#i wish i was funny enough to come up with a good answer for 22 lmao
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Constitution (Jawbone O'Shaughnessey TF/TG/PMC/AP)
(Original Date of Upload: June 22, 2022)
Yeah, I'm dedicating some uploads this week to the hot dads out there.
I shall preface this by saying I love Jawbone very much and no amount of words can express how intense that love is. He's a werewolf, he's a dad, he's a school counselor, he's a dad, he's got a sick Irish accent, I can go on and on but if I did I'd hit the word limit of this description (if there even is a word limit, anyway). The general summarization of things is hot werewolf dad. Three words that I absolutely wish could be said more nowadays...
This is also my first FtM TF in a while! I tried something a little new to this one too, based on a few personal headcanons and the fact that I want to try some new stuff in these TFs of mine!
Also I hope someone gets the joke I made in the story title. If not, then I guess I'll just give ya the answer if you choose to ask-
Ashleigh had never been the most hard on herself when it came to grades, but something about getting a C- on her most recent Introduction to Psychology test struck a nerve. There were perhaps a lot of reasons as to why she got such a low score. The trouble she was having focusing on classes these past few weeks, the sheer amount of information overload she seems to get when she does focus, the fact that cramming the night before had resulted in frustrated confusion over the material. She was trying her best, but it felt like her best wasn’t good enough.
And that was only one brick in the wall that was her many problems.
The past few weeks have been the arrival of many issues and hardships in her life. Finances were becoming harder to manage, mainly due to the fact that even one month’s rent at the dormitory was enough to slash a hole in her budget with very little hope of getting it back on just minimum wage alone. The balance between working at a nearby retail store and trying to keep up with college also wasn’t helping in that matter, with her focus being challenged even there.
Her own identity was becoming something that was harder to understand. Especially when it comes to her own gender, as she’s been trying to grasp onto whether or not she was trans. Trying to test the waters on that was also impossible in her current situation, which was reinforcing a budding feeling of gender dysphoria.
Many of her friends were already busy with their own lives. She was in no place for a relationship. Her mind was effectively a vortex of confusion and information that she felt unable to piece together.
To say college was getting a little overwhelming to Ashleigh at this point would be an understatement.
What was funny was, she thought she was ready. At first college wasn’t in the cards for her when she had first graduated high school with her being in a low income home, and the fact that applying to scholarships felt impossible to her due to their high standards. It took a little more than ten years for her to get in a spot of perceived readiness.
Belief that she finally had the income to do so, a feeling that now was the time to move out of her parent’s home and into someplace else, a full grasp on who and what she was.
That view of herself and the world was shattered in weeks.
She probably could have caught onto that when she first applied. First seeing the amount rent cost at her college. The amount of time it took for her to even decide on a major she had wanted. Choosing a Psychology major had made her feel worse as the weeks went on, since she would find herself thinking on how she thought she could help people if she couldn’t even solve her own problems.
It got to a point that after seeing that her grades had been falling, one of her professors had recommended she speak with the college’s guidance counselor. Although he seemed to have trouble remembering the counselor’s name. It resulted in her having trouble finding their office, except it seemed that no staff in the college could recall who the counselor was. Only the fact that there was one.
Except there wasn’t???
Just an empty office with a scrubbed name placard.
That was effectively Ashleigh’s breaking point.
The next logical stop for her was to head to a bar nearest to her college and pour her woes to the bartender. Which is where Ashleigh finds herself now, downing a small pint of alcohol at a bar that was also within a nightclub. It was her fourth one and she was already tipsy. She had also just finished retelling her life’s story to the bartender, a bear of a man named Maurice.
Ashleigh let out a little hiccup, then tipsily giggled. “Usually I wouldn’t turn to alcohol to run from all my problems, but damn is this some good booze…”
Maurice just hummed. “Migh’ have to cut ya’ off at sum poin’. Can’t have ya’ dyin’ of alc’hol poisonin’.”
“It’s fine! My family’s been known for having good livers…” She drunkenly laughed again.
“Uh-huh.” Maurice said, unphased. He was used to that kind of response from the more… sadder patrons to his bar. It took a few moments of thought, but he found himself picking up another pint glass from beneath the counter. “Ah can safely say none of yer problems’ll be solved ‘ike this.”
Ashleigh shook her head. “It still makes my head all fuzzy though… makes me forget how shit my life is.”
“Ah wouldn’ say that,” Maurice tried to reassure her as he headed to the back of the bar. The back was lined with multiple kegs, most of which Ashleigh had assumed was filled with liquor. “This could jus’ be a ruff patch.”
“It doesn’t feel like it…” Ashleigh said, folding her hands onto the table and placing her head in them. Everything felt like one hell of a trainwreck. Problem after problem, piling up and causing a storm in her head. The fact she didn’t really have any to talk to about it made it all the more worse. At least Maurice was willing to listen, although he didn’t provide much help besides the provision of booze. He’s probably paid to just sit around and listen, she thought to herself.
Her eyes drifted over to the man himself, and Ashleigh watched as the man walked around the bar pouring various liquids from the kegs into the pint glass. She could hear him mumble something, but the music of the night club coupled with the low register of his voice made it incomprehensible to her. She did take note that the drink looked particularly… sparkly.
“Ah’ve been in th’s line of w’rk fer a while, bud. It nev’r lasts like that fer long. No matt’r how much ya think it does.”
Ashleigh looked away for a moment. She couldn’t tell if it was the booze, or just her recently budding cynicism, but she found herself having a hard time believing that.
She was pulled out her thoughts by Maurice walking up to her, sliding the drink he just made beside her arm. “Here, on th’ house.”
Ashleigh lifted her head and looked around the bar skeptically. Come to think of it, she’s the only person here at the moment… Eh, whatever.
She then took a look down at the pint. It wasn’t beer, liquor, wine, or any mixture that she could recall, although memory recall was a little muddled due to her current buzz. The drink was actually a soft, but sparkly, beige. It smelled kind of fruity too…
“Ah call it th’ Reliever! It may help ya’ find what yer lookin’ fer.”
Ashleigh raised a brow and smiled. “Are you sure you ain’t trying to roofie me?” she joked. Judging by the grimace on Maurice’s face, it wasn’t very funny.
“I happ’n to want to keep mah job.”
“Right, sorry.”
Ashleigh stared back down at the drink and shrugged. Taking hold of the glass, she downed the uncreatively named drink in one fell swoop.
“Hm. Tastes peachy. What’s in this?”
Maurice only smirked. “Nothin’ ya’ could und’rstand, boy.”
Something about being called ‘boy’ made Ashleigh feel something… warm.
“Now ah’m afraid I gotta have to cut ya’ off.”
Ashleigh slumped in her seat. “Alright, fine. Thanks for the new drink, I guess…”
“On’y the best fer my cust’mers. Hope it does help ya’ in what yer lookin’ fer.”
“I have a little trouble believing one fruit flavored drink is going to give me the answer to my problems, but I… appreciate it.”
Maurice nodded and watched as Ashleigh got up from her seat and walked out the bar. He took note of her slightly disoriented walking and wondered if he should have offered to drive her home.
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The door to Ashleigh’s dorm creaked open, with the woman clumsily walking in after. Walking home while drunk is apparently not the best thing to do. Perhaps she should’ve taken that bartender’s offer to take her back here, but she felt perfectly content walking home by herself. It even allowed her to take a good look at the Moon, which she had found herself feeling oddly pulled towards during those ten minutes of walking.
Ashleigh took a seat on the small, singular sofa that was on the side of her little apartment. It was nestled in the corner, beside her work area and window. The seat had given her the perfect look at the moon again, the celestial object now currently in waxing crescent phase. How she knew that she wasn’t sure.
Ashleigh let out another hiccup. “Houh, still a little drunk…”
She pressed her back up against the chair and closed her eyes, her only thoughts now being of that weird fruity drink, that bar, and that bartender. It did feel nice to vent all of her feelings out to him, even if he wasn’t very professionally trained. And admittedly he might be right about all of this bad stuff just being a ‘for the time being’ thing. Plus, now that she was relaxed and had the time to think about it, Maurice did look kind of hot. Well, in a scruffy middle-aged man kind of way.
Okay, weird to think about… she thought to herself. She did kind of envy him, though. Big, hairy guy; deep voice; slightly confusing accent. She… wanted all of that. Especially that hairiness. God, that man is quite the bear…
She let out a small sigh. What time was it? It was probably pretty late. She should probably head to sleep.
…although for some reason she felt really itchy now…
��It was miniscule at first with it being a slight discomfort in her hands, arms, and chest. It was something she would try and scratch, the woman shifting her body around the couch uncomfortably as she tried to reach every spot she could to relieve herself of this ordeal. It wasn't until she started feeling something coarse that she started to notice something was off.
Taking a hand out from beneath her shirt, she found that it was hairier. Brown hairs were growing out of it at a rapid pace and quickly overtaking it in a thick, fluffy pelt. Curious, Ashleigh turned her hand around to see if a similar change was occurring on her palms. While fur was growing around her palms, the skin was also swelling; roughening and darkening into a paw pad. Alongside this came changes to her nails, the keratin lengthening and sharpening into pointed claws. She could even swear that her hand was subtly growing larger.
Ashleigh raised a brow, a mix of intrigue and confusion forming on her face. She lifted up her other hand to check if it was any different, finding the exact same changes have come across it too. A large, wolfish paw instead of a small, human hand.
"...cccool…" she slurred out drunkenly. Perhaps it was the fact the alcohol was still working through her system, but she didn't feel particularly worried about this. She rubbed a paw on her cheek, feeling the fluffy fur and rough pads brush up against her skin. It was great. Her body was still kind of itchy though…
Placing her paw down, she rolled up a sleeve of her hoodie, along with the sleeve of the shirt beneath it, to try and scratch her arm again. This time she was being a little lighter so as to not scratch herself with her new claws. Her skin looked to already be growing out more hair, but it appeared that irritating it was causing the changes to pick up the pace.
The patches of fur grew denser with each passing second, her skin now fading beneath the brown pelage. A feeling of power coursed through her muscles causing her arms to gain a little more muscle tone than they had before. It wasn’t an impressive amount, plus it was shrouded beneath all of her fur, but it was there. This was then accompanied by a brief lengthening of her arms.
There was a feeling of contentment filling her as she watched everything unfold; a feeling that, for once, wasn't influenced by the booze from earlier. It was like something deep inside her was coming out, something that she so deeply wanted.
The fur growth eventually ran up her arms and beneath her rolled up sleeves, but judging by the slight tightness she felt in her shoulders (a byproduct of her thickening delts), alongside the feeling of warmth layering upon them, she knew where the changes were heading.
She leaned forward and placed a paw beneath her shirt, proceeding to scratch away at her chest while feeling the brown fluff growing out of it. With her shoulders becoming larger, her frame had widened to match. While the fur trickled down her chest like a rushing waterfall, her torso flattened and her breasts shrunk away, and all that remained were some pectorals with a small layer of fat covering them. For a moment a horizontal scar visibly formed beneath each pec, but both got shrouded beneath the sea of fur just moments later.
The intense itching began to dissipate as the pelt washed over her belly. Beneath it grew more small muscles, but those muscles quickly got drowned out by a medium sized gut. She found her hand slipping down towards it, unconsciously giving it a little rub and causing her tongue to fall out of her mouth for a moment.
“This is… oddly appealing…” she whispered to herself. It took her a moment for her brain to register that her voice shifted at the end of that sentence, her voice now a little deeper and huskier.
The fur eventually flowed down to the lower half of her body. Her hips widened before a feeling of pressure started to fill at the base of her spine. Scooting up in the chair a little, something about her reaction felt almost instinctual. So much so that she lowered the back of her pants a little.
“Forgot to wear the tail safe ones, huh…” she offhandedly mumbled to herself. Her voice was just getting deeper and deeper. Plus she could swear there was an accent getting in there…
Slinking out from her rear came a tail; one that was big and fluffy with rich brown fur that had a lighter shade of it on the bottom. As her tail grew, her spine grew with it making her taller than she was before.
Somehow knowing exactly how to maneuver it, she moved the tail to her lap before scooting back up to the back of the chair. Smiling, she softly stroked the long, furry extension of herself. It was already becoming evident that she was transforming into some sort of wolf creature. Fur, paws, weird enjoyment of having her tummy rubbed. The tail was just another addition to this experience, and Ashleigh was all for it.
She had to take into consideration other changes though. Her now flat chest, her deepening and clearly masculine voice, even in her mind she didn’t feel like a ‘her’. It was clear that this was some kind of sign, some kind of fulfillment of an internal wish.
It’s about time he starts referring to himself as something he was comfortable with.
As revelations came to his mind, his legs and feet underwent their changes. Mirroring his arms, his legs got thicker in both fur and muscle while concurrently growing longer. He didn’t really shave them much before, but that would be a null thought now that they were completely covered in a pelt of wolf fur. The same happened to his feet, the two now becoming large paws like his hands. Claws, paw pads, everything. Although unlike the rest of his clothing, his shoes were getting particularly uncomfortable…
He leaned his head back up against the sofa and closed his eyes. “Yer really gettin’ everything ya wanted…” An ear twitched as he instantly noticed that an accent had crept into his already deep voice. It was a little hard to tell, with it being deep in the guttural huskiness that werewolves had, but it was definitely an Irish accent. “I’m even gettin’ an accent too!”
He smiled, although now his face was now starting to feel different. This was caused by a lengthening muzzle, his face now pushing out into a more animalistic shape. Nose melding with his snout; the skin of it becoming rough, black, and wet. Shorter brown hairs pricked out of his skin and ran all the way across his face, his eyebrows getting bushier in the process. Within his mouth his teeth sharpened and two of his canines poked out from beneath his upper lip. His ears twitched again as they lengthened to a point, soft fur rolling across the outside while even softer fur poked out from the inside.
Then came the changes in his hair. Previously a rusty auburn color; long, wavy locks shortened on scalp while longer bits of fur protruded from the edges of his head and the bottom of his neck. Growing out of his head from all sides was a long, fluffy mane, the red coloration of the hair fading beneath it to become a dark, chocolatey brown as it did so.
The wolfman closed his eyes and drew in a breath, his vocal cords rumbling with a content growl. He felt at peace for the first time in weeks. That bartender was right, that drink did help him find what he was looking for. At least in one aspect, anyway.
He eventually drifted off to sleep, smiling and unafraid of what would happen on the morrow. And in his sleep the world would shift around him…
The small dorm room expanded; twisting and warping into a small, comfy home. The overall location switched to someplace near the edge of the campus.
His clothes had also shifted. The hem of his hoodie lengthened, sleeves unfurling and settling over his arms. The material shifted from cotton to wool, the color dulling to a comforting gray as it did so. Buttons lined one of the ends of the split while the hood retracted and flattened into a nice shawl collar. Gone was a hoodie, now warped into a comfortable wool cardigan.
The undershirt he wore beneath the hoodie altered alongside it. The sleeves shortened to make it a t-shirt, the color darkened to black. Emblazoning on the shirt was a simple hexagon with triangular eyes, four rectangles beneath it that emulated teeth, and a line that floated around the top four sides of the hexagon; triangles poking out of it to replicate ears.
His pants were next with the portions below the knees magically tearing apart before stopping a little above his knee. The edges remained frayed, and the material shifted into a blue denim. A hole formed beneath the belt loop on the back, and the jeans appeared to phase through his tail in order to comfortably fit it in there. Once his tail was in, the changes to his pants were complete.
His shoes underwent more subtle shifts, having only grown in size to alleviate the discomfort while the leather deepened in color to a dark red lined with white around the sides, soles, and straps.
Deep in his sleep, the wolfman dreamed. Dreamed of a new life for himself, all of his goals fulfilled and him now helping others do the same. Dreamed of the perfect identity for himself. And dreamed of the happiest thoughts he could. With these dreams came a new name for himself…
He was now Jawbone O’Shaughnessey, and these dreams would soon be revealed to be more than just mental conjurings…
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Jawbone woke up with a start, in part thanks to the alarm clock he didn’t remember setting. He walked over to it to shut it off, quickly finding out that his vision was a lot blurrier than he recalled. He instinctively pawed the top of the dresser his alarm clock was on for a few moments, then grasped onto something.
His glasses.
“Heh, that’s new…”
Placing his glasses on his muzzle, he began to think. Come to think of it, a lot was new…
As he got up from the sofa he took a nice glance of the room he was in. Instead of a small dormitory room, it was a medium sized bedroom. It retained a fairly similar layout to his old dorm room, but with the new space came bookshelves lining the shelves (containing the many books he’s read over the years) and a few picture frames hanging from the walls (all of which had assorted images of him with students he remembered counseling).
A warmth filled his chest while he stared at the various images. All of these were of him, and they were all of the people he’s… helped…
Faces, names, voices, memories, so much flashing in his head at the sight of these pictures. It filled Jawbone with a euphoria that feels like it’s been felt a thousand times before.
“I guess those weren’t just dreams, then...”
The rest of the morning was spent preparing himself for the day and checking out what else seemed to change. Jawbone was a little surprised to find that he wasn’t in his dorms anymore, and was instead in a fully paid for house! Along with that, all of his credentials seemed to have changed to fit his new reality, and judging by his new memories he was now employed as the guidance counselor at his old college. Things had truly changed for the better!
However, he was truly able to settle into his identity at college. The students smiled as he walked past them, greeting him and giving him high-fives. He was seen as one of the most chill, kindest, helpful people in the college by-far. People entered his office to ask for help in both academic, social, and personal matters, and Jawbone seemed to have the right answer for everything.
There were times he was alone in his office waiting for a student to walk in, the man given a small moment's time to look around and think about the life he was now in. He’d pull up foreign memories, strange and crazy tales from his past, sifting through his mind to better grasp who he was now. This is his life after all, he’d like to know everything it had to offer.
The day would go on as all days would go. Helping students; chilling in his office; doing some miscellaneous paperwork. Every so often he’d stare at the nameplate on his desk and drift into happy thoughts, a feeling of reassurance of who he is settling further within him. He even started to feel like this had always been his life even if that wasn’t exactly the case. But semantics were pointless in the end because this is his life!
Eventually everything for the day would be said and done, and Jawbone would get off work with a smile. Another day fulfilled for the carewolf!
At first he had thought about driving back home and finishing up what paperwork he had left, but a thought had entered his mind while he turned the ignition.
After a minute of driving through the city streets, Jawbone’s ears perked up as he heard the music of his destination. The Oreum Sirius Nightclub: the exact place he had been the day before.
He winced as he stepped into the doors of the place. The music was a little too loud for his werewolf ears, but he would get used to it like he did back at the Black Pit. Plus his real goal was far enough from the club portion that it wouldn’t be too much of a nuisance.
His eyes drifted to the man tending to the bar. The burly guy cleaning a shot glass while looking out at the club’s crowd, awaiting a customer. The one and only Maurice.
Jawbone walked up to the bar, a coy smile on his muzzle, and let out a low growl to grab the bartender’s attention. “Yer quite the bear of a man, aren’t’cha?”
Maurice seemed a little startled about the appearance of a werewolf (something was telling Jawbone that lycanthropy wasn’t very common around these parts), but quickly regained composure in order to respond. “Flatt’ry ain’t gonna get ya’ anything free.”
“I think I already got somethin’ free yesterday…”
The sight of the bartender’s eyes was enough to prove to Jawbone that he got the guy.
“Wait- yer- woah…”
Jawbone’s smile widened even more at that reaction. The wolfman stared into Maurice’s eyes, causing the bartender to blush a little.
“I don’t know what you gave me, but it did exactly what you said it would!”
Maurice just nodded, although Jawbone could hear the man mutter something along the lines of ‘usually they never stay in this world’ under his breath. Jawbone chose not to question it though.
Jawbone placed an arm on the table and leaned over to Maurice. “How ‘bout I buy us both a drink, and we can get to know each other a little bit more…”
Maurice’s enter face flushed, the man beginning to stammer. “R-right! Ah-Ah’ll get us a menu soo we can… ord’r somethin’.”
This was going to be one hell of a night!
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Lost Light 22-25
Lost Light 22
love how pissed Magnus is at Megatron lmAO he talks to Megatron like a jilted ex
I will admit, it does kinda suck that we never got the time to address that it was Terminus's fault Megatron got stuck in the functionist universe, Roddy and Magnus think Megatron ran away and Megatron thinks Roddy and Magnus abandoned him and I don't remember this ever being cleared up
damn this thing can just punch a planet to pieces, no wonder both Drift and the Grand Architect were like “we gotta do something about this thing”
aw man, that casual drop that Terminus and alternate Orion Pax are dead... lines like this make me wish we weren't forced to jump to the end so fast, we could've maybe expanded on this if we'd been given the time...
it was very likely not on purpose but it is kinda funny that Drift is the first one to get shot on not-Pharma's order lmAO especially after he “needed to see the prisoners (Ratchet).” Some part of Pharma was just like “this fuckin hand-slicing boyfriend-stealing bitch”
ADAPTUS, that's the name of the god that took over Pharma's body, I could NOT fucking remember lmAO
aww, cute that Megatron remembers the Scavengers
I also wish that we could've gotten more between Megatron and Drift, but again, we were forced to jump to the end and honestly I'm grateful we got these two panels at all
god. Still so fuckin wild that not only are the guiding hand still around, we've already fuckin met them all. I remember not taking the news that Rung is Primus very well lmfAO
Lost Light 23
this fuckin panel of everyone reacting the the reveal is so funny gdhfsjk Whirl thinks this is exactly as funny as I've been finding it throughout this reread, Tyrest is in the back quietly having a crisis, this is great
ghfd Rodimus being like “yeah yeah shut up for a second Adaptus, we're still processing the whole Rung is Primus thing”
IT WAS HIS HAT MR. KRABS, HE WAS NUMBER ONE!!!!!!!!
wild that Drift's account of the Guiding Hand and the birth of Cybertron wasn't too far off, but it was Adaptus that betrayed the others and not Mortilus
also wild that literally everything about Rung has been foreshadowing for this reveal, his serial code, his coming back from the brink of death, the jokes about how forgettable he is
“Not even my beloved Ratchet will be able to...” oouUUGHGFHDFJ in a way, Pharma ended up helping us stop Adaptus... by being so gay for Ratchet that it distracted him long enough for Tyrest to kill him dead lmAO
still so thankful for this
“Hey, Froid? Shut up.” lmfAO GET HIS ASS
love the squad coming up with their own plan despite “The Magnificence” telling them they have to do things exactly as they say. Hell yeah, fuck destiny, make your own destiny
So Epistemus was the one who ACTUALLY orchestrated all of this, or rather the Omega Guardians speaking through what's left of Epistemus. I'm not gonna lie, this is definitely a bit of the lore that just went in one ear and out the other, especially since Nickel just unceremoniously crushes the shit immediately after it shows its true colors and then we go do our own plan lmAO so like. Truly none of this monologue matters beyond telling us this thing is why this is happening and being a cool little bit of lore if you care about that kind of thing
Lost Light 24
god, Rung still breaks my heart, he tells Rewind and Chromedome they're lucky... he puts their hands together........
fuck I forgot about Fort Max and Red, okay NOW the whole gang's all actually here for real this time lmfAO
oughfdhj Rung deleting his patient files and reminiscing about the first time he met Skids... he loved that guy........
aaaaAAUUUGH GOD... HE GAVE EVERYTHING HE HAD TO MAKE THOSE MATRIXES........
love Drift being unable to really explain what is meant by “be a good person,” and I love everyone else chiming in with more nitpicks about how to define “a good person.” It's a good question! And there's not really a set answer! Which is why that's not really what the morality lock's truly about, it's about being at peace with yourself, and that's what makes the part where everyone manages to open their respective matrixes hit so hard. It means that, if only for that moment, they all felt okay enough about themselves to bypass the lock, tangible proof that they are indeed good enough despite everything
“Ratchet, if this is it, I...”
“I know. Me too.” This is another moment that, now, is very sweet and gay, but when this first came out it still hadn't been explicitly confirmed that Drift and Ratchet were in love with each other so I was burning alive inside from wanting so badly to believe they were canonically together but not wanting to get burned lmAO not to mention how many people were insistent that they weren't gay and therefore would never believe that they were unless it was quite literally shoved right in their faces lmAO I wanted both confirmation and indisputable proof that Dratchet was real
that being said, as much as I personally wanted that proof, I'm glad Anode and Lug are the ones to get an on-screen kiss and an explicit “I love you,” the trans lesbians deserve that W
love that Ratchet is the first one to open his matrix, he really is soft at heart and that kicks my ass every time a piece of transformers media confirms it lmAO soft old man full of love... a romantic underneath it all........
love that Swerve and Misfire open their matrix together, love how excited Lug is to open hers, love that Tailgate gets to open a matrix just like how Ten drew him doing on his skateboard, love that Whirl gets to open a matrix at all
fuckgfhdajsk Roddy's speech is hitting me just as hard as it ever did. I've teared up a handful of times, but so far only two parts of this comic have made me full-on cry during this reread, Rewind's final message and this speech from Rodimus, they're both so fucking good, so filled to the brim with love I can't fuckign stand it lmfAO
as cool and dramatic as it would've been to have Megatron be able to open the matrix (for real, like how striking of an image would that have been, on par with/parallel to him standing in the Necrobot's flower field), I'm so fucking glad Rodimus got to do it instead, he deserves to feel okay about himself after how much has been stacked against him
get vaporized, idiots
“Don't forget me” I wON'T!!! I WON'T EVER FORGET YOU RUNG
Lost Light 25
still absolutely hysterical that after so many crumbs of Dratchet and begging for explicit confirmation, I finally got it on the same page that reveals that Ratchet's fucking dead lmfAO I'll take it, it's still a W because it means that all their previous interactions throughout the comic are now romantically tinged as dictated by canon so I was right all along lmAO Fandom interactions aside, I like. Still can't believe this, I had already read Chromedome and Rewind's interactions as romantic and turned out to be right about that, then Cyclonus and Tailgate's, then Drift and Ratchet's, but because I personally liked Dratchet the most and their buildup was a bit more subtle than CDRW or Cygate (though not by much if we're being honest, they just never had a big plot-relevant death scare that forced them to explicitly declare their love like the other two couples did) I didn't want to just assume they'd also be canon because it would break my heart if they weren't. But they WERE... I WAS RIGHT ABOUT ALL THE GAYS........ and more than just going “neener-neener” at the fandom, it makes me happy to be right about all of them because like. It feels good to have seen the love present between all these sets of characters and for it to be properly realized in canon instead of just remaining platonic because no gays allowed or brushed off for different cishet pairings that fit the status quo more. It's not about fitting in, it's about the love, they're misfits who are happy because they love each other dearly and they're like that on purpose and how is that not the best fucking thing ever
ugh, hate that Prowl's right about everything he's said since he showed up in this issue lmAO and even though the Knights of Cybertron turned out to be a bust, at least the crew had something good to bring back home in the form of a whole 'nother Cybertron filled with new life, we achieved something on more than just a personal level so ha ha fuck you to everyone who had no faith in us lmAO
god, everyone's going through it in the non-quantum duplicate ending, I definitely understand why this upset so many people lmAO
absolutely fucking obliterates my heart that nobody remembers Rung. I vaguely remember there being some sort of scrapped arc or dialogue or something that implied there was still a trace of Rung left and the quantum duplicate version of the crew that travels to another universe had to go find him and I cling to that idea very hard lmAO I can't stand the idea of everyone just forgetting and moving on from him forever, especially after he left that final message
“And this is my wife, Anode.” BEATS MY CHEST LIKE A GORILLA I know that the words “conjunx endura” would function just the same but. “Wife” hits different and I am about it
lmAO AWW I said earlier that Fort Max and the Scavengers were cute, I forgot that they literally do have a moment where they talk again and become friends
oh I forgot we actually get somewhat of an explanation as to how exactly Drift started getting future visions. Granted it's more of a theory but I've been paying attention this time around and it makes sense to me lmAO
“Treat him well, doc. He's a keeper.” awwWWWUUUHHHH ❤️❤️❤️ I remember a lot of people assuming there would be/wanting for there to be drama between Rodimus and Ratchet over Drift and I'm still so grateful for this panel for being like “nah fuck that” lmAO everyone involved in the Roddy/Drift/Ratchet trifecta is a good person who loves the other two and that's that on that *bangs gavel*
hjfsdk love all these moments they're reminiscing on that we didn't get to see, here you go kids, have some fanfic material
MAGNUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSS ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️WAAAGHFGSHFDJAGFDJfsdhj
god same Swerve, I'm not ready for this reread to be over, what if I just reread it again after this lmAO
absolutely wild that after all the on-screen romance between Cyclonus and Tailgate, Rodimus is the one who gets a kiss from Cyclonus lmAO don't get me wrong, this kiss is everything, it is an unbelievably powerful and sincere gesture coming from Cyclonus but it's just very funny to imagine Tailgate being like “where's MY kiss?????”
“A present from Ratty. Sorry- from Ratchet.” god... that is still such an ugly-sounding nickname lmfAO the thought/reasoning behind it is very sweet, I remember Jro saying on twitter he got it from an old children's story that he liked, but. I hear the word “ratty” and I think of a wet chinese crested dog
ohh my god I forgot that Roddy lied and said that Megatron opened the matrix when he himself couldn't... swEETHEART........ urgh and the parallel between this and when Rodimus spoke to him before the first trial...
oughfsgjd Magnus and Megatron... it's like. Honestly fucked up how sweet they are together lmAO like could you fucking imagine in any other continuity
at least CyWhirlGate is winning in the sad ending lmAO
god the fuckin one-two punch of Rodimus clearly not being happy in this universe and Whirl refusing the gift of Ratchet's hands... Good for Whirl for knowing he's not broken and I'm sorry Roddy baby you deserve better
I fully understand why a lot of people were upset by the sad version of this comic's ending, especially since we see it in so much more detail than the happy quantum duplicate ending, but like. I dunno man I like that it's left so open for this version of them. I remember it being explicitly stated that this was done on purpose as a way to hand this series off to its fandom and let them make whatever kind of continuation they want, and I really love that a lot. In fact, it's kinda got me looking at some now four-year-old notes I jotted down about some ideas for fics to write. I love that it's presented as “not quite right” to have everybody go their separate ways and to have things end “more realistically” and that even though there was only the slimmest chance of the quantum duplicate trick working, it worked because that WAS the right ending. This comic's story was always more about the journey than the destination, more about the characters and the love between them than about completing our objective, and I think this ending reflects that perfectly
For as much as fandom keeps killing my passion, art is still so fuckin good and worth making and engaging with lmAO rereading this comic was an excellent decision, I really needed this to help reignite my passion, and fuck I gotta make something again lmAO
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Hey guys; it’s been 84 years but I’m back with an update! Sorry it’s been so long. The feedback has been so kind and so meaningful, and I really wanted to continue much sooner. I wish I could have. I am glad at least I can now. As per the norm, Tumblr gets the slightly less polished update a day or two before AO3 -- And thank you, so sincerely, all for the continued interest, and for liking my story. Hope you have fun. [Fate/GO AU – The Kid (pt: 1, … 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, ?)] {Some spoilers for original Grand Order run/through Temple of Time}
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“Alright,” comes Doctor Archaman’s voice in my ear. So funny to be wearing earpieces to get orders like I’d get from a Master, instead of just hearing them in my head. Guess, since he’s not one, though, there’s no way around it. “I’ve got a visual. Ritsuka’s group is in position to breach, so we’re cleared to start.”
‘Alright’ indeed: go time. This’ll be fun! I’m feeling great, with my spirit core not ripping in half, and I’m very ready to tear some arms off. Crack my knuckles and my neck just for fun, limbering up.
“Any intel before we go?” asks the Doctor.
“There’s a few guards, some drones. We can all sense a few wards up, but it’s nothing beyond what we expected,” answers Archer, “Hard to guess what they’ve got inside, but, right now it’s quiet out here. I’d add there’s a lot of retractable plating up, so I wouldn’t be shocked to find some external turrets, but that’s about it.”
“Good,” says the Doctor, making a typing sound I can vaguely hear over his mic.
“So, we’re supposed to make this as real as possible,” I say, nudging Archer to get his attention. I am given a slightly irritated glance. “Like we’re trying to wipe them out, for another mage group. How would you do that, if you were here to wipe them out for real?”
“I’d have done more reconnaissance,” he answers in annoyance.
I internally roll my eyes. “Yeah, well, if you didn’t have a perfect Master, and you were just ordered to go in like this.”
He sighs. “I’d hit them with a mid rank noble phantasm from my arsenal, and see what an attempt to nuke the place did, without pulling out my best tricks and losing my major mana supply right off the bat.”
Mid-rank phantasm. ‘Course this fucker can do that shit. He just fucking copies other peoples’ phantasms and fires them off like arrows; annoying as hell. I guess that’s not a bad approach, though, tactically speaking, so I give a grunt of affirmation as I consider it.
“That what we’re going for?” I ask the Doctor.
“No!” says the Doctor in frazzled distress, “Because for all we know, their defenses are terrible, and that might actually work! We’ve got five people in there we don’t want vaporized off the face of the planet.”
Right, right. “So then?” I prompt, twirling my spear and then leaning on it.
“Okay,” says the Doctor, “Given what I can see on the cameras, I think our best bet is a frontal assault.”
“Isn’t that always the worst option,” asks David casually, matching my stance on his shepherd’s staff and leaning forward to survey the area.
“To win, sure,” agrees the Doctor, “To stall? No. It’ll buy us time, with an easy open escape behind us when we need to cut and run, and we should have plenty of room to maneuver, while keeping it mostly on the outside, to avoid collateral damage to the building while our people are inside.”
Fair enough. Frontal assault works for me.
“That said, I do have a plan beyond ‘go up to the front and start swinging,’” adds the Doctor, “Archer, from what I understand, you have wide barrage capabilities, and access to a large arsenal.”
I was going to ask which Archer, but I think we can all tell from that description.
“Correct,” affirms Archer.
“You’ll hit them first then, from the front. Lay out as wide and harsh a first barrage as you can; I want it to be overwhelming, and confusing. Keep at it once you’re in. You don’t have to do endless damage, so long as it looks like you can,” says the Doctor, “We want them guessing at numbers here: off balance, overwhelmed, and feeling as under immediate and immense threat as possible. I want everyone in that building out here, shooting back.”
Archer gives a nod, I guess more to himself than anyone, since it’s not like Archaman can see.
“Keep up the heavy fire. As soon as they come outside and start to fire back, I want you on top of the group and tearing through their forces, Lancer. You’re our battering-ram.”
Sure am. “Sounds good to me,” I agree, straightening up and twirling my spear because I enjoy the sound it makes.
“I want them terrified,” adds the Doctor.
I grin. That’s a can-do.
“Avenger, you have the ability to cast fear like an aura around you, right?” he continues.
“Yes,” agrees Salieri. He’s wearing full body armor and a mask now, which I have to admit, while not my color, is pretty sick, and definitely makes him look a lot more threatening.
“I want you to flank them, once the fighting has already started. Go in on our right, and cause as much chaos as you can. As much as possible, I want them to struggle even understanding what is attacking them,” says Doctor Archaman.
“Understood.”
“And David,” finishes the Doctor, “To the best of my understanding, you’re the only one with strong defensive capabilities.”
That ain’t true—I’ve seen Archer whip out a fucking shield based noble-phantasm before, twice now, and it’s really fucking annoying, but Archer doesn’t seem to feel a need to bring that up, and I don’t really either.
“I want you to hang back, and offer whatever protective support you can from the rear, while sniping—stick to your class strengths,” says Doctor Archaman.
“Hey,” I say in Archer’s head, “How come you’re ‘Archer’ and he gets to be ‘David’?”
“Because they know each other,” says Archer in tired annoyance without looking my way, “And he can’t call us both ‘Archer’. Besides, I actually prefer this. Archer is better than being called by name,” he adds almost bitterly.
Damn, if I’d known that it would bother him, I might have stopped calling him ‘Archer’ a long time ago, but it’s way too late to do it now. Ah well.
“Alright,” agrees David happily, “Shall we, then?”
We trade glances, and Archer gives a nod and flexes his arms in preparation.
“Go,” says Doctor Archaman.
Archer takes off so fast I don’t see him for a second, then there he is, taking the leap from the hill we’re on overlooking the building, into the sky by the front gates. The area is kind of secluded, well, for the city. It’s on the outskirts, surrounded by parks and bus stops. The building itself is an ugly, several story flat rectangle, with barbed wire fences and sensors, sentries, automatic lights. It couldn’t scream ‘compound’ much harder if it tried.
That’s not really going to be a problem for us, though.
For a moment, I hold, watching Archer wave an arm in mid-air, and a line of a hundred swords appear in the air behind him and slam into the building front like missiles. The mana explosions they cause when destroyed is impressive, even though I know how much he’s holding back, and about forty different sirens go off and I hear shouts, see people move. He strikes again, and again, working not just to do wide damage, but to change attack angle so its hard to tell it’s only him firing, and to kick up smoke and dust, lower visibility. Perfect.
The front gate opens.
I am vaguely aware Salieri has vanished, though I can sense him off to the far right, through our bond as servants to the same master. In place. Behind me, a few stones start to whizz past, now that personnel are rushing out. David’s sniping not for major threats, but for anyone shouting out warnings or directions, I have to assume for the fear-factor of hearing your comrades go down again and again mid-word. Not bad.
Yeah, not a bad amount of chaos.
But now it’s my turn.
Almost gleeful, I ready my spear and run.
There are golems amongst the humans firing mana rounds and bullets together from machine guns up in the smoke by the front gate. There are homunculi, and quite a few robots. All expected. I didn’t except the first thing I saw up close to be zombie though, and I’m almost thrown, because the fuck kind of military is using the least controllable familiars they can find as front-line defense? But hey. If it dies, it dies. And I run it through, spear taking what was its head in an instant, and flash pat it, ducking under a blow from the nearest golem, and slicing off the legs off a large tank-shaped robot as I go. I come up on a knee and swing in an arc, cutting open the four nearest humans, then throw my spear through the head of a golem on my left, as another barrage of Archer’s swords cuts a path through the enemies around me.
Fun, I think, calling back the spear, But not enough.
I scream. The chilling, inhuman cry of blood-lust to a warrior, and rush them. Loud, fast, laughing. I swing the back of my spear to knock some back so hard they crack against one of the large robots, then leap and carve a hole through a golem, jump through its broken stomach out the other side to send my spear zig-zagging through the heads of twenty zombies near me, kicking a human with enough force to send his body slamming into the open door and knock back several gunmen rushing to join, call back the spear and catch it in mid-air, and send it flying back to impale itself along seven bodies in a clump.
Wait, didn’t our master ask us to use less lethal force or something...? Eh, I can’t remember so it’s probably fine.
Gun spray slides past me as I move too quick, and I land in front of a line of humans and let one hit me, just for fun. For the intimidation of it.
It fucking goes right through my chest and I’m knocked back.
The fuck just-?
I-I recover, fast, but-
“Doc, they’ve added something to the bullets—I could sense mana, but the concentration’s enough to hurt,” I call to coms as I cut a swath through this new round of humans, then jump back and start tearing through the wave of zombies and ghosts on my right, sending bodyparts flying and doing my best to add to the chaos. The hell do they have so many damn undead?
“The regular rounds?” I hear the doctor ask in surprise.
“Yeah, at least some of the guns,” I say.
I can almost hear the guy thinking. Well, whatever. Just means work a little harder dodging, to the rest of us, and we’re all on coms, so we all heard.
I am far enough right for a moment that I can see Salieri tearing up a group of automatons that were on the wings, flanking right on cue. He’s taking pretty heavy fire from the snipers and turrets these guys have on the roof, and seeming to ignore my warning entirely.
…Right. Wait. Don’t Avengers get some kind of boost from taking damage for some bizarre reason? I’ve barely seen them around, but I’m pretty sure that’s how it works. Guess it doesn’t matter to him, then.
Jeeze, what a way to fight though. Kind of cool, honestly. He’s soaked in blood and has gashes in his arms and legs, bullet holes riddle his torso, and it’s not slowing him down at all—hell, I don’t think it’s even broken the man’s concentration.
Good for you, buddy, I think, spinning on my heel and launching my lance at the nearest turret, then mentally carving its path in the air so it takes two more before swinging in an arc and darting back into my hand.
“I think this is going pretty well,” I call as I pass Archer for a second, enjoying being in a real scrap. He’s darting in and cutting people up with his swords off and on, but mostly hanging back to send barrages in like he’s supposed to. Poor guy, I think with glee and no sympathy, Finally have to fucking use ranged attacks like an Archer. It must be killing you.
----------------------------------------------
“I’m not sure I understand,” I manage as we rush down a hall.
Everything feels like too much. I-I’m struggling to think at all, a little. I can barely even try to believe this is even happening to me, but, I’m doing my best.
“We don’t either,” calls the Archer who identified himself as Billy the Kid with chagrin, taking a corner so fast he jumps and pushes off the wall not to lose momentum, and I follow suit.
“We only know that’s what happened and that we need to get back out there to help quick as we can; we have no idea why they’d be working on some kind of mental corruption thing against spirits, or why they’d use it like that,” says the girl who saved me, “We don’t even really know what Mercury is…”
I glance at her for a second as she speaks. It’s hard to do. I feel…
My head. It. I can think again, I can move. I’m not in pain. But. It’s become so strange to me, after all this time caught in the moment of death, I-I don’t know quite how to do it right anymore. I feel like every moment is too much, and there’s no way to quite filter it all. It’s hard to look at her, harder than looking at anything else. The air is hard to breathe, because it doesn’t catch in my throat and choke me and hurt, because it doesn’t only smell like blood and burning and steel. Because it brings relief instead of pain. There are so many smells I forgot existed, it’s hard to experience them. They overwhelm me.
It is hard to look at light, after so long in darkness. These walls shine, and they blind me. Even my own skin, my clothes. I forgot the saturation of color. I forgot what it felt like for the act of trying to see not to send spasms along the back of my neck, and stinging in my eyes. For it to not feel like straining. So many things do not provoke pain just to be, and the normalcy of them overwhelm my head. I have forgotten how to process anything but pain and fear quickly, I-I’d gotten so used to it.
It's hard to hear sounds again. To hear footsteps, and breathing. Talking. They don’t make my head ache to try and understand. My own movements don’t send pain that cascades and echoes for hours. It’s strange. It doesn’t hurt to be. It doesn’t hurt to think. But, it does. Differently. It hurts like fear—it hurts in that it overwhelms me; it feels like trying to hold too much at once. It is all hard.
It is impossible to look at her for long.
I cannot think about everything that just happened, because it’s too much, but I can’t look at her long without thinking about it.
I don’t understand. Not just what they’re telling me about the people who purchased my body and spirit like a pound of spices. Them. I don’t understand them.
She’s so small. Little. She must be a teenager. Japanese, like me, but her hair is red like mine is. I am not afraid to see her, and it’s become strange to see a human and not be afraid. I am…overwhelmed. She saved me. I thought I was going to be dying forever. I don’t know how much of my head is left—I-I know I’m struggling with it. But some of it is still here. She saved that. Why? I don’t even know who she is. Or what. And she doesn’t even want to own me in return.
It is very strange.
It’s beyond what I can understand right now. It hurts and confuses me to look at her, and try. But, I want to at the same time.
I just can’t. Not yet.
The cowboy isn’t easy to look at either, but at least he is so different, from everything I am used to. It helps. And it is…nice. We’re somewhat close to the same age, I think. And he told me he wouldn’t lie to another spirit about a thing like this. I appreciated that. I don’t think I’ve told him, but, it helped. I should. I should think of…
“There!” calls the girl, pointing. Up ahead, I can see it too. I had forgotten to look at all, I was just following. This isn’t good. I’ll be cut down in battle before I can be of any help at all if I don’t remember how to use focus.
The exit—an exit, I-I suppose. A door. Open, and past it I see night sky.
Oh, that is also too much. I had forgotten the look of anything but the inside of a building, and I am trying hard to readjust to a version of me that was ready for things like this, from before, but a part of me hasn’t accepted that it’s even over, and I’m alive at all. That I’m not still in that room, with my head halfway off, dying and dying and dying and dying and dying and dy-
“Kotarou!”
? O-Oh. That. The cowboy.
I remember to focus again as we near the exit, and take in that Billy the Kid is pointing to something outside.
Oh.
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SHIT!
I hear the shouts—mostly their own guys, but a few from us. It’s chaos.
God damn it! This was going so well! What kind of idiot-!
“We’ve lost visuals on Salieri!”
That’s the doctor, calling out. Shit, that is bad.
“Lancer, was he hit? Could you tell?” The man is frantic. One of Archer’s swords swings in my direction at random and almost takes a chunk out of my side, and I slide about five inches left just in time to avoid it. He’s shooting massive barrages at everyone—I don’t even really think he’s aiming. Wait…
Shit—okay—what did the Doctor ask? –‘Was he hit?’
No, I think, irrationally angry, scanning for the Avenger myself in case he’s been hit since the first barrage. They’ve shot their fucking missiles at least twice now. I don’t see him though. Which I should—hell—I should at least hear him! We were close like eighteen seconds ago! How fucking far did he go? I can sense him at least, faintly, but it’s weird? Erratic. Not in the way Archer is, at least… All I can tell for sure is he’s somewhere to my far, far right.
“He’s back the way he came from!” I call, trying to avoid more swords as about six slice in my general direction, pivoting to use my spear to cut down a golem in my way as I go, doing my best to fight toward the hoard of undead, demons, and ghosts now moving like a slow wave towards the exit gate, “That’s all I can tell! But he’s not hit!”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure!” I snap back. Of course. Of course he would do that!
A barrage of smaller swords comes spinning out in every direction again, and I hop out of the way of three and deflect a fourth with my spear, finally zeroing in on Archer, about 20 yards away. Shit.
“Cu Chulainn—”
Shit. The doctor must be worried for real to be using my true name.
“—drop back! We need to find-“
“—No!” I call back, “We fall back, and this gets worse! Just don’t let the rpgs hit you—something in them makes things frenzy, got it?! Like a fucked-up madness enchantment!”
“-I know! -But—no, head back—We’ve lost connection to Salieri and Emiya! Even if the Avenger isn’t hit, something’s gone very wrong with him! We need to-“
“—Regroup, I know—I know!” I snap back, starting to carve my way forward in the crowd again, taking advantage of the chaos to down enemies so preoccupied with the guy on their left going rabid with his arsenal of swords that they barely register me. I run a mage clean through without him even having time to turn his head and look. “Get someone else! We leave Archer alone or give them time to regroup too, this shit gets worse—I can keep the mages distracted, and I can handle Archer! Take David and find Salieri, and try to do something about the fucking wall of undead shit heading for the city!”
“—Handle?! –How! Lancer, you realize you can’t kill him, right?—and holding back,” starts the Doctor desperately.
“—Yeah, I ain’t gonna kill him!” I snap back, annoyed more by the situation itself than him, but pretty irritated by now. A couple of mages finally take notice of me and try to land a few mana shots and a stun spell, but they’re so slow that I can dodge easily and take a shot back without even losing my breath. “I’ve fought him non-lethally before! He’ll be fine. I’ll see if I can’t snap him out of it, and I know I can take him. Worst comes to worst, I’ll drag his unconscious husk back and let you people fix him. That’s more than the rest of you can say about the other half of this! I’ve got this—you two handle the city!”
“… You’re absolutely sure?” asks the Doctor.
“I’m positive,” I reply. I’ve almost caught up to him. About fifteen feet off now. I ready my spear.
“Okay,” says the Doctor, and his voice is gone from my head.
Past Archer, I’m very aware the rpgs have gone off about six times now—one almost took me out—and they’re hitting their own people to have a shot at us. The effects are sporadic, but less pronounced on the mages it seems. It’s like they panic, more than go rabid, but it has some weird effect for sure. No real effect at all on the golems and robots at all. The homunculi and anything undead though? They get caught in the blast radius, and suddenly they’re a seething mob, gunning for anything in sight. It won’t take long for them to crawl over the growing stack of bodies by the far wall, and make it out of the compound entirely, and the homunculi and undead aren’t even the biggest problem! It’s all the fucking ghosts. Before they were a pain; now with whatever magic shit this is coating them, they’re all trying to be the fucking star of a bad Hollywood paranormal horror flick. Things are flying past and screams echo in the night. I’m at a distance from the worst of it, but I can feel the hatred and chill in the air from the malice on those things alone. They aren’t so big, which is great, and a second ago they weren’t shit as a threat, but they’re more than a little suped up now, and there’s just way too many of them. And the idiots with the guns are still firing! Guess…maybe we scared them a little too much, huh, I think with a grimace.
Still, we ain’t handling any of that shit well as long as we’ve got a heroic spirit like Archer going berserk in the middle of it, so he’s the top priority. If the idiot hadn’t taken a round straight on like this, he’d be better than the rest of us are at holding these things back, with that area of effect he’s got with his phantasm! But noooo.
Idiot!
I mean. I get it, I guess. I know why he did what he did. I get it. That first rpg round went off, he sensed something we didn’t, and the Avenger was going to just take the round head-on like he’d been taking everything else for his damage-boost Avenger thing, and yeah so of course he—I mean, sure, probably something like Salieri going full-tilt monster on us would have been a lot worse, and it was the only tactical choice, and I guess his stupid shield just didn’t quite make it up in time, and it was one of them or the other. But even so! Even so! This fucking guy! With his endless ‘heroic sacrifice’ shit, while being the edgiest motherfucker I know, just…it all pisses me off to no end, and this is no exception to that rule! Kind of glad I now have an excuse to slug him.
“Hey, ARCHER!” I shout. I wonder how much he’s in there at all, and how much it’s just the spell running his body. He turns at his name, in a stunted way, like a man asleep, and I slam the back of my spear into his head.
He moves back, quick even with something this wrong with him, but I catch him enough to slice his forehead open, and I’ve sure got his attention now.
Alright. Perfect.
“Wake up!”
I go for another hit with the reverse of the haft, and he jumps to try and get some distance on me, summoning his little shortswords, and just barely parries it, but the force alone knocks him back out of the air and into some of the closer automatons. Barely even registering them, he’s up again in a second, slicing through the ones close enough to try taking a shot, and running for me.
“Get it together!” I snap, catching his shortswords with my haft as he swings at me, “You’re still alive in there, right? So shake it off!”
He ducks under my lance and goes for my gut with a blade, and I swipe his legs out from under him before he can. I leap after, trying to capitalize on him being on the ground, but he’s too fast—rolling out of the way so my speartip hits concrete, and hopping up and back, firing off a barrage of swords at me as he goes.
Okay, how in there?
I’ve seen my fair share of shit. There’s a sliding scale from ‘madness enchantment,’ to ‘under command seal,’ to ‘the grail got them,’ to ‘totally fucked up by magic,’ and he seems…
-He stops retreating mid-motion and shoots forward so fast I barely see it, and I have to duck to avoid a dagger, spinning on my heel and elbowing him in the gut as he goes for a second swipe, and knocking him back.
Shit, it’s hard to get a look at the damn guy’s face!
Okay.
I said I could take him, and I can, but I was kind of hoping this would be easier than literally beating him unconscious and dragging his body back. I mean, I’ve done it before. I can do it again. But shit. He doesn’t make it FUCKING easy, and I’m not exactly looking forward to the state my spirit origin’s gonna be in after that, either.
Maybe he won’t be as tough. He’s fucked up. That’ll help, right?
He’s back even faster this time—Well, at least I got his undivided attention—and attacking with a vengeance. Swings for my head, and I knock the first blade back with my haft, catch the other with my speartip just in time. I swing for an uppercut, quick, and rake him across the chest with my spear—not deep, he’s too quick for that, but this is good, because it means he is reacting slower than usual.
Okay. Alright, I can work with that maybe.
Archer ducks forward and makes a slice for my leg, and I parry him easily, but the barrage of swords he summons to run me through the back at the same time almost get me. Thank god my hearing’s so good. I catch the whistle of wind just in time to twist and slide out of the way, knocking one aside with my spear. I know he’ll go for my back the second I show it to him, and he does, and I’m about to dodge, when I decide it’s better to just let him. I need the guy to fucking hold still –for just two seconds—and he’s more floaty than a fucking kite! This might be my best shot at that. This is going to hurt.
I’m ready to dodge to limit the damage, but as I feel it coming, I realize I don’t have to. The dagger goes in at my abdomen, on the right side of my back, and yeah, it hurts, but also, what the hell? That’s the best opening he’s had, and he blew it—I mean, only our heart or our head being destroyed can actually kill one of us, so-?
No time to really think about it though. The second the blade is in, I reach back blind and clamp my hand around his wrist with a death-grip. I hear a bone crack and a cry of surprised pain from back there, and with my right hand still firmly around his own, I step backwards and ram my back into him, kneeling a little as I do, and I drag the arm forward simultaneously and use his sudden stature above me and all my body weight with it, to push him on top of me and then launch him over my side and onto the ground on his back. As he goes over, the guy rakes the knife in his free hand across my back, but I don’t care, because I’ve got him then, and quick as a blink I ram my lance through the arm I have the death grip on, clean through and into the concrete below, pinning him by it.
He cries out as the blade goes through, and I use the second of shock to make it on top of him, using my weight to keep him pinned down, one hand on my spear, the other catching the hand he still has in use as he makes a swipe for my head with it, leaning forward and using my body weight to force it against the ground, when usually we’d be evenly matched in a grapple. I’m breathing hard, leaning over him up close, and I’ve finally got a look at his face.
He's grimacing, teeth gritted, but not anger so much as intensity. Sweating too, breathing hard. There’s a film over his eyes, like if he’s in there at all, he’s down deep past something else. Not like a Berserker, then. Berserkers are too much all at once: not there, but for another reason. Ah, shit. So, I know less about what’s going on or what to do about it than I thought.
Well, let’s see if I can get any real reaction. He did focus on just me when I attacked, so there’s some amount of logical reasoning left, at the very least.
“Archer!” I snap. He’s struggling with me, trying to get a leg positioned so he can kick me off, and I gotta say, he’s pretty fucking good at that and it’s getting on my nerves. I should hit him. Yeah, that might help, but if I do, I have to let go of his hand, and if I do that, he’s going to throw me off. Shit.
Oh, wait.
I ram my forehead down against the bridge of his nose as hard as I can.
It makes a very satisfying crack, and he cries out, surprise and pain, but more surprise.
I jerk my head up fast, trying to get a look if there’s anything different in his eyes. He’s wincing, still struggling, but that hasn’t done much except hurt him, looks like. Maybe if I hit him harder?
“Come on! Snap out of it! This is getting irritating! You think I want to babysit you all battle, bastard?” I spit in annoyance. He looks up at me, and there’s almost something there—or maybe there is, for a second. He’s listening for a second anyway, and there’s a glint of almost…confusion. And he winces, like the confusion hurt.
Yes! It’s working, I think, and trying to keep the magic off guard, I slap him in the head with my own again, cutting open a cheekbone this time.
“Ow!”
That’s almost a word! Great! More defined than just a cry of pain. He tries to lash out in return though, and actually gets a good kick against the inside of my knee—hurts like SHIT, but I power through, and ram my knee into his in return—not exactly a win for either of us, I gotta admit, and curse under my breath.
Behind me, I hear sounds of the battle. No WAY I can look—if I do, I’m gonna get run through. I’m actually not sure why he hasn’t tried that already. Maybe he thinks I’d snap his neck? I could. I would, usually, in a fight like this. If he doesn’t remember we’re on the same side, I guess that logic path makes sense. Anyway, I hear crazy amounts of fighting still, but it’s getting further away. Kind of good, because while I took him down in the middle of enemies we’d already taken care of, no way they’d avoid taking shots at me for more than a few seconds if the battle wasn’t being drawn off. Bad though, because it sounds like David’s still alone. I can’t hear music at all—no Salieri. And that’s a hell of a lot of crowd control for one guy with a rock.
I gotta speed this up.
“This is going to hurt you a lot, but you’ll just have to get over it,” I decide, and I rip my spear back out of his hand and go for his chest.
There’s panic in his face for an instant, and then I hear the ‘shing’ of swords in the air all around me. Holy SHIT he summoned a lot of them. I have to roll off him to the side on a knee, and swing my spear behind me in an arc, deflecting as many as I can, and one still slices through my arm. He rolls backwards and springs up, but I haven’t lost focus, and I’m up to meet him, slashing at his chest. The man barely gets one of his daggers up in time to parry the blow, and I shatter it, press on hard, harder. No more swords being summoned around us; it’s all he can do to parry and dodge as I press him harder and harder.
UGH he’s so flighty though! It’s always hard to pin him down.
Wait. He doesn’t remember, then-
Hopping back suddenly, I give him a little room. He’s breathing really hard now, wary and intense, surprised, until he sees me ready my spear to throw.
“Your heart is mine,” I call, voice cold, and I see the realization and horror on his face. Immediately, an arm goes up—I can only assume going to desperately try and summon that shield of his. Perfect.
I try not to grin.
“Gae—” I let the mana surge around me, and then dash in with every ounce of speed I can muster, leaving the phantasm unfired.
It works. Taken off guard, he falls back a step in confusion, going for a normal counter suddenly instead of a shield, and I slice into his chest. I’m quick—I get the rune carved in just two motions. I think I’ve done it perfect until I realize his sword is in my side.
Shit, I think, mind registering pain faintly and on a delay. No stopping now though. I get my haft up and ram it into his neck and push him back against the building wall, hard, try to hold him while I wait for it to work. Please work.
I feel the dagger go in deeper as his back hits the wall, and twist. I expect it to rip out and try to come in again, but it doesn’t.
We stop, panting, me with a forearm pressed against my haft and his neck, a hand keeping it steady, him with one arm holding a knife in my side, another just limply hanging there with an unused dagger. I meet his gaze, and he looks…confused. No, distressed. Both, but. Maybe distressed about being confused. Blinks, then winces.
It’s working. I notice he didn’t aim very high, either. Kill shot for one of us is only head or heart. I’m going to walk off a stab in my side, and that’s twice he’s done that now. So, whatever control that magic has on him, it’s imperfect, or it’s weakening fast. I need it to go faster, though, so I let go with one hand and dig my fingernails into the rune I carved, Algiz, for protection, and I flood the mark with mana.
He jerks like he’s been shocked and gasps, or tries to with my spear crushing his throat, and I can feel the crackle of mana as my spell dispels whatever that shit was that got on him. Its energy sloughs off, like mud, and suddenly he’s looking back at me with focus and an expression I remember.
“Welcome back,” I pant, grin with an edge to it, “Now get your fucking sword out of my side.”
Archer glances at his hand like he didn’t realize it was attached to him, blinks, and rips the blade out. Hurts like shit, but I don’t show it, and I back off, relaxing my stance and letting him breathe freely.
“I don’t remember anything that happened after—” He stops, brow furrowed, and glances down at his chest and the faintly glowing rune there under his ripped shirt.
“Seems to have worked,” I offer, glancing off towards where the battle has moved to now that I can. They ain’t far, but it doesn’t look great. Well, least we’re back to almost our original numbers.
“Okay,” he says, not pursing that line of questioning. “Salieri—did the blast-“
“—Yeah, yeah, you did what you wanted.” I give him a look. “Only hit you. He went MIA right after though, anyway. No clue why. The rounds fucked up their undead pretty badly too, and they’re trying to rampage towards the city.”
He lets out a sigh, then winces and looks down at his right hand and the hole through it, then holds it up and gives me a questioning look.
“You’re lucky I didn’t take a limb off,” I reply.
Archer decides to let that go and follows my glance towards the fighting instead. “Let’s go.” He summons his daggers.
“Yeah, you’re welcome,” I say, spinning my spear into a better grip and turning to face them with him.
----------------------------------------------
“We’re here!” calls Robin into his earpiece. We took the roof exit like we did to get in, for speed and the vantage point. I’m pretty relieved now that we went with that, because the entire front of the building has become a sea of utter chaos.
“Great! Robin Hood, circle back towards your left—the compound wall facing the city! The biggest problem right now is the spirits and undead,” calls back the doctor, “Caster, the last we could tell, our Avenger was headed in that direction too, but we’ve lost him completely since.”
“You sure you don’t need someone to back up the Lancer?” asks Robin.
“He was very sure,” says the doctor.
“Okay,” says Robin, unconvinced. He glances at me.
“You go ahead,” I call, surveying the scene myself, “I’ll do what I can to help on my way, but I’m not the tankiest member of this party, so don’t expect too much. I’m going to get Salieri.”
“Okay, but how?” calls Robin, taking off for the left side of the compound.
“Don’t worry,” I say into the coms so they’ll both be able to hear me, “I don’t have to find him. I just have to be loud. He’ll come find me.”
“Are you sure that’ll work?” asks the doctor, sounding relieved at the potential fix.
I am more than sure. There is no sliver of doubt in my mind.
I run for the far side of the roof. Robin has vanished, probably literally, but I want to be as noticeable as possible. I summon music around me. I am certain anything would do, but I want him quick, so I call up ‘Per la Ricuperata Salute di Ofelia,’ our song, and I blast the piano melody with all my might.
Out ahead of me, in the oncoming storm of corpses and ghosts crawling for the city, there is a sudden flash of pitch black energy that shines, and I hear a piano answer my call, filling in the next phrase.
Oh? I feel my energy surge, in a way it never has before. Almost like…
Filing that away for much future use, I increase the volume of my own energy, playing with a note of desperation. To me!
The answer is immediate. I may as well have shouted his name, and I feel very smug. There is a frantic flash of light from near the gates, and I see a figure moving so fast it’s a blur even to me, and it vanishes and he’s here, dripping blood and covered in that horrifying armor of his I can’t say I care for, but certainly him, right at the edge of the roof as I’m about to reach it.
“Antonio!” I call happily.
He’s breathing raggedly. “What? Why did you call me?” he manages, “-There is no emergency?”
“No one could contact you,” I say, “We were worried.”
He stares at me. I can’t see his face with the mask, but I know his body language by heart. “… The negative emotions of the poltergeists, the regrets and rage and wrongs. It...pulls me in.” he offers in a somewhat stunted way after a moment.
Ah. That makes sense, after having experienced his fear aura myself once. “Wow, and you heard me through that and came out?” I ask excitedly.
I can tell he gives me a look. “…You…”
“Oh, I was in trouble,” I infer from his tone, explaining quickly, “Look.” I point out at the place where hoards of zombies and homunculi are trying to climb over each other to scale the outer wall. Ghosts are just passing through, unbound. Oooh…too quickly. I see David out there, taking out scores with his staff and sling, and then there are some bursts of poison that must be Robin’s work, but there’s just so many enemies.
“See all of that?” I ask, gesturing, “I am supposed to go stop it, and I’ll surely be cut down to ribbons on my way alone. I’m just a Caster.”
“I...” He gives me the shakiest, blankest look voice I’ve ever heard.
Hmmm.
“...will be swallowed again like before, if I go out there,” he says slowly, turning to look himself. Watching Robin and David trying to hold back the tide of chaos.
I watch him for a moment, thinking about the inflection in his voice, and then quietly walk up beside him. “You can never fight ghosts, then?”
“They are usually no trouble at all,” he replies without moving, eyes still fixed on the battle somewhere beneath that mask, “Maybe even easier than many things to absorb the hate of into my own strength. But whatever spell hit them that lost us the Red Archer has made them frenzied; it has made them too loud. Like their heads are screaming. Seeping into me with a clarity and frantic need they don’t usually have. I am inundated by their memories of fears and pain and wrongs, everything they can recall that has ever made them want to lash out and flee. Without my trying. ..Too much to absorb the way I should. And I cannot shut them out.”
“…But you shut them out to come to me,” I say.
He glances at me.
“That is different. I did not shut them out. You overpower them.”
I raise an eyebrow and blink.
“I can always sense you, even if you’re on the throne,” he explains, a weariness in his voice, “You are like the sun to me. I was made to end you. There is nothing that can hide you from me, not in this world or the next. I am bound to you. When you try to draw me, you eclipse even myself.”
I stare for a second.
“…Well then,” I offer, beginning to smile, “we go together. If you’re with me, you won’t be pulled in by them.”
He turns to me. “If I am with you, I will kill you, Amadeus.”
“You aren’t right now,” I offer as a cheery counterpoint.
Oh, the wrong thing to say. There is a very sudden scary spark in the aura around him and his posture changes. He radiates hate and intent to kill at a level that makes me want to jump off the roof.
“It is a mistake to continue considering me a joke,” says Salieri in the most completely empty, unattached voice I’ve ever heard.
“But I’m not mocking you,” I offer, raising my hands quickly and grinning at him. “I just mean this would work! Even if you’re…” I gesture at the whole…thing, he’s got going in front of me. “You are still a Servant. You’re capable of following a Master’s instructions, aren’t you? And we’re supposed to go fight those things. Isn’t it a pragmatic offer?”
The bloodlust slightly lessens.
“You can stick close to me, so I’m the loudest thing you hear, and I’ll bring you to things to kill. I don’t get mowed down by a mob, and you don’t get buried in the noise—and you can not kill me for a while, can’t you? Like I said: pragmatic.” I smile and place my hands on my hips, proud. “Well, what do you think?”
Salieri reaches up and removes the mask, and sighs. His face is haggard and pale, and so very recognizable to me. It makes me smile more.
“Must you keep grinning at me?” he petitions quietly in this voice he keeps using like he thinks everything I do is a joke at his expense.
“Yes, I think so,” I reply readily.
He looks up and meets my gaze, so sadly. I smile back at him.
“…Very well. We cannot stay here together, doing nothing, and it is our order. But you’ll need to stick close. And watch your back, or I may well run you through it,” he says wearily.
“Okay!” I reply happily.
He gives me a look and replaces his mask, then draws his sword.
“Shall we?” I ask with a little nod, and I leap off the roof.
I hear the thud of armored boots land behind me, and race off for the battle. I suppose I should check to make sure he isn’t swept away or something, but I feel like he’s probably as reliable as he used to be, so I just decide to assume he’s there and keep my eyes on the prize up ahead.
“Doctor! Salieri is recovered!” I call proudly mentally.
“Uhm—That’s great!” comes back Ritsuka’s voice in my head, “But uh, the doctor can’t hear you unless you talk into the coms.”
Haha, oops, I think, and hurriedly call, “Salieri is with us again—on our way to join the archers by the gate!”
“Wonderful—thank you!” comes the doctor’s voice over coms, saturated with relief, “Billy, Ritsuka, and Fuuma Kotarou are heading our way now, and Cu Chulainn got Emiya—they should be there with you already.”
No more class code names, I see, I think, amused. He’s not doing so bad for trying to help direct a battle from miles away though. And true to his word, I see the Lancer and our last Archer up ahead, hitting a flank about the time I’m reaching the back of the group. They seem a little bloodier, but mostly unharmed, and they’re really tearing through enemies here, so I’m liking our chances more and more.
Time to focus on my own battles, though.
Robin and David have done a wonderful job of slowing their progress, but the numbers haven’t dropped as much as I expected, and some of them have made it over the fence. I see David at the front, taking them down headshot after headshot with his little sling like it’s a carnival game, but they have breached containment. Well that isn’t very good.
How are we having such trouble?
No time to answer that, because there’s a score of zombies here at the back by me, and I call up a burst of music and send it crystalized in the air like little daggers, slamming into their backs, throwing them against the ones in front, and that takes a little focus. The ones not downed turn, and make horrible moaning shouts that send a shiver down my spine. About ten crawl over the bodies of their downed compatriots and make towards me, and I summon up another burst and kill them, pushing on.
I haven’t got a real plan here though, beyond kill stuff. Man, I hope ‘kill stuff’ works. Or. That someone else is actually thinking. Someone else is thinking, right? Surely. So many of us.
The zombies are slow, and that’s great, but some ghouls with sharp hearing are near the rear too, and tearing back towards us now, so running over bodies of things I’ve killed, I summon up another sonata and slice at stomachs and heads. A few of them fall, but two lose limbs and keep coming. I cast again at the one in front, and its severed clawing hands hit the pile of corpses below, but it keeps coming, stumbling in an armless rage, and makes a lunge for my arm with its teeth. A sword flickers past me and Salieri is through it, swinging his little silver blade in an arc around him and felling six more, glancing back at me as they fall. I beam at him, ecstatic. It’s so fun! This is like having my own bodyguard.
I do not see the demon behind me until Salieri lunges at me and drags me towards him with a hand, and I’m seeing it where I just was as I trip forward.
Exactly like having a bodyguard!
“Pay attention!” he snaps, cutting the thing in half for me.
I am suddenly feeling like it would be really fun to see what happens were I not to, but I suppose he has a point and I have some kind of blah-blah-blah duty whatever to a master as a servant. Well, I do actually like this one at least. ...Yes, alright.
I spin on my heel and send a cascade of music out in a half circle past us, knocking shades back, and cutting down another zombie.
There is the sound of a grand piano behind me and I see flames like shadows explode from inside the nearest dozen ghosts, who go shrieking to the ground.
We continue, side by side, or back to back, ducking past each other to hit threats, or swinging at a larger ogre together, trying to fight our way towards the others. It’s easy, the fighting. They’re not terribly strong, and Salieri is slaughtering things like death itself around me, and yet, somehow, we are making extremely slow progress towards the goal.
“How are there so many?” I ask, suddenly confused in a not good way, glancing behind us as I cast a barrage at some ghouls charging us, from behind the safety of Salieri’s shoulders. There are…more monsters back the way we came. Again? How? “They aren’t summoning more, are they?”
“No,” answers Salieri, raising a hand by his neck, and suddenly there is a bright red bleeding gash through his armor, clear across his throat, and I think for a horrible second that some monster I can’t see has slit it and feel real fear, but then he rips strands of blood from his own throat and holds them like the strings of a violin and raises his sword like a bow and plays them.
I think it’s most singularly horrifying thing I’ve ever seen. Dear God, I’m so glad he has the mask on right now. I think if I’d seen him do that like this with his face, I might have fainted.
This is a thing??? This is a way he fights??
I hear the music, beautiful, which is horrid, and for once not even a little funny at all, and a shrieking wraith headed our way is blown to bits.
“They’re re-forming.”
‘Re-forming’? I try to echo Salieri’s words in my head.
“How?” I manage to ask, trying to get my head focused back on not being stabbed by nearby ghouls.
“I’m not sure,” he replies, ducking as a large ghost summons a scythe and swings it at him, and slashes it through the side as he comes up again, “But I would guess it’s whatever magic they used that made things frenzy. If it’s got enough power to disrupt even a heroic spirit, it must be formidable in intensity. And they can’t have just been trying to hit us, the way they were firing.”
A solid point. Why didn’t any of us think of that?
I guess because it seemed so un-helpful to them or anyone.
Which, it still rather is. But I guess it wasn’t pointless.
“Doctor,” I call into the coms, “We’ve got a problem. We’re blowing them away, but they keep coming back, almost immediately. Like—a rapid resummoning, almost. We think maybe whatever was shot into the crowd, it’s uh…given them the magical energy to keep coming back. And we have no idea how long that will last!”
“What? All of—” There’s some muttering from the doctor on the coms then that I can’t make out, and then he’s back, “Okay! Okay. Uhm. Let me think. Let me think…If…if they’re reforming, but without anyone doing active summoning…?”
“No, no active summoning,” comes Emiya’s voice over the coms.
I shoot down a ghost and glance up to see he’s right—far as I can see, anyway. No humans left out here. There were some, at first, but they’ve either successfully retreated, or one of the spirits who got here before us has already taken them down. Or…their own monsters ate them. Also possible.
“Okay. Then, that means they used some kind of mass summoning to the area itself, for these, not ritual summoning as familiars,” says the doctor, clearly thinking a mile a minute, and I think from his tone, onto something.
“What does that mean?” comes Ritsuka’s voice worriedly over coms, “F-For us?”
“It means…It means we can’t kill them.”
----------------------------------------------
Oh.
The girl who saved me and the cowboy said there were a lot of monsters waiting, but I wasn’t expecting the scene outside.
I guess it’s a good thing. For once. How familiar this sight feels. The ground past the open door is littered with corpses—some human, more golem, or mechanical, some monsters. Some things that must have been human once, but, a long time ago. It’s like the aftermath of a battle, and the horror of that feels more familiar than the rest of the world, and the part of me that has the best chance at continuing to survive right now recognizes it and steps forward.
Only, this is not the aftermath of a battle yet. The...the cowboy was pointing when he called my name—at what? –Ah, there!
Off to the far left, the fight continues. Down by a gate and fence, leading away from the building. I see—…huh. Ghosts, yokai, undead. Very little of anything else. It seems strange to me that those would be the strongest, among all the piles of dead things I see around, but I move the thought back and focus on the present. There are several heroic spirits fighting the throng—they seem to be in sets of two right now: a red…saber? and a blue lancer, trying to contain the far right side, a caster and something else I’m not quite sure of on the left flank, and out front I see another archer, and someone with a staff and a sling who might be several things. They’re struggling, though—not to not be injured, but to keep this many things in one place. There must be…something between two and three-hundred creatures here, and they’re all moving erratic and fast. Towards the city lights I see in the distance—towards life, like they said.
They aren’t even focused on the immediate threat.
That’s very strange.
“Come on!” calls the cowboy, pausing ahead of me to look back. I….hadn’t realized he was moving, and I was not. This is very bad. I’m going to be cut down for sure, I think with some real worry.
“Right,” I call back hurriedly with a nod, taking off after him.
As we get close, he sets the my rescuer down and says, “Just call if anythin’ starts to come close, got it?”
She gives him a nod, and he tears off like a lightning bolt for the fighting, revolver flashing. I see an undead thing twice his size go down, and two behind it with it as the bullet goes through it and into them.
Kunai in hand, I start to follow, but I hear the girl call to me, and so I stop.
“Are you sure you’re okay to fight?”
I turn, and her face is worried for me. How impossible to think of. ...She...She is still so hard to even look at. To try and think about? I...
“You were almost dead a minute ago,” she adds nervously.
“…I am fine, My Lord,” I promise, because I don’t know what else to say.
“Okay,” she replies, “Be careful.”
The worry is still there, with her words. It is so…unprocessable to see that.
I. I wish I had time to ask her…a-anything. I would like to know a lot of things. She is very hard to look at, though, and I have orders, so I turn away and face the fighting. Try to think where I’m needed most, and fulfil my task well. Okay. I don’t have much power, but, if we’re trying to keep these in a small area, redirecting should be fairly…simple. Right. So, even with my abilities, I don’t need to go where anyone else is for backup, if they don’t need me. That helps. The caster and whatever is with him are having very little trouble in the back, and the saber and lancer together if anything are doing better. Which leaves the front, or the left side. The cowboy has joined the front, which makes three there now, and that seems to be helping, but even with them all, it’s a struggle. There are just so many. The left side near the front seems the weakest spot to me, though. The spirit with the sling is keeping an eye on it—I see him catch a straggler through the head as I assess the scene—but, still. It’s the weakest. Alright. There, then.
I conceal my presence, and start to move, when I hear my rescuer again—I-I think she’s speaking to me, and turn, but, she isn’t.
“What does that mean? F-For us?”
I....guess she’s speaking to another spirit.
I refocus on my task and start to move again, but, the moment I do, I feel something. …Behind me...?
Something’s wrong.
I stop, look. And...Nothing around us has changed. Battlefield behind us, gone still, continued battle ahead. That’s all. …A-and yet. … Usually…u-usually I would listen, to my senses immediately. They keep me alive. But. But, I-I know I’m not fully myself right now. I have an order—to help, with the fighting. I should go. I was told to go.
But, I don’t want to. I take a step again, and the ground under my foot feels wrong.
What is this?
It’s like something is…calling to me. Telling me I shouldn’t be here…like this is…something…else’s turf. It makes my blood feel wrong. A boundary. A warning? What?
I lean into the feeling. I reach for the part of me that isn’t human, and smell the air. There is something very wrong in it.
…What is this? It’s bad. I don’t know what it is, but-I feel—I-I feel something stirring.
‘This ground is cursed,’ the part of my blood that is not human says, and I feel it beneath my feet.
Oh.
Oh, I felt it when I stepped out, but I was still too dead to recognize it. Which means- No no no!
Panic in my chest, I whirl around. Where. It would wait, for something to attack, and it has something now. It has my new lord. –There! There, behind her! The humans, the golems, the machines, the beasts, they stay, unmoving corpses and unconscious bodies in a silent grave of a battle, but the oni, the ghouls? Bodies start to shift. There is a chill like hate in the air, and I see something translucent and pale rising up from the ground like smoke behind her, far too close, and it is big.
She doesn’t see it. I don’t even think to call—I just run and grab her, and I-I am still so half-here at all I forget I concealed my presence, and she does not see me either, until I snatch her off the ground, and she shrieks in surprise as I leap back and the big spirit swings at empty air with hollow claws, and howls in rage.
“Sorry, My Lord!” I say worriedly, landing as far back towards the other spirits as I can. Five—eight—fourteen? Fourteen monsters back there up by the building, probably more will rise, and the spirit is coming after us fast. I turn and bolt.
“Kotarou?” she gasps out, and then seeing the scene, “Th-They weren’t dead either?”
“They were,” I say hurriedly. The roof? No—the hill outside. Vantage point, no monsters there yet. No spirits to come back. I change course for it.
“I-I’m okay!” she calls in my head—I think to all of us spirits, “But more of the things came back to life by the building!”
The ghost is still coming after us—a few of the ghouls too. The others, I was fast enough they don’t seem to have seen us. Good.
I jump and turn in the air and strike the flint at the end of the fuse to a bomb against my armor, then fling it with my free hand, aiming for the ghouls. I hit three of the four and they stumble and fall.
The spirit’s close now—big—the size of a horse.
“Hang on!” I call to my lord, landing on the little hill between her and it, and I move my hands in a flash of practiced motions, “Rin-Pyo-Toh-Sha-Kai-Jin-Retsu-Zai-Zen!”
The cuts hit the ghost and it explodes. I send a kunai after the last ghoul, and turn back to my lord as it falls.
“You should be safer here, but one of us should stay to guard you, My Lord—those things are looking for life, and you’re the nearest living being. S-Some of them might be drawn to you before the town.”
Eyes big, she gives nod. “No, I’m okay,” she says out loud—not to me, so I’m confused for a second, until I notice she’s tapped something in her ear. Oh. There must be other humans helping too, then. “We both are. Uhm—S-Sorry, you were saying?”
She listens for a second and then something occurs to her, and she looks at me. “Oh! You don’t have—hang on—”
Ritsuka takes out her earpiece and holds it out. It takes me a second to get that she wants me to lean in and try to hear it with her. I move stuntedly, on a delay, and go to lean the side of my head by hers—almost against it. I use every bit of precision I can to avoid actually touching her. I think it would be more than me head can handle right now, and kill me if I did. Even this feels so surreal.
“Okay, keep going,” she says to the device, and I hear a man’s voice I’ve never heard before.
“—Generally, I would even say ‘almost always,’ when a mage summons a monster like this, we summon them as a kind of familiar to fight for us, but, that’s not the only way they can be summoned. You’ve of course heard stories of hauntings before—cursed places, or objects. Things attached to a location, or grudge: those are much much harder to control—sometimes impossible—but, they’re much harder to get rid of too. Cutting them down won’t work—or, well, I guess eventually it would probably have to, at least for a while, but if they’re ritually tied to the area, unless that bond itself is broken, they’ll keep regenerating. Usually this wouldn’t be as big a problem for us, but it looks like those weapons Mercury was using on the crowd—while highly irresponsible, and probably prototypes—are some kind of…research weapon to supply incredibly high doses of magical energy through physical contact, to keep those things regenerating far, far faster than something like it should—it’s probably what they were using Kotarou as an energy source for.”
Me?
It's…a horrifying thought, that all of these monsters, are running around with pieces of my…essence? Or life force. I…I still don’t completely understand what’s going on, but any part of it fills me with rage. I was being used as some kind of catalyst, then? L-Like a human sacrifice. And for what? To make an army of ghosts frenzy? All the things they—
I think a little too hard about the things I have experienced so recently, and have to shut my eyes to try and push them back. I can’t. I don’t have time to try to work through any of them!
It’s enough to make me choke, just almost thinking about it, and with my eyes shut, for a second I’m terrified I’m back. I open my eyes again, trying to get a hold of myself, and I feel something touch my hand, and jerk away on instinct.
My master is looking back at me with surprise, and I see her hand frozen where mine just was.
Oh, I think, overwhelmed by shame at that. I open my mouth to apologize, but she smiles at me like she already knows and doesn’t mind, before I can make a sound, and then she’s back to focusing on what the man on the coms is saying.
Carefully, I make myself relax, and try to do the same.
“It’s terrible, used like they did here—impractical, uncontrollable. But used like…well, like a magical bomb almost—dropped into the middle of enemy territory, this kind of thing would be incredibly effective. And if you could replenish energy with long-range missiles, essentially…A-Anyway, none of that’s important right now. Just—the situation has changed.”
“Meaning?” prompts another voice I haven’t heard before.
“Meaning, we’ve been doing everything we can to keep back the tide already, but this is worse than we thought. Think about it. Any story of a haunting you’ve ever heard. How bad, and how hard to stop that is. Any of these things, even one, if it gets lose? Summoned tied to the area, and charged up on magical energy, it’ll take a priest banishing it to really get rid of the thing, and even what should be a fairly powerless ghost could rack up a body count out of a horror story by the end of the night. We cannot let any of these things get past us.”
“Well, I understand,” comes the first voice I do know—the American cowboy, and for some reason, I feel huge relief at something familiar. I guess that’s foolish, but… “But we’re already doin’ all we can, and they ain’t stayin’ dead! I dunno how much more we can do ya for, and even with all of us here, there’s like three hundred of these damn things, and eight of us! We ain’t in any danger of goin’ down, but you got any idea how hard it is even for eight heroic spirits to wrangle three-hundred angry monsters?
He's joking a little, even in this situation, so I think he must be very good under pressure. That’s reassuring to know. I-I like him.
“The best thing would be to try to keep them contained long enough to make a banishing circle around them—I-if I was there I’d—!”
“ — I can make something like that,” comes a new voice again, playful almost, and also very sure. I – well I assumed it’d be the caster, with magic knowledge, but he’s actually pretty close to us, and I look over and I can see he’s not the one talking.
“David, excellent,” comes the first voice, heavy with relief, “Does anyone else know—?”
“—A little,” says someone else I haven’t heard before, but I’m looking right at the lancer and saber when he speaks, and I see the lancer’s lips moving, so it must be him.
“I can,” I say automatically, and Ritsuka looks at me in surprise, then beams and pushes a button on the coms and holds it out to me. “I-I can,” I say again.
“Fuuma Kotarou?” checks the first speaker.
“Yes,” I reply, thinking fast, “And, I-I can get everyone into one spot, too, but I think…I think it would take any of us, even as fast as we are, too long to put down any kind of good seals in the middle of them.”
“He has a point,” says the one identified as ‘David,’ “Especially since anyone doing that won’t be able to help hold the tide back. Too many are over the fence now — as soon as we break formation, there are going to be a few getting through the holes we have to hunt down. Do we have a plan for that?”
I hear the first man curse to himself, and frantic scratching of pen against paper. I wonder who he is. Ritsuka didn’t mention him. But, now is probably not the time to ask.
Think. Focus. How to get…
“I think I can do it.” Another new voice. Ritsuka looks towards the lancer and saber when she hears it, though, so I do too, and sure enough, it’s the man in red speaking. “How long do you need?”
“’Do it’?” echoes the fist man, “Do which part-?”
“You need all of them to not move far, while someone sets a banishing seal,” replies the red saber—or—I thought he was. He’s fighting with swords. But, as I watch, he leaps back into the air and summons a bow, and fires off eight shots into the crowd, knocking a score of ghouls back. “My phantasm is a reality marble. If the assassin can get them all together for even a second, I can release it without picking any of you up, and move them all out of the way inside it, give you time to make a trap, and then drop them back in.”
“But can you keep them from going too far apart inside the marble?” asks the lancer dubiously, cutting through a wraith and then flinging his spear through the nearest four zombies and ripping it back out.
“Yes,” says the…archer? in annoyance, “But not this many for very long without some slipping through. How long do you need?”
“That’s perfect!” says the first man, ecstatic, “How long—David, Cu Chulainn, Kotarou—is—”
“I could do what I need in about a minute,” says David.
“Sure,” agrees the lancer, and I nod, then, realizing no one can see me, flush and add:
“Yes, that works for me too.”
“I can’t banish things, but I know traps,” says one of the three I haven’t heard yet, “I can make it very hard for anything we don’t get immediately to get back up again.”
“I can do that too!” calls another, and I see the caster speaking.
“But will you really be okay alone? With…three-hundred monsters?” asks Ritsuka, and I look and again see such genuine worry on her face. I forget to think for a second, lost in the impossibility of that to understand.
“You could take Salieri,” suggests the first man.
“No,” calls the caster, blasting a handful of zombies back as he does, “He can’t go anywhere without me! I suppose I could go too, though,” he adds with great disappointment.
“No, I’ll go,” says Ritsuka, “You said they’ll be drawn to me, right?” she adds, looking at me, “Because I’m a living human. If things go wrong, I can be bait to move them back where they go inside the marble, and if things go really wrong, I can use a spell to help.”
“…Are you sure?” asks the red archer.
She nods. Like I did, and then also seems to remember no one can hear that. “Yes. We don’t have to fight and win, just run away for sixty seconds. Y-You can carry me, right?”
“Yes,” comes the answer, and the red archer aparates and appears next to us.
“Let me come too,” comes the cowboy’s voice, “I can’t do much here, but I could help in there.”
I hear his revolver fire four more times, and then he appears by us too, skidding to stop by the taller archer, who glances at him, and gives a nod.
“Okay. Be careful,” comes the first man’s voice, “Everyone know what they have to do?” We’re given a second to disagree, and no one does. “Alright. Go.”
Ritsuka takes back her earpiece and gives me a hopeful nod, then the red archer picks her up and gives me a nod too.
“You can support two noble phantasms?” I check worriedly, feeling foolish for not having asked before, but Ritsuka just gives me a very sure nod.
“Are you okay to use one though? So fast?” she checks.
“Yes,” I affirm, heartrate speeding up.
“Then let’s do it,” says the red archer.
Alright.
I let out a breath and turn and survey the scene.
The last few monsters are still back by the building, but that shouldn’t be hard. Only a hanful of them now. The rest are still almost completely contained by the spirits fighting them, even without Billy the Kid and the red archer.
I raise two fingers and fold the rest of my hand into a fist, focusing. I feel for my link to my master, and draw on the magical energy there, feel it coursing through me. I am ready. I need to be. And I let myself feel all the things I’ve been working not to; the pain, the hate, the rage, the confusion. I let it mix in my blood and boil, shut my eyes and taste it. Focus on the blood, on the kin who have past, tied to it. Feel for their spirits, and open my eyes again with a surge of mana around me.
“All hands, assemble!” I shout, and I feel them. Fuuma clan ninja, hearing my call, fragments of spirits from beyond the grave clinging to duty with pride, “It is our fate to shake order to its foundations! Cast the mold of chaos! Immortal Chaos Brigade!”
With the scream, they come to me. Two-hundred Fuuma clan ninja, summoned like darkness itself, and casting everything around us into bitch black shadow.
No words, no signals needed. I have clarity in my head for an instant, for the first time since waking here. We in that moment are of one mind, them and me. Some run for the stragglers, the others towards the waiting mob of foes, and with us, we brings a hurricane of fire. It burns in our footfalls, the only light in this hell we create, shrieking like a phantom itself, and driving all in its path back. We close in as one, chaos incarnate, the monsters falling back in the face of the flame, the blades, the darkness. The utter frenzy of the onslaught. Until they are in a little ball, pressed tight, the unfortunate few on the outside caught by the flames we send, screeching as they burn.
“Now!” I call, and I see the red archer leap like a burst of flame himself, landing right in front of the flames, lit by them like a fiend himself, and he stretches a hand out so his fingertips almost reach it.
“I am the bone of my sword.” His voice is calm, and hard when he speaks. Not the way I am accustomed to hearing someone call out the name of the mark their life left on history. There is something about it that catches me, even through my own focus.
“Steel is my body, and fire is my blood. I have created over a thousand blades. Not choosing the battlefield. Never yielding, never never knowing victory, never amassing anything. The bearer lies here alone, forging iron in a hill of swords. Yet, these hands will never hold anything. So, as I pray: Unlimited Blade Works.”
There is a flash of energy like the weight of a thousand lifetimes carved away to merciless nothing in an instant, and they are gone—all of them. My fire with them, and I let my kin vanish, staring for just a moment at where they all were. For just that last instant, I could see light like clockwork when he spoke, and it has filled me with a feeling I don’t know.
But, there is no time.
Someone calls ‘now!’ and we are all moving then.
I dash forward like the rest, my mind a ticking clock. Barely thinking, just moving. Just trying. I summon a staff, and carve a circle, running as fast as I can. I meet the lancer halfway, doing the same, and we break, a completed circle between us, him leaping from one part of the circle to another, carving runes, me across it, adding cross-strokes to the shape, sigils inside. Fast. Come on. Cleanse, break, return. I carve in words, forming talismans, things I know by heart.
Thirty seconds.
I am vaguely aware of the caster behind me, bursts of mana. The archer who said he laid traps hurrying past the rest of us to leave wires and pressure plates and poisons where it won’t break the lines of our seals. Of the man with a staff who must be David. He has already finished whatever else he had to do, and is sitting at the far side of the circle from me, the side by the waiting city we’re trying to protect, and he begins to play kind sort of harp. It is perhaps the most spectacular music I-I have ever heard. Not in a showy way, but, it feels like...waking from a long rest, or holding your mother—cool water in a desert. I feel a little of the confusion that has been working so hard to bury me since I was rescued lift, and I wonder what on earth he is? A-A caster as well?
But, no time. No time. Focus. Ten seconds. The lancer finishes, and kneels by a rune—ready to activate it by hand, I realize. I carve the last of my own sigils, and leap back to the side of the circle nearest the building, and bite my thumb, running the blood through the last mark I left, and then placing my palm down as well, ready.
Four seconds.
The caster has fallen back, on the left side now, and he mimics my gesture and lets out a breath.
Two.
The archer leaps back as well, near David, and readies an arrow in his crossbow.
One.
We get five seconds more than we needed, and then there is a flash in the air, and they’re all back at once, and I flood every bit of energy in me into the circle.
Vaguely, I am aware of the cowboy and the red archer leaping back to safety with the girl who saved me, and then there is an explosion of light around us as we all activate our traps at once.
“Return!” I shout, and the outline of my seal lights up red around me, and shrieks fill the air. There is a bright blue flash starting with the lancer, and then ripping around the circle like a spark through gunpowder. The music from David exponentially increases in volume, and a white glow saturates the air, and snaps, taking things with it. I feel a sharp pang in my gut, but I push it away and focus. I will not fail now. I will not fail a master who saved me the way she did. I know I can do this. Come on. Come on! We can! We’re so close! Hang on. Purple and green explosions go off as physical bodies trigger the traps the archer left, and I feel energy rip from my body as things try to fight back, and then it’s over, and I am left staring at a circle of ash, and eight or so struggling revenants clinging to life.
W-We did it!
The lancer and the heroic spirit who has been staying by the caster go after them with a vengeance, and I try to stand up and help too, but I collapse the moment I try.
I-I’m—I’m out—?!?
I am surprised, but I’m surprised too late. I try to catch myself, and land painfully on a forearm. My ears vaguely register the sounds of violence past me as the last monsters are cut down, but I can barely see my own fingers suddenly.
N-No. No, please. I-I can’t be vanishing, right? I-I thought.
I hold up a hand and try to see, but my vision is so blurry, I can’t tell.
Something calls my name, and I feel a hand on my shoulder. Look up and make out what I think is the cowboy above me.
“You okay?” I hear with ringing ears. He seems so far away.
“Kotarou?”
It’s…my master this time. I see her run up beside him and kneel too.
“Hey—hang on!”
A-Am I dying, then?
There are more people around me, voices, but I can’t see or hear so well. W-What? I…must have...d-done something...wrong…I…
“I-I’m…s…” My vision is…s-swimming. I… “…s-sorry, Master…”
Then I don’t remember any more.
But, there is not real pain when darkness takes me this time. A part of me is expecting, waiting for my head to be cut, but there is only still and calm and quiet in the waiting blackness. It is so different that I could break. And I think…I-I think it must have all been very worth it, whatever happens now. Right? Even if I go back to the throne and forget it all. Because. Because I-I can be proud of that. It was impossible, but someone came and saved me when I was too far gone, s-still, and...and I was able to do what she asked me to, even with so little left. s-so...I...I think it...it’s okay, this time, even if that’s all I get. I am...glad. But the gladness itself is too blindingly bright, and I have no more strength, even for thoughts.
#The Kid (fic)#The Kid#fate go fic#fgo au#fate au fic#fate fic#Fuuma Kotarou#Ritsuka Fujimaru#Cu Chulainn#Archer Emiya#Antonio Salieri#Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart#Billy the Kid
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3, 5, 6, 22!
3: What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need?
my problem is that i can always be arsed to write all the set-up and context and this is how i get into Pickles (all my wips get out of hand.) i'm sure there's something though… OH i know. it's the ling wen/pei ming/shi wudu fic of my dreams, which involves escalating bets/wagers and culminates in a sleazy threesome but they all have feelings about it but the feelings are complex and unnameable. they are not in love but they love each other but also they don't. but they do. you know.
to get the vibe i want, it couldn't just be pwp though. like i would want this to be a trojan horse of emotionally dense 3 tumours character study. but also funny, because they're comedians to me. minimum 5k of buildup necessary, and in order to do that and have it be good i would have to Get A Degree In Pei Ming And Ling Wen And Shi Wudu and tbh the reason i don't write more poly ships is that having to canon review to get two characters' voices down is enough work as it is… you expect me to do more than that……………….
5: What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?
i've flippantly posted about this before but i do feel like i have an elevated level of insight into the nhs + nmj dynamic due to the circumstances of my dad's health issues/head injury/death lmao. i would never do all of that though <3
6: What character do you have the most fun writing?
nie huaisang is the obvious answer (assigned comic relief at birth. a font of earnest sadstuck. deserves to go to prison. the swiss army knife of blorbos.) but shi qingxuan is edging up there. i thought my beefleaf sex pollen fic was going to be 3k but it ended up 8k because sqx as a pov character just kept going and going and going and i was having a GREAT time. i used to shy away from writing characters who are talky and have big personalities because i felt like whatever i wrote would turn out feeling fake and/or annoying, or that it would be more obvious if my characterization was off than if the character was more subdued… i guess i'm just more self-confident now?
more than just being extroverted and chatty, i think what's sooo fun and novel to me about shi qingxuan is that they're such a doer. after primarily writing cerebral repressos for the past 15 years it's so refreshing to write a character whose reaction to most situations is to follow their instinct… they keep the plot moving! never a dull moment!
22: Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?
ah ha ha ha ha yeah no i reread stuff i wrote in the last ~2 years allll the time. i know what i like! and if it already existed up to spec i wouldn't have written it! there's definitely stuff i find cringe and parts i skim if i'm not happy with them but overall i spend a lot of time on my own ao3 page......
///
you also asked about foowd extras... i still find writing + sharing these kind of mortifying because despite bravado about my trans fanfiction brand, part of my brain is still like "okay but NOW it's cringe because NOW it's not 'suicidal closeted trans character is depressed and makes bad choices' but 'comparably emotionally stable character is a known transgender and has some good things happen to her' so everyone will point and laugh over your SELF INDULGENT WISH FULFILLMENT!!!1!1!!1" because the particular brainworm i find very difficult to remove re: residual shame over writing trans fic is the idea of anything you write being automatically discounted as personal projection basically on par with readerfic rather than coming from being genuinely interested in the canon character(s). and wanting to write about nice things happening to fictional trans people being like, THE WORST MOST CRINGE thing you could ever do. but i persisteth.
it's funny because i WOULDN'T even say they are just fluffy wish fulfillment stuff... the four "chapters" i'm planning on posting have a bit of an emotional arc, and what interested me enough to write them out instead of just leaving them as comfy eyelid movies were questions like "now that it's actually happening, how WOULD nhs actually feel about the prospect of not only stepping down from sect leadership but uprooting her entire life to go join another sect," with the idea that, if that were to actually happen rather than stay an escapist fantasy, she'd probably feel... pretty conflicted about it! it would be weird (even if ultimately worth it)!
so there's that. and then there's the fact that the entire original fic largely sprung out of ideas about sangcheng eventually being in a long-term relationship that looked a certain way, and then reverse engineering the interpersonal arc that would be needed to get them there (and that becoming the main fic.) foowd proper ends when they've only just even actually "become a couple," and you don't get to see much of that... so i wanted to chuck at least SOME of what i imagine about straight married sangcheng's day to day life into the world. (not that it's even at that point yet LMAO. EVENTUALLY!!!) if for no other reason than that there's a strong chance that sometime i'll reference something from the extended foowd lore in casual conversation forgetting that no one has any idea what i'm talking about because it does not exist anywhere except my brain
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Tim And Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! #22: “Chan” | August 4, 2008 - 12:30AM | S03E02
Hot off the heels of what I maintain is the single worst episode of Awesome Show comes “Chan”, which I maintain is one of their best. Solid humor throughout, and the slighter bits are propped up by the stronger things in the show. THIS is Tim & Eric, baby!
Chan is named after one of the running bits in the episode that kicks off with the cold open, which announces that Channel 5 is celebrating “100 Years of Jackie Chan”. The way they do this is by having sketch characters as well as their cadre of weirdo outsiders deliver stilted and awkward compliments to the camera as if addressing Chan himself. This is capped off with Jan Skyler admitting “and I think you’re cute” while Wayne who acts performatively miffed. I quote that line, which sorta requires performing it just like Jan, on a regular basis. It is sickening.
A lot of the Chan testimonial lines are strong, but towards the end of the episode they show Richard Dunn who delivers maybe my favorite line of the episode: “If I had another father I would love to have you my father cuz I love the way you’d make me grow up!” The concept of having an old man ask a younger old man to be his father, the garbled delivery, the nonsense sentiment of loving the way someone hypothetically “making” you grow up... hell, the little graphical flourish of having Dunn’s face roll away in a CGI coin for no reason make this moment so goddamn sublime.
There’s a memorable commercial starring the Tiny Hat crew (right? I’m sorta shooting from my hip on this one and don’t feel like looking it up). They play a board game called “It’s Not Jackie Chan”. The idea is that Jackie Chan permeates the average American’s thoughts to such a degree that accidentally answering Jackie Chan in a game where the answer is never Jackie Chan is inevitable, just like death and being dead. The commercial ends with a great gag where one of the players slams the “wrong” buzzer and won’t let go of it, eventually staring down the camera as his cheery advertising smile fades into a frown. This one hits, big time.
Zit talk is maybe the weak link here, but only because of how simple and small in scale the whole thing is; it’s just Tim and Eric talking about dealing with zits, showing stills that purport to show their actual zits that wound up appearing on camera. This seems pretty improvised, and it’s funny enough. One of the stills is from either shooting the Tom Goes to the Mayor sketch from season two or from one of the deleted segments from said sketch. I was curious, and actually looked at that sketch on streaming, and the particular shot they showed the still of doesn’t seem to be in the finished episode. Eric does indeed have a small spot like in the still, but it’s much less pronounced in the video footage I saw, so either makeup or photoshop was involved in the discrepancy.
Quilting with Will is pretty good, too. I think this is a better sketch than the Lazy Horse mattress sketch. Will is good at visceral intensity while becoming unhinged. At its weakest, you just feel like Will is simply doing the thing he does. But there are some really inspired moments in this, like the insert shot of him pretending to lay in his coffin. The weak link of the sketch might be the older woman, Lynette, whose attempts to improv thwart the very funny things Forte is saying. In a lot of shots, you can hear little wisps of her dialogue clipped off, meaning they had to cut around her lines with very close edits. She says “TMI” at one point. Bad instincts, Lynette. This sketch has quite a bit in the deleted scenes on the DVD, and they are worth watching. I wish they deleted Zits to make this one longer.
Steve Mahanahan’s commercial (or perhaps it’s an instructional video) for getting the most out of your child clown rental is really wonderful and unsettlingly creepy. The concept of child clowns, and the way Steve Mahanahan treats them (it’s literally child abuse with a coat of cheery paint slapped on it) was more digestible in the earlier sketches, but this one shows shot-on-degraded VHS footage of actual children dressed as clowns. It’s uncanny and uncomfortably real-seeming. So much so, that re-re Pizzagate believers (unlike me who believes in Pizzagate the CORRECT way) targeted Tim & Eric partially on the basis of this sketch. This targeting actually lead Tim to do an impromptu episode of his Office Hours show just to address this and try to explain the humor of it.
The proper Tim & Eric wraparound features Eric as the wealthy husband of a beautiful blonde sexpot played by Abbey Brooks, whom we saw in the Pizza Boy sketch from season one. Tim is a sleazy rat-tailed homewrecker who gleefully “bangs” her while Eric is away on driving business. Eric catches on and eventually disposes of his wife, puts on a blonde wig, and surprises Tim and kills him with a gun. These scenes are all punctuated by a soulful singer named Sire singing about “Sexual Romance”.
On paper, it’s fairly meager, and I can’t help but suspect Tim of just wanting to write a love scene with Abbey, even though his on-camera interactions with her are pretty tepid and above all else absurd and played for laughs. Censorship notes lead them to doing all kinds of things that only a little bit look like sex-having, which ultimately lead to a funny performance. The performances really do elevate this one, and I like when the Tim & Eric wraparounds are more like this and less “hosty”. I also think the end of the episode is one of Eric’s best moments, and it plays to his strengths with his naturalistic deadpan delivery. His face while shooting Tim is priceless, the final line is great because he's saying it. I also love the Silk-Stalkings-sounding end credits music.
During the Valentines’ Day Watchalong, Tim and Eric said of the sketch that they were trying to exploit the LA lifestyle for comedy, by renting tacky mansions that are mostly used for freaking pornos. Tim also mentioned that Sire (who is actually a pretty talented singer), went on tour with Tim & Eric, and that Tim had recently sold Sire some antiques, so they still keep in touch to some degree. Speaking of commerce, Eric’s dad apparently tried to buy the car used in the sketch.
I remember this season being a step down generally speaking, but this one’s as good as any of the good episodes from previous seasons. There’s one more all-timer coming up this season, but I’m rusty on the rest. Am I excited, or what.
MAIL BAG
You don't even like the title of the episode, "Blaster of Both Worms", I think it's kinda cute.
"and I think he's cute" lol. To be honest, I didn't even really consider the title and my feelings for it, and I don't know if I even really get it. The second worm = his peenie? Answer me at once. But, I guess I like it. It sounds cool!
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For the very long ask game: 5, 7, 9, 11, 13, 14, 18, 21, 22, 23, 25, 28, 32, 33, 36, 37, 40, 45, 47, 49, 52, 57, 60, 65, 69, 71, 79, 86, 96, 98, 99, 128, 138, 140, 148, 160, 197, 216. Feel free to ignore any question that feels too personal or if they're just too many and you don't feel like answering every single one.
Want to know me better? Send me any number!
5: Book/series I reread?
I reread The Hobbit once. The first time I read it was eleven years ago for school. My classmates convinced our substitute teacher to make it our reading assignment for that term because the first Peter Jackson adaptation was coming out that year. I read it and enjoyed it (it was one of the best book assignments I ever had and I remember it very fondly) but I didn't really get into Tolkien until I watched the films. I reread The Hobbit in English when I became a Tolkien fan.
Fun fact about The Hobbit for me is it was the book I analyzed for my end of degree project at university so I reread parts of it then too. I knew I wanted my project to be about Tolkien and I originally wanted to make it about The Lord of the Rings but The Hobbit suited the topic I ended up choosing better and it being a shorter work also made it easier for me.
I wanted to reread The Lord of the Rings too when it was my main obsession but I never found the motivation to reread the whole thing, only the first chapter on Bilbo and Frodo's birthday to celebrate. It's the chapter I remember most fondly and definitely my favourite. I think I read the whole Harry Potter series again once a long time ago but it's not something I usually do. I don't really have a favourite book so I don't have a book I keep coming back to.
7: Writer I trust enough to read whatever they write?
J.R.R. Tolkien, Jane Austen and Louisa May Alcott.
9: Favourite flavour of anything?
I'm not sure I have a favourite but I like chocolate and vanilla.
11: Favourite song?
cardigan by Taylor Swift.
13: Favourite word?
Ethereal.
14: The last person who hurt me, did I forgive them?
Yes, she didn't mean to hurt me.
18: Movie I watch when I’m feeling down?
Usually Cinderella (1950). I used to watch The Fellowship of the Ring several years ago and the last one I watched when I was feeling down was Frozen.
21: What am I most afraid of?
People (I have social anxiety) and the future.
22: A good quality of mine?
My depth of sensitivity and emotion.
23: A bad quality of mine?
I'm very insecure.
25: Actor/actress you trust enough to watch whatever they’re in?
Noah Schnapp. Not so much because I trust him (I do) but because I really want to watch everything he's in (not that much so far, he's young).
28: Something I miss?
When my life was simpler.
32: Someone I love?
My beloved.
33: Someone I trust?
My sister.
36: My current obsession?
My beloved.
37: Favourite TV shows as a child?
The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh was my absolute favourite but I also liked Hannah Barbera shows (Wacky Races, Top Cat, Pixie and Dixie and Mr. Jinks, Tom and Jerry), Pink Panther, The Powerpuff Girls, Winx Club, Bratz, Trollz, W.I.T.C.H. and Kim Possible.
40: What do I think about most?
My beloved.
45: Last film I watched?
The Peanuts Movie, such a cute funny feel good movie. I watched it mostly for Noah (he voiced Charlie Brown and was absolutely adorable <3) but I enjoyed it a lot, I love it. ♡
47: Favourite animal?
Swan but I also like birds in general.
49: Superpower I wish I could have?
Invisibility.
52: When do I feel most at peace?
When I'm asleep dreaming of my beloved.
57: Favourite drink?
Camomile tea.
60: Pet peeve?
Running into people I know on the street.
65: What fictional universe would I like to be a part of?
I've always wanted to be a fairy tale princess but that's too vague and doesn't really answer the question.
If you had asked me this question about five years ago, I would've said Middle-earth, the Shire specifically, without hesitation. I was in love with it, my dream was to live in Bag End, but now I think it would be nicer and cozier to be Beth March for a day.
Back then, I also would have loved to be a Hogwarts student but now I think it probably wouldn't be as nice as it sounds. I still occasionally come up with Hogwarts AU situations in my head though.
I would love to live close to the Hundred Acre Wood so I could meet its inhabitants.
And although Hawkins is definitely not the best place to live, I'd love to have the chance to see Will.
69: What do I admire most about others?
Their ability to do usual every day tasks effortlessly and have the energy to basically live their lives.
71: Something I wish I could do?
Have the life of my dreams.
79: Sunsets or sunrise?
Sunsets.
86: Who is my hero?
96: Can I cook?
Will the Wise: intelligent, creative, resourceful and most importantly selfless.
Kinda, a few very simple dishes like omelette and pasta but nothing very elaborate.
98: 3 things I love?
Music, fiction, nature.
99: 3 things I hate?
Not being taken seriously, being undervalued, others being insensitive or inconsiderate.
128: Do I admit when I wrong?
I guess? I try.
138: Do I believe in second chances?
I generally do, though it depends on the case. I do if the person is willing to take them.
140: Do I believe people are capable of change?
Yes, if they are willing and committed to change.
148: Which fictional character do I wish was real?
Will Byers.
160: What colour mostly dominates my wardrobe?
Blue, I think. I also have pink, purple, green, grey and white, but I would say it's mostly blue, it's my favorite color.
197: Something I hated as a child that I like now?
The Nightmare Before Christmas, I guess. I wouldn't say I like it now but I don't hate it anymore. I'm mostly indifferent though I still think it's creepy.
216: Favourite fictional character?
Will Byers (Stranger Things), Beth March (Little Women), Princess Aurora (Sleeping Beauty), Frodo Baggins (The Lord of the Rings).
Thank you so much for asking. ♡
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spn asks: 6, 13, 22
Thanks for the asks!!! <3
6. Which character should have never died (excluding TFW 2.0)?
CHARLIE. I will never forgive them for killing her off. She added a sort of brightness to the show that no other character did, and she was a great stand in for us fans for whenever the writers wanted to head the fandom route (as opposed to the girls in Fanfiction and Backy). She was also so, SO good for Dean. I feel like Dean could have made a lot of progress in coming to understand himself if he had Charlie. Plus, I simply adore her and think she should've been allowed to be a badass and happy and hunt and LARP and force everyone to play dnd at one point and become Cas' friend and maybe tease them about the Supernatural books.
13. Opinion on Adam and Michael (are they in love or just cage buddies:)?
Honestly???? I'm kinda on the fence about this, but I'm leaning on the "they fell in love and they're just happy existing with each other but neither of them has brought it up and they haven't talked about it yet" side. Like yes, they have feelings for each other, but have they figured out how they can allow themselves to be together and want that under the circumstances? I would've LOVED if canon had explored their relationship more.
22. What is on the jackles tapes (wrong answers only)?
jackles forgot his lines and blacked out for a moment and he started reciting a really long convoluted introduction for the world's best apple pie recipe that starts with a conversation he had with an apple farmer visiting LA from Washington during his struggling actor days making ends meet with mechanical bullriding.
ask me some spn questions, desticule
#i wish i was funny enough to come up with a good answer for 22 lmao#stillwinchester#inquiries#aria's inquiries#destiel#desticule asks#supernatural#spn
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i have an idea wednesday addams meeting reader who has a melanie martinez, maybe fran bow aesthetic, or this tiktok account's aesthetic https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSedsmvSe/ (because pastels), and reader's family also has that type of aesthetic, addams and reader's family meet?
i don't know if you take asks or requests but i just had an idea and i wanted to share it with the class
this is what I call a magnificent contribution !! Thanks for sharing it with the class, you have an A +
Also, thank you so much for letting me write for another fandom!! I hope you like this little fic <3
Devil likes pastel color (Platonic Wednesday x Fem!Reader)
“Hallo!” you smiled as you approached the black haired girl next to you.
In the month you have been there, a lot of classmates have approached you, wanting to be your friends and making you feel welcomed, because a new girl in the school was always a rare but awesome thing, and you were so nice and lovely, the kind of person everyone would want around.
Everyone, except Wednesday Addams. The girl wasn’t rude to you, she just didn’t talk or even see in your direction, which you respected. You find her fascinating, but after the first attempt to befriend her, where she commented on your “utterly horrible and eye burning clothes”, you stopped trying. You laughed it off, of course, but never bothered her again.
Too bad the teacher didn’t care about Wednesday’s wishes at all and paired you with her for the next project. Well, you could always try to make this a pleasant experience for both of you. Which would be easier if the girl would even look at you.
“How are you?” you tried again
She remained quiet. You started to feel a little awkward, but your parents taught you to be patient with people.
“So...what do you think we should do for our project?” you asked and smiled again.
“We can see how long it takes a wolf to eat a small human” she finally answered.
You were making progress!! Good! And this was something you actually knew about, so it was amazing! Too bad you didn’t hear the sarcasm in her voice, nor caught the hint about you being the small human. You totally missed her threat.
“Well, it depends. Wolves usually eat 3.3 pounds of meat per day, 22 if they’re starving. So, I’m guessing between 6 and 43 days, depending how angry is it” you smiled.
Wednesday frowned and finally looked at you. You had listened about how she could make anyone fear her with only looking at them, but to you, it was a victory. If you were honest, she was the most interesting person you’ve ever met.
“How much do you weigh?” she asked and raised an eyebrow.
This time, you understood the meaning and couldn’t help but giggle. She was so cute.
“Enough to feed a growth wolf, that’s for sure” you said “But I doubt Akela would allow any other wolf near me”
The other girl blinked and her whole posture changed. She even turned so she was fully facing you this time. Second point to you!
“You have a wolf?” she asked
“Oh yes, he’s such a good boy, always protecting us from people who get too close. I think he still has a hand on the basement. Not sure whom it belonged to. But don’t worry, he’s sweet with the people we like” you finished with a huge smile.
By the way Wednesday’s face changed from annoyed to interested, you knew you had her full attention now.
_________________
“Can I help you?”
You smiled when a lovely tall lady in a black dress greeted you. It had been a month since that project you and Wednesday did and you two became good friends since then. Everyone at school thought it was odd, because you two were total opposites, but for you it only made your friendship even better! Besides, your pastel dresses always looked better with Wednesday’s black ones, you made each other stand out.
Yet, this was the first time you came to her house. At first, she said she’d prefer to work at your place because that way her younger brother wouldn’t bother you (even if the idea of Akela attacking Pugsley was tempting for her), but then it was just that she enjoyed the way you and your family treated her,
Don’t get it wrong, deep inside she loved her strange family, but being the older (and better) child meant her parents would usually expect too much from her, and you were a single child, which meant you and your parents would give her all your attention. Besides, she discovered your parents were amazing.
They shared your same pastel aesthetic, but also your creepiness. You weren’t cruel, far from that, in fact, she’d often find your manners and sweet talk too cloying for her taste, but there were times when a darker side of you would come out, usually if you were in trouble or danger, and those, those were her favorite moments. When you’d get all psycho and murder. She found it kind of cute.
There was only so much her parents could teach her, but your parents were still a box of surprises and she loved learning new ways of using knives, chains, poison or raising spiders. But after a month of getting to know you all, she decided it was time for you to meet her family too.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Addams” your mother said, with a big smile “We apologize for any inconvenience, we’re just here to leave our little princess”
The woman frowned but before she could say anything, a man with a funny mustache and a cigarette approached her from behind.
“And who are these people with a horrendous sense of fashion, cara mia?” he asked.
Your parents laughed and this time your father presented you all in a better way.
“We’re the Y/L/Ns. Our little princess here was invited to your lovely house” your father said.
“Mother, father” a voice came behind the Addams “I invited her”
You smiled when Wednesday approached you all with a small smirk. She never smiled the way you or your parents did, but her smirk was still a nice touch. It fit her.
“This is Y/N, and her parents, Y/F/N and Y/M/N” the girl said.
This time, the Addams seemed to understand and opened their eyes in realisation.
“Oh, so this is the girl you kept telling us about, dear Wednesday” the woman said “Our apologies, we weren’t expecting you to have such...tastes in clothes” she said.
You and Wednesday looked at each other and smirked. You two knew what her parents would think about your family’s aesthetic, it was the same the black-haired girl thought at first, but you had the hope that, just like their daughter, the Addams could see past the pastel color and build a good relationship with them.
You knew your parents would at least try.
___________________
“I think nuts could cover the amoniac” you casually said “Mom could help us bake some cookies”
Wednesday didn’t look up from her book, but you could see her rolling her eyes and smirking.
You were right, your parents and the Addams quickly got along despite the initial suspicion from the goth family. And now it was common for you to spend days and nights at the Addams mansion or them visiting your place (although this was less common, since they didn’t like to go out too much). It was like having a second family! But despite getting to know them all now, Wednesday was still yours and your parents’ favorite.
That’s why you were a little mad about the current topic.
It wasn’t rare for people to call Wednesday a freak or other names, but it never bothered her. She knew who she was and didn’t let anyone unimportant affect her. But you were another story. You hated people who judged others only because of their looks, it didn’t matter if they called you pretty or wanted to be your friends only because you seemed nice, if they dared to disrespect Wednesday, they were automatically on your black list.
But even then, it was a thing to call other people nasty names (which was still wrong, but you could ignore it), and another too different was to try to punch her (thank god she was strong and stopped their hand before it could hit her face).
You tried to fight them, but Wednesday just picked you up (again, she was really strong) and pulled you out of there. Needless to say, it surprised everyone at school. Nobody thought that sweet Y/N could be so scary or that creepy Wednesday would be the calmed one.
If only they knew it was like that 60% of the time.
“Ok, ok, what about a tea party at my house and I accidentally let Akela out?” you asked and smiled when the wolf under Wednesday’s feet looked at you, ready to follow orders.
“We would have to clean the blood from the carpets” she said “besides, that kind of junk food could give him indigestion” she finished, caresing Akela’s head.
“Fiiiiiiine” you pouted “but I still think the cookie are a good idea”
The black-haired girl didn’t say anything but the smirk was all you needed. Both of you sat down in silence, enjoying the books on your hands, when something hit your window. It wasn’t a mystery who it could be, especially when other water balloons followed the first one.
“Hey freak! Come show your face!” someone outside yelled.
You looked at Wednesday, but she only rolled her eyes and shrugged. Akela was alert and you could sense the change in the mood. He knew something was wrong, he could feel your anger.
“Seems like they fell for the beauty and the beast explanation, uh?” she said and you frowned.
You had heard the rumors about her being some kind of witch who put a spell on you to control you, given that there was no other explanation as to why you would like to be friends with her. It was stupid and made you mad that they think you couldn’t make a choice for yourself or that they seemed to think about you as a fragil doll. Were they really stupid enough to believe it?
“Well, let’s show them who the beast really is” you smirked as you walked out, with Akela following you.
#x reader#reader insert#imagine#wednesday addams imagine#wednesday addams x reader#wednesday addams#nicole fugere#the addams family#addams family imagine#addams family#request#not my gifs#gifs found in google
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TPWK Music Video
Word Count: 3.5k (omg shut up I didn’t think it’d be longer than 600 words)
Category: Fluff
Warning: idk a few swear words I guess? no proofreading is done on this blog ok 😭
Summary: Long-term girlfriend Y/N isn’t only the choreographer of TPWK, but she’s Harry’s dancing partner in the music video as well. Harry is in love, and can also be a pest.
reposting because tumblr hates it when i appear under tags
// masterlist //
..
For as long as you could remember, you were a dancer.
From pictures taken of you as a child by your family on your tippy toes in ballet costume, to professional ones of you ranking as first in dancing championships as a teenager as you experimented with styles other than ballet, to you befriending some of the biggest names in film and music industries as you choreographed the dances for them in the studio you owned, having had bought one at the age of only 22 and it being one of the most successful dance studios there is, with people flying from all around the world to attend your workshops and get a glimpse of what you create.
You were friends with people you had never thought, as an aspiring teenager, to know and help create choreography for, along with all the musical movies you helped bring a different tune to by the dance steps you created, and to mention one name of many, you were most proud of The Greatest Showman.
Initially, you were a friend of a friend of Harry’s.
You met the English man 3 years ago; flirting with one another for 7 months on end – Harry liked to remind you that you would’ve been together way sooner if it weren’t for the both of you being in different countries so often during that time –, dating for 1, officially being together for the rest of the 2 and half years and until that very moment.
“Look, Y/N just sent me the video they made at her Tokyo workshop.”
“I can’t make it, guys. Y/N created the choreography for Ari’s new video, and she’s in it. It premiers tonight.”
“Like my hoodie? Exclusively got to be the first person to wear Y/N’s new merch collection. Looks sick, doesn’t it? Worked so damn hard on that one.”
“Have you seen Lizzo’s new music video? Y/N made the choreography!”
If anything, your friends and family liked to joke about how Harry was a fanboy of yours.
Taking Harry with you to your studio made Harry resemble a child on a Christmas morning, or a child accompanying a parent to their work for a “take your kid to work” day. He never denied the pride he felt whenever he watched you in your element, watching you gracefully do your thing, so beautifully and passionately, in a studio that looked different from his.
“We were thinking,” he said one night as he got under the covers with you, smiling and closing his eyes as you reached to rub a missed spot of his night cream on his forehead, “Of creating a music video for Treat People.”
“How many music videos are you planning to make, really? 12? For all 12 songs on your record?” You had joked with a smile, watching him snuggle into the covers with a giggle.
“And what about it?”
“Just the fact that you never warn your poor fans,” you had chuckled, “What do you have in mind for it?”
“It’s all too fresh,” Harry said, “But I have a concept in mind.”
You had hummed, resting your head on your pillow, sitting face-to-face with Harry under the covers before he excitedly propped himself up on his elbow.
“Retro. Just retro, a casino, and a dance.”
Your eyebrows went up, a surprised look on your face, “Not what I had in mind but go on.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Lots of people, kind of like a parade thing in the street.”
“That’s nice,” he smiled.
“But...” Knowing him well enough, you continued with a roll of your eyes.
“People won’t expect a vintage video, will they?”
“I don’t think they’ll expect a video for Treat People to begin with, baby.”
“Right,” he nodded, “So, what do you think?”
Just as you were about to confirm your excitement to the concept, your face had shifted to an expression of confusion;
“Did you say a dance?”
It didn’t take Harry long to discuss the concept with his team, going through the theoretical bit of creating a music video before Jeff asked the one question Harry had been excited to answer;
“Who’s going to do the choreography? Who’s going to be your dancing partner? We need to go over some pe-”
“Y/N.”
“What?”
“You really think I’ll let anyone but my girlfriend do either of that?” Harry asked sarcastically with a smirk, “Planning on asking her tonight.”
“You son of a bitch, you already have it all planned.” Jeff laughed, shaking his head at his client and best friend.
And Harry stayed true to his word.
Insisting on driving you to and picking you from your studio after your workshop, Harry greeted you with a quick kiss once you were seated in his car, groaning about how ready you were to get in bed.
He was a little impatient, he’d admit. Holding a conversation about your day seeming to have had distracted him just a tad until you were both home and in comfortable mismatched PJ’s, indulging a late-night snack in your kitchen which consisted of quick sandwiches.
“And then he calls me, tells me that he wants me to come up with a dance for his tour promo video in a day, H! A day! Can you believe that?”
“Fucking idiot. What did you tell him?” Harry frowned, moving to remove a piece of crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.
“Declined for sure. Told him that it was too short of a notice, like, what am I supposed to do? Stop the time?”
“And what did he say?”
“Whined like a baby,” you scoffed, nodding to Harry’s annoyed expression, “I know!”
“Who does he think he is?” He rhetorically asked, “Calling one of the most demanded choreographers and expecting you to just do as he says. As if.”
Despite your annoyance at the said celebrity, your frown faltered at your boyfriend.
“And you know what’s funny?” He went on, “That you’ve been trying to reach a common ground, like, a solution that would be convenient for the both of you but he’s being an unhelpful, ungrateful twat.”
You pouted, reaching to pull him closer by one of his hoodie’s strings, pecking his lips, “Thanks for sharing the same annoyance and trash talking him with me.”
“Just wish some people weren’t dicks to you, love,” he sighed, “You don’t deserve it.”
“I can take care of them.” You smiled.
“I know you can, you deal with them so well, I don’t know how you do it,” Harry said, “But I still think some people need to stop giving you a hard time. Pisses me off.”
“Yeah? It’s hot.” You teased him, leaving a lingering kiss on his lips.
Harry’s posture eased, chuckling at you as he held on to your waist. “Glad you think so.”
“Always do,” you confirmed, “Now, what do you want to tell me?”
His eyebrows came together in confusion, “How did you know that? How- How did you know that I have something to say?”
You chuckled knowingly, giving him a shrug, “It’s a little offensive that you think I don’t know you well,” you sarcastically began, “But to answer your question, you tend to touch your bottom lip more often when you have something to say. And you have this look on your face.”
He might have fallen in love again and again that moment, opting to say silent for a moment as he took what you had said in – as he took you in.
Harry let out a sigh of contentment, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and bringing you closer in a hug before pressing a soft kiss to your head, “Love you so much.”
“Love you, too,” your muffled voice replied, “Now tell me.”
“You know how I told you I wanted Treat People to have a dance? And it’s all retro and all that?”
You nodded, looking at him.
“How do you feel about creating that? Being in the music video with me as my dancing partner?” He bashfully asked, eyes twinkling and smile innocent.
Your eyes widened, “What? Me?”
“Who else?”
“Are you being for real right now?” You laughed in disbelief, “Not only do you want me to create the choreography, but- but you want me in it?”
“Precisely, yes.” He nodded with a smile.
“Wow,” you smiled, shaking your head, “Are you sure?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked, “You’re so fucking talented and good at what you do, people know we’re together, I have been impatiently waiting for you to join me in any of that stuff, and it’ll be fun,” Harry listed before shrugging, “What do you say?”
“I mean, I see the fun part,” you replied, “But when do you want that? When do you want to start filming? I’m going to need more details.”
“Whatever you need.”
And again, Harry was a man of both words and actions, filling you with what you needed to know and enjoying how you seemed to glow brighter at the mention of your job and passion.
It didn’t take long before you were both in the studio after having discussed some technicalities with Harry’s team. On some days, you and Harry would goof around in your studio after you were done with the day. You’d occasionally teach Harry a move or two, and more often than not, Harry was the audience you needed to watch a new choreography of yours that you were either unsure or proud of.
But to be able to have Harry join you from start to finish in what you enjoyed doing had another feeling; one that neither of you could explain.
“You kick out with your right, then,” you demonstrated, “Step in.”
With pursed lips and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, Harry copied your moves, eyes on himself through the gigantic mirror in front of the both of you.
“Good job!” You grinned, “Alright so it’s, 5, 6, go 7, and 8,” you began from the top, “Then 1, and 2,” you stepped with your feet as you moved, “Kick, step, kick, step, turn,” you turned, “Push to the side,” you recapped slowly, “Clap, clap. Come on, you do it.”
Harry took a moment, letting out a breath as he shook his limbs, “Alright, got it,” he mumbled, “Can you count?”
“Yeah, baby, sure,” you giggled quietly, “5, 6, 7, 8…”
“Ah fuck,” he groaned as he seemed to lag before the next step.
You approached him, resting your hands on his shoulders before cupping his face to have him look at you, “You’re nervous. Why are you nervous?”
“Besides the fact that it’s the first time I do this?”
“Do what? Dance? We took salsa classes together.” You reminded him gently.
“No, love, just- this, for a video. And you’re so fucking good. I didn’t think you’d put that much effort into my little video but the dance looks amazing and I’d just, hate to not do it justice.” Harry ended his confession with a sigh, shoulders slumping down.
“H,” you pouted, “Baby, you’re an amazing dancer,” at that, Harry rolled his eyes, “Nooo, you are!” You repeated, assuring him, “If you can’t see how far better you’ve gotten than you’re blind, H.”
Harry’s face softened, looking at you as you nodded at him.
“We’re both putting effort and I won’t rest until we give this all it takes for you to enjoy it, alright?” You leaned closer, pecking his nose with a soft kiss which seemed to work to make him giggle, reaching to scratch his nose,
“Tickles.”
“Oh yeah?” You jokingly wiggled your fingers into his sides, “In your spot, Styles, let’s go!”
You weren’t surprised that after all your little classes together, Harry had perfected the choreography. It wasn’t just in your time together that Harry practiced; you caught him in the kitchen, in the shower, counting under his breath as he sat with a dazed look on his face, and you had seen him far too many times watching the recorded tutorial you had made for him and your backup dancers.
You weren’t surprised because you knew that once he set his mind to something, he wouldn’t rest until he reached it.
But just because you weren’t surprised, didn’t mean that you were any less proud.
Far too many videos on your phones were added of one another during that time; Harry dramatically lying on the floor in the studio, sweaty and panting as you recorded him while laughing, zooming into his dopey but smiling face, your phone propped up as it recorded the both of you practicing the entire choreography, catching the bit when Harry dipped in your arms but you weren’t ready and he ended up falling, bringing you down with him as the both of you burst out laughing.
He loved seeing you in your element, that was an established fact, but being with you in your element? That was priceless.
“Jesus, this is heavy!” Gemma exclaimed as she tried Harry’s sequined, bright cropped blazer.
Filming came by, and there was nothing like seeing hard work pay off.
Harry chuckled at his sister, taking the blazer from her before putting it on, “Have you seen Y/N? Is she done?”
“They were retouching her hair.”
Harry’s stomach was filled with butterflies. If you asked him for the reason behind them, he wouldn’t know how to answer; because he was nervous he’d mess up? Normal jitters before filming? Or maybe, it was the fact that you were finally joining him and that alone was enough to have him giddy, giggly, and bouncy?
Gemma would say it was the latter, having had watched and heard Harry ask about his girlfriend during the entirety of the process of getting ready;
“Is she alright?”
“Feel like I’m getting married and I’m not allowed to see my bride.”
“Can you please tell Y/N to check her phone? She puts it on silent whenever she’s working but I want to show her my hair.”
In the dressing room beside his, you began laughing the moment Gemma stepped in, already knowing from her huff and annoyed look the reason behind them.
“Bloody pest! How do you deal with him being all clingy over you like that?”
“I don’t,” you joked, “He’s nervous.”
“And a little annoying.”
“Thank you,” you smiled to the hairdresser before getting out of the chair, “Where’s the man of the hour?”
“Whining outside that door,” Gemma answered with a raise of her eyebrows and a smile, “You look amazing, love.”
“Really?” You smiled bashfully, tugging on your vintage jacket and looking down at your shoes, “It’s a light outfit.”
“Should try Harry’s blazer,” she huffed, “So heavy.”
Walking outside the room with Gemma, you saw Harry standing with your group of backup dancers, smiles on all of their faces as he talked with them, you fully knowing that he was making sure they were comfortable.
“Here comes the bride!” Gemma joked, raising her arms up.
Harry turned, and everyone was sure that it might as well have been your wedding.
His eyes seemed to reflect the shiny blazer he had on, dimples showing as he grinned, opening his arms at you.
Concealing the shyness you felt under his stare, you laughed as you wrapped your arms around him in a hug, feeling his hand rubbing your back. “You look so good,” you said, pulling away to look at him, “Where’s Lambe- There you are,” you pointed at Harry Lambert who approached the both of you, “How do you do it? What’s your secret?”
“Only the best for Sue,” Harry Lambert said, tipping an imaginary hat at Harry, “And our Angel.” He kissed your cheek.
Soon enough, everyone was asked into place.
For the first shot, they decided to film Harry entering the stage with the dancers first.
Standing at a safe distance away from the camera’s view, you heard the director call before they began recording.
“I got a good feeling,” you watched Harry sing into the vintage microphone, TPWK playing in the background as well, as he leaned to the side.
A smile was on your face, hands clutched together under your chin as you watched Harry and the dancers stick to the choreography you had worked on for the last 3 weeks.
Seeming to be too into your own world of watching your boyfriend, you hadn’t noticed right away when Gemma threw her arm around you until she squeezed you into a side hug, “Did so well, love.”
You gave her a smile and returned the hug, at loss of words.
For your takes, Harry was exactly as what Gemma had called him – a pest.
“Harry, stop making faces at her!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll stop now.”
“Harry!”
“What? I didn’t do anything!”
“You took a picture of Y/N with your flash on!”
“Oh shit, sorry.”
But you couldn’t be mad nor stop laughing, enjoying it too much for anybody’s liking.
“This is why I don’t accept when you ask me to be in your videos.” You joked as you all took a break, munching on a banana.
“See? You deprive me too much, baby.” Harry giggled, pecking your cheek quickly before reaching to grab a banana for himself.
“You’ve been depriving all these people from going back home early for the last couple of days, and look,” you pointed at Mitch, “Mitch looks like he’s close to murdering you.”
“I think that’s just his face, love. He hates this.”
..
“Alright, are we ready?” The director asked, “3, 2, 1, action!”
Harry sang as he stepped on the table you were sat at with your “friends”, a smile on his face as he did, his palm open towards you.
“And if our friends all pass away,” he sang, the soft ah’s following which was your cue to put your hand in his, stepping up on the table with him, “It’s okay.”
Nobody knew how the both of you did it, but everyone was satisfied with the one take they took.
It didn’t feel like filming anymore to either of you the moment Harry threw his bowtie away as you faced one another on stage, genuine smiles on your faces as you broke into the choreography you could do without a thought at that point.
There were moves that Harry had struggled with during practice, one of them being when he held you as you did a cartwheel; but all these struggles were long forgotten once the both of you gracefully did that move.
The song played as the both of you danced in front of the backup dancers and Harry’s band, only adding to the smiles on your faces before it began to come to an end – the end.
Harry twirled, your eyes following him with a smile before you dipped up with one arm, your other raised in the air, while one of Harry’s arms was around your back, the other stretched out.
“Cut! Amazing job! Amazing, amazing, job!”
The both of you were panting, you looking down at him as you giggled before you leaned down, pressing your lips to his in a quick kiss as everyone cheered.
..
Harry sat on it, and you sure as hell were glad he did because after one eventful year, he took matters in his own hands to start 2021 right the moment he dropped the music video on the 1st of January.
“It hasn’t been 10 minutes and it’s trending,” you laughed in shock, scrolling through your Twitter, “Your power!”
“No,” Harry smiled gratefully as he watched you as the both of you cuddled on your couch as and after you had watched the music video together, “All yours.”
“Stop,” you dragged, “You’ve been crediting me for a year for this video as if I did everything.”
“You practically did, love. It was all about the dance and look at you,” he sighed in contentment, squeezing you against him, “Made a dancer out of me.”
“You’re a natural.” You patted his cheek.
Harry scoffed, mind shifting to his X-Factor choreography, “Trust me, I’m not.”
“But seriously,” you began after a moment, looking up at him and making him shift to look at you, “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” he repeated, “I love you.”
“I love you, too, you pest.”
“Hey!”
#harry styles fluff one shot#harry styles fluff imagine#harry styles imagine#tpwk music video#harry styles
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The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 6
Hannibal sits in on a regular conversation between y/n and her family. Y/n insists it could have gone worse.
⚠️Bigass trigger warning⚠️: Verbal abuse, emotional manipulation, blood, mention of alcohol abuse and suicide
Anna lived her life believing that she was the main character, constantly denying personhood to everyone around her. She was the romantic hero, and everyone else existed to forward her plot.
This metaphor was imperfect, however, because in all the books you'd read, the main character must overcome some kind of challenge. Nobody ever said no to Anna. Nobody ever criticized Anna. Nobody but you. So you were pigeonholed into the role of antagonist for it. You had to give her credit; growing up on the receiving end of her and Theresa's torture was a compelling villain origin story.
It was obvious that she only wanted you at her wedding to present her with an obstacle. Heaven forbid her story progress without some semblance of petty drama out of her control. She'd cornered you into a painful catch-22; you wanted vengeance, but you couldn't give her the satisfaction of having her special day ruined. What was your play? Ruin it just a little? Walk away?
These thoughts passed through your mind as you sat through the boring ceremony. You wanted to lean over and whisper everything to Hannibal, but he seemed lost in his own thoughts. The vows seemed to drag on forever. Liam's English accent grated on your ears and you wished that he would just shut the hell up.
The ceremony concluded and you hoped to skip out on the reception with a purse full of mini cannolis, but fate had other plans. In a last-minute reach for some kind of scene, the blushing bride waved you over to the head table.
"[F/N]!" Anna shouted, with a big smile across her face. "Come on!"
You fought the urge to feel endeared by this. She looked too happy to be harmful. Your guard was all the way up as you and Hannibal approached the table.
Hannibal pulled a seat out for you while you studied Anna's expression. She fixed her doe eyes on Hannibal. You knew from experience that Anna had the same powerlust as grandma and Theresa. She was just better at keeping a lid on it.
"[F/N], you remember Liam?" Anna said, her voice brimming with excitement.
"Yeah." You nodded, scooting your chair up. "Nice to see you again, Liam."
"Good to see you again, too [F/N]."
"Liam is from Birmingham." She bragged, her smile somehow growing wider.
"Alabama?" You piped up before taking a drink from your water glass.
Every time you were forced to interact with Liam, she reminded you that the man with the strong and unmistakable English accent, was in fact from England. And every time, you slipped in the Alabama comment. It was never not funny.
"Liam, Anna," you said. "This is my fiance, Dr. Hannibal Lecter."
"Many congratulations to you two." Hannibal offered.
"Dr. Lecter, thank you so much for coming." Anna returned. "And thank you for taking such good care of our precious [F/N]. I hope she's not giving you too much trouble. She was quite a handful growing up, but we made it work."
"Don't flatter yourself, you're only four years older than me." You hide your passive-aggressive jab beneath a smile. "You can't take credit for a job you didn't do."
Grandma always thought Anna's protective, borderline maternal behavior towards you was adorable. Of course, it disgusted you. You were little more than an accessory to her. A baby doll she could simulate motherhood with. But, in fairness to her, that was all you were to the adult in the house too. Monkey see, monkey do.
"So have you two set a date yet?" Grandma interrupted your thoughts, just trying to keep the tension down.
"Goodness, no." Hannibal answered. "Ours is a long-term engagement."
"Yeah." You added. "Not until I finish school."
"Well, it's not my fault you aren't expected to graduate on time." Grandma said into her wine.
You tightened your grip on your water glass. "Well, changing your major halfway through will do that."
"I'm just saying," Grandma continued. Whenever she was 'just saying' anything, you knew she was raring to stir things up. "If you had just stayed the engineering track, you wouldn't have to keep Hannibal waiting."
"Well!" Anna cut in, offended that the attention was off her for more than a minute. "Liam and I waited until after college."
"Yes, Anna," Grandma said dismissively, before turning back to you. "Y'know, Dr. Lecter here could probably tell you that psychologically speaking, women are more likely to drop out of college and become strippers when they change their majors?"
Now it was Hannibal's turn to down his entire glass of wine. "Ms. [L/N], where did you get that information?"
"Oh, it was an article I found on Facebook." Grandma answered. "I'll have [F/N] send you a link."
"Ms. [L/N]," Hannibal cleared his throat. "Are you familiar with the concept of misinformation?"
"Of course." She looked offended at the implication that she could possibly not know something.
"See, social media websites like Facebook are inundated with misinformation campaigns." Hannibal explained. "Your claim is not rooted in any psychological fact."
"Yeah, also," You cut in. You scanned the area for escape routes if your attempt to change the subject went awry. "There's a wonderful documentary about how Facebook misinformation campaigns targeted rural counties in England leading up to the Brexit vote."
"Oh, we have a funny story about Brexit." Anna interrupted, taking the bait, hook line and sinker.
Before she could recount the same boring anecdote about being at some regional chain restaurant when the vote was cast, Theresa and her husband joined the table.
"Sorry we're late," Theresa sat down. "Damage control is a twenty-four hour job. What were we talking about?"
"Misinformation." Liam said.
"Perfect timing." You muttered.
"Finally, all three of my girls are together again." Grandma threw her head back and rejoiced. "When was the last time we all got together? Just us four girls, huh?"
"Remember the day before prom, we all went out go get manicures?" Anna reminisced. "And we took pictures of us all dressed up?"
"Oh I remember." You scanned the area for any alcohol to ingest.
"Oh, this is so funny." Grandma laughed hysterically. "Dr. Lecter, did you hear this story? [F/N] went to the prom with a boy who had all along been using her to get close to Theresa! They got together that night! Dated for two whole years after that."
"I've heard an iteration of it." He said, looking over his shoulder. He flagged down a waiter who was holding a bottle of champagne. "Leave the bottle, please."
"Don't drink too much, [F/N]." Anna scolded. "Save some alcohol for the rest of us."
You made sure to maintain eye contact with her as you filled your flute to capacity. "Grandma's paying, isn't she?"
"Anna, baby," Grandma said, rubbing her temples. "It's fine. Let [F/N] drink herself silly. It's a party, right?"
"Wow," Theresa sneered. You knew exactly what she was going to say next. "Like mother, like daughter."
Everyone at the table had enough decorum to recognize that Theresa went too far. You crushed the champagne flute in your grip, letting shards of glass dig into your skin. You glared at Theresa, blood oozing from your palm and dripping onto the white tablecloth.
Wordlessly, Hannibal removed the offending glass from your hand and swaddled the affected area in a napkin. He put pressure on the cut, letting the blood absorb into the cloth.
"Is this the famed '[L/N] woman telepathy'?" Liam whispered to Anna.
"No, [F/N] is just mad because her mother was a drunk who killed herself." Anna thought she was being inconspicuous.
"This has been fun." You stand up from the table. "Really. Great way to spend a Saturday."
"[F/N], sit down..." Grandma ordered, sounding exhausted. "You know Theresa didn't mean that."
"No." You said, each syllable out of her mouth pushing you a step closer to your breaking point. "Y'know what? No. I don't have to put up with this anymore. Anna, congratulations. I hope you and Liam have many long years together."
You turned around to exit as quietly as you could, Hannibal at your side. Your grandmother, who somehow hadn't hit her daily allotted dose of confrontation, wouldn't have it.
"Dr. Lecter, tell [F/N] she's being unreasonable." Grandma pleaded.
Hannibal raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. In his long-spanning career, he'd never once met a person as tone-deaf as Beatrice [L/N]. He kept his quiet composure as he slowly approached the table.
"Beatrice," he said, beckoning her to lean in. He whispered something into her ear that left her stunned and quaking.
You could hear your grandmother's hysterical sobs growing softer as Hannibal hurried you out.
"Keep pressure on that cut, love." He instructed, talking over the increasingly loud shouts of agony from the head table. "You'll need a few stitches."
Once you were far enough from the venue, you had to ask. "What on earth did you say to her?"
"Nothing that you don't already know." He answered, facing forward.
#hannibal lecter#hannibal x reader#hannibal nbc#hannibal x you#tw blood#tw emotional manipulation#cult girl
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Payback | Dean Winchester
✦ pairing — Dean Winchester x female!Plus Size Reader
✦ word count — 2.2k
✦ request — I was wondering if you could do a dean winchester imagine that is like the reader is like young and has been with the boys since she was 18 and now she’s like around 21 or 22. She lives at the bunker with them and helps with research. So, basically she’s fallen in love with dean and has been in love with him for years. She never says anything because she watches him go after all these skinny girls and thinks she will never be good enough since she’s big and doesn’t think he’d ever like her. Then one day she basically just reaches a breaking point and it comes out to dean, and after some angst they get together. Then maybe some fluff or smut?
✦ warnings — angst, age gap (reader is in her twenties while Dean is in his forties), reader is kinda insecure at times, language, mentions of past sexual partners, mentions of a past ilegal relationship, a twinge of jealousy, suggestive stuff, some fluff.
════════════════════════
You heard laughs on the other side of the bar, right under the Bud Light neon sign. Unable to stop yourself, you looked that way.
A small friend group had erupted in laughter. There was a tall guy in the middle of two redheads — you couldn’t see very well, but you could tell he had caught you staring.
So you deviated your eyes to the right, where the bartender served one of your companions another beer. A couple of beers in fact. Dean was talking to a woman, undoubtedly charming her as he rested his elbow on the bar and leaned in to whisper in her ear.
You couldn’t look any longer, you would be sick if you did. He should’ve been doing that to you.
Realistically, you were probably twice her size or more, but you still could dream.
That was the problem, truly — you only could dream. Dean would quit hunting before even considering seeing you as a potential conquest. By this point, you should have been used to it.
Your eyes went back to the friend group from earlier. The tall guy held your gaze for a moment — you couldn’t figure out his eye color, or what his eyes showed under the uneven light, but you damn well could see he was handsome.
Not wanting to give him the wrong impression, you turned to your side and picked up your jacket.
Maybe you should also start to pay attention to the men who were actually interested.
But they weren’t Dean Winchester.
Comparing every man you met to him was a reflex, just like comparing yourself to the women he picked up at bars.
The Bunker was eerie every hour of the day, but there was something especially uncanny about an empty Bunker in the middle of the night. Devastatingly so.
Turning on the lights as you made your way towards the library, you made a beeline towards the kitchen. You weren’t in the mood for drinking anymore or for food, but you knew you needed to drink water.
Taking refugee in the library, you looked around a few news sites to see if you found something. It wasn’t difficult to find something shady or weird going on, but filtering out conspiracy theories was a pain in the ass.
Eventually, you found just what you were hoping you would. Dean and Sam rarely took you with them for hunts, but perhaps you could convince them this time to at least let you watch from the car.
Sam came home a little later, tipsy enough to be in a good mood. You told him about the case you had found, he said he would check it out in the morning and wished you a goodnight.
Dean didn’t come home. Why would he when he could have literally anybody he wanted?
You didn’t get any sleep. You had hoped that listening to an audiobook would lull you, but like most things, it wasn’t enough to even entertain you.
You were sick of this, of being into somebody who would never be into you. And who the fuck loses sleep for somebody who doesn’t see them as anything more than a sibling? You, apparently.
You needed coffee and a hug, but coffee by itself would have to do.
To your luck, Dean was already in the kitchen when you entered. His hair was wet which meant he was, thankfully, fresh out of the shower.
Instead of greeting you, he asked, “Where’s Sammy?”
You shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since last night.”
“He took the car.”
You didn’t even know Sam had brought the car home the night before. “He must have found the case interesting.”
“There’s a case?”
“Kind of. It’s not too far away from here,” you explained, “but I wasn’t sure it was something up our alley. I guess Sam thought it was.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you weren’t here.” You could tell your answer offended him. Good.
“You should have called.”
“Babying you isn’t my job, Dean.”
“Funny you say that when babysitting you isn’t mine and yet...”
“Can you stop treating me like a fucking child for two seconds?”
“Stop acting like one and I might.”
“God, you’re fucking insufferable. I can’t believe I’m in love with you!”
You didn’t know whose eyes were wider, if his or yours.
“Shit,” you muttered under your breath.
He tried to be nonchalant, but Dean couldn’t even move. “Sweetheart, come on. It’s okay.”
You effusively shook your head. “It’s isn’t.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“No, you don’t get to tell me what to do or how to fucking react.” You were yelling now. Why were you yelling over this?
“I— well, I don’t know what to say.” He stuttered. “I mean, you are a kid. I could be your dad who had a kid at a young age, okay? This is fucking crazy.”
“You weren’t supposed to know. It’s humiliating.”
“I’m not going to give you shit about it.”
“No, you are. And then you’re gonna go and fuck somebody who’s actually hot and interesting and you’re gonna make me feel worse.”
“Hey, you’re interesting.”
“I’m not. And even then, you don’t go for them because they’re interesting, do you?”
“What do you want me to say?”
You wanted him to say that you were attractive too, that he would go for you in a heartbeat.
“Nothing.”
Both of you remained silent then. He had many chances to make it right, to have enough pity for you to at least apologize for not realizing you were in love with him sooner.
“ I’m gonna go,” you announced, having decided that this wasn’t worth it. The humiliation hurt, but his reaction stung.
He reached over and stopped you. “Wait, wait, wait.”
“What now?” Your voice broke and your lip trembled. Not now, you thought. But now it was.
“Don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it.”
He hugged you to his chest. “I hate seeing you cry.”
His arms were tightly wrapped around you, a hand on the back of your head and the other on your upper back.
“You’re making me feel even more stupid,” you admitted through tears.
Dean sighed heavily. His hand twitched against your clothed skin as he tried to keep himself from rubbing his face. “You know, maybe you need a break.”
“Are you really trying to get rid of me already?”
He didn’t deny it. So you pushed him off you and stormed out. You couldn’t even get a fucking consolation hug.
════════════════════════
You liked to think you were doing a good job avoiding him. It wasn’t like he spent that much time at home either way.
Expecting him to care had been too much, it seemed. You hadn’t wanted him to beg, or even fantasized about him chasing after you — you just wanted him to care, to at least told you he would forget about it or pretend you hadn’t said anything.
Sam entered the library, feigning interest in the stack of books you had piled on the table two nights ago.
He stalled, opening the one on top as though he hadn’t seen it before.
You shuffled in your seat. Waiting for whatever he would say.
He cleared his throat so you’d look up. You did.
“Dean and I are going out for a drink or two. Want to come?”
“No, I’m gonna watch something on my laptop and go to bed early.”
Sam gave you a worried look. “Well, if you need anything...”
“Have fun.”
Maybe Dean had been right, maybe you needed a break, and maybe —just maybe— this wasn’t the place you were meant to be at.
But you wanted to be there, and you wanted him. It fucking sucked that you would never get what you wanted just because you weren’t thin.
Story of your life.
You stayed in the library longer than you planned and eventually your tv marathon was held there. You had everything you needed and the chairs were comfortable enough.
Your laptop rested on the other side of the table as you leaned onto said table with your forearms and laid your head on your arm.
A knock on the thick door startled you. Looking up, you found green eyes.
“Did I scare you?”
You pressed the space bar to pause your show. “I wasn’t expecting you guys to come back early.”
“Sammy left with somebody so he’s not coming home tonight.”
You hummed, unsure as to what you were supposed to say. Should you say that you were happy for Sam? Should you ask why he hadn’t left with somebody too?
Dean spoke before you could come up with something. “Can we, uh, talk?”
Seeing you nod, Dean approached the table. He didn’t sit down, forcing you to crane your neck.
“I’ll find somewhere else to live,” you assured him.
He frowned, looking down as he searched for your now shifty eyes. “You’re leaving?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted to talk about?”
“No.” He rubbed his palm against his forehead. “I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”
You twisted your mouth. “It’s a little late for that.”
He hurriedly said, “I don’t want you to leave. You’re part of the family.”
“I think I deserve space to move on.”
A groan slipped past his throat and lips, rumbling in his chest. He was growing desperate. “Look... I’m trying to be the responsible adult here because God knows you won’t be.”
“So now I’m an adult?”
“It was never my intention to treat you like a child. I just wanted to put some distance between us.”
“You could have said so.” You didn’t think you would need to state the obvious to somebody as smart as Dean.
“I didn’t want things to be weird or to give the impression that I could take advantage of you if you were too close. I would never do that.”
Not proud enough to pretend you knew what he was talking about, you admitted, “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
“You’re pretty,” he blurted. “Really fucking pretty and interesting and so attractive that’s kinda unfair. And you’re also too young.”
“Dean.”
“Mmmh?”
“Kiss me.”
“Weren’t you listening to me?”
“Just kiss me,” you insisted. “We’ll forget about it if it doesn’t feel right.”
Dean took the chair beside yours out and pulled it to the side. His eyes didn’t meet yours as he leaned in, but they did when his nose brushed yours.
He softly placed his lips on top of yours. You saw his eyes screw shut before you closed yours. It was short and sweet, and when he parted from you, you feared you would have to go back to hide the way you felt about him.
Grabbing you by the waist, Dean made you stand up. He wrapped an arm around you while you rested your hands on his sides as a reflex.
He kissed you again, hard. So hard he unintentionally pushed you against the table. His tongue tasted of whiskey and those bacon-flavored chips you had never had the heart to tell him weren’t that good.
You brought a hand up to the back of his neck, kissing him deeply.
Dean took advantage of the fact that he had you trapped between the table and his body to caress yours. He started with your back and dragged his hands down to your ass.
His hands traveled to your torso, where he could surely feel your belly up, fingers toying with the hem of your black t-shirt.
You stopped his fingers from lifting your top and pulled away from the kiss. “Wait.”
“Having second thoughts?” he breathlessly asked.
“I’m not what you’re used to,” you explained through ragged breathing. “At all.”
”Really?”
You nodded, ashamed. One thing was him knowing how big you were and other was him seeing it for himself.
“Don’t take this the wrong way...”
“That’s a great way to let me know you’re about to insult me.” Fuck. You were getting defensive again — what a way to kill the mood.
“I’m not!” he defended himself. “I was going to point out that you’ve been around for a relatively short amount of time to know what I’m used to.”
“I’ve never seen you with a fat person before.”
“And I’ve never seen you with somebody older than you before.”
Was he playing dumb? “Of course you have.”
“Huh? When?”
“That guy in Texas was well in his thirties. And I dated somebody in their twenties when I was 16, I’m not too proud of that one, but—“
He interrupted you. “Nevermind. Shut up.” Dean kissed you again, bringing you flush against him.
You smiled against his mouth. “Is somebody jealous?”
“Maybe.”
“Good. Serves you right.”
“You’re evil.” He bit down your bottom lip and pulled on it.
“It’s just payback, I promise.”
Dean snorted. “Can’t say I don’t deserve it.”
You remained silent, allowing him to dissipate the tension. You would let him do whatever he wanted, regardless of the outcome, but you were too scared to say it.
You didn’t have to.
“Hey.” He cupped your face. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he assured you. His voice was uncharacteristically soft. “We can take our time.”
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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 23 | S.R.)
Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |
Summary: Spencer’s birthday plans get interrupted by a case. Frustrated by Reader’s busy schedule, Spencer finds a unique way to spend time with her.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+)
Content Warning: Mild exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Dom/sub, light choking, degradation/praise, sub space
Word Count: 7.3k
MASTERLIST
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Waiting for Spencer Reid was an interesting position to be in. It was also, unfortunately, very, very common. You would think the IQ points would translate to efficiency, but you’d be very wrong. The only thing that boy does fast is read, and even that didn’t follow through to text messages, considering he’d read none of the six I’d sent him in the past hour.
So, naturally, as one does in an emergency, I called him. Unsurprisingly, the phone barely rang a second time before he picked up. Talking was, as we were both aware, his forte. Without even waiting for my greeting, his groggy voice came through the receiver with a song-like sound.
“Hello, little girl.”
But it wasn’t his turn to sing, and he knew damn well why I was calling. I could hear the smirk on his face so well that I could also envision exactly what he looked like in that moment, with his fluffy hair sticking up from constantly running his hands through it and his eyes only half-open as he tried to finish reading whatever horrible thing that he had in front of him.
It wasn’t how anyone should be spending their birthday. Especially not him. There wasn’t really anything I could do about it, though that didn’t make it any easier to hear the exhaustion and sadness behind that scratchy voice.
“What’re you doing up late? It’s past your bedtime, you know,” he chastised before I even had a chance to speak. He wasn’t wrong — It was 3AM where I was. But where he was, it’d just hit midnight.
“I just wanted to wish a happy birthday to my favorite old man,” I purred back once I’d managed to calm my fast-beating heart. I wondered if I’d ever get used to the brief rush of adrenaline and relief when I heard his voice for the first time after some time away.
I hoped not.
Spencer didn’t seem impressed by my reasoning, though.
“You’re sweet. Go to sleep.”
“You’re up, too,” I whined, still picturing the way he would undoubtedly pull the phone further away to lessen the noise. I almost asked if he was also picturing me but stopped when I realized that whatever he had in mind was probably a lot more exciting than reality. Then again, he often told me that moments like this were his favorite. When we’re both too tired to keep our eyes open but too happy to be with each other to let them close all the way.
“Barely,” he corrected.
“Besides, I had to stay up. It’s your birthday.”
I’d meant to lift his spirits, but the long pause after I finished made it evident that my efforts were for naught. He almost seemed even more upset than when he’d answered, and I tried to convince myself that it had nothing to do with me. It wasn’t that hard, considering he was probably staring at images or words of dead people.
“Yeah, sure feels like it.”
His tone alone ensured me it was worse than my imagination.
“Put your work down and pay attention to me instead,” I suggested as softly as I could with the neediness bleeding through, “That’s the first part of your present.”
“You’re my present?” he asked through a gruff laugh that made my heart skip a beat, “I like that present.”
He was trying. I could feel it in his voice, and I wished more than anything that I could teleport to where he was and hold him until it was too difficult for his mouth to form a frown.
“You already have me. That’d be like regifting,” I pointed out with only a pinch of self-deprecation. It was still too much for Spencer, though, who swiftly shot back the ever cheesy, “Every day with you is a gift.”
“Gross, don’t get all sentimental with me,” I ordered playfully.
He returned the energy with all the sass I always knew he was capable of. Once his whining ceased, he mumbled, “Do you come with a gift receipt?”
“No returns or exchanges allowed, I’m afraid.”
Spencer just let out a strained sigh, and in my head, I imagined how it would feel to climb onto his lap as he leaned back in his chair. I could almost feel his arms wrapping around my waist and his lips peppering kisses wherever he could reach. I could feel his love for me flowing across the country, persisting past the cell tower obstacles to make its way back to me.
“I can’t wait to see you again,” he whispered, his first purely sincere statement of the night.
It was an unfortunate choice, too, because it also reminded me of the biggest bummer that I unfortunately had to share.
“Oh, I meant to tell you, it’s midterm season, so…”
He was, thankfully, not as bummed as I was expecting. He was almost certainly thrilled to have a chance to sleep spread out on his bed without having to satisfy the very needy girl beside him, but he still managed to come up with enough bratty energy to scoff, “Are you telling me that I don’t get my gift when I get home?”
“It’ll just be a few days. Promise,” I spoke through the biggest, cheesiest smile I’d had yet. “You’re very distracting, Dr. Reid.”
“When are your exams?” His enthusiasm gave away just how disappointed he was with the news, but any frustration was clearly aimed at my poor professors.
“My last one is on Wednesday.”
The gasp that left him was too funny not to laugh, followed by exasperated, blubbered nonsense that didn’t ever get much clearer. I barely managed to understand him when he cried, “Don’t they know Halloween should be a national holiday?!”
“You should call my professors and yell at them.”
He actually considered it for a moment, but then returned the same silly intonation, “Maybe I will.”
“Do it. You’re probably more qualified than them to teach me, anyway.”
After a short silence that was filled with more sexual tension than I’d expected considering how the phone call started, I heard Spencer gruffly comment, “You’re a cocky little brat tonight.”
It was so familiar to me that I jumped on the opportunity, giggling through my sleep deprived delirium, “I’m in rare form for your birthday.”
The explanation earned me a chuckle, but not much else. At least, not that I could see. The static on the other end of the phone sounded a lot like the way it looked when Spencer leaned his face against his palm and tried to see something that wasn’t there.
But I was there. Sort of. We’d done a lot more with a lot less, after all. So, that’s what I offered him.
“You know… we could have a redo of the last time I called you late at night on a case.”
“That did not end well for me last time,” he droned. I tried not to laugh at the manufactured memory of Spencer holed up in a hotel bathroom because he just had to have me in whatever way he could.
“Only happy endings for your birthday. I promise.”
But then, as it always did, work got in the way. Filled with only the greatest sadness and regret, Spencer quietly but honestly replied, “As much as I would love to, I don’t think it’ll be possible on this case.”
“Is it that bad?”
“Unfortunately.”
I bit my lip because there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t help Spencer with his work any more than I could fix the distance. All I could offer him was a safe home to return to. He would always find that with me.
“Well, in that case, I will be equipped with cartoons and kisses upon your return,” I offered with grace.
But I wasn’t the only one in rare form. Without skipping a beat, Spencer corrected with a smug sadness, “You mean your return. Considering you’re abandoning me on my birthday.”
“Oh my god, the drama!” I cried before remembering that it was, still, in fact, 3AM. The light grimace I gave after remembering would be the only apology my neighbors would get from me. I was too busy building a narrative happy enough to drown out the horrors in front of him. “You’d think I was the one who was away all the time.”
“I’m allowed to be selfish; it’s my birthday,” he sang, and I soaked in the sound, storing it away for any rainy days.
“Fine. What do you want, brat?” I asked in the worst attempt at an impression I’d ever given.
He was just waiting for the question. Drawing out the first couple of syllables, he laughed through the stupidest birthday wish of all time.
“I want… you to go to bed.”
“Ugh!” I yelled again, not even bothering to feel bad about it that time. My exasperation fell on deaf ears, both from a willful desire to ignore my suffering and a literal ringing from the constant yelling.
Still, that impossible man drummed up enough compassion to gloat with a simple, “I love you.”
“I love you, too, jerk,” I grumbled, only to be swiftly corrected with a playful, “Try that again.”
“I love you, too, old man.”
He was satisfied enough with that answer, despite the sarcasm dripping from it. He still knew that the words were true, and that was all that mattered. Any punishments that might be necessary for my broken promise to behave for his birthday could always be doled out later. When the distance between us was narrowed to inches and clothes could be removed like cheap wrapping paper.
“Thank you, little girl. Sweet dreams,” he whispered, reminding me once more of just how empty my bed felt without him. I stared at his pillow for just one second before I threw myself into it. He chuckled at the sound of rustling sheets over the receiver but said nothing else.
“You get some sleep tonight, too, okay?” I asked, uncharacteristically and openly vulnerable in a way that used to scare me.
Spencer’s voice was filled with pride and love as he answered, “You can’t see it, but I am giving you a pinky promise.”
“Good.” Burying my face in his pillow again made it easier to remember that it wouldn’t be forever when I said, “Bye, Spencer.”
“Goodnight, little girl.”
—————————————————
Autumn on campus felt pretty similar to the rest of the year. I wished that it were different, a little more exciting, to reflect how I felt about the impending holiday. But no, it was just students stumbling into their usual classes and hectically scheduled midterms with hangovers and a total lack of holiday cheer.
It was, in a few words, a complete bummer. The only thing that kept me going through the last of my exams was the knowledge that I’d be seeing Spencer. Unfortunately, he was still doing that rather annoying thing where he refused to answer my text messages. It wasn’t until he ignored even my most ridiculous threats that I realized something was going on.
The ‘Read’ notification sat menacingly on my screen, and I was so fixated on it that I almost didn’t notice the familiar mop of brown curls visible in the front row of the auditorium. But once I saw it, the phone was forgotten faster than ever before. I ran down the steps at a ridiculously dangerous pace, dodging the others still grumbling from their previous exams.
I landed in front of him with only enough breath left to sneer, “You’re in my seat.”
“Surprise,” he said with my favorite smug, self-assured smile.
“Adorable. Now move,” I ordered with a wave of my hand. As much as I loved the guy, I wasn’t about to change my seating arrangement for him. It was beginning to make sense, though, why my friend told me that she wouldn’t be sitting with me today.
“Fine,” he sighed, taking his sweet time moving seats and watching me happily bounce on my feet in the meantime. I snuck behind him into the seat before he’d even fully stood up. That little amount of friction between our bodies seemed to be enough to cause the tension to mount. It’d only been seconds, but I was already seriously considering abandoning the class. To hell with the professor who’d already seen me.
But Spencer’s eyes locked on mine, and he leaned onto the armrest with that same silly smirk.
“It’s a workday, Dr. Reid,” I whispered, forcing my arm next to his and watching the way his pupils grew as I came closer.
“I might have pulled a few strings,” he replied just as quietly, keeping the illusion of secrecy despite many prying eyes around us, “Might’ve told Hotch I was invited.”
“But you weren’t,” I snorted.
Spencer’s head hung in just a little bit of shame, but his wide smile never waned. It was still there, bright and pure in its simplicity as he softly admitted, “Yeah. I lied. But I’m here now.”
There were no complaints about that fact, either. His pinky reached out to mine, twining together in the dim light of the auditorium. Somehow, for a brief second, I forgot about everything else. The noisy chatter meant nothing to me, the two of us lost in some alternate pocket universe that felt safe and warm from the cold air outside.
But time resumed, and I watched as Spencer took his eyes off of me first, turning instead to the lecturer watching us with a knowing glint in his eyes.
“Good morning everyone! We have a special guest with us today.”
I wanted to pay attention to his little introduction, but I couldn’t. Every word that was said about him sounded so clinical. It felt so empty compared to the truth I knew about him. He was so much more than a collection of publications and PhDs.
He was… indescribable. Even as his mouth formed a flat line and his awkward handshake was granted to the crowds of disinterested students, all I saw was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Even if it was only from the shadows of his greatness. Then again, I don’t think he’d ever let me feel that way.
Speaking of…
"Dr. Reid, the only thing I ask is for you to give these wonderful students a chance to show you what they know,” my professor started with a laugh before he so kindly continued, “So go easy on them."
In any other situation, I might have let it slide. I would have accepted the fact that Spencer was far beyond my intellect and not stand up for myself. But this time, Spencer was on my turf.
"All due respect to Dr. Reid, I don't think he needs to go easy on us,” I called from the front row, only audible to the other dutiful students that cared enough to sit up front. I heard Spencer laugh beside me, shaking his head just a little bit at the challenge. He didn’t say anything though, and I returned my eyes to the professor who was already familiar with my antics as I boasted, "At least not on me."
While Spencer caught on to the fairly obvious double entendre, shifting his crossed legs closer, the professor just wrote it off as my usual academic pride.
“I did try to warn you that that one might get competitive,” he commented. At this point, everyone had definitely figured out my relation to the man next to me. It was kind of hard to hide a bullet wound from your school. But again, I was so caught up in the man beside me that I didn’t even feel a little shame at their playful teasing.
Spencer’s commentary was the only thing that mattered, and he gave it with a dreamy sigh. "I'm not offended at all. I'm sure she's very clever."
The little bit of light left in the room started to fade, and once I was shrouded by the shadows, I felt confident enough in my plan to dig through the bag at my feet to pull out probably the nerdiest item in it.
A fucking back-up clicker. Which, I promptly handed to the man beside me.
“You’re in seat B4,” I whispered gruffly, earning yet another snarky chuckle from my boyfriend.
“Is that a challenge?”
I didn’t answer. Not him, anyway. What I did answer was the question that had appeared on the screen.
“Ms. (Y/n)?” My professor called, recognizing my seat number without even looking up.
Luckily for me, today was nothing but a review day of the midterm I’d already taken. While I knew all of the questions and, what I’d hoped were the right answers, Spencer had to read the questions from scratch. Really, it didn’t give me an edge. It just put us on equal playing ground.
As I gave my answer, I watched in my peripherals as Spencer’s eyes narrowed and tongue peeked out from lips that I still hadn’t gotten the chance to kiss today.
It was a bad thing to think about, because my brief reverie of the things that mouth was capable of reminded me of another one. I didn’t even notice another question had appeared on the screen, and when I heard the familiar buzz of an attempted answer, I shared my Professor’s temporary confusion.
“Ah, Dr. Reid,” he laughed, probably already regretting welcoming the bastard here, “Please explain the answer.”
But there was another thing working in my favor: My boyfriend’s giant fucking ego. Really, it should be impossible that someone who was normally super insecure could enjoy showing off as much as he did. My professor didn’t mind, because Spencer’s long-winded answer was a wonderful review of… basically the entire course, and I didn’t mind because it granted me the one thing I needed.
Time. Time to slowly remove my jacket and reveal the sweater underneath. Spencer’s eyes caught the motion, glancing over only a couple of times while he managed to give his answer. It wasn’t until I started to remove the sweater that he cut his answer short.
His throat clearing told me he wanted my attention, but I was still just too distracted for him. I fanned my chest that felt warm for reasons other than the temperature of the room, guaranteeing his eyes would stay there long enough for me to catch the next question before he had a chance.
Or so I thought. Because before the question appeared, I made the positively stupid mistake of meeting his gaze. As soon as I did, my mind was stuck there, drowning in molasses and honey and—
“Dr. Reid, please feel free to continue to do my job for me. Lord knows I would love a break,” the professor joked, and I almost felt guilty for just how genuine he sounded. Not like Spencer would have noticed passive aggression if it existed.
Not like either of us would have cared. Per usual, we were so lost in the space of B4 and B5 that we didn’t care about the rest of the alphabet. All we cared about was winning. It was growing more and more obvious to me, though, that I would have to become a little more ruthless if I wanted to bring down the bona fide genius.
The sound of his voice rang through the auditorium loud, clear, and confident. He didn’t need to worry if he was right or not, because he knew he was. The smugness was grating to my ears. I knew I couldn’t trick him into making a mistake, but there was one thing I could do.
I’d learned one thing very well in my time with Spencer, and that was how to manipulate that pretty little voice of his.
For example, if I wanted to hear it catch in his throat and come out a few pitches higher, all I would have to do is touch him. The riskier the touch, the higher his voice would go. Which was why I spread out the jacket over my lap, making sure that our legs were close enough that it covered him, too. Then I waited, calmly and kindly listening to him drone along until there was a natural enough inflection to hide evidence of any nefarious actions. Just as his voice started to rise, I slid my hand over his knee.
Spencer barely stuttered, just enough for me to know he was affected, but not enough for anyone else to notice. He took the loss with grace, quickly ending his answer with a summary that contained only half as many words as he would have normally provided.
He kept a few for me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed, shifting close enough to me that I could feel his breath on my ear.
“All’s fair in love and war,” I hummed. His breath caught again when I began stroking my thumb over his leg that had just started to bounce.
“This is wildly inappropriate.”
“How perceptive,” I returned with my own little smirk. The interaction caught us both, trapping us in the alternate dimension that existed when we held each other. His hand found its way to mine, and his thumb brushed over the back and sent goosebumps shooting over my skin.
I’d practically abandoned our pursuits altogether when I heard my friend’s voice as she took the question that we’d both missed. I should’ve been upset for losing after all that I’d gone through for my strategy to succeed, but it was hard to feel anything other than butterflies when Spencer was still looking at me like that.
Even when I looked away, he stayed, patiently waiting for me to take the final question in the review. I granted him a chance to take it, but he just shook his head, implicitly asking me to take the win for the both of us. Even when we were competing, we were always on the same team.
There were no more distractions as I explained the answer as simply as I could. I was positive the rest of the class was tired of hearing our voices, but Spencer never stopped smiling. I could feel the pride rolling off of him, his hand growing tighter around mine as he took in a deep breath.
“Very good, (y/n),” my professor announced, signaling the end and initiating a large sigh of relief from everyone else.
Spencer sighed too, although his was with a different kind of relief; a dreamy, soft sound as he muttered under his breath, “Just like I said. Very clever.”
The air felt positively electric, and I never hated my class more than I did in that moment. The rest of the period ticked by so slowly that I almost swore the clocks were broken. Once we were allowed to leave, Spencer insisted on sticking around to thank the professor for his hospitality.
I knew it was necessary, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. I tried to be as patient as possible, even though it seemed pointless. Spencer’s little grin told me he knew very well what he was doing. The conversation had dragged on for practically five minutes of agony while I idled by the door.
But then my professor passed, and I felt the adrenaline course through my veins in seconds. As anticipated, we didn’t even make it out of the building before the tension broke. We’d barely even made it down the goddamn hallway before I shoved his scrawny ass into the first empty classroom I found. Once the door clicked shut behind us, the roles were quickly reversed.
I hadn’t seen him that excited in so long that I’d almost forgotten how easy it was to get swept up in his undertow. I couldn’t keep track of his hands or his mouth as they marked any bare skin they could find. But no matter how frantic and uncoordinated the movements were, they never ceased to send chills down my spine.
“This is wildly inappropriate, Dr. Reid,” I managed to slur between sloppy, heated kisses. It was barely comprehensible through the pent-up lust that had driven us there in the first place, but it still felt worth saying.
Spencer, however, made his feelings very clear with a gruff, forceful, “I don’t care.”
His hands were already roaming over my hips, pulling me so close to the edge that I nearly fell off the counter entirely. While I was laughing at his haste, he was busy leaving angry marks on my collarbone, pulling the top of my shirt down to grant him more access. And despite how badly my body burned with desire and need, I drummed up just enough self-preservation to force out a few, regrettable words.
“Take me home.”
Even though I tried to make it sound more seductive than a normal request to stop, it brought the momentum to a halt. Spencer immediately stopped his kisses, but let his hands continue to stroke loving patterns over the sides of my thighs.
“Don’t you have other classes?” he asked. The feeling of his breath against my ears making me second-guess my already voiced decision. But as enticing as the idea was of having him now, having already waited over a week, I knew we could have so much more fun with a little bit of privacy.
“Don’t you have work?” I teased, hoping that it would spur him to take the action we both knew was safer. At the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting to poke fun at the academic in him.
“Unless this is your way of telling me you've always wanted to fuck a girl in a lab because, I must admit I'd be more than happy to oblige."
Spencer’s whole body tensed as he imagined just what it would feel like to take me in such a public place. After a couple seconds that I can only imagine were filled with fantasies and a reasonable fear, he pulled me from my seat on the counter and placed me back on the ground.
“Let’s go,” he said, pulling me by my wrist towards the door.
I only barely managed to stop him with both hands on his arm. He turned back to look at me like I’d done some horrible thing, but I was too busy trying to stop the laughter that was spilling from my chest.
“You’re uh—” I cleared my throat, pointing to the very noticeable tent in his slacks before I keened through the giggles, “You’re gonna have to do something about that.”
With a quick glance down, Spencer remembered the very unfortunately obvious trait of the male anatomy. “Fuck,” he stated plainly.
I couldn’t resist.
“I mean, I’m down,” I joked one final time.
“Shut up!” Spencer laughed, too, trying and failing to adjust himself in his pants while I just enjoyed the show.
After all, we both knew that once we were alone, he would get a reprieve from my ridicule. He would get whatever he wanted.
—————————————————
The chaotic clashing of hands and mouths continued seconds after we’d reached our destination. The empty apartment had all of the sounds of our desperation echoing back to us, and after soaking in the melodious noise for a few seconds, I snapped back to reality.
“Okay, she doesn’t get home for another 30 minutes at the earliest so, we’d better hurry,” I urged, trying to shove Spencer off of me to convince him to move. It barely worked, with his arms clutching tighter the harder I struggled to get away.
Wrapped together just like that, the two of us barely made it a few feet before we almost tumbled to the ground. That was just enough of a reminder of our lack of coordination for Spencer to finally, begrudgingly, release me. Kind of. His hand still held tight to mine, and our laughter still combined the whole way to our bed.
From there, Spencer felt confident in our privacy to answer, “That’s fine. I usually tear open my gifts pretty quickly.”
It was a very good metaphor for the way his hands worked over my clothes. I didn’t even try to pinpoint the moment where being naked no longer made me feel nervous. I let the scar tissue show because neither of us were going to look at it, anyway. We were too caught up in the slight shifts and nuances of our faces as we rushed towards our one mutual goal.
“I missed you,” I mumbled, the words feeling as natural as breathing itself.
“I missed you, too,” he returned, and I felt the raw emotion, the sincerity and desire in every syllable. But once it was over and he had finally managed to remove everything but my underwear, all that was left was an all-encompassing, mind-altering level of lust.
“God, watching you in class was so fucking frustrating,” he strained, his upper lip curling with disdain as he watched my body squirm against the sheets.
“Why’s that?”
“I wanted you so badly.”
There was no denying that it was the honest truth, and I didn’t even want to try. I wanted to gloat and bask in the confirmation that his presence was dangerous for my academic career. Not to mention my sanity.
“Like I said. You’re very distracting.”
Then, to prove my point, that brilliant bastard shoved his hand under the band of my underwear. He only held me softly for one second before he slid his fingers through the slickness and thrust them roughly into me. It hadn’t been that long, but the emptiness I felt before was even more apparent now that I had any part of him inside of me again.
“Am I?” he chimed with a smile.
I wanted to be bratty, to fight the tension that was building and appear unfazed by his ministrations, but there was simply no pretending. Not when my body was already on the verge of spasming around his fingers that seemed to stroke the perfect place within me with every movement.
“Jesus Christ,” I sighed. I should’ve known better than to give him ammunition.
“You’ve resorted to blasphemy already?”
Spencer partnered the tease with a ruthless thrust, burying his fingers to the knuckle inside of me and holding them there. He waited until I ran out of breath and struggled to take another while also trying not to scream in a mixture of frustration and devastating need for more.
“I thought I told you we had to hurry?”
“We’ve got time,” he shot back without pause, “You’re just being a needy little brat.”
“Yes, I am,” I whined just as quickly, “I’m a fucking brat and I need you.”
He almost seemed disappointed in my compliance. His fingers began moving again, eliciting noises that were louder, higher, and sweeter after the anticipation. He tried to draw the attitude out of me by stopping again, waiting for a quip that didn’t come.
“Awww, no fight?” he cooed.
“I can’t. It’s your birthday,” I grumbled before biting my tongue. The pressure was becoming so unbearable I thought I might honestly draw blood. But after another few seconds of torture that felt like a lifetime, Spencer withdrew his hand completely.
He was testing the limits, watching how far I would let him go before begging. But even when he took the same soaked fingers and began rubbing me from the outside of my underwear, I only opened my mouth to steal quick, soft breaths and give pitiful whines.
“Oh, I like this…” he laughed, apparently having gotten past his concern about my sudden compliance, “I could get used to you behaving.”
The song-like cadence got to me, threatening to spark and ignite everything I was holding back. I almost bit back. I almost let the desire scorch my throat with a few choice words for the very rude genius, but I didn’t. The only thing that stopped me was the feel of cotton sliding down my thighs as he removed the final barrier between us.
“You’d miss my misbehaving,” I said with a chuckle. The sound mixed with another, a deep moan that filled my chest when I felt him press himself against my entrance. My back arched, causing him to slip inside of me just enough for us to both lose our words.
“I don’t know…”
If I’d wanted to say anything, my mouth wouldn’t have let me. It was too busy singing his praise while simultaneously begging him to silence it. My lips floundered for a kiss that he hung just far enough away from me to deny. Satisfaction was painted over every feature as he started to enter me, brushing his lips against my mouth every few seconds just to pull away before I was granted the intimacy I sought.
“You do look rather cute when you’re begging.”
It was strange, the way my body started to predict his movements. I met him in the middle of every motion, and I swore even our breath became synchronized in its rapid firing. It wasn’t until his hand rested over my throat we broke the rhythm. I wasn’t going to complain, letting the energy flow down my spine that arched towards him on instinct. His hips never stopped, and I could tell by the way his breath hitched and his fingers grew tighter around my neck that the new angle was as wonderful for him as it was for me.
“You look so sweet when you let go of every ounce of self-preservation and dignity you have and put your life in my hands,” he whispered with an affection that almost seemed odd considering the context. But then there was something else in his moans, a genuine gentleness that made my already arrhythmic heart beat faster.
“You know I’ll take care of you, don’t you?” he asked as his movements stayed calm and careful. Loving and safe.
I didn’t even notice my eyes had closed, but it ultimately didn’t matter. Because when I opened them, I saw the same man that existed in every image behind my eyelids. The only indication he got that I was still capable of communication was the gentle curve of my lips that dropped open in a pleased sigh as his hips continued a slow, tender pace.
It still felt like too much, but not in a bad way. It was too much in the sense that I was reminded once again just how ruined he’d made me. And the smug little shit knew it, too.
“You don’t have a single thought in that pretty little head, do you?” he cooed, dragging his hand up the column of my throat to force his fingers against my tongue. True to my word, I didn’t try to fight back. I soaked the digits that still tasted like me with my jaw left open. His pupils dilated as he watched the spit pool in my mouth that awaited his instruction.
“You just want to be used. Like the perfect little doll you are.”
Unlike my own, his smile was more of a smirk. A crooked, ever so slightly wicked quirk that made my muscles tense around him in their own version of an affirmative answer. He took it, happily. His body crashed into mine, but it merely felt like an extension of myself returning home like the waves meeting the shore. I could feel him claiming his rightful place at the deepest parts of me, making his home with every powerful motion of his hips.
I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I didn’t want to. It felt unnecessary.
“My sweet little girl,” he muttered with an unbelievably chaste kiss in the center of my forehead, “You’d do anything to make your daddy happy.”
I felt detached from myself in a way that didn’t feel me with fear or pain. I could feel myself through his hands, strong and working the pliable flesh of my thighs as he held them up so that he could drive into me harder.
His eyes, also only half open, burned with intensity. I could feel the determination, the undying desire to grant me a serenity that no one else could. His need for me to feel safe and loved with the seemingly contradictory brutality.
But it wasn’t contradictory. The power behind every movement, the insistence on being as close to me as he possibly could, might have caused some physical pain, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of sharing this space with him. Of sharing my body with him just to see what he would do with it. I already knew, but I wanted to feel it again and again. Because with each stroke of his hand and thrust of his hips, I felt it.
Spencer had free rein to do whatever he wanted, and he chose to love me.
“I’m so close. You know what I want,” he pleaded despite holding all of the power. He handed it to me with a low groan, trying to kiss my lips while he commanded, “Do it. Come for me.”
My body obeyed his command, falling to pieces around him with shockwaves breaking over every inch of me. My vision went white, crafting a halo of light around him as he also found himself reaching a peak that seemed different than the times we’d shared before.
I tried to figure out what had changed, what about this time made it unique. But as the euphoria faded, all I saw staring back at me was the same face as always, radiating a joy and understanding that warmed damp, chilly skin. Spencer’s release provided a similar warmth within me, and my body clung to him even tighter despite the exhaustion.
My breathing took its time to even out, but I was in no rush to leave him. I would have stayed like that forever, with Spencer covering me like the silliest, boniest blanket. If it wasn’t for the dead weight he eventually dropped on me, we probably would’ve spent the whole day lost in the covers. But he could thank the scars for me being a little less forgiving.
Of course, thankful is not the word to describe him at all. Whiny was more like it. Even as I turned our bodies together so that I would still be sitting on his lap, he did nothing but groan and bitch about it. That is, until I silenced him with a kiss that barely brushed over his lips.
That was enough to turn his frown back to the dopey smile I loved so much.
“Happy birthday, old man,” I purred, enjoying the way his hands grabbed me tighter at the loving nickname. But age wasn’t what was on his mind. I could see it in the way his eyes tore past my defenses and he held me closer like we could actually become one if he tried hard enough.
“I’m so in love with you, it’s infuriating,” he whispered.
“I’ve heard that one before.”
Spencer wasn’t in a joking mood, though. All of his humor seemed to be expended earlier in the day, and now he was just left with all the mushy, romantic innards that I normally kept at bay.
It wasn’t that bad, though, I thought as his hands framed my face so our foreheads would touch. There were worse things to be trapped with.
“It’s true,” he mumbled with his voice still high and slurred together, “I look at you and there is just… nothing that can be said that would ever explain the way it feels.”
“Gross,” I joked.
“Get used to it,” he returned. And if that wasn’t enough to make me laugh, he stuck his tongue out in the most childish display I’d seen from him since he’d fucking licked my hand on our picnic. It was also just charming enough that I was willing to let the sappy stuff slide.
“I’ll be nice to you this time,” I grumbled. “But also, speaking of time, you’d better hurry up if you don’t want to do the walk of shame with an audience.”
Spencer’s arms fell limp with a dramatic cry before he used them to cover his face once more.
“Ugh. Go,” he ordered. Despite his words, he still made me fight against greedy hands to wrestle my way out of bed. It would have been smarter to let me go quickly. I really don’t know what he was thinking, but he would learn his mistake soon enough. Because as I was finishing up in the bathroom, I heard a very amused voice chiming down the hall on the other side of the door.
“Good afternoon, Spencer.”
I debated not opening the door and freeing Spencer from the unbelievably uncomfortable position he’d just found himself in, but ultimately decided it was too cruel. Still, the stalling had taken up enough time that the poor guy felt compelled to reply.
And, of course, the only thing he could think to say was a pathetic, high pitched, “Hi.”
Somehow managing to contain the absolutely riotous laughter I felt in my gut, I opened the door with the straightest face I could muster.
It wasn’t enough. Spencer saw the pleasure I took in his humiliation and practically shoved me out of the bathroom to take my place behind the doors. While I found the action endearing in the most awkward way, my roommate was mostly just confused about how the fuck I’d managed to find someone as stupid as me.
“I didn’t know he was coming,” she said once she managed to smile at the silly situation.
Clearing my throat, I tried to sound sincere in my bullshit apology. “Me either, sorry.”
In a way, I think the fact I couldn’t pull myself together worked in my favor. Normally, she would have scolded me (albeit playfully) for not alerting her of what she might be walking in on, but this time, she just tried to withhold the smile that still stretched over her cheeks despite her best efforts.
“You’re fine,” she sighed, giving in to the desire to go against her usual grumpy demeanor before retreating to her own room. “Have fun, you hooligans.”
Once her door clicked shut, I heard shuffling on the other side of the door next to me. Spencer’s shadow was visible from the light peeking out underneath, and I waited a few more restless seconds before I announced, “You can come out now, Spencer.”
Cautiously, the door creaked open just enough for his head to poke out and confirm that I wasn’t trying to trick him.
“I’ve never been a hooligan before,” he said with a bounce in his step and his eyebrows halfway up his face. To think that he was the same man who threatened to arrest me for existing at a nightclub was, in a word, hilarious.
“Well, good news for you,” I purred, and the sound must have reminded him of my more devilish nature, because his jubilance quickly shifted back to an obvious anxiety. I wrapped my arms around him even when it meant that his muscles tensed, dragging him down so I could whisper in his ear, “I was just about to ask if you wanted to help me play hooky.”
“And do what?”
It felt strange to say that I hadn’t really thought about it. That the second I’d seen him I knew that the day would be good and free and fun. That everything felt so perfectly fine that I didn’t even want to challenge it with a schedule.
Spencer looked at me, his answer apparent in the way he started to relax the longer we stayed wrapped up in a shitty apartment hallway. It didn’t matter what I said. Spencer would have followed me, just like I would have done for him.
And without the angst or uncertainty of what could go wrong, there was only one thing left for us to do. With a shrug and pout, I proposed the riskiest plan we’d had yet.
“Whatever we want.”
—————————————————
| Finale |
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid smut#spencer reid imagine#here to misbehave#h2m#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid series#reid series#spencer reid request#criminal minds self insert#criminal minds smut#dr spencer reid#reid request
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Mr. President
Chapter 21
TW: None
Words Count: 4.3k
Link to Masterlist
Link to Chapter 22
You wake up feeling sore all over your body. From top to bottom- it just feels painful. Even opening your eyes seems like a difficult task. But you somehow did.
It takes a while for you to adjust your vision although it is very dim in the room. The next thing you notice is cold fingers wrapped against yours when you try to move yours. That’s when you tilt your head very slightly and glance down to see your husband fast asleep, his free hand beneath his head as a pillow.
You want to call out to him but realize you don’t have a voice. So you result to moving your fingers several times to wake him up.
His eyebrows gather in a frown before he finally opens his eyes. When he lifts his gaze to look at you, he blinks several times.
“Y/N…?” He asks, as if unsure whether you’re really awake. Then he blinks again rapidly before leaning forward and caressing your cheeks with his fingers. “Oh God, oh God you’re really awake.”
You could almost swear that his eyes glisten a little. “You’re fine.. you’re fine..” he says repetitively as his fingers gently squeeze yours.
“W.. water..” you manage to choke out.
Jimin lifts himself immediately and quickly fetches a glass of water. You try to sit up but ends up letting out a whimper when jarring pain shoots across your shoulder.
“No, wait..” he reaches forward like he’s going to embrace you and it’s embarrassing how you feel your heartbeat starts to pick up quickly. He helps you sit up gently and arranges the pillow behind your back for you to lean back comfortably. Then he helps you to drink from your glass.
You let out a long breath once you’re finally done and your throat doesn’t burn so much. You look at your husband and he just shifts uncomfortably.
“You’re so pale.” He says and watch your face registers surprise.
“How- how long have I been out?”
“Almost a week.” He says with a clench in his jaw. Then he reaches forward again, fingers reaching up to lightly push several strands of hair behind your ear. His face is so near and your heart starts beating wildly against your ribs before suddenly the image of him carving your brother’s face and shooting him without mercy comes into your mind. Almost automatically, you jerk away from him. The whole thing had been so traumatising and you’re still very terrified of him.
He flinches when he sees you pull away from his touch like a burn. His expression hard. Then he sighs and pulls back from touching you.
Unconsciously, you pull your blanket tighter. “W-what happened to me?”
He hesitates before answering. “Someone tried to shoot me but missed and the bullet hit you instead. It grazed your shoulder.”
You touch your bandaged shoulder mindlessly. All images of the night in the warehouse then comes hitting you like a truck and suddenly it’s all too overwhelming. Your fingers grip your blanket a little too harshly. “Y- you didn’t have to kill him.” You say softly.
His expression turns furious instantly. “I did. Fullstop. And if it were to happen again, I’d do it all over again.”
You flinch at his words.
“Fuck. I’m- I’m sorry, I- I can’t let him go. Not after what he did to you.” He says softly.
You swallow thickly.
“I.. thank you for saving me..”
He lets out a sigh. “I.. just couldn’t bear the thought of you.. lying there.. you really scared me back there.”
Your gaze softens. “That’s what you do for love. Get hurt for them.. Instead of them.” The words are out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.
He looks at you in horror and you bite your lip while muttering sorry.
“No that’s not it… I..” he sigh. You watch his pained expression as he carefully chooses his words. “When we were back there.. and when those bastards touch you.. I was in rage. I.. I wanna tear them apart, limb to limb.”
“You care for me.” You say quietly. You know for a fact that he does. In his own twisted way.
He looks straight at you. “I do.”
For the first time since you wake up, you feel like crying.
“Y/N.” He calls. His expression serious and you find yourself immersed in his piercing stare. You swallow as you look at him expectantly. “Let’s.. start over. Do you want to.. start over.. with me?” He asks and it’s the first time you’ve seen him look so unsure of himself.
You continue to stare at him. A thousand words crossing through your mind but none comes out of your lips.
He swallows. “I.. I care about you. A lot. And I don’t know if this feeling is love or.. not.. but I’m gonna try.. for us.”
Is it weird that you just somehow know Jimin cares for you before he even says it out loud? It’s a foreign feeling for him but you know it better.
But for now, it’s good enough. It’s all that you could ever want. For him to open up and let you in.
Because you want to fill him with warmth and embrace every part of him.
You feel a tear dropping.
“So.. what do you say?”
And suddenly your tears turn into sobs as you frantically nod. His eyes glisten when he sees you breaking into tears and he instinctively leans forward, pulling you gently into a hug. His lips find your forehead and he kisses it tenderly.
“I’m so sorry for everything..” he says softly.
And for a long moment, he just lets you cry on his shoulders.
The doctor comes to check up on you, explains to you of all the side effects you might be having, gives plenty of lectures to your husband and you find it funny how he just sit through it like an adolescent child being told off. Later that evening, you sit in silence as you watch your husband brings you a tray of chicken porridge. You’ve fallen asleep after crying so hard and only wakes up now with your stomach grumbling.
Jimin feeds you the porridge and brings you water every now and then and you just sit in silence as you study his face.
It’s very weird to have him tending to you like this. Like he didn’t just make a killing spree which includes your own brother and the memory makes you recoil. You try to take the spoon saying you’ll feed yourself only to earn a glare from your husband.
When you’re done, he cleans it up and comes back to sit on the chair beside your bed. His fingers find you immediately and you find it weird how it feels so right and natural against yours when in fact you didn’t have much memory of holding his hands.
Unconsciously, your fingers reach to your neck to find your ring and you feel your heart dropping when you realize it’s not there. Jimin sees the look of panic in your face.
“What’s wrong?”
“My- my necklace. Oh my god, my ring-”
His shoulders visibly relax. “Ssh.. relax. It’s in a safe place.” He squeezes your fingers.
And that’s when you notice he doesn’t wear his as well and your look of terror reappear in a speed of light. He’s always worn his ring and you wonder if something went wrong. “Jimin you- you‘re not wearing your ring too oh God- oh God we’re- we’re still married right? Y-you didn’t divorce me or something right??” You ask frantically in utter panic.
He just chuckles. “Relax Y/N.. shh.. I was gonna wait till you’re better but at this rate I think you might die from heart attack. Of course we’re still married, you idiot. I.. I just thought that the rings.. is like the worse part of our marriage.. and they’re all just bad memories for you.. and I want to make it all better for you, so I plan to get new ones and wanted to keep it a secret.. but I guess it’s no longer a secret.” He grins.
You swallow as your fingers play with his, tracing the slight mark left by the ring on his fourth finger. “I… I like the rings.. it means you’re taken..”
He grins even wickedly. “Don’t worry. No one has come for my hand in marriage in the span of two days I don’t wear my ring.” He winks.
He freaking winks.
You blush crazily.
Silence settles again between the two of you before you speak up.
“I.. thought you didn’t care about me..” you say quietly.
“Is that why you went out without security??” He bursts out.
You slowly nod.
“Do you know how fucking stupid that is?” He snaps and you flinch. “Damn it, if you’d just told me.. I would’ve.. given you time.. or space from me or whatever you want. But you decided to escape security, pack your bags and leaves a stupid fucking note saying you’re sorry without any sort of explanation and then just disappears. Did you have a death wish or something??”
You blanch at his words and looks down immediately. It’s not even two hours before he says he’s trying to fix ‘us’ yet he’s here scolding you like you’re a child. “I’m sorry..”
He shuts his eyes for a moment and when they reopen he looks at you softly. “Fuck, I’m sorry for yelling too.”
You swallow bitterly. “I.. Jimin.. if we’re going to do this.. I just want you to know that I can’t share you.. I mean- I won’t.”
He stills for a few moments, just processing your words. Perhaps wondering where this is all coming from. Then he rolls his eyes. “Baby, I just talked about us.”
His term of endearment make your heart skips a beat but you still couldn’t shake the thought that has been haunting your mind. “What about Clara Kim?”
To his credit, he bursts out laughing. “You’re in a coma for almost a week and yet you still can’t forget about her huh?” He says, wiping a nonexistent tear of mirth from his eyes.
You still stare back at him, looking serious.
He realizes you aren’t laughing and just smiles as he takes your hand, wrapping it gently. “No, I’m not hooking up with her. I mean, long time ago yes,” you narrow your eyes, “sorry- but not anymore. I’ve been faithful since I married you. I didn’t sleep with her or anyone for that matter.”
You couldn’t stop the butterflies in your stomach but you still wouldn’t let it go. “Then who’s she?”
“She’s just one of the dealer in my illegal business. You.. don’t wanna know the details they’re.. dangerous.” He gives a plastic smile. “But she’s out now. I cut all sorts of business with her and she’s gone missing too.”
“Missing?”
His jaw tightens. “Because she knows I’d cut her alive if I find her.”
You blanch. Your husband really likes.. cutting people.. a lot.
“I- fuck, damn it. I’m sorry. You should probably rest before I make it worse.” He smiles apologetically.
You take a deep breath, not ready to let it go just yet.
“I- I’ve seen you.. and her in the office.”
“Oh she can be tempting.” He smirks. “Particularly when I don’t agree with her on certain things. But no- I told you I never touch anyone after I married you.”
O.. kay. You can live with that.
“I’ve said horrible things to you..” He starts.
“You did.” You respond almost immediately. All memories of him throwing words like you’re nothing to him comes flashing.
He bit back his words and perhaps wants to defend himself but thinks better of it. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Why.. why didn’t you leave me..? Even when I was so mean to you..”
You just give him a soft smile before reaching to touch his hand. “You told me before.. that I would leave this marriage if I know the reason behind it.. but I know you.. I don’t know why but it just felt like I know you, not the outer appearance you put on. But you on the inside, the beautiful and kind and the attentive man I fell for. You’ve always shut people out.. including me as well.. but I just.. I just want to show you that there are people who cares for you.. that I’m never gonna leave no matter what. Because.. I love you..”
The look he gives you when you utter those words makes you wonder if his heart is skipping a beat too. He smiles at you fondly. “So what do you say?” He suddenly asks.
“Hm?”
He brings your hand to his lips and then he kisses your knuckles. “Say yes..? To this new journey with me..?”
You want to say yes. You really want to.
But there’s something heavy in your heart and it’s something that you just can’t shake off immediately. “I.. I don’t know..” you say after a while, giving up on finding the right words. “You still scare me.. a lot..”
“I understand.” He says quietly.
“Can we.. can we take it slow..?”
He looks at you for a moment and then smiles softly as he nods. “Okay. I’m not gonna rush you into anything.”
You nod as well. “Thank you.. and I’m sorry..”
He quickly shakes his head. “Don’t be.” Is all he says.
For the next few weeks, Jimin takes care of you at the hospital. It’s awkward and you feel it and you know he feels it too. It’s the way your eyes would meet when he hands you something because it isn’t something he usually do. He never does that- he never takes care of anyone, period.
It also doesn’t help how your heart races every time he comes near. Intentionally or unintentionally. And you think for the most part Jimin does things intentionally just to see you all flustered and flushed crimson.
For example, today- is one of the days you wish Jimin is the cold guy you know and not this- flirty Jimin. He walks out of the bathroom, freshly showered. He’d been practically living at the hospital with you, and it’s comfortable enough since he’d so conveniently transferred you to VIP suite room and the room is almost as big as the one you shared with him at home with a King sized bed which he could sleep into with you but he insists to sleep on the massage chair beside the bed or sometimes the couch at the near end of the room because he’s scared he might accidentally hurt you as well as personal bathroom, mini fridge and a small closet.
You gulp and silently curses your rapid pulse because your husband’s not even naked for you to react this way.
He’s just half naked.
He walks out with only his pyjama bottom, his hair still wet from the shower and you feel like salivating over his toned body. His back is vast, almost like you can lay a canvas and draw on it without a problem, and it comes down into a very muscled structure, and on each side of his waist, a V line so deeply engraved looking like a sin on plate as if it’s been carved by the sex God himself. You briefly wonder what kind of exercise he has to do to make those Adonis belt.
He turns around and you look like a deer caught in headlights and you quickly look down while clearing your throat. For a fleeting second though, you think you see his smirk but it’s gone too fast.
“Are you hungry? Do you want to eat now?” He asks, face seemingly too innocent.
You suddenly don’t feel hungry anymore. Not for food, anyway. So you shake your head. “I- I’m just gonna lie down.” Or more like, calm your freaking heart down.
“You sure? You okay? Do you want me to call the doctor? It’s about time he comes anyway-“
You’re about to say no when there’s a knock on the door. And as if he’d been summoned, Doctor Lee appears in the doorway with two others behind him. Jimin lets him in immediately while he puts on his shirt. Thank God all of them are male.
“Evening, Mrs. Park.” The doctor greets you and you just smile at him. “How are you feeling?”
“Good.”
He eyes the device to your right as he reads your chart. “Your heartbeat seems quicker than normal. Are you feeling alright? Any dizziness or particular pain you’re experiencing?”
You’re pretty sure your face is flaming red now. Jimin looking as if he’s trying to hold his laugh, his shoulders silently vibrating.
“No, no nothing. I’m fine.” You say quickly.
“I’ve looked into your charts and your recent CT scan is fine. I’ll consult with orthopaedic specialist and if everything’s fine, you should be good to be discharged this weekend. You’re very lucky the bullet just grazed your shoulder, otherwise you might’ve caused your husband to become a widower.”
Jimin hisses upon hearing that.
“I wouldn’t say lucky.” You mutter under your breath.
“It’s not a serious wound but you still need some serious recovery. You’re not allowed to do anything heavy. You still suffer from injury around your throat. Any sorts of pain, please inform me immediately.”
You just silently nod. The doctors are about to leave when Jimin calls for Doctor Lee.
“Doctor, can I have a second?” When the doctor nods, he follows him outside. What kind of question does he have that he cannot ask in front of you? You frown.
When he comes in, he sits on the chair beside you and you look at him suspiciously.
“What did you ask the doctor?”
He just gives a sly grin. “I think you don’t wanna know.”
You narrow your eyes and is about to push him for answer when he leans so close to you, and all words slip back down your throat. Your breath hitches when he hovers like he’s about to kiss you.
“You don’t look so pale anymore.” He suddenly says.
What?
He leans backward again making you all confused. His eyes suddenly darts toward your heart rate monitor and your eyes follow his gaze.
And your worst case scenario repeats; the monitor giving away your spiking heart rate.
And your husband finds amusement in confirming the fact that he caused it.
He smiles a little too widely. “Perhaps you shouldn’t really be discharged that quickly.”
“Shut up.” You glare at him and quickly hide yourself under the blanket.
The next morning, you tell the nurse to get you off the machine. She agrees to it, much to your husband’s rolling of eyes.
While you’re in the hospital, Jimin’s group of friends also come to visit.
That morning, Jimin’s spoon-feeding you a bowl of noodle although you resisted at first, only to earn a piercing glare from your husband when there’s a rapid knock on the door. Whoever it is, or are outside doesn’t seem to mind about an invitation because a second later, they barge in with total chaos. The room is instantly filled with large bouquets of flowers and fruits basket.
“God, it smells like newlyweds all over again!” Someone shouts in the midst of all the conversations erupting at the same time.
“Y/N how are you?!” Jungkook asks and doesn’t hesitate to pull you into an embrace, making you wince a little. Jimin pulls him off you instantly.
“Careful, brat.” He glares at the younger boy.
Jungkook’s eyes widen. “Oops, sorry sorry.” He smiles apologetically at you and you just smile back kindly at him.
“How are you feeling Y/N?” Jin asks, he’s already peeling off an apple for you.
“I’m feeling okay. You don’t have to do that Jin.”
He flashes a sweet smile. “Nah, this is nothing.”
“I’m really glad you’re getting better Y/N.” Namjoon says and smiles his dimpled smile.
“Jimin was really beside himself while you’re unconscious.” Hoseok chirps in.
“Yeah, saying something like being stupid or something..” Jungkook says and everybody else laughs while your husband yells at him.
“Shut up, brat.”
Then they each starts a conversation of their own with each other. Your husband discussing some things with Taehyung.
“Did you bring the files I asked for?” Your husband says.
Taehyung nods. “I’ve asked most of them to prepare written reports but there’s some that you might still have to come to the office to look at yourself.”
Jimin just nods.
“You’re planning to work from home for long?” Taehyung asks, tone is slightly hushed, perhaps not wanting you to hear yet you can still hear them.
Jimin glances at you slightly and you quickly pretend to be so interested in Jungkook’s story who’s sitting beside you, talking animatedly.
“I have to take care of my wife.” He says quietly and your heart swells from hearing that.
“Are you.. okay now with Jimin hyung?” Jungkook suddenly asks quietly beside you, taking you off guard.
You frown slightly. You remember Jimin saying only Taehyung knows about the reality of your marriage with him.
“We all know about it now. Jimin hyung himself told us all about it while you were unconscious for days.” He says.
Jin sits on the edge of your bed and hands you a slice of apple he cut and you nod at him gratefully. “Don’t blame him. I think.. he just wants the best for you that’s why he seeks us for some advice.”
You slowly nod. “He’s.. making an effort.”
Hoseok then suddenly comes to join the conversation as well. He softly calls for your name. “And we’re sorry about having you to watch all those.. you know.. back in the warehouse.”
You flinch a little. They all seem really nice, friendly and harmless. But the fact that they are a group of mafias, has more experience of killing people than you’ll ever know makes you shudder. You don’t do well with violence.
“Yeah Jimin’s too caught up in the moment. He should’ve not let you see that.” Jin says kindly.
“Or perhaps someone should’ve covered her eyes better.” Hoseok says, side eyeing Jungkook, making him puff in irritation.
“Oh come on, that’s not fair. Blame Jimin hyung for not controlling himself. He’s the stupid one.” He complains.
“Who’s the stupid one?” Jimin asks, nearing where the conversation is coming from. He takes his seat on your left and Jungkook immediately shuts his mouth.
“So, when can you be discharged?” Hoseok asks.
“If everything’s okay, this weekend.” You smile at him.
“But you still can’t do anything heavy right? A gunshot is still a gunshot.” Jin says.
You nod.
Jungkook smirks. “Huh. No sex for Jimin hyung then.” He says and you choke on the apple you’re eating and cough too much. Everyone looks at Jungkook first then you then Jimin then anywhere else and there’s suddenly an awkward tension in the room and you hope the ground would swallow you whole at that moment.
“It’s okay. There’s plenty other ways.” Jimin says suddenly and your eyes widen. He did not just say that!
“What the fuck hyung! So gross!” Jungkook says while the others are desperately trying to hold their laugh.
You’re thankful you’re now off the heartbeat monitor because if all these happens while you’re attached to the machine.. the doctor would probably come running.
The guys bring you so much laughter but now that they had left, you feel the soreness down to your toes. It’s late evening and you just want to lie back down but you also feel dirty since you haven’t showered or change your clothes.
You’re still in sitting position, your back against the pillows and you unconsciously moan when your head hit the pillow behind, eyes shut.
You could almost drift to sleep immediately if your entire body doesn’t suddenly become alarmed when you feel a hand coming up to your rib where the hospital gown’s knot is situated. One simple act of untying the knot and you’d be naked from top to bottom because you’re completely bare on the inside.
Your hand reaches out to grip his immediately, stopping his act. He seems surprised for a moment but immediately relaxes. “You need to change clothes and bathe.”
“You.. are not going to undress me. Or bathe me.” You say in all seriousness.
He rolls his eyes. “I’ve seen more than this.” He snorts and you flush all shades of red.
You try to say no to him changing your cloths or bathing you but he’s very adamant about it and you sigh in surrender. And it’s more likely because you’re already worn out and couldn’t take off your cloth on your own.
If your naked body somehow affects him, he surely does a good job hiding it. Perhaps your pride is bruised, a little.
All he does is just gentle and tenderness as he wipes your whole body with wet towel and you almost buckle in full embarrassment. Once the whole tedious process is done, he guides you to your bed, tucking you in as his body is flush against yours. His embrace is so warm against your cold blanket and you almost shut your eyes from the warmth.
He starts to pull away once you’re tucked in bed but you grip his arm tight before he could go away, eyes already fluttered close. He seems unsure at first but then decides to just hug you till you’re sound asleep. So he lets your head fall across his chest and silently prays you don’t hear his rapid heartbeat.
You lean close to him, as if pulled by his smell. You’ve always liked his smell and it’s your most favourite smell in the world.
You thought you only said it your mind but little did you know, you muttered it under your breath and Jimin being a few centimetres away catches on it, making his lips quirk up in a fond smile. His head dips down slightly and softly presses his lips against the crown of your head.
You fall asleep in his arms like that.
A/N: Weeee hope you guys like the chapter <3 4.3k words phew- that's a bit long but uhhh not gonna apologize xD see you guys in the next chap! ;) p/s i hope yall are ready for jimin's change in behaviour hewhewhew
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Link to Chapter 22
Posted on 210519 9:00PM
#serendipityjxmn#serendipityjxmnmrpresident#mrpresident#mr president#bts fic#bts au#bts smut#jimin au#park jimin#parkjimin#kpop fic#jimin smut#jimin ceo#jimin mafia#bts mafia#jimin x reader
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Ghosts
Tim Drake x reader
Warning: grief, maladaptive grieving strategies, alcohol, smut, ghosts
I wrote this probably 3 months ago and just now edited it.
You met Tim Drake at the graveyard. It was a blustery early February day. The snow was on the ground but hadn’t snowed in a few days. A short dry blessing for Gotham. Graveyards were the few places that were treated as sanctuaries that they were. Most people in Gotham knew more than their fair share of loved ones residing in multiple across the city.
You walked down the stone path. In the summer the lazy shade of oak trees covered the path but right now, the bare branches just hung mockingly as they protected only a little from Gotham’s frequently bad winds.
You pulled your coat a little tighter and wished you had grabbed a scarf too. Nevermind, your visit was going to be short. You moved with practiced ease through the tombstones. You knew exactly were they were buried. A delicate iron fence surrounded a small spattering of stones. His family plot.
You walked through the gate to a grave on the right side. A small stone vase was attached to the tombstone. You placed a single white daffodil before standing silently. You had nothing to say. Funny when you miss a final goodbye, you often run out of things to say afterwards. You couldn’t cry. It was too stiff. Too odd. All you could do is sigh deeply before walking out of the yard.
You swiftly walked down the path as you hoped to escape the place that caused so much pain. In your hast, you hadn’t bothered watching for others. People very rarely visited on such cold days. You ran into someone.
“I’m so sorry,” you gasped. You’d ran into a man that was clearly grieving. How terribly rude.
“I’m okay,” he said steadying you with a hand on your elbow.
“I’m so sorry to bother you. I’ll let you be,” you said, flushing even in the cold weather.
“Are you alright?” He asked looking at you carefully. You nodded but didn’t move. “Grief is odd, isn’t it? I had to come down here but feel nothing. Not a damn thing.”
You froze. Most people weren’t this honest. “I get it. Grieving sucks. And it never makes any sense, hu?”
“No. It really doesn’t. I think that I’ll come down here and have a deep conversation with him but nothing comes out. I get over here and feel silly talking to a stone,” he said with a sigh. You looked at him. He was about your age and wore a long black peakcoat and a red scarf that whipped in the wind. His clothes were impeccably tailored but looked almost too mature for him. Something a man closer to 30 would wear rather than a guy around 20. Black hair, icy blue eyes. A little bit of a natural sarcastic smile.
“Sometimes the words come when I sit for a while,” you offered.
“Do you- do you mind if I ask who you were visiting? Not their name but who they were to you? You don’t have to. I just wonder,” he said. You hesitated before speaking.
“My boyfriend. He was my boyfriend. And you?”
“My best friend,” he said. “I don’t visit enough. Not near enough.”
“I understand. I’ll let you be then. So you can talk to them instead,” you said carefully. Most people wanted quiet alone time with their dead loved ones. Unlike you. You felt a sense of relief. At least your ghosts weren’t speaking to you when there was someone there.
“Please don’t,” he said quickly. Perhaps not. Maybe you weren’t the only one haunted by ghosts, even if his was more metaphorical. “I just hate being here alone. You don’t have to stay. I’m just a weirdo asking you to hang around a random grave.”
“It’s okay. I really hate being here alone too,” you said barely over a whisper. He nodded. “Do you- do you want to talk about them?”
“Him. Not really. He was just so young. To be dead already,” he said. You looked at the headstone. Yes 22 was far too young to be in the ground. You didn’t say anything.
“I’ll wake up and forget he’s dead sometimes,” he said playing with his fingers roughly. “And it’s like he dies all over again.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ll have a dream so vivid that it’s like he’s back. Sleeping can be so cruel, can’t it?” You said, feeling your throat tighten a little.
“It’s the worst. I just see his death over and over. I think my mind hates me sometime,” he admitted before gulping. You nodded again. You didn’t trust your voice not to break and you could bear to cry.
“You’re freezing,” he said suddenly, looking at you. “Here,” he offered you his scarf and put it around your neck before you could truly protest. His soft cologne invaded your senses. “Do you want get a drink? Or a coffee?”
“I could use a drink,” you answered and he nodded. He kicked the dirt with the tip of his shoes.
“There’s a little pub around the corner. They play cliche Irish music but it’s pretty quiet with good drinks,” he said.
“What’s your name?” You asked.
“Tim. Yours?” He asked back and you told him your first name. “Drinks? It’s cool if not.”
“Yes. I’m half frozen at this point,” you admitted.
“I can tell. You need to wear more layers,” Tim said with a small smirk.
“Is that Gotham’s version of ‘you’re not from around here?’” You asked. He huffed in amusement.
“Basically. You’re from somewhere warmer,” he said. You shrugged in agreement. “Let’s get going before you freeze.”
“It would be the most ironic place to die,” you responded. He shook his head but didn’t seem upset at your dark humor.
The pub was Irish themed in a way that made you wonder if they did anymore research besides the color green and putting on Flogging Molly which isn’t really Irish anyways. But it was warm and smelled like fried food. You sat in a cramped booth in the back and you couldn’t help but notice just how out of place Tim looked. Everything about him screamed rich and this was a working class bar. Tim didn’t seem to mind though.
“Are you hungry,” he asked and you realized you had a rumbling in your stomach. When was the last time you ate?
“Yeah. I wasn’t hungry until just now,” you commented.
“Yeah I usually force myself to eat,” he said waving over the waiter, a tall skinny guy that looked about 14 with almost white blond hair wet with sweat. You both ordered food and drinks.
“What do you do for a living,” you asked Tim as the food arrived. You were finally warm.
“My job is really boring. I work in investment in a technological corporation,” he said and your eyebrows rose. Tim shedded his coat. “I told you, boring.”
“Sounds... serious,” you said with a little smile and he chuckled. His smile was handsome and he had pretty blue eyes.
“Well, yeah. What do you do? Is your job fun?” He asked in a teasing voice. Even as you smiled back at him, you felt guilty. How could you be happy right now?
“I’m a painter. Or I’d like to be. I mainly design advertisements for companies right now,” you said.
“Painting? That actually sounds fun,” he said a little surprised. “Sorry. I haven’t really been around people since...”
“Yeah. It’s hard to be there when their happy and you’re...” you said. Great. You just made it dark again.
“Yeah...”
“Hey pretty lady,” a drunk man said, sitting next to you in the booth, pushing you closer to the wall. “Have I seen an angel on a star, or whatever.”
“Okay, let’s get going,” Tim said standing up and putting his hand on the guy’s shoulder and the guy shrugged him off. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“How do you know, rich boy? Maybe she wants to talk to a real man,” he said with a lopsided grin.
“I don’t,” you breathed as he leaned towards you. You pulled back against the wall. Tim pulled the man out of the booth. The guy growled and sized Tim up. He must have thought he had a good chance, being at least 4-5 inches taller and 50 lbs or more heavier.
He took a drunken swing at Tim who easily deflected away from him. The man didn’t stop but tried to punch Tim again. When he deflected another attack, the man grew even more red faced and tried to tackle Tim against the table. Before the gasp you made could fully come out, Tim had slipped out of the way and grabbed the back of the man’s neck and popped his face on the table. The man slid down unconscious to lay on the floor.
You stared with your mouth slightly agape. What the hell just happened??
“Are you okay?” Tim asked and you stuttered before assuring him you were. “Then we should probably get going. The bar won’t like this.”
“It’s a pub,” you corrected.
“Yeah, let’s go,” he said and you snapped out of it as he grabbed your hand and left out the building before the owner could throw you out. He instead screamed out the door that neither of you could come back. You and Tim ran down the street before stopping at the next block. You laughed loudly and after a confused second, Tim joined. He was still holding your hand.
“That’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” you said loudly before Tim shushed you. “How did you? He didn’t even get one hit in,” you breathed.
“Luck I guess?”
“Not a chance. You do karate or something,” you said, standing way too close to him. He grinned at you.
“Some Krav Maga. A little Jui Jitsu,” Tim said almost shyly and you nodded.
“I’ll pretend to know know what those are,” you said and he chuckled. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem,” Tim said staring at you. You caught him looking down at your lips. He was really handsome and had just saved you. Cliche? Totally. Did you care? No.
You put your arm on his other shoulder, Tim’s free hand slid to hold your waist. He bent until he was just short of kissing you. All you had to do was lean up to kiss him.
“Can I?” He breathed.
“Yes,” you whispered. He pressed his lips against yours. The kiss started gentle but before long Tim’s hand held your jaw as he pushed his tongue in your mouth. You made a little breathy moan. Tim pulled back to catch a breath but still rested his forehead against yours. You grabbed his collar and pulled him back in. He grasped your back and pressed your body against his. You were panting when you finally pulled your lips apart.
“My place is a few blocks away,” you breathed. He gave you a questioning look. “If you, if you wanna come back.” He nodded before giving you a dizzying kiss. “Through this alley and we’ll be there in 2 minutes.”
“You shouldn’t walk through alleys,” he said before giving you another kiss. You pulled him along.
“I think I’m fine with you.” You said kissing him before walking some more.
“Okay but still. Alleys are dangerous.” He answered before you placed another kiss on his lips.
“Yeah, and we’re out of the alley now,” you said. “And here’s my building,” you said suddenly shy. You didn’t want your neighbors seeing you kissing some random guy. Especially one obviously rich like Tim. He probably didn’t even know he stuck out. You pulled away from him.
You unlocked the door and quietly offered for him to walk in. Where did your boldness go? Tim stepped in and you thanked your stars that you had cleaned up that morning.
“Do you want a drink?” You asked as you shut the door. Tim hung his coat on a coat rack that had come with the places. He shook his head and walked over to you. His eyes looked over your body like he wanted to eat you.
“What do you want?” You whispered. He looked down at you with dark eyes. His lips were red from your kissing.
“You?” He said more as a question. Can I have you?
“Hmm,” you said with a little smirk before pulling him down by the collar to kiss more. Tim’s hands roamed your body, gentle at first and then more aggressive.
You knew you shouldn’t bring a man home. Not a one night stand. Especially because you were grieving. Emotional. But as dusk fell outside your window and his hands held you firmly, you couldn’t help but be grateful that he was chasing your ghosts away. He leaned over your in bed, his lips pressed against your collarbone as he fingered you.
“Do you have condoms?” He breathed against your skin in a rough voice.
“Bedside table, top drawer,” you answered. Tim reached over to grab one. “Are you sure? Do you want this?” He asked, holding it in hand.
“Yes,” you said taking the condom to roll it on yourself. Tim breathed out quickly as you jerked a few times before sliding it on. He leaned over you and carefully looked over your face before sliding in.
You arched into his touch as he moved. His touch was soft, sweet, cautious. But not in the way anyone in your life treated you. There was no pity. You weren’t a broken doll to be tiptoed around. He was grieving too. His movement sped up as you both got closer and you got out of your head.
You softly moaned his name as you came. Tim groaned before resting his forehead against yours as he finished. He pulled out and threw the condom away. He pulled on his boxers but didn’t seem to know what to do next.
“Stay,” you said and he looked at you surprised.
“Are you sure?”
“Just-just tonight. I hate sleeping alone,” you said, feeling small. The idea of him leaving had the place feel colder, darker. Tim seemed to deliberate in his head before nodding.
“I can stay just tonight,” he said and you weren’t quite sure if he was telling you or himself. He climbed in bed and you scooted closer. He laid on his side and you slid closer to spoon. It was comforting to hear another heartbeat and feel the warmth of a body. It’d been months since you’d had that. Even if it was just one night, you didn’t feel alone. It felt secure and you quickly fell asleep.
You woke up to the unfamiliar but pleasant sensation of laying on a man’s chest wrapped up tight in blankets. A steady heartbeat and warm skin was soothing in the early morning light. You almost drifted off to sleep to the sounds of his breathing when you saw her.
A ghost. A woman in her late 30s or early 40s in conservative upper class women clothing that wasn’t too out of date. She had her arms crossed over her chest and she looked down at you both in disapproval. Her nose looked like Tim’s and she had the same black straight hair as he did.
You gulped and tried to blink her away. That worked some times. Not today. It was weird to see her anyways. Wasn’t it his make best friend that died? Who was she? She stepped closer and you stiffened. She was self-aware and was trying to speak to you. A very determined ghost indeed.
Tim moved in his sleep as if he could sense her presence. She reached out her hand as if she wanted to push the hair back on his forehead. You gasped as she moved closer. What kind of fucking ghost...? Tim woke up and she disappeared with a pop.
“You okay? You look scared or something,” he said in a rough pretty morning voice. You debated answering him truthfully that he was haunted by a mean looking woman but decided against it. He was a one night thing right?
“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” you said and he nuzzled closer.
“Hmm I’d rather have breakfast,” he muttered kissing your neck. You flushed. You hadn’t bothered shopping in a while.
“I don’t really- my fridge is-“
“Not the kind I’m talking about,” Tim said gently pushing you to your back.
“Oh,” you said as he slid beneath the sheets. You certainly weren’t complaining as he kissed down your body. He was good at it but it was also a great tactile distraction. Ghosts weren’t there when you were far to busy to see them.
It’s a little different so let me know what you think.
#batboy x reader#Tim drake x reader#Red Robin x reader#Tim drake smut#Red Robin smut#Tim drake angst#Red Robin angst
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The Parent Trap | Chapter Six; to love someone else
pairing: Harry Styles x Reader
AU: The Parent Trap, dad!harry
series summary: Identical twins Benjamin and Edward, separated at birth and each raised by one of their biological parents, later discover each other for the first time at summer camp and make a plan to bring their wayward parents back together.
chapter summary; There are so many thing to say, but so little time for Harry and Y\N.
author note; well hello there, ı’m back. It’s been really long and I’m so soryy about it. But I guess you guys are used to it. I will try to write the next chapter soon! Don’t be shy to send me a message if you would like to talk and be friends. I don’t bite, I promise!
I’m sorry in advance if I have any fault. English is not my first language. My askbox is always open if you want to talk. Please leave a comment about what you think, love you.
Taglist is open. Please send me an ask or comment if you want to be tagged! (22\30)
The Parent Trap Masterlist, main masterlist
Life had a funny way of bringing people together, and it had no interest in their desires. Sitting on one of the blue couches, a coffee in her hand, the only thing Y\N wanted to do was run away and never look back. But she wasn't eighteen anymore; she had learned that running from your problems only circled you back to them. So, she did what every reasonable person would do, stayed put. But now, seeing her hand shaking while holding the silver spoon, Y\N was questioning every decision she ever made that brought her to this point.
So much for getting over him Y\N, well done.
"You look good."
The moment words left his mouth Harry cursed himself silently. You look good. Of course, she did. Is that what he all had? After almost nine years, Y\N still made him tongue-tied. He wasn't the Harry who stood in front of thousands of people to perform; he was a boy again, and he hated it. He was eighteen again, seeing his producer's sister and thinking, maybe he is capable of love. Despite feeling like it was yesterday, Harry wasn't eighteen anymore. He didn't have the opportunities to be stupid and in love. It had been a long time since Harry had lost that chance. Wishing he could say sorry and explain anything wasn't going to solve anything, and it surely wasn't going to bring him his old Y\N, who was naive enough to fall in love with a worldwide star. She knew better now. So, maybe the only thing he could come up with was you look good.
Even though a moment of sadness passed her face, Y\N was quick to pull herself together. She put a kind smile on her face, the way she did when one of her customers made her feel tired, but she still had to keep going. Harry had seen that smile before when he told her he had to cancel one of their dates, again or when he told her that they couldn't be seen together in public.
"You look good too."
There it was again, her velvet-like voice. Y\N had always amazed Harry; she could be kind to everyone no matter what, even when the person across her was the reason for her broken heart. Neither of them dared to ask about their sons and each other. How would you ask about someone you chose to leave behind?
"Can I..." Y\N could feel her anxiety riling up. She took a deep breath and tried sitting more straight. "How is he?"
Harry's heart almost skipped a beat. He couldn't decide if he was stupid to send him away. Would it be less awkward if Benjamin was there, or would it be a dread to explain to him why his mother was standing in the middle of their guest room?
"Look, I know we had an agreement." Y\N sighed. Harry didn't realize how much time it took him to come up with an answer until she spoke. "I only want to know how he is."
"He's... Well, he's good."
Harry apparently lost his ability to form any good sentences that day, but it looked like he was talking to a brick wall. Y\N left her cup on the coffee table, now leaning and resting her elbows on her knees.
"I feel like I'm doing a terrible job." Eyes fixed on the ground and watery, head between her hands, Harry couldn't remember the last time he had seen Y\N so vulnerable. "Edward is the sweetest boy, I swear. He's the perfect kid any parent could ask for. And I feel like I'm the worst mother for tearing him apart from his brother, for not giving him the life he deserves. And the only thing I can think of is would he be happier if he were with you." She was up suddenly, pacing around the room.
"And how much I missed from Benjamin's life. Will, he ever know me, or Edward ever know you? Will they ever know each other? Will they ever forgive us for what we did?" She stopped, looking at Harry. She couldn't remember how long it had been since she looked into his green eyes. She wanted to keep going. Scream, shout, cry. But she stood there, looking at him, waiting like he could give her an answer.
Will I ever forgive myself for letting you go?
Y\N wanted to keep asking, but there was no point. She stopped a tear before it could reach her jaw, quickly. "God, I don't know how long I've been holding that in."
Harry was dying to apologize, to ask if she was missing him as much as he was missing her. He was dying to fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness. Instead, he sat there, like an idiot.
"We were young, Y\N. We did what we thought was best. Wrong or right, there is no undoing it right now."
Hearing her name roll off his sweet mouth woke something inside Y\N. She had so many things she wanted to say but didn't know where to begin. Her mouth was frantically opening and closing back again, but nothing came out.
-
Sarah and Mitch were just outside the room, trying to listen to the conversation. "I swear he's so stupid," Mitch whispered. "Just say something!"
"Hey, be quiet. I'm trying to listen."
Before Mitch could say anything, he heard key sounds coming from the front door. He quickly turned to Sarah. "Camille wasn't visiting today, right?" He was praying that it wasn't Camille, but there wasn't anyone outside them who had keys to Harry's house.
"Shit."
-
"I know you're a great mother, Y\N; I know that. And I know we did wrong things, but that doesn't mean you're failing."
"I feel like I am." Y\N was still standing there, her fingers fidgeting with her white shirt. She wanted to yell, how could he possibly know what kind of mother she was? He was never there. Harry stood up with a purpose to walk to Y\N and maybe to hold her. But his actions stopped when the door to the guest room opened.
And there she was, Camille Rowe with all her glory. Blonde hair sitting on her shoulders, red-colored lips, and long lashes, she looked like she came straight from a runway. And Y\N tried with all her might, but she couldn't hate her. Even though her pants were horrible, even though she always used her beauty to get away with her cruelty. And, true, the diamond ring sitting on her finger was no help, but still, she had no hate for her. It wasn't Camille's fault that she was at his feet, basically asking Harry to fix everything because she was too vulnerable.
How Y\N wished she could love somebody else that wasn't Harry. She wished she could move on as he did. But it was stuck, her whole life was stuck since he left her without any explanation. Sometimes she would feel so ready to love someone else, to find anybody willing to take her this broken. She tried so hard, lying to herself, making everyone believe she got over him. She didn't listen to any of his songs, watch anything that could be related to him. She was running away for the last nine years, not once stopping and looking back. Well, look where it brought her to now, sitting in the same room with him and his fiancee, who had no idea how much history they had.
"I honestly love everything piece you do." Did she? Y\N couldn't tell if Camille knew everything or not. But if she did, she was a damn good actress. And Y\N was terrified of what could come after this if she didn't leave that house right now. "I would love it if you worked on my wedding dress."
Y\N's whole world was upside down at that moment. Her hair on her neck stood on end. Her whole body was shivering; she didn't know if it was rage or hurt. Still, the smile came up again.
"I'm afraid I'm too busy with my new collection."
"Well, I will have to find someone else, I guess." Camille laughed, her hand sneaking up Harry's leg. Y\N was burning, her blood felt like it was boiling inside her veins. She needed to get out of there, quick. "But I'm so glad Harry could reach somebody. He had been looking for that cardigan for days, now. I thought he was going crazy." She laughed again, unlike everyone else in the room but, apparently she didn't care.
"It was no problem, honestly. Jonathan is a dear friend of mine; I was just doing a favor." Y\N couldn't believe how calm she sounded. Maybe she should have chosen to be an actress.
"I'm sure you're very busy, but we would love to see you at the wedding. Right, honey?" Camille turned to Harry, waiting for his approval. Harry quickly nodded as if he was waiting to agree to everything she was saying. "Of course."
"I'll have to see, I guess." Y\N didn't know how much longer she could pretend like everything bathed in sunlight. So, she got up, ignoring the shaking in her legs. "I should go, my team is probably waiting for me."
"It was lovely to meet you." Camille held her hand out. Her grasp was hard like she was telling Y\N to start running and never look back again. Still, Y\N stood her ground, firmly taking her handshake and smiling. Her eyes meet Harry's for a second. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she didn't think anything that she could say would turn this around. So, she lied instead.
"Congratulation on the engagement. You two make a lovely couple."
Y\N couldn't believe she could lie so effortlessly, without any trembling in her voice. Still, shaking Camille's warm hand and seeing her next to Harry with a diamond on her hand made her want to get in her car and run away to somewhere very far away that she could throw up. So, she did that.
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#Harry Styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles imagine#harry styles au#harry styles x reader#the parent trap#the parent trap au#the parent trap au moodboard#harry styles the parent trap au#one direction#one direction imagine
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Burned Beginnings, Chapter 8
<<Previous Next>>
22. Anniversary
“Happy three month, one week, and four day anniversary!”
Marinette snorted, hanging her head instead of looking up to see him. “We are not doing that, are we?”
“Yup!” Adrien said, beaming.
With a sigh, Marinette looked back up at him, an accepting smile on her face. “And why, pray tell, are we celebrating this specific anniversary?”
Adrien gave his best pout. “Because it’s been almost three weeks since we’ve been able to have a date and I miss you.” The bakery had been busy the last couple weeks, packed with longer lines than normal and more special orders. Sadly, this meant he hadn’t been able to spend time with Marinette, and their attempt last week to get together ended up with them falling asleep in the middle of Fruits Basket.
Which attested to just how tired they were, because that was really hard to do in the middle of season three!
He supposed a nap date where she’d laid huddled against his chest while he snuggled her wasn’t a bad thing. On the contrary, it had been one of the best naps he’d ever had. But still, it wasn’t quite what he’d label as a date.
“Has it been that long?” Marinette questioned, her brow furrowed. “I feel like the days have all blended together lately.”
“Yeah. Our last official date was when we went out for breakfast and then around the park before coming back and working that first chaotic night shift.”
“Oh yeah,” Marinette said, eyes brightening in realization. “I totally forgot about that.”
“How could you forget me?” Adrien pouted.
“Easily,” Marinette sassed back with a wink.
He theatrically grasped at his chest above his heart. “Ouch, ice princess. You put Elsa to shame.”
She leveled a flat look at him.
“Oh? Does the princess wish I’d let it—”
“You’ve been banned. Good bye.”
“Wait, wait,” he cried, quickly catching the door before she could slam it in his face. “Come on, that was funny.”
“That joke is already dead. Don’t continue to beat the dead horse.”
“But it’s still relevant.”
“No. No, it’s not.”
He pouted, shooting her with his best pair of puppy dog eyes he could manage.
“I don’t care how cute you are.”
“Ouch,” he said, smile growing. “That was a cold one, princess.”
“Yeah, and don’t you forget it,” she said with a smirk.
“I won’t,” he assured. “Now, may the lovely royal princess of the bakery deign me worthy of entry into her humble abode?”
“You are such a dork.”
“Your dork.”
“My amusing peon.”
“Ouch!”
Giggling, she opened the door, letting him in.
Adrien happily walked in to the house that had become his second home. “So, for our anniversary, you want to go grab an ice cream on this nice day?”
Marinette frowned. “Actually, I’m really not up for going anywhere.”
“Oh? Are you not feeling we—”
He stopped, his eye catching the plastic Marinette had wrapped around her left arm. More accurately, catching sight of what was underneath the plastic.
She grinned, looking down at what looked like a fresh tattoo. “Yeah. Guess you could say that, but supposedly, that’s pretty typical.”
“Yeah, it is,” Adrien said, walking over to her so that he could examine the design better. “Mine hurt for days.”
“You have a large cat that wraps around your entire forearm. I don’t have anything that big.”
It wasn’t too big, but it was pretty. A few ladybugs sitting on some swirly flowers, a design that took up half of her inner forearm. The design was only about a quarter the size of his, but it felt very similar design-wise, each having an animal in a colorful, misty background that he believed was referred to as a watercolor affect. Hers was just pink compared to his green.
“It looks great,” he eventually said. “And really suits you.”
She grinned. “Thanks. And now, we match.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah, look.” With that, Marinette bounced over to his right side, same side he had his tattoo on, before sliding her left hand into his right. “See? You’re the bad luck cat, and I’m the good luck ladybug. We match.”
Adrien stared at their conjoined hands, his eyes slowly drifting up to where his tattoo and hers met. “You got a tattoo… to match me?”
Marinette grinned. “Maybe it’s a little early for ‘matching couple tattoos, but I thought ‘why not?’ I’ve always liked your cat tattoo, so I planned out what I wanted to get so that we could match. I got yesterday after work, and since it’s the beginning of my ‘weekend’, I have time to just relax and let it heal.”
Adrien stared at it, his grin widening. “It suits you.”
“Thank you.”
“You know what this means, though, right?”
Marinette cocked her head. “What does it mean?”
“It means…” he drew out, leaning closer to her with a grin on his face. “You’re stuck with me forever, now that we have a couple tattoo.”
With a grin of her own, she leaned in closer, her nose just a centimeter from his. “Not until I get a ring.”
Without any hesitation, Adrien reached into his pocket. This was just intended to be a gift that he saw that made him think of her. One he impulsively bought one day going home from work. The tag said it was for the right hand.
But at the moment, he could think of no better place to put it than sliding it on her left ring finger right then and there.
“There you go. You’re mine now.”
Marinette froze, staring at the ring for a moment before chuckling awkwardly at him. “You’re kidding, right?”
Adrien knew why she felt so awkward. He did to. It had taken too long to realize for his head to catch up to his actions, and when it did, he himself had froze.
What did he just do?
It wasn’t like he didn’t want to marry her. On the contrary, he had actually already talked with her parents, gotten a blessing from her father, her ring size from her mother, and had ordered a ring last night. He’d planned out just how he was going to propose to her. It was going to be during a perfect date with dinner and candles and a chance to let her dress up. Basically, the whole shebang.
And here he was, proposing with an inexpensive cat ring.
Actually, he realized he hadn’t proposed at all. He’d just stuck the ring on her finger and called it good.
He had to fix this. He had to get his mouth to formulate words first.
“I… I mean…”
Great, his face was red, Marinette was waiting for a well-deserved answer, and he was incapable of giving it to her.
“Adrien, you are not serious.” Her words came out flatly, but Adrien knew her well enough to hear the undertone of panic in them
“Um…” he fought hard for the words that came to him next. “About marrying you? Yes. Absolutely. Without a doubt, I’d chase you to the ends of the earth to make you mine. About this ring being the engagement one, though, no. Most certainly not.”
“You are not serious,” she repeated, her voice weaker than before while her knees began to bend as though she might collapse. Tears began welling in her eyes, and Adrien was growing nervous.
“I’m sorry!” Adrien finally got out, panicked. “I had something so much better planned out, and I definitely should have thought that through—”
“I’m not talking about that, you stupid idiot!” she cried. In a flash, she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung tight. “That was so unromantic and I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you.”
By now, Adrien could hear the tears in her voice, but considering the way she clung to him, she wasn’t too mad about this poorly planned out engagement. “Yeah, it will be one for the books,” he surrendered, hugging her back tightly. “But, is that a yes?”
She nodded, clinging to him tighter. “You’re such an idiot.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said with a sigh, the tension leaving his body. “But you’re okay with that, right?”
She sniffed. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Unfortunately, I’m a little too okay with that.”
Adrien just chuckled. “I’ll take it.”
23. Sunset
Marinette looked at the little black kitty ring on her finger. Under normal circumstances, it signaled that she was engaged.
In her case, it signaled she was engaged to an idiot.
“I still can’t believe I did that.”
Marinette chuckled at the blonde man beside her hanging his head in his hand. At the moment, they were finishing up their impromptu date of actually getting the ice cream Adrien had wanted to get last weekend before staying out the rest of the afternoon and finding a spot to grab dinner. But dinner had ended and they hadn’t wanted to hog the table at the restaurant, so Adrien was escorting her home. However, as per usual, neither wanted to part, hence why they were procrastinating their parting on a bench in the park while they watched the sunset.
“Can’t get more spontaneous of a proposal than that,” she teased. Shockingly, she didn’t mind it, though. Adrien looked like he hadn’t even realized what he’d done until after he did it. The horror on his face still shone clear in her memory, bringing a grin to her lips. It really would be one for the books.
But still, he’d made it clear that he earnestly wanted to marry her, and in the end, that’s all that mattered to her.
“You have to know I meant it!” he cried, looking up to her with a faint blush on his cheeks. “I just… did not think that through.”
“At least you’re pretty.”
“Hey, I am plenty bright!”
“Really? Because I think a few bulbs need to be changed in your attic.”
“Says the crazy woman who not only accepted that proposal but is still wearing the cat ring.”
She sniggered. He had her there. “Well, I guess I’m a sucker for honestly.”
Adrien shook his head, a bemused smile on his face. “I’m glad that part came through, at the very least.”
Looking over at the man next to her, Marinette couldn’t help but feel happy. Botched proposal and all, she didn’t mind it one bit. They would always be a little chaotic, they’d always have their back-and-forth banter, but they’d also always have each other’s backs and ultimately would always be each other’s biggest support. The proposal just felt par for their course.
Plus, it would not only make for great stories but great teasing fodder, and Marinette was always down for anything that gave her the upper hand.
“Hey,” she said, voice earnest as she reached out to grab his hand. “Just so you know, I’ll probably never let up teasing you about it.”
He huffed in amusement. “I would think there was something seriously wrong with you if you did.”
“But,” she finished, “I am still very happy.”
His smile turned soft, and Marinette thought she might as well melt right then and there. “Well, I’m glad about that,” Adrien said, raising her hand to his lips so he could kiss her knuckles. “But there is definitely one thing I have to fix.”
Marinette quirked a brow, confused for a second before realizing what he was referring to. “The ring?” she asked, wiggling her left ring finger. “Because I’m not gonna lie, I would like an actual one.”
“Yeah? Well how about this one?” That’s when Adrien slid off the park bench, getting on one knee before her and reached into his pocket. Biting her lip to withhold a girlish squeal, Marinette found that she really didn’t care what the ring looked like.
But she wasn’t going to lie, the stunning blue sapphire he presented her with was freaking gorgeous.
“I know diamonds are traditional,” he said, tugging her left hand closer to him. “But you’re not some average girl. I didn’t think something like that would suit you. Marinette, I would like to apologize for not doing this right the first time, but I’m so grateful that you accepted anyway. I’m so thankful to have you in my life, so much so that I want you to stay by my side as my life-long partner. So with this ring, I’ll ask you properly this time. Marinette, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Marinette felt the tears prickling her eyes. It was such an easy question, and yet, getting the word to roll of her tongue was difficult. She nodded fervently. “Yes!”
With a grin, Adrien took off the kitty ring and replaced it with the one glittering in his hand. Once he did that, she threw her arms around his neck, clinging tightly to him just as she had the first time he proposed.
There were a few cheers and a round of applause from the people around them, but Marinette couldn’t care less. For better or worse, she was going to marry this idiot.
She couldn’t ask for anything better than that.
24. Balcony
Adrien stood out on his tiny balcony, looking up at the stars and purposefully ignoring his phone.
More specifically, the message his father had left him.
It’s been over a year. The message said. What are you doing with your life now?
Good question.
Adrien sighed, his eyes shutting as he hung his head. Well, he was still working at Tom and Sabine’s bakery, and honestly, he was pretty happy with that. He got to work with people he loved doing something that he did find enjoyable. He never really fancied himself to be the creative type, but finding himself in the kitchen while crafting desserts and making bread had brought more joy into his life than modeling ever had. On top of that, he was getting married. He thought that was a good accomplishment.
But he knew it wouldn’t be good enough for his father.
He heard his phone buzz again and groaned. The last thing he did was want to answer it.
What would I even say? He thought, rubbing his forehead in a vain attempt to relieve the growing stress headache.
Unfortunately, he was too curious for his own good. And that curiosity won out over his reluctance.
He walked inside to where he’d left his phone sitting on the bed side table. Bracing himself, he tapped the screen, only for all tension to instantly drain form his body upon learning it wasn’t a text from his father but rather from Marinette.
You want to go do something tomorrow?
He smiled, collapsing back onto his bed with a smile. Of course he wanted to do something tomorrow. What, he didn’t know, but didn’t really care, either. They always had fun together whatever they did.
He opened the text and started a reply before stopping and deciding to give her a call instead.
“Hey, hot stuff,” she said. He could hear the flirty grin on her face. “Missed the sound of my voice?”
He grinned. “Yeah. Guess you could say that.”
There was a pause on the other side of the line. “Something wrong?” she asked, all teasing gone from her tone.
Adrien sighed. “My father.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, you know, he kicked me out and now is wanting to know what I’m doing with my life.”
He heard her scoff over the phone. “Really?”
“Yeah, but I don’t really want to talk about that right now,” he said. “Right now, I just want to hear your voice.”
“Oh? What do you want to talk about then? My thoughts on that new anime you showed me?’
He chuckled. “You could talk about the weather and I’d be cool with it.”
“Well,” she began in a smooth voice. “Tonight’s forecast includes clear skies with no stars due to light pollution. A light breeze blows through the city tonight towards the Eiffel tower, whatever direction that is. It is an undetermined temperature, but comfortably cool enough to be outside in a short sleeve tee-shirt. How’s that?”
Adrien could feel his worries ease away at the sound of her voice, her sass, spunk, and sarcasm still coming through even through her calm tone. He really loved this woman and was the luckiest guy alive to be marrying her. “It’s perfect.”
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