#Gratuitous Lit References
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baby, i'm-a want you — (ch 2) "session two"
gif by me
pairing: javier peña/joel miller
rating: E (18+) mdni
word count: 4.3k
content: use of a plug, throat fucking, ass eating, lots of spit, gratuitous descriptions of cum, unprotected p in a, creampie, (safe) breathplay, background handjob, cock slapping, one (1) spank, joel's porn persona is a tad mean but it's nothing crazy, shy!joel, javi is a HUGE flirt, smoking, lmk if i missed anything!
dividers: @saradika-graphics
betas: @qveerthe0ry & @scenaaario (ily angels ♥)
series summary: javier peña has been doing this a long time. he's really good at his job. joel miller? not so much. he started doing this to get some extra cash to support his daughters. what happens when they're supposed to do a scene together? aka, the au where javier and joel are gay porn stars~
series masterlist | shoutout to this spanish dirty talk reference
for notifications, follow @oakslibrary ♥
“Fuck.”
Javier hadn’t had to prepare in a while. At least a few months. And the fact that he was doing this for Joel, of all men? He was harder than a fucking rock and he hadn’t even gotten the plug all the way in yet. Granted, he’d purposely chosen a smaller plug so he could still feel the stretch when Joel pushed that thick–
“Mierda,” he groaned, looking over his shoulder to see if he could get a better angle. The plug he chose was small, black, and a little thinner than he would normally go for. It’s been a while, so no matter what, there was a stretch but the lube certainly helped. When his hole finally sucked it in lewdly, he moaned, arching his back like a cat presenting himself to a mate. He grinned to himself and rested his head on his folded arms, ass in the open air of his apartment.
He wished that his first major scene with Joel wasn’t a scene. He wanted to see if Joel was any different when the cameras weren’t on and he could just be himself. Every time he’s ever talked to Joel, he’d been quiet, with a heavy brow. Javier had been around the block once or twice and he could tell when someone didn’t like him. He’s not sure what he did to get on Joel’s bad side, but he hoped that tension added to the scene instead of making things awkward. And part of him liked the rift. It made Joel way more attractive to him, because Joel was probably the closest the site had to a bear, but not as big. Javier had always wanted to be fucked by one–
Bzz. Bzz.
Cracking open an eye, Javier looked as his phone lit up next to him. He sighed and started rolling his hips side to side, slowly getting used to the feeling of being filled up again.
R u ready ?
“Who still texts like this, Jesus Christ,” he grumbled to himself. A slow trickle of sweat fell down the length of his back as he started typing a response.
Be there shortly, boss.
Javier rolled his eyes to himself. Max was always on his ass about being on time, but it never bothered him. They couldn’t start the shoot without him anyway. His cock throbbed between his legs, making him curl his fingers around his shaft.
One quick wank couldn’t hurt right?
Joel was panicking, to put it mildly. He showed up to the shoot way too fucking early and now he was rocking a semi in the hallway outside the room they’d be using. They, meaning him and Javier, because of course he hadn’t fully processed that that was still happening. He couldn’t get the image of Javier’s mouth around his cock, that mustache framing it so perfectly. Or his hole being stretched by Joel’s cock, or even–
“Hey, big guy.”
The words sounded like they were coming from down the hall and directly in his ear simultaneously. He slowly looked up to find Javier smirking down at him. Joel swallowed around a lump in his throat and cleared his throat awkwardly. His cheeks felt like they were on fire. Javier looked really fucking good – when didn’t he – with a healthy glow and slightly tousled hair. Had he freshly cleaned up his mustache this morning?
“Joel?” Javier chuckled, a soft smile coloring his features.
Joel cleared his throat again and stood awkwardly. “S-sorry, uh, hey,” he mumbled, looking down at his boots before keeping his eyes off of Javier’s, as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Where ya been?”
It was meant to be casual conversation, he swears, but he’d lowered his voice and it came out all gruff and accusatory and now he wants to hide in the broom closet. He knows this because the easy, relaxed look on Javier’s changed to one of confusion.
“Uh, preparing. Sorry, I know I was a little later than usual,” Javier exhaled. Guess he was right; Joel wasn’t the biggest fan of his. That’s fine, he was a professional and he could get his job done and go home. “See you in there, hombre.”
Joel blinked a couple times, looking at the empty area of the hallway where Javier was just standing. “W-wait,” he grunted, looking toward the room. Javier was digging into the pocket of the robe he was wearing and lighting up a cigarette, blowing the smoke away from the face of the assistant he was talking to.
“Fuckin’ idiot,” Joel grumbled to himself and stepped inside.
Javier wasn’t opposed to an audience per se, but he wasn’t expecting one today either. “What are you cabrones doing here?” He smirked, looking at the faces of his coworkers. Not all of them were here, but Dieter, Shane, Dave, Marcus, Din, Steve, Cobb, and Jack were. Everyone was in various positions of comfort, some sitting and some standing or leaning. Except Dieter, who was sitting on Din’s lap comfortably, resting his head on the bulkier man’s shoulder.
“Wanted to see the show, of course,” Dieter grinned, winking at him. Joel stepped onto the set and saw all the men. He gave Dieter a look, and Dieter responded with a softer smile as if to say, You got this.
Javier rolled his eyes and smiled. “Alright, whatever, you perverts.”
“Alright, people, let’s get this show on the road! We’ve got a longer one ahead of us and I’ve got a date tonight.”
Everyone froze and looked at Max like he grew a third eye.
Max frowned. “It’s not that rare– Y’know what, fuck you guys. Joel, Javi, get into position,” he grumbled, sitting in his director’s seat.
Javier looked at Joel and snorted, untying his robe. He threw it to their audience like they were a bunch of fans, and laughed when Marcus caught it. Javier winked at him, making the slightly younger man’s cheeks flush.
Joel was doing his damndest not to bust a fucking nut right now because obviously Javier was naked. That was his fucking job. That was his fucking job, too.
“Joel,” Dieter whispered. Joel looked at him, a slightly panicked look on his face. Dieter motioned for Joel to come over to him, so the older man did. “What’s goin’ on, huh?” Dieter asked quietly. Joel looked at Din wearily, who just smiled politely. “Oh, he’s not gonna say anything,” Dieter smiled, leaning over to give Din a quick kiss.
“‘M just,” Joel sighed. “Think he thinks I don’ like him.”
“Why would he think that?” Dieter pouted. When Joel didn’t answer right away, Dieter furrowed his brows at him. “Did you do that grumbly thing you always do?”
Joel mumbled under his breath and looked down at his boots.
“Miller! Get in frame,” Max barked.
Joel sighed and ruffled Dieter’s hair a little. “Showtime.”
Javier felt like his throat was on fire, tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he was having a hard time breathing. Joel’s cock felt so thick and hard inside his mouth and he was more turned on than he’d been in a long fucking time.
“Yeah, shut ya up real good, huh?”
Javier moaned weakly, big brown eyes glassy as they looked up at Joel’s hard face. He choked every time the head of Joel’s cock hit the back of his throat but he couldn’t give a damn. This was probably the messiest head he’d ever given someone, slobber pouring out the sides of his mouth and down Joel’s shaft.
Joel’s lines had instructed him to tell Javier to keep his hands to himself, so of course he obeyed. He dug the blunt nails of his fingers into his bare thighs so hard he was afraid that he’d break skin.
“Ain’t such a brat now that y’got a cock in your mouth, huh?” Joel sneered, tugging on Javier’s thick locks. Joel’s eyes were glued to Javier’s plump, swollen lips wrapped so tightly around his cock, that perfectly trimmed mustache framing them so beautifully. A full body shiver zipped down his spine when he saw the glossed over look in Javier’s eyes and tear tracks staining his cheeks. He shut his eyes in bliss and exhaled heavily as his hips moved of their own accord, his heavy balls slapping Javier’s chin lewdly.
Javier let out a low noise, his brows furrowing slightly. Joel looked down, worried he’d pushed too far, but saw that Javier was looking up at him with this fucking look in his eye. Even if Joel was technically in charge, at least in the script, he knew Javier had him hook, line, and sinker right now. And he thinks Javier knows that, too.
Joel’s hips bucked at the twinkle in Javier’s eye, making Javier choke loudly. Slowly, Joel removed his cock from Javier’s swollen mouth. Loud, wet coughs left Javier’s lips, but he looked at Joel with a smirk on his face.
“Thought you were gonna fuck me, old man,” Javier rasped, sweat dripping down his neck.
“But you’d like that, wouldn’ya?” Joel grumbled. His cock throbbed heavily between thick, muscled thighs and Javier couldn’t take his eyes off it. The twitching made his own cock weep at the sight. “S’what I thought,” Joel hummed, harshly gripping Javier’s hair again. He curled thick fingers around the base of his cock and lewdly slapped the head against Javier’s tear-stricken face.
Javier’s entire body shivered at the demeaning act and he bit his lip, looking at the hard lines in Joel’s face, and at the gray streaks in Joel’s hair. He was easily one of the most menacingly beautiful men he’d ever seen. He kissed and licked and sucked down the shaft of Joel’s cock until he sucked one of his heavy balls into his mouth. He moaned happily around the sensitive skin and looked back up at Joel through his lashes.
“Fuck me,” Joel groaned, breaking character slightly. He couldn’t fucking help it. Not when Javier was looking at him like that.
Javier made an approving sound and lewdly popped the ball out of his mouth, kissing up Joel’s soft, hairy stomach. “That’s my line,” he improvised with a grin, and sucked a dark mark into Joel’s hip.
Joel almost smiled, but at the last moment, remembered they were in fact not alone and had a script to follow. He quickly hardened his eyes and gripped Javier’s arms and manhandled him until Javier was laying over the arm of the couch, cock trapped between his body and the scratchy fabric.
“That what y’want, huh?” Joel grunted, gripping Javier’s ass in a bear paw. “Want me t’fuck this little ass until ya can’t walk no more?”
Javier moaned and arched his back, pushing his ass further into Joel’s hand and tried to grind against his cock. He nodded as much as he could with Joel pulling on his hair like he was, throat bared and panting hard. Joel pressed on Javier’s sweaty back to keep him down, before using both hands to slowly spread his cheeks. He groaned at the puckered little hole, carefully covered in lube from his earlier preparation. Pressing there with the pad of his thumb, he smirked when Javier moaned weakly below him.
“P-please, Joel,” Javier breathed heavily. Javi didn’t even recognize the sound of his own voice. He’d been built up too much and poked and prodded enough that he just needed something inside him already. “Please.”
“Hmm,” Joel hummed, pretending like he was thinking about it. He removed his hands from Javier to finally remove the t-shirt and jeans he was wearing. He could’ve sworn he heard someone from their little audience groan as his naked body was revealed, but he chose to ignore it, far too focused on the sight in front of him. “Don’t think so, sweetheart,” he grinned wickedly, his tone fake-sweet, and collected saliva in the back of his throat. He got down to his knees, thankful that the pillow there would be out of frame in the finished product. He spit directly onto Javi’s hole and gripped the small, plump cheeks in both hands.
Javier gasped weakly, legs trembling under Joel’s ministrations. Joel was going to fucking kill him.
“Not yet, at least,” Joel mumbled, biting one of Javier’s cheeks before licking a thick stripe up from Javier’s taint to the top of his hole. A breathless huff left Javier’s lungs and his eyes rolled back at the feeling. “Y’mouth makes such pretty noises when ya ain’t runnin’ it,” was all the warning Javier had before Joel’s tongue pierced his hole and started fucking him in earnest.
Joel’s tongue was thick and wet and messy and he sucked loudly and slurped at a volume that should’ve been uncomfortable, but all Javier could do was moan and whimper, completely at Joel’s mercy. His eyebrows were downturned and his lips were parted in an obscene O, arms shaking as he held himself up on the couch. “Mm, fuck, J-Joel, I’m gonna fucking come, I’m–!” He was babbling and trembling and covered in a thin layer of sweat. He barely heard anything over the roaring in his ears.
“No, you’re not,” Joel grumbled between the lewd feast he was enjoying, landing a harsh smack! against one of Javier’s cheeks. “Don’t come until I say ya do.”
Javier groaned and bit his lip, his trapped cock weeping and throbbing between his legs. “Mierda,” he panted, hanging his head low between his shoulders. He tried grinding against the scratchy fabric of the couch for some kind of friction, but to no avail.
Joel grunted into Javier’s ass, convinced that he could stay here for hours if he was allowed. When he pulled his face away, his eyes latched onto the fluttering little hole in front of him and hummed in satisfaction. As he stood, his knees whined and creaked in protest and hopefully, if Max were nice to him for once, he’d edit the sounds out.
Broad hands traveled up Javier’s heated skin, taking him all in as he panted heavily underneath the older man. He knew today would be good but nothing could’ve prepared him for this. Maybe he should keep his distance from Joel more often, if this was the end result.
Joel was ecstatic on the inside, the memories of their first scene together coming back to him. He’d almost forgotten just how pliant and cat-like Javier could get if pushed enough. The sounds he made were like music to Joel’s ears, and he wished he could keep them in a bottle reserved just for himself.
He gripped Javier’s sides and manhandled him again until Javier was on his knees on one of the cushions and facing the back of the couch, hands planted on the back. Joel spread Javier’s cheeks again and hummed at the way the younger man clenched on instinct. He left Javier in that position for a second while he went over to an assistant off camera and grabbed some lube, making quick work of getting his cock thoroughly coated. He held Javier’s side, right where his ribs were, with one hand and gripped his cock with the other, grinding his shaft between Javier’s cheeks.
Javier cried out loud, electricity shooting through his body and settling as heat at the base of his spine.
Joel grinned, tapping the head of his cock against Javier’s hole before slowly, agonizingly so, pushed the thick head inside him. The air left Javier’s lungs as he froze, the pressure and the weight of being so thoroughly stretched overwhelming him. He grunted as Joel’s hips sat flush against his ass, breathing heavily as his arms trembled against the back of the couch. Joel stroked Javier’s flanks, letting him adjust for only a moment before he pulled out until just the head was left inside and slammed back inside.
“Fuck! Oh, fuck...” Javier moaned, his back arching.
“Aww, you’re alright,” Joel smirked. He hovered over Javier’s body, nearly covering him entirely with how much bulk there was. He curled an arm over Javier’s right shoulder and gripped onto the younger man’s left pec to press Javier’s back into his chest. He kissed along Javier’s shoulder and up his neck until he nibbled on Javi’s earlobe, moaning lowly as the younger man clenched around his shaft. “Y’gonna be good? Gonna let me fuck ya?”
“Sí, coño– Please, Joel,” Javier whined, resting his head on Joel’s shoulder and panting into the open air. “Por favor damelo.”
So Joel did. Before either of them knew it, Joel was fucking into Javier in earnest, his hips slapping against Javier’s ass obscenely. Javier was making the neediest little sounds, chanting Joel’s name like a prayer. Javier’s cock was hard as a rock and lewdly slapping against his skin with every one of Joel’s harsh thrusts.
Joel hid his face in Javier’s neck, panting hotly against the younger man’s already damp skin. With his right arm already wrapped around Javier’s torso, he gripped at Javier’s hip with his left hand, fingers digging into the (surprisingly) soft skin. Javier didn’t have a whole lot of fat on his body, but there was enough to ripple every time Joel jackhammered into him.
“F-fuck,” he gulped, lips parted and eyes half lidded. The pressure was building low in his abdomen. He knew he was close. “J-Joel, I’m–” His mouth was as dry as the desert. “I’m gonna come, I–”
Joel growled. Literally. He bit Javier’s cheek and growled. “Not yet. Jus’ a li’l longer,” he panted. He moved his hand from Javier’s pec to his throat, and carefully, expertly, squeezed the sides. They’d talked about doing this with Max and both had consented to it. They knew how to do it right.
Slowly, as Javier’s air supply was marginally cut off, a wide smile grew on his face. His eyes shut and he was smiling, biting his lip. He felt so fucking good. He wanted to do this again and this time wasn’t even over yet.
Joel must have noticed because he chuckled next to Javier’s ear, hips never letting up once. “Yeah? Feel good, sweetheart?”
Javier nodded as much as he could, nails digging into the shitty couch and pulling hard.
“Good boy,” Joel rumbled, slowing down his hips, but not letting up on how hard he was thrusting. Javier’s breath hitched with every one of Joel’s slow, measured thrusts. Joel’s hand slid from Javier’s hip down to curl around the younger man’s cock. It was like someone had poured ice cold water over Javier’s head, because the pressure was just what he’d needed.
“S-sí, sí, please, p-please,” Javier gasped, a tear falling from his eye.
“Fuck, look at ya,” Joel marveled, slowly stroking Javier’s cock teasingly. “Pretty as a god damn picture, sweetheart.”
Javier opened his eyes as wide as he could and tried looking at Joel for the first time since he was on his knees. When their eyes locked, Javier could have sworn that there was a different man behind Joel’s baby browns. Perhaps that was the real Joel, and not whoever was on camera. Not whoever had been avoiding him for the better part of two years. No, it couldn’t be. Could it?
“Want ya t’come for me,” Joel breathed hotly against his face. Javier shivered all over and nodded as much as he could with Joel’s bear paw of a hand around his throat. “Can ya do that, sweetheart? Come for me.”
Javier grunted as Joel picked up the pace of his hips again, but this time with his other hand tightly gripped around his shaft. Joel teased the head with his thumb just as he slammed directly into Javier’s prostate over and over.
Javier cried weakly, one more tear falling from his eye, and came hard. Thick, creamy spurts of cum painted the set’s couch as Javier trembled with his release.
Joel held him close, their sweaty bodies sticking together as Joel thrust one, two, three more times and followed Javier over the edge. He came with a low roar buried into Javier’s neck and cock twitching violently in Javier’s ass.
The set was dead silent save for Joel and Javier’s heavy breathing. Max kept the camera rolling, stunned into silence for once.
Javier smiled to himself, eyes shut in bliss, and head resting on Joel’s shoulder. He clenched around Joel’s sensitive cock in little pulses. “Fuck me,” he croaked, voice wrecked.
Joel grunted at the overstimulation and gently held Javier’s hips as he slowly pulled out. Javier leaned forward against the back of the couch and pushed his ass out so the camera (and their audience) could see the thick cum trailing down his thighs. Joel’s hands rubbed Javier’s skin appreciatively at the sight, his cock giving one last valiant twitch.
“C-cut,” Max’s voice cracked, making him clear his throat. “Cut.”
In the corner, Dieter trembled and moaned weakly into Din’s neck as he came, Din’s thick fingers curled around his cock.
Javier turned his head back to look at Joel with a satisfied smile on his face. “Mind gettin’ me a towel, guapo?”
Joel’s cheeks flushed, completely out of character again. “‘Course,” he mumbled, slowly standing to ask one of the assistants for a towel.
“Jesus Christ, boys,” Max chuckled.
Javier hummed in agreement.
“That was… That was somethin’ else, Jav,'' Steve said, impressed.
They were both outside, having their usual post-shoot cigarette together. No matter if they’d done a scene together or separately, they always kept up the tradition. This time, though, Javier thought he’d need several cigarettes. And a bath.
“Thank you,” Javier grinned, feeling lighter and more satisfied than he had in weeks. He could swear that the crick in his neck he’d woken up with was completely gone. Maybe there was some truth to Silva’s back pain disappearing after certain sessions.
“S’pose ya don’t gotta tell me, since I saw it myself, but was it like you thought it’d be?” Steve chuckled.
Javier snorted in response, taking a long drag off his cigarette. “And then some.”
Din smiled gently down at Dieter, giving him a slow, soft kiss. “I’ll see you tonight?”
Dieter smiled wide and nodded giddily, getting on his tiptoes to wrap his arms around Din’s neck one more time to give him another kiss. Joel could swear he saw hearts in his eyes.
Once Dieter came back over to Joel, he had a sheepish expression on his face. “Sorry, just had to say goodbye.”
Joel smiled softly. “Don’ worry yourself over it. Y’all are cute together.”
“You think?” Dieter beamed. “We had a scene the other day and we just haven’t stopped texting, and– Oh my god, this isn’t about me right now, I’m sorry.”
Joel chuckled and followed Dieter into the hallway so the cleaning crew could get to work. Dieter scratched at his beard as he looked at Joel: he seemed lighter, with a healthy glow radiating off of him.
“Well?”
Joel cleared his throat and dug his hands into his pockets, shrugging a little. “What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me, old man! That was fucking hot! I came so hard!”
Joel laughed, rolling his eyes at his friend. “Thank you.”
“So? You gonna ask him out? Or at least apologize for earlier?”
“Yeah, I will. And uh… Yeah, I plan to,” Joel sighed, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Don’t exactly know how I’m gonna do that, though…”
“Well, you better think of something quick!” Dieter whispered, pointing towards the end of the hall as Javier rounded the corner with Steve.
“Shit,” Joel whispered to himself. Dieter gave him a wink and thumbs up before heading in the opposite direction.
Javier had his regular clothes on again, and Joel couldn’t take his eyes off him, enamored with how well they fit him. He may have just been inside the man, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Hey, Joel,” Javier smiled awkwardly. He still wasn’t sure where they stood outside of working together, so he tried to keep it as casual as possible.
“H-hey, Javier,” Joel said hoarsely. He cleared his throat again.
“Y’know, you’re the only one that doesn’t call me Javi,” he said softly.
“Oh,” Joel furrowed his brow. “‘M sorry. My mama always taught me an’ my baby brother it was more polite that way.”
“You have a baby brother?” Javier smiled.
“Uh…” Joel gulped. “Y-yeah. Tommy.”
Javier hummed in response, an amused look crossing his features. He’s slowly figuring Joel out, he thinks. “He just as handsome as you? Bet he is,” he flirted.
The tips of Joel’s ears went pink and he laughed around an awkward cough. “Nah. Don’ cut his hair enough to be respectable.”
“Mm, more to pull then,” Javier smirked.
Joel made a face, not wanting to think of his brother like that. “L-listen, uh. ’m sorry ‘bout earlier. Wasn’t right talkin’ to ya like that,” he mumbled, unable to look Javier in the eye just yet.
Every bit of tension Javier felt left his body in an instant. “Thank you. I appreciate that, Joel.”
Joel nodded, a shy smile on his face. “‘S good,” he said awkwardly.
They were quiet for a few moments before Javier pulled out his pack of cigarettes, sticking one between his lips. “Well, you built up quite the appetite in me, so I’m gonna go–”
“Do you wanna go out sometime?” Joel blurted out. “N-now, maybe?”
Javier blinked a few times as a smile grew on his lips. “You’re asking me out? Gotta be honest, I thought you hated me, Joel.”
Joel snapped his eyes up at that, confusion all over his face. “What? No! I–” He sighed. “‘M no good at this,” he grumbled to himself. “’m sorry. Again.”
Javier chuckled and took the cigarette out of his mouth. “‘s alright. I’d love to.”
“Yeah?” Joel smiled, cheeks flushed and eyes wide.
“Yeah, guapo. You already got dessert, but dinner sounds great.”
#javier peña#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena fic#javier pena smut#narcos au#narcos fanfiction#narcos fic#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us fic#tlou au#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal cinematic universe#oaksfics
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I went to a bookshop that opened recently and specialises in fantasy/SF etc and it was so pretty!
Je suis allée dans une librairie qui a ouvert récemment spécialisée fantasy/SF etc et c'était super joli !
They also serve tea, homemade snacks, their menu is delicious and full of pop culture references. The sitting areas are themed (mostly Harry Potter but the door to the toilets is a Tardis), and they offer free WiFi access so you can settle on a couch and work or just chill. Since it's so new, there aren't a lot of people frequenting it yet so it's very cosy and quiet, which is a nice change from my usual bookshop. I'm not sure they sell books in English, I haven't asked, but it's still a really nice place to go.
Ils servent aussi du thé, des pâtisseries maison, leur menu est super bon et bourré de références pop culture. Les salles pour s'assoir étaient à thème (surtout Harry Potter mais la porte des toilettes était un Tardis), et ils proposent le WiFi gratuit donc on peut se poser pour travailler ou juste se détendre. Vu que la boutique est assez récente, y'a pas encore beaucoup de clients qui la fréquentent donc c'est cosy et calme, ça change de ma librairie habituelle. Je suis pas sûre qu'ils vendent des livres en anglais, j'ai pas demandé, mais ça reste un bon endroit où aller.
This was my favorite room btw, I loved the atmosphere, definitely gonna come back, with my dad even. I had taken him to my usual bookshop and he had liked the concept, sitting down, having a drink and just reading, but since he only reads in French this place will be much more interesting for him (he literally told me to take him there).
C'était ma pièce préférée, j'ai adoré l'asmosphère, c'est sûr que j'y retournerai, je mènerai même mon père. Je l'avais amené à ma librairie habituelle et il avait aimé le concept de s'assoir pour boire un coup et juste lire, mais vu qu'il lit qu'en français, cet endroit sera beaucoup plus intéressant pour lui (il m'a carrément dit de l'y emmener).
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why Dune is crap
Tolkein and this English lit scholar explain my pov quite well
"
Martin Turner · BA in English Literature and Language, University of Oxford (Graduated 1988)
Tolkien stated “I dislike DUNE with some intensity,” but he did not give a reason why.
However, you don’t need to look far—only as far as Tree and Leaf—to understand Tolkien’s views on story and artistry.
Tolkien was interested in stories that were good for their own sake. Even in dark moments, the story should be a delight to the reader. By Tolkien standards, Dune is quite gratuitous in its bloodthirstiness, violence and corruption. Herbert takes a positive delight (it would seem) in describing the debauchery of the Harkonnens.
On a similar level, Tolkien always wrote in a way which was suitable for children. He discusses this in Tree and Leaf. He did not see any benefit in filling out his stories with sex and gore.
Tolkien’s world is ultimately a world of grace and kindness. These, to Tolkien, were the marks of the true hero, of whom Gandalf and Aragorn were the contrasting pinnacles. These are qualities almost entirely absent from Dune, which is much more focussed on power and revenge. This is somewhat like the difference between Shakespeare and Webster. The Duchess of Malfi has a very similar milieu to Dune. Tolkien’s own heroes were Gawain and Beowulf, rather than Machiavelli.
Tolkien describes world-building as an imaginative journey. He discusses the difference between simply writing ‘the green sun’ and thoroughly imagining it. To him, the imagination was the main thing. Dune, by contrast, is ‘Lawrence of Arabia in space’. Herbert was reportedly[1][2] very taken by the film,[3]and transplants the milieu wholesale into a science-fiction setting.[4][5] To Tolkien, this was an unacceptable shortcut. Remember that he criticised his friend CS Lewis for borrowing and mixing in Narnia. Herbert’s method is far more heinous, from a Tolkien point of view.
Tolkien loved language. He plays with it endlessly, and there is an extraordinary sound to his prose if you read it aloud. Herbert has a superficial reference to multiple languages, such as Chakobsa, but it is quite evidently that of the non-linguist.
Tolkien didn’t like preachy writing. It wasn’t just allegory he was opposed to. Dune is full of little asides telling us about ideal societies, and what it means to be human. It would have grated Tolkien on most pages.
Tolkien did not like modernism. Dune is a child of modernism in a much clearer way than, say, Foundation or Islands in the Sky. Its philosophy is a blend of existentialism, proto-New-Ageism, nihilism and rationalist scepticism. All of these would have seemed barren to Tolkien, and Herbert lets them go unchallenged.
Tolkien is concerned with heroes. Dune is concerned with anti-heroes. Herbert is quite explicit about this: “Here lies a toppled god / his fall was not a small one / we did but build his pedestal / a narrow and a tall one” (Tleilaxu epitaph, Dune Messiah).
Above everything, Dune had been very publicly compared to and described as the science-fiction equivalent of The Lord of the Rings. Tolkien would have been aghast to see what people thought was an equivalent to his writing, which was opposite in almost every respect.
Ultimately, Dune is full of the things that Tolkien detested, and having the book described as the equivalent of his own book must have irked him deeply.
Footnotes
[1]
“Going Native” with Dune’s Paul Atreides
[2]
Dune, 50 years on: how a science fiction novel changed the world
[3]
Dune (1984) - IMDb
[4]
Interview with Frank Herbert and Beverly Herbert by Willis E. McNelly
[5]
Frank Herbert’s Dune and the Dune Series
"
Watching Dune is like watching a documentary of gratuitous violence rather than an actual story, even the director of Dune (2021) states this, Denis Villeneuve: "I tried to do a sci-fi movie like a documentary." [Nerds of Color]
Calling Dune punk-anything is like calling Godzilla a rom-com...
Dune's white savior complex is stinging and constant, and there is no defense, even as we see director Villeneuve attempt to defend on this point as:
"There is a storytelling trope called the White Savior where a Caucasian will go into a foreign land and act as a rescuer or messianic figure to the indigenous people there. And Herbert’s work has been criticized for falling into that trope. So how do you contemporize the story to avoid falling into the problematic areas that trope may potentially present?
That’s a very important question. And it’s why I thought Dune was, the way I was reading it, a critique of that [trope]. It’s not a celebration of a savior. It’s a condemnation and criticism of that idea of a savior. Of someone that will come and tell another operation how to be and what to believe… it’s a criticism. That’s the way I feel it’s relevant and can be seen contemporary. And that’s what I’ll say about that. Frankly it’s the opposite [of that trope]." -[Nerds of Color]
Is it though? It seemed to me like Paul Atreites frees the fremen and re-establishes his dynasty, this time as ruler of the universe. How is that anything except a huge shining perfect example of the white savior complex? Villeneuve and Herbert just kind of wave their hands and say "ehh it's the opposite" and walk off from the topic, and I'm just over here with an actual soul, left wondering, what in the goddamn fuck was that gaslighting?
Villeneuve and Herbert are like "Well it didn't end well for Paul, we fucked him up pretty bad in the end so therefore it's a critique of the white savior model"
and I'm just over here like,
you can't just kill the white savior and assume he's gone and you're rid of it, the Romans tried that and it didn't work out for them...LMAO fuck dune... sorry not sorry!! Long live liberty, democracy, education, justice, and Tolkien, not that glorification of fascist racist bullshit called Dune. /rant
#I'm in Tolkien's camp#100%#why Dune is not solarpunk#or punk anything#Frank Herbert is gross#soul cringe#don't watch Dune seeking enlightenment it's a dead end#watch / read dune expecting the white savior complex and you will be gratuitously rewarded#note I'm not saying Dune should be banned#I'm not saying it's immoral to read or watch it#I'm just saying Dune romanticizes fascism and capitalist exploitation#dassit#no big greater truth under all that sand
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The horrible beauty of death
Genre: Angst, horror, splatter
Characters: GN!MC + The brother, dateables and Luke.
Universe: Obey Me! x Corpse Party CH7
Warnings: physical and mental violence, intrusive thoughts, blood, deaths
A/N: likes and reblogs are appreciated <3
Word Count: 3201
Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
Asmo ran away, hurt by his brother's words. He could not believe what he had told him. He walked down the long corridors of the school, crying and not knowing where to go. He simply started running with no specific destination; anything to get away from Mammon, who had hurt him so much and so deeply.
He never expected that he, of all his brothers, could respond to him like that. Sure, they often quarreled, and he did not shy away from insulting him gratuitously, but they had never reached such levels.
At the mere thought of those words, Asmo resumed sobbing.
He found himself in front of a flight of stairs and decided to go upstairs. Once he reached the third and last floor of the building, he heard a noise coming from the room in front of him. The tag said 'Reference Room.'
The hallway on that floor was very small and there was nothing noteworthy except for a display case with strange and macabre drawings made by children ... where they were amusing themselves by hitting and maiming adults, probably teachers or school staff.
Asmo turned his nose up at that scene, then, he heard again the noise coming from inside that room, this time followed by a voice familiar to him.
"Asmo? Asmo, is that you?"
The demon blinked, recognizing MC's voice. The door to the room was closed.
He resumed crying, this time out of joy, ad tried to open the door, finding it locked.
"MC, the door is locked."
"I know, I'm stuck in here."
"Wait" Asmo looked around, looking for something so he could open the door, but to no avail. Then, on closer observation, he saw something under the glass case. What was a crowbar doing under there? Without much thought, he picked it up and walked to the door. 'Please make it work,' he whispered, using the crowbar to open the door.
After a few attempts, the door opened with a resounding 'Clang' followed by a rather sinister squeak.
Asmo opened the door, happy to be able to hug MC again, but there was no sign of them.
"MC...?" the avatar of lust whispered, but received no reply. Hesitantly he entered the room and the door closed noisily behind him.
It was dark and he could see nothing. That darkness was unhealthy and abnormal.
The demon took his DDD ad lit his flashlight, jolting at the sight of the three corpses piled in front of him.
"What the heck, I got a fright. Stupid corpses" Asmo looked around, confused. Where was MC? "MC, honey, where are you?"
No answer.
How was that possible? He had spoken to them just before. He moved the flashlight around the room, but no sign of MC.
"MC, this is not funny, come out."
Asmo turned to the door and tried to open it, failing. He forced it open earlier, but it was as if a malevolent force was holding it down.
"Asmo... Asmo... AHAHAHAHAH"
MC's voice was different, malevolent, and it echoed through the room.
The demon began to chatter his teeth from tension. "You don't scare me."
"What's the matter, Asmo? Don't you want to come and play?"
Asmo felt a strange pressure in his legs getting stronger and stronger, so much so that he pointed his flashlight to see what was going on. A tangle of hair was gripping his legs; he could not move.
The tangle extended to his arms, totally immobilizing him. His DDD slipped from his hands, ending up on the ground. The flashlight was still lit and was illuminating the grotesque scene of the demon being slowly overcome by the hair that clung around his body.
"Oh, take it easy. I know you like to play, you little bitch. You'll see that we'll have fun together"
The hair tangled around his neck, tightening slowly but steadily.
Asmo felt the air coming out of him second by second.
"You know, Mammon is right. You're just an obnoxious little bitch"
Asmo tried to wriggle out, but the grip was too strong and kept intensifying.
"Maam..."
"What did you say?"
"Mammon would never have said ... those things ... it was you>>
The spirit laughed hysterically, gripping Asmo tighter in the grip of the hair.
He tried to breathe, gasping for air. His vision was blurring and he no longer had the strength to struggle.
Slowly, Asmo had looked up at the sky, showing the sclera of his eyes and stopped struggling. 'Mammon, Levi ... I'm sorry,' he had whispered before passing away.
-
Mammon looked around, trying to figure out where Asmo might have gone. Levi, at his side, remained silent, worried about his brother. The elder headed toward the opposite hallway from where they had come, but Levi grabbed his wrist, stopping him. "Mammon, the floor collapsed there, I don't think...wait."
To his amazement, the floor was now as good as new and was walkable. Levi blinked, returning to silence and following his brother down the hallway.
They inspected all the classrooms on that floor, but there was no sign of Asmo. The science room remained locked.
Mammon was tense and felt the nerves in his body going haywire. He looked around, not knowing where to go, when he saw a strange white light moving near the flight of stairs leading to the third floor. He did not know whether to follow it or ignore it; it could be a trap.
The demon nodded to Levi. "What do you think?"
The brother was hesitant. "I don't... I don't know."
The light continued to swirl in the air near the stairs, and Mammon decided to follow it.
It flew toward the stairs of the third floor, stopping occasionally to wait for The two demons who were cautiously following it. Once they reached the floor, the light faded into nothingness.
Levi and Mammon cast a look at each other full of confusion, noting how bare and unfurnished that floor was, save for a display case with some rather macabre drawings done by what must have been children.
In front of them was the 'Reference room'. Mammon reached out a hand to open the door, but he had a bad feeling about it, as if something was telling him not to open it.
He ignored that hunch and opened the door, revealing the interior of the room, which was completely dark. The elder entered the room, while Levi remained outside standing guard.
Nothing seemed to be there, but he kept getting that horrible feeling.
He took a few steps forward when a drop of some strange liquid fell from above and hit his face. Mammon brought a hand to his face, noting to his horror that the liquid was blood. He raised his head and as he did so, lightning lit up the room and the demon let out an inhuman scream.
Levi rushed in and was bleached.
In front of him was his younger brother, Asmo, hanging on the wall, completely bound by hair that clung around his body. He looked like a porcelain doll hung by strings.
He had his gaze, now lifeless, lost in emptiness and a blank expression.
Mammon was trying hard to get him down from there, wounding his fingers with that hair clinging to his brother's body.
Levi was petrified by the scene, feeling tears streaming down his face. His brother was shouting Asmo's name and telling him that it would be all right and that he would get him down from there, as if his brother could hear him.
Mammon's hands were full of cuts and bloody, but he did not want to leave his brother hanging there.
Levi approached, trying to help his brother. He was also injuring his hands, but he wanted to get his brother down to lay him on the ground.
After several attempts, Mammon and Levi managed to break the hair that held Asmo hanging and laid him on the ground. He really looked like a lifeless doll.
Mammon took him in his arms and Levi crouched down next to him. The elder was holding his brother in his arms, as if he did not want to let him go, murmuring the word 'Sorry' over and over again. Levi closed Asmo's eyes, continuing to mourn his brother in silence.
"I am to blame... if I had not said those things to him, he would not have run away."
"Mammon..." Levi placed a hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes. "You didn't really mean to say those words to him."
"I should be in his place," the elder whispered, continuing to hold his brother in his arms, crying.
Levi looked away, feeling the despondency growing inside him.
For centuries they had lived together, and now Asmo was gone.
The demon stood up, extending a hand to Mammon. "...We have to get out of here."
He had blinked. "I am not leaving Asmo here alone."
"Mammon, Asmo is gone.... If we don't find the others we just risk-" Levi's words had died in his throat. "I don't want to lose another brother, please."
But the elder refused to let go of his brother, holding him tighter. Levi's heart was breaking, but they could not stay there and risk becoming the next victims of that cursed school.
"Mammon, Asmo is no longer here with us, you have to let him go now."
"Please, Levi, don't make me do this..."
His brother looked at him with tear-filled eyes, but the younger shook his head, slowly separating him from Asmo. He laid him on the floor, apologizing for not being able to do better for him, and pulled Mammon out of there with all the strength he had.
The avatar of greed struggled with all his might not to abandon his brother's body there, but Levi forcibly dragged him away, promising that they would go and retrieve him once the others were found.
-
You and Luke had continued to wander around the school alone and aimlessly. You made sure that the young angel never strayed from you and you always walked close to him.
That school was immense and the exit was blocked. What's more, you didn't know where everyone else had ended up.
Along your path you found more dead bodies and you did not like that at all.
All that horror was terrifying Luke, and you didn't know how to keep him calm.
You found him repeatedly chattering his teeth in fear and even though you had taken him by the hand you had not solved much.
"Take heart, Luke. I'm sure we'll find someone else soon."
He nodded, though still in shock. The rain had not stopped falling for a moment. It seemed as if that was an endless loop and you were caught in it.
Surely, Solomon and Satan would know how to answer your questions.
You stopped in front of a red door, hearing inside the room an electrostatic sound, like that of a television.
Unfortunately, the door refused to open.
Another dead end.
Wearily, you took a seat and Luke crouched beside you, sighing.
"MC, I'm tired..."
"So am I, Luke. But we have to find the others."
The young angel looked around, noticing something on the ground. He tapped you on the shoulder, and you turned toward the direction he was pointing.
On the floor was a rag doll, headless, abandoned to its sad fate. It was old and worn out, and next to it was another skeleton.
This time Luke neither jerked nor chattered his teeth. It was as if he was getting horribly used to the presence of those poor souls around you.
Cautiously you stood up, reaching for the doll and bent down to pick it up.
As you took it in your hand, it begann to speak, making you jerk in surprise.
"My head, give me my head back" It was a robotic voice, but it still made your skin crawl.
You looked around, and almost screamed when you found Luke standing in front of you. He probably followed you to get a closer look at the doll. The angel stiffened at your reaction, and you apologized awkwardly. The doll kept repeating that phrase in a loop, then fallen silent once you put it in your pocket.
"Great. Now we have to find the head of a talking rag doll."
You hated dolls. You used to say it all the time that those little cursed ones guarded the spirits of the dead, and finding a decapitated and moreover talking one was not helping you overcome your hatred of them.
The pile of bones next to the doll did not present any useful details about who the body might belong to, nor had it left a message, so you preferred to leave those remains alone and turned around.
Luke followed you in silence and you took his hand, hearing him grumble. Once again he didn't want to be treated like a child, but you didn't want to risk losing sight of him or him getting hurt in any way.
You were thinking of trying to hole up inside one of those classrooms, waiting for maybe the others to find you, but you were afraid that this would solve nothing and you would only risk becoming easy prey to whatever danger was prowling around the school.
Your feet ached and you were beginning to feel thirsty. The clock on the DDD showed that it was lunchtime. You watched the screen, stymied; had it already been so many hours since you had ended up at that strange school? You wondered if Beel had eaten anything. Surely he was starving. The rumbling of Luke's stomach made you turn to him, and he blushed.
"Are you hungry?"
The little boy nodded, bringing a hand to his stomach. "A little bit."
You sighed. You had nothing to eat nor did you think you would find anything in that horrible place. The doll's muffled voice interrupted your conversation, returning to chant 'My head, give me my head back.' It sounded like a broken record.
Reluctantly, you kept walking, looking everywhere for anything that might resemble that stupid, creepy doll's head. You would have preferred to throw it out the window... too bad none wanted to open.
A strange metallic noise made you stop suddenly, and Luke froze, looking at you and whispering. "MC, what is that noise...?"
You waved him off and pointed to one of the classrooms to your right, signaling for him to go inside. An inhuman cry echoed through the hallway, and both you and Luke rushed into the classroom in complete silence. To be on the safe side, you threw the doll away and left it in the hallway. The clanking noise got louder, almost dragging, and a heavy breathing could be heard and get closer and closer.
Almost as if on purpose, the damn doll started talking again and a grunt followed by an inhuman cry was heard out in the hallway. You could see the silhouette of a very tall man walking down the hallway who bent down to observe the doll and then walked back.
"In the classroom," the doll muttered, and he stopped to look at it again, then stared at the classroom where you were hiding with Luke. You held your breath. That doll just gave you confirmation that all dolls are possessed and little bastards. The man was almost about to enter the room when the doll started talking again. "My head, that's where my head is."
The man stopped, grunting and turning his back on the room, going back on his way. You breathed a sigh of relief and Luke had too. Fortunately for you, the doll only wanted his head back.
You turned on the DDD flashlight, inspecting the classroom. Indeed, the doll's head was under one of the desks. Luke sneaked over to the head, picking it up and putting it in his pocket. You, on the other hand, went to retrieve its body left in the hallway. Once you placed the two pieces of the doll next to each other, it resumed speaking. "To appease their spirits, return what was taken from them."
Both you and Luke cast each other a look full of confusion, not understanding what the doll was trying to say. Return what to whom? You and Luke exited the classroom slowly, trying not to draw that big guy's attention to you.
Both you and Luke ran to the stairs to the floor above, when suddenly you felt something grab your legs, pinning you down. Luke turned to look at you, unable to see what was holding you down. Suddenly you felt yourself missing, but your body had remained standing, moving on its own. You were as if in a kind of trance. Your gaze was blank and Luke was looking at you with concern.
"MC, is everything all right...?"
You laughed, starting to hum a song. The little boy blinked, backing away. Most likely you were possessed by some spirit. The more he stepped back, the more you walked toward him, disturbing him. Luke looked around, trying to find an escape route, but you cornered him, continuing to hum.
"Circle you, circle you, you can't run so stay awhile.
Circle you, circle you, they can't hear your screams for miles.
Let's play 'til the morning light, play until they come to get us.
Circle you, circle you, we'll have fun tonight."
"MC, pull yourself together, you have to fight it" But the little boy's voice could not reach you. Luke had cowered in on himself, closing his eyes, waiting for you to reach him, but as you were about to grab him by the shoulder, something had hit you in the head and a sound of shattering glass made Luke look up, get back on his feet and run away. You turned around, shaking your head and coming to your senses. You were about to go after Luke, when the voice of someone familiar made you turn around.
"MC" Solomon and Simeon were calling out to you. You would have loved to run to them, but you could not leave Luke alone. You waved for them to follow you and disappeared down the stairs.
#obey me one master to rule them all#obey me shall we date#obey me#obey me post#obey me mc#obey me headcanons#obey me x gender neutral reader#obey me asmodeus#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me luke#obey me solomon#obey me simeon#obey me fiction#obey me fic
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so i have now watched all of s1 of the new interview with the vampire tv show and i have Thoughts XD
((i don’t have amc+, but people i petsit for do, so i watched the first half of the season a few weeks ago and then caught up on the rest this week)).
first, some quick and largely nonspoilery stuff:
this is my absolute favorite incarnation of louis. he’s...admittedly not my favorite. i don’t dislike him, he just...doesn’t interest me very much. ((especially in the film; idk what brad pitt was doing but he certainly wasn’t making louis Interesting. jim stanek in the musical did his level best but even there.)) ETA: they do seem to have written out his pyromaniac tendencies, apart from that one time he lit a fire to make a Point in daniel’s direction, which is kind of a shame. but otherwise, definitely my favorite louis, as interesting as he can be made for me.
i really love everything they did with grace and the rest of louis’ human family. which quite possibly contributes to point 1? also, reverting to the backstory established in the book re: paul, where every other adaptation has gone in a different direction.
i knew going in that i was probably going to love everything they’re doing with daniel and i was not at all disappointed. all of the framestory bits, everything going on there, was Amazing.
i do have somewhat mixed feelings about aging claudia up to 14. i know it was done for at least partially for practical reasons, since they needed to cast an adult actress and 14 was as young as they could credibly go, and just barely young enough to still hit the same emotional/storyline notes, but...idk. (especially after watching some of the special insight/commentary things, with the emphasis on being Perpetually Going Through Puberty, it felt a little weird) bailey bass was incredible and i think they did really interesting things (for the most part), but that’s one of the choices i have mixed feelings about. (in the stage version and in the film, she’s 10/11; i think the actress on broadway was 15 or 16? but stage is different from tv is different from film. obviously there’s no adaptation that’s going to keep her 5/6, but.)
(almost) all the little bits and pieces of Lore scattered throughout. i have zero interest in the mayfairs, but them getting namedropped right in the beginning was pretty great. (i’ve read merrick and blackwood farm, and i think...lasher? one of the actual mayfair trilogy books; that was enough to tell me that it’s not for me) and, of course, marius, nicki and gabrielle, those who must be kept...just excellent.
some more detailed (and spoilery) stuff behind the cut. mostly relating to episodes 5-7, with the accompanying Warnings for domestic and sexual violence. as well as some speculation/thoughts on where things could go from here.
so, first, the obvious thing that Everyone Has Opinions About--the stuff at the end of s5, where lestat beats the crap out of louis.
this is...another thing i have kind of mixed feelings about.
i 100% understand what they were trying to do, and they did it well. it didn’t feel out of place or gratuitous; it was extreme but lestat is a pretty extreme dude. and the awkward tension of the pseudo-reconciliation/louis taking lestat back in episode 6 played out really well. and while i don’t 100% like the implication that there was never any affection or love between claudia and lestat, that scene on the train after everything had fallen apart was just. Incredible.
(also, the way lestat Clearly knew the attack was coming when he asked louis for that last dance, even before the antoinette reveal)
however.
my concern here is...there’s a limit, you know? a point at which, when we get lestat’s point of view (which we will; they already made it explicit that he didn’t permadie then and also the references to future plot threads/characters and the fact that amc+ has the Entire Series to make)...anyway, there’s a point at which him saying “that’s not actually what happened, here’s my version” stops being credible. at least in the ways it’s supposed to play out in terms of lestat being someone we like, someone whose love story we want to end well.
and i think that the show came right the fuck up to that limit, if not actually crossing over. we’ll see how they handle it in future seasons, but...yeah.
basically, taking s1 on its own, everything about that scene and the buildup to it and the aftermath of it works really, really well. but in the context of the larger story they’re trying to get into and tell...i’m not so sure it does.
second, the scene where bruce/killer sexually assaulted claudia. i know it was offscreen/the pages were ripped out of the diary/etc. but that felt gratuitous. i appreciated the continuity nod/reference, i appreciated the introduction of a relatively minor vampire who most people have forgotten, but...idk, it felt like Rape As Drama in all the Problematic ways to me.
third, rashid.
so, uh, a few days ago, before i actually watched these episodes, i reblogged a gorgeous photoset of the scene where louis cuts lestat’s throat. i added the following tags (among others):
#yeah i kind of knew but this being ep. 7 of 8 really does mean we're not getting my precious murder kitten armand until next season #ah well
SO THAT’S WHAT I GET FOR READING OUT OF CONTEXT SPOILERS AND MISSING THE BIG ONE XD
((also i was wrong about the number of episodes but that’s less important))
the funny thing is--after watching the first couple episodes, i actually considered the idea? i mean, lestat is the only character introduced so far who matches his book description (i think even daniel was described as a blond in the books but it’s been a while), and rashid has some of that--armand tends to have a fairly quiet affect until he goes apeshit, and sometimes even then, and rashid had the right Vibe. plus, he’s pretty much immediately associated with marius via the painting, also the Knowledge of his relationship with daniel in the books...So.
but i rejected that idea for reasons i cannot remember XD possibly because ‘why would armand play the rashid role’ or something along those lines.
all that aside, i am Thrilled. armand is and pretty much always has been my favorite. i think the only exception is the second movie which Does Not Exist anyway, but that’s mostly because he’s Barely Present and you wouldn’t know he’s even in it if you didn’t read the cast list, iirc. even in the stage musical, which is not my favorite version of him (because he gets a pretty significant villain upgrade/villain ball type stuff in ways that don’t entirely jive with everything else he is), he has probably my favorite song in the entire show. i rewound and rewatched the bit where he’s just quietly taking his gloves off for the Reveal and just. yesssss.
it also puts a pretty hilarious spin on all the prior scenes, since we know louis can carry on a telepathic and physical conversation at once. especially the one where louis is feeding on armand (which...like...yes, in this version vampires can have and enjoy sex unlike in the books so feeding off each other isn’t Quite as much of a metaphor as it is in the books but...like...insert ‘right in front of my salad’ joke here)
i am a little curious about what shifting all of that in the past sequence to the 1940s will do, but not necessarily in a bad way. we already know they get to paris probably after it’s liberated (i didn’t catch the date in claudia’s journal but i know it was 1945). i also know that the grand guignol (which the theatre des vampires is at least partially based on) was starting to fade at that point (after the horrors of the two world wars, that kind of macabre theatre du bizarre wasn’t really a Thing anymore, to much of it had happened in reality).
i also--having louis introduce armand as the ‘love of his life’ was certainly. a Choice. it makes me wonder exactly what went down in this version with claudia’s destruction; what kind of lies armand is telling louis (or louis, who in this version has a Truly Profound capacity for self-deception, has told himself). that’s something i’m reserving judgment on but cautiously kind of...mixed to negative feelings about it. louis and armand did spend a few decades together in book canon, but the way louis talks about him here is a bit More than that and i’m not 100% sure it works.
also noticed that his timeline was shifted--not by much, relatively speaking, but about 30-50 years. ((which i noticed earlier, since tintoretto was a bit later than marius is supposed to be in the books; marius in his renaissance painter guise is a contemporary of boticelli there, who died a few years before tintoretto was born)). which doesn’t really make a huge different, it’s just interesting. especially since lestat’s timeline doesn’t seem to have shifted much, if at all. except possibly expanding the time he spent in paris before magnus abducted him. louis also refers to him as being in his 20s, so presumably he was slightly older when he was turned (which would make sense given the way claudia was aged up--yes, there’s a World of difference between 14 and 17, and armand in the books can dress up or dress down to appear anywhere between his actual age and mid-twenties but still) that part matters even less, but it is something i noticed.
anyway, my precious murder kitten armand making a semi-surprise appearance in the frame story filled me with glee, even if i have some Questions. i am looking forward to seeing more of him next season.
a few other miscellaneous thoughts:
i am curious about what they’re going to do with gabrielle, if/when they get to her. she’s been referenced, very briefly, but while lestat seems to have told claudia and louis about nicki, gabrielle hasn’t been mentioned since that family dinner in the first episode. i love gabrielle, and while i understand the reasoning behind it (it’s like the Only major story change from the movie that doesn’t exist that makes any sense to me), i really hope they don’t cut her out.
also that movie theatre scene about the uniforms was...another thing that felt weird and slightly gratuitous? not on the level of the stuff with killer, but.
and curious about how they’ll handle those who must be kept. given some of the origin changes...iirc, akasha was originally babylonian, not egyptian, and came to egypt to marry enkil? i wonder if they’ll include that or cut it.
anyway, overall, i am Pleased with how this is going and looking forward to season 2 a lot. we’ll get to paris, and armand in the past, and claudia’s destruction, lestat’s (first) resurrection...while i have some quibbles and some Questions, mostly i am just Excite for what comes next.
(still probably won’t watch the mayfair witches, though i might check out other tie-ins if they do rameses or violin or servant of the bones or any of the others. oncle julien why.)
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Weekend Top Ten #557
Top Ten Tarantino Movies
In 1993 I started reading Empire magazine. I’d probably read it a little bit before then; my mum would pick it up occasionally and I’d have flicked through it (sidebar: several years ago I bought issue 1 of Empire off eBay and thought it seemed familiar; I mentioned this to my mum, and she said yes, in all likelihood she’d bought it in 1989 but hadn’t held onto it. I dread to think how warped my psyche would be if I’d been regularly reading it since the age of seven…). Anyway, in 1993 they put out an issue with Jurassic Park on the cover, and that was it; I was hooked. I’ve had every issue since and have subscribed for nearly twenty years now.
One of the things that happened when I started reading a film magazine every month – one that was, at its core, aimed at adults – was that I was exposed to the wider world of the film industry. The magazine, naturally, took for granted that its audience was familiar with certain concepts and characters from the world of film. Given the relatively irreverent nature of Empire, there was always a sense of fun and playfulness as they threw in references to Burt Reynolds, Satyajit Ray, and Richard E. Grant. It made me want to seek out new films and new experiences, and of course this all took place in my early adolescence, when I was increasingly fascinated by all kinds of things out there in the wider world.
One of the very first things I remember was discussion about the banning of Reservoir Dogs, and how best to source a bootleg VHS of the film. This was, most likely, my introduction to the works of Quentin Tarantino, and let me tell you, nothing will make a young boy more interested in a film than telling him that he’s not just allowed to watch it, but that it would be illegal to do so.
The years went on and the story of this nerd who worked in a video store and wrote fascinating and hilarious and violent scripts full of movie references, and who was now a lauded and respected filmmaker, absolutely lit a fire in me. Tarantino, Kevin Smith, Danny Boyle, even Bryan Singer (cough); these were young guys, who looked like I wanted to look and made filthy, funny movies with a cocky swagger to them. I wanted to be them, especially the likes of Quentin and Kevin who wrote their own movies. I had to write about my hero for a school project and I picked Tarantino, despite only having seen – at most – one film at that point, and being far too young for it anyway. He was probably the only filmmaker who ever rivelled Spielberg as being my number-one favourite, my go-to influence.
The years went by and the gaps between his films became longer. A certain outlandish eccentricity drifted into his direction; the scripts became, arguably, a little less quotable, a bit flabbier. After the blistering intensity of the stylised but mostly-grounded opening trilogy, his films became, quite often, wacky exercises in referencing and imagery and flights of fancy. Sometimes this works better than others. Mostly, though, the violence and grit that I loved so much in the nineties seemed excessive, gratuitous, and juvenile by the 2010s. We – the audience – became more attuned to what it took to put that violence on screen, how the actors were treated scene to scene, and exactly what Tarantino’s relationship with Harvey Weinstein was. It soured the experience a little bit, which wouldn’t have been so bad, but there were a couple of films there that, frankly, disappointed. Far from the do-no-wrong wunderkind, he’s as fallible as the rest, and as prone to egotistical grandstanding as many a director before him.
I can’t talk about Tarantino too objectively because – like Spielberg, or like The Transformers, or really like Empire magazine in general – he’s far too tied into my own psyche and development. And he made three films there in a five-year period that are just outstanding achievements, absolute masterpieces, showing a growing maturity and sense of screenwriting craft that – I’d argue – has been scant in the two decades since. He’s still one of my favourite filmmakers, one I’ll always want to see, one who always excites me; but now his films, like, say, Wes Anderson’s – are their own indefatigable thing. I think you’re either into him or you’re not, and whilst I still think he lets his writing run on a bit, and whilst I think his statements about violence – and his use of violence, for that matter – are nowhere near as profound as he thinks they are, especially given his own complicated history of treating female cast members on set, I think it’s fair to say that Quentin Tarantino will be remembered very fondly.
And, look. His films may be goofier and weirder, but that style was always there really, we just fooled ourselves into thinking he’d expand his flavours instead of doubling down. And once you sign up to the fact that all of his films take place in a parallel universe – where Django freed the slaves and Jewish soldiers killed Hitler – it all makes a lot more sense, and we can enjoy them as what they always were: alt-universe sci-fi movies. Sort of a pity he never did make his version of Star Trek, really.
Pulp Fiction (1994): building on the promise of Dogs, this sophomore film is a multi-layered, non-linear affair, juggling multiple characters across disparate yet interconnected storylines over a number of days. The witty intricacies of Tarantino’s dialogue are best displayed, from French fast food to Vietnamese prisons; it’s his most-quotable film. There are tremendous performances, with regular contributor Sam Jackson making his first appearance. But it’s the strength of confidence, of filmmaking rigour, of a cinematic force coming to full fruition, that lingers long after the stunning soundtrack has faded from our ears.
Reservoir Dogs (1992): one hell of a debut. A blistering, bloody affair, with a great ensemble of mostly non-stars and a taught, tight screenplay based mostly around one location. Drew attention – outside of its violence, which to be fair isn’t as strong as was made out; it’s just got a generally nasty atmosphere – because of its great script, of course, but to marshal such a cast in such limited circumstances – to make five guys in one warehouse seem consistently cinematic – showcased his directorial prowess too.
Jackie Brown (1997): an incredibly rare adaptation from Sir Quent, he nevertheless takes Elmore Leonard’s Rum Punch and makes it entirely his own, a Blacksploitation homage that’s neither gratuitous or foolish, centred on a quartet of aging characters despite Tarantino’s youth at the time. A mature, sensible film that’s also tremendous fun, despite an air of threat and melancholy, it promised a variety of tone from Tarantino that arguably never materialised. Was the first of his films to receive, I would say, genuine criticism despite it being absolutely bloody great.
Django Unchained (2012): ever since Tarantino cameoed in Pulp and unleashed a tirade of N-words, he’s had a complex relationship with race, heavily criticised by Spike Lee and defended by Jackson. After the affection shown in Jackie, he delivered this, his exploration of the slave trade and its place in the history of America. And it’s fantastic, very close to the master of his first three films; a dark, tense tour-de-force of brutality as Django goes on a quest for righteous vengeance. Utilising the tropes of classic B-Westerns – and, of course, the vast Django franchise – Tarantino threads the needle between exploitative cheese and intelligent discourse. Can’t believe Will Smith turned it down; biggest mistake he’s ever made.
Once Upon a Time in… Hollywood (2019): Tarantino’s most recent film feels like a love letter to cinema, and especially the era that seems to resonate throughout his work. Weaving in both real-life cinematic icons of the age – from Polanski to Bruce Lee – as well as one of its most notorious violent crimes feels entirely on-brand for Tarantino. What surprises is both the warmth and optimism of the story; whilst the central characters may be loveable idiots for the most part, they’re not the thieves and killers of prior films. Not since Jackie Brown have we celebrated niceness like this. And as a sprawling nostalgic epic, it’s sublime; it beautifully marries its own fictional story within the wider framework of cinematic history. In fact, I’d argue it would be right up there with the First Three if it weren’t for its misjudged, nasty, over-the-top edgelord finale, with some of the most brutal and gratuitous violence in Tarantino’s oeuvre. Tone it down, Quent; you’re not fifteen and we’re not impressed.
Kill Bill: Volume 2 (2004): after the First Three, it felt like a long time before we got a new Tarantino, and he returned with the epic revenge saga of Kill Bill, something of a gearshift from what came before. And whilst most people prefer the first Volume (see below), it’s part 2 that I enjoy more. Less outrageously exuberant, it still boasts a couple of excellent – and grittier – fight scenes, but it’s got a bit more of the Tarantino wit and wordplay about it, especially in the final scenes with Thurman’s Bride and Carradine’s Bill.
Kill Bill: Volume 1 (2003): so, yeah, Kill Bill is a much cartoonier affair than most Tarantinos; in fact, I think it’s canonically supposed to be an in-universe film. But with that comes some of the most outlandish action that ol’ QT has directed; most specifically a vivacious and violent assault as the Bride gets medieval on a roomful of sword-wielding assailants. It’s shallow and weird and maybe is the beginning of Tarantino running away with himself, but it’s damn good fun.
Inglourious Basterds (2009): this is a film of two halves. One half is an incredibly dark, tense affair, with Christoph Waltz’s eloquent but barbaric Nazi matching wits with vengeful cinema operator Mélanie Laurent. It’s serious, intense, full of Tarantinoid dialogue, and shot through with a love of cinema. The other half – about the titular Basterds and their quest – is looser, wackier, not quite as funny as it thinks it is. These two disparate entities collide at the end (and also, tonally at least, merge in the excellent bar scene featuring Michael Fassbender), a finale which is raucous and ridiculous and scary and, well, quite good fun really.
Death Proof (2007): weird and off-kilter, not necessarily in a good way, this feels like Tarantino in search of structure. The plot – serial killer Stuntman Mike offs people in his car – is fine; but we spend too long with not-altogether-interesting characters before they’re brutally murdered, and also too long, frankly, getting to know our trio of heroes. It has its highs – some insane car chases and stuntwork – and great performances, but frankly it’s a lot better when cut down as part of Grindhouse.
The Hateful Eight (2015): some people really go to bat for this, but I think it exemplifies the worst traits of Tarantino. It’s way too long, full of wordy but not very elegant monologues. None of the characters are likeable, but also they’re not really interesting or fun to be around. He fails to make the single location dynamic or tense in the way he did with Dogs. And it’s really nasty, mean-spiritedly so, with a rather unpleasant misogynistic streak. There are smatterings of fun to be had, and it’s got a stellar cast, but for me it’s long, excessive, and a bit boring.
You’ll note I didn’t really consider films he wrote but didn’t direct, like True Romance or Natural Born Killers. This is for three reasons: even excluding portmanteau Four Rooms, he’s made ten films as director, so I could do a full list regardless; it’s debatable how “Tarantino” his writing credits are, especially Killers, which I think was heavily reworked by Oliver Stone; and, well, it’s been ages since I saw them and didn’t feel it fair to judge (my memory of Romance is that it would sit just after Jackie Brown, if that helps). So there you go.
Now, Tarantino has said that he intends to make ten films and then retire, but he’s counting the two parts of Bill as one entity. So that means he’s got one film left in him. It doesn’t look like it’s Star Trek anymore, if that was ever genuinely on the cards; he’s spoken on and off in the past about doing a proper sequel to Kill Bill, but we’ll see where that goes (apparently he wants to get Maya Hawke to play the Bride’s daughter, who’d have seen that one?). Or maybe he’ll do something else entirely; a romcom or a musical or a Marvel movie. Hey, given how much he’s banging on about Peppa Pig recently, maybe he’ll make a kids’ film. That would be a hell of a way to end a career that began with ear-slicing and Madonna’s sex life.
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Of His Bones Are Coral Made
by GnomeIgnominious
"It feels... easy."
On the long trip in search of the Revenge that followed, Stede often recalled Mary's words. The way her face had looked as though it was lit from behind – from inside – by a candelabra; not a dazzling brilliance like the stay-away sweep of a lighthouse, but the self-assured glow of a lantern lit at dusk to read by. She talked about love, and in that moment, love talked through her and it radiated from her.
He had felt safe, then. Relaxed in a way that he suspected neither of them had felt in the others' presence before. They had finally understood each other. And so, when she'd asked the natural question, Stede hadn't hesitated.
"Ed," he'd said. Half-whispered, really. But it had been a whisper not of shame but of surety, and relief. "His name is Ed."
Mary had smiled and embraced him and he'd cried. They'd both cried together, and then, drying their tears, sat hand in hand like children to plan the rest of their lives. Or in Stede's case, the rest of his death.
It wasn't easy, in the end, of course.
Words: 13709, Chapters: 8/8, Language: English
Fandoms: Our Flag Means Death (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: M/M
Characters: Oluwande Boodhari, Lucius Spriggs, Black Pete (Our Flag Means Death), The Swede (Our Flag Means Death), Roach (Our Flag Means Death), Wee John Feeney, Blackbeard | Edward Teach, Stede Bonnet, Israel Hands, Jim Jimenez, Buttons (Our Flag Means Death)
Relationships: Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet
Additional Tags: Post-Season/Series 01, Fix-It, Post-Canon, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Humour, gratuitous Dad's Army references, Storms, Getting Back Together, Fuckery, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Stede Bonnet, Diving, Shipwrecks
source https://archiveofourown.org/works/39949563
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Brönte's Forgotten Child
(You did say to keep it coming)
Her mother loved Emma. Those first lines were everything she ever wanted to be
“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and a happy disposition... and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.”
She wanted that.
The life of the socialites. Of Gotham’s beloved children that seemed inhuman for their beauty.
They garbed themselves in riches that she couldn’t attain, couldn’t even afford to dream.
So she tripped.
She tripped hard.
She disconnected herself from the world and it’s cursed reality and pretended she was Emma Woodhouse being cathered and pampered instead of Catherine Todd laying on her own vomit in her run down little apartment in Crime Alley, new bruised eye from her Mr. Darcy, and her daughter trying to clean her up.
Her daughter.
Her Jane.
Catherine never wanted children.
But just like everything that involved Willis she either had to accept it or get bruised.
“All my heart is yours, sir: it belongs to you; and with you it would remain, were fate to exile the rest of me from your presence forever.”
Jane Petra Todd was every bit of Sheila and every bit of Willis.
Willful, stubborn, obstinate, tenacious, dangerous, cunning little devil child with a heart too damn soft for this world.
She had come to her as a little girl with a profound scowl and pretty bows in her hair.
Her mother had ran away from a lawsuit after a botched abortion.
Talk about a contraceptive method.
Catherine never wanted children.
She especially never wanted a girl.
If push ever came to shove (which it did most days with Willis drunk off his ass), she wanted a boy.
A strong, self-sufficient boy.
One she would make sure to raise right, away from the influence of her poisonous father.
Away from Crime Alley.
Away from this Hell.
He would be chivalrous and educated and well read and well spoken. He would be every bit the gentleman that managed to break through Elizabeth’s wall.
She always did like the name Jason.
“You — you strange — you almost unearthly thing! — I love as my own flesh. You — poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are”
Instead she got a Jane.
Soft, brittle, little Jane withe dark hair that fell in curls and bright blue eyes that made the Gotham sky seem dull.
Catherine never wanted children.
But she loved her Jane.
“I knew, you would do me good, in some way, at some time;- I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you”
Catherine always knew she would die with a needle in her arm.
Rehab never worked.
It didn’t matter how many times she tried.
How many books she read.
What words Elizabeth, or Emma, or Jane, or anyone said to her.
Willis would always show up with a little white powder and once again she was lost.
Jane always forgave her.
Looked after her.
Cleaned her.
Tucked her into bed.
Made sure she drank water.
Soft, brittle, little Jane who cried because kids made fun of her name. Stupid, selfish Catherine who took her into her arms and showed her the miracle that was Jane Austen.
Catherine always knew she would die with a needle in her arm.
She thought everything would be cold and dark.
Instead it was warm and bright.
The image of her sitting on the couch, little Gothamite princess in her arms, reading at loud:
“I desired more...than was within my reach. Who blames me? Many call me discontented. I couldn't help it: the restlessness is in my nature; it agitated me to pain sometimes.”
Daddy dearest died not too long after, a job with Two-Face gone wrong.
She was officially an orphan, and ran away before CPS came for her.
Jane wouldn’t be caught dead in foster care.
She barely survived her family.
She wouldn’t survive another one like that.
She was better off alone anyways.
Soft, brittle, little Jane died the day she found Catherine overdosed on the bathroom floor.
Feral, menacing, savage Jay was born that same day.
She always did hate her name anyways.
“I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high.”
These glimpses of who she once was, of the life she left behind haunted her day and night.
Nagging, bugging, exhausting swarm of bees, that never fell silent, not even in her sleep.
Nightmares of mother, and ma.
Dreams of father and pa.
Ironic that two men so different could be the same.
Violent, and proud with their heads shoved so far up their asses they could never see how they hurt everyone around them….or was it that they didn’t care?
“Am I hideous, Jane?
“Very, sir: you always were, you know.”
She always hated her name.
Catherine appeased the hatred for a while, reminding her that Austen was an unbreakable woman. An unstoppable cyclone who wouldn’t budge at the circumstances.
Who wouldn’t budge, who wouldn’t bend, who didn’t just survive but THRIVE.
Then again, fate always seemed to like to play jokes on her. God (if there was one) always found her pain very amusing.
She wasn’t Jane Austen.
She was Jane Eyre.
“I desired liberty; for liberty I gasped; for liberty I uttered a prayer; it seemed scattered on the wind then faintly blowing.”
She was the ghost that haunted Wayne Manor.
The failed Robin. The wayward child. The lost daughter. The absolute scourge of evil.
The cursed mark upon Batman’s perfect record. The problem child of Bruce Wayne.
The fucking blemish upon the family name.
Her catastrophe etched on the walls of the place she once called home.
Her debacle immortalized in the cave that saw her grow.
Her fucking name forgotten, erased letter by letter and tossed in the air.
She lived now in the attic; Edward Rochester’s best kept secret, and burning shame.
Her screams and cries were ignored as they resonated in the halls. Her calls of justice silenced once for all.
“Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time; as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy: its after-flavour, metallic and corroding, gave me a sensation as if I had been poisoned”
He locked her in the attic, let her memory haunt the place.
He locked her in the attic, let her memory fade.
He locked her in the attic, let her name never be displayed.
He locked her in the attic, let her go fucking insane.
“Remorse is the poison of life.”
Jane always hated her name, Bruce never once called her “Jay”
One more reason to hate him.
And hate everything he built after her.
The life that blossomed above her grave, flowers nourished by her corpse.
She hated him.
She hated all of them.
She hated Gotham, and her villains, hated her crime and her corruption.
But most of all she hated herself.
She hated her lack-luster hair, and the single white stripe on it, her dead eyes, with green specks bleeding through the blue. Hated her scars, covered by a million tattoos.
She hated herself.
Because despite it all.
She couldn't hate him too.
“I could not unlove him now, merely because I found that he had ceased to notice me.”
----------------------------------------
Em here:
Excuse me?
Excuse me, where the fuck have you been hiding?!
This god damn knock-my-fucking-socks-off-amazing!
Is there an AO3 account out there I'm missing?! Holy shit!
I need more of your writing, do you hear me? MORE!
#Jason Todd#Female Jason Todd#Angst#Catherine Todd#Gratuitous Lit References#JaneAnon#phyrric-victory2427#submission
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Something About Teeth
A/N: You know that tik tok that ends with "Oof, sorry, that was kind of a lot..." Yeah, I don't know where this came from. I blacked out and when I came to this was just... nasty. ENJOY!
A/N 2: After rereading this I want to edit it. So warning there are a lot of spelling errors and I really need someone to proof my shit. But I'm particularly proud of the gratuitous smut. So if yall can get passed my awkward dialouge because I was a little toasted writing the first bit... that'd be cool. Would recommend.
Summary: Benny gets to choose the hang out spot this time, and he chooses a club. You're all bordering on too old or sore, but the idea of Frankie with his hands on you is enough to get you out on the floor... and then into his truck.
Warning: References to pining, dirty dancing, grinding, smut, feral!Frankie, consensual groping, switch!Frankie, teasing, mutual masturbation (kind of), begging, oral (fem!recieving), fingering, thigh riding, cum eating, cum play, this is absolute filth, Frankie calling us mami makes me feel things, hair pulling, biting, slight pain kink, Frankie's kind of a brat, brief ass eating.
NSFW below the cut. +18 only.
Frankie wasn't usually the type you thought would join you in a club like this. The kind that the dance floor is caked in people. Frankie's the kind of guy who'd turn you down for a dance because he wasn't sure how.
You should have known better.
Francisco 'Catfish' Morales may look nice and respectable but you'd underestimated him. There's something about his palm pressing your navel, pulling you just flush enough that the fabric of your shirts were rubbing and riding up. It gave just enough allowance for friction.
It was Benny's turn to choose where you'd all hang out. Santi was fond of boat parties. Just drifting on a lake and drinking. Jokes and laughter twinkling with low lights. Will liked low lit bars with good pub food. Frankie was partial to the quiet nights by a fire on a chilly night. But Benny was the youngest and wildest still. He had energy to burn. Tonight he'd chosen a club.
You could feel the bass in your feet as lights strobe and streak across the room. Its too much at first. But after a few drinks your yelling yourselves hoarse over the music. And it slips when Benny is looking for someone to grind on. Will is getting back with drinks from the bar.
"When are you guys going to go dance?" Benny calls. "I'm aiming for the red head in the corner there." He gestures with a shot glass.
"No fuckin' way tonight, I just pulled something in my back Thursday." Santi denies.
"Eh, not feeling it," Frankie agrees which makes you scoff at them.
"I was waiting for that, you guys just don't want to admit your just old," you tease. But there's no missing the confused look from everyone.
"Are you saying we can't dance?" Santi demands. You send them a doubtful look over your whiskey.
"There's no harm in admitting it guys."
Frankie shifts closer than, you could see the mock offense written on his face. "You'd be very wrong in that regard. I'd wager were better than you."
You laugh at his smug look. "Please, Miller's. Can you guys even back that up?" You demand. The brothers give amused looks at that.
"I think you're just gonna have to show her, Fish." Will urges.
"You're in for it!" Benny shouts, obviously delighted.
Frankie is up for the challenge evidently because he sweeps his arm toward the dance floor. You lift your brows, pushing down the twist in your gut of excitement that Frankie's asking you to dance.
"Oh shit, you're really commiting," you yield, sliding off your stool to join him. You lead the way, tingling at his hand guiding on your lower back.
You find a small pocket on the dance floor to wedge the both of you in. He stands for just a second, one corner of his lips twisting up as he's rolling his sleeves up to elbow.
"Last chance to take it back."
"What got to stretch first, Morales?" You demand, stepping toe-to-toe because this fun little game was electrifying you. It was rare that you saw this deadly Frankie. You were an honorary member, Benny's best friend that he was always trying to hook you up with one of his friends. You didn't get to see the soldier side. You never got to see him prowl or kill with the deadly accuracy that they were known It was just soft spoken Frankie. "Need a little more liquid courage? I'll get you a vodka-cran." You jibe.
You expect to see a change of expression but he just continues his cool, smug gaze. He never broke the eye contact, just silently stepping so close you were nearly cross eyed. Staring up at him, gazing down at his half smile, he was still staring evenly into your eyes. Burning you with his gaze darkened by the brim of his cap.
Your gut swells under the intensity of his gaze. Internally, you waver. You weren't even dancing yet and your already feeling short of breath. You can smell his cologne, something warm and addictive. The kind that makes you dizzy.
"Oh, that a yes, let me get you a shot." If your being honest it's because you don't want to give up this little game. But also because you can't stand the intensity of emotions in his dark gaze. Like he was about eat you alive.
You'd probably have a heart attack if he'd actually asked.
You barely turn to the bar when a hand fists the hair at the base of your neck and yanks you back into a body. It didn't hurt, but it's firm and leaves you're whole body weak. He's tilting your head back so he can look unwavering into your arms. "You running?" He rasps in your ear, his lips brushing your cheek, tickling you with his patchy beard.
He's able to watch the harsh bob of your exposed throat. Then you shake your head and a dark grin spreads across his face. When he releases your head you snap upright, not able to move forward at all yet. "Show me what you got, mami."
Fuck. Your glad he can't watch your eyes flutter and roll when his fingertips brush over the fabric of the little skirt you wiggled into for the occasion. The matching top a separate piece. You could feel his fingers grasping your hips, but not hard enough to hurt or hold you in place. His thumbs stroking under the fabric, brushing skin with warm fingertips.
The fanning of his breath prickles your neck just before he glides his beautiful nose over it.
You savor for just a moment that it's actually Frankie's hands on you. And then you begin to roll your hips to the beat. He follows your movements, just matching them at the start. But quickly you melt into him.
He guides it, leading with the roll and push of his hips. You want to touch him, shivering against him when his mouth drags against the apex of your neck and shoulder, not quite a kiss.
"There we go, loosen up a little, baby." He urges sugar sweet in your ear. Then one hand wanders further under your top. His palm skims your belly, low before pulling you closer. "Perfect, just like that."
Jesus, did he have to say it like that? It was burning you up, the heat of the bodies around you. His other hand lifts to pull all your hair to the other side of your neck, dragging his fingers over the back of your neck as he goes. You want to moan.
"We're gonna add to this now, just follow me, okay?" You nod helplessly in his grasp.
And then there's twisting and spinning too. He incorporates little moves in it.
Frankie is an amazing dancer. He doesn't just bounce with you. He's leading, dragging you against himself intimately. It was a blend of salsa and grinding. By the second song, you find yourself face to face with him.
Those brown eyes are hooded, still holding yours. His hands guide over your back and down your ass to hold you to him. Your throbbing between your legs at the sharing of your breaths. "Good girl," he praises, and you get to watch his mouth form those words.
"This is black magic," you whimper. He leans in then, and you close your eyes in anticipation for him to kiss you. It's a slow, magnetic lean... only he just barely kisses the corner of mouth. It's slow, lingering.
"I won the wager," he murmurs next to your ear. "What's my prize?" And then his eyes are light again when he scoops you completely off the floor, jerking your thigh against his hip. You can feel the firmness in the front of his jeans, pushing against your groin.
It dazes you. You're helpless. Frankie is throwing you like an undertow. You feel like you can't swim and sink to his mercy. The movement has jostled your skirt up and there's only a thin layer between you and Frankie's tented jeans. A whine, high-pitched and short, sears past your lips when he begins to slowly sink you down. The friction pulls just right against your core, your thong tugging just a hair tighter.
There's a split second of Frankie looking shocked because you can't bare to look at him and bury your face in his shoulder. Your panting against him. Clinging to his tucked shirt and broad shoulders.
You're so desperate for a moment because your holding your self back from just grinding harder against the hard on in his pants, that all you want to do is cry. You were in for it because this was no longer a fine line. Frankie was full blown seducing you.
"Sweetheart," he coaxes, "look at me."
You can't though. You can't look at him when all he does is break you.
"Can't, Frankie," you whine.
"Does it feel good?" You pause, debating if you should admit that it was better than just good. It was a first high, trying a new drug.
You cave, nodding against his neck, overwhelmed by his smell, his skin damp with sweat. Your hands wander on him trying to find something to hold onto. It's his belt that grounds you the best. He's still got most of your weight against him.
"Do you want to go our to my truck for a minute?" Do what? When you hesitate, he begins to sink you closer to the floor again, painfully slow. It's just enough pressure, friction to have you begin to shake and cry in his hold, a tease, a satisfaction.
You're hesitant because you fret that he might discard you after. Not in the 'played with a new toy' kind of thing, but in his delicate and guarded way. Because Frankie was good. He didn't hurt women just for a good time. He was messy and broken but good.
"Kiss me," you beg, rolling your hips against his and pulling back enough to look into his eyes. You were going to milk this because even if this was just one night, you wanted it. You wanted to hold on just a little bit of Frankie. "And then," you tight your leg around his ass, squeezing him closer, "I want to swallow your cock."
Frankie blinks before fisting your hair again, there's that look again on his face. Like he's about to eat you alive, and now you believe it. There's nothing brown in his eyes anymore.
He tastes like the overpriced beer they have on tap. And you know that because his tongue is carving out your mouth. The air is foggy around you both. Hot with body heat. Skin is too tight. He continues to lean into, guide your hips. But it's no longer a twirl and twist of your bodies. Frankie's hands are everywhere. The skirt you're wearing is somewhere dangerous because you can feel his finger tips bare on the cleft of your ass.
Your vibrating to the beat, energies bristling and plucking uncomfortably. They need. You're souls are both searching and tangling for something to devour and satisfy. Something wild and primal.
You're panting into each other's mouths. It's too wet and slippery. There's several songs of dry humping and rocking of hips. You want him. You've always wanted him. But he finally has enough when your hand ghost between you both to palm him.
He's cursing in Spanish and his fingers take revenge, gliding along under your skirt to feel. And his disoriented eyes, half lidded and drunk, they snap to yours with something beastly. Not quite cold, but hungry and feral.
"Truck. Now." And he doesn't wait for a response, he just dragging you through the crowd. You swear the crowd parts for him. You want his unbearably warm body against yours.
You barely have enough mental process to fix your bunched skirt.
The Flordia heat sears your skin more. It's impossibly muggy. You nearly trip across the parking lot, scrambling for him. His truck is in the back but he leads you to the passenger side, opening the door.
You think he's going to step back, watch you climb in. As your approaching he crowds you. You can't break away from that dark gaze. The burning intensity of his lust. He hoists you onto the seat and crawls in after you. Legs only dangle a moment because he's hoisting you higher on the seat, dragging you with his whole body. Just absolutely man-handling you out of desperation. And you let him. He glances back, hooking his boot on the door and jerking it shut.
He's on you again only now he's biting. His teeth sink into the muscle of your shoulder and groaning like a wild animal. It hurt as much as it felt good, his knee parting your thighs.
"Frankie," you whine.
"Can I touch you?" He begs. There's a hardness to his voice. Clear, direct, urgent. It's half a demand.
"Yes, please." All you want is his fingers on you, in you. But he doesn't touch your cunt. Instead he keeps the arm he used to haul you across his seats tangled around your waist. His other hand palms your belly again. He seems to be savoring this as much as you are him. You're waiting so patiently under his mouth for his hand to tilt and tunnel his fingers beneath your skirt or his hand to glide over your thigh and in.
He goes the opposite way, mapping the fast and shallow rise and fall of your abdomen achingly slow. His fingers splay wide, covering so much more than you'd imagined. There's a dry heat to his palm as it gently chafes your damp skin. It doesn't glide well enough, rubbing over too sensitive skin and dipping to the valley of your breasts. But he doesn't stop there despite you reluctantly accepting the idea of hip playing with your nipples.
He ignores your needy whine as your top catches his wrist, following it up until he changes the angle of his arm. It tilts down so he's not exposing you, even to himself. "Touch me," you rasp.
"Shhh," he insists. And then his fingers slip past your collarbone. They tighten around you jaw and throat. It's not enough to hurt or stop your breathing for more than just the hitch in your breath.
Oh, you think as his lips brush up your cheek. This is about his control, your realize just as you meet those eyes. Dangerous and endless.
"You trust me?" You nod up at him. "Then trust that I'm gonna take care of you, mami." Fuck, that was nice to hear roll off his tongue in such a kind way. His fingers flex on your throat.
The club is thudding across the parking lot. You can see yellow streetlights mixed with the neon blue color of the club streaking across the fogging windshield when your eyes roll. He grinds his thigh against your crotch.
You jerk against him when he uses a roll of his hips like he did inside, over and over and over again. When he's sinking his cock lower, climbing further between your legs to grind himself against the hot core that's throbbing, you soak in the way his rolling against you. Hickeys are being sucked onto your neck and shoulders, muffling his quiet groans and pants against you. Most of his thrust are the slow and on beat to the music but at random moments he'll shiver and then ripple his hips against you like he can't help himself.
It's only like a heartbeat. Satisfying and wild and full of life. It's deep and throbs through you. "Please," you beg every time he does it because you ache for him. He just scoffs across your neck and bites just enough to make it hurt just a little. Not enough to draw blood or bruise.
It's not enough. You begin to get more desperate, tears welling at the corners of your eyes. The cadence of your voice getting louder, raspier and it cracks through the stuffy air. You tug at his hair, his clothes. "Please, just wanna cum, Frankie," you nearly sob. Your body follows after him, needing more friction on your clit.
"Not yet, baby girl," he denies.
Now your getting frustrated, a little mad in your lust haze. Your fingers tighten in his hair hard and jerk. He gasps when you jerk head back and winces. "Frankie," you hiss.
He pries at your fingers in his hair and then fixes you with a hard look. "Not yet," he repeats, "you can do it. Don't pout." It makes you want to cry when he drops his head.
"Fine." He goes stiff with the finality of your tone and then your shoving him off. Your pushing away from him and he's not fighting it.
"Shit," he mutters and withdrawals a bit his expression crumbling to something akin to regret and devastation. You lean back against his window. Propping yourself away from him.
Don't dish what you can't take. Your knees part and your fingers dip to where you really need it. A cry of relief leaves you as soon as you get a real touch on your clit. A tilt of your head has a flash of heat cracking your skull as it knocks against his fogged window. Its the tender touch of his hand on your thigh, trying to press it wider.
Your eyes snap open and you pant your heel against his shoulder, slowly but firmly pushing him back from where he's crowding you. "Stay there," you command. "Watch."
The regret on his face twists into awe, his dark eyes bright and shiny. "So pretty, baby," he praises and sinks to the floor of his truck on his knees. He flattens his upper body across the seats, trying to gain a better look of your pussy. "Oh, shit," he breathes as you sink your fingers between those puffy lips and are rewarded with a wet squelch.
"Don't touch above my knees." Because you still need him to be touching you somehow. You still need him. He doesn't hesitate to press closer, kissing at your ankles and stroking your calves. But he can't break eye contact with your pulsing pussy.
He's actively listening to you now, so you reward him. You don't have to hike your skirt up to grab the edges of your thong and slowly drag it down your thighs. When it gets to your knees he assists and fists them tightly in his hand. It's the first time he looks away from the haven between your hips.
The fabric is pressed to his face desperately, he closes his eyes as he inhales. You gape at the filth of it. "Fuck, your so wet, I can see it on the seat. Can I keep these?"
"Yeah," you manage, "Do whatever you want with 'em." He leans back then, still illuminated by the blue and yellow, dimmed in the fogged window. Sweat is trickling down his face and neck. His hat is half cocked on his head still, rumpled like his clothes. But there is a distinct shape pressing through his jeans.
And that's where he reaches.
The zipper doesn't still your trembling fingers as you nudge them somewhere warm and sticky. Two fingers of one of your hands suck you in. It's as loud as your panting. Only he's not actually pulling his cock out, yet. Instead, he's shoving his hand, your thong into his pants and groaning.
Frankie's whole body shivers and he dips his head for a moment, lips pursing around his moan. It wears at you.
"Fuck, Frankie!" You immediately tilt your head back again, your sex demanding attention at the dirtiness. There's no crack this time as you tighten on yourself.
Frankie flattens against the seats again, hips rolling against the seat for his friction. His hands back on your calves. Even though his fingers would feel so much better than your own, you'll worry about that later.
Electricity is burning through you and your so fucking close. Your shaking with it. The orgasm is right there, barbing itself in place after being neglected for so long. He whimpers your name lowly. When his hand sprawls on your thigh, you want to punish him because he's not supposed to- but you're not willing to give up on finally cumming.
So he pushes your thighs further apart.
It blazes through you, ripping you to pieces. And that's when his hand replaces yours. His thumb coaxes you into over stimulation by barely stroking your clit, other fingers parting your labia so he can watch the way you flutter and gulp around nothing.
When you sink down a little he gives you this breathless smile, drawing back his thumb and shimmying between your splayed thighs again. "Oh, damn, mami," he rasps over the last word and leans down into your space. His mouth lapping into yours for a long kiss before he draws back. "You creamed all over my seat." You can't speak yet but you arch and cry out when two of his thick fingers press into you slowly. "Yes," he rumbles like distant thunder.
An obscene noise makes those depraved eyes flash when he meets no resistance. He curls them, scooping you out slowly. You can see the thick, creamy film of his fingers when he holds them up. The sound sticky when he parts them. It doesn't break apart right away and then his gaze flicks over yours.
You gulp because that look is back. The endless one. The unblinking stare never brakes as he lifts those fingers to his mouth and opens it, drawing the film down across his tongue. His shoulders begin to rise and fall a little faster. Then he's closing his mouth around them and cleaning his fingers. There's a groan so low you almost mistake it for a growl with the way it rattles his chest.
He lowers himself over you, eyes burning you back to where you were just before your desire like magic. You're desperate again to cum. He makes you churn in a good way.
"Let me eat you," he whispers. This time he sees the rolling of your eyes. Words fail again so you grasp his hair in your hands, pushing his head down.
You sob under his tongue parting you, one smooth motion that wedges at the top of your labia and then slowly carves you open down to your cunt. He moans when he ruts against the seat below him.
Frankie is dirty about it. His tongue goes where so ever it pleases. He's cleaning you to begin, slurping up anything creamy he can find before. And then he ruins you. His teeth are scraping, his nose pressing and rubbing. He regularly forgets that he needs air because devouring you is so much more important. Every so often he tilts the bridge of his nose against you to draw in a deep breath before sinking back into you all over again.
He doesn't stay between the lines. Shock and surprise of the hot flash of his tongue a little lower, lapping experimentally at the ring of muscle a little lower makes you tremble and jerk. His name is your only mantra. And when you start pleading desperately again about nothing in particular he's quick to circle back to your clit, knowing not to push you this time.
When your getting close your eyes draw up to his ass. Your babbling and watching the way he's grinding hard against the seat below him. It's as desperate as his mouth. And then you see where his hand is. Tucked beneath him. Touching himself as he eats you out on the floor of his truck. His hat tumbled to the floor long ago.
"Cum with me," you beg. He groans, stuttering his hips just moments before you tilt over the edge with him. You get experience him gasping and groaning and cursing. The fingers of his other hand digging into you thigh.
It's several minutes before either of you speak. Instead he's just sprawled across your slouched form, hand in his pants as he rolls to his back. You play with his hair as you catch your breath.
"You won the wager," you hum. He passes you a sweet grin that reminds you of warm pecan pie for some reason. Then grimaces and glances down. Slowly he drags out his hand and your ruined underwear.
"Fuck," you breathe out as you see just how much of everything that he coated with cum.
"I'll keep these for my win," he rumbles.
"You sure about that?" You ask pulling them away from him. Untangling the wet fabric, you lift you legs and he groans as you carefully pull them back on.
"Jesus, how the fuck am I not supposed to get hard again after that!?" he complains. You grin down at him, and snatch his wrist. Then he's groaning more when you take your time to clean his hand of the cooling cum it's covered in. "Filthy fuckin' girl." He rumbles.
"I never finished my whiskey. I have some back at my place," you reply.
"Shit. Okay," he responds. "Scoot over baby," and then he's fishing out his keys.
Taglist:
@lxdyred, @boliv-jenta, @amidjarin, @qhbr2013
#filth#filthy frankie#freaky frankie#frankie morales#frankie x reader#frankie x you#frankie's a switch#soft frankie#frankie catfish morales#triple frontier#smut#just smut#dirty dancing
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The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 35
A/N: Alright folks...here she is: the last chapter. To say that I love all of you so much and appreciate with my entire life every like, reblog, comment, tag comments, canon question, ask, etc. would be an understatement. You guys TRULY make my stories what they are and encourage me to write and post every single week. From the bottom of my heart, thank you thank you thank you ❤️
Like with all my stories, there will be epilogues for Aberdeen and Willy so we see into their future. I’m not sure how many I have planned -- probably three right now, thinking of four, depending on how I split things up.
After the epilogues are posted, I will be starting my new Brock Boeser mini-series “Peaceful Easy Feeling”. Stay tuned for a post date -- check my Masterlist for future reference.
Without further ado...
August 31st, 2020
Aberdeen Bloom was looking into William’s eyes.
They were getting Korean walnut cakes from Hodo Kwaja. They were out in the open. Alone on Bloor Street West, in Little Korea, where no-one would recognize him. He convinced her. She couldn’t hold back anymore. She’d tried so hard and she’d succeeded for months – fuck, the better part of a year at this point – and now, she just wanted to have a date out in the open with her boyfriend instead of having to drive to some park on the lakeshore in Etobicoke to secretly hook up in his car.
“These better be good,” William said as he looked away briefly at the shop owner making a new batch of cakes behind the glass wall. Even though they were both wearing masks, Aberdeen could tell he was smirking. “When you say bean paste…”
“I promise you,” she stressed. “They’re amazing.”
“You wanna bring them to Christie Pitts after?” William asked, reaching for her hand.
Aberdeen nodded. This was the first time he’d reached for her hand in a public place. She’d always remember Hodo Kwaja as the place now. They could never close or tear this bakery down. “We can eat them under a tree or something.”
“Romantic.”
“I try to be,” she said. “Especially with my boyfriend.”
“Especially when we’re out in public.”
She crinkled her face. So did William. He pulled her into his body and wrapped an arm around her. They were silent for a few moments before William decided to speak again. “You should try calling Beth,” he whispered, his voice low. “You said Alec wouldn’t get back to you, but Beth might. She��d let you know whether or not they chose to publish the article.”
A shiver ran up Aberdeen’s spine. “Maybe I’ll email her or something,” she said. “Alec’s silence speaks volumes though. I don’t think—”
“Fuck that guy,” William interrupted. “Call Beth. Call her. Maybe she rooted for you.”
The shopkeeper handed Aberdeen the brown bag full of walnut cakes, and she paid for them. She grabbed at William’s hand and their fingers intertwined before leaving the shop. “I just think I would have known by now,” Aberdeen mused. “I mean, the new issue will hit newsstands soon. Usually they’d tell the writers.”
“Call her,” William urged. “You’ll never know if you don’t call.”
They walked down the street hand in hand. It was dusk outside, the hot and humid air of the city finally giving way to a nice breeze that cooled everything down. Aberdeen’s dress swayed back and forth as they walked towards Christie Pitts, switching subjects to the next bakery they should try. William made Aberdeen laugh recounting the story of how much Cam loved the Swedish pastries he brought the family during his surprise Christmas visit. Aberdeen’s heart swelled when William brought her hand up to his lips and kissed where the ring was – the ring he got her, which she’d been wearing ever since.
As they passed by all the different storefronts – most closed, saved for a few convenience stores or 24 hour laundromats – they both noticed a loading truck parked by the curb with two men going in and out of it, hauling new magazines and the next day’s newspapers into the shop. William made them stop. He watched them for a few seconds.
“What are you doing?” Aberdeen asked him.
“Excuse me, sir?” he ignored her, instead calling out to one of the men hauling in the newspapers. The man looked at him. “Are those next month’s magazine issues?”
“Of course they are.”
“William—”
“Do you have the new issue of Toronto Life?”
“William—”
“We’ve got everything in the truck, bud,” the other man said, setting down a huge stack of Vogue magazines all bundled together. “Either you wait or you jump in there yourself to get it.
William looked between the truck and the men. He let go of Aberdeen’s hand abruptly. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets. “William what are you doing?!” she asked as she watched him climb into the back of the loading truck.
“What do you think?!” he called back out. “It’ll be a good off-season workout finding the stack!”
“William!” she repeated for what felt like the umpteenth time.
“Oh! They’re right here! They’re covered but…” he trailed off. Aberdeen held her breath. He emerged hauling a giant wrapped stack – you couldn’t see anything besides the white paper covering it and the plastic ties tying them all together. He jumped off the back of the truck. The two men were just watching him. “You got scissors?” he asked them.
One of them handed him an exacto knife. William cut off the plastic zipties.
“William, stop,” Aberdeen pleaded. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to know yet. She had to psych herself up for the inevitable disappointment of not seeing her name on the cover, not seeing her article anywhere in the magazine, and she wasn’t given ample time to do that. She knew William was being William – proud and spontaneous and excited on her behalf instead of riddled with anxiety and doubt and all the bad things one could be riddled by when their dream job was in their midst but definitely out of their grasp because of an asshole editor – but she needed time to process that she was going to be faced with a huge disappointment. She needed time to process that she would have to keep looking for a writing job.
William could hear the fear in her voice. He could sense her uncertainty and her anxiety about it all. He stood up from his crouching position. “Hey…” he said softly, taking a step towards her. He grabbed her hand again and held it in his. “Minskatt, don’t be nervous.”
“I need time to psyche myself up for not seeing my name on there,” she said. She felt her phone buzzing aggressively through her purse but she decided to ignore it. “It’s gonna hurt, Willy.”
He squeezed her hand tighter. “Are you listening?”
The question they’d always ask each other. “Yes.”
“Remember what you told me before and after the bubble? That no matter what happened, you’d love me no matter what?” he asked. Aberdeen nodded her head. “Whatever happens here…whether you got it or not…minskatt, I’ll love you no matter what.”
His words were so soothing. And as always, they were so simple, but so perfect. They immediately put her at ease despite all the anxiety she was feeling, that had rushed upon her within just minutes. She nodded her head slightly as she squeezed his hand back. “Can I open it?” he asked.
She nodded her head.
He crouched down again and ripped open the packaging. Aberdeen took a step forward and looked down to see the iconic red rectangle header. And then the headline.
The Bubble Diaries: Aberdeen Bloom explores the characters, stories, and all-too-real tribulations inside the NHL’s Eastern hub.
Aberdeen’s entire body jolted up, and she let out a short and quick scream as the bag of walnut cakes went flying.
Then she realized what this meant.
And she screamed at the top of her lungs.
William’s eyes lit up as he heard the shriek – the entire city heard the shriek. He watched as she started jumping up and down through more shrieks before he got up himself. Aberdeen jumped on him – just fully and completely jumped into and onto him – and he caught her expertly in his arms as she shrieked in his ear.
“They did it! THEY DID IT!” she screamed as he set her down. She bent down to pick up a copy of the magazine and shrieked again as she held it in front of her. Maybe this was a fever dream. Maybe she was delirious. Maybe the gratuitous walnut cake the bakery gave her to try before ordering was laced with some hallucinogenic and she was imagining things.
No. That was her name attached to the article. That was her name on the cover of Toronto Life magazine.
“You did it, minskatt,” William said as he reached up to her face to pull her mask down, planting a giant kiss on her lips. The energy was radiating off of her. She was a ball of sunshine, a star radiating energy bigger and better than anything in the universe. “You did it. I’m so proud of you.”
“I can’t believe it! I can’t – oh – oh my GOD Willy!” she was still shocked. “I—they—I’m published! I’M PUBLISHED!”
“Your name is on the cover of a damn magazine, minskatt!” he giggled.
“My name is on the cover of a damn magazine!” she repeated more emphatically, kissing him again. “I can’t – I – oh my God – oh my God my phone is…” she trailed off, feeling her phone buzzing violently from her purse again.
She pulled it out and saw Beth Zadakis’s name flash across the screen. She immediately picked up. “Beth!”
“Surprise,” she practically purred into the phone. “I’m assuming you saw it just posted on our website? Alec was overruled. He knew he would be. The way you wrote about the boys, Aberdeen…there’s no way we couldn’t publish it.”
“Thank you. Thank you,” she stressed, putting her hand over her heart. “From the bottom of my heart Beth, thank you.”
“You should celebrate, Aberdeen. We’ll discuss the logistics of your new position with Toronto Life later,” she said. “It’s not every day that a novice writer gets the lead cover story. Pop a bottle of champagne. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Aberdeen hung up. She looked into William’s eyes.
She did it.
***
September 4th, 2020
Aberdeen walked into the MLSE offices like she was going to work. Except she wasn’t.
Brendan had called her in for one last meeting. He didn’t say it would be their last, but both of them knew it would be their last. It was bittersweet, of course. Aberdeen had walked these halls for a year. She’d walked in on the team nearly naked on her first day. She’d tried to pick up a hockey bag and fell over. She’d taken countless calls from very important people she had no idea existed before this job. She’d gotten called out by her boss for being an idiot. She’d walked Niklas Lidstrom through the halls to impress her boss. She’d waited countless hours for jersey proofs. She’d made friends. She’d made enemies. She’d learned the game of hockey. She’d travelled countless miles up and down the steps and up and down the elevators to the ice, to the locker room, to the offices, and back and forth and back and forth and back and forth.
She ran into her summertime hookup in the elevator on her first day. She’d fallen in love with him in these hallways.
It all happened here.
When she approached the doors of Brendan’s office, and looked at her desk – well, now her former desk, she felt her heart flutter. This was it. She stepped into the doorway and saw him looking out his window. She knocked.
He turned around, giving her the proudest smile she’d probably ever received from a boss. She took off her mask so he could see her smiling too. “Hi Brendan.”
“Aberdeen. Sit,” he nodded towards the chairs. This was where she cried and told him she’d been sexually harassed in the kitchen. This was where he fired Ethan. This was where he’d bared his soul to her after the Leafs lost to a Zamboni driver. She took a seat.
“I’m so incredibly proud of you,” he said after looking at her for a few moments. “What you’ve been able to accomplish in a year is outstanding, Aberdeen.”
“I would be remiss if I didn’t thank you,” she began. “You had the biggest role to play in this by setting up that meeting in the first place. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for you.”
Brendan shook his head. “I didn’t write that article, Aberdeen. You did,” he said sternly. To think that he had the faith in her to put the meeting together in the first place, knowing she could pull it off, spoke volumes. He was definitely her most powerful supporter. “I keep reading and re-reading it and I find new things to admire every time.”
She smiled humbly. “Thanks.”
Brendan paused for a moment. “You know, Aberdeen…most people would have sold us out,” he said. She nodded her head, understanding what he was getting at. He knew – he knew the demands Alec put on her. Beth must have told him, because she certainly didn’t say a word about it. “It…it speaks absolute volumes to your character that they demanded that scoop for you but you refused to give it and instead relied on your talent to get you the job anyway.”
She nodded. She could read between the lines. “Thank you.”
“You’ve got some fucking guts on you, kid.”
They both giggled. “I guess being around some gutsy hockey players did me some good this year,” she joked.
“I’ll say,” he said. “All the boys know. They love it.”
“I know. I got texts from pretty much all of them. Travis sent me a picture of his dogs reading it too.”
“That last night in the bubble, when I told you that you were the soul of this team, I meant it,” he said. “And I don’t think…I don’t…well, I don’t think it was a big secret that William had a thing for you since that first day in the elevator. And I know…well, I think we’re all aware the feeling is mutual.”
Aberdeen gulped. She felt like she already died and got rigor mortis in that tiny amount of time. So they were going to go there. Brendan was bringing it up with absolutely no shame. On her last day. Last meeting. She looked him in the eye. “Am I safe to assume that nothing happened between the two of you in the year you were here?” Brendan asked.
She could do it right now.
Be honest.
She was leaving, after all.
And she had the job already.
She looked Brendan right in the eyes.
“No sir,” she shook her head. “I…it was clear to me at the beginning too, and…and the feelings did grow on my end as well, I will admit that.”
“So the feeling is mutual, then.”
“Yes sir.”
“And I’m also correct to assume that once you leave these doors and employed by Toronto Life, you two will get together?”
She was already lying to the man she respected most in this world; there was no use in lying even more. “Y—Yes. I—I…” she hesitated. She took a deep breath. “William waited for me, Brendan. He waited for me this entire time. I don’t want to make him wait any longer. I don’t want to wait any longer, either.”
Aberdeen didn’t know what she was expecting, but she definitely wasn’t expecting Brendan to smile. “Understandable,” he said. “I could see it at the Christmas party – William’s crush on you. And I kept wondering to myself if he ever…well, you know, acted on it. Told you, at least.”
“Didn’t need to tell me. It was pretty apparent,” she smiled slightly. “He wears his heart on his sleeve. Well, at least for me.”
Brendan nodded his head. There was a moment of silence between them. “You’re welcome here whenever you want,” he said. “In this office, in the arena, in the back – whenever. You’re family now, Aberdeen. And you’ll always be family. I’ll make it a clause in the contracts all the future presidents sign that Aberdeen Bloom can come in and do whatever she wants in this building.”
She giggled slightly. “Who are you kidding? You’ll be the president of this hockey club ‘till the day you die. Tanenbaum won’t let you leave. There won’t be any others.”
“Are you going to write my biography when it’s time?”
“If you let me.”
Brendan stood up from his chair. He extended his hand across his desk. Aberdeen hadn’t touched another human being since March 13th besides her family and William. She extended hers to shake his hand. “Aberdeen Bloom, my Etobicoke girl, it’s been a pleasure,” Brendan was proud, so proud of her.
“Brendan Shanahan, it’s been an honour,” she replied.
He side-stepped around his desk, and Aberdeen knew what was coming. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to leave the offices without one. It was another thing that she’d only given to her family members and to William since March 13th – a hug. But in that moment, she wrapped her arms around Brendan, and he wrapped his arms around her, and they hugged each other tightly. Aberdeen could smell his cologne. She heard him sniffle. She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t start crying as well. “Thank you, Brendan,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.”
She sighed. When he let go of her, he kept his hands on her shoulders as he looked down at her. “William’s coming to pick you up?” he asked. She smiled and nodded her head. “Jason’s around the building somewhere. For negotiations. You should find him. He’ll want to see you before you leave.”
Aberdeen nodded her head. “I’ll find him.”
She left his office, closing the door behind her. She felt a heavy feeling in her heart, knowing it would be the last time she’d exit Brendan’s office, no longer his executive assistant. Now, she was a writer at Toronto Life magazine. And before she could process that thought, she had to find Jason.
As she wandered through the building, popping into rooms and asking whoever she saw if they knew were Jason was, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket and knew, like a sixth-sense, that it was William. She stopped walking so she could look at the message.
i like this one
He’d attached a quick video Aberdeen had taken the other night. The video couldn’t have been more than four of five seconds long. In the first second, the video showed hands being held, one hand dragging forward the other. In the second second, the camera panned upwards. In the third second, the video showed the back of a figure, with increasingly long blonde hair, broad shoulders, and a stupidly expensive designer t-shirt on with the CN Tower in the background at sunset. In the fourth second, the head turned, and the face smiled at whoever was behind the camera. It was all a bit blurry. It was all a bit fast.
It was William looking at her.
She promised him she’d post whatever he wanted to her Instagram feed once they could be official, and out in the open, not having to hide anything anymore. He wouldn’t dare post anything on his feed, so Aberdeen would. She understood why. Even now, even though they could be out in the open with their friends and family, with William’s teammates and Aberdeen’s extended friend circle, William wanted to keep their relationship out of the spotlight. Judging by what she’d gone through with the media and what she’d seen herself in the year she worked for the team, she understood completely.
She found the video in her own camera roll, editing the colour tones slightly before uploading it to her own Instagram feed with a simple caption: ❤️
She continued to look for Jason. And in looking for Jason, her phone kept going off. It was almost annoying, but she knew it was all the guys probably commenting something on the photo. After a particular string of constant notifications when she walked into the trainer’s room hoping to find Jason – which at this time last year would have been filled with shirtless, half-naked hockey players with their thighs and bulges out rolling on foam rollers, but was now empty – she couldn’t help but take her phone out again to see what the hell they were commenting.
@austonmatthews: FUCKING FINALLY
@travisdermott: awwwww s’cute
@tysonbarrie4: look at you lovebirds!
@rasmussandin: he likes lasagna!!!!! gotta make sure u learn how to make it
@1jackcampbell: you guys!!! What a bunch of beauties <3
@morganrielly: i second what @austonmatthews said
@buzzinb0831: YOU GUYS ARE THE CUTEST
@marner_93: finallyyyyyyyyyyy
@aleidacasillasandersen: Cute cute cute!
@kasperikapanen: cn tower…shocker
She couldn’t help but smile at them all. Especially Auston’s. That twerp.
Without warning, William’s name flashed across the screen for a phone call. She immediately picked up. “Hey.”
“Hi minskatt,” his voice was sing-songy. “Did you talk to Brendan?”
“Yeah,” she said, looking down at the floor.
“Was it bittersweet?”
“Mhm,” she nodded her head. “I know this is what I’ve dreamt of for the longest time, but I can’t picture myself not coming into this office every morning during the new season. I haven’t quite wrapped my head around it yet,” she admitted.
“I get it. It’s okay,” William said. “The team’s gonna miss you. Brendan’s gonna get a new assistant and he or she is gonna have some huge shoes to fill.”
Aberdeen couldn’t help but smile. “He asked about us, you know.”
“He did?”
“He said it wasn’t a big secret that you had a thing for me since the first day in the elevator. He also said everyone is pretty much aware the feeling is mutual.”
“And?”
“And…he asked if anything had happened between the two of us.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Well I didn’t exactly tell Brendan fucking Shanahan that we randomly hooked up the night of my graduation. And I didn’t exactly tell him we’ve been secretly hooking up and in a relationship since January,” Aberdeen said. “But I told him the feeling was mutual, and that we’d both waited long enough, and the second I walked out of those doors I wasn’t going to make you wait anymore.”
“Okay…” she could hear William exhale. “Okay.”
“I lied to him, Will. I know. I lied to him about the last nine months. Hell, I’ve lied to everyone these past nine months about us being together. About our feelings, about your late-night visits to my hotel rooms and us hooking up. About loving you. About being with you. I’ve lied about everything. Everything.”
“We’ve lied to everyone about everything in the last nine months,” William corrected her sternly. “You’re not alone in this. You know that. We lied to everyone. We kept it a secret. But none of that matters, Aberdeen. What matters is that we get to be open about it now. That’s all that matters. That’s it.”
Aberdeen nodded her head. She knew he was right. She collected herself so she didn’t get emotional on the phone. God knows if she shed at least one tear and then found Jason, Jason would automatically be able to tell. “I just have to find Jason to say goodbye and then I’m out of here.”
“I’m actually already waiting outside, so take your time,” William said. “I’ll be here whenever. Take as long as you want.”
“I love you, William.”
“I love you too, minskatt. I’ll see you soon.”
Aberdeen locked her phone. She took another deep breath, replaying the conversation in her mind, before resolving to find Jason. She turned around to keep searching.
Only to find Jason standing a few feet behind her.
When she saw the look on his face, she knew immediately that he’d heard every single word of the conversation she’d just had. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. No – her heart dropped into the depths of hell. Her breath caught in her throat. She felt like her entire body was on fire. “Jason,” was all she could say.
“January,” was all he said.
Her hands began to shake. She reached out to him. “Jason—”
“Don’t,” his tone was harsh, and his entire arm flinched away from her. She tried to say something but nothing would come out. “Since January, Aberdeen? January?!”
“Jason, please—”
“I don’t – I – late night visits to hotel rooms?!” his voice kept rising as he verbally began to piece all the information together. “How – how could you?!”
“Jason, I can explain—”
“No! No you can’t explain! There’s nothing to explain in a situation like this! You lied to us! You lied to all of us!” he kept saying, his voice strained. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. He couldn’t believe the words that had come out of Aberdeen’s mouth. “Aberdeen, I went to bat for you time and time again. I looked out for you this entire fucking year and this is what you were doing behind my back? Hooking up with William Nylander?!”
“Ja—”
“You promised me, Aberdeen. You promised me that day that guy stalked you that there was nothing happening between the two of you. I took your word for it, Aberdeen. And William – William promised me nothing was going on that night you got stitches. And now you’re telling me this has been going on since January?!”
“Since the Night With the Blue and White,” she said, voice strained, tears welling in her eyes now. There was no use in lying to him. He was Jason Spezza. “The first time it happened was that night when I got home. When we got home. I can’t – I couldn’t…”
Jason was quiet, but she could hear how heavy he was breathing through his nose. She knew he was trying to calm himself down so he didn’t blow up at her. At this moment in time, though, she wasn’t so sure he’d be able to do it. “I can’t believe you’d do this to the team. To me. To Brendan,” he stressed. His voice was calm. Eerily calm. “I never want to speak to you again.”
Aberdeen’s cheeks flushed red with emotion almost instantly. No. It couldn’t end like this. It couldn’t. She tried reaching out to touch him again, but he flinched once more and took a few steps back to distance himself from him. “Jason—no—please—let me explain—”
His next words cut Aberdeen like a knife. He looked her dead in the eye. “I’ve never been more disappointed in you.”
A sob escaped her and she covered her mouth, but it was no use. Tears were streaming down her cheeks like Niagara Falls and her heart was sliced into a million pieces as she watched Jason turn around and walk out of the room, not bothering to look back at her.
What hurt most of all was that so much love goes into disappointment. Someone can still love you but be disappointed in you and that was infinitely, infinitely worse than someone hating you. It hurt so much more. Jason wasn’t wrong when he said he’d looked out for her this entire year. He wasn’t wrong when he said he’d went to bat for her this year. He’d done all those things out of love, because he cared for her, because he wanted to see her succeed in an environment that was, historically, not kind at all to young women. He’d done it to look out for her, to make sure she didn’t get hurt, to make sure she got where she wanted to go.
Jason Spezza was disappointed in her. And that hurt more than anything else.
Aberdeen sat down in the middle of the room and began sobbing.
***
William was scrolling through his phone when he noticed Aberdeen walking speedily towards his car. He unlocked the doors and slipped into the passenger seat, taking off her mask and throwing it onto the dashboard.
He immediately saw that her entire face was red, and her eyes were practically bloodshot. “What happened, minskatt?” he asked.
She looked like she was going to cry again. She turned her head towards him. “Jason overheard our conversation.”
William stopped breathing momentarily. “So he knows.”
She nodded her head, face scrunching up to stop tears from falling. “He said he never wants to speak to me again. And he said he’s never…he’s never been more disappointed in me.”
“Hey—hey, c’mere,” he said, grabbing her chin and leaning over the centre console to give her a loving kiss, feeling the tears stream down her face. He continued to kiss her for as long as he could. “It’s gonna be okay, minskatt. It’s going to be okay.”
“No it’s not,” she shook her head vehemently. “It’s not going to be okay. It’s not.”
“Yes it will. He’ll get over it.”
“No he won’t,” she was steadfast. “He hates me William, and he never wants to speak to me again and he’s disappointed in me. He’s not gonna just get over me lying to him for the past nine months.”
“We lied to him,” William clarified for her again, like he did on the phone. “We lied. He’ll be madder at me than you. He’ll get over it. It’s going to be okay.”
Aberdeen shook her head. She wanted to believe him – she really did, but her mind was all over the place right now. “But what if it’s not?” she asked.
“Are you listening?” he asked.
She visibly calmed down at the question. “Yes.”
“It’s going to be okay because I love you, minskatt. Because we love each other.”
She nodded her head. He loved her. She knew he loved her, and that he would for the rest of their lives. And she’d love him too. That brought her more solace than anything. “I love you too, William.”
He gave her one last, long, lingering kiss before he put the car in drive. He fiddled with his phone to start the music, the opening notes of “Quitting You” by the Arkells playing through the speakers. He grabbed Aberdeen’s hand and held it in his enormous one, bringing to his lips and kissing it tenderly and holding it against his heart momentarily before settling it on his lap. She looked out the window at 50 Bay Street, saying goodbye.
She looked at William. The man she loved.
#william nylander#william nylander imagine#william nylander fic#william nylander fan fic#toronto maple leafs#toronto maple leafs imagine#toronto maple leafs fic#toronto maple leafs fan fic#william nylander blurb#toronto maple leafs blurb#nhl#nhl imagine#nhl fic#nhl fan fic#nhl blurb#hockey#hockey imagine#hockey fic#hockey fan fic#hockey blurb#the president wears prada series
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The Kids
Pairing: BAU Team x Reader; Spencer Reid x Reader
Summary: The BAU team get a case to track down an escaped serial killer, but things take a turn for the worst when two members go missing
Warnings: kidnapping, depictions of violence, stabbing, descriptions of torture
A/N: Whoo! I’m glad to have this out, I loved writing this. Criminal Minds have been added to my Request Guidelines, so if you have any Criminal Minds Requests send them. Hope you enjoy.
Request Guidelines
Another day, another case and you once again found yourself sitting in the meeting room. Most of your team was already here but while you waited for the others, the topic of the team’s dynamic came up.
“Ok, but us as a unit is basically a family and if anyone is the big brother, it’s Morgan.” You said before taking a sip of your coffee.
“And why’s that?” Morgan asked.
“The amount of times you’ve refused to let me go in before you when we’re busting an unsub just proves you’re the big brother.” You told him
“But he also likes to kick down doors and he can’t do that if you’re in front of him.” Emily said. Morgan let out a small chuckle.
“While that is the main reason, I also don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Awww. You’re proving my point even further that you are in fact the team’s big brother.” You said.
“Alright. What about everyone else?” Morgan said.
“Hotch is the team mom.” You stated
“Why would you say that.” Hotch said, walking into the meeting room. You almost spit out your coffee, not expecting him to hear that.
“You’re always looking out for us but not in the dad way that Rossi does. You’re also stern when it comes to things we do. We’re basically your kids.” You told him.
“The only kid I have is my son Jack. But if you’re talking about the dynamic of the team, the kids would be you and Spencer.” Hotch deadpanned, but you swore you saw a hint of a smile as he referred to you and Spencer as kids.
“C’mon Hotch, me and Spencer are in our 20s. We aren’t kids.”
“(Y/N), you keep a box of juice boxes under your desk.” Hotch said
“Which Emily steals, but I don’t hear you calling her a kid.”
“We got a new case!” JJ said as she entered the meeting room with the file in hand. You and the team dropped the conversation to give JJ your attention.
“Two people in West Virginia have been murdered.” JJ said, displaying the image of two dead bodies. “Taryn Klien and Polly Neal. Both were severely tortured before being shot in the head.”
“The police would usually call us in after more than two deaths. Why call us in when there’s only two?” Morgan asked.
“Because the police think that it’s the work of the serial killer named Mark Sutthers. He escaped from prison last week and this message was left at the crime scene of Polly Neal’s murder.” JJ displayed a picture of Mark Sutthers and the message that was left on the screen.
“Punishment will come to those that put me away.” Reid read the message out loud.
“After Garcia did some digging she found that Taryn Klien was the judge at his trial and Polly Neal was the prosecutor.”
“He’s doing this for revenge. Going after the people that put him in jail.” Rossi said
“Which means he’s either going to go after the people that were in his jury or the police that made the arrest.” You inquired.
“Let’s hope it’s the latter. Police can protect themselves better than civilians. If he goes after the police it will give us more time to see who was on his jury and try to warn them but let’s hope we can catch him before he hurts anyone else.” Hotch said
“Didn’t we help with this case?” Spencer asked.
“We did. So we need to pull everything we have from that case so we can find something that will help us catch Sutthers. Garcia should pull information on everyone in Sutthers’ jury. Morgan and Prentiss I want you to go down to the West Virginia police station and see who was on the Mark Sutthers case. Reid and (L/N), I want you guys to go over everything we have on Sutthers. Me and JJ will check in with local authorities to see if there’s been any sightings of Sutthers.”
It wasn’t until late in the evening when you and Reid decided to call it quits for the night. The two of you had gone over everything about Sutthers and had been able to piece together enough information to have a rough prediction where he’s going to strike next but by then most of the team had already left and you had to wait until tomorrow to present your findings.
“Hey Reid, can you give me a ride home? My car’s in the shop and the buses stopped running thirty minutes ago.”
“Yea, sure. Your place isn’t that far away from mine.” The two of you packed up your things and made your way to Spencer’s car.
“I still can’t comprehend how you can listen to classical music while you drive.” You said once you and Spencer were on the road.
“Today’s music just isn’t my style. Plus with classical music, you can’t get distracted by the lyrics because there are none.” Reid explained.
“Is that your argument?” You asked. Reid looked over at you.
“Maybe. But I still think classical is-”
“Reid!” You pointed and Reid turned his attention back to the road to see someone standing directly in the path of his vehicle. Reid couldn’t hit the brakes in time, as the person was struck by the car and rolled a few feet away. The two of you were stunned for a second, making brief eye contact with each other before quickly getting out of the car to help the person.
“Oh my god. Are you ok?” The two of you ran towards the person. It was a man, who looked to be in his thirties. He was unconscious.
“(Y/N), there’s a first aid kit in the center console of my car. Can you go grab it? I'm going to call 911.” Reid said. You ran back to the car and dug through the console until you found the white plastic box with the first aid supplies.
“Found it!” You said, turning back to the scene at hand. But you found that it wasn’t the man on the ground. It was Reid. You were going to call out to him but there was a sudden electric jolt to your neck before everything went black.
Reid woke up in a dimly lit room, sitting in a chair. His brain not fully awake, Spencer thought that he was having a nightmare, that he's back in the clutches of Tobias Hankel. It wouldn’t be anything new, he had those nightmares a lot. It wasn’t until he tried to move did Reid know that he was not having a nightmare. His hands were restrained behind him. With Spencer's eidetic memory, he remembers everything about his encounter with Hankel, he remembers that his hands were restrained in front of him, not behind. With that realization, Spencer became more alert.
He had hit a man with his car on his way to drive you home. That’s what he remembers. He told you to grab the first aid kit from his car so he could check how badly he had hit the man and call 911. But the man had a taser, it was unexpected and the man had tased Spencer before he could warn you. You. Did the man take you too?
“(Y/N)?” He said. He didn’t want to call attention in case the man came to wherever the hell they were but Spencer hoped you were in the same room as him.
“Spencer?” He heard behind him. Reid turned around the best he could and saw you in the same predicament he was.
“Are you ok?” He asked.
“Yea. Are you?”
“Yea. That man I hit with my car. He had a taser.”
“And used it to knock us both out.” You said “Now the question is why?”
“My message should have been obvious.” Spencer and you turned to see a man standing in the doorway, holding a knife. You and Spencer recognized that man. After staring at his picture all day you knew that it was Mark Sutthers.
“Mark Sutthers.” You said.
“I knew it wouldn’t take long for the FBI to be called in to investigate my murders.” Mark said, walking closer to the two of you. “Let me guess, you thought I was going to go after the police that arrested me?”
You and Spencer didn’t say anything.
“I thought about that. But I knew that it would lead to my capture too quickly. No, I said punishment will come to those who put me away. And that includes the FBI.” Sutthers squatted down to be eye level and pointed the knife at Reid.
“You, the genius who picked apart the trauma of my life,”He said, before pointing the knife at you, “and you, the forensics analyst who pieced it back together to lead the police and the rest of your team to arrest me and keep me in a cage for three years. Special Agent (Y/N) (L/N) and Doctor Spencer Reid, your punishment will come.”
Hotch should have known that his own team could have been one of Sutther's targets. Spencer had even said that the BAU worked on his case, but Hotch was certain Sutthers was going to go after the police or jury first before he even thought about going after his team. He was wrong and now two members of his team were missing, the only proof that they were alive was printed photos and a note saying “This is your punishment.”
“Do we have any idea where Sutthers could have taken them?” Morgan asked. Ever since he found out about their abduction, he looked into everything about Sutthers, pressing Garcia for everything she could find. (Y/N) was right about Morgan, he was the big brother and to him (Y/N) and Spencer were like his younger siblings. Knowing that they were being held captive by a serial killer made him distraught and angry.
“Garcia’s been looking into Sutthers records to see if there’s any property that he owns or has owned in the past, but so far she hasn’t found anything.” Prentiss said. This didn’t please the team. From the moment they found out they haven’t done anything but try to find you and Reid.
"I just got something.” JJ said, rushing into the meeting room. “A local landlord said he rented a small warehouse to a man matching Sutthers description. Garcia just sent us the addresses.”
Sutthers was true to his word about punishment. You and Reid were tortured the same way the previous victims were. Various cuts and wounds littered your bodies, enough to do damage but not enough to cause you to bleed out. There was one small comfort in the gratuitous toruture the two of you faced. Sutthers had placed you back to back with just enough room for the two of you to squeeze each other's hands as the pain went on.
“You know…” Sutthers said as he plunged a knife into your chest. You let out a pained scream and clenched Reid’s hand. “This has been fun.”
Sutthers got up, leaving the knife embed in your chest.
“Torturing people is how you get off. Of course you would have fun.” Reid said. He was doing better than you but even with the absence of a knife in his chest he was in a world of pain.
“Is that what you profiled about me, Doctor? You think I get high off of hearing your screams.” Sutthers stood in front of Reid.
“I think you’re a psychotic monster who’s going to pay for what he’s done.” Reid made direct eye contact with Sutthers, who punched him in the face.
“You’re right on both accounts.” Sutthers moved over to a table and wiped the blood off his hands. “Like I said, this was fun. But all fun things must come to and end.”
After the blood was wiped off, Sutthers moved to stand in front of you. You mustered all the energy you could to look at him, and wished looks could kill because Sutthers would have dropped dead at the hatred in your eyes.
“I planned this out the whole time I was in prison. No mistakes or slip ups. This has gone perfectly. Once the two of you are dead, I’ll skip town and wait until the heat dies off before I go after the rest of your team.” Sutthers pulled out a gun from his back pocket and pointed it directly at your forehead. “Hate to ruin such a pretty face.”
"There's one key mistake you made in your plan!" Spencer exclaimed. This piqued Sutthers interest.
“Really? And what’s that? Everything has been going perfectly. I caught you off guard by not going after the police. It was easy to target the weak links of the BAU. It will take your team too long to find me. Even with the photos I sent.”
"Yes, you caught us off guard by going after the BAU instead of the police like we thought. You struck at reasonable enough time so that you could get a few hours of tourture in before anybody knows we are gone and you went after what you consider the two weak links of the team.” Spencer explained “But there is one key mistake you made.”
“And what is that?” Sutthers asked.
“You went after the kids.” Hotch placed his gun to Sutthers’ head. “Lower your weapon and get on the ground.”
To say you and Spencer were relieved was an understatement. Your team stood in the entrance way, bar Hotch who was directly behind Sutthers. Their guns were raised and you inferred they would shoot Sutthers if given the chance because they looked pissed.
“Drop your weapon and get on the ground.” Hotch said calmly. Sutthers was hesitant. He lowered the gun away from your forehead and dropped it. He then slowly began to kneel but suddenly wretched the knife out of your chest and went to take a swipe at Hotch. Your eyes were closed due to the erupt knife pull but you heard six gunshots. Opening your eyes, you saw Sutthers lie dead in front of you. You kicked his head for good measure. He was dead. Without hesitation, the team was on you and Spencer in seconds. Rossi and Morgan went to help Spencer, while Hotch and Emily assisted in uncuffing you.
“I knew you and the team would come for us.” You told Hotch.
“I wasn’t going to abandon my kids.” He said. You smiled. They got the cuffs off and the team led you and Spencer to the awaiting paramedics so the two of you could be taken to the hospital. Morgan rode with Spencer to make sure he wasn’t given any painkillers while you got Hotch.
“You were right, you know?” Hotch said.
“About what? You being the team mom?”
“That we’re a family. Once you and Spencer were taken, the only thing we could focus on was finding you two. The team had the energy you only find when someone hurts your family. And what Sutthers did, he hurt two members of the family.” Hotch explained. You didn’t know if it was because your injuries were catching up to you or Hotch’s words but you felt tears begin to roll down your eyes.
“Are we really your kids?”
“Of course you guys are.”
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hello! for the request, can you do, 89+93+98 with badboy!hendery + innocent!s/o? the genre is up to you!💕
Hendery + #89 Your lips are so soft. I could kiss them all day, #93 Don’t tell your parents, #98 You’re adorable
genre: fluff
word count: 1k7
a/n: sorry this took so long ;; also as i was writing i fell in love with this concept so now i’m an emotional wreck lol
✿ prompts for requests ✿
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” You mumbled completely out of breath, attempting to entangle yourself between the bushes of your backyard. “And yet, here you are.” Answered Hendery, who just a few minutes prior had texted you to come down and meet him. He couldn’t just ring the doorbell, of course. “If my parents see you here, they’re going to kill you first and me second.” You remarked, moving aside some branches to get a better look at him. “Okay, don’t tell your parents I’m here then, easy as that” snickered your interlocutor. Hendery’s face was lit up by the soft moonlight, he was wearing his signature leather jacket, the one he brought everywhere with him, even at church. His hair fell delicately on the corners of his face, framing it perfectly as always.
When you had seen him for the first time during a Sunday mass his hair was a little shorter and he had a bit of a tan, which was now disappearing. “Look at that young man, can he at least show some respect with an appropriate attire when he goes to church?” was one of the many comments your mother would whisper in your ear, you always nodded, making her believe that you agreed with her. She had absolutely no clue that you and Hendery would’ve ended up bonding during the course of the Summer at youth camp. No one knew that you two would sneak out of your accommodations to meet in secret by the lake; he had taught you how to slide rocks along the water surface and you had helped him memorise some prayers Hendery couldn’t wrap his head around. If any of your friends had known, you knew their perception of you would’ve changed drastically. You with your long dresses and the “God-honouring” styled hair, as Hendery had nicknamed them. Him and his always black attire and hair that would never stay in its place, just like him. Hendery was like a volcano that could explode at any moment, ready to speak his mind whenever he desired to. It was a characteristic that, deep down, you wish you had for yourself. Both of you, so different, yet somehow, you clicked with each other perfectly. Summer eventually came to an end, and you thought so would your friendship. Oh, how wrong you were. As soon as you came back home, he would come looking for you, making sure to come around when your parents weren’t home. You couldn’t help but feel rather taken back, partly because you were afraid. Not only for what the others would’ve said, but also for him. You knew very well that, under that cold and unbothered act Hendery would put on, there was the sweetest guy you’d ever met. People just couldn’t see through him like you did. Still, you were too scared to meet him in broad daylight, which resulted in him suggesting to meet some time after dinner. And here you were, with leaves entangled in your hair as you were trying to get past the last bush that was separating you two. When you were finally face to face with Hendery, you adjusted the hem of your dress, making sure that there were no stains. “You’re adorable.” Whispered Hendery but you had heard him loud and clear. You thanked the darkness that was hiding your trembling hands. “Don’t mock me.” “I’m serious.” Hendery objected, letting his fingers remove the leaves that were still on your head. To other people this small contact would not be considered a big deal, but to you it was, due to your upbringing. You had never been this close to a man before, and Hendery was aware of that. He was also aware that he adored how flustered you would get when he would take such liberties; seeing you messing up your words, your shaky hands hiding behind your back, your breathing getting quicker, everything about you would drive him crazy. As he removed the last remaining leaf, he lingered there on the spot, wanting to figure out the features of your face. “H-Hendery, can you back up a l-little?” “Oops, my bad.” He apologised, but he wasn’t sorry at all. “So… what was so urgent that it could not wait?” you implied, crossing your arms. “Nothing. I just wanted to see you, y/n”. Hendery replied boldly, mimicking your movements. You were still not used to his gratuitous upfront remarks, inevitably your lips parted slightly, unable to respond. “Oh, and also… I want to show you something.” Hendery quickly put his arm in yours, making his way through the darkness. “Hendery, w-wait-“ “I swear, it’ll only take five minutes. I’ll get you home safe and sound, I promise.” He spoke so seriously, looking at you over his shoulders, you knew that he meant it. It made you feel secure and at ease. You stopped resisting, matching his steps to yours, all the while looking down to hide your smile.
You had lived in this neighbourhood for years, yet you had never been on top the hill that was just minutes away from your house. Neither you had ever seen the city this way before: all the lights illuminating the night sky left you breathless. As you were taking all of this in, Hendery stood on the side, observing your rather childish expression. “Sit down with me.” Hendery asked politely. Before you could refuse with the excuse that you would’ve ruined your dress, he removed his jacket and put in on the ground, indicating that you could sit there. “But it’s your favourite jacket.” “And that’s your favourite dress.” Hendery remarked with a tender smile that made you give in. You sat together, like many times before by the lake, but this time it felt rather strange. The atmosphere was tense, so unlike you two. Usually you would converse, laugh freely and joke around. You broke the silence making a remark on the sudden temperature shift to which Hendery just hummed in response. Then silence fell again. “I’m sorry y/n, I don’t know how to do this.” “What do you mean?” now you were nervous, clueless about what he was referring to. Hendery fidgeted with the rings around his fingers, trying to utter something that could make sense to you. “I don’t want to scare you.” “Well, you are scaring me with all of this mysteriousness.” You slightly stuttered saying this, causing Hendery to smile tenderly. “Okay then… can I hold your hand?” Hendery’s request would’ve felt out of place to anyone, but he knew that he had to behave this way with you. Being so shy, and inherently afraid of the contact of a man, courageously taking you in his arms and kissing you passionately, like he had dreamed about, wouldn’t have been the best option. Hendery wanted you to trust him, to feel safe with him, and he was succeeding, considering how quickly you nodded, touched by how considerate he was being. His fingers slid in between yours carefully. He was surprised by how you reciprocated the grip, and you were as well. “Do you like this? I mean… is it alright?” Hendery questioned, noticing how your eyes would not move from the landscape. “I like it, a lot.” You replied, stressing the last word. Hendery’s heart was about to implode, he was now sure that you felt the same, so he decided to push his luck. “Would it be alright if I kissed you?” the way he was articulating his sentences was so far from how he spoke normally in these situations, yet he was ready to make compromises for you. Slowly, you gathered up the courage to look him directly. Of course, you wanted to kiss him, that was all you had dreamed about during the entire summer, but there was one thing holding you back. “I’m afraid that I don’t know how to.” You came clean, looking away once again, but Hendery stopped your movement halfway, gently reaching for your cheek. “All you have to do is close your eyes and just… slightly part your lips and... move them with me.” You followed his instruction, although you were certain you looked like an idiot in doing it. Both of Hendery’s hand were now cupping your face, guiding you cautiously to him. When your lips finally touched, it felt like heaven opening up its pearly gates to you. Hendery’s pecks were delicate and sweet, succeeding in his attempt of making you relax. You began matching your movements to his, finally returning the kiss properly, making Hendery melt right there on the spot. The exchange remained as chaste as possible, yet somehow Hendery couldn’t recall a single kiss that had made him feel this way. He knew that you were special from the first time he had seen you stand up so proudly, reciting a psalm in front of the whole congregation. And now you were there, in his arms, granting him the privilege to be the first man to ever kiss you. The pride he felt in such honour was beyond words. Calmly, Hendery leaned backwards, disconnecting your lips. He observed your expression thoroughly, wanting to make sure that you had enjoyed it just as much. Your bright smile was more then enough for an answer. “Wow, y/n. Your lips are so soft, I could kiss them all day.” That was more like the Hendery you had grown so fond of. “Don’t say these things.” You mumbled this sentence almost like a reflex, even if your mind didn’t agree with it, and it showed in the laugh that followed your statement. Suddenly, you felt Hendery’s lips pressing on your forehead lovingly. “If you don’t want me to say those things, then I won’t.” he declared, miming a zip closing his lips. You shook your head, tenderly moving his hand away. “I want you to be yourself.” After finishing the sentence, you caught a glimpse of a wide-eyed Hendery, who stayed silent for a full minute. You were starting to worry, seeing him speechless for the time since you had met him. Then he fiercely grabbed your hand, placing it on his chest. “And I want you to be my girlfriend.”
#hendery au#hendery imagines#hendery scenarios#hendery fluff#hendery angst#hendery smut#hendery drabble#nct au#wayv au#wayv scenarios#wayv imagines#wayv fluff#hendery fic#nct 127 scenarios#nct 127 imagines#nct dream scenarios#nct dream imagines#request#huang kunhang
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first impressions
Summary:
After a rather bumpy first day working with Unit Bravo, Detective Neve Langford vents to Tina about one particular agent's lasting impression. (aka Adam made a bad first impression and Neve is gonna die mad about it)
Pairing: Tina & f!detective (background/future Adam x f!detective)
Notes:
This is my first time writing anything Wayhaven, I'm still feeling out character voices and getting used to Neve. Discord chat reminded me of my visceral reaction to the way Adam said "shock" in that first meeting scene. And so this teeny venture into Wayhaven was born, to let Neve have the rant she's been holding in for two and a bit books! Plus it was a fun excuse to write short sweet banter with my best girls. couldn’t resist the hot fuzz reference
Rating: T Word Count: 815
[Read of AO3]
The front doors of the station swing shut with a click, but Neve waits another moment just to be sure.
Beep boop beep boop…
Douglas’s game starting up again is confirmation enough that her new “colleagues” have finally left the building.
Something between a long held-back growl and scream breaks from her throat, shattering the silence of her office—the sound barely contained behind tightly pursed lips. Less than 24 hours into her first case and—
“I’ve been wondering how long it’d take you to make that noise since your mum showed up this morning,” Tina leans around the door, brandishing a steaming cup of coffee like a shield.
“I am having the shittiest day, Tee,” Neve whines, drumming her feet under the desk in a mini-tantrum.
“You had the shittiest day?” She flops dramatically into the chair opposite Neve. “The cast of CSI Wayhaven waltz into your office, and you have the audacity to tell me you’ve had a shitty day.”
“They work for my mother.” Tina whinces in sympathy as Neve pushes up from her desk, abandoning her coffee to pace in front of the window. “And their team leader is such a—”
She drags her fingers roughly through her hair - a waterfall of strawberry blonde falling back in front of her eyes when she’s done, and she still can’t find a word to adequately describe Commanding Agent Adam du Mortain. Dick just doesn’t seem to cut it.
A Chesire cat grin stretches across her friend’s face.
“Oh I see…”
“No, you don’t.” Neve ignores the gratuitous eyebrow waggling aimed at her from over the desk. “Seriously though, listen to this: so, I start talking about our victim and I say ‘we don’t have a cause of death yet’ and do you know what he said?” She pinches her fingers together to emphasise the point. “Shock.”
“No.”
“Mmhmm. Shock.” Neve manages to pause in her pacing long enough to fold her arms for effect before her rant continues.
“The fact that, yes, the woman did die of shock is beside the point. It’s the way he said it, Tee.” Her temper flares again just thinking about the exchange. “It wasn’t ‘the victim will have died of shock, Detective Langford’. It was ‘oh, surprise surprise, PC Plod. Fuck off back to Sandyford, the swan’s escaped.”
Neve snaps her lips shut, rolling them for good measure, having just realised how loud her rant had gotten.
“Right, I don’t care how hot they are,”—Tina stands to wrap her friend in a hug—“for you, I will glare at them all tomorrow. And not like a smouldering glare. Proper stink-eye.”
With a laugh, the pair sit back against the edge of the desk and Neve lets out a long sigh, trying to push away the last of her lingering irritation.
“You’ve got to admit though…” Tina smirks. “There was some chemistry.”
“There was not,” Neve snaps back, a little too fast —the memory of icy green eyes intruding on her thoughts.
“I can’t remember the last time you shouted at someone.”
“I can’t remember the last time I met someone that infuriating.”
She huffs, hoping a minor show of annoyance might hide the flush which creeps up the back of her neck, and bury the butterflies back under her mood.
‘Sparks.” Tina continues.
“There were no sparks.”
“Are you kidding me? It’s a good job we’re over the road from the fire station. That heat!”
“Stop it!”
But the conviction behind her words falls into laughter, the same way it always does when Tina brings her round from a bad mood.
---
A little way down the street, Unit Bravo stand looking towards the detective’s lit office window.
“Well, that could’ve gone worse.”
Nate decides to leave the fact that it obviously could’ve gone better to the imagination of the group.
“That’s true,” Farah chuckles, and he can tell what’s coming next before she opens her mouth again. “At least she didn’t pepper spray our almighty leader. This time.”
Adam shoves his fists with enough force into his coat pockets that it’s a miracle of tailoring the seams don’t tear. His mouth has been set in a tight line, brows deeply furrowed since it became evident he was the subject of the detective’s outburst.
“Don’t worry, Adam.” Farah reaches up to pat the team leader on the shoulder. “This’ll make for the best meet-cute story when I give my best woman speech at your wedding.”
If looks could kill, the glare Adam shoots her would’ve left a second body for the detective to investigate come the morning. Although, if anything, it only spurs on Farah’s laughter.
“Can we just get this over with?” Morgan stubs out her cigarette and gestures in the direction of the Farris warehouse.
Adam nods sharply and turns on his heel—evidently grateful to get away from the sound of the detective’s laughter.
#adam x neve#the wayhaven chronicles#twc detective#detective neve langford#neve langford#tina poname#adam du mortain#adam x detective#this is the first time i've posted fic on main in nearly 2 years and its scary af
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