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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

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Here to Misbehave (Finale | S.R.)

Summary: It’s Halloween, and there are a lot of things on Spencer’s mind.

A/N: Here it is, everyone: the end of the story. Thank you so much to everyone who’s read this far. I greatly appreciate all of you, and I hope you enjoy it! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Fluff/Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Penetrative sex, light D/s, mostly fluff! Word Count: 7.5k

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Autumn has widely been considered the season of change. It is an understandable characterization; from the shifting hues of the leaves to the wildly fluctuating temperatures, few things stayed consistent in the fall. Perhaps that’s why someone who loathes change, someone like me, finds the season so thrilling.

It’s like the Earth and the Sun made a pact to make changes more predictable in their own unique, chaotic way. The breeze becomes biting and the days become shorter, but for these downfalls, we are granted a beauty and calmness that can’t be rivaled by any other season.

But she wasn’t a season, and when it came to my attention and appreciation, there were few choices that were easier to make.

“Spencer. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

(Y/n)’s face was half covered by the cup she held tightly with both hands, but I could picture the hidden expression perfectly, regardless.

“What? We don’t have to agree on everything.”

The truce was received poorly, her response a heavy scoff and a shake of her head. I tried to follow along with her suddenly heated words but couldn’t contain the stars in my eyes that often accompanied my daydreams. If she did notice, she stubbornly ignored the adoration to continue, “I understand you’re a genius or whatever, but I think your opinions on cider and cocoa are... wrong. They are wrong.”

It was my turn to feign displeasure (I hoped hers wasn’t real, anyway), clutching tighter to my own drink that I found myself defending on a park bench with dozens of strangers as an audience.

“An opinion can’t be wrong!” I chirped, only hating the way my voice jumped a little bit. After all, it was hard to hate it when it made her giggle. But despite how much sweeter the liquid seemed when I drank it in the presence of her smile, I also knew that she wouldn’t appreciate my immediate agreement. So, I pushed back just a little, “It can be misguided or ignorant but not outright wrong.”

“Unless it’s yours, on this topic,” she shot back without hesitation.

I tried to flash her a pout, hoping that maybe it would work for me like it did for her. It did not. Her eyebrows shot up and her jaw dropped open with another laugh, and I decided that I preferred that outcome, anyway. The longer my bottom lip stuck out, the wider her smile got. I waited to stop until her eyes closed and turned away, just long enough for me to let the full force of my affection show before she noticed.

She saw it, anyway, in the form of a similar smile spread over my face when I softly admitted, “Fine. You’re right.”

“Oh, I know.”

Her tongue peeked between her lips, and I found myself thinking less of cider and cocoa and more about how unbelievably lucky I was to find someone that I never felt the need to prove anything to. A person that didn’t care if I held all the answers.

I might’ve continued down that sappy train of thought, but it was hard to do while she had hoisted herself halfway over the table to try and grab hold of my cup right as I went to drink from it. Of course, she had failed to take into account just how big the table was, and just how close I was willing to come to falling before I let her drink from my cup right after she’d criticized my preference of fall flavors.

For a second, I really thought she might climb onto the table to win, but the judgmental looks from the parents in the park must have beaten her desire to win. As forlorn as humanly possible, she fell back into her seat with a loud “Hmph!” which really only managed to elicit an equally immature giggle from me.

“Shut up,” she laughed before shoving my paper plate further into my chest, “And eat your stupid pie.”

All I could think as she grabbed my fork and stabbed the middle of the piece to try to lift the entire thing at once, was that I was right about one thing: Autumn, in all its vitality and beauty, could still never compare to her.

That thought persisted through the pumpkin patch, growing in intensity as she skipped through the vine-laden path like a regular fall fairy. It was much easier to get lost in her there, crouched and inspecting foliage. Her arguments regarding gourds were much less spirited, with her watching me wide-eyed and curious as I explained the stages of pumpkin growth and all the different uses for the fruit.

I still let her make the final choices, opting to analyze her selections and tease her for them later, instead. That was the plan, anyway, to continue the competitiveness lest she gets bored with me before the day was over. When she walked past me holding open the passenger side door, I thought it might’ve already happened.

But then she just placed the pumpkin into my hands so she could open the back door. Before I could even move, she carefully removed it from my arms again and placed it in the seat.

“What are you doing?” I said through a very amused chuckle.

She was decidedly not entertained by my confusion, stopping to turn to me with a bored, frustrated expression. “I’m buckling him in,” she explained slowly, like I might need the help. Then, to add insult to silly injury, she added, “Duh.”

I was too distracted by the details to tackle the absurdity of it all.

“Him? It’s a boy pumpkin?”

“Obviously. Look at him,” she snorted, finally clicking the seatbelt in before tenderly petting the top of the lucky little gourd. Once she was convinced it would be as safe as she could make it, she allowed me to begin to escort her into her proper seat.

“You know it’s safer on the floor, right?” I asked before she’d slipped past me. I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from the car so I could enjoy the warmth of her before it was replaced with the dry air of the engine.

“How dare you,” she balked with an open mouth that was just begging to be kissed. By the time I got close enough to try, though, her hand fervently shoved my cheek away. I tried to laugh, but she used the same hand to cover the noise, trying and failing to convince me she was being serious.

“Why don’t you just hold him?” I mumbled against her palm.

That was enough for her to abandon my embrace altogether. With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, she pried my arms off of her and finally made her way to my passenger seat. I didn’t fight her too hard, even taking the time to shut her door like my mother always insisted.

The mercy was not returned, with her eyes narrowed into a playful disbelieving glare that I hadn’t seen in some time. My mind was brought back to the first time she ever let me know she was jealous, bickering over blondes and preferences while she sat in the very same place. And, just as before, she was still wearing the same raggedy old sweatshirt of mine.

“If this is any indication of how you’ll be with a human baby, I have dramatically overestimated your competence,” she droned, obviously unaffected by the stars that appeared in my eyes every time I looked at her.

“The one and only time you’ll ever be able to say those words. I hope you enjoyed it,” I joked. A funny enough joke that she couldn’t help but smile through her facade.

“Don’t worry,” she chuckled, “I did.”

The day could have ended there, and it would have been enough. Honestly, I couldn’t think of a single thing that wouldn’t be better with her there. In a way, I think we were trying to prolong the high of ‘hooky,’ finding even the faintest interest in an activity as enough of an excuse for a detour.

… Which was probably how we found ourselves in our third park of the day. After all, I loved any autumnal vision, so how could I decline an opportunity to let them serve as a backdrop for watching her? And that was an accurate description of how I spent the day. It might sound boring, and if it were anyone else, it probably would have been. But no matter how often I saw her, I found myself learning new things about her every single time. Each freckle and scar became a part of the high-definition collection of memories that I would never let myself forget. The most beautiful images that kept me sane in the face of evil and filth.

“Do you see that?”

For a moment, I thought she might have read my mind. But then I realized that her eyes were still fixed forward, stuck on the horizon ahead of us.

“See what?”

“That,” she pointed, “Right there.”

My eyes followed the line, finding nothing but an area of carefully manicured, yellow grass and trees already set to rest for the season. It must have been clear to her that I was lost, because her pointing became more animated and her voice rose as she shouted, “Right there!”

“The giant pile of leaves?”

“Uh-huh.”

Then, in all of my obliviousness, I just sort of stared. Even when her hand grew tighter around mine and her feet started to move faster, I didn’t put two and two together until it was too late.

“What about— No! (Y/n)!” I shouted, cutting off my own train of thought and only barely letting go of her in time to watch her jump straight into the collection of fallen foliage that some poor landscaper had obviously worked hard to gather.

I have to believe that even if that unlucky, underappreciated individual saw what she’d done to their hours of work, that they would forgive her. It was hard to feel anything but joy at the sounds that came from the pile. Yet I approached her cautiously, with both hands in my pockets to avoid the urge to throw myself into danger with her.

“You’re a terror,” I said, settling for a crouched position in front of her. Still able to see her but far enough from her grasp that she had to crawl through a wall of leaves to come nose to nose with me. “This is literally the scariest thing you’ve done all season.”

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” she purred.

As enticing as the offer was, my mind was too preoccupied with statistics of spider and snake bites, not to mention the possibility of ticks still scouring the landscape for any last second hosts. The answer was easy.

“Absolutely not.”

With another exhale of pure displeasure, she threw her body back into the leaves, burying herself into a mess of yellows and reds that somehow only made her look even more beautiful. The chaotic scene matched her energy well, and the harm she was doing was minimal considering I was absolutely going to search every inch of skin for any marks later.

The only thing that was more appealing to me than watching her make an absolute fool out of herself in a pile of leaves was the intense urge to tease her about it. So, taking a regrettable seat on the grass, I sighed, “I think I’m going to have to arrest you for trespassing.”

There was a loud gasp from the center of the pile, followed by a scuffle of flailing limbs among the foliage.

“You don’t own this leaf pile! I do! I am queen of the leaf pile!” she screeched.

“Alright Princess,” I subtly corrected, “whatever you say.”

As promised, I didn’t put up a fight. Even when she finally got a hold of my hands and dragged me into the madness with her. I followed her no matter what nonsense she demanded, just as she had with me so many times. Granted, my desires weren’t nearly as dangerous or strange. They were pretty much just a collection of foreign films and reading that always lulled her to sleep.

But that day there was no sign of her energy waning. The early sun faded and we kept going. I’m not sure how, but she managed to enjoy herself in the D.C. landscape of bars and blaring car horns despite not being able to indulge in anything herself. Although she did half-heartedly attempt to trick me into buying her drinks in several different establishments, I think she was honestly proud that I avoided the drinks altogether. It was a nice reminder that sobriety could be something enjoyed between the two of us, regardless of the environment. However, we didn’t let that stop us from jumping into a crowd of very drunk women who had insisted we join their haunted tour of the city.

“Are you scared?” she whispered into my ear. The feeling of her warm breath against my skin caused a shiver to run down my spine, ruining any credibility I had in my response.

“No. Why would I be scared? It’s just history.”

“Are you sure?” she asked again.

“Yes!” I insisted with the worst possible timing. Because just as soon as the word had left my lips, I felt the distinct sensation of fingers running down my neck and arm opposite to her. I was so convinced that’s what it was that I even spun around with a yelp, crashing into at least three different people just to find a very startled woman with the worst hung scarf I’d ever seen.

(Y/n) had already put two and two together and was lost in an absolute fit of laughter. There were already tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she doubled over, barely able to stand through it all. Because there I was, her 31-year-old FBI agent boyfriend, screaming over a scarf.

“Laugh it up,” I droned. And she did. She kept laughing through any attempts at a response, and after the initial embarrassment wore off, I couldn’t help but join her.

“I hope you know you chose me. You chose this man!” I shouted, gesturing to the people around us who had already forgotten about our shenanigans, “And everyone knows it!”

“I’m sorry I can’t—” she wheezed, pausing to take a necessary breath that was all lost with another bunch of giggles “—You’re a fucking FBI Agent!”

“Well I can’t shoot a ghost, can I?” I mumbled through the hit to my ego. But any suffering was quickly dealt with as she threw dramatic arms around my waist, pulling me close and protecting me from any other errant scarves that might show up.

“I love you so much,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” I returned with a quick kiss on her forehead. And even if I implied otherwise, I think she knew that I was having just as good of a time as she was. In fact, it was one of the most relaxing days of my life, which was saying something, considering how much walking was involved.

But no matter how tired we both were, I still had one last place to take her. It took her a while to figure out why the route felt so familiar, but I wasn’t ready to ruin the surprise. I wanted to watch the realization dawn on her. She didn’t disappoint.

“The Mayflower?” she asked with a bit of a bashful laugh before looking up at me through narrowed eyes, “Feeling nostalgic, Dr. Reid?”

“Yeah, a little bit. Thought it was more romantic than the club,” I offered, trying to shrug off the nervous butterflies that burst through my stomach. “Not by much, mind you.”

Although I got the feeling that she didn’t know, or perhaps just didn’t remember, that wonderful night from almost a year ago was one of the most important days of my life. I knew it then, too. From the second I set my eyes on her from my pitiful place against the bar, I knew that she would ruin me.

“Nothing screams high end romance like an alley and a little light law breaking,” she sighed. I almost missed it, too preoccupied with the way her arm tugged me tighter so she could rest her head against my shoulder.

“I can take you home if you’d rather.”

“Hmmm. Depends,” she hummed. Then, turning her head up to me with that playful look that always turned me to putty in her hands, she purred, “How much longer do you think you can wait before you just have to have me?”

I sucked in a sharp, sarcastic breath, eyeing her just long enough for her to start to fume, I let out all the air with a defeated sigh, “I guess we’re staying.”

That serene sort of teasing continued past the reception desk and all the way up the elevator. If there were other people there, we didn’t bother noticing. We were too busy watching one another to even look away long enough to find our room. Doubling back through the dizzying hallways until we found the elusive number, we finally settled into the only vaguely familiar layout of beige and tan.

She was much quicker at it than I was. Before I’d even finished washing my hands and checking exposed skin for bugs that I was convinced had hitched a ride from the leaf pile, she was already stretched out on the bed in nothing but a tiny piece of lacy cotton and her favorite sweatshirt. The sight made me stop, lost for breath and logic of how I was lucky enough to be there with her again.

“See something you like, Dr. Reid?” she teased through giggles, no doubt recalling the same memory as me.

My answer didn’t need to be said, but I said it, anyway. She deserved to hear it.

“Yes.”

With arms outstretched, she sleepily begged, “Come here.”

But I couldn’t.

“Not yet… I just… I want to look at you like this a little bit longer.”

How could I move on from this moment, when it was the best I’d ever felt? So overwhelmingly safe and at home despite being in a strange, sterile room. I had no desire to move any inch of me if it meant that this image would persist for the rest of my days.

“You getting all romantic on me?”

“Always,” I chuckled. Her usual disgust for my sappy behavior didn’t show itself, overpowered by the gentle curve of her lips and hands that were becoming more and more insistent to be held. Eventually, I had to move, knowing that it was the only way to hold her.

My body reacted the way it always did when it found her. All of the tension dropped from tired shoulders, desperate to touch her more. To feel the imprint of her body pressed against mine, a mess of heat and need and love.

She was the one to kiss me first, and for a moment I let her do it without reciprocation. I wanted to feel how her touch became softer and shier as she realized what I was doing. That I was spending all of my energy memorizing the way her lips parted as she tried to hold back a giggle against my almost-still lips.

“What’s happening in that big genius brain of yours?” she murmured with eyes half open but still containing universes.

“I’m just thinking of all the things you’ve done to make me fall in love with you.”

I thanked all of the gods in every pantheon that made her too tired to tease. Instead, she just laughed, playing her part in bringing us back to that night we met.

“Like quote Picard?”

“We still haven’t watched Star Trek together,” I whined.

The sound must have stirred something new in her, because she rolled us over to take her seat on my lap. She hung over me, looking down at me, hopeless and breathless at the feel of her thighs under my hands. My heart started to race, but I didn’t know why.

It wasn’t until she spoke the words that were already running through my mind, “We’ve got time. Picard can wait.”

Everything about it was effortless. Our bodies had fallen together and mouths found each other exactly like every romance novel has ever tried to tackle the metaphor of gravity.

But if we were an orbit, it was not a binary like the traditional notion of two equal souls. Despite the nickname I’d chosen for her, nothing about her soul was small. And even though she burned bright, she wasn’t anything like the fiery combustion of a star.

She was a home. A thing so full of vitality and life that I would love to watch for whatever time I had left. I was just a moon, loyally following her and trying my best to shield her from whatever might try to harm her. To protect her when she needed rest and to lead the tides to kiss her when she wished. I would be her shadow, shining a light onto her even in the darkest time. All that I asked for in return was a spot beside her.

‘One day,’ she had said before, ‘if you will have me.’

But it was never a question. Not for me. And if she really needed me to answer it for her, I was happy to give her that. I hadn’t been waiting for even a year, but it felt like a lifetime.

“Yeah, he can,” I repeated, quiet and with such a heavy waver that I’m surprised she could understand the shifting inflections. Even if she didn’t, she knew that something had changed in those few seconds of silence.

“What’s up, Spencer?”

I didn’t know how to answer. How to explain what I was feeling. But I grabbed hold of one hand, clinging desperately to her and guiding her to the heart that felt dangerously light. The rapid pace of its beating still not enough to alert her of the true cacophony of my thoughts.

“Are you okay?”

The answer was yes. Because no matter how loud and chaotic the sounds inside my head were, they all lead me to the same conclusion.

“Picard can wait, and we have a lot of time,” I tried to explain through a dry throat that was only growing tighter with the unwieldy weight of the feeling.

“Yes…” she mumbled back, just as trepidatious and nervous as I was.

Just like I was. Because we were. We were connected by some force, whatever you want to call it. Whether it was a chemical or psychological or heavenly connection, I didn’t care. I wanted her to know how I felt. To know that there was nothing that would ever tear me away from her.

“But I don’t… I don’t think I want to wait.”

After a couple more seconds of silence, she answered with a knowing stare, “… What?”

From my position underneath her, I was able to reach over just enough to grab my jacket. Of course, it helped that she moved with me, clearly curious and terrified of the possibilities. But a good kind of terror… I hoped.

My confidence grew as her legs gripped tighter around my hips and her hands shot up to cover her chest with balled fists pressed against one another. I heard the friction of her skin as her body started to shake in a different way, with an adrenaline that I hadn’t seen from her in even the most dangerous situations.

But when I pulled a small velvet box from the internal pocket, everything stopped. She became completely still. Her eyes were wide and frozen on the object in my hands, only to look away when she heard my voice.

“(Y/n).”

“Where did you get that?” she asked like she hadn’t just seen me pull it from my jacket. The same jacket that I wore every time that I was with her. The wool fabric that she’d swaddled herself in on a number of occasions, none the wiser of how much heavier it was for me when I wore it.

“I know this is really random, a-and to be fair, I wasn’t expecting it, either,” I said through the most awkward laughs I’d ever produced (which was saying something), “I mean, I knew I wanted to marry you, I’ve known that for quite some time, hence the ring.”

I paused, but got nothing in response. Nothing except her lips quivering from their parted position, and her nose twitching as she tried to settle on just one expression. But it didn’t matter how she contorted her face; they were all exactly as they should be. Because they were all her.

“But today, with you… I-I’ve never been that happy in my life. Jumping in leaves and fighting over fall flavors and I—“

Her eyes stopped bouncing, settling with my gaze and robbing my lungs of all air. She made up her mind, deciding to leave everything exactly as it was. The honest truth of the overwhelming storm of every emotion that had been experienced in the little time we had shared together.

The knowing that everything had happened exactly as it should have to bring us here.

“I love you so much,” I whispered, careful to make every word as genuine as they were, “And I know that we have all the time in the world left with one another… but I don’t want to wait any longer for you to be my wife.”

“Ask me,” she answered immediately and abruptly.  

“Okay,” I laughed, endlessly entertained by how she could sound so aggressive even when we were both at our most vulnerable, caught in the nexus of our love.

“Um… Will you… marry me?”

There was no hesitation. No worry, no fear, and no doubt.

“Yes, you stupid old man!” she outright screamed, throwing arms around me even when it meant we both slammed against pillows and the headboard. She didn’t stop squealing even when she kissed me, struggling to find more of me to hold onto.

After she decided that tugging on my hair was the best way to express her affection, I managed to break away just long enough to shout, “Wait! I have to put the ring on you!”

“Then put it on!” she yelled, thrusting her hand in front of my face and practically slapping me in the process. But none of the pain mattered. Nothing was even recognizable outside of the feeling of her sweaty, shaking palm resting against my fingers.

I noticed for the first time that I was also trembling. I took the time to focus, slipping the ring over her finger. But once it started to safely slide into place, my eyes returned to watch what I knew to be happy tears fall over her cheeks. I wiped them away, but they were replaced with the wetness from my face when she brought us together again with a long, gentle kiss.

A calmness came over the room like the feeling following a storm. A clean slate with soil enriched for growth. A hope for a future forever changed.

“What do we do now?” she asked, biting her bottom lip and holding tight to my hands.

The answer seemed clear enough.

“Whatever we want.”

—————————————————

Is this really happening?

I stared at the diamond shining back at me with a clarity that had to be a metaphor for my heart. In the vague reflection of yellow light and us, I felt a warmth that doesn’t normally accompany metal. My finger’s new companion felt so comfortable in its new resting place. A constant reminder of the man I called home.

Then I turned back to him, unsure how I was supposed to move on from this moment. I never wanted to leave, but I also needed to move. I compromised and settled with my face against his chest, listening to the heartbeat he’d just dedicated to me. In that peaceful quiet, I heard him speak so softly I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it.

But I did.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said with fingers dancing through the ends of my hair, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

And for once, the thought didn’t feel like a burden. In fact, it felt like freedom. I was finally free to be who I was without worry that I would be alone. Without worrying that I would be too much or too little to please him.

I was enough.

Enough.

“I love you,” I said, tasting salt from tears I hadn’t even noticed were falling.

Curiously, and in a rare role switch, Spencer was the one who took a blatantly affectionate display and turned it into something else. Pulling me away from his chest, he dragged me up until he could drag his lips over my jaw.

“Don’t cry, little girl,” he cooed with what I could only imagine was a wicked grin, “I haven’t given you a reason to yet.”

Something about that gruff rumble in his throat caused my skin to ripple with goosebumps. Every inch of me burned with flames that could only be put out by his touch. I chased after his lips with my own, but he was insistent on trailing down my throat. He knew I would be powerless to him. I wouldn’t be able to argue when my hands were knotted in his hair and my hips were already rocking helplessly against his erection.

“I want you to fuck me,” I seethed. My blood was boiling from the heat I felt within, and before he could even answer I was already working at the buttons on his shirt.

“Oh? You don’t want me to make love to you?” Spencer laughed. As if that had ever been our style.

“No, I want you to take what’s yours.”

He responded to the demand by pushing me from my seat, forcing me onto my back on the other end of the bed. I wasn’t going to complain, either. The new position allowed me access to his belt, which I unbuckled before he even had time to laugh.

“Are you really challenging me right now, little girl?”

But despite the taunt, he did nothing to stop me. His hands were also busy removing my clothes. And just like before, our nakedness was reciprocated. With each lost layer, I should have felt lighter, but I didn’t. I felt so powerful, so aware of how our bare bodies twined together.

“Here, of all places? Do you remember what I did to you that night?”

How could I ever forget?

“I’m not the same girl you had in your bed then,” I purred. We both knew it was true, although not in the way I was implying.

Because Spencer had changed me. Irrevocably. He taught me so much — not just about physics, literature, or criminology, either. He taught me about kindness, softness, and vulnerability. He taught me how to trust that someone could hold me without the intention of letting me go. More than anything, he taught me that I didn’t have to learn these things alone. Even the smartest man I’d ever met needed help with them sometimes.

Then again, something told me that Spencer wasn’t in a very humble mood. Perhaps it was the fact he’d pinned me down again, with his hands clumsily gripping hard enough to leave crescent moons in my forearms.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he growled with a small, chaste kiss, “You’re still just a fucking brat.”

I wasn’t feeling bratty then, though. Especially not as I felt the head of his cock pressed against me, just hard enough to feel the resistance of my body. He waited there, no doubt taking pleasure in the way my whole body squirmed underneath him. My hips bucked, but he managed to keep a cruelly steady distance.

“You’re so precious when you’re needy,” he mumbled. And although I stubbornly avoided looking him in the eyes out of protest, he forced my face towards him again, anyway. “Go on. Say please.”

“Fuck off,” I whined through a prominent pout that did me no favors.

“Say it.”

“Please!”

I managed to make eye contact, but it was fleeting. As soon as he thrust forward into me, my back arched and I lost myself in the pillows. My hands found him, though, leaving angry red welts over heated skin. If Spencer was at all affected by the pain, he made no showing of it. His pace continued, steadily forcing our bodies together until I trembled in his hands.

He would hold me there, at my limit but not pleading for him to do anything different. With tender hands, he would fuck me until I swore bruises would follow. But I never felt unsafe; I felt cared for and cherished in a way I’d never known. I trusted him to know my limits better than myself.

I trusted him with all of me because I had already seen that when given the chance, he would do whatever he could to protect me.

The love I felt must have shone through my eyes because his hips got slower, drawing out each movement. My hips rose in tandem with his, allowing me to feel every inch of him inside of me.

“This body belongs to me now and forever,” he whispered.

It always has.

“You belong to me.”

And I felt it. The undeniable string of fate that tied us to each other. I could feel his every emotion as his fingers brushed over my throat. I melted under his touch, completely consumed by the love he felt for me. The kind of love that people spent their whole lives searching for only to come up empty. That powerful thing that drove gods to war and men to madness.

The only feeling that could tear down every wall that had been carefully crafted to protect myself. Because I didn’t need them anymore. Spencer’s arms would take their place, holding me through the storms that might follow the same way he had carried me through the ones that led us here.

“Yes,” I breathed, “I’m yours.”

For forever and whatever comes after.

The words were truer than they’d ever been before, and Spencer took it as permission to let go of any remaining hesitation. The slow, gentle thrusts became faster and our moans echoed in the small room without a second thought to the poor patrons in the rooms surrounding us. Because if they felt what we did, they would understand. Spencer still tried to hush the sounds, crashing his lips over mine in a sloppy, frenzied kiss.

I was suddenly reminded of every romantic story I’d ever heard. They all spoke of feeling so close to someone that they felt like an extension of yourself. I wasn’t sure if it was completely true, but there was no denying how at home our bodies were. The way our tongues wrapped around one another and how our noses bumped so gently in the chaos was unmatched by any meeting driven by lust or need.

His hips met mine over and over again, no matter how hard I tried to keep him closer. Even when my hips chased his to be held longer, Spencer was persistent in the ruthless pace. Because like me, he was lost in the euphoria. I knew it from the sound of his whimpers and the way he bit my lip just a little bit harder.

“Tell me what you want, little girl,” he begged. Not ordered. Begged.

“You,” I answered without any doubt, “I just want you.”

His response came even faster, even more desperate and scratchy as it came through his lips into mine.

“You have me. For the rest of my life and whatever comes after, I will take care of you.”

There was nothing left to say. I could feel the truth and force behind the words as he fucked me harder, eliciting one more quiet cry from me in the sound of his name.

“Spencer...”

When he returned the call, though, it wasn’t with any name I’d heard from him before.

“So you better get used to this feeling,” he said through a smile that I felt on my lips before he drew back. He looked me in the eye as he buried himself in me, tensing to hold himself back just a few seconds longer. To see the look on my face and let that be the feeling of us giving in to each other for the first time in our new story.

“Because I’m never going to grow tired of this, Mrs. Reid.”

Mrs. Reid.

That was going to be my name.

Mrs. Reid.

That was the only thought running through my mind as I felt the coil in my gut snap and all of my muscles tense around him. There were no whorish sounds left in my lungs, only little whimpers and whines as I tried to claw him closer. Spencer gave up his visual in exchange for kissing me while he finished. My walls held him so tightly that I felt each pulse and every place where his release filled me. But nothing was more compelling than feeling the way his lip quivered between mine as his body fell onto mine with no grace required.

Spencer could act hard all he wanted, but I felt the way he craved softness. Safety. Love. All things I was happy to give… for a price.

“Say it again.”

“Say what again?” he replied sleepily but animated enough to have a healthy dose of snark. Snark that earned him a rough nudge of my elbow into his ribs.

“You know!”

But naturally, the genius had to play dumb. With a happy little hum, he snuggled closer to me, burying his face into my neck so he could mumble against the skin, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Please,” I sighed, “for me?”

He seemed to contemplate the plea for a little while longer, with wiggling toes I felt against my shins and a happy sigh that breezed over my neck. I tried to take in those small things while I waited, knowing that while I had a lifetime to learn them, this moment would never come again.

“Fine,” he finally settled, propping himself up to give another soft kiss followed by the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Only for you, Mrs. Reid.”

—— The Next Morning ——

Waking up next to Spencer with a ring on my finger was literally waking up to find my dream come to life. And sure, his light snoring and constant wriggling under the sheets he continued to pull off of me weren’t perfect or picturesque, but they were real. The same way that he chirped when he felt my legs wrap around him in his sleep and only woke when he heard me giggling.

His eyes fluttered open, taken aback by something that he saw. Although I would blame it on the sunlight filtering through the curtains, I was sure that he would give me all the credit.

“Good morning,” he slurred.

“Hi,” I answered with a smile and an attempt to pull him closer. But my hand was stopped by his, squeezing my palm between his fingers before dragging my knuckles to his lips. From there, he laid a gentle kiss over the diamond he’d placed there the night before. Although it was strange to be outshone by a rock, I let it go for now.

“I know you shouldn’t sleep with it on, but it’s so nice to see it’s still there,” he said with a heavy breath before lowering our still joined hands to rest against his heart. I could feel the way it beat a little bit quicker as I came closer, and I wondered if this was really what it would be like forever.

“I couldn’t resist wearing it.”

“You know you can still change your mind, right? We haven’t told anyone.”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” I replied unlike every time before. There was no teasing, no joke or anger or sadness. Just a pure, unadulterated joy.

… Of course, the question did bring up an entirely new anxiety. It did feel a bit silly, but it needs to be expressed.

“Have you?”

“God, no,” he laughed. Like he’d only asked the question to see the way I might panic. But as soon as I heard his assurance, I knew it was the truth.

My mind started to drift back to that first morning we spent together. It felt like a lifetime ago, but everything still felt so very much the same. I wondered if there were things I would change if given the chance. It wasn’t until after I ran through the laundry list of things that we would have been better off without that I realized I’d asked the wrong question.

It wasn’t a matter of what I would have changed, but what I would have kept the same. And the answer was simple. No matter what I would face in my life, I just wanted it to be with him. Everything would be okay as long as I had him.

However, when I tried to kiss him, Spencer still seemed hung up on the things he would have changed. Our lips didn’t connect for even ten seconds before he broke apart, happily laughing through the words, “This is so much better when I’m not hungover.”

“Old man.”

He didn’t argue back, wiggling under the sheets until our chests were pressed together. I took it as a very poor attempt at a power play, because instead of craning my neck to look up at him from my spot, I simply climbed his lanky figure until our noses were pressed together.

“Your old man now,” he corrected, followed by my own clarification of, “You were always mine, Dr. Reid.”

“But now you get to show everyone.” He grinned, letting go of my hand to roam over the curves of my body. His daily attempts to memorize each version of me he held. After a few more moments of silent reverence, I asked the question we’d have to face eventually, lest we face even more awkward, embarrassing moments with the team.

“Who’s gonna tell everyone?”

He barely even considered the options before he shrugged.

“Let’s just… wing it.”

I paused, certain that I’d heard it wrong. “You, Spencer Reid, would like to ‘wing it?’” I repeated, barely able to get the words out without laughing from the absurdity of it all.

But he was quick to assure me, “Yeah, I do.”

“Alright. Whatever you say,” I sighed. I figured that it wouldn’t be worth it to plan right now, anyway. It wasn’t exactly our style. If anything, we would find the perfect time completely by accident.

“You know what we should do first though?” I excitedly announced to the best audience a girl could ever ask for.

“What?”

“Coffee,” I drawled. To which he quickly answered, “I love you an ungodly amount.”

Taking full advantage of that admission, I shoved the poor soul who’d shackled himself to me forever away as I ordered, “Go turn it on. I am craving shitty hotel coffee in bed with my fiancé.”

“Fine,” he resigned with a smile while rolling out of the bed, “Spoiled brat.”

“Your spoiled brat!” I shouted back from safe under the covers that I could finally get back in his absence. They weren’t as good as him, but they would be enough for now. I buried my face into his pillow, snickering as I heard a very tired Spencer call from the bathroom, “Forever mine!”

Just as the sounds of running water filled the room, I lifted my head at the distant sound of familiar chiming beside me.

“Is that my phone?”

I didn’t answer, paralyzed in my place as I felt the most intense sensation of deja vu I’d ever experienced. Right there on the nightstand, I saw the name Hotchner.

Spencer was quicker this time to leave the bathroom, but just as he turned the corner, a thought must have stopped him. Because he paused, staring at me with hotel sheets gathered around me and his phone against my ear.

He didn’t try to fight me for the device. In fact, he didn’t move at all, watching from a few feet away with a smile I’d never seen before. The kind that I felt so deep inside of me that I realized this was what they meant to share a soul with someone.

“Hello,” I spoke softly and filled with love, “this is Mrs. Reid.”

The End.

—————————————————

Epilogue

#spencer reid #spencer reid series #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid request #reid request #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid self insert

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chidoroki · 4 years

Text

TPN - “Dreams Come True”

What better way to cheer up the TPN fandom after the second season’s final episode than with the special exhibition chapter finally being fully translated. I caught glimpses of a few pages here and there over the past couple months but seeing all the children live happily together in the human world in their own little village that they made close to Emma and Alex warms my heart. Of course I would’ve loved if we got to see more of the GP Resistance (because the anime denied us of them) but following the GF kids around the world as they experience their dreams is fair enough. We started the series alongside them so might as well finish strong with them too. I really loved seeing everyone grow up but no matter how old they get or how much time passes, I’ll probably never get used to seeing Emma without her iconic “63194.” It’s a bittersweet feeling for me, but her smiles bring me so much joy and I’m beyond happy that she accepted everyone into her life as they accepted her without her memories.

I haven’t a clue on how much time passed since everyone found Emma in ch181 to now, but seeing her call out everyone’s names is a little detail that I love so much considering she had no idea who anyone was at first. Trying to remember 60+ names doesn’t seem like an easy task to me. No doubt I was just as shocked as our girl upon learning these mere children bought a goddamn plane! We learn in a couple pages that it’s because of Norman’s company that they can afford it, but still, he’s like 15 or 16 now? He’s still a child! And I’m impressed! Not only at him, but that Oliver and Violet became pilots as well! It’s especially cute when you remember that Lucas gave Oliver a little toy plane during their time at Goldy Pond.

Speaking of GP, is it just me or does Emma’s current outfit resemble her GP one just a little bit? Sure we have no idea what color scheme this one has but come on, the short jacket, the dark shirt and jeans.. just imagine it! Jemima, Yvette, Alicia and Mark remade Gillian’s original GP outfit sometime before the Grace Field Raid arc (ch137 extra page) so I don’t doubt they could’ve done the same for Emma. Of course that’s just me being completely hopeful and missing the Goldy Pond arc to death but yeah! I’m also so happy to see Chris up and moving again! Seeing him wake up briefly in ch181 was nice but this is so much better. I imagine he and Emma have a lot to catch up on in terms of stories, with him being unconscious since ch105 and Emma not remembering anything.

But here we go, the original 15 escapees plus Norman, Phil, Sherry, I believe I saw Carol somewhere and a couple other random kiddos ready to see the entire world. They get to accomplish so much.. and in a single day too I believe? At least that’s what Phil and Alicia say a bit later about everyone’s wishes, but aahh what a lucky bunch. Hell, I’ll say we’re lucky readers too to be able to see such a great story. Can’t thank Shirai and Demizu enough y’all. I wish we got to see more of Alex though. He’s such a kind soul but I’m sure he’ll be just fine staying behind with everyone else.

This entire page where we learn about Norman as a CEO is gold. I still can’t believe this child successfully built up an entire multipurpose company not only to help their search for Emma but also because he didn’t want to live off the Ratri clan. I wish I knew about this last week when writing out Norman’s birthday post because hell yeah this deserves some praise! AND he managed to graduate school as well during all that! Well, by skipping grades which totally makes sense. I mean, if he managed to pass all the Grace Field and Lambda tests effortlessly I’m sure normal human world school was a piece of cake for him. Holy shit dude, keep on impressing me why don’t ya. Not only him but Nigel and Sonya too! I’m not surprised that Vincent helped out but I’m glad those two got a tiny moment to shine as well! Ray is another obvious choice when it comes to helping Norman, as they’re best friends and he’s always been good with machines.. but boy, I can’t take you seriously when you’re just sitting there unamused and eating chips! Hahah I love him so much! And the fact he replies to Norman’s idea with just a simple “kay” is an eternal mood.

Okay boys aside, can we talk about our fabulous girls now? Because oh my god, they’re so darn beautiful! They’re more fashionable than I’ll ever be and it’s so cute how they drag Emma along to take advantage of the 3-for-1 deal. But our girl pulls off that sporty look so well! (r.i.p. goldy pond outfit ver2.0). I’m not at all surprised that Nat wanted to go see the opera. That's perfect for him and I’d like to think the anime did something similar with that one shot we see of him in the human world. We don’t see him in a theater like this but to me it looks like he’s on the streets of Broadway? At least that’s the vibe I get from it. I’m sure there was something music related on one of those signs.

I can’t get over how adorable all the children look and how happy they are fulfilling their wishes, even if some of them aren’t as extravagant as others. Like eating a fluffy pancake and a ton of ice cream? We can do that whenever we want. But for these kids, it means everything and they absolutely deserve to experience such simple joys like that after all the harsh nonsense they’ve been through. I also love how Ray continues to be such a great older brother by still looking out for them too. The fact he remains completely unfazed by the haunted house is perfect. This boy has been haunted by his own nightmares and demons his entire life, there’s no way a couple of lousy jump scares are gonna spook him. Though I do find it funny that Alicia and Rossi still manage to get scared while Yvette is having the time of her life. I can’t help but laugh at Thoma’s “Shirai face” as well.

I find it interesting that out of all the different kinds of exhibits they could’ve shown us while Rossi visits a museum, they give us dinosaurs.. like that seems so silly to me. Y’all have seen several demons in your young lives already and yet dinosaurs manage to amaze you too? God these kids are precious. And then our boy Phil finally gets to see and ride a train! Just look how happy he is! The poor kid can’t even sit still he’s so darn excited and I can’t help but smile with him! Thankfully the anime showed us this too.

We eventually get to Ray’s wish and guys.. oh my fucking god. Tell me that this is not the absolute best and prettiest smile we get to see from him!! It honestly leaves me speechless okay? Ray never imagined he would ever get to see the outside world, let alone live past the age of 12, and yet here he is, seeing such a beautiful sight such as this, right in front of him instead of from inside a book. You can’t believe how happy and proud of him I am right now. Did you see how ecstatic I was when the anime kept Isabella alive? Multiply that feeling by ten and there ya go. That’s my level of happiness upon seeing my favorite boy smile like THAT! AAHHH!! That panel is gonna live rent free in my head until the end of time. I can’t get over how damn perfect it is. His smile is so pure and how he looks like he’s in complete awe is beautiful. He’s about to burst into tears and I swear I might do the same because I’m making myself emotional over this fantastic boy. Someone hold me.

No seriously, hold me because we’re about to get into some angst as we move onto to Emma’s wish. We all know that ever since 2039 her one dream was to ride a giraffe once they got outside, so here we are, about ten years later and the animals in question are within reach. Our girl should be totally excited, right? Ha, not quite.

That wish was something the old Emma wanted, but since demon god had to be such a bastard, this Emma doesn’t know what to think, let alone what to even feel. She hasn’t experienced the same hardships as her family. She hasn’t gone through hell and back while holding onto that one wish that would make all the suffering worth it. The amount of joy everyone else felt upon living out their dreams, she wonders if she would be able to feel it too.

They brought her here to make her happy, but is this truly want she wants as well? This is old Emma’s wish after all. What about her and what she wants? Could this wish make her just as happy as her old self? She knows her family is only trying to help, but seeing her doubt herself does a number on my heart. Even without her memories, she’s still the same Emma deep down, as she doesn’t want to disappoint her family. She spends so much time worrying about living up to her family’s expectations, to try and be that Emma they all love so dearly.

Little does she know that she acts the exact same as usual, almost as if nothing has changed when she finally expresses how much she wants to ride a giraffe. And that’s great considering when they first arrived at the giraffes, no on had even mentioned riding them. She came across that feeling all on her own and everyone else can’t help but laugh and feel relieved. Her mind may have forgotten but her heart remembers everything. There is no “old Emma” and “new Emma” to her family, just “Emma” and words can’t express how wholesome that is because they love her regardless. All that matters to them is Emma’s happiness because if anyone deserves to feel and experience that, it’s her.

I just made myself tear up, damn it. I started this series with season one okay? I heard about this precious girl’s dream within the first minute of the first episode and here I am, a little bit over two years later, finally reading about it coming true and seeing that bright as hell smile on her face. Do you know how amazing it is to come full circle like that? My heart feels so full right now. I’m beyond proud of her and love her to death. Say what you want but I believe this to be the true manga ending in my eyes.

(damn this series for always getting me emotional)

#the promised neverland #tpn manga #tpn norman #tpn ray #tpn emma #norman #ray #emma #chidoroki used chatter

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dirty-holy-things · 3 years

Text

Christmas Tree Farm

Part III of the Invisible String Series

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV Read on Ao3.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x AFAB Reader

Rating: Mature, for slight references to sex and swearing.

Words: 6.6k update

Chapters: 4 / ?

Warnings: Very few. Swearing, subtle references to sex.

Author's Notes: This story is broken into two segments, with the first half being Reader and Bucky's first Christmas together, and the second half being Reader and Bucky's first Christmas spent with the Wilson's, their found family.

Summary: The winter holidays can be a challenging time for many, and you and Bucky were no stranger to lonely Christmases. But love has a curious, insistent way of melting away the ice that locks away and protects our hearts; and as time passes, both you and Bucky finally allow yourselves a little bit of that holiday cheer.

If you’d like to be included in any updates, please fill out my taglist form!

The city lights somehow shone even brighter, thanks to the addition of copious (or one could say, excessive) amounts of Christmas lights that likely threatened to upend the entire city’s power grid. Every storefront was decked out with tinsel and trees, each mannequin was dressed in their holiday best, and you couldn’t take two steps without being greeted by a vibrant advertisement for “This season’s must-buy holiday gifts!” While you certainly weren’t a Grinch by any means, you also hadn’t had much of a reason to celebrate the holiday through the past few years; that was, until you found yourself a 106 year old, semi-stable boyfriend with a secret love for Christmas that was comparable to that of an eight year old on a sugar high.

Bucky Barnes was an intimidating figure to those who saw him in the streets, but after nearly a year of dating, you had thoroughly cracked that hard exterior to see the gentle and romantic man who had been locked away and frozen for so long. People on the streets saw a powerful man with a gleaming metal arm; you saw a man who could pick you up with ease, throwing you over his shoulder before pinning you down and tickling you. Shoppers in the grocery store saw a brooding and intimidating figure; you saw him fall asleep on the couch, his frame protectively curled around his cat Alpine. You had once been like all those strangers, only seeing that which was on the surface, but you had come to know and love him as a whole person.

And as such, it did not come as that much of a shock when, shortly after Thanksgiving dinner, Bucky’s requited love for Christmas broke through for the first time. “Hey, doll,” he started, an inquisitive tone in his voice. “Where’s your Christmas music? Been goin’ through your records but I can’t seem’ta find any.”

“Don’t have any,” you called out from the bedroom, folding the last of his laundry that had taken up permanent residence in your top right dresser drawer. You strolled into the living room to see him still flicking determinedly through your collection, hoping against hope to find something that would put the apartment into the holiday spirit. “Buck, I’m pretty sure I don’t have any Christmas records — but I can play some music from my phone, if you want me to.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweets.”

He sank into the plush fabric of your sofa, sighing defeatedly. You laughed at his exaggerated response, before moving to sit next to him, draping your legs across his and nestling into his arms. You pulled your phone out of the pocket of your leggings, searching for a Christmas playlist, before you were distracted by Bucky’s lingering, pensive look. “What’s on your mind, Bucky?”

He sighed, metal hand tracing cool circles into your exposed skin. “It’s nothing, it’s silly.”

You frowned, not thrilled with his sudden withdrawal. “Clearly it’s not nothing. C’mon, Buck, you can talk to me.”

“I haven’t had a real Christmas since 1943,” he said slowly. “Hydra certainly didn’t celebrate, and after I came back from the Blip, I didn’t have anyone to share one with. I thought — I had thought, maybe, since I have you, we could do something for Christmas together. But, if you’re not really in’ta Christmas, that’s okay.”

You could tell that his casual tone was forced, you could pick up the subtle changes in volume and pitch. Your heart ached for him, as you thought about the loneliness that he had endured for decades, all of the holidays and joy and traditions and memories that he had missed out on; and while you weren’t a Christmas person by nature, by god, you were going to be one for Bucky Barnes.

***

You fully assimilated into the Christmas spirit and enthusiasm, trying to provide Bucky with every sweet, cheesy, moment of joy that he had been denied for so long. The weeks leading up to Christmas were positively filled to the brim, near-bursting, with holiday spirit and theme-appropriate music, the lyrics echoing throughout your apartment to the extent that you wondered if future tenants may one day hear ghosts of Christmas past — also known as the ghost of Bucky Past, as he sang along to every tune that crooned its way through the small, shared space. You had never seen him so indulgently and freely happy before, so you didn’t begrudge the fourth or fifth playing of the Holiday Hits records, or his subtly-insistent urging for a real Christmas tree.

It was the second week of December when you executed your ‘master plan.’

Manhattan wasn’t exactly known for its Christmas tree farms, so you had planned on making the long and laborious trek out of the city to fetch your own real tree. Bucky was more than happy to oblige, with the promise that he could fell his own Christmas tree; you had no doubt that your sweet, sensitive, and powerful super-soldier could fell whatever tree stood before him. But aside from your confidence in his physical abilities, you wanted to give him this Christmas moment, this Christmas memory — you wanted to give him the opportunity to bring his tree back to your shared space, and to create these Christmas memories with him. You wanted to break his pattern of ignored or heartbroken Christmases, and after he had confessed his love for the holiday that Thanksgiving night, you had been thinking about all of the ways you could make this year special for him.

Bucky had been more than thrilled by your suggestion to drive out of the city for an evening, particularly for a Christmas tree, and the two of you sank into the slow, gentle peace that steadily grew as the car carried you further and further away from the bustling city. You had picked a destination that was quite far from the city center, having seen the positive reviews online and the promise of free hot chocolate; and to be honest, you thought that the brief break from city life could do the two of you some good.

He had picked you up from your apartment, after acquiring this evening’s rental car; and his time spent battling lazy rental car representatives and New York traffic had given you the perfect amount of time to enact your vision for the apartment before his call rang through, informing you that he was here and waiting by the front door. Your drive out of the city had been filled with more and more Christmas music, cups of coffee, and a stash of chocolate chip cookies that you had decided would be appropriate fuel for the evening ahead. Bucky had eaten ten out of the twelve you brought.

The Christmas tree farm was illuminated with countless twinkling globe lights, a soft golden glow radiating around you and bouncing off of the freshly-fallen snow that crunched underneath your boots. Bucky grinned from ear to ear, in an easy way that you had never seen before, and you felt a rush of confidence and surety about your somewhat-secret plan.

Upon your arrival at the Christmas tree farm, Bucky had quickly picked out the prettiest tree in the entire lot; the branches were tightly packed and well-filled with needles that smelled of pine and childhood memories. The attendant who had handed him the axe to fell the tree watched in shock and awe as Bucky cleaved through the tree trunk with two strong strokes; you laughed quietly into your hot chocolate, bemused by your boyfriend’s blatant display of strength. Bucky strapped the tree to the top of the rental car with impressive speed, and it was not long afterwords that you were hurtling back into the city, towards the apartment that the two of you now called home.

Forcing the tall tree into the slim elevator was a challenge, one that Bucky took in stride; and after multiple curse words and sweaty exclamations of frustration, it finally fit to the point in which Bucky could abandon the advanced geometry he had been working at. The ride upwards was humorously tense, as Bucky observed you being pinned in by the tree, and you nervously awaited the arrival that you had planned for your sweet super-soldier.

Your front door now held a large wreath, bedecked with poinsettias and glimmering gold tinsel; the sight caught Bucky off-guard, as he recognized that this was a new addition. “I like the wreath, sweets,” he grinned, moving to shift the tree out of the cramped elevator and free you from its heavy, pine-scented branches.

“Thought some Christmas decorations were in order,” you laughed lightly, finally freed from the cramped elevator; and you briefly wondered how long that fresh pine scent might linger within the small space. Bucky kept the tree upright while you nervously opened the door, suddenly anxious that maybe you had taken the Christmas enthusiasm too far.

Bucky was a man on a mission, as he determinedly hauled the tree through the hallway and into the living room; you had previously cleared a corner for the tree, right next to your patio door, hoping that the ambient light from the city would help to illuminate the tree that would now fill the recently-vacated space. You watched him corner the tree into the wall, ensuring it was supported appropriately, before he turned to survey the apartment that was surrounding him.

You might’ve gone a bit overboard with the Christmas decorations, but you would’ve thrown yourself overboard ten times more to see that smile spreading across Bucky’s face.

The entrance to the apartment now displayed a vibrant poinsettia wreath, and a welcome mat that said ‘happy holidays,’ a sentiment ensconced by the image of ivy and red berries. The tea towels in the kitchen were red and green, boasting cheeky jokes about holiday cheer, and the glassware had been replaced with wine glasses and rocks glasses of emerald green crystal. The kitchen table was fully dressed for Christmas, with gold and green accents at every turn, highlighted with poinsettia blossoms. Your plush ivory couch was now draped with multiple blankets: one chunky knit, one soft and fuzzy, and a wool blanket with a plaid blend of emerald green, dark navy, blood-red, and gold. All of the picture frames and artwork on the wall had been wrapped over to look like Christmas presents, the fireplace was bedecked with mistletoe and holly, and even the bathroom hand soaps had been swapped out for holiday scents.

“Sweets — what’s, what’s all this?” Bucky asked breathlessly, surveying the unexpected sight before him.

“It’s our first Christmas,” you responded, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved to wrap your arms around his waist, savoring the combined scent of pine and that which was distinctly Bucky. “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes — and I want to make every kind of Christmas memory with you. I want us to decorate our tree together, I want us to sneakily wrap up presents for each other, I want us to wear silly matching pajamas, I want us to leave the decorations up for way too long just because they bring us back to this perfect moment.”

Bucky’s strong and irresistible hands guided your body towards the couch, your bodies collapsing softly into the cushions as his plush and chapped lips pressed into the soft skin of your neck, biting gently at your racing pulse. You could feel the excitement and joy radiating from Bucky, comparable to the blazing heat of the sun, or a fire, or any other brightly-burning thing, and you knew that your decision to go all-in for Christmas had been the right one. Grinning to yourself, you thought about the extensive, and… myriad applicability of mistletoe you had acquired, and how you might work this into a Christmas miracle of your own.

“I love you, doll,” Bucky exhaled against your flushed skin. “I’ve never felt so fuck’n lucky, to have someone like you lovin’ me.”

You allowed yourself a moment to sink into the weight of his words, allowed yourself to feel appreciated, valued, desired, wanted. “Loving you is the easiest thing in the world,” you whispered, your hands tracing gently across the sharp and chiseled planes of his face. “Loving you is as easy as breathing… even when you steal all of the covers, or insist on rewatching Lord of the Rings for the fortieth time.”

Bucky laughed, a deep chuckle echoing from his chest as he pulled you closer against his thickly-muscled body. “Looks like quite a lot of mistletoe here, doll,” he grinned, pressing a casual kiss against your forehead as he surveyed the state of the apartment.

“Oh, yeah, that was intentional,” you quipped, giggling as you leaned in for a kiss; only to have Bucky pull away, a devilish and almost dark grin on his face.

“Y’sure you’re ready for that?” He asked, his voice holding a shred of a threat and the weight of a promise.

“Bring it on, Barnes.”

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

Christmas had grown to become a full-fledged, extravagant, blowout event with each year that passed. The holiday season started earlier and earlier, as you both plotted and planned for how to one-up the other with some sort of holiday surprise or thoughtful gift; and you eventually grew to ignore the odd looks of your neighbors as the poinsettia wreath was now regularly hung before Thanksgiving dinner was done cooking.

This year, however, was going to be different. After a handful of long-weekend trips down to Louisiana to visit Sam, Sarah, and their family, you and Bucky had decided to take an extended vacation - two weeks, to be exact. The two of you would be sharing both Christmas and New Years with the Wilson family, and you couldn’t possibly be more thrilled — or anxious.

Over the past few years, Bucky and Sam had settled into a brotherly sort of friendship, full of barbed comments, silent hugs, and quiet words of encouragement and advice; and after you met Sarah on your first Memorial Day trip to the small town, the two of you had taken to one another like lifelong best friends, sharing a love for merlot and a sense of worry for the two men who were dead-set on saving the world.

So it came as little surprise when the Wilsons invited the two of you for an extended stay; and you had eagerly agreed to the idea of both a vacation, and a holiday spent with your found family. Bucky had pretended to be resistant for a moment, mumbling something about ‘not wanting to share his time with you,’ but had caved easily when you pressed on the matter. He was likely just as eager to have a family Christmas as you were — but Sam certainly couldn’t know that.

You had spent nearly two months leading up to your trip relentlessly questioning Sarah and Sam about gift ideas, feeling an immense pressure to get things right. You struggled to keep up with the ever-evolving interests of AJ and Cass, and you felt the need to find something perfectly sweet and thoughtful for Sam and Sarah, as they had been so kind as to invite you and Bucky into their home for the holiday season. Bucky was able to sense your nervousness about finding the perfect gifts, and was able to remain fairly level-headed and reasonable as you perused countless stores. However, as empathetic and kind as your super-soldier may be, he was still prone to bouts of boredom or hunger.

“Look, sweets, we could get the kids gift cards and I’m sure they’d be more than happy —“ Bucky started, before you cut him off with an icy glare. You were in the fifth store of the day, and while Bucky’s patience with you had extended far past a reasonable amount, he was admittedly wearing thin.

“No gift cards,” you bit, cutting him off harshly, before rubbing your hand across his forearm gently in apology. “I know Sarah said they didn’t really need any more gaming stuff, but they’ve got a pretty good deal for the new Xbox here…”

Bucky chuckled lightly, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss on the temple, forgiving your earlier tension. “With the way you’re try’na spoil them, you’d think they were our own kids.”

You blushed, knowing he was likely right. You were prone to gift-giving and over-indulging the wants and whims of those you loved; Bucky knew that firsthand, and was fair in assuming this would extend to all you loved — whether they were currently in existence or not. “Just imagine if we ever do have kids, Barnes,” you said lightly, hoping the barely-concealed eagerness in your voice didn’t betray you. “Honestly, you’ll be even more of a sucker than me.”

“Me? No, not at all,” he huffed, arms crossing over his broad chest.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from within, unable to picture a situation in which Bucky would be anything other than a marshmallow around children, particularly his own. “Between the two of us, you’re the one who will be a softie. Mark my words, Barnes, you’re gonna be wrapped around a tiny little finger one of these days.”

He chuckled softly, eyes flitting lightly across your body. “Y’call me Barnes an awful lot, sweets.”

You nodded, shoulders raising as if to say, so what?

“Makes me think you might like the name — y’maybe might even want it for yourself,” Bucky grinned, a simultaneously mischievous but sincere glint in his eye.

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging your shoulder into his chest. You returned your focus to the sale tags in the store, trying desperately — and futilely — to quell the reflexive, undeniable excitement that came with the idea of a life with Bucky.

Marriage, a home, babies, the whole nine yards — but you were in Target, you were getting way too ahead of yourself. That was a thought for another day, another time.

***

Your arrival at Sam and Sarah’s home had been just as warm and welcoming as you expected, with Sarah ushering you and Bucky upstairs to the spare bedroom that had basically become yours after the extensive number of vacations and visits. You and Bucky both slept well that night, as the long drive had worn you down, and for the first time in several months — if not over a year — you were up the next morning before Bucky Barnes.

It was Christmas Eve, and the excitement of this day was not lost on you; rolling away from Bucky’s solid grasp was a challenge, but you managed to do so without disturbing the sleeping brunette who had been wrapped around you like a weighted blanket. You laughed quietly to yourself as he sleepily grabbed for your pillow, pulling it inwards to cradle it between his arms.

You stealthily snuck out of the room, wanting Bucky to get whatever measure of rest possible, and made yourself decent before heading downstairs to find Sarah in the kitchen. She was dressed and ready for the day, and you slumped into a kitchen chair with a yawn.

“Coffee’s ready, I’d suggest y’get it before Sam and Buck are up.” Sarah joked with a sleepy smile. So far, only the two of you were up, and you gratefully accepted her recommendation for a cup of coffee, appreciating the warmth and rush of caffeine that it offered.

“Is there anything I can help with?” You asked, as the two of you sat down at the kitchen table together.

Sarah smiled into her cup of coffee, taking a long sip before responding. “I’ll probably have’ya give me a hand with the pancakes, you’re a good judge for when to flip them,” she commented, eyes wandering to the bay window that offered an exceptional view of the sunrise. “You can also help me by giving me a heads up about the boys’ Christmas presents.”

You instinctively felt the need to say no, to preserve the integrity of the surprise and excitement of Christmas morning, but you realized that telling Sarah wouldn’t spoil the surprise for the boys. You excitedly discussed the details of the gifts, both for the kids, and for Sam and Bucky, and despite the clock indicating an obscenely early time of 7:48AM, you still felt the Christmas spirit radiating in the cozy kitchen space.

You and Sarah worked together to prepare a full breakfast, consuming cup after cup of coffee until you heard the unmistakable sound of Bucky stepping heavily down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Stepping away from the pancakes for a moment, you quickly started to brew another pot of coffee; and as you returned to your station by the stovetop, you giggled as you felt Bucky’s arms wrap securely around your midsection.

“Well this is a Christmas miracle,” Bucky whispered into the soft skin of your neck. “You’re up and outta bed before me.”

You laughed, turning to faced him as he continued to hold your body against his. “We’re not even to Christmas yet, Barnes — who know what kinda surprises might be in store for you.”

Bucky hummed suggestively, his teeth barely grazing your skin as you shivered against him. Your body instinctively molded to his, and you were in the process of turning around for a kiss when you heard, “Ah, ah, ah!”

You pulled away from Bucky with a laugh, seeing Sarah standing by the sink, hands planted firmly on her waist as she stared the two of you down with the kind of glare that only mothers could possess. “Not in my kitchen! Save that shit for Brooklyn.”

There was an undeniable heat in your cheeks, and you could see the pink tinge that Bucky’s face took on as Sarah called the two of you out. He still kept his hands on you, but with less suggestive placement. “M’sorry, Sarah, I just couldn’t help myself.”

She rolled her eyes before tossing him the coffee mug she had just finished drying; Bucky, of course, caught it despite the lack of warning. “Well, help yourself to some coffee and breakfast - I suggest you get started before the boys are up, it’ll be a frenzy before too long.”

Bucky laughed and grabbed your mostly-empty coffee mug as he strode across the kitchen; he was filling the second cup as a thunderous sound echoed through the house, as Cass, AJ, and Sam quickly filled the remaining space in the kitchen. The boys were startlingly hyper despite having just woken up - you couldn’t remember the last time you woke up that exuberantly - and Sam yawned while making a beeline for the coffee pot that Bucky held in his metal grasp. The two men exchanged the coffee pot silently, but peacefully; and you and Sarah stepped back from the kitchen to rest on the couch, to enjoy the remainder of the morning and watch the feeding frenzy that was comparable to piranhas descending on the sun-streaked Louisiana kitchen.

***

The remainder of Christmas Eve had gone smoothly and happily; AJ and Cass fell asleep close to 11PM, about halfway through The Grinch, and Bucky and Sam had carried them to bed despite weak protestations that they wanted to stay up to catch Santa. As soon as Sam and Bucky returned to give the all-clear, indicating the boys were soundly asleep, you and Sarah set to work on bringing out all of the gifts that had been carefully concealed.

You were stacking presents meticulously when you saw Bucky taking a handful of the Christmas cookies that had been left out for Santa; Sam had noticed as well, and he frowned. “Hey, man, I don’t see you in a red suit with a white beard,” Sam whispered loudly.

“Don’t see you in one either,” Bucky responded around a mouthful of a poorly-iced sugar cookie. The five of you had spent the afternoon baking and icing cookies for Santa, the neighbors, and the mailman; and while it was adorable and endearing, there was a distinct lack of artistic talent for cookie decorating.

“Bucky, share the cookies,” You laughed, nudging him to hand over the plate that he had taken hostage. Bucky grumbled, but you could see the way the corner of his lip quirked up; he was just as amused and happy in this scene as you were. The remainder of the cookies were shared, Sarah finished stuffing the stockings, and you placed the last present under the tree; looking at the last gift, you saw your swooping handwriting on the tag: To Bucky, with love.

“Is that everything?” Sarah asked, an exhausted but content look upon her face. “Last call for gifts, before Santa takes off for the night.”

Bucky coughed, giving Sam a side-eyed look that didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Should be everything,” Bucky responded cooly, but you could see the subtle flexing and whirring in the prosthetic arm that indicated a sort of nervousness within him. It was Christmas Eve, what could he be stressing about? Unless a gift had gotten lost in-between airports; but you had accounted for everything, you were sure of it. Shaking off the feeling as a side effect of exhaustion, you smiled when Bucky extended a hand to help you off the floor. “Ready to say g’night, doll?”

You nodded, and the both of you said quiet goodnights to Sam and Sarah before heading to bed for the evening. Tucking yourselves into the warm, soft bed, you saw the clock blink at 12:08AM. “Merry Christmas Bucky,” you whispered softly, planting a gentle kiss against his forehead, the soft glow of the moon illuminating the few silver hairs that had slowly appeared along his hairline.

“Merry Christmas, doll,” he mumbled happily, from the warm space between sleep and waking, the space where anything good could feel true, the space where Santa might be real and the world might be kind.

***

You had forgotten how early kids tend to wake up on Christmas morning. A silent apology to your parents passed through your groggy mind as you worked to drag yourself out of bed, having been roused by the inescapable sound of fists banging on the closed door and children’s muffled screams of, “Wake up! It’s Christmas!”

Bucky wore his usual early-morning scowl; one that would’ve sent fear coursing through any rational person, but it was a look you knew and loved. He pressed the soft, downy pillow over his head, trying to muffle out AJ & Cass’s insistent excitement. “Too… early…”

You laughed hoarsely, your voice not fully awake just yet. “You try telling them that, see how far it gets you,” you suggested, as you grabbed for your glasses and the pair of pajama pants that you kept handy for decency’s sake. Bucky grumbled again, and glancing at the clock, you realized you couldn’t blame him. It hadn’t yet cracked 6AM, and while Bucky was the early riser out of the two of you, this was a solid hour before his internal clock would typically wake him up. “C’mon, Buck, up and at ‘em. It’s Christmas morning, there’s presents and coffee waiting.”

The two of you finally emerged from the door, disheveled and sleep-deprived, only to be greeted by the loud cheers of AJ and Cass, who informed you that everyone else was already up.

***

The den quickly devolved into a chaotic mess of torn wrapping paper, slackened bows, crumpled tissue paper, and more toys and electronics than the room should’ve rightly been able to hold. The adults sat back and watched as AJ and Cass tore through every present, shouting and jumping and screaming in excitement with each gift that was voraciously revealed. You had shrugged your shoulders in a subtle I’m sorry to Sarah, as the kids triumphantly lifted the new Xbox above their heads. She didn’t seem to mind too much, however, after watching AJ and Cass tackle Uncle Bucky to the ground with promises and threats of ‘kicking his old butt at Mario Kart.’

As the glitter and tinsel settled throughout the love-filled room, AJ and Cass proceeded to withdraw from the early-morning celebrations to play with their new assortment of toys, games, and electronics. You had finished your second cup of coffee and had sent Bucky to retrieve your third, while you and Sam plucked the remaining gifts from underneath the tree, to be distributed amongst the adults.

You passed Sarah a thick envelope that was tied with a silver ribbon, and watched as she pulled forth a stack of papers of various sizes — airplane tickets, hotel check-in details, Broadway tickets — and happy tears flooded her cheeks as she hugged both you and Bucky tightly, thanking you for the fully-planned vacation. “Oh, and it’s not written anywhere officially, but we’re also volunteering to babysit,” you added, and laughed as Sarah grinned and clenched her fist in excitement.

“We are?” Bucky asked, pretending to be surprised. You elbowed him gently, and he corrected himself. “Yes, of course we are.”

The gift-giving continued, with lots of laughter and happy tears. Sam and Sarah had gifted you the slate-blue Le Creuset you had been eyeing wistfully for years, and Bucky received a set of tickets to a symphony performance and dance night, featuring hits from the 1940s. “Might have’ta bust out the old uniform for this one, doll,” he said with a sly grin. “Used to look real nice in those slacks, y’outght’a have the chance to appreciate the view.”

“Oh, I can only imagine the number of girls you pulled in that uniform, Barnes,” you teased. He shrugged nonchalantly as a thick arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his relaxed body. “Hey, ease up — you’re gonna make me spill my coffee!”

Bucky planted a solid kiss against your forehead as he drew you in closer, albeit with more consideration for the scalding-hot beverage in your hand this time. “That’s ancient history, sweetheart. No need to worry about Dolores at the nursing home stealing me from you.”

“Y’sure about that, Buck? I’ve heard stories about you and a redhead named Dolores…” Sam interjected, a playfully antagonistic hint to his voice. Bucky retaliated by throwing a pillow at Sam’s head, with the kind of ferocity that could only come from a super-soldier. “Kidding, kidding,” Sam laughed, as the pillow hit him squarely in the shoulder.

Both you and Bucky laughed, and he plucked the cup of steaming coffee from your hands, taking a sip before commenting further. “Only one girl I ever truly loved, sweetheart, and she’s right here with me,” he said softly, his voice rough and gravelly, but full of sincerity.

You knew that Bucky loved you, and you knew that you loved him. Little else in the world seemed to matter past those two facts, but you also understood that your shared love existed in a complex and challenging world. A world that you struggled to find a place in, a world that had all too many places for Bucky to fill; the freedom of narrative had been stolen from both of you, but as you retrieved your Christmas gift for Bucky, you hoped you had found a way to give a piece of that narrative back to him.

You handed him a thin, flat box; meticulously and nervously wrapped, the tag unmistakeable; To Bucky, with love.

You watched him open it excitedly, and he pulled out two photos. The first photo was from the original Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian, the one that had stood for several years now. The second photo was one that you had taken yourself, of the recently-updated exhibit; specifically, the segment of the exhibit that documented Bucky’s history. You watched his facial expressions closely as he examined the differences, and you saw his jaw twitch and throat tighten as he focused more closely upon the second, most recent image.

“W-what’s this, doll?” He asked, his voice shaking.

You placed a hand gently over his, the one that held the image of the updated exhibit. “This,” you spoke softly, pointing at the inscription, “This is your legacy, Bucky Barnes. The true one. The one that matters, the one that countless people will read every single day. This is the story that everyone will know.”

Looking at the photograph grasped tightly within Bucky’s human hand, you read aloud the new inscription.

“Born in 1916, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front.

Captured by HYDRA troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, deprivation, torture, and experimentation; but his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood best friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America.

Reunited, Barnes and Rogers led Captain America’s newly formed unit, the Howling Commandos. Barnes’ marksmanship was invaluable as Rogers and his team destroyed HYDRA bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater.”

Bucky nodded, commenting quietly. “I’ve seen this part, at the Smithsonian.”

“Yes, that was the original; the one you would’ve seen. They also noted your date of death — but as you well know, there’s more to the story,” you added gently, drawing your finger across the image to direct Bucky’s attention to the new addition.

“Barnes was tragically captured by HYDRA operatives after what was perceived to be a deadly fall. Captain America and the Howling Commandos mourned their loss of their brother and companion, with the unit fully dissolving after the loss of Captain America.

Barnes was kept as a HYDRA prisoner of war for decades, before being freed through the work of his childhood best friend. Recruited by Rogers to fight against the Titan known as Thanos, Barnes fought valiantly alongside the Avengers and helped restore the world to its rightful state.

Barnes is recognized as one of the great heroes of our time, having successfully overcome the might of both HYDRA and Thanos. As a nation, and as a global community, we now look to Barnes as an example: an example of what is good, what is right, what is resilient, what is brave and unbreakable.”

Your hands were shaking as you finished reading the new inscription, the new addition to the exhibit; and while your hands were shaking, all of Bucky was shaking. You reached an unsteady hand out towards him, letting it settle onto his shallowly breathing chest. “This is how the world will remember you, Bucky. Not as the Winter Soldier, but as a hero, as James Buchanan Barnes. The Winter Soldier was never you — and nobody will make that mistake again.”

Bucky huffed, exhaling strongly, and you could see that he was fighting off the tears that were threatening to spill from his ocean-blue eyes; you reached to hold his hand, squeezing it tightly as you smiled up at him. His bottom lip trembled slightly as his free hand came up to stroke your face; you leaned into the cool feeling of the vibranium against your warm cheek and kissed the corner of his hand that lingered against you.

“How’d you manage to pull this off, doll?” Bucky asked, voice shaking.

You shrugged and smiled playfully. “I think you’re forgetting that I work for the Smithsonian Institute, Buck. I was able to pull a few strings, call in a few favors — and anyways, museums are pretty heavily invested in having the correct information.”

Bucky laughed hoarsely, the tears receding before they had the opportunity to fall. Sam and Sarah had watched on quietly, both of them feeling grateful for the acceptance and love that you and Bucky had found with one another. “Y’know, Buck, I was thinking that your gift was pretty impressive, but after this… I dunno, man. She might have you beat.”

You looked back and forth between the two men; clearly, secrets had been exchanged, and you had been left out of it. Bucky winced as he leaned over to retrieve your gift, agreeing with Sam. “Yeah, shit, I don’t know how I can follow that. Rewriting history? Jesus, you didn’t even give me a chance.”

Bucky placed a long, narrow box in your hands, and despite his previous comment, he still smiled excitedly as you picked at the red, snowflake-covered wrapping paper. “Whatever it is, Buck, I know I’m gonna love it.”

The lid to the box opened with ease, and the contents both shocked and confused you for a moment. Your fingers nimbly grasped the silver dog tags that rested within the box, the metal chain clinking against itself as you looked more closely.

JAMES B BARNES

32557030 T42 2B

R. BARNES

3092 STOCKTON RD

SHELBYVILLE IN

The tags had been unmistakeable, undeniably familiar, from the moment you laid eyes on them. Holding the tags tightly within your hand, you turned to Bucky with questions in your eyes, and on your lips, but he beat you to it.

“Yes, these were mine. But they’re yours now.”

You stuttered, still shocked by the gesture. “B-But Bucky, aren’t you supposed to keep these on you? Isn’t it like some sort of rule? In case — oh, god, in case anything ever happened —“

Bucky shushed you as you became increasingly worried by the thought of something happening to him, the thought of him disappearing without anything remaining to identify him as the man that you loved. “Shh, doll. Nothing’s gonna happen to me, and that’s exactly why I’m givin’ these to you. I promise, I’m never gonna leave you. I’ll never be far enough away from you to need these ever again.”

While Bucky may not have cried, you certainly did, unable to fight off the swell of emotions that hit you like a tidal wave — but a tidal wave of all good things. The weight of his words ad his gesture was overwhelming; he was handing you a piece of himself, entrusting it to you, and promising that you’d never again have to face a world without him in it. You thought about these same dog tags, how they had rested against his chest for decades, and now having this piece of him so close to your heart threatened to entirely overwhelm you.

“I love you, Bucky, god, I don’t even know what else to say right now, I love you more than anything —“ Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, and you breath was a staccato rhythm as your gaze flitted between the dog tags and the man they belonged to.

Bucky grinned, and you could see the threat of tears had returned. “Just promise me you’ll wear ‘em — and that you won’t lose ‘em.”

You nodded and smiled sweetly at him, before handing him the dog tags so he could fasten them around your neck. His hands cupped your chin and brought you in for a gentle kiss, despite the protests of Sam and Sarah; but they sounded worlds away, because your whole world was right here, holding you, and would never let you go.

***

Taglist: @bdavishiddlesbatch @aleynaandrews @who-is-a-heretic-now

#Bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x y/n #winter soldier #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #invisible string #Bucky Barnes fluff

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nishiisenpai · 4 years

Text

skating under the lights - nishinoya yu x reader

REQUEST: “ Hiiiiii!! I was wondering if I could maybe get a Christmas fic? (Yes, I know it’s still November but-) Maybe where Noya and the reader are like, spending a day out (maybe they go to an ice skating rink or something) and they stop to stare at a giant lit up Christmas tree, and then Noya kisses them? Thank youuu! 🤍 I hope that wasn’t too vague! - @nishinoya-slut “

A/N: merry christmas everyone!!! i hope all the joy in this world will be well and sent to you after reading this request and that everyone is warm and bundled up in the coziest blankets, hoodies, socks, etc.

oh and to have the best presents ever!!! or the best hot chocolate, gingerbread houses and people alongside seen the christmas lights!

to those who do not celebrate christmas, happy holidays! stay safe, stay healthy and may 2021 bring you the best wishes and luck.

besides stating the obvious as always, i hope everyone is happy and doing well, this request was a lot of fun to write and my god do i love the holidays because of the 2 week break that i get away from school :D

P.S: i saw this request in my inbox and i just had to save it till christmas! so let this be my christmas gift to you all <3

WARNING: NONE - just fluff and christmas crack lol

WHO: Nishinoya Yu x Reader

FORMAT: short story

Ice skating is a very amazing thing to do during the holiday times. It’s super fun since you get to glide on the ice freely and no one will judge. Ice skating takes patience and skill to just stand up straight without falling.

Today you were testing that patience with your boyfriend Nishinoya on the ice.

You guys had gotten changed into some fairly warm yet moveable clothing for your ice skating date today at the city’s local ice skating rink.

A hat, warm leggings, a baggy sweater with a turtle neck underneath, some warm socks, mittens, scarf and a warm yet light weight jacket was all you needed to be set for ice skating. This was your time skating so it was quite nerve-wracking and sorta scary.

“Hey baby, you ready to go?” Noya had asked grabbing the car keys and placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Yup!” As you stood up from the ground to put on some shoes and picking up the bag with your skates.

“Let’s go!!!” Noya opened the door for you and him as you guys left your house to head to the skate rink.

Originally Noya didn’t plan on telling you about going to skate but he got a little bit excited and spilled it out. As the both of you were heading to the destination in Noya’s car, both of you were jamming to Christmas music that played on the local Christmas radio station.

Noya had this thing where, when he was the driver, he would have one hand on the steering wheel and the other laced with your hand or to have a grasp of your thigh. It’s comfortable for him to have some sort of touch on you.

“Your destination will be found on the left.” as the navigator stated.

“Anddd we are here.” Noya went to turn into the parking lot to find an empty slot for the car. He went through many lanes and finally found a parking space that was near the skating rink but still sorta far from sight.

“Babe, let me show you some mad parking skills.” Noya sent you a wink, and you shook your head in disapproval.

“Just be careful you don’t hit that-” as the car bumped back, “car.”

“Whoops... It’s fine though, we’ll just buy them candy and write them a note.”

“Noya!”

“What? I ain’t got money on me. You know I’m broke.”

“Fine, but at least make sure it’s expensive candy because if we get cheap candy, it’s gonna seem like we don’t care much.”

“Fair enough. Now, let’s get out of this car and go skating!!!” Noya kissed your lips and you kissed back. He went for another one but you pushed back.

“We can go skating after we buy the candy.”

“But babeee,”

“Baby, the nearest store is literally a 5 minute walk. Relax, the ice rink doesn’t close yet.”

“Okay, fine. You win. But once we get back, we are speeding to the rink. Like, speed will be on our side when we come back.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go now.” You finished talking before opening your door carefully to leave the vehicle with Nishinoya shutting his side of the car to meet you at the end of the car with his hand out.

“Make sure to lock the doors.” you informed Noya.

“Already done, now hurry, we got to go buy that candy fast or we won’t skate for long.” Noya dragged your hand with you to go find the nearest store. You guys had decided to leave the skates back in the car as you were going to come back to place the candy by the hit vehicle.

“Awh, babe look! They have these here!” Noya had pointed out to an old childhood snack.

“What? No way! We have to get them for later.”

“Definitely. How many do you think we need?” Nishinoya had asked staring at the box of childhood snacks.

“How about ten? We would both get five each.”

“Smart thinking.” your boyfriend had agreed before dumping in ten of the childhood snacks into the basket that Nishinoya was holding.

“Let’s pick this brand of chocolate. They’re kind of expensive looking and have a decent amount for it’s price.” You picked up a box of chocolates that looked rather expensive looking.

“Eh, whatever works. Now can we pleaseee go back to skate? We’ve literally raided the candy aisle for a solid fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, okay, fine. But we also need to write a small note, so I’ll dash to the school supplies section to buy a small wad of paper and some pens.”

“Make sure to get stickers! They have to be the glittery ones!”

“Yeah! Yeah! I’ll go right now!” waving a hand in the air to signal your leave. You went to aisle nine where they kept the school supplies.

Searching for the paper and pen was easy, you even grabbed some markers to add some colour. Moving onto the stickers, it was hard. It was hard only because there were so many options for stickers. They had so many varieties of stickers. Ranging from flowers, animals, certain characters from different series, puffy stickers, and even simple glitter stickers. Too many stickers, yet so little money.

“Baby, what is taking you so long?” Noya had walked down the aisle as he stared at you in confusion.

“So many stickers, yet so little space and money...” You mumbled staring at the stickers.

“Stickers? What’s with the- oh... Wow... There’s so many.”

“I know... I’ve been staring at them for a solid five minutes admiring them.”

“Yeah, I can see why... But we need to really hurry up. The rink is gonna close soon, Y/N!”

“Okay, okay, okay! Let’s just grab these two.” your hand reached for the glittery stars and glittery minion stickers. Noya let out his hand and you latched on as you guys sped to the cash register to pay for the stuff.

Nearly tripping over your own feet, both of you managed to hurry back to Noya’s car as you quickly scribbled on an apology, randomly placed stickers on the apology note before throwing in the candy in the oversized bag Nishinoya had picked out and sneakily yet hurryingly placed the bag on their hood.

“Let me get the skates, and we are good to go.” your boyfriend smiled before opening his trunk to pull out two pairs of skates. “You ready, Y/N?”

“Not really.”

“Good enough!” Noya had grabbed ahold of your hand before dragging you to the ice rank.

“Wow...” you said in amusement at the many families and couples that came alongside the pretty lights that were set up around the rink.

“Isn’t it so pretty?” your boyfriend asked staring at the lights.

“I could stare at them forever.”

“I know, I know. Now, let’s get on the ice shall we?” Noya pulled you over to a seating bench to put on the skates. “Here babe, slide your foot in.”

You slid your foot into the skate as Noya laced it up for you.

“Now, the other one.” Again you followed suite and he finished it up for you.

“Let me just tie mine up real quick and we can go on the ice together.” Nodding at Noya’s statement as you watched him lace his skates.

“Baby, I’m kind of scared to go on the ice.”

“Relax, you got this. We can take easy small steps. Come on now. Take my hand, princess.” You grasped Noya’s hand tightly as you wobbled your way to the rink side. “I’m going to go on the ice first and guide you through, okay?”

You immediately latched onto the side of the rink as Noya let go of his hand to step onto the ice. He laughed at your reaction and you sent him a glare.

“Babycakes, it’s alright silly. Grab onto my arm.” Your hands latched immediately onto this arms as you tried to balance. “Woah, easy, easy, girl. You’re doing a good job.”

“Am I really, though?”

“Yes. Now slowly take one glide forward.” You followed his orders and slowly did so but wobbled again. You took another glide forward still clutching onto Noya.

“You’re doing amazing, baby! Now the other one.”

“W-Woah, this is so cool.” your eyes sparkled as you glided on the ice with your boyfriend.

“Right! Aren’t you glad I brought you here for a date?”

“I love it!” As you begun to glide forward very slowly and slowly took your arms away from your boyfriend’s arms.

“You’re doing so well!” your boyfriend glided towards you as he reached his arms out to hug your waist and placed a kiss onto your cheek.

“Now that I’ve got the hang of it, let’s glide on the ice together?” you linked your hand with Noya’s warm one and he blushed putting on a big smile.

“Mhm, let’s go!” Both of you glided on the ice holding hands and staying close to each other.

Both of you lovebirds had been on the ice for a bit, laughing and smiling at each other over small trips and loss of balance on the ice. You guys even did some competitions, but quickly stopped seeing the security guard eying you both which made you both shiver in fear.

You and Noya had agreed to take a break and sat by the side.

“This by far is the best date, we’ve been on.” Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much after sitting down to take a breather.

“I agree. Though if it weren’t for me, then we wouldn’t have made this new memory.”

“You’re absolutely right, sir.” as you brought Noya down by the collar to give him a kiss on the lips. “Thank you, baby.”

The lights that glowed off the Christmas tree gave Noya the look of a million stars. He was glowing and quite literally showing off the stars in his eyes from that small kiss.

“Can I kiss you again?” Noya asked as he came closer to your face.

“Of course silly, come here.” You placed your hands on the side of Noya’s face as he as well followed suite to give you another warm yet passionate kiss.

The tree glowed and towered over the people that skated and other people that walked by. The lights shining and being the source of light to create the shadow of two lovers sitting on a bench giving each other warm kisses.

“Merry Christmas, cutie.” Noya smiled brightly at you.

“Merry Christmas, lover boy.” you smiled back before going in for another kiss on the lips.

“Ahem. I need you two to uh leave. You’re making it sorta awkward for people to leave the ice rink.” The security guard from earlier said as the two of you blushed and turned flustered before apologizing profusely.

“W-we’re sorry! We’ll get going, now! Have an amazing holiday, Mr. Security Guard!” As you dragged Noya out of the exit and rushed to take off your skates.

Both of you rushed your way to the parking lot and sat in the car, and turning on the ignition to get the car started up.

“That was insane.” Noya said huffing out air.

“Yeah, it was.” You replied doing the same.

The huffing from both of you slowly went down as you guys calmed down and all that could be heard from the car was the Christmas music that played lightly.

“Another kiss?” he asked.

“You read my mind.” as the both of you quickly brought your lips to connect to one another and shared the warmth that came from the both of you.

57 notes · View notes

sillyrabbit81 · 4 years

Text

Her Heavy Cross

Summary: Three years after tragedy hits, Lana she decides to start dating again. She meets Will through a dating app and they begin an online romance. After months of constant requests, Lana relents and agrees to meet and go on an irl date with Will. But is Will who he says he is? Lana is quickly pulled into an intense relationship forcing her to confront her tragic past. Will Lana face it or will she close her heart forever?

Pairing: OMC x OFC

Word Count: approx 3.8k

Warnings: swearing, smut, masturbation

Authors Note: The story started as a Henry Cavill fanfiction but I changed it to be an original character, but shades of Henry are still there. Hope you enjoy the story and thanks for reading.

Part 16 Part 18

Part 17

We got back to Liam's a couple of hours later. I felt exhausted by the time we got back. Finding the right shoes had been a nightmare. I have wide feet and struggled to find something I didn't feel like I was spilling out of.

In a surreal moment, I had found myself debating on whether I should get the Blahnik's or Louboutin's. The prices were unreal, and considering the most expensive shoes I had before those were my Dr Marten's Made in England 1460s, I was out of my depth.

This shop assistant in the shoe department was amazing. He said to go for the Louboutin's because "every woman should have at least one pair in her collection." He made me laugh and was helpful, so despite my misgivings on spending even more on the shoes than the dress, I got them.

The bag had been an easy purchase after that. I got a silver glitter Jimmie Choo clutch. It was half the shoes' price and felt like a bargain.

I hung my dress up, put my shoes and bag in Liam's dressing room and went downstairs to eat lunch with Liam.

"Thank you so much for today. I feel a bit better about the whole thing now that I know what I'm going to wear. One less thing to worry about," I said after we had eaten and packed up. I put my arms around Liam's neck and kissed him.

"You're welcome, Sweetheart. You looked so beautiful in that dress." He kissed me back. "Do you want me to get Ryan to organise an alteration?"

I scoffed, "No, he's probably got enough to do taking care of your shit." I winked. "I can do that tomorrow. I'll also get Jen to do my hair and makeup."

"Riza's wife?" Liam asked.

"Yeah, she does hair and makeup for weddings and formals, so she knows what she's doing."

"Tell her to bring Riza when she comes here, and I can meet them both."

"I'm getting ready here?"

"Yeah, I thought you would. Otherwise, you'll have to get from your place to here all dressed up. And you'll have Perrin with you."

He had a point. "Ok, so next week I'm staying at your place from Thursday until Sunday? Then going to David's and what? Will you stay at mine on Sunday night? Then you come back here on Monday?" Oh, this was complicated.

"Yeah," Liam said like it was no big deal. When you live half your life out of a suitcase, things like that aren't a big deal. Liam looked at his watch. "When do you have to leave?"

"I've got to be at Dave's in a few hours."

"That's just enough time."

"For what?" I asked.

The only warning I got was Liam's bloody twitchy lip. My eyes went wide, and he hoisted over his shoulder again. "For me to have my way with you."

He ran up the two flights of stairs to his bedroom with me giggling at his feat of strength and fitness. I was let down gently on my feet.

I expected Liam to rush me, but he didn't. He brushed my hair from my face as he looked at me with a gentle smile. He seemed so sweet and open that I couldn't help but smile back. I held his hand to my cheek, relishing its warmth, then kissed his palm.

Liam expelled a breath with a short laugh, and his smile grew larger. "I got you another present," he said. "I was going to give it to you on Thursday, but," he rubbed my earlobe, "I can't wait."

"You're very impatient."

Liam nodded. "Wait here." He went to his dressing room and returned with a small jewellery box. Real small. Ring sized small.

I took a step back. I felt cold, sick and my guts churned. Surely, he wasn't that stupid.

Liam looked at me, confused. "Lana, are you ok? You've gone white." I didn't look at him. All I could look at was that little black box. I shook my head.

Liam followed my gaze and must have finally realised why I was looking so sick because he chuckled and said, "it's not what it looks like, Lana." I looked at him, and his eyes twinkled in amusement.

I felt the colour return to my face and covered my face in my hands. "Thank God." I felt a little sheepish.

Still grinning, Liam pulled his hands away from my face and said, "one day, Sweetheart, I certainly hope it will be. Today, however, it's earrings." He opened the box, and inside were two perfect white pearls below a black onyx and diamond setting. They were beautiful. "I know you were joking when you said you needed matching earrings." He shrugged, "I couldn't help myself."

"You got these today? When?"

"I have a confession." Liam's smile was mischievous. "I didn't have to buy a shirt."

I shook my head at Liam, grinning, "you cheeky bastard." I got on my toes and kissed Liam on the cheek. "Thank-you. They are beautiful."

"Will you wear them now?" I nodded and started to take my earrings out. "Let me," Liam said.

Sweeping my hair away from my ear, Liam took my small gold hoops out and put his gift in my ears. He smiled a brilliant smile, revealing just a hint of his teeth. "Perfect," he said, leaning down to kiss me all too briefly. "Go look in the mirror, tell me what you think."

I looked in the mirror in the dressing room, and they were perfect. I played with the earrings. They had such a beautiful yet simple elegance to the design. I felt silly wearing them in my jeans and Joy Division t-shirt.

Going back to Liam, I hugged him again. "Thank-you." I looked into his eyes, so blue and open, and I felt my own tearing up. "You've made me feel special today."

I don't know why I cried. I just knew I felt a warmth in my body, my stomach quivered, and my heart felt like it was trying to escape my chest. I was confused by my feelings. They made me ache, they made me scared, but I also felt happy and safe.

Liam cupped my face with his hands. "Lana, you make me feel that way every day." Using his thumbs, he wiped my tears away.

My next words took us both by surprise. "Make love to me, please?" I didn't mean to say it. The words just fell out as I was swept up in the moment. But it was what I wanted. I wanted to feel love from him, have him hold me again like he had yesterday morning, have him break through my defences, help me tear them down. But more important than what I wanted was what I wanted to give. I wanted to hold him, kiss and caress him, show him how I felt about him.

Liam's face took on a series of changes, moving rapidly from one to another. First, his eyes widened, then he smiled, then his eyes hooded. Finally, he nodded and licked his lips. He leaned down to kiss me, and I closed my eyes. Tenderly, he kissed me, each kiss feathery and light. The ache between my legs was sudden and intense. I kissed him back, matching his mood.

I held Liams head while I got on my toes and kissed his neck. He let out a short groan as I trailed my kisses to his throat. He threw his head back, exposing his whole neck. His hand went to my head, holding me to him. I kissed under his jaw, and his stubble felt sharp on my lips and tongue. I moved down his throat, over his Adam's apple and into the shallow hollow at the base of his neck. Liam ran his fingers through my hair as I went.

I put my hands under his shirt and lifted it, pulling it off with Liam's help. His bare chest made my breath catch, and I reached out to touch him, pausing just short as I had the first night I met him. I smiled at the memory and looked at Liam as I let my fingers sink into his furry chest, his curly hair enveloping them as they did. For a moment, I just let myself feel his warmth through my fingers.

Sliding my arms around his waist, I kissed Liam's shoulder. I felt Liam's hands on my hips, but he let me kiss at his chest as I liked, not hindering me at all, not hurrying me, letting me take my time, allowing me to take control. I travelled across his chest with my hands, mouth and tongue, heat spreading throughout my body as I went. Liam's breath was shallow and rapid as I kissed him. I savoured his smell, texture and taste, hoping to hold onto this moment until I saw him again.

Wanting to feel Liam's skin against my own, I took my shirt and bra off. I embraced Liam as he slid his arms around me, his hands feeling their way up my back. I put a hand to his head and lead his lips to mine. I kissed him slowly, leisurely, enjoying his soft lips while I licked and sucked.

I brought my hips close to Liam's, and we both gasped as we touched.

"Lana," Liam pleaded, rolling his hips into mine, his movements slow and deliberate. "Please, Lana. I need you."

Kissing Liam again, I reached for his pants, undoing his belt. He grabbed for mine, and we undressed each other. Our kisses continued, neither of us wanting to break away. Liam kicked off his shoes and socks and stepped out of his pants. I tried to take mine off, but bloody skinny jeans and Doc's are not easy to kick off.

Liam chuckled when he saw my difficulties. My face warmed. He kissed me as he put his hands under my bottom and lifted me, carrying me the few steps to his bed and sat me on the edge. He got down on his knees and undid my laces, and took my boots and socks off. He pulled my pants and underwear off. To complete the replay of our first night, he held my ankles in his hands before he ran his fingers up my legs, making my skin break out in gooseflesh and my spine shiver.

Smiling at my response, Liam covered his body with mine, and I wrapped my legs around him. Slipping an arm under my waist, he lifted me off the bed and moved me up until my head lay on the pillows. Liam held his weight above me, his powerful arms out outstretched next to my head. He looked so beautiful above me, muscles taut, skin lightly tanned, his face sincere and genuine.

Liam let his body rest on mine, his arms sliding around my shoulders. He let some of his weight onto me, asking, "I'm not too heavy, am I?" I shook my head and nuzzled into his shoulder, sliding my hands under his arms to pull him closer.

Liam made a slight noise of discomfort and rearranged himself before holding me again. I moved my hips and felt myself effortlessly slide against him. A moan escaped my lips as I felt his sex rub against my folds and my point of pleasure. Flares of heat came with each passing, and my mouth sought him, needing his lips, his tongue like I needed air. He kissed me back, and I felt the same need from him, the same desire, the same hunger.

Moving his hips, Liam positioned himself to enter me. He lifted his head and looked at me, his eyes searching for confirmation. I nodded, and he watched my face as he slowly entered me, stretching me, filling me.

It felt like I was whole for the first time in years.

Holding himself still, Liam asked, "are you ok?". Not trusting my voice, I nodded. It didn't help, and the tears came anyway. Liam went to pull out, but I held him with my legs, locking my ankles together.

"Please, don't." My voice was a whisper. Putting a hand to his cheek, I kissed him, my lips firm and my tongue needy. He kissed me back a moment but then stopped and looked at me again.

"But you're crying." He said.

"I'm happy, you idiot," I said softly, smiling at him through my tears.

Liam let out a short laugh. He kissed me again and said, "me too, Lana." He held me tight against him.

We moved with each other, our bodies rocking slowly together. We sometimes kissed, we sometimes just closed our eyes and enjoyed the sensations. Mostly we looked at each other, small smiles on our lips.

"I'm close, Lana," Liam whispered to me.

I smiled at him and nodded. His gentle thrusts became harder now, and I looked into his eyes, watching his expressions change until he called my name, and I felt him release into me.

He let his head fall into the crook of my neck, his deep breaths tickling me. I stroked his hair and caressed his back. We stayed like that, holding each other. It seemed neither of us wanted this moment to end.

I felt Liam's whole weight fall on me as I heard soft snores start in my ear. I chuckled to myself, the poor guy was all tuckered out. I looked over at the bedside clock. I had a bit more time before having to leave, so I stayed holding him until his breaths where long and he had fallen deep into sleep.

I waited until the last possible second before I wriggled out from under Liam and went to have a quick shower. Liam had let me out from under him in his sleep and rolled over. I didn't want to wake him, so I showered upstairs instead of in his ensuite.

I dressed quietly, got my stuff together, went over to Liam, and kissed him on his forehead. He had hummed and tried to grab hold of me in his sleep, but I stepped away, and he relaxed back into sleep.

On the way out, I patted Cole and said goodbye. Cole, being a gentleman, walked me to the garage.

Perrin was happy to see me when I got to Dave's. He dawdled over to me and gave me some licks. It seemed like the kids had worn him out.

The kids weren't tired, though, and begged me to play on the trampoline with them. I rolled my eyes and said to Perrin, "I feel your pain."

Dave, the smart-arse, said to the kids, "I think your Aunty Lana had a big weekend, guys." Smirking, he continued, "she's probably had a lot of exercise."

"You're a dickhead." I said back to him.

The kids giggled their heads off, laughing that "Aunty Lany said a bad word!" I made my eyes go wide and smacked myself on the hand. They laughed and went to play, pulling Perrin along with him.

I said hi to Lucy, who was grinning like a crazy woman but trying hard not to. I laughed at her, blushing furiously. "Stop it," I told her. She just shook her head.

"Come on! Why didn't you tell us? Is he as nice in real life as he seems? Oh God, is he as hot? What's he like?" Lucy gushed.

"Oi," Dave said to her. "Ease up." Lucy just laughed and brushed him off.

"Yeah, he is as nice, really sweet. Funny, exciting and yes, very hot." We giggled.

"Awww," Lucy sighed. "Lana, I'm happy for you. I didn't even know you were dating again."

"Well, yeah, I only started a few months ago. Liam's the only one I had any real interest in."

"How'd you meet him?" Lucy asked. Dave nodded, also wanting to know.

I told them about the Will/Liam thing. They didn't seem to think it was as big a deal as I had thought, but I guess they weren't the ones who went through it. I told them a bit about what happened when we meet, how we had spent the last two weekends together. I left out all the gory details. I also told them about the plan for this week, the premiere, and asking Liam if he wanted to spend Easter Sunday with us.

Lucy squealed and jumped up and down. Dave rolled his eyes at her and agreed it would be good to meet him.

"You know Mum will be there, right?" Dave said.

"Yeah, I know." I scoffed. "Maybe Liam will be the guy to meet her expectations finally."

Dave laughed at that, "Yeah, well, he's got money, so she should be happy about that. He's not a CEO, though, so you still might be in trouble." He was probably right.

My phone rang then, and it was Liam. I must have had a massive smile on my face because Lucy made an "ooooh" noise at me. I hushed her and went outside.

"Hey," I said, my voice was already breathy.

"Hi, Sweetheart," Liam sounded a bit groggy.

"Did you just wake up?"

"Hmm, yes. Sorry. You should have woken me up. I didn't get to say goodbye." He sounded like he was pouting.

"Yeah, I know. But you just looked so sweet laying there, snoring like a chainsaw."

"I do not snore like a chainsaw." He paused, "do I?"

I laughed, "No. You do snore, but it's pretty soft."

He laughed. Then he asked, "are you at your brother's house?"

"Yeah."

"I will let you get back to it then. Call me later tonight?"

"Yeah, I will." I paused, building up the courage to say what I wanted to say, but Liam beat me to it.

"Thank you, Lana."

"For what?"

"For forgiving my bullshit and for pushing you. For letting me get close to you. For letting me be with you. For trying to fit into my world when I know it scares you. For being you. For everything."

For once, I didn't feel like I had to make a joke or change the subject. But I also didn't know what to say. "Thank-you." It was all I had.

"Call me tonight, Sweetheart?" Liam asked again.

I agreed, then hung up.

After dinner, Perrin and I went home. I didn't feel like staying later. The kids were disappointed, but I was tired. I knew it would be a big week, and I wanted to try to get a good night's sleep.

I called Riza on the way home, and we talked a bit about the weekend. She told me a bit about her work and her arsehole boss. I asked her if I could speak to Jen for a minute.

"Sure, but why?"

"Well," I said dramatically. "I'm going to a premiere on Thursday evening, and I need someone to do my hair and make-up."

"Jen, get over here!" Riza yelled, and her voice was so loud through my car speakers that Perrin barked.

"Christ, Riz."

She laughed and said, sorry. Before she handed me to Jen, she said, "Thanks Lana, she will be so happy."

"Why will I be happy?" Jen asked. I told her, and she was quiet a minute. "Really, Lana?"

"Yeah, who else would I get to do it?"

"Can I put it on Instagram? Like a picture of you two all ready?"

I knew she would ask that. She did it for most of her clients. "Yeah, but don't mention anything about it before then. Just after I'm ready, you can put a picture up. I don't know if Liam will want to be mentioned or have a picture, but I'm happy for you to ask him."

"Oh, Lana, thank you! This could boost my business."

"I know, that's why I'm ok with it. I mean, there's going to be photos out there of me anyway, so I hope it will help you get some more work."

Jen and I talked about what I was wearing and how I wanted my hair. I told her I had no idea, so she got all excited and said she knew exactly what to do. Before I hung up, I gave Jen the address and time and told her Liam asked if Riza could come because he wanted to meet her.

"Wow, Lana. You guys are serious, huh?"

"Yeah, Jen, I think we are." We hung up not long after that.

Later that night, I called Liam, and I told him I'd sorted Jen to come over and told Dave he would come for Easter.

He seemed pleased, and we talked a bit about Riza and Jen before I told Liam I was tired and wanted to go to sleep.

I was tired, but I couldn't sleep. My brain wouldn't shut off. I kept thinking about being at school tomorrow and seeing the parents. Then I started thinking about Thursday and what Myra and the others would think of me. What it would be like to do that walk down the red carpet. I know a lot of the press will just want photos of Liam, so I'll have to stand there looking like an idiot while he poses. But worse will be when I have to stand with him. I could just imagine pictures of us, Liam looking dashing and me looking like a deer in headlights.

I started Googling how to pose on the red carpeting even got out of bed and tried a few before feeling like a total dag and getting back into bed. I wanted to back out. I didn't want to do it. I couldn't believe I had said yes to it. But I remembered Liam's face when I said I would go, and I knew that's why I had said yes.

I thought about how sweet Liam had been to me all day, how beautiful he had made me feel, how he had tried to make the whole thing easier, how he had kissed me and held me. How he had whispered my name as we made love.

I felt the heat between my legs grow. I tossed and turned a bit, trying to make it go away. I felt hot, so I took my pyjamas off. I tossed and turned some more. I tried to ignore it but I couldn't.

I went to my draw and got out my rabbit-style vibrator. I touched myself, and I was ready for it. I closed my eyes as I slipped it inside. I thought about Liam as I did. He was thicker than my slim vibrator but just as long. I positioned its ear against my clit and put it to the setting and speed I liked.

I held it there. I thought of Liam's gravelly voice in my ear and could almost feel his breath on my neck. I let my free hand wander over my body, remembering watching as Liam touched me. I thought of how he looked at me sometimes with a small smile, his eyes dancing with amusement as his lip twitched.

As I got closer to the edge, I thought about earlier that day, the way he held me, how gentle and tender he was. I remembered how it felt as I kissed his chest and his hairs tickled my nose. I remembered his smell, earthy and masculine, like the bush after it rained. I fell over the edge when I remembered how he had called my name as he orgasmed, my own rippling through me in waves as his voice rang in my ears.

Not long after that, I finally fell asleep.

Part 18

#original character #original fiction #romantic story #happy ever after

17 notes · View notes

writemoment · 4 years

Text

A Pick Me Up

Writer: Ellie-Mae (Pen Name)

Parts: 1/3

Summary: {Request @incorrect-artist} “I was wondering if you could do (maybe a series) about the reader moving to a new town and almost getting mugged but newt saves her and becomes her bodyguard but falls for her or something like that.”

Pairing: TMR Newt x Reader

Warnings/Rated: Brief violence (mentioned during a mugging scene), lightly feeling insecure and minor fluff.

Word Count: 2,726

( Reader ) P.O.V.

This was finally my chance to take control of my life.

I had lived in the same house, the same place with the same people, for all of my life. There was never a great unknown that I hadn’t already known. Now that I’ve managed to take charge and decided to move to Glade, I’m so stoked to embrace this change.

My flat was already filled with my boxed up belongings, waiting to be unleashed. The apartment walls were blank and white, a perfect canvas to color with my own individuality. It felt like a metaphor for this new chapter of my life; blank and awaiting new memories.

Everything around me was filled with new and drenched with the unknown. It was both exhilarating and terrifying. Before this change, I fell into a cycle of doing the familiar and tempting the edge of getting too close to something different. However, it was always just testing the limits before shying away.

Now I’m diving headfirst into something I am not completely comfortable with. Because there’s something out there in the world that’s calling me to explore further past that line. Something that I feel in my core-being that’s telling me to push forward and make my own way.

The only familiar sight in this area was my friend, Brenda. We had met each other in middle school and had become quite close before her family moved away. Despite this, we kept in touch through all these years. I hadn’t seen her in person for some time but when she told me that she, too, lived in Glade, it made me take that final leap into this brand new world.

Now she’s working beside me, helping me to bring in what’s left of my stuff from my car. She looks exactly how I remembered her. Though it’s been many years, she didn’t grow much taller and continues to have a kind smile on her face. Even with her small stature, she tosses boxes onto her hip with surprising strength.

Once everything is brought in, I begin unloading my things; pulling, pushing and tugging boxes to their designated areas. Opening each flap of cardboard at a time, the flat begins to look more like a home. That very thought tugs wildly at my lips and I give into a broad smile. This is my home.

Brenda and I catch up as we file through the cardboard cubes. Laughter and miscellaneous chatter fills the air. I believe that having a friend here makes the unfamiliar appear less bizarre. It takes away some of the anxiety that comes with the irrational fear of new.

Hours go by and we’re finally dwindling down on what’s left to do. Brenda’s phone buzz’s and she snickers at her illuminated screen. I question her with a raised brow, curiosity peaked. “It’s just Thomas and Newt. They’re friends that I want you to meet sometime.”

My mind swirls around the idea of settling into this town and getting to know new and interesting people. I nod at Brenda with a smile playing at my mouth. My hands resume whatever I had previously been doing but my thoughts get lost with prospects of learning what Glade has to offer.

Truth be told, I was very inexperienced when it came to being a quote-on-quote “adult”. Though I tried very hard to exude a confident persona, I often felt small, unskilled and clumsy on the inside. It’s something I have become accustomed to hiding, covering it up with sarcasm and jokes mixed with laughter. I never wanted to feel like a failure at what I was doing but, at times, it seemed as if those feelings were inevitable.

As evening set into night, I thanked Brenda profusely and bid her a goodnight as she left my place. Being alone brought a wave of nerves as I wondered what my next step was to be. The apartment was still scarce of furniture and lacked a lived-in comfort. I made a mental note to go into the city to shop for items to reverse this feeling.

My hands fumble over light switches, switching them off as I slug my way up the stairs to my room. Once inside with the door closed behind me, I sag into the naked mattress and drag a comforter over my exhausted body. Sighing deeply, I let the night pull me from my restless thoughts.

****

By the third day of living in Glade, I’m so beyond thankful to have Brenda living in the same complex. Brenda has always had a sure kind of personality that I’ve envied since we were younger. She was a leader, she was supportive. When I’m unsure of what I am doing with myself, she’s there with just the right words and suggestions. It’s never in a derogatory way.

That’s why I deflate a little when she says she can’t join me in the city to shop. I quickly brush it off with a smile but going into an unknown city by myself has my nerves jumping. Still, I mentally encourage myself, hyping myself up before I make the thirty minute drive in. I chuckle lightly at my behavior.

Look at me, being all adult-like and stuff.

The ride felt longer than thirty minutes and I felt silly at the pounding of my heart. “Get a grip on yourself...” I scold underneath my breath. There was a few things I wanted to do in the city and I wasn’t going to let my anxiety ruin those plans.

I take a deep breath and try to calm down as I pull into the parking lot of my first destination. I am in control of my own life now. This is what I want and no one but myself can stop me now.

****

My laughter fills the vehicle and I smile excitedly. Brenda called me just as I was pulling into the lot of the home store, the last stop I had planned before calling it a successful day. She had a way of instantly bringing joy bubbling inside of me. I told her about my day, mentioning all the things I had done and found.

“Well, I just wanted to check up on you! Hopefully I’ll be able to join you on your adventure next time.” We exchange our final words before I close my phone, slipping it into my back pocket before clambering out of the car.

This home store was sure to have the type of furniture I was seeking. It was getting dark and I had already spent many of my hours exploring the city. There was so much to look at inside since it catered to my exact needs but I knew I needed to focus.

When I had entered, I asked the worker at the front how late they stayed open. He told me that I had an hour before closing, which gave me enough time to browse the aisles.

Making haste, I cart around and pick out what I want. By the time I’m checking out, I have fifteen minutes to spare. This gives me enough time to wheel my purchases out to my trunk and jog the cart back inside the building. They lock the doors behind me and I internally fist-bump myself for managing my time well.

Now the night has set and the adrenaline of the day starts to wear off. I’m so looking forward to going home. Just as I plop into the seat and go to turn the key, my car refuses to start. Try and try again, it wheezes angrily at me.

Trying to not let panic set in, I whip my phone out and dial Brenda for help. Only- she doesn’t answer. By the third time I dial her and after the dozen of texts I spam, it’s become nearly impossible to not freak out.

I’m sitting in an almost empty parking lot, in the dark of a unfamiliar city with no contact to help me out. My mind races as I attempt to think rationally of how to go about this situation. I try to search for someone to come tow me but none of them are loading. Groaning, I lay my head against the steering wheel.

That’s when I recall a deli around the corner, just a few minutes walk from here. It’s not the ideal solution but my phone is already running low on life and I decide to risk it. Still, I linger a few more moment in the comfort of my car, hoping and praying that Brenda will call me back.

She doesn’t. So, I walk.

Focus. Just focus and you’ll make it there in no time. Stick to yourself and everything will be fine. That’s what I keep telling myself. And it works, mostly. My feet step steadily, one foot following the other in a rhythmic pattern. I focus on the thumping of my soles contrasting between the beats of my erratic heart.

The bouts of darkness pockets in the corner of my vision and down ominous alley’s. Still, I am determined to prevail. Well, until I hear footsteps slapping the pavement behind me. It’s quiet but prominent in my ears.

Clutching the strap of my bag closer against me, I try to increase my pace subtly. My mind is heeding me: don’t run, don’t run, don’t run. I try to remain confident and unperturbed. The neon lights of the deli are within my sights and I can feel the tension in me unwind a bit only to build back up.

There’s a pinch twisting around my shoulder as something yanks on my bag. This can’t seriously be happening to me right now. A part of me is in denial that this is reality. It seems like something straight out of a nightmarish movie. I fight back against the rough tugging, crying out to alert anyone nearby of my struggle. The figure is hooded and hidden in the shadows of the night.

I kick my legs out and punch wildly, not giving in without a fight. I would honestly just let them have my bag if it weren’t hooked across my body. Pain radiates up my arm, spreading from where my knuckles had connected to flesh. I feel my skin tear as it swipes harshly against my target. There’s another set of running footsteps approaching. A scream rips through my throat and my attacker lets go.

So much happens at once and adrenaline still courses through my veins. The next hand that lands on me, I wind my arm back and punch blindly in that direction. I can feel it sting, the raw of my skin exposed from the impact. There’s a muffled grunt before I hear a voice.

“Hey, hey, hey- I’m not going to hurt you!”

My eyes frantically search the darkness for the face I hit. It lands on a guy, lit up by the glow of the neon; a tall, lanky man with a cut on his cheek. A welt decorated his face from me punching the wrong guy.... His eyes leave me to search the shadows for my attacker. He must not see anyone because he ushers me forward and into the deli. He calls loudly for someone to get a hold of the police, his voice leaving no room for questions.

“Are you okay?” His voice is soft, though thick with an accent. Finally seeing him properly in the light, I spot where I had hit him. He doesn’t seem overly concerned but I feel a pang of guilt as I stare at the drying blood.

“I’m alright, I think. Are you? I didn’t mean to hit you- I’m really sorry. I was just so caught up in what was happening...” My explanation is awkward as I stumble over it with a lousy apology.

The corner of his mouth tilts up in a ghost of a smile, though he flinches a bit at how it pulls at his injury. “No worries. I was quite impressed with how much power was behind your punch. I’m sure you left the other guy with a good shiner. Well deserved.”

His words are light-hearted but I’m still shaken from the encounter. There’s a tremor in my hands and a dull throb spreading through my bloodied fist. A worker from behind the counter says the police are on their way and I feel myself ease a bit.

He thanks them before turning his attention back to me. “My name’s Newt, by the way. Is there anyone I can call for you?”

The name is unique and it rings a familiar bell in my head. Surely my phone is dead by this point, so I’m quite grateful for his offer. “I’m Y/n. I’d like to get a hold of a friend, if I can.”

****

Brenda didn’t call back until after the police left. She spoke to Newt in hurried, frantic words through the phone. Turns out my suspicion was right; this is the Newt she wanted me to meet sometime. Knowing that Brenda trusted him automatically calmed me down. I wasn’t with a complete stranger.

Newt offered to drive me home since it’d be more convenient than making Brenda come get me. “What about my car?” If I were being honest, the thought of sticking around any longer made me sick to my stomach but I still didn’t want to leave my things in the lot.

“We can come get it tomorrow. If you’re not comfortable with me driving you, we can make other arrangements. You’ve been through a lot tonight.” The thoughtfulness strikes me with shock. I mean, I did punch him in the face... He has every right to be irritated at this whole scenario. Yet, he’s showing me nothing but kindness.

“Thank you, Newt. Can we grab my stuff from my car before heading to my place?” He nods in agreement, his eyes softening.

So after getting my purchases from my trunk and loading them into Newt’s vehicle, we start the thirty minute drive back to the apartment. If I thought the drive in to the city felt long, it was nothing compared to how it feels on the way back.

Thankfully, Newt helped pass the time with small talk. He asked about my feelings on Glade and my decision to move there. We conversed about Brenda and how we’ve both come to know her. It was light and felt comfortable. The complete opposite of how I felt previously.

There’s an unfamiliar scratch in the back of my throat aching to ask him questions, to learn more about him. Yet, I don’t voice any of them due to an overwhelming shyness.

When we arrive back in Glade, he parks in front of my flat. Brenda is awaiting us and comes bustling over to make sure we are alright. I try to reassure her but she’s apologizing profusely at not being available when I needed her.

Newt helps load my things into the threshold of my apartment. Brenda disappears inside while I linger at the front door with Newt. “Thank you for tonight. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you running over to help. Or how sorry I am about that.” My digit points at his swollen, bruising skin.

He waves me off and looks into my eyes. “I’m just glad you’re alright. Though, from the looks of it, you put up a decent fight.” His lips spread into a playful grin and it warms my cheeks. “Here, let me give you my number- in case you need someone in the area to call again.”

We exchange information and he tells me he’ll swing by tomorrow so we can retrieve my car. Once we’re in agreement, I bid him a goodnight with another ‘thank you’ tacked onto the end.

Newt doesn’t start up his car until he’s seen that I’m inside my place with the door closed. Brenda is in the kitchen fixing a warm drink, “I’m so glad Newt could help you. It’s actually pretty lucky that he was there. Amazing, really.”

I watch his vehicle disappear around the corner. There was still particles of fear lingering inside me but something else floated in the pit of my stomach as I watched the night stand still. “Yes. Amazing.”

****

Part Two Here

Masterlist Here

A/N: I’m so sorry this has taken so long! I’m still working on the rest of the story but wanted to post this anyway. Hope you enjoyed it! Stay safe out there, everyone. - Ellie-Mae xx

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roger1na · 5 years

Text

careful ch5 - john deacon x reader

summary: you are a ballet student at the royal ballet academy. To pay for your tuition, you work part-time at the celebrity gossip magazine, Seven. One fateful day you’re sent to interview a band on the rise, Queen, post-concert and befriend the sweetest man on the planet.

word count: 2.3k+

warnings: swearing

author's note: i'm so happy w all the positive comments i get you guys have all my uwus <3. i've realised FAR too late that brian's supposed to have hepatitis right now so ig in this universe it didn't happen, let's save our boy from some sickness. i think if i can keep to plan, careful should be twelve whole chapters! i don't want to start any new series before it's complete, i'm prone to abandoning projects if i don't really stick with them.

[ch1] [ch2] [ch3] [ch4] [ch5] [ch6] [ch7] [ch8]

chapter five

There was a certain routine to being in love. The butterflies you got every time you wrote about him in your diary. The softness of your heart when you heard Queen play on the radio and perked up your ears to hear the often forgotten bassline.

You soon learned that ‘till next time was code for next week, when John brought you lunch again, letting you hold his hand and tease him about his thick curls and shy smile. The late July sunlight played with the shadows on his face beautifully. Sometimes you felt as if you could just stare at his face forever, get lost in his features. Rose comforted you, saying it was part of falling in love. It terrified you, as a thought. But you hadn’t even properly kissed yet. The thought was ridiculous.

“What’re you thinking about, love?” You let the term of endearment roll of your tongue nervously, relying on British culture to keep your true meaning hidden. You had been walking for quite some time in silence after enjoying lunch in Kensington.

He hesitated slightly before replying. “The new album is so Freddie, Brian and Roger. I feel like the bass is lost.”

“You wish there’d be more bass?”

“Well, I don’t mind not being in the spotlight all the time…” he trailed off.

“But?” You encouraged him.

“I miss songs like Liar. Where I had a solo and all that.”

“You should write your own song, then.”

He looked at you, eyebrows raised, incredulous expression plastered across his face. You laughed and shrugged. “I know none of the songs on Queen and Queen II are yours. Why don’t you give this one a little Deaky twist?”

“Yeah but I can’t sing.”

“Bullshit, you have a great voice.” You stopped walking and turned to him. “I at least like it.”

A small redness spread across his cheeks and he avoided your gaze. “Well, uh,” he stumbled over his words.

“And also, if you want something a little less serious, why not play a bit of a practical joke on them? Something silly and stupid, Freddie would go bonkers for that.” You trailed off before smiling softly. “And, uh, Liar is my favourite song. Especially the bass.”

“You flatter me.”

“I’m serious.”

“I am too! They’re going to have a laugh.”

“Well then, make it into a funny song. Then they’ll laugh for the humour and you won’t feel bad if they insult your poetry or whatever.”

“You really think I should do this?”

“Absolutely.” You took hold of both of his hands and grinned.

You were caught in the moment just staring into his eyes. They were a wonderful shade of grey, occasionally looking dark and black in the shadows and sometimes twinkling like diamonds. You kept going back to the concert where you’d met him. The mischievous glint in his eye kept bringing you back to the silver glint of his bass strings.

A camera shutter snapped behind you, startling you. John’s expression changed from happy to apprehensive and his stance became wary.

“Was that a paparazzi?” The word sounded so silly. So fictional. He grimaced and nodded as some college student with a pimply face and shaky legs ran off with expensive equipment, and probably a picture of you and John where you looked madly in love. Or completely ridiculous. Your skirt suddenly felt too short, your shirt cropped too low and your hair messy.

John’s grip on your hand tightened. “Can we just go back?” You mumbled, embarrassment creeping in your voice.

John looked at you, worried. “Yeah, of course. You alright?”

You nodded, but you didn’t even convince yourself. He lead you back to the office through various shortcuts and darkened alleyways, hurriedly making sure nobody followed you. Once you arrived at the big glass doors to your office he apologised profusely.

“I’m so sorry, I should’ve been more careful.” His eyes were sad.

“Hey,” you grabbed his cheeks and squeezed them together slightly to make him form a smile. “Don’t worry about it,” you assured him, although your knees were shaking slightly.

“That’s not normal, I promise.”

“I believe you.” And you wanted to. But fear was creeping in your heart.

“‘Till next time?” He asked nervously.

“‘Till next time,” you promised him, squeezing his cheeks one more time before turning and rushing to the office.

A cloud hung over you as you walked over to your desk, heart beating rapidly, blood rushing in your ears. Williams was whispering something to an intern who looked like he was about to pee his pants at the sight of her, knees clicking together in fear.

You didn’t feel like challenging her anymore. She had a superiority complex. And she definitely hated competition in the workplace, although your intention was not to rise through the ranks. She saw women as something to weed out. You never understood what made her put herself against you, until you were warming up for an audition, and you realised that all the other dancers were looking for the same prize you were. But today, you gave it no thought.

For the first time ever, it properly hit you. John Deacon was famous. He went on tours and played for lovesick fans and probably had an army of teenage girls ready to tear him to shreds if the opportunity presented itself. Or maybe you were being delusional and he was just slightly more known than usual. He was a niche, he was a bass player. He wasn’t in the spotlight that often. Maybe.

You boiled coffee for yourself in thought, stirring in cream and sugar and taking a thoughtful sip. Would your mark on the world be a paparazzi photo with a guy you maybe-dated? While he had an incredible legacy? You’d be like one of those girls in a fan photoshoot which got terribly famous - only to remain anonymous. It was all so complicated.

The office had grown quiet when you returned from the canteen. Several people shot you pitying looks and Williams didn’t look so confident anymore.

“What’s going on?” You whispered to her, suddenly uncomfortably aware of yourself.

Nat left her front desk quickly, hiding something behind her back. “Y/N, sweetheart, don’t be mad…” she trailed off before handing you a copy of the Sun’s evening paper. “It just came in print.”

On the front page there were tons of different news. About celebrity scandals and weird locals. And then a small square image on the right corner of the page. John, with a dopey smile on his face, holding hands with a girl. It was you. Stupid grin and eyes for only John. And the title of the article made you sick.

Queen’s mr. Deacon hanging with the wrong crowd? Somebody should warn you…

Earlier today Queen’s John Deacon was spotted with a girl who works for the infamous gossip magazine Seven. What’s the girl fishing out of him? More on p.13

The article itself was maybe an eighth of a page, accompanied with two pictures. The one on the cover and one where you were entering the office building. But it was pictures of you. It was tarnishing you. You were going to be sick. What would he think if he saw this? You set down the paper and stormed to the bathroom before anybody saw your tears spill over your cheeks.

You stayed like that for a while, occasionally thinking you were brave enough to face people again. Then you caught sight of your red, swollen face and bleary eyes and retreated back into your stall. You mulled things over and over again. Was it always going to be like this?

You were at the office long after hours. Eyes stinging from crying and wiping them with sandpaper-like toilet paper.

Nobody tells you this, but crying from embarrassment and humiliation is the worst type of crying. With every tear that falls, you are reminded of how you messed up or how somebody decided that your actions were something to laugh at. With every sniffle you remembered that you had to go back and face the world, even though your knees were weak and your moral low.

While you were busy letting yourself get run down, the office had emptied. The lights were off and you could hear a lone janitor whistling as he cleaned. You sat down at your desk, pulling your knees to your chest, the chair creaking under your weight. Your sniffle echoed too loud.

You sat there for a while, feeling abandoned by the world. You let yourself be vulnerable and the press snagged onto it. You let yourself fall in love and now half of England thought you were scheming slag.

Your eyes drifted around your desk and landed on the locked drawer where you kept your diary. You fiddled with the lock a bit before it clicked open.

It was filled with memories from the wonder of late july. John this, John that. Ballet had trailed off the pages. You still danced. Every day but saturdays and sometimes even then. Your toes were bleeding often and your ankles hurt and you barely slept because your job started early and ballet ended late. But you had forgotten how much it used to eat up your happiness. It was the only thing that brought you joy. Now that John was part of the scene, you had a break every day. Like an entry to a whole nother universe for half an hour. Where he told you about photography and birds and basslines and you explained how all ballet dancers were evil because every understudy hoped for the failure of the prima ballerina. It was change and it was great. The fear in your heart was losing the fight.

If Rose could astral project, she would’ve appeared to you right then and there, screaming at you to call him.

You dialed his number and picked up the phone. It rang a few times before he answered, nervous on the other line.

“Hello this is John Deacon here,” he announced and then made a small tsk noise with his mouth.

You were so overcome with the relief of hearing his voice that you only managed a small sniffle.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah.”

“You sound like you’re in tears.”

You laughed blearily. “Yes well, a bit. Don’t pick up the Sun today.”

“Ah, I see.”

“You read it?”

“Well, I know where you work. I’m still fine.”

You pressed your face into your hand. “God I feel like such an idiot.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s not your fault, y’know? I should’ve realised. You’re John Deacon of Queen.”

John’s heart stilled. You didn’t sound bitter, just sad. Like you were done with everything. The lunch dates were a bad idea. The ballet lessons and the phone calls and the pampering. Bad ideas. He was about to open his mouth but you stopped him.

“I’m all in.”

“What?”

“Paparazzi and bad reputation and all stupid things included. All in.”

“What?” He was struggling to grasp what you were trying to get across to him.

“I feel like… I was one foot out of the door? I was nervous and hesitant to fall for somebody. And when I saw that article, it was maybe the worst moment of my life so far.”

“This isn’t very convincing.”

You started laughing on the other end. “Oh, you’re right, I need to clarify. I looked through my diary and so much has happened since I fainted at that concert. I’m all in. No hesitation anymore.”

“You keep a diary?” You could hear his teasing smirk through the phone.

“That’s what you got from me pouring my soul out to you?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t pick up on the subtext that I’m definitely kissing you the next time we see?”

“Oh?”

“I’m going to hang up now-”

“No wait! Tell me more.” He urged you, laughing on the other end.

“You sure? You don’t want to tease me anymore?”

“I’ll stop, I promise.”

“Okay,” you giggled. “So, Swan Lake by my class group has its opening night next week, Friday at 8pm. And I was hoping you’d join me. Or join the audience, I suppose.”

“I get to see you dance?” His voice was alive with joy and wonder, in an almost childlike way.

“Yes, yes! That’s what I mean. That’s part of all in. You get to see me dance.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Yes I agree, I am wonderful.” You laughed.

He scoffed on the other end. But his heart was palpitating. He was overcome with happiness. It’d been strange, courting a girl who was so carried by art, so immersed in dance that she could let herself go for weeks on end just to keep up with it. Seeing her work come to life was the biggest prize he could’ve gotten from making time for you, bringing you lunch, making sure you didn’t starve yourself for the work.

“What made you decide you’d want to kiss me?”

“It’s been too long, hasn’t it? There’s been too many almosts. To hell with almosts.”

“Have you drank something?”

“No!”

“You promise? I won’t wake up tomorrow and you’ll have forgotten all of this?”

“Of course not, I’m responsible.”

“Sure.”

You chatted for a while. He was such lovely company. So full of adoration and respect and wit. He had such a way with words. You felt deep longing in your heart. You also felt relieved, like five years worth of missing love was finally replaced with the warmth of another person.

“I think I’ve got to go now,” you whispered when the janitor entered your section of the office. “I’ll see you friday.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Bye, John.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

You set down the phone, adrenaline making your hands tremble ever so slightly. You wiped your face one last time before taking your things and leaving the office. There was a spring to your step which echoed in the empty evening London streets. You could hear the bellowing of drunks from the pubs and the crying of a baby from a nearby apartment. But it didn’t really mean anything to you anymore. You were flying on the wings of love.

God you felt ridiculous.

***

taglist: @fourmisfits @deakysgirl @im-happy-at-home @obsessedwithrogertaylor @itsametaphorbriansblog @rhapso-kei

#john deacon x reader #deacy x reader #deaky x reader #joe!john deacon x reader #joe!john x reader #john deacon #queen imagine #careful - jd #aa u guys im so excited for the following chapters #trust me it gets fantastico #youre going to love it bc it's going to be /hella/ overdramatic #and trope-y #so trope-y

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aliceslantern · 5 years

Text

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 2--Date

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: Now that things have settled down, Demyx asks Ienzo on their first date. However, the past crops up unbidden.

Read it on FF.net/on Ao3

----

The iron was not electric; when Demyx took it off of the stove, it was red-hot, and the handle bit his fingers. He shook out the pain, and let it cool. He hadn’t ever had anything that was nice enough to warrant ironing. He laid the linen onto the ironing board and did his best to get rid of the stubborn wrinkles. Despite himself, and the time that had passed since then, he thought of the days and years of black coats. He shivered a little.

He pulled on the ironed shirt and did up the buttons. Nervousness fizzed in his stomach. This shouldn’t be stressful, and yet it was. Demyx knew he was being silly and probably psyching himself out. In front of the slightly warped mirror in his bedroom, he fussed with his hair. Without the gel, it didn’t quite lay right, even as it got longer. The brown strands still looked odd to him. Like he was slightly someone else. And for the most part, he was.

Don’t think about that too hard.

Demyx bit his lip. He looked about as good as he possibly could, all things considering. He knew from their texts that morning where Ienzo was; as always, in the library. Ienzo lived his life in such a regimented way; if the routine was not shaken, he would do the same thing each day tirelessly. He was working hard, and the memorial project meant so much to him.

Still. He needed a break sometimes.

Demyx had walked these hallways dozens, if not hundreds, of times. Aeleus had started to paint, and the blueness was piercing after the green. It was sign of change, if anything. Change was necessary. Change was unsettling.

Ienzo was sitting in a patch of sunlight, curled slightly like a cat on his chair, taking rapid-fire notes.

“Hey,” Demyx said softly.

He glanced up slowly. The light made his hair glow. Demyx wasn’t quite used to the new reading glasses, but he did think they were very attractive. “Don’t you look nice,” Ienzo said. He gave him a sly once-over. “Have you had that shirt long?”

The compliment threw him. “It’s new,” he said lamely.

Ienzo got up and approached him. He straightened the collar a little. “What’s the occasion?”

“Well I was hoping…” He bit his lip. Nerves made him blush. “I was wondering if you might like do go on a date with me.”

Ienzo’s hands dropped down to his waist. He didn’t seem to know how to respond.

“I mean, we’ve already been together a few months. I figure it’s about time, you know? Isn’t this what people normally do?”

He paused. After a moment, he smiled. “I would love that,” Ienzo said finally. “Though admittedly--I don’t know what that means.”

“I was thinking… that we could get some dinner out. Maybe go for a walk. Spend some time together, outside of here.” He touched his face. “Simple. Right?”

He nodded. “Simple,” he mouthed.

“So what do you say? Are you feeling hungry?”

He chuckled. “I could eat. Though I wonder… if perhaps my outfit is not up to snuff.”

Demyx stroked the soft material of his black turtleneck. “You always look good.”

“You might be a touch biased. I need to at least take care of this mess.” He tugged at his bangs.

He smiled. “Then I’ll meet you downstairs in like twenty minutes?”

“I’ll see you then.”

“Don’t like anybody pull you away.”

He kissed him. “I’ll try my best.”

Demyx waited down by the service entrance, drumming his fingers idly on the rusty metal sheeting. It was a lovely early summer day, neither too warm nor too cool. After the long winter the world was finally feeling alive again.

“Getting some fresh air?” Ansem’s voice startled him. Demyx didn’t think he could ever recall seeing Ansem actually outside the castle. He was carrying a couple of bundles, his red stole slightly askew.

“Sort of,” Demyx said. “I’m waiting for Ienzo. We’re going out.”

Ansem appraised him a little. “That should be enjoyable,” he said at last, a touch awkwardly.

“I hope so.”

Ansem hesitated, shifting the bag at his shoulder a little. “Well, I won’t hold you,” he said. “Enjoy your time together.”

Demyx watched him walk away. Clearly Ansem had more to say, though what, and why, he wasn’t sure. Anyway, this really was none of his business.

Ienzo caught up to him and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Everything alright? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah.” He smiled quickly. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The whole long walk into town, Ienzo chatted happily about the research he was doing. “I’m studying forms of bereavement and memorialization--specifically concerning the religions and spirituality of this world, but also of others. It’s not as depressing as you might think. I’m hoping to take the most resonant of these ceremonies and symbols and applying them to this project. This is only the early stage, but it feels worthwhile.” There was a spark in his eye that Demyx had not seen in some time, a life. He was reminded of why he fell in love with him in the first place.

“I almost feel bad taking you away,” Demyx said.

Ienzo tucked a loose piece of hair behind his left ear. “All this focus on death makes me a tad too aware of my own mortality,” he said, with a grimace. “It is nice to get out and live for once.”

“So what would you like to do?”

He cocked his head slightly. “I thought you had planned something.”

“I mean, I did, but if there’s something else you’d rather do more--”

Ienzo squeezed his hand. “There’s no need to be nervous.”

“I know that,” he said. A blush rose in his cheeks. “But this is kind of just another thing that feels weird that shouldn’t.”

“It does,” Ienzo admitted. “But not in a bad way, right? Like learning anything, it merely takes some practice.”

“I guess so,” he said lamely.

He took Ienzo to one of the only sit-down restaurants in town. It was a small, hole-in-the-wall type place, lined with odd, eclectic tables and chairs. The walls were paneled wood, well-oiled and dark, and the lighting was bright and warm. Someone brought them menus and water. The sight of it made him smile a little. “I’d heard of this place,” Ienzo said. “It was popular when I was a boy. I didn’t realize it had opened back up.”

“I know. I saw a photo of it on Kingstagram.”

““Kingstagram?”” Ienzo asked. “You mean the photo program?”

“That’s what the others are calling it,” Demyx said. “I don’t know. It’s kind of easier to say than the name you gave it.”

“I didn’t intend for it to be for mass use,” he said. “Ah, well. Another thing to work on, right? I’m wondering if these gummiphones might be even more useful than we thought. They could potentially have so many different applications. Imagine how much easier things could’ve been in the past.”

“It probably would have enabled me to be even lazier,” Demyx said lightly. “So you might not want to go too crazy.”

“I suppose you’re right. But there really are so few models in circulation--a dozen or so in Twilight Town, ours, the committee’s, and the guardians’. Too many more and it could threaten world order. And I’m not sure we’re equipped to deal with something like that right now--literally or figuratively.” He sighed. He thought about this for a few moments, then opened his menu. “I wonder what I should try.”

“Whatever you want. Hell, get extra and we can bring some back for everyone else.”

“...Perhaps,” he said dazedly, skimming the menu with a sort of fervor.

Demyx looked down at the print too. The font made him a little dizzy, and for a second the text seemed to swim in front of his eyes. He blinked hard. Was reminded of the runes. When had he learned how to read this language, anyway? He couldn’t recall, and he found himself unable to decide what to eat.

The waiter came back. Demyx just repeated the same order as Ienzo.

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually eaten at a restaurant before,” Ienzo said. “How’s that for odd?”

“Really? Ansem never took you and the guys out?”

Ienzo shook his head. “He might have, but I think he figured it might have been a little overwhelming for me. Especially if it were crowded. They sometimes brought me food from such places, but I never got to go myself. Now that I’m actually trying all these new things, more than ever I feel like that same scared child.”

“Like you’re only playing grown up.”

“Yes--that’s exactly it.”

“I feel that way too,” Demyx said. “I never got to make my own choices. And the few times I did, they weren’t exactly good ones.” He laughed a little.

“You seem more than able to handle such moral quandaries now.”

“I guess so.”

An appetizer was brought out. Steamed dumplings, fresh and perfectly round. It tasted delicious. “I shall have to tell the others about this,” Ienzo said. “It tastes just like I remember. Sensory memory is quite intense.”

“Maybe all of us should go out some time.”

“Maybe. That would be nice.”

The actual meal was a brisket pho with bone broth and rice noodles. Everything was very good, almost too good, and he wondered if was weird to cry over soup. He blinked the tears back, cursing his newfound tenderheartedness. “I should like to learn to make noodles by hand,” Ienzo said. “I’ve heard it’s simple.”

“Do that, and you’d basically be godly.”

He chuckled. “Not quite.” He sipped at the broth for a moment. Then, rather more soberly, “Have you thought about your future?”

Demyx furrowed his brows. “...Like?”

“Like…” He stumbled over his words for a moment. “Demyx, are you happy?”

“Weird question for you to ask,” Demyx said evasively.

“Well, humor me, then.”

He looked down at the smooth wooden chopsticks, the tiny fish carved into the top. “I’m still… shit’s still hard,” he admitted. “And I don’t know if it’s depression, or trauma, or the general weirdness of being alive, but I… I’m unsettled.” He forced himself to look into Ienzo’s eyes. “But I… I love you, if that’s what you were asking. I don’t see that changing any time soon.”

It was Ienzo’s turn to drop his gaze. “I… I also feel very much committed to you. And very much unsettled. I’m so used to there being a plan. An end goal, a forward momentum to life. There’s a reason my moniker was “Cloaked Schemer.” And yes, I have projects, and people to love and bond with, but the overall directive of my life? I don’t know. ” His lips twitched, a small, nervous smile.

“Maybe your “directive” is to find that out. To pick how you want to live. For yourself.”

“I do not like that.” He wrinkled his nose.

“For the record, I’m scared too. I’m not used to things mattering ,” Demyx said. “When I was a kid there was a sense of futility with the war. And then when I was a Nobody I was so uncaring about everything except for myself, and sometimes even then. Now--”

“You’ve learned empathy.”

That threw him. “Have I?”

Ienzo smirked. “You’re training to be a healer, because you want to stop other people from hurting. If that’s not empathy, I don’t know what is.”

“I just want to do something worthwhile.”

“As do I.” He sighed. “Perhaps we must wait and think about our opportunities. Demyx, I’m discovering I’m not a very patient person.”

He smiled. “Well, we’ve done our fair share of waiting, I’d say.” He caught sight of the bar in the corner. “Hey, do you want a drink?”

“I don’t see why not. Nothing too strong, though. It is still early.”

Demyx stood. “I bet you haven’t even been drunk before. That I’d like to see.”

He shrugged. “That’s a story for another time.”

He kissed him once and crossed back to the bar. A few other patrons were there, having their meals and talking and just generally being normal. Demyx had the sudden, icky sensation of watching people like this was a recon mission, even though he was one of them. He shuddered a little.

The backsplash of the bar was odd--clear tile with light shining through, producing an eerie pinkish glow. Was that--he squinted through the rows of bottles. It wasn’t tile at all.

The bartender noticed his gaze. “Cool, right?” she said. “They found it among the ruins. It’s amazing that it didn’t shatter after all it had been through.” She pushed some things around so he could get a better look at it. “It’s super old. The glass is all melty at the bottom, if you look at it closely.”

The shapes, the colors--he tensed.

“We’re not sure what it means, or who made it, but that’s where the place gets its name. The Fox.”

The memory wound its fingers around his throat. Not just the emblem, but the person behind it. Never her face--she always kept it covered--but the color, the bright pale pink, brought back the sound of her voice--

-- fly away to the world outside--

“You alright, buddy?” the bartender asked.

Demyx mumbled something indistinct. Somewhat on autopilot, he turned and left the space. There wasn’t enough air. Even when he got outside he couldn’t breathe. The flashes of memory grew brighter, more painful. Why had she chosen him? Why had she let all this happen? Wasn’t she supposed to protect them, and their memory? Why had she betrayed --?

A hand touched his shoulder, and he jerked. Through glassy, watery vision he saw Ienzo. “Demyx,” he said softly. “You’re alright. We’re safe. Take a deep breath.”

His lungs felt like they had petrified. Ienzo gently guided him over to a nearby bench and started rubbing his back.

“It’s just a memory,” he continued in that soothing voice. “It can’t hurt you anymore.”

His pulse was still racing. The back of his throat felt raw. Demyx set his head in his hands. Eventually, he could breathe again, though he was still a trembling wreck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “This was supposed to be fun, and I--”

“It’s alright,” Ienzo said sternly. “How do you feel?”

“Dizzy--cold--”

“Maybe we should go home.”

He shook his head vigorously. “I don’t want to go inside.”

“Alright,” he said. He took Demyx’s hand. “We can stay here as long as you like.”

“I thought I was okay. I really--”

“This isn’t a linear process.”

“I don’t know how it got there.”

“What?”

“That mosaic.”

Ienzo glanced briefly back into the restaurant. “At the bar?”

“It was her mask, Ienzo. I’m sure of it.”

“...Whose?”

“Master Ava’s.” Saying it felt like he was casting a curse. He shuddered.

“...The Dandelion leader?” Ienzo frowned. “That is rather odd… but you do realize that if that was before the World fractured into pieces, it’s not entirely unusual for bits of the past to wash up all over, so to speak.” He sighed. “But I’m sure that doesn’t make you feel better.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was jagged and broken.

“You don’t need to apologize. Especially to me.” He wrapped his arms around him. Demyx couldn’t help but give into the comfort. “I am… uncomfortably aware of these aberrations of memory.”

“PTSD bros for life,” Demyx muttered.

Ienzo chuckled. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to him. The cloth was soft against his eyes. “Would you like to go for a walk? Get your mind off it?”

He nodded. The sunlight was warm and insistent, shaking the chill of the panic. As always, he was unsettled. His new and old selves brushed up against one another painfully. A complicated dance. Ienzo stood to his left. Though Demyx couldn’t see it through the hair, he was sure Ienzo was watching him warily.

“A lovely day,” he said casually. “It’s nice to get some fresh air.”

“Ienzo?”

He turned his head slightly.

“Do you also feel a disconnect with your past?”

Ienzo hesitated. “I suppose the word should be “dissonance”. But for me… and this may sound strange… things are a touch fuzzier than they once were.” He smiled, but it was an odd expression. “My memories used to have an intense, painful clarity to them, with a few exceptions. I think this has something to do with my power. But now that I no longer have it, it is no longer so clear-cut. My memory now is… merely above-average. So, I suppose in a sense, that dullness makes it hard to believe that person is me.” They walked another hundred or so meters. “But our cases are completely different. For a good deal of your life, and at a crucial point in your development, you had nothing. You had to form a whole new concept of self just to be functional. Basically, it’s like comparing apples to oranges.”

“It’s like my skin doesn’t fit.”

“Yes. How do you feel about this new self of yours?” There was something of a playful seriousness to his tone.

“He’s alright, I guess. You?”

Ienzo blinked, his expression smoothing, becoming neutral. “The jury’s out on that one.”

“Ienzo--”

“I am working hard to see the good in myself. But you must understand that this is a complex rationalization of years of unrepentant mistakes and lies.” He nodded slightly, as though to himself.

“Well, like you said. Morality isn’t simple.”

“...No.”

His hand, in Demyx’s, was cool and dry. Demyx liked how their hands always fit together just right.

“If you could choose,” Ienzo said suddenly, “To go back to the way things were, would you?”

He actually stopped in his tracks for a moment. “What kind of question is that?”

“Mere curiosity,” he stuttered, turning a bit pink. “I wonder… how things would have turned out, otherwise. It’s a sort of masochistic thought experiment. Forget I asked. It was tactless.”

Demyx shook his head slightly. “How far back do you mean? Before the first Organization? Or before the second?”

“...The fact that we have to distinguish,” he said with a sigh.

“But neither of us got to choose. That’s kind of how this all started.” His mind was spinning. To go back to being Demyx Number Nine, with all the absolute garbage and bullshittery that entailed, made him feel physically sick. “No. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.” The implications of it were jarring. “That means… we probably wouldn’t…” He bit his lip.

“I could not either,” he admitted. “For longer than I’d like to admit, I entertained that fantasy, in the first horrible days after I was recompleted. Everything was just so very overwhelming otherwise. To pretend I could not feel, that I was who I used to be, was all too tempting. Especially as I lay there recovering, unable to speak because I was still healing…” His free hand unconsciously brushed against his throat. “To go back to hurting people, and allowing myself to be manipulated… that thought is still more jarring.”

“We can choose now. Like you said. Agency, right?”

“Yes.”

They stopped for a moment to rest. This close to the castle, Demyx could see the spread of the town below. He hadn’t ever been in one place so long--at least, not in his adult life. Strange to think that this would likely be his home for the foreseeable future. He couldn’t wrap his head around permanence.

Ienzo slid an arm around his waist and leaned into him. “What are you thinking of now?”

“Stability. How weird of an idea it is.”

“I suppose it is if you had no prior concept of it. Accepting that has been difficult for me as well.” He touched his chest. “Learning to trust. To be vulnerable. To speak about and think about emotion.” He wrinkled his nose. “Strange. But necessary.” Ienzo looked up at Demyx and lightly drew his fingers against his cheek. “I do love you. I feel as though you sometimes need a reminder.”

Demyx kissed him softly. It was nearly opposite of their first kiss; long and slow and without fear. They stayed there for a moment, forehead against forehead.

“Shall we… shall we head back?” Ienzo asked.

“I’d like that.”

#beyond this existence: new life #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #demyx/ienzo #beyond this existence

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ladylilithprime · 7 years

Note

for the lil kiss prompt thing, #37 with wincestiel? if you’re cool with that?

37. It’s-the-end-of-the-world kiss

I folded this into a semi-sequel to Amethystium, a five-part mini-series written for Sastiel Love Week a couple months back, bringing Dean into an established Sassy dynamic for happy Wincestiel fluff. Hope that’s okay!

THE NICE THING about their Retirement-capital-R was the ability to just relax everything. Relaxing their bodies came easily enough, though it was easier for Sam and Dean than for Castiel given they’d had a head start. Relaxing their minds was a little more challenging, but there were plenty of things to divert their attention around the cabin and the roads to elsewhere and back. At first, once Castiel had joined them, Dean had tried spending even more time out on the roads to give Sam and his mate time to themselves, but that had only served to make all three of them more anxious.

Spending time together, all three of them, led to the gradual relaxing of boundaries that had seemed so very Important before and now just seemed silly. No one was around to care if Dean was more affectionate and touchy-feely than he usually acted, and Sam had always been happy to hug his brother and his mate whenever they wanted. Castiel was the least familiar with casual affectionate touch, but he was also the one with the fewest bad habits, and once he had been assured and reassured that his touch was welcome, not just with his mate but with Dean as well, then he could frequently be found cuddling up to one or both of the brothers at any given time.

Given that two of the three were an official pairbond and that people had been assuming Sam and Dean had more than just brotherly love between them for years, other physical boundaries slowly fell by the wayside. Where once Dean had quickly backed out of the room whenever he accidentally walked in on Sam and Castiel engaged in more carnal cuddling, now if he happened upon them he either settled in to wait or, as became more frequent, was invited to join in. That became Sam and Cas occasionally starting something while Dean was sitting with them and quickly pulling him into the middle. The day that Castiel boldly sat down on Dean’s lap and kissed him while Sam watched with a fond smile was the day Dean stopped pretending he wasn’t just as much a part of Sam and Castiel’s relationship as the two of them. The day Dean joined the pair of them on the couch and kissed first Castiel and then Sam full on the lips before settling back to watch whatever movie they’d picked this time earned him two beaming smiles and a lot of fun after the movie was over.

Sometimes all three of them travelled the roads, exploring the places the brothers had known in their youth and showing Castiel the joy their lives had held, inviting him into it. Sometimes it was just Sam and Dean who went, retracting old haunts and rewriting memories together where they had been apart. Sometimes Castiel would go with Dean alone, or with Sam alone, and show them wonders that existed before their time, shedding the boundaries of their human forms and making love within the heart of a star or playing tag across the wheel of a galaxy. It could have gone on forever like that, an eternity of blissful communion between the three of them celebrating their mutual love for each other in as many ways as they could imagine. It was Heaven.

And then, one day, the trio had an angelic visitor.

"Dean and Sam Winchester, Heaven has ne--” The unknown seraph was abruptly cut off when a flying pillow struck her full in the face. Given that the usual response from either of the two former hunters would have been to fire a gun or throw a blade in response to an uninvited intruder, a pillow was getting off lightly. The seraph, however, was not as familiar with the Winchesters as some other angels, and so reacted simply with a puzzled, "What?"

"Fuck off, feathers, it's Thursday!” Dean said cheerfully from where he had been mapping the planes of Castiel’s chest with his tongue. When the seraph made no move to depart, he added pointedly, “You know what happens on Thursday? Me and Sammy lay Cas here out on the bed and worship him until he's boneless."

"...It is Monday," the discomfited seraph said awkwardly.

"No it isn't,” Sam said from his place next to Castiel’s waist where he had been nibbling at the jut of hipbone before they were interrupted. “If it were Monday, it would be Dean's turn to be worshipped."

"Sam's day is Saturday," Castiel piped up “helpfully”. The seraph shifted uncomfortably.

"....It is Tuesday?" she suggested, only to be met with three glacial stares and a chorus of, "THERE IS NO TUESDAY."

“We’re retired!” Dean continued, glowering at the seraph. “Joshua said we were done! Raphael said we were done! Cas got kicked to the curb by that feathered douche for doing what the rest of you should have been doing helping to stop the freaking Apocalypse from happening early and now you want to drag us away from him for some--”

“Please,” the seraph broke in desperately, her voice catching. Dean shut up, startled, and both Sam and Castiel slowly sat up to look at her. “Please,” she said again. “Most of us agree that you have all three done enough and should be left to your retirement, but the situation is dire. Joshua would not have sent me if our need was not great.”

“Joshua sent you?” Castiel said, tilting his head to one side as he studied the seraph before them.

“Why?” Sam asked, frowning slightly. “Why now? Why us?”

“I don’t know,” the seraph answered, a hint of frustration entering her voice. “I don’t know what Joshua thinks you three can do that we are not already doing.”

“What’s going on?” Dean asked seriously, folding his arms. The seraph had Sam and Castiel’s attention now, so chances of ignoring this were slim to none. “And who are you anyway?”

“Hannah,” the seraph answered, causing Castiel to go still. “To put it most simply, Heaven is collapsing. When Gabriel was killed by Lucifer, the pillars of Heaven linked to his Grace started to collapse as well. No one noticed at first because Michael and Raphael were... busy. When Michael and Lucifer became trapped in the Cage, Raphael was left to rule us alone. Instead, he tried to reopen the Cage.”

Sam flinched hard at that, causing Castiel and Dean to pull in closer to him in quiet support. “I’m guessing it didn’t work out the way he hoped?” Dean asked for them. Hannah shook her head.

“While his efforts to open the Cage did have an effect,” she said grimly, “the result was that the Cage collapsed inwards with two of the three remaining Archangels inside. Now there is only Raphael to shoulder the weight of Heaven, and he is failing. Naomi wanted to seek out Metatron and the angel tablet in hopes that one or the other would possess the key to our salvation, but Joshua insisted on sending me to you.”

“Cas?” Dean turned to look at Castiel, raising an eyebrow in question.

“I don’t know either, Dean,” Castiel said apologetically, visibly shaking himself out of his thoughts. “I was only a soldier, and my history of doubting my orders from Heaven was both extensive and well-known. If I was ever told about the Archangels being the literal Pillars of Heaven, I don’t remember it.”

“I don’t think it was something well-known, even by the Archangels,” Sam offered. “Otherwise, don’t you think Michael and Raphael would have known Gabriel was alive until....” he trailed off, unable to bring himself to voice the thought, until he died to save us from Lucifer.

“But that still doesn’t answer the question of what we can do that all the other angels can’t,” Dean pointed out. “I mean, yeah, we’re awesome, but we’re still just human. Or mostly human,” he added with an apologetic squeeze to Castiel’s shoulder.”

“You two are the best of humanity, our Father’s most cherished creation,” Hannah answered him, drawing their attention again. “Dean is the Righteous Man, with a will greater than the Archangel Michael. Sam was meant to be a reflection of Lucifer, and yet his soul outshines the Grace of angels. Castiel may have been only a soldier, but he had more heart than any other angel; Michael and Raphael and Naomi may have believed that to be a failing, but he was brought back from death while other angels were not, so perhaps....”

“Perhaps he was just what God wanted angels to remember you were supposed to be?” Sam suggested, finding Castiel’s hand with his and gripping it tightly.

“Perhaps,” Hannah agreed, and smiled faintly. “Regardless, only Joshua can tell you what you want to know. I have told you all that I can.”

“Give us a sec,” Dean said with relative politeness, tugging gently on Sam and Castiel. The three huddled up together, creating the illusion of privacy. “So, what do you think? Cas, is this Hannah chick on the level?”

“I didn’t know Hannah personally, though I knew of her,” Castiel said. “She has a reputation for being loyal and honest, and she served with distinction when called upon, though she was was not one of the ones sent against me during the Apocalypse.”

“Okay, good angel,” Dean agreed. “Sam?”

“This is way outside of anything we’ve ever read lore-wise,” Sam said with a slight shrug. “Gabriel didn’t say anything about it, and he seemed pretty convinced that his brothers thought he was dead. Still, it’s Joshua asking, and the last time he wanted to talk to us....”

“I hope this will not result in my desire to consume another liquor store,” Castiel said dryly, causing Dean and Sam to snicker faintly. “But as you say, it is Joshua.”

“Once more unto the breech, dear friends?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t look the least bit surprised when Sam grabbed him and kissed him, just pulled Castiel close to kiss him next, then watched fondly as Castiel kissed Sam in return. “Should we put on pants first?”

“I doubt anyone’s going to care much up here,” Sam said with a shake of his head, though he was still smiling. Castiel narrowed his eyes and reached up to stroke back Sam’s hair, his fingers brushing against the feathers clipped into the soft brown locks. The next moment, all three of them were clothed, making Dean snort and Sam chuckle. “Show-off angel.”

“Bite me,” Castiel deadpanned. “Shall we go save the world now?”

“If we must,” Dean heaved a mock-sigh and got up off the bed. Sam and Castiel followed suit, and the three turned towards Hannah. “Ready when you are, I guess.”

“Thank you,” Hannah said sincerely, looking at each of them in turn. She opened the door to the cabin’s bedroom, the doorway glowing before filling with the familiar view of the Cleveland Botanical Gardens. Dean straightened his spine and led the way through, followed by Sam and Castiel.

They had work to do.

#kiss prompt drabbles #sastiel #wincestiel #winchester retirement #mechanics of heaven #implied apotheosis simply because I say so #pastapocolypse

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saferincages · 7 years

Photo

a couple of weeks ago, a friend showed me this amazing post (where the photos are far better than mine, which just didn’t want to turn out at all) of @the-far-bright-center‘s beautiful, sparkly Force Ghost Anakin, and it brought me such joy (I was maybe giggling excessively...), and today he arrived in the mail as a surprise gift! 💖

I want to take a moment to appreciate this bio, and the “weapon of choice” being loyalty and love, because it is. a lot.

this could be a very silly post (okay, it already is), but it actually gives me an opportunity to talk about something that I’ve never had a chance or reason to discuss before without some frame of context, so here is an unbelievably overemotional story (one of many regarding Star Wars’ history and special place in my life, I could write a series of these focused of specific themes and characters in all honesty) that no one really needs, but that I feel compelled to write anyway.

I’ve written before about my first experience seeing Revenge of the Sith (most recently here), so I apologize for retreading a certain amount of ground, but it’s important to know what the state of my life was at that time, which was a frightening, burned out shambles. ROTS premiered in May 2005, I believe I had just completed the physical therapy I’d been undergoing since the car accident we had that February. I was extraordinarily ill, and no one knew why (diagnoses were forthcoming), I was rapidly losing weight, and at the time, the scariest thing for me, was that I had no choice but to withdraw from school. Academia, which was such a constant for me, wasn’t even going to be on the horizon. I was, in short, not okay. I felt almost hollow in that uncertainty.

That midnight premiere was incredible, exciting, emotionally fraught, and I remember the weight and the sorrow of it hitting me in a very profound way when we got home, at which point I crawled into my bed and sobbed. I saw it several times that summer, but the final time (which is also a story a couple of my friends know, but I don’t think I’ve posted about it publicly?) was on my birthday that September. It is a crystalline memory. I can recall everything about that day, even what we ate (the cinnamon rolls my mom made for breakfast, the vanilla chai tea I had at Borders that afternoon), because it was the last birthday I had when certain things were not yet permanent, when I was still in the misty place between before and after. By then, the film had moved to our local little budget theatre, and seeing it that way, with a handful of other people rather than with a big, enthusiastic crowd, lent it an intimacy and poignancy which struck me on a wholly different level. (That was also the night Supernatural premiered, which is an aside, but don’t doubt for a moment that the events are inextricably emotionally connected for me.) September, and I should have been in school, but I wasn’t. I had no idea at that point that I never would be again, but I was frightened, and sad, and deeply angry. Anger isn’t a feeling I’d had a lot of experience with, I was a sweet, shy, overly sensitive, naive child (and teenager), but I didn’t often deal with anger, and then I usually sublimated anger with grief and guilt instead (and those things were warring in me, too, and of course I still carry them), but the anger at the unfairness of it all, at how cruel it was that this had happened to me, at how much I hated my own body for turning against me, how I irrationally hated myself for not being better or stronger or able to fight it, was consuming and yet almost childish, as though being ill was causing a perpetual temper tantrum in my mind.

My touchstone in the prequels was always Padmé, and she deserves her own post, but she was so inspiring to me, her compassion and her goodness and her belief in justice, her loving nature and her femininity and her tender heart being strengths, and never undermining her bright spirit, her keen mind, her ability to lead, her powers being her forgiveness and empathy and kindness. I love her so much and she had (and continues to have) such meaning for me.

It took me by surprise when the aching heart of my identification in ROTS plunged more towards Anakin. I loved him too, and I had a lot of varied, complicated feelings about him already, about his gentleness and his trauma, about the immensity of his capacities and his contrasts, but this was the fall, the dark hour of the story, the nadir of everyone’s suffering, and so much happens at his hand, because of his tragic choices. When I was reading the novelization, I didn’t know what to do with the fact that I understood certain aspects of his struggling in such a harrowing way, and seeing it playing out made that even more acute. Those choices he makes out of desperate fear aren’t rooted in evil, they’re driven by the chasm of grief and terror of loss, and they’re mixed with disillusionment and disappointment and frustration. Up until the moment when he walks into the Jedi Temple, when we really see him cross a line he cannot return from, hope for a course correction seems possible. Even knowing what’s coming, it’s like...just turn back. You can still fix this. It ripped my heart out because of course he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. There’s the scene where he’s denied the title of Master, and his outburst at the council (“this is outrageous! it’s unfair!”) is tinged with an adolescent level of upset, but...of course it is. He’s still so young and he wants to trust them, it’s not ambition causing that fury, it’s desperation for inclusion, for some measure of respect, and he keeps being refused. It’s a strange analogy because the things holding me back had nothing to do with a council of old men deciding my fate, all my hindrances were physically trapping me in my own body, the jury denying me the ability to move ahead was my own failing immune system, but I understood his rage, because I wanted someone I could yell at. The person I was so terrified of not being able to save, of having to watch die, wasn’t my beloved, it was...me, the girl I was, the girl I dreamed of becoming. I’ve talked so many times about feeling like I let her down, like I’m the ghost of her, the revenant walking around in a shape that vaguely resembles her, but at that point, she wasn’t gone yet, she was just rapidly slipping away. I didn’t know what to do to save myself. People would say it wasn’t my fault, to let it go (which felt a lot like being told the useless “mourn them do not, miss them do not”), that I was still here, I didn’t ask to get sick, and I knew, logically, that was true, but emotionally all I felt was that crushing guilt and despair (all of this remains a lingering struggle). I didn’t want to be powerless. I would have clung to something that offered me a way out. I knew where Anakin, conflicted and misguided as he was, was coming from, and it eroded everything that made him good and heroic and kind, so the only power I had left was to fight against it and keep the anger at bay.

This is such a specifically personal thing that I won’t get into the analysis of what happens in regards to his descent (which I also expounded upon in that other post anyway), but every time it happened, the same muscle memory seemed to take hold of me, my hands would shake and I’d press them together, my chest would pound, I’d bite my lip to try not to cry. I have this overwhelming fear of fire, so Mustafar was its own nightmare, and I’ve literally only watched the immolation scene once (that first time, at the midnight showing), otherwise I close my eyes tightly shut. I don’t even like seeing gifs of it. But because of what I was going through at the time, what I’ve gone through since, the physical aspects of him so painfully and horrifically losing himself, being so stripped of his humanity that hardly anyone ever looks at or acknowledges him as a person again (until Luke) held its own terror (it’s such an awful metaphor when it’s examined, and it’s that re-enslavement, he did not choose that reconstruction) because I didn’t understand what was happening to me physically, and because so many people were questioning the veracity of my pain and my incapacitating illness, were treating me as somehow less (ableism wasn’t even a word in my vocabulary yet, I just thought maybe everyone had a point and I didn’t deserve the space to be heard or understood, since so much of what I was going through was invisible). I genuinely felt like my personhood and my agency was being taken away. I didn’t have school, I was quickly isolated from everyone else and kept in the (comforting yet confining) cage of my room, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be anymore, and I didn’t know what to do if no one would listen or believe me (my mom aside). The torture Anakin is put through in that conversion to Darth Vader is unimaginable and I don’t want to dwell on it, but there’s a passage from the novelization that goes in part: “The first dawn of light in your universe brings pain. The light burns you. It will always burn you...You can hear yourself breathing. It comes hard, and harsh, and it scrapes nerves already raw, but you cannot stop it. You can never stop it. You cannot even slow it down...now your self is all you will ever have...and within your furnace heart, you burn in your own flame.” It’s such a wrenching description that some part of me separated it out from the villainous aspect, because the rest of it felt true. My nerves were raw and burned with sensation, touch and too much strain hurt, but my heart persistently, stubbornly kept beating, and I was left sifting through the alternating aspects of its passions (both the transcendent and the desolate).

This isn’t at all “excuse or justify the things Vader did” (since, again, this isn’t actual analysis, it’s sentimental personal nonsense), because of course I do not and never would, but the depth of empathy I had for Anakin, as a person and as a lost soul (and a lost future), and the way that left an imprint on me right at the onset of my illness became indelible.

There’s a point to this, I promise.

George Lucas did re-editing and reworkings of the original trilogy and I’ve never minded any of it, because they were his to edit and fix up if he wanted to do so, and little extra CG snippets of planets and creatures only expands the universe in my mind. That said, I realize adding Hayden’s Anakin at the end of Return of the Jedi was divisive, even upsetting for some, but for me it was everything. I’ve hesitated to ever reblog gifs of the scene because I felt like I had to justify or explain why I hold it so dear before I did, so this is my chance to do that.

As a child, I never felt really connected to the fleeting glimpse of Sebastian Shaw (my mom actually remembers me asking why he was so “old,” apparently I reasoned at the time that Anakin should have been younger, I think because I imagined him then as more of a dashing hero, based on Obi-Wan’s description in A New Hope). Anakin never lived as that image of a more middle aged man, that was never who he was within Vader’s suit, and there was always an evincive resonance that I was seeking. Once Attack of the Clones came along, Hayden was my Anakin, he was the embodiment of that character, and I loved him, and I loved his performance (and saw so much nuance and layering in it despite what was often said). Yet one of the last images we witness of him is burning on that scorched lava shore. It’s devastating.

Luke’s unwavering faith that some glimmer of his father still exists, that goodness can’t ever be entirely erased, that love will overcome, that throwing aside his weapon is an act of bravery and grace, is the moment when Anakin is finally released from that. “He takes the ounce of good still left in him and destroys the Emperor out of compassion for his son.” Balance is restored, and redemption is very small and quiet, not a washing away of violence, but a ceasing of it. It’s the hope that we can always find salvation, that we can still choose to act in love.

When Luke turns around and sees those spirits watching over him, benevolent and glowing and one with the Force, Anakin is his beautiful self again, as the description on this little package says, restored to the “hopeful young Jedi he once was.” The first time I saw that edit of the film, I wept. That was the connection I’d been looking for, the understanding that we’re never wasted, that our souls endure and are mended, that we can choose light, no matter how lost we feel we are, that love can persevere and illuminate even the longest night. It reminded me that I wasn’t only my body, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how it felt like it was collapsing on me, no matter how often I felt like I was failing to be the person I thought I would be, my body could never capture the entirety of who I was, or am. My spirit could still shine, my heart could still be soft.

Anakin says to Padmé in AOTC, “Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is essential to a Jedi's life, so you might say we are encouraged to love.” It’s one of my favorite scenes because it’s so sincere, and yet so richly layered in its meaning. And in the end, this is fulfilled, this belief is proven right.

People may think the idea of the Force is hokey, but because of the way I was brought up, and the intense theological discussions that used to be framed around it (particularly by my dad, we used to do this over e-mail back in the olden days of dial-up, I wish I had those conversations saved), it was a really important, formative concept for me. The Force is connectivity, it’s like a variant of the belief in Tikkun olam that parts of the vessels of the divine used to shape the world shattered, and their shards became sparks of light trapped within the material of creation, and thus exist and persist in all of us, in all the diverse and breathtaking life around us, and that we should respect and cherish that life. “The best expression of the Force is not a lightsaber fight or other combat techniques. It’s really about your connection to life, to everything around you, and your ability or willingness to let go, to find peace, and ultimately become a selfless part of existence...in the end there is no power that aids [Luke], except the power of compassion and love; the act of forgiveness and apparent self-sacrifice is what saves his father from the dark side.”

It’s the idea that there’s something eternal within all living things, something powerful and connected that binds us together, that means we affect one another, and that we make choices as to whether those influences are for the better (or not). That we can decide to increase the power of light and warm energy in the universe. The idea that we’re not limited to our physical selves, that we’re luminous, radiant, possible beings. That we can reach out in love and compassion to heal the world, even if it’s only in small ways, even if we’re the only ones who see it exist, who know it happens, and still the summation of that additional light can radiate everywhere.

#does this even make sense idk but here it is anyway #anakin skywalker #love can ignite the stars #encouraged to love #star wars #luminous beings are we #look what a *toy* caused me #i am a ridiculous person #bubble wrap around my heart #spirituality #the little girl who was always tired #chronic illness #it took me three hours from start to finish to actually get this posted sigh #but it was important to me even if nobody reads it #you are not obligated to complete the work but neither are you free to abandon it #sw meta #it's not really but i'll file it there

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icey-zev · 4 years

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The Worzel Book: (40th Anniversary Edition) The Making of Worzel Gummidge

Introduction by Mark Gatiss, Nov 2015.

He was Doctor Who.

First and foremost, to me and millions of others, Jon Pertwee was the dandy with a beaked nose and white hair who both gave us and saved us from our nightmares. Tough as an old turkey but somehow reassuringly fey, with a slight lisp masking a real sense that you wouldn't want to mess with him, Jon was my Doctor and I gave him my heart. And I stayed with him through Dalek invasions and Ogron battles and blobby Gell Guards and noble Draconians and giant maggots — until there came a final reckoning with the giant spiders of Metebelis III and my Doctor collapsed to the floor of UNIT HQ and transformed into a stranger.

But let's wind back a bit. I wasn't so naïve as to think that Doctor Who was real — though I'd come perilously dose when the climax of episode one of The Daemons had taken the form of a faux BBC outside broadcast. I knew Jon Pertwee from his other appearances, in Carry On films and Green Cross Code ads and particularly from the wonderfully bizarre murder-quiz Whodunnit?, where he appeared almost as dandified as the Time Lord, except armed with a big pair of black spectacles. The Doctor in mufti, as it were. His tenure as Doctor Who was wildly successful and though the show went on to even greater heights, it was hard to imagine how he could possibly top it.

The answer, as you will find in these pages, came in the unexpected form of a scarecrow. Jon had seen the wonderful possibilities of Barbara Euphan Todd's Worzel Gummidge and taken the idea to the BBC only to be met, to his astonishment, with indifference. Taking it to the 'other side' as ITV was euphemistically known, he'd met with a much warmer welcome and so was conceived a series that, even in a TV era replete with charm, really was something special. Sentimental but sometimes bleak, farcical but often genuinely scary, Worzel Gummidge is every bit as offbeat and curious as its source material. And in the grand trio of Pertwee, Una Stubbs and Geoffrey Bayldon it gave us three unforgettable TV legends.

Una's Aunt Sally is a brilliantly monstrous creation. Agile as the great dancer she is, Una brought a demonic selfishness to the prim but heartless wooden doll who is the eternal object of Worzel's affections. Their on-screen chemistry is obvious and, as with the best moments of Jon's Doctor, there is genuine pathos here. The lovelorn Worzel always hoping for the best from his heartless ladylove, only to be eternally disappointed.

Geoffrey Bayldon's Crowman is like a figure from myth. Some sort of Edward Gorey/Charles Addams creation, cycling the lonely rural back roads of Britain like a terrifying greasy feathered bird, the God-like creator of all the many and varied scarecrows we see in the series.

Add the incredible pedigree of Keith Waterhouse and Willis Hall's scripts, a lovely regular cast and a wonderful eye for the English countryside and you have a show quite unlike any other. There's an antic, hysterical edge to several episodes, which must have delighted children. The scarecrow invariably causes dreadful chaos and destruction, whether despoiling the farmhouse caravan in the first episode or hurling pies in Mrs Bloomsbury-Barton's drawing room, and sometimes there's real horror. The Trial of Worzel Gummidge is genuinely unsettling, with scarecrows uprooting themselves and shambling across the countryside like something from Night of the Living Dead.

But it is to Jon Pertwee that we must return. He was such a superb, underrated actor. A man with real hinterland and a proper war veteran, Pertwee brought a grizzled toughness to the world of entertainment yet did so with élan and twinkle. I was privileged to work with him just a few years before he died and was overwhelmed by his generosity, encouragement and the sheer force of his personality. And his gleefully silly, childish, heroic wonderful Worzel is a joy to behold. Whether spouting Worzelese — and in a hit single too! — or swapping heads in alarming fashion (handsome head remains the scariest) it's a first-rate creation, equal to his Doctor and in many ways surpassing it. Here is Pertwee as character actor, not playing himself — as he admitted the Doctor was — but containing his whole range of funny voices and faces within a genuinely touching portrait of a misunderstood non-man. A sort of cheerful Frankenstein's monster made up of stuffing and swedes rather than dissected corpses.

I'm delighted to be asked to write a few words of appreciation for Worzel Gummidge. I have no doubt Stuart Manning's lovely book will bring back many happy memories and also shed light on a very special show.

Mark Gatiss

London, November 2015

#mark gatiss #foreword #jon pertwee #worzel gummidge

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entergamingxp · 5 years

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Murder by Numbers review – a witty, winning combo of puzzler and visual novel • Eurogamer.net

Honor’s having a bad day and now there’s a giant stiletto embedded in the side of a drag bar.

I’ll concede that the guy squished beneath the back wheels of the Pride float is probably having a worse day. But given Honor’s lost her job, her showrunner pal, an award ceremony and been at the scene for not one but two recent murders – all under the shadow of a not-so-amicable divorce and a very, very irritating mother, may I add – I think she might be running a close second.

Murder by Numbers review

Developer: Mediatonic

Publisher: The Irregular Corporation

Platform: Reviewed on Switch

Availability: Out now on PC and Switch

We’ve been called to the location by a friend of ours, K.C. Before we were fired, K.C. tended our hair and makeup on the set of our hit show Murder Miss Terri where we played second-fiddle to bolshy Becky in the titular role. But rather than calling the police on spotting what’s left of the dude squished beneath the wheels of the festival float, K.C. decided to drag us into it; you know, because poor Honor hasn’t been through enough.

The reason he’s called us? Well, it seems Honor has absorbed some of the detecting talents she aped on her TV show. Following bungled investigations bookended with the sneers of the grousing detective assigned to investigate these mysterious deaths, it turns out we’re better equipped than most to survey the scene and gather evidence, chiefly thanks to our new robot pal SCOUT, a damaged but super-friendly robot who sought us out to solve the mystery of his missing memory. He too mistook our TV persona for a real-life investigator, the silly thing.

youtube

I didn’t even notice the corpse the first time Honor arrived at the scene at the drag bar. I didn’t properly notice them at the preceding ones, either. Murder by Numbers’ backdrops are unapologetically bright and busy, stuffed with colour and detail so your gaze is forever dancing across them, eyes bouncing from corner to corner as you take in the bold, colourful environments and the expressive motions of the cast. There’s no gore per se, but this means the few macabre touches – the handprints squeezed into a neck; the scarlet drops peppering a temple – stand out all the more, much to my delight.

The cast itself is equally diverse and colourful. I’m still not sure what to make of K.C. and Fran, the latter being drag queen bar owner, for while there are plenty of welcomed, positive messages about acceptance and LGBT issues here, a lot of it is tied up in teeth-clenching cliches and “thank STREISAND you weren’t there”s, which tempers the positivity a little. There’s also a not-so-subtle thread about power and emotional abuse woven throughout Honor’s tale, too, so be warned; it’s not just murder and mayhem you have to brace yourself for.

You’ll progress through Honor’s story in a number of ways; point-and-clicking for clues, flicking through the scenes of a visual novel, and by solving nonograms. The former’s simple enough, as is the central theme – characters chatter, you choose what to say in response; nothing you haven’t seen before – but I’ll level with you here: the latter is… well, it’s weird, right?

You see, SCOUT does exactly what he says on the tin; he scouts around for clues, using a scanner that might once have been cutting edge but is decidedly dated now. On discovering clues, you need to help him decipher the 8-bit-esque images of them by solving a series of puzzles – nonograms – that require you to fill in, or leave blank, cells on a grid.

Their days are numbered.

I’ll be honest; this prospect did not excite me. Sure, I’ve dabbled with a bit of Brain Training like the rest of us, but mathematical puzzles are not something I typically look for in gameplay at the end of the day, particularly as the conceit itself feels hammered into an otherwise unornamented visual novel.

I will be from here on in, though.

Though the name Murder by Numbers intimates a dusty experience that’ll kill you via relentless maths revision, these puzzles are exquisitely balanced and arrive right on time to break up the visual novel monotony. While a little overwhelming at first, there’s a great tutorial that’ll get you up and running sooner than you might expect, plus an easy mode for those who want the story with a less intellectually-taxing experience. The further you progress the more complex the puzzles will be, but you’ll likely learn – like I did – that even with eleventy-gazillion 1-1-1-1-1-1 combinations and not much else to go on, the silhouette of the image will help guide you when all else fails.

This isn’t necessarily best enjoyed on the handheld console, mind. The bigger the puzzles get the more there is to squeeze into the minimal real estate of the Switch’s screen on which I was playing, which means I often ended up giving up my (otherwise thoroughly enjoyable) portable sessions as my poor, bleary-eyes couldn’t clearly make out the numbers peppering the sides any more.

Navigating the nonograms isn’t without incident, either; the reticle is a wild, unwieldy thing, often flicking over the wrong cell. Even though it happens with both the controller and joy-cons, I’ll admit in normal play this isn’t too much of a problem, but it’s an absolute stinker in the timed sequences. Losing the round because you’re not fast/clever enough is one thing; losing it because the reticle slips around the screen like a greased fish is quite another.

But I’m being picky. I came into Murder by Numbers not really knowing what the hell to expect, and I leave it as an ardent admirer. Hato Moa’s – the creator of Hatoful Boyfriend – cast is masterfully brought to life with their (mostly!) relatable personas and credible dialogue, and Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney composer Masakazu Sugimori always seems to know precisely when to slow things down with a well-placed jazzy tune or pep us up with a liberal dusting of 90s J-Pop.

Despite its dark themes, Murder by Numbers is a wholly original treat and a complete bargain at that – I hope it surprises you for all the same wonderful reasons, too.

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/03/murder-by-numbers-review-a-witty-winning-combo-of-puzzler-and-visual-novel-%e2%80%a2-eurogamer-net/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=murder-by-numbers-review-a-witty-winning-combo-of-puzzler-and-visual-novel-%25e2%2580%25a2-eurogamer-net

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drink-n-watch · 5 years

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Hello everyone! Welcome back! I bought a Switch a few days ago and just started Fire Emblem last night. Needless to say I’m tired and eager to go back to it! So far it’s really fun. How are you Crow?

Wanting a Switch! I use a PC for gaming, and Fire Emblem isn’t available on it. Bummer. Otherwise, I’m fine. It’s about 60 degrees Fahrenheit here (around 15 Celsius), and I don’t know whether to enjoy it or dread what’s coming next — the inevitable tumble!

Just for the record, I’m bold this week, and there will be spoilers.

I’ve been hearing grumblings about this season of My Hero Academia. I don’t know the details but I do get it. It’s very different from previous seasons and it sure has been having a great time beating up on our heroes. But you know, this season has had me consistently tearing up. Sure, some of it is crass sentimentality and emotional manipulation, but it’s well paced, expertly crafted crass sentimentality and emotional manipulation. And gosh if I haven’t been enjoying it. If I had binged season 4 (which I still might) I think it would have been even better!

Can confirm. The emotional moments have been more poignant. I think what you described is a huge reason. I think another is that MHA has had 3 seasons before this to make us love these characters.

In any case, we left our heroes in dire straits with nothing but a wounded and exhausted Deku standing between Overhaul and his escape with Eri. A Deku that according to Nighteye was doomed to fail and fall in this battle. And then, the ladies to the rescue.

Episode 76 of my Hero Academia (sheesh, 76 episodes already!) caught up with Froppy, Uraraka and Nejire as they struggle with an overpowered villain under Ryuko’s guidance. It was a quick scene, but the episode was careful to highlight each team member’s determination and drive to save their friends and everyone really. And although it shouldn’t matter at all, I was still a little thrilled that the all ladies team was treated with the same attention and expectation as any other. I fell sort of silly for even bringing it up and that’s truly awesome!

That’s kinda the world we’re in right now. I loved that scene precisely because in the world of MHA, at least among the heroes, it was nothing unusual. Of course those heroes could execute; that’s what heroes do. The only one not to get the memo was the villain Riyaka Katsukame, and Nejire quickly and effectively adjusted his perspective.

As they are all trying to bring everything under control, Deku shows up requesting back up. I remember thinking, when did Deku have the chance to get back outside? This is maybe a bit before the end of last episode but still. Also good on Deku for recognizing when to ask for help. It’s one of his weaknesses so this is great growth….

Yup, wasn’t him…It was Toga again. Manipulating the Heroes and Yakuza in order to have them destroy each other as much as possible. There was also an offshoot of the plan where she and Twice transformed one of his doubles in order to gain Mr. Compress’ abilities for their own purposes. It was a fairly small and straightforward plan but it was brilliant. And it was Toga and Twice who came up with it. Neither are known to be particularly talented strategic thinkers in the league. If this is what their pawns can come up with, I think I may have been underestimating the league drastically. I think maybe everyone has.

Yeah, if Shigaraki had been a better leader, some of their previous encounters might have gone quite different. Also, both Toga and Twice are growing. As they gain experience, they’re levelling up, too. I’ve enjoyed how this series dramatizes that kind of thing without drawing attention to it.

At this point we caught up with the last episode. Ryukyu and her team came crashing through the ceiling to find an injured Deku squaring off with Chiaki (who’s also seen better days) as Eri goes through a painful dilemma.

It’s a horror show. Blood and destruction everywhere. Nighteye unmoving and impaled in the middle of the room. Deku looking so small and obviously in pain. Yet to me, he’s never looked stronger. They got me again!

I’d like to say I was ready for it and was ready to resist. Nah. They got me, too. His look of determination was fantastic!

At this point there’s an extended battle between Deku and Overhaul intercut with a few flashbacks. I’ll talk about those in a bit, but as far as the actual fighting goes I don’t have much to say. It was great to look at as always, but there was more to it and I’m not sure how to explain. At one point Eri realizes that her existence could be more than a simple burden and decides to trust Deku, rushing back to him. The action is slowed and a mournful but very pretty song begins to play. It’s heavy handed. There are tons of moments like this through the latter half of the episode. It’s obvious and cliché. Yet when you put them all together it builds up to a whole that is immeasurably greater than the sum of its parts.

Somewhere through those scenes, and I can’t say exactly when, I remembered that Deku was a hero. Not the commercial hero for hire of the MHA universe, not the generic term for protagonist, but an actual hero. A collection of drives and ideas that Horikoshi wanted to characterise because it brought hope to share with the rest of us. And something that a lot of fans found simple joy in. It’s a lot to ask for a simple fight scene but that’s nonetheless what it did for me.

Since Deku’s subconscious moved his body to save Bakugou all the way back in episode 1. His training layered on the skills he’ll need to fight effectively. He’s learned a lot about self control. But in this episode, as you just pointed out, he acted on his heroic instincts, and it was beautiful to watch!

The flashbacks were both painful and enlightening. They were basic exposition on Eri, her quirk and Chiaki’s past and personality. Chiaki is sort of unflinching. He probably could have been a decent hero, although a tad too rigid. I was always surprised that he managed to fit into the Yakuza framework so well. So I guess the flashback was pretty much what I expected.

On the other hand, Eri’s quirk was not at all.

Eri’s quirk is what I would call a writer’s problem. It’s amazing and opens up so many possibilities but if I understood it right, it also effectively renders all the characters immortal. Because she can only regress life forms, she probably couldn’t bring Mirio’s quirk back, but Nighteye’s gonna be just fine. No worries. So is Kirishima. No one needs to suffer at all here. And that’s a bit of a problem as far as creating lasting stakes go. I wonder how they’ll deal with it.

I think they tried to show it has limits — like her inability to control it. But as Deku said, she was just like he had been when he first got One for All. She’ll learn control.

All any hero would have to do is have Eri on standby, and if they get too injured, evac them to her or bring her in. Voila! Instant health. And since her Quirk doesn’t seem to erase memories, since Deku was clearly able to remember everything, it is exactly as you suggested: Eri-based immortality.

Oh and I was super relieved to have confirmation that she is indeed not Chiaki’s daughter. Although kinda and also considering what happened to her dad…. Ok, I’m going to stop thinking about this now.

And what did you think of what Overhaul did to the man who brought him into the Family? Overhaul broke him enough to put him in a coma. And he promised that once his plan succeeded, he would bring the old man back and show him Overhaul had been right. That’s both impressive and messed up!

I really liked this episode. I do hope we finally get that filler next week though. I want to know if Tamaki is o.k…

As long as they have Eri, I’m sure he’ll be as good as new!

My Hero Academia s4 ep76 – The Impossible Hello everyone! Welcome back! I bought a Switch a few days ago and just started Fire Emblem last night.

#action #adventure #anime #Collab #episodic #My Hero Academia #shonen #super powers

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24heavven · 7 years

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When was the last time you didn’t have a single thought in your head? When you weren’t worried about running here, or calling so and so, or replaying a conversation you had earlier in the day over in your head. Presence is the enemy of your mind. The more you absorb yourself in the moment, the further your brain gets from the concept of time. Anxiety over the future, regret over the past. Constantly stuck in a pendulum swing from one end of misery to the other. If you’ve ever meditated, you know this process can be reversed and even stopped all together. The process of emptying your mind allows for you to differentiate between the voice inside your head and your true self. Ever hear the expression, “i think, therefore i am”? That was Descartes, and to this day many people still believe this. But to be defined by your mind and thought cages you. How could you ever believe in an afterlife if the only thing that defines your existence is your thoughts? In the last 30 seconds of someones life, their brain will go through a series of events, ending in just the pure “self”. The same feeling you get when you’re meditating.

“OUR SENSE OF SELF, OUR SENSE OF HUMOUR, OUR ABILITY TO THINK AHEAD — THAT STUFF ALL GOES WITHIN THE FIRST 10 TO 20 SECONDS. THEN, AS THE WAVE OF BLOOD-STARVED BRAIN CELLS SPREAD OUT, OUR MEMORIES AND LANGUAGE CENTRES SHORT OUT, UNTIL WE’RE LEFT WITH JUST A CORE.” says Shaw.

I myself have had plenty of incredibly rewarding experiences meditating. After you get good enough at it, you feel a distinct slip between reality and pure consciousness. Its more like “I am, therefore i think”. You are the watcher of your thoughts, and your emotions represent how you truly feel about them. By not identifying with “the voice in your head” and identifying as the observer of them instead you can begin to let go of anxiety and depression. Eckhart Tolle really said it best - “Be the silent watcher of your thoughts and behavior. You are beneath the thinker. You are the stillness beneath the mental noise. You are the love and joy beneath the pain.” The mind is the strongest tool of all and it’s a pity less people aren’t using it to its fullest potential.

Everyone knows that Nietzsche popularized nihilism in philosophy. This is the concept that life is inherently meaningless and none of what we do matters because we’re going to wind up dead in the Earths inevitable heat death anyway. There is no heaven, there is no hell. There only is what we’re experiencing right here and there is no grander plan outside of what we can see plainly. This could be likened to a darker version of realism, where morals don’t matter and you’re skeptical about everything. Although there are many versions of nihilism like existential nihilism and moral nihilism, this is the “gist” so to speak.

But what if we are actually living in a truly meaningless world? Would it be beneficial to submit ourselves to this mindset? To abandon hope and reject the prospect of a brighter tomorrow? If the world is truly a dark cold place, the only thing you can do is light up the darkness. If nothing you do maters, why not do better? We may be small, but the difference between 0 and 1 is the same as the difference between 1 and infinity. The universe is incomprehensibly huge and it is likely that our whole history as humans wont mean much to the grand scheme of things. When you look at life in this way, your own interpersonal problems look silly. We are here for a very, very short time. Too many people get wrapped up in day to day trivialities. You only get one chance as yourself and to waste time that could be used to bettering your future is a tragedy. At the end of the day, we are all humans. At it’s core, our experience here on Earth is the same and life is such a miracle to begin with. You’re here on Earth at the same time as the people around you that mean so much, doesn't that, if nothing else, give your life meaning? The chance of that happening was infinitely minuscule and yet it still happened.

This is called Anti-Nihilism and it can be found in many forms of media if you’re looking for it. It’s the characters out there who bravely give their lives up to a greater cause. They recognize we’re all doomed, and give away all they have to make the world a better place for everyone surrounding them, even if that means dying for it. Shinji from Neon Genesis Evangelion, Madoka from Madoka Magica, Solid Snake of Metal Gear Solid, Ralph and Piggy from Lord Of The Flies. This idea that nothing matters, but order is important nonetheless is present everywhere. The world would devolve into anarchy and violence if everyone abandoned their hope. Hope is really the only thing in this world propelling any of us forward.

This strikes the middle ground between classic organized religion where youre promised the gates of heaven and eternal bliss, or being an atheist where you go in a box in the ground and its blackness forever. It’s acceptance of the grey area. Life is not black or white, yes or no, on or off. Life is not binary. Many people who have been to the depths of depression and self hatred cling tightly to this. When you’re surrounded by darkness, the light becomes hard to find. But once you see a flicker you do anything to keep it. Accepting life simply for what it is - is freeing. The minute you accept your dissatisfaction with a situation you transmute that dissatisfaction into peace. People walk around everyday searching for their purpose when it’s been under their nose all along, giving your life meaning is the meaning of life. I staunchly believe you are brought into this world to have an amazing time. Your circumstances can be what you rise from or succumb to.

Esther and Jerry Hicks have written many self-help books. At the time of their writing careers inception, they claimed to have had a spirit called Abraham contact them through meditation. Weather or not that bit is factual - they have a message that rings so true it is hard not to believe they are accessing the “other side”. Through Abraham, they have changed lives and inspired many people to be deliberate thinkers. What they mean by deliberate thinker is someone who consciously chooses better thoughts as they see them happening in their mind. The vibrational power of your thoughts is that which shapes your world around you, and whatever you are looking for you will surely find. The mind is a tool of creation, and not a file cabinet. They speak of manifesting whatever you desire through the power of your mind - and that life can be blissful if only we should choose every day to believe it is. The quintessence of their teachings is emptying your mind through meditation.

At the other end of the spectrum, we have people like Mitchell Heisman. He was a 35 year old Harvard student who made news back in 2010 for taking his own life as a grand act of destroying self preservation. Beforehand, he had written a 1,900 page document detailing his journey to this conclusion, aptly titled “Suicide Note”. His outlook on life - or rather death - is peppered with religious and political inquisition and the nature of man. Heisman speaks heavily about nihilism. That it is simply in the nature of mankind to want to survive and choose life, a Darwinist knee jerk behavior. That this day in age, the question can be posed - “is choosing death irrational? and for what reason?” Maybe choosing to die is freedom, liberation, the next grand adventure. He goes into detail about his “Me Theory” at the end of his manifesto. His want to know his own nature so greatly overcame him, he began looking at his life experience in abstracts. Mitchell questioned everything so much so, i believe, he became depressed. He states “Disillusioned of belief in my own subjective experiences, at rock bottom, I turned to completely destroy myself. If life itself is without ultimate meaning, and is not fundamentally rationally superior to death, then perhaps the test of the worth of life is found in willing death and self-destruction.” He references Neitzche multiple times, citing that in his journey to self discovery, he can no longer believe anything. The text reads as the ramblings of a madman philosopher on the verge of an epiphany. This is the epitome of a cluttered mind. Heisman thought his way into and out of madness, ending in a bang, taking his own life.

Our world is one of at least 10 trillion planetary systems in our known universe. A mere grain of sand on the beach of the cosmos. Yet here, on our Earth, we have seen triumph and we have faced heartache as a species. Does our insignificance in size, make our existence insignificant? The short answer is no, just because we are an infinitely small part in the grand blueprint which is the universe does not invalidate us. Much like us humans can see and study and understand ants and yet ants cannot grasp human existence, their conscious experience here does not lack meaning. Paramahansa Yogananda was the first person to come to the West and popularize freedom from the concept of the “self”. Before his coming here we did not even have the language to describe the spiritual teachings he had already mastered. His impact on American society was so profound people began to fear and vilify him as a cult leader or a criminal. He forced physicists to expand the language of physics as they were, introducing consciousness into the equation of matter and energy. He feared that without a radical internal shift towards love and selflessness, we would not survive the atomic age as a species. A concern being brought up every so poignantly again today with nuclear war not far off on the horizon. In the dark landscape set before us today, all we can do is come back to the very basics of whats important here, love.

Self help literature, Movies, Music, Television, Spirituality, Philosophy. Anti-Nihilism can be found everywhere. Use the space between where you are and where you want to be inspire you, give you hope and excitement. Don’t become a victim to the uncertainty of the unknown. Letting your mind control your life is akin to the tail wagging the dog. The mind is a mechanism, a tool of creation and power. If used improperly, it becomes a cage, a nightmare. Life truly is, what you make of it. “For this is your world. Its the form of realty you perceive.”(Anno, Ep 26)

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