#Drywall Dents

[mistyycowoa]

most American homes are made of drywall or other such materials witch are easy to break

What the fuck

I just searched it up and you're telling me your walls can be penetrated by a THUMBTACK????

Like bro I'm not even sure if a hammer would get my walls to budge.. maybe a half a centimeter wide dent if you have normal people strength..

[rhythmcrown]

Angles are the WORST on these critters and yeah, I know there's a million and one references out there, but listen. LISTEN. it's always the eyebrow ridge(???) and the 'corners' of the muzzles that do me in,,,,

anyway I'm full of rattling because I get to drop lore this weekend and if there's one thing I love it's worldbuilding in my own stupid sandbox

[crabs-but-better]

lmao had a dean winchester moment

[duskerot]

every time i join a call im very excited to join i ahve to restrain myself so i say "hi ^-^" instead of barking

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: You hurt yourself with Tangerine's brass knuckles.

Prompt: grumpy x sunshine - "I told you not to touch that, now look what you've done!"

~ here you go @whimsical-roasting! hope you like this!! thank you for requesting 💖 ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

BLURB MASTERLIST

Tangerine had told you a thousand times not to touch his brass knuckles. He didn't want you using them and hurting yourself because he knows you don't know how to use them correctly.

However, especially three wine glasses in, you never did listen to him on important matters.

You're sitting in your living room fiddling with the brass knuckles Tangerine had been showing you as he left for a refill on the wine you'd been comfortably sharing.

You throw some air punches, scrunching your face as best as you like you've seen your boyfriend do when he's training, and on rarer occasions when he's fighting.

It's fun. Very fun. Or it is until you get the marvelous idea to try and punch solid things. 

You start lightly, punching the cushions. Then you move to harder surfaces until, for some stupid reason, you decide to see how hard you can punch the wall. 

Horrible idea considering you dent the drywall and your wrist bends awkwardly, the brass knuckles digging into your skin.

You shriek and pull your hand away, the knuckles feeling weirdly stuck onto your hand now as the pain becomes unbearable. Tears pool in your eyes and you stand up just as Tangerine walks into the room again.

"Darlin'?"

"Tan–" you wail and rush to him, cradling your wrist as you stumble over in your slippers and hold out your arm to him. Silent tears are falling down your cheeks as the pain worsens.

Tangerine's eyes widen and he rushes forward to you, carefully lifting your arm. His eyes narrow when he sees his brass knuckles on your hand and how weirdly bent your hand looks. 

"You absolute git," he hisses and uses his other hand to pet your hair, "I told you not to touch that, now look what you've done," he says and kisses your forehead, his heart breaking at the sight of your tears.

"How badly does it hurt, my luv?"

"Very badly," you can barely speak and Tangerine knows it's worse than it looks. So, he calls an ambulance because he doesn't trust himself to drive you after three glasses of wine and with you in this state.

He tries his best to be calm and make up an excuse to the poor paramedics why you'd almost broken your hand, his illegal brass knuckles safely in his locked drawer again.

He should have never shown them to you. He feels irresponsible. 

Tangerine angry at you, but mostly at himself because you're too good. You're an angel who shouldn't have even been exposed to such a weapon and that's on him. He sits in the chair in the doctor's room, watching the doctor bandage your hand and tell you you're lucky it's only sprained and not broken.

They've given you some pain medication and when the doctor steps out for a moment, you look over at your very guilty-looking boyfriend. 

"I'm sorry," you start.

"I shouldn't have left them alone with you," he interrupts in a whisper. 

You shake your head pointedly. "No. I'm not a child. I should have known better and listened to you. I was just curious."

Tangerine chuckles and runs a hand over his face. "I know ya were and that's why I should have been more careful. Should have been paying closer attention to my girl, hm?" he stands and walks closer, holding your cheek in his hand as he smiles. "Feelin' better now?"

You nod and some of your cheek returns because you ask. "Teach me how to use them next time?"

Hearing your quip, Tangerine raises an eyebrow and makes a tsk sound with his lips, shaking his head. "You're really gonna be the death of me, aren't ya?"

Your little laugh gives him all the answers he needs and he smirks, feigning annoyance when really he adores you.

tags: @tansgirlfriend, @brokeaesthetic, @earth-elemental18, @lqrlei, @princesssunderworld, @longlivedelusion

[odiesdayoff]

Trust Your Instincts

pair: Jaime Reyes x fem!reader

summary: Post-graduation, your childhood friend seems to be ignoring you. Once he shows up, secrets are revealed, voluntarily or not.

warnings: SMUT (18+++ MINORS DNI); begins as like pretty dubious, but turns into both parties consenting. Really thin line here, they do have a mutual attraction and explicitly say that they want it.

im gonna be so real i saw an ad for this and started writing...lol. Haven't seen BB at the time of writing this a while ago! Characters are prob inconsistent. i just have like a severe mask kink.

honestly this is unfinished, but i know in my heart I will never get back to it no matter how many times I say it lol. Imagine what happens next teehee.

“He’s not coming?” You brought the towel from over your shoulder and continued to dry the plates as Jaime’s mother handed them to you. Lunch was over and you were excited to see your best friend, but he was awol.

She gave you a sympathetic look as she handed you another clean plate. “I’m sorry, mija. He’s been acting strange ever since he got back. I know he misses you.”

You nodded and placed the towel on the counter. There’s no way he could possibly just up and abandon you after all this time. The two of you had been best friends since the first grade and even though he went all the way to Gotham City for college and you stayed in Texas, you were still close as ever. At least you think so.

“Well, I’ve gotta go. Thank you for the lunch, you know how much I adore your cooking.” You brought her into a hug and she kissed your cheek. She was like a second mom to you. All of Jaime’s family was basically your own. It took this long for them to stop the teasing about you getting together.

It had been months since Jaime allegedly returned to Texas and yet, he hasn’t reached out to you. Not by phone or in person, no matter how much you tried to talk to him. It felt worse than any breakup you’d gone through. Usually, he was the shoulder for you to cry on. 

A loud crash woke you up. It was around two in the morning. In your flannel pajama pants and a black tank top, you ran into your living room to see what happened. There was a large hole where your door should have been and laying on the floor was Jaime.

Your hand flew to your mouth and knelt down to him. His curls stuck to his forehead from sweat and his chest rapidly rose and fell. “Get away! Please, get away!” He pushed you away, yelling and borderline whimpering.

There was something wrong with him and you weren’t just going to do what he told you. “Jaime, please just tell me what’s going on. You’re not okay.” You pushed his hair from his face only to see the fear in his eyes as he looked at you. 

He flipped to his back and crawled until he hit the wall, his body colliding into it. Another dent appeared. Chips of drywall fell on him. “I’m…gonna call an ambulance, okay?”

You pulled out your phone, but before you could even unlock it, it was no longer in your hand. Jaime, now fully covered in a blue suit of armor, crushed it in his hand. “Oh my god.”

He dropped the phone and shook his head. “I don’t control it. It controls me. I promise you.” His voice was slightly distorted due to the helmet he had on.

“Okay, so can’t you call, like, Batman or something?” If this were a normal situation, you know that he would’ve laughed.

He held your shoulders. “I need you to get away. Right now.”

You shook your head. “I’m not gonna leave you like this.”

A robotic voice came from the suit, saying your full name and society security number. Jaime started to shake his head frantically and tried to step away from you. The suit disagreed.

The suit trapped you against the counter. “Please stop!” Jaime yelled. His helmet popped open to reveal his face, still scared. “I’m so sor-” The suit didn’t let him finish, instead it pushed him towards you. His lips crashed into yours. 

You felt guilty kissing back. It wasn't either of your volition, but the teenage version of yourself was screaming and frolicking in a field of flowers just to be kissing him. 

The robotic voice returned, louder now. “It is my duty to keep you healthy. Sexual health is one of those aspects.” The suit retracted more, pulling his shirt and jeans from his body. He was left in his boxers, staring at you. It continued. “I know you have a crush on her. Don’t be a pussy.”

His eyes widened and his cheeks grew red. “Is that true?” He sheepishly nodded.

You bit your lip. “It’s true for me, too.”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

But All Your Flaws and Scars are Mine

Pairing: Murphy MacManus x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: Just a drabble to get my foot in the door with writing Murphy.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, lass!” Murphy was still crouched with his arms shielding his face. “Damn near took my head clean off!” You winced an apology when his blue eyes peeked over the black sleeve of his coat. “What was it you were doing?” He stood slowly, his focus on the heeled boot now lying next to the doorframe.

“There was a goddamn spider.” You whined from your safe place on top of your dining table.

“Lord’s name, love.” Murphy chided gently, walking toward you while still eyeing the dent in the drywall. Once he reached the four-seater, he looked up at you with a lopsided smile. “Really take all that to kill a spider?”

“If I had a flamethrower, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

He chuckled, extending his arms toward you in offer to help you down. “Aye. Likely me that’d be needing the fire extinguisher.” You bent and placed your hands on his shoulders while he squeezed your waist, lowering you to your feet. “Why don’t I take care of it then?”

“Please.” You pouted, needlessly adjusting the collar of his coat before batting your lashes at him. “I’ll make sure to compensate you for your time.” His gaze darkened, a brow arching at your insinuation.

“Consider it done, love.”

[xenosagaepisodeone]

I think for feminism to have any chance of having some kind of mainstream presence again there needs to be a greater emphasis on extractive labor. standpoint epistemology and the death of context seem to be a consistent blockade in discussions about the extent or the depth of systematized oppression; allowing misogyny to be reframed as purely a mental health issue, or individualized as a mere lack of men having good role models illustrates how little regard people have for women's rights as also being a labor issue. the positionality of women as a class (and the further peripheralization that occurs because of racism, homophobia and transphobia), the expectations placed upon them by virtue of gender as well as the unpersoning and violence that is implicitly justified by virtue of this positionality is a lot harder to deflect or derail in conversation than the discussions we currently have about vague feelings of gender roles and guilt. It's harder for people to stretch the generally agreeable "patriarchy harms men too" sentiment into "men and women are equally harmed by patriarchy" when confronted with the material gains that men have acquired historically as a result of the control and subjugation of women. It also serves as stronger basis when confronting right wing women when they advocate for the banning of abortion or the expansion of "parental rights". If I hear someone insist that women are unilaterally chivalrously protected by society and are assumed to be pure maidens who can do no wrong I'm going to scare the mice in my home by punching drywall. It won't even cause a dent in the wall but the mice will be startled. Do you want to be responsible for that.

[nonsensical-pixels]

BASEMENT TREASURES: the latest sims 4 kit, converted to ts2! [download - sfs]

have you ever wondered what lies in your sim's basement? sure, most of us have a torture room or two stashed away, but what if your sim isn't olive specter or hazel dente? where's my moldy moisture-eaten couches and prehistoric electronics? well, starting today, they're right here!

the moment i saw that this kit had released, i literally RAN to convert it. it's perfect for my older hoarder sims. plus, a lot of people asked for it 😅

this is almost the entire kit, save for the unbeatable stains, which--surprise, surprise--refused to get converted along with the others. i have plenty of similar stuff, though, so i'm not too upset. in total there are 25 items: 24 buy mode assets, and 1 wallpaper.

note: just before i posted this, i saw that @2fingerswhiskey already converted the retroplex tv console--you can grab their version here!

keep reading for credits + more info!

credits

ea/maxis for the original ts4 meshes & textures

items included

there are individual previews included in the actual download!

Big Box of Irreplaceably Replaceable Things (396 polys) Brass Floor Lamp (806 polys) Candid Coffee Table (148 polys) Dated Drywall (7 swatches) Disassembled Heart Bed (1712 polys) Dusty Trinkets (259 polys) Forgotten Frames (620 polys) Grandma's Couch (1487 polys) Mementos of Glory (361 polys) Records of the Past (112 polys) Relic of Good Times (454 polys) Retroplex TV Console (424 polys) Shabby Cardboard Box (94 polys) SquareTube (420 polys) Strange Reminescence Framed Photo (214 polys) The Best Seat in the House (905 polys) The Fun of Yesteryear (106 polys) The Graceful Ambition Standing Mirror (544 polys) The Moving Buddy (842 polys) The Not-So-Mod Lamp (302 polys) The Traveller's Trunk (782 polys) Uncle Bob's Dusty Rubber Plant (804 polys) Unmatched Chairs (452 polys) Unstable Wall Shelves (166 polys) Weary Wall Decal (2 polys)

things to note

The 'Graceful Ambition Standing Mirror' is repo'd to the 'Forgotten Frames'.

The 'Retroplex TV Console' is decorative only, get 2fingerswhiskey's version if you want it to be functional! They won't conflict :)

The mirrors have a slight issue where the reflection includes the frame, I'm very sorry, I tried my best but I couldn't fix it :(

if there are any unmentioned issues, please do lmk asap! happy simming 💞

( @sims4t2bb )

[glassrowboat]

Silken Shadows (Pt.1). Pantalone.

Summary: You had many customers, many clients. Regulars even. They dragged you along to dinners, to drinks at bars as they chatted about something you couldn't care less about, and to parties of all sorts. All something that came with the job. What you weren't expecting, however, as you stood on the corner of a side walk cursing the chill in the air as you waited for the latest job to come pick you up was a Fatui Harbinger. Well, you were told it would be a big money job.

Word count: 4300+

Authors note: I'm not sure how long this is going to be, but probably less than fifteen chapters? But someone had to give this old man some love, so I took it upon myself.

Also, the reader is a hired date for anyone who needs specifications.

Link to series

Shards of glass sat around him like glistening stars as a pale light streamed in through the large windows of Pantalone's office. Nonexistent constellations were to be found in what was scattered around him in his own personal galaxy. Bits and pieces are as large as one's finger and others as tiny as diamond inlaid in a ring. The only difference being: it wasn't gold encasing a jewel that shined under every twist of the wrist as it reflected a candle's flame, but a wooden floor. One he had taken great pride in picking out once upon after first receiving this office.

Time had scratched its lacquered surface.

How typical.

Another thing he can't control. Just like the natural instinct to grit his teeth so tight, Pantalone can hear them grinding against each other in protest, crying out for some form of mercy.

It made his jaw ache. Yet his lips still twisted into a smile.

They had to.

Even if Pantalone couldn't help but want to physically recoil at his own image, his reflection in the glass at his feet. An aged label with yellowed spots attached to what was left of the bottle, an 817 vintage from Fontaine, the only thing blocking where his narrowed eyes would be in this warped copy.

All the while, one thought kept replaying in his head, repeating like a broken record slotted on a gramophone: that damnable woman.

--

Signora canceled on him.

Right before a banquet that was supposed to be quite the occasion at that.

It would have given him just the perfect chance to introduce the frosty diplomat, his fellow Harbinger, to a colleague of his. A man just as like minded as Pantalone when it comes to the exchange on mora. A fellow businessman, to put it in simple terms. Someone who also speaks in the turnover of gold from one hand to another.

A man who could prove beneficial to Pantalone had the right opportunity to familiarize himself but man but all the ‘Fair Lady’ had to say, in as arrogant sounding voice as she could muster, for that Pantalone was sure, was that she's being shipped away to Inazuma soon. For the gnosis in accordance with the last meeting's conclusion, of course.

That, however, didn't change the fact that she wasn't leaving right away.

There was time she could use, to leverage if she so wished, but now he was left with a tree that wished to bear no fruit. There would be no sweet taste of a win today, of another deal secured at this rate. What a wasted opportunity.

Not to mention, he was still expected to show up with someone on his arm in accordance with the invite marked with a check right on the box for a plus one.

All that right after La Signora didn't even bother to sit down, to go through the proper greetings and laybe even have tea with him to share this bit of information. Rather, she stormed in as Pantalone was drafting out a contract, unfortunately startling him in the process as the door slammed against the wall behind it. It was enough to have the ink scrawled out under his hand smudge as his hand curled around a black fountain pen at the idea that her uncaring actions would leave a dent in the drywall.

Surprise. It was never an emotion he cared for, but it was all he was being given today. Or at least that's how it seemed.

The floral scent of the ink he specially ordered to refill this pen the last time it emptied out from pages upon pages of tireless work that had led to an ache in his hand was the only thing to sooth Pantalone's otherwise swirling mind as he figured out where to go from here.

That here has led him to Columbina.

Her saccharine smile when he slipped into the music room was familiar, something he was as used to as a well-worn book as she held up a singular finger. Asking for one moment more.

The song on her lips quelled only when she was ready.

Besides, it would be unbefitting to ask her to stop with the nonsense already as her voice rose to the heights of the pure white room. One never cuts off the star of a stage, on or off of it. Columbina had a way of bringing the notes to life, of making any eye believe you could see the sheet music she had long since memorized to the point someone might just believe they could see those ever perfect lines of five weaving around columns all up until Columbina took her final bow.

Pink and black hair covering her face still as his hands clapped together, the metal bands wrapped around his fingers, causing a small ring each time they collided. “Wonderful as always, Damselette.”

“I am always exultant to have a proper audience.”

Her head rose from its low hang with a grace only she could have. Every action she took was akin to a bird flapping its wings to soar among the clouds. Fitting for a dove.

“As much as I would like to sit down and show you proper respect and courtesy, Columbina, I am afraid I am too short of time for such a luxury.”

The event is, after all, tonight at 8 o'clock sharp, and while Pantalone has always heard it's fashionable to arrive late, it was never a practice he appreciated others participating in. He wouldn't deign to be the outlier to such a basic rule when there was no need for such.

He didn't need to arrive late to get anyone's eyes to fall on him in rapt attention. The citizens of Snezhnaya knew what his time was worth. As for those who did participate in such boorish behaviors? Simply put, they were not worth the precious minutes that could be delegated elsewhere.

“First and foremost, are you otherwise preoccupied this evening?” Pantalone asked.

Columbina turned her back to him with ease, fingers fiddling with the sheet music before her as she scribbled something down he could not see. Not that it mattered. If it wasn't the very notes she was just singing, it would be an indent on the piece written in a language far older than he.

“Now, what would you want of me that requires I not be ‘preoccupied'?”

“That Marquess in the West, you and I both know the one, has come to the main city for a short reprieve and is holding an event.” As Pantalone spoke, he stepped further into the room, taking care not to scuff the white floors with his own black shoes. “One that does not require a show of a song, but I'm sure they would not deny it if you offered.”

A gentle series of clicks continued until he was standing beside her.

“So, you want me to act as your substitute plus one since the one you originally planned to invite canceled on you at the last minute. Is that it, Regrator?”

Her tone had Pantalone wanting to click his tongue, but he resisted the urge.

“A regretful circumstance I shall have to amend in the future. If you agree to my proposition, that is.”

“The Fair Lady truly pulled that lavish rug under you. Something I do not see often.”

Pantalone kept from looking down at her, instead keeping his eyes instead fixed on the musician's stand, his gloved finger ran over. It would be lace covered eyes and ribbons galore as usual. Nothing he hasn't seen before at every harbinger meeting or the times they cross paths through the ornate halls of the palace, most of which have him catching the sight of her scuttling into this very room.

The faintest layer of dust now coated his finger that had Pantalone itching to grab the handkerchief tucked away in his pocket to wipe it off.

The Damselette always did tend to scare the maids off.

“As stated before, I am currently lacking time. Your answer would be most appreciated.”

“Oh, right, that.” Columbina mused. “Steak dinners, champagne, maybe even chatter amongst people who are delightful company. Just like my plans for tonight with Arlecchino.”

Of course she didn't lead with that.

That means two possible options off his already lackluster list of those to invite along.

The last words Pantalone was given before he walked out with a bow of his head to the higher ranking harbinger was “I hope you find someone to fill the empty seat beside you tonight.” Only for the song to continue on like nothing happened, like nothing interrupted, like he didn't even come in at all.

He made sure to leave the door cracked open on his way out.

Sandrone was all the same, giving him a no. The only difference was she spit the words out like venom the moment his fist knocked on her workshop's door and she flung it open with a flourish, covered in oil and the finest grinds of aluminum that flew in the air. It had him cleaning his glasses off as he walked away.

Lenses punched between the fine fabric of his handkerchief as he went over what to do from here.

If it wouldn't reflect poorly on his image, Pantalone would just show up alone. Wave it off and say his date was busy. Yet here he is, arm twisted. Social expectations are truly the bind that holds us all as he couldn't simply message the Marquess on the fly with something along the lines of ‘I couldn't dain to bring a date after my plus one canceled on me.’ Signed the Ninth.

If it wouldn't come across as poor care for attention, bringing his most trusted secretary along would be a viable option. That is if that very employee wasn't a married man who was only just rambling about plans to take his partner out for dinner earlier this very day. It was their five year anniversary being married, as he recalled. He had even given the man a gift in congratulations.

The other two under his care were off dealing with some less than stellar business Pantalone couldn't afford to take them away from. At least not at this given moment in time.

Dottore would at least prove to be an entertaining option. One segment or another would likely get stuck along his side, maybe even the one with the pink bow tie, and it looks like he's ready to bite the finger off anyone who approaches.

No, best not.

Little options left. If any.

At this rate, his arm would get stiff as it's tugged and twisted into position.

Well, there's always the place a certain man, a debtor, mentioned last time. His whining was just the perfect pitch that made it hard to ignore as Pantalone's guards tore apart his shack of a house apart in an attempt at finding the funds he was due. Only a measly fifty mora that would prove no use in taking. One can not pay if they can not work as starvation tears them apart from the inside out. (or at least that's what Pantalone will say when the man stops showing up to work out of the blue). The excuse? He went to one of those houses in the area.

Exchange time for a woman's company. Nothing he hasn't heard before. Nothing he isn't familiar with. The Northland Bank served customers of all walks of life.

The name, however, was one that rang a bell in Pantalone's head. One that sold a woman's time over her body.

This is what he has been backed into? Truly?

Still, he called the guard that was stationed by the doors he just walked though, fingers snapping to get this individual's attention as Pantalone told them to find a messenger. The need to tell them to be quick about it would be nothing short of an unnecessary addition. They knew that well enough by now.

--

Steps filled the hall just as the creaking of loose floorboards did. They had long since needed to be replaced but actually getting around to hiring someone to do that had been waved off time and time again that everyone had since learned to simply live with being woken up in the middle of the night by someone trying to get a cup of water.

Loud and clear with each echo.

Making the hand that wrapped around your arm and pulled you up off the stool, just another thing you expected as a shrill voice cried out to get your attention. Scratched and broken from what was no doubt the cigarettes The Madame might as well switch out for her meals filling your ears while she jabbered about whatever had her coming to you this time.

That being: a job.

It was no wonder then why a wet rag was being shoved into your face, trying to wash- or better yet- scrub off the powder on your face. Messy blobs of green and pink having been painted on your eyelids the same way a crayon would a child's coloring book, only becoming more of a mess to handle at this treatment as your nose scrunched up as the fabric rubbed against you.

“Wash this shit off your face and give it a real try, kid. Don't know why you keep letting the bucket girl apply makeup on you.” That old hag barked out. In as good of a mood as any as she pulled her hand back to finally give your skin some reprieve. “And try to keep yourself lookin’ real good. This client has some big bucks to spend, and I don't need you messing it up like last time.”

“You always know just what to say.” You retorted as you snatched the rag away from her to wipe the eyeshadow off your face properly. Gently.

Even going so far as to lean down to get a proper view from the vanity and its cloudy mirror to make sure there wasn't a speck of makeup left.

“This ain't your usual crowd, kid, but you're going to high tail it out of here in your best dress and meet this guy two blocks from here so some carriage can pick you up.”

“Ahh, one of those guys. I'm on it. And do me a favor and don't bully the ‘bucket girl' while I'm out.”

It wasn't a surprise when the Madame threw a quick “no promises” over her shoulder as she left the room, leaving you to get ready. Brush already in hand as the door slammed shut. Most likely her doing, but you chose to think of it as a simple draft of wind as the bristles brushed through a soft pad of pink.

The same pink of the gloves you currently dawned. Fingers twitching with each passing minute to keep blood pumping through the digits you were breathing on, trying your best to keep yourself as warm as possible while standing at the usual spot for clients that needed to pick a girl up a few blocks away from the Marmeladova house.

Sure, they had their reasons, but it always came across as the clients having no sense of decorum for a freezing lady. A frozen tundra of a nation, yet they still expected you to stand on the street like a hooker trying to call in her five hundred for the night.

How charming.

Not.

It was when you were pacing back and forth, kicking up bits of powdered snow with every step, did the rolling of the carriages passing by on the street lead to one stopping right before you. Wheels turned stock still as the lines behind painted a clear path right to you. It's not an accidental pullover by some temperamental horses then. Though if you only looked, such a thought wouldn't have even crossed your mind in the first place.

A carriage with golden accents, horses with shining leather straps, a coachman in clothing that looked actually weather appropriate, and a Fatui symbol stamped right before you. Like the sign to a haunted house as the other girls drag you inside, claiming it will be fun, only for you to walk out annoyed and grouchy at the lackluster experience.

Something told you this wouldn't end that way.

A footman, or at least you assumed that's what he was when he was wearing the Fatuus emblem and one of those masks you see the soldiers wearing so openly while walking around without a single care in the world besides holding their heads high pulled the ornate door before you open.

A hand held out to help you up along the steps that had a nice coat of snow dusting them only knocked away by the heel of your boot while ducking inside the red velvet walls. Instantly, you could tell it was warmer in here from the moment you sat down. The thing probably insulated for what reason would you put yourself through the agony of the cold when you can simply buy your way out of it?

At least, that felt like a fair comparison as your eyes met those of a man you've only ever seen in the newspapers. Most of which were fished out of the trash from nicer neighborhoods to use as kindling, but that face was unmistakable.

“Lord Harbinger.” You found yourself saying as you greeted the figure before you. Your own words sounded like they were coming from another's mouth as they were drowned out by the curses flying across your mind. Faster than any bird in the sky or whizzing bullet as he greeted you back.

The shock of it all had you a reeling mess, but not enough so to miss the ice tune of Pantalone's voice as he said “A pleasure to meet you, miss.”

In the very least, this would give you a decent idea of where you stood in this dynamic.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Your hand was held out between you both on instinct, hanging there for a moment under the small lantern that lit the carriage with the curtains closed shut. Like a barrier to the outside world.

The shake was strong, sturdy, and his leather gloves did little to help you figure out anything about this man the public didn't already know.

An example being how he'd surely have a writer's bump. A man whose bread and butter is contracts surely knows how to hold a quill. How curious. Not as much, however, as the Lord Harbinger wiping his hand off on his jacket the moment yours left his. A folder occupying the other he was holding out to you.

“Read this over and try your best to memorize the names inside.”

With little to no choice otherwise, you took it from him. The folder failed to bend back under your touch as you opened it, not even when your gloved fingers rubbed the material between them as the names were run over again and again in your mind. Good quality, as he expected, as you took in the long list.

Far too long actually.

“I expect you to remember as much as you can, but I'll be there to assist you all the while.”

Your eyes flicked up to look at him, meeting his gaze over the folder. “Assist me all the while?”

“I am to be attending an event tonight. Do I need to piece out more for you, or can you truly not ascertain things for yourself?”

Something about his smile rubbed you wrong. You were once taught that if someone was truly smiling, out of joy, or some bull along the lines of being a happy person naturally, their eyes would have wrinkles creasing at the sides. His lacked that. Though it was hard to tell exactly if that was the case when they were closed.

But could a smile so freely given from a Harbinger be…? It's best not to finish that thought. He's still your client.

“Don't doubt me just yet. I haven't even had the chance to prove myself.” You said, matching his smile in turn.

“Then please, don't disappoint. First, however,” you could barely catch his eyelashes moving when the wheels started to turn again at the simple rap of his knuckles against the carriage roof.

Whatever that meant would prove little to mull over as you leaned back into the cushions.

--

You later learned that was him giving you a look, or as close to one as Pantalone could manage behind those thick spectacles of his you were tempted to break as he walked into a dress store, picked something off the rack, and stated it would be what you were going to wear tonight. No input from you, no double checking to see if it fits. Not to mention, the fabric had been irritating you from the moment it adorned your skin.

How you wanted to claim it rested upon your body like silk, but it was more like that one scratchy blanket you always get stuck with as everyone else steals the nice ones.

At the very least, it was pretty. Had a decent range of movement, too, as the Lord Harbinger dragged you along by the arm he interlocked with his as you were met with new face after face.

Some of the names you could recall reading only an hour prior, others not so much.

Giant grins.

Pretty women with ornate hair styles.

Champagne glasses.

The moment you picked one up, Pantalone plucked it from your hands and hissed as low as possible for only you to hear “I am not paying you to drink.”

This was nothing unusual, the event, that is. Pantalone is a whole other story, but you have been to many parties of all sorts during your time. This was just another rich boy party with underhanded remarks and fancy cheeses.

One that dragged on far too long for anyone's liking.

At some point during the night, you just barely caught the richest boy himself telling someone who asked about you that you were just a friend. One that he met through your father, a fellow businessman he had worked with shortly before the man unfortunately passed. How you're only back in town visiting. That he couldn't pass up the opportunity to bring you along.

And it kept like that until the point you were tempted to peel the bandages off the back of your heels after they had been slipping on you the past hour. Peeling from your skin like a piece of string on a fine shirt just begging to be pulled. The thought of them still plagued your mind as Pantalone bowed to the same man you were first introduced to that night again, an individual who took no shame in the jewels hanging from his tailcoat and the golden ring with some odd emblem on his pinky. Wishes of a splendid night on both their tongues as the two of you departed.

It was only when you were both back in that carriage, you suddenly have a lot more appreciation for as it gave you a chance to rest your aching feet, did any words pass between you two again.

Pantalone, a man who was short and concise with you, but had plenty to say to those folks in the hall as they stuffed their faces with meat as they all sat around tables covered in cloth the same thickness as the blankets you use every night. Who made it clear before you even stepped past the threshold of the mansion (though it looked more like a cheap attempt at copying the opera house's architectural style) that you would speak only when spoken to. Interrupting the few remarks you did say when it was just the two of you during those sliver of moments someone wasn't coming up to sing his praises.

It's not like you weren't used to being treated like arm candy. Maybe that's why you truly couldn't care less as he sat in the seat across from you without daring to break the silence, to say anything, until you did.

“I was right about you. You are a rather smarmy individual.”

His hand that had been messing with the fabric of the curtain blocking you both away from any prying eyes trying to peek inside the windows came to a stop with a soft sigh from his lips. Pantalone's hands still pulling it taught, the same way you did on a wrinkled shirt to see what it would look like perfectly pressed and ironed when he spoke.

“How does an escort like you even know that word?”

“How does a Harbinger like you end up with no options for a date besides one you have to hire?”

The second the question left you Pantalone's head tilted towards you in such a slow, deliberate manner you knew you should have kept your mouth shut. Unfortunately, knowing when to do that isn't a trait that comes as easily to you as it does others.

“What's your name again?”

You told him, shared it without second thought before you could take a moment to step back and recall he had been the one introducing you to everyone all night. He had known your name but asked anyway.

Well, you'll have to remember that trick for later use.

“It is an honor to properly be introduced to you, Lord Harbinger.”

With a smile, you held your hand out to him, repeating the same action as before. Two can play at this game, you thought as you waited for him to comply, to play along, and take it. And like a fool, even if it was just in good humor, he did.

If he was going to wipe his hand off again this time, you'll give him a damn good reason.

Your grip turned tight, unyielding, to ensure Pantalone couldn't simply pull away. Making sure, just as he might with each mora coin, he pinches between those fingers, that there's no possible chance to let it slip away as your lips pressed to one one of his silver rings.

It was cold against your skin, but no more biting than the words you were expecting as you silently dared him to say something.

Between the rocking of the carriage and the low light of the lantern between you two you couldn't help but notice that was the first time you've seen his eyes all night.

[antiquarianfics]

Taken pt. 4

If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.

A/N: Taken pt. 4, anyone? This part and the next are really rampin’ up for somethin’ big. Warnings: Swearing, extortion, kidnapping, canon-level violence. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to repost or translate my work; however, feel free to like, comment, or reblog.

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previous part | series masterlist | next part

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"I know where they are," Bucky says, closing his eyes, breathing in painfully slow in an attempt to ease his frantic heart rate.

"Well?" Tony asks indignantly. "Care to share with the class, Terminator?"

Bucky's left fist connects with the wall beside him, birthing an indentation of his hand in drywall. Clenching his jaw tightly, Bucky can't bring himself to form the words.

"The Siberian HYDRA facility," Natasha sighs. Her tone indicates she is nervous.

"Wait," Sam interrupts, "that's..." He trails off, eyes widening as he looks at a livid Bucky.

"The birthplace of the Winter Soldier Program," Steve confirms.

—

Much to Bucky’s displeasure, it takes a day for the team to prepare for Siberia. It takes another two for them to reach Siberia. It takes 10 minutes to realize the landing spot is compromised.

The quinnjet lands carefully in a clearing an hour outside the Siberian HYDRA facility, and the Avengers team quickly gathers their weapons and equipment to head out. However, once the jet’s ramp opens, they realize they’re not alone.

In front of the ramp, waiting for them in the snow, is a battalion sporting the HYDRA emblem. Each of the Avengers tense up when they see them.

A burly man steps forward. He’s tall and broad with a buzz cut and dark skin. His face looks like it’s been mauled by a bear with the scarring that litters it and the empty eye socket on the right of his face. The man smirks.

“Avengers, we’ve been expecting you,” the man says, a thick Russian accent lacing his words.

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek. The team had seen when your phone signal went out, but they all hoped it had meant it finally died. It seems, though, that it meant you’d been discovered.

The HYDRA soldier makes eye contact with Bucky.

“Soldat, welcome back. I come with a message for you.”

The team tenses when Bucky simply nods. He pushes the bile accumulating in his throat back down and stands up a little straighter.

“Dr. Frost sends his regards,” the man begins. “He would like to offer you a chance to have one of the hostages returned to you.”

“One?” Bucky snarls.

“One. Your wife and daughter are currently alive, and you may have one returned to you safely under one condition.”

“What is that?” Bucky grits the question out, left hand balling into a fist. He won’t be surprised if he finds later he’s dented his hand with how hard he is clenching his fist.

“The missus was given the opportunity first. Dr. Frost allowed her to choose whether she or your daughter be released. If you make the same choice she did, Dr. Frost will honor your decision and release one of the hostages.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Natasha asks the question no one wants the answer to.

“We kill them both.”

“Release them both and I’ll go with you,” Bucky says, doing his best to push his fear down. He has to stay brave, he reminds himself, so that you and Becca make it home.

The soldier laughs. It’s loud and amused. He turns around as if to say “This guy, am I right?” to his own men. Chuckles roll over the battalion.

“Dr. Frost anticipated you would offer yourself. Unfortunately, HYDRA no longer has any use for you, Soldat. You’re lucky your bitch is a strong negotiator, or you wouldn’t be given this opportunity in the first place.”

Bucky steps forward, ready to punch the man in the face. Steve puts a hand on his shoulder, warning him not to lose his temper.

The man smirks and raises an eyebrow.

“Well, Soldat? Who do you pick? Your bitch or your brat?”

Bucky closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to calm himself down—trying to slow his thoughts enough to just think. He wants to kill the men in front of him. He wants to storm into the facility and kill this Dr. Frost that’s been mentioned. He wants his girls back. He figures his best chance is to make the same choice you did and later force his way into the facility as fast as he can to save whomever is left behind. But he has to offer a member of his family to the wolves on a silver platter before he can even do that.

“Shit,” he thinks. It’s an impossible decision for him. His wife or his daughter. He realizes immediately after recognizing the impossibility for him that such a choice will not be nearly as difficult for you.

He can imagine the choice being offered up to you: You or your daughter? He can imagine how you wouldn’t hesitate: My daughter. He can imagine how you would insist, however, that Becca be safely returned to him.

Bucky takes a deep breath, opening his eyes and focusing on the HYDRA representative in front of him.

“My daughter,” he says coldly. Confidently.

Bucky feels the team tense behind him. He can feel their horrified stares. He is aware they didn’t expect him to play along; he is aware they were preparing to fight. He is also aware that the chances of finding you and Becca alive are slim to zero if he doesn’t cooperate. So he makes the choice he knows you did. With a stinging pain in his heart, he chooses his daughter.

The man in front of him grins. It’s disconcerting and ugly.

“Very well. Meet at The Shrine at midnight. Do not be late. Come alone. Or we kill them both.”

—

It’s an hour before the meeting. Bucky sits in the corner of the jet with his elbows on his knees. He’s been crying. The look his team gave him when he’d turned around after choosing Becca continuously plays before his eyes. They don’t understand why he’s playing along.

He closes his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. If you were here, you’d comfortingly rub his back, whispering that he’s doing all he can—that he’s okay. If you were here, you’d assure him he’s playing the game because sometimes the game is the safer option.

He feels someone sit beside him and he lets out a deep sigh.

“Go away, Steve,” he says, not wanting a lecture or a pep talk.

“Not Steve,” comes the reply and he realizes it’s Barton beside him. He sits up and shoots Clint a confused look.

“The team’s confused,” Clint says. He doesn’t make eye contact with Bucky. “I get it, though. If it was Laura and the kids? I’d play it safe, too. Go along with their game. There’s a higher chance of saving them all when you only have to rescue one later.”

Bucky grunts in acknowledgment.

“I also get that Y/N would kill you if you did anything else,” Clint laughs humorlessly and Bucky nods in agreement.

“Laura’s a former agent. We talked about this kind of situation before. The kids always come first.”

Clint lets out a deep sigh before clapping Bucky on the shoulder.

“Y/N can handle herself, and she knows what she’s doing. You know each other well enough to know what the other is going to do. It’ll work out.”

Clint sends Bucky a sad smile and stands to leave.

Bucky runs a hand over his face and leans back in his seat. He really hopes Clint is right.

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ko-fi

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Tags: @just-henny @jasminocano @browneyedgirl22 @barnesboo1967 @matchat3a @unkasworld @qwertyb2577 @raajali3 @yoruse @iilsenewman @alysianc

[its-in-the-woods]

Coyote Head - Part 3 - Head on a pike

master list

Part 1, Part 2,

Pairing: Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean 

Alternative Universe where I make things up cause I can

Synopsis: Things are not always what they seem, a tossed house, a walk through the woods. What will they find...

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning:  Animal death, blOod/G0re, Alternative Universe, Slow Burn, Death, Aging, Family Feuding, Eventually: Older Man/Younger Woman, Horror themes, long form fic,

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. So you have been warned. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

Getting out of the truck, the door squeaks, as Lucy makes her way up the set of steps. She could see the madness of her living space, bookshelves toppled, art and paperwork strewn about the space. Dozens of large dents are in the drywall. Every kitchen cupboard had been opened and tossed. Her bed flipped against the window, blankets scattered, pillows torn, stuffing covering the floor. It was as if a tornado had gone through her home and rucked up everything. She stood in the living room trying to comprehend what had happened. Her stomach revolted as she made her way to the sink, what little breakfast she had coming out into the sink.

“Whoa, whoa,” Cooper said, coming over and rubbing her back, “It’s gonna be alright.”

Lucy's head hung as she turned on the tape, willing the sludge to go down the drain. She moved to grab a glass and filled it up. The man removed his hand much to her disappointment.

“I was only gone for a few hours,” She mumbles, taking a sip of water, tears poking at the corners of her eyes. The whole house was upside down, it was as if someone had hit her in the stomach. She hadn’t lived there long, but it was still her home, the loss of privacy feeling so intimate.

“Sure looks like they were lookin’ for somethin’,” Cooper says, watching Lucy as she sips the water, his eyes moving over the scene in front of them.

“Nothing here but papers,” Lucy hisses, her head still spinning from the vomiting. The reasoning escaping her grasp, she had little to no possession, and it wasn’t like she kept money lying around. Her mind drifted to the reaction of her family members in the small lawyer's office. Was it possible this was something they had organized, maybe in a bid to scare her out of the place?

Cooper looks around, “Did they take anythin’?” His head turning toward the front door. The sound of gravel crunching under tires had them both looking out the window. Uncle Harris was out of his old truck with his 2-70 in hand. Face set in a firm grimace, as he made his way quickly to the front door.

“Don’t shoot,” Cooper chuckles as the man makes his way up the steps, holding his hands in the air in mock surrender.

“Should shoot you on-site, you lead-footed bastard.” Harris grins at the man before his eyes went wide at the scene before him. “Jesus, Lucy, what happened.”

Lucy shook her head, digging around the upturned cabinets for ginger pills. She needed something to take the edge off her nausea.  “Not sure, left about two hours ago and came back to this.”

The two men walking up and down as Lucy took stock of everything around them. Despite the horrid mess, nothing seemed to be gone. The maps were destroyed, and a handful of bookshelves were mangled beyond repair, but that was minor. There were several large holes in the walls, bigger than a man's fist but smaller than a head. Not including a dozen smaller ones that could be mudded over. They’d need to be patched sooner than later. Of course, there was the front door and the fact that half the cupboard doors were off their hinges.  It all felt so daunting to look at, where would she even start with all of this mess?

“I am gonna call Margie, get her to come help with this. I think I may have a door in the barn we could use for the front temporarily. Even if it’s just to keep the mice at bay.” Harris rattles on as Lucy gathers up things. She digs around and finds garbage bags and a broom to start cleaning.

“At least the table and desk are okay,” Cooper notes, helping Lucy pile all the papers onto the flat surface. His fingers lingering on hers as he hands her another stack.

“What do you think did this?” Lucy asks, her hands shaking as she makes sure all the papers are there. Thanking herself for having backup copies stored in a cloud online, at least she didn't have to worry about any losses there.

“Looks human to me,” Harris said as he flips open his phone to call his wife while leaning against the broom.

Lucy looks at Cooper, his hand up as if measuring the hole, “I’d agree with you Uncle. Thinkin’ if t’was an animal there’d be scat or other marks.”

Lucy looks at everything, there was no hair, blood, scat, or anything indicating that it was an animal. But it also didn’t feel right, predatory, and clinical, as if something was trying to get under her skin. Not human, but not animal either. It had gotten to her if she was honest, between the lack of sleep and hallucinations of black shadowy creatures. She was about ready to turn tail and not look back. But where would she go? This was her home now, and yes it had been turned upside down, but it was still hers. How could she leave the place her Grandpa had given her? She had never run from anything in her life, despite any hardships she had faced.

Her Uncle left to pick up Lucy’s Aunt, as well as grab a door, some putty for the holes, and a few other pieces to help repair the damage. Lucy and Cooper spent the time gathering up what was salvageable and removing what wasn’t. Ever grateful she had kept the large garbage bin in the yard and had help to move stuff out. It would be a few hours of cleaning before the place was sort of right. It wasn’t really, the place felt darker, like the sun couldn’t shine through the windows. As if a heavy fog had been dropped over them. No matter how much they cleaned, it felt like the stain wouldn't lift. It was like a greyscale filter being slotted over the space.

As Margie and Harris came down the drive; Cooper left to grab his kids, he'd promised to be back with them. Lucy tried to focus on one stack of trash at a time. She really regretted quitting smoking right now, a smoke would be amazing. At least it would help calm her down for a few. She helped her family unload the truck with all the bits and bobs they’d need to make it somewhat livable, or at the very least keep out the mice. Maybe she needed to get a cat on top of a dog or two.

Cooper came in with his two kids in tow, a little dark-haired girl with freckles, and a brown hair boy who loorked strikingly like his Dad. Somewhere along the way, he had also grabbed his hat. Lucy found herself liking that hat, something about a man that could wear one without looking ridiculous was hard to ignore. They were both polite and said hello. It was not lost on Lucy how they took in the place, it was clear they had concerns. Margie had offered to make dinner for everyone, which Lucy and Cooper agreed to. Harris had also insisted that Lucy stay at his place for the night. Lucy was more than happy to take up the offer, the last thing she wanted was to stay overnight here without a lock on the door.

Many of the cupboard doors needed to be fully replaced. Where the front door used to be was now a heavy steel one; that Uncle Harris had bought several years ago for a shed. They had even replaced the door frame. There was no deadbolt, just a handle and hole, but that would have to do for now until Lucy could get back to town. The smaller holes had been mudded, the large ones would need pieces of drywall. Despite everything the place looked somewhat okay. Lucy had even managed to put her small amount of groceries away. Despite the mess being gone, it still felt like the place was dirty. Like somehow the holes would reopen and the papers would throw about spontaneously.

“Why don’t you kids head over to Granny’s place? Let her know we will be having dinner at Margie’s,” Cooper said firmly, handing the keys to his truck to Matthias. Janey whining about never getting to drive.

“Don’t you worry, once you can reach the petals I’ll teach you,” Cooper said with a smile, rubbing Janey’s head of curls. “Now run on home and make sure you’re cleaned up for dinner.”

Magie stood, stretching and kissing Harris, “We should be heading to make sure these hard-working folks got some food.”

Harris nods, before looking at Lucy, eyebrows raised in concern. “You gonna be okay with just Cooper?”

“Yeah, I think I will be fine. I am sure the two of us are more than capable” Lucy replies, plastering on a forced smile. “Just gonna walk the fields and see what we can see.”

Harris walks over to the new door, where he had set his gun, “I am gonna leave this with you along with a spare clip, alright? Get your gun license renewed, and some more ammo. But for now, I will leave that there just encase”

“Thank you, Uncle Harris,” Lucy said with a nod, adding it to her mental checklist. “I will make sure it gets back to you.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to use it,” Margie sighs as she follows her man out the door.

Cooper watches them leave, before turning back to Lucy. “You good if we go for a walk? See what we might find,”

Lucy nods, Cooper grabs his gun placing it over his shoulder, and Lucy does the same along with the spare clip. It felt heavy, an uncomfortable comfort, she had hunted with her Granddad for years. But this felt different like she was the one being hunted. it felt like she was being stalked. Lucy was incredibly grateful that Cooper had offered to come along, she doubted she’d have the nerve to walk around here on her own. In fact, she knew she wouldn’t have gone out there without him beside her.

Cooper turned towards her as they walked towards the edge of the forest, “You mentioned you thought ya saw somethin’ last night?”

“I was tired, thought I saw maybe a dog? Run through the yard.” Lucy answers, shifting the rifle onto her other arm. “I kept feelin like something was watching me ya’no.”

“Mmmhmm, maybe a mountain lion came down,” Cooper adds as they look down at the ground, a well-worn trail in front of them.

“Haven’t been mountain lions sighted here in years,” Lucy adds, she had never had to worry about cougars. Bears, wolves, coyotes sure, but cougars were different.

“The Roths said they saw a Mom and cubs last spring.” Cooper ponders, Lucy liked how he took things seriously but kept his head on him. He never dismissed what she had to say.

“Really? This far east of the mountains.” Lucy spoke, amazed that great feline beasts were back in the prairies.

“Yeah grizzlies too,” Cooper said, stopping to look at some footprints, “Looks like coyotes were here. Not too surprising like rats.”

Lucy took a look at the tracks, it had rained a few days ago, and the mud showed clear impressions of the canine. There were a few smaller ones that looked like rabbits if she peered into the densely wooded area she could make out game trails. Cooper had moved up a bit, looking down into the woods himself. His body ridged like he had spotted one of the mountain lions they were just talking about. Hat tipped up and eyes transfixed on whatever was ahead of him.

“Whatcha see?” Lucy asked, coming to stand beside him and looking into the woods. Down a game trail almost out of sight was a stump stripped of bark. Sitting on top of the starkly white wood was a coyote’s head, not old, but fresh. Its eyes were wide as if its last moments had been full of fear, blood, and gore dripping down the sides of the stump. It was a grotesque scene, something more akin to a horror movie than real life.

“What in the-” Lucy said, going to step down the trail. Cooper’s big hands pulling her back, she turns to see Cooper staring at her, hazel eyes wide with fear.

“Don’t go in there, Lucy.” He said voice low, but forceful. The man was scared and holding onto her arm to stop her from entering the woods. She could feel the way his fingers were digging into her arm.

“It’s just someone trying to mess with us,” Lucy said, trying to brush him off and move past him but he wouldn’t budge. He made sure to keep himself between her and the woods, she would have been offended if it was anyone else.

“No, that’s a warning,” The man said, tugging her away from the place. Lucy looks back at the poor creature. Coyotes were walking vermin for most farmers, but they didn’t deserve to have their heads on pike.

Cooper continues to tug on her arm, “Let’s finish the rounds.” He was already moving them away from the scene. Lucy having to no choice but to follow him.

Lucy jogged trying to keep pace with the man, “Didn’t take you for a superstitious man.”

Cooper turned to her, a small smile crossing his face, “Maybe I am, but somethin’ doesn’t feel right out’er. Never seen anythin’ like that, that was someone trying to make a statement.”

“If they were trying to make a statement why didn’t they put it on my front door?” Lucy adds, Cooper was right something was wrong. Not that it explained why someone would do any of this.

Cooper breathed in and let it out, “I don’t know, Lucy. I don’t know a lot about these things, but I won’t trust something like that back’er. There are things in these woods that we’ll never understand.”

Lucy nods and kept following beside him. Observing more sets of tracks, coyotes, rabbits, and other large prints that look closer to bobcats. Thankfully no other coyote heads on any of the game trails they passed. That dark icky feeling that had crawled over Lucy’s home was also here. Not as pungent as it had been by the coyote's head, but still enough to make her heart speed up.

As they came to the center of the property a large cut had been made through the brush for ATVs to get in and out easily. Once again Lucy was struck with how dark the place felt, even with full sun it felt like the tree’s shadows were longer. The green was closer to black than it had any right to be. It made her feel cold, a shiver covering her arms as she looked into what was once a familiar place. She and Norm had spent many hours on ATVs running around trails; walking with their Grandma to pick berries or wild mint and other herbs. Now, it felt like she had never stepped foot in the place.

As they stood there looking at the space, Lucy spotted the first signs of something wrong. Scuffs in the ground, spaced roughly five feet apart, she walks closer, the ground wasn’t as soft here. The marks were deep gouges lifting roots and leaf mold. She runs her fingers over the dirt, outlining them. With three big toes, the creature had been moving toward the forest judging by the deeper impression facing towards the bush. The prints looked eerily close to an extremely large chicken track.

“Ever seen anything like that?” Lucy asks, Cooper, coming over and crouching down beside her. Using his finger the same way she had to outline the thing. His hat covered his eyes as he looked at the markings.

“Looks like-” He looks forward to the next print and then behind them. “A bird? Like a big bird. But that can’t be right.”

Moving between prints they went back up towards the house slightly and then disappeared. It was like the footprints had dropped out of the sky, much the same as a bird.  Walking back into the woods there were two that went in and then stopped. The two looking all around, trying to find any other evidence of the beast or whatever it was. Lucy looks up and points to what she sees among the trees.

“Look at that.” She whispers, her voice still echoing in the cathedral of trees. “Is that fur?”

The two of them stood side by side looking up into the bunches of pine branches. Up about ten feet was a tuft of brown fur. The more they looked the more they saw, at least half a dozen spots with various sizes of fur on them.

“Maybe the cougar?” Cooper asks, looking at Lucy and then back at the pieces of fur. “Got to be a cougar. They like to drag their meals up into the trees.”

Lucy squinted more, trying to see if there was anything else they were missing, “Got to be it right? How else would that get up there? Do cougars eat coyotes?”

“Cougar doesn’t explain these,” Cooper points down at the marks, “Like if those are tracks, the critter woulda been over ten feet tall. No way it could fit in the trailer.”

Lucy snorts, “In the trailer? How does it just disappear into the woods? There’s what. Five prints. Maybe it’s somethin’ digging in the ground, lookin’ for worms or something. Like a badger?”

Cooper removed his hat and rubbed at his head, looking at all the marks and then back up at the fur. He put his hat back on, dug out his phone, flipping his camera on.

“Do you mind?” He asked Lucy, as he went to take a photo of the prints.

“Nah, go for it.” She said pulling out her phone to do the same thing. Maybe someone they knew would be able to give her answers.

Cooper rubs his forehead, “Badger, maybe but spread out and even like this. Doesn’t make sense, this looks more like an animal walkin’ than something diggin',”

They stood there for a moment looking from the forest and then down at the tracks. Lucy wondering if she should go further in, maybe there would be more clues there. She could feel a small tug on her naval, a spark of something trying to call her in. Yet they stood there frozen, unable to move from their spots beside the other.

The sounds of a truck horn woke both of them from their musing. Lucy let out a sigh and closed her phone. Cooper looking back towards the house and then back into the woods.

“Think that’s our dinner bell,” Lucy said walking towards the house. She got about a hundred yards before turning back. Cooper still stood in the treeline looking around. “Cooper, you comin’?”

Cooper turned to her, blinking a few times as if he had just been awoken before he headed back up the hill. The two of them get to the top and see the kids waiting in the truck by the house. Lucy and Cooper tuck the guns safely away from the kids under the front bench seat, before taking off for dinner.

part four

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[latelyanobsession]

Hello darling! Hope you're having a good time💜 what about Billy and P and G?

(gif not mine)

G - Gentle (How gentle are they both physically and emotionally?)

Billy is exceptionally gentle with you in the beginning, most likely because a. he's not investing a lot because he figures you're gonna wise up and leave soon enough, and b. as you begin to stay longer and longer he then kinda starts panicking about how he should go about putting in the effort to make you stay. Well because... he really didn't think you would. So now that you're here each new day he begins to worry. He still worries that you're going to leave. That never left. But now you've been around so long that he actually cares now. He's invested. There's some feeling and emotion at stake. Oh god! Bleeding hearts of the world unite, amiright? And he's bad at this. Like endearingly, baby deer on shaky legs, bad. He's so worried that if he doesn't treat you gently, wrap you in bubble wrap. Never lose his temper. Always kiss you. Always be the 'good boyfriend'. Never shout. Type of guy. ... That he's gonna lose you. That he's gonna break you. And that it will be his fault. And that like everything else in his life, he'll feel he deserves this. This is his lot in life.

And he has a lot to learn. And it's gonna happen. Most likely when push comes to shove and he just can't keep swallowing it anymore. You have a hell of a fight. You can't stand be treated with kid gloves. You've seen him angry, you don't like him pretending around you but not others. You shove him. You lose your own temper and hit him. He pushes you away and you fall and hit your head. And it just all explodes. Tears and fear, shame and anger and anguish. "You won't like me now!" Items being thrown and broken. Thrusting you straight into a hurricane. "I break everything I touch!" Trying to talk him through it, but really having no choice but to weather the storm with him. Waiting until he's exhausted and sliding down the wall to the floor. Knuckles bloody and drywall dented, just to sit next to him quietly. "You can be angry Billy." As he numbly sits there with tears still silently rolling down his face. "I want all of you, not some of you."

P - Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Billy is not a patient person but he's working on it. A lot of Billy's anger is tied to his anxiety. His patience was thinnest when you were first starting off. That's when you had to be the patient one, with enough to spare for the both of you. It was almost like a long-con marshmallow test. The longer you could make your own patience last, the better payout you would get with Billy, your proverbial marshmallow.

Things are better the longer you are together. He'll catch himself as his voice rises, and he'll bite it off quickly. His eyebrows knitting together and shoulders drooping with a huffed "sorry". There's times when you might do something that irks him, and you'll catch his nose scrunching in annoyance, or his knuckles clenching and unclenching before he exhales and looks at you. "What?" "You know what?" And then you smile sheepishly, "Oh yeah... sorry." But most of his anger and his impatience has little to do with you. It's woven into his environment. It's when he realizes he got caught up spending too much time with you and is past curfew. So he may run out the door without saying 'good night' properly. Or he's gotten a less than stellar grade on a midterm, and to top it off Max is late after school.

You've had plenty of fights. More than a handful of screaming matches. But they blow over and you've learned that being with him learns having to rise and fall with his mercurial moods.

G - Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Billy is primarily serious during any and all aspects of sex, but he can complement your energy. He'll laugh with you if you laugh at something or if you fall out of your jeans onto your face. He can appreciate spontaneous and unexpected moments. But for the most part, your lungs are going to be so busy screaming that it's going to be rather hard to joke or laugh at anything.

P - Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Billy can alternate. It definitely depends on his mood, the day that it's been, how much time you have to be together, etc. He'll also definitely slow his pace to drag out his endurance and/or to make you earn it.

Billy always starts right out of the gates like a shot. He might ease in kindly. Other times not. But once in? Oh no no no, honey. You better grab onto something. He edges off a bit when he gets a good rhythm started, but the pace will stay consistent. And if he's already learned where those spots are that makes you gasp and cry? Oh, it's rough. Long deep strokes. Slow pulls back, as he locks eyes with you, just to meanly thrust back inside you. Make your neck snap backward, and your jaw fall slack.

If his orgasm is building too quickly, he backs off. Shifts and reseats himself in you shallowly. Thrusting slowly, and driving down the sensitivity. At least for himself. He usually takes this as an opportunity to drive yours through the roof. Lay rough hands on already frayed and fired-up nerve endings. Rubbing a thick wad of spit across sensitive and tingling red flesh to make you scream his name. He stops just shy of a flutter of tightened muscle around his girth. A noted quiver in your voice. A shallow hitch in your breath. And he mercilessly abandons his ministrations all to shove himself within you to the hilt. Your thighs straining and calves locking behind him as drives into you. A broad hand pinning you down as the other returns to you. Thumbing and pinching at you. Rubbing. "Come on babe." he encourages with a snap of his hips. "So close."

[xypherz]

Sun!San x Moon!Reader

Details: Choi San x Reader, GN!Reader, Headcanons, 0.56k words A series in which an idol and their partner are polar opposites.

Warnings: Kind of proofread? Nothing else, but let me know if I missed something.

He tried so hard to be mysterious and cool (which he is, but you would never tell him that), but the poor guy wears his heart on his sleeve and emotions on his face.

Then you showed up and he officially gave up.

You are everything he thinks is so cool. Like he just admires everything about you.

He was determined to get past the wall you built up, and he thinks it was so worth it.

Sure, you’re still rough around the edges, but getting past that brick wall opened up a world of awkwardly expressed vulnerability (he thinks it’s adorable, but you have to keep a reputation).

When he told you he was romantically interested in you (let’s be honest, you would have let it eat you up inside before you ever admitted it), you tried so hard to be genuine, but all that came out was: “Oh cool. Me too. I mean I like you too, not that I like me too. Sorry.”

He did that little face scrunch he does when he’s trying not to bounce off the walls.

Safe to say, when you guys started dating, he was so proud of himself. 

Like bragging to everyone he knows that the coolest person alive is his partner.

He would’ve told the media himself that you guys were dating straight up, but you were not having it.

It’s not that you’re ashamed of him or anything, but being in the eye of millions of people as the most biased member of ATEEZ’s partner is a little overwhelming.

You don’t show it on your face, or even tell him about it because you know it would make him feel bad.

He’s such an energetic person though and just wants to be out and about all the time.

He’s not an extrovert by any means, just a ball of energy.

You, however, cannot keep up for the life of you.

You run off of caffeine and spite.

He’s an idol, he barely sleeps, where on earth does he get this energy?

Most of the time, you guys stay in, or if you go out, it’s at night.

Staying in usually entails a movie night, self care night (San would rather die than let you neglect yourself), or baking disasters, in which you try your best to supervise, but end up enabling him.

Have I mentioned that you guys share a brain cell?

Each weekend is essentially “who gets the kid,” but it’s just a single brain cell.

His weekends with the brain cell are when you decide to get 2 hours of sleep and do 13 hours of work without a break.

He is not pleased.

Literally pries you away from whatever you’re doing to cuddle or eat.

Your weekends are when he thinks it’s a good idea to laugh so hard he puts a dent in the wall.

You drag him to the store to get drywall putty.

He is also not pleased with this.

Overall, you guys balance each other out, and even though it looks like you’re the sane one in the relationship that keeps San from running into an oncoming train, it’s actually that you both would run into the oncoming train together.

Well, he would run. You’d probably… meander into it.