming.

It seems that men even beautifully made men like Jamie, had body-image issues, not unlike women.

Claire looked at him eyes twinkling, “Did I offend you, Fraser? Yes, you have the finest arse I have ever seen or will ever want to see. Better?”

“Yes.” He looked very cross his lip jutting out like a petulant little boy who had been told he could not have a treat. Claire gave him a jab in the ribs and gave him a wry smile. They looked at each other, chins quivering and began to laugh. “I love ye, lass, ye ken it. But yer wicked in yer ways.”

The PA system crackled to life.

Flight 8389 Boston to Edinburgh International Airport now boarding at Gate 34. Please have yer boarding passes ready.

Home.

A/N:

Amende honorable -- was originally a mode of punishment in France which required the offender, barefoot and stripped to his shirt, and led into a church or auditory with a torch in his hand and a rope around his neck held by the public executioner, to beg pardon on his knees of his God, his king, and his country; now the term is used to denote a satisfactory apology or reparation. Amende honorable forbade revenge.

Un foutu de salaud, -- fucking bastard

Fils d'une pute. -- son of a whore

Le plaisir était pour moi, Monsieur -- The pleasure is all mine, sir.

The song: Reach Out (I’ll Be There) was performed by the Four Tops.

Released: 1966

Songwriter(s): Holland–Dozier–Holland

Youtube link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yqFz7T5v3iU

#edinburgh to boston #chapter 16 #reach out i'll be there #confession #making up #hope #forgiveness #new beginnings #My writing #i could not do this without my beta scubalass #happy new year

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