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missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Sweet Symphony 🎻❤️‍🔥🎹, a '68 Special Era One-Shot

A/N: This one has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for quite a while. Sweet Symphony started as a special request for '68 Special era Elvis from my Get to Know Me Gala way back in March! I also included the prompt, "Do it again, please." Nothing like a good two-fer!

A professional violinist Reader gets a little more than she bargains for after rehearsal for Elvis Presley's '68 Special...

Mature 18+ || Word count: 9.2k

TW: Sexxx in various forms, fluff, cussing, dubious use of a piano

For my most patient baby, @savedrebelcreation 💗

(If you want to get stories like this early, come join my Patreon!)

Sweet Symphony

A ’68 Special Era Request

You’re early. Too early, in fact, but your mother always said, “If you’re on time, you’re late,” so it goes to reason that for such an important job, you find yourself clicking your heels into the rehearsal room a full hour before it’s set to start.

The only reason they allowed you in this early is that your brother-in-law, Billy, is the one in charge of this portion of the production rehearsal, arranging the music for Elvis Presley’s television special due out in December. He had been tasked, rather last minute, to take over the musical arrangements. When your sister called on Billy’s behalf, saying he desperately needed a professional violinist to fill in for the one who’d been suddenly struck with a bout of appendicitis, you were a little confused at first. Why in the world would Elvis Presley need a violinist? had been the first thought in your head, but a job is a job, and you figure a television special of this magnitude wouldn’t hurt your classical resume.

Sure, why not? you’d thought, then packed up your violin and got a ticket for the next plane out to LA. If nothing else, I’ll get some sun.

Since your plane arrived late, you made the executive decision to go straight to the studio rather than chance the traffic by checking into your hotel first. Which is how you find yourself in the near-dark rehearsal space before anyone else has even thought to arrive, violin and suitcase in tow. At least you’ll get a chance to look over the score Billy just handed you before anyone else arrives, you think, finding a chair and settling in to unpack and prepare your instrument.

So focused are you that you don’t really register the door opening and then latching closed. You figure it is just Billy, who had been frantically going over sheet music up in the booth. When the piano begins to play, softly, you nearly jump out of your skin with surprise, having been so lost in sight reading and humming your part that you were oblivious to the presence of another in the room.

“Oh my god!” you gasp in surprise, managing to knock the loose pages of the score off the music stand as your hand flies up to your chest. “Damnit,” you mutter under your breath, scurrying to pick up the pages and put them back in order.

“I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to startle ya,” you hear a gentle voice drawl out from the darkness.

“Oh, no, I just wasn’t expecting anyone in here so early and I was so caught up in…” you taper off, furrowing your brow and trying to get your sheet music situated.

“Here, lemme help you with that,” the voice says, kneeling to pick up loose pages.

“Oh, thank…” your voice hitches when you look down at the man holding up more music that had fluttered away across the floor.

It’s the sparkling sapphire blue eyes that catch you first, framed in criminally long, dark lashes, blinking up at you from where he’s kneeling on the floor next to your chair. They are utterly mesmerizing in the way they search your face apologetically. Your voice dies in your suddenly dry throat, and so mesmerized are you with those eyes that it takes you much too long to take in the rest of him.

That’s when you realize that the man with the pretty eyes on his knees near your feet is the one and only Elvis Presley.

“…you. Thank you,” you manage to finish, gingerly taking the pages from his grasp.

Elvis smiles up at you so bashfully, so charmingly, that it takes your breath away.

It doesn’t hit you until this very moment that you are playing for the Elvis Presley. Between everything happening so quickly and you assuming you wouldn’t get to meet the man himself, you just hadn’t considered the magnitude of the job.

You’d just hit your teenage years when Elvis came into his stardom, the timing perfect for swooning over the Southern boy with the rebellious good looks and the completely unique sound. But your parents had been strict and conservative, opting for your upbringing to be filled with learning and playing classical music, so the only chance you’d had to listen to Elvis was when you went to your girlfriend’s house. There you could swoon over him unimpeded, but it was more vicarious than anything else. And by the time you were old enough to properly swoon to your heart’s content, you were so busy with your music degree that it hadn’t really crossed your mind to ogle over Elvis.

To be quite honest, you had become a bit of a music snob at that point, so Elvis wasn’t really on your radar, though you had been impressed by his reworked English version of O Solo Mio. His It’s Now or Never had been a massive hit, and he had amazed you with his vocal talent, which you were convinced was wasted on silly pop songs. Needless to say, Elvis and his music had been off your radar for a long, long time.

You certainly hadn’t realized the man had only gotten more attractive as time went on. Magazine pictures and even his movies (which you hadn’t cared to watch since the beginning of the decade) don’t do him justice, which is saying something since you’d never once seen the man look anything less than handsome. But those damn eyes pop against his tanned skin and raven hair, and that curved-lip smile has butterflies flying in your stomach like a schoolgirl.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, still kneeling at your feet.

“My name? Oh, um, my name is y/n,” you stammer out. You could kick yourself for how gobsmacked you sound, a grown professional woman nearly forgetting her own name in the presence of an attractive man. But the thing is he isn’t just attractive—he’s ethereal.

“Well, hello there, y/n. I’m Elvis,” he says, as if he were just some regular Joe and not one of the most famous men alive. “What do you play?” He motions to your music.

“Uh, violin. Well, and piano, but violin professionally,” you reply, unable to take your eyes off him.

His eyes light up at this. “I play piano, too,” he says, with such a little boy quality that you can’t help but smile.

“Oh?” This surprises you quite a bit since he is so synonymous with the birth of rock and roll and you’d only ever seen him with an acoustic guitar.

“Yeah, a lotta people don’t know that, but between you and me, I like playin’ piano more,” he says, with a wink. Elvis stands up from his crouch with little effort, so lithely that you equate it to a dancer. Your eyes follow up, up, up his lean frame, and you try not to notice just how well his tailored outfit fits him.

He walks back towards the piano he came from, and you blush when you catch yourself staring at his backside, like some sort of lecherous creep. Quickly turning your attention back to the pages of music in your lap, you force yourself to try and make sense of page numbers, shuffling them back into order.

“Do you know this one?” Elvis suddenly asks, shocking you by playing the opening notes of a well-known Beethoven piece.

“Yeah, I mean, yes. I do,” you respond, still stumbling over your words. “That’s Moonlight Sonata.”

“What happens after this part?” he asks, playing the beginning again. The question seems quite honest, still having that curious, young quality about it. Before you think better of it, you’re walking over to the piano.

“May I?” you say, standing near the bench. Music is your language. You’ve always been better with an instrument at your fingertips than with your words. It makes you feel bolder, so when Elvis only scoots over instead of yielding the bench, it doesn’t stop you from perching next to him.

It only takes a second for the movement to come back to you and you place your hands on the keys, letting them speak for you. You’ve done your share of teaching, so it doesn’t take but a moment to fall into that role. You just try not to think too hard on that fact that it’s Elvis Presley that you’re teaching.

He’s nodding along, eyes focused solely on your hands. So close to him, you can feel the way the music affects his body. It’s something you can relate to.

You stop yourself from speeding too far ahead in the music and pull your hands away from the keys. “Is that…do you want me to go again, or do you want to try it?” you ask.

“Do it again. Please?” he asks watching your hands with incredible focus.

You do, trying to keep it simple and without too much flourish.

“Okay, so it’s like this then?” he says after you finish, and as his long, slender fingers glide across the keys, you realize they are musician’s fingers. They may be dripping with jewels that are likely more expensive than your apartment, but they are quite perfect for the kind of instruments he plays. It strikes you he was made to do this.

You recognize then that Elvis is truly a musician and not just a performer. The way he concentrates, learning and adapting quickly as you show him more of the song, only by ear and sight, amazes you.

It's through the music that you begin to calm. Talking one musician to another is much more manageable than considering the magnitude of the person you’re speaking with. Frankly, you are completely amazed by how incredibly gentle and disarming the man is.

When the door opens again, both of you are consumed enough in the music that it doesn’t faze you much.

“Oh, hey Elvis! Just the man I needed to see. I hope y/n isn’t bothering you,” Billy says, in a teasing tone only a family member could produce.

“Hello to you, too, Billy,” you say, a bit annoyed at the interruption and at feeling put in your place as if you were still a child.

“Oh, no, not at all. She’s a great teacher,” Elvis grins, bumping your shoulder. “You two…know each other?” he then asks, his smile faltering in the slightest as he looks from you to Billy. The question is innocent enough, but the way he says it gives you pause and your heart flips.

“Since she was practically in diapers. She’s my sister-in-law,” Billy says.

“Twelve isn’t in diapers, Billy,” you scoff at him, then turn to Elvis. “He’s married to my older sister yet has never hesitated to treat me like a baby. Lucky me.”

“Aw, you know I only put up with you because you’re too talented for your own good,” Billy ribs, making to muss your hair.

You duck swiftly out of the way, bumping into Elvis in the process. “Oh, sorry!” you breath out.

Elvis just chuckles at the two of you, looking pleased as punch, though you’re not exactly sure why.

“I think what you meant to say is, ‘Thank you for dropping everything to fly across the country last minute to help me, dearest sister-in-law,’” you throw at Billy, batting your lashes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it. Now, skedaddle. I need to talk to Elvis,” Billy shoos you.

You suppress the urge to stomp your foot and pout, but you realize you really should act more professional than you are. Settling for a huff at Billy, you turn to Elvis. “It was nice to meet you,” you say, all the spunkiness you had towards Billy deflating into shyness the moment you look into those dark blue eyes again.

“Oh, I have no doubt we’ll be talkin’ again soon, honey, and thank you for the lesson,” Elvis drawls softly.

His words send a cascade of shivers through your limbs. You feel heady as you stand from the bench, shooting a familial glare Billy’s way, noticing the frown on his face as you do so. God, even with you being 27, Billy had the ability to make you feel like a scolded younger sister.

You force yourself not to look back as you head to your chair. Be a professional. Just because Elvis is handsome doesn’t mean he’s not the man you’re ultimately working for. Busying yourself with rearranging your music, you hear Billy usher Elvis out and up into the booth.

Well, that’s that, you think, rosining your bow, and you get to practicing.

You’ve been at your share of long rehearsals, but you will admit this one is both long and intense. The music Billy has arranged—this “Guitar Man” medley of some of Elvis’ songs—isn’t difficult music to play, per say, but you can now sense an underlying importance around this entire operation. Part of it is the barely held back frantic look in Billy’s eyes, and knowing him as you do, for him to be this frazzled means there’s a lot on the line. However, it’s when Elvis comes back, much later, to run through the medley with the orchestra, that you realize you can sense it in him, too. It’s well-hidden, to be sure, when the man introduces himself and shakes hands with the members of the orchestra, and you probably wouldn’t even have noticed if it weren’t for the relaxed way he’d been with you earlier in the day, but it’s an undercurrent all the same. Then, they send him into the booth to do his thing.

And, boy, does he. You’ve worked your share of Broadway musicals and operas, but you’ve never seen a man completely give himself over to the work in just a rehearsal quite the way Elvis does with this medley. It’s like he’s singing for his life. By the time it’s all through, Elvis exits the booth, dripping with sweat, exhausted but exuberant. His eyes sparkle and his body hums, some part of him tapping or jiggling or wiggling every moment, as though the music had become electricity in his veins.

You try not to stare as you slowly put away your bow, your violin, collecting your music from the black stand. You try not to, but you keep stealing glances because not only does he look enticing, but it’s also more that you connect with the feelings he seems to be having. The way the music can just take over and become something else inside you, as if you are the conduit to something much bigger than yourself. This you understand. And you’d never imagined a sensation like Elvis Presley would feel the music that way, too. Perhaps this is the secret to his massive success.

Almost all the other musicians have packed and left by now. You tell yourself you’re stalling so you can say goodnight to Billy before hailing a cab and finally checking into your hotel by midnight. You are exhausted, after a day of traveling and frenetic rehearsal, yet you are buzzing with the excitement only music seems to bring you. And you can’t help that the part of you that feels that way is being drawn towards Elvis like a magnet.

When Elvis catches your less-than-sly stare, a million-dollar smile spreads over his face and your heart flip-flops in your chest so hard it takes your breath away. Caught, you quickly and conspicuously look up and away, as though that will save the burning embarrassment on your cheeks. Suddenly, all you can think of is how fast you can get out of here, and you finish packing up like a fire has been lit under you. You scurry towards the door, hoping to escape before making a fool of yourself further.

“Hey, Miss Moonlight,” Elvis says, fingers light on your arm, stopping you before you reach the door, “whaddya say you join us back at my place for a little get together?”

The nickname would usually make you roll your eyes, but coming from him so sweetly, you balk under the attention. It distracts you so much that it takes a full second to realize that he’s just invited you to his place.

“I…uh, it’s been a long day. I-I haven’t even checked into my hotel yet,” you stammer, the excuse so unconvincing you might laugh if you weren’t so befuddled and nervous that Elvis is asking you…well, you’re not exactly sure what he’s asking you.

He quirks a perfect raven brow at you. When he steps in closer, you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“Well, I can have Joe swing you by your hotel before headin’ over, if you’d like, though there’s plenty of space at the house. We can set up a room for ya…s’probably more comfortable than a hotel,” Elvis drawls quietly in your ear.

You’ve never heard a man make a pass so naturally in your life, so much so that you almost hesitate to believe it is one. His low voice and the open suggestiveness spear straight into your core, threatening to melt you into a puddle on the spot.

In any other circumstance, you would laugh in a man’s face for suggesting such a thing. Generally shy, reserved, and cerebral, you’re certainly not the kind of woman who just spends the night at a strange man’s place. But this isn’t any other circumstance. This is Elvis Presley asking you to stay the night with him.

And maybe he does just mean it casually—a “hey, come party with us and you can sleep on the couch”—but at the moment, your body doesn’t know the difference. Your inner pragmatist begins listing off all the ways this is a terrible idea, but the only thing that cuts through the noise is the regret you know you’ll feel if you don’t accept this invitation.

“Um…well, okay. I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose, of course,” you manage to breathe back.

His lip curves up into an almost bashful smile. “Oh, Moonlight, you couldn’t be an imposition if you tried. Plus, you hafta show me how to play the rest of that piece,” he says, running a calloused fingertip down your pointer finger.

You can’t help the shudder that runs through you or the way your heart catches in your throat. “Well, how could I possibly refuse?” you finally get out.

“Fantastic! Hey, Joe, this is my new friend, y/n,” he says enthusiastically, calling over the shorter man. “She’s gonna be joining us tonight.”

Joe seems kind enough, albeit barely looks or speaks to you after the main introductions. Before you know it, you, your violin, and your suitcase are packed into the back of what you assume is a ridiculously expensive vehicle. Elvis slides in behind you, and you, now sandwiched between him and the car door, think you ought to feel apprehensive about the situation, but all your attention is fixed on how Elvis’ side is pressed up against yours. The heat radiates off him, bleeding into you, his leg bouncing so quickly that you think he might need to get out and run laps. He makes conversation, asking about how you came to be a musician and you uncharacteristically and nervously start rambling about yourself. You’ve got to give him credit for the way he nods and hums, truly seeming to listen to you even though your mouth is running almost uncontrollably.

By the time you arrive at the house, you feel as if you’ve told Elvis your life story and you abruptly shutter your mouth closed. God, I am such an idiot. Way to play it cool, y/n, you berate yourself.

Elvis kindly helps you out of the car, walking you toward the house as Joe follows with your violin and suitcase in tow. The way your heart pounds against your ribcage threatens to do you in—it’s all suddenly become very real that Elvis Presley is leading you into his house where you are going to surreptitiously spend the night. His hand is guiding you so gently at the small of your back, but the heat of it blazes through you.

Oh, get a grip! The man has probably touched thousands of women, you’re no different. You’re not special.

Realizing you’re holding your breath, you force yourself to take in air as inconspicuously as possible.

“You don’t gotta be nervous, baby,” he says, a cheeky little smile gracing those luscious lips of his.

“Sorry, I…this just isn’t where I thought I’d be at the end of this very long day,” you chuckle.

“Well, let’s make you at home then.” His smile turns reassuring and warm.

He spends the next hour getting you comfortable and fed, having the most amazing ability to relax your normally nervous nature without hardly trying. You can’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach at the way he seems to be continuously touching you—the press of his leg, an arm around your shoulders, the graze of a finger against yours—in a familiar way, even though you’ve known him less than a day. If it were anyone else, you would have leapt off the couch and run for the hills.

What surprises you the most is that you aren’t uncomfortable at all. Excited and nervous, yes. But you don’t feel preyed upon or anything of the sort. Frankly, you are trying not to get ahead of yourself about what the rest of the night might bring.

An impromptu jam session with his old bandmates has you feeling even more surreal. If someone had told you yesterday that you would get a private concert with Elvis Presley and his former band, you would have laughed at them. You find yourself unable to take your eyes off him and how he seems to get completely lost in the music, and you right along with him. His gritty baritone combined with the sensual way he tackles each song has warmth pooling in your belly. Despite the cranked-up air conditioning, you find yourself sweating and parched, especially in the moments he smiles in your direction.

You aren’t sure how much time passes, only that you feel the heady exhaustion of being up too long coupled with an uncharacteristic hungry adrenaline running through your veins. When the jam session ends, you are both disappointed and exhilarated for what might come next.

Don’t get your hopes up, you remind yourself. This night has been amazing no matter what happens next.

“Did you enjoy that, Moonlight?” he leans over and whispers in your ear. It tickles you and sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod. “Oh, yes.” It comes out more breathless than you’d like.

You feel him smile against your cheek. “Are you up for teaching me more of that sonata, honey?” he asks. It’s an innocent enough request but you can’t tell exactly what his motivations are, though for the first time in your life, you’re not sure it matters.

“Of course,” you say quietly, starting for the piano in the corner of the living space.

His warm hand catches yours, and you look back, surprised, as he shakes his head and pulls you in the opposite direction.

Your heart threatens to beat out of your ribcage as he leads you down the hall and into what you assume is his private suite. It’s not until he closes the door and you realize that you are utterly alone with him that you feel a glimmer of trepidation.

It must read on your face because he jumps in to reassure you. “Oh, honey, I just want to get to know you better, away from the rest of them. I’d never hurt you or make you do anything you didn’t want to do. Honestly, I don’t want the other guys ribbing me…they don’t go for the classical stuff,” he says quietly, looking away, and you think there might be a little pink rising on his cheeks.

His sincerity is palpable, and you certainly never expected him to be bashful about playing classical music. There’s a softness to him now, almost a shyness, that wasn’t present moments ago around all his entourage. It is like a yearning for one-on-one connection, and this part of him melts all your reservations and tugs at your heartstrings.

“Well, I do…go for the classical stuff, I mean,” you say quietly. You smile and squeeze his hand reassuringly as his deep blue eyes find yours again.

He looks giddy as he leads you to the second piano in the house, a baby grand in the far corner of the large suite. You sit down, opening the lid, and he slides in beside you. The heat of him rolls around you, the smell of his cologne and a day’s worth of sweat combining into an alluring combination that perks up your senses.

“Show me what you remember,” you say, and he starts to play, long, nimble fingers gliding gracefully over the keys. It amazes you that he committed everything you showed him earlier to memory so fast and so accurately. Something about it tightens a coil low in your belly. Unsure whether it’s your attraction to him physically or musically that has you so aroused, you swallow hard as he finishes abruptly.

You shake it off as best you can as you show him more of the movement, hoping the music might quell the buzzing in your veins. You go through it a few times, getting a little lost in the notes, as you tend to do. It only serves to stoke the fire in you when he picks up what you’ve shown him so quickly.

He finishes a phrase, and you move to show him the next, but his hand suddenly covers yours. Surprised, you look over at him to find his oceanic eyes searching your face so intimately that warmth blooms across your chest and your breath catches in the silence.

Slowly, Elvis leans over, cups your cheek gently, and kisses you. It’s almost chaste the way his incredibly soft lips press into yours and your surprise is so great that by the time you register what is happening, he is already pulling away.

His eyes open slowly, those lashes fluttering along with the fluttering in your heart and belly. Shock has you outwardly frozen but it’s as if he lit every one of your nerve endings on fire with the touch of his lips.

He must register your surprise as hesitance because his gaze changes to something akin to apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare ya. I shouldn’t’ve—”

Before he can get the rest of that sentence out, your body miraculously obeys you and you unfreeze. Boldly cupping his jaw with both hands, you pull him back to you and plant your lips on his.

It surprises both of you, and it’s a second before either of you relaxes into the kiss. This permission is all it takes, however, and then his mouth is languidly searching yours and his arms are wrapping around you to pull you close. Soft, short kisses alternate with longer more passionate ones, and you feel utterly spellbound by him, every inch of your body aware and alert to his.

Never in your life have you been kissed so well or so thoroughly. It’s as if the music in his soul must find a physical outlet, and the way he explores and opens you up to him is like him playing a new instrument. When his tongue rolls softly against your lower lip, you can’t suppress the low moan that comes out of you, causing you to open your mouth. He accepts the invitation readily, expertly, and the wet plushness of his tongue slowly begins exploring.

The warmth that sparkles and blooms across your chest travels lower still, sparking fires as it goes, until you feel your pulse throbbing between your legs. It’s nearly unbearable the way he stokes you without hardly trying. You’ve never felt so aroused so quickly or so completely.

Your eagerness is impossible to contain, your fingers buried in that luxuriously soft hair at the base of his neck, your body rolling towards his of its own accord, as if magnetized. You follow his rhythm, meeting his music with your own.

When he pulls back to trail kisses down your jaw, you are left breathless and clutching the lapels of his half-unbuttoned shirt. The nuzzle of his nose on your cheek as he finds and licks the tender spot behind your ear leaves you gasping. Pleased, he does it again and your entire body shudders.

Every inch of you yearns to be consumed by him. It’s never felt like this, not with any man you’ve been with. Those were fumbling amateurs playing one handed melodies in comparison to the symphony Elvis is invoking. While he is leading and in control, you sense as much eagerness from him as there is in you. It’s reassuring and flattering all at once.

There is an embarrassing amount of slick between your legs already, soaking the cotton of your panties and leaving you clenching your thighs together in search of friction. He must notice this as he kisses down your throat and across your décolletage because then he’s looking up at you for permission with those pink, swollen lips and dreamy bedroom eyes.

It’s unspoken, but you nod and he continues his sweet journey, one hand deftly unzipping the back of your dress while his lips follow gravity as it slips down your arms and reveals your chest. Pushing the fabric off and to your waist, his hand is then hot against your bare stomach. He hums in approval when his mouth finds the swell of your breasts that spill from your simple, beige bra.

A low whine escapes you. His apt response is to thumb your nipple to attention through the thin satin before lapping at the bud with his tongue. The result is a jolt of electricity shooting straight into your core, sending you clutching his neck and writhing against him. Expertly, he undoes the clasp in the back and abandons your bra to the floor in what must be a well-practiced motion based on the speed of it.

Goosebumps rise across your now fully exposed flesh, both from the cool air in the room and the way his fingers brush so lightly over your breasts. He seems pleased with the way your nipples stand at attention under his heated gaze. You don’t have the wherewithal to feel your usual self-consciousness; instead, the sight of his pupils blown black with arousal has you shivering with nothing but anticipation.

The combination of the way his tongue darts between his lips as he lightly pinches the hardened buds has you begging for more. “Please,” you moan and that’s all it takes before he’s lathing his tongue over and around the sensitive nubs, palming the fullness of your breasts. You can hardly stand it, how everything he does makes your body sing and want to scream his praises.

A quizzical look crosses your features though when he stops his ministrations and slides to his knees on the carpet on his side of the bench. For a second you are worried something you’ve done something to hurt or displease him, but when he beckons you towards him at the end of the bench with such arousal in his eyes it nearly knocks you over, you obey without a thought.

Elvis scoots you forward and kisses your belly, sending a new wave of tingles over you. He removes one of your low-heeled pumps and then the other, ghosting kisses along your ankles before running his large hands up the smoothness of your pantyhose, pushing your dress up with them. As if under a spell, you can’t help the way your legs fall open for him when his thumbs drag up the insides of your thighs. The little coy smirk that graces that beautiful face when he feels the damp that has soaked through to the gusset of your hose has your cheeks flushing and your lips parting.

You can’t bring yourself to be too embarrassed at how wet you are because the pleased look on his face at the discovery makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery. He pulls on the waistband, forcing you to lift your hips, before gently rolling the hose down your legs until they are off and discarded on the floor.

What you don’t expect is how he begins peppering soft kisses up your now bare calves, at the inside of your knees, and then up your inner thighs.

A swell of panic hits the farther up he goes, and you jerk up, unsure of what exactly he’s meaning to do. The men you’d been with in the past had been rather direct about the whole thing—once the clothes were off, they buried their pecker inside you and thrust above you, all with varying levels of success in getting you off as they did so.

But not a single one had kissed up your thighs and spread them open with a hungry and expectant look like the one Elvis had now.

Looking down at him, confused, you ask, “What are you doing?” in a voice that is a little too apprehensive for your liking, but you need to know.

He cocks his head at you a moment, as if trying to determine your level of seriousness. Then his eyes shine with understanding and in that low, Southern drawl of his says the downright naughtiest thing you’ve ever had a man say to you: “You ain’t never had a man take good care of your kitty before, have ya? Give her all the love and attention she deserves?” He runs a fingertip lightly over the wet cotton at your center and you shiver.

He can’t possibly mean what you think he means.

You must be gaping because he rises on his knees and catches your lips with his own before breathing, “Close that pretty mouth baby or you’re liable to catch flies up in there.”

You are speechless, unable to form words, but the question is written all over your face.

He leans back on his knees with a contemplative smile. “That sweet little kitty of yours ain’t never been eaten, has she, baby?”

Oh my god.

It’s all you can do to bite back a moan and shake your head at him.

He looks positively gleeful about this development, his shining eyes taking on a whole new level of arousal. Then he seems to notice your trepidation and reigns himself in.

“That okay with you, baby?” he asks.

You had never even considered it an option before, or that a man might like to do such a thing. Maybe he’s teasing you? Suddenly you feel very conscious of the mechanics of the act and breathlessly mumble, “You don’t…you’re sure?”

“Oh, I am.” The smile of anticipation on his face seems to echo the sentiment.

The enticing thought of that beautiful mouth of his being down there on you outweighs your uncertainty and prudishness. You nod your head. “O-Okay.”

You’ve never seen a man look so thrilled at the thought of being between your legs as Elvis Presley is. “Don’tcha worry, I’m gonna take real good care of ya,” he says comfortingly. “You just lie back and relax and let me make you feel good, honey.” Then he places a kiss just under the waistband of your panties and you let out a little sigh.

The piano bench feels slightly warm on you bare back as you lay down. Elvis, grabbing under your thighs, pulls you to the edge, and your heart resumes its pounding. You truly can’t believe any of this is about to happen and steel yourself for him to rip off your underwear and go to town.

But he doesn’t.

No, he takes his time warming you up, as if he’s trying to get you used to the idea. He kisses down one hip then trails down the panty line. You tense the closer he gets to your core but then he only ghosts a breath over it before jumping to the other leg and kisses up the crease on that side. The ticklish sensation is almost too much to bear as he works his way up to the waistband again.

You are panting by the time his mouth is grazing from your belly button downwards, pressing into the soft curls beneath the fabric. He stops just short of that forbidden little spot where your aching clit resides, and you push up on your elbows to shoot him a look.

A grin spreads over his features, his eyes narrowed like a crocodile’s and full of desire and he watches you intently as he finally places a light kiss over that sensitive little button.

The sensation is nothing like anything you’ve felt before and the whole scene has your body flaming white hot. You don’t recognize the low mewl that erupts from your lips and the only thing keeping you from throwing your head back is the way his eyes are locked on yours, as if feeding off your reaction. Then he uses his perfect nose to nuzzle into it before placing a firmer kiss there.

“Elvissss,” you whine, unable to keep from throwing your head back this time.

“You like that, baby? I barely even started,” he speaks, his hot breath puffing over the slicked core of your panties. He kisses down, down until over your entrance, where he then tongues the fabric, pressing it up and into you.

“Honey, you’ve done soaked right through,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure if he’s speaking to you or directly to your pussy. You’re not sure you care for the way you moan, the way your body shudders and writhes, suddenly starving for anything he’s willing to give.

“Lemme see how pretty she is,” he says, and God, if his filthy yet somehow sweet words aren’t stroking you in such a way that you wonder if you could come from his lilting voice alone. He pulls your underwear to the side, finally baring yourself to him, and he whistles.

“Just lovely, and all weepy for me, too,” he says, voice thick with lust now.

The anticipation has your heart racing and your fingers clawing at the wooden bench with a whimper.

“Okay, baby, I hear ya,” he murmurs kindly, then hooks his fingers in the sides of your panties and finally slides them down and off your legs. Then his hands are pushing them apart and his tongue is lightly skimming up your folds.

You gasp at the soft and silky feeling, unready even despite his preparations. When he circles your clit and then kisses it, bare this time, you are so aroused you’re afraid you might weep. But the teasing is done, and he tests you expertly. His tongue flattens and takes in the full breadth of you, licking a stripe up your pussy that sends your hips rolling.

He seems to gauge every reaction carefully, giving equal and alternating attention to every piece of you. Nipping, suckling, and kissing your swollen clit into submission and just when you think that heated coil in your belly might snap you in two, he moves down and kisses through your folds. When he laps at the arousal dripping from your tight little hole, tongues it, and then plunges it inside of you, you find yourself screaming out his name.

You can feel him smile and hum at your response, the vibrations adding entirely new sensations to the slew of new sensations you are feeling. He thumbs at your clit as he laps at your hole, and you think you might hyperventilate with how fast you’re breathing and how hot you feel.

So completely attuned to you, he pulls back and gives you a break, despite your whimpering protests. His full lips are swollen pink and slick down to his chin with you, and when his lip curls up into a knowing but almost bashful smile, you think this might be the eighth wonder of the world.

“You alright? I’m doin’ okay?” he asks, his left eyebrow quirking.

You giggle, almost drunkenly even though you’re entirely sober, because the question is so absurd but sweet of him. “Yes, yes, yes,” you say, words slurring.

“Okay, good,” he says, nodding. Then he rises on up on his knees and commands you forward with a come-hither motion so deft and quick, it has you drooling.

You are powerless to resist and push your dazed self to your elbows on the bench. He meets you halfway, kissing you deeply, lewdly letting you taste the tang of yourself on his lips. Distracted as you are by his wandering mouth, you aren’t ready for the way he slides two of those perfectly long musician’s fingers up through your silky folds and deep into your wet heat.

A shocked gasp quickly turns into a moan that he swallows with another kiss. He begins ever-so-slowly pumping those fingers into you and the rough pad of his thumb circles that sensitive bundle of nerves at the hood of your sex.

“Goddamn, you’re so perfect, so tight,” he breathes into your mouth.

You can’t stop the shiver that ripples through you. “I-It’s been a-awhile,” you pant. You can’t help but look down and watch the way he works you.

“Don’t you worry, baby. I gotchu,” he purrs, then curves his fingers just so and the pleasure that courses through you has you crying out.

Your brain is fuzzy, with only one thing on its mind. Luckily, Elvis seems to be reading it because he smiles that coy smile and returns those full lips of his to your clit.

For a moment you think you might die from the intensity of the sensations he’s procuring from you. Seems an awful lot like God gave him long fingers and a full mouth not only for music, you think. Though the way he’s playing you right now and the noises he’s coaxing out of you makes it seem like a whole different type of song he’s expert at.

The way he traces and flicks and suckles your clit, coupled with the obscene sounds coming from the way he’s fingering your pussy has you writhing on the bench and gripping his beautiful hair in your hands.

More, more, more, is the only thought left.

He hums against you with one last kiss and a wildly accurate thrust and curve of his fingers. The coil inside you explodes, then white-hot, full-body shudders violently overtake you as you silently scream and hold onto him for dear life as to not fly away into the stratosphere.

Your orgasm is utterly mind altering and earth shattering.

“Good job, lil’ girl,” Elvis coos, soothing you through the aftershocks with a lathing tongue.

You can’t think straight enough to respond, only whimpering from the empty feeling when he removes his fingers, then gasping again when he laps at the arousal pouring out of your core.

It’s all too much, and, overstimulated, you whine and clench and pull at him.

He sits up again, between your legs, looking mighty pleased with himself. “Come ‘ere, darlin’,” he says, pulling you up by your arms and sliding you onto his lap. Boneless and naked (save for the dress bunched in a ring around your waist), your legs fall open, easily straddling his hips. Your hands grip at his shirt and you bury your head into his neck, still dizzy with release.

He holds you steady. “Didja like that? Your kitty all happy and purrin’ now?” he whispers in your ear, sending a new set of shivers down your spine. All you can manage is a pleased hum and a nod. You kiss his neck, tasting salt on his tanned skin.

A soft moan escapes his lips at that. Suddenly, you become quite aware of the hardness in his slacks, pressing up near your swollen folds. The embers of your arousal have not died, and you kiss his neck again while slowly rolling your hips into his.

Groaning, he tightens his arms around you, holding you to him. You nip at the throbbing pulse point on his neck and are reminded just how talented and famous these hips of his are when he rolls them back into you in response. He’s rock hard, straining against his zipper, the tip of him bumping against your sensitive clit. You moan and find his rhythm, feeling the wetness between your thighs start to soak through the fabric of his slacks, creating a delicious friction.

Elvis pants heavily in your ear, murmuring curses and praises as he grinds into you. At this rate, you think he might come in his pants, which just won’t do. Not with the way your pussy is buzzing, and that coil is tightening again in your belly. No, you need him inside you. You need him to fill you.

You use what little returning strength you have and rise on your knees, away from his needy cock. The man actually pouts, his lower lip jutting out with a desperate little whine and it is so alluring you almost forget what you’re trying to do. You place a finger over his lips to quiet him, then set to the task of trying to undo his lavish belt and zipper.

Once he understands, he races to help, making much quicker work of the whole thing and finally his cock springs free. It’s quite long, and the deep pink tip peeking out of his silky foreskin is already shiny and weeping with precum. Of its own accord, your finger slides over his slit, circling the slick tip and spreading the wetness gathered there. He hisses. You bring your finger to your mouth, tasting the salty musk of him.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, his hand palming his length. He gives it a pointed tug, then another, his lips falling open as he watches you.

He’s gorgeous in every way and it’s almost intimidating the way he looks at you with such open and vulnerable lust. You can’t bring yourself hold back or tease any longer, needing desperately to give him all of you, to give him what he needs. Hovering over him, you help line him up, then slowly descend onto his cock.

You are plenty wet—he’s seen to that—but even still, the stretch of him burns. It’s been too long since a man has been inside you like this and he is much longer than you anticipated.

A quiet, “Oh, oh, oh,” is all you manage to puff out as you bob slightly up and down, taking a little bit more of him with each tiny pump. He presses gentle kisses everywhere he can reach and murmurs encouraging praises with each inch that you conquer.

By the time you settle on the hilt of him, snug in his lap, you’re both groaning. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders because you are so full of him you don’t know what to do. You’ve never been so gorged and the pressure is a little frightening.

“Snug as a bug in a rug,” he slurs happily, letting you adjust around him. “Little Elvis likes you lots and lots, baby. S’like you were made just for him.”

“Little Elvis? H-He’s not so little,” you say with wide eyes, then giggle a little, which causes you to gasp from the tightness below and how it makes you clench even harder around him.

He groans. “If ya keep doing that, he’s not gonna last very long, darlin’.”

You try to move, but in this position and after that orgasm, you feel weak and a little like he’s spearing you in two. You’re almost too full, and the angle is not quite right. You wiggle in his lap, your brow furrowed, as your arms grow tighter around his neck. A low whine escapes your throat.

He notices your distress. Petting your hair, he babytalks at you, which under other circumstances might be strange for a grown man, but it comes so naturally to him somehow it both comforts and arouses you, “Oh, shh, shh, baby, s’okay. He’s a widdle much for ya, ain’t he? Sometimes he gets too ‘cited and gets ahead of ‘imself. But he’s gonna take real good care of ya, I promise.”

And with that, he gingerly shifts sideways, leans forward, and lays you down on the plush carpet under the piano. The movement has him sliding partially out of you, giving you some relief from the bursting sensation, and you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Your body relaxes.

He looks so gorgeous above you, with his raven hair falling in his eyes and a soft, bashful smile gracing his lips. You can’t help but smile back at him.

“That better?” he asks.

You nod.

Leaning down, he nuzzles your nose, then places soft kisses on your mouth. He coaxes you back to him, the heat building between you with each deepening kiss. So focused on the rolling of his tongue against yours, you don’t even realize he’s pressing deeper into you until he’s nestled almost completely, but much more comfortably between your legs.

You sigh contentedly into his mouth. The pressure still has you feeling full, but in a delicious, silky way this time as you finally relax around him. He rolls his hips smoothly, the strokes slow and deliberate, in time with the movement of his lips. Each stroke is better than the last as your increased arousal combined with his own slickens your inner walls.

“There she is,” he moans quietly into the crook of your neck.

That feeling is back, a chant of want, want, want running through your brain as the tension and fire in your belly begin to grow once more. When he bottoms out this time, your punctuated, “Ah!” is from pleasure and not discomfort. He’s managing to hit places inside you that you didn’t know existed.

You writhe under him, starting to meet his thrusts with your own, trying as you might to find that perfect spot he keeps slipping past. If only you had the right leverage…

It comes to you once you’ve hitched your legs up around his svelte waist. You lift your hips and plant your bare feet against the grainy wooden underside of the piano, meeting his next thrust with your leveraged one. It sends him deeper, driving into that little spot just perfectly. You keen.

“Oh, goddamn,” he moans along with you.

Each thrust seems deeper than the last with your legs pressing up like this. They shake from the exertion, but it’s worth every ounce of effort for the way you feel driven into the earth by his cock. Sweat drips off his face and onto yours as he showers your body with pleasure you didn’t know existed.

He thumbs your clit, timed perfectly with the piston of his hips, and you can barely breathe at the sensation. Gasping, your entire body shudders of its own accord as you hurtle towards another release.

“I…I…I…” is all you can seem to manage as your second climax starts to crest, and he grunts with effort above you, his eyes glassy with unbridled desire.

He mutters a string sweet filth that only fuels you forward, slurring and panting, “Oh, fuck, yes…such a good yittle kitty…good girl for me…look atchu taking ‘im so deep…never been s’deep…Jesus, I can see ‘im in your belly.”

You both look at the swell of your abdomen on the next thrust and this time he holds you flush against him so you can see the tip of Little Elvis bulge out the slightest bit. The moan you let out is obscene. Holding you at the waist, he doesn’t let your hips down, instead running the palm of his hand over the protrusion while he flicks your clit furiously. Then he presses down at the same time he thrusts as hard and as deep as possible.

Your climax hits so hard and so fast that it knocks the breath out of you, leaving you gasping his name, “Elvis, Elvis, Elvis!” Flaming white stars flash behind your eyelids as you flutter and clench around his length. Molten fire spreads from your core outward. You shudder and claw at him, at the bottom of the piano, at anything that will keep you tethered to reality while the rest of you shatters into a million pieces beneath him.

“Good girl, s’good fo’me,” he praises you through it, losing himself to you as you come apart.

You feel his hips start to stutter into you again because a primal need has him beyond the point of waiting any longer. Somehow, through shivering aftershocks, you have the wherewithal to force your eyes open, even as the rest of your body goes slack. He looks like Adonis in the throes of passion, his full and swollen lips falling open. In one fell swoop, he drops your hips and pulls his considerable length from you, his knowing hand pumping his slick-covered cock with expert precision.

Watching him come is a marvel and you make yourself commit this moment to memory, knowing it will fuel your arousal for years to come. He tenses above you, those sapphire eyes fluttering closed. Shivering tension ripples over him with a choked cry and through gritted teeth. Thick and warm white ropes erupt and splatter over your torso and you moan along with him. Then his eyes pop open pointedly as he watches himself cover you with his seed. The poignant, dramatic end of a brilliant symphony.

“F-fuck,” he pants, finishing off with another shiver. Exhausted, he catches himself just before crushing you with his weight, instead pressing his sweaty brow into yours. Your hot, heavy breaths mingle as you both try to come back down to Earth. He nuzzles his nose into yours before kissing your cheeks and your mouth.

Eventually, you find your words. “That was…incredible,” you say breathlessly, with no exaggeration.

He pulls back to look at you, with a goofy, pleased grin. “I told you I’d take care of you, Moonlight. And boy oh boy, was that a neat trick with the piano there…that part of your classical trainin’?” he says, blowing a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Putting that college degree to good use,” you say with a giggle.

His eyes go wide and then he laughs—a musical, beautiful, contagious sound—which fills your heart up in a way you don’t quite understand.

He crawls back and helps you out from under the piano. Your back is rubbed raw from the carpet, which he kisses gently with apology, but you barely feel the sting. You are too dazed and relaxed to worry about much of anything.

When he helps clean you up and pulls you into his big bed, slotting you in next to him, you want to savor every minute. How he smells delicious and masculine, how the heat of his long body envelops your own—you want to remember everything.

Exhausted, you fall fast asleep, sated and cared for, knowing that you’ll never, ever be the same.

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frostandflamesfanfic · 2 years

Text

Made With Love (Steve Harrington x Reader)

Made With Love (Rated T)

Request?: Technically YES (say thank you to @bakerstreethound, everyone)

Pairing: Husband!Steve Harrington x Wife!Henderson!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k+

Warnings: Brief infrequent language with a slight innuendo; Reader is also AFAB (a female at birth) due to mention of pregnancy

Summary: For Stevemas Day 10; After getting married, you and Steve started to move into his parents' old home. Upon packing, you come across some of Steve's old belongings. When more of these creations keep popping up, you come to discover your husband has a bit of a surprise for you. What happens when it turns out you have a surprise of your own?

The first experience you had with Steve’s new hobby happened shortly after you moved into your new home. Well, your new home, his old one. Once the two of you officially tied the knot, Steve’s parents allowed their son to take ownership of their home. In actuality, it had taken a lot of convincing to get them to feel comfortable moving into a smaller place on the outskirts of Hawkins. For months, your husband needed to go back and forth packing and unpacking boxes of yours and theirs.

It was a lot of work, but he wouldn’t have changed it for the world. The end result was the two of you finally have a place to call your own. You finally had somewhere to settle down and have the family you both laid awake for hours imagining.

You were home.

One night when you were unpacking boxes, you came across some of Steve’s old things. Before the house, your shared apartment was incredibly small, just cozy enough for the two of you to cuddle on the couch to watch tapes from work and go to bed together every night. Most of your belongings had either ended up stashed in boxes in the closet or in your mother’s garage until you had found a more permanent home. Sure, you had to share space with your younger brother’s mad science lab, but at least your stuff was safe…relatively speaking.

You hardly remembered seeing this box prior to the move and curiosity was a temptress. As you flipped open the lid, a smile fluttered against your face when you noticed a soft knitted blanket nestled atop other trinkets. You reached in to pull it out and found yourself immediately wrapping it around your frame. It was a mishmash of pastel colors: blues and greens and purples all intertwined by the softest yarn you had ever felt in your life. You assumed it was a gift to Steve from his grandma, Eleanor Louise Harrington.

When you were dating, Steve would tell you the most wonderful stories about the woman who was always there for him. She would be in charge of watching over him whenever his parents were out of town at a young age, which was more often than not. Grandma Eleanor was the reason little Steve loved the holidays. She’d always make it special for him, whether it was reading the Twas the Night Before Christmas every Christmas Eve or teaching him to make her special gingersnaps for Santa. When she passed away when he was thirteen, Steve had needed to learn the hard way how the world wasn’t always made of the magic Grandma Eleanor helped him believe in.

It wasn’t until he met you that his Christmas spirit slowly started to make its return.

You placed the blanket back in the box and set it on your husband’s side of the closet. Even though you had already peeked inside, you didn’t want to invade the remainder of his privacy. For the rest of the day, your gaze would lock onto the box and a smile would fall upon your features before you kissed Steve for being sentimental. Now, Steve himself didn’t understand just why you were being so affectionate, but there was one thing he knew for a fact: he would never refuse kisses from the love of his life.

⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫

Your second encounter occurred a few months later, once the winter chill began to set in. You had been waiting in Hawkins High’s parking lot behind the wheel of your husband’s treasured BMW for your brother to barge out and demand entry into the passenger’s seat. Steve had decided to take on another shift at Family Video in order to have a little extra cash for holidays, so you volunteered to pick Dustin up from school.

“It’s alright if you need to use the heat, babe,” Steve had called out. “It’s cold out there. Don’t need you turning into a popsicle before Christmas!”

“Good thing I have you to warm me up when I get back,” you teased with a smile and a wink, fingers snatching up the keys from his left coat pocket.

“A husband’s job is never done, is it?” Steve gave a rather dramatic sigh.

As you made contact with the cold metal, your hand brushed something else much softer. You frowned as you reached deeper inside the pocket and pulled out a grey knitted glove. It was slightly misshapen but made from soft yarn, similar to that of the blanket still stashed away in your shared bedroom. Without thinking, you raised it up into the air in question toward your husband.

“Think I might steal these,” you called out and grabbed the matching mitt from his pocket before you head out the door toward his car.

A knock on the passenger window snapped you from your thoughts. As you turned your head, you noticed Dustin waving at you with a frown on his face. “Can you open the door?” his muffled shout questioned. “I’m freezing my nuts off out here.”

His naturally curly hair looked matted as he yanked off his hat: a red knitted trapper. “Jesus,” he continued to ramble as he tugged on the seat belt across his form. “Where were you?! It has to be like negative ten outside.”

“I’ve been waiting out here for the last thirty minutes!” you argued. “I was starting to think you had gotten a ride from someone else.”

“I mean where were you just now? I was knocking on the window for at least five minutes.”

Oh, whoops. “Sorry.” You reached over the center console to adjust the heat and turn up the radio. A smile formed as “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” began to play over the speakers. “Guess I got a little bit distracted.”

Your brother scoffed. “I’ll say,” he muttered. “Get married and all of a sudden, you and Steve hardly ever pay attention to us anymore. Do you guys ever take a breath from sucking face or is that just around me?”

“Dustin!”

“Fine, fine!” Dustin held his hands up in mock surrender. “Can you just drop me off at Mike’s? We’re supposed to be planning this oneshot for when Will finally gets back home.”

There was a pregnant pause that lingered throughout the car as you shifted gears and started the trek to the Wheeler’s residence. You felt Dustin’s eyes on you the entire time. His mouth opened and then shut a few times, as though he was preparing to ask you something and had decided against it.

“Something’s different about you,” he mused. You felt his stare on you, much more focused than before. In your peripheral, you noticed he was squinting now. “Did you get a haircut?”

“...No?” you shifted self-consciously in the driver’s seat. Your brother was the Sherlock Holmes of the family, detective extraordinaire. Great for uncovering interference from the Upside Down, not so much when it comes to getting involved in your personal life. “And will you stop staring at me like that?” You waved a free mitten-covered hand in his direction. “It’s freaking me the hell out.”

“Oh, he gave you a pair, too!” Dustin noted with a grin. “They’re a lot better than his first try, aren’t they?”

You frowned and risked a quick glance in his direction before you returned your gaze to the road ahead. “What?”

“The gloves! Steve gave ‘em to you, right?”

“Not exactly,” you explained. “I took them from his coat. What do you mean they’re better than his first try?”

The car returned to silence once again.

“Dustin?”

Silence. A quick look over toward your brother revealed he had suddenly become interested in the fresh piles of snow against the side of the road. Nose wrinkled, you shook your head and pulled into the Wheeler’s street. Unfortunately for Dustin, mystery solving was in your genetics, and this was one question you wanted answered.

⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫

“Babe?” you called out as you walked into the foyer of the house that evening. When you had taken Steve’s car from work, you had left him yours in the parking lot. You were surprised to see it back in the driveway once you arrived home after dropping Dustin off. Your stay had been much longer than you anticipated, with Nancy trying to make plans to finish Christmas shopping with you later in the week since she was home from Boston.

“Shit,” came the faint hiss of your husband’s voice from the living room. As you started to make your way toward the sound, you heard him clear his throat. “You’re back early, babe. I thought Dustin wanted to go to the mall to do some shopping.”

“Uh, no. He needed us to drop him off at the Wheelers. Something about some campaign they’ve been planning for Will,” you said with a frown. “Why is it so dark in here?”

As you flicked the lights on, you couldn’t help but blink at the sight before you. There was your husband perched in one of the armchairs you had gotten from your mother. He was wearing his wire-framed glasses, a side-effect of a few too many blows to the noggin over the years. Half a blanket was draped over his knee, pooling onto the floor below. As you walked closer, you noticed two large metal sticks in his hands. They were twitching as he stared over at you owlishly with wide eyes.

“Did you…make this?” you whispered almost far too quietly as you knelt down to lift up the edge of the blanket. Running your hand along it, you smiled at the soft yarn’s texture. It was a beautiful blanket with its blend of purples, orange, and yellows. The pattern reminded you of your favorite time of day: sunset. When you started dating, you used to drag Steve to the top of Walker’s Mountain to watch it almost every night. To most people, the setting of the sun meant the end of another busy day. To you, though, it was a reminder of how you survived another day no matter what evils may have been against you.

“Uh, y-yeah,” Steve stuttered. “It was mostly me.”

You tilted your head to look up at him. “Mostly?”

“Well, Virginia helped. Marge, too.”

“Marge? Virginia?” An amused smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “Something I have to be worried about, honey?”

“No!!” your husband was quick to exclaim. “No, no. They’re just…”

“Just…?”

A sigh escaped Steve’s lips as he set the knitting needles down into his lap. He leaned forward to ghost his lips against your hairline. “Look,” he said. “I’ve uh, I’ve been going to the community center between shifts at the store on Saturday. There’s this class they host– more like a club.” He hesitated, glancing between you and the blanket in his lap. “They teach you how to knit.”

You smiled. “So you’ve been learning to knit?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “It’s actually been…nice, you know? Helps give me something to do. I don’t feel as helpless as I used to. It’s more peaceful than anything.”

“You know I wouldn’t tease you for this, right?” you asked, hands reaching up to gently cradle his face. Your heart strained at the thought of Steve being afraid of getting judged by you for what his father would have considered a so-called woman’s hobby. “I think it’s great you’ve found a hobby.”

“What?” Steve asked in shock. “No- no, that’s not why I was- oh, shit, babe. Did you think I didn’t want to- oh, no. That’s not it. I was going to tell you!” He chuckled a bit and sighed, lifting up the unfinished blanket in his lap. “I, uh, I just didn’t want to until I finished this.”

“Is this,” you started, “for me?”

Your husband nodded and used one hand to smooth out the knitted material. “I know how much you love sunsets,” he said quietly, “and I know we missed a lot of them with everything that went down over the years. I thought this might make up for it.”

You practically melted into a puddle from your kneeling position on the floor. Without another word, you bounced up as pressed your lips to his, ignoring the awkward feeling of his frames as they pressed into your face. “I love you,” you breathed out as you broke apart.

“I love you, too,” Steve was quick to reply. “I just didn’t want to jinx myself and mess up this surprise, you know?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I get it,” you soothed. “But, uh, I think you might need to make a few adjustments to it.”

Steve’s face dropped. “Is something wrong with it? Do you not like it?!” he fretted. “Oh God, I knew I should have picked another pattern–”

“Babe,” you interrupted. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What?”

Hiding a smile, you reached across his lap to smooth out the blanket. You absentmindedly started to trace shapes into it as you glanced up at him. “It’s a beautiful blanket, Steve,” you said slowly. “But I think it’ll need to be a little bigger.”

Steve furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “This should be plenty big for us to use on the couch.”

“For right now, yeah,” you chose your words carefully. A knowing smile threatened to stretch around your lips and you had to fight the urge to let it show. “But I don’t think that’ll be the case in a year.”

Steve followed your gaze lower down your body, resting upon your abdomen. You couldn’t help it. A risked glance back up at him told you his brain was slowly putting the pieces together. “Are you-” he asked, eyes snapping up to meet yours. “Are you really?”

When your smile finally broke free and you nodded, your husband all but threw his unfinished product across the room and pulled you into a heated kiss. As you threaded your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck, you felt his lips curl into a smile against your own. His fingers danced their way under the hem of your shirt and pressed themselves against the skin of your stomach. He let them linger there for a moment before he released you on his lap.

“I was going to wait until Christmas to tell you,” you admitted, “but I just couldn’t help it. Especially when you were being as sweet as this.”

Steve laughed, a genuine one that sent butterflies soaring within your stomach. Your heart swelled at the sight of pure happiness which radiated off of him in waves. “That little shit was right,” he said between chuckles. “Knew I should have listened to him.”

You rolled your eyes. Leave it to your little brother’s observational skills to almost ruin the moment.

⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫ ⧫

One year later, you sat on the couch with Steve’s sunset blanket across your lap and two little babies asleep in your arms. It had been a long and eventful year, but you wouldn’t have traded this moment for anything. This year was Amelia and Emery’s first Christmas as part of your little family and you couldn’t be happier.

Yes, you and Steve hardly had any sleep the night before, thanks to last minute preparations between the screams of hungry twins. Yes, you were already exhausted despite only being fully awake for two hours. Yet this was the moment you had been dreaming about for twelve months. You weren’t so much as going to blink if it meant risking losing a moment of this special day.

A few moments later, Steve slid onto the couch beside you with two mugs of hot chocolate in hand. As much as you would kill for a real caffeine hit, you couldn’t resist the alluring smell of melted chocolate and cinnamon. Your husband placed his mug on the coffee table and reached for Em so you could take the warm beverage from his other hand.

The two of you enjoyed the peaceful sounds of cooing four-month-olds paired with the soft hum of Christmas carols played over the radio for a while. As you leaned against your husband, he pressed a kiss to your temple and gently tapped your side – a signal to adjust your position. He placed a sleeping Em into the portable crib you had brought downstairs the previous evening before doing the same for Amy.

“Sorry,” he apologized with a meek smile. “I would’ve let them sleep there, but I have something for you.” He walked over to the tree and picked up a small box wrapped in candy cane patterned paper. When he came back to the couch, he set it atop the blanket on your lap and moved to sit down with an arm draped over your shoulders.

“I thought we said no gifts for each other this year,” you mused. “It was just for the girls.”

“We did,” Steve agreed with a nod. “I mean, technically I didn’t break that promise. It’s not anything big, I promise. I just…I thought you might like it.”

You shot him a questioning glance before you used your fingers to delicately tear at the wrapping, being incredibly careful not to wake the sleeping children nearby. When you opened the box, a small gasp escaped your lips. Inside, wrapped in a cocoon of white tissue paper, were two small Santa hats. Knitted in a yarn as red of holly berries, both hats were adorned with a fuzzy white pom-pom and trim around the brim. When you lifted them out of the box, you began to tear up. At the brim of each hat was a series of embroidery of your daughters’ names: Amelia Robin Harrington and Emery Louise Harrington.

Overcome with emotion, you immediately turned to look at your husband. Steve was already looking down at you, concern etched on his features. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, voice shaking slightly. “Do you not like it–”

Just like you did twelve months ago, you silenced his ramblings with a kiss. This time, it was one of pure unadulterated love. You clung onto his blue and white Christmas sweater for dear life. Tears of happiness pricked at your eyes as you ran a hand against the side of his face. When you broke apart, you sent him a teary smile. “You really are amazing, Steve Harrington,” you whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he answered almost immediately.

You turned your attention back down to the little hats in your lap and glanced over to the portable crib that held your sleeping angels. You knew it would be a struggle to keep the hats on for long, but you hoped it would at least last until Jonathan arrived with his camera later on in the evening.

This was by far the best Christmas you had ever had and deep down you knew this was only the beginning. You smiled fondly to yourself as you thought about all of the other Christmas Days your little family would have for the rest of your lives. It had been a tough journey to get to where you were, but you wouldn't have changed a second for the world because you and Steve found your family…

…and that's all you could ever want or need.

============

Author's Note: I'm not crying, you are. No seriously, I had so much fun writing down this idea after receiving this through an ask by the amazing Ace. I got to explore the early days of Dad!Steve and learn more about his life with the reader a bit along the way. My only frustration is I couldn't keep this fic as gender neutral as I would have liked, but I'm still incredibly happy with how it came out.

We're only two fics away from the end of Stevemas. How are we liking the event so far?! If you enjoyed this fic and want to see more like it on my blog, make sure to leave a comment, tag a friend who you think might like it, and reblog this post! Likes are appreciated, but it's these other interactions that really help spread the word about my writing and motivate me to keep creating content like this for you all to enjoy! If you want to keep up to date with the last few days of Stevemas or want to see more of my work in the future, maybe consider giving my blog a follow, too! I promise I won't spam you too much with promoting other writers' amazing works :)

Until next time, my little sparks <3

Taglist: @bakerstreethound, @theelmgrove

#steve harrington fanfic #steve stranger things #steve x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #joe keery imagines #joe keery #frostandflamesfanfic #twelve days of stevemas #ficmas 2022 #dad!steve harrington #steve harrington x fem!reader

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boilbluedenim · 7 months

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Over the liminal mindscape

I love and hate how this show's ending is completely left up to interpretation, mainly because of Wirt and Greg's potential deaths and how that makes me feel about the show as a whole. It attaches a sort of bittersweet feeling to it which I'm not too sure about. more on that soon though.

Anyway, when paying even just an inkling of attention to this show, you can almost immediately connect the dots and come to the conclusion that none of the adventures (for the most part) actually happened. This conclusion is heavily drawn from the frames we see at the very beginning, of Wirt, Greg, and Jason Funderburker (the frog) drowning. (ep 1)

and from the frames where Wirt wakes up in the water after having said goodbye to Beatrice, saving his brother and the frog by carrying them both out of the water. (ep 10)

Taking into account that Wirt, Greg, and Funderburker all fell into the water moments before almost getting hit by a train, which we discover in episode 9; Into The Unknown, I think it's pretty safe to assume that this is, in fact, the case and that OTGW takes place in either a mental space or a physical limbo, occurring while they are all in the process of drowning.

Another thing I'd like to mention is that OTGW is heavily based off of Dante's Inferno, which, in the simplest of summaries, is a poem about a journey that begins in a forest, leads through hell, and eventually into heaven, hence the theorized death I mentioned earlier. It's actually pretty easy to spot where these references and homages lie, for example, the formula of the story is somewhat similar, and the characters take on similar roles. (for example, Virgil: Beatrice/Woodsman(?)or even Greg in some cases, Beatrice: Sara, Dante: Wirt.) (please read Inferno or a summary of it to fully understand this if you haven't already because it's actually really interesting).

Rewatching OTGW with this in mind led me to realize a lot of things that I originally passed off as unique writing choices with no actual meaning behind them. Then again that could be the case but what's the fun in assuming that?

Upon entering the unknown, we're launched into a universe with a seemingly ever-changing time period. Characters talk funny and fancy, dress and act as if they're from the 1600s-1700s, and none of our protagonists seem particularly fazed by this (except for Beatrice, occasionally) with Greg using a phrase such as "brother o'mine" and Wirt's dramatic poetic rambles. Everything feels very inspired while also being all over the place, almost as if it's been composed from memories, lying in the pits of somebody's mind...

Wirt is a Huge Nerd.

If I am to believe that this show takes place in one of our protagonists' minds, which I do in fact believe, then I would say that that protagonist has to be Wirt. Wirt has a tendency to go on poetic spiels, even dropping two of them in the very first episode. Accompanied by his teenage boy dread (being a nerd at 14 is tough) and his overextending knowledge about curious things, which he showcases in his exclaim at Beatrice's ability to talk and his comment about one of the rooms in Endicott's mansion (below), It becomes a glaring possibility that OTGW is primarily from Wirt's point of view, with the Unknown existing solely in his head.

I've actually seen this point argued before, with some people mentioning the black turtles on the poster in Wirt's room or just his entire room in general. However, if true, that doesn't really answer the question of whether the unknown exists as a physical space or a mental one, having no supernatural effects on the real world.

2. The Implications of the Bell

Okay, so, listen.

I hate to be the kind of person who goes "Well it's probably just a fun and silly bit that doesn't actually mean anything." but I'm gonna be that person anyway, or at least I'm not going to assume character death because I don't want to and free will is a thing blablablabla. I will however be serious for a second and try to provide a tangible reason for why I think this scene doesn't have any real-world implications.

For one, this scene immediately jumpcuts to a voiceover, followed by scenes that serve as conclusions for the stories of the characters we've met along the way, all of them being positive. I think this serves the purpose of letting us know the story did in fact have a good ending, with Wirt learning how to treat his brother with respect. I also think that ties into the theory above.

Not only does the unknown serve as a mental limbo but it also serves as a lesson for Wirt in particular. This journey is riddled with self-critique, characterized as Beatrice, all the while Wirt is drowning and realizing he's not only failed himself but his brother as well.

3. The Beast

Surprisingly I haven't mentioned the beast yet even though he's very important to the story. The beast represents a couple of things, one being death and two being the overarching, real-world problem. Those may sound like the same thing, and honestly, they are depending on what you think the problem is. To me, it's Wirt's relationship with, and treatment of Greg in the real world that bleeds into the universe of the unknown.

The exchange that Wirt has with the beast at the end of episode 10 fully encapsulates his character growth. The characters his mind has created have actually taught him something, that being; wallowing in sorrow and accepting your fate is just going to lead you further down this winding path, or in this case, to the bottom of this lake. You will never get home.

Unlike I've seen others suggest, this is not a story of a boy failing and dying while so wrapped up in his own fantasy, eventually residing in a false heaven. Instead, everything is put back where it needs to be.

From the forest, through the unknown, and finally, back home.

#ramblings #over the garden wall #otgw #I havent written since september help

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animehouse-moe · 1 year

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Link Click Season Two Episode 3: Two Funerals

After the initial two episode fare of this season, episode three certainly feels like it slows things down. Which is not a bad thing. It gives the story time to establish itself, to provide mystery and unspoken curiosities to the world, to allow for exploration of the new characters and their roles in the story, and it gives Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi time to work their magic. So certainly quite a bit to chat about with this episode!

I think the first thing that really tickles my brain is the oddities of the production for Link Click. Not that it's a bad thing, but that it's just decidedly different when compared to anime. Stuff like the letterboxing and the camera movement leave it very telling that this is a donghua rather than an anime. Bit hard to explain over words, but check out this panning shot. Feels.... wrong, right? Well, that's because of how it's shot. The way that the pan stops during the scene is different than what you'd normally see with anime, which continue the pan right to the end typically (or at the very least have it slow down before coming to a stop).

Similarly, the production vastly prefers depth to breadth, which is an interesting idea. Considering the share of horizontal to vertical space, you might have thought the latter, but instead they choose the former. Detail doesn't come from side to side, rather it likes to appear from front to back. Take this layout for example.

Typically, if you're operating on breadth instead of depth, you'd be more inclined to place the focus (the older characters in track suits on the right) towards the center of the frame, while placing the supporting characters and details on either side of them. Focusing on depth first however allows for far more different shots that feel more grounded in 3-dimensional space.

Anyways, the episode itself. We start with the older characters and/or masters of Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi waiting around in a hospital. Nothing too special, just establishing their characters and why they showed up to help Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi. Though I have to admit, some of the pieces through their short time here are comical as they have a run in with an incredibly drunk person.

Of course, the trio of elderly leave this hospital and arrive at Lu Guang's (in style, obviously) to take on the mob that has surrounded Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi. I was really looking forward to some crazy action, but I also wasn't surprised when they kept things simple and skipped most of it. They gave two crazy action sequences back to back, so I think they can afford a bit of a break. Still, they delivered some cool and interesting sequences and a fun impact frame or two.

Also, fun little detail here. During this sequence, and before the impact frames, the father of the other two actually disappears in frame for a brief second. Fun little bit to give to people paying close attention.

Also also, this gif provides an excellent example of that depth-first approach for the production. Rather than the left to right or vice versa you might usually see, they place the camera at an arbitrary spot in 3D space, and have the mob of characters run through the camera. Pieces like this really help establish Link Click's visual style.

A similar example can be found in a follow-up scene of Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi after the fight. It really does look good, it's just that it might take a bit to get used to because of the letterboxing. Certainly makes me curious about the choice for it to be a consistent visual restraint considering how much they might be able to accomplish with a full scene.

I haven't really talked about the story, have I? Well, up until this point it hasn't been anything super crazy, truthfully. The bad guys got beat up and are being interrogated, and Xiao Li comes to apologize to Qiao Ling and Cheng Xiaoshi. There's nothing crazy or important yet. That is, until Liu Min's father and entourage show up and butt heads with our current trio.

The back and forth is more performative than substantive, but Qian Jin's interactions are most certainly the focal point. Establishing his prior history as a police officer, and the past that he shares with Xiao Li, an odd rivalry brews between him and Cheng Xiaoshi.

It makes you really curious as to what led Qian Jin to his current station in life, and what it was that happened in this flashback we're shown by Xiao Li.

Anyways, the arguments come and go, and Qiao Ling ends it all with an incredibly satisfying slap that gets the first reaction out of Qian Jin in the whole conversation.

It's an incredibly subtle difference, but his default grin does widen a bit after the interaction. I think it adds a good deal to the sort of slimy and snake-like personality that Qian Jin wields so far. Very curious to see how his role plays out given that his lackey is being detained.

We move forward, and into Chen Bin's funeral. They do well with it as an emotional moment and bring out the best in Chen's now-widow to help give Cheng Xiaoshi the push he needs to solidify his desire to go back and prevent Chen Bin's death. I do think the emotional beat is well done, it's just that I'm not really one to be "all-in" on this sort of stuff myself, so I don't have too many words to say about it.

What I do have words to say about though is how Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang interact as the latter goes back in time. Also, just more of that whole Black and White/Ying and Yang theme here.

Anyways, the biggest thing is how Cheng Xiaoshi asks Lu Guang for his help. He says that he wants to help the pair, which appeals to Lu Guang through the guilt they share for being the cause of Chen Bin's death. It's a great moment that establishes the hesitation the pair have in the use of their powers currently, and their overall intent in their reasoning for using them. A solid shift from their original purpose through season 1, though of course the natural conclusion of their experiences with it anyways.

Of course, we end the episode on a cliffhanger though. That red-eyed guest from the prior episode? They didn't come to take over Lu Guang, they came to deliver a picture. Are they the same person that inhabited Qiao Ling at the end of S1/start of S2? It's hard to say, but the idea of the red eyes does beg quite the question.

The back of the photo is even more interesting when you know what it says. "Don't Die, Good Brother". Specifically "Gege" which is elder brother. Together with the drawing on the back of the young girl in the photo with an older brother, does it really mean what viewers might think it does? Is Lu Guang related to this pink haired girl somehow? Does she expect him and Cheng Xiaoshi to use the photo and learn something from it?

A far more intriguing ending than the episode itself might let on, this third episode works very hard to slow things down and draw them out so that viewers can have time to get attached to and understand the stories and characters that appear within. Of course, the quality is still way up there in terms of animation and direction, so it seems overall we've settled in for the long haul with a long term story compared to the more episodic approach of season 1. Really interested to see what they do with more time.

#link click #time agents #shi guang dai li ren #shiguang dailiren #时光代理人 #cheng xiaoshi #lu guang #qiao ling #donghua #shiguang daili ren #anime recommendation #anime review #anime and manga #anime #shiguang #link click spoilers

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nerdgirlriot · 2 months

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back in the early days of my anime weebdom i, of course, spent a lot of that time obsessed with Fullmetal Alchemist. I stumbled upon an Edward cosplayer, but the person was wearing a facemask that covered their entire head, like mascots or Disney meet n' greet characters. And they looked so convincing, as if Edward Elric was inhabiting a 3D space for the first time. I was kind of enamored with how this was done. I did research on what sort of cosplay this was, how the masks were made, etc.

I will ramble a lot here, and also include a lot of pics of my own kigurumi cosplay. Because enamored.

Note: This got REALLY long, really quickly. Sorry! Be warned!

I found out that this was called kigurumi, and the style of costuming was actually pretty common in Japan, where anime meet n' greet characters often had this style of mask.

And yes, I figured out that it was a kink pretty quick.

I'm gonna ignore that for the most part but I'm certain that 99% of all kigurumi cosplayers are male enthusiasts as female characters. I even think that most female kigurumi cosplayers have female characters. Because female characters are ADORABLE and I agree! I would love to do a female kig cosplay eventually.

But first, a part of my weeb brain was transfixed by that Edward kig cosplay.

My research back then led me to believe that a kigurumi mask would be too cost-prohibitive. All masks had to be custom-made from resin and hand-painted. The work would probably cost close to $1000 and I gave up on my dream cosplay quest pretty fast.

Fast forward to this year, and during the time I was looking at Etsy for my Spider-Gwen cosplay, I got recommended a store that had kigurumi masks. In the ensuing years since my initial research, kigurumi masks have gotten less cost prohibitive. 3D printing means that the masks don't have to be hand-made. There are even small companies which mass-produce base masks ready to be customized, and this is what the Etsy seller uses to make their masks.

I was still enamored, and eventually, thanks to a sale (and thanks to also THE NEWS HAPPENING EVERYWHERE) I decided to just take the plunge and purchase a mask. I wish to be happy in the face of possible apocalypse. Instead of going for a custom for my first mask, i got one of the seller's pre-made, more generic designs. But after wearing this first mask, I might be hooked.

It might be a problem.

Initially I based my kig's look on Billie Joe Armstrong during Green Day’s American Idiot era. Short sleeve black shirt, red necktie, wristbands. The mask had black hair and red/pinkish eyes which I thought would go well with the clothes.

More research. I got a bodysuit because with short-sleeves, my skin would be exposed, and the illusion would be ruined. The suit is just a top. Head and arms are completely covered. I got a men's shirt which fits my smaller frame. A short necktie.

Oh yeah, and then there's the boobs.

But I've always been small in the chest, so a sports bra was enough. I've heard that many female cosplayers use chest binders when they crossplay but I guess I should be happy for my less than ample bosom, at least in terms of crossplaying.

What would be difficult for me is hiding my hips. I have very curvy hips and I know if I ever decide to take this guy out in public i will have to conceal them somehow. Probably padding around the stomach to de-emphasize them but that's not a now issue.

The mask itself actually has decent visibility, which I was surprised with. You look through the character's eyes. They're basically sunglass lenses with the pupils printed on them, so no one can see in but you can see out. No peripheral vision to speak of, but that's true of all full face masks.

And here's the initial cosplay test, sans the wristbands because i was so excited to do this I forgot to wear them. He needs a name, though. I'm leaning towards Billie-kun to name him after one of his main inspirations.

It's thrilling to wear a cosplay that you've taken time to put together. I've done multiple femme!Doctors, but this is the first time I've really crossplayed and it feels FUN in ways that the other cosplays didn't. Truly hiding one's identity behind a mask, truly embodying this character.

Edward Elric in 3D vibes. I found it again. 15+ years after my initial encounter with kigurumi.

EDIT: OMG I FOUND THE EDWARD ELRIC KIG COSPLAY PAGE

Gonna indulge in some more photos.

This was the first photo taken. You can't tell how much I was vibrating with excitement:

I have precious few things of clothing that would be appropriate for a male character, but this coat seemed fine:

Me realizing that I could see out of the character's eyes for real:

Pondering whether I should just be a bishie forever to mentally prepare myself for the horrors:

With the wristbands finally. I like how much more the red pops against the black:

No tie because SOMEONE had to go and break the adjustable bit in their excitement to put things on:

Found a hoodie that matched well:

With t-shirt of our lord and savior Hitori Gotoh from Bocchi the Rock:

If you've read through this entire damn thing, thank you very much for sharing my journey into kigurumi cosplay. I still would like to someday do that Edward cosplay but there's so many other possibilities, male and female, that I'd love to try.

Orrrrr Billie-kun could just be a one-off, unicorn of a bishie who is too perfect and can never be duplicated or replaced

GIFs because reasons

#it's my life #these things i think #i cosplay sometimes #kigurumi #animegao #cosplay #anime #long post #holeeeee sheeeit this was long and i'm sorry for subjecting y'all to this #i'll go back to just reblogging gifsets and silly memes now

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knickynoo · 1 year

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Back to the Future: The Animated Series, s01ep01 "Brothers" Review & Commentary

Well, I let you people vote on it, and you (overwhelmingly) urged me to do this. Not gonna lie; I'm excited. The animated series is. It's a thing that was made. It's kind of like that cousin or uncle that no one in the family really talks about or acknowledges. But, as far as a children's show goes, it is pretty fun. It's also ridiculous, and I can't wait to dive in, tear it apart, analyze it too much, and just generally have a good time talking about this weird little cartoon. These posts will be long, but I'm going to really try to make them enjoyable to read.

Before we begin! Some background info just to orient you: The series takes place in 1991. The Brown family has moved to a farm in Hill Valley and are continuing to go on adventures through the space time continuum because why not? Doc has thrown all caution to the wind, evidently. Marty is in college. I guess 1991 would put him in his senior year, so, maybe he's 20? I dunno. I'm going to have a LOT of fun discussing him, because--as you may have seen me mention briefly in the past--they really did a number on him character-wise.

The series makes use of live-action segments at the beginning and end of each episode, with Christopher Lloyd as Doc. He's often assisted by Bill Nye, The Science Guy. Most of the live action beginnings are framed as Doc telling a story about a specific memory or adventure, which then leads into the cartoon portion, which is the "bulk" of the story. Please keep this in mind. These are supposed to be actual life stories that Doc is sharing about the goings-on in his life post-trilogy. Okay, let's get to it.

We open in Doc's lab, where he's setting up a camera. I don't think it's ever addressed or explained, but he's got some sort of science show that he now runs for children? Honestly, these segments are delightful. Christopher Lloyd clearly enthusiastically jumped right back into the role of Doc, and it's great to see more of him.

There's our guy. Look at him. He's wearing his train shirt again, so he must have gotten a new one after the events of Part III. I don't blame him; that is a nice shirt. He's talking about the electromagnet that he and Jules have made, and it leads him into a story of another time the two of them built one, which was in 1864. Cue the cartoon portion!

The first cartoonified (?) character we get to see is Marty! He's supposed to be paying attention to a history lesson on the Civil War (using Doc's futuristic tech that includes a holographic teacher) but he's not listening at all. He's got his headphones on and is jamming on his guitar. Very Marty behavior. At least they kept that trait of his. Anyway, look at him. Look what they did to him. He's wearing a letterman jacket like some sort of jock, and I do not approve of it. Why did they not have him wear a denim jacket?? Denim was huge in the 90s. Who made this decision? Where are the strings on his guitar? I have so many questions and no answers.

Oh! I should probably mention that Marty is voiced by David Kaufman. Many of you will know him as the voice of Danny Phantom. Doc is voiced by Dan Castellaneta, who is also the voice of Homer Simpson.

When Doc enters the scene, he shows Marty the new feature he's added to the DeLorean. (Oh, yeah, the DeLorean is back, btw. He built another one) As a precaution against anyone trying to steal the car, Doc has modified it to be able to fold down into a suitcase?

It will only open up at the sound of Doc's voice or Einstein's bark, and it weighs over 2,000 pounds. Doc also has a fancy robot crane thing to help lift it and carry it around, but it malfunctions when he tries to demonstrate, and it catapults the DeLorean-turned-suitcase that weighs a literal ton RIGHT ON TOP OF HIM.

photos taken seconds before disaster. rip Doc, cartoon over.

He then shows Marty how the time circuits are now voice activated, and we also learn that the car can travel to locations throughout the world now. It is no longer confined to just traveling through time. Marty's thinks this is all very interesting (no he doesn't) and hurries off because he's late for his classes and Dean Strickland will be angry at him if he fails his Civil War exam. Doc goes into a mini soliloquy, saying, "Ah, the Civil War; a tragic moment from America's past. The powers of oppression and slavery versus the forces of freedom. The south pitted against the north—brother against brother. Thank goodness those days are far behind us."

Naturally, this brings us immediately to a very loud fight between Jules and Verne. Now, I actually like the way Jules and Verne are included and their personalities are established in the cartoon. And if anyone here has read my fanfic "Harborage", you know that I love writing Jules and Verne and take their characterization straight from this cartoon (though I do water them down, obviously. these cartoons are so over the top). Generally, though, I do like their dynamic. Jules is essentially a mini-Doc but even more so in a way? He's extremely smart, very logical, and speaks formally at all times. Verne, on the other hand, is all about having fun. He's loud, hyper, and thinks Jules is a huge geek. Verne and Marty are super close, and they're very much a "big brother, little brother" type dynamic duo of chaos through the series. Doc breaks up his sons' fighting, but Verne is upset that he always seems to take Jules's side.

Then, we go back to Marty (later in the day, I guess?). He's doing another virtual Civil War lesson but is still wearing his headphones and playing guitar during it. His virtual teacher gets annoyed and yells an important date from the war—February 11th, 1864 in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Remember how Doc said the time circuits are now voice activated? Yeah, this date gets programmed into the DeLorean.

Verne, feeling neglected and looked down on by his family, decides to take a joy ride in the DeLorean. Marty witnesses Verne take off, and we actually get a good bit of Marty characterization! He sighs and says, "Perfect", which--as many of you know—is one of Marty's favorite words.

Meanwhile, outside, Verne nearly runs over his own father with the car, and Doc has the most hilariously cartoony reaction to seeing the car barreling at him.

Then, uh oh, Verne is sent right into the middle of the Civil War. He meets Beauregard Tannen, a Confederate General. (This is a good place to mention that Thomas Wilson actually voices all Tannen relatives in the cartoon!)

Back at the house, Doc, Jules, and Marty are all sick with worry and have no clue where Verne has ventured off to. I will point out that we haven't seen or even heard about Clara yet. Where is my girl Clara? *sigh* Anyway, it's Einstein who figures it out. He—he has mechanical gloves that he wears that basically give him human hands, so he finds a photo of Verne in a history book and...yeah.

Turns out Verne has been forced to join the Confederate Army as a little drummer boy. The book states that the group in the picture is "wiped out" a day after the photo was taken. The gang all race to the Time Train, which is hidden in an underground tunnel on the Brown's property. That's a pretty neat detail, ngl. I've wondered where Doc would store that massive train if he ever moved back to Hill Valley.

Once arriving in Chattenooga, Doc puts Marty in charge of guarding the train, and he is immediately captured and tied up. And, ya know what? Even though I feel like Marty is generally out of character a lot in this show, I'll admit it's pretty spot on so far. Doc and Jules are also captured and forced into the Union Army. They learn of General Ulysses S. Clayton, who is Clara's uncle, and Jules goes to try to convince him to put a stop to the upcoming battle. It doesn't work, but they do notice some sort of electromagnetic machine a doctor is using on Ulysses (to treat rheumatism), so Doc and Jules steal it.

On the battlefield the next day, as the armies are charging at each other, Jules gets thrown right into the middle of it all. Verne then runs to him, and they huddle together as they await their doom. (I must say that, as a first episode of a series, this is quite the story to open with. Very interesting choice.) As they soldiers prepare to destroy each other, they notice the brothers cowering together and stop in their tracks—struck by how sweet the scene is. Realizing that the war has pitted many family members and friends against each other, the men begin to hug each other and put aside their differences. On their way back home, Marty's history book changes to show that the particular regiment Verne was forced into never fought any battles. All those men apparently took the little lesson they'd been taught to heart. And I gotta point out that, originally, all those men died in battle, so Verne's actions led to a whole group of people continuing to go on, live their lives, and probably have children. But, seeing as this is a kid's show, the potential repercussions of this on the timeline aren't addressed. And that's the end of the cartoon portion.

We go back to Real Doc then. Yayyy! He shares this news with us.

The delivery of these lines is great. They're said with all the weary exasperation of a parent whose warnings have been ignored over and over. Doc does not feel bad for Marty.

I think Doc does an experiment then? But guess what. As I'm typing this, I'm realizing that I got distracted making the gifs and never actually finished the episode. I don't feel like pulling it back up and watching those last 2 minutes. Oh well.

I think that, overall, this is a weird episode to start a series on. It's not very fun or wacky. Mostly just feels like a history lesson with a "fighting doesn't solve anything" moral slapped onto it. This was fun to write up, though.

Tune in next week to see if we find out where my girl Clara is.

#back to the future #bttf #bttf: the animated series #doc brown #marty mcfly

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bohemian-nights · 4 months

Note

Hey, can I ask you how do you make your gifs?

It took a lot of trial and error, but here is what I have learned(so far cause I'm very much still going through it):

1. Photoshop vs Photopea

To make your gifs you can either use Photoshop or Photopea. I started off with Photpea because it’s cloud-based and doesn’t take up any space on your computer, but I've since moved onto Photoshop. Most of the tutorials you’ll find will use photoshop. So if you need help or want to learn a new skill it will be much easier to find that help if you are using Photoshop.

Photoshop

👆🏽They have ones out there for mac if you search for them on here, but I happen to have a Windows PC so this is the one I use🤷🏽‍♀️

Photopea

2. Downloading videos

I get most of my videos from either YouTube or torrent sites which have a wide selection of shows and movies for you to download.

Watch So Much

👆🏽Is my favorite torrent site. You can also stream shows and movies on their site well.

YTS

👆🏽Is another torrent site I use, but they only have movies on there.

Qbittorrent

👆🏽Lets you download torrents. I should note that If you torrent you'll need a VPN. Literally do not try and download any content from HBO or Disney without a VPN, because at least here in America, they will email you threatening to disconnect your internet😅

For VPN’s do not use the free ones. They don’t work. I’ve personally used NordVPN, but there are other ones out there like Surfshark, or ProtonVPN.

4k downloader

👆🏽Lets you download most things off of YouTube(as well as a couple other sites like TikTok). I say most things because they will not let you download those free movies(ex. Twilight) YouTube itself uploads onto its platform.

Occasionally someone will upload an old movie onto a private channel which you can download with no problems, but anything new or recent you won’t find on there.

You do not have to use a VPN to download videos from YouTube.

3. Resources:

Whatever you're trying to gif will probably be on the long side. So you're either going to need to trim it down to make a 2-3 second clip that you can then use to make your gif, or you can screencap your video.

Screencaping allows you to take a shot of each individual frame* which you can then use to make your gifs out of.

*I like to use anywhere between 40-90 frames per gif.

VLC

👆🏽This is a video player that lets you play your videos and create screencaps from them.

👆🏽This is a great post on how to screencap using VLC.

KMPlayer

👆🏽Is another video player/screencapping software, but I found their interface to be overly complicated

Clipchamp

👆🏽This lets you trim down your videos to create those 2-3-second clips. There are better video editing tools out there(like DaVinci Resolve), but if you have Windows for what it's worth, it’s simple and gets the job done 🤷🏽‍♀️

rPiracy

👆🏽Has links for torrents and things of that nature.

👆🏽This is a great post on how to make a basic gif using Photoshop.

👆🏽This is a great post on how to make a basic gif using Photopea.

👆🏽This user has a lot of tutorials so when you're ready to move onto more complicated gif making, use them as a resource.

4. Lastly, have patience with yourself.

GIF making is time-consuming and as I stated it takes practice. So don't sweat it too much and have fun🎉

#gif making #bnasks #bnask #gif resources

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cxttlefishcxller · 7 months

Text

OC Asks: Character Design Edition

Tagged by @residentdormouse literal days ago, and in true Fef fashion I'm only just now getting to it jfkdl;safd buuuuuuuuut here we are! I'm still deep into the abyss of Stand thoughts, so to no one's surprise I'll go for my BlorbOC, Piper Crain! I had to find a Picrew for her because all of my old ones are trapped in Old Laptop, so away we go jfkdlsa

Bless her. She goes through so many Horrors.

I actually only recently chose a faceclaim for her, based off of like. Vibes(tm) but Sadie Sink has a really decent approximation of what I see in my head for dear Pipes.

You tell 'em, girl.

OPEN DANG TAG for all! It's like midnight at the time of starting this and I gotta wake up early for adventure shenanigans but fuck it we ball jfdksa full questions and answers under the cut!

Glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC's appearance? What's their distinguishing feature?

Despite her fondness for vintage glasses frames, it's probably the sheer amount of band tees she owns. She gravitates toward the groups she's heard and really likes. She's also very fond of flannel shirts used in lieu any type of cardigan or jacket, and has at least three in varying colors.

Face: Describe your OC's face. What's their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

Her features are best described as soft. She's got big brown eyes and an open, expressive face that can't really hide what she's feeling, no matter what her tone of voice might be. Her skin is marked by both freckles and some acne scars, but she's long since stopped being self-conscious of either. Her hair is ginger, and can't quite decide if it's wavy or curly, depending on the day. Oftentimes, it's both.

Stature: What's your OC's body type? How tall are they? Do they wear clothing to accentuate their look or do they try to mask it?

She's on the shorter side of average height and considered chubby, but in a bottom-heavy sort of way. It's actually a matter she's pretty self-conscious about, but she's old enough that her wardrobe primarily consists of loose-fitting tank tops and t-shirts. That's just what she's used to -- skin-tight anything is a no from her, no matter what. She also doesn't like showing much skin in front of people, and won't wear anything more risqué than a pair of shorts.

Motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

She's not the most active, but she can walk a long ways when needed, especially after the long journey from her home to where she was found on the road to Boulder. No matter whether she's moving or resting, though, if she's out in public or in a group, she will always try to find a way to be on the edge, in places where she will be the least in the way and take up the least amount of space. She does tend to be bad with spatial awareness, though, and often bumps hips, shins, and shoulders into furniture and doorframes.

Stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest?

Truly it depends on her mood. At rest, she'll bump her leg, shake her foot, or shift from one side to the other after a time, but the more anxious she is, the more she'll fidget. She likes having something to do with her hands if she's going to have to be in one spot for too long, or her mind is prone to wander. She prefers to sit in places where she can tuck her feet under her or sit cross-legged.

Canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

She has a few tattoos! Genuinely I'm still working on placements and designs, but I'm sure she got at least two before the world ended. Her ears are also pierced once each, but she doesn't ever wear anything in them. She doesn't do much to deliberately cover her tattoos at all, seeing them just as another part of her body.

Night: What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of PJs, or are they more the birthday suit type?

She runs hot at night, so her pajamas always run to some kind of sleeveless shirt and shorts of varying lengths. She generally tends to buy them based on comfort and design, so her pajama drawer has everything from the tiny little pajama shorts you find in Walmart, or knee-length basketball shorts. Her clothing tends to run unisex, buying both men's and women's styles depending on what fits.

Day: What does your OC wear on a normal day? Why do they default to those clothes? Do they wear similar things, or do they change it up?

Depending on the time of year, her wardrobe doesn't really change much. She gears toward t-shirts in the winter and tank tops in the summer, and they're normally all some kind of graphic or music-related design. If it's hot outside, she'll wear the same basketball shorts she tends to wear to bed, but if it's cold, she'll gear more toward sweatpants or soft cargo pants. Jeans are something she only wears if she's going to be at a social event and needs to feel "publicly appropriate", feeling that they're too constricting due to never finding any that really fit comfortably. Now that she's moved much further north than she's used to living, she'll wear a cuffed flannel shirt over the top of her shirt of choice, just for an extra bit of layering.

Formal: What's your OC's formal look? Do they like dressing up? Do they have different looks for different occasions?

Before Tripps, she had a few things she would wear for work. Dressy blouses in solid colors or simple prints, and slacks or long, flowy shirts. Comfort is still the key deciding factor, as much as it could be, but they're not the clothes she really prefers. Now that everything's over, she only has practical clothing that she can move or travel in, and she's pretty okay with that. Being dressy is a lot of effort that she never liked expending, mostly because she never felt it would be worth it. Though she'd never admit it aloud, she wouldn't really like seeing herself in the mirror either way.

Informal: What's your OC's lazy-day look? How do they like to dress when they're winding down?

Her lazy looks are her pajamas, more often than not. Though if it's colder, she's got several pairs of men's pajama pants that she'll wear around instead of shorts. Usually if she's sitting on her couch or chilling in bed, there's always a throw blanket nearby, more for comfort than warmth.

Outerwear: What's your OC's outerwear situation? Jacket, sweater, cloak? What sort of weather do they deal with most and how do they protect themselves?

Other than her usual flannels, she'll throw on a hoodie (either zippered or pullover) but she doesn't normally go for anything heavier than that. She's forever forgetting to procure a proper heavy coat from the places that the Free Zone has set up for supplies, so she typically ends up borrowing spares from her friends before heading out into the cold for too long. She and Crow are hell-bent on using yarn pilfered from further in the city to make hats, scarves, and things needed for the people to use as the winter creeps closer, and sometimes she'll borrow something out of the pile if she needs an extra bit of warmth.

Footwear: What does your OC wear on their feet?

Typically, if she has a choice, it's a trusty and well-worn pair of red hi-tops. But during the majority of her travel time between Texas and Colorado, she geared more toward well-padded running shoes, just for the extra support. If she's at home, though, her shoes are off as soon as she's in the door, no matter the temperature inside.

Road: What does your OC wear while traveling? Do they have high-quality equipment, or are they making do? What does their gear look like?

Most of her traveling was done in a world that had very little to offer her by way of supplies, so it's more often than not just whatever she's got on her back. No gear, no hiking equipment, just whatever's on hand that she doesn't have to dig through dozens of ruined stores to find.

Armor: What kind of armor does your OC wear? Is it well kept? Bonus: where does it come from? Is there a story behind it?

Armor isn't necessary in the world she's in, but she'd probably be more comfortable with it. ESPECIALLY when it comes to being around anyone from New Vegas. Most of her protection is purely mental, around her thoughts and emotions. And even then, it's got some significant dings and cracks.

Arms: Does your OC have any weapons? What weapons do they carry, and how do they wear them when they're not fighting?

Again, weaponry is likely useful, but not anything Pipes tends to really carry. She has a concrete brick in her bag (Brickney Spears) that she found outside of a hotel she broke into shortly before the first time she met Flagg, and one of those old 1980s heavy flashlights (The Fuck-You Flashlight, or El Kabong) she has a little bit of self-defense measures in the back of her mind from classes taken long before Tripps, but wouldn't be able to take anyone down if she were faced with a true panic-filled danger moment. Mostly she hopes that nothing will ever put her into that situation. There is also......One Other Thing she has on her side. But that information is classified until Act 3. Sorry, Mouse fjdklsa;fd

Roots: Is your OC's look inspired by any specific style of clothing or fashion trend? What are the roots and/or inspiration for their look?

Piper's roots were originally as a sort of self-insert, so most of her style inspiration comes from things I do/have previously worn, but with several things I feel fit what her personality has become over the course of this story. Her Act 3 clothing style is mostly things she would pull off if she had the confidence to do so, mostly because she's having to pretend that she has the confidence to do so. Though it may or may not do her confidence a little good to have that kind of chance, in a fake-it-till-you-make-it kinda way.

Texture: Does your OC favor any specific kinds of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can't wear or don't like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer?

Texture is a key factor in comfort, and comfort is the thing by which Piper really decides on her clothes. Cotton and knit are top tier, polyester blends are all right, depending on if they're soft. The lighter/smoother/softer, the better, so things like wool and rough, thick fabric are right out.

Wardrobe: How big is your character's wardrobe? Do they wear things threadbare, or can they afford new clothes often? Are they any good at mending and repairing their own clothing?

Threadbare, if she can manage it. Sometimes she'll manage to go through and get rid of things that she no longer wears, but most of her clothes are chosen for practicality, so she tends to get her money's worth out of them. She also loved thrift and secondhand stores, when there were still stores to go to, both for price and for clothes that don't need to be broken in.

Bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

She has a simple wristwatch that she wears, mostly because she likes having a timepiece that she doesn't need a charger to keep alive. She also has simple, silver rings (at least two per hand), and necklaces with long chains and dangling pendants, primarily a rose quartz point that doubles as a pendulum, when she has pressing questions that need answered. The rest have more sentimental value than anything, rather than having a practical use, but she enjoys how they all look.

Hair: How does your OC wear their hair? Does it have some kind of meaning?

Even before the Free Zone, she didn't really have much to do about her hair. She'd get it cut about once a year or so, sometimes more if she could afford it or really hit a mental health jag and needed something different. Sometimes she'd bother to straighten it, and if it got long, she'd sometimes wear it in one or two braids, but 90% of the time it's going up in a scrunchie and that's the end of it. Stays out of her face, stays out of her way, doesn't get caught in shit, everyone wins.

Makeup: Does your OC wear makeup? How often? What kind? Why do they wear makeup, and do they like it?

Typically she didn't, even before Tripps. Again, this is more formed out of habit, but she also has sensitive skin that tends to break out whenever she wears foundation. If she had a special occasion, she could get by with a little blush, some eyeshadow, and some lip color, but that's about as much as you could get out of her.

Favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

At one time, after their journey to the Free Zone, Teddy had lent her a red-plaid hooded flannel that he would sometimes layer under his coats on colder days. She didn't ever tell him how much she liked it, but he got the picture somehow, as he formed a habit of handing it to her whenever she'd walk out of the house without a jacket, or on days when she just seemed like she needed a pick-me-up. It's her favorite article of clothing (though it technically doesn't belong to her) and he never seems to complain if it goes missing out of his closet.

Change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

She's dyed her hair a time or two when she was younger, but the most significant change to her habits doesn't happen until she's having to try and blend in with the New Vegas denizens later on. Even then it's more for survival than for comfort.

Alternate: What would your OC's alternate universe look be? If they're a fantasy character, what's their modern look? If they're sci-fi, what's their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themself? Bonus: Prompt an AU!

Oh, don't tempt me into making a new AU for this poor girl and the bullshit she has to go through. But since she's sort of supernatural horror as-is, if she were in a fantasy-type setting, she'd probably be more of a mage than a warrior. So light, breezy clothing that she can move in and throw some hELLA spells with. Likely she'd be a Wizard, if we're going D&D rules, meaning she'd be a glass cannon -- throwing HARD hits, but not being able to take any in return. Or potentially a Warlock, if you know you know jfkdl;asfdj Likely she'd need someone to tank for her on the front line so that she could offer some long-range support behind.

#not me considering a D&D AU for this bullshit #but also this got me to think a lot about shit that I'd been picturing but not really putting to words #so it's super helpful!#Also any time I get to ramble about Piper is a good time for me #fef writes #farewell wanderlust #the stand #tangentially at least

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pleasantspark · 2 years

Text

Properly filled in the missing blanks for Rose's backstory, also introducing zir twin brother Comet. Yes, Rose has a twin brother. Some of the pages were either blanked out or had been repetitive so get some back ass shit from me. I think this is it.

If you want me to talk about Comet, I can, but for now, here's the story and as usual the link to the doc is there. Capped at 6894 words and 42 pages, here's Rose's backstory in full. I am done with writing it as I was up all night doing it.

The Legend of Athena Maximus was lost due to most sources of zir existence being wiped from the planet. Athena Maximus wasn’t forged or placed online and is one of the first genderless cybertronians, ze accended from the skies as a gift from an unknown bot.

Athena was the result of the ideals that Adaptus presented and as such was used to try and combat it, but due to Athena’s poor frame and everything that surrounded it, ze were unable to provide any help. Not like ze were able to even be OF help since ze arrived as a child.

Athena Maximus was a child, zey WERE a child. The mind of a child, zey, was hard to deal with because of zir powerful tantrums, Athena was meant to be of help during the great god war, but because of age, couldn’t be of help.

Originally, Athena was supposed to be raised to be a fighting bot, to help aid in the God War, but as usual, Athena was neglected and zir dormant god abilities were left to grow out of control, impeding progress on Cybertron.

As a last ditch attempt, Adaptus flees to Luna-1 where he blasted the planet with an electromagnetic pulse designed to disorient the bots on cybertron. Among one of these bots were Athena, and thus caused zir to be

disintegrated and therefore forgot that ze existed. Primus tried to take the blow, only for him to be irredeemably forgotten.

A genderless cybertronian woke up in Polyhex with the designation of Rose, The Senate was astonished by this, as they never really heard of this before. But soon after a few conversations and repeated introductions, Rose left.

Rose thought this effect was a one off thing, but it kept occurring. To the point where zey got other people in an eternal loop where zey introduced zirself only to repeat conversations that ended nowhere. This effect caused Rose to be banished to a lifetime of loneliness. Which played into zir love for traveling.

Rose traveled outside of Cybertron in search of new worlds, being alone in the journey. Rose at first didn't mind because at least other bots wouldn't suffer from verbal loops.

Zey arrived back at Cybertron arriving at Delphi due to an accident occurring, Zey was found unconscious and unresponsive in zir space shuttle, the small shuttle was intact though.

Being brought into the clinic, Rose met an intern medic who was trained under the Medic First Aid. His name was Life Alert.

Life Alert treated zir wounds and helped zir out occasionally.

Rose stayed in Delphi to wait until zir space shuttle was fixed. Rose ended up learning more and more about Life Alert and finally at last someone didn't forget zir existence. Life Alert was a great company and after he graduated from Medic Academy agreed to go on an expedition in space with Rose as a medic to help aid zir.

Rose was smitten with Life Alert and did anything to help him out with his studies. During their time together, Rose gained an understanding of how medics worked and as such Life Alert taught zir some form of basic medic knowledge.

Traveling through space, the two returned to Cybertron, which unfortunately was in the midst of war. And tragically, Life Alert lost his life during that time.

As Rose held onto Life Alerts servo, he uttered these simple words: "I see you."

This broke Roses' spark as zey confessed to Life Alert about how much zey meant to zir and how zey will always love him, even when zey rusted and died.

At that moment, Rose knew Zey had to fight for Life Alert. Rose enlisted a mentor, a mech by the name of Alpha Sapphirus who had high regards for Rose.

Forged Cold, Alpha Sapphirus was an old time military bot who dated back to fighting alongside Kup in the first cybertronian war. Alpha was quite experienced in the majority of combat and melee ranged attacks and was a hard to beat opponent.

Alpha saw potential in Rose and pushed zir to become the best zey could be, Rose was taught how to defend zir honor and restore it.

Rose was sworn to the sword and was getting stronger and stronger. Rose learned more and more about Alpha Sapphirus as time went on. His reasoning for wanting to push Rose to be the best zey can and protect other bots was because Alpha Sapphirus had a lover, a mech by the name Ripcord. Ripcord was also a Military Bot who talked a lot with Alpha during his times in need and while Alpha Sapphirus was a brooding and stoic individual.

Ripcord got through to Alpha Sapphirus and actually made the mech smile a few times. Alpha Sapphirus and Ripcord bonded and became conjunx enduras and both had an oath to protect one another.

Alpha was quite efficient on the battlefield and proven to be a force to be reckoned with, and with Ripcord the two were a perfect force. However, Rose ended up seeing the horrors of war. And the source for Alpha's brittle and stoic nature was through an incident in war.

Through a grim picture, Rose saw the horrors of the old cybertronian war and how it affected many. Of many, was Alpha Sapphirus, covered in the blood of Ripcord, he held onto Ripcord in hopes of them getting to a medic on time.

It never came in time, as Ripcord tragically passed. Alpha Sapphirus described himself as a fool, and fools allow their partners to selfishly rot and watch them perish.

From this, Rose strived to become like Alpha and protect those zey loved, through extensive training Rose was able to beat Alpha Sapphirus where zey couldn't before hand. Alpha Sapphirus granted zir his double sided ax, and zey repainted it to be white and pink.

Zey parted ways with Alpha Sapphirus and to this day talked highly about Alpha Sapphirus.

Rose found zirself traveling via ship once more, enjoying traveling more than anything. Rose is quite childish and loves to play and mess around. Zir curiosity landed zir in a mess with a bunch of decepticons. Rose at the same time fell from the sky and injured zirself, ze was later found and brought alongside the ship labeled the Lost Light. Upon arriving on the Lost Light, ze was questioned about a few things, before meeting Rodimus.

Disorientated, ze asked what happened, and Rodimus explained that Rose was found on the outside of the ship, completely unconscious, and they brought zir in.

Ratchet checked Rose up to make sure all zir vitals was responsive before making a shocking discovery, apparently Roses’ gender set type was set to ‘mech’ despite Rose zirself being genderless, when asked about this, Rose denies ever being a mech and reiterates that it must be a glitch or just a few screws loose.

Rodimus greeted Rose, and told zir that ze are welcomed to stay, although he does have a task for zir to complete, to which, become representative of the Lost Light, as in a Liaison, Rose agreed because ze likes to be helpful, Rose was then discharged from Ratchet’s care.

During the ship’s quantum leap, Rose was in the midst of interacting with various bots aboard the ship and getting to know each and every last one, although the ship doing a sudden leap freaked zir out, and had zir leave the room ze were in shortly to calm zir nerves.

Once ze got zirself together, ze found zir way to the Medbay where Rung and Ratchet were talking, Rose waited until Rung was finished talking to Ratchet.

Rose listened to what Ratchet had to say, before Rung noticed zir. He introduced himself as the Physiatrist of The Lost Light, before Rose could respond, Rung got hit in the faceplates by Whirl.

Rose stands on the sidelines after Whirl starts a fight with Rung not wanting to step in if ze were accidentally hurt, Rung manages to talk down to Whirl and get him to at least stop, where Rose just stands there shyly.

Upon meeting up with Rodimus with everyone, Rose stands next to Rung, and properly introduces zirself, Rung shakes zir servo, and to which, Rose replies. “Rung is such a nice name.”

Upon talking, Rodimus mentions Rose and how zey would pave the beginnings to an otherwise free lifestyle on the ship. To which, Ultra Magnus responds. “Not an excuse for you to get lazy on the job, Rodimus!”

During the incident with the Sparkeaters, Rose was talking to Rung, while he sorted his office out, ze were intrigued by the conversations about his model ships, and admitly Rose actually enjoys collecting. Rose talked about one of his model ships that looked oddly familiar to zir ship.

Rung thought it was pretty funny, and both shared a laugh. Only for a Sparkeater to appear shortly after. Rose intercepts the sparkeater and decides to protect Rung like zey wanted to all zir life.

But Rung assured zir that he had an insane amount of luck and that if he got injured he’d be fine. Rose responds with, “I know we just met, but I care about you, to make sure you’re at least okay and not in harm's way.”

Rung appreciates the offer, but before he could say something else, he and Rose are immediately brought up by Skids, who was in the Vents at the time. Bringing the two into the vents, Rose was acquainted with Skids. The trio head through the vents and are promptly chased by a sparkeater, Rung contacts Rodimus, to which leads to the trio escaping from within an inch of their lives.

Upon meeting up with the rest, Rodimus attacks a sparkeater using Rung as a bait, annoyed by the recklessness Rose was worried about, only for Rung to be pushed away and have Rodimus take the lead.

Rose was called in to mediate the ongoing conflict with Fort Maximus, upon entering the room, ze are met with a sight where Rung was tied up, attempting to help Rung into calming down Fort was futile. While Whirl attempts to help, things become worse as it progresses.

While the 4 of them were preoccupied, Swerve and Rewind were outside the ship conversing as it’s revealed that Rodimus sent the two here to neutralize Fort Max, which ultimately leads to Rung accidentally getting shot in the process, Rose feeling like ze failed him falls to zir knees and weeps.

Rose, still feeling like ze failed Rung, decided to visit him and check on his progress, he looked like he was slowly getting better, but that didn’t help quell zir worries, all zey wanted was to protect him. And zey was the only one that went to check on Rung, feeling as though he deserved better, Rose held Rung’s servo.

“I promised I will protect you, and I failed that promise, I care for you. Something about you makes me want to care… I promise you, once you get better we can play!” Rose would say to the bot. But no words were exchanged back between them.

Rose tags alongside Rodimus and a few selective others, Rose immediately gets bombarded with questions from Whirl and after a few misinterpreted words, it’s implied that what he said to zir was enough to notice a change in zir personality.

Rose met with the others at Swerve’s Bar, not engaged in conversation which zey usually were, while the others talked about stuff, Rose continued to listen and worry about Rung’s state.

Rose was silent and reclusive while the others talked about their stories, Rose opened up a bit about zir story. Albeit a little different, this behavior didn’t go unnoticed by the others though.

After Rung was fixed, Rose went alongside the team to go to earth, although zir outlook changed, zey wanted to explore earth with the others, Rose dons a disguise of a female with pink hair and a long dress. Upon this, zey was given the name Rosie. To which zey commented. “Not too far off.”

When Rung got his name however, Rose giggled and found it quite adorable, still showcasing zir interest in Rung. While the crew talks, Rose began to tap zir fingers on the table, still entranced about what Whirl said to zir.

Rung, concerned about Rose’s change of character, began to ask if there was something wrong, to which, Rose said there wasn’t anything wrong with zir, they might have some issues zey need to handle, Rung offers to help, and Rose once again declines.

Rung felt off about the whole issue, and wanted to learn more, genuinely concerned, but decided against it. Instead offering zir his services, which made zir snap. Zey yelled at him and got up and stormed out leaving a shocked Rung behind.

Starting off their strained friendship. Rung was advised to keep an optic on Rose’s condition to make sure they are safe. As per protocol, Rung agrees and keeps a close optic on Rose.

Rose was normal and acted like nothing happened, Ze went on the mission as normal, acting like nothing happened. Rung was concerned but noted zir actions.

Rose found zirself wandering the Oil Reservoir, watching the stars, zey reminisced about the past, future and present, blinking back tears singing zir and Life Alert’s song. As zey sang, a vision of Life Alert popped singing alongside zir.

Rose and this imaginary Life Alert sang together in sync, much like they did when he was alive. As they sang, both of them danced together. Rose finished the song, as tears streamed from zir faceplates. A cloud appeared above zir helm as zey were sad.

Zey was too distracted to notice Ultra Magnus walking in, the two of them have a short conversation, which ended because Rose lashed out at him, and seeing the amount of storm clouds zey were experiencing decided to leave to go back with the others.

Rose arrives back only to be met with an unfamiliar face, Rose is promptly introduced to Getaway and the two begin… Well talking, not taking warnings from Chromedome and others, eventually manipulating Rose into doing his dirty work.

Rose however wanted to do so much more than that! Zey followed Getaway’s every command not yielding when he told zir to do such terrible things, Rose eventually was manipulated into a dangerous sparkbond that damaged zir severely.

Rose was checked over by Ratchet, and was fixed to minimum stability, only for Rung to walk on over and declare how dangerous that was, Rung’s worry mixed with disappointment made zir realize what zey did was wrong and looked up at Rung.

“Why do you care so much?”

Rung, confused about that question, asked Rose to elaborate further, to which Rose explains that every time a bot cares for zir, they die or worse, go missing. And asked him in general what makes him different from most bots that cared for zir in the past. Rung responds with a simple question asking zir what zey said to him when zey tried to protect him from a sparkeater.

Rose remembers, but doesn’t know what that has to do with right now as it was in the past, Rung responds to that question stating that time continued to grow and as their relationship blossomed into this mess today, he knew that deep in his spark, zey would understand that he loves zir.

Rose teary optic, demanded Rung to stop lying, and that zey don’t like being lied to. Rung disagrees and states he was not lying to zir, and that. “We have known each other for a while now, and I care about you, you’re special and there’s more to you that meets the eye, and ah, I wanted to let you know, I love you. I truly love you Rose, Don’t forget that.”

Rose was so overwhelmed with emotions at that time, and wiped zir optics away from the tears and embraced a taken aback Rung with a hug, but he later hugged back content, his glasses drooping from his optics.

Upon the tapes left by Rewind, Rose explains zir insecurities about being the Liaison and how zey can’t be there for everyone. As zey used to be. Rose feels like everyone has high expectations for zir and that ze can do everything.

Rose in these tapes compared to the actual Rose in person is quite shy, indicating that zey isn't a camera person. Upon being asked a question off camera, relating to the piano in zir room, zey laughs nervously and tries to make small talk.

Being requested to play it, Rose tries to play zir and Life Alert’s song only to get spooked and mess up a key. Rose, flustered, apologized profusely and said it won’t happen again.

Rose was also seen talking with Rung, but when the camera was facing towards zir, zey blushed and immediately looked away. Rose was embarrassed about this, Rose was there, holding onto Rung when he talked about not having an alt mode.

Reassuring he’d be just as special with or without an alt mode

Rose was present when Megatron was allowed on the Lost Light, although reluctant to allow him to be here, (due to the Decepticons attacking zir in the past.) Zey was reassured by Rodimus that no harm will come towards zir way, that did worry zir a bit.

Rose ended up freaking out by the implications of allowing Megatron on board, to which Rodimus stated it wasn’t his choice and that Optimus allowed him to be on board. Rose didn’t believe him at all, and demanded he’d stop yanking zir tailpipe, to which he wasn’t.

Rose later decided to drop it and thought that Megatron wasn’t as bad as zey thought, and proceeded to give him a chance to which Rung supported zir for.

Rose was beginning to doubt zir relationship believing that it was all just a farce, zey didn’t know what to do and was thinking that it was all a lie. Rose has a bit of zir time to reflect on if zey would want this relationship to move forward, but decided to hide zir true feelings in.

Zir doubts stem from the fact that zey lost a previous partner from a death, and felt as though, zey couldn’t be what Rung wanted zir to be, and the thought of failing or losing Rung over took the cybertronian with fears of something more…

Although what Rung said to zir was true, zey couldn’t help but feel like zey didn’t have what it takes to be a great partner… But… That was the old Rose, the old Rose would have given into zir negative thoughts like this, but this, this was the new Rose, zey were determined to push through this rough patch.

Although the feeling of not being what Rung wants still terrified zir. And zey decided to try zir best for what zey got. It’s what Rung would’ve wanted for zir to do anyways.

Through an unseen flashback, Rose and Rung were in Rung’s Office talking about his model plane ship’s and once again, the talk shifts straight to the ship Rose has memories of. Rung sheepishly didn’t want to purposefully answer and tried to shift the talk from that specific point, this only further concerned Rose, and by extent, was concerned about what Rung was hiding.

Zey asked if he knew something zey didn’t know, and that it had some sort of significance to it, Rung sheepishfully said yes, but not in the way zey thinks. The ship was that of the Fateful Archetype.

Rose remembered specifically seeing a ship and thinking it was a Decepticon run ship, not knowing what happened, Rung admits that the ship that crashed was no other than the Fateful Archetype. The ship was already slowly falling down from the Fateful Archetype falling down as well.

Rose remembered what happened, which caused zir to fall to Delphi and meet Life Alert. Rung apologizes profusely and Rose said it wasn’t his fault and that he couldn’t have seen what was coming.

And it was just an accident, Rung was confused about Rose’s calming of the situation and Rung soon remembered how much Life Alert truly meant to Rose, and understood zey wanted it as much as anyone else.

In another unseen flashback, this time, Rose is talking to Life Alert, they were discussing life after the war and what that meant for the two of them. Rose admits before hand that zey didn’t know what they would do after the war, which perplexed a confused Life Alert, concerned about the implications on what that means, Rose admits, due to zir… effect zey couldn’t really hold a conversation without the bot being stuck in a verbal time loop.

Life Alert thought for a bit, and asked zir does zey ever get lonely, to which, the curious bot asked for him to elaborate, Life Alert stated that botz get lonely and never have someone to talk to, Rose admits zey do get lonely and never really expressed zir feelings about zirself to anyone in fear that someone might forget and revert to zir.

Life Alert asked if zey ever fell in love before, to which Rose said zey had, Rose asked if he ever fell in love before. Life Alert affirms, And Rose confessed zey loved him, but it hurts so much. Concerned, he asked Rose to elaborate, Rose admits that love hurts so bad and zey didn’t know what to do with these feelings.

Life Alert smiled and told zir it was okay to feel this way and reminded zir that these feelings were normal for someone to feel, it wasn’t all that bad to feel these feelings and the both of them can take it slow if Rose needed to, to which Rose responded that ze would like that, zey rested his helm on his shoulder.

Rose was seen with Rung with Froid, the two were arguing and Froid noticed Rose and proceeded to ask about zir, to which Rung told zey they were taken and to focus on what was at servo here.

Froid snarky responds that he was surprised he could commit, and to let alone a patient, knowing full well what happened in the past, but to rub salt in the wound he was sure to keep the secret safe with him.

Rung was offended by that implication that he would make the same mistake and told Froid to mind his business and focus on what’s at hand here, Rose was confused and tried to ask what he was talking about.

Rung told Rose, it didn’t matter, to which Froid said, it did matter, Rose asked who Froid was, and Froid responded he was a therapist and the great friend of Rung.

Rung responded with “I beg to differ”

Rose didn’t understand that, but decided to let it go for the time being as there were tensions already between the two.*

In another flashback, Rose is seen driving the ship with Life Alert laughing, the two of them laughing and carrying on. Life Alert talked about silly things that the medics did back in Delphi. Rose thought he had a lot of interesting stories to tell.

Life Alert admits that these stories weren’t as interesting because he never really had someone to tell them to, until now. Rose gushed and exchanged an I love you to him, Life Alert received the I Love You and returned it. Rose gushed and smiled.

Rose offers to take him back to Cybertron to take a rest, Life Alert agreed and wanted to see how the others were doing in Delphi. Upon Arriving on Cybertron, Rose laments that zey missed Cybertron and how beautiful the scenery feels under zir boots.

Life Alert smiled and agreed, saying he had a lot of friends and they would be glad to meet Rose. Rose, insecure, asked if zey would accept zir, to which, Life Alert reassured zir they would love zir as much as he did.

Upon arriving at another location, there was a war, and Rose saw the countless civilian-bots being shot down mistaken for a part of a faction, Life Alert told Zir to run and not look back, as the bullets slain everyone around zir, they ended up being stopped by a decepticon.

Terrified, Rose tried to run away, only for the bot to corner, zir. Life Alert saw this and broke the two apart. Life Alert looked Rose into the optics and faced the Decepticon. Rose begs Life Alert not to do this, knowing what might happen.

Life Alert sighs and tells Rose thing’s must be done to assure the safety of those he cares about, it is through this flashback we finally get revealed that what Rose stated to countless others were false, and that everything zey covered were false as well, signifying zey wanted to forget the significance of this memory.

But try as zey might, the memory resurfaces from time to time, scared for Life Alert, Rose begs that there must be another way, and what is happening could never happen and shouldn’t happen.

Life Alert reassures zir, that if he goes away, he’d want zir to move on and be happy, zey shouldn’t feel guilt for what he has done. It was for zir own safety and if anything, he did it for zir to assure zir that zey would be safe. Rose was terrified and understood what he did, zey nodded and looked at him, tears dripping from zir optics, and finally. To buy them enough time, Life Alert walked with his servos in the air and tried to talk them down, only for them to not listen to reason, and killed him on the spot.

Rose arrived on an exertion with the other Bots including Rung, zey were brought along as a way to settle potential conflict if it arrives, finally proving zir self other than just the Liaison. Upon arriving there, Rose was acting out of character, Rodimus knew that and asked if zey was okay.

Rose told Rodimus zey were, that zey didn’t get enough sleep, he decided to yield from the conversation. He went back to his own duties, Rose’s optics wandered subconsciously over towards Rung and the feelings of inadequacy returned.

Rose shakes zir helm, and rids of these thoughts. And focused on what was needed, Rose and Rung had a little chat about some things before Rose used zir outlier abilities to help aid the others.*

At the party, Rose was sitting by zirself when Rung approached zir with his servo out, asking for a dance. Rose agreed and took his servo. The two danced as the song that zey sang with Life Alert came on, tears began streaming down zir face.

Rung asked if he was making zir upset, and Rose replied no, and that it was the song, Rung understood and smiled at zir. The two began to slow dance, and Rose decided to tell Rung about zir feelings and how zey felt in the past. Rung looked at zir curiously, and asked what zey meant by that.

Rose admits that zey had a hard time with the relationship and couldn’t come to terms with the whole, “dating thing” and that zir mind has been actively trying to sabotage the thing they’ve got.

Rung understands this all too well and as they danced he tried to ease zir worries eliminating them one by one, Rose admits it was rather stupid and silly of zir to get so caught up in this mess, and Rung assures zir, it’s not stupid or silly to feel these emotions.

Rung and Rose dance for a bit, before the two end up slipping away from the crowd and into the Oil Reservoir, the two have a bit of back and forth before the conversation shifts to sparkbonding.

Rose asked Rung if he knew what Sparkbonding was, to which Rung knew all too well, hinting about what happened to Rose with Getaway Rung admits that it was a concept he never thought of before because he was too intrigued in his work, and while he did have someone special in the past, they are long gone, and he lamented he couldn’t think that someone will ever love him again.

Especially when they forgot him, Rose reveals a secret to Rung that zey’s been keeping zirself, zey admitted that zey think that zey wouldn’t be a perfect fit for Rung.

Rung disagrees and believes that zey could do anything zey put zir mind to, and that zey is welcome to call off the relationship, to that, Rose disagrees and admits that zey want to sparkbond with Rung.

Rung, taken aback by this, made sure Rose wanted to do this, Rose nodded, and stated zir spark was ready for him, hinting that the botched bond with Getaway wasn’t it.

With an emotional yes, Rung confirms to Rose stating he wanted to move forward with this relationship, and seal the bond that they shared, before the two bonded, they made a few promises, and Rose’s promise was to protect him, forever and always. Before that, the two went forth with the conjunx ceremony ritual.*

Rose hung out with Rung and Skids inside Rung’s habsuite, enjoying the two of them bonding. Rose kept looking at the Fateful Archetype and thought about how that incident knocking Rose’s ship over changed zir life for the better.

As Skids and Rung spoke, Rose thought about that night, before a brief slam of the door was open, it was Froid, Rose knew who he was, and the two engaged in an argument. Froid points out Rose, and Rung told him to never speak of Rose again in that manner.

The two ended up breaking the argument, and Rose offered to escort Rung out to see Froid out, Rung smiled and appreciated it, the two walked out and bumped into Kindle and Fervor, and the two exchange a small talk they then moved forwards back to Froid’s ship and where the two argued again.

They once brought up the Fateful Archetype, but Rose was concerned about it, for once, Rung told zir it didn’t matter at all, and that Froid was speaking out of line. Upon arriving they meet with Sunder, to which Rose gets in front of Rung to shield him.

Rung points out the way Sunder’s been handled unfairly, and Froid simply states he was liberating him, the two once again bicker, Rose keeping zir weapon out in case that Sunder did anything, that’s when Skids erupted from behind them and began shooting at Sunder, saving Rose and Rung once again.

Upon meeting with Sunder, Rung demands to ask why he’s opening up the cage, to which Froid states it was the least worse option. Rose immediately gets into stance while this all occurs and holds zir weapon out to protect Rung.

Upon handing his note of Resignation, Megatron attempts to talk down Rung from this decision, Rose was concerned about Rung leaving the Lost Light, and the mention of The Fateful Archetype came popping up once again, Rung admits that it was wrong and that he will finally admit on what happened that day.*

Upon the final words segment, Rose’s final words were to be buried in the spot where Life Alert was killed, so the two of them can be together, at least near the two of them, zey were sure his body was still there.

Rose didn’t have anything else to say, other than that zey will know when zir time will come up, and proceeded to tell everyone that nothing mattered to zir at the moment other than ensuring they won’t forget about zir.

While Getaway reveals that he was alive and thriving he reveals that the reasoning for attacking the Lost Light were because of the unfairness that Megatron was allowed to go free without consequences. Especially the millions of lives he carelessly and mercifully killed.

Getaway addressed Rose specifically asking if zey knew how that feels considering zir dead lover Life Alert perished in the conflict and wasn’t that unfair due to the loss of him, that the troops leader was allowed off scott free.

And rubs it in zir face. “Wouldn’t it be nice for Megatron to get his just desserts?” Before promptly revealing the datapad that zey thought went missing, Rose immediately tried to go and destroy the monitor, but was held back by Rodimus.

Rose yelled back at the monitor stating that was the old and dumb Rose, to which Getaway responded he liked that version of zir and no matter what zey would be the same way zey always were. Dumb and Curious. This infuriates Rose as zey begins manifesting a storm cloud above zir helm from zir outlier ability.

In an unseen Flashback it’s revealed what Whirl said to Rose all those cycles ago, Rose was pulled aside by Whirl, who asked zir about why ze’s so hellbent on getting close to Rung, and that, Rose responded that zey regard Rung as a friend, and what they had together was just friendly.

Whirl responds that Rose is never going to get the attention of Rung, and that zey are better off following his example. Rose asked why, Whirl said, that love is fake, and everything is false to zir.

This hurt zir, and Whirl reminded zir that it’s for the best, simply putting it, “Rung cannot love anyone. He has work to finish.” and that, “It’s falsehood and doesn’t matter anyways, and it’s all in zir helm.”

He then told zir “The sooner you face reality, the sooner it will be easier on you.”

This changed zir mind, Whirl walked away from zir, as zey stood there for a minute and was generally unresponsive before Rose was called from zir trance by Rodimus.

In another flashback, Rose found zirself in the Oil Reservoir by zirself, zey received a comm from an unknown source informing zir of Alpha Sapphirus’ suicide, stricken with grief, zey looked down.

Rose knew that Alpha Sapphrius would eventually end his life, and it was inevitable, but it still hurt. Rose is seen calling Rung. Rung arrived at the Oil Reservoir and he saw Rose and sat down next to zir.

Rose leaned zir helm on Rung and asked him when the pain was going to end. Rung asks zir to elaborate, Zey admitted that another death was recorded and that zey felt like everyone who ever dies becomes zir fault.

Rung assured zir that it wasn’t zir fault and that everyone dies sooner or later, and that it shouldn’t be the fault of the person who was just close to them. Rose asked Rung when the pain will end, Rung said he didn’t know and that he would be glad to help zir through it.

Rose tells Rung that this was torture and Rung laments that he could understand. And the two sat in silence together staring into the distance.

Rose was present during the amica endura ceremony that Nautica did, Rose was given a speech to each and everyone, and comments on Rose’s sweetness and bravery. The 6 of them proceeded to become emicas, While Rose was generally curious about these things. Zey had enough room in zir spark for an Amica Endura.

Rose is seen sorting affairs around The Lost Light, passing by Rung asking where Skids was, Rose didn’t stop by to hear what Ratchet had to reply with, but zey were busy taking care of things.

Rose finished with what zey were doing and went to look for Rung only to end up seeing Rung being held by a functionalist member, Rose, zir spark beating wanted to go find him, but was stopped.

Rose demands to go after Rung, to which Minimus replies, “You can’t go running into things impulsively like that.”

Rose responds with a goofy yet snarky response of “Okay Dad”

Upon going with the Others, Rung was revealed and Rose freaked out, the others tried to pull Rose back. But zey protested that it was ZIR Rung and ZE PROMISED TO PROTECT HIM!

Rose ran after Rung when he ran out of the way concerned for his safety. Upon mentioning Skids, zey wondered what happened to him, and he didn’t give zir a definitive answer. Rung starts explaining a little about himself, which to Rose, zey wanted to divulge a few pieces. But I didn't want to say anything.

When Rose found Rung, zey embraced him. Asking if he was hurt, and did they hurt him, Rung said no and asked if Rose zirself was okay. Rose responded with, “No, I don’t care! As long as you’re safe!” The two hugged each other for a while before parting from one another.

Rung proceeded to tell everyone what they did to him in captivity and Rose felt enraged, feeling absolutely hurt Rose swore to kill them only for Rung to calm zir down, declaring it was “not necessary”

Upon the making of sparks revelation, Rose reveals a bit of information regarding zir dreams where zey found zirself in a prison tower, cold, dark and alone. Rung questions that and says, he’ll talk about that later.

Rung proceeded to tell them the only way to stop them was for him to take care of it, realizing the implications, Rose looked up at him and had teary optics. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Rose asked, Rung affirmed and said he wanted to do it.

As Rung was being talked to by Rewind, Rose chuckles and agrees with him, Rung at the aspect of what was said, decided to indulge in Rose’s comment asking what zey meant by that. To which, Rose laughs and says that zey was inspired by Rung, due to the love zey was given to zir by him, Rung proceeds to blush at this.

In a flashback, on the Lost Light, Rose is notified by a knock at zir door, and it was Rodimus saying that a bot by the name of Comet wants to see zir. Rose questions this as zey never heard from a Comet before in zir entire life, Rodimus then sighs and states the bot was referring to himself as zir Twin Brother, in that moment, something clicked inside of zir and with a quiet tone requests Rodimus “Let him in.”

Rodimus allowed this mech in and faced away with the mech, zey demands to know where he came from and is he sent to kill zir, Comet replies with a no, and proceeds to tell zir, they woke up before zey was awoke and was looking for Rose all those cycles, Rose didn’t know what he was saying and asked him to elaborate, but he stated bring zir servo towards his.

Rose declines saying that zey believes he was trying to hurt zir, but to which he disagrees saying that he isn’t, and he wants to meet up with his younger twin sister. Rose finally gives in and lends the mech zir servo only for zir to get an electric shock, and she pulls away, and Comet smiles.

Upon questioning what that was, he said it was the bond twins shared.

Upon revealing that Rung was Primus, everyone else turned to Rose and reveals that zey were the fabled Athena Maximus long gone from history, noting that zir memories and outlier ability dated back to the explosive tempers in same patterns that Athena Maximus exhibited, alongside Comet being Athena’s twin brother Carnius Maximus. Confused about zir twin's godhood, wondering what his story was, Comet indulges that he was raised better and was treated better, and for that he felt like it was unfair.

But Rose’s attention was on Rung this entire time, and that zey knew something was off about him. But not in the way zey were planning, Rose came to terms with this new revelation.

In order to get rid of the Functionalist Council and restore it. Rung decided to produce crystals to save it, Rose, wanting to be by Rung’s side decided to stay around, when time came for it to happen, Rose looked at Rung and smiled. Zey thanked Rung for being zir conjunx and everything that zey went through was worth it in the end. Zey started by saying a long winded speech about how much Rung meant to zir, and how he impacted everyone’s lives even if they didn’t remember who he was.

Rung was scared, he was, but Rose assured him and told him everything would be alright and it’s okay to feel scared. Rung smiled, looked at Rose wearily and stated, “I see you.”

Hit by emotions that zey didn’t know what to do, and hugged him close, and wished that he didn’t have to go, Rung told zir, he wanted this, he wanted everyone to be safe. And by extent zir. Rose understood and Rung went through with it.

Unfortunately Rung died trying to create more than 1 crystal, Rose also died besides him, since they were sparkbonded, the death of Rung was enough to kill zir as well, Roses’ final words to everyone was, “Don’t forget us, remember us as we were…” Upon the discovery of the bodies, a datapad was found and its contents contained an archive and written testimony of Rose’s Acord dating back to when zey first met Lifeline and how far zey came, it even details personal details like how zey met Rung and how he seems like a great friend, it carried off small details and sad little stories about Rose’s past and insecurities even zey zirself never wanted to disclose. The Last Slide showed zir and Rung, as the Datapad flickered and was cracked, the screen saver shuts off. A message playing showcasing Rose trying to get Rung to show himself on camera, before the audio fades away after the two exchanges I love you’s. Marking the end of an Era with Rose, the person who contained the tablet is revealed to be Comet, who has survived the ordeal and was still hurt by his twin’s sudden death. Comet slumped down next to the remains of his sister and continued reading the contents intrigued by his sister's legacy and what it contained.

#transformers #transformers idw #mtmte transformers #mtmte idw #idw mtmte #long reads #idw rung #rung mtmte #mtmte rung #transformers rung #tf rung #rung #mtmte rose #rose x rung #maccadam #. 💞 ; txt

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starcourtsteves · 2 years

Text

18+, nsfw, mdni

i just think it’d be cute if you were the new secretary, a pretty young thing says flo, in the hawkins’ police station and jim takes a shine to you right away, calling you ma’am and blushing a bit and liking the way you squirm when he tips his hat to you first thing in the morning and last thing in the evening

you don’t show too much skin at work but god the way your shirt pulls up when you reach for something or the way your skirt is a bit tight some days has jim wanting to smack himself for lusting after such a sweet thing like you

you don’t mind it, this big bear of a man (who grins stupidly when you call him chief) always saying please and thanks when asking for copies and offering to walk you to your car or carry in the groceries you buy as snacks for the station

(and the way he looms over your desk has you crossing your legs tighter. you shouldn’t have heat spreading across your chest and down toward your thighs because of your superior, the police chief, but his broad frame and gruff voice do something salacious to your mind)

it’d be even cuter if you both end up working late one evening and you poke your head into jim’s office to check on him, startling him and making him curse. he immediately backpedals with a “sorry, sweetheart” in that soft voice he only ever uses with you

you playfully chastise him (“I don’t tolerate any sharp words toward me, chief, even in a police station”) and innocently bend to pick up discarded trash, making him audibly groan with the thought of having you bent over his desk

to cover, he finally plucks up the courage to ask you out for dinner, “or at least a coffee in the mornin’ if you’ll let me”. you accept with a grin, perching on the edge of his desk and fiddling with your hands in your lap

“i was wondering if you were gonna steal a kiss one of these days,” you venture. jim wouldn’t do something so brash, both of you know it, but you also know that your innocent little comment will open the floodgates.

you can’t be that close to him, radiating all the sweetness he thought he never deserved again — and offering a kiss while you’re at it — and not have him take action

“god, honey,” he chuckles, slowly standing and crowding into your space, grazing a thumb along your cheek, “yeah, anything you want.” with his index finger he tips your chin up into his waiting mouth

his lips are warm and you grin into the bristles of his mustache and beard, kissing back fervently and slowly spreading your legs wider to accommodate jim standing between them

he pulls back to murmur how beautiful you are but you slide your hands up his shoulders and pull him in again, already drunk on the sensation of having him pressed against you. his hands fall heavy onto your thighs, softly kneading and bringing a gasp to your lips

a laugh rumbles from you both — the giddy disbelief that all the stolen glances and passing touches have finally led to this. “you gonna let me?” jim prompts, sliding his hands slightly higher up your thighs, bunching up your skirt

you nod eagerly, whispering yes please as you wriggle the skirt up the rest of the way. he’s mouthing at your neck and chest and all you can do is whimper when he finally drags a knuckle over your panties, down and up and finding right where it makes your noises extra high-pitched

it’s all a bit feverish after that, you’re fiddling your shirt buttons open and nipping at his neck and he scoots you back further on the desk with a gruff “attagirl” when you get settled, finally slipping his fingers underneath your panties into the wet heat that’s been waiting just for him. in and out of you in a shallow fashion and up to the bundle of nerves, sending shocks of heat down your legs

“still good?” he mutters into your neck as your head has tipped back in pleasure. but it’s your answer that almost knocks him off his feet. “so good, chief, it feels so good” in the most angelic voice he’s ever heard

it ignites something in him and his slack-jawed mouth scrapes teeth along your neck while he fumbles to get his pants down. soon your panties are yanked fully out of the way and you cling to his shoulders while he shuffled to readjust and align himself

thank god it’s late, thank god the station is empty, and thank god for jim’s steady hands holding your hips, because the sensation of him filling you rips a choked whine from your throat that echoes down the hallway. the stretch burns just right and jim lets out a string of curses at how good you feel around him — just as good as he’d always dreamt

“stay with me, baby, i got you,” he coos, finding a steady rhythm with his hips and keeping his thumb pressed just right on your clit. it’s already too much and you feel yourself getting embarrassingly close but jim eggs you on, begs you to let go and let him have it

you do, spilling onto him and feeling his hips stutter with release a moment later. you’re messy and disheveled and jim pets your cheek again, grunting out praise. you’d never seen him so boyishly handsome

“so should i pick you up tomorrow?”

“for work or dinner, chief?”

“anything you want”

#jim hopper #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper imagine #jim hopper smut #stranger things #welcome to my fave fantasy from my secretary days

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years

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Words: 7,737 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader, also features Negan Smith Reader pronouns: she/her Era: post-Negan Alexandria Warnings: language, mild descriptions of injury and blood Summary: Imprisoned in Alexandria still, it seems Negan has a soft spot for Y/N, one of Alexandria's doctors. With Daryl gone moving the The Kingdom to Hilltop, everyone back home tries to weather the storm, and help comes from an unexpected place. A/N: I love Negan's redemption arc, so I was stoked to write this fic with some of him, Post-Saviors. I hope it gives you all the right kind of feels.

Your name: submit What is this?

Negan glanced up as heard the outside door open and footsteps approach down the stairs. He was seated on his bunk with his back against the wall when you appeared.

His face slowly grew into a wide smile and he straightened up. He snapped the book in his hands shut. “Well, hey there, dollface. You get my message?”

“First, don’t call me that… You know I hate it. Second, your message? Is that what we’re calling it? I’m here because Gabriel said you’re refusing to eat anything until you talk to me.” You paced over to the bars and peered through them at him.

Negan shrugged. “Isn’t exactly like I can pick up a phone and dial you, now is it?”

You sighed and gripped onto one of the iron bars. “A hunger strike? Really?”

“It sure as shit worked, didn’t it? Here you are.” He stood and crossed his cell, his eyes flitting to your graceful fingers curled around the cold iron, that tiny part of you crossing into his space. You must have noticed because you withdrew your hand and instead crossed your arms over your chest again, giving him a look of disapproval. Negan put an arm up and leaned against the bars on his forearm, stretching his tall, lean frame out above you. Your eyes met his and that cocky little smile stayed on his face.

“What do you want, Negan?” you asked. Your voice was always soft with him. It was one of the things he liked about you. He could only remember you raising it once, and he had been pushing his limits.

His grin widened and he looked you up and down. “Do you really want me to answer that truthfully?”

Your eyes narrowed, drawing a laugh from him. He straightened up.

“Take it easy, doll,” he said through his smile. “A little company would be nice to start. I mean, shit, I’m down here alone most of the time. I’ve memorized every goddamn crack in the walls, every screw and bolt. Ain’t exactly great for one’s mental health. I thought you believed in rehabilitation.”

“I do,” you said.

“Well, Father Gabe ain’t really doin’ it for me and he sure as shit isn’t much to fucking look at. That cloudy eye?” Negan affected a shiver. “I’d much prefer to be rehabbed by my favorite doctor. A real hands on approach with me would work wonders,” he quipped.

You ignored his innuendos and sighed. “You need to eat, Negan.”

His body language softened and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah… Just don’t have much of an appetite for the boiled potatoes lately.”

You bit your bottom lip thoughtfully. “What if I get you something else?”

“Variety? Surely, I don’t deserve such a thing. But you’re gonna have to sweeten the deal a little more, darlin’.”

“Fine. What?”

“Really?” Negan laughed. “You are taking requests? Hot damn! It’s my lucky day. I’d like a steamy helping of aerobic activity with—”

“Negan,” you cut him off, your tone dangerous.

He shoved his hands into his pockets with a grin. “Alright, alright! I’m only joking. Well, I’m not but… I’m sure you get plenty of that from Daryl, right? If the man’s smart, he probably worships you at least twice a day—”

You turned and started toward the stairs. “I’m leaving!” you announced.

“Alright! Y/N! I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” Negan said more sincerely. “Just bring your pretty little self back here a second.” He wasn’t smirking anymore when you glanced back over your shoulder and you could feel some shift in the atmosphere of the room so you wandered back over and stood at the bars of the cell again.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “If you keep me company for a bit, I’ll eat whatever slop you want to throw at me.”

“You don’t get to make deals anymore, Negan. You know that.”

He rubbed a hand over his short hair and sighed. “Yeah, I know. I know… I’m asking,” he said. “Please?”

Your eyes wandered over his expression for a moment. He looked almost needy. Finally, you nodded. “Alright. Just this once. I’ll be back. I’m gonna get something for you to eat.”

“You, darlin’, are a gift,” he smiled.

“Enough with the pet names, okay?” you scolded him, giving him the most severe look you could muster.

“Right. Sorry… I just can’t help myself.”

“Uh huh… Don’t go anywhere,” you quipped, looking back over your shoulder.

He actually laughed quietly to himself. “You got it…”

You returned in a few minutes with some food for him and the key to his cell. Negan was still standing at the bars, leaning casually on them while he waited. You stopped in front of the door. “Move back,” you gestured. He straightened up and gave you a queer look.

“Really?” he said. “What do you think I’m gonna do to you, d—” he caught himself before the pet name spilled out and pressed a fingers to his lips. “Sorry. Sorry… But really? You think I’m gonna attack you or some shit?”

You gave him a long look, debating about whether to bring up the fact that you’d watched him beat two of your family members to death with a baseball bat or that you knew exactly what had been done to Daryl to torture him… But you decided against it and just tilted your head a little. “It’s just protocol. Come on. Back against the far wall.”

He begrudgingly obeyed, shoving his hands into his pant pockets as you unlocked the door and swung it open.

“I mean, technically, isn’t protocol that there’s supposed to be someone else here too any time you open up my box? So, it ain’t really protocol, is it? You are breakin’ the rules for little ol’ me,” he grinned.

You placed the tray of food down and backed out. The heavy bolt slid back into place with a weighty thunk that reverberated against the cell walls. You slipped the key back into your pocket and took a seat on the floor near the cell. “You gonna tell on me?” you asked.

Negan’s mouth twitched up into a smile again. He collected his tray of food and sunk down onto the floor right in front of you. You were only a couple feet from each other with the bars between you. “Hell no! I may be in prison but I ain’t no damn snitch,” he said. He took a huge bite into the apple you’d brought him and you watched as he closed his eyes, enjoying the sweetness and satisfying crunch. “Oh, fuck me. This is goddamn heaven!” he murmured. His eyes opened again and met yours. “Thank you for this. Really,” he said. For once, his tone was sincere.

You only nodded.

“So, how is Jude these days?” Negan asked, reaching for the chunk of bread on his plate. “It’s been a while since she’s popped by my window for a visit.”

“She’s fine.”

“That’s all I get? ‘She’s fine.’ Come on…”

You licked your lips thoughtfully and Negan’s eyes went right to them, but you didn’t seem to notice. “I’m pretty sure Michonne wouldn’t like me giving you details about her kids.”

“Well, Michonne ain’t here, and like I said before, I am not a snitch,” he retorted with a smile.

“Nice try.”

“Well, what the hell else are we supposed to talk about? The fucking weather?”

“You usually don’t seem to have any shortage of words, Negan,” you said, a small smile touching one corner of your mouth.

“Mmm,” he nodded, pointing at you. “That’s true. But everything else I can think of right now you would not like,” he said with a smirk.

Your brow furrowed. “Why is that?”

“Excuse the shit out of my goddamn French, but it is all fucking filthy,” he said. “I’m the prisoner, you’re the warden… I’m the mechanic and you can’t pay for your broken car. I’m the pizza delivery guy and you’re the wanting housewife—”

You rolled your eyes which sent him laughing again. But it was quickly cut off with a coughing fit that startled you. You sat up stiffly and found yourself gripping the cold metal bars of the cell, peering in at him with concern as he tried to suck in a breath. It took a while for him to get the cough under control and he swallowed down some water.

“How long have you had that cough?” you asked him urgently.

He let out a wry laugh. “I don’t fuckin’ know. Every damn day is the fuckin’ same,” he said, clearing his throat again. One glance at your face told him you were worried. “Aw, shit…”

“What?”

“You—you got that look on your face,” he said, gesturing toward you.

You shook your head vaguely. “What look?”

“That look. I can tell you’ve latched onto full-blown worry like a rotter on a dead cow. It’s just a cough, Doc.”

Your brow stayed furrowed. You weren’t convinced. “Negan. How long have you had it?”

He tried to laugh it off. “I told you! I really don’t know. You don’t need to be worrying about me. Hell, you’ve got Daryl to worry about, right? That’s more than fucking enough.”

You ignored him. “More or less than two weeks?” you pressed him.

“Pfft…” He rubbed a hand over his short hair again, thinking. “Probably more. But it’s nothing!”

You were already climbing to your feet though. “I’m gonna go get my bag and Gabriel and I’ll be back,” you said, in a hurry.

“Hey. Hey! This wasn’t the deal! You agreed to keep me company, not poke and prod me,” he said, watching you head for the door.

“Based on how you usually talk, I’d have thought you’d be into it,” you tossed back over your shoulder. You left Negan to shake his head and chuckle quietly to himself. By the time you returned with your med bag and Gabriel in tow as promised, he’d finished his meal and was sitting back on the edge of his cot.

This time Gabriel opened the cell and stood at the door as you went to Negan and set your bag down beside him on the cot, immediately digging out your stethoscope.

“I need to listen to your lungs, okay?”

“Yeah. Whatever you need, Doc. Hey, Gabe. Could you—” he let out a quick two-note whistle, “give us a little privacy? I’ve seen a lot of pornos that start this way, but the priest vibe doesn’t really fit the scenario, so—we’ll get you on the next one.” Gabriel only gave him a glare.

“Negan,” you growled. “Shut. Up.”

He laughed but quieted down and you slipped your stethoscope into his shirt. He flinched at the coldness of the metal.

“Yeah, that’s what you get. I was going to warm it for you but after that display—” You got it into place. “Alright. Deep breath, in and out.”

He complied. You could hear wheezing and crackling in his lungs. “Again.” The noise was distinctive and you didn’t have to strain to hear it. You moved to the other lung. “In and out again.” Same thing. You sighed and slipped your scope from under his shirt.

He glanced up at your face and for once didn’t crack a joke. “What’s the verdict?”

You glanced back at Gabriel. “You really didn’t notice his cough?” you asked, irritated.

Gabriel shook his head. “No.”

“Negan, you have bronchitis. And if we’re not careful it could turn into pneumonia. Especially down here in your cell, where it’s cold and damp. You need antibiotics.”

A strange expression took over Negan’s face. “Antibiotics?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “At least ten days’ worth. Luckily, I think we have some at the infirmary.”

“You’re really going to use antibiotics on me? I can’t see that being a particularly popular decision around the water cooler.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a fucking doctor. I’m not trying to win a popularity contest.” You grabbed your bag and strode over to the door. “And I’ll make sure you get some warmer blankets down here.”

Gabriel locked the cell door and seemed to want to say something to you.

“What?” you prodded him tersely.

“Are you sure he won’t get better without the meds? We’re bound to need them for someone else—” he started in a low voice.

You gave him a scathing look. “Gabriel, I’m a doctor. I swore to do no harm. He’s not getting better without them. He said it’s already been more than two weeks. Maybe if you had paid more attention and noticed his cough earlier, I could have done something else. But that isn’t what happened, and this is where we are. He’s getting antibiotics.”

Gabriel frowned and pocketed the keys before striding out. You watched him go, your jaw clenched.

Negan got up from his seat on his cot and came over to stand at the bars again. You turned when you sensed him there. There was no smirk on his face anymore. “Thank you,” he said. “You can correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t seem to wish that I’m dead. And you treat me like an actual human being.” He tapped a finger a little anxiously against the metal. “I mean, who else in this place ever worries about my health or whether I want to bash my head into the walls of my cell? I know I give you a hard time—to be fair it isn’t my fault you’re so damn sexy—but I hope you know how much I really do appreciate it.”

You sighed and Negan tried to memorize the soft expression on your face. “I don’t wish you were dead.” You hung your stethoscope around your neck and considered him thoughtfully for another moment. “I’ll check on you later. I’ll make sure you get those blankets and start the treatment.” With that, you left the makeshift jail.

Negan listened to your steps fade away and the outside door slamming shut before he went to lie down on his cot. Never gonna happen, he told himself. He knew that. But no matter how many times he told himself that, the way he felt about you didn’t change. He was drawn to something about you… What was worse, was he admired you more and more over time.

“Daryl?” you called out as you entered the apartment you shared. You could hear some noise inside.

“Back here,” he called out.

You found him in the bedroom. His hair was wet and the room was steamy and smelled of shampoo and soap. You wrapped your arms around his middle from behind. “You showered without me?”

“Ya, and trust me—s’a good thing. Ran into a small group of walkers out there and—fuckin’ blood everywhere.”

“Oh. Shit. I’m glad you’re okay,” you said, moving around to sit in front of him on the edge of the bed. He nudged his nose up in a nod and as his blue eyes drank you in a small smile appeared on his lips.

Your heart jumped like it always did. You loved that. No matter what was happening, how shit things were, he always smiled like that when he saw you.

“What’d ya get up to today?” he drawled. He flopped down on the bed beside you, landing flat on his back. His hand lazily found the hem of your shirt and sought your soft skin beneath it.

“Um—”

Daryl sat up immediately, his brow furrowing, narrowing his blue eyes. “What?”

“It’s not a big deal,” you said, resting your hand on his arm. “It’s just—Negan…”

Daryl let out a low noise like a growl. “What’d he do now?”

“Well—he was refusing to eat. Because he wanted to talk to me.”

Daryl’s stare became even more disgruntled.

“So, I went,” you shrugged. “Because he has to eat!”

“His choice if he wants to fuckin’ starve,” Daryl growled. “Or better yet—bring him some dog food.”

You gave Daryl a sympathetic look but only continued. “Well, anyway, I went and he had this coughing fit. It sounded horrible. I listened to his lungs and he has bronchitis. I’m worried it’s gonna to turn into pneumonia if we don’t get it taken care of.”

Daryl sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. He glanced back up at you and you reached for him, your hands landing gently on his sides. He smoothed his hand over one of yours. “Fuckin’ prick… Ya know I dun like ya goin’ to see him.”

“I know.”

Daryl gritted his teeth. “He’s really sick? This ain’t just some act or somethin’?”

“He’s sick,” you said again. “I heard it with my own ears.” Daryl sighed heavily.

“He went on a goddamn hunger strike until he got to see ya? Tha’s what yer tellin’ me?” His hand tightened over yours. “I dun like it. Y/N, I’m tellin’ ya… he’s got—”

“Hey—” You clasped his face in both hands and his blue eyes met yours. “I know what he did to you. To us. To our family. And it’s unforgivable.” You brushed his hair, still damp from his shower, back out of his eyes. “But I think I can help him. He’s already different. You have to admit that.”

Daryl sighed and you saw the muscle in his jaw tense, but he nodded. “If anybody can help Negan, s’you.”

You gave him a half-smile and pressed your lips to his. He kissed you back eagerly and quickly pulled you onto his lap, eliciting a joyful laugh from you as you pressed into him.

You sat straddled across his hips and kissed him deeply as his hands wandered over the shape of you. Finally, he tipped both of you back to lay on the bed and you sighed. “I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow.”

He caressed your cheek gently with the back of his fingers. “I know. Wish ya were comin’ with me.”

“Me too. But they’ll be glad to have you. I’m sure Carol and the King are struggling with all of this,” you said.

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed thoughtfully. “Ya gonna be okay?”

You tilted your head at him, a question on your brow. “I’m always okay.”

“I just mean—this Negan thing… Dun let your guard down with him just cuz he’s sick.”

You nodded. “I know. I don’t.” You straightened up. “I do need to get him the meds and bring some warmer blankets down there tonight.”

Daryl’s blue eyes studied your face. “Give me a note with what you need from the infirmary. I’ll take them to him. Wanna have a word with him anyway.”

You pressed against him and ran your fingers through his hair. “If you want.” He nodded. “Now. That’s way too much talk about Negan,” you said, moving against him. “Actually, way too much talking at all,” you said with a smirk. His arms closed around you, pressing gently into the small of your back as he held you more tightly. It only took you a moment before you were lost in each other.

That night, Daryl picked up the meds and some warm blankets and started down the stairs to Negan’s cell. When he rounded the corner, Negan looked up from his book almost expectantly, but the smirk on his lips died as he realized it was Daryl instead of you.

“Shit…” he muttered in an undertone to himself. He snapped his book shut and waited.

Daryl stopped in front of his cell and unlocked it, heaving the door open. His eyes were already narrowed in a glare.

“Daryl,” Negan said. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

“Yeah, sorry to disappoint ya. Come get yer shit,” he said.

Negan stood and approached him cautiously. The look on Daryl’s face wasn’t exactly friendly, but he simply shoved the folded blankets into his hands and then withdrew a small pill bottle and set it on top of the fabric. “Y/N says one of these in the morning and one at night ‘til they’re gone.”

Negan nodded, eyeing him like he was trying to read what was going on in the archer’s head. “Tell her th—”

“I ain’t tellin’ her shit,” Daryl growled. He jutted a finger into Negan’s chest hard. “Ya listen to me. Ya think I dunno what the hell is goin’ on?”

Negan’s eyebrows lifted and a coy little smirk curved his lips. “Daryl, Daryl, Daryl… I have no idea what in the name of fuckin’ chicken shit you are talkin’ about.”

“Really?” he growled. “Ya think me of all people doesn’t know what’s goin’ on?” He moved closer to Negan until he was right in his face. “Whatever fuckin’ feelin’s ya think yer havin’ fer her, whatever ya got goin’ on in that fucked up head of yours…” he shook his head. “It ain’t happenin’. Give up. ‘Cuz she knows what ya did. And ya think she’s ever gonna forget that? She was there. So ya best move on. She’s right where she should be and you are right where you should be.”

Negan wasn’t smirking anymore and he leaned slight away from Daryl for a moment and seemed to stop breathing for a second, holding in a tense breath. But he quickly recovered a moment later. The smile came back and he let out a low chuckle. “Come on, Daryl. Clearly, I ain’t her type,” he said with a manufactured grin.

“I fuckin’ mean it, Negan. Keep yer distance. If I hear of a damn thing I dun like, yer gonna wish ya were locked up in this fuckin’ cell.” With that he slammed and relocked the cell door, and Negan listened to his heavy steps retreat and fade.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The snowstorm had slammed into Alexandria with alarming speed and ferocity. Everyone was gathered in the few buildings that had working fireplaces.

“What are you doing?” Siddiq asked you, watching you pull on your gloves. His voice laced with concern.

“We need those horses. And I’m not just going to let them freeze to death,” you said. You glanced at Judith. “Besides, Dog is out there. I’m gonna see if I can find him.”

Rosita shook her head. “The storm is getting worse. The temperature is dropping. The horses are probably going to be fine, but you—”

Eugene stepped forward next. “I have to agree with my compatriots here. It would be most unwise to venture out now. By my calculations, if the temperature maintains its current plummet at the same rate, in the next hour the ambient air temp is going to be well below 0 Fahrenheit, and that’s not taking into account the wind chill and rapidly diminishing visibility.”

“Eugene! Don’t take this the wrong way, but screw your calculations! There are animals out there that I care about and I’m going to take care of it!” You pulled your hat down over your ears and made your way over to Judith and RJ, adjusting the blankets over their lap. “Okay. You listen Aunt Rosita, okay? And be good.”

“Are you really going to find Dog?” Judith asked, her brown eyes wide and worried.

You adjusted her hat and gave her a smile. “You bet I am. Dog is gonna be just fine, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.” You kissed her and RJ on the cheek.

Suddenly, from the corner, there was the tinkling of metal chain as Negan stood up. “Are you shittin’ me?”

“Language!” Judith scolded him.

He pressed a finger to his lips and gave Judith a remorseful look. “Sorry. Sorry, kiddo… But seriously? Nobody is gonna stop her from taking on this suicide mission?” he asked, his jaw half-dropped open.

“Stop me?” you said. You let out a wry laugh. “What the hell are they gonna do? Take off your chains and put them on me?”

“It’s not a bad goddamn idea,” Negan said. “Y/N, you cannot be serious about this!”

“Hey, I don’t remember her asking for your opinion, Negan!” Rosita spat at him. “So, why don’t you just be quiet?”

Negan was at a loss, looking from Gabriel to Siddiq to Eugene. “Goddammit, people! Hey—hey, if Daryl were here—”

“Don’t talk about Daryl!” you snapped at him. “ You don’t get to talk about Daryl. Negan, just—no one asked for your thoughts on the matter, alright? I’m gonna be fine.” You shot him a scathing look; he was probably scaring the kids. You adjusted your scarf and went to the door, hesitating only a moment before pushing out into the violently swirling snow. Your form was swallowed up into the white-out almost immediately. Siddiq slammed the door shut on the wind and snow again, latching it carefully.

Negan sank back down into a sitting position and his expression was grim. The muscle in his jaw tensed as he ground his teeth together. But there was nothing he could do now. You’d gone out into the blizzard and he was chained to a fucking support beam. All he could do now was hope you’d make it…

_ _ _ _ _ _

“We have to move,” Eugene said. “This fireplace is positively caput. Gunkified. Non-functional.”

Rosita sighed and looked around at the bundled and huddled people. “Aaron’s house is closest with a working fireplace.”

Gabriel nodded and then made the announcement. Soon, everyone was as bundled as they could be and holding tight to a rope so they wouldn’t lose each other in the storm. The first blast of frigid air was a shock when the doors were thrown open. It was hard to see down to your own boots in the white-out and swirl of brutal wind. The group had probably made it halfway when a distant barking sounded and then came closer and closer.

“DOG!” Judith yelled over the wind.

“Judith! No!” Rosita grabbed her by the shoulder and held on tightly. But soon Dog came bounding up to the group, barking furiously, refusing to relent.

“Dog! Grab him!” Judith yelled again.

But Dog showed no sign of slowing down. He dashed toward the group and then away again, whining and irritated, barking incessantly.

Negan squinted into the swirling snow, half-expecting you to appear behind Dog out of the storm, but there was no sign of you and soon Dog was running back the way he came. Negan hesitated for only a split second more. “Aw, shit…” he murmured to himself, squinting as the wind dashed the ice and snow into his face like needles. “Here I go, givin’ a shit again!” He let go of the rope and dashed after Dog, following the sound of his bark as best he could.

He vaguely heard someone scream his name as he ran, but the sound was swallowed up by the storm almost instantly. He turned his collar up against the storm and tried to dodge flying debris, dislodged by the ferocious wind. His ears were painfully cold but he kept going. Any tracks in the snow were immediately obliterated by the wind, but he could still hear dog barking, and eventually a looming dark shape started to crystallize in front of him, as if formed out of the ice and snow in the air.

The barn. But something was seriously wrong.

The huge, ancient cottonwood tree beside it had cracked beneath the weight of the snow and ice and crushed one end of the building. “Son of a fuck,” Negan cursed into the frigid air. His fingers and ears, along with most of his face, were now numb. Dog was close. The barking was loud.

“Dog! Get your goddamn dumb ass over here, you mangy mutt!”

But Negan caught a glimpse of the bounding shape of him as he disappeared around the side of the barn. Negan chased after him as fast as he could, fighting against the wind and blowing drifts. “Son of a fucking bitch—” The horses were huddled just inside, all safely in a stall together at the end of the undamaged side of the building. Negan shook the snow from his jacket, swearing, but froze when he looked up and saw Dog pacing back and forth at the far end of the barn near the mass of tangled debris. He began to paw and dig, whining incessantly, letting out small yips and barks as he clawed helplessly at the wood. Negan’s stomach dropped through the floor. “Oh, shit—No, no, no…” He rushed to the mangled pile of wood and sunk onto his knees to peer into the dark space where Dog was digging and attempting to work his way under. That’s when he recognized the edge of your coat.

“No—Y/N! Hey—Can you hear me? Shit!” There was no movement and no response and Negan launched into action, throwing debris off the pile and trying to clear a path to get to you, desperately pulling heavy beams aside, straining to move them, scraping the backs of his hands and cutting his palms. He was sure he was going to have an untold number of splinters but the only thing he could think about was getting to you. With every piece he shifted he feared the entire thing would come down on you. He had to stop several times when a coughing attack paralyzed him. The icy air felt like it was scorching his lungs, searing them with cold. But finally, he’d cleared enough to see you sprawled out on your stomach on the dirt floor. You still weren’t moving or responding to his calls. “Y/N—come on, Y/N! This isn’t funny. I’m not the doctor here—" He jostled your arm gently. “Shit… Come on, darlin’.” Negan swept the hair away from your face with a shaky hand. His fingertips came away from the back of your head slightly sticky. Blood. “Shit! Okay. Alright… Come here.”

Your face was slightly ashen and your lips were without their usual warm, rosy color. Negan carefully pulled you the rest of the way from the debris. You were still limp as he scooped you into his arms, your head lolling in toward his chest, dust and dirt clinging to one side of your face. “Okay. Alright… We’re gonna get you warm…”

His eyes landed on the stall with the horses in it.

It took a while for the horses to settle down again from the intrusion, so in the meantime Negan laid you down on some clean hay and draped his coat over you, shivering in only his flannel shirt. He gently wiped the dirt from your face. Your skin was too cold beneath his fingers. Your nose and cheeks were red, and so were your ears. Finally, the oldest mare laid down and Negan moved you and laid you against her, hoping her body heat would warm you as he rubbed your arms and legs gently, trying to get some semblance of life back in you. “Yeah, I know, she may smell like horse shit but she’s gonna get you warm.” He piled more clean hay on you over the top of his coat, shaking where he stood. Dog paced a few circles and then laid down across your legs. “Alright... I’m sorry I called you a mangy mutt. Turns out you’re a good dog,” Negan murmured, sinking his cold fingers into the warmth of Dog’s undercoat.

Negan examined your head wound as best he could, but it was hard to see in the dim light with the rusty blood staining your hair. He had to just hope for the best…

It felt like hours, but it had probably only been minutes since you’d been laid against the horse when you started to stir. You lifted your head and struggled for a moment before your eyes opened, a soft groan escaping your lips and a wince settling over your face.

“Hey. Hey, hey! You’re okay! Look at me, doll.” Negan leaned over you.

You peered up at him in confusion, completely disoriented. You felt so weak, and so tired… Your head felt like it was split open. “Negan? W—what—?” You started to shiver, actually a good sign. Your stillness before was alarming.

“It’s alright. We—we found Dog! And you sure as shit found the damn horses! We’re just gonna ride this storm out, you and me.” He was rubbing his hands together trying to warm his numb fingers.

“What happened?” you asked, trying to sit up, throwing Negan’s coat off you, still shivering violently.

“Whoa—whoa, slow down! Easy! I’m afraid you’re stuck here with a little Negan one-on-one time, okay? You got a little bump on your head, that’s all. And I gotta tell you, if you so desperately wanted some alone time with me, you could have just asked,” he said, flashing you a small smile.

“Negan—y-you’re freezing. Put your coat on,” you said, thrusting it at him. “You’ll f-f-freeze to death.”

He let out a wry laugh. “Hey, only one of us suddenly has a stutter.” But you only held his coat out, continuing to stare at him through slightly bleary eyes. “Alright. Okay.” He started to slip it back on. “But here’s the deal… We gotta keep you warm, so I promise not to get handsy—to the best of my ability—but we’re gonna have to cozy up a bit here.”

To his surprise, you didn’t argue, but that could be because you were fading fast. “Alright. Come here.” Negan wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into him as Dog shifted over your legs. He started to pile more clean hay on top of the both of you. “It’s gonna be fine. We’re just having a little mini-vacation in a fuckin’ winter wonderland, alright?”

“Mmm…”

“No, no, no! Hey! Y/N! You need to stay awake! Open your eyes!”

You fought the blackness and your eyes opened again, looking right into Negan’s. His brow was furrowed. He smoothed a hand over your hair, brushing stray strands away. “There you are. Have I ever told you how fucking gorgeous your eyes are?”

Yours lips parted and stared back at his. “Yours are brown, like coffee… or maybe—because you’re full of shit…” you managed. Negan laughed and pressed the back of his hand to the coldness of your cheek.

“There she is. You’ve always got a zinger ready, don’t you?”

Your eyes closed again. “I’m—I’m so tired…”

“I know! Hey, I know, but you gotta stay awake. Y/N, you have to fight it! Tell me about life before all this—tell me about—” But he felt the moment you slipped back into unconsciousness as your head lolled heavily into his shoulder. Fuck. His stomach clenched with worry. He stroked your hair gently and gulped.

“Yeah. We’re—we’re gonna be fine, doll… You’ll see…” He pulled you against him more tightly and studied the dark fray of eyelashes fanned against your cheeks. “You’re gonna be fine…” And he knew he was trying to convince himself.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Soft white light caressed your eyelids. It was enough to tug you out from under the heavy veil of blackness. Your ears, cheeks, and the tip of your nose hurt, almost burned, and you pressed your fingers to them gently. They felt dry and then came the unsettling sensation of pins and needles. You pushed yourself up into a seated position and glanced around at the small room you were in; the infirmary. Dog was lying at the foot of your bed and he lifted his head as you stirred and then jumped down onto the tile floor and trotted out into the hallway.

Fuck. Your fucking head felt like it was split in two. You reached a hand over the back of it and your fingers traversed a tender spot and then caught on the prickles of the stitches. Double fuck. Goddammit… Turns out going out into the storm had been a really bad idea.

But then… Negan. You suddenly remembered Negan. You strained your memory, trying to piece together how you’d gotten back here and—

“You’re awake.” Siddiq was in the doorway and Dog was at his side.

“Yeah. Mostly. I think.”

His expression was grim. “How’s your head feel?”

“Like somebody used a can opener on it,” you murmured, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

Siddiq produced a small penlight and moved close in front of you to check your pupillary response. The light made your head pound and you pushed it away, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m fine.”

He sighed heavily. “Doctors always make the worst patients.” But he relented and put it away. “You’ve got some frostbite on your face, your fingertips, and your ears. It’s pretty minor. But you gave all of us a good scare,” he said. His tone was almost scolding as he crossed his arms and peered down at you. “I’m way more worried about that head injury. You could have been killed in that barn when it collapsed.”

You ducked your eyes. “But I didn’t. And I found Dog. And got the horses in.”

Siddiq sighed again. “Y/N. You’re extremely lucky that Negan found you…”

You glanced up at him and met his eyes. You shifted and gulped nervously. “Yeah, what the hell happened? How was he loose?”

“Not too long after you left, we had to move to Aaron’s house. The fireplace was clogged up. We had to link everybody together and Negan wasn’t cuffed for the move. Dog came running up, Negan chased after him. He led right to you. Once the storm let up, Negan carried you back here himself. He was—he was really worried about you. I’ve never seen him act like that before…”

You shifted uncomfortably, nodding. “Is he here? Can I see him?”

Siddiq nodded and you followed him a little unsteadily into the hallway. “Next room down to the left,” he said. “Listen to me—” he hesitated. “Negan. He…”

You nodded, ducking his eyes. “Yeah, I know he does.” You turned and headed to Negan’s room, hesitating at the threshold.

He turned when he felt you there and his face cracked into a wide smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, fuck me, it is good as hell to see you up and about. And not too worse for wear either.” Your eyes caught on the handcuffs on one of his wrists that kept him linked to the bed frame. He saw where your eyes went. “Yeah, I know,” he said, tugging on them experimentally. “You’d think after such a heroic deed they’d cut me a little slack. No such luck. Although, I have to say, it’s nice to be in the infirmary without my throat sliced open.” He wheezed a little as he laughed dryly and it quickly turned into a coughing fit.

You studied his expression for a long moment and he seemed unable to look away from you. “You shouldn’t have come after me. You were hardly dressed for it. You could have died,” you said.

His head cocked slightly. “Yer shittin’ me, right?”

The muscle in your jaw clenched. “You were already sick.” His ears and face were windburned and red from the cold.

“Listen, doll, I pulled you out from under half the damn barn. You were half-frozen when I found you, and your head was damn near cracked open. The last thing I was expecting from you here was a lecture,” he said indignantly.

You sighed and met his eyes again. Negan watched in some disbelief and confusion as you closed the space to him and pressed your lips to his cheek, your hand landing lightly on the other side of his face. His breath hitched in his chest, and it wasn’t because of the bronchitis. He leaned into the contact of your fingertips light along his jawline. You drew back slightly and met his eyes. “I can’t give you what you’re looking for. But thank you. For saving my life.”

You withdrew without another word and Negan felt the vast emptiness of the space you’d just filled like a chasm between his lungs, pressing on his heart. He leaned back against the headboard, his head bumping the wall, his eyes closing tightly. “Yeah… I know…” he murmured into the empty air. “You’re welcome.” He rubbed his freehand over his face and sighed. Negan felt you deserved a man far better than him. And quite frankly, that man was Daryl.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“She’s not happy that I wouldn’t let her leave yet,” Siddiq explained, walking shoulder to shoulder with Daryl through the infirmary. The archer was taking long, hurried strides.

“Course she ain’t. But ‘m glad ya kept her here. Thanks for takin’ care of her,” he drawled, glancing at Siddiq.

He nodded. “Of course. She scared all of us, running out into the storm like that. But you know once she makes up her mind—”

“Yah, I know. Ain’t gotta tell me.”

Siddiq slowed as your doorway came into view. “When I checked on her about twenty minutes ago, she was asleep,” he said, stopping short.

“Thanks,” Daryl drawled again. He left Siddiq behind and slowed as he crossed the threshold of your room. You were sound asleep on your side in the bed, eyelashes fanned out against your windburned and frostbitten cheeks. He stood there for only a moment before he needed to be near you, to hold you. His hand gently landed on your shoulder as he sunk down on the edge of the bed. You stirred immediately and blinked awake. When you realized it was him, you shot up and peered at him with slightly wide eyes. “Hey—s’alright. Lay back down. I’ll lay with ya.”

“You’re okay? What about The Kingdom? Did—did everyone make it through the storm?” you asked desperately.

He nudged his nose up in a nod. “Everybody’s fine.”

You threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “God, I was so worried,” you admitted. His strong arms closed around you.

“S’ok. Everybody is alright.” He pulled back from you. “C’mon. Lie down.”

You scooted back against the far edge of the bed to make room for Daryl to lay with you. He stroked your hair, brushing it away from your face. His blue eyes took in the frostbite and your windburned skin, as well as some little nicks and cuts from the collapse of the barn. He kissed your forehead and both your cheeks, and finally the end of your nose. “Are ya okay?” he asked softly. “When Siddiq said ya were here, I—” His heart had almost stopped.

“I’m fine,” you reassured him, but your voice broke when you said it, and something about Daryl being there finally allowed you to break a little bit. You drew in a shaky breath. “I’m okay…” Your eyes filled with tears, causing the light in them to shimmer and glisten.

“Hey—s’alright. ‘M right here,” Daryl reassured you, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tightly, kissing your forehead again, smoothing his hand over your hair as he pressed you to his chest. “S’ok. I gotcha…” You breathed in his familiar smell and focused on the feeling of his arms around you. Both seemed to diminish the pain in your head and quell the upwelling of fear that had just seized you. You looked up at him and he clasped your face and pressed his lips to yours. You curled into him. And he held you until you fell back asleep.

Once he was certain you wouldn’t wake up, he slipped off the bed and adjusted the quilt over you. He padded down the hallway to the next door. He stepped inside and Negan, who had been lying flat on his back, sat up hurriedly, the metallic noise of his cuffs punctuating the silence sharply. Daryl’s blue eyes were narrowed and piercing as they bored into him for a long moment. Negan didn’t say anything, and his expression was serious.

Finally, Daryl gulped and sighed. “Siddiq told me what happened. What ya did,” he drawled.

Negan shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Daryl’s eyes now.

“Ya know before I left, before the storm, she said yer different now. Maybe ya are. I dunno. But—” he ducked his head, his throat tightening a little with emotion as he thought again of how close he came to losing you. “—thank you. For what ya did. For savin’ her.” He looked at him again for a long moment. “I ain’t sayin’ we’re even but—I do owe ya thanks. By savin’ her life, ya saved mine.”

Negan stared down at the textured blanket beneath him, nodding vaguely. “She’s—something else…” He’d meant to say more, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out.

Daryl just nodded briefly. “I know.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #negan smith #negan fanfiction #negan twd fics

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lacroixqueen · 3 years

Text

i want to talk about ambessa's power.

I feel like we have to begin this discussion with the BATH SCENE.

the first shot is literally ambessa splayed out in the bathtub with like a wine glass in hand and howl's moving castle massaging her back. she is indulging, consuming, taking up space in the most obvious way. she never has to explicitly SAY she is powerful.

you just KNOW she is.

i think the next shot is even more telling. she starts a conversation with jayce, and makes jabs at his leadership. she questions whether he ever took military history. she literally calls him "impotent", which means "ineffective, helpless, and POWERLESS". she is brutally attacking him in every single way, and it's framed so artistically with this scene:

ambessa on the side of the mural with soldiers wielding weapons, and jayce standing on the opposite side, simply taking her blows.

it is a symbol of the powerful over the powerless.

also, ambessa isn't threatened by him in the LEAST BIT. you can see this in her body language. she spends this entire interaction sitting down in a bathtub while jayce is standing up, looming over her. but she doesn't care. she doesn't have to prove anything to him.

jayce feels so insecure by her statements that he immediately jumps in to defend his credentials. he states he is very qualified because of the "sUcCeSs RatE oF sEniOr AcaDeMy inVenToRs". he has to remind her of his "councilor" title, and even talk down to her by referring to her as "mrs", even though ambessa is clearly a WARLORD.

he feels the desperate need to preserve his power because he can feel it being ripped from his clutches just by this woman's sheer PRESENCE.

and to top it all off, ambessa isn't scared of vulnerability. she is totally comfortable walking up to jayce without wearing any clothes. she doesn't care if jayce looks at her body, because her body wasn't made for him to look at.

her body is another symbol of power that she has worked her entire life on to strengthen. it's never a vessel for the male gaze, or for objectification. her body is her power, and she is proud of it

ok end me fangirling over arcane's masterful storytelling and ability to portray women in an authentic way.

IN SUMMATION:

arcane is inherently feminist, and is centered around powerful women without needing to declare it to the world.

just like ambessa.

ok babes that's it that's the post.

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reidscanehand · 4 years

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The One Where Hotch Finds Out

Episode 1 of The One Where Everyone Finds Out

Spencer Reid x BAUfem! Reader

Category: Fluffy Fluff

TW: Cursing, vague mentions of crimes by unsub, vague mentions of the death of Maeve, vague mentions of missing his dead wife...tooth-rotting cuteness?

EPISODE 1 is here! I am so excited. I’ve never written from a character’s point of view outside of Reader’s and Spencer’s so I hope you like my take on Hotch! I also think he would definitely be the first one to notice something like this. Oh, also, just a heads up - I’m playing pretty fast and loose with the timeline of this show. Just letting y’all know that I’m taking some liberties with canon here. Now that that’s out of the way...consider yourselves warned. Onwards and upwards!

Love you all! Thanks for the support, the laughs, the love! See you tomorrow for The One Where Penelope Finds Out! xx

SSA Aaron Hotchner has never really been able to sleep on the BAU’s private jet. Even on the way home from a case as cut and dried and successful (as successful as they can be, at any rate) as this one had been, Hotch has always found it difficult to fully sleep. He would occasionally doze lightly for a bit after getting a head start on his paperwork, but he could probably count the number of times he’s fully fallen asleep on one hand. He couldn’t even truly say why he finds it difficult to sleep on the jet...usually, anyway. However, at this moment, he knows exactly why he’s awake: Reid is being weird. Like, weirder than the normal weird. Not to say that Spencer is weird; that would be rude and would undercut his intelligence and usefulness to the team. However, Reid was, at this very moment, being weird.

Reid doesn’t like to touch people very much. At least, people he doesn’t know. As a profiler, even though the team, of course, has a sort of unspoken moratorium on profiling one another, Hotch had picked up on this when Reid joined the team without having to utilize his profiling skills much at all. At the age of 22, Reid had still been under the mentorship of Gideon. Hotch would never forget receiving the email about the new, incredibly young, and rather ridiculously intelligent team member, and, even though he fully understood that email, it hadn’t really prepared him for actually meeting Dr. Spencer Reid. On a random Monday (random to Hotch - he was actually quite sure Reid could tell him the exact date and time that they’d met) Hotch had rounded a corner only to nearly collide with the wiry and angular young man. Wrapped in the boy’s long, thin fingers was an almost absurdly large to-go cup of coffee. His tall, thin frame had been swamped in a lumpy, somewhat analogous sweater and trousers. Spencer’s clothing choices had felt alien for the diffident young man that stood before Hotch because it was fairly obvious, even to a profiler less seasoned than he, that this was a singularly fastidious human being. Spencer’s hands shook slightly as he gripped his coffee and the FBI file in his other hand as though his life depended on it, his fingers methodically finicking with the file and the coffee cup, the intensity of his nerves matched only by his obvious determination to be helpful, but inconspicuous.

“Aaron Hotchner,” Hotch had said, offering his right hand. “You must be Dr. Spencer Reid?”

Reid stared at the proffered hand, his eyes widening almost comically. The coffee cup was gripped in his left hand, meaning that what he could do (and, arguably, what most people would do) is put the file under his left arm and shake Hotch’s hand with his, now free right hand. Reid had swallowed and met Hotch’s eyes, not moving to offer his own hand, and said, “Yes, I’m Doctor Spencer Reid.”

Hotch had stared at him uncomfortably for a moment, his hand still proffered in the, now awkward, space between them. As he slowly lowered it, he noticed a slight tension release in Reid’s jaw. All at once he’d recognized that this was a young man who so desperately wanted to fit in, but was also semi-germophobic at the very least. Hotch nodded politely, returning his arm to his side and walked toward his office with a warm, “Welcome to the team.”

That memory, among hundreds of others where Spencer had actively avoided the physical contact of others, only really accepting it in moments of great need or absolute necessity, had been one of the facts that Hotch had stored firmly in his mind along with the other facts he kept about those near and dear to his life and his work. Spencer’s disinclination to touch had only increased with the loss of Maeve Donovan, his long-distance girlfriend, a woman he’d only been able to contact via secretive phone calls and letters. Understandably, the young genius, who already held a proclivity for isolation, had turned in on himself further becoming almost aloof. Hotch had worried for a time that Reid would never be able to return to the level of still slightly self-conscious sense of comfort he’d seemed to find with age. However, he supposes, Hotch had never counted on someone like you. And it hardly took the skills of a profiler to notice the effect that you had on Spencer Reid.

You had joined the team not long after Maeve’s tragic passing. You were technically a teaching assistant to Alex Blake, a linguistics professor who’d joined the team following the departure of Emily Prentiss. When a case involved an unsub almost incapable of speech, Blake had had to resort to sign language, facetiming you in the car ride to the crime scene for a hurried catch up session. They were in the SUV when Blake had recognized the unsub might not be able to talk. “I need to call Y/N,” she’d exclaimed suddenly.

“Your TA?” Spencer asked. “Why?”

“She speaks more languages than I do,” Blake explained. “At least, she speaks more languages fluently than I do. I haven’t used sign language actively in years, not since learning it anyway.”

“Call her if you think it will help, Blake,” Hotch had ordered from the front seat. “We’re twenty minutes away.”

Blake had hesitated for only a second, “I’ll have to tell her-”

“You have my permission to reveal any details of the case you deem necessary,” Hotch replied to the unfinished statement. “Just hurry.”

You’d obliged quickly and professionally impressing everyone in the car with your quick thinking and support. Hotch had asked Blake to call you for a consultation only a few days later when a case involved clues set in the rhythmic patterns of a Khoisan click language derivative, a language even Reid couldn’t fully comprehend. After your incredible help on that case, Hotch had called you for a quick meeting, setting up special permissions to put you through profiling classes (which you’d passed and completed at a record speed) in order to get you on the team. From the moment you’d joined, officially going into the field with the team just a month after Maeve’s death, you’d been a breath of fresh air. Your predilection for language naturally bridged to an ease with communication, simply put: you’re incredibly easy to talk to. Blake practically treated you like a daughter, but you got along easily with everyone. Even, and especially Spencer. Spencer, who was still reeling from the death of the first great love of his life, had been unsurprisingly fragile in these past few months. However, ever so slowly, you’d seemingly charmed your way into his confidence, though you’d done nothing salacious or overbearing to receive the honor of such gentle intimacy. You’d not really held him at arm’s length, either, but had, without embellishment, given him the space he so desperately needed, allowing him to set the pace of what had, at least in Hotch’s eyes, become an easy and beautiful friendship. From the outset, your friendship made sense. You’re both incredibly intelligent young people, but you also both hold an unyielding capacity for empathy, a necessary, but underappreciated gift for a profiler. As he watches the scene before him on the jet, Hotch can’t believe it’s taken him this long - nearly a year, now- to recognize what seems so blatantly obvious. It is a rather unsurprising scene considering the interaction he’d witnessed between the two of you earlier that day.

There is a strange intimacy to zipping someone into a jacket. The act of zipping someone into a piece of clothing at all is a deep intimacy, but zipping someone into a jacket holds an intimacy all it’s own. It’s giving in to a sense of safeguarding someone, the acknowledgment of which is often difficult, particularly for those so inclined to empathy as you and Reid. Earlier that day, as the unsub was taken away and the crime scene was cleaned out, Hotch had clocked you and Spencer standing to the side of the house, nonchalantly discussing the outcome of the case. The air in Grand Forks, North Dakota had been rather alarmingly mild for this case, but nature had decided to very suddenly take it’s more usual course of action and hit the scene with a particularly strong burst of wind. What had been a mildly chilly day was abruptly a freezing cold, blustery landscape. You’d started to shiver almost uncontrollably, struggling with the zipper on your FBI jacket. Without hesitation, Reid had covered your shaking hands with his own, rubbing his hands over yours gently to warm them and potentially calm your shivering. Hotch watched, a bit abashed to see such a deeply intimate, yet entirely chaste interaction between the two of you. Reid had then, smiling down at you, reassuring you calmly, taken a hold of the bottom of your jacket, zipping you into it, and pulling his purple scarf off of himself and wrapping you in it before giving you a small hug.

Unbidden, a memory played in Hotch’s mind. A cold night following a football game. Haley, fair and freezing in the November air of that night, as Hotch had shyly and nervously zipped her into his letterman jacket. Tears had threatened his eyes as he’d recognized the look Spencer had given you in that moment.

And now, as he watches you snuggle slightly closer into Spencer’s arm as the two of you steadfastly sleep off the case on the jet, Hotch realizes that Spencer isn’t being weird. Spencer is behaving exactly as he should. Because Spencer is in love with you.

~~~

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#the one where everyone finds out #the one where hotch finds out #aaron hotchner #hotch #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer x you #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #aaron hotch fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid blurb #1k celebration

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courseoflove · 3 years

Text

Questions

You have lots of questions for Harry and he tries his best to answer each of them.

a/n: hiiiii, think it’s been almost a year since I last posted my writing and I’m finally back! thanks to @oh-honey-styles‘s new fic slam prompts, I was able to curate something I liked enough to share. usually it’d take me lotssss of drafts to be satisfied and happy with something but this one only took 2! I hope you enjoy it and pleaaaaseee be kind ⭐️😸 I’d love to hear your thoughts!

warning: this is just pureee filth. not really smut, but filthy regardless.

Word Count: 1,775

Harry’s forest eyes ogle straight at you, lips pressed in a tight line and twitching on one side to form a smirk that he tried his very best not to show.

That was definitely the last thing he expected to come out of your mouth. He thought you just needed help with something minuscule, like putting together new furniture, fixing the wifi, or help pick out an outfit; things you’ve urgently called him about before. He never, ever thought you’d call him one day and ask for this, a lesson on blowjobs out of all things.

Luckily, sex has never been a taboo topic between the two of you, considering he’s the first person you yell to when you’re letting out your frustrations about your lack of experiences, or vice versa when he just had an intercourse dilemma that continues to leave an everlasting impact on him. But when you’re asking him about giving good oral pleasure, his brain is suddenly void of any thoughts that should help the situation at hand.

“Quit smirking at me, I’m serious!” Harry flinches when you throw a pillow at him from across the other side of the sofa, instantly wiping the smirk off of his face and instead letting out a soft chuckle when he successfully catches it. You throw him an intense yet jest glare, “just. Today at work. I dunno. I just need to know. I want to know.”

“How d’you suppose I do that?” he asks cautiously, leaning forward to settle his elbows on his knees and prop his chin up with the palm of his hand, “teach you, I mean.”

You’re usually never embarrassed around Harry, despite the many weird and unusual conversations you’ve both had during sobriety and drunkenness. You don’t remember ever feeling even the slightest bit awkward or sheepish when you told him about how IUDs work, or giving him a very vivid description of how exactly you feel during your menstruation cycle. He takes it all in and listens with amusement, sometimes with a bowl of extra-buttered popcorn on his lap.

But right now, in this exact moment, you feel slightly skittish and jittery, as if blowjobs were something you’re just now learning about. He can sense it, especially with the way you’re averting your gaze from his eyes to the silent flatscreen tv nailed on your wall — thanks to him. You’re also doing that thing he constantly scolds you for whenever you’re anxious and nervous, chewing ferociously on your bottom lip and squeezing your fingers into a fist to the point your nails will sink on your palm and pop your veins.

“Stop that, you’ll bleed,” he cuts the silence off, “and answer my question.”

You unclench your fist and turn towards him again, barely making eye contact and instead looking at the lovely framed painting hung on the wall behind him, “maybe just describe it?”

“It’s really not that complicated,” was all Harry said. He leans back against your soft couch, taking both of your feet with his hands and settling them on his lap to crack each of your toes. You flinch a little on his first try, turning your focus and watching his fingers work against your skin, “think of a lollipop. Or popsicles, something of the sorts. You put it in your mouth and just… suck. Lick. Move your mouth, without the teeth.”

Suck. Lick. Move your mouth; the words that tumbles out of his lips causes you to flush, your whole body heating up and turning beet red, the color dancing across your nose and emphasizing your imperfections flawlessly.

What Harry said was pretty accurate. It’s not as detailed as you want but you don’t really know how to ask for that without feeling mortified and even more flustered. He said it exactly how it is; you just put your mouth around it, suction your cheeks, use your tongue and bob your head. But you feel like there was something missing, as if there should be more to that. Well, because there is. You want to know more.

His fingers have started to dance their way to your calf, squeezing the deep tissues there in a tender and leisure massage to try and get rid of your tensed muscles. You’re wincing in between syllables when you finally speak after a couple of seconds, “question. It might be weird. Just… just tell me if you don’t wanna answer.”

His eyes lock with yours when he hums for you to continue, a strand of curl falling over his forehead and tickling his brow while his bottom lip gets caught in between his teeth in concentration. He presses his warm hands on your leg forcefully and harder and it helps calm your nerves and neurons, your habit of overthinking in situations like this disappearing little by little the more he moves. The lack of poise you had minutes ago is lessening and your question is on the tip of your tongue, ready to burst at the seams and be voiced aloud.

With your face turning a lot redder and goosebumps developing on your skin from head to toe out of the blue, you ask with your voice a little lower than it was a while ago, “will you tell me what you like? When.. you know.”

Harry’s movements quickly halt. Another unexpected turn. Another question he never, ever thought would come out of your mouth to ask him.

He lets go of his lip and keeps his mouth agape, irises instantaneously dilating and darkening under your lemon-yellow light and turning them into an even darker shade, like a week old leaf. His brain performs a short circuit for a few moments that passes by in silence before he finally swallows and says, “you want to know what I like when I’m getting head?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, feeling even more ridiculous the more you look into his eyes and open your mouth, “I mean, you have the most experience out of the two of us. That’s why I asked in the first place, but I feel — I feel like your first answer doesn’t really — it’s just not satisfying me. There has to be more to it than just.. sucking, I dunno.”

Sure, you talk to one another about sex casually; what one undergos and encounters and what the other simply has no preconceived notions of. Harry would tell his stories in the least disgusting way possible, knowing you’ll groan out loud and tease him about it if he gives away any sort of detail, but there was almost always zero utterance on your end. No lingering and continuous curiosity. You asking about what he likes when he’s getting head is very much unforeseen and maybe even a bit… amiss, especially for you.

However, he can detect a genuine inquisitiveness in your expression. You’re probably one of the hardest people to read on the surface, but he senses that there was more to that interest than just simply wanting to know. At least, he’s hoping there is.

You cross your arms over your chest, feeling a bit weird now the more he gawks at you and doesn’t make a single move to respond. You open your mouth to backtrack when his hesitancy becomes clear, but before you can even take your question back, he’s already mouthing a three-syllable word out loud, “mouth-fucking.”

A low gasp leaves your mouth and the sound doesn’t miss Harry’s eardrums. He should want to take it back, shove the words back in his throat and never say it again despite not being able to. Still and all, he realizes that he likes what you asked and the fact he gave you an answer, a brief one but an honest and precise answer nonetheless. The way your skin warms against the palm of his hands makes him start to sweat, your bare face becoming even more flushed if possible. You don’t really know what kind of answer your mind presumed, but it obviously wasn’t that.

You’re aware of Harry’s self-confidence and boldness when it comes to sex. He has lots of it and it doesn’t come as a surprise. So when he opens his mouth again to explain exactly what he meant, you were able to hold your second gasp back and instead listen in. You can just imagine how filthy he is in bed, considering the description he gives you seems to be even more graphic and explicit, “like normal sex, but I’m doing it to their mouth. I like the sound, the sloppiness of it all, it fuels me. I like being in control, I guess, and no one wants a dry blowjob. I like it really wet.”

You startle both yourself and him when you utter, “what else?”

Harry clears his throat and looks away from your eyes, not because of discomfort because there was absolutely none, but for the reason that the more he stares the more he pictures you inside his head doing exactly what he was evoking. He blinks a couple of times in an attempt to get rid of the colorful conception, yet it just becomes even more lucid and clear-cut. He tries to distract himself by continuing to answer your questions. It definitely doesn’t help. It just drags the mental image on.

“I like it when they let me come down their throat, then swallow it. Or when — when the aftermath of pure bliss just overtakes my entire body. Like, they just pull away for a second then suck me right back in,” the skin on your legs feel sticky under his hold. You swallow at his dazed appearance and tiny smirk, as if he’s picturing it all in his head. And he is, “yeah. I like that a lot.”

Somehow it’s gotten a lot warmer inside the tiny space of your living room, every corner closing in on the two of you in your peripheral vision and you can’t exactly make out the tingling sensation on the tip of your fingers and in between your thighs. Well, you do. You know you’re undoubtedly turned on but acting clueless and ignoring it would be the best way to handle it.

You ask him one more question, the last one you’ll emit for the rest of the evening, “and how was it for them?”

Harry turns his head, connecting his darkened eyes with yours. There’s an indecipherable message written all over his handsome face. His voice is heavy, raspier and deeper with his accent when he answers for the last time, a specific implication behind his tone, “one of these days, you’ll see.”

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