#*yeah WORD TO THE WISE (not me): if you paste from other sites even without formatting retained

[k-evans-reads]

The Outsider

Chapter 6- Part 2

Summary: Princess Penelope of the Isle of Brida has been forced into an arranged marriage with the heir to the throne, Prince Chris, of Queensnorth. What starts out as a contemptuous relationship may not stay that way.

Pairing: Prince!Chris Evans X OFC Princess Penelope “Poppy”

Word Count: 8,558

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: 18+.

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5 months married, the following morning

The sound of multiple approaching footsteps echoed through the large, yet all but empty private wing, as the owners moved down the hallway. Then, several pairs stopped, leaving a single set to continue moving as the door to Chris and Poppy’s private suite opened. “Hey Pop, you in here?” Poppy heard Chris call, unable to see him until he moved further into the sitting room, poking his head around the corner and searching for her.

“I’ve been stuck here for a week, I think you know I’m here,” she replied, rolling her eyes lightly as she watched his face appear in her line of sight, smiling as his face broke into a grin. He shut the door to the hall behind him, giving them some semblance of privacy although Poppy knew a number of guards, and likely Michael, stood just beyond the closed door.

“Tone down the sass and close your eyes,” he called as he turned back around, deliberately only letting his face be seen by her.

She furrowed her brows, staring at him in confusion and slight apprehensiveness. “Close my eyes?”

“You heard me, close your eyes. I have a surprise for you,” he nodded, staring at her until she did as he asked.

“Okay, they’re closed,” she sighed.

She heard the door to her room shut slowly behind him as he, apparently, made it through the doorway, Poppy only aware of his movements thanks to the clack of his dress shoes against the floor. She did as he asked, keeping her green eyes closed while she felt the bed dip from his weight as he sat down.

“Can I open my eyes yet?”

He barked out a laugh, Poppy imagining he was likely shaking his head at her question. “Damn, you’re so impatient! Just hold on.”

Poppy felt the weight of something being placed in her lap on top of the thick quilt before Chris’ low voice instructed her, “Alright, you can open your eyes now.”

She didn’t know what she expected, but when her eyes fluttered open and she saw a soft and tiny gray kitten, she knew that she certainly didn’t expect that. Chris sat on the edge of the bed, a huge grin on his face while he watched Poppy’s expression burst into pure joy, her green eyes sparkling and her smile shone from ear to ear.

“A kitten!” She cooed, her jaw dropping in shock as she watched the kitten stretch out on her lap, nuzzling the quilt. “Oh my god Chris! Where did you-wait, where is he from? What is he doing here?”

“He’s yours,” he shrugged, and out of the corner of her eye she could see a slightly cocky, but likely more happy and pleased smile on his face as he watched Poppy with the kitten.

“Mine?”

He nodded again, leaning on his side as he watched them and Poppy shifted her eyes to look at him. “Yeah, I thought you could use some more company while you’re still healing. This little guy seemed like he’d make pretty good company,”

Poppy nodded, not even realizing how lonely she’d been without his constant company while he’d been in unavoidable meetings in the past week. Although he hadn’t told her much, keeping details sparse, he always seemed to return tense, stressed, and slightly exhausted. She didn’t know if it was because of something that was going on work-wise or if it was him worrying over her, but she’d noticed. “Chris, I love him! He’s so precious!”

“I’m glad you like him,” he grinned, a small look, one she’d grown to love, on his face as he jutted his chin out towards her. “I was hoping I’d get that smile from you.”

Poppy reached out to grab the sleeve of Chris’ shirt, tugging him so that he came to lean over her, allowing their lips to connect for a sweet kiss. They only parted when they heard a tiny meow and Chris sat back up while Poppy stroked the kitten’s fur. The pair just sat there, laughing and watching while the kitten walked around on Poppy’s lap before finding a loose string on the quilt that it pounced on, making the couple laugh.

They kept watching the little gray fluffy kitten walk around on the bed, climbing on Chris, checking out it’s new surroundings before eventually coming to curl up on Poppy’s lap, bringing a smile to her face. With their entertainment gone for the moment, Chris went over to grab one of the chairs, pulling it over next to Poppy’s bedside so he could occupy the spot he’d frequented the past week.

“You don’t have work to do?” She asked him quietly, watching as he settled into his place, in the chair she’d begun to think of as his exclusively, at her bedside.

“I’ll do it later. I’d rather be here right now.”

Poppy watched as Chris slipped off his shoes before sitting down in the chair, leaning back and propping his feet up on the bed next to Poppy’s hip. She leaned back against the pillows propping her up, her eyes still focused on Chris as he tugged at his tie until it came loose and he tossed it on the bed and then rolled up the sleeves, tugged his shirt from where it tucked into his pants, and pulled open the top few buttons on his white shirt.

She loved being able to see his beautiful chest hair poking out through the top of his shirt where he’d pulled the buttons open and his thick muscular forearms that were revealed. Poppy took in his long legs stretched out and smiled softly when his sock covered feet gently, but slightly demandingly, pushed at her hip to get her attention. As handsome as he was all the time, Poppy liked seeing him this way. Getting to see him at ease and fully himself, loving that he always felt like he could fully relax when he was with her.

“How did everything go this morning?”

“Eh, just the same,” he shrugged a slight frown on his face. “I have to go up north tonight though to visit some people. I tried to get out of it with you still being laid up but it’s pretty important.”

“When will you be back?” She asked, a sinking feeling in her as she realized he’d be gone for longer than they’d been apart in a long time. They’d spent every moment, virtually, over the last month and a half together, and it was a hard adjustment to suddenly make.

“I think tomorrow, but this little guy better keep you company while I’m gone,” he grinned, eyes looking fondly at the small cat in her lap. “What are you going to name him anyway?”

Poppy tilted her head, staring at the kitten contemplatively. “I’m not sure… maybe I’ll call it Fluffy,”

“Are you shitting me? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“Fine! What would you name it?”

“Well… I don’t know, but something better than fuckin’ ‘Fluffy’, that’s for damn sure,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “How about Hank?”

“Hank?! That’s terrible!” She groaned with a sour look on her face. “No, you said it’s my cat so I’m naming it Fluffy.”

“Fine, stick with your stupid name.”

“Thank you, I will.”

“Still a stupid name though,” he shrugged, a smirk on his lips as he purposely egged her on.

“You know what? Fuck you,” she shot back, shaking her head.

“I’d enjoy that,” he shrugged simply again, holding his arms behind his head as he leaned back, snickering quietly.

“Well once the doctor clears me, I think you still have a promise to keep.”

“Oh don’t worry, I don’t break a promise,” he drawled, his long legs kicking open as he got more comfortable in the chair, revealing his thick, muscular thighs and trim waist.

“I hope not,” Poppy breathed, watching him as he settled into the chair, feeling a heat inside of her. She smirked slightly as she looked back up at him, seeing the same expression on his face and knowing they were thinking about the same exact thing, and counting down the days until the doctor returned so she could get clear, because they had one thing on their minds.

Chris cleared his throat, looking away slightly as he blushed under her gaze. “Hey, have you used that new sketchbook I got you yet?”

“Oh I already filled up about half of it,” she chuckled, biting her lip as she reached to get it from her nightstand. “Do you want to see my drawings?”

“Fuck yeah I do,” he grinned, leaning forwards to see.

“C’mere.”

Chris followed her instruction as she patted the empty spot next to her and he climbed into bed gingerly, careful not to jostle her sore body or wake the sleeping kitten in her lap. Once he settled in next to her, one hand behind his head and the other resting on his stomach, he watched as she slowly flipped the pages of her sketchbook, showing him each drawing that he took in. He saw her cheeks filling with a deep blush as he praised each one, pointing out specific things he was amazed at.

He couldn’t believe how different Poppy’s attitude about her art was since the first time he’d seen it. She now proudly showed him her creations, letting his praise soak in and letting it warm her. Chris had grown up surrounded by duty, seeing things so black and white and straightforward. But being with Poppy had let him see life so differently.

When she first came, she was so cold and closed off, always looking afraid when he said more than two words for her. He completely understood why she had been that way and he still felt guilt over not making it better for her. But things were so different now. He had gotten to truly know who Poppy was deep inside and found that in the same way she brought color, beauty and life to her blank canvases, she brought those same things to his life. Poppy had brought warmth and affection to him, supporting him in a way he hadn’t felt before. He thought about how when she walked in a room how there was a comfort in the air just from her presence. In a place that made it hard to shut off from work mode and focus on being himself, she made it easy.

Chris’ blue eyes drifted from her drawings to look at her face, just watching as she talked about the drawing she was pointing to, laughing about how the bird she drew looked more like a mouse. He was only half listening, too lost not only looking at her incredible beauty but realizing that she brought nothing but beauty to his life. She made everything more wonderful, more touching, more tender. He thought back to the meeting where his father informed him of the arranged marriage and could recall how he felt sick, not even being able to hardly recall the princess at all. Chris wished he could somehow go back and tell himself that although it didn’t seem like at the time, that was going to be the best thing that ever happened to him.

There was an unspoken truth in his heart that he’d been feeling for a while but couldn’t seem to hold it in any longer and quietly whispered, “I love you.”

“What?” Poppy said quickly, her head turning to look at him, shock in her eyes.

“I said I love you,” he repeated quietly, eyes searching hers. Poppy felt herself almost stop existing at the words, at the simple words that fell so easily from his mouth. The ones she’d never thought she’d hear, not now, not in sixty years, and not even four months ago.

“You love me?” She whispered, looking up at him as tears filled her eyes.

“I love you so much, Poppy,” he nodded, a smile spreading across his face. “And I hope you know I mean it. I’m not saying that because we’re married or I feel like I have to. I truly love you from the bottom of my heart.”

She nodded, taking in his words. It wasn’t that she never imagined she could ever grow to love Chris, especially not after the last month with all the strides they’d made. It was that no one had ever honestly said those three words to her in a way that was genuine, not to placate, manipulate, or deceive her. And with Chris? She knew it was genuine, that he loved her, and she couldn’t help but finally realize that love was the emotion she’d been feeling lately towards him. She felt it when she watched him grin at her early every morning, before he slipped out to meet his father and Michael for a rundown of the day. She felt it every afternoon as he ran in to see her, even if just for a moment, so he could peck her cheek and tell her he’d see her later. She felt it when they talked for hours after sharing dinner together, before curling around each other peacefully in bed. She loved him. With every part of her.

She swallowed, gently lifting Fluffy out of her lap and placing him towards the foot of the bed. Once she was sure Fluffy was settled and wouldn’t bother them, she reached for Chris, pulling him onto her as she wrapped herself around him, burying her face into his shoulder as tears sprung from her eyes.

Her voice was so soft, almost so soft that Chris wouldn’t have heard it if every bit of his attention hadn’t been on her, clinging onto him as she whispered, “I love you.”

She felt a shaky exhale leave his body as he heard the words, kisses being planted on the top of her head as they reached that new level, the defining moment in their relationship thus far. Wiping her tears quickly as she pulled her head out of his shoulder, she met his emotional blue eyes, whispering “I love you so much, Chris,” and watched the physical reaction he had to those words, the way they made him grow so much and filled him with confidence and reassurance, before he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers.

Neither one could possibly describe the intimacy of the moment, how beautiful it felt being wrapped up in each other’s arms feeling overflowing with adoration for one another. Over the duration of the tour, they had gotten used to coming back to the hotel each night, kissing one another until their lips were swollen before falling asleep in each other's arms. But with Poppy’s injury, the physical closeness and affection they had grown so accustomed to had been impossible. But right now, the loving words swimming in their heads while their bodies lacked any space between them was just what they needed.

A sharp knock echoed through the suite before footsteps sounded in the sitting room, one of Chris’ guards calling through the closed door of Poppy’s room to them. “Your Majesties? The train for His Royal Highness is departing soon."

He pulled off her lips at the interruption, leaning his head on her collarbone as he caught his breath. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“Your Majesty?” The guard called again, sounding as though he’d moved closer to Poppy’s closed door since he first interrupted them.

“I’m coming,” Chris called back loudly, sighing again as he pushed himself up and off of Poppy, seated on the side of her bed as he raked a hand through his hair, trying to gather himself before he had to face anyone else. Biting his lip, he glanced back at her while shaking his head, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s alright, it’s your duty,” she smiled sadly, rubbing her hand along his arm before he stood up, reaching to refill her water before he left.

“I would give anything to be able to stay here with you,” he confessed, before nodding towards Fluffy with a smirk, “But this cat better keep you company.”

“He has a name, remember?”

“Yeah, a fuckin’ stupid name,” he muttered, laughing loudly when Poppy’s face fell.

“Well Fluffy will be a nice companion while you’re gone,” she retorted. “Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“Not yet, but you know I’ll come back to you as soon as I can,” he frowned again, leaning down to peck her forehead before he paused, staring at her in thought.

“I know,” Poppy whispered as he leaned down, kissing her quickly before straightening up. “I love you Chris.”

“I love you too, my sweet Poppy,” he called, smiling as he turned and opened the door, following the guard out of the suite and leaving her.

Poppy laid in that bed, the soft kitten curled up next to her and silence filled the room once the clack of shoes against the wooden floor faded away. For one of the first times in her life, although she was alone, she didn’t feel lonely. Her heart was completely full as the words that Chris had spoken replayed in her mind over and over again. He loved her and that meant more to her than anything else.

2 Days Later

Poppy was suddenly aware of nothing but darkness, the moon casting shadows over the furniture in her room. She furrowed her brows, trying to figure out what had woken her up, but her initial answer was proven incorrect when she saw Fluffy curled up by her feet. Turning onto her opposite side, her eyes widened in surprise when she saw Chris’ frame from behind, obviously having just gotten in, dressed in a dress shirt and slacks still from the day before. He’d overshot his estimate of how long he’d been gone by a day, which Poppy hadn’t minded, she knew he had a lot on his plate at the moment and had put off so much to keep her company this past week. But she’d missed him so much, so so much, that it’d nearly hurt.

“Chris,” she called, sleep evident in her voice as she raised a hand towards the hazy outline of his body as she blinked the sleep from her eyes.

He paused at the sound of her voice, turning around and leaning against her wardrobe. “Did I wake you?”

“It’s worth it to get to see you,” she said softly, holding a hand out towards him, making grabbing gestures until he moved closer, kissing her forehead. At the action and sensation of his fluffy beard against her skin, Poppy realized he’d kissed her forehead earlier, causing her to wake up in the first place.

“How’s my baby?” He asked her quietly, sitting down on the side of her bed as he looked at her, almost trying to catalog any changes in the past two days.

Poppy smiled, reaching for and squeezing his hand. “Very happy that you’re home,” she smiled, her expression growing as one appeared on his face.

“I fuckin’ missed my girl,” he whispered, his thumb rubbing circles across the top of her slender hand that fit so well in his.

“I missed you so much. I’m so glad you’re home,” Poppy brought his hand up to her mouth, kissing the back of it lightly. “How did everything go?”

He shook his head, pecking her cheek before he pushed himself up, standing over her and tucking the quilt over her tightly. “I’ll tell you about it in the morning but it’s late, I want you to go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

Poppy settled into her pillows again, her blinks long as he slowly bent down again, kissing her much too quickly for her liking for how long they’d been apart, especially after their confessions. When he’d stood back up to his full height, she called quietly out to him. “Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you come here?”

At first he didn’t know exactly what she meant. He was already right next to her bed in the moonlight soaked bedroom, but when she reached out to touch her hand on the empty side of the bed next to her, it was obvious what she was asking. Poppy saw a sweet smile across his lips before he wordlessly walked around the bed to the empty side. She heard rustling as he peeled out of his clothes until he was down to his boxers and lifted the sheets, climbing in as gingerly as he could.

For some reason Poppy felt a little unsure, feeling like she wasn’t able to fully read him as he laid in the bed, empty space between them. Maybe he was just tired from his trip, or he was wound up over work things like he’d been for a while now, or maybe he was afraid of hurting her still healing body. But Poppy’s brain had been trained into telling her that she wasn’t worthy of the tender love and affection he so generously gave and now it was trying to convince her that he didn’t want to be near her. Maybe having spent time away from her, surrounded by other men of important stature and their arm candy, had made him realize that he was better off without her and climbing into bed with her was his way of placating her wishes.

As quickly as her thoughts came, they were wiped away when she felt his warm body scooting closer. The heat from his big hand radiated through her thin nightgown as his hand trailed across her stomach, hooking around her waist and pulling her gently until her back was flush up against his chest. Poppy’s eyes fluttered closed, drinking in the glorious feeling of his heavy muscular arm holding her tight and the smell of his musky scent, with the underlying smell of eucalyptus, filling her nose while he brought his face to nuzzle against the bend of her neck. A sigh of contentment spilled out of her pink lips into the quiet room as he placed a few tender kisses before whispering against her soft skin, “I love you, Poppy.”

And oh, those words that filled her up in a way she couldn’t describe. There had been so many moments over the past couple days she swore she had dreamed those glorious words. But here they were again, flowing in her ears while his beard prickled at her skin and his soft kisses soothed it. The darkness hid her beaming smile but Chris could figure out what she was feeling by the way her gentle hand came down to rest on top of his forearm that was hooked around her waist, squeezing it softly to communicate the intense feelings in her chest.

A soft hum vibrated against her skin where Chris gently was kissing before he laid his head down on the fluffy pillow, but kept her body tightly pressed against his, mumbling a soft, “My baby,” while squeezing her just a little tighter. And that one statement had her head spinning. She was his. She finally belonged somewhere, to someone in the most wonderful sense of the word. But he was also hers, and that thought had her feeling things in all sorts of ways, and it stuck with her until she’d fallen back asleep.

—————————————————

Poppy was brought to awareness suddenly for the second time that day by the sound of the curtains being thrown open.“Good morning, Poppy,” Maria cheered with her back to the couple, Poppy tensing in shock and slight embarrassment as she and Chris, who also jerked awake, were well and truly caught. “You sure are sleeping late this morning. I just heard Chris came home yesterday so I’m sure he’ll want you to join him for breakfast and- Oh!”

A sheepish smile spread on Poppy’s face as her longtime friend had turned, her eyes widening in shock at the couple, still cuddled together, her eyes shifting to the ground. Poppy’s face warmed in embarrassment again, realizing Chris had carelessly thrown his clothes on the ground last night. “Morning Maria,” she heard Chris say, feeling him press his face into the back of her head as Poppy bit her lip, smirking lightly at Maria.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Your Royal Highness! I didn’t realize you were in here,” Maria blushed, bowing slightly as she stood awkwardly, unsure what to do.

Chris lifted his head, tightening his arm from where it was still thrown over Poppy’s waist as he looked at Maria. “Maria, how many times have I told you to call me Chris when nobody is around?”

“I’m sorry, Chris. I guess I just was surprised,” Maria smiled sheepishly, eyes widening minutely in shock as she looked at Poppy, a small grin on her face.

“It’s fine,” he laughed, before glancing down at Poppy and, trying to do so discreetly, pulled the quilt up around her more.

Maria began to walk towards the door before she bit her lip and turned back to the pair. “Um, there’s a few people looking for you. I believe the King would like an audience and then some others were asking where you were.”

“Tell them I’m busy. I’m with my wife this morning,” Chris smiled, feeling Poppy practically shiver next to him as he bought them more uninterrupted time together.

“Yes, sir,” Maria nodded before she rushed forwards, grabbing Fluffy carefully. “I’ll make sure he gets his breakfast,” she said hastily then she resumed her exit, trying to leave as quickly as possible.

“And Maria? Make sure nobody disturbs us,” Chris called, just before she could shut the door.

“I’ll make sure of it!”

After the echo of the door from the sitting room to the palace hallway was heard, Chris turned his head to look down at Poppy, a slight smirk on his face as his arm tightened around her again. “Good morning, Pop.”

“Morning Chris,” she whispered, wrapped completely in and around him, their legs tangled beneath the blankets.

“That certainly wasn’t the wake up call I was expecting this morning,” he said softly, shaking his head a bit as he admitted, “I think I traumatized poor Maria.”

Poppy rolled her eyes, a fond expression on her face. “You just gave her a reason to tease me for the rest of our lives.”

“I didn’t mean to sleep so long but it just feels so good next to you,” he grinned, pulling her tightly against his chest as he kissed at her neck. “I missed you so fuckin’ much while I was gone. All I could think about was getting home to my baby.” There it was again. My baby. If he only knew what those words did to her, what she’d thought about while he was gone….he’d be doing a lot more than just smiling down at her right now.

“Last night was the first time I’ve actually enjoyed being in this bed the past two weeks,” Poppy whispered into his chest, her hand coming up to play with the hair at the back of his head, raking it through the thick strands.

Chris pulled his head back, studying her as he narrowed his eyes. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He asked, before tacking on, “Be honest with me.”

“Much better. Nothing hurts anymore, just still a little tender,” Poppy shrugged, raising her eyebrows and biting her lip before nonchalantly saying, “The doctor came yesterday to look me over.”

She watched as the implication of her words hit him, his brows raising and his lips pursing. “Oh?”

Poppy nodded, smirking lightly as she continued, almost blase. “She said that by Friday I’ll be completely fine.”

“Is that so?” Chris asked, brows raised as she nodded. “I’m happy to hear that for a lot more reasons than one.”

“Me too.”

Chris nodded, a hand playing with a strand of her dark hair as he was quiet for a moment. “I think this weekend I’m going to take you up north. We could spend the weekend at a castle that my parents used to take me in the summertime,.” he began, pausing before he added, all too casually, “We’d get to be alone.”

“Can you be gone for a few days?”

“Well I’m going to be,” he snorted. “Need to celebrate my wife's recovery.”

“How are we going to celebrate?” Poppy asked, tilting her head as she stared at him, enjoying the give and go of their banter.

“I have a few ideas, including optional clothes,” he trailed off, raising his eyebrow again as a boyish look settled on his face, one that practically made her shiver with anticipation.

Poppy schooled her expression though, sitting up and staring at him in faux-shock. “What? Do you mean you don’t like these?” She asked, pushing the quilt off of her, revealing her white lace nightgown.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his jaw dropping as his eyes moved up and down her body. Almost in any other setting, that sort of attention would have made her shrink with insecurity, but here, with him? She was ready to do this.

“I hope you mean that in a good way,” Poppy chuckled quietly, biting her lip as she watched him. He still wasn’t looking at her, well… he was but he wasn’t looking her in the eyes.

“I mean it in the way that seeing you in this has me fucked,” he blurted, finally lifting his eyes to her face before he blushed. “I don’t know how to keep my hands off you.”

“You don’t have to,” Poppy said quietly, biting her lip as butterflies filled her stomach.

“Poppy… are you sure?”

“Completely,” she grinned, barely having a second to breathe before Chris crashed his lips to hers, pushing his body against hers.

Chris’ big hands grabbed onto the curve of her hips, sliding her down in bed so that he could hold her close as he deepened their kiss. Knowing for once they wouldn’t be interrupted, both relaxed in each other’s embrace, Poppy sighing as Chris’ tongue licked across her bottom lip to ask for permission.

She was overwhelmed by his wandering hands, pulling lightly and teasingly on her nightgown, squeezing her ass, and driving her crazy. She raked her hands through his hair before settling one hand to rest on his jaw and over his neck, squeezing lightly and earning a groan out of him that was like music to her ears. His lips started moving along her jaw, starting to trail kisses on her neck and made mental notes of all the places that made her breathing grow shallow.

Poppy’s green eyes fluttered closed, her hands rubbing along his muscular back, getting lost in the feel of his warm breath and soft lips on her skin which was a stark contrast to the way his perfectly groomed beard prickled her. It all was so perfect, so incredible but when he started sucking at that specific spot on her neck that not even she knew was there, oh how that made her heart start pounding.

“I love you Poppy,” he murmured, nipping at her skin. “Love you so much.”

She could have exploded right then and there with those words mixed with his muscular broad frame pinning her down while he sucked along her neck. Poppy had never felt this way before. This mixture of excitement, longing and pure bliss and she felt it in every bit of her body. But what she didn’t know is Chris was wanting, no, needing, this closeness with her just as much as she did.

He let one of his hands slide down her body from where it had been resting on her shoulder and found the tiny zipper on the edge of her nightgown. Poppy’s breath hitched in her throat when she realized what his touch meant and her thoughts were confirmed when Chris pulled away, his face hovering over hers and an unspoken question was in his eyes.

“Is this alright?”

Poppy couldn’t even seem to answer at first, just so lost in the way his intense stare seemed to go right through her, that slight smirk that lingered on his red swollen lips, and the kindness on his face that always reminded her that she was safe with him. And that was something she hadn’t ever felt with anyone before. Because of all of those feelings inside her, it didn’t make her question it when she nodded her head yes.

He slowly unzipped her nightgown, gradually revealing the bare, unseen skin beneath. He didn’t tear his eyes from where they’d locked on her green ones until she gently shifted, helping him slip the delicate straps off her shoulders, the short material slipping off of her body and he helped her pull it off all the way until it was in a pile on the floor.

She watched his face, holding her breath as his eyes trailed to look at her head to toe, his cheeks turning pink as he held his breath. Poppy had been nervous to be laying underneath him, almost completely bare to him in the morning light for the very first time, but now that the moment was here it felt so… right. She saw the way his blue eyes practically drank her in and he reached out a hand, his calloused fingertips trailing down the smooth skin of her body.

He leaned down, his hot breath puffing over her skin, causing goosebumps as his lips reached her skin. “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered, his lips pressing soft kisses to her breasts, a hand coming up to squeeze one gently.

Poppy shut her eyes, focusing on breathing while his lips covered each of her breasts with gentle kisses and fondled her other breast with his hand, getting used to the feeling of it against his palm. The way he was worshiping her, nuzzling her chest and that warm breath and soft lips, not to mention the weight of his hard manhood against her hip was almost too much to take. She felt her thighs clenching in response, this feeling causing so much to stir inside her.

She was breathing heavily as his lips came around one of her nipples, his tongue swirling sensuous circles and Poppy couldn’t help but grasp onto him, whimpering, “Please, baby,” out of pure instinct. Those words seemed to open something up in him, his fingertips digging into her hips and she felt a long breath against her skin.

“Don’t worry honey, I’ve got you,” he murmured while placing one last teasing kiss to her chest, her breath hitching at the words and action.

She felt his lips start trailing down the curve of her breast, following down her stomach until he lingered at the waistband of her soft white panties. He shifted his weight onto his knees so he could hook his fingertips into the band and Poppy could have died from the way his blue eyes met hers and held her eye contact while peeling her panties down her legs.

Poppy felt a long shiver run down her spine before he tossed her panties on the floor before putting a hand on each of her ankles and slowly ran them along her smooth skin, slipping them to the inside of her thighs as he moved higher and gently pushed her legs apart. She had let her eyes flutter closed, just focusing on the sensation of his warm hands trailing along her smooth skin but when she opened her eyes and saw him gazing at her completely naked body just for him, she felt that violent shiver yet again.

“My sweet Poppy,” she squirmed lightly, desperate for his touch. “You’re so gorgeous. So fuckin’ gorgeous.”

But it wasn’t just the low cadence of his husky voice breathing out those words that got her going. His big hands were squeezing at her inner thighs, so close to where she wanted him most but he just wasn’t there yet. He was taking his time and it was absolutely killing her.

With him leaning back, she could see his thick erection pressing at his boxers and every inch of her ached for him. Poppy had never felt this way. Never felt this deep longing and when his index finger finally slipped between her folds to run along her slit, and she moaned at the feeling she had been craving.

“So perfect,” He murmured, and at his words she felt her breath hitch. “I’ve got you, sweet girl.”

And with that, he pulled his fingers from her wet warmth and shifted so that he was laying between her legs. Poppy’s eyes grew wide as she realized what was about to happen, something completely new than anything she’d experienced before. Chris slipped his thick arms underneath her thighs, bringing his hands around to hold onto her hips while he started peppering kisses along her thigh, whispering, “Just relax sweetheart.”

But how in the world was she supposed to relax with that beautiful sculpted face just inches from her wetness. How could she relax with the way his hot breath was making goosebumps spread across her skin. How could she relax with that low raspy voice of his and the way he looked up at her with that look. She already knew he was going to be the death of her but what a way to go.

“Can’t wait to taste you, darling,” he whispered, just before he lowered his face, his eyes shutting as she lost her breath.

And it was only a moment until he did.

Chris didn’t prolong it any farther, his mouth coming to bury between her folds and made her cry out just from that alone. But then when he poked his tongue out, licking a long strip along her most sensitive area, she was whimpering while her heart pounded inside her chest. She squirmed against him while Chris started licking her methodically and he kept a tight hold on her hips, not wanting her to get away from him.

The white sheets were balled up tightly in Poppy’s fists as Chris found a good pace until she let go with one hand to come to rake through his hair, grasping lightly as he increased his pressure. All of this was brand new to Poppy. Every bit of it. The praise, the loving looks, the way he licked her, but most of all the newest feeling was someone wanting her.

Chris made her feel wanted in every sense of the word. He wanted her touch, her companionships, her advice, her friendship, her love, her conversations, and now he wanted that final piece, that final bit of closeness they had yet to share. Poppy felt his love for her in everything he did and it almost overwhelmed her, but it also assured her that she wanted all of this with him.

She spread her legs a little father, wanting to open herself up to him farther and he began to draw circles around her clit with the tip of his tongue and she could feel that white hot heat building in her stomach. That was a feeling that hadn’t been very familiar to her, but it was going to be if Chris had anything to say about it.

“Chris,” she gasped, a hand shooting out to reach for his thick hair. “Chris, please.”

Hearing her pleading made him start to use his tongue more precisely and one of his hands slipped out from underneath her thigh, reaching up to grasp her soft breast, kneading it slowly before rolling her perky nipple between his thumb and his forefinger, causing her moans to pour out. Poppy’s breathing was growing more and more shallow until her whole body became rigid, her hand pulling on his hair while her head tipped back into the pillow as her back arched.

Her eyes were squeezed shut as he just kept panting and then she felt that coil snap inside her and Poppy cried out his name in response. He grunted against her core but kept on working her with his tongue, taking her through her high until Poppy practically melted against the sheets, everything going limp. Her green eyes didn’t flutter open for a while, just in time to see him lifting his face from between her legs, his beard glistening and a sideways smile on his lips.

A large hand reached out to rub her stomach lightly, a chuckle bubbling out of him. “Feeling alright, baby?”

“Feeling wonderful,” she nodded, pushing her hand through her hair, knowing it was probably a mess now.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“Chris…aren’t you… well,” she gestured to the straining member in his boxers, wanting to do something to at least satisfy him.

“You’re still not cleared by the doctor and I don’t want to do anything to hurt you,” a small, tight grin on his face, before it turned to a slight smirk. “Besides, you think I’m going to make love to my wife for the first time with a couple guard standing outside and someone probably ready to barge in here any moment?”

“When aren’t we interrupted though?”

“This weekend, that’s when,” he told her, pulling himself from between her legs to lay next to her, reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand. “If the doctor clears you before the weekend, I’m going to take you to a little place I used to go up north with my parents in the summer and we’re going to be completely alone.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he nodded. “Just the two of us in the house all weekend and then I’m finally going to get to spend some quality time with you completely naked in bed with me.”

“That sounds perfect to me,” Poppy whispered, trailing a hand over his muscular chest.

He laughed quietly, a small smirk on his lips again. “Good because I can’t hardly fuckin’ wait.”

His lips met hers for a long slow kiss, both of them needing it so badly. Poppy was ready to pull him down on top of her when he pulled out of her grasp and turned to climb out of bed, causing her to ask, “Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m going to take a shower. I was traveling all last night and I just feel gross,” he shrugged, pulling the quilt back up around her from where he’d pushed it off of her earlier.

“Then you probably need to go do all your work,” Poppy said with a hint of disappointment.

“Nope, then I’m climbing right back in this bed with you for a while longer,” Chris smiled, only slightly boy-ishly. “On one condition.”

“What might that be?”

“That you leave all your clothes on the floor,” a cheeky smirk appeared as they both laughed.

A smile spread across Poppy’s lips before she nodded in response to him, promising she would before he disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the shower turn on while Poppy just snuggled down into the bed, pulling the sheet up over her while she relaxed in pure bliss. Her eyes were fluttering closed again when a loud knock came at her door, alerting her to someone’s presence.

“Poppy!” She heard Maria call, Poppy’s eyes shooting open and looking at the door just in time to see the door handle begin to turn.

She pulled the blankets up around her naked frame, frozen in the bed as she quickly yelled, “Don’t come in, Maria!”

Maria took her hand off the handle but quickly called back, “Poppy the King is on his way up to see you!”

“Oh shit!”

Poppy bolted out of bed quickly, rushing as she threw last night’s clothes from both Poppy and Chris into the closet, pulling on clothes quickly. Chris stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, just as Poppy was putting the pillows back on a remade bed, her eyes wide.

“What’s going on?” He asked, pausing with his brows furrowed.

“Chris, you need to get dressed and get out of here!”

“Why?” He asked, glancing at the time quickly but unsure to decipher what she meant.

Poppy gently pulled back the covers, settling back in the bed as she reached for a book to put next to her and finally looking at Chris, her heart warming at the way his thick brown hair was sticking up in random directions. “Your father is on his way up!”

He chuckled quietly, opening the door to her room and heading to get clothes from his own room. “Pop, you do realize we are married right?” He called over his shoulder, Poppy’s eyes trailing him as he walked away.

“I know but I don’t know your father well, I want to make a good impression,” she practically pleaded, her eyes losing him as he disappeared momentarily to head into his closet, reappearing with a smirk on his face.

“Well I’m just glad I got to make a good impression on you this morning.”

“Chris!”

“What?”

Poppy shook her head, a smile fighting its way onto her face. “You’re terrible.”

“That’s not what you were saying a few minutes ago,” he shrugged as he walked back into her room, clothes in hand, and shut the door quietly.

“You better put on your clothes and go sit over there or you’ll never hear me saying anything to you again!”

Chris practically cackled, shooting her a wide grin as he walked back into the bathroom, shutting the door to change. She shook her head, anxiously rotating her rings as she waited for the King to arrive. Chris opened the door not even two minutes later, flopping overdramatically in his chair as they chatted quietly before a knock interrupted the couple. “Poppy, it’s George. May I come in?”

“Yes, come in,” Poppy replied, running a hand through her dark shiny hair, internally still feeling absolutely frazzled.

She tried to calm her racing heartbeat as the King stepped inside the large bedroom. Poppy had spoken with George multiple times, but hadn’t really gotten to know him very well. The thought that he was coming to see her felt intimidating but based on what had just happened, she felt even more unprepared for the meeting. She held her breath while George’s eyes settled on her with a smile and in that moment, she recognized the same kind twinkle in his eyes that Chris got.

Before she could think any farther though, she watched George’s head turn to look at Chris and noted, “No wonder nobody’s been able to find you this morning,”

“Wow everyone must be desperate if they’re sending you to come find me,” Chris chuckled through a smirk, relaxing into the chair that he sat in near the large windows that were streaming in sunlight.

“Oh I didn’t come to see you, I came to see Poppy,” George clarified as he motioned to the bed where Poppy sat.

“You came to see me?” Nothing but confusion clouded her mind, wondering what he possibly could come just to see her about.

“I did. May I sit down?” George wondered, and at her nod, sat down on the edge of her bed with a kind smile. “How are you Poppy? The doctor said you’re almost well.”

“I’m feeling much better. I’m anxious to finally be able to be up and around again,” she was mostly honest, but kept quiet about the small look she and Chris shared, another secret reason for her wanting to be cleared by the doctor shared between just the two of them.

“I can imagine, but I’m so glad you’re doing better,” he reached out to pat his daughter-in-law’s hand that rested on top of the quilt. “But I also did have another reason for coming to see you.”

“What’s that?”

George took a breath before he explained, “Well in a few weeks I’m having a meeting with some of our government officials about how we can support the orphanages and schools in Queensnorth and I’d like you to sit in and give your opinions.”

“You… wait, you want me to come?” Her eyebrows knit together in confusion while she tilted her head, studying his face in the meantime.

“A little bird named Chris has told me how much you know about education and all you’ve done at the orphanage nearby. I also spoke to the headmaster there and she informed me that you’ve really turned things around there so I’d love your knowledge on this,” George spoke with decisiveness and honesty. He wasn’t just asking her this to try to appease her, he truly needed her advice and knew from all the council he had received that she was the right choice.

Poppy was absolutely speechless. She just sat in the bed blinking slowly while she tried to process the information. She was completely unaware of the way Chris was practically beaming at her, so proud and in love with her. She had been used to the teaching of how she’d grown up. To be seen but not heard. Anytime she did express her thoughts or opinions, they were usually stepped on or thrown out, but it seemed to be so different here and part of her knew that was thanks to Chris.

Realizing she hadn’t said one word, she finally told him in a quiet voice, “I’d be honored.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear that because we really need you,” George dipped his head, looking at her a little closer while his hand came back to rest on top of hers, “But I also did have another question.”

“Of course, anything.”

“Is he being good to you?” He motioned vaguely over to where Chris was sitting by the windows, making the younger man burst out with laughter, nose scrunching up and his eyes squeezed shut as George went on, “Because if he isn’t, I’ll smack him.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that,” Poppy quipped right back, her green eyes darting over to the playfulness dancing across Chris’ face.

“Hey!” He piped up, his jaw dropping in protest.

“Well he better be treating you alright,” George pointed his finger at her with a soft chuckle as he stood up.

He lingered by her bed before he left, waiting for her answer but it didn’t take long for Poppy to admit, “He’s treating me a lot better than alright.”

Hearing her words, he just smiled and gave her hand a squeeze, thanking her for being willing to help him and making Poppy promise she’d keep resting until the doctor cleared her. It wasn’t until she promised she would that he bid his goodbye to both of them before walking out of the door and shutting it tight behind him. For a moment Poppy just laid there, those words echoing in her mind, so lost in thought that it took her a moment to realize Chris climbing back onto the bed, settling in next to her and pressing a long kiss to her lips. He then wrapped his arms around Poppy, pulling her close and whispering how much he loved her and she couldn’t help but smile, thinking how true the words she had just spoken were. He was treating her a lot better than just alright.

A/N: See you all on Thursday! ;)

#chris evans writing #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans au #chris evans #chris evans x original female character #chris evans story #chris evans x ofc #cevans #chris evans x oc #chris evans!au #the outsider

[thecousinsdangereux]

the land of race car ya yas

A short little ficlet for @corvophobia who has drawn a bunch of art for the bees racer au of my dreams. This is ALL based on her drawings, so make sure you check out her stuff. Happy birthday, Amber! You are one of my two favorite British children. <3

(Please note that I know nothing about street racing. I've only watched the Fast and the Furious movies. Forgive me....)

--

“How’d you do that?”

Blake’s used to the question or some version of it, and maybe that’s why she takes in the words before she notices the tone, imagines a scowl (a lowered brow, hands curled into fists, the flash of teeth as the scowl turns into a snarl) with the same instinct that has her shoulders tensing. It’s only mid-turn that she realizes the question is laced with wonder rather than anger, but even this awareness doesn’t prepare her for the sight that meets her. It’s a woman, her smile wide and unrestrained by pesky things like self-consciousness or insecurity, and her eyes are nearly glowing in the low light, purple and bright and full of open admiration. Her black leather jacket, classic in cut, has the sleeves rolled up mid-forearm, revealing a prosthetic of black and yellow, and her grey jeans are tight, showing off a body that Blake has to work to avoid following the curves of. Her hair is long, blonde, curling around her shoulders and down her back, artful in its disorder, down to the single, stubborn cowlick at the top of her head.

In short, she’s beautiful, and Blake stares for longer than she should, feeling heat in her veins.

“Do what?”

She manages a response, but it’s absent minded. She’s just noticed the light dusting of pink on the woman’s cheeks, coloring the spaces in between her freckles, and it has her re-evaluating, pulling her thoughts to the effort she’s put into her own outfit that evening: a cropped and sleeveless hoodie with blocked colors of white and purple, tight leather shorts, and clunky boots that hit just under the knee. Blake looks good and this woman knows it, which makes them even on this particular front, and that's a settling sort of feeling.

“Win,” the woman says simply, her smile growing. “And don’t just say NOS.”

“NOS,” Blake drawls, just because she can, and she’s rewarded by the woman’s laugh, rewarded even more when she steps closer.

“No, but what’s your delivery method? Direct port, obviously, but you had to have used a custom kit, right? I’ve been telling you, Yang, I need to recalibrate yours. Can I look at your car? Would you mind if I just took a tiny peak just to see what you’ve done with your injection site? We really need to upgrade, Yang. A nozzle with less back pressure will give you a better squeeze. I’ve been telling you!”

She hadn’t noticed the other woman, but blinks at her now, a red blur waving her arms about, hoping from one foot to the other, firing out words faster than Blake — an aficionado of all things fast — can keep up with. The woman (Yang?) seems to find the act familiar and reacts with affection tinged with a false exasperation (put upon for Blake’s benefit or maybe as a means of gentle chiding), sighing and placing a hand on the smaller girl’s shoulder.

“And I’ve been telling you, you can’t just ask people to look at their shit!” She turns to Blake now, and this time her eye roll is definitely for Blake. “Sorry about that, I swear we’re not trying to steal any of your trade secrets. Ruby just… really likes cars.”

“It’s so pretty too,” Ruby coos, batting away Yang’s hand and taking a step towards the vehicle Blake had used to push past Yang at the last moment, a fact neither of these women seem to hold against her. “The purple stripes. But I bet the engine is prettier.”

It’s unprecedented, really. Blake’s been on the scene for a while — longer than she would admit to anyone here — first as a tagalong and now as a driver, but she’s never had an encounter quite like this. The unexpectedness of it all has her feeling off-balance, has her reacting without any of her customary cool anger as Ruby stares at her hood (as though if she focuses hard enough, she’ll be able to see through the metal to the parts underneath). Maybe that’s why Blake responds in a way that’s decidedly unwise, without any further thought at all.

“You can take a look. I don’t mind.”

“Really?” Ruby squeals, but doesn’t wait for Blake to confirm, darting around her and flipping open the hood in the span of three seconds.

“Really?” Yang asks, and the word sounds wildly different coming from her, sliding out from behind her crooked lips like thanks or maybe a challenge (or maybe both). “Not worried about my mechanic figuring you out before the next race?”

Blake should be, of course. But.

“Can’t say I am.”

“Maybe not the smartest move.” Yang crosses her arms; the chrome of her right glints under one of the flickering street lights. For the first time, she looks away from Blake’s gaze, eyes darting over to check on Ruby (who’s leaning so far into the front of Blake’s car that her feet nearly lift off the ground) and then to another group of drivers, a good distance behind them, but clearly watching in curiosity. It’s never wise to gather after a race, but everyone always does when it goes well, and for the first time, Blake’s glad for it. “She’s pretty vicious about giving me an edge. I wish I could say it was familial loyalty, but really, she just wants to make the fastest car in the city.” Yang pauses, tilting her head in thought. “Or country. Or world. Not sure when she’ll be satisfied, to be honest.”

“Sisters?” Blake asks. She can’t really see the resemblance, but then again, she hasn’t spent as much time looking at the younger of the pair, even though she should probably be less focused on the elder (the one not pouring over her engine. Sun and Ilia were going to kill her).

“Yeah.” Yang probably doesn’t realize how much her smile grows in the confirmation, saturated with pride and love. “Scary brilliant too. Give her five minutes with a car and she’ll take it apart, put it back together, and it’ll run better than it ever has. But all that means she always thinks it’s the car that puts a driver ahead.”

Blake arches a brow. “And you think she’s… wrong?”

“Well, yeah.” Yang’s closer than Blake remembers her being, maybe because her legs are long, her strides somehow longer, and it only takes a step before she’s close enough for Blake to feel the heat radiating off her body. “I know it’s only the driver that puts a driver ahead. That’s why I’m here talking to you instead of looking at your car.” Her lips twitch and she amends her statement quickly. “Part of the reason, at least.”

The other part of her reasoning is made pretty obvious when Yang’s eyes trace up Blake’s form once more. It should probably bother Blake, but it doesn’t, maybe because she’s done the same to Yang during this conversation (more than once). Still, there are things better avoided, and Blake knows this better than anyone. She does her best to get back on track.

“It wasn’t me,” she says (almost blurts), and then feels her neck warm when Yang looks at her quizzically. “Before, you asked how I won. But it wasn’t me, not really. You could have had it if you hadn’t fired your nitrous early. You were impatient.”

It’s too blunt, Blake knows this as soon as the words leave her lips. She’s backtracked too much, retreated into aloofness as she was wont to do, but Yang only laughs, and the sound cracks through Blake’s go-to defense, a corner of her lips curling before she can stop it.

“You’re right. I used to be way worse, back when I started out, but I’m a lot better now. Usually.”

“So what happened today?” It’s the question Yang wants her to ask, of this Blake is sure, but it hardly feels like a chore.

“Ah, bad luck, I guess. I took one look at the driver next to me and all that impatience came rushing back. All I wanted to do was finish the race and meet her properly.” She winks. Combined with the cheesy line, it shouldn’t work as well as it does (but it does). “I’m Yang.”

“Blake.”

They don’t shake hands, and Blake’s glad for it. There’s something buzzing between them, a tingling sensation at the tips of her fingers, the build up right before a lightning strike, and Blake’s not entirely sure what the contact — however brief and friendly — might do to her.

“Next time, maybe I’ll be a little more prepared.” Yang’s eyes roam across her face, settling once more on gold. “But probably not.”

“Immersion therapy,” Blake quips. “Give it time.”

Yang whistles sharply, and it takes Blake a moment to realize that she’s called her sister back over. (Blake had forgotten about her entirely, though the grease on her hands and face leads her to believe that Ruby had done a thorough dive under her hood, the sort Blake ought to be worried about.)

“Time is exactly what I plan on giving it. A lot of time, if you’ll let me.” Yang nudges her sister back in the direction they’d come from. Ruby waves, offers a wide grin of thanks, but Blake’s stuck on purple.

“Well. Let’s see how you do in the next race,” she murmurs.

“Looking forward to it.”

And Blake, who started racing to get away, who started racing to run, who started racing so she never had to stay in one place for long, finds that she is too.

—

“What the hell is your problem?”

Blake’s used to this question too, or some form of it, and this time, the tone is exactly what she expects. The small, white-haired woman in a vest and tie, however, is not.

“Listen, I’m sorry I hurt your boyfriend’s feelings by being a better driver than him, but you’re only embarrassing yourself now.” Blake takes another look at the woman’s attire; her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and — despite the country club hairstyle and the heels — the hint of a tattoo on her pale skin, just under the fabric makes up Blake’s mind for her. “Or… Girlfriend?”

“Not quite,” says a familiar voice.

Today, Yang has decided to show off her abs (and she most certainly does have abs) with a cropped jacket of black and gold checks, and Blake can’t quite bring herself to look beyond that for too long, though she catches the black driving gloves, the oversized and gold sunglasses, the oversized cargo pants. In the seconds it takes for Blake to wind her brain back up, Yang grins, cocksure, and continues.

“Though you were right about the gay thing. I mean, look at her.”

“Look at you,” the other woman sniffs, actually physically turning up her nose. “Could you be any gayer?”

“Yeah, I could be wearing a vest and tie,” Yang fires back, but it’s clear the banter is familiar, it’s obvious these two know each other well enough for their back and forth to not contain any real barbs.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” Blake drawls, before she’s able to stop herself, and Yang turns back to her with an arched brow. “Good to see you again, Yang.”

“Oh, is it? Could have fooled me!” The other woman’s ire has been refocused, and it’s seemingly stronger than before, the pitch of her words higher, more dire. “Given you nearly killed her just now.”

“Weiss,” Yang sighs, but Blake winces, feeling the sting of the words despite Yang’s quick glance of reassurance sent her way.

“I didn’t realize you’d pull off when I drifted. I thought you’d… lean in.”

It’s not an excuse. They’d been neck and neck towards the end of the race (again), and when she’d nudged the side of Yang’s car — far gentler than she would against anyone else — she’d assumed the woman would give as good as she got, like most every other racer she’d gone against. But Yang hadn’t taken any chances, and it’d cost her the race.

“We don’t do that here,” the woman — Weiss — says, lips pursed to the point of contortion, but Yang only laughs.

“We do that here all the time. I did way worse to Mercury last week.”

“Yes, but Mercury is a creep.” Weiss pauses, considering. “We only do that to creeps here.”

Blake’s hands lift, a show of peace. “Hey, no one handed me the Beacon Street Racing Etiquette Guide when I joined up the other week. Maybe you could loan me your copy.”

This doesn’t exactly smooth things over with the woman, especially not when Yang snickers, but Weiss can clearly see the writing on the wall, and tosses her hair over her shoulder with a huff.

“Whatever. I’m telling Ruby about this,” she warns Yang (or maybe Blake, or maybe both of them), before stalking away, her last words called over her shoulder. “She’s not going to be happy.”

There’s no concern on Yang’s face as she watches her go, if anything she looks amused. “Sorry about that. She’s… protective.”

“I can see that. I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been friends with someone for a while.” It’s a guess (and a probe), but Yang doesn’t correct any of her phrasing, so it must be close enough to the truth.

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean protective of me.” Yang’s grin shows a flash of white teeth. “Weiss bet on me tonight. You lost her money. And that’s the real sin.”

Blake’s surprised at how easily her laugh comes (more surprised how easily the fondness slips through the cracks in her chest). “Oh, I see. So I can kick your ass up and down the streets as long as I convince her to bet on me in the future? Good to know.”

“I’m not sure that’s the message I want you to be taking from this,” Yang drawls, but still smiles, flicking her glasses up to her forehead. “Besides, like she said, Ruby’s the one to look out for. She seemed all sweet and innocent yesterday, but gods help the person she turns her disapproving stare on. I’ve seen people break into tears on the spot.”

From what Blake had seen yesterday, Ruby isn’t the sort that loses her chipper bounce very easily, so despite Yang’s teasing tone, she files the information away as useful. If she were being a little more self-searching, she might question the action, given her tendency to not stick around in any one place for long. (Surely Beacon isn’t any different. Surely she couldn’t know now if it were.)

“Lucky she missed the race today, then.” Her lips curve, a sharp corner that would require a drift. “What, she couldn’t bear to see you lose again?”

“Oh, ha ha. No, she had class. And she knows there’s no skipping for racing; that’s the only hard and fast rule for our household.” It’s not what she expects, the straight answer backed with genuinity, but it strikes Blake as endearing, somehow, especially when Yang continues. “I started racing here so we could pay for those classes, so I think it’s only fair.”

“That’s — ” Kind. Authentic. Surprising. Blake’s not sure which word to use so she disgards them all. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type who was racing for the money. Not that… there’s anything wrong with that. Especially in your case.”

Yang laughs. “Hey, don’t mistake me. I started racing here for the money, but it’s not why I race in general.”

“So why do you?” Blake asks, even though she suspects she knows the answer. (It’s not wise to take your eyes off the road, but she’s done it in both of her races with Yang, eyes darting to the side to find the woman speeding alongside her: eyes wild, grin wide, the fervor of the moment all over her face. There’s freedom there, more than there is anywhere else, and Blake thinks she sees that in Yang as much as she does in herself.)

“Same as you, I think,” Yang murmurs, closer now, sliding in when Blake’s distracted once again.

“I’m not sure you know me well enough to say that.”

A bluff, of course, but it gets the intended result.

“Not yet.” From this close, Yang looks taller, and Blake has to tilt her chin to look into her eyes. “But I’m still looking to fix that.”

Blake wets her lips. It’s too much, and she’s not sure she can tack on ‘too soon’ to quantify the thought, make it less tame. If she had to guess, Yang will always be too much, like sunlight after coming out of a room. Blake’s not sure she’ll ever adjust to the rays, or if she wants to.

“Let’s see how you do in the next race,” she says again, and Yang laughs again, totally unabashed.

“Okay, I’m sensing a trend here. What, you’re not going to let me take you out unless I win a race again you?”

“If I say ‘yes’, what are you going to do?”

It’s not cockiness that overtakes Yang’s face then, not exactly. It’s confidence or want or determination or maybe just the flush that comes from the thrill of a challenge. Blake’s setting herself up for something here, she knows, failure or disappointment or something like it, but right then, she doesn’t care. There’s a freedom in this sort of race too, and that she’s come to love.

“Oh, that’s easy, Blake.” Yang leans in a little more, and Blake knows it’s audible, the way her breath is cut short. “I’m going to win.”

#bumbleby #writing #rwby #bees racer au #for #corvophobia #<33333 #just a little something for a birthday treat

[silkling]

Of Mistakes Past and Missing Home

Of Moments of Life AU

———————————————————————————————————

“You enjoy painting.”

The voice came from behind Boulder, and the unexpectedness of it made him startle. Which, in turn, made him jerk and drag his paintbrush across his canvas. The result of which was him turning a small cloud above a red and orange flower field into a streak that cut through the whole picture. Oops. That wasn’t what he’d been intending.

He turned to see who had spoken, his optics shuttering with surprise when he realized it was Dreadwing. He was quick to realize that the Seeker’s expression had quickly shifted to one of regret.

“I apologize, youngling. It seems I caused you to ruin your art.”

Boulder only smiled, shaking his helm. “It’s no big deal.” he assured. “Part is the artistic process is making mistakes and having to start over. I did it a lot, in the beginning.” He glanced at the canvas, tilting his helm. “But that doesn’t mean every mistake requires you to start over from scratch. That’s the great thing about painting.” he remarked distractedly, tilting his helm in the other direction. “Sometimes, a mistake can be turned into something new, maybe even something better.” he narrowed his optics, then they lit up with a realization. “Sometimes,” he repeated. “All you need,” he reached out, then turned the canvas around so what had once been the flower field was now at the top of the painting. “Is a new perspective.”

When he glanced back, Dreadwing didn’t seem to understand. Boulder smiled. “Let me show you.”

He picked up his paintbrush again, then lifted it and in a few short strokes he added to the stripe that sliced through the picture he’d been painting. He changed colors, adding some more careful strokes around that, and stepped back. It would need refining, but the shape and idea of what he was going for were there.

“See? It’s a feather in the sunset, now.”

Dreadwing only blinked. “I suppose, though I’m afraid I do not much understand art. I always preferred to read data pads and learn about various fields of study.” There was a pause. “Skyquake enjoyed art.” It was a quiet addition.

Boulder found his smile softening. “Yeah? You’ll have to tell me about it sometime.” he encouraged. He glanced at his canvas. “I like art. There’s no set way to do it and there’s not much penalty for making mistakes. It’s nice.”

The Seeker hummed. “Do you believe most mistakes can be fixed with a new perspective?”

Boulder blinked, frowning. There was something off in Dreadwing’s tone. The others might not pick up on it, but he was good with other bots. He always had been. “…this isn’t just about painting anymore, is it?”

Dreadwing startled, surprise making his field flare. “You are far more perceptive than your teammates.” he said after a moment.

Blades smiled, turning to fully face the flyer. “Blades gets too anxious and wrapped up in his own helm to really pick up on more subtle emotions, Chase can barley understand the complexities of his own feelings, let those of alone others, and Heatwave is too proud and headstrong to really know what to look for. They’re all good bots, and I care about them a lot, but they aren’t the most..”. he searched for the right word. “Emotionally intelligent. Blades can read others really well when he isn’t swept up in his worries, but the other two are a bit hopeless.” He wasn’t saying it to be mean or to criticize. It was just the way his friends were wired, he knew. They were naturally better than him at a lot of other things. It was just how things were.

Dreadwing nodded, acknowledging his words. “You are correct. It is not just about painting. But it is my burden to bare, and I will not trouble you with my struggles.”

Boulder chuckled. “Well that’s a bad idea.” he said lightly. “You’ve already helped us a lot. Chase told the team what you did for him. We’ve all seen what you’ve done for Blades. Why don’t you let us help too? You’re one of us now, it’s gotta be about give and take.”

Dreadwing stared. “Wise words for one so young.” he sighed. “Very well, I will share my thoughts.” he vented harshly, then stared intently at the painting Boulder had been working on. “My mistakes are many, and brutal, and not nearly as neat or benign as a misplaced streak of paint. I suppose I merely cannot see how a new perspective would fix them.” he said after a moment.

Boulder was quiet, before he lifted his gaze. “Can I offer my thoughts?” At Dreadwing’s nod, he continued. “You’ve made a lot of mistakes. You’ve done a lot of terrible things. I don’t doubt that. And I know there are a lot of Autobots who would want to see you pay for those mistakes.” he tilted his helm. “I don’t know the full scope of the War. I don’t know everything you’ve done. But I do know how bad off Cybertron was before we left it.” The Seeker shot him a startled look, and he smiled a little sadly,

“I didn’t join the Rescue Force just because I wanted to help others, Dreadwing. In fact, in the beginning, my motives were entirely selfish.” he explained. “When I got to the age where I’d be expected to work, I was told that my first shift would be at a construction site in Kaon. It scared me. I knew how dangerous construction work was and I knew that even if it didn’t kill me it would kill my spark to be forced into something I hated so much. The only escape, the only chance I had at something different, was the Rescue Force. So I signed up to the Academy, and the day I got in was the day I escaped what I would have suffered through otherwise. The others may not have been as aware of just how bad things were, but…I was from the lower castes, Dreadwing. I knew.” he said quietly.

The Seeker was surprised, his optics wide. He saw how Boulder gradually shrunk in on himself as he spoke, and it made something unpleasant twist in him. The bulldozer was usually more at ease and bright, it didn’t suit him to look so…defeated. After a moment of thought, he put a hand on Boulder’s back and stepped closer. He knew Chase would not want more than this, but Blades preferred hugs as his method of comfort. Dreadwing didn’t know what the little green bot preferred so he wanted to play it safe. His bid seemed to pay off, because Boulder shot him a faint smile.

“What I’m getting at is, I know how bad off Cybertron really was. So even if I don’t know your exact circumstance, I do have an idea of what might have pushed you over the edge. I did originally come from Nyon, after all. Granted, I came from one of its nicer quadrants, but…it was still Nyon.” Boulder sighed. Nyon, at one time, had been the cultural and religious center of Cybertron, rivaling Praxus in beauty and grandeur. But under Zeta Prime, Sentinel’s predecessor, it had fallen into near-total ruin. “You made mistakes, and some bad choices, but you only did it in the end when you were backed into a corner and had nowhere else to go. Your choice was the only one you had that would let you remain alive, and that was wrong. No one should have to choose between death and living life serving a tyrant.”

Dreadwing hadn’t explicitly said any of this, of course. But Boulder was perceptive, like the Seeker himself had said. He’d read between the lines. He had understood what Dreadwing hadn’t been saying. It was one of the reasons he’d so quickly accepted the large bot as a new fixture in their lives. In his optics, this was Dreadwing’s chance at a life he should have had to begin with.

“That doesn’t change what you did, but it adds context. And given that the War destroyed Cybertron and decimated our people…” Which had been another thing Optimus had opted not to tell them. Dreadwing had had to share that particular tidbit. “Well, the War has to end someday, and if it ends in Autobot victory then we can’t afford to lock up every ‘Con. I don’t think there’s enough Cybertronians left for that.”

He realized he hadn’t yet gotten around to answering Dreadwing’s statement, and embarrassment flushed through him. “You made mistakes. That’s true. But context adds perspective. And you have a chance here to prove to anyone in the future who would want to hold your past against you that you can do better. Griffin Rock is your trial run. Heal, relearn how to live without War, and make amends while you’re here. Then, when everything comes to an end and the dust settles, it’ll be a lot harder for people to say that you never tried to make things right or that you’re unwilling to change.” he looked up to meet Dreadwing’s gaze. “Prove to yourself that you can be better than who you used to be, and when the time comes for you to face your mistakes, everyone will see that you have what it takes to make it right.”

Dreadwing was frozen, and Boulder found himself smiling at the hints of shock in his field and gaze. “I…had not considered those points.” the Seeker admitted after a long minute.

Boulder chuckled. “New perspective, remember? I just so happened to be able to provide it. That’s part of the benefit of letting yourself trust and rely on others.”

The flyer shot him an indecipherable look, and nodded. “Thank you for reminding me of that, young one. I have not been able to put such faith in another since I last saw my brother. It is good to be reminded that I do not have to handle my burdens alone.”

Boulder beamed, nodding. His somber mood was seemingly forgotten and he gestured to his painting. “Glad I could help! Now, if you don’t mind, I have sudden inspiration for this and I’d like to finish it.” he said, stepping towards the canvas.

Dreadwing let his hand drop, head tilting. “May I watch?” At Boulder’s nod, he settled on a nearby crate and watched the bulldozer work. It was oddly soothing, seeing the colors go down on the canvas, watching the patterns and shapes form into a familiar image. Into…a very familiar image.

After Boulder finished the sunset and feather, he had begun painting…the Rescue Force Headquarters. And Dreadwing picked up the longing and melancholy in the youngling’s EM field. The Seeker’s spark ached at the bulldozer’s visible grief, and he frowned. So Boulder hadn’t so easily shrugged off his earlier memories of home and his life on Cybertron. Dreadwing was not surprised to see him painting the Rescue Force HQ. From what the youngling had said, it would have been the first place he was truly free of the shackles that had threatened to bind him.

Dreadwing said nothing until Boulder finished and stepped back, and it seemed he hadn’t realized what he’d been painting until then, because when he took in the whole painting his only reaction was to let out a quiet, surprised “Oh.”

Dreadwing stepped closer, letting his own field nudge at Boulder’s, and upon finding no protest he let it curl around the youngling. Boulder’s vocalizer clicked and reset itself before he was able to speak. “I hadn’t realized…”

Dreadwing hummed softly. “You miss it.” he could tell in the aching and longing that all but swamped the bulldozer.

“I don’t know why. Like I told you, I didn’t have the happiest beginnings back on Cybertron. But I still miss it. All of it, not just the Rescue Force. Nyon, too.” he said in a whisper.

Dreadwing put a hand on his back, keeping his field soft and soothing. “It is only logical. It was your home. It shaped you and created the foundation for who you are. And I doubt all of your young life was horrible. You said you came from the better areas of Nyon.”

Boulder nodded. “Yeah.” he admitted. “The All Spark Day celebrations were always amazing. And the bots were great. We all had the same origins and the same troubles so we all just…came together. We were…like a community.” he said softly. “We all took care of each other and helped each other and even if the city wasn’t always the best, the neighborhood we lived in was actually alright, for Nyon anyway. I never starved, even if I didn’t always have the best fuel. My life wasn’t great, but…it wasn’t horrible either. I miss all the good things.”

Dreadwing bowed his head. He couldn’t fully relate. He had had no such struggles in Vos, at least not until the Senate had banned any from leaving the city, but he could understand the longing. “Cybertron is dead, but it’s children are not. And hope for our home is not gone either. Perhaps one day there will be a way to return, and even if not, we still live. Once this War ends, it will be possible to keep the life of Cybertron’s heart and culture alive, even if the planet itself cannot be repaired.” he said softly. “You did not get to know Cybertron’s death as the rest of us did, for we knew our home was dying with each day the War dragged on. We had time to come to terms with the loss. You were forced to be confronted with it in a single, harsh day. The rest of us lost Cybertron in pieces, and you lost it all at once. The loss is harder on you than it ever was on me, or any other Cybertronian involved in the War.”

He paused to let the youngling take in all he was saying, the hand on his back smoothing up and down his tightly clamped armor plating. His tone gentled. “I cannot give you back your home, and I know that reminding you of your new home here on Earth will not make the ache go away. So I will only say this: grieve as much as you want for what you lost. Mourn what you were not able to have and the things you will never get back. If you deny yourself that much, you hurt only yourself.”

Boulder was shaking faintly, his frame just a few degrees too warm from the overwhelming force of the grief was processor was buckling under, and his optics threatening to leak cooling fluid in response. He turned a wide, shining look on to the Seeker. His field probed at Dreadwing’s as if asking for comfort, and his vocalizer clicked and reset itself before he actually was able to speak. “…Blades said you give good hugs.” he said quietly, his field holding the softest undercurrent of hope.

Dreadwing only hummed, gaze softening. So that was Boulder’s preferred form of comfort. He nodded, then wrapped his arms around the shaking youngling and pulled him close to his chest.

As Boulder trembled and let himself finally mourn the loss of his home, he found only one thought on his mind.

‘He really does give good hugs.’

———————————————————————————————————

And here’s the next installment in the “of moments in life” AU! I hope everyone liked it! This was fun! I have so much inspiration for this AU you have no idea.

Boulder is the most well adjusted of all the Rescue Bots. That’s why I figured he’d be the best one to help Dreadwing with his own issues. But, even then, he’s still just a kid! A kid who woke up out of a very long nap to learn that his planet is dead and everything he’s ever known has been destroyed. He hid it well, but that shook him hard.

Dreadwing now has THREE children! All he needs now to complete the set is the fire truck! He also needs proper one-on-one bonding time with his helicopter child because their first real binding experience was with everyone watching. So there is that!

Until next time, friends!

#of moments in life au #tfp #transformers prime #tfrb #transformers rescue bots #rescue bots #tfp Dreadwing #Dreadwing #tfrb boulder #rescue bots Boulder #Dreadwing lives #Boulder is the only well adjusted one of the group I SWEAR #he’s the only one who doesn’t desperately need adult help #this time it’s Dreadwing who gets therapy! :D #Boulder is homesick though #it’s a good thing Dreadwing is there to make it better! #Boulder and Dreadwing bond #Boulder gets a dad! #macadam

[spookybreadstick]

hi, im new :) Dont worry abt what u write its rly good and ily💗 i came 2 stay and hope ur doing well!

I was hoping if i could get some fluffy™ headcanons or a scenario -whatever ur choice is- with a female reader and L.J? The reader has a strong sense of justice but is extremely compassiomate, wise, quiet/shy and like touch starved🥺🥺👉🏻👈🏻 sorry if im crinGe i need more content of him on this site-- Im not sure what else to add 2 help u w this since i just woke up lolol but yeah thank u sm in advance, i wish u all the best💌💛💋

hello newbie! thank you for stopping by and i’m glad you want to stay! i am doing pretty well (i took down my x-mas decorations today and there are a lot of them bc decorating is fun, so i had mini chocolate santas as a reward lol) i hope you are well, also! and thank you so much for the writing compliment, it means a lot to me!!

🍬 LJ x Reader (compassionate, wise, quiet/shy, touch-starved, strong sense of justice, female) Relationship HCs 🍬

💖💞💖💞💖💞

🍬 LJ thinks you’re the cutest girl in the whole world!!

🍬 He adores your compassionate nature, it makes him feel very happy to have such a caring girlfriend 

🍬 He also likes that you are wise. It makes him feel very proud to have such a smart girlfriend. 

🍬 You will have to step in to keep him out of trouble, and he'll listen to you.

🍬 If you tell him that telling that joke at the dinner table is a bad idea, or that you shouldn't trap a bunch of bees to launch at Jeff's head because he won't find it too funny, then he won't do it. 

🍬 Which is saying something, because LJ usually just does what he wants despite other people's opinions because he thinks his bad jokes/pranks are funny. 

🍬 But also, if you'd like to have some fun with him, you could tell him literally anything in a serious tone and he'd believe it 100%. 

🍬 He trusts whatever you say because you are wise (especially compared to him lol, he's the opposite of wise) 

🍬 If you have a strong sense of justice, that can mean a couple of different things: 

Situation One: You're really into criminal justice and the law. This can be sort of a problem because, you know, LJ's "line of work". But LJ is totally justified in his actions IMO (remember, he 'deals with' those who have hurt children) so hopefully you understand. It's his personal way of dishing out justice, and if you get behind him on that, it'll make him feel even better about what he does. He'll be sure to keep you away from people like Jeff though, who don't dish out justice. 

Situation Two: You're really into justice as in people being fair and treating others well, with those who don't getting what's coming to them in the end (like karma). LJ would love this, as he believes that being nice and making others happy is the key to your own happiness. Again, he would keep you away from Jeff who is kind of believes the opposite.

Situation Three: You're really into social justice (LGBTQ+ rights, equality, racial diversity, etc) which LJ adores about you. You correct him on his outdated language (he was created in the 1800s, and obviously times have changed since then). He would never want to offend anybody, but he often genuinely doesn't know because society has progressed past when people considered certain things appropriate in the 1800s. So if he says something outdated, please gently correct him, he wants to know and he'll refrain from using that word/phrase in the future. LJ also finds social justice topics very interesting, he could listen to you talk about them for hours.

🍬 LJ is easily excited by the small things. 

🍬 "LOOK, LOOK!" 

"What is it, LJ!?" 

"THERE'S A CLOWN ON TV!!!"

 "T-that's it? Why are you shouting then?"

 "He's like me :)" 

🍬 Honestly, he finds joy in little things like that. Seeing a fellow clown on TV. Judging by the way he talks though, you would have thought that something incredible was going on. 

🍬 LJ's also very loud in everything he does. 

🍬 This fool has no concept of "using your indoor voice". 

🍬 He's also extremely outgoing and extroverted, and he loves talking to people about anything and everything. 

🍬 Ah, but you're quiet/shy? 

🍬 That's okay, he'll do the talking for the both of you :) 

🍬 He'll also try to take the spotlight from you if you're uncomfortable with being the center of attention. LJ adores being the center of attention, so it's the opposite of a problem for him. 

🍬 Everyone kind of thinks you make a funny couple; the sweet, quiet girl and the obnoxiously loud clown. 

🍬 But those kinds of pairings can be the best ones. Opposites do attract, after all.

🍬 Also. You're touch-starved? Well.... 

🍬 This is literally what happens. (I made this meme myself because I had a stroke of inspiration lmao) 

🍬 Girl, he was trapped in a BOX for YEARS.

🍬 OF COURSE HE'S TOUCH-STARVED!!

🍬 Also like, he's spent many decades without any romantic partners, so now that he's got a girlfriend he's eager to be all touchy-feely 

🍬 He really likes that you are touch-starved as well, so you won’t mind his abundance of affection. 

🍬 LJ loves to give hugs <3 He gives surprisingly great hugs with his noodle-y arms

🍬 Loves to cuddle as well. Major cuddle-bug. You are small compared to him, (no matter how tall you are, he is taller) so you're like a lil stuffed animal for him to snuggle up to. 

🍬 All in all, LJ loves you and you would make a perfect couple <3 

also, don’t worry about being cringe/self-indulgent! that’s what this blog is for, essentially!

- breadstick 🥖

#🍬 #🍬Laughing Jack/LJ🍬 #laughing jack #creepypasta laughing jack #laughing jack x reader #LJ #LJ hcs #LJ x reader #🍬LJ🍬 #🍬Laughing Jack🍬 #creepypasta #creepypasta hcs #💖💞 #💖 #💞 #💞 hcs #💖 requests #creepypasta x reader #spookybreadstick

[popculturebuffet]

The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck: The Last of the Clan McDuck!  Review “It Was Worth THE Dime”

This is one of my faviorite comic book stories of all time. Given i’m a massive comics nerd, for both books and strips, that is the highest praise I can give this wonderful, epic, beautifully drawn and deeply emotoinal story. I first discovered it in the local library that had the second volume, and found the rest online at a now long dead fan site. And while it took me longer than I care to admit to really dig into Duck Comics, and even now i’ve only scratched the surface, I can say without a doubt this story is the reason I’m so deeply attached to Scrooge as a character, and that I was excited as  I was for Ducktales 2017. This comic showed me just what Scrooge McDuck should be at his core as a character, and showed me what a wonderful character that is. So with all that glowing praise as you can guess i’ve been wanting to cover this for years, and even considered though back when I was more primarily a comic book reviewer last year. Any time i’ve reviewed stuff before now, i’ve considered it, and with Scrooge’s Sisters Hortense and Matilda presumably and definitely debuting on Ducktales soon, and it’s about damn time, the timing could not be better or clearer to dig into this utter triumph.  But before we can take a look at the story itself we naturally have to take a look at the man behind it: Writer and Artist Don Rosa. Don Rosa is easily one of the best Duck Comics writer out there, seen by many as only second to his own faviorite duck comics writer and God of Ducks, Carl Barks. For those 1 of you who do not know, Barks was the man who created pretty much everything in the duck universe comics wise and a bit in animation too: He created Daisy, Scrooge, Gladstone, Magica, The Beagle Boys, The Junior Woodchucks, Gyro, Little Bulb, Glomgold, Rockerduck, and the list goes on. While he didn’t make EVERY duck, he made so many that it’d be impossible to imagine either version of Ducktales being possible without him.  So of course Rosa was a fan and while he took up the family buisness, he was also an artist and duck comics fanboy on the side. So when, even if it meant a paycut, the opportunity to actually write and draw them came up, he lept at it and thus became one of their publishers go to guys, even if said publisher published the stories overseas where the Duck Comics are far more popular and still going to this day, and ironically where most duck comics printed nowadays get their stories from. Rosa was known for his meticous historical research and gorgeous art that he took his time drawing to get just perfect and showed on the page. The man has easily some of hte best and most detailed duck art around and I still haven’t found a duck artist that can match him.. and if you have or found one close i’d genuinely love to see that. He is a genuinely talented, spirited guy who was sadly mistreated by disney and that, coupled with tragically failing eyesight, eventually ended his career. He’s still around and I genuinely hope to meet him some day as he still does conventions.  The man is not without fault: I don’t get his hatred of superhero comics, as while I get them overshadowing funnybooks and that around the time of his career they were in decline, but it’s just as unfair to write off Superhero comics as mindless.  garbage as it is for people to write off the Duck Comics as “only for kids” and I genuinely wish he’d see that and see how the medium has evolved so much since then. I also grumble a bit as his refusal to allow anything besides barks into his bubble, and having to be forced to include fethry on the family tree, but that’s more personal preference. I like using as much material as you got. IT’s why i’ve wanted to, and hopefully will eventually get around to, write a sonic fanfic using bits of all the various universes that for legal, ken penders being an absolute waste of a human being, and sega being stupid reasons can’t be used anymore. I like taking everything in a franchise and putting it in a blender and it’s why I love the reboot. But there’s nothing wrong with taking things as is, not stepping on toes canon wise, but still being awesome. We’re just diffrent people and that’s okay.  And a lot of his fanboy showing actually lead to REALLY good things: Goldie O’Gilt was a one off character, and while used ocasoinally overseas, didn’t really pick up as a character again until a combination of Ducktales 87 and Rosa’s work with her, as he always loved the character, and fleshing her out lead to her being used more, and gaining a sizeable fandom. He also gained the Cablleros an even bigger fandom by giving them two stories of their own, and fleshing them out a bit more.  And this very comic is the peak of that, taking EVERY mention of scrooge’s past from various backstories to set up adventures, every tiny scrap, and to his credit going to both Barks Himself and various other Barks Experts Rosa was friends with to check his work, especially difficult given he likey had to find these stories in issue or pullt hem from disney archives, and complied it into one long epic that not only uses all this info effortlessly, but spins a compelling story that gives us a clear vision of what Scrooge should be, how he became the man he is, and how he lost himself only to find himself again with the help of three precocious boys and a cynical 30 something duck. So taint all bad is what i’m saying.  As for how this got started, thankfully rosa himself provided the origin story for this project in the back of the volume of his works that contained the first 7 chapters of life and times, as well as detailed notes for every chapter. At the time Rosa was working for Egmont, the big european publisher who handles Disney’s much larger european comics market, hence why most of his stories appeared years earlier in Europe before debuting here. The american publisher at the time , and an old friend of his, called Rosa with an idea: A 12 issue Maxi-Series focusing on Scrooge’s history, since at the time they were all the rage.. and really even today mini series are still a viable market and many indie titles just have several minis instead of an ongoing. So it wasn’t a bad idea, Rosa just simply offered a tweak: He’d tell his publisher at Egmont about the idea, and let her get a crack team of writers and artists to do this proper, and thus Disney could publish it for free once it was done and for no extra cost. Rosa gave his publisher a fax detaling both the idea and the fact that it needed to be done right, given to the best person possible, and done with the greatest care. She agreed.. and naturally handed it to him, as he admits he hoped. She made the right call, a legend was born and here we are.  One last bit before the read more and before I get to the first story itself at last: Since barks wrote a lot of side stories that fit into the canon, I COULD slot them in between chapters, but have instead chosen to review the original 12 part story as was, and do the various side stories and two epilogues, the utterly fantastic “Dream of a Life Time”, easiliy one of my faviorite comics ever, and the also really great “Letter From Home”, which will likely on some level be the basis for the upcoming at the time of this review “Battle for Castle McDuck!”, after completing the story. In other words i’m probably going to be at this for years. so join me under the read more won’t you as I begin the journey of a thousand miles with a single step as we look at the humble start of a legend. 

We begin, after a fun short teaser with present Day scrooge saying his past is no one’s buisness only to get hit with an oh yeah?,  with a scrap book title for the issue, something I want to bring up since while I got that’s what it was what I never got, and  must’ve glanced over when I first read rosa’s notes when I got this copy, was that it isn’t SCROOGE’S scrap book, but his sister Matilda’s who dutifully and happily catologued her brother’s adventures. It’s a really sweet moment.. and something that will hit VERY hard when we reach Chapter 11. If you haven’t read this story or heard of it.. .that’s this story’s equilvent of “Last Crash of the Sunchaser” and clearly Frank and Matt drew from that story a bit for it, but we can get more into the parallels when we get there. A smaller but fun note is that Rosa had specific coin drawing templates, for different indentions and what not he used, and used them for the coins in these intro bits. Yes he admitted he has a problem and yes that’s damn impressive anyway. 

It’s Scrooge’s 10th birthday, and his father Fergus has taken him up to see the family land, Dismal Downs to tell him of the mighty Clan McDuck and show him the ancestral lands, graveyards and Castle. He admits to having taken this long because the Clan McDuck currently lives in Glasgow so it’s kind of a long trip just to show your son “Hey look at the decay and rot that’s our ancestral homeland”. The Clan is on hard times, as a bad shipping deal, the backbone of a rather good barks story and I wont’ be interjecting for every barks reference as it’d get rather tiring though for what it’s worth Rosa provided tons of detailed footnotes in the back of each Fantagraphics collection, so good on him. Speaking of which though they do include 10 pages of Mc Duck family history that was supposed to open this story.. until Rosa’s editor wisely pointed out the story isn’t about them but scrooge and having read his roug draft, yeah.. there’s a good gag here and there, as well as “Dirty” Dingus McDuck, scrooge’s Grandpa and the reason Dewey is cursed with that middle name. Why anyone thought Dingus was a good name is beyond me, nor why Donald thought that was a good middle name back in 2009 is again, beyond me. Good on Don though for getting that past the censors.  But yeah with no money they can’t buy the land back and they were scared off it years ago by a mystical ghost dog, the hound of the whiskervilles. There is treasure in the castle, Sir Quackly’s gold, but he accidently sealed himself into a wall while sealing his treasure in there. Their interrupted by the town assholes, the Whiskervilles who have been grazing sheep on the land and are naturally behind the hound, using the sound of it to scare off Fergus once they realize he’s a McDuck. Because apparently you can keep a Scooby Doo style hoax up for Centuries if you don’t have meddling kids around. Who knew.  Back in Glasgow, we meet the rest of Scrooge’s family: His Uncle Jake, his sisters Matilda and Hortense, and his mother Downy. Jake hasn’t really been mentioned at all in Ducktales and I know next to nothing about him, which given I share a name with the guy you’d THINK I would. I mean I know a decent amount about this Jake. 

But nothing about who the hell Jake McDuck is or why he lives with his brother and his family. Here, you guys watch the dancing Jake, i’m going to probably do that for hours after this review is done, i’m going to go sort this out.  Okay one google and finding the Scrooge Mcduck wiki page on him, Jake shows up here likely because he was referenced in the story “A Christmas For Shacktown” and apparently borrowed from Scrooge and never paid it back. Otherwise.. there’s not a lot about him and unlike the rest of Scrooge’s family he really dosen’t do much that I can remember. Except like 2017 Scrooge, he apparently has become extremely long lived, as Scrooge and Donald STILL think he’s alive in the 1950′s.. and likely is STILL alive in some form in the Don Rosa stories, given his take place after Barks and thus in the 40′s and 50′s where Barks stories were set. Hence why unlike the Reboot, Scrooge isn’t inexpecilbly over 210. But Jake McDuck sure as heck is. Maybe this highlander is a highlander.. you know the movie and tv show type. Maybe someone cut off his head. That’s what i’m going with.

This does bring me to another point about this story: While Barks gave all of scrooge’s family their names, it’s where Rosa got them after all, it’s Rosa who really made them into characters. Fergus as a loving father ashamed his family legacy has fallen and wanting his son to do better than him, Downy as an equally loving wife and mother, Matilda as his sweet and caring sister and later her brother’s moral center, and Hortense.. well here she’s just a babbling baby but her character will become clear and glorious as we go. She is adorable here though and we do get some great bits with her.  Getting back to the plot now i’ve made my points, Jake is riled up wanting to understandably kick the Whiskerville’s asses with Scrooge, who even as a sweet innocent ten year old still has the family temper already, agreeing.. but Downy gently shoots them out pointing that two middle aged-ish men and a 10-year old just aren’t enough to fight an army of them and while she doesn’t mention it the fight would just tire them out for work and accomplish nothing as while it is the McDuck’s land the combination of the hound and the lack of money to move back means it’s pointless. She also mentions their younger brother Pothole, who went to America. This will be important later. 

Scrooge storms off and Fergus laments, in a scene that’s more painful the more I think about it, how his clan has fallen, with he and his brother lamenting their chances at glory are long gone.. but Fergus has hope his son can do better, and for his son’s birthday makes him a shoeshine kit in the hopes of inspiring him to greatness. This scene still resonates since many of us are poor, struggling and not doing so good money wise. I’m sure many parents have doubts and regrets about not being able to do more for their kid.

 Not only that but the story carefully avoids the trap of Fergus accidently being abusive by you know, pinning his family’s future on one 10 year old. While yes he is asking a lot of Scrooge, to restore their family name.. it’s very clear he mostly just wants his son to do better than him. Even if Scrooge was just slightly more successful, Fergus would likely be happy with that. He’s not using the legacy as a “This what you must be” like say the Gems in steven universe did for Steven with Rose’s Legacy, the kind where it sort of suffocates you till youc an make it your own. He’s just saying “this is what you can be” He believes his child can be great and simply once him to reach his full potetial and is simply giving him a means to hopefully do so, a simple home made shoe shine kit. While Jake scoffs, the narration notes the idea isn’t worth a dime.. it’s worth THE dime. The dime that would set Scrooge’s destiny in motion. 

The next morning, Fergus goes to check up on his son and his new buisness but Scroogey’s having no luck and about ready to just quit, the poor child. Also Matilda is dragging her baby sister around like a doll and it’s entirely precious as it is funny. 

But as for those Dorty Boots, Matilda wonders why her dad dosen’t just tell Scrooge that Burt the Ditch Digger is coming. Fergus tells her to quite and then explains his plan: he’s sending Burt to scrooge, with an American dime Fergus and Matilda found, to teach his son a lesson: By giving him a hard days work, he’ll teach him what hard work truly means.. and by having Burt “cheat” him with the American dime, it’ll give him the motivation to keep going and to nto be as wide eyed and trusting. It’s a well meaning if harsh lesson, and the kind you’d expect from 1900′s parenting and fits the origin well: Scrooge still earned his first money square, as he still did work.. but his getting cheated being a lesson dosen’t diminish what it taught scrooge, and helps flesh out what I talked about above, Fergus knowing his son has great potential he just needs inspiration to reach it. And instead of just telling him that he does a con job but it’s the 1900′s. This orign, and Fergus’ part in it would be entirely untouched in Ducktales 2017, the first scrooge based adaptation since this comic came out, and I bless them for it. Frank even said this comic was used as a bible by the writers and while theirs clear deviations, and we’ll get to that, they were mainly done for good reason, and it’s very clear that while scrooge’s history is very VERY diffrent in the reboot, the core of his past is still there. 

So the plan is on and young scrooge spends half an hour killing himself to get Burt’s shoes clean before getting his dime.. and realizing he’s been had, makes this proud decleration that will be the bedrock of his entire life and character. 

Scrooge being naturally stubborn as you can see takes his cheats a leson: There will always be hard honest work, and he will be there to do it and he’ll be tougher and sharper than anyone trying to cheat him out of his pay. Fergus’ plan has the intended effect, and Scrooge having learned a hard lesson now has the drive and determination we know him for. As for why it gives it to him.. I had to think on it a bit but it makes sense: For some a setback like this would make them quit.. for Scrooge it’s just proof he CAN find customers, he CAN do this job, or any at his hardest and instead takes this as a lesson to be prepared ot out think and outfight anyone who dares cheat him again, and to not earn his money by being the kind of guy who cheats a kid out of an honest days pay, but as a good honest duck like his father and his father before him. =He will make his money square so he can be the kind of person this seeming stranger SHOULD have been. Granted we’ll see Scrooge doesn’t end up as the best person at times but .. we’ll get there.  So with the fire inside turned from a spark into the flame Scrooge soon got to work, and by the next panel we see he’s eventually worked his stand up from a small box given to him by his dad, to a three seater shoeshining bench, who he wipes all at once by stretching one of his mother’s girldes over a light pole, a detail I didn’t get the first time around but now love. Naturally being a good kind boy much like his Nephews, Scrooge always gave his proud father a portion of his earnings, if with a full receipt for tax purposes. Because he’s still scrooge after all. His dad wonders he did too good a job while Hortense glxbit’s in agreement. 

As the years go on, a now tween Scrooge is eventually able to save up for a horse cart, and starts selling Fire Wood up in the city. He eventually realizes Peat, an earthy subtance found in bogs I only know about because I had to look it up for this review, is more profitable and with some snappy marketing moves into selling Peat for the rich instead, also showing the young lad already has a grasp of how to sell to obnoxious rich people. 

But while his business is booming, our young hero can’t resist visiting his family’s ancestral home and longing for it, hoping one day to have it for himself and in a nice show of how despite his temper and tenacity forged over the last few years he’s still at hear the kind, sweet optimistic lad he was just a few pages ago, he decides to tidy up the Clan’s Cemetary while he’s here. 

Unfortunately as proof that Donald and Della’s terrible luck comes from both sides of the family the Whiskervilles are sub-glomgold levels of human beings.. or Dogfaces in this case, and are digging up the McDuck Clan’s graves to hunt for treasure. Scrooge tries to simply do the smart thing and flee, but the asshole brigade catch sight of him and mistkaing him for a peat burgalar chase after him.. and spend WAY too much time and energy chasing a teenage boy over some fucking bog grass you clearly aren’t selling yourselves. I mean spare a thought for how dumb this is: They could easily sell of of that peat to put up a fence or chop down some trees to get the material if their really that concerned about someone getting in the bog. Then again this isn the 1800 and 1900′s where the child death toll was simply “Yes”, so they likely thought whose gonna notice one more dead child on our property?

Scrooge heads toward the castle and is gestured in by a friendly mystery duck who gladly shows him around and can tell he’s a McDuck just by look, showing the castle is still in glorious condition as the whiskervilles are too spooked to go in, hence why they didn’t chase Scrooge inside. I’d say being afraid of ghosts but not murdering a child is weird but these are the same guys who thought murdering a child was plan A. We’re not dealing with a brain trust is what i’m saying.  So the mystery duck shows Scroogey around, showing off some colorful stories about his ancestors recycled from that scrapped prologue I mentioned. THe mystery man, who brushes off Scrooge thinking he’s a McDuck asks Scrooge what he’s doing to restore the family glory and while Scrooge points out he’s already working on it, Mystery Duck points out he’s still missing something: He has the drive and the dream, but peat and shoeshining, while getting him good money for his family, aren’t the thing you can build a fortune or a future off of. He then points out where Scrooge’s dime comes from: America.. and that gives the boy the idea to head to the states. As for what he could possibly DO there to start, the mystery guy mentions his uncle pothole. So Scrooge has the dream, the drive.. and now a plan: Go to america, work for his uncle on the riverboats, and work his way up from there till he finds his fortune and restores his family name.  But while his future is settled, the present is still an issue and Scrooge wants to teach the child murder club a lesson and thus borrows, though MM wisely points out it’s all his property a horse and some armor, and stuffs the armor with peat. As for what his plan is.. welllll

That.. is fucking awesome. And far from the last fucking awesome moment in this thing. It also shows off even as not quite a teen yet, Scrooge is still a badass already, and while he doesn’t have his trademark strength or fighting skills quite yet, his ingenuity is already there.. and that will always trump both. The Whiskervilles run away and into some quicksand and Scrooge vows to return one day as laird and reclaim his family land. But that’s a story for a few chapters down the line. As for who the mystery duck is, he’s naturally Sir Quackely himself, or rather his ghost, who was simply guiding Scrooge and didn’t give him the treasure as simply handing him the money wouldnn’t restore their family’s good name or continue their bloodline now would it? 

For now Scrooge returns to work for a bit before finding his way to America: A cattleboat to New Orleans looking for a Cabin Boy. And so Scrooge bids farewell to his family. His Dad, feeling bad he can’t even give his boy shilling, gives him the family pocketwatch with jake pitching in with the family gold dentures. While Scrooge naturally refuses to sell the watch, he does plan to sell the teeth as soon as possible for good reason. We then get some sweet goodbyes with him, his sisters (With hortense uttering her first words to everyone’s astonishment) and loving mother as he wonders just what awaits him in America. 

And there he stands on the bow of a ship, heading for a new land, in New Orleans he can be a new man. And we’ll see just what kind of man he becomes as this series continues. For now this is the end of a chapter but the beginning of a lifetime. 

Final Thoughts on Last of the Clan McDuck:

This story is excellent. While there are even better chapters to come, this one is still one of the most memorable and most joyous, showing just how Scrooge became what he is, where some of his values come from, others will be instilled along the way , and beginning to flesh out his family. We see Scrooge’s love of wealth comes from starting from the bottom, growing up with a family that barely had anything and badly needed everything, but was loving and instilled fine morals in him. We also see a Scrooge far removed from the bitter old man he is in present day, an optimistic naïve young lad who only wants best for his family. It’s a nice stark contrast to who he’ll become, good and bad, and a nice way to both compare him to Huey Dewey and Louie and break your heart as his own hardens before briefly turning black later on.  The art, as is standard for this series and Rosa, is breathtaking, and the story isn’t lacking in good jokes, their just downplayed so the story itself can take center stage. There’s nothing really more to say: it’s an excellent start to an even more excellent tale and stands proud among an already stellar story as one of it’s finest outings. 

NEXT RAINBOW: Scrooge goes down to the mighty Missipi to work on the riverboats and meets one of his signature Rogue’s for the first time in their first form, as well as Gyro’s dad.. or grandpa.. or possibly both I don’t know his family tree. Point is, tune in next time for some riverboat hyjinks.  Until then if you’d like to comission an episode of any animated show, especially ducktales and the various other duck related disney shows, or another Duck Comics story you really like from Rosa, Barks or whoever you want really, I take commissions for 5 dollars a review, with 5 dollars off your full order when you put in for more than one episode or issue. You can also follow me on patreon.com/popculturebuffet and for just two bucks a month get access to polls (which i’ll start once we have at least three patreons), and my exclusive discord server. And if you liked this review be sure to reblog it to show off. My self promotion done until next time: There’s always another rainbow. 

#scrooge mcduck #don rosa #ducktales #the life and times of scrooge mcduck #fergus mcduck #downy mcduck #hortense mcduck #hortense duck #matilda mcduck #jake mcduck #uncle scrooge #duck comics #disney duck comics #carl barks

[lovevalley45]

#fictober21 day twenty

"That's what I'm known for."

original fiction (power payback)

wc: 564 words

Magni Quincy, like many of the Talents that popped up in Las Vegas, had learned the side effects of his talent before he was able to refine it.

It was unbearably hot out that day, but he still found himself sitting among the perennials of Marotto’s Nursery. The cover kept him from fully sweltering, but he was still wiping sweat off his brow.

That day, the house had been too loud. Not people-wise; Marty was helping Mrs. Marotto inside with ringing people up, Sprout had been working on homework in the room next to his, and Petunia was out at a movie with her friends. But the AC was running on overdrive to keep it cool inside, and through the thin walls Magni could hear the old computer whirring. It was all too, too much.

So, the nursery it was.

The patrons who had braved the heat didn’t seem to mind the teenage boy leaning against the wooden structure that held the plastic pots of colorful flowers. He had taken his copy of Hamlet to read, finally being able to focus.

It hadn’t lasted too long, though.

“There you are!” Sprout said.

Magni looked up. “What?”

“You know, you’re very good at hiding,” she told him. “I needed some help with the computer, it’s acting up again.”

He folded the page of his book and stood up. “Ah, so that’s why I could hear its death rattle.”

“That why you came out here to sweat your ass off?” Sprout asked.

“Exactly,” Magni said. “Very hard to concentrate when it’s practically whining for attention.”

The walk back to the house made him regret coming out here in the first place. The heat of the sun beat down on both of them, and he almost welcomed the annoying sound of the AC when they stepped back inside. It didn’t get better as they went up to Sprout’s room, where the old PC they shared was still fussing.

“I swear it’ll only take a minute,” she said.

“Yeah, whatever.” He sat down, blocking out the noise of it as he pressed one hand against the console. With the other, he went through the programs she had open - school websites, databases, word processors- “Jesus, Sprout, couldn’t you have closed that before you called me up here?”

“Fuck!” She pushed past him to close a particularly spicy fanfic. “I didn’t say you could snoop!”

“I’m trying to figure out what’s bothering it, and all I saw was the word vulva-”

“Don’t shame!”

Magni rolled his eyes, continuing his work. He found what seemed to be the trouble - a broken app that was messing up the rest of the computer, something that neither of them had even touched since it was brought up. “There. And it wasn’t even your fanfic.”

“Because I use reputable sites, Magni.” Sprout sighed. “Thanks. Who knows what we would do without your talent?”

“Ah, yes, that’s what I’m known for. Tiny technology solves that don’t make up for the literal headaches this computer gives me.”

“Well, is it better?”

He closed his eyes. The computer was still humming, even when he took his hand off the console. The AC was still creating most of the noise. But it was more manageable now. “A little.”

“Now, let me get back to my homework.”

“Your homework, or your fanfic?” he joked.

Sprout rolled her eyes. “Get out.”

#alli writes shit #fictober21 #power payback #i mostly write abt sprout but sometimes i gotta elaborate on other characters too

[hedgefairy]

Okay, I know, I know, it's already old news, everybody and their uncle in the costuming community has already talked it over, but anyhoo, I made notes when I crawled my way through effing Bridgerton and I will be damned if I don't vomit them onto this site. I have 32 pages of this shit, I'm not gonna throw that away.

I'm also typing this on my phone because I'm stuck on a trainride that's just doubled in length because this is the 2021 Northern German snow storm. What, there's snowflakes on the rails? We cannot possibly keep up our schedule, say goodbye to 90% of the connections.

Okay, on to Bridgerton, Episode 1

We're in Britain (oh, London, okay), allegedly 1813. I see people who are clearly meant to be asympatico, but is this size incusivity I spot there? Daring! Gasp! Me li...

Oh wait, no. The character is promptly shamed for her figure (which is mostly caused by the horrible cut of her dress. Every size can look great in Regency garb, but never mind, we need to make the "fat one" look bad!).

Also, no shifts under the stays. Why. There was obviously enough budget, don't tell me you couldn't afford a few strappy tops - it's not like the rest is historically accurate, so it would have sufficed to send some poor underpaid intern to H&M and get some. Nvm, that wouldn't be sexay.

Wait, is the garishly dressed (always a sign of a character of bad character in a costume drama) woman Delphine from Selfridge? Does she always have to play bitches? That's not nice, and just because she has a recognisable face, which by modern (read: americanised) standards is not favourable enough. Ugh. But I like the actress, so I'll let it slide (for now).

Lol, buttocks.

Not sure about the girls' dresses. Also, the Queen is a WOC, cool!

Oh no, one of the Featherington sisters faints! But that's okay because the Featheringtons are just comic relief and foil anyway.

I get weird incest vibes from the Bridgertons.

So the court is clearly 18th century and the show is set in the 1810s. I've by now seen several explanations for this decision, I still think it robs the Queen of reproductions of her actual historical gowns which were heavily inspired by the 18th century but so. Magnificently. Weird. It would have been so neat, and more of a "hey, I'm kinda out of touch with things" vibe, but hey, I'm not the one getting paid for making those taffeta gowns here (her hair is glorious, tho).

I'm very into the intro.

That Regency gossip girl is a real b, not unlike the Dowager Countess of Downton (unpopular opinion, I think she's pretty overrated, yes, I like Maggie Smith).

Again, no shifts.

Where do I know the "pragmatic" Bridgerton sister from? Ah, it's The Paradise. And Jonathan Strange. (Wait, she's my age. And she's supposed to be a teenager. Man, do I love a good Dawson casting. I like the actress, though, she has a face ™!).

Aaaah. We get it. She's the spirited one. She also doesn't care about dresses because she's not like other girls™. I really like her voice (but she still doesn't sound like a teenager).

The heck is up with Lady F's dress and that of her friend? Oh, yeah. Antagonist fashion.

Of course the Featheringtons are Horrid Hags™ aside from Penny who's nice, but the pudgy one (at least we don't get a case of "she's not conventionally attractive so she's bad").

Oooh, the cousin! Supposed to suck, but ofc she's a stunner, and only Penny (who's the nice one, remember!) is delighted to have her around. She's also a POC, which is nice but apparently that means she does not follow fashion, hair-wise. I would have loved to see some Regency hair on her, it would have been so pretty *cries in Greek updo*

Ugh, we're still in Ep. 1, typing this on my phone was a bad idea.

Lady Danbury and the Duke guy are delightful with each other (more POC! So neat!).

The girl the oldest Bridgerbro screws is apparently a singer, which isn't up to status for his doucheship, and she doesn't wear a shift.

The music at the ball sounds like something from the Top 40s, but I'm woefully ignorant of contemporary music charts so I can't tell what it is. I like it when they do that in historical-ish works, making well-known pop or rock stuff work for the ambience (ugh, that dance scene to Golden Years in Knight's Tale. My heart. In a good way.)

I dig the Ducktail hair of Penny's crush. Oh, wait, that's a Bridgerbro. I don't quite get why the hair trends of the time don't apply to the POC characters or extras, but seeing how most white characters also show a shameful disregard for the weirdnes and gloriosity (that's not a word) that is early 1800s hair (the 1830s take the cake, tho) despite those hairdos being basically designed for white people hair, I don't think I care much (well, I do, but about all of them). Overall the hair is horrid and not very 1810s. Let's just leave it at that.

Like a good old romance novel (I've since been told that Bridgerton is supposed to be a pastiche of such novels, but I really couldn't tell from the series, not at all, and I'm not inclined to read the books) we have

a pretty, kind, superpure daughter of the main family

the mean matriarch (could have been an aunt, too, but here she's the mum) of the rivalling or antagonist family

a spirited daughter of the main family (in most romance novels this would be our heroine but so far she refreshingly lacks a love interest and pretty daughter seems to get the most screen time)

a Horrid Suitor™

a Hot Suitor™ who doesn't want attention

a really good and doting good parent

Lol, misheard Greece for Grease with Ducktail Bridgerbro, whose name is Colin, apparently. This is funny because of his Danny Zuko memorial hair.

Overall a bit too much bling for my taste, and too few pearls. It looks like an episode of My Super Sweet Sixteen with a Regency theme.

Of course the romance is going to be the Pretty One aka. Daphne and the Duke and he's even bros with her eldest bro. Wait, are they exes? I can haz bi? No? Aww, shucks. Maybe in another episode (spoiler: no).

Okay, WHAT is it with Lady F's dresses and hair. Like, she reminds me of Mars Attacks. Which, as you might remember, was not set in the Regency period.

Lord B (Bridgerbro the Eldest) sucks, he's screwing Opera Girl without any intention of marrying her but he's bitchy about his sister being ogled by his Eton (or wherever) bestie?

Oh, I'm in Hamburg now. And my train back home got canceled, so back to Berlin it is because there's not a single option to get to Hanover tonight, at least that's what the lady from the train station is saying, "oh well, you'll have to go back and try again tomorrow", so that's awesome...

Honestly, if it weren't so late and I didn't have things to do at home I'd find this terribly exciting.

Back to Bridgerton!

Where were we? Ah.

I can't even read my own annotation. Something about George III. I think I was upset about how they totally ignored that it's called Regency because George IV acted as the regent king, and he doesn't even feature in the series, I guess because they wanted to play up the Queen? Not a fan, because thanks to Horrible Histories I'm quite fond of that guy.

Again, no shifts.

Oh, look, it's Horrid Suitor™, destined for leftovers.

The Featherington cousin gets all the attention but no fleshed-out character.

Penny Featherington's dog is named Lord Byron, which ❤️

I like the Duke! He's there, drinking in his club (even though they're a patriarchal remnant of the past I have a weird appreciation for stuffy Gentlemen's Clubs, I blame Bertie Wooster and the Drones), calling Lord B out for his general fuckery.

Oh no, Ducktail Colin is more into the Cousin than Penny, who obviously pines for him!

Thank you, Lord B, for enabling Horrid Suitor™. Nobody asked you to be such a fucktwit.

The Queen is, of course, a bit of a bitch, but patronage from cool Lady *scrolls up for name* Danbury ensues for Protagonist Girl™ Daphne.

"I wish they had found a better trend language", what the heck did I even mean by that? That's what you get for just scribbling down notes while watching and simultaneously sewing. 18th century pants, in case you wanted to know.

Cousin is angry, probably because Lady F behaves like Cinderella's evil stepmother, because Cousin is prettier than her daughters and gets, like, all the suitors because Lord B bitched away everyone who wanted to get into Daphne's dowry ifyouknowwhatImeanwinkwinknudgenudge, right across the street into Cousins parlour.

The Bridgertons are annoyingly perfect. Ugh.

Oh look, it's "banter" between Daphne and Dukey! It's so Pride & Prejudice! It's almost a tiny bit Shakespeare! I put banter in parentheses because wow, nope, I'm not getting any chemistry here.

Uh, Lady B calls out Lord B (aka. her son aka. Bridgerbro the Eldest) for his screwery with Opera Girl and his outpimpery of his sister to Horrid Suitor™, buuuurrrrrnnn. He promptly calls of his affair with Opera Girl.

No shifts!

Penny gets to dance with Ducktail Colin at the thing! Good for her, but it's a country dance with jumping and fun, because she's a) the pudgy character and b) a Featherington, so it can't be something romantic and pretty (I personally like country dances, but they aren't protagonist dances).

Oooh, Cousin had her period, oh no, oh snap, oh she didn't, because she's PREGNANT! Shit, that's problematic, and not because she's an unmarried woman in the 1810s, but because she gets close to no lines at all so far, and suddenly she's pregnant and telling Lady F that she sucks for being privileged, violence ensues, this is ugly. Man, I get what some critics mean by "the POC actors*actresses get all the problems" and that not exactly being great.

Horrid Suitor™ makes property claims about Daphne, eeewwwww, thanks to Lord B's general suckiness, ewww, r@pe attempt ensues, was that really necessary? It doesn't really fit in with the rest of the series and generally nope, yay, broken nose! (which was indeed totally necessary). Nice one, and probably the only scene so far (spoiler: overall) in which I actually like Daphne. Dukey thinks a mean left hook is attractive, and, generally speaking, he's not wrong.

Daphne and Dukey come up with a pseudo-shakespearean plot to pretend to be totally into each other so she can attract suitors by being not available and he gets not to have fangirls by being not available, and as someone who has read a few too many historical-ish bodice rippers I know exactly where this is going. I mean, come on.

I can't see enough of the following choreography to complain about it. Man, I miss historical dance classes.

And that concludes Ep. 1! Finally! Thank you for getting this far, sorry for all of it (especially typos, it's the bane of unwanted autocorrect), I guess?

Update on the train situation: I've been told by the ticket control person that I shouldn't get my hopes up until noon tomorrow.

To be continued,

because I didn't take these 32 pages of notes for nothing.

#Bridgerton #Hedgewatch #historical costuming #Well not really because wow these costumes #Thank you for travelling with Deutsche Bahn #2021 norther Germany snow storm #Trainwriting #Snarky commentary #I wish I was better at captions but it's late and I've been wearing a mask for four hours straight now and I'm hungry #Bridgerbore

[ferbmanofactionfletcher]

Interview Process || The Flynn-Fletcher’s

Candace, Phineas, and Ferb sit down to interview Andrea on why she should get the chance to fill the roll she came to town for. 

[TW: bad parenting, past trauma related to bad parenting]

@oh-phineas @i-want-candy

FERB

A time and place had been agreed upon for the interview of Andrea Martin. (Their house, afternoon.) 

Ferb had no idea how to go about it and proceeded to spend the time leading up to it researching the interview process from the interviewer’s perspective. There were so many techniques, ranging from that of an employer looking to learn about a person that best suited a job to that of a screenwriter looking for research on a subject. He didn’t know which one to employ here since— well he didn’t know what exactly they were interviewing her for. What position was she wanting to take up?

A mother? She already had kids that she had a direct relationship to. And was he supposed to meet them? His half siblings? Or her husband? His step-father? What about—? 

And he mostly got overwhelmed when he thought about it as one question would branch off into an infinite tree diagram. Though to anyone looking at him, he still looked like Ferb always did. Neutral and steady. 

There were questions he had prepared but overall, didn’t know what to expect. But, that was the catch when it came to all people— he could never anticipate the outcome. 

He sat at the kitchen table with Phineas and Candace, opposite to Andrea, who looked to be happily sipping tea. His eyes shifted to the Flynn’s, unsure if he was supposed to say something first since— well she was only here because of him. But they were so much better at speaking. 

Andrea cleared her throat, leaning forward against the table top. “So! Where should we start?” 

PHINEAS

Phineas didn’t really do as much research. His idea of an “interview” was mostly based on podcasts about tech startups and his own extremely limited experience. But he wanted to give Andrea hard questions (and yes, this was partially a result of his own humiliation at his Chapter Three interview). Part of it was a power trip, sure, but the other part was his genuine desire to protect Ferb. If this lady really cared about him, she would have to fight to be a part of his life.

“I’ll start us off,” Phineas announced, glancing at Ferb and at Candace. He signed as he spoke and translated for Andrea-- he didn’t want Ferb to miss any of this. It was his decision, at the end of the day. Phineas fixed Andrea with an extremely serious expression. “How many pennies, stacked one on top of the other, would equal the height of the Empire State Building?”

CANDACE:

Candace didn’t see the point of this. In fact, she thought it was incredibly stupid. There was nothing that Andrea could say that would convince Candace that she was truly back. Parents that left always left. They weren’t parents. They were sperm and egg donors. Nothing more. If only she could make Ferb see that. 

Even if he did, she doubted that he would do the right thing and push Andrea away. He was too nice for that, too much of a pushover. 

Well, if Candace was forced to be his big sister, this was how she would do it. By protecting him from a woman he didn’t even remember. So, even though she thought this whole thing was stupid and pointless, she was going to be here. For every step of it. And she’d expose Andrea for being just as flighty as she was before. People like her didn’t change. She’d make sure that Ferb understood that when all this was said and done. 

She sat slightly slumped in her chair, arms crossed, glaring at Andrea. Phineas’ question wasn’t going to get them anywhere but at least it’d tell her if Andrea was willing to play along. Maybe Phineas would just wear her down by being obnoxious. That would be ideal, since at the very least, Candace knew Ferb would stick up for Phineas. 

Candace didn’t say anything. She just watched. 

FERB

Ferb didn’t really know where Phineas was going with that one. It seemed a little out of left field if they were supposed to be getting to know who she was. But he didn’t protest or shoot him a funny look, he trusted Phineas to know what he was doing— Ferb just blinked and turned to see what Ms. Martin would have to say while he worked it out for himself in his head. 

(The height of the Empire State building [1,454ft, which converted to 443,179.2 mm] divided by the thickness of an average American penny [1.52mm] = 291,565.2632 or, rounding up since you couldn’t very well slice the penny, 291,566 pennies.) 

At first Andrea could only stare, brow furrowed, at the question. She had prepared for numerous things to be asked of her. About her life, about why she had left, about why she hadn’t come back, about her other children, about her and Lawrence’s past relationship— but she had never expected she would have to do maths. 

“The Empire State Building.” She smiled as she repeated him. It had still been such a surprise that Lawrence of all people had found someone to marry in America. Then she hummed, lips pressed together trying to think how she was even supposed to begin.

After a moment she simply shrugged, figuring it wasn’t worth answering something so silly. Surely it was some sort of joke Phineas wanted in order to break the ice? Andrea laughed a little before providing her answer.  “I’m afraid I’ve no idea. I don’t even know how tall the Empire State Building is. I’m sorry.” She glanced between the three of them. “How many is it then?”

PHINEAS

Phineas smiled triumphantly, and scribbled down a few notes that didn’t actually mean anything but just to show Andrea he was taking notes. That he had opinions on that answer. He was going to turn it over to Candace for the next question, but Phineas couldn’t help it. He had to interject with his explanation.

“So, that question doesn’t actually have a correct answer-- well, it would, maybe, if I were interviewing you for an engineering job, but even then, there would probably be more efficient ways to test your math skills than a word problem about pennies and the Empire State Building. That was actually a test to see what kind of problem-solver you are. Whether you would even make an attempt, you know? And if you did, would you go at it from a mathematical perspective, or a more practical perspective? Or maybe you would have a question about the problem, like do the laws of physics apply here, and if not, could I stack the pennies length-wise instead of width-wise?” Phineas explained, a superior smile on his face as he signed the words. “So if you want to make another try, you can, but I think I got what I needed from that question.”

He glanced at Candace. “Did you want to go next?” 

CANDACE: Not that Candace would admit it out loud, but she was actually kind of impressed with Phineas’ logic about the question. She wondered what weirdo interview site he’d read that on. Probably the hiring for Google or something. It sounded like a question they would ask you if you wanted to work at Google. 

And she was unimpressed with Andrea’s answer. 

At least come up with something, yeah? Ask a question? Don’t just give up. It showed a weak sort of character, if you asked Candace. The kind of character that would run out on her son at first opportunity. And would do it again without a second thought. 

When Phineas passed the baton to her, Candace shrugged a little. “Sure, I guess.” 

Candace didn’t know what she wanted to ask. She hadn’t come into this wanting to ask anything. Only looking for the satisfaction of Andrea failing. But, now that the opportunity presented itself: yeah, Candace had a question.

“Why now? Why are you back now? You never said. And I don’t want some bullshit answer. There has got to be a real reason.” 

FERB

In all his research, Ferb hadn’t come across Phineas’ question, which made him wonder if his research had been thorough enough. Then again, that was why Candace and Phineas were here. To fill in the gaps that Ferb couldn’t. 

It also made him uncomfortable once he realized what Ms. Martin’s answer reflected about herself. He couldn’t even muster up the courage to glance her way, knowing the second hand embarrassment would eat him alive if he did. This only grew as he watched Candace’s words popped up along his phone screen. 

Andrea let out a little oh, falling back into her seat at the explanation. She folded her hands, one on top of the other, her confidence level having decreased significantly— and after only the first question.

As Phineas asked his sister if she wished to contribute Andrea picked her head back up, pressing a smile back to her features. Ah, now this she had been prepared for. Even if the way it was said was rather vulgar. That was fine. Even needed. 

“I know it seems a little out of the blue. Believe me, it was for me, too. But— like I had said, I just couldn’t stay away any longer. There was no more reasons I could come up with or excuses that I could push in front of me to blame. I was watching my other children and I— I don’t know but I finally came to my senses. I realized Ferb was going to be a young man soon enough and I knew I didn’t want to miss any more of his life than I already had.” She looked over to Ferb now but when his head remained down, eyes focused on his phone’s screen Andrea returned her attention back to Candace. “I don’t know quite what you mean by the real reason. If it’s finances you think I’m after, I’d obviously be in the wrong place. The house was never in my name, there’s no secret will or treasure said to be buried in the floorboards that’s somehow come to light or whatever else. The only thing here is my son. That’s it, plain and simple.” 

PHINEAS

Phineas liked to pride himself on being scientific and objective with these kinds of things. Logical. Sure, he was an emotional person and emotions often got in the way of good choices, but not with science. And that was what this kind of was, right? A science experiment?

Hypothesis: Andrea couldn’t possibly deserve Ferb.

Conclusion: ...Unclear.

It was getting harder for Phineas to separate his own baggage from this. Because, really, how many times had he imagined this exact scenario for himself? Fred showing up on the Flynns’ doorstep in Danville, begging for forgiveness, saying that he had made a mistake and that he didn’t want to miss another moment of his kids’ lives. Not so much recently, because Phineas had a new life and a new family and he barely thought about Fred anymore. But when he was in middle school? That had been a different time.

“What are you going to do to make it up?” Phineas interjected, his tone different now. Less smarmy, a little more genuine. A hint of a challenge in his tone, but a little bit of fear as well. Hopefully Candace wouldn’t catch on to what was going on here. “If you’re gonna walk out on your kid with no explanation, the least you can do is prove you’re sorry.”

FERB

“I’m not sure that there is any one thing I can do to make it up,” Andrea admitted with a small shrug. (Especially when the one she was even here for wouldn’t spare her a glance!) “Nor do I have any set plan in mind. That’s not really how you gain someone’s trust, is it? You can’t manufacture that. All I can do is make good on my word— which is that I’m here now and I will be for as long as I am welcomed. And even if it takes til the end of my life to repair the damage I have done and to form any sort of relationship with my son, then I’ll do it.” 

This all seemed rather dramatic to Ferb. 

Phineas’ and Candace’s body language read defensive while Ms. Martin was still one giant mystery, but she did seem tense. Immediately he wished he could call the whole thing off. Maybe he could fake an illness or something, say he got a text about some emergency— of course that wouldn’t work considering the only people who would contact him about that were all somewhere in the house.

He wasn’t so selfish to think that all of this was about him. The Flynn’s had lost a parent, one they had actually known personally, and he could guess this was poking at old, but still painful, wounds. But he was so selfish to think that none of this would be happening if it weren’t for him, and it was rather pointless to do so. 

CANDACE:

No, it wasn’t about Ferb. 

Not to Candace. She wasn’t mature enough to separate her own wound from Ferb’s. She projected her own feelings onto him, which was easy to do. He was quiet and reserved. She couldn’t read him, but she didn’t need to. She assumed she knew exactly how he was feeling, because it was how she felt:

Confused. Angry. Hurt. Her whole heart felt like a bruise. A lot of the time, it was easy to ignore Fred’s absence. It had been years and Candace didn’t need him anyway. She did just fine on her own. But, now that Andrea was here with her watery eyes and half-baked promises, Candace’s missing for her father had opened up like a black hole in her chest, sucking everything else into it. 

It made her feel more protective of Ferb than any previous time. He was so soft. Such a pushover. He’d let Andrea back into his life even though she didn’t earn it and then get hurt when she inevitably left again. Candace felt like she had to protect him from this, the way she hadn’t been able to protect Phineas from the heartbreak of their father walking away. 

“And what if he decides he doesn’t want a relationship? And that the damage you caused is irreversible?” 

PHINEAS

Phineas glanced at Candace sharply. That was… an intense thing to say. And even if Phineas had come into this interview determined to drive Andrea away, he was starting to wonder if maybe he had judged her too harshly. 

Because the truth was, Andrea was right. There wasn’t any one thing you could do to make something like this better. Phineas had never wanted Fred to come back with presents or stories or excuses. He just wanted a dad. Period. It didn’t matter, now, though, because he had Lawrence who was way better and would never disappear.

Sometimes he did wonder, though, what he would do. He and Ferb didn’t really talk about this stuff much.

“I mean, irreversible’s a strong word. Ferb isn’t damaged,” Phineas said quickly. “He’s, like, the most mature person I know. But I get what Candace is saying. It’s up to Ferb. I trust him.” He glanced at Ferb encouragingly. “Anything you wanna say, Ferb?”

FERB

Both Candace and Phineas were wrong. 

Ferb was damaged— but it had not been because his mother had left. It was of his own doing. This was why he felt no anger toward the woman sitting on the other side of the table. Of course, it had hurt to have learned why she did not want him. It always hurt. It had hurt every time he had tried to communicate with someone at school or at the park or— anywhere, really, and they would ignore him. When his teachers would talk to Ms. Thompson instead of him despite it being his words she was translating. When his father would have to take over every conversation on his behalf at restaurants, stores, and just about everywhere else. It was why he avoided it now. The world. He had learned to know better than to inconvenience it with himself. 

He watched Phineas’ question addressing him stare back at him from his phone and after a moment he lifted his head. It took him another to finally turn to find Ms. Martin’s eyes. 

“I don’t want to deny you the opportunity you’re asking for but— you have other children. I fail to see what I could give you that they can’t.” 

Andrea’s discomfort grew at the sound of her son’s voice. It was the first time hearing it. Even as a baby he had been rather quiet. She hadn’t expected it. Which was silly, considering, but still. It was off. Different. Made his lack of hearing all the more present to her. She tried not to let that show.

“Oh, darling, it isn’t about what you can give me! I’m supposed to be giving to you. And even if it were the other way around, you’re doing your part by just being you.” 

There was a pause as Ferb had to read this over. She shifted in her seat. (Again, it grew.) “You don’t know me, though.” 

“Right— that’s what I’m here to do!” 

Pause. (Growing, growing, growing.) 

“It won’t be worth it.” 

Andrea’s smile fell. She blinked, brow furrowing as her eyes went to the other two sitting in front of her to make sure she had heard that correctly. “I’m— I’m sorry?”

“Objectively speaking, it won’t be worth it. Getting to know me. You live in another city where you live with your family and go to work. If you wished to see me you would need to travel which would cost you money and time you would otherwise be able to save. People would expect you to learn sign, which also takes up more time from your life. If you only wished to communicate through technology it would be a written relationship since you can’t call me, which would only take up storage space and, again, time. Either way you would have to contact my father, which he does not seem pleased with. People usually do not respond well to not being liked so your interactions will tax the both of you. And— I’m not worth all of that. You gain nothing from knowing me besides extra hardships which will only result in regret or resentment. Both of which are not healthy.”  

CANDACE: Candace rolled her eyes at Phineas. She hadn’t meant that Ferb was like...broken or something, just emotionally damaged. Because having a shitty parent did that to you. Obviously. It broke your heart and your trust and made you feel like shit. It was damaging. End of story.

Listen to Ferb now! Clearly, he felt the same way.

It was hard to listen to because Candace had shit opinions of herself, but she had some redeeming qualities. And she would never admit to feeling them the way that Ferb did now. It was uncomfortable to say the least. It made Candace want to squirm.

So, she did what she usually did when she was uncomfortable: she turned it into something else. Anger. Anger at Andrea and any parent that thought just leaving a child was okay.

“See?” she said furiously. “That’s because of you. He thinks that way, because of you. He thinks he isn’t worth it because you left him. That’s fucked up and it isn’t something that is easily forgiven. You can sit here with smiles all you want, but what you did was horrible.” 

She looked at Ferb then and she’d been signing this whole time...well, doing her best anyway. She still wasn’t totally good at it and she was too pissed. But, what she said now, she said very carefully and very deliberately. 

“No one should make you feel like a transaction,” she told him, even if she had to spell out ‘transaction’ because she didn’t know the sign for it. “And it’s okay if you’re angry or upset. Just because she’s here, doesn’t mean you have to be polite.” 

God, she wished Ferb had more of a backbone and would just tear into this bitch.

PHINEAS

Phineas, in theory, agreed with pretty much everything Candace was saying. Relationships didn’t work like that, the way Ferb was describing it: they were about love and reciprocity, and genuine care for other people. That was the way Phineas saw it, anyway. Sure, it was nice that Ferb could help Phineas when the projects got too technical and complicated for Phineas to do on his own, but Phineas that wasn’t why Phineas cared about him. It was because they were brothers now, and that was what brothers did. That simple.

But Candace’s tone annoyed him. Why did she know better than Ferb? She always acted like she was so much older and wiser, meanwhile, she was barely a year older than Phineas. She was right, but did she have to be so bossy about it? And even if what she did was kind of fucked-up, if Ferb did eventually want to give Andrea a second chance, what made it Candace’s business?

Phineas didn’t realize it, but he was maybe projecting a little too.

He had a lot of things to say, but it wouldn’t be professional to say them out loud, not in front of Andrea. So Phineas did the thing that was probably ruder— he took out his phone and texted the group chat with Candace and Ferb.

@Ferb that’s bullshit and u know it anyone would be lucky to get the opportunity to be in ur family and like obviously ur worth it

@Candace that being said can you chill with the psychoanalysis me and ferb r capable of making our own decisions

Satisfied, Phineas set his phone down and signed to Candace and Ferb, Check your phone, before turning his attention back to Andrea. “I think what we’re actually trying to ask is what you can bring to Ferb’s life, not the other way around. Let’s focus on that. And based on that, Ferb can make his own decision about whether it’s worth it to him.” Phineas shot Candace a look. 

FERB

If Andrea hadn’t already folded under listening to Ferb talk, then she certainly would have upon Candace’s addition. She found she didn’t know what to say to any of that— and she thought she had prepared for the worst. 

Ferb pondered over Candace’s words and concluded that she wasn’t really talking about him. He didn’t think that way because of Ms. Martin, he had always thought that way. His brain had made it easier with its ability to recall everything it had ever come into contact with. He also hadn’t said that he was worthless, just that he wasn’t worth spending time with. That was a fact, proven by many, many, many failed attempts to prove the opposite. 

And he was upset that Ms. Martin was here, but he had taken to not showing his emotions out of self preservation. It wasn’t out of politeness, though, he did have those hardwired into him, too. 

His eyes flickered down to his phone as Phineas’ texts came through. Phineas was obviously biased, but Ferb appreciated the kindness nonetheless. 

This whole thing wasn’t out of a want for a mother or because he sought to gain anything from this— it just seemed like the fair thing to do. Ms. Martin had asked for a chance. Ferb did not want to deny her that, even if she had wronged him. It was the right thing to do. 

Andrea cleared her throat after Phineas addressed her, nodding. “Of course! Yes, you’re right. I completely agree. I don’t mind traveling at all and I’m certain Lawrence and I can be civil to one another, so, please, you’ve nothing to worry about as far as logistics go.” 

Ferb blinked and she was beginning to think that was a good thing rather than him responding. So far, he only replied with bad news. 

“As for what I can offer, it’s only what anyone else could— myself. And while I know my past record doesn’t reflect that being a very good thing, but I want to be here. I want to know him— you. Ferb. To whatever effect that may be! And not because I feel like it’s my obligation to do so.”  She smiled, trying to get away from all the discomfort of the past few minutes. “We can start with interests! What do you like?” 

Again, Ferb blinked, then shrugged, unsure of how to answer that. It was too broad of a question. What did she mean, what did he like? As in food? Colours? Coding method? Time of day? 

“Right.” She glanced to the Flynn’s. “You two know him better than I do. Is he in anything? Sports? Clubs?”

CANDACE:

Candace ignored her phone because she didn’t care what Phineas had to say. She was right. Everyone here knew it. Andrea didn’t deserve to come back into Ferb’s life. Admittedly, she didn’t know what would qualify as enough penitence to come back into Ferb’s life. She hadn’t ever thought about it. When Fred had left, that had been it. Candace had spent months, crying and waiting for him to come home. Calling his cell phone only to receive a dial tone. 

She had held out hope until her birthday, but when he didn’t show up. Or call. Or even send a card, Candace knew that he was gone and she’d cut him out of her heart then. Of course, it was messier than she liked to think when she look back now, but what was done was done. Every missed birthday, graduation, milestone had only hardened her heart against him. Fred was a sperm donor. Not a dad. If he showed back up she’d—

See, she didn’t know, because she never thought about it. 

Whatever Andrea was doing wasn’t it, though. 

“This is stupid,” Candace declared, pushing back from her chair. “You aren’t even talking to him, himself!” Her hands flew erratically as she tried to sign but was too pissed off to do so very well. 

“Whatever. I’m not dealing with this. If you want to “get to know” Ferb, fine, whatever. But count me out.” And with that, she stormed out of the kitchen, Agent P scrambling at her feet playfully. 

PHINEAS

Phineas was annoyed. At everyone. Candace was being unreasonable, Andrea was being awkward, and Ferb was… well, Phineas figured he probably shouldn’t get to decide how Ferb should feel about his estranged mom showing up, but he wished Ferb would say something. Even if Phineas thought Candace needed to calm down, he did agree that it rubbed him the wrong way that Andrea was talking about Ferb instead of to him. 

He watched Candace storm off and raised his eyebrows, shrugging apologetically. 

“Sorry about her,” Phineas said. He glanced at Ferb, trying to see where he was coming from. “But she does have a point. You can’t just talk about people right in front of them. Anyway, we’ll be asking the questions.”

He smiled and folded his hands, satisfied with his own assertive attitude. “Describe what you would do if Ferb got detention.” Ohhh yeah. This was a trick question. Ferb never got detention.

FERB

Goodness, Andrea thought, but forgave the girl as soon as she left. It wasn’t her fault. That came from upbringing, clearly. And Candace hadn’t really been the person Andrea had been here for anyway. 

“Oh, that’s alright. She’s fine, I understand.” She nodded to Phineas, folding her hands back over one another on top of the table. 

Ferb, on the other hand, felt all the more guilty. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have just sat there. He shouldn’t have invited her back. He shouldn’t have come down stairs at all the day she showed up. He shouldn’t have—. Well. That list could consist of an infinite amount of answers, or just one that would make everything else moot. 

He didn’t look back at Phineas this time, too ashamed now to do anything but keep his eyes on his phone because surely Phineas would be angry with him, too. Yet he kept his anxieties from manifesting and despite the dread sitting in his stomach like a pit, he remained still and seated, even if he wanted to leave the table, too, to go find a hiding place that would last him for all eternity. 

Andrea didn’t really have to think that hard about this question since she did have experience with figuring out punishments for her own children when getting phone calls from their schools! What she hesitated on was the fact that it was a child who was asking the question. Surely he would deduct points if she answered like a parent should. Or maybe he was trying to see if she would sugar coat it for the sake of trying to appeal to them? 

Oh, she was just overthinking it. This was a child! “Well, depending on what he was in detention for, I would vary the consequences. He would have to apologize to whoever, if anyone, he had hurt, and then probably be grounded for some time, again, depending.” 

PHINEAS

Phineas smirked. “Trick question. Ferb doesn’t get detention. The one time he did was because he covered my ass. So… nice try, but incorrect,” he said, a tone of superiority in his voice as he signed. He winked at Ferb. 

Candace was gone and as much as Phineas wanted to milk this opportunity to be in charge, he figured there wasn’t much point in continuing to grill Andrea. Phineas didn’t hate her, after all. He was a little suspicious, but for the most part, she just seemed like a well-intentioned person who didn’t realize she was kind of in over her head. That was Phineas’s assessment anyway.

“Listen, I wouldn’t take Candace personally. She’s just… like that. I do agree that this is kind of out of nowhere, and I think you have a lot of making up for lost time to do, but the end of the day, it’s Ferb’s decision, not ours. Excuse us for a moment.”

He turned to Ferb and signed, Do you want to make a decision now, or sleep on it?

FERB

Andrea sat there a little shocked. He didn’t get detention? She blinked, jaw slack, as Phineas informed her. It wasn’t as if she had been expecting Ferb to be a troublemaker or anything, but never? On his own accord, anyway? Goodness. Even her other children had gotten punishments at school. A call home here or there for something. It was only natural. 

She only gave a weak nod and smile to match as Phineas tried to apologize for his sister. Again, Andrea really paid no mind to Candace. She wasn’t the one she was here for and nor did she seem particularly close to Ferb in the way the boy sitting next to him was. Andrea sat back, left to twiddle her thumbs as the two of them began to speak in a language she couldn’t even begin to make out. (Which was more from a lack of not trying than anything else.) 

Ferb thought over this question and could see no reason to prolong the inevitable. Ms. Martin had given her answers and she had still seemed like she wanted to know Ferb. For whatever reason. In his mind, it was only fair to give her a shot. She had apologized and said she would do more to make amends. There was really nothing else he could think to ask for. 

Also, this was perhaps a chance for him to make up for his own failings. All those years he had spent trying to actively gain people’s friendship only to be ignored. Now, he was met with someone who had ignored him for years who was wanting to do the opposite. That had never happened before.

Now, he signed, both hands at his ribcage, palms to the ceiling, bobbing up and down twice. He then turned to Ms. Martin and spoke aloud. “Okay. If this is what you want.”   

She nodded enthusiastically. “It is! Of course. Erm— oh here.” Andrea reached across the table to take Ferb’s phone, which caused a spike in his nerves since he 1. No longer knew what she was saying and 2. Well. She had his phone. After a few painful seconds of her tapping at it she pushed it back across to him. “I put my number in so you can call or— contact me whenever!” 

Ferb, having not gotten any of that, just nodded. Andrea smiled, eyes moving to Phineas. “And thank you so much! This was delightful, apart from— well. Anyway, I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other soon!”

#interview process #oh phineas #i want candy #fern

[rainingjewel]

A Wish

@teirrart - A scenario planted in my head with a prompt I saw on one of the many sites... A rule free wish...

A stranger appeared to Pigment, offering him the opportunity to have any wish granted. It was only once, and before he could make a rash decision, he was reminded to thinking wisely, because rule-free wishes especially had unforeseen consequences.

  Pigment couldn’t sleep that night, his mind racing with the thoughts of possibilities for the wishes. He and Sandy could get anything! A proper green house in their own world so they didn’t have to keep going back to—

 Pigment felt a heaviness in his chest. He looked over at Sandy as he sat in his meditative pose. It was the closest he would get to sleeping… and it wasn’t always peaceful. He had been privy to what he did in those poses… not many could say the same. Watching Sandy go through the dreamscape, helping those in the multiverse dream… trying to ease the burden of nightmares that he had caused to try and save the other Sanses his pain… and to relive his past… or what could have been.

 It hadn’t been recent, but it still felt like it wasn’t long ago that Sandy had rejected his advances and admitted why. He was still mourning his mate, his child, his brother… Pigment couldn’t even imagine the amount of pain he was in when he talked about it. All he wanted to do was make it stop… he couldn’t change the past… but… maybe he could fix it…

 He walked over to Sandy’s still form. He knew how delicate the connection was after an unfortunate incident. So instead of shaking him or shouting at him to come out, Pigment sat down beside him and gently leaned in, resting his head on the dream guardian’s shoulder. This might be the last time he could, after all…

 “Hmm… can’t sleep Minty?” he heard. He turned his head up to look at the smile from the perpetually tired skeleton.

 Pigment couldn’t help himself at that genuine smile. It was something only he truly got, especially during these quiet moments. It was one of those things that made him realize that he… loved this person before him. And he’d do anything for him.

 “Not really,” he shrugged.

 “Want me to use some magic?” Sandy offered.

 “No, I just… there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

 “Something bothering you?” the older skeleton questioned, concern growing in his voice.

 “Just… thinking,” Pigment said as he looked up at him.  “I, uh… was given an offer I think we should talk about.”

 “Offer?”

 “Yeah… a rule-free wish…”

 “Minty, I don’t think that’s a good idea. That sounds sketchy…”

 “But what if it’s true? You could have your family back!”

 Sandy froze, yellow eyes staring down into the constantly shifting shapes of Pigment’s. “W-what?”

 “Don’t you want them back? We could fix your whole world! Reset it all without Frisk knowing! Take away their memories! You could have your life back, Sandy!”

 The skeleton was at a loss for words. He couldn’t even comprehend… “If Frisk doesn’t remember, then I won’t either, right? Minty, I barely won last time, it was a fluke, I don’t think—”

 “We can make it so you do remember! So you know how to do it! You can have all your friends and family back! You always said I’d love to meet Asriel, right?”

 At the mention of that, Sandy’s soul churned in his ribcage. He missed his family, he missed his friends… “There’s one problem with that, Mint… if I have my family, I can’t…”

 Pigment saw the pain in his eyes, and he felt like his body was made of stone. Right, he had a baby… he couldn’t just up and leave and go on adventures with him anymore. He was the doctor, he was needed… he’d be busy… As it stood, Sandy was the one who followed him around did everything at his whim, kept him safe, took care of him… even when he did go on his own while Sandy was working on a project, it wasn’t for long, and he always came running back to tell him about it…

 The silence felt longer than it was, but it was enough to where Sandy knew this wasn’t what he thought it would be. Wishes never were… “Resets are tricky, Mint. Besides, there’s no guarantee the wish would work right. My Frisk’s determination is off the charts, it might be powerful enough to override it. Even if I trusted this person, I couldn’t risk that.”

 “But…” Pigment looked up at Sandy, his sad face mimicking that of a puppy’s, one of the many traits Sandy just found so endearing, “I just… you’re always so… I just… want to make you happy…”

 “Pigment,” Sandy spoke softly, causing the younger skeleton to sit up, eyes never leaving the yellow in his. Sandy never used his full name anymore unless it was serious, “I am happy,” he said, caressing the painted cheek of the other. “I went through something pretty traumatic, and yes, it hurts to think about… but a reset at this point? I’d lose you. And remembering you after all of this, just to go back to that? I couldn’t do it, kiddo.”

 There was a spot in his chest that started to hurt. Pigment wasn’t sure why, it just felt so tight… it was enough to bring some tears into his sockets. “But… what about…”

 “Pigment,” he said firmly, “you’re my family now. As much as I miss my life before, asking me to trade them for you is just unfair. I love you, you bonehead.”

 Figurative breath got caught in his throat as Pigment tried to comprehend the words that just left Sandy’s mouth.  “W-what? I-I thought…”

 A soft sight left Sandy as he leaned in, resting his forehead against the smaller skeleton’s. “I’m… not sure I’m ready for a relationship,” he clarified, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t still have feelings for you, Minty. I love you, and I’m not giving you up.”

#ochre #ochre shipping #sandy #pigment #pigment!ink #sandy sans #sans variant #ink variant #sanscest #teirrart #our bois #it's finally official! #my oc #teirra oc

[purplesurveys]

1029

[found at: zelthie]

What were you doing before you got on the computer? I took a long-ass shower after the humid nightmare that was today.

Is there anything you really want right now? I wish I had some pastry to go with my iced coffee. I miss my studying sessions at coffee shops :( and it’s not like I’ll get to have them again once Covid is over, because I’m not even in school anymore. Sigh. Also, a longer weekend. I can hardly believe it’s Sunday again tomorrow, and that after that will be Monday again. I love my work, but I also want to reeeeeeeeest.

What's the best gift you've ever gotten? Probably the front-row concert tickets my dad got me for Paramore. Outside of my parents, I really appreciated the scrapbook Gabie made for me three years ago. It turned out to be the first and only handmade gift she’d ever make for me, so I think of it fondly.

What's a song you think the world needs to listen to? Idk, people have different tastes and so it may not be possible to name a song that would successfully appeal to everybody.

Has there ever been a person you regret ever being friends with? As much as I like to firmly believe that regretting friendships should be avoided as much as possible because those people made me happy at one point, I’ve got nothing nice to say about Marielle.

Do you think you have a good understanding on love? I don’t know anything anymore.

You just discovered a new color! What would you name it? No thanks, please don’t ask me to be creative any time of the day.

What's your favorite ice cream flavor? Cookies and cream, and recently, chocolate chip cookie dough.

What do you want to do on your honeymoon? I have not had one but should I do, I’d love to go somewhere non-beachy for a change.

What's one thing you remember learning in school? Spelling difficult words. English (the language, not literature) was my favorite subject in middle school and I always liked the pop spelling quizzes we had. There are some words I could still remember getting wrong, like ‘rendezvous’ and ‘coup d’etat’ but I was always excited about learning their correct spellings so that I could start using them on my own time as well.

Are you more of a cat or dog person? Dog for sure.

How do you want to be remembered by people? [trigger warning] Idk. Whenever I think about...leaving, I always also think about leaving some kind of note instructing whoever’s in charge of stuff to keep things hushed, because I don’t want the whole thing to be a big deal and for it to spread. I don’t really want to be remembered for anything.

Do you like road trips? Yaaaaaaaaas. As long as I’ve got the right playlist that’s also long enough as well as several seasons of Friends, I’d be good to go.

Do you think Medical Marijuana should be legalized? I haven’t read much about it and that topic in general is still widely taboo over here, but I personally have nothing against it.

If you were forced to dye your hair another color, what color would you get? Brown.

Excited for anything? My first paycheck :D :D

What do you think of your parent(s)? They’re doing their best.

Are your grandparents dead? Just one.

What celebrity do you think should have never become famous? Amber Heard and the Paul brothers.

What's your favorite thing to do online? Watch stuff on YouTube. These days I’ve been revisiting wrestling again so I’ve been watching loads of matches and promos I enjoyed throughout my teenage years. I’m scared to dip my toes into today’s content though, because I barely know anyone anymore and there would be a lot of storylines I’d have to get acquainted with; but idk, I might get there someday.

Are you glad George W. Bush is out of office? I didn’t know his presidency all that well because I was way too young when he was still in office. Apparently he’s not very popular.

If you could appear on any TV show, what show would you choose? I’ve always wanted to try out The Amazing Race. I was definitely hooked to that show as a kid.

What does your full name look like without the letters t,a,i,o,e,l,n or s? Rby.

Your mood summed up into one word? Emotionless. I’m literally not feeling anything at the moment, but this is still a lot better than being miserable so I’ll take it.

How often do you talk to other people about the weather? Only when we’re experience extremes, like if it’s painfully, annoyingly hot out or if there’s a bad typhoon. Otherwise I try to find something else to talk about.

Are you doing anything else besides taking this survey right now? Nope, my full attention is on here.

What's a name you wouldn't mind having? At this point, I’ve learned to be okay with my name and don’t feel the need to whine about it anymore.

What's your favorite thing to wear that you own? My mom jeans or denim jacket.

What do you think of Barbie dolls? Boring, mostly. I grew up with boys, so we had more toys marketed for boys and those are what I ended up liking more.

When you were little, did you ever want to go to Disneyland? Not really.

Do you currently have a job? What kind of job do you *want* to have? I do. I’m already in the job/career I had wanted and aimed to be in.

What do you like to do on your free time? Being on YouTube, playing with my dogs, surveys, eating.

What's your relationship with your parents like? With my mom, it’s permanently strained after years of verbal and emotional abuse, but at some point I just learned to live with the trauma – it’s like, we get along these days and we barely get into screaming matches anymore, but at the back of my head I’m still constantly reeling from the hurt she had put me through when I was younger.

My dad and I act like each other’s buddies, but we silently look out for one another. For example he’ll sometimes make a plate of corndogs just for me while I’m at work, and that’s his way of saying “Are you ok? Here, have this. I’m worried about you” without ever having to say it to my face.

Do you own any pets? Yes, I’ve got two dogs.

How many places have you traveled to? Six countries and all over my own country, except Mindanao.

Do you own a cell phone? If so, what kind? iPhone 8.

What are your goals for the future? For things to fall into place, whatever that would bring me.

What's your favorite kind of drink? Just plain old cold water, or coffee.

Did you ever get into the Twilight saga craze? What about the Harry Potter craze? I was (and am, heheh) into Twilight; I wasn’t into Harry Potter.

Where is your mind at: The Past, the Present, the Future, or all around? My mind tends to make space for all three of these.

What's a really good movie you've seen recently? I haven’t seen any films recently but I am planning to watch Ammonite, which I have high hopes and expectations for.

Are you happy where you are right now? Career-wise, yes. As for everything else...could be a little better.

What's the first thing you thought in your head when you woke up today? AHHHHHHH SATURDAY.

If your best friend confessed that they can see the future, you would...? Ask how they were able to get such an ability.

Write a random quote that comes to your head: I’ve been watching Friends all day so the first set of quotes I thought of upon reading this question was, “I just don’t want to face three failed marriages.” “At what point did you think this was a successful marriage?” hahahahaha.

What's your opinion on milk chocolate? Like it, but sometimes can be too sweet.

What about Dark Chocolate? I don’t like dark chocolate bars themselves – too bitter; but I don’t mind it being incorporated in other sweets, like cookies that have dark chocolate bits.

You do know that white chocolate isn't even really chocolate, right? Yes. But it’s my favorite kind.

Do you get annoyed when surveys mention a band you've never heard of? If they mention it excessively or if they name too many unfamiliar bands, then I’m likely to get annoyed, yeah. But I skim through potential surveys anyway, so if I observe that a survey has too many music references I can’t relate to then I just don’t take it.

What's your opinion about Katy Perry's song "I kissed a girl"? Cool song and ahead of its time tbh, but she has so many other better singles.

What's your least favorite pizza topping? Pepperoni, beef, and pineapples.

What would you do if you discovered the US was now drafting for the war? Don’t care.

Are you even living in America, or are you from another country? Bingo for the latter.

What's your favorite social website? Twitter.

Do you believe in heaven? If so, what's it like? If not, why? No. I associate heaven with gods or higher beings, so believing in it would just kill the point of being atheist. I do like to find comfort in some sort of afterlife where I’m not in pain and am reunited with all my loved ones, though. I don’t necessarily believe in it, but it’s just comforting to think about and makes death a lot less scary.

What's your favorite video game? Super Smash Bros. Brawl would probably be my all time favorite. I do plan to get Super Smash Bros. Ultimate for the Switch, so that might get dethroned soon.

In your opinion, is Bzoink the best place to find fun surveys? Yes.

What's your opinion of high school? It only got fun once I found the right friends. Without them, I’m sure my experience would have been miserable.

Do you prefer the country or city? City.

Texting: Is it fun, evil, boring, or none of the above? It can be all of these things depending on the context of the conversation.

What email service do you use for your main (or only) email account? I’m mainly on Gmail. I have an Outlook account that’s still active, but I’ve been listing it less and less for social media sites.

What's your favorite dumb pick-up line? I don’t do pick-up lines, really. I find the entire concept pretty lame.

What are your plans for the next 48 hours? I got hooked to Friends again, so I’ll probably continue watching for the whole of tomorrow. For Monday, I’ll be at work again.

Did you ever read "Captain Underpants" when you were little? Yes. I lovedddd those books, but I always had to read them in secret (my cousin owned the books and I just asked to borrow) because my mom disapproved of them. My favorites were the Flip-O-Rama sections.

What's better: The old Cartoon Network, or the new one? Or do you not care? I’m not aware of the new version, so that leaves me with one choice. Generally, though, Cartoon Network was my least favorite channel out of the big 3 of kids’ channels.

Disney Channel shows are all pretty cheesy, aren't they? The ones they air today are, but maybe I’m just saying that because I’m already outside of their target demographic.

What's your opinion on the Jonas Brothers? I can’t think of a reason to dislike them. They’ve always been likeable, whether as individuals or as a band.

What are some of your favorite singers/bands? Beyoncé, Paramore, Hozier, alt-J, Coldplay, Against Me!, The Japanese House are the main favorites I like mentioning.

Why do the lead singers in bands always get the most recognition?! Probably because they’re the ones mainly heard. I always recognize all the members in my favorite bands, though.

Did you ever believe in the Tooth Fairy? I did, but when I didn’t receive any money  after placing my tooth under my pillow, my hopes and belief got shattered pretty quickly.

What's your favorite type of weather? Cold, cloudy, and rainy.

What's your opinion on reading books? I think it’s great when people are able to find the time to read books, and lots of them. I wish I didn’t grow out of it.

You're given a chance to act in a Hollywood Blockbuster! Would you accept? Nope.

What it if it was a movie directed by Tim Burton?(He directed Sweeney Todd) He ranks pretty low for me. He’s a great director and I respect his craft, but his filmography is not a personal favorite of mine.

How do you feel about Taco Bell? I wish I can have it more often, but we only have two branches in the Philippines and they are both far away.

Are you hungry right now? I can honestly go for a snack right now :/ Like chicken tenders or pad thai. I’m super tempted to order from Grab since I have more than enough cash on me, but I don’t want to be irresponsible with my money so very early on lol

How often do you go on to Youtube? Everyday, and most of everyday.

It's possible to be addicted to anything... What are you addicted to? Curry.

What's your opinion of Wallgreens? Unfamiliar.

Back when Spongebob Squarepants was famous, were you interested in it? Yes, it was my favorite cartoon.

What's your dream pet? Dogs.

You see a mermaid while relaxing on the beach with friends. What now? Think that it’s probably a social experiment and let them be.

Who's been your favorite teacher growing up, and why? My music teacher always gave amazing life advice alongside her lessons, and she was so graceful and so classy and she simply invited respect everywhere she went. I’ve always wanted to be like her.

When you were little, did you ever like Pokemon? Yes. I watched the anime and collected Pokemon pogs and cards. My cousin had a lot of the video games and I’d watch him play those, while my sister had a couple of Pokemon books that explained each Pokemon.

How often do you get headaches? These days, everyday. Hahaha work is super hectic.

Do you have any songs stuck in your head right now? If so, what? Saw You In A Dream by The Japanese House.

#survey #surveys

[leiascully]

Fic:  Endeavours Too Short Of Desires

4500 words | Teen | moody atmospheric vignettes from season 6 and a hike in the woods that never was

A/N: This isn’t new.  I just wanted a tumblr copy.  It is, as ever, for @dilkirani

I.

"Nothing ever happens," Mulder wakes himself saying, jerking back from the depths of sleep.

Scully's face is a stern half-moon in the driver's seat.

"Hmm?" she says, eyes on the road.

"Dreaming," he says rather pathetically, hauling one shoulder up.

"About your love life?"

"Hah," he says. She smirks to herself. Every now and then he remembers she is someone's little sister.

A semi oozes past, its bulk as eerie as the lanternfish Mulder saw in a photo, the small lights set to tantalize with false promises of goodness within. The rental car hurls them through the night, back to the hotel, after the long day of pounding on the doors of innocent farmers. The air conditioner has the same hushed burble as his aquarium filter. The night is clear enough to swim in. If he rolled down the window, the dark would spill in and flood the car. He spins out a story in his half-awake mind: he and Scully, in their rented (though stolen would have more glamour) subaquatic transport are speeding towards the last outpost of civilization to confront the crooked Merpolice. He finds he is holding his breath and abandons the narrative. More apt to be pioneers. The thought of Scully's face hidden behind a ruffled bonnet is too entertaining to pass up.

"Think the Homestead Act is still in effect?" he asked.

Her mouth crimped. "This isn't a Conestoga, Mulder, and you're not a country boy. You'd starve without a deli."

"You hunt, I gather. What do you say, partner?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"After seven years, you expect me to be suddenly amenable to your lunatic schemes?" She makes a smooth stop at a deserted crossroads and sets the car in motion again.

"But you were so good with those pigs," he wheedles.

"Only you would want to settle down by actually settling," she says, putting the turn signal on though there isn't another car on the road. She pulls into the parking lot and noses the car into a slot, equidistant from the cars on either side. He hovers as she unlocks her door and slips in.

"Night, Mulder," she says, tipping her head against the frame.

"Night," he says as she pushes the door to and slides home the bolts. He lays awake in his mirror room, arm cocked over his head so that the back of his hand rests against the wall, trying to feel her heartbeat through the dark.

II.

What the hell are they doing?

There was a time his days had purpose, but now he finds himself floundering. A day's work? A life's work? A fine romance, a deadly drama, a comedy of errors? Scully is no waifish Ophelia, but there are days he fears they'll all end up dead due to the miching mallechos set off by his own determination. At least piles of manure aren't as likely to kill them as most of his demons.

He remembers when he met her, the cool firmness of her handshake and the bad cut of her suit. She is leaner now. Honed is the word he would use: it suits the way they scrape against each other. She has the clean compact lines of his Sig and he reaches for her the same way in a crisis. She isn't pretty. The word isn't in her vocabulary, with all the frou-frou softness it implies. If he can say she is beautiful, it is the beauty of the scalpel's edge. He feels softer by the day, his hand always half-extended to her. There are weekends he orders two coffees just because he forgets she isn't there. He drinks the second and buzzes for hours, having learned to tolerate cream in his coffee rather than face the shades his brain creates.

He dreams about picket fences and Scully with a fond palm cupped over the head of a blond boy. He wakes in a sweat. She deserves more. Not just someone who calls to say, "Hey, I found a musty old file, want to get takeout and give up your weekend?" She merits someone who calls to say instead "I was thinking of you" and leaves it at that. She deserves to be the sign and the signifier. He still loves the hunt, too, with a modern man's shame over the thrill of the chase. Dress it in a suit, give it a pistol, and call the hunt a puzzle or a profile or a case, but she's right: he gets off on it. She rides with him, but it doesn't take her to the same place. Bad motels, bad food, his everloving need to track the villain to his last hideout. Or maybe she does feel the call of it these days: he's guilty about that too. What has he made of her, this serious woman whose family hardly recognizes her? The two of them in coordinating blacks, him stooping along in the shadows with her ramrod-straight and stern beside him.

Who would she be if she weren't his Scully? How many hours of laughter has he stolen from her? How many years of ease? He feels the weight of his debts as an ache when he runs, a tug between his shoulders when he drives.

III.

So she isn't pretty (too severe, too pale of skin and sharp of chin) and she rubs him, god, the wrong way entirely with her pointed insistence on the rational. There are days lately that they just prickle at each other until the air is so charged he isn't sure one of them won't take a swing. He gets smug and she gets arch and he wants to remind her of Scully-that-was with the bad suits and the naivete, but the quips dry up when he looks at Scully-that-is, who might just shoot him to shut him up, her eyebrow cocking almost audibly as a pistol. It was easier when they were upstairs, Moose and Squirrel against the Badinovs. Now they've won and they're back in their weird seclusion, and he spends all day trying not to think about things. Diana and Spender and the enormous scar on Scully's stomach and a normal life and that's just for starters. Scully nags at him: he should be thinking of his knees, his cholesterol, his prostate, his geriatric future chasing phantoms, and he almost blushes under her cool stare as she dissects him and gets irritable about that.

"You want to be the one saying I told you so for once?" he snaps. "I'm sure when I'm dead you'll find a reason." She doesn't rise to the bait, just purses her lips and turns away, and he spends a couple of hours coming up with a good retort for her to have said. "Sooner rather than later" or "I've already seen you naked, I understand the situation" or a reminder of how it's her logic that turns him into something the world doesn't shun. But none of them measures up to her eloquent silence and the fact that she's still here (god, the miracle and the thorn in his side) and it makes him crankier and crankier until he has to go to the vending machine and buy a candy bar to drop on her desk. She raises an eyebrow and splits it with him, both of them with sticky fingertips and dense mouthfuls of nougat and peanut. She swallows with an effort, taps her lower lip with one finger. He licks exaggeratedly at his mouth and tastes caramel. She nearly smiles.

There are some days they're so in sync it's as if they're sharing a skin. He never thinks of it until later, when he turns and she's not there. But they haven't either of them been there, lately. In the bullpen, he can't even stare surreptitiously sideways at her profile.

They talk on the phone in the evenings, too accustomed for self-consciousness. He doesn't remember how many times he's heard her fall asleep, even in the middle of some hushed dispute. He thinks of her, limbs askirl in the comforter, wearing those shapeless pajamas. He wants to ease her out of them, put her in his oldest, softest t-shirt, watch her curl around him as she dreams. Hell, he'll let her drool on his chest if that's what it takes to see her unlimber that prickly standalone self-assurance. She must have been a girl once, laughing with those blue eyes, listening to rough-voiced men croon about how they needed her to need them. He likes to think that he could stop running long enough to spend the morning reading snippets of news stories to her.

IV.

He stares at the phone on the table. It lies there, implacable. He sighs, picks it up, and hits the button.

"Scully."

"Scully, it's me."

"Mulder," she says with a touch of reproval, "it's Friday night."

"It only feels that way because it gets dark early," he says, glancing at the dusky mirror of his window.

"Mulder," she sighs.

"Yeah," he says, and almost hangs up.

"And?" she prompts.

"There's a haunted wood in West Virginia that's very scenic this time of year," he says.

"Haunted?"

"The hotel has a hot tub," he says. "And the hike up to the site is gorgeous."

There is a long moment of silence. He hums The Eagles under his breath.

"Pick me up in half an hour," she says and hangs up.

They spin out the long miles between haunted places together in a silence he likes to call comfortable. He has been a connoisseur of silences since Samantha disappeared: his mother's, Phoebe's, Diana's. Scully's are sometimes cool or pointed but never cruel. The evening dims into early night. He wants to hear stories of her childhood, wants to relate the play-by-play of sandlot games from the days when Samantha was there, pigtails bouncing against her shoulders as she scrambled for a foul ball and held up the game. Instead he tunes the radio to NPR and feels Scully slouch next to him, relaxing into a concert of Bach's sonatas. She props one stocking-sheathed foot on the glove box.

"You like Bach, Mulder?"

"I live for Bach," he says easily. She flashes him a look and he quirks his mouth in a doesn't-matter smile. Those are times he doesn't like to think about, when they were separated, when he abandoned her without looking back and she came anyway to save him from his follies. Dana Scully, Our Lady of Second Chances. He'd lay flowers at her feet, but she doesn't suffer reverence well, the deflection of affection almost automatic between them. Not all wisdom has benefits, he thinks: too wise to woo, they are stuck in the stasis of longing and denial.

The stairs to the basement still smell like smoke when he goes to salvage his files, and his car still smells like Diana's perfume, however he tries to air it out. Betrayal has an acrid bite in his nose. Scully's hands are ashy as they sort through burned fragments of manila; he is aware that he does not deserve her.

West Virginia will not solve any of this, but he is longing for the old earnest purity of the supernatural after the months and months of bureaucracy. After the indignity of being dragged out of their basement. After the wedge Diana has put between them, after his new disillusionment, after his near-drowning. A nice trip to the woods, one that won't end in some ancient hollow filled with bones or the two of them dehydrated beyond recognition. It is tending toward autumn in the mountains, and he has hope again.

V.

She's seen him naked before with those doctor eyes, one self-inflicted health concern after another. He frets that when the day of glory comes she won't see him as anything but a collection of troubles bundled in a too-familiar skin. Where's the mystery of undressing each other when they know all the scars? Where's the room for shadows and secrets and discovery?

All these dreams of yielding, but in the light, they brace their feet and bicker, an endlessly rehearsed debate.

They get in too late for the woods, just collapse in their separate rustic rooms. She yawns through breakfast, but he plies her with coffee and drags her up the mountain.

"What am I looking for?" she asks, her feet clompy in her boots. She has brought a pack with food and water and a good pocketknife. He has a compass in his pocket and a pamphlet in his bag about the local hauntings.

"Any sign of haints, spectres, manifestations, you know."

"Projectile vomiting?" she asks wryly, and pushes up the sleeves of her fleecy pullover.

"Breakfast wasn't that bad, Scully. Now get ghost huntin'."

"Mulder, is this an apology?"

He stretches his legs and outpaces her, scrambling up outcroppings just because he can. The ghostly copse is bright and sunny, the leaves just edged with crimson and yellow.

"Look at that, Scully," he says, putting out his arms and spinning. "Have you ever seen a place more positively haunted?"

She laughs, unpredictably. They eat apples and spit out the seeds. She chose the apples from a bowl in the dining room; he doesn't recognize the names of the varieties when she says them. He thinks, briefly, that he should give it all up and they could grow apples instead. In the evening they sit by a fireplace and the owner of the inn tells them all the ghost stories. Mulder takes notes. Scully stares dreamily into the flames. They slip into the hot tub under the stars, Scully in a very functional one piece, her towel close at hand against the chill in the air. They seem to be the only guests at the lodge. He swats at a lonely mosquito. Scully peers up at the sky.

"You know," Mulder nudges her toes in the water, "if we went up there now, maybe we'd catch Old Smoky in the act of spooking deer."

She regards him, her eyes half-lidded through the steam. "Mulder, was there even a ghost here?"

"There's always a ghost," he says.

On Monday, they don't talk about it.

VI.

Sometimes he sees himself as she must see him, on bad days. Hulking, crowding Mulder, deranged Mulder, screeching inanity even the Gunmen would discount out of hand. Broody, sulky, disturbed Mulder, who hasn't had a date or even a bedroom in years, who has more than once held a gun on her. Same old same old, dragging her across the nation's pale and seedy underbelly for the sake of an anonymous newspaper clipping or a breathless phonecall.

"Why do you trust these whackos?" she asks once, point blank Scully bluntness. "Mulder, are you just aching to have faith in someone?"

He bristles, ignoring the opportunity to be sweet. "They're not whackos. They're truthseekers."

"They're attention seekers." She is already turning away.

"Please don't undervalue my work," he says stiffly, stirred into adolescent sudden outrage so that his elbows jab at the fabric of his suit and his ears feel too large, awkward, hearing sly whispers. "However little you may respect these people and their struggles to confront the paranormal aspects, things that people like you say shouldn't exist, they deserve at least the justice of being listened to. This is my life, Scully. I'm not apologizing."

Her shoulders tilt. "It's become my life."

He punches the buttons on the radio until he finds a classic rock station and taps the steering wheel, trying not to turn around or beg forgiveness. Maybe he'll miss the exit, just drive until they find her magical normal-normal suburb so that she could trot up some manicured walkway to a boring husband and two point five adopted children, since he'd taken the chance of her own from her. Picket fences, Irish setter, parade of heart attack victims and plain vanilla old folks splayed across her morgue table. Maybe that would suit her, he thinks, as they grind into the parking lot. He feels guilty later and turns his plate so she can steal his fries, but she is looking out the window.

The informant is an unqualified whacko.

VII.

She is asleep, her breath a rhythmic fog on the window. Her hair has drifted across her face like autumn coming on. He can see the pulse in her neck. The compact loveliness of her startles him: pulse, respiration, the flicker of muscle as she shifts. She is so solid: the brace of arm from wrist to shoulder as she sights along her gun, the stance of her when they argue. Her skin in the moonlight looks bluish, the milky color of old marbles. She had been almost heavy in his arms, that time in Antarctica, as he'd struggled to clothe her in the meager layers of down and Goretex. The two of them in the clothes he'd worn, sharing his warmth, sharing his skin. As he'd lifted her, he'd caught his own scent on her neck. Her damp skin, bare inside his parka. The two of them breathing in the defiance of the fathomless cold.

And now this, after the whacko. Each of them lost in particular frustrated solitude inside the cocoon of the rental car. The sussuration of tires on the highway. The clear air of the desert so unlike DC, with its concrete memories of swampiness. Go west, young man, he thinks as the car spins northeast back to the cluster of lights where their hotel hunches around a rock garden. Go west and grow up with your country. That made three times this year he'd dragged her along, restless in the bullpen, craving the nocturnal thrill of exchanged information. Cloak and dagger, he would say, thinking of spy movies. Like taking a woman's number in a dark bar, Scully would say, Mulder, what were you thinking?

VIII.

He shows up on her doorstep at Halloween, painted corpse grey with false stitches inked over the real scars. "Trick or treat," he rumbles, and she steps aside.

"You know Frankenstein was the doctor, Mulder."

"Didn't your mother ever warn you about things that go bump in the night?" he says over his shoulder on the way to the candy bowl, but she ducks past him and rations out three bite-size bars into his palm. "No apples? No granola? Why, Doctor Scully, what wicked indulgence. You're letting these kids live it up."

She half-shrugs, her shoulder cantilevered by the crook of the opposite eyebrow. Scully at equilibrium. "Any remnant of true ritual has been superceded by the commercialized sugar high, Mulder. The offering's only a gesture at the amalgamation of centuries of superstition and pagan belief."

"And yet," he murmurs, "think of the dental bills."

Her mouth quirks. In her line of work, he supposes, they appreciate distinctive dentition. "Not my watch. Plus, I like my windows unegged."

They watch bad monster movies on tv, punctuated by commercials and insistent variations on ghouls, heroes, and cartoon princesses. She rambles on about Samhain and Egyptian ritual and the bourgeois dilution of tradition until he unwraps a candy bar and pushes it between her lips. Not that he doesn't love to hear her talk, especially about fertility and death and holy holies and the human tendency to enjoy having the hell scared out of them, but it's Plan Nine From Outer Space and this is the good part.

She swallows, licks her lips, waits for commercial, worries a bit of peanut from between her back teeth. "I was you with all that Samhain stuff, you know. I don't think they sell Flowbees anymore, but I thought about stealing your awful ties."

"You may talk the talk, Scully, but you'll never encompass the Mulder mystique." She grimaces at him. "You're too short and too functional."

She brushes her knuckles against his knee and pretends it's an accident. "Happy Halloween, Mulder."

"Happy Halloween, Scully." He thinks his heart is growing three sizes larger, wrong season or not.

IX.

She pushes his hair back from his injured brow with a remarkable tenderness for a diagnostic. He touches the small of her back in possessive deference. They do not speak of this. It is a language of bodies, all fingertips and shoulders and the comfortable bump of knees under tables that are too small.

He steals her keys at Christmas out of hope.

They are often at odds. He knows she is seeing Diana around corners. The consummation goes on devoutly wished and entirely unconsummated; they are both restless with only their own skins around them. He is still hearing Padgett's voice on a loop (the lurid whisper, the revelation she didn't flinch from, so how could it be true except that she is not the swooning type), still seeing Ed Jerse's all-American face and blistered arm. The precedent of her lovers depresses him, but then, she's not tall, dark, and top-heavy. Tastes change.

He worries that he loves her by association. He worries that she tolerates him simply because she's used to him. In the daylight, in the office, their lives feel so ordinary. Two hired guns for the FBI, overeducated, underpaid, no scope at all for the kind of epic love he wants to believe they could share someday when they get around to saying it. When they find a safe space. "Son," says the bottom of the whiskey bottle some nights, "you're delusional."

He wants to believe.

"All right," she says at Christmas, exasperated, "I'm afraid. But it's an irrational fear." Scully tough as textbooks, always reaching for the quantifiable and the explicable. Love they can't riddle away so they ignore it, mired together in their apprehension, except for shining moments like Christmas morning, months ago. He knows this fear is rational, this fear of this, of them, as real and rational as his fear of Them, the consortiums, the shadow-men. She is not afraid, he thinks. She is not afraid of anything. She has confronted her demons and emerged cool and whole. But they push each other away.

He can't decide what he wants. Only her, to have and to hold away. She is exactly right and exactly wrong and there are days he wants to claim her and days he wants to put half the world between them for one reason or another. Mostly he just wants to go on like this, idle days in the basement. Funny. He can't remember when he stopped trying to keep her at arm's length. She was the spy sent in from the cold. Now she holds the earth steady as they boxstep around the space between them, though she sidles up almost under his arm now and then.

X.

An ordinary stakeout, undercover work for someone else, placating the powers that be. They are in a restaurant. He has his arm slung over her shoulders, for verisimilitude, he tells himself. She doesn't quite lean into his side and toys with her drink: tonic with a twist. He murmurs nothings about the news, about some new article he read on acupuncture for abductees. She tips her head up and peers over his chin to give him the skeptical glare.

"Mulder, why do I think you have an appointment for tomorrow morning with this acupuncturist?"

"Hey," he says, "I'm not an abductee. But if you want to go...."

She starts to turn away, gives him the one-eyed fisheye. He is startled by the depth of blue of her eyes in the dim. Just as he starts to worry he's stirred up too much of the aching past, she shifts her hip against his.

"I'm packing," she reminds him. Her lips pucker in that amused way that makes him think of a perfect plum he ate on a summer beach, half-stolen out of a joint packed lunch as Samantha picked the crusts off her sandwich.

"Come on, Scully," he prods teasingly. "Maybe if you clear your chi, the crazies will quit following you around."

"I sincerely doubt it," she says, and for a moment, her head touches his shoulder. "Isn't that what we're here for tonight?"

Let's ditch it, he wants to say. You and me and a pizza and some beers, what do you say? Forget this Bureau shit. Dinner and a movie.

But she's already scanning the room again over the rim of her tonic, though she's still settled against him. He sighs and picks up a cold fry, leftover from what used to be lunch - they wouldn't let the waitress clear the table. Skinner spooked her pretty good too, Mulder thinks, wondering if he can flag the girl down for a piece of pie. But she's pinballing her way across the far edge of her section, avoiding them.

"You know it's Shark Week on the Discovery Channel?" he says experimentally.

"Should have led with the Mystery Science Theatre marathon," Scully counters.

"Scully!" he says, charmed.

"I get the TV Guide too, Mulder." She flashes a quick grin. "Better than skin mags."

"Research." He cranes his head. "Is that Grubeck?"

"Or his twin," Scully says grimly. Mulder lifts the arm from her shoulders and waves at Grubeck, who makes his way slowly to them.

"What's going on?" Scully says. "Is the surveillance over?"

"Dincha hear? Team shagged 'im block from here four hours ago." Grubeck squints at them. "Finito."

Mulder feels his eyes tighten with anger. Deliberately forgotten, left in this restaurant. For himself he minds less, but Scully doesn't deserve it. Grubeck shifts from one pudgy foot to the other.

"Well," says Scully dryly. "Looks like there is such a thing as a free lunch. Or at least an expensed lunch." She drains her tonic and touches his arm.

It was easier to be alone, but the rough joy she raises in him is a better armor than misery. He stands tall, towering over Grubeck, and ghosts along behind Scully as she strides out of the place, his fingertips grazing her spine. It is one of those DC end-of-summer evenings: the air is thick and gold as honey, so that breathing is a slow effort. Scully's idea of civvies is a tank top and a filmy skirt that looks as if she inherited it from Melissa: Mulder admires the bronzy glaze of sunset on her collarbones. She stops abruptly at a corner and props her hands on her hips.

"I feel like smacking the crap out of something," she announces. "Let's go to the batting cages."

He loops his arms around her when they get there, reminding her how to hold the bat; they both pretend she's forgotten. The nape of her neck smells like a picnic. He tries not to breathe her in too noisily. She plants her shoulders against his chest and crows when they connect. Later, tired of the machine, he lobs easy underhanded pitches for her and teases her for the wiggle of her hips as she sets up to swing.

"Technique," she insists, and slaps one back at him so hard and fast he has to dodge.

XI.

That night, like every night, he can't believe he doesn't say it.

#the x-files fic #x-files fic #xfiles fic #mulder x scully #msr #my fic #fic: endeavours too short of desires

[wwounu]

l.jh | why don’t you tell me why you really came here tonight?

✧˚ * . pairing: jihoon x reader

✧.⊹ * prompt: “why don’t you tell me why you really came here tonight?”

✧· . ˚ word count:

[ from: you make my day | you made my dream m.list ]

“You never told me what brought you here,” Jihoon questions, “other than it being a pretty day, tell me how you ended up lost in this town?”

“This is my friend’s hometown. We planned that we would stay at their parent’s house for the week so that we could catch up, and she was supposed to come today, but unfortunately the train was delayed and now I’ll have to see them tomorrow...” Slowly fading your voice at the end, Jihoon somewhat frowns at your saddened tone.

“Really sucks to hear that. Where does the getting lost bit come in?”

“Gosh, you’re so desperate to know how I got lost,” your quote on quote tour guide smiles, pointing to a view of hills with open green grass, lambs running around, “so I figured that if I was alone today, then I might as well take a walk around the small town by myself.”

“And how did that go?”

“Oh shush, I’m sorry that this is my first time here.” Sarcastically, you comment. “Then one thing or another, you notice that I’ve been walking in circles around town square for ages and finally introduce yourself as Jihoon while I say help, I’m lost! Hence becoming my tour guide for today. Sound right?”

“I think tour guide should be changed to a different term,”

“What, my knight in shining armour?”

“Only if you want it to be.” Jihoon playfully grins and you sigh loudly, head falling into your hands. “I kid, now come with me, there’s a nearby bakery I think you’d like.”

The bakery was full of assortments of breads and desserts, the interior decorated in a cosy sunset yellow, both you and Jihoon careless as to how long you were drooling over the cakes, stealing almost all of the free samples on top on the glass cover.

Hey, they were tasty. And free.

Your next location was a popular tourist site for the town — a long, cream-coloured wall with pastel paintings that fill the space and make it perfect for photos — which Jihoon kindly took for you, leading up to a silly photoshoot where the two of you try to jump on time, all the attempts recorded on the photos.

Jihoon brings you to the marketplace next, strolling though eye-catching items and tempting food, the busy place being an eye-catcher itself, with sky blue and baby pink flags hanging and strings of mint green and lilac.

“Woah, look at this,” you pick up a sun hat, a thick dark ribbon wrapped around the head and tired prettily at the back, “how nice...” You whimper, wanting the item. Alas, you accept the fact you can’t buy it and move along—

“Hi, how much is that?”

You turn back to where you originally went, seeing Jihoon by the stand and talking to the owner. “Jihoon? He didn’t- Jihoon!”

Running to him, you see it’s already late through the exchange of the lovely old lady handing the hat as Jihoon lends the change in both of her hands, thanking her warmly. Once he notices you he presents the woven hat with a smile.

“Listen here young man—“ You abruptly stop as the male adjusts the hat on your head, tilting it up so that you can see each other’s faces.

“Just take the hat,” he beams, “I got a lot more to show you, off to the bridge!”

The bridge was by far the location that made you speechless — the wide river, secret view of the mountains at the right spot, a couple of baby ducks swimming in a v-formation — everything was so spotless. 

Jihoon even taught you how to skip stones. “It’s all in the wrist,” he says, angling his rock and making seven perfect skips, “want me to help?”

“Yes,” you hopelessly say and Jihoon makes his way behind you, holding the rock between your hands and tilting it up and down.

“Throw when I say so.” He brings back your hand, soon moving it forward, giving the signal with, “Throw!” You let go of the stone and manage to successfully get two skips.

With cheers, you and Jihoon hug over the small achievement. “I did it! I really did it!”

“Yeah, yeah you did!” Jihoon replies with the same energy, realising that he’s holding you and moves away quickly, cheeks heated. “Well done,” he finishes with a smile.

Checking the position of the sun, Jihoon gasps and points to a hill.

“I got one more thing to show you, and we’re gonna miss it if we don’t make it up that hill.”

“What are we waiting for? To the hill!”

The sun is at its golden hour when you two arrive, showing the whole town marvellously standing with a faint glow. All the pastel colours have turned warmer — oranges and purples — and you can see the sparkle in the river as it rushes past.

“Wow. This is beautiful.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. It’s the best view of them all,” chuckles Jihoon, picking flowers from the ground, “take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Without a word, you take out your phone, angling it at the perfect view.

But something felt missing.

“Jihoon,” you pause, a breeze hitting you, “be in my picture.”

“Me? Um... Sure,” Jihoon agrees with ease, his stiff voice melting into honey as he chuckles and stands in front of you, “should I smile?”

“Smiling makes you look pretty, I’d like that.” And with that, Jihoon’s lips and eyes spread into a smile, every shadow, dimple, curve capturing him, the sunlight’s glow making his brown hair strands turn creamy, his lips and cheeks rosy.

You couldn’t just capture one photo.

“Thanks a lot for today Jihoon,” you thank him on the way back, the sky now a washed out pink and blue, “you really made this tour seem worth it.”

“It’s nothing, I had lots of fun with you too, going back to places I haven’t been in a long time...”

Reality hits when you point to your friend’s home, standing in front of the stairs as Jihoon watches you from the bottom of it.

In the end, you two were just strangers with memories.

“Take care, tell your friend how much fun you had today, and apologies in advance if I took you to most places they wanted to go with you.”

“Noted,” you giggle, slightly missing the fact that Jihoon was going to be gone, “I guess... Goodbye, Jihoon.”

“Goodnight, you made my day.” He says with the same heaviness even though the wide smile would tell you other wise. He slowly walks away, back now facing you, and you wait until he’s near the end of the street before it’s time for you to go in.

Entering with the spare keys, you were in the middle of taking off your shoes when the door began to bang loudly. Scared, you turn and swing the door open, revealing a heavily-panting Jihoon with his hands on his knees.

“Jihoon? You ran here? Why?”

“Because,” croaks he, suddenly stiff when he’s eye to eye with your eyes, ears blushing pink, “you forgot your sunhat!”

Staring up, you were pretty sure the accessory was on your head. “It’s right on my head—”

“Did I say hat? I mean jacket, I could’ve sworn you brought one with you...” Jihoon runs over some of his words, his heart feeling like it’ll explode any moment.

“Alright.” You get to the point, grinning. “Why don’t you tell me why you really came here tonight?”

Taking a deep breath, Jihoon still looks as bashful as ever, but with the last burst of confidence, he says, “I’d like you to make my day everyday. I wanna see you everyday,” he shyly confesses, eyes directing to his toes.

With a beat of silence, you get closer and leave a peck on his flushed cheekbone.

“I’ll be your morning, day, and night if you want me to.”

“Be mine, it’s all I ask.”

#i made this long but WHATEVER I LOVE JIHOON #WOW I REALLY ROMANTIC WITH THIS ONE #I WAS JUST THINKING OF ENGLISH COUNTRY TOWNS AND HOW CUTE I THINK THEY ARE #OH GOHD IM SO IN LOVE HOLD THE PHONE #jihoon #lee jihoon #woozi #jihoon imagines #jihoon scenarios #seventeen jihoon #seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #ymmdream_ymmd #ymmdream_ljh #you made my dream #seventeen you made my dream #ode

[xwaywardhuntress]

Easy Peasy

Summary: Imagine you and Dean switch bodies thanks to a witch.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Mention of nudity?

Words: 2900+

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. This is fanfiction only. Please do no redistribute my writings on other sites, horrible or not. Thanks!

“Oh no.” Dean’s voice said as you stared at two big hands that you knew weren’t your own.

“Son of a bitch. This is why I hate witches.” You heard your own voice say as you looked over at yourself, at least your body.

“Dean?” Dean’s voice asked as the one in your body looked over at you with wide eyes. “Well, at least we know what that yellow dust was for.” You smiled awkwardly.

You, or rather Dean’s conscious in your body, got up. “This is your fault! If you had just listened to me and waited for the signal, we could’ve ganked the witched without THIS…” He pointed between you two, “…happening!”

You got up as well, “Excuse me?! I just saved your life back there. That witch could’ve done much worse to you if I didn’t attack when I did!” You yelled back in Dean’s voice, which was pretty loud compared to when you’d yell with your own voice.

Dean tippy toed in your body to get into your face, well his face. “I had it under control.” He said.

You smirked noticing him tippy toeing, “Then next time I’ll just let the damn witch attack you!”

“Good!” Dean yelled in your voice. He got out of your face and walked over to the witch’s lifeless body. “Well, she’s dead as can be. I want to say that this last spell of hers will probably wear off in 24 hours or less. There’s wasn’t a long wait time for the spells she used on her victims. So for now, let’s keep this problem between us. And if it lasts any longer, then we can tell Sammy.” Dean turned to you and smiled.

You rolled your eyes, “Fine, whatever.” The older Winchester was lucky you had loved him, otherwise you wouldn’t have agreed so easily. You walked past Dean in your body as you made your way to the driver’s side of the impala.

Dean caught up to you and seemed a bit out of breath. You looked down at Dean’s bow legs and back up at your body on the other side of the impala. You couldn’t remember a time where you had been out of breath from trying to catch up to Dean, which made you think, had Dean slowed his pace down just for you? You were short, but not that short. Then again, the Winchesters were taller than the average.

Your voice brought you out of your own thoughts. “What do you think you’re doing?” Dean asked, still catching his breath.

You smirked as you pulled the car keys out of the Dean’s jacket. “I’m driving baby.”

“Oh no, no, no, no. That is not happening.” Dean eyed you, in your body.

“Uh, yes I am. You said that this-“ You pointed between the two of you. “-is between you and I and you don’t want Sam to know. Well, he’ll know something is up if you’re driving the impala in my body.”

Dean was about to say something back, but then seemed to think about what you said. He grumbled something under his breath. “Fine! Only because we need to keep the act up!”

You laughed as you got into the driver seat and gripped the steering wheel. Dean sat in the shotgun seat. You had only driven the impala a few times, mostly when both boys were too injured to drive themselves. And of course back then, you drove with urgency so Dean would complain that you were being too rough with Baby.

Dean warned you that if you got a scratch on baby, he’d never let you drive again. You rolled your eyes at the typical threat he gave to all drivers that weren’t himself. Funny enough, you were him though, body wise. Without replying, you just grinned and began driving back to the bunker.

The witch case that you and Dean had taken on was only about a 3 hour drive away, which you were thankful for. You hated driving anything longer than 3 hours. Dean had surprisingly fallen asleep on the way too, which left you to listen to some REO Speedwagon without any rude comments from Dean.

When you arrived back at the bunker, Dean, in your body turned to you before opening the door. “Alright, remember, you’re me and I’m you. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, yeah.”

“And stop doing that! I don’t roll my eyes like that.” Dean said.

You rolled your eyes again just to annoy him.

Dean let out an exasperated sigh and then opened the bunker door. He was about to speak but stopped himself and looked over at you, gesturing you to do what he always did.

You sighed then yelled as you both made your way down the stairs. “Sammy! We’re back!”

Dean placed your bag on the war room table while you kept yours held on your shoulder, as you usually did.

Sam came walking into the room and immediately went in for the hug with you, well Dean in this case. The older Winchester’s eyes widened as his brother hugged him in the most unnatural way two bros would hug. Quickly he returned the hug, remembering he was in your body and that was a thing you and Sam did after you came back from any hunt.

You snickered to yourself at Dean’s reaction.

“Wow, it’s much easier to hug you when you put your stuff down, you know” Sam said as he pulled away from the hug.

Dean just chuckled replying, “It was…heavy.”

Immediately, you put Dean’s bag on the war room table, realizing that Dean and you had already messed up. Luckily, it was something small that shouldn’t be too noticeable.

Sam looked over at his brother, you. “Seeing as you guys don’t seem all banged up. The witch case was easy?”

“Yeah, easy peasy.” You replied without thinking.

The younger Winchester caught that a mistake. “Easy peasy?” He asked as he looked over at Dean in your body. Dean just shrugged. Sam continued, “You two have been going on too many hunts together lately, you’re starting to rub off on Dean, Y/N.” Sam laughed.

Dean and you laughed with him, only for Dean to quickly change the subject. “Well I’m going to go shower now.”

Your eyes widened at the thought of Dean seeing you naked. “Wait!” You yelled without thinking. “Uh, Y/N, there’s something I want to talk to you about first.”

Dean questioned your sentence while Sam looked between the two of you.

It was almost awkward and Sam felt it. “I’ll just be in my room if you two need me.”

Once Sam was out of the room, you walked up to Dean. “You are definitely not taking a shower while you’re in my body.” You said firmly.

Dean groaned. “I’m saying this not to be mean. But you stink and – “ He took a sniff of the air around you two. “- I stink too.”

“But-“ You started but was interrupted.

“Look, I’ll have my eyes closed while I shower, happy?” Dean asked.

You knew there was only so much of eyes closing that would actually happen, but he was right, you two smelled, not to mention you could still see some yellow dust on your hair and clothes.

“Fine.” You agreed displeased.

The two of you each went to the other’s room to clean up. You barely washed appropriately in Dean’s body, afraid you’d turn yourself on from feeling him. Your thoughts had also been all over the place as you finished showering and then sat on Dean’s bed. Did Dean really close his eyes while he showered in your body? Even if he closed his eyes, he still had to touch your body. The idea of Dean touching you caused something in Dean’s body to wake up. You looked down. Great, you were hard. You grabbed one of his pillows and placed it on top of your lap. It looked like you were going to be staying in his room for a while. You scooted back to the bed board and grabbed the TV remote from the night stand. Turning the TV on, it was SpongeBob, the perfect show to calm you down as you started laughing at the jokes and Dean’s active body part relaxing.

Meanwhile, Dean had gone to the kitchen and grabbed himself a beer, after one of the most difficult showers he had ever taken. He kept his word to closing his eyes as best as he could. As tempting as it was to see how Y/N looked under the clothes, he didn’t want this to be the reason why, even if it could’ve been his only chance.

“Y/N?” Sam came into the kitchen surprised to not see his brother, even if it was really Dean.

Dean kept drinking, completely forgetting he had to keep the act up.

“You two are definitely rubbing off on each other.” Sam said with a laugh as he sat down on the table with his laptop. “So, since it’s only you and I. What did Dean want to talk to you about?”

Dean came back to his senses as he turned to his brother, “Uh, you know, just telling me to be more careful.” Dean gestured asking Sam if he wanted a beer too.

Sam shook his head, a bit confused at Y/N’s gesture, but shook it off and laughed at Dean’s comment. “Way to put it lightly. Let me guess, you didn’t follow Dean’s orders and then he went on to say “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” Sam mocked Dean. If only he knew it was really his brother he was talking too. He looked at Dean as if waiting for the confirmation that he was right.

The older Winchester narrowed his eyes as he took a seat across from his brother. “No, I didn’t say that this time – I mean, Dean didn’t say that this time.” He tried saving himself, but Sam had still caught it.

“Right. Well you know he says it because he cares a lot about you.” Sam said.

Dean froze in place. He didn’t like where this conversation was going. Had Sam told you about his feelings for you? How the hell did Sam even know about them?

The younger brother continued, “He has an awful way of showing it, but he’d do anything for you. Look, you can deny it all you want, but you two share the same feelings for one another. I know it. ”

Dean looked up, “What feelings?” He asked cautiously.

Sam laughed, “Really? You’re actually going to make me say it? All right, the fact that you and my brother are too stubborn to admit that you both are in love with one another type of feelings. You should just tell him how you feel, Y/N.”

“Really? You’re not lying?” Dean asked as he felt his heart, well your heart, thumping like crazy.

“Of course I’m not lying. It’s obvious to everyone but my brother how much you love him. And it’s obvious to anyone but you how much Dean loves you. What’s with you today, Y/N?” Sam asked. “It’s like you’re a different person, almost like-“

Before Sam could finish, both you and Dean felt a massive migraine.

In Dean’s bed, you fell on your side on the bed, holding Dean’s head.

Dean fell off the chair in the kitchen holding your head.

Sam went straight to Dean. “Y/N? Hey, Y/N? What’s wrong?” Sam had no idea what was happening, so he called for the one person that might. “Dean! Dean! Something is wrong with Y/N!”

And then both of you fainted….for a minute or two.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Sam with a worried look. “Sam?” You asked feeling disorientated.

“Y/N? Are you okay? You just fell to the floor holding your head. Did the witch do something to you?”

“No?” You answered unsure of how to answer since Dean wanted to keep the switch between you two only. Good to know that he was right that the spell wouldn’t last long.

You looked around at your surroundings. You had been in the kitchen, meaning Dean had been in the kitchen. Had Sam been talking to Dean, thinking it was you? Hopefully it was nothing embarrassing. You slowly got up, with Sam’s help. “Sorry about that.” You tried blowing off what had just happened.

Sam chimed in, “Maybe you should get some rest, you’ve been acting weird since you and Dean came back.”

You nodded. Before you left, you turned to Sam at the doorway, “By the way, refresh my memory, had we been talking about anything before I fell to the ground?”

“Are you trying to say that talking about your love life caused you to faint?” Sam asked chuckling.

Your eyes immediately widened. “W-what did you say about my love life?”

“Same thing I always tell you. You should tell him how you feel.” Sam said as he walked past you. “I’m going to check on Dean to make sure he’s okay.”

You gulped. You went straight for your room, only to fall on your bed, kicking your shoes off. This was great. First, Dean gets to see you naked. Now, Dean knew you had feelings for him. You grabbed a pillow to cover your face as you screamed.

“Woah there, are you okay?” The only too familiar voice spoke from the doorway.

You lifted the pillow off your face, hoping it would be Sam. Of course it was Dean.

You moved the pillow to your chest, hugging it. “Oh, just dandy. Had a nice head ache and now I’m going to take a nap.” You said turning on your side that didn’t face the doorway.

“Right. Sam came to check on me and told me about how you fell to the floor. He asked me if maybe the witch put a spell on us since we both seemed to have been acting weird to him. I told him no.”

“Great, so he doesn’t know just like what you wanted. I’m going to sleep now. It was great being you for that short time and you’re welcome for the free show in my body.” You didn’t want to sound nasty, but you wanted to be far away from Dean as possible.

You felt a dip in your bed.

“Look, I really tried my best to not look when I showered.” Dean shared. “It was honestly the most difficult showers I had ever taken. It was basically showering blind!

You smiled at his last comment, you could relate.

Dean continued on, “I just want you to know I would never do anything to hurt you and that I care a lot about you.” He paused. “More than I probably should.”

Your eyes widened as you turned slightly to look at Dean.

Dean had been looking down at his hands.

You got up into a sitting position, the pillow still against your chest. “Dean, I care about you a lot too, definitely more than I should.” You smiled at him as he finally looked over at you.

He looked at your lips and then a gentle smile appeared as he looked back at you. He began leaning towards you. “If you want me to stop, tell me now.”

You leaned towards him, showing you wanted whatever was about to happen, happen.

He smiled placing his hand on your cheek as he pulled you in and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was way better than you had imagined it. You tossed your pillow aside as you placed your hands on his face, pulling him more towards you.

Dean took the hint and made his way on top of your bed, kicking his boots off. His free hand slid to the tip of your shirt, wanting to feel the touch of your skin. He then froze, hearing his brother.

“About time.” Sam said with a grin on his face as he stood by the doorway. “Can’t believe it had to take a witch’s spell for this to happen.”

You and Dean had stop the lip locking as you looked over at Sam. “You knew?” You both said at the same time.

“Uh yeah. First off, Y/N never dumps her bag on the war room table after coming back from a hunt because she once told me she doesn’t know what her bag had touched and wouldn’t want to put any bacteria on a place where we eat. Second, the hug I got back from her was just awkward. Third, Dean is the one to drink a beer after a hunt. Y/N usually takes a nap after or would come to me to complain about you Dean. And lastly, I saw some yellow dust on both of you when you first came into the bunker.” Sam explained.

You both looked at each other, smiling.

Dean got up and walked over to the door, smiling at Sam. “Wear headphones tonight, Sammy.” He wiggled his eyebrows as he began closing the door on Sam’s face.

You heard Dean and yelled back, “Sorry in advance Sam!”

When the door closed on Sam’s face, he just shook his head smiling and began walking back to his room as he heard the laughter he’d been waiting to hear for a while on the other side of the closed door.

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural imagine #spn fanfic #sam winchester

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Sixty: Later in the Year ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

Though Hinata would probably call Spring or Summer her favorite season - given the pleasant weather and the bountiful flowers she loves so much - she will admit that Autumn has a certain kind of...charm to it. The slow descent in temperatures from the scorch of Summer is refreshing in its own way. Of course, it also means kids returning to school, so not everyone is happy about the arrival of Fall. But overall...she finds plenty to like about it.

The shifting colors of the foliage are always beautiful. Though Hinata might prefer cooler colors when it comes to things like her wardrobe, or her workspace, there’s something so...cozy about the palette later in the year. It’s a sign the months are dipping back toward the sleep of Winter: harvest is over, the reaped rewards of a long Summer of work gathered up and stored away for the snowy months. It’s a time to celebrate a successful waxing of the seasons to their peak, and to prepare for the waning back into the cold.

Even the air seems to carry a certain...tinge to it. The smell of damp, fallen leaves...the plethora of baked goods and their spices as people look for warmer treats to ward away the chill. The breeze might have a slight nip to it, but that just means shifting to the thicker parts of her closet. Sweaters (and sweater dresses), leggings, boots, hats, scarves...all sorts of cute things to wear!

Yes, Autumn has its charm. Which is why - as Hinata lurks in her favorite haunt, a little coffee shop and bakery hybrid - she holds her cup of coffee in hands grateful for the heat, watching the season sweep through her little city with a soft smile. She’s spent the entire day up until this little break taking photographs of the shifting atmosphere. While she has a day job at a craft store chain, her real passion is photography...which she indulges in on her blog. She always sees a swell of traffic this time of year as others enjoy the season.

One would think her easily tired of it, given that her place of employment has been swamped with Fall decorations and themed wares for weeks before Summer was anywhere close to over. In fact, Autumn has scarcely begun, and she’s already seeing their Winter wares being put up on display. It’s a little disappointing how...overlooked it is between the hype that is Summer, and the end of the year. Beyond pumpkin spiced...everything, there isn’t much regard given to the season before it slips into Winter.

But, now is hardly the time to mull that over. She’s going to warm up, and then make the trek back to her apartment to get started on this week’s blog post. Already her mind slips into a daydream-like state, picturing the layout and how best to arrange her favorite shots.

Her thoughts are interrupted, however, as the door chimes nearby, her seat only a few feet from it along the large window that overlooks the sidewalk. Blinking, she turns to give the newcomer a glance, shy but curious.

She has to do a double take.

Is...is that…?

Her staring thankfully goes unnoticed, the figure too focused on reaching the counter and perusing the menu. Pale eyes try to see his face from this angle, not quite sure he is who she thinks he is. The woman behind the register greets him pleasantly, putting together his order with a hint of smalltalk she can’t hear from this distance. His body language is rather lax, a hip cocked with hands in his jacket pockets. Dark hair brushes the tops of his shoulders, the top half drawn up in a tail behind his head.

Once he gets his drink and snack, he turns to look for a place to sit, and she all but confirms it. That’s Sasuke! Sasuke Uchiha! She hasn’t seen him in...gosh, years. They went to school together nearly all twelve years, except for a stint while he moved away. But he’d returned before graduation, and then just...disappeared. No one had really heard from him after that, not even Naruto. He fell off the map, moved out of the city, and ghosted everyone.

What is he doing here?

Averting her gaze just enough to be subtle, Hinata watches him out of the corner of her eyes. It’s so...strange. He looks quite a bit different. He’d always been a rather lean, almost skinny kid in school, but...he’s bulked up ever so slightly. Still far from someone like Naruto’s build, but no longer a beanpole, either. His hair was never that long in school, always shorter in the back and untamed. His style had been rather...alternative back then, but now he’s just dressed in dark-wash jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket. Seems he’s mellowed out quite a bit.

Curiosity is eating at her. She wants to know where he’s been, and why! But perhaps more importantly, the reason behind his return. No one’s said anything about hearing from him or seeing him, so...clearly he hasn’t contacted anyone. At least not according to anything she’s seen on Facebook. Surely by now, Naruto would have thrown a huge fit all over the site if he knew.

But...she very rarely spoke to Sasuke back then. He’d been so...withdrawn. And while he appears far more laid back now, she’s not sure it would be wise to just...go say hello. He might not want to be seen. But...well...he is in a public place.

...maybe she can get a photo of him.

Digging out her camera, she makes a show of perusing through her memory card, turning to sit sideways in her chair. He’s technically facing the same direction as her table, further back from the window, eyes glued to a phone he scrolls through while sipping his drink. Then carefully, ever so carefully, she starts angling her lens, trying to find him through the screen view. Almost...there…

Like magnets, his dark eyes whip to her lens, startling her so badly as he stares right at her that she jumps. Fumbling not to drop her (rather expensive) hobby device, she feels heat bloom quickly through her face.

He perks a brow at her, stopped mid-chew through a bite of his snack. But after a moment to consider her, recognition bleeds through his confusion.

“...Hinata?”

“I, uh...y-yes?” Caught red-handed and not having the gall to try to fib, she shrinks in her chair, clinging to her camera. “Er...Sasuke, right?”

“Yeah.”

Well, she’s already embarrassed herself this much...might as well go all-out. “What - w-what are you...doing here?”

“Getting some coffee. Same as you, looks like.”

“I - no, I mean...here. In town. No one has seen you in...in ages! You just sort of...disappeared.”

Clearing his teeth behind his lips, Sasuke adjusts his posture a bit. “Took some time to travel. Wanted to get away from it all for a while. Hopped around a few cities, took odd jobs...but thought I’d come back now that it all sort of lost its spark. Didn’t think I’d run into someone I knew so quickly, though.”

Someone he...knew? But...they hadn’t exactly been friends… “I see! Well, it - it’s nice to see you. So...you’re here to...stay?”

“I think so. Still planning things out. Been mostly winging it for the past few years, so...I have to get used to it again. Working on finding a place and a job. Thought I’d lie low and get that figured out before letting anyone know I was back…”

“Oh, I-I won’t tell anyone!”

“Thanks. But...weren’t you trying to take my picture?”

Jolting, her blush returns full force. “I was just, um...I-I wasn’t sure if it was really...you! You look...different.”

“Yeah? You too. No more baggy clothes and curtain hair, huh?”

Hinata blinks. He...remembers that? “N...no. Not so much, at least. I...well, I guess change is h-hard to avoid. Even if you don’t notice it over time. Must be, um...easier for you to notice, since...since you’ve been gone.” Clearly still nervous, she smiles sheepishly, gesturing to the window. “You...you picked a great time to come back! The weather’s been very...very nice. And the Autumn colors are at their peak. That’s what I have the c-camera for. Was out...taking pictures.” And not just looking like a creep sneaking photos of people… she thinks to herself, wilting.

“Photography, huh? Neat hobby. Get any good shots?”

This seems so...strange. To just be...talking to him. They’d been in completely different circles in high school. Now that sort of cliquey nonsense seems so...childish. But still...they’re practically strangers beyond a few overlapping acquaintances. “I...I think so. I need to go...through them. And get them posted. I...I run a little blog, it - it’s nothing fancy. Just...well, just a hobby.”

Sasuke nods. “Hobbies are good. Keep you sane through the other life crap you gotta put up with. I’d like to see it.”

“You -? It...it’s not that -”

“You were always one of those quiet ones in school. That means you know how to observe. Bet you take great photos.”

The compliment catches her off-guard. “...I…? Well, I...I try.”

“What’s the site?”

Pink in embarrassment, Hinata just...writes it on a napkin, handing it over. “Don’t, um...don’t have too high of expectations. I’m still...I’m still learning. A-about a lot of how it all, um...works.”

He waves a hand. “Maybe I oughta make one. Took a lot of photos while I traveled.”

Hinata can’t help a small perk. “Oh, you...you should! I’d love to see them!”

“...I’ll look into it. Maybe yours’ll give me some inspiration.”

She blinks, still rosy.

“Well...I gotta get going. Lot to do tomorrow,” he then announces, rising from his seat. “Nice seeing you, Hinata. Maybe I’ll bump into you again.”

“I-I bet you will. I’m here a lot, so…” She trails off, unsure what else to say. As he offers a farewell, she waves, still not quite...grasping their entire exchange. It felt so alien. Now that he’s gone, she’s not even sure it really happened.

But, either way, she remains true to her word, deciding not to mention the sighting to anyone. Sounds like he’ll be busy enough as it is without anyone pestering him. Looking into her empty coffee cup, Hinata thinks for a moment longer before packing up her things.

...she’s got a blog post to work on.

                                                             .oOo.

     Tired @~@ But I like this one pretty well. I'm a HUGE fan of Autumn myself, so getting to add it to the background of a drabble is nice~ Otherwise...not too much to say about this one. Just a chance encounter between two prior acquaintances. Might continue it at some point. Honestly there's so many of these that could use part twos or full fics...I can't keep track anymore xD But we'll see~      Anywho, I need to get some sleep - I'm still a day behind here, and tomorrow's gonna be another very busy day. The next two weeks or so (at least) are still gonna be very...eventful, so I can't make any promises about catching up. But I'll try, at least, not to fall any further behind lol - anyway, thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #best years of your life [ au ] #365daysofsasuhina