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captainsophiestark · 2 years

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The Newest Avenger

Tom!Peter Parker x Reader

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Requested here on Tumblr!

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Y/N Maximoff has officially moved into the Compound and joined the Avengers with her older sister, Wanda. After the loss of her brother and the Battle of Sokovia, the last thing Y/N wants to do is pretend to live a normal life and go to an American school. But with a little convincing from Wanda, she agrees to go anyway. Luckily for her, since it just might work out to be the best decision she could make.

Word Count: 3,254

Category: Fluff, little bit of angst (a few mentions of Pietro being dead)

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Wanda, do I really have to do this?" I whined to my big sister as we stood in the kitchen of the Avengers Compound together. After fighting for our country alongside the Avengers and losing our brother in the process, I'd spent the summer trying to recover and adjust to my new reality. Now, after the first few days of September, school was starting for me and everyone else my age.

Going to an American high school after joining the Avengers and losing my older brother was just about the last thing I wanted to do. But Wanda wasn't giving me a choice.

"Yes, you have to do this. It will be good for you," she said, zipping up my packed lunch and sliding it across the table to me. "Doing something a normal teenager would do will help you, Y/N."

I sighed. I disagreed, but we'd had this argument enough times in the past month that I knew it was pointless to argue. I hefted my backpack onto my shoulders and took a few backwards steps towards the door.

"This is your last chance to be a good sister and tell me you were kidding about this whole thing," I said as I went. Wanda just smiled and shook her head.

"Go, have fun. Make friends. Learn things. Have a normal, happy experience."

I paused, meeting Wanda's eyes. We'd both been going through hell for a long time, and especially over the last few months. She was the only thing I had left, and I was the only thing she had left. The tentative hope in her eyes made me swallow the retorts about how, from everything I'd heard, high school was anything but a normal, happy experience.

"I will, Wan," I said softly. "I will."

"Good."

I held her stare for a few moments, and although she tried to hide it, I could see her eyes glimmering with tears even from across the room. I gave her the most convincing smile I could muster, then turned and headed out the door.

Happy Hogan, the personal security for Tony Stark, had volunteered to drive me to school for at least my first week. Given that I didn't really have another option, I had agreed. The ride passed in silence, and with each mile we got closer to the city, I got more and more nervous.

My siblings and I had survived some of the most horrible things imaginable over the years together. But now, I was doing this alone. I'd never had to go through something alone before. I didn't like it.

We pulled up to the school, and Happy wished me a good first day as I got out of the car. I gave him a tight smile as I closed the door behind me, and I watched as he drove away, presumably back to the Avengers Compound, leaving me stranded at Midtown High.

The absolute last place I wanted to be.

I sighed as I turned to face the school. Crowds of students laughing, smiling, and chatting headed up the stairs to the building, but I couldn't muster even a hint of excitement. I dragged myself towards the doors, following clear signs for the office where I was supposed to check in.

The receptionist was very kind and helpful, giving me my class schedule, my locker number, and everything else she thought I might need. I appreciated it, especially since she didn't know who I was. Wanda and I had decided it was important to keep my identity a secret, at least until I finished school, so the receptionist's kindness was genuine, and not some superhero thing.

I stared down at my schedule and my locker number, trying to orient myself as I stepped into a hallway full of people. None of them paid me much attention, and I managed to navigate my way through them to my locker. I'd just opened it and thrown my lunch in when the bell rang, and everyone scattered off to different classrooms.

I looked at my schedule again, trying to figure out where in the hell I was meant to go. I started down one hallway, but the classroom numbers weren't anywhere near the one I was looking for, so I turned and tried to go back the way I came.

Slowly, the hallways emptied, leaving me alone and getting increasingly desperate to find my class. The last thing I needed was to get lost and be incredibly late on my first day, but it looked like I didn't really have a way around it.

"Hey!" I turned at the sound of a voice to find a boy about my age with curly brown hair waving and walking towards me. "Do you need some help?"

I hesitated, but the smile on his face seemed genuine enough. Besides, it's not like I was getting very far by trying to find my way on my own.

"Uh, yes..." I said, pulling out my class schedule and offering it to the boy. He seemed strangely familiar, but I knew I'd never seen him before. "I can't find the room for my first class."

"Here, let me see... Oh! You're in the same first period English as I am. Come on, I'll walk you there."

He gave me a friendly smile as he passed back my schedule, then started down the hallway. I couldn't help hesitating for just one more second, but then I followed after him as he headed for the stairs.

"Midtown can be a little bit of a maze," he said as we walked. "I remember on my first day last year, I couldn't find anything!"

I didn't say anything, mostly because I wasn't sure what to say. It seemed this boy didn't need my help to carry on the conversation, however.

"They really should get some tour guides or something to help new students," he mused, mostly to himself. He trailed off, then looked at me again, a massive smile on his face. "I'm Peter, by the way! Peter Parker."

He held out a hand for me to shake, and slowly, I took it.

"Y/N," I said, intentionally leaving out the Maximoff part. Wanda and I had agreed on a fake last name I could go by outside of the Compound, but it still felt strange to use it. "It's nice to meet you too."

Peter and I walked the rest of the way to our class while keeping up casual conversation, and despite my initial hesitation, I really couldn't help liking him. He was so kind, friendly, and genuine, and his smile was absolutely infectious.

We made it to our first class in the nick of time, and Peter made a point of sitting somewhere with an empty desk next to it for me. I gave him a small smile, which he returned, and I couldn't help the way my heart sped up a bit. This was one of the first times I'd felt like smiling at all since my brother had died.

The English class passed without any challenges, and to my delight, Peter and I had our next class together as well. We had to split up for third period, but he walked me to the door of my classroom anyway, and made a promise to meet me in the same spot for lunch.

"Hey! How was history?" he asked, smiling brightly as he approached me after class. I fell into step beside him as we headed for the cafeteria.

"It was good," I said, shrugging. "Nothing particularly interesting, but nothing terrible, either."

"Yeah, Mr. Jackson can really drone on, but at least he's not super strict."

I hummed my agreement, and we passed a few steps in silence as we reached my locker. I needed to grab my lunch before we went to the cafeteria, but Peter had already grabbed his.

"Peter..." I said, pausing after shutting my locker door and turning to look the boy in the eyes. "I have to ask you... why are you being so kind to me?"

"Oh!" he looked away and rubbed at the back of his neck, and I could see a faint blush rising to his cheeks. "Well, I just... I know what it's like to feel lost, and a little left out. I guess... I guess I just didn't want to see someone else having to go through that too, especially when I could do something about it."

I smiled at him, wider than I had this morning, as he met my eyes again. He smiled back, and I felt my heart melt just a little at the sight of him.

"Thank you, for that," I said, holding his stare so he'd know I meant it. "I truly appreciate it."

"Oh, well, it's... it's no problem," he said, clearly uncomfortable with the praise. "Here, let me show you the best lunch spot. It's outside, so we can't really use it when it gets cold, but it's nice in the fall."

Over the next few weeks, I fell into the routine of school and seeing Peter regularly. We only got closer as friends, and I had to admit, my heart often skipped a beat when I saw him, waving or smiling at me from halfway down the hall. I had a spring in my step that hadn't been there since my siblings and I were children in Sokovia, before the Stark weapons and everything else had destroyed our lives. Wanda clearly noticed, but she never said anything to me about it. She just smiled a little more often, like me.

One particularly nice fall day, Peter and I sat outside in our usual lunch spot, with Ned and MJ. They'd started as Peter's friends, but had quickly become my friends, too.

"Can you believe that history quiz?" asked Ned, frowning as he bit into his sandwich. "I just know I failed it."

"I can promise you that you did better than me," I sighed. "I know nothing about American history. I'd like to see how this teacher would do on a Sokovian history quiz before he starts trying to grade me on how well I know this country's history."

"Damn right," agreed MJ. We shared a smile, and the four of us continued chatting until I felt a frantic buzzing in my pocket. I pulled out my phone and glanced at it.

Emergency page, summons to the Compound. I was needed back ASAP for something of Avengers magnitude.

I shot up, surprised to find Peter standing too. We stared at each other for a moment, then I quickly shook the moment off.

"I have to go," I blurted out. Peter gave me a strange look, but I ignored it. "My, uh... my sister needs my help with something. Immediately. I... yeah, I have to go."

I didn't wait for my friends' reactions as I started packing up. After a second, Peter cleared his throat and spoke.

"I actually have to go too," he said. "Some family emergency with May."

Ned and MJ just watched us as we frantically threw our things into bags, then took off in completely different directions. I didn't look back. Whatever Peter had going on, or whether or not my new friends thought I was strange, didn't matter. I was needed elsewhere, and I wasn't going to let my sister deal with whatever it was without me.

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

It took me longer than I would've liked to get back to the Compound. When I arrived, I quickly found my sister and donned a mask along with the rest of my superhero costume. I felt a little ridiculous, but we'd agreed that I would keep my identity secret for at least the rest of high school, which meant playing dress up in the middle of an emergency.

Thankfully, it wasn't actually anything terrible. Someone had tried to break into the Compound, and since we'd all been notified anyway, Tony had decided to just treat it as an emergency drill. As annoying as it was to be called out of school at the drop of a hat for a glorified drill, I'd take it any day over an actual emergency. Especially after everything we'd been through lately.

As we shuffled around and found sparring partners, I found myself next to Spider-Man. I didn't know much about the colorful American hero, but he seemed nice enough as we got to work together.

"Hey, you're Wanda's little sister, right?" asked Spider-Man as we traded a few low-energy punches. I was sparring without using my powers, since I still didn't have the best handle on them. I nodded in response to his question.

"That's right."

"Cool! How do you like being part of the Avengers so far? I'm pretty new to it, but it already seems so cool I can't really believe it!"

I shrugged, but a small smile grew on my face nonetheless. "I can't say I mind it. Everyone's certainly been friendly, which helps."

"That's great! You know, I actually just met another girl from Sokovia at my- uh, in my non-Spidey life. She's super nice, though! I think you'd like her."

"Too bad I can't meet her, since we have our super-secret identities and all that," I reminded him. He seemed to deflate a little.

"Yeah..."

"Hey, it's fine. I have plenty of people to meet here, after all." I gave him a smile, which he returned. "Besides, I've met a few nice people in my non-Avengers life too."

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

I smiled at Peter a few weeks post-training, feeling my heart pick up a little bit as we shared a laugh at lunch in our usual spot. I couldn't explain exactly when it had happened, but now, when I looked at Peter for too long I felt butterflies in my stomach. I liked him.

I tried to ignore that feeling as I turned back to my lunch and ate some of the things Wanda had packed for me. Ned and MJ both had club-related things they had to do at lunch today, so it was just me and Peter this time.

I loved Ned and MJ, but I honestly couldn't say I minded.

"So..." started Peter, clearing his throat and shifting a little to face me better. "You know, I was thinking..."

He trailed off, clearly incredibly nervous, and I fixed him with a curious look. He stuttered for a few more moments, then took a deep breath.

"I was thinking maybe, if you wanted to, we-"

"Parker!"

The two of us turned quickly at the sound of the shout to see Flash Thompson, one of the biggest jerks in the school, walking towards us with a few of his friends trailing behind.

"Flash, what do you want?" asked Peter. "Can't you just give us a minute?"

"Why, so you can find a nerdy way to ask your nerd girlfriend on a date?" he demanded. My face warmed at his words, but I couldn't tell whether it was from embarrassment or anger. "You know, it really fits that the two biggest losers in the school are keeping each other company. At least you have each other to sit alone with at lunch."

"Flash, come on, just get outta here-"

Peter stopped short as I stood up, eyes fixed on Flash. He was being a dick to me and to Peter, even when Peter and I were just minding our own business, and I couldn't stand it. I could feel the deepest reservoirs of my power crackling just under the surface of my skin, itching to get out.

"Whoa, somebody's pissed. What's the matter, Parker, need your girlfriend to stand up for you now?" He turned back to me, and my magic flared in response. "What are you gonna do, sweetheart?"

And just like that, I completely lost control. My eyes darkened, and I stopped trying to hold back my powers. The chaos magic gathered at my fingertips, and I started to raise my hand to direct it at Flash, but then suddenly, strong arms were pushing me backwards into the school. I kept my gaze locked on Flash, but slowly, Peter's face in front of me, looking more than a little concerned, started to come into focus instead.

"Y/N, come on, walk away... focus on me, please, you have to calm down..."

Peter finally managed to get me back inside the building and around a corner so I couldn't see Flash anymore, and I managed to focus on him instead. The magic still curled around me, finally becoming undeniably visible as I raised off the floor a bit and my hair fanned out around me, and I saw Peter's eyes go wide.

Just like that, the anger and magic flaring up and threatening to spill over guttered out. Peter's face... he must've been terrified of me. I must've looked like a monster.

"Peter..." I breathed, fighting to hold back my tears as the last of my magic curled back up inside me, no longer threatening to explode out. "I am... so, so sorry. Please, please don't be scared, I promise-"

"Scared?" he broke in, taking a few steps towards me. "No, no, Y/N, I'm not scared. I..."

He trailed off and glanced around the hallway to make sure we were alone. Once he was satisfied, he quickly lifted up the front of his shirt.

Beneath was the familiar fabric of the Spider-Man costume.

"You... you're Spider-Man?" I demanded.

"And you're Wanda's little sister!"

"We trained together. Shit, we told each other about... about each other during training!"

Peter and I locked eyes and stared at each other for a few beats, then burst out laughing.

"We're idiots!" I wheezed, leaning against the wall as Peter did the same.

"I hate to say it, but we really are," he agreed. "We can never tell Harley about this."

I quickly nodded my agreement. I'd only met the honorary Stark kid once, but I knew if he found out about this, he'd never let it drop.

"So... were you really about to blow up Flash?" Peter finally asked, a small smile tugging at his lips. I just shrugged.

"He'd deserve it."

We shared another laugh at that, and as it gave way to comfortable silence, I couldn't keep my next question to myself.

"So what were you going to ask me before Flash showed up?"

Peter went bright red, from his neck to the tips of his ears, and I couldn't help smiling at how adorable it was.

"Uh... well, I was gonna see if maybe you wanted to go get coffee with me sometime, or something... but I totally get it if it would be weird, now that we know we're teammates-!"

"Peter, I'd love that. Seriously. And I think it's even better now that we know we're teammates."

"Really?" I nodded, and Peter absolutely beamed back at me. "Well, okay, great! How about... after school today?"

"Sounds perfect."

We shared a soft smile, and I reached out and took Peter's hand as the bell rang.

"Come on, Spider-Man. We should get to class."

He squeezed my hand softly as the hallway flooded with students, the two of us lost in our own little world. Ned and MJ gave us significant looks as we walked in together, and I got the impression they hadn't actually been doing club stuff at lunch today.

I'd have to remember to thank them later. Now that I was a few months into my new life here, I had to admit, there were a lot of things I really, really liked about it. And after today, Peter held the #1 spot on that list.

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thedaredevilsgirl · 3 years

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Chapter One - My Sweet Angel

Warning: Explicit Smut -Dirty Talk and Oral (fem! Receiving)

Word count: 1544

Please forgive any mistakes, English is not my first language.

Nothing else had happened after the kiss, you just said goodnight and went to your room, he was thinking that maybe you had regretted that idea.

But the next morning, as soon as he wakes up he finds a note on your bedside table with your handwriting on it.

Rules of our little agreement:

1- Thomas will teach anything Y/N asks.

2- Both sides of the agreement must be comfortable with what is going to be done.

3- Let me know if you want to stop.

4- I will let you know if I want to stop.

5- Neither Harrison nor anyone else should know about this agreement, it will be our secret.

Sign here at the bottom if you agree to my terms and let me know if you want to include any conditions.

He laughed, of course you would make a list of rules, it was exactly your kind of thing. After he finishes getting ready he takes a pen from the table and signs his name on the paper just below where his signature was and slips the small paper under his door before leaving for class.

You barely got any sleep last night, all you could think about was everything that had happened and when you did get some sleep you dreamed about Tom and woke up gasping for breath.

Your dream was incredibly real, you felt every touch, and the way Tom ate you in the dream made you needy for it.

Tom received a message from you during one of his classes.

Y/N: Meet me later in my room.

He answered a simple okay, trying to pretend he was calm when inside he was freaking out. Tom spent the rest of the day thinking about his message, barely able to pay attention in class.

•─────✧─────•─────✧─────•

Tom was thankful that it was Friday, all the boys were getting ready for some party at another fraternity leaving the house just for the two of them, as if fate was cooperating with their plan.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Harrison asks Tom again.

"No man, today's classes were pretty tiring, I'd rather stay home anyway" Tom says.

"You're going to miss the best party of the year" Tuwaine says as soon as he enters the room.

"All these parties are the best of the year" He laughs, rolling his eyes.

"Y/N not coming with us?" Tuwaine asks Harrison who denies with his head.

"No, she said she had a new series on Netflix she wanted to watch" he says to his friend before turning his face to Tom and speaking "Take care of her ok?"

"I'll take very good care of her" he smiles.

If Harrison knew what would happen when he left the fraternity he would never let Tom near you again and would probably punch him in the face.

The two of you leave the house, and a few minutes later the other boys are leaving too, soon the house is empty except for you and Tom.

Tom walked slowly up the stairs, he was a little nervous to tell you the truth, he had slept with many different girls, given them orgasms that made his legs shake. But you were different, he wanted to give you the best experiences possible, give you all the wonderful sensations, and he would definitely need more than just one night for that.

"May I come in?" he asks knocking on the door.

You take a deep breath before answering "Yes."

He enters the room, he has been here countless times before, but he never thought he would be in here in this situation.

"I saw you signed the paper" is the first thing you say when you look at him.

"Yes" A silence fills the room for a few minutes.

"Sorry I'm a little anxious".

"You can quit if you want" he sits down on his bed in front of you.

"NO" You say a little too loudly.

He laughs at your reaction and holds your hand pulling you to sit on his lap with each leg on one side of your body, you take another deep breath and look at him.

Tom looks at your gaping mouth and licks his lips, holding himself back from giving in to the urge to kiss you right now, their hands grip tightly on your hips, probably impossible but you could feel yourself getting wet just from that touch and the way he was looking at you.

His lips come close to yours but pull away before you can kiss him and they move on towards your neck.

"I have a condition too" He says softly and goes back to spreading kisses across your pulse point.

"What?" His question comes out almost as a sigh.

"We are not having sex today".

"Why?" you ask disappointed, Tom had no idea how needy you were for him.

"Sorry honey, I don't think you're ready for this, but if you let me I want to do something else with you today" he looks at you as if asking permission.

"What's your idea?"

"I want to taste you".

You...you want to?"

"Actually I'm the one who's been daydreaming about it myself since last night angel."

Tom had already given her several cute nicknames, but angel was new, he had never called any girl that, at least not in front of him.

"Are you okay?" he asks with a smile.

When you nod, he quickly kisses you. He had really been wanting to taste you since you left his room, daydreaming about what you would taste like.

One of his hands goes up your thigh, lightly lifting your skirt until it reaches the fabric of your already wet panties, his thumb makes a circular motion over your covered clit making you moan between kisses.

"I barely touched you and you're already wet" he says with a smug smile on his face.

"Actually all I could think about was you all day.... Tom" you moan his name as he pulls your panties aside to properly touch your clit and feel its wetness.

"Did I make you wet all day, angel?" he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it coming from your lips.

"Yes." He picks her up in his lap and lays her down on the bed getting on top of your body and kissing you again, his kisses trailing a trail again to your neck.

"May I?" He asks holding the hem of your shirt and you affirm, he quickly pulls it off your body and bites his lips as he sees your breasts in the pink bra.

"I think I'll let you, you look amazingly hot in it" you blush at his comment.

He kisses the top of your breasts and runs his thumb over one of the nipples making you sigh, he runs his tongue slowly over it and even though the fabric prevents full contact the sensation is still wonderful.

The kisses move down to your belly and soon he is pulling your shorts off your body and your panties are the only thing keeping him from touching you where you want them.

"Tom, please," you beg as he kisses the inside of your thigh.

"Please what angel?" he gives you a mischievous smile.

"I need you."

"You do?"

"Yes, please."

He finally removes her panties from her body and stands between her legs placing one of them over her shoulder for easy access.

"Fuck" he says as he runs two fingers over your entrance "you are fucking wet" his fingers reach your clit and you push your hips towards his touch "so needy".

First he just licks a long strip from your vagina to your clit and you take a deep breath at the yummy sensation.

"Better than I ever dreamed of" he says before sucking you again.

One of your hands holds his hair tightly, while the other you place over your mouth to avoid moaning. Tom quickly removes it from your mouth.

"I don't want you to be silent, I want to hear how good I am making you feel."

He mentally thanked himself for doing this, her moans and sighs were the most beautiful melody he had ever heard.

Tom wanted to make it as pleasurable as possible for you, he took his time to form your orgasm slowly tasting you until he brought you to the edge.

"Holy shit, Tom" he knew you were already close and he goes even deeper.

He clamps his lips around your clit and sucks it making you even more needy, he moans against your pussy and you whimper loudly.

"Tom...Tom it feels so good"

His gaze settles on yours as he still sucks you, you cry out his name and feel as if you might explode at that moment.

He sucks your clit one last time and you finally cum on his lips throwing your head back in ecstasy with your mouth open in an inaudible moan. This was surely the dirtiest scene Tom had ever seen.

Your body falls to the bed, your breath panting, your chest heaving. Tom could never get tired of seeing you like this, he stands over your body again and kisses you slowly, you taste him in your mouth and sigh between kisses.

"Thank you" you say and he just smiles in response.

He lies down on your side and pulls you to lie on his chest.

"I can help you" he says looking at your very apparent erection and running his hand down to your sweatpants.

"Don't worry about me angel, this is about you" he moves your hand away from there and hugs you tighter "now try to get some sleep ok" he kisses the top of your head.

You fall asleep a short time later hugging your body. He leaves your room before Harrison arrives and finds you there, but before he leaves he leaves a small note on your bedside table.

I hope you enjoyed today, I loved it, I think I will dream of your flavor for the rest of my days. Because darling, you are my sweet angel - Tom.

TAGLIST

@a-daydreamers-day

@cherryobx

@bevanbexley5252

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #peter parker x y/n #tom holland one shot

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littlegnoblin · 3 years

Text

Happy Valentine’s Day to my best friend and other half @donestiel

read on ao3

Dean comes home from work to find Cas and Jack sitting at the table, red heart-shaped lollipops strewn in front of them.

He gives Cas a quick kiss. “You trying to give the kid a sugar rush or what?”

“Daddy! It’s for Valemtime’s Day!” Jack yells excitedly, hopping off his chair to hug Dean’s legs.

“It’s pronounced valentine, Jack.”

“I don’t know, valemtime kinda has a nice ring to it,” Dean says. Jack beams up at him and he can’t help but ruffle his hair.

“Yes, well, the holiday has become so bastardized that I suppose renaming it wouldn’t hurt.” Cas squints at the box the candy came in. “Does no one find it odd that their children are passing around cards demanding others belong to them?”

Dean sits down and pulls Jack into his lap, flipping through the little pink cards. “I don’t know that you’re supposed to think about it that hard, dude.” He comes across a card that reads ‘kiss me’ and holds it up. “This, on the other hand-- they’re five, what the hell do they need to be kissin’ for?”

“I want kisses!” Jack protests.

“You’re a little kiss monster.” Cas leans in and presses a big, exaggerated smooch to Jack’s cheek. “How was that? Did it satisfy the beast?”

Jack giggles and nods enthusiastically.

“Hey, I’m gonna need to sample one of those kisses myself. Make sure they’re regulation-- standard procedure.”

“Is that right?”

“‘Fraid so,” Dean says with a shit eating grin.

He’s expecting a goofy kiss like the one he gave Jack but Cas uses his thumb to tilt Dean’s chin just so and kisses him deeply.

They break apart when two tiny hands push at their faces and Jack tells them to knock it off.

“This is what Valentine’s Day is all about, champ. Besides, I thought you liked kisses.”

“You guys do it gross.”

Dean smiles and bounces his eyebrows at Cas, who rolls his eyes but can’t hide the small curl of his mouth.

“Perhaps your father will help you write your classmates’ names on the cards while I get dinner ready.”

“I can cook,” Dean says quickly. The thought of Cas’ last attempt at cooking has his stomach churning and he’s pretty sure feeding that toxic waste to Jack would be considered child abuse.

Cas holds up a cardboard box. “It’s frozen pizza.”

“Alright, I’ll do babysitting duty. Just make sure you take the plastic off this time.”

“It’s not babysitting when it’s your own child and that was one time.”

“One time too many,” Dean mutters.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing, dear.”

Cas glares at him. “I expect you to eat a healthy portion of salad along with your pizza tonight.”

“You making it yourself or is it bagged?”

The glare intensifies.

Jack tugs on his sleeve. “Daddy, did you like doing valentine’s stuff in school?”

“Nah, it, uh-- it wasn’t really a thing when I was your age.”

That’s a blatant lie but Dean’s not going to tell him the truth and bum him out. What five year old wants to hear that their dad didn’t do Valentine’s Day exchanges because there was barely enough money for food, let alone candy, and he never really stuck around any school long enough to get included in the holiday stuff. Shit’s depressing.

“So you never got no cards or nothin’?”

“Nope.” Dean never got cards but he did get invited under the bleachers a few times in high school to unwrap a different kind of present. He’s not telling him that either, though.

“That sucks. Can I have a lollipop?”

“Nice try, kid.” Dean taps on the card in front of them. “Get to writing.”

He oversees the careful labelling of the cards, reminding Jack to double check the list of names anytime he spells something wrong and corrects a few backwards letters. They debate who gets what card and Jack complains that he has to give one to Tom who keeps cutting him in line.

Cas rejoins them in the middle of Jack’s impassioned rant, hiding his smile behind his hand.

“While I agree that Tom is a-- what was it you called him?”

“A butthead.”

“Yes, right, a butthead. While I agree he is a butthead, unfortunately I think you need to be the bigger person. Maybe this will even convince him to stop cutting in line and you two can be friends.”

“No way. I don’t wanna be friends with Tom.”

“You never know,” Dean says. “I didn’t like your dad when we first met, but I think he’s a pretty okay guy now.”

Jack looks at him wide eyed. “You didn’t like Daddy?”

“No way, he was a butthead.”

“It was more of a misunderstanding,” Cas explains.

“Oh is that what we’re calling it?”

Cas lifts an eyebrow and stares him down. “What would you call it, Dean?”

Shit, that should not be so hot.

“Not the point; the point is that I didn’t think I would ever like your dad and now we’re married. Things change.”

Jack furrows his brows, considering. “I don’t want to marry Tom.”

Dean snorts. “You don’t have to. In fact, please don’t. His mom is a nightmare.” Cas kicks him under the table. “What! She is!”

“You don’t have to marry him and you don’t have to be friends with him,” Cas says, ignoring Dean completely, “but you do have to give him a card and some candy.”

Jack grumbles but does as he’s told. Dean’s legs are starting to fall asleep but he’s become increasingly aware of how fast Jack is growing up and soon-- way too fucking soon, if you ask him-- he won’t be sitting in his lap at all so he silently resigns to not feeling his legs for the next ten minutes.

“All done!” Jack yells and throws his hands in the air.

“Sweet, now let's stick some candy in these bad boys and call it a night.”

“Wait, there’s a extra, what should I do with it?”

“Is there anyone who’s not in your class that you’d like to give a valentine to?”

Jack gasps and slaps a hand over Dean’s eyes, nearly poking one out in the process. “Close your eyes, Daddy!”

Dean dutifully closes his eyes until Jack tells him he’s finished. He slowly opens one eye and sees the pink card held about an inch from his face.

“For me?” he gasps dramatically.

“Yes!”

The front of the card reads ‘You’re the best!’ and when he opens it, he finds ‘Daddy’ written in some of the neatest handwriting from Jack he’s ever seen. Beneath it he’s signed his name, the K backwards like it always is on his first try.

“I gave it to you because you never had one before and also you’re the best daddy ever, who makes me yummy chocolate chip pancakes and cheeseburgers and does funny voices for bedtime stories,” Jack explains.

Dean wraps his arms around his son and rests his cheek on top of his head, his heart feeling fit to burst. “Thank you, Jack. I’m gonna keep this forever.” And he means it.

“Welcome. Can I have a lollipop now?”

Cas points at Dean. “He gets that from you.”

After the valentines are carefully put away and they’ve had dinner (plastic free and edible, which Cas seems proud of), Jack gets a bath and is tucked in bed. Dean and Cas spend the rest of the night sprawled out on the couch watching reruns of Doctor Sexy and drinking beer. Party city.

When the Doctor Sexy reruns switch to Jeopardy, Dean knows it’s officially midnight.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess.”

They tip their bottles together.

“I hope I didn’t disappoint you by not planning anything,” Cas says, picking at the label on his beer.

“What? No, of course not. We never do anything. I thought we were on the same page about avoiding that shit after our first Valentine’s together.”

They both shudder thinking about the sweaty cupid ‘handshake’.

“We are, but we never actually discussed it and I…” Cas pauses and tilts his head. “I think having Jack around and seeing the world through his eyes, experiencing things in a new way, it makes me wonder if we’re not missing out on some of the little things.”

“Hey, we appreciate lots of the little things-- like you not cooking frozen pizza with the plastic still on.”

“Dean.”

“Okay, okay. So you sayin’ you wanna celebrate now?”

“Sam and Eileen do.”

“Sam and Eileen are saps. And they don’t have a five year old running around.”

Cas makes a sound of agreement and softly strokes the back of Dean’s neck, sending shivers down his spine. “You make a fair point. In all honesty, I don’t want to do anything extravagant but I would like to take the opportunity to remind you how much I love you. Am I allowed to be sappy for a moment?”

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah, I guess you deserve one day to get it all out.” He puts their bottles down and faces his husband. “Lay it on me, big guy.”

Instead of looking annoyed, Cas just looks fond. “You know, it’s ironic that a man as full of love as you are is so quick to dismiss any sentimentality. You are a fascinating creature.” A thumb sweeps under his eye where he’s got permanent dark circles and settles at the corner where his lines get deeper every day. It makes Dean want to squirm but he holds still under the reverent touch. “Perhaps that’s why I never stood a chance.”

“C’mon, man,” Dean says, dropping his eyes to the couch.

“Hush, I’m allowed, I’ll have you know. My husband gave me explicit permission.”

“Well, your husband is thinking about rescinding the offer.”

“I love you.”

Cas says it with such conviction that Dean can’t help but look back at him, at his bright eyes and soft smile; at the evidence of his love written all over his face.

“I love you, endlessly, Dean Winchester. For everything that you are; the good and the bad. From the moment I saw your soul in hell, so bright it was almost blinding, I knew I would never be the same. You breathed life into me, gave me meaning and purpose, taught me the value of love, and you did it all, selflessly, simply by being the man that you are.” Cas draws him close, presses their foreheads together. “I can never give back all that you’ve given me but I promise you will have my love until we are nothing but a forgotten memory, and longer still.”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and they breath together in the small space between them.

“You can’t-- you can’t just say shit like that,” he whispers.

“And why not?”

“Because it’s not true, first of all.” Cas opens his mouth to argue but Dean covers it with his hand and hurries on. “You’ve already given all of that back and more. God, Cas, if it weren’t for you I’d have been dead years ago. I needed to stick around-- to take care of Sammy, to stop whatever or whoever was trying to end the world next-- but you… you made me want to live. Really live, not just survive, you know? I fuckin’ love you, man.”

Cas pushes Dean’s hand away and presses his lips against Dean’s fervently.

When they finally break apart for desperately needed air, they both pretend they aren’t sniffling like little girls.

“You happy now? Can we go back to not doing this?”

Cas laughs. “I hadn’t planned on making it quite so emotional, I apologize. You always bring out the most in me.”

“Ugh, enough,” Dean groans, shoving Cas’ smiling face away. “You aren’t allowed to say anything even approaching romantic for the next twenty four hours, capiche?”

“I can agree to that, as long as I’m allowed to give you a gift later.”

“I thought you said you didn’t plan anything?”

“It’s nothing big.” Cas’ fingers sneak under Dean’s shirt and trail along his stomach, dipping to his waistband. “I just happened to walk by Victoria’s Secret and see a pair of pink satin panties in the window.”

Dean’s heart beats a little faster. “Oh yeah?” he says breathlessly. “Not gonna lie, that seems more like a present for you.”

Cas hums and leans over Dean, forcing him to lie back on the couch. “Well then I suppose I’ll just have to do whatever you want while you wear them.”

When he kisses him he tastes like cherry candy and Dean thinks could learn to like this holiday.

#spn #destiel #deancas #bend-me-shape-me #sweatercas #rambleoncas #acklesy #alivedean #userpris #usersila #goodthingsclara #shelikestv #hope you guys dont mind me tagging you!!!#sarah writes

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highonchocolate · 4 years

Text

Take Two: The Guardian in Gotham Chapter 3

First Previous Next Ao3

Bruce sat at the head of the long oak dining table and waited for his children to make their way into the room for dinner. They came in as a staggered group; Jason arguing about some novel with Dick while Tim and Damian brought up the back as they discussed their patrol routes for the night. After Alfred and Damian helped serve the food, Bruce cleared his throat pointedly and waited for everyone to pay attention.

Once everyone had looked up from their discussions he spoke. “Alfred has a friend named Gina; and she had called this evening to see if her granddaughter could stay with us. She lives in Paris; but her classmates were bullying her and her parents thought a change of scenery would do her some good. I have agreed to let her stay with us in the Manor.” Even before he had finished speaking the table erupted with different questions from his children.

“Bruce are you sure this is wise?” Tim questioned over Dick’s ecstatic squealing (“I’ve always wanted a little sister!!!”), and Jason’s grumbling (“Shut the fuck up Dickhead. I don’t know why the fuck B is bringing someone into this house to live with this dysfunctional family.”). Ignoring his siblings; he pressed on “I mean, how are we going to hide Batman and the vigilante stuff from her?” As Bruce paused to answer Damian stood up and scowled. “Tt. This is a moronic decision. Inform me of when this girl is to arrive and inform her to stay out of my way.” He lifted his chin and crossed his arms before marching out of the room.

After Damian’s outburst, Jason looked over from where he was arguing with Dick and added his input “Timbo’s right, B. How are we going to hide that from her?”

“We’ll have to make sure at least two of you remain in the manor each night so that she doesn’t get too suspicious.” He answered. “Now, the only reason I agreed to letting her stay here was namely for Alfred, and also because of what her classmates did to her”

“What do you mean, Bruce?” Dick questioned. “Did they like assault her or something?”

“Or something” He responded grimly before sending the photo to all three of them.

As they looked at the photo, he observed their reactions to the image. Dick was not smiling for once, and his sunny blue eyes had darkened to an icy frost. His whole body was tense; and his jaw was so clenched his teeth were grinding together. Jason was standing up with two guns locked and loaded in his hands. He had also managed to procure a knife from somewhere, which appeared as he leant forward and asked “What were the names of the people who did this again?” in a completely lethal tone. Tim, already hacking away at his computer responded “Not there yet, but from what I can find out, she goes to College Francois DuPont and she’s fifteen.” He briefly looked up and made eye contact with Bruce before asking “How fast do you think we can get our lawyers onto those kids B?” At the declarations of his children, Bruce closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “We can not file any lawsuits yet, not without Marinette’s permission.” He answered, sighing tiredly. “Marinette?” Dick questioned. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Tim responded instantly. “That’s her name.”

“She will be coming on Monday, and Alfred will be picking her up from the airport. She is also going to attend GA, so someone please tell Damian.” Bruce said as he stood from the table. “Now hurry up, we have patrol tonight, and there have been rumors about a drug ring near Crime Alley.”

---

After coming back from the hospital and having a sleepover Thursday night, Chloé and Adrien were completely sleep-deprived as they trudged into school the next morning. Settling into her usual seat beside Sabrina, Chloé silently thanked all the Kwami that she didn’t have to sit next to Lila. Halfway though class, Mrs. Bustier suddenly frowned and looked at the back row. “Does anyone know where Marinette is? She still hasn’t arrived yet!”

“Probably still sleeping at home! She’ll come in completely late as usual!” Alya cackled. At her words, Chloé felt her entire body heat up with righteous indignity. She opened her mouth to tell that wannabe tabloid reporter to get her facts straight, but then Adrien caught her eye and shook his head. He then pointed at his phone, and mimed unlocking it before pointing to her. Catching the hint, she checked her messages to see that Marinette had sent them a text.

FashionableBug: Mari said to tell Chloé and Adrien not to do anything to Lila or anyone else that starts making stuff up. (From Luka btw)

You’reUnderAgreste: Me-ouch, My Lady. I would never!

QueenofMean: shut it with the puns, Noir. Maribug, I will only listen to you because you’re injured and I’m not going to go against your wishes.

Putting her phone away, Chloé resigned herself to a miserable school day.

---

After school, she walked into Marinette’s room and flopped dramatically onto the chaise, before letting out a long groan.

“That bad?” Mari chuckled as she scribbled sketched one-handedly in her design notebook.

“You have no idea.” Chloé responded.

Their conversation continued into mundane things, such as everyone’s patrol routes, and various theories on who Hawkmoth was. Totally normal topics for teenagers. As the day drew to a close, they made plans for everyone to come over to start packing the next day before Chloé left the bakery and headed home.

---

Come Saturday, Marinette, Chloé and Luka spent the morning playing board games one handed “to level the playing field” as Luka put it and eating lots of cookies and pastries-provided by Marinette’s parents of course. Adrien and Kagami were attending their various classes until afternoon, so the remaining three spent their time relaxing, and coming up with a list of things to pack for Mari’s stay in Gotham. Two o’ clock rolled around, and the bells over the bakery jingled to announce the arrival of the final members of the packing committee.

Any plans to begin their assignment of somehow fitting all Marinette’s fabrics into the suitcase were cut short by an Akuma.

They all transformed, even though Kagami and Luka has been extremely reluctant to let Mari go even though the suit temporarily healed her injuries. Climbing through her roof hatch, they set out across the rooftops to defeat their latest villain.

---

Five hours later, the teen heroes dropped into her room, and detransformed in various flashes of multicolored lights. They collapsed onto the bed and chairs and silently agreed to just sleep , and get the packing done the next day.

---

All of Sunday was spent throwing various clothes and accessories into Mari’s pink and black suitcase. There were several sweaters and hoodies (added by Chloé), as well as several leggings and many thick pajama pants (Sabine).

Adrien (with the help of Tom) had somehow managed to pack over ten different pun-covered t-shirts, and by the time they were discovered, they had been buried under piles upon piles of fluffy socks from Kagami. Luka also threw in some scarves before Marinette added some toiletries, her sewing kit, and her computer.

Picking up the backpack she had decided to use as a carry-on, Marinette rifled through it to make sure she had everything in there as well.

Spare change of clothes in case she loses her suitcase? Check. Phone, headphones, and charger? Check. Sketchbook and pencils? Check. Disguised Miracle Box? Check.

She turned to her family (Not her teammates, not her friends, but her family.) and smiled. It was small, and bittersweet, but it was a smile. “Alright guys, I guess I’m all set.” She said, before joining them all in a group hug. They offered her soft, tearful smiles before Tom carried her big suitcase down the stairs.

That night, Marinette fell asleep surrounded by all the people she loved, and she couldn’t have been happier.

---

The next day, her Papa carried her downstairs and placed her into her wheelchair (since she had a broken foot, and couldn’t use her leg, they had given her a wheelchair) before wheeling her outside and placing her into the car waiting by the street.

Her friends were all inside, and she gripped Adrien’s hand tightly as they drove to the airport.

As she stood to board the plane, she turned back to catch one last glimpse of them all. Chloé was leaning into Kagami’s side who was holding her girlfriend’s hand tightly. Adrien was waving wildly, and Luka and her parents all raised one hand in farewell. Her Maman and Papa has some red rimming their eyes, but they smiled at her as she was wheeled into the plane. Next stop: Gotham, New Jersey.

Since her flight left Paris at 10 AM, she was set to arrive in Gotham at around 12 PM/noon. With that in mind, she decided to stay awake for the entire flight so that her body could adjust better.

As they crossed the Atlantic, Marinette, sitting in first class thanks to Chloé and Adrien’s combined nagging; popped her earbuds in, and began to sketch.

She stared out the window as she touched down, shocked by all the dog and darkness in the city. As she collected her bags, and wheeled her way outside to look for her host family, she couldn’t help but notice how everyone in this city was much more on edge than most normal people. ‘They act as though they are expecting an attack at any second of the day.’ She mused to herself. Her train of thought was cut off by the sight of an elderly man with a powerful aura standing next to a limo with a sign saying “Marinette Dupain-Cheng”. She wheeled her way over to him and smiled brightly. “Salut! My name is Marinette! What is yours, Monsieur!” She questioned, holding out her hand for a handshake.

“It’s lovely to meet you Miss Marinette, my name is Alfred Pennyworth.” Alfred responded, smiling gently down at her. “Now let’s get you and your bags in the car, shall we?” He reaches out to shake her hand, and the moment their fingers touched her vision was filled with dark blue and red. She laughed and smiled up at him. “It is an honor to meet you, noble Peacock.” She greeted him in the Guardian language, honoring his position as a True Holder. “And it is an honor to meet you as well, Ladybug.” He answered. She grinned and allowed him to help her into the back of the limo before he climbed into the driver's seat and they sped off to Wayne Manor.

---

When he saw the young girl, Alfred was shocked to say the least. She was roughly 5’ 4” (162.5 cm), and was very petite. Her stature, combined with her wheelchair, wrist brace, and the cast on her leg, all strengthened his resolve to protect the young girl from any further harm. That was only intensified when their auras recognized each other. How could anyone place the responsibility of upholding balance on such a young child?

As he drove to the Manor, she informed him that the Cat, Bee, Dragon and Snake were active on her team. Before he could ask her what the threat they were battling was, they had arrived at the Manor, and she had immediately tensed and gone silent.

Deciding that it was better to ask more questions later, he got out of the car to retrieve her bags and chair. Master Bruce and three of his children except for Master Damian were waiting in front of the doors to the Manor, and they all waited patiently for her as she exited the car.

---

Marinette was nervous. Sure, taking to Monsieur Alfred was really fun, and she couldn’t wait to tell him more about Paris, but now she was meeting her actual host family! What if they didn’t like her? What if they decided to send her back?! Then what would she do?? A small cough interrupted her downward spiral, and she looked up from her lap to see Monsieur Alfred waiting in front of the open door with her wheelchair. Grabbing her backpack, she awkwardly maneuvered herself into the chair and allowed herself to be wheeled out in front so she could meet Monsieur Bruce Wayne.

---

Note: Alfred doesn’t know that Marinette is the Guardian. He just knows she’s a Ladybug holder.

#maribat #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne #adrien agreste #chloe bourgeois #luka couffaine #kagami tsurugi #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #time drake #jason todd #dick grayson #lila rossi #alya cesaire #lila salt #class salt

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antihero-writings · 3 years

Text

The Boy with the Unspeakable Name (Ch9)

Fandom: Harry Potter (and the Chamber or Secrets)

Fic Summary: Tom Riddle may have won his battle with Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, but there were a few unforeseen consequences; loss of Tom’s memory being the most obnoxious of them. Is it possible to stop Tom’s past from becoming his future? Or is the young Tom Riddle doomed to repeat his mistakes?

Notes: Hey! So sorry for the delay, once again!!

I've learned I really can't make any promises based on how fast I'll get these out XD But I have actually already started on the next chapter--in fact it's one I've been excited about for a long time, so I started on it a while ago--so that's a good sign at least, haha.

I'm very VERY excited to share this one with you!! I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do!!

I hope you guys like it!! As always, it's your comments, and interest, that keep me writing!! <3

@toms-wife Okay if I tag you??

If anyone else wants to be tagged on future chapters don’t hesitate to let me know!!

Chapter 9: On the Topic of Souls, and Other Such Oddities

Snape marched towards the Headmaster’s office, his cloak swishing about his heels. It was the next morning after everything had happed, and he couldn’t say the little sleep he got left him feeling refreshed. Numerous meetings, and even more numerous questions have a way of making one altogether restless.

And, in the end…an innocent girl was dead. It isn’t easy to sleep after such news, even barring the politics of it all.

When he entered he got the feeling that Dumbledore had just been speaking with the portraits, as words trailed off, and Dumbledore, standing in the middle of the room, turned to him like he had been about to make a very good point. The portraits too looked down at him in—if he wasn’t mistaken—an annoyed way.

“Ah, Severus. Welcome. We were merely discussing if lemon drops or chocolate frogs are better. Theodore moved that chocolate frogs are more pleasingly sweet, but I think the best sweets have a bit of tang to them. Would you like to weigh in?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. The glare the portrait gave showed there was more than a small chance the matter they were discussing was something weightier than that.

When Snape didn’t comment, Dumbledore moved on;

“Please, take a seat.” He gestured to the chair in front of the desk. Snape reluctantly swept around and sat in it.

Dumbledore walked over to a side table with a strange contraption on it, which quickly revealed itself to be a sort of odd teapot, as he proceeded to pour the steaming liquid within it into a teacup. He retained his calm, pleasant demeanor, but Snape could tell the previous day weighed on him too: there was a slight shake to his motions, and his eyes held a heaviness that his smile couldn’t mask.

“Sir…would it not be better to do this another time?”

Dumbledore gave a knowing smile. “You’re not suggesting that I am getting old, are you?”

“No, merely that such news takes a toll on all of us.”

“Many things take a toll, Severus.” He gestured to the tea to ask if he wanted a cup, Snape gave a small nod. “It is if we decide to let that toll keep us from crossing the bridge that matters.”

The headmaster brought the two cups over and he took his place on the opposite side of the desk.

Snape paused before speaking. “I assume you have brought me here to discuss the sentence of the boy with the unspeakable name.” He took a sip of tea.

“You know what they say about assuming, Severus.” He lowered his glasses. “But in this case you are correct. And it’s not so unspeakable, in fact, I encourage you to call him by it.”

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Before I endeavor to divulge my carefully-laid plans,” Dumbledore spoke, putting a handful of sugar into his tea. “I would like to hear your thoughts on the matter: what do you think we ought to do with the young Tom Riddle?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“It’s the only kind of speaking I endorse.”

“I think we should dispose of him as soon as possible. He’s too dangerous, too clever. It’s inevitable that he’ll get his memory back even if we attempt to do everything in our power to shield him from it—perhaps before we so much as try.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” One of the portraits burst out and a few others nodded in agreement.

“Keeping him alive is like keeping a ticking time bomb as a pet,” Snape continued, “thinking a little love is enough to keep it from exploding. He’s nothing more than a liability.”

Snape’s dark eyes flicked to Dumbledore, who had been listening pleasantly, with his hands folded on the desk.

“But…”—Snape drew the kind of long breath one takes when they know they’ve lost the fight before it starts, and exhaled—“something tells me you disagree.”

Dumbledore smiled. “It seems you know me too well.”

“Sir…need I remind you of your meeting with him as a child? You once told me you wished you’d been more careful, more cautious, more discerning when dealing with him in the past.”

“Thank you, but my memory has not proven faulty just yet.”

“If that’s true then I also don’t need to remind you of the things I’ve seen him do first hand. Actions that do not make me partial to the idea of keeping him alive.”

“Quite the contrary, it is for that exact reason that I am trusting with this situation.” He paused, looking at him over his half moon spectacles and saying meaningfully. “You and no one else.”

“‘Trusting me with this situation’?” He drummed his fingers on the armrest.

“Is that not what you would call telling you all this?”

Snape said nothing, taking another sip of tea. That was true too, he was sure, though this was one of those moments in which he could tell Dumbledore meant something more than just that.

Dumbledore stood, walking over to the window as if he had all the time in the world, and he wanted to enjoy some sunlight.

“That boy is not Voldemort,” he murmured, taking a sip of tea.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Respectfully, Sir, I beg to disagree.”

“That boy is merely a young Tom Riddle: a teenager who looks like who Voldemort once was when he was young, and who has some of the personality of Tom riddle, and who, if given the right parameters, could become Voldemort. But he is not Voldemort now.”

“All he needs to become the Dark Lord again is to get his memory back, something which I do not think will prove altogether difficult.”

“Perhaps. But there is something else. After giving it careful consideration I find that my theory is sound.”

“What theory would this be?”

He paused, gathering his words. “It is my understanding that a door, once opened, can be walked through in either direction.”

Snape remained silent, waiting for him to tie the statement to their situation.

“What if I told you that our dear Ginny Weasley may not be dead?”

“I would say that is something we’d all like to hear, but that it would be wiser not to put your faith into fairy tales.”

“As I expected.” He turned, smiling. “However,” he began taking careful steps towards Snape, looking at his feet, “it is my personal inclination that the method by which he returned to the land of the living had a fatal flaw.”

“Which is?”

He looked up at him and stopped, saying meaningfully, “It required a young girl’s life.

“You see,” Dumbledore continued, “he will have assumed, of course, that her soul was destroyed in the process of bringing him back to life—her life merely energy to use up. But what if, as it were, he assumed wrongly? In my experience, human souls are far more resilient than that. What if, much like she poured herself into the diary, her soul was simply”—He took an extra teacup off the table—“poured into a new vessel:”—he poured the tea from his cup into the empty one—“The form of Tom Riddle himself.”

Pondering this for a moment, Snape looked away. As he did, Dumbledore returned to his seat once more.

Snape wanted to dismiss the theory right away, and intended to. However, the more Dumbledore explained it, and the more he thought about it…it wasn’t baseless. However—

“You are assuming a rather large amount with little to go on. We can’t base our decisions on a theory, especially one so far-fetched as the idea that the simple method of revival was enough for the soul of a young girl to persist.”

Far-fetched, perhaps…but then he thought of what he saw when he read the boy’s mind yesterday. The wall in his head. How there seemed to be something trapped behind it. Something alive.

“No, but we can let theories inform our decisions. If there is that chance, do you not think it worth exploring?”

“Are you proposing we let the young Dark Lord live on the very small chance we can salvage her soul from the brink? Or else that her presence within his soul will cause him to …what? Grow a heart? Forgive me but that sounds like a hopeless endeavor. Lamentable as the situation may be, we can’t sacrifice all of wizardkind for the soul of one little girl.”

Dumbledore sighed, and there was a heaviness to it. “No. I am afraid that it is unlikely the poor Ginny would be able to return to her original state. I am unsure if her soul is even fully intact. Or, further still, she may not be entirely aware of her current predicament herself either. When speaking of souls, it’s difficult to discern where consciousness resides. It would be unwise, however, to dismiss any of these options entirely either. Rather I am proposing that the presence of her soul is a variable with unprecedented possible outcomes.”

“This is the Dark Lord we’re talking about. I don’t think one little girl’s presence—be it within his soul itself—is going to make much difference.”

Dumbledore smiled. “You of all people should know it is unwise underestimate the influence of one little girl.”

Snape’s eyes widened, unable to keep himself from reacting to that. He turned his head away.

“The Dark Lord is incapable of love, of human emotion,” Snape muttered softly.

“Perhaps. However, personally I like to refrain from making such bold statements about even the cruelest of men. But, even so, it is for precise reasons such as those why I believe the simple presence of someone who is capable of love, of human emotion, within his soul, could make all the difference. As long as there is more holy water than plain, the whole vat becomes holy.”

Snape sighed, looking away. “It is a gargantuan risk for something that is nothing more than an educated hypothesis. What if you’re wrong?”

“Then I will face the consequences.”

“Then we all will face the consequences. Those consequences could easily be the destruction of all of either wizard or muggle-kind—or both. What would you do then?”

Dumbledore sighed. “You seem to be rather caught up in that.”

“I’m more surprised to find that you’re not. Unless there is some way to guarantee he won’t repeat his past sins, then I cannot entertain the thought of keeping him alive.”

“I think we may be able to work something out.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t some misguided journey to erase your past sins, is it?”

“No.” Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. “It’s a misguided journey to try to erase his.”

“Think for a moment! If you are wrong, is there any reason you have to keep the Dark Lord alive, if not for the thought that perhaps Ginny Weasley yet lives within his soul? Any at all?”

“Oh yes, several in fact.”

Another eyebrow raise.

Dumbledore leaned forward on his desk. “I think you are underestimating the gravity of the opportunity we have been given. An opportunity which I do not believe will present itself again. We have been handed a young Tom Riddle—without memory, no less. Tom Riddle, who has yet to commit the crimes of his previous self.”

“Tom Riddle, who already exhibited little to no regard for others’ well-being! He felt no compassion upon seeing a corpse!” Anger reached his voice, he was very close to slamming his fist on the table.

“Yet he has hurt no one.”

“He’s only been around for a day.”

“A day which Voldemort could have easily spent hurting and killing as many people as he wished.”

Snape looked away. “One amnesic day does not determine the capacity of a life.”

“No, you are correct about that. But…try to imagine for a moment. Do you understand what kind of asset it would be if we were able to get a young Tom Riddle to come over to our side? If we could save him from becoming who he once was…it could save us all.”

“You’ve made this mistake before.”

“I’ve made this decision before. My mistake was in the fact that I did not realize just how much evil such a young boy was capable of. I know now what that boy could become—and already has once—and that it will take much more than a watchful eye to save him from the darkness lurking in his own heart.”

“Do you realize just how easy it would be for him to fall back into that darkness?”

“Which is why I want to keep him alive. To try to prevent him from making the mistakes of his past self. The key difference here, is that there is a chance he has light in him now, in the form of Ginny. If that’s true, we need only water that seed.”

“You don’t know that there’s light in him!” Snape stood abruptly sweeping around resting his hands the back of his chair.” At best that’s an informed hunch! Are you really willing to base such an important decision on that?! The only way to guarantee he won’t make the mistakes of his past self is to prevent him from making any decisions at all!

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Snape blinked. “Is that all this is to you? A bit of fun?” He spat.

“Of course not.” His smile dropped at last, along with his eyes to the desk. “A young girl’s life has been lost. I’d prefer not to lose another.”

“Even if that other life is the life of the Dark Lord?”

“It is not the life of the Dark Lord.” He traced his finger along the rim of his teacup. “It is the life of the young Tom Riddle, who is entirely unaware of the crimes of his previous self—or anything much at all. He has shown no immediate inclinations to harm others, even if he is a bit insensitive. Forgive me, but I do not think it right to simply dispose of him.

“There is another thought that gives me unease as well.” Dumbledore seemed unsure he wanted to say it aloud. He folded his hands and looked at down. “If it turns out that my theory is correct, and Ginny isn’t dead after all…if we decide to dispose of him now, we, and not he, will be the ones who killed her.” The words were altogether too soft.

Snape ran his hand through his hair. “So what do you propose we do with him? Keeping the young Dark Lord alive, and a secret, will be much more difficult than simply killing him.”

“Oh I’m not denying that. If all goes according to plan, there are a number of portraits and other such lingering spirits we will have to inform of the situation.” He eyed the portraits, which folded their arms, harrumphed and looked away.

“And you’re actually proposing that we teach him magic? To the point where, when he does remember who he is, he’ll have the means at his disposal to destroy us all?”

“If we don’t teach him magic, if and when he regains his memory, do you not think he would seek out those means on his own anyways? At least this way we’re teaching him in a controlled environment, where we know where he is, and how much he knows at any given time—not to mention we can decide how much caution to exercise in the smaller details of the situation.”

“Even so…we can’t place a sixteen-year old who knows nothing of magic in first year classes.”

“Nor am I proposing that we do so. I intend to have someone teach—or remind, rather; I think he will be quick to pick it back up—of the basics over the summer. It may not be an easy task to get permission from the ministry to allow a boy under seventeen to do magic over the summer, but I think I may be able to come up with something. Either that, or we may be able to hope they assume the one doing the magic is the wizard who already lives in the house.”

“You’ve told me he has a penchant for flattery that caused many teachers to let their guard down around him. I don’t think I have to tell you why I don’t think it wise to have just any wizard teach the young Dark Lord.”

“I fear you underestimate me, Severus. You really think I would choose just any wizard teach to him? In fact—if you’ll permit my saying—he’ll have a teacher who is rather stern, and won’t find himself so easily swayed by flattery.”

“And who is the lucky contestant?”

Dumbledore gave him a look strangely similar to the smirk of a mischievous schoolboy, running his fingers along his wand.

“I did tell you I was trusting you with the situation, did I not?”

Snape’s eyes widened. He took a step back as if he’d been physically hit.

“No.”

“You asked me if I was proposing that we teach him magic,” Dumbledore elaborated, “and, for the summer at least…Actually I’m proposing that you teach him magic.”

Snape rarely found himself struck dumb but in that moment he was at a loss for both words and actions. For a moment he wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t been placed under a powerful confundus charm.

“During the school year, of course, he’ll learn here.” Dumbledore continued. “That is, if aforementioned summer goes smoothly.”

Snape blinked, shook his head, as if trying to remove a wrackspurt. The only thing he could ask was:

“Why me?”

Dumbledore frowned. “I thought I’d made that rather obvious. Because—as you so well proved over the past few moments—no matter how kind, how flattering, how clever, he appears, you will always keep in mind who and what he is. And, if he shows any signs of becoming his past self—or future self, as it were—you will not hesitate to do what is necessary.”

“Is there a reason you can’t do this, Sir?”

“Oh, I’m an old sap, Severus. For all we know I might grow attached to the boy.”

“And you want me to…what?” He spat. “Invite him cordially to stay in my home,” He held out a hand and bowed, “feed him, coddle him, tell him what a good little boy he is,”—he clapped his hands—“all the while teaching him all sorts of dangerous spells?!”

“No. I will inform him of the situation. Then after that I am suggesting you take him to your house—you don’t have to be too terribly cheerful about it, merely as amicable as you are able—feed him, provide him a place to stay over the summer. I’m not suggesting you coddle him—though kindness is a virtue—rather give him both praise and criticism, and each in moderation. That you teach him the basics of magic, and the spells you think would be useful, but not terribly dangerous. I trust your judgment there wholeheartedly.”

Snape stared at a speck of dirt on the ground as if that could tether him to this moment, breath weighing heavy on his chest, his mind splintering into fractals of thoughts. How could Dumbledore possibly expect this of him?

“I feel like I’m forgetting something…” Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought. “Oh!” He held up a finger. “Yes. Harry will be staying with you as well.”

Snape jerked his head to look at him, and this time couldn’t hold back:

“WHAT?!”

“I’ll admit, it’s a bit—the poor boy has been through a lot, he won’t be fond of the idea—but I think it’s important that he and the young Tom Riddle become…Well let’s put it this way, I don’t think Harry giving him hateful glares in the hallways at school will help the situation. Currently both he and you seem to have more than enough of those to spare.”

“Oh yes, and forcing us all to live together will certainly solve that problem!”

“While it’s true that living with someone can indeed increase one’s distaste…I do find that living with someone forces you to build a bond of some sort with them, and sympathize with them, in ways you would never have otherwise.”

“You’re asking the three people in this school who have the greatest distaste for each other to spend three months in a confined space!” He spat. “Not only do I think the boy would likely kill one of us before the summer is over, I’d be surprised if we don’t all end up killing each other halfway through June!”

“Or…perhaps the three of you will come to a new understanding about each other.” Dumbledore was as calm as ever. Snape wanted to wipe that smug look of his face.

“I don’t see than happening any time soon.”

“You might be surprised.”

Snape leaned against a pillar, running his hand over his face. He knew from the beginning that he wasn’t going to win this argument, but this was more than a loss, it felt like a slap in the face.

“Don’t you understand?” Dumbledore resumed his previous argument. “Tom Riddle never had a single friend—even at this age his ‘friends’ were all merely supporters and worshippers. If he and the boy destined to destroy him��who will most certainly neither blindly worship nor support him—were to become something even remotely close to friends it could make all the difference. And I think Harry is the only one who can truly change him.”

“The Dark Lord doesn’t make friends. Even without memory I don’t believe he’ll have any inclinations to form attachments—especially not to someone like Potter. He himself said he feels hatred at the sound of Potter’s name.”

“Need I remind you once more this is not the Dark Lord we’re speaking of? Memoryless, and with the presence of Ginny inside him—who already has an affinity for Harry—I think there is at least some chance his opinions on Harry, as well as concepts such as friendship itself may change. He did mention that he hates the sound of Harry’s name, as well as mine, yes. However, when I asked him if it made him sad that he had no friends, for a brief second he said yes.”

“He corrected himself immediately afterwards.”

“In all my years teaching the boy, I never saw a single moment’s hesitation, especially on a question like that.”

Snape let out a breath.

“Doesn’t Potter need to stay with his aunt and uncle?” Snape rubbed his temple, feeling defeated, voice breathy, “His mother’s protection—”

“Oh he will stay with his aunt and uncle at first, still. However, I was discussing it with the portraits, and considering the strange situation, I find the rules may be a little different, don’t you?”

“Oh yes, have him live with the Dark Lord! That will keep him very safe!” Snape sighed, slumping in his chair once again, holding his head in his hand.

“It is not one of my safest ideas, I’ll admit. But you’ll be there, of course. And you haven’t given me reason to doubt that you’re up to the task of protecting him, should the need arise.”

“You expect too much of me. There is only so much I can do.”

“It is true you can only be so many places at once. But if I did not think you were capable of accomplishing such a task, I would not ask in the first place.”

“This is lunacy,” he breathed into his hand.

“I hope I haven’t fallen prey to madness just yet. But I will not rule out the possibility.”

Dumbledore paused, standing back up and walking around the desk. “I understand if you need more time to mull it over. I often find after jarring news a walk and a good bottle of mead do wonders.”

“I only have one guest room, Sir,” Snape muttered.

“Harry can sleep on the couch.” Dumbledore said pleasantly. “He’s very small, I’m sure you’ll barely notice him.”

Snape glared at him through his fingers. “…I think I’ll notice him.”

“You haven’t answered my most pressing concern. What’s to say the boy won’t get up and kill us both in our sleep?”

“…That doesn’t sound much like Harry at all.”

“The other one.”

“We will need to discuss what protections we should put in place, certainly. But you and I are both very smart, very skilled wizards. It would be disappointing if, putting our heads together, we are unable to come up with something.”

There was a long moment of silence. Snape put his hand in his hair, thinking of all the things that could go wrong, and had gone wrong before…or at least just how much annoyance such a living situation would provide, even if there was no real danger. No matter how much chaos may occur over the school years, his summers at least had always been quiet.

His next words were soft, but thick with emotion. “I don’t think it wise for him to live with me, Sir. I don’t think I could ever feel any kindness towards the man who killed her.”

“But,” Dumbledore’s voice was as gentle as a moth’s wing beat, no annoyance or exasperation in his tone at the fact that he had to keep repeating himself, “he is not the man that killed her. Not yet. And you have the unique chance of saving him from becoming that man.”

“Not a chance that could save her.”

“No, you’re right, that chance has long since passed. But you can save hundreds of other men and women just as kind as her.”

“No one is as kind as her.”

Dumbledore knelt down beside him, putting his hand on his arm, a certain twinkle in his eyes. “If you give it a chance…I think you may just find that Harry is.”

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spartanxhunterx · 4 years

Text

Home Support (part 2)

Tags: @elmokingkong, @kuroko26, @votederpycausemufins.

Chloe grumbled as she walked out of the schools doors, the latest Akuma attack was a little too close for comfort for the school, so they were let out again.

Chloe knew that the school would be closed until the ending of the day and she wouldn't be able get picked up until after the Akuma was defeated. She's wished that she could help, really she did, but she had already put herself at too much risk to Hawkmoth.

In an effort to get away from her classmates she made her way to the one place she knew they wouldn't be able to follow.

The Dupain-Cheng's Bakery.

The bell rang above her as she entered and she found the bakery to be surprisingly empty, it was just her, Marinette's parents and the one customer who was already paying for their order.

"Enjoy and stay safe out there."

Her eyes flicked to the sheet of paper tapped to the window, a list of all her classmates under the notice that anyone on the list was banned. She was glad that she couldn't see her name but she knew better than to overstep the line that had been drawn before her.

naturally she moved to the side as the customer moved for the door and she stepped forwards, quickly catching Sabine's attention.

"Ah, Chloe, what can I do for you? Croissants? Macaroons? Tarts perhaps?"

" No thank you Mrs. Cheng, I was just wondering if I could stick around until the Akuma is dealt with. My driver can't come to get me until it's dealt with. "

"Of course." Sabine moved to the front of the shop, flipping the open sign to closed . There wouldn't be anyone just walking around anyway. "Why don't you come upstairs? Get comfy, it might be a while."

She opened her mouth to protest, not wanting to intrude on their home but she also didn't want to be rude. Chances were she would probably be more trusted under their gaze over being left to her own devices down in the bakery.

"Very well." She followed Sabine up the stairs and into the Dupain-Cheng household. Being mindful to remove her shoes at the entrance when Sabine pointed out the rule.

She greeted Tom with a somewhat nervous smile before sitting stiffly on the couch, as far away from the large man as she could. It didn't take long for Sabine to take her seat beside her husband and the three of them Sat watching the TV, it was only then that Chloe realised they had the news on where a live stream of the Akuma battle was being broadcasted.

Poor August had been re-akumatised into gigantitan, again. He must have been upset by something, which wasn't surprising since he was just a toddler. That was something that annoyed Chloe, the way how Hawkmoth had no problem using actual toddlers to do his dirty work.

She could understand the disgruntled workers, dumped girlfriends, betrayed friends and other wronged adults but kids... Baby's? It was too far.

on screen she could see Ladybug swinging around, keeping Gigati- August's attention on herself, making the toddler walk into more open areas. Worst of all she could see Chat Noir just sitting back, fiddling with his baton as if it held the secrets of the universe.

He had gotten a lot less involved lately, choosing to sit back while ladybug did all the work. If she still had Pollen she would be out there helping Ladybug herself but she couldn't, as it would put her family in danger again.

She could see Chat leap over to ladybug, speak to her in what was clearly a flirting manner then leap away after the heroine responded.

The blonde couldn't stop the scoff from coming out of her mouth nor could she stop the words from tumbling from her lips. "I swear if I was out there still I would have stung his ass already."

Sabine gave a humored chuckle, who was on her phone prematurely sending Marinette texts about the situation at home. She wouldn't see them until she Dr-transformed but she knew her daughter wouldn't risk coming home in fear of anyone finding out her identity.

Or worse, Chat Noir finding out about her identity.

"For that," Sabine started, side-eyeing Chloe. "I think that you make... Had been, a good hero. "

"Hardly," She sputtered out, feeling her checks darken under the praise. "I revealed my identity immediately and put people in danger just to be a hero. "

"At least you recognise your mistakes, unlike someone."

" The ally cat definitely needs to learn what no means. "

It took another ten minutes for Ladybug to calm down August enough to take the Akuma away from him. Mainly with the help of her lucky charm, which was, oddly enough, a giant teddy bear.

The camera crew had a lovely shot of Ladybug/ Marinette cradling the toddler in her arms while she waited for his mother to collect him. She wasn't far, she had learned to stick semi-close to the action to collect her son after he would be freed from Hawkmoths control.

Sabine and Tom couldn't help but think that, in many many years time, Marinette would be a great mother.

A minute later, ladybug had swung away from the scene and just barely three minutes later Marinette clambered through the door, slightly out of breath, clutching her bag to her chest.

"I... Ran... As... Fast... As... I...could."

Chloe didn't comment on her out of breath state, she herself had ran from plenty of Akuma in the past and she wasn't going to berate the girl for doing the same.

"Sit down and take a moment to breath dear, you look exhausted." Sabine was quick to get up to fetch her daughter a drink of water as Marinette flopped down next to Chloe.

Though not close enough that you could make the mistake of thinking they were actually friends.

"Hey Chloe... What are you doing here?"

"I was hiding from the Akuma, your parents were nice enough to let me wait up here."

"Speaking of which," Sabine spoke as she walked back around the couch, giving Marinette and Chloe a glass of water. "Perhaps now would be a good time to tell your driver to pick you up?"

"Oh, right." Chloe fished her phone out of her bag, being sure the sent a text to her driver that she could now be picked up and where she was, drinking from her glass as she did so.

The blonde knew she was pushing boundaries, being in a place that was deemed safe for Marinette. A place where she didn't have to worry or be anxious, unlike before.

She had a nagging feeling in her gut that she was forgetting something, something to do with school.

"Oh, right." The words pulled everyone else's attention to her as she sat up straight. Somewhat tense.

"Something wrong?"

" Just... I'm going to be blunt here. " Chloe didn't wait for any sort of reply, she had learnt long ago that it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. "Lila's been Gaslighting the class, spreading rumors and making everyone doubt there old relationship with Marinette."

Chloe could see Marinette cringe and she knew she was poking some raw wounds.

"Alya's been on a triad about 'figuring out the real Marinette.'" Chloe used her free hand to create quotation marks. "So she may come bug you soon, Lila's also spread lies about Marinette bullying her via text, which is utterly ridiculous since she's changed her number."

" actually, " The bluenette wrung her hands together in front of her chest. "If I did have her number I would be able to but nothing would stop her from blocking me, I've only got family on my phone at the moment. "

Chloe sighed and brought her hand up to pinch her nose. "No wonder she managed to get traction on that claim, cause no-one is able to dispute it." The blonde shook her head. " she's probably got a second phone and is doing it to herself. "

"Wouldn't surprise me. But why? She's got what she wanted, I left and she's got Adrien and the class. Why continue?"

" Attention Marinette, she wants attention and fame. So she had to fake your life to get it. "

"You design for Jagged stone, Know Clara Nightingale, babysit Manon for Nadja, your uncle is a world famous chef and because of that, she was threatened by you. Cause while she has to lie about those things you don't need to, you live the superior life and she hates those who upscale her. "

"Thanks Chloe."

The blonde huffed and puffed out her chest while she pretended to examine her nails. "Don't get the wrong idea, I wasn't complimenting you, I was stating facts."

"wouldn't even dream of it. "

Their mutual conversation was cut short as Chloe's phone buzzed in her hand, telling her the car was waiting outside. She stood, passing her glass off to Sabine who reached out for it, picked up her bag and made a slow walk for the door.

"Thank you for letting me stay Ms. Cheng." Chloe made a move to open the door but quickly turned around back to Marinette before swiping her phone from her hand as she was using it.

"Hey, what are you doing?"

" simple, " Chloe didn't even look up as she tapped away at the screen. "Putting my number in your phone and giving yours to me, I'll text you if I learn anything about what Lila is planning." After Chloe's own phone buzzed again she returned the phone to Marinette's hands.

" I would suggest speaking to someone about a possible lawsuit for slander and defamation of character, just so you know your options at least. "

With that Chloe sauntered out of the Dupain-Cheng household, leaving all of them in a stunned silence.

It was Tikki, who poked her head out of Marinette's jacket, who broke the silence. "Well, she's certainly changed."

" Am I friends with Chloe now? " When she received no answer she let out a shaky breath. "Why do I feel like this is worse then Lila targeting me? "

Turns out it was Chloe who broke their mutual silence first, which Marinette Supposed had been expected honestly. Much like the blonde girl had said, she had given paragraphs of information of the lies Lila had been telling the class.

Some were repeats, some contradicted older stories while others where straight up manipulative. Where Lila would twist everyone's perspective until Marinette was seen as the bad guy and their own minds couldn't see the difference between truth or lie.

As Chloe had said, Gaslighting.

Marinette had thanked her the first time and then shared the information with her parents, her mother had actually taken Chloe's advice to speak to someone about the actions the could be taken... Legally.

Chloe had a lot of illegal ideas, all of which Marinette had shut down. Never let it be said that Chloe wasn't a chaotic force, cause she could be worse than a hurricane.

Marinette wasn't sure who had broken the silent agreement to only message when it regarded Lila's plots or their own legal actions but at some point the two of them started to just message each other over the trivial things that happened each day.

Chloe vented about her mother, Marinette complained about her designs being wrong. Chloe actually gave her own opinion on her designs that really got Marinette out of her funk and Marinette made suggestions on how to deal with Chloe's mother.

before long Marinette actually looked forward to receiving messages from Chloe, it was a nice normality that existed within the chaos of her life as ladybug.

She was surprised when she learnt that Chloe was undergoing therapy and had been since her time as miracle queen. She was trying to make herself better, be better really. She wasn't going to point out that it was too late to be queen Bee, she didn't want to crush the girls drive to improve herself.

It would be days later when the fight against Hawkmoth would take a violent shift.

Sabine and Tom were watching the live feed of the Akuma battle, worried for their daughter. They never liked that she had to out and fight, it was made worse after Marinette had brought Chats behaviour to the light.

They never thought that the nice hero could be anything less then great but his whiny, childlike, borderline harassing behaviour made them re-evaluate their stance on the hero. It wasn't good.

The parents watched, worried, as they saw their daughter struggle against the Akuma. Someone who was literally covered in flames from head to toe and was sprouting about having been 'burnt' by everyone. They couldn't tell if it was meant to be metaphorical or literal.

They watched as they saw Ladybug being thrown through a billboard where, mid-fall, she transitioned into a flip and used her yo-yo to swing away. Getting closer and closer to the seine, bringing the Akuma closer to water.

Her journey was cut short by a wall of flames that shot up twenty feet into the air, forcing Ladybug, their daughter, to divert away from the scorching heat.

"There has to be something we can do." Tom's voice came out stern, yet pleading, as if an answer would drop into his lap out of nowhere.

"I know but there's nothing we can do, we're not like Marinette, we don't have superpowers. "

"No we don't..." His eyes seemed to light up, before they glanced over to the hatch that lead to Marinette's room. "But I know where to get some."

His wife followed his eyes before realisation dawned onto her. "You don't mean... But Marinette said to never touch them. "

The large French man rested his hands into his wife's shoulders. "I know but I would rather go behind her back then have to treat her wounds later... Or worse."

Sabine seemed to contemplate his words with a frown, she did not want to go behind her daughter's back. Not after they had all created such strong bonds of trust, more so than most parents have with their children. Superhero or not.

but she didn't want to sit on the sidelines either, she wanted- no needed to be involved. Needed to help.

She didn't say anything as the two of them ascended up to their daughters room, she watched as her husband pulled out the unique locked case that housed the miraculous Box.

Marinette had yet to make something that rivaled the phonograph in terms of secrecy so, for now, it was locked up in a sturdy suitcase. It didn't take Much for Tom to grab the spare keys and open it. Revealing the round, ladybug themed box.

It's new look, as Marinette had said, as its old look was compromised after Hawkmoth had seen it.

"Are you sure about this? Really sure?" The two adults looked at each other from where they were kneeling over the box.

Tom looked to his wife, determination in his eyes. "Absolutely."

#mlb au #marinette deserves better #sabine cheng #tom dupain #guardian marinette

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johnkramer-ismy-killerhusband · 4 years

Text

Growing Them Big (Thomas Hewitt x Reader)

Intro story to something I may continue if people like it.

This story is set after Hoyt. I feel like it gives me a little more to work with this way.

Three days or was it four? Hell you couldn't remember, all you knew was you had been walking for to damn long. Your sandals had given away and so you were left to walk on the hot ground. At first you had stayed in place, thinking that your friend would be back for you. But after the first day had come and gone you realized that it wasn't going to happen and it was all because you got after their boyfriend for the stunt they pulled at that gas station.

What had happened at the gas station? Hell you couldn't even remember anymore. All you did remember was the fighting in the car and your so called best friend's boytoy smacking you in the face so hard your head was spinning and then telling her to pull over. Once stopped he shoved you from the car and told her to drive. She tried to stay but in your daze you saw him smack her and told her to go. With one last look to you she put the car in drive and left. Finding a small patch of shade you rested there and waited for them to come back. The next day even though the dizziness, from the slap, had faded the heat soon took effect and you knew you needed to get moving and at least try to find somewhere to call a cab. Having nothing to drink or eat forced you to stop and rest every time you felt sick. Even with all the stops you thought you had been making good time. But as night fell and you still saw nothing but Texas land you wanted to cry. Waking up the next day you once again started off in what you thought was the way to the gas station. By the end of the third night your sandals had snapped and you could feel the sun burning your skin. Your clothes and lips having gone dry from all the sweating you had done. You had been in and out of sleep that fourth day. You kept willing yourself to get up and move but just as soon as you thought that, you would fall back to sleep.

"Now Tommy, if Hoyt was still alive he would be telling you to just kill the girl and try to find parts of meat on her that would still be good."

Thinking you were dreaming in the Texas heat you tried to raise your head, but when you did you cried out in pain from your blistered skin pulling. You couldn't be sure but it felt like all eyes were now on you. So you said the first thing that came to mind.

"No good parts on me. I am all fat, wouldn't taste good."

Hearing someone chuckling before quickly sighing you fell back to sleep.

After that you would wake up just long enough to cry out in pain before a sheet of coolness washed over you and you fell back to sleep. As you continued to become alert more you noticed that you had been laying under a plain sheet with nothing on under it. You would wake up to sheet being removed and being returned wet. The cold water helping to cool your burnt skin as you moaned out. Turning to the side you saw the older lady from the gas station, she give you a look before pointing to the side of the room. To the pile of sheets that had been used.

"You'll be washing those once you are up and moving."

Closing your eyes you nodded your head once before answering her and falling back to sleep.

"Yes ma'am."

~~~

Waking up you could hear thumping and screams. Looking to the window you saw it was probably about mid morning so that meant Luda Mae's son had gotten some fresh meat and was processing it. At first you had no idea what this family did, but as you managed to stay awake longer you could hear voices wondering up the stairs. You could hear Luda Mae talk about how they may not be pressen for meat like they had when Hoyt was around, but you can sure bet if some punks came into her shop and made a mess of it she was sending Tommy after them. Remembering your first words to Luda Mae you were soon able to figure it all out. You had been scared shitless after that. Figuring if you were gonna die, you straight up asked Luda Mae about it one night when she brought you dinner.

"So what started this eating other people?"

Although she tried to act like she wasn't shocked you could see in her eyes that she was.

"Meat for the family. Hoyt, my brother, was no stranger to eating others. You saw this place as you drove through. There is nothing here anymore, so he thought of better ways to supply for the family."

"I don't mean to speak ill of the dead ma'am, but I heard you mention him in pass tense. If he is no longer alive why continue?"

"Hoyt was an asshole, he may have been family, but he was an asshole, so don't try to paint him any other way. We continue only when need be, his death raised some heads so we have to tread carefully. We mainly go after those that are rude when they walk into my gas station or if they are mean to Tommy."

"So why didn't you kill us when we were there?"

"We were, but then you stood dumped that drink on that man after he was rude, and even paid for and cleaned up said mess. You were their saving grace."

Looking up at the ceiling you shook your head.

"Wish I hadn't."

"It was yours too, so be happy you did it."

You had been so lost in thought you weren't sure when the screaming stopped. Sitting up you held the sheet up to your chest and looked around the room. Hanging off a bed post had been a button down shirt, reaching for it you slipped your arms through it and buttoned it up. You had been lucky from what Luda Mae had said, although your whole body had been sunburned only a couple of places would scar. Because one sandal had lasted longer than the other only one foot had still been wrapped up. Not having permission to leave the room you saw a chair by the window and thought about sitting in front of it. So slowly you stood up and you had been able to move by holding on to the bed, but the minute you put pressure onto your foot you fell to the floor and screamed in pain. As you sat there holding your foot Luda Mae came into the room mumbling under her breath about not having time for this, but she stopped mid way and put her hands on her hips.

"Just what do you think you are doing?"

"I was gonna look out the window. Was doing good till I stepped on my foot wrong."

"No, you stepped on the part of your foot that is missing." Turning quickly you watched as Luda Mae walked to the door and yelled out. "TOMMY! COME ON UP HERE!"

When she turned back to you Luda Mae began to pull the sheets off the bed and adding them to the pile on the ground.

"What do you mean the part that's missing?"

Hearing the tall tale signs of Tommy moving across the house your heart began to race. You never truly met Luda's son but you remember seeing his face some and you knew he wore a mask to cover it.

"I mean that after we got you settled a part of your foot was so badly infected we had to scrap the infection out. Its healing nicely thanks to Tommy, but you may have just ruined the work he did." Taking one last look to the door Luda Mae turned back to you quickly. "Now you listen here. You are the first person we have let into the house that we haven't killed and had for stew. Tommy may not speak but he isn't dumb and he has developed a short temper for people who are quick to pick at him. This is your only warning."

Before anything more could be said a shadow fell over the door and you finally got a good look at Tommy. Towering in the doorway you could see there was no way to get past his large frame. He was wearing an apron that had been covered in blood. Looking up to his face you could see his dark hair was long and covered part of his face. The other part was covered by a mask. You were scared shitless, no if ands or butts, standing in front of you was a man that could snap you like a tig. You wanted to crawl away in fear, but you remembered Luda's warning and what Tommy had done for you. So instead you looked to Luda Mae.

"You said that he doesn't speak. What should I call him? Thomas, Tom?"

"Thomas or Tommy is fine."

Turning back to Tommy you nodded your head at him.

"Tommy I was told by your Ma that I have you to thank for my foot. So Thank you, my name is y/n." You couldn't see his face but you felt like Tommy's eyes had been more directed at the shirt you were wearing then you. "I guess I should also thank you for letting me wear your shirt."

Shooting his head up Tommy looked to his Ma.

"Now don't go looking at me like that. The dang girls clothes were cut off her when we brought her here. Then on top of the burns it was better to wear something big. You'll get your shirt back. Now that she can move around more she can look at all the stuff we have and see if anything fits. Right now though, I need you to carry her down stairs and to the washing bin. She has a weeks worth of sheets to wash. By the time you are done downstairs she should be done and you can help her hang them. Then she can go through the clothes." Turning back to you Luda Mae showed you the sheets. "The washing pin is in the shade so you will be fine to sit outside and work on these. Any that have blood on them leave to soak and you can try to get them out tomorrow. It's time to earn your keep girl."

Not saying another word Luda Mae walked past Tommy and out the door. With no warning Tommy was walking up to you and lifting you over his shoulder. Letting out a squeak you tried your best to cover your backside. Walking out the room Tommy stopped suddenly and even though you couldn't see her you could hear Luda Mae as she huffed.

"Thomas Hewitt, you carry that girl right. Lord knows carrying her down like that would give old Monty a heart attack, showing off her bits like that."

Just was quick as you were pulled onto his shoulder Tommy had you in his arms in the bridal carry. Looking up at him you could see that Tommy was trying his best not to look at you, but when his eyes finally dropped to yours you couldn't help but smile.

"What's that saying?" Turning back to Luda Mae you finished your thought. "Texas sure knows how to grow 'em big?"

Letting out a huff Luda Mae turned and headed down the stairs. You couldn't have been 100 percent sure but when you turned back to Tommy it looked as though he had a smile behind his mask.

#texas chainsaw massacre #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #Grow them big series

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elenatria · 4 years

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OKAY BUT FOR FUCKS SAKE WE NEED ALL THE DETAILS OF WHERE, WHEN AND HOW YOU MET THE GOD!!!!!!!!!!!

I still haven’t processed everything, not because I’m starstruck that I saw Stellan for 3,5 seconds but because it was a miracle that it even happened. So this is not a “Stellan made me feel like a queen for five minutes” story (there was no time for that), it’s a “setting an impossible goal and achieving it” type of story.

@alyeen1 and I were discussing Stellan attending the Gothenburg festival back in January, and I was lamenting the fact that, despite learning about it three weeks in advance, the beginning of the new year had left me broke. I was totally regretting not having the money for that trip and Alyeen1 and I were comforting each other, making “what if” scenarios for the veeeery distant future, like “hey, don’t you guys have the Berlinale...? What if Stellan attended the festival for one of his new films...? Just an idea.”

Not long after that, Google alerts notified me on “Hope”, Stellan’s new film, having its European premiere there. Talking of getting my wish granted right away, I mean I had talked to talk, now I had to walk the walk, right? I’ve never taken such a big decision on such short notice - super scary, super urgent.

“Soooooo is Stellan coming?” was the obvious question. There was no way for us to know. We started spamming the Berlinale people with emails until someone pointed at the right direction, the film’s PR agent who said that the cast would be attending the premiere. Then @stellan-pip-69 suggested I should ask Andrea Bræin Hovig herself, Stellan’s co-star in “Hope”. Andrea is a total sweetheart, she answered right away and said that they would indeed be there. I mean, I couldn’t possibly be taking two days off work, spending four days and 500 euro on a whim no matter how much I love Berlin.

However, we had no further info on where exactly Stellan would be. What we did know according to the Berlinale site was the time and place of “Hope”’s press conference and premiere. Thank god for Alyeen, the Valoris fandom’s resident Berliner, who had bought tickets for “Hope”s screening at the box office.

One day before the screening we were making plans and thinking of routes and timetables, and also we gained some experience from Hildur Guðnadóttir’s talk (who is an absolute darling as you can tell from her vids and acceptance speeches).

See, after Hildur’s event we waited for her in the cold rain for about an hour and realized it’s not enough to be there early enough or to know which exit the celeb will use, or to run fast enough to get to them first: we also had to deal with autograph hunters who were bigger, stronger than us, outnumbering us, pushing us aside to get dozens of autographs signed by Hildur. They were pushy and persistent and had control over the situation, over what Hildur signed and for whom. Giving me permission to get that selfie with her. It was almost nightmarish.

After that, and as we dragged our feet back to the subway soaking wet, we were dwelling in despair and uncertainty. There was no way we could fight off guys who were doing this for a living. And what if Stellan had HUNDREDS of fans screaming his name? What if Stellan lost his patience with all those autographs he had to sign, like Hildur lost hers?

However, I got a glimpse of hope while waiting for the metro when I thought... “You know what? We’ve come so far. We’re doing everything right. We even rehearsed our moves, elbowing people and stomping on toes and screaming Stellan’s name as loud as we can to get his attention. We’re even willing to camp outside the fucking press conference hotel. We can’t possibly fail.”

But for all our meticulous planning, I was responsible for an almost-failure because of my delay the following morning. Remember what Stellan said? Never be late. Never ever.

So, although my goal was to be at the press conference almost an hour and a half before, we got there only an hour before. That almost cost us everything.

Alyeen knows her way around Berlin and she knew the hotel had various entrances and exits, not just one. Lo and behold, as we approached it from the side, we noticed the road was closed and alongside the pavement there were bars draped with red and yellow Berlinale banners, with small groups of people hanging from them like ripe fruit. As we kept walking, I noticed a spot close to the hotel’s exit where it was getting a bit more crowded, so I peered across the street to see which celeb had attracted their attention and--

-- f-uuuck.

When you see Stellan Skarsgard’s head for the first time in your life hovering over a bunch of fans who are shoving things to sign in his face , there’s only one thing to do.

RUN, MOTHERFUCKER.

That’s all I could whisper to Alyeen1 in utter panic.

“--run. Run! Ruuuuuuuuuuun.”

I’ve never left a friend behind so quickly.

So we ran like hell.

We got behind the crowd and I tried to pull my cellphone out but it was too late, Stellan was already thanking the fans and disappearing into the building. If only I wasn’t late that morning!

Years of stress and running and being late have taught me to take a deep breath, give myself a second chance and try to find peace in the eye of the tornado, so I pulled out of the bag a piece of cardboard Alyeen had given me to draw “Hope”s poster with a sharpie. That would calm me down a bit and the wait wouldn’t be so unbearable. Besides we were front row and there was no one between us and the hotel exit, although we still didn’t know which side of the corridor Stellan would pick first, left or right?..

So here’s my reasoning behind the drawing: the previous evening I had wasted my sleep trying to figure out how Tom Hiddleston’s fans were able to stalk him in filming locations (you see, Tom has a wide network of fans reporting on his every move, Stellan doesn’t). Also I wanted to see how his fans got front row on the red carpet and how they got his attention, how they made him do things like kneel for them. I noticed that in order to do that you had to 1) be a flashy cosplayer who catches the eye 2) nag Tom persistently with a voice that’s higher than your usual tone until Tom indulges you. It has to work, right? Like a baby crying for food.

But I’m no cosplayer, I’m an artist, so the idea was to hang a big-ass drawing of mine in front of the barrier to get the attention.

Turns out... I didn’t even need it.

After waiting for about an hour and a half and worrying that Stellan had already left through another exit, after watching the door open and close half a dozen times and seeing busy celebrities rushing off without signing a single autograph, we were on the brink of despair.

Until the door opened one more time and

Stellan was there.

I don’t remember what we did or what we said, all I remember is that we called his name and dammit, that did get his attention. So we were the first he approached. Fuck.

As soon as he heard us calling him he gave us a broad welcoming smile and was ready for the selfies - but guess what! I had forgotten to turn off the fucking timer, so Stellan moved on before the pic was taken.

God no. Not now.

As he was taking a pic with Alyeen I begged him to come back for another try. He said he was too busy and had other fans waiting for him, there were too many of us, but I begged for like 2-3 seconds (a lesson I learned from that Loki cosplayer) so he came back and indulged me one more time. X__X

After that I was dead inside, not only because I had to beg (I don’t do begging) but also because I had to be a burden to Stellan Skarsgard himself. Like, give me what I want but please kill me afterwards, okay?

So yeah. Dead inside.

This is why I couldn’t relish the triumph right away, and to Alyeen’s enthusiastic “We did it, we DID IT!!!” my response was a numb “... Did we...?” >__>;

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Inevitably, I had my stress attack after I got what I wanted. Also, I was just realizing that my stupid ancient phone couldn’t use the data I paid for before flying to Berlin so I had to desperately look for free wi fi and post the selfie before... someone stole my cellphone or something.

For all the mishaps, we got to the red carpet so early that there were very few people waiting before us. Lucky for us 1) this is Berlin, not L.A., where people flock from all over the U.S. to take selfies with celebs they don’t even care for 2) this is Berlin, in February, so it was freezing cold and not many people were willing to freeze their asses off at the red carpet 3) this is Berlin, and crazy screaming fans are scarce. Unless you’re Johnny Depp but thank god Stellan is not Johnny Depp.

Andrea was the first to walk the red carpet and I was really bewildered by the fact that no one was screaming her name. So I called her. And she came! I thanked her for answering my PM and asked for a selfie (I must admit I take better selfies with women than with men).

She was so sweet with me that I actually gave myself time to think and pull the cardboard sketch out of my bag to show her. I was like, whatever, you have it there, just show her.

She was so excited that she pulled out her phone and took a pic of my sketch. *___* Crazy, right? I went to Berlin to find a king and found a queen instead.

The rest was like playing out a script. A couple of minutes later, Stellan came out of the car and started signing autographs and taking pictures so I had my second chance at a better selfie. Phew.

So nice of him, so so nice of him.

And oh, look at us lol.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Stellan Skarsgård Fan Acc (@stellanskarsgarddd) on Feb 24, 2020 at 11:32am PST

After the red carpet we could finally breathe. To my surprise, we even had access to the photo call itself in the Zoo Palast lobby.

Stellan was being playful with the photographers, knowing it was his job to pose but also being “whatever” about it, having done it a million times. He gave them one last pose going “Hey hey heyyyy!” and disappeared behind the blue panel until we saw all of them again after the end credits.

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The only thing I kinda regret is the fact that Megan was right there, right there, a few meters away from me as her husband was being photographed, but I didn’t dare ask for a selfie because the seats weren’t numbered and we had to rush into the theatre to find a good place. Damn.

Until next time, I guess. Because there will be a next time, dear comrades. And hopefully Alyeen1 and I won’t be alone.

#stellan skarsgard #Andrea Bræin Hovig #hope #berlinale 2020 #berlinale #zoo palast #premiere #photo call #red carpet #fan encounter #berlin #press conference #hildur guðnadóttir #hildur gudnadottir

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stressedspidergirlsfandomblog · 4 years

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(I highly recommend you read on ao3 for formatting reasons b/c tumblr is rude about italics and I’m lazy about going back and fixing it.)

Ivana wakes him by pushing herself away from his chest. He lets her, crestfallen. She’s too warm and she also needs to use the privy. She informs him she is going, pointing out the small outhouse, and he nods. As she walks off to do her business she brushes her fingers through his hair again, fascinated. Relief courses through him like poppy syrup, the heady feeling of knowing the girl hadn’t turned on him making him dizzy. At least, perhaps it’s relief. If he can bring himself to ask Jaskier, Jaskier will tell him.

He always does. He’s felt this before, many times, but he hadn’t realized it was an emotion.

He had thought those had been beaten out of him, almost quite literally, and then mutated away. Geralt feels a bit like this every time he wakes up and Jaskier is still there with him. When the bard stops off to spend some time with a comely woman, Geralt stays behind. Which means Geralt wakes up alone, wondering if the bard will come back.

Geralt himself usually tries to avoid seeking out women. He enjoys sex, but he hates going through the process to get it. Simpler in a brothel, but he finds he doesn’t much want to pay for it, either.

One of his first experiences with women had been in a brothel. He knew all about human anatomy and physiology but had no working concept of sex between men and women. There was no practical application at the keep, nor an explanation of the mechanics of it. None of the books around had any information, either. Humans mated for procreation, and for pleasure. Witchers could not procreate. Their mutations rendered them sterile.

The whore had been oddly kind to him. After one of his first contracts, he had found the nicest brothel he could reasonably afford without spending too much of his coin. He did not want to test the theory that witchers could not contract disease.

Geralt had not known what to do, and had admitted it, and she had not mocked him. She had taught him the very basics, and not been overly put off when he had remained silent throughout other than to ask a question or two. He didn’t know she’d thought him younger than he was. His inexperience had been sweet, and his concern of making her uncomfortable had also touched her.

His offer to keep his eyes closed so she wouldn’t have to see them had amused her. Clearly he had never seen a real live naked woman before her, and she knew it. She had encouraged him to touch and to seek pleasure. He had not been especially brave or daring. But he had certainly been gentle, afraid of hurting her. When he’d come, he’d gripped the sheets rather than her, knuckles white with the force of it; clearly afraid if he’d held onto her, that he would have bruised her.

While plenty of her group was happy to discuss their clientele and mock them after, she had never once mentioned him to anyone. He had been sweet, and curious, and had thanked her, of all the odd things. He had also told her she was beautiful, which she knew he was sincere about. Idiot pup hadn’t known any better. All the same, she had not added him to the list of first timers she mercilessly mocked afterwards with the other girls in the bordellos.

He watches Ivana make her way back to him and he lifts a brow when she holds up her hands to be picked up and carried. She’d lightly splashed her hands in the trough on the way back over and her frock and hands are wet. Bemused, he lifts her back into his arms and takes a breath before heading inside the farmhouse. He doesn’t knock. Yennefer had told him if he’d already been invited in, unless he thought he’d interrupt something he should just let himself in again. No one would think it was amiss. He wasn’t a student waiting outside of the office for permission, or a servant. If he’d been given free run of a place, he should just take it. Being awkward about it would make other people awkward in turn, and eventually he would find himself chased out again.

The girl is still sleepy, and rests her head against his chest, quietly playing with his medallion. He doesn’t mind the metal sound of the hasp over the chain, and she lightly runs her thumb over it, careful not to yank it on his neck much. He’s never known a human to be so gentle with him. Other than perhaps Jaskier. But that’s different. Jaskier is his friend. Most children are also much rougher, still learning motor skills. He sees her mother, Milena, wears a necklace. Perhaps she’d learned to be gentle after constant reminders.

“Oh, you can stop her,” the woman says looking up as Geralt walks in and he hunches. “If she’s not bothering you, she likes the feel of the metal under her fingers,” she lightly touches her fingertips to her own necklace and he feels pleased that his guess was right. “She used to fuss with it as a babe... though I suppose she still is a babe, at that,” she says, feeling silly. She brushes hair out of her face and watches as Jaskier continues to bundle herbs. “Ivana, can you tell the nice witcher about the herbs I have?”

“Yes,” she says sleepily around her thumb. She points them out, telling him their names. For all she mispronounces several, he never tries to correct her. He’d been a little older than her when he’d been left to wander the woods near the keep. He was better able to speak clearer, and as such had been taught to pronounce everything correctly. The fact she’s as small as she is with a memory that capable awes him. Then again, he muses, he has no real concept of how much she should or shouldn’t know at her age.

“I’m going to start lunch, Master bard. Do you mind continuing without me?”

“Not at all,” Jaskier smiles. He finds he loves how easy Geralt is, here. The witcher looks around the room curiously and freezes when he sees the world’s fattest tom cat lazing in a sun patch by the window. Cats hate witchers. Jaskier follows his glance and tries not to laugh. “That is quite the fat cat,” he crows, delighted. “Oh, look Geralt, I bet his belly drags the floor, his little legs are stubs!” He’s never been sure if Geralt is afraid of cats, or if there’s more at play there, but the witcher’s reluctance to be around them has amused him for years.

“Unfortunately for poor Tom, we now call him ‘Fatty.’ Between my boys and Ivana, they feed him so many scraps he won’t chase mice anymore. He’s the most worthless mouser now. Not much of a cat, honestly.” She has to cross the floor to get some garlic hanging by the window in a braid and nudges the cat with her toe. The animal doesn’t so much as twitch a whisker. “I keep thinking he’s dead,” she admits. “He knows if he just lays about someone will bring him food.”

“Come pat him,” Ivana tells Geralt, wriggling in his arms. He puts her down hurriedly rather than hurt her trying to hold on, or worse, drop her.

“No,” he says quietly, with a little shake of his head.

“Come pat him,” she insists, taking his hand and pulling.

Melina turns around, “Ivana!” she snaps. “He said no, when is it okay to ignore when someone says no?”

“When it’s about chores, and farm work, and eating your vegables,” she says.

“Is this any of those things?”

“No,” she digs her toe into the ground, clutching the front of her apron with both hands.

“Apologize.”

“I’m sorry.”

Geralt watches the interaction with trepidation, but nothing bad happens to Ivana. Her mother doesn’t spank her or scream at her. The girl isn’t even especially upset. If there had been a rule in the keep about that, and he had done what Ivana had, he wouldn’t have had time for a reminder. He would have had his hands on the wall and his britches down before he knew what happened. If he’d complained, or cried out, or shown any sign of pain the count would have started over until he could manage. At some point, you hurt so bad you couldn’t feel more, and so there was no way to truly fail. Eventually it stopped.

“He’s soft,” she tells Geralt as a means of explanation. He nods to show he’s understood her, but he doesn’t want to talk much in front of her mother. Or anyone else.

The bard watches Geralt under his eyelashes. He’d seen the other man tense and he knows that look of dull panic Geralt gets. “How’s about we pet the cat, and we can tell Geralt all about it. Then later, after he has heard about petting the cat, maybe he will change his mind and pet the cat too.” He glances up ruefully at his friend. “It sounds a bit like a euphemism, doesn’t it? I had no idea saying ‘pet the cat’ that many times in a row would make it sound strange.”

Geralt snorts to show he’s heard, and he glances at Melina. She smiles as she chops vegetables and crushes garlic under the blade of her knife. It’s a bit dull, he knows just from watching. He winces when it slips on a carrot and almost cuts her finger. He divides his attention between the bard, girl, cat and woman for a few seconds. When Ivana shows Jaskier how to pet the cat’s belly, because it’s too fat to bite them or scratch them for it, he decides he can safely focus on Melina.

“Blade’s dull,” he tells her quietly, not sure she’ll understand what he wants her to. But he can show her what he means. He pulls his belt pouch open and shows her a small whetstone. He’ll fix it for her. The words are theoretically simple, but she did not ask him to tell her. She did not ask him to fix it.

“I’d be grateful if you’d sharpen it,” she tells him, and passes it over handle first.

It’s nice that she knows not to hand it over blade first. Not many people do and he never likes the idea of someone thrusting anything at him blade before hilt. He sits at the table without permission and freezes, but she’s ignoring him, tearing up herbs to season their lunch. Carefully, he puts a new edge on the blade, surprised the quality of the metal is so high. This isn’t the most prosperous farm he’s seen, and she��d claimed they had little coin. But they clearly had some kind of life here. There’s signs of love and family all over.

He passes it back when he’s done, having checked it would cut easily by cutting through one of the frayed threads of his shirt with little pressure. “Sharp,” he cautions her.

“I’ll be mindful.” She looks over at her daughter. “Ivana, remember, stay away from Mama’s knives. What could happen?”

“Lose my fingers!” the girl tells her wiggling them and holding her hands up in the air.

“Do you want to lose your fingers?”

“No, Mama.”

“So, what do we leave alone?”

“Knives!”

Geralt follows the exchange with no understand of what’s happening. Why not just let the girl cut herself? She’d learn from that. He looks at her as she pats the cat’s white belly while it lays there like a slug. Those small little hands don’t need scars, or blood all over, and he wonders if he should have sharpened the knife. What if she disobeys?

He’s broken out of his reverie when he hears people coming. He stands up from the table. He was not invited to sit, but he isn’t sure what to do with himself either. Wha he does know is that he doesn’t want anything to do with the tom cat. Jaskier watches him and raises an eyebrow, and Geralt looks away. “People,” he tells Jaskier, realizing the eyebrow is a question and he is supposed to answer.

“Oh, good. That should be my boys, and my Roderick,” Melina smiles. “The boys will pester you. But unlike their sister, they’re old enough to know when you say you’ve had enough, you mean it. And I’m serious, Master Geralt. When you’re done letting them pester you, tell them to stop.”

He nods once, not sure what to do beyond that. He shifts his weight as subtly as possible, deeply uncomfortable.

“Ivana, show our guests where the dishes are, and help clear up the herbs for later.”

“Yes, Mama.” She can’t reach where things need to go, but she knows where they should be. Geralt hoists her onto his shoulders again, handing her bundles of herbs to hang on hooks so that the table is mostly cleared. Then, following her gestures and wiggles, he walks over to where the cups and plates are, taking them from her as she passes them to him one at a time. The forks and spoons are also easy to find, and he carefully sets the table. “You put the fork wrong,” she tells him indignantly.

“No,” he argues before he can stop himself. Yennefer had shown him. She’d even shown him there were books for proper noble ladies to learn this sort of thing from. She’d told him while it was honestly all stupid drivel, at least no one would accuse him of not knowing his ass from his hand. He’d know which fork to use for what, even if he’d never have to set a table in his life.

“Ivana,” Melina is exasperated. She looks over at how the witcher has set the table and can tell from how neatly he’s done it and how confused his eyes look that he’s probably learned somewhere far fancier than a farm.

Jaskier is shaking with mirth as he watches Geralt attempt to remove the child from his shoulders. She squeaks and squeals which makes him freeze, and to her it’s a great game but the poor witcher has no idea what’s happening. Eventually Jaskier takes pity on him, scooping her off his shoulders in a swinging motion that prompts cries of ‘again, again’ as the back door bangs open and Geralt just about flies out of his skin. Jaskier sets Ivana down and she runs to greet her brothers and papa. He puts a hand on the small of Geralt’s back. Loud noises don’t always mean something bad is happening.

Geralt seems to shrink down, becoming less. Jaskier hates when he does this, because he shouldn’t have to, but it does make him look less threatening.

“Roddy,” Melina smiles, kissing her husband happily as he pulls her into a tight hug.

“Mel, I tell you, Anders will be able to run the plow on his own, and then I’ll be able to take…” he trails off to see guests in their home. Geralt seems to shrink down further, and Jaskier gently propels him forward so that they can shake hands and be introduced properly. “I see you’ve got company.”

“A bard, and a witcher,” she smiles. “This is Jaskier, and Geralt.” She waits as her husband shakes the bard’s hand and then takes his hand in her own before he can reach for Geralt’s. “I’ve told them you’d set them on the course of the wyvern first thing tomorrow. Ivana ran off this morning and they brought her home. Jaskier has helped me bundle the herbs for market at the end of the week, and Master Geralt has been Ivana’s minder for the past few hours.”

Roderick relaxes and Geralt does, too. “I’ll be taking the boys. Anders, say hello, and then my younger son Petyr, Petyr say hello, then take your sister and go wash up.” The children go running off and Roderick grins a bit. “Ah youth.” He can’t be much past thirty, and Jaskier snorts at the joke. The man’s dark eyes and dark hair are reflected in his children, for all they got their mother’s olive skin. “I’ll be taking the boys up to one of the back fields. The wyvern was last seen around there, taking up some sheep, maybe a person or two. Hard to tell. Some people drink too much and drown in the river. Thought it was drowners some time back. Just stupidity.”

Geralt tips his head a bit in agreement. Half the time there are no monsters, just stupid people. Roderick steps around the table and almost trips over the cat. Swearing, his arm flails and Geralt steps in before he can think to stop himself, catching the other man under the forearm and bracing him before quickly letting go and retreating. Jaskier again puts an arm out, stopping Geralt from going too far back. He’s done nothing wrong. A glance confirms that the cat didn’t move. Perhaps it is dead.

No, it’s alive, he sees the small ribcage expand and deflate with air.

“Damn you’re fast,” Roderick breathes. “Thank you. I’d have hated to make such an ass of myself, having just met you.”

Jaskier glances at Geralt. “You’re welcome,” he translates.

Roderick looks at them askance, but after sharing a glance with his wife decides it doesn’t matter. If the witcher doesn’t want to talk he doesn’t have to. Perhaps whatever mutations he’d gone through stopped him from being able to. “Here, sit down with me, I’ll get us some water, unless you’d prefer something stronger? I think we have plenty of beer.”

The witcher allows Jaskier to press him in closer to the table until he’s forced to sit. “Geralt?” Jaskier presses. “I wouldn’t mind just water,” he says, glancing at Geralt again. He lightly rests his hand on the other man’s thigh. Too many people, too much stimulus, he can’t cope with a question about preference right now. The bard decides for him. “I think water will be fine for us both.” He hates having to do that, but he knows Geralt won’t answer. Can’t answer. He squeezes his leg gently.

Geralt carefully rests his clasped hands on the table, showing he is unarmed. He doesn’t move them and keeps his hands as loose as he can. He wants to squeeze them together and his knee bobs up and down frantically until Jaskier gently squeezes his leg again, patting it. The touch is so soothing that Geralt calms again. He should be outside, perhaps. Maybe it would be better if he waited in the barn with Roach. He can’t ask to leave, though, it would be rude and no one has asked him anything about where he would like to go.

Melina sets a trivet down on the center of the table before lifting the pot from the fire and setting it onto the trivet. She leans over to gently set a hand over Geralt’s on the table. Jaskier digs his fingertips into Geralt’s leg, willing him not to pull away. Don’t react badly , he prays.

Quite the accomplished mimic, Geralt simply turns his hand palm up, allowing her to squeeze his hand and squeezing back before she pulls away. The bard breathes a sigh of relief. He knows how much the witcher fears being touched.

Geralt had learned as a child not to touch others for comfort, or to allow touching in turn. Holding hands meant a beating. He’d forgotten what a hug was within days of beginning his training. No instructors picked them up to comfort them if they fell. They were told from the start, again, and again, witchers don’t feel. Witchers are not weak. Witchers hunt monsters or they die. You had to be strong to survive the training, and then you would go out and take contracts. You were there because no one wanted you. Geralt had protested, his mama had just lost him, she would find him. She’d told him she would find him, people bound by destiny would always find each other . He had bolted after that, knowing he would not like what happened to him for speaking up.

And he had not. His mother had not used a belt on him, for all he had received the occasion swat for misbehaving. This was nothing like that. The witcher had yanked his belt free of his trousers and folded Geralt over his knee within seconds. The boy hadn’t even had a chance to get ten paces before he was howling and squirming. ‘This doesn’t stop until you’re quiet,’ the voice had told him, and he had screamed himself hoarse because he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t master himself. Once his voice had given out, it had stopped. He had snuffled and sobbed and laid there in the dirt after when he’d been pushed away. ‘Get up or we start again.’

He had gotten up.

Another boy had risked everything that night to comfort him. He could not sleep on his back or side he hurt so bad. He couldn’t sleep at all. He wanted to leave so badly, and the pain did not help. Eskel had become his best and dearest friend. As much as they were able to be friends. Fortunately, the boys were so miserable as a whole they never took it out on each other. No groups formed; the bigger boys didn’t torment the smaller. They were all in the same miserable castle together, and the least they could do was not add to each other’s suffering.

Geralt flinches when the boys come back in, loud and bright and laughing. Jaskier again squeezes his leg and starts up the gentle stroking. The bard could have shifted the touch to the inside of his thigh and it wouldn’t have aroused him, it was unmistakably meant to be kind and nothing more.

“Manners,” Roderick protests, coming back with two pitchers of water in his hands, having just pumped it from the well. It’s safe to drink and sweet. He sets them on the table on either side of the food. “Boys, be quiet... or at least try,” he says in exasperation. “I promise, we didn’t raise them like this.”

“They’re young,” Jaskier smiles. “I was far worse at their age.” He snorts when Ivana crawls up next to Geralt on the bench and drags herself into his lap so she can peer over the table. He pulls his hand away in time to avoid startling her. Or her noticing and wanting to know why he was touching the witcher’s thigh. “Oh, let him eat by himself,” he scolds gently, hoping that one of her parents will take it as a cue to remove her. Geralt won’t be able to relax to eat until she’s out of his lap.

Melina scoops her up and deposits her in her father’s lap. They settle together and say a short prayer to Melitele before Roderick dishes out food to his children and himself. Melina offers their guests the ladle and Jaskier serves himself and glances at Geralt. He’d given himself about as much as Roderick had, not wanting to take too much, but also being hungry. The apples had slowed down his hunger pains but hadn’t quelled the ache entirely. He has a feeling Geralt feels the same. There’s plenty in the pot for seconds, if he’s wrong, and he serves Geralt without asking. It’ll save the witcher some kind of internal debate.

He’d seen Geralt drift off at the table moments before, his jaw clenching, and knows the stress of being around so many people for so long is getting to him.

“After lunch, do you mind if we find a place to sleep? Is there room in the barn?” he asks.

“The barn?” Melina asks. “Oh, no, we have an attic room. My mother used to sleep up there. She passed a year ago- not in the room. She was out in the fields when it happened. We keep the room clear of dust, and use it mostly for storage, but the bed is sound.”

“Well, how about that, Geralt?” Jaskier smiles brightly. “A nice meal, good company, and a bed. We’ve found the nicest family on the continent. And all you have to do is kill a measly wyvern.”

Geralt grunts in agreement, and leaves one hand on the table in view, and uses the other to scoop up his food with the fork. He’d waited to eat until he saw the others start. Yennefer had warned him about this, too.

Some places might wait for their guest to eat first, but usually you wait for the host. If they don’t start to eat, pick up your utensil and see if they do. If they copy you, you have to eat first. Don’t take extras unless they’re offered. I’ve yet to find a place where it isn’t rude to take more than you’ve been given. Wrong fork, this is seafood. Yennefer had actually sort of loved teaching Geralt some of the intricacies of table manners. Mostly because it gave her an excuse to eat all sorts of things just so she could show him how it was done.

His delight in trying new foods and experiencing things with her had made it fun. She’d also liked watching him fill out some, bones not standing out like his skin had been stretched too tight across them. Shellfish had been perhaps the most fun, watching him attempt not to break the little fork used to pry the meat from the shell. He’d been disgusted with how much effort it took for such little food.

‘You’re joking,’ he’d told her when she’d shown him crab. ‘That’s a bug.’ When she’d eaten it, cracking the shell with her hands, as was acceptable in coastal regions, he’d decided to try it. Lobster hadn’t made him pause at all, after the crab. Snails, he’d told her, were much better cooked than raw. That had made her shudder a bit, but she couldn’t argue with him. She’d never had them raw. He did not care for anything with tentacles, and she didn’t either, but it had been worth it to see him make a face.

In some ways, sharing those meals had reminded her that all the money and power she was amassing was actually worth something. It wasn’t just to have it. She’d wanted to live the life she’d deserved, and she’d gotten it and then had quite forgotten to enjoy any of it. She’d never forget his reaction to trying various desserts, and loved that he’d developed a fondness for rhubarb.

“Thank you,” he manages, forcing his frozen tongue to move in his mouth. Melina leans forward again, squeezing his hand on the table just like she had before. He turns his palm up again and squeezes back. That seems to be the appropriate response or she wouldn’t have done it again. Jaskier pours them both some water, and he drinks it, hand still under Melina’s on the table. Should he pull away? But she squeezes his fingers gently again. Some part of his brain registers she’s comforting him, she can sense his distress. The rest of him dismisses that, because he can’t feel, and therefore doesn’t feel distress. He decides that she is playing some kind of game that peasants of the region play, and since her husband is utterly unconcerned it must be nothing sexual or flirtatious.

Jaskier finishes eating, surprised that the children are relatively quiet. He watches as Roderick supervises Ivana eating from his plate, helping her use her spoon. The little family eats, chatters, and Jaskier answers their questions about gossip from the road. This king is doing this, trying to make an alliance here, all things Geralt couldn’t care less about. He’s more interested in the wyvern. He glances a few times at the pot of food still on the table and wonders if he’s allowed to have more.

The boys ask for seconds and their father helps them with it. They’ve been nonstop pushing and chatting and teasing each other and talking to Jaskier all while shooting curious glances at the witcher. They’re too well behaved to pester him, able to see that since the man isn’t talking they shouldn’t try and force him to.

“If you’re still hungry,” Roderick notices the witcher’s focus, “you’re welcome to more. We’ve had a good few years, and there’s plenty of food here to go ‘round. We take the cart weekly to sell the extra and what we can’t sell we give to the temple.”

Geralt tenses, but Melina squeezes his hand again and he gives into the urge to take seconds. “Thank you,” he says again, because it’s polite. He has no idea if there’s something else he should say, and he feels the bard pat his leg again. He’s fine.

“Fill your plate,” Jaskier urges him softly when he only takes a small scoop. “If you’re that hungry, take what you need,” the bard encourages him.

“Eat as much as you’d like, it’s no trouble.”

Geralt chews the inside of his cheek but does add more food. He’s not sure how much is enough, and he’s leery of taking more than he can eat.

Greed was not becoming of a witcher. Taking too much and not being able to finish meant food wasted. It could have been saved for later or fed to someone else. Waste not want not. You cleared your plate or you went hungry the next day. He had learned that his eyes were often bigger than his stomach and it was better to be vaguely hungry all the time than outright nauseous.

After clearing his plate, he’d felt horribly ill. He had learned he had overdone it when, after slipping off the comb, he’d puked. He’d also broken his arm. It had been set and splinted, and oddly enough he hadn’t been punished. He’d been allowed to spend two days in the infirmary where he’d mostly been left to his own devices. Able to read, and work on his studies without interference. He had missed his friends but had been grateful to avoid punishment of any kind for two days provided he did whatever the healer asked. If he didn’t finish all his food, nothing came of it.

Jaskier watches as Geralt eats carefully and has a feeling the witcher didn’t give himself enough. He winks lightly at his hosts and serves himself a little extra. He picks at it mostly, waiting until Geralt is done. “Here, I can’t finish,” he slides his plate over. “I wasn’t as hungry as I thought. It just smells so good, thank you both so much for your kindness.”

Geralt looks around and looks at Jaskier. He’s not so socially inept he doesn’t know what the bard is up to. But Jaskier wasn’t wrong, and he is still hungry.

When everyone is done, the children are set to work clearing the table. “I’ll show you to the room upstairs,” Melina offers. Jaskier nods.

“C’mon Geralt, you’ll need some extra sleep anyway, the gods know you’ll be up all night hunting, tomorrow.”

“Roach,” he protests hesitantly.

“Here, I’ll go check on her, you go get settled. Anything you need out of the saddlebags?”

“No,” Geralt tells him.

“After dinner, we’ll go out together and you can look her over, but you’re dead on your feet,” Jaskier tells him softly. “It’ll be alright if you sleep a little. She’s fine. You saw her in the barn safely, I’ll make sure she’s still there and has food and water.”

Geralt nods, able to accept the compromise. He offers Melina his arm and she smiles and gives him a little curtsy. He realizes it was a stupid thing to do when she leads him around a wall and up a small staircase to the attic room. She isn’t some fine noble lady, he had no reason to do that. At least she didn’t laugh at him or pull away.

The door shuts and he feels grateful. He'd rather have the ability to put up a barrier. He can hear the boys in the background, begging their father to have permission to go talk to the witcher. They’re firmly denied and told since they were quiet at lunch, they can talk to him after supper if he chooses to stay. If he wants to go back up and sleep however, they’ll let him be.

They reach the top and he looks around the cluttered room. She hadn’t lied, they have been using it for storage. It was relatively dust free, and the bed looked comfortable enough. He vaguely wonders if any of the things have been left here because they’re broken and no one has time to fix them, or if it’s just junk. Either way, it’s fitting he would be sleeping here.

“Did Jaskier tell you my pa was saved by a witcher? He never did get his name, though,” she smiles. “But he did tell us to be good to witchers we saw. You’d never know when you needed help and it would be better not to have them refuse it because of past sins.”

Geralt swallows and wants to ask her what the witcher looked like. He looks at her when she pats his arm before pulling hers free of his. It’s not to be unkind. She isn’t trying to get away from him, she just needs her arm back.

“There’s extra blankets here, if you need them. It’s been nice out, but cool at night.”

He nods to show he’s heard. He wets his lips to try and ask her but he can’t do it. Jaskier isn’t there to give him courage or smooth it over if he messes it up.

“Maybe you know him? The witcher? Maybe you’d met. I know it’s possible you haven’t. But the monster scarred his face,” she drags her fingertips across her own cheek.

“Brown hair?” he asks. “Red, he wore red,” Geralt offers her.

“I don’t know about his clothes, Papa never described that. He had a medallion like yours, with a wolf’s head. And brown hair cut shorter than yours.”

“Eskel,” Geralt tells her. He tries to do something with his face that will make it look like he’s smiling but all he manages to do is twitch the corners of his lips. He wants to offer her something back. “We grew up together,” he manages. He breathes in deeply, nostrils flaring as he looks at her. His eyes travel down to the hand she has resting on her belly, and he stares.

She smiles and presses a finger to her lips. “You can smell it?” she asks him quietly.

“Baby?” he asks her, fairly sure that’s what she smells like. There’s less human smell in the attic, he hadn’t been sure before. While he can still smell the family, and the farm, the flowers, and the food, it’s more removed. Less powerful. He lifts a hand and then drops it.

“Yes, a baby,” she smiles and holds out her hands for his. “If it’s a boy, my father had always wanted to name a son after the witcher who saved him, but he had only daughters. Now I know his name.” When Geralt gives her his hand, she lightly presses it to her stomach. “Nothing to feel yet. No one else knows. Sometimes, sometimes you lose them, I’m not sure it’s taken root properly yet.” She lets him pull away.

Geralt worries being around her, something horrible like him might make her lose the baby. Although if a wyvern disrupts their lives enough the stress might do that, too. “Girl?” he knows Jaskier would tell him to speak in full sentences.

“Then we’ll name her after Roddy’s mother. Eilidh. As much as I’d like to honor your friend, I would love another daughter,” she confides in him.

“I won’t tell,” he promises, his thoughts spiraling out of control. What if someone finds out he knew about the baby and didn’t tell? Of course, why would they? How could they?

Jaskier waits at the bottom of the steps blinking away tears. He hadn’t meant to listen in. He’d been worried about Geralt, but he hadn’t wanted to intrude. He hadn’t meant to hear about the babe, but his heart pounds and his eyes continue to water. He can almost imagine the scene above him. Finally, he knows he’s waited too long and scuffs his boots on the steps on purpose and heads up them, humming.

“Get some rest,” Melina admonishes them, and heads back down the stairs.

#wiedzmin #the witcher #geralt z rivii #geralt of rivia #jaskier #gerlion #geraskier #my fic #(also yenralt tbh)#yennefer of vengerberg

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samanthajameswriter · 4 years

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Today’s post will be the tale of a royal exit written by guest poster Simone T. Whitlow from the blog History and Imagination. Whitlow discusses and tells the life story of Princess Sophia Dorothea and her exiting the royal family. The consequences were enormous. it is a story filled with an unhappy marriage and daring escapes.

I have taken a few shots at writing it under the auspices of a whodunit, but I don’t think there’s any doubt who the murderers are. I then had another run – this time as a faux fairytale, an OG soap opera? I had a line from John Wilmott, Earl of Rochester kicking round in my head about his patron Charles II, and thought what about riffing off that; this is an example of what a crazy, swinging place Europe’s courts were in the late 17th Century after all… but I abandoned all of these.

Then Megxit happened; The Sussexes – Harry and Meghan – announced they were leaving ‘the firm’. In some quarters there was shock, and I understand there was an urgent family meeting. Harry didn’t get thrown into a cell in the Tower of London. There was no clandestine dash for the English channel (like the aforementioned Charles II after his defeat at the Battle of Worcester in 1651). No disguising himself as a servant. No hiding in oak trees. Public discourse re-centred on whether you wished them well, or thought them a pair of spoilt brats. This brought me back round to this tale again… Imagine you’re a deeply unhappy royal, but it is 1694. Does Sophxit play out any differently?

This tale begins on the evening of July 1st, 1694. The setting, Hanover – a Germanic Duchy which would eventually be subsumed into a larger German nation, and whose first family would go on to be kind of a big deal. A young man, aided only by moonlight, sails along the Leine river till he reaches the Leineschloss – the palatial riverside home of the duke and his family. He moors his boat, then cautiously enters the property. The man is Phillipp Christoph, Count Konigsmarck – an aristocratic German born Swede from a long line of mercenaries. His father had served King Gustav II Adolph in the 30 Years War, rising through the ranks to Field Marshall. Phillipp himself had fought the Turks for Holy Roman Emperor Leopold I. At this point in the tale however, he was under the employ of the Elector of Saxony. Tonight he’s been summoned to met his paramour – Sophia Dorothea, princess of Celle – the very unhappy wife of Duke George Ludwig.

Count Konigsmarck

Princess Sophia Dorothea

Duke Georg Ludwig

Sophia, though surprised- she never summoned him – is ecstatic over his arrival. They haven’t seen each other for weeks. She is also a little perturbed and angered at ‘that woman’s’ gall. “Well, clearly she’s still spying on us” I imagine one saying “Never mind, in a day we’ll be out of this nightmare” the other may have replied. With rather less poetic license you can imagine the rest of their night – Konigsmarck had not come to play solitaire after all, nor Sophia to play old maid. I like to imagine Sophia enfolding the count in her arms as he left and whispering “keep safe, hell hath no fury and all” but that is a little anachronistic – Congreve would not publish ‘The Mourning Bride’ till 1697. This is the last time Sophia Dorothea would see Count Konigsmarck – in the following hours he would disappear from the face of the Earth, never to be seen again.

Joining ‘The Firm’.

To explain how Sophia Dorothea found herself in an unhappy marriage, I need to take us back a generation. The first fact worth knowing is there was no German nation in the modern sense until January 1871. People could be ethnically Germanic, but Germany was a collection of feudal states for most of it’s history. Until 1806, they were also overseen by a ‘Holy Roman Emperor’. From 1346 the Emperor was elected by a council from the Elector states – This is important to know later. The second fact is marriages of convenience were very much a thing in the 17th Century, particularly among the aristocrats. Third, this tale concerns two duchies, Brunswick- Celle and Brunswick- Luneberg, afterwards known simply as ‘Hanover’. These duchies were ruled over by two brothers. Fourth their leading citizens of the duchies wanted to see the two areas reunited one day. Now that is out of the way…

Sophia Dorothea’s father was a man named Duke Georg Wilhelm of Brunswick- Celle. Georg W had been engaged to a princess from the neighboring duchy of Rhineland Palatinate (her name was also Sophia, though she hardly gets a mention beyond this point), but he was desperate to stay a bachelor a little longer. He cancelled the engagement – passing her on to his brother, Ernst August, Duke of Brunswick Luneberg. The leading figures of Georg W’s duchy were furious, but when Georg signed a legal agreement stating he would never marry – and would pass his duchy to Ernst, (merging the duchies) on his death, all was forgiven. Georg was not exactly out of the firm, but was free to enjoy his newly acquired freedom. The problem was Cupid laid Georg W low after he crossed paths with the beautiful Frenchwoman Eleonore d’Olbreuse.

Georg immediately knew they must marry and start a family. His own duchy and brother Ernst were unimpressed, so Georg W approached Leopold I, Holy Roman Emperor for permission to marry Eleonore. Leopold gave his blessing, but many years after the fact– at this stage Georg and Eleonore had a child, Sophia Dorothea, now 10 years old. There was a caveat to Leopold’s blessing – Georg W had a daughter, Ernst a son (Georg L) – the two cousins would marry, uniting the duchies. This suited all, but the two cousins themselves, who detested each other.

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Georg Wilhelm

Eleonore d’Olbreuse.

Ernst August

Sophia Of Hanover

Complicating matters further, both Georg L and his father Ernst were openly having affairs outside of their marriages. Given what transpires it is worth mentioning Georg L’s double standards with affairs. The key fact to take on however is Ernst, Sophia’s uncle-stepdad, was involved with a lady named Countess Platen.

The Konigsmarck brothers.

We’ll come back to this lot in a second, but first let’s discuss Count Konigsmarck. He has quite a fraught backstory too. Konigsmarck was brought up at court, and knew the rest of this cast well. Both he and his brother, Karl, were sent to England in their mid teens, around 1680. They were sent off to learn courtly skills and mingle, but both brothers soon got into trouble. Phillipp’s trouble involved losing huge sums of money through gambling. Karl’s trouble was on a whole other level.

The two brothers began associating with several high society Britons- including Charles II. Karl had become smitten with Elizabeth Seymour, Duchess of Somerset. Elizabeth was – you guessed it – caught in a loveless, arranged marriage to a wealthy, cheating husband – the wealthy landowner and MP Thomas Thynne. On 12th February 1682, Thynne was travelling in a carriage through Pall Mall, when three men with pistols – Christopher Vratz, John Stern and George Borosky gunned him down. The three men were captured, and named Karl Konigsmarck as the man who hired them to make the hit. The assassins would hang, Karl walked free – but both young men were outcasts in England from this point on. Both returned to Europe and joined Leopold’s army. Karl would be killed in action fighting the Turks in Greece in 1686. As an aside, not long after Thomas Thynne’s murder, a poem circulated through London.

“Here lies Tom Thynne of Longleat Hall Who ne’er would have miscarried; Had he married the woman he slept withal Or slept with the woman he married.”

Let the Dangerous Liaisons begin.

In 1688, after eight years service in the wars with the Turks, Phillipp Konigsmarck returned to the court of what was then Hanover. The ladies of the court fell for this dashing, young soldier. He became a close friend and confidant of Sophia Dorothea – a sympathetic ear who would keep tales of Sophia’s horrible husband, hideous uncle/stepdad, and terrifying mistress of uncle/stepdad – Countess Platen, confidential. Konigsmarck also began an ill advised affair with Countess Platen himself.

The young count soon realized; one, he had fallen in love with princess Sophia – and two, Countess Platen is a dangerous lunatic he should have never become involved with. He took on a new military commission and left Hanover, hoping the countess would forget about him.

On his return to the court in the spring of 1690 he began wooing the princess. The countess, meanwhile resumed her wooing of the count. When left unrequited she hired spies to follow the couple, and intercept their letters. By 1693 Countess Platen stopped even attempting to repair the broken seals on the couple’s love letters. Phillipp resumed his affair with the countess, hoping to placate her; at the very least to stop her from spilling the beans on them. Phillipp and Sophia make the decision to run away together; to start a new life elsewhere- far away from courtly life. This presented a problem for the two. Phillipp was lousy with money, and currently broke – he had not been working, while wooing two ladies. Sophia, upon marrying Georg L, ceded all her possessions to her husband.

Phillipp took a commission with the elector of Saxony, in Dresden in May 1694. Sophia sat tight and waited for Phillipp to make some money. 1st July, at the urging of a counterfeit letter, Phillipp returned to Hanover. Possibly aware it was a trap, Phillipp had saved a month’s worth of wages. Most of the court were away at their summer house at the time – Georg. L included. Tomorrow morning they would run away – and begin a new, happier life together. The following day Count Konigsmarck was nowhere to be found. A distraught Sophia Dorothea eventually hears the scuttlebutt from the markets “the witches of Dresden…” lured Phillipp away.

So…. what happened?

Let’s work through the facts – and suppositions – of the case. There are at least five possibilities. It’s generally accepted the counterfeit letter came from the countess. She had spies watching the couple, who reported to her that the couple were planning to abscond the following day. It is established fact also that Countess Platen informed her other lover, the uncle/stepdad Ernst, of the two lovers’ plan. Ernst ordered four cavaliers to arrest Count Konigsmarck immediately. The four men caught him outside the palace, swords were drawn. When the men eventually faced trial they claimed the count had drawn his sword, a fight broke out, and the count got stabbed to death in the melee.

What happened to the body? Who the hell knows? That is the real mystery. The four suspects were never on record on this matter. One theory has his body thrown into the Leine river, or immolated, or buried on the property. There was excitement in 2016 when bones were dug up on the site, but DNA proved the bones belonged to five separate men (none Phillipp) and a selection of animals.

Possibility one is simple as this, manslaughter. Count Konigsmarck, the battle hardened soldier of fortune thought he could fight his way out of an awkward situation and the four men got the better of him. It was, at most, a case of manslaughter.

Two, when Ernst August sent the cavaliers out to stop Konigsmarck, did he give the order to murder him before the elopement uncovered his dalliances, causing him embarrassment? He may have wanted him out of the way for this reason. Besides personal embarrassment, Hanover had only just been appointed an elector state, who help choose the Holy Roman Emperor. A scandal involving their royals may have jeopardized that position.

Three, well that ‘hell hath no fury’ motive is also out there. Countess Platen was jealous, and involved in high level stalking behaviour. She had laid this trap for the couple, does it not make sense to go that one step further. Did she kill Count Konigsmarck, solipsisticly to say ‘if I can’t have him, no-one can’?

Four, did Georg Ludwig know of the affair, and order the assassination? An elopement certainly would have left him a cuckold. Working counter to this, Georg L seemed unaware of the affair till after the affair was exposed. As soon as he heard, he divorced Sophia Dorothea. He exiled her to house arrest in Ahlden Castle, another family possession. She was kept prisoner until her death 32 years later. Here’s my reason to doubt Georg as the mastermind – he divorced and imprisoned her six months after Count Konigsmarck disappeared. Perhaps Georg was an endlessly patient man? I doubt it.

Now, I want to put a fifth suspect on the table – I said I would not mention her again – but I need to in order to tie this to the Sussexes at the very least. Ernst August’s wife, Sophia the elder, scorned by Georg W, and in what one would imagine as unhappy a marriage as anyone else in this tale – Her husband was cheating on her with Countess Platen after all – well she had a dream.

Discontent with her lot in life, married to a petty duke of a tiny duchy, she daydreamed of a time when herself, or her son would run the larger archipelago to the north-west. This did not seem such a crazy daydream. Her grandfather had been James I of England. In 1685 Charles II died leaving 14 illegitimate children, but no heirs. The crown passed to his brother James II, who was deposed in the ‘Glorious Rebellion’ of 1688. This saw a joint rule by James II’s daughter Mary, and the Dutch Import William of Orange. The line of succession had gotten a little complicated of late, and Sophia the elder’s daydream was seeming less and less blue sky thinking, more a genuine possibility – just so long as a giant scandal didn’t break out about her cheating husband, cheating daughter in law, and surrounding rogues gallery. I can’t count her in, but I certainly can’t ignore she too has a motive.

By 1702 both Mary and William of Orange had died. The crown passed to Mary’s sister – Anne. Anne fell pregnant 18 times – and suffered six miscarriages, five stillbirths, and none of her remaining children lived beyond two years of age. When Anne died on August 1st 1714, the crown passed to one Georg Ludwig, of an obscure German duchy, henceforth known as George I of England, whose family sit on the throne of England to this day.

How do I feel about the Sussexes and Megxit? Well, I am glad for the couple that it is 2020, not 1694 – and I wish them well.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Simone T. Whitlow is a musician, history blogger, and occasionally a squeaky wheel, working for well oiled corporate machines. Simone is based in Auckland, New Zealand and writes most weeks for Tales of History and Imagination.Tales of History and Imagination is a collection of strange and eccentric stories from our collective past. From Victorian Boogeymen to forgotten wars in far flung nations, mysterious super-weapons to people who simply took a path less traveled – Tales of History and Imagination is a compendium of the stories never told in history class.

FOLLOW SIMON T. WHITLOW:

WEBSITE: https://historyandimagination.com/

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The Deadly Sophxit of Count Konigsmarck and Princess Sophia Dorothea Today's post will be the tale of a royal exit written by guest poster Simone T. Whitlow from the blog…

#biographies #BOOKS #history #ROYAL HISTORY #tales #world history

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zebrabaker · 5 years

Text

A Spider’s Web, A Ladybug’s Delight

Here it is!

Marinette turned to open the door with her shoulder, stepping into the bakery proper. She crouched down, setting the tray of sugar cookies into the lower display case. She heard the bell ring, and called.

“Be with you in just a minute!” Then, came a warm chuckle, and a reply in English.

“No rush, my little lady.” Marinette nearly dropped the tray. She slammed the tray into the case, and bolted up.

“Peter!” She ripped off her apron, and leapt the counter. She threw herself into the arms of a tall boy with honey brown hair and molten chocolate eyes. “When did you get here? Why are you here?” He ran a hand up and down her back, and kissed the top of her head, which she had tucked into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

“Mister Stark pulled me out of school for the next two months. Said it’s for internship stuff, but really, we’re going on a tour of Europe, as mentor and student.” It dawned on her. That was their code for super-hero stuff. “We’ll be staying for a week, then heading for Germany, then Sokovia. So, I was wondering, as I’ve already gotten Mister Stark’s permission, if you’d like to join us? We’d need your parents per-mph!” Peter was cut off by Marinette kissing him. She pulled away, and he smiled dopily.

“Absolutely! Mama and Papa have been begging me to go traveling with Nona again for a long time. With everything happening at school, I’ve really considered taking them up on it! C’mon, let’s go ask them!” Marinette grabbed his hand, dragging him to the back room.

“Mari, slow down!” Peter chuckled, following obediently.

“Sorry, I’ve just missed you so much. Do you wanna eat something?” She blushed, rubbing the back of her neck.

“It’s fine, my little lady. Food sounds wonderful. Got any of those chocolate chip cookies?” He smiled. God, he’d missed her.

“Always, but you may have to fight Tiki for them.” She spun on her heel, heading more slowly for the kitchen after flipping the sign on the door to closed. “Papa, look who came to visit!” She said to the tall man, who was whisking egg whites.

“Who is-oh! Peter!” He set aside the bowl and whisk, before grabbing the boy in a hug that lifted him off the floor slightly.

“Good to see you, too, Monsieur Dupain. Err, could you put me down?” Tom chuckled, dropping Peter to his feet. “What are you doing in Paris?”

“I’m here on internship with Mister Stark, we’ll be traveling through Europe for the next two months. We,” He gestured between himself and Marinette. “have a question for you and Missus Cheng.”

“Of course! Marinette, did you flip the sign?” Marinette nodded, and Tom flipped off the ovens, and lead the way up to the apartment. “Honey, we have a guest!

“I hope they like dumpli- Peter! Oh, how good to see you! How have you been dear? It’s only been a few months, but it feels like it’s been years! Come in, come in!” She ushered him into the living room, beaming. She, like Tom, adored Peter, and thought he was perfect for Marinette. She had received endless teasing over when they would get married. “Marinette, help me with tea!” Sabine snagged her daughter’s arm, pulling her into the kitchen.

X0X0X0

After a large, sumptuous dinner, and several cups of tea, the four returned to the living room.

“So, Peter, you said the two of you had a question for us.” Sabine said, eyes gleaming as she sipped her tea.

“Yes, we do, Missus Cheng. You see, Mister Stark and I are touring through Europe for the next two months for my internship, so that I can learn more about the European branches of Stark Industries. We’ll be staying at Le Grand Paris for the next week, then going to Sokovia. After that, we go to Germany, then Russia, and then Italy. We’re rounding out the trip in Spain and the Netherlands. Mister Stark had already given the okay for this, so all we’d need is your permission. Marinette and I were wondering if, if it was all right with you, can Marinette come with us?” Peter reached over and wove their fingers together tightly. “Mister Stark is already providing tutors for me, so that I can keep up on my schooling, and has said that they can tutor Mari as well. All we need is for you to say yes, and file some paperwork so that she can leave the country with Mister Stark and I.” Mari bit her lip, nervous that they would say no. Tom and Sabine glanced at each other, communicating with their eyes in a way that only those who knew each other well could.

“Yes, Marinette can join you on your tour. We’ll fill out the papers tomorrow, and get them to you by lunch! For now, you better head back to your hotel, it’s getting late.” Tom spoke, standing to escort Peter to the door. Marinette knew the two would be having a talk, as well. Her Papa had always been rather protective.

“Marinette, would you like help packing?” Sabine asked, gathering the tea cups from the table.

“Sure, Maman. Are you sure you’re okay with taking care of Tiki while I’m out of town?” Tiki was a lovebird that her Nona had gotten for her a few years ago. She was a sweet little thing, who loved chocolate chip cookies, however bad they were for her.

“Of course, dear. It will be a good experience, what with all that’s going on at school. It will also let you network for your design career. Tiki will be fine, as will your Papa and I. Are you excited?” Sabine glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.

“Absolutely! I can’t wait! I haven’t seen Peter in person since summer break, and I’m so happy to be able to finally meet Mister Stark. He matters so much to Peter, and I really hope he likes me.” Marinette sighed.

“Of course, he will. If not, I’ll smack him with my broom until he sees sense.” Sabine huffed from the sink where she had pushed up her sleeves to do dishes. The two often didn’t see eye to eye on Marinette’s self-worth. Sabine saw only the best in her daughter, while Marinette had certain self esteem issues.

“Maman! You can’t beat Tony Stark over the head with a broom!”

“Bah! I don’t care who he is, I’ll smack him all the same! My daughter is amazing, beautiful, brilliant, creative, compassionate, daring- “

“You’re just listing off traits in alphabetical order, Mama!” Marinette was as bright as a tomato.

“And they’re all true!” Sabine hmphed.

X0X0X0

It had been almost a week, and Marinette was leaving by train to Sokovia early the next day. She had woken up early, to make sure she had everything packed before school. She grabbed a black skirt and purple blouse she had made a few weeks back, and paired them with a pair of black flats with little silver tassels. She put on the silver and rose quartz bracelet and locket. The locket was heart-shaped, and had a picture of her and Peter over summer break tucked inside. She slid in her great-grandmother’s onyx earrings, and tossed her hair in a bun, feeding Tiki on her way out the door.

“Maman, I’m headed to school, see you at lunch!” Marinette called on her way through the bakery.

“Have a good day, dear! Tell Peter I said ‘hello’!” Sabine yelled back. See, today, Peter would be joining Marinette at school, to ‘learn more about foreign education’.” It was really an excuse for Peter to hang out with her at school. Tony had bribed Monsieur Damocles into letting Peter spend a day with his girlfriend, claiming it was ‘a contribution to the education of the future’.

“Morning, my little lady. How’ve you been?” Peter asked, flashing her a smile that made her own grow.

“Peter, it’s been two days since we last saw each other.” She slid her hand into his.

“I know.” He smiled down at her – why was he so tall, it was so unfair – and took her bookbag from her shoulder, sliding it onto his. “I still wanna know how you’ve been.”

“Pft. I’ve been good, you dork.” She mockingly nudged her shoulder with his.

“Hm. I’m your dork.” She nodded sagely.

“This is true. We’re here!” She dropped the façade of wisdom, tugging him along by the hand. “I can’t wait to introduce you to Madame Mendelieve! She’s a wonderful teacher, and really excited to meet the person who’s been helping me with my science grades!”

“Hey, Marinette!” Adrien called, walking over from where Chloe had been hanging off of his arm.

“Hm?” Marinette turned from where she had been babbling. “Oh. Hello, Adrien.” Her face went slack, losing all emotion.

“Mari? Who’s this?” Peter asked, slipping an arm around her waist.

“Peter, this is my classmate, Adrien Agreste. Adrien, meet Peter, my boyfriend.” She smiled, sharp and a little cruel. “Peter, let’s head to class.” She said in flawless English.

“Whatever you want, Mari.” The couple spun on their heels, heading in to the building, leaving a stunned blonde behind.

#spideynette #marinete dupain cheng #spiderman #Peter Parker

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momentofmemory · 5 years

Text

fictober - day three

Prompt #3: “Now? Now you listen to me?”

Fandom: Spider-Man (All Media Types/Tom Holland Movies)

Warnings: Canonical Character Death

Rating: G

Characters: May & Peter Parker

Words: 1444

Author’s Note: part ii of a may & peter series. the word count of these things has been growing consistently by 200 everyday so far. this does not bode well for me at all. it’s also 2am, i’m late, i have work tomorrow, but it’s DONE.

>>What Is & Will Be

Peter is four years old, and May doesn’t know what to do.

May herself is forty-three, but Richard is thirty-eight and Mary is thirty-six and Ben is forty-one and Peter is four. Peter is four, and it’s the first week of August so he is four but he will be five in one week, six days.

She glances at the clock. Ben nods mutely into his cell before saying something May doesn’t quite pick up, and then he flips his phone shut. He catches her eye just long enough to shake his head, and then he collapses into the dining room chair. It’s midnight.

One week, five days.

A year from now Peter will be six, and then seven after that, and then eight and then nine and then on and on and on. Dozens of birthday parties and well wishes and homemade cakes and store-bought presents.

Peter is four and Peter will be five, but Richard will always be thirty-eight, and Mary will always be thirty-six.

May places a hand on Ben’s shaking shoulder and swallows past the noose around her throat. “Where is he?”

Ben wipes his hand across his eyes and stares at the cellphone. “Police station.” His voice sounds like he’s aged a decade in the past ten seconds. “Hundred and seventh precinct.”

May goes to collect her keys and her purse and a stuffed bear from Peter’s toy bin, and does not cry. Ben sees the bear, and he cries for them both.

_____________________________

The ride to the police station is silent other than the sound of Ben trying to pull himself together. May drives and knows she should say something, knows she should feel something, but she’s too afraid that if she starts she won’t be able to stop.

Ben is not the only person who will need her tonight, and forty-one years is an eternity longer than almost-five.

Despite the odd hour, or maybe because of it, she winds up having to park nearly four street blocks away. May thinks that this is exactly why they should sell the car and settle for using the subway like every other New Yorker, but the car had been a dream of Ben’s. He’d grown up watching sitcoms where every suburban teen always had a car or a truck or a motorcycle, and he’d scrimped every single last penny for the first fifteen years of their marriage to make it work. He’d joked it was their ticket to that middle-class, suburban-living, happy ever after.

Rain soaks into May’s skin and ruins her hair, and she and Ben walk to a police station at midnight.

Somewhere around block three, Ben shifts beside her.

“We’re his closest next of kin.” Her husband’s eyes are bright and fixated on anything other than meeting her own, as if that hadn’t been occupying her thoughts ever since he picked up the phone however many lifetimes ago.

(Because Peter is four years old).

May shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m not saying we have to make up our minds now,” Ben says, “it’s just that Peter’s going to need some sense of stability and if we had something to tell him—”

“Not now Ben,” May says, harsher than necessary. Ben shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and says nothing further.

May swallows down her guilt, and brings her own hand out of her pocket to find his. “Now is... already too much.”

Ben stares at her, rain water and tears streaking the lenses of his glasses. He squeezes her hand and they stop in front of the door to the precinct. “You and me, okay? No matter what we decide.”

May nods, and when she walks into the station she’s surrounded by fluorescent lights and frantic cops and stone-faced detectives wearing shoes with blood on their toes.

And then she sees Peter.

He’s hunched in a far corner, an orange shock blanket wrapped around his shoulders, looking nothing like the vibrant boy she’d gotten so used to knowing. His eyes are red-rimmed and tear tracks have carved swathes out of the ash and dirt covering his face, and his knees are tugged up tightly to his chest.

“Ma’am, you can’t—”

May ignores whatever the secretary is about to say, because she has Ben to handle it for her and Peter doesn’t have anyone to handle things for him because Peter is alone and Peter is four.

She shoves her way past several officers and desks covered with photos taken from —oh god, please don’t let Peter have seen—and then she’s kneeling in front of him.

“Hey, Peter,” she says softly, resting one hand on his sneakers.

It takes a second, but slowly his gaze moves from his hands to her face. May has to blink to keep tears from filling her eyes when she sees the ones spilling out of his.

“...Aunt May?”

She barely has time to react before Peter’s flung himself onto her, orange blanket forgotten, and he’s clingy and shaking like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he doesn’t. Her heart breaks as she thinks of Mary and Richard, and realizes that’s exactly what he’s afraid of.

May sits on the dirty tiled floor and pulls Peter safely onto her lap, because she is forty-three and while neither Richard nor Mary will ever reach that age, by god if she isn’t going to do everything she can to make sure her child does.

She barely has time to wonder where the her had come from before Peter starts speaking.

“Daddy said to be—be—good,” he says, hiccups punctuating his words.“He said if I listened everything would be okay and I did, Aunt May, I really did but he’s—they’re—I couldn’t—”

“Oh no, sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re okay.” May holds him tighter, losing the war against her own tears. “You did really well.”

Peter freezes like he’s going to disagree, but his body catches up to him before his brain does and all at once he’s wracked with the sobs of a four-year-old boy who’s been trying very, very hard to be brave and has finally been given permission not to be. May cries silent tears of her own and rubs gentle circles on his back, ignoring the stares from the rest of the building’s occupants. She hears the immeasurable grief in Peter’s words as he whispers But I listened, I listened over and over into her shoulder.

“Shhhh,” she says, her tears mingling with his because she’s forty-three but god it hurts. “None of this is your fault.”

They stay wrapped up like that until Ben joins them, face fractured with his own grief. He kneels on the floor next to May, and wraps his arms around both of them until Peter’s sobs start to dwindle.

May feels Peter’s hands twist in the fabric of her jacket, and then he pulls away from her just enough for them to see each other’s faces. His lower lip trembles, but he manages to reign in his grief as he looks at her. “They wouldn’t—wouldn’t—no one will tell me what’s going to happen to me—now.”

May picks up the discarded shock blanket wraps it around Peter’s shoulders. “Now?”

She catches Ben’s attention, who’s about to accept a handful of pamphlets on foster care, and shakes her head. A look of understanding passes over her husband’s face. Ben turns the flyers aside and, walking away a bit, asks the attendant how long it takes to finalize a kinship adoption instead.

Satisfied, May looks Peter in the eye and waits until she’s sure she has his full attention.

“Now,” she says, wiping a streak of ash off his cheek with her thumb, “now you listen to me. Okay?”

Peter blinks at her slowly, but May doesn’t elaborate because Peter’s always been good at understanding exactly what she means. He wipes his nose with the blanket and says, “…Forever?”

May smiles, and nods. “Forever.”

Tears reappear in Peter’s eyes, and he curls up into her chest, arms draped around her neck. May wraps her arms tighter around the boy, her boy, and picks them both off the floor to wait by the exit until Ben is ready. Peter burrows his head into the crook of May’s neck and she settles him against her hip. She closes her eyes and rests her cheek against his head, listening to his breathing until it evens out as he drifts off to sleep.

May knows they’re going to have a long way to go: papers to sign, end-of-life matters to settle, grief counseling to pay for, schools and pre-schools to select. But right now, none of that matters.

Because right now, Peter is four.

#fictober19 #peter parker fic #may parker #peter parker #this desperately needs an edit but it's not getting one i guess #wHOOPS #pay attention to your deadlines kids #may&peter #memsfic

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atenementfunster · 5 years

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and keep good company

branching out of my comfort zone here to give you some (nsfw) ridge farm content. enjoy!

So, here’s the thing about the farm.

It’s exactly what they’ve all needed, in a way; the near complete isolation gives them a chance to really lay the groundwork for the eclectic creation all on the tips of their fingers, barely within grasp. But, with that comes the exposure to the stress they’re trying to keep from collapsing under, the knowledge that they’re clawing their way out of a financial hole, and if this doesn’t cut it, then nothing else will.

Or maybe that’s just Roger. (He doubts it.)

Freddie takes to it like he takes to all things: head-on with abandon, a whirlwind of passion and machinations that only he can see. It’s endearing and maddening with equal measure, especially when they are only getting an eighth of a picture that Freddie wants perfected.

John is reserved but steady, a good foundation as he always is. Roger doesn’t think he’s ever had to rely on it quite this much, John’s reliable companionship and talent, and he appreciates it all the same.

Brian is -

Brian is.

It’s hard for Roger, knowing that Brian has his ups and downs and never quite knowing what to do with it. Which is the point, he supposes - it’s not his business, and not everything can be solved by another person, no matter how much they want to help. And Brian, he’s been good, the past few weeks. Smiling, joining them in the kitchen, talking about an odd dream or offering up a complimentary riff to something John is hashing out. It’s good, and he seems good.

Roger isn’t sure why he’s waiting for an inevitability that might never happen. Being this on-edge, watching for signs of Brian’s slow slip into sadness, it’s affecting his thought process, and his songs are sliding through his fingers, a mess of half-formed wishes and wants.

He’s also really ready for a lay, and that isn’t helping, either.

They all must have subconsciously known it would be a problem. Or again, maybe it’s just Roger - maybe they’re all fine, sharing a remote farmhouse with three other attractive men and are perfectly capable of getting their rocks off without wanting to jump the bones of the next guy that rounds the kitchen door.

So he walks around with his shirts unbuttoned and his pants too tight, because hey, it’s hot, and also, could one of them please just touch him?

There’s a chill in the studio, so his shirt is sadly buttoned and his arms littered with goosebumps, because he’s stopping and starting and he has just enough energy to work up a sweat before he has to stop to fiddle with lyrics. He’s never been one to work through a whole number the way Brian seems able to, in cohesive parts. It’s line by line for him, making sure the drums tell the same story the lyrics do.

He doesn’t see the door to the recording booth open, and he doesn’t see Brian watching him through the glass, but he does hear when he hops on the overhead speaker and says “mind if I join you?”

Roger jumps but keeps the beat he’s working with, glaring and wrinkling his nose. “Only if you stop stalking around like a cat,” he says, loud enough for the mic to pick it up. “Gonna give you a bell, I swear.”

He plays around with the rototoms as Brian enters, a twelve string over his shoulder. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting company, and Roger blinks at him, wondering if he’s gonna have the gall to ask him to leave. But he sets the quiet thing down and picks up the Red Special, sliding the strap under his curls. They’re getting long and less loose, tight little things coiling round and round, hiding his neck more often than not.

Roger blinks and looks back down at the kit, and says, “can’t sleep?”

It is late, he realizes as he says it. Schedules have never been a strong suit for any of them sans John, so it’s not altogether worrisome. Still, Roger makes sure his tone is passive and mild, an afterthought.

“Rested a bit earlier. Wanted to lay down some groundwork.” He strums a few chords to ensure it’s in tune, then looks up at Roger, face pale but eyes free of exhaustion. “I liked what you were working on.”

Preening at the praise, Roger shifts on the stool. It doesn’t come liberally from Brian, so he’ll take what he can get, especially since he’s sure he won’t approve of the lyrics. “Thanks. I have an idea of what you could bring to it, if you wanted to give it a go?”

They both find their rhythm at that, a space that’s always a comfort and source of energy. Brian’s in a pleasant mood, providing suggestions that would normally come off as demands, adjustments that sometimes ring in on the wrong side of demeaning, but don’t tonight. It’s nice, and Roger finds his nervous energy ebbing away.

When he’s nicked a knuckle for the third time in a row and Brian catches the blood on one of the floor toms, he’s calling it a night before Roger can summon the breath to argue. “It’s late,” he says, setting down his guitar like he’s putting a child to bed. His eyes are all for Roger though, and the gaze has Roger frozen to his stool and staring stupidly up at him.

“We’re on a roll.”

“Yes, and you’re bleeding everywhere, love,” Brian replies as he rummages around the feet of the tom for the bandages he knows Roger keeps there. And Roger, he can’t help the adoration that swells in his chest like a riptide, threatening to pull him under. Mute, he reaches out for the gauze but jumps when Brian takes his hands and starts dabbing and wrapping his ring finger, eyes downcast and lashes fanning over his cheekbones.

Roger accidentally breaks the silence with a shaky breath, and Brian looks up, eyes wide but expression open. Thanks, he wants to say. You didn’t have to do that, is what he would normally say. But now he doesn’t say anything, he just reaches up with his other hand and rests his fingertips, feather-light, on Brian’s cheek.

There’s a spell laid over them, a moment in time where they stare at each other, unsure. Roger’s never done well with stillness, though, so he leans in and says, very softly, “I wanna kiss you.”

Brian says nothing at all, and Roger is a hair’s breadth away from leaning back and away, because he doesn’t want to ruin anything, when Brian nods.

It’s all the permission Roger needs to lean in and do what he’s promised.

It’s simple at first; it doesn’t feel like an awakening. Brian isn’t the first man he’s kissed, but he’s the first one that’s really mattered. Sliding his hand over his cheek and into his hair feels somehow more intimate, and Roger brings his injured hand up to Brian’s neck and presses two, three more kisses to his lips, until Brian, apparently more enthusiastic than Roger would have given him credit for, licks his bottom lip.

It turns his brain over, opening his mouth easily to let Brian find his tongue, and it’s slow and gentle until it’s not.

Both of them must be overwhelmed, Roger knows, and it doesn’t show until he leans forward and almost falls off the stool and into Brian’s chest, surprising a laugh out of him. Never one to be laughed at, Roger pulls back and wrinkles his nose, but he’s breathing heavily and is already achingly turned on, so he has a feeling his irritation is wasted.

Which is probably a good thing, because he looks, really looks at Brian, whose face is flushed and lips are slick with spit, eyes half-lidded and hair already a mess, and Roger can’t keep his hands off him.

Grabbing his elbows and pushing, Roger makes it clear that he wants off the damn stool and somewhere more comfortable. Getting the message, Brian takes a few awkward steps back in a crouch, then falls on his ass when Roger pushes at his shoulders again and climbs unabashedly onto his lap, straddling him into the floor. It’s not the best feeling for his knees, but he’s young and spry; he soon forgets the discomfort when he grinds down and gets to hear Brian moan into his mouth, and doesn’t that just go straight to his dick.

“Rog,” Brian says, pulling back so quickly Roger’s leaning forward to try and find his mouth again. For one terrifying moment, Roger thinks he’s gonna push him off, tell him it’s too much, but all he does is card his fingers through his hair. “This is good, right? Okay?”

“You’re asking me if this is okay?” Roger asks, then grinds down again, cock aching in his too-tight jeans. Brian shifts and his eyelids flutter. “I’m more than okay.”

“Okay.” The smile Brian gives him is small and rather shy, and Roger blinks stupidly at how pretty he looks, smiling like that with red lips and mussed hair.

Roger kisses him without a thought, marvelling that he can, that it was this easy. “Chuffed.”

“You gonna keep talking or can I take your clothes off?”

Roger’s eyes widen, he can’t help it, mouth falling open as he nods. Brian’s smile turns a bit wicked and he pushes in, hands demanding on his sides as he pulls the shirt over Roger’s head and throws it behind him. He thinks it lands on one of the cymbals, but Roger can’t be assed to look, he’s busy shoving his tongue into Brian’s mouth, an effort of showing him just how chuffed he is.

Brian’s hands are all over him, sliding up and down his sides, rubbing his shoulders, raking through his hair, and in no time flat he’s practically writhing under the ministrations. “Wanted you to touch me forever,” he says against Brian’s mouth. “Think about it all the time.”

“You in those shirts, I’m not surprised,” Brian says, voice pitched low. “I’ve seen you looking at me, at John and Freddie. Not very subtle.” His practically growling, soft words purred against his throat, and Roger catches a whine before it can break free and further embarrass him. “Such a tease.”

His thumbs find Roger’s nipples and he arches with a jolt, his touch like an electric shock. This time there’s no stopping the whine, and he grabs at Brian’s scalp as he sucks and bites a bruise into his neck, every inch of him shaking with want.

Brian pushes at him, huge hands holding his ribcage as he encourages him out of his lap and onto the floor. Down Roger goes, hair splayed behind him, and Brian wastes no time in stretching out above him, grinding their dicks together as he takes Roger’s face in his hands.

For a moment it’s too much, pleasure and love mixing to make him a writhing mess on the floor, overcome by everything he’s been wanting and not knowing what to do now that he has it. The moment passes, though, and he grabs Brian’s ass and pulls it forward, moaning into his mouth as they kiss, wet and filthy. One clever hand has snaked south and Brian shifts a bit, giving him access to the button’s at Roger’s crotch. It’s undone in an impressively short time, not that Roger’s particularly surprised. The huff he gets once his fly is undone is one of surprise, though, and Brian reels back, an incredulous smile on his flushed face.

“Really, Rog?”

“Maybe I haven’t done the wash in a while,” Roger says, wiggling beneath him and arching one eyebrow. Brian laughs and takes Roger in hand with little anticipation, and it cuts off Roger’s snark and molds it into a rough inhale. It’s a gentle touch, hesitant and almost reverent, and Roger arches up off the floor a bit as he watches those long fingers curl around his cock.

“Wow, that’s,” Roger says, and sighs into Brian’s mouth as he leans in to presumably shut him up again.

Brian jerks him off like he must do himself, Roger thinks, pace undulating from fast to slow. It’s an awkward angle, but Roger’s slowly going crazy, pinned beneath him and leaking precome over Brian’s fist, so it’s definitely not bad. He doesn’t know where to put his hands, so he has one on Brian’s ass, slid in his jeans and briefs and everything, and the other in his hair. Brian moaning into his mouth as Roger gropes him has to be just about the hottest thing that’s ever happened in this studio, and Roger can’t help it, he’s thrusting weakly into Brian’s hand. They’re barely kissing at this point, just hot breath and tongue, and Brian is still fully clothed, and it’s so impossibly good that Roger’s already close. He’s be embarrassed if he wasn’t so fucking ready to come all over Brian’s chest.

“I’ve thought about this,” Brian breathes against his lips. “About you, laid out beneath me. So pretty, Roger, all the noises you make. I’ve imagined it, what it would be like to finally get my hands on you.”

“Oh my god,” Roger says. It’s too much, Brian towering over him, whispering filth as he jerks him off, it’s way too much. “Brian,” he says, practically a wail, and he knows his face must be horribly scrunched up, but he can’t help it. He’s been so desperate for this, and knowing Brian has been wanting it too?

“Come on, Rog,” Brian murmurs, picking up the pace as he ruts against his thigh. “Come on, love.”

Too much.

Roger comes with high keen, muffled by Brian’s neck as he thrusts erratically into the heat of his hand. Brian’s other hand is pressed against his face, thumb caressing his cheekbone. When he finally sags, panting against Brian’s neck, he feels him shifting his weight a bit. He catches his breath for a moment, marveling at how well fucked he feels without actually having fucked anyone, before he feels Brian shift again. Worried he’d gonna get up, Roger blinks and leans back a bit and sees Brian pulling his own cock out of his pants, face red. Leaning in and kissing him is the easiest thing, as is leaning back and saying, “here, shove off,” and sliding a bit down the floor. Brian looks confused for a moment, but his expression shifts when Roger takes one of his hips in hand and pushes so he’s on his back.

“You don’t have to,” Brian says, voice rough.

Roger glares at him, tossing his hair over his shoulder. “Shut up and let me blow you.”

“Jesus christ,” Brian mumbles, and it seems like talking filthy isn’t something he likes to just give.

Roger’s never sucked dick before, and he’s certainly not an idiot that’s gonna try too hard and choke. He takes a moment to assess before taking Brian in hand at the base, eliciting a rough groan, then takes the head in his mouth, rolling the taste and texture over his tongue. It’s not great, but the noises Brian is making are, so it’s a win for him. It’s even better when those long fingers find the base of his skull and grab, and Roger can feel the restraint in the shaking of his hands. Roger almost wants to pull back and tell him to let go, to fuck his face, but he doesn’t think he could handle it just yet.

Brian’s stiff beneath him, shifting slightly on the floor, making little noises that make Roger’s toes curl. “Oh Rog, this is -”

Roger squeezes and runs his fist up the base of his dick and licks at the same time, and Brian makes a sound that he’s never heard, and it’s one he wants to hear again, so he does it again. This time, Brian can’t seem to help it, and he bucks once up into Roger’s mouth. It’s not altogether unpleasant, but Roger presses his other hand to Brian’s hip, then slides it up under his shirt to rub at his side.

“Rog I’m not gonna last, come on now,” he says, all throaty and out of breath, and it sounds so lovely that Roger can’t humor the idea of stopping, so he tries taking a bit more of him into his mouth instead. Brian moans loudly and filthily, and Roger blinks up at him. Brian seems to know he’s being watched, because he looks down, meets Roger’s gaze, and his mouth falls open. It might have been a warning, but he never gets that far, because he’s shooting off in Roger’s mouth the next second.

Surprised, Roger reels back and coughs a bit, but he still jerks Brian through it, watching with some fascination as Brian stripes his fist, his own stomach.

Roger rubs Brian’s side as he comes down, shaking breaths filling the studio space. When Brian looks down at him, strands of hair sticking to his cheeks and temples, Roger grins up at him, unabashed.

“You’ve got a little something,” Brian says after a breath, looking somewhat pained as he points to his own mouth. Roger licks his lips without breaking his gaze, and grins when he sees Brian swallow roughly.

“You’re going to be the death of me, aren’t you?” He asks, reaching down and pulling Roger up to him so he’s draped over his chest. It’s a bit disgusting, what with them both being covered in come - Brian’s at least still got his shirt on.

“Looking forward to finding out,” Roger settles on, kissing the underside of his jaw. He gets Brian’s hair in his mouth, and when Brian laughs at the face he pulls, he supposes he deserves it.

(blame @a-belladonic-haze and @meddows-taylor for this completely, btw)

#maylor #with some ot4 if you squint #queen fic #feel free to reblog if u like #my fic

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thundrpilot · 5 years

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Marvel Fic Rec 5/∞

Marvel Fic Recs: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] Here’s a link for the entire Masterlist. ( ** = favorites )

**Circles of Rust by keroseneSteve

Word count: 57,815 (22/22)

Summary: Yinsen dies too soon, and Tony doesn't know how to deal with what he realizes will come if he ever makes it back to America. Instead, he uses his escape to confirm his supposed death, moving to urban India to start a new life as a mechanic with a secret past time of blowing up every piece of Stark weaponry Stane Industries can throw at him. Audis, cats, SHIELD, Bruce, a fair amount of explosions, snark from all sides, ghosts, art, and palladium poisoning with a side of terrorism and a certain defrosted Cappucino.

Comments: Part 1 of the Drought series. Definitely one of my all-time favorite Marvel fics. The Tony and Bruce bromance gets me every time.

Peter’s Emergency Contact by tamaranianprincess

Word count: 4,267 (3/?)

Summary: Peter’s school doesn’t believe Tony is actually Peter’s emergency contact. When Tony clears it up, he and Peter will have to deal with the public aftermath.

Comments: Part 2 of the Emergency Contacts series.

Stellar Forge: From the Ashes by Bragi151

Word count: 3,670 (1/1)

Summary: As the ashes of the Civil War settle, Tony Stark, rather than deal with the phone and olive branch sent to him by Steve Rogers, decides to focus on those left behind. After all, he won't be the only one looking for them, and they're far safer with him than they are with Thunderbolt Ross.

How Laura Barton Took Over Tony Stark's Life

Comments: Gen. Part 1 of the We Are All Stardust series.

Poison Apple by whumphoarder

Word count: 5,229 (2/2)

Summary: “I-I think something’s wrong with me.”

Ned gives a short laugh. “Pretty sure we established that when you puked in a corn maze. You’ve got like, food poisoning or something.”

Peter shakes his head. “No, not that.” He takes a few short breaths. “Chest feels weird. Kinda hard to breathe.”

A field trip gone wrong leaves Peter and Ned wandering through a seemingly endless corn maze. This would be bad enough, but when Peter starts getting seriously ill on top of that, it all goes to shit.

The Decathlon Team Field Trip by HolyKingWasteLand

Word count: 8,150 (1/1)

Summary: Tony is Peter's guardian, and has been for a while. The two have gotten so used to each other that they refer to each other as father and son. While on a field trip to the Avenger's Facility, Peter calls him dad.

It Was Probably The Pudding by Serendipity_Cometh

Word count: 77,286 (12/12)

Summary: Given that over the course of the past eleven months Peter Parker hasn't contracted so much as a head-cold, the teenager thought it safe to assume that the whole 'irradiated spider bite' gig had equipped him with an immune system of steel that rivalled Captain America's.

So when he wakes up one night in the midst of the worst asthma attack he's suffered in almost eight years, neither he nor the rest of the team can think of a logical explanation.

And everything sort of goes downhill from there.(Set in an Alternative Universe where Peter moved into the Avengers’ Tower following the events of The Amazing Spider-Man.)

Comments: Angst oh my god. Sickfic.

Mr Stark Enough For You? (another field trip fic bc we don’t have enough) by Livinei

Word count: 7,054 (1/1)

Summary: Peter isn’t worried because he thinks Tony won’t say yes, he’s worried because he’s sure Tony will. And he’s not sure how he feels about having his entire class waltzing around the place where he spends practically more time than in his own home, where he has his own room, and where he regularly eats Lucky Charms with one of the most influential men in the country, in his pajamas. Not that they’d ever know any of that. Tour groups don’t go to the living quarters of the Tower anyways, they hardly ever go past the 50th floor, Peter knows that. And it isn’t fair to his class if he doesn’t ask just because he…spends a lot of time there? Yeah, Peter sighs, he has to ask. He promised, anyways.

Basically a Detective by petreparkour

Word count: 14,394 (5/5)

Summary: Flash knows there’s something up with Peter Parker. He knows. There’s no way he actually has an internship with Tony Stark. There’s no way that he knows Spider-Man.

He’s going to prove it. Now, if only he could actually find out where Peter keeps going...

Omnia Ex Nihilo by Daniela_is_not_amused

Word count: 5,157 (2/2)

Summary: Pepper thought it would be a great way to kill two birds with one stone: first, explaining why this one particular kid was always hanging around the tower and Tony Stark himself without directly mentioning the rumours and speculations that the public had been throwing around and, second, to show people that the new Junior Intern programme is interesting, safe and a great advantage for every high school student that’s into science.

I watched those interviews where Tom and RDJ highjacked each other's interviews one too many times, drank way too much coffee and this happened. I'm not sorry.

Comments: Part 3 of the Life is whatever we conceive it to be series.

Repeat After Me by battybatzgirl

Word count: 3,896 (1/1)

Summary: Tony’s face hardens as he says, “What kid.” “I don’t know, some twelve year old—” Below him, the kid coughs out, “Fifteen.” “—Fifteen year old—” Tony scrubs a hand across his face. “Don’t tell me he’s wearing a dorky shirt with a chemistry pun on it.” Rhodey frowns. That was oddly specific. Glancing down, he looks at what little he can see of the kid’s shirt—which isn't much since there’s so much blood now, but what could be once called a cartoon joke is printed on it. “Um, yeah?” “Son of a bitch.”

Otherwise known as how Rhodey finds out about how old Peter is, and how badly he needs to beat Tony with a stick.

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces) by aloneintherain

Word count: 3,422 (1/1)

Summary: Peter's trapped beneath a collapsed building during a mission, hurt and unable to move. Luckily, his comm still works. Unluckily, the Avengers don’t realise how bad of a state Peter is in, and Peter isn’t inclined to tell them.

“Spidey, they’ve got reinforcements. We’ve hit a bit of a snag here, and I don’t think anyone will be able to help you for a while. Think you can sit tight while we deal with this?”

The pressure on his lower back and legs was becoming too much. Peter swallowed thickly, fighting down panic. He could handle this.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “I can do that.”

**Elevator Mishaps and Identity Reveals by HolyKingWasteLand

Word count: 6,325 (1/1)

Summary: Peter takes a moment to take a good look at those around him. They're all terrified; even MJ looks a bit nervous, although she's hiding it well. Guy doesn't look calm anymore, his eyes are wide and frightened, and he flinches at every creak and shift. They're all breathing heavily as they try to stay calm, and it works somewhat, but not a lot. The box makes an ear-piercing screech, followed by a loud scary grinding noise and then.. they were falling.

OR;

Peter gets the Decathlon Team a tour at Stark Industries and something goes wrong, leading to the reveal that Peter is their friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.

Permission Slips Please by ShadowsintheClouds

Word count: 3,283 (1/1)

Summary: The obligatory field trip to SI fic with my own twist on it. Takes place after chapter 24 of my fic "More Than He Seems" so it's recommended that you read that.

I’m the satellite (and you’re the sky) by CamelotQueen

Word count: 45,453 (12/12)

Summary: When Tony went to the Parker household to recruit Spider-Man, he had no idea what he was signing up for.

AU where Tony is Peter's biological father and neither of them know.

Marvel Fic Recs: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] Here’s a link for the entire Masterlist.

#Marvel Universe fanfic #spider-man fic rec #iron man fic rec #tony stark #peter parker #avengers fic #may parker #Steve Rogers #bruce banner #mufr #mine #cam's fic rec #irondad #spiderson

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