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gumnut-logic · 2 years

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Was rereading this again last night and got stuck on this scene again. I’m sorry, it is one of my favourites.

-o-o-o-

Scott stared as his home crawled over the horizon. Lit from the west, the peaks of Tracy Island were sculpted in gold, the water surrounding her sparkling in the dying sun.

It was a beautiful sight.

Virgil shifted against him, snorting softly in sleep.

Scott had been out on the bow of the boat for hours. First talking to Virgil, working through some of the events of the day until his exhausted brother slowly tipped sideways, falling asleep despite the breeze and the soft toss of the boat.

Scott just wrapped an arm around him and held him while his brother slept.

His butt was numb from lack of circulation, but he didn’t care.

John had approached at one point and quietly handed him a tablet full of information about whales. It was full of data he didn’t understand and he desperately needed to talk to his genius brother about what it all meant.

But for the moment, he was content to listen to Virgil’s breathing, the wind and watch their home inch closer and closer.

He was aware of Gordon keeping an eye on both of them, the pilot adding more speed to the journey today than he had any other day. There had been relaxation, but all of that had disappeared with recent events.

Hell, it had disappeared the moment they had discovered the trapped calf.

Fire ignited in his belly at the thought. He needed to speak with Penelope and follow up on what had happened to those responsible.

His father’s desk lay waiting on the Island.

Relief and dread waited with it.

He closed his eyes and evened out his breathing. It had been such a relief to let go last night. Mel had met his energy with her own, her hands in his hair, a pardon on her lips. No ties, no obligation, just a moment to be himself, find comfort in her arms and let go.

He was ever so grateful. His brothers may laugh, but it was the only way he could truly release everything that built up day after day. Life was a challenge and he was willing to take it on, but everyone needed a moment.

Mel had given him that moment...and a little more.

Virgil shifted against him as Gordon turned the boat slightly and began to slow on approach.

Scott opened his eyes to watch Mateo shift to starboard. The bow dropped a little as their speed lessened, the background noise of the engine changing pitch.

Virgil muttered something and shifted again.

Scott held him that little bit tighter.

A Little Lightning arced around the smaller island that protected their caldera from the open ocean and the yacht entered the sheltered lagoon smoothly.

The petrel colony raised a ruckus and squawked like crazy as they motored past, Gordon cutting their speed to almost nothing as the yacht coasted over coral.

There were two docks on Tracy Island. One on either side of the villa. Gordon chose the one adjacent to Two’s runway for obvious reasons. It was harder to dock such a large vessel, but it would be easier to get Virgil onto land, and, via the hangars, up to the villa. The other dock, near the beach huts, required a hike up to the house that Virgil was in no shape to make. Scott had checked his brother’s incisions earlier in the day and they were well into healing, but...it had been a weird day and Virgil was still asleep.

Gordon nudged the yacht ever so slowly up to the little used dock. It had been designed for supply delivery early on in the venture, but once the runway had been built, it had been used for little other than the occasional Thunderbird Four testing regime and a little recreational boating.

Nothing as big as A Little Lightning.

Gordon had mentioned early on that they would likely use the inflatable when they reached home, but the aquanaut had obviously changed his mind.

Virgil was definitely the reason.

John darted past Scott and Virgil, docking pole in hand, turquoise eyes targeting both of them. He didn’t say anything, but the concerned frown shot at Scott said everything.

Ropes were launched at the wharf bollards and the engine dropped down to a bare rumble. Alan yelled an acknowledgement at the back of the boat and John held up a hand to signal to Gordon. A slight shift sideways and A Little Lightning nudged up against Tracy Island and was secured.

Gordon cut the engine and its absence was profound.

John turned and smiled at him.

They were home.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Tracy Island #kermadec au #nuttyfic reblog #I just like the relaxy bit of it #and the different view and approach to Tracy Island #and Virgil asleep on Scott #and the boat #and John running past to help moor the boat #and yeah okay tracy bros in general #:D

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i-feel-supernatural · 2 years

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#daniel brühl #the alienist #laszlo kreizler #john moore #sara howard #mphfpc #miss peregrines home for peculiar children #fanfiction #fanfic #wattpad

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samjesswinchester · 4 months

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NEW CHAPTER I WOULD LOVE FOR YOU ALL TO CHECK OUT!!!! HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND ENJOY TIPSY, HANDSY, EMOTIONAL SAM AND JESS!!

Chapters: 17/? Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Jessica Moore, Sam Winchester & Everyone, Jessica Moore & Everyone Characters: Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Cas - Character, Bobby Singer, John Winchester, Mary Winchester, Original Supernatural (TV) Character(s), Real Tyson Brady, Demon Possessing Tyson Brady, Luis (Supernatural: Pilot), Missouri Moseley Additional Tags: Love at First Sight, season one, Supernatural - Freeform, Stanford Era, Jessica Moore Lives, Hurt/Comfort, emotional af, sappy af, soulmate, Angst and Fluff and Smut Series: Part 2 of What Never Was But Should Have Been Summary:

It's early in the morning on November 2nd and, with Sam Winchester's *slightly* enhanced psychic abilities, he knows he and his brother need to get back to Stanford before his nightmare comes true. Even with getting there in time, learning to navigate the newly exposed family secret and its inevitable trauma will test Sam and Jess more than ever before.

#Sam WInchester #Jessica Moore #Dean Winchester #Supernatural #spnfandom #spn #fanfiction #writing #engagment #John Winchester #the CW #SPN season one

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spicylavender · 3 months

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you know what bit of echo has been interesting me lately that I never see get brought up? The hysteria after Samuel, but before chase. Like we get one throw away line confirming it happened by Duke and nothing else, and I think that's such a cool thing to get literally nothing on. Like John and James in the 1800's sets everything up, Samuels in 1915 ruins the town and sets up all the conflicts of Echo, and Chase's is the meta blueprint for it all, but there's that sneak in the middle with such a cool cast to pull from. Dukes father and maybe even a young Duke who are expecting it after being told about the last one by cliff, a Moore is probably the mayor and would be a good way to bridge the gap between the Moore's as "normal civil servants" to "literal forever mayors" hell, SAMUEL IS THERE! If we count echo Samuel, Samuel goes through three hysterias, what was that like for him? What is he even doing, it's so funny. And what caused it? Is it from that female cat being murdered by her boyfriend we saw in arches, or is it something we literally never see or hear of? The former would go on to give a pretty nice explanation of what sort of awful stuff happened to the school to cause it to close but it's not necessary. God that's so crazy, I hope it never gets officially touched, it almost makes me want to write a fanfiction...like I won't throw a bitch fit if, after TSR, we get "Lake Emma: the untold story" or whatever the hell, but i hope that never happens

#echo project #the smoke room #echo vn #furry vn #Again #Skip this post Razz

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pochapal · 7 months

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would you be able to briefly explain the meta stuff in the homestuck epilogues? i've never read any hs, but i'd be interested to know for myself how close you are in comparing it to umineko since you keep bringing it up.

caveat for mega massive homestuck epilogues spoilers (also caveat that this post got way too long) but basically my thinking on all this is as follows:

the whole of the homestuck epilogues are "meta" but to track it through the plot, a bunch of characters in the homestuck epilogues begin to undergo a process they refer to as "reaching the ultimate self" (debatable) which the text itself defines as an individual growing aware of the existence of their various alternate selves across timelines/canons. since the epilogues/homestuck^2 continuity died before we got any concrete answers a lot of this is more interpretation than fact, but essentially this leads to a kind of existence where your consciousness is placed on a level "above" that of your canonical reality, allowing you to see it as the story it is.

within the context of the homestuck epilogues this happens to two people that we know of, with a suspected third. the opening acts of the story cover rose lalonde's ascendancy to this state, which manifests as a series of visions of alternative realities and a growing awareness of what is/isn't canonical to homestuck (one other major feature of the homestuck epilogues in particular is that the characters and world are now at least one degree separated from canon itself - there's a lot of stuff in here about fanfic presentation/ooc tropes and the like). throughout the half of the story where they stay moored to canon (known as "meat"), rose's condition worsens as she turns to dirk strider for solace. about a third of the way through this epilogue the two have an extended conversation about textuality and puppetry and your place as a passive/active agent in the narrative fabric which ends with this bombshell cliffhanger:

the reveal here is that, at least for the duration of the epilogues' narrative, dirk strider has been in the driver's seat of the story and has been manipulating/nudging things according to his overarching goal of keeping the story "relevant" even though homestuck's main narrative ended years ago (homestuck itself features a great number of villains hijacking/rewriting homestuck at various points for their own ends so this is not without precedent) (this is also most likely an intertextual shoutout/callback to seminal fanfiction detective pony, which shares basically all of the dna of the epilogues in a truncated form done years earlier as an extended response to a short-lived bit in homestuck itself) (if you also look closely there are shade's of 999's "he knew because i knew" present too) (there are many layers to this).

in order to do all this, dirk has seized a great degree of control of the narrative engine driving the epilogues' reality. he is able to dominate how we perceive things by literally painting over the story in his own text color and voice and is able to put thoughts in people's heads and words in their own mouths - that said, there is a limitation to this ability, where even though dirk-as-narrator could do whatever he wants, in order for any of this to Matter everything he makes everyone do must always be believably within character for them to do, even if it lies at the more extreme end of their characterization (see a later chapter in the epilogues where there's an emotionally charged breakup/confession between himself and jake english with whom he has a storied and volatile romantic history with - dirk wants jake to do things one way, but jake himself thinks/feels in another and thus this tension underpins the scene).

throughout the plot, dirk brute force narrates certain events, manipulating characters and outcomes in his favor (he ensures john egbert, who has the ability to alter canon irrespective of the rules of the text, is killed off and unable to interfere. dirk also rigs an election for a whole other slew of reasons that are tangentially relevant). his driving motive, despite the overt villainous posturing, is a deep love for his friends and a deep fear that all face a fate worse than oblivion without an active and engaging story to inhabit. if that destroys the happy ending of homestuck, then so be it.

meanwhile, in the other half of the story (titled "candy"), these machinations do not go unnoticed. calliope, or to be more specific the version of calliope who ascended to godhood and then ghosthood and defeated the main villain of homestuck by absorbing him and all of his metanarrative poisoning into a literal black hole that is also a metaphorical stand-in for "fanon", grows aware that in one world there is one person who is disrupting the narrative peace of postcanon for his own selfish ends, thereby threatening to permanently rupture the eternal harmony such a state of being should have entitled their entire reality to. this itself is a bare-faced lie as candy goes to painstaking lengths to show the terrible consequences that come from the characters abandoning canon and complacently accepting their lot in a world that "doesn't matter" - this includes greatest hits such as "everyone gets married and has kids young, then epic divorces each other, then descends into a series of increasingly absurd and abusive relationships, and oh whoops somebody did a fascism and now there's a planetwide war being fought".

so. while the world of candy is falling to shit, calliope is behind the scenes working things to try and break out of her self-imposed impassible black hole in order to return to canon and put a stop to dirk's antics. it is heavily implied that she's been tipping the narrative scales in order to escalate things in the candy timeline to the point of chaotic absurdity in order to make it the most relevant point in fanon and thus a beacon for lord english's body to end up (there are many other dubious factors at play here, such as an incessant need to keep everything under her aegis for their own good and a drive to transform everything into a fanfiction-esque """utopia"""). the plan is to use the remnants of english/canon to break free of fanon and confront dirk somewhere beyond canon (this is where the story's chronology ends so we never got a concrete answer to what that'll look like).

one key thing here is that unlike dirk who saw fit to paint the town orange in his narrative dominion, calliope controls candy with a much more subtle touch, preferring to fall so far back into the narrative that it's almost impossible to say whether these absurd things everyone is doing is something they would have done on their own terms or something calliope is making them do (not helped of course by the fact that candy is dominated by well-known fandom tropes that help to distort the reader's perspective on what these characters "should" be like). this is by design - a lot of her philosophy is that the most effective story is one in which the speaker is as unseen as possible although one can never have a story without a speaker, nor a speaker without an agenda. see the following (NOTE: if you're looking at this sans context, calliope in this chapter is possessing the body of jade harley in order to use her as a conduit/vessel so that she can be physically present on this plane of reality, hence the dialogue tag. aradia is just aradia):

so. dirk seizes control of meat through a brute-force attack where you can only notice his narrative imprint and nothing else, and calliope dominates the narrative through an all-encompassing subtlety where it's impossible to tell where the story ends and calliope begins. a hostile first person narrative versus a hostile third-person omniscient narrative.

this culminates in a back-and-forth between the two where both try to assert their contradictory version of events as the "true" narrative, engaging in a yes-and squabble as they build upon and refute what the other is saying in order to come out on top.

there's a lot of questions of narrative "truth" here, of which version of events gets to be assigned "real" and how that assignment happens. is it the most logically compelling story? or the most emotionally resonant one? this is further explored in a subplot with character roxy lalonde, who undergoes two separate trans character arcs in each timeline with different outcomes (in meat a 23-year-old roxy embraces his identity as transmasculine, and in candy a 39-year-old roxy reflects on how her relationship to motherhood and her relationship to gender do not cancel one another out). but basically the crux of the homestuck epilogues is who gets to be the one to tell a story, and why? and what happens when irreconcilable accounts fight each other for the position of the One True Narrative Version Of Events?

the epilogues give a lot of questions on this front with very few answers (the only real answer is "read everything in its entirety and try your hardest to truly understand what is being told to you, and then you as a reader have the responsibility to decide and construct the final meaning for yourself") which i suppose is par for the course for a text of this nature.

(for further reading/consideration on this post-canon dilemma, also check out godfeels and the 3.1 epilogue which wrestles with these same concepts on an adjacent axis - particularly good stuff about the role of reader response and audience interpretation in here!)

(for even further reading/a way sillier plug also check out my own fic omelette route which is my personal thematic extension and understanding of everything the epilogues left behind and also a whole bunch of other things too long to get into in a brief self-promo lmao)

to bring this waaaaaay back to my umineko discussion points, this dirk/calliope/narrative thing is essentially the baseline with which i am examining umineko's narrative quirks. i don't necessarily think there'll be any 1:1 correlation with this specific brand of narration nonsense but i think this is a useful framework in general for thinking about stories about stories and how people intersect with their own narratives.

for umineko in particular i'm interested in the "course-correction" part of the epilogues and how the narrators show their hands most when things risk not going their way (see the third screenshot for the best example). i don't think anything'll be this over but what is "his finger tenses up and the gun doesn't fire" if not a more extreme version of "this mystery wasn't worth thinking about any more, so everybody left the crime scene as it was"?

if there's no "free will" in a story, then it ceases to be a compelling story at all. this rings true even outside of crazy metafiction stuff. if there isn't any evidence of the actors in the script, well, *acting*, then what's the point of telling your story as a story? there has to be that element of unpredictability and uncertainty to prove the thing you're constructing is alive and matters, even if that runs the risk of throwing your own plans off the rails (another way to frame all this the metaphor of the plot "getting away" from the author in the process of writing).

the narrator in umineko may not appreciate the way that battler is constantly threatening to undermine their carefully-plotted mystery narrative, but if battler just danced to their tune all the time then this isn't a story or a mystery but instead a one-person puppetshow using "real" human beings as the marionettes. a compliant battler ceases to be battler but instead a narrator using battler to sate their own whims, a story without an audience, etc etc etc.

but that balancing act is hard. you need to tell your story and you need the people in your story to act in all the right ways without accidentally transforming you narrative efforts into yet another meaningless diatribe. it needs to be meaningful. it needs to be more than navel-gazing for its own sake.

even outside of the meta stuff you see this with the culprits of the in-universe Witch Narrative. genji/kinzo et al could very easily brute force the family at gunpoint to play along with the story of beatrice and the supernatural, but threat alone isn't enough to grant something "existence". the deeper truths will remain buried without that organic spark of belief, without that chance for the other characters to contribute in their own way to the collective narrative. it's important that eva as a collaborator still makes everything about her steadfast belief that natsuhi's complicit in a coverup conspiracy instead of just robotically affirming "this is demonic beatrice is real and definitely exists". eva and natsuhi don't need to be at each other's throats to create the illusion of a witch killing people, but them being able to do so in proximity of the witch narrative validates the truths of their beliefs and the "truth" of beatrice's existence. it makes it more real to the other family members and to us.

this is very much the same dilemma as the homestuck epilogues. you as a narrator have an agenda, but you also need the people around you to augment that in a convincing and compelling way. you are not just seeking out a truth, you are telling a story. the homestuck epilogues are a story. umineko is a story. a story requires a narrator, characters, and an audience that cares about what is being presented to them. i've brought it up before, but in this way meat/candy and detective/romantic as dichotomies serve very similar purposes when it comes to narrative-building philosophy. you have to approach this dialectically if you are to produce something with any value.

so, in summary: the homestuck epilogues are driven by the tension inherent to filtering "reality" through a narrative lens and how to reconcile the unpredictability of real people with drive to have your message be heard. umineko, as a mystery presented through self-conscious narrative construction, can be understood through similar terms even if the two texts aren't necessarily directly related in this manner. there is a tension of control and truth when it comes to telling a story of your own, and on many levels both stories are about finding a way to reconcile this tension within their respective storytelling "languages".

meaning cannot be found in isolation. a story needs more than one moving part. juggling things beyond your control is simultaneously the most impossible and necessary thing you need to do in order to build a narrative that matters, be it piloting your reality back into canonicity or infusing an island with the legend of an ancient and powerful witch. it's all the same thing in the end.

#beagremlin #umineko #homestuck epilogues #long post #i know you said 'brief' but i think it's impossible to explain any of this with any sense of brevity lmao

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imaginationisallihave · 1 year

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Characters/people I want to write for - Updated

Okay, I have a list of characters and people I want to write fanfiction for so I'll just put them in categories of what fandoms they are from.

~Marvel~

Bucky Barnes (The White Wolf)

Frank Castle (The Punisher)

Eddie Brock

Venom

Steven Grant

Marc Spector

Khonshu

~X-Men~

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

Charles Xavier (Professor X)

Logan (Wolverine)

~Harry Potter/FBAWTFT~

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Original! Percival Graves

Credence Barebone

~Shadow and Bone~

Kaz Brekker

Inej Ghafa

The Darkling

~Death Note~

Ryuk

L/Ryuzaki

Light Yagami

~The Boys~

Billy Butcher

Black Noir

Soldier Boy

~The Hobbit~

Thranduil

Thorin Oakenshield

~Call of Duty~

Captain John Price

Simon "Ghost" Riley

John “Soap” Mactavish

Farah Karim

Alex

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Alejandro Vargas

~Interview With A Vampire~

Louis de Pointe du Lac (movie/tv show)

Lestat de Lioncourt (movie/tv show)

Armand (movie)

~Last Of Us~

Joel Miller

Tommy Miller

Owen Moore

Jesse

~YouTubers~

Inotorious (Matt) - The Misfits

ElasticDroid (Jaime)

Grizzy (Nelson)

BigPuffer (Chris)

Pezzy (Maxwell/Max)

Isaacwhy (Isaac)

~Miscellaneous~

Diego Hargreeves - The Umbrella Academy

Rafal Mistral - A school for good and evil (movie)

Shane Walsh - The Walking Dead

Elijah Mikaelson - The Originals

Tommy Shelby - Peaky Blinders

Saul Silva - Fate: The Winx Saga

Raymond Leon - In Time

I'm not sure what to write but I know that I'll write some oneshots or something.

#fanfics #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #winx saga #saul silva #bucky barnes #cod fanfic

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sarcasticsciencefictionwriter · 2 months

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✍️ , 🖋️ , ❤️ and ❗ for behind the scenes writing asks <3

Thank you, thank you! I love getting asks from you. 🥰🤍 (I'm putting the last question first because of the context it gives)

❗"how many WIPs do you have?"

Oh my god, it's 28, counting the ones I've published chapters of. This is why chapters are slow. 🙈😅

✍️ "when did you get started writing?"

I've been writing since I was...nine? Eight or nine and now that makes me feel old. 😂

As for fanfiction writing, I started seriously writing it last year, after I played with one a few years prior and gave up.

🖋️"what inspired you to write your WIPs?"

Oh gosh, lots of things. Mostly just love of my favorite shows and exploring different scenarios and thrusting characters into different situations. Prompts and things too. Anything and everything can and will be an inspiration if it catches my attention.

❤️"what are your favorite scenes from your WIPs?"

*coughs in 28 WIPs* Rather than go through and list a favorite scene from each WIP, I'm just going to share two scenes that I've been obsessing over since I wrote them, to spare everyone. 😂

From my James Watson + Fatherhood WIP:

The scene where I have James with little Henry days after he was found on the moors. Henry has a nightmare and James takes him to comfort him so he won't wake Helen. James is awkward, but cuddles Henry and ends up giving him his name.

From my Helen/Ranna WIP:

The flashback scene I have from Helen's viewpoint when she's pregnant with Ashley and she and Ranna are cuddling and talking. Helen is feeling conflicted because of her relationship(s) with John and Nikola, one of whom is Ashley's father. Ranna points out they wouldn't have a child without that and that she's always known and approves/given her blessing. Ranna doesn't understand why Helen is feeling the way she does and Helen becomes frustrated and annoyed and they end up talking about it and their relationship.

(For clarity, Helen is polyamorous, Ranna's not, but doesn't mind)

Thanks so much! ❤️

#lanistas #thanks for the ask!#always makes me smile when is see one from you #sanctuary #fic game

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ao3feed-destiel-02 · 11 months

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Of Red Converse And 501's

Of Red Converse And 501's https://ift.tt/sY6O8VK by Lem00nOak Dean swallowed, his eyes focused on Cas as he stopped next to the Lincoln, which apparently was his car. A bitter taste rose in his mouth at the thought of accepting help from Castiel, the two of them having a ruff past, but this wasn't about him, it was about Sam. This work is inspired by some of the first Fanfiction I have ever read which were classic Dean/Cas Highschool AU but with my own little twist. Words: 3440, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005), Supernatur Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Anna Milton Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Anna Milton/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore & Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Mentioned Jessica Moore (Supernatural), Pre-Relationship, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Bad Parent John Winchester, Blood and Injury, Hospitals, Car Accidents, Apologies, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Hurt Sam Winchester, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Sort Of via AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester' https://ift.tt/DUOAMxm June 03, 2023 at 01:46PM

#IFTTT #AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester'#Destiel #ao3feed #ao3feed Destiel #Destiel fanfic #Dean Winchester/Castiel #Castiel/Dean Winchester #Dean x Castiel #Castiel x Dean

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aterimber · 1 year

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Need some weekend reading? I've got you covered!

Check out my Patreon to unlock exclusive access to an ever-growing list of short stories (currently 100+) that are just waiting for you to fall in love with them!

I post new stories every 2 weeks!

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i-feel-supernatural · 2 years

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#daniel brühl #the alienist #fanfic #john moore #sara howard #fanfiction #wattpad #laszlo kreizler

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shmaptainwrites · 3 years

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𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐔𝐏 [𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐑𝐄]

PAIRINGS — John Moore x fem!Reader, Reader x Alexander Saunders (OC)

SUMMARY — When your marriage is arranged by your parents you can't help but fall back into old patterns with the man you really loved

WARNINGS — infidelity, light swears, angst, hurt/comfort, arranged marriage, implied sex

NOTE —Okay so this was loosely based on Bad Habit by Ben Platt and is honestly sad as hell in my opinion so read at your own discretion. [But it's my first John fic! Maybe the next one will be happier]

“(Y/N) my dear, they’ll be here any minute. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” you said, a small smile hinted against your lips. It was a lie. You weren’t ready. Physically, yes you were dressed and prepared to accept guests for the evening, but mentally… that was another ballgame.

Just as your mother said, your guests arrived and it seemed to you, both sets of parents were antsier for you and the young stranger to meet than you were.

“(Y/N), this is Alexander,” your mother introduced.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you offered a hand to shake which he took.

“Call me Alex,” he insisted.

What he really should have said was call me the fiance you never asked for but was arranged for you by your parents anyways. Just another way to keep all the dirty money in the family.

Dinner was horrendous, it felt like you were expected to know the man you met minutes ago like the back of your hand. Like you had actually formally courted. They expected you to be his wife before you were even married.

Your friends had assured you that over time you might grow to love the man. That you could be ‘one of the lucky ones'. You didn’t feel very lucky right now. Yes, Alexander was handsome, he had money, power, but none of that mattered. Especially given the fact that you had absolutely nothing in common. Down to the fact that his dominant hand was opposite yours. Whatever fairytale your friends thought this was, seemed more and more like a nightmare.

As soon as dinner was over and your guests had left you retreated to your room, having no other energy to talk to your parents. Plus you thought if you had to look them in the eye once more you might just scream.

When you entered your room you started getting ready for bed, fixing your hair accordingly and changing into a nightgown. For a few moments before you went to sleep you stared outside. The moon glimmering past your curtains and flowing into the room, causing a feeling in the pit of your stomach. Something telling you that you needed to see him. It felt like instinct.

So carefully you pulled a large coat over your body and tiptoed downstairs, knocking on the door of the room your carriage driver stayed in.

“Miss, it’s late, is everything alright?”

“It’s fine Isaiah,” you nodded. “I-I just need to go out and my parents can’t know… Will you take me?”

“Where Miss?”

“A friend’s home,”

The man gave you a nod and quickly grabbed his shoes and coat, leading you outside to the carriage and quietly taking you away from the family home.

He dropped you off at the specified address and you ran up to the door, knocking quite hard.

After a few minutes of silence, there was a shuffle and the sound of feet coming downstairs before the door opened.

“(Y/N)? What are you-,”

“Invite me inside,”

John was speechless, but he complied, opening the door wider and allowing you to enter.

“(Y/N)...”

You took off your coat and John’s eyes practically fell out of his head. You came over to him, holding his tired face in your hands with begging eyes.

“Kiss me,”

“(Y/N) you’re barely wearing any-,”

“Just kiss me, John,” you begged, “Please just kiss me,”

You wanted to feel something, anything and by God, if you asked him to run to the ends of the earth for you John would, without a second of hesitation. So a kiss was nothing.

He lowered his head, allowing you to press your lips to his with such fervour it was almost alarming to the man who was used to you being more shy and timid.

“My love, what’s the matter?” John asked quietly, holding you close, your foreheads pressed together.

His love. You were his love. Not Alexander’s. John’s and only John’s.

“My… My parents, they arranged my engagement,” you whispered. “I don’t want to marry him, John. I don’t love him,”

John could feel his heart drop, sinking lower and lower into his gut, but he only allowed himself three seconds. He would count to three and then he would bottle it all up and take care of you. You needed him right now, more than ever.

“What do you need from me?” he asked. “Absolutely anything I’ll give it,”

“Just you,” you sniffed, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder.

“Alright, but chin up darling, things will look up, I promise. They always do,”

“You say that with such confidence,” you almost scoffed and he pulled you away slightly taking your chin in between his thumb and index finger, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Up, you hear me?”

You nodded your head, although somewhat hesitantly, but you knew John didn’t say things without meaning. If he told you to keep your chin up it would help. So with a sweet tap to the bottom of your chin, he leaned down once more and kissed you, soft and sweet.

“Will you stay the night?” he asked.

You knew you shouldn’t, but it was such a habit you nodded your head. A bad habit.

He placed a hand on the small of your back, leading you up the stairs, to a place where your troubles would always melt away because you were in his arms, that was all that you ever wanted, but it was all you could never have.

—

On another occasion, you found yourself again in John’s bed. Though the hours of the morning were barely creeping past, sunlight dripping through the curtains and onto the bed.

John shifted slightly under the sheets of the bed, a strong arm wrapping itself around you and pulling you into his bare chest.

“Good morning,” his voice was groggy but filled with admiration. Such a simple greeting that carried so much feeling behind it. “Did you sleep well?”

“Marvellously,” you nodded, your hand coming up to gently trace the faint stubble on his face, but you stopped as soon as you saw the bright glimmer from the sun reflecting off the diamond on your engagement ring.

Your smile fell and you were spun back into reality, so violently at that, and it was quite noticeable to John.

You retracted your hand and John saw what was disturbing you. Last night passed in such a haze, you both had such a need for each other, something to fulfil that the piece of jewelry went unnoticed.

John carefully took your hand in his, checking with you first as his fingers rested on the ring. You gave him a nod and he slid it off your finger, turning around to place it on his bedside table.

It didn’t make any sort of sense, but the fact that you couldn’t see it made you feel a lot better. Almost like it didn’t exist. It was as if you were a small child lacking the higher levels of processing in object permanence, too young to understand that when an object wasn’t in their sight it hadn’t simply vanished out of existence.

John was always gentle with you, but it felt like especially now he was walking on glass. You didn’t want that. You just wanted to be with him, not for him to worry about what you felt.

“Say something, John,” you whispered, almost desperately.

“I love you,” he said without hesitation. “My beloved, I will always love you,”

Your hand found its way back to the spot it held on his cheek, pulling him in carefully for a kiss, his lips soft and faintly tasting of strong, expensive alcohol.

“I love you too,” you murmured as soon as your lips pulled apart. “What would you have gotten me?” you asked, unable to help yourself, curiosity getting the better of you.

“For a ring?” he asked. “Well, I know you better than that, I would have gotten you a necklace, you wear them more often and find them more comfortable anyways,”

“John,” you chuckled. “Come on, my dear, humour me,”

He took his hand in yours again, examining it, tracing your fingers, pressing a kiss to the place where your ring would have rested.

“Hmm,” he mused. “A ring fit for you… I would get one with a simple gold band, but right in the centre is a lovely opal, a cream colour, but when the light hits it just right you can see glints of green and pink and blue. And around the opal,” he traced a circle on your ring finger, “Are small diamonds, tastefully surrounding it, like a shield. That’s the ring I would have gotten for you,”

Would have.

The words stung like alcohol on a wound. He made it sound so lovely. You could practically see the jewel and precious stone, glimmering on your finger. So much more tasteful, more personal than what Alexander’s parents had purchased. Silver band with a large square-cut diamond right in the centre. Next to John’s description, it seemed so basic. So devoid of anything. And suddenly you wondered if he could ever love you the way John did. The reality was that he probably wouldn’t. For all you knew, he had someone else he loved just as much as you loved John.

Despite your mood dampening again, John was quick to place his index and middle finger underneath your chin and tapped twice, endearingly, his little reminder.

“Chin up, my love,”

You pushed back the sad thoughts and lifted your chin, a little exaggeratedly with a small smile against your lips followed by a nod.

John took the opportunity to dip his head down into the patch of your neck you had exposed, pressing light kisses all along it and your collarbone, careful not to leave a mark, it was as if you were borrowed property.

You giggled quietly, while he gently pushed you onto your back, just wanting you once more before the carriage came to take you away just like every time before and every time to come.

—

“Of course Ophelia, it’s always lovely to see you,” you gave the woman a tight-lipped smile and kissed her cheek, waiting for the next group of people to surround you and Alexander.

If there was one thing you hated more than having this ridiculously unnecessary amount of wealth was the social gatherings that came along with it. Everyone was either drinking, gossiping, or trying to find new demonic and creative ways of making even more money than they already had. It made you retch just thinking about it.

You were pressed tightly into Alexander’s side, the way he linked his arm in yours not at all comfortable, his hand squeezing yours unnaturally hard.

“Alexander, could you please loosen up,” you whispered to him in a low hiss trying to snatch your hand away, but unable to due to his iron grip.

“What? So you can go off and disappear like you always do?” he asked. “I should have known better, they told me I was marrying a whore,”

“E-Excuse me?” you faltered, stopping in your tracks and looking him dead in the eye. “What could possibly have you accusing me of having such rancid affiliation? Do you even know what whore means?”

Alexander waited a moment too long to respond so you jumped in.

“It means a man or woman who engages in sexual acts for pay. Or a promiscuous woman, neither of which I can assure you apply to me!” you spat. “Watch your mouth Alexander, my family can make your life hell,” you sneered.

Alexander loosened his grip after that, but the nasty feeling in the pit of your stomach only grew. You wished to run away, any other place than here, to have a moment to breathe without the obligation, the responsibilities, the constant socializing, and not even mentioning the uncomfortable clothing.

And just when you thought things couldn’t get harder you saw John, standing among some of his family friends, chatting sociably.

His eyes looked up for a moment, locking with yours and noticing the pure distress in them he almost dropped what he was holding to come over to you, but stopped himself. You were in public it would be less than appropriate.

So instead, he took his index and middle finger once more, placing them under his own chin and tapping twice.

You took a deep breath and nodded, holding your head up and pushing back the tears in your eyes. You focused straight ahead, one task at a time, one step and the night had to end at some point.

—

Your mind finally came back to you, snapping you out of a daydream.

You stood in front of all your friends and family. Half of New York as it seemed, dressed in white, the dress trailing down to your feet, a veil longer than the length of your body. If it didn’t feel like such an upsetting occasion you might have thought you looked like a princess, maybe even an angel.

The priest was still reading through the Bible, while you stood there, slightly hunched over, your eyes pointed to your feet, anywhere, but Alexander’s cold and unloving eyes.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when Alexander’s voice broke you out of your trance saying those two heavy words. The words you shouldn’t have been saying unless you wanted to commit to someone. Unless you loved someone.

The priest looked over at you, repeating what he had just said to Alexander, waiting for your response.

You turned once more to look at the large gathering of people in the pews, your eyes locking onto a pair of familiar warm brown ones.

John, just like he had done every single time before this, placed his two fingers under his own chin, giving it two taps. Reminding you one last time to keep your chin up, to live a happy life, a farewell.

And after you saw him, you knew exactly what you needed to do.

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0ghostwriter0 · 3 years

Text

“Sometimes we survive by forgetting “| Laszlo Kreizler

MASTERLIST

Pairings: AU Dr Laszlo Kreizler x fem! reader

Summary: Your marriage has suffered after a violent evening at the Kreizler residence. Will the pain push you apart or remind you of a love that consumes?

Warnings: Violence, Miscarriage, Depression, SMUT

Words: 2,665

Unlike a usual Friday morning, the fragile frame woke in a puddle of sweat with nightmares playing on repeat in the back of his head – his head. Unable to leave this highway or torture and sacrifice, the middle-aged man tore away the covers that stranded him in the stone-cold sheets of the king bed. The harsh clock ticked over on the chest. Plunging to the ground, the lifeless soul stood away from the ridged raw wood bed. Shivering and tired, he stretched his fable arms as the though of dismembering his own body parts played in the back of his mind- his mind. He could not escape his crippling demons that left him stranded in the empty air.

Months had passed since you'd blessed the cold dormant sheets on his left. In someways, the alienist was relieved that the constant reminder of the pain he'd put you through did not wake beside him at this hour. His heart could not bare the weight of peering over to the empty promise sealed with an empty womb. But despite your absence, the wicked creatures poisoned his sleep each and every night.

That dreaded night four months ago should have been the day he put the future of his family before his need to unearth every detail on his latest case. But Kreizler's mind was occupied with the promise of retribution for the young child who had washed up dead on the streets. He was far from the loving comfort of his wife's arms and the security of status in the upper class estates of New York.

The primitive behaviour of one tortured soul had crashed through the ranks of society and bombarded the doors of his home. Through the terrible noise, a large deposit of anger lashed from the fury covered beast. His target - you. Blood filled the air like a cheap perfume only to attract a second pummel of blows. Leaving you immobile on the landing, your wounds only seemed to instigate more frequent lashes from the wicked creature. Black. Black hues filled the room as your innocence fell from the room.

One last explosion of anger was all it took before a sharp sting rocketed through you abdomen. Despite the figures crashing into your home after noticing the unhinged entrance, they could not restrain the man from depositing the last of his crippling demons. You future was torn from you reach through the seeping blood that puddled between you legs. The ravenous demon was ripped from you home by authority and your body cradled by Dr. Laszlo Kreizler's former manservant, Cyrus Montrose.

Kreizler had been instantly informed of your state when he returned to his home with John and Sara to find Cyrus luring you to consciousness while in dire need for a hospital. Like a deer in headlights, the alienist had frozen in the torn hallways of your shared home. despite the rushing of John who beamed to Cyrus's side to move you into the coach and Sara's incessant chatter that everything would be fine. The fear seeped sweat from his forehead as he's feet had planted him too far from you and his mind distanced from any of the actions around him.

Alone. He stood staring at the splatters of blood and horrid destruction that had fallen on the household his night. John pulled him back from the deep corners of his mind while left him stranded in the empty air.

Cyrus had saved you that evening but no man nor god could have saved your child. These cracks in you future plans had implanted themselves in you marriage. Laszlo shut himself away - avoided any further involvement in the case and slept where he worked. he was shut off from the prying eyes of high society. In turn, you were left alone in your healing. was it reading healing if your partner of love and in life had thrown you away. As the days went by, you found yourself carefully moving your belongings into the single room and made sure to make yourself scarce when you 'husband' finally chose to return to the haunted reminded of the future you lost.

within a blink of an eye, it had been three months and you had reengaged into the life society demanded of you. But you returned alone. You weren't one for the parties or dinners but with Laszlo- your Laszlo- by your side it became bearable. Now, it was a lion's den as you waited for the gossip to dig into every piece of your life.

'how is the baby?'

'where's that husband of yours?'

'if you were my wife I certainly would not let you come out alone to these things'

'I bet my hat that you are exhasted with your bundle of joy'

'oh dear, it has escaped us'

'apologies I had not realised you miscarried'

'aw it a pity you would have made beautiful babies'

'there's always next time'

You drowned in the chatter only to be dragged out by a tall handsome figure. of all the people you wished it was you were disappointed it wasn't Las.

"Mrs Kreizler," you cringed at the use of your married name. Surely, it was evident that you husband had neglected to resurface in your life for months.

"Just Y/N will do if you don't mind" you cut in before the figure could continue.

'Of course, I'm Wilfred Miller... I was one of the men who dragged that scum from your home.' he released and suddenly you mind swarmed with the voice of a man shouting out for help beyond the darkness of your doorway. A small smile blessed your face and begun a night of careful conversation. Had you forgotten how it felt to truly smile in the months since that distressing day.

In the weeks that followed Wilfred had requested that you accompany him on his morning strolls, something Laszlo used to take you on so he could have you to himself for at least a moment everyday. But this was different, Wilfred was showing you what it was like to be you again. Later you would join him on his way to the local orphanage where he worked to get children adopted by childless families. You spent the day braiding little girl's hair and trimming the boy's to make them more presentable for visitors.

However, before you could leave you were met face to face with your husband except something was different. In this moment, he was Dr Kreizler the alienist and no words were uttered between the two of you. Wilfred had politely asked if you would prefer he took you to your home but the Alienist snapped.

"I will be assisting My wife home thank you Mr Miller' his words were territorial with every syllable. The whole city would talk about the wayward Kreizler had he not assumed his position. Or perhaps they would take pity and paint the Doctor as a neglectful husband.

"thank you for the offer Wilfred but I will make my way back with Dr Kreizler" you reassured softly. Following, the outbreak Wilfred was almost frightfully scared to even look at you in anyway. Again you were alone with no one to call a friend who wouldn't spurt your life around the town or back to your husband. However, Laszlo didn't as much as bat an eyelid in your direction in the carriage on the way home or across the table at supper or as you wished him a goodnight before retiring to you separate room.

So the next morning, as he stood from his puddle of sweat, he knew something had to change. In his silent mourning, Kreizler had pushed away the one person he wished to spare his pain. The rasping at your door torn you from a similar striking dream. Peeling your rebuilt frame from the empty comfort of the bed, you managed to pull the strength to let the tortured man in.

"Mein Liebling" his words sparked the love back into your eyes. You let out a soft whimper as Laszlo encapsulated your body with a much needed embrace. Both bodies hungry for one another. You back trembled as his fingertips set you on fire with each small exploration.

Before, you were often intimate physically and it was hot and steamy but this was different; you were making love- renewing love. Laszlo was calculating every movement that he was offered to ensure you were going to stay with him. Together, there was a spark that society was envious of and sometimes your have to remind each other that despite everything there is still a love that consumes. Right now he was going to make sure you knew that you consume his every thought.

You eyes fluttered closed as he's pillow lips left soft kisses on the crook of your neck before deepening to trail to the soft spot below your jaw.

"I, Laszlo Kreizler" he whispers between each deposit of soft caresses. the warmth of his breath sends sparks to places you had long neglected. Forcing his damaged arm to rest on your lower back, he pulls you closer into his husk while his beard brushes the tip of your nose.

Facing your closed eyes, the alienist breaths in the moment before wiping his head to claim your gentle lips the same way he took you at the end of the aisle. Desperate and needy, you whimpered at the lack of contact when he slowly withdrew.

"Take you, mein liebling , Y/N" your eyes demanded to open and stare lovingly at the man you fell in love with. Usually, Laszlo didn't like to disturb you when it came to his urges so early in the morning. But today he needed to leave with you knowing that he still desires everything about you. You could see by the way his lip trembled that he needed you as much as you did. you both needed to escape into the peaceful comfort of the linen sheets. Your hands shot up to his face and dragged him into the single bedroom.

"as my wife" he whispered into your hungry lips as your clothing began to get in the way of the following events.

"it's been awhile since we've used a single bed for such activities, Laz" you had shocked yourself withhoj direct your words had aimed at your sex life. The doctor just smirked before pushing your back onto the ruffled sheets your left before welcoming him in.

"I didn't hear you complaining last time, Liebhaberin" His hand trailed its way up the bare skin that sat beneath the thin fabric of your night dress. goosebump coated your body in anticipation. Kreizler was an attentive man. Ghosting up your legs slowly, Laszlo found the small nub that he'd neglected in these last months and how your body knew it. As if fingers began to work that small bundle of nerves, the tingling sensation shot to your core and released a small moan as the intensity grew. Smirking softly, Kreizler had missed how little it took for you body to react to him; seeing you throw your head back gently as he sped up, the alienist began to notice his own neglected appendage. Your chest was heaving and you knew there was a blush covering your body which mimicked the heaving of his length with begged to be set free.

Slipping a finger down into the welcoming warm of your core, Kreizler studied how you jolted as if a foreign object despite how often he use to indulge in filling this gap.

"It seems you have forgotten my touch, don't worry mein liebling, I won't let that happen again" he commits, almost disappointed with himself that he had let it get this long.

Slowly plunging his fingers into the wetness, you moaned out for him to continue with the joy that you'd find your release. With a swift movement you swiped your night dress from your body with triggered Laszlo's arousal. your figure was enough to send him over the edge any day but today he had almost finished when you moved to take off you nightdress. laying naked on the white sheets, You moaned and panted at the accelerating fingers that hit that sweet spot in you vagina. Before you could make it over the edge, the digits were replaced by the soft lips of your lover and his delicate tongue. Licking up your wetness, Laszlo silently vowed to only provide the best for his life and soul. Edging you closer, he locked you legs open against the bed with both hands despite his damaged arm trembling slightly, he couldn't care less if it meant that he would get you to that moment of euphoria.

And did he take you there. you body shuddered violently as your orgasm rocked through your body like a starved animal. The bristles of his beard brushed against your sensitive mound as he lapped up your arousal. Before pulling himself up your body, Kreizler began to flutter kisses all over your vagina and clit and then trailed these same delicate kisses up your hip. Soon, his hand crept up to meet the spots on you hip when his lips had left soft touches.

Fully stood before you, he left you body for mere moments before removing the restrainting trouser that locked in his own arousal. You were apart seconds but your body moaned for his missing touch and it drove him mad with lust. He dove on to your body with an almighty force as he set to reclaim your lips with his. Eventually, your tongue poked through to explore the comforting warm of his mouth. to which, he moaned deeply causing his whole body to jolt forward, brushing his desire against your entrance. Electricity sparked between your intimate parts. While fighting for dominance with your tongue, you slipped a hand down his soft abdomen. Distracted, Laszlo allowed your dominance within his mouth only to grasp your slipping hand and attach it to his unattended appendage.

The feeling of his warm cock in you hand unlocked hidden moans and whimpers from you both. you almost forgot the battle you'd won when he began directing your hand to move up and down on his shaft. Laszlo's hum of approval was all it took for you to pick up the speed and shake of his hand. His length throbbed in your hand as you decided to direct his appendage into your warm core. like putting in the last puzzle piece, you both gutturally moaned in fulfilment. Laszlo starred in full admiration as all movements stopped. You were completely filled to the brim by his length in that one movement; he could feel every tense of a muscle and every inch of your welcoming canal.

"please, Las, put our baby back" the words softly slipped from your lips and graced Laszlo's ears. Who was he to deny himself and his wife of their future? so like a freed bird, Laszlo's hips began a depth thrust into the depth of your womb with two goals in mind: to make his wife scream his name and put his seed safely where it belongs. His eye's brimmed with tears he'd long held back after the loss of your baby but now was his chance to fix everything. You velvet walls were so tight as he pounded into your sweet spot. Every inch of your body took him as if you'd never been touched; it begged him to breed you. Instantly, you responded to his determined passionate thrusts as you attempted to push up to meet his pace- push him further to meet your womb.

Sometimes we survive because we forget but in this moment you live because he remembers every inch of your body. From the kisses that wrap around your erect nipples or the hand that remains on your hip as a reminder that he is holding on to you for the long haul.

______________________________________________________________

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