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boringboy · 17 days

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Thoughts about Ada. Is it coherent, I don’t know? You tell me. (PART 1)

I’d like to start this off by saying I’m not in my right mind right now, it’s sort of like— literally 5am in the morning as I write this and I have not slept a wink, but this is the sort of thing I’ll sacrifice for my latest obsession! Haha, okay but anyways. This is just a little character post, sharing my thoughts about a certain one, and in no way do I consider it to be up to par with any of the other existing analyses within the Nevermore fandom. I don’t do this often, so forgive me.

Ada, to me, is an amazing antagonist. I believe she’s incredibly well written, so much that she (almost) seems human. At first you think she’s annoying, which you’re meant to, but then somewhere down the line you start feeling something similar to remorse. Guilt. And then you immediately become annoyed again. I know exactly how Morella feels.

First off, we can talk about her background. What Edgar Allan Poe work is Ada based on? That’s right, Tamerlane! And what exactly is Tamerlane about? To put it short, it’s a poem about an important man who falls in love with a peasant girl who’s conveniently named Ada, who he takes for granted. We can already infer so much from this, and it’s reinforced by the Mystery Manor arc which does hint at it before it’s basically confirmed. I mean, how else would she know that the servant’s staircase were the quickest way to get round the mansion, if not from experience? And the way she responded to Lenore when she’d asked what a peephole portrait could be good for: “Uhh, privacy, obviously?” followed by, “These old manors have all sorts of secrets like this!”. (Taken from episodes 56 and 57). This isn’t something people with status would care to know about or remember.

When it’s shown outright in episode 69 through a memory triggered by Prospero’s rejection, we see Ada in maid attire, denoting her status. She has presumably been lured into the forest by this man, the man she loves, the man who is wealthy, and the man who is holding a hatchet and has already struck her. Well, sliced her to be exact. Right in the stomach. A lot of people theorise this to be due to an accidental pregnancy and an affair, which is something I agree with and what I believe to be the most probable situation. Continuing on, Ada’s bleeding out, in tears, and understandably confused. Was her pregnancy, or whatever it could be, not something to be happy about? Even though she’s dying, the last thing on her mind is the pain. What she cares about is what the man thinks. All she can think about is why he’s doing this to her.

Ada was dealt an awful hand in life. She’s never been fortunate ever, not even in death.

What did she want from this relationship?

Naturally, as a person born so low down, you would want to live better and be treated better. So you take any sliver, any scrap, of anything that comes close to that. You fall in love with that rich man, that’s nothing, but if he loves you back or says he does? I’d scrabble to my knees just to get the chance. Hell, I’d accept it without even thinking twice.

I think their interactions might have been almost fairytale like, the man acting like a prince, at least in her eyes, explaining her attitude towards the whole thing.

And Ada continues to go for it in death because she’s unfulfilled. She wants to be satisfied for once in her life, in so many different ways. This game the Deans are playing is what she thinks is her chance to finally change things.

How does her background affect her? What does it do for her character now?

Her insecurity is rooted in classism. The likely reason she was killed was because the man couldn’t be caught with someone of a low class, and of course Ada would know that. You’d be made to know your place since the day you were born. That insecurity only grows worse upon entering Nevermore. When you’re afraid of one thing, you start fearing more. The way she acts towards others because of that earns her insults and adds even more salt to the wound. I think she came out more insecure than when she arrived 😭. Like all the precautions she’s taken have all been wasted because they don’t even have the effect on others that she wants. Nobody likes her because of it.

Also because of her background, she’s unable to stand up for herself when she really needs to. Yes she’ll fight it at first, pretend she’s as good as the rest, but it’ll fade fast. There’s no point in fighting it when it’s the natural order of things, right? What she’s been before is what she’ll always be and nothing can change that. No matter how much she dreams. Resigning herself to others is what she’s used to doing. Ada can’t defy her authority, can’t defy anything even if she feels guilty.

She wants to be loyal and worthy. She craves validation so desperately it’s insane.

What is so relatable and real about her?

The cycle she’s stuck in is something I believe a lot of people can relate to, or something a lot of people have seen others go through. She’s self destructive, and I don’t think I even need to explain that. You can easily identify what, where and when.

The fact that she’s vulnerable. All of these things have made her unstable and easy to manipulate and use, and I don’t think she’s aware of it either, or maybe she is deep down, but doesn’t mind it because she’s getting what she wants, or what she supposes she wants.

Her actions seem almost reasonable now when you take into account her living life and her circumstances, but it doesn’t make it okay obviously. It makes you sympathise with her. Kind of like a love/hate thing. R&F did really well with that, the expressions and all the little things make such a huge difference/impact. I can tell exactly how she feels in her lowest moments.

Help. We’re stopping here because if I continued there’d be so much more.

I don’t know. I think it’s the fact that you can think this much about her that proves she’s an amazing character? Because wow she is thought provoking. This is all nonsense actually, I’m afraid of looking at this after it’s posted.

#ada nevermore #nevermore webtoon #nevermore webcomic

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w1ldthoughts · 9 months

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Too Good to be True

Series Masterlist

Synopsis: After a lengthy mental battle, Zoey confesses her genuine feelings to Jack.

Warning: The angsty storm.

“You’re not one of those girls that just wants to complicate everything by suggesting labels and shit.”

Well she was definitely one of those girls. And the stress of the this situationship was really starting to get to her. The other day she almost told him she loved him when they were cuddling in his bed first thing in the morning. Thoughts of him consumed every inch of her heart and mind and there was just no way to keep going like this.

Urban had texted her that morning to let her know he was leaving town for the weekend to do a “confidential project” and urged Zoey to be honest before it was too late.

She had two days left in Louisville and wanted to enjoy her time as much as humanly possible but Jack’s phone buzzed on the counter while he was in the shower. Zoey grabbed it to make sure it wasn’t important but the text preview was enough to make every negative emotion hit her like a ton of bricks. Jack was planning to meet this girl literally the next day after her departure from Louisville.

With her heartbeat climbing by the second, the woman rushed down the stairs and began stress baking. They’d already had dinner so it was her next best option. Anything to keep her hands busy while her mind went through every possible scenario.

Jack came downstairs just as she was getting ready to put the cookies in the oven. “Ooh chocolate chip, you spoil me. EJ’s gonna be pissed but it’ll be worth it.” He kissed her on the cheek and she couldn’t help but tense up at his close proximity.

“What’s wrong babe?”

She shrugged him off. “Nothing! Just getting sad that we only have one more night together.”

“I know,” he pouted. “But we’ll make the most of what little time we have left. Like we did last night and the night before. Oh and the night before that and—”

“Okay, I think I get it. We’ve done a lot of cherishing the moment. Let’s just keep it classy for now and watch our show. We’ll see where the night takes us.”

An hour into the evening, Zoey sat up, breaking free of Jack’s hold. “I need to tell you something.”

He immediately grabbed the remote and paused the tv. “What’s going on, Zo?”

“I—um,” she began and abruptly stopped. Her stress levels only increased when he placed a comforting hand on her thigh.

“Breathe Z. Take your time, it’s just me.” Yeah, that was the problem.

“Jack, I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for a while now. But, I’m just gonna have to spit it out.” She let out a shaky sigh, not daring to look him in the eye. The hand that he still had on her leg was a much more comfortable sight.

“Okay so…I have feelings for you. Like real ones. And I feel like you may have feelings for me too…maybe?”

He moved his hand away and she finally looked up to meet his gaze, letting out a deep breath that she’d secretly been holding for weeks. His expression was blank, painfully unreadable and it scared her.

“Will you say something, please?” She urged him.

Jack let out an uneasy sigh and groaned. Like her feelings were an inconvenience to him. “Zoey, why? Why would you do this? You know I’m not a relationship person.”

“I know that! I know. But I just—”

“You just what?” He exclaimed standing up from his seat, putting even more distance between them. “You thought you were special? That you could change me? Make me into some fucking Prince Charming? Wake up Zoey, this is the real world and none of that fairytale shit is happening here.” Jack spat out.

She nodded slowly, taken aback at how he was speaking to her. Biting back tears, she stood up to head upstairs. “God you’re right, I do need to wake up. Here I was thinking I was special like a fucking idiot. Thought maybe the last three months of my life meant something but I’m so glad that you reminded me that I’m just one of many in your rotation. Thanks for that.” Zoey pressed her lips together, steadying her breaths.

The rapper’s tense shoulders relaxed almost immediately at the sight of her visibly holding back tears and reached out to her, taking a few steps forward. She backed away immediately, a fat tear slowly rolling down her face. “Zozo,” he whispered.

“No.” She sobbed, turning around and walking up the steps. “I need a minute. Please do not fucking follow me.”

Jack sat at the bottom of the stairs for 27 minutes, waiting for her to come back down. What he didn’t expect was to see her with all of her bags in hand.

“Wait—what are you doing, where are you going?” Jack rushed out, feeling his eyes starting to water.

“I’m leaving. Spending the night at my sister’s, she’s on her way right now.” Zoey sniffed when she got to the front door.

He was full on crying now. “Okay but it’s really late and we’re both pretty emotional. Let’s just finish our show and talk in the morning. I’ll—I can sleep in a guest room or on the couch or whatever.”

“Baby please don’t leave.” He uttered softly, wiping his eyes.

“Don’t call me that anymore.” Zoey responded bluntly. “I just told you I’m falling in love with you and you’re telling me you want to watch Bates Motel? We’re on very different pages here. Hell, we’re not even reading the same book!”

She let out a laugh that was filled with pain. “I can’t stay. I’m going to Megan’s for the night and then I’m gonna fly home.” Huffing out a breath, she continued. “Jack I’m sorry but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t just pretend to go back to our little fantasy world knowing that you only see me as something temporary. I see an entire life with you, a beautiful and extraordinary life and you…you don’t. And that’s okay. But we can’t just act like this never happened.”

He took three long strides over to her, holding her face in his hands. Fresh tears swam in his blue eyes. “If you just give me some more time, I can—we can figure something out. Please don’t leave Zoey. Please. We just need a little more time.” Jack begged, his voice cracking.

“Oh my sweet boy, I’m pretty sure we just ran out of time. Promise you’ll take care of yourself and actually take the time to sit and be proud of everything you’ve accomplished sometimes. You deserve everything good in this world.” She tenderly kissed his cheek as her phone buzzed, her sister announcing her arrival.

“Goodbye, Jack.”

He only allows himself to fully break down when the car is out of sight. Jack had just heard everything he’d been dreaming of hearing. Zoey felt the same way he did and instead of affirming her, he basically spat in her face on top of lying to her.

After a poor attempt of distracting himself by putting on the show, he chucked the remote at the wall, placing his head in his hands. Jack’s body shook as he cried harder than he could ever remember in his life, knowing that he’d lost her for good. The pitiful sounds echoed throughout the house until sleep finally overtook him.

The next morning he hesitantly texted an old friend who he hadn’t spoken to in months. She’d reached out the night before to let him know she’d be in Louisville for a few days and he originally told her he wasn’t interested, but due to recent events he didn’t want to be alone.

It was back to business as usual, before Zoey. And he had to force himself to come to terms with what he’d done.

#jack harlow #jack harlow x oc #jack harlow angst #jackman thomas harlow #jack x zoey #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow imagine

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donteattheappleshook · 1 year

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Not Broken At All Chapter 14/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Sorry for how long this chapter took - It was literally just writer’s block this time. Strap in friends we’re getting into the dark(er) parts of Neverland.

Thank you thank you thank you thank you always @the-darkdragonfly and @elizabeethan for your help with this feral fic 😘

*******

Part 14

It’s silent as they make their way back through the jungle, none of them finding words to fill the quiet, not in the wake of devastation of the day’s events. She’d forgotten her son. Killian had forgotten… something. Something he’d never even know to miss now - because of her. He’d done it for her. And for Henry.

Emma looks back at where he trails behind them, the flowing robes of the fairy court replaced with his usual leather, his hook silver once more, a faint glimmer in the darkness. He’s lost to his thoughts, not looking ahead as he follows the unmarked path back to the Jolly by memory.

Hardly any light makes it through the canopy of trees, the darkness playing tricks on her mind, time losing meaning. How long had they been in the fairy court? How many hours - days even? With the way time works here, Emma thinks she might never truly know the answer.

She watches as he casts a glance over his shoulder, staring at where they came from, the faint glow of the Solstice lights long faded now, then turns back, brow pinched tight in confusion, frustration tugging at his jaw - like he’s forgotten something, left something behind in that forest and aches to go back for it. Her eyes burn. Wendy sees it too, watching Killian with a sorrowful expression, grieving in his place - because he can’t and someone should mourn what he’s lost.

Tinkerbell stumbles, sweat beading her brow, pale with exhaustion and Emma winces, nodding when Wendy insists they need to stop - just for a minute - she promises when the fairy tries to protest. But the sigh of relief she lets out when the young woman - now once again in her disguise of matted hair and shadowed features - helps lower her down into the grass and leaves.

It takes Wendy a moment to coax Hook into sitting on a fallen log, flinching when she first touches a gentle hand to his arm, resisting a light tug as she guides him away from the path - still looking back. “It’s okay,” she promises. “I kept them safe for you- every single one.”

He looks at her then and something passes between them, something private and intimate that Emma doesn’t think she’ll ever understand, born of centuries of friendship and trust. Wendy’s voice is low when it weaves through the grove to her ears, so soft she wouldn’t have heard it were it not for the deafening silence still wrapped around them.

“They can’t be forgotten so long as someone remembers, right?”

“I don’t know which parts of her are missing,” he confesses. He sounds scared, like she’d been when she’d felt Henry fading away and she wants to help him, even if she doesn’t know how. But he has Wendy. It’s not Emma’s place to comfort him.

“It was a year after you met her in the tavern - almost exactly.” Emma looks away, feeling she’s intruding, hovering awkwardly in the middle of the field. “You promised yourself you wouldn’t ask her again, that you’d stop after the last time she said no - not when she’d be leaving Bae behind. You wanted to be selfless for her.”

She shouldn’t hear this, it’s not meant for her. But the words find their way to her regardless and she’s lost for a moment to the faint memory of a heart inked onto skin, a dagger run through it, a portrait of dark hair and laughing eyes. The name he’d given up in that cave. Milah.

Killian gives a single huff of self-deprecating laughter. “I suppose I failed.”

She considers sitting with Tink, but the glare the fairy gives her when she takes a hesitant step towards her, makes her think better of it.

“No. You were going to let her go and make the decision for her - like an idiot. You didn’t even go to the tavern.”

“But she did come. We had ten years, didn't we?” The fear creeps into his voice again.

She finds Will, sitting a few dozen feet away, watching the two of them, longing in every line of his face, and plops down beside him, wrapping her arms around her leather-clad knees, missing the flowy skirts more than she expected.

“Oh yeah. She found you. Barged onto your ship and cussed you out for being a coward.”

“That sounds about right.” The gentle grief and the longing in such a simple sentence aches deep in her heart. Whoever she was to him, he loved her completely.

“You’re pining again,” Emma teases, trying to block out their voices.

His eyes are fixed on the captains whispering softly across from them, heads bent low and close, voices still finding them in the quiet.

“You fought. Or at least she yelled at you until you finally told her why you didn’t come, why you were leaving. Then she yelled at you more.” Emma chances a glance at them, catches the small smile tugging at his mouth.

She nudges Will’s shoulder with her own when he doesn’t answer.

“He abandoned her.” William’s hissed words catch her off guard, his eyes still glazed, but they’re clearer than they’d been in the Fae realm, and she thinks that maybe his high has taken a downward turn. “He just left her here. Alone.”

“... She asked you to take her with you.”

Emma glances at Wendy and Killian again. She doesn’t think they can hear, or at least they aren’t listening, too wrapped up in their own conversation. “I know.”

“She hears the Lost Boys now.”

“I know.”

“...She asked me?”

“Do you remember why?”

“No…”

“She hears them because of him. And still he gets to be… I’ve never abandoned her. I’ve been here. I’ve -” he doesn’t finish, but it’s not hard to guess. “She’s never let me in. I’ll never know her like he does. No matter how long I’m by her side, how many times I try to prove it to her…”

“... Because he’d never have let her go. But you would.”

“I’ll never be him.” He looks down at his hands, pulling apart a stray leaf with intense concentration. “So it’ll never be enough.” It takes her a moment to realize what exactly she’s seeing in his expression.

“If it made her happy, if it was what she wanted.”

“You’re jealous?”

“You’re not?”

She’s about to argue - that it’s absolutely ridiculous that she could be jealous of Killian’s relationship with anyone. She’s only known him a matter of days, and he and Wendy’s relationship is completely platonic anyway. But Will knows that. It’s the depth of their relationship he longs for, the complete trust and openness they share.

“You’d choose her. Even if it meant losing her.”

She’s never trusted someone so completely, never let someone know her so intimately. She nearly did, once. But Neal’s betrayal had only reminded her how dangerous trust could be, shown her how vulnerable being vulnerable could make her.

“You loved her. More than he’d ever even tried to.”

“I…” Emma doesn’t even know what she’s feeling.

Will freezes, alert for the first time since this morning. “Where’s Tink?”

Emma turns to look at where the fairy had just been, the patch of grass empty, Wendy and Killian suddenly on their feet, hands at their swords, tension rolling through the jungle. A hand comes over her mouth, an arm wrapped around her waist as she’s dragged back into the trees, fighting only for a moment before she hears Will’s voice low in her ear. “Quiet.”

Kneeling in the dirt, he keeps his hold on her, doesn’t move his hand from her mouth, hiding them behind dense trees and tall grass, his body stiff against her back, his heart pounding so hard she can feel it. It’s not until she hears the rustle of leaves, of twigs snapping under footsteps that she realizes what’s made him so terrified.

“Pan. To what do we owe the displeasure?”

Pan. She can’t fully see him - straining against Will’s death-grip to try to get a better view - but there’s a laugh, young and cruel, that floats through the darkness.

“I heard you were back and I had to see it for myself.”

“Aye, well, now you have, so you can take your leave.”

“Is that all the time you have for your old friend?”

“We were never friends,” Killian reminds him grimly.

Pan tuts, like they are old friends, like it’s an old, inside joke. “Captain Darling,” he greets Wendy. “Or is it lieutenant now? I must say I’m almost disappointed by your demotion. I’d grown quite fond of having you as an adversary.”

“That makes one of us.”

Another laugh. Emma twists against Will’s arm, tugging at the hand over her mouth, but he’s unyielding, and she glares into the darkness because she can’t glare at him, debating licking his palm like a five year old.

“What do you want, boy? I’m in no mood for games.”

“So defensive. And after I helped you find your revenge you’d been after for so long.”

Killian scoffs, biting out his answer. “You didn’t do anything but send me to a swift death.”

“I sent you with everything you needed.”

“You lied.”

Emma does lick Will’s hand this time. It only tightens against her.

Pan sounds almost offended, but his amusement is thinly veiled. “I didn’t lie. I told you your villain was in a realm without magic and gave you the poison you wanted.”

“He was supposed to be powerless.”

“I never actually said he’d be powerless. You assumed he would be. And I take it you assumed wrong.”

Killian doesn’t answer for a long moment. “You cheated.”

“You didn’t pay attention to the rules. I’d think you’d be better at making deals, what with all that time spent in the Fae lands.”

“Have you just come to brag? Because I believe that could have waited until morning.”

“I merely came to thank you for delivering the boy to me. You fulfilled your duty admirably - Though I’d have preferred not to wait a decade.”

Henry. He has Henry. Emma squirms, trying to break free, to stand and demand Pan bring her to her son - or just wring his stupid, sadistic neck. She jabs an elbow into Will’s ribs and he lets out a shallow grunt before pulling her against him, squishing her arm between them.

“The time passed was Neverland’s doing, not mine. Though I must say I’ve found it much changed. The jungle seems to have taken on a life of its own.”

Shut up, Killian, she wants to warn him. But she can’t. She can barely even move. How the hell is Will this strong? He’s like a hundred pounds soaking wet. Is there some Neverland gym she isn’t aware of? She’d be impressed if she wasn’t so pissed off. Pan hears the mocking in Killian’s words too, his answer less friendly than before.

“Things in Neverland don’t change - but the minds of grownups easily are. You must be misremembering after so much time away.” He’s lying. If they didn’t know it for certain before, they do now - he’s losing control.

“Aye, that must be it.” There’s pause, the three of them staring each other down, Wendy’s hand still braced on the hilt of her sword. “Was there another reason for your visit? Or were you just here to corroborate my return and deliver your thanks?”

Pan lets out a tisk. “I came to let you know that you should expect some new additions to your crew soon.” She feels Will’s harsh breath against her ear, his hand slackening over her mouth and despite her earlier struggles, the absolute terror she can feel in the stillness of his body makes her keep her mouth shut, keeps her rooted to the spot. “There’ll be a hunt tomorrow. I trust you’ll make the necessary preparations to receive the survivors.”

Killian doesn’t speak, and for a moment silence hangs between them. Emma doesn’t dare to even breathe. Wendy finally answers, the word heavy. “Aye.”

“Excellent,” Pan says, all that false friendliness back. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’ve preparations to make myself with it being the new boy’s first hunt and all. Always so much more exciting to see how they do the first time, isn’t it?” Will’s hand is immediately firm on her mouth again. What hunt? What survivors? What the hell is he having Henry do tomorrow?

“I wouldn't know,” Killian answers darkly.

“Ah, but lieutenant Darling does - And so does young Scarlet,” he adds, casting a glance in their direction and Emma tenses, finally able to see him properly.

He’s so much younger than she expected, small and thin with wide eyes and a tanned, rosy-cheeked face. He looks like a child, soft blonde curls falling over his eyes, just a little boy, not much older than Henry, incapable of the cruelty she’s been told about.

“... Wherever he is,” Pan finishes with a wry, boyish smirk. “Not like him to miss a Solstice.” He turns back to Killian and Wendy. “Until tomorrow then,” he promises, before disappearing into the trees.

No one moves for several minutes after he leaves, watching the forest and the sky, waiting. It’s not until Tink returns that Will lets out a breath, finally dropping his hand, looking at it and then her in disgust before wiping his palm over his shirt, muttering something about ‘disgusting’.

“What’s the hunt?” she asks him. “Will,” she presses when he doesn’t answer. “What was he talking about?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says, standing and making his way over to the others. She follows - not letting him ignore her.

“He mentioned Henry.”

“Are you alright?” Killian asks her, looking panicked and relieved at the same time.

“No. What’s happening tomorrow?” she demands. “What’s it got to do with Henry?”

“Your boy’s not in danger, Swan,” he promises. “Pan won’t harm him.”

She knows he’s not lying. But he’s hiding something. “Killian…” He scratches his nails through the scruff at his jaw, avoiding her gaze. “What’s the hunt?”

Tinkerbell answers her at last, blunt and to the point as she’s come to expect. “Every few months, whenever some of the Lost Boys have gotten too old, or there are too many of them, Pan thins them out.”

“Thins them out?”

“It’s vile and barbaric,” Killian hisses.

“Tell me.”

“The older boys are forced to find their way from the camp to the beach while the younger ones try to prevent them from reaching it. Those that make it, become members of the crew, like the men you saw yesterday.”

“And the others…”

“Are killed,” Tink says flatly. “It’s called a hunt for a reason.”

She’s not sure she’s breathing - images of a cruel massacre painted as a game flashing in her mind, growing worse with every one.

“Swan,” Killian tries carefully, standing and shortening the distance between them. “Henry is only ten - and Pan chose him for a reason. He won’t be hunted.”

“No - but Pan said - he’ll want him to… he’ll be expected to hunt won’t he?” Panic sets in, unable to steady her shaking hands and racing heart, unable to fill her lungs, constricting in her chest. Pan’s going to make Henry hunt other children - he’s going to make him kill other children. She thinks of her son, so young and kind and happy, imagining all the ways Pan could twist that thirst for life and adventure into something dark and sinister. She turns towards the jungle. “We can’t let - we have to stop him - I -”

Will grabs her again, stopping her from running she doesn’t even know where - wherever Pan’s camp is, if she could even find it. “Let me go,” she orders. But Will’s hold on her tightens.

“I swear to god, if you lick me again…”

“Let me go.”

“You can’t go after him, Emma,” Wendy says, having the decency to make it sound like an apology. “Not yet. If you try to stop Pan now it’ll be the last thing you do - and everything we’ve done will be for nothing.” Wendy levels her with a look. “Henry needs you alive.”

“I can’t just let him kill someone!” she shouts, refusing to accept his reasoning, fighting Will with everything she’s got, but he’s a goddamn marble statue, her nails digging into his arms not seeming to bother him at all. She can’t stop seeing it: Henry with a blade in his hand, blood - his or someone else's - staining his clothes, his skin, children being chased and cut down, her son being the one to do it. If Henry does this, if Pan makes him do this - even if he thinks it’s a game… it’ll destroy him. “I have to stop him,” she sobs. “I can’t let him -”

It’s only when Will finally lessens his hold enough to let her sink to her knees, her legs no longer able to support her, that she realizes she’s crying. She can’t stop, her emotions not her own anymore, body shaking and stomach burning. Killian kneels down with her in the grass and the mud and the dirt, arms coming around her, pulling her heaving and shaking against his chest.

She pushes against him, words barely coherent. “Please. You said you would get him back.” His hold on her tightens, both a comfort and a restraint, holding her together as best as he can and she finds herself leaning into it even as she wants to run. Henry’s in danger. Henry needs her. And she’s helpless. “You said you’d protect him.”

“I am,” he says softly. “Henry has a good heart, love, and a strong will. He knows right from wrong.”

She wishes she could believe them, knows that her son is a good kid, hopes that what they’re saying is true, that he won’t participate, that he’ll stay out of it. But Will hasn’t said a word, his silence unsettling as he stands stoically looking at the ground, jaw tensed and knuckles white against the handle of his cutlass.

“Will?” she asks, pulling herself from Killian’s embrace, the cold on her skin matching that in her veins.

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t answer. How long did he say he was on the ship? Seven years? Eight? And Pan had nearly killed him when he decided to leave. The hunt can’t even be a distant memory for him yet, and his refusal to comment makes her think it might trouble him even now. Wendy puts a hand on his arm, comforting and instinctual and he drags his gaze up to look at Emma properly.

He sighs. “Pan won’t force him. He’s got this thing about free will - or the illusion of it.” She can tell this is the good before the bad and she braces herself, waiting. “He likes the boys to follow him because they want to. But he can be convincing. And Henry might not know what he’s doing until it’s too late. He might not know that it’s real.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a game. Some of the boys don’t understand that their arrows are real, that their spears are sharp until they’ve killed one of the other kids. And even then…” He hesitates, a pained frown pulling at his brow and Emma reaches for something to hold on to, finding the brace of Killian’s hook that stays steadfast in her grip. “We didn’t know. Or maybe we did but we chose not to believe it, to believe that it was just a game, that they weren’t really hurt, that they weren’t really dead - that it was all pretend.” He winces and her heart breaks for the memories he must be reliving. “Neverland is a place of belief, and Pan can make someone believe nearly anything if they trust him enough.”

He grows more loyal to the boy with each passing day. I fear soon he will give Pan what he wants if he is not stopped. Tiger Lily’s words echo in the silence as a fear she wasn’t prepared for creeps in. What if Henry becomes a Lost Boy not because he thinks she’s abandoned him, but because he chooses Pan? She looks at Wendy and at Will, both kind and brave like her son, both of whom had been under Pan’s spell at some point in their childhoods.

“We have to stop it.”

“We can’t,” Killian shakes his head hopelessly. “We’ve tried before and all he did was decide not to give any of them the chance to run for the ship.”

“Then we have to stop Henry - make sure he doesn’t play this fucked up game.”

“How?” Wendy asks, but it’s not really a question, she knows there isn’t an answer.

“I’m going out there. I’ll stop him myself.”

“That’s suicide, Swan,” Killian tells her harshly. “If he saw you, if he found out what you are - who you are - he wouldn’t risk you coming between him and whatever he has planned for Henry.”

“Well we have to do something!” she snaps. “If Henry does this then we’ll have lost him already.”

“I’ll go.”

The three of them turn, staring at Will in shock.

“No you won’t,” Wendy argues.

“Did you not hear the part about it being a suicide mission?” Killian snaps, annoyed.

“For her it is. I know the jungle. I lived there for decades. You forget I was Pan’s right hand for a long time before joining your crew,” he reminds Wendy. “I know how Pan thinks, how he plays his games.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Killian glares.

Will returns it. “Look, I’ve got the best chance out of all of us of getting to the camp. I can warn Henry not to listen to Pan, no matter what he tries to make him believe. I’ll make sure he doesn’t take part in the hunt tomorrow.”

“You’re not going,” Wendy insists again.

“Wen,” he starts, and Emma sees Killian notice the ease with which the nickname falls from his lips, the familiarity in it.

“It’s too dangerous. If there’s anyone on this island Pan wants dead, it’s you. The fact that you’ve survived this long -”

“Probably means he’s got a plan for the day I won’t. And this isn’t it."

“You’re not doing it,” she snaps, the authority in her voice slipping. There’s fear in her eyes now, a desperation turning her order to a plea. “If he finds you - if he kills you I -”

“Wait until morning,” Killian says and Wendy turns to him, betrayal plain on her face. “He’ll be on his guard tonight, perhaps expecting a retaliation for his visit. Go tomorrow when they’ll be busy preparing for the hunt. He’ll be distracted.”

Will gives a solemn nod tinged with surprise. “Aye.”

Wendy’s eyes dart between the two of them - hurt, fear, anger - before she storms off, disappearing into the woods towards the shoreline.

“Great job,” Tink sneers, glaring at Hook before following after her. “I’m going back to my treehouse. Send a message when it’s time.” Emma feels guilt twist her gut. It should be her. Henry’s her responsibility. But she knows Killian would never let her go. He’d probably lock her in the damn brig if she tried. And she doesn’t think she’d survive crossing the island on her own - no matter how much she insists she could. But it can’t be no one. Someone needs to warn Henry, to protect him.

The two men stare off after Wendy, wearing matching expressions of shame and determination. Will, while still resolute, hangs his head before turning to head back to the beach, but Killian calls his name and he pauses, looking back at the captain.

“Are you sure about this, Scarlet?”

Will glances at the path Wendy disappeared down before meeting Killian’s gaze. “I know what you think of me, Hook. And you’re right,” he tells him. Fifty years, wasn’t it, that they’d said he’d been with Pan? “I can’t change the past or what I did, but I can bloody well try stop it from repeating itself.” He looks at Emma then, a promise unspoken between them and she mouths a silent ‘thank you,’ a small, self-deprecating smile offered in return.

“You’re right,” Killian tells him. “You do know what I think of you.” Emma’s about to turn on him, to tell him off, when he adds. “But the boy I knew wouldn’t have risked his life for anyone, let alone a stranger.”

The look that passes between them, the small nod exchanged before Will follows Wendy to the ship is almost one of understanding. She wouldn’t go so far as to suggest they like each other, but the animosity that they’d both stubbornly clung to until now gives a little, teeters carefully towards a begrudging respect.

And then there’s only her and Killian left, the forest quiet once more.

“I need you to promise that you won’t try and find Henry on your own, that you’ll stay away from Pan’s camp.” Emma doesn’t have a chance to voice her protest before Killian continues. “They’re risking their lives for you, Swan, all of us are - for you and for your son. Don’t let it be for nothing by getting yourself killed and taking away their chance at restitution.”

Her frustration at being told what to do leaves her in a breath, deciding not to argue with him. But she doesn’t promise anything - she can’t, no matter how much she might want to. Henry is a blind spot for her, she can’t always explain her actions or the decisions she makes when it comes to him, the instinct to keep him safe, to put him first and protect him at all costs overwhelming.

Killian only nods at her silence, jaw tensing like he knows the lack of a ‘no’ is the best he’ll get from her, the most she can offer. “Alright,” he sighs, accepting, heavy. “The beach is about a half-mile that way,” he tells her, gesturing towards the direction the others disappeared into. “Don’t stray from east and you should reach the ship shortly. You can probably catch up to Will if you hurry.”

“Where are you going?” Emma frowns, he’s barely let her out of his sight since they arrived.

“To keep your boy from the hunt. I know where to find Pan’s camp.”

“But, I thought Will -”

“Will is… noble, more noble than I thought. But he’s wrong to think Pan won’t kill him if he’s angry enough, regardless of his plans for him.”

“What about you?”

Killian gives a small, confident smirk, one that doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “I’ve had more practice evading death than young Scarlet.” Not quite a lie, but not the truth either. He sighs again, like he knows she sees through him. “Wendy cares for him. I won’t let her lose another person she loves - not if I can prevent it.”

Emma doesn’t answer, a knot tightening in her throat, making it impossible. His display of devotion to the girl he took in when he didn’t have to, risking himself not to protect her, but to protect someone she couldn’t bear to lose - someone he doesn’t even like… Will’s jealousy rings even truer now that it had before. No one’s ever put her first. What must it be like to be loved by Killian Jones? She banishes the thought, Killian nodding at her once, smile weaker now, before turning back to the woods.

“Wait!” I can come with you. The words don’t make it out, stuck in her chest while he watches her in question, halfway between staying and going. She knows he won’t let her, that she’d just slow him down, put him in danger just by being there - someone who doesn’t know the jungle, someone he feels the need to protect. She can’t do that to him, not when he’s going out there for her, for Henry.

She crosses the space between them, the few steps he’d made towards the darker part of the island. Fingers sliding over his cheek, turning his face to hers before either of them can think too long about it, she presses her lips to his, catching the bottom one between her own, sighing softly when he returns her kiss. Mouth warm against hers, his tongue teases gently at the seam of her lips, but he doesn’t reach for her, doesn’t press himself against her like he had in that fairy glen - letting her set the pace.

His eyes are still closed when she pulls back, fingers sliding to his neck, his breath warm on her cheek, “What was…”

“Just don’t die, okay?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth - a real one this time. “You don’t have to worry about me, Swan. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving.” Emma rolls her eyes and his grin widens in amusement. He better be.

******

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adarkrainbow · 1 year

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Huh... An interesting theory, presented in the same aggregation notebook I told you before.

The random bits of misogyny in Perrault’s fairytales might have been actually part of a style effort from his part - an effort by Perrault to make his published fairytales look more like one of those “popular, lower-class books”, to fit with the whole aesthetic and illusion of “tales taken out of the low folks and the old grannies by the fireside”.

It is a very interesting theory which points out that, such a continuation of Perrault’s project (after all he did claim that his stories came out of the old peasant nurses when the truth is that it clearly was not the case, and everybody knew about it) - a continuation into the very way the book was written and composed could explain many of the oddities of Perrault’s fairytales. Such as the way the illustrations seem strangely low-quality and crude when compared to the type of illustrations available and expected at the time for someone in Perrault’s position ; some typos and bizarre orthographs that seem to have been deliberately added by the author (when comparing with the original manuscript, where they are absent), and the overall very short, very condensced, precise style that make Perrault’s stories an oddity among French fairytales AND closer to the Grimm fairytales.

Anyway, this theory does point out that the little bits of misogyny thrown here and there in the fairytales (when Perrault himself wasn’t actually particularly misogynist - at least not particularly for his era and class ; and remember, fairytales were actually an overtly feminine genre of literature back then) were deliberatly placed there by Perrault to try to better imitate the style of those “peasant folktales” which were filled with very rude and disregarding misogynistic comments.

(And it kind of makes sense, because, again, we know that Perrault’s style of fairytale writing was a deliberate imitation of “folk tales”, the same way the Grimms would write their own tales ; and he did make a big effort of presenting them as “adapted folk tales” when in truth they were mostly adaptations of literary works that happened to be inspired by folk tales. Plus, even if it wasn’t done as a deliberate imitation of “peasant style”, Perrault clearly meant the misogynistic bits of his fairytales as humoristic - I mean, come on, he placed a morality condemning curiosity as the worst of women’s vice AT THE END OF BLUEBEARD! One has to have a truly warped perception of what the world was back then to believe Perrault meant his morality to be a literal, first degree, serious one here)

Anyway, that was the little food for thought for today.

#charles perrault #perrault fairytales #french fairytales #misogyny in fairytales

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bellamyblakru · 2 years

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y’know, ever since the bellarke fiasco, i began to think about shows with the trope “the head and the heart,” with clarke and bellamy as the paragon (especially because they switch a lot with who is the head/heart). (so, im doing a rewatch of the vampire diaries (because im a sucker for it and its been my comfort show since i was like 15), and i had the thought that elena has always, and will always be, my favorite character because she is the heart of the show essentially (imo ofc). she is basically compassion personified.)

AND THIS GOT ME THINKING ABOUT MERLIN (as everything leads back to merlin). with this trope in mind, you have arthur and merlin, as arthur with his head and merlin leading with his heart. it can’t be a coincidence that my favorite characters usually are the heart of the show?? now. you can argue that it’s the other way around, and, well, i wouldn’t totally disagree; however, at the end of the day, merlin chose his heart over head, big time, so that’s my official stance. i’ve talked about how merlin chose arthur over destiny before (how destiny’s fuck you was going through with merlin’s immortal life as his curse for picking the mortal over their cause), but there are so many instances where merlin shows he is the heart.

arthur is brilliant. i mean, he has big himbo energy half the time, but, come on, this man was bred to rule. he is strategic, logical, and intelligent. he is a fair and just king because he is capable of thinking like a great monarch—aka the head.

merlin is more complicated. everyone is well aware he is my favorite character (i dont keep that a secret LOL), which is why i always tend to write in his pov more. when he first gets to camelot, this kid is pure heart. pure in the sense of innocence, excitement, and the anticipation of adventure. of course, as the seasons progress, you watch our hero fall deeper and deeper into the hellhole of destiny, and choices, and love, and loyalty. and it fucks with him, makes him tougher, makes him realize that the only godforsaken thing he gives a fucking shit about is keeping arthur and his kingdom alive. no more fairytale thoughts of magic being freed, no more fantasies of merlin ever showing his family who he really is, no more ideas of getting recognition for what he has done. honestly, he probably would rather not take recognition because of his view of himself and his failures—each step he took was ultimately the wrong one as it all lead to arthur’s demise. there are two examples i can think of rn: when he let the large lizard live and when he told arthur there is no place for magic in camelot. with the first, that act alone was one born of mercy, compassion, and empathy. he understands that the deaths the dragon caused was a combination of his fault and the dragons and uthers. he understands that uther is to blame for the lizard’s pain and anger. he fucking understands being the last and only one of your kind—of being alone in a world that despises every breath you had taken since the minute you were born. merlin is smart, but i imagine when some people watched him tell arthur that magic cannot come back, they were like,,, what the fuck merlin?? but when i watched it originally, and still now, i focused on colin’s eyes. he was about to burst into fucking tears. imagine picking arthur’s life instead of something you’ve longed for since you could remember. arthur’s life meant more to him than freedom, than his own life, than anything destiny had shoved down his fucking throat for YEARS. you can literally watch merlin’s heart break and snap into a thousand different pieces and slapped back together with double sided tape when arthur actually agrees. with either choice, merlin was going to lose something. one, his arthur. two, his essence. (and bam, he lost both at the end anyways so it didnt fucking matter 🥰).

so, yeah. merlin is the heart and arthur is the head. thank you if u got this far. im exhausted yeet

#ashley rambles #rambling hard tonight yall #i was about to sleep but i needed to flush this out first #long post #god ill reread this tomorrow and delete probably lmfaooo #merthur #merlin #bbc merlin #bbcm #merlin meta #actually nah its just my stupid thoughts #arthur pendragon #this probably makes no sense #lo siento #sorry bye now good night

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letters-from-alex · 3 years

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June 13, 2021

To the boy with green eyes,

It’s currently 12:59am and I can’t seem to get you out of my head. I’ve got a song on repeat: “You” by Regard. You made fun of me one day after picking you up from the hotel-- “You play this song a lot,” you said and laughed. “Well, I’m sorry it’s my current obsession right now!” I rebutted as I tried looking for a different song to play. But did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, I am trying to speak to you through my favorite songs? And how relevant they may be to the current situation? If you are reading these letters, then perhaps you should pay a little more attention next time.

I wish I could go into detail about how amazing my night was with you yesterday and what it meant to me that you stuck around. You literally had no obligation to stay, much less had any reason to, but nonetheless, I thoroughly enjoyed your presence and I was thrilled and surprised to see you open up to some of my friends to whom you which barely greeted yourself to. “I don’t like people,” echoed through my head a lot-- worried me even, that you wouldn’t let yourself get loose and open up to a handful of strangers, but I hoped, just hoped that you’d open up for me because these were people that I care very much about, just like you. Slowly, but surely, you did. I caught you laughing and smiling way too much and that hugged my heart.

All night you followed me like a puppy, and please take that as a compliment as I really enjoyed it. And the playful sarcastic banter that we do way too often that comes off as partly comedic, yet slightly and secretly flirtatious (at least for me it is). And the way you’d look at me with that side-eye stare, your signature move. And that smile you make when I try to compete with you. And even that moment when our friend asked “Who’s the DJ?!” Your face was priceless. A big “oops” painted across your face as you handed me the phone and picked up my arm, “It’s Alex. It’s not me!” But she saw through that guilt in your eyes and the lie in your voice. You can’t fool too many people and according to you, you are an honest person, but to what extent will you go to protect yourself? To make sure that you protect your heart from your own feelings?

You’re always reminding me of something: “Don’t let other people control your emotions.” I’ve been questioning myself ever since you said it to me for the very first time. We all have our moments, of course, when we can’t control our emotions after getting offended, for example. Just like you did when my ignorant friend said something out of line. I had never seen you so upset before, but I liked you anyway because you had valid points, valid reasons, and a passion of respect that made me fall in love with your mind than I did before.

In that moment, when you just couldn’t cool down that boiling anger deep inside you, I asked, “What is it that you’re always telling me not to do?” There was a pause. You smiled. I actually made you smile in a tough moment. You played stupid, but you knew exactly what I was talking about. I repeated myself. You laughed and said, “You say it.”

I looked deep into your eyes and said, “Don’t let other people control your emotions.”

I could tell you breathed in a breath of fresh air and in that moment, I swear I just wanted to hug you. I don’t know why I didn’t. I should’ve, but I didn’t. Why didn’t I? You let me touch your shoulders through the night. I accidentally touched your hand. I punched your bicep. And caressed your back. You even tussled my hair as you called me short, yet feisty in Spanish. So, why couldn’t I wrap my arms around your body? I have no clue where to draw that line without getting too close to you or perhaps even pushing you away.

I felt the same way when we were lying in my bed together-- a moment that I thought would never come to fruition. I couldn’t believe you were actually sleeping... on. my. bed. And to make it worse, you were sleeping on the side I usually sleep on-- the side closest to the window.

I had accidentally woken you up after kicking a water bottle on the floor. “I’m sorry.” I whispered. “No. You’re good,” you said as you got up to use the restroom. Moments later, you walked back into my room and closed the door behind you. I don’t know why, but I had this thought in the back of my head that you were going to tell me something like, “I can sleep in the other room,” or “Could you take me back to the hotel?” But no... nothing. You just laid there, less than two feet away from me, with my dogs in between us, separated. I felt so close, yet so far from you.

You were on your phone for a moment or two. My heart began to race, much faster after you turned off your phone and got comfortable. I listened to you breathe, tried getting mine in sync with yours, but I was too nervous. I had so much on my mind. I had so much to say to you, but didn’t know how to say it or thought maybe I shouldn’t even speak my mind. I didn’t realize how much more painful it is to bottle up the heartfelt thoughts over the heartless ones until last night.

I struggled to sleep for about half an hour. I felt you move around, I heard you scratch your face, and even turn your head around. Were you struggling to fall asleep too and if so, what was on your mind? What was keeping you awake? I wish the answer was me, but I know that won’t ever be true. Unlike me, it was you. It was you. My heart was racing because of you. My mind wouldn’t quiet because of you. I couldn’t sleep because of you. I laid there, staring at the ceiling, breathing heavily, and sighing, and thinking... just thinking.

“I have so many things to say, but I will only say them if you promise me you’ll pretend that I never did.”

You’d nod.

“And I just want you to listen. I don’t expect you to say anything because I know where we stand and I know you wont reciprocate anything I tell you or anything I feel for you.”

You’d nod.

“Okay. Now that we’ve got that cleared up... I just wanted to tell you how much I adore you. Your eyes. Your smile. Your laugh. Your voice. Your accent. Your hair. Your soft skin. Your callused hands. Your tattoos. Your defined body. Just everything about you drives me so crazy and I hate that you make me feel this kind of way only because you don’t feel the same way. Don’t get me wrong, you bring me so much joy and contentedness. You don’t know much about him, but you make me forget that this other boy with green eyes exists. You make me ever forget that my heart has ever been broken into a million pieces. I enjoy my time with you. I love being in your presence. I love breathing the same air in the same room as you. I love making you laugh and I love our playful banter because I bet you can’t be like that with just anyone, which also makes me wonder-- why me? But I guess that’s something I shouldn’t question and be something I should be grateful for and just go with the flow. But you see, I’d be lying if I said I just wanted this to stay like this-- to be friends, to be platonic. I don’t want to be platonic with you. Right now, I just want to hold you and intertwine my body with yours. I want to keep you warm throughout the night and caress your beautiful face and tussle your soft hair. I want to breathe on your neck and I want to whisper all the things I’ve never been brave enough to say.”

But I was mute the rest of the night. If only my mind was just as silent. It rushed so fast and my heart dropped each time I felt you move or showed any sign of being awake still, that I had to grab my blanket and walk to the guest room. I just couldn’t bear the pain of keeping all these unsaid feelings in while you were lying next to me-- a moment that I only dreamed about and never thought would actually happen. And I can’t help but beat myself up at the fact that something like this more than likely won’t happen again and should’ve taken advantage of the situation while I could, but I didn’t. And the most pathetic part of it all is that as I stepped out of the room, I actually hoped that you’d tell me to stay.

You’re always telling me not to let other people control my emotions, but I think it’s me who I’m scared of the most. People always say that happiness is a choice, but if that one emotion is a choice, why can’t the rest of them be? I am my worst enemy. I do these things to myself. I control my own emotions, but I’m not strong enough to let myself be happy in the moment because I know, eventually, this happiness will soon end. I get so carried away with my own feelings and everything that I want-- especially when it comes to fruition, makes me want to believe in this hopeless romantic fairytale fantasy that maybe things like this, nights like this, are meant to happen because it’s just the beginning of a beautiful love story. But then I start to come back to reality. I come back to the sudden realization that I can never have you.

Sincerely, Alex

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moribundanchor · 3 years

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The Pelle/Dani Receipts, Post Twelve: Runes

Big, huge Hårga hugs and thanks again to @daydreamers for expertise and editing on this post!

So. Runes. Specifically, the Elder Futhark runes, as Pelle tells Dani in the Director’s Cut, the “special little language” of the Hårgans. Throughout the film, runes are insinuated into basically every surface of Hårga and its people. So many tattoo opportunities, y’all. And it doesn’t even technically start in Sweden. Ari stuck a board featuring the whole Elder Futhark alphabet in Christian and Mark’s apartment. You can see it on the bookcase to Pelle’s right in the couch scenes. So, the film’s usage of the Elder Futhark is a deep, deep rabbit hole full of all the multivalent subtext we crave from this film, but they’re also absolutely blaring evidence for the Dani/Pelle ship. Throughout the film, like many of the background details we’ve discussed, the runes serve as a repetitive chorus of their fatedness for each other, but better still, the runes footnote the film’s ambiguous resolution as their genuine happy ending. So let’s dig in.

Dani has two main runes associated with her, Raidho and Dagaz, and they are both merkstave versions, that is backwards, lending them a negative reading. Oooooh, scary. Except negative readings aren’t necessarily negative either. All runic readings are subjective and contextual, which is why we decided to talk about these last. Let’s not forget that Dani begins the movie at the bottom of an emotional well.

Raidho, literally ride or wheel, refers to a journey. Yeah, Dani’s on one of those, seems legit. This is the only rune that Ari takes care to point out the meaning of within the film itself, when the elder Arne shows the Rubi Radr to Josh, pointing to Raidho on its side and telling him that that one stands for grief. Grief is a legitimate reading of Raidho merkstave, so let’s just take that interpretation at Arne’s word and combine it with Dagaz, Dani’s second rune.

Dagaz is the last rune in the Elder Futhark, and it means day, symbolizing accomplishment, fulfillment, and new beginnings. As a symmetrical rune, it’s questionable whether it can be merkstave, but Dani’s Dagaz rune (technically runes, as she also has them on her shoes) does lie in opposition. Its negative reading in that case would be hopelessness, blindness, or cataclysmic change. Not fairytale stuff, right?

But Raidho and Dagaz appear together on Pelle’s drawing and on Dani’s dress. Also note that runic inscriptions are read right to left, and the tapestry of the “little love story” is an in-film clue to that reading order. With that in mind, together Raidho merkstave and Dagaz merkstave tell of a big change, even an ending, yes, but an ending to Dani’s grief, and that is what her journey in this film describes. Here, two “negative” readings equal out to a positive in the sense of Dani’s ultimate growth and transcendence. But wait, there’s more.

You will notice the runes on the Hårgans’ clothing, of course, as though they are their personal cult cutie marks, but the embroidered runes are often surrounded by other symbols, esoteric symbols and more complex runic talismans, which deepen the reading of the central rune, like footnotes. In Dani’s dress example, Raidho and Dagaz are flanked by merkstaved Tiwaz runes, with sun symbols above and below. Tiwaz (literally “the god Tyr,” the god of law and justice) is one of the runes featured on Christian’s robe during the sex ritual, and it describes justice, honor, authority, self-sacrifice. Its merkstave meaning then reads as conflict, imbalance, lack of communication...separation. And so, in the specific context of the dance competition, while Dani’s main runes shown in Pelle’s drawing forecast (or possibly straight-up spellcast, depending on your interpretation) an end to her grief, the more complex version she wears for the dance tells of that happening through a conflict and a break...but the sun will come out tomorrow, tomorrow. It is a new dawn for Dani as the May Queen.

Her shoes, which we only see during the dance, are more complicated. First, the embroidery is done in faded red thread, and we know that red appears very selectively on Hårgan garments. Siv wears a ton of red throughout the festival. Maja and Inga also wear striking red additions to their costumes at the Fire Temple ceremony. Ingemar has a single red button on his waistcoat. So red may convey authority, fertility, sacrifice, or even be a brand of shame, but it always seems to mean something.

As for the symbols on her shoes, again we see the merkstave-ish Dagaz rune, but it is alone in the center, no Raidho. So we’re looking at a big change or an ending again. Instead of suns, we have snowflakes, recalling the Spoiler Tapestry in the beginning, the way it began in frosty dark death skullhead weather and ends in summer dinner and dancing beneath the scariest sun since Teletubbies. To the right, we have a bind of three Tiwaz runes, and to the left, we have an Ingwaz (seed) rune, combined with a merkstave Kenaz. The triple Tiwaz is a victory rune, taken from an Old Norse poem where a Valkyrie was woken from her slumber. Three is a holy number, and that’s definitely something we know the 9-multiple-loving Hårgans pay attention to. This rune means the sleeper Dani is about to be awoken through a victory. Meanwhile the Ingwaz rune refers to coming into harmony and reaching potential. It’s also a fertility rune. Kenaz (torch) is a rune that normally describes transformation, knowledge, and the harnessing of light; merkstave, it speaks to darkness, lack of illumination and a relationship breakdown. Taken together, reading right to left, Dani’s shoes basically say: there will be a great change where she will be awoken from her slumber through a victory, she will have a breakup and/or her illusions will be shattered, but that will bring her ultimately into harmony, and there is the added implication of her fertility, bolstered by the red thread, being part of this. THAT IS ON HER SHOES.

For what it’s worth, you will also notice Hanna wearing Dagaz in opposition, like Dani, and the elder Sten wears a merkstave Raidho, in yellow no less. You can peep merkstave Raidho and Dagaz elements on the temple doors, too. So even if you eschew our deep dive here, these runes cannot be looked at superficially, as merkstave = bad = Dani doom. If Dani’s doomed, so is Sten and Hanna and the whole damn Hårga, and you may think that, but it’s not terribly likely they’d write it on themselves, is it? Sten doesn’t look doomed to us. Sten looks quite jolly, actually.

OK, time to obsess on Pelle. Pelle has one rune on his Hårgan tunic that he wears for the majority of the film, Fehu, and this seems more straightforward. Fehu means wealth, specifically mobile wealth, specifically cattle. As we mentioned earlier: moo, Dani; moo, sacrifices. And since Pelle’s the one bringing new blood and their new queen, the association of Pelle with prosperity is quite fitting. Add to that the way Fehu and Raidho tend to pop up all over the village, particularly on the maypole. The maypole combination of Raidho (not merkstave) and Fehu speaks to the way the Hårgans believe the dance around the maypole enacts (and reenacts) a ceremony that brings them prosperity, and having Dani and Pelle as Raidho Barbie and Fehu Ken is just kind of perfect in that light.

Pelle’s Fehu is surrounded by four symbols. Let’s have a crack at those, too. First we have what looks like a closed eye up top. At the bottom, we have a cross. The cross is not actually a cross; it’s a combination of four Isa (ice) runes, and we know this because there are four dots arranged around them, telling us, hey, these are four symbols not one. Then to the right, we have another talisman that looks like a crucified diamond with five dots. Again, the dots mean that these are individual runes drawn as one symbol as a kind of shorthand, so this symbol is actually Ingwaz again, quartered by four Isa runes. Finally, to the left, there is another Isa rune crossing a Tiwaz, and the absence of dots here means that they are a bind, or they are meant to be read as one thing (or are a spell for one thing).

The closed eye symbol is a bit of a guess here; it might represent Pelle’s unclouded intuition or maybe, in view of Dani’s suns and the association of Raidho with the summer solstice, it is meant to symbolize Fehu’s complementary association with the winter solstice. We prefer the association with his intuition given the events of the film. But what about the other symbols? Isa is a rune that describes the self or the ego. On the positive side, it is about will and focus, but on the other side, it is everything bad about ice: rigidity, blindness and self-preoccupation, being frozen. Again, symmetrical runes like Isa don’t merkstave, but they can lie in opposition, and so we have two pairs of Isa indicating, at the right, self-fulfillment, with the added implication of fertility, and coming into unity with the family after the will breaks through the metaphorical ice. At the bottom it is the same reading, only without Ingwaz. Will and self-control overcomes lassitude. And then again, one last time, Tiwaz crossed with Isa, read as one thing, not a series like the previous shorthand symbols, invoking justice and male energy to, again, break through the metaphorical ice. Taken together, it’s a formula for Pelle and the family’s triumph. Governed by his unclouded intuition, Pelle’s will overcomes that of his four differently-blind friends, bringing new blood and justice and unity with the family for the betterment of all, and the two breaks in the rightmost configuration carry the added implication of Pelle bringing into the family Christian’s and Dani’s new blood.

Finally, as discussed briefly in posts 10 and 11, Pelle changes his shirt on the morning of the dance competition, swapping Fehu for Wunjo (joy). There do appear to be a couple flanking symbols on this shirt, too, but we never get close enough to see, so we’ll just have to go with Wunjo’s face value. Again, this is the rune that emphasizes harmony, family, and the art of correct wishing, i.e. wanting (and getting) what is good for you. Pelle wearing Wunjo when he kisses Dani is a sign that he, the anti-Christian if you will, is her wish come true. This choice is not only incredibly positive for his relationship with Dani, but illustrative that there is a difference between Dani/Pelle and Dani/Hårga by virtue of the fact that he changes back into the Fehu shirt for the Fire Temple ceremony. Insofar as Dani is part of the family after the ceremony, the prosperity spelled on his Fehu-emblazoned tunic applies to her, too, but the Wunjo shirt is for her and for her victory...and his victory over Christian for her sake. The implication is that their story will not simply end with Dani assimilated into Hårga. They have special, personal significance for each other. While the ending shots of the film are a little ambiguous, the runes promise the May Queen and her consort are going to be just fine, y’all.

Again, would you like to see our fanfics?

Of course, there’s tons more to explore in the film that doesn’t speak specifically to Dani and Pelle’s love story, and even while we compiled this list, we were continually noticing and discovering the significance of new things. There’s no reason to think that will stop just because we’ve posted the Receipts. Still, we hope that you will enjoy the evidence we have compiled here for not only the legitimacy of the Dani/Pelle ship, but its promise of a happy ending for the OTP because, by Ari’s own admission, for better or worse, Midsommar is a wish fulfillment fantasy.

For more, click on The Pelle/Dani Receipts Masterpost

#the pelle/dani receipts #pelle/dani #dani/pelle #pelle x dani #dani x pelle #pellani #midsommar

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

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Icy Fairytale

Boyinaband (Dave Brown) x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Romance, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Falling in love is walking on thin ice in and of itself, but what happens when it's literal? Yeah that's right - two ambitious individuals fall head over heels for one another on the delicate icy ground of a Brighton ice skating rink.

Requested by @onceuponadie Hi! Thank you so much for your request! I'm so sorry for the long wait but I still hope you find the time to enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

No matter how hard I try, I can't tie the laces of my skates properly. I can't tell what's wrong with me today but I know something's seriously not right. To be perfectly honest though, I might have an idea or two as to why this is happening to me but I'd rather keep my mouth shut on the subject to avoid the intense blush and the flock of butterflies that will inevitably attack my stomach. And I can't have that many distractions while I'm on the ice.

Oh who am I kidding, my main distraction is always there, either in front of me or by my side. Sometimes even holding onto me for support.

Dave Brown is the name of it.

The name I was completely indifferent to when it was first brought to my attention.

It was a cold rainy day in Brighton, the town I was still on-the-fence about at the time. My trainer had been wanting to collaborate with a trainer from the UK for a while and had finally scheduled and arranged for the two of us to be able to fly out there and meet with him. I thought my trainer was ambitious, but this this new guy was a whole new level of ambitious. I could tell right away he'd be hard to please and I had no issue with that - I am and I always have been a goal-getter; I myself am hard to please and I've often been called an 'obsessed artist' by my trainer so I was beyond excited for this new extraordinary and challenging journey.

I just didn't know that the challenging part wouldn't be the skating.

After a particularly long practice session, once I was finally left alone by my trainers, I stuck around at the skating rink to wind down and feel the freedom of skating how I want and how I know I'm supposed to. Free like a bird gliding through the sky, not bound by any choreography or anyone's rules and opinions. That's when I'm most myself.

And that's when I met him.

The rink was closed and suppose to be reserved for only me and my coaches for the day but him and his friends - now my friend too - Joel probably didn't think much of the notice on the door considering they had waltzed in with zero idea the vicinity was booked.

I was too entranced in my own world to notice their presence by the seats. I only took notice of the fact I wasn't alone when Joel called out to me.

"Are we interrupting? Is this a private session or something? We can leave, sorry for bothering you."

While the other boy was talking, Dave remained silent, blending into the background and not drawing any of my attention to him. And yes, maybe I was supposed to turn them back, tell them to leave and whatnot, but I did the exact opposite.

"Private session's over, you can stick around, it's not a problem." I said, slowly gliding over to the entrance of the rink where the boys were now standing after they finished climbing down the stairs to approach the ice rink.

I stopped in my tracks rather abruptly as to not crash into them, stabilizing myself before offering them my hand for a handshake. "I'm Y/N. Professional figure skater."

I couldn't help but let out a little giggle when their jaws went loose, hanging open in surprise. They were quick to regain their composure, Joel being the one to accept my hand first, followed by Dave, both of them introducing themselves as they did so.

"Cool streak." I casually pointed at the red streak in Dave's hair, "I've always wanted to dye my hair but I'm not allowed to by my trainer."

He scoffed at my remark, "Your trainer? He's got the audacity to boss you around? Does he not realize how lucky he is to have a skater like you to his name?"

I was understandably taken aback by this compliment. I'm used to being given compliments after my performances in competitions, but I've never considered my unchoreographed skating as anything more than mediocre. It was surprising to receive such a positive remark, heartwarming nonetheless though.

"That's so kind of you to say, Dave, thanks." I'm still a long way from knowing how to properly respond to compliments - mostly cause I don't believe them - but I'd like to think I handled that one well. No, I know I handled it well considering Dave, Joel and I have been friends ever since.

As to why they were at the skating rink that day - they wanted to fulfill a New Year's resolution they had made at the start of the year: learning how to ice skate because apparently they were hopeless at it. And yes, they were - they got on the ice with me that day and were dropping like flies. I considered it a miracle if they were even able to get off their asses on their own. I had to pull them up a couple of times - a gesture they paid me back for with lunch afterwards. Following that day, only Dave remained determined to make his resolution count and he kept coming to the ice rink to practice (read: fall and get back up) and learn with my help of course. It's safe to say I've never laughed so much in such a short period of time and never have I ever established a friendship so quickly with anyone ever. I guess being someone's ice skating buddy is a whole different level of a friendship where the rules of a regular friendship don't apply.

I soon came to realize why that was...

Because I suddenly found myself wanting more than a friendship with Dave. It's ridiculous as hell, as all goddamn hell, but I couldn't and still can't help myself. It's these little subtle signs that shine through my behavior, all completely unintentional. The lingering hold meant to keep him stable on his skates. The firm eye contact when I'm trying to get him to focus on his balance. The little touches and hugs all gestures meant to congratulate him on his little wins like falling and managing to get to his feet on his own; managing to make three solid strides without sprawling out on the ice, etc. I must be the worst ice skating instructor ever - as Dave gained more balance and needed my assistance less, I found myself missing the times I literally had to hold him up, his arms wrapped around me and mine around him. I miss the times he held my hand to avoid falling and still fell, sometimes dragging me down with him.

And I'm only gonna miss those times even more after tomorrow because after tomorrow, I'll no longer be in the UK and I'll no longer be there to see Dave's successes and fails. I'll no longer have him be my distraction, the only distraction I've ever approved of and wanted around. I'll no longer have a chance to feed into the temptation of telling Dave what I feel for him. It's a temptation and a fear and excites me just as much as it terrifies me, paralyzes me just thinking of the outcome, especially when I know I won't get my feelings reciprocated. I won't get anything better than a soft rejection from him yet I still want to come clean.

Why, you might be asking - well, it's rather simple, actually. I think he deserves to know how special he's made these last few months. How much he's made me fall in love with this city and the UK as a whole. How much I enjoyed our adventures both on and off the ice. How much fun I had going sightseeing with him as my tour guide.

How much I enjoyed his company and how hard I fell for him in the process.

Today's the last day of 'class' for the both of us but I just so happen to be the only one who's aware of it. Yeah, I've been one hell of a coward and never brought up my inevitable departure despite having been informed over a week ago. Exactly, I had a week to come clean about more things than one, but I chose silence.

And boy did that bad decision come to hit me against the back of the head like a boomerang. A mocking and particularly painful one at that.

Get it together, Y/N. One of these news you'll have to tell him, he has to know you're leaving. And the other...

"Sorry I'm late!" The familiar voice coming in a breathy yell from somewhere in the darkness surrounding the seats awakens me and frees me from my mind's battle with itself. "The rain only makes traffic worse."

Now or never. Don't drag it out and keep adding salt to the wound!

"I'm leaving!" I say, loud enough to be heard clearly despite our distance. Also loud enough to cover up the tremble in my voice. It took a lot of power just to say that one sentence, I wonder how I'm gonna power through having to explain it to him.

"Jeez, did I upset you that badly?" Dave surprises the hell out of me when he steps on the ice, already in his skates which I didn't even notice him put on. I'm not surprised by that to be honest, I'm too caught up in my own thoughts and how I'm displaying them in my demeanor to notice my surroundings.

"N-no, I..." so much for covering up that tremble in my voice, "I have to leave the UK...tomorrow...I'm going back home for a competition and to, you know, get ready for the Olympics...I don't know when or if I'll be back but I was hoping..."

"What? When'd you hear about this? Why so suddenly? Is it that big of an emergency that they inform you literally five minutes in advance?" There are enough emotions in his voice to prevent me from looking at his face, especially his eyes. I'm afraid of what kind of hurt or whatever other emotion I might see there.

I bite the inside of my cheek, "My trainer told me last week...", I admit, gritting my teeth and cringing as my stomach ties itself is several knots that are causing me great discomfort.

There's a pause which I'm assuming is meant for him to collect all his thoughts and properly process them. I'm afraid of what he'll say when he does.

"So I'm the one finding out five minutes before your departure?" He finally asks, the tone of voice he uses making my heart sink a little.

Damn it, Dave I already feel guilty enough, this is unnecessary!

No, no, he has a point and has every right to be upset. Friends don't keep friends in the dark about things like this. About any things really.

Then why do you keep him in the dark about literally EVERYTHING?

This is what I was afraid of - getting the temptation of coming clean. I have nothing to lose after all, I'm leaving tomorrow anyway. I'll lose him one way or another.

"Listen, Dave...", I didn't think this through but I'll improvise it, that's a better option than shutting my mouth and not saying another word, "I was gonna tell you, I really wanted to, but I couldn't...I couldn't bring myself to do it. I still don't want to believe that I'm leaving. I love it here and just the thought of leaving it all behind...it hurts, you know. And 'the more people know the realer it is' is a real thing so I didn't want...." I stop, my voice cutting off completely as I find myself weak on balance. Maybe standing in the middle of an ice rink isn't the best setting for this conversation. "I'm being ridiculous and I'm stalling like a coward." I say that more to myself than to him but I don't let him speak. Instead, I continue my rambling after a brief sigh.

Dave, God bless his soul, stays silent and just looks at me with this curious gaze which is letting me know he's holding back for my sanity's sake, allowing me to take a breather and collect my thoughts before I express them to avoid misunderstanding me.

I inhale, finally ready to start talking, "Alright, here we go...Look, I don't want to end this...friendship between us on a bad note but I don't want it to end with there still being secrets between us so I'm gonna finally say what I've been wanting and not wanting to tell you for a while now. It's on you whether it'll be a bad ending to a good story or not, but I just need to get it off my chest, ok?"

He nods, not at all as hesitantly as I thought he would which is relieving to see, so I continue.

"This is gonna sound pathetic and downright laughable but here it goes - I like you, Dave. The kind of like where I see you as more than a friend and sometimes even wish you would see me the same way as well despite being sure you don't. And please, if you plan on pulling a pity act give me a heads up so I can just walk aw-"

My ramble is put to an end when Dave puts his hand up, pointer finger in the air and almost touching my lips as a gesture to shush me. I am typically one of the hardest people to shut up EVER, but now the words die down on their own as if they are even happy to be put to rest at his request.

"Y/N you are the most talented, most graceful, the kindest and most beautiful and smartest person I have ever met and yet you still also happen to be the densest and most ignorant when it comes to the people around you. You're a people pleaser, I've figured out as much, but goddamn it, you rarely know what a person actually wants. I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, this could just be the case with me and an inability to show emotion which I haven't known about all this time, but still - if your dense ass hasn't noticed it yet I'll say it out loud for you and if you still find a way to misinterpret it, I'll spell it out for you in huge neon letters, got it?" He makes something barely alike a pause before sighing, "Y/N L/N, the most densest person in this whole word, you've had me star-struck since day one and I've only been falling deeper and harder in love with you ever since. And you don't have even the slightest clue of what happened to me and my heart a couple minutes ago when you said you were leaving. Believe what you wanna, but words have never crushed me harder ever before and trust me, that says a lot. So, before you go and think you have my emotions figured out, remember that I actually know how to skate."

That's A LOT to take in. It's got layers upon layers of questions followed by answers followed by even more questions that I'm not sure I'm prepared to ask or answer.

So he's liked me since the day we met? Love at first sight? Nah, that shit only exists in movies.

He was hurt by that? I hurt him by not telling him then I hurt him by telling him and I'll hurt him the hardest when I leave tomorrow. How am I supposed to not feel responsible for putting so much pain on him without even realizing it?

And wait - he knows how to skate???

"You can skate? Like, you can can skate? Like, you're not a hopeless case like you've made me believe?" I ask, one of my eyebrows shooting up suspiciously.

Dave goes from looking puzzled to cracking up with laughter within a second after hearing my question, "Oh Y/N, you're so adorable. That's what's got you puzzled the most out of all I just said?"

I narrow my eyes at him, folding my arms over my chest defensively, "Well the rest seems pretty cut-and-dry, if you ask me." I say sarcastically, earning another laugh from him.

It's only now that I notice how confidently he's standing on the ice - as though he's standing on solid, non-slippery ground which is far from the image I have of Dave while on ice. The uncertainty, the lack of stability, it's all disappeared from his still demeanor which now makes a lot more sense.

He smirks at me, "Does it now, densey?"

I frown at the nickname, "Don't call me th-"

He doesn't let me finish, instead presses his lips against mine, the contact making me lose balance on my skates. Luckily, he probably calculated this risk in advance cause his arms wrap around me instantly, preventing me from slipping more than an inch.

"Who needs to be held up now?" He asks, pressing his forehead against mine when we pull away from the kiss.

I keep my eyes closed despite the urge to roll them in playful annoyance, "Oh, shut it."

And he does so by pressing his lips against mine once again.

What will happen once I leave, I have not the slightest clue. Hell, I don't even know what'll happen when we pull away permanently and get off the ice we're standing on. But I do know what's happening right now - I'm kissing Dave Brown and nothing's ever felt this right before.

@waterlilypat @iwillboilyourteeth @insanedeathwish @onceuponadie @loraleiix @smiithys @rottenroyalebooks @goldenstarofthunderclan @cosmicstorm19 @lam-ila @sra-verissimo @marthebeeduosimp

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 4 years

Text

Ignorance is Blitzed (Part Three)

Ron Speirs x Reader

Summary: When you come into contact with some substance that makes you sick while on a routine building search, Ron realizes he may not be as emotionally detached as he’d thought initially thought.

Warnings: war-typical violence, a (literally) dashing nightmare magpie prince, potty words, angst maybe?, a few ocs but don’t get too attached bbs, a very sad attempt at witty dialogue ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If you weren’t convinced that Dike was moments from getting himself, you, and the rest of Easy killed, you would’ve sworn that you were going to kill him yourself.

At least if you shot him, it meant that someone who actually knew what they were doing could take his place, and that meant that something like this would never happen again.

There may not be an Easy Company left to save, in a few seconds….

You, Christenson, and a few replacements had found cover behind the shell of a truck, a few yards up the field from the hay bale you knew Dike to be hiding behind.

“What in the fuck is happening over there?” Christenson shouted, the replacements trying their best to hold cover while the two of you desperately tried to figure out a way to get somewhere more tactical to alleviate the fire currently being hailed upon all of you like some biblical plague.

“Dike’s being a pussy!” one of the replacements replied before a bullet dinged him in the helmet and he cursed pitchily. “Why isn’t anyone doing anything—?”

You could hear shouting from the hay bale, so you knew your friends over there were still alive and trying to do something.

If we stay here, we’ll die before we can even try to do something helpful.

“What’s CP doing?” you shout to the replacement on your left, grabbing his vest and pulling him down out of the line of fire. “Use you binoculars—!”

With (understandably) fumbling hands, the young man brings the apparatus to his face and scans the tree line, cursing aloud each moment that passes and he can’t see them.

Anxious energy has you so keyed up your body is trembling, but you know that if you rush him it’ll just stress him out and make it worse.

“Good job,” you say, even though both you and he know that he hasn’t really accomplished anything yet. “I’ve got you covered, just let me know whenever—”

“Got em.”

Both you and Chistenson share a look of minute relief. So far, this was the first thing about this godforsaken day that had gone right.

At least the lot of you hadn’t been left to die.

“What do you see, Nelson?” the other replacement, Grante with an ‘E’, called as he reloaded his gun. “Does it look like they’re on the radio—?”

“Winters is coming—no, wait!”

You spot a runner for the Germans from your peripheral, and without hesitation you take aim and subdue them.

Six months ago I would’ve shot to wound….what would my family say if they saw me now?

They’d have to talk to you first, and you weren’t sure if that would ever happen again.

“Oh, shit…..it’s your boyfriend—”

“What?!”

You squint stupidly in the direction of the trees, seeing nothing but suddenly terrified at the prospect of having to watch Nix or Bull or Grant (or whoever else these dicks you worked with decided you were sleeping with) get killed in their stupid attempt at bravery.

Unless he means….

You watch someone burst through the smoke of a target-missing mortar blast, charging like some avenging God of War towards the hay bale shrouding Dike, Lip, Luz, and however many more of your friends were trapped behind before disappearing.

Ron Speirs, you goddamned psychopath.

“Fuck.” you bit out, turning to Christenson and getting his attention. “Any sign of I Company?”

The four of you initially had been part of a bigger group, and your aim had been to hook up along the outer fringes with some of I Company and create a perimeter from which the Nazi soldiers would be unable to escape or send for reinforcements.

Christenson nodded. “They look like they’re waiting on us—”

“Yeah, well tell ‘em to get in line!” Grante barked unhelpfully, his voice cracking and reminding you just how young he was. “We’re waiting on us, too!”

You hear a shout of your last name, and when you look back to the hay bale you see that Ron and Lipton are waving to get your attention.

When you meet Ron’s eyes you see the fire of battle raging inside of him, and you can’t help but feel relief that Dike was no longer in charge of your fate.

Using hand signals that had been drilled into your head ever since Georgia you tell him and Lip that five of your party are down, but you have eyes on I Company and just need the okay to hook up with them.

You watched as the two men spoke to eachother, and when they turned away from you you imagined they were relaying what you’d said to Luz so he could let Sink know your intentions.

After a few moments, Speirs tells you with quick and precise motions that you are good to go— he has cover fire arranged for your group so you can dash the final 200 yards into the building you knew housed I Company.

You shoot him a thumbs up before turning to Christenson and nodding excitedly.

“Ready, kids?” you ask, and when they voice their readiness you make a dash for it, leaving the shell of protection the car provided behind and running as quickly as you could towards the bombed out farmhouse, the sound of heavy breathing letting you know that at least Christenson was right behind you.

You don’t look back, can’t look back- all that mattered right now was forward and careful and shouting “flash FLASH FLASH!”

The call of THUNDER preceded you and Christenson all but throwing yourselves through the doorway and into the arms of the five I Company men you’d arranged to meet.

“Fuck, where’ve you been?!” one of them is shouting in your face, and you glare at them qyuickly before looking to where a blood-speckled Nelson is gasping for breath in the doorway. Grante was nowhere to be seen, and one look from Nelson told you that the younger man hadn’t made it.

“The salon, getting my hair permed.” you deadpan to the rifleman, finding the CO and shaking his hand.

“Where do you want us?”

He nods and waves Christenson and Nelson over. “Just this way, ma’am….”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Ho-ly shit.”

You look up at the I Company CO (Parker, you remember quickly) parts of a jammed machine gun between your legs as you desperately attempt to fix Nelson’s weapon.

“What?” you ask, fingers moving faster than your mind can keep up with as you quickly dislodge the shrapnel from the chamber of the gun and begin putting the thing back together on reflex.

You had been holding the line for the past hour, and for that hour the same question had been on everyone’s mind. “Tanks? Did we miss a runner—?”

Where the fuck is the rest of Easy? They should’ve been here by now to check in….

When the gun is reassembled, you shove it into the replacement’s hand and move to see what has Parker so excited, hoping beyond hope that you’d see the faces of your friends rushing to meet you.

To your horror, you only saw one face, and it happened to be the face of the man who made a point to be the one who woke you up each morning with a full canteen and the promise of breakfast.

Of course it’s going to be someone important to me, my…..whatever it is he is to me.

“Where’s everybody?” Christenson shouted, an unfazed Ron breezing past him to quickly grab the ammo and sling it over his shoulder.

Ron goes straight to the CO and starts talking to him in harsh tones under his breath, yet his eyes still search the room until they find yours.

He’s okay, he’s safe and he’s here now. It’s okay.

You give him a nod before moving on to the next jammed weapon that had been shoved into your hands wordlessly by Christenson after he takes one of the German ones from a body next to him.

Fucking Dike. He’d have us fighting with slingshots and pebbles if it meant he got to stay warm at the CP. Half of us didn’t even have weapons until Bill and Babe started repossessing the Army’s shit. If we survive this, I’m going to kill Dike, I swear to God….

You fix the gun, glad it was only a minor fix that was needed this time. When you look back to Ron, he’s tightening his helmet on his head and looking back the way he had just come.

Goddamnit. Of course he’s running back into danger. He’s Ron fucking Speirs.

You shake yourself from your stupor and quickly rush over to him as he picks up the last of his things and prepares to go.

When he looks up at you, you shove the rifle you’d taken off the corpse of a German you’d come across on your last scouting mission into his hands and take his standard issued one away.

“Take this one,” you say breathlessly, as if you were the one who had been running. “It holds more rounds and shoots cleaner.”

He nods, eyes wild with adrenaline as he scans you over for any sign of injury.

“You good?” he asks, and you nod and try to shrug casually.

It’s hard, you are also nearly vibrating with adrenaline and nervous energy.

“I’d ask you the same, but clearly you’ve got a death wish, so—”

Before you can finish chastising him, his rough hands come up to grip your face and he smashes his lips to yours in a rough kiss that’s nearly bruising in its force.

Oh...OH. Oh shit!

You inhale sharply through your nose, head tilting back as he steps into you and puts his hands on your shoulders and squeezed.

You gape at him stupidly when he pulls back and feel the blood rushing to your cheeks in surprise at his boldness.

You hadn’t been kissed since long before Georgia, hadn’t wanted to be kissed or coddled or shown too much affection because in your relatively short life, you’d come to know unreserved compassion as a weakness.

“Love is nice but it isn’t reliable. Life isn’t a fairytale, sweetheart— everything has a price.

Nothing can hurt you if you don’t let it matter in the first place….”

Well, Mom— I’m doing my best, but I just don’t know if you’re right about this one, not this time….

Ron smirks down at you with such a self-satisfied look you smack him lightly on the chest on reflex rather than due to any actual upset.

“Yell at me later.” he offers when you open your mouth to speak, and with one more quick, breath-stealing kiss he’s gone again, running into enemy fire far too casually for your liking.

When you turn to watch him go you catch Christenson staring at you, a similar expression of shock on his face.

Ok, so I didn’t dream that, that actually happened.

You have to literally shake your head in order to get through the surprise, and when you do a weird pit of anger forms in your stomach.

That fucker better live, because he can’t just do that and run off.

You square your shoulders and grab the newly repaired gun at your feet, going to the hole in the wall and shooting at anything that looks as if it may mean Ron Speirs any harm.

He rolls over a stone fence, and you can’t help but shake your head.

He’s fucking with my plans, that son of a bitch.

“So, uh….that was—”

“Shut up, Christenson. Just…. shut up.”

You hear the hitch of a chuckle from his direction.

“Bull will be happy—”

“Shut. The fuck. Up! Keep shooting, you damn fucking child….!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Ask him how far away their backup is.”

You nod to Dick, dutifully repeating the question to the bruised and bloodied german soldier who sat before a group of you after his comrade had identified him as his superior officer.

You listen to the mumbled reply and nod. “About three hours by foot, an hour if you cut through fields.”

“Ask him for a number. How many miles? How many villages?”

You press him for specifics, but he just spits bloodily at Dick’s feet before calling him something you couldn’t fully translate (but assumed was insulting).

“I’ll take it that’s a no on getting specifics.” Nix smirked, stepping to the soldier and grabbing him bodily by the arm. “I think battalion’s gonna love you—”

You squeeze your eyes shut as Lewis leads the captured man to a truck where the others are waiting to be transported back to wherever they’d set up HQ, pinching at the pressure point at the top of the bridge of your nose in a vain attempt to ease some of the pain of your stress headache.

“Headache?” Winters asks, and you instantly lower your hand and straighten up.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

He chuckles at that, giving you a knowing look. “I think you and I both know you could lose a limb and still insist that you’re fit for duty.”

You scoff a laugh. “I suppose it would depend on which limb…. and what duty, Sir.”

He looks at you with all the exhaustion of a first time father, and you laugh in earnest.

“Go see someone if it gets too bad.”

“Sir.” you nod.

You smile as you watch him walk away, catching up with Nixon and falling into step with the man easily.

How I got accused of screwing Nixon and Winters hasn’t, I’ll never understand….

Turning to look back at the war-torn downtown, you catch Grant’s eye and he waves you over.

By the time you get to him, you find that he isn’t alone.

Leaning against the wall beside your friend is Ron Speirs, looking far too at ease for someone who you had spotted running through enemy tanks not an hour before.

“Heard you had an exciting day!”

You freeze, eyes widening as you feel yourself blushing again.

Shit. SHIT!

“Oh, I….um—”

“I was telling him about the car you hid behind,” Ron supplied mercifully, and you feel relief so instantly that you have to brace a hand against the side of the building in order to catch yourself.

“Oh, yes! That exciting part of my day.”

Chuck looks at you strangely for a moment, bringing a hand to your forehead and holding it there.

You roll your eyes and push his hand away, smacking at it again when he tries to repeat the action. “Charles—”

“Grant, Tab!”

The three of you turn towards the direction of Malarkey’s voice, the man jerking his thumb back to one of the trucks.

“Got some stuff for you that just got here…”

Giving you one last look, he points his finger in your face like he’s scolding a child.

“This interrogation isn’t over, young lady—”

“Don’t you mean conversation?” Ron asks, smoke from his cigarette floating around his face like fog over a lake.

You nod your head in Ron’s direction in a sign of agreement, and Chuck moves his arm so he’s now pointing at Ron.

“Y/n and I are far past social pleasantries, and I would never insult her by lying...”

You roll your eyes and gesture in the direction Grant had been called from.

“Don’t keep Mother waiting, you know how she gets.”

You watch Grant jog over and away from sight. Ron’s fingers deftly pull your braid out from beneath your collar and smooths it down, following the length of your spine in such a way that no one else would’ve been able to see should they look over suspiciously.

“If you didn’t look like you’d just committed a crime,” he says matter-of-factly. “He probably would’ve just given you a pat on the back and moved on.”

You turn and look at him over your shoulder, the closeness of his face reminding you of how he’d held you when you thought you were dying all those months ago.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, suddenly feeling very shy around him.

He hums, lips quirking up in a quick smile. “Well, my ‘suicidal death wish’ didn’t pan out as well as I’d hoped, so I’ll live—”

Something in your face made him stop, and with gentle hands he takes your shoulders and turns you to face him completely. You let him walk the two of you back behind the building a bit before stepping in to you again.

Like he had before, in the farmhouse after he kissed me….

You flush at the memory, and you may as well have said what was on your mind because he whispers your name in the way he does when he knows you’re overthinking things(or at least starting to).

Meeting his softened gaze, bite the inside of your cheek before speaking.

“I’m mad at you.” you say, hating the lack of conviction in your voice.

He nods, expression one of consideration as his hands come up to hold your face.

“I know.”

“Because what you did was really stupid—”

“I know—”

“And then you pull a move like that, hey” you cut yourself off when he smirks again, a chuckle in his throat when you glare at him. “Don’t you dare look so damn proud of yourself, I’m yelling at you—”

“Which move would you be referring to?” he goads, and you frown in order to hide the grin that threatens to break across your face. You shake your head in disbelief, leaning back against the side of the building.

“Oh my God.” you scoff out. “Are you teasing me right now? Ronald Speirs, you’re unbelievable”

He smiles down at you, and you let yourself smile back at him and nervously bring one of your hands up to cover his as it slides down to cup the side of your neck.

Your smile slips as your eyes unintentionally flicker down to his lips again, remembering how they felt against your own.

Shooting a quick look to either side, you slowly raise onto your toes and give him a quick, shy peck. You can feel him grin for a split second before he kisses you deeply and far more thoroughly than you’ve ever been kissed before.

You sigh into the kiss, eyes drifting closed as you wrap your arms around his torso and fist the material of his jacket in your hands.

When you break for air you rest your cheek against his shoulder, hugging him tightly.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” you mumble, and for a moment you think he may not have caught what you said.

“If you think I’m going to let something as stupid as a bullet or a mortar stop me from coming back to you,” His lips are at your temple, and when you pull back to look at him follows you and gives you another smug grin. “you’ve got another thing coming.”

As you open your mouth to reply, the both of you hear Nixon calling your name, loudly asking people if they’ve seen you and which way you’d gone.

You both sigh, and smile at each other at the unintentional synchronization of the action.

“I think your boyfriend is looking for you.” He pulls playfully on your braid when you roll your eyes at him and gently push him away.

“I think I liked you better when you were just quiet and broody and handsome—”

Ron smiles wickedly at that, and you groan when you realized what you’d just said.

“Don’t let it get to your head-”

“Too late.”

Ducking another quick kiss to your lips, he steps back just in time as Nixon rounds the corner, his words forgone in favor of eyeing the two of you suspiciously.

“What were you—”

“What’s up Lew?” you interrupt, trying your best to not look...what had Ron compared it to?

Looking like you’d committed a crime….

Giving Ron a scrutinizing once over, Nix looked back to you and raised a brow.

“Dick’s wondering if you can show him how to switch one of the Kraut scopes to a rifle…”

“Sure!�� you said, far too brightly. You had a feeling if you looked back at Ron he’d be smirking in unabashed amusement at your awkwardness. “Lead the way…”

With a frown and a suspicious hmph, Nix turned and began to walk in the direction from which he’d come.

You follow dutifully, giving Ron a quick smile over your shoulder as you hurried to catch up with Lewis.

Ron looked beyond pleased with himself, shooting you a quick wink before bringing another cigarette to his lips and lighting it.

“Care to explain that?” Nix asks under his breath once you catch up to him, taking your arm in his like the two of you were at some cotillion.

You smirk to yourself, rolling your lips together to hide the action.

“Nothing to explain, Nixy. Everything’s perfect….”

And for the first time in your life, you truly meant it.

OOF HERE WE ARE AGAIN! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR READING THE RAMBLINGS I THROW IN YOUR DIRECTION AND SORRY IF IT SUCKS

TAGLIST: @itswormtrain, @mrseasycompany, @softspeirs

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #ron speirs x reader #ronald speirs x reader #it's vv bad but I'll just add it to the pile of already burning garbage pile that is my bibliography

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mischiefandspirits · 3 years

Text

Doppelgänger (17/19)

Previously on Doppelgänger ~ Masterlist ~ Next time on Doppelgänger

Danny, Sam, and Tucker were just 14 when they took a look inside the portal Danny’s parents had built. From there, everything changed. They woke up with white hair, green skin, and powers they could learn to control. They were hybrids, halfas.

They were the hero Doppelgänger.

{Reign Storm, Part 3}

“It’s like shooting skeleton fish in a barrel,” Doppelgänger chuckled as they flew up to Valerie’s side, blasting one of the skeleton’s harrowing her as their own crowd rushed into the football stadium after them.

“They don’t put up much of a fight, but there’s a lot of them,” she argued. “You going to duplicate?”

“Already did. We've got our own crowds.”

“It’d be nice if you could make yourself a crowd in return.”

“Sorry, we’re still working on making more than three of us.”

“Hello, son.”

Doppelgänger gave a long, drawn-out groan as Plasmius flew up to the two despite still firing on the skeletons. The older ghost tried to speak when they’d finished, only for the ghost kid to start right back up.

“Are you quite done?” Plasmius asked over the groaning.

Valerie turned to fire at him, but he dodged to the side. He stopped with Doppelgänger between her and him.

The younger ghost stopped their groaning to say, “You know, a human shield only works if the shield’s both bigger than you and someone that the person you’re hiding from won’t shoot. We are neither of those.”

“You’re also not human,” Valerie pointed out.

“I think that’s debatable, but we’ll add it to the list,” they said and fired a blast at Plasmius.

“Calm down, son! I didn't come here to fight you! You have other things to worry about!”

“Okay, even if we were your kid -- which we aren’t because gross -- we’re nonbinary, so still not your son. So get lost. We have this under control!”

A blur of black barreled into them and rose up to reveal a knight in black armor atop a pegasus. The knight had Doppelgänger by the throat and pointed his sword at them. “You are the one who destroyed the King’s ring.”

“We’re not one, but we have destroyed a ring recently. Not sure if it was a king’s, though. Can we get a description?” Doppelgänger said before a swirl of comets wrapped around them and they disappeared.

Another swirl appeared behind the knight, leaving behind the ghost kid. They cheered and shot a blast that unseated the knight. “Yes, it worked. Still not as far as we’d meant to go, but we’ll take it.”

“If you would allow me to trai-” Plasmius started.

“Not interested. Now make yourself useful.” Doppelgänger pointed at the knight, who was pulling himself to his feet.

The knight’s eyes locked onto Valerie and narrowed. “You also carry the ring’s mark.”

She leveled her rifle at him, but a pair of blasts knocked him away before she could fire.

“Right on time,” Doppelgänger said as their two copies flew into the stadium. “Wait a second, is that the Fright Knight? Who? He’s the age-old spirit of Halloween.” The trio began to casually blast the knight back and forth across the field as they spoke together. “Legend has it that if his sword The Soul Shredder cuts through you, you get teleported to a dimension where you live out your worst fear. We read about him in the book we got for Halloween. Did the book have any way to defeat him? We think there was something about a pumpkin, but we can’t remember. We’ll go check.”

One of the ghost kids shot off, giving the knight a chance to finally dodge a blast. “Fools! All I wanted to do was retrieve those who destroyed the ring and return to Pariah's Keep, but now, you give me no choice.” He knelt and held up his sword, point down. “By the authority vested in me by my Lord and Liege…” The sword began to glow and he drove it into the ground, causing a wave of energy to roll outwards across the ground. “I claim this town now and forever under the banner of Lord Pariah, the King of All Ghosts!”

Energy shot up from the sword high into the air before rolling outwards to form a green dome across the city.

Both remaining Doppelgängers fired at the knight, but he ducked away. “The sword has sunk, your die now cast, The sword removed shall signal fast. Surrender your-”

He was cut off as a blast knocked him rolling across the ground.

“We hate rhymes. Did we find a pumpkin?”

The third Doppelgänger flew up with a smirk and pulled a fake jack-o'-lantern out of thin air.

“Found it in the boxes of old Halloween decorations like we said.”

They landed next to the sword and dropped the decoration at their feet.

“Gotta move fast. Cover us. Red, Plasmius, keep the skeleton’s back. We’ll handle tall, dark, and fashionable. Fashionable? Really? Yes, we love that aesthetic.”

Val nodded and pulled out her grenade launcher as the other two placed themselves between their third and the knight, but Plasmius’s attention was on the ghost kid.

“What are you planning?”

The ghost kid smirked and wrapped their hand around the sword’s grip.

“To cease the storm…”

“No,” the knight yelled, but the ghost kid’s copies kept him back.

“To end the fear…”

“Wait!” Plasmius yelled as the ghost kid began to draw the sword from the ground.

“The sword must sheathe…”

As soon as the blade left the ground, the energy feeding into the dome cut off and it began to crack. Instead of the sky being behind it, Valerie saw the endless green of the ghost zone.

“In pumpkin near!”

Doppelgänger sank the sword into the fake pumpkin and everything froze. Then the sky returned.

White and green light began to pour from the decoration as the dome shuddered then began to rise up and flow back into the sword in a reverse of how it had just formed.

“No, NO!” the knight shouted as a vortex formed above the sword and began to draw him in.

Valerie only had a second to feel victorious before the vortex began to pull at her as well. She lost her footing on her board, but the ghost kid flew in to help her. Two of them grabbed her and the last grabbed her board before they all flew to the bleachers and grabbed hold. Once she was sure she was safe, she looked over the field.

Plasmius had taken refuge on a goal post, but many of the skeletons were being sucked up. The knight was clawing at the ground, but soon lost his grip and disappeared into the swirling green. Once he was gone, the vortex slowed and dissipated while the pumpkin holding the sword -- now looking like an actual jack-o'-lantern, if purple with a green glow -- vanished in a flash.

“Well, that’s one down,” Doppelgänger said.

“You idiot! The sword was a signal!” Plasmius yelled, brushing himself off.

“Yeah, we heard. That’s why we got rid of it!”

“Not soon enough.”

The teens looked up to see a large ghost floating over them.

After a second, one of the ghost kids pointed at him.

“You know, we expected more from the King of All Ghosts. He’s just a guy. A tall guy, but still.”

Another nodded, looking disappointed.

“Yeah, what is this Odin wannabe nonsense? We thought we’d be facing some beautiful Lovecraftian horror. We feel ripped off.”

The third tilted their head.

“He’s not even that big. Like ten feet, maybe. The dragon made a more impressive sight, and she was literally just a fairytale princess. You’d think a king could do better.”

“Are you done ticking him off?” Valerie asked, watching Dark get angrier and angrier.

They shrugged. “We’re just saying. He doesn’t even have a crown.”

Then the one who’d tilted their head shot to the side, the one who’d nodded stepped in front of Valerie and raised a shield, and the one who’d pointed braced for impact as Dark sent a massive blast towards them.

The shield held, but the ghost kid was forced to a knee as they poured their strength into it and it shattered apart as soon as it wasn’t needed. Once it was down, Valerie could see that the one who’d taken the blast head-on had created a crater in the bleachers that they were pulling themself out of. Meanwhile, the one who’d avoided it was zipping around the field, keeping Dark’s attention. They fired upon the king while bobbing and weaving around the return fire.

It didn’t look like the attacks were doing much damage.

“That hurt,” they said as the one limped towards her and their kneeling copy turned to her. “You should get clear.”

“We should all fall back,” Plasmius said, appearing next to them.

“Even if we could, he’d destroy the town trying to chase us down. You can run if you want to,” they said then they shot towards the field.

One landed and held their hands out. Thick wires shot out of the ground and grabbed Dark’s legs, electrocuting him in the process. At the same time, the other ghost kid shot towards the fight. They engaged the king as the one that had been fighting him backed off. They reached to the side and plucked a pot holding a glowing spider-like plant out of nowhere. They chucked the plant at Dark’s head then re-engaged him as their copy pulled back to command the plant to wrap around the king’s eyes and neck.

“The boy has Chlorokinesis?” Plasmius said.

“You didn’t know that?” Valerie said, checking her rifle and calling her board to her.

“He’s never used it against me. He’s only even used the Technokinesis recently.”

“They’ve had both for as long as I’ve known them. They’ve tried to use it on me, but I’m usually too high for the plants and my gear’s protected against their control.”

“ENOUGH!”

The two looked up to see Dark snatch the plant-controlling ghost kid from the air and throw them. The other flying one tried to catch them, but they both ended up crashing to the ground. The third flew over to them as the king tore off the wires and burned away the plant.

“Our baby,” the ghost kid whined, one staring at the plant’s burning remains with fury.

“Surrender, children! You can't possibly win!”

“Surrender isn’t in our vocabulary. And we can’t possibly let you loose on our city.” The one that had been controlling the wires helped the one that had been thrown to their feet, letting them lean against them, as the other placed themself in front of the two. “Besides, we don't have to win. we just have to make sure that you lose.”

Dark scowled and shot a blast at them. The one in front summoned a shield, but it shattered almost immediately and the three took most of the blast.

Valerie leveled her rifle at Dark, but Plasmius yanked it away.

“Don’t be foolish, girl. He will kill you.”

“Like you care.

“Considering you’re my only help, I do. We need a plan.”

“Face it, children, it's over.”

Valerie turned back to the field to see Dark walking towards the trio as they slowly got up onto their knees.

“No,” they growled. “No!”

Shaking with pain, the trio looked up.

Their goggles glowed with black energy and then three things happened at once.

The one on the left threw their head back and screamed. Black sonic waves tore through the field and slammed into the king.

The one in the middle doubled over, hands clawing at the ground as they keened. Thick black vines wove in and out of the ground in front of them until they could latch onto the king, wrapping around his arms and legs to tear deep gashes into his skin with their thorns.

The one on the right wrapped their arms around themselves and sobbed. Black tears flowed down their face and formed a void beneath them that stretched out underneath the king.

The vines held him still, the rings drained his power, and the void drew him in.

Dark thrashed against his bindings, but they held and he was soon consumed by the darkness.

The trio collapsed.

The field went silent, the vines shriveled into nothing, and the darkness faded.

Consciousness clearly fading, the trio latched hands and fell through the ground.

Oddly though, they didn’t seem to go intangible and Valerie swore she saw the faintest hint of a white-blue-purple light just before they completely disappeared.

Slowly, she turned to Plasmius to see him gaping at the now empty field. “Did you know they had that kind of power?”

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

Danny stared out at the stars as Blobena nuzzled up against his cheek.

“My everything hurts,” Tucker croaked, the first sound any of them had made since Danny had dropped them into the Space Fold then promptly passed out. He’s not sure how long they’ve been in there now, but he’s been awake for at least an hour and he knew the others woke before him.

“Sh!” Sam moaned.

It was quiet for a few moments, then Sam asked, “Danny. Why are your blobs in here? More importantly, why is one trying to eat my hair?”

With a sigh, Danny turned to see Sam and the blob in question. “I think Blobson likes the taste of your shampoo. He did the same thing to me two weeks ago when you let me shower at your place after the fight with Garbage Manster.”

“Wait, you seriously named them all? And with blob puns?” Tucker said, pinwheeling slowly near Sam’s feet. “I thought that was just a joke you and Valerie were telling.”

“We had a lot of time in that cage, okay?”

“Danny, get this thing off my hair or I’m smashing it.”

The boy pouted, but reached over to scoop up the blob. He set him on his shoulder next to Bloberick.

“Now again, what are they doing here?”

“In my defense, I just meant to hide them in here for a second because my mom was coming down the stairs and I didn’t have time to get them all back through the portal. I’ve tried to get them to leave, but they won’t.”

“You keep my ghost plants in here!” she huffed, gesturing to the quartet of pots holding plants she’d gathered from the ghost zone.

“They don’t bother them, promise!”

“Speaking of which, how dare you throw Arachne at that jerk!”

“Our ecto-beams weren’t doing much! I thought the poison on her fronds would help!”

“We can get you a new one, Sam,” Tucker said. “It’s not like it was sentient like Audrey II.”

“We can get you a new phone, Tucker,” she shot back. “It’s not like it’s sentient like Audrey II.”

“She’s as good as!” Tucker gasped, pulling his phone out to clutch it to his chest. “Talk to me, baby.”

“Hello, Tuck-man. The time is 9:34 p.m.”

Danny snickered. “Tuck-man.”

“Shut it, Danny Blobton,” Tucker said, grabbing one of the blobs floating near him and tossing it at Danny.

If anything, the blob seemed to be pleased by the action, even as it squished against his forehead. It gave a singing buzz and nuzzled further against him.

“Great, now Blobnessa is never going to let go.”

“Dude, you’ve got issues.”

“Wait, did your phone say it was after nine at night?” Sam asked, turning to Tucker.

“Yeah, it said… Oh man, how long have we been gone for?”

“My parents are probably tearing the town apart looking for me,” Danny groaned.

“Not to mention your girlfriend. I’m sure my parents are already blaming you. Crud, I’m going to have to wear their stupid dresses for a week if they’re ever going to let me see you again,” Sam said, grabbing Danny’s arm and tugging him to her.

“I swear, if my parents try to take me on one of those tech-free relaxation getaways because of this, I’m moving into the fold. Blobs or not,” Tucker muttered, hooking his ankle around Sam’s.

Danny gently shooed and brushed all the blobs off himself then turned all three of them invisible and dropped them onto the football field.

Thankfully no one was around so they turned visible and climbed to their feet.

“We’re going to need alibis,” Sam said.

“Got cornered by some skeletons in an abandoned building?” Tucker offered. “Only came out when we were sure it was safe, but then didn’t recognize where we were and stumbled about until we found somewhere familiar.”

“Sounds good enough for me,” Danny yawned. “Can either of you transform?”

They shook their heads.

“Guess we’re walking.”

They only made it a block before the Fenton RV came roaring up and a hysterical Maddie Fenton tackled Danny to the ground.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #valerie gray #sam manson #tucker foley #Doppelgänger au

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courtlyharlequin · 4 years

Text

A Spring Without You

Warning(s): gender neutral reader, reader death mention, suicide mention, angst, grief, post-death scenario

Summary: One year. One year since that fateful day yet Leona Kingscholar finds himself unable to move on from you, his dearly beloved as the snow melts and the buds bloom into blossoms.

A/N: Uwahhh! New blog alert! This is my debut fic hehehehe. Well, on Tumblr anyway. This was a self indulgent fic but I hope you enjoy regardless ! Shoot me a request to help me start up this blog >~<

They say that spring is the season of new beginnings. They say that the colder the winter, the warmer the spring. They say that a life without love is a year without spring. The latter holds true for Leona Kingscholar.

Spring has officially sprung in Twisted Wonderland. The botanical garden is lush with foliage and flowers in full bloom. On any normal day, Leona would have claimed the area as a napping spot. But these days were far from normal. He could not bear to see the sight of the garden— the garden where he met you. Leona could not bear the sight of any viridescent foliage, really. He avoided the greenhouse at all costs. Anything and everything related to the garden painfully reminded him of you.

You who had stepped into his darkness and not only accepted his inner demons, but also made acquaintance with them. You who had shed light into his abyss of ugly emotions. Emotions like jealousy and sadness meant nothing when he was with you. Your naive nature was endearing; it was refreshing compared to from all the things Leona experiences. Your smile was blinding. You who had thawed the winter’s frost in his heart and embraced it with the mellow tenderness of springtime. You were the sun, so pure and full of life. What’s more is that you adore spring for the sole reason of flowers. You loved them. Perhaps more than him— not that he was willing to admit it. But for Leona, he loved you more than anything in the world. He loved you as much as you loved Eastertide— if not more. He loved how you lit up his monochrome world, how flowers were only beautiful if you were dressed in them. He loved your unconditional love. Since when had he received such an endless stream of affection and affirmation? It was a flurry of positive yet unknown emotions. Everytime he was with you, he would feel it. It was as if a surge of flower petals engulfed him in their intoxicatingly sweet scent.

Just like that day. The memory of you frolicing a vast flower field haunts Leona to this day. One year ago, you smiled. You smiled for the last time that day.

Your laughter rings in Leona’s ears every now and then. You were unusually giddy that day, having the gall to drag him through the mirror to an undisturbed meadow tucked away behind a range of rolling hills. His nose was immediately flooded with a soft fragrance. His eyes were met with thousands of flower buds, ready to bloom in the next few days. Some had already bloomed. He stood with his mouth agape only to become the subject of your teasing.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you asked before taking his hands to, quite literally, waltz among the budding florets.

It was surreal. You were a hopeless-beyond-help romantic and Leona would occasionally indulge in your cliche fantasies. Because he found it charming. Because he loved you. Because never wanted his own darling princess to come to anything but a happily ever after. Because being with you was like a fairytale, a daydream that Leona hoped to never wake from. But as they all say, all good things must come to an end.

Those days were gone. The days where you gifted him with dozens of flower crowns, the days where the two of you would dilly dally in the garden, the days where he kissed you slowly to awaken you from your slumber just to make you feel like the love you two shared was true love. They were all ignorant bliss. They had painstakingly passed. Summer’s heat was unbearable, but winter was the worst. The season brought harsh chills along with a sense of numbing anguish. Winter rendered everything he learned and loved about you meaningless. When the snow finally melted, his heart was encased in frost once more. Nowadays, Leona finds himself bedridden and cold without the warmth of his sun yet time still flies, waiting for no one. Spring was coming.

Leona was blind. You- his beloved, his darling, his princess- was just as broken as he was. You were lonely, feeling incompetent as the significant other of prince. He should have picked it up sooner. There was rarely ever the occasion where he asked you if you were alright. Your worst moments were dealt with elsewhere and rarely did you ever dare to trouble him with your own feelings. If he was simply a better partner, if he had put more effort into keeping up with his half of the relationship, then perhaps you would still be here as the person who broke his walls, lit up his world, and ignited so many foreign feelings within his heart. If he had taken one moment, just one, to ask: “how are you?”, would have it been any different? You always asked him. You always listened to him, but he had never done the same.

Was it because he found it to be a hassle? Not quite. Leona certainly did not find your sporadic story times troublesome. He found them amusing. You always get worked up over the silliest of things. You were like a child. Leona could not fathom at the thought of someone so vivacious having their own inner demons. The idea shook him to the core.

He frowned at the thought. Was the reason why he ever asked you: “how are you?” was because he was afraid to face the monsters in your head because he had his own? And that they were larger than his own? Leona grunted in annoyance. The fragments of you left inside his mind were all so vivid. It’s as if you were still there. Still happy.

What were your final moments like before you breathed your last breath in that same flower field that you both waltzed upon? Did you show him that field for him to find your lifeless body on a bed of your favorite flowers days later? Are you truly that cruel? These conclusions gnaw at his head while his own heart throbs with a feeling that can only be known as regret. The heavy weight of guilt keeps Leona forever awake, tired and too tiring. He sprawled across his sheets, sighing pensively. You plague his dreams, claiming his peaceful pastime of napping as your own. There was no joy in the things he enjoyed. Napping was a death wish and not even Cheka was able to raise his spirits.

A tired, sleep deprived Leona is an irritated Leona. Even Ruggie had kept his distance from him. Or is it the other way around? Leona kept to himself these days. Even Idia Shroud leaves his room more than Leona now. Though if one were to ask Ruggie to see Leona, the perfect is miraculously absent from the scene every time.

Today was a grim day with many inconveniences. Everywhere Leona went to escape his visitors reminded him of you. With nowhere to find peace and quiet, as his bedroom is occupied with unwanted visitors and his alternative hiding spots leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth, he sought out the garden. The time felt right. It was spring. You always loved this time of year. Perhaps he would love it this time around too.

As soon as he stepped foot into the greenhouse, his nose was flooded with a soft fragrance. His eyes were met with a small patch of flowers. He did not know their genus, but he knew that you would have been all over these twigs by now. His gaze lingers on the tiny field. These blossoms were sickening. Their pungent, poignant perfume was suffocatingly saccharine. Leona crouched before them.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” a voice said.

His ears twitched at the sound, turning his neck around at an inhumane speed. A click of his tongue followed shortly in suit.

“What are you doing here?” Leona snapped.

“I-I mean- I tend to the garden occasionally… since y/n would be kind of sad if the flowers wilted…” Epel trailed off, clutching a tray of seedlings closer to his chest.

Sad? You… would...be sad? That’s so typical of you. It humors him. His attention turns to the patch. It looks like Epel had planted daisies. Leona smirked, thinking that this was surely something you would gush to him about for hours. The first day of spring, huh. The season of new beginnings. Was it though? He felt as if he took a thousand steps backwards. He lost it all during the vernal season, the time of year you loved most. He never understood how much he needed you to breathe, to live, to enjoy all the little things in the world. Why did he have to begin without you? A spring without you is unimaginable.

His heart aches, but… you would be sad, wouldn’t you? You would be sad if you saw him in this state then proceed to tell him to cheer up. Maybe drag him to another flower field? Would you cry for his sake once more? He was still mourning but, knowing you, you would want him to move on— not wanting to burden him for any longer.

With all of these thoughts festering and swelling inside his head, Leona Kingscholar cried for the first time since your death. It was the most gruesome, most anguished, hysterical roar he had ever produced. It echoed throughout the garden.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland oneshot #twst oneshot #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #debut #angst #tw: death #tw: suicide

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vanillann · 3 years

Text

just the medicine (draco malfoy x reader)

another writing challenge, this time for the lovely @kashishwrites !!

warning: angst (you all seem to like my angst) and swearing, MENTIONS OF PTSD AND MEDITATION!!!!!

word count: 1.8k

“So you’re doing this?”

I let my hands fall to my side, even if they were sore from all the fighting that had already taken place within the first few hours.

“Not now,” Draco rolled his eyes, looking over his shoulder, scared like the little boy he was acting like.

“You’re choosing them over everything that could save you.”

Was I yelling?

The look on his face told me I was but I could barely hear my own voice, everything slowly draining from my body as seconds passed by. I guess that’s what the authors always say, how draining a war can be on everyone good or bad.

“I can’t be saved,” his voice had no emotions, but I couldn’t seem to have sympathy anymore. People were dead, people we loved and took care of and now he’s still picking them. Those people that think there's that much different than the rest of us.

“Maybe because you aren’t letting yourself be saved.”

I heard the yelling that time, I was definitely yelling now.

“Hush, someone might hear you,” Draoc held his finger close to my skin, close enough for the cold nature of it to radiant to my own.

“Why would that matter?”

Why do I have to ask the questions I know are going to break me?

“Because I can’t be seen with you, you know this.”

I knew this, I refuse to “know” this life anymore.

“Then don’t come near me,” my words were pure venom, like that apple from that fairytale my mother used to read me.

“What?”

“If you don’t wanna be seen with me don’t give us the chance to be seen right,” I held my arms out, shrugging my shoulders. I ignored the pain in my shoulder from that stupid curse, I’d make it hopefully.

“I don’t-”

“Frankly this isn’t about you anymore Malfoy. This is about me and my own happiness,” I looked him in the dead eyes of a boy I once knew, a boy I once called my sanity in an insane world.

Now he was the boy that was insane just like the rest, he was even worse than them.

“So you’re going to act like this didn’t happen?”

“Yep, the same way you acted like it wasn’t happening at all.”

I slowly backed up, letting my hurt shoulder hit the wall behind me. I gritted my teeth out of pain, looking back at Draco one last time.

“I hope you get the taste of your own medicine someday, Malfoy.”

I let my head fall to my desk, annoyed with the column I had spent the past hour writing. How do you write about Quidditch when you’ve never been to a single match? I should have listened to Ginny all those years ago, or at least her fiancé.

Two knocks echoed in my office, a slight release flooded me.

“Come in Luna!”

Luna blonde hair was seen in the doorway, a nice dreamy smile on her face as she kept her composure so well. You didn’t know how she ran this paper so well but you thought better not to ask.

“Someone is here to see you.”

I knew my fist in the air, happy Oliver finally answered my letters and actually came down to help me while Ginny was away for Charlie.

“Let him in please,” Luna gave me a shrugged, her eyes extra wide as she closed the door and left my office. I smiled, pushing my rough draft to the side and pulling out a clean parchment and a quill for notes.

Merlin knows I needed it.

I heard my door knob twist, my feet flying to rest on my desk as I waited for Oliver's pissed face to walk through the doors of my office.

But of course you never should expect things to go your way.

Draco Malfoy stood in my doorway, a few years older than when I left him but still pretty young. We were both 24 now, much older and wiser than the kids we once were I suppose.

He looked the same, yet different all at once. Maybe it was my broken heart making things up, the wound still awful fresh for something that happened years ago.

“(L/N),” his voice was weak, something definitely new for both of us.

“Malfoy.”

I kept my chin up, the “Harry Potter” pride was slowly starting to rub off on me.

Draco dugged in his coat pocket, pulling out a balled up piece of parchment. He slowly unfolded it and held it up for me to see.

Wizardry Can’t Protect You From Your Own Brain

The article I wrote months ago looked to be folded over and over, little water marks along the paper.

“I thought you were a Daily Prophet type guy,” I trailed off, watching him take the seat directly next to my door.

“I was but I thought I should try associating with my extended family, I didn’t know you worked here till I found this article.”

I knew the article, it was the article that got me multiple letters telling me I helped so many that survive the war find peace within themselves. I felt bad for being jealous, for all that was still a deep fresh wound to my broken soul.

“I read it, made me seek help.”

He chuckled as he spoke, a light hearted chuckle like what he was saying wasn’t serious. I watched him as I waited for more information, watching his hair closely.

It was slightly pale blond, but had a weird tint to it; one I simply couldn’t place my finger on. Maybe it was the lighting-

“I dyed it.”

I looked back to his eyes, much more untroubled than the day of the war.

“What?”

“I dyed my hair a few months ago, took forever to get the bloody color out,” he refused to look me in the eye as he spoke.

“Why’d you do it if you hated it so much?”

“Though it erased everything, maybe I wouldn’t be a Malfoy anymore.”

I felt my heart splinter, his broken frame was something I hadn’t thought I’d see again but he was sitting in my office ranting like nothing changed.

But that was the thing, everything had changed.

“You may always be a Malfoy,” I knew my words seemed harsh, but I didn’t know how to handle this. I was overwhelmed to say the least.

The one person I can’t function without is sitting here in front of me and I can’t help him because I can’t even help myself.

“I know, I had my opportunity and lost it.”

I bite my lip, waiting for him to speak first. I didn’t have anything to say at the moment, there wasn’t anything to be said at all in my opinion.

“Uhm- that’s not why I came here to tell you,” he straight out said, reading over the column again.

“I got help because of this. I have that thing, what do muggles call it?”

He snapped his finger, looking up to the ceiling for a few seconds when he clapped his hands and finally looked at me.

“PTSD, I got that.”

I couldn’t tell if he truly knew what that meant or not, but I thought best not to say anything.

“So I came to tell you, I did.”

“You did get help?”

“No, I got a taste of my own medicine. Literally and figuratively.”

He smiled to himself, laughing like it was a joke as she pushed around in his pocket, pulling an orange bottle from his pocket. Pills floated around in the bottom, my words caught in my throat.

“I got them from this muggle lady, real sweet that one.”

He shoved them back in his pocket, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stared me down.

“I shouldn’t have said that-”

“No, you were right,” Draco cut me off again, but I wasn’t mad. He had been the one to come to me anyways.

I let my hands lay on the empty parchment, not knowing what to do with them.

“No one should ever have to take pills to feel something normal,” I spoke gently, scared to break something.

Whenever it was me or him I couldn’t tell you.

“Yeah, I mean you're right; but some of us don’t get that luxury,” he said so gravely you would think someone had died.

But I guess someone did, the old us died that day on March 2nd. So many people died that day, literally and figuratively as Draco would put it.

“I’m sorry if I made it worse somehow.”

I felt so small, I felt crushed and broken, but this wasn’t my time to vent, it was his.

“A year ago I would have blamed you, but now I see you are the reason I’m trying to save myself. You alway said I never would let myself be saved so I made a compromise with myself, I’d save me.”

I felt a single tear stream down my cheek, one that was quickly wiped before anyone could spot it.

“I’m glad, you deserve that much,” I felt stone-cold. How do I talk to him now?

He was mature, but he looked like that broken boy still in my head.

“I just wanted you to know that I’m getting help I need because of you,” he leaned up slightly, trying to make eye contact as I stared at my desk.

“Yeah, but if I had done more maybe you wouldn’t be on medication-”

“It’s just medicine, if it helps it helps right?”

He shouldn’t be the one comforting me, he was the one who came to me.

“I suppose that’s true, I just wish this didn’t happen to us.”

“The only thing that happened to us was war, it destroys every relationship you hold dear,” I knew he was talking about his mother and father, but deep down I wanted him to be talking about me.

“Can we keep in contact?”

I nodded so fast I thought I pulled a muscle for a second. The sight made him smile, which still magically calmed my nerves.

I couldn’t help it, the thought of walking away again hurt too much.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

I felt guilty still but I tried to push it away, trying to not make it seem like this was about me, because maybe it was years ago but now it was about him.

A hand laid over mine, the cold silver ring I got him in sixth year still fit his middle finger like a glove somehow. I slowly looked up, both our watery eyes meeting like it was the first time we’ve ever seen one another.

“Don’t worry, it’s just medicine.”

It was just medicine, it was just medicine that was saving the only boy I could ever find sanity in.

If it saved him then I’d buy every bottle he needed.

I’d be his medicine if he needed it.

But, I didn’t need to save him because he has finally learned to save himself.

overall harry potter tag list:

@siriusmaraudeers @haphazardhufflepuff @marauder-exe @aangsupremacy

draco malfoy tag list:

@okaydraco @coldlilheart @starcross16

#harry potter x reader #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #fred weasley #george weasley #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco x you #draco imagine #draco x reader #draco lucius malfoy #malfoy x y/n

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lovelucybradford · 3 years

Text

I Pretend You’re Mine (5)

A/N: Back with the promised continuation chapter!

Not sure if you’re interested, but when I was writing, in my head I pictured:

Betty White as Grandma Rose

Richard Madden as Levi

Peter Gallagher as Jason Martin

Scott Eastwood as Drew

Masterlist

Tags: @empath-bunny

@ityagirljay

@wolfarrowepz

@supernatural-crazed-girl

Five: You Were Romeo (I Was a Scarlet Letter)

Day 1: Thursday, June 13th

7:00 pm- Welcome Cocktails in the Stardust Lounge, Deck 6

“Champagne, miss?” The formally dressed waiter offered a flute of sparkling wine, a raspberry garnish floating in the glass. Rosalie took it from his hands with no hesitation, sending the attendant a silent smile of thanks. She put the glass to her lips, then paused and looked up at Derek.

“Will people judge me if I chug this whole thing right now?” she voiced, loving the amused smile that lit up her partner’s face at the innocent question.

“I thought we didn’t care anymore what people thought of us,” Derek reminded her, though she knew that when he was referring to ‘we’, he really meant her. Derek never was one to care what people thought of him.

Rosalie weighed her options, then decided that her family judged her anyways so why not have a good time?

In order to get through this hellish night, she’d have to be tipsy. Best start now.

Without a word of affirmation, she forewent her instilled manners and chugged the glass down in one long sip. Rosalie wasn’t normally a fan of champagne, unless it was Dom Perignon, which she realized made her sound like a total snob. It was the one thing that she’d inherited from her father, her expensive taste in food and drink. It seemed by the familiar, rich, and delicious taste of the bubbly that the cruise ship staff had only provided the very best for their VIP guests.

Rosalie searched for a place to set her glass, finding a nearby unoccupied table and gently depositing it there. She, quite literally, couldn’t afford to even chip one of the crystal goblets. She stumbled back to Derek, who was waiting for her with an open arm.

“You ready for this?” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot on her neck. It caused unvoluntary goosebumps to crawl up her arms, which she prayed he didn’t notice.

Was she ready?

A part of her never would be. She’d purposely left this part of her life behind, knowing all too well how toxic it was for her mental health. But Rosalie knew if she backed out now, then the family would know that they finally got to her. They would think that she was still strung up and heartbroken about Drew, or jealous of her stepsister for getting the diamond that was meant for Rosalie.

And sure, she had been… once upon a time.

Moving back to Beacon Hills, reconnecting with normal people, people she loved more than her own blood relatives… it had put everything into perspective for her again.

Rosalie could once again be herself, be that strong woman that Talia Hale had raised to be when Rosalie’s own mother had fallen short. The strong, kind, generous, goofy, compassionate, empathetic woman with a mind of her own and a head on her shoulders. Not the ice queen, the submissive and serious woman that her father had tried to warp her into.

And for that, Rose was forever thankful.

She was different now, but exactly the same. And this version of her, with her closest confidantes by her side, wouldn’t cower in a corner.

Rosalie held her head high, meeting Derek’s gaze with a confident look in her blue eyes.

“Yes,” she declared, feeling her confidence rise.

“Good.”

“Lead the way, Prince Charming.”

Derek snorted and shook his head at the nickname, but complied and escorted Rosalie further into the room. She searched for a friendly face among the crowd. Normally, she’d be able to find Lydia by her head of bright red hair, but nearly half of the people in the room had some shade of red hair.

Thankfully, Rosalie didn’t have to look all that hard, as Charlotte came bounding up to her aunt, screaming, “Auntie Rosie! Uncle Derek!”

And suddenly, as the child wrapped her arms around one of Derek’s legs and one of Rosalie’s, all of the attention in the room shifted to the couple.

“Is that Rosalie?” her cousin Noah commented to the man next to him.

“Who the hell is that with her? Because dayum, I’d like to tap that ass,” Noah’s twin, Nick, said back.

“That has to be her friend,” Uncle Alex said to his wife, his lips around a glass of Scotch.

“Not with the way he’s holding her. Besides, did you hear her niece call him Uncle? How she managed that is beyond me,” Aunt Sarah replied, looking Rose’s companion up and down with hungry eyes.

Rosalie ignored all the talk, even though it seemed as if the crowd wasn’t even attempting to be discreet in their conversations.

She reached down to pat Charlotte’s blonde head. “Hey, honey! I missed you!”

Derek ruffled Charlotte’s curls playfully, to which the little girl pretended to be angry with him. But Rosalie could see the smile that she was hiding as Charlotte clutched the adults’ legs even harder.

“All right, all right, Charlie. Let’s let Auntie Rosalie and Uncle Derek breathe, yeah?” Rosalie’s brother, Levi, broke through the crowd, detaching his daughter from the couple and telling her to go on and play with her cousins.

As soon as the little girl was out of sight, Levi enveloping his sister in a hug. Derek held out his hand for a friendly shake, but Levi pulled him into an embrace as well, the two men patting each other fondly on the back.

“I’m digging the beard,” Derek approved, gesturing to Levi’s newly grown beard while rubbing his own.

“What can I say? I was inspired by yours. Although I have to say, mine looks a little better. Y’know, because it’s still all one color,” Levi joked, comparing his solid red scruff to Derek’s salt-and-pepper look.

Rosalie elbowed Derek in the side teasingly. “Yeah, you old man!”

Derek raised one brow and stepped away from Rosalie, crossing his arms. “Oh sure, call me old man one more time.”

Rosalie beamed up at him, wagging her own brows. “What would you rather me call you? Sugar daddy?”

With one fell swoop, Derek was pressed against her, fingers tickling the small expanse of visible skin on her waist. Rose squealed with laughter, trying in vain to pull away from him and begging for mercy.

Levi cleared his throat loudly, causing the couple to separate. Rosalie’s cheeks burned red at the embarrassing scene that she had been a part of. Surely her brother would tease her about it.

Instead, Levi looked a bit pissed.

“So, I guess my daughter didn’t dream up your engagement, then. This,” Levi gestured to Rosalie and Derek, “is really happening?”

Derek shifted his weight on both feet. Rosalie bit her lip and looked to the floor guiltily. She loved her brother. She really did. But she knew that Levi had loose lips, and he’d surely have one too many and (unintentionally) let slip the whole ruse. That, and Rose couldn’t take the disappointment from him.

“It’s about fucking time,” Levi added, sounding a lot more jovial. Rosalie’s and Derek’s heads shot up instantly, shocked at his comment.

Levi slapped Derek on the shoulder. “Bro, I am so glad you didn’t listen to me.”

“What’s he talking about?” Rosalie interrogated Derek.

Derek scratched the back of his neck and turned his head towards the large window next to them. Before he could explain, Jess, Levi’s wife, snaked her arms around her husband’s waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Lee was telling me all about how he’d threatened Derek with his guns if he even put his hands on you.”

Rosalie’s jaw dropped. Derek stayed unusually silent. “You gave Der the boyfriend talk?! When was this, big brother?”

Levi raised both hands in surrender. “In my defense, Derek was a horny college kid back then, and I was only trying to protect my little sister. You know the, um, milestones that come with prom night.”

The tapping of a mic interrupted their conversation, which Rosalie was thankful for since she was at a loss for words.

She’d remembered that night in question, fondly. It was the night that she’d realized that she’d had feelings for Derek. Rosalie’s then-boyfriend, Ryan, had dumped her a week before prom for another, more sexy, more experienced, girl. Rosalie was heartbroken, and had sworn off prom, until Derek had shown up on her doorstep in a suit with a pink corsage and a sparkling silver tiara.

She’d laughed, of course, at the reference to the childhood nickname. Then, she’d excitedly rushed upstairs to ready herself, leaving Derek at the mercy of one Levi Martin. Levi Martin, who had, apparently, threatened to cut off Derek’s balls and feed them to the family dog if he had even touched his baby sister in an inappropriate way.

(Levi was always… poetic when it came to his threats.)

Rosalie had hoped, prayed, that as Derek had driven her home in his black Camaro, that he would kiss her, to put a fairytale ending on a perfect night. Sure, he’d kissed her when he dropped her off at her front door… on the cheek, like a brother, or a best friend, might.

Rosalie had dreamt about that night for years afterwards, of what it would be like if he had actually kissed her.

_______________

“I’m sorry, Grandma Rose. I have to go rescue my fiancé from your dear grandson.”

Rosalie stood from the table, feeling a rush in her head for a few seconds. She was definitely tipsier than she thought.

Once Rose got her bearings, she strutted, barefoot, to Derek, who looked highly uncomfortable. With every inch that Nick advanced on Derek, the man backed a considerable distance away.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have an amazing ass?” Rosalie heard Nick flirt from paces away. The way that Nick was looking at Derek, the way that he was blatantly hitting on the man when Nick knew that Derek was taken, it unsettled something in Rosalie. Her vision turned red as she approached the two from behind, wrapping an arm around Derek’s waist.

“Hi Nick. Sorry, this amazing ass is mine.” Rosalie didn’t know what she was saying, didn’t really think through what she was doing. All she knew was that she was grabbing Derek’s right butt cheek with her hand, smiling smugly as Nick’s eyes widened.

Derek waited until Rose’s cousin scurried away before stiffly asking, “Rosalie, why are you grabbing my ass?”

Rosalie let go of Derek immediately, feeling as if she’d spontaneously combust in mortification. “I am, so, so sorry. I just kind of… he was ogling you and it made me mad. Like you’re gorgeous but you’re more than just a pretty face and an incredible ass.” Rosalie’s eyes widened at her word vomit, and now she definitely wanted to throw herself from the nearest balcony and test her drunken theory that she was secretly a mermaid.

“I… I need a drink.”

Derek turned to face her, a hint of a forming chuckle on his lips. “I think you’ve had enough of those, babe.”

Rosalie wished that she could slink away. She wished that someone would hit her in the head, and she’d wake up with amnesia. Maybe she could change her name and move to Antarctica? Yeah, that would be good.

Derek rolled his eyes, grabbing his best friend by the elbow and latching her hand back onto his arm. “I’m not mad at you, Rosalie. Feel free to grab my ass anytime if it makes you feel better.”

Rosalie tried to scowl, but the frown was turning upward with every second. “I hate you so much.”

Derek escorted the two back to Rosalie’s table, where Grandma Rose looked completely unimpressed with the whole shindig. Before they sat, he pulled Rose close and whispered, “I’ll let you grab my ass as long as I can grab yours.”

At that, he pulled out Rosalie’s chair and plopped her down, taking the one next to her. Rose was speechless. Did that actually come out of his mouth? Wait, did he actually want to grab her behind? Yep. Those were his words. Exactly.

Rose’s cheeks flushed a healthy shade of pink. Derek laughed at her slowly coloring face, to which she smacked him on the thigh under the table. Before she could remove her hand, Derek grabbed it and held it between the two of them.

“I always knew the two of you would end up together.” Grandma Rose said wistfully, looking at the couple with soft eyes.

You and everyone else, apparently. Everyone but Derek, Rosalie thought sadly, and tried to shove the painful pang in her heart.

“You know how I knew, Rosalie?” Grandma Rose shakily reached for her flute of champagne, taking a long sip. “I knew it when this one, this big, strong, handsome man,” the old woman reached for Derek’s free hand and patted it kindly, “punched my idiot son in the face at that party, after you got your master’s degree.”

Rosalie snickered at the memory. Jason and Derek had never gotten along. Jason thought Derek was ‘some jock who was too concerned with an unlikely career in basketball instead of his studies’. Derek thought Jason was a ‘pompous, cheating, scumbag, son of a bitch’. (Both quotes were their words exactly)

All of the building tension exploded when Jason had chosen to make a below-the-belt comparison between Rose and Ashleigh’s accomplishments. As if they weren’t celebrating Rosalie graduating from Columbia University, an ivy league, with a master’s degree, with the highest honors.

Derek had broken Jason’s nose. Jason had gotten a restraining order (his favorite defense tactic; it expired last year).

“I’m so sorry,” Derek told Rosalie’s grandmother, though he didn’t sound the least bit remorseful.

“Oh, sweetheart. It wasn’t like every sane person at that party wasn’t thinking the same thing. You were the only one brave enough to do it. Rose’s knight in shining armor.”

Derek’s face flushed red, a rare sight for a man with so much confidence.

“Rosalie, dear. I do have to warn you, Drew and Ashleigh are here.”

Rosalie sighed. She knew that they would be here. The pair had done a very good job at avoiding them; Rose wondered when they’d finally make it around her and Derek’s way. If Rose were lucky, maybe they’d just avoid her the whole trip. Only in her dreams…

“I know, Grandma. I—have you seen them yet?”

“Yes, I had the misfortune of running into both of them while yelling at your father for dragging his ninety-two-year-old mother on an extravagant trip. Do you know how long the plane flight was? Anyways, Drew called me ‘grandma’. You know what I told him, loves?”

Derek and Rosalie looked to each other, both knowing that it was probably something rude. Grandma Rose was Rosalie’s favorite relative, outside of her brother and Lydia. She was the most real of all of them. She spoke her mind and wasn’t afraid to let anyone know how she felt.

“I told him to go fuck himself.”

Derek choked on his glass of white wine. Rosalie smacked him on the back a few times, unable to hold in her shaking laughter.

“Yes, I told dear old Drew to go fuck himself. The only man that’s allowed to call me that is Derek. He doesn’t have his head up his ass. He sees how beautiful, wonderful, and deserving of love my real granddaughter is.”

All jokes aside, Grandma Rose’s words warmed Rosalie’s heart. At least one of the extended family members didn’t think she was a disgrace.

“Well, kids. Would you look at that? The pompous son of a bitch wants to go blab about himself. Someone should go tell him to shut up.”

Rosalie looked to the small stage at the front of the lounge. Sure enough, there was her father, Jason, dressed to the nines in a likely customized Hugo Boss suit, a pink Hibiscus sticking out of his breast pocket. Jason looked around at the crowd, clearing his throat to get the attention of his guests.

“Welcome, everyone! I’m so glad that you’re here and could join me on this fantastic excursion…”

Jason continued his schpeal and Rosalie tuned him out. He was likely talking about how great he was for paying for everyone’s accommodations, or how lucky they were to be spending time with him on this 1K-a-night cruise. Rosalie had heard it all before, multiple times, and she was sick of it, frankly.

What was it about rich people’s money that made them think that they were gods and should be treated as such?

Derek squeezed Rosalie’s hand hard, his nails digging into the back of her hand.

She looked to him in explanation, but he only nodded his head towards the stage.

Where Drew was shepherding Ashleigh up the steps, his hand resting on her backside.

“Yes, as I said, we have two exciting announcements that Evelyn and I could not wait to share with you tonight.”

Jason looked fondly towards Ashleigh and Drew, who were now hobbling towards him. There were resounding gasps and excited squeals, but Rosalie could only focus on Drew.

Drew was still as handsome as the day that she had first met him. His blue eyes sparkled with confidence and charm. He’d grown a beard since Rosalie had seen him last, wafts of brown hair covering his strong jaw. He stood behind Ashleigh, his hands moving to rest on her stomach, and that’s when time stood still.

Because, under Drew’s lithe fingers, was a protruding bump. Rosalie, despite herself, couldn’t help the gasp that formed around her lips, nor the shaking of her hands.

Drew, when he was with her, had told Rosalie that he didn’t want kids. He’d had daddy issues too and didn’t want his offspring to grow up with a messed-up dad. Even though Rosalie desperately wanted a family, she was so in love with Drew that she’d put those dreams aside, for him.

Now, Drew stood proudly cradling his pregnant fiancée’s stomach as he spoke sweet nothings into her ear, looking thrilled to become a dad.

Derek squeezed Rosalie’s hand tightly, then removed it to wrap around her shoulders instead, nestling her into him. Derek’s lips brushed the top of Rose’s head, then her forehead.

“Fuck, Rosie. I’m so sorry. I… he didn’t deserve you. You’re better off without him. Do you want to go?” Derek whispered huskily in Rosalie’s ear, breaths coming out shallowly.

Rosalie didn’t need to feel the tenseness of his arm around her to know that he was pissed. She could tell just by the tone of his voice that he wanted to kill Drew.

Rosalie turned her head so that now her lips would be close to his ear. “I… I should have known. I—No, we need to stay. If I leave now, then Ashleigh and Evelyn will know that they’ve won, and I can’t let that happen.”

Rosalie rested her head on Derek’s shoulder, finding comfort in his embrace.

Someone kicked her leg under the table. Rosalie raised her head to look at Derek questioningly. His expression matched her own.

“Rosalie? Dear, are you here?” Jason called from the stage, his snake-like grey eyes checking the crowd for his daughter.

“She’s here, you pompous prick!” Grandma Rose yelled to her son, shoving Rosalie gently with a hand to her back. From a distance, Rosalie heard Stiles guffaw. She imagined that Lydia smacked him in the head while trying to control her own laughter.

Jason scowled, but ignored his mother, watching with a forced smile as his daughter and her ‘fiancé’ ascended the stairs. Derek had a tight hold around Rosalie, who had forgone her shoes in the shock of the moment. She leaned on him, both physically and metaphorically, for strength.

“Some more good news for my daughters. Somehow, someone managed to put a ring on my dear little Rosalie. Yes, it shocked us, too. Good on you, Derek!” Jason looked to Rosalie’s bare feet. “And it seems he doesn’t mind her habit for walking around barefoot. Welcome to the family, Derek Hale!”

Most of the crowd laughed, Evelyn and Ashleigh’s shrill merriment sticking out the most. Derek held Rosalie tighter. She bit the inside of her lip in an attempt to stay strong.

From Jason’s other side, Drew asked, “Wait. Isn’t that the guy who broke your nose?”

Derek rested his forehead on the side of Rose’s head, huffing into her ear “Yes. That was me. And if you don’t shut up, I’ll break your nose, too, you douche”.

That made her chuckle, and with his arms securely around her, Rose knew that she’d be alright as long as Derek was by her side.

#teen wolf #derek hale #derek hale fic #derek hale fanfiction #derek hale x oc #tyler hoechlin #derek hale au #derek hale fluff

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absoluteindulgence · 4 years

Text

How The Boys Initiate

A/N: This HC is about how the boys initiate sex with the fem reader. I wasn’t able to find the people to tag since I’m still with family but thank you to everyone that’s read my work! I appreciate every like, reblog and follow. I’m thinking of doing something cool when I reach 300 followers, any ideas? I wish all the readers and writers more content that gets us going! Also, I apologize if these HCs are all over the place and long-winded, I wrote these while drunk, sober and sleep-deprived, not in that order either lol. HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU ALL!!! I’m still in 2019 but to all those in the future, see you soon!

☀️🌞MIRIO🌞☀️

It doesn't take much for him to initiate.

He makes jokes while trying to draw you into his level of seduction.

Might mention his "willy" because no matter how many times he'll say it, you'll always laugh

The muscles on his arms and chest tense when he's about to kiss you.

You can tell it a serious kiss by the way he leans down to meet your face.

Moving in slow motion, eyes glowing with light, face tinting pink more and more as he closes in

His lips are pursed but not tightly.

He'll caress your back.

Not for you but for him. The feel of your skin is intoxicating.

He'll calm down but his willy is on go

Deliberately grazing his piece against your thigh.

Depending on where you are, he'll close you in with his body. Trapping you with kisses while his arms tense as you hold onto them and moan.

You have a distinct moan that lets him know you want to proceed.

Definitely one of those that look at you, tells you how beautiful you are even if you look like a burnt chicken nugget. He'll be rubbing on your body until you're flustered and in his words "don't say shit like that". He curses more because he's with you lmao

LITERALLY PICKS YOU UP BRIDAL STYLE TO YOUR ROOM. If you're not there already, he'll still pick you up

But he will be slamming you against a wall then on the bed. He knows you like it rough

He's so romantic it’s sickening

You never get tired of it but you're in awe

Mirio is a simple man but will get very creative in setting the scene.

He listens to what you like. And if you want the fairytale way of lovemaking. He will surprise you with just that.

Depending on the day he had, he'll slowly kiss you all over your neck and collarbone. Days like that he likes to start with missionary but when he does, he just says the corniest shit you've ever heard.

"What do you call two jalapeños getting it on? Fucking hot!"

A true fucking jokester to the end

You might even joke back about how you just turned into a Sahara listening to him.

Now, he's about to show you what a real tsunami looks like. Eats your pussy like the most sinful angel you've ever come across

Imagine you're about to give him head after a work out session and before you can. He says, "What did the banana say to the vibrator? Why are you shaking? She’s gonna eat me!"

🐙TAMAKI🐙

Previous to my twerking post he's just gonna jiggle your ass until he feels comfortable enough to ask to go a step further

But before then, he cuddles close to your chest just to hear your heartbeat.

He savors the time you two have away from hero work

Sometimes the grip around you is so tight, you might feel like you'll become one.

He will say the sweetest phrases you've ever heard.

"I’d rather spend every moment holding you than a lifetime knowing I never could."

The first time he says this he'll be buried into your chest so he'll have to repeat it.

When he's certain that he's taken your breath away, he'll whisper sweet nothings that turn into dirty secrets

Confidence has gone into overdrive. Everything he says to you, smooth like butter.

He has a praise kink like Mirio but also loves to praise you to oblivion.

He's so gentle with his touches after you say yes

His lips are tightly pursed at first and his hands are shaky.

He takes small yet slow breaths to psyche himself up to continue touching you.

You're so fragile in his eyes that he repeats to himself, "handle with care"

If you're freaky, he might just shock you with his hasty moves.

Pining your body down to the bed, with a rosy face.

Even if Tamaki's nervous smirk appears, his eyes always have a hungry glint

Craving to fulfill his appetite and make you full

📼SERO📼

First of all, no matter how many times you two have had sex, he smiles.

He's not sure if it's a nervous tick or if he's just that confident.

His dick twitches when you smile back at him too.

Especially when he's inside you.

If you whisper something dirty in his ear, he will physically shudder.

That alone gets you off and he knows it

Pulling him closer to kiss his neck will make his dick spring into action if it hasn't already

He's usually semi-hard. Looking at you makes him weigh his options on where to fuck you and how long should he make you scream his name.

Thinking like that makes him harder than frozen peanut butter.

So, Hanta likes the bed but he really loves when he comes home to your cute ass. And you're taking a shower.

He sheds himself of his hero costume and lives to give you a mini heart attack by sneaking up on you. Usually, while you're washing your face.

It starts with holding your waist from behind. Then his hands’ trail...

His long and slender fingers trail from your hips to your nipples

You're left breathless as he sinks his teeth into your neck on both sides.

Whispering between nibbles, "Did you miss me?" Or "How's my cutie pie doing?"

It drives you mad because of how low of an octave his voice reaches you.

His wet hair tickles the back of your neck as he pulls you close to feel his package

"Now you understand why I'm up, more ways than one."

❄SHOUTO🔥

At first, he's very hesitant to touch you. Even if he's touched starved. We all know this

He's actually vocal when you make him horny

Sometimes he'll outright say it. Other times, he'll sigh. And it's recognizable.

He's a lip biter for sure

Whether you're in a cute outfit or getting ready for bed he's raving about you in his mind and as soon as he finds the words on his tongue, he glorifies you.

He's so polite and if you've had a long ass day, he will just give you a massage.

His strong hands will just wrap around every inch of your body. He'll explain that there's no reason to feel insecure.

He's so honest it’s scary

He praises every part he rubs.

Reminding you why he feels so strongly about you

But after, he gets to know you. He's so fucking horny when he's comfortable with you.

It started when you called him Shouto for the first time

You two were getting a little intimate and it slipped out.

His eyebrows quirked up. He stopped to look at you, a flushed ass mess.

He held your head softly, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs.

Pulling your face close to his, laying down the smoothest most passionate kisses.

Taking it a step further biting your bottom lip gently.

He trails a couple of love bites down your neck to your breast.

Playing with his hair while buried in your titties will drive him mad.

He will inhale your scent more times than you'll remember how many times he's kissed you

Probably cliche but he's literally burning with passion

👓TENYA👓

Honestly, there are two reasons Tenya will take his glasses off that aren't taking a shower or going to bed: One being just to get a better look at you. And second is, the sight of your face when going down on you.

Aside from tilting his glasses, he will clear his throat more than he should.

A form of pacing himself in what he's about to do.

Say you've teased him all day while he's been working, he's thoughtful about his yearning.

He sweats from the anticipation to conquer you

It’s not an unbearable scent either. It's just enough to smell like an expensive ass cologne and his hard heroism for the day

A deep grunt leaves his body before he dominates you. His grip is sweet but powerful.

His thighs are tense as he lays you across his lap. Taking a deep inhale before every smack to your perfect ass.

His hands were meant to roam every inch of your delicate body and he knows that.

His callous hands grazing your skin is very therapeutic for you. Half the time he's rubbing your ass he can't even think straight let alone hear you. Because he's listening to your ass bounce off the walls.

Every time he spanks you, he suppresses the urge of his cock rising like morning wood.

He gets off suppressing his arousal for you.

So that after he's punished you, his cock is at full attention.

The welts on your ass are a sign of marking you too.

"Only I can control you like this, Angel."

As soon as you make way to the bed, he's controlling you however you like.

He's still not going to let you have your way for another half hour.

Once you're a blubbering mess of overstimulation, his jaw tenses as he rubs your thighs.

Staring at your flower in awe. Ready to ravage you.

👿Shinsou😈

If you say something highly sassy or adorable

He's looking you up and down, shining his pearly whites for you to see.

Whether from across the room or in front of you

He'll teasingly stick out his tongue. Might even say, "Your favorite seat is here." or "Do you wanna take a ride, Kitten?"

Don't look away either. Because he's gonna lift your chin to stare in his eyes

If you stare long enough, he'll say, "Do you see the light you bring me, kitten?"

You will blow up.

He automatically chuckles and peppers your jaw with kisses.

Holding you in his arms from your shoulders to your waist.

He's a confident lover from jump!

Before dating he was unsure about his ability to be liked until you showed up.

While dating, he's very passionate and takes intimacy very seriously with you.

Rubbing your earlobes, touching sensitive spots that make you shudder all over.

Good lord, his jaw is very tense while he stimulates you without undressing you yet.

It's a waiting game, how long can he tease you before you whine.

Shinsou will tease you all night if he can.

#mirio imagines #tamaki imagine #sero imagine #shouto imagines #tenya imagine #shinsou imagine #bnha imagines #smut text #bnha smut #absoluteindulgence headcanons #Mar's Writings

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miss-kittys-magical-library · 3 years

Text

Last Christmas

Word Count: 2372

Warnings: Mild violence and blood some angst or is it whomp?

A/N: This one was a fun write. I need to thank @robertsheehanownsmyass for being my sounding-board, always, and for helping me with ideas! Chapter 1: God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman can be found here

Chapter 2: The Fairytale of New York

It's not that Violet meant to kill Nathan. Yet here she was, at 4:30 in the morning holding him on her apartment floor while he bled to death. Her lips brushed his freezing forehead as she adjusted his head in her lap.

Not very long before the murder, Violet woke with a start when she heard a door slam. She was drunk still from the never-ending fishbowl drinks bestowed upon her after the win. Brain fuzzy and the room spun as Violet got to her feet and rummaged through the nightstand.

She desperately searched for a missing piece and her kitchen knife. Was someone meant to be with her? Her body screamed with booze and adrenaline as she held the knife aloft venturing into the hallway.

Violet made her way to the living area. A throb grew in her ears that deafened the silence of her apartment. The night flashed before her eyes as her head swam.

How the liquor filled her goblet with just a point of his long finger. Which he told her wasn’t necessary. Just thinking about it often worked. Like how he thought the scantily clad shot girl could use bigger tits, so they inflated a size or two. The dude bro that wolf whistled at Violet and slapped her ass as she walked passed, his tongue literally fell out.

“It's MY job to sexually harass women, NOT yours!” he yelled over the techno. Then casually tossed the body part in the horrified man’s direction. “What's a matter,” he pouted his lips in a kiss, “Sexy bitch got your tongue?!”

Violet furrowed her brows now as she rubbed her pulsing temples. Had they danced? Out in the middle of the crowd, his hands on her waist as she leaned back into him. Both gyrating rhythmically to some rave remix of an 80s song.

“You are the weirdest shaped guy I've ever met!” Violet had shouted. “Like a muscular-armed stick bug”

The strobe lights flashed across his face as he strained to grasp this as an insult or compliment. Instead he took a chance and kissed Violet's neck. She let him.

There was, Violet remembered now, flirting in the back of a cab. She told him drunkenly he had Irish eyes and a green smile.

“No,” she shook her head and laughed. “Green eyes and an Irish smile?”

He laughed but smashed his face into Violet’s. His kisses were wet, sloppy. Too eager and childlike for someone in their twenties. Violet pointed that out as she wedged a hand between his face and her.

“Christ who taught you how to kiss?!” her hand squeezed his cheeks so that his mouth formed an O shape.

“M’maffs teach-a in yee-ah four,” he muffled.

“Your fourth grade teacher French kissed you?!”

“No!” he giggled “Year four, it’s. I was fifteen.”

“That's sexual assault!” Violet cried.

“Aww only if you don't want it to happen.” He tried to push his mouth into her again, but she literally ducked out of his way. Defeated, he gave up and the rest of the ride was silent.

Back in the present. Out of nowhere from behind, “Hey do you have any blank-”

It was quick. Shocking how easy it was to stab Nathan through the heart. How fate helped Violet sink the knife so deeply into him that her breasts met his bare chest before either understood what was going on.

Nathan’s lower jaw hung open as he started to grunt in pain. A dark pool of blood poured around the weapon. Stark contrast to his pale olive skin. He swayed but steadied himself on Violet’s arms. His demeanor changing instantly from panic to acceptance and his body relaxed.

Violet’s hand still around the knife as a lump formed in her throat. She scrambled out of his grip, sobs and pleas of forgiveness wracked her body as she struggled to find her phone.

“I've got.. to.. to.. to.. Call 9-1-1. It was an accident. Nathan. I'll get someone here-”

“NO!” he bellowed. “No, it'll be ok. I'll..” he winced. “Come back.”

“From what?! I STABBED YOU!”

“Death, sweetheart.” His Irish accent makes the A R sound like the word “Air.” “I've been stabbed in the heart (h-air-t) by women before, but I've never been..” Nathan gesticulated to the knife in his chest.

“ARE YOU MAKING A FUCKING JOKE?! YOU'RE DYING! Oh my God,” Violet’s knees began to buckle but she caught herself on the counter.

“I'm immortal. Christ t’is fucking hurts.” Nathan struggled to breathe. “Was impaled twice. Beat t’death once. I'll be good.”

He continued, “C’mon Vi, give us a hand,” he instructed. His shaking hand unable to grip the hilt of the knife protruding from his chest. “I'll die quicker this way. be back half past or so”

It was so matter of fact. “Pride goeth before the fall” Violet thought.

A cheeky grin deepened the dimples in Nathan’s cheeks as Violet took the carving knife out of his chest. Blood had spilled unexpectedly down the corners of his lips while he slid down the wall. Violet tried her best to catch him. To soften the blow between man and hardwood, but Nathan folded like the scarecrow coming off his pole.

Even more present:

“Joyeux Noël, Violet. You've Committed your first involuntary manslaughter.” Warm tears poured down her cheeks onto Nathan’s face.

Her legs were sticky with his coppery blood, but she kept marveling when her world soon grew quiet without his smart mouth and witty retorts. There was only a faint gurgle of blood that filled his mouth and lungs. How beautiful Nathan would always be to her in this moment because immortality was for vampires and mythology.

She would never forgive him either. It took longer than Nathan insisted, heart still pumped dark crimson into her hand used as a piss-poor tourniquet. But the beating slowed to a stop as Violet absently combed her fingers through his thick hair to soothe her exhausted body into a fitful sleep.

This time it was the heady smell of eggs and sausage that roused Violet from her sleep.

There was humming and singing in a language she didn't know as someone rattled about in the cupboards.

One hand over her eyes, head felt like someone bashed it repeatedly with a drumstick, she came to life. Her mind grabbed at flashes of kisses and a knife and Nathan being dead. The hallway, but this was her couch?

Suddenly she sat straight up, “OH MY GOD!! OH MY GOD!” Violet's hands and bare thighs were caked in dry blood. She flew off the couch and went to Make it down the hall to the guestroom. But instead she slipped and fell in the coagulated mess on the hardwood floor

“Aw yep,” a harsh Irish lilt quipped from the kitchen. “I meant t’clean that up before ya woke, but I wasn't sure where the supplies were.”

Violet simply laid down on her floor, defeated. “I killed you,” she whispered.

Nathan appeared above her. His shaggy hair fell across his forehead and the goatee and mustache Violet swore he had shaved was back. He consciously fumbled to button his dress shirt that she was certain he wasn't wearing as he lay in her arms.

“You were in your underwear. You were bleeding to death last night in your underwear only,” she sat up grimacing at her blood caked hair.

“I cleaned up the best I could. Told ye it would be half five when I came to. Didn't wanna leave ye on the floor, so I carried ye t’the sofa. Sorta did a bit o’the whore’s bath in your sink.” Nathan mimed washing his body, “Not really comfortable with the whole showering in a strange bird’s gaff without permission.”

Violet stumbled to her feet with Nathan’s help. His reflex to catch her as she slid again in the mess was quick. Their chests pressed together again. His skin against hers as she clung to the seams of his shirt to balance herself. Violet's face flushed. From a hangover or how warm Nathan was. Alive.

“I ran you through with a carving knife. You died in my lap. You turned ice cold and had purple lips and I thought to myself how many times I asked you if you ever shut up.”

“Only when I'm dead,” Nathan absently stroked her hair. Large hand gently rubbed her back and took a chance at getting a squeeze of her ass.

Violet ignored what Nathan did and refused to look at him. Not in those ever changing eyes anyway. Instead she placed her hand flat on Nathan's smooth, if not slightly stained, chest. No gaping wound, heartbeat steady.

Violet's own heart pounded in her ears as the adrenaline from touching him raced through her veins. There was no denying that he was just as beautiful alive.

And no denying that Nathan eagerly tried to crash his mouth into hers, but Violet swerved. “Are those my underwear!?”

Nathan stepped back to pop his shirt up and push his own backside in her direction. “Mine were ruined,” he rubbed himself and bit his entire bottom lip. “Oi they're soft and make my ass look great.” He slapped it for good measure.

“I like you better dead"

Nathan sneered sarcastically and rolled his eyes. His lips moved with no sound coming out but baby babble. "See if I make YOU breakfast again!”

A hot shower and clean clothes later, Violet climbed onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. Her houseguest sat a plate of food and a mug of tea in front of her

“Found some peppermint. Mum says that helps with a hangover.” Dimpled grin before he turned around to finish cleaning up her kitchen.

“Oh,” Violet was taken aback by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” she meant it. “Hey! You’re not using magic.”

“Nooo. I'll use it sparingly until I have to give it back. Been right fucking fun while it’s lasted.”

“You’re cleaning my kitchen.”

“Yeah? If you tell us where some brushes and such are, I'll clean the floor next.”

Violet felt a pleasure seep into her bones as she sipped the hot tea. It was nice to have someone to look after her for once. She had time to really watch as Nathan scrubbed the pans he used. She took notice of him biting a cuticle or chewing skin off his lip as he carefully searched her drawers for a towel. He flitted about kind of like a hummingbird; never staying still long enough between tasks.

“Nathan you don't have to do any of this. I know it's just a layover until you're back in London. I The situation isn't exactly ideal. Now that I murdered you, isn't it fucking weird?” Violet questioned around a mouthful of food.

He faced Violet while drying the dishes. “Nah. Been killed loads of times. Impaled twice. Sewer pipe. Metal picket fence. Then had my head bashed in. Stabbed in the heart by a beautiful girl who is a bit dodgy about me kissing her is tops now!” A bright smile crept across his face.

“why are you cleaning then?”

Nathan scratched the back of his head in thought, “Well, so ye don't have t’remember I was ever here.”

Violet’s mouth hung open but she closed it quickly. “Who the fuck would ever want to forget you?” She started to laugh, “I watched your anger literally explode in hundreds of rabbits. I probably drank a hundred bucks of liquor for free. You took a guy’s tongue out for slapping my ass. And you're..”

Nathan leaned on the island top with his chin in one hand, “Immortal?” He wiggled his eyebrows seductively.

“An Irish prick,” Violet cocked her own eyebrow in return. Nathan pouted.

“I've gotta go to the casino. I know someone in the back of the house who found all of your shit. Please just stay here. Can you do that?” She got up to get a bucket and cleaning supplies from the closet.

“Do you know how many movies start with someone saying don't move?!” There was a gleam in his bright green eyes.

“Nathan, I mean it!” she commanded from the bedroom. “I have to go Christmas shopping too. Jesus it's Christmas eve.” She hobbled back into the living room trying to pull a shoe on.

“Fine. But if I find porn anywhere and have a wank out of boredom, that's on you lady!” He mimicked masturbating in her direction.

Violet’s face contorted in disgust as she threw on a leather jacket. “Grow up.”

“Tried that. She ran away with all the money, and I went to prison. When do I meet mum and dad?” shit-eating grin

“They're dead.”

Nathan’s face fell. For once he was momentarily speechless. “My step-dad’s a dog.”

Violet's hand was on her doorknob, but she paused. “Wait.. Like cheats on your mom dog?”

“More like turns into a naked Jack Russell at night with his massive cock out all over town.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“So much. T’anks for asking!” Nathan grabbed Violet by the wrist. He spun his finger in a circle ever so slightly. “Just a bit o’ Christmas magic before you go?”

Violet gasped as a sprig of mistletoe manifested itself above them. A bough of pine spread on either side of the doorway wrapped in tinsel. Little white lights started to twinkle from inside.

“Nathan, it’s beau-” but Violet was interrupted by his mouth covering hers again.

He was softer this time as his hands gripped her waist. His tongue gently slid into her mouth and Violet accepted it. Her body relaxed into him as their lips moved on instinct. But she found herself as quickly as she had gotten lost. She managed to wedge her hands between their bodies so she could push herself away.

“No. Nope. We can't do this. You're leaving the day after tomorrow, and I'm not a fucking Hallmark Christmas movie.”

Nathan brushed his nose against Violet's forehead, “I think it's too late for that.” But she turned abruptly and left him cold by the front door.

“Make yourself at home, okay?” Was all she shouted from the other side of the door.

#robert sheehan #nathan young #nathan x violet #lord of chaos #robert sheehan character fic

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