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aenwoedbeannaa · 4 years

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Stone Hearts | Geralt x Reader | Parts I - III

Summary: A/U(ish). When fate landed you at Kaer Morhen, you were mostly just happy to have meals to eat and a place to sleep. But, as it turns out, fate may have led you to much, much more. (Basically, you and Geralt are students at Kaer Morhen together. These stories chronicle your lives together.)

Word Count: 7k+

Warnings: Violence, smut, the usual.

A/N: I originally planned on posting this as a series of short stories all at once, but as it is such a long story, I decided I’d split it up into groups of stories instead. So, this one is Part I, II, and III. Let me know what you think – and thank you, as always, for taking time to read my work 😊.

Thank you so much to @jesseswartzwelder for the request/amazing idea!

If you enjoy my work, consider reblogging this post following me for more Witcher fics here and on my personal/original writing blog here. You can also check out my masterlist!

Part I

The sun is hot, bearing down on the crowded courtyard and making you sweat through your leathers even more than you usually do. Still, you refuse to give any inkling of the fact that your blood is absolutely boiling, like your body is burning itself away. You know that it is more than the hot sun—you’ve started taking a new elixir, and ever since, you’ve been aching with fever. One moment, you are burning out of your skin, the next, you are shivering and sweating at the same time.

Your feet move of their own accord, purely out of instinct, as you dodge and parry, pirouette and deflect. You try as hard as you possibly can to breathe deeply and slowly, so as not to exert yourself even more. And yet, the sharp sound of dulled iron striking dulled iron reverberates you your head, loud enough to make you want to flinch.

But flinching is not an option. Not with Geralt, anyways. You don’t like losing, especially to your de facto partner. As usual, the two of you are the last pair left sparring, the others standing around drinking deeply from waterskins or laying on unclaimed ground nursing whatever wounds they incurred over the course of the day. You wish you were one of them, but only a little. If you are honest, you love being the center of attention; you love being one of Kaer Morhen’s Golden Children. You thrive one it.

“Getting tired, Witcher?” you quip, avoiding a slash of his blade with a rolling dodge, landing on your feet in a flash and only just missing him with your next attack.

“Not a chance, Witcher Girl,” he responds with a parry leading to an attack of his own. You manage to block him with the flat of your blade, but you can tell that you are off – not enough for an ordinary eye to see, but Geralt does not have the eyes of an ordinary man.

He’s got you backed up nearly to the wall, leaving you less room than you’d like, and distracting you enough with his smile, a dangerous flash of white, that you nearly lose your footing. But after another turn and other quick flurry of attacks and counterattacks, you do lose your footing – but it has nothing to do with Geralt’s smile and everything to do with a sudden blinding pain that seems to start in your head and travel down your body at lighting speed. You crumple to the ground.

Geralt drops his sword before you even hit the dirt, rushing to you side and placing a calloused hand gently on your shoulder, speaking urgently, “Y/N,” he says as he gently pushes against your shoulder to turn you over, “Are you alright? What happened?” What has him so worried is not that you fell – the two of you never went easy on one another, and each took your share of tumbles. No, he is worried because you had been steady on two feet one moment and wincing, dropping your sword, and thudding to the ground after it the next.

You have, of course, told him nothing about the extra elixir. You’d tried so many at this point that you’d grown into a sense of security, like something that couldn’t possibly harm you. After all, the really deadly shit was saved for the Trial of the Grasses – but even then, the strong ones usually made it, and you are one of the strong ones. But, no matter how many times you tell him not to worry – he always, always does. The same way that you worry about him every time you learn they’re giving him new mysterious concoctions to try.

He is you closest friend, and he has been since the moment you walked onto the grounds of Kaer Morhen and he punched Eskel in the face for lobbing an ill-timed joke at the very timid new arrival and making you cry.

Vizimir was not happy with any of you, and all three of you managed to earn yourselves extra cleaning duties that week. Geralt for punching Eskel, Eskel for making ‘unnecessary remarks,’ and you for crying. Coincidentally, that week was also the week that the three of you began a friendship that spanned even to this day.

You blink up at him, unable to speak, though you want to. Something is wrong, you want to say, Get Vizimir. But, try as you might, you aren’t able to make your mouth form the words. Instead, you just stare up at him with wide eyes. His brown curls are stuck to his brow with sweat, and his eyes are searching your eyes for an answer you can’t give him. You are also vaguely aware of other students abandoning their carefully staked out plots of grass to come and see what the fuss is about.

The only other girl, Estra of Ard Caraigh, chews her lip nervously as she looks on, though you can’t see her. The two of you aren’t particularly close, mostly because she is two years older, so you are surprised when you hear her voice from the growing crowd of onlookers, “They gave you that elixir, didn’t they? The one that’s to make sure you can train every day of the month?”

In your bleary half-consciousness, you see a flash of long auburn hair as she rushes to your side, pressing a hand to your forehead. Her face blanches and she turns back to shout to no one in particular, “Get Vizimir, NOW.”

You try once more to make some sort of sound, but all that comes out is a choked sob. You had not cried since your first day here, and the fact that tears were streaming down your face seemingly of their own accord was mortifying. The only thing that kept your from screaming in pain was Geralt as he took your hand in his own and held on tightly, leaning down to whisper that it was all going to be ok in a voice surprisingly calm given the red-hot fire burning in his eyes and his tightly clenched jaw.

Part II

Your fingers tap the glass impatiently as you peer out the window, checking for signs of life on the road that winds from the gate of the Keep out into the forests surrounding Kaer Morhen, twisting its way through the wilderness surrounding the Snow Pine Mountains. If you’ve calculated correctly, Geralt should be returning today. He left nearly two weeks before with one of the Witchers to help with a contract on a Drowner infestation plaguing a nearby town on the banks of some manmade lake.

Leave it to Kaedwen. Perhaps the people of Kaedwen had grown too comfortable. With Witchers nearby, there wasn’t much to fear from monsters, was there?

This particular excursion was his reward for being the first to return from the Trial of the Medallion – the chance to muck around in the swamps for a few days, cutting down drowners at thirty crowns a head.

Thirty crowns a head.

You still remember a time when thirty crowns seemed an unobtainable amount of money; money that could have lasted your family near a month if it had to. To think that once this was all over, you would be able to fulfill contracts earning multiples of that for each monster slain. Being considered at once a poor victim of a stolen childhood and a mutant freak who had no place existing was a small price to pay for such a steady income.

“Show me a lake, and I’ll show you the drowners,” as Vizimir would say.

Pulling yourself back from the objectively horrifying daydreams of hacking drowners to shreds in return for a sack full of coin, you resume your vigilance.

Accounting for the four days ride from Kaer Morhen, maybe five if any monsters appeared on The Path, and then three days at most to deal with the drowners, and then another four to five days ride back accounting for the supplies they’d be carrying back from the village, he should be arriving back today. Unless of course… No. You cannot allow yourself to even consider the possibility that anything had gone wrong.

You tell yourself you that the nervous energy that has you buzzing is simply born of boredom, or maybe out of frustration that you’d have to spar with Eskel today. After nearly two weeks pouring over books, Vizimir had finally determined that it was time to get back to swordsmanship and, most importantly, sparring. It was about the only thing that broke the general dullness of school.

And without Geralt, you tell yourself, sparring will be just as dull as the bloody books. You determine that this is at least a half-truth. Geralt was the only sparring partner quite at your level. So, it went without saying that sparring with anyone else was dull, mostly a waste of time. In your opinion, fighting an easy fight is not fun. And that’s not even your ego talking; it is purely factual.

And a bit of ego.

And then there is the separate issue; the fact that you hadn’t exactly realized – or had at least pretended not to realize – just how much time you spent with Geralt until he was gone. You’d been happy for him when he won the Trial of the Medallion, of course, but you hadn’t been quite as thrilled when you learned what the prize was. Sure – it was a chance for him to escape form the stone fortress for two weeks, a chance to get out and see the world. But drowners, no matter how easy to kill, could always be dangerous. Or maybe you were just upset that the second place winner – that just so happened to be you – didn’t get to go along as well. You’d finished only second behind him; it seemed unfair.

Despite its unfairness, it was reality. So, instead of out hunting monsters, you were stuck here while time dragged on at an excruciating crawl.

You’ve got other students with whom to pass the time, but to be honest, exploring the grounds of Kaer Morhen Of course, you still have your other fellow students to pass the time with – which you do – but it’s not the same. There is a bond between the two of you that far surpasses your bond with anyone else. No matter how adamantly you try to ignore it, there’s just no way around it.

You sigh in frustration and turn away from the window; you have too many things to do, regardless of how absolutely tedious everything is. Studying with Vizimir, of course. And you’ve got to spar today. At least that is somewhat interesting – even if none of the other students can quite match you; with the exception of Geralt. It is a convenient way for you to explain away any feelings. Perhaps sparring with people who cannot keep up is just boring. As much as you enjoy winning, there’s no excitement winning against people you could probably best in your sleep.

You pull on your last bits of armor – a belt with a small sheath for your dagger, and of course your leather jerkin. Your dulled iron and silver are slung over your back. You won’t receive your silver – a real silver sword – until you pass the trial of the grasses. It would, of course, be a waste to supply every one of Kaer Morhen’s students with new silver swords, considering the unfortunate reality that a majority would never need one.

Gods, you hope you need one.

You move silently through the ancient hallways, bracing yourself for the certain boredom that will greet you in the keep’s library. It is a large room full of old books, most of which are yellowed with age and feel as if they might fall apart beneath your fingertips. Vizimir explains that new books are not necessary, because monsters never change.

“Wonderful of you to finally join us, Little Vampire,” Vizimir says as you push open the wooden door to see several students sitting at the old tables all in various states of half-sleep. You just shrug in response and make your way to an empty chair. You earned the nickname Little Vampire after, during the week you spent delirious with fever, you apparently bit Vizimir’s hand hard enough to leave a scar when he tried to force a potion down your throat.

“Probably off waiting for Geralt,” you hear Stefan say under his breath to Eskel, who is sitting in the chair next to him. You pretend not to hear him; you’ve given up on trying to explain your relationship with Geralt to your peers. And anyway, it would be impossible to explain even if you tried – you cannot even explain it to yourself.

But then, you hear Eskel mutter, even quieter – “He probably won’t be back until tomorrow. Off spending that hard-earned coin the right way.” You know that it shouldn’t bother you; Geralt can do whatever he’d like. And what you’d learned from hearing Eskel and the others when they spoke about their time outside of Kaer Morhen, there was a very specific way they tended to celebrate. It wasn’t your place to be upset about it. And, yet, here you were.

Whatever, you tell yourself. He’s only following the Code. That fucking Code.

* * *

“Fucking hell,” Eskel spits, pushing himself up from the ground, heavily favoring his left ankle. You smirk, sheathing the blunted blade. You don’t need to say anything – knocking him out of the fight as quickly as you had spoke volumes.

“And all this time, we thought Geralt was just letting her win, eh, Eskel?”

You turn and narrow your eyes at Stefan, their dark amber burning like coals as you bore into him. You aren’t daft – you are fully aware of this particular rumor, as ridiculous of a rumor as it is.

“Would have been quite the charade to have been pulling off all these years.”

You have a hard time suppressing your smile at the familiar baritone, but you turn around with witcherlike reflexes regardless. And Code be damned, for all the elixirs they’d given you, emotion flooded you. You refuse to call it love; to be a Witcher and admit to such a feeling would be laughable. But you will call it joy – joy at seeing your absolute closest friend in the world after all this time.

A whole two weeks.

Not wanting to make yourself, and Geralt by extension, the butt of jokes for the next month, you stop yourself from barreling toward him and throwing your arms around his neck like you want to, you settle for smiling instead.

“Finally,” you drawl, “A real challenge.”

Your friend smirks, arms crossing over his chest.

“I’ve just returned, and the first thing you want to do is cross swords?” he fakes offense.

“Of course,” you retort, “This is Kaer Morhen, after all.”

“Damn,” Geralt responds, “Thought it was Ban Aard.”

Several others who had abandoned their activities to listen laughed at that one – you included. Fucking mages and their fancy schools, preaching about the importance of magic Witchers’ reliance on it. Ban Aard and Aretuza were the butt of a good number of jokes at Kaer Morhen, like Kaer Morhen certainly was to them.

“Enough standing around and talking,” you goad, “Grab your sword, Witcher.”

You ignore the hushed conversations around you as Geralt replaces the silver sword slung over his back with a dull iron one. The usual nonsense – something about the two of you thriving on attention and showing off and something else about the two of you needing to “just fuck already.”

He seems to be ignoring the group just as you are, reading himself as you do the same.

“Alright, Witcher,” you smile dangerously, “Let’s see if those Drowners sharpened your skills."

Part III

“It just doesn’t feel real,” you muse, turning over your shoulder to glance at Geralt who sits with his back flush against yours, “Only two days until the Trials.”

“Mhm,” he answers from deep in his chest. While you have chosen to cover up your panic and fear with excitement and fierce pride, Geralt has turned to philosophizing – existentialism and cynicism being his philosophies of choice.

“Geralt…” you mutter, wishing that you could get more than a syllable or two out of him. “It’s going to be ok.”

You are trying to convince yourself just as much as you are trying to convince him. And, given your tendency to turn everything into a game of logic – very useful in calculating opponents next moves – chances are high that you are correct.

“We’ve both responded well to all of the elixirs they’ve given us, hardly any negative reactions at all,” you expound, but Geralt scoffs, making your mouth snap shut.

“Yes, except that one time two years back when you almost died.” His voice is laced with worry, and though you are facing opposite directions, you know exactly what his expression by his tone alone. His eyebrows are knitted together, and his amber eyes are narrowed such that from a distance, someone might not notice that he was undergoing mutations at all. His lips are pressed into a tight line, and his curls fall into his face. That, combined with his bulky form, would make anyone stay away. Anyone except for you.

“That was one time,” you press, “One elixir out of hundreds. It’s a better record than most people.” Kaer Morhen was your home and you truly wanted to become a Witcher. If you’d been left alone in Crookback Bog, you would have died years ago. And if you’d grown up in some backwater village or in the poor district of a city, plague or pox could’ve taken you. For you, the potions and elixirs and the mutations they induced were just the inevitable tradeoffs to life here. If you couldn’t survive the trials, you couldn’t be a Witcher, and if you couldn’t become a Witcher, you’d be on your own with no skills to speak of, no way to make a living. At least Kaer Morhen gave you something akin to a family – it had given you Geralt.

“I don’t care to remember any details of that week,” he mutters, looking at the ground and shaking his head, “But I… I can’t stop thinking about it. About you laying there burning with fever, calling out in your sleep.”

You are stunned. Geralt, while not as closed off as the other students and Witchers liked to say, was not apt to speak with such emotion. You can’t remember the last time you heard him stumble over his words like that – or if you ever had, for that matter. You open your mouth to speak, about how that was quite a regular occurrence for Kaer Morhen’s students as they underwent mutations, but he is already speaking again before you can get a word out.

“You kept saying that you were on fire, your bones were on fire,” you pick at the grass as he continues, “And the elixirs to help the pain only made it worse.”

Truth be told, you don’t have much memory of that week of your life. You were delirious with fever, and only remember brief moments that you could not definitively place in the “real” category or mark them off as hallucinations. But, as he speaks, some memories do pop into your mind. One in particular where it took three grown men to hold you down and force one of the elixir’s down your throat. Vizimir started calling you Little Vampire after that, thanks to the fact that your perfectly average canines managed to dig so deep into his hand that he still had a scar. Now, you supposed, you understood why Geralt didn’t like that one.

“I just… I can’t…” as Geralt stumbles over his words, you cannot tell if you are hearing his heart hammering or yours. You follow your immediate urge and turn around to sit next to him, both of you now looking out towards the grounds of Kaer Morhen through the trees. You’ve had this secret meeting place for years – a place where the two of you would go to talk or just to sit. A peaceful place, away from the constant chaos behind the castle walls.

“Geralt,” you say, placing a hand on his shoulder and shifting so that he is facing you, “You’re the strongest of all of us. Even Vizimir said…well, you remember!” You are referring to a conversation you overheard one evening when you were prowling around places you shouldn’t be. He was talking to one of the other instructors, the two of them comparing notes.

“Geralt, Y/N, and Eskel will be this year’s Three, mark my words.”

“There’s no need to be scared,” you add after a moment, voice quiet. You hadn’t known he was so scared to undergo the mutations. He was always the best in your training exercises, always the strongest, the fastest, the one getting all the special elixirs. You hadn’t even thought that he might still be worried.

Quite suddenly, he turns, placing his hand over the one of yours that is resting in your lap, “I’m not worried for myself. I just… I can’t… It makes me so angry to think of them putting you through that again.”

You look down, staring at his hand on top of yours, which is suddenly the only thing that you can focus on. Relationships at Kaer Morhen aren’t forbidden, but they aren’t common. There had been a handful of moments like these – none of them that went farther than stolen glances and they always left you feeling somehow empty, aching for what you couldn’t have.

Silence stretches between you. The only sound either of you make are the thundering of our hearts and carefully controlled breathing. Though, you notice, each time Geralt breathes in, there is a slight unsteadiness to it, a shakiness, as if he is trying as hard as you are to keep your breathing in check.

Finally, you draw a breath that would be noticeably shaky, even for a person who hadn’t undergone all of the mutations that the two of you had. You tear your eyes from your hand to look up at him and say, “I’m an adult, Geralt. I’m going through the trials willingly.”

Geralt doesn’t respond, just clenches his jaw and lets out a huff, so you continue, “We’ve always known about the Trials, I agreed to it when I came here, and I’ve continued to agree to it every time that I’ve taken any of their elixirs. I’ve...We’ve been training for this for our whole lives. Without Vizimir I would have died without getting a chance to experience real life.”

“I know the speech,” Geralt shoots back almost immediately, pulling his hand away and leaving you feeling hurt.

“Geralt.” You are struggling to keep your voice steady. You can’t decide if you feel like screaming or crying, so you keep to the Code and shove both of those urges down as deep as is possible given the situation. “It’s not my fault we have to undergo the mutations, so don’t fucking snap at me.”

“Fuck,” Geralt says, shaking his head and burying it in his hands, “Y/N, I’m sorry. I know.”

He is silent for another moment before he finally lowers his hands and looks up at you. You realize in that moment how close you are, your faces only inches apart. You can see the gold flecks in his amber eyes and the stubble on his cheeks and have to fight to ignore the urge to reach out and see how his skin feels beneath your hands, and what his eyes would look like if you did.

But then, he reaches out with one hand, hesitantly and ever so gently, to cup your face. You shiver as the pad of his thumb brushes just beneath your lower lip and the very corner of your mouth. Time feels suspended, as if the two of you are floating on some separate plane where the day of the Trials will never come and the two of you can just stay right here, just as you are, forever.

“I hate the idea of you undergoing the Trial because I can’t stomach the thought of losing you, Y/N.” The words are like a punch to the stomach that is somehow pleasant, knocking all the breath out of your lungs.

He leans even closer, until your foreheads are touching. “I know the Code, and I know I’m not supposed to, but I love you.”

You breathe in, memorizing the smell of him. You’ve only ever been this close during sparring exercises. You decide you like this a lot better.

“When I had the fever… The one thing that kept me, you know, here was you, you know,” you breathe. You’ve never told him because you know that no matter how much he had pretended to hate it as of late, he sticks to the Code. The Code, which doesn’t look highly on Witchers being in relationships – especially with one another. “And that’s why—and you’re the reason I know that I’ll survive the Trial.” Your eyes have drifted down, unable to meet his as you confess this – the secret you have been hiding from him for so long.

He is silent for a moment, frozen there with his deliciously warm hand on your face before finally letting his and slip lower, resting under your chin and gently tilting your head up so that he can meet your eyes. “Fuck the Code,” he says, eyes flashing before pressing his lips to yours.

It is your first kiss, and it is pure bliss. Your lips fit together like pieces of a puzzle and the sensation has you drunk with pleasure before he even deepens the kiss. And, when he does, you are ready. You part your lips for him, and he greedily explores your mouth. You keep thinking that it can’t get any better, but yet it does. You moan involuntarily as his hand slips from your chin, ghosting along the curve of your neck and coming to rest on your shoulder, calloused thumb sweeping across your collar bone.

His touch is electric, leaving your skin feeling hot and charged, and longing for more. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling yourself flush against him. He responds with an appreciative grunt, moving his hands to explore your body, starting by sweeping down your sides, just barely grazing the sides of your breasts in the process.

With his hands now firmly wrapped around your sides, he breaks the kiss, leaving you in a huff of frustration and disappointment – you hadn’t had nearly enough of him. But before you can get too out of sorts, his lips touch your neck and you moan, tipping your head back to grant him complete access. You don’t even have time to worry about the fact that you have no idea what you’re doing – that you have never done this before – because Geralt is so thorough, so in control of the situation. It’s like he knows all the right places to touch, and exactly what to do with his mouth to have you breathing heavily, small sounds of pleasure slipping through your lips.

Tentatively, you begin exploring his body with your hands. You love the way that his muscled form feels beneath your fingers, and it makes you want to explore every inch. As your hands move down his chest, you find yourself tugging at his shirt. You don’t know if it is an involuntary reaction to his teeth grazing your neck as his lips continue down to your collarbone or whether it is simply a feeble attempt to pull the fabric away because you would very much like to know what his sculpted abdomen feels like beneath your fingers without the offending material in the way.

Geralt’s hands, on the other hand, have gripped your white linen shirt, identical to his own, and already began pulling it over your head. You raise your arms to make it easier for him, and the moment it is off, you greedily reach for his own tugging the material up and over his head. For a moment, you just stare at him, drinking in the sight of him shirtless before you. It wasn’t as if you had never seen him this way – but you had always done your best not to look too long, afraid that he would notice as question why.

However, he interrupts your moment of slightly embarrassing admiration when he wraps his arms around you, hands grazing your hyper-sensitive skin. You sigh, content to let him touch every inch of you. Encouraged by this, his hands wander up to unlace your bra and you bite your lip in anticipation. You cannot wait to feel his hands on them, arching your back, willing him to make faster work of it.

He grins as he slips the material off your shoulders, grin turning into more of a smirk as he sees you staring back at him with wide, expectant eyes. He slides one hand up your back, easing you down so you are laying beneath him, eyes drinking in the sight of you naked form and making your feel suddenly exposed. But, given the way his pupils dilate, he likes what he sees as much as you do.

He leans over you, lowering himself so that he can bring his lips to yours once more. You greedily bite his lower lip, hands back to their game of exploring as much of his body as you can reach. And then all of a sudden, you feel his stubbled cheek graze against yours as he leans to growl in your ear, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this to you, Witcheress.”

His words add fuel to the fire burning in your core, and you whimper as his fingers brush your nipple. It feels so delicious it is almost painful. You’ve never even allowed yourself to fantasize about this scenario, as much as you may have wanted to. You never thought it would happen – and you weren’t one to dream of impossible things. And yet, here you both were.

“Geralt,” you breathe, completely lost I the feeling as he kneads and pinches your breasts. And then… his lips. The feeling of them against your breast and his tongue flattening against your nipple is warm and soft and better than you could have ever imagined it feeling. Your eyes roll up into your head as he makes use of his free hand to gently twist and pinch the bud not currently receiving the attention of his tongue.

Heat pools in your core, twisting and tightening and aching for his touch, and, oh gods, for his tongue. Any nerves you thought you would have doing this for the first time have evaporated. There is no room in your pleasure-drunk mind for nervous thoughts.

Once again, seemingly able to read your thoughts, he slips a hand between the two of you, unfastening your belt and unlacing your trousers. For a brief moment, your mind blinks to a thought of just how practiced his hands are – but you don’t dwell on it for more than a split second. You are burning with need, and you could care less how many women Geralt has had before you – if the stories of the young man’s exploits on those rare occasions when Kaer Morhen’s young Witchers in training were given leave to take on smaller contracts here and there under supervision of elders – it doesn’t matter to you right now.

It matters even less when his hand slips into your waistband, expert fingers finding their way to where you need him most. His finger dips between your folds, gathering the wet heat pooled there for him, humming appreciatively against your chest as he lets his finger trail back up to the little bundle of nerves. His touch is perfect parts gentle and firm as he circles the small bud, making you cry out into the open air.

“You like that, Witcheress?” he asks gruffly, swirling his finger again and making you buck your hips against his hand. Making yourself form words is pretty much hopeless at this point, with his finger dancing over the hard little nub that no one save yourself has ever touched before, but your pleasured cries are more than enough answer for him.

He loves watching you like this – writhing beneath him, hips moving of their own accord, eyes blinking open and closed again. He especially loves your little gasps; the way your pretty mouth stays open in a constant ‘oh’ as he works you with his fingers. Your ragged breathing turns him on even more; your breasts rising and falling at uneven intervals as he increases his pace and pressure. And, oh gods, he loves the groan that escapes your lips when he does.

“Gods,” you say with a great deal of effort, “That feels… G-geralt!”

He watches you as your body tenses for a moment, amber eyes fixed on you as he watches you fall apart, already committing this image to memory; the first time you’d come for him. You are still twitching as the aftershocks of your orgasm wrack your body when he grabs your waistband and tugs your pants off roughly, breathing in your scent and greedily taking in the sight of you.

Your thighs tremble as he presses his lips to the inside of your calf, peppering the soft skin with kisses as he moves his way up your leg. You are still reeling from your orgasm, but already you need more. His hands follow his lips, massaging the seemingly always sore muscles of your legs and making you sigh with pleasure.

You reach down to run a hand through his hair, and he lifts his amber eyes to meet yours as he moves to your other leg, pressing kisses across ever inch of your skin. His tongue traces the crease between your thigh and your most intimate area, and your hips thrust towards his face of their own accord. But then a thought enters your mind, and you tug at his hair, “Geralt.”

“Yes, Witcheress?” he says, locking you in his intense gaze.

“I should… Shouldn’t I? You know…?” You can feel his bulge through his pants, and you are eager to touch him, to feel his hardness with your fingers, your tongue, and inside of you. But for now, Geralt clearly has other plans.

“Shh, Witcheress,” he says, nipping gently at your inner thigh with his teeth, “I’m not done with you yet.” His words send your mind into a whirl as his hands slip under your thighs to your ass, letting his shoulders hold your already quivering legs apart so that you are completely exposed to him. You whimper as he blows cool air on your heat, making you shiver.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says gruffly, eyes locked on yours once again, “But first I want to taste you.” He lets his tongue just barely graze your clit, and you whimper again, on the verge of begging. “I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Y/N?”

You can only whimper in response, your need for him an almost painful ache in your core.

“Hmm?” he rumbles, looking up at you with an impish grin, “Didn’t hear you.” You cannot think of a more beautiful sight than Geralt – the boy who was your first friend and the man who you fell in love with little by little until you were mad with it – looking up at you as if you are the only person in the world.

“Y-yes,” you whimper, voice laced with need.

“Mhm,” he growls, finally running his tongue from your opening to the little bundle of nerves. The feeling of his tongue touching you there has you seeing stars. It feels even better than his fingers as he explores you, paying particular attention to the places that make you gasp and tighten your grip on his hair.

He takes his time, savoring the way you taste, better even then he imagined – which he often had despite his efforts not to think of you that way. He’d tried to stick to the Code, he’d tried everything to keep his mind busy – every time he made a trip out of Kaer Morhen, he’d tried to distract himself, but now, as he explores you with his tongue, breathes your scent, feels your soft skin beneath his fingertips, and hears your soft gasps and moans, all he can think is that he has abided by the Code for way too fucking long.

You are absolutely lost in the feeling of his mouth on you. And, when his lips close around your clit, sucking it into his mouth and attacking it with his tongue, you cry out so loud you are almost convinced everyone back in the Keep can hear you, not that you care. He moans against you, delicious vibrations making you cry out again.

His hand has been traveling closer and closer to your entrance, and you find yourself desperately moving your hips, urging him on. This time, he obliges without teasing, seeming as if he couldn’t pull away from you if he wanted to.

He groans along with you as he slips a finger inside of you, stretching you gently. He takes his time here, too, slowly pumping his finger in and out, committing to memory every place that makes you gasp and writhe until he finds that spot. He adds another finger, focusing on the sensitive place inside of you. Your eyes screw shut as he curls his fingers in time with his tongue; he has turned you into a senseless mess.

The pleasure is too much. Every muscle in your body tenses before finally, you release. Your back arches as you cry out, thighs trapping Geralt in place as you ride out wave after wave of pleasure until finally your body goes slack and you fall back against the grass, breathing heavily.

For a moment, Geralt doesn’t move, yellow eyes drinking in the sight of you lying there slowly coming back to your senses. When your breathing has somewhat returned to normal, he slowly kisses up your body until he reaches your lips, capturing you in a kiss that seems to last forever, but still not long enough. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it drives you mad.

You are already reaching down, desperately and clumsily attempting to yank off his pants, wanting there to be nothing between the two of you. He helps you with the task, kicking off his boots and tossing his remaining clothing to the side. You watch him, eyes committing every muscle and every scar to memory, and finally you allow yourself to look lower.

It takes you a moment to realize that you’re staring, eyes wide as you consider the size of him. Not that you have anything to compare it to, but he is huge, and, considering the only thing that had been inside you before this day are your own fingers, you shiver at the thought of it. He lowers himself back onto his elbows, eyes finding yours as he brushes stray strands of hair from your sweat-soaked forehead as you blink up at him through your lashes, chewing your lower lip, feeling equal parts nervous and impatient.

As your heart hammers in your chest, he leans down to press his lips against the sensitive spot at the crook of your neck, positioning himself between your legs. You whimper as he teases you with the head of his large cock, sliding it from your entrance to your clit and back again, pausing there when all you wanted was for him to push himself inside you.

And all at once, he does. You draw in a sharp breath at the mix of pain and pleasure. He holds still for a moment, letting you adjust to the size of him. You hadn’t thought it’d feel this good. You’d not had much in the way of women to tell you about things like this here at Kaer Morhen. Most of what you learned, you learned from the boys – and you’d learn to take anything you heard from them with a grain of salt. But this – gods. It felt like pure bliss.

Finally, he slowly drew out and thrust back in again, groaning into the space between your neck and shoulder. By his third thrust, you were already raising your hips to meet his, wanting more, faster, harder. But Geralt was taking his time, despite your fingers raking his back, leaving red marks that could be mistaken for claw marks, in all honesty.

“Geralt,” his name spills from your lips in something between a sigh and a moan. He responds by kissing your neck, then moving up to kiss your lips, the two of you lying there, drinking each other in, hips moving harder and faster as he fills you up over and over again, somehow hitting every single spot inside of you, making you whimper beneath him.

You are both sweating, breathing heavily, and clawing at each other as if your lives depend on exploring every part of one another. His thrusts are even, though. A perfect rhythm that has you repeating his name over and over like a prayer. Each time, he hits that spot, and you feel that tightening in your belly, like a coil. And then, all of a sudden, it snaps, and you are lost in a sea of pleasure.

He finishes almost immediately after you, thrusts growing more and more sporadic as he finishes inside you.

The two of you lay there, half-clothed but unworried. No one will stumble upon you out here. Code be damned, you are in love. And for tonight, you are just that – not two people about to undergo the Trials, not a future Witcher and Witcheress – just two young lovers, all tangled up together, staring up at a sky fully of stars, watching the moon rise over the Snow Pine Mountains.

Taglist: @fairytale07, @geeksareunique, @jesseswartzwelder, @haru-ririchiyo, @unnamedmaincharacter, @lazilyscentedwerewolf, @stretchkingblog97, @curlyhairedandconfused, @valkyriepuff, @comicbeginning, @alwayshave-faith, @hp-hogwartsexpress, @angelic-kisses13, @holyhumorliteraturelight, @nogitsunelichen

(Let me know if you’d like to be added!)

#geralt x reader #geralt imagines #geralt of rivia #reader insert #witcher reader #geralt of rivia x reader #story: stone hearts #series #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #geralt fanfiction #the witcher au #au #witcher school au #fanfiction series

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italianfish · 4 years

Text

Here’s some things that I’ve overheard recently

- Michael Jackson part 1, before he came around

- That’s a sexy gauge

- We have cones in our eyes??? *Turns to friend* Show me your eyes.

- What’s ROYGBIV? Is that a person?

- I put the jewish inside of him

- The air in my house is polluted with sleeping pills

- One day someone will react to my gay jokes

- One day someone brought a tub of ice cream out of their backpack in the middle of class

- Hey Francis (Talking to a blow up alien)

- Why do you like assholes

- Aladdin doesn’t have nipples

- Support your own god damn neck!

- I saw my friend in the bathroom and he gave me orange juice

- FORM THE EQUATOR!!!

- Yes, indeed my good sir

- Sharing your wealth is the way to become poor

- I’m sorry I don’t have calcium in my body

- Why the pancreas?!

- I watched this show and these characters exploded and it was my favorite show

- Someone is going to lose a pancreas

- A: Don’t lose your pancreas B: I’ll try to hold onto it

- She knew how to multiply! And I was like “You’re only three!”

- Come on Moser, hitting the nut won’t do anything

- I work with a prostitute

- I love crunchy pancakes

- You are a big neon doof

- Look I can spit, I’m cool now

- ‘Ay! Trout!

- In her free time she did her taxes

- Hey! You like Raisin Bran?

- If you get a rooster you’ll be hungry, unless you eat him

- It smells like Hawaii

- If A claims he’s a god and Jesus says he’s the son of god... Does that mean Jesus is A’s son?

- We managed to convince our sub that this was a film and lit class so we watched infinity war all period

- A- So let’s keep the duck B- It’s a vulture...

- Did you just call me fuzzy?

- I didn’t recognize you with your clothes on

- He looks like a punk rock jazz drummer

- A- British! British! B- I HAVE A NAME!

- Stop putting your dog in the oven!

- Did you expect it to be that good of a cactus?

- I relate to Squidward so much

- He was like the dad that left to get cigarettes and never came back

- We’re literally following Marty Mcfly

- My elbows are funky fresh

- A- You shank em’ B- No! That is the exact opposite of a solution!

- Unicorns caused global warming

- A- No balls in class! B- But we’re in health

- The crazy chellos are back

- See! I do have friends!

- It’s a train, a train of love

- A- Why do they keep getting rid of the babies? B- I don’t know, abortion

- You have to earn the bucket hat

- My friend brought in 7 bucket hats

- Hide the forks!

- The turtles tried to cross the road once

- I’m scared of turtles

- So does everyone just carry a sword around in their back pocket?

- When you’re fishing, anyone in a bucket hat has authority

- She has cheese on her hook!

- Are your knee pits moist?

- Why are you molesting me with water

- I was born vaccinated

- I was born to be a little spoon

- Why do I look like a hispanic man

- Can I tickle your knee pits?

- You’re going to get eaten by the ocean

- A- You’re a hot mess B- Hey! At least I’m hot!

- They’ve developed a handshake! Isn’t this a problem?!

- We’re in the OG thirteen colonies

- A- I’m not used to seeing those big grassy structures B- You mean trees?!

- My name is bagged milk

- You only drink bagged milk once, in Canada

- It’s not expensive, you’re just poor

- I forgot I’m a lady

- That’s you after I poop

- I want to be Brazilian

- I figured out what the voice was! They’re playing Bingo

- A- Do “coo coo” B- CAW

- It’s probably in a nice aisle, aisle 9

- So inside the bag there are 3 more bags full of milk

- Mom we got the bagged milk

- He told me I looked like Nicholas Cage

- Her bio says inhale the kale

- I feel like an easy bake oven

- The bags just like, left

- But what about the unicorns

- Look at that potato! That looks free!

- Everyone! Find a piece of metal and lick it

- I’m the toilet man

- Go fetch me grapes

- All girls want to molest this

- He ate a whole pancake out of an Applebee’s dumpster

- Why did he eat turf

- I’m on a mission to find dairy products

- I was going to go to school and pretend to be a witch

- Remember when you put the lotion in my mouth and I drank it?

- We’re playing quarter baseball

- Pretend you’re sleeping

- The ultimate frisbee association

- My mom picked me up from school so I could go to ultimate frisbee practice

- They got a $2000 grant for a barely existing ultimate frisbee team

- She’s ultra mom

- The dodgeball guy called my friend a walrus

- We did a dramatic reading of an adult novel

- He was buying materials to make a whip

- Grate her down like a piece of cheese

- We sat in a circle and named our most Jewish quality

- 4 is the cosmic number

- I hate being a fertile woman

- Excuse me I’m Jewish

- Surprise disco duet

- I shook like 7 tents

- She’s the strings teacher, we keep her in the basement

- Whenever we finished a test and we said “I’m done” he would say “I’m done! You’re finished!” his last name was Done

- I thought the fire hydrant was a turkey

- I asked him if his password was like an anniversary or something and he said “It’s the date of my grandparents death”

- He gives us weekly quantum physics lectures

- Bruh! That looks like a lunchbox!

- No offense but this guy would make out with a floorboard

- You seem like the kind of person to kiss a floorboard

- You sound exactly like my pediatrician

- Lots of poop, no sock

- She’s not doing her work, she’s looking at Peppa pig

- Yo neighbor, I need some sugar

- White moms are really easy to scare

- Even though it’s part of Asia, ITS NOT

- Why was there a hanging waffle?!

- I got complimented on my croissant

- You can sell your liver

- Bernie Sanders reminds me of a muppet

- WHY IS THERE A HELICOPTER IN THE KITCHEN!!!!

- What are you going to do? Hunt squirrels?

- *A bunch of AP students shouting “Linguini”*

- I got bitten by an iguana in Aruba

- We got an actor to join the hammock group chat

- Say goodbye to your ovaries

- I’m half a butt cheek away from death

- Are you one of those people who puts ice cream and pop tarts in a blender

- Yo! You got any shoes I can eat???

- That’s how you segregate your trail mix???

- He has a six pack of ribs

- I’m so done with books about African children

- Do homies kiss

- I’m here for the num nums

- Don’t touch my pizza you savage!!!

- HURRY UP AND MEDITATE

- What are you for Halloween? Jewish?

- Do ducks have tails

- He was the one that broke the constitution

- Oh god now there’s Hitler on my paper

- God given right of ruling... Manifest destiny in China

- Do you shampoo your eyebrows

- This isn’t Bayblade!

- Bob Ross wasn’t an artist, he was an art therapist

- If anyone on the team is a jellyfish, it’s definitely Brandon

- It’s your fault that I’m not going to college!

- I’m having spinach for dinner! I’m so excited!

- I locked him in his toolbox

- Let’s rent a midget for a day and we can throw him against a wall

- I know how to utilize money, but do I know how to utilize it well, that’s another question

- Man, that place needs a Chick-fil-a, and I’m going to make it

- We should have the purge in school one day

- If you’re weird enough, people won’t want to rape you

- Flex seal it with tape

- Oh yeah, I got vinegar all over my sweatshirt

- Don’t say “Have a good day”, because I’m not having a good day

- Well maybe someday you’ll have cancer

- What’s up guys, I’m from Richie’s pizza, and today I’ll be showing you my body count

- An obo sounds like a clarinet with Down syndrome

- I DONT HAVE ANY MARINARA SAUSCE ON ME RIGHT NOW

- WE WILL SMUGGLE OUR KIDS TO AMERICA

- I’m the jolly black giant

- You pissed off a priest

- If we get a lot of money, I can take her boyfriend to prom

- Ted Bundy would share a lot of ideas with you

- They’re doing a milk experiment... But with marinara

- A- That’s not a color! B- But it’s on a crayon!

- Hey what’s up cheese goblin

- I’m letting my toes breathe

- I’m just saying, tinfoil doesn’t taste that bad

- YOURE EATING IT YOU UNGRATEFUL SWINE

- When I was away were you in my house? Because it’s happened before

- How do you say I have scoliosis in Italian?

- I’m gonna give give birth to a duck, right here, right now

- Are you comparing a 3D printed violin to genocide

- I HAVE NOTHING AGAINST BLACK PEOPLE

- Brother from another mother, TELL ME ABOUT THAT

- I’m a vulture, just vulturing

- I’m going on a field trip to the sewage treatment plant on my birthday

- You’re making my vagina angry

- Competitive Just Dance team

- Oh no there’s spaghetti falling out of my pockets!

- (Yoda impression) Take anger out on minorities I must

- I can turn off the lights and you’d still be white

#overheard #i just overheard #conversation #funny #funny conversations #haha #long post

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peachy-blinderss · 5 years

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Afternoon Delight

Guess whose back, back again. Peachy’s back, tell yo friends. Jk I’m not officially off hiatus, just wrote a little one-shot because I was feeling inspired. Meant to post this last week, but I had to take the GRE and that really threw a monkey wrench in my plans. Anywho, I see this one shot as more of a modern!Tommy AU but you can really imagine it in whatever setting you like. If I ever write part two it will probably be more modern. The title comes from the song Afternoon Delight by Starland Vocal Band bc Tommy and the reader are getting some afternoon delight ya feel. I’ll link it if you care to listen. Didn’t proofread bc I’m trash sorry.

Love ya’ll thanks for putting up with my inconsistency and outrageously long hiatus.

Afternoon Delight

Trigger Warnings: Not really any, suggestive content??

Word Count: 592

Flirty Tommy Alert

“Thomas, stop,” you giggled as you felt lips lightly trace the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Stop what?” Tommy whispered against your skin.

You felt every tiny movement of his lips on you, and it was driving you crazy. He always did this to you when you were wrapped up in school work and you weren’t giving him enough attention. As menacing as he pretended to be with everyone else, he was quite playful around you. That’s why ignoring him when he was acting like this was particularly difficult. You swatted him away from you and turned back to the thick book on your desk. You had a massive exam coming up, and you needed to focus. Not one for school, or being ignored, Tommy was not deterred.

A light nip to your neck quickly brought you back to the present. A quiet moan left your lips.

“Thomas,” you squeaked out, “please, I really need to focus.”

You felt his grin against your neck. You swatted him away once again, and turned your attention back to your book, willing yourself to ignore his presence. You finally heard him leave the room causing you to sigh in relief. You were finally free from distraction.

After some time you noticed your back getting stiff from sitting in your hard desk chair. With a small stretch and a yawn, you moved to sit on your bed. Thoroughly wrapped up in your work, you didn’t hear Tommy come back in the room. You didn’t even notice the dip of the bed when he climbed in with you. It wasn’t until he tossed your book aside that you finally noticed him.

“What are you doing? You made me lose my page,” you huffed at him.

He rolled his eyes at you. He found you quite cute when you acted like this. Reaching his hand up, he lightly caressed the frown lines on your forehead.

“My pretty girl shouldn’t be studying so hard. You need a break, I hate to see you so stressed,” He said while tracing the lines on your skin.

You closed your eyes at the feeling of his fingers lightly running through your hair. He knew how much you loved that. You noticed your body starting to melt into his. The rational part of your brain screamed at you.

Before you could get too caught up, you realized what was happening and pushed him away.

“Tommy, I really need to study. If I fail this exam I will fail the class,” you sighed while reaching back for your textbook.

Before you knew it Tommy had you on your back. You sighed as he kissed your forehead.

“You work too hard. Take a break with me, I’ll help you forget for a little while,” He whispered in your ear.

His breath tickled the shell of your ear and you let out a breathy sigh.

“You’re one to talk about working hard. Are you the pot or the kettle Thomas?” you laughed sarcastically.

He only rolled his eyes at you before moving towards your neck. You really believed you were going to get back to your book. Your will was strong until you felt him kiss the sensitive spot behind your ear. Instantly you were putty in his hands. You gripped tightly onto his broad shoulders as he left marks across the skin of your neck.

“You were saying?” he laughed before kissing you sweetly on the lips.

Maybe a break wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfiction

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inkandpapermagic · 5 years

Text

Queen of Nothing: In-depth Theories and Analysis of loose ends and plot threads from TCP and TWK that still need to be addressed

I had too much time on my hands on a summer afternoon, and since I just finished a reread of The Cruel Prince and The Wicked King, I wanted to get my thoughts together (I also am an English major and I’m starved for some literary analysis, yo). This series has so many cool prophecies and mysteries and there’s a ton of plot threads needing to be tied up in The Queen of Nothing. So, I chose a few of my favorites to over-think on.

Justin and Eva, the dumb kids who started this mess

Justin and Eva, y’all. Justin and Eva. Ever since Jude saw her mother in the Lake of Masks, I have been dying to know the real story about these two. Jude doesn’t seem to be that curious, but during her entire conversation with Asha, I was screaming internally for Jude to shut up and let the woman talk about this mysterious pair. I could personally read an entire novel about them alone (Holly, if you’re reading this, please please please can we make some kind of faerie bargain about this?).

In any case, there’s so many unanswered questions about Justin and Eva. I’m just going to dive right in, starting with Justin. He seems like a pretty straightforward guy-- dude just wanted to make swords. Like, really wanted to make swords. Justin was probably that kid in high school who played Dungeons and Dragons 24/7 and set the school on fire during wood shop class. He is a fictional, real-life Gendry Baratheon, and according to Taryn in The Lost Sisters, he sold his swords on Ebay.The only real hint we get that Justin may have been more than Eva’s hunky mortal baby daddy is what we hear from Grimsen:

“Then I told him I would give him one of my secrets: He could learn the practice of a hundred years in a single day… if only he would part with something he didn’t want to lose.”

“And did he make the bargain?” I ask.

He appears delighted. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

Will we find out Justin’s bargain? I personally think he took it-- and lost his life.

Then there’s Eva, who we hear a lot about but know very little. We know that she had an idea of who her daughter would become-- but sadly, she was a bit misguided.

“...do you know what the hag said? That Eva’s child was destined to be a greater weapon than Justin could ever forge.”

Of course, Eva thought this was Vivi, and Asha speculates that this prophecy might have influenced Eva’s decision to flee to the mortal world. But we don’t know that, or really anything about why she decided to leave, a fact Jude bemoans to Cardan.

“There are so many questions I wish I could ask my mom… why she married Madoc,” I say. “Whether she loved him and why she left him and whether she was happy in the human world. Whether she actually murdered someone and hid her body in the burnt remains of Madoc’s original stronghold.”

I NEED ANSWERS, HOLLY.

Of course, Asha knows-- “...one or both of them killed a woman and burned the body to hide your mother’s disappearance from Madoc. I could tell you about that. I could tell you how it happened--” but she’s not telling without a reward.

While I can’t even begin to guess who that woman could be, I do think that Jude will consider her mother’s fate as she struggles with her own relationship with Cardan. It’s something Taryn struggled with, too, in The Lost Sisters. I also still like the theory I’ve seen floating around here that Cardan and Jude somehow end up in the mortal world together, permanently-- wouldn’t that bring things full circle.

Jude, Oriana, Jude’s bad life choices, and Oriana’s disapproval of Jude’s bad life choices

Speaking of crazy kids in love-- the subject of lovers, specifically those of the High King, is something that is explored very early on, in the first half of The Cruel Prince. Through the story of Liriope, we can understand that being the High King’s lover is a dangerous job. And since we know early on that Jude is attracted to Cardan, we’re worried for her. But it’s Oriana who inadvertadly imparts wisdom onto Jude about what she’s getting herself into. Oriana mistakenly thinks Jude is Dain’s lover, and their conversation, which at first seems throwaway and out of place, really intrigues me. First, Oriana admits she was Eldred’s lover, and tells Jude the story of Liriope. Then, she wraps up that story with a moral:

“Hear me, Jude. It is no easy thing to be the lover of the High King. It is to always be in danger. It is to always be a pawn.” Then shit starts to get weird. Oriana says to Jude:

“If you go to Prince Dain despite my warning, if he gets his heir on you, tell no one before you tell me. Swear it on your mother’s grave.”

Jude, of course, swears, thinking she won’t have a problem keeping that vow. But why was that included at all? Just to show that Oriana is paranoid and crazy?

I don’t think Jude will necessarily be having Cardan’s baby or anything like that. But I do think that Oriana’s lesson will come back to her, just as it did when she watched Eldred’s lover be murdered at the coronation. Jude has already become somewhat of a pawn-- after all, Orlagh abducted her, and Cardan bargained to get her back. And that was when she was only a seneschal. When Faerie finds out that she has become the Queen, who knows what might happen to her?

As for how her vow to Oriana fits into that-- I think that perhaps she will go to Oriana for help with something else. Maybe to tell her about their marriage, or ask her for advice, or even for revenge. Who knows? What I do know is that Oriana will not be having any of Jude’s nonsense.

“I want to tell you so many lies”-- are Jude and Cardan actually married?

And now that we’re on the subject of lovers, let’s talk about those marriage vows.

What really bugs me about this is that when they married, Cardan didn’t know that Jude had killed Balekin. So he had no plans to send her away when they married. Which makes me think that, in his mind, he really thought that he could crown Jude and they could rule together. The act of exiling her was just a frantic chess move to get her off the board so that Orlagh wouldn’t kill her outright. I’ve read and reread that scene, and I still come off with the impression that he was sincere. And that supposed sincerity is what brings me to the marriage vows, specifically Cardan’s. He goes first, which means that he dictates the terms of the vow:

“I, Cardan, son of Eldred, High King of Elfhame, take you, Jude Duarte, mortal ward of Madoc, to be my bride and my queen. Let us be wed until we wish for it to be otherwise and the crown has passed from our hands.”

“Until we wish for it to be otherwise.” In her own vows, Jude puts it a little more simply:

“Let us be wed until we don’t want to be and the crown has passed from our hands.”

This is interesting. If this rule holds true, than Cardan’s supposed betrayal of Jude would dictate that, if they’re truly at odds, that they technically aren’t married anymore since they supposedly hate each other.

Yet I think that, deep down, they both still wish they were married to the other. In that case, even though I’m sure they’ll pretend to be angry at each other, the marriage remains because they both secretly wish to remain married.

The mermaids are out to get us

Finally, I want to look at a little prophecy that takes place near the beginning of The Wicked King, but whose words I believe basically foreshadow the events of the entire book.

“Spurn the sea once, we will have your blood,

Spurn the sea twice, we will have your clay,

Spurn the sea thrice, your crown will away.”

I think it’s safe to say that the “blood” was the drops of blood spilled when Nicasia accidentally hit Cardan while he was in bed. The clay, of course, is Jude, daughter of clay. I’ve seen several people on Tumblr discuss these theories and I definitely think that all makes sense. It’s the third line that interests me. But first, let’s go back to the Cardan’s final act of The Wicked King, when he exiles Jude.

“Until and unless she is pardoned by the crown.”

It all comes back to that line, doesn’t it? The general consensus is the Jude is the crown, and she can pardon herself. So how does this tie into the Undersea’s prophecy?

Jude is exiled for killing Balekin, the ambassador to the Undersea. As a result, Cardan sends her away to the mortal world.

“Spurn the sea thrice, your crown will away.”

So, in conclusion, I believe that through a clever bit of wordplay, all three components of the Undersea prohpecy have come true-- in this case, because the crown, Jude, has been sent away in retaliation for her crime against the Undersea.

Queen Jude (doesn’t that sound amazing?)

There is one thing we can be sure of-- Jude Duarte will be queen of Faerie. After all, Baphen saw it in his stars:

“The stars say this is a time of great upheavel,” says Baphen. “I see a new monarch coming, but whether that’s a sign of Cardan deposed or Orlagh overturned or NIcasia made queen, I cannot say.”

If you made it this far, thanks for sticking with me! I can’t contribute cool fanart but I can give you theories haha.

And in short, this is me every day until November 19th:

#the folk of the air #tfota #the cruel prince #the wicked king #queen of nothing #qon #the queen of nothing #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #holly black

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goingsllightlymad · 5 years

Text

Blinded By Your Light - Part 4. On Losing.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Y/N is the definition of ordinary. Studying at a medical school as far as she can get from her rainy hometown of Birmingham, she never expected to be shipped off the Flanders when the war was at it’s peak. Much less to meet a handsome young patient with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she had seen in her life who as fate would have it would fall into her lap.

Word Count: 6129 (it turns out I CAN write something less than 5k, but it was a horrifying experience and I’m never doing that again).

Warnings: character death (I introduce a character and then kill them off immediately because there is a god and I’m not him), wOmEn BoNdInG?!?! NoT iN mY gOoD cHrIsTiAn PaTrIaRcHy!!!1!

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It took you a moment when you woke up to remember where you were and, for a blissful moment, who you were too. There were days when you thought that, waking up early in the morning before the sun had risen, you could be anyone that came to mind and the world would not change at all. All would be so still in just one moment that you could almost convince yourself that you were, as you so often did as a child, emerging from the final pages of some thick and absorbing book and finding yourself once more in the curious light of a reality that was somewhat stranger than the world you had left behind. As you sat up in your narrow childhood bed it was tempting to believe that all of this had been some fanciful imagination of your tempestuous mind, a dream for want of a better word with which to give such heart-wrenching fairytales justice.

But then your eyes landed on the pile of rumpled clothes dumped upon the chair, and the reality came flooding back as though that unbreakable wall you had put up in your mind had finally broken. All that hurt and all that tragic backstory was real, was yours, and before you there was only... what? Nothing? You realised, slumping back against the pillows, that for the first time in your life you had absolutely no idea what you were going to do. It was easy to say so many times before that you just had to know where you wanted to go and do whatever it took to get there, but what did you do when you didn't even know where you wanted to go?

Medicine was a no-go. You thought it quite probable that if you saw another undressed wound or bedpan you would set fire to your apron and quite possibly a couple of hospital sheets too. Not to mention the images that still haunted your darkest dreams each night, burnt into the backs of your eyes so that you feared none of these long nights would ever get you clean. Those long, dark nights, when you could almost see your soul itself in the raw redness of the skin you scrubbed clean, washing away the taste of the hospital and the scream of the train whistle in your ears and the itch of blood upon your skin and upon your soul and dripping down the walls all around. You thought it might be time to repent for all that, try to find some way you could help people for real this time, the deep shit, not just sitting and smiling and pretending you'd done them a favour by saving their lives.

So it was with a heavy heart that you left the house that morning, setting out a plate of breakfast before your father, asleep in his chair and you thought he probably had not moved since the night before, unseeing eyes watching the locked door. You patted his hand gently, rowsing him and then making to move away as you saw his eyes scrunch up and then open.

"Hmm?"

"(Y/N)." you reminded him, smiling feebly before remembering that he could not see you. That hurt a little, you had to admit, and you snatched the ring of keys briskly off the tabletop to begin the laborious task of unlocking the door, blinking to push back the emotions pressing against your eyes in the terrible threat of tears, when you heard him stir and clear his throat behind you.

"Yer out early, eh?" a note of concern, of fatherhood in his voice that surprised both of you. You smiled wider, more truthfully this time, and he coughed awkwardly. You wondered how long it had been since he had had a daughter. You wondered how long it had been since you had had a father. Your smile dropped. You tried not to think about it any more.

"Gotta find a job, 'en't I?"

"If yer want t', I s'pose."

"Was sort of hoping you could give me a word. Where to go, y'know?"

"Heard Larry from the butcher's hiring." you shivered at the thought of all that blood, the images flashing through your head like dreadful fireworks, visceral and garish in their bright shots of red and stark white. You shook the thoughts away. Somehow he must have noticed - somehow he always knew - because he went on quickly, in a strained voice, "post office is always hiring. Should be nice." There was a heavy tension in the room that neither of you could quite find your way around, the sound of secrets left unsaid as both of you looked on at the person you had known your whole life and suddenly knew nothing at all about. There were a million things you wished you knew, and every one you knew you never would.

"Yeah. Sure." you murmured noncommittally, breaking open the last of the locks and slipping through the doorway, into the austere iciness of the unlit church. You went to push aside the curtain, then stopped and took a breath, eyes closed.

You thought you could taste it rich upon your tongue, the memory of incense clouding your senses as you dream you can make out the faces turning to watch you tumble though the curtain and down the steps, six years old again and dressed in your favourite blue dress for church, Isaiah Jesus crashing through behind you. Or twelve years old, and kissing him over and over behind this curtain where the shadows play like angels' fingers upon the wall and every breath is another secret and you've never had secrets before. Or, the sweetest sadness you had yet to know, eighteen years old and untangling your suitcase from the swathes of thick purple fabric caught up in the wheels, as your mother grabbed at your wrist and your father stood on by the altar, stony silence like the tomb. You hadn't seen the church alight since then.

You hadn't seen the sunlight pouring through the stained glass windows, shattering upon the cool floor beneath the altar, the way the churchgoers hunched and shivered in their seats because it was always cold here, nor heard the deep cry of the old organ in the corner. You had learned that once. You thought you must have forgotten it, because now you were sure that no note would come out right. It seemed almost blasphemous, coming back and expecting it all to be the same as that dreadful moment when you left it, afraid and so alone because that was how you liked to be back then. Those dark Sundays under the watchful eyes of God, the one thing that, in this little city of odds and ends, made you all feel whole.

Still you ached, pined, for the way their faces turned to you one by one as you made your way down the aisles to sit at your pew at the back of the church in your pretty Sunday dresses. Still trying to rewrite a memory over that last morning when all the world had fallen apart, running down the aisle with your bags spilling clothes like tears and promises behind you, tears and promises that haunted you still, behind you and around you the way they were the day you left, and all the days you didn't come back. The awful way they looked at you, your mother quick behind you and pulling at the hem of the warmest coat you found, the stained glass windows as they painted the hot tears on your cheeks. And the worst thought, that if you had the chance to do it again you knew you always would.

You breathed out.

Opening your eyes to the small space behind the curtain, you tugged it aside and slipped through into the church. No beam of light upon the altars, and the stained glass windows were thick with dust, you stood in the shadows near to the centre of the church, looking on in the muddy half-light at the way the pews stood empty, a single old woman hunched over her clasped hands and you wished you could pry them apart, put between them a penny and tell her she was better now and on her way, for you would find no God here. There had been no God here for so very long.

She did not look up as you passed, the only sign that she was here at all the breathy whisper that spilled into the silence of the early morning, wrapping around you and you breathed it in like smoke unto your dying lungs, the taste of faith you didn't have and the quiet kindness that came with a fate you did not know yet and looming before you, ominous as the grave. The candles were pitiful and small, and you didn't want to light one now, in the unforgiving glare of daylight. For who to light a candle to - to your father alone in his backroom and when he would step out into the church and find no one left to hear him as he ran out of words to speak, to your mother long since dead and gone and you not there to wish her well as she slipped away into the night, to him as your mind lulled with the quiet memory of the train pulling away, his necklace still heavy at your neck like a second heart upon your chest where it hung no longer because you were older now, and two hearts was two too many. Or maybe for yourself, for the self you lost in the ruinous war and the self you found when you returned. The self you didn't recognise, and the self you remembered, and you weren't quite sure which of them you hated more.

The cold creeping up the ridge of your spine like the icy hands of fate upon your troubled mind, you hurried out of the steps, wincing at the loud ringing of your footsteps upon the tiled floor. Standing in the cold outside, you reached around in your pocket for a cigarette, lighting it with shaky hands and bringing it up to your lips. Taking a long drag on it, you let yourself relax a little, sighing deeply and running your free hand through your hair. The sound of the city you loved so much was muted to a silence, not the silence of sleeping in through the early morning but the silence of the tomb, the unnerving quiet that made you sure that somewhere in this labyrinth of sins there was a man with blood upon his hands and a mind that was too loud. This was a silence you blew your brains out to, or someone else's if you were sicker still. The busy bustle of Sundays at the market, people on their way into the church and the bells, the bells, the way they sang unto the sky and all the gods you did not know, and now only the silence, the absence of your god and the absence of a sky in which to hold you down. You were limitless, and it was terrifying.

From somewhere in the distance you could hear the postman whistling as he made his rounds as he did every morning since forever, regular as the jumbled ticking of the faulty kitchen clock that had kept you up all night with its blissful certainty of an eternity this way. The sun emerged from behind a deep grey cloud, and for a glorious instant there was an explosion of pale golden light upon the street-corner, bathing you in its soft glow as you dropped your cigarette to the pavement that was more dirt than cobblestone, crushing it with the heel of your shoe. Beginning down the street-corner, you took in each brick and stone and tile and window pane as you grew ever closer to the main street. Looking up to the sky, your eyes caught at one point the face of a young child staring down upon you from a second-floor window. You smiled up at him warmly, but his face remained impassive, hard and utterly emotionless, and a moment later the tall, broad figure of his mother appeared behind him, wrapping an arm around him and bringing him away from the window. Your smile faltered and dropped, your expression clouding over as you pulled your coat tighter and began to walk a little faster.

After a couple of minutes of walking in silence your mind began to wander, and you realised that you were finding the right direction almost without thinking, your feet guiding you along the streets like you had never left. With every building a new memory, like the time you and Isaiah Jesus stole a newspaper from the stand outside the newsagents and used it to make a nest for a baby bird you had found down by the cut, or all those winter days when you would drag your mother down to the pawn shop on the richer side of town and look into the windows of the jewellery shops at the Christmas displays, diamonds and sapphires and a million colours of brilliant jewels sparkling in the fairy lights in the window. The days when it snowed you would run to the bakery and ask your aunt and uncle at the counter for a tray to sledge down the steeper streets with your friends. Your aunt and uncle... you wondered how they were now. You were nearly at the bakery, looking out on either side at the familiar shopfronts with their bright signs and cheery notices, only now a little colder, a little less familiar. It was as though seen in some daydream, half-asleep and only partly in control of where your frenzied mind may lead you, and looking on at the world constructed in your mind, too close to real for comfort and yet a world away, changed and disquieting.

You stood for a moment by the door to the bakery, outside looking in. The same rows upon rows of fresh-baked bread, the same colourful tartlets and the sweet pastries you used to pocket every time you visited. You thought they must have known, but you supposed they didn't mind too much. That was back when this city was a family. Something made you wonder if they'd still be so kind these days.

The bell above the door jangled as you opened it, smoothing down your hair and smiling expectantly as you waited for the familiar sound of your aunt and uncles voice coming from the backroom. And for a moment there was nothing; you moved to stand in front of the counter, shifting from foot to foot impatiently and holding your breath. This was the most difficult part - not the leaving but the coming back, and having to explain why you left at all.

"Coming," you caught the faint sound of your aunt's voice from the backroom, weary and low, and you opened your mouth to speak, closed it again when no words came to mind. They would come in their own time. Through the doorway, the large shadow stepped forward, your breath catching as you saw, as if for the first time ever, your aunt. She was smaller than you had expected, the bags under her eyes a deep and sickly purplish-blue and her hair thinner and greyer, pulled back behind her face in a tight. That kind sparkle in her eyes that had drawn you in day after day to talk to her and your uncle was gone, and in its place there was a haunted gleam that seemed to dull her impossibly. She looked tired, as she never had before.

"(Y/N)..." she smiled weakly, opening her floury arms and you rushed into them. And when she held you it was like you never left at all, like you were small and happy like you used to be, and she was big and kind. Like this last near-decade was left behind you at the door, discarded like a heavy winter coat when summer came at last, and all there was was how things were before.

"God I've missed you." you laughed pathetically into her chest, grinning up at her, but there was something in her eyes that made you hesitate for just a moment, a warning and an apology like she had something else to say and didn't quite know how to say it, or maybe didn't want to.

"Y'know, me too, love." she brushed your hair away from your face gently, and if you closed your eyes tight enough you could almost pretend it was not her at all, but the mother you had come back to find and had come back too late. Like you could forget a million things, letters and telegraphs and late nights spent weeping into a pillow in the darkness of your chamber a hundred thousand miles from here and have her back as she was meant to be. You wished... you wished.

"How- how are things?" your words bubbled out, tripping over your tongue as you tried your hardest not to sound worried. There was something hot and cruel, deep in the pit of your stomach, that whispered to you that something was terribly wrong, though you knew not what, and itched to find out. You thought you probably didn't want to know.

"Good... Good." her answer was purposefully vague, and you could not help but notice that she would not meet your eyes. Her gaze darted from the counter to the doorway to the shopfront to the posters upon the wall.

"The bakery?"

"Oh y'know, business as usual." she smiled at you reassuringly, and you knew she was trying to comfort you, to take your mind off something that was decidedly crueller and much much worse, still your stomach was steadily filling up with dread. This pretty picture was falling apart, and there was something missing from it.

"Where's... where's Uncle George?" your voice had dropped to a shaky whisper, tears pressing against the backs of your eyes as you searched her eyes desperately for some kind of sign that you were wrong. You had to be.

"(Y/N)..." she began, steadying you and steeling herself as she readied herself to talk about it just one more time, and you could see the pain in her eyes, anger enough to turn against the face of God and rain down hell upon the love he had not shown.

"No... did I miss him? Thought I'd just come by, see how things were." tears choked your throat and you gasped for breath, drowning in the heavy silence as you held onto her apron in tight fists. You shook your head, babbling under your breath and she tried to hold your cheek but you jerked your head away, staring wildly at her with teary eyes. "I'll go, I'll go, I'll come back when- when he's back. Tell me when he's in and I'll try to- try- try to drop by, o-okay?" but by the end your voice had trailed off into a sob, a whine that pierced the unearthly silence of the bakery, empty safe for the two of you standing at the centre of the storm, clinging to each other as if this wasn't somehow the worst of times and the worst yet to come.

"(Y/N), please. Please." she bunched up her fists in your hair, collapsing into you and you wondered how she'd managed without you and then, more scarily, if she had managed at all. If all you were holding was love and dust and ashes, were you ever made to last? "Listen to me, sweetheart- shhh, s'okay, don't cry. 'm right here. 'm always right here," you sobbed into her chest, making to fall to your knees but she caught you, bringing you back up to her and holding you in her arms like you had never aged a day. "'e might not be back in a little while s'all, love. But we... we'll be okay, won't we, dearie." The small smile she offered you was weak and watery, and you could hardly see it through the tears that burned hot trails down your cheeks. Angry tears, the tears of God forgotten. The tears you had no right to, not after everything you had done and even more you hadn't done in the war that made things bad and the peace that made it worse. "We're gonna be just- just fine. We're gonna be just fine." she murmured, over and over under her breath, steady as the tides and the beating heart that pulsed against your chest as you buried yourself into her embrace.

And it was a lifetime and once more melted into one, all those mornings when you'd cycle with the paper boy to the bakery and your aunt would wrap you up in her arms and slip you a mint humbug from the basket by the counter, taking the newspaper and sending you on your way with a kiss and a promise to call later. Or the days when you'd come rushing in, a raging hurricane with the bells jingling behind you frantically like sirens, and she'd hold you tight as your uncle pressed a plasters on your knees and elbows and made you swear you'd stop fighting with the boys in your class but you all knew you would do no such thing. Like all the nights in the tiny bedroom above the bakery when you'd crawl up into their bed from your cot in the backroom, fitting in between them and dragging up the blankets to sleep in their arms. You never knew what you'd say if they'd asked the next morning what it was you were afraid of, because perhaps you were just afraid that you would spend another second without them when there they lay, so close to you, and you could reach out and touch them if you thought they would not fade away beneath your fingertips like the flowers you brought them everyday.

If you closed your eyes tight enough he was there behind you, plasters in his hand and the smile on his face that you never saw him without. You thought perhaps that at least was your birthright, the right to smile and know that nothing was going to be okay but it would be just fine because that's the way it always was in this little town in the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere. That and the uncanny ability to survive no matter what, and something deep down told you that that would come in very handy in the years to come.

You pulled apart all too soon, wiping your eyes on your coat-sleeves, sighing at the loss of contact as you put on a braave face and adjusted your eyes to the dim sunlight filtering in through the shop window. Outside on the street, still not a soul to be seen.

"Tell me really, why'd'ya come back?" her tone warm but her eyes searching, and not for the first time you felt yourself being warned away from Small Heath. Little tiny things, slips of the tongue, tricks of the light, and enough to make you uneasy beyond all reason. Only a day since you had arrived, and already you were falling back into your old ways, getting nervous over even the smallest of things, searching blindly for meaning where you knew there was none. People knew things here, things that no one should ever be able to know, and it was only now that you were realising just how dangerous that was. You knew there were gypsies in this area, always had been since you were small but even then they kept mostly to themselves. In what letters you had received when you were away, few as they were, even you could not miss the subtle darkness that loomed over the neighbourhood, and you wouldn't be surprised if that age-old stand-off had finally been broken. Trouble was coming in Small Heath, and it had been due for a very long time.

"Missed it, I s'pose. Only so much nursing you can do before your brain sort of turns to mush."

"Oh I'm sure. Could never stomach the thought of it me'self." her eyes held yours, growing suddenly distant and thoughtful as though struck with a glimpse of some distressing fate, too soon snatched away as you tried to find a meaning in her troubled expression. " 'S a shame, really. We were all so proud of yer. Thought y'might get away for good this time."

You laughed, recalling the memories of that particularly cold and rainy autumn when you had waddled to the station, resplendent in all your six-year-old glory, with a bedsheet of books and a teddy-bear slung over your shoulder and your mother's nice red scarf, and had asked for the next train to London. You had been sent home with an iced bun and a wide smile on your face, your parents and your aunt and uncle and half of the neighbourhood carrying you home on their shoulders and staying round for tea in the church and by the time tea was over you had forgotten why you tried to leave at all. But that was so many millennia ago, and then there was that second time when no one had been able to stop you again, and this time you really could remember why you left. This town was too small, far too cramped to fit around the universe inside of your mind, and there was no where left to go but away.

But your aunt was not smiling anymore. Now you could really see the wrinkles that had etched their deep tracks into her brows, the crows-feet around her eyes but, even more visible and more worrying still, the frown-lines that made you wonder how much you had missed that you would spend the rest of your uneventful life making up for.

"Y'know, I think I thought so too. For a little bit, I mean." you rubbed the back of your neck and turned to catch a thin ray of golden sunlight on your face. "Thought I'd save up a bit of money and my myself a place a long, long way away from here. It's funny - I think I've spent my whole life trying to get away from here and I always end up right where I started. Makes you think, doesn't it, was I really ever gonna do it? It was nice while it lasted, but it was never gonna last. Think I ought to have known, huh." you blinked, and your eyes were dry and loveless now. You thought you could almost see the last scraps of the world you'd left behind, drifting away into the sky upon the smoke that curled in the street. And you were right, you had always known you would be when you sat down and really thought about it and thought to yourself that this had all been very nice, hadn't it, but now it was time to put down those toys and childish feelings and come back to the real world because that's what adults did.

Somewhere in that wasteland of wasted years you knew that you'd grown up, and you pushed away the face that swam into your mind at the thought - blurring softly around the features, a little too big in the eyes, too sharp in the jaw, the skin stretched tight over jutting bones that made him seem too rough, too cruel to be the man you had loved so much in those days when you were trying with all you wee to remember love at all, come little as it may, but unmistakably him, just as those early mornings had been for you and him alone, and all the world could wait a little longer. You were forgetting him, and the thought was the best you'd had in days. No face, no letters, and soon no love at all. Just like it never happened.

When you came to again the sunlight had gone, disappeared into the bleakness of the morning. You caught your aunt's gaze hot on your face again, pitiful and soft, softer than anything you had yet seen in this harsh town in all the day you'd been here now.

"So what now?"

"Would you believe me if I said I had absolutely no idea?" no, of course she wouldn't. You always knew; you always had, all that time when you were a child and you had your book of stories and every one of them a life you couldn't wait to lead, and every page a new adventure you had etched into your mind. And then the war had come along, and the hospital and the bodies and Tommy, and somewhere along the way the book of stories in your mind had given way to every night's new nightmare.

"Then let me help you start." she took your hand in hers, and as she brought it up to her smiling lips you could see the liver-spots on the wasted skin, age playing upon the fingers, tangling at the wrist.

"You don't-"

"Shhh, shut up and let me help you dammit. You ain't going nowhere without a job, that'y'know."

"Perhaps, but I-"

"You're working here."

"I... I am?" you squinted a little in confusion. The bakery was beautiful, you could tell every inch of it from any other on the face of the earth, could map it with your eyes closed as you did so many times in that unfamiliar dormitory in sunny Kent, but even you could not deny that it was tired and so was she. In the corners, the dust was gathering in dark shadows that were darker now that the sun had all but gone away, and if you could run a finger down the corridor walls and trace each line in the bright green paper you knew the cracks would be deep enough to lose your life into.

"You are. 'Least until you find your way back out there."

You could not help but frown at that. You couldn't say you hadn't thought about it just yet because you had, all last night and in every vacant moment since you woke again this morning. It was stuck in your mind like a hot coin, burning a hole into your head as you tried to push it away until later. Where to go, and whether to go at all. These last days had been the worst you'd known in all your life, the coldest and most draining, and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed and never come out again. Of course, that was entirely out of the question, and you had come to the reluctant conclusion that, at least for the time being, you would be staying where you were.

"Thanks."

" 'S the least I could do. We help our own round here, remember."

"Then I guess I'm in your debt, eh? 'Least til I can pay you back."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad to have you back. It's," she glanced around the room, at the baskets of bread and the trays of sweets, her eyes stopping on the picture frame on the counter, a faded black-and-white photo of your uncle's smiling face. You wondered if he was smiling still, somewhere in the no man's land of now and forever, where morality and life were a little less black-and-white themselves. "It's what he would have liked. I think."

"I wish I knew." you wished you knew a lot of things that you did not, and you wished you could see a lot of things that you could not either. You wished more than anything that you could do it all again, change a couple of things and see how the story changed for better or for worse. You wished things could be different, be better or just a different kind of bad, anything at all now that you could not live with your truth. The truth you made for yourself and would spend the rest of your life running from because that's what adults did, right?

"I don't think you ever knew just how proud of you he always was. Near broke his heart in two when yer left." You wanted to scream at that, to cry all over again and this time never stop, because this time you knew that you had let another person down for the last time. He was so very proud of you, and right now even you weren't so proud of all these things you'd done. You wondered if he regretted it all now, and new that he would not. That was the beauty of believing in someone - nothing they could do could ever prove you wrong.

"Why can't we just-"

"Because you and I are humans, and that's all we're meant to be, dear. These are the hardest of times, but they are the ones you learn the most from. Some day you'll have hurt enough to realise that hurting isn't all there is to making your mistakes - there's healing too. There's healing every day."

And she pressed into your handles the thick handle of a bread basket, laying into it loaves and loaves of bread, and a handful of sugary pastries that made you smile. The pastries had always been your favourite when you were small, trays and trays of bakewell puddings and banbury cakes and sometimes if you were lucky, coventry godcakes too, carried home in baskets strapped to the front of your bicycle as you tried to keep them from spilling out onto the road but racing home to catch them while they were still warm at the centre from the sunlight through the bakery window.

You could smell them, taste the sugar that rose in a white plume as she clapped her hands together and then rested one on your back. Leading you into the backroom, a little smaller and a little darker than it had been in the photobook of your mind, she pulled out an apron and pressed it to your chest, moving your hands to hold it tight. You didn't even have to look to know whose it was (or rather, whose it had been), and also that she would not let you say no.

"You'll just be on deliveries to begin with, getting to know the neighbourhood and all."

"I did used to live here, y'know!"

"Yeah, it's just that... 's a bit different, and all. Meet some people, have some fun. Maybe it's time you try something new, eh?" she ruffled your hair and you laughed brightly, honestly, ducking away and balancing the basket on your hip.

"Whatever you say," you sighed in mock-defeat, draping your coat over the counter and pulling on the apron in its place. It was too big for you, wide and comically long at the knees, but the fabric was soft and wrinkled and stained with the story of a life you had missed, and you breathed in the smell of bread and his cologne that washed over you like his arms around you once again. It was a good moment.

Resting her hand lightly on you arm and bringing you gently out of your daydream, your aunt held a folded scrap of paper out to you. The names written on it in her tidy hand were familiar, childhood playmates and teachers, neighbours and family friends. Back when the whole town knew each other, when you were all one family. Find the houses, find the people, leave the bread and leave the house like you had been there every day instead of thousands of miles away, living out a fairytale and pretending you were in love.

You shot her a quick smile of thanks, turning away and opening the door and filling your senses with the sound of the street, shot through with the jarring melody of the bells above the door.

"Be careful out there. I love you."

You couldn't remember the last time someone had told you that, save for the lapse in your history that had been him, and it soothed your aching bones and the weight that pulled you down beneath the dirty cobblestones to hear the words you so longed to wrap around you and hide behind forever. She loved you, and the rest of the world could not come close. And, stepping out into the street and closing the paint-peeling door behind you, you turned your face towards Birmingham.

Taglist:

@actorinfluence @captivatedbycillianmurphy @stressedandbandobessed7771

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommyshelbyxreader #thomasshelbyxreader #fanfiction #readerinsert

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ladybugsfanfics · 5 years

Text

One “Wrong” Turn | Peter Parker & Stephen Strange

Pairing: none, just the spiderling and the sorcerer bonding ^_^

Style: One Shot (might write more later??)

WC: 2.2k

Warnings: mention of a very sad death :((((

Summary: @lifeonthesideoftheangels said: “Ok but now that Tony’s gone, until it’s proven otherwise its cannon to me that Peter just casually hangs out at the sanctorum after class and Strange pretends to be annoyed at first but secretly enjoys having him around and starts teaching him everything he knows. #also Wong constantly comes in to Peter just hanging upside down from the rafters reading one of the ancient books and Strange levitating and is like “yo I’m about to go get dinner, you guys want anything?”” - og post

A/N: so this took longer than expected but also i love this duo and i might write more later but im not sure yet. hope you enjoy ^_^

if you want to be tagged in future fics, please send an ask ^_^

| My Masterlist |

Peter never intended to take a wrong turn, or a right depending on how you see it. That first time, he just walked with that lump in his gut that had been lingering for forever. He walked, choked up because it had been his first day back to school and all everyone could talk about was the blip (seriously why is it called that?). And all Peter could do was try not to choke up, try not to let the tears run as he heard Tony’s name.

When the bell rang and they were free to go, Peter didn’t hesitate to get out of there. But instead of the usual survey of the neighborhood and trying to find a way to impress… well, the person he wanted to impress wasn’t there anymore.

So, he wandered. First, he went the usual way home, but he took a turn sometime before the apartment and wandered straight. Exactly why he walked so long, he didn’t know. Where he ended was in no way on the way home, and checking his clock, he had walked longer than he thought.

The building he stood in front of was big, three floors tall. Windows lined the orange brick walls, but they were impossible to see through. And the only reason he knew he was at the right place was the giant circular window at the top of the building. Brown lines in the glass created something that hinted to an H but with two strikes through the bottom. Peter wasn’t sure what exactly the symbol was for, but he hadn’t talked much with Mr. Strange to know either.

With a deep breath, he knocked on the door. Or, he tried to knock, but instead the door opened and he kind of stumbled in trying to regain his balance. The first thing he saw was a set of stairs, and down those stairs, levitated Mr. Strange. Peter gulped at the sight, seeing as the man probably did not want him there.

“Mr. Parker,” he said, “what may I help you with?”

Peter shook his head. “Uhh, Mr. Strange, I―”

“Doctor Strange.”

Peter frowned and the sorcerer gestured for him to continue. “Uh, I just walked, like real far, and I’m not sure why I came here but I… I don’t want to go home.”

“And therefore you came here?” The man raised a brow, but Peter still couldn’t read more of his expression. “I guess this is a hard time for you. May I offer something to drink?”

“Really?” Peter’s eyes widened. “I don’t want to intrude, but…”

Doctor Strange shook his head. “Today, only.” He turned around. “Follow me.”

Peter happily obliged.

At the top of the stairs, Strange took a right and Peter followed after as fast as he could. The hallway ended in a kind of common room area, where Peter stopped, unsure of what to do. And only sat down as Strange told him to.

“I’m not gonna be a therapist, I’m more of a surgeon actually, but do you need to talk to someone?”

Something cool to the touch appeared in Peter’s hands. He looked down to find a coke in his hands, and he glanced weirdly up at Strange.

“Would you like something else?” the man asked.

Peter shook his head. “No, no, this is nice. Thank you.” He took a sip, only to down the entire bottle as he underestimated how dry his throat really was. In fact, he should’ve drank water, but he didn’t want to say anything. As he put down the bottle, it refilled and his eyes drifted wide-eyed between the bottle and the Sorcerer in front of him.

The sorcerer clapped his hands. “Now, please feel free to do homework here, and leave me to do my own work.”

“I don’t have any homework yet. It was the first day of school today.”

Strange sighed and shook his head. “Well, you can still leave me to do my own work.” And then the male disappeared.

---

How long Peter sat there, bored and staring into nothingness, he wasn’t sure, but eventually, he decided to explore a little. He found that the floor he was on was mainly living room space. There were bedrooms, more than one kitchen, or there might only be one but he got confused, and the common area he had been in. At some point, he found a set of stairs that took him into the third floor.

It was here his curiosity spiked. Everywhere around him, there were bookcases filled to the rim with books. Most didn’t really gain his attention as they were all rather dusty and old, but he figured they were probably all interesting if you wanted to learn. He walked around, and a lot of the things there did not look like magical artifacts, but he suspected they were.

Most looked like everyday things, like the radio that got his attention. It looked rather old, but maybe it worked. He was about to put his finger to it, when a voice echoed in the room, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Peter whipped around to find Strange levitating a few meters away, a book in his hand and a quick glance up at Peter. “Does it work?” asked Peter.

“Well, if by work you mean it will kill you after one touch, yes. If you mean that it works like a radio, no.”

Eyes wide, Peter turned back to it once more. “Really, it kills at one touch?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t try if I were you, but yes, it should.” Strange let out a chuckle behind him.

Peter nodded. His feet padded over to the next thing that caught his attention; The massive circular window with the double striked H. He turned to look at Strange. “What does this mean?”

The man levitated over to where he stood. “It is called the Seal of the Vishanti,” he replied, “or the ‘Window of the Worlds’. I wouldn’t expect you to know, but the Vishanti are three god-like Principalities who each exist in their own realm. The Omnipotent Oshtur, Hoary Hogarth and Agamotto the All-Seeing. Together they act as one to empower the magical spells of sorcerers, throughout realities and dimensions, who invoke them. It also protects the Sanctum from a series of threats.”

“Oh, that’s so cool,” said Peter and studied the Seal further. “Are there other cool things here?”

Doctor Strange smiled fondly. “Plenty.”

---

The Sanctum bathes in sunlight that filters in through the windows. Silence has taken over the room, only broken when a page turns or a sigh can be heard.

Peter hangs from the rafters, sticking to them upside down and turning the pages of one of the books Strange allowed him to touch. He doesn’t understand half of the words he sees, but the pictures are fascinating and he wishes he did.

He would ask, if it weren’t for the fact that the sorcerer with the answers is levitating across the room, eyes closed and doing something that looks like meditation. As Strange gotten cozy as that, he’d given Peter a very sure stare of ‘do-not-disturb’. Of course, the man had also said to be left alone for at least an hour.

However, that hour isn’t up yet and Peter has been going through the same book for so long he’s getting kind of bored. He closes the book again, as carefully as he can, and drops down a little to place it on the table underneath him. The thud it makes as it hits the table has him glance to the levitating man, but it elicits no reaction.

With a sigh of relief, Peter moves around. He knows not to touch anything (or he knows he might die if he does), so he only studies them from afar. But nothing fascinates him long enough to keep his attention, and there are only so many artifacts in the room. Nor does it help that none of them have a description plaque as they do in museum.

Peter slings around a little more, careful to not use big movements and accidentally knocking something down. Though the thought does cross his mind as the minutes tick by increasingly slower.

His hazel eyes skim the titles of the books. Nearly every title reads as Book of something. Book of Fire, Book of Demonicus, Book of Shataki, Book of the Vishanti. He finds the fact there there exists something called the Necronomicon (which he thinks has to do about necromancy) highly interesting. Also, The Scroll of Eternity sounds like something he would like to read, though he has no idea exactly how to.

In the end, as Peter gets to impatient, he gingerly―with a glance to the sorcerer whose eyes are still closed―takes the Book of the Vishanti from the bookcase. After hearing more about the three deities behind the Seal, he wants to know more. Surely, Strange can’t find his interest bad, maybe annoying, maybe a little concerning, but definitely not bad.

Back in the rafters, Peter lets his fingers run along the edge of the book. It feels ancient; rough binding that’s probably only so because it’s old; worn back; papers half sticking out, darkened by the years it’s existed. The cover has the Seal of the Vishanti on the front. It pokes out, feels metallic and cold under Peter’s fingers.

Opened, the book seems to grow in size, heavier under Peter’s touch. The pages of the book aren’t as worn as they looked before he opened it. A light brown, resembling a coffee stain, creeps its way in from the edges, and the paper itself is a darker, less white shade. On the front page, the Seal of Vishanti greets him again, almost weighing him down.

Peter placed the book into the middle of his left palm, making sure it’s balanced well so he doesn’t lose it―that would be catastrophical. With his right hand, he turns the pages. Nothing interesting at the first few, much like the usual books he reads.

Turning the pages, he doesn’t actually seem to understand anything of this book either. He notes some of the words, tries his best to understand them together, but the context makes no sense. To him, it’s just a bundle of words.

But he does find it entertaining. Making no sense, the book itself just become some lame joke. And Peter laughs, in a way he sees as ‘quietly’.

Understandably, it is not that quiet. Strange, where he levitates―his hour has to be up soon, right?―peeks open an eye and glances at the smiling spiderling hanging upside down on the ceiling. Peter’s senses tingle to the onlooking eye and he turns to look at the sorcerer.

“Which book?” comes the deep voice from across the room.

Peter holds a finger where he is and shows Strange the cover. The Seal being easily recognizable, Strange smiles slightly, which has Peter frown.

“Good choice,” the doctor says, “but you have no idea what it means, do you?”

He shakes his head. “No, uhh, it’s funny, though.”

Strange nods, and―Peter is not sure how because the movement doesn’t really exist―levitates to where Peter hangs. “I believe that.” He takes the book from Peter’s hands. With slender fingers, he files through the pages and lands on one in the far back―did the book just gain pages?

“Here, this should amuse you.” Strange hands Peter he book, a finger pointing to one of the passages.

Peter takes it. His eyes land where Strange’s finger points. The lines look rather blurry, the pages far more worn here than at the start―odd. He reads one sentence, a smile on his face, and then the next.

But he only gets halfway through before footsteps are heard. Both Peter and Strange shoot their heads up and look at Wong as he enters the Sanctum. The man raises a brow at the two, both high up in the ceiling instead of the many chairs they could have taken.

The bewilderment doesn’t last long. “Yo, I’m about to go get dinner, you guys want anything?” Wong asks, his eyes glancing between Peter and Strange.

Peter’s eyes widen and he nods frantically, nearly dropping the book―thank god for quick reflexes. “Yeah, I’m starving,” he replies, “what’re you getting?”

“Thinking pizza, just to make it easy.”

Water fills Peter’s mouth as he thinks about the many good pizzas it’s possible to eat in New York city. He nods, even more frantically than before. “I would like three, thank you,” he says.

Both Strange and Wong frown at him. “Three slices?” they ask.

Peter shakes his head. “Three pizzas.”

Despite that being a lot of food for one person, the two sorcerers only shrug and nod. Wong looks to Strange, “and you?”

The man takes a deep breath. “Sounds good.”

Now it’s Peter’s and Wong’s turn to stare quizzically at Strange, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Wong shakes his head and rolls his eyes in Peter’s direction, making the teenager try to hide a smile.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Peter wishes it’ll be here now. There are two sorcerers in this building, can’t they just magic the pizza?

permanent tags: @devilbat @adefectivedetective @gamillian

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rositxespinosa · 5 years

Text

It’s Complicated: Chapter 4

Remus Lupin x OC Rosalina Redd

Warnings: None

Enjoy!

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

The alarm clock on your bedside table went off the following morning far earlier than you would’ve liked. You spent a large portion of yesterday’s afternoon walking the grounds of the school, trying to rationalize your thoughts. Part of you knew that your fear of rejection and your list of insecurities were to blame for these negative thoughts. You knew deep down that there was always the possibility that Remus had feelings for you. One thing you knew for sure though, was that you had fallen for him, and hard.

That morning had been difficult. You missed chatting with Remus over breakfast. You were thankful though for Mrs. Sprout, because she noticed your usual companion was missing, and came to sit next to you at once, trying to lift your spirits. Monday morning you had Charms at 10, which helped take your mind of things. At the end of the lesson you called out to the class what their homework assignment was and turned to sit back at your desk. Upon sitting down you realized that one of your students was standing by his desk in the back row, waiting.

“Harry,” You said, surprised to see him. “Come here.” You motioned him over to your desk. “What is it dear?” You asked with interest. He looked around the room before his green eyes met yours. His demeanor was awkward, like he was nervous about something.

“Oh um, it’s just,” He took a long breath, “I noticed you seemed a bit sad today and was wondering if you were ok?” Harry spoke so quickly you were proud of yourself for catching what he’d said. You smiled at him and let out a gentle laugh.

“Yes Harry, I’m alright. I appreciate you asking, that was very kind of you. You are quite observant hmm?” You said, leaning back in your chair. Harry smiled and replied with a sheepish grin at your compliment.

“I think I picked it up from Hermione if I’m being honest.” He admitted. His shoulders dropped and there was a more confident smile on his face.

“Ah yes, miss Granger. How is she? Is she ill?” At the mention of your students name you remembered she hadn’t come to class that morning, which was extremely out of character for her.

“Oh! Uh yeah shes fine, I think. I don’t know why she wasn’t here, honestly.” Harry sounded nervous again, like he was in trouble. You shook your head.

“You’re not in trouble Harry. I was simply wondering. It seems that you, miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley are never seen apart.” You teased. “And I see that Mr. Weasley is waiting for you, Harry.” At his look of confusion you pointed to your classroom doorway where none other than Ron Weasley was peering inside, trying and failing to be discreet. Harry turned back to look at you with flushed cheeks and muttered a sorry.

“It’s alright Harry. Now go on, you have other classes to attend.” Harry started to walk back towards Ron when you remembered something.

“Oh and Harry?” He and Ron turned to look at you.

“Nice job on your paper last week, it was a wonderful read.’’ You said before turning your gaze to Ron. “And Mr. Weasley,” You started, “Excellent job on the homework, you’re really improving.” Ron became flustered at your praise. “Now go, both of you. Off to class.” You shooed the two boys away, who sprinted off with big goofy grins plastered on their faces.

The rest of your Monday wasn’t as bad as you expected. But as 2 o’clock rolled around you started to feel down again. Every Monday at 2 for the last month and a half you would have tea and chocolate with Remus in his office. Or in your case, coffee and chocolate. It had become sort of a tradition. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays you’d meet in his office, while the other days of the week you’d meet in yours. The time spent chatting about anything and everything and drinking your coffee with the company of Remus is where your feelings for him developed. It’s where you discovered each other’s interests, what your goals in life were, and where you jokingly gossiped about the staff. You got to see him in a different light. When the two of you spent time together you felt free and safe. Remus treated you respectfully; like an equal. That’s more than you can say for the other men you’ve brought into your life. He made you feel not only safe, but secure and comfortable. You were undoubtedly physically attracted to him, but it was also so much more than that for you. You felt like maybe you had found the one, but you were left with feelings of doubt and insecurity.

Two in the afternoon came and went, as did your thoughts. You spent the rest of the afternoon having a lesson with the first years and grading assignments. Dinner time was quickly approaching, so you stood from your desk and left to go down to the Great Hall.

****

The rest of the week went by smoothly. While you did miss Remus’s presence, you busied yourself with work. Occasionally you would take breaks in between lessons to walk the grounds and get fresh air. You didn’t like being cooped up in your classroom all day, and with November soon approaching the air had been more crisp and cool, making going outside from the warm castle a nice refresher. On your way back one morning you were caught off guard by two voices.

“Severus, don’t be a fool. You know the cost of me not taking the potion.” Your ears perked up at the sound of Remus’s voice. He sounded calm, yet exhausted. You had no doubt he probably looked it too, but you couldn’t see him. You were at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall and listening to the conversation going on a few feet away from you.

“Don’t call me a fool!” Snape spat. “You’re lucky I even agreed to make this potion for you. Wouldn’t want your little girlfriend to find out now would we?” He mocked. Your stomach dropped. What was he talking about?

“Severus yo-” Remus stopped talking the moment you walked out from behind the wall, pretending you had just happened to be walking by. His lips formed into a small smile at the sight of you, making your stomach flip with glee. You smiled back at him. Snape stood there with a scowl on his face, as usual.

“I’ll bring you your potion later tonight, Lupin.” And with that he turned and walked off to the dungeons, his black robes swaying behind him. You turned back to Remus and cocked your head at him. You wanted to speak but you couldn’t seem to form the right words. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, making him chuckle.

“If there’s something you’d like to say please don’t let me stop you from saying it.” Looking into his eyes you felt yourself relax. You were safe with him, you knew that.

“I’m not sure it would be appropriate to ask.” You admitted.

“It’s about what Severus spoke of, isn’t it?” You nodded your head, never losing eye contact with him. He looked down and heaved out a sigh. Looking back up he gave you an assuring smile.

“Severus has been kind enough to brew me a special potion for when I feel ill. It has been helping me heal up much quicker than I would without it.”

You heard the words you spoke before you realized you had spoke them.

“Do you fall ill often?” You asked abruptly. Your eyes widened. “Forgive me, that was rude of me. Remus I-” He held out his hands and silenced you.

“It’s alright, Rosa, there’s no need to apologize.” Your heart skipped at beat at the nickname. The corridor suddenly felt hotter than before. “I do unfortunately fall ill often, but I assure you it’s nothing to worry about.” Remus finished. The pair of you stood in the middle of the hall, staring at each other in content silence before you asked,

“Would you care to join me for tea, Remus? I believe we have a lot of catching up to do.” You smiled at the smirk on his face.

“I would love to. Shall we use my office? I reckon it’s closer.” You nodded in agreement and you and Remus walked to his empty classroom, closing the door shut upon entering it. It was the same as it had been nearly two weeks prior. Books were stacked high on top of shelves, papers were scattered across his desk, an old tea mug still laid on it. It was cozy, familiar, and it smelt like him. He insisted you sat down while he fixed himself a cup of tea, and you a cup of coffee, just how you liked it; two creams and two sugars. You thanked him as he handed it to you and sat down himself.

“It appears you’re feeling better. That’s good.” You said, taking a sip of your coffee. He nodded and sat the cup of tea down on his desk.

“Yes, I am feeling much better. Not quite back to full health, but better.” He picked up his cup of tea and began to drink from it. There were a few moments of tense silence.

“Remus,” You started, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “I don’t want things to be weird between us. I know you were ill, and we haven’t spoke since before then, but please, let’s go back to how we were.” You pleaded. Remus had a hint of sadness in his eyes but gave you a smile nonetheless, quickly recomposing himself.

“I agree,” He said, and you heard yourself sigh with relief, to which he chuckled. “Now, lets get to catching up, shall we?” You smiled at his words, and feeling thankful that he was back.

***

You spent the rest of the morning with Remus. The air in the room became clear, and the two of you laughed and joked as you had done many times before. You told him about how well your lessons have been going, and how you thought the students liked you, to which he agreed. After talking with him about what you were planning for the students Charms final, you and him headed down to the Great Hall for lunch.

You tried to ignore the stares you and Remus received when you walked into the hall together. Some were knowing, others were filled with curiosity and confusion. Hushed whispers were heard as you made your way to the front table.

Lunch had been most uncomfortable. Once food had been served the student’s attention was on eating and chatting with their friends. However, the other professors were acting.....odd. McGonagall gave you a cheeky grin and winked, while Snape was glaring holes into the side of Remus’s head. The attention on you and Remus made you nervous. You liked Remus, hell, you may have even been in love with him. But you hadn’t told him yet, or even made it clear that you wanted to be with him. Yet somehow the school knew what was going on. Was it that obvious? You knew you’d have to pluck up the courage and just tell him, sooner rather than later.

#harry potter #harry potter imagines #remus lupin #severus snape #remus lupin imagines #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x oc #harry potter x oc #my writing

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crescentmoonrider · 5 years

Text

so uh, i was telling @ishibooty about my daydreams and the fact that somehow in two of these scenarios, marcus ends up joining libra, and all of a sudden it was 5am and i had 3k words of summary of marcus’ arc for one of them

there are two parts to it. this was supposed to be a side-plot. why am i like this

anyway enjoy my ramblings i guess

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Mushroom arc

Marcus and Leo meet at the hospital (Daniel came to visit/interrogate/make fun of Steven and kicked Leo out of the room) and leave a good impression on each other. (“So uh, are you also a cop ?” “Why does everyone assume that ? Is it my name ??”)

Later, Libra investigates on a drug ring. Because the drug seems to incorporate magic in its fabrication, making it as potent on humans as well as all sorts of beyondians, Leo is sent alongside Zapp to get a sample and get a closer look and maybe identify the spellcaster or something. Marcus is in the club and makes himself known, and it turns out he is part of the gang. Zapp and Leo get invited to a private room and meet some of the higher-ups (Marcus included), buy their sample, and are then asked to breathe into a container, of which they are assured it is perfectly safe, just a security measure. Since murdering clients seems like a pretty bad business plan for a drug ring, the duo does what they’re asked. They pass out and wake up in the club, with no memory of the past 30 minutes.

Later, Leo is greeted by Marcus at Diane’s Diner and they have a chat, during which Leo feels like he met Marcus recently but can’t seem to place it ? Marcus makes fun of him, asks if Leo has been hanging with Mushroom beyondians and at Leo’s confusion, mentions the amnesic effects of their spores.

Leo comes back to Libra all “MOM HOLY FUCK”, and the team decide to investigate that memory-erasing spore thing. Also one of Steven’s “contacts” discouraged him from looking deeper into the drug ring geez I wonder why that might be.

In parallel to that whole investigating, Leo goes to eat out with Nej, accidentally bumps into Marcus, and they somehow become a trio of burger pals ? (“wait what do you mean you sold Nej burgers for profit” “it’s money my dude”) Hanging out together during lunch break regularly, all that jam. At some point, following Leo and Marcus complaining about their respective workplaces and co-workers (preluded by Marcus being all like “work ? like, part-time ? aren’t you in high school ?” “… I’m 21…” (quietly) “what the fuck”), Nej mentions having an actual job but can’t seem to remember it. Cue laugh track I guess.

Plot twist it’s not funny it’s actually tragic because the place Nej works at is the spore extraction factory that serves as the center of that Mushroom traffic. Chain, Zapp, and Leo storm the place, Leo gets beaten up, Nej is traumatized, the Mushroom beyondians are evacuated, the building is burned down and so are the spores. Meanwhile, Marcus is allowed for the first time into the laboratory, meets the spellcaster, looks around the place and asks non-suspicious questions, he’s just curious and enthusiastic and kind of dumb in his cleverness but that’s just how Marcus is haha look at him, such a good and loyal guy (we hope).

Someone caught Leo and Zapp on tape while they destroyed the factory and since Marcus is friends with Leo, it’s a bit uhhhhhhh suspicious ? Marcus is all “do I look like I have control over whatever every single one of my friends does ?”, the Chief goes “okay well, would you fucking mind getting that kid over here so we can know where he learned about the spore factory ?”, and so Marcus goes to do just that.

Except he doesn’t. What he does is go see Leo at the hospital, offers to go on a walk in the hospital park, covertly gives Leo a vial of his own blood, and tells him to act like they’re fighting and then run away and bring the vial to Daniel. He then makes as if to grab Leo to take him with him.

Leo knees him in the dick and books it. The gang guy dispatched to make sure Marcus actually did his job watches and comes to the conclusion that Marcus is on their side because, like, yeah.

When he gets the news and the blood, Daniel calls the narc brigade to start the tracking, grabs Leo, gets in the car, and starts driving. The “tracking” is actually blood magic, the vial of blood Marcus gave Leo reacting to sigils he left at the lab and even on the spellcaster and forming spikes in the direction of it all. Turns out Marcus was an undercover narc looking to get his hands on the spellcaster (drug labs are rather easy to make, having a magic user able to apply their knowledge to that kind of craft is a lot less common).

Of course when magic is activated, it risks being picked up on by other magic users, so any intervention needs to be swift, and also Marcus seems to have been under some suspicion (why else would he ask Leo to serve as a middle-man) so things need to move real fast. (“wait so you’re going on a drug busting operation with a civilian in your car ? I know I said I wanted to know what the hell is going on but that’s kind of, like, uhhh” “you’re holding the vial and giving me the directions, I can’t do that while driving”)

Anyway, most of the gang is arrested, Marcus ends up in the hospital because he saw some kids crossing the road without watching and jumped in to save them, ironically saving him from being exposed as a cop to the underworld, and Leo later apologizes for kneeing him in the dick. End of arc

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Boss arc

Marcus takes advantage of his old gang being disbanded, and of him still looking like a regular crime guy, to join another, bigger group. The Boss welcomes him with open arms because 1) Marcus sells himself really well (“yo my brother’s a lieutenant of police, I got some intel”) and 2) they actually knew each other before the Collapse, and while Marcus never worked for him, the Boss has a lot of respect for him.

The burger trio still hangs out together, and sometimes Marcus also hangs out with Leo alone. It’s a nice break from work for Marcus honestly, Leo is a chill guy, and it’s great to not have to pretend to be someone else, with someone who isn’t Daniel, for once. And for Leo it’s also a nice break from the usual Libra madness. They share wacky stories, some gossip, one time Marcus arrives like “LEO HOLY FUCK” because he spotted Steven at Daniel’s flat and they both lose their shit. They also get a little more real sometimes I mean, both of them have some heavy baggage, and Marcus doesn’t have a lot of emotional support outside of his brother (who is married to his work and not great at emotions himself). In short, they’re friends.

Anyway, Leo may or may not be developing a crush – whatever the truth is, Zapp has decided to go on Big Brother mode and drag Zed along to stalk Marcus and make sure he’s an okay guy. (“are you sure this is necessary ?” “this is HL, and this is Leo, he’s like, a trouble magnet ! and if things turn out badly, guess who will have to deal with the fallout ?” “… you actually care, don’t you” “shut up !”) Of course, Marcus publicly performs as a Crime Guy, so that’s a little… well…

Zapp and Zed follow Marcus to a shady pub where Marcus has a meeting with the Boss (“wait isn’t this guy like, a crime lord” “god fucking dammit”), get spotted, but since Marcus isn’t about to out them as Libra if he can avoid it, he just ironically buys them a drink. And that’s how a hot mess and a merman end up sharing a table with a Crime Guy and a Crime Lord. Zapp, always the diplomat, asks Marcus to break up with Leo. Marcus is obviously very confused because, like, they’re not ??? A thing ??? So Zapp instead tells him to not start a thing, while Zed sits there nervously and very obviously tries to not look at the Boss.

Marcus laughs it off, but he ends up a little shaken by the encounter honestly, not because Zapp said anything particularly clever, but because it echoes doubts he’s been holding about himself for a while now. He’s been doing his job for quite a long time, has done quite a lot of shitty things to keep his cover up, and he – he isn’t quite sure he’s really helping. Sure, he’s lead to the dismantling of some drug rings, but was it worth it ? If he looks at what he did for the past years, how exactly is he different from the people he targets ?

Also there’s like, Collapse trauma, which in his case is also closely related to that whole issue. For three days, Marcus walked around with a suitcase of “merchandise” from whatever his gang was at the time, doing his best to survive and get that thing where he was supposed to get it and not lose it and not act like a servant of the people who would actually help, or try to help at least. Marcus made it out of the Collapse with his cover intact, his gang mostly dead, and a suitcase full of shit he didn’t know what to do with because the people he was supposed to bring it to died and he did it all for nothing. He let people die for nothing.

And he does feel a kinship with some of his “co-workers”. He’s friend with some of them. He slept with one of them, at a time when he had just lost whatever purpose he’d had for the three days the Collapse lasted, at a time when he couldn’t get in touch with his family and make sure they were alive and he was just so desperate for someone he knew, for some human warmth, for whatever comfort he could get. And the Boss (at the time not his boss, but someone he knew and who made business with whoever he used to work for) was kind and praised his determination and good work and just held him with no judgement.

Marcus enjoys the Boss’s company. What happened after the Collapse was a one-off thing, but they’ve been in touch ever since, drinking out sometimes, sharing some quiet comfort together. The Boss introduced Marcus to a new group in exchange for his merchandise. The Boss keeps on vouching for him, trusts him, and Marcus almost feels a little guilty.

He feels guilty a lot, he finds, whether that be when he enjoys drinking with his co-workers or when he works at home on a spell that would identify the caster in charge of their drug.

One time, Steven comes to the Boss with a deal, information for whatever price the Boss gives and Marcus sits there, at the Boss’ right, watches Steven and the apparent friendship between him and the Boss and thinks “ah”. Same fucked up hat, same dilemma, same constant walking a line you can barely see.

At Daniel’s place (Steven has been there a lot more often lately, and Marcus a lot less, but they still end up meeting at times), neither of them mention that moment of recognition. But Marcus mentions being a little tired, and Steven half-jokingly offers him a place in Libra, should he ever want a change of pace.

And Marcus thinks maybe, just maybe, this would be better. Maybe he could help, really help, the way he wants to. He just needs to finish this job. Just this one job.

It’s not that he means to isolate himself, he just really needs to figure this spell out, and anyway Zapp was exposed as Libra and that brought suspicion on Marcus because of the whole “don’t date my friend/colleague” incident and while the Boss trusts him, there’s this one guy who has some amazing instincts (and maybe holds a grudge for that time Marcus beat him up for trying to sell stuff to kids), and that means hanging out with Leo is probably a terrible idea. And he has work. And he is so, so tired. He has nightmares, too, a little more than usual. Maybe more than that.

It’s a good thing that there are spells offering protection against nightmares, really, a good thing there are spells that provide energy too. Marcus has a rule against ever consuming something he sells, but he’s been so tired lately that he gets close. But there are spells for sleep that work better than alcohol, and spells for energy that work better than cocaine, with none of the less appreciable side-effects, and it’s a shame the only magic he knows is blood magic because drawing blood to activate them is a pain, literally. But it’s a small trade-off for the ability to keep it together and finish his work.

Leo actually seeks him out once, and while the encounter is short because Marcus can’t afford to hang out with “most definitely Libra” and tells Leo that (and also mentions Zapp and Zed’s visit because he is petty), it’s also nice to have Leo be all “if it’s because you’re afraid of getting me into trouble, friendly reminder that this is HL and that I am Libra” at first and just. Miss him, apparently ? Marcus will have to treat him to lunch once he is done.

After that, after his eyes pick up on the weird magic going on over Marcus’ shoulder, Leo looks up spells by shape, and if he was worried about Marcus avoiding him before, he is now worried for an entire different set of reasons. Square-shaped spells are reinforced exponentially, and there’s no way anything stronger than a level-1 energy spell (the equivalent of an espresso) can be healthy. Also he is going to kill Zapp.

And finally, finally, Marcus gets his breakthrough. He finalizes his identification spell, drops a little blood on the powder in the middle of the circle, and gets a signature. He can track this caster. He grabs paper, a pencil, writes down the signature sigil, calls Daniel to tell him that he got it, and – and there was a defensive spell inside the drug because of course there was and Daniel needs to come here right now.

At the time, Daniel is wrapping up a case with Klaus and Gilbert nearby, and there is no question what the fastest vehicle here is. The others can manage without him. Daniel reaches Marcus’ flat in record time, Klaus on his heels, and they find Marcus unconscious on the floor, left arm injured, in a state that seems much worse than it should be.

Daniel grabs the paper Marcus is holding, Klaus compresses the injury and carries Marcus to the car, and Gilbert drives as fast as possible in these conditions. Calls are made – to the narc brigade, sending them the signature so they can do whatever it is they need to do with it and so they can prepare to start the tracking of what Marcus left for them to find, and to Steven, who is currently free and can absolutely help in the capture of the higher-ups of the gang (Leo definitely helps spot anyone who escapes).

Luciana welcomes them with the same determination she has at all times, and the slight annoyance she always expresses at seeing Daniel, and hurries Marcus inside. “What did he take ?” she asks, and Daniel could strangle her. Marcus doesn’t take anything, he is a professional, how dare she – but he is overdosing, Klaus was the only thing keeping his heart beating during the drive there, and the powder on the floor of his flat seemed weirdly crystallized, like it had solidified and broken. And there was no weapon that could explain Marcus’ injuries. And the conclusion Daniel and Luciana reach is. Bad.

He answers Luciana’s questions, asks for a small sample of Marcus’ blood, shouts at whoever he has on the phone at the time, and goes for the car. Luciana is baffled, Gilbert readies to drive, and Klaus says he will stay at the hospital and call if anything happens. It’s not a pretty arrangement, but the look on Daniel’s face was one that promised death to anything that tried to stop him, so.

I could go into length about the capture, about the way Daniel almost killed the Boss for his words, about the return to the hospital and the gruelling wait for news, about the way the Luciana on coffee break duty told Daniel off for criticizing her devotion to her work when he isn’t much better himself, about the relief Daniel felt at it being personal, a revenge of sorts, instead of something he’s heard much too often about his being heartless. He isn’t, if Marcus died it would break him, but he simply doesn’t know any other way to deal with these emotions than drowning them in work.

Later that night, after Steven has dragged him home to make him catch at least some sleep, he will tell Steven about the death of his grandfather, back when he was a kid, about Marcus crying for an hour, about himself not shedding a single tear, instead finishing the model boat the three of them had started because he needed to do something. It will be the first time they have that kind of discussion, the first time it feels like whatever they have going on is a serious relationship. But that is a story for another time.

When Marcus wakes up, a few days later, he asks Daniel to transmit his resignation letter. His recovery will take time, months even, to get back to a functioning state both physically and mentally, but that is the first step towards that. Another step will be to buy Leo and Nej lunch when he gets discharged, reconnecting with them. And another will be to ask Steven if the job offer was serious, and to accept it.

Marcus joins Libra as a blood mage with some background information on drug dealings, and he thinks, for the first time in forever, he can help.

(Also he hasn’t told Daniel anything about that last part and he is not looking forward to that conversation, at all.)

#kekkai sensen #blood blockade battlefront #marcus law #leonardo watch #yumi writes #note : blood magic and blood fighting techniques are not the same and actually dont have much in common #yes i actually made some magic theory for this. its. somewhere in my unscanned sketches #my naming conventions for most characters are. terrible. if i dont know your name ill just call you by your job #idk if read mores are still as buggy as they used to be on mobile but it they are im very sorry #body heat AU

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praphit · 5 years

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JW 3: excommunication vs badassery - WHO YA GOT?!

Well, I'm back here again talkin about John mother bleepin Wick; that must mean that people are messing with him again.

In the 1st movie, we learn that John Wick belonged to a secret soceity of assassins, but he got out of the game, so he could properly grieve his dead wife. The only piece of that life he had was in a puppy, and some assholes came around and killed that puppy.

A puppy! Not John Wick's old dog who had lived a full life and kinda wanted to go cuz he's seen too much shit - they killed John Wick's cute, innocent, lil puppy!

So, JW had to kill not only the people who killed his puppy (no no no no no),but everyone associated with them: family, friends, if you have ever delivered a pizza to those scumbags, if you bagged their groceries, it was on!

He killed 3 guys who were involved in a bar once with a pencil! A PENCIL! Who does that?! Who says to themselves "Man, I'm so mad that I'm gonna go into that bar and kill three men with this number 2." Who?! An unstable human being, that's who! I love him, but damn!

In the 2nd movie, they said , "John Wick has gone too far! Yeah, we killed your pup, but you didn't have to take out the our whole community!" Soooo, they decided to take more of his stuff - they stole his car. They got Ruby Rose and Common after him to say "Look, John, we're square, let us take the car, we'll rough you up just a little bit... and let this all go."

But, you already killed the man's puppy, now you gonna swipe his ride? What the hell is wrong with y'all?! You know who this man is!

Of course, John Wick had to kill off multiple gangs, along with Ruby and Common. For one night, the streets were literally painted red with blood. John Wick's killing went beyond cinema. Those actors haven't been the same since. Ruby Rose has given up movie making for the CW network, to make-out with women while dressed as a bat (not making that up) She figures she can hide in the CW.

Look at her... she’d rather look ridiculous than be near anything John Wick related.

I don't think Common has put out any hit songs since that John Wick 2. The carnage that he saw in the production of that movie was mind-shattering.

They said - "John Wick! That's it! We tried to square things up, but you wouldn't listen! Now, you're excommunicado!"

Now, in the church world, I know what excommunication means - no more Ritz crackers and wine for you, dirty stares when church folk see you at the market, they draw devil horns on your pic in the prayer list, and you're no longer invited to church picnic's, but they never send people out to beat yo ass. Can you imagine if church were that serious?? A pastor having a pack of assassins just waiting for you to disobey him/her. Maybe Russia would do that... seems like they might do church differently out there.

But, that's where we're at with “John Wick 3: Parabellum!”

He's been cast out of the fold! No one is allowed to help him. They cancelled his social media accounts, his gym and yoga memberships, and coupons at Whole Foods. They beat the hell out of him. Told him he’s got one hour until certain horrible death. Took ALL his shit! He's done!

In John Wick's time of need there are only two people that he can turn to. Two people who haven't totally turned their backs on him - Halle Berry and that woman from "The Addams Family"; good ol what's her face.

So, he's off (though a bit beaten up and bloody), to murder everyone in his path to finding these two people. It's like a video game in a sense - there should be an action total at the end of each scene:

112 dead

52 shots to the head

34 broken limbs 432 bullets fired 40 gallons of blood spilled

10 dicks and 7 balls chomped on by Halle Berry's dogs

Number of New Yorkers freaked out by all of this (0)

He kills people with a horse! No joke!

And a book - at one point John Wick destroys a giant of a man: busts up his ribs, his knees, his shins, his kidneys, his balls, his jaw, his neck... all with a book. I'll never see a bookshelf in a home the same again.

All of this mayhem and blood leads John Wick out into the desert. Where he has to meet with some high elder to... do a job to reverse the excommunicado to... be... an assassin slave or something... idk. There are people out there who may complain about the lack of sensible story in this movie, and... yep! - they're right, but you know... it's all about survival and revenge - what more do you need??

The real hero of this movie is a doctor that John sees in the beginning, who gives him some pills that take away the pain, and give him energy. Those pills are the things of superhumans, cuz that's all he needs for most of this movie. I saw him take a couple of sips of bourbon, and drink some of Halle Berry's spit (don't ask). But, that's all he needed to do all of this killing for nearly a week. I didn't see him stop at Burger King, or grab an energy drink, or take a nap (think of the great opps for product placement --- John Wick doesn't sleep often, but when he does, I bet it's on a Casper Matress), I didn't even see him use the restroom; which he probably needed cuz he was running weird throughout this whole movie - like he needed to pee and his pants were too tight. That's the real tragedy of John Wick - never having time to pee or buy new pants that fit.

But, apparently, John Wick doesn't need any of those things, all he needs is Halle Berry's spit. Just a couple of sloppy, slurpy kisses from Halle and a man or woman is set!

Yes, this movie lacks a bit in plot, but John Wick has always been about the amazing ballet of kills. There is a literal ballet influence as we see a glimpse of John's background - and it's a ballet/wrestling school... that also teaches young kids how to kill. The fighting is just as creative and pretty as in the last two movies, with A LOT more blood.

All is murderously fun enough to subside some disbelief, until... I won't spoil much, but... look, I've watched John Wick get shot, stabbed in crucial arteries, break bones, get hit by two cars, sliced up by all sorts of sharp objects... he keeps going, ok... we're living by "Fast & Furious" rules, whatever, but at one point he goes over the edge of a multiple story building. A BUILDING! He gets shot, falls over, hits multiple objects on the way down, and then SPLAT! - and he’s STILL ALIVE AND READY TO BEAT ASS. Forget "Fast & Furious" we're living by "Looney Tunes" rules.

At another point, he loses a finger (minor spoiler, but it doesn't matter to the plot), if that finger had grown back, it wouldn't have surprised me.

C'mon, man... I've got to take off points for that.

It's a fun movie. Fans of the series will def enjoy it; I did for sure! If you're a casual fan, you'll prob have to suspend the part of your brain that tries to make sense of things, and simply enjoy, but it's worth a watch, if you love action.

Grade: B

I did feel sorry for the simple 9-5 henchman in this movie. Just out there trying to support your family, in a world where John Wick is killing people with pencils. If I were said henchmen, I think I'd pretend to get hit and knocked out by John Wick. Only John Wick normally shoots everybody in the head (many times) before leaving a scene. I'd have to smash a couple of ketchup packets on my head or something; I'd figure something out cuz I sure as hell ain't messing with a killer like him.

An actor I didn't mention is Asia Kate Dillon known as "The Adjudicator".

She is excellent btw Trying to enforce rules, and I get it! You've gotta keep people accountable to the rules in a world full of assassins, but... if John Wick is the one breaking the rules... maybe you should let that shit go. That's the morale here. Follow the rules! And if you break the rule, you had better be as badass and indestructible as John Wick. He caused so much death in these three movies over a dog getting shot; this series is like a PETA wet dream, and judging on how awesome this dream is, it may continue way passed 3 movies.

#john wick #movies #john praphit #praphitproductions.com #movie reviews #action movies #Keanu Reeves #asia kate dillon #halle berry #praphit #peta #revenge #excommunication #common #ruby rose

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finderskeepersff · 5 years

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20. Part 3

I chuckled to myself, Sofia’ words have her wanting to beat a bitch. I would like to see it, maybe that’s the pettiness inside me but I’m sure my baby can fight. She all uptight and moody now, oh well. I can fuck that out of her later, let her take the stands of being this way, I don’t mind it. She out here trying to be mad as shit, she thinks I had sex with her. I mean if Adriana stayed in the school, maybe so but I didn’t and that’s the annoying part “you in the dog house?” Myles said as he sat next to me, he passed me a glass of whiskey “I don’t know why either, I did nothing but greet an old school friend. I think Sofia just wanted an arguement, let her be. I always do, she will get over it and then we can have some sex” Myles laughed “got it all planned out, you know her well don’t you” Nodding my head “Adriana’ boyfriend” looking over at Myles “I don’t think we need to deal with him though Cassius, leave him be” nodding my head “Sofia ain’t wrong, he is like the dollar tree version of me but he ain’t me, I won’t attempt to do anything. I will go as I would” Adriana’ boyfriend is not the type of man she needs to be with, Harlem niggas for you, I know of him. I just feel like I am seeing everyone now, everyone that I have met before through doing bad shit are coming out. Catching Sofia look at me and then pulled a face as she looked away, she is a child. She calls me childish, look at that. She’s a school friend and this is the hassle I get, I might as well have had sex now.

Ivy smiled at me as she stood staring down at me “I’ll go” Myles quickly left me with this bitch “can I sit?” She asked, I nodded my head. Not like I want her to be near me, she is a snake “I am sorry about before” Nodding my head, what else can I say or do, I don’t like her “I was hormonal, I just want you to look after my friend. She is very sensitive, she wants a good and quiet life. Just look after her” I heard her but I am really not paying attention, I am staring elsewhere “Cassius” feeling a hand on my thigh, my head snapped in her direction “huh” looking down at her hand, it’s way too far up my thigh “yeah I heard” shifting off of the couch a little “if you didn’t love my friend would you cheat on her?” Is Ivy drunk “are you sure there is water in that?” I pointed out, grabbing the water bottle from her and sniffed inside. Ivy laughed in my face “you pregnant?” I said confused, this is vodka “are you being real right now? And no I wouldn’t cheat on Sofia, not with you anyways if that is what you want to say” Placing the bottle down on the table in front “you need to sober up, you killing your baby” getting up from the couch “I do like you so much” this is my que to run, walking around the table. I don’t like anyone, and I certainly don’t like a snake like Ivy.

I am sticking by Sofia, even though she has got her back to me. I don’t get it, doesn’t anyone see Ivy is drunk, don’t they care. It’s like only I can see the fact she is drunk and pregnant, everyone is doing their own thing and here is me, I am a caring person “yo!” I shouted, waving Lloyd over, he needs to deal with his woman “yeah” he busy checking the women out in this bitch “Ivy, she drunk with your child in there. How about you pay some attention to her” Lloyd stared at me dumbfounded and then at Ivy, he ran off towards her. That’s not on me now, I did my deed. Looking ahead of me, Sofia refuses to even accept my existence near her. Pressing myself against her, making sure the curve her butt just fits right onto my crotch. She is really out here ignoring me, she ain’t being shit at all right now. Lowering my head to Sofia “you really being like this?” I said in her ear, she moved back against me “like what?” Placing my arms around her neck “not giving me attention, it’s not nice. You know you the only girl I want” Sofia is a straight brat “am I?” Since being with Sofia all I do is roll my eyes “I fuck you like I do, those words you are saying you won’t be saying later” I meant every word of that, Sofia gripped behind her at my tee “fuck me now” Sofia’ ass trying to be bold “don’t try that shit with me right now” Sofia gyrating against me “fuck you Lloyd! You piece of shit” the screams could be heard over the music, looking over at Lloyd and Ivy. Seeing the anger in Lloyd’ eyes, it’s like he would have done some stupid shit so I quickly moved over to them “hit me!!” Ivy proked but I got in Lloyd’s eye-view “let’s go” moving him away from the situation.

Sofia is too much of a good friend, she came out here with her to calm her down and here I am with my girl. I like to be near her “I am so angry he did that, like he was cheating on you? And then he is openly flirting, why didn’t you tell anyone” this ain’t none of my business, I’m just going to smoke this and mind my business because this ain’t me “tell you, then you can reap the shit and be like it’s your fault!” She shouting at my girl, she better quit “just wait here, Cassius I’ll be back. We can go now” Sofia said, why do I need to stand here. I was going to ask why but I stayed quiet, best way to do. Locking my phone and looked up at Sofia walking away, I am not happy to be stood here with the snake. Sighing out rubbing my chin “earlier, I wasn’t saying about us cheating together, I mean I would never say no” I can’t even deal with this bitch, looking away from her and at the entrance, I had to double take seeing some niggas go in, they went in the club but rushed the doorman, walking by Ivy to check on the doorman cause I can’t see him, he went on his walkie talkie “wait there!” I pointed at Ivy, my girl is in this place. Pushing by people, I can see the group of guys just rushing the floor and then I see Sofia’ grey top. I don’t like the look of this, looking up at VIP and Kyle is looking at the same shit as me, this is why I need to get out of this place. Kyle moved away from VIP and I also pushed my way, them niggas are right behind my girl. I am too far away, I can’t let anything happened to her again, my heart is in my mouth right now. I feel like I am getting pushed back, I am dying right now I can’t let anyone hurt her “Sofia!!!” I shouted like the music isn’t drowning my voice out, Kyle finally reached Sofia and I just sighed out.

“Cassius!? I told you to wait with Ivy” Shaking my head “we going now, come” I want to just go, I don’t want to be here. Sofia doesn’t need to know anyone was going to get at her, following Kyle sighing out. I was so scared, staring at the niggas that just pretended they was clubbing. Grabbing Sofia’ face and pressing a kiss to her lips “I love you” I love her too much, she means the world to me “let’s go” hugging Sofia close, I was so scared. So very scared, walking slowly holding Sofia. Kyle is sweating, this is not a good situation but we need to remain normal, we need to just get out of here “love you so much” I said again, this means too much to me, she could have got hurt “get your bag” I’m so scared like they know, they know about Sofia, they are looking at her and I have never felt so scared to lose someone and it’s happening again like the break in, I need to go quick “I am” she is saying that but taking her damn time with walking.

I just want to go, I don’t care about Lloyd or anyone, I wish she would hurry up with her goodbyes “just go back to your hotel, do what you need to do, we ain’t going to react. Shit goes to plan, you leave, we leave. We done” Kyle said to me “they about to get their own surprise, and we know that so be good” taking in a deep breath “it was nice meeting you Amira, I am sure we will see more of each other” I laughed “it’s good to see the man in Kyle’ life that takes his time” Amira is funny “well here I am and you too Isabella, be easy” Mia ran into me “be safe out there!! I cannot wait to see you both in Atlanta, magic city here we come” hugging Mia back “you free to come, but once we have the house” Dapping Mitch “Sofia, come” she needs to not waste her time with Ivy, we have to go “what?” pulling her along “we have to go, bye” Sofia is just so stupid at times, opening the door to the Range Rover “come, inside” navigating her inside “is this the SUV?” she said as she got inside “yes it is, but it’s just a Range Rover instead” getting inside the car, dapping the driver which is one of my people “oh, it’s different” I called up, and I rather ride in this car. It’s bulletproof, so we shall see how this goes “had a good night Cass?” is he stupid “what?” I said “he knows you?” Sofia asked “I mean when you book these things you have to give a name, you know. But I did yes driver” he needs to shut his mouth.

Sofia fell asleep, she fell asleep because we have taken the long way. I didn’t want anyone knowing where we at “appreciate it, you know. Driving us and also wearing a suit” he didn’t have too but I didn’t want Sofia thinking anything “it’s ok, long night for us. Seems like they coming at all ends, they really want to get to you but we got you. I bet you glad she fell asleep” I laughed out “yeah, she then asks less questions but then that means no sex. I was hoping for that but I think I am too stressed for all that. It’s stressing me out because I care, I ain’t been able to have sex because of this shit. Freedom, it’s just there. I told Lamar, if he needs advice I am around so y’all good. I am only giving advice, nothing more” I am out the game. I ain’t doing none of that shit anymore “good for you, exit when you made that money, I like your mind” he likes my mind but it’s too stressful being me.

#Chrianna #Chrianna FF #Fanfiction

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thesecrookedbones-blog · 5 years

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the collection.

“I think yer book’s makin’ it worse out there, y’know? Girls’re disappearin’ faster than ever. What’re ya even doin’ about it? You think ya can come here with yer fancy education and yer fictional little books. This’s real life, slim. Emily’s a good girl. Comes in all the time gettin’ supplies to keep the neighborhood strays well fed. What’re you gonna do when her body shows up like the rest of ‘em?” Buck’s tenure in Chilling is measured by the way his teeth sit ground deep toward his gum line. His brows sit low against his eyes, like anchors dragging along rebellious eyes that no longer wish to see the pain around him. I know from what city hall records I could find, that Buck has owned this general store since 1983, inheriting it from his father before him. Southern hospitality is only known to the locals, like some kind of localized slang. There was never any welcome wagon for Nora and I. Any words of encouragement actually sound like a shotgun shell being loaded into a sawed off chamber. Or the coarse friction of a knotted noose. “Just the lightbulbs today, Buck. It’ll probably cost me extra for the lecture and I’m short today.” “You think yer so funny, Mr. Typewriter? You come into town an’ just look what you’ve done.” His words hiss past stained yellow teeth, syllables clicking like a slow trotting horse. The teeth were appropriately reminiscent of a horse too - in their prime. Back before the Copenhagen dips and malt liquor sips before sunrise. Behind the halitosis breath is a venom Buck has never spoke to me; something I have been too afraid to mention. His daughter was one of the names on a growing list of the missing, and later deceased. The Collector had left her in a deer carcass bag after collecting his trophy. It was her tattoo from her right shoulder blade, memorializing her mother with bumblebees and sunflowers. Two of her most favorite things. Layla Carpenter. She got inked underage at 17 after her mother lost her battle with breast cancer. It’d been a badge of honor. I could tell it from the way she showed it off in off-shoulder dresses and floppy tank tops. She smiled wider for Polaroids when the tattoo was in the photo with her, like she’d mastered the ‘glance over the shoulder and smile’ pose just to honor her late mom. She’d been missing since 2000. She was The Collector’s first. He kept her the longest. Her body was discovered exactly one week after Nora and I moved in; lakeside nearest our property. Her body melded with the burlap carcass bag, decomposing so harshly that the medical examiner couldn’t tell flesh from bag. Often even after severe decomposition, special wavelengths of light and photographs can enhance ink in any remaining tissue. There was nothing to enhance - but everyone knew The Collector’s calling card. Her tattoo was in his possession. A token of his kill. “Just ring him up, Buck. Fer Pete’s fuckin’ sake.” I nod my appreciation to Todd. He’s one of the few neutrals I have in this town. His eyes betray him in hiding the spark of curiosity I know he feels. He has no pawns; no one on the growing list. Hell, Todd lives alone in the home his parents expired in. He has no one to look after him as he expires and no one to lace his grave with flowers once he’s gone. He has nothing to lose. “Thanks,” I say, tucking the paper bag against my shoulder, though my eyes lock with Todd - the only person who deserves my gratitude. Back at the house, I leave the bag beneath the flood light fixtures that seem to have shoddy wiring. The fixture eats through bulbs at least once a week, somehow feeding too much power while still causing the ominous orb to flicker in and out. I check my watch. School will let out soon and Nora will be home. She’s been bugging me about this light. Any kind of darkness makes her feel uneasy. I can see it in the way every layer of her spine pricks as she rounds a dark corner, helplessly reaching for a lightswitch. Plugging the six-foot wood-runged ladder down beneath the flood light fixture, my shoe centers the rung and haphazardly trusts my weight to it. It flexes but the screws snar and it holds. Gravel sounds behind my back as I twist a fresh bulb in. I’m in a pissing contest with the rest of this town, careful not to show fear or cowardice, so I don’t turn my head. Fingers yo-yo the lightbulb to a tightened position and the footsteps behind me still. I finally sneak a glance.“Yer so fucked.” I don't know him by name, but he's recognizable as one of the local meth addicts. What about him? I try to paint a mental picture of his face and I’m lost in non-distinctive identifiers. Bugged eyes, a toothless grin, sunken cheeks, and clothes that loosely swing off of his bony structure. Is he a suspect? He laughs at me, his hollow soul echoing behind him as he continued on. He's probably hallucinating, I tell myself and finish with the second bulb. The ladder gets returned to the corner filled with dust bunnies in the garage and I discard yet another bulb box. The basement of the home is bunkered beneath ground; a safe haven from tornadoes. It is the only place I trusted my work, given the lack of any natural daylight. It’s the space I get lost in, drawn in like a moth to lamplight. As I descend on creaky, wooden steps, I decide - it’s time to start Emily Marx’s chapter. The latest missing girl. Keys gallop against paper freely, a brainwave on a stroke of genius. The latest victim is fresh in my mind. Bright eyed with a bright future, given the academic records her parents’ failed to share with me. They slammed the door in my face, blaming me for opening this can of demons again. They thought my soul needed saving. They hoped to see me in church on Sunday morning. Her body hasn’t been recovered, but it’s nearing two weeks. I expected her to be the next ink to his collection after 48 hours. Death is the sole consumer in this barren land, its hunger accelerated by demons sworn off by bible verses Sunday morning and ill-will cast against family and friends after a few swigs of whiskey post-service. Blasphemy pulled straight from the bottle. Hours wash away outside without notice. The south has a way of filling your pores with heavy heat and slugging you down, zapping Father Time until seconds rock by slower or the mind’s ability to be conscious of it slips away. Each chapter takes its toll. Another life vanished into the thick air, often in stark daylight. The moment they encounter The Collector, they become another ghost; a wisp of heavy wind to remind us all that Chilling is haunted by a living being. I find myself in the position I often end up in with this book, face curtained with my hands as I count the breaths it takes to make me feel better about it all. I still haven’t found the number. Then it dawns on me. The silence overhead. Usually the kitchen floorboards would creak as Nora dances around the kitchen, preparing another meal without company while I try to figure out the great mystery of Chilling, Missouri. No creaks have sounded above to distract me from proper sentence structure or finding the perfect word that’s just hibernating at my fingertips. No, it’s been oddly silent. I feel uneasy all at once, but disallow panic as I jog up the straining basement stairs. The kitchen is dark, as is the living room, and entryway hall. Upstairs sounds just as quiet, but I run up nonetheless. Nora perfects stability in my schedule, trying to make my life look somewhat normal. She never falters - but I’m the inconsistent one. Maybe I didn’t listen or didn’t remember. She could have parent-teacher conferences. Maybe some kind of after-school tutoring session. Maybe some other after-school activity. I pretend I don’t hear the stress battering through ragged breaths. Where would she be, where could she be? Tires squeal into the school parking lot. It’s empty. Her car is nowhere to be seen, but I still run toward the front doors, truck barely stuck in park. It’s dark inside. Not a soul to be seen. There I stand, in a pained shred of reality. I didn’t even notice she didn’t come home. I check all of the possible spots, and Chilling has a limited selection. The diner, the gas station, the library, the post office, the general store. No sign of her car. I stop outside of the old run-down drive-in that has only been used as vandal grounds for the last decade and find my hands shaky as I dial the sheriff’s department. “My wife - fiancee - is missing.” It’s better not to go to the office in person, I decide. They’ll waste precious minutes vetting me, seeing only an unfriendly face they already suspect to be all kinds of evil. “She - school gets out at 2:30 and she’s usually home by 4 at the latest, depending on what kind of students need help after-school. ...Eleanor Coulson. Yeah. Middle is Winona. She’s - her birthday is June 29, 1986. Look, can you just - I am being calm.” My lip quivers and heat streaks down my cheeks. The speedometer ticks to 65, the big truck’s steering wheel quaking within my palms. "She’s like...5’6” or 5’7” and can’t weigh much more than 100 pounds. She’s small, but she’s mighty.” The sorrow touches the back of my throat and I cough to cover the emotional choke. “No, no scars or tattoos.” It's an identification question, but it feels pointed and my answer washes gooseflesh down my neck. The female voice on the other end of my call drifts into a cavernous hole as my right foot shifts from gas pedal to brake, tires crying against warm pavement. I can hear my heart rattle my skull, vision blurred with thoughts lashing against positivity. The previous girls with their mangled bodies, tattoos sliced from their skin, torture evident in their demise - it all bleeds forward until the female’s voice rises, “hello?” “I - her, her car. I just found it on Highway 26 near milepost 17.” A long pause. “He’s got her.” 6 hours later, I return home after police interrogation. I’m the prime suspect in the tragic story I’ve supposedly created. I sit there in the driver’s seat, hands folded beneath my nose and listen to the waves of fear wash over my knuckles. Within eye line, the flood light surges and flickers, faltering between a vivacious glow and the absorption of death. I watch intently, hoping the light will stay lit. Lightness in the dark - a symbol of hope. But the light hisses and with a dull gurgle, it flickers to black. A tear rims my lower lid. He’s got her. Her life will burn out just like that bulb. Hot air fills the truck, my throat rattling with rage as a low growl precedes the words I will die by if I must: “The collection ends now, you motherfucker.”

#drabble #robbie hamilton #nora coulson #chilling missouri

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irndad · 6 years

Text

this is not what i had planned- part 1?

title: this is not what i had planned

ship: peter parker (17 yo) x reader

wc: 2.1k

a/n: hello! LONG TIME NO SEE BABES okay so this is a piece i worked really hard on so :D do u want a part 2

summary: basically peter sees liz get jealous of you and him so he asks you to b his fake gf. then, he realizes something rather important, but is it too late?

tell me what u think!!!!

It was kind of a dumb idea, and Peter totally wouldn’t have gone for it if it wasn’t working. He noticed this, of course, when his best friend laid on his arm, while commenting about how annoying her French teacher was. He didn’t mind, obviously, he never did when she got touchy with him- it was just her.

This particular Thursday she was sleep deprived and talking to both Ned and Peter at the same time, her head resting neatly on his shoulder. It should be noted that of the many sensations Peter had had in his 17 years of life, he knows none better than her voice hitting the skin of his neck when she’s close to him.

It wasn’t like he was intrigued by the way her hair curled around he jr finger as she spoke about the test and anger and frustration seeped into her tone but somehow didn’t harden it.

It wasn’t intriguing how she made him feel better every time she trusted him to be the on she hugs and tells her problems to.

But what he did find very intriguing was the way Liz’s eyes darkened at the sight of his best friend laying on him, and that is what fed this whole idea.

When he came to her about it, she just didn’t understand.

“You want me to...pretend to be your girlfriend?” her voice shook on ever syllable, like he’d spoken a foreign language. He told her while she was sitting in his room, wearing one of his oversized sweatshirts that dwarfed her and shorts and her head cocked in confusion, not a hint of judgement in her eyes.

“Please! I will buy you sandwiches for a month, please!” he unintentionally jutted his lip out in a pout and she laughed, which he notes without trying is absolutely lovely.

“Okay, okay you don’t have to do that! Just...why?” she says, words light and she looked at him warmly.

Warmly. When she looked at him like that, he understood the meaning of the word-she looked at him like warmth was spilling out of her and joy and love enough to keep him warm for the rest of his life.

“I...uh, Liz saw you on me today and she looked kinda, y’know, irritated?”

It isn’t adorable when she slaps her hands over her mouth and her big eyes grow wide and words spill out of her pink mouth.

“Oh my god, Peter I am so sorry!” her face is red at the idea that people thought that’s what she could’ve meant. Peter tried not to be irritated at it, but he doesn’t think it’s that crazy. Obviously.

“No, no! Don’t be sorry. I uh, I think she was jealous.”

“Liz. Jealous.”

“Yeah.”

“Of me.”

There is a pause, before she looks at him with her head tilted again.

“Are you high?”

Then there’s bubbles of laughter all over the room and when they’re done with their cracking up at the idea of it, she’s closer to him, so close he can smell her perfume, floral and sweet and so close.

“You want me to make your crush jealous?” she says.

“Well, when you say it like that-“

“I’ll do it.” she says, a mischievous grin playing on her pink lips, “Let’s get you a real girlfriend, Parker.”

She then kisses his cheek, like the pretending is starting then, and he tries not to think of the way the skin tingles where her lips lied.

May loves the news of them together, adores it actually. She said she knew it would happen, kissed both of their blushing cheeks before winking and leaving them alone, but insisting that you keep the door open.

Which was fine, because she was over to study.

Ned took it weirder, which was expected. He was weird with big news.

“So you guys- you guys kiss and stuff? You like each other?” his voice incredulous.

Peters' voice died in his throat but she came to the rescue, didn’t she. Subtly wrapping his arm around her waist and dropping her head on his shoulder, she answered perfectly.

“Now that is a great example,” she spoke before pecking him on the cheek, “Of something you probably don’t want to know.”

Is she being flirty? It’s not, obviously. It’s for show. Of course it is. It’s for show but the wide smile she gives him and he returns- that doesn’t feel fake.

Good. Liz’ll think it’s real.

Liz. Liz. Liz.

In the cafeteria, he can feel her eyes on them and she whispers to him that she can too.

Ned mentions it because subtlety be damned, he talked about whatever the hell he wanted to.

“Dude, Liz is like, glaring at you.”

She doesn’t falter, not for a second. Wraps her fingers around his and pulls him closer, and his stomach rolls in that lovely beautiful way.

“Yeah, let her look.” she winks, and Peter remembers.

Fake.

She is beautiful, Peter notes. This is not new information.

She has been beautiful since the day he met her in primary school, and she was beautiful when she stays up too late watching Netflix, and she’s beautiful now, when she’s bare-faced and wearing shorts and his sweatshirt, only this time for school.

The thing is, everyone says that they’re a lovely couple, ever since they’ve “gotten together”. Everyone says that they make a good pair and Peters kind of proud of it. She is incredible, in all of the best ways, and for people to think he could be with her that’s- honestly, it’s an honor.

Everyone thinks it, save for Liz. Y/N, she’s giddy about it- how well the plan is working, how she’s jealous and how Peter will have her in no time.

Sleepy eyes open and excited words leave her when she speaks to him.

“Pete, Pete it’s working! You’ll be with her and I’ll be the supportive best friend Proper again!”

Wasn’t that the whole point of this? To get Liz to notice him? At this point, he wasn’t even noticing Liz. All he could notice is the girl everyone thought she was his girlfriend and how much he loved when people said it and-

Fuck.

It’s not Liz he likes, is it?

This was going to be ending soon and he’d maybe- maybe get to be with Liz, which is what he always wanted. He always wanted to know what it felt like to be with her. Nothing could be better.

Why is he so scared of the fake version ending?

“Babe, I have had the worst morning.” he pouted at her, curling into her immediately and her fingers instinctively going through his hair and he hums. She hums at him, kissing his forehead and he’s honestly in heaven.

“I have a headache,” he mumbles and she continues carding through his hair.

“I’m sorry baby,” she hums into his hairline, leaving a kiss there.

“You guys are gross.” they hear MJ say, but she is smiling, just barely, and Y/N gives her a bright smile back.

“She’s right!” Ned groans, annoyed with how couple-y you’ve become, “You’re such a baby Peter.” Ned rolled his eyes as Peter rests his head on her shoulder.

“Don’t be a dick,” she said, softly and gently like a mother would, and they both laughed at her words, her pretty lips quirking up a bit, “His head hurts.”

“It hurts? Let’s get him to a hospital! What if he dies!” She whacks ned in the arm for that, and Peter smirks a bit over it.

Ned walks to class, but they have a bit, and if he’s being honest he likes looking at her and he’d like to do it a little longer, so he will.

“How does he not know this is fake?” she laughs, words quiet not to be overheard.

He feels so sick, like genuinely sick, like someone’s just told him the worst news of his life. Of course it’s fake, of course he’s the one who did it. But it’s easy for him to forget because-

Because as he’s only figured out that while he liked Liz, he loved Y/N.

Loved her, loved her the way that people told him he’d love whoever he’d marry, loved her the way that’s makes this impossible to end because he accidentally granted himself everything he’s ever needed, except with one fatal flaw.

A expiration date.

“Ha, yeah.”

“Shit, Liz at three o’ clock.”

Those eyes, wide and beautiful and looking at him and it’s his weakness.

“Kiss me.” she says quickly and his eyes are the wide ones now, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if he kissed her once then never again-

“You don’t have to do that-“

And then she’s kissing him, her eyes closed and his following suit, soft and sweet and his arms drawing her as close as possible and kissing her back instantly, and he can’t remember ever feeling this good, this happy, this perfect before and it’s-

It’s over before he can let himself feel it, really.

“Dude, dude it totally worked! You have to ask her out now. She’s definitely gonna say yes!”

Liz isn’t there anymore and he’s dazed, lips wet and his brain just chants again and again:

doitagaindoitagaindoitagain

“We can ‘break up’ tomorrow,” she continues, taking a bite of her sandwich, Then you can go get your girl.”

She then sticks her nose in the book she’s reading and everything, everything hurts. No more hand holding that brings electricity or cheek kisses that make his stomach flip. No more of what just happened to turn him inside out and craving more of her.

Its not a real break-up but it hurts like one, maybe worse because his lips still tingle with the taste of her and he’s going to be sick with the idea of never doing it again.

Because she doesn’t feel that way about him.

“Tomorrow sounds good.” he says, wrapping his arm around her the way he’s gotten used to the last month, the way he has to get used to never doing again.

They agree to improv the breakup, and Peter is kind of numb to the whole thing. Saying bye to May hurts because he gets why she loves them together and knows that she’ll be heartbroken.

Not as much as him, though.

He holds her hand tighter on the walk to school, thumb palming over hers, and she takes notice of how when they hug before class he holds her tighter, memorizing the feel of her against him.

God, he’s such an idiot for falling in love with his best friend.

She tilts her head and asks if he’s okay, and he says yeah, that he’s just nervous for this.

nervous to lose her, nervous to never get to touch her again, nervous she’ll fall in love with someone else and he’ll have to watch and be okay

“We can do it tomorrow, if you feel like.” Sympathy drenched her tone and it causes it to be worse, honestly, how she’s so understanding.

“No, bite the bullet, yeah?” she nods, more somber. It’s kind of funny, how they planned for his to be somewhere Liz could see, so it’d have to be public.

“I just,” her voice took on a sad tone too it, and it’s starting, she’s a little louder to cause a bit of attention, “I don’t think this is working. We tried, Peter, but friends is how we work best, yeah? I just don’t feel that way about you.”

The truth doesn’t set you free. The truth makes you want to cry and punch a wall and scream because the truth is unchangeable. He can’t change that this is the only part of this that isn’t fake, that the only part she’s not lying about is the part he wishes she was.

“I-I don’t understand?” His quiver isn’t fake, the way he instinctively reaches out to touch her isn’t a lie. “This, this has made me so happy, baby you have no idea.”

He didn’t mean to call her that, but it’s hitting him all at once how he’ll never get to call her it again, never get to be around her and have her act lovesick for him again. Can’t they just pretend a little longer?

“I’m happy too, Peter. But I think we were better as friends, I really do. I just don’t think there’s anything there.”

Nothing there when she kissed him and he felt a thousand rockets going through his veins.

Nothing there when she carded through his hair and told him sweet nothings until his headache disappeared.

She kissed his forehead again and disappeared back to her way home, without him, for the first time in about 10 years.

He tries hard as hell not to let tears fall on his way home, but hey, he’s not superman.

liz: hey, i saw what happened. u ok?

y/n: great acting 😘 💔

He doesn’t reply to either.

________________________________________

tag list under the cut!

@frecklesholland @heckin-good-holland @afoxwonderland

@radicalstars @once-upon-a-walking-wolf-demigod@thecreativeangel@barnesvogue @nedthegay @nevaehsuga @the-girl-with-no-plan @llotrr@uglygirlkk @macfullyloaded17 @starkintcrn @1022bridgetp@im-super-potter-locked @dianileesawsomeness@readixgkodie615@blamebangtan@emgrace728 @nedslaptop @dangerousluv1 @midtownsparker @loverboy-holland

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #tom holland #tom holland x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #marvel imagines #avengers #spiderman #spiderman imagine

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dem-fics-tho · 6 years

Text

Not So Secret (Part 2)

Pt. 1

Summary: You try to gather proof that Peter is Spiderman, with Ned helping unknowingly. You questions lead him to a different realization though, and you go to bed worrying about your dad.

Word Count: 2048

Pairing(s): Eventually Peter Parker X Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: Listen guys, I’m really sorry that this took me forever to actually give you. I was dealing with writer’s block for awhile, then kinda of went through a three week period of being really really depressed. And then I couldn’t decide how I actually wanted this chapter to go XD So I apologize for taking so long. I’ll try to get the next part up more quickly. Maybe next week when my winter break starts :) Reblog it if you like it! ^.^

It was Thursday now and you were almost at your wit's end. There was no solid proof that Peter could possibly be Spiderman. You thought that by watching him throughout the week, it would become obvious to you that he was the web-slinging superhero. Nothing akin to that had occurred though. In fact, it had been nearly the opposite.

You’d known Peter a little bit freshman year and he had been a skinny and scrawny kid. He had gotten taller since then and had grown out some, but that could just be attributed to a growth spurt over the summer. Everyone went through those over the course of their high school career. Peter had also been clumsy last year, and on Monday you didn’t think he was as clumsy. People don’t just lose that kind of trait. After all, you’d been tripping over your own feet for years and no amount of balance helped. Spiderman wouldn’t be clumsy, not with superpowers and super abilities. So you were leaning towards the fact that his superpowers had erased his clumsiness… right up until he walked into a locker door that had been left open. Peter was still just as clumsy.

Figuring that Ned would know (Peter and he were practically brothers) you decided to ask him some questions in your English class. Your teacher was sick for the day and you had a sub, one who had a reputation among the students for giving them a study hall and not caring what they did during those forty-seven minutes. You made sure to get to your class early enough to sit next to the seat that Ned always occupied. It worked out well since the next person who came in took your usual seat, so now you had an excuse as to why you were there. When Ned finally came in, he raised an eyebrow at your changed seat but you merely gestured to your usual seat and shrugged.

After the substitute had taken attendance, you closed your reading book and turned to your desk partner for the day. Ned was playing some sort of game on his phone but when he realized that you were watching him, he paused it and looked up at you questioningly. You were suddenly nervous, unsure of how to start the conversation.

“The decathlon is tomorrow, right?” you said eventually, hoping you didn’t sound nervous. Ned’s eyes immediately sparked with excitement and he shut off his phone.

“Yeah! It is. I’m super nervous. I didn’t do it last year so it’s my first time and I don’t know what to expect. Peter said doesn’t feel super competitive since the whole thing isn’t, like, first to respond gets the point. He said that the hardest part is the written part since it’s timed and you never really know what they’re gonna put on the test. I wish Peter was going, I’d feel a lit let nervous if he was.”

You tilted your head, feigning surprise at his words. “Peter’s not going?” you questioned. “But he went last year, didn’t he? They almost won too. Why wouldn’t he go this year? Is he too busy or something?”

You could almost see the gears turning in Ned’s head. He was never a very good secret keeper, barely able to keep anything quiet for long. Seeing emotions flicker across his face only proved your assumption that he knew Peter’s spider secret.

It was a few moments before the boy actually responded, avoiding your eyes as he did so. “Um, yeah, he’s pretty busy. You know, the Stark internship and stuff. Super busy. Mr. Stark has him work, um, weird hours and stuff so he doesn’t want to miss anything important this weekend.” Ned glanced up at you and you could in his eyes that it was a lie. Regardless, you decided to play into the story.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Well, it’s really cool that he gets the opportunity. I’ve heard that Mr. Stark doesn’t usually take on interns that are so young. Do you know why he decided to take on Peter?” you asked, trying to see how much of a story Peter had come up with. You couldn’t possibly be the only one to question this. Ned looked relieved at the question and didn’t hesitate a moment before answering.

“Oh, Peter signed up for this grant thing called the September Foundation. Mr. Stark came up with it and he uses it to help fund students and stuff who show promise at doing cool stuff. Like Peter, he’s really good with electronics. He can fix a lot of stuff, build really cool contraptions. Like he’s built these really cool we-” Ned suddenly clapped his hands over his mouth to silence his words. His eyes were wide and if you had to bet money on it, you would say that he had been about to say “web shooters.” It’s what Spiderman was most famous for, other than his witty comments stuff. You hid your smile well and pretended to ignore the comment as he continued.

“He’s… he’s just good with his hands,” Ned said weakly. Realizing how his words might come across, he scrambled to fix it. “I mean! He’s good at building things! He can fix stuff!” At the boy’s red face and nervous eyes, you couldn’t help but laugh.

Stifling your giggle after a moment, you said, “I know what you meant Ned.” He looked relieved and made a move to grab his phone again. You turned towards your own things, signaling the end of the conversation. You’d gotten the info you wanted, for the most part, and Ned probably wanted a breather. He’d simultaneously embarrassed himself and almost revealed his best friends secret. Anyone would want to take a break from that. Glancing over at him, you noticed that he wasn’t in a game, but instead texting someone. Probably Peter. You didn’t want to be caught spying and you glanced away, but not before noticing the text he’d just sent:

Guy in the Chair - Y/N’s askin questions bout u

The rest of the class went by in relative silence. You played some music on your phone as you read, glancing over at Ned every once in awhile to find him either texting Peter or playing a game. When the bell rung you packed your things and turned to tell Ned that you’d see him later, out of politeness of course. However, he was already out of his seat and you barely caught a glimpse of him leaving the room before he disappeared into the crowd. Sighing, you stood up and began the trek to your locker.

Your locker was only a spots away from Peter’s and when you reached it, you could see him putting books and notebooks inside, pulling out what he needed. Your eyes widened slightly. This was the closest you’d been since Saturday, other than the classes that the two of you shared but those didn’t exactly count. Feeling heat rise to your cheeks, you kept your head down and made it to your locker. Once you’d opened it, you tried to move quickly. Peter may not have fully noticed you on Friday night but who's to say he wouldn’t suddenly remember seeing you and try to strike up a conversation? You suddenly froze when you heard Ned approach and start talking excitedly.

“Dude! I think Y/N has a crush on you!”

Peter quickly shushed him, probably gesturing behind them to tell his eager friend that your locker was close by. But your cheeks had already heated up again for a different reason than earlier. Straining your ears, you tried to overhear what was being said but all you could hear was shushed whispering, a locker slamming, and footsteps heading away. You closed your own locker and stared at the boys’ retreating backs. Why would Ned have reached that conclusion? You hadn’t really given any clue that you had a crush on him… right?

Shaking your head, you pushed the thoughts away and turned to head in the opposite direction. You had a class to get to and Mr. Clemen hated tardy students.

-----

One thing you disliked about living a little further from school: you had to walk. The bus didn’t come to your neighborhood and since your dad was always gone, you didn’t have anyone to give you a ride. Liz had offered a few times but you didn’t want her to go out of her way to do anything for you. Besides, since homecoming was right around the corner, she had to stay after school nearly every day to ensure that preparations were going smoothly and that everything would be ready on time. You didn’t mind waiting of course, but you’d rather get home quickly. A taxi or bus would’ve been a good option but they were too expensive to take advantage of every day. However, walking was nice and relaxing. It gave you some alone time without actually feeling alone. It was only twenty minutes anyway, so it didn’t take too long.

You steps sounded soft on the pavement as you strode home, scrolling through your phone as you waited for lights to turn red so you could walk across the road. Your Tumblr feed was dry and nothing new was coming up. Not feeling like looking anything new up, you switched over to your texting app. Nothing new from friends. There was a new text from your dad though.

Pausing in your walk, you hesitated. You didn’t want to read the text if it was him telling you that he couldn’t make tomorrow’s meeting. You’d been ignoring the topic all week, trying to distract your mind with other matters, but it had only partially worked. The work in Sokovia was going slowly and you wouldn’t be totally surprised if it kept your dad for longer than either of you had anticipated. With a sigh, you turned the phone off and slid it into your pocket. You would worry about it later. You had homework to get to and a dog to cuddle with.

You walked the rest of the way home quickly, eager to be done with your studies and go to the park with Puddles. You’d made a habit of visiting regularly, even though you knew that the chances of seeing Peter or Spiderman there again were very slim. It was a small park anyways and didn’t have kids playing there every day. Maybe you’d do your homework there...

-----

It was almost ten o’clock now. You’d spent the last two hours at the park, shifting from scrolling blankly through your phone and playing with Puddles. She was asleep next to you on your bed, snoring softly. You smiled fondly and rubbed her soft ear, causing the creature to snort and roll over, almost rolling off the bed. You’d eaten a dinner of cold pizza (your favorite) and had watched tv for a little bit but quickly grew bored. There wasn’t anything new on the Spiderman website you’d found earlier that week. Going to bed would be better for you.

Your phone screen lit up just as you were about to climb out of bed to turn the lights off. The notification said that you’d received another text from your dad and you remembered that you hadn’t bothered to check what he’d sent earlier that day. Sighing, you went and turned the light off anyways, climbing back into your bed and grabbing your phone. You prepared yourself for the worst. Opening the app, you read through the texts, unsure of whether it was a good thing or not.

Sent at 11:48 AM

Dad - Sweetheart could you call me soon? I have some things to tell you

Sent at 3:01 PM

Dad - Want to make sure you call me soon. Please try and do so before Friday night, okay Y/N?

You obviously didn’t have time to call him right now seeing as how you were supposed to be asleep. It could wait until tomorrow… right? You sighed again, turning your phone off as you plugged it in to charge for the night. Hopefully whatever your dad had to talk to you about wouldn’t include something bad. You’d call him during your free hour at school.

Taglist: Simply ask to be added and you will be :) Also, to spread the word about this fic, reblog if you really liked it!

@ aussie-mantle

#peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #spider-man #spider-man: homecoming #secret #series #marvel #mcu #ned leeds #jacob batalon #research #dem fics tho

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sorreltail · 7 years

Text

ill delete this soon

bad cop hogwarts au

@pouncival

points to cover: houses, prefect stuff, meetings, classes, Naughty Stuff, other cats, pets, life after hogwarts, quidditch >:((, HYDRATION, teachers, uhhhhh and anything else i can think of

HOUSES: rumples a gryffindor. the sorting hat took about three seconds. alonzos a hufflepuff even tho his family have always been ravenclaws and he desperately wanted to be a gryffindor, he cried after the sorting ceremony also: jenny is huffpuff head, skimble is p much hagrid, jelly is raven, gus is gryffdor and grizabella is slytherin,,, headmaster deuteronomy lmao

PREFECT STUFF: alonzos a prefect. Obviously, i mean come on. he takes it so seriously,,, hes already dating rumple when he becomes one and she delights in the fact that he can sometimes b persuaded to let her go with a warning bc yo thats what u get for fucking a prefect,,, once she wanted to get in ravenclaw tower and she didnt know the answer to the riddle so she was like "LONZYYY I HAVE A RIDDLE THAT I NEED TO FIND THE ANSWER TO FOR HOMEWORRKKKKK" and hes a library fiend so he spent like an hour looking it up and then he told her and she was like "ok thanks im going off 2 ravenclaw tower now" and he was so distraught he took ten points from hufflepuff for helping her. the other prefects Donut Understand their relationship ghdkhgd bc mungo and rumple r worse than fred and george but eventually it gets to the point where they catch her doin some rulebreaking and shes like... do u seriously feel like dealing with me so they just go get alonzo. she gets drunk on firewhisky one time and he takes her back up to gryffindor tower and spends ten minutes trying to get the fat lady to let her in but the fat lady is annoyed and refusing and it goes like "rumple tell her the password" "nooOooOoOooOo" "do you know the password" ">:3c" "rumple teLL HER THE PASSWORD" for another half hour and eventually gives up and decides to wait for the next gryffindors to come along and let her in but the next one to come along is mungo and then its twice as bad when alonzo becomes head boy (munk is the year above them) he cries, and rumple opens her letter like I GOT HEAD GIRL??!!!!????? and hes like. What. and shes like hehehehehe just kidding who the fuck do u think i am,, also. prefects bathroom. he ends up letting her find out the password and then shes constantly in there and then Somehow (i wonder how) mungo finds out and then they have to change it before the whole school knows,,, oh my god the other prefects tease him so much and at first hes like eh..heh...yeah but after a while hes like fuck off please, stop shittalking my girlfriend to me, and he gets a wee bit defensive about it so they give up especially in their final year when hes head boyyyy

QUIDDITCH: OKAY so alonzo wanted to play quidditch as a seeker bc ofc he did right?? i mean theres so many rules. such nice uniforms. but he never made the tryouts bc he wasnt willing to take the risks needed to get the golden thingy (also, vitiligo, hes got autoimmune shit and he has 2 b careful w his health),,, rumple however. rumples grown up loving the harpies and desperately wanting to be a beater. then she meets mungo and the two of them are fucking terrifying beaters, they are So Good, its honestly the only reason why gryffindor hasnt lost the house cup every fucking year, them helping win p much every game kind of balances out all the points they lose for being shits lmao,,, we had a thought that she gets hurt sometime in a game, and alonzo is. so terribly smothering he brings in all his books to study by her bed in the hospital wing and takes notes for her and is way too cautious after that and begs her to stop playing and she just. Looks at him. :| anyway she does eventually become quidditch captain nyehehe and so shes captain, hes head boy, they are a glorious power couple,,, the nerds love alonzo, the delinquents and sportheads love rumple, together they are So Respected,, it also means she gets actual access to the prefects bathroom which changes very little except for how sneaky she has to be to get in

MEETINGS: okay so in true hogwarts au fashion they first meet on the train as first years,,, rumple: hi can i sit here (she says as shes sat down) are u muggleborn im a halfblood alonzo: im from an old wzarding family my name is draco malfuck you rumple: wow u sound like an asshole. what house r u gonna be in. im gryffindor alonzo: me too rumple: u dont seem like one alonzo: you do :// rude fuck. this is my owl her name is aegolius im pretentious rumple: cool name. this is my cat her name is gwynog GO HARPIES alonzo: ive never had physical contact with a living thing in my life can i pet her rumple: sure alonzo: soft anyway after they get sorted they never talk again. End Of Au. jks but forreal they dont talk for years until they get their electives and theyre partnered in care of magical creatures and finally talk again and it goes like rumple: hey youre that kid who cried at the sorting ceremony alonzo: rumple: sup somehow the whole Falling In Love part is the one bit we havent really talked about but it happens and its cute

id also like to add that alonzos parents are an old italian wizarding family but they pride themselves on being chic, modern wizards who incorporate certain muggle things, mostly fashion, his mums a fashion designer, so all his clothes are beautiful and tailored and more Modern than most,, ANYWAY they also Want The Best for him and when he tells them who hes dating (A HALFBLOOD RAISED AMONG MUGGLES??? A GIRL BEATER???? LOOK AT HER SCHOOL RECORDS DARLING SHES A DELINQUENT!!!!!!) and they refuse to let him stay at her house or let her come over,,, until he writes home one day like. shes captain of the quidditch team what more do u want shes going to do it professionally) and theyre Sporty Folks who are So Fucking Into Quidditch and by this point theyve realised that she's not turning him into a Bad Kid so they finally accept her

CLASSES: ive forgotten like all of their classes kmn anyway alonzo wants to be an auror. thats all he wants. thats his ambition. so he studies his ass off from day one and gets perfect grades and is a model student. rumple is. perhaps not. just think fred and george thats her and mungo, shes a terror but somehow she still manages to pass everything through an annoying natural talent. alonzos kind of hellbent on making her get good grades and they spend much of their time in the library, hes in there Every Day, he pretty much has a reserved table, rumple sits around practicing jinxes on any unfortunate passerbys and trying to pester him and/or make him kiss her he loves presentations, hes so good at them, he prepares for weeks and then the entire time rumples in the back of class making Naughty Gestures. he chokes on his water when she does presentations theyre short but shes really charismatic so he just kind of sits there staring at her like an idiot because gosh she has a nice voice rumples a pro at brooms obviously, alonzos Hella Nervous on them, he has the best and safest model, she offers to give him private lessons but really its just an opportunity for dick jokes what can u do. he gets her a really good really SAFE and fast broom for christmas one year bc what else does a rich boy get his girlfriend who kicks ass at quidditch which brings me to

NAUGHTY STUFF: kittens look away! look for like. a full three months hes like Im Not Having Sex At School Its Against the rRULES!!!!!! and rumples like. well then we either abstain until we graduate or we can do it at your parents place and. No. The Horror. he changes his mind very quickly. they happen to stumble across the room of requirement a few times when.uh. the need is great. u know how it goes. im also gonna go out on a limb and admit that alonzo is rather fond of the Luxury Baths in the prefects bathroom and rumple is very good at catching him when hes in there and enchanting the door or some shit so nobody disturbs them :-)) this is from one of those hogwarts au headcanon posts but i love it, he gives a presentation on sex ed and shit (lets pretend hogwarts is better than it is) and rumple sits in the back asking the worst questions and inside he wants to scream u KNOW what that is we did it last nIGHT

other cats: yes ok here we go. in their year is misto, victoria, admetus, mungo, coricopat, tantomile and im sure im missing people here, year above them is munk, tugger, deme, bomba, cassandra, macavity (???!!!???) and everyone else is younger by a year or two, also worth mentioning is etcetera being rumples younger sister and theyre adorable and lovely etcetera for president of the world munk and cass or deme are probably head boy and girl of their year, cass is dating tantomile, bombas dating demeter, alonzo has the biggest crush on munk as well (optional polyamory for u fucks) (worth saying that the reason rumple went to sneak into ravenclaw tower was to see victoria btw),,, alonzo and victoria are head boy and girl of their year, and probably jemima andddddddd idk maybe g eorge fuck me man idk admetus is another prefect, so's tantomile tbh,,, id say victoria but she wants to focus on her studies

PETS: alonzo has this beautiful eagle owl, scariest of all owls, her name is aegoleius (pronounced ay-JEE-lee-us) it means bird of prey and he adores her. shes beautifully trained. rumple has a kitty that im personally in love with who is basically rumpleteazer as a cat lol shes a calico but her name is gwenog after the famous beater of the harpies <33333 eventually they'll get another cat thatll be a suspiciously familiar black and white patched triangle shorthair named Faolan (sorta like FWAY-larn) even tho it means little wolf because he thought it sounded cool and he read it in a book and thought it was pronouned faow-lahn, honestly they probably end up getting a whole ton of cats

LIFE AFTER HOGWARTS: WOO im excited for this bit. okay. so. alonzo wants to be an auror. hes spent his whole life training for this. he immediately applies after graduation and gets in and starts his rigorous three year training process. in the meantime rumples gone into professional quidditch, and shes really really good at it but shes like.... this isnt fun anymore. bc its not just a school game anymore, its a professional sport, and what do u mean u cant jinx the opponents!!!! so for a while she just helps him train "ok so if you walk like THIS and use this charm your footsteps will be totally silent blah blah boh my god i should be an auror" and hes like. You. want to be an auror. and shes like. Yup. and its a damn good thing he was so obsessive about her getting good marks bc her newts are good enough that she can apply. they do a criminal record check, but mind u that altho rumples done naughty stuff, shes never actually. Been Caught doing anything particularly bad. so her record is somehoW CLEAN and she gets in. its a miracle. "what did you do. who did you blackmail" "i sucked every single aurors dick lonzy" "HOW DID YOU GET IN" "EVERY! SINGLE! DICK!" but hes also really really prouD AND THAT MEANS THEY CAN HELP EACH OTHER TRAIN!!!!! cue training montage. rumple pulls a tonks and coasts thru a lot of it rlly easily and almost fails some but they both eventually graduate and become aurors and work together and she covers her trenchcoat in patches and he keeps asking if he has to wear his because sweet jesus it is ugly ITS BROWN, and at this point his parents r more than content with rumple lmao, anyway they live together in a lovely little house that is kept in perfect order, rumple enchants EVERYTHING to talk, its cute, fucking domestic shit yes please

HYDRATION LOL look this isnt even important but alonzo is so deeply into that health shit. he only eats dark chocolate, and most importantly he fucking loves spending time in the kitchen with jenny. she cooks, he makes custom face masks, and also infused water. so much infused water. he has different """recipes""" and he always has a bottle of lovely chilled water with fucking apple and ginger and lemongrass shit in it that he made the night before, and since rumple fucking hates drinking anything thats not tropical sunshine punch fruit juice he constantly is trying to figure out a recipe of infused water that she'll drink becUSE ITS NOT HEALTHY RUMPLE!!!!!!!! YOU NEED WATER, but she thinks its disgusting and eventually he gives up and carries a bottle of juice with him in case he sees her because its better than nothing,

yeah ok im,,,,, i assume there will be more to come but for now this is what u get

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