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doyelikehaggis · 4 years ago

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Twelve Days of Rarepairs: Scydia/McMartin | Scott McCall x Lydia Martin (Teen Wolf)

Requested by @wonderdoves & anonymous

"This place is…"

Scott can't even think of a word. He just gazes ahead of them in wonder and awe. For miles, all he can see is snow. A thick white blanket of it covering the entire path ahead, the roads, the cobblestoned buildings, the trees—god, even the trees feel like something out of a fairytale, with long, twisting branches that have a dusting of snow themselves. And it's still going, trying to make them part of the scenery, too.

"You'd think you'd never seen snow before," Lydia teases.

"I haven't—not like this! California's snow is nothing compared to this."

Lydia just smiles, a certain fondness in her eyes. She squints up at the sky, her nose wrinkling slightly, their suitcases dragging along through the snow behind them as they continue their way from the ferry port. Something else that Scott is admittedly still in amazement over; he'd never actually been on a ferry before.

It's just a good thing that the snow stopped long enough for them to actually reach Ireland, or else they'd have still been holed up in their cabin, stuck somewhere in the middle of the sea. Not the worst scenario he can think of, to be fair. But he's glad, nonetheless, because this is so much better.

"I don't know," Lydia says. "I think I prefer the warm winters. I'm just hoping that Gran and Nana make their hot chocolate like they used to when I was younger, I'm telling you, it's the best thing ever."

Scott smiles, finally looking at Lydia as they come to a stop outside a two-storey, cobbled house with a gate around the garden. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, her nose a pale pink. Snowflakes have clung to her green hat, along the shoulders of her matching green coat, and to her eyelashes. There's a gleam of pure excitement and joy beneath them as she stares at the house.

When she takes a deep breath, it returns like a puff of smoke. Scott gently squeezes her hand and holds it up in his own, bringing her gloved knuckles to his lips.

"You look nervous," he tells her softly.

"A little," Lydia says, nodding. "Only because I haven't been here since I was… nine? And there's so much to tell them. I mean, I know my mom filled them in on pretty much everything, but still."

Scott nods as well, saying, "I know. It's a lot. But it'll be okay."

"Yeah, of course," Lydia agrees. Her smile seems a little more confident as she gives another nod.

They walk through the gate, into the garden that Scott's now seeing is teeming with things; empty plant pots, kids toys, an overturned bicycle. Even the stones of the house are more interesting than he had initially realized, with bright murals painted across the whole front of the house.

As soon as they enter the house, the door closing behind them, they're hit with unexplainable warmth. And the shouting and giggling of kids that whiz past them, nearly knocking them off their feet.

"I forgot how loud it gets here," Lydia says, but she's laughing. Scott can see it in her eyes as she looks around the entrance hall, beautifully decorated with lengths of tinsel, and handcrafted baubles hanging from the ceiling.

Framed pictures line the walls up the stairs as far as he can. The closest one, hanging by the bottom of the stairs, has a familiar little girl, giving her biggest smile to the camera beside a young woman with a striking resemblance.

"Is this you?" Scott asks, his smile wide.

Lydia looks at the photo. "Oh god, yeah. I think that was when I was, like… six? I came up here every Christmas and New Year before my parents divorced. That's my gran."

"You look like her," Scott tells her, and he can hear the joyful skip of heart, hear it in her proud little hum of agreement.

"Well, maybe without some of the grey hair," a voice says from behind them.

They both turn around, and Lydia's face lights up. She's already squealing and dropping her suitcase and Scott's hand.

"Gran!" Lydia practically flies at her, hugging her tightly.

Her gran laughs, caught by surprise but only for a second, wrapping her up in her arms. "I've missed you too, Ariel!"

"Haven't heard that name in a while," someone else says, with a distinctively more Irish accent, but still holding the same fond, overjoyed tone.

Scott looks at the woman who appears at their side from the room behind Lydia and her gran. He recognizes her instantly from all the photos.

Maddy places a hand on Lorraine's shoulder as she and Lydia pull apart. Lydia looks on the verge of tears as she buries herself into Maddy's open embrace as well for a second, both laughing now.

"And you…" Lorraine looks over Scott with a smile and a gleam in her eyes. A certain kind of knowing. "... You're Scott McCall."

Scott returns her smile and nods. "I am. I've heard a lot about you, Mrs. Martin."

"Yeah, I know a thing or two about you as well," Lorraine tells him, and he knows.

He knows she isn't just talking about him and Lydia being together, but about everything. The deadpool. She knew who he was and what he was going to be before he even hit ten.

For a moment, his worries from the ferry come back. Not all supernatural creatures are a fan of each other, and with the destruction that werewolves have a history of causing, banshees can't be that fond of them. And especially with everything that's happened to Lydia.

But then her smile grows and she says, "I'm glad to finally meet you! And, please, call me Lorraine. This is my wife, Maddy."

"So, this is the little wolf that got your heart, huh?" Maddy jokes to Lydia, an arm around her shoulders.

Lydia looks at Scott. She bites her bottom lip through her smile, and her eyes are saying everything.

She nods and softly says, "Yeah. He is."

"Then you're more than welcome here," Lorraine says.

Relief starts to lift the weight off of Scott's shoulders and chest. The warm, welcoming atmosphere is hard to resist, and he's already feeling at home.

Lydia was right. The hot chocolate is one of the best things he's ever had. Creamy and overflowing with marshmallows with a candy cane to stir it around. Not to mention the plate of cookies. He has never had a gingerbread man that tastes this good.

It's already dark outside, the sun having set an hour or two after they arrived. They already changed into warmer, more comfortable clothes, and settled in front of the fireplace in the living room to get rid of the chill from the snow. Lorraine and Maddy insisted. Didn't want them getting sick, and ignoring their protests about not being able to actually get sick.

"Your cousins don't look like they're having a good time," Scott comments quietly, watching the half-asleep couple sitting in the corner.

"They have five kids, all under the age of ten," Lydia replies. "I think the only thing they can feel right now is exhausted."

Scott snorts. He looks around the room. He's met nearly everyone on this side of the family by now. Every cousin, second cousin, aunts, uncles. The kids that Lorraine and Maddy took in have been especially eager to meet him.

His attention is drawn back to the little boy sitting cross-legged in front of him. He's only nine.

Scott wasn't expecting it when Lorraine and Maddy told him that around ten years ago, another banshee had found them. She was only nineteen and had no one and no idea what was going on with her. They took her in, Lorraine helped her. And from then, it's like their home was its own supernatural beacon, but for kids who had nowhere else to go.

Sean, the little boy currently sneaking another gingerbread man from the plate, is a werewolf. His family, his pack, were hunted down when he was four. Lorraine felt it coming. She and Maddy found Sean.

There's a little yelp and Sean clutches his hand. Scott catches a glimpse of tiny claws where nails should be.

"Can I…?" he asks, holding out a hand.

Sean hesitates, but he glances at Lydia, who smiles and nods encouragingly, then back at Scott. He slowly gives him his hand, palm up.

"I don't know how to control it…" Sean mutters, looking down sheepishly.

Scott inspects where the small trickle of blood is coming from. Three little lines where his claws accidentally caught his skin in passing.

Shaking his head, Scott speaks gently, and draws on the pain in Sean's hand. "It's okay. You're still learning."

"Yeah, it's actually harder for born wolves," Lydia chimes in, nodding convincingly when Sean lifts his eyes to her with curiosity. "You'd think it was the other way around, but one of our friends—he was born a werewolf."

"And he didn't learn until he was sixteen," Scott tells him. "It just takes time."

"And knowing what keeps you grounded," Lydia adds. "Your anchor."

Sean looks at Scott. "Do you have an anchor?"

Scott nods. "I do. I had to learn to let me be my own anchor, but when that doesn't work for me, I focus on all the people I love. My mom, my best friend, my pack."

He glances at Lydia only to find her already gazing at him with the softest smile, her cheek leaning against her shoulder. She places a kiss to his shoulder, her hand resting on her arm for a second.

"You just need to find something that makes you feel more in control," Scott finishes, turning back to Sean. "Even if it's an emotion."

Sean nods slowly. His expression is one of deep thought, trying to work to figure out what his own anchor could be.

"Now, you should go clean this up," Scott says. "Just run it under warm water with some soap, okay? It might sting a little, but just ask Lorraine or Maddy if they have any antibiotic cream, and then put a bandage on it."

"Are you a doctor?" Sean asks.

"No," Scott can't help but grin as he says, "I'm just a vet."

That answer only seems to confuse Sean. But he gets up and hurries off to go do what Scott instructed.

When Scott turns back, Lydia's still watching him. She has this look on her face, a thoughtful glaze in her eyes and a certain kind of smile that he can't read.

Chuckling, Scott asks, "What is it?"

She lets a beat pass. She shakes her head, takes a slow breath in, then looks over at the window instead.

"It's still snowing. Do you wanna sit in the garden? There's a nice bench out back."

Scott's eyebrows furrow a little, but he stands with her, following her to the back door from the kitchen. Stepping outside is like what he'd imagine stepping into a walk-in freezer would feel like.

But the cold biting at his skin is unimportant. The awe hits him all over again as he takes in the sight of the garden, feeling like he just stepped into a fairytale instead. Everywhere he looks, everything is white and sparkling. From the entire ground, to the gazebo at the end of the garden.

Somehow, in amidst it all, there are flowers. Whole roses and everything, snow dusting across their dark red petals.

"This is…" Scott breathes out, his eyes wide, "... I don't even know what this is. This place doesn't feel real."

Lydia laughs gently. She wraps her arms around her and nods, looking around as the snow falls around them.

"Yeah, it does feel kind of… magical."

"We could actually make a snowman," Scott continues. "Or have a real snowball fight. Are snow angels things that people actually do?"

Lydia's eyebrows are raised when he looks back at her, and she's shaking her head. But she's got a smile that stretches to the corners of her eyes and he can feel emotions radiating off of her.

"You are so dorky." She moves closer, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. "And I love you."

Scott smiles. His voice is soft and giving away all of the fondness he feels for her when he says, "And I love you."

She leans in, her head tilting. Her lips are soft against his. He pulls her a little closer, his arms wrapping around her waist. The cold and even the snow is easier to ignore.

Lydia pulls back, her hands lingering on his shoulders. Scott doesn't let go at all.

"I'm really glad you're here with me," Lydia tells him. "And my whole family now loves you, so that's a nice bonus. I think you even made a friend."

Scott grins, shrugging. "Your family is great, and I am… beyond relieved that they like me. And, I think with Sean, it's a werewolf thing."

"Oh, no." Lydia shakes her head firmly. "Maybe that's a small part of it, the whole Alpha thing and all, but all of the kids in there love you."

They pull apart. Lydia sits down on the bench. Scott follows, and can't help but start piling the snow from the arm of the bench into a ball in his hand.

"You were amazing with Sean," Lydia comments, glancing at him. She's doing the same thing with the snow on her side.

Scott shrugs again. "I just told him the same as I told Liam. And Alec. It's how I wish I could have been introduced to all of this. With someone reassuring me that it would be okay."

Lydia nods in a shared understanding. Neither of their starts in the supernatural word were exactly pleasant or comforting. Scott's only sorry that Lydia was brought into it the way she was.

She rests a hand on top of his, curling her fingers beneath his palm. She squeezes gently.

He knows that she can tell what he's thinking. Sometimes he worries that banshees have the ability to read minds as well. But the look she gives him and her hand there with his draws his thoughts away from the past. Everything is okay. It's better than okay.

"It's amazing what your gran and nana have done, though," Scott says. "Taking in supernatural kids who have nowhere else to go."

"Yeah, it's like a little foster home, but… for werewolves, banshees, and everything else," Lydia jokes, but her smile is sincere. "It's a really good thing they're doing. The kids are so happy here."

"I can see why," Scott says, gazing back out across the garden. The snow has the sky practically glowing, in no way looking like it's dark enough to be night.

There's a slight pressure against his hand from Lydia's fingers, moving slowly.

"Do you… do you think that's something you'd ever want to do?" Lydia asks, careful with her words.

Scott looks back at her. She's watching him again, with curious eyes. His heart drops many beats.

"Wait, are you—?" he starts to ask, but Lydia's eyes widen and she quickly shakes her head.

"No!" she hastens to answer. "No, I'm not! I just meant… you know, in general, is it—is it something that you can see for the future? Not necessarily the foster home part, but… you know."

She chews her bottom lip. Scott takes it in, letting the question process. After a moment, a smile curves the corners of his mouth up.

"Imagine, the first werewolf-banshee hybrid," he says.

"That can't have been done before," Lydia agrees, a laugh to her voice. "I wonder if one side would skip them, or if we'd be creating a whole new species."

Scott actually does laugh now, and Lydia joins him. His stomach is buzzing with butterflies or bees, he can't tell.

When they both go quiet, Scott slowly nods. He lifts his eyes to meet Lydia's.

"I like the sound of that," he says softly. "Whether it be a werewolf-banshee hybrid, or even an orphaned werewolf with nobody else… yeah. It's something I see for the future."

Lydia takes in a deep breath. She presses her lips together as her smile threatens to take over her entire face. She just nods, and breathes out slowly.

"Good to know," she says. "I do too, for the record."

"Okay, that's great," Scott says, grinning from ear to ear.

Lydia hums in agreement. Then the ball of snow that she'd been forming hits him square in the chest.

It's safe to say that it is freezing. The snow instantly seeps through his Christmas jumper, melting into his skin. He gasps while Lydia laughs behind her hands, hee eyes wide.

"You said you wanted a snowball fight…" she reminds him.

Scott nods. "You're absolutely right. I did."

The ball of snow in his own hand hits Lydia. She gasps, snow sticking to her jumper as well now.

"Oh my god, so cold!" she exclaims. "Why is that so cold?!"

"Because it's real snow," Scott says, his excitement quickly returning.

Lydia looks at him, her eyes narrowing. A familiar, competitive smirk forms on both their faces.

"Game on," she says.

Next second, they're trying to dodge out of the other's way, snowballs flying across the garden. There are gasps and shouts and laughter when they successfully land a shot.

Maybe it's a little unfair that Scott taps into his heightened abilities to move faster. But the advantage doesn't stop Lydia from managing to sneak up on him and tackle him into the snow. It's so deep that they sink a few inches into it, laughing until their sides and faces ache, and neither of them actually win, both claiming they did. But they end up just lying there in the freezing snow, curled into each other, staring up at the night sky.

#teen wolf #twedit #twrarepair #scydia #mcmartin #scott mccall #lydia martin #scott x lydia #lydia x scott #twelve days of rarepairs #rowing the rarepair rowboat #myedits*#wonderdoves #OKAY SO I LOVED WRITING THIS #you really let me just go for it with that prompt damn I love that thank you #and scott and lydia are like one of my favourite otps for teen wolf so once again THANK YOU so much for allowing to let them be soft #hope that you enjoy!!#also if any rarepairs are late at all over the next twelve days... no they aren't you can't see that

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guigz1-coldwar · 3 years ago

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'Talks' : New chapter for "Always for the greater cause..." is out !

Chapter Summary: After Bell managed to remember the day where she met Adler with Stitch & Bellamy, she woke up in her quarters of the Perseus safe house...not able to remember anything from last night...

To read it on AO3, click here!

Taglist: @snowgoldwaylon , @clxudtea , @efingart

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21st February 1981

Yirina 'Bell' Grigoriev, Ex-KGB, Perseus

Bell's personal quarters in the Perseus safehouse 'D8' in East-Berlin, East Germany

I don't know what happened after I was able to remember that day on Rebirth Island but the only thing I was sure of is that my head was like hurting me, a damn headache taking over me and that was the first thing I could notice when I start to reopen my eyes slowly to find myself on a bed...covered in green sheets and half-dressed, not feeling anything around my legs and wearing only a black shirt on my top.

It was weird because...the last thing I remember was to sit on the chair near Wraith to remember the events of Rebirth but after that, it was like a black-out to me, impossible to remember what I did after the memory work was finished. Now, I was in a sort of bedroom, looking like the one I had in Solovetsky: simple & empty of anything that was mine except some clothes on the desk...I've got a feeling that I was reliving the last day...waking up, dressing up and someone will knock at my door to see if I was awake...

However, my headache, my body wasn't really willing to get up from the bed I was on, just staying on it for a while until my body found itself the way to gather some strength and starting to put some clothes on. As I was actually trying to find out where I was, the door of the room opened, revealing Wraith herself.

"Oh, you're awake, Bell!" She exclaimed with a smile, holding in her hands, a glass of water looking white as if a med was in it.

"Where I am?" I asked her, worried and looking around me.

"Don't worry, you're fine & safe," She replied, putting the things she had in her hands to close the door behind her before she took back the glass in her hands to come near me. "Here, drink, it's to appease you," She said, handing me the glass.

"Appease me? What's...what's happening?" I demanded to her, not understanding what was happening right now, why does she was doing this with me?

"You don't remember what happened last night?" She questioned me in a normal voice and to me, I shook my head to her, trying to figure out what I did but nothing came in my head. "You passed out after you decrypted the file for 3 hours," She revealed to me.

"Three hours?" I muttered, taking the glass off her hands in mine, looking at it down as I was like, shocked to hear that,

"After you were done with remembering your day in Rebirth Island, you start to decrypt the file despite my advice to take a rest and as I predicted, you collapsed off your chair," She continued as she moved to take the desk chair to sit near my bed, not even removing her eyes from me. "Hopefully that Knight was there to catch you before you fall on the ground or otherwise, you would have a bandage around your head," She added, sounding like a joke

"I wouldn't like that," I did a small grin to her and a little laugh before taking a sip of the water she gave me, tasting with a med on it.

"I thought that you would have a headache when you will wake up so I took the necessary for you, it's 10 AM by the way," She explained, gesturing to the glass I had and I nodded to her, meaning that I was having one now. "As I was thinking, it was surely one of the things we will have to face with you,"

"One of the things you're facing with me?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Well, you're still recovering from your coma of one month and we're expecting that you can do this sometimes, a little but still doing it," She said to me in a reassuring voice, putting her left hand on the side of the bed. "I'm making sure that you're still well & okay, you're the kind of girl that doesn't give up easily," She stated.

"I can say that," I simply told her, not wanting to brag myself at all.

"I heard a lot of things about you from Stitch, said that you were like the best in Perseus," She implied to me. "He told me of your time with him & Bellamy on Rebirth and the gulag, it's kinda hard to think about what happened to you," She added to me, taking a sad tone in her voice.

"Yeah, it's not the thing I would like to talk about but..." I stopped myself to drink the water before taking a deep breath. "I never thought that Stitch will ever talk about this to anyone," I claimed, in fact, surprised that she was knowing that story better than anyone.

"I'm surprised, to be honest with you," She told me. "When Stitch learned that Adler was coming back against us, he knew that this story needed to be known for some of us,"

"Still, I thought that it would stay hidden deep inside of us but nope, I don't know if it was useful to say that but since it's Stitch..." I was going to continue until I stop myself in my words to make a little laugh about it, never thinking that Stitch would be so willing to share that story with the others. "I don't even remember how my days in the gulag were,"

"I think that you should not think of that, I'm fearing that it can make you pass out like you did last night," She advised me in a good voice.

"Good thinking," I nodded at her, smiling before finishing the glass of water and putting it on the left nightstand as Wraith was looking at me with a smile. "By the way, where's Stitch?" I asked her.

"He's gone into town for the day to meet with people to help us in our next move," She responded to me, removing her hand from the bed to join in with the other one on her lap. "We should be starting to make our first real mission tomorrow, time to plan everything,"

"And what is it about?" I demanded to her.

"Oh, you should not get worried about it, today, we all need some rest before going into action, especially you," She answered, starting to get up from the chair and putting it back in its place. "The briefing will come tomorrow, so no need to worry about it, it's all fine, Bell," She added, reassuring me about that.

"Thank you, Wraith, you're looking great," I commented her, finding like...beautiful in those casual clothes...and my comment caused me to blush...like an idiot.

"Are you complimenting me in a flirting way, Bell?" She asked me, using a rather tone that was mostly seductive to me.

"Uhm...why not?" I raised my shoulders to her with a grin, trying to remove that stupid blush from my face. "I'm sorry if...I did something that..."

"No, that's okay, Bell," She gently cut me, gesturing that it was fine for me to do that with her. "You're also looking good by the way," She continued, giving me the blushing that I was able to remove from my face...damnit...

"Thanks..." I whispered before redressing myself on the side of the bed, Wraith moving away from me and staying near the door, her hands on its door handle. "We can talk later, maybe?" I suggested.

"Of course but not for the large part of the day, I'll be busy making some calls and doing like Stitch," She said to me, opening the door of my room wide open. "You still have Knight to talk to, Bellamy is busy...to listen to music through his headset," She joked about it, even laughing about it. "Anyway, I'm leaving you, hope you will be well," She added before stepping outside the room.

"You too, Wraith," I told her in a low voice, only seen a smile on her face before she closes the door, leaving me alone in the room.

Well, I passed out after finishing to work on that file for hours...that's how I found myself on that bed in that room that was supposedly my personal quarters in the safehouse, and now, I was back alone in it, still under the green sheets of the bed, half-dressed and feeling slightly better than when I woke up, Wraith's glass of water must have been helping to that and it was better...giving me the motivation to get up for good.

I finally put myself back on my feet to join the desk where my clothes were, looking like the same I've got yesterday and I started to dress up while my mind was actually trying to not think about my days in the gulag along with Stitch & Bellamy but somehow, I couldn't have any little thing to remember that as if something was blocking me to do it but as Wraith said, better to think of something else than that.

Once I was ready in my clothes and checking up if everything was in order, I took a deep breath before walking to get out of my room to join the main room of the safehouse but when I stepped out, I was now in a little hallway, seemingly the place where everyone's quarters were, having our names on each door and thankfully, there was a direction for me to join the main room, only a few steps from my own door.

Then, I opened the door, entering the main room of the place, finding Bellamy sit at his desk as Freya said...literally listening to music through headsets at his desk, arms crossed and eyes closed as this Knight I didn't talk with was near his supposed workplace, maintaining an assault rifle and its mag in perfect shape.

"Here you are, Bell," Knight spoke up, seeing me arrive in the room, putting his rifle down on his desk. "Are you going to pass out or not? Just need to know," He asked me, using a funny tone towards me.

"No, I don't think so, Knight," I replied to him, approaching him. "Well, Knight is your name, right?" I demanded him as I wasn't knowing him at all

"Of course, Roman 'Knight' Gary, but call me Knight, it's better and that's how I prefer to be called to," He responded to me, offering his hand for a shake and even if I was a bit feeling disturbed, I still decided to shake hands with him.

"You're sounding Irish..." I told him, having remark his accent that wasn't sounding Russian at all.

"Yeap, I was born in Belfast, Ireland," He explained, leaning against his desk and looking at me, crossing his arms. "Joined the MI6 in 1965 before getting myself resigned a year earlier, that accent is one of the many things I kept when I joined Perseus," He added to me, giving me more details about him.

"Why did you join?" I questioned him curiously,

"Chaos & destruction...I was promised that and I'm willing to have it," He immediately answered to me, not even giving a second to think about his answer and it quite surprised him. "I hope that you're not like Bellamy himself," He gestured towards Bellamy with his head, making me look at him, listening to music...or sleeping.

"Oh no, not at all," I reassured him.

"Wait, let me do something," Knight winked at me, putting his finger right in front of his lips before he starts to walk slowly towards Bellamy, getting behind me, and with his hands, he suddenly slammed them on Bellamy's desk, causing the music listener to jump out in scare from his chair on the ground.

"Damnit, for fucking fuck sake...Knight, you fucker!" Bellamy cursed, looking at him as Knight was literally laughing from the situation soon discreetly followed by me.

"I'm sorry but it was so tempting," Knight said to him, not removing his funny face to Bellamy.

"You will see soon how I can retaliate, buddy," Bellamy asserted, going back on his feet and cleaning his shirt with his hands. "And you? That's making you laugh?" He spoke up in my direction, making me stop to laugh even if I was continuing on the inside.

"What? A girl can't laugh here?" I protested, trying to stay positive towards him but he only rolled his eyes around.

"Fucking whatever, don't try to do it again, Knight," He warned Knight as he was going back to sit on his chair, redressing it and then, putting his headset back on.

"You're going to be used to him and his attitude, don't worry, Bell," Knight got back next to me, sounding happy and still laughing about the joke he pulled out. "You might want to have a beer or something to eat, I presume?"

"Yeah, I would like that," I replied to him before my belly started to growl, making a weird noise.

"See that someone is willing to eat," Knight stated, moving to tap me in a gentle & friendly way on the back of my right shoulder before walking with me towards the direction of a fridge in the main room...

"I hope that you like to have a beer, Bell!"

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21st February 1981

Vikhor 'Stitch' Kuzmin, Perseus

Somewhere around East-Berlin, in a phonebooth

"Wraith, how the situation is doing at the safe house?" I was on a phonebooth after having made a meeting with another agent and now, I needed to have news from her about Bell, what happened to her last night was anticipated and her safety was primordial...she was knowing a lot of things for us...Wraith was the one to call for that...

"All good, she's just woke up minutes ago, now taking a drink & eating with Knight after the latter pulled out a prank on Bellamy," Wraith replied to me through the phone as I was looking around, the rain falling on the city...shitty city..."Apart from that, she's looking fine, I gave her meds and the food she's eating has already been rigged, everything is fine,"

"Of course, that's our main objective with her," I reminded her of that. "Are the cameras & micros working in her room?" I asked her.

"Yes, soon as she woke up that I moved to talk with her," She responded to me. This was a way to keep a perfect eye on Bell's actions, we couldn't let her do anything weird or suspicious against our back even if she's 'one of us' for the moment. "You know well that I'm keeping an eye on her and if I have to, I will do it closer,"

"Maybe, our objective is to keep Bell alive to give us where's Adler is hiding, along with helping about Greenlight," I told her, reminding her again of Bell's usefulness with us.

"Stitch, our main goal is to secure Greenlight before moving to Adler, that's the thing we needed to discuss now," She said to me, using a very serious voice with me. "We can't press things with Bell, the dose you're asking to do are too high, she could risk passing out more often than before, we..."

"And let our chances to get Adler flying away? No chances!" I cut her in a harsh tone, taking a look around me to see if I wasn't watched in case. "The doses are normal to me, no objections about it on the subject will be discussed, understood?" I demanded from her.

"If we're going that path, we're losing her, are you understanding this, or your quest to get Adler is blinding you?" She asked me in a harsh tone as I did before, feeling her voice close to the phone as she was having something to hide. "We both know how MK-Ultra works, we lose her and we're done, she's like the only hope for us to get a hand on Greenlight," She added.

"It seems that you forgot who is leading here, Wraith," I recited to her, my position in here. "I'm the one leading this whole operation against the West to get Adler and use Greenlight and I will not allow everyone to counter me on anything that is blocking how I see things," I insisted on my choices to her, making sure that she understands.

"Fine," She sighed through the phone after a few seconds I was done giving her my thoughts. "At least, if we lose Bell, we're having someone to blame on," She said like that but I wasn't angry...just normal.

"I'm doing this for the Collective, more we stay on the usuals dose, more Bell will be staying loyal and not drifting away from us," I told her clearly. "The things we're doing are going to pave the way for our Greater Russia, it's the only way, Wraith,"

"I understand, Stitch, I understand," She confirmed in a low voice, feeling like she was disturbed but I didn't care...our goals were first.

"Good, I'll let you take care of Bell's situation, her next dose should be given soon, I'm heading out to another meeting before coming back to the safe house," I announced to Wraith after I checked my watch on my left wrist.

"Okay, later then," She simply said before she literally hanged up the phone from her side and the only thing I did was to roll my eyes around, not even annoyed or disturbed by her moves...she was reminded and it was her only attitude...

I put back the phone at its place before I took a look around, seeing the rain falling on the street heavily and I took a deep breath before I put on my hood to get out of the phonebooth I made my call to Wraith, now walking away towards my next destination with one of my contacts, my thoughts on one main thing....

I will find you, Adler...and it's one of yours that will help me...

#cod bocw #cod cold war #cod black ops cold war #cod cw #cod #call of duty cold war #call of duty #cod bell #black ops cold war #fem!bell #freya wraith helvig

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bigfootwrites · 4 years ago

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Danse Macabre: Adventures of Mr Mulder and Dr Scully (3/ )

AO3 link because I no longer have the Tumblr links.

This is dark (as a fic) so it might not be everyone’s cup of tea which is cool. Also, if you’re not Mulder and Scully I’m going to have creative freedom with you.

@today-in-fic @mypanicface let me know if you want to be tagged.

- - -

WHY CHILDREN?

“I want access to Duane Barry!”

Skinner’s head lifts to the door, an interviewee spins in his chair.

An interview is taking place. An interview Mulder has seemed to have interrupted.

But Mulder does not care. He challenges Skinner, silently demanding his access to the man be granted.

“Excuse us,” Skinner says to his interviewee. A hand his placed on Mulder’s arm, forcefully leading him out of the office.

“Why have I been denied access to Duane Barry?” Mulder asks.

Skinner shakes his head. “An order was sent down from the top,” the other man says. “It was out of my control.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Mulder blazes. “I was just meant to find out when I got there.” His voice rises, catching the attention of a few other detectives close by.

Skinner quietens his voice when he speaks.

“I intended on telling you earlier but then I got stuck with this.” He gestures towards his office to where the interviewee sits inside.

Mulder looks that way, seeming to understand that Skinner wasn’t the one to be angry with here and nods.

“Is there anything you can do about it?” He asks. “You asked me on this case, after all.”

Skinner shakes his head.

“I heard they wanted to keep this to police business.”

Police business, Mulder thinks. Keep it to police business so they can wrap it up and chuck it away.

Skinner sighs and Mulder knows his time is up yet before they go their separate ways, Skinner calls to him.

“I’ll see if I can fix this, Mulder.”

Mulder nods, though he doesn’t get his hopes up.

.:.:.:.:.:.

A body beneath the sheets. Medical instruments perfectly laid out in a line on a tray. Mulder eyes the knife-looking one, picks it up, plays with it, cuts his finger, and drops it onto the floor in response.

He sucks his finger into his mouth.

What made him come here, he is unsure.

“Do you not have work to do, Mr Mulder?” She’s asking upon seeing him sitting there.

As she nears, he notices the cut she was sporting on her lip a few days ago has all but healed. She smiles at him and it doesn’t look like it hurts to smile anymore.

“That would depend upon your definition of what my work is,” he says. “I’ve been denied access to Duane Barry so I can’t do that.” One of her eyebrows quirks up in question but he doesn’t answer it. “If you mean my other work…Yes, I love walking around a mental institution stopping little children from bashing their heads against a wall because Mommy dearest didn’t tell them they loved them when they went to bed every night.”

It’s cynical to say that of a place he should be proud of. He helps children get better, bloom into functioning adults who learned how to hide their flaws. Yes, he should be very proud of himself.

It’s the anger, he tells himself. He’s just angry.

Scully doesn’t comment on his little outburst, she just looks down towards his finger that was still in pain and now aching.

“You’re bleeding,” she says.

Yes, he is, thank you for noticing.

Mulder holds his bloodied and dripping finger up.

“Do you have anything?” he asks.

Scully spies the cause of his wound on the floor.

After picking it up, she walks to a cupboard taking out some pieces of cloth. She returns, reaching for his hand and bringing it towards her.

“Did your mother never tell you not to play with sharp objects?” she asks as she applies pressure to the wound.

Mulder watches his finger.

“My mother never told me she loved me,” he answers with too much blasé. “I might have been referencing myself earlier on.”

A flit of a smile appears across her face. She moves onto wrapping his finger up.

“You are very strange, Mr Mulder.”

Mulder smiles, looking up at her as she finally ties the cloth securely around his finger. He likes her. He likes her a lot.

“Can I take you to lunch, Dr Scully?”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

She’s dressed in black even on such a hot day as this, like she’s always in mourning.

And Mulder supposes somebody who cuts into people for a living would be.

Her auburn hair is tied back into a bun, a hat sits nicely atop her head. She sits with her back up straight, eats daintily from the food on her plate, acts very much like a woman of high standing.

Acts.

Mulder knows that’s not the case.

Middle class is too high for her. Slums? No, that was too low. Slightly higher up. If she ran around bare foot it was of her own choosing.

Her grandfather was Irish, maybe even her father if her accent was anything to go by but she was very much born in New York. Not the city, outside of it. The smaller towns. With guidance, she was killing chickens at the ripe age of seven. By nine she was Chief Chicken Killer, ringing their necks and cutting them up herself. Later, she would do this for a living- the cutting at least. To feed her family. To help serve justice. All for the greater good.

And she’s beaten at home for it.

Mulder didn’t need a gift to know that.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I’m not doing anything,” he answers calmly with a sip of his tea.

“Stop it,” she demands.

“Stop what?” he asks.

A sigh.

“Ask me.”

He is confused.

“Ask you?”

“Ask me the question you’ve been dying to ask me.”

She’s lost him.

“I don’t know what that question is,” he says placing down his tea. Truly.

Another sigh. She looks out of the window. If it were dark, she would see her own reflection. She frowns, a shadow passing across her face.

“You pity me,” she says.

“I certainly do not,” Mulder says with a shake of his head. “You are more than capable.”

She looks at him, trying to suss him out.

“So why did you ask me for lunch?”

He shrugs.

“I think you’re an interesting person.”

“You don’t know me.”

Mulder grins.

“Let’s see…You’re name is Dana Katherine Scully. You trained as a doctor and you are a pathologist for the New York City Police Department. You talk to dead bodies like they’re still alive and then proceed to cut into them. I would say that makes you interesting.”

That eyebrow rises again. This time, curious.

“Is that all?” she asks as if she’s waiting for something else.

“What do you mean?”

She laughs as if he’s playing, quietly, so people don’t hear her.

“You’re not as unknown as you think you are, Mr Mulder.”

Mulder swallows, feeling nervous.

.:.:.:.:.:.

This part of ‘lunch’ was completely spontaneous.

Neither of them have any important matters to attend to and besides, Mulder was enjoying her company.

It turns out she isn’t so unknown either. People seem to look at them as they walk through the street, gawking and muttering to whoever is closest to them. Gossiping, Mulder remembers it’s called. He wants to get inside their heads, find out what’s so interesting about the pair.

Scully walks with her head held high, uncaring for the stares, it’s almost like she doesn’t notice them.

They catch a cab the rest of the way, shielding them from any more whispers or stares.

Mulder keeps their destination a secret for reasons unknown to even himself until the tall, iron gates appear before them, words written: Golden Heights Psychiatric Hospital for Children.

“Your asylum?” Scully asks, both intrigued and confused as to why she’s been brought here.

“The best children’s asylum in the country, I’ve heard.”

It earns him a smile from her and he helps her from the carriage.

“So why have you brought me here?” Scully asks as Mulder unlocks the gate.

“I don’t really know myself.” The gate unlocks and he allows her to enter first, holding it open so she can walk through, closing and locking it behind him. “It’s been a while. I wanted to check if things were still running smoothly.”

Scully nods and they make their way up the path towards the hospital. Four storeys tall it stands. It was wide, too, the end unseeable from their vantage point currently.

It was one of the biggest hospitals in the city, a house that once belonged to some fancy man who’s name Mulder doesn’t care to remember. It’s his now. For better or for worse.

As they near the building, it’s residents begin to appear. All children as the establishment would suggest, all of different ages. Mulder takes in children from the ages of five to seventeen. They leave, soon after they turn eighteen and rarely does Mulder ever hear from them again.

They play. Running around after a ball, playing with skipping ropes or hopscotch. They look normal. Mulder wants them to feel normal.

“Live patients,” Scully is saying, looking at the children as they pass.

“Makes a change to dead ones?”

She looks at him.

“You can’t cut their brains open and peer inside.”

Mulder shakes his head. “No, you cannot.”

He spies a staff member exiting out into the yard. He can get what he came for and they can go again.

“Excuse me,” he says to Scully and wanders over to his employee.

Dana is left in the yard. She glances around at all the children who play, unsure what to do with herself.

As her eyes scan the area, she sees a little girl about seven sat on her own. She’s playing with something, a boardgame maybe.

“Hello,” Dana says to the girl. Why she wandered over to this one, she’s not sure. There was something about her, her short strawberry blonde hair or the way she sat alone, playing by herself whilst the other children played with each other.

“I’m Dana,” Dana continues. “What are you playing?” She wonders around to stand in front of the girl.

Before her is a checkerboard. The little girl moves a red piece, there’s nobody around to move the black.

Dana finds herself kneeling before the girl.

“Do you need someone to play with?” she asks.

The girl shakes her head. “I have someone to play with,” she proclaims.

“Who?”

The little girl’s eyes move towards an empty space next to Dana, before moving back to lock onto Dana again.

“Elizabeth,” says the girl.

Dana smiles. “Do you play with Elizabeth a lot?”

But the little girl is frowning.

“She doesn’t like it when you say her name.”

An uneasiness overcomes Dana, her smile falters, and she shifts her legs beneath her.

“Right. Sorry.” The smile is back. “Do you and your friend play together often?”

But the girl isn’t listening. She’s looking to where ‘Elizabeth’ is sitting, her face looking conflicted.

Wanting to help the child, Dana asks, “What’s wrong?”

The girl swallows and licks her lips, her eyes drifting over to Dana’s.

“Elizabeth said I have to hurt you.”

Dana’s blood goes cold.

.:.:.:.:.:.

A few patients causing trouble here and there but, for the most part, the hospital was functioning well.

Mulder thanks the staff member and his eyes drift over to where he left Scully. She’s gone from the place they were standing but not too far. He finds her sitting on the grass, talking to a girl.

His blood goes cold when he realises who that girl is.

Keeping his cool, Mulder strides towards them, his stomach coiling and heart beating fast.

He reaches the pair in no time, just in time, a gently taps the small girl on her shoulder.

“Emily,” Mulder says and the girl turns towards him. “I think it’s time you should go in now.”

Emily nods, picking up her checkerboard. She’s about to run inside when Mulder stops her.

“Take Elizabeth with you.”

“Come on, Elizabeth,” says Emily before disappearing off.

Mulder looks to Scully still sitting on the ground, looking shaken. He holds out his hand, helping her up.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

She smooths the grass stains from her skirt.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve known.”

Mulder shakes his head. “No, Emily is very deceiving.”

He guides them over to a nearby bench and they sit, watching the other children play.

“Before Emily was brought here,” Mulder begins. “She had been found as the only surviving member of her family. They had all been killed except her.” He hears Scully suck in a breath. “They never told me the specifics but when Emily was asked to tell the police what had happened, she told them that her friend Elizabeth had killed them all.” He glances a look at Scully, she’s listening intently, her fingers laced together and fidgeting. “It was realised quickly that ‘Elizabeth’ didn’t exist. Emily had killed them. And so Emily was brought to me.”

There’s no sound from Scully and Mulder has to physically check she is still there.

“How…” Scully starts. “How old was she?”

“She was five.”

A breath is released. “Poor girl,” says Scully.

It surprised Mulder but perhaps it shouldn’t have.

“You’re the first to have that reaction.” He reaches over and squeezes her hand before looking back out to the yard. “Not all the children are like Emily. Most are brought to me because they have behavioural problems or they begin acting out sexual tendencies too early. Some cry too often or don’t cry at all. It depends on the parent.” He looks back at her to find she’s still listening. He shrugs. “Not every child is an Emily yet some people seem to think they are.”

Sometimes it made Mulder sad to think of all the children who had been brought to him, that if they just had different parents, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Why children?” Scully is asking. “Why do you specialise in children?”

He smiles. “For the same reason I believe in aliens and UFOs.”

Scully, rightly, is confused.

But that was a story for another time.

Mulder stands, holding out his hand again.

“Let me take you home,” he says and Scully is reaching for his hand immediately.

“Please.”

Together, they walk back towards the gate, as the whistle sounds, and all the children run back inside.

#danse macabre #danse macabre 3 #dark shit #i write

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itsallavengers · 5 years ago

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gee i don't want to bother you you can 100% ignore me but it's been a shitty week panic attacks are stronger than ever and some of my friends keep making fun of my anxiety (i downplay the whole thing so it's not really their fault) could you please give me some light hearted stevetony with italian!tony? ily so much youre a blessing for this world keep being yourself

Steve was going to be honest here: he didn’t like the sun.

Bucky and Natasha would kill him for slandering the current Mediterranean summer weather like that, but it was true. He was an Irishman. His skin was pale and unused to anything above mild temperatures. Not to mention the fact that it was just damn uncomfortable to sit and sweat with no way to cool down all day. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d come on this holiday with his two friends at all, actually. He didn’t like the sun, he didn’t really have the money for it, and he was currently acting as the third wheel to what could have just been Bucky & Natasha’s romantic getaway. But Bucky had asked, and said that Steve needed to take a bit of time off, so here he was.

Sweating.

It wasn’t so bad, though. While Nat was off looking around in a little local museum and Bucky was trying to sleep off the hangover from last night, Steve was sitting in a quiet cafe, reading his book and sipping on a latte. He was in the shade to prevent burning, and it was early enough in the morning that the heat wasn’t unbearable. It was actually quite nice.

There was also an incredibly beautiful young man sitting on a table a few feet to his right, nibbling a sandwich and working in a scruffy-looking notebook while he shot Steve occasional furtive glances. That was very nice too.

He looked to be in his early twenties, and clearly native to the town. They hadn’t picked a touristy spot, which was good for the culture, but bad when it came to the language barrier. And the man didn’t sport any of the typical touristy items; instead lounging around in a breezy white cotton shirt with a few buttons undone, tucked into a pair of form-fitting navy slacks and then ending with some expensive-looking loafers. Atop the dark mess of curls were some aviators, and he wore a black ring on his forefinger that contrasted wonderfully against the olive of his skin. The way he held onto his pen made his fingers flex, and occasionally he would run it over his bottom lip in thought, suck it in, frown for a second before he wrote something else down.

Yes, Steve may have been staring for a long time now. But in his defence, the man was stunning. Steve could admit he was more than a little enthralled.

He checked his watch briefly, wondering at what point this was going to get weird and he would have to either approach the other man or leave. He could order another coffee, he supposed-- but too much caffeine gave him a headache. Maybe the man was a regular here. Steve might get to see him tomorrow, maybe smile at him or something.

“hai intenzione di stare lì a fissarmi tutto il giorno o vuoi venire qui?”

Steve blinked, watching the man as he pulled the pen from his mouth and then leaned his head backward, apparently speaking to no one in particular. But then his neck rolled, and he looked Steve right in the eye, his mouth curling into a gorgeously cheeky smile. “I take it you do not speak Italian then?”

Oh. Oh, he was talking to Steve. Fuck. Okay. He spluttered a little and then sat up, resisting the urge to push his hair back or smooth out his shirt. He was calm, he was suave. “I...no,” he stumbled, shaking his head, “was that... sorry, were you talking to me?”

The man nodded, slipping sideways on his chair and then leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees and his hands were clasped in front of him. He was slim, but muscular. Steve could see the way his shirt smoothed over strong arms as he hunched. And now he was face on, Steve could truly get a feel for what the man looked like. Sharp jaw. Hair that fell artistically over his perfectly-proportioned face. The most beautiful hazel eyes Steve had ever goddamn seen.

“I said, are you going to sit there and stare all day or are you planning on coming over?”

Steve realised he was being spoken to only a second after he’d stopped watching the way the man’s mouth formed the words, his accent thick, but his English perfect. Steve should probably respond to that, shouldn’t he. “Well, if it’s all the same with you,” he began, before cracking a smile and then standing up. In a few strides, he was at the man’s table, slipping into the seat opposite. He was in the sun here, but he figured that he could make the sacrifice, just this once.

There was a second of silence, and then the man turned to face him again. His eyes were alight, shining in the sunlight and mingled with intrigue. “Was that an Irish accent I heard just then?” He asked, and God, even his voice was beautiful. Steve had never thought voices could be beautiful until today.

He nodded. “It was. Born and raised there ‘til my mam moved us over to America. We don’t fare quite as well in this sun as you though. Hence the shade I was in.”

“Oh. We can move?” The man waved his hand backward, but Steve was quick to shake his head, simply smiling in reassurance.

“It’s fine. I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Ah. I’m Tony.” He smiled and leaned his head into his hands, looking across the table at Steve with that fiery smile of his. His fingers traced idly over his notepad as he eyed Steve, and the writings he’d done were absolutely foreign- not even because they were written in a different language, but because they were all just complex-looking equations and diagrams and things Steve couldn’t even name. He didn’t dwell on them though. There were much more interesting things to be looking at just then.

Leaning back in his chair and throwing an arm casually across the backrest-- and no, not to flex his muscles like Bucky tried to say whenever he did that-- he let his eyes walk slowly up and down Tony’s body, before stopping for a second at his mouth. The pen was back again. A brief thought crossed his mind, and he swallowed it down hastily. That was most definitely not appropriate for the first conversation.

But Tony looked like he knew exactly what Steve was thinking anyway, because the smile widened and he took the pen back out from between his teeth again, spinning it in those agile fingers of his. “So tell me- what is an Irishman who doesn’t like the sun doing in Italy right now?” He asked, one eyebrow rising curiously.

Steve explained the situation easily, talking of Bucky and Nat, the vacation they’d all planned, Steve’s need for a little break. In turn, Tony explained how he’d ended up here, him having come from America too, but much longer ago, back when he was a child and his parents had divorced. He talked emphatically and used his hands when he spoke, and Steve found himself hanging on to every word, Tony managing to make everyday events seem like film-plots. Their conversation came easily, like one would with a long-time friend, and soon Steve realised that a whole hour had passed since he and Tony had begun talking. He blinked in surprise at his watch and then felt the back of his neck. “God, I’m gonna burn,” he muttered to himself, popping his collar up.

Tony pulled a face, clearly unimpressed by the weakness of his pale skin, but then it turned into a smile as he jumped from his seat and grabbed for Steve’s hand, tugging him upward. “I know how to cool you down,” he said enthusiastically, and Steve found himself being pulled into standing and guided out of the cafe. “How much time do you have?”

Well, Natasha wanted him to join her in the museum about ten minutes ago, so-- “no plans for the day,” he said easily, letting Tony guide them through the winding streets, their bodies brushing and their hands linked together while they navigated the people and market-stalls. Tony greeted locals as he passed them by, the Italian words rolling off his tongue easily. Steve hung on to every word he said, not knowing what he meant, but willing to listen to Tony talking like that for the rest of the goddamn day if he wanted to. It was like music.

Eventually, Steve realised Tony was leading them to the coastline, and he frowned. “I haven’t bought any swim-trunks with me,” he said warily, but Tony just laughed, turning around and walking backwards while he looked up at Steve.

“Just wear your boxers, they’ll dry off quickly once you get out!”

“I... I don’t--” but Tony was already leading them down a rickety set of wooden steps, winding down the cliff edge. It was a secluded place, and when they reached the bottom, Steve looked around in awe at the beautiful cove he’d been brought to. There was a small outcrop which slid off straight into the sea, and a few feet onward, a dusting of sand covered by the shade of a tree.

Tony beamed at him. “I come here to do work sometimes. Come, come. The water is lovely.” Without a moment of hesitation, he toed off his loafers and then skidded over the outcrop, where he then started to untuck his shirt from his pants. Steve could only watch, somewhat shocked at the man’s lack of embarrassment, as Tony quickly stripped down into his underwear, finally ending with chucking his sunglasses on top of the messy pile of his clothes. His eyes shone with knowing amusement as he looked over his shoulder at Steve. “My eyes are up here,” he commented, and in mortification, Steve hurriedly dragged his gaze away from Tony’s ass.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t--” but Tony had already turned back around, stepping off the outcrop and then splashing into the water, being submerged immediately. He came up a second later with a gasp, slicking his curls out of his face with one hand while the other clamped around the outcrop. He swam closer to Steve, who was still stood at the sidelines, a little bamboozled by the recent events.

“You joining me?” Tony asked, his arms folding on the rocks as he cocked his head at Steve. “I might need-- ah, come se dice.... a water-guard?”

“Lifeguard,” Steve said with a small grin, remembering the conversation he’d had earlier about his part-time job as a pool lifeguard when he’d been a kid in order to afford his first ever car. “And you seem to be doing okay right now.”

Tony hummed, and then very dramatically began to flail around, head dipping under the water. “Oh no!” He declared, “my legs have suddenly stopped working! If only I had someone trained to handle a situation like this to come in and save me!” He sunk below the water again, and Steve rolled his eyes and just tried not to laugh as his hands went to his shirt.

If Tony didn’t seem to think this was strange, then neither did Steve.

Once he was down to his boxer briefs, he slid in a little more calmly than Tony had done, bracing himself against the rocks and looking at the other man. Water clung to his skin, making crystal trails, pooling at the dip in his collar-bones. His hair was slicked back, but a piece had fallen into his eyes, and he tucked it behind his ear as he tread the water a few feet away.

He was right though. It really was lovely and cool.

Steve smiled, sinking under the surface for a moment in order to wet his hair. He could just about touch the surface, but Tony was considerably smaller than him, so he would have to stick to treading the water. Steve came back up with a gasp and then found himself laughing. “This is not how I imagined my day to go,” he admitted, watching Tony’s face soften.

Then, slowly, he swam forward, cutting through the water and then settling a hand on Steve’s shoulder softly. It slipped across the damp skin, and Tony watched his own fingers as they trailed across Steve’s pale shoulders. “Me neither,” Tony admitted softly, glancing up at Steve through his thick lashes, “but I’m not going to complain. I met a very hot man and got him out of his clothes in under two hours.”

That made Steve laugh. Never in a million years would he have done this back in America. Not like he even could, really. The Hudson hardly counted as a romantic spot for a swim with the person you’d only met once. But everyone said Europeans were very free-spirited. And from what Steve could see, and, uh, feel, that certainly seemed the case. Tony swam a little closer, his other hand finding Steve’s neck, winding around the side of it delicately and pulling himself in until they were chest to chest. Steve curled his own hand around the other man’s waist, taking a small breath. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been quite as affected by someone as he was with Tony. Not in his whole life.

“I want to kiss you,” Tony said, his words lilted with the accent, his skin glittering in the sunlight, and it was so damn strange for Steve to think of the fact that Tony had almost grown up in New York as the heir to a huge business like he’d spoken of earlier, all slick and hard-lined and American. This just seemed like it was where Tony belonged, far more than that life ever would be.

Steve smiled, their noses touching. His hand rose from the water, the sound tinkling melodically, and he gently took Tony’s chin in his hand, tilting it up a little more. “I want to kiss you too,” he admitted, “I want to do a lot of things, actually.”

“Hmm?” Tony’s voice was low, warm, suggestive. “You said you have no plans. I don’t either.” He dipped forward, giving Steve the barest brush of lips before pulling away a fraction again.”You can do whatever you want, tesoro.”

Wow. Those words went straight down south, and Steve swallowed, before dipping down and closing the gap between them hastily. The water swirled around them, Tony draping himself onto Steve as they embraced, and vaguely he realised that this wasn’t a private cove and anyone could walk by if they wanted, but it was still difficult to keep his actions even remotely clean when he had a pretty much naked and willing and wet Tony in his arms, sucking on his bottom lip while his hands worked over Steve’s arms. He tasted like coffee and smelled like apples, and his mouth was a devil, licking into him, nipping and sucking and making little noises when Steve touched him in the right places. It was slow, easy, relaxed. The sun shone through the clear blue sky, lighting up Tony’s face as he leaned back against the rock and shut his eyes happily. Steve wanted to work him over. Wanted to find out what his favourite colour was and how he looked spread out on a bed. Just seeing him like this was driving Steve a little mad. God only knew what would happen when they got home.

He was going to have to do a lot of apologising to Bucky and Nat tonight, because he didn’t think they were going to be seeing anything of him for the rest of the day.

Or the vacation.

ao3 / donate to my kofi

#itsallavengers writes #im sorry uve had a rough week i love u and i hope! this helped a lil #thotty italian tony helps everyone man #stevetony #Anonymous

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biihoebi · 4 years ago

Text

@newsiesgiftexchange

for @what-goesaround-comesaround for the Newsies Winter Gift Exchange 2020

aaaah ok so this unbetad because usually I bully you into betaing my stuff so it's quite stream of consciousness but whateverr. also maybe I took some creative liberties on the historical accuracy but who cares

(its kind of a shit show but shhhh Irish Spot)

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read on ao3 here

——————————————————————–

While it was Jack's father who taught him not to starve it was his mother who taught him the value of his heritage. Which is why when the new kid at the lodging house was sitting at the end of his bed, distressed over a throwaway comment Albert had made, Jack was doing his best to comfort them.

"He said I was losing my accent" Rua had all but wailed. "How can I be Irish without me accent. And Granda said he used to have flaming hair like mine before it went dark with age. Then I won't even look Irish." they continued.

"But yer Irish by blood not by hair or by voice. I mean my hair ain't red but you'd be hard pressed tryna tell me I isn't Irish." Jack sighed. "Look, I've never stepped foot in Ireland, youse is ahead of me there, but my Mam kept it alive in the stories she told. Some were legends and some were just memories of her and her siblings getting into all sorts of trouble in the fields. And I can speak Irish just as good as the next guy, no matter what Spot Conlon says" he finished. Rua let out a short sniffle.

"But my Mam works in a factory. I never see her no more" they said wiping their face with their sleeve.

"We ain't the same, I'm Irish sure but I was born here. Youse is better off asking Spot about this, he was born in Dublin, didn't come here til he was about 8. And seeing as Albert started this whole mess he can be the one to go to Brooklyn to deliver the message after he's done selling. Now it's time for newsies to go to bed, you ain't no use selling if your half asleep." Jack declared.

——————————————————————–

To a bright eyed and bushy tailed Rua morning couldn't come soon enough and neither could the circulation bell nor could the final sell of the day. By the time Albert left for Brooklyn every newsie in Manhattan knew about it and was sick of hearing about it.

"Just because Albert's gone today, don't mean Spots gonna visit today. Heck he mightn't even visit at all. Do youse really think this is a big enough deal for the King of Brooklyn to take time out of his busy sche-

"Stop shit stirring Boots" Jack interrupted sternly. "Just because Spot doesn't like Brits like you doesn't mean he won't help out a fellow Paddy" he joked. At that Boots straightened his back

"I'll have you know Mr Kelly that Spot Conlon said I's is the best 'Brit' he knows" he said, smugly straightening an imaginary tie.

"Best of a rotten bunch" a new voice chimed in. Every newsie in the room suddenly started scrambling to look half presentable. "I got your message Kelly, now where's the young wayne?" the person continued. In response Jack stepped aside revealing Rua, who had been hiding behind his legs.

"I-I'm Rua" they stuttered out. The man crouched down to their eye level.

"I'm Spot Conlon, but I thought youse was supposed to be Irish. Where's me 'dia duit'? It's like you ain't even tryin'. No wonder youse losing yer accent" Spot said. That did nothing to help the already nervous wreck that Rua was.

Spot shot up suddenly, shooing everyone but Jack, Rua, Crutchie and Race out. He sat down on the middle bed and kicked his feet up, gesturing for everyone to follow. Ever the rebel Race decided to lean against the bunk instead while the rest settled into the surrounding beds. "Look, Jack says youse is struggling with moving on with yer life while staying Irish. I went through the same thing when I first came 'nd look at me now, King of New York"

"King of Brooklyn" Race coughed out which Spot shot daggers at him for.

"I'se is the King of New York, don't let no street rat tell you otherwise" he spat "but I wasn't always, I was once a youngin like you, fresh off the boat with only my poor parents and a sack full of stuff between us…"

——————————————————————–

The dock bustled with workers and passengers alike. Some leaving but most stepping off boats and into their new lives. Among those coming off was a young Seán Conlon. With wild hair and big eyes filled with the wonder and excitement of seeing somewhere beyond the slums of Dublin. It was an outbreak of TB amongst the tenements that did it in for his parents.

Seán didn't have long to admire the new world he had just entered before his hand was grabbed and he was dragged off into a long line filled with fellow immigrants. Hours passed before the tired young boy would make it through the front door to his new home. It was a small one room apartment completely unlivable by today's standard but to someone from the worst slums in Europe it might as well have been Buckingham. "Go bhfoire Dia orainn, tá sé linne!! Níl aon theaghlach eile ina gconaionn liomsa?" Seán gawked in awe.

"Tá, ach bí curamach, níl cead agat bí ag caint as gaeilge nuair a tá tú taobh amuigh" his father responded.

"Cén fáth?"

"Mar ní maith a lán daoiní, duine eile ag caint as gaeilge agus sin é sin a bhfuil."

"Ceart go leor"

That night Seán lay awake in his bed wondering why anyone could dislike speaking Irish. Well besides the British but Uncle Seamus always said that their opinion didn't matter and that he and a few of his friends from the Irish Republican Brotherhood would soon rid Ireland of them. Whatever that meant. His father would always laugh alongside and say 'that would be the day' while his mother would give out to him for encouraging Seamus.

It wouldn't be for a few weeks that Seán would find out what his dad was talking about. He was out selling papers to help make ends meet, as small as the room was all three of them had to work hard in order to pay for it. He stood there waiting at the gate for the circulation bell to ring, when it happened. On his first day one of the older kids taught him a few tricks and gave him a few pieces of advice. One of those pieces was 'stay away from Acton Williams'. An unspoken rule he had managed to avoid up until that point.

Acton had walked right into him, dropping a strange wooden item in the process. Seán liked to think that his mother raised him right so he apologized and bent down to pick up the trinket

"Brón orm" he mumbled as he crouched, item in hand.

"The fuck you say to me?" Acton grunted. Seán froze realising his mistake and everyone went silent at the sound of Acton's voice.

"I was just saying sorry" Seán rushed out, trying desperately not to get baited so soon after joining the newsies. Acton let out a laugh.

"That's not what you said though is it?" he said " see I think youse was speaking some stupid language from the stupid country you came from. So I'mma ask again 'the fuck you say to me?"

"I said 'brón orm', you heard me the first time," Seán said, gaining confidence. It was one thing to be intimidated by an older kid who would definitely knock your block off but his Nan taught him better than to let someone talk shite about Ireland. Acton scoffed.

"I pity the Mum who raised such a rude brat " he spat taking a step towards Seán.

"Yeah well I pity the Mam who gave birth to such an ugly ogre"

And they were off! Acton could easily outrun Seán's tiny legs so his only hope was to lose him with twists and turns through the back alleys and busy streets. After what felt like hours of running, Seán finally ran into a deadend. Turning to face a panting Acton, Seán gulped and started reciting any and all prayers he could think of to any saints that popped into his head. In fact it wasn't until Seán went to clasp his hands in prayer that he noticed what he had picked up earlier.

A slingshot!!

Grabbing the nearest rock Seán loaded the sling. 'Dear St Anthony, pleeaassee help me find the ability to aim well' he prayed as he scrunched his eyes shut and released.

The next thing Seán heard was the large thump an unconscious Actons body made as it hit the ground. Opening his eyes to examine the noise he had heard Seán was shocked to see his feeble attempt at fighting back was actually a success. Seán quickly pocketed the slingshot and left before Acton had time to wake up.

——————————————————————–

"...and that's what it means to be Irish" Spot finished proudly

"Beating up British people is what it means to be Irish?" Rua said in awe of Spot's story. Spot grinned.

"See, this kid gets it" he joked, ruffling Ruas hair.

"That was a lovely story yer highness but how is that surppsoed to help 'em keep their accent" Race chipped in.

"Well what about you then Higgins if you have so much to say? D'you have any stories worth listening to?"

"What about being Italian? Well I-"

"Italian? Are ye not Irish?"

"No? What made you think that?"

"Yer surname is Higgins"

"Yeah, Higgins is a classic Italian name"

Jack and Spot made eye contact for a good minute before bursting out laughing. "Yer telling me this entire time youse never knew you was Irish?" Jack choked out between laughs. Even Rua stifled a giggle.

"My own mam was a Higgin, Racetrack" Spot roared. "Yee just can't make this stuff up" he said wiping a tear from his eye. Race's face was a brilliant red as he sputtered out excuses.

"Yer just joking, right guys? Right guys??"

——————————————————————–

BONUS :

At the gates the next morning Seán stood there absolutely shitting bricks. What had happened yesterday had been a stroke of luck but if Acton decided to continue the fight he was dead meat.

"Wait, is that Williams? No way what's with the giant bruise on his forehead?" a voice spoke interrupting Seán's train of thought.

"No way that's a bruise, he doesn't get those" another shot back. Soon a whole symphony of voices were arguing over whether it was a bruise or not.

"Wait a minute, weren't you getting chased by him yesterday, newbie? How come there's not a scratch on ya, and why's there only a big bruise on him?" the first voice said piecing the puzzle together. Soon everyone was crowding around Seán, looking for the story of what happened.

"Look nothing really happened" Seán reassured trying to downplay the situation "he chased me for a bit before I eventually shot him with this sling and he passed out on the spot."

Apparently telling them he knocked out the bully of the newsies was not the right thing to say to defuse the situation. Some started cheering for him others just rolled their eyes at his story.

"He clearly made that up on the spot" one voice chiming in.

"Nah, look at Acton, that's a massive bruise, obviously from being shot with a sling" another rebutted. Eventually the crowd settled a bit and someone had the common sense to ask for his name.

"Oh! I'm Seán." he responded. Everyone groaned.

"Not yer real one, yer newsies one" someone said. After Seán told them he didn't have one, everyone put their thinking caps on.

"Let's call him Spot, 'cause we'll never really know if he knocked him down on the spot or made up that story on the spot."

#boots newsies #jack kelly #livesies #newsies live #crutchie morris #jack newsies #race higgins #racetrack higgins #albert newsies #albert dasilva #spot newsies #spot conlon #newsies holiday exchange

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deathduty · 4 years ago

Text

Moonlight Sudoku || Deirdre & Otto

By some miracle, Deirdre gets someone else to do some sudoku with her in a cemetery. Except this person is very cool. Too cool. ( @gravityfissure )

By some miracle, Deirdre found herself in a cemetery again, with sudoku, waiting for some poor man to show up and hopefully get thrashed by some spawns. Admittedly, she was curious to what kind of a man Otto was. He seemed so charming online, in that way some people could be. And either naive or reckless enough to agree to this dumb idea of hers. But unlike Alain, this man would be fun. She perked up as she heard the telltale crunch of dry dirt and leaves, snapping up from where she sat on a tombstone. She flung the light of her flashlight in the intruder’s face, grinning widely as he came into view. “You must be...Otto?” And to think, he was more handsome than she thought too. “Did you bring your sudoku?”

Otto had parked up his bike in the parking lot just outside the graveyard. He didn’t make a habit of hanging around cemeteries if he could but sometimes his spell stores required resupplying and that meant going out to gather some goofer dust. The dead didn’t tend to mind so long as you asked permission before you took what you needed and if they did - he’d found a dusting of salt tended to silence any issues they might have. Then of course there were plenty of other dangers lurking around the graveyards, vampires for one loved to hang out here and their proclivity for counting things? This lady’s interest in the dead and sudoku had left him wondering if that’s the sort of person he’d be dealing with tonight. A natural precaution left him with a simple wooden stake, dagger, bottle of holy water concealed beneath the hang of his tailored black blazer. Present more for his own peace of mind. His steps slowed as the flashlight was swung in his face and the woman spoke. Oh, well that was interesting. “And you must be Deirdre the screamer, I should’ve realised you were Irish - snap,” he flashed a playful smile as he sauntered nearer, flourishing a little sudoku book in his hand, “right here darling… Right here.”

Deirdre clutched her chest, flinching back in surprise. “You recognized my accent?” She stood up a little straighter, beaming and proud. “So many Americans have been calling it Scottish that I lost faith.” But clearly this man knew his European accents. But when he said it like that, Deirdre the screamer---Irish---he sounded like a warden putting the pieces in place. She’d never met a charming warden before, but tonight could be a night of firsts instead of seconds. “Fates,” she breathed, watching him reveal his sudoku book with a flourish. “I love you. I think I might be falling in love with you. Did you know the last man I took out to do sudoku at a cemetery just said it was a stupid idea?” Granted, she was making claims about her sudoku cult, and trying to get twenty dollars off of him, but that was neither here nor there. She gestured to the tombstone opposite to her, wanting him to sit. “You wouldn’t happen to want to get naked now too, would you? Because I’d adore that.” Her grin was lopsided. Well, now that she liked him, she was a little sad the spawns would inevitably come out and try to make a meal out of him. Or would that be more fun? Clearly a man like him, with a brain, wouldn’t come to a cemetery unless he knew how to defend himself from the risks. Her mind wandered back to thinking he was a warden. She could only know for certain with some prodding. “Do you meet girls in cemeteries often, Otto?”

Otto winked before clarifying, “well, Americans can’t tell the difference between most things. So it’s your lucky day, A because I’m not American and B because I was born in Dublin. Plus, your name’s old Irish.” His laugh rang out with genuine amusement as she declared her sudden infatuation. “Not the first time I’ve heard that one but darling we’re just getting started aren’t we? No need to rush,” as she gestured to the tombstone he moved over and hopped up to perch on the edge of it. “It’s certainly unique,” he admitted to her saying that someone had thought it stupid, stupidly dangerous perhaps but that was part of the thrill of life wasn’t it? “Now now,” he started with a sly smile as he flipped open the sudoku book he’d brought along “we’ve only just met, and while I do appreciate your enthusiasm, all good things come in time.” He paused, cocking his head as he took out a little pen, “after all, if just meeting me is enough to make you love me, who knows what’d happen if you saw the rest of me hm?” The question caused his eyes to flicker up and study her for a passing moment before returning to his book. “Sometimes,” a slightly evasive answer but that was part of the fun wasn’t it? “Depends what I’m getting for meeting them in graveyards.” Which wasn’t untrue, though mostly it was ingredients and hand-offs that saw him in places like this. “Do you invite strangers here a lot then?” he faked a look of sadness a hand gracefully moving to touch his heart the act and everything about his persona reading easily as casual confidence “and there was me starting to think I was special.”

Deirdre grinned. Now, she really liked Otto. “Oh, I couldn’t tell. You don’t sound…” She gestured to him, knowing he’d fill in the blanks. “I assume you must have moved to America young then...right?” It was the only reason she could think of him not having the telltale accent. Or maybe he was just one of those people that lost it over time, but he didn’t seem the sort to be so easily swayed. But oh, did she like him. So many humans could be so dull, with nothing of excitement to offer. But this one at least had charm, and enough charisma to impress her. “Why, aren’t you cheeky? I think you and me will get along perfectly fine, Otto. Especially if a little danger excites you.” And turned to her sudoku, easily working her way through the puzzle in front of her. “Oh, just a couple of times a year. I’ve been trying to start a sudoku club. But you know---” she looked up, smiling. “Some people are just so scared of cemeteries. That wouldn’t be you now, would it? Do you believe in the things that go bump in the night?” She could feel them around her, their chill shooting down her. They lingered around in the darkness, she was sure. Spawns weren’t smart, but they did always have impeccable timing. “I might just have ulterior motives for bringing you here, Otto. Something more than getting you naked.” Like getting him eaten, even thought she knew it wouldn’t happen. But maybe the spawns could take a leg or two.

“I know and yes, I did” Otto knew well enough that he didn’t really sound like much of anything. Too young to fully adopt his home’s accent and stubborn enough to resist the American way he’d been raised that ultimately left him in a strange middle-ground of neutrality. Not to mention his grand-mother’s insistence on speaking Cantonese around the shoebox flat when she’d been alive. “You don’t get anywhere in life without a little cheek” it was a good lesson to learn early on “but if this is a usual for you we might indeed.” His pen moved across the paper, filling in boxes and noting potential answers in the margin. “If I were afraid of cemeteries I wouldn’t be sitting on a tombstone doing sudoku now would I? Plus, life and death are cyclical. They feed one another, to be afraid of death is to not appreciate the complexity of life, don’t you think?” he answered in kind, always prone to answering a question with a question. It made for a curious rally and a useful insight into someone’s mind. His pen paused mid-jot, a surreptitious glance being cast towards a few of the shadows that seemed to stir in a strangely unnatural fashion. “Oh?” he arched a brow and fixed her with a curious look though he saw another shape flit through the darkness a shudder of anticipation shot through his nerves “ahhh, so I am special. Don’t tell me, you’re going to get me naked then try and sacrifice me to some ancient unfathomable being to bring it back from whatever false reality it's been chained to? It wouldn’t be my first rodeo of that sort…”

Deirdre smirked, listening along to Otto. The sudoku in her hands was a distant thought now, mostly filled in, and completed in her mind anyway, she had far more interesting things to focus on. She tilted her head, “I’ve often said the same thing.” It was like he was reading a page out of the banshee philosophy handbook. “I agree.” But it was a strange thing for a human to say, she’d never once heard one speak that way. Something, though she didn’t know what, was special about Otto. Did he know how to impress? Did he know what she was (not that it was too difficult, Irish and sitting in a cemetery)? Beyond them, a branch snapped, some spawn’s pathetic idea of an ambush. She continued to eye him, unflinching. Was he simply probing her? Trying to set her up to say the kind of thing that would reveal her hand? Eventually, she shut her sudoku book, uncrossing her legs to cross them again on the other side. “You’re the one that agreed to meet me in a cemetery at night. In this kind of town...you had to be expecting danger.” Her grin grew wider and crooked. “And maybe I like watching humans flounder around.” And wider. “And maybe I think it’d be fun to see you squirm, Otto. But don’t worry, you’re not going to die today. Not that it matters, right? You’re not afraid of death, are you, love?” And then the hissing of the spawns cut through the tense night air, curling around their conversation. She could feel them growing closer and closer...until they finally darted out, predictably focusing on the one with the human heart first (something about her cold skin and slow heart had her mistaken for a corpse where spawns were concerned, but even the dumbest of flesh-eating creatures would eventually realize she was a meal too).

Part of being a spellcaster was being able to recognise and comprehend the duality of the world. Light and dark, life and death, dusk and dawn, war and peace. Two sides of the same coin that kept on spinning holding the world on its knife edge at risk of slipping at any given moment. Otto could recognise the patterns in the chaotic threads of the world and where others saw blind ruin he saw moments of possibility hidden within the chaos being put to order in that destruction. Possibility that could be wielded to his own benefit in some, and manipulated to suit a given outcome in others. Reading people, and gauging how to interact with them was another facet of his talents. Deirdre was… well, strange, and clearly had some hangup on death. So tapping into that seemed the most ideal method to try and understand her mentality. Did he think she had an ulterior motivation? Yes. Was that going to scare him off? Absolutely not. Was that reckless? Absolutely. Did he mind? Not at all. He wouldn’t be here otherwise. The snap of the branch gave direction, and while every sense in him urged him to turn and look in that direction he fought them and instead casually leaned back a fraction one hand on the cold stone behind him nearer to the holy water stored on the back of his belt. “Ah, well if it’s me squirming you’re looking for…. Well, I’m afraid I’ll disappoint.” No answer but a laugh was given, as with a surprising catlike grace of a dancer, Otto spun off the side of the tombstone rolling into a low crouch as two spawns leapt at the spot he had just been sitting swiping out with claws before crashing into one another instead. He watched the pair barrel away ass over teakettle into the nearby gravel hissing and spitting at their ‘ambush’ being foiled drawing the small dagger and unstopping the holy water with the other hand to pour it over the blade.

The container was dropped aside and a manic glint lit in his eye, sharp and intent as he next drew out a handful of crushed slate which he dropped in a circle over the hand holding the blade. “Corio,” the incantation was spoken clearly as a haze of purplish-black energy sparked like a tesla coil, one dagger seemingly becoming three as it was launched at one of the two spawns which in their confusion tried to split out of the way uncertain might be a true blade. Their confusion hindered them long enough for the single dagger to strike home with more force than any one blade should have the power to inflict. The blade ripped skin and muscle and was there a crunch of bone or was it the sound of the gravel underfoot? Who could say, but the spawn howled in anguish as the wound engulfed in flames a moment later. The spawn recoiled, bolting straight into the other that was attempting to right itself.

“Reditus,” a sharp hand movement followed in a jerking motion that had the blade come spinning in reverse back to his hand. There was a separate spawn to the two he was dealing with, but Otto seemed less easy prey than initially thought. Enough that it turned its attention to the other stranger in their territory clacking a row of haphazard teeth menacingly as it stalked a circle around the women’s tombstone. She would be an easier meal tonight.

Deirdre had watched several slayers do their work, but none muttered incantations—prayers, maybe but never words that sparked magic. She watched him curiously, working with a professional's grace, and a wise man's flair. Otto knew what he was doing, and he was showing off. She watched the blade fly out and come back to him, honing true as if magnetized to some invisible force within him. Could witches do that? Alchemy was Morgan's expertise, and Deirdre never bothered to inquire more from her about the other kinds. Magic never was much of a concern, but it was mesmerizing watching it played like a concerto before her. "Impressive," she whistled, uncaring of the spawn that gave up on him and now stalked towards her. "What kind of magic is that? I thought only mediums could do the whole—" She waved a hand around in the air, "Teletubbies thing." The spawn coming to her snarled, hissing, stunned to momentarily confusion with her ignoring of it. But maybe that was the mark of an easy prey? And so, pushing whatever basic instinct told it that something was wrong aside, it lunged at her.

And with the same speed, Deirdre opened her mouth, screaming one sharp note aimed at the spawn, its effect diverting harmlessly away from Otto. The spawn stumbled back, whimpering in confusion. She shifted in her seat, yawning, watching the spawn flinch at the sight of her mouth opening again. She enjoyed that most about being a banshee, she could sit, and with no effort at all, end the lives of anyone she pleased. She could kill Otto if she wanted, even with his fancy magic. She wondered if he knew that, or if his faith in his own abilities outweighed the rumor of hers. "You know, you're wrong, Otto. You don't disappoint, even if I wanted to watch those things take an arm off." The spawn she knocked to the ground had already righted itself and settled its eyes back on her. "Tell me, do you always need to use tools to get the job done?" Her eyes flickered to his dagger. To emphasize her point, she whistled another scream at her spawn, knocking it back down as it recoiled in anguish. All she needed to do was open her mouth, did Otto's magic carry the same power? Curious to know more, she urged that he continue his show.

Words had power if you knew how to channel them right. Otto’s words combined with the fluid gestures and sigils his fingers seemed to tut out were what gave rise to this display. Which it was in a way, each calculated movement designed to maximise the limited capacity of energy he had to expend as efficiently as possible. Years of training within a coven had honed skill but this was something else, a pulling on the very essence of reality and that which grounded things to this very existence and bending them to his will. Each target was focussed on in turn, his eyes narrowed in precise focus so that a misstep was never made because if he made a wrong movement, set his foot in just the wrong stance, these could easily backfire considering the experimental nature of it.

He heard Deirdre’s running commentary, like an entertained theatre goer enraptured by a performance but no response was given as he turned his attention to the second spawn – the first having thought better of this little confrontation and scuttling off into the dark from which it came. A trickle of sweat ran down his brow, the addictive rush of power returning once more. It felt so good. Like a high he never wanted to come down off of. But he glanced in Deirdre’s direction as the other spawn raced at her and she… screamed? He blinked, curious and intrigued yet distracted enough for the second spawn to lunge all gnashing teeth and raking claws. One catching his side as they toppled over and slammed into the side of a mausoleum, the fucker was strong and a white hot pain flared across his ribs where a stray clawing hand caught him. The weight kept him pinned as he fought against the creature, keeping it away from his throat with the flat of his dagger as he focussed another spell, letting the nick of another claw serve as the fuel to power it. Kicking out the creature was launched away as if it had somehow lost several kilos and barely weighed an ounce sending it in an arc. Otto knelt, dashing his hand through his own blood and raising it forth above his head, palm upturned in the direction of the arcing spawn before his fingers curled into a fist and with a loud cry wrenched his arm down. The spawn’s body contorted, and a sudden pulse of violet magic exploded as gravity seemed to firmly reestablish itself. The spawn’s mangled body suddenly jerked straight down, pulled by some unseen force before pummelling into the floor with an overwhelming force that snapped several bones leaving them jutting out at mangled angles thick black-red blood glistening from their broken shards.

Stumbling to his feet, he tugged out the stake from his belt kicking the mangled spawn over and jamming it into his rough approximation of where it’s heart should be. A terrible agonised scream filled the air before its form burst into flame and Otto staggered back, grabbing onto a tomb-stone for support as he caught his breath and tried to fight off the wave of dizziness that threatened to overcome him. Even then he only heard a fraction of what Deirdre (still looking impeccable as when she’d arrived) said and he snorted a laugh. “Not always,” he huffed, swiping a hand over his brow to wipe away the sweat, the foxish smile and coy glint returning even as he braced his remaining hand against his side, “but then again who doesn’t enjoy a good toy when you have one to hand?

She was an observer, first and foremost. Deirdre’s mother drilled the concept in her. She was to watch, never to intervene. But what was devout accordance to duty in practice, always morphed to strange, sadistic pleasure in watching someone else struggle and fight. She didn’t think Otto would blame her, he seemed like a performer, an actor. And the magic he did was special, and she swore she could see that he knew it too. That some part of him did enjoy this rush; his power. Who wouldn’t? Deirdre enjoyed seeing creatures fall to her screams just the same. Power itself, and the acquisition of it, was intoxicating. Otto did his work, and Deirdre watched. The spawn was crushed with invisible force and she looked on with delight---the bodies she’d seen mangled from large falls came to mind, and yet, that manner of force was seemingly summoned from Otto himself. This wasn’t alchemy or necromancy, this was hardly telekinesis. It was something better, grander, and she wanted to see more.

Otto, on the other hand, didn’t look up to the task of performing more. The rest of the spawns had scurried off, favoring self-preservation between Otto’s power and Deirdre’s screams. Yet, instead of offering her help to the man, clearly injured, she watched him. Observed him, scrutinized his breathing and posture. She was wrong to think he was a warden, but what he was...she thought she might just have more fun with. “I like knives,” she said, her face impassive, “I can scream. But I like knives. I like watching the blood spread under my strength against another’s flesh. Sometimes, I think it might be my undoing, to want to use a knife instead. That’s my toy.” But just as soon as the admittance tumbled from her, the glaze over her eyes fell, and concern pulled up her features. The woman who thought she might just find artistry in murder, the girl who looked curiously on to death and the her acts of it, was replaced with the one that knew better. She rose, moving slowly towards Otto, pulling the handkerchief she kept in her pocket out to press against his wounds. “Do you need a hospital?” She asked him, “It might please you to know you’re not dying, and won’t be any time soon, but ironically, cemeteries make a poor place to rest.” She tilted her head, “what kind of magic was that?”

The taste of power was honeysuckle sweet, pure temptation injected into his veins and left Otto riding a high that felt like it would never end. Even the sting of the gash was dulled in the heights of his power ebbing and flowing through his body a dizzying and infinite height of pleasure that couldn’t be abated. How could anyone not get lost? In being able to take and bend the very essence of something and apply a force that could crush, splinter and crack a body to something beyond all human recognition. Good thing they aren’t human, a voice reminded him.

It was that thought that brought a sudden flash to the forefront of his mind, and his graceful moves staggered as the mental image of a mangled body rag-dolling to the floor flashed through his mind's eye. Eyes pleading for mercy that wasn’t given. A life taken a mistake, but blood on his hands. The memory was enough to startle Otto’s concentration enough that he felt a sudden twist of sickness in his stomach. He stumbled, hands going to press flat to the mausoleum as he bent over screwing his eyes up as he fought off the urge to empty the contents of his stomach right there. He sucked in short sharp pants, in and out, in and out spitting out a globule of saliva into the grass as he set himself to rights the latent tingling at the tips of his fingers urging him to just do one more. One more spell wouldn’t hurt.

He had to clench his fists against the urge. And where some might ask for help, Otto didn’t, used to being alone on jobs that he had to sort his own shit out or risk facing the consequences of being caught. He could feel the wintery coolness of an observational gaze but he pushed it out of his mind. “Nothing wrong with liking knives,” he mustered a grin brandishing one of his golden gilt daggers “no kink shaming here,” Otto joked. He might look a little peaky and rough around the edges, but hell if he’d let an opportunity to quip pass him by. “You’re fae, no one else speaks quite so poetically yet succinctly about death,” more a statement of fact than a question “vampires get all flowery and morbid about it.” He grimaced at the pressure but he couldn’t help the pained chuckle “I’d rather avoid hospital. Don’t fancy explaining a spawn scrap to the attending.” Not dying. Well that was good news at least. “Really?” there was a mild touch of wryness to the question but slowly they walked away from their perch back in the direction of the entrance. “A highly experimental type,” he answered after a moment seeing no harm in sharing considering she had as well and the new bike.

Deirdre smiled, watching Otto. He didn’t look well, but as a credit to him, he didn’t act like it. She flashed the inside of her jacket, revealing the knives that lined it, in a muted attempt at knife-based solidarity. He wasn’t going to die, she knew that, but that didn’t mean he was well. Or that he wouldn’t, if she just left him here. Strange as it was to be worried about him now, when she brought him here in the first place, Deirdre was not without some compassion. “Did you just figure that out now?” She cocked her head to the side, “if the Irish accent and the love of cemeteries didn’t give it away before. And you’re a witch.” Maybe she should take more people out for sudoku in cemeteries, it clearly revealed a lot. “I’m known for many things, Otto, but my medical care isn’t one,” she withdrew her hand. “No hospital then, but you have to go somewhere. Where can I take you? That is--because you don’t seem like you’re in any state to drive a bike.” She followed him out of the graveyard, gesturing to her car, the immaculate Aston Martin parked poorly off to the side. “And maybe you can tell me if that experimental magic is of your creation, or something ancient. It’s remarkable and…” she trailed off. She didn’t know Otto well enough to make any strong claims, but she was starting to get a sense of him. “...dangerous,” she continued. What were his limits? And would it matter at all if she knew? Would she have to worry about which side of his friendliness she fell on? “....exactly who are you again?” She whispered, her breath a wisp in the cool night. She opened her car door for him, pausing as she realized he might not come along with her. Otto was, above all, a mystery. And Deirdre knew better than to force the unraveling of his game. “What will it be, Otto?”

Growing up in the kind of environment Otto had there wasn’t any time for letting yourself act anything other than good. Even with the rolling of his stomach he knew better than to do anything other than pull his shit together and carry on. “I had a suspicion, but…” he waved his hand vaguely to the carnage around them his grin a tad slanted in its amusement “all that kinda confirmed it.” Still, Otto snorted strangely amused by the notion of Deirdre being a doctor “yeah, your bedside- no, you’re graveside manner could use some work.”

There was a natural distrust of hospitals in him, or perhaps it was the fear of documentation. “Home’ll do…” he answered after a moment’s thought. Home would do just fine. The trickle of blood was slow, but the gash was relatively superficial. Nothing he couldn’t stitch up at home if needs be. “Mm… I hate the thought of leaving it here.” But what else could he do? Glancing between the bike and the Aston Martin he weighed up his options. “A nice little mystery for you to perplex yourself with if you care to try,” he answered, cryptic as anything before ultimately he relented “fine. But only because it means I get to ride in your fancy car.”

He climbed into said fancy car, wincing a little at the gash in his side that twinged with the movement but as he reclined the seat a little it made it a tad more bearable. His eyes closed taking just a moment of respite inside his own mind as he heard the soft click of the driver’s door closing and shift Deirdre getting in the car and he answered her earlier question. “As for the magic I uh… can’t rightly say I know. Mostly my own creation but I know my ancestors may have tried to figure it out without much success...” Not like there was anyone left to ask. Still, he laughed quietly, shifting once more to try and ease the new batch of discomfort and not bothering with his belt.

A suspicion. Deirdre tilted her head. Some part of her teaching to be more cautious filtered through her head. Her eyes glossed over Otto, she didn’t trust him not to go off and spill her secrets; she didn’t trust anyone. It was arrogance that kept her flippant, her species being a secret she could see little reason to keep better. Who could hurt her? Not some warden, and not Otto with his experimental magic. “Where to?” She asked quietly.

The night scene streaked past them as she drove, following Otto’s directions. For his sake, she tried to avoid the bumps in the road and any sharp turns. He hid his pain well, he hid himself well, but come reactions could not be stopped. Otto, for as much as he was a mystery, was only human. “You’re enterprising, I’ll give you that.” How dangerous was it exactly to devise your own magic? How much trouble would Otto find himself in? And, when it came down to it, would Deirdre be watching? “I wonder how long you’re last, Otto. I wonder how long you’ll think you’ll last.” She glanced over at him, bleeding against her plush leather seats.

“The docks will do,” Otto answered simply, it wasn’t too far of a walk from there and the air would do him good after tonight. Plus he’d have to go back and get his bike tomorrow but it was the least of his concerns right now. His head rested back as the lights of the town streaked past the windows and Otto observed them quietly until Deirdre spoke again and his mirthful expression returned, “would it be cliché of me to say I’m only human?” Otto was keenly aware of his mortal coil, the environments he’d lived in hardly let you forget it. “That’s a good question, I guess we’ll have to see.” Eventually the car pulled up and Otto leaned forwards catching the handle but pausing before he pulled it and got out, “well Deirdre m’darlin, tonight was a thrill. We should do it again sometime but maybe next time we can have some booze? Stop by my place when you have some time, I’ll fix us up a real fun night.” With a promise in his eye he tugged the handle swinging the door open and climbed out stiffly, his side throbbing yet the pain was masked discretely away. “Tarah love, don’t be a stranger” he winked playfully swinging the door shut and tapping the roof lightly before pivoting and swinging his way lazily back towards the warehouses in which his apartment was located.

He was human, Deirdre reminded herself. It was easy to forget that with his showmanship, with all that she’d come to learn about humans. But he was human, nonetheless. And death would catch up to him. She would catch up to him. When she leveled her blade against his neck. There might have been pity, sadness. She watched him leave, retreating into the dark where her vision could no longer follow. “Don’t die boring, Otto.” But he was too far off to hear her now.

#wickedswriting #c: otto #chatzy #moonlight sudoku #otto is really badass in this #and deirdre spends a lot of time going 'ur so cool UNLIKE ALAIN'#anyways she started the first season making someone come to a cemetery with her and she'll start this season doing the same thing

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zankivich · 5 years ago

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The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 5

Hiya! This is the chapter when we get to figure out a little more of why Shawn is the way that he is. I’m not interested in villains for villains sake; I’m interested in complex characters in need of healing and kindness and also to maybe fight for themselves a little bit. I think this is gonna get very interesting if the thoughts in my head are anything to go off of. Also I try not to bug y’all too often but I am very very poor at the moment so if you did want to buy me a Kofi right here. That would be life changing. Ya girl got bills. K bye.

WARNINGS: sex without a condom (gotta wrap it up folks), a mini panic attack w/o much description, and just some general softness.

*Shawn’s point of view*

He’s in the studio. It’s his happy place. He remembered being eight years old, just barely big enough to climb into the seat, but finding something magical about the sound board. His nanny used to pick him up from school and he would beg her to take him to where his dad was working. They only started letting him go once they realized he’d stop throwing temper tantrums. He thrived there. He listened quietly and he learned about how to track vocals, how to create rhythms and what actual sound waves could look like for a vocal. And then he was thirteen, and his dad brought this guy in.

He was in baggy jeans and a green sweatshirt. His guitar had a plus sign on it, and there were scratches against the body where he’d strummed too hard. The sound guy told him his name was Ed Sheeran. He was there to sing for his dad. That day changed his life forever.

He went from playing soccer every day after school, to playing guitar and creating covers. His dad happily put him in the guitar lessons and the piano lessons and the vocal lessons. It was the outlet he never knew he needed, but couldn’t live without. Shawn was always thoroughly convinced he hadn’t been destined for much. Was never smart in school, never particularly passionate about anything either. And since the day he was born, all he knew was that his dad was powerful and his dad had money, and that meant one day he would have the same. Not because of who he was or what he accomplished, but because of who his dad was. Music changed that for him.

“Hey, pull back on the reverb?” He suggested to the producer. “It’s clouding the vocal. Trust me.”

There’s a guy in the booth. His dad’s new golden star. Niall Horan. His first album had done twice the numbers they anticipated, and so after a North American tour to test the waters he quickly pulled him in to try and do it again. That’s why Shawn was there of course. To oversee the creative vision, and “provide feedback”. What it really meant was, his dad knew he could determine what was good and what was bad, so why waste his time when he could have Shawn do it. As far as his dad was concerned, he should feel lucky that he was even allowed to be a part of the process.

“Aye, this is just isn’t feeling right. I’m coming out.” Niall said from the booth in his thick irish accent.

There’s a room of writers, but it’s actually pretty organic in comparison to some of the other artists under his dad’s belt. Two of them are friends of Horan’s from home, who had followed him along for the ride. He plops down on one of the couches and reaches for a guitar. His fingers pluck absently at the strings and Shawn can’t help but glance over there instead of filling out whatever dumbass report his dad was asking him to fill out. There’s a redheaded woman on the couch who started playing alongside him. Another guy uses his lap as drums, and they just start jamming with each other.

It’s electric. It’s that thing that made his stomach lurch like he was at the top of a rollercoaster. It’s what left him more at home in his own skin than anything else ever could. The energy in the room actually shifts. He swears he can feel the music. Like actually feel every strum in his fingertips as if its his hands on the guitar. It’s authentic and real and they’re just playing for fun.

But, somewhere in there he remembers that this is all he’ll ever get. Just watching from the sidelines while everyone else gets to play. It breaks his heart. It makes him sick to his stomach. So sick that he leaves abruptly in the middle of the session crashing outside and choking desperately for air. This is what he got. A noose that always felt too tight, with the hope every day that he just might get the chance to breathe. This was it for him.

***

*Y/n’s point of view*

Shawn: I need you.

y/n: That’s gonna be a little difficult. I’m in Miami, remember? First show of the tour for Grande.

Shawn: Well when are you coming back?

y/n: I’m staying through the first week of shows to make sure all the kinks get worked out. No pun intended.

Shawn: I don’t think I can wait that long.

You were walking past the merch booth getting set up and stopped to chat with some of the people working it. You had a lot of respect for merch booth people, depending on the show--and the pop shows were always the worst--shit could get hectic and fast. They deserved tons more respect than they got, and you were happy to show them some.

You peered down at your phone and read Shawn’s text over again. It felt a little off, even for him. You had gone stretches of time without hooking up before. There were times where he needed to be in LA while you stayed behind in New York, times where you had one show in one city, while he had one in another. It hadn’t been a problem before. You always just found time when the two of you available, and went from there. Shawn hadn’t ever pushed it further than that before.

y/n: everything alright?

Shawn: my dad is satan

y/n: well retweet sis! We been knew that.

y/n: Sorry. I wish I could be there to relieve the stress. If you wanna hop on a flight and meet me in Miami feel free lol

You head for the sound check, checking in to make sure that that stage was being set up, so that meet and greet could go off without a hitch later. You nearly trip over one of Ariana’s dogs and die, but other than that it’s fine. There’s hours and hours of labor that have to go into a show before the doors ever open, before those kids every step inside to see their idol get up on the stage. It’s your job, along with a host of other incredibly talented and hard working people, to make sure that those hours seamingly don’t even exist. You don’t mind it. Back in the early days you used to go on whole tours to make sure your artists were taken care of. It wasn’t until you turned thirty that you realized slowing down a little bit was in everyone’s best interest.

When you’re not needed you set up in an office space to answer emails and check in with the office. The afternoon passes quickly, and before you know doors are opening up, and the kids begin to pile in. You’re backstage making sure the band and Ariana are good to go, when the tour manager comes up to you looking panicked and confused the way he always did.

“Hey, y/n! Sorry to bother you, but can I borrow you for a second?”

You clap hands with Ariana wishing her luck she won’t need before heading off with Mike.

“What’s up, Mike? Everything okay?”

He nodded. “Yea! It’s just that I got a call from the head of security at the back of the venue, and there’s a guest for you who doesn’t have a pass.”

“A guest for me? I don’t have any guests tonight. Did they catch a name?”

“It’s uh...It’s Manny Mendes’ kid? Shawn?”

“What?!”

Mike winced. “He uh, he told them you personally invited him. Guy must be charming, or they probably would’ve turned him away.”

Charming, your black ass. He was a nuisance is what he was.

“I didn’t personally invite him anywhere! Take me to this dumbass, please.” You groaned in frustration.

The whole walk there you’re just trying to figure out how the hell he managed to get here that fast! Who takes a back handed joke, and then actually follows through it? Shawn fucking Mendes. This man was going to be a thorn in your side for the foreseeable future. God, was he lucky his dick was big.

Sure enough, at the back of the venue at one of the stage doors, Shawn is sitting there with a couple of security guards. His hands rest easily in his pockets, and he’s telling them a fucking joke that has them laughing their asses off. Where was the justice?!

“Hey. Took you long enough.” He chuckled reaching for a duffle bag at his feet.

What was he moving in?

“Shawn what in the hell are you doing here?”

He stared at you incredulously. “You told me to come!”

“I was kidding! How in the hell did you get here that fast anyway?”

“Honey, we have a private jet. Surely that’s not surprising to you. What are you gonna turn me away at the door right now?”

Mike is still staring at you with nothing but confusion on his face. He probably had no idea you even knew Shawn Mendes, let alone enough to accidentally invite him to Miami. This was bad. This was bad, bad, bad.

Your gritted your teeth. “He is very unfortunately with me. Mike give him a pass.”

“Are you sure th--”

“Mike just given him the damn pass.” You sighed turning on your heel to disappear back inside.

Shawn keeps up with you easily with his obnoxiously long legs. Mike power walks behind the two of you ear piece and ipad still blaring.

“Mike you can run along before curtain call. I’ve got things here.”

It’s not an option. It’s a directive, and he quickly follows it leaving you alone with your headache of the day.

“You really call the shots around here, aye?”

“Little bit. Follow me.”

You lead him to the little office space you have in one of the green rooms, and quickly close the door before more people find out that the two of you are together. He takes a seat on one of the couches like he belongs. You want to pull your hair out.

“What in the hell Shawn?” You groaned. “We have rules. Very specific rules.”

“I know. Look, I know! But you offered, okay? And I couldn’t...I wasn’t gonna wait a week. I need this. I need you.”

That certainly was a little more honest than the two of you typically got with each other.

You paused to take a better look at him, and it isn’t the prettiest sight. The smile and witty laughter from outside was a thin facade to the bags beneath his eyes and the frown that’s evident now. He looks a little pale, like paler than usual, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say he hadn’t been sleeping well. You did know better. In fact you were starting to realize that maybe you knew him a little better than you gave yourself credit for.

You took a seat on the table in front of him, your legs knocking together in the small amount of space between you.

“What’s going on? And don’t say it’s just cause you’re stressed.”

He peered up at you, his fingers tapping anxiously against his thighs.

“Since when do you care? That’s not exactly within the parameters of our relationship now is it?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not all of us go through life only living based off of what we can take from others. I know it’s a wild concept to you, but some of us? Some of us can actually be decent human beings.”

“Great so I’m a piece of shit and you’re a saint, is that it?”

“Why are you trying to fight with me? Don’t be a child; stop deflecting. Just tell me what the hell is wrong, and maybe we can fix it.”

“You can’t fix it, y/n. I’m stuck. I’m always going to be stuck okay? There is no fixing me.”

He looked exhausted. And it wasn’t the hard day at work exhausted either. This looked bone deep in him. You couldn’t tell if this was something you’d just never noticed, or if he was letting down a wall for you to see behind for the first time. Whatever it was, you didn’t like it. There wasn’t time to work through why that was, or what it meant for you to care enough to want to fix it. You just knew that you didn’t like it. That’s all that mattered.

You reached forward, your fingers pushing at his knees to make more room for you to straddle his lap. His hands immediately came up to rest on your ass, and you slid your hand over his heart. It was beating like crazy. He just needed to slow down. He needed you to help him slow down. When you kissed, his fingers dug a little more deeply into the flesh of your ass. He groaned softly against your mouth and pulled you closer. It wasn’t necessarily that you didn’t kiss at all in the time that you spent together. Shawn had no problem dominating your mouth. It just so happened that in a relationship built on dominating your body there were a lot of other things you could be doing than kissing.

His lips were still heavenly though. He knew how to tug at your jaw, how to pull you in closer and run his tongue perfectly along the roof of your mouth. It was as intoxicating as all the other things he seemed to be able to do with his body. Only instead of quickly moving to the next phase the way that he usually would, he kept you there a while longer. His lips moved against yours and your arms wrapped tight around him. You could feel his shoulders release beneath your touch, could feel his hands relax against your ass. By the time he flips you to lay your body down against the couch, fingers already tugging to get his jeans down his thighs, your lips are buzzing, and you feel kind of lightheaded. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Tell me what you need.” You whispered against his lips. “Tell me how to please you.”

“Need to be in you. Right now.” He muttered reaching beneath your skirt.

His fingers found their way between the fabric of your underwear, gently nudging between your folds where you were already wet. He tugged the thing band down off of your legs and tucked them into his jean pocket.

He groaned softly plunging his middle finger inside. “You’re always wet for me. Know exactly how to be good for me.”

He curved up and to the right, rubbing quickly against your walls to get you where you needed to go. This wasn’t about foreplay. This wasn’t a scene. There was no plan here. It was frantic and a little messy. But you liked it. You liked it more than you knew what to do with.

“Are you my good girl?” He panted jerking his finger up and down to touch the thing inside of you that made you thrash.

“Yes. Yes, I am. Please, Shawn. Please?”

“The faster you cum, the faster I can get inside this pussy.”

His bicep tensed and his breath came out in harsh pants against the side of your neck. His fingers won’t stop, won’t let up, and your body gives him exactly the reaction he wants every single time. It’s like magnets. Like he knows exactly how to touch you to make you scream. And you do. Always.

His thumb rubs circles on your clit and your body practically melts. Your back arches and your moans get higher as your orgasm hits. Not one to ever be outdone unless it’s by himself, Shawn withdrew his fingers and immediately pushed his way inside of you. The stretch alone in conjunction with the weight of him pressing you down into the couch was enough to heighten your orgasm to a place it’d never been before.

“You’re so fucking tight, shit y/n.”

“I can’t fucking breathe--Shit! it’s so good!”

The arm of the couch provides a kind of leverage you couldn’t get if you prayed for it, and Shawn’s taking full advantage. There’s something different in the way that he handles you. He’s a little more desperate than you’re used to. His hips are less skilled precision and more broken lunges. But you love it just the same. Push your hips up against him chasing something similar, chasing a high that will take you both straight off that cliff together.

“I love being inside you.” He whimpered against your chest. “Nothing feels like you. Wanna give it to you so good.”

“You do. You fucking do.”

His teeth sink into the flesh of your shoulder and it drives you up a fucking wall. You dig desperately into the couch with your heels and cry out for him. It’s fast and dirty and not at all like what you’re used to. It’s just him, just him in all your senses. And you just wanted to give that back to him tenfold.

“Want you to cum for me again. Want you to come while I shoot my load in your pussy.”

“O--Okay. Okay I’ll cum, just please keep fucking me just like that. Please, just like that”

He pushes himself up onto his knees and moves your thigh up so that your knee is pressed against the arm of the couch. His dick doesn’t even make sense at this point. It’s like amnesia. Dick amnesia. But, he does this thing where he twists his hips every time he pushes his way back into you, and it makes you cum like a waterfall. And the second you’re cumming, his thrusts deteriorate into quick, rugged slaps against your sex. When he peaks, it’s euphoria for you both. Absolute Euphoria.

For a while neither of you move except for the pounding of your hearts in unison with one another. You can’t feel your toes, and it’s so sensitive to feel him inside you in this way. It’s not just good sex it’s a feeling that he gives you in wide abundance. You feel complete with him on top of you. Sated and fulfilled and taken care of.

“Wow.” He chuckled leaning down to kiss you roughly. “That was incredible.”

You giggled. “Yea. We’re good at that. Real good.”

He slides off your body and disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes. He comes back with some damp paper towels and cleans tenderly between your legs.

“It’s not my egytpian cotton, but it gets the job done.” He chuckled.

He already looks entirely different. There’s color in his cheeks and his eyes have that obnoxious sparkle shit that they do. You like him a lot better when he looks this way. And there’s a part of you that feels a sense of pride at being able to bring that out of him.

“Thank you, kind of.” You snorted softly.

You fix your skirt while he pulls his jeans back up. You can’t help but notice you managed to yank the neck of his t-shirt horribly out of place somewhere in the midst of your climax. The least you can do is grab him one of the merch shirts. It hits him in the face when you toss it, but that’s at least a few more seconds you have to calm the hell down.

“What’s this?”

“Figured we didn’t want people asking questions. Put it on, I’m sure there’s still some more of Ari’s set left.”

His eyes widened a little and he stared back at the t-shirt before looking back up at you.

“You want me to stay?”

It’s your turn for your eyes to widen and for the ground to become more interesting.

“You don’t have to obviously. You got what you came for. Ari, just puts on a really good show.” You mumbled.

“No I--I’d love to see the show. Haven’t seen her since Coachella.”

He changed quickly out of his t-shirt, sliding on a God Is A Woman shirt instead. The outfit change is a good one in your estimation.

“Great now give me my underwear back.” You murmured resituating your lanyard that got you in everywhere around your neck.

“Oh. Yea, no.”

You looked up at him and there he was leaning against the same part of the couch that he’d rammed you again not ten minutes ago. His long legs crossed in a similar fashion to his arms across his chest. That confidence was just obviously roaring in his system all over again. He was back, just like that.

“Excuse me?” You asked, eyebrow raised and pointed.

“I’m gonna keep them. Kinda want you to think about the fact that you won’t have any panties on all night, and I’ll be the only one who knows. Every time you have to yell at someone to do their job right, every time someone from the crowd bumps into you, it’ll just be you and I who know that you’re my good little girl. So I’m gonna keep them until I’m ready to give them back to you.”

And just what in the fuck does someone do with a speech like that?

“Yea….okay.”

You leave the greenroom behind in the hopes that no one will be able to tell what was done in there that night. Instinctively you reach for his hand and tug him along behind you to get the pits. It’s a sold out show, so there’s definitely a hell of a lot of people there, but you make it work nonetheless. With only the first half of the show missed anyway there’s still plenty of talent left for him to see.

At first you thought that you needed him to see what you were capable of. Ariana was all talent, all vocals, and iconicism, and magic. But, it was you that brought it all together, you who coordinated every little piece to make sure it all ran together without problem. Before you met Shawn, before ever deciding to do the little arrangement he schemed for the both of you, there had been a need to prove yourself. It came with the territory as a woman, let alone as a Black woman in a white male dominated industry.

Something happens in the middle of the show though, when the moon hangs from the ceiling, and her voice is belting out through the whole arena. You peer up at him watching the show, and there’s no ego to be had. It’s not like when other music execs come to visit shows, and they're just looking for a way to upstage you. He’s just there. Enjoying every note and letting the vibe of the crowd fill him in that way that you loved and cherished about live shows. It’s the first time outside of the bedroom that he eases the tension for you, that he gives you a sort of metaphorical pat on the back to say, “you don’t need to stand tall. Put that away for right now.”

You take a deep breath and let your head rest against his shoulder before there’s even room to think about it. Before you lose the moment, before the tension finds a way to ease back into your body, he wraps his arms around your waist from behind. Ariana keeps singing. The crowd keeps screaming. And he doesn’t let up until the lights come back on.

***

“Where are you staying tonight?” You asked, trying to pay attention to the break down of the venue happening around you.

“Wherever you’re staying I guess.”

You peered over at the way that he was leaning against one of the barricades, still dressed in his God Is A Woman shirt, with a smirk upon his lips.

“So fucking cocky, all the time.” You snorted. “I’ve got a lot of work left to do here. I’m always the last to leave from a show.”

“That’s fine. You want me to head up to the hotel, or should I wait behind for you?”

“You’re really staying huh?”

“Told my dad I’m doing research. I think he’s found a new intern to screw, so he’s not really checking in at the moment. I could use a little vacation.” He hummed. “You want me to go?”

You bit your lip and ran your fingers over your waist where his hands had touched. It was dangerous letting him in like this. You knew it. You had to know it.

“No I don’t want you to go.”

He smiled softly. “Guess I’m not going, then.”

“Guess not.”

“Besides if I left?” He murmured stepping forward to cup your hip intimately. “When would you ever get your thong back?”

Bastard.

It’s well past one in the morning before you get to leave. Your feet hurt and you really need a shower and the hotel can’t come fast enough. There’s a car around back waiting for you, and Shawn trails right along side you with his louis vuitton duffle bag that again just reeks of unnecessary indulgence, but you let him have it this time. The soft leather seats of the BMW and the gentle shake of the car is enough to lull you towards sleep. You were the queen of sleeping on cars. Touring life was perfect for you. What you weren’t used to was having someone beside you too as you made yourself comfortable.

“Are you falling asleep right now?” Shawn chuckled.

“I’m just resting my eyes.” you mumbled heading leaning back against the headrest, eyes closed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be plenty well rested for sex later.”

“Yea...Okay.”

*thirty minutes later*

“Honey, wake up.”

“Mmmm...No.”

“No?”

“No. I’m comfy, Ti. Leave me alone.” You whined snuggling deeper into her shoulder.

“As much as I have a feeling Tianna could kick my ass, I don’t think our biceps quite look alike. I am definitely not Ti.”

Your eyes popped open in shock alerting you to the fact that you wrapped your whole fucking body around this man’s arm and he had done nothing to stop you. The gal! The injustice!

“What are you doing? Why did you let me do that?” You gasped detangling yourself from his grasp.

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t ‘let’ you do anything. Your body tends to have a mind of its own. Apparently even in slumber. We’re here though, princess.”

Sure enough the hotel is there staring back at you from the window. You had really fallen asleep. And he had let you.

“Shit. Okay. Let’s go.”

The hotel room is neat and pristine. You won’t be there nearly long enough to do any damage to it. Shawn places his duffle next to yours and starts his routine that he always does at night. His watch comes off. The bracelet. The rings. And it is insane the effect that it has on your body. Your spine straightens. And he turns to look at you over his shoulder, curls extra fluffy without any product in it, and it just runs through your body like a fucking current.

He makes his way over to you and his fingers skim your chin like it’s fine. Like he’s not shirtless in front of you with a six pack and perfect wisps of chest hair. You kind of wanna ask him if the women he sleeps with ever don’t want to get undressed in front of him, but then a yawn leaves your lips and that thought gets left far behind, along with the moment.

He smiled at you softly and tapped your cheek.

“Look you’re exhausted. Why don’t we just wait for the morning. It’s no big deal.”

You wrapped your hand around his wrist to keep him with you.

“It’s fine. I swear.”

He shook his head. “No. It’s really not. Let’s go to bed.”

“Shawn--”

“I said consent at all times didn’t I?” He interrupted. “You’re too tired to consent. We’re not doing it.”

Too tired to consent. That was certainly a new one.

But the way that he settled himself into his side of the bed told you negotiation wasn’t an option. And you were fucking exhausted. So, you crawled beneath the blankets and let your body relax for only the second time that night. How odd for it to be that both of those times were because of Shawn? And what the hell did that mean?

His scent was in your sheets. It was on your skin and in your nose. He was there. This all consuming force that just seemed to fill the space around him infinitely. To the point where you barely felt like you fit in the bed beside him. And yet he sometimes looked so small that you wondered how he could ever fill any space at all. You couldn’t ignore the look on his face in the green room. The exhaustion. The smallness. What was up with that? And why were you thinking of him so damn much anyway?

“You’ve gotta shut your mind down to actually fall asleep.” Shawn mumbled from somewhere in the dark.

You rolled your eyes. “Thank you for mansplaining sleep to me.”

“I’m not--just...Look, what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing. What makes you think there’s something on my mind?” You asked defensively.

“I just can hear you fucking thinking from all the other way over here. Why do you have to be so stubborn all the time?”

“I’m not stubborn!”

You had one of those out of body experiences where you actually hear yourself speak, and it subsequently proved his point. Rude.

“It’s genetic.” You murmured softly. “Sorry. I guess I uh I’m just not used to having someone else sleep in bed with me.”

“Well thank you. We fall asleep after fucking most times though?”

“Yes well there’s a difference between being fucked into a coma and just lying beside the person.”

He took a deep breath. “Do you want me to leave? I can just go get another room.”

“No it’s fine! It’s fine. I swear. I’m just...adjusting.”

“Fine. You...adjust, then. I’ll try not to breathe too much and disturb you.”

It was a long night.

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

The sun fills the room and it’s a complete and utter nuisance to him. Too early. Too bright. Too not cuddly. So he snuggles his face back into the warmth and ignores it for a little while longer. It’s the most well rested he’s felt in months. So well rested that he doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to be without this warmth that he’s never felt before. And why would he? Why would he ever want to leave this?

He opens his eyes and all that he sees in brown. Cocoa brown with deep red undertones that light up beneath the sunrays. It’s the first time he’s ever woken up before her, her mental clock seeming to always pull her out of bed before his dick is even awake let alone his mind. The fact that she’s asleep is a miracle within itself. The fact that he gets to look at her while she does it feels like maybe a little extra miracle on the side.

There’s a freckle on the divet in the small of her back that he’s never noticed before. Her bonnet to cover her hair is the same color as her nails and there’s a part of him that needs to know if it was a conscious decision or not. Knowing y/n, it could go either way. The covers had slid down her back and he’d wrapped himself around her at some point in the night. And it was somehow the best night sleep he’d had in so long. No sex. No ropes. No lube. Just sleep.

He wasn’t dumb. Something was different. Something had been different from the very beginning. His hooks up didn’t sleep over. He didn’t fly to anyone, ever. Hell, he didn’t even drive to anyone. Uber was practically part of his foreplay in life. How the fuck did he end up in miami grabing her waist while Ariana Grande scerenaded them by fucking moonlight? He didn’t do this. He didn’t grab hips if he wasn’t fucking. He didn’t tell a woman he’d rather sleep then have sex with them. He needed to end this. And fast.

However . . . she was still asleep. And the sun was still just coming up. So what was really the harm in lying there a little longer? He pressed his arm back over her waist, thumb rubbing smoothly into the skin of her tummy. He’d get up in just a minute, would end it in just a minute. For sure.

*three days later*

“I will be back in less than a week.” She says.

“It will be over in no time.” She says.

“Stop fucking biting my thighs while I’m answering work emails!” She says.

After a break full of rushing her off to different rooms with locks on them in the venues so he could get his head between her thighs, it was finally over. His dad had finally called to ask why the hell his new Director of Talent Management was nowhere to be fucking found. It was time for him to leave, which meant days before he would see her again. Which was fine. Totally fine.

“So hear me out,” He argued as they drove to the final venue, he’d get to see her out. “I just think maybe Tianna should be taking me into account when she’s making your schedule. That’s all.”

She snorted. “I am not going to ask that woman to schedule dick appointments for you.”

“They’re not for just me! I’m thinking of you here too. Had I not taken off from my busy schedule to come to Miami, you might have actually combusted.”

“Women can go longer than twelve hours without sex Shawn. It’s yall who act like the world will explode if somebody doesn’t touch your dick for two seconds.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “I’m just saying it might be nice to know that you’re gonna be gone for weeks on end, ya know?”

She peered over at him from her phone where she’d been working away. She seemed to work harder and longer than anyone he’d ever met. Even more than his dad, which is explained why he couldn’t stand her.

“You could always...hook up with someone else while I’m away.” She said.

Her eyes are curious, watchful. There’s something behind the question that she’s asking, but he doesn’t know that on account of him being stupid. All he knew was that women didn’t just offer up the opportunity to sleep with other people. Even his past hook ups grew easily attached. It was his main reason for never repeating. Who was this woman?

“What makes you think I’m not, already?” He asked trying to match her eye contact.

She bit her lip. “The fact that you’re here right now.”

“Are you...hooking up with other people?”

“What if I was?”

He broke his gaze, not having it in him to keep staring at her. She was definitely stronger than him there.

“Whatever. Wouldn’t matter. ‘Snot like we’re together.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

“Yea, exactly.”

The rest of the ride is silent. She was getting dropped off at her venue to continue on with Ariana through the rest of the week. He was heading back for NYC to get back to work. It would be a few more days before she flew back home. But, that was alright. He could wholeheartedly find other things to fill out his day. He didn’t need her at all.

The car pulls up to the arena and she pauses before she exits the car. She looks back at him like she’s waiting for something, like she expects him to say anything else. He doesn’t know what to say, just completely goes blank under her stare. She smiles at him.

“Goodbye, Shawn.”

“Bye, y/n.”

***

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mikenewtonhateblog · 5 years ago

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My oc’s aka too long of a gd post

The “BL” Crew (does not stand for boys love I’m just a moron who made that abbreviation before knowing what it stands for). My main crew and main series, a lot is a big WIP right now as I’m slowly redoing the first book and all the lore. Why? I love torture. Book is fantasy type but I won’t specify what.

Lacie, the protagonist. God tier idiot, bisexual bipolar depressed MESS, insomniac, former theater kid, doesn’t know what she wants out of life but currently it is not This(plot of book). Hot headed, impulsive, crude, rude, Mommy IssuesTM, would rather be taking a nap right now, rules are made to be broken, absolutely fucking FERAL, more bags under her eyes than the airport lost and found. 5’5, 130lbs, Aries, age 18, white as shit like literally the whitest human you have ever seen, strawberry blonde hair in a 2011 Hayley Willaims haircut with long bangs, the darkest brown eyes you’ve ever seen that stare directly into your soul. Lanky, no curves, body of a 12 year old boy but works out so she can and will kick your ass and thats a threat. Not human?

Josh. Soft boy, smart, Lacie’s cousin and only friend for like the first 18 years of her life, autistic anxious mess who’s special interest is anchient egyptian history, is in honors classes, despises math, passes out when his girlfriend looks too cute, just needs a hug. Can eat a whole carton of easy mac if left alone, whole wardobe is the same outfit just different colors/hoodies, sensory issues, seriously can someone give this guy a hug. 5’9, 150lbs, Pisces, age 18, mixed (half whatever flavor of white Lacie’s family is [they don’t even know its just some scandanavian shit and irish], and half mexican on his mom’s side), medium olive skin with freckles and moles, dark chocolate brown hair that’s a bit of a 2009 Beiber cut, warm brown eyes, not beefy, a lil thicc and self concious about it but squishy boys are GOOD. Gets bit by a werewolf so now he is one his mood on it is “thats a lot to unpack but let’s just throw the whole suitcase away”.

Zander. There is not one braincell in this man, himbo KING, pansexual dumbass with undiagnosed ADHD, no impulse control, head empty and full at the same time, PTSD, his fashion sense should be an actual crime, gets in fights to feel something, basic requirements for him to be attracted to you: kick his ass. Drinks his respect women juice, sees a folding table and must immediately launch himself on it, chaotic, cannot drive a car and will not, food aggression and eats enough for 3 people but never gains weight which is ILLEGAL, him and Lacie may be a couple.....but in this house we stan slow burn, he talks in caps and every sentence either ends with a question mark or exclaimation point, likes romcoms. 6’2, 190lbs, Sagittarius, age 19, austrailian roots and has the accent but is from [REDACTED FOR STORY REASONS], white, dorito shaped with long legs, blueish black hair that’s long and messy, dark navy eyes that match his hair, bigass neck scar from [REDACTED]. Not human

Peter. Gay dad friend who is TIRED of having to be in charge of a bunch of teenagers, only one with full functioning braincells, lowkey a genius who loves engineering, mixes magical technology with human technology because he likes to play god, is he ever sober? No one knows, will kill for a bottle of single malt, his fashion sense? Tastefully expensive suits perfectly tailored. Likes building his own weapons that no one else knows how to even use, generally non-threatening but can get scary if needed. 6’4, 140lbs string bean man, Scorpio, age 179 but looks early 30s, I know I said Lacie is the whitest human but he’s even paler like a literal sheet of paper with scandanavian roots/ancestors were vikings or some shit, blonde hair styled like 2013 Brendon Urie lmfao, light crystal blue eyes. He’s a vampire and was born one.

Danielle. Tiny, sweet, queen of girls supporting girls, comments on all her friends instagram posts with 20 emojis, LOVES fashion and has a wardrobe that would make anyone jealous, oozes feminine energy, only child and parents are in love still, gets exactly 8 hours of sleep each night and wakes up looking like a disney princess. Just because she is small and cute doesn’t mean you should underestimate her she WILL fuck your shit up. Quiet when angey which is terrifying. Josh is her bf and she loves him so much but also loves teashing the shit out of him. Legally cannot cuss, polite, used her high heels as a weapon once, speaks like 5 languages because studying them is her hobby, gardens, hugs everyone. 5’0, 110, Taurus, age 18, mixed (half french-american, half Korean-american), glowy skin always, PETITE frame aka the friend everyone can pick up when they hug, long past her waist curly brown hair, bright green eyes. She’s not fully human as she has fae blood in her and this gives her the ability to talk to and control plants. Flower crowns for everyone

Becca. Theater kid who would die to sing in Wicked and has the vocal range to do so, cannot wait to graduate and go to her dream college which she got into and a scholarship, closeted lesbian bc her whole giant family is extremely catholic and she feels like not dealing with it, “no boys allowed in bedroom” rule is her favorite joke, chill, middle child of 5 siblings and just wants some peace and quiet for ONCE. Her fashion sense is “I’m dropping subtle hints I’m gay but only to other gays”, has a black belt and took self defense classes. 5’6, 145lbs, Virgo, age 18, Latina (cuban and mexican mix), darker brown skin with light freckles over her nose, athletic build, eyebrows on POINT, bright caramel eyes, short light brown hair cut in a bob, has a tiny nose stud, always wears a blue friendship bracelet her gf made her. Human

Anika. Calling her a bitch/slut is a compliment, bisexual, a bit of a mean girl but she grows out of it give her time!!! Is always Too Much, the horny friend, favorite color is red so thats almost all of her outfits, loves to show off her body as much as she can because she’s hot and knows it and thrives in her own confidence. Her mom is literally like Regina George’s mom from Mean Girls but married a rich man 20 years older than her, Anika doesn’t know her bio dad but thats fine neither does her mom and her step dad is nice and does his best to be a dad. Becca’s gf, always hanging out at her home so Becca can get some quiet because Anika’s an only child and has a pool. 5’9, 135lbs, Gemini, age 18, white, long layered dark reddish brown hair, teal-blue eyes, swimmers body type (I normally do not mention bust size but she would want the internet to know she was blessed with big bahoogles so there you go), can sprint in heels. Half mermaid (boy was that a surprise considering her mom doesn’t know who her father is LOL)

Rex. Nb uses they/them he/him pronouns but honestly will respond to any, goth lite, only attracted to men and ace, can read minds so knows all your secrets, mischevious little shit, great friends with Zander and enjoys his dumbass thoughts and that he’s basically a human version of Jackass, wears too many rings, goth boots for kicking and fashion babey, always has the freshest memes and will not hesitate to roast in the group chat, hangs with the girls most of the time. Chaos god who loves making art, be gay do crime, skateboard and spraypaint. 5’8”, 165lbs, Leo, age 18, Native American, masculine frame, dark brown skin, blue eyes, firetruck red shoulder length hair that’s usually in a ponytail, knock-off gucci sunglasses just for judging their friends. Has magic in their blood so not entirely human and can cast spells and shit (don’t roast me its a wip and I’m doing my research)

Sam. Boho goddess, aromantic, makeup and nails are always instagram worthy, quiet and stoic type but losens up around close friends, Rex is her best friend, has some trauma and doesn’t want to talk about it, emotionally numbed out a bit and wants to purely vibe. Has seen some of the worst parts of humanity and wishes she hadn’t, finds no point in being bitter or resentful though because that won’t change anything, loves cats and once she moves out shes adopting one or three. Has wine aunt energy. 5’4, 200lbs PLUS SIZE QUEEN, Scorpio, age 18, Filipino (her parents are immigrants fun fact!), really olive skin sometimes has a grey/green tinge to it, dark brown almost black shoulder length hair, gold-hazel eyes. Sam’s the victim of a family curse that requires her to consume human hearts to survive, she can transform into a pretty scary looking being and uses this curse to hunt down pedoph*les, r*pists, murderers, and abusers. The less often she feeds the less human she looks, hence the constant grey/green tinge to her skin.

Andy. Baby of the group, must be protected at all costs, 100% didn’t sign up to be in a friendgroup of 90% monsters but highkey loves it, trans, bi, anxiety MAXED, just wants to draw comics and cosplay spiderman, has to babysit his two younger sisters a lot because his parents are....not great, and as a result now knows all the lines to Tangled and The Little Mermaid. Big nerd energy, has to draw on everything including homework, gets inspiration for comics from his friends, awkward and socially anxious, drinks way too much tea and will accidentally steal your pens. Fears include: crowds, thunder, tall angry men, tiny spaces. Just trying his best. 5’2, 100lbs BEANPOLE BOY, Leo, age 16, white (irish and scottish roots), freckles absolutely EVERYWHERE, orangey red hair thats in desperate need of a haircut, chocolate brown eyes, braces, chronic nail biter. Human and kinda wishes he wasn’t.

That’s it for now if you read all this bless u thank u here is my whole heart. Please no discourse, literally these are fictional people I’ll never publish the books they go to.

#no i am not looking for critiques on them #i get my critiques elsewhere lmao #my ocs

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rptv-jamesbond · 4 years ago

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Obituary: Sir Sean Connery

BBC•October 31, 2020

For many, Sean Connery was the definitive James Bond. Suave and cold-hearted, his 007 was every inch the Cold War dinosaur of the books.

He strode across screen, licensed to kill. He moved like a panther, hungry and in search of prey. There was no contest. His great rival, Roger Moore, by contrast, simply cocked an eyebrow, smiled and did a quip.

But whereas Ian Fleming's hero went to Eton, Connery's own background was noticeably short of fast cars, beautiful women and vodka Martinis - either shaken or stirred.

Humble origins

Thomas Sean Connery was born in the Fountainbridge area of Edinburgh on 25 August 1930, the son of a Catholic factory worker and a Protestant domestic cleaner.

His father's family had emigrated from Ireland in the 19th Century; his mother traced her line back to Gaelic speakers from the Isle of Skye.

The area had been in decline for years. Young Tommy Connery was brought up in one room of a tenement with a shared toilet and no hot water.

He left school at 13 with no qualifications and delivered milk, polished coffins and laid bricks, before joining the Royal Navy. Three years later, he was invalided out of the service with stomach ulcers. His arms by now had tattoos which proclaimed his passions: "Scotland forever" and "Mum & Dad".

In Edinburgh, he gained a reputation as "hard man" when six gang members tried to steal from his coat. When he stopped them, he was followed. Connery launched a one-man assault which the future Bond won hands down.

He scraped a living any way he could. He drove trucks, worked as a lifeguard and posed as a model at the Edinburgh College of Art. He spent his spare time bodybuilding.

Too beautiful for words

The artist Richard Demarco, who as a student often painted Connery, described him as "too beautiful for words, a virtual Adonis".

A keen footballer, Connery was good enough to attract the attention of Matt Busby, who offered him a £25-a-week contract at Manchester United.

But, bitten by the acting bug when odd-jobbing at a local theatre, he decided a footballer's career was potentially too short and opted to pursue his luck on the stage. It was, he later said, "one of my more intelligent moves".

In 1953, he was in London competing in the Mr Universe competition. He heard that there were parts going in the chorus of a production of the musical South Pacific. By the following year, he was playing the role of Lieutenant Buzz Adams, made famous on Broadway by Larry Hagman.

American actor Robert Henderson encouraged Connery to educate himself. Henderson lent him works by Ibsen, Shakespeare and Bernard Shaw, and persuaded Connery to take elocution lessons.

Connery made the first of many appearances as a film extra in the 1954 movie Lilacs in the Spring. There were minor roles on television too, including a gangster in an episode of the BBC police drama Dixon of Dock Green.

The ladies will like him....

In 1957, he got his first leading role in Blood Money, a BBC reworking of Requiem for a Heavyweight, in which he portrayed a boxer whose career is in decline.

It had been made famous in America by Hollywood legend Jack Palance. When Palance refused to travel to London, the director's wife suggested Sean.

"The ladies will like him," she said.

A year later, he was alongside Lana Turner - proper Tinsel Town royalty - in the film Another Time, Another Place. Her boyfriend, the mobster Johnny Stompanato, reacted badly to rumours of a romance.

He stormed on set and pulled out a gun. Connery grabbed it from his hand and overpowered him, before others stepped in and kicked him off set.

He was praised for his role in the BBC drama, Blood Money

The name's Bond...

And then came Bond. Producers Cubby Broccoli and Harry Saltzman had acquired the rights to film Ian Fleming's novels and were looking for an actor to portray 007.

Richard Burton, Cary Grant and Rex Harrison were all considered, even Lord Lucan and the BBC's Peter Snow.

It was Broccoli's wife, Dana, who persuaded her husband that Connery had the magnetism and sexual chemistry for the part.

That view was not originally shared by Bond's creator, Ian Fleming. "I'm looking for Commander Bond and not an overgrown stuntman," he insisted.

But Broccoli was right, and Fleming was wrong. The author quickly changed his mind when he saw him on screen. He even wrote a half-Scottish history for the character in some of his later works.

A director friend, Terence Young, took Connery under his wing, taking him to expensive restaurants and casinos; teaching him how to carry himself, so the slightly gauche Scot would pass as a suave and sophisticated secret agent.

Connery made the character his own, blending ruthlessness with sardonic wit. Many critics didn't like it and some of the reviews were scathing. But the public did not agree.

The action scenes, sex and exotic locations were a winning formula. The first film, Dr No, made a pile of money at the box office. Even abroad it was hugely successful; with President Kennedy requesting a private screening at the White House.

More outings swiftly followed - From Russia with Love (1963), Goldfinger (1964), Thunderball (1965) and You Only Live Twice (1967).

It was exhausting and occasionally dangerous. At one point, he was thrown into a pool full of sharks with only a flexi-glass screen for protection. When one of the creatures got through, Connery beat the hastiest of retreats.

There was other work, including Alfred Hitchcock's Marnie, and The Hill, a drama about a wartime British Army prison in North Africa.

But by the time You Only Live Twice was completed, Connery was tiring of Bond and feared being typecast.

He turned down On Her Majesty's Secret Service, with the role given to Australian actor George Lazenby, whose career never recovered.

Saltzman and Broccoli lured Connery back for Diamonds Are Forever in 1971, meeting the actor's demand for a then record $1.25m fee. Connery used it to set up the Scottish International Education Trust, supporting the careers of up-and-coming Scottish artists.

The film had mixed reviews, with some critics complaining the film relied too much on camp humour, a theme that would continue and develop under his successor, Roger Moore.

Connery starred in the Rudyard Kipling tale The Man Who Would Be King alongside his great friend Michael Caine, but most of the next decade was spent in supporting roles, such as in Time Bandits, or as part of an ensemble cast in films like A Bridge Too Far.

Never Say Never

Having lost a lot of money in a Spanish land deal, he accepted a lucrative offer to play Bond again, in Never Say Never Again. This time 007 was an ageing hero; older, wiser and self-deprecating but ultimately still as hard as nails.

The title was suggested by Connery's wife, who reminded her husband he had vowed "never to play Bond again".

He continued to play other parts, winning a Bafta for his performance as William of Baskerville in Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose.

A year later, his performance as a world-weary Irish beat cop, albeit with a definite Scottish accent, in The Untouchables, won him an Oscar for best supporting actor.

In Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, he played Harrison Ford's father, despite being only 12 years older. And there was a knowing nod towards James Bond alongside Nicolas Cage in The Rock, where he was a British secret agent kept imprisoned for decades.

There was box office success for The Hunt for Red October, The Russia House and Entrapment; although First Knight and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen failed to take off.

And he turned down the role of Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings in 2006, declaring himself tired of acting and sick of the "idiots now making films in Hollywood".

Exile

He was briefly considered for the role of the gamekeeper in the 2012 Bond film Skyfall, but the director, Sam Mendes, wisely felt it would be distracting to have a previous 007 appear with Daniel Craig.

Always hating the Hollywood lifestyle, he preferred to play golf at his homes in Spain, Portugal and the Caribbean with his second wife, Micheline Roqubrune, an artist he had met in Morocco.

His previous marriage, to the Australian actress Diane Cilento, had ended in 1975 amid allegations he had been violent towards her and had a string of affairs. They had one son, the actor Jason Connery.

He claimed he remained true to his Scottish roots despite living abroad

Despite his exile, he retained a full throated passion for Scotland, despite once misguidedly endorsing a Japanese blend of whisky.

He attributed his short fuse and his "moodiness" to his Celtic genes. "My view is that to get anywhere in life you have to be anti-social,'' he once said. "Otherwise you'll end up being devoured."

A long overdue knighthood, finally awarded in 2000, was reportedly held up by the Labour government because of his support for Scottish independence.

In truth, his Bond is now a museum piece; the portrayal of women impossibly dated. The action scenes are still thrilling, but the sex too often bordered on the non-consensual. ***

Thankfully, it's been a while since 007 slapped a woman on the backside and forced a kiss. But Connery's performance was of its time, enjoyed by millions of both sexes and gave the silver screen a 20th Century icon.

He leaves behind him a body of work that any actor would be proud of and, not least, a vacancy for the title "Greatest Living Scot".

***[silly nonsense by politically-correct BBC writer. It’s a freaking movie, not a public service announcement]

https://news.yahoo.com/obituary-sean-connery-122642503.html

#sean connery #james bond #obituaries

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hozierfic · 5 years ago

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Submission by @ineffable-nalu

Hey this is my first Hozier fic, and my first time ever posting a submission of my wiritng on Tumblr, I’m kind of scared but YOLO right ? I don’t know how this works if that wasn’t obvious. Well hope someone enjoys it. I think it will be a couple of chapters if someone likes it!

Thanks!

Calliope’s POV

The sound of Marimba fills the room waking me up in a bed that isn’t my own which sucks, even if it’s a fancy hotel room bed, there’s just something peaceful about waking up home knowing that it’s your space your time no rush even when you are rushing. Is any of this even making sense ?

I sigh as I look over at the clock, it’s 5 minutes passed 8 and I really should get up and start getting ready. Rolling out of bed and stretching out my joints I make my way into the bathroom for a shower, I really need the wake up call.

Nearly 30 minutes later and I’m done getting ready, my curly brown hair is as tamed as it can be and I decided on being as casual as acceptable when your sister is a super model, considering I’m meeting her for brunch I can’t show up in sweats, so I opted for skinny black jeans, a black turtle neck and my favorite high heel boot. I put on my liner and a red lip and grabbing my coat before stepping out, it’s still early and I’m not meeting Harmonia until later, but there are a few things I’d like to do.

I’m only in New York for 1 more day and I can’t miss the oprotunity to go to check out the Stephen A. Schwarzman library. You see I’m a published author, well a barely published author I wrote a fantasy novel that is supposed to be a trilogy, it was published 5 months ago and I was surprised by the fact that people really liked it, so here I am on my book tour. Thinking about my reading tonight I entered the elevator and pushed the button for lobby when I heard someone shout

“Hold the lift please” My hand jupms out at the closing doors and a tall man rushes in as they close “Thanks for that, you’re going down too? Great” he says in a charming Irish accent as he pushes the lobby button again and leans back on the wall with and took the guitar case strapped off of his shoulder

I took this as my chance to check him out. I was wrong he’s not tall, he’s very tall, I would say over 2 meters probably, his hair is long and hectic, curly and frizzy but god does it work for him. I was startled out my daze when the elevator jumped slightly, the lights flickering making me almost fall over if not for my reflexes and the rail I would’ve fallen, it made another clunking noise before finally stopping in place

“What the hell ?” I asked looking up at the counter that shows you what floor you’re on only to see it’s stuck between the fourth and fifth floor. Perfect.

“I do belive it’s stuck” The handsome stranger says and I look at him over my shoulder with an arched brow as if to say ‘Really I hadn’t noticed’

Sighing back into the wall I answered

“Yeah, it seems so. I just can’t belive that these things actually happen. I mean for 23 years I have never been stuck in an elevator and then this one, in a 5 star hotel may I add decides to brake down. Doesn’t this sort of thing usually happen in movies ?” I ramble on and look up to him as he just startes at me with an amused look on his face

“ Yes I think it does usually happen in movies, but in real life as well. I’ve been stuck in a lift before don’t worry they’ll get us out soon. You’re not claustrophobic are you ?”

I snort-laughed at his question

“No, and thank god, that would be unpleasant. For the both of us”

he nodded and extented his hand towards me “The name’s Andrew” cute name, it suits him I though as I shook his and smiled at him “Calliope”

“The Greek muse of epic poetry ? In the flesh ?” he gasped putting his hand on his heart “Forgive me my lady for I hadn’t a clue as to who’s presence I was in” he said dramatically making me scoff playfully, can you a blame a girl for flirting a little ? He’s gorgeous.

“If only you were half as funy as you think you are, you could be a comedian. My parents are historians and Greek mythology fanatics I would say, my sister’s name is Harmonia” he chuckled at that

“How do you know I’m not ? A comedian I mean. and I like your name, it suits you. I can see you isnpiring Homer to write the Illiad”

I chucked at that “Because you’re not funny, and that’s kind of esential to being a comedian. And If only I could inspire my self to write” I said the last part somewhat softly but he heard any way

“Oh, you’re a writer then ?” I turned my head to look at him, then realized he is a good head and a half taller so I craned my neck and shurgged “I suppose I am, barley”

He laughed at that and sat on the floor “What does 'Being barley a writer’ even mean ? You either are or you aren’t”

Following his example I plopped on the floor as well and sighed “ I am a writer, just been going through a funk and can’t seem to write a god damn word, you know ? Sometimes I think the first one was just a lucky break and I’m not actually a good writer” I stopped myself before I could continue, what was wrong with ne ? Just spilling my guts out to this beautiful relative stranger.

Andrew nods his head as he looks at me before leaning back and looking at the roof of the box we were currently trapped in “ I actually know well what that’s like”

“Are you a writer as well ?” I asked

“No, musician” his head tilts to the guitar next to him and I almost facepalm, what am I an idiot of course he’s a musician

“Oh yeah obviously, sorry I haven’t really had coffe yet so I’m a bit slow. Are you in a band ?” I ask him and he nods

“Don’t worry about it I feel the same, can barely keep my eyes open. And yes I am in a band” he says with a smile

“That’s cool, you do look familliar. Wait don’t tell me” I hold my hand up and I can see he’s trying to hold back a laugh, but he listens and sits back as I inspect him, top to bottom

“Ok, you’re Irish, you play the guitar but you also write the songs and you’re in a band.”

I mumble to myself as I look into his beautiful hazel eyes he smiled at me seeming quite entertained, brushing off his looks I keep thinking.

I know I’ve seen him but where ? “Andrew ? Andrew ? Where do-” and the it hit me and I jumped to my feet

“Oh, Oh I got it!”

I said loudly and this time he does laugh as he looks at me take my seat again “Already ? I was kind of enjoying the attention and proximity” I shoved his shoulder playfully

“Andrew Hozier-Byrne, How did I not see it ? I mean I love your music” I say laughing at myself for not seeing it.

“Ding ding, we have a winner.” He laughs

“To be perfectly honest I never looked at who was singing too engrossed in the lyrics and melodies . But your music is hauntingly beautiful you know ?”

I tell him and his face shifts from amusement to flattery and a bit of embarrassment

“Uhm, thanks always nice to know people like the music I create” he says scuffing his hair as he talks.

“And don’t even worry about not recognizing me, I prefer being as anonymous as possible”

I smile at him placing my head on the wall

“I can imagine how hectic life can be for a world renown musician” I say gently and he nods in agreement

“You are a writer though. Your music is poetry. If you were born in the 16th century you would’ve given Marlowe and Shakespeare a run fir their money”

He laughs at my statement rolling his head over to look at me

“That is high praise I am humbled, you said you have a book published?”

“Yeah, I’ve had the idea for it for so long and I finished the first book about a year ago, it was published about 6 months ago”

“What’s it called maybe I’ve read it ?”

I really laugh at that shaking my head “Oh no, no you haven’t trust me”

His brows furrow a bit at my words

“Why so self deprecating? I’m sure I’ve heard or read about it if not actually read. Come on” he urged making me want to sigh.

“Keepers of the rift” I say after a moment of silence.

“No way” he says quietly making me look at him “What ?”

Andrew beams at me akin to a child on Christmas morning “I absolutely loved your book, are you kidding me ? You’re Cal Andjelkovic? ”

he bewildered completely butchering my last name making me laugh

“It’s Andjelkovic actually but yes, I shortened the name. And you actually read my book ?”

I asked seemingly suspicious but in all honesty just sort of stunned. I still can’t believe that anyone’s read my book let alone well known artist

“Yes, yes I stumbled across it in a book shop while we were touring The UK and since you spend 90% if your free time on a bus while touring I love to fill the time by reading.

And when I started yours I couldn’t put it down until I finished it”

He said sincerely and it warmed every part of me.

I’ve met loads of people during my signing and reading sessions but this almost intimate setting with us on the floor, shoulders pressed against one another having him tell me he enjoyed my writing made it special

I nudged his shoulder slightly making him look at me with a raised brow I smiled up at him

“That is high praise, especially from you. I am humbled” I repeat his words to him and he smirks slightly at me

“Cheek” he mumbles making me laugh

—————————

“So you’re struggling with the second one then ?” His voice resonates around me, he’s looking up at me from a journal of some sorts. We have been sitting in silence for, who knows how long.

I look at my watch seeing it’s 11:30 and we are still in this goddamn elevator. I’m going to be late for brunch, and as if icing in the cake there was no service in here.

“Yes you could say that. For almost 8 years I had this story in my mind, and every day it was slowly building itself. It took me some time to actually physically write a sentence of it.

I have an outline of all three volumes. Always saw it as a trilogy of sorts.

And even though I know what I want from the second one- Writing it is still a completely different story”

I say looking at him and seeing sympathy on his face

“I have been there, sometimes the music pours out, the lyrics come to me in dreams and during showers or cooking.

And then other times I’m close to banging my head against a wall just to think of a single note”

I hummed at him in understanding

“Soon you said, eh ?” I laughed after about a minute of silence making him chuckle in return

“Apparently things work differently in America, if we were in Ireland we’d already’ve been out of here and into the nearest pub for a celebratory drink” he says

“Drink? It’s not even noon yet ?”

I said laughing at his comeback

“It’s happy hour somewhere right?”

——————————

“Ok so I write something for you, you sing something for me ?” I ask and he nods his head in confirmation. It was a little after 1pm

“Deal, now would you like me to insert you into the world I created or just make up something new?” I asked

“Oooo, into the story you’ve already created I love the way you used certain folklore, myths and legends”

he replies with a childlike grin on his face making me chuckle at how cute he was

I took my own journal out of my bag and started writing, trying to find the best story to tell.

I found that writing came when writing about him, words flowed onto the page as my mind was overtaken by him.

His presence was calming, I enjoyed his conversation, he is charming and beautiful. And his music haunts me, it inspires me.

I skim over the the few pages I wrote and glanced up at him, only to find him staring at me with a intense look on his face

I cleared my throat and handed him the journal

“I- um I finished it, and to be clear this is a non proof read rough draft. So don’t expect some novelty” he takes it from my hands and starts reading intently.

Following the words with his eyes and tracing them with his fingers, I smiled looking at him

“A Fae ?” His voice brought me back and looking him in the eyes, amusement laced his voice as he looked at me with a raised brow

I shrugged my shoulders

“It was either that or a deity of the forest. But I believe Fae suits you. Hauntingly beautiful” I say

Smiling at my answer he gives me my journal back,

“It was a wonderful story, I quite enjoyed reading about me as one of the Fae”

He says

“I could put you in the second book ?” I tease

“I would be honored” he says, reaching for his guitar

“I’ll quote you on that. Oh, am I about to have the most privet Hozier concert ever ?” I joked

Making Andrew snort slightly and take his guitar out of the case slinging it on his shoulder

“Hozier is me and my band, you are going to get an exclusive one man Andrew show. Which if you ask me is bit as good”

I slap his shoulder “Shut it, and play me something”

I smile and watch him tune his guitar for a couple of minutes before he clears his throat and looks at me

“May I sing to you a work in progress? Since you gave me an original I figured ?” I nod enthusiastically

He starts strumming the guitar gently for a while, as if trying to find the right sound and then-

“I still watch you when you’re grooving, as if through water from the bottom a pool.

You’re moving without moving.

And when you move I’m moved.

You are a call to motion, there all of you a verb in perfect view, Like Jonah on the ocean.

When you move I’m moved.

When you move I’m put to mind of all that I want to be , when you move I could never define all that you are to me”

The strumming stops and his heavenly voice fades leaving me staring at him, most likely with my mouth agape

“That was incredible, I’m awestruck to be completely honest. My god. You Sir are a poet. That was beautiful. Is there more?”

I ask and he shakes his head

“It came to me just now. While being stuck in this hellhole” he says laughing slightly but I’m just mesmerized by the lyrics he just sang

“I still watch you when you’re grooving,” I mumble to myself reciting the lyrics “as if through water from the bottom of a pool”

I look at him

“And you’re moving without moving” I keep going

“When you move, I’m moved” he finishes for me making me smile at him

“So move me baby” I wink at him and he just stares at me for a moment

“Shake like the bough of a willow tree” and he smiles at me before scribbling down things in his journal.

I went back to scribbling notes on certain ideas I had for some of my characters, plot points needed to be addressed and such, not ten minutes passed and we heard a clunking noise and the elevator started moving.

Descending down to the lobby after 5 hours. Andrew and I get up right as the doors open

“Oh thank god man, we’ve been freaking the fuck out. I mean you’re never late to anything and then you don’t show up at rehearsals and not answering your phone, we drive together next time”

A man almost as tall as Andrew hugs him making me laugh at his ramble.

Stepping out of the elevator I looked around the lobby spotting Harmonia sitting at the bar,

I look over at Andrew and to see him talking to his band mates making me smile and move towards my sister.

Hopefully she won’t be too pissed. But them again it wasn’t really my fault.

#submission #hozier fanfic #hozier/female oc #ineffable-nalu

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animation-recaps-by-sean · 5 years ago

Text

Gravity Falls Beyond the Woods

This is it. My big next generation story! I’ve had this bouncing in my head since the show ended and am so excited to get this out!

Wendy and Dipper kids become determed to sovle the mystery of Wendy’s missing mom, dragging some old feelings from Wendy. Featuring Wendip kids and Mabifica kids.

Spiecal thanks to @nautiscarader @fereality-indy @wendip-week and @allenbyseyes for making me want to write my own stuff.

I hope everyone enjoys this!

next->

Wendy awoke to the sound of her alarm. The little girl hopped up and down on her bed to the pop song that was blaring over the plastic speaker. She fell off the bed with an oof. Her red maine was in pigtails. And even though she was only ten she could pass for a six grader.

Wendy ran out of her room and into her parents. Both Mom and Dad were asleep, that was until Wendy jumped onto the bed waking them with a start.

Mom spoke first. Laughing, she said, “Alright, alright, my little bunny. I’m up. I’m up.” She spoke with a rather strong Irish accent, as she was not born and raised in the US. True to her word, she got up and mother and daughter went to the kitchen to make breakfast. The kitchen was next to the living room, separated by a countertop, leaving it visible. Baby Gus sat at his mother’s feet. Wendy looked up at wonder as her mother dipped the thick slices of bread into vanilla and cinnamon.

“Okay now Wendy love, now we put it on the stove…”

BANG! A tree fell through the living room. Marcus and Kevin came rolling in wrestling. Gus started screaming. Mom picked him up in a panic. A variety of knick knacks fell off of selves. Including a large silver bracelet adorned with a large purple jewel. It rolled to Wendy’s feet. As she reached down to pick it up.

“Don’t touch that!” Her mother’s voice shot through her like a bullet. Holding the baby with one arm, she used her free arm to grab the bracelet with some newspaper. “This is… this is very sharp. We don’t want you to cut yourself do we?” She explained, wrapping the trinket in the paper.

Dan walked in through the hole in the wall. “Um, timber?”

Mrs. Corduroy’s face twist with fury. Handing the baby to Wendy. “Put your brother in his crib. Boys, go to your rooms.”

“Aine…” Dan began, but his wife cut him off.

“Oh don’t you Aine me! What the hell Dan? What the actual hell? What are we going to do about hole in the damn wall? Do you know how much this will cost to fix?”

“I can fix it!”

“Oh, you can fix it!”

Even with the door closed and Gus brawling, Wendy could hear her parents screaming at each other. A few hours later, Aine took her children out with her to buy supplies while Dan started rebuilding the living room wall. Walking down the street, Wendy noticed a flyer for The Mystery Shack. A museum of the weird on the outskirts of town.

“Mom, can we go here please?”

“No, that place is a scam honey. When your father was young, he built the place. He did it cheep because the owner, Mr. Pines, was poor and told your father that he was a researcher. Seven years later, he converts the damn thing into a tacky tourist trap. Conned your poor father out of a lot of money.”

They came to the bank. She was fiddling around with the ATM, when she felt a tug on her skirt. “Mommy, look a horsie!” Aine looked back and gasped. A large black horse road in the street. The rider wore a helmet that covered their face with a black viser. Neck, also covered by a scarf, bobbled strangely. They held a strange lantern in their hand and what appeared to be a wrapped up scythe was on their back.

“Mommy?” Wendy had never seen her mother this shaken.

“I...It’s nothing sweet heart. Let’s go home.”

It was cold that night. Rain and biting wind blew through the hole in the wall. Dan snored on the couch. Marcus and Keven were still wrestling and Gus screaming. Wendy stepped out into the hall. The rain had made the carpet soaking wet. She went over to her mother’s room. She knocked on the door. Aine was looking out the window when the knock snapped her back to reality. Opening the door, she looked down at her daughter. Wendy was rubbing her arms, trying to warm herself up. Aine looked down at her daughter, than up at the rest of her family before looking back at Wendy. Her face unreadable.

“Mommy, I’m cold.”

Without saying a word, Aine closed the door. Dejected, Wendy returned to her room. She would never see her mother again.

The Corduroy family awoke to find Aine gone. Looking in their closet, Dan found a number of her clothes, along with her suitcase, were gone. Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland were about as helpful as you would expect.

“Oh yeah, she’s gone. Happens all the time.” Blubs spoke first.

“Could be anywhere.”

“Vegas. Could be a gambling addict.”

“Heck, it might even be a second family.”

The Sheriff nodded. “Probably loves them more.”

A look came over Durland’s face. “You-you don’t have a second deputy do you?”

Blubs comforted his boyfriend. “You know I would never leave you.”

The two walked away. Dan sat on his couch. Staring off, not looking at anything. Wendy turned from the police to her father. “Daddy?” Her voice sounded so lost.

The Lumberjack grunted. He lumpered to the fridge, grabbed two six packs, and went to bed. Lost, Wendy returned to her room. Sitting on her bed, she wrapped her arms around her legs. Her cheeks resting on her knees. Gus’ wails came through the walls. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”

“Mommy?”

Wendy was snapped back into the present. Now twenty-four, the redhead stood in the apartment she lived with her boyfriend and their two twin children. It being winter in New York City, she wore a jacket along with her jeans. The jacket hid a series of tattoos from her right shoulder to her elbow. Her red mane was shaved with a pixie cut. Several piercings adorn her right ear. She still wore the blue-white cap that she traded Dipper all those years ago. Rose was tugging at her pants leg. Scooping up her daughter, Wendy looked for her boyfriend.

Mason Pines, still called Dipper by his friends and family, was talking to his twin. Mabel, and her wife Paficia, had flown in for the youngest twins birthday.

“Jeez, Mabel. You guys didn’t need fly up to New York in the middle of January.”

“Nonsense Dipper. I wouldn’t miss my favorite niece and nephew’s birthday.”

Pacifia shot her wife a look. “Mabel, they’re your only niece and nephew.”

Stan and Ford were also there. They have been a huge help in helping her and Dipper raise their kids. Tyrone was showing them is favorite toy.

“Glad to see my favorite bastards having such a good time.''

Wendy sighed. “Please don’t call my children bastards, Stan.” She turned to the rest of her guests. “Okay, time for presents.” Dipper stood next to his girlfriend. The redhead removed the trademark hat and got on her daughter’s eye level. “At the end of the first summer your father and I knew each other, he gave me this hat.” She placed the hat on top of Rose’s head. “And now, I’m giving it to you.” The little girl’s eyes lit up. She gingerly touched the hat on her head like it was a newly discovered lost treasure.

Dipper spoke to Tyrone. “And Ty you can have the old trapper hat your mother gave me.” He held it in his hands, Dipper hadn’t washed the momento since he got it, and it showed. Sweat stains and bit of hair, from both Dipper and Wendy, cover the hat. And it smelled.

“That’s not touching my head. Could I get an action figure instead?”

This got a chuckle from the adults in the room. Rose was far more appreciative of her gift. “Thank you mommy.” She wrapped her arms around Wendy. Wendy did the same.

“I’ll always be there for you Rosie.”

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #gravity falls fanfiction #wendip #mabifica

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hollenka99 · 4 years ago

Text

The Creator

Summary: When Sean discovers he has the ability to bring his characters to life, he wasn’t expecting to be shunned by them or for it to lead to tragedy time and time again.

Warnings: Blood mention, implied death (including children), kidnapping mention

Sean wishes he never went to Max's house that night. It wasn't any fun. They were just really mean to him and he didn't like it. It's not like he didn't try to stay awake. It was a dumb anyway. His mother asks him if he'd like her to speak with Max's mother. He tells her no. In response she encourages him to stop moping about if it wasn't that bad. Well, fine then. Max sucks and Sean can make a way better friend than him any day. Right, what kind of qualities should a good friend have? He should be kind always, never teases him in a mean way, be willing to be there for him and want to join in with his games. For the hell of it, Sean adds 'never sleeps' to the criteria. This imaginary friend is named Jack, after the family nickname. Having been moulded into the 6 year old's interpretation of a perfect friend, Jack becomes a concrete part of Sean's life. Jack is always there when he gets home from school. They mess around in the woods near the house, complain about homework together and share a great deal of laughter between themselves. For years, his parents and siblings brush it off as him being a little boy. However, Sean is undeniably getting older. With each birthday, having an imaginary friend is increasingly becoming something he should outgrow. And he is, somewhat. It's just that Jack feels so real to him. But his friend understands. Sean is no longer 6 and it is time for him to gradually mature. He gets crushes, makes his way through secondary school and decides he may have made a mistake with his original degree choice. Through it all, he's maintained an interest in video games. So screw it, there is a place for gaming content on YouTube. What does he have to lose? This damn cabin doesn't exactly allow him many opportunities to socialise with those outside his family otherwise. He goes by Jacksepticeye on the website, harkening back to a nickname he gained following an injury years before. Months pass and it is soon July. To his surprise, his channel's subscriber count reaches 1000. He's delighted. That was 1000 more than he'd ever really expected. He films a vlog to mark the occasion and thank his audience. Something he'd expected even less than his sub count was his doppelganger, complete with an identical outfit, collapsing in front of his television. Regaining composure after getting to his feet, the clone speaks. "Um, hi Sean." "What the fuck? Who are you and why do look like me?" "I'm Jack." "Okay. Hello Jack. What the hell are you doing in my living room?" "No, Jack as in... Jack. From when you were a kid." Sean stands there, no words coming from his mouth. He seems to remember himself after a minute. "But you're imaginary. You were an imaginary friend, it's kind of in the name." "I guess that's changed." Jack shrugs, obviously as lost as he was by this unique situation. Sean falls back onto the sofa. With his hands in his hair, he lets out a deep breath. Jack gently sits himself on the other side of the sofa. Not bothering to lift his head, Sean opens his mouth. "I'm going to be honest. This was not how I imagined my day going." "I didn't think I'd suddenly come to life either." Sean leans back and their eyes meet. A beat passes before they both descend into laughter at the absurdity of it. That summer is phenomenal compared to his previous expectations for it. He introduces Jack to so many things that he usually took for granted. They eat more tubs of ice cream together than was healthy, don't allow a week to pass without a competitive gaming session and occasionally wander about in the woods surrounding the cabin. There was apparently a whole other world with people Jack haphazardly described as 'the NPCs to my main character'. Their faces were probably based on people Sean had walked past in the street. There was this completely separate world and the entry point was simply lingering outside his cabin. It was inconceivable. When he gets the courage to venture through the gateway, he discovers it's actually a bit remote. Isolated, like his cabin is. Jack helps him laugh it off. Besides, he couldn't be expected to be creative with his literal worldbuilding if he didn't know how he was doing it in the first place. Jack introduces him to a friend who was like him. This Australian guy called Angus Irwin tags along to a hang out session. Here was this person, standing right before him, whom he was entirely responsible for creating. By messing around in Far Cry 3 and putting on a dumb accent, he'd created life. What the hell was he capable of? The three of them are firm friends by the time the local trees have suffered a significant loss of leaves. He and Jack gradually become the joint face of the Jacksepticeye channel. For some reason (Jack cited Sean's 6 year old self for this) his doppelganger didn't sleep. This was actually very beneficial for him because he could edit while Sean slept. God knows Jack complained enough about his sleep schedule. When he gets announced as a winner of Pewdiepie's shout out competition in September, Jack swings by to congratulate him. Along with Angus, the trio spent the evening celebrating this bizarre occasion. There was a lot of work he'd have to put in to keep the momentum going but Sean knew it would be worth it in the end. The colder months fly by after that. Jack had never been particularly affected by the cold before. However, now that he could feel it, he suffered the consequences of not wearing enough layers. Jack detesting the cold is funny to Sean, especially after how much his friend thrived in summer. Angus wasn't used to the lower Irish temperatures either. He helped them stay warm as best he could. That goddamn cabin with its internally forming frost didn't help but still, he tried. He jokes he should conjure up more radiators for Jack and Angus' home despite not having the faintest clue how to actually do so. As the new year approaches, Sean realises he never gave Jack a birthday. They could have celebrated in November because he is maybe 90% sure Max was born during that month. Therefore, Jack would have been initially thought up during November 1996. But Sean had no idea what the specific date of creation was. Not to mention November had already passed anyway. There was that date in July but he wasn't sure he should pick the anniversary of Jack becoming corporeal as his birthday. At a loss, he goes for the day he associates with birthdays the most. Who says Jack couldn't share his birthday? He blanks on what to get his friend. He's not sure where he gets the dumb idea to let Jack experience hot chocolate for the first time as a birthday treat. Jack gets understandably frustrated by this ban on the drink. It pays off when Sean gets to witness the wonderful sight of his friend enjoying hot chocolate. Lost on what to give Angus for his birthday in early April, he approaches Jack for ideas. His friend suggests getting a toy leopard and jewellery that can fit on the animal. Sean can't help but question the odd combination. When Jack explains leopards love jewellery, especially the gold digging females, it's as if these were widely known facts. Sean had been bullshitting when he'd spouted that nonsense. Jack reminds him it was factual to Angus. Oh alright, fuck it. Let's present Angus with a jewellery loving leopard on his birthday. As predicted, the Australian wildlife man greatly appreciates the gift. It's late summer once more when Sean's problems begin. Jack mentions being concerned about their friend's changing sleeping habits. Then Angus' memory gradually starts suffering. Throughout 2015, Angus gets worse. Jack's always had a big mouth. He tends to speak before he truly thinks things through. Sean's technically to blame for that. However, it hasn't been much of an issue until now. The first time Jack brings up potentially finding a way to reverse whatever was affecting Angus, he hates to reject him. The painfully dejected look in his best friend's eyes breaks his heart. He wants to help, he really does. He just can't. Not long after, he spends an hour or two looking for a game with an open world. Perhaps he could put on an Australian accent for the anniversary of the character's first appearance. Nothing comes up. Life gets in the way. Sean abandons the search for a while. Jack never allows him to forget for too long. What starts as "I'm worried about Angus" soon morphs into "Angus only called me Jake once today". The longer it goes on, the more desperate Jack gets. And angrier. Sean has never seen such frustrated fury in his friend. He wishes he never had to. He's not even sure if he can call himself a true friend anymore, given how much he's already failed them. The cycle of attempting to find a solution and putting it on the back burner due to no leads continues. As do the arguments with Jack. Contrary to popular belief, he is putting in the effort. The main problem was he never seemed to have anything to show for it. He still cares for Angus too. The reason he wasn't visiting their home as often was because he didn't always feel welcome. As was in Jack's nature, he kept forgiving him. He'd say it was fine and Sean would agree for the sake of it. But it wasn't fine. He is beginning to forget when the last time things were 'fine'. Following some filming with Ninja Sex Party, Sean is excited to dress up as a superhero for a bit during a Welcome To The Game video. Jack is just as pleased to make a new friend. Jackie is a surprise, his young age even more so. He was 16 and, as far Jack had told him, brimming with excess energy. The new arrival had been a shock for Jack too, apparently. The most he could offer the kid last night was a can of Dr Pepper and some custard creams. Shit, this was new territory. He hasn't had to deal with a new ego in years. Jackie's age causes conversations about school and whether the boy would need an education in the first place. Sean doesn't necessarily see the point. Was Jackie currently the only minor in their world? Because in that case, has a high school suddenly popped up to accommodate a single student? Even if Sean created a character with children at a later date, the kids would probably be the wrong age group to attend school with Jackie. If it was that important to Jack to see the young superhero have an education, he would have to do it himself. Being home-schooled would also allow Jackie to do his job. Attempts at being responsible aside, he ensures Jackie knows he can come to him if needs anything specific. Naturally, he gravitates to Jack as his adult role model. Sean doesn't mind. They live together and Jackie therefore has easier access to him. But Sean is still there if the need arises. A month later, he buys a cheap cat mask that covers half of his face. It was something to use once and forget about until you throw it away in a big spring clean. The magic set was the same, only with extra smaller parts. The video is nothing spectacular. All it entailed was him messing around with the box's contents before switching to decorating the mask. The last thing he was anticipating was the creation of life. Although, by this point, perhaps he should have. Besides, he hadn't even given himself a name. It was just 'Jack the Magnificent'. Jack comes to rectify this oversight a couple days later. He explains he'd made the suggestion the night of Marvin's arrival. The box had the name on it so why not let the new ego make it his own? The main issue Jack had with all this was that Marvin had not been planned in the slightest. With Jackie, there'd been some preparation. Neither of them may have foreseen his creation but at least there had been a name and outfit. All Marvin had was a mask, plus a name that was already taken. "This better not happen again." Jack privately demands. "I don't want another Angus. God knows you're not going to help." Jack swings by at the end of August to inform him Jackie's in hospital. He'd gotten stabbed while confronting a thief. He was fine, recovering well and all that but he thought Sean might want to know. On the subject of requiring medical care, Jack brings up the idea to have a doctor ego. Just someone who understood their unique situation and could also take care of their health. Oh, oh yeah. He can totally do that. He'll need some things for the video so give him a chance to prepare but definitely, one doctor coming right up. He feels somewhat dumb playing Operation as if it were a serious procedure in this cheap surgeon's outfit he bought over the weekend. And yes, even he can admit the 'German' accent was atrocious. Half of what comes out of his mouth is bullshit. If this works as intended and he creates an ego from it, this guy is sure going to be interesting. He pretends to be distressed over Peter's death. Then it hits him that Dr Schneeplestein probably won't appreciate him killing his friend and personal accountant. He could try refilm it but he doubts he has the time. Fix it through editing? Sure, but then it might be obvious that there was another part. Alright fine, maybe he'll just have to deal with the consequences. Dr Henrik von Schneeplestein is indeed an interesting guy. A married father too, which surprises him. Not only has he made the doctor, there is a new family of 5 in the egos' neighbourhood. One of these days he'll know what he's doing with this creation thing. For now though, he thinks it's very cool that he managed a 5 for the price of 1 deal. Henrik himself is intelligent and if Sean was more knowledgeable on certain topics, he's sure they'd be able to share thoughtful conversations. Either way, Henrik was incredibly busy with his professional duties and personal commitments. It was understandable that neither had much time in the day to sit down and truly get to know one another. For the hell of it, he throws in a little extra into the egos' characterisation. They can't die. Or, to be more specific, they can't die for long. Jackie gets stabbed and bleeds out? Easy, just deal with the wound and he should wake up after a while. What this means for Peter, who knows? Sean is secretly thankful when the accountant isn't granted life. That's one less person to keep happy. Like seemingly everything ego-related he does, it backfires. Within a year, this failsafe will have caused more suffering than hope. Sean isn't to know. However, he convinces himself he's done the right thing for once. He sure as hell knows how much trouble it's going to cause him if they don't believe that too. Sean makes an irreversible mistake in the October of 2016. The entire month, he has glitches sprinkled throughout his horror game videos. He gets so caught up in the teasing and build up that he doesn't contemplate how this will affect the egos. Worse yet, he recklessly allows Jack to film the Halloween video. Sure, he would have used a bit of red paint if it had been him filming. But since it was Jack? He doesn't want to imagine the scene Jackie discovers. God, he can't believe he's been so thoughtless. Signe has to encourage him to bed before he manages to rack up over 24 hours of being awake in one go. Resurrecting the dead is exhausting, he finds. He postpones visiting Jack for a day before realising his avoidance is likely making matters worse. The dread cumulates to the point he swears he will be sick if he doesn't actively focus on his breathing. The loophole he made in September might have ensured nobody died permanently but it never mentioned scars. It's not visible behind the bandages but he knows it's there. Jack is pissed off. Rightfully so. Matters worsen even more after Jackie vanishes while attempting to get away from their fighting. It's just another thing that's ruined the egos' perception of him. If he thought the hill Jack was ready to die on was Angus, he's got another thing coming. There's only so much he can take before he has to force apathy for the sake of his sanity. He understands he can't control Antisepticeye. Once this situation is dealt with, he vows, the demon will never be used on his channel again. The subscribers' love for the character will have to ignored. It's too risky to play Anti again. He puts the red suit on again. In the short video, only a minute or so in length, Jackie sprints through poorly lit corridors to the exit. Sean acts scared and looks behind him frequently as he runs. It is uploaded privately. His community didn't need to know anything about this. He hopes with everything he's got that it works. Nothing. For days, for weeks, for months. Sean doesn't bother letting the egos know what he'd tried to do. It's guaranteed Jack and Marvin would tell him to try harder. He has no idea what that means in this context. Christmas passes without incident. As does January. In February, he celebrates his 27th birthday alongside Jack. It's a day devoid of resentment. Sean had almost forgotten that was allowed in their friendship. He exaggerates his dissatisfaction about getting older. In response to this, Jack smears the frosting of his slice across Sean's face. 'Accidentally', of course. Just as accidentally as Sean reciprocated the action. Signe humours them by taking photographs of their new cake-based look. The next time they are hanging out in Jack's room, he notices a picture from that day is in a frame on his friend's dresser. "What's this about?" "Oh uh, this is going to sound dumb but... I like being reminded it isn't always so rough between us." "No. No, I get it. I um, I feel the same way. That day was great." He glances at the image once more. He lets out a humoured scoff. "Maybe I should save your dumb face to my phone." "Aww, wow, I knew you loved me really." Jack puts his arm around his shoulder. A playful shove. "Fuck off." In an emotional slump during April, he buys a bunch of Lyons boxes and mini chocolate eggs. It's just a parody of Dude Perfect from someone with zero accuracy. Then he does the stupid thing and creates life again. Fuck it, his wife hates him and he may never see his kids again. Chase Brody's depression causes him to pretend to shoot himself before the end card plays. When Jack calls him and demands to know what the hell he was thinking, Sean has no answer. It turns out that when the ending translated into Chase's reality, he'd actually shot himself in the head. Fuck. Afterwards, Jack doesn't provide his creator with any updates. Insisting he has the right to talk to Chase only makes him more hated. Despite having never met before, Chase already resents him. The next time an ego is intentionally created, Sean's going to be there to intercept them. They're not going to enter that home and have their opinion of him influenced by people who wished he wasn't in their lives. The next new guy would be given a fair chance to see Sean for what he was. A massive screw up when it came to the ability he's unsure how to master. But in no way was he some villain. August is around the corner when Jack asks to visit. The two of them seem to be on the same page that day. Sean is more than happy to hang out and cheer him up. Believing Jack would be empathetic, he begins a conversation about how the YouTube algorithm was bothering him. Over three years of working as a duo on the Jacksepticeye channel meant Jack should understand where he was coming from. But, of course, his friend makes it all about himself and his own problems. Why wouldn't he? It's what he usually does. They argue because apparently that's the only way they communicate with each other nowadays. Jack sure knows how to pack a punch. Being friends with him shouldn't be such a struggle. Sean snaps. The emotional fatigue of trying to keep up with the algorithm and all this fighting causes him to make one of the worst decisions he'd ever go through with. If Jack wants him to be the bad guy, fine. Sean would be the bad guy. Just this once, he'd actually be the asshole. "You want to sleep, I'll let you sleep." He threatens when Jack begins walking off mid-argument. "Bring back Jackie. He's been missing for months. Do something!" Jack flings viciously back seconds before he marches out the door. He can tell Signe regrets asking him how the gaming session went. He dresses as Schneeplestein as soon as he finalises his plan, pretending he aims to save a version of himself in Bio Inc Redemption. He loses. Oops. He acts as he feels the real Schneeplestein would, desperate not to watch another patient die. He sends the video to Robin for editing. The final uploaded product is nowhere near what he'd recorded. His audience are all talking about Anti. They were praising him for his acting and Robin for his editing. But... he never included Anti. Any recollection of filming the final scene was non-existent. And the parts with Henrik getting possessed weren't him either. The more he thinks about it, the further the terror sets in. Over the course of years, Jack had chipped at Sean's mind until he cracked. It had only meant to end with Jack slipping into a coma. Just a chance for Sean to focus on his own problems for once. He would have gotten Henrik to wake his patient up when Sean was ready. God, he just wanted peace for a change. It was never meant to happen like this. Marvin ever so pleasantly greets him with a "Fuck off" when he tries to visit Jack. He supposes he deserves it. But he didn't come here just to back down at the first sight of opposition. He may have caused Jack to be in that coma but, as his friend, he was still entitled to a visit. He has to push past Marvin just to get in. "Leave right now before I make you regret it." Marvin tails him through the corridor. "Hey, listen, I'll be the first to admit I fucked up big time-" He says over his shoulder. "You don't say." "But he was my friend too. I am seeing him whether you like it or not." "Well, I don't like it. And this is my home. So get out." Fed up to the back teeth of Marvin, he halts to whip around before lashing out. "We both know a bad mood on my part can spell disaster for you. That is how we got into this situation is the first place. So I would watch your mouth." "Oh, look at me, I'm Sean McLoughlin. I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it." Marvin uses a mocking tone before reverting to venom once more. "Guess that's what you told your 'best friend' before you put him in a fucking coma, isn't it?" "Don't you dare suggest I don't care." "You made him feel like he had no choice but to keep being nice to your sorry ass. He barely survived Halloween and now look where he's en-" "God, cut it out!" Chase marches towards them, looking as if he was 30 seconds from grabbing a weapon to silence them. "Both of you. Sean, you have 10 minutes then we want you gone. Marv, leave him alone because we honestly have enough shit going on without you stirring more of it." Marvin bluntly says "Five." "Okay, fine, you have 5 minutes then you leave." The magician clearly isn't satisfied with this compromise but decides it's not worth the effort of fighting further. "Thank you." "It wasn't for you. I did it so I can avoid a headache." Chase promptly leaves him to it. He's not even sure he wants to enter once he reaches the infirmary's doors. Still, he's gone through too much trouble to get this far. He can't undo all that effort now. He walks into the room and- Nope, he can't do this. He means, look at Jack! He makes for an awful sight. If his friend had looked terrible while recovering from Say Goodbye, this was a whole other level. He decides against making it past the doors. He's simply there in the corridor, sobbing. "Sean, I think you should go before Marvin tries to commit arson or something." It's the most patience Chase can muster after all that's happened this week. Sean can't appreciate the effort enough. He answers with a mix of 'Uh-huh, yeah, sure.' Jackie looks like he hasn't eaten a thing in the past 11 months when Sean answers the door to him in early October. He doesn't know what to say. If Jack were currently conscious, he would have probably informed Sean of the kid's arrival by now. Yet, as it stood, Marvin seemed to be the new 'leader' and pigs would fly before he bothered to do anything that benefited Sean. He notices Jackie never lets his feet touch the ground the entire time he's there. There is a long silence in the living room before Jackie comes out with "Why didn't you do anything?" "I tried but it didn't work." "Somehow I struggle to believe that." "Jackie-" "You could have prevented a lot of shit. But why fucking bother when we're not even real, right?" "If you give me a couple minutes, I could find that video where I tried to trigger your escape." Jackie doesn't reply. He locates the footage for him regardless. The teenager remains silent the whole time. Sean decides to break it. "It must have backfired but I did try." He notices Jackie glaring at his own legs. "Great, now I know you're to blame. Not to mention you moved country while I was gone. Thanks for making me walk from Athlone, by the way." The boy superhero abruptly makes his exit, making no attempt to elaborate. Well then, great chat. Except, wait. Walk from Athlone? How the hell do you walk from Athlone to Brighton?! Sean makes good on the promise he made to himself months before. He risks uploading the pictures to Instagram. On the 29th, there is a fair amount of hype at the potential new character. He lingers inconspicuously near the egos' home for a couple hours, keeping himself occupied with his phone in case the ego didn't appear. Which he doesn't. He repeats the activity after posting the 2nd photo on the 30th. Still nothing. It's the video on Halloween that triggers creation. It was a simple thing. The same as the previous two years, he had carved a pumpkin. The main difference was that he had dressed up like a dapper gentleman, waistcoat and bowler hat inclusive. There was some glitching at the end, nothing Sean or Robin had a hand in. He supposes he should be glad there was such a small interruption. Outside the house, he spots the lost time traveller. His first surprise, for both of them it would seem, was that Jameson had lost the ability to speak. He seems reluctant to use the speech slides. No worries. Sean can buy a notepad or two for him tomorrow. Learning to sign, or in the very least understand it. will take a considerable amount of time. Written responses would have to be a sufficient compromise for now. Either way, the most important thing was that Jameson was willing to come with him before he met the others. He is in awe of Jameson. He knows he'd intended to create an ego with a proper backstory but this was far more than he'd been expecting. He had drafted a brief life story beforehand. Jameson would be the middle child of three in an upper class British family. He'd be too young to join WW1 but his brother would lose his hearing to it, allowing Jameson to know sign by the time he went missing. Maybe throw in some time in the army for good measure. However his power worked, it filled in the gaps nicely. Jameson is fully fleshed out, as are his memories. "Thanks for humouring me." He tells Signe that night. She hums in acknowledgement of what he'd said. "You can't keep him here forever, you realise that, right? I'll let you have tomorrow. But you really should let him make his own choices after that." On the 1st, Chase comes knocking. Sean relents, allowing him in to be introduced to Jameson. As expected, Chase calls him out. He assures Jameson that it was fine to go with the unfamiliar ego. As hostile as Chase was, he was still trustworthy and believed he had Jameson's best interests at heart. He lets his latest creation go. Now he will be taught the egos' version of the 'truth'. He doubted Jameson would be rushing back. But oh, there he is days later. It's completely reasonable for the dapper man to want answers. Sean provides them to the best of his ability. Jameson surprises him once more when he says he'll let the deception slide if he cuts it out from now on. Of course he will. As Jameson heads off back to his world, Sean is thankful he made him open minded. While having a casual conversation, Jameson mentions befriending someone named Shawn. At first, Sean is simply perplexed at the written name. Jameson knows how to spell his name, even includes the fada. So surely Shawn couldn't be him. When he has his friend explain, he can't believe it. Shawn Flynn. In other words, his Bendy voice cameo. Okay, egos like Henrik, Chase or Marvin, he could understand. Those guys had gotten specific videos that centred around them. He also got the whole 'springing from him putting on a voice for a series' thing with Angus and Jacques etc. Robbie... well, who the fuck knows what happened there. The point was they all came from his channel and his channel alone. Shawn Flynn was not his to claim. He was only a voice, a few sentences' worth of speech. He will always be amazed by his community's power to create from scraps. As soon as he lost Jack's contribution to the channel, he had been forced to pick up the slack. Even with Robin editing most videos, recording twice as many as he was used to was taking its toll. Something had to be done. He needed a new recording partner. And who better to help him than someone who already had experience with maintaining a channel? Obviously, Chase is opposed to the idea at first. He tries to get him to listen to his reasoning. Without Jack, he was struggling to have time for himself anymore. If he has no time outside of work, then how is he supposed to figure out how to reverse the coma? Not to mention, the community members were the ones responsible for keeping the egos from fading. Chase agrees to, in the very least, consider the offer. Sean is glad to have him as part of the team when he reluctantly accepts it. He is very grateful too. He knows this requires a sacrifice on Chase's part, perhaps more than he is aware of. In the run up to Christmas, he'd simply wanted to raise money for Save The Children with the help of his friends and community. There had occasionally been odd noises throughout the first day but nothing super suspicious. He has no clue where the hell the security footage came from. He had intended for the stream to stay up, sure, but it was meant to display a screensaver. Some people begin to notice the glitches and unusual goings on were triggered by donations of at least $1000. Well, how nice to learn that Anti liked encouraging charitable donations. The day after the event is over, Jameson attempts to speak to him about it. Listen, he's really sorry to hear about what happened over at the house. It's awful that Jackie suffered a huge panic attack from the music. But what do they expect him to do about an event that's already passed and he had no control over in the first place? The less he has to think about 'Overnightwatch' over the holidays, or Anti in general during the new year, the better. He's so fucking done with 2017. The following cold months blur. The Dr Jacksepticeye character becomes a community-made ego in January. That was great. He was aware the egos had been struggling to provide Jack professional medical care. March sees Chase getting custody of his kids on the weekend. Although he doesn't risk ruining the party with the scene his attendance would cause, he congratulates Chase on the good news in person. To top things off, he began the first leg of his tour. That had been a hell of an experience. Maybe 2018 would indeed be a better year. This hope is kept alight at the start of May. He had spent months attempting to work out how to save Jackie. Following that, they lost Henrik only to welcome the hero back. Then the doctor had been out of reach since August. It is for this reason that he receives the news of Henrik's return with great relief. Chase is ecstatic when he recounts what had happened at the end of his recording session. Sean is happy for him. He and the rest of egos need more positive events in their lives. Jackie certainly surprises him when he randomly shows up at his door days later. Signe gives him a heads up about the visitor as he leaves a recording session. The teenager comes across as distracted while they talk. Something feels really off. Then again, they haven't been able to talk since his kidnapping. Months' worth of trauma were bound to change how Jackie acted in certain situations. When he eventually leaves, Sean feels like he's missing some sort of sign. The community goes insane after Dark Silence is uploaded. He cautiously makes himself watch the infamous ending. Once more, Anti has added content to a video. The whole time Chase stands in that hallway, Sean is begging his screen for his friend to start sprinting in the other direction, as far from Anti as he could manage. But, of course, you can't prevent an abduction through a screen, especially when it had happened hours beforehand. Chase seemed so distressed. The thought of his reaction to Anti won't leave Sean be. Nor will those two questions. Jameson swings by in an attempt to comfort him. For what it's worth, his heart is in the right place. Sean just doesn't feel he's in a position to appreciate the efforts properly. He supposes this is his opportunity to finally get a rescue attempt right. Yet, with the tour and having to revert back to multiple recordings a day, time slips away. No doubt he'll get accused of not caring. Thankfully, Chase returns in June. Mostly unscathed physically too which is good. He wishes the same could be said for mental repercussions. Chase relapsing hard with his alcoholism wasn't great to hear either. Suffice to say, Chase needed help. Some good news about the whereabouts of his ex and two young children would be fantastic too. The Akinator video is fun. He enjoys making that website's algorithm figure out the characters. Admittedly, he doesn't know whether picking Jameson for a round was a smart idea. Even worse are some of the questions he gets offered. There are two specifically he doesn't feel comfortable answering on camera. He plays it off as teasing eventual ego content to his audience. In reality, he's not sure it's his place to say. And it's hardly like he can put the recording on hold to contact Jameson about his personal life. The video goes up and the community naturally laps it up. Sean wonders if he should be concerned about the fact Jameson was yet to speak to him about it. In October, he asks Jameson to deliver a card on his behalf. Henrik would be amputating Jackie's legs in an attempt to reverse one of the most prominent aftereffects of his time with Anti. Therefore, a get well card was in order. It's not much but he hopes Jackie will appreciate the gesture nonetheless. Jameson simply shrugs as he hands him a note a couple weeks later. He ends up finding the message humourous. On it is written: Thanks for the card but you don't need to bother next time. He's just about had enough of Anti when Quit The Game To Win gets recorded. He's not sure at which point in the video he becomes lightheaded. There's a brief moment of zoning out then he's sitting at his desk, having sent the video off for editing a minute prior. Unlike the other times, there is no extra content even Robin was oblivious to. The footage of Sean staring into the camera had undoubtedly been there the whole time. They debate whether to upload it. The decision gets taken out of their hands when it is uploaded regardless. That goddamn bastard. He probably realises Sean can't take down a video like that with no explanation. And what explanation is there to give? The community has no idea the egos were real or that it was actually Anti speaking to them. Oh but sure, the compliments to his 'amazing acting' pour in without fail. Also, next phase? What the hell was Anti planning to do? He and the egos would have to remain proceeding with caution. On his 29th birthday, he is surprised to find numerous egos on his doorstep. A little dumbfounded, he invites them in for cake. It wasn't like he was doing much today other than typical work stuff and checking out the community's birthday art. Chase spots his notebook, the one containing his story plans. This topic of conversation leads to them encouraging him to rectify his mistakes by waking Jack up. He's all for it. Even after all these years, he's not sure how exactly his power worked. He gets it into his head that staying up indefinitely will cause Jack to remain conscious. Somehow, this becomes the actual criteria. As the day goes on, he thinks about how things must be like over at the egos' home. It must be wonderful to have Jack up and about. He can imagine him sharing jokes, laughing and smiling, just generally enjoying the company of friends. He's always been a bit of a night owl. He can manage to stay up the whole night, for Jack's sake. Jack deserves as much time as he can give him. He increases his caffeine intake. It didn't matter whether it was coffee or a fizzy drink. If it had caffeine and could help him stay up longer, he'd drink it. His plan seemingly backfires when he plays Shadow of the Colossus while exhausted. He wakes up with a crick in his neck, the sight of Wander stationary upon Agro's back and looming guilty disappointment. When he checks in, Henrik confirms Jack was indeed back in the medical bay, unresponsive as ever. The doctor tells him that, not for nothing, they'd all enjoyed the day. It had been after 2am when Jack had begun exhibiting signs of diminishing consciousness. Even if the others may not admit it, he was sure he wasn't the only one who appreciated what Sean had given them. Perhaps one of the stupidest things he ever voluntarily subjects himself to occurs that May. He leaves peculiar edits in the Observation series. Then he posts an unlisted video of him facing off against his clone with a bloodied throat and exclusively black attire. It works. For the first time in Sean's life, he stands in Anti's presence. As it turns out, Anti is grateful. If it hadn't been for Sean spending weeks playing around with a community fuelled concept, complete with a grande finale, the glitch would still be lurking in the shadows as a nobody. Sean had solidified him. Antisepticeye had long since stopped being a fun idea that lived purely in fan creations or Tumblr headcanon posts. Even better, he'd been armed with a knife and violent tendencies. Bit of a bad combination, wouldn't you say? In fact, he's been revelling in watching the whole Sean vs Egos fiasco. Because sure, he could blame a lot of things on Anti if he wanted. But the mistrust that began with Jack then seeped into the others via the original ego? Sean's doing. The one who used his powers of creation when, even to this day, he doesn't quite understand how on earth they worked? Sean. Best yet, letting his emotions cause him to put a loved one in a coma he had no clue how to reverse? Once again, courtesy of Sean McLoughlin. Sean brushes these comments off. He's been called out too many times to be that easily affected by it. Besides, he had some things on his own mind that needed saying. Where were Stacy and the kids? Oh, in a ditch. They served no use without Chase's conscience there to haunt. Actually, where had Anti himself been during all these years? Here, there, everywhere. Why stay in one spot when he thrived on being near impossible to pin down. Any question Sean has, Anti's answers are delivered nonchalantly. Right. That's how Anti wants to play it, huh? He creates another piece of footage. This time, he dresses as Chase and speaks on the phone. 'Chase' begs Stacy to take the kids, stay hidden and only contact him when she really needs to. Once Sean posts it (privately of course), the real Chase updates him on the recent developments in his life. He'd gotten a text from Stacy saying they were safe for now. He had only managed to compose himself before leaving the house but ah look, there go the waterworks again. Sean apologises as he makes it abundantly clear that Chase would not be able to see his family for a while. It was for their safety. Chase understood, right? Yes, yes of course. For good measure, he also talks to Henrik. His wife and children weren't in as imminent danger of becoming Anti's targets right now. However, there was no harm in staying vigilant. It was up to the doctor but Sean thought it would be for the best if they maintained a low profile for now. Sean discusses another video with Chase in October. The father is reluctant to have more of his story explored, especially if things are going to play out the way Sean had planned. That's fine, he assures. That was exactly why he wanted Chase to be part of the process. Besides, it may seem a little bleak right now but his fortunes would improve as soon as the ball started rolling. When it comes to filming the short video, Chase kills it. The community may be praising Sean but he makes sure Chase is aware of the love he had earned. He decides to allow Jameson another solo video for his birthday. They brainstorm together, coming up with the premise of a puppet show. Jameson is the one who comes up with the 'I can't be questioned, I'm rich!' joke. As soon as he does, he goes off on a tangent about how he used to know people like that. Hell, his own parents had been like that. Sean laughs along with him. The first sight of trouble is the random bit of string around his arm. Jameson naively removes it without becoming suspicious. Sean's been in this position before. If the video's up, it's already way too late for the targeted ego. He forces himself to watch to the end. Jameson's wrapping up the story when the strings reappear. His arms go limp before he begins swaying on the spot. It is clearly Anti who is controlling his movements now. Sean really wishes he didn't know the sign for 'help'. He bets Jameson believes he has the power to save him. If only he did. The worst part of it is having to witness Jameson clearly attempting to fight against it. If Sean thought Henrik's distress during Kill Jacksepticeye had been a challenge to watch, he had another thing coming. Goddamn it. Can he please go one year without losing more of those he cared about? He'd once been friends with Angus before the fading fiasco caused them to drift apart. Jack kept giving second chance after second chance until Sean had let his frustration screw that up. Chase had gradually begun to see him as potentially trustworthy, only for Anti to kidnap him and set them back to square one. Is it too much to ask for them to feel happy and safe as well as remaining so? His 30th birthday is quiet. There are no egos hassling him or attempts to initiate a bout of insomnia. It's a nice day chilling out with Evelein and BB. He would have enjoyed it even more if he knew he'd achieved his goal of waking Jack up by now. Or even getting Jameson back. The last person he expects to see coming round to his house is Marvin. He doesn't think the magician is entirely sure why he chose to do this either. He states that he gave his word when he said he'd never forgive Sean. With his fae heritage, that meant something and he couldn't go back on that. Marvin seemed offended when Sean shows surprise upon learning he had connection to fae. Well, how exactly was Sean supposed to know this detail if Marvin's been keeping him far away for 2.5 years, especially since they hadn't been best buddies pre-coma either? The magician scowls before returning to a calmer neutral demeanour. He carries on his point. Marvin may not be able to forgive Sean for what he's done, not that he really has a reason to given what was still happening to the egos. That said, he wasn't going to judge his friends as harshly anymore if they decided to give their creator a chance. That uh... shit, that was huge coming from Marvin. All he can reply with is a thank you. August rears it's terrible head. It's been three years now. 36 whole months, god knows how many weeks or individual days. He's had all this time to fix this yet is still working on it. And oh, sure, he can rationalise it. He can remind himself that during 2018, if he wasn't on tour then he was preparing for a leg or decompressing after one. Not to mention that had also been the year he'd finally started addressing his mental health. Now, the biggest thing preventing him from progressing the story to the point where Jack woke up was the virus. For half the year, he couldn't film anything that required a crew, let alone do so on location in America or wherever like he had with CHASE. Instead, he sits at the end of the bed as usual. Legs to his chest, he simply lets himself be here. Henrik is going to kill him for the way he is seated. He rambles at Jack, updating him on recent goings on. When he's said his bit, he becomes contemplative for a moment. "I'm still trying, I swear. You're going to wake up one day. I'm just- I'm doing my best to get everything sorted. I promise you can call my ass out eventually. I will get there. Anyway, I'm sure you have better things to be doing than listening to me mope about like I have been for the past three years. See you around, buddy."

#my writing #creator au #the creator #jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye egos #writersofjack #if anyone saw me despairing yesterday about this fic going on and on I want you to know this bitch is 8.2k words now #tw death mention #tw blood mention #tw kidnapping

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