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cjsinkythoughts · 4 years ago

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In Need of a Breath

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 4007

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, Zemo, Feelings, Another PTSD Flashback

A/N: So…Part 4 is going to have a couple parts to it. Maybe even three. I didn’t even make it half way through the episode on this one, mainly because I really wanted to fit in the Reader’s backstory and I wanted her and Sam to have a heart-to-heart again. I’m suuuuper tired, so I probably won’t be posting the next part for another few hours (it’s 5 am right now and I haven’t slept), BUT it’s my day off work and I won’t be doing anything I planned because my grandmother had a stroke a couple days ago so plans have changed and I’m staying in to help her, meaning I’ll mostly be writing all day.

This Part is kind of a mix between off-screen and shot-by-shots, but it’s mostly off screen/what’s going on inside Reader’s head.

I’m really excited about future parts and the characters that are being introduced! I will say that after these parts, I will be doing one shots of previous MCU movies with the Reader, due to the information that is being given about the Reader now. You kind of see more of how she was affected/how she affected the previous MCU movies and what she was doing during that time.

Like always, this hasn’t been beta’d, again it’s SUPER early in the morning, and I’m really tired, so please excuse any mistakes! I hope you guys enjoy this part! Stay tuned for more to come later today!

FATWS MASTERLIST

cjsinkythoughts MASTERLIST

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

“You know…I’m really starting to regret saying yes to this.” You huffed out, craning your neck and squinting your eyes against the sun as you stare at the facility in front of you, hating the skin-crawling feeling of being back.

“Would you relax? Whenever you’re nervous, I get nervous, and I don’t wanna be nervous about this.” Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Do either of you have a better plan?” Bucky grumbled, crossing his arms.

Gnawing on your lips, you finally take the lead and breathe out, “alright. Let’s go then.” You could feel the hesitance from your - what were they? Partners? Coworkers? Teammates? - the fellas before they started after you.

There was a sick twist in your gut as you entered the building, going through the lobby and security.

You had been there.

You had been there when Zemo impersonated Bucky. You had been there when Zemo unleashed the Winter Soldier at the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre Building in Berlin. You had been there during the battle at the airport. You had been there when Zemo turned Tony and Steve against each other in Siberia. You had been there when Zemo tore the Avengers from the inside out. Your family. The only family you’d ever known.

But you’d always been good about pushing your personal feelings aside for the sake of the mission. It’s what you’d been born to do. All you ever knew.

“Hey. Doll. You hear me?”

“Hmm. What?” You looked up from the ground to look into those enchanting blue oceans Bucky had for eyes, staring worriedly down at you, eyebrows pinched and forehead creased.

“I’m going in alone.” You frowned, opening your mouth to argue, but he shook his head. “Sam already agreed-”

“I didn’t necessarily agree-”

“You’re an Avenger, sweetheart.” Bucky tilted his head, speaking softly, those eyes of his worried. Worried for you. It made your stomach flip. “And you were there in Siberia, and that almost makes it worse. Especially considering you went after him. Just…just let me do this, okay?”

You cracked your knuckles nervously as you thought. It was a terrible idea. But it was an idea. And it was all they had. “Okay.” You finally relented, shrugging as your hands hit your thighs and slid up to your hips. “But don’t do anything stupid.”

“Steve took all that with him.”

Knowing about their little inside joke, you scoffed. “Sure he did. Go before I change my mind.”

You watched him walk down the hallway, hands fidgeting with excess nerves. “I think you’re the only one he actually seeks approval from.”

“Good thing I’m so lenient then, huh?” You joked, turning to Sam with a strained smile. Your smile slipped at the curious expression on Sam’s face, his eyes darting to each of your features. “What?”

“Are you doing okay?”

You groaned, throwing your head back. You thought you got out of talking about your feelings back in Baltimore. “Oh my God, Sam-”

“I’m serious. You…you just don’t seem like yourself.”

You shook your head, looking down the hall to where Bucky disappeared before turning back to him. It was weird to have a self that people recognized. Your whole life you’d been searching for it and when you finally found it…everything went to shit. “Honestly, Sammy, the only time I’ve ever felt like myself was with the team. Zemo took that away from me and now we’re here, practically begging him for help.”

Sam hummed, leaning against the wall. “Have you thought of taking a break?”

“What?”

“A break.” At your bewildered look, he rolled his eyes. “Cher, this time last year most of us were dead. This time a few months ago you found out about Wanda. This time last week you were out looking for her. Maybe you should just stop and take a breather.”

Shoving your hands in your pocket and looking at the floor, you couldn’t help but snort at his advice. “I haven’t taken a breather since I was eighteen.”

He clicked his tongue. “That’s my point. FBI academy as soon as you graduated. SHIELD recruit by 21, undercover operations leader by 24? Slow down. You’re in your thirties. Next thing you know, you’re gonna be ninety something, lying on your deathbed, wishing you had stopped to smell the roses.”

“If I live to be ninety, shoot me.” He chuckled in amusement. “I’m so fucking serious, Sam. I will not be put in an old folks home to play Bingo and be pushed around in a wheelchair. It ain’t happening.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” There was that infectious smile, which you unconsciously grinned back at. “Y/N…I’m serious. You’ve been in and out of missions since you were a teenager. What’s the shortest undercover operation you’ve done?”

“I dunno.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Yeah you do.”

Licking your lips, you turned away and shrugged. “A couple months. Seven weeks and three days, to be precise. September to October in 2012.”

“And the longest?”

“August 2007 to May 2009. Twenty one months.”

Letting out a puff of air through his nose, Sam pushed himself off the wall and caught your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. “That’s nearly two years under cover. And I’m sure you went right back under after-”

“I was sitting at a desk for four months doing paperwork on it.” You defended yourself.

He shook his head, brows knitting together, lips drawn down. “You say that as if four months is enough time.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Sammy. I’m out. I’ve been out since Ultron and Sokovia. I haven’t been under in almost a decade-”

“A decade half the world was dead for half of-”

“I wasn’t!”

“I never said you were.” Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. You were always amazed at his ability to keep his emotions in check. To stay cool under pressure. Sometimes you forgot how experienced he was with dealing with other people’s trauma. It was no wonder why Steve thought he’d be good for Bucky. “Listen. All I’m saying is once this is done…don’t go diving back into searching for Wanda. Don’t go running to the kid every time he calls - and I know you’ve been doing that-”

“It’s just been homework and stuff-”

“Y/N.” You stopped, biting your lip at the stern look he gave you. “Go home. Order take out. Binge watch TV. Go for a jog through the park. Actually meet your neighbors. Go grocery shopping. Just…live. If only for a couple weeks. Don’t worry about anyone else. Don’t pick up the phone, don’t drop everything because someone needs you. You need you.”

“I-I…” You shook your head, looking at him, sincerely apologetic. “I can’t. I wish I could. But I can’t. I’ve never had one normal day in my life. I’ve never had someone to care for, never had someone to care for me. I can’t let people I’ve come to…I can’t let them think I don’t care. I don’t even know where I’d go.”

“Whaddya mean?”

You winced, not thrilled for his reaction to your next statement. “I, uh, I sold my apartment in D.C.”

He gaped at you in complete disbelief. “You got it in December!”

“I know, I know. I liked it. I really did, but…I dunno. Nomadic life has always suited me better. It’s what I grew up with.”

He took a breath, making you cringe again. You don’t think you’ve ever legitimately gotten on his nerves like this before. “Have you ever thought that, instead of going with the flow and jumping place to place, putting down roots might actually help?” He cut you off before you could say anything, holding up a finger to stop you from talking. “I can’t imagine going from foster home to foster home like you did. I can’t imagine not having a home for as long as you can remember. Louisiana’s my home. Always has, always will be. But I understand your life has been anything but stable. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why you need some stability.”

You clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. “The Avengers were my stability. Steve was my stability.”

“Because you loved him.”

“I’m not doing this with you again.” You turned to walk down to the lobby to wait for Bucky there, but Sam caught your arm.

“You were in love with him! It’s okay! You two were super close! No one would blame you! Why won’t you just admit it? I’m trying to understand! Why won’t you-”

You tugged your arm away, finally snapping at him. “Because he could never be mine, Wilson! Is that what you wanna hear?!” Sam took a step back at your exclamation. You closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat and pushing down the tears. “He could preach all he wanted about moving forwards, Sammy, but we all knew he was stuck in the past. He visited the museum every Thursday because her interview showed in his exhibit on Thursdays. He carried around that broken compass because her picture was in it.” You looked back up at him sadly, shrugging. “And I get it; it’s hard to move past your first love. I get it because…that’s what he was to me.”

There was a silence that blanketed the hallway, before he spoke up hesitantly. “What about Bucky?”

“I thought - I thought I was projecting my feelings for Steve onto him because I knew Steve couldn’t ever…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You thought? What do you think now?”

You cleared your throat. “I’m still figuring that one out.”

“If you ever need to talk, I’ll be here.”

You chuckled, nodding slightly towards him. “Back atcha. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you not being yourself lately, either.”

“It’s…a tough topic.”

You nodded in understanding. “Just know that I’ll support every decision you make as long as you think it’s the right one. Because I trust you. Steve trusted you. It’s all we can do to try to do what’s right. That’s what makes you a good man, Sammy. He gave you that shield for a reason, and if you think what you did was right…I’ll stand by it.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, calming down in each other’s presences and taking comfort knowing you’d be there for each other through thick and thin. “Thank you, cher.”

“Of course, Sammy. Now let’s go see what’s taking the old grump so long.”

He laughed at that, nodding in agreement, taking your offered hand and squeezing it as you made your way down the hall.

****************

“What?”

Bucky eyed you as you spluttered, coughing on the water you were drinking. “Please don’t choke, doll.”

“Break him out of jail?!” You repeated his words and blinked at him, absolutely baffled by his plan. “Oh my God.” You groaned as Bucky and Sam started arguing, moving your flashlight around the room. “Where the hell are we?” There was no response as they kept going back and forth.

“Zemo’s gonna mess with our minds! Especially yours! No offense.”

“Heelllloooo!” You tried again. “Where the hell are we?!”

Bucky turned on the lights, giving Sam a look. “Offense.” Glancing at you he quirked an eyebrow. “Stop worrying your pretty lil’ head, sweetheart. You trust me, dontcha?” Your breath hitched at his words. You quickly recovered, huffing and pouting - although you’d deny ever pouting - and crossing your arms. You stood between the guys like that, eyes darting to whoever was speaking, waiting for them to stop so you could actually think.

“Look. Let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?”

You and Sam exchanged glances. “What did you do?”

“I…didn’t do…anything.” Bucky shrugged.

“How is it that you, one of the most deadliest assassins basically ever, are one of the worst liars I know.” You tilted your head at him, an eyebrow quirking up in confusion.

“Shush it you. Just, okay. The weakest point in any system isn’t the software, the hardware, it’s the meatware. The human element.”

The more you listened to Bucky’s “hypothetical”, the stronger the gut feeling telling you this was a terrible terrible idea got. You brought your hands up to your head, eyes wide as he spoke.

“I don’t like how casual you’re bein’ about this. This is unnatural.”

You couldn’t help but agree with Sam’s words, your head falling back and your eyes closing. “Sweet Jesus. Listen, God, I know we don’t talk much these days, but please, please don’t let this not be a hypothetical. I’m fucking begging you.”

A noise to your right made your head snap over. “Oh hell to the fucking no!” You shook your head as Zemo himself walked in, wearing a prison guards uniform. “Uh-uh! No way! Bucky, this was not part of the plan!”

“What did you do?!”

“We need him!”

“You’re going back to prison.”

“If I may-”

All three of you faced him, simultaneously shouting, “no!”

You held your face in your hands as your head dropped, shaking back and forth, your eyes squeezing shut, tuning them out for just a minute to think. Bucky had a point. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that, and the Avengers were technically disbanded, which was Zemo’s whole objective in the first place, but…God. You were good at compartmentalizing, but not that much. You were willing to put your feelings aside for the mission so Bucky could talk to him. Not for you to work with him. But he had connections, you knew he did, and he had information…

“Doll?” You looked up, Bucky anxiously licking his lips as he met your gaze. “I need you to say something.”

You looked to Sam, who shrugged, gesturing to Zemo. “What do you think?”

What did you think? What did you think?! You thought that it was the worst idea in the history of ideas and you should turn back and find another way! But…you knew this was the fastest, probably most reliable way to get information that you needed.

Dammit, since when were you the deciding factor?

You sucked in a breath, looking over Sam’s shoulder at Zemo, who lifted his hand in greeting. You raised your eyes to the ceiling, pointing your finger accusingly. “This is why we stopped talking.” Gaze dropping to the still waiting fellas, you gnawed on your lip, before hissing out, “ffffine…” Running a hand through your hair, you threw your hands up as you shrugged. “Fine. Okay. Fine.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded, taking charge again.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Except, that was a lie. You could. You’d seen weirder. You’d experienced the impossible. Lived through the unbelievable. This…this was completely imaginable.

Which is why, with a lot of hesitation and very little confidence in this plan, you followed Zemo through the auto shop you were in until you reached a large room with a ton of different old cars.

Bucky’s hand found yours as Zemo explained what the plan was, rather vaguely, in your opinion, but at least he was explaining. Point for him. Not that it would make up for the level of distrust you held for him, but it was something.

You looked up at him, giving him a puzzling frown. He usually only grabbed your hand in front of other people when he was feeling anxious. Which, yeah, he had a right to be anxious right now, but it wasn’t the right kind. The type of anxiety caused by large crowds and loud noises, ones that startled him and threw him into a defensive mode.

But the look on his face made you squeeze his hand in reassurance. He was pouting, staring at you although he did something wrong - a puppy that tore up a pillow - and all you wanted to do was give him a hug.

“You’re mad at me.” He mumbled as the four of you headed out with Zemo in the lead.

“No I’m not.”

“Yeah you are.

“Bucky, I’m not mad.”

“Listen, if I had a better idea I wouldn’t-”

You brought your linked hands up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his gloved knuckles. “I’m not mad.” You repeated more firmly. “It’s just…a lot for me, right now.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on, Buck, I-I just…” You thought about your and Sam’s earlier conversation and suddenly understood what he meant. “I need to breathe for a second.”

His features twisted into ones of uncertainty, eyes squinting as you stepped outside. “Do you…do you wanna leave?”

You shook your head, tugging his arm to stop him and grabbing the sunglasses on his collar, slipping them over his eyes. “No. I just need some time to think. Hopefully the plane ride to wherever the hell we’re going will give me that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, James. I’m sure.”

He lowered the glasses on his nose to scan you over the frames, before nodding and sliding them back up. “Okay. You ready for this, then?”

“No.” You breathed, turning back to where Zemo and Sam were still walking. “Let’s do this.”

*****************

Climbing onto the private jet, you raised an eyebrow at Sam, who shrugged, giving you a bemused expression. A Baron…huh…who knew? You feel like you should’ve, yet there you were.

You sat besides Bucky, across from Zemo, crossing your legs and leaning back while staring at him through narrowed eyes.

His butler seemed nice, which made you even more suspicious. You obviously didn’t know as much about Zemo as you wanted to. It was a habit you picked up after years of undercover work; once the mission was complete, that was that. There was no looking back on it. No sitting on it. It was over and you moved onto the next one. It was a bad habit in cases like this.

The moment you spotted the notebook over Zemo’s book you knew something was going to happen, yet you still flinched when Bucky lunged at him, grabbing his throat. You leaned back in your seat again, steadying your now racing heartbeat. You decided you were too tense, trying to relax your muscles as Bucky sat back down in his seat.

“I’ve seen that book. It was Steve’s when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in that book.” Sam seemed so proud of himself that something he recommended was written in Steve’s little book and it made you smile.

You remembered that; Steve and you were supposed to meet up for coffee after his run, but Fury called him in so you rescheduled it for when he got back. He asked you about Marvin Gaye. For your opinion. You told him to check it out and make his own.

You remembered asking him about that little notebook of his, and he just shrugged you off telling you about his list. He would read items off to you, but he never let you read the book yourself. You never found out why, and you supposed you never would now. The thought made an ache behind your ribs that you’d come to familiarize yourself with appear.

You smiled a little more as Zemo and Sam told Bucky how awesome Marvin Gaye was. “C’mon, baby. Back me up.”

Chuckling, you looked at Bucky. “They’re not wrong. But,” you quickly added before Bucky could whine at you, facing Sam again. “Neither is Buck. I mean, c’mon. You can’t find music like the 40’s anymore. Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Fred Astaire. Ol’ Blue Eyes himself.”

“Thank you.” Bucky grinned at Sam, who rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay. But, I mean, c’mon! Everybody loves Marvin Gaye.”

“I like Marvin Gaye.”

“Steve adored Marvin Gaye.”

Your face fell as Zemo started talking about Steve and icons and Red Skull, your mind once again slipping away from reality.

“Kids love you.” You giggled as you finally made it out of his exhibit. You’d wanted to show it to him since he moved to D.C., and you’d finally got an opportunity after coming back from being undercover for ten weeks. “You’re their hero, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just trying to do what’s right.”

You nudged him, scoffing at his answer. “You’re too humble. You’re a national icon, you know.”

Steve shrugged, looking around the museum at the planes surrounding them. “I never wanted to be.”

“Why not? Everyone loves you.”

“I’m sure not everyone loves me.” He rolled his eyes. “And…I just wanted to help. To fight. Protect my country and the people I cared about. I-I didn’t ask for…all that.” He waved behind his shoulder where his exhibit was getting smaller with each step they took away. “People were dying. Bullies were winning.”

You shook your head, spinning and walking backwards besides him to face him. “Sure, but you did that. And you became someone people could look up to in the process.”

He narrowed his eyes at you before asking, “why do you do what you do?”

“...because I’m good at it?”

“Honey.” He gave you a look. “Answer the question.”

You hummed in thought. “Because I couldn’t stand by, knowing there would be orphaned kids if I didn’t help any way I could.”

“Alright. Why do you do it in the dark?”

“Whaddya mean?”

He shrugged. “Why don’t you come out and take credit for all the lives you’ve saved?”

“Because that’s not why I do it. I don’t want that attention. I just want to know I’ve helped people. I’ve kept them safe.”

He gave you a soft smile. “I just wanted to beat the bully. I never wanted to be a dancing monkey, too.” You looked at him in a new light then, understanding where he was coming from. “Watch out, honey!” He grabbed you and pulled you aside before you could crash into a wall, arms wrapped firmly around your waist. He gave you that charming smile of his. “Wouldn’t want you hurting that pretty lil’ head of yours, now would we?”

“Y/N!”

You snapped back into the conversation, moving your eyes from the window to Bucky, who tilted his head, eyebrows pinched and eyes narrowed. “Sorry. So, Madripoor. That’s a fun place.”

You ignored the side eyed glances Bucky and Sam exchanged, Sam turning to you curiously. “You’ve been?”

“Once. Back in 2010 for a few months”

Zemo raised his eyebrows. “You’re lucky to have gotten out.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Lucky, maybe. Skills were a part of it, too, though.”

“Good.” Zemo nodded. “Because we’re going undercover…and if we blow it. We’re dead.”

You breathed out, shaking your memory away and getting your head back into the game. Because like the man you were severely wary of in front of you said, if you blew this, you were dead. And, sure, you didn’t want to live until ninety, but you weren’t even half way there yet. So dammit if you were going to die soon.

“Hey.” You looked over at Bucky’s murmur, his head tilting as he grabbed your hand and pulled you from your seat closer to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Are you okay? You know you’re going to have to be-”

“I know.” He nodded. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed thickly. “I’ll be fine. Just…tell me right now if you need to step out for this one.”

You gave him a smile that you knew he didn’t buy, just by the slight narrowing of his eye, his lips pressing together. “No. No, I’m good for this. If you think I’m gonna let you two idiots go into Madripoor with him - alone - oil that cyborg brain of yours, because there’s no way.”

He squeezed your hand, eyes still filled with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

“If there’s even a slight possibility that I can protect you, then yeah. I’m sure, Buckaroo.”

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highfunctioningflailgirl · 4 years ago

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My Lethal White episode 1 recap

After having had a lot of fun recapping episode 2, I went back and did episode 1 as well. It got a bit out of hand and is a loooong post...

Under the cut, because, evidently, there will be ALL THE SPOILERS! 🚨

*SQUEEEEE!!!* THEY’RE BACK!!! 🤗💃🏻🙌🏼 (Yes, I’m still squeeing, although this is a rewatch)

Let’s look at the title sequence, shall we? They’ve added a few new details: There’s the wooden cross from the dell, the White Horse of Uffington and Robin’s Houses of Parliament guest pass. The child from Billy’s memories and the pink blanket. Someone’s already mentioned the ‘whore’ swirling in the coffee cup, and then later we have a fencing icon in the pint. Cool hints. 😎

Cut to tired, head-achy Cormoran at the wedding. Strike has a slightly different haircut, and I wonder: they dye Tom’s hair darker for the role, but he has a glint of natural first grey at the temples that I’ve seen on Tom pre-Strike. How did they keep that? (Sorry about the hair kink digression…☺️)

Pet peeve of mine they carried over from Career of Evil: in the book, Donald Laing slashes Strike’s palm, but it didn’t happen in the series. There was no blood on his hand when he called Robin, and his glove was intact. And yet, Strike has his hand bandaged. I know it’s a silly pet peeve of mine, but stuff like that pulls me out of the moment. And Strike wouldn’t slap on a bandage just for a little bruising. *steps off soap box*

“You look beautiful.” - “And you look terrible.” - “It’s this jacket, needs taking in.” ��

“I want you back.” - “What?” Augh, the double meaning of it all, Strike’s softness and Robin’s initial uncertainty of what he means. 🥺

When she realizes that Matt deleted Strike’s messages, there’s a tear spilling from her eye, and she quickly wipes it away. 😢 Such good acting. Such a brave girl.

A few of us have already addressed this in the chat: did Matt BLOCK Strike, or delete his calls and messages? Or both? They’re frustratingly unclear about this detail, and it makes a difference in terms of Strike being able to reach her or not. (I’m a continuity nerd, sorry)

Sarah standing next to Matthew. *gags*

Robin looks so beautiful! And so very sad. (Holliday is acting her heart out of this season, can’t say it enough). This is award material, hands-down. 🏆

Her look across the room at Cormoran while they’re eating! And he’s… just been staring at her all through the meal? Good god. These two.

If Cormoran falls asleep before dessert he’s got to be really, REALLY tired.☺️ Poor baby.

We’ve got to work on your fine dining skills, Cormoran darling! It’s very cowboy and rugged, handling cutlery like that, but you would SINK during an aristocracy under-cover op. Maybe the Comte de la Fère is available for a lesson?

The first chords of The Calling’s “Wherever you will go”. Ack. They really went for the original, and as someone who’s always been ridiculously in love with that cheesy song, I AM HERE FOR IT.

Cormoran walking slow-mo past the bridesmaids, looking at Robin dancing with Matt The Twat. My heart…💔

When I’m gone you’ll need love to light the shadows on your face… *sniff*

Cormoran’s FACE during the dance. I can’t. He looks like a puppy about to get shot. 🥺

(and what a juxtaposition to the little lady with the funny hat bobbing happily next to him, to everyone looking awww and being completely ignorant of the drama that’s playing out. Ugh. I’m dead.)

Matthew moves like someone who’s (painstakingly) learned exactly one (1) dance, and for their wedding only, and why is he even smiling so proudly? They must’ve just had the biggest row in history? Is he really so full of himself?

Even Robin is smiling, although staring longingly at Strike. I bet they did that so Strike would be a little mad at her and want to walk away.

AND HE DOES! 😟 You can just see the “Fuck this” from the book crossing his face as he turns around and leaves. Ack. I’m dead again.

If I could then I would, I’ll go wherever you will go

(Perfectly placed, kudos) 👏🏼

And she runs after him, looking like a fairy-tale princess. Did you see how frigging COLD it must’ve been, judging by her breath?! Poor Holliday must have been freezing to death during the shoot. And then to pull off such a heartbreaking scene…

(Also, the lawn in the park? A shitload of rolled sods. No grass looks this lusciously green in winter, and you can see the edges everywhere. Some landscaper had a field day there!)

“Are you sure?” - “Yeah. I am.” About WHAT, you idiots?! *wrings hands* To her coming back to work, of course, but there’s so much more to their statements. And I’m sure that non-book-readers thought they were about to kiss and elope, but - alas! - we know that’s not going to happen.😔

But at least we get The Hug™️, and it’s everything we hoped for: Robin crying, digging her fingers into his jacket; Cormoran closing his eyes… God help us, we are all DOOMED sailing this ship! 🙈💔

I was a little miffed upon first watching that they faded out of that hug so quickly. That was it? No, it wasn’t, as we now know, and I love, love, love that we’re getting all these extended flashbacks that reveal more and more of what happened to us!

ONE BLOODY YEAR LATER (I still can’t get over that time jump)

Lol at the subcontractor crashing his moped into the cab! It was only briefly mentioned in the book, and turning it into an actual dialogue was a fun idea.😂

And there’s Denise (that IS her, right?), completely uninterested in doing her job. Good grief - Strike and Robin are BAD a picking employees! 🙈

Robin looking not-jealous-at-all at Strike walking off with Lorelei. Ouch.

I like Lorelei, btw. They chose the actress well, and she’s nice and mature. Which doesn’t mean that I’m not secretly flinching every time she kisses Cormoran. It’s just not right.

Billy. Joseph Quinn does an incredible job playing him. 👏🏼 As dangerous as he appears at first, his despair and his efforts at holding himself together are heartbreaking. That battle he wages against his mental illness is on full display, and his scared big eyes are killing me. 🥺

Cormoran is admirably unfazed by Billy’s appearance - is that his Army training kicking in? Robin, though, is shaking but braving it out, recording with her phone although her hands are trembling. Good acting by Holliday.

Good riddance, Denise.

The good ole’ pencil trick. “I didn’t know people still did this.” 😌

I was surprised that Cormoran chose to simply break into the house on Charlemont road. It’s breaking and entering for no good reason. Could’ve been anybody’s home.

He’s not going to- EWW! He’s sitting down on that filthy couch. And plucking hairs from it. EWW!🤢

Robin: “...and some porn.” 😂 Says it as if it’s what they always find. The usual. Men… 🙄

Who’s the guy taking pictures of Cormoran? I seriously don’t remember this from the b- Oh, WAIT! Reporter guy. Patterson. Yeah. Him.

The CORE members are as cliché in their looks as are Chiswell’s upper class folks. It’s all a bit on the nose for my taste, but then clichés are clichés for a reason.

Cormoran needs to work on his disguises. Not fitting in at all with the CORE crowd, age-wise or in his look. No wonder they don’t trust him. He does it better in the books.

Oh Robin. I actually think you need a lot more therapy to work through your shit.

Ah, here we go. Seaborn bacteria. But first, Matt’s got to be a prick again. 🙄

Chiswell with his arrogance and his rudeness and his finger-snapping. *shakes head* I think if Cormoran hadn’t known he could make some serious money with this case, he may have walked out on him.

Btw, the “large” jacket is making Strike look slimmer instead of bigger. 😄 They’re so desperately mentioning Strike’s largeness, as if beating it over our heads could actually make us not see barely-6-foot and slender Tom Burke.

“Couple more potatoes wouldn’t hurt.” And his FACE! 🥰

Glenister is a really good actor. I always listen to the Strike audiobooks that he narrates, and I was worried hearing his voice in the show would be confusing, but it’s not because he sounds so different. Can’t wait for him reading “Troubled Blood” to me! 🎧

Is it a coincidence that Drummond’s art gallery has a painting of a horse in its front window? I think not.

I love that soft blue shirt they put Cormoran in. Makes him look very huggable. *blushes*

“Not sure I would make a convincing goddaughter either.”😂

So in England you can just walk up to a minister’s house and ring the doorbell without any security people stopping you? Interesting.

Chiswell just shutting the door in Cormoran’s face. RUDE.😠

The brown contact lenses. 👀 Okay, they make her look different, but not THAT different. It’s her sudden posh accent that’s the real stunner.

The panic attacks. Holliday plays them so well, I almost feel like I can’t breathe myself. 😧

I was expecting the Houses of Parliament to look a little less like a stuffy basement full of old junk. *ducks*

Barclay! Definitely looking more attractive than his description in the book. And I thought I’d gotten food at understanding Scottish. I haven’t. *turns subtitles on*

Izzy is the only Chiswell offspring who doesn’t make me want to immediately vomit.

“Venetia. Like the blinds.” Oh God. 🙈

Winn is such a creep. 🤮 Poor Robin. GET AWAY FROM HER YOU LEECH!

Of course Matt doesn’t want Robin to wear the Green Dress. Twat.🙄

The house warming party. I always wonder why Robin doesn’t have friends of her own. I have a feeling Matt has something to do with that.

The earrings. So we will see Robin finding out Matt’s cheating on her! I can’t wait for her to rip him a new one! 😈

Robin calls Cormoran - and it’s not Coco but Lorelei who picks up. That’s a smart change from the book. And it makes her the rebound girl. Which she doesn’t deserve, but it is what it is.

“And she bakes.” 🥴 Is it just me wondering how Lorelei got that cake into the tin without ruining the icing?!

Flashback to The Hug™️. God, their faces are so close. Cormoran is so soft. Nnnnhhhggggg.

Enter the plaid shirt. Lumber!Cormoran is a good look on him! 😍

The Armchair of Sadness™️. Of course that’s where the devastating phone call to Robin’s house happens! The disbelief and disappointment on Cormoran’s face is heart rending. 😢💔

@lulacat3 and I have already established the continuity error with Cormoran’s facial injuries suddenly missing when he’s reached the pub. (And they should still be there; he’s still wearing the plaid shirt from that same evening.) If I were the makeup person I would have been deeply regretful of having missed dabbing fake injuries on Tom’s face again.

The Uffington Horse. Robin’s in appropriate Wellingtons, weather jacket and a beanie for their outing. Cormoran is wearing what he always wears, and Tom clearly wishes he had a beanie. At least he gets to wear a t-shirt under his eternally blue shirts this season. REVOLUTION! 😄

Sure. Let’s just go and dig for a corpse with a shovel so conveniently available! Just the two of them - one delicate Robin and one invalid. And then Robin finds the bones after ten seconds of digging. No further comment. 🙄

But I like the change with Cormoran’s leg. As stupidly heroic as he acted in the book, I like it better in the show where he has to acknowledge his handicap and Robin takes charge.

The bones. Dun-dun-DUN!

(Good first episode, although all in all the pacing wasn’t quite right yet, and compared to the book it all felt a bit rushed. I liked episode two better.)

#lethal white #cormoran strike #lw #lethal white episode 1 #cb strike #bbc strike #spoiler alert 🚨

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atlafan · 5 years ago

Text

Take it Slow - Part Forty

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry.

Warnings: TW - Mentions of past abuse! Angst. Fluff. Smut.

Masterpost (all previous parts can be found in the masterpost)

“It’s good to see you, Y/N. How was your trip to England?”

“It was incredible! Would you like to see some pictures?” You say to Dr. Mara

“Sure.” You show her a few. “That is incredible.” She squints at you. “You look a little tired.”

“Long couple of days. Went out drinking a few times. Harry and I, uh, had sex when we were in London.”

“Wow, how do you feel?”

“Great! I’m really happy we waited as long as we did, but I’m also really happy to be so close with him now.”

“Any flashes?”

“Yeah, during the first time. But it didn’t happen until the end…it was scary in the moment, but I was fine after.”

“How often have you been active since then?”

“Just about every day, sometimes it’s multiple times a day. It’s been fun.” You smile. “We’re really exploring each other. I’ve been feeling like my old self lately.”

“So…what’s getting at you today? Is it him living with you?”

“No, I love that we’re living together. That transition has been relatively smooth.” You look away then back to her. “He keeps bringing up doing me from behind.”

“Oh.” Her face falls.

“Yeah.”

“He doesn’t know that’s how…”

“No. And I can’t bring myself to explain it. He just wanted to have a conversation yesterday and I blew up at him. The day just got worse and I had a panic attack.”

“I’m so sorry dear.”

“I felt better this morning, but I know I hurt him last night too. I didn’t let him hold me while we slept.”

“You two usually hold each other?”

“We usually fall asleep cuddling in some fashion, yeah. We usually wake up that way too. I just didn’t want to be touched last night though, everything was running through my head.”

“That’s understandable.”

“I just can’t bring myself to do that yet, it seems stupid because we’re having sex now.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid. That’s a very vulnerable position to be in, regardless of what happened to you.”

“I know he’d be careful with me.” You look down at your hands. “I can tell he tries his hardest to hold back. I can tell he just wants to pound into me…I feel like when we’re doing it we’re not fully able to let go and be ourselves because we’re both afraid of something bad happening.”

“Would you prefer to have aggressive sex?”

“It’s not that I want it to be aggressive, but I would like to get to a point where I can tell him to fuck me, and he just fucks me! It doesn’t always need to be sweet, does it? I just want to be a normal fucking person!” Tears start to well up. You grab a tissue not wanting to mess your makeup up. You still had to go back to work after this.

“Y/N, no need to get worked up, alright? There is nothing wrong with you.” She smiles warmly at you. You take a deep breath.

“I feel like every step forward I take, it’s two steps back.” You look at her. “I’m gonna have to tell him, aren’t I?”

“You should only do what feels comfortable, but good communication can go a long way. I hope you know you have made a tremendous amount of progress, and you should be proud of yourself.” She looks down then back at you. “I’m going to propose something, but it’s entirely up to you.

“Alright.”

“If you get to a point where you want to tell him, but you’d like some extra support, I want you to know you can bring him here with you. But only if you feel comfortable with that.”

“Okay, I’ll, um, think about it.”

You think over everything on your way back to work. You scarf down your lunch quick at your desk. You see a note, it was from Harry. Came to surprise you, but you were out. Hope you have a good day. I love you. You sigh and smile. You tuck the note inside your desk. You decide to print the photo of him kissing you on your cheek. You dig out another frame you had and put it in. You stick the photo next to the other one you had of him.

Niall knocks on your door. There was a project he needed to go over with you.

“Got it, I’ll get right on it.”

“Thanks.”

“Listen, I’m sorry I snapped earlier.”

“I shouldn’t have pried.”

“Harry stopped by.”

“Yeah, I saw him.” He makes a strange face. “I made him tell me what happened.”

“Niall! Jesus fucking Christ!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

“And let me guess, you told him?” He blinks at you. “That wasn’t your information to give him!”

“I’m so sorry, I was upset with him for what he did, and-“

“You don’t need to be upset with him! You’re not the one fucking him, I am, okay? This doesn’t concern you!”

“Everything okay in here?” One of the older women pops her head in.

“Everything’s fine. Niall are we done here?”

“Yeah.” He gets ups and leaves. You wanted to slam your door shut, but you knew that would be unprofessional.

You didn’t say goodbye to him before you left for the day. You had never been so annoyed with Niall. He tried to catch you before you left, but he just missed you. You drove to the apartment fuming, but trying to calm yourself. Excited to see what the place actually looked like.

“M’girlfriend should be here any minute. She’s usually the early one.” Harry says to the realtor outside the apartment. “I know it’s cold, sorry.”

“Not a problem, sure there’s traffic.” Harry sees your car pull up, you find a parking spot, and get out.

“Hi, sorry.” You kiss Harry on the cheek. You look unpleasant. “I’m Y/N.” You shake the realtor’s hand.

“Shall we?”

You and Harry follow the man inside. It’s a really nice lobby. You can see all of the mailboxes on the wall.

“Wow, there’s a lobby attendant here?” You say.

“Yes. There are a lot of elderly folks here, it’s a peace of mind thing. There’s often a doorman as well. In fact there was an elderly couple in this place before, but they recently moved to Florida.”

You follow him into the elevator. The apartment is on the fifth floor. The realtor unlocks the door and guides you in. There’s a hallway, similar to the one you have now, only there was a beautiful hardwood floor, looked newly refinished. There was a coat closet. You both step further in and see a large living room.

“Harry look!” You point to a gas fireplace. “We could put the TV above the fireplace, and the sofa could go here.” You gesture. He smiles and nods.

“The kitchen is closed off, but over here would be a formal dining area.”

“Oh! I like the idea of that. Much easier for dinner parties.” You push through a door and go into the kitchen. Yours and Harry’s jaws drop.

There were granite countertops, new cabinets, and stainless steel appliances. There was a small island similar to yours.

“Plenty of room for both of us in here.” You look around a little. “Everything is so new.”

“Place was renovated after they moved out. They were here for over thirty years.”

“Wow!” You take Harry’s hand.

“Ready to see the rest?” You go back out to the living room. “Let’s start with the loft, just up the spiral staircase. This is where the bonus room is.”

The three of you carefully go up the staircase. You and Harry walk around the small area. It could easily fit both of your desks and all of his equipment.

“Harry you could almost make this your studio if you wanted.”

“You’d be okay with having clients come here?”

“Sure, why not?” You shrug.

The three of you go back down the stairs, and go down a hallway.

“So here’s the hall bath, it’s a full bath that has jack and jill doors for the guest room.”

“It’s a great size, glad it’s a tub shower.” You both check out the guest room. It could easily fit Harry’s bed and other bedroom furniture.

“And here’s the master.” The realtor opens the door for you.

“Holy shit!” You exclaim. “Pardon me.” You giggle. Your eyes grow wider with every step you take.

The room was absolutely huge. There were two closets so you and Harry wouldn’t have to share anymore. You could easily fit a king sized bed down the road if you both wanted. The ensuite bathroom had a beautiful tile on the floor.

“Harry look, two sinks!” You say excitedly. Your jaw drops again when you see the shower. “It’s just like the one in London!”

“Yeah, no kidding. And there’s still a tub in here too, that’s good.”

“Oh I love it.”

“Why don’t you take a few minutes to chat in here, I’ll be in the kitchen.” The realtor leaves.

“What do you think? You’ve been quiet.”

“Just takin’ it all in. It’s a great place.”

“It’s incredible! I could really see us living here babe.” You smile at him.

“Me too. Seems like a great fit for us. That loft alone would be a big help.”

“What do you think, should we put an application in?”

“I think we should.” You hug him excitedly.

You meet the realtor in the kitchen, and tell him you’d like to apply. He gives you a form and a pen.

“Has anyone else inquired?” Harry asks as you fill out your portion.

“Not yet. You two found this place at a good time, not many people willing to move in the middle of the winter.”

“Here Harry.” You hand him the paper and pen. “So how long will it be until we know?”

“Well, the landlord will want to do a credit check and all that. In the meantime, make sure you have first, last, and the security deposit ready to go.” You nod along. “Should be able to tell you in a couple of weeks most likely.”

“Here you are.” Harry hands him the finished paperwork.

“Wonderful, thank you both so much.”

“Thank you!” You say.

“I’ll walk you both out.”

The three of reach the street. You both shake his hand again, and go to your separate cars. You can’t wait to get out of your work clothes when you get home.

“Want some of the leftover curry f’dinner? I can heat it up.”

“Sure.” You say walking into the bedroom. You come back out wearing pajama pants and a sweatshirt. Harry hands you a bowl, and you sit down at the island. “Thanks babe.”

He sits down next to you. You both exchange small talk while you eat.

“Did you see I stopped by today?”

“Yeah.” You smile. “That was nice of you.”

“How was Dr. Mara?”

“Good, it was a good session. I really shouldn’t go during my lunch, I was sort of worked up today, but she helped me.” Your phone starts to buzz. It’s Niall calling. You roll your eyes.

“You’re not going to answer?”

“No, I’m mad at him.”

“Why?” You drop your fork and look at him.

“You know why.” Harry bites his bottom lip. “I know he told you, because he told me he told you. It wasn’t his information to give out.” Harry goes to open his mouth. “And I’m not ready to talk about it yet. I know we need to, but I just can’t right now.” There’s a knock at your door. “That son of a bitch. I don’t want to see him right now.”

Harry gets up and opens the door, it was Niall. He blocks him from going further into the front hall.

“Would ya let me in?”

“She said she didn’t want to see you. Surprisingly enough, she doesn’t seem mad at me anymore, so I’d like to not rock the boat.”

“You’re wrong, I am still mad at you, but I’m choosing to let it go because you didn’t understand fully what was happening.” You say with arms crossed leaning against the wall. “Why are you here?” You squint at Niall.

“I tried to talk to you before you left, but I missed you.”

“Had an apartment to look at.”

“How was it?” You scoff. “Y/N, I’m really sorry okay?”

“You do this all the time! You tell other people things about me because you’re trying to protect me or some shit. It’s enough! I get it you two are best friends, but he’s my boyfriend, and I get to choose what information about my life he gets to know.”

“I’m your best friend too.” His eyes start to tear up. So do yours. “I love you Y/N, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“I love you too Niall, but you two can’t run to each other every time one of us is upset about something. You need to let him and I work through whatever it is. Or if we want to talk to you about it, let us come to you, don’t pry for the gossip.” Harry’s a little taken back at how loosely the two of you just threw around I love yous. He wonders when you two first said that to each other.

“I’m sorry, I just got upset when he told me what he said, and I thought back to that day I came to your place and you…” He was full on crying and so were you. You walk over to him and you throw your arms around each other. Harry stands there awkwardly. “I can’t bare the thought of you bein’ mad at me.” He whispers.

“When it comes to what happened to me, can you just…not?” You look at him and he nods. “Okay, thank you.” You let go of him.

“Are we okay?”

“Yeah.” You smile and wipe your face.

“Don’t be too hard on the lad, he means well.” You look over at Harry and roll your eyes. You decide you’re going to start doing it even more because you know it annoys him.

“Mhm.”

“Well…I’ll get goin’. I just came by to make things better. I’ll see ya tomorrow.” You hug again. “See ya mate.”

“Bye.” Harry waves him off. You look at your boyfriend and roll your eyes again. He follows you back to the kitchen. You both sit back down to finish eating. “You’ve certainly gotten into a habit of doin’ that.”

“Doing what?”

“Rollin’ your bloody eyes at me.”

“My bloody eyes.” You mimic his accent and laugh. “I really don’t notice when I’m doing it.”

“Highly doubt that, love.” He sighs. “Are ya still mad at me, really? I feel terrible about everything. I really am sorry for upsetting you.”

“I just want you to listen to me when I say I don’t want to talk about something, okay?”

“I will.”

“I don’t want you to be afraid to talk to me about things, but I thought after the first two times I said no you would’ve gotten the hint.”

“I’m sorry, I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not.” You put a hand over his. “I know it’s, um, a really nice way to have sex, I just am not in a place where I feel safe doing it that way. And it’s not that I don’t feel safe with you…I just need to be able to look at you while we’re doing it. I don’t know where my mind will wander if I can’t see you.”

“Alright, makes sense.” He rubs his thumb over the top of your hand.

“What do you say we crack open that oat milk ice cream we got?”

“I hope it tastes good.” He chuckles.

“It’s cookies and cream flavor, bet it’ll be great.” You grab the carton out of the freezer and grab two spoons while Harry cleans up the bowls from dinner. You gesture to have him follow you to the couch.

You grab the remote and turn Chopped on. You loved Tuesdays on the Food Network. You both dig in to the ice cream.

“Mm, this is good.”

“Yeah! I’m surprised, honestly.” Harry says. “You know what’s crazy, we just put an application in for our very own place.”

“I’m so excited, I loved that place so much. There was so much space.”

“Yeah, I like that there’s some room to grow if need be.” He says looking at the TV. You choke on your ice cream. “Jesus, you alright?” He rubs your back as you swallow.

“What do you mean room to grow?” He blinks at you. He realizes he said an inside thought out loud.

“Um…just like if we got a dog down the line.” You squint at him, you knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful. “Plenty of room for a small dog to scamp around.”

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about having kids some day, but you were only twenty-four. You were in no rush to care for a baby when you could barely take care of yourself. You knew Harry loved babies, but it was way too soon to start talking about any of that. Was it something he was already thinking about?

“Right, that’s what I thought you meant.” You turn your attention back to the TV.

“I love you.” He says.

“I love you too.” You nudge him. He puts an arm around you.

“Fuckin’ Ted.” He points his spoon at the TV. “He’s always gettin’ in the way! They only have twenty minutes mate!” You laugh hysterically. “It’s true!”

“I know! That’s why it’s so funny.” You take another bite of ice cream. “And that idiot over there doesn’t know how to properly grill pork, it’s gonna be dry.”

“Should’ve ground it up and fried it into fritters or something.”

“I agree.” You snuggle into him.

“M’gonna put this away, alright?” You nod. He puts the carton back in the freezer and gets back on the couch. “Would you lay on me?”

“Mhm.” You smile.

He lays on his back, head resting against the arm rest, you lay your head on his stomach, and lay your body between his legs. One hand laces in your hair, and rubs your scalp gently, the other hand rests on your back. He felt so happy to have your weight on him. He missed you so much last night.

“I missed you last night.” He says quietly. You look up at him. “Never gonna make ya that mad at me again, I swear.” You prop yourself up and kiss him.

“Wanna go make up?” You give him your bedroom eyes, and he picks you up immediately.

He turns the TV off, and carries you into the bedroom. You giggle when you sets you down and yanks your sweatshirt up of your head. His head goes right between your breasts, planting kisses where he sees fit. His mouth wraps around one of your nipples and your head rolls back. He twists your piercing with his teeth and you groan. He lifts you slightly and puts you on the bed. He leans up and takes his shirt off. Your hands trace over the butterfly. His skin was hypnotic. He pulls your pants down, and parts your legs. He kisses you, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, then lets it go as he kisses down your neck, chest, and stomach. He sinks his teeth into your lower stomach and leaves a pretty decent bruise behind.

His mouth finds your clit next. Your hips buck up at the contact. His tongue flicks it a few times before he nibbles on you. Your hands go for his hair as you get lost in the feeling. His thumb replaces his mouth, and his tongue licks a stripe up your center. He hear him moan while he licks all around you. His tongue goes up inside you and you let out a moan of his name. You tasted amazing. Harry felt like he had been neglecting this side of things since you had started actually having sex. He could kick himself, why on earth would he deprive either of you of this?

“Harry.” You grind against his tongue. “Please fuck me.”

“Not yet.” He says bringing his mouth back to your clit, and inserting his middle finger in you. You pull hard on his hair. You want to clamp your legs together, but he uses his other hand to keep you spread apart.

His fingers curl up, and makes that come here motion deep inside you. Your head falls back into the pillow. You loved the way his tongue worked over your clit as his fingers hit that special spot inside.

“Shit, Harry.” Your back starts arching. “Harry.” You mean. “Harry!” You come all over his fingers, and your back arches completely off the bed. He slowly pumps in and out of you as you grind against him, riding out your high. “Fuck.” You say breathlessly.

He sits up and takes his own pants and boxers off. Dick throbbing and leaking for you. You grab at him, and rub your thumb over his leaking tip. You move him to lay down, and shuffle between his legs. You wrap your lips around his tip. You wanted to return the favor. His hips push up, and you take more of him into your warm mouth. You let go of him with a popping noise.

“Love the way you taste babe.” You say.

He grabs you and puts you back on your back. He grabs your legs and wraps them around his waist. He kisses you, sticking his tongue in your mouth as he pushes into you. He swallows your gasp.

“So fuckin tight, angel. Feels amazing.” He says into your neck before sucking the skin into his mouth.

“Love the way you fill me up, Harry.” He wasn’t going to last long with the way you were talking. “Don’t you think I should be on top?” You say into his ear. He leans up to look at you. “I mean, I think you should be teased a little for being so bad.”

“That so?” He smirks.

“Mhm.”

He rolls you both over so you’re on top of him.

“Don’t move until I say.” You grip the headboard, and slowly grind up and down on him. His hands slide up and down your thighs as he watches you ride him. His fingers dig into your hips, trying his best not to just thrust up into you. “Feels so good.” You say throwing your head back. You dip your hand down and rub your clit as you continue to grind against him slowly.

“Fuck, Y/N, please let me move.”

“Not yet.” You two had a habit of using your previous words against each other. Your breathing got faster as you could feel yourself getting close. You bite your bottom lip and close your eyes. “Shit.” You moan. You keep grinding against him, and look down with a smirk. “Alright, go ahead.”

Harry grips your ass and thrusts up into you causing you to gasp. You lean down on him and clutch at his shoulders as he fucks you. All of a sudden you’re on your back again, and the sound of skin slapping skin fills the air. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. He grinds into you and you moan loudly.

“You like that?” He smirks.

“Mhm.”

He fucks you like this for a few minutes, then drops your leg and comes down closer to you, crashing his lips to yours. You rake your nails down his stomach. His hands knead your breasts, one sliding up to your throat. Only lightly adding pressure like the other night.

“Just wanna remind ya of somethin’.” He says into your ear, nipping at your lobe. “You can take control whenever ya want.” His other hand reaches down for your clit and pinches it. Your back arches up in response. “But I’m the one in charge.”

He rubs on you quickly as he thrusts so deep tears come to your eyes. Between that and his words in your ear, you knew you’d be close again soon. He feels you tighten around him and your legs shake. You were sensitive now, but he didn’t let up.

“Fuck, Harry!”

“That’s it baby girl, come for me.” Your toes curl and your nails dig into his back, sure to leave marks. He groans into your neck.

“Fuck.” You say as your body goes limp around him.

He keeps going in and out of you, and you fully wrap your legs around him. He’s propped up with one arm, and his other reaches for your hand, you intertwine you’re your fingers. He brings it to the side your head. It was such a small act, but it turned you on so much.

“Fuck, I love you so much.” He says into your ear.

“I love you too. I love the way you make me feel, inside and out.” He nips at your jaw.

His thrusts start to get sloppier and quicker. He’s coming to his own release. You hear him moan your name a few times as he shoots up inside you. He collapses on top of you. You plant kisses to his forehead and run your hands through his sweaty hair.

He pulls out of you slowly and you wince from your sensitivity. You get up slowly and use the bathroom.

“Oh wow.” You say to yourself.

You didn’t realize how hard he had fucked you. You brush your teeth and wash your face. You smile at him as you open the door. He goes in to do his thing. You put on the t-shirt he had been wearing earlier, wanting to be fully encompassed with his scent. You crawl into bed, and scroll on your phone. He comes out a few minutes later.

“Shit, it’s late.” He says looking at the clock.

“S’only 10:30.”

“We’re usually in bed by now.” He chuckles. “When did we get so old?”

“Nothing about what we just did makes me feel old, speak for yourself grandpa.” He pretends to be offended.

“If I’m grandpa what do you think that makes you?”

“The young girlfriend that your kids tell you to dump because I’m only after your money.”

“I knew it!” You both giggle. “C’mere, love.” He opens his arms for you, and you lay on his chest. He sighs happily, playing with your hair.

“Mm, I love when you do that, feels so nice.” You close your eyes and listen to his gentle heartbeat.

You absolutely do not want to get up when you hear your alarm go off. Nor could you because Harry somehow had rolled on top of your body. You were starting to think you needed to set up a camera in the room just to see what he does in his sleep. You were a sweaty mess and you needed to shower. You turn your alarm off, and rub your eyes. You try to move, careful not wake him, but Harry’s hands grip at your sides.

“Five more minutes.” He says into your chest. You giggle.

“I have to shower.”

“But you’re soooo cozy.” He whines. You run your hands through his hair.

“Babe, please let me get up.” You coo.

“Can I shower with you?”

“Yes, but I can’t be in there long.”

He lets you up, and you throw your hair up into a bun on the top of your head. You didn’t have the energy to wash it. It was still pretty fresh from the salon. Harry was a sleepy boy this morning. He mostly just kept his arms around you while you washed yourself. You washed his back and chest for him. He woke up a little while you scrubbed his head for him. He kisses you before you both get out.

You throw a simple dress and boots on. You decide to keep your hair up in a bun, but you adjust it so it looks a little nicer, pulling some pieces out to frame your face. You put on some makeup, and grab a scarf to cover your neck with. You pack your gym bag as well before going out to see Harry in the kitchen making smoothies.

“Thank you sweetie.”

“Sure thing.”

“M’going to the gym after work. I’ll probably be home around six.”

“Okay, I might be home later than that. Gotta lot to do today.”

“Alright, I can make something for dinner then.” You smile and kiss him on the cheek. He grabs your wrist as you turn around. “What?”

“S’all I get for a goodbye kiss?” You giggle and press yourself against him. You give him a good kiss. “Mm, thank you.” He hums. “Can I come see ya at lunch today?”

“Sure! I’d love that.”

“Have a good day, love.”

“You too.” You grab your lunch out of the fridge, throw your coat on, and head out the door.

A coffee is waiting for you on your desk when you get there. You grab it and go down the hall to thank Niall.

“Good morning.” You say to him.

“Hey there.” He smiles at you. “You’ve been wearin’ a lot scarves lately.” He smirks.

“Yeah…it’s the only thing that covers these up.” You move it to the side to show him.

“Jesus. Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Sometimes.” You shrug. “But, not in a bad way.” You blush slightly.

“You two work everythin’ out?”

“Mhm…I still haven’t explained everything, but I told him when I felt ready I’d tell him.”

“Good. Sorry again.”

“Don’t mention it. Let’s move on.” You smile.

“Tell me about the apartment.”

“It’s beautiful! Gigantic too. We put an application in.”

“That’s great!”

“Yup, you know you and I need to plan a night for the two of us to get together. I haven’t even been able to tell you everything about England yet.” He frowns.

“I…don’t know if I can do that.”

“Why not?” You sit down. He sighs and looks at you.

“Well, on top of everything else last night, Sarah got mad at me.”

“About what?”

“I was like thirty minutes late to our plans…which were at my place.”

“Why were you late?”

“Because I wanted to make things right with you. She was pissed because she sat out waiting in her car because I haven’t given her a key or anythin’. She wasn’t thrilled when I told her I was at your place.” You roll your eyes. You knew Sarah had a tendency to get jealous, and make mountains out of mole hills. “She doesn’t really want me hanging out alone anymore. Says we have plenty of alone time at work.”

“What?! That’s ridiculous Niall. This.” You gesture between the two of you. “Is completely different than getting to hang outside of work.” You take a sip of your coffee. “So she’s basically telling you that you can’t be friends with me anymore?”

“I don’t know…but I don’t wanna rock the boat. I really like her, it’s been a while since I felt this way about someone.”

“Do you two love each other?”

“I’ve fallen for her yeah.”

“Do you think she’s the one?”

“Why are you askin’ me somethin’ like that?”

“Because it seems pretty fucking stupid to stop being friends with someone for a person you’re not even in love with.”

“Not everyone moves as fast as you and Harry you know? She could be the one. And I’m not stoppin’ bein’ friends with ya, we just need to lay low for a bit, til she cools off.”

“Fuck that.”

“You can’t say anythin’ t’her or she’ll get mad at me.”

“Niall, I fucking introduced the two of you, she’s not going to get away with this.” You groan. “Why does this always happen to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Anytime I have a guy friend their girlfriends always end up telling them to stop talking to me. It happened to me all the time in high school.”

“She didn’t tell me I couldn’t talk to you, she just doesn’t want me hanging out with you one on one for a while. And I wasn’t really in a position to justify anythin’. I wanna keep seein’ where this goes with her.”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

“I’m going to start the day, thanks for the coffee.”

Harry showed up for lunch just like he said he would. You hear a knock on the outside of your door.

“Hey you!” You say excitedly. “C’mon in, close the door.” You get up and greet him, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Need t’heat this up love.”

“Oh! You’re right. I’ll go bring these to the break room for us, hang tight.”

You leave to go to the break room. You see Niall sitting, waiting for you.

“Sorry, I forgot to mention Harry came for lunch. Probably shouldn’t eat together anyways.” You say putting your food in the microwave.

“Jesus, is this how it’s gonna be?”

“Not until you set her straight. If you don’t I will.”

“But what if she-“

“Niall, if this is something you two break up over, then it wasn’t meant to be. Harry doesn’t have a problem with us being friends, why should she?” He sighs. “You know I’m right.”

“Yeah, I know.” You put your hand on his shoulder, then leave with the food.

You go back into your office, and close the door behind you. You sit next to Harry and hand him his food.

“How’s your day so far baby?” You ask him.

“Good, busy already. Happy I could break away to see ya.”

“Me too.”

“This is such a good lunch, thanks again for makin’ it f’me.”

“You’re welcome my love.” His heart flutters.

“Come sit with me.” You giggle and sit on his lap.

“This is all the affection I can show you in here.” You coo.

“I know, just wanna feel ya on me.” He nuzzles into your chest. You stroke your hands through his hair.

You loved when he was like this. Just your cuddly boy.

#harry styles #take it slow #harry styles x reader #harry styles y/n #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff fic #harry styles smut fic #harry styles angst fic #harry styles y/n fic #fluff #smut #how do we feel about the conflict with niall?#harry styles imagine

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

Text

You Set My Heart Ablaze pt. 9/25

The winter holidays were a chaotic affair for the wolf pack. Since their own families were a mess it had become tradition to come together as a team and spend the Solstice as one big found family. This year was extra special because it was Ciri’s first winter with them and her first without her own family. This year was Lambert’s turn to host and he was going to make damned sure it was the best Solstice that the team had ever had.

The only problem was his cooking skills.

Cooking had never been his strong point.

When he’d lived with his brother, Eskel had done most of the cooking in the house and had developed quite a passion for it. So Lambert, like any good younger sibling, had quite happily taken advantage of every second of it. Of course, once living together had reached boiling point and they’d decided it was best for everyone to move apart, Lambert’s quality of diet had dropped considerably. He now lived on ready meals and takeaways most of the time, unless Eskel took pity on him, which happened on a fairly regular basis.

He stared at the cook book in front of him. The woman on front was smiling brightly in a sunlit kitchen and holding a ridiculously picturesque pie.

“Fuck it.” Lambert growled as he flipped through the pages to the right section.

He’d brought all the right ingredients and he’d carefully written down all the timings for everything, just like he’d seen Eskel do in the past. He read through the recipe for the roast lamb a couple more times before tying an apron round his waist and pulling his hair back into a bun.

“Cooking. I can do this. Easy as pie!” He grumbled as he pulled the ingredients from the fridge.

Today was all about prep, chopping veg and potatoes ready for cooking tomorrow, baking cookies for snacks during the day. He was also making an onion soup to start with that could be reheated tomorrow. He grabbed his peeler and stared down at the sack of potatoes.

There were so many fucking potatoes.

He was going to be here all day.

He should probably ask for help. Eskel always called him and Renfri round to help chop shit up.

“Fuck off, I don’t need help.” He grumbled and got to work with the potatoes.

He was about three potatoes in when he decided he was going to die of boredom. He washed the starch off his hands and put on some music. The sound of acoustic guitar filled the kitchen. It was some unknown folk band that he’d discovered online by chance, called Dandelion and the Bards. The two lead singers Dandelion and Priscilla harmonised so perfectly that it was like they’d almost been born to sing together.

He spent the next hour or so dancing around his kitchen with the potato peeler and singing along to the songs. The music was so loud he almost didn’t hear the doorbell. He paused, turned the music off and dumped the potato in the bucket of water.

The doorbell went off another three times in quick succession.

Eskel.

“I’m coming you ass!” He called out as the doorbell continued to ring.

He swung the door open with more force than necessary and glared at his brother who was grinning back at him. Geralt was stood behind him with Ciri perched on his shoulders. Geralt raised an eyebrow at his appearance and Lambert looked down at his starch covered apron. He huffed but didn’t say anything, for Ciri’s sake.

“Ah Ciri! Hello little lion cub!” He waved the peeler at the young girl and then paused. “Wait. What day is it?”

“Don’t panic, you big lump. We’re here to help.” Eskel pulled him into a hug and thumped him on the back.

“Oh. Yeah. Well I have it all under control.” He growled.

“Nice singing.” Geralt said with a smirk.

He felt his cheeks heat up, damned ginger complexion. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Sooo… what’s the plan of attack?” Eskel asked as he pushed through into the house. “Apart from putting the heating on. It’s freezing in here!”

Lambert shrugged. “Kitchen’s hot.”

The four of them made their back into the kitchen. Eskel pulled out a bundle of aprons from his rucksack and a cloth carrier that contained his set of actually sharp knives. It took about three minutes to delegate the tasks between the four of them. Eskel was in charge of marinading the lamb and making sure it was properly trimmed and ready to go in the oven. Lambert was to finish the potatoes and start on the veg. Geralt and Ciri would be on cookies. It was a tad cramped in his kitchen with all four of them working together and they almost crashed into each other at every turn but they were laughing and chatting away.

It was actually sort of fun.

He was starting to understand why Eskel enjoyed cooking so much.

They sorted out a game plan for the next day. Eskel went through his list of times and corrected any mistakes. Honestly, how was he supposed to know you were meant to let the lamb rest out of the oven after cooking. Surely that just made the food go cold. He hated cold food but Eskel insisted it would be ok but they had to make sure the plates were heated. In the morning Ciri and Lambert would make cinnamon buns together for team breakfast, Eskel would be in charge of the savoury snacks and salad, and Geralt would make the mulled wine and hot spiced apple juice for Ciri.

That way Lambert wouldn’t be stuck in the kitchen for the whole day and he’d actually get to spend some time with the wolf pack. He breathed a sigh of relief as he collapsed down onto the sofa with a beer in his hand. Ciri was sat by his feet with a glass of chocolate milk and Geralt and Eskel were lounged out on the arm chairs.

“See that wasn’t so bad.” Eskel grinned.

“I would have been fine.” He growled back.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. “Seemed like you were having a party in there before we arrived.”

He shrugged. “I like to cook to music.”

Eskel almost choked on his beer. “You don’t like to cook.”

He growled. “I do too!”

“You never once cooked!”

“Only because I knew you liked it so much!” He shot back.

“I had fun!” Ciri announced loudly. “Even if Dad did drop flour in my hair.”

“Sorry, Princess.” Geralt grumbled.

“It’s ok! I blame Uncle Lambert! He crashed into you.”

Geralt laughed. “I blame Uncle Lambert too.”

“So what was the music you were listening to, Uncle Lambert?” Ciri asked as she wiped chocolate milk off her nose.

Lambert chuckled as she scrunched her nose up. She still managed to miss a huge smear of chocolate that was on her cheek. He wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to get chocolate that far away from her mouth. Geralt sighed at went to the kitchen to get a damp cloth to help her clean up.

“A band I found on the internet.” Lambert smiled. “You wanna hear some of their stuff?”

Ciri nodded enthusiastically. “Yes please! Dad get off!” She squirmed as Geralt attacked her with the kitchen roll.

“Mucky cub.” He laughed.

“I can do it myself!” She squealed and grabbed for the paper towel. Geralt let her take it and she scrubbed ferociously at her face until she was sure it was all clean. “Good?”

“Perfect.” He ruffled her hair fondly and she grumbled under her breath like an angry kitten.

Lambert went to get his phone so he could put his music back on. The melodic tones of Dandelion’s guitar filled the room. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Eskel chirped up.

“Thought you liked the heavy metal stuff.”

Lambert shrugged. “I’m a man of many tastes.”

“I like it!” Ciri agreed. “Sounds like Mr Jaskier’s playing.”

Eskel and Lambert both rolled their eyes at that. They heard enough about Jaskier from Geralt at work. They had almost forgotten that it was all because Ciri was just as fond of her teacher.

The first song was sung almost entirely by Priscilla. It was a soft heartbreaking number that always left him feeling emotionally strung out. It was only about halfway through that he remembered the cursing and he coughed loudly over the swear words earning a glare from Geralt. Ciri didn’t seem to notice though, thankfully.

The next song began just as quietly on the guitar but this was one of Dandelion’s. The moment he started to sing, Ciri began to scream excitedly and Geralt spat a mouthful of beer out onto the floor.

“Mr Jaskier!!” Ciri shrieked.

“Calm down, Cub.” Geralt spluttered. “I’m sure it just sounds like him.”

Lambert and Eskel exchanged a despairing look.

“No!” Ciri stomped. “It is him!”

Geralt looked at Lambert with a fierce glare. “What the hell, Lambert?”

He put his hands up in defence. “Woah now. I didn’t know anything about Ciri’s teacher.”

“Jaskier isn’t exactly a common name.” Geralt challenged angrily.

“Exactly!” Lambert cried. “It’s not Jaskier!”

“It is!” Ciri demanded with tears welling up in her eyes.

“Well what’s the band called?” Eskel asked as he scooped Ciri up into a hug.

“Dandelion and the Bards!” Lambert exclaimed. “Not Jaskier. The guy singing is Dandelion.”

“No!!” Ciri cried.

“Ciri, Princess.” Geralt said calmly and tried to smooth the young girl’s hair as she squirmed in Eskel’s arms.

“No!!” She repeated.

Lambert sighed and turned the music off. “I’m sorry Ciri. It doesn’t say anything about any Jaskier.”

But it didn’t matter. Ciri was having a meltdown. No matter what they did or said helped her to calm down and in the end Geralt had to bundle the screaming girl into the car with the promise that they would email Mr Jaskier about the band. Eskel left soon afterwards with the excuse that his goat needed feeding and Lambert was left alone once more.

“Ah blessed peace.” He sighed happily as he watched Eskel amble down the road towards his own house.

__________

For the second day in the row, Lambert’s kitchen was covered in flour. Ciri’s hair was now as white as her father’s and her fingers were covered in sticky cinnamon sugar. Lambert’s shirt was covered in tiny floury handprints from where Ciri had hug attacked him, her tantrum from the previous day now a distant memory. He’d reluctantly made sure to uncheck all of Dandelion’s songs from his Solstice playlist. He would miss the calming melodies of his favourite band but it was not worth another screaming match from the youngest wolf cub.

Ciri was dancing happily in the middle of the kitchen. She twirled and leapt about effortlessly with all the energy of a six year old. She was incredibly graceful and Lambert wondered whether Geralt had secretly enrolled her in some sort of dance lessons. That was a thing girls did right? He groaned as he thought about his present for Ciri. He’d probably completely fucked up. He’d bought her a wooden sword and matching bow and arrow set, something he’d always wanted as a kid but never had the good fortune to receive. Ciri would like that right?

He ran a hand through his own hair with a sigh. How the fuck was the White Wolf raising a daughter? It seemed like only yesterday they were all just getting pissed at the pub after every shift. Lambert had to admit. Geralt had guts. He would probably have had a meltdown if the task had been left to him but Geralt seemed to have taken to it pretty well.

“Uncle Lambert!!” Ciri giggled excitably.

“Yeah?” He scowled at her mischievous grin.

“You made your hair all white!” She pointed up at him.

He looked down at his hands in horror and sure enough they were covered in sticky floury dough.

“Fudge.” He caught the swear just in time.

“You look like Dad!” Ciri exclaimed as she spun round in a pirouette.

“So do you!” He shot back.

“Do not!”

“Do too!” He argued and scooped her up into his arms. “And I’m right because I’m the adult!”

“That’s not true!” Ciri countered. “Mr Jaskier says even adults make mistakes!”

“Mr Jaskier hasn’t met me.” He growled.

Ciri laughed. “Yes he has! See you made a mistake!”

“I was testing you.” He grumbled and flushed as he realised the young girl was right. He had met Jaskier at the school back in October.

“Suuure.” Ciri sang. “Now let me down! I want to open my presents!”

Lambert chuckled and dropped the girl gently back on the ground. She sped off out of the kitchen like a blur. It was almost certainly a mistake letting her dip her fingers in the butter and sugar. He grinned. The sugar crash was Geralt’s problem. He was the fun uncle and got to enjoy eating sugar out of the pot. He squatted in front of the oven to check on their creation. The warmth seeped right into his bones and he hummed contentedly. It had been a cold couple of weeks and there was just something unsurpassable about the glow of a warm oven, especially when it contained baked goods. The kitchen was full of the smell of baking and cinnamon, the perfect scent for the winter holidays.

“Wolf!” Vesemir barked from the doorway sternly.

Lambert looked up sharply and almost toppled over from his squat.

“Exactly how much sugar did you give the cub?” Vesemir muttered wearily. “She’s bouncing off the walls.”

Lambert shrugged. “It’s Solstice. Give her a break.”

“Smells good.” Vesemir nodded at the oven with a softening smile. “We’ll make a chef out of you yet.”

Soon enough the oven timer went off and the kitchen was crowded by hungry firefighters. Vesemir ordered them to queue up properly and in no time they were all crammed into the living room. The fireplace was lit and crackling. Ciri stared into the flames, mesmerised by the ever changing patterns of the fire licking up the chimney. Lil’ Bleater was curled up next to her licking at her hands. Geralt had put on a pan of mulled wine and a smaller pan of spiced apples juice for his daughter and the spicy scents had permeated the air. It was warmth and homely. Lambert grinned as he looked around at his family. He’d never felt so at home in his house before.

“Presents!” Ciri demanded as she tore her gaze away from the fireplace. Her face was now covered in icing and crumbs, and her emerald eyes seemed to dance in the light of the fire.

The sound of laughter filled the air. Renfri and Vesemir got to work distributing the presents until everyone had a pile. Naturally the young girl launched towards the biggest present but Geralt had her in his arms before she could tear the brown paper off.

“Dad!” She whined and struggled to get free.

“That one is last.” He ordered. “Promise me?”

She glared furiously at the floor but mumbled an agreement under her breath.

“Good.” He let her go and she picked up the smallest present instead. She looked up at Geralt to make sure it was ok and he nodded with a small smile.

Ciri tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a small jewellery box. She opened it with an adorable confused expression on her face.

“Did you check who it was from?” Vesemir asked.

“Sure.” Ciri growled but Lambert didn’t miss the way she sneaked a glance at the shreds of wrapping paper on her lap that were already being chewed up by Eskel’s demon goat. “Auntie Yen!”

“What is it, Princess?” Geralt asked.

“A necklace, with a bird!” She held the box up to Geralt.

“Looks like a swallow.” Geralt mused.

“That’s what Uncle Vesemir calls me!” Ciri exclaimed happily. “Help me put it on!” She thrust the box into his hands.

Geralt fumbled a bit with the clasp but wouldn’t let Renfri help him and eventually Ciri had a beautiful silver necklace around her neck. The swallow pedant was embedded with what looked like emeralds, and knowing Yennefer, they actually were emeralds.

Most of Lambert’s presents were new pieces of gym kit which suited him just fine. His old boxing gloves had sorely needed replacing so he was very pleased with Renfri’s gift. Although he knew it was probably so they would have an excuse to spar again without him blaming his gloves every time he lost. Vesemir had bought him a new set of guitar strings and a subscription to his favourite boxing magazine, Eskel and Geralt had come together to get him a brand new set of weights, one’s he’d been eyeing up for months but hadn’t been able to justify the costs. Yennefer’s gift was bottle of very expensive vodka that he’d had once in a bar on holiday and had never forgotten. Ciri had bought him a DVD of a film they’d watched together in the summer and a box of his favourite chocolates.

Vesemir had a brand new collection of history and gardening books. He was settled into his arm chair closest to the fireplace with his nose buried in one the books. Next to him was a crystal whiskey glass that Yennefer had bought him. The damned witch seemed to be intent on showing them all up this year with her fancy job and her even fancier salary but who was he to complain?

Eskel had his arms full of new goat supplies from most of team. He turned round to show the little bastard his new stuff when they realised he was missing.

“Where’s Lil’ Bleater?” Eskel frowned as he looked around the room.

Lambert shrugged. The last he’d seen of the goat he’d been munching on brown wrapping paper. Ciri leapt to her feet and started looking for clues to track the goats movements. Something she’d seen on one of her tv shows.

“How about the kitchen?” Geralt suggested. “Goats like food right?”

“Everyone likes food.” Renfri poked the silver-haired man in the arm. “We sort of need it to survive.”

“Goats really like food though.” Geralt insisted.

“Goats eat anything.” Lambert countered. “He could just as well be in the bathroom by that logic.”

“Well I’ve looked under all the wrapping paper and sofas so he’s not in here!” Ciri chimed up from where she was buried half under cushions and half under brown paper. “Oooh what if we track his smell? Lil’ Bleater stinks!”

Eskel gasped at the accusation. “He’s a very clean goat! I take good care of him.”

“There’s a reason Vesemir bought you fancy pet shampoo.” Lambert smirked and punched his brother in the arm.

“Shut it.” Eskel grumbled. “He’s a handsome boy.”

“Who stinks!” Ciri agreed.

“I still think we should try the kitchen.” Geralt insisted and then paused looking at Ciri thoughtfully. “I think I can smell goat from that direction.”

Ciri squealed and ran into the kitchen. “Fucking liar.” Lambert hissed under his breath earning a smirk from Geralt.

They trudged after the young girl. There was no obvious sign of the goat but Lambert could hear a strange scuffling sound coming from the oven.

“He wouldn’t jump in a hot oven would he?” Lambert asked.

Ciri yelled at him for that and hit him squarely in the chest with her wooden sword. Lambert seized the opportunity to fall dramatically to his knees, pretending to be fatally wounded. He let some of his weight fall onto Ciri who shrieked underneath him.

“Uncle Lambert!”

“You got me real good, little lion cub.” He groaned as she tried to hold back his weight. He was still supporting himself enough that she wouldn’t get hurt but she didn’t need to know that. “This might just be my last day in this world.”

“Get off!” Ciri growled. “I didn’t hurt you!”

“I am wounded!” He fell to the floor and pulled her down on top of him.

“You’re an asshole.” Ciri grumbled and there was an echo of shocked gasps from the adults in the room. “What? It’s not a swear!”

“And it’s true.” Eskel added.

“It is true.” Geralt agreed.

Lambert glared at them both. “Screw you.”

“You’re awfully loud for someone who just died.” Renfri pointed out and he had to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t swear colourfully at her.

“Yeah! I told you I didn’t hurt you!” Ciri poked his chest.

A loud bleating ended the argument there.

“Lil’ Bleater!” Eskel cried happily.

Seconds later the a fluffy horned head poked out from under the oven. Lambert hadn’t even realised the gap between the oven and his kitchen floor was big enough for the goat to hide under. He was only a little goat but still it seemed like an impossible accomplishment.

Eskel picked up his beloved pet and swung him round in a big hug. “I missed you buddy! No hiding under ovens again, alright?”

The goat bleated.

“I know, I know. The oven smells of yummy food but you could have been hurt!” Eskel continued.

“Melitele save us.” Renfri sighed and topped up her mulled wine from the pan before stalking back into the lounge. So they could finish unwrapping the presents.

Eskel clipped on Lil’ Bleaters brand new collar and kept the mischievous goat in his lap as he unwrapped his last present, petting his sandy white fur absentmindedly.

Lambert had bought his brother a new cookbook that he was absolutely not allowed to open in front of Ciri. The names of the recipes were all very crude and there were pictures to match. Eskel had barely removed the paper before bundling it into his bag. His face flushed with embarrassment as Lambert cackled until his stomach began to ache. Ciri obviously asked what the big joke was and Eskel grumbled some lame excuse that made no sense. Luckily Ciri seemed content to let it go as long as she could open her next present. Vesemir had bought her a collection of new books after hearing so much about her love of school and reading. Some of them were a little hard for her age but Geralt would be able to read them with her.

Renfri only had two presents. Ciri had bought her a leather bracelet with wolves stitched into the band chasing each other’s tails all around the strap and howling at some unseen moon. The wolf pack and Yennefer had all teamed up to get her a decorative dagger that she’d seen at a craft fair over the summer. It was a beautiful blade, engraved with some kind of fantastical elven language and there was a stunning moonstone embedded into the hilt. It had been extortionately expensive but between the lot of them they had managed to afford it. Renfri’s eyes had lit up when she’d ripped the paper off the box, not quite believing it until she’d carefully lifted off the lid with shaking hands.

“There’s no way.” She whispered and then pulled them into a group hug. Even Vesemir put his book down to pat her awkwardly on the back. The blade fell from her lap with a clatter but thankfully she hadn’t quite managed to unsheathe it.

Ciri pouted at the sudden outburst of emotion but Renfri pulled her into the hug as well. “Your’s was better obviously! You’re the only person to get me their own present. These guys cheated.”

Ciri preened at that and stuck her tongue out at the rest of them.

The hug fell apart when Lil’ Bleater head butted Eskel in the back and they all toppled in a pile on the floor, much to the oldest wolf’s amusement. After that it was Ciri’s turn to open another present. Renfri bought her a new colouring book with glittery pens that Ciri loved. She had a strange obsession with anything glittery. The young girl declared it was because glitter was obviously magical and the rest of the team just couldn’t understand its power.

Geralt’s presents were all of a practical nature, a new toolbox from Vesemir, a couple of new shirts from Yennefer with a letter telling him that he had to wear them or else she would know. Ciri giggled at that but Geralt just looked at the freshly pressed black shirts in disgust. He was definitely more of a baggy t-shirt kind of guy but at least Yennefer hadn’t strayed from his usual colour scheme. Renfri had bought him some new stirrups for Roach. Lambert had bought him a new pair of boots after Geralt had complained about his old ones leaking following a particularly rainy shift at work. Eskel had made a picture frame filled with photographs of their little family. He’d even included a picture of Ciri with her parents and grandparents. The whole team had gotten a little sniffly at that one. Ciri was still yet to get off of Eskel’s lap and had promptly decided that he was the best uncle.

Geralt also had another present in the form of an envelope that he tucked into the pocket of his jeans. Lambert raised an eyebrow at that but Geralt just shrugged it off.

After Geralt’s presents Ciri was the only one with any presents left. She got a new wolf onesie from Eskel, further cementing his place as favourite uncle, much to Lambert’s displeasure. He vowed to make up for it on her birthday. He hated it when Eskel got one up on him.

And then it was time for Ciri’s last present and the last present of the day before they had to get busy in the kitchen for dinner.

She pulled at the paper excitedly and screamed when the guitar case fell into her lap.

“You got me a guitar!!” She shrieked.

Geralt winced at the high pinched tone of her voice and Lambert didn’t blame him. He was sitting across the room and even his ears were ringing. Geralt shook his head. “I got you a Ukulele.”

“A ukulele?” Ciri scrunched her nose up. “Does Mr Jaskier play the Ukulele?”

Geralt nodded. “He can. He thought it might be a better fit for you. It’s like a mini guitar and you’ve still got little hands. There’s some music in there too. Once you learn you’ll be able to read it just like Mr Jaskier.”

“Will he teach me?” Ciri asked brightly and Geralt shook his head.

“Jaskier won’t have much time outside of class to teach you but he has recommended a friend of his.” Geralt explained but Ciri was already scowling.

“I want Mr Jaskier to teach me!” She pouted.

“I’m sure if you ask nicely he can show you some things at school?” Eskel suggested.

“And you wouldn’t want to upset his friend.” Vesemir added from his place at the fireplace.

“Her name is Priscilla and she’s very excited to meet you. You’ll be starting lessons after school when term starts.” Geralt pulled his daughter into a hug.

Lambert almost dropped his mug of mulled wine.

“Sorry what?”

Everyone turned to face him with matching confused expressions on their faces.

“Lessons are after school?” Geralt repeated, raising his eyebrow at Lambert.

“No no… What was her name?” Lambert’s hands were trembling around his mulled wine.

“Priscilla?” Geralt repeated slowly. “He didn’t mention her last name.”

“Fuck!” He cursed.

Ciri gasped and pointed her finger accusingly at him and everyone in the room glared fiercely at him.

“Dandelion is Jaskier!” He yelled out to try and defend himself.

Ciri squealed happily and all the colour drained from Geralt’s face at the revelation.

“What the fuck, Lambert?”

______

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #witcher lambert #witcher eskel #lil' bleater #vesemir #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ciri #renfri #modern au #teacher!jaskier #fireman!geralt #you set my heart ablaze #wolfie's witcher writing #Umm I guess my tag list might need updating on this one #let me know if you want to be added/removed #I won't be offended either way!

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annaphoenix1994 · 3 years ago

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Colter - Outlaws From the West (1)

𝓑𝔂 1899, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓸𝓾𝓽𝓵𝓪𝔀𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓾𝓷𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓪𝓽 𝓪𝓷 𝓮𝓷𝓭.

𝓐𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓪 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓫𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓵𝓪𝔀𝓼...

𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓵𝔂 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓭.

𝓐 𝓯𝓮𝔀 𝓰𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓻𝓸𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓸𝔂𝓮𝓭.

───※ ·❆· ※───

"Gimme that!" Minnie Barlow snarled as she pointed a revolver to a younger man's chest. He was about thirty, with a green scarf and a matching vest on his torso. He hated to admit that she was scaring him, but he failed to have any choice as she was aiming his own revolver at him after their brief brawl.

"Miss, I-" He struggled. "You don't wanna do this! I'm an O'Driscoll and word will get back to Colm!" He pleaded as he clutched a manuscript close to his torso, which held crucial information about a train clearing through Granite Pass, a train in which the O'Driscoll's were going to rob, a train that held many railroad bonds, some gold, and government payroll.

"I don't give a damn who you are!" She hissed. "Gimme that paper and we won't have no problems, ya hear me?"

He nodded his head, but still refused to give her the manuscript. Young Kieran Duffy never wanted harm to come to anybody as he never really wanted to fall in with a band of outlaws in the first place, but after losing his mother and father to Cholera, his dreams of running a large farm in California were demolished. His lip quivered, "Please! I- Please, you don't wanna do this." He begged.

He gulped as he watched her grip on the revolver tighten, her knuckles turning white, wondering why she hadn't pulled the trigger on him yet. Maybe it was the fear in his brown eyes or the quivering of his lip as she had wrestled him in the snow as they were in a region called the Grizzlies. His eyes darted to the small ridge behind the two, seeing his scouting partner taking a perch to get a good shot at her. He knew he was in trouble, but he could not see another person get killed. "Run!" He shouted at her, preparing himself to feel a bullet penetrate his torso, but flinched when the sound of gunpowder did not come from her, but from his partner.

He missed.

Minnie shuttered as she pursed her lips, "You're one lucky bastard." She seethed as she quickly unloaded his revolver before throwing it back onto his lap, selfishly taking his bullets for her own. His breath hitched as he fell back in the snow, trying to relax his breathing as Colm himself couldn't have come close to being as terrifying as Minnie Barlow. He rose his head at the sound of heavy boots thrusting through the snow, seeing his partner lunging at him, pinning him deeper into the snow. "You goddamn idiot! Why'd you tell her to run?! Huh? Why?!" He questioned, his palms gripping tightly around his throat.

"I-I don't know Phil!" He pleaded.

Phil huffed and let Kieran's torso thud back into the snow onto his back, not wanting to demand answers from him. "We're wanted men, Mister Duffy. Do you not know who that woman was?" He scoffed.

"N-No..."

"I'll tell you when we get back. C'mon, some of our boys found a cabin up in the mountains a couple of days ago. It's warm and dry - better than that piece of shit camp we're at now. And with that storm comin', we need to get movin'." He warned as he gestured at the sky, seeing the winter clouds brewing a dark blue, a screeching wind yearning with a haunting gentle hush sweeping the landscape.

───※ ·❆· ��───

"Abigail says he's dyin', Dutch!" Orville Swanson said as his arms were crossed over his torso, trudging through the snow to keep in sync with the wagon as the new storm had swept over the caravan. "We'll have to stop some place!" He pleaded as his old mind continued to worry about young Davey Callander, who had been shot.

"Okay. Arthur's out looking. I sent him up ahead!" Dutch van der Linde assured the old man. Orville nodded as he trudged back towards the back of the wagon, quickly jumping on to tend the wounded with Abigail.

"If we don't stop soon, we'll all be dying," Hosea Matthews added. "This weather, it's May... I'm just hopin' the law got as lost as we did." He sighed, looking ahead, his eyes squinting to protect themselves from the darting snow.

"There!" Dutch pointed at the silhouette appearing yards ahead of the caravan. "Arthur! Any luck?"

Arthur Morgan looked up from atop an appaloosa mare, the brim of his hat shielding him from the snow and wind, "I found a place where we can get some shelter!" He croaked. "Let Davey rest while he... you know." He sighed as he remembered the almost fatal gunshot Davey had received during the robbery in Blackwater, a city a couple of states away in which led the gang to flee into the mountains of Ambarino. "An old mining town, abandoned, it ain't far."

Desperate, cold, and surviving souls huddled together as they entered the old cabin, Davey's stiff and cold body being displayed on a table as Abigail examined him for the final time. "Davey's dead." Abigail frowned as her son, Jack, reached for her skirt, clutching it tightly as he too was looking for warmth.

"There was nothing more you could've done," Orville assured her as her frown glowed in the dim light provided by the lantern.

"What're we gonna do? We need supplies." Hosea whispered to Dutch while Arthur stood stoutly behind the old man, shaking his hands before putting them up to his mouth in an attempt to generate heat.

"Well, first of all, you're gonna stay here and you're gonna get yourself warm. Now, I sent John and Micah scouting out ahead. Arthur and I, we're gonna ride out and see if we can find one of 'em."

"In this?" Arthur asked, desperately not wanting to return to the piercing wind.

"Just for a short bit. I don't see what other choice we have," Dutch replied before turning his attention to the peering souls gathered together, looking to him as their leader for guidance in this time of need. "Listen, listen to me all of you, for a moment. Now we've had a bad couple of days. I loved Davey, Jenny, Sean, Mac - they may be okay. We don't know. But we lost some folks. Now, if I could throw myself in the ground in their stead, I'd do it. Gladly, but, we are gonna ride out and we are gonna find some food. Everybody, we're safe now. There ain't nobody followin' us through a storm like this one and by the time they get here, well we're gonna be -we're gonna be long gone. We've been through worse than this before. Mister Pearson, Miss Grimshaw, I need you to turn this place into a camp. We may be here for a few days. Now all of you, all of you, get yourselves warm. Stay strong. Stay with me! We ain't done yet! C'mon, Arthur."

───※ ·❆· ※───

"I thought you said this was an abandoned cabin, Phil?" Kieran asked hesitantly over the obnoxiously loud violin tunes being played by one of the other gang members, Billy, if he had remembered correctly. In fact, all that he could remember of Billy was that he was about as dumb as a billy goat, although almost all of the O'Driscoll boys fit the description.

"It is," One of the gang members replied, propping his feet on the table and clutching a whiskey bottle in his hand. "After we killed the bastard who lived here. We're savin' his wife in the cellar for later." He snickered.

Kieran curled his lip in disgust, "I wasn't askin' you, Billy," Kieran had been wondering to himself as to why he decided to fall in with the O'Driscolls in the first place, knowing that maybe, just maybe, all gangs didn't find pleasure in killing a woman's husband just for the hell of it and storing her in the cellar, robbing elderly folks, doctors, and teachers. He bowed his head in shame, whispering a prayer to himself for his sins to be forgiven. "Who was that woman you were supposed to tell me about?" He asked hesitantly.

"Minnie Barlow is her name. She's wanted in five states that we know of. She ran her own gang a few years back but has been runnin' alone for quite a while by what we know. Colm has a likin' towards her after she threatened his life back in Valentine." Phil explained.

"Why would Colm like that?"

"I'm not sure. I guess he likes women to have a fightin' side to 'em," Phil chuckled. "He tells us to keep an eye out for her when we're not workin'. He wants her bad. I could've gotten her if you didn't tell her to run!" Phil hissed.

"When are we gettin' out of here?" Kieran asked, desperately wanting to avoid the subject of Minnie Barlow.

"You sure do got a lot of questions!" Another gang member hissed in annoyance. "Will you shut up?"

"We're still wonderin' why Colm picked you up-" Phil replied with haste. "Maybe it's because you're the only bastard who takes care of our horses so we don't have to do it."

Kieran gulped and bowed his head, wishing that he was around horses at that moment rather than taking rude remarks from fellow gang members. 'I wonder what'll happen if I just ran away?' He thought to himself.

"Be easy on him, Phil, I'll go tend to the horses out in the barn."

"Hurry up! It's about time to get the girl!" Phil reminded before glaring over at Kieran. "You won't get a turn."

"Didn't want one." He replied.

Just as the thought Phil was having by going to waste the whiskey by bashing the bottle on Kieran's head, all of their heads shot up after hearing an unfamiliar voice outside begging for help. "D-do people just get lost out here?" Kieran asked hesitantly, praying it wasn't another gunfight brewing.

"Hello?" Dutch asked, clutching his coat as he held up a lantern, standing stationary in the knee-high snow.

"Shut up, Billy! Shh, shh, shh!" One of the gang members hushed as he pushed Billy, stopping his playing hastily.

"Excuse me? Hello!" Dutch continued. "Oh well, hello friend."

"What you want?"

"I am very sorry to disturb you. Uh, my friends and I, well we got into some... trouble up the way. Lost in the storm. Ah, gentleman!" Dutch said as Phil and Billy were now descending the three steps of the porch, Billy holding a lantern up to see Dutch's face.

"We can't help you, Mister," Billy warned.

"I got folks dyin' on the trail, I-" Dutch pleaded.

"Aw, folks!" Phil mocked with a chuckle.

"I-I just need cans of food or somethin', please!"

"I think you should go now, buddy!" Phil suggested.

"Now, friend, I ain't asking for much. Please, I am kinda desperate."

"Wait a minute!" Phil interjected, taking Billy's lantern to hold the light for himself to confirm his suspicion. "You're Dutch van-"

Gunsmoke filled the winter air, bullets lodging into the softwood of the cabin. Kieran ducked from any nearby windows as he gathered a can of corn and a tin of biscuits before making his way out of the cabin from the rear. "I ain't gettin' myself shot over some disagreement!" He hissed to himself as he made his way to the cellar to offer freedom to the woman they were holding hostage. "Ma'am, you wanna come with me? Someone is shootin' up the place and we need to leave!" Kieran explained.

"No!" She seethed, backing away from him. "I'm not leaving him!"

"Leaving who?"

"My husband! They killed my husband!" She cried.

"Miss, I-I'm sorry about your husband, but they were gonna do bad things to you. You need to get out of here." Kieran warned, slowly inching towards her.

"Nothing they can do to me will ever amount to the hurt they caused by killing my Jake. Go! Leave me alone, O'Driscoll!" She hissed before lunging at him, smacking him relentlessly as he backed away from her. She reminded him of a rattler, coiling up and lunging as she did, but he tried to understand her situation as her love for her husband was far stronger than what the O'Driscoll gang was going to do to her. Kieran simply nodded before making an exit through the back of the cabin, thrusting his legs through the knee-high snow, clutching the small sack of food he packed in fear of losing it, remembering the way to the main camp was just over the ridge.

"We've got a runner! You see him, Arthur?" He heard a man shout from a few yards away.

Kieran's breath hitched as he heard another shot go off, hearing the whistle of a bullet past him, hitting a rock nearby.

"Can't ya get 'em, Morgan? Losin' your eyesight?" A man who had been pairing with them mocked.

"Shut your goddamn mouth. He got too far!"

Kieran continued to run, forcing his legs to carry him farther, his heart thudding against his chest. "I need to get back to camp!" He encouraged himself. As much as he hated to think it, he needed to get back to Colm. At least his camp was safer than being out in the exposing elements with only a can of corn and a tin of biscuits.

"Goddamn O'Driscoll boys here? Why?" Dutch questioned as he and Arthur regrouped, followed by his newest gang member, Micah Bell.

"I don't know, maybe the same reason as us," Micah replied.

"Micah, go bring the horses closer to the house!" Dutch commanded as he and Arthur made their way up onto the porch of the cabin, searching the corpses for any valuables. "Arthur, let's go search the cabin."

"Smells like a party in here," Arthur said as he sighed in relief to get out of the piercing cold.

"Turn the place upside down. Grab as many supplies as you can. We need the essentials: food, medicine... whiskey!" Dutch chuckled.

"Looks like the poor bastard was married too, at some point," Arthur sighed as he looked at the photo on the hearth, flipping it over to see the names of the couple: JAKE AND SADIE

"If we can't eat it or drink it, put it down," Dutch replied.

Arthur continued to search the cabin, looking in every drawer and opening every cabinet, taking every canned good he could fit into his satchel, eating a biscuit out of a tin that was on the main table as he read a newspaper clipping of a fellow outlaw: Minnie Barlow.

"Looks like Miss Barlow is a ghost. Rumors of her bein' seen robbin' trains around here!" Arthur chuckled as he read the article, detailing a robbery performed a few days prior to their own robbery in Blackwater.

"What did this said Miss Barlow do this time?" Dutch asked as he searched the medicine cabinet before grabbing a blanket.

"Robbed a train out towards Rhodes with government payroll. Looks like it was heading towards Annesburg for the Army." Arthur explained.

Dutch chuckled, "You know, I've never even met the woman and she did robberies by herself and we're over here gettin' a band of fools to rob one!" He teased.

"Well, why don't you just find the woman and replace all of us then?" Arthur retorted, amused, and also offended.

"I would never do such a thing, son," Dutch assured. "Besides, I heard she was killed anyway."

"Whatchu mean?"

"By what I've read, she used to be a government official about a few years ago. She tried going after Leviticus Cornwall a while back trying to make her way in as an attorney, but they wouldn't hire women, so she just went in guns blazing and stole a couple of bonds."

"Damn! When was this?" Arthur asked.

"A couple of years ago I guess before she got killed. Apparently, that's when she went downhill the same time she went after Cornwall. She ran away and made her own gang. A woman like that is scary - workin' for the government like that - knowin' all of their little tricks and then turnin' against it as an outlaw. Nobody can touch her," Dutch explained. "I'll have to get Hosea to tell you all about it. He's obsessed with crime conspiracies."

"Sounds like a plan, then," Arthur replied as he finished his biscuit before continuing to loot the home. His mind kept thinking back to Minnie Barlow, wondering how old she was, what she looked like, and her story. He wanted to sit down and talk to her about her ways and what she's experienced. He was sure she had plenty of experience when it came to gunfights.

"Big ole pool of blood here!" Arthur said as he had accidentally stepped in it.

"I saw," Dutch replied.

"Must've been the poor bastard who lived here. Micah found a dead body in the wagon outside."

"Keep searchin' while I go pack these on the horses," Dutch said as he walked out the front door.

"Sure," Arthur replied as he searched the chest at the foot of the bed before grabbing the newspaper clipping he had been reading to take with him, hoping there was more to the story than what he had already read. He put the clipping in his pocket before walking back into the piercing cold, clutching the collar of his coat closer to his face to block the wind.

"Arthur, go see if there's anything in that barn!" Dutch commanded as he was strapping down a blanket that had wrapped some provisions on the back of Arthur's horse. "Micah, you search the cabin, see what we missed."

"Sure," Arthur croaked as he thrust his way through the snow and to the barn, only to be distracted by the distressed whinnies of a horse before being ambushed from behind by one of the men who was holding up the cabin.

"You bastards shot my cousin!" The man hissed as Arthur had easily thrown the man off of him.

"Well, he started it!" Arthur argued as he scrambled to his feet.

"I'm gonna break your neck!" He threatened.

"Whatever you say!" Arthur replied as he balled his fists before impact. The man tried desperately to hit Arthur, but Arthur was far too experienced in fighting compared to him. Within a minute, Arthur had the man pinned to the ground with his throat clutched by Arthur's strong grip while his other fist was balled.

"What's goin' on?" Dutch asked as he rushed to the scene after hearing the commotion.

"This guy just jumped me!" Arthur grunted.

"Oh, did he now?"

"Sneaky little bastard! Should I kill him?" Arthur asked.

"No, not yet. Find out what they're doing here and where Colm is." Dutch commanded.

"Oh, this son of a bitch'll talk!" Arthur grunted as he threw a punch to the man's temple. "Where's Colm O'Driscoll?" Arthur interrogated.

"With the others at an old mining camp southwest of here, near the lake." He choked.

"What're you bastards doin'?" Arthur continued. "Why are you up here?"

"We're fixing to rob some train, gonna blow the tracks. I don't know more than that, I swear!"

The silent tension between the two was broken by Dutch's sinister chuckle, "Well, it looks like you have this, Arthur. Do what you want with him, I don't care. But bring that horse when you're done!" Dutch said as he walked away. Arthur smirked as he continued to beat the man, knocking him out cold. "You bastard, you got blood on my knuckles!" He chuckled as he shook the numbness from his fist as he made his way over to the horse, who had been spooked by the commotion. As he made his way into the stall, he took note of the patches of white on the horse's coat. "Mahogany Bay," He whispered to himself as he patted the horse's thick neck. "Good boy, it's okay." He assured the animal as he pulled out an oatcake from his satchel, feeding it to the stallion before flipping the reins over the horse's ears to lead him.

"Is that bastard still in there?" Dutch asked through the whistling snow.

"He's dealt with," Arthur replied.

"Good! That looks like a decent horse! You should keep him! Tie him up over there so he doesn't spook."

"Get away from me!" A feminine shout echoed from the cabin.

"What was that?" Arthur asked as he and Dutch looked at the cabin where the noises were coming from.

"Micah! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dutch intervened.

"Oh, look what I found in the cellar!" Micah teased as he tried to touch the young woman, seeing that it fumed Dutch and Arthur as they never would do such a thing.

"Wild thing ain't you?" Micah mocked as she was now throwing things at the man as he continued to mock and poke at her.

"Leave her alone!" Dutch protested.

"I wasn't doin' nothin'!" Micah argued as he ducked from a thrown object. "She's one of those O'Driscoll's!"

"No she ain't, Micah look at her!" Dutch protested. "Miss, Miss, are you-" He explained, but was soon interrupted by Micah lunging at the woman, flipping the table over and sending the lit lantern to the dry wood floor. "Oh, you fool, Micah!" Dutch scolded as he and Arthur shoved him out of the way.

"Miss, now it's gonna be okay. We mean you no harm," He soothed as he approached her slowly, taking note of the large knife she gripped in her hand. She hitched her breath before weakly lunging at Dutch, but not aiming the knife at him. His gentle touch to her upper arm stopped her, bringing her back to reality. A gentle touch that she hadn't felt in so long. She had almost craved more after being so roughly handled. "Miss, Miss! C'mon, it'll be okay. We need to get outta here and quick!" Dutch said as he gently led her to the front door of the cabin, Arthur following closely behind. "Come on, now." He whispered.

"You okay, Miss?" Dutch asked as they were now outside, draping a spare blanket over her pale shoulders.

"They came three days ago and my husband they, they..." She sobbed, clutching the blanket tighter.

"Okay, Miss. You are safe now and you can't stay here. You come with us. Arthur," He said as he handed the lantern to him.

"Miss, it's okay, alright? We're bad men, but we ain't them, so... It's okay," He soothed her as he led her to the other side of Dutch's horse, effortlessly lifting her up onto the horse's hindquarters. "We'll keep you safe until you figure out what you wanna do." He said as he trudged his way to his new horse.

"What's your name, Miss?" Dutch asked as he, Arthur, and Micah rode away from the engulfing inferno of her former home. "Miss?" He reminded.

"Adler," She replied.

"Adler?" Dutch said.

"Sadie Adler. Missus...I...He... He was my husband!" She croaked, still in shock that he was now deceased. She clutched onto Dutch's coat, looking back to see the top of her husband's head peering out from the sheet he was under on the old wagon, whispering a last 'I love you' to him before the image of him faded away by the density of her tears.

───※ ·❆· ※───

"How'd you get on?" Hosea asked as he met Dutch, Arthur, and Micah as they rode up to the new camp.

"Micah found a homestead, but he weren't the first. Colm O'Driscoll and his scum, they beat us to it. We found some of them there, but there is more about apparently scouting a train." Dutch explained as he dismounted his horse. "Thank you." He nodded to Charles Smith as he held the reins of Dutch's horse to keep the stallion steady.

"That's the last thing we need right now, Dutch," Hosea warned.

"Well, it is what it is, but we found some supplies, some blankets, a little bit of food, and this poor soul, Missus Adler," Dutch said as almost every member of the camp was swarmed around them. Sadie clutched her blanket draped over her shoulders, her teeth chattering. She was scared, but she felt safer in this band of strangers than the ones who had intruded on her home. "Miss Tilly, Miss Karen, would you warm her up? Give her a drink of something? And Missus Adler, it's gonna be okay! You're safe now! " Dutch reminded as Karen and Tilly led her to the cabin where the women slept. "They turned her into a widow... animals!" He said as his lover, Molly O'Shea, clung to him as she held the lantern. "I need some rest. I haven't slept in three days." He sighed.

"You're over here," Susan Grimshaw said, pointing towards the cabin she had prepared for him, Hosea, and Arthur. "Miss O'Shea will show you the way. Mr. Morgan, we put you in a room over here." She explained.

"Thank you, Miss Grimshaw!" Arthur groaned as he forced himself to walk through the snow, the harsh wind hitting him directly in the face.

"Mister Bell, you're with the fellers over there."

"How come Arthur gets a room and I get a bunk bed next to Bill Williamson and a bunch of darkies?" Micah protested, his racism sitting at the hilt of his tongue like venom.

"Get yourself to bed!" Hosea demanded, not putting up with any tension in the camp between members.

#rdr2 #arthurmorgan #minniebarlow #wildwest #reddead #reddeadredemption2 #fanfiction

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monstersandmaw · 5 years ago

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Winter Solstice - Fae Prince, Part Three

Here’s Part Three of Winter Solstice for you! Patreon folks have had access to it for a little while, and now it’s time to share it here. Hope you enjoy! If you do, don’t forget to reblog or let me know with a comment etc. It really is fuel for us writers!!

There’s also artwork of our boy Círdan now too, which you can find over on the Shadows tier ($1) on Patreon!

Finally, Trope Tuesdays are starting over on Patreon (only), with the poll for the first trope going up on 31st January. Both the poll and the resulting story will be available for all patrons from $1 upwards.

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw)

Content: exploration of the castle, some time with Mirana, a creepy Librarian, and a bit of our one winged angel uh, I mean, Fae...! Wordcount: 3361

After waking up in the Fae Realm after her ordeal with the tainted creature, in the frozen Court of Winter no less, our human met the prince and the closest members of his court, and learns that she has to remain there for a while. This time, we see a bit of the palace, and get to know a couple more of those closest advisors a tiny bit better...

As one lovely patreon commenter said, ‘our human really knows how to make friends’... or... uh... not.

“Shall I at least give you a little tour?” Mirana said politely as the throne room doors closed with a surprisingly soft whisper behind them, shutting Prince Círdan in and them out with barely a sound.

Narrowing her eyes, she nodded and said tartly, “Show me the places I’m permitted to explore?”

“And the ones you’re not, if you’d like to see them,” Mirana said with a glint in her eyes.

“Yeah, how about I don’t piss off my captor on my first day?” she snorted and Mirana laughed openly, a sound like tinkling glass.

The castle - the House of Winter - was larger than any keep she’d ever even imagined. The only building she had for reference was the king’s palace in Caer Grauth, which, although ancient, had nothing on this place. The walls, as they walked down corridors with lace-like plasterwork, were white as the fresh-fallen snow blanketing the mountainside beyond the crystal windows, and the pale floors were polished to a high sheen and patterned with forking fronds of frost like rare plant fossils.

“Let’s begin with the ballroom,” she crooned, seeming almost to float down a winding staircase with a gently curved banister. The halls and rooms seemed oddly empty as they walked in silence, and when she brought this up, Mirana sighed. “Most of our High Fae in the court live in their own holds,” she explained. “It’s tough living up here.”

She looked around at the opulence as they stepped into the ballroom and snorted sarcastically, “I can see that.”

Mirana rolled her eyes and turned to face her. “Nothing lives here save for brambles inland and seals on the coast. Almost everything we eat we have to trade for.”

That was interesting. “Can’t your magic grow things?”

“Not on a large enough scale to feed an entire nation, which is what the Court of Winter amounts to. The gardens here have the crystal houses, of course, but that is only for the high table and the royal family to enjoy.”

“So what’s your export then?”

The Fae’s eyes brightened at her question and she jutted one hip out as she stood surveying her new human companion thoughtfully. With pretty lips just revealing the hint of a smile at one corner, she said, “These mountains have some of the richest veins of gold, silver, and gemstones. Not to mention that we are the only place that stellarite has been uncovered.”

She frowned, unfamiliar with the word, and Mirana giggled, filling the room with a playful noise that was completely at odds with the solemn, empty ballroom. Mirrors lined each wall, framed by white arboreal columns, slender as saplings, with branches reaching up and over the glass to become the vaults of the ceiling so that it felt like standing in a silver birch forest at dusk, the crystal chandeliers unlit but still sparkling like frozen leaves above.

“Stellarite is the metal from which we make our crowns and jewellery,” she purred, raising her hand and rippling her fingers to show off the three delicate rings she wore on each hand. The metal looked like white gold, but it had a speckled quality to it, like starlight. “A single gram of it costs more than most Fae here earn in a year, and Círdan’s mask is made of an even rarer alloy of stellarite and inlustrium.”

Her lip curled. “What’s wrong with a plain old wooden one?” she muttered, turning on her heel and pacing from the ballroom.

Growing up on the edge of the small village, they’d not been precisely poor, but they’d certainly struggled at times. She remembered vividly in that moment the winter when her mother had hurt her back, having been kicked by a crazy, savage horse that should have been put down years earlier, and she’d not been able to work for months. They’d tried their best, with their father making the journey into the city to sell his turned wooden bowls and carved spoons, but it hadn’t been enough. The boys had only been eight and six at the time, so it had fallen to her to hunt in the forest with arrows that she and her mother had made. They’d got by, and her mother had gone back to work once her mother’s back had healed, but it had been one of the harshest winters she’d ever experienced. And here these creatures were, gloating about some useless precious metal that cost more than most people would see in a lifetime. Her stomach churned.

Mirana had adopted her frosty veneer again when she followed her out of the ballroom, and she marched her down corridors, waving her elegant, jewelled hand briefly to indicate one state room or other, until finally she paused at the top of a staircase. “This is the East Wing,” she said. “The prince, Ahrin, Raeth and I all have our rooms in that part of the castle. I suspect you would not be welcome wandering here, human…”

“What on earth makes you think I’d willingly go looking for any of your bedrooms?” she said and Mirana pouted slightly, as if affronted and trying not to show it.

“Fine,” she said. “Since none of this has been to your liking, perhaps you could tell me what you would actually like to see?”

“Does any of you read?” she asked acerbically. “Do you have a library I can lose myself in while I’m stuck here as your prisoner?”

Returning the venom in the human’s gaze, Mirana crooned, “Oh, I assumed a simple peasant like you couldn’t read. Now that I know that’s not the case, let’s go.”

‘Bitch’, she thought but wisely kept that to herself.

The library was beyond what she’d expected. Like the rest of the palace, it was sculpted from smooth stone, the colour of bleached bones, and it was as cold as everywhere else in the castle, but the three-storey high room was lined with books and scrolls. The light was muted; the enormous windows on the left hand side of the room that stretched from floor to ceiling had had their white shutters drawn halfway, and each panel had, like a child’s cut-out snowflake, twisting voids in the woodwork which let in a pale, muted shafts of light.

A yelp escaped her, however, when someone emerged through a slender, pointed archway in the wall opposite the windows, and she took an involuntary step back in alarm as the strange, inhuman figure approached.

Stoop-shouldered, with iron grey skin and opalescent wings like a dragonfly’s folded neatly behind them, the creature had a gaunt, skull-like face with its leathery skin stretched tightly over harsh cheekbones and deep eye sockets. They were slender in the extreme, walking on legs like a bird’s with deadly jet black talons, their body swathed in a piece of fabric reminiscent of a toga, and, she noted with a swirl of fearful unease, they had four arms. Their head was bald, and their two huge eyes were a startling, blood red.

She had never seen anything like this creature, but, despite the fact that the sight of them brought back memories of the tainted horror that had attacked her, she refused to look away or to be intimidated by them.

When they saw Mirana standing there, they bowed low, wings buzzing a quick, terse salute, and straightened, asking, “Your Highness, what can I do for you today?”

“Nothing, Librarian,” she smiled. “I am just showing our new guest around. Apparently the human can read.”

“Human…” the Librarian hissed, drawing themselves up defensively, lips peeling back to reveal a maw full of needle-sharp teeth. It brought to mind the curiosities which sometimes appeared at the marketplace when a fisherman dredged up something unspeakable from the deep, and she staved off the urge to reach for a belt knife.

Mirana only laughed again, the steel-hard edge creeping back into it that set goosebumps shivering along her skin to hear it. “I know!” she purred in feigned shock. “My dear brother has said she’s not to be harmed though. I’ve grown bored with her inane company, and thought I might just leave her here for a while, if you don’t object.”

There was clearly no way that the Librarian could have objected, even if they’d really rather not have had a human wandering the hallowed halls of their collection. They simply bobbed their head, red eyes blinking softly, and backed away. “The human will make sure its hands are clean before touching anything,” they spat as their parting shot.

“Well, how does that sound then?” Mirana said in that brassy, overly-bright tone that made her want to punch the Fae in the face. Obviously sensing her intentions, said princess’ face morphed into an unmasked expression of deep loathing and she snarled, “I don’t like you being here any more than the next of my kin do, human. I’m not sure what possessed my brother to leave you alive, but do not think for a single heartbeat that I will not do whatever I deem necessary to protect this Court and this family. If you try anything…”

“I have no doubt,” she interrupted softly, trying to keep the fear from her voice. The only salvation she felt, like an anchor on a tiny craft, was the cold iron pendant she still wore under her shirt. It had clearly not been touched when she’d been divested on arrival, and she wondered why they’d left it with her. Perhaps they’d feared to touch it. Fighting the urge to clutch it in her fingers - or, even better, to ram it straight into Mirana’s forehead - she stood tall and stared the princess down.

A soft knock on the wood of the open door behind them drew their attention away from one another, and she watched a servant approach on deferential feet, head bowed low. This one looked almost human, save for the pointed ears and unnatural grace. His hair was black, long - as seemed to be the fashion in the Winter Court if the male Fae she’d encountered so far were anything to go by - plaited back off his face, and his skin was a warm, rich brown. When he rose from his bow, she saw that he had freckles all over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, and bright green eyes.

“Forgive the intrusion, Highness,” he said in a soft, heavily accented voice. “The Prince has asked for your presence. He is in his private study.”

Message delivered, the Fae waited for a dismissal, which came in the form of a flicked wrist, before he bowed once more, shooting the human a quick, nervous glance before backing away a few paces and then turning to leave.

“Well,” Mirana sighed dramatically. “I suppose I’ll leave you here. You know how to get back to your rooms? Good.” The princess didn’t wait to find out the answer, and in fact, she didn’t know how to get back at all; their route had been so winding and circuitous that she had lost all sense of direction, but she was damned if she was going to let on that she was disorientated.

Mirana swept from the library and left her alone with the creepy looking Fae Librarian, who buzzed their wings menacingly from the shadows nearby, a stack of books now in their lower set of arms. There was something insectoid and unsettling about those emaciated limbs that made her think of a patient mantis, with the tightly stretched, grey-brown skin, that made her shiver. Still, not one to let herself be outfaced by a situation, she chirped, “So, what’s the system here?”

“Excuse me?” the Fae asked, half turning back to look at her.

“The system. This is a huge collection - it must be ordered, so I’m just wondering how I find out what’s where, without… how to put it…? Putting my ‘grubby little hands all over everything’ until I find something that attracts my attention…”

Those teeth flashed momentarily before the Fae reined themselves in. They set their small pile of books reverently down on a nearby table and turned back to face her. “History,” they began, pointing a three-fingered, clawed hand at the nearest section and then gesturing along a huge swathe of bookshelves. “Magic,” they added, pointing through another elegant, pointed archway into a separate section of the library. “Fiction,” they sneered, pointing upwards at a shadowy gallery that honestly didn’t look like it got much foot traffic, and finally they indicated, “Music, Nature, Travel Journals and -” here they buzzed their wings again, “- The Mortal Realm.”

She bowed her head and smiled, knowing somewhere in the back of her mind that it was insulting for a human to ‘thank’ a Fae explicitly, given that it implied that they had offered the human some kind of favour. The Fae were a prideful lot, if legend was to be believed, and none would willingly offer anything without thought of something in return. Whether it was impolite for another Fae to offer their thanks was a different quandary for another day.

“I’ll head up there then,” she said, nodding at the dusty fiction section. “Nice and out of the way…”

“You do that,” the Fae rasped and a cold shiver thrummed down her spine as they bared all those needle-sharp teeth again in a grimace.

With a false smile of her own plastered to her face, she scampered up to one of the polished wooden ladders and climbed nimbly, almost daring to pretend she was back in the hay loft at their little smallholding and not in the enormous library of a Fae Prince, held there until goodness knew when, completely at the mercy of their every petty whim… Blinking back the prickling in her eyes as panic welled in her chest, she licked her lips and looked around at this part of the library, pacing along the catwalk as if it were a minstrel’s gallery in a lord’s hall.

She’d been right about the fiction section not getting much attention. Leather bound books with brittle, crumbled spines beckoned her closer and, curling up on the floor of a gallery and leaning her weight against the end wall, she drew out one called, ‘The Lay of The Ember Knight’. It was a ballad, written in verse and hand-scribed onto the pale, pristine velum of the book, and as she carefully turned each folio, she lost herself in the lilting rhythm of the lines. Someone had loved this book once, she realised, seeing that the spine was worn and the velum bore the marks of fingers in the corners of each folio.

Swept up in the action as the Ember Knight - actually one of the Unseelie Royal Princesses in disguise - did furious battle with a raging fire drake on the ruined, volcanic landscape of some distant mountain range, the voice calling her from below didn’t rouse her from the story. When someone materialised directly in front of her with a soft ‘whoosh’ and a theatrical rush of odourless smoke, however, she screamed in surprise and dropped the book into her lap.

The six foot six figure in front of her was that of Ahrin, his one remaining wing hanging behind him like a darker shadow in the already dim gallery. And he was laughing softly at her.

“Fuck, you scared me,” she growled, gripping the end-boards of the book in her fingers until her knuckles went white, and staring up at him without standing. “What do you want?”

Still chuckling, he reached his rough-palmed hand out to her and held it there, clearly expecting her to take it and help herself to her feet. When she didn’t, he rolled his amber eyes and withdrew the offer, folding his muscular arms again. “Thought you might want some food… You’ve been in here for hours.”

“You expect me to eat Fae Realm food? Do you think I’m that stupid?”

Again, the hulking Fae showed his amusement freely, shrugging too as he laughed. The sound was rich and warm, with no artifice or pretence to it. He seemed as open as the book in her lap, and even easier to read. “We have access to human food too,” he said. “In fact, Círdan sent me off to the Mortal Realm to get something for you so that you didn’t have to eat our food.”

“I don’t believe you for a second,” she blurted before she recalled that Fae were supposedly not able to lie. Then again, he hadn’t explicitly said that the food she would be offered would be from the Mortal Realm. ‘Tricksy fucking Fae’, she thought darkly.

“Well, that’s up to you,” he said, turning around and shifting into black mist that swirled like a drop of ink in a glass of water. The darkness shot away like smoke pulled by a draft, and he reappeared heartbeat later on the main floor of the library.

“Guess ladders are too mundane for you lot,” she grumbled, easing herself to her feet, stretching her spine until each vertebra had popped satisfyingly, and sliding the book back into the case.

As she descended the ladder, she heard Ahrin say, “You try squeezing through that small gap in the railings with one big wing and broad shoulders.”

“Oh what a terrible burden it must be to be so muscular,” she sarcastically, and he tipped his head back and crowed another laugh.

“I like you,” he said, eyes flashing gold. “Come on. I’ll escort you back to your rooms if you’d like to eat there.”

Deciding not to look that particular gift horse in the mouth since she didn’t actually know the way herself, she accepted, deciding that she could always refuse the food when they got there, and the two of them left the library together. As Ahrin stood politely back at the doorway to usher her through first, she glanced back over her shoulder and caught the creepy Librarian staring after them.

Once outside, with the doors closed, Ahrin leaned down and hissed in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “Don’t worry; they give me the creeps too. I think Círdan only hired them so that no one would dare walk off with one of his precious books…”

“He likes to read?” she asked, astonished.

“Sure,” he said. “But only the really boring stuff…”

“Figures,” she retorted, unable to forgive herself for warming to the enormous brute of a Fae. He carried a straight sword at each hip, their pommels a simple half-moon of what looked like silver but she couldn’t be sure, and he had another smaller knife hanging just in front of those on a frog from the belt. Frankly, he looked a bit rough around the edges compared to the other pristine Fae she’d encountered, with stubble on his anvil of a jaw, and rough, practical leathers instead of fancy silk tunics; Ahrin was definitely a warrior, and she wondered if he was the prince’s personal bodyguard or something. The two had certainly seemed close back in the great hall.

“So Mirana tells me we’re still calling you ‘human’…?” Ahrin ventured.

“You think I’m just going to give you my name?”

“You could at least give us another name,” he said a bit sheepishly. “Seems better than ‘human’…”

“We’ll see about that,” she hedged and he tossed her a roguish, lopsided grin.

A second later, she shot his ruined wings a cautiously curious glance, and all the mirth drained out of his handsome face when he saw where her eyes had landed. He didn’t utter another word to her, even when they reached the vaguely familiar corridor which led to her rooms. He simply stopped outside the door, nodded tersely, and stalked off, shadows roiling around his leather boots until he vanished in a rush of darkness, leaving her alone in the pale hallway with only her pounding heartbeat for company.

Blowing the air out of puffed cheeks, she set her fingers to the door handle and pushed it open to find that she had company waiting inside.

To be continued…

Other Fae Realm Stories on Tumblr...

Prince of the Court of Night x female reader *commission* (nsfw) Part Two (nsfw)

Male winged shadowborne fae (Shaer) x female reader (nsfw) *commission* (long!)

Male reptilian fae (Adan) x female reader (nsfw) *commission*

Male triton Fae (Kaerio) x female character (sfw) *commission*

—

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon!

You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier or higher!

#fae realm #winter solstice #fae boyfriend #fae lover #fae prince #fae #exophilia #fantasy #i really hope you're enjoying this one #you never know with non-reader inserts though

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takeiteasypeasybaby · 4 years ago

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Save Me: Chapter 56 - Blame Me

~Hey guys! Chapter 56 is out now :) Check it out and lemme know your thoughts. Have a great week <3~

Molly reunites with Lydia as they talk about their lost loved ones while Negan shows an act of selflessness when he saves one of the Alexandrians.

Once the meeting was over, the snow fell heavier and heavier with every increasing minute so there was no time to waste.

I had to trust that Gabriel would keep Negan safe and unharmed while I went to Hilltop.

I couldn't even kiss him goodbye but instead we all parted ways, running in different directions to our vehicles.

Michonne and I hopped in a car together and drove for Hilltop, while Yumiko and Daryl drove in the opposite direction for the Kingdom.

Petrol was becoming more scarce these days so we anticipated that our car wouldn't make it the entire journey and we were right.

After about an hour's drive, the snow made the wheels slid and it became more unsafe than necessary.

We hopped out of the car, grabbed our bags and treaded through the storm.

Michonne and I linked arms as the snow began to blind us.

I knew that we weren't far from Hilltop now but I stopped dead when I heard a scream and we saw shadows running across a hill in the distance.

'You go! I'll see what the scream was' I yelled to Michonne as we parted ways.

I held my knives out and tried to shield my eyes from the ice as it cut against my face.

'Agh' I grunted as I felt pellets of ice cut my skin making it bleed.

The scream got louder so I knew I was close.

I crossed a bridge and it wasn't until I was inside it and sheltered that I realised this was where I first found Lydia and then it hit me.

'Lydia!' I screamed as I ran towards the sound.

I came across an icy lake where a couple walker bodies lay frozen.

Blood seeped from their heads so they were freshly killed, Lydia must be close.

Just as the blizzard started to subside, I saw her.

She was knelt down and her arm was uncovered hovering in front of the mouth of a snapping walker.

'Lydia' I said softly as I saw her intention.

She wanted to end her life.

She turned her head briskly to look at me, tears flowed down her face as she shook.

She started to slowly lower her arm as she pulled her gloves back on.

She stood back up slowly as I just stood still, she walked over to me, guided the knife in my hand to position over her heart.

'Please just kill me, everything will be better once I'm gone' she said tearfully.

'This is how you keep from losing anyone else. Please Molly, please just do it. Do it for Tara, I'm sorry it has to be you but it does' she pleaded as she moved the knife closer.

I just watched her in disbelief, tears flooding to my eyes when she mentioned Tara.

'I'm too weak, just like my mother says' she begged.

My heart broke when she said this, little did she know that she was one of the strongest people I knew.

I gripped the knife firmly, seeing a walker approach from behind her, I moved Lydia out of the way and plunged it into its frozen skull.

I turned back around as we both cried.

'You're not weak Lydia, you're one of the strongest people I know. I need you to know that I don't blame you. T-Tara's death is not on you' I cried as my voice stumbled over saying her name.

Lydia ran to me in relief and wrapped her arms around me as she cried into my chest.

I stroked her hair as I smiled weakly through my tears and said softly, 'shh everything will be okay'.

'But Carol hates me, if only I'd left with Henry when he asked me too' she said sobbing.

I crouched down in front of her and put my knives away.

'Carol does not hate you, do you hear me? No one blames you for this, you're family now Lydia' I said seriously, wanting to make it clear that she never had to feel that way again.

She smiled gently when I reassured her.

I could tell she was starting to get cold so I said 'c'mon, we should get out of here and find Michonne' as I held her hand and we ran out back over the bridge to the hill.

Once we made it to the hill I saw a group in the distance and ran with Lydia to meet them.

It was Michonne, she had found the others.

I greeted Earl, Adam, Luke, Cindy, Alden, Magna, Kelly, Connie and saw the truck of other residents close behind them.

'Alright, I'll do a headcount then we're golden' I yelled to they could hear me through the harsh wind.

'Lydia, you stay with Michonne okay?' I said smiling at her as she nodded.

I made my way through everyone and found that all my people were there and accounted for.

'It's good to have you back boss' Luke said as he smiled at me.

'Good to be back' I replied as I ushered everyone forward.

'Alright, everyone link arms with someone. We'll walk two by two' I shouted as everyone linked up and followed my lead.

'Weapons up at all times, just in case some of the assholes decide to ambush' I said sternly which made Michonne smile slightly to see my energy back.

I don't even know where it came from, I just felt like Tara was somehow guiding me or standing by my side.

I didn't need to link with anyone because I felt her next to me and that gave me the strength to carry on.

Daryl's POV//

I walked next to Carol once we found the Kingdom people.

'Molly wanted Lydia here, when no one else did. She's a good kid' I said.

I could tell that losing Henry had destroyed her.

'Every time I look at her, all I see is him' she replied sadly.

'What do you see when you look at me?' I asked as I turned to look at her.

'I see you' she said as she linked my arm.

'What about Ezekiel?' I asked quietly.

'I just can't, he reminds me of Henry too' she replied.

I looked straight ahead to see Ezekiel and Jerry both turned around on their horses to look at us.

'Hey boss, winter's taken a nosedive, we got a mother of a storm coming' I heard Jerry say.

'We gotta travel through the night if we have any hope of getting to the waste station before it hits' Ezekiel replied.

We would have to stop at the Sanctuary to rest before we carried on back to Alexandria and by the looks of the snowfall, the storm was gonna come on strong.

Negan's POV//

We made it to the church.

Judith happily dredged through the snow with Dog on a leash as we almost made it inside, the damn thing darted forcing Judith to let go as it ran off barking at some shit.

Judith was about to run after it but I stopped her and brought her inside.

I sat down on a chair as we sat for what felt like hours.

'I swear to god, I have memorised every square inch of this room' I said in complete boredom.

'Yet it still feels like a party!' I shouted as a smile creeped across my face.

I chuckled to myself as Rosita came over to fasten my ties to the wooden beam.

'Yeah, a never-ending party from hell' she said smiling sarcastically.

I chuckled more to see that I had gotten to her.

'I mean sure alright, it smells like a goddamn barn and y'all are bored shitless but-' I started until Judith interrupted.

'Language!' Judith yelled from her seat by the window.

I smiled.

'Sorry, sorry kiddo, but I mean, we've got ourselves this hot little love quadrangle here to entertain us. It's like Christmas to me!' I said chuckling as I saw all of their unamused faces.

'Maybe they're just as miserable at Aaron's or Barbara's' Siddiq said mockingly.

'Mm' Rosita chimed in.

'Gabe, your girl's doc is also your girl's baby daddy which begs the question, you ever wonder what the hell is goin' on in there when she has her 'appointments'' I teased.

Gabe came closer and said 'you could try and be a little less predictable'.

I touched my chest mockingly and said 'ahh that hurts Gabe, truly'.

'You know we're all grownups here and none of us would ever let that ruin the longstanding friendships and mutual respect we have' he said seriously which made me laugh.

I sighed and faux looked serious, saying 'you know what you are right, that is a very mature attitude father...not the father'.

I chuckled to myself, saying 'is that unpredictable enough for you'.

Judith rolled her eyes as she kept looking out the window, while Eugene smiled a bit at my comment.

'Jude, don't sit so close to the window' Siddiq said to Judith which made her come over as Rosita wrapped a blanket over her and RJ.

'Hey kiddo, you still worried about that mutt?' I asked softly.

'Daryl told me to take care of him while he helped the Kingdom. I don't know where he is' she said sadly.

I was about to suggest I look for him until I smelled something odd.

It was like gas or alcohol.

'Anybody else smell somethin'?' I asked worriedly.

'Can you stop being such an asshole?' Siddiq threatened.

I ignored him, knowing I was right.

'No he's right, something does smell funky in here' Rosita said as she looked around the room.

Eugene suddenly smelt it and shot up.

'Get away from there!' he yelled as he pulled Gabriel and Siddiq away from the fireplace.

It exploded a large flame as an eruption vibrated through the room.

All light was taken out, only leaving our torches.

Eugene stood back up, Siddiq and Gabriel were unharmed and went to inspect the flute.

He examined it with a torch and said 'as I suspected, chimney flute's completely gunkified, what singed your nostrils earlier was no doubt a toxic mixture of creosote and H2O. Blizzard's done some tearing and blaring. Chimney's ventilation capabilities are null to none, it'd be unwise to spark up another blaze lest we plan on ceasing all respiratory functions aka smokin' and chokin'.

I smiled in admiration, saying 'God I missed you Eugene'.

He breathed heavily and said nervously, 'can't say the same'.

'You know without a fire, we'll never get these people warm enough' Siddiq said to Rosita.

She sighed and replied 'yeah we should leave before the temperature drops any lower'.

'Okay folks, contingency plan, we're going to Aaron's house. It'll be tight quarters but we'll make it work' Gabriel shouted gathering the attention of everyone, including me.

They all started to walk out of the church as I said 'seriously?! Not one of you assholes is gonna untie me?!'.

'We could tell Michonne it was an accident' Rosita said happily as Gabriel rolled his eyes and untied my hands.

We were all made to walk single file across the compound but you could barely see shit in the storm.

Judith was just in front of me and she darted when she heard Dog.

'Judith!' I yelled after her as I instinctively ran after her.

I couldn't see my own feet in this blizzard and I could only hear the whistling of the wind.

I continued to yell after Judith as I paced around aimlessly.

Other's yelled 'Judith!' as they also searched for her.

#saveme #jdm #jeffrey dean morgan #twd #thewalkingdead #mollychambler #negan #negan's thirst squad #negan x original female character #michonne #judith twd #lydia twd

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prorevenge · 6 years ago

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Shitty neighbor bullies struggling immigrants for 15 years. Their kid gets revenge, and the shitty neighbor loses custody of her kid & is forced to move out of their house.

I'm sorry it's long, but I think it's worth it!

Spoiler alert: I'm the kid.

A bit of context first:

I'm an only child, born in the USA to older parents (they were both 45 when I was born) who immigrated from Venezuela in the 90's. When I was 2, my Dad was shot in the head. He lived for another 13 years, but the incident permanently damaged certain parts of his brain, and he was a completely different person for those last 13 years. He went from being the most loving, incredible, caring, compassionate person around, to an aggressive, violent, asshole who blew up over the smallest things, but only ever at his inner circle (me, my mother, or other close family). He always managed to keep his composure around strangers for fear of someone calling the police and him getting arrested, but he would later let it all out on my Mom and myself (admittedly mostly me). After the shooting, he could never work again, and my Mom was forced into the position of being the family's sole breadwinner. We lived in poverty for many, many years, because the USA wouldn't recognize her college degree and she couldn't afford to go to college again, so she couldn't work in her field and had to start "at the bottom of the ladder." Dad eventually died when I was 15, of issues related to his shooting.

Now, when I was 7, my parents decided to move into a town with a better reputation for their schools than the one we were currently living in, so that I could attend a better school. They bought a house literally on the edge of town. Most of this town is incredibly expensive, but because on the other side of our street (and across the town line) there's a big complex of government-subsidized housing, our area is much cheaper. This is the house with the asshole neighbor. The house is a three-family. For the last 16 years, we have owned and occupied the first floor, while the terrible neighbor lived on the second floor (until recently). The third floor has been occupied by over 10 owners and tenants over these years; None have stayed more than 3 or 4 years and some have stayed as little as a handful of months.

Now, the second floor bitch, let's call her "Karen." Because, obviously. She has a husband, who we'll call Bill, and they have a young son, Henry.

Here's the story:

When we moved in, Karen and Bill had already been here for a few short months. The three of us (us on the first floor, Karen and Bill on the second, and the original third floor's owners) bought the house from the same crew, who had bought it and turned it into a three-family, "fixing it up" in the process.

Karen quickly showed her true colors as a bully. Over the years, there's been countless examples of nasty shit she's pulled. Her husband, Bill, is an immigrant himself, and doesn't speak very good English. He's very submissive to her and does whatever she wants, but in front of other people makes himself out to be physically dominant. In our first years here, they used to fight a lot, which we regularly heard from downstairs. They would yell, sometimes for hours, and occasionally it seemed like things got violent. Henry was born maybe 10 years ago. He doesn't factor into the story until much later. But anyways, the point is: Whatever Karen's done, she's always gotten away with it. Here are some highlights:

My Mom always took pride in how well she took care of our trash bin & recycling bin. Every month she'd give them a quick rinse after that week's trash day, just to make sure that they wouldn't develop a smell or a colony of bacteria wouldn't move in. Karen, apparently, wasn't so diligent, and one time, her recycling been got really nasty. And I mean really nasty. So, she just left it out back (context: Behind the house isn't a backyard, it's just pavement with a parking spot designated for each unit), and began using ours. Lo and behold, ours started to get nasty, and Mom quickly went from spending a quick 3 minutes rinsing it out every month to about 45 minutes scrubbing with soap and water to clean it out. Eventually, we decided we'd had enough, and she and Dad sent Karen and the third-floor-tenants of the time a polite, but firm, e-mail, that basically said, "Whoever started using our recycling bin, please stop and use your own. You never asked our permission, and we take good care of it, and ever since you began using it it's become disgusting." We knew it was Karen and Bill, but Mom & Dad figured it was more polite without a call-out and they "didn't want to start anything." Within a week, 2 things happened: Karen & Bill got a brand-spanking new recycling bin, and one week we found ours had been mysteriously destroyed. Someone took a knife to it and cut it to pieces. We had no way of knowing who it was, but we had a pretty good feeling we knew exactly who it was. (Yes, we had to get a new one.) Because we had no evidence of who did it though, my parents didn't say anything about it.

Back when we could afford a car (we haven't had one since our first few years here), we used our parking space out back. Every time that Karen & Bill hosted a party (which back then was surprisingly frequently), they would toss their trash over their balcony "into the general vicinity of the trash & recycling bins out back," which is literally right next to our designated parking space. Most of the dents we had on our old '88 Toyota were from bottles thrown from the second floor balcony. We had windows break a couple times; Same deal. Each time it happened, my parents would politely go upstairs, knock on Karen & Bill's door, and respectfully ask them to stop throwing stuff over the balcony because "sometimes it accidentally hits our car." Each time they went and did that, Karen & Bill stopped, but they would do it again until they got caught during their next party. Again though, my parents never wanted to escalate the situation, so they never justified taking it further than knocking on her door and politely asking them to stop.

This is another example of Karen's utter shit behavior, but it's also relevant for the revenge part of the story, so I'm putting it after the bullet point section. Our basement is shared between all 3 units. Each unit has its designated space boxed out (kind of like office cubicles), and there's some designated "common area" in between. Years ago (maybe like 8 or 9), Karen and Bill completely filled their designated basement cubicle, so they just started piling shit all over the common area. Eventually, they developed this enormous pile of junk in front of Unit 1's (our unit) oil tank (for heating). My Mom & Dad never said anything because it happened over a long period of time and they didn't want to start a fight, and as far as I know none of the third floor folks ever said anything either, but it got to the point where she and her husband were taking up common area space that was easily twice the size of their designated cubicle.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that for many years my parents and I weren't great neighbors, either. We didn't bully anyone, but due to my Dad's condition, he could be triggered (ayyyyyyy) by seemingly anything, and suddenly he'd be in a rage and we'd all be yelling. I grew up in that generally chaotic environment, and, yeah, there were several times when the police were called to our house for noise disturbances. But we kept our shit to ourselves, and we were nothing but polite and respectful to all our neighbors, always.

That said, you can imagine that our first priority was always my Dad and his stability, and we had enough on our hands with that, so he & Mom always swallowed their pride and avoided doing anything to antagonize Karen, no matter how shitty her behavior got.

After my Dad died, I developed my own issues for a while, with mental health. Growing up in a constantly chaotic, violent, aggressive environment took its toll on me, and for a time I had deeply depressive tendencies. I struggled with suicidality for years, and eventually wound up graduating high school after 8 years of attending classes in some form or another. Similar to when my Dad was sick, I became my mother's top priority at that point, so again, Karen and Bill kept getting away with all her bullshit.

I got better though. Nowadays, I'm even off my psychiatric medication. I got my shit together and graduated high school, and even college. I have my Bachelor's, and I'm doing some postgrad stuff for a Master's. Most of the way has been paid for by scholarships. But, I recently decided that, as an adult now and therefore as someone with a little more say in things around the house than when I was a kid, I had had enough of watching Karen bully my parents, particularly my mother, for so many years. I want revenge.

Phase One of my plan was to ease my way into the adult, condo-administration dialogue. I began helping out more around the house -- as in, around the common area parts:

I single-handedly redid the back porch's flooring (it sounds like more than it is -- I just pulled out all the floorboards and nailed new ones in).

I replaced both storm doors (about 6 months apart) when each one began having problems (different kinds of problems, it doesn't matter what they were).

I also took care of some comparatively smaller things -- I weedwhacked out back for a couple hours, cut the grass out front a few times, and got up early so that I could beat everyone else to the shoveling every time it snowed one winter (not '18-'19, but '17-'18). I also began wheeling back everyone's recycling & trash bins after trash week every week, not just our own.

After the first 2 bullet point stuff, each time I sent out an e-mail to everyone in the condo to let them know that I had taken care of it, and that all I asked of the other 2 units was for them to reimburse me 1/3rd of the cost of materials, on their timetable, because of course I hadn't given them a heads-up so it was only fair that I allow them to pay me when they can. The smaller stuff from the last bullet point I obviously didn't need to announce, the idea was just that over time, the neighbors would see me taking more initiative in things and being more active, which would go on to justify me participating more in inter-condo politics. I also made a point to keep conversations to e-mails, so that there would be a written record of every interaction.

Phase Two of my plan ran pretty much concurrently to Phase One, but had an entirely different purpose and was overall entirely different: I began gathering evidence of everything I could.

I asked my Mom to track down all the old e-mails she & Dad had exchanged with the neighbors, documenting many instances that Karen & Bill had pulled shit

I went downstairs and took a video of Karen and Bill's shit all over the common area, particularly emphasizing all the highly flammable wooden and cardboard shit they had piled up in front of our oil tank.

I dug up and pored over the deed to our apartment, specifically the sections that detailed the rules around common areas and the limitations of our unit as compared to the others and vice versa.

To my utter joy, Mom & Dad never threw out that old recycling bin that Karen and/or Bill had knifed up, apparently because they just never knew what to do with it and never wanted anyone to ask questions. Naturally, I dug it up and took plenty of photos.

I did one other evidence-gathering thing that needs a bit more explanation: Karen & Bill are awful parents. Mom & I regularly hear the shit they do to Henry through the very thin ceiling we have here. I'm decidedly not going to go into detail because, even though I changed his name, he's still underage and I feel it would be disrespectful to him to do that, but let's say it crosses far into the realm of child abuse. This is a topic I'm particularly sensitive about because I grew up in a shitty situation myself, so believe me when I say this part is the most satisfying part of my revenge. Let's just say that every time I could hear shit through the ceiling, I took out my phone and started a recording until it stopped.

Finally, Phase Three of my plan was basically to bait Karen and/or Bill into a trap I set, that, as it turns out, would have humongous consequences (for them).

Mom & I have this old treadmill that we got for free. It's in the kitchen, and lately we've come to the conclusion that it just takes up a little too much space. We both use it a little, but not enough to justify keeping it. She wanted to toss it out, but I argued hard to keep it around, because I knew I could use it for this plan. It would be my only shot.

Remember how I mentioned we haven't had a car for years? Well, eventually, I convinced Mom to let me put the treadmill outside, in our parking space out back. I bought a large tarp to cover it with, so it would be protected from the rain, and I told her I'd start using it more if it was outside because it's nicer to do exercise in the fresh air.

I also sent out an e-mail to Karen, cc'd to Bill and the current third-floor-folks, asking her to move all the things in front of our oil tank in the basement "somewhere else." Despite the fact that those things had been there for many years, I justified addressing it now because I'm the one addressing it, and that's different from before because before I was a child and now I'm an adult who actively participates in the inter-condo dialogue. I asked her to because the way she currently had it set up is a safety hazard, and "I'm just following the rules." I further let her know that if she and Bill didn't take care of it within a handful of weeks, that I would have no choice but to take care of it myself. In the same e-mail, I let everyone know that I was putting our treadmill in our parking space out back, so that if anyone had any trouble with getting into their spot to please let me know. The same day I sent out the e-mail, I put the treadmill out back.

Now, I figured nothing was going to change from all the other e-mails I had sent about matters regarding the condo's administration, and nothing did: She and Bill never acknowledged anything. The current third-floor guy didn't want anything to do with going up against Karen, so he just thanked me for the heads-up about the treadmill and said nothing else.

It's also important to note here that my real reason for mentioning the treadmill in that e-mail wasn't "in case anyone has trouble getting into their parking spot." Needless to say, sure, a treadmill in a kitchen is pretty fucking big and obnoxious, but a treadmill off to the side of an automobile parking space isn't really big at all. Plus, I placed it in such a way that it wasn't in anyone's way, giving everyone ample room to maneuver around. It was just there, off to the side. The reason I mentioned the treadmill in that e-mail was to alert her to its presence, and perhaps associate it in her mind with my request for her to move all her shit in the basement.

I also began using it, at least three mornings a week. I timed it so that sometimes, Karen and Bill would run into me as they left to drive Henry to school. Every time I saw them, I waved and greeted, to ensure they'd notice me on the treadmill. Mom also used it a few times, but she wasn't part of my plan so I've no idea if she ever ran into them while on it.

Here's the other thing I did: I set up a video camera in our laundry basket. See, we have it permanently in the pantry, next to the pantry window that faces the back area. I buried it beneath clothing so that from outside you can't even see it, but I bought a few massive (memory storage wise, not physically) SD cards and kept the thing recording 24/7, with a timestamp.

For 2 weeks, nothing happened. The camera recorded nothing suspicious, and Karen & Bill didn't move their shit in the basement.

Their time was up, so one night, I got up at around 1AM when everyone else was asleep so nobody would hear me, and went downstairs to move their shit.

Reddit, I can't express to you how much I enjoyed this. I bought a GoPro, put it on my noggin, and carefully recorded the entire hour and a half of moving shit around. I took the enormous pile of junk in front of Mom & I's oil tank, and found a way to fit all of it into their designated storage cubicle. In the end, it was packed. I have mild OCD and I nearly had an orgasm at the end from how well organized (physically) everything was, so that everything was neatly packed together and all the space was used at maximum efficiency. It was glorious. Packed from floor to ceiling, and almost wall-to-wall all around. If you can just imagine one massive, near-perfect rectangular prism of junk, that's what I had created. It was a masterpiece. I was so proud. On the side the door was on, there was enough space to walk to either wall, but you couldn't move "into" it anywhere.

I got back upstairs to our apartment and couldn't sleep the rest of the night. I was beyond excited. I wound up watching Infinity War to prepare for Ant-Man and the Wasp's then-upcoming release. Ayyy.

Sure enough, Karen & Bill took the bait. I must've been at school or work when they first discovered the basement, because I never heard a thing about it. In hindsight, it's probably best I was out, even though I would've savored those angry shrieks like nothing ever before. In any case, within a few days, we discovered our treadmill destroyed. Similarly to the recycling bin of years past, it had been knifed up. I can imagine they probably wanted to straight-up take a hammer to it, but they didn't want to make much noise, so they wound up just tearing the thing apart with a really big and really sharp knife. They had seen that we were using it, and aside from our trash & recycling bins it was our only property that they had access to at that point (several years back I filled up the rest of the wall of our basement cubicle and installed a door with a lock, so our cubicle is now sealed off to everyone else but the others are open and anyone can enter), plus I can imagine destroying a $1000 treadmill is infinitely more tempting than a trash or recycling bin, so they went for it in retaliation for my stunt in the basement.

After moving their shit in the basement, I started timing my treadmill use differently so that I wouldn't run into them. As soon as I saw it after they destroyed it, I went straight to the camera I had set up in the pantry. It caught the whole thing. In true fashion of their relationship, Bill brandished an enormous knife and single-handedly destroyed the whole thing himself, while she stood next to him and seemingly ordered him to do it.

With that in hand, I called the police, reported the incident, told them that my mother and I felt threatened by their presence and we filed a restraining order against both Karen and Bill with the police that same day. I turned over all the evidence I had gathered of all their shit over the years, and I also turned over all the audio clips I had of Karen & Bill terrorizing Henry. I figured since it was all audio and no video, it wouldn't be enough to get him out of their care, but maybe it'd at least get the Department of Children & Families involved.

Karen & Bill immediately claimed that I had broke a bunch of their shit while moving it around in the basement (shit that they no doubt had broken themselves), so I offered my GoPro recordings as proof that I had not, in fact, broken any of their shit while moving it at all.

The restraining order a person is allowed to file with a police report is always temporary, but you can always petition the court to extend it. Once Mom & I did that, it was granted. At that point, Karen & Bill hadn't been legally allowed to go back home for about a week, and since it became a longer-term restraining order, they were basically not going to be allowed to live in their own home for several years, so they made the obvious choice to sell the house and move elsewhere. Needless to say, selling a house you're not allowed to be near is a difficult task, and moving all your stuff out of said house is even more difficult -- particularly when you have so much of it. They wound up coordinating the entire house's sale from afar, with their realtor being the only person who came around to show the house. Once it was time for them to move, some relatives of theirs came around and packed everything up and loaded it into a truck.

Also, I was right, based on my recordings alone Henry wasn't taken from their custody, but DCF did get involved. I heard from their family that came around to pack up their shit though that Karen & Bill did wind up losing custody of him. They didn't say much as to why, but they basically implied that the abuse ramped up a lot after everything went down between me and Karen & Bill (which is the only part I feel guilty about, but in the end I hope this is a situation where the end justifies the means), at which point DCF was already sniffing around, so they wound up losing custody of him anyways. I've no idea where Henry wound up, but wherever he is I obviously have nothing against him and I hope he winds up in a much better situation than he was.

Finally, I will say, for two such inordinately obtuse and disgusting human beings, they had surprisingly decent family members. The few times I ran into them and made small talk when they were around they were pretty apologetic about the whole thing. I got the impression that this isn't the first time they're apologizing on Karen & Bill's behalf. I hope Henry is taken in by one of them, and not chucked into the foster system. Here's hoping, kid.

(source) story by (/u/dorkofthesnorkelkind)

#prorevenge #by /u/dorkofthesnorkelkind #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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debbie-tanthorey · 4 years ago

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65 DAYS IN MAY

CHAPTER ONE

Cosmic irony. A dentist saved me. You read that correctly – saved my LIFE, albeit inadvertently. An action as mundane as having one’s teeth cleaned, set fate in motion. Was the week of Thanksgiving 2019, bi-annual check-up. Dentist does his thing after the hygienist finishes. You know the drill (pun intended). Only this time he uncustomarily offers me a hand-mirror, tells me to look in my throat, asks me if I've had my tonsils out.

“No”

“You have a white spot back there, see that?” My eyes shift toward the mirror – I LIE – say I see it (don’t have my glasses on, PRIDE won’t let me admit I can’t see any white patch) He continues, “If you don't mind, am referring you to an oral surgeon for a biopsy.” The nefarious B-word; brain fires a warning shot. B-word leads to the C-word.

Alone now in my car, I fall apart. Hi, I'm a hypochondriac; I don't handle health challenges well despite the jovial persona folks see. A paralyzed-with-fear hypochondriac. Foremost in my thoughts is a long-time friend from high school, currently dealing with a devastating throat cancer diagnosis; I know not to minimize this. (R.I.P. Grady, August 8, 2020 😔) Get to my desk, dial my primary physician immediately, which is a big deal for introverted-me; set up an appointment for a second opinion. The Thanksgiving holiday means I can't be seen until the following week. What is normally a fun, family-gathering time of year, is effectively fogged in with dread, I go through the motions. All-consuming thoughts ruminate incessantly - I'm dying. Yeah, it's what hypochondriacs DO, we ‘dive off into the deep end,’ thrash, drown in ‘what if’s??’

The next week, my doctor smiles after he peers past my tongue into my throat, “Where?” Looks twice, insists I relax, “It's nothing.” He knows me well, adding, “if it would make you feel better, let's follow-up in three months.” His reassurance tempers my panic . . life resumes.

CHAPTER TWO

December 2019, January, February, 2020 the winter that wasn't. Work that was. Mid-February Housing fair at Ohio University's Walter Hall Rotunda. Event coordinator, Donna, introduces herself to Dave and me at our display table. Lively-soul, (I admire extroverts) she explains she recently transferred to this area from Columbus and, among other things, is a Stage 4 breast cancer survivor. Woman is spunky. Piques my interest. I share my sister's email address with her, explaining Cheryl is an 18-month soldier waging the same battle.

March approaches and the little nagging voice in my head reminds, “3-month follow-up, Deb, just do it.” Did. Friday, March 6. Confirmed, no dumb spot. Ha!! Your basic normal appointment. Crisis debunked. As visit concludes, Hillary, his nurse, scrolls through my medical record, turns to mention it's been more than a couple years since my last mammogram, they’ve all been clear, but I'm due, and would I want to set up one.

“Sure”

My youngest, Leah, works in this same medical facility, stop at her desk near the lab to say ‘hello.’ She’s my last to leave home, miss her in my house still. Always good to see and talk to her. She and Ian were married 18 months ago. Her desk-mate, Jordan, coincidentally one of Leah’s friends from her high school days, sets up my mammo appointment for Monday.

MONDAY, MARCH 9. Say ‘hello’ again to the girls at their desk. Check-in. Take a seat, wait my turn. Have had plenty of these 'grams in my lifetime, no big deal, no dread. Bare 'em, squash 'em, and get back to work. This time though, the tech knows my sister, and as I dress when we are done, from behind the screen she casually asks how old Cheryl was when she got her diagnosis and how’s she doing. (60. She is doing remarkably well, maintaining) 10 minutes later, I’m back at my work desk, phone rings, the mammo-tech is on the phone, needing me to return the next day for “a couple more, 'maybe clearer' pics, and an ultrasound.” That’s never happened before. A fleeting shot of panic surges, but since my most recent dread has been unfounded, I attempt to not over-react.

TUESDAY, MARCH 10. Keenly study the radiology-tech’s face for clues when she comes to fetch me from the lobby, I examine her demeanor as if I’m a police detective on a high-profile murder case and she’s my prime suspect. She's calm. So I'm cool. Rescan first, ultrasound second. Not especially pleasant the latter, (idiotic thing to say, was wholly unpleasant ) having your chest unceremoniously smashed in a circular motion against your ribs. The techs are studious, the room silent, I stare at the ceiling. Last time I had an ultrasound was 26 years ago and I was pregnant. Today, no fun at all. Understand now why my sister mentioned she is not a fan of these during her breast cancer struggles.

CHAPTER THREE

SATURDAY, MARCH 14, a knock on the front door, mailman is standing on my front porch and in the time it takes me to scribble my name on a card, I'm staring down at a certified letter in my palm, the return address of the clinic lunging off the paper at me. There's a low, barely-audible, foreign sound in my head. It's 'control', in human form, and is protesting/whining as she’s being forcibly dragged away from me. Remind myself I'm somewhat sane, an adult - just open the envelope. I do. And there it is, in black and white, the word -

ABNORMALITY

The rest of the weekend is a blur, debunking the need for concern with my daughters. Every excuse, every plausible explanation of why a letter like this would be mailed. A mistake, surely so. Just a glitch in the system. “Mom, if it was bad, they wouldn't notify you by letter,” Leah insists.

MONDAY, MARCH 16, my primary physician calls in regard to my somewhat-panicky email fired-off to him on Saturday, the day the letter arrives. He speaks in calm tones, explains he was on vacation the past week, is sorry he could not talk to me before the notice arrived, he's seen the offending spot on the film, offers it's so small, unlikely any cause for concern. “Indistinctive,” he assures. Forwarding to a surgeon for review.

CHAPTER FOUR

TUESDAY, MARCH 17, mama-daughter call . . normal stuff .. she’s working today at the clinic. She mentions the aforementioned surgeon has office hours today, maybe I could be squeezed in. I’m in luck, they can. So in a couple hours, I am shaking the hand of the head of surgery. Personable guy, he tells me he's reviewed my pics, if the radiologist had not circled the area, he would not have noticed it right away. Optimism duly noted. He thoroughly examines that body part, pokes and prods, asks me if I feel a lump. “I have not.” Today he doesn't either. Every woman knows about lumps. I absolutely know about lumps. I would never ignore one. Fact of the matter, there is NO lump!

We go over my less than stellar immediate family history of C. (HATE that word). Lung, breast, leukemia. He recommends biopsy to rule out any true problem. The B-word again. This day I say, ‘ok'.

Right here is where COVID-19 makes it's bizarro presence known, personally impacts ME. Doctor advises local surgery center is now closed due to the virus and procedures are limited to emergencies only but he is willing to go before the Board to plead my case. ???? While thankful he is willing to intercede for me; I am tamping down anxiety fighting to rise up, mentally jumping up and down, stomping on it, both feet.

Couple days later I get the call the Medical Board approves me for a needle biopsy. Control-of-my-life, she is sitting on the floor in a fetal position, rocking, whimpering in a locked padded-room somewhere.

CHAPTER FIVE

TUESDAY, MARCH 24, Jess drives me to Jackson. I don't need driven. Appreciate my oldest’s company though. COVID rules necessitate only a patient be permitted to enter any facility; Jess has to wait in the car. At the door, am screened for symptoms, this is the Twilight Zone. And it's too quiet in here. The place is dark and weird and I don't want to be here. I'm the ONLY person in the entire surgery center, I overhear the staff talking, they weren’t on the schedule today, I’m the only patient. hhmmmm, why am I so important?? Creepy.

Am ushered into the procedure room, nurses are professional, put me at ease. Entering, it’s impossible to miss my film aglow on the lighted-box on the wall; she asks if I want to see it. (NO!! I don’t want to see it!!) In reality, robotically, walk over to look. There it is, plain as day. The previously described small-likely-nothing indistinctive spot. Yikes, it's a glaring, ominous, bright white glob with literal tentacles reaching out, it’s in the middle of my precious flesh. No denying this now. Thing’s staring back at me. The only way I know how to describe the rest of the appointment, is that I am having an out-of-body experience, it’s not happening to me. No . . . is not.

You know the lifts in a garage of an auto repair shop? That's what this is. Clumsily climb aboard, assume a face-down position. There's no delicate way to explain the procedure. There's an enormous hole in the table, chest area, your beloved body part dangles and the table is raised, surgeon accesses it from below. Area is securely taped, prepped and numbed. Needles are fun, aren't they??! (eye roll) Am told the table will vibrate, surgeon cautions me to lay perfectly still or the laser will slice me. (no problem, I float away, not even present in the room) And it begins. Computer guides a gatling gun of needles as it commences to stab the tumor, withdraw specimens of cells. Sounds horrific, but it isn't, numbing tends to that. Divert my eyes from the red, fleshy goop siphoning into the container, my eyes clamped shut much of the time. Lasts just a few minutes, dress, then am on my way. Visit the same surgeon in a week for the results. Will not come back to this location, by then this center will also be closed by the pandemic mandate, next appointment is at a nearby hospital.

CHAPTER SIX

APRIL 1, 2020, APRIL FOOL'S DAY. First time I have ever visited this hospital, enter alone, virus protocol at the door. Surgeon’s office on the second floor, take the elevator. Few folks in the building, those that are, like me, are wearing masks. As I wait, pilfer on my ipad. Name is called, off I go. Today I find out this thing is benign, that I have been spazzing for weeks over nothing, naturally. Don't wait long for the Dr., I remain seated as he enters, greets me. He begins talking as he walks across the room, lays down my chart, then turns, making eye-contact, “you are so lucky to have had this test, mammogram did what it was supposed to do; we've caught it early.”

“...(I go effectively deaf) blah-blah-blah-blah-blah CARCINOMA.” A cataclysmic concoction of consonants and vowels strung together into syllables, words, in sentence form, delivered matter-of-factly. What happens here is nothing short of BIZARRE. Always imagined if I heard the words, “you have cancer,” I would react BADLY.

I would -

be angry

weep

go to pieces

vomit

all of the above

In reality -

I did not cry

I did not faint

I did not scream

Instead, sit calmly, silently. Stoic. Utterly, absolutely, wholly dumbfounded. ( this isn’t real - my head hurts - is this a stroke!?) REALITY Brain cells scramble to focus, I listen intently to every word, nod occasionally. Hearing all, absorbing little, during this a crash course on three types of breast cancer and treatment options available. (drifting off - I like him, he gestures with his hands as he speaks of surgery options.) Reconstruction; their plastic surgeon is top notch. The decision is mine. The doctor adds simply, “you know what will happen if you do nothing.”

I do

Unceremoniously and without a second’s hesitation, I react, “Get it off me,” hand on my chest. (subconscious protesting, “I feel FINE!!!! THIS. IS. STUPID!!”)

He nods in acknowledgement of my words, continuing, discusses recurrence rates on the opposite breast. Fuzzy math. Right here I interrupt him with the wave of a hand, “Get them both off me!” For good measure, I repeat it. Decision made, bilateral mastectomy it is, ASAP. Hands me a print-out with my diagnosis, I roll the paper up like a diploma and slip it in my bag. Stare down at the bag I take to work everyday . . (new-reality thoughts commence) or did … back when life was normal.

“Lousy April Fool’s Day, ya gotta admit.” I mutter out-loud to him as I rise to my feet, reach for the door. (how am I walking??!)

Ah, but COVID-19. Global pandemic, if it were a person, he’d be a cold-hearted, merciless jerk. I have to wait 14 days, be symptom-free in order to be permitted in their surgery unit or risk contaminating the whole place. Condemned to live with my killer for 15 more days, let it sleep with me, go to work with me, hang out with me while I visit my kids, grandkids. Melodramatic? You betcha, but the truth. All the while knowing the beast is growing.

I don’t exit the building until I am pre-registered for surgery, receive copious instructions, am assigned a day, APRIL 16. Next to the radiology waiting room, there I message my sister, she is the first to know. I have breast cancer. There’s lab work, x-ray, EKG. Am a zombie. A polite zombie with cancer making idle chitchat with techs who have no freaking clue my unremarkable and average life has evaporated in the last 45 minutes.

Poked, prodded, scanned and x-rayed - my walk across the parking lot is a 1,000 mile trek. Open the door, slide into the seat, fasten the seat belt, inhale deeply, fill my lungs with air just so I feel alive and less numb. Stare at my hands. Wish I could scream without attracting attention. Vomiting would be a blessing about now. I seem to be the same person that got out of the vehicle two hours before. No, am not the same at all. HOW do I do this????! Any of this??

HOW??????????!!!!!

In the days that follow, I will unroll my biopsy report, familiarize myself: invasive lobular carcinoma, 1.6cm, grade 1, ER+PR+HER2-. (translation = hormone fed) I will become versed about the enemy within, that if left untreated, would put me in the ground. Knowledge is power.

CHAPTER SEVEN

How do you tell the people you love, you have cancer? How do you toss a live emotional-grenade in a room? As terrifying as it is for me, I have to watch the realization sink in, the fear in their faces. Jess and Leah, my girls, having initiated a video chat with me as I wait for labs at the hospital. “Mom...well, how’d it go??” Not necessary to share details out loud, I crack, my eyes said all there was to say. Tough to hide that. Awful is the fact I’m in a public waiting room as they ask, am trying to hold it together, not disintegrate, explode into pieces. Watch them absorb what they now understand. I can’t help them.

Morning of April 1, the plan was to go back to work after the appointment. I don't. I aim the car toward home.

But first, I stop at my mom's house, to reveal the diagnosis to her and George. This is the first time I will say the words. Standing in the middle of her living room, my mouth opens and the emotion-less words fall out, “I have cancer too.” It is weird to hear it voiced and I feel bad for her. (her sister, my dad, my brother, my sister, now me) Explain to her what I plan to do and comfort that it'll be alright. She supports my decision: show no mercy to the beast.

Head home.

Turn onto my county road, Jameson calls, asks how the Dr. visit went. Avoiding answering, instead, ask if they are home, that I will be right there. Am thankful I am not them. He ‘knows’ from my tone, detects from the question. My son and wife, Patty, live 1/4 mile from my house, I arrive at their place in only a couple minutes, walk into their living room where they both were, learn the kids are upstairs, state the fact to the both of them, and I sit down for a bit. Just like that. Keep it light and matter of fact.

Life is insane.

CHAPTER EIGHT

What follows is 15 days trapped in a state of in-between. Desperate for normalcy yet knowing I can’t have it. What to do. What. To. Do. Staying right-minded is the aim. Crave it. C-word rarely leaving my thoughts. Every day ‘hospital Jessica’ calls me to ask a series of Covid-19 related questions and asks my body temperature that I am tasked with taking each morning upon waking.

What I CAN maintain right now, is routine.

COVID locks my office door in mid-March, am the only one staffing there. OU student move-in/move-out day is May 3. I’m the one in charge of this, making sure everything is ready. Can’t cancel it . . it goes on with or without me. Scheduling surgery mid-April, slashes two weeks off my prep time for this once-a-year event. Realize the timing could not be better, if there IS such a thing, I have little free time to ponder what’s coming, am too busy. Every day I plow through my work to-do list. Go home too tired to indulge doom and gloom.

Away from the office too, I quickly find another diversion, researching and shopping for items I might need after the surgery. Soft tops with inner pockets for drains management, ice packs, hot packs, special propping pillow. A miracle they all arrive on time because Amazon Prime has been waylay-ed by the corona virus. A sick and twisted ‘Merry Christmas to me’ as each package arrives. In some small way, gives me a semblance of control.

Sleeping is not an issue during these days. It’s my safe place. Sleep deep and well, courtesy of a little purple pill discovered years ago. (thank you, menopause) Each and every morning, have about 30 seconds of ‘normal’ before I remember what demon is living in me.

An entertaining activity during this time is staring in my lingerie drawer at the start of every day, choosing which style, what color bra for one last travel in the rotation. I waffle. At first, suffer pangs of melancholy while looking at the neat row of vibrant colors and lace. Then chuckle, cups are large enough to be made into hats for small children. No one wants to discuss my boobs, but this is an important part of the process of letting go. Acknowledgement. A girl spends what seems like her whole life waiting for these body parts to materialize; coveted, we dress them up, suspend them with steel reinforcement, make the best of them. They feed our children, we rock our babies/grandbabies against them. They’re part of who we are. Mine are set for execution. It’s them or me.

Time ticks by.

CHAPTER NINE

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 15. Mastectomy Eve, am something I have never been, radioactive. True. This day go into the hospital ALONE, pass through the covid-19 gauntlet; escorted to a quiet room with a massive machine, bet it was a CT scanner, I don’t ask, I lay down on a metal table and a needle is inserted in my chest region, right side (still find it weird to use the word ‘breast’) and a radioactive tracer is placed in my body at the sight of the tumor. I’d researched the procedure a little (LIE . . I researched a LOT) beforehand, and read it would be EXCRUCIATING. So expect the worst. Naturally. Tech is kind and reassuring; small talk. I notice what great hair he has. Stare at the ceiling as I lay there. Then the doctor comes in, says I’ll feel a stick (had read the area is numbed first) expect that. Did. Not horrendous - that’s an exaggeration, barely felt anything. Assume we wait for the numbing to take effect before he drills through to the core. What I DIDN’T expect, is him to say, “you’re done.” Meaning that tiny prick was it. Say what now? Before the morning’s surgery, I’ll come back to this table, and will find out if the cancer has leeched into any lymph nodes. I dress and exit the building.

ESCAPE! The rest of this day IS MINE. I take my dreary thoughts, my diseased chest, the ‘DD girls’ , and we hit the road, took the long way home. Gave ‘them’ the best darned last-day-alive you could ask for. Was the least I could do considering what I was consenting to do to them. Pitied them and wanted them DEAD at the same time. Them or me.

Flowers waiting for me when I got home, the first time I sobbed in earnest. A torrent of tears.

CHAPTER TEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 16, 2020. DtoDD DAY. Death to DD’s Day. (and my Mom’s 81st birthday) Eerily calm. I grab my packed bag, stare at my freshly-made bed as I turn to exit the bedroom. Oh here comes one of those bizarro thoughts I have at times like this. Glancing around, mutter, “when I return, nothing will be the same. Gee, I hope I come back.” Melodramatic to a fault I am. Patty drops me off at the hospital door at a ridiculously early hour. Did I mention this is during a pandemic so no one can come in and that the hospital is spooky-empty and hushed?? Well, it is. Apocolyptically-quiet. Surreal. Check-in is swift and efficient and a surgery-nurse retrieves me promptly, accompany her to the prep area. this is real?

This unit has a circle of several cubicles, all but three are empty though. Settled in, changing into hospital gown, then I have three hours to ponder the fact that the last time I had surgery was 26 years ago and I am not as young as I used to be, and nowhere near ready to die, and lordy, I am no fan of pain. I feel FINE . . how can something deadly be in me yet I feel this HEALTHY??

In the hours I wait, return to scan-room to see if this thing has reached my lymph nodes. Dark room, humming machine. Same tech lets me watch the screen, bright lights like tiny fireworks become visible. No clue what I am watching.

My appointed time arrives, was about 9:30 a.m. Accompanied by a surgical nurse, I walk down the hallway to the O.R., my IV pole in tow. this isn’t real Three surgical staff are busily prepping. Funny how apprehension makes one awkwardly talkative with strangers, more so than normal. I greet them and cannot shut up, blather, “you know how kids took home tonsils in a jar?? (clutching my chest) you have a gallon jug I can take these home with me?” (yes, I really did say it) Laughter from them, that’s good. Am offered a stool to climb onto the table. I do. My God, to the gallows, ‘girls’

Jettisoned into the Twilight Zone right here. In the time it takes me to scoot, get comfortably horizontal on the table, sterile people descend on me, all over me doing things. Arms, legs . . belt around my abdomen. Am picturing masked-ants. Busy, busy. Big light on the ceiling lowering, settles above my upper torso and head. I feel FINE Am here, but not here. Oh God. Gentle voice to my right, as a mask is fitted over my nose and mouth, “take a couple deep breaths.”

Blackness.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I’m struggling in deep water, not diving down - but up, shooting to the surface of the water, I need air. Regaining consciousness, a jostling, repeating, “Debbie, wake up. Can you hear me?” Awake. Literal first conscious thought, drenched in relief -

“... NOT DEAD”

Body is being tugged, moved, but I’m not doing it. Realization hits me, where I am and what's happened. Conscious, I no longer feel fine, unrelenting waves of nausea wash over me. I give myself over to whichever medical professional wants to tend to me. They can have me, I don’t want me. Not this me.

End up in a hospital room, no recollection whatsoever how. Silence interrupted only by BP cuff on an ankle, inflating noisily at intervals reminding me I’m alive. Not moving. Lord, what have I done? Ice packs under both arms. Detest feeling this gross. I hang onto the sheets for hours, ride out the nausea.

As terrible as that was, and it was horrendous, it ends abruptly once I am fully awake later in the afternoon. In fact, feel remarkably good - considering. Any pain is well-managed. I can move, even lift my arms. I can walk to the restroom, tend to myself. Am hungry and eat a good dinner. Pleasantly surprised at this half of the day.

Curious. Here’s where I gingerly lift the blanket to get my first look. DD-girls are gone, replaced by a thick layer of bandage all across my chest, tubing, two drains, and . . . oh my lord . . . HOW long has my belly been that size??????! God bless boobs, they divert one’s attention from a myriad of flaws. Geez-louise.

Thank you, Covid-19, for the hospital stay’s solitude, I don’t mind, I welcome not having to share this day with visitors. Am only interrupted intermittently by nurses and the doctor. No big deal. Not much to tell. Post on facebook that I survived. Was released to go home the very next day with surgeon’s, “no restrictions. See you in a week, will have lab results for you then.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

FRIDAY, APRIL 17. HOME. Here’s where it gets funny. Seriously. Humorous. Reality. My youngest, Leah, volunteers to stay for the first few days. Plan on not needing much in the way of assistance. Stubborn. Not too uncomfortable, prop on pillows, watch tv, pain meds. First-night, decide my bed is where I will sleep, let her have the couch. Undeterred in the middle of the night, manage to get myself to the bathroom alone. Good for ME!! Ah, but then the sun comes up. Right here I discover Super Woman I am not. Attempt the same maneuver and the stabbing pain angrily asserts, “NOT THIS TIME, SISTER!” Ah, bladder is bossy and insistent. But Pain is in charge. “#*&@*#&$}” a little too loudly (translation) “Leah!! Help!!” She comes trotting and I’m laughing, trapped in my own bed. Arms frozen at my sides, literally cannot move under my own power without an instant excruciating reaction. With urgency (full bladder loudly protesting) instruct her to wring a bed sheet, get to the foot of the bed, hold the ends, let me grab the middle . . . PULL!! It works!! Whew, lesson learned, until I could get up and down on my own unaided, I didn’t sleep there again.

Drains. Grateful to only require two. Three times a day they need emptying. Unceremoniously, Leah’s job. When large portions of flesh are removed, one’s body compensates by attempting to fill the space with fluid, drains are typically inserted to draw off this fluid, speeding recovery. These ‘things’ (drain hoses) are just under my skin across the width of my chest, a stitch holding them in place at the hole (yikes) where they exit on either side. The bulbs at the end of the 12 inch lines are clear grenade-shaped receptacles collecting wound-juice. (you winched at the visual, didn’t you? haha) They get full. Necessary to milk the line first, with sterile gloved fingers of one hand, she grasps and steadies the line where it exits my body, with the other, she slides her pinched fingers down the tubing, pushes the ooze and any clots to the end. Pops the top of the bulb, empties 'ick' into a measuring cup, and logs the amount and color. Squeezes the bulb as she closes the lid so siphon will commence. My only job is to 'enjoy' the vigorous suction. eek

I sit dutifully still on a stool while she goes about her ‘work’, chit-chatting about this and that, am intentionally not watching the gore slipping, dripping into the bulb. She's not hurting me but every now and then will feel a subtle tug, a movement of the tubing. (shudder) Sunday evening she taps the bulb’s bottom on the table, remarking, “darned clot won’t fall through.” (rap, rap, smack) “Eww, that’s gross,” she says, “clot (tap) won’t (tap) let go ( jiggling it, the dangling, stringing bloody blob just hanging there, swaying back and forth).” My skin is warming . . . interesting sensation . . getting hot. Really HOT. She is sitting right next to me, is talking but her voice is fading. Am looking her direction, but she is drifting away in a misty vapor . . . waaaaaaaaaaaay over there now, voice, can’t hear her. Vision going and the room is moving ever so slightly.

I see my girl in slo-mo, she realizes what is happening, "Mom, Mom ... MOM!" (my mouth no longer works, cannot respond) hear her excited, “DAD!!!! Come quick!! Help! Mom’s passing out!!!”

Didn't. (did get to the couch . . sat still for an hour, feet up . . w/ice pack alternating on my neck, forehead) Didn’t vomit, so that's a 'WIN" for the day.

I learn to do it myself once she goes home. No big deal.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 23. A week passes, mostly uneventful. Sick leave, lounging, medicating, tracking excretion of Deb-juice, healing. Tough to remember the days in March and early April when I felt GOOD. I feel terrible. Blah - which to me, IS terrible. No fever, no signs of infection, just a general feeling of malaise. (such a descriptive word, ‘malaise’) Post-op visit, a follow-up with the surgeon. Oldest daughter Jess, chauffeur for the day. The entire drive down to Gallipolis, I imagine they’ll take one look at my sorry self, react in horror, re-admit me immediately. I have to be dying, something has to be terribly wrong. No one can feel this bleak and survive.

Mull my life over for that hour drive, did I live it adequately, what is left that I have not done, am I going to throw up IN or OUT of her car . . oh woe is me . . my thoughts are rambling, disjointed, grim. (BEYOND melodramatic) LOL Get to the hospital, I have to admit I cannot even walk in under my own power. I have no power, drained dry. Jess requests a wheelchair and I feel how I imagine being 150 years old and feeble feels, reliant on a stranger for transport up to the waiting area. Pitiful. I hate this. Too puny to care.

And remember COVID . . Jessica can’t come in with me. My mummified remains parked in a desolate waiting room. sigh I need a transfusion. I need a transplant, I need SOMETHING . . want my life back. Where’d Debbie go??!!

Eventually wheeled into the exam room (decrepit thing that I am) to wait. Surgeon enters, his normal perky self, smiles my direction. I lament the state of (absence of) well-being and inability to go to the bathroom for DAYS. (how embarrassing) “Sweetheart (NO, he did not say 'Sweetheart’) it’s your pain meds doing this to you. STOP THEM.”

huh?????!

Examines the 12-inch incisions on either side of my torso. Both doing well. No stitches to remove, interior stitches will dissolve on their own. Exterior sterie strips will fall off in the next week. He studies my drain-log, then simply remarks, “looks great, amounts are decreasing steadily. You want them (drains) out today?” (glimmer of hope) Instantly agree, so without ceremony and with a quick snip of a stitch and a wiggle of the tube and a firm TUG, one Jackson Pratt drain is out. Nasty thing now coiled on the exam table. OUT!!! The other follows swiftly. Oh dear lord . . feels soooooooo good to be rid of those things. Best part . . expected to have them at least another week, that the extrication of same, would be horrendous. Wasn’t. Didn’t hurt actually. Bandaids applied to my newest holes. No stitch, no nothing. “See ya in a month. No restrictions.” Surprised he didn’t pat me on my sorry head.

Trip home is infinitely better, envision the tunnel and light shining in the distance. aaaahhhhh

Not another pain pill crosses these lips . . the man is a genius. (epilogue: my decline was indeed induced by the pain meds . . out of my system - recovering was a breeze. TIP: get off them as soon as you can)

P.S. Almost forgot the most important part!!!!! Lab results!!! Geez . .the tunnel, the light . . THIS IS WHY!!! TODAY I learn I am CANCER-FREE‼️‼️‼️ Well, I would hope so!! Nearly six pounds of flesh sacrificed / removed . . CLEAN MARGINS around the tumor. Lymph nodes are CLEAR!!! Sentinel node removal a bit messy, seven others unable to be separated from it, come out as well. Sobering fact is that I, nor the surgeon, felt a telltale lump - but it was there. In black and white, sobering words, “STAGE TWO”. Appointment with oncologist in May to discuss options. Why??? Here's the thing about breast cancer, sometimes IT COMES BACK.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Want to tell you the euphoria was warmly welcome and long-lasting. Yes and no, in that order. Sharing with friends that surgeon ‘got it all’ was met with copious genuine exclamations of ‘thank God!’ and ‘hallelujah’. For good reason. Pathology report of clean margins and clear nodes is a positive outcome. IT’S GONE!! And like me at this juncture, believe that’s the end of it. Too few days of relief pass swiftly - the reality that it may not be over, steadily seeps back in as I educate myself. But with a stubborn childlike optimism, trust the oncologist will study my diagnosis, pronounce my journey with this evil thing over. “Deborah, congrats, you’re finished with it and it with you. Have a nice life.” Let’s go with that. I want it.

Just a couple more weeks to find out.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In the meantime, at home I’m getting bored. ‘Bored’ is WONDERFUL. It’s normalcy. And a strong signal that it’s time for life to go on.

I am well enough to attend to work emails, becoming more frequent as students prepare to leave Athens officially, the stalwart diehards who came back after Spring Break despite the lockdown that commenced mid-March. Boredom, the impetus, that gets me out of the house.

TUESDAY, APRIL 28, 12 days post-op, several days free from pain-killers and feeling almost back to my old self, I slide behind the wheel of my car, new precious pillow between sensitive chest and the seatbelt and drive to work. Man oh man, how I missed 70′s radio . . sing all the way. I last at my desk for 4 hours this first day, mindful to recognize limitations, cut the day short, but go home triumphant.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THURSDAY, APRIL 30. Meet-my-oncologist day. (mentally mark off THAT on my ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’) First things first, why am I here??! Surgeon recommends I have a chat with the man . . rule out the need for anything further. Youbetcha. Today is THE. DAY!! Fully expect to be ‘blessed’ and sent on my way . . “Debbie, you were lucky, it’s all gone. Your cancer journey was intense and brief and now it’s over. Go live your life, girl.”

Check in. Hunker down at the back of the vast lobby, comfy chair. I absorb the room. Oh you know I don’t want to, but I do. A few patients are here. One unhealthy looking older lady on a hospital stretcher over there. Another slightly-weathered woman near the wall, wearing a turban. And there’s me. Odd-man out, pain-killers now out of my system: (yes yes, am minus the ‘girls’) full head of thick hair, kinda sorta minimally wrinkly, feeling strong and healthy . . . like me again.

Name called. BP and weight. Perks of the day . . bp is good, especially good for me. Literally-asked-the-nurse-to-repeat-the-numbers good. And am down 10 lbs. I’ll take it!! Gee, this visit is headed in the right direction!

Lead to an exam room, given a questionnaire. Ugh. Bottom of the page. Please list details of immediate family members . . . health issues, explanation. Here we go . . Melvin / dad / died in 2000 @64 / lung cancer (scribble to the side ‘life time smoker’ . . like it somehow negates the dying) Tim / brother / died in 2000 @39 / leukemia (again, the scribbling, master mechanic, hands in chemicals) Stephen / brother / died in 1957 @6 weeks / S.I.D.S. Bottom of this page is an OCD nightmare, ink scribbles in every direction, sad that I ran of space. Add, “Cheryl / sister / is 61 / @60 stage IV breast cancer (’maintaining’ . . didn’t add, but wanted to, “THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!”) Janice / mom / is 81. Terry / brother / is 55.” Finishing up, as MY oncologist enters the room.

Brief introductions . . Cursory physical exam of surgical site.

Oncologist reviews the information I provide, studies my chart. Two verbal inquires of me -

do you or have you ever smoked? “no”

do you drink alcohol and how much? “rarely”

He pauses. He can ascertain I’m not fudging the details. “Never?” he queries again. Shake my head in the negative. Sincerely he adds, “this makes NO sense. Risk factors are not there for breast cancer. No sense at all.”

Dr. Hamid relates there is a genetic test that can be performed using my tumor tissue, (eewwww, they still have it!!) the results determining whether or not chemo therapy would be of any benefit to me. Again - I am confused why a person who is now disease-free, minus seven pounds of her best flesh, needs ANYTHING additionally. I consent. He jots down for me the chemo recipe that I would receive if it’s indicated. Metaphysically burns my fingertips as I take the slip from him. (chemo??! stifling a scream) If not, I would be prescribed a pill to stop my body's remaining production of estrogen. Anastrazole is the drug of choice, there are a few common side effects: bone/joint pain, fatigue, etc. Majority of women experience no side effects of any kind, he assures. (mental note of an over-achiever: I will be one of THOSE) Dr. adds, “Lab work takes about two weeks to get back. Come see me in two weeks please. Oh wait . . you drive quite a distance to get here, right? Just call my office on May 13, we can handle this over the phone.”

uh huh . . . so much for being blessed and sent on my merry way. CHEMO, sub-set item under 1. CANCER on ‘Life’s List-of-Dreads’. TRULY . . . there is nothing I enjoy MORE, than waiting on test results. (epic eye-roll right here, stomach twists in knot)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

This is the last chapter of ‘65 DAYS IN MAY’ (today it’s February 25, 2021) I am a procrastinator. Am still me, after all. My instructions were to call oncologist’s office on Wednesday, May 13, 2020, to learn whether or not chemo therapy was the next step in my cancer treatment. By now I have little recollection of the blur of days between April 30 and when Dr. Hamid called me with my genetic testing results, my Oncotype score. Every day seemed endless, recovering well, feeling progressively more like myself. I let work duties bulldoze me through those days, thoroughly occupied. I was thankful to have nearly 300 college students moving-out and moving-in on May 3rd. Grateful to be bone weary at the end of each day, having little time to thrash about the prospect of chemo - that, and staying safe as COVID rampaged.

TUESDAY, MAY 12, at my desk, alone in a pandemic-locked-down office. One last day not having to call, know anything. Ignorant bliss. Phone rings, spy caller I.D., uh-oh, cancer center. I stop breathing. Lift receiver, ‘Hello, this is Debbie.’ Not breathing. HERE WE GO (9+ months later now, still recall the catch of my breath and pounding heart. Am not exaggerating when I tell you time froze.) Dr. Hamid’s voice was soft, he wasted no time relating my Oncotype score plus chance of recurrence is low and chemo is not necessary in my situation. He’ll call in an Anastrazole script for me, it cuts my chance of recurrence to less-than 5%. Only question I had, “what exactly was my number?” 17 “See you again in 6 months,” as he ends the call. Stare at the phone receiver clenched in my hand.

NO CHEMO . . with exorbitant gusto, I EXHALE

Celebration fireworks in my head, both hands in the air, stifle an audible, triumphant HALLELUJAH! For the moment, issued a reprieve. I soak it up. Once composed, swivel chair to my right, run my palms slowly, purposefully over the desk calendar, lift the pages, studying, absorbing. Begin to count . . . .

STINT IN PURGATORY - 65 DAYS IN MAY

EPILOGUE

(stay tuned)

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ausp-ice · 5 years ago

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Apparitions, Scene 6: Nightmare Characters: Raffle/Wenzel ( @the-valiant-valkyrie ), Incisura/Wren (me) Words: 1763 Archive | 1 2 3 4 5 6

That’s what happens when you’re exposed to nightmare fuel!

Wren was sitting at their couch, staring blankly at the wall. Their phone was held loosely in their hand, hanging off the edge of the couch. The screen darkened at another tap. They felt... detached. Tired. The shadows seemed to dance at one moment, and be perfectly normal at another. They should just... sleep....

“Wren??” Wenzel was only semi-confident in the fact that he actually had the right address (despite literally having a map in front of him on his phone, he was never good with direction), but he certainly pounded on the door as though he were the most confident man in the world,

“Wren you better be alive in there! Don’t make me find a half open window!”

Something pressed at the corner of Wren’s awareness, but... The phone slipped out of their hand, clattering to the floor as they slumped to the side.

“WREN! C’MON OPEN UP! DON’T MAKE ME CALL THE COPS I DON’T LIKE THEM TOO MUCH-!” He sighed. This was going to be more difficult than he’d like it to be...

Just as he threatened, he began looking for anything to help him ‘break in’ (it’s not breaking in if it’s a medical emergency) ⥎

Whispers.

.̴͓̇.̷̢͋.̶͇̈́

It was dark. Endless.

̷̢̛-̶̪̊n̷̛͔.̶̳̆.̵̱̄.̷̟͌.̷̹͠

But... not empty.

̴̠͠W̸̤̽r̸͇̆ḙ̷̇ṉ̶̀.̵̗̅.̵̮̆.̶̟͗ ̷͍̉W̶̊͜r̸̥̈́a̴̛͇ị̷͝t̴̗̏h̷̻͝.̴̤̑.̷̨̽.̷͛ͅ

They jerked in their sleep.

̸̱͌T̸͎̊h̵̘̕e̵̯̎ ̵̞͘s̵̪̓h̶̯̚a̸͖̍d̷͍͒ő̶̠w̴̒ͅs̶̫̀ ̶̜͋i̸͙͘ń̵̯v̶̼́i̵̟̽t̸̥̀ẽ̷͜ ̸͙̄ỳ̷̳o̴͝u.

...Dance for us.

⥎

Wenzel waltzed around the house a moment, looking for any way to get... In. It wasn’t as though he was skilled in breaking and entering- that was more up a villain’s alley, and he... Could barely be considered some sort of a hero.

He rapped on the windows, pulling on each one in an attempt to find one that was loose or unlocked.

One was, indeed - it just so happened to be one in view of the living room. Wren was lying on their side, splayed on the couch. Their hair hid their face, but their fingers seemed to be twitching.

“I even said- I even said, ‘Wren you idiot don’t go to sleep’. I take ten minutes to go over there and what else are they doing-” He fumbled with the window for a little bit, slipping his body in little by little and just hoping no one was around to call any sort of security

They rolled over a bit, hair slipping away from their face. Their eyes were scrunched up, as if they were in pain - but they made no sound.

"Wren-!" Wenzel fumbled a little as he hit the floor (though if anyone were to ask he's simply explain with confidence he took a skilled roll), but pulled himself back onto his feet with no delay, clapping a few times in the poor fool's ear,

"Wren, c'mon. Wake up." Every syllable punctuated with yet another clap.

One moment, Wren was prone. The next, they had Wenzel's wrists gripped tightly in their hands, wide eyes locked onto his face.

"Woah jeez-!" He flinched almost automatically, trying to wriggle his hands free from their grip,

"C'mon, Wren, it's just me-! I told you not to sleep didn't I? Look at you- you're a mess!"

Their grip loosened slightly, and they blinked. The tension bled from their shoulders slowly, awareness coming back to them piece by piece.

"Wenzel...? I..." Their eyes flicked to their hands and they jerked back, letting go immediately. "Ack! I'm- sorry-"

"Yes, its Wenzel." He finally wormed his wrist away, rubbing it for a second or so,

"And what did I tell you, huh? I said not to fall asleep, aaand you did. You did fall asleep. You could have gotten possessed or something-! Or turned into sludge!"

Wren grimaced. "It was strange, alright? I might even argue that I was under the influence of whatever that stuff was. I couldn't seem to stop myself." They rubbed absently at their chest. "And I feel like... I feel like I saw something. Heard something. Just now. When I was asleep."

"Yeah..." Wenzel looked them up and down suspiciously, as though he'd find anything of notice of concern on his person,

"Yeah you need to go to the doc or something on that."

Wren pouted petulantly. "I am a doctor! Who would I even go to? Do you know someone that might know about this?"

"You can't doctor yourself, that's not how doctors work." He pressed a hand to his forehead in exasperation,

"I mean... I might know a guy who knows a guy?"

"Hmmrrgghhhhh...." They put a hand on their head. "I guess I'm not really in much of a place to argue."

They sighed. "Alright, fine. Who's this person who you know knows?" Wenzel gestured to the couch again, pushing Wren back a little,

"At least make yourself a little comfortable; I could get you some water or something. 'V got half a sandwich on me. If we're gonna chat you might as well stay stable- you've got aspirin?"

They sunk into the cushions of the couch. "Ah... yes. I'm not very hungry, don't worry about that. I've got water in that filter and aspirin in the cabinet- I can go grab it-"

Wenzel could be heard from the other room, fumbling around with glasses and such while he tried to make himself at least somewhat useful,

"So, uh, you know that neat little electronic repair place? Cool little joint not too far away from the bus station, ever took a peek in it before?"

Wren had already taken a bite out of the sandwich. "Mmm. Prh'ps?" They hummed thoughtfully, swallowing before they continued. "I tend to use modern technology. But I think I've passed by a few times. Is the person you know there?"

"Yeah. He's a real friendly sort once you get passed all the sorta gruffness he sprinkles about just a little. Doesn't really get a lot of business, so I don't really know what he does half the time, but I've reason to believe he's got maybe a couple of connections. You know how those non talkative folk are; they know all sorts of things."

Wren snorted. "Sprinkles. And connections, huh? I suppose it's worth a shot. Do you trust him?" They peered at Wenzel, one eyebrow raised as they took another large bite of the sandwich.

"I don't talk to folks I don't trust." He shrugged, leaning over to steal a piece of cheese hanging a little off the edge of the bread. After all, it was originally his sandwich,

"Once you really get to know him, you sorta can't help but trust him. Not that he looks trustworthy- he's just not not a good liar, and he knows it."

Wren's eyes followed the piece of cheese, expression revealing nothing, before they gave a soft laugh. "Heh. Sounds like an interesting guy." They started to get up, "Shall we go now, or-"

"Are you in any condition to go now? I mean look at yourself." He gestured vaguely at Wren's entire person, "You freaked out when I tried to wake you up. Not to mention you were twitching all over the place like some poor piece of roadkill-"

They sat back down. "Ngh." They looked like the admission pained them. Their eyes flicked to Wenzel, "and you're sure you haven't felt anything?"

"No, because I'm not the one who eats blood and sticks their whole nose in suspicious black goop."

"Ughhhhhh." They flopped an arm over their eyes. "I've never seen anything like it! And Winter! She should have been dead! I wanted to know what was going on with all that gunk."

"We don't even know what the stuff is yet, and not to mention how that freaky lady just melted into it all of a sudden... And those bad sensations it was giving off was just terrible." He could have shuddered, but refrained,

"Whatever it is, it's bad news. With a capital B and an N."

Wren was silent for a moment. "When... when I was asleep. The voices I heard. I... it's not clear, and it evades the conscious grasp of my mind." They lifted their arm. "But it felt like... They were calling to me." They looked towards Wenzel. "Perhaps... not unrelated."

"Calling to you..." his brows furrowed, and he tugged nervously on his bottom lip with his teeth,

"I... I'd say that's not good... But most assuredly not unrelated... Otherwise you'd seriously need to see a doctor."

They laughed nervously. "Ah, goodness! It's like this gunk is made to drive you insane!"

"I certainly hope not..." He swallowed, dryly, "Imagine how... Dangerous that sorta thing could be for the city."

"... That's true." Their eyes narrowed. "I must... investigate... later..." They muttered under their breath.

"Yeah, you... You're really not looking so hot..." He suddenly stood up, picking at one of his nails,

"Lets, uh... Tell you what, huh? As much as I'd love to chill here and make sure you don't kill yourself, I've gotta go to work in like..." He checked his phone (which was dying again, he noted), "Thirty? Forty minutes? So here's what we'll do, huh? Since you don't look to be in any condition to do anything whatsoever, you can just chill here and nap. But set like, an alarm on your phone for every hour. That way, if something happens, you won't be sitting around dying or hearing any more whispers, or whatever fever dream stuff happens then-"

Wren gave another snort. "Alright, alright, you mother hen. I can take care of myself, don't worry. I'll do as you say." They set their alarm on their phone to every hour. "Now, go do your thing. Don't let me keep you." They waved a hand at him.

He shoved his phone in his pocket, taking one look back at his accident prone friend,

"Don't die. If you start to, call like, the police or something? Or me? Even though I'll be at work I probably won't be able to come- but then at least I can call the police-"

"I will, I will! Go do your work. Be a responsible citizen. I will be resting. Oh, and tell me whenever you want me to meet that electronics guy."

"I'll text you-!" He called back, hopping carefully through the window again (it was easier than unlocking the door- and besides, Wren'd have to get up to lock it again). He'd never think, of all his friends, he'd be one of the most responsible.

Wren watched him go, before flopping back on the sofa. Well. Into darkness, then.

#don't starve #super au #story #writing #rp #rp log #my art #wenzel #raffle #wren curtis #incisura #apparitions

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prairiesongserial · 5 years ago

Text

8.9

Buying lunch for the second time that day made Friday think that maybe she should tell Val about Ueno. Not that Ueno was really a secret; they were all staying at the Grand Hotel together, and Val must have seen her. She sure felt like a secret, though.

She and Val sat outside the Town Hall, watching the street while Val devoured one of those chicken and apple pastries.

“It’s good, right?” she said. “I can understand why these folks don’t want to give up their mutant apples.”

“Hm,” Val said. His mouth was full.

Friday didn’t know what time it was, exactly, only that the sun was creeping toward late afternoon. They might find themselves camping on the steps of Town Hall for a while, yet. She watched Val eat; he ate like he couldn’t count on where his next meal was coming from, swallowing it down so fast it was a marvel he didn’t choke. Val didn’t know she’d been stealing; he probably thought she had spent the last penny in her pocket on his apple hand-pie.

“I have some spending money, now,” Friday said.

Val swallowed a big, hot bite, grimacing.

“How’d you manage that?” he said.

“Oh, a girl has her secrets,” Friday said. “We don’t have to worry about food for a few days, I mean. Or we could pay for a tank of gas. Not enough for both, though, so it’s not like we can just split.”

“And we owe the Grand Hotel for another night.”

Friday sighed. That would be a blow to their earnings, if they even managed to catch the apple-thieves. That hotel wasn’t cheap. But if you were the only town for miles around in mutie country, the folks passing through couldn’t afford not to pay.

“You think they have trouble with muties out here?” Friday asked. Val was almost finished eating, but she couldn’t wait. “I mean, we didn’t consider that. Maybe there’s no suspect at all, and it’s just muties comin’ in and raiding in the dead of night.”

“Bike,” Val reminded her.

“Those muties in the Colorado woods were smart enough to ride a bike, I would bet all the silver in my shoes,” Friday countered. “You know what? That was the scariest thing about ‘em. How smart they were.”

Val frowned at her, licking his fingers. Friday knew she was getting herself into hot water, here, and after already having that painfully awkward conversation earlier. Unfortunately, her motor-mouth had bad brakes.

“I mean, not just the fact that they were talkin’ and mimicking voices, but how they organized. Drawing you off first and then me, separately. Circling up,” she continued. “And - and doing reconnaissance first! You remember those two on either side of the path, before it got dark. They were checking us out, before they decided how they were gonna round us up. Knew we had guns, too, but they lured us into the woods in the dark, so even if I had brought an actual gun instead of a flare, half my shots would have hit the trees. I’ve been thinking that maybe, I mean, it’s stupid, but, I - ” She took a deep breath. She didn’t like the way Val was looking at her, all concern. “I just mean that there’s real street smarts involved in scarin’ people, and that, if you aren’t gonna be welcome someplace, why not pretend to be more of a monster that you are? Scare most people away from seeking you out. Kill the rest of the idiots who wander onto your land.”

Val shifted up one step so that he was sitting on the same one as her.

“That’s quite a theory,” he said.

“I don’t know that it’s a theory,” Friday said, passionately. “That was the most scared I’ve ever been in my life, and I was realizing today…”

Here came the part where she was probably going to talk herself into trouble.

“I was realizing,” she continued, swallowing. “You know, watching the town here. There was this little baby with these crazy pink eyes with like, double pupils. And, I guess, obviously there are moms here. It’s a town.”

Friday fidgeted, running her hands up and down the outside seams of her pants, just for want of something to do.

“I don’t mean to go comparing the two, obviously, but it got me thinking about the woods, and how there weren’t any moms and babies, because we weren’t supposed to see them. You know? They saw us tryin’ to go down that trail, probably toward where they all live, they saw us kill their look-outs, and so they put on a big scary show for us in the woods, instead of waiting for us to stumble into their home. If they didn’t manage to kill us, they’d put us off going down that fuckin’ trail. You sure couldn’t pay me enough.”

“So, what are you saying?” Val asked, sounding tired. “Muties on bicycles stole Digby’s apples?”

“No! I’m not saying that at all. I’m just thinking out loud.” Friday glanced up at the sky, hoping it was close to seven. “I’m just sayin’ the mutie gig is half an act, maybe.”

Val seemed to soften a bit. He always did, eventually.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “That’s more charity than most people would give.”

“I mean, they still tried to kill us,” Friday mumbled. “But as a theatrical person myself, I recognized some common themes.”

They sat quietly, seconds slipping by. Friday was doing all she could to let the moment breathe. She hadn’t done herself any favors today, the way she’d stood Val up, and every time she tried to talk about mutants and muties she put her foot in her mouth. As she ran her fingers down the seams of her pants, she tried to count the stitches hidden underneath, just to give her mind something to do with itself.

Part of the reason Val wouldn’t just tell her he was a mutant already had to be the fact that she never let him get a word in edgewise.

People were finally starting to show up for the seven o’clock meeting; or, the people responsible for setting up, anyway. The door was propped open to let the air move through, and Friday could hear the sound of chairs being dragged into place.

“Why’d you stand me up?” Val asked. He looked at her with his purple eyes, unflinching, but not unkind. Made it hard to breathe for a second.

“Honest truth?” Friday asked.

Val nodded.

“I thought it would be too hard, so I let myself get distracted,” she said, staring down at her knees. “There was a woman I was interested in, and she helped me make a little money. Shouldn’t have stood you up like that.”

“Okay,” Val said.

“I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you. Let’s go in.”

Val started to climb the stairs, and Friday followed behind him, pulling an exasperated face when she was sure he couldn’t see. He always did this. He would forgive her for real in about a week.

Inside, the seats were starting to fill up.

“Think we should hang back?” Val asked.

“Whatever you want to do, Preacher,” Friday said.

The two of them ended up standing in the back corner of the room, and Friday at least was glad of the choice; after the seats filled, it was standing-room only, and the two of them blended in.

“Surprised so many people turned up for Miss Jef,” Friday muttered. She had seemed like she was on the outskirts, as far as her thinking went, but there were a lot of people here. Maybe Friday and Val should consider more suspects.

“Who’s Miss Jef?”

“The schoolteacher, keep up,” Friday teased.

Val grumbled at her as a man approached the podium. The room fell silent.

“As everyone knows, this meeting will be our annual discussion of the year’s harvest; we need to get the remaining summer crops out of the fields and organize the community effort according to who has the greatest need, and when. I ask that we all take a moment now to remember that this is not our winter debate on what crops should be sown in the spring.”

There were some mumblings. Friday scanned the crowd, trying to pick out Miss Jef among them. She might have to resign herself to standing around listening to the town plan the harvest.

None of it made much sense to her, and she zoned out while the mayor, or whoever he was, rambled on regarding who would be afforded the support of the town’s manpower when, and what tools would be at limited availability for what periods of time. Friday didn’t see Miss Jef, but then again, Friday was short, and there were more than a few heads she couldn’t see past. Out of curiosity, she looked for Ueno, though Friday couldn’t dream of why an out-of-towner would show up to this thing if she didn’t have to. Friday barely understood why she herself was stuck here, packed into the back of the room like a fish in a tin - and she really wasn’t looking forward to the stake-out afterward. Not when the apple trees only made her think of the Colorado woods.

“...and so, if there are further questions or concerns regarding the harvest schedule, or you would like to propose a change, I invite you now to the podium,” the man said, heaving a great sigh.

There was Miss Jef - she scrambled to the front, and was met with the spirited cheers of exactly five people. Her students? Friday couldn’t see.

“Good people of Oklahoma City,” Miss Jef began, talking fast. “I propose a change to the harvest schedule which eliminates the harvest of Harry Digby’s orchard.”

Varied jeers of “Jesus Christ, this again?” and teeth clucked in disapproval bubbled up from the crowd.

“Allow me to explain,” Miss Jef said sharply. She tucked a couple of stray hairs behind her ear. “We all know the story of Clay Digby, hero and founder of Oklahoma City. We all know that he was the wise one who realized the metal was poison and buried it a hundred feet deep, on his own land, so that it couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. We all know the rhyme, yes?”

There were murmurs of assent. Miss Jef cleared her throat.

“Old Clay Digby, wise as they come, claimed the whole town as his son; he set his shovel to the ground, and Old Clay Digby dug straight down. Old Clay Digby, how tall was he? Taller than an apple tree. He dug so deep, and dug so long, that soon a whole week had bygone.” Miss Jef paused, letting the melodious rhythm of her voice hang in the air. “We all know Clay Digby as Harry’s grandfather. We know he was a mutant, and maybe he was exceptionally tall and strong. There are some of us in this room who can say the same.”

There were scattered laughs as a couple of townsfolk flexed their muscles or stretched their spines straight - not quite making fun of Miss Jef, but close.

“Tonight, I’m here to tell you that the poison Clay Digby buried cannot, feasibly, have been buried deeply enough to protect our town from its latent effects.” Miss Jef produced a thick book, very difficult to see from the back of the room, and held it open to one page. “This diagram shows how the Old World built something called a ‘deep geological repository’ for poison. They called it radioactive waste. And according to this book, in order to prevent contamination, these repositories were built one thousand feet deep. Clay Digby had a good idea, but not even a mutant could accomplish that. Our town’s memory of Clay Digby insists that he dug a hundred feet deep - according to my research, it is not enough.”

“I always heard the rhyme as saying ‘hundreds’ of feet deep,” the woman next to Friday whispered conspiratorially.

“We may not see the full effects of the poison in our lifetimes. Some of us are content to be mutated in his honor. Eating the apples of Deeproot Orchard is a point of pride for us. But is the poison even buried as deeply as a hundred feet? Clay Digby was a real man with limitations. Can any of you flexing in the back - and yes, I saw you - dig a hundred feet down?”

“Town well is a hundred feet, easy,” one of them called up. “Couple of guys can dig a hundred feet, sure.”

Miss Jef slammed her hand down on the podium, cutting through the handful of amused titters.

“And you think burying poison right on our water table is safe?” she yelled. “One thousand feet, it says in this book. Can you dig a well one thousand feet deep? Did Clay Digby?”

“Well, Miss Fields, thank you for your contribution, but there may be other questions waiting,” the mayor said, mopping his face with a handkerchief. It seemed, in part, an attempt to hide a bemused smile.

“Clay Digby’s great-grandchildren are mutants, like him. What will our great-grandchildren be?” Miss Jef continued. “Are you okay with not knowing?”

The mayor was beginning to gently encourage Miss Jef away from the podium. Friday caught a flash of red, off to the side of the stage, nearly behind it. Ueno, still wearing her red leather jacket, had shown up after all. She appeared to be enjoying the spectacle.

The mayor succeeded in bullying Miss Jef off the stage, and returned to his role as moderator.

“Thank you, Miss Fields,” he said. “Any further questions about the harvest schedule?”

Friday looked to Val. He had a look about him, like he was thinking hard.

“You think it’s time to go?” Friday asked. “Catch Miss Jef outside? Or stake out the orchard?”

Val nodded silently. As the two of them tried to cut through the thick crowd, Friday noticed him protecting his stomach with his hands, almost like he felt sick. She knew a little better than that. Friday grabbed him by the elbow, dragging him behind her as she forced her way to the door.

8.8 || 8.10

#story

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bloojayoolie · 5 years ago

Photo

Anime, Apparently, and Ass: File: furies ipg (405 KB, 1296x968) 631157670 631165562 >»631166037 Anonymous 07/29/15(Wed)08:18:07 No.631156939 Alright boys, sit down for a tale of the most Autistic kid I have ever had the displeasure of running into Wolfman Greg >Re me >Be 16, around 2000 a popular kid either Kinda did my cwn thing really >Shared World History with this kid >His name was Greg il from arace and into autism >Greg at this point was quiet, and reserved, never did anything to get bullied >Especially after Columbine >Fnday b g to change soon >That Monday >Apparently Greg's parents had bought him a computer, and an Intenet connection sHe hvigusly hadn't showered at all since friday >He didn't really pay attention during class and was mostly drawing in his notebook >His smell was palpable Grea collected his things and headed for the door >Not before he bumped into a guy named Mike kewas hot pleased with Greg's odor >Greg stood silent for a moment >And then he did it Mike iust ushed Grea out of the way and made his way into the hallway and walked to his next class >The rest of the kids gave Greq a strange room for the rest of the day 631160061 631160215 631165562 >631165642 631165921 Anonymous 07/29/15(Wed)08:26:44 No.631158773 File: 1437110427545.ipg (418 KB. 1955x2048) day Appars sinstead he bought a gray hoodie, and some cloth >And sewed some years to the hood >At least he showered this time Greg didn't do his homework the night before >The teac her was this really nice vegan lady from Oregon >She was a little pushy with homework but that was it really ork to be passed up front >She askd theirs >"Greg? Where's your homework? >Silence 3She anproached his desk >The room was stranoely tense, before this Grea was a good student >She was standing at Greg's desk 3She reached out for a niece of paper she assumed was his homework >And then he snapped at her >Not like screaming or yelling, but he he bite her >The teacher gasped >Grea just got up and Naruto ran out of the room hing before and we were really taken aback by him trying to bite the teacher, but the way he ran >No one saw Greg for the rest >Apparently he got on a table, curled up into a ball and tried to nap Indian man in charge didn't care enough to bother him of the day until one of the Stoner kids reported seeing Greq in after school detention Anonymous 07/29/15(Wed)08:35:48 No.631160463 File: 1432672843827 ipg (1.79 MB, 5000x5000) 631160790 >631161301631165562 >Wednesday >Greg apparently wanted to make it up to the teacher euse er rold broke down vcle SOneele >She had what was left of a bug on her cheek that she missed She walked into class ten minutes after class started >She apologized for her being late >Greg walked up to her >Hood up >Shitty cloth ears flopping >She looked at him puzzled ant to tell me Greg? She was probably hoping for an apoloqy >Greg grabbed her face paper in his hand He nad lold And licked her cheek >And the bug quts too Grea then tueked the nanor into her breast pocket and sat back down >The teacher, as a testament to her character, pretended that never happened >The class went on as normal verge of tears the entire time while we were talking about the Boxer Rebellion When the bell rang again, Greg bolted full Naruto style out of the room >His hoodie came loose and fell off hair >Revealing a really shitty attempt at anime >After school as I was walking home I saw our US History teacher talking to the school cop >With her equally vegan and upset boyfriend there too We didn't see Grea for two weeks after that Anonymous 07/29/15(Wed)08:47:48 No.631162869 File: Scared ipg (67 KB, 656x584) 631163694631164020 631164078631164239631165562 Thursday, two weeks after the incident >Grea was back >If you think he was bad after a weekend of early 2000s Internet, Greg has been SCARED He clearly hadn't showered, at all He looked like he slept, ate and shat in the gray eared hoodie He reoked very poorly made tail to the back d >By this time we we The teacher decided to hold class outdoors for once to demonstrate some things >As soon as we got outside, everyone put themselves up wind of Greg Evnthing was coing fine we were discussing the Battle of Somme in the gentle Arizona winter Greg, what are you doing? >All eyes shot to Greg to see what horror we were about to witness with one hand in th He didn't andwor >Everyone turned back to our teacher PAnd then the digging got more ferocious e grounds keepers worked really hard to grow that grass!" >No answer, he kept digging Greg!" tensified Grestop ar Still nothing Mike stood up and started walking towards Greg to stop him had a foot deep hole about square foot wide >Fvervone stonned >Their faces when >Greg tumed around SAnd started to poo >Oh God the stench Evione flinned and oot as far away from him as possible >Greg managed to fill the entire hole up >He then lifted his pants And then buried it >The 9/10 goth girl fainted Greg got sent to the office And was sent home for the day 631164732 631164845631164983 631165088 631165130631165135631165162631165268631165307 Anonymous 07/29/15(Wed)08:56.32 No.631164486 631185639 22631166136 File: XaviOda jpg (19 KB, 320x240) Friday >Greg was tolerable that day, nothing happened The following Monday to class >Like realy late >The poor teacher marked him absent >Half way through the treaty of Versailles quess who showed up >And the horrar >We didn't see it at first, or for the next ten minutes we heard it Acnch >And not the normal granola kind >Like the wet, gross kind iting into a bone would make >The girl in front of Grea turneod around >She flipped her shit Greg what the fuckl" SA half eaten bird >He was late bec ause of this l aleo wotod to throw because he managed to catch a bird, kill it, and partially eat it The teacher approached him and attempted >Greg wasn't having it rescue the poor avian creature from this kid >A had o landed a bite on her >Mike had enough of this shit >Before he could react though Greg through his meal at him >The distraction worked o over a desk >He failed and landed face first on the tile >Luckily he had enough time to get up, spit out some blood and Naruto run out of the room eneheied te wcks of school bec ause of an infection though 31166912631166935631166956 631167039 22631167068 631167080 6311 Anonymous 07/29/15(Wed)09:06:19 No.631166557 ile: 1437626420912.ipg (298 KB, 1024x768) >About a week into our poor teacher's absence >The substitute put us in the computer lab to research some shit: Thanks to her fatness and her odor, she was immune to Greq's smell barrier >Qur schedule was fucked that day >They were having a assembly for 8th graders that would be attending next vear >So we only had our first class that >For eight hours We broke for lunch, nothing weird happened with Greg, yet. Swhen we got back though, shit started happening >Evervone had the post lunch sleepies >Half the class was napping at their terminals was helping the 9/10 aoth gid work on her Horror novel >Wasn't too bad except for some grammar errors >And we were flirting >The substitute fell asleep at some point, leaving Greg free to do as he pleased >And he was really pleasing himself T happened to glance up and catch it >Grea was jacking it pretty hard >He must have just started because no one seems to have noticed yet ou stanng a- OH MY GOD >The aoth gid This in tum drew attention to Greg Who happened to start climaxing >The next five seconds was beautiful the Grea nanicked mid cu >Instead of tuning off the computer a pushed the monitor off the desk p getting cum every the tard wranglers e ended >He was transferred out of regular classes >But this was not the end of Wolfman Greg d)09:19.31 No.,631168892 250x213) 29. File: 14315458 10401 gif (1.5 MB We went a month without Greg shenanigans l even managed to sleep with the goth girl a couple of times outside of class >He didn't speak much, but we nicknamed him "8 Ball 8 Ball didn't take Greg's shit, except for letting him growl or whine once in a while the end of Junior year we thought we had heard the last of Wolfman Greg >None >l unch time l was sitting with the Goth Girl, Marian and her gaggle of dark brooding sisters tables were >We were talking about Poe when it happened >The doors to the tard building burst open was Greg I watch him sprint out, howling >8 Ball no where to be seen en Grea wondered around for a hit before singling out prev This noor shy gid named Marissa >He snuck up behind her >Oh God dher to the table >And pretended to mount her >He had his dick out and was rubbing it on the back Wing like a woll te cattered f her sweater This had to be the final straw >This went on for what felt like forever 8 Ball finaly ehowed un after getting Arby's >Greg was expelled after this and labeled a sex offender >Marissa dropped out >That was the end of Wolfman Grea for high school I have ONE more, this happened six months ago Anonymous 07/29/15(Wed)09.31:26 No.631171137 File: LTXeu.ipg (127 KB, 800x853) Greg was allowed to join our class. Not join me in hitting that sweet pale ass in the back, and n the hood of my old CRX. I can drop that green text if omvone's interoster Six months ago seeing Greg He had left my mind entirelv >Driving through my old town to visit my folks >Then I see it >is that? >No fucking way >Holy shit its Tucking Greg Lom in furkino aw that he's got a sweet scooter and I'm on a second had liter bike >Nearly rear end a taxi >He pulls up next to me sna lcan fucking smell him through my helmet l nearly puke >Manage to distance myself from him and get to my parents place >Decide to meet up with some old friends for a nde >Step outside fucking Vespa in the neiahbor's drive wav >No >lgnore it and go cruise w hours later sVesna still th >Please no >Greg lives next door to my folks now Facebook Grea's folks died and he inherted a large chunk of change >Bought the house next to my parents > Is a complete neet. 1/2 A File: 1427957849766 ong (97 K s 07/29/15(Wed)09:38:56 No.631172339M 460x470) 631171137 anything but browse the Internet probably and do Wolfman things >Try to not let this crush my soul and crawl into my old bunk bed to sleep for the night >As l'm drifting off to the though of making the Goth Girl of yesteryear swallow my cum and calling it st'e furking howling >God dammit Greg >My boner is ruined It's loud too ing howling keeps me up until 3am L finaly fell asleep Wake up the next moming 60 through the day with my folks a shell of my formor self >lt happens aqgain >The terror is replaced with rage no window This is it "Greal It's 11 o'clock at night! I have to >Slam window home tomorrow and I need sleep! SHUT THE FUCK UP" SFall asleep and leave the next moming >A few months later mom calls me The cops entered Greg's home due to a smell complaint >Crea was deod >I inadvertently got him to kill himself ut the bou tom don It's now an empty lot >But I, and hundreds of others still remember Wolfman Greg God speed, vou magnificent. early furry trash bastard. Wolf man Greg

#funny #lol #humor #memes #meme #memehumor #dank memes #funny pics #rolf #lmao #Anime #Apparently #an

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some-guy-writes · 3 years ago

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FTB Ch 1.

50 Tungsten Bullets Chapter 1: Fifty

Summary | Next

“Who did you get this from?” Jeebs asked.

Spiv leaned on the pawner’s counter. “Who?” he smirked. ”Ain’t no ‘who.’ Found it ourselves, old man. Though, I might be willing to part with the where for something extra.”

“I ain’t that old.”

“Twenty years my senior at least,” Spiv snickered. “Makes you old in my book.”

Truth be told, Spiv wasn’t sure as to the exact age of Mr. Jeebs. Looked just as wrinkled and grumpy as he did the day Spiv tried to steal the shoes off his feet as a kid. Spiv got caught and beat till he was seeing stars. But by the fourth attempt, Jeebs sat him down with some lukewarm soup and taught him how to make an honest living. Well, a more honest living.

Jeebs stared at the immaculate metal cylinder with a solemn glare. He didn’t even bother responding with one of his famous ten K curses. The device was silver in color, with a gold tint and despite the dim sunlight peeking through the cracks in Jeeb’s shack, it lit up the room as if being struck by mid day. Fifty thousand kollars, easy. Spiv hadn’t the foggiest what the thing he found was, but old world tech like that would fetch a pretty penny from collectors. He brought it to Jeebs because, fuck, even he got a little sentimental at times. Spiv figured it’d only be right for Jeebs to make the first offer.

“Put it back,” Jeebs spoke without looking up.

“Sun bake your brain while I’ve been gone?” Spiv pushed off the ancient dead wood table and paced in a circle. “Shit, Jeebs. My crew almost died a dozen times over to get that thing to town and now you’re saying put it back? This could really change things for us if we find the right buyer.”

“Ain’t gonna be no buyers, put it back,” Jeebs growled.

“Old man, I got nothing but respect for you. You’ve done a lot for us over the years, but now you’re talkin’ about taking money out of our pocket.”

Spiv reached for the device. Jeebs slammed his hand down on its casing with such force that it knocked a crystal on the shelf behind him to the floor, shattering in a myriad of iridescent colors.

“Take it past Yonder’s Mountain, to the bunker where you found it, and put it back.”

“How’d you-”

Jeebs eyes burned beneath droopy lids and a thick brow. “Because I’m the one who put it there.”

“You couldn’t have,” Spiv stammered. “The hull was sealed for centuries. We checked the logs.”

“User authenticated,” a synthesized voice spoke from the device. There was a hiss as white fog seeped out. A panel popped open to reveal a hollow interior.

Spiv’s eyes bulged like a rock rabbit that’s been left dead two days on a dirt road. “Shit… You’re an old worlder. One the immortals.”

“Ain’t all that. Can still die, same as any of you. Just don’t get any older is all.”

Spiv’s gaze drifted back to the capsule. Jeebs turned it around so he could see. Inside was a massive revolver and a single shell with a name on it. Gun like that put everything in the crew’s arsenal to shame. Probably put everything in the whole town of Bakersville to shame.

“It’s my gun,” Jeebs said. “Hideo model 12 hybrid, fifty cal. Made to fire tungsten rounds with ionized neon core. Could punch a hole the size of my fist in a tank from a quarter mile off. And that casing is from when I shot the man who killed my wife.”

“You could buy all of Bakersville with that thing. Fuckn’ shit.”

Jeebs looked away. “And all it cost me was two tickets to Fluorescent.”

“Bull crap,” Spiv laughed. “Old man Jeebs living it up with the rich folks on Fluorescent? I can’t even picture it.”

“It’s the truth. Would have been. If, well...”

“Sorry about your wife.”

“No need to trouble yourself,” Jeebs said, rubbing his nose. “Happened before your great great grandaddy could piss himself.”

“Why leave the gun in the ground?”

“Killed two dozen men with that thing. Didn’t want to be reminded of the kind of man it made me. Stuck it in a casimir vacuum chamber and left it at my wife’s grave.”

A minute of silence passed between them. Jeebs refused to look at the capsule. Spiv couldn’t look away.

“What does it take? To become immortal, that is,” Spiv asked.

Jeebs let out a sigh. “Wouldn't tell a soul even if I knew. Wars were fought over that question. Wouldn’t want to be the cause of the next.”

“Does that mean you’re the last one left? Thought all the immortals were rounded up and killed off in the last conflict.”

“No, not all. They just keep a low profile, like me. Can’t be having any more joining the club neither. Just pray that you never meet one. Seen what happens when people live long enough to lose their humanity.”

Spiv took a deep breath, resting his hands behind his head. “Could just as easily turn you in and buy a ticket to Fluorescent myself.”

“Do what you will,” Jeebs spoke. “You’re a good kid. Wouldn’t want my head to pay for nobody else’s trip to Flour. But I won’t be goin’ easy. Last thing my wife said to me before she died was to live a long and beautiful life. And I don’t intend to let her know how cruel that was to say.”

Spiv cracked a smile. “Wouldn’t dream of throwing my father off a cliff to save my own skin. Might never met him, but you’re sure as hell the closest thing I’ve got.”

Jeebs wiped his eyes. “Don’t say shit like that. Might even make this ol’ life worth living.”

“But what about the gun? Even if I put it back, someone else is just gonna come along and find it.”

“I know.” Jeebs said. “Just get it out of my sight. It’s yours. Spent too much time remembering things I’d hoped to forget.”

“Ey, Spiv,” a wary voice spoke from behind.

“Well if it ain’t lil’ Kit,” Jeebs chuckled. “Still think you’re better off runin’ with Spiv than workin’ the brothel with your mum.”

“Fuck off, Jeebs. But seriously,“ she said, tugging at Spiv’s arm. “We gotta go. Like right now.”

Spiv glared at her. “What’d you do?”

“I got kinda bored waiting and I mighta scammed a few shady pricks. Now let’s go!”

“Weren’t wearing black masks, were they?” Spiv asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Fuck, Kit! That’s the Faceless Gang from the down south. I warned you about them. Those fuckers will straight up kill you. Like chopped up into little bits and fed to livestock kinda dead.”

Kit chewed on her cheek. “...Well that’s even more reason why we need to go.”

“Take the door out back,” Jeebs said. Right as the one in the front was knocked clean off its hinges by a large, black boot.

Spiv scooped up the capsule and bolted. “Find the crew and skip,” he said to Kit as they crept out of the shack. “Not the usual place. Second cave past the landfill. Got it?”

“Yeah. What about you?”

“I’m staying for a bit. Gotta see if old man Jeebs needs my help.”

Kit nodded. She pulled her scarf around her face and dashed off. Like lightning on a sunny day the kids used to call her, and for good reason. Spiv breathed a little easier. Ice cube’s chance in winter on Sebrum anyone’d catch Kit when she got going.

Spiv peaked between shelves filled with Jeeb’s junk. Just enough to see a cloaked figure in all black strutting towards the old man, an intimidating gun at his hip.

“Lookin’ for a little roach that ran away with my money,” the stranger said. “Wouldn’t happened to seen where it went, would you pawn man?”

The man in black spoke through some sort of filter. His voice sounded distorted, robotic, like that of the AI in Jeeb’s capsule.

“Don’t do business with roaches.” Jeebs eyed the man from where he sat. “If you’re here to buy or sell, then we can talk.”

The man in black stepped closer and put both hands on the counter. “Well I’ll be. You are the spittin’ image of the man that killed the ol’ boss Joey Iron Rod. Grandaddy o’ yours? Grandaddy’s granddaddy?”

“Wouldn’t know nothin’ ‘bout it.”

“Nah. ‘Cause I know for fact the fuck never made spawn. You are the man that killed Joey Iron Rod. Woulda thought time’d do my work for me. Guess the only way to make sure a job is done is to do it yourself, right?” the stranger laughed.

“Might have a point there. Figured the rest of you immortal cunts got blown up in the wars with the rest.” Jeebs reached for a shotgun under his desk.

“Nah see, the old old gang made it through the wars alright. Hid out in the desert, got by. ‘Course, really should be thanking you. Made picking them off myself a whole lot easier.” The stranger leaned in closer. “Let you in on a secret. Reason my gang wear’s masks is so I’ll always be on top. Just gotta purge a couple cunts and call myself something new. ‘Course, now that you know, I’ma have to kill you.”

“Best move your failed fetal acohol abortion ass along,” Jeebs said. “This is my town. Been here forty years. Anything happens to me, posse of thirty to three hundred be after you.”

The man in black stepped away, turning his back, arms raised in a V. “Town might be yours, but the whole world of Sebrum is mine. I am its god. Its immortal ruler. Anyone who stands against my rule will be-”

Before the stranger could finish his sentence, Jeebs landed two rounds of buckshot in his back. The man stumbled from the impact, but he just laughed.

“Gonna need more than that to kill me,” the man in black spoke.

That voice made Spiv the coldest he’d ever felt. Tasting ice once when he was seven was now in second place. He swallowed, hard and dry.

The stranger rolled up a dark sleeve. Underneath was a metal arm. It gleamed like the capsule Spiv clutched in his hands.

“While you been playing shop keep, I’ve been quite productive with my time,” the stranger said, admiring his body. “Took a few generations of scavengers to collect all this. Enough old world tech to make that ol’ cyborg Joey Iron Rod green with envy. Count yourself honoured. You’re the first to see this hand in the better part of a century.”

He raised his palm to Jeebs.

Jeebs shoved another two rounds in his gun and took aim.

“Your wife screamed bloody murder as Joey split ‘er in two with his iron rod,” the man in black chuckled. “Thought I’d let you know, for when you meet ‘er again.”

There was a soft wine as capacitors discharged. A red light shined from the stranger’s hand, bathing the shop in blood red. Jeebs fired two shots.

Spiv blinked. The next thing he knew, the shack was in flames and Jeebs was on the ground in two pieces. Spiv shook. He’d feared for his life many a time before, but nothing quite compared to this. He wasn’t one to heed monsters. That was, until seeing one in metal flesh.

The man in black strutted out the way he came, whistling to himself. Spiv wanted to go after him. Wanted to take him from behind and smash his deranged face in. But Spiv was scared. So scared. Too scared to move. He crawled out of the rubble, capsule in hand, tears in his eyes and a tremble in his step.

It was night when Spiv returned to Jeeb’s shack. The poor thing was looted to completion in hours and the rest burned to the ground. A few people stood around a mound out front with a stone on top. Under normal circumstances, if someone fucked with this town, there’d be a posse after them in no time flat, for better or for worse. How places kept their peace and independence. Nothing like that tonight. By now, everyone had heard the rumors of what the Faceless Gang did to Westbrook Oasis a few miles south. Rumors Spiv was certain to be true.

Spiv adjusted his belt. He wasn’t used to the weight of fifty tungsten rounds quite yet. Cost him one thousand kollars each. His hand went to the cloth wrapped revolver resting in a holster at his side. The barrel alone nearly reached his knee. He pulled his hat a little lower, spat and walked off into the night. Word was the Faceless Gang was headed up to Jepsum. As luck would have it, so was he.

#story #sicence fiction #sciencefiction #scifi #writing #fiction #space western #Fifty Tungsten Bullets

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mrsslrss · 7 years ago

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2017

I rang in 2017 drunk and crying. I left a New Year’s Eve Party where all my friends and I drank down the clock and M and I went home, and I had been obsessed with “Love More” for a few weeks so as soon as we got back to the house I put it on over the stereo. Anyway about ten seconds in I started sobbing and I couldn’t, for the life of me, explain why. (I wasn’t even sad! It’s just such a beautiful song!) M just put his arm around me and kind of half-laughed and told me it was going to be okay in a quizzical but very convincing way and eventually I stopped crying and the song played itself out. I think that about sums it up.

Anyway I think we can all agree that 2017 was a weird year in a grand sense, which I don’t feel compelled or equipped to speak to. But it was weird in a personal sense, too. The year started in that mass of feelings for me; I dyed my hair pink; I lost someone I cared about deeply, which hurt in a place I didn’t expect or understand. The other side of that month was the Women’s March: housing twenty friends from Boston and Brooklyn and elsewhere in a spirit of earnest and viable and real solidarity that nearly broke my heart.

In the spring I worked a lot, and eventually got to travel across the country and fall in love with a couple different cities: New York (Life After Youth, celebrating my 25th); Seattle (Bois Naufrage, fancy coffee, riding the bus); Austin (freeways, rental car, KUTX, wildflowers). In the summer, Keeper put out a tape – bittersweet timing, just before Sam moved back to Texas – and I got a few days on the Cape with the crew. I worked weekends and drank green juice and read novels. In the fall I got really into that Fever Ray song and memorized the opening passage of The Argonauts and finally made it to DIA: Beacon.

Overall, I think, it’s been a head-above-water kind of year for me, where I mainly got caught in a cycle of exist-process-react-exist without creating much. I spent a lot of time thinking about my feelings but still can’t exactly mark the growth. Sometimes stillness is a sign of change, though; maybe I’ll count that one as a win. So here’s a list of 10 things (big and small!) that I saw, heard, watched, made, felt and loved in 2017, that helped me get through the year.

The Heart Season: “No”

Before this year became the kind of dumpster fire in which you hear everyday about new ways that powerful, prominent men treat the women around them terribly, The Heart was talking about consent in a genuinely nuanced, genuinely feminist way. The “No” season was four episodes long, during which host Kaitlin Prest stared down specific instances in her own life where consent’s gray area reared its fucked-up face, and explored where the experiences left her – how they influenced her sense of self, how they shaped and informed her future sexual (and non-sexual!) encounters. And then she broadened the scope, ignoring the easier narratives – “yes means yes,” “no means no,” “consent is sexy!!!!”, rhetorical devices so exhausted and exhausting – and instead asked harder, realer questions about the intersections of desire, fear, gender, pleasure, and autonomy. It gave me language I didn’t know I needed and set a model for a kind of audio storytelling I didn’t know was possible. I wish they played this at every college orientation across the country.

Turning The Tables

What if we appreciated women’s art apart from maleness entirely? What would it look like to tell the story of popular music through only women’s greatness? That was, crudely put, the mission of the list of the 150 Greatest Albums Made By Women that NPR Music published this year. Being part of this project was huge: it meant absorbing massive amounts of history, rethinking canon, getting to be an editor(!), working with some of my biggest professional idols. Mostly, though, it meant devoting much of my working life to the intersection of radical feminism and rock and roll. What a dream.

Drag

I was drawn to art that felt genuinely subversive this year, but it mainly played out in moments of surprise: disappointment from expectations I didn’t realize I held being left unmet; utter radiant joy when this need I didn’t know I had was fulfilled. Maybe the most memorable time it happened was in June, at GAY/BASH, a monthly experimental drag show in D.C. It was the first time I saw drag IRL, which would maybe have felt subversive no matter what – but probably few things would have matched watching a drag queen in a red white & blue housewife dress penetrate the eyeholes of a Trump mask with a strap-on. Incredible! Tell me you can watch that and feel unmoved. My friends and I went back to GAY/BASH every month after that. The music was always perfect: The Knife and Paramore and No Doubt and Cher, etc. But mostly what felt so powerful was the company: being in explicitly gay spaces full of gay and queer people, where abject expressions of sexuality and of gender trouble felt neither like threats nor invitations to violence.

There was also, of course, Sasha Velour, the cerebral art-queen who was crowned this year’s winner of Rupaul’s Drag Race. I saw her on tour with other season 9 queens this summer; her lip-sync of “Praying” by Kesha was perhaps, no lie, the most moving musical performance I saw in 2017. She embodied and embraced the reality so many of us face as women and queer people: victims and victors, agents and acted-on, mired in both hope and fear on a near-constant basis. It was transcendent.

Ramen

On a less serious note, D.C. is, like many cities, in the midst of a ramen craze right now, and if I’m honest I spent an inordinate amount of the year benefiting from it! And from the fact that a few places will even deliver ramen right to your house if you have the right app! (Also, there’s a lot to be said about cultural appropriation, the devaluing of non-Western food traditions, etc. in these contexts; I am trying to keep learning and will leave the explanations to folks smarter than I.)

Tank And The Bangas

I called this band the “best band in America” all year and I meant it. Their Tiny Desk concert was both an exhale (after the stress of running the Contest itself) and an inhale (before an unrelenting and enthralling month of tour with them). I saw Tank and the Bangas perform eight times in 2017; their positivity never got stale, their exuberance never felt forced, their passion never wavered. They sound like no one else I know. Goddamn, I love this band. The best band in America!

Therapy

I went back to therapy this year after not really going since childhood but thinking about finding someone to talk to and being jealous of friends’ casual off-hand remarks about their therapists for years. I went mostly because of this thing that happened last December involving some brutal unkindness from a loved one that was so vicious yet unexpected it left me feeling startled and knocked off course, like having been shoved from a great height and, after shaking off the dust, finding myself very alone. I thought it was a minor disturbance but it actually burrowed pretty deep into me and I wound up freaked out about a bunch of stuff, so long story short: I finally found someone to talk to.

I will save my breath about how mental health care should be accessible and de-stigmatized. I will say that therapy made my year better in a lot of ways; mostly, in that I had a dedicated time and place to work, patiently, on some things that felt really paralyzing. (It also taught me some useful concepts, like the idea of psychological safety and the Buddhist teaching of the “second arrow,” which I then snuck into some of my favorite writing I did this year. Win-win.) Nothing is fixed, obviously; therapy has felt mostly like a drawn-out emotional root canal all year, which is to say, I still nurse the same ache that sent me. But I’m grateful and I am learning and it’s starting to feel less self-indulgent to want to address my bullshit. I recommend therapy to everyone! If you’re interested in talking to someone, here are some affordable resources.

Iced Americanos

There are precious few things that get M out of bed early: the promise of imminent skiing; a genuine emergency; and coffee. I’ve relied heavily on the third one this year to squeeze in a half-hour of quality time with him before I go to the office. Listen I know this is cheesy as h*ck but it truly improves the overall quality of my day! Anyway the iced coffee at our corner coffee shop is not for me but the baristas take great care with their espresso shots so I started getting iced americanos instead and now I have been converted to an iced americano grrrl, even in winter (true to my New England roots). And a morning-coffee-with-your-boyfriend grrrl. Gross! I can’t help it.

Creative collaboration

Madeline Zappala is both a dear friend of mine and a total badass artistic inspiration to me. I was so glad she asked me to help edit her magazine, Reflections on the Burden of Men – and that she (and her co-creator, Laura) accepted a short piece I wrote about being disgusted by sexuality, or maybe more so by the insistence that women perform it for patriarchy, feeling isolated from my body, wanting to not want what I want. Editing the writing in the magazine was a dream! And watching it come together was so instructive. Go get a copy! (Or just pick up some unsolicited dick pic stickers, a real thing they made.)

2017 was a pretty exciting year for Keeper, too. Between January and August – when Sam moved back to Texas and Keeper became a project with a less coherent identity – we played amazing shows and put out a tape and met a lot of really lovely people. I learned a lot.

Female solidarity

I never got the appeal of using the phrase “work wife” to describe a lady BFF in your office before this year (too close to “girl crush,” which, I maintain, is basically homophobic; plus, who wants to replicate the capitalist heteropatriarchy of the marriage-industrial complex in your office friendships, of all places?!) but now I have two and I totally get it. There’s really something special about working alongside women like me, and having them be people who are willing to take a lunch break or walk to Starbucks (lol) so we can encourage each other through weird career stuff, or vent about male incompetence, or gush about new music, or interrogate what it means to care about feminism or justice or epistemology or whatever in 2017, which is mostly what we did. Some of the most enriching and important conversations I had this year were these; we often joked about the positions of authority we’d have, the raises we’d get, the articles we’d be assigned if only the People In Charge heard the conversations we had around cafeteria lunch tables!

Of course, there was also the mere fact of having lived with three other women throughout this year, creating a home that was a constant space for frank discussions about shared oppression; there were days of 8+ hours of GChat sessions that formed a virtual safe space; there were the year’s albums that spoke to the bizarre, incredible realities of womanhood. And all of this happening in the context of women coming forward about sexual assault, women journalists reporting on it, all of us whispering #MeToo on the internet. It was a year that, for me, fostered a consistent and palpable sense of solidarity among us. I needed it.

The “Thief” music video:

Lastly: this is, maybe, the most wonderfully terrible music video I have ever seen. I first heard about this on the now-defunct podcast This Week Had Me Like, which I sorely miss, and now it’s rare that my housemates and I go more than a month without watching it communally. It’s histrionic in the best way, nonsensical, totally delightful. Thank you, Ansel Elgort.

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atc74 · 7 years ago

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Say What You Mean and Mean What You Say

A/N: This kinda took on a life of it’s own from the one-shot it started as! Hope you like it! Beta’d by the ever amazing @just-another-busy-fangirl. I used the song ‘Never Felt Love’ by Little Big Town.

Warnings: None that I can think of...

Word Count: 3541 with lyrics

It has been more than three years since I met the love of my life, but I didn’t know it until a year ago when Rob Benedict asked me out on that first date and the rest is our history. Truth be told, I was smitten with him three years ago when I first met him at during a photo op, but I was married and he was recently divorced, which I also didn’t know until a year ago.

The past year has been a roller coaster. You’ve been on a roller coaster, right? Or at least have seen one? The ups, the downs, the twists, the turns, the loop-the-loops. That is what love feels like. It has highs and lows. It has twists that you don’t see coming and loops that turn your insides to mush. My relationship with Rob was no different than that roller coaster that makes you squeal with delight, cry in fright, or fear you may throw up.

For the better part of the last year, Rob and I have been blending two families. Between the two of us, we have three children. Our kids met for the first time last Christmas when he arrived in Minneapolis for winter break with his two little darlings in tow. But as the roller coaster would have it, it wasn’t a smooth ride, not all of it at least. Do you have children? Well, even if you don’t, let me tell you; children fight, whether they are siblings or not. Things were no different with these three. They got along, but some of it was rocky. They now get along, mostly. But the important part is they have come to accept each other and I even heard the girls (mine and his) tell each other ‘I love you’ just a few weeks ago.

Life with Rob has been amazing, even when he isn’t here. He decided we needed a larger house just a few weeks after that winter break, so we purchased a larger, modest home in our same neighborhood. He didn’t want to uproot us completely, considering my daughter Olivia in all his plans, so she could stay in the same school. That is just one of the many reasons why I love him.

I work to maintain our home and some semblance of normalcy for my daughter since the split with her father. I also hold down a full time job. Rob commutes between Minneapolis and Los Angeles to be near his children when working. When he isn’t here or there, he can be found on tour most of the time. Our time together is tight, but it is never rushed. We cherish each moment, making the most of it when he is home.

In February, for our six month anniversary, he surprised me with a vacation. It was short and he worked for four solid days, but watching him in action at the Las Vegas Convention was mesmerizing. He is naturally charismatic and he and Rich make an amazing team. It helps that the fans love him, probably more than I do; they don’t have to pick up his dirty socks off the floor. The three days we had alone were filled with romantic dinners, shared stories from our childhoods of our fondest memories and as much time between the sheets as we could handle.

I have read a quote so many times that I feel it is now ingrained in me: ‘You were given this life because you are strong enough to live it.’ I don’t know where I first read that, but it rings true. We have all experienced tragedy, love, loss, heartbreak, death, strength and weakness. I have also heard that God doesn’t give us more than we can handle. More than forty years on this planet has taught me that both are true, although you don’t think so in the times when you need it most. Being loved by Rob has taught me things I never thought I would believe and loving him is easy because of who he is and who I am when I am with him. Is that sappy enough for you? Anywhoo...on with the story.

I think back as I drive and realized that I am happy for the first time in a long time. The Minneapolis Convention is two days away and I am on my way to the airport to pick up my girls. It is a crazy story really, if you thought about it. What are the chances? I met Rob. We dated and fell in love and now we are living together. Rob introduced my girls, Ana and Megs, to Jared and Jensen. Megs now lives with Jensen in Vancouver, while Jared splits his time between Vancouver and Ana. It is a crazy small world, isn’t it?

Rob isn’t due home for another day and Jared and Jensen don’t come in for three more days due to their filming schedule. I have my girls all to myself for at least one more night. We catch up all the way home and I couldn't have been happier. Until the call came in from Rob, that there are some last minute details that Creation needs him and Rich to finalize before Friday.

“What do you mean you aren’t coming home?” I asked Rob when he called just as we walked in the door. I heard Ana and Megs head downstairs with Olivia, providing me some privacy as I made my way to our bedroom.

“Baby, I just can’t. Our flight doesn’t even get in until after nine tomorrow, by the time Creation is done with us, it will be after midnight. We all have a very big weekend ahead of us and you deserve some quality time, just the three of you. Drop Liv off at your folks and live it up with the girls, Babe,” Rob told me.

“Now I am going to sound whiny cause I just want to see you,” I cried into the phone, “Robby, you haven’t been home in weeks. We miss you; I miss you.”

“I miss my girls, too, more than I can ever tell you,” Rob sighed on the other end of the line. “But I will see you Friday morning, bright and early. I love you, Honey.”

“I love you, too, Rob,” I whispered. “Fly safe, Babe.” I dropped my phone on the bed and flopped down dramatically before I decided I needed to pull myself together. I had guests and Liv didn’t need to see Mama like this before she spent a week with Gramma and Grampa.

The four of us ate a delicious dinner and before long, Olivia was snug in bed. The girls and I were on our second bottle of wine out on the back porch. We got our giggles out on the first bottle and then I started thinking out loud.

“He has been acting really weird lately, ya know? He didn’t come home last weekend because the kids had some school thing and the weekend before that it was a Con. I knew what I signed up for when I said yes to that first date, but sometimes, I don’t want it to be so hard,” I lamented and like the amazing, supportive friends they are, they listened with non-judgemental ears.

“Just another couple of days, Ang, then he will be home and you can be together. Megs and I don’t even mind that you won’t be with us Friday night,” Ana stated.

“After karaoke, you know you will be in his room, clothes flying everywhere and making noises that would make a porn star blush!” Megs laughed so hard she snorted.

“Yeah, two more days. Here is to good men, amazing love and the two best friends a girl could hope for,” I raised my glass to join theirs and we finished off another bottle.

~*~

Friday at the conventions were always a fun time. It was Rich’s favorite day and that made all in attendance giddy, the three of us included. It was also an easy day, not as much happened and there were fewer guests, the schedules were lighter so Rob had more free time...Usually. However, it didn’t appear to be working on our favor this time around.

Before I knew it, karaoke was over and I had only received one text from Rob, saying Rich needed him for rehearsal for the Saturday Night Special concert. I was unhappy with his explanation, but luckily, there was booze in our room and plenty of it. It was going to be a long weekend, if the start was any indication.

~*~

With my oh-so-handy VIP pass, I let myself backstage during Kim and Brianna’s panel on Saturday. I had a few Irish coffees under my belt and was going to let my Mr. Wonderful know exactly what was on my mind.

“Oh hey Ang, um, Rob isn’t here right now. He was rushed off by a volunteer, something about missing photo ops,” Matt stuttered when he saw the look of determination on my face. I looked closely at him and my guess is that my look went from determination to wrath, because he retreated as I advanced on him, my finger poking him in the chest.

“Matthew Joseph Cohen! If you do not tell me where my boyfriend is right now, so help me God, Mandyi will have to find a donor if she wants another baby!” I growled as I backed him into the wall.

“Ang, I swear, I don’t know where he is. He and Rich took off, said something about picking up a package but didn’t say anything else, except not to tell you,” Matt blurted out. For such a strong man, he really did cave easily.

“Matt, I am so sorry, I just miss him. Um, don’t tell him I was here, okay?” I hugged him quickly and darted from the room, looking for the nearest restroom to check myself before I headed back to join Ana and Megs. I could hide internal turmoil, but I preferred to keep a pleasing outward appearance; I hated giving people satisfaction and social media always caught the worst of it when it happened.

“Babes, I am skipping the rest of the afternoon. I have a headache, so I am going back to the room, I think,” I said as I rejoined them at the table.

“What happened, Ang?” Megs questioned.

“Nothing happened, Megs,” I told her.

“Angelina, spill it!” Ana was a little scary when the situation called for it.

“I don’t know! He wasn’t there. Matt said he and Rich took off, mumbling something about a package. I left. I didn’t even wait for Kim and Bri to get off stage like I planned,” I relayed.

“You go back to the room, the boys will be here in an hour or so anyway and we will come get you for dinner. Be ready at seven,” Ana kissed my cheek and I started the short walk to our hotel. We preferred to walk during the day and leave the car and driver for after dark. The warm sun and slight breeze did little to lighten my disposition, though. Ever since I got that call from Rob the other night saying he wasn’t coming home and now the girls were acting weirder than normal; something was going on, I could feel it. I was going to get to the bottom of it, but first I needed to make a stop. I called our driver on reserve and waited patiently for him to arrive.

~*~

I heard the door open and close, followed by giggles. Jensen’s deep laugh and Jared’s breathy chuckle spilled through the open bathroom door. I don’t know what had them going, but I could tell from the sounds that four of my favorite people were happy. I took one last glance at myself in the mirror. The cobalt blue, one shoulder dress was stunning and the strappy heels were just what I needed. Not bad, I thought to myself and worth every penny he didn’t even know he paid, but he would. I strutted out of the bathroom to join my friends.

My thoughts were echoed when I entered the living area of our suite and received a low whistle from Jensen, cat calls from Megs and Ana, while Jared just stood there, mouth open and eyes wide. “I take it from your reactions that this receives your stamp of approval?” I twirled once for the four of them.

“I don’t know what he did, Sweetheart, but he is going to be begging for forgiveness after one look at you,” Jensen smiled in approval, wrapping me in a tight embrace. “It’s going to work itself out, don’t worry your pretty little head.”

“I hope so, Jay. Thank you,” I whispered before he let me go.

“Let’s get this party started!” I exclaimed, grabbing my small clutch.

Dinner, although delicious and entertaining as always with this crew, was anticlimactic for me. Rob and Rich had not been able to make it; typical for the weekend so far. I was starting to worry that something was really wrong. I looked around the table at my best friends, so happy and in love, and it made me more than a little melancholy that Rob wasn’t there with me. I caught Ana and Megs as they exchanged glances more than once and it made me wonder all the more what was going on.

“I have to get back for sound check; don’t be late!” Jensen gave us all a wink, kissed Megs and then he and Jared were gone. I sent the driver a quick text to let him know we were ready and we finished our drinks. The ride back to the venue was reticent; as strange as it may be, I didn’t have much to say.

Once we arrived, we found our seats quickly as they were right in front of the band. I excused myself to head to the bar for a quick shot of courage in the form of Patron Silver, which I had sworn off since my early thirties due to the fact that it made me emotional and overly frisky. I was already emotional as it was and getting frisky was the farthest thing from my mind. As I entered the auditorium, I saw Rob talking with Ana, Jared and Megs, but as I approached my seat, he abruptly turned and got back on stage. I blinked back the tears that threatened to escape, threw my shoulders back and put on my best smile as I returned to my seat like I hadn’t seen anything.

An internal battle raged and I tried to push the negative thoughts away. Did I love him? Hell yes, with everything I had. As I watched him perform in front of all the fans, with his friends; that was what he lived for and was also one of the many reasons I loved Rob. The stage was the one place he is allowed to be himself and totally free. Did it make me a little sad? Yes, I can’t lie about that. This was the man I missed most when he was away.

We were already an hour into the concert when the stage was plunged into darkness. I could see shadows moving around and I saw Rob in his spot, but that was about all I could make out. Then a single spotlight shone brightly on the love of my life. His face covered in sweat, that cute, little hat perched atop his head as he addressed the crowd.

“I want to thank everyone for being here tonight. We have a special song that we have been working on that we would like to perform for you tonight. Jensen, Kim, Brianna?” Rob called from his mic.

Three more spotlights lit up the stage opposite Rob as the three stars took their places. The music started and that stupid, persistent tear made another appearance. This was the first song Rob ever sang to me.

I've seen it come and I've watched it go

The ins and outs and the highs and lows

Well I gave my heart and I paid the cost

For the loves I made there were friends I lost

At the point I'd almost had enough

Like the morning sun you woke me up

You held me close and you help me see

Oh you made a believer out of me

Now I'm alright, I've got you in my life

And I never felt love, ever feel so right

It's a miracle and a mystery

How the hands of fate brought you to me

I had lost all hope, had lost all faith

With each kiss you loved my fear away

Now I'm alright, I got you in my life

And I never felt love ever feel so right

Well it's good to feel and for once I know

That I'll never have to worry about you letting go

No matter where this road may lead

As long as I've got you with me

I'll be alright, I've got you in my life now I'm alright

And I've never felt ever love feel so right