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moldisgoodforyou · 3 years

Text

it’s a girl

warnings: pregnancy, cursing

wordcount: 1.7k

In a rare turn of events, Charlie swore JJ was more emotional than she was in the early stages of her pregnancy.

In reality, he was terrified. He was scared of the tiny shoes they picked out, scared of the tiny ultrasound and the doctor comparing their baby to the size of a lemon, scared of the idea of him being a terrible father.

“What about...Olivia?”

“Olive.” JJ responded without looking up from his laptop. He had shot down the majority of the baby names Charlie had suggested, somehow able to come up with every possible insult their child could have based off their name alone.

Charlie scowled but kept going, scrolling through a list online.

“Amelia.”

“Is she an eighteenth century princess reborn?”

She huffed. “Emerson? We could call her Emmy.” JJ raised his eyebrows. “You love the dude that invented lightbulbs that much?”

“That’s Edison, baby.”

He scowled. “I don’t like that name either.”

“No, I mean - never mind. Scarlett? You know, like Gone With The Wind?” She mused.

“Never heard of it. Next.”

“Annabelle.”

JJ lifted his head. “Well it’s a fucking mouthful, but maybe.”

“Fuck, JJ, do you have any good ideas?” She complained, crossing her arms. “No, because it’s going to be a boy. We should just find out at the doctor’s, all this would be easier.” He shot back. JJ wouldn’t admit it, but he had almost teared up when John B talked about how fun it would be to teach his kid how to surf and play catch and more. For some reason, he was only able to envision a mini him running around.

“Yeah, well you know I want a surprise.” She paused, holding back a smile. “How about Echo?”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” He looked over, incredulous.

She grinned and nudged him with her foot from the other side of the couch. “I am, yeah, just wanted to see your reaction.”

“Was it what you hoped?” JJ asked dryly.

“Absolutely not. You’re pissing me off,” she informed him. He simply nodded, used to her being mad about stupid things by now. (In retrospect, the name of their child was not stupid - just seemed like a trivial argument at the time.)

“I like Charlotte.”

She laughed. “Hell no.”

“C’mon, we could call her Lottie. If it’s a girl I want her named after my favorite person.” He grinned and she rolled her eyes. “No, that’ll make me sound conceited.”

“Will you at least consider it? I really do love the name.”

“Thought you were sure we’re having a boy.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Well.” JJ paused, smiling over at her. “If we don’t.” Charlie scowled. “You know how much I hate my name.” He laughed. “Fine, we’ll save it for our fourth kid. I’ll wear you down by then.”

“Four kids?! JJ, you’re high. I haven’t even had this one and I’m not sure I’m going to like it enough to have a second.” She smoothed her hands over her stomach, biting her lip for a moment. He shook his head, confident. “No, you will. I don’t know about four, but. You’ll love our baby, I promise.”

“I know I will, just. Not sure if I want to go through being pregnant again.” Charlie wrinkled her nose for a moment.

“You know if I could take your job, I would.” He promised, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead, then her stomach.

“Yeah, yeah. Just wait until I have the baby, then you’ll take that back.”

It hadn’t set in until they went in for the ultrasound. Charlie wanted to surprise him and told him it was just a routine appointment she’d like him to be at (he was at every appointment anyways, but still). When the black and white image of their baby came up on the screen, fuzzy around the edges, with the accompanying swishing sounds of the heartbeat, JJ thought he was going to pass out. He squeezed Charlie’s hand hard, going pale as he stared at the screen.

“That’s our baby, J.” Charlie beamed, glancing over at him.

“Yes, she looks healthy.” The doctor told them with a grin and Charlie gasped, quietly. They had forgotten to remind the doctor not to tell them, despite Charlie being so adamant about the surprise.

“She.” JJ repeated softly, tears welling up in his eyes. He had been so set on a boy that he hadn’t even considered the possibility of a girl and now that it seemed so real, the idea of a real person attached to the thing growing in Charlie’s stomach, he wasn’t sure how to feel. He didn’t notice the doctor had flicked off the sound of the baby’s heartbeat and Charlie had asked him about three questions until she was waving her fingers in front of his face.

“JJ, are you alright?”

He snapped out of it, shaking his head and plastering on an uneasy smile. “Yeah, sorry, I’m good. Just. Excited.”

Charlie was entirely unconvinced by his tone, but didn’t press it until they were out of the doctor’s office and in the car. JJ seemed as if he was moving on autopilot, fingers gripping the wheel as he drove. “What’s wrong?” She asked, reaching over and grazing her fingers across the back of his neck. He pressed his head back into her reassuring touch, like always. “Nothing, pretty girl.”

“You’re lying.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Yeah. I know.” Years ago, he would have avoided a conversation like this like hell. Over time, he’d realized lying to Charlie was a near-impossible feat.

“Talk to me, J.”

“Can we talk when we’re home? Don’t want to be distracted.”

She frowned. “That bad?”

“Please, Charlie.” He kept his eyes trained on the road, white-knuckled.

“Okay.” She mumbled, keeping a reassuring touch on his neck. The rest of the drive was tense, both of them not making a sound. She kept her eyes trained on him, worriedly scanning over his expression and body language until he gave her an unconvincing smile. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”

“You’re not fine, but I want you to focus on the road, so I’ll let it slide.”

JJ laughed at that, making her relax just a little. “You know me too damn well.” He parked their car and jogged around to help her out like always, hand resting protectively on the small on her back. “I’d better. I’m your wife.” She came into the apartment with him, greeting their dog Maggie as they went and set their folder from the doctor on the entryway table.

She tugged him down to the couch and curled herself into his side, knowing he hardly ever opened up if she kept eye contact with him. “Alright. Talk.” He let out a long, slow breath, deciding not to prolong it any further. “I’m sorry, I just...I don’t know how this doesn’t scare the shit out of you, Charlie.”

At that, she sat up abruptly and reached over, cupping his cheek. “You think I’m not scared?”

He startled, eyes wide. “You’ve been so calm! Through this entire thing!”

She bit her lip, getting teary. “You were calm up until today! You were the only reason I wasn’t too scared!” He reached up and held her wrist, shaking his head. “I’ve been trying to hide it from you, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

“JJ, can I be honest?”

“Yeah, always.” He tucked some hair behind her ear, concerned.

“It’s just...I don’t know how to raise a child, I’ve been around like two babies total in my life, and I’m not sure if I’m responsible enough and am I even going to be a good mom and -” She stopped to take a deep breath, tears spilling onto her cheeks.

“Hey, hey, shh.” JJ interrupted and pulled her in close, rubbing her back. “You’re going to be an incredible mom. You’re the most responsible person I know, and you’re so good with Maggie -”

“The dog is not a child, JJ -”

“Hush.” He grinned at her and wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs, then gave her a short kiss. “We’ll figure it out, okay? And whatever we don’t know, we’ll call your mom and beg for help.”

She laughed at that, finally offering a small smile. “I’m sorry, I was supposed to be comforting you.” He nodded and pressed his forehead to hers. “Honestly? I feel better knowing you’re scared too. What do you even do with babies when they’re so little? Just hang out with them or something?”

Charlie grinned. “I guess so. We can take it on walks and feed it and stuff?”

“Her.” JJ corrected. “This baby is sounding more and more like our dog, though.”

She let out a deep breath and settled back into his side. “A girl. Can you believe it? I know you wanted a boy, but...”

He returned to rubbing her back again. “Yeah...dunno. A boy sounded easier.” He paused. “I just...”

“Yeah?”

“Never mind.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She frowned and tugged at his shirt. “Tell me.”

“I won’t be like my dad, right?” He asked quietly, fisting his hand in the back of her shirt. Charlie leaned up and kissed him, slowly and surely. “Never, hon. I don’t know anything about having a baby, but I’m positive you’ll be a wonderful father.” He hummed, unsure. “How do you know?”

“I know because you’re caring, and thoughtful, and you’re incredibly observant. Because you’re always there for me, and I know you will be for the baby. And that’s enough, J.” She kissed him again and he wore a small smile. “I love you so much, you know that? We’ll figure it out.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He echoed and held her tight. “Love you too, sweetheart. And our little one.”

“Our little family.” She murmured. They laid there for a moment, Charlie tracing small circles on his chest.

“Hey, Charlie. How about Caroline?” JJ suggested, a little hesitant. He told her she could have full naming rights and didn’t want to overstep the boundary he set - after all, she was the one bearing the child.

“Caroline.” She repeated, testing it out. “Baby Caroline. I love it.”

He beamed and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll figure it out together, okay? You, me, and baby Caroline.”

#jj maybank #jj maybank fanfic #obx fanfic #outer banks fanfic #outer banks #jj x charlie #postgrad #mine

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heyheydidjaknow · 3 years

Text

I would’ve posted this earlier but, alas, I passed out early. This is a longer one, but tumblr got its act together so I can post it all in one part. You guys know where the other chapters are, and if you don’t, they’re at the end of the chapter. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go eat straight Nutella.

Chapter 10

“I’m thinking about getting some gloves.”

He looks over at you as he laces up his skates. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling slightly to yourself as you look your hands over, trying to imagine what they would look like. “Like, badass, fingerless gloves.”

He smiles. “Dude, those would look metal as fuck.”

“Totally, right?” Your smile widens. “With studs and shit.”

He gets to his feet, hopping onto the ice. “Hell yeah.” He drops a puck to assault as you go back to your backed-up coursework the best you can—your handwriting has gone to hell, but you are working with what you have.

You flinch at the crack of his stick, the cross of the T ending up underneath the letter somehow. A cheer from Casey tells you the rubber cylinder’s fate.

‘I swear I learned this.' You squint at the basic algebra, the pencil, crudely held in your fist, hovering over the packet. ‘Why can’t I do this?’

“How’s your pile coming along?” Another crack.

“It’s comin’.” You run your fingers through your hair. “Just… trynna remember how to do ne—… subtraction.” ‘Not debate. Negating is debate.’

He laughs. Another crack. “Man, that thing really fucked you over, huh?”

“Thoroughly.” You decide against continuing to torture yourself, having been at it for the past five hours—most of it in the library before Casey invited you to watch him practice some more— and set the large stack of homework back in your bag. “Are you actually making the shots?”

“Casey Jones doesn’t miss shots.” Another crack.

“Pardon me, oh almighty king of the ice.” You stand on your good leg, grabbing the side of the wall to watch as he went back to collect his pucks.

You two have managed to bond over a mutual respect/love of heavy metal and hockey and, seeing as you are staying out of the Hamatos’ hair for a while—not upon request, but out of courtesy—you have managed to spend a lot more time with him than you may have otherwise. Your school has not assigned Biology any big projects yet, so, until you are assigned it, you do not have anything other than your health to stress about.

“Pardon accepted.” You watch his form as he performs another slap shot.

“You…” you trail off, trying to remember what you were going to say.

“What?”

You shrug. “Dunno.” You lean your head on your arms. “I’ll remember eventually.”

He drops the second puck. “Got any plans after this?”

You sigh. “Nope. Probably gonna head home and try not to cut my fingers making dinner again.”

He takes another shot. “Then let’s go out after this. You and me.”

You smile. “What, don’t have any plans either?”

“Nah.” He drops the third. “Dad doesn’t care if I’m home late anyway.”

“True, true.” You have decided against prying into his home life; it is not your place and does not concern you in the slightest. “Where do you wanna go?”

“Wanna catch a movie? Heard there was this new pizza place just a couple blocks down if you wanna try to sneak it in.”

You snicker. “In the box and all?”

“Yes.” He grins mischievously and hits this one off the walls. Some way, somehow, it still makes it into the goal. “I bet your sweatshirt is big enough to stick the box under.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Not in the mood for burns on top of scars, Jones,” you reprimand him teasingly. “That just ain't it.”

“Then you can wear mine under that one and—”

“Your sweat-soaked hoodie you’ve been practicing in all day?” You cringe at the thought. “Over my dead body.”

“I mean…” he licks his teeth, smile widening, “it’s not exactly like you’re in the best—”

You laugh. “So not cool!”

He puts his hands up in defense, gliding over. “I mean, am I wrong, though?”

“That is completely besides the point, you ass.” You balance on your foot, crossing your arms. “Damn. Making fun of the girl with the broken leg.”

He leans against the wall. “Man, you were dying before the crash.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, whatever, Jones.” You lean against your hand. “How’s Johanna,” you sing.

He presses his hand against your face, pushing you away. “Annie is doing fine.”

You grin, steadying yourself on the wall. “Do you feel her, Johanna?”

“I’m gonna tell her you call her that if you don’t quit it.”

“Do you think that walls can hide her? Even when you’re at her window?”

He pushed his arm all the way out. You hop back.

“Her name isn’t even Johanna.”

“But she is Johanna,” you whine in protest, not bothering to hide your mirth. “She has the hair, the voice, the disposition. She’s an ingénue and you know it.” You have been teasing him about this for a while now: the girl in question—Annabelle Halshaw, a year below you two—had caught his eye when he had heard through the grapevine that she was the lead singer in some indie band. When he had shown you a picture and told you the story, you insisted on calling her Johanna for her golden hair and soft, sweet singing voice he had proudly had you listen to.

“She’s not.”

You roll your eyes, sitting back down as you grab your bag. “Lie to yourself all you want,” you goad, “but deep down, you know in your heart that the truth,” you put a finger up, “is apparent.”

He hops off the ice, sitting next to you as he unlaces his skates. “Whatever.” He smirks. “How’s The Don?”

You avert your gaze. “I haven’t seen ‘im.”

“Boo.” He tied the laces together. “Some girlfriend you are,” he ribs.

You go red. “Not my boyfriend. Not even friends with benefits.”

“Yeah, sure.” He sets the skates into his bag. “That’s why you already know his family.”

“That—”

“And why you’ve had him over to your place.”

“If you don’t cool your tits, I’m telling Lucy you’re crushing on her friend.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“What,” you simper, “think I won’t?”

He grabs his bag. “If you do, I’ll show her that video.”

You laugh, following him out of the rink. “You’re the worst.” You note how strange it is that he spent so little time on the ice as you two walk out, but you do not say anything about it.

“Hey, you’re the one throwing threats around.”

“Yeah,” you argue, “but my threat is clearly better.”

He rolls his eyes, pushing you again.

You two keep chatting on the way to the theatre about anything and everything, from new bands to upcoming games to the newest blockbuster horror movies. You are not personally on the hockey team, but, as his friend, it is your duty to care. Besides, you figure, it gives you something to look forward to.

The movie is fine. You convince him against sneaking an entire pizza in, you split a bucket of popcorn, and you give him shit for getting freaked out by the disembowelment scene. It is payback for him teasing you about crying during the last movie you two went to a couple of days ago.

You two stand at the streetlight.

“Dude, it’s like eight,” he groans. “It’s not even late.��

“True,” you agree. “Counterpoint: I still have another week’s worth of work to do by Friday on top of the homework I’ll have to do anyway, so unless you wanna help—”

“Forget I asked.” He pulls his hood up against the autumn wind. “Need me to walk you back?”

“Nah.” You shrug. “If someone mugs me, they’ll give me an excuse to not do my homework.”

“Murdered?

“I’m already halfway there.”

He grins. “See ya tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See ya, Jones.” You wave as he runs off.

The walk home is quiet and considerably easier than it was a couple of weeks ago. Seeing as you now get queasy whenever you get into a car, you have been limited to taking the subway and walking, which, among other things, has contributed positively to your physical strength. You know that you should probably at least try to take the bus or a cab around town to build your tolerance up, but the last time you tried, you had almost tripped and fallen from how shaky your legs were getting out. Oddly enough, you note as you go through the door, you do not have a considerably larger fear of heights than you did before, or of fire, but cars were tripping you up, even though you were the one that crashed it. You feel thankful that, at least, you do not think your fear is crippling. At least, you reason, you can still get into the car.

You lock the door behind you, debating whether you feel like adding to the collection of cuts you now possess— they are self-inflicted, but not intentionally so; you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge the fact that you physically cannot use your hands to cut things. You decide against it tonight, tossing your bag on the bed as you sprawl across it, admittedly exhausted. You allow yourself a couple of seconds with your eyes closed before you pull yourself up with a groan and get back to work.

A part of you wishes that you had the physical energy to stay out longer. You are always trying to find excuses not to sleep, and although the mountain of homework and readjusting your timelines for things you missed is certainly one way to keep yourself preoccupied, it is not exactly what you would consider fun. Then again, reliving your greatest traumas while you sleep is not exactly fun either.

You catch yourself peeling at the newly applied bandages on your fingers, fingernails catching under the crudely applied adhesives. Applying bandages properly requires more dexterity and patience than you currently possess, and you are hardly going to ask someone else for help with something as stupid as that. You have lasted this long without needing too much help. People can live by themselves. You will live, probably. Well? Not your concern.

‘I should eat something.’ Your eyes strain to focus on the piece of paper in front of you, your mind wandering aimlessly as you try to impress the actual importance of finishing this upon yourself, but you find that is an insurmountable feat.

You drop your bag off the side of the bed, reaching down and pulling your shoe off, leaning back into your pillows, the weight of the day practically immobilizing you. Fumbling hands switch the lamp off, bathing your room in momentary, blissful darkness before the gravity of your decision sets in.

“Alright, me,” you breathe to yourself. “What’s it gonna be today? My folks? Bradford? What’s his face? Hell,” you chuckle, “why not all three? I’m sadistic enough, I’m sure.”

You close your eyes. “Give me your worse,” you challenge as you slip into unconsciousness.

Two weeks.

He had kept his distance for about two weeks. It was not as if he did not care or was not morbidly curious what the crash had done to you—his glances through the curtains did not tell him much-- but, after some debate, he had figured you needed time to recuperate before you would want his company. Two weeks, he figured, would be enough time for you to get back on your feet or, at least, for you to start wanting company.

His excuse to see you had come in the form of his brother’s newfound prideful boasting. Feigning insult was as good an excuse as any to go see you; after all, he just so happened to be in the neighborhood anyway, and it was normal to pop in to see someone if you were already just a couple blocks down, right? Sneaking away was easy enough—they would not mind his absence—and he, after much prep work, knew exactly how and why he was going to say the things he would to get in your good favor. The plan, he knows, would have gone swimmingly.

His plans seem asinine when he hears you crying.

His brothers do not cry much. He does not, either; it was a habit that they had all thoroughly bullied themselves out of when they were much younger and, if they still did, he knew nothing of it. His master did not encourage this, per se, but talked, then, frequently about the importance of maintaining a more stoic disposition and not allowing emotions to cripple you in battle. Practically, Donatello was satisfied with that explanation, having not properly cried for more than a year now. To hear the sound again, especially coming from you, was novel.

Novel, too, is how you are crying. The sound is less of actual sobbing and more of you being strangled, quiet gasps for air escaping your lips as you shake on the bed, curled in on yourself and clutching at your chest as if whatever pain you are experiencing is centered and can be relieved by something between your collarbones. His eyes, for the first time, trace the lines on your skin, your sleeves riding up your arms to reveal them to him, tears racing down and along the gash in your face. Everything about the scene, from the soft gasping of panic to your position to the heavy scarring, is completely foreign to him, rivaled only by one or two particularly hard nights when he and his brother were much younger.

He slides in through the window, leaning onto the bed. His fingers flick your lamp back on as he grabs your shivering shoulder tightly, shaking you awake as he mumbles words of encouragement. He is not sure if his help will be appreciated, if snapping you out of it was even what he is supposed to do in this situation, but now is not the time to think of that. You are in pain. He can offer you this kindness. “Wake up,” he pleads, not thinking of how this would look until your eyes snap open to look at him.

Immediately, the reality of the situation sets in, and he scrambles off the bed. ‘Why did I think that would be a good idea?’ Panic. ‘You just walked into her room like a fucking creep. See, now she’s going to—’

“Sorry.”

He blinks, looking up at you from his place on the floor. “Huh?”

You clear your throat, wiping the tears from your eye with your sleeve quickly as you bring your knees to your chest, voice hoarse. “Sorry,” you repeat. “That you… I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for, but I know I should be apologizing.”

He is completely dumbfounded.

Your eyes glance to the open window. “I should probably start closing and locking my window, right?” You rub the back of your neck, voice clearing the longer you talk. “It didn’t occur to me since I’m so high up, but if you guys can get in, The Foot can too, right?”

‘Why is she apologizing?’

You push the hair out of your face. ‘You need something, right? I—uh—need to stop saying ‘right’ so much.” You shake your head to clear it. “’ Sup?”

He hears himself mumble some bullshit out about being in the neighborhood.

You sigh. “Sorry.” You close your eyes. “I’m usually up later; I’ve been so tired lately.”

‘Is she serious right now?’ He is completely lost. ‘She was just crying her eyes out in her sleep and now she’s apologizing? Did I miss something?’ You are smiling now, eyes still bloodshot, as if the whole thing is a figment of his imagination, still shivering where you sit.

He rises to his feet, kneeling in front of you on the bed. “What was it about?”

You blink, seemingly confused. “Huh?”

“Your nightmare,” he clarifies. “You were crying. What was it about?”

You avert eye contact. “Nothing too crazy,” you shrug. “Just about the crash. Nothing too exciting.” If possible, he thinks the bags under your eyes are worse than the last time you saw him.

He takes your hands loosely, turning them palms up to look, for the first time, at the patchwork quilt that is now your skin. “What happened in it?” He runs his thumb along the lines, keeping his voice low; he remembers how that used to help when Mikey used to have fits when they were younger. Leonardo and Raphael were never good at that; they took better to being more violently snapped out of their moods, but, then again, they never had this kind of breakdown; theirs were always more driven by loathing, self or otherwise.

You pause, still not looking him in the face as your muscles relax. He remembers, vividly, how he had done something similar when you two had first met, how much better, health-wise, you looked. ‘How long has it been since then? Three months? A little less?’

You take a deep breath. “Just… family shit,” you mumble, eyelids drooping as you trace his frame loosely. “Fire.”

Your gaze is piercing as you finally look at him properly. He feels something catch in his throat as you bow your head.

“It’s my fault, you know.” Your voice is so soft, barely a whisper. “That they’re dead, I mean.”

The air is a suffocating blanket that smothers you both.

“I never told you, did I?” Your focus does not shift as it might have a bit ago. It is locked solely and intensely on him, taking in every detail of his expression. “How I died? How they died? Why I died?”

Hesitantly, he shakes his head. He thinks it best to just be quiet and let you talk. He does not think he has ever heard anyone speak in quite the same tones, ever looked at him quite the same way you are.

You take another breath. “I wanted to try my hand at baking.” You force your eyes to stay focused on his. “I was—still am—not good about sleep. I always slept bad, and never at the right times. I used to take pills for it, to try to get myself back on track.”

He sees where this is going.

“I thought I could still stay up as late as I was used to.” You glance to the side, stealing yourself a second before focusing back on the boy in front of you. “I sat down in my room, turned on a movie. I set a timer. I fell asleep.” You swallow, hands shaking in his. “I can’t smell well, either. I must not have smelled the burning.” Your lips curl in a bitter smile. “Sure as fuck felt it, though, when I woke up.”

He lets you finish.

You try to blink the tears out of your eyes. “They were asleep,” Your voice rises ever so slightly. “I fell asleep at two something. I woke up when they started yelling.” You purse your lips, face reddening in shame as your nostrils flair. “They were trying to get someone out of bed when the roof caved in above them. My door got blocked.”

You feel yourself smile.

“So,” you strain not to cry, “that, Donatello, is why I’m here and why I’m dead, and why I really do deserve to burn again.” You laugh. “Hell, my body count is rivaling some serial killers, so that’s… that’s certainly something.”

He lets go of your hands, face blank.

You lean forward, placing your hands on your knees. “I don’t blame you,” You wipe a wayward tear out of your eyes, trying to swallow the frog in your throat. “Fuck, man, I’d think less of me, too, if it were me.” You nod towards the window. “I get it if you want to leave, but I thought you might want to know why—”

He stops you mid-sentence, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to him.

Your arms lay slack at your sides as you try to process what is happening.

He does not say a word.

You break.

You burry your face into him, tears welling in your eyes as you let out a strangled sob. You hold onto him tightly as you struggle to breathe, body shaking as you wrap your own arms around him the best you can. The sound roars in your ears like thunder, the deafening quiet of the apartment punctuated only by your own cries. He gently holds you there, resting his head on top of yours. Each sound you make sounds as though you are physically being choked by your guilt, and his chest feels as though it is being crushed by an invisible hand as he listens to your pain.

Neither of you knows how long you stay like that.

He considers telling you a story from a long time ago, about some training he and his brothers had back then, but thought better of it; he does not want to upset you any more than you already are, and being in good company with someone like him may not be exactly what you need right now. Granted, he does not know what you do need, but he knows listening to him talk about bashing brains would not help your sensibilities any.

Instead, he stays quiet.

You pull away after a while, wiping your face off again as you mumble out an apology.

“Don’t apologize.” He clears his throat. “It’s good to cry; it releases endorphins.”

You smile at that. “Well,” you giggle tearfully, “if it releases endorphins.”

He smiles back, face flushing. You look good, he thinks, even with your face all red. He knows that, scientifically, there is probably a reason, but he cannot think of it right now.

He stands up. “I’ll get—”

You grab his hand tightly.

He looks back at you.

“Can I ask a favor?”

He blinks. “Of course,” he agrees easily. “Anything.”

You glance off. “Promise not to take it weird?”

He feels his heart rate increase. “Y-yeah,” he nods.

He feels you pull him gently back on the bed. “Can you stay here tonight?”

His eyes widen as they flicker between the mattress and you. “What,” he clarifies breathlessly, “like sleep with you?”

You nod.

“In the same bed?”

You hesitate, nod again.

He clears his throat, face heating again. “Like, actually?”

“If it wasn’t actually, I wouldn’t ask, would I?” You grip his hand tightly. “I just really don’t want to be alone tonight.”

‘Oh.’ He mentally kicks himself. ‘She’s scared. Don’t make her uncomfortable.’

“It’s alright if you don’t—”

He is extremely quick to reassure you that he is more than happy—‘Bad choice of wording.’—to stay tonight until you fall asleep, but that he would not stay the whole night as to not worry his brothers.

You nod in agreement. “That’s fine.” You rub the back of your neck. “Not sure I would be good company when I wake up, anyway; I still have class.”

“Oh, right.” He nods in understanding, pushing himself further onto the bed. “Which side…?”

You shrug. “Which way do you face?”

“I usually lie on my stomach.”

“Then it doesn’t matter.” You slide your sweatshirt over your head after a bit of squirming around, tossing it onto the couch.

His face is now scarlet. “Okay then,” he mumbles, laying down on the side away from the window. ‘Is she going to—no, stop that.’

You look over at him, face down on the mattress. You can almost feel the heat coming off him. “Are you alright there, buddy?”

He nods.

You shrug, laying down under the blanket and curling into him, facing the window. “Mind getting the light?”

He reaches over, clicking it off.

You sigh in content, turning to face him, teetering on the edge of the mattress. “I’m not venomous,” you inform him teasingly. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: of the two of us, you should not be the one who’s a nervous wreck.”

“You dunno that.” His voice is muffled by the bed.

“You’re the strong one,” you argue.

“So?” He turns his head to look at you. “I’m the guy laying in the—I’m just gonna stop that sentence.”

“It’s only bad if it isn’t consensual.” You smile reassuringly. “I invited you to lay with me, right? So, unless I make you uneasy, then we’re all good.”

He breaks eye contact. “So,” he clarifies, “you don’t mind if I move closer to you?”

You shake your head.

He hesitantly slides himself further onto the bed. “Can I move closer than this?”

“You’ve already seen me bawl my eyes out. You’re doing me a service. Move as close or as far as you want.”

He moves to press his side against you. “Is this fine?”

You nod. “Look, how about this?” You rest your arm under your head. “If you do something I’m uncomfortable with, the safe word is pina colada.”

‘We already have a safe word?’ He was not sure if he is on cloud nine or just terrified of you.

You are very confused why he looks so warm. “Do you need me to turn the AC on?”

He shakes his head. “I’m good,” he assures you tightly. Slowly, he reached an arm out and over your waist, pulling you closer. You do not seem to resist in any way, wrapping your good leg around one of his to pull him closer.

‘Conscious touching.’ He glances down at you, trying to act cool. ‘Conscious, intentional touching. She smells so nice and she feels—okay, this is not going to work if you keep being a perv.’

“Thanks,” you mumble, humming softly. “I appreciate this more than you know.”

Cloud nine. Definitely on cloud nine.

“Every time.”

You giggle.

He blinks. “What?”

“Every time,” you note, already nodding off. “Like in that book.”

‘Which one?’ “They wrote it down for a reason, right?” The longer he spends like this, the smoother he feels.

“Totally.” You smile, closing your eyes. “Just know that this goes both ways, alright? If you ever need help like this, you know who to call.”

This is new. ‘Help like this? What, like crying?’ His eyebrows furrow as he tries to understand what you mean. ‘Or he means if I ever need company in my—what did I just say?’

You pick up on his confusion. “Emotional help, I mean.” Your fingers trace the indentations in his shell absentmindedly. “I mean, I know sometimes I didn’t want to go to my family about stuff. I dunno if you have that…” you trail off, realizing that you might be unintentionally bashing his brothers. You sincerely do not want to blow this.

“I mean,” he says after a bit, “I think I get what you’re talking about.” He sighs. “You mean stuff that they’d make fun of me for, right?”

You nod.

He feels his heart melt a little. “I’ll have to take you up on that.”

You forgot how safe he makes you feel. “Goodnight, Donnie,” you mumble sleepily.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You pass out not long after that. If he has to estimate a general amount of time, he will clock it in at about five minutes. He does not move, however, until about thirty minutes before sunrise, too busy listening to the sound of your breathing and memorizing how exactly your body feels next to his. As he slips out of the window, early morning air waking him back up completely, he wonders if, someday, he could stay to see you wake up next to him. Not out of necessity, but just because you both wanted to stay like that for a while more.

‘I hope so. It’s a nice dream to have, anyhow.’

Table of Contents

Chapter 9

Chapter 11

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buoyantsaturn · 4 years

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Give ‘Em Hell, Kid (1/1)

to: @bookplush merry christmas annabel!!

summary: Meg needs a shopping buddy. Nico wants nothing to do with this.

word count: 1,756

read on ao3

With many of the campers away for the holiday season, camp was looking even more empty than usual. For the first time in months, Nico wasn’t the only one that had to sit alone at his breakfast table, though that didn’t make it any less lonely.

He was about to clean up and move on to the arena when somebody sat down across from him.

“You must be a pretty big loser to be sitting here all by yourself,” Meg told him, getting comfortable.

Nico raised an eyebrow, choosing not to point out the other scarce tables nearby. “You must be a pretty big loser to be sitting across from me right now.”

Meg’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “Touche.” She tilted her head curiously. “You know, I think this might be the first time I’ve ever seen you without that blond kid that smells like antiseptic attached to your hip.”

Nico frowned. “You mean...Will? My boyfriend?”

“Sure. Where’s he at?”

“Visiting his mom for the holidays.”

“Do you celebrate?”

“What?”

“The holidays.”

Nico rolled his eyes. “Which one?”

“That’s what I’m asking. So, what is it? Solstice? Christmas? Hanukkah? Or, uh. Another one?”

“Christmas.”

“Really?” Meg wrinkled her nose. “But you’re Pagan.”

“No, I’m Catholic.”

“Your dad is Hades.”

“Okay, fine. Pagan and Catholic.” When Meg gave him a weird look, Nico elaborated simply by saying, “My mom was Catholic.”

Meg leaned forward on the table with her hands folded under her chin. “I see…”

“Did you need something?”

“Yeah, I heard you can get people out of camp,” Meg told him finally.

Nico gave her a tired look. He got enough of this from Hermes kids who wanted to restock their illegal snack supplies. “Yeah. So can you. The border’s right over there, but I don’t recommend making a run for it, since we’re a few miles away from civilization.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Uh, yeah, duh. That’s why I came to you. I need to go to a store.”

“For what?”

“It has come to my attention that I suddenly have siblings. One of them let it slip that they both got me something for insert holiday here, and now I feel bad that I don’t have anything to give them in return. So? What do you say? Take me to the city, and we can steal from some corporations together?”

Nico took a moment to consider this, then sighed. “Yeah, okay. I guess I could surprise Will with a gift when he comes back, then.” He broke out into a grin. “It’ll be an even better surprise when he finds out it’s stolen.”

They ditched their activities for the day so that Nico could shadow travel them into the city. They wandered down the street for a short while, not quite sure what they were looking for just yet, until they walked up to a Target and headed inside.

“Who are you shopping for?” Nico asked as they wandered past the greeting cards at the front of the store.

“Just Miranda and Billie, since everybody else went home,” Meg answered. “But I don’t know what they like, so it’s gonna have to be something kind of generic.”

“Get them flowers.”

Meg stopped in the middle of the aisle. “What.”

Nico turned on his heel to face her, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets as he shrugged. “Demeter kids like flowers, right? Get them flowers. Or, I dunno, pots. Soil.”

“That might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”

Nico frowned. “Hey, I’m just saying what I know.”

“We can literally grow plants from nothing,” Meg reminded him.

Realization slowly dawned on Nico, and he said a nearly silent oh. “Huh. Okay, so that was kind of dumb.” He continued walking, assuming that Meg would follow. “What do you know about them?”

Meg blew out a long stream of air as she thought. “Well, Miranda’s dating Sherman, and she’s my head counselor. And, uh, Billie likes makeup. I think she has a crush on Valentina, but that’s just speculation.”

Nico paused near an aisle end cap. “So, probably not the best idea to get her these gay shoelaces,” he said, holding up a pair of rainbow shoelaces.

“Maybe when she comes out,” Meg said. “Or for her birthday. Whichever comes first.”

They kept heading through the store, occasionally pointing things out to each other as they passed certain aisles, until Nico led Meg down one of the crafting aisles.

“What about something like this?” Nico said, gesturing to an assortment of sketchbooks, then grabbing a pack of multicolored pens off a shelf. “This is what I got for my sister, and she seemed to like it.”

Meg stared at the sketchbooks with deep consideration before she moved further down the row and picked up a smaller book instead. “Maybe not a sketchbook, but one of these journals might be better. And that pack of pens, too. Miranda might not like it all that much, but at least it’ll be useful.”

Meg took the pens from Nico, and stuffed them into one of the pockets of her coat, along with the journal. They weren’t exactly hidden from view since her pockets weren’t all that big, and Nico caught the eye of an employee giving them the stink eye.

Nico made a show of turning to Meg and saying, “You know you can’t just put stuff in your pockets just because you don’t want to carry it. Give those to me.”

Meg frowned, clearly not catching on. “What are you talking about? I thought we--” Nico lightly kicked the toe of her shoe, and Meg stopped herself. “Oh! Uh, okay, fine, whatever!” She shoved the items into Nico’s chest, and continued around a corner.

Nico followed, glancing around the area, though the fluorescent lights didn’t leave a single of the corner unlit. “Damn, there aren’t any shadows in this place. Hang on.”

He unzipped his coat and tucked the journal underneath the fabric, sending it into a shadow that would deposit the object in his cabin, then did the same with the pens.

“How is that any better than my pockets?” Meg demanded, arms crossed.

Nico held open his coat for her to see that the items had completely disappeared. “Because you could’ve been caught. I just sent everything back to camp before anyone noticed anything.”

Meg’s eyes widened in appreciation. “Alright, cool. Let’s go look at makeup now.”

She guided Nico across the store to the overly-bright makeup section, filled with a million products that Nico couldn’t even guess what half of them were supposed to be used for. “Uh, what would Billie want?”

Meg shrugged. “I’unno.” She stepped toward the shelf and started grabbing things at random until her hands were full. Then, she turned back to Nico and shoved it all into his hands. “Okay. Done. Now it’s your turn. What are you getting for Will? A first aid kit?”

Nico tried to think as he stuffed everything under his coat and back to his cabin. “I mean, he wouldn’t hate that…”

Meg punched his arm. “Shut up, you can’t actually get him that. Get him something nicer.”

“Then come up with nicer ideas,” Nico shot back. “C’mon, there’s gotta be some section of the store that’s just full of basic gifts. Let’s find those.”

They wandered a full lap around the store until the registers were in sight, though right as they both turned a corner, they spotted it. The perfect gift for Will. There were rows and rows of ugly Christmas sweaters hung up along the wall, but the best one of them all was tucked away in the corner.

“That is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” Nico muttered.

“It’s perfect,” Meg agreed.

On Christmas morning, Nico once again found himself eating breakfast alone at the Hades table. Right as he leaned forward to stuff a bite of french toast in his mouth, something hit him in the back of the head. He found himself getting angry and turned to find whoever assaulted him, though there weren’t any suspicious figures behind him - and besides, he didn’t need to reopen that giant scar across the pavilion floor.

Nico looked down to find whatever had hit him, and saw a small, gift-wrapped package laying on the tile. He picked it up and pulled off the note attached to it.

To: Nico

From: Jesus

Christmas is basically Pagan anyway.

He tore the wrapping off of the gift and found the rainbow shoelaces he’d picked up while he was out shopping with Meg.

He looked toward the Demeter table. Meg offered him a thumbs-up. Nico flipped her off in return.

Will returned a few days after Christmas, unable to spend the full holiday season with his mom since she had to head back out on tour before New Year’s. As soon as he stepped out of the camp van after being picked up at the airport, Nico jumped on him and wrapped him up in a hug.

“Hey. I missed you,” Will told him, returning the hug.

“Missed you, too,” Nico told him. “It’s boring having to eat all by myself every day.” Will rolled his eyes, and Nico pulled away just quick enough to see it. “Come with me, I got you something.”

He dragged Will back to his cabin - allowing Will a second to drop his suitcase at the Apollo cabin - and handed him the gift bag as soon as Will was seated on Nico’s bed. Will peeked underneath the tissue paper, and glared up at Nico.

“Babe, please tell me you didn’t get me an ugly Christmas sweater,” Will warned him. “I know I told you I’m Jewish, and don’t you dare try to pretend I never mentioned it.”

“No, I know. It’s not a Christmas sweater, I promise. Open it already.”

Will sighed and pulled away the tissue paper. He brought out his gift and let out a loud groan, dropping his head onto Nico’s shoulder. “An ugly Hanukkah sweater isn’t any better, you know! My grandma got me this same thing, and I accidentally left it at home for a reason, Nico! How dare you!”

Nico wrapped an arm around Will with a grin, and pulled him up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m glad you like it!”

“I don’t! Go return it, right now,” Will demanded.

“No way! You got it just in time to wear it on the last night of Hanukkah! And besides, I can’t return something I stole.”

“You WHAT?”

thanks for reading!!

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#Nico di Angelo #Will solace #solangelo #mine #my writing #annabel

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missblissy · 5 years

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Title: Homeless at Home Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Genre: fanfiction, chapters, angst, reader insert, fluff, slow burn, friends-to-lovers, pre-game Characters: Young!Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Mathews, Arthur Morgan/ Reader, Female reader, Arthur x Reader, Arthur Morgan x Reader, Arthur/ You, Young!reader Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten || Eleven

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((Next chapter is up! More will be coming soon!! Let me know what you guys think will happen next!! Things are about to get hella crazy!!))

The summer was perfect. It was warm, it was breezy, it rained little to none. Since Hosea’s return, the gang and life seemed to revert back to normal. Dutch and Hosea were back to running out of the camp every morning, with Arthur joining on occasion, and coming back with whatever money they could make by the evening.

Bessie, Susan, and Annabelle worked tirelessly to keep the camp organized, stocked, and cooked every meal. Everyone had chores. Everyone had to do their part for the gang, even Uncle who cared for the horses, and you finally started to contribute on a regular basis too.

At the beginning of summer, when Hosea came back, you begged him to take you hunting every morning. He seemed happy enough to take you out and he enjoyed the company. You started hunting close to camp, you stayed in the area and took from the closest resources. You had only known how to use a handgun at first, and you never got anything larger than a small and underfed turkey that was about the size of a chicken. Squirrels and rabbits were the only other things on your list animals you’ve killed.

You could remember that first summer you spent with Arthur and Hosea in the open desert. You remembered how awful it felt to take the life of another living thing. Now with another summer coming at hand, you were barely fazed by the bang of your pistol or the little cries of death that escaped an animal when you killed it.

Somewhere in the middle of summer, after several weeks of hunting with Hosea, you started hunting alone and straying further and further into unknown country sides and forests. Hosea had given you a long yet still small cattlemen repeater. It was perfect for your short size. You had upgraded from killing small animals to medium ones than to large ones very quickly. You spent a lot of time in the forest, not just hunting, but also collecting herbs and wild fruits and vegetables that grew in the area. And so the gang had started to depend on your for food.

There was one day, just a few weeks ago, where you slept in and forgot to go hunting. Dinner that night was sad and pathetic and everyone ate canned food around a fire. Miserable and tried, with a side of attitude at the lack of a good meal, not many people stayed up that night and complained quite a bit. You knew then that you were no longer a child.

Your 14th birthday was only a handful of months away and as you grew older you started to notice not only your role in camp changing but your also your body and feelings.

You were becoming more moody and quick to anger. You were stronger than ever before. You took down a doe for the first time this summer. Lifting up that doe was like lifting up a bag of paper, you tossed it onto Callus’s rear end and tied it down with ease. You had grown taller too, it was easier to climb onto Callus and Arthur didn’t seem like a giant anymore.

Speaking of Arthur, he took great pleasure in pushing your buttons and teasing you relentlessly, though he always made up for it when he went overboard.

Today, however, you wanted to yell at him for stealing your boots. You knew it was him, you left them in a pile under your bed, and this wasn’t the first time Arthur has hidden your things.

You stomped through the camp, barefoot and sour-faced. You found Dutch and Hosea sitting at a table looking over a large map and many papers. You hurried over there and stole their attention, “Where is Arthur!?” You asked with harshly knitted brows.

They shared a look then laughed, “Stole your boots again, huh?” Dutch asked with a sympathetic look. He glanced down at your feet then held back a petty laugh.

“Why does he do this?” You wined while throwing your arms dramatically, “Why do you let him!?” You then pointed a finger at the two older men.

“You’ve got to learn to fight your own battles, girl,” Hosea gave you a pat on the head, “I think I saw him running around with that old dusty guitar down the beach,” Guitar?

When did anyone ever have one of those and where did they hide it?

You left the old men to their battle plans and headed for the stone and pebbled covered beach. Your heart sank in your chest and you grew cold. How on earth could you make it across the beach without your boots? You took one step and felt the pain of a pebble dig into your foot. There was no other option though. You had to do this.

Each step opened a new gate of hell on to you. You thought over time you’d just get used to the pain but it never got better. You gazed down the beach and looked around for Arthur. As far as you could see he wasn’t anywhere around. But then you heard something. Soft and out of tune strings of music drifted to your ears. It didn’t take long to find him then. Arthur was hidden further down the beach where it turned into massive rocks stuck and cluttered together. He was well hidden behind boulders bigger than a house, on a little hidden sandy beach.

You wanted to tackle him and demand your shoes but your curiosity was greater than your rage. He didn’t seem to notice you were there either. You took great pleasure in sneaking around the boulder he leaned on and jump out from behind it, letting out a loud and terrible scream.

Arthur jerk away and the guitar in his hands lunched from his lap and several feet away, he screamed just as loud until he realized it was just you.

“God! Dammit!” He glared at you while you started laughing in fits of giggles that bubbled from your chest.

“That’s what you get for stealing my boots!” You retorted quickly, “I got you good,” The soft sandy beach melted away the pain from the stones and you didn’t seem so mad about your boots anymore. Though you still wanted to find them, “Where’d you throw them this time?” You asked as you picked up the guitar.

“Uncle’s got ‘em,” He replied casually as you handed him the instrument.

You sat down on a rock in the middle of the little beach and let out a groan, “Uh! Why?! Why did you do this to me!?” You knew you’d have to trade something with the old man to get them back, and he’d probably ask for whiskey.

Arthur got comfortable against the rock and just shrugged as he tried to play the guitar again. He wasn’t that good, “Don’t put frog eggs in my boots,” Huh… you did do that, didn’t you?

The memory came through suddenly and you remembered how you filled Arthur’s boots with swamp water and frog eggs for stealing the last of your candy stash. You shook the memory away and declared that you were even.

“What’s with that?” You pointed to the guitar Arthur was having trouble with.

He shrugged again, “It’s Susan, can you believe?” He dodged your question like a pro.

So you asked more clearly, “Why are you playing it?”

Arthur didn’t say anything for a few minutes and he sat there almost frozen. You watched him look at the ground, his eyes dashing around before he glanced at you then shrugged yet again. What was with all the god damn shrugged?

“Girls like guys who can play guitars,” He finally said.

Excuse you? You looked at him, squinting your eyes then tipped your head slightly, “What? No they don’t.”

He shook his head and gave you this bug eyed look, “Yeah they do,” He sounded so serious, like he was a professional on this topic, “They love this shit.”

“Pft!” You let out a winded laugh, “And you think this is gonna make them like you?” You rolled your eyes then crossed your arms, “You really don’t know a thing, do you?

Can you even play it?”

You put Arthur on the spot again and he didn’t say anything for a while. He mumbled something under his breath that you didn’t hear, “Huh?” You called out like an old deaf woman, “I can’t hear you!”

“No!” Arthur barked back, “Well!” He paused and looked around while fumbling on his words, “Not really! I can a little bit… I just…I don’t know any songs…” Something about all that made you laugh harder than you ever have before. Your brought your legs up and crossed them under you while your hands held tight onto your feet, “The virgin boy is trying to seduce women with an instrument he doesn’t know how to use!” You laughed and laughed, rocking back and forth on top of your rock. Just because you were 13 didn’t mean you knew how the bees and birds worked. That was another change you noticed in yourself, you were becoming more vulgar.

Arthur’s face burned bright red and he grabbed a stray little rock in his hand and got ready to whip it at you but he knew better than that. He just scared you instead and threw it inches past your head and into the lake at your back, “Shut up!” He was really mad… or embarrassed… or both.

If you were older you might feel some kind of pity or maybe sympathy for him. But you stopped laughing at him and decided to be nice, “I know a song you can play,” Arthur looked at you with a raised brow, “My mother use to sing this to my father all the time, maybe you can find a girl that likes listening to it?” You said and he gave you another odd look, “Can you play this tune?” You started to hum and sing out a few notes while setting a tempo by lightly tapping your hand onto your knee.

He watched you then fumbled around to try and play by ear. It was a simple tune so it was easy but he still wasn’t the best and it took him several times to get it right. You felt a warm and lifting feeling grow in your chest at the sound of just hearing that tune again, and you hadn’t even got to the song. In your head you could hear the sound of your mother’s voice singing along to the music as your father would play on the few instruments you had in your home. It was something your parents loved doing together, they loved singing for some reason. Your home was always full of songs and music and dancing.

You were glad that you could look back on this memory and feel pride and love and nostalgia instead of pain and depression. When Arthur had played the tune enough times you took in a deep long breath then tried your best to sound good.

“Oh, darling, if I take your hand Will we travel far out West, far across the land! Cuz anywhere is home with you, I'll keep on going til the air is new,”

A smile had climbed onto your face as you remembered the words to the song. It was uplifting and quick, joyful and fast paced. You wanted to dance, but you stayed put on your rock and choose to sway back and forth little by little.

“It's the land and trees I desire! Smoke leaks from your mouth, cuz your heart is on fire! But your travelling song is not like mine, Our paths are different but we'll meet up in time,”

As you sang to the song it was easy for Arthur to keep up, this guitar thing wasn’t as hard as he first thought it was. And the song you choose was sweet and heart felt, it was perfect. There had been the girl in the post office that had his attention. Her name was Heather and she was sweet enough to give you a sugar rush. You had an awful first meeting with her, but the more and more Arthur kept hanging around this poor girl the nicer you grew and put up with her.

“Cuz I'm a weary traveller, you're an aimless wanderer, I'm cautious and I'm wary, you're reckless and you're fairly, Impulsive and unruly, we're bound to meet up surely in due time. Our stories are forever entwined. My babe's got green-brown eyes. But who can keep track, cuz they're changing all the time My eyes are as blue as the sea We'll keep on running 'til we're as far as can be,"

You had this memory in your mind as you felt the words leave your lungs, you could see your mother and father sitting together on the front porch of your home as you sat between them. The three of you sang this song and you could see the love between your parents as if the song was theirs and held a different meaning you just couldn’t quiet understand. Arthur started to mumble along to the words as you sang the chores again.

“As you head down south I'll go east, We'll follow our hearts cuz we're both at peace! But I know it's not our fate, To suffer through a good old fashioned heartbreak! Cuz I'm a weary traveller! You're an aimless wanderer! I'm cautious and I'm wary! You're reckless and you're fairly! Impulsive and unruly! We're bound to meet up surely in due time! Our stories are forever entwined!”

Smiles spread across yours and Arthur’s faces as the song came to an end and he stopped playing the songs melody. A moment passed there where you both stayed there and shared small chuckles. The warmth of the summer blew past you in the wind and you felt freedom trail off you and into the breeze. Arthur set the guitar aside and leaned as far back as he could against the rock, “You said your ma use to sing that song?” He asked. You slid off the rock and paced your way over to the abandoned guitar. You sat in a little grassy patch about a foot away from Arthur and nodded your head. You ran a finger over each string, “Yeah, she loved singing,”

“So did mine,” Arthur was staring up at the white cotton clouds as the drifted on by, “I don’t remember what she use to sing, or what her voice sounded like,” He paused then narrowed his gaze slightly, “But I know she had a beautiful voice, she had the most beautiful voice in the world. I don’t have to remember what she sounded like to know that. I could remember thinking it all the time as a kid how her voice was my favorite thing to hear.”

At that moment you could see a new and fresh pain scatter across Arthur’s face. The pain he felt was raw and hurt in a way it never hurt before. Something in him broke, and he could feel the child inside him cry out. He sat there, upset and stuck in his own head with a sour look on his face until your voice broke him from his own chains.

You weren’t sure what to say or do, “We should head back to camp,” You wanted to get him out of here though and get his mind on something else, “Dutch will probably have something for you to do by now,”

He didn’t say anything. Arthur silently stood up and waited for you to join him at the edge of the little hidden beach. You followed him then stopped in your tracks. The pebble battlefield stared back at you and fear wriggled into your spine, “Arthur-” You reached out and grabbed him by his wrist before he could walk away. He stopped and stared down at out without a word, “Carry me,” You didn’t look at him, you kept your eyes on the beach.

When your grip on his wrist grew tight enough for him to get annoyed, he yanked himself free from your hand, “Fine,” He sounded much more depressed than he looked.

Arthur got down onto one knee and nodded his head, “Get on.”

A silly smile slapped your face and you threw the guitar around your shoulder as the strap held it in place behind you. You threw yourself onto Arthur’s back and wrapped your arms around his neck as he locked your legs in his arms. He got up with ease as if your added weight meant nothing. Either you were lighter than you thought or he was getting stronger than he looked. Regardless, you felt a giggled swell in your belly and you laughed out as Arthur gave you a piggyback ride to camp. Perhaps your laughter was contagious, or maybe hearing your laugh made him feel better, but Arthur’s own low chuckle mingled with your chirping giggles.

“You should give me piggyback rides more often!” You held tight onto him and enjoyed watching the pebbles passing under you.

“No way!” He shook his head once then did his best to look back at you, “I’m only doing this cause you gave me that song to use. I’m gonna need you to write that down by th-” Arthur’s words got cut off as you started to strangle him with your arms, tightening around his neck.

You had a snotty little look of pure evil as you loosened your grip after he stopped walking, “At least say please,” You said as he caught his breath and dry heaved a few times. And how nice of him, he didn’t even drop you, there was still a lot of beach to cover.

Instead, he hiked you up higher on his back and carried on. He even muttered out a, “Please… can you write that down?” Then cleared his throat to cover the fact that his voice sounded like shattered glass.

“Sure, after you get my boots for me,” Confronting Uncle was the last thing you wanted to do. He would annoy the ever life out of you.

“Nah,” Arthur drawled, “You can take care of that yourself,”

“What?!” You were ready to ring his neck again, “At least…. Help me!” Arthur shook his head slightly as he cleared the last stretch of the pebble beach. You expected him to drop you like a sack of potatoes but he carried on and towards camp.

“Nope,” Arthur’s voice had some hidden tone to it. You could hear the snicker building up in his chest.

Suddenly you didn’t want to be piggybacking on Arthur anymore. You started to squirm and wrestle free but Arthur flexed his arms and trapped your legs. He started to run and you were forced to hold on. He rushed into camp, nearly knocking down Susan who barked out a rude comment about being careful.

“Arthur!” You yelled in his ear, “Let me down!” He ignored your command. As he raced past the heart of camp Annabelle and Dutch stared with crooked and confused smiles. It’s safe to say, you were a little scared. What the hell was he doing? With a sudden stop, Arthur halted, slamming his heels into the ground. He spun so fast as he let go of your legs that you were freed from his grip, only to collide with an unnatural amount of hay.

That bastard!! You fell into the hay abyss to never be seen again. Your world was sharp and painful straw used to feed and warm the horses. You clawed yourself free and swatted away the loose ends of hay. When you jumped out of the pile you were ready to claw Arthur to death. It would take hours to get all the hay out of your hair!! But when your bare feet landed onto the hard dirt, he wasn’t there. He was gone yet again.

You wanted to run around and find him and get payback, but Hosea had spotted you and had made his way over with Bessie close behind. You were surprised to see your boots in her hands.

As she handed you your torn raggedy boots, she softly said, “The trouble I had to go through to get these,” You had an idea. Uncle must have talked her ear off by the looks of it. You thanked her and quickly put your boots on.

Hosea spoke up and flashed a crooked smile down to you, “We have to run into town,” He started, “Why don’t you come with us?”

Something smelled fishy, and it wasn’t the lakeshore only feet away. You lifted a brow, “Why?”

His features quickly went from friendly to serious, “Dutch has a task for you, it’s not grocery shopping,” There it was. Hosea went on saying, “Bessie and I are going to be scouting the bank, just watching it. Dutch wants to hit the bank and head west into Oregon with the money.” Oh, oh wow. Okay. You listened intently as Hosea spoke again,

“While we’re scouting the bank,” Hosea paused and handed you several sealed envelopes, “Dutch wants you to plant these in the post office, but you have to sneak in and do so without being seen. These are fraud letters to the bank tellers, if you’re seen with the letters it will blow our cover. It all has to be anonymous.”

The sudden weight of what was happening pulled your heart into a wild flurry of directions as it tried to break from your rib cage. This was the first time you had been tasked with something related to anything illegal, or gang-related. No matter how small this was, it was still a pretty big deal for you.

“Okay,” You said quieter than a mouse. You held about five envelopes in your hands. They felt heavier than the biggest boulder on the beach. Mixed feelings swirled inside you as you started to follow Hosea and Bessie to one of the camp wagons. Nothing else was said as they sat upfront while you took to the back of the wagon were your legs could dangle off and you could watch the roads travel under you.

A bank robbery? Nothing this intense has ever taken place in the short year you’ve been with this gang. You knew about every heist that went down, and 90% of them were stagecoach robberies, the other 10% was conning people out of their money like… like showmen or something. But… a bank robbery? Really? You’ve heard all about the stories of other banks that Dutch, Susan, and Hosea have robbed together in the past, but you never thought it’d happen now.

Something about this felt wrong. You were going to aid in the theft of innocent people’s money. You didn’t dare voice these feelings, nor did you try to ignore them either. As the ride to town started to blend together, you kept getting lost in your thoughts.

Had Arthur ever robbed a bank? No, there was no way. You heard the story about his first robbery, and how that ended in the back of a train’s bank car in the middle of New York. He’s robbed a few stage coaches…. Three or four sounded right. There was no way in hell that Annabelle or Bessie would be involved, right? Annabelle didn’t even know how to shoot a gun. She was a proper lady, madly in love with a man who seemed more of a revolutionary mastermind than a wanted criminal. Bessie was tough, she grew up on a horse ranch, she may have had money but she was no lady. She may dress like a lady when she needs too, but she was more wild and untamed than she looked.

Susan was surely in on this. She was the strongest and most impressing of all the woman in camp. She had been a mistress, she used to run a saloon in her younger days, caring for the… ladies of the night, and teaching them how to seduce men. She grew up rough and lived rough. She feared nothing.

In a way, you looked up to Susan. Though she was quiet nasty to the other woman, she was fairly nice to you when she wanted to be. She treated you the same she treated Arthur, like children.

Before you knew it, you had gotten to town. Bessie and Hosea left the wagon abandon behind some blacksmith’s barn and nearly abandon you too.

“You know where the post office is, right?” Is all Hosea asked you, and once you nodded he was gone and so was Bessie.

Left alone, you took the muddy back roads through town. You did your best to avoid the doctor’s office as you raced between buildings. The post office was another road over, tucked behind the gunsmith and nestled next to a small shabby saloon. You hid behind the gunsmith, looking at the back door to the post office. If you were lucky, Heather was working there today. Maybe you could… trick her or something?

You were not very good at this. After a few minutes of thinking, you came up with a plan. You made your way to the back door, nervous and unsure of yourself. Without a single thought, you knocked your fist onto the door three times then bolted away to hide behind some barrels between the post office and the saloon.

A few seconds passed then someone opened the door. It was Heather! Okay… You got this. You did your best to pick up the biggest rock and you threw it at the trashcan further down the back road. Heather let out a little yelp, then called out, “Hello!?” She took the bait and like the airhead she was, she left the post office door open. She slowly headed the other direction, leaving you time to sneak up to the back door and head inside. You closed the door behind you quietly and locked it to buy you some time.

It was dark inside, and you could feel a cold draft sweep past your feet. The back of the post office smelled similar to a bookstore. You weren’t sure what to do from here. You had to plant these letters. But where? You started to panic, rushing to look around. There were walls filled with little letter cubbies. Some had names under them, some had numbers. There were carts filled with bags, and the bags were filled with letters. You fumbled in the dark, trying to read the little metal plates. Nothing seemed to be helping you though.

Heather would be back any second now. God this was so hard! And scary! What if you got caught? What would you even say?

You shook your head and ran over to another wall filled with letter cubbies. You ran fingers over each plate as your eyes dashed around looking for anything labeled “bank” or maybe “letters heading out.”

Suddenly you found two larger cubbies on the lowest part of the wall. One was labeled “Arrivals,” while the one next to it said “Departures,” This had to be it! When you took a better look, you noticed that was only one letter sitting in the arrivals cubby. It was face down, and it had a wax seal keeping the letter closed.

Innocently, you set your fraud letters down in the departures cubby and forgot about them within a second. You squinted in the low light and reached a hand forward towards the mystery letter. As your fingers grazed the waxy seal, you felt a wave of curiosity swallow you. Something about this letter called out to you.

The wax seal was a deep green and almost looked black in the darkness of the post office. You hesitantly touch the white paper of the envelope. Chills ran down your arm and into your spine the second you made contact with it. Your fingers curled around the corners and you lifted it up. You brought it closer to your face and glared down, trying to make out what the wax seal said. You noticed a large ‘M.D.’ within a crest, with roses clustered around it, and a doe of some kind trapped within the roses. A static sound filled your ears as you realized you had seen this crest somewhere before. The memory tugged out of the murky waters of your mind. A thud boomed from your heart, growing louder and louder in your ears.

Slowly, almost as if you didn’t want to, you turned the letter over in your hand. There was no way to describe the feeling that rushed through you when you read the name and address on that back of that letter. A breath shaky and frail left your lungs, you almost forgot to take another breath in. You felt your fingers grip the corners of the envelope so tightly that you started to tear and wrinkle the yellowing paper.

To: Miss (Y/n) (L/n) Sugartown, Paradise Valley. Nevada.

From: Harrison McDuffy Green Point, Long Island New York.

It was so hard to breath be for some reason. Time stopped. This couldn’t be real. It was a letter… addressed to you… from no one else but your Grandfather. How long had this letter been sitting here? Waiting for you to find it? How…? It must have been the doctor in town! He had to have told your Grandfather you were alive and all the way out here. So many fears and questions ran through your head. The loudest question of all bled into your thoughts… What did he want?

You wanted so badly to open the letter, but a sudden and loud bang came from the backdoor. Heather was still locked outside! You nearly screamed but slapped a hand over your mouth instead. You shoved your letter into a pocket and looked around. You had to get out of here, and quickly.

You ran for the front door, no one was inside, and it was the only way out. You skid through the post office and busted out the front door into the busy and open street.

Several people looked your way, and you froze only for half a second before bolting down the street. You dashed between people and nearly got ran over by a horse, but you made it back to the wagon. Hosea and Bessie were nowhere to be seen. You crawled up into the back of the wagon and made yourself small. Suddenly you felt like crying and laughing at the same time. Everything felt so surreal. Your Grandfather…. Your Grandfather!! He knew you were alive! He was trying to contact you!

The letter burned your side, crumbled up and hidden away in your pocket. It scared you, honestly. There was no way you could have any idea what that letter said, or what your Grandfather wanted. Was he sending an army to save you? Was he aware that you were in the care of THE Dutch Van Der Linde? Did he think Dutch killed your parents and kidnapped you?

Blinking hard, you gave a quick shake of your head and told yourself you’d open the letter once you got home. Until then, you guessed what it could hold inside it. You guessed what threats or pleads could be hidden behind that wax seal. The letter was already heavy, so you guessed how many papers it took to write angry letters.

It didn’t matter. Nothing matter. Well… What mattered most was the Dutch knew your family had reached out and contacted you. A sharp and intruding fear crippled you instantly. How could you tell Dutch this? How on earth could you expose yourself like that? In what way was it even possible for you to approach Dutch and even bring up the idea that your family was most likely threatening him to bring you home safely? No matter what this letter said, you’d be ten times more of a burden than you already were.

No matter what the letter said, it was almost certain that it’d cause more trouble than you were worth.

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shinwonsaysomething · 5 years

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Pentagon reacting to you being scared while watching a horror movie/tv show.

Request by my lovely baby @studying-mostly: So ur girl just binge watched 4 episodes of a Very Scary Series and it's like 1am and I am Afraid ; can I request a fluffy reaction to scary movies?? Or like smth 😌😌😌 sincerely, the dumbass who made a terrible decision 😭💕

· Jinho Jinho always tells everybody he isn’t scared easily. You didn’t believe him at all so you decide to put on a horror movie. The movie was scarier than you thought it would be. You end up being too scared to even check if Jinho is scared too. Jinho pulls you close and comforts you by playing with your hair. He was very scared too, but not as scared as you. He tries very hard not too jump 10 feet in the air when there was a jump scare. “Pffff that ghost looks so” *Jump scare* “….. fake….”

· Hwitaek (Hui) Hwitaek and you lost a bet to Hongseok. He made you two watch a horror movie with him. You hide your face every time you are scared. You are very close to him. You are too focused on the movie to hear Hwitaek’s heart pound as well. It is not just because of the movie, but also because he finds you so cute. He loves it when you need him and he loves to protect you. He almost feels thankful towards Hongseok for forcing him and you to watch the movie. “It is okay, baby. Look! He is still alive! Ooo… Nevermind…”

· Hongseok Hongseok likes thrillers and horror shows. He watches them all the time, but you never joined him. One night you decide to watch them with him. He checks to make sure you are really want to watch it. He puts on the least scary tv show, so he doesn’t traumatize you. Once he sees you enjoy them, he becomes very happy. You ended up turning your “Friday movie night” in a “Friday horror movie night”. Once something really scares you he will comfort you and makes sure you are okay while watching the series or movies. “This one is a good one, but it is a bit scarier than the one from last week. Are you okay with that?”

· Hyojong (Edawn) Hyojong can scream very loud. He always screams at the wrong time when it comes to horror movies. It is extra scary to watch a scary tv show with Hyojong. He will just scare you by screaming way too early or too late. He mostly does it to annoy you or tease you. You decide to get back at him by screaming at the same time of a jump scare. Hyojong was so startled he stopped teasing you after that. “Damn… I should have known not to mess with demons”

· Shinwon Shinwon is scared of many things: Dogs, people, his own staff, the light of his laptop that turns off and even clothes that are hidden under a the covers (some proof). Horror movies are surprisingly not one of them. He doesn’t like the jump scares, but the he doesn’t mind the rest of the movies and he doesn’t stay scared for very long. Once he sees you are scared he smiles and would tease you about it. But he stops once you cling to him when you are scared. His heart just beats way too fast to make fun of you. He decides to put on some horror movies more often, because seeing you become so clingy is something he loves. “Heey Y/N, can we watch that new Annabel movie together?” “Why?” “No reason… just for fun…”.

· Changgu (Yeo One) Changgu loves to tell horror stories, so you thought he might like horror movies as well. Changgu will be so excited during the movie. Once he sees you are scared he starts to point out funny things in the movie or makes fun of the way the actors act. It makes you laugh and you start enjoying the movie a lot more. You end up watching horror movies more often, just to make fun of them. Changgu is very happy when you say you only want to watch them with him, because he makes you feel safe enough. “Seriously, he is so dumb! Why would you go into the basement when you saw a ghost there before! Counting down to his death in 3…2…1. See! I told you!”

· Yanan Yanan is known for not really showing his emotions during watching any genre of tv-series or movie. He is only very passionate while watching football with the other members. During horror movies he doesn't show a reaction at all. He finds them scary, but you really can’t read his face. You on the other hand are literally dying during the movie. He would find it pretty amusing, but makes sure to comfort you after a jump scare. Once you hide your face, he will tell you what is happening on the screen so you don’t have to watch it. “Okay… he is still floating in mid-air.. His eyes are gone now… ieeeww gross… there are spiders coming from where his eyes were supposed to be”.

· Yuto Watching a horror movie with Yuto is not a good idea. You both will literally be crying on the couch, but still it is pretty fun. You just end up laughing and screaming while watching the movie. Mostly because of your own reactions. He really doesn’t like the jump scares, but he does like horror movies about things like zombies or a virus. Ghost stories or paranormal things are things that scare him too much, so you just avoid those. “AHHHHHHHHHHH” “Yuto That wasn’t even a jump scare! You scared me” “I am just warming up”.

· Hyunggu (Kino) Hyunggu will be the best to watch horror movies with. He is scared as well, but he comforts you when you are scared and pulls you close to him. He told you that you have to tell him if he needs to put the movie on pause so you can calm down if you got scared really bad. Before you go to bed he makes sure you aren’t scared anymore. He tells you nice stories instead. But he ends up the one that can’t sleep at night because of the movie. He will hug you more tightly than usual when you sleep. “Heey baby… Are you awake?” *no reaction* “Demons you better back off for tonight, because she is finally asleep. So let me sleep now too, please”.

· Wooseok Even though Wooseok is pentagon’s baby, he is probably the most chill while watching horror movies or tv shows. He likes pointing out the flaws in the movies to make you less scared. It really helps. He is a person to really like the story and not get freaked out by any jump scare, because they are “too predictable”. He will help you get less scared, by predicting the next jump scare. That way you can enjoy the movie a bit more. “Okay.. wait… I think the zombie will attack him once he is done tying his shoe laces”. *prediction comes true* “See! Classic zombie movie jump scare”.

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georgiapeach30513 · 2 months

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Annabelle posted a picture of Seb to her Instagram & just wondering what your thoughts are. They are finally instagram official.

Two years later. I mean, it’s still leaving with a “are they? Or are they just friends?” I think that’s part of the point. This doesn’t look much different than my story for Sebastian on my IG 🤷🏻‍♀️ she’s congratulating someone she’s been at the very least, friends with for two years. She’s smart enough to not put him on her grid though.

Again, I think they enjoy playing these games. Especially her. But do I care? Not really. Annabelle is my favorite trolling baiter. This is a lot better than his damn shoe 😂

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ourintertwiningstars · 5 years

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Queen of Air and Darkness (Spoilery) Thoughts

I read the whole damn book, and the entire shadowhunters saga before it. that’s the background i have before i go off below.

SPOILERS BELOW

1) I really, really like how, in this book, Julian *earned* the “ruthless” and “calculating” persona that the author and the narrative always seemed to apply to him in the trilogy. I’ve always loved the idea of portraying someone who could be fundamentally kind-hearted and sweet while capable of being cunning and duplicitous. The author in the past referenced how Emma’s more straight-forward character versus Julian’s reliance on schemes reflect the opposite traits their genders are usually associated with, but the books used to always put this on Emma’s shoulders to be the next “Jace” (alpha leader and warrior) rather than really show us a Julian who is sweet to his family, but more than willing to do insane things with trickery rather than flashy swords. This book changed that, and I’m glad although I wasn’t a fan of a lot of his decisions this book. I definitely felt like at the least, whatever I thought of him, he had *earned* the reputation the narrative and author placed on him. There aren’t many male characters in fiction with as sophisticated in role as Julian (Jace, as great as he is, is definitely a stereotype, as is Simon). The closest parallel I can come to is Peeta, but Julian is definitely distinct in his style as a character.

2) I did not see the AU thing coming. At all. It wasn’t a shocker so much as a “what?” I really liked the idea of the main characters wandering in and interacting with a fictional alternate universe, as well as the characters talking with alternate versions of the people they knew. I think it was 100% intentional that Clary died at the Battle of the Burren and not later in the narrative of the Mortal Instruments, because it is pretty clear in this book and in the TMI series that Sebastian would have forced Clary to be completely *his* if he won while she was alive. The author made the smart bet that Clary is better off dead without that happening to her than keeping her alive in the alternate universe, and putting her in that situation where she would have become Endarkened and/or Sebastian’s “queen.” Not just better off because of the plot persay, but better off because that would be sadistic as a writer to do upon the narrative, and the alternate universe is already plenty sadistic without adding that element in.

3) I’m really, really curious about Thule!Jace. If Sebastian is dead, is he himself again? How much of himself can he be after being a killer for many years, and an aid to the apocalypse? Also, Julian killing Thule!Julian to save Thule!Livia was...wow. It definitely mirrored Achilles killing Hector while Hector was wearing Achilles’ former armor, making it seem like Achilles was killing himself (and he was). I definitely wish that was played on, or used as a subtle hint of foreshadowing. It was just a metaphor, which is fine, but I would have liked to see the implications of it dissected more.

4) I’m not the author, but something I felt very strongly about was that Livia should not appear in the books after her death. Not as a ghost, not in an alternate universe. Thule!Livia was really cool, and I get the point that the author was trying to make-she got to be the chosen one in the alternate universe as recompense for being murdered in the real world-but I think it’s really problematic to be like “death can’t be messed with” and then have said dead character pop up every two minutes. Real death isn’t like that. Nobody is going to see their loved ones again until after death, not as a ghost, not as a alternate universe anything. Pulling that kind of move comes off as fan-service, and cheapens the death of Livia. If the point is to make Livia’s death heart-breaking and tragic-because it is-than the narrative needs to commit to the fact that she is dead. No pop-up visits, no alternate version of her, nothing. At best maybe, a vision of the past or what could have been but not this. Also, Ty was being stupid, and he was being so stupid that I think the narrative wanted to make him stupid more than I believed he actually was that stupid. If you’re going to have someone go the whole “i’m gonna bring my loved one back from the dead,” you gotta go all the way Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, or don’t bother. That manga *earned* the story it got out of that narrative, and this one was a weak echo.

5) A lot of this book felt like set-up for the Wicked Powers more than it felt like specifically part of this trilogy. This was true of City of Heavenly Fire, and this wasn’t as bad, but it was annoying. Annabelle, for all her glory on the cover and the namesake of the book, is barely a factor in the plot’s narrative. She gets killed off with little repercussion or discussion, and Horace is swiftly disposed of. Which, fine, but you have to earn that. That wasn’t earned in the narrative. Dane and Samantha Larkspears’ deaths were well-done and haunting in their own ways.

6) I think Zara and Manuel are gonna be the villains of the Wicked Powers, which I am very much looked forward to seeing that dynamic play out.

7) Christina’s polyamorous relationship felt...tacked in. The build-up for her and Kieran to have feelings for each other literally was only in this book. It’s not that such a dynamic is impossible to pull off, it just felt very apparent that this was shoe-horned in the last book instead of naturally developing. Mark and Kieran, I buy. Mark and Christina, I buy. Kieran and Christina? Eh. I will, but I’m not entirely sold if that was a natural progression of the narrative or a demand of the narrative on them.

8) I love Clary and Jace in this book. The roles felt clear and I could see them as themselves. Simon and Isabelle got drastically cut-they’re barely cameos-while Alec and Magnus are supporting characters throughout the trilogy.

9) Ash is interesting. I genuinely don’t know how that dynamic will play out. I really hope he’s not another Evil Morgenstern bc...we’ve got enough of those. I don’t mind mysterious/grey, but he better not be the Villain of the next trilogy. That said, I wanna see where his character goes because he clearly is not fitting into any boxes of savior/victim. Tbh, there’s no reason he should have wings at all.

10) Diego got a really hot scar across his face that screams “I watched the Force Awakens.” Which is fine, because I can appreciate dramatic scars across the face. Additionally, there are such strong Hamilton references in this book that as I read it, I literally thought to myself “and the author discovered Hamilton while writing this book.”

11) Horace got disposed of so quickly in the overall saga that it’s annoying that he got built up so high by the narrative. He barely lasted two books before getting neatly killed off.

12) I honestly feel like the author kinda moved on from doing a series on a supernatural universe with all sorta of creatures to fixating on faeries. The last 4 books in the Shadowhunters saga have focused primarily on the faeries, with background attention to other creatures.

13) I want the world for Dru. Really. She’s the character I’m the most excited to see in the Wicked Powers.

#qoaad spoilers #qoaad #tda #the dark artifices

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sky-writes-daydreams · 6 years

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Happily Ever After

A/N: Hi guys! :) So.... I recently found out about @corleonisweek and Today’s prompt was Happiness. now sticking with my current writing theme of Reading aloud... I decided to mix them :) So Have a Cor X Reader Fluff. It’l be under a readmore.

@themissimmortal @the-wallflower-artist

It was finally here. After weeks of waiting and dealing with work, it was finally your week long vacation with your lover. It took a lot of planning and reworking a few things to get this time off for your lover. Sadly, what could you two expect? He was the Crownsguard Marshall.

You had gotten home before him. It was a lucky move for sure. You had already taken an amazing hot bubble bath and changed into pjs. Dinner was ordered since you two had agreed on chinese takeout tonight. You had just found something interesting to watch on tv when the door opened. You quickly sat up from your lounging on the couch and beamed. Shoes were already discarded and Cor quickly dropped his coat on his normal chair as he walked in towards you.

“Well aren’t you looking comfy?”

“And aren’t you looking sexy as always? About time.” He chuckled then and gave you a quick kiss.

“Clarus had a last minute thing to talk to me about… but now I’m all yours. He swore on his son’s life.” You laughed then and kissed him back trying to pull him down to your level.

“Then he better not break it… I need my lover.” He nodded but stayed standing. You backed off pouting and he smiled.

“What? I want pjs too. By then, dinner will be here right?” You looked down at your phone and nodded. You had set an alarm. He smiled then and quickly started taking off his shirt.

“Then… Wanna come talk or do you want to pick out the movie lineup for tonight?”

“Um… Movies! You take too long if we talk.” He shrugged then completely shirtless. You wouldn’t think he was built with his shirt on but once that came off, holy six, Cor was built. Defined lines accented by scars covered his upper torso. You had spent hours tracing those scars and muscles. You felt him tap your chin and you jumped. He laughed then and smiled.

“You were drooling over me again.”

“Was not!”

“Oh yeah? Check your chin hon.” You did without thinking and mentally facepalmed. He got you again. Cor started laughing and you got up. He moved quickly but it didn’t stop you from kicking that toned ass.

“Oh go get your shower, you immortal jerk!” He was still laughing even behind the closed bathroom door. You shook your head smiling. Both of you needed this time off. That was the first time he’s really laughed like that in a week. You sighed thinking about it as you went over to the movie bookcase and smiled. That meant you really needed to pick at least one comedy movie for tonight. You didn’t mind at all. You had a huge collection after all.

Time went by once cor came out of the shower. Dinner arrived right as he came out dressed in a baggy shirt and sweatpants. You two had everything on the coffee table next to a few drinks and started the night off with a romcom. It was a ridiculous movie and you two spent more time making fun of the couple screaming at the tv for them just to kiss. A few psychological horrors got blended in which led to you leaning close to Cor with his arm over you. You never did well with jumpscares so he always held you. The last one though was a newer movie he had never seen.

“The raven?” You nodded as you switched out the discs.

“What’s this one about?”

“Edgar Allen poe.”

“Wait the poet?” You nodded as the player sucked the disc in before walking back over and curling up next to him.

“Yeah.”

“But you said it was a horror movie.”

“It is. You’ll see. I promise. You’ll like it cor.” He shrugged a bit then and got a drink of his one beer. Even now he was a cautious drinker. A few too many wild nights when he was younger taught him that from what you could understand. You just smiled and settled down to watch one of your favorite movies.

All throughout the movie, Cor was silent. He was totally into it and even one of the jumpscares got him. You couldn’t help but giggle when he jumped earning a stern look. You went quiet until the end. Slowly the credits started rolling and you looked over at Cor. He seemed to have a stunned look on his face.

“So?”

“He….? Wow….” you nodded and smiled.

“No one is really sure what killed him to be honest… but this is an interesting take on it.”

“I’ll agree there…. But that last poem. A dream..?”

“A dream within a dream!” You said happily. Cor looked over and you smiled.

“It’s one of my favorites of his.”

“So you know a lot of his works?” You nodded and got up. You checked your phone and smiled. It was already two am. You felt Cor look at it over your shoulder. He hugged you close then from behind.

“Here’s an idea…. I’m curious about that one pendulum one… so if you’ve got them… How about we read his works before bed?” You relaxed in his embrace trying not to smile. He was getting tired. He was slipping back into his natural accent.

“You sure you won’t have nightmares?”

“Isn’t that what you’re there for?” He muttered against your neck before giving it a kiss. You sighed contently and nodded.

“I am.. So let’s go.” He didn’t need to be told twice. He let you go slowly and while he cleaned up, you turned off the tv and player before grabbing your collection off the normal bookcase. You held the book tightly as you headed to your room and got it ready for sleep. You had just gotten over the blanket when he walked in. He fell onto his side of the bed making you laugh. He smiled then and slowly crawled up giving you a kiss as he slid under the covers. You kissed back and got comfy with him next to you on his pillow. You cracked the book open and smiled.

“So what do you want me to start with?”

“What’s your favorite poem of his?” You stopped then before looking down and giving the pages a gentle smile. You quickly flipped to the page and smiled.

“It’s called… Annabel Lee.” You glanced over to find those crystal blue eyes trained on you and you just smiled before looking back and reading.

“It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea, that a maiden there lived whom you may know, by the name of Annabel Lee… and this maiden lived with no other thought, than to love and be loved by me.”

He was dead silent as you read the whole poem aloud. Your voice clear and filled with love for cor and for the words. Slowly as the last syllable fell from your lips, a silence crept over you two. You took a light breathe before feeling his hand get your arm. You looked over and Cor was smiling.

“Undying love…” you nodded then with a smile.

“He never wanted to lose her… but she got sick. There was no cure back there and it took her.”

“A real lover?” You nodded then and he moved closer.

“Damn…. At least I get where he’s coming from though.” You let him take your hand then and gave him a small squeeze. That was all he had to say. You never wanted to lose cor either. He was your happiness and you were his.

He had you read a few others, like the pit and the pendulum, the tell tale heart and the cask of amontillado. By the end of the last one though, it was close to three and you were getting tired as well. Having him close by relaxed and gently rubbing the back of your hand was lulling you both to sleep.

“Hey…”

“Hm?” You were trying to find one last poem honestly.

“I love you.” You stopped when he said it. His eyes were almost closed but the words rang with truth. You slipped lower into the bed then and gave him a gentle kiss.

“I love you too cor…” He hummed gently then and you just smiled. He was fading into sleep now. You looked back at your book and smiled. You closed it gently and put it down next to the bed before turning off your lamp, letting the city lights filter in through his window. This life was truly a dream within a dream. Only this time, you two were going to live Happily Ever After.

#writing #Cor x reader #cor leonis week #day one happiness

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purpleshellsforyou · 6 years

Text

March

Daddy Jefferson

Part 3 of 7

Original writer (@yrs-forevr) version here!

TW: Childbirth

Time: Hamiltime

Word Count: 1688

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3- you're here!| 4 | 5 | 6 | E

Thomas Jefferson x Reader

Jefferson’s offer for her to live with him had been discussed over many days with the Everetts. There were extensive conversations about how it would help or hurt her, especially at this point in her pregnancy and how potentially drastic changes may affect the baby. It certainly wasn’t desirable to have an expecting mother move, but everyone agreed that space for her to comfortably and safely spread her wings was too good to pass up. Especially since this wasn’t exactly the greatest change during her pregnancy thus far.

Several dinners were arranged between both the Jefferson and Everett estates, switching locations in order to give Y/N a feel for the house without turning her world on its head.

It took her quite a while to think over, but Y/N settled on easing her way into Monticello. Thomas seemed thrilled with the idea, expressing his willingness to help by immediately having a nursery furnished in a westward facing room in the massive estate. Her room was right next door- although he assured her that it could be moved if she wished as the baby got older.

It took her three months to move herself across town. She started staying there more and more frequently until she was adjusted and living there full time. The Everetts seemed happy with this placement as well, both of them joking that their patient was recovering well and growing up. Her move wasn’t without a promise to visit them often- for both checkups and chats.

The nursery was a pale brown color-something that fit the wing of the house but still allowed for any spills on the walls to go unnoticed. A small basket was set up in Y/N’s personal room, while a small bed was set up next door along with some miniature toys and books meant for young children. Some of the books were written by Thomas himself- something he claimed was no problem and barely took any time- but she couldn’t ignore the way his face beamed when she saw them.

All of them were regarding politics in some fashion but one in particular made Y/N gasp. There was a meticulously strung book entitled “My Father”. She spent the night reading through it over and over again. Sometimes she read it aloud, and other times she kept herself quiet. Thomas explained that he looked through all he could find about Hunter and gathered it together. He claimed no child should go without knowing their father and how heroic he was.

Dinners felt different in the large dining room without the Everetts alongside her, but Y/N soon found a topic to discuss with Jefferson. Although their political views didn’t always agree, there was an element of respect when regarding each other.

They both walked down to the graveyard together, which was a bit closer to Monticello than the doctor’s office. It became a daily occurrence to find the two of them walking (or in Y/N’s case, waddling) down the road with a flower in her hand to place on her husband’s grave.

The baby was due in a week and she couldn’t see her feet anymore. Jefferson had given her a pair of shoes that were too small for him to walk in. Although they helped, Y/N still found it uncomfortable.

At 9:30, no matter what he was doing, Thomas would stop working and go to the foyer to meet Y/N. He would tie his shoes on her feet and they would be off. They would briefly stop in a small flower shop in the town, picking out a singular flower for the day and making their way to the graveyard. Today Y/N had chosen a white camelia- Hunter’s favorite flower.

“But I want to take you and the baby to France! You would love the culture and I want to introduce Mini-Abraham to politics.”

“Thomas, let me have the baby first.”

“Okay, okay. But I’m still introducing him to politics.”

Y/N stopped walking. Shaking her head lightly, she gathered her thoughts before she started again, catching up to a confused Jefferson that had stopped a moment after her. She bit her bottom lip, staying silent until she sat down on the bench 5 minutes later.

“You said him...” It took Thomas a moment to realize what she was referring to.

“I suppose I did.”

“Hunter always said that he thought our first baby would be a girl- he said that she would be the only princess that he would allow in the colonies.” Her smile was bittersweet, feeling better but still somewhat guilty about her husband’s death.

Life can be difficult at times, but it’s going to make you stronger. You were meant for this moment, so show the world what you can do.

“Y/N, Dr. Everett said that you should lay down. You’ve been in labor for 3 hours now.”

“I’m in labor. I’m in pain. I’m doing what makes me feel better, and that’s walking. Sit down if it makes you feel better, but you need to shut up, magenta man.”

Thomas held up his hands in mock surrender, smirking inwardly at her snarkiness despite the pain she was surely in.

“Yes, ma'am.”

She was wearing a cream colored and loose fitting nightgown as she paced back and forth in the small bedroom of the Everett’s guest house. Her water had broken around 9 pm, and Thomas had immediately rushed her into a carriage and to the doctor’s.

Annabelle had welcomed them inside and showed them upstairs. She almost immediately left to get blankets and some hot water, something her husband had asked her to do. Jefferson had left the room and Dr. Everett had checked her dilation. She was at 2 cm an hour ago.

Two. Damn. Centimeters.

Y/N felt like she was about to explode and two centimeters meant that she wasn’t ready to get this done. Thomas was sitting in a chair off to one side of the room. His knee was bouncing up and down as he kept staring at her walk back and forth around the small bed.

“Does the pacing make you feel better?”

“Not really, but moving feels okay.”

Jefferson tried to ignore the small grunts that she made from pain, but when her teeth gritted for the 10th time, he couldn’t help but ask.

“Are you sure there’s nothing that I can do? May I get Doctor Everett?”

Y/N nodded with her bottom lip between her teeth, and the doctor came in a few minutes later when Thomas got back. He motioned for her to sit on the bed and she did so, leaning back as Jefferson stood behind her facing the wall to give her privacy. There was a nurturing tone as Samuel asked:

“Do you feel any need to push?”

“Yes, but I don’t know if I’m ready to-”

“You’re all set, Y/N. You’re dilated, and this little soldier wants to greet the world.”

It was hard to say whether she growled or whimpered in return, but she grabbed Thomas’s hand, surprising him and turning him around. He couldn't’ see anything due to the fabric that had been set up for privacy but he still looked a bit uncomfortable. He was careful not to overstep any boundaries. Y/N’s voice was exhausted, but she gritted out: “You’re my friend, Thomas. Please, just help.”

Three and a half hours later, Asher William Abraham was happily sleeping in his mother’s arms and Thomas Jefferson was being treated for two fractured fingers. The blood was somewhat cleaned up, but Dr. Everett had told her to spend the night there because the bleeding may continue, even after post-afterbirth. She agreed, paying more attention to her son than the doctor’s warning.

Her entire world had shifted and for the first time since her wedding, Y/N let a few tears of joy escape.

“How’s your prince?”

“He’s sleepy right now...”

“Sounds like the queen is sleepy too.”

‘Mmmmhm.”

Her eyelids were drooping, but she didn’t take her eyes off her son. She was going to fall asleep finally, and when she did, Thomas scooped up Asher to make sure that he didn’t fall from her arms.

He had never held children before, even with his many siblings, but when he looked down at the sleeping newborn, he felt his world turn upside down.

“Shhh, Ash. Let’s not wake up your mama.”

“Thomas?”

Y/N walked sleepily into Asher’s for-now-nursery, which was a large walk-in closet attached to her room. She didn’t want the baby far from her when he was this young. Thomas was holding the week-old baby in his arms, looking tired but focused. Asher’s green eyes were intently watching him, showing no signs of sleeping anytime soon.

“I was working in my office right down the hall when I heard him crying. I know you’ve gotten up all week and I wanted to let you sleep.”

Her heart clenched involuntarily at the gesture. She sighed, making her way over and looking at her son in his arms.

“Thank you. I’m sorry that you were interrupted... Why are you working this late anyway?”

“Oh, just some legislation that I need to get set. He isn’t a bother at all.”

Y/N almost made a remark about his work ethic and ask if it had improved with the company but she stopped herself.

“Dr. Everett said that his eye color may change, but I don’t think they will... Hunter had the brightest green eyes, and they’re not going away. I can feel it.”

Those wide eyes stared up at her, awestruck and listening to her voice.

“Thank you for calming him down.” She looked up. “You should be asleep too.”

“It wasn’t a big issue, just some things to tidy up.”

“Still, you need sleep too.” She placed a now drowsy Asher back in his basket filled with fluffy blankets. She watched for a minute as he drifted off to sleep. “Goodnight, Thomas” was all she trusted herself to say before she went back to bed, glancing briefly into the hallway to make sure the man was walking past his office and to his room to sleep.

#daddy jefferson #thomas jefferson x reader #thomas jefferson #hamilton: an american musical

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morsmordrehasbeensaved · 6 years

Photo

CONGRATULATIONS HALEY, YOU HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED AS BENITO ORTIZ WITH THE FACECLAIM OF ETHAN CUTKOSKY!

Halsey!!! You know I absolutely adore all of the characters you already have, but I think Benito might be my new favorite! The amount of detail you put in and the dedication you show to this character was absolutely spectacular, and I can not wait to have him on our dashboards

Check out our acceptance checklist right here on what to do next!

♔ OUT OF CHARACTER INFO ♔

NAME/ALIAS:

Haley

AGE:

PREFERRED PRONOUNS:

She/Her

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY:

PST (damn..) and Hella Active

TRIGGERS:

nah

ANYTHING ELSE:

nah

♔ IN CHARACTER INFO ♔

FULL NAME:

Benito Carlos Ortiz, with a few select people who call him Benny

FACECLAIM:

Ethan Cutkosky

BIRTHDAY AND AGE:

December 10th, 1961. He just turned 17.

HOUSE AND YEAR:

Sixth Year, Hufflepuff

AFFILIATION:

Neutral as hell

BLOODSTATUS:

Muggleborn

PRONOUNS:

He/Him

SEXUALITY/ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:

Just a regular ole’ straight guy. Heterosexual/romantic

EXTRACURRICULARS:

Art Club

DESCRIPTION:

You’ve never been give a fair shot at the shiny things in life, and this has left you bitter, distrustful, and angry. No matter how hard you’ve worked, you’ve never been able to have what other people have. So, you’ve decided that you’ll just start taking them for yourself. The muggle world let you down, and so has the wizarding world, and you’re starting to believe that there is no such thing as a good person, only those that are willing to take their lives into their own hands. With your work ethic, and your creativity at solving seemingly impossible problems, you know that everything is yours for the taking. So, go on and take it.

PERSONALITY TRAITS:

(-) Audacious: Living in the slums, as well as being the youngest of his siblings forced Benito to learn how to stand up for himself. Whether that meant fighting with his older brother and sister to get the most comfy spot on their shared bed, or if it meant a risky steal so that he could put some food in his belly later that night. To survive in the area he did, one had to learn to be brave, or else they would never make it. It also gave Benito a certain aggression against the “haves”, considering he was decidedly a “have not” so sometimes, he just like to steal the purse of some rich old lady when she wasn’t looking. Sometimes it was for survival, sometimes it was not.

(-) Fierce: It was hard to make it in Benito’s house, and in order to be heard, one had to be loud and proud in their emotions. He feels things intently, whether that be happiness or anger. If happy, he might dance like fool or shout giddily into the air. If angry, he’s prone to throwing objects and is more than willing to get violent. While sometimes this helps Benito, more often than not, it doesn’t make things better.

(-) Hedonistic: Being forced to live a life that withheld a lot of life’s pleasures (vacations, good food, a room of his own, etc) has led Benito to believe that he ought to snatch up fun whenever he sees it. Unfortunately, this can manifest in both good and bad ways. Sometimes, it could be good. He might skive off class to work on a sculpture, but he also would never tell anybody no for a drink, even if he might have a class later that day to show up for.

(-) Greedy: Growing up as neglected and poor as he was, he has a tendency to seek out the better things of other people. He wants to have the same luxuries as other people, and is angry about how hard it is. He’s come to believe that he deserves what they have, and will take any measure to get there. Money is important to him, perhaps too much, and it is his main thing that drives him.

(+/-) Bold/Brash: Benito wasn’t scared of anything, at least nothing so far. Sometimes, it was to his benefit, because more often than not, most people assumed he was bluffing when he said he wasn’t afraid to fight. Other times, it was to his detriment, like when he attempted to curse someone of a far superior dueling skill. There isn’t much that he isn’t willing to do if he truly wants to, and there isn’t a single person he would back down from, for better or, for worse.

(+) Hard-working: Laziness wasn’t an option for Benito, not if he wanted a new pair of shoes, or the really cool toy that everyone else in primary school had. Or, at the worst of times, if he wanted to eat. In the Ortiz house, everyone worked for their share, from the moment they were able. He had to throw himself into what he was doing, no matter what it was, and it created within him an excellent work ethic. However, he is only hardworking on the things he feels have value, not those imposed on him by other people. He has his own goals in mind that are often different to those around him, and that is what he is always working towards.

(+) Confident: Benito is a hard worker, and he’s creative too. He has all of the traits to put his ideas into motion, and this has given him confidence. He trusts in his ability to follow through with his plans, and he knows that if he works hard enough, he can accomplish any goal he sets his mind too. Whether the goal be to beat someone up in a fight, or to best them in a duel, or to get Imogen to forgive him for something stupid he did, or to find a way to steal that necklace from that new Gryffindor girl without her noticing. He can do it, he knows it.

(+) Vivacious: Benito’s life was rough, yes, but it was not all bad. All of his family were very loud and outspoken people who knew how to have a good time. If there wasn’t a fight occuring in the house, then there was a party. His father’s laugh was booming and loud, and his mother spoke too excitedly when she was having fun. His brother often like to dance around the kitchen, and his sister was never afraid to trap Benito in a friendly headlock. This has given him an appreciation for fun, and the good times in life. He enjoys them wholeheartedly, and without reservation.

(+) Loyal: Benito is not a very trusting boy. He’s been let down too many times in his life for him to find it easy to trust someone, or something. It takes a long time for him to let down his walls enough to truly dedicate himself to something, but once he does, he extremely dedicated. He will do anything, no matter the risks, if it something he believes in. He’s committed to Imogen, and would do anything for her. He’s committed to the pursuit of money, and damn it, he would be rich one day. He’s committed to his family, and helping them make it in the world. It would be a cold day in hell for Benito Ortiz to back away from something he has pledged himself to

BIOGRAPHY:

“Names and attributes must be accommodated to the essence of things, and not the essence to the names, since things come first and names afterwards.” That was a quote from Galileo, some scientist, or whoever, that he had heard a little about during his primitive years of schooling. Benito Carlos Ortiz put a lot of stock into names, as was tradition among his father’s side of the family. Benito’s father, Hernando Ortiz, was born in Mexico during the winter of 1930. His name meant adventurous, as would prove to be true when the young boy grew up. Mexico was experiencing a lot of change during Hernando’s youth. President Cárdenas rose into power when Hernando was a boy, and began attempting to enact a vast amount of social change. However, the Ortiz family was very poor, living in a small rural village, and many of these benefits never reached them. They stayed in a single room shack together: his mother, his father, and all four of his siblings. Life was hard, and Hernando felt as he got older that it only got even more difficult. When Hernando was ten years old, World War II was ravaging the world, and his father enlisted in the Mexican Army, which was planning to help America after the attack on Pearl Harbor. That was the last time that Hernando ever saw his padre. Six years later, Mexico had a new leader: President Alemán. Life had been tough, and scary ever since his father had died, and things were more divided than ever between the rich and the poor. So, with one bag tossed over his shoulder, Hernando walked away from his village at the tender age of sixteen, to see if he might fair better somewhere else in the world.

He snuck upon a supply ship to Portugal and lived off of the few items of food he had brought with him. When that ran out, he ate the rats that scurried to and fro across the lower deck. It was hard, but Hernando was used to such things. Eventually, however, he reached Portugal, and life truly began. He spent a year in Portugal, sometimes managing to scrounge enough money to stay in an inn, but lots of times he just had to sleep on the street. After Portugal, he headed to France, hoping he might have better luck in the Country of Love. However, he didn’t find it quite to his liking, and quickly moved on over to Spain. Hernando loved Spain a lot, for he knew the language they spoke. He’d had quite a rough time these past two years, struggling to learn different languages in order to converse with the people around him. Spain was a nice break from this. He was seventeen when he arrived in Spain, and he stayed there until nearly his twentieth birthday. He worked a variety of odd jobs and stayed in a small, rundown flat with three amigos he’d met at work. However, as his name demanded, Hernando had a thirst for adventure, and eventually, he moved on. From Spain, he headed to Great Britain. As with France, he didn’t stay long, and moved again before the year ended. From Britain, he headed to Northern Ireland, Belfast specifically, where he would find himself staying for quite a long time. It was on his twenty second birthday when he got the job at the local Ship Carpentry. It was fine work for a single man, and he was happy where he was.

Two years after his move to Ireland, in the year 1954, Hernando met Annabel Buckley.

Annabel was also born in the winter, but in the year 1938. Her name meant delight to be around, and the surname of Buckley meant servant. Both of these things would prove true, for awhile anyways. Annabel was born into a quaint, small, and loving Irish family. She had an older sister, whom she loved dearly, and she got on splendidly with her mother and father, as most toddlers did. When she was of the tender age of three, Annabel’s mother was killed in the 1941 bombings of Belfast. At the time, Annabel’s father was fighting on the war front against Germany, where he too succumbed to battle. This left Annabel and her older sister alone and orphaned. Annabel doesn’t remember this too much, considering her young age. Her older sister, however, worked hard to make sure that the pair was provided for. Eventually, after an entire year of living on the street with many other orphaned children, Annabel’s older sister was able to find work in a Belfast pub, ran by a kind, elderly couple. They allowed Annabel and her sister room and board in exchange for work, and this is where the girls stayed for most of their lives. As she grew up, Annabel took on more and more responsibility in the pub, eventually becoming one of their more favored servers. She was beautiful, with golden blonde hair and shining green eyes. Her cheeks always had a rosy sort of glow to them, and she was wonderfully charismatic to boot. It was no wonder that Hernando couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. And, to remind you, her name did mean ‘delight to be around.’

Annabel was sixteen when the devilishly handsome, and worldly travelled Mexican man came into the small village pub in which she resided. She sat him at his table, and immediately, the two couldn’t keep their eyes off of one another. The chemistry was almost touchable in the air between them, and it didn’t take long for the two to come together in an incredibly passionate, heavily romantic relationship. Annabel often remarked that Hernando made her feel like the woman in the romantic moving pictures at the theater, and Hernando often claimed that she was the first thing that truly made him feel alive. They were awfully in love with one another, and that love culminated in a pregnancy, two months from the day that they met. Hernando, who truly did love Annabel, wanted to do right by his amor, thus, the pair was married just a month after they discovered the pregnancy. And, for a bit, they seemed every bit the picture perfect family. Eight months after their marriage, in the (again) winter of the year 1955, Elena Ortiz was born. Hernando chose her name, which meant Light, for he considered his darling daughter to be the true light of his life. He fell into fatherhood with a delightful ease, and found that he could spend hours cooing and smiling at his hija pequeña. The small little family did not have much money, but they had more than enough love to fill their one bedroom house. For the first time in his life, Hernando Ortiz felt grounded and settled. For the first time in her life, Annabel Ortiz felt like she had a full and complete family again.

A year and a half later, when Elena was in that adorable early-toddler stage, Annabel fell pregnant again. Like with Elena, this had been an accident, but Hernando and Annabel were decidedly less excited about it, this time around. Another child would cost a lot of money, and they were only barely making ends meet at the current moment. Not to mention, they lived in a house with only a single bedroom. This brought Hernando back to his childhood, reminding him of the one bedroom shack he’d shared with his large family. He wanted to do better by his own children, so he relocated them to a different house, one with two bedrooms. However, it was a bit more expensive, and when their son was born, both Hernando and Annabel felt that they were at their wits end. Like he had with Elena, Hernando chose the name for his eldest son as well. Leonardo Ortiz, whose name meant Brave As A Lion, was born in the early summer, June of 1957. The family began to struggle in a way they never had before, just to put bread and cheese on the table. Hernando started working a lot of doubles, and began drinking a lot to cope with it. Annabel, who had always been a bit of a drinker, did the same. The resulting stress, drunkenness, and anger that came from this began to sour the previously loving and devoted relationship that Hernando and Annabel shared. They grew violent, the both of them, and it was began to be commonplace for the neighbors to hear loud screams and breaking glass over the sound of small children crying.

Still, Hernando and Annabel had made vows to one another, vows that they refused to break. They hoped that one day, things would be easier. They kept faith that one day they would find a way to love each other like they used to. Unfortunately, those days never came. The months continued to tick by for the Ortiz family, and they lived in a sort of limbo for many years, flipping rapidly between awful fights and wonderful family bonding. Around the time that Leonardo was two years old, Hernando fell back into contact with the family he had left behind in Mexico so many years ago. He began speaking to his mother again, and his brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts, and even his abuela, who was somehow still alive. He began to make annual visits to them, though he could never afford to bring his wife and children along with him.

Years later, in the early spring of 1961, Annabel fell pregnant once more. The family, at this point, had gotten used to their low income and had found means to survive around it. They weren’t happy, but they weren’t necessarily unhappy either. It was in this strange middle ground that Annabel and Hernando’s third child, and second son, was born. Like his father, mother, and sister, the child was born in the month of December. Hernando, as was tradition by now, chose the name. He gave the boy the first name of Benito, which meant Blessed. He hoped that the name would rain down good fortune on his son one day, and that the good fortune might trickle down to the rest of the family. Benito Carlos Ortiz always kept this in mind, believing it to be his duty to gift blessings to his family one day.

With Benito’s arrival, the Ortiz was complete, and the real story can now begin.

Benito was a happy baby, and an even happier toddler. He shared a room, as well as a bed, with his big sister and brother. During these young years of his, he was quite close with Leonardo, who was only four years older than him. From the moment that Benito was walking, the two brothers ran all around the house, causing mischief for their mother, father, and sister. Leonardo was Benito’s first role model. However, that’s not to discredit Elena. Elena, his bright and smart big sister, was the one who taught him how to survive in a world as poor as theirs. Not to mention that she also sacrificed a lot of her own toys and happiness so that her brothers might enjoy a happier childhood than she had. The family was close, despite the rather wild fights they often got into, and Benito has always looked back on this as his happiest time, the only time he could remember his family truly being a unit, albeit a dysfunctional one. Sure, their family could fight. In fact, they knew how to do this very well. Benito’s spent his childhood watching his mother throw a fist in his father’s face, and then watching as his father threw her to the ground in retaliation. He had never really been too bothered by such things, figuring that this was just the way life was. Besides, as much as they knew how to fight, they also knew how to have a good time. Alcohol permeated their family, and the community around them, and Benito honestly couldn’t remember one of their good times that wasn’t helped by the influence of alcohol. Some of his fondest memories were watching as his father and brother tapped their glasses of tequila together in a companionable gesture before tossing the liquid down their throats. He looks back fondly on their nights seated around the kitchen table, playing cards and singing old traditional family songs together: Irish and Mexican alike. Benito and Leonardo often wrestled, and while Benito never won, he always had fun. His sister loved to dance, and even more than that, she loved to wrangle her reluctant brothers into dancing with her. His childhood, while not perfect, was not entirely awful either. Sure, it was hard, and there were nights that he went without food. But there was love in his heart, and in his household, so he knew that he would be alright.

However, all of that changed when he was just seven years old.

For all of his life, Benito knew that his father had family back in his home country of Mexico. After all, he left home for a two weeks once a year to go and visit them. However, one day, just after Hernando had returned from his weekly visit to Mexico, Annabel found something while looking through his suitcases. There was a small envelope, hidden beneath a secret little flap, that was filled with pictures. Pictures of Hernando with some woman, a woman who was not Annabel. And, if that weren’t bad enough, there pictures of children. Two, to be specific. They were both girls, and they both looked to be similar to Benito’s age. There with pictures of the girls, of the woman, and of Hernando with all of them together. Annabel dug a little further, and dug up some love letters, written to Hernando by a woman named Amanda, who she presumed to be the woman in the pictures. She couldn’t understand them, for they were written in Spanish, so she brought them to Elena to translate. Elena read them, growing angrier and angrier with every word her eyes ran over, and when she finished, she looked up to face her mother with furious tears in her eyes. It seemed that Hernando had started another family, all the way across the world, and he’d kept it hidden from them for years. Now, it made complete sense why he had never brought his wife or children to meet his mother, or grandmother, or brothers and sister. Annabel wondered if he had brought this Amanda to visit them, or the two little girls. She wondered if his mother even knew about Elena, or Leonardo, or Benito? For the first time in her life, Annabel wanted to be rid of Hernando.

And so, she confronted her husband one day, after he had finished a fifteen hour shift. He stepped through the door, looking weary and tired and in dire need of a shower. Annabel didn’t care, and she flung the photos and the letters right into his face. The resulting fight was spectacular, the worst one that Benito had ever seen in his seven years of life. Leonardo jumped in at one point, trying to use his lanky eleven year old body to protect his mother. Hernando was enraged at the disrespect shown to him by his son, and things looked as if they would continue to get worse. But, then Elena stepped in. Faced with his beloved daughter’s disappointment, rage, and hurt, Hernando couldn’t face it. He fled up to his room, packed a bag, and walked right out the front door, never to be seen again by the four remaining Ortiz’s.

The absence of their father shattered the family, and from then on, they began to splinter off into different directions. Annabel turned even more so to drink, especially now that she had to work to support the children alone. She grew angry, and bitter. Benito didn’t think her name was true anymore, for she was most definitely not a delight to be around. She was mean, and she was always drunk. It became commonplace for her to pass out on their couch, surrounded in a pool of her own alcohol, or, if she was really drunk, a pool of her own vomit, or urine.

Elena grew angry too, and stopped looking out for her little brothers quite so much. The three children had to contribute to the household now, and since they were eleven and seven, Elena considered them old enough to do so. After all, she was thirteen. It was high time she started looking out for herself after spending so many years helping those around her. She grew closer with Annabel, however, and never blamed her for her drunken depression. She placed the blame firmly on the shoulders of her padre, who she know hated with a fiery passion.

Leonardo felt the same way, for he had never gotten along with father. To Hernando, Leonardo’s arrival had signalled the beginning of the bad times. To Leonardo, Hernando was angry, drunken man who couldn’t appreciate the loving family that he had around him. Leonardo was only eleven when his father left, but he was now the man of the house, and he took it upon himself to start bringing in money. For the past year, he had begun to spend more time with the other boys in the neighborhood, since the age and maturity gap between him and Benito had become a little much. The boys that Leonardo was spending his time with were other poor street kids like himself, and they’d developed a reputation for being a band of troublemakers. It wasn’t that hard for them to turn towards things a little more illegal, especially to make some money, so by the age of twelve, Leonardo had made a small name for himself by selling marijuana. The work wasn’t always safe, especially where they lived, but it brought in money.

Benito, only seven when his father left, wasn’t quite sure what to do, but he very quickly found his calling. It wasn’t all that hard, really. He discovered that if he went to the more wealthy side of town, many people didn’t lock their cars or back doors. It was all too easy for him to slip inside and fill his pockets with their expensive watches and jewelry. He was quite good at it, too, what with his small size. He could hide in spots that adult burglars could never, and he made a heavy profit from it. Soon enough, he grew more and more bold. He taught himself how to unlock a locked vehicle, using his neighbors beat-up lemon of a car for practice. From there, came stealing from stores. First, petty shoplifting. But, soon enough, Benito could walk out of a store with a bag filled and not a single employee wise to his crimes. Sure, every now and then he had close calls. He was eight years old the first time that someone caught him, but he was fast, and he easily made an escape by sliding down the flagpole next to the apartment building.

He was nine years old the first time that it wasn’t so easy to get away, but he’d surprised the man by giving him a swift kick to the bollocks. Grown adults were always surprised when children fought back. It was almost nothing for Benito to dash through the front door to escape from the foliage. There was a thrill in stealing, and a pride that Benito did not get from anything else. He often laid in bed at night, turning his wrist over so that he could examine whatever flashy and new watch he had stolen that day. It made him feel rich, which was ever so relieving since he was ever so poor.

It was actually during one of his little escapades when he noticed something very strange about himself. He was ten years old now, and he was in someone’s house. He had no shoes on, only his socks, because it made it easier for him to slip around unheard. He was being risky today, sneaking into a house while the owners were home, but he was confident that he could do it. He had just scampered onto their dining table, hands extending for the diamond coverings on their chandelier, when he accidentally knocked the vase on their table over with his foot. He swiveled around in alarm, lunging for it so that he could stop it from rolling off the edge, but he was too far. It rolled, rolled, and then began to tip over, and despite knowing he couldn’t stop it, he reached for it anyways. But then the most peculiar thing happened. Rather than falling off the table and loudly shattering all over the ground, it simply returned to its original, upright position. Benito thought he had imagined the whole thing, for he just couldn’t explain it. Not then, anyways.

He was eleven years old when a very strange man came to his house. He was tall, and he had a beard that seemed to go down forever. Not to mention, he looked very, very old. Perhaps the oldest man that Benito had ever seen. He would never forget the day when the man came to visit. He knocked on the door mid-morning. Benito was on the couch, in only his underwear and socks. He had a bowl of cereal in his lap and was trying to make out what was happening on their television, which was very cheap and only in black and white. Elena had answered the door, and when she came in with a strange expression on her face and told Benito that someone was at the door for him, his life changed forever.

It hadn’t been too hard for Benito to believe, not after the man demonstrated his strange powers. Turns out, the man had a strange name too. Albus Dumbledore. The surname sounded foreign and blocky on Benito’s lips. Albus Dumbledore, apparently, was the headmaster of a wizarding school. A wizarding school that they wanted him, Benito, to go to. He was shocked, and so was his family. After they got over their initial disbelief, they had a million questions to ask. Professor Dumbledore was patient, and he answered everything they had to ask. Benito felt embarrassed when his mother asked if the school cost any money, and then scared a second later. Would he be denied entry to this school simply because he was poor? Thankfully, Professor Dumbledore said they had a fund for helping underprivileged students. He said that Benito would have to get most of his things secondhand, but that was fine. Everything else he owned was, anyways.

And so, when summer rolled around, Benito and his family followed the directions left by Professor Dumbledore to travel to the wizarding village of Diagon Alley. It was hard to get there, since London was no easy drive from Belfast. Benito was half scared that the Professor Dumbledore wizard-man had been lying, and this was all just a scam! A clever, genius, well thought out scam, but a scam nonetheless. But, as it turns out, it was no scam. Diagon Alley was a real, live place and Benito and his family stared in awe at the sight of it. Annabel hurriedly made her way to the Leaky Cauldron to see if wizarding alcohol worked the same as muggle alcohol. (It worked better). Benito, however, set off on his own, wandering through each and every shop in search of his supplies.

Benito had just stepped into Ollivander’s Wand shop, when he saw her. She was about his size, though she looked a lot less out of place than he did. What on earth was everyone wearing? It was strange. Some people looked as wild as some of the strange figures that wandered the area of that one weird alleyway by his house! She got his wand first, and when he saw the sparks shoot from the end of it in a wonderful display of color, he couldn’t help but to exclaim in surprise. That had drawn her attention, and the two fell into conversation. He found out that her name was Imogen, and that she was also starting at Hogwarts in the fall. They didn’t talk long, but he felt good when he left the store, hardly taking the time to be surprised that he had warmed up so quickly. Once he had his wand, he was finished, and he headed to the bar to collect his extremely inebriated mother.

Now, all Benito had to do was wait.

September the First came quickly, and before he knew it, Benito found himself seated alone in a compartment on a train called The Hogwarts Express. He’d hoped to sit alone for the ride, but that seemed impossible. However, to his happy surprise, the face that popped into the compartment was one he recognized. It was the Imogen girl he’d met at Ollivanders! The two ended up sitting together, and when they arrived at Hogwarts, they were sorted into Hufflepuff as well.

Five years later, Benito is in the peak of his sixth year. His grades are alright, but he doesn’t really care about that. He had no intention of going into the Ministry of Magic, or really working at all in the Wizarding World. No, no, Benito Carlos Ortiz had bigger plans than that. After all, he was born to be blessed. No, Benito planned to use his magical powers and natural aptitude for sneaky things to live nice and breezy in the muggle world. And in the meantime, he would steal from his fellow wizards. After all, many of them didn’t respect him for who his parents were, so why should he show them the respect of allowing them to keep their belongings? The war is heating up around him, and Benito is more than ready to defend himself. But, he means to only defend himself. He had learned a long time ago that it was a dog-eat-dog world, and he knew better than to think the wizarding world was any different.

Benito Ortiz decided to not concern himself with the opinion of people that didn’t matter. He had Imogen, he had the Hufflepuffs, and he had his family. Nobody else mattered, and he wouldn’t lie and pretend that he thought they did. What he planned on doing was making as much money as he possibly could, in any means that he possibly could, and if he could, he’d try to find his dad along the way.

CONNECTIONS:

Imogen Connolly: His first friend and current girlfriend. Benito and Imogen have been together for what feels like forever, and there isn’t a single person on the planet that he feels more love for. He feels like they’re soulmates, and can’t imagine his life without her.

Katherine Bradbury: She’s new to the school, and she looks rich, so he’s got his eye on her. He doesn’t take her seriously, not really, and he finds it rather funny that she’s an American. But, he did hear a rumor about her ruining a debutante ball, so perhaps there is more to her than meets the eye.

Lucius Malfoy: Malfoy stands for everything that Benito detests, so he often tries to get on his nerves. But, more so than that, Benito has been stealing from him here and there for six years now. He has so much money that its almost easy.

ADDITIONAL INFO:

He’s a Sagittarius Sun, and an Aries Moon. Some quotes from this website that apply to Benito are, (1) “Even though you are smart and perceptive, your emotional growth lags behind your understanding.” (2) “A Sagittarius-Aries is fearless about speaking their mind and has been so since a young age. No other mixture personifies such blunt outspokenness. You have no inhibitions but have the courage to say precisely what you feel. You are active, capricious, and very independent. Everything is as you see it. It does not matter what others think, you are forthright and fearless.” (3) “You need be careful of that rather big ego of yours.”

Benito really likes the movie, “The Godfather”

Benito speaks Spanish, though not as well as he used to

Benito is really into sculpting, and astrology.

His class schedule is: Charms, Arithmancy, Divination, Potions, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts

#morsmordre accepted #benito ortiz #hp rp #marauders era rp

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purpleshellsaremyfavorite · 6 years

Text

March

Daddy Jefferson

Part 3 of 7

Jay (@yrs-forevr) x Thomas Jefferson

Reader insert version here!!

Beta Readers: @aaronburr-sir-imagines @tenduelimagines

TW: Childbirth

Time: Hamiltime

Word Count: 1688

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3- you're here!| 4 | 5 | 6 | E

Several dinners were arranged between both the Jefferson and Everett estates, switching locations in order to give Jay a feel for the house without turning her world on its head.

It took her quite a while to think over, but Jay settled on easing her way into Monticello. Thomas seemed thrilled with the idea, expressing his willingness to help by immediately having a nursery furnished in a westward facing room in the massive estate. Her room was right next door- although he assured her that it could be moved if she wished as the baby got older.

The nursery was a pale brown color-something that fit the wing of the house but still allowed for any spills on the walls to go unnoticed. A small basket was set up in Jay’s personal room, while a small bed was set up next door along with some miniature toys and books meant for young children. Some of the books were written by Thomas himself- something he claimed was no problem and barely took any time- but she couldn’t ignore the way his face beamed when she saw them.

All of them were regarding politics in some fashion but one in particular made Jay gasp. There was a meticulously strung book entitled “My Father”. She spent the night reading through it over and over again. Sometimes she read it aloud, and other times she kept herself quiet. Thomas explained that he looked through all he could find about Hunter and gathered it together. He claimed no child should go without knowing their father and how heroic he was.

Dinners felt different in the large dining room without the Everetts alongside her, but Jay soon found a topic to discuss with Jefferson. Although their political views didn’t always agree, there was an element of respect when regarding each other.

They both walked down to the graveyard together, which was a bit closer to Monticello than the doctor’s office. It became a daily occurrence to find the two of them walking (or in Jay’s case, waddling) down the road with a flower in her hand to place on her husband’s grave.

The baby was due in a week and she couldn’t see her feet anymore. Jefferson had given her a pair of shoes that were too small for him to walk in. Although they helped, Jay still found it uncomfortable.

At 9:30, no matter what he was doing, Thomas would stop working and go to the foyer to meet Jay. He would tie his shoes on her feet and they would be off. They would briefly stop in a small flower shop in the town, picking out a singular flower for the day and making their way to the graveyard. Today Jay had chosen a white camelia- Hunter’s favorite flower.

“But I want to take you and the baby to France! You would love the culture and I want to introduce Mini-Abraham to politics.”

“Thomas, let me have the baby first.”

“Okay, okay. But I’m still introducing him to politics.”

Jay stopped walking. Shaking her head lightly, she gathered her thoughts before she started again, catching up to a confused Jefferson that had stopped a moment after her. She bit her bottom lip, staying silent until she sat down on the bench 5 minutes later.

“You said him...” It took Thomas a moment to realize what she was referring to.

“I suppose I did.”

Life can be difficult at times, but it’s going to make you stronger. You were meant for this moment, so show the world what you can do.

“Jay, Dr. Everett said that you should lay down. You’ve been in labor for 3 hours now.”

“I’m in labor. I’m in pain. I’m doing what makes me feel better, and that’s walking. Sit down if it makes you feel better, but you need to shut up, magenta man.”

Thomas held up his hands in mock surrender, smirking inwardly at her snarkiness despite the pain she was surely in.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Two. Damn. Centimeters.

Jay felt like she was about to explode and two centimeters meant that she wasn’t ready to get this done. Thomas was sitting in a chair off to one side of the room. His knee was bouncing up and down as he kept staring at her walk back and forth around the small bed.

“Does the pacing make you feel better?”

“Not really, but moving feels okay.”

Jefferson tried to ignore the small grunts that she made from pain, but when her teeth gritted for the 10th time, he couldn’t help but ask.

“Are you sure there’s nothing that I can do? May I get Doctor Everett?”

Jay nodded with her bottom lip between her teeth, and the doctor came in a few minutes later when Thomas got back. He motioned for her to sit on the bed and she did so, leaning back as Jefferson stood behind her facing the wall to give her privacy. There was a nurturing tone as Samuel asked:

“Do you feel any need to push?”

“Yes, but I don’t know if I’m ready to-”

“You’re all set, Jay. You’re dilated, and this little soldier wants to greet the world.”

It was hard to say whether she growled or whimpered in return, but she grabbed Thomas’s hand, surprising him and turning him around. He couldn't’ see anything due to the fabric that had been set up for privacy but he still looked a bit uncomfortable. He was careful not to overstep any boundaries. Jay’s voice was exhausted, but she gritted out: “You’re my friend, Thomas. Please, just help.”

Her entire world had shifted and for the first time since her wedding, Jay let a few tears of joy escape.

“How’s your prince?”

“He’s sleepy right now...”

“Sounds like the queen is sleepy too.”

‘Mmmmhm.”

He had never held children before, even with his many siblings, but when he looked down at the sleeping newborn, he felt his world turn upside down.

“Shhh, Ash. Let’s not wake up your mama.”

“Thomas?”

Jay walked sleepily into Asher’s for-now-nursery, which was a large walk-in closet attached to her room. She didn’t want the baby far from her when he was this young. Thomas was holding the week-old baby in his arms, looking tired but focused. Asher’s green eyes were intently watching him, showing no signs of sleeping anytime soon.

“I was working in my office right down the hall when I heard him crying. I know you’ve gotten up all week and I wanted to let you sleep.”

Her heart clenched involuntarily at the gesture. She sighed, making her way over and looking at her son in his arms.

“Thank you. I’m sorry that you were interrupted... Why are you working this late anyway?”

“Oh, just some legislation that I need to get set. He isn’t a bother at all.”

Jay almost made a remark about his work ethic and ask if it had improved with the company but she stopped herself.

“Dr. Everett said that his eye color may change, but I don’t think they will... Hunter had the brightest green eyes, and they’re not going away. I can feel it.”

Those wide eyes stared up at her, awestruck and listening to her voice.

“Thank you for calming him down.” She looked up. “You should be asleep too.”

“It wasn’t a big issue, just some things to tidy up.”

#Jay x Thomas Jefferson #daddy jefferson

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jennaschererwrites · 6 years

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How Instant 'Black Mirror' Classic 'USS Callister' Guts Toxic Fandom - Rolling Stone

It's a familiar image: a strapping, confident young white guy seated in the captain's chair of a spaceship, blaster at his hip, hair coifed just so, one elbow on the armrest, legs spread wide as if to say, "Mine is no tiny penis you are dealing with." He's a hero we all know, love and trust do the right thing in the end, whether it's James T. Kirk or variants like Han Solo, Peter Quill or Mal Reynolds. This is his story. He takes the lead. He gets the glory, and ever it shall be.

Except when it's 2018. And except when it's Black Mirror.

Charlie Brooker and Annabel Jones' anthology sci-fi series kicks off its fourth season with an episode – "USS Callister" – that begins with what seems to be a loving homage to the original 1960s Star Trek. Then, slowly, methodically, the story starts unfurling its true form: a damning exploration of toxic masculinity and the dark side of fanboy nostalgia culture. Here, the heroic captain is anything but, and the misunderstood "nice guy" is the true monster lurking on the dark fringes of the galaxy.

We open on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise-like USS Callister, where the swaggering Captain Daly (Jesse Plemons) and his trusty crew are fighting a space battle complete with harrowing music, old-school special effects and lots of high-grade phlebotinum ("plasmorthian crystals," anyone?). True to every trope, the good guys win the day.

Naturally, this being Black Mirror – a show that revels in gut-wrenching turnabouts – nothing is as it seems, least of all the hero. Daly is a bit tooswaggering; his crew is a bit too trusty. After he defeats the bad guy with suspicious ease, the men launch into a round of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" while the women line up to be kissed by the good captain. Something is deeply wrong with this squeaky-clean scene: The crewmembers' smiles are plastered on, and there's a glint of malice in their fearless leader's eyes.

Cut to gray reality, where we meet the real Robert Daly: a whey-faced office drone with a receding hairline and the stooped posture of the pathologically insecure. He's the CTO of Callister Inc., a company that designs an immersive MMORPG called Infinity, in which players can explore a virtual cosmos in their very own virtual starships. The members of his "crew" are there too, belittling or ignoring him: The USS Callister's bowing and scraping second-in-command, James Walton (Jimmi Simpson), is the ultra-alpha head of the company; the communications officer (Michaela Coel) won't give Daly the time of day.

Our beta male is the brains behind the game, but everyone at his company treats him like gum stuck to the underside of their shoes. His office is decked out with posters and memorabilia from Space Fleet, a Star Trek-esque TV show from a bygone era whose aesthetic we instantly recognize from the opening scene. So is he a put-upon sweetheart, bullied by his peers, who escapes the drudgery of his day-to-day via a rich but ultimately harmless fantasy life?

Not so much. Turns out he's been secretly harvesting his coworkers' DNA in order to create digital clones to populate his own walled-off version of Infinity. We see him enact the process on Nanette Cole (Cristin Milioti), a new employee who idolizes Daly for his coding genius but commits the grievous sin of not wanting to hook up with him. And so he finds a way to possess her the same way he meticulously collects his complete set of Space Fleet DVDs (and Blu-rays and VHS tapes, natch).

We discover along with Nanette, who wakes up aboard the Callister in a pastel polyester miniskirt, just how bad things are for Daly's digital prisoners. He's the god of this tiny universe, forcing his crew to LARP along with him using torture and intimidation. He's every disaffected nerd-bro with an X-Box and an ax to grind who delights in torturing NPCs (non-player characters) for the sheer sadistic thrill. Except these are real people, and Daly has knowingly trapped them in his own private Hell.

And to make matters worse, he's pedantic about it, lecturing them about the vintage show's moral code ("It is a belief system, founded on the very best of human nature") even as he brutalizes anyone who defies his will. Daly's rigid adherence to Space Fleet fandom extends to more than just words: Women don't get guns, no one ever really dies and unwholesome genitalia are morphed into the flat, undifferentiated physique of action figures. This is the last straw for Nanette, who declares in a moment instantly GIFed 'round the Twitterverse: "Stealing my pussy is a red fucking line."

And that's when "USS Callister," thrillingly, becomes a rip-roaring space caper in its own meta-narrative. Except the scrappy, charismatic hero isn't Daly, with his posturing and his forced Shatnerian speech patterns; it's Nanette, who's smart as hell and sick to death of putting up with his expectations.

The best Black Mirror episodes – of which "USS Callister" is definitely one – identify issues lurking beneath the surface of the real world and extrapolate them into a future where technology has given them form and heft. In this case, it's the fanboy backlash that's become an all-too-familiar presence in our pop-culture conversation. We're talking about legions of speculative fiction fans on the Internet who feel that, in expanding the worlds of beloved sci-fi properties to include more diverse representation and worldviews, something is being taken from them.

Their complaint, broadly, is founded on the deeply limiting idea that all narratives should center on straight, white men, who have been the unquestioned default protagonists up until very recently. This is an idea that's particularly ironic in the world of sci-fi, which is all about imagining potential futures in which anything is possible. Daly, on the other hand, builds himself a world that is incredibly constricted, based on his devotion to a retrograde narrative. Does any of this sound familiar?

It's only a step from there to the current, very loud backlash against The Last Jedi, Rian Johnson's addition to the Star Wars universe that takes on some of the franchise's sacred cows: It puts a largely non-white, non-male cast at the center of the narrative, takes aged golden boy chosen one Luke Skywalker in an unexpected direction and asks whether the Jedi Order is really all it's cracked up to be. Certain loud, angry corners of fandom hated Jedi so much that a petition was created to have it struck from the canon and a group of alt-righters (surprise!) launched a campaign to lower the movie's Rotten Tomatoes score.

Equal ire has been leveled at Doctor Who, another sci-fi institution that shook off the dust recently when the good Doctor, who's been played by a series of men since 1963, regenerated into a woman (viva Jodie Whittaker!) And then there's Star Trek: Discovery, CBS All Access's long-awaited return to Gene Roddenberry's universe that has faced unabashedly racist reactions for casting a black female lead (Sonequa Martin-Green).

And just like Daly, they're deeply missing the point. What Star Wars, Doctor Who and Star Trek have in common – aside from decades of canon and rabidly devoted fandoms – is a vision of vast, multifaceted galaxies and universes teeming with diverse societies and life forms. All three franchises have taken a great leap forward in recent months to make their central characters reflect that ethos, and it's far past due. There will always be Dalys, but there will also always be Nanettes, too, boldly going where no man has gone before. (Black Mirror itself did, too, in its way — all of Season Four's six episodes feature female leads.)

The denouement of "USS Callister" offers one of Black Mirror's rare hopeful endings — and a low-key revenge fantasy to boot. The Callister has escaped and left Daly trapped in the starless black of his own switched-off bubble universe. (Turns out he was never a god ... just an oversized kid burning ants with a magnifying glass.) Released into the vast, Net-connected cosmos of Infinity, the liberated crew is thrilled to make contact with someone from the real world. But "Gamer691" (voiced by Aaron Paul) turns out to be an all-too-familiar kind of asshole who threatens to "bomb them to shit" if they don't get out of his quadrant.

And rather than bothering to engage in this unwinnable, childish fight, Nanette claims the captain's chair and instructs her crew: "Stick us in hyperwarp and let's … fuck off somewhere." They're off to explore the universe, and Gamer691 is left shouting into the empty vacuum of his lonely corner of the galaxy: "You better run! King of space right here. King of space." But no one is listening to him anymore.

#jenna scherer #black mirror #uss callister #rolling stone #toxic masculinity #television #sci-fi #sexism #the last jedi #star wars #fanboys #misogyny #representation #doctor who #star trek discovery #star trek

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tongueincheekywrites-blog · 7 years

Text

maybe one day the sun will shine again

Niall Horan fell in love with a girl named Annabelle. He got to call her Annie. Only very special people get to call her Annie. But now, as he sits on his bed alone in the dark, he reminisces in his past adventures with her. And remembers that now, he has to call her Annabelle again.

Her name was Annabelle.

Niall remembers everything about her like he remembers warm ups on the piano.

She was blonde, radiant, bold, and beautiful.

Oh god was she beautiful.

Niall remembers the day his eyes first bestowed on her beauty.

---

Hyde Park. London. 12:33pm.

There she was, her white puffy skirt flowing as she twirled around in the grass, a smile of pure glee present on her face. No one around her, no one who could have caused that smile.

She was simply alone. And simply happy just from the sun shining, the birds chirping, and feeling the earth move under her feet.

And to Niall, that was infectious.

It was as if she was the sun.

With her radiant blonde hair, the shiny glow of her arms, and that smile...

It’s her smile, Niall thinks, that captivated him most of all.

It just screamed the pure essence of being happy without a care.

Maybe Niall could help bring that smile out in her more.

So he tried.

“Excuse me?”

Or he was going to. Before she got his attention first.

He turned. “Yes, miss?”

She giggled. And he tried to soothe the butterflies in his stomach, biting his lip.

“Why were you staring at me?”

Oh boy, he’s caught now. What’s he suppose to say? He barely knows the girl, how’s he supposed to not sound like a total creep, when all he’s thinking is oh you see, I was staring at you because well... I literally think you were born from the angels, with actually rays of sunshine in your soul. That’s why I was staring.

It is a better line than what a fuckboy might say on Tinder, but still! He can’t say that!

So he settled on something basic.

“Oh. Just thought you were pretty. Sorry.”

She huffed a laugh. “That’s boring.”

“Boring?”

He’s boring, for calling her pretty? Was it too typical? Should he have really gone with his poetic statement of her being equivalent to sunshine.

“How so?”

“Anyone can call me pretty. So that’s boring.”

She’s strong with her words, and just flat out speaks her mind. And he loved that. Loved that she had no filter. Didn’t feel like she needed one. Had that total ‘take me or leave me’ attitude. It was admirable.

“Well... I was going to compare you to being like the sun. But that’s kinda lame,” he laughed nervously.

“Comparing me to the sun because of my blonde hair is pretty basic.”

“That’s not why,” he immediately butts in.

“Oh?”

She’s curious now.

“It’s your smile. It glows. You smile just for yourself, just because you’re happy, and content just living. And to me, that’s beautiful.”

Hearing his words, she smiles so big. Like a thousand angels just came soaring in.

And Niall feels like he just won the fucking lottery.

She extends a hand for a shake. “That’s cheesy, but I like cheesy. I’m Annabelle. If you get lucky enough, maybe I’ll let you call me Annie.”

He laughs, not being able to get enough of her adorably confident attitude. “Alright, Miss Annabelle. I’m Niall.”

Shaking hands, he immediately notices how soft and velvety her skin is. Pretty sunshine smile, soft skin, boy Niall isn’t sure how much more he could take. His heart was practically beating out of his chest, and he could hear everything thump of it in his ears.

“You’re not from here are you?”

Niall blinked at her question, but then her realized something. Something odd, but oddly made him so, so happy.

She doesn’t know who he is.

There’s no expectations of him. He can just be him. He can finally try to be as free as she appears to be.

“Nope, I’m from Ireland.”

“Huh...” she trails on. What made you come to London?”

“For work.”

“Work?”

He’s nervous now. Maybe finding out what he does will suddenly spark a connection. But he can’t lie to her. Starting even a friendship, let alone a potential relationship, off with lying always ends in flames.

“I’m a singer.”

“Neat! You’ll have to sing for me sometime!” She winks.

And that was that. Maybe she did know who he was, and was just ignoring it or didn’t care. Or maybe she flat out just didn’t know.

Either way, he was excited.

Excited to finally see what it was like to be free like her.

And see what gets that smile across her face to really shine.

---

Four months later... Niall doesn’t want to say he’s in love.

But he’s pretty sure he is.

Niall doesn’t think he’s ever felt so goddamn happy in his life. Annabelle, well, now he gets to call her Annie.

So, Annie...

Oh Annie was something else.

If he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn she was actually sent from heaven, and is here to bless the earth with just her smile alone.

Annie is a ballet dancer. Wanted to be ever since she saw The Nutcracker at age 3, so her paps--what she calls her dad--enrolled her right away, as a single father wanting to do whatever possible to make his little girl's dreams come true. Annie doesn’t have a mother. She was adopted from Belgium. She has a dual citizenship, and Niall thinks that’s pretty neat. Her favorite music is classical and jazz, so Niall ends up figuring out that’s probably why she had no idea who he was when they first met. But on their second date, she did end up admitting to googling him, which terrified him, until she said I like “Fool’s Gold” a lot! Very soft and sweet. And oh man, that made him so happy. Not just the fact she liked his favorite One Direction song, but the fact that she couldn’t give a damn if she was dating A-List celebrity Niall Horan, she liked the person, not the identity.

She was pretty damn perfect.

It was 6pm, and a knock was heard at Niall’s apartment door. He knew it would be Annie, knowing her rehearsals on Wednesday usually end at 6pm, but he couldn’t help but play with her a little bit.

“I’m not looking for any groupies, but thank you for stopping by. I appreciate you being a fan!” he says through the door, laughing a bit as she plays along too.

“Oh heavens! Niall James Horan just rejected me! How am I supposed to go on?! All I wanted to was tour with him in lingerie, and feed him chocolate covered strawberries. Just wait until TMZ hears about this!”

With that, he opens the door, looking down at her (she was a bit on the shorter side height wise) and plants a little, sweet kiss onto her forehead.

“Don’t need groupies when I got my little ray of sunshine right here.”

And there’s that smile once again, the smile Niall thinks he’ll never get sick off.

She steps inside, immediately throwing off her shoes and throwing herself onto the couch with a huff.

“Long day, love?” he sits on the cushion by her feet, lifting her legs and placing them over his lap as he sits.

“The longest. So. Many. Twirls. I think I’ll need to just cut off my toes for all the pain and blisters to go away.”

“Can’t be that bad. Here, let me see.”

He takes off her socks, revealing swollen, bruised, and blistered feet.

And okay...

It was that bad.

“Oh Annie...” he begins to rub her feet lovingly. Just the way she likes. “Maybe we should see a doctor, yeah?”

“No, no, no.” She immediately shakes her head. “They’re going to look at my feet and say ‘no more ballet’, which isn’t ever going to happen. I will dance until I’m old and grey, I promise you that.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, admiring how much love she has for what she does. But if it gets unbearable, you have to tell me, so we can go to the doctor, promise?”

She extends her pinky for him to take. “Pinky swear!”

He locks their pinkies, neither pulling away even after the official shake was made.

“What’s for dinner?” she asks.

“A very fine cuisine tonight. I call it ramen,” he replies, smiling as she giggles at his humor. He begins standing up to get everything for the meal together, before he is pulled by his pinky to the pained feet girl, who’s now pouting at him.

“What is it, Petal?”

He’s smirking. He knows what. But just loves seeing her get all flustered.

“You know what, Horan.”

“Not sure I do, Petal.”

The red in her cheeks gets even deeper. Not only because she’s flustered, but because he’s using that petname. Petal.

He remembers the first time he called her ‘Petal’, and how she swooned over it, stuttering a bit, and unable to stand completely still.

So using it constantly, especially when teasing her, was pretty fun, he’ll admit.

“Niiiaaaalllll.... Stoooooop,” she urges, hiding her face in her hands, embarrassed. He laughs, putting his fingers through her hair comfortingly.

“Oh come on, Petal, don’t hide that pretty face from me. You gotta tell me what you want, otherwise how am I supposed to know?”

She puts her hands down and in her lap with a huff. “Kisses Niall! I want kisses!” she practically screams jokingly at him.

And with that, he ends the teasing and connects their lips together. She quickly puts her hands on the sides of his face, pulling him in even closer if possible. After a few long moments of their lips meshing together, he pulls away, the both smiling at one another.

“All you have to do is ask,” he says sweetly, before peppering her forehead, cheeks, and face in tiny little kisses.

She giggles loudly. “Okay! Okay! Go make food, I’m hungry.”

He stands straight up, bowing in front of her.

“Yes, your majesty.”

---

Five months later. 3:15am. Niall’s apartment.

Niall couldn’t sleep. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to sleep again.

Because she’s gone.

Annie... well, he can’t call her that anymore.

Annabelle...

Annabelle was gone.

---

It was a week ago.

She came home around midnight. Storming into Niall’s apartment, angry and teary eyed.

There was a recital. For Swan Lake. The production Annabelle’s wanted to be in since she was six. And she got the role, and he remembers her three months before, coming home and running into his arms, screaming how she got it and she was going to be Odette/Odile. And he was so proud, so proud of her glowing self and how thrilled she was at her own accomplishment.

And he promised to go.

It was on his calendar.

She reminded him everyday.

But he didn’t show up.

The one recital. The one show she had, of her proudest showcase yet, and he didn’t even bother to come see it.

So here she was, standing before him, angered and on the verge of tears.

He couldn’t blame her. He really couldn’t.

“You didn’t show up...” she says, the sparkly swan queen makeup being smeared as tears began to fall down her cheeks.

“I know, Petal, I know. But please let me explain and-”

“There was a seat all set front row for you. I had security out front waiting, in case things with fans got hectic. I kept waiting and waiting, kept making excuses in my head, like maybe you were running late because you ran into people who wanted a chat and a picture, or maybe traffic just sucked, but... you never came. At all.”

She was full on crying now, sitting on the couch, the same couch where he’d pepper her with kisses and make pinky promises with her.

She was now sitting on it.

Crying.

Because he broke a pinky promise.

A big pinky promise.

He slowly sits next to her, wanting to give her every right to be upset and let it out. He hesitates, before putting a hand on her back, rubbing it in slow, soothing circles. She may really not like him right now, but he knows it’s touch that soothed her when she’s upset.

After a few moments, he speaks up.

“I was on my way to show up. But before I could even leave to go, management was at my door.”

“W-What?”

She looks over to him, her face puffy and tear-stained.

“Yeah... even got you flowers,” he gestures to the pink roses on the table, all wrapped up in a gold bow. “Was going to give them to you after the show, and say my petal really bloomed today.

He lightly chuckles at his own remark, and she can’t help but chuckle too as tears continued to fall.

“But then...” he continues. “There was a knock on my door, and before I knew it management is telling me to stay home. I tried to argue and fight with them over it, but they weren’t bugging. Even blocked your number from my cell service so I wouldn’t call you, and try to secretly get there.”

“What the hell?” she’s stunned to say the least. How did they even find out about her? They’ve kept it very lowkey. Occasionally, there would be press about it, but very minimal. Why was it such a big deal anyway? Why couldn’t he go to one recital to support his girl?

“I don’t even know. But it gets worse.”

“It gets worse?”

He sighs. “They told me, publicly, I can’t keep dating you. But only publically. Privately I can do whatever I want, but publically, they’re making me date Lily Collins now.”

“I-I don’t... understand. Why can’t you publically date me? Why are they blocking us from each other? What’s wrong with me?” She’s crying again, and god does he really hate this.

“Petal, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. Never was, and never will be. They’re idiots. Always making us boys do the stupidest shit to try and boost our image. Don’t let Harry and Louis come out, wouldn’t let Zayn dye his hair when he was still in the band, and now they’re making me date Lily in the public. Wanting to try and keep us relevant.”

She rubs her hands over her face, smearing her makeup even more in the process.

There’s silence for a while as Annabelle processed this, taking it all in, and then, what she says next is the last thing Niall wanted to hear.

“I think we need to be over then.”

“What?” his eyes widen, because no, no, no. That’s not what he wanted. No, not at all.

“That’s too mentally exhausting for me, Niall. And talk about painful. I can’t watch you date a girl out on the streets, and then come home to me, while I stay in hiding as your secret girlfriend. It’d be too painful for me. I don’t want to go through that,” she looks at him with sadness, it’s not something she wants either.

Neither want it, but as it all processes, it’s decided it’s probably for the best.

“Okay. If that’s what you want.”

And that was that.

---

And now he can’t sleep.

Because his mind won’t turn off.

Won’t turn off all the thoughts and memories of her.

How she scrunches her nose when she shakes her head, how she loves writing poetry in art galleries, how she somehow manages to read dozens of books while dancing at rehearsals, how her brown eyes glimmered at him with the deepest kind of love the first time she saw him perform, how she just loves kisses, and being called Petal, and making pinky promises, and how her laugh fills a room with joy more than the best song in the world can.

And her smile.

Her sunshine smile.

How every time she showed that smile around him, he swore he could feel warmth actually radiating off of it and onto him. How no matter how shitty the day was, that smile would bring him back to a place of calm and simplicity.

How her smile was just quite literally sunshine.

How she, quite literally, was sunshine.

So he stands from his bed, rubbing his eyes, and walking over to get his guitar and sitting back down again.

He’s gotta get this out.

Just so he can sleep.

So, he began singing.

The other night dear, as I lay sleeping

I dreamed I held you in my arms

But when I awoke, dear, I was mistaken

So I hung my head and I cried

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away

In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me

When I awake my poor heart pains

So when you come back and make me happy

I'll forgive you dear, I'll take all the blame

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away

And as he finishes the final note, tears streaming down his face, he thinks to himself.

Maybe...

Just maybe...

My sunshine will come back.

And love me again.

---

AN: sorry if the past tense/present tense changed too many times! I wrote this at 5AM and was very tired, but had to get this story out while the ideas were flowing! So yeah.... okay see ya! xx

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