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socketz · 4 years

Text

Johnny Depp x Female!Reader

Indulge Me.

Type : Fluff! (with a wee bit of Angst thrown in there)

Warnings : Internal conflict, swearing, kissing (pretty detailed, though nothing overly sexual), a little alcohol consumption I suppose, and that’s all. It’s super fluffy!

Word Count : 6.3k (kinda short, I know :/ my bad)

Request : Not Requested.

Summary : Johnny x Female!Reader, where they have been close friends for a super long time, and the reader (you!) has slowly developed feelings for him. A confession, a walk, and a sweet, slow, kiss, in the rain.

Authors Note : I don’t know why I got the urge to do this, but I started writing and simply did not stop, so here we are. I thought it turned out quite cute, although it is very cliche :) Also, Johnny is not famous in this, though it’s set in like ‘91, or ‘90. He’s just a really sexy regular guy, I suppose. That’s all :) Enjoy!

Indulge Me, Johnny Depp x Female!Reader

There was truly something about him - about Johnny - that you simply could not place. The two of you had been friends, strictly friends, for almost too long to remember, and it seemed that with every passing moment either of your spent, swaddled in each other’s company, that relationship merely grew. It manifested, and developed, so incredibly, yet entirely unnoticed, by both Johnny, and yourself. It was incredible, really, that such a friendship could hinder quite so rapidly, and seemingly only for one participant.

You didn’t mean to begin noticing the little things, the details, about him. Like the way he smiled, so incredibly gentle and uplifting - contagious, you could argue - or the way he would change, so naturally, when around you, in comparison to that of everybody else. His laugh would grow louder, freer, and his voice would amplify; no longer riddled with nerves and a sense of timidness. Comfort, you supposed, was a factor he allowed himself to become engulfed by, whenever you were present, and you certainly liked it. You began noticing the way he would touch you, tender, and cautious, or the way he held your hand - merely due to instinct, he would always blame, though your butterflies wished it something else - and the way he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, when you complained for the cool breeze, never once bothered by your close proximity. You noticed the way his eyes could light up, and he would smile something small; ridden with joy, for no particular reason at all. You noticed that his hair was longer, now, and that it fell to a messy central parting, digits consistently brushing it from his gaze - you liked the way he styled his hair, you decided, and it was so soft - so tender. You began to notice the way he treated you, so polite, yet bitterly brutal when his jokes played themselves around. You noticed things that you probably shouldn’t have, and, well, such an inconvenience caused a severe disruption to your whole mechanism.

At first, you thought it to be an illness of some sort. The stomach churns - the best kind, as you later discovered - and the butterflies, the tingle between your thighs. Am I sick? You began to think, as you checked yourself for a temperature. Alas, there was nothing but a flush of embarrassment to your reddened cheeks, and a heavy sensation within your chest, as you supposed that it would all disburse within a matter of days.

Well, a couple of days came, and went, and things had only gotten worse.

You began to dream of him, and, admittedly, you enjoyed them - of course you did - but it only made your face-to-face discussions an almighty difficult task to partake in. The butterflies ascended into a trail of breathtaking tingles, ignited by the slightest touch, and a sense of fire ruptured within your throat - it was so difficult to say the things you wanted to say, when your infatuation threatened to spill from your tongue at any given moment, and his beautifully chocolate gaze held you so captivated, so numbingly, to your place. He rendered you silent, your mind falling blank, with a simple smile, or a glance. Pathetic! That’s what you’d call it. Utterly pathetic. And, realistically, you knew it would only grow worse, the longer you decided to repress such information from your closest companion - and apparent lover, in your emotions’ eyes - but you simply couldn’t find it in you, not at all, to utter such simple words.

They could do so much damage - undo so many memories! And ruin everything. Maybe you were simply paranoid - maybe you were driven by utmost fear - but romance seemed so terribly painful, and you weren’t entirely sure if you could handle the way it would end. After all, everything good must come to something bad, right? Perhaps it was just the way your childhood played out, between lies and heartbreak, separation and loneliness, and fear and rejection - or maybe you were right. Maybe everything people were taught, all that they would read, about love, and about fictional infatuation, was just that - fiction. Maybe true love didn’t exist, and the books had it all wrong. Though that would not explain the thin sheen of sweat, glistening something noticeable upon your forehead.

You were nervous, to say the least.

The seven o’clock News displayed upon your television, igniting the darkened room in an expanding, blue, illumination, and you nibbled your nails somewhat anxiously, thoughts engulfing the surrounding buzz of the visual journalism - not that you ever paid it any mind, anyway. You always found the News boring - they reported nothing but shit, and you made sure to voice such an opinion, whenever Johnny would force you to watch it. “It’s educational!” He would laugh, gripping onto your hips and forcing you upon his lap. Of course, it was only something playful, and his arms would snake around your waist, chin against your shoulder. It was comfortable, you could never deny, but the News was still ever-boring and droning.

Though, now, it seemed appropriate. You were far too nervous to concentrate on anything in particular, like a gameshow, or something of the sort. Even the soccer seemed far too involving for you.

After all, today was the day you finally relieved yourself of such a weighty secret. You could hardly contain yourself any longer, and you were growing tired of the worried glances Johnny would throw your way, when you flinched from his burning touch, or paused mid-sentence, struggling to find your gasped breath. God, it was all so embarrassing. You hoped sincerely that it wouldn’t render something awkward, or differentiate your friendship, in any which way, but you were certain it was all one sided, and just wouldn’t be the same after. Perhaps he already knew, and was attempting to ignore such a thing, as best he could, and for that, you practically worshiped his ability to handle difficult situations lightheartedly. Or maybe he was as entirely clueless as he seemed to be, and it would be as awkward as you could picture the whole ordeal going.

Either way, you needed to say something, before it accidentally slipped within a regular conversation, and ruined everything. You attempted to reason with yourself, that if things truly did turn bitterly awful, at least tonight there would be pizza and wine, to salvage your mortification, and-

The soft jingle of metal echoed, distant, yet alarming, throughout the quiet and dim apartment. Scuttling, your hands grasped the remote control, muting the television in a rapid and almost panicked manner, breathing laboured and uneven. You weren’t ready - you definitely weren’t ready. You couldn’t do this - tell him how you felt, that is. How the hell would you even go about it? It wasn’t the kind of thing you could just bring up-

“They didn’t have any of that wine you like.” He sighed. You froze, rigid in your seat. “I got somethin’ else,” He trailed, “Doesn’t have a brand, I don’t think.” Two rustling bags settled in place before you, his keys landed with a loud crash upon the glass surface, jacket shrugged upon the ground with a sudden waft of cool breeze. Johnny glanced toward you, as he slumped hastily upon the sofa, booted feet kicked out before him. “What’s up?” He mumbled, his eyes fluttered to a gentle close, eyebrows furrowed gently.

“Nothing.” You said. How great of a lie it surely was, though you refused to blurt your confession aloud just yet.

An eyebrow raised, doubtful for your unconvincing reply, as a gentle grin teetered to the corner of his lips, and, oh, didn’t he look pretty. “C’mon,” He teased, “What’s up with you?” A finger jabbed to your side - an extraordinarily ticklish disposition for yourself - and you squirmed instinctively, a certain warmth engulfing your chest at the familiarity of that supple smirk.

“Really,” You persisted, “It’s nothing.” A breathy chuckle falling from upon your quiet tongue. “Have you tried that wine before?” You could confess your adoration for the poor man amidst the meal, though for now, it could wait.

“Uh-” He frowned, the quiver of a smile to trace his gaze.“No.” He said.

A subtle laugh dripped from your throat, gently shaking your head, as you mumbled a witty response. “Am I surprised, Jonathan?” To which he scoffed, his gorgeously depthful eyes rolling, and shone you a wickedly charming smile.

“Guess not.” He muttered, a beat of comfortable quiet to drift you both by. “You’re watching the News?” He then added, a furrow to draw his eyebrows closer; glance fluttered between yourself and the blare of the silenced television, projecting utter bullshit as it went - ever-the-regular, you could argue.

You simply nodded, “I am.” You said, somewhat a grin to upturn the crevices of your expression. A soft round of laughter fell from the man beside you, and you found your breath stuttered within the depth of your throat. It was an angelic muse, really, and thus you found yourself unable to conjure a furtherly coherent - never mind advanced - response, the simple two words proving enough for his bemused self.

“But you fucking hate the News.” He scoffed. “Why the hell are you watching it?”

A subtle giggle left your throat, and you snatched the lip of the bag before you, eager to indulge within the gorgeously scented - and warm - food. “Shut up, Johnny.” You said, a gentle smile to follow, “What’d you get?”

“I don’t know.” He smirked, “Somethin’ meaty, I think.”

“Of course,” You sighed, unable - quite - to dislodge the grin upon your rosy cheeks. “I mean, why would you know the pizza you ordered, right?”

“Precisely.” He smiled, “I’m thrilled you understand.”

“Always a pleasure.” You simply said, for your mind had distilled something blank, useless, and your words had seemed to fail you. The sofa was old, it was desperate, clinging on to the stitching hardly reliable, but it was comfortable. It was familiar. Johnny, and yourself, had refused to refurbish it - those cushions had been with you both, from the very first night. Roommates, you were. And simply the best kind. But there truly was something so tragic about a romantically tinted friendship, no matter for whom the sufferer seemed to be.

Johnny latched upon the large pizza box, throwing it open, and - unsurprisingly - knocking the wine glasses with a greatly shrill ring, their clink a subtle jump. They wobbled, slowly, though regained their posture, and you found your shoulders slumping to a tender slouch. “Idiot.” You muttered, a certain fondness about your breath, as he merely smirked, and picked up a stringy-cheesed slice, mauling the triangular corner with not but an ounce of grace.

A shimmer of grease coaxed the pout of his peachy lips, cheeks bulged with bread, and with toppings; over-loaded and particularly Johnny. Meats of various kinds - various shades - littered upon the excessive amounts of cheese. “Did you order extra cheese?” You mumbled. The man nodded, a wolfish grin to reciprocate his childish gaze, and you merely breathed a subtle chuckle. Of course, you thought; of course he did.

You reached for the wine, popping the cork with a slight groan, and you poured a tester within the clear glaze of the bowled glass. You raised the edge to your mouth, took a sip, and smacked your lips. “Not bad.” You uttered, decidedly enjoying the rich tang of fruity combustion, flat and coiling, upon your tongue. You poured the glass full, hardly a centimeter from the brim, and you took a rather large gulp, quite liking the flavour, as it trickled upon the back of your throat, and you sat back, nestled within the comfortable cushions of the wondrously aged sofa. It was almost moulded to your body; for you always sat on the right, and Johnny, the left.

A comfortable silence embraced you both, and you found yourself almost wishing it could remain undisturbed - you couldn’t find it in you, no matter how hard you probed, to conjure any kind of courage at all. Your knees, they felt weak, and your stomach churned uneasily - entirely disagreeing with the digested mouthful, as you rammed the corner of a pizza slice within your mouth, and you chewed slowly, cheeks beginning to rise in temperature. How the fuck would you even go about it all? ‘Oh, by the way, Johnny, I’m entirely in love with you, and I lose myself every time we touch!’ It sounded ridiculous. There was no possible way you could simply blurt out such a destructive sentence. You weren’t even sure if your feelings were real! They had just bothered you, and you feared that they’d somehow escape the breach of your lips, and flutter around, utterly unnoticed. Goodness, it was terrifying.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, or are we gonna sit here in silence?” Johnny said, a light amusement to simmer upon his tone. You gulped, swallowing a particularly dry mouthful, and your muscles seized up.

Surely this was the perfect opportunity, no? “Well…” You trailed. You did not want to ruin everything you’d worked so effortlessly to build with each other. Maybe you were just being silly, and your feelings were hardly potent at all. Maybe it was all dramatic, and you were fine. Maybe it was an exaggeration, and the entire thing was meaningless, and- “I think I’m in love with you.” You blurted. Fuck. Fuck, fucking fuck! Your eyes clamped shut, and you loathed the white noise. You could hope that he hadn’t heard you, though he wasn’t chewing, anymore, and he seemed suddenly rigid beside you. That was certainly a way to go about it, you scolded, wishing - with a burning detestation - that the sofa would swallow you whole.

Say something, you begged, silent, and to yourself, as the quiet continued on. He shifted, and you froze - furtherly, if apparently possible. You daren’t share a glance with his gaze, fixated upon your burning mortification, as another gentle bite snuck between your lips. You chewed, and you chewed, a soft shimmer of sweat beginning to accumulate upon your brow - how foolish you had been, to admit such a thing, in that kind of way. “What was that?” He muttered. Shit! His throat was tight, you could hear the subtle restriction, and tone low, quiet. Don’t make me say it again, you thought, a volumed gulp to follow such a ponderous moment. Please, don’t make me say it again.

“I’m sorry.” You sighed. Goodness, was it always supposed to be quite so difficult? Something began to wedge within the base of your throat, aching substantially, as the rising sensation of freshly salted tears began its ascent. Were you really going to cry? “I didn’t-” The voice caught in your throat, hindered by that ever-growing lump. God, you really hated this. “I didn’t mean to.” You didn’t mean to ruin your friendship, and everything in between, for a stupid confession that held you to the brink of fucking tears.

More shuffling was to be heard, and you noticed his hands swiftly maneuvering the - now closed - pizza box, delicately dropping the white board upon the coffee table, no longer perched between you, and him. His gaze burned upon your expression, and your cheeks flamed scarlet, glare locked unwaveringly upon the television, slightly glazed with something fearful. You truly didn’t want to lose him - to have him laugh in the face of your affection, and turn you away. And although you knew the let down would be gentle - it was Johnny, afterall, and there was hardly a bad bone in his body - you anticipated the worst. “Y/N,” He said.You gulped. A sigh escaped his lips, and he maneuvered the pizza slice from within your subtle grip, sneaking a quick bite as he went, and placed it quietly upon the table. “Y/N.” He tried again. You turned to face him, hesitant in yourself. His expression was gentle, the comforting kind of soft, and the corner of his lips lightly fluttered to the ghost of a smirk. “What are you crying for?” He scoffed, the grin simply growing as he spoke. “Don’t cry, Love.” You had hardly noticed the slip of a few salty confessions, as a soft laugh fell from your lips, hands roughly ragging upon the moist complexion. Pathetic, you thought, you were so fucking pathetic. “Come ‘ere.” He said. Your eyebrows drew together, glance unsure and lightly confused. He was so calm, and seemingly unphased by your confession - you couldn’t quite understand it.

He rolled his eyes, the tilt of amusement to pepper his cheeks, and he grasped your upper arm, dragging you along the short distance of the sofa. You slumped into his side, another giggle trickling from your tear-tangled throat, his arm engulfing you in a tight embrace; one along your shoulder, and the other curled upon your waist. You rested your head on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat subtle and calming, and he shuffled about, gradually withholding a lying position, yourself flatly placed along his front. “I’m sorry.” You repeated, a light sigh to accompany the apology. You meant it, really, you did. It was never truly your intention to adapt to such feelings, to succumb to your attraction - he just made it so fucking difficult, with those beautifully brown orbs, and a smile filled with the brightest kinds of sunshine.

“Please don’t apologise.” He said. A short silence followed, and - perhaps it was simply an imaginational malfunction - you thought the rhythm of his heart rate differentiated, though only for a fleeting moment. “Did you mean it?” He whispered, tone soft; hesitant.

A gentle frown caressed the bow of your expression, and you tilted such to face him, his features crossed handsomely with a sense of slight worry. Of course you had meant it - why on earth would you lie for such a thing? “Yeah.” You said. His gaze flickered between your eyes, a whir of doubt embracing the warm stare, and his tender wrap upon your frame squeezed for a passing moment. The hint of a smile glazed his orbs, a certain light suddenly rupturing within their mocha tone, and the corners of his mouth twitched a feathered smirk.

“Oh, yeah?” He said.

Your eyes rolled, seemingly still slightly dampened by your emotional concern. “Yes, Johnny.” You said.

“Ah, right,” He muttered, grin widening to that of something toothy, and warm. “See, I thought I was going crazy.” He craned his neck to the slightest degree, gaze dropping momentarily to your parted lips, before springing back up, a twinkle of mischief to glaze his eyes. “I thought,” His tongue darted gently, dampening the flush of his lips, and you found yourself staring with a tingle of a blush - God. Your thighs began to ache, camped tightly together, at such a marvellous sight. “There’s no fucking way,” He continued, slowly, as his tone simmered to that of a tender whisper. “That the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known, could fall in love with me.”

Beautiful. Beautiful, he had said. Beautiful! He thought you were beautiful! Your heart stuttered, and a furrow found your eyebrows, consciously aware of the circular trail, lightly peppered upon your waist by his wandering fingers.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You said, a mere mumble beneath your gaze of adoration and concern. What was wrong with loving him?

A breathy laugh escaped his lips, the simmer of amusement and amorous repentance dancing within his stare. “Well, why me?” He said, “You could choose anyone.” He shrugged, “Kenny, from that corner store. Andrew - you know, Andy, the one that makes the cakes all the time?” You merely nodded, albeit speechless as to his rambling. “And what about Louis? The flower guy?” You raised an eyebrow, “You could take any of ‘em. You got a choice. So why pick me?” Why wouldn’t it be him? Why would it be anybody else? You couldn’t quite understand his doubts, as you adjusted your positioning, and leaned up ever-so-slightly, with great attempt to level your shared beam. Surely he wasn’t feeling insecure, he had no reason to, after all - none that you had given him, that is.

“Don’t start that.” You said, “I wouldn’t want anybody else.”

“Oh, yeah?” He asked, an eyebrow raised, “And why’s that, Love?” He was teasing you, you could ensure, though you felt little resistance to fall within such bait.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else, because,” He glanced feverishly to your mouth, and the words seemed to pause, caught briefly within your throat. His gaze returned to yours, his smirk filtrated with some kind of newfound arrogance, and, my, didn’t it look devilishly handsome on him.

“Because what, Deary?” He said, a sudden dark swirl to his tone. It was rich, nauseatingly good.

“Because I want you.” You said. “And I’ve always wanted you.”

Though your fear found itself wretched, stammering doubts of rejection within your conscience, you supposed there was just no going back from that. And you didn’t truly believe you wanted to.

A glimmer of something heartily mischievous eloped within his gaze, “In what way?” He humoured, a slow smile beginning to trace the very corners of his wondrously entrancing lips. You paused, a moment of silence, and wondered whether you could dare to be as graciously brave as your protruding thoughts were starting to grow.

Your tone fell to something quiet - low. “In any way you’ll let me.” You said. And, oh, it had you aching, the way those delectably beautiful eyes darkened, and a pepper of thickening quiet settled between the two of you.

Johnny’s mouth opened, the breach of something verbal threatening to fall from the gasp, though nothing came out, and he closed it, instead. His breathing stammered, you dared to notice, and you felt almost ill, bereft with the simplicity of your want, your need, for his emotional acceptance. “I see.” He said, somewhat breathless, and entirely succumbed with - what you depicted, perhaps foolishly, to be - love. You felt something rise, flutter, within the depth of your digestion - almost drabbled with such pride, that you could affect him in any which way. A grin engulfed his expression, once more, and elated the darkness, clouding his chestnut orbs in a magnificent kind of way, as one hand crawled up from upon your waist, and clasped the curve of your blushed cheek. His calloused thumb traced a thing of gentle affection, stroking the soft complexion in a timid manner, and that flock of butterflies found themselves satisfied with their numbingly strong fluttering, crawling upon your skin in a matter of nerves and anxiousness. “Well,” He spoke, glancing adoringly between your eyes. From one to the other, as though he couldn’t quite believe you to be smitten within his hold, reciprocating his feelings so endlessly. The warmth of his adorning breath fanned the supple part of your gaped lips, expectant; waiting. “Best go put on your shoes, then, aye?” He whispered.

And with that, he was gone. Hoisting you up, as he stumbled to his feet, and his expression elated a smile. He squeezed twice on your shoulders, humoured by such a frown, and he swooped down to collect his jacket from the floor. “Go on,” He said, “We’re off on a walk.”

“We are?” You echoed, a slight distance woven within your tone.

Johnny smiled, “We are, Love.” He said, and he barreled himself through the arms of his coat.

You paused, be it only a moment, as gentle tufts of hair drifted upon his forehead, and he brushed them back, a toothy grin etched upon his face. He stretched up, an arch to his back, and muttered a; “Go on! It’s raining, you’ll get your feet wet if you don’t.” With a hustle, and a small shove to your shoulders.��

Frowning, you found your feet drifting you to the corner of the room - he’d gone mad. It was decided. Though, perhaps, you thought; you were just as crazy as he. For why else would you slip on your shoes, and throw on a jacket, hanging up on the wall hooks? Without another thought of hesitation, you shoved it all on, and you regained your full height, a little breathless - unfortunately so - and met the uneven smirk that was utterly Johnny’s.

He clapped his hands together, a soft connection, and rubbed them slightly, bounding to the door before you both, and swinging open the darkened oak. Neither you, nor he, bothered to dismantle the blaring illuminant that was the television, as he awaited the passing breeze of yourself.

You wandered him by, mind a whir of incoherent thoughts, though one - one in particular - stood out, among the others. He hadn’t said it back.

The weight of his arm, curled around the crease of your shoulders, brought you away from such a thought, and you had hardly noticed the few tender steps you had traced. “You smell nice.” Johnny said, a slight smile to his tone, “Fruity.” You merely grinned something small, and rolled your eyes. Ever the strange one.

“You’re sure you haven’t had any of that wine before?” You jested, “On the way over, perhaps?”

He smiled, something soft, as his free hand fumbled within his depthful pocket, and his gaze found his shoes. “The cheap stuff gives me indigestion.” He smirked, “Didn’t want the heartburn.”

“Ah,” You breathed, “I suppose that does make sense.”

You approached the stairwell, poised to the end of the depressingly dim hallway, and watched as he bounced upon every step, no longer wedged beside you, but rather bounding upon the echoing chorus of the descending metal. His hair, naturally dried from a drizzle of cooling rain, flowed - up, and down - in a majestic kind of motion, as a subtle giggle fell from you, and your legs maneuvered a slight jog, to catch up with his waiting frame.

He stood, slick with a grin, at the door, his arm a barricade upon its weight, as you muttered a curt thanks, and you stumbled into the waft of approaching crisp. The winter chill embraced your figure - a sudden movement, as it trailed from your toes, to your hips, to your finger-tips, and your nose - and you draped your hands within the depthful pockets of your dark coat. You shuddered - Heavens, was it freezing - and you clenched your jaw, spat with a sprinkle of dainted moisture, as the clouds shed their supple solemness.

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” Johnny muttered, striding to that of a similar pace, as his hands, too, found the inner comfort of his pockets, and his arm brushed with yours. You warmed at the touch, though not by much, and you simply assumed it was all in your head, dismissive for the sudden heat. “The night.” He continued. “There’s just something about it.”

You turned, gaze fixated upon the gorgeous glow of his sculpted features, contorted with a content smile, orbs fluttered upon the scenery before you both, unmoving, and entirely comfortable. Happy, you dared to notice. And as were you. “I know what you mean.” You mumbled, a saddened grin to quiver upon the corners of your lips, though you simply couldn’t force it’s obtain, as it fell, and your eyes found the floor. He hadn’t said it back.

“It’s like-” He paused, tongue winding upon his lips, and his eyebrows furrowed momentarily. “It’s like the whole world is asleep.” He smiled. “It’s not, but it feels less… Alive.”

You breathed a gentle laugh. “Like it’s only you.” You mumbled, “Without the pressure, and the judgement.” There was a subtle nod, as he brushed the fallen hair from within his vision.

“I know how to be myself, when the moon’s my only company, y’know?” He admitted, nibbling the tender flesh of his lower lip, as his gaze darted, between the street, to the tree, to the housing scattered around. “Like whatever happens, under the stars, it-” He paused, he let out a breathy chuckle, and continued: “It won’t matter in the morning.” You simply nodded, as he opened his mouth, a stuttered mumble falling from his tongue, and your silence remained, for you knew he was not quite finished. “I just- I-” He paused, another shaky exhale, and your eyebrows furrowed. He scratched the lower-crown of his hair, ruffling it, slightly, with a nervous chuckle. “I don’t want-” He frowned, gulping, and continued: “I don’t want tonight to be one of those nights.”

Your furrow seemed to deepen, the words falling before you found yourself able to grapple them. “What do you mean?” You mumbled, a gentle cloud upon the frozen nightlife.

“Look, I think-” He sighed, pausing mid-step, and standing, amidst the weighted rain, as it grew heavier, and you simply grew wetter. You paused, expression contorted with a slight confusion, dribbled with copious droplets that you didn’t bother to brush away. “I think I could dote on the darkness, forever and a day.” He said, and you frowned. You wondered just quite where he was going with such, though failed to interrupt his continuance, as he spoke, soft, among the patterning rainfall, draping upon the concrete with a rhythmic dance. “But it’s not-” He caught himself, one more, as another nervous laugh trickled from his dampened lips. Verbal gold, it surely was. “None of it - it’s not- it’s not as, uh, captivating, as you.”

Your chest fell woozy with a supple ache, furrow one of grave compassion, and he glanced, hesitantly, with a curt removal, to your expression. You smiled, a glaze of sorrow melting from upon those amorous features. Captivating. He thought you were captivating. “And I think you- uhm-” He coughed, a slight smile to catch the corner of his lips. “I think you taught me to love, again.” He mumbled, head-up tilted, as his warm, genuine, gaze, infiltrated your own.

“Oh?” You grinned, truthfully unable to rupture the flutter of great tingles, encasing your shivering complexion - a certain warmth cursing throughout your frozen blood.

He laughed, a glance of something shy to his shoes, and he nodded. “Yeah.” He mumbled, returning to meet your joyous expression. “And I think I’d like to dote on you, instead.”

“In what way?” You muttered, mocking for his previously sly commentary, a gratuitous - particularly brazen - step closer, to the grinning man, as his hands, slightly coaxed by a pink chill, from the breeze of winter's embrace, draped upon the clothed fabric of your hips.

He drew a step closer, your shoes toe to toe, and he spoke - dangerously low; nauseatingly rich. “In any way you’ll let me.” He smirked. And, well, that seemed quite enough for you.

There was a certain warmth about it - the capture of your supple lips upon the soft flesh of his own, molded wondrously to a hymn the Angels could never know. Eyes fluttered to a gentle close, engulfed with a sprinkle of vanishing warmth; the rain no longer seemed to matter. For you were clothed, slick like a second skin, in the thick moisture of everlasting water - wet, to the very bone - but no longer did you shiver, no longer did you tremble, with the ache of a chilling night. The pressure was timid, and the exploration a motion utterly anew - yet so beautifully divine, so entirely right.

Your fingers - pink, and bitterly numb, in themselves - wove to clutch upon the lapels of his cotton jacket, a clutch of passion, and of longing, to emancipate the wondrous flutter in the depth of your gut. It twisted, it turned, it ached, it shrieked - you felt ill. Ill with the fever of amorous recipricance and a lover so sickly sweet, you felt you’d awake with cavities, in the later morn. You liked that thought, as your head tilted, be it only slight, to the side, and he followed your subtle retreat. Like honey, did he taste; like gold, did he display. And, oh, if this was love - if this, two lovers combined amongst the ache of winter’s cue - you decided that it was, undoubtedly, real. It was real, not a mere description of romanticised fiction. No. No; it was the golden sunlight, woven between your very hands; it was the melody of the birds, so suppley sweet; the dew upon the whispered grass, a lick of crisped morning; the enticing ferociousness of the oceanic waves, an azure of alluring power; the liquid gold, to drip from a Poet’s pen, woven beneath the tongue of their romantic thoughts - Oh, it were all that, and more. So much more.

And, as his feeble smile fluctuated upon his bowed lips, and his fragile hold - something so gentle, upon the flush of your frozen cheek, you hardly noticed the grace of movement, thumb brushed beneath your fluttered eyes - draped across your features, you found yourself discovering all that it ever could be.

His tongue, though warm, and tender, slithered something slow upon the breach of your lower lip, and your cheeks furrowed a blossoming grin. Parting your lips, subtly, you allowed the delicate invasion of a gratifying, sweet, pressure, as the flesh ran along the side of your tongue, and you encased it within a frail suck, withdrawing from such an entanglement for hardly a moment. You inhaled a particularly deep breath, unfinished and wondrously interrupted, as his lips found yours once more, a collision of teeth, and of grinning hearts, and he craned upon your stature, a barricade to crawl along the base of your lower back. The soft slosh of clapped fabric wove amongst the rainfall, and a breathy chuckle harmonized from upon your lips, himself ridden with a gorgeous grin; chest-to-chest, with a kind of warmth you had never before known cursing throughout the very complexion that was your own, as your bodies collided, and his strength held you close.

You inhaled the scent, familiar, though certainly different, and it tingled the depth of your nostrils - like woodland, and a subtle cologne. It seemed raw, so ravenously close, and your lips twitched upward at the thought. Oh, how you loved him. It ached your smitten chest, as he moulded his lips upon your own, and your movement harmonized something bitterly perfect, and it combusted among your soul. It tore the very sense you once held, from within your capacity, and it brushed such necessity beneath the carpet; for what was sense to a girl in love?

Nothing. All that made sense was him - was he - and you yearned to know it all; every crevice, every dent, for the rest of your days. Forever seemed a long time, though life so awfully short. To spend forever, a faux illusion of endless measures, by his side - it spread a warmth, such burning heat, throughout your tender frame, and you ached to know the script of every moment spent together, all until every moment were merely a memory, with nothing left to come.

His feathered affection fell to a tender null, a lingering pause to disperse upon the gape of your swollen mouth, and he draped a peppered peck upon the very corner, withdrawing from such an intertwined proximity. You fluttered your gaze to meet his own - a stare of saturated honey; of every nightfall; of every poetic tale - and he smiled. A smile, so incredibly warm, you found yourself unable to withhold the reciprocance, as a timid blush crawled upon the complexion of your grinning features, and your eyes retained their strengthful embrace.

For the bitter breeze had returned, and your lips were falling cold, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered - not the howl of brash wind, curling within your locks, and whipping the hood of your coat; the ache of layered rain, as it pattered, continually, upon the distilled world around; the treacherous ache of all things nauseatingly woozy, engulfing your frame in an intensely warm ambiguity - unfamiliar, though entirely welcome. None of it mattered - not as you drowned within the softness of his adoring gaze.

Adoring, you thought; oh, did he adore you? “I love you.” He mumbled, a quiet crackle upon the pattern of rain, though you caught it - oh, did you catch it, clutched within the fragile hold of your softened heart, ached with the pressure of convicting ribs, it cried for freedom, for home; for Johnny. A smile, so genuine, so utterly enticed; joyous, draped upon your lips, and the corners of your glimmering eyes fell to a crease. He loved you. He breathed a gentle chuckle, soggy arms curled upon that of your shoulders, as he drew you close - so unimaginably close - and he clutched your warmth upon his own. “God,” He breathed, his cheek slumped upon the crown of your head, down-tilted, and soaked with the cold of splattered rain. “I love you.”

Arms draped across his middle, clutched upon his lower back - you ached from the cold, though you minded it not - as you smiled, and you breathed the only response you felt acceptable. “I know.” You said.

“And I’ll give you the sun.” He continued, a mere rumble upon the quiet noise. “Indulge me, and I’ll give you the sun, ray, by fucking ray.”

Oh, how you ached for such sonerous truth - for you knew he would never lie to you.

#johnny depp #johnny depp x reader #jd x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #young johnny depp #johnny depp fanfiction #aw #they do be cute

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like-rain-or-confetti · 3 years

Text

Blackout (Edward Nygma x Reader)

WARNING: Mental Illness themes and mentions are strong throughout. Death!

"(Y/N)?" A nurse with a shrill voice said making you flinch and turn to face her. She was smiling, one that was rather malicious. That made you nervous as to what was her next words would be. "Doctor Strange wants to see you. I believe he has a new treatment for you." Your blood ran cold before draining from your face.

Just about every patient at Arkham has figured out that those who catch Dr Strange's attention either never returned or were never the same. You felt pairs of eyes on you, some over hearing, just by the very mention of his name got everyone's attention. It was like being in a slaughter house and you had no doubt that such an environment wasn't helping your mental state.

"No..." You said quietly, curling into yourself slightly as though it would change her mind. "Come now, (Y/N), you've been so good this past week. Don't you want to get better?" The nurse moved a hand to your shoulders, her grip tight but not painful. "It won't be long. By the time you're done, it'll be time for dinner. That's very soon." You still didn't budge. The nurse's demeanor changed ever so slightly, a bit of aggravation tugging at her. "(Y/N), do you really want to undo all of the hard work you've done and lose day time privileges? You'll risk solitary confinement and things will be a lot more difficult for you. This treatment is happening whether you like it or not!" You knew you couldn't push any further and so slowly you stood up and the nurses attitude changed to the once again pleasant nurse who gently guided you. Before she could nudge you out the door, you halted turning back to look at the other inmates within the cafeteria. "They're not going anywhere." The nurse assured you with another soft tug. You complied.

"What's with that one again?" Edward raised an eyebrow watching just like everyone else had as you left the room. "Well they don’t know, they have many theories but there's always something else that’s unexplained." Jonathan said smoothly. "Something else?" Edward raised an eyebrow. "They are aware of everyone's surroundings, better than ordinary." Jonathan explained. "What?" Two-Face furrowed his brow and Jonathan sighed. "Think of Arkham as a doll house and every person is a doll, (Y/N) knows what everyone is doing, what's happening even when they aren't there, a spectator to real life." "How can someone know what's happening when they aren't there?" Harvey pressed. "Well...security cameras if they had access but that's the point, how can someone know what's happening if they aren't there?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Oh I get it!" Harley suddenly spoke up. "They don't! They imagine it!" Jonathan gestured to Harley sending a pointed look to Two-Face. "So they daydream? That's it?" Two-Face said gruffly. "No, Harv! They stare at everyone, watching us all day long so they predict what we would do and where we'd go!" Harley continued. Two-face shook his head. "They say I'm crazy." "Crazy... or smart, smarter than many of the crazies in here." Jonathan responded. "I personally would say they're in a better position than most of these meat heads." Edward said. "Wow, complimenting someone other than yourself Edward? Looks like your treatment is working." Jonathan smirked. Edward scoffed. "Hardly! It's not difficult to outsmart these dimwitted goons. It's not even a challenge! If anything they've barely proven that they've got more than one braincell!" Jonathan sighed in response but Edward continued. "Besides, I would know, I'm the smartest man in Gotham! If not the whole world." "Oh clam it, bozo!" Harley rolled her eyes. "Now, now Harley...the clown many be in solitary but keep your cool." Jonathan said smoothly. "So I can sit here I listen to the cucumber spout Riddles and call me a dumb broad!?" "No one is calling you such things Harley." Jonathan responded all the whilst Edward gawked. "Cucumber!? Seriously!?" "Hey! Check the facts yourself, you wear green, your green with jealousy half the time when Batman is around and you’re made of mostly water! Now who's the dumb broad!?" "Harley, again, no one is calling you that. No one doubts your intelligence, we only doubt how willing you are to use it." Jonathan finished. Harley huffed.

You hurriedly looked around the room to find nothing out of place, the walls dirty and barely resembling the white painted walls. They hadn't been cleaned in at least a decade, grime filling every corner as well the random stains that likely had a grotesque story behind each one. No doubt the asylum blamed all of this on a lack of funding rather than admitting to Gotham city that the asylum isn't fit for purpose and hasn't been for years.

Dr Strange sat at a steel table in the middle of the room that was big enough for two people to work at either side. A bulb hung down from the ceiling which no doubt would explode any given moment just to add to the worn down Arkham aesthetic. "Ah, finally we meet at last." Strange's voice gave you the chills. You didn't look in his eyes, keeping them on your now seated lap. "Your name is (Y/N) (L/N), yes?" You nodded. "I'm told you have been very well behaved over the week. You've been working on social boundaries of sorts, yes?" "Do you mean not spying on people?" You asked. "Is that what you'd call it?" "No. It's what the nurses call it." You retorted. "I understand you were in some trouble when you broke in-" Dr Strange began but didn’t get to finish. "I didn't break in." You interrupted. "The door was open and I didn't break anything." "Yes, you left everything untouched, but nevertheless, you know you can't be in the security room. What were you looking for?" Dr Strange asked. "You know that." You retorted. "I need to hear it from you." Strange pressed. " I wanted to see the security cameras." "Why?" "So I could see what people were doing." You said flatly. "Do you know why you care so much?" Slowly, you shook your head. "That's your job though, right? Your job is to help me figure that out and move on?" You replied. He seemed to think about this statement momentarily. "Indeed. For now though, we are working towards really understanding your mind to get an idea of a diagnosis. I see in your file that there is mentions of multiple possible disorders?" You shrugged slightly. "Although this wasn't confirmed due to your...obsession." Dr Strange finished. "Is that what they call it?" You asked lightly. "No." Doctor Strange said flatly. "That's what I call it." Finally you lifted your gaze to meet his eyes. "Dr Arkham missed the 'g' in 'diagnosis'." Strange looked at the file in his hand to realise there was that typo but wasn't certain how you could have seen it at such an angle. "Now, let's see about these blackouts." He began.

Dinner had come and gone and you hadn't returned, not that it surprised anyone at all. The expectation was that if you did return, you were lucky. Even if you had completely lost your mind.

At ten thirty, the lights were always out, other than the very dim ceiling lights that were solely for staff to maneuver in and out of the corridors without disturbing the patients. Despite lights going out at ten every week night (and at ten thirty on weekends), patients didn't actually go to sleep at that time. The staff didn't seem to care, as long as they were in their cells. That made the routine rather redundant in terms of creating a daily routine for the patients. So ten thirty rolled around and a nurse was pushing a patient on a wheelchair, seemingly back to their cell.

Harley wanted to have a look and recognised the patient. It was you, slumped over yourself and unmoving. Harley kept quiet, watching intently as you were wheeled past her cell. You were a lucky one. You had made it back here in the end.

You woke up the next morning with a very bad headache. It reminded you of your blackouts but judging by your 'treatment' that was likely the cause. Your limbs felt heavy, your brain working on empty. There was many times that you stumbled over yourself on the way to the cafeteria. The same nurse from yesterday was in charge and awaiting your arrival as she moved her attention from Harvey Dent to you. She immediately tugged you to sit next to Jervis Tetch. Across from you sat Jonathan Crane and Harvey Dent. You jumped slightly when Harleen Quinzell no so gracefully sat beside you. However the nurse kept your attention in her with a wide almost menacing grin. "Good morning, (Y/N)!" She said brightly. "How are you feeling today?" She was too happy and by far too loud. Her voice grated against your ears, making you wince though the pain if your pounding headache. "My brain has exploded and my heart is racing like a train." You grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut. "Oh is that so? Well, I'll get you some painkillers for that head whilst you have breakfast. How does that sound?" You grumbled with a nod, anything to get her to stop talking.

As she walked away, you rubbed your aching temples, eager for some kind of relief. "Oatmeal and toast, it seems to be today...as usual." Harvey grumbled. "My puddin' still ain't here!" Harley scowled, making you wince slightly. "Hey, do that one a favour and don't make such a fuss." Harvey gestured to you, sending Harley a look. "Give it a rest for today won't you?" Harley rolled her eyes. "Fine!" She turned to look at you with a sweet smile. "Sorry, dollface!" You nodded. "Don't worry about it, Harley." You groaned, putting your head on the cold table. "That bad, hm?" Two-Face asked. "I don't even remember what happened." You grumbled against the table. "My hands hurt. My head hurts...everything hurts." The nurse caught Jonathan's eye, she was briskly approaching that sadistic grin still on her face. "Well, your saviour and your hell is approaching. Someone actually did get you something after all." Jonathan nudged your side. You groaned. "Maybe it's rat poison." "It's pills by the look of it." "Arsenic then." "Here you are, (Y/N) dear. For all of your cooperation last night and as well as your behaviour." You picked up the glass of water in front of you as she handed you two pills. You cast a quick glance at Jonathan who was also looking back at you. "C'mon arsenic." You mumbled, popping them in your mouth. Jonathan smirked. He understood, you weren't the only one who thought Arkham Asylum was worse than death and hell combined. The nurse grabbed your jaw, opening your mouth and making sure the pills were gone before she left you alone. "Why wouldn't I take the painkillers if I'm in agony?" You asked dumbfounded. Jonathan shrugged. "Probably checking you still have that initiative." Two-Face smirked.

As trays of oatmeal were given out, you couldn't help but notice that whilst you had been sat with this particular group, one of them were missing. "Where's Edward?" You asked. "He's usually one of the firsts to get here." "He was put in solitary confinement." Jonathan said, making a look of disgust at the greyish, blob on his plate. "Solitary confinement? Why?" You asked. Two-Face shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe riddled one of the docs to death." He snickered. "He was taken for his own treatment, going crazy!" Harley grinned at the fond memory. "After some time, you were brought back to your cell and minutes later he was covered in blood and being almost dragged to Solitary Confinement." Harley explained.

You couldn't help but notice that during this time, Jervis hadn't looked up from his lap, not even so much as glanced at his food. Although you had been around long enough to know that Jervis had some days like this. Perhaps running around in wonderland in his mind. You turned back to Harley. "Blood?" "Yeah, news has it that two guards were killed a few rooms down. I say good on him. No idea he had it in him! " Two-face responded. "Damn...and I missed it." You said eyes wide. "You were out like a light when I saw ya!" Harley giggled. "You could have been that bozo's puppet and never had a clue!" "Who's?" You frowned. "The-The puppet guy! Y'know, talks through that puppet. Scar-face? Damn what's his name!?" "Arnold Wesker." Jonathan replied. "Yeah, him!" Harley said excitedly. You turned to the other side of the room.

You'd seen Arnold Wesker a couple of times but never actually spoken to him. Across from him was someone you were had spoken to many times. Peter Merkel Jr. Also known as Rag Doll. He was mostly known for being triple jointed, a contortionist. Well...rumour had it that being triple jointed ran in his family. A trait he didn't inherit and in the end, he supposedly had many life-threatening surgeries to allow his joints to move in inhuman ways. He could actually be a decent funny guy...once you got past his creepy communication skills. You turned back to the group around you.

"Group therapy today, shit I forgot." Two-Face said suddenly. "How could you ever forget such a momentous occasion?" Jonathan said sarcastically. "It's you, me and (Y/N) in this one. If Edward is there, who knows. Don't know about who the others will be though."

As each patient was situated in a seat within the circle of chairs, a guard approached you. "Hands out." He commanded gruffly as he took out hand cuffs. "Are you kidding me? For what?" You nodded to the cuffs as Dr Vern approached. He was one of the more patient and less brutal doctors who seemed to actually somewhat want to help patients, rather than torture them. Since observing that many times, you learned to somewhat trust him. Especially since he had treated you a couple of times and actually considered you a person. "It's just a precaution due to your therapy last night, (Y/N). I can assure you, it's nothing to worry about, they'll be off as soon as the session is over." He put a hand on your shoulder and you looked uncertain before showing your hands and wrists. You noticed Edward was getting the same treatment, looks like he made it out of isolation after all, even if it's only for a brief time. Although he was cuffed because he was in isolation and therefore deemed just as unpredictable.

Dr Vern sat on the opposite side of you and at the top of the circle. "Alright..." He hummed to himself as other inmates began to settle, whilst he looked at his clipboard. "...we have Arnold Wesker, Peter Merkel Jr, Edward Nygma, Harvey Dent, (Y/N) (L/N), Jonathan Crane, Victor Zsasz ...Jane Doe and last but not least, Roman Sionis." He looked over everyone with a small smile. "How is everyone today?" "Is that a legitimate question?" Edward huffed. "Of course, it is. It's the whole point of these sessions." Dr Vern responded. "Honesty is encouraged, there is no wrong answers." "Well then, I've felt like crap all day and to top it off, I'm now handcuffed." You grumbled. "I know, (Y/N). As I said, it's only a precaution whilst we wait to see if your treatment worked. Please don't take this as a punishment, you've been doing so well as of lately." Dr Vern turned to his right. "Roman, how are we doing today?" "Everyone is wearing their masks today." Roman responded quietly, as though distracted, not entirely present in the room. "You've been keeping to yourself, more frequently lately. Are you feeling okay?" Dr Vern pressed. "Yes, doc. In truth there is nothing new with me. Although that shouldn't be a surprise when it's clear that I am not insane." "Yes, so you've said but unfortunately your results say otherwise. Psychosis, remember?" Dr Vern responded. Roman grumbled. "Whatever." "Forgive me, Doctor but I can't help but notice Jane is here." Edward narrowed his gaze on the masked woman across from him. "We all know she doesn't respond as herself and hasn't said a word since she's got here. So pray tell, why exactly is she in a group therapy session where the whole point is to talk?" Jane continued to look down at her lap as though she hadn't heard anything. Her mask covered her entire head. She had two, that were known, this one was Arkham's 'finest'- hardly of her collection. Accommodations were made for her after discovering she tended to become violent and otherwise catatonic without a mask. So whilst she was usually in a straight jacket, they kept the mask on, she was more cooperative with it. Arkham figures it would be a process that eventually shed no longer need the mask. You begged to differ. You were willing to bet that it's simply Arkham giving her exactly what she wants. She was good like that, you admired it. "Jane is more than welcome to these sessions, Edward." Dr Vern responded, almost scolding in his tone. "She is more than welcome to break her silence at any time and if being here encourages her then she'll have overcome a great milestone. Leave her be." Edward rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. Dr Vern looked towards Peter Merkel Jr, who wore a ghost of a smile on his face, all the while, his eyes wide. "Hello Peter, I haven't seen you in a while. How are you doing today?" Peters head flopped to Dr Verbs direction. "Hello, Dr Vern. I am doing just fine." His tone dripped in sarcasm. "I assume you are still in a lot of pain. Have you received those ointments today?" Peter hummed, rolling his shoulders further back than should be humanly possible. Then again, Merkel went through a lot of surgeries to make sure of that. "Yes, but only recently." "Ah, I see. Well, I'm certain you'll begin to feel better soon. What have you been doing since I last saw you?" Dr Vern asked. Peter hummed again. "Nothing. Staying in my cell. If not there-" Peters head snapped to look at you with his wide eyed smile. "- I've spent most of my time with (Y/N)." "I see. Are you two friends?" Dr Vern asked looking between you both. You shrugged. Peter responded. "Sure. Something like that. They are very intriguing." Dr Vern nodded as he scribbled on the clipboard, immediately you tried to see what he was writing, the cuffs making a clang.

It was like an impulse, you had to know what he had written. Whilst you were excellent at keeping secrets, things went south if you were kept in the dark about anything, even the tiniest of details. Peter's grin widened in amusement and Dr Vern looked up at you. "It's alright, (Y/N). I'm just noting down what Peter has said. It's good progress for the both of you. If you two don't mind, might I ask Peter a question about this new friendship?" Your eyes narrowed but sat back on your chair whilst Peter agreed. "Peter, I hope you're encouraging (Y/N) to continue this good behaviour and not reduce it." Peter cackled. "That is your job, Doctor! I neither encourage one or the other. They appreciate my talents and I appreciate theirs." Doctor Vern didn't seem to like that answer much but continued. "(Y/N), why don't we move on to you? We have a lot to talk about." Dr Vern leaned forward in his chair. "You say you weren't feeling well this morning?" "Yes." You responded simply, shifting your wrists in the cuffs. "Describe it to me." Your face contorted as though remembering something suddenly. "What time is it?" Dr Vern caught on immediately. "I'll tell you after today's session, (Y/N). That's not important right now." "Yes, it is. I need to know." You insisted with slight panic. "No, you don't." Doctor Vern responded. "There's no need to be anxious, (Y/N). It's not necessary." "It is to me. You-you know that." You said shakily, fidgeting. "I'll strike you a deal, hold off for as long as you can, I guarantee by the end of the session you will know the time." Dr Vern responded. The distress was sudden upon your face, as you shifted against your cuffs. "Looks like the doc is gonna make them cry." Two-Face smirked. Dr Vern ignored him as your knees bounced with anxiety, looking almost uncontrollable. "(Y/N), focus of me." Dr Vern said soothingly. "I know why you want to know. The treatment has had you a little foggy and you've remembered about others outside of this room. You're trying to pin point where they are what they could possibly be doing. That's why you want to know the time. I promise you, you're stronger than the urge to know. You've not known all morning and everything is fine. Push through this urge." "Oh, now I get it." Jonathan thought aloud. "Put some volts in them and who knows what else you did to them last night and then torture them now. Very helpful indeed, doctor." "Jonathan, that's enough." Dr Vern looked at Jonathan. "You're agitating them." "Of course, they're agitated!" Edward said loudly with a roll of his eyes. "You'd think you'd take it easy on them after all that but no let's push them and wonder why they lash out! Morons!" "Both of you. Enough." Dr Vern said sternly. "You're encouraging them whilst I am trying to reason with them."

Suddenly, your shaking stopped. You leaned back into your chair once more, oddly stoic. The shift was most definitely noticed by everyone in the room. "What's going on!?" Scar-Face snapped. "This'll be good." Two-Face smirked whilst Peter giggled with glee, eyes wide and unblinking. "It's between eleven and twelve. We haven't had lunch yet. Group therapy always happens at that time." You said quickly, answering your previous question. Dr Vern blinked with unease. "Alright, good. You've got your answer, now lets-" Suddenly, you spoke again, staring at nothing whilst your words came out rapidly."If it's eleven fifteen- the nurses will be going for their coffee break. Nurse Jill will be sneaking away with William Dean, the guard for the other ward probably for a quickie in the closet. If it's eleven thirty, Nurse Gillian will be preparing the next round of meds and wondering just where the hell Nurse Jill went." "Stop it." Dr Vern said quickly. Jonathan and Edward couldn't help but smirk at you but you didn't seem to notice anyone, lost in your own head. “If it's eleven forty-five, Nurse Jill will be hurrying back to her post before Doctor Strange leaves his office to head for the staff room for his own coffee. No milk, no sugar. Then he'll take a detour for the cameras, have a look at what we're all doing whilst Dr Vern rounds up today's group session, before Edward and I get the cuffs removed, we'll all be led to the cafeteria. Then Dr Vern will call his wife, and not get an answer, especially when his erratic patient reveals that his precious Sandra has been sleeping with the neighbour, fourteen blocks away. No doubt he'll rush home because he can't ignore what his patient said-" "(Y/N), enough!" Dr Vern snapped in anger whilst you finished your sentence "-even though he'll lose his temper at his patient." You finished in unison with Dr Vern's outburst.

After a moment of silence, Dr Vern finally spoke. "You know where I live?" You smiled simply. "Of course. The security room isn't the only place I can get into. Dr Arkham's files are more than interesting to read. Although I'm certain he has just as many mental issues as the rest of us." "You've been sneaking in there too? Where the Asylum's files are kept?" Dr Vern asked. "Would you like to know the combinations for the locks?" You asked lightly. "You're asking for isolation, (Y/N)." He earned in response. "Am I? It says on your clipboard that I only get isolation if I black out." You shrugged. "I am perfectly conscious. Whilst I'm at it, that is not how you spell my last name." You said flatly. "See? Fun." Peter grinned at Victor Zsasz. "Now how about you don't put a recommendation in for another one of those nasty therapy you wrote down next to my name. My head is foggy as it is and I don't want to be a vegetable." You wagered. "So you can see what I've written?" Dr Vern stared you down. You smiled. "First, you can spell my name right, then you can score out that recommendation and then you can stop pressing me about every little thing I do or else I will do a lot more than prove how much I know. I'll also prove how I can use all of that really screw up your life." Dr Vern's eyes narrowed on you. "What is that supposed to mean?" "It means, your life wouldn't be the first persons I've ruined. My family tries to keep that quiet, pay off anyone who will speak out but not even they weren't safe in the end." Dr Vern was quiet for a moment. "You were doing so well, (Y/N). We had really really hoped you wouldn't ruin all this good behaviour. So is this what you were doing last night? Spying with the security camera's again when you were supposed to be in bed?" Your face changed to confusion. "What?" "You were found out of bed with Mr Nygma last night. Have you been pretending all this time?" "I wasn't out of bed." You glared. "Ignore him, (Y/N)." Edward spoke up. "What do you mean I was out of bed!?" You glowered. "(Y/N), leave it." Jonathan said quieter. "No!" You said sharply. "You've already asked me about the incident and I told you what happened!" Edward glared at Dr Vern, ignoring your protest. "What happened!?" You snapped. "You and Nygma were found covered in blood last night." Dr Vern responded looking between the two of you, his pleasant demeanor long gone. "Two staff members were killed in that very room you were found in." "They deserved it!" Edward snapped. "They were hurting them!" "You expect anyone to believe that you defended (Y/N) and effectively killed those two people when you've shown almost no interest in (Y/N) before?" Dr Vern asked lightly. To his surprise, Jonathan responded. "I do. Your staff members are deplorable. I speak through experience on both ends. I think (Y/N) to be very lucky Edward was there." "Too right!" Harvey agreed. "The shit that goes down in this place is downright evil and that's coming from us!" Edward's jaw clenched. "Besides, (Y/N) was in an absolute state after that so-called ‘therapy’. They were wandering around and those two guards were going to take advantage of that. I would know since they were supposed to take me to my 'treatment' and suddenly (Y/N) wanders by and the things those men were saying... disgusting! I intervened the moment I saw that (Y/N) was beyond confused and dazed and instead growing distressed!" "Forgive me, doctor." Roman spoke up. "Isn't it Arkham's finest of staff's job to ensure the safety of all patients?" "Of course, it simply adds to the poor reputation of this place that they simply do not. So much so that other patients have to step in." Jonathan responded with a smirk. Your gaze was locked into Edward as you struggled to believe the story.

He was narcissistic at the very least and didn't spent much time on you. Edward Nygma just didn't strike you as the saving type and you would have known if that was the case.

You were waiting for Edward at this point to come out of isolation. You had asked almost every one Edward spoke to in the asylum. No one seemed to know anything and even confirmed your suspicions, Edward wouldn't just jump in to save an inmate but for whatever reason Edward had to lie, they'd support it.

When Edward got out of isolation it was like a tease, you barely saw him, Arkham staff doing it's best to keep you apart. However whilst this was irritating, it got to a whole new level when Edward’s associates seemed to know exactly what had happened and weren't willing to share. Just the thought made you tremble, that Edward and his friends knew what really happened that night...and you didn't have a clue.

You usually had taken satisfaction when Dr Vern handed in his resignation, he had to now that he knew how much you knew about his life. However, you noticed how disheveled he was and it dawned on you he must have confronted his wife. Dr Vern couldn't ignore such accusations, you knew that. It would have chewed away at him but you didn't get to enjoy the satisfaction. Not even when he glanced at you with unease when quitting. You couldn't enjoy it because your own thoughts were chewing away at you. You needed to know what happened that night and the longer you didn't get answers, the more drastic measures you'd take.

By Saturday morning, you couldn't take it anymore. Perhaps it was a lack of sleep, or indigestion...or it was the question that had been tearing you apart for days. You knew you'd have to force Edward to talk. He was incredibly intelligent, he didn't slip up or give things away like the others did and in that moment, it simply drove you mad.

When Edward locked eyes with you, his stomach dropped. To put it simply, you didn't look well. Clearly you hadn't been sleeping, there were dark circles under your eyes and you slightly curled into yourself, as though barely having the strength to hold your body up. Edward also couldn't help but wonder if you had been eating. From what he had seen you were in a foul mood, nearly getting yourself isolation multiple times. Each time Edward, Jonathan and Two-Face got you out of it.

"Alright (Y/N), you can calm down now. Jervis picked up your book by mistake." Edward had said once, sliding the book towards you before you could get into serious trouble with the nurses. It seemed to distract the nurse more than it did you and his action, yet again caught you off guard.

The second time he set off Harley, distracting the nurses, all because he insulted the joker who had still not gotten out of isolation.

Your piercing stare could have surely killed him if he hadn't been across the room. He knew immediately that you were hitting your breaking point and so when you stormed off, he followed.

You led him to an empty lab. A lab with no camera. That left Edward on edge but held onto the fact that you were still very much coherent. The empty glazed over look in your eyes like that night was far away. "Do you know that I killed two people in a blackout once?" You asked, your back still towards him. "Yes." Edward responded.

Many Arkham patients had murdered. So much so that two was virtually nothing in comparison to the number that many inmates had, Edward included. "Do you remember when I first got here?" You asked. "Yes. You weren't responsive for four days. The one that got you to break your silence was Dr Vern." You were impressed although not so surprised that Edward knew so much. Of course he knew. "I couldn't believe what I had done. When they told me my father and stepmother were..." You looked over your shoulder. "They put me in here, undiagnosed as well as not knowing a motive as to why I'd ever murder my father and the one woman who had been the closest thing to a mother I had ever had." You blinked back a memory. "I don't know why they painted such a picture that those two were so wonderful. They weren't." "Reporters and the justice system love their innocents." Edward replied in disdain. "My parents weren't innocent. If the GCPD looked a little further. They'd have known the motive." You finally turned to face him. "Why?" Edward asked. "Because they deserved each other." You responded icily. "They were committing fraud, wanting the extra money and expected me to play along regardless of how nice they were to me. They began to put their problems on me, expecting me to fix them. They never thought about what that could to do their kid." You swallowed. "Every mistake they made, I was blamed. To the GCPD I was a difficult child, it wasn't that my step-mother was trying to steal multiple bottles of alcohol and convinced me to carry them in my bag. Every single time, my parents chose each other, every time it was at my expense and I never got even as much of an apology. That's what I was there for. To hide their mistakes, I was to play the problem. So I accepted that. I accepted this is what they wanted, what they deserved. It hadn't been the first black out I had but it was the most brutal. Their bodies were side by side." Your gaze met Edwards eyes. "I couldn't forgive myself when I found out what I had done. I didn't speak a word after that, not until that day after some time here. Dr Vern was the first, as you said. Look where that got him." You couldn't help but smirk. "I actually liked the guy but, I knew where his loyalties lie." Your smirk vanished, your brow creasing. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I don't know what happened that night Edward but you do and you lied to Vern, you lied to Strange and you're lying to me. You're getting your friends to do it too." "(Y/N)-" You cut Edward off. "No!" You said sharply. "I want the truth. I need it. You're going to give me the truth."

Edward stayed silent. "Damn it, Edward!" You snapped, digging into a drawer behind you before pulling out a very large syringe. "Don't do this." Edward said lowly. His hands raising slightly to calm you. "You know something I don't!" You snapped. He thought this over. "I know many things you don't." "You know what I mean!" You yelled. "You didn't care before. Why now? What changed? Are you using me?" "No...no, I'm not." Edward said. "Then what is it!?" You cried. "Put that down and I'll tell you." Ed nodded to the syringe in your hand. You looked at the syringe before back at him as he hesitantly took a step closer. "Give me the syringe and I'll tell you." "You won't lie?" Edward shook his head. "I have no reason to."

After a couple of seconds you dropped the syringe and it clattered to the floor. Edward immediately lunged, taking your hands and pulling you into his arms. You gasped, panic setting in. The Riddler was one of the most dangerous people in Gotham and he could kill you in a heartbeat. Although it took you a moment to realise that he was simply holding you to him, almost like an embrace. A quiet voice, almost a whimper escaped him. "They were hurting me." He began and you heard a slight quiver in his voice. "They were hurting me and you helped me. I know you don't remember that night but I do."

Edwards plans for the night didn't include electric shock therapy. Regardless if it was Arkham's so he kicked and screamed creating a fuss along the way. The more he struggled, the more assistance was needed. He had even caused a few other patients to cry out from their cells, a minor but pestering bother for Arkham staff.

By the time they reached the room with the chair, the guards had enough and immediately surrounded him for a beat down. Edward curled into a ball, covering his head and ribs as much as he could as doctors and nurses hurried away from the room. Typical.

Suddenly there was a yelp that didn’t come from Edward, everyone seemed to freeze, Edward looking up to see what had happened. One of the guards were stunned, frozen in shock, staring at the other guard who looked horrified. In his neck was a syringe of what was previously a sedative for Edward. The thumb pressed down, plunge the contents into his neck. A laboured breath escaped the guard before he fell to the ground before Edward, who was slightly alarmed and wondering just how strong that sedative was, if it even was that. The hand had been yours, eyes glazed over and very still.

Without warning, as soon as your eyes locked on the other guard, you lunged towards him. He had no time to process what had happened or even prepare himself for the attack. He fell to the ground, you on top as you ferociously beat his face with your hands. Your strength was astounding and it was the clearly why you were such a threat. You were like an deranged animal, it wasn’t enough even when he was out cold. Edward wasn’t even sure if the guard was still alive. However, you moved onto the next guard just as quickly. Perhaps you hadn't noticed him.

He stood corrected when you halted your attack and turned your sights on him. Slowly he stood up, wincing at the pain in his ribs. You followed suit, your eyes still wide and empty. Slowly you moved forward. Edward went to move back but something blocked his path. He felt panic run through him but did his best not to show it. Something he often did with the Bat. Although you didn't lunge, as a matter of fact you were incredibly slow.

You seemed to notice his pain. Edward stiffened as you slowly wrapped your arms around him. You were so gentle he didn’t even entirely feel the hug. He looked down at you, your head resting against his chest. You were looking at the ground as though feeling guilt. In that moment, Edward took charge. ”Give me your hands.” He said quickly. He did his best to wipe the blood from your hands and onto his own as well as his arms. Edward always did have a soft spot for you. He never allowed it to show but he couldn't deny it to himself that it was there. So in the moment you had saved his life, he knew he had to protect you. No one had ever helped him yet you had, whether it was consciously or not didn't matter. If he didn't do something you'd wake up in isolation with possibly even more deaths.

Edward knew you better than you thought, killing wasn't something you were proud of. You didn't want to add more to the list. So maybe in this way, he was protecting you just as you had protected him. Edward also noticed something that seemed to trigger your violent tendencies. It was violence itself. If you witnessed it, it seemed to drive you to be violent to the point of deadly. So he took the fall for it and eventually, they seemed to buy his story and take you back to your room. Throughout all that time, you didn't speak a word and the next morning you didn't remember a thing. Just as suspected.

"I couldn't tell you." He said, looking into your eyes. You had never seen him so vulnerable. "I couldn't risk Strange finding out. It was better for you if everyone thought it was me." "Why? Why protect me?" You asked. "Because you protected me...such a thing is very hard to find in Gotham." "I...I killed those people." You whispered and Edward nodded. "You saved my life." He corrected.

#batman #gotham #the riddler #edward nygma #arkham #arkham asylum #one shot #oneshot #warning

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troop-scoop · 3 years

Text

Youth I

Chapter One - Pilot

Word count: 2k

Series Summary: On a family trip to your dad’s home town of Hawkins, Indiana, you make a series of decisions that result in you ending up in the year 1983 with more questions than there are answers presently available.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female Reader ( slow burn )

Chapter Summary: You go through what’s become your new ‘normal’ at Hawkins High School

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Nothing about your current situation was settling right in your stomach. There were no answers as to how you got here, and you didn’t have any questions that could easily be answered. A series of unfortunate events resulted in the attitude you carried. You used to be sweet, all smiles and laughter unless someone did something to make you upset.

What happened to that girl? The girl who grew up never experiencing fear to the point where it worried her parents and made teachers concerned because she’d climb so high on the playground that if you fell, you’d surely break something.

You’d climbed so high on something, and you fell into this situation, and something did break. Your bravery, your fearlessness, nothing physical, but those two things were shattered, and your ego bruised.

Nothing was like what you were used to. To you, everything in this school hallway was dated. The fashion, the haircuts, the textbooks, and the tech.

The stereotypes.

“L/n!”

You shook your head, already knowing whose voice that was. A teenage boy who fit the typical ‘jock’ stereotype that everyone knew. The kid who hated his small town, he got around, played a sport his father probably hated, who would likely never get out of said small town he hated. Yeah, you knew the pattern. Everyone, where you were from, did.

“No.”

You continued on your trek to the locker, but you could hear the slight squeaking of the soles of the older boy’s Nikes on the linoleum floor trying to catch up. Where you were from, people would be staring at this type of occurrence, but because none of the students surrounding you even batted an eye at the basketball player or you for that matter, told you that it wasn’t abnormal for him to be audacious.

“Hey now, I just wanna talk.” He defended, finally catching up to you, walking alongside, but a little bit behind so he didn’t get in anyone’s way.

“Harrington, the last time you wanted to ‘talk’ was when you needed my math homework.” A chuckle escaped you as you said it, finally stopping at your locker.

“In my defense, you don’t look like a sophomore.” He tried, standing next to you as you were spinning the knob in the locker to get it open.

“Whatever, what do you want?”

“Wow, you’re grumpy. Anyways, Tommy H, Carol, and I wanna hang out but my parents don’t leave for another week, and we can’t be at Carol’s place because her mom hates Tommy, and well, you know how Tommy’s dad is.”

You hummed in amusement. “Yeah, he’s a dick, how does that involve me?” You had your binder and pencil case in one arm, staring at him with your hand inside of your locker, holding onto the cup of coffee.

“Can we hang out at your place?”

Rolling your eyes you kneeled down, placing your things down on the ground before standing upright, grabbing the collar of his jacket and pulling it towards your locker, placing it inside before closing the door on it. “Not happening.” You responded, a bright smile on your face as you grabbed your things, taking a step to walk away.

“Y/n! This isn’t funny!”

“I’m gonna correct you on that, it’s not funny to you.” The situation was probably the funniest thing you’d encountered in weeks, and considering your day to day life before used to be full of laughter and playfully teasing, that then went to quiet days spent alone and pondering, this was a nice change.

“Unlock it or I’ll tell Mrs. Jensen!”

Steve’s threat caused you to laugh, holding your things closer so you didn’t drop any of them. “A tattletale? You always did strike me as the type to tease kids in elementary school, but you never did seem like a snitch, you do know the saying right? About snitches?”

“Yeah, from you!” he responded, and although he had a serious face, you knew he was fighting back a smile as well by his voice and how his brows weren’t furrowed in frustration or anger.

“Snitches are bitches, who get stitches and end up in ditches.” it wasn’t intentional for both of you to say it at the same time, but you had, but in two very different tones of voice. Your’s was more ‘matter of fact’ and he was amused.

You stared at him for a second, your smile remaining before you stepped forward, turning the dial of your lock to open it, and once you lifted the lever for the door, Steve got himself out, standing up straight and staring down at you, his hands finding the pockets of his jacket as you closed the locker door again. “That wasn’t fair, you look innocent,” he mumbled to himself.

“I’ll see you later?” Steve asked after a second.

“We have study hall together, so. . . maybe,” you told him, stepping away from the locker and heading down the hallway to your English class.

Bulletin boards on the walls, spaced out between each other, with thumbtacks keeping flyers and announcements up for students to see, lockers for students to keep their things throughout the day. It was all odd.

At your previous schools, lockers weren’t available. That was until your freshman year where you had to pay five dollars a year if you wanted one. And instead of bulletin boards, flyers and announcements would just be taped to the walls, or given during morning announcements, or emailed to students and parents. You were pretty sure your previous high school got rid of lockers in the late ’90s when drugs became prominent in your area and then got rid of bulletin boards when one student sent the other to the hospital with a thumbtack to the wrist, but those types of stories always had a few details in them that never made sense, allowing you to cast doubt on them. But maybe the story had just been told so many times that detail got twisted, the truth of what happened got misconstrued. Like a game of telephone.

Reaching the English classroom, you found your seat, with your anxiousness rising as you sat down, placing your coffee at the upper corner of your small desk, keeping your school supplies close to your chest.

You’d been a happy kid growing up. You didn’t have very many friends, but you had your parents, your little brother, and a condo that you’d been brought home to as a newborn that you knew was a safe place. Unlike the few friends you did have, you never really experienced anxiety or symptoms of depression, but you knew the signs, your closest friend, Mandy, dealt with it, and she confided in you often about how it felt and what it was like, and you often did your own research on it to know what you could to help her.

There were weekends where you spent a good few hours learning different breathing techniques to help her whenever she would have a panic attack, but now that you were dealing with moments where your heart sped up, your hands shook and you felt like something was terribly wrong, it was like all of those hours had been a waste because you couldn’t use them without getting more anxious.

“You okay?”

Looking to your left, you were met with a curious glance from your partner on the English project. Giving an unconvincing nod, you looked down at the top of your desk, eyes tracing over the wood pattern, lines connecting that looked like they shouldn’t, forming shapes and allowing you to distract yourself as Jonathan set his things down as well, taking his seat next to you.

Mrs. Jensen went over the usual, giving instructions for the project that everyone already knew, before leaving everyone to work, with her sitting behind her desk, a book in hand and a container of what you assumed were grapes by the purplish color. Though they could have been large blueberries.

“What’s so important about a quote?” Jonathan mumbled to himself, though it caught your attention from your own worksheet, looking over to him.

“In what context?” you asked, taking a sip from your drink as he began speaking.

“We’re talking about Romeo and Juliet, everyone knows what it’s about, you don’t really need a quote to explain things.”

You nodded when he looked over to you. “A lot of people only really know that it was written by Shakespeare and it’s about two star crossed lovers who kill themselves in the end. Mrs. Jensen probably knew that’s all anyone really remembers, she wants to make sure people know what’s actually happening.

“It’s pretty obvious, ‘Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?’ she’s asking where he is.” He shrugged a bit, placing the book down on the desk, pages open and light reflecting off of the glossy pages.

“No, she’s not,” you told him, getting an odd and questioning look from him. “Well, this was written in the 1500s, English is practically a new language at that point, getting its own footing for once, paintings of historical figures wouldn’t have the English spelling of their names, and English is a language that’s taken a bunch of different parts from other languages, mostly german. If you ever see a period piece that’s set around this period of time, if a child says ‘lady mother’ when they’re addressing their mom, they’re not acknowledging that their mother is a female. They’re acknowledging her title. So her husband is likely a lord of a piece of land, which makes her the lady of that land as well. It was an archaic way of showing respect to their mother by also saying she had a title.”

“How does that relate to the quote?”

“Well, early modern English had many different phrases, and things have changed, we’ve come up with ways to say things that are far more simple. While we think she’s asking where Romeo is, she’s actually asking why he’s Romeo. Why out of all the people she could have fallen for, it had to be him. The enemy. You could use that in the analysis, a bit of how it shows we don’t choose who we love, even if we know we shouldn’t love them.”

Jonathan blinked before looking at his worksheet, picking up his pencil and writing something down, paraphrasing what you had just said and only moments later the bell rang, signaling the end of the class period.

You grabbed your things, leaving as quickly as you could without looking like an idiot, trying to get away from what caused you to be so nervous and make you feel like you could be sick at any moment.

Growing up, you weren’t afraid of many things if any. But maybe you just needed something like this to make you afraid of everything and anything around you. To make you jump at the sound of a drop of water from outside your motel window landing on the metal railing of the stairs and walkway.

But you were terrified, and you wanted to wake up in your own bed, at home, with your dad gently shaking your shoulder to get you up and out of bed. You were terrified you’d never see your parents again, that you’d been too mean to your little brother growing up, and that the last memory he’d have of you was you being mean.

You hadn’t even been afraid to sleep on your own as a kid, and all the things that you weren’t afraid of as a child that you should have been, always seemed to worry your dad. But what would he say and think now? Would he be worried now that you lived in a constant state of fear? Just looking at clothing racks scared you.

Since July you’d been trying to act normal, trying to pretend everything was okay, trying to be your normal self, but your normal self would be odd to everyone else, you knew random things no one else did, you liked things no one even knew about yet, and if you tried to talk about those things, you knew it wouldn’t be a good outcome, not a sour one, but not happy.

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Add yourself to the taglist!

tagging who i know would want to be -

@stonersteve @ilovebucketbarnes

#steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington one shot #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x you

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moody-blues-requiem · 4 years

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Phantom Blood Drinker (afab reader x Vampire Jonathan)

Time for the writing poll’s top 3! In third place and our only non-Vento Aureo character of the winners is vampire Jonathan! My favorite jojo.... I really enjoyed writing this one, lol. Sorry I’m posting so late!

N/s/f/w, obvious warning for biting but it’s all consensual and good

The news felt like being trampled by a wild horse. For months, your boyfriend Jonathan Joestar had been hiding himself away from you. Instead of the large Joestar mansion he’d relocated to a nearby hunting lodge, a short walk through the heavy woods surrounding his family’s land. The mansion was empty, you’d been shocked to see it vacated. Where were the housekeepers, where was Dio? Jonathan didn’t have answers, it sounded like it hurt him to talk about. But through closed doors he promised he loved you, he loved you so much, and that’s why he needed you to leave. To stay away, for, well… he didn’t know for how long. Perhaps forever. Despite this, you visited him daily, leaving flowers and his favorite chocolates on his doorstep. They were always gone by the next day, retrieved at some point during the night. Sometimes Jonathan left you notes and little gifts in return, trinkets of his, despite his insistence that you should forget about him and move along with your life. But… you couldn’t. Your heart belonged to Jojo, and no amount of his pleading could keep you away-- not without an explanation for his sudden turn in behavior, at least.

On a chilly October evening, as you were heading over to deliver Jonathan some adorably-decorated caramel apples from a market stall in town, you found the door to the old lodge cracked open. Your heart sank, was everything alright? You should be overjoyed that Jonathan had decided to go out, or let you in, but… it didn’t feel quite right. The inside of the cabin was dark and ominous. You knew what you had to do, though. You needed answers from your Jonathan.

Steeling your nerves, you headed inside.

The cabin was cold, but not from the chill of the weather outside. It felt… heavy. Almost like a dark energy hung throughout the building. There were a handful of candles scattered throughout the main room, unlit, but clearly used. The building’s single short hallway to the bed and bathrooms was dark, doors shut.

“Who’s there!” a voice called out, causing you to jump, nearly dropping your gift. “You need to leave, immediately!”

“Jojo!” you called back, recognizing your lover’s voice anywhere. “It’s me! Talk to me, face to face!” You set the apples down on a small table. “Please, Jojo, come inside. I… I’m not leaving until I see you!”

The silence cut through you like a knife. It went on for so long you almost started to doubt whether Jonathan had heard you. But you heard soft footsteps outside, the cabin door opening slowly, and there he stood. Massive, muscular frame, dark, shaggy hair, awful sense of fashion, and… and.

“Your eyes,” you whispered. They were glowing, a deep blood-orange hue. Horribly unnatural, but it was clearly still your Jojo. “What happened?”

“Have a seat, dear,” he replied softly. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

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It was that damn stone mask. You’d told him it gave you creepy vibes! He put it on-- natural curiosity, nothing more-- and spikes flew out of it, piercing through his skull. Jonathan looked like he might puke from simply recounting the tale, but he assured you that he was okay. He later discovered that the spikes activated by touching the mask with blood, he must have had a nick on his hand somewhere. And now…

“Well… we’re here,” he explained. “I fled to the hunting lodge, it was far enough away from people that I could live without the temptation of human blood. Animals seem to do just fine, thankfully… but the sensation of biting into a living being still makes my stomach turn.” You were silent, it was a lot to process. Pardon your language, but it was a whole fucking ton to process. But… it was so clearly still Jonathan, your dear Jojo. “Do you still need to eat food-- I mean, regular food, or does the blood…”

“I don’t need food, no,” he shook his head. “But I can eat it. My sweet tooth hasn’t diminished in the slightest, if that’s what you’re asking. Your gifts have been greatly appreciated.”

You chuckled, leaning in, wrapping your arms around Jonathan. Even after everything, it was still him. His same beefy body, the same hugs, the warm pine-y scent his clothes carried, it was all still him. His skin was cool to the touch, a side effect of vampirism, you supposed, but… nothing a hot bath couldn’t fix. You were just so overjoyed to have your Jonathan back in your arms that you couldn’t resist leaning in to plant a firm kiss on his lips, hugging around him with all of your strength. “Don’t leave me again, Jojo, you had me worried sick,” you whispered, so close that your lips were still touching his own. “No matter what happens, I’ll be right here for you.”

He replied with a soft smile and a long, deep kiss, a promise that Jonathan Joestar was yours.

----------------

The soft, emotional kissing became a steamy and passionate make out before you knew it. Your tongue found its way into Jonathan’s mouth, rolling over his, brushing over the tips of his new fangs. Jonathan moaned softly as you climbed onto his lap, settling your legs on either side of his hips. He’d missed you so much, and now having you right there, on his lap, your warm body pressed against his cool one, he couldn’t take it. His mind was dizzy with arousal. He needed you, now.

“Dear,” he gasped out, “do you think we could-- ah!” his sentence was cut short as you palmed the front of his trousers, running your hand over his clothed erection. “What was that, Jojo? I didn’t quite catch your question. Is there something you want from me?” It was always fun to tease Jojo into a little frenzy, his cheeks grew red with a light blush, and the way he always averted his gaze innocently was precious. “I…. oh, dear, you know I need more than just this,” he said, voice a bit whiny with lust. He gazed up at you with soft bedroom eyes, the newfound glow to them adding a certain something to the look, the heat in the pit of your stomach growing faster than usual. His puppy-dog eyes were his trump card, he had you hook, line, and sinker. “Surely… we can remove some of the layers between us, don’t you think?”

Having a cabin to yourselves meant no fear of being caught, no meddling stepbrother or well-meaning housekeeper to accidentally walk on you two. Taking advantage of the freedom, you and Jonathan stripped each other bare, basking in the sight of one another. Jonathan’s body was beautifully defined, the chocolates you had been bringing him didn’t even make a dent in his perfect abs. You watched the muscles in his arms flex as he carefully undid your blouse, shamelessly gazing at your body as he did. Before you could even speak he leaned in, bringing a nipple into his mouth and sucking gently, his other hand moving up to softly fondle your free breast. Had it not been for his orange eyes looking up at you, you could’ve forgotten about the vampirism thing, he was so cautious with his fangs. In return for the attention on your chest you moved your hips, sligining his massive cock with your slit, rubbing yourself along his shaft. You could feel him twitch with excitement.

“E-Enough waiting,” he gasped, pulling back from your sensitive chest. “I… let me make sure you’re ready, but. I need you.” Two thick fingers slid between your bodies and entered you with ease. You blushed at the thought of just how wet you were already, but it only seemed to spur Jonathan on more. Scissoring his fingers slowly, opening you up, he moaned. “You’ve missed this as much as I have, huh?” he asked softly. You nodded, lifting your hips and guiding his cock to your entrance before leaning in to kiss him and slowly, slowly sinking down, until you were wrapped around his shaft completely. Profanity laced Jonathan’s moans, throwing his head back and grabbing your hips, keeping you seated firmly on his cock. You felt so full, it was almost too much, but at the same time, you were desperate for more.

Jonathan let you set the pace, he was always cautious about being too eager and somehow hurting you. So you bounced in his lap, slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed. You’d missed this, you’d missed everything about Jonathan but in the weeks of his absence you hadn’t even touched yourself, hadn’t felt like it, and your body was feeling the neglect. But now, being split apart by Jonathan’s thick shaft, it had been worth the wait. You could feel the very tip of his cock brush against your cervix with every thrust, so so deep but you couldn’t get enough. Jonathan leaned in, his head resting on your shoulder, moaning wantonly. “Jojo,” you asked between moans and gasps, “has… anything ever happened to the animals you bite?”

“What?” he asked, clearly puzzled, but not slowing his hips one bit. “No, they’re fine, a touch woozy from blood loss but fine. Why are you asking now?”

“Because, I….. I want you to bite me, Jojo.”

He didn’t stop fucking you, but you could feel his thrusts fall sharply out of rhythm. “Wh… what?!” he asked, eyes wide. “Oh, love, I could never, I… it feels too risky, I don’t…”

He looked away, blushing deep red. “You want it too, don’t you, Jonathan?”

His eyes squeezed shut, and he nodded.

“You have my full permission, Jonathan. I’d trust you with my anything and my everything. Bite me.”

He placed his lips on the curve of your neck, kissing the skin gently. You remembered feeling his teeth grazing your skin, and then… everything was white. Your orgasm hit you harder than ever before, crashing into you and causing you to scream out Jonathan’s name as you clenched around him, gripping him tight. Between your release and the taste of your blood on his tongue, Jonathan was gone mere seconds after you finished, cock twitching wildly and sending ropes of hot cum into you, one after another. Your blood was delicious, but he only took a bit, really just piercing the skin and lapping up what beaded up at the surface, but it was clearly more than enough for him to get his fill and, in turn, fill you.

When the ringing in your ears stopped and your vision faded back in, you were still on Jonathan’s lap, slumped against his body, exhausted. His cock was softening fast, but still in you. “That…” he started. “That was something, wasn’t it, dear?” he asked, voice shaky, but with a small chuckle. “You gonna be okay?”

“More than okay, Jonathan,” you replied, tilting your head up to kiss his cheek. “I’m on top of the world.”

Had it not been for the slight chill of the cabin, you could’ve fallen asleep then and there, cradled in Jonathan’s strong embrace. Instead, insisting he carry you to the bathroom, you enjoyed a nice bath with your vampire love, watching the glow of the moon rise from the bathroom window, signaling a long, wonderful night ahead of you both.

#jonathan joestar #jjba #jjba jonathan #vampire jonathan joestar #phantom blood #my writing #n/s/f/w #pb #halloween spooktacular

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jojo-reader-hell · 4 years

Text

We’re not getting off this Poly Train until y’all realize we can have Erina x Reader x Jonathan: Modern AU

The muffled whisper of the pilot wakes you from a deep sleep where you’re ninety nine percent sure you had your mouth open. Fifteen minutes to landing, weather is rainy, he spouts off the temperature but you don’t really pay attention because there’s a very intense pair of blue eyes trained on you, chubby hands patting your chest in a demand.

“I’m sorry honey... you been awake long?”

Tiny fingers pluck at your top, far too chubby and uncoordinated to work the small buttons but his intellect is startling. Your baby is too smart for his own good, at two months he responds to certain words in unique ways, he knows that you unbutton your shirt to give him milk, and he responds to your smile with an even bigger toothless grin. Call you a brainless mother, but you can’t help but be one of those mothers that just thinks everything her child does is genius.

“We’re almost there.” You coo down at the little head of blue black hair as he eats. You heard that nursing helps calm babies down when the plane lands or takes off, and so far your son has been a good little traveler.

One tiny hand presses against your heart as you talk earnestly to the baby, telling him about the new country he’s going to make his home for the rest of his life and the new house he’s going to live in.

“Daddy is there,” you tell him, “And so is Mama and big brother. They’ve made a nice little room just for you in their big house, and your new doggie and kitty are waiting very patiently to cuddle you and give you so many kissies.”

Giorno watches you, his face impassive, lips turned outward like a fish as you tell him so many wonderful things. You wonder sometimes if he understands you when you talk to him, or does it all sound the same whether in English or Italian? You’re not really sure, but you speak both to him just as often and each time you speak his eyes focus directly on you no matter what.

“We’ll have all our things, your new crib, and even some toys your big brother got for you two to play with.” You whisper. “We’ll even have a bigger bathtub! So once we get home I’ll give us both a nice, warm bath. Won’t you like that mimmo?”

For some reason Giorno seems to have a little relief on his face, finally relaxing into the feed as his eyes droop. That was a big mood. You both are exhausted. It’s been a little rough living in a bare room this last week, but you made it work with the bare essentials and found it so easy to live with things you only had to pack up in two suitcases and a diaper bag. Your son was such a trooper. He did very well when your girlfriend came and helped you pack up everything so you both could ship it to London in boxes or sell the furniture you didn’t need anymore, but he did fuss sometimes about his toys, or the kitty your lover took with her.

In the long run, living with next to no possessions was a blessing. Erina was smart to take the cat and pack up the house immediately, months in advance she requested all the proper forms to have it transported, and after the last visit she said kitty was adjusting very well to her new house (George, she discovered, was a five year old cat whisperer who constantly made sure your pet was well fed and well loved). The last time you all had a group chat, kitty had even gone up to the screen at the sound of your voice, and meowed sweetly as though you were standing right in front of her.

You were excited and relieved. It felt as though you were going to the UK for the first time instead of possibly the hundredth. Who counted anymore? All you knew is this would be the last time you’d ever feel that familiar overwhelming loneliness being so far away from your loving family.

“Few more minutes Gigi...” you coo to your son. “You take your time and have as much as you want.”

You’re worried he’ll be overwhelmed with all the bustle around the airport this time of night. Customs takes forever, even if you’re arriving a few hours after your baby’s bedtime. There’s always a crowd, normally they never made you nervous before but with a new baby there’s nothing but anxiety and paranoia at the most minuscule of dangers. People stare at him like they want to interact with him and you’ll shift him out of view into your coat. Some other brat kept screaming in its seat and jarred your baby out of a deep sleep when it started coughing, and you’d had to do a lot of breathing techniques to prevent yourself from having an anxiety attack. Being stationary at the airport wasn’t much comfort either... Old women will pick their teeth, stick their hand in their pants, scratch nasty places, or poke their nose, then approach you with outstretched fingers wanting to touch your son’s clean cheek and it’s enough to make you gather your shit and run the opposite direction.

The world is a frightening, disgusting place now that you have a newborn, and you won’t feel safe until you’re surrounded by your impenetrable fortress that is currently parking the car at London Luton.

It takes forever for the plane to land and situate, but finally you’re able to stand and hoist your diaper bag over your shoulder after helping Giorno relax as the plane makes a jarring landing. He’s still latched onto your breast, and you notice with some relief that no one really stares at you when you adjust Giorno’s sling. Everyone is exhausted. Waiting to go home just like you are, and it’s already raining once you exit the craft and onto the tarmac.

Your phone is buzzing, the plan your boyfriend bought you has already activated and it will stay that way for a few days until you’re able to get a new phone here in London. It would be nice to answer the phone and hear a familiar voice, but your hands are full trying to burp the baby and it doesn’t make it any easier that you’re doing it on a shuttle. You grab for the nearest handrail, scrunch tightly in a corner and brace yourself as the bus totters along the tarmac while Giorno makes his tiny burps, his little face smoothing out from the scrunched up anger he had being around so many strangers.

Finally when you disembark the shuttle and hurry into the building out of the rain (it was a mission and a half trying to keep Giorno dry) you’re able to return the frantic calls you’ve been receiving.

“Hello?” Your voice is getting low from exhaustion. The prospect of customs is dauntingly close.

“Mum! Where are you? Are you bringing me my brother?!”

That tiny voice with the most decidedly cutest accent you’ve ever heard makes your heart flutter in your chest and your smile wake up.

“Hiya Georgie!” You coo back into the phone as Giorno watches you with big eyes. “Your brother is here with me. I just have to get us through customs and then we’ll be with you before you know it.”

“Would you please hurry mum? I miss you!” his voice is that typical demanding monotone, but you know he’s probably just tired and cranky from being up past his bedtime.

“I promise I’ll hurry as best I can my love. You don’t worry your pretty little head. I miss you too, but I’m here now topolino. Can I talk to mommy please?”

In the background you hear his father reprimand him gently, but you also hear his very serious “mummy, phone!” and the softest chuckle that makes your heart do backflips.

“I’m sorry darling. He’s been antsy all day and had to get the corner because he got grumpy with daddy.”

That soothing voice makes your heart leap, that familiar pull also turns your face a bright red as you follow the other passengers into a line up in customs.

“Well...” your voice is low, sultry. “I’m a bit antsy too, are you going to have to punish me as well, sweet Eri?”

The way Erina scolds you with a sharp squeak of your name makes you grin even larger. You lean down to kiss your baby’s head as he continues to stare up at you, transfixed on your voice and possibly wondering in his baby way who you’re talking to. Even Erina begins to scold, and you can tell she is over the long wait and ready for you to come home too. All you can do is smile at your baby like a fool as Erina pesters you about propriety. She may look on the outside the very picture of a timid little blonde, but you know better. She’s a spitfire who can take command of a rioting crowd with voice alone, and you can’t wait for her to cover you head to toe in her affection.

“-not be saying that in front of all those people! I swear, you’re both just the same! The nerve, the audacity-...”

“I’m almost there my love. I’m sorry. I just can’t wait any longer to be with my family. Can I talk to Jojo please?”

Erina stops her ranting when you ask so politely. You’ve still got a bit longer to wait to scan both passports, and you’re already fishing them out of the sling pocket where they’ve been resting with Giorno this entire time. She relents with a final “be safe” and an exchange of love before she relinquishes the phone.

“Darling!” A deep voice, so warm and sincere with boyish charm, almost sounds like a squeak at the prospect of hearing your voice.

“I’m home Jojo.” You say. “I just wanted to hear your voice before I go through.”

There’s a few more families ahead of you, and even though you feel a bit bad cutting his time talking to you short, you know you’ll make it up to him later on.

“Quickly, I just wanted to tell you we all love you both! And we’re all here waiting, do you have any bags?” He is breathless, excited, forgetting the plan and just as raring to see his new son as everyone else.

“Yes Jojo, we’ll have to get them once I’m free. It’s my turn now.”

“I love you!”

You have to respond, tell him you love him too before placing the phone in your sling pocket (did you even hang up? Oh well…), and you head up holding both passports at an awkward angle. Luckily you’re not doing this one handed. Jonathan had been the one to suggest the feeding sling for your baby, and it’s so easy to do things when Giorno is just nestled in his little pouch. You could probably juggle chainsaws with him, but right now it’s just needed to get you through this damn line.

As soon as you’re through, and there’s only one direction left to go passed the money exchange, you feel your heart begin to pound rapidly in your chest. Giorno pulls on your shirt, almost like he can read your mind, and you have to kiss his tiny hands with shaky lips. You have to be careful. Prevent yourself from losing your cool and tripping over your own two feet because you were too excited. So many extra things to worry about now that you’re a mother, but that’s ok. As long as you keep grounding yourself with the baby and slowing the hell down.

You hear them calling your name before you see them. Immediately your head snaps towards the sound, and you have to keep it together before you break out into a run. The first one you focus on is George, over excitable as always whenever he sees you. Then you see Erina, her cheeks are pink and eyes shining with those happy tears when she sees you with one hand on Giorno’s sling. And finally, you see Jonathan, trembling and holding tightly to the handle on Danny’s harness while even the gigantic Great Dane senses the excitement. It feels like walking underwater towards them, but George is the first to break free from his mother’s grip and lunges at you. You brace for impact and let him do what he wishes, grabbing your leg tightly and practically screaming for you at the top of his lungs.

“Mummy! Mummy!”

“Shhhh…” you try to calm him from screaming and scaring the baby.

Giorno doesn’t seem to be too frightened however, he turns in the sling to stare at the little boy with wide eyes, unaware that the screaming six year old is his big brother. George only stops when you shower him with kisses, his chubby cheeks peppered as you take his hand and lead him with you to your lovers. It’s all over after that. You’re pulled every which way to be kissed and loved it makes you dizzy, and Jonathan nearly loses balance when Danny tries to prevent him from having an attack because of all the excitement.

“Oh, oh!” Jonathan coos when he sees his newborn son looking soulfully up at him from the sling. “Hello my love. Don’t cry, did I scare you?”

“I think he’s overwhelmed with all this love.” Erina laughs, picking up her son as easily as one would a feather pillow so that George could look at his new baby brother.

“My brother!” It’s all George can seem to say.

You beam at the attention, cradling the baby and pulling back the sling so your lovers can gush about their new son. To Erina, who hadn’t been able to attend your birth, this is the first time Giorno has been seen outside of an ultrasound or touched outside of her beautifully slender hands caressing the taut skin of your tummy. Jonathan attended the birth and stayed a few weeks after, and there’s a wordless struggle for possession of the baby between him and Erina as they lean towards your chest to place kisses on his plump cheeks.

Even more sweet is the tiny hand that reaches out from the sling, groping for something, the three of you are unsure what he wants, until you see Giorno’s tiny hand lightly caress George’s cheek.

“Let’s go, we need to get your bags, and then make our way home.” Erina smiles, kissing your lips ever so gently.

“Home…” Jonathan coos fondly.

The way they say it, it makes you ache. You won’t stop aching until you get home, but the pain begins to dull when Erina takes one hand, and Jonathan the other, leading you to the luggage carousel where you will collect the last few things you own. Your old life is behind you now, the prospect of a new life, a happier one now that you’re home, looms in the distance. At this time of night the airport is slowly being deserted, but there’s still a crowd that looks on, almost perplexed at the family consisting of three adults, a service dog, and two little boys who look at each other as if they have found a treasure.

#giorno is there too #so is george #no more ugly ass canon giorno mom #my kid now bitch #erina pendleton x reader #jonathan joestar x reader x erina pendleton #jonathan joestar x reader #jonathan joestar x erina pendleton #jojo’s bizzare adventure #jojo’s bizarre adventure phantom blood #alternate universe #george joestar II #giorno giovanna #LET GIORNO HAVE A GOOD FAMILY #every day i take the hammer and FIX THE CANON #jjba #jjba x reader #jjba pb

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hazeofhearts · 5 years

Text

Sweet Treat (Robin x reader)

(It pained me to write Steve like how he was back in season 1 because he’s such a developed character now. It was really hard 😅)

Warnings: Minor homophobia.

The doorbell rang in your quiet house and you skidded along the floor in your socked feet to answer it. You smashed into the door and pulled it open in quick succession. There was Robin, your girlfriend, standing on your front steps with a full duffle bag and a tired look in her eye. She was still dressed in her work uniform; you giggled and, before you could stop yourself, you said,

“Ahoy!”

Robin stepped inside your house, dropping her bag on the floor and rolling her eyes at you, though her smiling lips told a different story.

“Shut up,” she grumbled, cupping your cheeks and pressing her lips to yours in a sweet kiss. You wrapped your arms around her waist and pulled her closer, smiling into the kiss. She pulled away after a moment.

“God, you’re so smiley and happy. It’s absolutely disgusting,” Robin said as she pinched your cheeks between her hand.

Robin said a lot of things that might seem mean spirited and rude but you saw through it. If you looked into her cornflower blue eyes, you could see a softness that she reserved only for you. Around others, she was a steel trap but with you, she transformed into a teddy bear.

“Hey, girls, no making out in the foyer. Go do that in your room instead,” your dad called from the den off to the right of the door. He and your papa were cuddled up together on the couch, despite the summer heat that had scorched through the house earlier that day.

“Yes, dad,” you said in a singsong voice, dragging Robin up the stairs as she greeted your dads.

“No ‘hey keep the door open’ or anything?”

“Their main concern is pregnancy. Since we can’t get pregnant, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I guess you have a point.”

You led Robin into your room, plopping down on your bed. She followed suit after taking off her hat.

“How was your day,” you whispered.

“Boring as shit, as usual. Really, you should come and work with me. I would love to have you around,” Robin responded, leaning forward to press another soft kiss to your lips.

“Mmm, my parents don’t like the mall. It creeps them out.”

Robin made a sad noise back at you and brushed a lock of hair out of your face. You followed her hand with your nose and brushed it carefully against her palm.

“You’re weird,” she said with a cute smirk.

“But I’m your brand of weird so that’s all that matters.”

“Correct.”

You giggled again and turned to fumble for your remote on your nightstand. You turned on the TV that was in the corner of your room before getting off your bed and turning off the overhead lights, washing the room in white blue light.

You changed quickly into your pajamas and laid down next to Robin. She pulled you to her chest and wrapped her arms around you with you doing the same to her.

“I don’t want to go to school in the fall,” Robin spoke softly into your hair.

“Why?”

“I won’t be able to kiss you how I want. At least not in public.”

You hum and snuggle closer to your girlfriend, burying your face into her uniform shirt and filling your nose with her perfume’s scent and the smell of waffle cone.

“You’re really trying to make me go to the mall with you tomorrow aren’t you?”

A beat of silence.

“Is it working?”

You smacked Robin’s butt and she jerked away from your hand, pushing you closer to the edge of your bed and almost making you fall off. You let out a squeal and clutched Robin close to you. If you were going down, she was going with you.

“Fine, fine! I’ll go to the mall with you in the morning.”

“Yes! There are so many things you can do in there, you don’t have to hang with me all day.”

“Oh? You don’t want me around when your boyfriend, Steve Harrington is around, huh?”

“Shut up! He’d probably flirt with you because he doesn’t know I’m gay and you’re my girlfriend.”

“I wish we could just be out and open,” you mumbled against Robin’s chest, right over her heart.

“Me too,” Robin replied as she rested her chin on top of your head.

The two of you laid like that until you almost fell asleep. Robin shifted under you and you groaned and moved so she could get up. You heard her go into the bathroom across the hall. Once the shower started, you walked over to the bathroom and opened the door.

“Robin, I’m gonna brush my teeth ok?”

“Sure,” Robin said from behind the curtain.

You did exactly as you said and went back to bed. You were already half asleep again when Robin came back into the room and crawled next to you.

“I love you,” she said, curling herself into your back, surrounding you in warmth.

“I love you too,” you slurred as you fell asleep.

——————————————

You woke late the next morning, the TV off and Robin rustling around your room.

“Stupid hat.”

You stood from bed and the springs creaked, startling Robin.

“Good morning,” she said to you.

You said nothing and instead went over to your lamp where Robin’s hat was perched on top. She had flung it there last night without looking where it went. You turned to her and plopped it on her head lopsided, pressing a kiss to her cheek right after.

“Good morning.”

You got ready quickly, donning a pair of cuffed, high waisted shorts and a white T-shirt with a little rainbow on the right breast pocket. Your parents had bought it for you after you came out to them. You traced the rainbow with a finger before turning to Robin.

“Ready?”

——————————-

You pulled into a parking space at the mall and got chills just from looking at it. You scoped out the parking lot and seeing nobody there, pressed a quick kiss to Robin’s lips before exiting the car. She stumbled out, a pink flush on her cheeks.

“You can’t just do that! I wasn’t ready!”

“That’s the entire point,” you said, sticking your tongue out. Once Robin caught up with you, you linked your arms together as you walked to the front entrance.

It was pretty dead on the outside, it being only 10:30 in the morning but when you walked in, there was a sizable amount of people in the food court just standing and sitting around. You looked around and saw all the food places that were on the ground floor and then up top where stores where.

“Impressive, right? Maybe you can expand your wardrobe now.”

“What’s wrong with my wardrobe,” you questioned accusingly.

“Nothing. I think you’re very cute but you should go shopping and have some fun, if only to purchase things that we can both appreciate.”

The two of you approached Scoops Ahoy where Robin worked, your cheeks flushed heavily as you swat your girlfriend. She only chuckled gently as you walked through the threshold.

Steve Harrington was already behind the counter, his own sailor hat on his head. He looked surprised to see you and you felt the same.

“I’m gonna go punch in. Steve, Y/N. Y/N, Steve.”

Robin left your side to go into the back, leaving you and Steve in the front of this empty ice cream shop. You shifted uncomfortably.

You were friends with Jonathan Byers and, by extension, Nancy and the Party. You’d hung out with them a lot this summer when you weren’t with Robin. You knew that Dustin was close with Steve but that doesn’t mean you had to be friendly.

When you were a sophomore and Steve was a junior, you brought both of your parents to parent-teacher conferences. You thought nothing of it until you actually stepped into the school and everyone stared at you. Your dads ushered you to your classes and got in and out of there quickly.

But that didn’t stop the student body from noticing. Steve’s group especially.

You were sitting at lunch with a couple of friends, Robin included. You hadn’t started dating yet for another year or so. There was a lot of commotion over at Steve’s table before he sauntered over to where you were sitting.

“Hey L/N, saw you at parent teacher conferences last night.”

You hummed indifferently but your heart was beating rapidly. After you’d returned home, your parents told you that you might get targeted for having two fathers. You didn’t understand but came to school prepared anyway.

“Yeah, so, were those guys your parents?”

You hummed again, spooning some applesauce into your mouth. No matter what, you had to keep your mouth full, otherwise you would do something or say something you’d regret. Your dad told you that you had to stay strong and not give in to their words. Your papa had said that they would defend your actions but that only you could control yourself.

“Pretty weird, I think, to have two dads. What happened to your mom, huh?”

You swallowed your mouthful and proceeded to take a large bite of your sandwich, stuffing your face so much you could choke.

“Something tells me-“

“Hey, fuck off Harrington. It’s none of your business,” one of your male friends said, defending you.

Steve steps back with his hands raised.

“I’m just saying it’s not quite right to be raised by-“

You stood up with your tray and turned to face Steve. You stared at him for a moment, just enough to make him uncomfortable, before smashing your tray into his chest, spilling food on his clothes. Your applesauce, your ranch dressing for your carrots and your open sandwich with yellow mustard. Everyone in the cafeteria went absolutely ape shit as you walked out, your friends trailing behind you to comfort you.

Steve never bothered you after that and neither did anybody else. If you were willing to mess with King Harrington, there was no telling how crazy you actually were.

You were brought back to the present by Steve calling your name gently.

“Do you want anything? Ice cream, I mean?”

“No thank you,” you said stiffly.

Steve rapped on the counter with his knuckles for a moment before he moved around the counter to stand next to you.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hi,” you replied.

“Uh, look. That shit I said when you were a sophomore. That wasn’t cool. I was a total asshole. I’m sorry.”

You gave Steve the side eye before leaning against the counter, crossing your arms.

“It definitely wasn’t cool. You were an asshole.”

Steve leaned next to you, pulling off his hat and fiddling with it between his fingers.

“Yeah. I think about that all the time. I know it’s not an excuse but Tommy H. said that I should do it and back then, I was so afraid of not being popular, so I did it. Really, I know it’s not an excuse.”

“It’s not. But peer pressure and the anxiety of trying to fit in is tough. I think I can forgive you.”

“Really? Oh thank god. I hate avoiding you when you hang out with the Party and I’m with Dustin. Now we can-“

“I can forgive you if I get a free ice cream today.”

Steve scoffed, chuckled and then full out laughed. You gave him a small smile.

“Sounds good. When do you want it?”

“Whenever your boss is around.”

Steve laugher again as Robin came out of the back.

“Hey you two, stop flirting out here. Dingus, get back here and help me prep. Y/N, I’ll see you later ok?”

“I’ll come and steal you for lunch,” you said, calling over your shoulder.

Steve slid next to Robin and gave her a look.

“What,” Robin asked.

“Do you think I have a chance? It’ll take her a while to forgive me and I can live with that. What are my odds, great wizard of love?”

Robin snorts.

“I wouldn’t even dare try. You’re definitely not her type.”

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #stranger things fanfic #stranger things robin x reader #robin x reader #stranger things s3 #stranger things robin #stranger things steve harrington #steve harrington

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hellyeahomeland · 4 years

Photo

“The English Teacher” | Directed by Michael Cuesta, Cinematography by Giorgio Scali

Sara: Not really related to this image specifically, but this week’s episode was directed by Michael Cuesta, whom you may remember as the directing executive producer for the show’s first two seasons. He directed some of the best episodes of the show: the pilot, “The Weekend,” “Marine One,” “The Choice.” I was really, really happy to see that they brought him back for the penultimate episode. That feels fitting and so, so right.

Related to this image specifically, opening on an image of Carrie literally split in half in the frame feels symbolic. She’s being pulled in two competing directions, her loyalty to Saul fighting with her desire to prevent a nuclear war.

Gail: When the episode first started I wondered if she had escaped custody and was standing and waiting to have a passport photo taken like Brody in “The Choice” (again, a Michael Cuesta episode). (My tin foil hat has been all over the place lately!) But then it occurred to me that it’s actually the mirror of the opening shot of Carrie in the first episode this season. The close-ups of Carrie in both scenes have a lot in common, especially that we can only see half of her face. In episode one, the other half of the frame was black and here, the other half is white. I think Sara was right when she pointed out in last week’s Director’s Chair about the transition images at the end of “Designated Driver.” Carrie’s life has always been somewhere in between the black and white.

Ashley: The way this carefully pans down across her face, only to find that she is actually cuffed to the chair, is pretty well-done. We’ve seen her in cuffs too many times this season, and trapped in other ways more often than that.

Sara: This image of Carrie watching the suicide bomb footage on TV really calls to mind the visuals in the opening credits of a young Carrie watching war and terror play out on a television screen.

Ashley: How many times has Carrie seen something awful and life-altering on television? She was in this position in season five when she saw Quinn in the gas chamber. Shocking and devastating and just kinda the life of Carrie Mathison, tbh.

Gail: I agree with both of you, this is a great callback to Carrie in the credits and Carrie in “New Normal.” Carrie’s unconventional methods often come at a high price and this scene is another reminder of that. (And how amazing is Chris Bauer, who plays Carrie’s lawyer?! Sara, he’s even giving you some sweet ‘stache!)

Sara: Love the mustache.

Sara: Tag yourself I’m Wellington.

Ashley: We are all Wellington.

Gail: Pretty sure I’ve been Saul all week trying to get my kids to do their e-learning. I’m tagging my son as Zabel and my daughter as Hayes. My husband is full-on Wellington, knowing I’m right but refusing to get involved.

Ashley: The sharp difference between Zabel’s terrible beard and Saul’s luscious beard is one of the best things this show has offered us.

Gail: I love that Saul’s body language tells a story too. He can hardly bring himself to look at Zabel, let alone face him.

Sara: John Zabel is a real fuckin’ slime ball and Hugh Dancy has been so, so good in this role. You can tell he must relish getting to play this evil character, going up against these actors and actors that he’s known so intimately, though entirely offscreen, the last ten years.

Sara: I love this detail of Saul moving one of his books back just a millimeter or so. It really emphasizes how meticulous he is and also begs the question if he’s going to realize Carrie had them all splayed out on his living room floor. Does he keep them in a specific order?

Ashley: I WAS WONDERING THE SAME THING. And I’m surprised he has so many of them — he was looking at one volume specifically, so I initially was wondering if his commie shelf was just to hide that particular book.

Gail: No small detail seems to escape Saul’s attention. Such a small movement, but it says so much about who Saul is. And yes, Ashley, some of those books were just decoys! Carrie figured that out as she was sorting the books, which is also a great detail about who Saul is. Saul’s red book collection of asset communication is also his hobby. As Carrie says, the best lies have to have truth in them.

Sara: Ben Savage as young Mandy Patinkin is some of the most inspired casting ever. I know he’s already played a young Mandy Patinkin, but I am still in awe. The flat bill cap was an excellent detail. #hat

Gail: I love how he is wearing a trademark Saul plaid shirt, too!

Gail: Another shot of a character with only half of their face shown. This time it’s a young Saul who already has his fair share of secrets.

Ashley: Spoiler alert, she doesn’t shoot him.

Sara: IJLTP.

Gail: We don’t get this close-up shot in this scene until Saul drops his facade and asks her if she’s reading between the lines... He wants to pull a fast one on the useful idiots in the Oval Office and wants her help to do it (ugh, Tasneem agrees!). From a distance, we see Saul in his office somewhere in the West Wing, playing the part of National Security Advisor, but as the camera moves in for this close-up, we see Saul as who he really is: the smart and strategic spy.

Sara: There were quite a few extreme close-ups of Saul this week. What does it mean in an episode where we learn more about his heroic past than potentially at any other time this series? For me this really put into perspective how much we don’t know about Saul. Carrie alludes to snippets he’s revealed over the years, but even she--presumably his closest confidante--doesn’t know. Saul is the opposite of an open book, pun intended.

Ashley: Let’s crack his spine open and see if there’s a note.

Sara: This slow push on Carrie as the judge reads the list of charges against her is devastating, and not just for Carrie. It is for the audience too, because we know the truth. It goes without saying that Claire is magnificent here.

Ashley: Listening to all of the things Carrie Mathison is being charged with — specifically because we know the character, we have known her for a long time — is painful. For Claire, who has lived in Carrie’s skin for so long, it must have been torture.

Gail: Carrie’s lawyer is dressed in red, white and blue while Carrie is dressed for a funeral. I’m sure neither is a coincidence.

Sara: I do not like the context of this shot, but I love the shot itself. IDNLTCOTSBILTSI.

Sara: Linus being the only one in a room full of military brass and West Wing staff who understands that something’s fishy here is a very “of course” moment. I love how they’re framed in shadows here. In a way, he and Saul have both been running a “shadow” government all season, working in the background, out of sight.

Gail: Saul has his own circle of trust now and Wellington’s circle is only bumping up against it, no Venn diagrams here. Saul is playing his cards close to the vest, knowing he is on borrowed time. (See what I did there?)

Sara: I loved the payoff of the Carrie/Jenna relationship this week. Jenna coming to the realization that Quinn did before--nothing is worth the damage they cause--plays like a terrible déjà vu moment. Carrie just sits there, silent, as Jenna walks out. As staff writer Jonathan Redding said, “She was never going to become another Carrie. She can’t make Carrie’s trades.”

Gail: I think Carrie sits silently as Jenna walks out because she can’t argue with her. Carrie herself came to the same realization back in season four. Interestingly, as Jenna has her realization that nothing is worth the damage they do, Carrie is sitting at a dining room table, just like Quinn was when he had his realization in “Gerontion.” Except this time Carrie is the one who everyone thinks is guilty of a crime she didn’t commit. So. Many. Parallels.

Ashley: Putting Carrie at the dining room table is interesting — she’s surrounded by empty chairs. You can’t help but think of all the people she’s lost, and yet another person is walking away. She’s completely alone.

Sara: ICONIC MOMENT IN TELEVISION HISTORY.

Gail: Did Carrie swipe a pair of Saul’s glasses from his house? They look similar to asset Anna’s glasses as well. Not sure if that means anything, but it’s interesting.

Sara: Gail, you can read my tin foil hat theory on that in this week’s TCWTW.

Sara: I love love love this transition that reveals the teacher in the photo is the Russian translator. It’s inspired.

Gail: Me too! I also love that she is in focus while everyone else is not, which adds importance to her character as well. The first shot of her mirrors the photo of The English Teacher. We don’t see her full face until she talks to Saul directly in this scene, a small detail that reveals who her character is important to.

Ashley: Her shoulders are squared, head cocked, listening — the contrast from the girl she was in the photo is evident even from behind.

Gail: Usually when a character is having an important moment, you see their face and reaction on camera, not the back of their head. Breaking that rule with Anna over and over again throughout the course of this scene is extremely effective. She’s a faceless, non-threatening fly on the wall and surely not the high-ranking Kremlin (and presumably male) official they are worried about.

Sara: The framing of these characters in this shot is amazing. Anna stands in the camera’s focus, head tilted ever so slightly. The other men don’t even notice. You can see how she’s been such an effective asset. Hidden in plain sight.

Sara: Kusnetsov’s book is Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens. This is the last novel Dickens ever wrote, which is fitting here.

Gail: According to Wikipedia, the book explores the conflict between doing what society expects and the idea of being true to oneself. When you set that concept against Andrei’s role as a double agent, the theme takes on new meaning.

Ashley: Nerds.

Gail: Saul doesn’t yet know how important Anna is, but Michael Cuesta and Giorgio Scali are giving the audience a subtle clue here. By shooting Anna from a low angle it alludes that her character is powerful and has influence, something Saul will come to realize shortly.

Sara: We all agree that it was 100% intentional to cast an actress to play young Anna that looks just enough like Claire Danes to make you think, right? I don’t mean that Carrie is the lovechild of Saul and Anna (the timelines don’t match!). More that Saul has a type, no?

Sara: ...And in case we had any doubt that they’re drawing a parallel between Anna and Carrie, we have this transition. This episode is filled with loaded transitions.

Gail: Carrie in the center of the frame, caught in between the dark and light, is an ongoing theme this episode. We see it here again as she makes her way toward Saul’s library.

Sara: There are multiple pans over Saul’s giant collection of red books, most of the titles unreadable and blurred. But where do we land at the end? The camera holds on this book, A Woman’s Vengeance by James Payn. There is almost no info about this book on the internet, which leads me to believe it’s fake. Yet it’s in the public domain. Did they just like the title?

Gail: I read a little about it online. It was published originally in 1872, volume 2 of 3. I read an excerpt of it on Amazon, and the first chapter is titled “A Good Night’s Work.” Having this close-up shot of these books that follow our introduction to young Anna, Saul’s asset who is clearly a woman scorned, makes this book title (and the title to its first chapter) feel very fitting.

Sara: If the Wikipedia entry about The Secret Agent is any indication, this book is a doozy. Basically everyone suffers and dies at the end and an innocent person is accidentally killed.

Gail: That Wikipedia page is crazy! It also says that Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber, loved this book and closely identified himself with the character of the “Professor”... which ties into Saul’s alias, Professor Rabinow. I live for this stuff--always a mark of a good production when the depth of the details matches the intensity of the show.

Sara: The phantom horizontal line on the seven.

Ashley: That is like the ONE thing that I, Ashley, actually noticed and mentioned first. Give me a shout-out, man, I mean, DAMN.

Sara: Shout out to Ashley, who noticed and mentioned this first!

Gail: Homeland always gives us the best bokeh. I love its use here. We have a window into Saul’s biggest secret, the details surrounding it are hazy to us at first, and we can’t see the full picture yet--just like this shot.

Sara: IJLTP.

Ashley: I love how old-school Carrie is — she’s so visual, and in her own way, just like Saul. She lays it all out and uses her hands to put it together.

Gail: Her bulletin board, highlighters and thread have been replaced by notecards and old carpet that I’d like to think Mira picked out, but the result is the same as we watch Carrie put all of the pieces together. It’s HIGH RED y’all.

Sara: “High red,” omg. I’m obsessed with the sequence of Carrie assembling the book timeline and figuring out Saul’s method of communication. For me it’s one of the all-time best Homeland scenes.

Sara: The editing in this scene is exquisite. The use of jump cuts adds to the tension and uncertainty as Carrie herself attempts to splice together these disparate clues into something greater, some sort of truth.

The scene is almost completely free of dialogue. Claire has to convey Carrie’s journey to the truth here through only her actions. I love the shots at ground level of her literally on hands and knees flipping through the books. There is a sense of desperation and urgency to it that is thrilling.

Sara: The Smile.

Gail: I see what you did there and I approve. IJLTP.

Ashley: I’m a little surprised that Carrie isn’t a bit more conflicted here.

Sara: Cutting Carrie and Saul together at the moment where their minds finally sync is … quite literal, actually, but it works. In these twin shots of Carrie and Saul I’m struck especially by how Saul is against a light background while Carrie is cloaked in darkness.

Gail: These back-to-back shots give the impression that Carrie and Saul are on opposite ends of the same book which rings very true to me. The black and white imagery continues here as Sara points out. We see Carrie just barely ahead of the darkness, looking toward the light.

Ashley: Mandy just does things with his face sometimes and it’s amazing to watch.

Sara: Another extreme close-up of Saul as he realizes that Carrie lied to him.

Gail: Saul’s line from earlier in the season rings in my ears here. “You are vulnerable to him in ways neither of us can imagine.” But to build on my thoughts on his earlier close-up shot, I think it’s an effective tool for us to get a window into what Saul is genuinely thinking and feeling at that moment. The massive implications of Carrie’s involvement in a play being run by Yevgeny are devastating and Saul realizes it in one stunning and heartbreaking moment.

Gail: Anna saving Saul’s life gives so much more weight and importance to who she is to Saul. He owes her his life and, thirty years later, his career, too.

Sara: There is something fantastical about this part of the flashback. The backdrop and extreme lighting looks sort of … fake? It almost looks like they’re on a film set. I’m interpreting this as a reflection of Saul’s memory: we all want to see ourselves as the hero in our movie of our lives.

Sara: Shout out to Gail for realizing this Charlotte Benson character was featured last season with Ivan.

Gail: I love a good easter egg and a good callback. Details like this and recurring characters like Scott Ryan give their world realism. I stan.

Ashley: This is such a terribly effective moment in the show. We haven’t seen Yevgeny at all in this episode, and yet he’s ever-present; closing on “kill Saul” is so fucking… ugh. Stupid Homeland.

Gail: All of Yevgeny’s shots in this scene are done with a steady camera, which gives the impression (illusion?) of his control of the situation. Have we had a scene where Yevgeny isn’t leaning? My God, he’s even leaning when on Zoom for Spies.

Sara: As Yevgeny reveals the full extent of his play--“Kill Saul”--the camera zooms in on him. Eventually he takes up almost the entire frame. It gives the feeling of stakes being continually raised. And he’s still got that trademark smirk and nonchalance, despite what he’s telling Carrie to do.

Sara: Meanwhile, the camera stays mostly the same distance away from Carrie but pans in semi-circles around her, back and forth, back and forth. It’s an interesting choice as she comes to the realization of what Yevgeny is suggesting. The camera is almost like the wheels spinning in her head as she understands the full scope of the choice she must make.

Gail: As Carrie and Yevgeny go back and forth, each one trying to figure out what the other one knows, the shots start to go back and forth as well, mimicking their dance. In film and television production, there is a term called the 180 degree rule. What it means is that there is an imaginary line running through a scene, from side to side, with respect to the camera. The rule of thumb is that the camera should never cross the line because it causes the viewer to feel disoriented and confused. But when used effectively, we get the powerful effect that it had here in this scene. We (the audience) feel the same disorientation as Carrie, the same unsteadiness that is reflected in the handheld camera that shoots her. As I mentioned above, when we see Yevgeny on the computer screen, he is centered, steady and in control. Quite a contrast between the two.

Ashley: I repeat… stupid Homeland.

Ashley: We’ve seen so much darkness in this episode, mostly related to Saul — Carrie, for her part, has been pretty much in bright spaces. Despite everything that’s happened to her, I believe that this is the darkest point in her life.

Sara: Carrie hurriedly walks out of this vast, empty mansion as the lights dim behind her. The weight and horror of this decision is splayed across her face. The darkness follows her. The question now as we head into this final chapter: can she outrun it? Or will it finally catch up to her?

Gail: Staying just ahead of the darkness and trying to find the light. Here Carrie is again living somewhere in between.

#let's crack his spine open and see if there's a note #zoom for spies #we need alt titles for these now i guess?#homeland #homelandedit #in the director's chair #the english teacher #*#by: sara #by: gail #by: ashley #michael cuesta

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valyrfia · 5 years

Text

More Opinions on the Stranger Things 3 Soundtrack that No One Asked for

Woven in with some theories that may or may not be true. Proceed with caution

Quick disclaimer: I prefer this soundtrack to season 2. It feels a lot more vibrant and a lot more mature (I guess reflecting on the kids growing up). Also bearing in mind that the tracklist isn’t necessarily in chronological order (it isn’t for season 1), so I’m not going to try and figure out any plot points with what tracks are next to each other.

Boys and Girls A remix of ‘Kids’, albeit a slightly more matured version, this is definitely what starts out the season and makes me smile. It’ll be great to see the party reunited again. I love the track title as well. At the end of the day, no matter how grown up they want to pretend to be, they all are still kids (or at least, at the beginning of the season).

I Like Presents Too Definitely a Mileven track, it’s sweet and perfectly encapsulates a childhood romance, nothing much else to say about it.

Starcourt We already know some SHIT goes down at the mall, this is probably the introductory shot to the mall, generic upbeat music.

I Need You to Trust Me From the trailer we know this is another Mileven track, it sounds slightly bittersweet, so I’m slightly worried.

You’re A Fighter Hopper 100% says this to El. It’s beautiful, and I’m sure I’ll be tearing up at this moment. There’s a new musical element we haven’t heard before in the background with the high bell-like synth. One of the highlights for me.

The Ceiling is Beautiful It sounds like the ceiling starts out beautiful but quickly goes downhill, this might be a parallel shot to the upside down or something similar.

The First I Love You The First Lie was my favourite track from season 2, so it makes me so happy hearing the continuation of that theme. This is definitely between Nancy and Jonathan and is going to be such a sweet scene. The soundtrack alone makes me smile, so I really can’t wait for the entire scene.

Rats Nope. I can’t do it. I have listened to this track a grand total of one time, I tried again for this post and really can’t do it. It’s way too creepy, especially with whatever that flesh-like sound is. Definitely the monster’s theme and I am scared.

Heather’s We know Heather is the missing lifeguard, so this makes me genuinely sad/terrified for whatever happened to her. I hate to say it, but she’s almost definitely dead.

Find the Source This will be finding the source of the infection, whatever it is. It’s not a particularly scary theme, so maybe its a planning session among the party, or the Hawkins lab officials freaking out.

What Did You Do to Him? In my mind, this plays during whatever goes down with whoever is infected at the hospital (people are saying this is ep 3/4-ish?). The real question is, what DID they do to him?

The Silver Cat Feeds This was one of the phrases from the promos. I have to admit, I have zero clues about where this storyline could go. It could have something to do with the Russians, or the government, but quite honestly, I have no idea.

William This either pertains to Billy or Will, because unfortunately both are called William. In my mind, it’s either Billy being possesed, or keeping with the theory that Will will develop powers this season, I can totally see this as Will’s powers finally coming to the fore, something about the middle and end sound too...uplifting, for lack of a better word, to be the Mindflayer, not to mention it isn’t the Mindflayer’s theme. I’m leaning more towards this track being about Will, but we’ll see.

Destroying the Castle This will definitely be about Will destroying Castle Byers, and I’m sure we will all cry ugly tears when it happens. For me, apart from Aftermath this is the most beautiful track of the entire OST. It’s nostalgic, but at the same time has the bitterness of a lost childhood. It’s very very good, and I’m going to cry. An interesting thing about this track however is the fast paced synth in the background behind the main long notes, usually the composers only use this technique if there’s a lot of action happening on screen (this ensure the soundtrack isn’t drowned out by the action). There is a theory going around that if Will does develop powers, he’ll destroy Castle Byers with said powers, and I can totally see this happening with this soundtrack.

In The Void We already know that El is going back to the void from the trailers, but it does make one wonder why she feels the need to go there. Maybe she’s checking up on the Mindflayer, who knows.

Tammy Who is Tammy? In my opinion she could be another number, like El and Kali. This’ll be interesting to watch.

Mirkwood SCARY. I don’t want to know what’s lurking in Mirkwood.

Portal Drill Ah Hawkins Lab back at it again with things they should really leave alone. I think this track is quite self-explanatory

The Door is Opening Undoubtedly the Portal Drill worked but this track seems a little lowkey for such a big moment. I reckon this is the scene from the trailer with Will and El talking about the Mindflayer.

Planck’s Constant *Ahem* So in physics Planck’s Constant is a number that relates the energy a photon can carry to its frequency. In simpler terms, it’s the smallest unit of measurement in the universe. This reminds me of ‘Theoretically’ from season 1, so we could be seeing the reappearence of Mr. Clarke, and this almost definitely has something to do with more worldbuilding surrounding the mechanics of the upside down/mindflayer.

Sauna Test This one is interesting, we already know that there’s an episode called ‘The Sauna Test’ so whatever it is, this is a major plot point. I’m intrigued with how it starts out sounding like your typical monster track but changes into something a little more triumphant, maybe it’s El or someone coming in to save the day, we’ll see.

The Trees Are Moving/On Their Tracks: The monster is chasing them and I’m not happy about it.

Not Chinese Food Someone said this sounds like someone discovering a dead body and I 100% agree, no more to be said.

Land Deeds When the tracklist came out, people thought this had to do with the Byers family moving, but I’m glad to report that this is almost definitely an action song. Probably relates to Nancy’s investigative journalism work, she finds something fishy in the land deeds, most likely relating to the Starcourt Mall.

Not Kids Anymore While I don’t think this plays during the already infamous Mike/Will exchange, I do think that this is Mike’s line to Will coming back to bite them in the ass. Whatever they’re facing this year seems to involve their families and endanger more people than ever before, the responsibility facing them is immense.

Scoops Troop Erica/Steve/Robin/Dustin carrying out whatever mission they have to carry out in the finale. Also ‘Scoops Troop’ is hilarious and I better see everyone referring to the four of them as that from now on.

We Don’t Understand Each Other Definitely some emotional angst. People have been saying this is a break-up song, but I’m not too sure.

Aftermath It sounds like a lullaby, and is definitely closing out the season. This could totally be a post-death soundtrack, but I also see it being the background of a montage a month later, or someone else suggested it plays in the background as there are slow-mo shots of Will and El being taken away by the government (which would make sense to me, the final shot would then be the party looking up at helicopters flying away from the Mall, carrying Will and El with them, it fits with the final synth note of the track). Whichever way this goes, I know I’m going to be sobbing ugly tears when this track plays.

Round-Up:

This has heightened my excitement for season 3 more than you can believe. All the tracks have more layers to them than in previous seasons and definitely fits with the progressing storyline and maturing kids. I am beyond hyped, and can’t wait for July 4th.

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deepsubmission · 5 years

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Dream Vividly (The Opium Hovel)

I awoke to find... A predictable pattern that keeps repeating itself. Engage in intense activity, dream vividly, and awake to find. Today I awoke to find myself in a near light-less building of somekind (smoke kind?). I'm lying on a large, raised chaise with a cushion that would be suitable for two people to sit together rather comfortably. It’s a dirty place, industrial in feel with metal beams along the ceiling, insulation peeling and hanging in a few places. Makeshift plywood walls that don't reach the ceiling are laid out in a maze forming not so private rooms without doors

The scent hits me before I can absorb all my surroundings visually. Smoke. Like chicken skin burning on a grill, with a slight hint of sweetness. Opium. It hits me hard, a gut punch, mentally speaking. I double over in memory, the pain of how and when I started this, of how I can get out of this place, and how can I have more, right now. The table next to me has an old gas lamp on it, which looks like an old oil can with a heavy wick burning at the top.

Footsteps approach from behind. I don't turn, but wait to see who it is. The short mustached man joins me. He's well dressed in a tweed three piece suit, thin hair combed finely over his head. "I've been wondering when you'd... engage us again, sir," He replied in a sophisticated sounding English accent. I looked at the face talking with me, it was familiar, very familiar. "I know you, don't I? But don't bother doing a lot of explaining, let's just pick up where we left off, things will come back," I said, slurring parts of my speech, not hiding it, not caring. Is this what it feels like to be me, the authentic me? Is this why I am here, because it allows me to slur if I want, without concern? Do thoughts slur? I wondered. "I always wanted cool hair," I told my friend. "There's all different kinds of hair that seem more stylish than mine. Mine never fit me well. People say they like it, but something about the way it lays or won't brush right, bothers me. Is it lays or lies? How do you say that in this grammatical context? Ahh, so, I like your hair. It suits you. Everything about you suits you, I'll bet. Though I'm sure you've got your complaints. We never really suit ourselves, do we?"

His brown eyes looked at me inquisitively, sympathetically. "There, yes, you're coming to now." Then his demeanor suddenly sharpened and his eyes stared at me intently as he spoke. "Listen to me now, you've got to focus for a minute. I've found something, I'm onto something big," He was whispering now, leaning in toward me. "The boy who fell. He didn't fall. He was pushed. And I have proof, but not enough to convince anyone yet. And candidly I'm not precisely certain of whom will care." His eyes penetrated me, though I was soft as pudding and couldn't be moved by an intense stare at the moment. I made a mental note that not being affected by the tonality of others might be a deeper level of this authentic self concept.

"Jon, whoa," I said slowly. "This is heavy. Bring me something over to help me pick up the thoughts. Put them in order. Go get a pipe, will you?" "Dammit, A, I don't have - we don't have the time..." "Pipe." I cut him off. "Just get a pipe, Jonathan, pipe. Piiiiipe." I closed my eyes and heard him walk briskly back behind me, echoing through the hollow passageways. A low murmur of people in their own cube shaped spaces conversing, humming, singing filled the air. "Damn great place, this is," I said aloud quietly and opened my eyes. As I did, I saw Jon with two long gold pipes. His short fingers pressing into them, preparing the drug. He passed a pipe to me "I honestly don't see how this is going to help." "Don't worry, Jon. I have a little..." I mumbled from the side of my mouth with the pipe in it. I placed the upside down opening of the pipe over the lamp and started puffing in gently. "Got a little mystery of my own, maybe we can do a quid pro quo."

Jon squinted as if pained by my phrase, then inhaled from his pipe and recounted a long tale of getting lost in the woods as if it were some kind of war flashback, then climbing the side of some steep terrain to witness a falling body careening through the trees, landing not far from him. He looked up and saw a blonde girl looking down at the body. A man and woman joined her at the precipice, examining the fall, the lifeless form below. "I'm sure they saw me, stealth was not an option, so I took off down the bank, but stayed above the river, not wanting to completely expose myself. I heard nor saw nothing, but kept going. Further and further up river for the remainder of the day, covering approximately eight miles."

I puffed again and looked at him. "And the boy, did you get a look at him? When was this? You seem to be presuming that I know something about it." "We know everything about it. The both of us." "Oh no. not me. I can offer intellectual services," the word 'services' stuck to my mouth like peanut butter as I said it. "but you're not dragging me into a fox hunt. I don't fare well in those. I'm staying riiiight here, Johnny." My eyes stared at him and I'm sure it was a blank one - what else could it have been? I let my eyes roll back into my head and fell away, drifted out of my consciousness, or maybe just out of my body. "Just a little," I heard my own voice in my head. It sounded thick and I was slightly saddened by the fact that it didn't echo. My eyebrows were raised in anticipation of hearing it bounce, but it didn't.

I found myself outside of the building on the sidewalk, piercing sunlight glaring down on me between the mid-rise buildings. The street was perhaps as dirty as my little opium hole. Trash bags blowing against buildings, broken windows, spray painted Japanese graffiti, beat up cars, and beat up people. Some sitting, some walking, some on bikes. Some locals, some native islanders. I recognized the burly figure sitting on a wooden shipping crate in front of the opium house. He was known as Jac. Keeps the good guys in and the bad guys out. In this case, the bad guys are the cops and local mafia. Both of which are usually satiated by their weekly portion of the take. Across the street there's a kid sitting next to a bike with a basket of newspapers and a cardboard sign that said ten cents. He was reading a magazine, upon closer examination was the Journal of Tropical medicine.

tbc?

#story #opium #hawaii #the boy #writers #spilled words #the fall #mystery

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hawkinspostbite · 5 years

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Chapstick

Words: 1,815

MASTERLIST

A/N: I do not claim to, nor do I own Stranger Things; the concept, characters, plot, etc.

She was an avid chapstick collector. Her collection was her prized possession, and her dirty little secret. She was known for loving chapstick, she had one situated in a pocket of each of her jackets, on her bedside table, on her vanity, in her locker, and in Billy’s car. Just underneath her bed, in a hollowed-out jewelry box, laid her holy grail. Decorated with stickers all the way back from her childhood to now, She managed to keep the box a secret from all. That was, until the first night Billy slept over.

Her parents were attending a wedding in Indianapolis, and her younger brother had been shipped off to her aunt’s for the weekend, so the house was all hers.

She and Billy were pretty fresh into their relationship, only going together for about five months, but he could already feel a difference in himself. All the other girls he had been with before, whether it be short or long, weren’t her. They were rough around the edges, had very little emotions, and only wanted one thing. She, however, was soft, had more emotions than Billy knew possible, and wanted the world- and everything it had to offer. She stilled his raging heart, calmed his trembling hand, and kissed his frowning lips. He spent less time in detention, stopped picking petty fights, got along with his family, got better grades, and stopped going to as many parties. “Once a party animal, always a party animal.” He’d say. As of late, he much preferred spending time with her than being surrounded by people he hardly knew.

He’d be lying if he said that she wasn’t the greatest thing to happen to him in his short life. His father was a disgrace to the title “father”, his mother was a whore, and he received little to no affection his entire life. In addition to her kindness and carefulness, she was quite the looker. Beautiful at any and every moment, sweet and soft, his favorite piece of art.

Thursday morning she had practically ran into him with excitement. “Hey Bill.” She cooed, drawing his eyes from his locker down to her. He immediately smiled, leaning down to kiss her.

“Morning baby, how’s my favorite girl?”

“Pretty great if I do say so.” She was practically bouncing with excitement. “Aren’t you gonna ask me why I’m so happy?”

He tilted his head, smirking. “Why’re you so happy?”

“Well- since you asked, mom and dad are gonna be out of town this weekend, and they’re sending Sam to my aunt’s and I’m gonna have the house to myself. So, do you wanna sleepover?”

“A sleepover? What’s in the itinerary for this sleepover?” He turned to start searching through his locker for his math term paper. “Mani-pedis, romantic comedies, gossip?”

She scoffed, smacking his arm lightly. “No. I was thinking, movie marathons, maybe breaking into my dad’s mini bar. Oh and probably lots of making out.”

His head whipped to the side. This was a slightly different side to her than he knew. “Sounds like a good time to me. I’m in.”

She was telling the truth, mostly. She forgot to add that she finally wanted her and Billy to “seal the deal”, and what better time than when they were home alone? Listening to his response, she took the final detail and shoved it into the back of her mind. “Yay! It’s a date!” She leaned upwards, kissing his cheek.

A soft blush dusted Billy’s face at the sweet gesture. “I’ll be at your place at eight tomorrow? Sound good.”

“Perfect!”

With a quick kiss and fist bump*, the two parted ways for the day.

*It was just a cute little thing they did

Friday afternoon, she had left school right after the final bell, having Jonathan drop her off at her house. Her parents had already been gone, and her brother was being picked up from school, so the house was silent upon entry.

For a moment she relished in the quietness, before getting to work. She cleaned and tidied each room. Fluffing the pillows, and removing the cat hair from the couch in the living room, wet-mopping the floor and wiping down the cabinets in the kitchen, perfectly setting the dining room table (as if it was already party ready). She simply closed and locked the basement door, as there was no helping that room. Her parents bed and bath were always locked when they left for an extended time, so she needn’t worry about that. She disinfected and perfected her and her brother’s shared bathroom, and closed and locked her brother’s room- it looked like a tornado had hit it.

Then came her room. She vacuumed the carpet, put on clean linens and sheets, fluffed her pillows, made sure she had the softest blankets in the house, organized her besides table, dresser top, and vanity, and made sure her closet was neat and orderly. When she was finished, nothing was out of place. Her entire house was perfect, save the basement and Sam’s room.

She dug through her closet to find her other secret arsenal, her scented candles. She had collected a plethora of vanilla-rum candles that her aunt made her every year for Christmas. She took the bin out and set it on her bed, digging through it to pull out the box of matches. She lit a candle on the coffee table in the living room, one on the kitchen island, one on her vanity and her bedside table, and one on the bathroom counter.

The clock chimes seven times, and she began to get ready. She took a hot shower, shampooing and conditioning her hair to the fullest extent, shaving, making sure she was in tip-top shape for her late night plans. She dressed in her favorite cute pajamas, slightly blow-dried her hair, moisturized her entire body, and for good measure, slathered on a healthy helping of her bedside watermelon chapstick.

Promptly at eight, Billy arrived, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and a bouquet of baby’s breath in his hand. “Evening Princess, brought you some flowers.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek as she happily took the bouquet.

“Baby’s breath are my favorite.” She breathed in their soft scent.

“I know.” He smiled, placing his bag onto the counter. “You baking a cake or something?” He sniffed the air.

“Nah. Just my favorite candles. Nobody lets me burn them when everybody’s home.” She shrugged, moving to the cupboard to find one of her mom’s canning mason jars. She filled it halfway with water and placed the flowers into it.

“Well I’ll let you burn whatever you want baby. Hey- they look pretty good in that.”

“We don’t own flower vases, nobody gets flowers from anyone.”

The couple stood in silence for a moment, each of them taking in each other.

Billy admired the way the candle light made her face dark, but her eyes were still gorgeous and bright.

She admired how soft he looked in the dim light, and how kind his eyes were.

“I’m gonna go grab a shower quick, if you don’t mind. It was pretty chaotic at mine.” She nodded at him. Neil was away on a work trip, and Max had convinced her mother to let the Party sleepover. Which resulted in literal chaos let loose in Billy’s home. “Why don’t you pick out a movie while I’m up there?”

He kissed her cheek again on the way by.

Two hours later they had watched the entirety of ‘St. Elmo’s Fire’, and she was ready to put her official plan into action. She yawned, snuggling further into Billy’s embrace. “You ready for bed kid?” Billy softly smiled at her.

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you head up? I’ll blow out the candles and stuff. Make sure the doors are locked. Meet you up there.”

She sleepily walked up the stairs and to the bathroom. She checked herself in the mirror and quickly brushed her teeth, blowing out the bathroom candle and making her way down the hall to her room.

“Hey babe, I was thinking- what the hell are you doing?!” She stepped into her room to see Billy seated cross-legged on her bed, her empty chapstick box next to him, and a pile of chapsticks between his legs. He was carefully examining the varying flavors.

She rushed forward to grab the box. “Billy, how did you find this? Were you snooping on me?” She was genuinely horrified that somebody had finally uncovered her secret.

He looked over at her, holding a green apple Lip Smacker in his hand. “So this is the reason why you always taste so fruity... and why your lips are so damn soft.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t really like the green apple one. But you didn’t answer my question! Why were you snooping?”

He looked down again at the array of chapsticks. “You snoop on me all the time.” He shrugged, grabbing the Dr. Pepper one. “I know you keep a damn chapstick on you at all times but I didn’t think it was this bad.”

She groaned, tossing the box at him. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Baby, if a collection of chapsticks... and lip glosses?”

“For special occasions.” She grumbled.

He chuckled at her. “If a collection of lip products is your biggest secret then you have nothing to worry about.” He uncapped the Root Beer one and swiped it across his lips. “I can see why you like these things so much, they’re pretty neat. And they don’t taste half bad either.”

“I never even got to try the Root Beer yet!” She snatched it from his grip.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her onto the bed with him. “Then taste.” He pressed his lips to hers, making sure she got a taste of him and the chapstick.

She pulled away, and he raised his eyebrows. “I agree, a very good flavor.”

She had completely forgotten about her prior agenda as Billy came up with the brilliant idea to take a “Chapstick Inventory”, they narrowed it down to their mutual favorites, and whatever flavors they didn’t like, he’d take home for Max.

Lemon, watermelon, honey, cherry, peppermint, Dr. Pepper, grape, lime, banana, raspberry, and chocolate stayed. And green apple, strawberry, passion fruit, piña-colada, orange, kiwi, and bubble gum went to Max.

Billy kept Root Beer for himself.

What was once just her dirty little secret had now become their “thing”.

A quick kiss. Billy would always lick his lips right after. “Mm, what flavor was that?”

The answer was always different. “Banana.”, “Raspberry.”, “Lemon.”, etc.

But their favorite was always Root Beer. For it reminded them of their first “sleepover”, vanilla-rum candles, baby’s breath bouquets, soft velvet comforters, and the warmth of each other’s embrace.

#stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #billy hargrove #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove blurb #billy hargrove one shot #billy hargrove fluff

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wickednerdery · 5 years

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Title: War and Ruin Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: The Night Manager Pairing/character: Jonathan Pine/Female Assassin Rating: Mature Summary: “No one’s beyond help.” Notes: Like with Death, War and Ruin are not real names nor are they meant to be War and/or Ruin literally. The masterlist is here. This one’s mainly just got a murder…for that and consistency, “Read More”.

He knows CIA operative Joel Steadman lives in this quiet neighborhood outside Washington DC and, while friendly, mainly keeps to himself and his work. No family, no significant other, no one about to pop over the house unexpectedly. He knows there are cameras and an alarm system, yet these have been disabled for two days without being addressed. Perhaps the agent’s too tech-illiterate to realize there’s a problem or, perhaps, he’s merely too lazy to get them back online. It hardly matters.

What does matter is that Steadman’s home office, like so many in this field, is filled with the man’s work...files, notes, off-site research. All those classified documents taken home for examination that workdays filled with filings and meetings simply don’t allow. Ironic: all those efforts taken to protect asset identities and information only to carry it all off somewhere totally exposed.

Shadows give way in the lighting up of a neighbor’s lawn as its dog excitedly barks his knowledge to the winds. War’s come to town. The man slips back into the dark, waits to ensure the dog’s dismissed, brought in under scolds for barking at nothing, then carries on as the spotlight times out. No one suspects, no one thinks to worry, not even the federal agent.

“So...we all know about your dealings with international businesses, your philosophy on improving and maintaining not just a peoples’, but also company’s, wellbeing...”

Ruin smiles, near blushes, at the clichéd opener.

“...But apparently you’re concerned about wellbeing beyond that as well.” The newswoman finds his flushing face remarkably charming, even sweet. “You have a number of non-profit children’s homes both in your homeland of Australia and across Europe, but are hoping to expand into the States as well now, is that right?”

“Yeah.” His voice is gravely, but pleasant. “Yeah, I do. You know, the way I see it, children��s wellbeing is paramount. Whatever a child feels growing up, that’s what they carry into adulthood, carry on to their work, their families...the world.”

“And your organization works with a very specific set of children...”

It’s leading, so Ruin dives in. “RUIN - Refuge for the Underage, Indigent, and Neglected - tends to take in those who are, sorta, already on the wrong end of things.”

“The wrong end of things?”

“Those born below the poverty line, to places without a support structure already in place for them. Those born into addiction and violence and all manner of...” he thinks of the wording “deficits that may go beyond even what one might expect from a child taken in by social services.”

“Some would say there’s risk in that. How do you get others to back you in a project that, many may argue, is little more than throwing money at those beyond help?” It’s meant to be a challenge, but her smile remains.

“No one’s beyond help.”

War makes quick work of the backdoor lock, slips into the kitchen scanning everything around him. He knows the house, studied its layout long before tonight, but he checks and double checks. Everything is as it should be; nothing but a faint light coming from the office upstairs as another American works long past his workday.

He calculates: lure Steadman down and risk an armed agent or slip up and risk a witness via mobile or computer? He chooses the latter and climbs carefully, avoiding the parts he already knows will creak and give him away. Outside the door he listens, takes in the man’s deep voice and analyzes it for cadence and vocabulary...there’s no suggestion he’s speaking to anyone but himself, his work.

“Can you speak to that? Any success stories?”

Ruin smiles. “I don’t wanna name names, part of what we wanna do is give these kids a new start, a chance to distance themselves from where and what they came from, but...” the smile turns mischievous “I will say some of our early graduates have gone on to become doctors and lawyers, giants in the tech and business industries.”

“Graduates?”

“We don’t just house them, that’s...that’s what other places do, are for. At RUIN we educate them, prepare them for the next step after us. It’s not just aging out, it’s graduating.”

Deep breath, turn in, and two bullets fire into Steadman’s head before the man can even think to look up. Double-tap and two more for good measure. War’s breath hitches as he watches that proverbial light in the other go out, his lips lift at one corner in the pleasure of success.

He slips gun back in holster, pulls on gloves from pocket, and begins to rifle. He grabs files, notebooks, loose leafs. It’s all out in the open, not even the vaguest semblance of coding...not even on the agent’s phone. Shoving the man from his chair War gives it a spin, then another as he plops down to begin downloads. The computer is also an open book, spreading under the man’s fingertips as he types.

“God, I love the dumb ones....” War licks lips as he glances around the desk. Amongst the paperclips and Post-Its is a framed photo of Joel Steadman with a woman...Caucasian, same approximate age, significantly shorter in stature. “Hmmm...” he leans over, picks it up. “Who might you be....?” A closer look reveals dark, curly, hair and pleasant face with smart, searching, eyes.

“What principles, if any, do you carry over from your success in business to your philanthropic work?”

The man shifts, thinking over the answer. An answer that will ring true, that is true. “Give someone a purpose, have a purpose.”

“Purpose? Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Not passion or sense of community or -”

“Nah, see, those are good. They are important. But not as much as purpose. Passion without purpose can become chaos and a community inevitably falls apart if its people don’t have their own sense of purpose. Purpose...” he smiles “Give someone purpose and they’ve something to work, to live, for. They’ve a reason for existing.”

Tongue flicks out, runs across lips, as War scans his surroundings with vague interest. When the hotelier speaks he turns back. “Yes, thank you. Could you hold any calls I might get tonight or tomorrow? I’m afraid it was a very long celebration and I’d like not to be disturbed, please.”

“Yes, sir...Did you at least enjoy yourself, I hope?”

War chuckles. “Very much.”

The man smiles. “Glad to hear it. Have a good night, sir.”

“Thank you.” He heads up, locks and checks room, then texts from a secure mobile:

To: Ruin Ceremony was perfect. Got swag bag for you. Home tomorrow evening.

Pine gets the news over encrypted app message and he understands why. Security aside, Angela’s likely in no state to speak on it. Whatever she and Steadman had went beyond a business relationship and, he suspects, beyond a simple friendship as well.

He wonders what happened, how a CIA operative can be killed in his own home without there being any witnesses, any evidence. Pine wonders what information they might’ve taken and what they might plan to do with it. He wonders who it was.

Jonathan also wonders if, perhaps, Death might know something…

So, first and foremost, I’ll clarify any potential confusion: this piece goes back and forth between War (assassinating CIA agent Joel Steadman who worked the Roper case with Angela Burr & Pine) and Ruin (being interviewed on a UK talk show) with a bit of Pine finding out Steadman was murdered at the end. Thought it a good intro for the newbies - an arm’s dealing assassin and human trafficking semi-retired assassin - and you’ll learn more about them as we go...though next piece is most likely Pine and Death again, lol!

(Gifs found from Google, combined by me)

Tags: @sleepless-nights-with-your-king @chibiyanai, @my-world-of-imagines @lokilvrr @rizzo87 @tarithenurse @creedslove @wadeyouwitch @annievvv7 @cassadius @lady-crowned-with-stars @moonfaery @wintertink @holykryptonitekitten @musiclovertjeever @ultrarebelheart @lukeevansandjdmobession @merlinspantsandbeard @alexakeyloveloki @kimanne723 @mysacredstardust …If anyone wants on or off this list please just let me know! (Strike-throughs are those Tumblr wouldn’t allow proper tagging of.)

#jonathan pine #The Night Manager #joel steadman #angela burr #fanfiction #death #aka pine's lover #war and ruin #assassins #spies #my writing #not my gif #but kinda my gif #encounters with death

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willel · 6 years

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Will and El Centric Fic List (November 2018)

Here is a list of some Will and El fics! These are centered around Will and El, not just fics that happen to include them, of which there are many. I’ve created an archive for them on Archive of our own with a few of them already there.

If you know of some fics that should be on this list, let me know! I’m excluding mine from the list. Everyone writes way better than I do, heh. If more fics pop up in the future, I’ll definitely make another compilation post!

Alive again by @gazyrlezon

Summary: Will breathed in, deep. He smelt the sweet, untainted smell of the forests, of the bark on the trees and the needles on the few evergreens that grew in the woods around Hawkins. Even the slight smell of corruption and decay which mixed itself into that felt right and almost refreshing....

Review: A cute little short fic. Will decides to go visit El and Hopper in the cabin... on foot... by himself... and he probably didn’t tell anyone he was doing that either. A small hijinks ensues since he doesn’t know of the trap to alert of intruders.

Your Hand Next to Mine by AlabasterInk

Summary: While everyone is asleep, Will Byers and Eleven take a moment to be children.

Review: A sleepover with pals where the two most affected members of the party (Will and El, of course) bond over reading a little bit of Lord of the Rings. Eventually, they decide some drawing would be a fun way to pass the time while everyone slept. But, Will ends up having a mini-episode leading El to worry. And then she remembers a line I believe Will told her once, I’ve always liked this line. “Sometimes, friends lie because the truth is too scary. Not all lies are bad, and truth doesn’t always fix things.”

Sunflower Sister by Kenya_Illian

Summary: "Despite all the awe and mystery that surrounded her in his eyes, there was a strange connection between him and her that was somehow comforting." Nightmares are a permanent part of Will's world. Tragically and fortunately for him, they're a part of El's world too.

Review: Another sleepover premise and Will has a horrible nightmare. Luckily, El is there and is able to stir him awake. Will contemplates all the things he knows about her (which isn’t very much at this point) and he notes how everyone treats her pretty gently or sometimes even fragile, but to him she was possibly the strongest person in the world. They both go to chill since it’s like 2am in the morning, and so Will draws. Betcha can’t guess what. It’s SUPER CUTE. Honestly, this might be my favorite Will and El fic.

Smallest Light by callunavulgari

Summary: In the summer of 1986, Will’s mom marries Jim Hopper. OR, Will and El learn how to be real people again.

Review: This is a really cute snapshot of their lives kinda deal. It starts off with Joyce and Hopper’s wedding. Everything is going well, but Will is having a bit of a heat flash/panic attack and wanders off into a bathroom to relax. Of course, eventually, El notices he’s missing and easily finds him in the bathroom. It’s really sweet. Next it goes through some stuff involving school and growing up of course. Doesn’t adventure too far into the future/

MTV Punk by @gazyrlezon

Summary: “You ran home crying that day, and after that you never saw that freak again. Maybe you even convinced yourself that she wasn’t real, that it was Mike who broke your arm and you just misremembered it. But you didn’t. And in that week, this one freak scared you more than anything else —”Here she turned round, and was satisfied to find him suitably terrified at her knowing all this.“And that freak was me.”

Review: Simply put, and excellent little revenge story. Troy gets his just deserts for messing with her little brother all this time. Doesn’t go too far, but I could certainly see something like this happening if El joins public school eventually and finds out people are messing with Will. Even if she doesn’t join public school, she’d probably show up to school just to do this

that which fate binds together by Whitherward

Summary: Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

Review: First of all, I already love the summary. This one is similar to Smallest Light in which it is little snippits of Will and El growing up, but it goes a little further into the future and is more detailed. It’s a 7000+ word juicy read full of feels. There’s two pieces in here I really love that I always remember from time to time. To help her learn how to read aloud and read better, Will “forces” her to read to him as practice. SO AS TIME GOES ON, EL LEARNS TO READ BETTER AND WILL FINDS IT STRANGELY EASIER TO SLEEP THROUGH INSOMNIA LISTENING TO HER READ. EL NOTICES THIS AND CONTINUES READING ALOUD TO HIM LONG AFTER SHE’S LEARNED TO READ BETTER ALL THE TIME. HOW CUTE IS THAT. The other is how Will realizes he’s gay. A+. This is probably my favorite Will and El fic as well. Please READ IT. Squeal about it with me.

Not The Monster by Robertdoc

Summary: Three weeks after the gate is closed, and one week before the Snowball, El finally gets the chance to meet an awake and well Will Byers for the very first time in our dimension. A bonus chapter also gives her the chance to catch up with his mother as well.

Review: Their first meeting <3 It’s so cute. They’re both awkward angels. Will is a bit more excited/energetic than I’d write him to be, but it’s still good.

Introductions by WriterGirl128

Summary: A Will/Eleven friendship drabble that's made up of some headcanons, some speculation, some fic, borderline meta. Post-S02. "They’ve never had a proper introduction, but they really didn’t need one."

Review: This is kinda a plot bunny fic of what they want out of Will and El.

Bang Bang Bang 'til My Feet Do the Same by Barkour

Summary: Will Byers met Jane at the Snow Ball.

Review: Cute little drabble of the kids awkwardly meeting.

it's hard to be brave when you're alone in the dark by cdocks

Summary: after the gate is closed, the splintered remains of a family come back together to make a whole || eleven and mike come to visit will and joyce. hopper is there too. primarily eleven-and-will centric.

Review: A wholesome fic where Will isn’t feeling great and El and Mike come to visit. This fic also has one of my favorite lines. “ Out of all the people she’s met -- and there are only a few, few enough that she can count them and not run out of numbers -- it is this boy she’s barely spoken to who she is most like.“

Guys. I love it when Will and El holds hands. It gets all my feels working. Let them hold hands forever.

More Than Okay by EvieSmallwood

Summary: It’s March 22nd. Will Byers takes a walk.

Review: Certainly fluff, they must be well into high school here. Will wonders off alone at night after nightmare and of course, his sister El is the one who finds him pretty easily. I love the idea in pretty much all of these fics that if one or the other is missing somewhere (especially if Will has wondered off somewhere), El will always be the one to find him. And when he’s cold, she’s one of the first ones to warm him up.

painted new by byzinha

Summary: Will wants to teach El some Byers summer traditions.

Review: A very short but very SWEET little fic <3 Will paints flowers on her hands and it’s TOTALLY SWEET, MY FLOWER SUMMER CHILDREN, PROTECT THEM. Ah, you know what. I drew a fanart referencing this without realizing. I want to do a proper fanart for this fic.

Feels Like Home by Aceofstars16

Summary: A fic focusing on Will and El’s friendship developing and growing, changing from knowing of each other, to being friends, to becoming siblings. A bit of a future AU/what I'd love to see happen in the show.

Review: This fic covers their first meeting and beyond. One part I really love in this fic is when El is hanging out with Will the first time, Will isn’t sure what to do. But Jonathan steps in and handles all the awkwardness between them and then after that, Will takes care of the rest. What a good big brother, leading his little siblings down the right path. And this fic has one of my favorite headcanons, El and Will drawing together~ THERE IS THE CUTEST BIT OF DIALOGUE AT THE END. MUST READ

#stranger things #will byers #el hopper #jane hopper #eleven #fanfiction

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tfloosh · 6 years

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Time

Guys, I planned to have this out before August, but after struggling through six pages, I decided I hated everything I wrote and deleted everything and really struggled to start over. I’m much happier with what I’m posting today, and I hope you have all enjoyed reading this little fanfiction of mine. :)

Also, the tradition of naming the Princess of Hyrule Zelda is canon in this fic, so Zelda and Link’s daughter is named Zelda, but they call her by her middle name Caralynn, just so there’s no confusion.

Princess Zelda was practically bouncing in her seat.

“Are we almost there, Mother?” she asked, glancing out the window as if Calatia City would suddenly appear over the horizon in the next couple of seconds.

“It’ll be an hour still, Caralynn,” Queen Zelda smiled at her daughter. “We’ll be there in time for dinner. Don’t worry.”

“But how could I not?” Caralynn slouched in her seat. “I’m so nervous for Kaleb, and we haven’t seen him or Father for a whole month.”

“I know, dear,” Zelda smiled. “I miss them, too. But I’m sure Kaleb will be fine for his crowning. He has become a very mature young man.”

“Mature?” Caralynn huffed. “Before they left last time, Kaleb put a frog in my bedsheets.”

“If I remember correctly, you had left a snake in his,” Zelda pointedly stared at her daughter.

“It was only a tiny garden snake,” Caralynn resumed looking out the window so as to not meet her mother’s gaze. “It wouldn’t have hurt him.” Then she giggled. “He has such a girly scream for a fifteen-year-old.”

The Queen could only roll her eyes and shake her head.

They arrived at the Calatian Royal Castle in an hour, just as Zelda had predicted. Her husband, King Link, and their son, Prince Kaleb were there to greet them.

“Oh, my son,” Zelda hugged Kaleb extra tight just because she could. “I missed you so much.”

“Mother,” Kaleb huffed. “I can’t breathe.”

“Oh hush,” she ruffed his hair which made him scowl. “Just let your mother give you a hug after we’ve been apart for a month.” Zelda briefly turned to Link sending him a smile and extending her hand so he could press a quick kiss to her knuckles. “How have preparations gone? Will everything be ready by next week?”

“Yes, everything has gone rather smoothly,” he replied, escorting his wife up the stairs and into the main entrance. “Preparations for the crowning are complete, everything for the ball is finished, and the only thing left is the cleaning of a few guest rooms. Speaking of which, when will your parents arrive?”

“Day after tomorrow,” Zelda answered as Caralynn and Kaleb raced past them down the hall. “We may need to separate them soon. Apparently Kaleb left a frog in Caralynn’s bed before you left.”

“I think we should have some father-daughter time then,” Link smiled as he slipped away to grab Caralynn. In turn, Zelda stepped forward to grab Kaleb.

It wasn’t until she had children of her own that Zelda truly appreciated the patience her own mother used when dealing with her. She loved her children, yes, and couldn’t imagine her life without them, but it was times like these that she felt like the Goddesses were really testing her.

***

Guests arrived from all across the Goddesses’ Realm to attend the anointing of Prince Kaleb as the Crown Prince of Calatia. There was more pomp surrounding the event than usual as many wanted to watch a son of Hyrule and Calatia be introduced to the life of public service and the full duties of the crown.

Of course, Zelda was worried out of her mind. She could have sworn there were less people attending her marriage to Link. She never wanted this kind of pressure on her sweet son.

“The only added anxiety I feel is from your worrying, Mother,” Kaleb said during breakfast the day before the ceremony. “I promise I’m fine. I promise everything will go perfectly. If anything you should be worried about Father forgetting his lines or Caralynn making a scene.”

“Being scolded by my own son,” Zelda lamented, ignoring the cries of protest from her husband and daughter. “What has the world come to? Alright, Kaleb, I promise not to pester you for the rest of the day and all of tomorrow.”

“I’ll hold you to your word,” Kaleb pointed his fork at her. “Not a peep for the next forty-eight hours.”

It was easier than Zelda thought. During their final dress rehearsal, Kaleb performed perfectly, easing all the worries she had.

“You’re going to do just fine, my son,” she pulled him into a hug. “Now don’t stay up too late, and don’t drive your father crazy.”

Zelda turned to Link, “And don’t drive your son crazy, either.”

After some final hugs with both Zelda and Caralynn, Link and Kaleb left to partake in a traditional night of seclusion. From the end of the dress rehearsal to the beginning of the crowning, it was tradition for the father and son to be alone and meet with no one. It was a time for the King to pass down wisdom to his heir and for the future Crown Prince to bare his anxieties to his father. The entire time was kept secret to all but the pair, and Zelda knew how important it would be to them both. Link told her once that the night before his own crowning held some of his greatest memories with his father.

The next morning was a rush of excitement, mainly spearheaded by Princess Zelda Caralynn. She was a whirlwind of energy, barely keeping still to let her hair be styled or her Bathory green dress to be properly laced up.

“My first official international ball,” the young princess smiled widely. “Will there be kids my age?”

“There should be,” Zelda smiled at her daughter through the mirror in front of them both. “Queen Hilda of Lorule has a daughter around your age. And of course several of your friends from both Hyrule and Calatia will be here.”

“Yay!” she cheered.

“I hope you practiced your dance steps,” Queen Mother Adalynn smiled from where she sat by the fire.

“Every chance I could,” Caralynn smiled brightly and twirled for her Grandmother just to prove her point. “Dance lessons are much more fun than my other tutoring.”

“Thought her tutoring has gone much better since Kaleb started taking all his lessons here in Calatia,” Zelda almost rolled her eyes, and Adalynn nodded knowingly.

“The joys of raising royal children,” the Queen Mother laughed.

“I truly don’t know how you did it with, Link.”

“Lots of patience and replacing paneling filled with arrow holes on the second floor gallery.”

“Bless you and your patience, Queen Mother,” Zelda placed a hand over her heart. “Now,” she turned to Caralynn, “which jewelry would you like to wear?”

“Could I wear the emerald set Grandmother Ada gave me last Goddess Day?”

“I think that’s a perfect choice,” Zelda reached for the delicate necklace and earrings her daughter selected and handed them to Adalynn so she could put them on her granddaughter. She carefully clasped the necklace on while Caralynn slipped the earrings into place.

“You look like a Princess,” Zelda smiled at her daughter as she twirled in front of the mirror.

“Thank you,” she smiled. “But I still think blue looks better.”

“That’s my girl.”

They waited in a second floor parlor with some of the other high profile guests until it was their turn to enter the Grand Hall. The Queen and Princess took their thrones on the dais behind the High Priest while the Queen Mother took her seat in the front row, and they waited for the entrance of the King and Prince.

Everyone stood when Link walked in with Kaleb at his side and the ceremony began.

“I, Link of House Bathory, present my son, Kaleb Jonathan, to the Goddesses above, all here in attendance, and all the subjects of my realm,” Link spoke to the High Priest.

“As the chosen representative of the Goddesses, I welcome you,” the High Priest nodded. “Is there anything you wish to declare to the Goddesses of old?”

“I wish to declare my intention to name my son as my heir and Crown Prince of the kingdom of Calatia.”

The High Priest began the ceremonial speech in Ancient Hylian. Zelda glanced over at Caralynn to see her daughter’s brow furrowed in concentration to hear and understand each word. After the High Priest was done, Kaleb knelt, and Link stepped forward to give the formal vows.

“With all the peoples of Calatia here as my witnesses,” he started, “I confirm you as my heir and the future King of Calatia.”

“I humbly accept this burden from you, my King,” Kaleb responded. “And I dutifully await the day to fulfill this promise.”

“The Goddesses will call for that day whenever they wish. Will you be ready, my son?” Link held out his hand.

“I will never be ready,” Kaleb grabbed his father’s hand with both of his. “But I will fulfill this duty to the best of my ability.”

Zelda thought she heard more weight in Kaleb’s words than during the dress rehearsal the night before, and she wondered if Link had told him how he renewed his own crowning vows with his father on King Clement’s deathbed.

Pages stepped forward, and Link handed Kaleb the ceremonial scepter and orb before placing a grandiose crown adorned in emeralds on his son’s head. The High Priest stepped forward again to perform the final part of the ceremony.

“In the name of the Golden Goddesses, I anoint you as the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Calatia,” the High Priest dipped his fingers into the anointing oil and drew a triangle on Kaleb’s forehead. “Rise and receive your people.”

Kaleb stood and turned to face the crowd, holding his head high despite the weight of the crown.

“I proclaim you Kaleb Jonathan of House Bathory, Crown Prince of Calatia,” the High Priest called out. “May the Goddesses bless you.”

“May the Goddesses bless you,” the crowd echoed back before breaking into applause and the occasional cheer from the younger guests and Caralynn.

***

Zelda smiled as she watched Caralynn and Kaleb dance as informally as they could along with the other young kids on the dance floor, knowing Adalynn was off somewhere shaking her head and laughing at the sight. Dinner was technically finished, but the plates and tables were still being cleared. The children and young adults had stormed the dance floor and starting partying while their parents stood and engaged in small talk.

“I’m glad we can give them such joy,” Zelda sighed.

“Feeling nostalgic now that they’re growing?” Link chuckled next to her.

“Of course,” Zelda shoved Link half-heartedly. “I was so worried about their childhood, raising them in two countries as we are.”

“And they have completely turned out fine,” he smiled. “Probably better than we were at that age.”

“Oh Goddesses,” she shook her head. “I almost can’t believe how much we’ve changed since we first met all those years ago.”

“Yes, if we had it your way, we wouldn’t even be married.”

“We might have if you weren’t so stubborn over my Sheik disguise.”

Link scoffed, “You know I love your Sheik disguise. It was the deception I was angry about.”

“Like you wouldn’t have done the same if you could,” Zelda laughed when Link didn’t have a quick reply.

They sat and watched as the kids were shepherded off the dance floor, and the ball was officially opened by Kaleb and one of the noble’s daughters that he adamantly told them he did not have a crush on (none of them believed him).

“Are you glad?” Link asked quietly. “That we stuck it out after everything we went through?”

Zelda thought back on the last few years. Their coronations and wedding, spending a whole year to just tour Hyrule and Calatia and visit every possible nook and cranny of each country, finding out she was pregnant and bickering with Link about the gender for months (all in good fun of course). It hadn’t been easy, traveling back and forth from Hyrule to Calatia every six months, but to see her and Link’s children grow and learn about both of their homelands had been worth it. She couldn’t imagine a happy life without them running around the castle. In fact she couldn’t imagine what her life would be like without Link beside her.

She touched her wedding ring. The sapphires of her engagement ring were accompanied by a band of emeralds now, reflecting the colors of the two houses she a part of. It didn’t matter that it had all started with a contract that Zelda had initially sought to be annulled. It didn’t matter that they had fought each other tooth and nail for almost two years after meeting one another. And it didn’t matter that it took both of them far too long to realize their true feelings for one another. What mattered was that they were together, they were happy, and each day was better than the one before.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#of love and war #zelink #zelinkweek #zelink week #master quest #loz #flooshfics #it's finally done #yay!!!!!

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bee-kathony · 6 years

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ONCE UPON A TIME | CINDERELLA AU

Inspired by the beautiful moodboard created by the talented @balfeheughlywed

Once Upon a Time there was a beautiful girl named Claire Beauchamp, she was strong, independent and kind. She lives in the Kingdom of Lallybroch, ruled by King Brian Fraser, his son James Fraser is a young, sharp and handsome lad, unsure of his responsibilities. Claire's world shifts when her Uncle Lamb announces he is to be married. This is a tale of family, strength, kindness.... and love.

Chapter 1 | First Impressions

The wind blew across the field, making Claire’s unruly curls fly over face, momentarily blocking her vision. She had been sitting under her favourite tree all afternoon, the same tree she often had dreams of. In her dreams, she saw a beautiful woman smiling down at her, brown hair cascading down her shoulders and tickling her skin. Claire remembered a young man too, he must have been her Father, Henry.

Claire knew that in these dreams, these people smiling down at her were her parents but she could barely remember them. They had died when she was very young, on their way to visit Claire’s Uncle Lamb when they were caught in a terrible storm, their carriage had run into a fallen tree and turned over several times, crashing down the side of a mountain.

She had been with her Uncle Lamb ever since. He often told stories of her parents when she asked him to. Claire never wanted to forget where she came from, who she was.

Claire tucked her legs against her chest and folded her arms around her knees. She didn’t want to go back to the house just yet. Soon her Uncle would come looking for her, to bring her back to reality. The reality that her Uncle, her guardian, her only family… was getting married.

Quentin Lambert Beuchamp, her Father’s brother, was a passionate man. He enjoyed digging things up in the ground, discovering their origins and the history surrounding those objects. His day to day life was as a Merchant, selling those artefacts he found from town to town, often leaving Claire to herself.

Claire didn’t mind being on her own, in fact she preferred it. They lived in a quaint house that was plenty big enough. It was the house that she was born in, her Uncle had moved in when he became her guardian. They had a small garden and collection of animals like chickens, one cow, two goats and two very lovely horses.

But Claire’s favourites were the little mice that ran throughout the house. Most people would think mice simply vermin but Claire had grown to think of them as friends, as odd as it sounded.

Animals were her first love, if you treated them with kindness then they reciprocated in turn. Her uncle was marrying someone that on first impression she saw no trace of kindness in. Jonathan Wolverton Randall was his name. She always knew that her uncle had an eye for the lads but never thought he would marry a man. Claire had no objections of course but this man… there was something quite off about him. Not to mention his children that came along from his first marriage, the twins.

Laoghaire and Alex Randall, the two most annoying and self-possessed humans to ever walk this earth. Claire had just celebrated her twentieth birthday, she was finally not in those awkward teenage years. Laoghaire and Alex were just seventeen, obnoxious teenagers indeed.

“Bloody children that’s what they are.” Claire’s first meeting with the twins was not altogether a pleasant one. They had stepped out of the carriage both wearing the most vile and obscene pieces of clothing Claire had ever seen. She put on her brave face and greeted them, welcoming them into her home.

They tossed their bags at her feet, assuming she was the maid. She had stared down at the bags and when she didn’t pick them up, Laoghaire turned on her, “Ye better pick up those bags lass or my daddy will have ye out of this house, lookin’ for somewhere else to work.” Her eyes were wicked, her tongue most foul, and Claire didn’t like her one bit.

“I’m not the maid… I’m Claire, your new sister.” She had stuck out her hand in greeting but Laoghaire and Alex turned to each other and burst out laughing.

“This girl? Our sister?!” More laughing and Claire had begun to grow frustrated and a bit embarrassed.

“Well your outfit…” Alex looked her up and down, taking in Claire’s simply frock made of pale blue linen. “Is atrocious, no wonder you mistook her for a maid!” He laughed to Laoghaire and turned back to Claire, “As long as ye’re dressed like a maid, ye best pick up our bags and take them inside.”

Claire had treated everyone with kindness and in return she received the same. It wasn’t in her nature to be feeling what she felt know, hatred.

How could she live in that house and put up with those two? Not to mention her new step-uncle. Jonathan Randall was a man of few words, he was British, like her and her uncle, an officer of the King and apparently quite the charmer.

Her uncle did look happy, that was what mattered right?

Just as she suspected she saw her uncle walking to where she was. He didn’t say anything as he approached her but sat down beside her, sighing as his joints popped and cracked on the descent.

“Ah Claire, my sweet Claire.” She rested her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arm around his elbow.

“I know you’ll grow to like them, first impressions aren’t always correct.” In this case Claire wasn’t too sure about her impressions of them changing anytime soon.

Claire looked up at her uncle then, “I love you, you know that. You always told me that my mother was the kindest woman you had ever met.”

“Yes she was. And she gave that same kindness to you my dear.” He placed his finger under her trembling chin. “Don’t worry my child, I know that this is difficult for you. Having it just been the two of us for so long now. But I do think it will be nice for you to have Laoghaire and Alex around to keep you company.”

“If you say so uncle.” Claire smiled and Uncle Lamb gave her hand a gentle pat and she stood from her spot, reaching her hands down to help him up.

They began the short walk back to the house, the Autumn sun shined behind them, creating a peaceful glow on the house.

It was anything but peaceful when they arrived inside. Laoghaire and Alex were screaming at each other about wardrobes being too small and there not being enough room for all their shoes. Jonathan Randall was in the sitting in the lounge, ignoring all the commotion and reading a novel, obviously used to all the racket.

“What on earth is going on?” Claire asked, looking at the chaos that had exploded in the form of colourful clothing and wigs strewn about all over her bedroom.

“Well ye’re room is the biggest ye ken, Alex and I always share a room so we moved our stuff in here.” Laoghaire grunted as she picked up a pile of Claire’s clothes and dropped them in the hallway.

“But… this is my room. The only other room is-“ Claire groaned inwardly.

“The attic lass.” Alex smirked, tossing yet another audacious piece of clothing on his bed.

“Ye best get all ye’re stuff out of the hall Claire, Daddy doesna like a mess.” Claire sighed, she must show them kindness if she expected to receive an inkling of it in return.

“Yes of course.” She smiled and left the room, careful not to trip on her belongings scattered on the floor. A reflection down the hall caught her eye and she walked over to it.

It was her Mother’s hand mirror, one of the only things she had that was hers, lying broken and shattered. Claire didn’t cry often but a tear slid down her cheek as she bent down and picked up what was left of her Mother.

She held it gently to her chest and shut her eyes tight. “It’s okay Beauchamp, you’ll get through this.” Claire took several deep breaths and returned to pick up the few remaining earthly possessions she owned.

Her Uncle Lamb, she saw was now in the lounge sitting beside Jonathan Randall, holding his hand and smiling. She wiped away her tears and walked to the end of the hall, opening the door that led up to the attic.

It didn’t take her long to arrange everything, while it was quite dusty and there wasn’t much in the way of decoration, soon it was suitable enough. Her bed, her books and her friendly mice were really all she needed.

Claire didn’t return downstairs that evening, she thought she wouldn’t be missed in any case. She rose early the next morning, waking with the sun.

As she walked through the halls and down the stairs, she heard no sound. Everyone was still asleep, nothing was demanded of her so Claire went to the small stable that housed their two horses.

She saddled Brimstone, her favourite and set off into the woods surrounding the house, eager to escape with her own thoughts.

Claire loved how the air whipped across her face, it always helped to clear her mind whenever something troubled her.

She rode towards the sun, slowing down to a trot when she reached the river and continued to follow its path.

Brimstone snorted and neighed as they turned past a corner of trees, “What is it girl?” Claire stroked her mane, trying to calm the horse down, “What do you see?”

Claire spotted the root of Brimstone’s agitation, another horse was tied to a tree, it’s owner no where to be found. She clicked her tongue and brought Brimstone to a halt, leaping off and tying her next to the other horse.

The owner of the horse couldn’t have gone far she thought. Claire walked through the trees and down a small slope that led to the river. When she looked up she spotted him. A tall red haired man, drinking from his hands as he dipped them in the running water.

She stepped forward and her foot met a branch making a ‘crack’ sound. The man leapt to his feet, pulling out his sword and brandishing it in front of him making Claire take two steps back. She tripped on a rock wedged in the ground and fell on her bottom.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” She exclaimed, her hands going to her now sore bottom.

The man slid his sword in its hilt and ran over to her, crouching down to her level, “I’m sorry lass, I didna mean to scare ye” He laughed, amused with the situation. “I wasna aware of anyone else bein’ in this part of the wood, it was ye that gave me the first fright.” He held out his hand for her to take and she looked from his hand to his eyes.

Claire saw his face for the first time. He had a strong jawline, a straight nose, a bit of scruff on his cheeks and neck and the most gorgeous ocean blue eyes. He looked familiar but she couldn’t quite place him. Claire forgot her words as she looked into his eyes and he laughed again.

“C’mon lass, let me help ye up.” The man now reached for her hand and she shook her head, trying to collect herself. Claire was brought to her feet and swayed a little, unsteady on the uneven ground. The man’s hands immediately went to her waist to hold her upright and she felt a spasm of energy run through her body.

“Sorry” He said and removed his hands, holding them in fists now at his side, almost like he was afraid to involuntarily touch her again.

“Thank you.” Claire finally managed to speak. “And I’m sorry I snuck up on you like that, I saw your horse and came to investigate who it’s owner could be.”

“Aye, it’s my horse, Donas, I heard the river and needed a wee drink.” He smiled again, he was absolutely beautiful Claire thought.

He said something but Claire was too distracted by the way his mouth quirked up on one side to hear him.

“Sorry what did you say?” Claire blinked several times. She really must get better at concentrating.

The man smiled, his mouth doing that thing again which made her stomach do somersaults.

“I said, do ye live around here? I can tell by ye’re accent ye’re not from Scotland… a Sassenach.” He called her a Sassenach, often a derogatory word meaning ‘English person’ or ‘Outlander’, and not always the nicest thing to say to someone she thought.

“Meanin’ no offence to ye of course lass.” He said quickly once he saw the expression on her face.

“It’s alright. I take no offence to the word.” She actually liked the way he said it, his Scottish accent was like the bird song, sweet and musical. “And yes… I live just back there a ways” Claire pointed behind her, it was quite a ways actually and she had better be getting back before the household realised she wasn’t there… if they realised she was gone at all.

“Do you live near here then? I don’t normally see people when I come here to ride.” Claire put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the rising sun.

The man shuffled back and forth on his feet, he seemed a bit nervous. “Och, no. I live more in the city I suppose.”

“You suppose? You mean you don’t know where you live?” Claire tried to suppress a laugh, this man was becoming more and more interesting.

Aye, I ken where I live,” he laughed and ran his hand through his curly red hair, “I do live in the city, in Lallybroch.”

Lallybroch, it was the where the palace was, the King Brian Fraser and his recently late wife Ellen, the Queen, had ruled over the kingdom all her life. She had been into the city quite often, going with Uncle Lamb to help him sell his artefacts or pick up a few new books from the local bookseller.

“Which area do you live in? I go into the city quite often, would I know it?” Claire asked, the man’s cheeks blushed crimson red which she found odd but also charming.

“Aye, you would know it.” He didn’t say more, but suddenly turned and walked up the slope, Claire followed and saw another man come riding from the opposite direction.

“Who’s that man? Do you know him?” She asked and pointed in the direction of the stranger.

The red haired man cursed in Gaelic and untied his horse, mounting it easily and guided his horse back to the path. “Aye, he… works for my Father.” The man said unsurely.

“Your High-“ the stranger said to the red haired man but he interrupted him all too quickly, “It’s Jamie, Jamie! It’s Jamie!” He rushed out, stopping the other man from continuing his sentence.

The other man chuckled, “Well then… Jamie. Ye’re Father has asked me to come and fetch ye. Ye have…” He looked over at me, barely visible behind Jamie on his horse, “some important business to attend to.”

“Aye, I suppose I do. Fine Murtagh, I’m comin’.” The man, whose name I now knew was Jamie turned back to look down at me, his smile as bright as ever. “I must leave Sassenach, duty calls. Will I see ye here again?” He looked hopeful, almost childlike.

Claire blushed, her hands untying her horse from the tree as she spoke, “Perhaps I shall see you in the city some day.”

The other man suddenly laughed and then began coughing causing Jamie to glare at him. “Aye lass, maybe ye will.” Claire climbed on Brimstone and grabbed the reigns, pointing the horse in the direction of home.

“Sassenach!” James called before she raced off, “What’s ye’re name, ye know mine is Jamie…”

“Goodbye Jamie…” She smiled coyly and clicked her tongue, her thighs pressing against the horse beneath her and began riding in the opposite direction of Jamie.

She dared a glance back and saw that he was watching her, his mouth agape. “Sassenach!” He called out to her once more but she was too far away to respond.

If she ever saw that strange red haired man again, she promised to tell him her name but for now she kept that to herself, the only part of herself that she felt she owned anymore.

#claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #his royal highness #claire fraser #fairytale #cinderella au #balfeheughlywed #incredible moodboard #cinderella #outlander fanfic #mclairefras #once upon a time fanfiction

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