#Drinking away your sorrows Ed

[crystalrainfall]

Girlfailure

[ruewrote]

𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠.

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem!reader WARNINGS: mentions of a breakdown GENRE: angst SONG INSPIRATION: give me love by ed sheeran WORD COUNT: 891

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you'd often stay in on the weekends, not like your friends who either drank or got high. it wasn't particularly your scene.

it was the end of exams week and everyone was celebrating for not having to put in any more sleepless nights of studying, well most did. others knocked back drinks trying to forget how badly they think they did.

it didn't take long for you to find a cheesy rom-com, a large platter of snacks balanced on top of your legs, halfway through the movie picking up your phone and mindlessly scrolling through instagram.

a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you scrolled through a video of jj maybank doing a handstand whilst drinking from a keg, everyone cheering and laughing after he succeeded. he was walking over to the camera and that's when your phone started to ring.

rafe.

not knowing why but a lump formed in your throat making it hard for you to swallow, your stomach churned as you pressed the phone against your ear.

"i-i need you. please..." his voice was so quiet, so broken.

that was it all took for you to be up out of bed and out of the door. his soft cries and deep sniffles worried you more as you ran to his house.

it felt like you could hear every beat of your heart, nothing in that moment mattered but him.

barging into the cameron residence which seemed to be empty for the most part.

calling out his name, as you made a beeline straight for his bedroom.

the large pieces of shattered glass on the floor didn't go unnoticed, some family photos were either on the floor or lopsided too.

the door to his room ajar, letting out a deep breath as your fingertips grazed the solid surface before fully pushing it open.

you've never seen him look so small before.

his chin rested on his knees, his arm wrapped around his legs bringing them closer to his chest as his shoulders shook. his hair covering most of his face.

slowly kneeling beside him, shuffling closer to his shivering body.

he lifted his head up, making eye contact with you.

"oh rafe..." your voice was gentle as you reached out to cup his cheek, thumb brushing away the tears that fell.

the skin of his nose a rosy pink, his eyelids puffy from crying, but his eyes... carried something so much more.

the grief. the sorrow. the confusion.

tears flow down his cheeks freely as he nuzzled against your palm, having felt it had been long enough, you pulled him into your arms and held him as he cried into your neck.

"im so sorry for c-crying, ill be fine."

you felt your heart break a tiny bit more and just embraced him tighter against you.

"you never need to apologize to me. ever. and certainly not for crying." tears of your own stung in your eyes as your hand stroked small circles on his back.

it had been hours since you found rafe, he was now safely tucked into bed fast asleep and you were bent over cleaning up the larger pieces of glass, then sweeping the smaller ones into a pan.

readjusting the frames of the rest so they were straightened.

there were a couple of times when things were like this. when rafe would randomly show up outside your bedroom window or he'd call you from toppers house phone needing you.

it was more frequent over the last couple of years. you didn't mind it. the people around you did since you always dropped anything and everything for him, but he'd done the same for you in similar circumstances.

whether it had been an argument with your parents or your friends, even if it was just protecting you from some random creep. he was there.

but you do have to admit this had been one of the worst conditions that you had found him in and it worried you to no end.

after finishing cleaning up most, if not all of the mess you went down and got yourself a glass of water, sliding open the door to the back porch.

a light breeze brushed against your skin as you leaned against the concrete railing, watching as the waves of the sea washed over one another.

continuing to slowly sip at your drink as you closed your eyes and took all of it in, trying to find a peaceful state of mind before going back in the house to sleep.

that was until you felt a large hand delicately trace over your shoulder, tensing up you opened your eyes spinning around to whoever it was. soon relaxing when you were met with the familiar sleepy blue eyes of none other than rafe.

a soft smile stretched across his lips as you rested your head against his shoulder, letting out a sigh of relief. leaving a playful tap on his bicep for scaring you.

"what are you doing up?" you questioned as you looked up at him.

"noticed you were gone and got worried..." he spoke quietly, sheepishly smiling as he left a peck on the top of your hair, wrapping his arms around you.

"awh, did ya miss me?" a playful laugh left you as you continued to tease him until he had enough of your games and threw you over his shoulder, taking you back to bed.

you were glad that you had him and he was glad that he had you.

© ruewrote.

[darkuselesssomebody]

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 - slightly dark!steve murphy x reader

complete masterlist | navigation

words || 𝟛𝕜

summary || in which the reader parties a little too hard, and then gets the d.e.a. at her door.

a/n || this is for @toxicanonymity's boyd-a-thon fundraiser where $10 is donated to PCRF for every (up until 30 total) fic she gets about a Boyd Holbrook character. this is the link for more information on the writing event: boyd-a-thon!! I think it's so fun: building community, getting some great content and donating to a very worthy cause. if you're interested, please check them and the fundraiser out.

➵ warnings for specific content before the divider, please heed them

➵ technically ooc to steve in the show, and is set pre-connie, when he was working DEA in Florida.

➵ not proofread

➵ comment/message if you'd have a request

warnings || smutty/slightly dark

➵ !! reader is somewhat inebriated and is coaxed into compliance to a certain extent !!

➵ !! civilian/handcuffed criminal & officer power dynamic; ergo, abuse of power !!

➵ dubcon

➵ manhandling/cloth ripping

➵ abuse of power

➵ groping

she really wasn't the typical co-ed.

especially compared to her classmates, she tried so hard to stay away from the frat boys, the sweaty, horrible sex, and the copious amounts of substances. she'd promised her parents as much, and they'd threatened to otherwise cut off their support, so, she made sure to be as prim and proper as possible.

of course, she wasn't a nun. she drank, smoked if a cig was offered, had a few bad hook-ups, but come on. compared to everyone else? she was the virgin Mary.

and she'd told her parents as much, when they'd found out about her post-lecture activities.

unfortunately, that wasn't quite enough.

she had poured out her sorrows to her boyfriend- well, situationship - mark, as he kept instructing the bartender to pour her drinks, in the small, poorly lit, but quiet, bar.

"they won't pay my tuition or rent." she pouts, "I'll have to get an job, and then I won't be able to study - and then-" he shushes her with a sloppy kiss.

"you'll be fine." he assures, and she's just drunk enough not to realize he's saying that so he can get her into his bed faster.

it works, and, by one a.m., they'd gotten back to his, had sex, and she'd passed out. he wasn't a heartless bastard, though, he makes her some breakfast the next morning, and finally, properly, listens to her woes.

"i'm just so stressed. and I dunno if they'll - well… forgive me." she groans, rubbing her temples. he sighs, looking across at her contemplatively.

"you know what you need?" he muses, "to relax. thank god spring break is coming up, we should go somewhere." he suggests, squeezing her hand.

"somewhere? mark, the only place I can afford is the local diner." she scoffs, making him laugh, rolling his eyes.

"i'll pay for you." she blinks, looking up at him curiously.

"what?" she knew he came from a pretty well-off family, but that was a pretty big gift.

"yeah, c'mon. you've been such a recluse the last 2 years, s'what your friends say. let's go to Miami beach, hmm?" he smiles, hugging her as he noses up her neck. her face flushes, going warm.

"mi-miami b-beach? are you kidding me, mark? that's not you being good to me, that's - so expensive." he laughs at her worry.

"you're worth it." that makes her smile, "gotta make my girl feel better, right? besides…" his voice quietens conspiratorially, "I wanna finally corrupt you." laughing, she swats at his hands.

"corrupt? mark!" her tone is scolding, but it does little to deter mark.

"live a little, baby." he hums into her neck.

her face grows hotter.

"whatever you say."

--

miami was one of the warmest places she'd been to. always with a thin sheet of sweat, and always with one of those gimmicky, hand-held fans, she kept a firm hand in mark's to avoid the scammers, and worse, the creeps. he laughs at her apprehension, helping her into the taxi to their hotel.

it was small, with just a simple bed, but mark assured her it's fine because they'd hardly be there anyways. she wondered what that meant.

she immediately found out what it meant, that night, when mark drags her to one of the massive parties held at the nearby clubs and at the beaches. surrounded by primarily college students, mark keeps a hand on her hips as they navigate the party. "get a drink?" he shouts over the music and chatter, and she nods, pressed against him so she doesn't get lost.

she gets something with ice, not really caring about the actual drink - just needing to cool off. mark sways to the music, holding her close, and she giggles as he tries to get her to dance with him.

"c'mon, baby, loosen up." she pouts.

"I don't wanna sweat, mark." he laughs, wiggling his eyebrows.

"that's the whole point. besides, I'll have you sweating by morning, anyways." his tone drips with innuendo, and she rolls her eyes playfully, pushing away his face. he evades, dipping his head and playfully biting her jaw, making her squeak.

"loosen up." he insists, and she giggles.

"fine."

the night went on for way too long. after one drink, she started dancing with mark. after two, they started making friends. after three, they got invited to someone's hotel room, where she's already a little woozy from the alcohol and heat.

"you wanna try something?" mark asks, leading her into the hotel bathroom, and locking the door, "scored some nice shit for us." he grins, fishing a baggie from his pocket. her eyes widen in slight horror and significant shock.

"what the hell, mark?" she mumbles, lips a little numb, but he dismisses her with a wave of his hand.

"it's fine, baby, loosen up." she looks at him indignantly.

"it's not fine, mark! isn't it really addictive? and really illegal?" she hisses, voice lowered out of worry someone outside will hear them. he rolls her eyes.

"baby, I've been on this stuff with sophomore year, and you didn't even know. s'not that addictive, and you just gotta be a little careful. that's what you got me for." he pulls her into him, both of them leaning on the sink counter. "besides… you gonna rat me out?" he jokes, making her cheeks warm.

"no…" she murmurs meekly. he kisses her cheek.

"good! then we won't get in trouble. you trust me, right baby?" his voice has just that perfect mix of pleading and reassurance, and she sighs.

"yes."

"atta girl! you're in for the night of your life."

it wasn't the night of her life, it was a whole week. every day was the same routine, late morning with a greasy breakfast to combat the hangover, afternoon at the beach, early dinner, and the trawling for a party. they'd drink, dance, and then find a bathroom to fuck in, which wasn't too different than what they did on normal weekends, but this week, she had the added intake of coke to sustain the lifestyle.

it was euphoric, and unlike any experience she'd have. a little gross, what with the snorting, but mark wasn't too bad with the aftercare. he never told her where he got his supply, and she never asked. who'd she tell, right?

at least, that's what she figured until the party they were at got raided by the d.e.a. she squeals in shock as she hears the harsh shouts of some officers, and mark is quick to press his hand tightly over her mouth, pressing a finger to his lips to motion her to shut the fuck up.

he slowly readjusts her skirt to place it back above her hips, but it's a shoddy job, and they breathe into each other's mouths as they wait in silence, hoping the locked door will be inconspicuous enough that they can't get caught.

unfortunately not.

a sharp knock on the door makes her jolt again, mind already a little fuzzy from the start of the party, and the voice that accompanies it is as intimidating as she'd imagined.

"d.e.a., open up!" they command. she goes to comply, but mark immediately pulls her back, gripping her hard enough to hurt, making her eyes widen in shock. he looks at her with eyes saying what the fuck are you thinking?! and she looks back with i'm scared. the knocks don't stop, "want me to break this damn door down?" the voice threatens, and mark grits his teeth in annoyance as he secedes, unlocking the door.

a man - built, taller than her, maybe mark's height - with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, raises an amused brow at the pair.

"look who we have here, brady." he tilts his head to call for his partner, who comes clambering back into the room, whistling in excitement.

"yeah, they'll do. c'mon, you two." he gestures mark and her to walk out, "we need to have a few words."

--

she was now sitting in the back of a cop car, handcuffed, feeling tears brimming in her eyes.

after handcuffing the two, steve and brady had flipped a coin to decide who got to interrogate the pretty little thing, and who got the dweeby boyfriend. brady's luck was really not on his side this week - even his cards had been screwing his over on his nights - and he rolled his eyes as he, rather forcefully, shoved mark in a patrol car.

steve grinned as he opened her door for her - almost like a gentleman - making sure she was nicely settled before starting the ignition.

she wasn't hurt, sure, but god, was she scared. she was always such a good girl - and she'd just gotten arrested?! halfway across the country, while on vacation?! she felt like a complete idiot, and she was starting to feel pretty bitter towards mark for even roping her into this.

her lip had quivered as she heard steve talking about his eta to the station, and she was now dejectedly tearing up at the thought of having this on her record.

she's a good girl.

that was what she was telling herself, and what steve was gleefully realizing, as he glanced back at her in the rearview mirror.

"y'ain't been caught up in this kinda stuff before, have ya?" he finally breaks the near-silence, and it makes her glance up at the little dit of his profile she can discern in the dark car.

"n-no, officer." she finally stutters out, throat dry. he notices, passing her some water.

"hot as a bitch, ain't it?" he hums, tone friendly, and it makes her soften as she gulps the liquid down.

"yeah… it is." there's another moment of silence, before she realizes they're coming to a stop. at a pretty abandoned street corner. she looks around, confused, before she sees steve turning in his seat to face her.

"why don't you an' I have a li'l chat right here, darlin'?" he proposes, and she immediately tenses in discomfort.

"wh… why not at the station?" he laughs, a little breathily.

"why would I go all the way to the station, when you can tell me what ya know right here, right now, without worrying yer pretty little head about yer record. ya do know coke abuse, now, that's a pretty serious crime, darlin'." he drawls, eyes grazing over her body. she bites her lip.

to have no real record of this? that would be amazing…

"um… okay? I guess, what - what did you wanna ask me?" she doesn't know if she can meet his eyes. it makes her core pulse.

"now, you don't look like you were the one gettin' those goodies. who was givin' 'em to ya, hmm?"

"my - uh…" she inhales sharply, unsure if she can rat out mark. she really doesn't want to; he's good to her. most of the time. "some guy at the party." it's not technically a lie, which makes steve scoff more pronounced.

"it was yer friend, darlin'. or was it boyfriend? based on that li'l bathroom debacle, seems like he's yer boyfriend." he teases.

her cheeks heat, flush obvious even though he can hardly make out her face, just from her shifting alone. why was she suddenly so shy about the label?

"it's not really like that…" and why is she trying to assure this officer that she's not taken?

"yeah, darlin', s'what I figured - after all, you're name's spillin' out of his mouth accordin' to my partner." her eyes widen in horror.

"wait, what?!"

"yeah, that's what he's sayin' - that ya went out back and then came in with a baggie." steve has to hide his smile, because he almost adores the little look on her face which tries - and fails - to conceal her conflicting emotions of betrayal, disgust and confusion. steve knows just why - mark probably isn't that type of guy. and Steve knows that, cause he just made that little tidbit up, "so, what's it gonna be, darlin'? i'd definitely have to take you in if my only talkin' witness says yer the culprit."

her eyes sting with frustration and fear, and small whimper of discomfort bubbles in her throat.

"fine, fine. it was him, he's been buying coke for most of the past few nights. but I don't know where he gets it from." she insists, deflating a little in the backseat. that causes steve to wave his hand dismissively.

"ain't gotta be worried 'bout that, darlin', he can rat out his own friends." he assures, before humming in satisfaction, "see? now, was that so hard?" his drawl is condescending, and she picks at a hangnail. "yer a good girl, darlin', ya shouldn't protect guys like that." he assures, nonchalantly tugging her fingers away from each other so she doesn't continue the fidget-y, destructive behavior. "what's he even got goin' fer ya fer ya t'wanna save his ass?" he muses, a predatory smile on his face. she thinks it looks cruel.

"he's not a bad guy, he's not some drug lord, he's just gotten too caught up in all-"

"s'he yer man?" he cuts through her timid explanations. he's asking again, with a direct purpose this time. "girl like you… he wouldn't know a damn thing 'bout handling ya." he teases, hands moving down from where he's keeping her fingers from picking at themselves, and onto her knees that poked out, bare, under her short, somewhat flowy dress. "ain't I right, darlin'? he could never treat ya right, could he?"

she stills in utterly shock, before sliding her ass back until it slammed the backrest, effectively jolting away from him. "what are you doing?!" she gasps, and it makes him grip her knees harder, pulling her towards him.

"s'okay, m'jus' talkin' ta ya, darlin'." he assures, thumbs rubbing circles into her skin to soothe her. it hardly works, and she feels a paradoxical discomfort in her throat and arousal between her legs. "answer me, then. he treat ya like ya deserve?"

her breath hitches, "I - i don't know what that means-" she admits, too flustered to even let out a coherent thought. he tuts in disappointment.

"then he's a bigger bastard than I thought. not worshippin' a girl like you…" he goes quiet, before a throaty groan leaves him. "it's a cryin', fuckin' shame." he grips her thighs so tightly that she winces, and the little noise is enough to make him go crazy. before she can process, he's out of the front seat, and climbing next to her in the back. her hands are stiff cuffed, and it allows him to move her body easily to be pressed against the opposite door, giving him plenty of room to slide in. "ya wanna have a real man, darlin'? tha's wha' it is? these fuckin' college boys should know better than to disappoint ya, huh - tryna play with the big boys with that li'l baggie you were snortin'?" his words are rough, heavy, fast and overlapping, and she's quickly overwhelmed purely by his presence. his mouth is on hers before she can stop him, but it doesn't exactly seem to him that she would have - the way her lips press back against his hungrily and her tongue flicks out curiously.

a soft moan escapes her, and he grabs the collar of the low-cut dress, ripping it straight down her middle. "oh my god-!" she tries to gasp, but his bruising kiss shuts her up as he gropes her breasts hard enough to make her whimper and squirm.

"thatta girl, wanna li'l rough lovin'?" his eyes are wild and ecstatic, looking down at her as he pants in anticipation. he slowly begins to undo his shirt, and her eyes widen as she follows the movement of his deft fingers down his button-up, greedily savoring the slivers of skin that are exposed underneath. he finally pulls it off, lean body more defined in the dim light of the back alley, shadows accentuating the curves of his biceps, as he places his hands on the door either side of her face, leaning down to mouth at her neck.

for a moment, it's romantic, and then, it's desperate. the taut skin of her neck is the meal to his starved kisses and bites, painful and arousing nibbles trailing down her neck and the newly exposed skin of her chest from where he'd ripped her dress.

"officer, wait-" he presses a hand quickly over her mouth - with the reflexes of a trained law enforcement agent - and the protest dies in her throat. she's almost grateful - she would have sounded like a right hypocrite when she inevitably moaned during her attempt at protest.

"don't ya say a word, darlin'. just stay sittin' pretty for me, hmm?" his voice is so rough that it's almost mean, but she nods obediently, letting him work his way down her body. she gasps as his tongue darts out and flicks once at the elastic of her underwear, body jittering in anticipation and needs.

"Murphy, come in." the crackle of his police radio snaps them both from their pleasure, and the both whip their heads to look at it. steve looks like he wants to murder something, blue balls making his muscles twitch. when he goes to ignore it and continue enjoying his lovely company, he has to resist the urge to shoot his partner when brady speaks again, "come in, murph, he gave us a lead on the supplier. they want us on it, now." steve thinks maybe he should finally get into that meditation bullshit.

he slams the car door shut as he gets out of the backseat, leg bouncing in annoyance and need. he lights a cigarette, before picking up the radio. "brady, I hear ya. we'll be there in 10." he clambers back into the car, slowly driving out of the alleyway, tapping on the steering wheel, antsy. realizing he's still taking her to the station, she exclaims an incredulous 'what?!'

"wait, but you said-"

"no one's gonna know about yer fuckin' drugs." he snaps, a scowl on his face. he glances at her nude body only lightly contoured with the scrappy fabric of her dress. he throws his jacket back her to cover herself up.

"then why am I coming with you?" she asks in a soft voice, more reserved and less emotional.

"you're gonna sit in my office, and wait till I get back from that bust, ya got that darlin'?" her eyes widen in shock, but the harsh look in his eyes tells her not to argue. the pulse in her core also reminds her of it.

"yes, officer." she mumbles.

"good girl."

[holdmytesseract]

Wrecked

Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader

Summary: Your grief swallows you whole, leaving you with nothing but a bleeding heart. How can you escape this?

Warnings: angst, sadness, heartbreak? mentions of death, grief and loss, alcohol

Word Count: 865

a/n: I wrote this little something while listening to the Subtract album from Ed Sheeran. ☺️ But this lil' oneshot is especially inspired by 'Eyes Closed'. I also included a few lines of the lyrics. Hope y'all like it! 💛

Tagging: y'all in the comments, 'cause tumblr seemingly doesn't like to tag you guys anymore... 🙄

Masterlist

Life wasn't the same anymore. Not since Ragnarok happened. Not since Thanos happened. In the blink of an eye, the power-hungry titan had taken everything from you. Everything which meant something to you. Loki. The person you loved most in all the nine realms. But Thanos? Thanos just killed him like it was nothing - and with Loki died a big part of your heart, mind, body and soul, too. You had desperately tried to hold him back, stop him, make him not do what he wanted to do - but of course he didn't listen to you and did it anyway. He had to. You knew that now. You understood - but that didn't ease the pain in the slightest.

Since that day, you felt numb. Nothing more than grief, pain and emptiness running through your system. You lived your life like a robot; running on autopilot. Day in, day out it was always the same. Get up, sometimes have a shower, have breakfast, go to work, get home, eat, try to overcome your loss, go to sleep and repeat. Everybody told you that time heals all wounds. Not for you. The wound was deep. Way too deep to ever be able to heal completely. Life without him was just so difficult. It was a fight every day. His love gave you strength, happiness, vitality, energy and so much more. And suddenly your source of life was gone. Snap. You didn't even have the choice to say goodbye. So many unspoken words, feelings and emotions. Now it was too late.

"And you are sure you don't want to come?" Natasha asked, giving you a compassionate look. You shook your head. "No, I, uh, I think I'll just go to bed. It's been a long day." The red-haired woman nodded. "Alright. I can't force you to come with us - and I won't." She placed a hand on your arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Just know that hiding away in there won't help or make it better either." Nat was right - and you knew it; but you just couldn't bring yourself to join the team's activities and trips. Instead, you flopped down on your bed and stared aimlessly up at the ceiling, like you did so often. Could he see me now? Laying here and thinking about him? Does he think about me, too? What would he say, if he'd see me like this? So many thoughts were running through your mind; penetrating your mind and vanishing a few seconds later again. It was so heavy... Dealing with the difficult cards life had dealt.

Sometime around midnight - the others were still out, clubbing, you decided to head to a bar, unable to find sleep. Maybe a few drinks helped. Wouldn't be the first time that you tried to drown your sorrow and grief in alcohol. So, you slipped in your jacket and some shoes, before you made your way outside, leaving the Avengers compound behind yourself and heading for the next best bar. Unfortunately, your muscle memory worked way too good; body controlled by your heart, resulting in your feet leading you to this one bar... The bar you used to go to with Loki. Of course, you thought with an eyeroll; feeling the familiar pain shooting through your heart - like pierced by an arrow. You wanted to turn around and leave, but you couldn't. So, you stepped through the door of the bar - and that was when it hit you again. Hard. You saw it coming. Of course, you did. But what were you supposed to do? Memories of all the good times spent here with Loki flooded your mind, causing tears to well up in your eyes, which you blinked away quickly. Alcohol. You were here for the alcohol. Not to cry.

Hesitatingly, you sat on one of the bar stools, ordering the strongest drink possible. Only a few people were left, due to the late hour. Soft music played in the background. You didn't pay attention at first, but the more time passed, you couldn't help but listen - only bringing back even more memories. Every song reminded you that Loki was gone; and you felt the lump forming in your throat once again. You sat here alone - and you'd be forever.

Everywhere you looked, you saw him. His handsome face, smiling at you. You saw him, when you looked beside you, where he was seated on the barstool beside you, hand wrapped around his drink. You saw him when you looked across the room to the door, strolling inside the bar, dressed in black slacks and a black shirt with rolled up sleeves. You saw him when your eyes settled on the dance floor, on which you and him spent so many nights, dancing away until dawn.

Taking a big sip of your drink, you closed your eyes, tears free-falling and let the music swallow you whole.

Everything was changing - you knew that. It was a natural thing. A part of being alive. Yes, everything changed. But nothing was the same anymore - except the truth was now that Loki was gone.

Divider by the wonderful @fictive-sl0th <3

[piarelei]

hi, would you be able to write a Cymav fic for me? Rated T or G. Maybe Cyclone is really stressed and ends up going to The Hard Deck, Maverick finds him there and they end up going home together. The main thing I want is Mav comforting Cyclone and helping him find a way to relax. Thank you

Hello, I did a lil something, not sure how satisfying it is to you. I'm not really used to this dynamic and this was incredibly interesting. I had a lot of fun, thank you! Not beta-ed, sorry, we die like Goose.

Cyclone would not use reckless as an adjective to define himself, but he feels positively so when he lets Maverick take the seat across from him. A self-satisfied Maverick is a dangerous one and Maverick looks like the cat who got the cream.

“Go away, Mitchell,” Cyclone says, reflexively.

Maverick flashes a smile and puts his sweating beer on the table, ignoring the perfectly serviceable coster a few inches from it. Cyclone sighs and flicks it towards him. It has the unfortunate effect of reading as an invitation.

“What’s up?” Maverick asks, sprawling on the back of his chair. He looks good, relaxed and happy. Life after death and all that crap.

“Is that how you speak to your superior?”

Maverick snorts. “As of…” He looks down at his wristwatch. “Two days and three hours ago, I officially retired. I don’t really answer to you.”

Cyclone huffs a bitter laugh. “Have you ever answered to me?”

Maverick shrugs. “Well, orders are orders.”

Cyclone sips at his whiskey sour instead of answering.

“Well, seriously,” Maverick pushed on. “What’s up?”

“Have you never had a bad day?”

Maverick hums. “Sure did. Plenty. But I usually didn’t make it better by having a drink by my lonesome in the bar where the people who have turned my day to shit also go drink away their sorrows.”

Cyclone presses his lips together. He concedes the point. “What do you prescribe then, doctor?” he answers, bitterness flooding between his teeth.

“Pack it up and find someone to show you a good time,” Maverick says with a smug grin, leaning forward conspiratorially.

Cyclone wrinkles his nose. “Is that you offering?” It’s only half a joke and he almost regrets it as he says it.

In response, he feels the press of Maverick’s boot against his ankle. “Is that you taking me up on it?”

Cyclone’s body goes taunt, a little with apprehension, a little with want. Breathing is a conscious effort.

He looks toward the bar, where Penny Benjamin is cracking jokes with her regulars. Cyclone swallows back on his own desire and turns judgmental eyes to Maverick.

“In your girlfriend’s bar, really?”

Maverick cracks a smile like Cyclone is a very prolific comedian. “Penny is a very good friend, but she’s no girlfriend of mine, no sir.”

When Cyclone doesn't find an answer fast enough, Maverick mellows and reaches out, touching two fingers to the white-knuckle grip that Cyclone has around his glass. “We don’t have to, but I would really like to take you home.”

He had heard the stories of Maverick’s very long string of girlfriends and had never understood how good looks could pull so many women into one’s bed. He gets it now. It’s not just good looks. The depth of his eyes where dances something caring and wild is a powerful seduction tool.

Cyclone pulls away, pretending to take another swallow. Then a second. Then a third. Until he sits there, with ice burning his lips. He has very little time to make a decision and he is afraid that it’s already all made.

He lets his glass thunk on the table and looks straight at Maverick. He pulls all of the authority he has amassed in his body, which has already given him the reputation of a hardass, and does his best to appear collected.

“You’ve taken you bike here, correct?” He waits for Maverick to nod, a playful purse to his lips. “You’ll follow me, then. These are your orders.”

Maverick rises from his seat. “After you, sir.”

Hope you liked it! My inbox is still open for suggestions, I'm not a regular to Cymav but this was a really nice time. If you have any Icemav, Hangster, (dare I say Cymav if this was not a complete disaster) literally anything you wanna read, send me a prompt.

[severingt]

Pauls Birthday Card 02/10/24

Hey, mate

First of all, Happy fucking Birthday. What a cunt it is being old, and I’m nearer the finishing line than you are.

So, what to talk about? Billy No Mates, you gotta hear their record, CACTI, it’s just right there. You can hear it on YouTube and then there’s Gina Birch, I play my bass loud, again on YouTube.

I hope you’re well? I know you were run off your feet last time we made contact.

I miss you.

So, John has 3 kids, and works on the railway. James has epilepsy so doesn’t officially work. He’s married with 2 kids. Dad’s still going but looking drawn [whatever that is]. Pete has turned into the architype grumpy/angry old man. He talks at me for an hour or so regularly.

Johns mum, Lesley, died last year. Alone in a flat in Gosport. Apparently fell out with the rest of the family over money after her mother died. I felt shock but not sorrow. John inherited a Mercedes and a Brabus Smart car, so a bit of money but nothing to compare to being abandoned for 28 years

I got out of the UK last September. I found it very difficult to acclimatise after 5 years in Malta. I stuck with it purely for financial [pension] reasons and of course covid. The language can be an issue sometimes but we have Google Translate.

So, I live in Thailand, Pattaya, now and I can live a good life as the cost of living [and drinking] is much less than UK. It can get a bit lonely but it was lonely in the UK:

Steve Ratsey: Salisbury

You: Midlands ish

Pete: Just doesn’t go out

Russ: Portsmouth but so fucking boring

David Ede: London but wants to be home at 9pm

Kevin: Malta and now with an old sort so doesn’t need friends

Andy: In Sweden and married

Paul Naish: died

I started playing guitar again, well, I’m enjoying it. I got a second-hand Takamine acoustic [way out of my price range new]. Lovely guitar. I contributed to the Play Music on the Porch day this year. I played Ohh La La [Ronnie Lane]. 8 takes to get a reasonable shot and even then, I made a mistake which I thought I’d get away with but started giggling

I was talking to a guy in a bar and his mate had just died and during the conversation [about dying abroad] he told a story of another friend that died in Africa and got flown back to UK. Everything went well and when the family saw the coffin, they wanted to see the body. So, they opened it up. That was the mistake as science then took over. Climate played a part in what ensued which was ok till the lid came off. The heat of Africa gave way to the cold of Britain which was being contained by the confines of the coffin. The lid came off, the body expanded and finally exploded. Actually exploded. Rotten meat flew all over the place, all over the staff and all over the relatives. Well, tragic huh? I just laughed, couldn’t help it

Where has all the time gone? I know I wasted so much time in factories 2 x 7 years. Whilst others were furthering their careers, I was getting covered in oil every day. It’s what you do if you have a family and mortgage. Then the prison service, 14 years; some of which were productive. I did get a Degree in the end and that focused me on what I wanted to do. But having Prison Officer on my CV didn’t help a change of career into education. It took me 4 years of applications and interviews before Hammersmith gave me a chance

But let’s not get depressed. Oh, too late

Weed is legal here. Theres a bar at the end of the road called Henry’s that sells it. I drink there. One evening, I was in there talking to Reggie the owner and he gave me 2 joints. So eventually I lit one up and took 3 puffs. My memory is very sporadic after that till about 3 am.

I pissed myself, shat myself, my girlfriend had to clean me up. I threw up my body weight. I couldn’t control my arms or legs. Ambulance called, into A&E and 7,000 baht, about £160, ambulance back home. 3hrs later up and out by coach to BKK airport for a trip to Chiang Rai. I don’t know how I did it.

So, that’s about it, I guess. Quite entertaining and I hope you smiled.

I hope you get out for a beer or get some in to celebrate [?] your birthday

Take care mate and I’m sure we will have a drink before we both leave

Glenn

[lighthousepyrate]

"Just breathe," Stede says. Whether it's for Izzy or himself, he wasn't so sure. He feels the urge to reach out, extend a comforting hand. But decides against it. Touch a boundary it didn't feel right to cross yet. Watching Izzy drain the contents of the flask to the last drop, he sees him struggling through it. Trying to voice what he didn’t want to face. Wrestling with thoughts that flashed in his expression. Blame and guilt. Although his words left Stede pondering. How had he pushed Ed to it? Selling them, mostly Stede, out to the English? Or was there something more, something he hadn’t been told yet.

"Hornigold?" Stede can't help but repeat. He heard tell of the Captain, of course. Infamous tales spun at the pub after one too many drinks. Another of those pirates immortalised on printed page. Calico Jack. The sadistic games he and Edward carried with them. If that was truly what fun meant to them living under Hornigold's flag, he dreaded to think what punishment looked like. Needless to say, he didn't want to meet the man. Nor did he believe he was ever on the ship. Some doggy heaven, kraken, type of euphemism, he thinks. Poorly masking the true perpetrator. A guise for what Izzy wasn't ready to accept, a notion Stede understood all too well.

The more he listens, the more he feels dread pool in his stomach. A nauseous feeling of guilt and shame and sorrow. Everything he hadn’t wanted to hear, didn’t want to face, became reality as Izzy spoke. He brings a hand to his own throat, swallowing dryly at the realisation. All they had suffered. The fear. The torment. The torture. At Edward’s hand. Not Hornigold. Not Blackbeard. Ed. The same Ed that liked marmalade and seven sugars. Who hated spiders and wanted to whisk him away to China. And yet he knew what he was capable of, blaming himself, his leaving, for drawing out that side of him again. God, he wishes he brought over that rum instead of the tea.

When Izzy finally meets his gaze, glassy eyes stare back at him.

"It's not your fault, Israel.” The first words to pass his lips. Something the man needed to hear, even if Stede wasn’t sure who the blame truly did lie with. Too confused, too conflicted, to process things then and there. “I think,” Edward, “this Hornigold hurt you, and the crew, very badly. And none of you are to blame for all that.”

For a long moment, Izzy doesn't speak. Does he even want to? How can he talk about it without reliving it, without... destroying the image the other had of him? And then what if Bonnet just confirms Izzy's repetitive thoughts, that this is all his fault. Not Ed's. Not Bonnet's, but Izzy's. Still, something makes him thing he can talk about it. Whatever the outcome. What is it about stupid fucking Stede Bonnet that makes him feel this way?

As he notices the tea, Izzy scoffs and he pulls out of his jacket a flask of rum. He drinks almost all of it, if he was to talk about this, he had to be drunk. ❝Blackbeard—❞ Blackbeard, not Ed. He can't be Ed when he speaks of this. Although, no matter how much Izzy wants to separate the two versions of that man, he knows that it's still Ed. He still sees Ed. He sees him when he is not even there. ❝�� he always had... anger issues.❞ But he never took them out on Izzy. Did he? It was never like that at least.

❝It got... out of control. I pushed him to it.❞ It's my fault.  ❛ This is what you wanted, isn't it, Israel?❜ he hears his voice again ❝He—❞ Izzy clenches his jaw, words caught in his throat. The other half of the contents of the flask gone.

Maybe there is a way to talk about it. Not to create a shark (a metaphor that wasn't too far from reality in the first place, the shark tattoo Ed had still prominent), but to create someone else that he never had never associated anything positive with, someone that he didn't fucking love. ❝There was someone else here. Before you came. Horningold. He came back.❞ It's not something that will be believable, not even for a second, given how the crew has already talked to Bonnet about what he did to them, at least. He thinks of creating another man that would take Izzy's place, but he doesn't feel like he deserves the chance to get out of this, not even in his fictional story.

❝Took Blackbeard's place. I... told him to come. I never thought he'd become... this, just the man that he had been... with me, before. But it was still on me, wasn't it? I should have kept my fuckin' mouth shut. I should have found a way to control that anger. But I couldn't... The only way to protect the crew was to... take the blame. Shift Hornigold's attention to me. It wasn't just the... maiming.❞ his eyes are filling with tears, he's breathing rapidly, but he can't stop now. He has to stop being a coward and at least finish his story. ❝It was... everything In between... I knew... I found out that if I didn't do exactly like he said, he'd...❞ he hovers his hand over his throat for a moment ❝react. Always. Sometimes creatively, sometimes just the usual... way. Always makin' sure I got the message. I still couldn't always manage the crew... and what he wanted. It was the first time I felt... scared of him. I'm a fuckin' pirate and 'was supposed to be the First Mate, yet I was just an incompetent twat.❞ For the first time he started talking, he looks at Stede, a bitter smile on his lips. ❝So maybe that's more on me than anyone else, isn't it? ❞  

[ddejavvu]

I would like to order the sorbet for Eddie Munson and I. With a side of friends to lovers and some hurt/ comfort if possible? (A little specific but something where the reader is rejected by a boy and she’s upset and Eddie’s there for her?) sorry if it’s too much! Do whatever you please if so!

you are formally invited to ddejavvu's 10K dinner party, now serving second entrées

--

As soon as he opens the door to his trailer, his eyes catch yours. He sees their red tint, notices how puffy they've become, and his heart drops. His eyes widen and he rushes towards you, tugging you into a much-needed hug.

"What did he- he say something?" Eddie babbles over your shoulder, focusing more on squeezing you tight than getting his words out right, "Left you with the bill?"

"No," You sniffle miserably, "No-show."

Eddie curses over your shoulder, "How could he ditch a pretty thing like you?"

"Don't," You whimper, eyes stinging with tears as you bury your face in his shoulder, "Please let me stay."

"'Course you can," Eddie breaks away but grabs your hand, leading you into his trailer, "Uh- Sorry, things are a bit messy tonight."

And he's right. You don't think you've ever seen this much booze in one place, but bottles are lined on his side table like he thinks he'll never drink again.

"God," You wipe your nose on the back of your hand, too distraught to care, "What happened here?"

"I was having a pity party," Eddie smiles sadly at you, though some of the dread in his chest at the idea of you dating someone else has dissipated now that you've come to him for comfort, "'Missed out on a sleepover with my best girl."

"Eddie," You groan, a small smile on your face, "You're so dramatic. We were gonna hang tomorrow anyways!"

"Not good enough!" He flops onto his bed with a dramatic huff, flinging the back of his hand over his forehead, "My fair maiden hath abandoned me, therefore I drown my sorrows in liquor of the finest variety."

"Yeah, real fine," You scoff at the gas station-bought beer on his nightstand, "Well scoot over so your fair maiden can sit down, Eds." You poke and prod at him so that he scooches to one side of the bed, and once he sits up your head comes to lay on his shoulder, a content sigh escaping your mouth. You glance at the stack of books on his side table "'Will you read to me?"

"Pass it here." He points towards the second Lord of the Rings book that's on the top of the stack, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, "I'll do the voices just for you, babe."

[warandpussy]

FIC: Transformative Work

by @mia-ugly and @pinehutch (art by me!)

“I heard you’re a writer,” Blackbeard says. There’s a sudden rustling sound as Blackbeard kicks something across the floor. Frenchie bends down to retrieve it, and sees that it’s a notebook. Wide and empty, like that one Lucius used to carry around with him. “Write us a better ending then.” Captain Blackbeard has heard about Frenchie’s ‘bit of fanfiction.’ He asks him to write a better ending for his and Stede’s story. Frenchie tries his best but soon other people want to tell the story the way it should have gone, including Fang, Lucius, Ivan, Jim, and ultimately Ed. In the act of surviving and telling stories together, relationships are considered, examined, and developed. Meanwhile, a ship trailing seagulls grows closer and closer on the horizon.

He has to be sure.  So that night, instead of going to sleep, he gets his cards out. Spreads them on the deck in the shadows where he won’t be spotted. He doesn’t read them all that much,  only when he’s been drinking or when someone’s having a bit of romantic trouble or when he’s got a decision to make or when he’s bored. He learned from his old governess, a witch but a nice one, and picked up a trick here and there in his travels.  King of Hearts comes up right away, so Captain Bonnet’s coming back to them, is he? About time. The whole ship seems a bit – um – out of sorts. In his absence. Some people more than others.

There’s no death to be found in the spread, only heartache, a rescue, a reunion. Riches! That’s nice. Just as Frenchie thought. Jim’ll be glad to hear it.

“Too Much That Time Cannot Erase” by Fang Frenchie for sure

I ran to Blackbeard’s cabin and knocked on his door. If you don’t know who Blackbeard is (AN: gtfo) he’s the captain of the Revenge, and he’s goth and a hottie. He’s got long hair that’s black and silver (like mine) and today he was wearing black eyeliner and black lipstick, also a black leather jacket and leather pants and black leather fingerless gloves that showed his purple nail polish. 

“What do you want you imbecile!” he shouted when he opened the door. I stared into his eyes and they revealed so much depressing sorrow and evilness. 

“Stede Bonet is back on the Revenge!” I shrieked.

“Hi all!” I heard Stede’s stupid voice behind me, and turned to see him climbing onto the ship. He had a beard now but that was the only good thing about him.

“Fuck off!” I said. “We don’t need your dumb prep energy on our ship!”

“Yeah!” Blackbeard agreed. “Thanks Siren. At least I have you.”

---------

hellooooo it is OFMD Big Bang time and I am here to tell you that you MUST read this fic, it is wonderful and I'm so happy to have worked on it!

it's set post-S1 and it's funny, and sad, and very very good. it's both a love letter to and a satire of fanfiction as a genre - you will laugh out loud at Lucius's erotica, I promise.

here's the link again - go go go!!!

[ro-is-struggling]

So excited for this!! I love the selection of songs you chose for prompts. May I request #34 with Matt Murdock?

Hi! thank you so much for requesting something I had so much fun writing this one! I don't know if light smut is what you had in mind but it was in mine so I hope you like it!

Give Me Love || Matt Murdock x Reader

Warnings: light/implied smut (there's some kissing and touching but nothing too heavy) so I'll ask minors to not interact with this, also this is the first time I write something like this, so I apologize if it is terrible.

Word count: 1400+

Summary: You and Matt have a complicated relationship. You swore you would never see him again. But you were weak and one night, fueled by alcohol, you decided to call him.

Based on the prompt 34 from this prompt list: “Maybe tonight I’ll call ya // After my blood turns into alcohol” (Give Me Love by Ed Sheeran)

English is not my first language

You were in a bad mood. The bar you had attended with a couple of your friends was crowded and the music playing over the speakers - in addition to not being to your liking - was too loud. Sitting at your table, you watched your friends enjoying themselves on the dance floor while you fiddled with one of the empty shot glasses, questioning what you were doing there. 

You had accepted your friends' proposal because you thought it would help clear your mind. You got dressed up and left your apartment hoping to drown your sorrows in alcohol until you forgot all your problems for at least one night, dancing with your friends until your feet hurt. However, after having a couple of drinks your situation just got worse. Your mind seemed to only want to focus on one thing: Matt Murdock, the cause of all your sadness and happiness. 

You had a complicated relationship. You wanted him and he wanted you, but for some reason you couldn't be together. It was a constant back and forth between you. One day you were together and it was beautiful, his soft lips on yours, his hands running over every inch of your skin awakening fire inside you. But the next day when the magical moment was over you would quietly gather your things and go back to your apartment wishing things were different. You wanted more. He wanted more. But whenever you talked about it you ended up fighting. Matt wanted to protect you from the dangerous double life he had and refused to listen to you when you told him you didn't need him to look after you. 

Being around him was draining, but you couldn't walk away no matter how much it hurt. You were tired of fighting, of suffering because of how you felt about him, but you loved to make up. Matt was your drug. You had become addicted to feeling the warmth of his body next to yours, to the electricity that ran down your spine with every caress he gave you, to the fire his kisses awakened. No matter how much it hurt, you would always end up coming back to him. 

You drank the last of your drink in one gulp, wincing as you felt the alcohol burning your throat. You set the glass down on the table with a thud before grabbing your jacket and heading for the exit. You sighed in relief as the cool evening breeze hit your face, happy to breathe air that didn't smell like the bodily fluids of a crowd of strangers. Leaning against the wall of the bar, you unlocked your cell phone and searched through your contacts for the name of the man who occupied your thoughts at all hours. You pressed the call button without a second thought, the little alcohol in your system being enough to push you to act on your desires without fear. The beep sounded three times and then you heard his voice on the other end of the line.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Matt asked in a raspy voice. He sounded worried and it was only then that you realized what time it was. 

"Everything is fine" you assured him to calm him down, imagining how beautiful he would look at that moment, sitting on the bed you had shared so many times, with his hair messy from sleep. "I just… I want to see you."

There was silence for a moment. You thought Matt was going to hang up and you honestly wouldn't blame him if he did. Things hadn't ended too well at your last meeting. But then you heard him let out a sigh. "Are you drunk?" he asked you, noticing you were slurring your words a bit.

"Just a little" you said, biting your lip to contain the giggle that wanted to escape from your throat. 

"Go home, Y/N."

"But I don't wanna go home, I wanna see you."

"I thought we were done for sure this time" he mentioned, recalling the last conversation you had had. "What happened to never seeing each other again?"

You could hear the smugness in his voice. You were sure he was smiling on the other end of the line and for a moment you regretted dialing his number. The bastard knew you would eventually give in. He had told you so that very same day you swore to him that you would never see him again. You had laughed in his face, calling him arrogant, but in the end he was right. You could never stay away from him.

"I changed my mind" you muttered to him, swallowing what little pride you had left. "Can I come over?"

With a sigh, Matt agreed. Maybe you were screwed, but he was no better than you. He was as addicted to the feeling of euphoria that coursed through his body when you were together as you were. He needed you like he needed air to breathe, but he wasn't willing to accept it. He preferred to drown in the emptiness of loneliness if it meant you would be safe. Although he often ended up giving in to his selfish desires. He was just a man after all.

You didn't waste any time, as soon as you hung up the call you typed a quick message in the group chat you shared with your friends to let them know you were leaving and got into the first cab you found. Even though Matt's apartment wasn't that far from the bar you were in, the drive felt like forever. Your heart was beating fast and the tingling of anticipation replaced the effects of the alcohol in your system.

When you reached your destination you practically ran up the stairs, and when you found yourself in front of his apartment door you didn't even have to knock for Matt to greet you. The wood suddenly swung open, revealing the figure of the man you had missed so much these past few days. You admired him silently for a moment, your eyes traveling from his messy hair to the pair of gray sweatpants that hung loosely on his hips. 

You lost what little control you had left, throwing yourself at him and capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. Matt grabbed you by the waist, pulling you tight against his body as you buried your hands in his hair, reveling in his closeness.You lost yourself in his embrace, intoxicated by his presence. The smell of his cologne filled your lungs as his soft lips moved against yours with such passion you couldn't help but moan at his assault. He bit your lower lip, knowing the effect it had on you, and your mind was clouded with desire.

You closed the door with a loud kick and pushed Matt through the hallway, your lips touching at every moment. You only separated for a brief second to take off his shirt, your fingers tugging at the fabric until his muscled chest was revealed. And then your lips were on his again, kissing and biting desperately. Matt's hands travel under your shirt, his fingers igniting fire deep inside you with their touch. Pure electricity ran through your body as you clumsily made your way to the living room, forgetting your purse and jacket somewhere in the floor of the entryway. 

You pushed Matt onto the couch, admiring the way the street lights coming through the windows framed his figure. You stood in between his legs, feeling a rush of confidence course through your body at the slight in front of you. The devil of Hell's Kitchen, completely at your mercy. He was just as desperate as you, you could see it in his expression, in his heavy breathing and in the prominent bulge in his pants. You smirked, taking your shirt off slowly, making him wait before you finally lowered on his lap. Matt groaned when you pressed yourself on him and you felt him twitch under you. You bit your lip to avoid letting out a moan, repeating the movement a couple more times at a torturously slow pace. You enjoyed teasing him,it was your way of getting back at him for all the shit he put you through. It was you way of showing him that he was just as fucked as you were. 

"This is the last time we'll do this, this time for sure" you whispered against his lips, knowing full well that it was a lie.

[eddieslittlefreak]

satellite - steddie ff.

summary: there is eddie munson who is hiding in an old, creacking flored attic because he had been accused with murder. and there is steve harrington who goes to see him every day because he knows the truth about him.

note: it’s kind of a breakdown/comfort fic, shorter than my other works. my next fic is gonna be a breakdown fic for sure, but don’t worry, i’m writing some fluff with smut too sooooo :D

The whole house was old and filled with dust. No one lived there for a long time now, that’s why it was a perfect hiding spot. It was in the woods, covered from the world’s corious eyes. Rust was painting the sides on the outside, and the paint was a bit faded on the inside. Nothing special, to be honest. It had a big attic that had some spider webs and old stuff in it, but it was also a good hiding spot for a specific someone.

As soon as Steve’s shift in the family video store finished, he got into his car and started driving. He stopped by a shop and bought some snacks and drinks. He passed his house, and went straight onto that old road which led into the woods at some point. He needed to drive slowly there, because sticks and stones were everywhere on the ground. This was his daily routine now. Every day when he finished his shift, he went to the nearest shop then into the woods. Because after he got back from the upside down, his heart got stuck in the woods with that someone who had been rejected by society.  He stopped his car and got out. He grabbed the stuff he brought then went into the house. It was silent everywhere, like he would have entered a completely different world. It was getting a bit late, but he didn’t mind it. Tomorrow was Saturday, no work. He could sleep here. A ladder led to the attic. Steve got up on it and he already saw the little light bulb was on, so he knew that he waited. 

Eddie waited for him like he did every night.

“Hi.” the curly haired boy smiled. His hair was in a bun, because of the hot weather, especially in this attic. His headphones were on the bed, some metal music could be heard out from them.

“Hi, Eds. I bought you some stuff.” Steve smiled as he closed the attic door. The floor was creaking under his steps as he got closer to Eddie. They didn’t waste a second, they got wrapped up in each other’s arms. 

“I missed you.” Eddie sighed. It was a great solution to be there in the woods, away from everyone, but it was lonely as hell as well. It would have been lonely anywhere without Steve. 

“It’s alright, I’m here now.” Steve whispered, desperate to comfort Eddie. He couldn’t even imagine what was it like to be in a situation like this. “How was your day? Did anything insteresting?” Steve asked as he took out things of the bag.

“Well, I re-organized my tapes and the posters you brought the other day to me.” Eddie said, bouncing on the bed as he sat down. “Yeah, pretty much that’s it.”

“Great.” Steve passed a bar of hazelnut chocolate to Eddie then sat down next to him. Eddie was sitting there is silence now, not even opening the snack, just playing with the folding. Steve was biting his lips, studying Eddie’s painfully beautiful face which has been distorted by the shades of sadness and sorrow. And owl was being heard in the distance and the light was softly buzzing as a fly was circling around it. Steve stopped the tape, cutting the song to an end then placed his hand on Eddie’s thigh.”I’m here, Eddie.”

“I know.” he nodded, but Steve snorted.

“I mean I’m here. You don’t have to keep everything to yourself.” Eddie nodded again then hid his face into Steve’s chest, just looking for a safe place in this cold world that hated him. 

“This is the shittiest situation I have ever been in, and believe me when I say I have been through on quite a lot.” he murmured against the material of Steve’s shirt.

“But it brought us together, isn’t it? That’s a nice thing.” Steve said and he dared to kiss the top of Eddie’s head, because since Eddie Munson appeared in his life, Steve had a soft spot. A soft spot for a messy, curly haired metalhead. And it was something special about it.

[nightingaelic]

Companions react to a Courier with the Eye for Eye perk just walking around with half their limbs broken because the pain is literally making them stronger.

TW: Blood, gore

The courier was nowhere to be found when their companion awoke beneath the soft firelight of the Dead Horses' torches and the bright eyes of the man who led them.

"I believe they've left us for the evening," the Burned Man said in his usual aloof tone, even as he reclined behind his workbench in Angel Cave. "I've never walked the path of a courier, but I imagine it transfers a certain restlessness to an individual. Staying in one place loses some of its charm. Your particular courier, however, lets that instinct drive them to the point of being foolhardy."

As if to prove Joshua Graham's speculation correct, the courier staggered into the cave, their clothes torn and bloodied. Despite sporting an obvious limp, an arm curled protectively against their chest and deep claw marks all over their face, they were shouldering a yao guai's severed head alongside their full traveling pack and wearing a wild smile.

Arcade Gannon: "God dammit." Arcade disentangled himself from his bed roll and rushed to the courier's side, ignoring Graham's obvious disapproval at his taking the Lord's name in vain. "I told you not to run off into the canyon without packing extra stimpaks. Here, let me-"

The courier stopped his fumbling hands with both of theirs. Arcade looked down in shock at the broken arm that was firmly grasping his fingers, then up into their frenzied eyes. "Six, you need-"

"I don't." The courier spat some blood out onto the dirt floor of the cave. "I don't. The Sorrows... White Bird..."

Arcade mentally cursed the tribe up the river, then just as quickly withdrew the malevolent thoughts. It wasn't their fault the courier went looking for injuries. "Datura root? Okay, sit down, over there. Take a load off."

The courier limped over to the chair Joshua Graham was offering. They sank into it with a sigh and let the yao guai head fall to the floor, where it began to bleed onto their boots. "Thanks," they said. "I should-"

Arcade stuck them in the arm with the stimpak he kept concealed for these occasions, and they screeched, loud enough to cause even the Malpais Legate to jump. "Fucking hell, Arcade! Not again!"

Craig Boone: Boone jumped to his feet. "I can't be your spotter if you keep leaving me behind, Six. Tell me you haven't been using that junk again."

In answer, the courier pulled an empty Sunset Sarsaparilla bottle rigged with a hose and tin foil from inside their pack and tossed it aside. "Last dose, I swear. Not that it helped much in close quarters."

They lifted the yao guai head high over their own, striking a victorious pose. "Shouldn't bother the Dead Horses or the Sorrows again, unless there really is a ghost out there."

Boone and Graham stared at the courier, particularly at their bent arm. "You require medical attention," Graham pointed out. "Shall I fetch the shaman?"

"No thank you." The courier made a face and heaved the animal's head across the room. It flew through the air in a nice arc, bounced twice, then rolled to a stop at the Burned Man's feet.

"Six..." Boone said testily.

The courier groaned, familiar with the serious tone. "Fine. But I've had worse scrapes, and you know it."

Lily Bowen: "Pumpkin!" Lily shrieked and rushed to the courier's side. Her hands flew up and around them, but every time she attempted to touch them she recoiled out of fear of causing pain. "Pumpkin, you need to see a doctor."

"We've been over this, Lily," the courier replied, attempting to skirt around the nightkin that blocked their way. "It hurts, but I work through it, and I always come out on top of whatever caused it."

"Sweetness, you're bleeding." Lily finally located a portion of the courier that wasn't in danger of extra bruising and took hold of them, sweeping them up into a gentle fireman's carry. "We'll go visit that nice Waking Cloud lady and get you fixed up."

"Lily, put me down!" The courier squirmed atop the super mutant. To the surprise of everyone involved, they managed to unbalance her enough to send both of them tumbling to the cave floor.

Joshua Graham looked down at the courier, who was wrestling for control of their leg in order to escape Lily's grasp. "God protect you," he said, but it wasn't clear who he was speaking to.

Raul Alfonso Tejada: "Mij@." Raul approached the courier carefully, trying to locate all of their new bumps and scrapes. He was more than familiar with their latest attempts to prove their own strength, but it pained him to see them like this. Still, he knew better than to try to force medicine into them, now. "Estoy aquí para ti. Can I help?"

They tensed for a moment, as he'd expected, but a few more soothing words sent their shoulders back down. "Sí. I'm... I'm tired."

Ignoring the Burned Man's protests, Raul claimed the room's chair and carried it over to them. They eased into it, wincing slightly but still clinging to their belongings. Raul convinced them to hand their weapons, pack and bear head over one by one, all the while assuring them that he meant no harm, no offense, no judgment.

"You can't keep doing this, Six," he said, when they finally let him inspect their broken arm. He could see the bone under the skin, out of place in an obvious way that would've had him laid up in bed for weeks.

"I can handle-"

"I know you can." Raul fixed them in his gaze. "I can't."

They smiled sadly. "Lo siento. I'll try to be more careful."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass rolled her eyes. "Figures. Waited until I was asleep, then you ran off to have all the fun on your lonesome. Let's get you cleaned up, Six."

She lunged for the courier, but despite their precarious state they managed to dodge her. "Uh-uh. I'm invincible. You're gonna ruin it."

"Invincible?" Cass dashed to block their escape. "Sure, you can probably still kick my ass, but you sure as hell can't outrun me."

"Might the pair of you take this little game outside," Graham grumbled from his seat.

"Shut it, Burnt Man," Cass shot back.

The courier couldn't help but giggle at that. "Burned. Burned Man."

"Oh, you're gonna give me grammar lessons?" Cass lunged again and managed to seize a handful of the courier's tattered coat. "Give them to me up close. I dare you."

In response, the courier grabbed Cass' arm with their broken one and easily flung her around them in a circle, until she went somersaulting away onto the ground. "There's lesson one."

Cass sat up and jammed her hat back on her head. "Fine. Damn."

Veronica Santangelo: "How are you walking?!?" Veronica stared, open-mouthed, at the bloody figure in the cave entrance.

The courier shrugged, then winced at their own movement. "Does it matter? I'm alive."

"Yeah, but life won't be much of a comfort if you don't get some of those fractures set right." Veronica rose from her bed roll and approached them carefully. Her eyes flickered from wound to wound, and she tutted as she drew back the loose pieces of fabric that the yao guai had ripped to shreds. "Get over here and make yourself useful, Graham. Six, you probably shouldn't be awake when I start putting you back together."

They withdrew their limp arm from her grasp firmly. "Leave it be. It gave me the energy I needed to finish the thing off."

"Adrenaline will do that," Veronica agreed. "But its shelf life is short. Pretty soon you're going to be wishing that bear took your head off. Graham, I meant what I said, go find me some boiled water and bandages or I'll personally deliver your location to Caesar myself."

"Caesar is well aware of my current whereabouts," Graham replied evenly. "You would do well to listen to the Scribe, courier."

"Both of you?" The courier deflated. "Fine. Just get me a drink before you start moving bones around."

ED-E: The eyebot beeped in an alarmed manner as the courier swayed on their feet. It swiveled its dome between the injured friend and the bandaged man, who caught the movement and shook his head. "While you were updating your programming, your master was testing the limits of their own abilities, robot. It is not my place to interfere."

ED-E made a flat blaaaaat sound at him that sounded scornful, and floated over to the courier's side. The courier laughed. "Don't worry about me, little guy. It takes more than one yao guai to ruin my day."

Rex: The scent of the yao guai's and the courier's blood filled Rex's nostrils, and he rose from his sleeping hollow with a whine, unsure. When the courier beckoned him, he trotted over and began licking their visible wounds, sparing a growl here and there for the yao guai head that hung on their back.

Graham regarded the cyberdog with something akin to affection. "He senses your pain, courier. You would do well to set him at ease."

"He's seen me closer to death than this," they replied, scratching the dog behind the ears with their good arm. "And if the White Legs hear about the courier who walks through broken bones, maybe they'll think twice about attacking the people I'm friends with."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

This may be oddly specific but what the heck, how about a scenario with a g/n reader where they’re a fashion designer, and they’re talking with the Adeuce duo in Mostro lounge about modelling their latest designs for a magicam photoshoot, but Adeuce are too busy and can’t help, so they’re trying to figure out who can substitute on short notice, all while a certain pair of twins can’t help but overhear their conversation (delete if this is too much)

I fastforwarded past the “reader talking to Adeuce about their designs” part so I could get to the more interesting bits~

I wanted to actually write the part where the twins modelled, but I hit my 1k word limit just doing the build up to it. If you’re interested in seeing the twins model, please consider submitting a follow-up request when I’m taking new ones!

Model Jade though--

[Image used is credited to KawaiiR.]

Imagine this...

Not enough. The hit of sugar from the fruit juice you downed wasn’t enough to settle your stress. As soon as your glass was drained of liquid, you slammed it down upon the counter, head snapping to the bartender.

“Another round,” you grunted, motioning for him to make it quick as you slid your empty container over.

Jade received your cup with a sigh and passed it off to his twin, who had taken advantage of slow business to invade the counter space. Floyd was collecting glasses and stacking them into a neat pyramid. His heterochromatic eyes peered out at odd bends through the curved cups, shining with glee as he used his newly acquired cup to crown off the formation.

Jade’s gaze returned to you, paired with a fake sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid I will have to ‘cut you off’. Drowning your sorrows with drink is not a healthy means of coping.”

If they keep this pace up, we won’t have anything left for the lunch rush. And how bothersome it would be if he had to take precious time out of his break to restock on their beverages.

“Who cares, as long as I pay for it,” you muttered, slamming a hand on the counter. “Another round, Jade.”

“You are already incurring a hefty tab.” He shook his head--a polite refusal.

“Good,” you grumbled sarcastically. “That means Octavinelle gets another indentured servant when I can’t cough up the cash.”

Jade chuckled, bringing a hand to his chest and not making any effort to deny your grim prediction. “Rather than drag yourself further into the depths of debt... May I ask what it is that troubles you, dear customer? Perhaps we may be able to hear you out and assist with your woes.”

“I’m not sure if you can,” you retorted, fingers rubbing at your temples. “I’ve just lost my two models, and I don’t know where I’m going to find replacements on such short notice.”

“You mean Kani-chan and Saba-chan?” Floyd asked, propping his face up with curled fingers. His cheeks squished against his touch, granting him a more innocent look than usual. “They were with you earlier and left all in a hurry.”

“Yeah. Deuce had a Track and Field Club meet he forgot about, and Ace got detention with Crewel for failing the last quiz,” you groaned, “which leaves me without models for my new collection.”

“Collection?” Floyd’s face suddenly lit up with interest. “Like a fashion collection?”

“Yup, that’s right.” You fished your phone out of your pocket and unlocked it, pulling up your Magicam account. The students of NRC may have boasted magical pens, but you wove your own magic with needle and cloth. “I share the outfits I design and make.”

You tilted your mobile device to show your page. Each image cropped nicely, expertly shot and edited to perfection--very aesthetic. Floyd “ooh”ed and “aah”ed at the designs parading across the screen, but Jade’s eyes immediately honed in on your follower count.

It wasn’t celebrity status like Vil’s cool 5 million count. It wasn’t even decent-sized influencer status like Cater’six digits. But it was at least a few thousand, and numbers like that had reasonable sway.

“I could take pictures of mannequins with my clothes, but it just doesn’t feel the same as when real, breathing people are wearing them,” you explained. “It’s hard to find the right types for this sort of thing...”

The twins hovered over your phone, nearly cheek to cheek and shoulder to shoulder, as they absorbed your Magicam gallery. Spitting images, reflections with slight differences--the shape and colors of their eyes, the black tufts of hair that swung like pendulums, framing their handsome faces. Features delicate, yet sharp.

Your voice trailed off as realizations lowly set in. The longer you stared at the twins, the more pieces seemed to fall in place of the puzzle. “Tall, broad shouldered, and the facial symmetry...” You brought a hand to your chin, brows creasing in concentration.

That’s it.

“You’re exactly what I’m looking for!!” you blurted out, abruptly standing and seizing each of their hands. “Please, be my models!”

“Mmm? Sounds fun!” Floyd threw his head back and laughed, eager to be amused by something new. He turned to his brother. “Ne, ne, Jade~ Can we?”

“Hmm.” Jade cast a cursory glance around the Mostro Lounge. Not a soul in sight. Then he returned to your Magicam page, and its tempting follower count. “Well, the Mostro Lounge has been looking to increase its social media presence. What better way to achieve that than by cross promoting with a fellow content creator? And what’s more...”

He snickered into his hand. “I could not possibly allow Floyd, nor myself, to continue to wallow in boredom.”

“Then...!!” You clutched their hands tighter, hope filling your heart.

“We will lend you our aid for this endeavor.”

“Yes...!! Thank you, thank you so much!!” You clapped in excitement, your legs caught up in a little jig. “Oh, I’ll need to take your measurements, then tailor Ace and Deuce’s original outfits to your sizes. We also need to find a suitable spot for the photo shoot--a place with natural lighting would be best--and, and, and...”

“There will be plenty of time to sort those details out,” Jade calmly reassured you. “Ah, but first... there remains the matter of your drink tab.”

“... Oh.”

“Furthermore, since you are contracting us... You will need to draw up a formal agreement with Azul, and agree to his terms and conditions by signing off on the dotted line,” Jade continued, his tone even and pleasant.

You swallowed hard. A deal with Octavinelle? It may as well have been signing your soul away.

“You got it, riiight?” Floyd inquired in a lazy drawl. “Cuz you’re a fashion designer and all. You must’ve worked with contracts before.”

“You understand, yes?” Jade pressed, chiming in with his twin.

“E-Er, now wait a sec...”

“It’s just business,” the twins recited in unison--their smiles dangerously devilish.

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

Trust Me -- Part 2

02/06/2021: Wow, uh, wow. This one got me. Almost started crying at the cheesy ending. I will cringe at it in precisely two months from now. Thank you guys SO much for all the positive feedback of PART 1, it really helped me finish this part. Without you guys, this would have been still sitting in my drafts. There's lowkey a bit of pressure in this actually being GOOD, so I'm sitting here with a bit of Imposter SyndromeTM and crossing everything I can cross that you guys like it. I can't tell whether I went overboard or not, though... I guess that's for you guys to tell me lmao.

Also, these commas can be pried from my very cold, extremely dead, fingers.

As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! For the first time in almost ever, I'm a bit very nervous to post this -- I hope you enjoy it!!

Tagging: @marshmallow--3 // @yourlocalfrenchie // @rahdaleigh // @sofiewithat /// @iceboundstar // @mythandmagik // @itseivwhore // @pink-polarfox // @missbenzayb // @ct-5445 // @timbreavery // @dacian-assassin // @thepalaceofmelanie // @asilverraven // @huntheimpossible // @eclectic--assassin // @thehistorynut19 // @ta-ka-shi-ma // @roki3chocoa // @fandomsfanman // @le-nottibianche // @bandit-brunsmeier // @starmoji1 // @spocktheestallion // @salty-thembo // @missingfrye // @xdeimos // If you want to be tagged, let me know!!

Warnings: Lots of swearing, a bit of graphic violence, implicit mention of sexual assault (I hope it's not a spoiler to say that this does not actually happen, but the idea is used as manipulation. It's not done well, but I'm blaming that on the character being a horrible liar, instead of me sucking at write arseholes), implied character death.

Pairing: Edward Kenway x F!Reader

Assassin's Creed Mobile Masterlist

Red Dead Redemption 2 Mobile Masterlist

The neighbouring ship was chaotic. The opponents were drunk on victory, so slipping through unnoticed was easy. The hard part was going to be staying undercover until you could free Edward and the rest of the crew without anyone falling casualty. “Strip them of their weapons and take them to the brig!” You heard the Quartermaster yell. Thinking quickly, you moved to Edward; if you knew where his weapons were, escaping could be much easier. People were already pulling out his pistols and cutlasses, fortunately dumping them in your arms. Looking around, you pulled away to hide them in an inconspicuous barrel for later.

You weren’t planning on staying long.

Quickly rejoining the group, you took hold of one of your crew members -- you recognised him as one named Jonah -- at the back of the crowd, keeping your face covered lest they accidentally reveal your identity. You kept your eye on Edward’s tense shoulders the entire time, heading below deck and to the rows of cells at the end of the ship.

As you gently pushed Jonah into the cell, someone slammed the door shut, chucking the ring of keys your way. “Lock ‘em up.” Swallowing, you nodded, feeling uncomfortable under their gaze while turning the key in the lock. Taking them out of your hands, a mop and bucket was shoved in its place. “You’re on cleaning duty, starting upstairs; let’s go.” With one last glance, your eyes scoured for Edward before they all disappeared from view.

----------

Edward

There was this crushing anxiety he just couldn’t shake. It rendered him almost motionless, crouched in the corner of the cell, picking at his sleeves. There was a commotion heading towards them; he was in for company he was not in the mood for.

Heavy footsteps gave away the visitor. “We searched your boat.” His crew parted to clear a view as Charles Marlowe relaxed against the cell bars. “We found your woman.”

Edward’s eyes snapped to Marlowe’s as he clenched his jaw, almost daring him to say more.

With a chuckle and a disgusting grin, he brought out a small knife to clean. “Don’t you want to know where she is?”

“I expect you’d would tell me regardless.”

“I would advise against winding me up, Kenway. I could always take my anger out on her instead.”

It took a second for Edward’s arms to fly through the bars, constricting around Marlowe’s throat. “What have you done with her?”

Although cold metal pressed against his jaw, he didn’t ease up.

“She’s waiting for me very nicely... in my cabin.”

Edward didn’t have to think very hard to infer his meaning.

“I’ll kill you if you touch her. I’ll kill you.” Growling, he held impossibly tighter, for if he was here, he wasn’t there.

“With your actions come consequences, Kenway. And you might not be the one paying for them.”

A dilemma came to mind: delay him to keep him away from you, or risk the consequences of his revenge?

Somewhat luckily, he didn’t need to choose.

Before Edward could comprehend that he loosened his grip, Marlowe slipped out of his grasp. The distraught Captain pressed himself against the bars, anger drenching his expression as he heaved out breaths. His captor laughed. “You’re very good at empty threats, Kenway.”

“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.” His cold tone streaked through the crew, setting hairs on end. They had never heard their Captain like this before; so angry, so dangerous.

It terrified them.

“That remains to be seen. In the meantime…” With a mocking whistling tune, Marlowe spun on his heels and began to walk away.

“Come back here, bilge rat!” He pulled harshly against the cell door. “Don’t you dare touch her!”

“Then you better stay in line.”

As he disappeared from view, Edward’s emotions overwhelmed him, frustrated tears coming to his eyes. He turned to a solid wall, slamming the side of his fist against it and yelled.

Fear, anger, guilt, and grief echoed around the brig.

Collapsing against the wood, he hid his face in his hands, aiming to either calm himself or hide his inevitable breakdown.

----------

Y/N

“Finish up downstairs.” Nodding affirmatively, you picked up the mop bucket and eagerly headed beneath deck, having to consciously slow down to avoid suspicion. You were glad you were disguised in the uniform of Marlowe’s crew instead of the rags of the common sailors aboard; it would’ve made the job much harder than it had to be.

Keeping a level head, you walked past the cell holding your family and placed the mop bucket against the wall, scanning the deck.

Empty.

Sighing in relief, you realised that you were alone with your crew at last. As you pulled the covering off of your face, you shushed frantically, the cell almost erupting into cheers. You gestured for them to part, eyeing Edward, almost balled up in the corner of the cell. “Hey, Ed,” you whispered, watching as his head snapped up to you, eyes widening.

Scrambling up, he strode to the bars in a second, reaching through the gaps to hold you. “Thank Christ…” he exhaled in relief, bringing your forehead to his lips between the bars. You pulled away after a few moments, sharing relieved glances. “Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?” he asked, eyes scanning you for any sign of injuries.

“No, no, I’m okay. Are you alright? Did we lose anyone?”

“I’m... fine; I haven’t done a head count yet.”

You didn’t reply, watching as Jonah came up to tap Edward on the shoulder. “Capt’n?”

He turned around, withdrawing his hands as Ryan came into view. “I can’t find my da’.” His voice was barely stable, cheeks stained with tear tracks. For a second, you both exchanged sorrowful glances.

Edward crouched down, ruffling his hair. “He’ll be around, lad. We just have to find him. Maybe he’s escaped and is planning his own rescue mission for us.”

Ryan nodded, wanting to believe him. Meanwhile, Edward stood and brought Jonah close, leaning to whisper in his ear. He withdrew, a willing but uncertain look on his face. Both retreated back into the small crowd.

“What did you tell him?” you asked.

“...That he has to look after Ryan now.”

You squeezed your eyes shut to stave off tears. “Shit.”

His fingers gently grazed your cheek. “Are you sure you’re alright? Does Marlowe know you’re here?”

Frowning, you shook your head. “I wouldn’t have thought so; if he did, I’d be stuck in there with you.”

His expression was nearly unreadable, but you could sense his anxiety. “I saw him come from here a few moments ago. What was he saying?”

“He…” Pausing for a moment, Edward swallowed. “Just Templar bullshit.”

You scoffed at the notion. “Of course he did. Look, I know how to get out of this.”

“I’ll take anything at this point.” Although his tone was sarcastic, you could tell that for the first time, he didn’t know what to do.

“He needs to die.”

Edward froze, brows narrowing, realising your intention. “No, Y/N, no.”

“‘No’ was an option in Nassau, but we don’t have that choice--”

“No, there must be another way -- “

“There is no other way! This is our only chance--”

“Are you hearing me?! He--”

“Do you understand the situation we’re in?!”

“No, Y/N, please--”

“All it takes is--”

“Just LISTEN to me!” He hissed through gritted teeth, grasping your arm to give it a sharp shake to stop you talking over him. The shock threw you into silence. Lowering his voice, he continued. “If you make so much as one mistake, he won’t just kill you; he’ll make you wish you were dead. Please, please, don’t do this.”

You were stunned. You’ve never seen him so adamant about staying your blade. The desperation in his tone threw you off; you’ve never heard him this serious -- this frantic -- before.

Edward grabbed one of your hands in both of his, bringing your knuckles to rest against his lips. “I love you… with everything I have; I can’t lose you. Not if I can help it,” he murmured, closing his eyes. Your heart broke as you watched a tear escape, trailing down his skin.

“Okay, okay.” You rarely saw Edward cry, and when you did, it was usually due to either drinking or laughing. He took a small, shuddering breath, trying to compose himself.

“We wait for Adé. Then we’ll think about Marlowe.”

“Alright, okay. Hey...” you caressed his jaw. “I’m okay. We’ll be okay. Trust me.”

You heard ruckus above the deck. “Someone’s coming.” Both of you broke away like shrapnel, Edward sitting himself on the floor while you mopped, facing the wall.

And that was how things were.

----------

A couple of weeks had passed since the crew was abducted from the Jackdaw. Everyone had been forced to labour on the deck, doing various jobs, from scrubbing floors to adjusting sails to everything in between. Adé was nowhere to be seen; whether he was hidden on deck and still strategising, or God forbid, something worse, you didn’t know.

A few didn’t make it.

Keeping your identity hidden was becoming increasingly difficult as time went on, of both being a woman and lover of the imprisoned Captain. You had, however, been able to gather intel of Marlowe from the crew that despised him. Each day further validated your belief that this man would be much better off dead; the crew have no loyalty except out of fear, and you could work with that.

You understood Edward’s fear, but it would be selfish of you to stand back and not do anything, watching as almost everyone on the ship suffered; if you did nothing, you would regret it for the rest of your days.

One particular morning was extremely hot, extremely dry, and extremely labour intensive. You were almost halfway through your journey, and you knew you were running out of time. Something had to happen, and soon, or you would never make it to the end of the year.

----------

Edward

After the first week, the crew joined the common sailors around the ship, performing average labour over hours. There was barely time to rest, eat, or drink; he could tell that this was wearing him down more than any form of torture.

The sun’s rays beat down on the nape of his neck as midday approached. Orders were to scrub the floor. He had a brush in his hand the size of a polishing brush, sharing a bucket with four other members of his crew. Each time he made eye contact with one of them, he’d give them a reassuring look; they’d all get out of this, he just needed a plan.

Doors were haphazardly flung open, Marlowe revealing himself from his cabin, followed by an entourage of his closest crew. They clumsily made their way across the ship, bumping into those scrubbing the deck, only to send them a look as if it was their fault in the first place.

One of them knocked over a bucket of water, spilling the liquid across the wood. Edward looked up to observe the situation. It belonged to his crew, including Jonah and Ryan. Marlowe stopped, his stare set on the ones kneeling, completely ignoring the real culprit. “You.” He crooked his finger towards Ryan. “Get up.”

With a petrified look on his face, Ryan stumbled to his feet, shaking like a leaf. “It wasn’t--”

Marlowe put his hand up, a warning to shut up. “It was your bucket, was it not?”

“Y-Yes, but--”

“So it was your responsibility, correct?”

“W-Well--”

“It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question, boy.”

“... Yes, sir.”

Marlowe turned to call to his second in command. “Get the cat.”

Edward’s heart stopped. By now, the ship had dropped to complete silence. They wouldn’t… he was only a boy. Marlowe was sadistic, but he wouldn’t be that evil, would he?

Before he could stop himself, Edward found himself standing protectively in front of Ryan. The child gripped onto his sleeve as he was pushed behind his Captain by the arm. “Why don’t you give a punishment to someone who deserves it?”

Marlowe held a neutral expression. “You’re right…” With a wave of his hand, arms snaked themselves around Edward’s, pulling him away from the others, restraining his movements.

Edward’s eyes flitted to Ryan for a split second; he was pulled to sit beside Jonah before he gained any more unwanted attention. Marlowe came to stand in front of him, unpinning his cape from around his shoulders. It fell into someone’s arms, who carried it away. Although his limbs were pulled harshly behind him, he held his head high, a hard expression in his eyes.

Undoing his cuffs, Marlowe smirked. “I believe you deserve twenty, in place of that boy…” Without warning, a fist came into contact with Edward’s sternum. If it weren’t for the arms holding him upright, the force would have sent his knees buckling. As he regained his breath, he glared at Marlowe. “Another twenty is in order for disobedience…” Another strike winded him again, this one seemingly worse than before. Keeled over, hair blocking his vision, he almost didn’t notice Marlowe leaning into his ear. “Then, about as many as I deem fit…”

Standing up straight, he shook out his hand. “Get him ready.”

Edward stumbled as he was half-dragged across the deck to the main mast. His chest and face collided with the post, the wood almost burning his skin. His arms were pulled taut above his head, rope quickly entwining itself around his wrists. He gave them an experimental tug, his heart skipping a beat when he found not even an inch of give.

Oh, fuck.

Hands gripped the back of his shirt, swiftly tearing it open. His muscles tensed as the sunlight hit his skin. Closing his eyes, he steeled himself with a breath.

The first strike licked his skin, the force shoving him against the post, ripping open stripes of flesh. Pain shot across his back. Biting a back a groan, Edward clenched his jaw. Sweat trailed down his temples, arms straining against the ropes.

Resting his forehead against the post, he prepared for the next lash.

But the strike never came.

----------

Y/N

Ooh, boy.

You were shocked at yourself for a moment, your hand firmly wrapped around Marlowe’s extended wrist, the cat of nine tails trickling Edward’s blood onto the back of your hand.

“I demand satisfaction.”

Gasps and muttering littered the crowd, and you kept to yourself the true realisation of what you’ve done.

You’ve challenged Marlowe to a duel.

“Don’t…” Edward looked over his shoulder, voice loud enough for only you to hear.

You spared him a side glance, urging him to quiet down.

Instead of the expected anger, Marlowe chuckled. “Alright; who demands it?”

You pulled off your face covering and hat, the sun hitting the skin on your face fully for the first time in two weeks. “Naturally, me.”

He hummed darkly, eyes narrowing with recognition. “Naturally.” He began to unsheathe his sword.

“I thought you were a man of tradition; are pistols not your forte?” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

After a prolonged glance, metal clicked back into its leather hold. “You really don’t know what you’re getting into, my dear.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“... Let’s get this over with.”

Your heart pounded. This was such a stupid move.

But it was also your only move.

Hiding your own fear, you held eye contact with Marlowe. With trembling fingers, you drew your own pistol, gifted to you by Edward from your last birthday. It was very much your lucky charm, and you hoped it wouldn’t fail you now.

“Ten paces, on my count.” You had no idea who the voice belonged to, nor did you have the current emotional capacity to care. Pulling the hammer down on your pistol, you turned your back to Marlowe. A blank was fired, the echoing shot a signal to start moving.

1…

2…

3...

It was almost deadly quiet.

4…

5…

6…

This was stupid, this was a bad idea. You won’t make it.

7…

8--

An unexpected shot rang out. You dropped to the floor, a pain beginning to blossom in your side.

“NO!”

Marlowe had cheated. Internally, you scoffed. Of course he did.

Although it stung, you were surprised at how bearable the pain was, given you just got shot.

Or did you?

You lay still, partly in shock and partly to plan what to do next.

“What are you all looking at? Get back to work!”

“Y/N? Y/N/N!” You heard Edward’s voice crack. “You cheating bastard!”

“Now, now, Kenway. Don’t forget the position you’re in.”

Floorboards creaked as someone approached. Pistol miraculously still in hand, you waited for as long as possible. Just a little longer....

A shadow shaded your face from the sun. Without thinking, you turned, aimed, and shot.

Marlowe stared back, glassy eyed, blood trickling down his nose.

A moment later, he collapsed.

No one dared to move, choosing to stare at the body in front of them, not quite believing that he was dead.

The monster of a man was dead.

After the adrenaline ebbed away, you sighed heavily. “Glad that’s over.” A hand came into view, offering assistance to stand up. You locked eyes with someone who should have made himself known a long time ago. “Adé!” Accepting the help, you smirked. “Great timing.”

You quickly moved to Edward to begin untying the knots around his wrists. “What the fuck were you thinking?!” he exclaimed, exertion clear in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for worrying you--”

“Worrying me?” One wrist freed, he deftly moved to the other. “When I saw you lying there, I felt as if I had died!”

You sighed. “I needed to do something, lest you became more bone than back.”

“That was the most stupid plan I’ve ever seen in my life.” His hands free, he paid no heed to his own wounds and immediately tried to inspect yours. “You were so irresponsible--”

Bringing his face to yours, you stopped him talking with a kiss.

He diffused immediately, finally processing that you were in front of him, alive, and Marlowe was the one dead on the floor. Melting into you, the tension in his muscles dissipated, replaced only with relief. He broke apart from you, burying his face in your neck, his arms wrapped around you tightly.

“If the plan worked, it couldn’t have been that stupid,” you remarked.

“I’m so sorry.” His words were mumbled into your shoulder.

“You were looking out for me; I would have done the same if the roles were reversed.” You hugged him back, recoiling when he suddenly flinched in pain. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

“Shall we just accept each other’s apologies and call it a day?”

You laughed. “That would be good.”

Turning to the hands on deck, you raised your pistol in the air. “It’s over, lads! We can go home!”

You held your side, the pain greatly subsided under the amount of other emotions you were feeling; joy, relief, but also grief. Not for Marlowe, but for the ones that didn’t see this day.

You made a vow there and then; a vow to live your life the way they would have lived.

With joyful, carefree fun.

With the ability to live in the moment.

With gratitude for what you still have that they lost: For some, love, and for others, life.

[leedongwook]

Under Pressure

My thoughts and wishes for 4x13 Buck and Eddie get both targeted by the shooter 

(Sorry this is not beta-read so I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes hope you can still enjoy the fic :))

There‘s an annoying ringing in his ears and Buck really needs it to stop. He tries to move his head around but stops when he feels something hard and cold rub against his cheek. He feels cold and it’s dark.

Why was it dark? Wasn‘t it in the middle of the day? Right, his eyes are closed, but why? What has he been doing again?

Suddenly there are loud noises around him and Buck's getting even more annoyed that he can’t get his eyes to open. He wiggles his toes and moves his fingers. It takes a couple of more seconds, but he‘s finally able to open his eyes a bit.

The light is too bright and it blinds his eyes. He blinks again because his vision is still blurry.

He really needs to get up, he feels so cold. He awkwardly tries to shift his body, when a searing pain rips through his side and makes him stop moving. He hears someone groan and realizes it’s himself. His side is throbbing and he feels like throwing up.

What on earth had happened?

He drags his left arm downwards to his side and realizes something wet and sticky on the ground.

He notices the smell now. Is that blood?

"- uck!“

He moves again and the pain running through his side snaps his focus back and his eyes fly open. The sun is shining bright in the sky, he can see that now. It's May and it should be warm, but Buck can’t stop shaking.

"Hey, Buck! Don’t - don‘t move ok! Stay still.“

Buck turns his head towards the voice, he can hear clearly now. Still, a bit blurry, Eddie’s face comes into his view.

" Ed- die? What? Where 'r we?“

"Please Buck, don’t move. The shooter is still somewhere out there."

The shooter?

There’s a plopping sound right next to him and Eddie cries out.

Buck looks over to Eddie and only now realizes that Eddie is lying on the floor. Just like him.

Eddie’s breathing hard and he holds his right hand to his shoulder. It’s red and a small river of blood is trickling over his knuckles, down his arm. His sleeve is already tainted in red. Buck follows the red line on Eddie's arm and finds more blood on the floor.

Oh my god, Eddie’s been shot.

"Eddie, you are shot? Eddie!“

Eddie looks at him in pain, then slowly shuffles over to where Buck is lying. Buck tries to move too, but there’s this sharp pain in his side again and it takes his breath away. He starts coughing which causes his side to scream out in pain even more and it's really getting on his nerves.

"Buck, you need to breathe, please breathe. You need to put pressure on your side. Do you understand? Gah, Buck, please.“

Eddie’s got tears in his eyes and his head falls back onto the concrete in frustration.

"What? Why? Eddie, I don’t... I ...“

What does Eddie mean? Why does he need to put pressure on his side, it’s hurting him enough already.

He looks down on his body and almost has to throw up again when he sees his white shirt painted in red. His fingers crawl wander along on the concrete and he can feel the wetness on it. He moves then over to his side and he touches the places where the blood seems to come from.

He screams and doesn’t know how to breathe anymore. Ok, this doesn't look too good. Something's really wrong.

"Buck, calm down, please. Put pressure on your side, I think it’s a through, and through. You need to stop the bleeding. Come on, snap out of it.“

Eddie’s voice fades away and Buck sees dark spots dancing on the edges of his vision.

"I - I can’t, I can’t. Eds I'm sorry.“

He's breathing heavily now, face pressed against the concrete. The ground smells like blood and dirt and Buck gags.

"Please, you need to try. You need to stop the blood flow.“

Buck blinks his eyes open again and looks over to his friend who had rolled onto his side and still holds his own shoulder. His hands are redder than before and Eddie’s face looks pale and sweaty.

They need help. They need help now.

“HELP! PLEASE HELP!”

Buck screams or he thinks he does. His throat hurts and feels dry.

Buck feels himself fading and he knows he needs to put pressure on his wound. He can’t get himself to move around though, so he tries to get his hands under his side, to stop the bleeding.

He can’t get his hand under his hip, it hurts too much and so he just lets it flop down on the ground next to him.

He’s gonna die here, on the street, because he can’t help himself. What a firefighter he is.

He closes his eyes again and drifts for a few seconds.

Suddenly there’s pressure on his side, fingers digging into his wound and the increasing pain makes his eyes fly open again.

Eddie’s face is right in front of him now and he’s got tears running down his cheeks, dripping into the red sea of blood underneath them.

"Don’t you dare check out on me, Buck. Don’t you dare!"

Buck chuckles at that, it’s ironic, that he’s back at being hurt again, back at worrying people. It seems like it’s the only thing he can do.

He doesn’t want Eddie to worry again, doesn’t want to see him sad.

“Come on, Buck stay with me!”

Bucks lips feel numb and he wants to say so many things, but he’s just mumbling incoherent things. He can't think straight.

“-ot gonna leave you, Eds.”

Eddie pushes harder on his wound and he moans out loud again.

“You’re a good friend, Eds. Best friend. I love you.”

He slowly moves his fingers over to Eddie’s face and strokes gently at his cheek, leaving a bloody trail on it.

Buck feels like they’re lying here, on the street, for hours and nothing happens.

Eddie just looks at him with tired eyes. The pressure of Eddie’s hand on his side lessens and his fingers slowly slip away and Buck can see his friend closing his eyes. His hand falls off his own shoulder and comes to rest next to his head.

“Hey, you're not checking out on me either, Eds. You still owe me a revanche at the ps4 game, you cheater.”

“I - I don’t cheat Buckley, you’re just so bad in playing this game.”

They both chuckles, but Buck starts coughing and he tastes blood in his mouth.

“Sorry Buck, I'm sorry I can't - I can't ... anymore..."

Eddie’s hand slips from holding onto Bucks' side completely now and he can feel getting soaked with more blood. He’s not shivering anymore though, and he knows this is not a good sign.

“It’s ok Eddie, it’s ok, thank you for holding on.”

Eddie’s eyes close and his chest barely moves. Buck feels the darkness overcome him too when suddenly there’s movement around them.

“Buck!!!! Eddie !!!!! Wake up?! Come on stay with us!!! COME ON!!!”

Buck's eyes are barely open and he slowly lifts his hand towards Eddie.

Please, please, help him please! Help Eddie.

Someone grabs his arm and rubs a hand over his sternum to rouse him. He feels too heavy and tired though and lets darkness pull him under.

At least they can help Eddie now. They need to help Eddie.

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

“You know, you could really open your eyes now, kid.”

Buck groans and moves his head around on the pillow. Why can’t he just sleep in for once? He’s not having a shift today, is he?

“You’re scaring us a bit there, Buck. Especially Eddie here is a bit of a nervous wreck, so if you please could open those blue eyes for us.”

Eddie? Why is Eddie worried? Isn’t he with Chris?

Buck becomes restless and tries to shake himself awake. He wiggles his toes which makes his hips move and then there’s this weird dull pain in his side that makes him stop moving.

He grips at the fabric of his bedsheets. They itch and feel cold.

His side throbs in pain again. Ok, something's not right.

He hears a whimper and realizes it’s him. He fights hard and peels his eyes open. It’s too bright and he can feel the sun shining on his face. His eyes roll around and he sees the white lights, white ceiling and the white blanket resting on his chest.

There’s a hand holding his arm.

“There you are, kid. How are you feeling?”

“Not my bed, Cap?!”

Bobby chuckles and squeezes at his arm.

“No Buck, not your bed, unfortunately.”

Buck groans and lets his head flop back onto the too hard pillow. He hates hospitals.

“Why am I in hospital, Bobby?”

Bobby’s face goes serious and Buck can see red lines under his eyes. He must have been worried too then.

“There was a shooter, who targeted LAFD members. Do you remember that?”

Buck swallows hard. He needs something to drink. He nods absently. He does remember the threats someone made. But he never thought they’d actually do this. Who would do this?

“You - you got shot. They hit you in your side. It was a through and through, thankfully no important organs but you lost so much blood because we couldn’t get to you sooner.”

Buck looks at Bobby and he can see the sorrow in his eyes.

“And Eddie.”

Hearing Eddie’s name Buck's mind starts to go into overload, pictures of the incident flashing before his eyes. The cold floor and blood, there was so much blood. Eddie’s bloody hands and tears.

Oh my god, Eddie was shot too.

Buck almost jumps out of his bed, but Bobby stops him. The injury on his side isn’t happy about his sudden movement and the pain increases immensely so he need needs to close his eyes for a bit and tries to steady his breathing. After some seconds Buck feels the pain subsiding a bit again.

Okay. Moving around is not a good idea at the moment. Noted.

He opens his eyes again and grabs at Bobby’s arm.

“Where is Eddie? Is he ok? Bobby, where is he?”

“Calm down, Buck. Eddie is alright. Look.”

Bobby moves his head towards the other side of Buck's bed and Buck's eyes follow it. Slumped, in a way too uncomfortable chair, is sitting Eddie. His head is resting on his chest. His breath comes out steady and he’s got a good color on his face. His shoulder is bandaged and in a sling.

“Also a through and through but the bullet knicked an artery. Thankfully he was able to stop the bleeding for a bit.”

Buck remembers how Eddie crawled over to him and put pressure on both of their wounds.

“He saved me. He - he rolled over to me and pushed on my wound. I wouldn’t be - I ...”

Buck's eyes swell up and tears run down his cheeks.

Bobby gently rubs at his shoulder.

“He did yeah. He didn’t let go.”

Eddie suddenly coughs and his eyes blink open. He looks around and his eyes land on Buck. He straightens his body and shuffles closer to the bed. He puts his hand on Bucks hand.

“Hey, you’re awake. It’s about damn time.”

Bobby lets go of Buck's shoulder and moves towards the door.

“I’m gonna call Maddie and let her know you’re awake. She’s going to want to see you.”

Buck nods and looks back at Eddie.

“Eds your shoulder. Are you ok?”

Eddie smiles and scratches at his head.

“I’ve had worse.”

Buck rolls his eyes but takes Eddie’s hand into his.

“Oh shut up, you been whining like a baby about your shoulder.”

Eddie laughs.

“Says the one who couldn't even stop his own bleeding huh.”

His friend's face turns sad though and tears spill into his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re ok, Buck. I'm so glad.”

Buck squeezes his hand gently.

“I’m glad you’re ok too. Thank you for not letting go, Eddie.”

Eddie smiles.

“Got your back. remember?!”

“Yeah.”

Buck feels tired again and leans back on his pillow. The movement jostles his wound again and pain flares up.

“Oh, man getting shot sucks.”

Eddie chuckles.

“Right? It does. But hey, Chim and Hen are gonna have to do our chores for the next couple of weeks while we can watch and order them around."

Buck laughs out loud.

“Yeah, that we can do.”

[bi-bi-richie]

Honestly Patty and Richie are both absolutely batshit 😌 they get wine drunk while they plot how to get Stan and Eddie back, bc they refuse to even thinking of the possibility of them not. Like, it just isn't an option

Richie and Patty share their experiences with Stan, to catch each other up on his life, and they both talk about their loves. It's a meant-to-be friendship, and she's a Loser that's just a little late to the game

Stan and Eddie also get a major bollocking when they get brought back, then they hug and cry

Okay I really didn’t expect that post to blow up as much as it has so I decided to write this out! Hope you enjoy it :) also based on this post

The Derry Townhouse was, in short, filthy. It clearly hasn’t been maintained in years, the building itself has such an aura that screams get out. But, thankfully, the liquor is clean, or that’s what Richie told her and at this point, she’s inclined to believe him. Truth be told, it was quite a shock to Patty when she found the washed up comedian sitting at the bar unaccompanied. Its been three months since Stan died, three months since this so-called Losers Club (of which, Richie was apart of, that much she knew) reunited only to disband again, yet here he is still drowning in his own sorrows. It was even more shocking when he recognized her, or at least her name, and invited her over for a drink. In the past months, any of Stan’s old friends she got ahold of brushed her off or simply begged her to stay away from this topic all together, but here’s Richie, paying for her drink and indulging her.

“So, you’re the famous Patty, huh?” He questions, a half-hearted smirk resting on his lips.

“Famous? We both know that description fits you better, Mr. Tozier.”

The formality makes him scoff, “please, Mr. Tozier was my father, or some stupid shit like that- the point is, we’re all very interested in Stan-the-man’s wife. He’s the only loser that didn’t seem to have divorce written in the stars.”

Immediately, Patty wants to call bullshit on that claim. She’s talked to every other loser save for this one and they’ve wanted nothing to do with her other than warn her of a terrible danger. She opens her mouth to argue, but snaps it shut in favor of reasoning with herself. Regardless of how they’ve brushed her off in the past, she’s finally found someone who won’t, someone she can get the tiniest bit of information out of if she plays her cards right. She doesn’t say anything, just nods along and judges her next words.

“Gotta say, you’re no regular tourist,” she tells him, raising her glass to her lips, pretending to be uninterested.

Richie doesn’t say anything for a moment, pursing his lips before lamely replying, “I grew up here.” He takes a rather large gulp of his own drink before continuing, “and I could say the same about you, couldn’t I? I mean, hanging out in the Townhouse makes you quite suspicious.”

She shrugs, “Stan grew up here... and this place is cheap. Lets just say...” She pauses, feeling unwanted tears well up in her eyes and threaten to flow over. “Lets just say I’m mourning...”

Richie watches her with intense eyes, carefully considering her reaction and, at least it seems to Patty, debating on what to say. He eventually decides, “yeah, well, you’re not the only one...”

In his eyes, there’s pain. Terrible, terrible pain and sorrow, something that makes Patty shudder. There’s no doubt in her mind when the following words slip from her lips.

“It was the clown, wasn’t it?”

And from pain to terror his eyes go in an instant. He gapes, struggling to find the words and failing with every second that passes. Bingo, Patty thinks, and reaches into her purse, pulling out a rather large notebook that she then slides over to the comedian. Richie, still unable to convey a sentence, opens the first page with shaky hands that he can barely control, he even drops it at first. On the first page, in big, bold letters, is written PROPERTY OF MIKE HANLON.

“Did...” Richie chokes out, “did you steal this!?” Upon turning the pages, it becomes very apparent that the contents are all about the supernatural elements of Derry, specifically the clown.

“Richie,” Patty says in an almost exasperated voice, “one minute, I’m planning a wonderful vacation with my wonderful, loving husband. The next, he’s taken his own life, only leaving incredibly vague letters addressed to friends I’ve never met. When I reach out to these friends, they shoo me off with warnings of a great danger I can’t possibly understand. Believe me when I say it’s true, this is a danger I don’t understand, but something tells me you guys don’t either.” She takes a pause, forcing her voice to stay still as it threatens to crack with emotion, “I will find out what happened to my husband, and I’d like to ask for your help.”

Richie doesn’t say something for quite some time, only looking over the pages with great horror but determination all the same. “Do you even have a plan? A means of finding answers?” He whispers, perhaps rhetorically but Patty doesn’t take it that way. She reaches over and flips to a bookmarked page where the grand photo of a turtle overtakes most of the page, vaguely gesturing to it with her hand as if to say read it yourself. Richie does, his breathing becoming increasingly unsteady. Eventually, he looks back up and meets her gaze with his own watery eyes. Eyes that are so damn hopeful but terrified to be so at the same time. “You... You haven’t seen what I’ve seen. You can’t possibly know what you’re going up against.”

“If you’re describing hell,” she cooly replies, “then I’ve already seen it. Nothing can be more horrific than seeing the love of my life bleeding out in our bathtub.”

Richie purses his lips, eyebrows meet in the middle with frustration before he blurts out, “I’ll help you, but you have to help me too.”

Patty nods, expectant of giving something in exchange. “What do you want?”

“To find my own love. I need answers just like you.”

She nods again, “who was she?”

“... his name is Eddie.”

They share intense eye contact for a moment, something that speaks more than anything they’ve said in the past hour. Patty holds her hand out, indicating a handshake, which Richie takes but pulls her into a rather breathtaking hug.

“Please, bring my Eds back to me,” he shakily whispers, voice thick with sadness, but a hint of hope slips with it.

“Only if you bring back my Stanley,” she replies, wrapping her arms around him to return the hug.

They’ll get along just fine.