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thegreatduggo · 8 months

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Dispatching from the Edge

Summer 1982, we'd upped sticks from our halcyon hangout in Topsham and shut up shop on our dog day afternoons. It was a bit of a sad goodbye as we'd had a great few months doing nothing but go to the local pubs, play darts and hang out. We were on social security and our rent was paid for, hell we even had our own housekeeper!

One time Mark looked up out our French doors onto the palatial garden and saw an old guy mowing our lawn. Chuckling and mystified, he asked who it was. We had no idea. It turned we also had our own gardener! They both got a bit ticked off about how damn lazy we were, sometimes leaving a whole week of dishes for our housekeeper.

At the end of the summer, the crew split off to our separate corners. Some went back home and others headed off elsewhere.

Me, I headed off to London to try my hand at dispatch riding in London on my trusty RD400.

Julian, kept signing on as if he was still living there and he used to go back, let himself in the front door and pick up his DHSS check. He let himself in one time and a voice came from the living room "Alan, is that you?" He picked up his check and very quietly retreated.

It was reputed that you could make a tidy sum as a dispatch rider in London, so I decided to head up to London and give it a shot. The truth was that it was not as easy as it seemed.

I was staying in the comfortable enclave of Barnes at the time - just a block away from where Marc Bolan had died after crashing his Mini into a tree.

I found a motorcycle courier firm nearby and they agreed to let me join their roster. You get paid by the job and most of the jobs go to the top riders but the company was quite fair in giving a slice of the jobs to novices like me. I wasn't making a lot of money but I felt it would get better if I stuck with it.

Navigation was by A-Z map book and I often got lost. One time I got badly lost and missed a deadline. One of the other riders found me and took the rest of my deliveries off me. She apologized but said that's just the way it goes. It was disheartening.

The only way to make it work well was to really know your way around London - akin to the black cab drivers with "The Knowledge".

I was more or less keeping afloat and I was hoping to get better at it until I was handling my jobs competently and earning trust.

However, after only 2 weeks, I was heading back to base, up Putney Hill towards Putney Heath at around 40 mph. There was 2 lanes of stopped traffic to my right and unbeknownst to me, the cars had made a gap for a car to turn right in front of me. Being a motorcycle, I'd got away from the lights ahead of the cars and this guy must have not looked and just assumed the road was clear on my side.

Before I could do anything, he was already full length broadside to me. All I could do was brake as hard as I could and then at the last instant, I decided to jump up off the pegs to help clear the car and avoid the handlebars.

I careened into the side of the car and catapulted over the roof. I felt a brutal impact as my legs got crushed into the handlebars from to the top of my thighs all the way down to my ankles. I flipped head over heels, over the top of the car and miraculously landed on my feet on the far side.

Why did I land on my feet? Well, when you've been in a major smash, you want to be able to tell yourself quickly that you're actually alright - it's basically a denial of what just happened - so in that moment, I searched for my feet and thus landed upright.

I recently saw a video of a Russian soldier being blown up inside a tank. He managed to crawl out the turret and then roll off down the side of the tank and land on his feet, before crumpling to the ground. He then proceeded to crawl away. He made it a few feet, before his legs ended up just paddling against the soil and he wasn't moving anywhere. He was probably thinking to himself "If I can just get away from here, I'll be ok" when in fact these were probably his last moments. It doesn't bear thinking about.

I stood by the side of the car and then hobbled round to the pavement and sat down. After I sat down, the pain overwhelmed me and I lay back on the pavement and gritted my teeth.

The petite girl dispatch rider who helped me out before, happened to be passing by and she stopped - a lovely little thing - and she took my deliveries. She said she'd contact HQ for me when she got to the next delivery. That's what we'd do, we'd call in from the reception of the drop-off for our next instruction.

While this was happening, a guy from across the street came over and he said he'd seen the whole thing. He gave me his name and number and said he would be a witness. He paused for a minute and then said "Don't mind me saying this, but that was very acrobatic how you flipped over the entire car and landed on your feet!"

The cops showed up and they insisted that I go to hospital. An ambulance turned up and took me down there. I got checked up and nothing was broken so they let me go.

A van driver from the Courier company came to get me and then pick up the bike.

He was a lovely fella and he was avuncular and comforting. When we got back to the bike, we manhandled it into the back of the van. I was in pain but I was able to limp my way thru it.

After we were done, he said that we should get a cup of tea. I demurred but then realized I could do with the comfort.

He took me up to Putney Heath where they had one of those hackney carriage comfort stations. These are those green shacks that you used to see round London and they have a long history.

He got me a big mug of tea and we stood outside the shack under the awning in the afternoon sun and I felt quite forlorn and lost but he really comforted me. And then on the radio, they played Margaritaville. I'd never heard it before and it seemed to sum up the moment: melancholy and poignant but a little hopeful too.

I didn't know the record and pre-internet, such things often remained mysteries and it wasn't till many years later, in the US, that I heard it again and was able to identify it. Great record with a special meaning to me.

Pete Dixon and Phil Purver's had a place in Ealing which I knew had had an accessible backyard so we dropped the bike off there and I left an explanatory note on it.

At the time, I was staying in a flop-house up the road for 35 quid a week. It was truly disgusting. I was in a room with 3 others. There was no place to lock your stuff up so it was blind faith that your stuff would not go missing.

The next day, I showed up at Phil and Pete's to explain the situation. Pete took one look at me and said "Doug, you look like shit! What's going on?"

I hadn't showered for days and I was covered in road dirt and I was staggering around like a drunkard on my battered legs. It just so happened that Phil had just gone away for 2 weeks and Pete offered me to to stay there. Oh my, was that ever a relief!

I'd spent only a few days in the flop-house and I really felt for those poor fuckers who had no other choice but to stay there - how soul destroying that must be and this was far from the worst of the worst. You see a place like this and see why people might choose the streets instead. We have to do better. The homeless situation is insane.

Without a bike, I had no obvious means of employment. I went to interview with a guy who claimed to be a diamond courier. Sounded like a fun job, right!

He interviewed me and the diamond courier option quickly receded. He tried to make out that he was an international man of mystery, but what he did do was a bit of motorcycle courier work some mini-cab work. He was a major bullshitter - one of many that I've met over the years.

He did have a Bentley and he would do chauffeured wedding work with it. He also had a Yamaha 100 which he would lend to me to do courier work. Most of my time was spent waiting for a job to come in, sitting in his living room, bored to tears.

The bike wasn't taxed or MOTed - which was nothing new to me - I would try to make sure that cop cars couldn't see the missing tax disk by staying in the blind spot.

One day, a passing cop car spotted the expired tax disk and I got pulled. I don't remember what happened about the expired tax, maybe Bob just renewed it, but the MOT didn't exist. Bob got all irate about it and said something along the lines of "I'm an upstanding businessman - how dare you suggest that my vehicles that are not fully legal!" Eventually he got a duplicate MOT - I think he knew the guy at the garage and got a forged one.

Bob was a total bullshit artist and a fraud - a Walter Mitty type who made up outrageous and far-fetched stories. He had a photo up on his wall in the living room which was his pride and joy, of him standing next to his Bentley. It was a professionally taken photo.

One day when I was waiting woefully for the next job to come in, the photographer showed up at the door. Apparently - and not all surprisingly - Bob had never paid for the photo. Soon it escalated it into a full-on shouting match, with Bob claiming that his impeccable business bon fides were being assaulted and how dare he impugn him!

The feisty little photographer managed to work his way round Bob, and into the living room where he grabbed the photo off the wall and headed out. Bob was a big guy, so it was quite brave of the little fella to hold his ground. He left Bob huffing and puffing about how outrageous the photographer had been. Lots of bluster in the aftermath.

There was another guy who working for Bob who drove a Ford Granada for Bob's car service. Let's call him Raj. We spent hours a day just hanging out waiting for work. The guy had a Kawasaki Z1000, which, aside from exotics, was the best and most powerful motorcycle generally available.

One day a dispatch job came in. Raj was bored and he said "Hey, let's do it on my bike!" I was like "Great - let's go!" So, we were riding along and the bike felt mean and powerful - champing at the bit. I kept saying "Let's give it a bit if stick!" And he was saying "Look there's no point. As soon as we speed up we'll have to slow back down again." And admittedly there was a lot of traffic around.

I had a large package under my arm and I could only hold on with one hand but once we'd delivered it, I could hold the grab rail tightly with both hands. We were heading towards Kingston Bridge and the bridge was wide and clear. I urged him again to give it some stick. There was a pause and then he decided to go for it. I leaned forward against the acceleration but as he opened it up more, I was inexorably pushed backwards, until I hit the point of no return and started to topple backwards off the bike. I was getting ready to kiss the tarmac, but as my feet came up off the pegs and got level with his elbows, i wrapped my legs round his waist and we went across the bridge with me lying horizontally - it must've looked pretty funny.

Fucker didn't slow down until we reached the other side. He made out that he hadn't noticed my legs round his waist, but he had tears running down running down his cheeks when we finally slowed down.

He was a funny guy. He claimed that he didn't slow down for roundabouts (meaning the big ones) - he would just drive onto them at 60 mph and he reckoned that because he was going faster than the traffic already on them, he could just slot in wherever he wanted.

Bob's wife was quite a cutie but he was sometimes a bully and would belittle her. He got uppity when I defended her when he'd been particularly unreasonable.

She recalled a time when he'd been trying to change a tire on the side of the road on a cold, rainy night. He wasn't very practical and as he kicked down on the tire iron, his foot slipped off, he lost his balance and fell into the puddles. She said that he looked like a hippopotamus, rolling around on his back trying to get back up. She fucking loved it and she was convulsed with laughter as she remembered it.

Eventually, I found a full set of RD400 forks on Motorcycle News including the headlight. When I went to pick them up, I couldn't help but notice that the VIN on the host motorcycle had been ground off. But it was 35 quid and I needed to get my bike fixed and get it out of Phil's garden, so I just let it go.

My bike wasn't taxed, MOTed or insured, but the cops let it go - I guess they felt sorry for me because of the accident. I took the damages up with a lawyer under legal aid and ended up getting 600 quid, which was a pretty damn good result. It wasn't a lot considering the injury but taking my circumstances into account, it was a good result. The bike had cost me 420 quid originally to give it some perspective.

My knees hurt for months afterwards. If I couldn't stretch my legs out for too long, like when sitting in the back seat of a car, I'd end up in a lot of pain. I couldn't get down on my haunches for even longer but eventually I think I more or less got completely back to normal. But I smacked up my knees numerous times thereafter so it's somewhat of an academic position as to how much was due to that accident!

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purplesurveys · 1 year

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1566

Whose birthday did you last celebrate, and what did you do for it? My mom’s. Apart from the decorations my siblings and I placed around the house, I also ordered in Spanish food which she requested. There was a typhoon at the time so we couldn’t really go out.

Do you use an alarm to wake up in the morning, or can you wake up naturally? I can wake up naturally most of the time, but I would occasionally set my alarm if I’m feeling a little unconfident about waking up on time.

Do you use an electric or manual toothbrush? What colour is it? I haven’t had an electric toothbrush since I was like, 5. Mine is blue and white.

Any idea how many mobile phones you've owned, in total? My current one is my 8th, if I’m not mistaken. How long have you had the mobile phone that you currently use? 8 months.

Are your nails usually painted, or not? What colour did you paint them last? They’re never painted. My hands are quite restless in the first place, so nail polish wouldn’t last with me for more than a couple of days.

What brand is the shampoo/conditioner that you currently use? I use Dove shampoo, and my conditioner is a local brand.

How long was your last car journey, and where were you going? It was around an hour and a half. One of the longer trips we’ve taken recently since we went down south to visit my dad’s side.

Have you recently been in any store where music was playing? Did you know/like the song(s)? Well yes; idk how it is in other places but where I live, all stores constantly have some sort of music playing. Most recently I was in a milk tea place and I remember mouthing along to Closer by The Chainsmokers and Halsey. As for whether I like it, I mean it’s not my favorite track and it’s in none of my playlists but I’d hum or mouth to it, which is what I did.

When did you last encounter someone who seemed rude or unpleasant? An hour ago. My mom is in the middle one of her weird tantrums again and didn’t acknowledge my presence upon arriving home until I was the first one to say hi; even then, she seemed super stoic and curt. Funny though how I give less and less of a fuck every year.

^And what was it about their behaviour, that gave that impression? She couldn’t look at me and barely said a word. Unfortunately for her I have bigger things to worry about now, so I just proceeded to being cheery around my dad and siblings.

Do you use Goodreads? If so, what are some of the books on your 'Want To Read' list? I don’t use Goodreads and would never be able to touch my hypothetical account because I haven’t read in years.

Do you own anything that was from a vintage/antique shop? I don’t think so, no.

What was the last item that you 'fell in love with' and decided to buy? BTS sticker sets.

What are your favourite kinds of accessories to wear with an outfit? Never was a big accessory girl. I’d lose them all the time, if I was.

Has anyone ever bought you a gift with your name or initial on it? What was it? No, I think my friends know better than getting me something like that hahaha. I was never a fan of personalized anything.

What type of cuisine was served in the last restaurant you ate at? I want to say largely French...? Italian? Idk, they have a bit of everything though as far as I can tell.

^Would you recommend that restaurant to others? Why or why not? Sure! It’s at the 52nd floor, offers a spectacular view of the city, and they’ve got really attentive staff who’ll make you feel right at home.

What was the last type of dessert that you tried for the first time? Was it good? Randy’s Donuts. It was actually pretty amazing, yeah. I appreciate a good dense doughnut.

The last time you checked the mail, was there anything for you? Not technically ‘mail,’ but the last thing I had shipped to me was a copy of Hobi’s Jack in the Box.

Do you own anything that has an image of a unicorn on it? Nope.

Do you know anyone who is still in a relationship with their first love? Or are you lucky enough to be one of those people? Yeah, I do.

What kind of music did you listen to as a child/teenager? Do you still enjoy any of that kind of music now? I didn’t have much of a music taste until I was around Grade 6, which is when I started paying attention to punk rock – Rancid, H2O, The Misfits, Against Me!, that whole sound – mainly due to being a fan of CM Punk. I kept that up til around high school when my circle of friends grew and my music preferences changed to revolve more around indie and pop rock – so artists like Coldplay and Hozier.

I definitely still revisit punk from time to time; but I have moved on from the artists I listened to in high school (exempting Coldplay because why stop listening to them ever?) because the people who once introduced me to indie are no longer in my life.

Tell me a little about the last photo you liked/reacted to on social media. My friends’ Disneyland photos.

What was the last activity that you tried out for fun, but decided it wasn't for you? Good question. I’m...not sure, actually. I feel like I easily back out from things that I feel from the get-go wouldn’t work for me. I want to be sure I’m super into something first, or that I’m ok to get my feet wet in something unfamiliar, before making a decision; and I quickly say no if I already envision myself being miserable throughout hahaha. Like how I’d never be game for a game of basketball, even if it’s for funsies; or taking theater classes.

Do you have any alcoholic drinks in your fridge at the moment? Yeah we have a ton of wine, beer, and soju in there currently.

What is something that you like to do, to wind down before going to sleep? Put cooling ointment all over my arms and stomach hahahaha

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house-of-slayterr · 2 years

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Mad Hatter

@howl-fantasies

Tw: Yandere and mentions of sexual assault

Maggies POV:

It was so nice to wake up in my own bed again. It was nice to not have overly lavish sheets and people doting on me every five seconds. Even mom never made me buy the expensive stuff for my room. I rolled over and smiled when I remembered the book Bruce gave me. I’d carry it with me everywhere. I got up and made my way over to the dinky coffee pot, and frowned when I realised I didn’t have any coffee. In fact it had been over a month since I’d been here, I’d probably have to throw everything out and buy fresh.

I quickly hopped in the shower and got dressed before heading down to the local coffee shop. Maybe I could get something fancy today. It was just nice to be out of Oswald’s suffocating grasp for five seconds. I opened the door and the sweet smell of espresso hit me. I was hooked on the Latte Y/N had ordered me way back when we first met. Nothing could ever beat that tatse.

“One french vanilla latte, extra foam and two plain coffees please.”

The barista took my order and left to make my drink. As I waited I checked my phone and realised there were 54 unread messages from Oswald.

“Shit.” I muttered under my breath.

I pulled up a group chat with Tabitha and Butch.

Maggie:

Good morning my favourite people on the planet.

Tabitha:

…

Butch:

Do you have any idea how much screaming we’ve put up with today? Where are you?!

Maggie:

Haha… about that.

Tabitha:

Don’t think just because you have a cute face and a nice ass I won’t kill you… cause I’ll do it… I’m this fucking close

Maggie:

Oh I believe, I’m not testing my luck. I just needed a break to clear my head for a bit. Just distract him until the end of the day ok, I promise I’ll be back soon 🥰

Butch:

The blushing heart emoji isn’t going to work this time…

Maggie:

What about my smiling face?

…

Tabitha:

God Damn it woman, stop being so fucking cute… well put up with the gremlin and his bullshit today but you owe us!

Maggie:

Whatever you say hottie 😘 I’m all yours

Butch:

Damn, I feel left out…

Maggie:

Please you know I’ll give you whatever you want, just might make you beg for it first

When neither of them replied back I assumed they got to work on distracting Oswald. The Barista came back with my drinks and I blushed when I noticed she wrote her number on the cup.

“I assumed the fancy one was yours cutie… text me” with a smiley face.

I don’t know what it was about Gotham, but I must have pleased Cupid in another life. Nobody ever talked to me, let alone approached me for dates back in Starling city. I was used to people flirting with Ollie and Thea all the time. Hell I even had to see people flirt with mom after Robert passed. It was a bit overwhelming, when really the only person I wanted to be with was Jim. But things just had to be so damn complicated.

I made my way over to the police station, taking the familiar path I used to take every day. I spotted Harvey right away.

“Long time no see mi amigo!” I greeted.

He turned around to meet my gaze.

“I see Oswald’s let you off your leash.”

“Let is a strong word… I broke out.”

He laughed.

“This one is for you!”

“Maggie, you didn’t have to get me coffee.”

“Really? You sure there’s not some law somewhere saying ‘you must bring your overworked cop friend coffee or you will be submitted to death by disappointed dad glare?’ Cause I think I read that somewhere.” I joked.

“I do not have a dad glare!”

“Yeah you do. You seen Jim?”

I saw his face scrunch up.

“Nope. Hey thanks for the coffee but I really got go handle this case.”

He was lying. I just sighed. I had to fix whatever this situation was before the tension destroyed me. It was driving me insane. I stood there for a movement sipping my latte, waiting to see if I would spot him, when someone popped into my vision. Lee. I frowned.

“How are you?” She asked in her sickly sweet voice.

“I’m fine.” I said a bit more bitterly than I meant too.

I mean what kind of girl leads a guy on, tells him that she loves him, then goes and gets engaged to Carmine Falcones son? Maybe Jim didn’t have enough money for her tacky taste. But all I know was that she didn’t deserve him. But part of his heart would always belong to her and I hated her for it. She must have picked up on my animosity, because she became blunt very quickly.

“I don’t think you should see Jim. Harvey told me you were looking for him.”

“Yeah, to bring him his coffee.” I waved the cup for emphasis.

“But he hurt you-“

“So people keep saying, but I want to hear it from him Lee. I wanna hear his side of what happened, because no matter how many times I try to run over the scenario in my head, nothing makes sense. So if you could please step out of my-“

Lee cut my off my by grabbing my arm and pulling me into the autopsy room. A small bit of Jim’s coffee spilt on my wrist and I held my breath at the soft pain.

“What the hell?” I exclaimed.

“Look I really don’t think it’s in your best interest to talk to him.”

“And I really don’t think I asked. I’m not a baby Lee, I can take care of myself. Grab me like that again you’re gonna be the one laying on that table.”

I motioned to the unfortunate soul who was splayed open on the cold metal.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Are you gonna touch me without my consent again? Cause I can get you for harassment and assault…”

“You’re being defensive.”

“You cornered me.”

Lee stepped to the side and I pushed open the door, glaring back at her. That’s when I ran into someone. Jim.

“What the hell?“ I heard him mutter.

“Omg Jim I’m so sorry.”

His whole body stiffened when he heard my voice. I cringed. I was yet again grabbed by my arm and dragged into a side room, but this time I didn’t much care. I stumbled a little bit Jim steadied me, realising he had been too rough.

“So first you accuse me of sexually assaulting you, and now you spill hot coffee on me?” He says, sounding annoyed.

“Jim I didn’t-“

“What, you didn’t tell Harvey that you didn’t remember anything from that night?”

“I did tell him that, but I didn’t know that was the conclusion he would reach. I didn’t know he would run with it! Jim I didn’t mean for any of this to happen you have to believe me.”

“Why didn’t you just talk to me?” He sighed.

“Am I not I doing that right now?”

I could feel tears spilling from my eyes and I frustratedly wiped them away. I felt like a child, it was so stupid to be crying. Jim was hesitant to touch me, that much was obvious.

“So you really don’t remember?” He said softly.

“I’m so sorry. Trust me, don’t you think I’d want to? I was dreaming of that moment since the day we met. And now I’ve gone and ruined everything cause I have this stupid memory problem.”

“Memory problem?”

“Since I was younger. Ollie, my- my brother, he says I lose time. And no matter how had I try I can’t get it back. Therapy doesn’t help, meds don’t help, it’s just gone. And I hate it so much. You must hate me.”

“I could never hate you Magnolia. I just, I really wish you came to talk to me sooner. Or maybe I should have come to you. Look, things will work out with time, but maybe for the time being it would be a good idea if we aren’t seen with each other.”

“Oh.” I choked out. “Ok.”

I ran out of the room, leaving Jim in my wake. I’m not sure how I expected this conversation to go, but it certainly wasn’t this. I hated this, I hated not knowing what was happening, not understanding my feelings. Everything felt broken. Before I knew it my legs dragged me to the Gotham cemetery of all places.

But I had to admit, it was quite peaceful. Not many people wasted their time in the cemetery, and at least I knew nobody would come looking for me here. So I walked to the corner of the lot and leaned against the fence, pulling out my backpack. I took out the book Bruce had gifted me, and quickly got lost in my own world. It felt nice to just turn my brain off for a while. That was, until I heard crying.

I tried to ignore it and just mind my own business, of course people would cry in a cemetery. I didn’t want to interrupt anything going on, that would be rude. But the utterance of a certain name caught my attention.

“Oh Alice, my sweet Alice, these roses I’ve painted red just for you. The white rabbits still hoping, the clock is still tocking, tomorrow i start a new.”

“Alice?” I questioned. A little louder than I meant to.

I hid my face behind my book when I could sense he would turn my way. I didn’t want to be caught staring, when Is hardly even gotten a glance. When he didn’t say anything, I assumed it was safe to move on as if I’d said nothing, but I was wrong. When I dropped the book, the man was right before me. I jumped slightly, dropping my copy of Alice In wonderland, but he caught it before it could hit the dirt. His gaze was intense, but I couldn’t seem to avoid its severity. The stranger was the first to break the silence.

“There is a place like no place on Earth. A land full of wonder, mystery, and danger. Some say to survive it, you need to be as mad as a hatter. Which, luckily, I am.” He spoke effortlessly.

“A hatter is only as mad as the head on his shoulders Mr….” I responded sceptically.

He broke into a smile.

“My apologies! The names Jervis Tetch, and what May your name be?” He bowed, gradually handing me my book and offering me a hand up.

I took his hand, it was softer than I expected it to be.

“Magnolia Blossom, but you can call me Maggie.”

“Maggie, like a Magpie?”

I looked at him incredulously.

“That’s what my brother calls me, yes.” I narrowed my eyes at Jervis. “And I suppose they call you The Hatter?”

He was dressed like one, and living in Gotham has taught me many thing, but I’ve grown used to expecting the theatrical. Everyone had a Persona, and I couldn’t tell his his first was Mad, or Jervis.

“Right you are little Magpie! Tell me, why is a Raven like a writing desk?”

“You haven’t the slightest idea.” I responded boldly.

An endearing smile crept onto his face. He must not have expected me to continue with my answer, because his face lit up even more if possible.

“But I suppose, it’s because they can produce a few note, though they are very flat; and it is never put with the wrong end in the front.”

He jumped up and down clapping!

“Spectacular, we’ll done! Well don’t my dear! Here, have a rose!”

He handed me one of the roses from the grave he was previously at.

“This is a Rosa alba.” I muttered, I didn’t think it was loud enough for him to hear.

“How could you tell?”

“Because Im a florist, I can always tell when a flowers been tampered with Mr. Tetch.”

“What a wonderful brain you have my sweet little songbird. I’ll be see you around, be carful not to fall down any Rabbit holes now.” He mused.

Before I could ask what he meant by that he was gone. God I hated when they did that. Ivy was good at it, Tabitha was great at it, and Y/N, fuck she was the best. I don’t know how they could just vanish without a trace. Even my own brother was good at it. Maybe it was a skill I’d have to learn if I wanted to stay in Gotham a little longer.

But skill building would have to wait, nightfall was coming and I was sure Oswald would blow a gasket if he didn’t see me by dawn. So begrudgingly I packed up my things and made my way back to the mansion. I hide the rose in my bag, not wanting Oswald to question me about it. I couldn’t risk upsetting him more than I already had. But thoughts of my new acquaintance plagued my mind on the journey home. What even would my rabbit hole look like?

An: I’m so sorry this took so long to write. I could have written more but my minds kinda blank right now. But I’ll have more ideas soon and the next chapter will be even better!

#gotham oc #magnolia blossom #gotham #maggie #victor zsasz #gotham imagine #jim gordon x reader #jervis tetch #the mad hatter #alice in wonderland #through the looking glass

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mikauzoran · 3 years

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The Shipping Continues

I’m still reading through the Vanitas no Carte manga to practice my Japanese, and I have some more favourite moments from Volume Four to share. ^w^

First off, Noe completely losing it when Dr. Moreau tries to touch Vanitas.

Dr. Moreau was just asking Vanitas if he could extract one of Vanitas’s eyes to study it, and Noe has had enough.

Vanitas says, “Hey. What are you doing? Stop it.” because Noe is going to blow their cover to which Noe replies, “I’m sorry, but that’s impossible. Dr. Moreau, I’ve got a mountain’s worth of things I want to say to you, but...calling people by a number like you’ve been doing with your ‘Number Six-Nine, Number Six-Nine’...cut it the hell out!!!”

I like that Noe just drops all pretense of politeness here and snaps. ^.^

A side note on Dr. Moreau: I really love the allusion to the 1896 book by H. G. Wells: The Island of Doctor Moreau. (Have people heard of it before? ^.^;) It’s about a mad scientist who’s made these hybrid human-animal creatures on this island that the narrator gets shipwrecked on. My favourite character is the pink sloth creature. It’s an interesting book, and I always love when contemporary fiction references classic fiction. The references make me happy. ^w^ It’s like finding Easter eggs.

This is another great scene. Vanitas was about ready to give up, but Noe inspired him to keep trying. Actually, what happened was Vanitas was going to have everyone leave and seal the room until the monster consumed itself and disappeared on its own because there was no way for them to get the cursed one out of the monster in order to purify them. Noe convinced Vanitas to jump into the monster’s void-like maw in order to perhaps save the cursed one from inside of the monster.

Only, they didn’t know that that was going to work. For all they knew, they were going to their deaths. Instead of letting Noe go in on his own (because Noe wasn’t giving up, and he was going whether Vanitas went or not), Vanitas decided to go with Noe, knowing that it could be a suicide mission. It’s kind of romantic in a twisted way that Vanitas picked possibly dying with Noe instead of letting Noe go alone and then sealing up the room to let the monster eat itself out of existence.

But what I really like about this scene is the dialogue!

Vanitas: That’s the cursed one who created “Predator”. (The kanji says “shadow figure”/“silhouette”/“shadow monk”, but the furigana reads “puredatouuru”.)

Noe: It’s okay. We can win.

Vanitas: Ha. “So long as we’re together”?

This is a callback to a scene in Volume 3:

Here, Vanitas has just asked if Noe can win against Roland (I’m guessing that’s how you spell his name. In katakana, it’s “rooran”. I’m guessing that’s the French name “Roland”). Noe says, “I don’t know...but we can win. So long as we’re together.”

A note on my translation: That’s not literally what Noe says, but that’s the vibe. In Japanese, it’s “oretachi nara”. Literally, that means “so long as it’s us”. The emphasis is on “tachi”. “Ore” would just mean “me”. “Tachi” makes it plural, so Noe is emphasizing that so long as it’s him and Vanitas, they can win. It feels more natural in English for me to translate that as “so long as we’re together”.

I love the above scene of Vanitas and Noe laughing together after having pulled it off and narrowly escaped death. I also love Roland looking on in awe at a vampire and a human laughing together.

You can tell he ships it. This is his “and then a shipper was born” moment.

Above is another great scene. Amelia comes in to give Vanitas a message, and Noe is still sleeping. He’s just fallen out of bed with a loud crash.

Amelia: Noe-san?!

Vanitas: Oh, so he’s fallen out of bed again?

Amelia: Uh... Is this...really okay?

Noe: *soft, breathy snore*

Vanitas: Hey. Don’t get close to him. He’ll turn you into a body pillow.

I love the implication that Vanitas knows this fact from personal experience. How else would he know that Noe latches onto and snuggles anything and anyone within reach when he’s asleep? Vanitas has definitely gotten snuggled before, and I want fan art. XD

Honorable Mentions from Volume Four:

This scene. I won’t translate it word for word, but Vanitas is getting worked up because Noe refuses to take one of the Chasseurs hostage. Vanitas says that if Noe doesn’t like Vanitas’s way of doing things, he can just go because Vanitas doesn’t want to be around people with Noe’s soft way of thinking. Vanitas is afraid that if he spends time with people like Noe, Vanitas will eventually go soft too, and then he’ll end up dead.

I really love the depth of Vanitas’s character. Sensei has done an excellent job with him in particular (though, all of the characters are wonderful). His psychology is fascinating. He’s obviously been through a great deal, and he’s adapted in order to survive. He’s scared of letting people in because being the way he is and being a loner is what’s kept him alive and safe up until this point.

I’m really looking forward to seeing how Noe slowly chips away at the walls Vanitas has built around himself. ^w^

This is my other honorable mention. After Noe and Vanitas escape from the catacombs, Vanitas collapses next to Noe and slumps against Noe’s back. It’s really precious.

He closes his eyes and sighs, “I’m tired”. I love the trust and vulnerability here. Vanitas obviously feels safe enough around Noe to let his guard down. ^.^

My Love Letter to Yen Press:

Once again, if you’re interested in reading Vanitas no Carte, you can get it in English from Yen Press. I really love this publisher because they do an excellent job of staying true to the original text. When I was in high school and couldn’t read manga raw yet (either because I couldn’t get my hands on it or my reading level wasn’t sufficient for what I wanted to read), Yen Press was my favourite because I felt like I could trust them to translate the manga how I would myself.

When I was little, you couldn’t trust the people who were dubbing anime into English. They did ridiculous things to sanitize anime for kids’ consumption like editing out all of the cigarettes and guns. They changed dialogue so that characters who had been hinted at being queer in the original were no longer queer in the English dub. They did silly things to localize the anime like changing onigiri into donuts and whitewashing the characters. That was my main motivation for teaching myself Japanese. I wanted to be able to tell for myself what was actually being said and going on. Yen Press was one of the companies I could trust to be faithful to the original in their translations until I was able to read the original on my own, so I’m sure they’ve done a fabulous job with Vanitas no Carte, if you’re interested in checking it out. ^.^

Okay. That’s it for me for now. Do you guys like me talking about my favourite scenes? ^.^; I know my Ladybug followers are probably like, “What is she on about?” XD Thank you for indulging me.

#Vanitas no Carte #Vanoé #Noe Archiviste #Vanitas #The Case Study of Vanitas #Vnc #Vanitas no Shuki #The Island of Doctor Moreau #Vanitas no Carte Volume Four

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charming-mage · 3 years

Text

The Search For Marinette Dupain-Cheng

This is my take on my prompt The Search For Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

You know, I always wondered about Marinette taking care of Akumas while overseas. If she takes too long, she’ll scare her loved ones half to death. Can’t rush too much or else she risks losing her miraculous because of it. Since no one is aware of her identity, she doesn’t have anyone to cover for her. Friends who are unaware of the truth will cover her for so long before they have to fess up.

In salt fics, the class usually doesn’t care where Marinette is on Gotham trips. Here, they give a shit.

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In which Lila messes with some signs and Marinette gets lost when she comes back late (via Kaalki) after dealing with an Akuma attack in France.

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The two week school field trip in Tokyo was supposed to be an enjoyable experience. There’s booked reservations at classy restaurants, a fancy hotel with a big pool, shows, and tours throughout Tokyo. Lila is most looking forward to the fashion expo. If she doesn’t do something soon, it looks like she’ll miss out on that too. Marinette been missing for two days and Lila is already sick of it.

All because she miscalculated in a spur of the moment plan.

“Marinetteeee! Where are you,” shouts a crying Alya. The girl spots a few tourists and shoves a flier in their faces. Nino joins in with his own fliers. “Have you seen my friend Marinette Dupain-Cheng? Cutest French girl you’ve ever seen with a heart of gold. So kind she’d innocently help a stranger, unaware they’re a bad guy.” The tourists each give a half hearted ‘no’ before speed walking away.

“Walk faster Lila! Marinette can be anywhere.”

Lila puts on a concerned mask. “Of course.”

All this time wasted just because she moved some signs.

She hadn’t meant for Marinette to go missing. Only to buy some time so she can guilt trip Adrien to be her partner for the fashion expo.

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The day before, the class went to a big nature park. It’s notable for its many trails. The deeper you went into the park, the denser the trees are. They all partnered up and to her dismay she got Nathaniel instead of Adrien. The best thing about the artist is that he gets so into drawing the sights he doesn’t notice when she wanders off. It gave her more time to plot how to switch partners with the least amount of fuss.

During one of her secret plotting sessions, she heard a very loud conversation farther down the trail she’s on. Rose shouts for Marinette to not split up, and Marinette screams back a blatant lie about wanting to see a moose in the Relaxation Trial. Also to not expect her for forty minutes. Total hypocrite this girl is. ‘We can only be friends if you stop lying.’ Sure, and it’s okay for only Marinette to lie. Everyone else who does so is bad. Can’t even tell Rose you honestly want to ditch her.

When Lila noticed the Relaxation Trail sign nearby, an idea formed in her head. She ducked into a bush to hide. When Marinette ran into the trail and her map fell out of her bag Lila burst into action.

It took a little adjustment to the multiple sign post. It wasn’t too hard as the signs on the pole were already a little loose. Just needed to switch the sign that led back to the meetup with the Reflection Trial sign. According to the map, the Reflection one is a winding trial leading to a dead end. Marinette would be forced to walk all the back as the park employees told them it’s easy to get lost if you go off the trial. Aside from putting some sticks on the map, it was left mostly alone as she wanted her rival to use it to get back to base. She may not have liked Marinette, but she didn’t want anything horrible to happen to her.

By the time it got dark, Marinette still hadn’t gotten back to the meetup point. Forty minutes had already flown by. Lila hadn’t noticed as she was trying to convince Adrien to switch partners and tell everyone it was his idea. If Marinette was here the noisy girl would have interfered.

Rose’s cry of alarm got the others to find out Marinette was missing. The goodie two shoes wasn’t answering Rose’s calls. A quick check near the Relaxation Trial sign revealed Marinette’s map had flown into a bush.

The field trip went downhill from there.

The police were called. Afterwards, it’s discovered the cameras in that area were down much to Lila’s relief. Even though she feels a bit responsible, she’s not admitting to anything. Even if she did confess, it’s not like it’ll help the police. Doing so will get her in huge trouble and gain scrutiny in her actions from then on. How will telling what she did help find Marinette? It’d be for nothing.

When it comes down to it, Lila’s self preservation is above Marinette’s well being.

Some good fun will keep her mind from unpleasant things. Too bad no one besides Lila is interested in the scheduled events. This is a vacation, so going to a few events is a must. The class just want to spend time searching for Marinette. The transfer student wouldn’t have minded hanging up missing posters or spreading the word. This class takes it to another level.

Every waking moment is spent looking for Marinette. Breaks become a treasured time. They walk many miles each day. Max posts missing posters in Japanese forums. Alya bothers the police for updates. Adrien even got Chole (who stayed in Paris) to pull some strings to get more attention in the local news.

Because of Marinette’s disappearance, they have to stay in groups of at least three. No exceptions. So if Lila wants to do anything, she needs to convince any group she’s in to go with her.

It’s more challenging than expected.

Day 5

"Hey guys, why don’t we take our break inside the museum we were supposed to go to? It has air conditioning and we can look at some stuff for a bit while we’re sitting down.”

“Sorry Lila, I’m not in the mood to admire art.”

“I agree with Nathaniel. Just doesn’t feel right.”

Day 8

“Let’s go on the sightseeing tour. We can look for Marinette while we’re on it.”

“No thanks.”

“Nah, a taxi is better as we can choose where to drive.”

Day 10

“.....my leg injury is acting up. It’s okay to leave me here. I don’t mind.”

“No way Lila. We’re not leaving you alone on a bench outside Universal Studios. What if we lose you too?”

“.............”

Day 11

Lila has had it with these people. Reservations and events have been canceled. Solemn, awkward moping. Refusal to do anything but looking for Marinette. The only event left is the one she’s been most looking forward to: the fashion expo. Through some maneuvering and sneakiness, no one remembered to cancel the expo tickets.

There’s no way in hell she wants to miss this event: a lecture by Edna Mode herself. There’s rumors circling the fashion industry the famous designer is going to explore a new clothing line. Along with finding a muse for it.

The previous class activities can be let go without much struggle. Not this one, though. This could be the golden ticket to a very prestigious job. Even more than being a Gabriel model.

There’s a chance things might go right this time. The group is filled by pushovers Adrien, Rose, and Juleka. As long as she stays firm, they’ll go along with her plan.

With the directions in mind, Lila manages to slyly maneuver the group to walk outside Tokyo Big Sight. The sight of the Edna Mode banners hanging outside the arena fills her with excitement.

Lila coughs for their attention. “Guys, it’s time for our lunch break. We need the energy to keep this up.”

Rose reluctantly says, “Oh you’re right Lila. Can you pass out our lunches please?”

“Sure thing.” She reaches into the bag and whoops. There’s conveniently no lunch bags in there. “Oh no guys, there’s only water bottles in here.”

“It’s okay Lila, we can buy some food nearby.” Rose digs out her phone. “Hmm... I think there’s a cheap fast food place nearby.”

“There’s no need to look far. We can just go into the expo. They have to have some food near the entrance.”

There’s silence at her words.

Juleka narrows her eyes. “Why do I feel you just want to go to the expo?”

Lila is surprised Juleka of all people is calling her out. “No, no. It’s just, why walk more when there’s food right here.”

“Lila, do you not care about finding Marinette?,” a sad Rose asks.

“How could you say that? Of course I do! We worked so hard and we deserve a break. Marinette would understand.”

Rose snaps. “Understand? Every minute counts! We might never see Marinette ever again. She could be injured and alone, kidnapped, or worse! If one of us was missing, she wouldn’t give up.”

The fire in Rose’s eyes startles Lila. Never thought she’d see the bubbly girl break her happy persona.

“No one said anything about giving up. Besides, the police are looking-”

“That doesn’t mean we should sit by and do nothing.” Rose tears up. “It’s my fault Marinette is gone. If I didn’t let her run off on her own, she would still be here.”

Juleka gives a comforting hug to Rose.

Adrien speaks up. “I know you don’t like Marinette, but I never thought you would sink so low. It’s one thing if you’re not interested in helping. It’s another to actively interfere in something our friends care about.”

“I d-d-o care. We can pick up search after we eat.” It’s not like Lila wanted to prevent them from searching for Marinette. Ms. Bustier has forbidden anyone from being on their own. So she needed someone to be with her in order to do something.

Lila spent so much time reassuring them, they missed the lecture.

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“---Breaking News! A French teenager stopped a missile launch by terrorists. Marinette Dupain-Cheng went missing during her class’ field trip. Miraculously, she disabled their base of operations, rescued a Princess, fought against pirates, escaped on the back of a deer, got their leader to surrender to the authorities-”

“That’s our every day Ladybug.” Alya hugs the TV with tears of joy. “Obviously she’d save the day while missing.” The reporter actually hissed when a stranger tried to tell her to stop hogging the TV. No one attempted removing her after that.

Since Ms. Bustier is currently with the police to bring Marinette back, there’s no one to reign in the partying classmates. Alix somehow convinced the hotel to give them a big complementary celebration cake.

The only person not celebrating is an angry Lila. Glaring at her phone, the headlines riles her up every time she sees it.

Edna Mode’s First Baby Fashion Line

The Inspiration Behind the New Designs

“My godson is my inspiration-”

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Jack-Jack is Edna’s muse. Lol.

To save you a google search, this park mentioned in this fic is made up. It’s based on a bunch nature parks I’ve been to before. Tokyo does have parks and nature trials, though. In case you missed it, an attack happened in the late afternoon and Marinette got back at night (when it got dark) in Japan Standard Time. Keep in mind there is a 8 hour difference between these countries.

With this completed, I can finish chapter two of Dupont’s Worst Nightmare. :)

#lila salt #lila rossi #miraculous ladybug #answeredprompt #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #thesearchformarinettedupaincheng

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dragon-kazansky · 3 years

Text

Til death do us part | Helmut Zemo

Bodyguard AU! 🕶

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 3

All of you were up early. You ate with the staff and the bodyguards grouped up for a quick meeting while the Baron got ready. You all gathered in the hall for the bedrooms you had been staying in.

"We head out immediately. Steve will meet us in Paris with the rest of the crew. It's so vital we stick with the Baron throughout his trip. We escort him to the hotel, station ourselves outside of the room. He will have a floor to himself, helping us limit who comes and goes from that room," Sam explains.

"What about the flight?" Bucky asks.

"The Baron will be flown over on his own plane. We are to be onboard with him, just stay out of his way and let him do his thing once we're up in the air. There isn't much we can do in a plane anyway."

"So, Paris, huh?" You smile at Sam.

"Yep. You remember when we were there?" He grins.

"Oh boy, do I. What a week that was."

Sam laughs.

Back when you were just a newbie and had passed your training, Sam had taken you to Paris to celebrate for a bit before you too long your first assignment. It was one of the best trips of your life.

"We won't get to do much sight seeing, I'm afraid."

"Ah well, it will still be nice to be in the city," you say, smiling.

"Yeah. Who knows, we might see a few familiar spots here and there," he winks at you.

You ignore the funny looks Bucky and Nat were giving you both. There were some things that would forever remain secrets.

Zemo was ready. He was currently eating in the dining room. You and Sam entered, Bucky and Natasha remained at the door. The Baron didn't even glance at you as entered, but if you had been paying attention to him, you would have noticed how irritated he looked.

Zemo finished up his breakfast.

As he rose and left the room, the pair of you followed, flanked then by Bucky and Nat. Zemo had a private word with the housekeeper before nodding at Sam. All together, you headed out. Bucky got the car door for the Baron as Sam climbed in the other side.

The rest if you would be parted into the other two cars, one to lead, one to follow.

Nat would be in the leading car.

Bucky and yourself would be in the following car.

She gave you a quick run of the protocol should anything transpire on the drive to the airstrip, and then you parted ways.

The three black SUV vehicles leave the estate.

Bucky glances at you beside him. You were looking out the window, quietly. From the moment you left the Baron's office you had been a little more stoic around Zemo.

"You alright?"

You look up quickly, putting on a smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"I'm fine."

"You can talk to me you know," he tells you.

"I'm good at my job, right?"

He looks so stunned when he hears those words fall from your lips. His blue eyes flickers between your own rapidly, trying to find any reason within your own gaze as to why you would ever doubt yourself.

"Of course! I've seen you in action."

"It's just... when I client has doubts in their security, it makes you think."

"Do not listen to the Baron. Natasha and Sam told is he was an asshole, he just proved it. You're amazing, don't ever doubt yourself," he smiles.

You smile softly.

"I'm proud of my work. Sure, I've never actually had to guard anyone from a known threat, just make sure nothing happens to the client, but if things go down, I'm following protocol."

"Good. If things do turn out for the worst, I know you can handle it," he grins.

"Thanks, Bucky."

The cars arrive at the airstrip at the designated time. All bodyguards step pit of their vehicles before Zemo steps out of his. You all gather around the car and stand in the formality stance.

Sam opens the door.

Zemo looks a little irritated again, but says nothing as he walks toward to the plane. He goes straight inside.

Sam has a discussion with the pilot as the rest of you climb inside. You each take a seat, a respectable distance away from Zemo, and face forward.

You're the closest to the Baron at the moment. You avoid looking at him.

Sam enters and takes his own seat. He sits on the Baron's side, facing your way. You nod at each other.

The pilot climbs into the cockpit and, within the next several minutes, the plane takes off.

Helmut grabs a book from his bag and gets comfortable, ignoring the guards in the plane and losing himself in the pages.

Oeznik, the butler who you hadn't noticed boarded, comes over to him with a drink. He places the glass down and walks away.

You turn your eyes to the window and decide you'll just watch the sky for the flight. You were used to being left with your thoughts during transportation.

It doesn't take long to arrive in Paris.

The Baron had ignored all of you during the flight. He stepped off the plane and greeted Steve who had been waiting for you all. He had arrived with Carol and Clint in tow.

They shook hands.

Apparently he liked Steve the most out of all of you. Though you could see why.

"Shall we?" Zemo gestures to the cars behind Steve.

Steve gestures for Zemo to go ahead, opening the door for him when they get to the car. Once the door is closed behind him, Steve gestures for you to him.

"All good?" He asks.

"Yeah, all good. Don't worry, I got this."

"I know. I just wanted to make sure. The Baron just asked that I don't let you ride with him," he tells you, softly.

"Alright. I didn't expect to anyway."

"Don't let him get to you."

You just nod. You've had this conversation already. Don't let Baron Helmut Zemo get to you. You knew the drill.

It felt good that everyone was so supportive though.

You climb into the car behind, the following car. Sam and Bucky are in this car. They smile at you as you join them.

Then you're off.

Zemo was going to be staying right in the middle of the city.

The ride was mostly silent and felt rather long. Each of you kept your eyes out on the streets, keeping an eye for anything suspicious.

There had been no word of any threats in the city, but that didn't mean you could let your guard down.

The hotel was extremely nice. A bit glitzy and posh, the kind of place you would expect a Baron to stay at.

He is flanked by Steve and Carol as they check in. The rest of you hang back a bit. There weren't too many people about, but those that were watched with curiosity.

Steve and Carol went into the elevator with the Baron. The rest of you followed, taking the stairs. Your legs were going to feel this in the morning. The Baron was staying on the twelfth floor.

When you got up there, the Baron was already secured in his room. Carol was at the door.

You all spread out along the hallway and waited. His meeting would take place two hours later.

That's two hours of standing in a hallway with nothing but each others company. No one came or went from this floor.

When it was time to leave for the Baron's meeting, you all took your positions as you followed him back down to the lobby, once again taking the stairs, and back into the cars.

The meeting was being held at an official building in the centre of Paris.

A finely dressed gentleman surrounded by guards in the centre of a city was plenty enough to catch the attention of locals. Though the Baron was globally known, he was sure to leave an impression on France after he left.

You all enter the building and walk with him up to the meeting room, where only Steve is to follow him inside. Natasha and Carol separate from the group to stand in the main lobby incase anyone tried to get in sho wasn't welcome.

The rest if you waited outside of the meeting room.

Clint came to stand beside you, having not caught up with you yet. You smile at one another and face forward as you chat.

"The Baron's a piece of work," he says, keeping his voice low.

"You can say that again," you reply, keeping your voice just as low.

"Honestly, it doesn't surprise me this guy has enemies. He doesn't strike me as a people person."

"He must have some conversation skills though, if the whole purpose of his visit is to strengthen bonds and all that," you glance at him.

Clint shrugs.

"Still an asshole."

You smile as you agree.

The meeting goes on for about an hour. No one leaves the room, no one seems enters either.

When the meeting concludes for the day, the Baron doesn't look at any of you as he leaves. You all follow. He would be here for another two days before they came up with a deal.

The next day was much the same, only Clint didn't come to talk shit about him with you again.

On the third day, they came up with a deal.

There wasn't a single threat in the city. The Baron's visit in Paris had been smooth and came to a favorable conclusion. He left that last meeting looking proud and pleased.

That was also the first time since his arrival in Paris he had looked at you. Whether it was by accident or not, you have no idea, but he had looked at you for the briefest moment.

However, he was looking smug for those brief moments. You didn't know how to take that.

Back at the hotel, in the room you had been given to rest in with Nat and Clint, you looked at the French newspaper in front of you. It was talking about the Baron's visit. There was a photo of him entering the building the first day.

You sigh softly.

Doing your job was feeling exhausting. Though you were a bodyguard, previous clients had given you more attention than this.

It felt as if Baron Helmut Zemo was trying to wind you up and get on your nerves.

What did it mean when he looked at you earlier?

Clint sank down into the seat next to you and handed you a drink. You took it gratefully and sat with him, looking a little tired at this point.

"Ready for another flight tomorrow?" He asks, looking pretty tired himself.

"Sure am. Nothing like globe trotting while watching out for an asshole."

Clint laughs.

"I heard him talking earlier."

"Oh? Dare I ask what he was talking about?" You look at him, but honestly, you couldn't care less.

"I think he was talking to Steve about you."

"About me? Why should he be talking about me?" You sit up a bit, obviously more intrigued now.

"I don't know why, but he really doesn't seem to like you."

You sink down a little.

"I know. I haven't done anything to him, I showed up for my assignment and he immediately shoots me down. He doesn't think I'm capable of my job and I hate that!" You put your drink down, annoyed that he was talking shit about you behind your back.

"Steve stood up for you."

You didn't say anything.

Clint sighs and places an arm around you, giving you a side hug.

"Better get some rest. We're off to London first thing in the morning."

You nod.

Clint leaves your side and goes to bed. You remain sitting there for a while longer before going to bed yourself.

You would will yourself not to be bothered by what the Baron thought.

What did he know about you anyway? Nothing!

You didn't know it then as you climbed into bed, but London would be your chance to prove your abilities to the Baron.

London wouldn't be quite as smooth as Paris had been.

John Walker would see to that.

@thesuitkovian @justfangirlthingies @belle82devart @zemosimp420 @anteroom-of-death @silverlambcaptain @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @lieutenantn @daniielbruhl @awesomesauce-abbie @latenightartist-author @lazygurl05 @rumblelibrary @nonamec0s @shura-gorl @ginger-abreu @caligrl1992 @livvyshmiv @luciadiosa @vverliebt @tatooineisdry @charistory @somethingthatsaysbubbles

#marvel #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo #au #baron helmut zemo #zemo #bodyguard au

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volleyball-dontknowher · 3 years

Text

Sick - Tanaka x reader

Warnings: none

Words: 2282

Summary: You and your neighbor walk your dogs at the same everyday, but what happens when he stops showing up

A/n :! I am so so so so sorry for disappearing off the face of the earth, college is hard man and then it’s partially online and COVID and things and the depression really hit and I have started a new self care book and it is adding one thing back in my life at a time that I am passionate about and last week was French and this week it is writing because I really do miss it! I threw this together last night based off of a request I got forever ago and I hope it is liked <3

You’ve lived in the same apartment for years and people always come and go, in and out, it feels like you see a new face everyday. In your three years there, you’ve only had one consistent fact, and that’s your bald neighbor who goes on walks with his dogs at the same time as you twice a day. At first you only saw him occasionally and now the two of you go out at 7:30 am and 6:30 pm on the dot. You have no idea how it started but now you get kinda excited to run into your neighbor on the stairs everyday and hopefully make a comment about how good his two big dogs are looking or even jsut the smallest acknowledgement with him.

Speaking of your neighbor, he wasn’t out this morning before work, and you didn’t think too much of it because he works kinda funny hours and some random days misses the times. (Though he always tells you about it in the afternoon or the next time you see him) and because you’ve learned he’s a personal trainer he has finicky clients and sometimes is up wayy too early or way too late. It bugged you all day that you hadn’t seen him and no matter how hard you tried to focus at work you couldn’t imagine why he wasn’t out on a Wednesday. All of your explainations could make sense but you really don’t feel right about any of it. And when you got home and took your two babies out and he wasn’t there you were sure something was up. Tanaka loved his dogs more than anything and says that their routine keeps them together and that it keeps them well behaved. Something had to be wrong. Maybe he got a new girlfriend? Or he forgot? But he didn't forget and he hasn’t been with anyone ever, and if he was his dogs would still come first. You had no idea what you were thinking but when you came back up the stairs you kept walking and knocked on the door of the man you knew so completely and not at all. You quickly realized what you’d done and your heart was racing as you silent prayed that no one was home and that you could creep back to your door before anyone heard you.

This was a great thought, except you forgot what happens when you knock with dogs. They bark. And unfortunately for you Tanaka doesn’t get a lot of guests so his dogs barked a lot. Like they could wake the entire neighborhood a lot. You had to grin and bear it and face the consequences of your irrational actions.

After thirty or so seconds the door creeps open and there he is, Takana Ryuunosuke, in his pajamas and a beanie opening the door. He looked like a walking corpse and by the way he sniffed out a weak “hello” as he opened the door told you everything you needed to know. He was sick. Very sick, and you had just knocked at the door and now have to figure out what to say to him.

“Oh, hey,” you stutter, “I was just checking on you to see if everything was alright, you weren’t out with your dogs and I was wondering if anything was up, or if you needed me to take them out for you because of their routine and everything,” you ramble on, hoping that somewhere your logic connected and this made sense.

Takana stared at you blankly and you couldn’t help but mentally smack yourself because that was exactly what a stalker would say and you now seemed like his stalker.

After a few more seconds of blank stares his expression caught up to your words and he broke out the goofy smile you love so much.

“My dogs? Walk them?” He asked. Maybe they hadn’t caught up after all.

“Well yeah, they weren’t out at their regular time and i wanted to make sure they were still going out and I have my two out and they are so well behaved and you clearly don’t feel well so it would really be no problem,” you rambled on again.

This time he was closely listening and nodded along with you before smiling once again. “No no no,” he chuckled, “ I can take them out” though he was laughing you could hear that he wasn’t feeling well and his energy was lower than you had ever heard.

“Let me do this one favor for you, I can take them out, no big deal, okay?” You smiled.

After you smiled it was a done deal for Tanaka, he grabbed the leash and thanked you about a hundred times. His dogs are fantastic and took you less than five minutes to walk before they’d used the restroom and were ready to go back inside. You took them back and he thanked you once again and you headed back to your apartment to make some dinner.

You settled on a sun dried tomato soup with grilled cheese and happened *wink* accidentally *wink* make more than you could eat on your own and you’d hate for it to go to waste and you do have a neighbor who is sick and could probably use a hot meal right about now. So, you packed up a container for him and wrapped the sandwich in aluminum foil so that it would be hot for him and put some tea in a thermos and headed out your door once more. This time though, you were a little less bold and just rang the doorbell and ran back to your room. You did however, leave a little note saying “hope you feel better soon - room 420” on it and you hoped that it would at least help his night a little bit.

Little do you know, Tanaka was so shocked to see this from you that he almost dropped the hot soup onto himself in a panic because this not only meant you paid attention to him but you cared for him. This was the best thing to ever happen to him. He finished every last bite and washed the container and thermos and placed them back by your door with a note of his own.

When you got up the next morning and went to take your dog out you couldn’t help but beam when you saw your tupperware back in front of your door. You picked up the two items before seeing the little note on top of the container.

‘Best Soup Ever! -Room 419’

You beamed and did a little happy dance before deciding to go knock and see if he needed your help with his dogs again today, and boy are you lucky that you went. WHen he opened the door he somehow looked worse than yesterday, you could have swore that he had snot dried to his face and he was a total mouth breather and the bags under his eyes as well as tripled overnight. There were no arguments when you asked if he needed help with his dogs, because truthfully he really did.

The walk was quick and the morning was over before you knew it. Another distracted day at work, you found yourself wondering how you could help him feel better, especially because he lived all alone and his closest family was something like an hour away last he told you.

You had a brilliant idea and decided to go to the store after work and make him a ‘get well’ basket. You filled the basket with cough drops, tissues, teas, chocolates and other little goodies that help him feel better and put him in a better mood. You got the groceries and were right on your way, practically skipping with excitement.

Once again, you accidentally made an extra soup after you’d taken care of the dogs and happened to leave it with the basket later that evening.

In the morning however, none of your dishes were by your door, which was no big deal, especially because he was feeling so under the weather, but what was even more strange is that he didn’t answer the door and the last thing you wanted to do was wake him up. So, you headed to work wondering if he liked what you did for him or if you’d crossed a line or if he was allergic to chicken noodle, or if he was too much of a health nut and you’d offended him, or if he’d… you had no idea, maybe died. This was not good for you and you could feel the stress starting to get to you when you got off work the sprint back home was exhausting and anxious. You rounded the corner of the stairs when you saw

Nothing.

You saw nothing.

That was fine, everything is fine. You are fine. Life is fine. If he doesn’t feel good you can’t expect him to do dishes or even leave his room. That’s best for everyone, no one wants a walking germ contaminating everything around, there were probably old ladies on this floor, you hadn’t seen any, but they were there, probably, so he was just doing the world a favor.

Again, he didnt answer the door for his dogs and you couldn’t force your kindness onto him so you had a night to yourself and went to bed way earlier than usual. You couldn’t help but wake up earlier than usual and instead of looking for things that weren’t there you got out and went to work early and got busy right away. You had a full day and worked until almost 8pm, hurrying back to hopefully get home before your local take away had closed. You made it, but just barely, and got your favorite meal to bring home with you to watch something horrible with.

You got home and plopped on the couch completely exhausted. Immediatley you started eating and got about halfway through when you heard a knock at the door. Oh shit. You had no one in your life that would ever knock, well almost no one. THere was one person you were really hoping wasn’t on the other side of the door. You were in a t-shirt you got 10 years ago and a pair of crappy shorts from the general store, there was nothing remotely nice, or even tame about your appearance, you looked to be frank, crazy.

You creeped the door open and saw exactly who you were hoping not to see, Tanaka Ryuunosuke standing in front of your door beaming.

“Hey?” You question nervously.

“Hey, I noticed that you didn’t take your dogs out earlier and was wondering if you needed me to take them out for you?” He questioned genuinely, smiling from head to toe, clearly feeling better.

You had no idea what to say or do but he just smiled as your dogs trotted out the door with him, without you saying a word. You awkwardly closed the door and stood there in shock. That was horrible. An embarrassment to you, an embarrassment to your family name and even worse an embarrassment to society. The shock still hadn’t worn off when you heard a second knock at your door, and well that was the man with your dogs and you couldn’t just leave them outside.

This time when you opened the door you couldn’t help but gasp. Tanaka has a giant bouquet of red roses and a giant blush on his face.

“Y/n, I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but I have had a crush on you since I first met you, and I never knew how to tell you, every time I got close to you I just freeze and I started taking my dogs out when you do to try and get to know you and I could never make myself do it but you have been unbelievably kind to me and I can’t wait any longer. I want nothing more than to have a chance with someone as stunning as you are. Y/n, will you go on a date with me?”

This time it was you standing there dumbstruck for longer than you should have. You heard every single one of his words and your heart was fluttering out of your chest. You’d had feelings for him for as long as you can remember and here he was with a bouquet of flowers standing in your doorway asking you to go on a date with him. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything so you just grinned and nodded at him enthusiastically, hoping he understood just how much this means to you.

He beamed right back and handed you the bouquet of flowers, “perfect, then I’ll see you Friday at 7, I’ll pick you up.” He winked.

You were still dumbstruck and nodded again, and right as you were about to close the door for the night he stuck his foot in the doorway.

“One more thing y/n,” he pushed the door back open and had a basket of little goodies for you, as well as a homemade meal in the containers you’d given him with a little note that says ‘your soup warmed my soul, and my heart’. You couldn’t help but absolutely beam with happiness. You set the basket down and threw your arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a big hug, repeatedly thanking him for his kindness. You two parted ways happier than you could have imagined and both in great anticipation for Friday.

The next morning, you were both out at 7:30 on the dot, excited to see one another.

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Artistic Instinct Chapter Eight

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 5,600

Warnings: Language as always, mentions of drinking, alcohol and drunkenness, mentions of sex OH AND HEARTBREAK

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

The right person, the wrong time.

The right script, the wrong line.

The right poem, the wrong rhyme.

And a piece of you

That was never mine

K Towne Jr.

Chapter 8

The black topped streets of Lewisham radiate the day’s spring sunshine as if intent upon sending the heaven sent warmth back up through Marcus’ soles. The evening’s golden light creates a love song in his heart - one that morphs from the irritation and melancholy of the morning to a happier more uplifting tune.

When did that mood change? Oh yes, that embrace.

Nush.

Marcus hadn’t realised just how low his battery was for touch until you threw your arms around him. How much much he’d needed your body close to his again. Feeling your softness against him, inhaling your intoxicating scent. How he’d longed to kiss your forehead and stroke your hair in that cuddle. Remembering the pain of breaking that contact, plastering on a smile and kicking himself for it.

Constantly having to watch his need for your touch and tempering it within the normal parameters for a working relationship, Marcus has found himself reaching out for you- making excuses to touch you as you passed him, finding imaginary eyelashes on your face. Being around you felt like a breath that he was unable to release, continuously having to dampen down his natural instincts to hold and stroke you.

Kiss you.

Taste you.

Had he been back in the States, he would have said fuck it and asked you out, but that didn’t exactly go well last time. The pain of knowing exactly what he wants and it just being beyond the reach of his fingertips plagues Marcus daily with the dream of coming home to be loved, nurtured and protected and offer it in return. How do you ever allow yourself to become vulnerable to that risk of failure again? One thing he is certain of, is your current ignorance of the true level of his feelings. The kindness you show others - so much care for everyone around you, albeit through a thinly veiled layer of sarcasm and swearing- and the love your friends show for you, demonstrate that you would be nothing but clear if he was to reveal his true feelings.

Squeezing politely through the crowds, between the narrow shack-like stalls of the fairy-light illuminated market, Marcus heads towards the Highline where Andy had told each of you to meet him. Before he could start climbing the staircase up, a large hand grasps his upper arm, another patting the space between his shoulder blades. Marcus spins, slightly surprised by the touch, to be greeted by Andy’s grinning face.

“Looking good, Sir. Bit sharper than at lunch today,” Andy observes, giving Marcus’ leather jacket, Henley and indigo jeans a once over, “and before you complain, I am going to get you a beer because of the day you’ve had. You can do your management thing of buying the first round in a bit, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

With Andy’s face explicitly telling Marcus not to disagree with him, he nods, definitely needing that drink. As they head together towards the bar, they are both absorbed into the throng of a hundred voices holding loud conversations as they compete with the soundtrack from the decks. The crowd is a mixed bag of teenagers, students and families - the children chasing or trying to catch the sparkling spotlights as their parents reminisce over large gin and tonics about lie-ins and late nights not hunched over a crib.

Winding their way through the laughing and dancing bodies, they head in the direction of the alcohol to order some locally brewed ales, bumping into an already buzzing Kiritopa at almost the front of the queue. After a round of handshakes, back slaps and hearty laughs, they edge ever closer to their goal of amber nectar. Before their drinks are poured, Marcus’ eyes scan the market for the rest of the team when they are caught by a flash of colour. Bright turquoise stockings, a mustard corduroy pinafore, red and white striped T-shirt - oh, it isn’t you. Your wildly coloured legs bring so much colour to his day and they are the first thing he checks as he enters the office. Elbow nudges and a pint glass from Andy brings his attention back to the men in front of him for a quick cheers-ing of glasses before heading out of the melée.

The table on the Highline that Andy had reserved was utterly perfect. It afforded a bird’s eye view of the market - a true dream come true for any avid people watchers, whilst also allowing everyone to talk and be heard by each other with its one storey elevation from the thronging crowds. Andy and Kiritopa are animatedly talking with each other lounging amongst the piles of cushions and blankets on the pallet seating, while Marcus leans against the walkway, clutching his beer, staring off into the urban sprawl of concrete car parks and fried chicken restaurants but only looking for one face.

“Hey, what time do you call this...Whoa - Nush, is that makeup? On your face?” Andy’s eyes are utterly saucer-like in this discovery.

“Hush your mouth - she did it to me,” you jab your finger in Dian’s direction, pouting your lips at the indignation and as Andy goes to make another quip, you add- shoving some chips in his mouth, “Dirty masala fries- thought we’d need something to line our tummies this evening. Although equally, they’ll do a wonderful job of keeping some people’s mouths shut!”

“I think I did a great job- she looks stunning!” having put three portions on the table, Dian steps back to admire her handiwork as you pull a duck face pout at her.

She always looks beautiful.

“So, what’s on these fries?” Marcus asks as he desperately tries to avoid the other thoughts running through his head of how that pencil skirt runs along the curve that falls and rises from your waist to your hips beautifully or the horizontal stripes of your t-shirt - an outfit winning in its quest to distract.

As for that goddamn red lipstick…

It would leave a mark all around my-

“Ok, so they’re skinny French fries with spices shaken over them and a dollop of channa masala on top. Oh and that white shit is garlic mayo to dip them in,” you grin broadly as you pass him a portion - the picant vibrancy of the food telling stories of the fresh, bold flavours to come. Always being a believer in food being one of the ways that you can love a person, the mouthful of potatoes, spices and chickpeas envelops Marcus in an all encompassing hug. His belly sings with happiness with each mouthful he consumes, his tongue delightfully tingling from the chilli powder.

“Y’know Nush. Not had one of your curries for a while,” Andy not-so gently hints.

Marcus can’t help but raise his eyebrows, “Nush, you make curries? How many other hidden talents?”

“She also plays the piano and did ballet until she was fifteen,” Andy adds, ducking as you lob a cushion at him - your face reddened with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

“Badly according to my mother,” you say, rolling your eyes as you shove another mouthful in, “Mine aren’t particularly elegant but they are edible. Well they are now anyway - there was one, a keema matar, that I made as a kid where I didn’t realise that chili develops over time. Put in roughly five tablespoons by the end. Could have been used for chemical warfare. Never lived it down but it got me out of cooking for a while.”

The table explodes in uproarious laughter, earning several odd looks from the patrons nearby.

“Well, I’m considering this an invitation to try one of your edible curries as you so eloquently call them,” Kiritopa rubs his belly in anticipation, chuckling at your modesty, “When can we get a date in the book?”

“I love a good curry, so count me in,” Dian chimes in as she pops the chickpeas like sweets into her mouth.

Marcus watches you shift uncomfortably in the spotlight of demands from your co-workers, “If I do this, I need a bigger space to work in as I can’t fit you all in my flat. I’ll need to borrow somewhere that can fit more bums.”

“Could use my apartment to cook and host, if you like?” Marcus proffers, secretly hopeful at trying some of your dishes and perhaps more than a little excited at the thought of spending some one on one time with you.

“Shall we do Sunday evening, if nothing turns up from work?” Kiritopa asks hopefully.

Marcus shrugs by way of confirmation, catching your gaze, drinking in the swirl of colours in your iris, to give you a nod.

With a sigh and a roll of the eyes, you exclaim, “Andy- what the fuck have you started? You’ve all grossly overestimated my skills, and now I am going in search of alcohol to dull my senses and make poor decisions,” you dramatically announce with a theatrical bow, “What can I get everyone?”

Seeing an opportunity open up, Marcus touches your arm as you go to leave, “It’s my round. Help me carry them?”

“Deal,” Marcus feels his heart grow as he sees your smile reach every corner of your face.

Before reaching the top of the stairs, Marcus moves himself around to walk in front of you. His body on an autopilot of manners. On reaching the bottom step, he reaches back - unthinkingly - to grab your hand so as not to lose you amongst the multitude drinking, eating and dancing the night away. The momentary panic that spread at the thought of you rejecting him recedes as your fingers thread between his.

Sending a warm smile at you over his shoulder, you follow in the wake of him quietly.

The people near the bar are flowing like rivers, never stopping for obstacles but twirling, swirling around them nevertheless Marcus guides you through, never letting go. The noise of the chatter and throb of the music surrounds you, not allowing for much verbal communication so he settles for small movements and gestures with the hand that is holding yours. When you finally arrive at the queue by the bar, that is when you can speak a bit more freely albeit in theatrical whispers in each other’s ears.

Marcus watches how the evening breeze kisses you, blowing the strands of your growing-out fringe into your face. How you gaze around and observe people whilst also managing to make him feel like he’s the only person there. The way your eyes crease into crescents when you laugh or smile and how much he wishes he could thank all those people jostling you into him. But like all moments with you, it ends too quickly as soon you’re both heading upriver against the current with your trays of drinks.

“Nush, I’ve always thought it was some kind of miracle that you never spill alcohol,” Andy teases you as you bring the drinks to their owners.

“Hah! I don’t waste the good stuff,” you mutter indignantly, “Although perhaps if we want to protect the office carpets, I should…”

“No,” Marcus mock-sternly interjects at the thought of you being drunk and the chaos that would bring, “No day drinking at work, Nush. I’d prefer the coffee stains.”

Your pout and subsequent upward glance through your eyelashes, makes Marcus turn towards the railings, hiding his thoughts in his beer.

Fuck, Nush.

If you only knew what you do to me.

“Hey Kiri, isn’t it? You playing in the tourney tomorrow?” a deep, cut glass accent calls out, cutting through the crowds surrounding them. Marcus turns towards where the sound is coming from and as he does, he catches a strange look cross your face.

“What the fuck are you doing here and how the fuck do you know Kiritopa?” The tone of your voice, narrowed eyes and furrowed brow makes Marcus turn back towards the group inquisitively.

“Nush! Haven’t seen you in a long time but you are looking amazing,” the voice is attached to a face, the kind that would stop anyone in their tracks, “can barely recognise you with makeup on- you should wear it more often.”

You breathlessly mutter, “Fuck off, that’s never going to happen.”

Good girl. Don’t put up with that BS. You’re better than that.

“I know Seb through rugby training,” then tilting his head quizzically, Kiritopa asks, “How do you know him?”

“Since school isn’t it, so what? Roughly twenty years? Through her brother, Adam as we played rugger together. Although, despite such a long time friendship, you wouldn’t let me in your knickers until more recently,” Seb shoots you a wink from over his beer.

The words burn through Marcus as he considers your connection with this man - his eyes narrowing, lips thinning. Loneliness echoing through his racing heart. He hadn’t considered you seeing anyone else- even for the briefest of dalliances but then not everyone is a serial long term monogamist.

Of course you’d have needs, you are an adult woman.

I just wish you’d explore them with me.

“Every now and then it’s nice to have an orgasm attached to a pulse that isn’t delivered by a battery,” you deliver, utterly deadpan.

Seb pretends to be mortally wounded by your words, playing dead into the chair next to yours, languidly flopping his limbs around. Oh, how Marcus would like to wipe that stupid smug smirk off his face!

For fuck’s sake, Pike. Why didn’t you sit next to her when you had the chance?

White knuckles wrapped around his nearly empty pint glass, Marcus silently watches as Seb desperately works to get your attention whilst you chat animatedly with Dian and Andy while Kiri downs the rest of his beer. He hasn’t noticed the pretty young woman with bouncing corkscrew curls observing him from amongst her friends on the next table along.

“Hey. You look like you could do with a drink, can I get you one?”

Abruptly removed from his poorly concealed glowering, Marcus raises his eyebrows in surprise at this question, pausing for some time before realising that it was aimed at him.

“Oh, look don’t worry. It was just a silly thought...” the beautifully tight curls go to withdraw from view and return to their friends.

“No, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought,” Marcus offers apologetically, “It’s been a day from hell. Let me get you a drink.”

“Wanted to talk to you as I was a bit concerned that you were about to break that glass with how tightly you were gripping it. Glass is an arse to get out of wounds so thought it better to save your hands before you come visit me in A&E,” she gently proposes, “There are better places to spend Friday nights!”

Welcoming the pretty distraction from his destructive thoughts, Marcus’ cheeks dimple as he nods, “I can imagine. Are you a doctor?”

“Yeah, for my sins,” she amusedly huffs, “And on a rare night out, so shall we go get that drink? I’m Kemi, by the way.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Oh, how you long to rip the makeup from your face! As a child, it had been a form of let’s pretend that turned into a mask to hide behind as a young adult as you experimented with finding your true self. Now, that you are established in your womanhood, you feel no need to add layers to your face other than when you are convinced it would be fun by a fast-becoming firm friend.

When Sebastian made a remark about how pretty you looked with the makeup, it made you want to run to the loo right then and there to claw it from your skin.

And what the ever loving fuck is he doing here? Fucking Sebastian of all fucking people, who you accidentally keep finding yourself fucking. You’d just come around to the idea that it might be ok to occasionally go out with people from work but when they meet people from your everyday life - your home life - that isn’t ok. Especially when that person is just a hate fuck. Great in bed but an odious human being as you can’t be that handsome and a decent person, it seems.

Unless you’re Marcus Fucking Pike.

Who is now grabbing a drink with an absolute goddess of a woman.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint why it had hurt so much when he’d walked off with her but there was such an ache deep in your tummy that could not be ignored. Between that and the appearance of fucking Sebastian, you just want to jump on the 178 home and throw on your jammies, curling up under the shit crocheted throw that you’d made during your leave - more holes than stitches. If it wasn’t for Dian, you would already be on your way there, demolishing something unhealthy from UberEats, glugging a wine or two.

Dian seems to pick up on your drop in mood and decides that it’s time for a trip to the tequila bar. With Andy’s husband now joining your rag-tag gang, you agree to chase some bitter hits of alcohol. As you wind your way among the dancers and drinkers, you see him standing by one of the upturned kegs, laughing at something she has said. You catch his eye, plaster on a smile and send him a wink in the hope that your wish for him to have fun seems genuine.

You sign to him whether he wants a drink but a small shake of his head tells you all you need to know before Dian tugs your hand back in the direction of the bar. Standing in front of the bartender, a moment of sadness washes over you until Kiri passes the salt, Seb licks your hand and the rest of the evening finally takes a softer tone after one, two, three.

The tequila in your tummy makes it hard to concentrate on what Dian and Kiri are chatting about while the three of you curl tipsily upon the comfy cushions as a large fluorescent pink, plastic sign declaring TREAT YO’SELF looms large over your heads. Excusing yourself to the loo, you walk past Marcus - steadfastly refusing any eye contact but ensuring he sees you. As you go to repeat the action on the return journey - not entirely sure as to why you feel the need to seek your boss’s attention - a hand goes to balance you as you walk down the final step.

“Whoa - steady, Nush,” you look up to see Marcus’ concerned face looking down at you.

“Hah! I’m ok. You having a good night?” You ask, your eyes searching his, “She’s truly stunning.”

“Yeah, um, were you guys doing shots?” he enquires, brow still furrowed.

“Yup. It's a really good tequila bar upstairs - should have joined us,” you jab him in the chest with an index finger, “So good that the world just looks like an impressionist painting. All swooshy and a little bit blurry.”

You watch Marcus scratching his neck, “Anyway, what on Earth are you doing here with me? Go get her, idiot.”

“Ah, here you are Bad Idea Puppy- thought you’d fallen asleep on the loo. Although that wouldn’t be the first time would it?” Sebastian brays, stepping between you and Marcus as he grabs your hand to lead you onto the dancefloor. Allowing yourself to be led away, you look back over your shoulder at him, mouthing go get her with a wink as if that would soften the pain that had appeared with her.

The music flows through you - the clearest way to communicate you have ever known- your body rolling and swaying with the sensuality of the music. Sebastian moves effortlessly around you thanks to his mother, who having had only sons, deciding that her youngest would get the dance lessons that she’d hoped the daughter she never had, would take. The two of you vent in movements all of what you could never be said between you or to anyone else aloud. As you twist together under the orange stained hazy night sky, you notice the goddess’ hand on Marcus’ face, stroking his cheek. The poisonous ache returns to your tummy and however your face contorts, causes Seb to pull you closer, cradling your head into his neck. You know how the night will end and the loneliness stings.

✪✪✪✪✪

His mouth bone dry, Marcus awakes fully dressed, on top of the comforter, with a cool bed surrounding him. Reaching for his phone, pulling the charging cable from it, he flicks through messages and emails trying to work out what had happened from when Kemi had left him in the bar to rejoin her friends. Her words still ring in his ears - you didn’t come alone tonight - when she had watched his eyes trace your path out of the market. How he’d initially thought about taking her up on her offer to help him forget, wanting to obliterate last night from his memory and lose himself in her eyes and lips. Her final words to him, cutting him to the core- she must be really special and if she is as special as you think she is, you fight for her.

Bloodshot eyes and deep creases stare back at him from the mirror. More grey. They say that age exchanges beauty for wisdom but they are the same mistakes he keeps repeating. A strangled gasp escapes him as he tries to regulate his breathing, lifting his chin trying to fill his lungs with more oxygen. His shoulders are racked by gut-wrenching sobs and like an overwhelmed dam, the tears spill in hot torrents down his cheeks. Marcus slides onto the floor, allowing the grief to pour forth.

His first marriage was too much, too soon, too young. An art historian and an artist in love with creating and observing beauty until the former decided to change tack after being recruited by the FBI. The long hours of training at Quantico, the subsequent hard days and irregular nights as he worked his way through the ranks of the Art Crime department, wrung the patience from his wife. Gradually growing further and further apart until all that was left were two strangers constantly at odds, her cutting comment about how she felt that he gave her only apathy - never coming to her when she needed help or affection. She hated him for the choices he made - feeling that his work was merely interacting with the meaningless. The law enforcer spent more time at work to hide from the inevitable ending until the artist found someone who appreciated her and the beauty she created.

As for Lisbon. Was she really ever his? Wasn’t he really just a footnote in the Patrick Jane story? The whirlwind romance that progressed and extinguished again at such a heart attack inducing pace, emphasised by that stupid-ass move to DC. Although, if it wasn’t for that move, he wouldn’t be here in London now. Oh yeah. That was out of the skillet and into the fire, Pike. Another excellent career move.

So much love to give and nowhere, no one to give it to. The lessons he has learnt and is still learning but oh, just to find that person with whom you can drop that mask and enjoy togetherness, warmth and serenity.

The side of the bath offers a solid cool support to Marcus as he sits there on the herringbone tiled floor, sobbing into his arms. There is only one voice he needs to hear right now. Grabbing a tissue from the side to noisily blow his nose into, he rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes before putting his glasses on. Phone in hand, he dials the number he knows better than his own name.

The familiar dial tone is like a lullaby in his ear, “Mamá?... Hey! How are you doing?... I’m sorry Mamá - I forgot about the time zone difference... I’m ok, just missing you… It’s just been a long week and... Yeah, London is awesome and I managed a trip to France this week which was incredible to be back there. So weird having so many different countries within such easy reach…Come visit me soon?... Thank you... I miss you… Te quiero mucho Mamá… I’ll ring you in a couple of days. Hasta luego.”

Hanging up, everything feels a bit more manageable and less painful- I wish I could bottle my Mamá’s voice. Hauling himself off the bathroom floor, he turns on the faucet to splash icy water on his face. Sniffing his t-shirt, realising the shower could wait - perhaps a good run to get the endorphins pumping would be his best move. Or perhaps a text to Nush to check what ingredients he’d need to have in for the curry tomorrow?

Stop it, Pike. You’re just fucking torturing yourself.

Opening a drawer, he pulls out basketball shorts, a clean t-shirt and a pair of sneaker socks to throw on, discarding last night’s clothes in a heap by the washing machine.

AirPods in and classic nineties dance anthems to pace himself to, he gives his quads and hamstrings a quick warm up by the front door before it is time to convert the emotional pain into miles.

One of the many things that Marcus loves about London is the constant greenery with every second corner a park or stretching heathland. Texas is so proud of its big sky country status and yet, there are parts of central London where you could lie down and not see anything but skies around you. It is truly hard not to fall in love with such a beautiful, historical and spacious city.

Pounding the pavements towards the park, his feet hit the concrete slabs softly, sending small shockwaves to his brain. Whilst Marcus knows that the power in his thighs could have him across the park in seconds, he savours each step. The precision in his movements is perfect as he takes lungful after lungful of the sunshine filled air. It feels like part of a meditation - a mindful prayer. Dodging around errant dogs and small, clumsy yet terrifyingly aggressive children on scooters, he winds his way through the avenues of trees until he comes across a small lake.

He pauses the thrumming music in his ears to just soak up the tranquility of the moment as he stretches out his limbs. The lake is the kindest of nature’s mirrors, never truly showing exactly what is above, but converting it to an image so beautifully smudgy. The weeping willow stroking its branches elegantly across the skin of the water, the clouds gliding silently above as a host of waterfowl paddle effortlessly through the cool, clear pool, all become a priceless Monet hanging in The National Gallery – all free for the looking. Sure, it is transient, changing by the day - unlike the fixed in a moment of time pieces by the grumpy old Frenchman - but that's what makes it all the more precious.

There’s a family by the water’s edge. Marcus can’t help but be amused by the toddler’s antics as they threaten to jump in and become irritated that they can’t, especially when they have their wellies on. Can’t fault that logic! The older child is gathering sticks to make a “campfire” with their dad - discarding most of their parent’s choices with withering looks and expressive rolls of the eyes. The dark-haired mom, whilst trying to reason with the toddler, is swaying with some sort of baby carrier tied around her - a tiny one clutched tightly to her chest. The infant is virtually invisible from the passes of material, only two tiny socks and its little woolly hat peeking free. A collie is also darting between and around them, rounding up his flock of sheep, taking his role as protector very seriously.

The scene makes Marcus smile as he stretches out his muscles. Whilst he can’t help but watch and yearn for something similar in his life, the mom looks up and over in his direction,

“Are you going to come over and say hi or just be a park weirdo that lurks in bushes pretending to stretch?” a familiar voice curtly teases.

Nush - what the fuck?

“Your face is a fucking picture! Take a breath - these are three of my five niblings - big one is Sophia, middle one that keeps threatening to swim in the pond is Alexa and this little dot is Oscar. As for that blundering idiot, this is Adam, my oldest brother- their dad,” gesturing towards your brother you giggle, creasing up in laughter at the sheer shock then relief on Marcus’ face, “Ads, this is Marcus, my new boss that I told you about.”

The male version of Nush outstretched his palm, offering a sympathetic look, “Hi Marcus, pleasure to put a face to a name. I’m so sorry that you have to put up with my cowbag-of-a-sister at work.”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at the friendly sniping between brother and sister, reminding him of his own teasing relationship with his sisters back home, “Hey! Your kids are beautiful. Oh, you must be Sebastian’s friend - who we saw at Model Market in Lewisham yesterday, Nush?” he questions.

“As much as Sebastian can have friends… Oh Nush, you didn’t, did you?” Adam’s face scrunches in disgust and judging in the way that only a sibling can do.

“No! Not this time,” Marcus loves the speed and vehemence to which you respond to your brother- and enjoys the sheer relief that is now guiltily coursing through his veins, “To give the man his dues, he won’t ever sleep with me when I’ve had too much to drink. Not that I was going to and not that it is any of your fucking business in the first place.” You add jabbing your brother in the softness of his tummy with every word you say.

“Nush, I was gonna text you this morning about tomorrow, if you’re still on to make the curries?” Marcus gently questions, willing you to agree.

“Hah! You’re trusting her to cook?” Adam laughs heartily at the suggestion, “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Our mum still won’t let her near the chilli powder now.”

You growl at your brother, “I was a fucking kid at the time! And yes, I am more than happy to come and cook curries- what time suits you for me to come over? They do take a bit of time to make.”

Marcus struggles to hold back a snort of laughter, “Any time is good - and perhaps while they’re simmering, we can have some classic films on in the background?”

“Ah that sounds perfect,” your smile warming every inch of his skin.

“You sound perfect for her,” Marcus catches Adam muttering under his breath, his eyes widening at your brother’s comment.

“Shut your damn cakehole, twatface,” you slap your brother’s arm hard as you grind the words between your teeth, the two of you glaring with a mirror image of your eyebrows raised at each other.

“Um, I’d better continue my run before I cool down too much,” Marcus manages to spit out between the flushes of heat through his skin, “Great to meet you and your family, Adam. Nush, it’s lovely to see you and I’ll catch you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Marcus,” you smile at him before turning back towards your niblings, who are working together to create a den using an old fallen branch.

“I saw you running earlier,” Adam adds, “You’ve got a really good gait - as a physio, it’s great to see someone not destroying their joints. Do you do anything to support your running through cross training?”

“Uh no, but that’s a good idea as I don’t want any injuries. What would you recommend?” Marcus asks, genuinely intrigued and flattered by your brother’s compliment of his running style.

“Speak to Nush - yoga is perfect for stretching your IT bands, which as a man they’re generally always tight and only get tighter with repetitive movements like running or cycling. She’s the yoga queen and will know of a local teacher who can help you,” Adam grins, nodding towards his sister.

“There’s so much I have yet to learn about her,” Marcus shakes his head as he sorts out his headphones.

“Yeah, good luck with that!” Adam laughs as he pats Marcus on the back, “Anyway, enjoy the rest of your run and hopefully see you again soon.”

As Marcus gradually picks up his pace away from you and your family, his heart that had felt so dark and lonely, now feels light and airy. The release valve in his chest is finally loosened and there is a little bubble of excitement in his belly that he allows to build at the thought of tomorrow. The thought of your presence in his apartment, doing something as domestic as cooking, is truly a salve for his soul.

Perhaps he can just make believe until it becomes a reality.

Tag list of glory: @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @lunaserenade @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

#josé pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #ppascaledit #pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #the mentalist #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x oc reader #the mentalist fanfic

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thestraggletag · 3 years

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Silver Tongue, a Rumbelle fic

Summary: Based on this prompt. Royce Gold is determined to confess his secret feelings towards the librarian. Unable to do it in person he sits down to write a letter but a combination of liquid courage and a determination to truly unburden himself made him perhaps a bit too ardently honest. And a bit careless.

This might have a sequel.

Rating: NC-17

It had taken a long time to arrive at this point, but now that he’d made the decision Royce Gold was oddly calm, as if having made the decision had magically ended the slow-burning agony he’d been in since the library had opened three years ago. He hadn’t much thought he would be affected by the event, and had privately thought it wouldn’t last. He could not see there being any need for a library in Storybrooke, a town where most people had last held a book in high school, if even then. He had thought it would not last long, one of Regina’s many pet projects that was abandoned when it did not justify its constant spending of town funds.

He had been wrong, in the end, because he hadn’t factored in the librarian. Belle French swept into town with her high-end, short-skirted fashion and noticeable Australian accent and he thought the moment he saw her that she wouldn’t last. Too foreign for a small town like Storybrooke. He had been wrong, though. She had soon made friends with the miners, and Granny and Ruby, and even a few of the teachers from the local school. She also made sure to make the library indispensable, organising book clubs and other after-school activities for the children, offering computer literacy courses for adults and a place for the knitting club to meet, as well as regular table-game nights that surprisingly became wildly popular with certain crowds. And had made Granny an unbearably-cocky backgammon champion, two years running.

So she had stayed, and soon he had begun to notice the danger in it. The way he could not stop staring at her in the diner, or as she walked down the street. They way he got tongue-tied when in her presence, and turned softer, kinder. The way his smirks turned to smiles around her, and he laughed easier. She was smart, and learned, and had a delightful sense of humor. Dark, like his. And yet she was a being of light. Kind, always ready to help, and willing to see beyond the surface. Beyond the drunken escapades of Leroy, or the scandal surrounding Miss Blanchard and Mr Nolan, or his own sordid reputation. And it was that thing that made her so dangerous, how unafraid she was of him, and how determined she seemed to be in getting to know him.

He had been half in love with her before he realised it. The attraction he could deal with- after all, she was a gorgeous woman, and he a man with eyes- but the feelings scared the fuck out of him. It was too late to stop himself, however, so he resigned himself to being a besotted fool… from a safe distance. Only the more they interacted the less he seemed reconciled with the idea until it felt like he was choking on his unexpressed feelings.

That’s why he had decided, in a fit of uncharacteristic emotional bravery, to unburden himself. Confess his feelings, likely be politely refused, and put an end to the madness. Or perhaps, if fate smiled upon him, be rewarded with a tentative acceptance to a dinner date, and perhaps more. It was always a possibility, albeit a small one, but enough to give him the push he needed.

He had decided it would be best to write her a letter. He got stupidly tongue-tied in her presence, after all, and there was something whimsically old-fashioned about a written letter, which he was sure she would appreciate. So on Friday night, after dinner, he locked himself in his study, fished out his Waldmann Tango and his best stationary, and…

Drew a resounding blank.

It was difficult to start writing with a blank page, he reasoned, so he tried at first simply to write the opening line, immediately falling into a ten-minute debate on whether to address the letter to “Miss French” or “Belle” and what to put in front of it “Dear Miss French”, on one end of the spectrum, seemed too dry and cold, and “Dearest Belle” on the other, too forward and presumptuous.

In the end he decided on “My dear Belle”. There was no point in writing a letter declaring his feelings if he could not even bring himself to call her by her given name and the slightly possessive edge to his greeting might come off as ardent rather than off-putting.

The opening paragraph seemed easy at first: “I am writing to you in order to express certain feelings I am sure have gone unnoticed so far, given the pains I’ve taken to ensure they remained hidden, in part due to our mutual circumstances and standing in town…” yet after a few times reading and re-reading it he had the odd, sinking feeling he might be writing the slightly-more-modern version of Mr Darcy’s ‘In vain I have struggled’ speech and that hadn’t gone over well the first time around. Luckily for him, at least, Belle had no sister he could insult while he was at it. So he scraped it and tried again, but soon felt everything he wrote sounded too formal, stilted and lacking in emotion. He was laying it all down like it was a contract to seal one of his deals, and it was hardly conducive to romance, or reflective of his true feelings.

He stood up, going for the wet bar he kept in the corner of the office. He selected a half-full bottle of Lagavulin and poured himself a generous three fingers into his favourite tumbler, deciding to forgo ice altogether. He needed to loosen up and good Scotch always helped in that. He sat down again, downed the drink in one go, and took another shot at it. He wanted to sound… Passionate, he supposed. It was the whole point of the letter, after all, to confess his true feelings. And his feelings were… ardent. Powerful. All-consuming, at times. Like a small, flickering flame that had slowly built into a veritable inferno. Though he did not wish to frighten her, he did wish to unburden himself and leave her with no doubt regarding his feelings.

“There hasn’t been a day since you arrived in Storybrooke that I haven’t felt your presence in some small way. You’ve taken a permanent residence in my mind and my heart, and there are days when I can scarcely think of anything else. All it takes is a small conversation or even a passing smile and I’m rendered useless.”

He fetched the Scotch from the bar and poured himself another drink, deciding it would be best to leave the bottle nearby. He felt he was finally getting into the groove of things, building up to something that sounded less like a legal clause. He downed his second Scotch, feeling the pleasant burn as it travelled down his throat, and took his pen again.

“You need not be concerned if you do not share my feelings. I will respect whatever decision you make. I simply wanted to tell you of the warmth you inspire in me, the way you’ve torn through all the walls I’ve built between myself and the rest of the world. And yet I know you to be, above all things, kind. More beautiful on the inside that you are on the outside, if that’s at all possible. I know that I am safe in your hands, whether you choose to give me a chance or not. Thank you for treating an old beast with kindness and humanity and know that, no matter what the outcome is, you have a friend and an ally across the street from the library, if there is ever anything you need.”

He signed it simply “Yours” because it felt apt. He certainly felt hers, in any case. Below he signed his name, trying to make his signature a bit more whimsical, give it a tad more flourish. Afterwards he stretched, poured himself another drink, and read it. It was… Good. Not too dry, not too passionate. Solid. Respectful but a good representation of his feelings at the same time.

Well… to an extent. He gulped down his third glass of Scotch and poured himself another, ruefully acknowledging that the letter was not quite honest. It was a bit restrained. Or a lot restrained. It felt like the gentlemanly thing to do, to tone down some of the more unbecoming feelings, keep those more intimate urges locked up for the time being. But perhaps, he mused, he could let loose a bit, to try and see if a more emotionally-honest letter would actually be preferable.

He could tell her, perhaps, a bit more about how it was hard for him to keep his eyes off her when they were in the same room. How utterly beautiful she was, small enough to make him wanna crowd her in, whisk her away somewhere and lean over her, feeling her breath on his neck. How he adored her high heels and flirty skirts and wished nothing more than to-

He removed his tie, and scratched out that last sentence, automatically fishing for his drink to try and cool himself down. He was beginning to get inappropriate and, anyway, he did not wish to come across as if he was solely enamoured with her physical appearance. Though he very much was enraptured by it, it was her personality that had made him fall for her. Things like her kindness, her understanding, her insatiable curiosity. He wished to share everything with her. Wanted to teach her all the secrets of his trade, have deep discussions on books they mutually liked, bare his soul to her inquisitive eyes.

“In my dreams, over and over, I am a willing slave to your curiosity, your insatiable need to explore and experience. When I close my eyes I see us in every way two people can be together, entwined till it’s impossible to decipher where I end and you begin. You let me press my mouth against every inch of you, drink from your cunt till I’m satiated, but it’s never enough. I wish to vainly attempt to quench your curiosity anywhere and everywhere you’ll let me, at any time of day. Over and over till neither of us can walk and I cannot remove your scent from my fingers, my mouth, my cock.”

He stared at the paragraph, head tilted to the side. The paper looked a bit blurry, so he checked to make sure he was wearing his glasses. He was. Odd. He reached out for his glass of Scotch, surprised that it was empty. He refilled it, noticing the bottle felt surprisingly light. He re-read the paragraph, trying to figure out if it was a bit too risqué. But, he reasoned, Belle was risqué, in her attire, in her reading choices. Sure she would appreciate him being the same, going out of his comfort sort in order to convey the depth of his affection.

“I dream of fucking you for hours on end. Slowly, with the care and thoroughness you deserve, till we’re both numb and spent. I want to make you ache in places where the pain bleeds into pleasure, and convince you that only I am worthy of making you come. That none of the boys you might have had between your lovely legs were worth a second look. I want to become your favourite toy, there for whenever you might need me, eager to please, to make you sigh and moan and keen till you are hoarse.”

He was hard, he noticed, but it was hardly a surprise, though he thought he might have drunk a bit too much for his body to rise to the occasion. He thought about touching himself for the briefest second, but quickly dismissed the idea. He was on a writing roll, it wouldn’t do to jeopardise that. Instead he poured himself another glass of Scotch, surprised when he had to tip the bottle all the way. He didn’t remember drinking enough to empty it, but he must have. Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the letter.

“I want to take you against the stacks of the library, amidst the books you love so much. I want to fuck you in the backroom of my shop so your smell lingers there. I want to go down on you in my bed for ours, till the silk sheets are ruined beyond repair. I want to consume you anywhere, everywhere, knowing that I will never be truly satiated, that it will never be enough. Have you splayed across my dining room table so I could eat you out as many times as I wanted, as much as you needed. I want to do everything to you, and have you do everything to me, till I can’t scrub you from my skin, the same way I cannot seem to be able to erase you from my heart and my mind.”

It was a bit of a sappy ending, but he supposed it balanced the more physical emotions out. He signed his name at the bottom with a flourish, smiled in satisfaction and staggered to his feet, determined to make it to his bedroom. He would get a good night’s sleep, wake up refreshed, and deliver the letter personally first thing in the morning.

In the morning, once he was done throwing up and had managed to shower, he shook his head at the idea he could’ve ever thought he would wake up anything other than terribly hungover. He popped a couple of aspirin, forced himself to swallow a few bites of dry toast, and dressed himself for the day. Before going out the door he remembered the letter, wincing when he recalled specifically the second draft he had made, clearly in a state of drunken foolishness. He picked up the sheets of paper, thinking for a second about ripping them up. He stopped himself at the last minute, though. The letter might not be fit to ever be seen by Belle, but he fancied the idea of rereading it later. He folded it neatly into an envelope and fetched a second one for the original, much more suitable letter. He would slip that one underneath the library’s door on his way to the shop.

He was startled by his home phone ringing, picking up to see it was the tip on the estate sale he had been waiting for. He jotted down the necessary information, went back to his desk to retrieve the letter and was out the door a few seconds later. He hurried to the library and, before he could convince himself otherwise, slipped the envelope with the letter underneath the doors, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety afterwards. He had done it, and though he felt unbearably nervous about the whole thing, he was proud of himself for following through.

Or he was, until he opened what he thought was the unsuitable letter and realised it was the original first draft. He had switched them up by mistake. Ice flooded his veins, and he felt like someone had punched him in the gut, leaving him gasping for breath. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him, not with Belle. The more he thought about it the more his mind recalled fragments of the letter, lingering in its uncouth language and vivid imagery. He was fucked, totally and completely.

Unless…

Maybe she hadn’t opened the letter yet. Or she had, but hadn’t gotten around to read it all. The first page or so was quite reserved. Perhaps he could sneak into the library and retrieve the rest, or swap it for the correct letter. He had the keys to the library, as it was his property, rented by the town. It would feel and likely be a terrible violation of the librarian’s private space, even though he did not intend to go beyond the library, but it would be worse to allow her to be submitted to such basic thoughts as the ones he had written down the other night.

With that in mind he took the library keys from his safe and went out into the night. Storybrooke, being a small town, was deserted at that time, which was a blessing. Less people to see him slip inside the library using the back door, or hear him as he rummaged around inside, trying to be quiet and not use his phone flashlight, lest that alert Belle upstairs in her apartment somehow. Tentatively he made his way to her office, sure she would have surely put the letter, hopefully unsealed. But when he got close he noticed light coming through the windows of the office, where the blinds were partially-lowered. It seemed that, given his fucking luck, Miss French was still diligently toiling away doing something or the other for the library. Nevermind. He would take a discrete peek, to see if he at least spotted his letter atop her desk, and if he did he would hide in some shadowy corner of the library and wait her out. If he didn’t he would cut his losses and go back home, to try and figure out how he was ever going to face Belle again.

He approached silently, drawing one of the slats down to peer inside. He spotted Belle right away, leaning back on her office chair with an ottoman propping her feet up. She was reading something and for a moment he appreciated her face, eyes focused on the page, cheeks slightly flushed and lips parted. Then he registered the rest, the shirt tossed above the desk along with her bra, the black silk camisole making her hardened nipples visible and her left hand, which disappeared somewhere beneath her rucked-up skirt. She sighed, head rolling back as she whispered something.

He didn’t know what registered first, whether it was the fact that she was saying his name or that it was his letter she was reading, clutched tightly to her right hand. There was no doubt as to what she was doing, and yet he could hardly believe that Belle fucking French was bringing herself to orgasm in her office while reading his letter. He pinched himself, unwilling to believe he was seeing what he was seeing, but the sting felt all too real. It wasn’t a dream, it was, somehow, reality. Sweet, sweet reality.

He needed to get out. As much as he burned to just burst into the office and let his mouth do what Belle’s fingers were attempting, it wouldn’t do. By some miracle she was not offended or otherwise put off by his risqué letter, but she sure would be by him breaking into the library. Offended and perhaps scared, unsafe, which was the last thing he wanted her to feel, especially in his presence. He would sneak out, quietly, and swing by the library tomorrow afternoon, right after closing time. As much as it would embarrass him to bring up his letter he would know she reciprocated his feelings, or that at least she was open to them, and that would give him the courage needed to ask her out.

It was a solid plan, a great plan. And it would’ve worked, he was sure, if he hadn’t knocked over a banker lamp as he backed away from her office. The antique bronze made a horrible noise as it collided with the floor, and the green shade shattered upon impact, making a mess.

“Who’s there?”

Fuck.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #silver tongue

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the-record · 3 years

Text

The City of Romance (Part 3)

Summary: On Spencer’s mandatory leave, he plans a trip to Paris, France where he meets an unforgettable face.

Part 3 summary: Your song plays at Spencer’s birthday party

Song: You Belong with Me, Taylor Swift

Warnings: Sexual references but nothing too bad. Fluff. Very fluffy

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Non-BAU!Fem!Reader

Italics: Translation French to English. Bold: Song lyrics

A/N: This part is a little shorter than normal but it’s just tooth rotting fluff. I love sweet Reid, makes my heart happy

Part 1, Part 2

Check out my masterlist here!

Truth be told, you didn’t actually have all those errands to run. No, you had to go set up David’s house for Spencer’s birthday party tonight. You had to get the cake, put up the decorations, make dinner, prepare the table, all the works. First stop was the local bakery. You had become close friends with the owner.

“Hey Mary!” The door bell ringed as you walked in the little shop.

“Y/N! You here for the cake?” You nodded as you walked to the counter. “Great, let me go get it for you.” She walked to the back as you looked at the treats in the glass display. She walked back out soon after holding a large white box. She placed it down and opened the box for you to see.

“Wow! Mary you outdid yourself!” You had asked her to make it based off of Spencer’s favorite book. The Narrative of John Smith. It was absolutely perfect. “This is just... Wow.” You pulled out your wallet. “Ok, can I also get some little treats? Cookies, chocolates, just a mix of everything.” She pulled some of everything and put them into a box.

“114.56.” You pulled out your credit card and ran it through. “Okay, all good to go! Tell Spencer happy birthday for me.”

“Of course! Thank you again!” You carried the boxes to your car and headed to your uncles house. The drive was fairly short. When you arrived you put the cake in the fridge and the desserts on a tray. You moved around the kitchen, cooking mini pizzas for everyone. You took the special directions from Henry and Jack for theirs. The entire night was a surprise for Spencer so you forced the team to keep it to themselves. He was turning 30 and that deserved a big, fun celebration. You finished the pizzas and threw them all in oven before moving outside to set up the table. You fixed the lights, put on the table cloth and decorations. You set up glasses and alcohol. David insisted on putting out champagne for the young doctor so you did as he said.

The night was perfect and the sun getting ready to set when everything was finished. You heard the door open from inside the kitchen.

“Bella! They’re on their way.” He entered the kitchen to see you connecting your phone to speakers. “Music?” You turned to face him.

“Just some of Spence’s favorite songs.” He nodded.

“The kid really likes you ya know.” You nodded as you leaned against the counter. “I haven’t seen him this happy since... Since ever. He’s happier than ever. I could say the same for you.” A red tone creeped onto your cheeks.

“Yeah. I’m really happy too.” The oven beeped to tell you that the pizzas were done. You slid them out and placed them on the counter before turning off the oven. “I’m gonna go get dressed.” You kissed his cheek before running upstairs.

You picked out a forest green, satin, slip dress and some heels. You heard some people talking downstairs and finished getting ready before heading downstairs to meet your guests. Aaron had brought Beth and Jack. JJ with Will and Henry. Derek stood talking with Garcia. Now you were waiting for Emily and the man of the hour, Spencer. You didn’t have to wait long though because as you headed down the stairs the doorbell rang, Emily with Spencer standing next to him.

“Emily, Spence.” You opened the door for them to walk in a Spencer leaned down for a kiss, which you gladly gave him. “Someone’s excited to see me.” You murmured against his lips.

“I missed you today.” You giggled.

“I saw you a couple hours ago.” You reminded him.

“Hey lovebirds! Get in here and stop hogging each other!” You both chuckled at Garcia’s words and walked in together, practically attached at the hip. Your arm was wrapped around his and your head was resting on his shoulder. “You guys are gross.”

“Baby girl, it’s young love. Let them have this.” You smiled.

“Hardly young. Spencer is almost an old man.” You looked up at him and winked.

“30 is not old!” He squeaked. You hummed.

“Well, my lovely niece made us dinner so why don’t we wash up and go outside to eat.” You smiled.

“I’ll go get the boys, I saw them run off to the study.” You let go of Spencer’s hand to get little Jack and Henry.

“You really got lucky kid.” Derek whispered to Spencer as you walked away. A smile grew on his face.

“I did, didn’t I?” You came back out with Henry on your hip and Jack pulling you by your hand. You were laughing with the little boys as you ran to the kitchen. You were helping the little boys wash their hands when you felt hands wrap around your waist. “Hi.” You looked up at the man behind you.

“Hi baby.” He placed a kiss on your lips, moving down towards your neck. “Spence, stop.” You rolled your shoulders while helping Henry wash his hands. He didn’t stop though. “Spence.” You looked at him and bit your lip. “Later. Just wait and you can open your early birthday present.” His cheeks flushed as you turned back to the buys and handed them a towel to dry their hands. You dried your hands and placed a kiss on his cheek, leaving him stunned while you joined the team outside on the deck. “We have wine, beer, champagne, the works. JJ, will you help me with drinks?” She nodded and stood next to you.

“You need to pull up your dress. We can see a little something on your chest.” You looked down to see a bruise on you chest and pulled up the piece of fabric.

“Thank god for you. Let’s just hope you’re the only who saw it otherwise I will never live this down.” You poured some glasses of champagne and brought it over.

“Champagne?” You turned around to look at your boyfriend.

“Uh yes of course. You’re going to be 30 soon. That’s big, and the Rossi’s celebrate big.” You and JJ handed everyone a glass of champagne. “To our boy genius becoming an old man!” You all clinked your glasses and sipped on the bubbly liquid.

“Dad,” Jack pulled on Aarons shirt. “Can we eat now?”

“Yes buddy. You can eat.” You sat next to Spencer and JJ and you all ate the pizzas while telling stories.

“One time David offered to host my birthday party here. I was turning 16 at the time so it was my sweet 16. We invited some family friends as well so there was some alcohol. David ended up pouring me champagne instead of apple cider. Of course I drank the whole thing and when my dad realized, he was pissed. They started a food fight and my mom made them scrub the entire patio and everywhere food got while we hung out inside. Needless to say, that was the last time David hosted a birthday party.”

“I will never forget Spencer telling that sherrif that it was safer to kiss than shake hands. Both of their faces were priceless!”

You sat their for the better part of an hour telling stories and eating desserts before Rossi offered to clean up while you danced. You pulled out your phone to play music when the song came on. You heard the beat and turned to each other before pulling Spencer to dance and sing with you.

You're on the phone with your girlfriend, she's upset She's going off about something that you said 'Cause she doesn't get your humor like I do

I'm in the room, it's a typical Tuesday night I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like And she'll never know your story like I do

The both of you were singing and dancing around like love sick fools with each other. You loudly sang the lyrics in his face like you did 2 months ago.

But she wears short skirts I wear T-shirts She's Cheer Captain, and I'm on the bleachers Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find That what you're looking for has been here the whole time

If you could see that I'm the one Who understands you Been here all along So, why can't you see? You belong with me You belong with me

Everyone was filming the both of you at this point but you either didn’t notice or didn’t care because you sang even louder now.

Walk in the streets with you in your worn-out jeans I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be Laughing on a park bench thinking to myself Hey, isn't this easy?

And you've got a smile That can light up this whole town I haven't seen it in a while Since she brought you down You say you're fine, I know you better than that Hey, what you doing with a girl like that?

You continued to serenade each other through the song. You laughed and danced and sang with each other, not a care in the world. It was just you and him and that’s all that mattered in the moment.

She wears high heels I wear sneakers She's Cheer Captain, and I'm on the bleachers Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find That what you're looking for has been here the whole time

If you could see that I'm the one Who understands you Been here all along So, why can't you see? You belong with me

Standing by and waiting at your backdoor All this time how could you not know, baby? You belong with me You belong with me

“You know I do see.” He says as the song goes.

“See what?”

“That you belong with me.” He pulls you up into a kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck.

Oh, I remember you driving to my house In the middle of the night I'm the one who makes you laugh When you know you're 'bout to cry And I know your favorite songs And you tell me 'bout your dreams Think I know where you belong Think I know it's with me

“I think it is with me.” You whisper.

You rest your head on his chest as Taylor Swifts voice sings in the background. Your eyes are closed and his head rests on yours.

Can't you see that I'm the one Who understands you? Been here all along So, why can't you see? You belong with me

Standing by and waiting at your backdoor All this time how could you not know, baby? You belong with me You belong with me

“I love you princess.” You smile at the pet name.

“I love you too genius.”

As the night continues, you two sway to the music even if it doesn’t match the song. Neither of you want to let go. The noise of his heartbeat and the soft blow of his breaths relaxes you. You’d fall asleep standing up if it wasn’t for him.

“Let’s get you to bed princess.” He suggests. You groan making him chuckle slightly. You feel the gentle shake of his body relaxing you even more. “Alright.” He picks you up bridal style and you wrap your arms around his neck and lay your head on his chest, falling asleep as he carries you through the house and up to your room. He pulled back the sheets and tucked you in. When he tried to leave you, your hand gripped around his wrist.

“Stay. David won’t care.” You look at him through your falling eyelids. “Please.” He gives in and gets comfortable before getting in bed with you. Your arms wrap around his torso and your head lays on his chest. His right arms wraps under you, combing through your hair.

“Good night princess.” You fall asleep to the rising and falling of his chest.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #Jennifer Jareau #emily prentiss #Penelope Garcia #aaron hotchner #david rossi #derek morgan #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #cm #bau x reader

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streets-in-paradise · 4 years

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Let’s talk about the amazingly on spot social commentary on The Boys

Warning: This post contains spoilers from Season 1 and the first three episodes of season 2 of The Boys

Tags: @nehoymenyoy asked to be tagged. I don’t know if my tags are working well but if they don’t i will send you the link of the post.

I decided to make this post because i finished all the avaliable episodes of the series two days ago and, having a long talk with my sister about this topic, i tought this is too awesome to not discuss it here. We are both studying in careers of the social field, i'm in sociology and she is in social work. We watched the show together and talking with her inspired my own ideas i would like to share here.

This show was a wonderfull surprise in terms of social commentary. I haven't watched one with such a great commentary since American Gods. In that case i was expecting some degree of progressive commentary because i had read the book previously and i was aware the source material had some, the one added for the series is even better and it was great, but it wasn't a shock to find it. For The Boys i haven't read the comics first and , even when i loved the show for lots of reasons, the amazing on spot social commentary was a hell of a surprise. I have been frustrated lately in terms of the messages in entertaiment products because, even when there is a lot of intention for part of the makers to make more progressive points in their stuff, everything becomes bland marketing to me most of the time. I remember that some years ago media used to came out unintentionally with some really cool progressive messages ( like, for example, " a bug's life" and its anti capitalist message). That stuff seemed soo genuine and today i feel that everytime a product targets my demographic in that sense what they deliver it's soo bland and fake that the progressive intention of the message gets lost in the absolutely obvious intention of selling something to me using my ideals as catch. Precisely this is an important point of critic in this show. I didn't expected at all to get a genuine feeling in the social commentary of a superhero show. I'm not saying that this means i think the makers believe in this (after all, it's amazon), what i praise here is how good they did it. In a time when most productions claim to have a social commentary behind to come out as cool but result in shallow fake bullshit this series has provided me with something that feels autentic. Like American Gods, what i feel the show is trying to tell me actually gets me.

Before starting with the proper talk i want to dedicate a few línes to recommend a few scenes of the show i just mentioned. I was super dissapointed after finding out they will probably end up turning it into more bland fake bullshit for season 3 but, to anyone who likes well delivered social commentary, check on Orlando Jones's scenes as Anansi. He is my favourite character from the show and all his scenes are a blessing.

I would also want to clarify that this post and the opinions displayed on it are from an anti capitalist, intersectional feminist and latin american perspective. I know the show is very american, the issues it discusses are most of the time worlwide but it has particularities of the american context so i will try to talk only of what i feel i know enough to have a word. I'm argentinian and we have our local versions of some of this problems but i will stay in the series territory trying to be as faithfull as i can to the american reality it gets inspiration from. Also, forgive me for any mistakes on my writing and expresions. English is not my native language.

Superheros are modern mythology. How would this work in real life?

This is the basic premise of the show’s worldbuilding. The great thing is that this concept is not developed in an edgy, pretentious way. It is serious and painfully real because it’s not only a subversion of tropes, it says a lot of what superheros are to us as a modern times myth. In a superficial view, the world of The Boys feels like what the MCU could have become after the Sokovia accords if they would have been efficiently followed on a worldwide scale.

In that particular universe i use as reference, our superheros are noble and morally heroic individuals.State intervention is the factor threatening to corrupt their actions making them follow the interests of the system. The risk there, along with some very shady violations of human rights to powered people, is having superheros tied to something as unstable as political power. You can fear, for example, what a Trump-like president could do if he had power over the Avengers because, again, the heros are not corrupt, their line of command is. Now, if we strip away all the idealization we had putted on this bunch of powered persons and see them as what they truly are at the end of the day, people like everyone else. Why are we supposed to believe they are immune to corruption? If we also consider the phenomenon of strong privatization of security that has been growing worldwide . Wouldn’t they be more like security workers working for a private contractor? Less like heros and more like private military / security officers? Now, this is what we are talking about.

What feels so different from this show is that it assumes a surprisingly realistic point of view on a modern fantasy we are very used to consuming and still constructs a new power fantasy that empowers the viewer. I’ m saying this as an MCU fan, I had grown too comfortable with this optimistic fantasy and this twist from it is brilliant. To put some context on what i want to say here i will try to explain myself first on why i think that superhero fiction have this enormous popularity today and it has become such a huge thing in entertainment. Besides of the obvious reason of big companies producing big exciting action blockbusters for the genre, it’s curious to think on how much these stories gathered a lot of progressive audiences. In past decades action blockbusters didn’t felt progressive, today’s superhero blockbusters were embraced by progressive audiences and this was the start of a twist in general for the media. I think that there is a contextual social reason for this, not the only factor but one i feel is considerable.

Late Stage Capitalism crushed us, we are so used to injustice and the control the system has over us is so big that we have slowly stopped dreaming of changing it ourselves. Instead, the fantasy of a superhuman who has the power we don’t have saving us from oppression feels really comforting. Captain America becoming such a huge icon in the middle of a time where extreme facism is rising again all over the world, for example. I don’t know much about his comic counterpart but, at least from what i see in the movies, Steve’s ideals feel to me like all those aspects from French Revolution’s Enlightenment that capitalism dropped away once bourgeois defeated their feudal rivals and capitalism got consolidated, the freedom and equality that feudal lower classes fought for. Today, we feel too small to make a difference so we enjoy the fantasy of powerful persons leading the fight for us. Capitalism feels more unstoppable than ever, it is the only thing who seems strong to remain in a terribly chaotic world. The suffering this cruel system brings to this world is overwhelming, we feel only a miracle can save us now. This is what feeds the narrative of the superhero as modern myth and saviour of humanity.

The Boys tosses aside all our hopes and dreams, presenting us with the most realistic escenario. Superheros are not the miracle we are waiting for, they are humans like everyone else. They are not sacred entities existing beyond our societies, they are part of the system and they insert on it as part of the security industries. They can be corrupted and they work in corrupt institutions in benefit of the ruling class like every other security provider in capitalist societies. They become a new face of the security forces in constant tension with police and military because the myth of the superhero provides them with the public trust those other two forces lost. People lost their trust in cops but they trust sups because they are supposed to be this noble individuals mobilized by their personal feelings of injustice trying to make the world a better place … right? Police are the forces of the ruling class but superheros are supposed to be with us, or at least this is what common sense and propaganda claim, having our hopes as a base to work on.

For someone so used to the typical superhero fantasy this felt like a slap on my face back to reality. It soo accurate , the system tends to capture any revolutionary input and turn it into profit. Even if the sups could had been a revolutionary factor at the beginning, the most likely thing to happen is for them to become a profitable industry. If we add to this what we already know of the actions of police and military in our real world we have a combo for disaster. The realistic twist is so fresh and painfully real, i can totally see this happening in real life if superheros were a thing.

We have already introduced ourselves in the world of this story, let’s check on the first main character this series introduces to us. Hughie Campbell, a college age guy who works in an electronics store, lives with his dad and has the most boring average life you can imagine. This guy who is too afraid to ask his boss for a pay raise changes overnight when a superhero kills his girlfriend in front of him and the big corporation the asshole works for covers up the whole thing. The “average guy becomes a hero” trope is not new at all, but the use it has here feels fresh because it is not there only to feed the male geek power fantasy. Hughie is not a geeky average guy only so geeky average guys can identify with him in an action series full of geeky references,he is not there to be the nerdy guy from Robot Chicken. Hughie’s characterization makes a point for everyone. The smallest most unimportant person, the one who can't even stand up for themselves in everyday situations, can make a change. Remember Samwise Gamgee fighting Shelob in Lord of the Rings? Hughie killing Translucent gives me that vibe. If we consider the point i already stated about superheroes being there when we feel too small to fight back injustice, this is the exact opposite. This is a fantasy that gives us the power, makes us think in our own strengths. Hughie is standing up for himself for the first time in his life and he inspires us to fight for our rights.

Pharmaceutical,Security and Entertainment industries and their business system : Superheros as lab rats,elite security forces and celebrities.

This part of the post is the hardest to write and the most exquisite. There is so much to talk about about this system Vought shaped tying these three billionaire industries together. The first thing i want to mention, as a point to start, is Butcher’s ramble over the teddy bear with a camera inside in his meeting with Hughie. Perfect introduction for the character with a delightful moment of commentary. In our current societies people live in constant fear for hundreds of reasons. Fears over street crime had skyrocketed all over the world even when crime is not growing uniformly in every country and that accelerated the privatization of security, fears of parents over the strangers they leave they kids with when they are not home inspired products like the one mentioned in the series’s moment, fears on the effects of processed foods are an impulse for the diet industry and i could keep naming lots of other examples. Fears, and the emotional response they trigger , are the base of profitable businesses.

I had been reading some authors that describe this stage of capitalism as an emotional one. Capitalism preached science and rationality during the past century but today its base of support is an emotional one. To excite the sensations of the people as consumers, to eliminate rational criticism, to push anti popular agendas through emotional excitement and mass hysteria. To cite another example that you can consider bounded to the series, Right Realism in Criminology is now almost common sense and there are people who keep asking for harsher punitive systems. This ideology, with the help of media panic, goes straight after their feelings and fears of being victims of violent crimes. Rational thinking is not the area of discussion, the base of the argument is on fear and pain. Fear of being potential victims, pain shared with the victims thinking in solutions that sound more like revenge than justice.

Going back to my point, in the world of The Boys this type of punitivism seems to have succeeded even in a greater way than in our current world because it has superheros as backup. If real life harsh punitivism feeds on fear and a wish for social revenge, in this world it has the positive emotions supes inspire on people as a trust certificate for the persons who may not feel that way. They are loved and worshipped celebrities, their faces are everywhere, they have thousands of fans… who would see flaws in what they do? Can you imagine a world in which we worshipped cops and soldiers like we worship celebrities? This is it, people put their blind faith in them because most of them seem to be their fans. Even the people who are against brutality in the actions of security forces would end up trusting them because they are famous people. Our culture has taught us to make ourselves blind to the bullshit we see on the celebrities we love. Fans have a strong emotional attachment to their favourite celebs and this can turn into emotional manipulation in this context. If actors or singers in real life can have a fanbase that forgets to see them as human people how would these actual superhumans not end up being worshipped as gods?

There has always been military propaganda in entertainment but this marriage between the industries through superheros is far more sinister than that. It makes you think about the unfair amount of credibility we put in celebrities. The plane crash scene of Homelander and Maeve it’s even more devastating looking at it from that perspective. Those persons had their full trust in them and they were safer with the terrorists. Can you imagine being a Homelander fan and dying there? That’s horrible, the last thing you get in your life is the biggest disappointment ever from someone you trusted and stanned.

Speaking of Homelander, he is a right wing wet dream and one of the best villians i had ever seen, he makes me feel sick with how fucking despicable he is. His character is an excellent point to start the ramble on the third wheel of this corporate nightmare. Superheros are products of the pharmaceutical industry, injected with a drug since they were babies. In his particular case, he was raised like a lab rat and the series is realistic even in this detail. The lab rat kid with superpowers is another common trope that we see pretty often and here it also gets twisted. I’m thinking for example on Eleven from Stranger Things, she has been raised by abusive scientists who treated her as an experiment, yet she is this sweet kiddo who has a hard time socializing. Instead, Homelander is a monster without conscience or mercy and seems to be severely affected by his abnormal childhood. Brilliant, he is the ultimate product of this corporative triangle and depicts everything that's wrong with it.

The cycle is pretty clear: drugs create them, they play their role in security and their media notoriety justifies their actions. As it is shown in season one, the security aspect of the corporate complex represented mostly in Homelander’s actions craves to grow bigger and get supes into the military since, in the startpoint of the series, they only work with cops. Since the industry feeds on fear and Vought seems to have a monopoly in the production of powered persons there were no threats big enough to justify the intervention of superhumans in wars. Dismissing the importance of this monopoly for the company, Homelander suministrates the drug to terrorist groups in an attempt to create the first super villains. This is a perfect analogy of how the american war machine works. There is no way for terrorist groups from Third World countries to get access to sophisticated war technology without help from the ones who wield that power better than anyone. The first mentions of the supe terrorists reminded me of when i was in my course of worldwide history in college and i learned there how most of those famous names in middle eastern terrorism were actually friends with the CIA before at some point. Here in South America we have other history regarding the style of USA intervention, the Plan Condor dictatorships in the 70’s and early 80’s. I was just starting my career when I had a month of history classes about the Middle East and, being pretty ignorant on the matter, it shocked me the way in which the US villainized people they used to work with. I think the series makes a great point with this part of the plot because it hints something of this war mechanics.

Gender politics of the series: a surprisingly complex approach on the topic of sexual assault ,a realistic critic to bland white feminism and the empty cashgrabbing ways in which mainstream media adapts feminist discourse.

This topic was even a bigger surprise for me. I wasn't expecting such an interesting approach of gender issues, mostly because this is the area in which media wannabe woke messages had become more dissapointing to me lately. Specially in a show about superheros, i wasn't expecting to get very interesting points.

I will start talking of the portrayals of sexual assault. We have two sexually assaulted characters in the series, Starlight and Becca. First, i think it is great that they didn't used the "rape as character development" trope. Actually, it's cool how they mock this conceptions. When Starlight saves a woman from being raped on the streets or when she makes a public statement about her sexual assault it's the people behind her, building her public image as a character, the ones who push that trope. In the first time their great character development idea is to sexualize her outfit, after the second event mentioned they literally push her sexual assault as development. I love how the public relationships team acts oftenly in a men writing women way, serving as mirror for the most common mistakes of writers on pop culture products when they write female characters.

Going back to my point, i like the effort they putted into portraying differences in both cases. Homelander is the typical portrayal of a rapist, a narcisistic monster without remorse, a deranged son of a bitch. The Deep is also a piece of shit, but of a different kind. There is a phrase that feminists of my country had popularized " los violadores son hijos sanos del patriarcado" ( it means, the rapists are healthy sons of the patriarchy. It tries to explain they are not crazy individuals who act outside societal circunstancies), the Deep reminded me of that.

He is not crazy, he is an insecure guy with a super fragile ego who abuses women for power. Insecurity on men under patriarchy tends to become bashing of women. This is not a black and white portrayal of a sex criminal, it is surprisingly complex. Of course,his actions were unexcusable. He will never repay what he did to Starlight and other women before her but he has chances of working on his issues and, eventually if he trully wants to get better, stop being the scumbag he is. He is not a deranged criminal whose only fate is to be neutralized for the safety of others.

I think this is important because, at least in my country, i had seen people using sex offenders as an example of why countries without death penalty should implement it. I don't support extreme autoritarian security measures and it makes me sick to hear that there are people claiming those as solutions in the name of women's safety. I like the approach they took to portray The Deep as the piece of shit he is but still showing the complexity of this issue instead of going for a more traditional dichotomic way.

Back to the mocking of mainstream media's attempts of adopting a feminist approach i mentioned, the season two got even better at this commentary on the "Strong Female Character" trope with the introduction of Stormfront. She is the literal embodiment of what shitty marketing says an empowered female character must be and has the biggest "I'm not like other girls" complex ever. That interaction she had with Starlight in "pink = bad, pants = cool" mood was super annoying and blaming her for the assault?? Freaking disgusting.

Honestly, i hated her soo much even before she showed her true colours completely. Stormfront represents everything i hate in Hollywood's feminism and the crappy meaningless messages it's pushing lately. She reminds me to all the fake "woke" advertisements i had seen on tv, like a Carefree (pads brand) advertisement that pissed me off last week because with the slogan " self trust is beauty" it portrayed girls who wear make up as fake and insecure.

Now, speaking of that particular scene of her killing Kimiko's brother. I felt literally sick, even sicker than in every Homelander scene. This bitch is worst than Homelander because at least he gathers a public that serves to his views. If you ever need to provide someone with a proof of why intersectionality in feminism matters use this racist bitch. Horryfying racism hidden behind the progressive mask of a bullshit privileged version of feminism, the thing i hate the most. She has a strong nazi terf vibe. I think she absolutely applies as mirror of critic to stuff like Rowling's terf nonsense.

The introspective look this series has regarding the multiple issues on today’s attempts of gender approach on media entertainment surprised me. It’s everything i would had wished something to point out but nobody seemed to have the guts to make it happen because, as i already said, the current trend is what it’s being focus of critic here.

I will end this now, i feel there is plenty of more stuff to talk about but this post is getting very long and, if i get more ideas i want to discuss, i can always make a second post. As i said before, this expresses my humble opinions and i’m open to hear different interpretations that can enrich my views.

Thanks for reading this extra long ramble.

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lovelivingmydreams · 3 years

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A story by heroes and villains

Book 2: secrets revealed Virgil Anker: trust and caution

Masterlist book 1

It's not easy to know who to trust and who to be wary off. But Virgil better learn soon.

When Virgil got back to the new house, he took a shower and sat himself on the couch in his pj’s. He was listening to his ‘winding down’ playlist. He was grinning to himself. Someone else was wearing his design. Sure he’d made Janus a shirt way back in freshmen year, but he barely wore it outside the house. This would be seen by tons of people. And it looked so good! He couldn’t wait till Monday. He could imagine Roman’s reaction. Would there be pictures in the papers? On the news? He just might buy a paper so he could keep a clipping to look back on later. Thinking about gushing over the costume with Roman at school made him think about seeing Janus again. J had skipped school after what happened in the hallway, leading to him having detention all of last week. He hadn’t even so much as looked at Virgil since. Not in a, “I am mad and ignoring you way,”. He looked ashamed. Scared. That was what made it so hard for Virgil to stick to his plan. Janus looked so hurt and lost and ashamed. And during lunch, he was nowhere to be found. Virgil needed to talk to Picani about this tomorrow. It would be a busy session. He contemplated where things had gone wrong for the millionth time for a while until he heard the door and looked up to see his fathers enter the room. “You’re back!” he greeted as he sat up. “So I gotta know, who’s your fourth guy?” he wondered casually. His dad just looked at him confused. “What do you mean?” “For your poker nights,” he clarified with a chuckle. Imagining Patton or uncle Thomas playing poker was kind of funny. It seemed so out of character for them. Still he couldn’t imagine what else would take all three of them getting together like this. Thomas had taught musical theatre classes, back when he was still a professor, and now he was the dean. Then again, Virgil wasn’t certain his uncle was always present. Tonight might just have been one time he happened to be there. But Patton definitely had been part of this project as much as Logan was. The past six months at the very least, but most likely from the start. “No cardgames I’m afraid kiddo. We’ll tell you about the project once it’s finished. It’s all confidential for now I’m afraid,” Patton told him gently. Virgil looked long and hard at Patton. He wasn’t lying. And confidential stuff made a lot of sense. He shrugged, letting it go. Even if his first guess was right after all and his dad was doing some kind of superhero stuff as BrainStorm, if Patton was there to help him Virgil felt assured that they’d be safe. Though he wouldn’t know how Patton, or Thomas, got wrapped up with anything involving a former super villain. “Okay, keep your secrets,” he sighed as he stretched. “Night Pat, night Lo,” he bid before heading upstairs. “Goodnight Virgil, I love you.” Virgil looked back at his dad when he heard that. “Love you to dad,” he replied with a smile. “Love you three kiddo!” Patton added, making Virgil laugh. “Love ya Pat.” And with that he went upstairs to his room. His new room was bigger than the one in his old house. But he didn’t care much about that. His old room had memories. He missed it honestly. He started to worry that he’d been too quick to say that he wanted to move out. No matter how nice the new house was, and how conveniently it was positioned, it would never quite be like the one he’d known most of his life. He let himself drop on his bed. It was pointless to think about that now. At this point, another family had probably moved into their old home. They’d brought their own furniture. Probably painted over the walls. Erasing the little doodles he’d made when he was little and bored. Before his mind could go any farther down that path, he heard a buzzing. Roman sent him a text. “Greetings! I just got back. Sorry for not checking in earlier. Could not be helped. Did you get home alright?” Virgil chuckled and texted back. “LOL. You worry too much. Hope you had a fun night.” Virgil certainly did. Just thinking about it made him impatient. Oh why not? Before he could second guess himself, he pressed call. “Virgil?” Roman sounded surprised, but Virgil was already way to giddy about his news. “I had to tell you now. I saw him!” he whispered. “Who? And why are we whispering?” Roman asked, mimicking his volume. “I’m supposed to be asleep,” he admitted, earning himself a chuckle. “Ok… Who did you see?” Roman asked. “Dream Prince!” expecting the logical next question he edited his story a little. “I went for a walk and I guess he was doing patrol in my neighborhood, I caught a glimpse of him,” well, that was an understatement. But he couldn’t tell Roman everything. Not yet. He’d lectured Prince about being cautious just today. He trusted Roman. But anyone could overhear them at any time. “He was wearing my costume! You were right! I can’t wait to get a good look at it in action!” Again. “You think someone got a picture? I didn’t have a chance. God I should’ve taken a picture so I could show you!” Though he wasn’t sure if he could’ve managed to get a believable citizens picture of him. He doubted Prince could be photographed if he didn’t want to be. “I’m sure I’ll see your work plastered around the front pages Monday. Pretty sure you missed out on the Saturday edition. But the news stations might talk about it.” Virgil’s cheeks hurt from smiling. “You sure you don’t want your name attached to it?” Virgil considered that for a moment. It would be kind of cool, he supposed. But he was trying not to draw any attention to his civilian self so long as he did the vigilante gig. Asides from that, he didn’t want anyone to be able to claim any of his future successes were due to his connection to a superhero, or have expectations based on this one work. “Yeah… I just… I know I should want the credit. But, just in case he becomes like this big time hero,” which seemed very likely to Virgil. His powers were pretty amazing and he had the personality to make it big. “I don’t want my possible career to be defined before it starts, you know what I mean?” He hoped he did, because he was starting to get confused by his own phrasing. “Maybe I’ll come forth with the original sketch when I’m like, 30, to prove it was me if it still matters by then,” he concluded. “Sounds like a smart plan. I’m going to let you go. I do need my beauty sleep after all.” Oh, he made it too easy. “You said it, not me,” he chuckled. “Night Princey.” “Buenas noches. Mi querido amigo,” Roman replied dramatically. Virgil rolled his eyes. Though he smiled as he realized Roman just called him ‘dear friend’. Trying to hide the way that warmed his chest he let out a groan. “Bon nuit,” he huffed in retaliation before hanging up. Janus had taught him a bit of French over the years. And just like that his thoughts returned to his old friend. Janus had been well behaved the past week. He hadn’t gotten in a single fight. Maybe he should try and show that he noticed. Just saying ‘hi’ wouldn’t be that bad right? Show that he meant it when he said he wanted to get back to being friends, real friends, at some point. With thoughts of a happy ending for everyone, Virgil fell asleep. The next morning he woke up early. He made sure to be quiet as he got ready for the day. Once downstairs he turned on the tv. And sure enough, the local station was talking about Dream Prince. A professional picture of him leaping across the street from one rooftop to another serving as background. The anchors were talking about his heroic deeds of last night, ranging from walking a girl home to taking down those criminals ‘single handedly’. “No one can deny it. This young hero finds no feat too great or too small, and he does it with style. Looks like he’s settled on a look.” They thought his costume had style! Virgil was vibrating with excitement. He couldn’t sit still. He had to do something with all this energy. He started on breakfast. Bacon, eggs… It had been a while since he’d felt up to making a big breakfast and been the first to wake up. Patton was as much of an early riser as he and Logan. Which meant he hadn’t had Virgil’s secret omelet recipe yet. He was bouncing on his feet as the two anchors were analyzing the costume in as much detail as they could. They found the heels a bold choice and the mask an elegant way to incorporate a crown. When Virgil heard his dads move about upstairs he turned the news off and set the table. Patton really liked the eggs. That or he really wanted Virgil to think so. Three servings made him think that it wasn’t pretend though. After breakfast, uncle Thomas picked him up for their trip to the zoo. Virgil had been looking forward to it. It felt forever ago since he last spent some one on one time with his honorary uncle. “That’s a nice one. You really got the eyes down well,” he complemented as Virgil finished a sketch of a koala. “Thanks,” Virgil said, pretty happy with the result as well. “You are really talented. Guess it runs in the family. I remember your dad scribbling away in his poetry notebook all the time.” Virgil looked at his uncle with wide eyes. “You knew my father?” he asked perplexed. Thomas frowned down at him for a moment before his eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, no. I never personally met your birthfather. I meant Logan,” he clarified. Virgil was a little disappointed. For a second he’d hoped to learn a little more about his birthparents. But if Thomas had been talking about Logan… “My dad wrote poetry?” Thomas chuckled. “Yeah. He was pretty good. Though he’d disagree. He felt more comfortable using his sharp tongue on the debate team. He won us some prizes,” he recalled. Virgil took this in. He had wondered what his dad was like at his age before. Now was a good time to ask more. “So poetry and debate team… Guess that is why you two became friends, huh?” he asked. Thomas shook his head a little awkwardly. “Not exactly. With my social anxiety I probably wouldn’t have approached him if my mom hadn’t told me about his mom losing custody…” “What!?” Virgil gasped. He never knew that. Thomas cringed realizing he had maybe said to much. He looked down at Virgil. “Your grandparents weren’t parents of the year. Not abusive, but… neglectful I suppose. Logan never talked about it, so I don’t know the details. Just what little ” “He was in the system?” Virgil asked with a shiver. He’d heard about the system. He was glad he never had to experience it. “No, like for you there was someone ready to take him in right away,” Thomas told him. Virgil wanted to ask who had adopted his dad. But he had an idea… And he kind of didn’t want to hear he was wrong. He wanted it to be his parents. It would explain why Logan had such a hard time talking about them, but had so much love and respect for them when he did. “What was it like rooming with him? Was he secretly a slob in college?” he asked hopefully. Thomas relaxed and started talking about a few college stories, though he quickly veered into high school and early parenthood stories. At the end of the day Virgil had a good handful of animal sketches, an idea for his art project for the semester and Thomas dropped him off at Picani’s office. “Hello Virgil. How are you today? I heard you had a good scare earlier this week.” Virgil let out a deep sigh, sat down and started his story. Leaving Picani’s office a little bit later than planned, he felt a lot better. Or, well ‘better’ never had been the right word. He’d realized that sometime during the camp. After talking about Picani about what bothered him, he was still bothered by it. But he understood things more clearly. He felt less confused and had an idea of what to do about it. Picani never told him everything would be okay. He helped him understand what was wrong and how to either steer it in a better direction, or learn to live with it. He now felt less uncertain about wanting to give Janus a sign that there was still hope for them, even after what happened last week. He felt less guilty over indulging the people asking him out even though Roman was still very much on his mind. He even felt better about getting more information than he should’ve from uncle Thomas. It had been a relief talking about his theory that his dad had been in his parent’s custody for at least four years and that that was, maybe, the reason why he took him in when they passed. And the fact that he had at least one set of grandparents that might be still alive. He wasn’t going to ask about them though. If they held bad memories for his dad, he didn’t think he wanted to know them. It was very low on his list of priorities. The fact that his dad never mentioned them told him enough. The whole scare with the ceiling lamp was discussed and Picani left it alone when Virgil said that he didn’t want to waste too much time on it. “I’m home!” he announced as he came through the door. He heard Patton call a greeting from the kitchen and saw his dad come from the living room to meet him in the doorway. “Dad!” he called out eagerly as he gave his father a hug. “Virgil? Not that I do not appreciate you seem excited to see me. But is there a particular reason?” There were a few honestly. Knowing a bit more about how he ended up being raised by the smartest, most patient man he’d ever met had him excited. On top of that knowing what his dad was like at his age made him feel closer to him. He decided to focus on the latter. He’d turn sixteen soon. If Logan hadn’t initiated the conversation by then, he would. He could be patient for another month. “Uncle Thomas told me about your teen years. I didn’t know you were on the debate team!” he told him. He could imagine his dad thriving in that environment though. Maybe they should check out the debate team this year in between Roman’s play and Virgil’s art exhibit. Logan gave Virgil a small smile, a bit of pride in his eyes. It was rare for Virgil to see his dad proud of himself. He liked it. “Well, yes. It was a bit of a hobby of mine, as well as an attempt to get better at socializing,” Logan said modestly. Virgil picked up on the operative word in that sentence. ‘Attempt’. “You were a socially awkward nerd,” he concluded with a chuckle. He was so used to being nothing like his dad. Finding flaws and similarities to himself in the man he’d idolized as long as he could remember, it was strangely exhilarating. Logan, however seemed to misunderstand what had Virgil so thrilled. “Hey, that’s a complement! I’m a socially awkward artsy kid. Sounds like I’m your son after all!” he clarified. That reminded him though. “Speaking off. Uncle Thomas told me you wrote poetry back in the day.” “Really!?” Patton exclaimed from the kitchen. Logan was blushing. Scrambling for a way out of the conversation it seemed. “I… Experimenting with different forms of self-expression is a natural part of discovering one’s identity as a teenager. It was a phase. I would like to forget about it.” Virgil was about to argue against it, but Patton beat him to it. “Aw, but poetry is so romantic,” he pouted. And Virgil could see the way that affected his dad. Well, their date nights were about to get ten times more sappy. Hopefully going for the heart, and his ego, would work out just as well for Virgil. “That’s too bad. I thought I could make a project around your old work for art class,” he sighed disappointedly. And just like that his dad’s firm posture melted away. “I’ll see if I can find some of my old notebooks. Just ask my consent before you pick one.” Virgil couldn’t resist hugging him again. “Thanks dad. You won’t regret it. I promise.” He felt his father put his arms around him gently. A wordless “you’re welcome”. Virgil was feeling very chatty during dinner and so told his parents all about his day. They had to go to the university again tonight. Since Virgil was planning on meeting up with Prince and not sure if he’d be out all night or just long enough to talk to the guy, he bid them both a good night now. Just in case he’d be too tired to wait for them to get home once he got back. As soon as they were out the door Virgil dug in his closet for his face mask, something he wore when he was feeling sick and didn’t want to infect others. And his shades. He was going to take a chance on Prince today. He made sure he had his evidence at the ready. He’d updated it earlier that week and last night he hadn’t learned anything new. He decided to go with the same look as yesterday so Prince would recognize him more easily. He made his way to the street and vanished in the alleys. After a few minutes he found the rooftop they’d used as their rendezvous point last night. Hopefully Prince wouldn’t make him wait too long. He lowered the intensity of his cloak to be more easily spotted should someone be looking for him. Suddenly he heard a sound behind him. “Good evening my shadowy friend,” the grand voice of Dream Prince drifted through the air. Virgil turned around, his coat flaring out with the movement. “Hey there highness,” he greeted as he tossed him the evidence bag. Clear of any fingerprints or DNA as far as he could manage it, as usual. Prince studied it for a moment. “Is this…?” he sounded surprised. “A show of good will. I thought about it…” not enough. Maybe he was biased because he reminded him of Roman. Or because he’d seen him during his training wheel days. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone anymore. “You seem alright. I’ll… I’ll have your back. If you have mine.” They could help each other. Grow stronger together. Weren’t heroes always at their strongest once they learned to work together? “You do know that if I hand this in, they’ll know I made contact?” This guy. Virgil chuckled, finding this strangely endearing. “You mean you haven’t told them yet?” Prince’s posture straightened almost defiantly. “You didn’t say you were alright with that!” Was he actually insulted by the idea of reporting back to his people without Virgil’s permission? Guess he’d read him right. Good to know. “Okay. Well, consider this my permission. If I don’t want to be found, I’ll disappear Prince.” He’d find a way to avoid Prince if it was necessary. “Tell the chief all communication with me goes through you. If you don’t mind.” Because Virgil didn’t trust the chief enough to go anywhere near her. Prince nodded as he reached for his ear. “I am currently debriefing Phantom. I’ll let you know when I’m done here. Tell chief I’ll stop by with a package. Radio silence until further notice.” Virgil couldn’t stop himself from letting out a chuckle. This guy. He really needed to be more careful. “You ever thought I might be a bad guy? You shouldn’t cut off your back up like that in front of me.” Had they taught him nothing at the GTH? “You’ve had plenty chances to take me out,” Prince pointed out, much to Virgil’s surprise. “You could have let those goons get me the first time you saw me. You could have attacked me while I was busy with those guys yesterday. And who knows how many times over the summer. And on top of that. Who says my communicator is my only way of contacting back up?” Okay, so maybe Prince knew what he was doing after all. “Fair enough. So what now?” He had no idea what would come after this. He just knew that Prince reached out, and he’d accepted. The ball was back in Prince’s court. “Now… I warn you about the collector.” That sounded very serious. He almost wanted to get out before he could get involved, but a gut feeling told him that this was important. He eyed the edge of the roof. Well might as well get comfortable. “I feel like this is a sitting down kind of conversation.” Once they both sat down, Virgil put on his sunglasses and dropped his cloak completely. It was symbolic or whatever. Letting his guard down in a visible way. He turned to the prince expectantly, a little annoyed at how the dark glasses limited his vision. Prince took in a deep breath and started his story. “The collector is an old enemy of Manifestor. He recruits Gifted, and those he thinks deserve to be gifted for some kind of revolution. You and I are probably his kind of people. Young, full of potential. All that stuff creeps like that love to go on about.” Virgil’s eyes widened. That did sound bad. He was suddenly very glad he had not confided in anyone about his powers so far. Who knew if the Chief was on the Collector’s payroll? Or maybe Picani was being spied on. “So we should be careful, you and I. I want to help you out,” Prince told him as he offered him two small objects. A stone and lip balm? “These can help you hide your identity without having to use your… Do you have a name for it?” Prince wondered. Virgil wasn’t sure if he could disguise his voice. But if he did, he was not going to risk Prince being someone from school who might recognize his voice. “Cloak,” he replied before dropping his guard again. “Cloak… Cool,” Prince nodded as he showed the black stone. “So this, is a voice modulator. I adjusted it to fit your tempest voice as best as I could.” Virgil couldn’t help laughing. Tempest voice? That sounded so cool honestly. But man was it dramatic. “You clearly have not heard it,” Prince pointed out and he had a point. He sounded normal to himself. “What’s with the lipstick?” he asked. “This will paint your hair black faster than any hair dye. It’s also a very good hair gel and it washes out right away,” Virgil bit his lip as Prince offered him the items. He was not used to being helped. Not as ‘Phantom’ at least. He still struggled with it as Virgil. Letting Roman help him with his English assignment yesterday had been hard. But he had to let people help him. He had to take a leap of faith here. So he took the items and got up to try them out. “No peeking!” he warned, though he would keep his cloak up. It was more to test if Prince would be tempted to go against his wishes. He didn’t. Virgil placed the modulator on his throat where Prince had his red stone and applied the balm to his hair. He spread it out and took a moment to decide on the style he wanted to go with. He tried for windblown, though he wasn’t sure if he did it right without a mirror. “Okay, let’s try this,” he said testing out his new voice. Wow, if that was what he really sounded like then Tempest voice might just have been the most accurate description. He looked back at Prince who was getting up and waling over to him. “Okay. So… what’s the plan?” he asked, curious what Prince was expecting out of this collaboration. “Well… We could try and meet up here regularly. We might not always patrol at the same time, and you might be busy. But I could… If you are okay with it… I could help you coordinate with the cops. Like you kinda suggested earlier. Or we could like, do some patrolling together? Keep each other company…” Oh, that was cute. Prince could be insecure. Virgil was starting to think he was unshakable. “It might be nice talking someone who gets it you know? You’re my age right?” he wondered. Nice try. Very subtle. “I mean… I guess, but I’m not sure how old you are exactly,” he shrugged casually. He wasn’t going to give anything away that easily. “Fair point.” Or maybe there hadn’t been an ulterior motive. He was getting paranoid. “Anyway… What do you want?” Virgil thought about that for a moment. He hadn’t expected to be asked for his opinion. “I mean… Debriefings sound cool,” he said casually. “I’d like to patrol with you, but my parkour is no match to that walking on air trick you got…” He was kind of jealous of that one if he was honest. “I was thinking of hanging around the clubbing district at the end of the night and making sure some party goers get home safe. I’ll see you around there when you’re done?” This talk was fun and all, but Prince should probably check in with his team soon. And Virgil needed to think about things for a minute. “That sounds like a good idea,” Prince agreed as he gave him a bow. “Until then. Know that the GTA’s resources are now at your disposal through me. So if you want to get a proper suit or other fun toys, you need only ask.” And with that Virgil’s new ally sprinted of into the night. A real suit huh? Virgil shook his head. He’d have to think on that some more. For now, he had work to do.

Hero au

@cirishere @hestianerd1 @moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043 @angelic-cali @selenechris @theblackveilinreverse

#sanders sides #ts sides #hero au #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #prinxiety #logicality

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emospritelet · 3 years

Text

Manifesto - chapter 11

Last time, Sutherland offered Belle a drink in his office. Here's what happened next

[AO3]

Belle rolled her shoulders tiredly as she made her way back to her apartment. Her body was aching, as though she had been running for miles, and she wanted nothing more than to take a shower, put on her PJs and chill out. She stopped off for a bottle of wine, a bar of chocolate and a punnet of summer berries in the shop next to her apartment block, and ate a piece of chocolate as she rode the elevator upwards. It looked as though she would be dialling out for dinner. Perhaps a pizza.

Her phone buzzed as she entered the apartment, and she smiled as she saw Merida’s name flash up.

“Hey,” she said, tucking the phone between neck and shoulder as she put down the wine and searched for a glass.

“How’s it going?” Merida was almost shouting into the phone. There was background chatter and laughter and the clinking of glasses. “Did you hand Sutherland his arse yet?”

“We had a bit of a spat,” said Belle, twisting off the top of the wine bottle. “Just a minor one, though. Are you in the pub?”

“Yeah, me and Leroy came out for a sneaky pint or two.”

“Is everything okay at the library? I just got back to the apartment and I’m gasping for a drink, but I should really call Ariel.”

“She said to tell you everything’s fine,” said Merida. “Building still in one piece. Books safe and well.”

“Good.”

“Anyway, don’t change the subject! Tell me how the meeting went!”

“Oh, it was - well, it was exhausting, actually,” sighed Belle, pouring wine. “I’m not sure how much we actually achieved. Maybe I’ll know more tomorrow.”

“Did you give your presentation?”

“Yeah, that part went okay.” She took a sip of wine. “Some of the people there seemed convinced. Not the guy from the Treasury, but Sutherland says if it was up to him they’d never spend anything, so I’m not sure what I could have done to convince the man anyway.”

“And you left Sutherland in one piece?”

“Just about,” said Belle dryly, and hesitated. “I had a drink with him.”

There was a spluttering noise at the end of the phone, and Belle had a vision of Merida spraying Leroy with beer.

“What?” choked Merida. “You went for a drink with him?”

“It’s not like we went to the pub for pints and whisky chasers,” said Belle. “He had booze in his office. He offered me some. Brandy. Just a small one.”

“And - and what were you doing in his office?”

“Oh.” Belle chewed her lip. “I - uh - we were talking about the library. He’s released some grant money to local authorities. Should mean I can get some funding for the next year or two.”

“Well.” Merida sounded satisfied. “That was all his doing? What you said must have made an impression on him, then.”

“He says he just changed the eligibility, that’s all.”

“Was this before or after the drink?”

“Before, of course!”

“Even so,” said Merida. “Try shagging him, you might even get enough for a pay rise.”

“Oh my God…” Belle shook her head as Merida cackled. “On that note, I’m gonna finish this wine and take a shower.”

“Okay, but we want an update when you get back,” said Merida. “And hang in there, you’re doing brilliantly!”

“Thanks. Miss you guys.”

“You too.”

Belle hung up, taking another drink of wine and sighing loudly. She carried her glass over the couch, flopping onto it and letting her head roll back against the cushions. Merida’s teasing had had the unfortunate effect of firing up her imagination, and she wondered how many glasses of wine she would have to sink before she stopped having visions of the Prime Minister shoving her against the wall of his office and kissing her hard.

Sutherland had managed to get through the papers that Anna had left with him, and had scrawled notes in the margins indicating his preferred course of action from the suggestions given. He had a meeting scheduled with the US President at nine p.m., and a briefing paper had been set on his desk along with a cup of coffee, which was now cold. The door opening made him look up, and Anna breezed in, looking refreshed. He wished he felt the same.

“Oh, you’ve been through the papers,” she said, checking the folder on his desk. “Anything you wanted to talk through?”

“I don’t think so. Graham seems to have everything well in hand.”

“In that case I can give you these.” She slipped another folder out of her bag and dropped it on the desk. “Revised figures for the meeting tomorrow, along with a statement from Sir George about how we’re going to bankrupt the country if we agree to anything other than the status quo.”

Sutherland chuckled as he picked up the folder.

“I assume you’re exaggerating only slightly.”

“A tiny amount,” she allowed. “Today went well, I thought. Considering the competing interests.”

“And strong personalities,” he remarked.

“You always said a robust exchange of views makes for stronger policy.”

“As long as it doesn’t come to blows, yes,” he said, and it was her turn to chuckle.

“The lovely Miss French left you in one piece, then,” she observed, and he snorted.

“Just about.”

“I told her about the grant programme.”

“Yes, so she said.”

He thumbed through the papers once before realising he hadn’t taken in a single word, and hesitated before he spoke, feeling the smooth paper between thumb and forefinger.

“I had a drink with her,” he said, and Anna let out a tiny squeak of surprise.

“What, here?”

“No, we went to the bloody pub, what do you think?” he said impatiently. “Yes, here. She apologised, and - and I offered her a drink. Brandy. Just a small one.”

“Well.” Anna pursed her lips, a tiny smile lighting up her eyes. “Nice to see you two getting along.”

Sutherland grunted something.

“You did get along, I take it?” she pressed, and he sighed.

“We were very civil.”

“Civil is - something, I suppose.”

He made a non-committal noise at the back of his throat, pretending an interest in the papers, but he could feel Anna’s eyes on him, as though she knew he had more to say on the subject. Eventually he looked up.

“I told her about the divorce,” he said. “And - and about not wanting Ellie to work in Westminster, and why I got into politics in the first place. I was even honest about it. God knows why.”

“Hmm.” Anna pursed her lips. “Not like you to get personal with strangers.”

“I know.” He shook his head, turning back to the papers again. “She’s unsettling.”

“In what way?”

“In – I don’t know…” He waved a hand. “I’m not sure I understand it myself.”

“Did you decide this before or after the drink?”

“Oh, long before,” he said immediately. “Having a drink with her just made me – acutely aware of it.”

“Well, she’s only here tomorrow,” said Anna. “Are you going to the meeting? I managed to carve out two hours in your diary, but you don’t have to.”

He hesitated. No, he didn’t have to. No one would expect him to. He had more than enough things clamouring for his attention, after all.

“Perhaps it’s best that I don’t,” he said. “Ella can give the group a good enough steer, can’t she?”

“I’ll give her a call, let her know,” said Anna. “You sure this isn’t just because you’re scared of Miss French?”

“I am not scared of her,” he snapped, making her grin. “I just - I just have more pressing business than scoring points in a shouting match.”

“Speaking of, we have PMQs to prep for,” she said, and he groaned, slumping in his seat. “No rest for the wicked,” she added.

“Indeed,” he said wearily, running a hand over his face. “Alright. Let’s go through these papers, then talk PMQs, then I have to speak to Washington. And at some point I suppose I’d better get some sleep.”

“Optimism. I like it.”

He grinned, swatting her with the papers, and waited for her to pull her chair around to his side of the desk. It was best that he left the meeting to Ella, and concentrated on running the bloody country. There was certainly no reason for him to want to sit in a room with a bunch of people who couldn’t agree. He got enough of that in the Commons. A vision came to him: a pair of clear blue eyes flashing, the allure of a challenge, and he pushed the image away. Miss French was far too distracting.

Belle spent a restless night, disturbed by several unexpectedly erotic dreams that left her flustered and aching. She took a long shower to revive herself, and then went for a brisk walk to pick up coffee and a croissant, which she ate sitting on a bench overlooking a nearby park. It was still early, not quite seven-thirty, and she didn’t have to be at Downing Street until nine. One more day of fighting her corner and standing her ground, and she could return to Avonleigh with some small sense of achievement. The coffee was hot, and she removed the lid to help it cool enough to drink, hissing in vexation as she saw she had forgotten to add milk. The aroma was delicious, the coffee darkest brown, and she was reminded of Sutherland’s eyes watching her over his brandy glass, the tip of his tongue wetting his lips.

Shivering, she took a sip of the coffee, wincing as it scalded her tongue. A good thing the discussions would be ending that day. They would have further meetings, of course, but she had been assured that most of those would be held virtually. Time and distance would deal with her crush, and she could go back to running the library and having the odd disastrous date to remind herself why she was single. She just had to get through one more day.

Belle hadn’t expected to feel disappointed by Sutherland’s absence. She had told herself it was likely he wouldn’t be there; as Prime Minister he must have a hundred demands on his time that were more important than one policy. Anna was also absent, no doubt organising his day with her usual aplomb, and so it was left to Ella Deville-Waters to chair the meeting. There were more arguments about the scope of the policy, with Archie playing the role of peacemaker as Belle exchanged increasingly waspish comments with Sir George King.

By the time four o’clock arrived, she was ready to drop, and almost sighed in relief as Ella announced that they were done. She felt as though she had been wrestling live alligators all day, and rolled her shoulders as she shrugged on her jacket.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you, Belle,” said Archie, holding out his hand. “I suppose the next time we meet it’ll be online.”

“I guess so.” She shook Archie’s hand, ignoring Sir George’s baleful glare. “Thanks for the links to those papers you mentioned, I’ll be sure to read them.”

“Of course. Happy to talk through any questions you might have. You have my email.”

“I do.” Belle smiled at him. “Safe journey home.”

“You too.”

He smiled back, picking up his briefcase and heading for the door, and Belle shoved her papers in her bag, nodding to Ella. The sooner she got out of there, the sooner she could be home.

The air in the room had been dry, and consequently Belle was parched. She rummaged in her bag as she hurried along the corridor, fishing out a bottle of water that slipped from her fingers just as she reached the corner and bounced out of sight. She darted after it around the corner and squeaked as she collided with something warm and solid and smelling of expensive wood and warm cloves.

Sutherland had managed to keep himself busy enough that he hadn’t thought about Miss French more than perhaps half a dozen times. He had been pleased with himself, convinced that he would be able to put her from his mind completely once the day was over. That all changed at just after four p.m. as he walked from his office to the Cabinet Room. One moment he was talking over his shoulder to Anna, the next he found himself with his arms full of Belle French, her wide blue eyes staring at him and her lips parted in shock. She was pleasantly soft against his chest, her perfume drifting into his nose, but he barely had time to react before one of the Special Branch officers was there to peel her off him.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” she said breathlessly, upper arms held firmly from behind by the officer. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention!”

“That’s - that’s quite alright.” Sutherland nodded to the officer, who released Belle immediately. “I take it you’re on your way back to Avonleigh?”

“Yes,” she said automatically.

Her cheeks had begun to redden, agitation plain in the rapid rise and fall of her chest. It was painfully arousing. He kept his eyes on hers, his own heart thumping hard, and Belle licked her lips in a nervous gesture. Sutherland blinked rapidly.

“Well,” he said. “Encounters with you continue to be - bracing - Miss French. I wish you a pleasant journey. No doubt we’ll meet again.”

“I - yes. Thank you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut with a pained expression, then shook her head and stalked past him, shoulders stiff. Sutherland watched her go, short skirt wafting around her perfect legs.

“The Cabinet?” prompted Anna, and he shook his head, turning back to her.

“Yes,” he said. “Right. Yes.”

He fell into step beside her, his skin tingling from the unexpected pleasure of having Miss French in his arms. She had felt as though she belonged there and that – well, that was a dangerous path for his mind to take.

#fic: manifesto #sutherelle fic #my fic #sutherelle #rumbelle fic

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